Whiny the Moo

Just a li'l something

2012-01-23T12:49:00.000-08:00

An unkind word,
For a li'l something I said.
A li'l something I wished for you.
A li'l something I don't want you to suffer
The way I have. And still do.
You're angry. I'm upset.
Apologise, I did,
Though not wholeheartedly.
I look out for you, my silly child.
Because I must. I look out for you
more than I do for myself.
Why, I sometimes wonder,
When you pay no heed to the love.
When you pay no heed to the tenderness.
When you look past the thick,
warm layers of love
I've wrapped around you.
For you to be safe.
For you to be happy.
For me to take away
all that bothers you.
Every speck of sadness
that threatens to hover,
A heartful of my love
to drive it away.
Why?
What's in it for me?
What's in it for you?
Except your gentle, carefree snores.
And a tearful night ahead of me.
All this, for a li'l something
I said.
Just a li'l something.

A tangled warp of emotions

2011-09-26T04:38:00.000-07:00

His undying declarations of love.

Her consistent refusals.

His pesky persistence.

Her impatient refusals.

His promises to keep her happy.

Her change in perspective.

His falling in love more than ever before.

Her seeing him in a different light.

His continuous proposals.

Her 'yes'.

His being over the moon.

Her being in love, finally.

His doing everything to keep her happy.

Her finally having found 'the one'.

His deciding he has found his wife.

Her similar thoughts on the matter.

His making her a part of his world completely.

Her finding communication a tough task.

His not spotting the problem.

Her bringing it to his notice.

His promises of doing better.

Her promises of working at it, too.

His taking her for granted.

Her resentment.

His hurt.

Her blind eye.

His cutting words.

Her cutting words.

His despair.

Her apathy.

His wondering what to do next.

Her knowing exactly what to do next.

His panic.

Her broken heart.

His pleas.

Her stony heart.

His uncontrollable loss.

Her tears.

His awareness of an unfilled void.

Her memory of him.

His memory of her.

Her losing her soulmate.

Oh, that gaping hole for life.

Didn't poop stop being funny at age 5, Delhi Belly?

2011-07-04T07:08:00.000-07:00

Perhaps being 24 has really made me older. Perhaps I’m not as ‘cool’ as I thought I was. Perhaps I’m not easily amused. Perhaps, just perhaps, I choose not to go gaga over something just because everyone else has. Or maybe I’m just a spoilsport.

I saw Delhi Belly over the weekend. Thankfully, shows at Fame, etc. weren’t available and we were forced to watch it at Cinemax, a modest multiplex charging 100 bucks a piece. I did turn up my nose at the theatre at first, but 20 minutes into the film, I couldn’t thank my lucky stars enough for the unavailability of shows in other theatres.

I missed the start of the movie by 5 minutes or so (by the end, I wondered why I didn’t miss all of it, but then, I digress). So Delhi Belly is your typical Bollywood confusion saga, where, in a nutshell an (important) package that has to be delivered to a gangster gets interspersed with…wait for it…a stool sample. Runny stool, if you must know.

Riiiight.

I don’t know about you, but I don’t like seeing live potty descriptions on the big screen. Neither do I like farts and other scatological sounds filling up my universe for an hour straight. And no, neither do I like hearing obscenities every five seconds. Also, I don’t like tasteless, not to mention unnecessary, sex scenes filling up the screen, either.

And no, not because I’m a prude.

But because, I think everyone more or less excretes the same way. And swears the same way, too. Any reason why I must pay good money to watch tripe like this in a cinema hall? Since when has poop been funny? And when was the last time you heard a movie was given an adult certification ONLY because of extremely needless bad words and random oral sex shots?

My grouse with the movie is just that. Take away all of the above from the film, and you’re left with nothing. A mediocre background score, a negligible storyline, some terrible acting (except Vijay Raaz) and a bad aftertaste. Why Delhi Belly? Because of the loosies it causes. Which in turn gives you an excuse for all the poop references.

Clap clap.

When your premise for the movie is so weak in itself, what more do you expect, really? I think I completely decided enough was bloody enough when Raaz neatly pours the runny stool sample into a napkin.

Haha. SO FUNNY!!! Let’s all ROFL, shall we?

Perhaps what amazes me more than the absolute mindnumbing bullshit on screen (shit, did I say?) was the IQ level of the audience that was present at the theatre when I was. Every swear word (everyday words like your chutiya, gandu, MC, BC, gaand, etc.) were being ROFLed at. People went ballistic when one of the characters washes his butt with orange juice due to the unavailability of water. AND SURPRISE! HIS BUTT WAS STUCK TOGETHER!

HAR HAR HAR HAR HAR HAR.

Let me clutch your neck real tight and laugh some more, please?

Our audiences have the IQ of a rotting cabbage. Or am I still crediting them with more sense than they deserve? It’s sheer deprivation of good, quality cinema that makes people find everything funny. It’s depressing what amazing ratings the movie is getting, from film critics, people I credited with intelligence and other assorted species that were to at least have the brain of cock (cock – rooster #Geddit? HAHAHAHA.)

It’s a vicious circle. Feed the audience shit – watch them lap it up – feed them more shit – because they lap it up.

And yeah, don't even dare compare this shit to 'The Hangover'.

And Aamir Khan, I'm sorry. I gave you a chance with Ghajini. But with Delhi Belly, I will hate you (like I hate the nonsense you've fed us).

Of Boobquakes and SlutWalks

2011-06-14T04:07:00.000-07:00

SlutWalk seems to be the new ‘Boobquake’. Twitter can’t stop talking about it, news sites are giving it a lot of coverage (I don’t know about newspapers, I’m going green) while I’ve even heard my fellow women passengers in the train vehemently appreciate a ‘daring’ and ‘bold’ movement like that.

So for the uninitiated, here’s your SlutWalk gyaan.

Just a few questions, though.

Does a man’s sexual beast awaken only when a woman is ‘half-clothed’? True that perhaps skin show excites him a little more than he normally would have been, but how about the zillion times I’ve been fully covered, in a three-fourth sleeved kurta and jeans, no cleavage showing, but still had a lewd remark or a boob graze strewn my way? How do you explain this molestation? The amount of times I’ve had to hit molesters on the head with the binding of my book till they wince is not funny. I can safely say I haven’t been showing any skin at any of those times (since I don’t wear revealing clothes), but have had my fair share of eve-teasing thrown my way.

The worst part? One generally can’t do anything about it. There usually isn’t any use retaliating when you hurl your dirtiest swear word back at these men, or worse hit back, because they’re generally used to all this and more. You do it for your satisfaction, but realize you don’t really get any. Slowly you get used to being molested like this, without it playing on your head all day. What do you do but get used to it really, except sit at home?

That is how sad the state of affairs has become.

But then on the other hand are the men who would never utter a lewd word about any woman, even if she was walking naked on the road. Laugh all you want, but I do know men like that. They’d help bash up anyone who troubles random women, let alone women who are their friends or family. Don’t we all know such men, too? Just proves it takes all kinds to make up the male species.

So how do you explain the mentality of a man, really?

And as women, don’t we judge other women who are provocatively dressed? I know I do. I judge a girl who’s wearing a really tiny skirt that barely covers her butt. I know I think a zillion times before I wear something I think is remotely revealing. “Is my cleavage showing?”, “Are the boobs looking too big?” Questions most of us ask ourselves each morning as we dress up.

Are we really as liberated in our own heads as we make ourselves out to be? We fear being judged by all and sundry when we wear certain types of clothing – and the fear rarely has to do with molestation. We fear how we are perceived by everyone around us. If we aren’t confident of whether what we’re doing is right or wrong, don’t expect anyone else around to reassure you either.

Remember, slutty is in the mind. You are as slutty as you think you are. No one else holds the right to call you that, as long as you don’t call yourself that, either.

Happy SlutWalking!

Every once in a while...

2011-06-13T03:52:00.000-07:00

(Forgive me for this personal, random post. Just need an outlet, and what better than my own blog?)

Every once in a while, you decide your life is perfect just the way it is. Every once in a while, you’re certain that the way your life is headed is just the way you want it to be. These rare flashes of insight are what keep you going, convincing you that the path you have chosen is right, the risks you’ve taken have been worthwhile, that you’re finally becoming someone capable of taking your own decisions. You heave a satisfied sigh of relief and try bettering yourself.

And then, every once in a while your belief in yourself is broken into a zillion pieces, when something you believe in, are proud of, is shot down by someone else. Someone you look up to, someone whose word is the gospel for you. And suddenly you’re not so proud anymore. Suddenly you wonder if you’re doing the right thing, if you were ever doing the right thing.

Parents, family, boyfriends, girlfriends, everyone close thinks you’re completely in the right place. But how much of it is the bias of their love for you and how much is the absolute truth? How does one go about pacifying self-doubt and self-worth?

Am I really good at whatever I do and take up?

Is there a way to ever know?

And then there are the friends. The people you trust with your life. The people who, whether or not they agree with you, will not judge you and hold stuff you tell them against you. Where do you go when someone like this does judge you after all? Phases you out, doesn’t want to talk to you apart from the bare essentials? Will you trust anyone with your darkest secrets ever again?

I don’t think so. If you were to learn from my experience, I’d say don’t tell anyone about stuff no one would understand. How much ever they claim they would. There are some things best left untold, best taken to your grave.

Trust me, it’s for the good of everyone concerned. Or not.

Losing you?

2011-05-20T06:40:00.000-07:00

I fear losing you.
Stupid cliche?
I think not.
Hackneyed?
Not anymore.
Scary? Not when it
Happens to someone else.

When it's you?
Shatters my world.

What world, really?

The one we've carefully
Built together?
Of the home facing the sea?
Where sounds of your
Laughter, are what only waves
Are made of?

Where love runs through
The hallways
Like a child, mischievous?

Where arguments crumble
Like our daughter's dominos?
Where you and I grow
To love one another.
Grow older? Better?

Where beauty fades away.
But love engulfs?

Is it the same home?
The same world?
Is it so brittle?
A mere domino,
Is that what it is?

Answer me this.
You owe me an explanation.
You give me some answers.

I know you have none.

Answer me this.
Wash me of my guilt.
Explain.
So I hate not my own soul.

Do this for us. Do this for me.
Selfishness, I seek refuge in you.
Wipe away my tears.
And I shall wipe yours.

For is that not what makes you and me,
My soulmate?

Of the life gone by and the life to be lived

2011-05-10T06:00:00.000-07:00

She stared out of the window, perched on the sill, staring at the trees that arched the road. The evening
was peaceful, the kids away at a camp, the husband away at work. She was alone, all alone.

Alone with her thoughts, she pondered about her life gone by, the life she was leading. The perfect life. She had chosen her career, her job, her husband, everything. Her parents, bless them, had given her all kinds of freedom. “I want to take up finance,” she’d told them firmly. Her mother was convinced she’d be better at languages, but never took away her freedom to make her life’s decisions.

She sighed. Maybe she needed some more convincing? Or maybe a mother who had controlled her life just a little bit?

After college, and hating every minute of it, she was now an investment banker. Whatever that was, really. “Little Ms. Finance and all that”, her friends mocked her. “I love finance! What makes you think I don’t?!”, she asked, sounding more convinced than she felt. No one else was convinced either.

What were her talents, really? She could converse well, loved the languages, was good at them and loved to read. But were these talents? Not unless she did something useful with them.

The clock steadily ticked away. Her thoughts strayed to the life she could have led. Settled in some strange land, where no one knew her, where there would be no prejudices, no pressure to please and fit in. Some place that would consider her plain looks exotic and not just another face in the crowd.

Why hadn't she take up a more creative field? At least something that didn’t have a bloody dress code? Even the people she kept running into were like products of a sausage factory. Identically dressed, full of numbers, stock markets, the Wall Street…she wanted to scream!

The friends thought she traveled to a hundred different exotic countries every year – so lucky! Sure.

Again, she’d meet the same type of people, just with blue eyes or different hair. Scratch the surface and they were all the same. The business trips were the worst. Always in the best, most glamorous of hotels, too much splendour, everyone on their best fake behaviour. Before she knew it, it would be time to come back to the children’s homework, deciding what the husband would like for dinner, preparing more presentations, the obligatory sex…

Her thoughts cut to the time in college when she’d first started dating Nikhil. Nope, no exoticism there either. They were classmates, friends, part of the same group, grew to love each other.

In hindsight, did she actually ever love him enough to marry him? He was a very nice person, a dutiful husband, a loving father, a wonderful son, the perfect son-in-law – the list of everything amazing he was, was endless. He’d do anything to keep her happy, but then…why was she even having this conversation with herself?

“Time to face the truth, hon”, she told herself. She’d married Nikhil out of some obligation. She was incredibly fond of him, but it was more indirect parental pressure to marry that ‘lovely boy’ and the lack of a concrete excuse to not marry him, that led her to say yes. Marrying Nikhil was like marrying a beloved friend. There wasn’t a life without him, but was the one for her. Did she want someone Bohemian? She didn’t know. Perhaps someone who wouldn’t be so conventional about life, who wouldn’t have the next twenty years panned out in advance.

What would she do, if given half a chance to start all over? Well, she’d throw caution to the winds, truly this time. Be a hippie, begin with that tattoo she always wanted, move on to making a bonfire out of her business suits, then major in French or German, move continents, travel alone, the list was endless. Why wasn't it legal to sometimes forget that you had a husband and children, and just do what you wanted?

What wouldn’t she give to not pretend she was the dutiful wife she wasn’t, in her head? She wanted to
glob trot, live on her own terms. For once, she didn’t want to be tied down to the shackles of marriage,
the constant adjustments and compromises that came with it. When had she lost the freedom of walking
out, for good?

Suddenly, she was scared. Very, very scared. What was she thinking? She had everything anyone would ever want from life. But that was the thing. Anyone would want the life she was leading. But not her. She wanted to do something about it.

But where does one start taking charge of one’s own life?

Her thoughts were interrupted with the ring of her cellphone… “Nikhil Baby”, it said, merrily.

“Hello babe. Have you left office?” she asked.

“Yep. Home in half an hour. Dinner had better be something good. I’m famished!” he said.

“Yeah. Come on over. Dinner is something you’ll love,” she smiled.

“Great! See you. And I love you, wifey,” he said, hanging up.

She quickly busied herself heating dinner, making rotis. Nikhil liked dinner ready when he came home from work, and that was the least she could do, wasn’t it? Her mind began making a mental to-do list: Presentation for tomorrow, dishes to be done, the car to be given for servicing for next day, helping the kids with their projects…it sure was a long day ahead.

She quickly got busy with her list, trying to knock off work so as to sleep on time. A long list of chores was waiting for her.

Restarting her life? That could wait. She had dinner to get ready, first.

There was no one else, there never could be...

2011-05-10T05:53:00.000-07:00

He woke up after a very brief afternoon nap. The time was 4.30 pm, the day, Saturday. He got out of bed, fixed himself some tea and switched on some TV.

Some time later, he checked the clock again…Yikes! It was almost 5 pm. Izzie would be mad at him, for the umpteenth time. She’d almost given up on him. He rushed about the house like a headless chicken – he had exactly 20 minutes to move out. There were flowers to be picked up, too. How did he always end up being late despite waking up on time and having the best intentions? This was surely one of the unexplained mysteries of the universe.

Rush, rush, rush…He rushed through his shower, wore the shirt she liked on him best, the deo she loved and the Puma shoes she’d bought him two years ago. Pretty pleased with what he saw in the mirror, he stepped out, maneuvering through traffic, halting with a screech straight at the florist’s doorstep.

Nothing had changed. He’d been buying her the same orchids for the past year and a half. Salimbhai would keep the bouquet ready every Saturday, he’d pay and whisk off with a ‘Thanks, Salimbhai!’.

Today was no different. Off he sped from Salimbhai’s. Hastily finding the first available parking space, he walked briskly, bouquet in tow. Soon he was outside the gates.

“Arey Sir, you’re 20 minutes late again,” chuckled Fernandes.

“Yeah man, traffic!” he panted.

Entering, he walked over to the spot she always waited for him, patiently. She’d stopped complaining these days; resigned to her fate, perhaps.

All was silent – there was just another man sitting on the grass, with his eyes close. He looked at peace with his solitude, oblivious to the world he was physically present in. Our man, too, sat down on the grass opposite her.

As usual, she didn’t say anything.

“Sorry Izzie, I’m late. Don’t hate me!” he said, very apologetic. He put down the flowers before her, knowing she’d be too mad right now to appreciate them. But she’d preserve the bouquet till he gave her a new one next week.

She didn’t say anything. He knew she couldn’t remain angry with him for long, something he was deeply grateful to all the powers of the universe for.

Soon, he was chatting up a storm. He told her about his week, the upcoming 3-week work trip to Sweden, and she listened without interrupting. “But don’t you worry. I’ll be back soon, okay, love?” he reassured her.

Suddenly, there was silence.

“I love you, Isabel,” he said, and he never meant it more.

A silent tear trickled down his cheek. He didn’t brush it off; he didn’t try swallowing his tears either. He stayed absolutely still, didn’t move one inch for the fear of losing the beautiful moment he was a part of. With her.

There was no one else, there never could be.

He was caught in the most beautiful moment of his life. He closed his eyes and let it engulf him.

He opened his eyes, got up and silently walked out of the graveyard, feeling complete, fulfilled and in love like never before.

There was no else, there never could be.

2011-03-28T04:29:00.000-07:00

I sat on the bench,
Waiting.
Looking around for
A face familiar, a bird
I could identify.
Ears strained for the chirp
Of a bird,
The sound of
A laugh, footsteps, a whisper.

I waited. All around was
Unfamiliarity. All was cold.
All I heard
Was silence.
I waited.
For what?

A hug from
A friend?
A man's closeness?
The sound of
A child's giggle?
I knew not.
But wait I did.

I got up. Left.
Alone, still alone.
As alone as ever.
As alone as when
I had walked in.
As alone as
I was yesterday.

As alone as
I would be,
Tomorrow.

Alone.
Always alone.

Tag-a-tag-tag!

2011-03-24T01:05:00.000-07:00

Aargh! I've been tagged by The Monkeykong, Prince of Apes. Highly silly tag, if you ask me, but whatever. A mandatory blog update was due, so what better option than a useless tag thingummy? So here goes.

A) Five things in my room:

1. An invisible bed. It houses everything - books, diaries, underwear, lots of clothes, bedsheets. Everything except sleeping space. If you've ever lost anything, chances are, you'll find it on my bed.
2. A dead cockroach. It's been there for 3 weeks. I'm hoping it'll slowly disintegrate into nothingness soon.
3. My suitcase full of books. I'm still in the process of figuring out where to keep them books so they won't gather dust and dog-ears.
4. My gym bag, that's big enough to use while moving continents.
5. A tent. I don't know what it's doing there, exactly, but it was always there since I moved. Maybe God is trying to tell me something.

B) Five things in my bag:

1. My notebook. You never know when inspiration strikes, although Mr. Murphy always gives me flashes of insight only when I'm on the pot or eating extremely cheesy pizza.
2. A blue pouch with essentials - lootttsss of pens, kajal, lip balm, housekeys, pen drives, chocolates and other stuff that's best not mentioned on this family blog. I think I can survive on a deserted island if I'm equipped with my signature blue pouch - kajal to look good at all times and the back of the pen to dig my nose with.
3. An empty packet of Happydent gum. The box is too nice to throw.
4. My bandanna
5. An envelope with my dad's writing on it. I carry that around everywhere. Looking at it helps me miss home less on days I'm homesick, miserable and about to throw a tantrum.

C) Five things in my wallet:
1. (Hardly any) money
2. A cute note from Becky, from the time she gifted me the wallet.
3. A picture of someone who I should probably discard (from my life and the wallet...and no, it's not the ex).
4. My railway ID from 7 years ago, with a picture of me from my REAL FATNESS days.
5. Lots of old bills that fatten my wallet up and deceive me into thinking there's something of real value in it.

And since the tag was a bit boring, I'm going to try and spice it up by adding other random categories:

D) The five most favourite things about my house:

1. My twin fin babies - Chilli Pepper and Xplode happily swimming around in the tank. On a side note, how do you get one kid to stop biting the other's buttock off?
2. The wash basin decorated with flashing blue lights, stocked with alcohol! It's the coolest Daaru ka Basin, ever.
3. The terrace. Depressed? Upset? Our terrace is just the place for you.*
4. The mad graffiti on the walls.
5. The thinking corner of the house, where ideas, words, thoughts flow effortlessly, like puke after much drinking.

*Conditions apply

E) Five rules of the house:

1) No smoking inside (unless you're a REALLY special friend).
2) No saying 'Oh you have goldfish? They generally die in 30 days!' (Although two people have majorly broken the rule.)
3) Touch books / DVDs without permission (this leads to a war fought with nothing less deadlier than bazookas)
4) No bringing animals into the house while I'm around. One dog is bad enough. The fish are an exception, though.
5) Ask me to cook khichdi all the time.

And that's about all I have time for, folks. Do take up the tag, spread the vellaness, add more categories. For now, I tag:

1) The Cat.
2) Chippy.
3) The Baby Girl.
4) Shayon.
5) Dormerpin
6) Prem Piyush
7) The Wiseass

The games Fate plays

2011-02-16T21:49:00.000-08:00

Fate is such an indecipherable mystery. A sort of storeroom to stow away life’s unexplained, irrational tales. If you wonder why certain things went the way they did, well, Fate’s the woman who seems to be the answer to everything. Quite an overactive little busybody, our Fate.

But, I digress. Fate made them meet. Where? I don’t really know. Two strangers, same hometown, caught in the same strange city, but because of such bizarrely opposing circumstances!

She, in the city, chasing the love she thought she had. He, leaving behind the love he once had. As usual, fate brings them closer. The sparks fly. The love, it happens. She couldn’t escape it anyway. Finally, in her head, it all begins to fit. Why it didn’t work out with anyone else before. The tears of the past all seem explained. Finally, she was truly happy. The ghost of her past had managed to lift its ugly shadow. The sunshine was back, and so was her smile.

But as Fate would have it, the ghost of his past refused to lift its shadow from over him. It refused to let him look ahead. Did he want to look ahead? The bigger question was, did he want to look ahead with her? No he did not. Don’t be silly, Ms. Presumption.

Hush now. If you listen closely, you can hear the evil cackles of Fate. Result of the pure sadistic pleasure she derives from the cruel games she plays.

Unrequited love. So grand, so archaic, so Elizabethan. If only it felt as glamorous. But for her, it was a pattern, something she should have gotten used to, a long time ago. The silly optimist in her would make her believe it was different each time, only to have her silly heart broken again. He would never love her. Of course he wouldn’t.

Well, Ms. Optimist. At least he was open about it.

Yes. Like that makes it any better. In fact, ignorance was so much bliss, wasn’t it?

What next? She’s contemplating packing her bags. Leaving. Back to the same hometown she’d left, to pursue love. This time, she’s returning to it, defeated, hurt, miserable, a failure. Running away? Maybe. She has no strength left to fight back. And fight for what, really?

Oh, the sheer senselessness of it all. The sheer waste. She wonders why she had to run into him, let him teach her how to live, make her feel alive again. Wonders when he became a part of her soul. Wonders why she left her soul around to be trespassed on, and her heart to be trampled.

Oh, she wonders…

Yes. I am all those things...

2011-02-15T08:54:00.000-08:00

Yes. I...

