Part 2: My China Diary

Reading prequel is mandatory before the sequel ;) !

“WHERE'S THE FLIGHT?” DEBACLE
This is bound to happen in any humongous airport, and might have happened afore. 

Location: The never- terminating Indira Gandhi terminal
Air India, as is regulatory for them, was 5 hours late. In the wee hours of dawn, we slept on the waiting couches. An hour and a half before boarding time, couple of us woke up and proceeded to the gate. When our ever-caring friends woke up later, they found us missing. Satish (one of ‘em) advanced to the ‘Announcements’ receptionist and convinced her the boarding time had started. I was hopelessly taking photos, when the speakers echoed, “This is the last and final boarding call for K.Aditya Das for the flight AI 349. Please proceed to Gate 3 immediately.” Stunned as I obviously was, I checked the gate and the time and the flight label. All were correct! How come they didn’t tell me to get in earlier? As I kept wondering, rest of the fifty odd passengers waiting at the gate, who were already infuriated with the delay, started yelling, “Where’s the damn flight? Why dint they inform us? How come we dint get in? WHO’S DIS ADITYA AND DAS?!!” I receded from the mob, at times I too repeated, “Who the HELL is this guy?” The AI officials arrived and were at a loss in trying to calm them down.  I took pity and raised my hand. The relief on their faces when the blame shifted to my friends…man, don’t Indians love the blame game!

“Bhai, aap ladka hai na?”
Tired and sleep-deprived, Satish walked in vain in search of a toilet in the Indira Gandhi Terminal. I found one of those he/she signboards and pointed it out to him. He strode forth and then turned around to ask me if it was a male toilet. Before I could say ‘yes’, he looked inside and saw a guy doing his business. He asked him, “Bhai, yeh guys toilet hai na?” (Bro, is this the guys' toilet?")

Yashpal Singh- The Negotiator
We had this grand individual among us; he was several years elder to us but never expressed his seniority – but such people I strongly advise to demand the required respect – ‘cos sooner or later, we, the younger twerps, are gonna treat you like sh*t! He had several names – the priest, the cook, angry young man, photo-man etc. But his ultimate trait that we came across was during shopping, or precisely, price-negotiating. On a usual weekend we were at the hub of electronics duplication, Hua Qiang Bey (in Shenzhen) - Thousands of stall-like shops in over ten buildings, possibly  hundreds in a single building itself, sprawling to at least 6 floors, strewn in a single shopping street of not more than 300m.

The intention was to buy a fake iPod Nano. We were 10 in number. More the amount, better the discount. Negotiating is a skill possessed by few. When they say 1000 (yuan), we start at 100. Presto comes the exchange of tempers. They tell us to go away. We begin the slow motion walk backwards. They might swear at us but that’s the one time you are happy to not know the language. Then they call us back. To stay, prolong the process and eat their head till they stumble to our final price; THAT’s where the skill lies.

We were in for a treat; we were to hear some of the most ridiculous comments ever.

 “You, mai goood fraaaannd” (Some of us do this; speak English alien-ly thinking they would understand it better!)

“We buy 10 now, 100 tomaaaro.”

“Prraaaij bery haai…Make low, make low!”

“I am from ZTE, look theeeessh. ZTE baaay mooore.” (shows off our tag, in what weirdest of dimensions would a telecom company want fake IPod Nanos?!)

Finally the vendor pulled his hair and a couple of strands came out. I thought Yashpal had sealed the deal. No nonsense, 100 minutes had passed. When he gruffly packed them, Yashpal blurted…

“I WANT THREE YEARS INTERNATIONAL WARRANTY!!!” (Heh, not one, but three and that too an international one, for a fake! Wonder if they duplicate warranties also…)

Very few giveaways!

“Can I have your…WAIT A MIN!!!”

We went to this highly Indian-recommended club; most clubs we had visited till then had girls in their late teens – most of them either college students or party freaks. We witnessed a scene beyond the wildest of nightmares; 40-year old ultra-despo  white-bearded Indian buddas on the dancefloor with plump stationary bellies covered by extremely-stretched shirts, unbuttoned at the top where their overgrown chest hair danced alongwith the flabby arms like flapping chickens, tight jeans with heavily-buckled belts and to top it all, leather boots. It was one of the times I would have preferred watching the worm-eating in AXN Fear Factor. We belched and looked around for female company. There were Russians, Americans and Chinkis; all slightly aged but gorgeous and sexy. Weren't they getting bored not dancing? Anyways some of us proceeded to try our luck. Ashwin spotted one and got cosy with her after exchanging few words. Rest of ours eyes on Russian belly-dancers, a sight we knew we might not relish again. Ashwin on the other hand came back after a while.
“Kyun, kya hua? Jaake chance maarna?” (Why, what happened? Not flirting?)
“I thought I was charming. Kuch der baad woh mere ko boli – 100 USD for one hour!!”

