"How Are You Doing Today?"

The other day, I heard about this young male journalist who works in Vidarbha. His mother told me. She's in town; her kidneys are in protest mode.

A couple of farms a few districts away are low on men this month. One of the MIA farmers is 25. Some valves in his heart need attention.

One go-to kirana store in a Nanded neighbourhood is unmanned these days. The owner can undergo necessary surgery only half a state away.

Almost everyday now, we make our way through wards full of occupied beds. Males, females. Ages 12 and above.

Youngsters, and then some who could be their grandparents. Parents who have long avoided hospitalisation because their kids would then be alone at home, without help. Middle aged men and middle aged women, with their middle aged siblings and relatives in attendance. There are teenagers, unmindful of the gravity of their stay at the hospital; their parents stand by and overcompensate.

The entire spectrum of backgrounds, moods, conditions, support and coping mechanisms, brought together on a floor partitioned a few times over.

Man hours slip by without hesitation, and daily wagers, with their implicit faith in our badgeless white aprons, ask how soon they can return to work.

Human lives, all with their own intricately detailed stories, surround us in those wards. And all we're equipped to do right now is record patients' histories. Onset, progression, duration. Aggravating factors. Relieving factors.

To talk, in a clear, friendly and systematic manner. Work out a provisional diagnosis. Tell yourself that you're quite the stud. Rinse and repeat.

The human angle kicks you in the face when you walk past a patient later that day, or the following day, no longer in need of their account of their illness.

When you choose to slow down to nod, to smile, to ask how they're doing. To ask if they've eaten, if the doctor has been to see them today. To ask that ailing teenager's mother if he has been troubling her too much.

And out of nowhere, with a gesture as small and commonplace as that, you watch as eyes light up - you discover that it's not just a figure of speech. Smiles split open resting faces, even faces of those who launch into a series of complaints right after. A cheeky grin sometimes puts in an appearance and you're struck by how right and happy it looks.

Who would believe this person has a file full of grim reports?

You grin back. Figure you're probably at the happiest bed in the ward. Then grin a little more because, well, you had something to do with it and modesty must not come in the way of wide grins.

Continue on your way, feeling like a total stud. Acknowledge that the patients and their relatives are studlier still, for giving you that moment.

Why, you'll be invincible once you can truly fix the cause behind patients' complaints. 

Invincible and intolerable.

The Girl Who Wanted To Do Medicine Mid-BMM

... got down to it post-BMM :)

And if she's being honest with you, she'll admit she's not always sure what got into her.

My path to becoming a MBBS student has been unconventional, to put it mildly. It's haphazard enough that I can't blame you for thinking I'm still flopping around without really knowing my mind. 

Summer '12, I graduated with a neat, journalism-heavy Bachelor of Mass Media degree. Bright future, healthy prospects, yay sunshine! Decided to do the medicine thing by July. Studied, got through, got started monsoon '13. Things happened.

One funny aspect of this whirlwind process was that my prep-time concerns had little in common with those of students alongside whom I prepared for the slew of entrance exams. (I also didn't own a fancy ass smartphone like all of them did.) After almost two years, I find that scenario amusing and alarming in equal parts.

For starters, I was extremely skeptical about my own decision to take up medicine. More than anyone else around me (parents were thrilled). Was it a knee jerk reaction, was I being rash just because I yearned a radical change, was I being influenced by transient influencers, would my interest in this program even last the duration of 5 1/2 years? Why MBBS, and why now? Messy mind, messy times.

[Fun sidenote: A quick "Why MBBS?" survey with a sample of maybe 30 classmates got me answers like big money, status, help people. Had the marks, parents pushed, didn't know what else to do. Parents own a hospital, a nursing home and 50 doctors already, so... giggle giggle. One guy even said he found this stuff interesting! I now think people find their reason for sticking with the field by the end of MBBS, seldom at the outset.]

Meanwhile, entrance exam prep was underway. Reasons and non-reasons aside, I wanted the assurance that I deserved to be at a "good" medical college. That I deserved a seat, and to be a part of this field. I also had to justify to myself the overwhelming generosity and support I received from family, friends, the boyfriend.

Through all of this, it never occurred to me to consider what would happen if I didn’t crack the entrances. I think I simply expected that I would, completely disregarding the 4 year gap from PCB and problem sets. Naive and in denial and what? Those who knew of the grand plan never once discussed the possibility of not getting in. It's almost as if it was a foregone conclusion in everyone’s mind. I now suspect that was a morale-building kindness on their part, but it's still something I marvel at. How could we not have discussed it!?

