The Saturday

*loonnggg one, brace yourselves*

Friday night is when you get to talk a li'l to friends, and browse some blogs. Friday night is when you realise with a start that you have that course at IIMB tomorrow and you havent yet done that project.
At 12 AM or is it 1AM? you download that Pdf that the teammate has forwarded, and the stupid Lan connection takes forever to download a silly attachment with numbers in, a Mallika Sherawat jpg I can understand taking a half hour to download, builds the anticipation in the poor male who's so desperate that he needs to download a jpg at 1AM; but a 5 year Balance sheet and Income statement? a pdf? Hurmpf ! the limit I tell you.

You decide to finish the bloody analysis but the ratios just escape your mind - what was the gross profit ratio again?
favorite blanket/ teddy bear?
stupid woman, shake your head, drink some water -
its gross profit/ Pillows?
no you idiot its bed/ Net Sales...
and so you decide to do the ratio analysis.

Inventory Turnover ratio = number of times you could have turned in your sleep already if you were in bed/ number of times you've washed your face to stay awake

Finally, the last straw was when you typed in your VPs name where the capital should have been, and the name of the guy you were talking to, where the Intangible Assets should have been.
The @ sum( A25:A45) is typed in @watamidoing(A25:sleepnow)

the excel sheet farts out a nice total @fcuk! as the end result.

Saturday Morning you find yourself sleeping on the computer, the drool from the corner of your wide open mouth might have permanently damaged the keyboard, but your immediate concern is the stiff neck and the imprint of the Caps Lock and Shift key that your left cheek bears.

The Gtalk window is open, and a friend who was kind enough to send you a "hi" in an ungodly 4AM, has gotten a reply that reads #%$#^%$DDFFUU (which you estimate later - are the letters that might have gotten typed when you were dreaming about punching Ranbir Kapoor on his effeminate face and hit a few keys)and the friend is kind enough to reply back to that and ask you to go to hell. All at 4AM.
Mom's towering over you and lecturing about the national wastage of electricity you have caused by not switching off the computer, the part that the daughter is jumping around in pain due to a stiff neck is quite conviently forgotten.

Its time to rush to the Insti which is a good 27 kilometers away and you have just 15 minutes to make it.
The excel sheet still reads @fcuk! -> the ratio analysis you've done.
Well someone once said - "something's better than nothing" so the @fcuk! should do for now.

The entire saturday is spent, trying to SMS the good friend who was the recieveing end of the virtual punches you threw at a "cute as a girl" - eggaaddd!!! Ranbir Kapoor. The friend decides to use you as a whipping post and sends messages that will seem Osama's threat to the WTC like a child's play. *sigh*
Meanwhile, you try and listen to what the prof's saying, afterall, one must hear out people's woes :P
The extremely complicated words act as a lullaby, and as you struggle to stay awake, the prof singles you out and asks you a question that sounds to you, in the haze of sleep and boredom as Amitabh's proverbial question - "tumhare paas kya hain aaiinn???"
you are ready to tax your vocal chords to do a Shashi Kapoor imitation, but the nice classmate sitting next to you, nudges you in time and shows you her notebook... you look up confidently and answer
" give him this answer - these two lines"
The rest, Ladies and Gentlemen, as they say, is history.

You manage to catch "who the hell employs these morons..."and something that sounded like "fake cerificates " before the merciful godess of sleep takes over again.
Having been made the laughing butt, you spend the next half of the class (when you manage to be awake that is) scheming of how to pry loose that projector and dump it on the prof's head and manage to make it look like an accident and you had nothing to do with it.
Finally, on the thought that the grey cells cannot handle complicated plans and strategies, you decide to put your time to better use - sleeping.

Finally the hour of freedom arrives, and the prof sighs a breath of relief, "kuch lete kyon nahin" he asks, when faced with a blank stare, he elaborates " your snores were disturbing the class"
Sheepishly you walk out to notice that its raining, and not your "Im taking a piss" raining, its is Raining - as in 'all the glaciers have melted due to Global Warming and decided to migrate to Bangalore' raining.
You shout and curse and abuse the skies and the city. October? Rains? WTF is going on? You think. The roads will be full of slush and traffic, you'll get drenched to the bone, your nose will ache, you will have a sinusitis that will stick to you in a fashion fevicol would have been proud of for the next 3 weeks, the doctor will find a new reason to add another floor to his mansion, the chemist will buy new clothes for Diwali.
You hate rains. Nothing can put you in a fouler mood more than a drop of a minimum of 5 degrees celcius and a rain that doesnt allow you to see your outstretched hand.

Switching on the Mp3, which plays an ironical "ni sultana re, aaya pyaar ka mausam aaya", you step into the milling crowds. What takes a hour and fifteen minutes, today takes you a three and a half hours to reach home, You could have watched a half Karan Johan movie (arent his movies usually 8 hours long? no? oh, then I guess its the Einstien's theory of relativity - every boring second would probably seem like ten minutes to me).
Anyways, as you alternate between loving the splatter of rain drops on your face,the beauty of nature, the brightly lit streets blurred by rain and looking like a scene right out of a story book and hating the cold and traffic and the nose which, by now has taken a color that would make a brinjal shy and is throbbing in pain - if only the nose had a mouth - you would have heard a wail worse than Shamita Shetty's 'Mind Blowing Mahiya' - thankfully, the nose doesnt possess a mouth of its own. You reach home, only barely... to park your vehicle, and step inside, dripping with water , take one look at mom, and faint at the door step.
(I am told two cranes were employed to lift me up and change me into something more dry and tuck me into bed.)
Brother tells you , you were delirious. you know he's telling the truth, because, he has asked you the location of a particular Game CD - which was supposedly a secret, but is no longer one, for he holds it in his hands.
Brother also tells you that you have let go of several "important" (followed by a wink) truths, in the moments of your mumbo-jumbo time.
A thermometer is stuck into your mouth, and shortly, an exclamation at the boiling point of water follows from mom. You try to explain the difference in Fahrenhiet and Centigrade and find your pillow.
Finally, the ratio for Gross Profit Percentage flashes clearly across your minds eye - it is
(Two soft pillows+ one teddy bear)/ (One warm blanket* soft and well made bed)

(Note : Im supposedly delirious. If this makes sense, give me a nobel prize, if it doesnt - well, which post of mine ever has?)