Bhaprosi's unfriendly neighbors

I was initially thinking of titling this post 'Friendly neighborhood Bhaprosi', but I later figured out that 'Bhaprosi's unfriendly neighbors' is a more apt title. Many of you must be quite puzzled about the title to this particular post. If you don't read Karan's Journal regularly, you probably won't know what it is all about. So my first job must be to make the title fully clear to all.

As only a few of you would be knowing, IIT in Hindi is known as Bharatiya Praudyogiki Sansthan. My dear friend Karan Misra, being incapable of pronouncing the name, thought he was doing a big favor to mankind by abbreviating Bharatiya Praudyogiki Sansthan to Bhapros. So that would automatically make me, and all my fellow IITans, Bhaprosis. An interesting name, but it can get on your nerves after a while. To be very frank, I am completely sick of being called a Bhaprosi. Which makes me wonder as to why am I writing this entry. I mean, it doesn't really take a rocket scientist to figure out that by the time I am done writing this entry, half of Delhi will be calling me a Bhaprosi. And, as I have already pointed out, I detest being called that. But then, such are the ways of Manu Saxena.

Leaving the Bhaprosi thing aside, let's move on to the more important things in life. Yesterday happened to be the first day of my vacations. It was, to be truthful, an awful bore. But then , considering I had spent most of day before yesterday at Reliance web-world indulging in mindless blood and gore, it is unlikely that yesterday would have been an exciting day unless a huge, ugly, drooling alien would have suddenly emerged from behind the car and said, "Zoc-colenos metona!", which in English roughly translates as "Die, Human, Die."

Nevertheless I was anticipating a fun day, spent carelessly out in the open spaces where men are men. My hopes, however, were dashed early in the morning itself. When I woke up at about 10:00 AM, I found that my parents and my sister were going somewhere and I was given strict instructions to remain in the house because some guy had to come over to repair the inverter, which was making funny noises and unceremoniously switching itself off at weird times of the night. I reluctantly agreed, thinking I would go out and have my share of fun in the afternoon. But evil doings were underfoot, as I soon found out. When my parents returned at about half past twelve, I was told to get ready. "Why?", I asked, not, I am sure you would agree, without reason. The reason, I found out to my horror, was that my parents were planning to take me to watch Mughal-e-Azam in the afternoon. "Aaargh!!!", I said, but left it at that, because I, unlike some other people I could name, know all about the futility of arguing with parents.

So at about 1:30 PM, all of us left for PVR Saket, for the 3:25 show of Mughal-e-Azam. But that is where my bad luck ran out. We didn't get tickets. Woo-hoo, we didn't get tickets. For the first time in the day, I actually felt happy. We got back home at about half past three, and then I went out to play cricket, something which I hadn't done for quite some time. I would like to tell all my readers that I suck at cricket. I can't bowl or bat to save my life. But for some inexplicable reason, I still love to play. But then, as I have said before, such are the ways of Manu Saxena.

I got back at about six. But I was yet to confront the most horrific incident of the day. At 6:10 PM sharp, some people who live about three or four houses away from us started playing loud Punjabi music at full volume. It was so loud that at first I thought somebody at home was playing Punjabi music. My family isn't Punjabi, and I found this sudden change in music taste rather spooky. But before long, by a method of tedious elimination, I deduced that nobody was playing Punjabi music at my place. It was then that I discovered that the racket was being caused by somebody outside the house. I tolerated it for a while, but when they played 'Saavan di Jhadi' for about the seventh time, I, once again not without reason, lost my cool. Did I do something about it? You bet, I did something about it. What did I do? I went and asked my mom, "WHAT is happening?"

She told me that the people three or four houses away were getting their daughter married. "With loud Punjabi music playing in the background?", I asked incredulously. "Today is the Sangeet ceremony,", she nonchalantly replied. So I quietly retired to my room, having done all I could, and thinking how anybody could possibly call this kind of stuff music. Having nothing else to do, I started writing a debate which I am supposed to be giving at a competition at LSR on the 7th. But I gave up on that when they started playing 'Saavan di Jhadi' for the eleventh time.

Finally realizing that I was not going to get much done, I thought about calling it a day. So, to cut a long blog post short, a quick dinner later, (which lasted exactly 1.7 'Saavan di Jhadis') I retired for the day.

By now I am quite convinced that moving into my new house was a big mistake. My window looks out to a place which looks like a graveyard for old, used desert coolers, I bump into chairs and tables every night when I get up to go to the loo, and my neighbors seem to have an unhealthy obsession with gardening and loud Punjabi music.

There was only one positive that came out of this entire 'Saavan di Jhadi' episode. The constant salvo of Punjabi music managed to dissuade my neighbors living next door (not to be confused with my neighbors living three or four houses away, who were having the marriage) from playing their favorite song.

But more about my next-door neighbors' favorite song next time. Till then, may all my readers live pleasant, satisfactory lives, free from the menace of Punjabi music.