Crazy, crazy year. Didn't turn out all perfect, but I'm pretty damn happy about it. 

I'm learning about things I often wondered about. I actually get excited about concepts that are new to me. The human body is stuffed with delightful intricacies, and very little compares to the satisfaction of putting them together to make sense of actions and reflexes that we take for granted. I expect it's only going to get better as the puzzle becomes richer, more detailed. I'm in this place because I want to be here, and it's a very happy place.

Very very happy, indeed!

For the longest time, I kept this medicine plan off places like Facebook and this blog (I started a second, secret blog instead - also something that no one reads) because I wanted some people to hear about this from me, in person. A lot of teachers from highschool era and BMM, some friends, some family. Most people I managed to get to first, some I regrettably didn't. 

But in the unlikely event that someone out there is actually offended they're finding out like this, via a blog post, my excuse is ready - the stark contrast in the typical response a newly admitted Ist MBBS student receives, and the response I tend to receive. 

Typical response - "Wow! Congrats, Doctor. Free treatment for me, yeah?" 
Despite receiving all these quip-like warnings about free treatment in the future, this newly admitted Ist MBBS student is so excited he wants to let everyone in on the wonderful news! Honeymoon phase.

What I get - "Um.. wut? You? But BMM.. Really? EXPLAIN."
Yeah, it's my own doing. No, I don't want or expect the typical response. I understand that this is a shock, not a surprise. But it is exhausting explaining things to every well-meaning inquirer from the start, all details included. Plus I've been busy, had a lot of studying to do ;)


Very little about any of this has been shared by me with very few current classmates. Sure, word probably spreads and that's okay - convenient, even. Some might find out via this blog post, as and when I start mixing on Facebook. Some might consider it a grand betrayal if they find out much much later. Can’t get myself to care about that right now. I suspect plenty will have happened by then to make my odd entry to medicine nothing more than a piece of trivia. Two seconds of fame and charcha, at most. Relating to my classmates - I no longer refer to them as "those kids" all the time - yeah, that's a whole different story.


I wrote this cheesy novella today because it's long overdue, because it's an easy way of EXPLAINing, and because I wanted a break from studying for finals haha. 

I don't really know what my advice to someone in the same (can't be that common) a similar situation ought to be. I can tell you it's a lot of fun to dive in headfirst. Doubts and misgivings are a part of the process. I promise you you'll get a kick out of it all even months and years later. Mine was a nerdy way of doing it, but it helps you realise that you really can take on anything - it's good practice, and trust me, you can never have enough practice. It is infinitely helpful to have a support system along the way, doesn't matter how small it is, or how self reliant you usually are. You become more appreciative, more grounded. And if things work out, you get to do something you're really into. 

As important as the logistics, if not more, is to have a good reason for diving in - even if it's one that you can't quite explain to everyone who asks. 

Those Folks Over At Aadhar

College (or more correctly, BMM) gives you a lot of funny things to do. When you're feeling smart, you turn those funny things into interesting things.


In case of us Journo students, a magazine had to be put together, the focus of the assignment being the design and layout. The University circular about vivas for the same actually includes evaluating criteria like Headlines style, Type and Colour. Obvious stuff, but I still stare at it every time I look at that circular, which is often. Yep, amongst other funny things, college leaves you with so much spare time that you keep reading circulars. Or maybe that's just me.


My magazine is broadly based on innovation. So much scope! E-commerce and online entrepreneurship one in one issue,  crowdsourcing and hatke marketing gimmicks in the next, maybe a special issue on facilities customised for senior citizens or teens - be it related to health, banking, side incomes or alternate tourism. Damn I wanna do this!


Since content for the magazine did not have to be written by us (something I found weird, writing is what we do na!) articles were lifted (with all due credit and courtesy) from tech sites, online magazines and in some cases, put together with the help of About Us and FAQ sections. The Caravan carried an interesting article on the nava job profile of workers at Aadhaar enrolment centres across the country. 

You are reading Page 30, !nnovate, October 2011.

What brought this up? Ma famille was to go submit the forms for the UID registration today. You know, finally get the ball rolling to have our own Aadhaar numbers - not cards. Yeah. The lady in charge there met with an accident on her way to work. The centre will remain closed for the next two days. Also, my father suggests I "chill out".

