Excelsior 13 - Index review

There are many busy people among us. Someone is busy to watch a cricket match, someone is busy to talk to her friend, someone is busy playing games on the laptop and someone is busy bitching about others. But, in MANIT, many of us are busy (if too offensive, read lazy) to read our own college magazine thoroughly. It would be an insult to not know what is inside it, and to stand with a poker face when a fellow of other college starts speaking about it, as insulting as not knowing the PMCs of MANIT. As I respect your busyness, I give a brief account of what this year's excelsior has got for you. Also, this account is my personal view. I repeat it's my view.

The cover story: How different is MANIT from MACT? How has it changed? It is a brief singular person narration of college itself. Beautifully described at every nook, telling the tale of the college over 6 decades, this narrative is a must read for everyone who is curious about the history of MANIT, and is trying to build a student ego over its prestige. The detailing and the style of narration make us feel as if we are listening to the tale of the oldest, eldest and the mightiest.

The fun zone: The idioms at the start shall soon be found on the walls of the new hostels. I don't see how the editors expect us to visit Indo-China border on tourism though. Bon Vivant takes you on a food ride through Bhopal, better than the frugal foodie of 2012. Every article from here on is equally funny and aims at reflecting the culture of MANIT aimed at letting a MANITian see what he is, and how different he is from any ordinary young lad. The 'tech' articles however seem to be customized by a mechanical engineer and extracted from Wikipedia. 'Are you watching closely' is the peak of such humorous range. The Hindi part is way more vivid and innovatively funny. Harry potter, Madame, and Chichorapanth are the best pieces of this delicacy in that order.

Articles: Anju Katiyar writes the epic. It is a heart touching representative of many others against violence towards women. Anuruddh Tripathi misplaces his paper presentation (fun intended). Nitin Bisht writes unbreakable first year philosophy. Ankita writes the relatively hard theory of relative marking. A classic set of poems from the final years namely Shubham, Aman Gupta, Sonu Kumar, Himanshu Singh and Ankur Shrivastava (the pass-out) make you cry every now and then. Recherché does not stand up to the mark. However, the social responsibility is put to show there. Dave, Shubham, Deepshika and Nishant speak the language of the revolutionary, perhaps the most influential ones too. Surya Bhatt writes the perfect tweet-troll story breaking the patriotic read.

Azad 1 publishes an advertisement, read it not. While 2nd years like Shruti, Ankul and Pooja are busy crying, the fresher dream of a beautiful life and Utopias. Nibha writes of the girly life, and Vishal of the guys. Also are philosophies from Swapnil and Ankul (the cheerful Ankul now). A couple of beautiful perceptions from YashWardhan thrill the monotonous lead otherwise. Hindi was more beautifully crafted and drafted throughout the magazine. Leave aside its purest form in the Editorial board's articles, the writings varied over a universal span, expressing freely, and precisely, the best views of the writers here. Swadesh complains about everyone, yet claiming he won't. Also are Akshay and Arihant busy selling keys to success. After Yash, it’s now Veerendra's turn to sadden you once, and delight it with the sarcasm over valentines. Also are fresher like Prince and Ankit writing their diaries, and a few more.

All is well here in sports. Rivalries to superstitions, studying interests to creating them, and cricket. More of the Pg3 gossip of sports and not including CS 1.6 in 'sports' section are disappointing. Sir now stands as the first man outside MANIT who has an entire page on his name in the dearest and the most awaited prominent magazine, Excelsior. TPO seems to be working on other options already. Understanding that past is history and the future is a mystery is made clear through its pages, and a hidden warning of the drastic increase of to-be-unplaced is delivered.

Miscellaneous: The messages of the authorities can be skipped. They are monotonous and they wish us and EB joy in everything. Director's message is as dispersed as his words would be, and the description of the societies and the events has always been the same. 'Hyperbolic.' I dare not comment on the awards, and have not anything to comment about the photos. Ed-iots is only for those who know these idiots who waste more than 8% of the magazine print, in boasting about their own work. The artwork however stands out and is appreciable. Go through its colorful pages again and you will surely find a couple of wallpapers in it.

I would like to heartily thank the editorial board team for the hard work they put in, and for striving day and night just to make our college proud. Also, I wish they come up with a better English editor the next time, proofread it themselves once, and bind it harder. Thank you.