1) Swear.
2) Get extremely angry.
3) Am impulsive.
4) Can be immature
5) Nag
6) Am Lazy
7) Am all messed up.
8) Am emotional
9) Am spoilt
10) Am unreasonable, sometimes.
11) Am arrogant.
12) Am vengeful.
13) Am wicked.
14) Am a procrastinator.

But, I also...

1) Love with all I have
2) Am the best friend.
3) Understand.
4) Don't judge.
5) Am your equal.
6) Stand up for what's right.
7) Am the hopeless closet romantic.
8) Will do anything for you.
9) Am a good daughter / sister.
10) Return lost mobile phones to their owners.
11) Am independent.
12) Am accomodating.
13) Am the eternal optimist.
14) Am generally happy and positive.
15) Am always there.

Is it then, so hard to love me? Is it so easy to hate? I take you with your flaws. Can't you focus on the good for me?

I'm not perfect.

I'm not trying to be.

I'm just myself.

Do you still like me?

Of sons and remains of coffee

2011-02-11T03:10:00.000-08:00

Remember that boring evening at work? You stuck in your office, me in mine? And that sudden coffee plan? Barista at 8. See you there.

Should have known then what a bundle of lateness you are. I finished reading a two whole chapters of my book before you walked through that door, bag in tow, hair swishing. "Sorry Moodles. Got stuck."

"It's ok, I say," smiling. One really can't be mad at you, can one?

We spoke that evening. A lot. Chatter chatter. About what? Nothing of consequence. Work. Colleagues. Gossip about cabbages and kings. And did we wonder whether pigs have wings? We must have.

Coffee. That's how it always starts. Why didn't we do more coffee trips when I was around? Oh yes, it's always been work.

Never mind that now.

Fate made me move to a different city. You were heartbroken at seeing me go. I, at leaving you behind. Should I have packed you in that suitcase like I'd planned? I should have when I'd the chance. See? I'm not always impulsive.

I promised never to lose sight of you. I promised I'd be there. I promised to do all I could, to stop you from hurting. Wishing I could have all of your pain. Friends? We were beyond that years ago. Soon, you became my son. Me, your overprotective mommy. "Sleep. Get some rest. Eat on time. Don't smoke so much," and all that. Did it bother you? I hope not.

Being your mother, a full time job I loved. I wanted to envelope you in my love. Protect you from the big, bad world. A mother fawning over her little baby. Apart from the fact that I didn't give birth to you, all the motherly instincts were there. I felt normal. I felt like a woman. Responsible for her cub, shielding you from the eyes of the world. Fiercely protective. You were just mine.

Maybe I overdid that bit, in hindsight. Somewhere, I lost the plot. You were not my son, I, not your mother. Happy realisation. Too late. You were not mine for keeps. I had no right to be jealous. I had no right to keep you chained.

But all I did was want to see you happy. All I ever wanted was to grow old together. With you. Live in that palatial house by the sea, which you'd sell your kidney to buy for me. That's ok. About the kidneys, I mean. That's what two kidneys are for. And no, no dog named Gaffurbhai would run in the passages of our home. Shh. No arguments. My word is the law. Because mother knows best.

So what happened? We lived together, we loved together. Sometimes each other. Sometimes other people. But we loved. And we laughed. And sobbed. And hugged. And we sang. And we cheered. Life was good. I had you. And you had me, or so I thought.

Why the past tense now? Why the end, when the beginning seems like just yesterday? Where did time lose us? Where did we lose time? Where did we lose ourselves? Where did I lose you?

I don't know you anymore. And much as I'd like you to, you don't know me. We stopped being a team. When? And when did the tears replace the laughter? Over and over? Why didn't I ever notice?

I was busy. Chasing my dreams. Making new acquaintances. In a different part of the world. You were there. Was I there for you? I now doubt. Like I now doubt everything else. Love, friendship, top that list.

You're gone. And there's nothing I can do about it. 'We' died a pernicious, cancerous death. And now all that's left behind? A black hole. Where happiness goes in, never comes back out. Seeped in. Sucked in. We died a gory death.
This is not the death I ordered, God. Wait, I never ordered one. Trust you to mess up, as always, you interfering pile of trouble.

A cup of coffee stares at me now. Half drunk. It has unfinished business. Coffee. That's how it always starts. But it can end in two ways, mind you. One, you drink it all up. Feel happy. Refreshed.

Or, two, you pour away its cold, forgotten remains. Then you wonder. How would you have felt if you hadn't forgotten to consume it?

And the coffee on my table? I forgot to finish it. Left it behind. The warmth is now gone. What remains behind is a sad, watery, sickening taste of caffeine.

I get up. Pour it away. Watch its remains flow down the sink. With the other hand, I wipe a silent tear that forces its way out of my eye.

Goodbye, my son.

I love you.

Is your S-P-A-C-E-B-A-R working fine?

2011-01-23T22:29:00.000-08:00

(Resurrected this post I'd written a month back. Still holds true, I guess).

If it is, kindly use it more often. And not just on the computer.

The tiny percentage of population that knows me quite well, knows how fiercely protective I am about my space. In fact, I'm just short of marking my territory by peeing around it. Cross that line, and you're done for. Really.

It's strange how people don't get the thin red line between 'overtly caring' and 'space intruding'. And I see this especially since I'm going through an unpleasant patch right now (read: break up). I love my friends for being there. But really, I'm not dying and neither is anyone else. And the few close friends I have understand my need to be alone sometimes and don't keep 'checking on me'. They don't keep calling, SMSing, pinging me on chat and asking me if I'm okay. They still poke me in the ribs when they meet me, give me a big hug and tell me about the hot pair of legs they can't forget from last night's party. Or they rant about how much they hate their jobs. And trust me, that works for me.

I've been getting quite a lot of annoying calls these days, where people keep calling wondering if I'm going to be free all the time, now that I'm single. Hey, it's not like only the boy used to keep me busy before! I still had stuff to do around the house, books to read, writing to do, a job to work on, friends to catch up with, solitary walks to take, coffee shops to visit, sleep to catch up on, amongst the zillion things I normally do. And probably the best thing I like(d) about the boy was that he understood this need for my space. He never intruded upon it, not once. If I wanted to be alone, I just did. Maybe he didn't agree with it, but neither did he question it. Which worked for me.

So what needs to change now? Why the constant calls trying to keep me busy? If I need help, I'll tell you. I promise. And I'm pretty certain I'm not suicidal yet. So it's not like if you don't speak to me for two hours, I pretty much must be staring at that bottle of rat poison. That's not what a break up needs to do to you. Why should it? You haven't stopped being an independent person. Your life hasn't stopped moving. Your job isn't waiting for you to 'come out of depression' (yes, someone assumed I must be clinically depressed), so why assume I must be staring at his handkerchief and crying my eyes out? I don't know if that's how you do it, but I don't.

Why is giving space to people becoming such a difficult task? Forget about me, but everywhere I go, I run into people who won't give their friends / partners / parents / children any space to breathe. How difficult is it to let people be for a while? Respect your own space, don't let anyone mess with it. Then you'll find it easier to respect other people's alone time. It isn't necessary to know what your person is upto every minute of every day, and really, it's ok if he / she makes plans with a bunch of friends, without asking you to join. You should do the same, too, you know. It's healthy. Checking people's phones, emails isn't the nicest thing to do. If a person wants to deceive you, he'll do it anyway, however watchful your eye is.

The mantra is: Just Give It A Rest. Do not suffocate. If it's yours, it will remain with you. If it isn't, it isn't going to stay with you however hard you try.

Now, time to check on that Spacebar, yes?

My absolute dream wedding :|

2010-10-27T05:06:00.000-07:00

Right. Calm down. No, seriously...Stop snorting out that wine. No one's getting married here. (Well, all my friends are, like it's the mating season, but that's a story for another day.)

So let me explain. I was randomly surfing and stumbled upon this. Now since I grossly ignore this blog and haven't updated it in donkey's years, I thought I'll take part in this contest thing put together by www.99labels.com. So here are the rules, before I yap some more:

"All you have to do is blog about one or more of the following topics:

1) My big fat Indian wedding

2) What “not to do” while planning a wedding!

3) My dream wedding – Simple or lavish?

4) Traditions I love/hate in Indian weddings

5) My wedding shopping spree!

Now I can't really yap about 'My Big Fat Indian Wedding' and 'My Wedding Shopping Spree' as much as I'd like to, since, er...being married is a pre-requisite here. I don't really have too much experience in the 'wedding planning' zone either, since the last wedding I attended was of my sister's, 10 years ago (I really had no choice there). And despite being certain I'd hate most traditions in Indian weddings if I knew what they were, I don't think I'd be any close to winning the competition writing about imagined traditions. So then, 'My dream wedding it is'.

Well, knowing how much I hate weddings, I'm surprised I'm even arsed to write about them. If and whenever I do choose to get married, I'm certain my mum will have to prod (and slap) me awake at least thrice before I'm willing to get out of bed and bathe. Speaking of bathing, I should technically be allowed to not shower on my own wedding day (this in keeping with my philosophy of 'showering is overrated').

So well, here goes my dream wedding, and for those of you who still need it to be spelt out, it's going to be 'simple', to say the least. Well, here are the rules:

1) Gold is strictly to be banned at my wedding. I hate gold. HATE. IT. It's yellow and shiny and ugly and expensive. Anyone thinking of gifting me gold should first go to the nearest jeweller, sell it and present me with the cash.

2) I should be allowed to wake up on the day I'm technically supposed to get married and decide whether I want to do it at all. No one should even raise an eyebrow if I chose to say, "Gah...It's too hot today. Perhaps I get married tomorrow, yes?"

3) The groom and I are going to wear shorts at our wedding. And so will our friends (If groom and friends don't agree with this, well, please point me to where I can buy a new groom and new friends). If you want to be wearing three layers of sarees and 25 kgs of gold, you're going to feel mighty stupid. Especially since I'm going to marry on a beach.

4) The minimum cut off for the present you buy me is Rs. 9,999. I will surely accept whatever you get me even if it's below the minimum amount, but I will judge you and call you names in my head (Names may range from cheapster, kanjoos, skinflint, etc.). Guests will have to declare their presents at the entrance, based on which their meals will be decided. Dal and rice for the cheapsters, a full 7-course gourmet meal for people gifting me a car / house / home theatre system, etc.

5) Relatives above the age of 45 (except my parents and the groom's) aren't allowed to the wedding. Separate video-conferencing facilities will be set up for them at home, where they can choose to watch the proceedings. A separate hotline will be arranged for them to leave me congratulatory messages. I'll be damned if I sit and answer all those phone calls.

6) There will be music along the lines of 'Kuan ma doob jaungi' and 'Ringa Ringa' to dance to. If this is too down market for your tastes, please get the eff out of wedding.

7) The bride must be allowed to take a power nap sometime in the afternoon. Guests may continue having fun in the meantime with housie or musical chairs or whatever it takes to get them out of my hair.

8) I will canoodle with my husband in the middle of the venue. Beach tumhare chacha ka nahi hai. And don't forget, it's MY wedding.

9) I may just walk out of my wedding if I get too bored. The groom can choose to join me or not, depending on the level of fun he's having. If he is, good for him. I'll be at home reading when he's back.

10) Please don't stand in line to get pictures clicked with me, in the manner of a rationing queue. Just tap me on the shoulder when I'm in the middle of dancing and go *click*. Don't be disheartened if I look spastic, though.

11) No video shooting at my wedding. I don't want to be reminded of the biggest mistake of my life, alongwith with visual evidence.

12) There will be free-flowing beer and breezers at the shaadi. People expecting Moet Chandon and Laphroaig should bring their own booze. This isn't an Ambani wedding.

13) Oh, and did I mention this is to be a court shaadi? I don't have the time, patience and the money to spend on pandits and their rituals. After the court, head straight to the beach.

14) You will not come to my wedding and criticise anything about it. You will not call me fat or my husband names. You will come, have fun and leave at a decent time. Do not outstay your welcome since husband and I will want to go home and sleep. And by sleep, I mean sleep. Not the bonking kind.

15) You will not call up through the week and tell me how much fun you had. Please. Spare me the phone calls. I will assume you had fun anyway and leave you to it. All phone calls will be transferred to the earlier-mentioned hotline till further notice.

Ah well, I read through my own rules before I could proceed and I really wonder if I have any hopes in hell of snagging a man who is stupid enough to marry me. But since I believe in being optimistic and cheerful, let's hope that I marry someone who does not have access to the internet and my blog. Someone from Sudan, maybe? Or Iran? Or Aamir Khan?

Now excuse me, while I go and register on shaadi.com. See you at the wedding! ;)

This is my entry for 99Labels.com's Wedding Week Blogging contest. My post's under the category 'My dream wedding - simple or lavish?'

Some gyaan on the contest:

1) Become a member of 99labels (If you are not a member already) by clicking on the referral link at the bottom of this post. (You get Rs 100 worth of credit free to shop!) .

2) Create a log-in preferably using the email id attached with your blog. This is to protect the anonymity of some bloggers as the referral link (read rule 2) displays your email-id.

Post your referral link on the post (This means that whoever becomes a member clicking on the link gets Rs 100, and whenever you referral buys an item you get Rs 500). To find your referral link:

-Log in on www.99labels.com
-Click on “Invite friends” on the top menu.
-Go to bottom of page and look for “Copy and paste your personal invitation link” and paste the link at the bottom of your post E.g . My Referral invite – http://www.99labels.com/v1/Become-Member.aspx?re=xyz@gmail.com

3) Copy and paste all the rules in your post.
4) Leave a link to your post in the comments section of the contest page of 99labels http://blog.99labels.com/2010/10/25/wedding-week-blogging-contest/.
5) Copy and paste the image at the end of the post and the category under which you have posted.

My referral link invite is: http://www.99labels.com/v1/Become-Member.aspx?re=whinythemoo@gmail.com. Buy some stuff off my referral and make me some money! #ShamelessPimping

It must've been love...

2010-09-01T11:18:00.000-07:00

He chatted away, nineteen to the dozen. She listened patiently as always, sometimes distracted by the odd pang of hunger, as she waited for their food to arrive.

"...They loved my idea," she suddenly heard him say.

"Lovely, darling. I'm sure they're proud of you," she said, slightly stunned at how automatically the response was out of her, before she could even gather what he was talking about.

Pay attention. It's his big day. Don't spoil it for him.

"...And yeah. They want me to be in charge of the entire project. It's really something I've been waiting for, for so long. It's finally happening!" he was now saying.

"I'm so happy for you!" she responded, a little more cheerfully than she felt.

The waiter brought in the food. As usual, he joked with the waiter. The latter guffawed and went off to jot down the order at the next table.

Everyone loves him, she thought.

Everyone?

Her train of thought was distracted with the sound of spoons against the plate. He'd begun eating, while her plate was still empty.

"I had a good day at work," she said, grabbing a butter naan. "Wasn't hectic enough to induce a headache, but wasn't boring enough to keep playing Solitaire, either."

"Hmm," he said, checking mail on his phone. "Why isn't he mailing, yaar?"

"Who?"

"My boss. He's supposed to forward an important mail. If it doesn't come tonight, tomorrow's con call will be a waste of time!"

"Hmm. Yeah so as I was saying...My day was prett---"

"Hang on. I need to call my boss," he interrupted.

He rattled off 5 minutes of jargon, most of which she'd heard at least three times through the day.

"Oh good. He's e-mailing me right away," he said, absently. "What were you saying?"

"Nothing, really," she said, picking at her food.

"Hmm. I seriously am so excited about this!" he said, full of good cheer.

"Yep, I know," she said, silently.

Roxette's 'Must have been love' began playing from the speakers. He looked up from his phone and looked at her.

"I love this song! Been ages since I heard it last," he said, getting up to go wash his hands. "I'll be right back."

"Uh huh," she said.

It must have been love, but it's over now
It must have been good, but I lost it somehow
It must have been love, but it's over now
From the moment we touched till the time had run out

"It must've been love, alright," she thought, as a silent tear escaped her eye.

All a part of love?

2010-06-29T10:50:00.000-07:00

Tears.

Doubts.

Questions.

Suspicions.

Anger.

Hurt.

Self-pity.

Humiliation.

Lies.

Infidelity.

Fear.

All a part of love?

Not for everyone, no Sir.

This one's just for me.

Go find your own troubles.

Live me alone!

2010-06-13T04:06:00.000-07:00

It's a lazy Sunday afternoon. The sound of the wind's coming in through the crack in the window, accompanied by the pitter patter of the rain. As I write this line, Timbaland and Justin Timberlake are crooning 'Carry Out' in my ears. I'm at peace with the world. At this point in time, I love being alone. There's peace of mind. There's silence and there's no one else.

That's the best part.

Living alone can be a bitch at most times. Especially when you don't cook, hate cleaning and doing the dishes. And when you're a sucker for home-cooked food. But on the upside, you can have corn-flakes for lunch (like I did today), have friends over whenever you want (provided they have clean feet) and wake up at 1 pm on Sunday (again, behaviour that yours truly exhibits beautifully).

I love the freedom Bangalore gives me. It gives me enough time to catch up on a life I'd been missing out on for at least five years of my life. There's a living to be earnt here, but there's also a life to be explored. You have enough time to spend hours in that new bookstore lazing around, or you could go to your favourite coffee shop on your way to office and spend an hour there before you head home. You have enough time to gym (yes, yes, I'm joining one soon). There's a lot of time to do things I didn't do before.

I think I like living alone. Not because of the mad freedom I get. But because it's nice doing things on your own. Knowing you have to make your own decisions and can blame no one else. You forage for food, you eat outside, and pull up your socks when you look at the alarmingly receding bank balance. That's when you get a dabba delivered at home. There's lots to learn, and no lesson can be a waste, can it?

Perhaps you should consider some of the following things when you're living alone, though. Like:

1) Try living alone instead of at a PG, if your budget can allow it. PG owners begin to think they own YOU and are extremely strict about the stupidest things. Also their deadlines are quite silly. You don't want to be home at 8.30 pm on a Saturday night, do you? In fact, on most days, you'll end up stepping out at that time.

2) Have your own vehicle. Or at least be best friends with someone who does. In Bangalore, auto drivers are willing to use a meter only if you speak Kannada. Otherwise, you're an 'outsider' who deserves to be ripped off.

3) Speaking of Kannada, try picking up the local language. Very useful. With locals and auto drivers alike. Till then, you're an outsider. I have no clue why the world laughs at Bal Thackeray. Come over here and you'll know.

4) Your neighbours will tend to be unfriendly if you don't know their language. I've been living here for two months, but I still can't say I can identify who lives next door. As far as they are concerned, I'm the slutty girl next door, who has boys over, who steps out at all odd hours, lives alone and wears skirts and wears shorts at home. When you look for a house, try getting a place that has a young vibe. Try noticing the kind of people that are walking in and around the building and if they fit your profile. Helps. I was conned. Badly.

5) When they say that the house has water 24 hours, don't believe them. Actually, don't believe anything they say.

6) Try and be inconspicuous as you can. Don't piss off the building by bringing noisy friends over and making a racket. No one likes noisy neighbours, especially if they don't like you in the first place.

7) If you're Muslim, good luck getting a house. Chances are you'll have to build your own house. The house agents here are generally given strict orders by owners NOT to get Muslim tenants. Sad, I know.

8) Everyone is out to rip you here. All services are grossly overpriced. Haggle till you're blue in the face. Or if you suck at bargaining like I do, take a local friend along, who knows the language.

I'm no guru, and I don't display the most exemplary 'living alone' behaviour, but I hope to goodness you don't spend your energy fruitlessly cussing at your house owner, when you realise that your new geyser doesn't work because he hasn't got the building plumbing repaired. Till then, it's heating water in a microwave for me. One more thing I can't be arsed to do is, cook. The thought of buying groceries, putting them away and chopping stuff after coming from work and cooking is something that makes starvation look like a pretty option.

So don't learn from me. Actually don't learn from anyone. It's a brilliant feeling to reclaim your life and make your own discoveries.

Having said that, don't purposely walk home just to see how long it takes, despite your friend's judgement. It always takes 1 hour 10 minutes. My aching shin confirms this.

Well, have you lived alone? Are you still doing it? Share experiences! The floor's open for comments.

Bang-galore chronicles in a blog post

2010-04-29T02:22:00.000-07:00

Yes, so I've been away for a while.

So, I haven't been blogging much.

So, I can't really say I didn't get the time to write.

So bloody what?

I'VE MOVED! MOVED TO BANG-GALORE!

It's been 20 days so far. And quite honestly, I like this place. True that my house-owner is a fat, rotten asshole who makes me pay for the damaged plumbing in the flat, and that the auto drivers here should be castrated without anasthesia, but there's something about Bangalore that makes you feel like you are a part of it. The city welcomes you into its fold and lets you be. It's non-intrusive and young, just the way I like it.

House-hunting wasn't half a nightmare that it promised to be, thanks to Wish. The torrents of Kannada, Malayalam and Tamil he bursts into are highly irritating at most times, but really useful when you're house-hunting. I will not grudge him the languages ever again. To get back to the point, I have a really pretty, decently equipped house, that my parents have put their sweat and blood to do up for me. What would I do if they hadn't come along to help me set it up? I think I'd have dumped all my stuff on the floor and thrown a noisy tantrum. Hmm.

I'm not going to get into the tedious nitty-gritties of moving. It's completely tedious work and I'd advise you to avoid it like the plague if you can. Unless of course, you have a good enough reason like I do. :)

Work is good. It's been my first week in advertising. Feels strange to have moved on from journalism (for the time being, at least). Although I can't really say I miss the pointless press conferences and events. Advertising lets me be. On most days, I can be in my corner and blast music in mine own ears, and no one bothers with me. I can keep doing my own thing for hours, unless of course there's something urgent to be done. There aren't PR calls to attend, which is somehow the biggest blessing God has bestowed on me. It sometimes gets quite dull, but then, I think anyone moving from Mumbai to any other place in the world will feel the same way.

So far, no complaints. Life's good.

I love the vibe that this city gives out. Remember the vacation to Bangalore I'd taken in January? I couldn't help but think of Bangalore as the one place I'd like to move to, if I had to get out of Mumbai. Well, whaddaya know?

I don't know if I'll feel the same way once the next month starts and the bills start pouring in. When the bank balance will not be enough whatever the hell you do. When the extreme urge to eat steaming hot homecooked food will reach unbearable levels. When I'll sell my soul in a jiffy just to be able to hug mom and dad. When I'll be dying to have a Sunday afternoon that involves freaking out with the WiseAss and LOTS of mad laughter.

But I'll live through it. I'll have to.

I don't miss Mumbai. I miss my people. I miss my family, Mika, Lammy, Bippers, the whole freakin' lot. :(

But Mumbai, I didn't have a life when I was with you. Sorry. I don't miss you one bit.

How I got a bruise on my backside...

2010-03-07T10:26:00.000-08:00

Ah yes. I've been away from this blog for a while. Stupid, really, for someone who wants to make a living out of writing. I is a fraud, I've realised.

So a lot of things have been happening lately. Details later, since I don't want to jinx things. A major overhaul is in the offing, either way, in the professional and personal front. And no, I'm not getting married.

