No, he doesn't really teach us - he's French. He is also dead.
The punchline being ofcourse that in the exam answer sheet, where it said "Name of Professor" instead of writing Prof. Koshy, a Mallu marketeer (and a God-level prof), I wrote in big, bold letters, "Prof. Cauchy".
Yesterday, our paper was to "Prof. M.S. Sriram". Feeling adventerous, I swished my pen twice, deftly converted the S's to dollars and wrote "Prof. M.$. $riram" instead. It fits perfectly - he teaches us Accounting! :-D
Back in college I was a rebel. I grew my hair and I jumped out of classrooms via the windows. I scandalized teachers and back in IIT I was a "rebel" too - I took pride in *zero* studies and I generally pretended to admire Ernesto Che Guevara and I also sneaked my car (with Cake music (Frequent car-ers will know what I mean)) out late at night when my parents were asleep.
But no more. In this new college of mine, jumping out of windows is a long way off - decorum demands that I don't even sneeze the wrong way. That's why there's such joy in the little things - a word here, a pun there.
Reports lined with Douglassey phrases and a paragraph in the middle written in Shakespearean English. Vandalism of Profs names in exams. Just little things. But they mark my existence more than all the 23-page assignments that I write.
Today is Friday. It started at a second past midnight.
At a second to midnight, I was on Page 4. At a second past midnight I was still on Page 4. Two hours past midnight and I had moved on to Page 5.
The report didn't seem never-ending. Worse: It seemed never-progressing. Statistical analysis, Function Words, Neural Networks and Madhavan's demented-man laugh floated in and out my conciousness. Excel 2007 focused and blurred as I rubbed my weary eyes.
Four hours past midnight and I fall asleep. Drop asleep would be more accurate. Precisely on the Delete key.
Six hours past midnight. I discover my folly. If it weren't for the miracle of Command-Z, I'd have been strung and quartered by my group already.
Eight and a half hours past midnight. I run to class. There is a surprise marketing quiz. Ouch that hurts.
Twelve hours past midnight. Twelve hours to midnight. I skip class and continue writing the report.
Ten hours to midnight. Page Nineteen. She calls and says that there's a surprise Financial Markets quiz. The light at the end of your tunnel is just a freight train coming your way.
Eight hours to midnight. The report has now grown to 23 pages. Let It Be, Let It Be, Let It Be Let It Be. If there must be an answer, Let It Be. ... And it's off with the Report's Head. SHIT. What SHIT? Well you've heard of JIT? Just In Time. This is all SomeHow In Time.
Seven hours to midnight. My group is proud of me. They treat me to my first meal of the day. Thanks guys.
Six hours to midnight. Mahindra War Room Presentation. Quite spiffy actually.
Three hours to midnight. I run out of dinner leaving a poor soul stranded. Sorry. I had to attend the Mathematical Finance Lecture.
One hour to midnight. The first mail check of the day. The first free minute of the week. The first blog post of the month.
Two minutes to midnight. I like that song.
One second to midnight. It's Saturday now. Time to prepare for today's classes.