My China Diary

Confucius had gotten tired of making the Chinese over and over (raise to 10⁹) again. He knew xerox was the solution, so He went to a vendor and asked (Remember Russell Peters’ tone):

“Aai van foutocaupy musheen.” (I want photocopy machine)
Vendor: “Haav vil dei divren-shi-ayte?” (How will they differentiate?)
“Dei oupan baba shp evelyver. Dei maik weed hailstaal.” (They open barber shop everywhere. They make weird hairstyle!)

Similar hairstyle is injurious to their identification (Wonder what would be the difficulty level of the Chinese version of 'Where's Waldo'?)

I ain’t joking. Barber shops are in plenty; moreover they have their own unique zebra billboard. Other peculiarities?

No birds, even to freaking chirp here. Maneka Gandhi should have been born here. Heck, they would have eaten her as well.

I thought Lady Gaga was odd. I saw the Chinese and realized her looks were the fashion statement.

Everyone looks like they are body-waxed and hair-straightened by birth. Vatika or Head & Shoulders won’t have to pay for those shiny, ultra-straight, pitch-black wigs for an ad with a Chinese actress.

Every mammal, reptile or insect here believes that breathing is the greatest punishment given to them by God. ‘Cos that’s the only prerequisite to land into the Chinese cooking pot.

Aah…I feel liberated, just like Chandler who blurts out sarcasms at the end of the episode in which he fails the bet not to criticize anyone for a week. (I’m making it clear that above comments are strictly humour-based and not meant to hurt feelings of any kind. ‘Cos you know, I don’t wanna serve time in a Chinese labour camp!)

Lemme start afresh.

China. An awesome place with great people, as well as a terribly-must-visit for people of all ages and genres – whether he/she loves partying, shopping, sight-seeing, trekking, etc. Other than the umpteen tourist locations in China, if you love casinos, you should head to Macau , or if you want the whole entertainment package of doing anything and everything in a short time, head to Hong Kong.

I have a lot of anecdotes to share, and since I have been bitten by the ‘Ramgopal Varma ki Sequels’ bug, and to save your precious time, I’m splitting this otherwise too-long-that-you-will-chuck-it blog. Without further ado, here I go.

1. “I WANT MY COIN BACK!!!”

This happened during the first days. A neatly clad Chinese woman in her forties came up to me and bowed her head. Thinking it was a customary courtesy, I too bowed back. She showed me a small utensil. I needed one badly, because we were cooking and let’s say I didn’t have the necessities. So I checked it, tapped it, weighed it, and I was content with it. I asked her how much, and she pointed one finger to me. I was surprised, “Wow, a yuan for this, totally worth it!” I gave her the coin, only to be snatched away from me, alongwith the utensil. I stood bewildered, “What the heck, daylight robbery!” Few seconds later I saw her offering the same thing to a passerby. Realization struck late, embarrassment later. Like Mohanlal’s classic dialogue in Kilukkam, “Ithu nalla STAAILAN PICHCHAKAARI!!” (This is one stylish beggar!!!)

2. MR. INTERNATIONAL
Many of us were on an international platform for the first time; we were training with myriad nationalities – Indonesians, Malaysians, Colombians, Mexicans, Turkish folks, etc. Oops, I forgot the Chinese. And the Russians (;D…\m/…). So it was upto everyone to make their own mark, and it wasn’t easy as there was 'competition'; we Indians were 25 in number, and there were max four from each other nation. Some of us were too forward, others ancient, in their ‘approach’ methods.  An example for the former; one of us bought a necklace for a Colombian gal on her birthday, that too on the second day of meeting her! There was this Russian who many tried talking to, but she being kinda a late ice-breaker got irritated. Then one of us, her biggest fan, tried to rise up to the occasion. He coughed, straightened up, walked slowly upto her and said the best that could come to his mind,” Excuse me, if my countrymen have in any way committed any action that might have caused any sort of disturbance, I apologize on behalf of India!!” Guess patriotism and gentlemanliness together played a far hand.