Panda, Pimpo and I went on a much needed break to Goa. In fact, I think I'm still having post-holiday blues. Whoever wants to come back from the land of free-flowing booze, beaches, fish curry and rice, waves and relaxation, to local trains, office, colleagues, deadlines and routine? The trip was a lot of fun in more ways than one. Pimpo is staying back for the month (lucky bitch) at her aunt's, while Panda and I had to be dragged out of the place kicking and screaming.

But then, this post isn't about that. This post is about how I got a bruise on my butt. On my last afternoon in Goa.

So the three of us were heading to our friend Vijay's shack for our last round of drinks. We'd just finished an awesome lunch of fish curry and rice, garlic butter fish and beer in another shack and were idly strolling on Baga Beach. Suddenly, Pimpo and Panda let out excited squeals and began beckoning me towards them.

Well, they'd spotted a cow on the beach and were orgasming with the possible photo-ops with me and the cow. Ah well, I trundled along to them, while they asked me to pose. But the goddamned cow just wouldn't stop walking. Finally it did, and Pimpo had a bright idea asking me to pose alongside its face. The cow ignored us throughout, so I didn't really think it would mind. Also, for once in my life I was feeling brave about an animal. Maybe the beer had something to do with it.

I sat down near the cow, while Pimpo clicked away. Suddenly, the fucking cow turned its face towards me, making me almost pee in my pants. I got up suddenly and for some obscure reason beyond my realm of understanding, I started running backwards till I tumbled. On my butt. Till this moment, I have no clue why I was so frightened of the cow turning its face towards me.

Needless to say, Pimpo and Panda almost choked with the giggles, punctuated with "WHY were you so scared of your own sister? Hahahahahahahahaha!"

Bitches.

Now excuse me while I go get an ice pack for my posterior.

Just an iPod?

2010-01-10T08:01:00.000-08:00

Watching an Aamir Khan movie every year is turning out to be jinxed. When things go wrong everytime you watch his flick, for three consecutive years, there has to be something wrong.

When I went to watch Taare Zameen Par in 2007, my sister and her fiance (now husband) met with a bad auto rickshaw accident.

Last year, when I went to watch Ghajini with Lammy, I lost my brand new Mango shades in the theatre.

Today, as I returned from watching 3 Idiots, I left my iPod Classic behind somewhere. And it's gone. Forever.

Most people think I'm being shallow and supremely materialistic (which I am), but that piece of technology was by far my most prized possession. It was the reason so many tedious, long drives became joyful and memorable.

It was my sole travel mate, steadily killing the mundanity (is that a word?) of traveling long hours. It kept me company when I was so damn tired after a hard day's work. When I was too tired to read, but had to stay awake, lest I missed my station.

It killed all unwanted sounds and conversation. We all know how important it is to tune out. And it helped me do just that. Tune out the frivolous banter in office, the ear-drum bursting sound of traffic, everything.

It made me fall in love. With music. With a man. With life. Don't ask me how. It just happened.

So many memories.

And you say it's JUST a piece of machinery?

Why the Kindle v/s Physical Book is a non-existent debate

2009-12-30T08:03:00.000-08:00

(Friendly warning: This blog is penned to encourage a healthy exchange of opinions. Comments of the 'You're-an-idiot-because-you-can't-afford-a-Kindle' kind will not be tolerated. Leave comments that convince me that you've a brain and we can take it from there. Feel free to oppose my point-of-view. I'll like you a lot more if you don't, though. Cheers.)

I'm a stubborn little twit when it comes to certain things. And when I'm completely convinced that my point of view is THE only possible point-of-view, I refuse to see sense. Very cow-like I know. But what to do?

Which is why, I absolutely don't get this whole Kindle v/s Physical Book debate that people are having these days. I mean, what's there to debate about? It's like debating whether walking is better than hailing a cab, or whether sex without a condom is better than sex with one on (don't ask me what's better. I don't know). But the debates ARE pointless. Get what I mean?

And if you don't already know which side of the debate I am on, you're a douche bag.

How can anything, anything remotely substitute the feel of a book? However new, shiny and filled-to-the-brim with orgasmic features your bloody Kindle is. Come to think of it, my bone of contention is just that. Having a book that does stuff it isn't supposed to do in the first place. I'm sorry I'm old-fashioned, but I don't think I want my book to automatically turn pages at the click of a button. And no, I don't want to be able to stick a headphone into it, so that it doubles up as an audio-book. If I want an audio-book, I'll get it myself, thanks.

I don't want to be able to download my book. I want to be able to buy it. Smell it. Lovingly run my finger along its binding. Cringe when the cover gets dog-eared. Get pissed if someone folds a page instead of get a bloody bookmark.

Call me pseudo, call me a weirdo, but I think visiting a bookshop is an integral part of my life. The feeling of wanting to buy the whole bookstore (except where the Twilight series is stocked, thank you very much. I'm still trying to con someone into taking my copies), the sheer delight at holding a book I've been wanting to buy for the longest time, sifting through rows and rows of books, sitting down on the pouffe at leisure and reading a big chunk off a random book, the feeling of curling up under the quilt on a rainy day with a great book, there's so much more to a physical book than it being a mere book. Geddit?

So then, how are you going to get all of this with a Kindle?

Sure. It holds like a few thousand books. It turns pages at a click. It runs on batteries. It cuts down on all the space you'd need for your books, the pros are endless. But are they really pros?

Firstly, do you need thousand odd books on you at all times? How many books can one human being read at one go? Five, if you stretch your imagination to snapping limits?

Secondly, who the eff needs pages that turn at a click? How much effort does it take to turn a freakin' page? So what if an actual book needs both your hands? What are you going to do with your other hand when you're reading anyway? (Hmm...A Kindle may be useful when you're reading erotica, but that's the only advantage I can see as far as the use of one hand is concerned.)

Next, the whole concept of battery-operated books is so unnatural. Like a baby born with a complete set of pearlies and painted toe-nails. It's against the law of nature, that's what's wrong!

And that brings me to the biggest pro-Kindle argument that fans have: It saves you space that books will take up.

This leaves me most flummoxed. But that may be because I don't see books as a waste of space. They're an integral part of my house. Like sofas. Or the dining table. So, my family takes up space in my house. That does NOT mean I will replace them with robots now, will I, just because robots can keep my house clean and do my dishes with utmost precision?

And how can something that's important to you be considered a waste? Our clothes and shoes probably take up more space than is considered normal, but we don't stop buying them, do we? Neither have we come up with electronic, space-saving alternatives to clothes, as far as I know.

So if you haven't got it already, the point I'm trying to make is, that in my opinion, you will somehow accommodate things that are important to you, without looking for easier alternatives.

Sure, you can download a book from an e-book website, but what can be more fun than waiting outside a bookstore hours before a much-anticipated book is going to be released? Or going and picking up a pre-ordered book from the shop?

If you're a true-blue book lover, you won't really mind the space crunch and the other 'inconveniences'.

It's like having a baby. It poops, it cries at midnight and can't even distinguish its teeth from its nose. But heck, it's still perfect!

What is it about loneliness?

2009-12-27T10:14:00.000-08:00

What is it about loneliness, that the best of us fear so much?

Is it the fear of waking up alone?

Or the possibility of having no one to talk to in the middle of a tearful night?

Why does it hurt to have no one to call your own?

So you've convinced yourself that you love living with your pet. Freedom and all that. Then why does the sight of your neighbour hand-in-hand with his wife bother you?

What is it that frightens you most about loneliness?

A lonely birthday? A solitary Christmas eve?

No friends to haul you out of an accident?

A call that will never come, despite waiting for it all night?

No shoulder to vent into? No one to wipe the tears?

No one to take a long walk on the beach with? To appreciate the wind in your hair?

Are you amidst a crowd, yet lonely?

Looking for a face that you call familiar? Is it the absence of that face what's bothering you?

Ah, I see what's troubling you.

The need of a hug, the want of a kiss, the pain of love.

Tis Christmas, gentle folks! Hic

2009-12-23T09:18:00.000-08:00

...and so we’ve reached the end of another eventful year. Almost.

I know you’re going to hate me for saying this, but honestly, 2009 wasn’t a bitch to me at all. In fact, it was one of the nicest years of my life. Any year you didn’t lose someone you know to a terror attack, a flood, a morning walk stabbing session or a reality show has to be great, right? Oh and neither did I get a pink slip (does a white petticoat count?), a pay cut or the lack of an increment.

2009 was the year that’s helped me become the person I am. And I’m sorry if this is coming across as a egotistical post, but I’m not sure I care what you think. So let’s talk some more about me.

The year that’s almost over helped me learn a lot. It made me wiser as a person, brought new friends into my life, helped enrich bonds with the old ones, took me travelling to Delhi and Trivandrum, taught me how to write better, made me realise I’d die without Twitter, taught me to love and be loved and got me new high-heeled shoes.

You really can’t grudge a year like that.

And hence, dear 2009, you shall be missed. But absolutely not if 2010 gets me a 200% hike in my salary.

Now now, what’s with the hurry to shut the Firefox window? You really didn’t think I’d let you read all through without listing out my New Year resolutions now, would you? Come now, I will take you through all the false promises I am making to myself, simply because I can then prove to thee how terribly bad I am at commitment.

1) 1) I will travel more this year. In fact, I will save up some cash every three four months and travel to a city I haven’t been to. Alone, if the parents can’t make it. But travel I will.

2) 2) This year, I will click more photographs. I have begun to love the amazing feeling that a well-taken photograph brings. I believe I have come a long way this year on the photography front too, since I’ve stopped chopping off people heads and arms and am including their entire body in the frame.

3) 3) I will cut down on junk food. The expanding waistline is threatening to pop out of my jeans. While we’re on the subject, I have no pretences about being regular to the gym. Ever again.

4) 4) And I WILL write more this year. Seriously. The sorry amount of times I’ve updated my blog freaks me out. How can I person with an opinion on every damned thing not have anything to say on the blog? Also note that I will comment on my friends’ blogs more often. Only then can I resolutely bully them to comment on mine.

5) 5) I will read more. Although I can’t say I wasn’t satisfied with the number of books I bought the last year.

6) 6) I will go out there and meet newer people. 2010 is going to make me a social butterfly. Spare me the air-kissing, though. Try that and I’ll spit on you.

7) 7) I will learn more gaalis. This is absolutely necessary since auto and taxi drivers are striving hard to make me miserable every day.

8) 8) I will write more on paper than this electronic nonsense. Will also buy more lovely stationery. Please note: amazing stationery does to me, what sexy lingerie does to men. I is a geek.

9) 9) I will stick up for myself more often. 2010 will bring out the no-nonsense side of me, both at the professional front and in personal life. But I promise to be my nice self at most times.

10) 10) I will not work the terribly long working hours I do right now, unless I have to. I will stop faffing around through the day only to sit till 8.30 every evening.

11) 11) I’m going to cry less and make more people cry. I’m so serious about this. Bwahahahaha!

12) 12) I will stalk fewer people on Facebook. I need to realise that looking at completely retarded photographs of fucktards isn’t right, especially when it’s 7 p.m. in the evening and I should be leaving for home.

13) 13) This year, I will stick to my New Year resolutions.

I’m sure I’ve missed out a few. But then, if I didn’t think of them when I should have, they’re probably the important ones I SHOULD miss.

So go on then, what are you planning for 2010? You know where the comments section is. Use it!

When staying awake becomes a serious problem...

2009-12-10T08:52:00.000-08:00

I wrote this entry while I was in Kerala on a junket, recently. Thought I'd reproduce it on my blog.

Conferences / seminars are always so interesting...NOT. I'm here on a perfectly lovely Wednesday morning in Trivandrum, trying to keep my eyes open in a workshop,that doesn't remotely concern me. Why am I here, then? Don't ask me, ask the PR person who invited me. In my defense, however, I'm doing a perfectly convincing act of taking down long-winded notes. So is everyone else. It's impossible to stay awake through this endless droning.

Why are Indian speakers (very broadly speaking) so terrible at addressing audiences? Why is it that they cannot keep up their audiences' attention for more than three minutes? Most people begin with reading out reams and reams of literature, hoping it will make up for the lack of enthusiasm on their part. And as if reading out volumes of text isn't bad enough, there is the variety that will support the endless droning with slides and slides data.

For instance, "In 1994, our organisation had achieved only 34% growth,which jumped to 61% in 2001. However, we weren't satisfied with this growth percentage, hence, our target for the next five years is to achieve at least 54.7% growth."

Excuse me, but all I heard was "Blah, blah, yak, yak". What's your point? Did anyone tell you, mister,that no one cares a rat's ass about your data? Can you stick to whole words and less numbers unless absolutely necessary?

There's a third type of speaker one often sees: the nervous type. This type is so obviously pissing its lacy panties, that they even have no idea what they end up blabbering about. Add to that, they even mess up their technology and end up displaying the wrong slides to the wrong headings.

When will people learn that seeming effortless and well-prepared with your material is the key?

As a favour to the world, I'm taking the responsibility on mine young shoulders to enlighten the public speakers of the future, with a few home-truths:

1) Make your session interactive. Ask your audience some trivia related to your topic, perhaps? It helps them keep awake and interested.

2) Talk to audience. Maintain eye contact. This helps them know that you're talking to them and not at them.

3) Do NOT read aloud, whatever you do. If reading out is all you're going to do, just hand over your literature to your audience and let them read it. It might be more interesting, anyway.

4) Cite as many examples as you can to support the point you're trying to make. Or ask the audience to come up with some. Examples help retain your proposition better, in the minds of the audiences.

5) Keep it simple, stupid! Avoid too much technical jargon unless absolutely vital. It is one of the reasons why your talk becomes a snoozefest.

6) Try reducing your talk to a maximum time limit of about 20 minutes to half an hour. Trust me, attention tends to wander beyond that. So unless you know that your presentation is going to receive nothing short of a standing ovation, don't drone on and on. And yeah, if you look like Bradley Cooper, you can talk for as long as you want!

7) Lastly, inviting your audience to be a part of your presentation is most important. No one likes listening to someone who loves the sound of his own voice. Believe that your presentation must get the attention it deserves. Once that is achieved, you have to take the effort to make people want to listen to you. It sure will take a lot of hard work from your side, but then, who said it was easy?

Whew. I'm done with all my gyaan, folks. Now, back to the very lovely speakers who are carefully disobeying my carefully put together advice!

Blonde moment of the week...

2009-10-31T00:39:00.001-07:00

So yeah. I'd gone through the week without any blonde moments hurled my way (not important enough to write about, anyway), when I decided my week would be incomplete without at least one such moment.

I was at a Rich Media workshop yesterday, and it was a lot more fun than I expected. Well, some of the speakers were crashingly boring (is it me, or can't most Indian speakers hold up their audiences' attention for more than three minutes?!), but the two or three that were interesting, made the trip worth it.

One of the interesting speakers was a senior Indian guy from advertising (let's call him Apple Junkie), who sort of has a reputation to be a bore. I'd never heard him speak before, so I believed what my friends had to say.

To my surprise, Apple Junkie's session was nothing short of fabulous. He was funny, goofy, intelligent, witty and very knowledgeable, all at the same time. Everyone loved him. So throughout the workshop, I was steadily tweeting about the sessions (less in the interesting ones, a LOT during the boredom inducing ones).

After Apple Junkie's session, my tweet said exactly this (and I'm NOT proud of it):

"Apple Junkie was superb. I'm glad I came."

To which the Overated Outcast almost instantaneously replies:

"I'm sure Apple Junkie is glad you came too. (Sorry couldn't resist that)."

Seriously, could I be anymore stupid?!

P.S. You know where the comments section is. What's been your best blonde moment of late?

P.P.S (Shameless plug alert) Follow me on Twitter at www.twitter.com/eyemanut87

You know life's good when...

2009-10-25T11:07:00.000-07:00

1) Your boss is nice enough to convince you to stay back although you've quit. And not just because he particularly needs you, but because he cares enough to convince you that you're making a bad career move.

2) When you join work again and almost half the office thumps you on the back with sheer happiness.

3) You feel good about going to work, because suddenly everything seems sunshine-y.

4) You have enough money to buy your mum a washing machine, on a whim, without calculating your budgets.

5) You really love meeting old friends, who in turn, seem absolutely happy in catching up with you.

6) You are in touch with the first guy friend you ever made, and love how he's turned into this really awesome, witty, funny person.

7) You have the power to make Manchester United lose by going on saying that they will, just to spite your best friend and cousin (read: Lammy and Rohit). Hee hee. This is fun especially since you don't even care two hoots about what happens to the future of football.

8) People tell you, you write well. (Ok ok, that may not be true, but a little flattery never hurt anyone!)

9) One of your closest friends is almost getting a job she's really been wanting. With AWESOME money too.

10) Your haircut (courtesy Mikachu) looks lovely and you begin to feel like the diva that you've wanted to be. :P (Shameless plug: I'm not saying this because she's my best friend, but she's a REALLY fabulous hair dresser. You should totally get your cut from her sometime. Just go to Bandra, Mad-o-wot). :)

11) When you've read the entire Harry Potter series, for the 8th time (excluding book seven).

12) When you're up at 12 in the night, wanting to make a list of all the things that make you happy.

* big, happy smile* :D

I love you, world!

Happy Diwali and other rambles

2009-10-16T18:51:00.000-07:00

Hello, kind readers and Happy Diwali! Since I get supremely bugged with the long-winded "Happy Diwali and have a crappy new year full of prosperity'' kind of messages, do know that I mean the best for you. Just don't make me say it. :P

On a not-so-side not, this year's 'Foot-in-Mouth' Award goes to me. Why? Because I was a part of the following conversation:

The cleaning lady from the gym (called Mavshi) saw me in the gym after quite a hiatus. She stopped by for a chat, reproduced below:

Me: Hello Mavshi, how's you?
Mavshi: Fine. Long time no see!?
Me: Arey haan. No time. So Diwali preparations in full swing?
Mavshi: You know I won't be able to this year, since I lost my son five months ago.

After looking suitably ashamed of self (but horrified in the inner depths of my mind), I wondered why, at such time, the earth doesn't open up and swallow me up whole. Alternatively, someone gagging me with a wet, smelly sock at the precise moment wouldn't be such a bad thing, either.

If God was sitting up there and distributing traits at the time of my birth, I'd like to have acquired some proficiency in knitting sweaters or gardening or making paper hats or something. Why such copious amounts of skills in asking a woman who has lost her son (and knowing about her loss) whether she's going to be partying hard this season?

It's like asking a student who's failed his exams if he's bought his text books for next year.

Why do I do this? The fact that it was unintentional is no excuse.

In fact, I have no excuse.

Sorry, Mavshi. I really am. But I sincerely hope you have a good Diwali. Wherever your son is, I know he will want you to. You owe this to yourself...

The Travails of the Traveler

2009-10-08T10:09:00.000-07:00

Yoo hoo! I'm back from Delhi. I know I should have blogged about it ages ago, but what to do? I'm uber lazy. To describe the trip in a sentence, I'd say it was fabulously rejuvenating and fun.

Met up with loads of people I've been wanting to meet for the longest time - Sakshi, Shayon, Arushi and Phoenix, being some of them (actually that is the complete list, but I don't want to sound like a loser). I wish I'd seen a lot more of the places in Delhi, though. Whatever people may say, I strongly believe that our country is host to some of the most picturesque spots in the world, but it's disheartening how we still choose to hold ambitions of going abroad and gawking at the Leaning Bloody Tower of Pisa, while so many of us haven't even been to the Qutub Minar.

I went and visited a lot of these street shopping places though - Kamala Market, Sarojini Nagar and Janpath and bought loads of stuff of the streets. I have no qualms in saying that Colaba Causeway has more order to the chaos and that given half a chance, I'd go to Colaba a 100 times.

See this picture up there? That's Chandni Chowk. And that's all I'm going to say about the place, since nothing I say about it will justify the madness, the crowd and the utter craziness that is Chandni Chowk.

I'm not going to get into the nitty-gritties of the trip; I'd only make the whole thing sinfully boring. Suffice to say it was just the break I needed; I needed to get away from this city, meet new people and come back feeling like a daisy.

Now for all ye faithful readers, some photos.

The annoying wish-fulfilling pillar from Cheeni Kum.
The fabulously towering Qutub Minar...

That's our bloody government ripping off them poor foreigners. So that they can pay for us to scribble about our sordid love affairs all over the walls...

For more pics, go clicketty click here. No, you won't find any pics of me anywhere, in case you wanted to. :P

Didn't know drifting away from you was an option....

2009-10-05T11:54:00.000-07:00

My dear, dear friend

I am on a holiday in Delhi, like you so very well know. I'm having a whale of a time here, staying at a friend's house with her lovely family, roaming around Delhi when the city's at its best, eating the best food, blowing a lot of money and doing exactly everything that I should be doing to enjoy my holiday.

And yet, I'm making the time to sit here and blog. About you. Knowing myself, I wouldn't do that in normal circumstances. Why would I, when everything was going fabulously well here, and I could just blog about everything at one go when I return home? But nevertheless, I am here. Writing. About you.

Friend, I'm depressed. And I'm disappointed. I thought we were the kind of friends who'd never grow apart. The kind who, even if we didn't speak to each other for over several months, would always pick up from where we left off and still feel completely in sync with each other. As far as I know, we were always around for each other, for happy times and sad times, for silly reasons and funny memories. Midnight conversations were a staple. We'd speak to each other till the wee hours of the morning so many times. You were just the kind of friend who I thought was a security blanket. Whatever happened, I'd always have you to talk to. Or so I thought.

What's changed, then? Distance? If that was the case, we wouldn't be friends in the first place, right? Infrequent conversations? Well, it wasn't like we couldn't live without talking to each other. Is there someone who's taken my place? Hmm. Didn't think I was so easily replaceable.

Why don't I know you anymore? Why am I one of the general crowds who gets to know about you, through tweets or Facebook status messages or blog posts, instead of receiving a call about what's up with you, like was customary? Why don't I receive a text message anymore, whenever you update your blog after months? Instead, I only find out if you see me online and decide to ping me. Perhaps it's the restraints of a new job...but then, I know for a fact that your social life is otherwise completely active in all its glory.

So am I to take it that you've got a problem with me?

Why did you seem so reluctant to meet me, when I was in your city? Were you that busy that it was difficult for you to return a call? Or to find out how my vacation was going? Or was it just that you were partying really hard with other more interesting friends? I wonder if it was too much trouble making you come all the way even once. Sorry if it was.

I'm not washing my dirty linen in public here, you know me better than that. I'm just trying to find out what has gone wrong over just a few months. I'm not demanding an explanation from you either. I don't really know why I'm doing this. Perhaps because writing is the only thing that can make me feel better about this.

Forgive me if I sound like a lovesick, heartbroken wuss here. I'm not in love with you. Not the romantic kind, anyway.

I just thought, that after all the stuff that we've shared with each other, or rather, I've shared with you, you'd be the last person making me write this post. What hurts most is that, while our friendship definitely hasn't soured, you've become completely indifferent to my existence. I'm still coming to terms with that, but it will take time.

Thanks for meeting up with me over this small break. I don't know what to expect from you from our meet, but one thing is for sure. I definitely didn't expect to see a completely new person in front of me.

Again, no explanations required. Maybe someday I'll see the light.

And maybe next time, I won't take a holiday from work to spend the day with you, like I did the last time.

