English Exam. The horror!!!

Sometimes I think that it is Mother English's way of taking revenge.

I have now passed out of school, and, till now, have avoided all nostalgic references to it, because of the understandable reason that I am not quite old-crock enough to do so.
But there is one aspect (and I have no doubt I will find more) which I defenitely would like to talk about.

English classes were always the best part of the day, at least on the days which didnt have PT classes. Our teacher was such a kind and nice person that her protestations and anger would have absolutely no effect on our talking and behaviour. We still would beat each other up, we still would spew abuses across the classroom, and we still would poke fun at the lessons we were made to read.
For many people, such a thing as an English notebook was non-existent. For me, I possesed only one out of the three text books I was supposed to possess.
So, as you might imagine, English was a pretty laid-back and unimportant affair, something we never took seriously.

I think English had us back on the day of the exam. And no, the exam was never difficult, I am not referring to difficulty here, I refer to another factor which is chilling. The Boredom.

3 hours. 3 horrible hours sitting in an exam hall, after having rushed through the passage excercises and prose section at top speed, we come to the writing section, where we are asked, for example, to write an essay on how the tourism in Thailand has progressed since the advent of electric tuk-tuk's, or how the 'ancient culture' of India has been rendered meaningless ever since the youth started wearing 'jeans and t shirts', or how agriculture has progressed since the advent of scientifically modified seedlings, or how 65% of students between 14 and 16 years old eat more potato chips than their counterparts 20 years ago.
Sometimes I think they select the topics on purpose. They sit down huddled in a tight group aorund a small table, passing around chits with names of boring topics written on them, and chuckle to themselves each time they come across a particularly boring topic. " Imagine the look one their faces when they come across THIS one!! Oh, WONT they be crying with despair, haha!!", and in such a manner they will converse.

So I sit there, my mind blank, trying to think of a way to pass the time. The invigilator has started to yawn helplessly, and stagger around in a sleepy stupor. Obviously, the effect has started rubbing off.
I try to stare out of the window. The invigilator, sensing this golden oppurtunity, rushes at me with an animal roar, telling me to look at my paper and nowhere else. Foiled.
I cant even hum a tune. I feel lazy to think. I cant lie down, because the invigilator will think I died, and call the authorities and rush me off to the office. I cant doodle fantasy cars, because I will be shouted at. How DOES one pass the time?

The 3 hours eventually pass. I while away all the time until the last ten minutes when I realise that I have 2 letters and an essay to do, and start scribbling away frantically, snarling at the invigilator for additional sheets. I set one or two on fire, and fling them away, and ask for replacements. My mates aroudn me point at me, the thought foremost in their mind being "Boy, look at Hari. He really must have studied like hell. Look at him go!!"
The bell rings, far too soon. I am still writing frantically, my pen is a blur. The invigilator starts threatening those who are still writing. I manage to finish just when they start telling us they cant accept our papers anymore, get up, rush towards them, and give them the paper, muttering about how they really should give us more time to write english exams.

Outside, I am all professionalism, complaining about the lack of time, musing about whether I should approach the authorities telling them to give us more time. Of course,all that is forgotten in half an hour, and yet another terminal english exam passes.

Sometimes I think it is Mother English's way of taking revenge

My First Crash

Everyone has one. When one is a few months into riding/driving, and obtains a fake confidence that he or she is completley aware of their vehicle's limits, and feels that his or her driving skills are unsurpassed as far as driving their machine is concerned.
When the vehicle is generally a safe one, and has a depth of ability that most sane peole would not dare to venture into, there isnt a problem. When the pilot is a bit lacking in mental ability and in posession of a safe-handling vehicle, a serious crash may result.
That possibility was ruled out in my case because (a.) I am certified to be sane and in possesion of a brain ( the latter qualifying the need to include the former) and (b.) My vehicle's limits, though not very clearly defined, are not that tough to reach. Which means I wont crash at a million miles an hour.

So to the incident under discussion. There is this place where I turn off from the main road into a street which I must travel through in order to reach my house. In my beginning days, I would attack this corner with utmost caution, nursing my 2-stroke scooter gingerly through it.
As the days (and 2 months) passed, I became more and more confident. And failed to comprehend that there might be a limit to the cornering speed (as my Physics teacher tried to explain to me on numerous occasions) and that the vehicle's handling may be severly compromised once water on the road were brought into the equation.
So I entered the corner at 25, which isnt too bad if you think about it (even though it was a 90 degree blind turn). The stupid part was, I gave full throttle in the course of my cornering procedure, sending my scooter's rear end swinging sideways in a pendlulum effect. It was pointless to try and control the spin, so I concentrated on keeping myself unhurt. Which I did, when I skid along the ground to a noisy, grinding halt.
So I was getting up and dusting myself off and convincing myself that I was not broken and the bike wasnt, when I heard barking.
And there it was, a scraggly looking street dog barking his dirty little head off at me. He obviously did not like me intruding into his area in such a ghastly manner, and was registering his feelings most vehemently. I had a hunch that this dog backed his barking with a strong bite, going by his threatening advances, so I made haste to pick by bike up and get going. Thankfully, I found the engine running, and was off before you could say "bengalooroo".
The dog gave chase, as I accelrated away in a medley of dust and engine roar. I ws sure he would catch up with me in no time (dogs have a 0-40 time of an incredible 1.7 seconds), but, luckily, a passing good samaritan found the time to divert the dog's motion by shooing him away from his desired path.
Freed from canine danger, I fled. And learnt a very important lesson.