3. MISADVENTURES OF DASANOVA
(The above name was coined by one of my very desperate friends, when he wanted ‘tips’ for feminine friendship (that too, from me?!?!) as he grossly mistook me as a ‘Casanova’…)

I too had a few stumbling moments before success in befriending the international gals. One of them was when I tried notching a conversation with this hot Russian who was fond of literature. I got a golden chance to sit alongside her in a bus trip. She was reading Dostoyevsky (I was steamrolled by Pulimon when I posted this in Buzz) and by courtesy of our ever-idealistic Ullas, I had a faint memory of reading his famous ‘Crime & Punishment’.

Me: “You reading Dostoyevsky?”
She: “Yes yes, how do you know him?”

Me : “Oh who doesn’t! He’s a fantastic story-teller. In India most know him (:D). I am in love with his book, ‘Crime & Punishment', I regard it as his greatest work." (At this moment I chided myself for saying the last part, and prayed she would never ask the hardest question to answer, “What else have you read?”; a guy’s mind must be capable of thinking ahead and delivering clever comebacks in these situations, but unfortunately the best I could come up for cover was, “I was so much in love with ‘Crime…’ that I forgot about the others…”)

She: “Oh yes, that’s the most popular of his works. He has written a lot of other thought-provoking short stories.”

Me : “Okay, that’s nice…perhaps I should take to him since you said so…” she grins, and my inside told me, “For the first time in your boring life, Das, I'm proud of ya! Her name’s Smirnova, ooh, you could be rechristen yourself as Dasanova!” The mind, and time, were flying. I had to prolong the conversation.
“Who else do you read?”

She : “Fyodor on the most part. There are many other good Russian authors too. I haven’t read many English works though. You could recommend me some. Fyodor’s ‘White Nights’…that’s the one I love the most. It’s about…" (she talks on) In the meantime…Fyodor? Who’s this dude? Good going Das boy…next tactic? Now since she loves his work, I could fake reading his work also and praise him and we would be sharing the same taste, voila!

Me: “Now this Fyodor, what is he famous for?”
She: “Eh…what?!”
Oops, what did I say wrong? Quick, quick, troubleshoot you moron!
My eyes fell graciously on the first page of her book…it read FYODOR DOSTOYEVSKY…

Me: “Oh …ahem…what ELSE is he famous for?”
She: “Oh there’s his another…”
Phew, close shave! Your processor is improving, now you actually have a shot at J.A.M!

Sometimes, all it takes is a word to save a lie.

Hang around, there’s more to come...

A bus story

It was 6:30 pm. A rain-drenched Aravind waited expectantly at the bus stand for the penultimate bus to the stop closest to his home. He had shifted schools from the Middle East to Chennai a week back in order to pursue good entrance coaching. And he was starting to get used to what was going to be his routine for the next two years; school till 4 o’clock and tuitions till 6.

The bus arrived. It hadn’t pulled to a complete stop yet but the ‘getting down-getting in’ war ensued; a swarm of people undoing their umbrellas and trying to find ground leg-attacked by another swarm enfolding their umbrellas and trying to find the lowest step. Even if ample seats are available or the crowd is less, adults can’t resist the infantile or rather pirate-like temptation to get in by the roughest of means and grab on to a seat so dear like treasure, thought Aravind (who was swallowed by the mob).

He got one eventually. The bus was waiting its quota of ten minutes before the next bus arrived; the conductor shouted out the parrot-phrase route and gestured at every passer-by to get in, as if his was the only bus to utopia. The bus had gradually become full when a drunken man in his sixties wobbled into it. He didn’t have to create a scene; if you are drunk, you are the scene. Aravind looked on like everyone else as the weak hands desperately found the climbing bar and heaved the body up like a saggy sack of bones. The gossipers had already begun maundering his past; soon Aravind learnt that his only son and daughter-in-law passed away in a landslide not long ago, and he spent most of his pension money quaffing alcohol at the bar while his wife mourned at home. Creating a scene is like hitting a Google/Wiki search button; one click and instant information, simpered Aravind.

