Pre- Alien Land Woes

So I toiled through my drudgery in a PSU-like unit, which proudly claims itself as NIT. Yes, it’s the institute of national (un)importance.

It apparently belts out engineers from the land that till yesterday was preaching tribalism. Fissures appeared in a monolithic state and the world and its grandmother doffed it’s hat for all the “Sable Badhiyas”.

Till today I am ( or perhaps was ) proud to belong to this unit and beyond.

The trouble started brewing with the plans of joining a risk-consultancy in an alien land. The consultancy’s first faux pas was to take an uncalculated risk of hiring a not so lesser mortal like me. Then there were more risks involved with the denizens of this netherworld to go through the Sarkari hierarchies to be a part of the elite consultants on foreign shores.

The point is that the University of the Same Institute (yeah that’s how MS-Word turns it into, definitely not the name of the university ;)) which very reluctantly gave me the certificates I needed has already achieved eminence for being the crown-prince of all the losers by setting the worst benchmarks of all time. Having achieved that feat conspicuously, the institute is willing to do a comparable job in pushing people for a Japanese forte called hara-kiri.

Through the circuitous ways of their life am still valiantly surviving the ordeal of getting a, what we call in our world, signature. Much to my chagrin, the work never gets completed. For a long while I thought that “Mind Fucked” was in the unlimited vocabulary of my better half. It ceases to amaze me at the Recency-Frequency-Decency-Blahcy of the usage of the same term at my end. The downgrades from the pleasing to plebeian ways of mine have not been very smooth either. Neither do I particularly appreciate it. Never at my clairvoyant best would I have thought of an existence like this.

For all these saturnine days because of the asinine slovenly B@s-Turds at the institute am mind fucked.

For the road to the legendry kingdom of El Dorado which is paved with obnoxious dickheads, am resplendently ready.

For all those who empathize with my feelings, my gratitude and those who don’t, I don’t care.

For all those people who have invited expletives enough from my side to deserve the hottest furnace in hell, I can’t find what the French call Mot Juste.

Speaking of French, I just recalled that I learnt German. Ich spreche Deutsche. The German air force and one of my quizzing roomies’ team was called Luftwaffe. They should perhaps obliterate the above mentioned species.

May the force be with me.

Adios.