A hurriedly scribbled post

2009-10-01T08:34:00.000-07:00

Like the title says, this is a very hurried post. Your blog post would be hurried too, if some last minute packing was to be done, dinner was to be eaten, bedroom was to be made to look like human habitat and less like earthquake site and songs to be put into iPod. All this amidst mum popping in from the kitchen every 10 minutes like a cuckoo and saying ,"Will you get off the computer and FINISH the stuff you have to do?"

Yeah. In a minute.

Anyway, quick update about my life, in bullet form because that's all I have time for:

1) I'm alive, and well.
2) I've quit my job (officially), but my boss is calling it 'indefinite leave'. I don't know what to call my sabbatical yet. Will decide when I'm back from my chhuti.
3) I'm off to Delhi tomorrow, speaking of chhutis, for a mini-break of five days. I'm going to be putting up at Sakshi's place. More about that when I return. Plus if you're lucky, you'll get pictures.
4) I have this lingering feeling like I've forgotten to pack something important. But I have certainly packed the chuddies, toothbrush, tickets and money, so I think I can survive without the other stuff.
5) I am officially broke now. Please contribute heavily to my 'Let's support Moo in the time of need' fund. I accept cash, cheques, gift vouchers, demand drafts and sodexho coupons.
6) I will sorely miss Mum, Dad, Sheroo, Snowy and Lammy throughout my trip. So used to talking to them every, single day. I'm such a wuss.

And now that's all you're getting. Detailed posts about life in general later. Leave me comments and be good.

Ciao!

Now I know my ABC...

2009-08-31T14:38:00.000-07:00

It's 4.30 am, I'm in office closing a really big issue, with miraculous bits of time in between where I don't know what to do with myself. I'm trying to ignore the steady throbbing in my temples, but it won't go away.

I'm amusing myself by doing this tag. I will tag precisely four people. If you don't take up the tag, I will haunt you forever. (I'm going to die of exhaustion in precisely twenty minutes).

Apparently, this tag is called the ABC Tag. Picked it up from Sakshi Pie's blog. The questions begin from A-Z. Hence the name (how original). Here I go.

1) A – Available/Single?
Available for a coffee if you're in town.

2) B – Best friend?
Mika. Lammy. Smallie. Gakash. Ro. Chicken Little. Zander.

3) C – Cake or Pie?
Cake, I think. Gulab Jamun, if you're taking orders.

4) D – Drink of choice?
Cranberry breezer. :P Not for the alcohol, purely for the taste. Arey, somebody believe me!

5) E – Essential item you use every day?
Chuddies. Pen. Handbag. Wallet.

6) F – Favorite colour?
Deep blue. White. Black.

7) G – Gummy Bears Or Worms?
What sort of a freakshow question is this?

8) H – Hometown?
Moo-mbai!

9) I – Indulgence?
Original Sin donuts from Mad Over Donuts. They turn you on.

10) J – January or February?
Rumpelstiltskin

11) K – Kids & their names?
Oh. This is easy. Hiryanyakashapoo and Ghatotkhach. Poo and Gatty, in short.

12) L – Life is incomplete without?
Being cuddled to death by the ones who I love being cuddled by.

13) M – Marriage date?
On the day I take a casual leave

14) N – Name? Your real name!!
Moo. That's all YOU need to know.

15) O – Oranges or Apples?
Oranges, I guess. How does it matter, again?

16) P – Phobias/Fears?
Crossing the road. Used to be escalators once upon a time. In fact I have a whole post about everything that frightens me.

17) Q – Quote for today?
Ek din mar jayega, kutte ki maut,
Ghar wale kahenge, mar gaya madarc**t!

18) R – Reason to smile?
Hot soup after a tiring day. :)

19) S – Season?
Mumbai winter

20) T – Tag 3 People?
The White Phoenix, Doubledrats, Sreejit

21) U – Unknown fact about me?
I love giving nicknames

22) V – Vegetable you don’t like?
Tinda

23) W – Worst habit?
Worst time manager

24) X – X-rays?
Loads of times.

25) Y – Your favorite food?
Cauliflower sabzi made by ma, beef cooked by Lammy

26) Z – Zodiac sign?
The hottest sign of the Zodiac - Aries. :D

Away from peeping eyes...

2009-08-19T10:47:00.000-07:00

They walked into her building, hand in hand.

"Look at those two," said a neighbour to another, "Always walking in and out at any time they like. No decency or shame..."

"God knows what they do up there for so many hours. Girls these days..." said the other neighbour.

Ignoring the women's jibes and taunts, they trudged on at their own pace and entered the lift.

They entered her apartment. The very next minute, she collapsed on the sofa, tired.

"Wait, I'll make you some coffee, princess. You rest for a bit," he said.

"Thanks darling. I love you," she smiled through her headache.

10 minutes later, she sat up drinking her piping hot cuppa Joe. He took her cup to the sink and washed it, while she sat wondering what she'd done to deserve him.

"Sweetheart," he said, holding her closely in his arms, "I really think I shouldn't be coming here too often. The nasty women from your building say and think really sick things about us."

"Like what?" she asked.

"You know like what," he said.

"Tell me... Like what?" she persisted.

"You know, like we're humping each other the second we walk in through that door. It's sickening, how their minds work. Almost makes you want to shower," he vented.

"Who cares what they think?" she asked.

"I do. There's no reason they should worry so much about our sex lives or whether or not we have one. Doesn't their peskiness affect you one bit?"

"Not really."

"What? How come?"

"Because every moment I spend in peace with you here, in complete privacy, away from peeping eyes is worth every taunt, every jibe."

"I know, baby. But..."

"I don't care if they think we're making love out of sin. For me, that cup of coffee you make me is as sacred as making love to you. Every caress is as special. Do you think I care about nosey women from my building, when you're holding me tight and saying lovely things in my ear?"

"You know what?" he asked.

"What?" she said.

"I love you more than my life."

Train timepass

2009-08-15T09:10:00.000-07:00

Recently caught up with Chicken Little, when she hopped into a train at Mahalaxmi and I, at Lower Parel. She and I have been the best of friends since 7th grade ("Don't count the number of years we've been friends", she always whines. "We always end up fighting when you do!" Kindly ignore and pliss to dismiss as chicken banter. :P)

Anyway, as is usual with her, she was being her random self when she pointed out to this:

"Mooey, I don't know about you, but the picture of those kids on the left seems really, really wrong. What kind of a workshop do you think it is?" she asked.

I laughed heartily at that and then wondered: Seriously, what are those kids doing? And what's with that other kid stretching his legs till his pants are about to split at the seams?

Something shady's happening. Pliss to investigate, someone. I'm going and having my dinner.

In conversation with myself

2009-08-09T08:24:00.000-07:00

How wrong is it, to want to be a different person sometimes? To put away all those ideas of being yourself and people loving you just as you are? To be able to take a vacation from doing all the things people expect you to do, the things that you expect yourself to do, even?

Life is a funny thing. You spend so much time trying to shape it to the way you want it to be, but then when you do get there, you realise it isn't as glamorous as you wanted it to be.

I've wanted to live my life the way I do, since 7th grade. I'd dreamed of going to work, having a decent paycheck being dropped into my hands every month, having a boss everyone would kill to have, lovely parents who don't trouble me when I come home from work at unearthly hours, friends who care when I'm upset. Heck, most people aren't even fortunate enough to get to do what they like. I have everything; it would seem like the most perfect life anyone would want to live.

Then why is there a gnawing feel of something being incomplete? I don't expect my life to reach fulfillment at 22, but there's this feeling somewhere deep within, that this is not what I wanted to do, after all.

There are so many unresolved issues in my head that I can't talk about. Not to the ones closest to me anyway.

Maybe I'll just marry rich and buy Jimmy Choo(tiya) all day.

Computer games / TV > Books? Sad...

2009-08-03T08:30:00.000-07:00

Overheard at Crossword bookstore by yours truly:

"Beta, why do you want to waste money buying books, when I'm buying you a nice computer game?"

Jai ho!

It really is Kalyug, isn't it?

If this generation of parents is actually going to discourage a child who wants to buy books (a rare species in the first place), what hope is left for Mother Earth?

Everywhere we go, we'll find six-year-old children donning soda-bottle glasses, discussing the way they pulled some enemy's intestines out (complete with squelchy sounds, mind you) with an AK47 that's purple and turquoise in colour in some morbidly named game. They'll also know how many women Vinod Kambli slept with before and after marrying the bimbette of his wife (courtesy: Sach ka Saamna). However, not one will have read or even heard of 'Charlie and the Chocolate Factory' or 'Alice in Wonderland'.

It's so completely sad to see hoardes of people hovering around the CD-ROM / DVD / VCD collections at bookstores, but not many takers for books. Plus, out of the six and a half people that are amidst books, four and three quarters will be hovering around Chetan Bhagat and fervently flipping through the pages of his...ahem...profound literature.

Where are the readers? Not to say that I know every book there is and I read as much as I'd like to, but I try. I really do. I try spending my spare time either reading or writing, although it's not always possible. But I think my mother will have no qualms in slicing my neck with a blunt knife if I watch too much television (in fact, no one in my house watches television!) or keep playing games on the computer and don't read. My mother bees weird like that.

What is the world coming to? Or am I too old for it? I'm chewing on that and perhaps, so should you.

And lastly, before I go, I leave you with one of my favourite Roald Dahl poems.

Television

The most important thing we've learned,
So far as children are concerned,
Is never, NEVER, NEVER let
Them near your television set --
Or better still, just don't install
The idiotic thing at all.
In almost every house we've been,
We've watched them gaping at the screen.
They loll and slop and lounge about,
And stare until their eyes pop out.
(Last week in someone's place we saw
A dozen eyeballs on the floor.)
They sit and stare and stare and sit
Until they're hypnotised by it,
Until they're absolutely drunk
With all that shocking ghastly junk.
Oh yes, we know it keeps them still,
They don't climb out the window sill,
They never fight or kick or punch,
They leave you free to cook the lunch
And wash the dishes in the sink --
But did you ever stop to think,
To wonder just exactly what
This does to your beloved tot?
IT ROTS THE SENSE IN THE HEAD!
IT KILLS IMAGINATION DEAD!
IT CLOGS AND CLUTTERS UP THE MIND!
IT MAKES A CHILD SO DULL AND BLIND
HE CAN NO LONGER UNDERSTAND
A FANTASY, A FAIRYLAND!
HIS BRAIN BECOMES AS SOFT AS CHEESE!
HIS POWERS OF THINKING RUST AND FREEZE!
HE CANNOT THINK -- HE ONLY SEES!
'All right!' you'll cry. 'All right!' you'll say,
'But if we take the set away,
What shall we do to entertain
Our darling children? Please explain!'
We'll answer this by asking you,
'What used the darling ones to do?
'How used they keep themselves contented
Before this monster was invented?'
Have you forgotten? Don't you know?
We'll say it very loud and slow:
THEY ... USED ... TO ... READ! They'd READ and READ,
AND READ and READ, and then proceed
To READ some more. Great Scott! Gadzooks!
One half their lives was reading books!
The nursery shelves held books galore!
Books cluttered up the nursery floor!
And in the bedroom, by the bed,
More books were waiting to be read!
Such wondrous, fine, fantastic tales
Of dragons, gypsies, queens, and whales
And treasure isles, and distant shores
Where smugglers rowed with muffled oars,
And pirates wearing purple pants,
And sailing ships and elephants,
And cannibals crouching 'round the pot,
Stirring away at something hot.
(It smells so good, what can it be?
Good gracious, it's Penelope.)
The younger ones had Beatrix Potter
With Mr. Tod, the dirty rotter,
And Squirrel Nutkin, Pigling Bland,
And Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle and-
Just How The Camel Got His Hump,
And How the Monkey Lost His Rump,
And Mr. Toad, and bless my soul,
There's Mr. Rate and Mr. Mole-
Oh, books, what books they used to know,
Those children living long ago!
So please, oh please, we beg, we pray,
Go throw your TV set away,
And in its place you can install
A lovely bookshelf on the wall.
Then fill the shelves with lots of books,
Ignoring all the dirty looks,
The screams and yells, the bites and kicks,
And children hitting you with sticks-
Fear not, because we promise you
That, in about a week or two
Of having nothing else to do,
They'll now begin to feel the need
Of having something to read.
And once they start -- oh boy, oh boy!
You watch the slowly growing joy
That fills their hearts. They'll grow so keen
They'll wonder what they'd ever seen
In that ridiculous machine,
That nauseating, foul, unclean,
Repulsive television screen!
And later, each and every kid
Will love you more for what you did.

So absolutely true, innit? Whaddaya think? Moo back at me in the comments section and let me know. :)

2009-08-01T09:08:00.001-07:00

You've got to have a bunch of potatoes for eyes, if you haven't noticed the new interiors my blog is sporting. Almost 90% of the people I know have genuinely liked it (they'd better), while the others have nodded politely and played along.

But hey, what's not to like? There's an awfully cuddly cow and there's lot of greenery. Now you have to admit. Don't you feel like reaching out snuggling the cow? Come on, ADMIT!

And how can I not thank dear Gakash for this new look? He made the template in 30 minutes flat! He accepts orders too. I take 80% commission on every new template he creates. And no, you cannot approach him on the sly. Rascals.

Well, this was a quick post to tell you I'm around and not dead (yet). Will update real soon! :)

Toodle-oo!

Chewing the cud....

2009-07-20T08:20:00.001-07:00

I read a beautiful quote in this book I'm reading - The Palace of Illusions by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni. I'm normally not the first person to remember and harp on about quotes, but something about this quote touched me somewhere deep inside.

It's attributed to Draupadi, from whose eyes this book describes The Mahabharata. She's an extremely strong woman with a point of view. Perhaps what charms me most about her, is that she's very human, very like any of us. Someone with her own grouses and expectations. Self-centred, manipulative, proud and refusing to be treated as an object by the men around her, she's someone we might encounter in our everyday lives. She's bold and she's attractive. That's how I like my women characters!

There's a situation in the book, where she is being told the Nala Damayanti story. And although she doesn't show that she isn't convinced with Damayanti's way of proving her undying love for her husband, she questions herself with:

At what point does forbearance cease to become a virtue and becomes a weakness?

This is something I've asked myself quite a number of times, although not worded so beautifully. Those who know me really well, will know that I'm always in two minds about something. Not because I am afraid what the world will say, but because I know it will affect my loved ones' lives, someway or the other.

Don't most of us prefer to remain silent, so that the people who matter the most can remain happy? Don't we keep mum about certain things when we should have spoken up, preferring to let someone shoot an arrow through our hearts instead? Sometimes it may be for love, sometimes pure weakness.

Why else do we prefer to listen to colleagues sitting on our heads instead of showing them their place?

Why else do we prefer marrying people who we don't want to, if not to keep our parents happy?

Why do we continue working on jobs that we hate, except not to disappoint those around us?

Why do we doing things against our wishes, values, principles, if not for some weakness for someone who may or may not even matter?

If we look back at the times we've put forward someone else before us, we'd come up with a big number. I know I would. I've lived a happy, wholesome life so far...But there are those times that I wish I'd spoken up. The times I wish I'd kept only myself in mind and just my happiness. The times I knew I'd truly be happy had I not given someone else a thought.

I wonder why we bear so much. And seriously, when does that make us virtuous and when does it make us weak?

Quizzical

2009-07-04T08:54:00.000-07:00

I feel a rant coming up. But I really really need to vent this out before I burst a vein somewhere in the inner depths of my brain.

I'm going to ask this aloud. ONCE. Clearly.

Why. Do. People. Take. Those. Weird. Facebook. Quizzes?

They pop up on my computer screen, they are in my face when I'm checking Facebook from my mobile AND I CAN'T GO ANYWHERE WITHOUT STUBBING MY EFFIN' TOE ON THEM.

Has this become the new national pastime? Is this what you're supposed to be doing to be an avid Facebooker? Have I become old? Or are people really leaking their brains out of their noses?

Every time I peek into Facebook, there is someone on my friends list (I so need new friends) who has undergone the process of introspection and taken some ridiculous quiz. And just when I begin to think that I've seen the most ludicrous ones there are (for instance, 'So-and-so has taken the 'How good are you as a person, and the result is 'Very Good Person!'), up comes something else more unbelievable (example would be: Ms. Good-for-nothing-couch-potato has just taken the 'how will you die?' quiz and the result is 'By the hands of someone who hates seeing fucking quiz results on her homepage!').

Is this the new fun? How is knowing how you're going to breathe your last or what the first letter of your secret lover's name is make a sodding difference to your life? LOSERS.

I won't be surprised to see the following results on my page soon (not that I'll be sorry to see these):

1) Your dead friend Fartface took the 'How will my husband kill me for dowry?' quiz and the result is 'By tickling her to death!'

2) My-brains-are-a-mangled-mess took the 'How gay am I?' quiz and the result is 'Gay enough to be taking quizzes on social networking sites!'

3) Your friend Worthless took the 'Which car suits me best?' quiz and the result is 'The one that successfully runs me over!'

4) Your friend Dumbfuck recently took the 'Who will you be happiest marrying?' quiz with the result 'Someone who keeps me off social networking sites for general welfare!'

Get out of my face, will you?

Just one word of advice to all ye quiztakers. Someone created the internet so that you could have fun with it. This is not fun. Not for humans anyway. And certainly not for your bloody friends.

And do whatever you will with Facebook. Just... CAN YOU KEEP THE DAMNED RESULTS OFF MY PAGE?

2009-06-09T10:20:00.000-07:00

I'm terribly upset right now.

Upset, for being stupid enough not to have secured one thing in hand; instead chasing two uncertain ones.

Upset, because I know I tried my best.

Upset, because it wasn't my fault.

Upset, because I am to blame.

Upset, because I am still new at this.

Upset, because both things went bust, in spite of having the sense to have a back-up.

Upset, because life isn't fair at all. And the realisation sucks.

Upset, because I can't Ctrl+Z life.

Upset, because some people get away with doing nothing.

Upset, because that's all I can do.

:'(

If you think you're Shakespeare, please get away from my sight

2009-06-07T09:39:00.000-07:00

Those who know me reasonably well, should also know that I hate pretence of any kind. People who spend half their life putting up an image for God knows whose benefit, physically tire me. Perhaps that's one of the primary reasons I'm sick to the teeth of all those folks who think they're born to be writers, especially the ones who think they were born mumbling Haikus or Sir Philip Sidney's sonnets. You see such species everywhere. At least I do. They burst into poetry like it's a spate of bad words or quote great authors like one would say 'How do you do?'

Ok, let's start at the beginning. Anyone is allowed to think they can write; it's a free country. But can these kind, gentle folks exercise their fundamental rights a little less vehemently?

Still don't get it? Let me explain.

Fine. So you think you can write. Congratulations. But can you not keep harping on and on about it, and try and keep it personal? So if you're still as thick in the head as I think you are, you can do the following and let me move on with my life:

1) Don't refer to your writing as if you're carrying Shakespeare's legacy forward. Which means you're not allowed to say things like, "I'm not inspired enough to update my blog" or "Like William Golding says, my writing is ". You should be clobbered and made to feel a little stupid, in case you're waiting for divine intervention to come up with a mere blog post. Next time, try laziness as an excuse. Far more believable.

2) Don't write idiotic, pseudo intellectual "poetry". It does nothing for your writing, except maybe make you sound batty in addition to demented. Also, don't try camouflaging utter rubbish under 'modern verse'. Doesn't fool anyone. Examples of said "poems" are:

I walked through the maze.
Looking for him.
Will he come? Will he go?
I laughed to myself and came out of the blinding light.

Sorry. But what are you even talking about? If this is poetry, then even I can come up with some:

I looked at the ice-cream shop, wistfully.
Ice-cream beckons, said the voices in my head,
I stared hard at the hamburger in my hand.
Who took a bite of it when I was wasting my time thinking of ice-creams?
Boy, I must really be stupid.
A blinding flash of light, sudden silence.
I had been standing in the middle of the highway.

See? It's that easy. One and a half minute is all it took, to come up with modern verse. And if I can do it, it's not art. Wake up from your reverie and get a job, please.

3) Don't ask for feedback as far as possible. Unless, you really are prepared to hear someone (me) say "I don't think this is making any sense." If you still do come and ask for an impartial critique of your piece, I will not criticise your work in a way that makes you think about your life. I will cite exact reasons as to why your piece of literature isn't working for me. Trust me, I take feedback in the same spirit (if I've asked for it, of course). But since most people begin to mouth the word 'bitch' in their heads the moment I say something like "I think you could have worked on this in another way", I refrain from giving feedback. You can shove your lovely little pieces of writing where the sun don't shine.

4) Don't pretend you have read the entire collection at The British Council twice over, when your "Books I've read" list consists solely of Chetan Bhagat, Dan Brown, Sidney Sheldon, The Godfather, Paulo Coelho and The Monk Who Sold His Ferrari. It's all ok to have read them on the side, but if those are your list, you are in serious trouble. Don't even bother writing.

5) If your punctuation is terrible, you need to go to school. There are no two ways about that. Frequent use of '.......' isn't cool either. It displays a clear lack of vocabulary or an inability to connect two sentences together. If both, punctuation and vocabulary, are a problem, kindly don't venture near pen and paper. And while we're on the subject, if you think blogging or writing in SMS language is cool, please go and write SMSes. ONLY.

6) It would help if it ever crossed your mind, that even the best pieces of writing may not be as amazing as you think they are. Your first draft cannot be your final draft (in 99% of the cases). Don't go about thinking that whatever you throw up on paper is going to be perfumed. Be open to the idea that it may stink and you can only do something about it, if you accept the possibility of it stinking. Also, edit and re-edit. Too many typos are extremely uncool.

7) Don't ask for advice from friends who don't read. Quite often, they will bloat your ego to the size of a spaceship by repeatedly using the word 'SUPERFAB!' in connection with your writing. This causes you to think that you know it all and there's no room for improvement. It is never the case.

And before I'm done with the bombardment of DONT'S and hence, the post, one word of advice for the person doling the feedback. It's very easy to sit there and poke holes with the piece under consideration, but difficult to produce it. So, be gentle. Don't just discard something as worthless without having the patience to impart constructive criticism (if the person is willing to listen to you, of course). If you can't do the latter, you've no right to do the former.

P.S. Nowhere do I claim to be the best writer there is. Heck, I don't even think I'm good. So, if you look really carefully, nowhere have I implied to be the Tolkein of our times. If anything, the post is to have aspiring writers (or people who believe they're already there) to stop making me feel like a bitch, simply because I think you write badly. So if I get any comments questioning my integrity to dole out advice, I will impale you. I promise.

The tag where I could lie, but it'd be stupid to...

2009-06-04T10:15:00.000-07:00

I've seen quite a few tags in my short life, but none as nosy as the one I'm about to jump into. And since I'm an extremely nosy person myself (Sheesh, you weren't supposed to know that!), I'm getting a perverse sort of pleasure in doing this tag. So without further ado, ladies and gennemen, I present to you, the 30 nosy question tag!

1) When you looked at yourself in the mirror today, what was the first thing you thought?
Man! I look horrendously sleep-deprived. (Ok I may not have said horrendous, but I'd like you to think that I even think big words in my head)

2) How much cash do you have in your wallet right now?
Approximately Rs. 400 odd. What? You didn't expect me to get up from here and go count, did you?

3) What’s a word that rhymes with DOOR?
Core. Soar. Lore. Tore. Pore. Pour. Sore. Gore. Whore. Take your pick.