He was in, finally. He paused for breath and balance; his sight glided through every occupied seat as his eyelids trembled to stay up. Aravind remembered he was in the ‘Senior Citizen’ seat; a streak of courtesy flashed through him. Though no one cared about the label of one’s seat, at least my stop isn’t far off, Aravind reasoned to himself. He got up and motioned the old drunk to sit; he didn’t comprehend at first, but Aravind nudged him into doing it. His cheeks widened and the wet lips slightly opened to expose the few remaining teeth he had; Aravind acknowledged it as a smile.

The whistle blew. The bus chugged into gear; the conductor jumped in the last after being sworn at by the driver of the recent bus for not taking off earlier. His process of collecting tickets reached the old man; when he understood he was drunk, in an instant his composure changed, and he asked gruffly, “To where?!” He knew where the old fellow was headed to; he popped the question to test his state of intoxication. He was sober enough to answer and take out the ten rupee note out of his shirt pocket. The conductor did the act of rummaging his bag for change and squeezed ahead.

Minutes later, a small scuffle commenced. Aravind looked back only to see the drunk elbowing people trying to get into his seat. His eyes fell on the boy; his bony fingers then wrapped themselves around the fleshy muscle of Aravind’s arm, and pulled him to the seat with quite some force. “My stop is only a little away, grandpa” stated Aravind. “Till then you sit, son…” piffled the old man, “my stop is next…very few kids have courtesy nowadays…they must be encouraged to continue their deed…and pass it in future…I want to die a good man…and good men must return gratitude…I don’t have much time left in this world…and so I help you now itself…I don’t have any means of repaying otherwise…” The bus screeched to a halt; the old drunk got down and was on his way, still walking clumsily but briskly. Aravind had registered the unordered flow of sentences; he thought about it for a moment. Experience and wisdom grew with age, but maybe it takes an eccentric to actually impart them, he said to himself. With an added sense of pride, he got up to offer his seat to the standing disgruntled elders.

Raavan Review

Modern-day Ramayan adaptation?

Haha Mani Ratnam…you got me there.

One expects certain routine things when you go for a Ratnam-Rahman combo…an awesome background score, a different topic, beautifully photographed songs, unique lighting…and guaranteed substance.

Most of the above goes same for this movie, except for the story. It ain't a 100% rewrite.

What I feel Ratnam has done by claiming a Ramayan-ripoff is a great promotion strategy for the movie. Because you have registered in your head that it is indeed Ramayan, you know what’s gonna happen to Beera(Abhishek Bachchan), and you try connecting every new character that appears on screen to the epic saga. What then happens as the movie flows, is a normal Bollywoodish narrative converting itself into one with unexpected twists and turns. I mean that it is a simple story, but it is different because you are thinking different with a foreseen ending. Now that’s an idea sirji!

Abhishek comes off again with a stellar performance. I was convinced after seeing 'Sarkar' and 'Yuva', that he’s not another actor basking in his dad’s already-carpeted glory. Aishwarya Rai(as his wife Raghini) also puts forth a fantastic performance. Vikram(as Dev, the righteous cop) does well too. But Beera’s charisma outclasses them.

Now, about the movie. It is a visually extravagant art film with a not-so-strong plot. First of all, MIND-BLAASTING CINEMATOGRAPHY…bravo SANTOSH SIVAN & MANIKANDAN! A tad similar to ‘Before the Rains’, but if you had missed that movie, then prepare to get awed by a never-before captured beauty of south India, including the forests of Karnataka(Tumkur), Kerala (Athirapilly Falls), Ooty, Hoggenakal, Jhansi, Kolkata, Mahabaleshwar and in the Malshej Ghats in Maharashtra. Even with such a diversity in locations, there’s not one moment you feel that the scenes lack connection.

I am not giving away any synopsis, but I would certainly claim that nothing is overdone.

And that I had mentioned the story’s not unique, the screenplay isn’t outstanding either. The pace is slow in the first half, which gets intriguing towards the end. At times you wonder where the movie’s heading, especially at the intermission. But Rahman’s music doesn’t allow your attention to stray(I loved "Behne De") and his score simply enhances Sivan-Manikandan's magic. Some of the shots, especially at the climax, have been taken so breathtakingly that you suspect a Hollywood hand.

About acting other than the core three, none let down. Govinda didn’t have to perform much on-screen, thank you Mani! Priyamani justifies her National Award (for Best Actress last year) by remarkably enacting a role critical to the movie. Vikram’s and Priyamani’s dialogue delivery in Hindi were more or less flawless. Choreography, costumes, make-up(they keep on smearing themselves with either turmeric or mud!) and Ash's no make-up, Beera's brothers...all deserve mention.

