“ Someone is knocking at our door, Keen, in a queue, to enter patiently, It covets something more, Tries to blow our hair prodigiously. Our fear doubles and triples, Although, it is not scary at all, Our heart ripples, But it is a piece of cake to take a call. Not only toppers but also backbenchers, Buy the bag of nervousness, We all are quenchers, To this fire of examness. ”