Gimme a dusk

Like a kid playing with his toy, such was the magnitude of my joy.
Like the sun of a winter dawn's warm, such appalling was your mystic charm.

To be with you is a boon, for it makes me smile a crescent moon.
And to ask you to be by, I feel sky ranging shy.

I try to dare to ask you out, your misunderstanding yet make me doubt.
All I tell you O my childish friend, with you my time I want to spend.

Listen to me O listen to me, joyous is my heart if with me you be.

What young India wants

What young India wants? Not a ‘revolution 2020’. Young India is bored of politics. Young India wants to read how ‘one night at a call center’ would be. Young India is more interested in listening to a ‘five point someone’ who has willingly committed ‘three mistakes of his life’ by boiling his autobiography in the soup of imagination and smearing it with salt and pepper till it’s completely hot. Yes, he is Chetan Bhagat, the author who has lived only in ‘2 states’ for 30 years and has sold more copies than their entire population would buy. Why him? Well, many so called intellectuals around me, in various situations were found criticizing him, for the cheap text he sells full of vulgarity.

Graduating from India's top class institutions, this renowned author has dramatically snatched the Indian book market of teen fiction from the authors of ‘twilight’ and sci-fi of the west. With a deep insight of what the country is, how it behaves and reacts, and how its youth feel and think, he has pulled all the sensitive strings an Indian would otherwise fear to touch, with utmost ease. His business principles are nevertheless simple. Write what your reader wants to read and he will ask you to write more. Placing that aside, this Indian Sidney Sheldon is everyday found writing columns his target audience shall never care to read in newspapers his target audience shall never care to pay a penny for. He is well known by every convent schooled Indian teen, and is very much admired for his simple language, rather bilingual dialect, low priced small books, which one such teen would read at a stretch in a boring Indian train journey, where he shall much more be entertained by the fancies of this guy than watching, learning and observing from the variety of people around him. Thanks to the Indian system of schooling.

Back to our dear author, he can be appreciated for writing of creating a zero corruption utopia, a secularist country where a guy and a girl fall in love and marry despite from being cultures far apart as Madras and Delhi, and a college where the student shall be evaluated by his talent and nothing else. Yes, this guy fantasizes too much. Nevertheless, his appraisal shall not be complete without his recognition for pulling the best minds of India into the hobby/profession of reading English novels. His columns though often trolled by the ‘great’ journal writers, often remind young Indians that there is a page termed editorial in the newspaper too. However, he shall be taunted by a few of the intellects, for his usage of sexual fantasies and irregular story plots, for his biased single person male oriented writing style and for degrading the average quality of English fiction in the Indian bookstore. No doubt he was pointed during the anti-rape protests and education oriented discussions for his provoking works and untrue educational success stories, also thanks to his speeches at the centers of learning about a better nation.

I would like to remind the brainy people around that he has been an inspiration to a ton of budding writers around; he has laid the building stones of English reading in this younger generation very firmly, and shall be solely credited for all his work. I don't support him completely, because I shall never forget the deterioration of the language nor the quality of text a teenager shall be expected to read with the moderately high IQ he possesses. Above all, before you point a finger at him, remember you too were excited, dragged into and floated through his imagination someday, pondering over your chances to enjoy such a life, though later did you repent wasting a few of your precious hours which otherwise would have gone into sleeping, costing you the wisdom of knowing what young India wants, because when you read what he writes, I am pretty sure you will surely realize what young India wants.

Love story

Like the stars on a gloomy cloudy night, her eyes did twinkle bright.
The warmth of a winter morning's sunlight, to abide in her breath did fight.
Did the breezes by her hair glide, to let not those splendid tender ears hide.
Did the elephants and horses abort their ride, as she in her white gown did stride.

Rose petals snuggled below the thorns in shy, as her lips smiled pink like the spring dawn's sky.
Far far away did those pigeons fly, as the peace in her heart they could not buy.
Tender jasmines of honey went draught, as for her sweetness the air sought.
The nightingales and the cuckoos fought, for that sweet voice was her's they never thought.

Feathers all over summited over being soft to feel, for born of her hands none did ever reveal.
Once long ago a pirate of creepers failed to steal, her slim waist's theft of the unsigned deal.
Lucky was the grass that went under her feet, light to bore and soft to meet.
The sunflowers and rabbits bowed to greet, for that lady of charm was so sweet to treat.

