Cleanliness and Godliness? In the same sentence? REALLY?

This was a completely not-very-funny-in-the-joke-sense-but-so-completely-true SMS that I received ages ago:

Democratic differences between USA and India: In USA you can kiss in public but can’t shit; in India you can shit in public but can’t kiss.

SO fuckin’ true, na? I mean, really! How many times have we seen people on railway tracks at seven in the morning, producing crap patterns in a manner that would befit only a chocolate softee producing machine? RAILWAY TRACKS? Ugh…And I thought puking on a classmate in playgroup was the most disgusting thing ever (erm…I know I shouldn’t be telling you this, but that dirty deed could be credited to me).

I really can’t get over how really DIRTY some people can be. Not only have they not heard of basic cleanliness, but their dearest activity on earth would be in proving to people that they’re ‘Saying NO to Personal Hygiene!’ vehemently. And some others are just plain crude. So to simplify it for you, O Dear Reader, there are the following types of disgusting individuals that are roaming freely about this planet (and without a straitjacket):

The ferociously smellies: Gosh. There is a limit how much some people can take the trouble to smell. While some pong like they are life members of the Bandra creek, some are innovative enough to smell like pee. I don’t even know how it is possible to smell of urine unless you hire someone to pee on you, but believe me there are people out there who’ve achieved this task. I remember this one electrician who’d come over to repair some stuff, and my technologically challenged mum called me out to test whatever he’d tinkered with. The minute I stepped into my beautiful hall, a smell that could have only been attributed to a league of unwashed rats sent by Lucifer himself, hit me square in the nose and knocked me backwards. We almost had to disinfectant the hall. Concerned electrician was a victim of unwashed clothes. I’ve heard that the Al-Qaeda is having serious talks with him for their next terror attack. Their latest press release said that they’ve FINALLY got their lethal weapon to shake an entire railway station by its foundation by its mere presence.

Fungus Footed Peeps: Not only do aforementioned folks have horrible smelling feet, but they are fiercely proud of the edge they have over everyone else. Such individuals seem to leave their noses in the butt pocket of their jeans, and conveniently leave them there as long as their feet are smelling. One more habit above mentioned folks seem to inherently possess, is to kick off their shoes they minute they sit down, and spread the joy. Consequentially, they’re surrounded by corpses in the manner of cockroaches dying of a huge hit of ‘HIT’.

The Burp-a-lots: Members of this type of unsocial behaviour generally seem to have either eaten a horse for breakfast, or swallowed a frog with their tea. People with special inclination towards horses give out REALLY loud, continuous burps, with absolutely zero qualms. In fact, they seem to react to their own contributions in a very matter-of-fact, relaxed way, and not letting it upset their newspaper reading sessions in the train or their conversations. Meanwhile, the froggy burps are a law unto themselves. They’re generally a series of small, continuous croaks, and at any minute, you’d expect the person to unfold a really looong tongue and eat up a fly passing through the air.

‘Private’ Scratchers: You’re quietly walking, minding your own business when you suddenly spot this uncle tugging, pulling and rummaging around his crotch like there’s no tomorrow. He’s making enough movement to cuddle an elephant. And it’s no mean feat to violently scratch your crotch AND feel completely unashamed about it.

Unwaxed vixen: Now I’m not endorsing waxing as an activity because it’s fashionable. Nor am I saying you need to do it because hair is something to be ashamed of. But, statistics and surveys (and other things people do to prove a point) have shown that your hair and your feet are the first places where bacteria likes to permanently set up home. Hence, get rid of excess body hair. But quite apart from the usual stuff, don’t you think it’s really gross? All you ‘chic’ women out there wearing capris, skirts, sleeveless tops, boat necks, cowl necks and other assorted blah, GET RID OF THE HAIR FIRST. I really don’t think that looking like Anil Kapoor is on your to-do list, is it?

Nosey diggers: WHAT do people look for, when they’re digging their noses? Missing cutlery? A friend’s address? New lands? But I really don’t think Christopher Columbus found America by digging his nose (being a man, he refused to ask for directions and landed on what is known as USA).

Now I need to go throw up. So I’m going to go and leave you free to add more categories. Happy barfing! :p

These Chinese are Crazy! *Tap tap tap*

THESE were the washing instructions that China sent me with a *blush* bra *blush*I purchased. I'm rather tempted to use it without removing the tag. If ANYONE can make sense out of them, email me. Soon. Thank you.

