The wonderful weather, the fresh air, the radiant sky and the colours all around ... did you notice them?
Ladies and gents, spring is here!
Yesterday, I was out on the balcony. I was looking down the road. There was a little boot polisher with his small crate of brushes and polishes on one side of it. On the other side, there was a sage in yellow clothes seated in the tiger skin.
A customer and a worshiper came to the polisher and the sage respectively.
The polisher began his job. He placed his customer’s foot on the high hedge and started shining his shoes. He brushed off the shoe with the hard brush to remove the dust. After it was done, he took a soft brush and relentlessly brushed it across the shoe. He then applied some polish and then again went on with brushing. After five minute, one shoe was done. He then politely asked for the other shoe.
The shoes were all done. The customer took a five rupees note and handed it over to the polisher. He happily took it and put it in one of his inside pockets. He sincerely smiled at his customer and thanked him for his generosity.
The sage was also busy. He was moving his hands around and uttering incantations and mantras. He was trying to chase away the dark spirits.
The worshiper took a fifty rupees note and placed it in front of the sage. The sage threw a dirty look at money.
He reluctantly took the note and put it in his inside pocket. He then chained his pocket and double-checked it to make sure it was safely done.
The worshipper stood up and headed away. The sage did not bother to look up and give him final blessings.
Another customer and a female prayer came to the polisher and the sage respectively. The boy sincerely started his job. The priest was eyeing his client maliciously. He was trying to peek over the loose blouse of the female prayer.
After the job was done the boy got another five rupees note and the priest got a new crackling five hundred rupees note.
-Tilak KC
The sketch for the story is by Shreekrishna Sharma. You could find his works in http://www.ckizna.bravehost.com
Hopefully a break from work, a break from boredom and a break from all things academic. Break from university? I don't think so! Half the university is heading to Mallorca and the other half to Barcelona (the BRIMUN gang remains at the uni), so the chances that we all still manage to run into "people of 80 different nationalities as we walk around" (so wanted to use the brilliant catch phrase of our university) remain quite high. If I were into statistics, I might have given you a more accurate answer but being a computer scientist I shall remain with the tried and tested methods of probability.
Wondering why I titled it as deadwood? Look at the blog, last post was over a month ago! Highly disappointing for a college with 190 sets of grey cells floating around. Hard to imagine that not even 10 of them would be interested in sharing their experiences with everyone. Or have we turned so mundane, so monotonous that there is nothing to talk about? Hard to believe that considering the number of interesting events we have had over the past month. There was St. Patrick's with the dance and the Guinness, there was the Mercator Art Competition which featured nearly 30 diverse submissions and there was the Theatre Play thrown in between as well. And of course, not to forget the cheery cheer ups which, if the turnouts and the testimonials from members of the other colleges are anything to go by, are simply the best in the whole university! (need to brag a little, don't I :) ).
So guys, pick up your pens (or should I say fingers?) and start blogging. It's not that hard, it's not that tedious. We know you are out there itching to write and if you don't come here, we will come and get you!
Hope you all enjoy the spring break (which was apparently cancelled in an acrimonious decision on the historic day of 1st April :P).
Cheers
Rahul "I want you to blog" Jain :)
Original Author: Eva Ben
Bonjour tout le monde, comment ca va? we have two Moroccans, two and a half indians, and me. the topic of discussion is about spring break, time zones and resolutions. Smells like burned dough in the kitchen. bien venue to the mercator college office, friday evening.
Eva :)
5382. That was my phone number for two of the best years in my life - so far.
My phone number in Mercator.
Funny how many things can change in no more than a half year - may be 8 months. College life, graduation - these things seem more than a thousand years away. I am living a new life, new goals, new story, new dreams in Munich. The Munich Diaries - The Story Continued. Believe it or not, this was the first phrase which came to my mind when Rahul sent me the link to this blog (Many thanks!!!), with all the old posts carefully copied on this new home of Mercator College's student mind...
There are some things to which one always come back. This is, in my eyes, from my mouth, pretty exhausted, worn out phrase - I kept telling it to some of my dearest friends when I decided to leave my home Bulgaria for the second time last year, after spending the summer and most of the autumn drifting in the unidentified state between Graduation and Real Life (tm). Gosh, how hard was it this time around. But I wouldn't like to go into details - whenever the nostalgia falls hard on me, I remember what one girl, among those aforementioned dearest friends, once told me: Don't worry, we'll meet again. We are seeking souls, and seeking souls always meet one another...
Anyway, I just wanted to share with all of you folks that I have not forgotten you, or Mercator, or you in Mercator, and I doubt I will soon do... if ever. The MCO Experience was a defining one for my path through life so far, and although I am perfectly aware that time goes in only one direction, I also like to think that Mercator is somehow a part of my present. Count this as the #0 post - I'll do my best to keep on contributing stuff from over here, in friendly, beer & FC Bayern Muenchen obsessed, beautiful Bavaria...My phone number in Mercator.
