Dear Teacher, Who Told You PCM Equals Engineering?

In our country, lie many rat races.

But, the prime two races are between the students who want to pursue engineering after their 10+2 and the students who want to pursue medical after their 10+2, these are ‘the’ students not ‘all’ students.

Some just take up PCM (Physics, Chemistry, Mathematics) because they want to study the subjects and not get into engineering without even thinking.

After so many years of convincing, many parents finally gave up the self-proclaimed right of choosing their ward’s career stream.

This change is good but not enough, because it is the institutions now, who have started taking it for granted that PCM equals Engineering and PCB equals the Medical Field.

One fine day, I was talking to a friend who was constantly complaining about his school management and how they aren’t providing children with the ‘Engineering’ and ‘Medical’ sections.

I ignored all of what he was cribbing about, but what caught my interest was this particular phrase, ‘The Engineering Section’.

Upon further explanation about this I finally grabbed the idea of career streams in his school. It was simple but dumb, unfair if you may.

The idea of the management was that the children opting for PCM and PCB were to enter Engineering and Medical Professions respectively. I do realize that almost 80-90% Indian students DO follow this convention but if you ask me, this is nothing but a clichéd opinion about what students want to do with their life.

Who says if I opt for PCM then I would go for Engineering?

Possible, it is.

Guaranteed, it is not.

Then comes the teacher who taught us a demo class for Physics.

He had his own ‘idea’ about how much focused a student is. So, this great guy from Bihar who has taught the Super-30 asks the students about how many of them want to crack the IIT-JEE and when just three hands stood up, he exclaimed, “Only three students are focused here, surprising”.

It was surprising, not just for him but for me too, what if someone doesn’t wanna go for the IIT?

What if they aren’t interested to study Engineering?

So, does this imply that they aren’t focused or they are worthless and don’t wanna do anything in the future standing just behind a two-year window. Who the hell are people like these to tell a student that he isn’t focused?

Seriously, if he wasn’t 15 years older, he would have gone out of the room with a broken nose.

I don’t get the point, is the mind of the average Indian limited or have they taken everything and everyone for granted?

If a teacher or student reads this, please comment and/or share this article with other teachers, students and adults you know. Thanks for reading.

Via – Deepansh Khurana

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I Never Understood Mother

It was raining that night, the night I killed him.

was eleven.

It was very cold in the house and there wasn’t a warm corner. Mother had tried to make biryani. She had purple bruises all over her face from last night’s dinner when he had spat the spaghetti on her face and then pissed over the table.

I had slept hungry the night before. She trembled, praying that he would like the biryani.

I never understood that woman. He would abuse her, demean her, beat her up, rape her and still she wished to please him.

Not a shred of that devotion was ever directed towards me. I was given birth to and forgotten. He came home that night, wet and sodden, the smell of cigarette rife in his filthy mouth.

He rattled the door on its hinges as he came. He threw off his clothes and sat on the dinner table, his naked body reeking of sweat. I sat at the table but couldn’t eat for bile traveled to my throat because of his stink.

Before I even knew what was happening, he was smashing mother’s face into the table. He twisted her arm so hard it broke off. Then in blind fury, he tore off her clothes and started raping her, right as I watched, powerless.

Something snapped then.

I heard mother scream for the first time.

To this day I cannot figure out what that scream was for, because he had beaten her up much worse. Maybe because I was witnessing this naked atrocity that broke her resolve.

She howled in pain. But no neighbor ever showed up. No one wanted to dirty their hands by helping the filth that my family was. Her scream filled me with pure white rage.

My breath came in short snorts as I forced myself to think of a way to stop it. I looked around like a deranged lunatic, for anything that I could throw at him, anything that would make him stop hurting mother.

I found the carving knife that mother was using to cut the meat in my hand. I raised the knife as high as I could and plunged it into his back with all the force my tiny body could muster. His pig-like grunting stopped as his humping stilled.

I put all my strength and twisted the knife that jutted out from his back, the handle slick with blood. His blood was all over my hands and face. He turned around and looked at me, his face twisted with anger, his hands reached out to strangle my small neck.

But I jumped out of his reach. He fell onto his knees, blood streaming from where the knife had left a gaping hole in his flesh.

With a limp between his legs, he looked at me, the impotent bastard, and his eyes were clear for the first time in his life. Clear and begging for mercy. I found no mercy in me to spare.

Mother looked at me with horror, screaming as I took a hard iron rod and smashed it into his skull.

For every time he had struck mother, I beat him.

For every time he had struck me, I beat him.

I beat him long after he was dead. I beat his body into a pulp.

Mother kept screaming at me to stop. I did not. She hit me with her unbroken arm, she hit me until I was lying on the floor fighting for each breath.

She hit me for killing her husband. I never understood why. I had rid her of the monster that had made life hell for her, and yet she never forgave me for it. The police came when the neighbors notified them.