4) Who is the 4th person on your missed call list on your cell phone?
Bindu, my colleague from work. Although how this information enriched your life, I can't fathom.

5) What is your favorite ring tone on your phone?
Love will come through by Travis.

6) What are you wearing right now?
Shorts and a tee.

7) Do you label yourself?
I think I should, since I'm extremely clumsy and might lose myself somewhere.

8) Name the brand of the shoes you’re currently own?
Let's see. There are those five pairs of Oshos I own, one Converse, my Adidas gym shoes and the tons of other junk chappals I keep buying. Again, take your pick (but don't borrow).

9) Bright or Dark Room?
An empty room

10) What do you think about the person who took this survey before you?
I thought he (The White Phoenix) was my best friend, until his blog tells me otherwise and irreparably breaks my heart.

11) What does your watch look like?
It looks like a really nice Fastrack watch. That's all there is to it, really.

12) What were you doing at midnight last night?
I was already one and a half hour into blissful, sweaty sleep.

13) What did your last text message you received on your cell say?
I don't think I can reproduce it here. Next question, please.

14) What’s a word that you say a lot?
Bullshit. Fuck. Amazingggg!

15) Who told you he/she loved you last?
I told myself that, since nobody else did.

16) Last furry thing you touched?
Dad, when I gave him a fat-ass hug. :P

17) Favourite age you have been so far?
83. Although 59 wasn't too bad, either.

18) What was the last thing you said to someone?
Please pass me some cashews. (To dad)

19) The last song you listened to?
American Boy by Estelle feat. Kanye West

20) Where did you live in 1987?
Before March 22, I was in my mother's womb, after that in Mumbai.

21) Are you jealous of anyone?
Of anyone who manages to remain thin, in spite of eating like a goat.

22) Is anyone jealous of you?
Oh, loads of people. I'm quite the diva.

23) Name three things that you have on you at all times?
My iPod, cell phone and kajal

24) What’s your favourite town/city?
Mumbai.

25) When was the last time you wrote a letter to someone on paper and mailed it?
About two years ago, when Shivani and I used to write to each other. Days before she got a cell phone.

26) Can you change the oil on a car?
Isn't being able to drive it, enough?

27) Your first love/big crush: What is the last thing you heard about him/her?
He is happily in a relationship for three years and is completing his engineering.

28) Does anything hurt on your body right now?
My ring finger. I think I've pulled a vein somewhere and made it turn a poisonous green colour.

29) What is your current desktop picture?
A picture I'd clicked of the Murud Janjira lake.

30) Have you been burnt by love?
No, not yet. And I don't want to be, either.

Now that I've completed that, here's the fun part. I tag:

1) Lyandra
2) Mani
3) The Golden Retreat (if you ever return to my blog)
4) The Nicest Geek (I know he won't do it, but what the hell....)
5) Sreejit
6) G@K

Let's give peace a chance

2009-05-23T13:41:00.000-07:00

I've never written a movie or book review in my life. And I don't think I will anytime soon, either. Right now, I'm going to talk about 'Khuda Kay Liye', a movie I've finished watching not more than five minutes ago. A movie, that has moved me in ways no other movie has, in a long long time. This is by no means a review; this is an experience.

Most people I know haven't seen Khuda Kay Liye, rejecting it simply because it is a product from Pakistan. The reasons range from bizarre ones like "There are so many Indian movies I have to still watch...Pakistani ones can wait!" to "You think Pakistanis can make good movies?". Well, someone even said that Muslims or anything remotely related to them depresses him. See how xenophobic we are on a day-to-day basis, without even realising it?

The movie addresses many issues, like how fundamental Muslims are completely at loggerheads with the progressive, liberal Muslims. Furthermore, it even probes into how all Muslims, even the unsuspecting, innocent ones, are looked upon as terrorists especially post 9/11. The film aims to educate and open the common Muslim woman's eyes and makes her aware about her rights and in places, even explains what the Koran actually means for women. There is such a complex, warped web of issues surrounding the community, that it is all very overwhelming to take in all at once. But that is exactly what this movie aims to do. Provoke the viewer into thinking for himself and not to subject himself to blindly accepting what the religious heads have to say, as well as to remind him that he has no right to paint the entire community black because of terrible experiences with certain members. Because simply put, a handful of bad eggs don't make up the entire basket.

All through the time I was watching the movie, I kept feeling sorry for the one of the lead characters and the torturous treatment doled out to him, because of his religion. And all I kept yelling in my head was, that he's NOT at fault. LET HIM GO already! For me, he was an innocent human who was framed through no fault of his. Shouldn't we be treating all our Muslim brothers from all over the world as humans first, Muslims later?

True, most terrorists these days turn out to be Muslims. But why do we resultantly look at every Muslim suspiciously? We know of Hindu, Sikh or Christian criminals. But do we look at everybody with scrutiny? Can we deny that the thought - 'Oh, he's a Muslim' doesn't cross our mind for a flitting second, the minute we're introduced to one? Why does this happen? And how did anybody let this reach this stage?

One thing everyone must remember, is that in every community, we will find all types of people - the liberal, the fanatic, the fundamentalist, the atheist, the agnostic - it takes all kinds to make up a community. But no one has the right to ill-treat someone on the basis of a community, much less ill-treat someone because they belong to one.

And lastly, if we must hate somebody, can we at least do it in peace, without bloodshed?

P.S. All views in this post are entirely mine. If you don't agree with them, too bad. Just read and let go , ok?

Children: A reality check on why I don't want any...

2009-05-17T09:55:00.000-07:00

Readers who've been reading all the frustration I've been churning out over the years, know my contempt for children of all shapes, sizes and ages. For the uninitiated, I think children should be locked in the bathroom the minute they're born and released after they turn eight years old or something.

Which brings me to the topic of discussion. Why don't I see any well-behaved, polite children anywhere around me these days? And why does everyone around me think that these excruciatingly bratty kids are awfully cute, while I think they're just plain awful? In retrospect, I sometimes wonder if it's really a child's fault for turning out the way it does, or its parents'.

Everywhere I go, I can't walk around any place in peace without stubbing my toe on a brat. And I'm not referring to just any simple, uncomplicated brat. But the sort of brat whose neck you want to wring with your bare hands and whose remains you want to eat for breakfast. You encounter such species in malls, restaurants, theatres, mobile stores, beauty parlours, trains and any other conceivable place. These kids believe that their entire world is their playground, so they won't waste a minute playing catch-and-cook or hide-and-seek, in which case they simply lock themselves up in an unsupervised changing rooms and refuse to come out, despite the long line of customers that gradually starts building up outside.

I really don't understand where the parents of these kids come from. Wouldn't a normal, self-respecting human being feel at least an iota of shame when their kids are given annoyed glances, disgruntled looks or in some cases, told to shut up? Turns out, not really. Mamma dearest turns all protective about her offspring and gives the wronged party a dirty look in return. Sometimes, she may even throw in her favourite argument: "Agar bacche nahi masti karenge toh kaun karega?"

No, mummy dearest. I get that you unfortunately, love your child. But I don't get why your child should go ahead and spoil everyone's time and experience. I also can't fathom why you think your child is so cute when he's clearly behaving like Satan's spawn. If you have any argument in your favour, I'd like to hear it. But don't be surprised if I throw my shoe at you in the middle of the conversation. Goodness knows you have nothing to say in your defense.

These are the exact same parents who will happily continue shopping in malls, when their children are on some other floor playing havoc with the toys. These are the same parents who encourage their children to sit on sofas and beds with their shoes on, in expensive furniture shops. Such parents don't bother stopping their children from doing anything, like playing with the gas right upto talking back to whoever's in front of them. Forget trying to stop them; they make merry these disgusting habits thereby encouraging the child to become increasingly difficult day by day.

Don't these parents realise that they're being nothing but bad parents? That they don't need to prove their love to their children by indulging every whim and fancy? What makes them so afraid to show their kids who's the boss? The possibility that their children might hate them? That's a little impossible, considering a six year-old will remember that its mother rebuked it for drawing on the walls, for only about 10 minutes. At the most it will cry, throw a tantrum and not hover around its mother for sometime. Surely the mother can live with that?

Most importantly, don't you realise you're making your child a less likeable, annoying, whimpering, complaining little piece of hate? A someone who is not used to taking no for an answer and hence, not used to tasting bits of failure now and then?

Perhaps I don't have the right to teach you how to bring up your children. But please, keep your beloved offspring away from constantly staring into my plate and reaching out into my food when I'm trying to enjoy a decent meal at a restaurant. Or don't blame me if I give your child a resounding slap the next time.

Or maybe I'll save the slap for you.

This is all very well, but I'd specifically asked for the Pulitzer!

2009-05-14T10:10:00.000-07:00

Teehee! :D *blush blush*

It's award time again! *drumroll*

My humble benefactress The Gentle Whisperer has been doling out awards again. If it wasn't for her, I would never get to practice the Pulitzer speech I have prepared (in case of emergency). This time, she's given me two awards (she either has no people to award them to, or she's as blind as a bat), both very flattering. *drumroll 2*

The first one is The Lovely Friends Award. It's nice to know that at least someone apart from me thinks I'm lovely.

So I'm gonna pass this award on to some people who really deserve it. Here goes. *drumroll 3*

Sakshi: For patiently checking my blog every so often, in spite of knowing that I don't bother with timely updates. She always leaves the nicest comments behind and is, in short, a dream blog friend!

Sreejith: Again, for commenting on every post without fail, in spite of knowing that I am lazy to return the favour. Completely non-judgmental, feel-good blog visitor. You deserve every bit of this award. :)

Meow: A very dear friend, both on and off the blog world. This award must go to her, because we rediscovered each other ONLY because of the blog. :) Love you loads, my favourite Kitty! *hug*

Monica: Always around to give out feedback on my writing when needed, and so extremely patient even when I simply forget to check the stuff she sends me. Sometimes I'm surprised she even speaks to me. Mon Mon, this award is in anticipation of the forgiveness I will need, when I forget to read what you send me next! :P

Pliss to note: This time, this award will NOT include the following losers:

1) The White Phoenix - I have wasted 65000 awards on this man, in vain. Nor only does he acknowledge the award, he apparently thinks even talking about it is beneath him. I am completely looking through him this time.

2) The Nicest Geek - Over time, I have discovered that The Nicest Geek is not so nice after all. He lurks and lurks and lurks all over my blog and does not deign to comment. He can do without an award too.

3) The Wiseass: Highly opinionated, extremely judgmental blogger, who can even be a troll when she wants to. That's my sister for you. She's a really tiny troll though. So I'm gonna call her a trolley. :P

After all the niceties, it's now time to present the second award. I have no clue what The Gentle Whisperer was thinking when she was giving me this. Perhaps she knew I'd sulk if I wouldn't be included. So ladies and gennemen, this year's 'Blogger with a Purpose' award goes to...

Mooooo!

*insert sounds of fake clapping, cheering and screaming here*

I'm really pleased to know that someone seems to have discovered a purpose for my blog. I still don't know what it is, though. Being vain and devoting a LOT of cyberspace to yourself surely has its benefits.

And I oh-so-generously pass on this award to:

1) Sakshi: Not because there's no one else. But because she's so completely open about her feelings, without wanting to sound politically correct. It's brave how she discusses extremely personal subjects like her relationship and her own thoughts about so many things so openly, without caring about being judged. That's quite impressive and commendable. Way to go, Sakshi! :)

2) Sreejith: Someone who has nothing to do with writing, but still writes anyway. Because he acknowledges the beauty of writing as a medium to convey feelings. On a side note, a very good read and a talented blogger. This one's for you!

3) Meow: Someone who absolutely is a delight to read and whose sole purpose is to keep everyone around her blog entertained, plus be brutally frank. Her blog is one of the few I can't WAIT to be updated. This is her award. :)

4) Ess: Amazing read, very witty, completely entertaining with careful consideration to punctuation. I think the last bit is what especially stole my heart. :)

For all ye hopefuls who couldn't make it to the list, go home and think about your life. Maybe you can make it next year by sheer hard work and earning the award. However, a quicker way would be to buy me doughnuts from M.O.D or gift vouchers from Promod.

Bribes aren't illegal in the virtual world. :P

Your daddy should be safely locked up at home when you're driving, because...

2009-05-12T10:19:00.000-07:00

1) It's the worst idea to let him sit in the seat next to you.
2) He forgets that you're four years past the legal driving age, and that you've been driving for almost two years now.
3) He will painfully point out every signal, every pothole and every pebble on the road, expecting you to slow down.
4) He wants to be a part of your life's major decisions, like whether you're going to use the dipper at the next junction or simply wait for the guy on the bicycle pass by you smugly.
5) He gets hyper when your car stalls.
6) You aren't supposed to lose your temper through the course of the drive. Even if it means bursting a blood vessel somewhere in the inner depths of your brain.
7) It's always your fault if the car next to you comes too close for comfort.
8) He goes all 'AAAAAAAAARGH WATCH OUTTTTTTTT' when all you did was forget to slow down at a speed breaker. He then yells at you for swerving to the left when he screamed.
9) He tells you to keep your foot off the clutch, after every three minutes.
10) When he's not discussing the general well-being of the clutch, he wants to know if you can clearly see all the cars coming at you in the rearview mirror.
11) He behaves like you're driving with your eyes closed or while you're painting your nails.
12) He clearly becomes the reason you have no fingernails left.
13) He has a problem with the music you play.
14) He keeps his hand on the handbreak throughout the drive, almost as if you might switch the wipers on instead of stepping on the breaks, in an emergency.
15) You can't call the passing biker 'ABEY GANDOOOO' freely and loudly with daddy next to you. Trust me, he will kill you for your colourful vocabulary before killing the biker who broke the mirror.
16) He's a darned good driver himself and you secretly wish you could drive and / or learn to park like him.
16) He sadly knows he's an awesome driver. :(

The post that proves I'm wasted...

2009-05-01T11:15:00.001-07:00

What can be worse than a writer's block? I know! The fact that you have tens of thousands of ideas and incidents happening to you, but nothing coming out of it when you actually sit down and bloody write! *insert angry smiley here*

Ok, that's not entirely true. A colleague told me about this fantastic site, where I can watch ALL episodes of Grey's Anatomy for free! :D Ok, I'm a little retarded like that and didn't know one could even do something like that in the first place. But believe me. My personal life has gone for a toss since this discovery. While on the one hand I feel like giving away giant bear hugs to the colleague who told me about the site, the sane part of my brain thinks she was sent by Satan to ruin all my free time. In fact I bet if we shaved her head and looked really hard, we'd find a 666 engraved on her skull.

I love Grey's Anatomy. Like really do. I know I've ranted about this before and there are still some of you who watch Scrubs, I think you're making a grave mistake. How can something be better than Grey's Anatomy?

Moral of the story is, I am not reading the book I'm supposed to be reading, I'm not blogging, I'm not writing the stuff that I'm supposed to be writing for work over the weekend and my life's a mess.

Heck, I'm not complaining at all. In fact, if you have any sense, go watch Grey's Anatomy NOW! :D

*Scuttles off to watch Season 3, episode 8 with a box of Pringles and a wide grin* :D

Yudh Kar!

2009-04-19T07:13:00.000-07:00

It's funny how a single status message on GTalk can spur off an entire blog post. And when it's Uglyhair on the other side of the computer, you can expect nothing but entertainment of the lowest kinds. :P Here's why.

A couple of days back, my status message read: WTF lyrics for 16/04/2009: Tere ishq ki deewangi, sar pe chadh ke bole, Tune kya kiya, yeh kya hua? Dil ding daang ding dole....

And Uglyhair, in his usual nosy fashion, cannot resist a comment. Here's an unedited version of what happened next:

Uglyhair: You don't believe the dil can go ding dang ding?
me: Oh I never doubted that!
This was issued in public welfare...
Uglyhair: Here's some for tomorrow...
You bad, you bad, you bad bad boy...
You good, you good, you good good bo-o-ee...
me: LOL
WHAT song is this?
Uglyhair: The title track from the legendary film, Good Boy, Bad Boy...
me: I can think of another one....
Aa ja lag jaa gale se mere thaa kar de, thaa thaa kar de, aa thaa kar de... Aa ja lag jaa gale se mere thaa kar de, thaa thaa kar de, aa thaa kar de...Saare duniya se ishq bayaan kar de, thaa thaa kar de, thaa thaa kar de
Uglyhair: That's not a real song...
me: It is! Golmaal Returns!!
Uglyhair: You can't just make up stuff to malign the Indian film industry...
Tum par case thok dunga...
:P
me: IT IS GOLMAAL RETURNS! HAVEN'T YOU BEEN LISTENING?
Uglyhair: Nope...
:p
I need to, now...
:P
me: Lol
:D
Uglyhair: But I think the most brilliant lyrics are the ones where they try to be super serious, but the situation in the film hams it up...
:P
me: ???
Uglyhair: Like "Danke pe chot padi hai, saamne maut khadi hai, Krishan ne kaha Arjun se, na pyaar jata dushman se, Yudh kar..."
me: Hahaha! which movie?
Uglyhair: In the song, Anil Kapoor is a criminal hanging out in a bar, dressed in a white suit, and three rival gang members are out there to kill him, dressed in black-blue suits, and Jackie Shroff, who is a police inspector, dons a beard and a leather costume, along with his girlfriend Tina Munim, in a similar skimpy leather outfit, so that they can sing in the place and keep an eye on the action...
And the icing, Pran as the police commissioner of the city, also dressed in full leather, running around playing a flute...
I would honestly like to see Hassan Ghafoor show that kind of commitment to his position as Commissioner...
me: Hahahahaha :D :D
Uglyhair: Oh, by the way, did I mention this...
For some reason, the rival gang members, who are there to take out Anil Kapoor, think it's entirely appropriate to incorporate a synchronized dance routine in the middle of their attack...
And surprisingly, they even fail to recognize the commissioner of the police, especially given his stand-out costume and the flute...
me: Hahahahaha...Stop! You're making pot noodles come out through my nose
Uglyhair: Pot noodles will come out of places you never knew they were in the first place...
You imagine Tina Munim is proud of this?
Maybe I should email Anil and ask...

To enlighten yourself, please watch the video of the song under consideration here:

After this entire fruitful exchange, I suppose Uglyhair was pondering over the conversation and also came up with this:

Uglyhair: Moo wait...I think theres been a grave error...
Tu Premi, aaha...
Main Premi, aaha...
Tu raazi, aaha...
Main raazi, aaha...
Phir kya daddy, kya amma...
How did we forget that? :O

After some YouTube searching, I realised he means the following song:

If you didn't think that was funny, go jump into seaweed. :D As for me, I'm going to hum Danke pe chot padi hai and drive the family bonkers! :D

The time has now come...

2009-04-10T08:50:00.000-07:00

...to carry a bottle of deodorant in your bag, at all times.

I'm not going to be talking about the weather because there's nothing else to talk about. I'm going to talk about the weather, because I want protest against nature's conspiracy to kill me by making me melt. So dear God, if I decide it's cool to die in flames, I'll make my own provision by baking myself in a kiln or something. Could you please pay attention to more pressing topics, like getting me a raise?

For all those who were in Mumbai this last week, and thought it was hot, bop yourself on the head with a pen stand. I can say, with considerable authority, that all the heat was concentrated in Goa. Ask me. I was there. Melting.

Apart from that, Goa was good. Working out of a hotel room, handling an entire website, putting up video interviews, sending out bulletins and the daily newsletter with excruciatingly slow internet connections for company seems amazing now, but you won't believe the colourful vocabularly hurled at the laptop every three minutes while I was in the midst of it.

To start at the beginning, I went to Goa with the rest of the team, for the 2009 Goafest. We were staying at this tramp of a place called 'The Old Anchor', but thankfully, were working out of my editor's room at The Leela. We spent almost 14 hours of day at that exquisite place. I wasn't around for last year's Goafest, but I was told how extremely chaotic it was. This year thankfully, we were sorted. Everyone knew what the other was doing, so there was no time wasted with three people doing the same thing, and you know, stuff like that. I pitied my colleagues, who had to go to the beach at all odd hours of the morning and afternoon, and report back. Since I normally handle the website, most of my work included working out of the room. The few times I did step out, resulted in burnt toes and at least 20 kilos lost with the sheer streams of sweat. It was bad.

The Leela however, was beautiful. Not that we got to see much of it. I did go for a short walk one morning with my editor and his daughter, and it was sheer bliss. The entire place is green and one of the most soothing sights I've ever seen. Greenery abounds the entire property, not to mention flowers of every concievable type and colour. Perhaps what appealed to me the most was the abundance of water bodies around the place. Our own room overlooked a lazy lake, with perfectly pretty cottages on the opposite side. Spare time was spent looking into the various fish that swirled around in the water, and contemplating whether to join their escapades or just be content watching them cool themselves from the glare of the sun. Sigh. Fish have it easy sometimes!

The Leela also has a beautiful private beach. The kind that stretches forever, with the most beautiful beach benches you saw. Again, we didn't get the time to go the beach, since it was midnight by the time we finished every night. But I did catch a glimpse of it from afar. The only thought that went around in my mind was, "Man I want to come here for my honeymoon."

However, I've changed my mind since. About the honeymoon, that is.

Why?

Because I don't think I can spend my entire honeymoon cleaning myself with toilet paper.

Which brings me to another very major topic of discussion. What does the West have against water in relation to personal hygiene (read: cleaning of the posterior) ? And why are their five-star Indian counterparts in the hospitality industry suffering such a colonial hangover? Ok, granted that a lot of foreigners visit these places, and we all know what their ideas of washing up after...ahem...unloading themselves, are. But so what? You're still in India, and there are many five-star Indians who visit these hotels too. And no. Don't you dare say that five-star Indians use only toilet paper. I will tie you up with an entire roll of the same paper, if you do. Will it hurt to have toilet paper and a jet spray? Seriously?

I think I need to calm down. But I feel very strongly against places, that care enough to have a seperate 'pillow menu' (I'm serious. They had a menu for pillows. You could order one that made you most comfortable), didn't think it was necessary to have an attachment that helped me keep my self respect. Toilet paper. Seriously!

Anyway, by the time Goafest was over, there wasn't any time left to have 'fun' at Goa. And anyway, I can't enjoy myself on any trip that doesn't involve my family and close friends. Spending time with colleagues in settings that aren't work related isn't my idea of fun. Barely had time to pick up some junk jewelry and enjoy a drive to the airport.

I'm currently on a six day holiday upto Tuesday. The boss let us take our compensatory offs at a stretch, to help us unwind! :D Bhagwan kare sab ko aisa hi boss mile... Actually not. It's fun to gloat!

See you around next time. :) I'm having a slight stomach-related problem, resulting in slight diarrhoea. Not that I mind. BECAUSE I CAN USE WATER WHEN I'M AT HOME!

Interesting tag, boring read

2009-04-08T08:50:00.000-07:00

Since The White Phoenix has "new best friends", both pass on tags to each other and leave me out. I was going to begin doing it anyway, when The Gentle Whisperer suddenly decided to tag me and make me look like less of a loser. *sulks at Phoenix and Chandni*

So here goes. All you have to do, is write down something that is significant about yourself next to each number from one to ten. Got it? Easy peasy...NOT. Here goes.

