Tiny Rebel Moments

Today I submitted my exam paper to Prof. Cauchy, the famous mathematician.

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.