They had to come because he was dead.

My mother testified against me in the court, telling how I had beaten her helpless husband to death. I was sent to a correctional facility.

I never understood mother.

What Happens When You Choose The Science Stream.

Choosing your stream is basically the foundation decision of what you are going to do in the rest of your damned life. But more than often, it is taken lightly and without deep thought or planning and moreover based on someone else’s viewpoints rather than your own desire.

Some of us however, ignoring the omens all around our society and internet, turning a deaf ear to all those victimised seniors and mislead by the engineering/medical dream or simply coerced by our parents, opt for the Science stream.

And regret it.

What happens afterwards is nothing short of slaughter.

You realize that you’ve made a horrible mistake in the very first class.

You took science because you thought you’d be like Matt Damon in Good Will Hunting.

But after the first class, you feel you’re going to be like Forrest Gump for the next two years.

They say the human mind has about 10 terabytes of storage space. By the end of Class 12th, half of that capacity will be utilized in all sorts of things that are never actually going to be of any use in your entire practical life.

You don’t understand what happened to the “Physics” you knew so well.

Physics + “A Tonne of Really Complex Math” + “Really Abstract Concepts” = Nightmare.

You don’t “bond” well with chemistry.

You thought chemistry would be like Potions classes in Harry Potter. It’s more like an endless barrage of complex theories and problems combined with practical classes that need the finesse of a bomb disposal expert.

If you took biology, you start respecting doctors a lot more.

And start liking biology a lot less.

Math goes from being “fun with numbers” to “WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW?”

My Maths teacher tells me I should have taken Psychology.

You come face to face with every teacher’s trade-mark “disappointed look.”

“Oh, so you don’t know Faraday’s Law… How will you get into a good college? *Mega Disappointed Look*

The class geniuses and the IIT wannabes piss you off constantly.

Teacher: “Who know the answer to this ques…”

Genius Boy/Girl: “SIR! ME, SIR! I KNOW SIR! I JUST CALCULATED THAT IN MY HEAD IN 2 SECONDS SIR!”

You: “SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU SON OF A BOHR”

As a result, your self esteem drops like a freaking meteor.

Your performance in class creates confidence issues in real life. You start wondering what you’re going to do with your life.

But on the bright side, half of your classmates are equally clueless. They made the same mistake as you. You build a bond of friendship with them that only hardship can forge.

You: “Bhai, yeh kya hai?”

Friend: “Mujhe kya pata BC?”

You’re always jealous of your friends who wisely opted for commerce or humanities. Lucky Bastards…

So you consider changing your stream multiple times during the first 2 months alone. And rarely every someone successfully manages to do that.

This is how we tend to give exams, they turn out to be very short affairs.

“Do I know this? Nope.

This? Nope.

Ah, I know this! I shall now spend half an hour making sure this is absolutely right.”

So now the question remains, what can you do now that you have taken science and there is no turning back?

Lol. Nothing. Choke in your misery. Enjoy.

Points via Buzzfeed!

What’s Wrong With Indian TV?

I’ve often wondered if Indian TV/film writing would ever reach a point where they expect the viewers to get smarter as they watch the show, perhaps watch it multiple times before they can hope to understand a fraction of what the director/writer/creator intended. Where it only makes full sense if they pretty much tell you what they intended in post-production presentations. And not anally reveal every detail like –

“I will now give him a cup so he can hold it, and we will get fingerprints.”

“Sir you are so brilliant sir!”

Or the exaggerated whispering in the ear of another person to tell them“secret” – when there are only two people in the room. 

“Sir, forensics found 3 bullets from his body”

“Do you know what this mean?”

“No sir. You are my superior. I will be privileged if you solve this mystifying riddle for me!”

“This means that he was killed by a GUNSHOT!”

You have to be a fucking Nostradamus to predict what’s gonna come next. Even a 4year old can understand this shit. But wait, this ain’t Nickelodean. Dora solves cases faster than you goddamnit. This is supposed to be the mainstream general Hindi entertainment -.- Entertaining only for people with double digit IQs.

But, I’m pleased to say the new Hindi movie – “Yeh Bhi Munkin Hai” starring Ranbir and Deepika, does get close in terms of verbal dueling and quantum leaps. The movie was of course based on the popular Tamil hit, “Midiyaadhu” (Cannot be done) which was loosely based on the Malayalam masterpiece, “Pansaaram.” (Lameness) 

Awww. I kid you – no such thing happened. We just have Sasural Simar Ka, CID and Balika Vadhu and other sorts of nonsense. No intellectual orgasms of any sort happens in any of these movies/shows today. Reasonably good writing, in a few, if you’ve had a little to drink – sure. But Moffat/Gilligan-level writing, I’m going to have to check the status in 2904 and let you know if we get there. ._.