1 the maximum number of children I'd be willing to have. If any.
2 is the number of cup noodle packs I must eat, in a week.
3 is the number of times I pee every morning, before I leave for work. (Ok, so you didn't need to know that.)
4 is the time I begin getting fidgety at work and start yearning for home.
5 is the number of people I MUST GTalk with, everyday.
6 is number of holidays I have, at the moment. :P
7 is minimum number of times I swear in a day. Minimum.
8 is number of times I drink coffee at work, on issue closing days.
9 is the date I want to die on. No particular reason. I just think it's a great number to die on.
10 is the number of jobs I want to have worked in, in my career. More would be great. Less, not good.

This was a bloody difficult tag. And mine reads like tripe. Anyway, I tag G@k, The Nicest Geek, Saakshi (if you're still reading) and Sreejit. Have fun!

I don't mean to sound 40 years old, but...

2009-03-29T08:29:00.000-07:00

They don't make mobile phones like they used to. :(

I went to Croma this evening with Lammy and his sister. They wanted to buy her a laptop and eventually settled for a Sony Vaio. Now while we're on the subject, I'll admit I was a lot more than very turned on by the Vaio. All those people promising me lovely presents as part of my wedding gift, kindly give me about 60,000 bucks in cash. I'll go buy myself a Vaio.

After Lammy was done spoiling his sister rotten (Hmph. He didn't even ask me if I wanted a Vaio myself. Talk about bad manners!), we went to the mobile phone section to pick me a phone. All was well. My current N70 was good enough to be sent flying from my building to the next and hear a satisfying smash from, and I was finally about to get a shiny, new, problem-free cellphone.

But this wasn't meant to be. The current set of cellphones in the market make me wonder if a) if I'm expecting too much out of a phone or b) All cellphone designers need to be bopped on the head with a broomstick. Why are most Nokia phones made these days look like electronic counterparts of a vada pav? As for the Sony Ericsson range, they look like they're about to burst into 'Shiny Disco Balls' anytime soon. Whatever happened to being understated and subtle? Aren't people with a budget of about 10-12 thousand supposed to feel elegant if they wanted to?

Nevertheless, I think I can deal with bad and overpriced cellphones, but I need Yoga to be able to handle the guys behind the counter. Firstly, there are ten thousand of them, and the one you initially started discussing a phone with, will realise he doesn't know shit, soon after you've explained whatever you want in great detail. He in turn, will summon another equally random bloke from the north-eastern region of the store, and you find yourself painstakingly saying the same thing over. Some third guy will butt in saying, "What madam? What? What?" and will say the exact same things the second guy told you. All this, while you patiently wait for divine intervention and some lightening to strike these guys dead.

Now you know why Sri Sri Ravishankar is so extremely popular.

At the end of this whole charade, we got the orgasmic laptop for Lammy's sister (I'm still sulking, for the record) and no phone for me (BIG Hmph.) Next time, I'm just going to throw a big tantrum when I'm accompanying somebody to an electronic store, till they give in and buy me the BlackBerry Storm.

Tears always work wonders, or so I'm told.

Wishful thinking...

2009-03-26T03:06:00.000-07:00

Someday, I will watch my little princess grow into this big shot doctor.

I'll make sure she gets everything she needs. Just everything.

Oh, she'll turn into this most beautiful woman - tall, with big brown eyes, brown hair and dusky, like me.

She'll marry this handsome boy. What will he be? A doctor, too? A film star? Hmm. Film stars are very good-looking. Let her marry a film star like Shah Rukh Khan. Or maybe his son? Then she'll roam around in so many different cars. What a lovely couple they will make. My baby a famous doctor, and her husband a film star. They will have two healthy babies, just like herself. Oh, what a proud grandmother I'll be.

She will be so happy, that she will not remember me too often. Good. It is not nice for a daughter to keep remembering her mother's house too much, after she is married. But I will miss her every morning when I open my eyes. My little bundle of joy.

She adjusted the little girl tied to her body with a cloth, and was all set to board the train that was pulling into the station. Now if only her husband had kicked her on the right hip instead of the left, she wouldn't wince everytime her baby moved. Never mind.

She entered the train and began shouting out to the women, Rubberband, bangle, clip, earrings le lo....

When big things don't matter anymore...

2009-03-18T10:25:00.000-07:00

"So what is the problem?"

"Nothing."

"C'mon, Vee. This is ridiculous. There must be something!"

"No there isn't. Nothing worth talking about anyway."

"Oh! So there is a something. Out with it. However silly, however trivial. Let's hear it."

"I'm telling you. There's nothing. Let's switch topics, for heaven's sake!"

"I said I want to hear it. I'm sick of you being distant with me. You're with me in person, but I can tell your mind is somewhere far away. Somewhere you want to be left completely alone. Please sweetheart, can't you tell me what the trouble is?"

"Alright. But don't blame me if I sound demented."

"Sure sweetie. Have I ever laughed at your troubles?"

"Well, for starters, why don't you give me a wake up call in the mornings like you used to?"

"Shucks! You know I like catching up on the news when I wake up."

"You always did. That didn't stop you from calling me before."

"Seriously...Is that it?"

"No. There's more. You don't call me from work more than once anymore. Where are those 50 second calls to tell me that you love me? You don't leave me sweet notes where I can find them like you used to. What happened to the times you used to pick me up from work when I was really late and you were free? Why has watching television taken over that? You don't like planning our weekends anymore. You think a random dinner thrown in makes a weekend special? What about those flowers you used to get delivered to my workplace? Why do you attend more office parties than before, even on holidays? Why are the twenty minutes that you used to spend on the phone at the end of the day, catching up on my life, replaced with just a 'Goodnight, honey. Sleep well!' message?"

"But Vee--"

"Shut up. You asked me what my problem was, and I'm telling you what's bothering me. What's bothering me, is that you're not the person I fell in love with. Were you doing all those utterly sweet things just to woo me? Or is that I don't matter as much as you used to?"

"Vee, listen. Every relationship goes through a phase, where the first few months are all exciting and the world completely revolves around that one person. Then, a few months later--"

"Let me complete that. A few months later, you get a grip on yourself, and decide that the person you wanted is all yours. Then you realise it's time to rearrange priorities and go do more important things. Right? Anyway, you asked me what was on my mind, and I've told you."

"Are you serious? You're mad at me over such little things?"

"Sweetie, it's always the little things."

Now narrating: Moo's stupid deed #89794564

2009-03-13T11:19:00.000-07:00

I think I'm a Sardarni, but just don't know it yet. The amount of stupid things I keep doing on an everyday basis seem to be increasing at an alarming level, much to the merriment of the general public. I think I'm just going to listen to Sheroo and Lammy, and admit that I'm a Sardar Cow. :( You'll agree too, when I tell you why.

I was to go shopping with a friend today, and we were going to meet directly at the mall. In the meanwhile I called up Lammy and found out he was headed the same way, so he would drive me all the way. He told me to get ready soon, and I hurriedly left home to meet him at his place. All was cool. I was listening to music while he got ready, I was fantasizing about all the nice stuff I was going to buy for my birthday, and in general life was great. Till he announced that he was ready to leave.

I walked to the door to wear my Oshos and looked at them in utter shock.

I was wearing two different coloured Oshos. Yes. The left one was maroon, and the right one was dark green.

Lammy then walks to the door merrily and says, "What are you waiting for, Cow? Chalo!"

And then he sees what I was waiting for.

Two different coloured chappals.

He stared.

He stared me, then back at the Oshos.

And he laughed. :(

And he laughed some more.

What finally happened, was that I had to wear his mum's heels (I NEVER wear heels), and had to walk in them for what seemed like an eternity. Result: My feet are sore and my heels hurt.

And my friends are still laughing at me.

Now excuse me while I go look for my pagdi.

Well then, WHAT is it?

2009-03-12T09:47:00.000-07:00

Is it because I don't fit in your scheme of 'cool'?

Is it because I stay in the suburbs? That my parents actually own a big house in this city, while you stay on rent with hardly anything left to spend on at the end of the month?

Is it because I don't think of wasting my perfectly healthy body with smokes and drinks, in the name of fun?

Is it because I like being around myself most of the times?

Is it to do with choosing not to go pubbing and partying, like everyone else?

Is it to do with unashamedly admitting to be a HUGE Harry Potter fan, although it's extremely chic to do otherwise?

Is it to do with wearing Oshos almost everyday because I happen to like them, and not because I can't afford shoes above Rs. 50?

Is it because I write without any pretensions, at the risk of sounding shallow and superficial and not deep and philosophical?

Is it because I outright refuse to spend 2000 bucks on a haircut, instead of laying awake at night wondering if I could have put the money to better use?

Is it related to me liking Hindustani classical music and old Hindi hits more instead of Pink Floyd and Pearl Jam?

Is it because I value my parents' opinion in most cases, and try conforming to certain rules they've laid down for me?

Is it because I couldn't care less about how I look, and thinking that my pimples or the leucoderma patches on my face, knees and feet aren't the worst things that have happened to me?

Is it because I don't conform to your models of beauty, elegance and style?

Is it because I am not stingy about paying up for people around me, unlike what seems to be the norm these days?

Is it because you don't matter to me and my life in any consequential way, but you still manage to get me down?

Or in a nutshell, is it because I'm not afraid to be 'me'?

What is then, that makes you treat me this way?

Joblessness drove me to write this post...

2009-03-09T04:59:00.000-07:00

It’s funny how extremely unrelated, random thoughts keep zooming across in my head, when I’m trying to think of something coherent to talk about. Not only do I have nothing of consequence to say, there are three thousand other distractions that keep me from doing anything useful.

Someone or the other’s phone keeps ringing every minute of every day. I’ll stop at saying THAT IT DRIVES ME INSANE.

There are a bunch of freaks who’re celebrating Holi in my office. Excuse me, kind folks, but since when did this become a fourth grade classroom? One freak came into my section and forcefully applied colour onto me, despite my protests being loud enough to wake up the dead and their kith and kin. Reason being? Holi nahi khelna bura shagun hota hai. I also consider going for an event (I’m headed for one right now) looking like I had an accident with yellow chalk powder, bad luck. Who knows, I might be sacked!

A couple of ad sales people are discussing the benefits of perming hair, when they should be…erm…selling magazine space? I expect the ads come walking right upto their desks, wait for them to finish discussing their beauty regimes, and then plant themselves straight onto the designated page.

My gora boss keeps walking around the office. And he’s heavy-footed, to say the least.

This woman with a very odd sense of dressing keeps floating in and out of our section like an apparition. I don’t like her coming close to me in a radius of five feet.

Someone on GTalk keeps pinging me and I have to go see what they have to say.

I’m making a list of things I need to buy before my birthday, and the people I need to treat.

It’s hard work to keep typing and keeping yourself from dropping off to sleep on your keyboard.

I’m thinking about what it is that is bothering me. It’s something I can’t place, but it’s keeping me down. It’ll come to me soon enough.

I’m thinking of the lovely hammocks and the greenery at Manoribel Resort. Anyone kind enough to take me back there?

I don’t consider it a good sign if my stomach’s started acting funny. I have eaten much more than I should have for lunch.

Time to leave for the above mentioned event, kind folks. Work beckons! Toodle-oo!

You know you've had a REALLY bad day at work when....

2009-03-04T04:30:00.000-08:00

1) You get yelled at for your goof-ups, thrice.
2) You get yelled at for someone else's goof-ups.
3) You forget to do something that you've been doing every single day for the past three months, on the ONE day somebody decides to take notice.
4) You think you're getting the chance to finally file a breaking news under your own name, when someone else decides to "help" you. The story hence becomes a "team" copy.
5) Your computer decides it's time to give up on life, and moves onto the last stages of its miserable life.
6) You feel completely alone and lost in an office-ful of people.
7) You miss your mommy the most.
8) You almost have your argument with your best friend.
9) There's a story waiting to be done, but you just can't bear to look at anything remotely related to work.
10) Because of the above point, it means you have to go home and file the story.
11) You're already planning twenty things you need to finish in the next day.
12) Your favourite pen has been taken and not returned. There's no hope to ever see it again, now.
13) You're sitting in office and typing out lists about how depressing your day has been, and make yourself even more miserable.
14) You want to go home, eat your dinner and not ever wake up again.
15) You decide enough is enough, and go order yourself a McChicken burger from McDonalds.

Now you know why I'm depressed. So PLEASE. KEEP away. I bite when provoked.

Aspataal - Pyaar ki ek Masti Bhari Kahaani

2009-03-03T08:47:00.000-08:00

Yeah yeah, I know. The three and three quarter people who read this blog have been asking me to update. And while it IS true that I have been busy, it is also true that I have been abusing my free DVD membership from Seventymm to the fullest. Hence, I've been ordering DVDs of Grey's Anatomy, and am about to have my eyes fall out with the amount of medical sciences that I've been watching.

One thing is established, though. It is an AWESOME show. Like, seriously. While quite a few people have been telling me that Scrubs is funnier and nicer, I don't think I can have an opinion on the matter, since I don't watch Scrubs. I also say that your opinion is wrong, and Grey's Anatomy HAS to be the best show there is.

I love how balanced and well-thought out the show is. Not once do you get the feeling that the drama is overtaking the hospital bits, and vice versa. Now if this was an Indian show, this is how it would be:

1) Meredith would get pregnant the first time Derek even THOUGHT of speaking to her, with a whole 'Main tumhare bacche ki ma banane waali hoon', bit thrown in for good measure.

2) Meredith would become chief of surgery in the first month of her internship as a reward for her honesty / intelligence.

3) Christina would have been an annoyingly oversmart character, who'd try her best to be witty.

4) Also, Christina would become a mushy, pink-clothes-loving wuss the second she thought she loved Burke.

5) The entire serial would focus on the hospital staff's (including the watchman and the ward boy) love lives, completely forgetting the main focus of the serial - HEALING fucking patients.

6) There would be a love triangle, where both Meredith and Izzy would fall in love with Derek, and keep giving each other dirty looks.

7) Dr. Addison Shepherd would be this woman clad in cakes of make up, zari sarees and too much eye shadow. Also, she'd have to be the lead vamp in this serial.

8) George would be this stupid sidekick, who'd get all the laughter tracks for being fat and dumb. Also, he'd keep tripping over the wires and confuse the scissors with a syringe.

9) No way would Meredith and Izzy live with a man in the same house without being married. In fact, Meredith would have a LOUD, decked mother, who'd try and get her married off to a rich, Punjabi guy.

10) Meredith would be called Dr. Anjali Malhotra and Derek would be Dr. Karan Shrivastava.

11) Derek would be THE expert on all branches of medicine, including heart, brain, colds, pregnancies, pediatrics, sutures, kidneys, toes, teeth, nose-hair, hiccups, inner thighs and belly buttons. In his spare time, he'd practise marine engineering as a hobby.

12) Izzy and Alex would get married after three months of dating; Alex being all goody two shoes and gushing.

13) The show would be called "Aspataal - Pyaar Mohabbat ki Masti bhari Kahaani".

14) The patients, nurses and peons would give Derek a lot of advice on how NOT to break Meredith's heart and the importance of true love, till the chap divorces his wife out of peer pressure.

What is with Indian audiences and the overt histrionics that have to be a part of every show? Why are we as an audience evolving backwards, instead of moving on to better things and developing a more serious, intelligent taste in the entertainment we seek? I say we're evolving backwards, because the same people who used to watch serials like Karamchand, Buniyaad, now religiously watch K Serials. Stuff that is as improbable as a child being born with perfectly braided hair and pink ribbons.

Will we ever learn to think for ourselves and be ashamed at the stuff we blindly accept on television? I guess not. Till then, excuse me while I go Indianise F.R.I.E.N.D.S.

The Great Bovine Revolution

2009-02-14T05:19:00.000-08:00

For those who think cows are dumb:

http://www.3dweb.no/galleri/stuestolbm/bilder/anim1.swf

Don't take us for granted, and don't eat us. (I can eat my fellowcows, since I'm a cannibal).

Keep mooing.

P.S. I don't know how it escaped my mind (Bad, BAD karma), but I forgot to thank The Gentle Whisperer's GTalk status message for this link. So there you go, the credit and link love has been given!

Now if only someone sent me the Pulitzer...

2009-02-01T05:47:00.000-08:00

It's such a shame that I've been dedicated this award to The Gentle Whisperer, almost three weeks ago, and I hadn't the time to blog about it (by now I do hope you know that having no time = utmost laziness). Anyway, without further ado, ladies and gentlemen, THIS is what has been bestowed upon me. :)

“These kind bloggers aim to find and be friends. They are not interested in prizes or self-aggrandizement. Our hope is that when the ribbons of these prizes are cut, even more friendships are propagated. Please give more attention to these writers! Deliver this award to eight bloggers who must choose eight more and include this text into the body of their award.”

Now although I've always believed that the sole purpose of this blog was to keep me from meddling with mom when she was really busy making laddoos or some such stuff, it could also be all of those things mentioned above, if I dwell on the thought intently. Now before you expose me for the fraud that I am, I'm gonna pass it on to some equally fraudulent bloggers, like the following:

1) Monica - Who has been ill for almost the past month, and who's my favourite person at work. Also, she's too nice to be much of a fraud. :P

2) The White Phoenix - Fraud of the first order. Which is why he and I get along like a house on fire, I suppose. I also know he'll take another year to blog about this award.

3) Mani Meow - This woman's one of my favourite bloggers of all time . :) She truly deserves this award.

I know the conditions say I need eight bloggers to pass on this award to, but I'm a fraud so I won't do it. Also I don't have eight blogger friends who would be interested enough to receive the award.

There's lots more to say, but I think I'll leave this post be about the award. :) Take care, my little ones.

'Facade' is a fascinating word

2009-01-24T07:47:00.000-08:00

It's such a difficult task to put up a mask of happiness, when something's eating you inside. To feign normality and nonchalance, when all you want to do is to look yourself in your room and hug yourself to sleep. Because you don't want anyone to even come close to you.

It's such a tough job swallowing the fact, that someone you trust and look up to, says something that makes you sick and want to retch. When the same someone stood by you when a similar thing happened in the recent past. Why does this hurt more? Because you didn't expect this person to do something like that?

What next? Sulk? Stop talking? Cut calls? Forgive?

Nah. Not this one.

Last Christmas, I gave you my heart....

2008-12-23T01:46:00.000-08:00

...But the useless readers that you are, you don't even leave me comments these days. Hmph.

YAY! Christmas is here, and tis the season for giving. Now since it's impossible to give all the people I love a present (because I'm broke and miserly), I'm going to be uber cheap and tell them what I'd ideally like to give them. They in turn, can close their eyes and think that they've already received a present from me, or buy it themselves and thank me for it.

So anyhoo. Merry Christmas and a happy new year everyone, and here's your present!

1) Dad - Dear dad, I'm going to gift you a pair of hearing aids, for those umpteen number of times you drive me up the wall by making me repeat everything I say. About. 20,000. Times. Actually, this is more like a present to me. And since you're my favourite guy in the whole world, I'm also going to buy you a Honda Accord like you've always wanted, real soon. Honest! *hugs*

2) Mom - I'm going to give you a sackful of patience and the will to do my bidding. It would most certainly work for you if you didn't tell me to clean my room every single day. But you're also my best buddy, so I'm gonna give you a house by the beach. And I'll be VERY offended if you don't live in it with dad, for at least six months of the year.

3) Sheroo - I'm gonna get you a new leash and a muzzle, and also a library filled with about two million books. You'll never have to complain about having nothing to read, again!

4) The Witty Goldfish - What more could you want, when you have such an amazing sister-in-law like me? Most definitely, those amazing shoes I saw at Nike (as soon as I can afford them. Be patient!)

5) Lammy - A lizard killing spray that annihilates lizards in a radius of 500 feet, and a GRAND wedding with the woman of your choice. Oh oh oh! And how could I forget those pills that cure the "both-feet-in-mouth" disease? I can't believe how thoughtful I am!

6) G@kky - Most definitely, a haircut. Rather, I think I'll gift you a salon, since ONE haircut certainly won't create even a dent in the forest of your hair. Till then, I'll buy you a gaming console of your choice.

7) Tooth - Some sense and loads of peace of mind. Also, a river full of Davidoff Coolwaters and a Tag Heuer watches.

8) Zander - A Hayabusa, whether you want / like / need one or not. Fact of the matter is, I want one with a chauffeur. :P

9) The White Phoenix - A six month paid stint with rehab. People, he's the sole reason the cigarette and alcohol industries are flourishing. Don't believe me? Go read his last post. The nice person in me will also give him a year long supply of Rajdhani tickets and free food at Hard Rock Cafe, so he can pop into Mumbai and visit me whenever he misses me too much.

10) Mika - If wishes were horses, I'd arrange for you to get a scholarship to Vidal Sassoon. So for now, I'm just going to offer you my head and let you do whatever the hell you wanted to do with my hair. Without complaining (Offer exclusive of hair straigtening and colour, thank you very much).

As for me, all you ten people could chip in and buy me a duplex flat on Worli Seaface, and perhaps throw in an Audi on the house (pun unintended) so my garage won't feel empty. In case you're feeling more generous than usual, do feel free to buy me an iPod Classic, a Nike showroom and a Nokia N95. Suggestions are welcome. Do drop me an email.

Thank you for your patience. You are most kind.

*scuttles away*

Issued in public interest - GET MARRIED IN COURT, YOU DUMBFUCKS!

2008-12-20T23:03:00.000-08:00

My sister, Sheroo as she is popularly known in these parts of town, recently got married to the Witty Goldfish, and I want to bash both of them up. Her because she chose to go away leaving me all lonesome on my ownsome, and him, simply because he's the root cause of all evil. :( Now I've no one to pway wif, and no one pull weird faces at during dinner.

The wedding was something I've never seen before, really. That's not saying much, since I've attended about six weddings all my life (including my sister's) and the last one was around eight years ago. Sheroo is very anti-social, and had firmly told my parents that she didn't want the multitude of relatives and the usual fanfare. So she did what every person on the planet should do - get married in court.

We reached court at about 10 am, and we were out by 11.30 or so. Simple, easy and non-messy. There are a few obvious pros and cons to the whole affair, as is natural with all affairs. Let me list them for you (forgive the lists, but I'm a complete lists person):

Pros:

1) It's quick, easy and convinient.
2) It's so goddamned cheap, that you can fill your entire house with appliances and indulge yourself with a grand honeymoon, JUST with the money you can save with the wedding.
3) You aren't obliged to call people you completely detest, and watch them eat the food YOU'RE paying for.
4) There's no need to wear those ghastly sarees, especially if you're a jeans person.
5) There are no crowds to suffocate you. It can be just immediate family.
6) Since you normally don't get to enjoy the food at your own wedding, this is a cool option. You can simply just go and have lunch with those select few special people who matter.
7) There's no hours and hours of standing on stage with a plastic smile.
8) There's no need to cake your face with layers of bridal make up.

Cons:

1) The registrar makes you wait for ages, simply because he decides to turn up late.
2) If you're going for a dreamy, romantic wedding, this is the last place you should go to. It's more like getting married in a train.
3) There's hardly any place to sit and click pictures once you're done.

I think that's it with the cons. See? Eight pros and three cons. You have your obvious choice. When I get married, that's what I'm gonna do. Marry in court and then spend three weeks in the Andaman and Nicobar Islands, or maybe Mauritius. Cool no?

Interested parties may email me. Offer valid till interest lasts.

Amen.

So bored, I'm actually contemplating washing the office loo...