If you are a person who judges a character’s pursuit and the influenced decisions he/she makes in a movie (basically who thinks too much!), there will arise debates about Raghini’s feelings, Beera’s doings and Dev’s attitude…but the decision of who’s right or wrong is entirely put to you. For me, it was all Beera.

I am yet watch Vikram as Raavan in Tamil, but I am assured that he’s gonna rock it. Jealousy erupts at the very thought of Prithviraj’s luck to act alongside Ash…so definitely some points off for the Tamil version!

CONCLUSION(according to me!) : Not Ratnam-Rahman’s best work to date, but it will be definitely remembered for Sivan-Manikandan, and the quality acting.

Dussssssssssssss mein se saath! (7/10)

MB Tops – A Panegyric

(This is a tribute to the time we spent at the top of the Main Buliding of National Institute of Technology, Calicut)

LOCATION 1: Hostel room

The days were numbered,

Nostalgia kicked in…

But Tintin always bickered,

“Whadda hell r v missin’?”

The night was young,

our folks were bored…

At once Raj’s arms swung,

“MB Tops!” he bellowed.

Following Raj* n’ Tintin were,

(*who led the way…)

Nair, Sreeraj, HP, Pakpak, Kishore,

Kolady, Bala, Fad, Prema n’ Josay!

We climbed up the stairs,

onto the roof of asbestos…

From the noise, we’d our fears,

To breakage, ‘twas close.

LOCATION 2: MB Tops

Pakpak took his bag n’

some bottles did thud…

We bragged in unison,

“Dude, u r my best BUD**!" [**Budweiser, you imbeciles!]

Coil et al we’d accrued,

(which we’re to cremate…)

Then to a higher altitude,

our bliss did elevate.

Fad sang many a tune,

Strings did Tintin tweak…

Kolady clicked the moon,

N’ a few took a leak.[onto the ATM!]

The dawn was born,

we stopped our chatter…

For the sky had adorn,

its best attire ever.

Myriad colours would twine,

like paints on a palette…

We lauded the Artist divine,

n’ plunged into sleep, quiet.

The morning grew slowly,

Kolady simply looked down…

Dazed he became suddenly,

for he saw the Director frown!

He forgot our case,

n’ left his precious cam;

What befell him was disgrace,

for all he did was scram!

HP got into the act,

at our feet we arose…

Prema fled hilarious, in fact;

with guitar, bag n’ pillows!

Bala tried to get down,

N’ stretched his knee…

“I can’t find ground!” (he said)

Much to everyone’s glee.

HP was caught in flight but,

with the cam you see…

“Sir, this is an archi project!”

He bought that easily!

All in all, I got to learn,

(a couple of things)

from the MB sojourn…

Wherever you are,

high or low...

Mosquitoes will be there,

to add to your woe!

Kanyakumari oft boasts,

of sunsets so beautiful…

Why go the distance,

is it really fruitful?

In my opinion pristine,

(after a bit of ponder)

To view this scene,

no need to go yonder.

Sunrises/sets are a wonder,

no matter where you watch.

All you gotta do is discover,

the right place to catch!

At this ode, perhaps

with words I did fail…

I think the following snaps,

will surely make you hail!

Oh btw, a panegyric

is an expression of praise…

This is one bad limerick,

I’m endin’ dis mental malaise!

CLICK http://picasaweb.google.com/adidash.88/MBTops

Back to drawing after a two-year drought!

Two initials entitled to be yours, forever...M.J.

Our very own 'Super-Villain'!

Preface
I like those serious comic book superhero descriptions; the ones in which they furiously and immaculately write about the character’s origin and powers as if he was one of the possible candidates to run for their country’s presidency. For example...
http://www.marveldirectory.com/individuals/s/storm.htm

I’m just gonna take a crack at this style of writing, and hope it works.
(Note: The character in the following story is almost purely non-fictional. Any resemblance to anyone else other than the person I’m intending to is god-forbiddingly coincidental, ‘cos trust me, two of them are as good as the world’s end! Facts given below are only 99.9% true, the 0.1% spice being the super-villain tag)

NAME: The Wailing Banshee
ALIAS (Real Name): Anonymous
AGE: 21 (Birth certificate-wise…mentally about 20 years younger)
HEIGHT: Not much
WEIGHT: Probably 50-60 kilos
APPEARANCE: Dreary looks, dreary face, dreary eyes, dreary everything.
COSTUME: Wears jeans 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year. Rumoured to having been born with it. And he possesses only 2 pairs of them. And for the extra day in the leap year, he wears a lungi.