It's Okay To Not Relate

When some random person predicts that you will meet all sorts of people in college, believe. And when your prospective college promises you “immense exposure”, believe more.

After nearly three years of undergrad at a town college dominated by people from not-town, I do believe I have been on the receiving end of adequate exposure. No kidding. Why, day three of college consisted of something like this –

Yeah, I'm over my Blue Suede Shoes...

Okay, not quite like this. Picture the girl about eight years older and two feet taller, wearing the same skirt and a lost expression on her face. Okay so far? 

Now picture the same in the main corridor of a college library dominated by microbiology students normally intent on research... yeah. 

Now tack on a pose, something like this –

There's only so much a girl can cover... the library is the place to look it up!

It was probably the first time I didn’t laugh aloud for fear of interrupting an intense parody shoot. Turned out I might as well have laughed, would’ve contrasted the gaping mouths nicely.

-     -     -

I didn’t catch on to it then, that tendency to stare a little, laugh a little and then get on with my life anyway when faced with things I simply could not relate to. In retrospect, that’s what got me through college with my sanity intact. Sure, sometimes you reflect and take it from there, validating another popular claim – that college will change you. But if you’re lucky, a voice in your mind just tells you that it’s okay not to relate.

It’s okay to not want to hug acquaintances like exiled lovers reunited at long last. Especially when you see those exchanges take place a minute before your university exams begin.

It’s okay to not know the characters of sitcoms and dramas as intimately as you know the smell of your sweat. Both remind you of fresh flowers, both fade away. Pick whichever. Do remember, though, that your sweat is a part of you.

It’s okay to not litter your chats and contact list with hearts and ellipses and exclamation marks. There was a reason Beethoven wrote music fur elise, and not for ellipse. You and I are in on it, let the rest of the world be.

It’s okay to not care to socialise with the 60+6 students studying the same course as you, across years, across colleges. Yes, it would bring you contacts and recognition and potentially a gazillion people who could like your new status, but bringing yourself to things that make you happy is more important.

It’s okay to not talk about every cool thing you do. It really is.

It’s okay to not attend high school reunions if you decide you don’t feel like it. Facebook is still around to tell you who’s doing what, when, where and who.

It’s okay to not have a 1000 people on your friend list should you not care for the above information, because... well, just because.

A lot of things are okay to not do. Not because you’re in a position to pass judgement but simply because they don’t feel right to you. 

That makes it okay to draw up a list of what you don't care for. And lists, my friend, are what make blogs. Aye, it's still okay to not relate ;)

Too Much Scotch!

12:42 Belapur local and cab from VT. Okay?

No, not okay.

Not when the person you said that to doesn’t give a shit about just which train to take.

Not when you have a lot of time to go before you take a final call on which train to take.

And definitely not when you receive a reply that reads –

Exam kal se hai :|

I was always that calm, pulled together person where exams were concerned. Panic about misplaced pens, inadequate cheating supplies, nightmares about not waking up or reaching the centre in time for a big exam – I don’t think any of these ever plagued me. Even when I don’t have enough pens or enough time, I can stay calm. During the run-up to major exams, I cook and clean for the family, I watch movies, I do everything that could possibly make me worthy of a few crisp notes, if not a plaque of honour. But I don’t panic. No, sir. I’m that annoyingly calm exam-taker who actually dares to enter rooms looking pleasant, albeit late – yep, I’m that girl you’ve always wanted to choke.

Even when I have experienced the-feeling-closest-to-panic, it was because I couldn’t randomly picture a certain section of my notes the way I could picture all others - with line indents, punctuation and order of points, to boot. Or because... no, that’s pretty much the only reason. If that makes me a “nerd/scotch/scholty”, so be it. I like having my study material in place. Compiled. Organised. No shame there. It’s what I’ve been going on about for the last month. “I know the content re, but compile karna hai... so much work!”

Different matter that things didn’t quite go as per plan. Oh no, they sure didn’t. Over the past few weeks, I’ve baked and I’ve fried and I’ve popped thaaaat much corn. I’ve spent more time with the boyfriend than I did in the weeks before these – go me! I’ve pigged out and I’ve shopped and I’ve had “sister bonding time” with, well, my sister. I’ve talked until dawn and read the most assorted mix of things in months! I’ve caught up with classmates from junior college and released senti notes into cyberspace. More about the notes in another post. Point is, I’ve been busy.