Well, now that we've got the formal introductions out of the way, I present to you, China's version of HOW TO WASH A BRA, in Chinese English (if you get my drift). Oh yeah, and this is verbatim, except a few irresistible comments made in brackets.

QUALIFIED CERTIFICATE

Product name: Text chest, pants. (Pants?????)

Grade: Excellent grade. (In English, you get an F, my dear)

WASHING SIGNS

• Please Use The Natural Detergent To Wash Away Dirt (Natural detergent, now what tree does that grow on?)
  
• Please Not Usage Washer Clean and Dehydrate (I still don't know what this means.)
  
• Rinse Please Use Soft Scrub Clean Then (For first graders: Arrange the sentence in correct grammatical order).
  
• Wash Empress Please Instant Orthopedics And Place Cool Place Dry (Hmm...The 'Orthopedics' seem to suggest, that the bra can perhaps double up as knee caps to prevent Osteoporosis. does 'Empress' refer to the Empress of Blandings?)
  
• Deep Colour Product Please Avoid White OR Shallow Colour Product The Admixture Wash (Yes. Thank you. The weather's pleasant here, too.)
  
• Prevent Change Colour (Damn! Then why did I buy a colour-changing bra? :( )
  

And this is my favourite:

• Please Not To Use Salty Sex Bleach (Sheesh. How dumb do you have to be that the company had to specifically TELL you not to use salty sex bleach? You KNOW the sugar-free one's what you're looking for.)

Wow. I *big red heart* the Chinese. :)

I dabble with poetry...And fail parlously.

There was once a girl by the name of Kim
Who was lazy as a mule,
“Why should one have to walk?” she asked,
“I’d rather burn some fuel!”

So that is how she roamed about,
She grew fatter by the day,
She drove to places close to home,
A stone’s throw away.

Driving my dears, is all very well,
But makes you like a lump,
And your favourite picnic spot in the world
Becomes your petrol pump.

Why not use the feet you’ve got,
Why contaminate the air?
You’re spewing dirt all around you,
Do you think that’s fair?

So, you don’t care about the air,
But I presume you care about you?
Walking is healthy, walking is fun
I assure you, it’s rejuvenating too.

So let’s all chuck those cars away
And walk to the grocery store,
Whoever told you fat means “prosperous”
Arrest them for spreading folklore!

A Heartfelt Epistle to Everyone on Foot

Dear Pedestrian,

How are you? In good health? Excellent. Because every driver wishes that a fat, juicy, , undisciplined pedestrian should be royally squelched under anyone’s car, but his own. (Why would you think I want anybody to die under my car and ruin the beautifully shining wheel plates? Geez…!)

Anyhoo, I’m taking the trouble to write you this letter, so that you may perhaps see sense and try not to ruin someone’s drive, although goodness knows you don’t deserve it. So dear undisciplined Peddy (can I call you that?), here’s how you need to behave when you’re walking in public.

1. You could try and not think of a main road as the personal space your father gifted you on your 18th birthday. You’re supposed to use a road (ANY road) as a thoroughfare to get to places, so don’t you think you need to EFFIN’ WALK FASTER THAN -0.345 kph/hr?]

2. Us taxpayers are paying taxes out of which the government finances footpaths. Foot path, get it? No? It’s a path you’re supposed to use when you’re making use of your feet to move. Does that ring any bells? Ah, I see the light of recognition in your eyes. So yes, when there’s a footpath, use it unless getting run over isn’t in your to-do list for the day.

3. When you walk, keep all parts of your body to yourself. If your arms and legs are walking in a straight line, why would you keep your butt dangling out? Don’t step out of the house unless all your body parts are properly aligned.

4. Peddy, my dah-ling…Do you hear a buzzing somewhere? No? Perhaps if you’d put that blasted cell phone away, you’d hear me honking my car’s boot out for you to GET OUT OF MY WAY!

5. Ah yes! When you’re walking in a straight line and you suddenly decide to cross the road to meet your neighbour’s pet dog at the other side of the street, you’re supposed to look carefully at cars that are whizzing at you. Since we drivers aren’t known to be mind-readers, kindly don’t expect us to sense what your next move is going to be, unless it involves being mashed up in my car.