Kind was she that when her fingers would tip, the hardest thorns shall try to slip.
Addictive was she to kiss with one's lip, more than a hot brewing coffee sip.
Naughty by word and cute when speechless, blushes did blush they had to confess.
To embrace her lucky was her white dress, to abide by her heart was born tenderness.

Lucky shall i be, to write about her beauty, luckier shall i be, if to praise her was my daily duty.
Lucky shall be he who gets to wear her the ring, for his life shall all forth fairytales sing.
God i shall praise you for giving her to me, and for a few days making her and me to be we.
Love i love you when she loves to share you with me, for more do i love her that any can see.

Dreams we live in

I walked into my classroom, clad in a sky blue shirt and a navy blue trouser, my tie tightened to my neck, lunch basket in my hand, and a package of books on my back. It was like any other day except that a terrifying guilt crept and grew deep inside me. I was dull. I knew I had to do the homework, yet I didn't. Miss Shruti, my 7th class science teacher is well known for her knocking knuckles punishment of the steel ruler. I shivered more. Lately came that hour, and so did the teacher. In a few minutes, she was standing in front of me, I handed the empty book to her standing as sweat drenched my socks. I did it. The teacher stood gazing bizarre and a commotion replaced the utter silence. I did disappear. The next moment, I was in my bed. My dad was trying to wake me and he did shake me off the sleep. I woke to see the incomplete notes still on my table, pages fluttering and so were my thoughts. The justice league john effect it was. I was dreaming of having such a superpower to disappear. The dream was special. I dreamed of being technically sound as batman, fast as flash, wearing a ring where light shall take the form I wish and do work for me. Yes, justice league was my dream.

My early teens it was. Running from everywhere I would return to my hall to watch Indian batting. There he walks in. He is a guy not so tall, with a little childish smile, chasing his dreams, hitting the ball everywhere. Then I dream of learning cricket, playing it being the 'tiny master.' This life is simple easy and interesting. He has got lots of money and fame and a loving wife too. I would play cricket all the time, it would be fun. I will take this. Somewhere I hear Spiderman say, "With great power comes great responsibility." justice league fades out of my mind as a career choice given the responsibility that accompanies the power I get. I realize my dreams were a bit too embarrassing and oriented towards my own advantage. I shall call myself selfish then. I won't be selfish.

I watch Disney princes living the life the way they want, always having a beautiful princess to hold their hand at the end. The life would be full of adventures, forests and magic, evil witches and talking animals. The life as a Disney prince would be fun. And the story would end happily always. Later on, after my youth passes, I would pen down my entire story and live the rest of my life playing with my children and their children too. To be another Tendulkar is not easy. I would have to practice a lot. I would have to overcome all the team politics, I would have to smile at the critic, perform well every day, and dedicate my entire life to the game. No, it needs lot of passion and dedication. I am not that strong nor hawk eyed.

A few years later, I learn of war and bombs. I wish the place I live gets bombed barren and I alone survive, with food for the rest of my life alive, and so does that one friend whose company makes the rest of the world seem meaningless. I wish to go on a long jeep drive forever through the desert and the forest and be at peace on white sandy beaches and baskets of peaches. It is much better than running across unknown ways every day in the search of a princess or a golden treasure. The Disney prince's job ends with his marriage. Later let the princess become the jealous ugly queen, or eat too much royal food and become the fat lady, no one cares. The life shall be plain and I will have subjects to look after. It will be more of a headache. No, I don't want it.

I cross 18 someday. I shall be officially licensed to drive. I dream to sit behind the wheels of a 63 AMG or 6 series convertible and race through the life, thrilled by the speed and savoring the driving pleasure dashing amidst cars. But what of a world where no one lives? I call it a day dream and move on further, for without a fellow human being, I am a lonely one and I hate being it. So, I decide that I should be a part of the society.

Today, despite a thousand such dreams, I realize what I always dreamed of. It was of a life of not being mine. I dreamed with eyes wide open, nerves passing currents every moment, my senses at work. Yes I day dreamed. And sooner or later I always realized that this life is the best, despite all the complexities it puts to display. Sharing my love, chasing my passion, serving my fellows, I shall do all that my destiny directs me to, for that journey is my life. It defines me. It shall write my story and that shall be the best literature I will ever read, inside my mind, turning through the pages of memories, because this life is the most awesome thing that can ever happen to me. Your dreams may be different, so may be your thoughts, your destinies and your lives. Yet we love our own history than any other fairy tale.