Mom says these are ways I choose subconsciously to release subconscious stress about work and acads. I think these are ways I try consciously to foster healthy conscious denial about work and acads. But hey, she’s the boss. Though I do believe the notes are all organised up here, in my head. Aye.

But you know what the problem is? I’m still freaking out about having gotten the exam schedule wrong. Not even the order of exams, I got the frickin’ schedule wrong by a whole day! So yeah, I have an extra, unexpected day to study. I also have the worst kind of headache I’ve had in ages. I’m jumpy and dizzy and my head is still spinning. My mouth is dry and my throat is parched and I can’t stand how everyone keeps telling me to go to sleep. Writing this post was supposed to help; it didn't. I am abuzz! This just feels like a bad bad hangover.

PS – I’m not sure I spelt scholty right... it sounds like scall-tea, where scall rhymes with fall, but it’s derived from scholar, hence the schol to begin with. Autocorrect changed schol to school. See, it did that again! Meh. Guess I’m not a scotch after all.

Mera Hai.

“I am the King of Rome and hence, above grammar”.

Okay. So we’ve heard that one before. However, while the King of Rome has made his way into history textbooks world over, news of his direct descendants hasn’t exactly hit the newspapers. I therefore take the liberty of deducing and declaring that no one –barring he who can prove his lineage and his nominal claim to the Roman throne– is above grammar. No one may be ignorant of its intricacies and none whatsoever may disregard it. Or at least, that’s how it’ll be once the world is mine.

Picture a uniform world order of language. Let there be plurality but let it not corrupt what is. Big Brother from Orwell’s 1984 went overboard with Newspeak; what I propose is neither totalitarian nor restrictive. Freedom will still be yours. Use slang, but just not at the cost of expression, explanation and context. Abbreviate, but for rapid note making, not all talk and text. Speak the language of your choice but not by butchering another.

Boyzone crooned “It’s only words/ And words are all I have…”. They’re hardly idol material but I say if words are all you have, make them count. Make them worth the other man’s time. And make them right.

I am conscious of entering a zone rife with potential for political debate (and consequently, political mileage) and lawsuits on the grounds of invasion of privacy and violation of cultural freedom. But what I propose is as democratic and secular as you want it to be. And see, what with the world being my conquest and all, I’ll be the boss anyway.

Slowly and steadily the world will come to love and respect language. <rapid read> Laws will be drafted, acts enacted, officers appointed. A secret detection unit will work stealthily. There will come a day when the want and need for coherence will overpower the cooltah of SMS language. All will self correct and the dictionary and the thesaurus will be the new TOI and Guardian. Wren & Martin’s lost glory shall be restored! </rapid read>

Letters will be all the shapes the world knows. Vs, As, Hs and Ls will realign themselves to form paper clips. Q will be the new face of Yin & Yang. Isolation cells for juvenile delinquents will be B shaped, benches will form Es and swings for round bottomed duos will emulate Ws.

Social networking is a boon, yeah? Scores of opportunities to nitpick and fix lamentable language AND to identify, recruit and group potential grammar Nazis of tomorrow. Here’s how it’s gonna work for me.

Men of words shall meet with men of science. The outcome? The Stingray! Na na, erase all thoughts of irregular copulation; this will be an invention that’s a cross between Word’s Spelling & Grammar Check, a stun gun and ellipses (…) . Neon green exclamation marks will cover foreheads of repeat defaulters. Stingrays will do the rounds of the city. MO – Point Stingray at target, a red aura surrounds the target. Double click to shoot and see short, sharp bursts of (harmless, nowhere near fatal but decidedly impactful slime globs or) ellipses make contact with said target’s body. Spasms, seizures, motivation to fix all! Language edits itself! Perfection.

No really, when it’s my world, it’s gotta be my word.

It Isn't Just Me

I've spent the last day or so reading blogs created by friends and classmates. And I've loved every moment of it.

Even though the blog was a college assignment and therefore not optional, even the most reluctant of the lot have written about matters close to their hearts. I speak of things we connect to for that is what we know. It's amazing how their posts are throwing up anecdotes and opinions I probably wouldn't have known otherwise. 

He's probably my closest friend at college but it never occurred to me to ask Ketan how he first got into photography. 