6. For those of you happily married, and with kids, I’m sure you want to see them grown up (at least old enough to be able to shave by themselves). Umm yeah, so when you’re out for those beautiful long evening walks with the kids, don’t make them walk towards the side of the road. Of course if you want me to take your kid for a drive screaming and stuck to the bonnet.

And if you still don’t want to heed my kind words, I most sincerely hope that you get a leg or two broken, with treatment at the smelliest government hospital you can find. But do NOT ruin the drive of a good, talented and safe driver. Amen.

Loads of love (or not!),
Moo.

Die-yet

So ever since the cruel gym has lured me into it’s snare trap, I’ve been given a diet. Now to be fair on the dietician (who’s quite sweet, although hairy and fat. I mean, you wouldn’t expect a dietician to be fat, right? So much for motivation! And I should probably end the narrative in the bracket now, because so far, it’s longer than the actual post. Here goes.) the diet’s pretty alright. Normal breakfast, lunch and dinner routines, minus too many carbohydrates and lots and lots of fruits.

Now when I first got the diet, I was very happy, since it allowed me to eat chicken and fish (in proportionate quantities, hmph), and was pretty much the veggies, etc I normally eat at home. What could be better? So I had to give up on mutton, lamb and pork. Pah! Who needs those anyway? I’m all set to be a fitter, healthier person. I’m above all the worldly temptations like meat and food.

And chocolates.

And cakes.

And Tang.

And butter chicken. *gulp*

And mutton kheema from Koolar. *wipes eyes*

And masala papads.

And veg hakka noodles with chicken cooked in red meat. *help!*

And chewing gum.

And Parle G biscuits.

And beef (cooked by Chris’ mum).

And butter nan, lachha paratha, butter rotis.

And milk with sugar.

And coconut chutney.

And a gazillion other things that I took for granted in my entire lifetime. So if you have any sense, stay fat, let those love handles poke out of your t-shirt, your butt crack ooze out of your jeans and eat all you want. At most you’ll die 30 years earlier, but who wants to live those extra years moping about the food you could have eaten? Plus, there are a lot of stores that sell clothes ranging from size XXXL to XXXXXL and other Roman numbers.

And yeah, kindly don’t let my mum read this post. I bet she won’t see the wisdom nor the humour behind it.

*checks watch and rushes because she’s late for gym*

An SMStolary story....

“jst came bck 4m wrk out. wil showr n buzz u. tc.”

“ok. cal soon. hav to tel u smthng.”

“bck. feelng gr8 now. Wats up?”

“dhruv n shamila getng marrid!!! finaly nt w8ing 4 parnts prmissn. Wild na?”

“wat!!!!!!!! shit! Dhruv mad kya? Shamila’s parnts will murdr both. d marrge wil wrk only if dey move out of d cntry. lol.”

“i knw ya. tried teling dem. neway, d big day’s this weeknd. Cm to court, k? smal party aftr d rgistratn. I gtg nw. seeya satrdy. *hugs*

------- xoxox -------

“dhru & sham fckin eloping! pia msgd. Satrdy weding. u cn close dat mouth nw! :D”

“i cnt blve dis. u takng my case kya?”

“na na. honest. Strday aa jana. maja ayenga. seeya”

------- xoxox -------

“D mst bizar thng has happ. sid (d guy in my bldg) sez ur cuzin getng marrid to sum guy in secrt. lol..ur fmily’s rockin!”

“wat d fck? R u sure? Wil kil u if dis is a joke…”

“arey ma kasam. go chck na. dnt kil me. :)”

------- xoxox -------

“Man, u rock. Thnks so mch. D bitch was planng to run away ystrdy. Tld my folks n dey tld hers.

They’ve lockd her up. Frnticaly lookng 4 grooms now. Thnks agn. U savd evrythng. wil cal u latr.”

------- xoxox -------

When my best friend became a victim...

This post is dedicated to someone very special. And also to a bad phase she is going through.

There are days, and there are days. And there are some days, that change your life forever. And there’s nothing you can do to stop your life from taking a turn you know, is going to result in pain and misery.

Something along those lines happened to the person I know. Stupid cliché, but the years I’ve known her, I’ve hardly seen her grumpy or unhappy. Such a beautiful, sunny personality she was. And why shouldn’t she be? Lovely friends, an angelic family and an overall perfect life – she had everything she needed. It’s really scary how the nicest things in life are too good to be true.

And then this very special friend of mine (who turned out to be incredibly stupid), went and joined the gym.