BIO:

Origin is unknown. Legend has it that when he was born, he was the reason why the clan of white storks that once delivered new-born babies in baskets stopped their service for humanity. He consistently grumbled about being delivered in an aeroplane rather than being carried by these stupid creatures, and wanted to be born in a much-cooler planet, like Kryptonite. The stork couldn’t take it anymore and dropped him off at Trivandrum. He was actually destined for the Andamans.

EVOLUTION:

He was said to have led a normal life until the 2nd grade, when his math teacher introduced him to the negative ‘-‘ sign. He never used the plus sign since; he always expressed it as a minus of a minus. He derived immense power from it; the truth is as he tread, life around him began to lose colour. He frequented temple visits just to see an ocean of foreheads sandal-pasted with minus sign. Negative was the only aspect he saw; this continued until he went berserk. His brain was interjected with the belief that the grass is always greener on the side that he never was. Also he ran into the delusion that the forces of nature are all working in collaboration against his survival. He then proclaimed “With the advent of me, this world is going to be devoid of all its positivity, I am…the Wailing Banshee!”

POWERS:
1) Negative Energy Plasmoids: Ability to blast negative energy plasmas with consequences as lethal as brain damage.
2) Positive Energy Vacuum-Clean-ability: Can suck out all possible positive energy - any ounce of bliss in a person, leaving him with minimal options such as jumping off a cliff or driving a knife into oneself.
3) Negative Energy Imbibe-ability: Can absorb all the negative energy there is in the world; this increases the power of his plasmoids. His life is a never-ending fight to beat everyone else’s depression. So as a precaution, people, never look remotely unhappy, even if you broke up, or your parents broke up.
4) Super-stench: This is how his hide-out’s perfectly insulated (or quarantined!).
5) Cross-dimensional Awareness: He knows what everyone is doing anytime, anywhere. His movement is so stealthy that he inspects you for 10 seconds and then vanishes at once by camouflaging his shadow. You are left wondering,”Was anyone here with me right now?”

STRENGTHS:
1) Intelligence: This is showcased in two ways;
a) Resourcefulness: Drying underwear on the UPS.
b) Non-existence of actual Photo Identity: All databases in the world may contain information about him, but sadly they possess his wrong photograph. He achieves this remarkable feat by tirelessly ‘photoshop’ing himself in his every existing picture (Experts claim he increases the ‘fairness’, 'brightness' and 'contrast' features).
2) Ultra-pessimism: Ever read funny quotes about pessimists and optimists? Here’s one hilarious one; http://www.quotegarden.com/optimism.html
In his context, I will define ultra-pessimism.
“An optimist sees the doughnut, a pessimist sees the hole.” [Oscar Wilde]
Me: An ultra-pessimist won’t allow anyone to eat it!
3) Super-insomnia: Saves his sleep throughout the semester for his villainous ventures, only to slumber during the exams. Has been reportedly sighted several times sleep-walking at 4 a.m., in his lungi and shirtless.

LIMITATIONS:
1) Placebo effect: Easily gullible. Take an empty and labeled brandy bottle, fill it with coke and offer him that. He will get sloshed in minutes merely thinking it is brandy flowing down his throat.
2) OMG…that’s it!

HOW HE KEEPS HIS NEGATIVE ENERGY LEVEL IN CHECK:
1) He will discuss the answers to all the questions after an exam, secretly wanting each and every answer of his to go wrong, so that he could plunge into the sea of despair after that.
2) Won’t allow any source of happiness to overcome him. For instance, when he got placed in an IT company, the joy was only an impulse function. The very next day he whined about how the company was gonna overwork him, and that he didn’t have to bear through NIT to get this job!
3) The preeminent of all; Take the most serene part of his life, when he’s got nothing be worried about…he will make sure that he’s depressed – due to the fact that he’s got no reason to be depressed about!

Epilogue
Many a superhero has failed against him; after confronting him, Batman sold Wayne Enterprises and is now leading an isolated life of a monk. The CBI is perplexed; the suicide rates are increasing, and they don't have any leads yet. The Oracle predicts that one girl will eventually stand up for all mankind, and subjugate his evil powers by love. Who is she? The search is on.