Funny how many things can change in no more than a half year - may be 8 months. College life, graduation - these things seem more than a thousand years away. I am living a new life, new goals, new story, new dreams in Munich. The Munich Diaries - The Story Continued. Believe it or not, this was the first phrase which came to my mind when Rahul sent me the link to this blog (Many thanks!!!), with all the old posts carefully copied on this new home of Mercator College's student mind...
There are some things to which one always come back. This is, in my eyes, from my mouth, pretty exhausted, worn out phrase - I kept telling it to some of my dearest friends when I decided to leave my home Bulgaria for the second time last year, after spending the summer and most of the autumn drifting in the unidentified state between Graduation and Real Life (tm). Gosh, how hard was it this time around. But I wouldn't like to go into details - whenever the nostalgia falls hard on me, I remember what one girl, among those aforementioned dearest friends, once told me: Don't worry, we'll meet again. We are seeking souls, and seeking souls always meet one another...
Wiederschauen!
Ivan St.
Tilak KC
Education has been the only escape for me.
I was raised in one of the most primitive village. I had to walk two hours to and from school daily for my primary education. We had no shoe or slipper to assist us. I still remember those cold winter morning when my feet would burn with cold on my way to school. The sensation of feet would go numb after a while. By the time I reached school I had to run to the fireplace to warm them up.
I wore a grey short and a blue shirt to the school. I had a small brown sweater on top of the shirt. Everything was fine in summer. The torn parts of shirt and sweater on my elbow would act like the ventilators. The space below from the shorts would allow the air to pass up cooling the under stuffs. But things got quiet difficult in winters. The cool air of summer would get really cold in the winters. And the under stuffs and elbows would virtually freeze on the way to school. My parents did their best to patch up the torn parts but those patches were never as good as the new ones.
The classrooms were big empty rooms. There were home made rugs and carpets on the floor. There was a single chair and a blackboard for the teacher. The school didn’t have sufficient class rooms. Whole of the class had to sit in a single room. We were two hundred in our class and we had to cramp in a single room. The books were freely distributed by the government. The copies were expensive. We mostly used a slate. Slates were reusable. We could write on both sides of it and then erase it after showing it to the teacher. We used to run to the river to collect the chalks. We used to collect the special white rocks that could be effectively used as chalk.
I loved going to the school. The walks were difficult the mornings were chilly but the idea of going to the school was beautiful. There were only few children that went to school from our village. And it really felt great walking out in the morning with a slanted bag and a water bottle on my hand. The new things learned at the schools were very much appreciated by my parents. My father would repeatedly ask me about it. And I felt a sense of pride in retelling him with every inch of detail. He would then look at me with ardent admiration on his eyes. He would then carry me on his shoulders and we would head for a walk. This always drove me to get the best in the school. The schools were fun too. I loved learning new things. I heard about the buses and planes for the first time in school. That day I pestered my father to tell me each and every detail of the bus. By the end of it, I had a beautiful picture of house like structure with four wheels and many windows walking through the hills. I read about the capital city Kathmandu for the first time in the grade two. That night I dreamt of going to the capital with my father. These fascinations and desires always drove me to the school.
I was raised in one of the most primitive village. I had to walk two hours to and from school daily for my primary education. We had no shoe or slipper to assist us. I still remember those cold winter morning when my feet would burn with cold on my way to school. The sensation of feet would go numb after a while. By the time I reached school I had to run to the fireplace to warm them up.
I wore a grey short and a blue shirt to the school. I had a small brown sweater on top of the shirt. Everything was fine in summer. The torn parts of shirt and sweater on my elbow would act like the ventilators. The space below from the shorts would allow the air to pass up cooling the under stuffs. But things got quiet difficult in winters. The cool air of summer would get really cold in the winters. And the under stuffs and elbows would virtually freeze on the way to school. My parents did their best to patch up the torn parts but those patches were never as good as the new ones.
The classrooms were big empty rooms. There were home made rugs and carpets on the floor. There was a single chair and a blackboard for the teacher. The school didn’t have sufficient class rooms. Whole of the class had to sit in a single room. We were two hundred in our class and we had to cramp in a single room. The books were freely distributed by the government. The copies were expensive. We mostly used a slate. Slates were reusable. We could write on both sides of it and then erase it after showing it to the teacher. We used to run to the river to collect the chalks. We used to collect the special white rocks that could be effectively used as chalk.
I loved going to the school. The walks were difficult the mornings were chilly but the idea of going to the school was beautiful. There were only few children that went to school from our village. And it really felt great walking out in the morning with a slanted bag and a water bottle on my hand. The new things learned at the schools were very much appreciated by my parents. My father would repeatedly ask me about it. And I felt a sense of pride in retelling him with every inch of detail. He would then look at me with ardent admiration on his eyes. He would then carry me on his shoulders and we would head for a walk. This always drove me to get the best in the school. The schools were fun too. I loved learning new things. I heard about the buses and planes for the first time in school. That day I pestered my father to tell me each and every detail of the bus. By the end of it, I had a beautiful picture of house like structure with four wheels and many windows walking through the hills. I read about the capital city Kathmandu for the first time in the grade two. That night I dreamt of going to the capital with my father. These fascinations and desires always drove me to the school.
This article is the excerpt from my upcoming book..Fairytale..
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