Next up, accessories! I can admire them but honestly, I never know what to do with them. Neha put up close to a dozen posts about accessories and she actually had me reading! 

We all have this moment of awakening (or spark of rebellion =| ) as a result of which we decide to think for ourselves. We decide what we want, what we believe, what we aspire to be and what we respect. Sanchayan took the last and whipped up a beautiful series of posts. I'll admit I expected him to write about Man U and football, his choice of topic came as a surprise. 

Then there was Malavika's blog. I kid you not when I say I respect the girl. Anecdotes and opinions definitely put in a show when she talks of music, I'm glad they do.

Ninad killed it. His posts are a pleasure to read.
  
Anandita's theme was reminiscent  of the "South India has 4 states! All South Indians aren't Mallus!" tirade she and Malavika would launch into during our IV to Kerala this August =)

Anku's blog again was sincere. He takes a sight/event and talks about his perception and/or the inspiration he draws from it. Most of us would get too caught up in the profundity of what we're trying to say. Chances are we'd become incoherent even as we seek eloquence. He doesn't. 


I've read only a small fraction of the 66 other blogs our class has put up. I've mentioned some blogs that I hope will show up on my Reading List even after.


On a personal note, this collective blog chaos --the entire semester of Creative Writing, really-- has been a lesson in humility. I'm no more the only person who blogs. Somewhere there's a hint of insecurity creeping in; I need a new identity, stat! =P I'm aware that some of those who were previously considered "non-writers" by the class for reasons as obtuse as "He doesn't write, that probably means he can't" are actually doing a kickass job of it, often better than me. But it's great to read good stuff, particularly when it's put up by people you know and like. Odd as it sounds, it's inspiring.

These three months have also taught me to share what I write without feeling like I'm enforcing some sort of obligation (?) on the other person to read. I'm learning how to accept compliments gracefully (Note: I'm still learning so do pardon my awkwardness) and I'm learning how to let constructive criticism be just that, constructive. 
I think I owe someone some sincere gratitude.

And going by my past record, for a single post, that's one confession too many. I'm outta here. *scurries away*

You Are NOT Random!

That spark in your eye that charms them all. That natural laugh, however imperfect it may be. That genuine grin, infectious regardless of whether or not your face stretches like Jim Carey’s and whether or not you have funny teeth or even no teeth at all. That knack of saying something mildly offensive but getting away with it either because the irony of it all floored even the target or because people just didn’t get what you said. That wild impulse to do something forbidden or unusual, to go out there and shock your audience. 

You have all these things and more, but describe yourself as “random” and you instantly become less interesting to me than the toothpick stuck between your teeth. No, I do not have a thing for toothpicks or for teeth.

Wisdom.

 Am I just trying to revive English as I love it? Am I a wicked witch for going all Victorian and Book Antiqua on unsuspecting minds? Or, disturbing as it is, am I randomly ranting about things that bother me?

Us, Them & The Rest

The simple, sadahran group. Everyone's capable of being bitchy, that's only human, so we're not talking dudh ke dhule, no way. Not airheads either. Not even simple when I speak of how they dress. They have their share of fashionistas walking in looking like Africa, Iceland and China on different days of the week. Something I find difficult to relate to, but okay.

And the manifestation of the suburban's definition of "a typical bunch of townies", which again makes things difficult for me to comprehend. They just happen to live elsewhere. Most of them don't even hail from "town"! Someone hoping to get rid of this discussion would probably say they belong to a different "culture". That must be it. I dunno.

-

A class of 60. Rough segregation in the first 3 weeks. Come midterm, most can be found sticking to their "groups" like glue, tailing each other to the canteen, the multiplex and the loo. More about the loo groups in another post :| New entrants trickle in, take the total to 65. The modus operandi remains the same, only smoother and quicker.

So what happens when you are, for all intents and purposes, through with the first semester at a new college? By which time every kid has handed in a multitude of projects, eaten in all the cafes and eateries around, collectively bitched about certain someones. Well, by then, everyone knows exactly who they're gonna sit with, eat with, work with, hang out with, and not to forget, bitch with. Fair enough perhaps, maybe even universal, but it’s something that bothers me.

I'm not a proponent of the we-are-one-class-and-we-move-together philosophy. That's meant for idealists. And loo groups. It's not even like I'm left without people to be with and hence resent the grouping and fragmentation. And yet the differences and curiosity regarding each other fascinate me and the demarcation annoys me. 

