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Currently it is the season of counting the 100 days of Government, in which people are trying to analyze what the govt. has done, undone, not done, got done, dan dana done… But for me 100 and days, when these two words come together, it is just a horror.. and a real horror.. of a …
In the chaotic realm of Crescent’s Christmas party, where gulab jamuns steal the spotlight, students embark on a culinary mission, diligently sorting into groups to bring home-cooked delights. Forget the fashion fuss; our real anxiety lies in the fate of those precious jamuns. Sharing isn’t about profound ideas but the chaotic potluck of preferences.
The gift exchange unfolds like a cinematic drama. Secret Santa is no secret, and the lucky recipient becomes the chocolate hero armed with a Nestle Milkybar that bluntly reads ‘Eat It.’ Destiny, it seems, is intricately woven into the fabric of white chocolate bars, turning a mere gift into a cosmic sign from the universe.
As the party wraps up, we’re not just a bunch of kids with our teachers; we’re a squad of comedians navigating the absurd Crescentian Chronicles, with ridiculous gift dilemmas and the everlasting sweetness of bad gulab jamuns over bad English paper marks. After all, we are the generation that gave Karan Johar his first hit, leaving behind a trail of laughter, chaos, and sugary goodness.
One significant disconnect between me and my History textbook was over the events of the third Battle of Panipat. Ask any Maratha above the age of seventy, educated or otherwise. The mere mention of Panipat brings out an uncanny sadness. The pain of a singular event is carried down by generations in their collective memory. …