2008-12-19T00:32:00.000-08:00

The Fridays after issue closing are the toughest ones to battle. You're supposed to sit around looking all intelligent and busy, when there's absolutely nothing to do, and even lesser inclination to work. The weekend that looms over your head then does not help matters, either. So you end up hitting refresh on your Gmail till the mouse gives up on you, while simultaneously scouting for long lost friends to catch up with over chat (who miraculously are never online when you want to and can talk).

Today is one such utterly frustrating day. My boss isn't around either, and my colleague and I are absolutely at our wit's end on how to pass the time fruitfully. She's Facebooking and Twittering away to glory, but that's losing it's charm too. (On a completely side note, Facebook should come up with something that makes your profile look weirdly interesting, everytime you say refresh. HEY! Don't steal that idea and make millions out it, Mark Zuckerberg!) I'm blogging, and so far this is my third attempt at coming up with an articulate post. Man! I'd prefer the madness of issue closing days to shitty days like these, when you know you could have given a satisfied "after-lunch" burp at home instead, and curled up for an afternoon nap.

Let's see. So far, I've called up mum twice for absolutely no reason, with a cheery, "What are you doing, ma?" To which she tells me what she's been upto, patiently, secretly wondering if her youngest daughter's smoked up. "You're feeling ok, right?" she asks me, very unsure about my mental sanity.

" *giggle* yeah Mom. Don't worry. I love you." I say, and I sign off.

Who to bug next? I pick on Ro, my favourite family member outside my immediate family. I kept telling him to "SAY SOMETHING" even when he was talking, so he finally told me to take a flying one. And now he's gone too. :(

The White Phoenix was sulking with me about something else, and I did not make matters any better by laughing at him. Result? Guess guess. He stopped replying. Seriously, if I continue like this much longer, I won't have any friends or family left. Boohoo! :'(

I also called up Lammy twice in the space of half an hour. One time the guy was out buying eggs I believe, and the other time he was talking to his aunty. Nobody has time for me. Nobody loves me. :(

Now I'm going to go, and play some pictionary online on http://www.isketch.net/. If you choose to play in office, don't tell anyone I told you about the link. :P Have fun! And have an equally awesome weekend. :D

Ode to a Lammy

2008-12-18T06:36:00.000-08:00

A great day has gone by me, and I'm so afraid of losing it to a tomorrow that might not be as glamorous as today. One thing was completely missing, though. That would be the Lammy's frivolous banter on GTalk.

Lammy is my best f(r)iend in the history of friends (after Mika, obviously, before she bursts a vein). For the past six-seven months that I know him, he's constantly been around to remind me that there can be no one more inquisitive, in-your-face, tiresome and adorable than he is. Like I said, I've known him for a mere seven months now, but it just goes to show that a mere notion like 'time' cannot define what equation you will have with a person. If it clicks, it clicks. If it doesn't, it never will. And that's the golden rule of all relationships.

It's just so queer how used you get to someone's e-presence to get you through the day. He's currently on a two-week leave, for his cousin's wedding, Christmas, etc. and I'm almost clinically depressed at how much I'm going to miss the man. I'm almost repenting for all the times he's cribbed about his office and I've told him to shut up, wishing I'd given him more time while he was around. Now there's hardly anyone interesting to talk to online, and since I don't mix around with my colleagues too much, I think I'll just have to pretend about working, a lot harder than usual. Or perhaps just open a book and start reading when I feel like it (and get sacked, too!).

So Lammy, it's killing me to say this and I'm almost choking, but you'd better get your goofy butt back to work soon. I'm missing all the free rickshaw rides in the morning (my traveling spends have taken a sudden upward turn), the 'have a nice day, you COW' messages when I get off the train, the endless reports on all the hot girls spotted in the day, the sheer disappointment of discovering that I haven't seen a good movie he feels so strongly about, the endless hints, begging and pleading that I dedicate a post to him on my blog (THERE! I hope you're happy now), and the utterly random messages in the middle of a crisis at work. I'm missing it all. :(

Come back soon, Lammy. Work's not the same without you talking nonsense at the other side of the screen. Actually, life's not the same without your madness and friendship. Loadsa love. :)

P.S. Will courier you the exact amount you owe me for this piece. Because, sweetheart, nothing in life is ever free! :P

Of 20 hour long issue closings, and sleep well-earned...

2008-12-16T15:50:00.000-08:00

It's been 20 hours straight I've been at work, and funnily enough, I'm not as sleepy as I thought I'd be. The world's slightly spinning, yes, and the head is beginning to pound, but what's new about that? We've closed the most wonderful issue of the entire year - an issue I'm going to be so fiercely proud of, that it's not even funny. I'm poured my heart, blood, sweat, sleep, weekend, family time, everything into the past two weeks, because of the issue that's going to be printed tonight, and hitting the stands tomorrow. I almost feel like going to the press and ensuring they don't mess things up.

And before you ask, no, I don't have any bylines in this issue either, nor a whole column to myself. But it doesn't matter at all, when you know you've done your best with your bit, and your bit has been one of the most important ones in the entire process. So would the issue have shut down if I wasn't around for some reason? Of course not. But I know I've made things much easier for everyone around, and things would have been much more difficult if it wasn't for me.

It's nice to know you've done something of consequence.

It's best to know you've earned that peaceful sleep...the kind that takes you to worlds unknown, the minute your head touches your pillow.

Life's lessons learnt

2008-12-14T07:16:00.001-08:00

There's a lot been happening in my life. Some things I can talk about, some things I can't. At least not here. Meet me on the other blog and I might tell you.

Anyway, having a really hectic week at work. There's a lot of stuff planned for the last and final issue of the year, and for once, I'm doing something that contributes to whatever the final product is going to be. I've always given it my best, but somehow I don't think anyone would miss me too much if I were to quit. That's not a very good thought. In fact, it makes me wanna quit at times, but hey! Nobody's going to elevate a junior to a pedestal in any case, are they?

I'm going to make this post about work. Because quite frankly, it's one of the things I really need to talk about. Last Wednesday, I got a "chat" from my boss, where he made me look at things quite differently. Some places, I admit he was a little unreasonable. Places where he expected me to come to work on my sister's wedding day, just because there was closing. In spite of me taking leave for just two days, in the first place. Anyway, he made me feel like a worm, and boy was I seething with anger! I spent almost four days clinically depressed at work, thinking everybody hated me. Entering office became a punishment, I couldn't wait enough for it to become five o'clock, when I could finally leave. I had almost made up my mind to quit on January 1, and get back to studying in June (which I'm going to do in any case). Mum tried to understand me, always trying to dissuade me from taking a hasty decision. Lammy kept telling me to quit if I was that depressed, but to remember that shit like this happened at every job.

Now, a full week and a half later, I think I've calmed down. I don't feel as insulted as I did, earlier. More importantly, I've learned my BIG lesson from the whole episode. That whatever I may think of myself, I'm still a snotty-faced junior in the industry, with infinite things to learn, a ego I must learn to banish and remember that nobody has anything against me, personally. I've also realised I've been a fool to not have understood this a full week earlier, instead of waiting for the blessed 5 pm time. Am I a government employee to watch the clock tick and pack my bags? Hell, no.

Since last Monday, there has been a lot of pressure at work, resulting in 13 hour days, etc. But you know what? Quite apart from the tiredness felt at the end of the day when you hit the sack, there's a certain indescribable feeling about giving it your 100% best and knowing that it was all you could have done in the day. And that's what makes it so worthwhile. So my boss yelled at me...So what? It was because I was not doing things the way I ought to have done. He's also gracious enough to acknowledge a job well done, without a second thought. He's considerate at all times when you're ill (even if it's closing time). At such times too, I'm a junior. But he still gives me the consideration that's due to me. He's impatient and unreasonable at all times, but he's also patient enough to explain why your story can be written in another way, and why you're wrong when you are. And in my mind I'm really lucky to have a boss like that at the beginning of my career, who teaches me not to make rookie mistakes. I learn so much from him, it's not even funny; little tips that are lessons for life. But above everything else, he's a great and ethical human being, so there's never a time when you have to compromise between 'exclusives' and integrity.

My first job has been quite a learning experience. I keep complaining about how I don't get more stories to do, at a time when I need more bylines. About how I'm only doing donkey work, when I do can do the stories the others get to do. But I've been doing a lot of thinking (!) and understood that everyone comes up this way. Nobody starts at the top, and whoever does, is never very successful. That my colleagues who get to certain stories and columns, may not be that much older than me, but know certain things I don't. Either they've been educated in a related field, or been working for about two or three years longer than I have. So basically, I've realised that nobody got it easy. Everyone has started from the bottom, and I have to, too.

Have I been immature in wanting so much out of my first six months at a full time job? Have I been stupid to even for a minute, think I've been victimised? Maybe. But I'm sure glad that I can look at things differently, now. At the onset, I know there will be times when I forget my own goody blog post, and go back to hating everything around me and wishing everyone was shot dead. But then, who doesn't have those times? But I also know I'll calm down and try and extract the good from whatever happens and leave the rest aside. That's why a person has two ears, in the first place.

Lastly, I keep telling myself that I'm not a quitter. That's what I'm bloody well going to prove out of this whole phase. I'll quit when I have to, only because of further education. Not because my boss yelled at me to get my act together. Hah!

It really is a spirit after all....

2008-11-30T07:21:00.001-08:00

The worst is over, or so it's said. But is it really so? How much time will be spent before some more families get orphaned? Some more parents become childless? A hundred odd innocent people die? 'Spirit of Mumbai', be darned. It's just an easy way to ignore the real fears that lurk within the common Mumbaikar's heart.

Is this the last time I'm seeing my family?

What if this is my last kiss with her?

Let's get married soon...Who knows what tomorrow has in store for us?

More than a hundred dead. Simply because they were unfortunate enough to be in the wrong place, at the wrong time. People hurrying home from work to be with kids. Individuals visiting friends from outstation. A friend's friend throwing a bachelor party at Cafe Leopold, to be married in the next ten days. Shot dead. Why? Because no one has any control over what's happening in the city. Isn't it sad, that less than 50 people, who had no business being here in the first place, had a city of millions hostage for around three days? That even the city's best cops had to die fighting, before the menace was curbed?

Anyway, there are messages floating everywhere, about how we should stop blaming the government and media and do something ourselves. Like what, exactly? Light candles outside windows? How will that help anyone? Join zillions of "condemn-Mumbai-terrorist-attacks" groups on Facebook? Who cares, really? Do I have a remedy? Not really. But do I have a right to feel safe in the city I live in? Certainly, I do. But I don't know who to blame but the government, really. Are you meaning to tell me, that no one in the country knew about the terror attacks? That there was no level of corruption at any rank in the bureaucracy, be it the government level, the police level or the Intelligence level? That no one in the Taj hotel's security force was bribed to gain entry?

It's a shame how easy it is getting, to hold an entire city hostage and even escape, as some of the terrorists did. I think the best way to handle these guys is to hand them over to the public, giving them permission to kill them any way they want. ....And then see what happens. That might give a few grieving souls some peace of mind, if nothing else. And shoot the Human Rights bastards first, if they dare interfere in any way.

How unfortunate, that the entire city's morale is down, at the time of birthdays, Christmas, weddings, and other 'happy' occasions.

In retrospect, you know what? Perhaps the terrorists have succeeded after all.

Here's saluting the "spirit of Mumbai".

The post that was supposed to update you on my life

2008-10-29T08:36:00.000-07:00

So this was supposed to be a nice looooong five day weekend, that was supposed to leave me rejuvenated right from Friday night to Wednesday night. Now I'm feeling like a child that was promised a tete-a-tete with Santa Claus, but then suddenly told he doesn't exist. My beautiful weekend has flown past me without it leaving any lasting memories of any sort. So yeah, it was Diwali and all, but so what? The only good that happened was that Lammy finally came over to my place after ages, and spent quite a lot of time with Sweet Tooth. Boohoo!! Now it's back to the grindstone with endless website updates, foraging for information to put in the bloody '14 Days' pages of the magazine, and getting the pages made by designers. No rest for the weary till Wednesday. In fact, Lammy and I were just discussing how we're all going to die after this weekend is over, since the only official bank holiday is well, Christmas. A good fucking two months away. :( No one told me working life was difficult.

I don't think I can go on without bursting into tears about the fading holiday. BOOOOHOOOO! :(
Will continue with updates later.

*grumble grumble*

This is how Good Relations woos journalists

2008-10-17T06:43:00.000-07:00

My colleague received the following epistle from Good Relations, a PR firm. I’m slightly embarrassed to say that we didn’t comply to Good Relations’ wish (you’ll know what wish from the letter), but we printed it exactly as it came to us, and gave our readers a good laugh. Hence, ladies and gentlemen, I present before you, Good Relations’ invite to us. Please note that I have not tampered with the punctuation and spellings in any way. Thank you.

As discussed awhile ago, This was regarding our Chairman Mr. Anthony B M Good – also own as the father as the PR industry.

In 1988, is when Mr. Good came to India and saw the need of an exclusive PR Agency and thats how he started Good Relations India.

Good Consultancy, UK was the first PR Firm to be listed on the LSE.

We would be glad to organize you meeting with Mr. Good on September 30, 2008 where he could discuss the PR Industry scenario, how corporate have started recognizing the efforts put in by PR consultancies than investing in ATL and BTL activities. Attached please find his profile fo you reference.

Please look forward to your response.

Heehee! My favourite has to be ‘also own as the father as the PR industry’ and ‘please look forward to your response’. What’s yours?

Reasons why I wish to remain childless

2008-10-01T23:47:00.000-07:00

Babies are frankly not as glamorous as they are made out to be. I mean, what's the big deal about children anyway? In my entire 21 years, I have picked up just one baby (and almost dropped because it was so goddamn squirmy), that too because the kid was thrust on me by a friend (since it was her brother). Let's face it. Babies and I don't get along. I don't find them cute. When they giggle, maybe, but apart from that, no cuteness there. And when I say babies, I mean kids in general, below the age of five.

Why don't I like babies? Loads of reasons. They grow into nasty adults, is a big reason. Why do I wish to remain childless? Oh, LOADS of reasons to that. Here are some:

1) I am not known to care fulltime about another human being for so many years until the bloody thing can walk.

2) There's too much pain and too much effort involved in producing a child - something I wouldn't like to subject myself too.

3) I value my sleep too much to wake up in the middle of the night, simply because another creature is hungry or shitting in my bed.

4) I might strangle the child in my sleep (intentionally or unintentionally).

5) I hate sharing my bed.

6) You can never be too careful when you talk before a kid.

7) They crap too much. I mean, washing someone's butt after a poop is not my idea of a pleasant task.

8) You can't eat while / before feeding your child.

9) I can't stand indiscipline and neither do I subscribe to "Kids are kids. They HAVE to be naughty". I belong to the old school of thought which says, "A slap in time, saves nine."

10) I want to be able to enjoy a quiet dinner with my husband / boyfriend (yes, I don't see why you can't have a child with your boyfriend if both of you want to), without a child wailing in the background.

11) There's just too much bloody stuff to lug around when a baby is with you.

12) I frankly can't see why I should go through all the pain when the guy who did this to me is equally responsible.

13) I wouldn't like to see stretch marks all over me.

14) I'd instantly be called an 'aunty'.

15) I'd rather spend all the money I spend on the child on myself.

Whew. I'm done. But you'll still visit my blog, won't you? :|

The birth of a new blog

2008-09-29T09:01:00.000-07:00

I have started a new blog on blogspot. It's open only by invitation, so drop me a comment saying you want to be a part of it. If I don't respond, trust my judgment and know that the blog will make no sense to you, since it's of a slightly personal nature. :) Thanks!!

Modern Bhakti

2008-09-27T10:19:00.000-07:00

I was in a bus today, and I spotted this sign on a tree that says:

"Crash course in Bhagvad Gita. Enrol today!".

Ermmm...Ooookay then! See you at the orientation.

Updates on my life

2008-09-25T08:40:00.000-07:00

Maladies have been bombarding me lately. What started out as just mild dizzyness (is that even a word? Frankly don't care.) became a mild form of vertigo. Great. I'm already saddled with leukoderma (which actually does not bother me in any way), and I hope this vertigo shit isn't here to stay.

I've been at home since Monday, and will go back to work on the coming Monday. Pretty cool, considering I did need a break of sorts, even at the cost of the world refusing to stop spinning. It's been really sweet how some totally unconnected people called and asked me how I was doing, while certain people who I see quite often did not even bother to message or call me, even if to wonder if I was dead or not. Oh yes, but these same people did bother me when they needed my urgent services, without even a simple thank you after hauling me out of bed. It's at times like these you realise who really are your friends and well-wishers, and who look at you as just some sort of backup plan to righten wrongs. I know I'm sounding really random, but hell, I don't even know why I'm surprised actually.

Anyway, Ro came to visit me, the sweetheart. Then took me for a nice cuppa coffee and basically cheered me up. Damn, who needs fuckwits when you have cousins like these? Mikachu is basically mad at me since we're only keeping in touch through our respective Facebook walls these days. Not good, Mika. I owe you a LOT of quality time.

Sweet Tooth is as a sweetheart as ever, and the only one apart from my lovely folks who even cares I exist. I'm going to prepare my Oscar speech here and thank Lammy, Phoenix, Pearlie, Shibani and even some PR people, who sent me get well soon messages. And yes, my boss for being a considerate guy and someone I can look up to.

I realise this is getting to be a really blah sort of post, but forgive me this once, because I am in a blah kind of mood. On a side note, I met the wonderful Phoenix for the first time in person last month. I've been e-friends with Phoenix since the last two years almost. I don't know about him, but after meeting him, I was almost clinically depressed that this person wasn't in the same city as me. I need a friend like this, who I can talk absolute and pure nonsense to, who has absolutely no hang-ups in life, who I can discuss life's problems with because I know I'll get a purely objective answer, who calls the next second you give him a missed call, whatever unearthly hour it may be, who is basically your Saturday night buddy. It's really funny meeting someone who's been a voice to you, someone who's mere voice is an important presence in your life. Suddenly attaching a whole body to that voice complete with a smile, laugh and paunch, is really something that takes some getting used to.

Before I set out to meet him, I was a tad worried. What if he wasn't as nice as he is on the phone / chat / blog, etc.? I knew people would be different in person; some may be nicer, quietier, completely different from your perception. But after I met Phoenix, I realised he wasn't as nice as I thought he would be. He was infinitely nicer than what I knew, and what followed was a nice grilled chicken at Inorbit, followed by a some very fun-filled quality evening spent at Hard Rock. It's so wonderful to know that there are some true gentlemen out there, and that all men on the internet aren't dickheads. I probably shouldn't be saying such nice things about Phoenix on a public forum like this, but by now I know he must dead from a chest that burst with pride. ;) I normally don't go overboard with praise like this, but that was an evening I want to remember for quite some time. :) Here's to a long, fun-filled friendship with my favourite Phoenix!

*proposes toast*

In other news, I'd been to Chennai for a day. Quite a fun trip, that. Bought absolutely delicious Mysore Pak. Apart from that, there's nothing worth writing home about.

I must say it's quite nice to be writing after long. I've been ignoring this blog a lot, lately, and I can't believe that I'm taking so much time between posts. Very, very bad. I'm not going to promise to be better, because I'm known to be incorrigible. :P

Anyhoo, dinner beckons. Must go. Much love. :)

Tales from the land of Mishti-doi and Sondesh...

2008-08-23T11:35:00.000-07:00

So, yours truly went to attend a STAR India press conference at Kolkata last week (and I do realise that this is a long overdue post). Although it was a day trip, it was a lot of fun. Can't really say it felt like I was in a different city though, since the car that was taking us to the Taj Bengal (yes, we are grand) took the highway I think, and I passed the same hoardings that I see in Mumbai. There was the same Shoppers' Stop hoarding, then R. Madhavan and Vidya Balan pimping Airtel to us, and the eggjactly the same HDIL and DLF buildings, etc. Just that perhaps, the main roads are narrower, and the traffic madder than what it is, here. Oh yes, and elephantine Ambassadors are still popular with the Bongs, as I couldn't have missed noticing.

The morning began with the highly effecient Meru cab waiting for me downstairs 10 minutes after I woke up. I'd suggest all of you to book Meru cabs online before going on trips to places. They're highly punctual, very safe and very reasonable, too. And no, I'm not getting paid to endorse them (although I should). After a forced conversation with an extremely friendly cabbie, I made it to the airport and stormed through to the Kingfisher Airlines desk. Two girls wearing their best fake smiles walked up to me and issued me my boarding pass, and I was off to wait for my flight. Can't believe how easy traveling alone by flight is. I'll spare you the details about the flight, because it was like any other you've traveled by. But one thing I must point out is the bloody in-flight entertainment on Kingfisher airlines. Firstly, it has the world's shadiest channels (partnered with Dish-fucking-TV). Who the fuck watches Ten Sports, NDTV Good Times, Zee Music, Zee Trends, Cartoon Network, Zee TV? Oh yes, and one channel was dedicated ONLY to Jannat, the movie with the current shittiest songs right now, featuring none other than star monkey and Serial Kisser, Emraan Hashmi. Wow. And that's not all. The fucking movie was playing on my way to Kolkata, and back. In fact, on my return trip, one screening got over at about 10:30 pm, and they began playing the movie AGAIN without wasting three seconds in between. So that channel was out of the question. At the start of the flight, Vijay Mallya scared the shit out of me by suddenly popping on my screen and telling me what an indispensable traveler I was to Kingfisher. I couldn't help my eyes welling up at that. *scoffs* Also, Mallya darling claims that every air hostess has been "personally" selected by him, through a tough process (from what I gathered). Of course the process is tough. Sleeping with someone the size of Vijay Mallya has to be tough, no? As if Vijay fucking Mallya wasn't bad enough, Yana Gupta pops up on my screen giving me safety instructions in Hindi and English. I'm really not surprised no one gives her roles in the movies. She can't fucking act her way out of safety instructions of an aircraft, behaving uncannily like a third grader does in a school play. By the time this entire Mallya-Gupta torture conspiracy was over, the flight takes off and you're in the air.

Oh yes, while we're still in the flight, let me give you a tip. Don't ever opt for a window seat in a plane. Waiting till your bladder's about to burst before you wake your sleeping co-passengers is really not a wise thing to do. Alrighty, when we landed and all the concerned people from Star India and the PR firm assembled, we were packed off in cars to go to the Taj. I was with a girl from the Delhi bureau of a website, and she was quite nice. So we chilled with this very nice lady from STAR, till it was the time for the press conference. The event was nice and punctual (!), except that in the words of the PR guy we were with, "The press conference should have had subtitles." The entire thing was in Bangla yaar! I inched closer to this woman from TOI Kolkata, who farely had a good grasp on the language. She translated most of the stuff for me. The best thing about these places is the number of people you get to meet. Right from other media people, to CEOs, VPs, etc. of really big places. I LOVE my job. :) After the press conference, the Delhi girl and I were heading to our room, when my shoe snapped. Yes. I was stuck in a far away city with a broken shoe. No worries, the poise queen in me said aloud. I simply decided to go out in the afternoon in search of a cobbler / shoe shop. Everything seemed so set. We'd take a faraway look at Eden Gardens, visit Victoria Memorial, since they were 15-20 minutes away from the hotel. How blissful was I! I'd get to see the places in just a day trip, and get back home to my comfortable blankie in the night. Paradise!

