TRANSCEND ™

Written by, Me (In italics), Challu(peace out, build up, epilogue), VIgi (guest), Gagan (guest’ guest), GPad(guest’sguest’s guest). We Won the 1st prize in journalism for this. ! Yo!

PEACE OUT:
“Sorry, sorry”, was his claim. “I have band practice, I’m running late, my performance is at 11:00, we don’t have a guitarist, I can’t come. I’m sorry.”
So here we are, one very horrible attempt on writing a report all by myself because one genius, doped jackass whom we call SB could not turn up.

BUILD UP:
One month of work as a volunteer, running around, carrying tables and dropping them, doing sound checks, playing with the lights, meeting juniors or rather ragging them, in a friendly manner of course – please I don’t want to go to jail for just getting to a few people. Then there was lots of tension, rejection, dejection, emotion and oops here I missed a punctuation; Sorry I know that was a bad PJ(poor joke). Anyways bunking classes, hiding from teachers, staying in college till 10 in the night nearly everyday, it was all good. This was the least I could say for a fest SO BIG called “UDBHAV- 09 Intra College Cultural festival”.

EPILOGUE:
One hour passed, I’m whiling away my time and then suddenly out of nowhere actually from the entrance there appears a creature with shabby hair, torn shoes and beads around his belly like neck. He came close to me sat next to me and now is telling me what to write. Say hello to..…….(a long pause) “SB”.

SB SAYS:
Dude! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be late! Gimmie COMP! GIMMIEeeeeee!!!!

BACK IN BUSINESS:
One act play. I’ve heard from several imaginary sources that many profound acts of insanity plagued the stage, flooded by lights arranged by a peculiar “Ashwin.” Apparently there were conceited boos that found solace every time the stage lights were punctually turned off and on.
One play, which caught the morbid interest of all the dipshits occupying the audience-chairs, was one called MAYA. (OOOOooooo! *eyes widen with awe*) The lights went off, the narrator in a deep sonorous voice began gurgling forth the part-to-be-read-out-without-actors-present, in a most menacingly intense manner. The crowd boo’d him off stage. Twice. “Vigi” (Who?) ran on stage and with straining attempts to save the play, launched his box in a most angry gesture, pulled up his pant, and wiped off his sweat and yelled “……….. hello!?” His psycho wife (not an actor), came on stage and cuddled up forcefully against a scary, hair-less, freaky baby doll. Vigi then skipped, most gradually, more than a page of his script, after which is regained respect in the eyes of all the common-passersby, by yelling “ I don’t want babies,….. in my pants!” and yanking the baby out of his “wife’s” belly and throwing it onto the closest judge. He smiled. His wife, nearing the end, forgetting to act, went full psycho, let her husband die and called him “dada?” after eating a sinister concoction of a cake. WHOA!
A “Jomy” armed his version of a public performance with a real life, true-blue (GASP!!!!) CAT-FIGHT!(on a red background!). I’ve heard that several shreds of clothes flew around the auditorium as the girls, immersed in their roles,showed no mercy to the moral sensibilities of humanity. The audience hoot-hooted repeatedly and quietened down into a disappointed silence as the girls regained their composure. AND! “Dhundu(H is not silent.)” seems to have taken a particular interest in the grains on the wooden platform, as she lied down possessed for a good, healthy ten minutes.
The next play, the best of the lot, one of the best rehearsed and directed plays with a universal message to people of varied ethnicities, and undoubtedly the pinnacle of all fine art performances, sadly cannot be reported upon as my source seems to have felt the immediate pangs of nature.
Gajji! Nimma Ajji! An innocent victim of circumstance, found himself in the Raichur Parlimentaly Jail of the United States of America. He was arranged by the warden into a cohort decorated with: Pee bag, who was sentenced to rigorous imprisonment for peeing on the well used suburban walkway. Mikhial Schoffielddeis (A gangster with tattoos of the warden’s office pinned onto his vest.) who came all the way from the Russian embassy of Bangalore to free his American blood-brother, named Linkoln Burried Ach(phlegm)mhed Ishfaklal Bedwetter, a Pakistani, who was arrested for explosive flatulence (It kinda went like… “uuurrgghh urrghhhh BOOM! .. excuse me…”). Finally Gajjini expressing is spectacular physical prowess, dug a …… hole. Paused. Forgot about it. Paused. Dug it again. The play then went on, blagh blaugh.
But MOMMY! I don’t wanna write anymore. EHe?
Signing off..
— SB
— ABC (Challu)

GUEST COLUMN:
Here comes the Man, here comes the man… (Christian wedding tune)
He’s so bored, he’s so wild
He’s stinks like an American in a pig sty….
Muhahahahahahaha….This is to certify that this is the most hilarious piece of trash ever written. And by certifying this I mean that I loved it but was too ashamed to say it because of issues relating to oligarchy, apartheid and homeopathy. This a special article dedicated to the skit called “no smoking……..(after that I stopped listening)”….Well I dint have to deserve the punishment of watching it again. It describes the life of a guy who doesn’t understand the beauty, the marvel and the magic of Nicotine. Hence the “skit” was stupid, irrelevant and doesn’t do justice to the whiny little sarcastic, pseudo-intellectual, erratic, eccentric thespian (The SB)
Thanks and cheers
Vigi (send my cheque by mail and make the beer cold)

GUEST’S GUEST COLUMN:
I haven’t read this piece of literary blasphemy, in fact I don’t even read my own (plagiarized) scripts, or pay attention to my actors or anybody for that matter. All I do is listen to my actors talk about their never ending escapades in ‘the jungle’ of love. Every one act play and skit staged this Udbhav (except my team’s) had something strange to offer to the audience and by strange I mean sudden decrease in brain activity resulting in drooling, hooting and cleavage gawking(not that the last part’s strange, I do it all the time). Writing for the guest’s guests column I would personally like to acknowledge Ashwin Ashok and Gurupad without whom we all would never have had the pleasure of being part of this disastrous day.(SB didn’t have the stones to stage a one act play this time around, he’s shifted to music ha! Ha! But watch out SB, Jomy is going to join you soon)
Cheers,
Gagan(Son of Gan)

GUEST’S GUEST’S GUEST COLUMN:
Ah. Never really thought I would be doing this again, especially after 7 days of torture at VTU. I don’t really want to write much. I actually won’t. This is just for kicks.
I’m done.
Cheers and Beers
GP