Addiction

He raised the needle with trembling hands and brought it close to his arm. His hand shook with the effort as he failed to find the proper vein. He finally found the right spot on his arm which was colored with various cuts of red, blue and black, due to the blotched attempts. As the needle sunk in his skin and the heroin hijacked into his bloodstream, he sighed and sat back, letting the drug work its magic.

He had been an addict ever since he could remember.

And then he met her. She was his caretaker in is rehabilitation center.

They fell in love, as she nursed him back to health.

He could never understand how she loved a degenerate as him, but he never questioned her love. They found happiness in each other and they sealed this happiness with marriage. She became pregnant, and he was afraid for the child.

No child deserved a father who had a past like his. A drug addict, a man who had done nothing he was ever proud of, how could he be a worthy parent?

But she quelled all his fears, assured him that he was not the man of his past. Showed him that he was a new man with a new life and he had everything to be proud of. After that, he could not wait for the nine months to be over and hold the tiny little child that was a part of him.

And then the accident happened. They were going to the hospital for her check-up. It was a bright, sunny spring day. The driver who had smashed into their car had lost control because of a sudden heart attack. The guy’s SUV had come speeding and smashed into their car at the intersection.

They had been singing along to the radio happily and then the next thing they know their car was thrown into the air and crashed to the ground. Her side of the car was destroyed completely, the door curving inwards where the SUV hit it. The glass shattered and tore at her skin, the jagged metal penetrated her flesh. The impact of the crash killed her at once.

He remembered her only scream, as they hurtled through the air in the car; that split second as their hearts pounded, not knowing how bad the fall would be. He was saved somehow as the onlookers called the ambulance in time.

He did not want to be saved, he wanted to be buried beside her.

He found solace in heroin once more, slipping into the addiction that had taken ages to get over.

He did not remember anything, the days merged into one another. He had no idea when the sun rose or set. He had no idea when was the last time he had left his apartment. He didn’t remember the last time he had eaten something. He couldn’t even recall when he had pissed; recently, on the couch, the smell told him.

He just wanted to numb the pain. And it would go away when he sunk the needle in his arm and inject the heroin in his system.

The drugs would make him forget.

They put him into a dream where everything was happy once more.

He could no more remember what she looked like.

He forgot the sound of her laughter.

He only had a faint recollection of her skin being the softest thing he had ever touched.

Only the sound of her scream as the car crashed into the sidewalk resounded in his ears.

It echoed over and over until the heroin would stop his brain from functioning.

His addiction was his only escape.

He got over his addiction to heroin by falling in love with her.

But he could not get over his addiction to her. He died of an overdose, trying to drown the sounds of her scream.

In death, he heard her musical laughter echoing in his ears once again.

In death, he wore a smile.

ALS Ice Bucket Challenge – The Good And The Bad

As we all know, the internet has gone crazy with the ALS Ice Bucket Challenge where people and celebrities are joining in the fight against Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, popularly dubbed as ALS and trying to help the ALS foundation raise funds. I am for one, in support of the fight against the disease but now that the movement is taking a curve towards insanity, I’m starting to question whether the world can handle serious issues or just be jolly about everything. With this article, I will question the good and the bad of the ALS Ice Bucket Challenge from a neutral and unbiased perspective.

The Good

The challenge was a way to popularise the word, the disease and get more people together which it has done so far. The first aim is achieved. As per the New York Times, the foundation has received $41.8 million in donations from July 29 to August 21 which is a substantial amount and is actually about fourfold the amount received in the last year. While the ALS Association says they’ve received over $70 million which is even better. With popular and strong figures such as celebrities and political leaders joining in, more funds and people are being dragged into the challenge and all of us are doing it with happiness so it’s all going the right way so far.

The public icons who weren’t very comfortable in doing the challenge simply stated they’ll donate money e.g. Charlie Sheen and George W. Bush and donating is still as good as provoking people to donate.

Some celebrities like Benedict Cumberbatch nailed it by making a funny video with multiple ice buckets and actually giving details about where and how to donate with a big pop up in the background and text in the video description stating the mobile number for donation which is also a great (and the right) way to support the cause. 

The ALS challenge is a practical example of how the world is not just countries any more but one, big, global village and how all of us are residents of Earth and not America or India or East or West.

The Bad

As usual, being the internet and the not-so-serious population of the cyberspace people misinterpreted the whole concept and suddenly the action is more important than the consequence. 

Kids and people I know along with a few celebrities who have made it a game and give no information as to where and how to make the donations nor do they ever mention anything about ALS, all they ever mention is the name of their nominator and then after dousing themselves with a bucket full of ice water nominate a few people and dang, the video ends.

These people still increase the popularity of the cause and the challenge but they’re doing what could be dubbed as the Chinese whispers of the Internet, a game where the meaning gets lost in the end.