*insert loudly weeping smiley here*

For those of you who have previous experience(s) with that hell called the ‘gymnasium’, I need to ask you a few questions. Allow me.

1. Why is that place such a hellhole?

2. Why do hot guy with the pert-est behinds always have to work out next to you?

3. Why do said guys have to do the same exercise you’re doing, at the same time, and better?

4. Why do said said guys have to be discovered only when you’re at your shapeless best?

5. Who the fuck invented push-ups and crunches?

6. Is the whole thing a conspiracy to finish newbies off within a week, and pocket their money?

7. How many bonus points does the gym instructor get, if he manages to do away with me before the week’s up?

8. How can making my stomach muscles hurt even when I laugh, make me smashin’ looking?

9. And is it me, or does it even hurt to think?

10. Is this how someone feels when the will to live is lost?

11. When can every conceivable muscle in my body (and also some that don’t exist) stop yelling for help?

Good night. I need to sleep. You must sympathize with me, considering this thing’s making me go to bed at 10 in the night. And if you see a fat girl trying her best to push, pull, shove, headbutt, grunt at, etc. with fancy looking weights, kindly stop and say hi.

*Sob*

Abuzz with Activity!

Yeah well. My work inbox is finally getting some useful, work-related emails. I hope I’ve left behind the days when my inbox said ‘No mails? You can always read Google News!’, because I don’t think there’s anything more humiliating than your inbox telling you what to read.

In other news, I’m happy. Like REALLY happy and stuff. I’m busy doing something constructive, I’m shopping a lot, and this whole Diwali season leaves me feeling really excited and in a looking-forward-to-life mode. Alright, the gifts and the clothes do contribute largely to my happiness, but that’s not all. The winking lights in windows, the lamps, the diyas, people’s last-minute shopping frenzy, the aromas of Diwali sweets wafting through the air and tickling the insides of your nose, everything is so pleasing to the senses that you just don’t want the season to end. And why would you, with all those sales and discounts signs poking you in the eye from all shop windows?

One thing Diwali could do without are those crackers, though. I mean, really, I insist on doing without a dilating heart, thank you so very much. So many time, you’re trying to savour the fluffy, delicious, karanji you’re mum gave you, and the minute you try sinking your teeth into it BOOM BOOOM CRACK! go the fireworks. So all you’re left with it is lots of smoke creeping into your window, an untouched karanji and a badly bitten tongue. And what do you achieve with all that noise and smoke, anyway? C’mon, it can’t make you happy!

In other news, my friend Doordarshan just came back from a small trip to Delhi. Although there’s no news peg to that, you’ll have to wait till I give you the gory details. Here’s a small digression, though. Doordarshan’s sister is like a really hotshot CA, and she goes to a new place in the world once a month or so (for work she says, HAH!). So far she’s been to bizarre places like France, Belarus (who the fuck gets to go there?), Italy, Germany, Switzerland, US (she goes here as often as we go to the loo, sometimes, even more!), Hong Kong, China, Pattaya, and a thousand other places it hurts me to name. I’ve tried to get her to get me in as her chambermaid or chaperone or anything else starting with ‘cha’, but things don’t look good. Anyway, the detour to the story ends here.

Well, this sister of Doordarshan’s decided to take him to Delhi this last weekend (because she was assigned a place in India, for once). So off went Doordarshan, waddling with his backpack and hopping onto a flight to New Delhi. Ok, I’m not concerned about that either. What I don’t get is, why he gets to live at the Taj Palace Hotel in New Delhi’s Diplomatic Enclave, with a fancy bathtub and bathrooms with transparent doors and springy beds and central air-conditioning. All sponsored by his sister’s workplace. Do you get the gravity of the situation? Do you NOT get the grave injustice that us commoners with non-fancy sisters are subject to? Now I have two sisters. But the only workplace privileges they’ve offered me is a pen and an Akbarally’s gift voucher (the pen didn’t work beyond 3 days and I never claimed the voucher). And here are people who have privileges to go live in the Taj (in rooms that cost Rs. 16,000 per day, let me add) and are loving enough to take their kid siblings along. ‘Nuff said. I will cease ranting about that and let the tears flow in silence. Sniff.