It's all the small things. When a birthday is being celebrated, one group goes all out as they party, head down the wine and fine dine route. They're "craaaazy". The other group chooses to keep it simple (there's that word again!) but somehow seem to have just as much fun, if not more. They haunt Chowpatty and its chatais for a good few hours; go ga ga over the 'mini giant wheel' and Columbus' boat; down cheesy pizzas and neon blue butterscotch golas and share bottles of soap bubbles with kids whose first reaction to new faces is to stick out a grubby palm and beg.

I ain't out to judge. Not my place to. I have friends from both “groups” and I like them the way they are. A year into the course, I have fond memories of times with them all, memories of their kind of fun and talk. And even as I lean heavily to one side, I guess I'll continue to watch, find it amusing and document. Works.

BMM Stereotypes

Stereotypes, descriptions and my attempt to familiarize. Social service at it’s best. Here goes.


Stereotypical journalism undergrad? Clumsy, dazed, long hair; faded khadi kurta and a jhola. Add a pen hooked on to a handheld clipboard and horn rimmed glasses and our model is fit for Pictionary image banks.

 
Stereotypical student of advertising? Any self pronounced “creative” 25 year old doing his best to emulate a hep college going teeny bopper. Because really, most Ad schools are set up for engineers and B.A/B.Sc/B.Com grads who discovered one fine day, albeit 5 years too late, that at the end of the summer that refused to end (read: the summer post grade 12), they were standing in the wrong line, buying the wrong forms.

 
But wait awhile and ponder, what’s the BMM stereotype like? You want me to pick on my kind, on the media persons of tomorrow, on the ones hailed by Notre Principal bright and bachelorette, Ms Nichani, as the crème de la crème of her college? You want me to analyze those mysterious free spirits who never seem to do anything but “projects” (a much-abused term that’s thrown around like it’s the magic box that holds the answer to the one question* plaguing us all)? Those brave, bold souls who “dare to be different”? Do you need me to dissect the very definition of cooltah?

 
Why yes, I would love to.

 
And therein lays the glitch. I would absolutely love to shred the stereotype to pieces and give you a wall of text to go ROFLMFAO *gag* over but for the love of cinnamon (and that’s sucking ferious!) I can’t get myself to work out basic criterion for that elusive stereotype. A friend did suggest long-ish hair, Presley inspired sideburns and oversized glasses, but somehow I don’t think so…

 
So oddly enough, this post required research. Memory and good ol’ observation threw up some links, so here you go -

 
I’ve discovered that all of us take notes. Honest. It’s no wonder they retained 50% of the total grade for theory!

We have those who hurriedly scribble underlined, sometimes italicized, ever in order (and hence ever in circulation) notes on paper even as the prof swallows.

A rebellious few choose to compose megatexts on their overcomplicated, overpriced and hard-to-maneuver fruity QWERTY keypads - bogus internal marking for notebooks be damned, yessir!

The bird-brained bimbos make note of the week’s outfits – their own outfits, their “BFF’s” outfits, the class fashionista’s outfits, the faculty’s outfits, the watchman’s outfits... the last because they’re too bird-brained to notice the uniform. I told you.

Then there are the quiet ones who prefer to sit in the corner and watch the show - they’re the ones who doodle yet make note of the quirks and oddities of those around them and file them away for timely use. I would’ve put myself in this slot last year but now I’m not too sure about the quiet bit…

                                                                                                                                   

Also, we offer collective interpretative skills that would kill you and then some.

A word like “sublime” has kids with a background in Humanities envision graceful twirls and tutus, if not psychology with its dream analysis; most ex-Science students instinctively think of Iodine bridging the gap between the solid state and the gaseous. Commerce wallahs? Go find a dictionary, did you say?

That apart, we’re all anti-imperialism.

College canteens and snug eateries in a 15 mile radius do brisk business thanks to the stereotype. Stationery stores do too, as do the Xerox centers in the vicinity. Cyber cafes make a killing off us and cabbies couldn’t thank us enough.

Perhaps these weren’t really BMM-specific. Then again.

* = Whether or not a certain published professor’s scalp supports a wig.

FYI – Cooltah is the product of another idle BMM student’s mind, so there! Sideburns? Spot on. Oversized glasses? Just look around some haha! Results guaranteed.