My ass, it was paradise.

The Delhi reporter screwed up her internet connection, so sending the story across to her office became a problem. I was blissfully unaware of all the drama that was going on, since I decided to catch a nap before stepping out for our dream shopping trip. I wake up at fucking 6 pm, and find that the Taj lobbies are galore with two other journos/ PR people scurrying between rooms and the business centre, in search for Wi-fi connectivity. By the time, it was too late to do anything since reporting time at the airport was fast upon us.

Ah. No worries, I told myself again. I'd grab sweets on the airport. As for sight-seeing, I'll come back.

Except there was a problem.

I had a broken shoe, and no time to mend it up or buy a new pair.

*Gulp*

Hobbling around the hotel, much to the merriment of the PR people and fellow journos (the woman from STAR even stuffed the Taj bathroom slippers in my bag, in case of emergencies. They were fluffy and white, FYI), we tried to all help the Delhi woman get her story across. And now we were desperate, since there was a teeny chance we would miss our flights if we didn't leave without wasting a second. After 15 excruciating minutes, they got her story across, and we had to leave. Me still limping across the fucking Taj’s grand hallways.

Taking a quick look at the time, we drew the conclusion that there was a BIG chance about the flight leaving minus us. Since I panic real easy, I was the first one to dash out of the hotel (quite like a bullet from a gun) in spite of the broken shoe, and hop into the car that was to escort us into the airport. The others piled up on me like a rugby team, and the driver was instructed to bhagao the car as much as he could. The next time, remember that that’s very wrong advise to give a driver in Kolkata. The madman drove the Qualis like it was the Knightbus and I promise you that cars, humans, flora and fauna jumped out of our way in sheer terror. But I now believe that there resides a God somewhere in our midst, which gave the driver excellent control over the steering, and each of us reached in one whole piece. As in, the individuals we had initially set out as, and not one big mass of people. After the check in and boarding pass nonsense, I finally got the fucking sweets I wanted to buy for home and Sweet Tooth. I admit they weren’t much, but at least I did something in Kolkata.

The flight was pretty uneventful, except the Mallya-Gupta torture conspiracy was still going pretty strong. After a long limping walk from the airport to the rickshaw stand, I finally reached home, by what time my foot was completely aching and swollen. I was almost teary-eyed to see mom, what with the aching foot and my beautiful house that I so, SO missed.

My trip made me realise one thing. Fuck everything. Fuck the irritation parents cause and the arguments I have with them. At the end of the day, it's them I want to goodnight to, and them I want to be grouchy at, first thing in the morning. And did I mention I wanted to live away from home? Hahaha...One day in a faraway city and I was teary-eyed when I reached home at 2:00 am (and my sweetheart mom was awake for me, as she would be even if I reached home at 5). I think I'd be dead if sheer homesickness if I ever decide to go abroad or something. Here's a big middle finger to moving out plans.

* big middle finger*

I...

2008-08-03T08:54:00.000-07:00

Was blog surfing / hopping or whatever, and came across this tag. Found it rather interesting, and since I have nothing else to talk about nor anything else to do, thought of taking it up. Heck, screw reasoning. Goodness knows I love tags. :D Here goes.
--

I am: Whimsical, extremely hyper, unreasonable.

I think: Relationships aren't meant for me. I'm too idiosyncratic.

I know: I'm deeply in love. And loved back in multiples of infinity.

I want: To age gracefully.

I have: Everything I need. Except enough clothes.

I wish: There were more weekends in a week.

I hate: Men talking to a woman's breasts.

I miss: Waking up at 11 a.m. EVERY morning.

I fear: My loved ones dying in a bomb blast leaving me behind.

I feel: Deeply about being a mediocre writer. I wish I could be better.

I hear: The voices in my head. There are about thirty five thousand of them.

I smell: Of Nike deodorant at all times.

I crave: Greenery.

I search: For some order in my chaotic life.

I wonder: For how long will I be this happy.

I regret: Meeting the wrong people and giving them my best.

I love: My family, him, gym, work. In that order.

I ache: In the heart region, when I'm upset with the most important people in my life.

I am not: Suspicious. I trust too easily.

I believe: That some people will always remain obnoxious. Stop trying to change people and the world

I dance: To the music of love.

I sing: Very horribly.

I cry: For silly reasons. Or when the heart is aching.

I don’t always: Remain upset for long. But neither do I always forgive.

I fight: When you mess with my values or principles.

I write: When everything else fails to soothe me.

I win: Because the other person tires of arguing with me.

I lose: To a passionate kiss, or an 'I love you' whispered in my ear.

I never: Leave home without wearing eyeliner.

I always: Miss home whenever I'm out.

I confuse: Serbia with Siberia.

I listen: To nobody.

I can usually be found: At work. In the gym. In Inorbit Mall. At home.

I am scared: Of being mediocre in whatever I do.

I need: Constant love and attention.

I am happy about: How my life is right now.

I imagine: To be hugely successful and very rich, in about seven years.

I tag: No one. I shove this tag under my butt and refuse to get up.

It's a Bug's Life

2008-07-29T16:08:00.000-07:00

I'm amazed at myself. Truly, I is. I've slept at 2 a.m. last night (transcribing interviews, let me add), gotten up at 6:30 this morning, and now it's 4:40 in the morning, and I'm still at work. And miraculously, I feel fresh enough to work for about four hours more. Yes, this is the same lazy lump of a cow you know. Now, kindly reunite your jaw with the rest of your mouth, so I can get on with my story.

Anyhoo, I've transcribed about seven interviews since morning, proofread about 16,000 pages and eaten enough junk food to sustain me for a trek to the moon. Talk about working life, eh? But you know what? I love it! Maybe it's the initial excitement of identifying yourself with a product that you've helped put together, and you know is the best, not to mention that it's something you're fiercely proud of. And I don't think I can put in my best without having a certain pride about what I'm working for. Internal jokes with the colleagues are a different thing, but listening to a third person diss my magazine in public? Hell, NO! I've never had any respect for people who work for one organisation, take the salary they give you, drink their chai, use their air conditioning, and bitch about them.

Call me weird, but I think there's a certain fun-ness about working with colleagues for a common cause, late into the night. I know it loses its glamour after about 12 p.m., when you start missing the comfortable blankie, but talking and laughing at corny jokes with your team has its own romance. It's funny how you reach a point when you don't want to even look at another page, much less edit it. Fuck this shit anyway, seems to be ringing in your head rather LOUDLY. But so what? I can't wait for the bloody magazine to come from the press the next day with its shiny, glossy pages and lovely smell of new paper. So I suppose, putting the magazine together is like going through 17 hours of labour, but when it finally is printed, it's something like checking to see whether your perfect little baby has all of its limbs, nostrils, etc.

Alright. So that's what I think of work right now, post three weeks. Maybe I'll think differently after two months. But so what? For now, I feel like my true calling's beckoned me, and do let me enjoy my limelight, will ya? Thanks!

24 Hours with...

2008-07-26T01:48:00.000-07:00

Our magazine Campaign India, has this teeny section, which gives people a sneak peek on the day of a person from the advertising, media or marketing industry. The column's called '24 Hours With...' Now since nobody is going to feature me in the magazine although I'm very interested to be, I think I will abuse my beautiful blog and interview myself. For those 0.5 faithful readers who've stuck by me, I think with this blog post, you'll also understand why I cannot update more often. Here goes.

Name: Moo Cowey.
Job: Editorial Assistant, Campaign India.
Professional Mission: To stay awake at work, without external help from tea, coffee, etc. Oh yes, and also sneak in some byline stories on the website.
Personal Mantra: Try not to get into the editor's way and his bad books.
____________________________________________________________________

7:00 am Time to pry those eyelids open with extreme will power. Move around the house like a zombie while trying to shower correctly, and get in breakfast through the mouth and not nose, etc.
8:30 am Be the last one to get into the mad rush of the train, cussing loudly in my head at the lack of a seat. So it's standing from Borivali to Lower Parel, AGAIN! Call him up and bully him into keeping me company till I get off the train, so that the journey seems shorter.
9:30 am Enter office on the dot, swipe my card, and waltz into our section like a poise queen. With a cheery good morning to the editor, I sit down waiting for God to send in the coffee.
10:00 am Co-ordinate with my colleagues who are either on their way to work / in Delhi / at a press conference and jot down all the stories that are to be uploaded on the dotcom. Then the mad scramble for images begins, while simultaneously cursing the designers who decide to be late again.
10:30 am Get stories in order, begin uploading on website. Have mini argument with editor over the top story for the day.
11:30 am All news up on site. Small pee break and call him up. Life seems good again. Now back to the desk to arrange for the newsletter.
11:45 am Newsletter successfully sent. Begin calling PR people to scout for press releases, ad campaigns or stories. Sigh.
12:30 pm Lunch time. Rush to the pantry with colleagues, before stupid, noisy group in office capture all seats and serenity of the place.
1:15 pm A short quick call to mum, basically to tell her boredom hasn't killed me yet. Then a half hour long phone call to him before he gets to work at 2 pm. Wish that would never end.
1:50 pm Back to the seat. Sudden press conference pops in at the ITC Grand Central. Wind up work quickly if hope to make it on time. Curse myself for not carrying my own cutlery.
2:30 pm Make it barely and register at the media registration desk. Exchange polite hellos with PR people and give away business cards by the dozen. Heck, they're free anyway. Proceed towards actual event and jot down notes, actually wondering, "When in fuck's name is this thing going to end?"
3:45 pm Cab it back to work and proceed with accumulating news for upcoming issue closing. Colleague brings random page to be proofread. Finish all that and fix up two PR meetings for coming week.
4:30 pm Chai break with the two colleagues. What follows is a half hour of chai, gossip and girl talk. Move back to work thinking sweet thoughts of packing bags and leaving.
5:20 pm Wrap up last remnants of day's work and begin to clean desk before leaving for the day. Actually leave in about 15 minutes if there's no work pending.
5:55 pm Catch the ladies special to back home, to hit the gym directly from work.
7:30 pm Meet daddy at the gym, and workout begins, followed by an amazing steam bath till dad finishes his workout.
9:30 pm Reach home, have dinner. Fill mum in on the intricacies of my day, when thoughts of my beautiful bed and fluffy quilt begin to weigh me down.
10:30 pm Phone time again, till I fall asleep while the other person is still in the middle of talking. This happens EVERYDAY.
11:45 pm Goodbye, world. See you tomorrow.

Working Woman...Shhh...

2008-07-22T01:18:00.000-07:00

After being a crocodile, pig, mule, hippo (and all the other lazy, sloppy, slow animals you can think of) for more than two months, your favourite cow decided to go and find a job. What a stupid decision, that. Egad! So, after about endless lazing around in bed till 11 a.m. every morning, yours truly has to wake up at 7 a.m. SHARP, finish all her business in an hour, and travel standing to work EVERY fucking day. It's a different thing that life seems better when I do get to work, but sometimes, there's not much to do, and I wish I was home, or with him. Heck, I always feel the last bit. :)

Anyway, working life's good. As of now, I'm afraid of my boss, but my colleagues are adorable. It's so good when you have young, patient colleagues, who're girly in a nice kinda way, but are always free with their time to help. I've just started attending bloody press conferences at annoyingly fancy ass five-stars, and so far I think that's what I hate about this job. Stupid pretentious buildings from hell. With their silly, pretentious food. I've a good mind to carry my lunch with me, the next time. At least it doesn't judge me when I can't eat with a knife and fork. When, oh, WHEN will I master the art of cutlery? Anyway, that's beside the point.

There's nothing much happening with me these days. I don't even have time to read a book, sleep, return calls of friends who still care I exist (which I don't think will last very long), sit with mum for a while and catch up on her life and issues, heck, I even miss gym sometimes. :( What could get worse than THAT?

This is turning out to be one of the most boring posts I've churned out in a while. In fact, there's so much to say, but no time to write it. Lunch's here. So I've gotta hog. :D Toodle-oo, me hearties. And pray that I can write sooner and more frequently.

* breaks coconut in front of blogging deity*

The End.

2008-06-18T01:56:00.000-07:00

It's over. It's all over. Two and a half years, and it ended this way.

And yes. I topped my college English Literature. But what the fuck does it matter? What's over, is over.

I will always love you. And I'll also be there always, whether or not you need me to. I don't expect the same.

Goodbye. Forever.

Free advice? Erm...Put it where the monkey puts its nuts.

2008-06-09T10:24:00.000-07:00

Right. So everything you care to mention is expensive. Food, vegetables, milk, clothes, travel, everything. You name it, and it's ready to rip your pocket to shreds. But know what should be charged? Like REALLY made costly? Advice. If you think about it, there really needs to be some system, where, if you offer advice that hasn't been called for, your bank account registers a serious low in funds. Because I don't think anything else can get it through people's thick heads to SHUT THE FUCKING HELL UP.

I was talking to Snooty a while back, to help me decipher an email from a prospective employer. This employer person spoke about hiring people as trainees, etc., and I kind of have a problem with that. Not because I want a job that offers me an executive post or something, but just that, I hate having to go back to job that pays me just 4 or 5 thousand (and that was part time. So it was good, actually). But if I'm going to work full time, I might as well get paid more than 10 thousand, to say the least. I don't want a BIG PAY PACKAGE, goodness knows I'm still a fresher. Not an unreasonable expectation, right? If someone's paying me 10 - 15 thousand AND still wants to hire me as a trainee, I don't really see what's the problem. I want to learn, in any case, but personally I don't see anything wrong with having some money on the side.

So yes, Snooty used to work at this same company I want to get into, and so does Zander. Impatient little twit that I am, I didn't wait for Zander to call me back, but decided to clear some things with Snooty . I was already kind of depressed with the fact that my chances at this place are almost negligible (apparently they've already hired trainees and other assorted blah), so I didn't really know how to gauge the situation. Did these people hire all freshers as trainees? If they didn't, did they pay trainees really less? And how long do you remain a trainee? What logically followed was asking Snooty about it. After patiently listening to him lecture me about how careful one must be while giving a subbing test and reading and re-reading every syllable, and how it's not okay to make mistakes, I asked him what I wanted to know. Did these people pay trainees really less?

What followed was an indignant outburst from him. He starts with See, THIS is what I don't like about you. What do you care how much they pay trainees? Even if they pay you 3 thousand, be glad they're taking you. First prove yourself and then talk about payment.

Ok done? Thanks. This coming from a person, who is a cynic to the innermost atom of his body, who cribs about everything that happens on the blessed planet, who thinks his company wastes money on unnecessary things when he's made to go on a junket to Germany, who is quitting a job he joined three months back because he wants to go back to a place he hated (but payment is an issue!), and who basically has been in the field for not more than 4 years, and is all of 25 years old, but pretends to be 80.

I don't mind when people advise me as well-wishers. I don't mind when the criticism they have to offer is constructive. I don't even mind when they tell me that I suck, in a nice way, providing good reasons as to why they think so, and trying to help me get better (if they're an expert, or better than me). However, I do not appreciate it if you don't answer a straight question, get me wrong, offer advice about a completely irrelevant issue and make me feel like a jackass. I'm sorry, I don't need to hear that from you. And why should I? Just because you think you've seen the world? Just because you think you're older and wiser? And don't pretend money isn't an issue. Especially you. And especially since you don't know what difficulty the other person must in. Maybe I need the money. Can't that be a possibility?

In short, don't be idealistic for people. You haven't been appointed by God Almighty to remind His subjects of their forgotten ideals and values. I think I'll just cut to the chase and tell you to get a life. Or sort your own out. And while you're at it, just leave me alone, ok? Thank you.

Note to self: No one cares about you as much as Zander does, neither does anyone talk as much sense. So the next time, stop hopping about and wait for his take on matters, will ya?

Plase don't discurrage.

2008-06-07T11:10:00.000-07:00

I was going to write a really whiny post, just about when I signed into MSN Messenger. Uglyhair was online, and for the first time in my life, I was glad to see him there. Now before I began bitching, I need to introduce you to Uglyhair. Uglyhair is this overly intelligent chap I know, who's always late and extremely hairy. He's 21, a writer, and even has his own online music magazine and stuff. Although the information I just provided you guys with is extremely irrelevant, all you need to know about Uglyhair is, that he's a bigger bitch than I am. And that's no mean feat. Oh yes, he's funny too!

So recently, Uglyhair was at this important office meeting, when a friend calls him up claiming an emergency. Uglyhair excuses himself from the meeting, and scuttles out in alarm. The "emergency" turns out to be thus: The friend knows someone who wants a job in the writing field. Could Uglyhair help him out? Please? So, just to shut him up, Uglyhair agrees. "Send me the guy's CV and a writing sample," says, Uglyhair.

Said friend agrees. And in a hushed voice, says, "Look, whether you like what he writes or not, don't discourage him!"

Uglyhair goes back to the meeting, and all is peace. He's even forgotten the "emergency", until he checks his email. This is the writing sample waiting for him (And I paste the email verbatim :P):

Subject: Plase read it

NIGHT OUTS

hey you might have gone on night outs with your friends , well i do too; for i find them very interesting ( you will know why) and so i am writing on this topic.We plan night outs so we can have a pleasent break from our dull routine ( it must be mentioned that not a single one of us have a routine so forget about it being dull) and have good booze ( my mouth is watering!!). Me and my friends agree with it and so we see that we at least have 15 sessions in a month and the following is one of such night out. It ranks first in our list ( it is not all exaggerated)
CORPORA L'S HOUSE

Our 12th exam had finished and on the same night we planned a session at Cp's house. It had rained so the weather was perfect and our logic paper was good so we were felling perfect. Our session went perfect ( too many perfects!) and we were just chilling out when suddenly a friend started crying; reason: his so called girl friend used him and did not care for his feelings ( neither did we), but as he started crying loudly we took him in the balcony and tried to explain him some shit ( remember we were drunk; by the way we had rum,Old Monk ). Meanwhile another friend started crying;reason: his small sister bullied him. This was at 3am. then another friend started yelling that he loved a girl very much and howled her name , while i was trying to jump from the balcony , at the same time reciting the logic answers. Meanwhile Corporal puked and the guy was still howling so i bet him black and blue while somebody broke all the glasses as all the cigarettes got over. It all ended when Corporals land line rang at around 4am ( we were damn scared ). What a PERFECT night!!!
my friend if you are interested in more of our stories you can join us sometime and with or without booze ( ' with ' sounds better ) we will tell you all and plus you will become a part of one.

Points to be carefully noticed in above mentioned piece of prose:

It gets over too soon.
Booze makes the blessed chap's mouth water .
The line We plan night outs so we can have a pleasent break from our dull routine ( it must be mentioned that not a single one of us have a routine so forget about it being dull), had me falling off the chair and laughing for 40 minutes straight. I mean, have you READ a funnier sentence all your life?
I may be twisted, but, Our 12th exam had finished and on the same night we planned a session at Cp's house, sounds like an orgy.
Meanwhile another friend started crying;reason: his small sister bullied him. I don't see the need to cry, unless you have Chucky for a 'small' sister.
Meanwhile Corporal puked and the guy was still howling so i bet him black and blue while somebody broke all the glasses as all the cigarettes got over. I love how much action this sentence sees! If you notice carefully enough, there are FIVE things that happen in this one sentence. Profound...
It all ended when Corporals land line rang at around 4am ( we were damn scared ). Scared by a land line ? Or did he mean land mine? :-S
my friend if you are interested in more of our stories you can join us sometime and with or without booze ( ' with ' sounds better ) we will tell you all and plus you will become a part of one. Rush like a bullet from a gun to enrol first. The first ten members get a dunce cap, and six free 'sessions' in a month. Good 'service', too.

Needless to say, I hadn't read such a thought-provoking piece of writing since 'A for Apple, B for Ball...' I bet, Uglyhair hadn't too. But nice person that he is, he didn't discourage the chap from writing or anything; he simply didn't reply to the email. Instead, he just forwarded it to me. Really, Uglyhair's sensitivity moves me to tears, sometimes.

...And you complain that people these days just aren't as nice as they used to be!

Money, money, everywhere but not a coin to spend!

2008-05-30T20:51:00.000-07:00

It's that frightful season again. The season where vacations are almost over, and you're moping about all over the place because you don't want to go that frightful hellhole (Read: school / college) you left behind last term. Seriously, why didn't I burn the building the last time, yaar, you question yourself over and over, but the reopening day just looms closer, in answer. Familiar? And don't say you enjoyed going to school / college, dear reader. Because traitors aren't allowed on my blog. :P

This year's funny for me though. I've just appeared for my TYBA exams, and don't plan to complete my Masters or anything immediately. So the next logical thing for me to do is take up a job, which I would really love to do. It's a weird feeling, of not going to a new year of education this year, but to something that grown ups seem to do. For at least a year or two (till I resume my education again), it'll be a life of catching trains, struggling to make it on time, working, mad colleagues, learning to grin and bear it, and so many other things. Wow! I'm growing up. And kindly don't leave 'you-think-working-life's-gonna-be-easy-think-again' messages. I know it's going to be trying. But just let me discover it for myself, ok? Thanks.

Now when I get my first salary, I need to buy quite a lot of things. I can't keep asking mum and dad for the dough every two days. Aaaargh! Goodness knows I need a job that pays me at least a lakh per month. That should be enough, me thinks. For now, these are an absolute priority. And I'm thinking of pawning my pearlies till I raise the funds for all my needs. (I DO have very pretty pearlies. You can eat your dinner off them!). Here goes:

An external harddisk (For the amazing movies stuck on Mikachu's computer).
A Creative Mp3 player (To filter out the rubbish songs that the gym churns out. Race songs, to be precise.)
Books. At last count, there are about 7,567 books that I want to read.
Get enough fuel and roam about in my car. In your FACE, railways!
Gym clothes. Track pants especially. Also, I saw these amazing Nike tees that I must own. Damn you, Rebecca Bloomwood! (What? Shouldn't I be rewarded for my dedication?)
Gym shoes for dad. The ones he currently owns are a nasty grey that I refuse to acknowledge.
Clothes. For the rains. I haven't shopped in the entire summer, so I simply must, now. I NEED CLOTHES. For those of you horrible ones who have money at your disposal, Inorbit has some really good stuff you'd like. AND DO NOT WASTE MONEY ON CROCS. (Hate you for back-stabbing me on that one, Mikachu! :O)
Bags. Jute. Leather. Everything. Raid. Baggit. Atria Mall.
Mikachu's 21st birthday. Want to give her a birthday she can talk about to her five hundred grandchildren on her deathbed.
A big treat when the White Phoenix comes to Mumbai. Since that isn't happening ever, my money's safe.
Take a trip out of the city. The last time I went out was to Kashid. Last year. Funnily enough, on the first of June itself. :'( This time though, I'm gonna catch a flight.
Buy lovely stuff for the all the people I love. To death.
Try out Thai food. (Now why haven't I done that before?)

Ok, that's a scary list. I stopped adding items to that before I jumped off the terrace. Maybe tthe ones in my head will go away if I ignore them. Worth a shot, no? Perhaps selling my teeth as antiques from the Mauryan dynasty, to an unsuspecting foreigner at Colaba, is the only way to raise enough money for my escapades. :( Why is all the money in the world with Paris Hilton, Mukesh Ambani and the lecherous fatso Vijay Mallya?

Beats me.

Signing off. Hopefully the next time I update, I'll have a job or something.

*Sigh*