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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.
In colloquial Marathi, we have a phrase, (तुझी उंची किती तु करतोयस काय ) which loosely translates as — How tall you are and what are you attempting to do. An evident mismatch between ability and intention. And a perfect example of it is Arsenal, the skill it has, and the way they want to …
It was sheer luck that we stumbled upon the French Open quarter final between Marco Cecchinato and Novak Djokovic. Marco (ranked 72) had started strong taking the first two sets 6-3, 7-6 against the former champion Djokovic, but then seemed to have run out of steam as Djokovic eyeing a ninth semi final had clawed …
