Posts
(The writer happens to be in one of the MBA classrooms in an educational Institution...)
I am ‘the speaker’- the BOSE speaker in II MBA class. My maker moulded a lot of style into me and shaped me in a wonderful fashion. My insides were very meticulously planned and well laid-out. Above all, my creator got me beautiful clothes. He put a plastic covering on me, dipped in raven-black. Moreover, to give a softer feel to my curvy and well-built body, he draped me in a soft, black net. Man, when I looked at the mirror, frankly, I fell over myself. Believe it or not, I looked at the other guys there on the shop racks- the Ahujas and Peaveys and they looked like colleagues of my grandparents who lived in the 1980’s. Without appearing to be an egotist, I must with all humility, admit that I looked sexy! And when people boast of their shirts, call it Park Avenue, Van Heusen, Peter England, Reebok or Nike...then why should I be prohibited from ‘feeling-off’ with my clothing brand? My maker put himself in my shoes and he wanted me to feel proud of my branded wear. To that purpose he finally put the tag on my clothing-BOSE...
My heart swells with pride every time someone gasps with awe when they hear me utter things. I am new to this classroom and perhaps because of that I am a bit apprehensive, just like a fresher, of what awaits me in the future. The particular cause for concern is the purpose for which they will actually use me. Just looking at the morons who come to use me, speaks volumes about what is awaiting me in the near future. Damn it, I would like to sue these guys! They abuse and misuse me, fools overflowing with ignorance! I still have faint memories of my last birth and every time I remember it, the diaphragm in me leaps in joy. Like it is now, in my last birth when I was new, those people owning me used me for dry, dead-beat speeches by psychopaths and dead logs- politicians in layman’s terms. I was the voice of hundred-odd crazy politicians, more interested in the volume of their talk than the content! This paranoid repetition went on for almost so long that I forgot my true identity. My saviour came in the form of a young, handsome and kind hearted fellow, calling himself DJ Chais or something of that sort. I had been grazing like a goat all my life and all of a sudden when I tasted blood, to my surprise, I realized that I was a lion and not a goat. You should have been present when DJ Chais played a song “Ya Ali....” through me! My heart throbbed like a racing car’s engine and my spirit of ecstasy was so contagious that the entire room shook and trembled with my mania. And from that point of time there was no turning back.
When my owner was depressed, I played for him Beethoven and Mozart. When he was sad, I pepped him up with cheery numbers. When he was alone and melancholic, I gave him Adnan Sami. When he felt romantic, I played him Sonu, Shaan or KK. And when he wanted to forget himself, his worries, his tension, his entire world, I played for him Shreya Ghoshal and all his pains eased... Of course, I too had my share of ups and downs. On one hand, I provided soul-stirring songs of Lata Mangeshkar and on the other hand I was asked to belt out numbers of that black-capped crooner Himesh Reshammia. What little sense of music and appreciation my owner had was lost to that un-understandable bard. Look, because of my good nature, I can make a cuckoo sound sweeter; but please, do not expect me to turn a donkey into a nightingale! That’s being illogical and unreasonable....come on give me a fair chance too!
Well, that was my last birth....It brings tears into my eyes when I remember those bygone days and look at me now...Providing voice to the paralysed ideas of dead borers making so called educative and intellectual presentations! I seem to have partly lost my sanity listening to their weird, insane nuggets of ignorance. Pah! Are there no limits to stupidity? Again, like the last time, I await the arrival of my saviour...some Gen Y who will love me and use me knowing fully well my true potential. And then, like every good servant, I will be proud to have served my master with all my heart and soul...My life will find fulfilment and my master will find his. Then perhaps I will go down in the pages of the book of my master’s life in letters of gold, as one of his most prized possessions. I continue to live with hope like all good people always do...
I am ‘the speaker’- the BOSE speaker in II MBA class. My maker moulded a lot of style into me and shaped me in a wonderful fashion. My insides were very meticulously planned and well laid-out. Above all, my creator got me beautiful clothes. He put a plastic covering on me, dipped in raven-black. Moreover, to give a softer feel to my curvy and well-built body, he draped me in a soft, black net. Man, when I looked at the mirror, frankly, I fell over myself. Believe it or not, I looked at the other guys there on the shop racks- the Ahujas and Peaveys and they looked like colleagues of my grandparents who lived in the 1980’s. Without appearing to be an egotist, I must with all humility, admit that I looked sexy! And when people boast of their shirts, call it Park Avenue, Van Heusen, Peter England, Reebok or Nike...then why should I be prohibited from ‘feeling-off’ with my clothing brand? My maker put himself in my shoes and he wanted me to feel proud of my branded wear. To that purpose he finally put the tag on my clothing-BOSE...
My heart swells with pride every time someone gasps with awe when they hear me utter things. I am new to this classroom and perhaps because of that I am a bit apprehensive, just like a fresher, of what awaits me in the future. The particular cause for concern is the purpose for which they will actually use me. Just looking at the morons who come to use me, speaks volumes about what is awaiting me in the near future. Damn it, I would like to sue these guys! They abuse and misuse me, fools overflowing with ignorance! I still have faint memories of my last birth and every time I remember it, the diaphragm in me leaps in joy. Like it is now, in my last birth when I was new, those people owning me used me for dry, dead-beat speeches by psychopaths and dead logs- politicians in layman’s terms. I was the voice of hundred-odd crazy politicians, more interested in the volume of their talk than the content! This paranoid repetition went on for almost so long that I forgot my true identity. My saviour came in the form of a young, handsome and kind hearted fellow, calling himself DJ Chais or something of that sort. I had been grazing like a goat all my life and all of a sudden when I tasted blood, to my surprise, I realized that I was a lion and not a goat. You should have been present when DJ Chais played a song “Ya Ali....” through me! My heart throbbed like a racing car’s engine and my spirit of ecstasy was so contagious that the entire room shook and trembled with my mania. And from that point of time there was no turning back.
When my owner was depressed, I played for him Beethoven and Mozart. When he was sad, I pepped him up with cheery numbers. When he was alone and melancholic, I gave him Adnan Sami. When he felt romantic, I played him Sonu, Shaan or KK. And when he wanted to forget himself, his worries, his tension, his entire world, I played for him Shreya Ghoshal and all his pains eased... Of course, I too had my share of ups and downs. On one hand, I provided soul-stirring songs of Lata Mangeshkar and on the other hand I was asked to belt out numbers of that black-capped crooner Himesh Reshammia. What little sense of music and appreciation my owner had was lost to that un-understandable bard. Look, because of my good nature, I can make a cuckoo sound sweeter; but please, do not expect me to turn a donkey into a nightingale! That’s being illogical and unreasonable....come on give me a fair chance too!
Well, that was my last birth....It brings tears into my eyes when I remember those bygone days and look at me now...Providing voice to the paralysed ideas of dead borers making so called educative and intellectual presentations! I seem to have partly lost my sanity listening to their weird, insane nuggets of ignorance. Pah! Are there no limits to stupidity? Again, like the last time, I await the arrival of my saviour...some Gen Y who will love me and use me knowing fully well my true potential. And then, like every good servant, I will be proud to have served my master with all my heart and soul...My life will find fulfilment and my master will find his. Then perhaps I will go down in the pages of the book of my master’s life in letters of gold, as one of his most prized possessions. I continue to live with hope like all good people always do...