In totally other news, Snooty is out on a junket in Malaysia. (Seriously, what is with people and paid trips to fancy places?) and I can’t wait for him to come back. Why? Because he’s promised me an exhaustive road test of the new Hyundai Getz somewhere in Churchgate. And if this time I can’t go, I might as well slit my wrists. Believe you me, I WILL. And Snooty’d better come back soon now because my phone is used to the constant beeping and vibrating with the messages. The silence is killing me. Oh alright, I’m missing him loads. But just don’t tell him, ok?

Hmm….This is turning out to be like a really long post and it’s getting really late on this side of town. So I’m not going to be formal with you, O Dear Reader, and end this without a conclusion. Toodle-oo me hearties! Leave me them comments.

*Abrupt ending*.

Some things are better left unsaid...

I’m about to publicly display my moments of deviation from what’s considered normal here. Heck, everyone knows about that, so let me rephrase the last sentence. I’m about to publicly admit the level of my abnormality. So here goes.

1. Till yesterday, I wondered what a heritage walk exactly was. Was it a protest march in traditional clothes to preserve your heritage or something?

2. I didn’t know until last week, that ‘getting up from the wrong side of the bed’ was actually a phrase. Yeah, disown me.

3. I came to know last month my phone had software I could edit ringtones with. Yes, and I hope to be the editor of a technology magazine / newspaper someday. Would you try and stop judging me?

4. I also realized that there is this mean, lazy person hidden within me, who doesn’t wish people on their birthday even if it remembers (Not applicable to close friends, though).

5. I never seem to remember the names of both the guys who started Google Inc. This is shameful since I can remember the names of friends’ friends’ friends, who I may have met just once, seven years ago.

6. I am, according to Pikachu, an internet socialite. Nine out of ten people I’ve talked to in my entire life are very close internet buddies.

7. Yes, I am one of those people who keep refreshing their Orkut page after every 30 seconds.

8. I keep losing in Scrabble.

9. My saree came undone on the day of my farewell way back in the 10^th std. Thankfully, no one saw my bloomers.

10. I threw up on Darshan when I was in playgroup. That was solely because my teacher thought I wanted to waste time in the loo and didn’t let me go when I asked her very nicely. By the time she did let me go, it was too late, and I threw up on the patch of floor that was closest to me. Darshan was unfortunate enough to set up his dwelling in precisely that patch of tiling and was showered with whatever I had to offer. Since then, he’s never spoken to me (In fact, I’d have no respect for him if he did).

11. I keep asking fellow customers for bigger sizes in t-shirts, pants, etc. at malls. Now how is it my fault if they want to wear the exact pattern of shirts, as the salespeople? And why do I always keep needing bigger sizes and not smaller ones (strictly in clothes, haan)?

12. I am a big loser and I don’t think you need anymore evidence. But if you do, write to me secretly and I’ll furnish you with some more proof.

I’m really bored now. Think I’ll go catch up on some food and drink. You go away, too.

(This post is dedicated to Manoj for no apparent reason.)

When the going gets tough...

Ok, so I despise college. Like really loathe it and stuff. But there are some times when the chicas in class are so funny, that you’re actually glad you were around to take back home a happy memory. Here’s one such.

My friend KreePee likes pink stuff. Everything she owns is pink. Her shoes, her bag, her wallet, most of her clothes, her pencil(s), basically any accessory your wild mind can imagine, she has in pink. When opportunity permits, she throws in some Barbie and Ken photos on her pink possessions and proudly shows them off to everyone in class.

Nevertheless, she’s just so adorable at times, that you’d want to hug her till she dies of suffocation. Honest.

Anyway, I keep buying KreePee some random pink stuff when I see it. Like pencils and pens, you know, the works. And she gets so excited over little things, that she won’t even let me touch them; lest they get dirty. Hmph. Anyway, I gave her the mini car that she found in my bag (it came with a chocolate I was eating, I do NOT collect them), and she remembered that she’d got me something as well. Her gift turned out to be a very sweet purple eraser shaped like a bunch of grapes (that smelt like grapes too!), slightly bigger than the vintage toy car I gave her.

Now the kiddies in us woke up with a jolt, and took over all sense of ‘propah’ and ‘non-propah behaviah’! This is what followed. And yeah, don’t judge us. We’re the TYBA English Literature class.

KreePee (placing grape-shaped eraser on toy car roof): You know what Moo? Let’s pretend that the car is transporting the grapes to some place.

Me (liking idea): Yeah yeah, let’s!

KreePee: And let’s not allow anybody to touch the car or the eraser. Kharab kar denge sab.

Me (grinning): Ok babes, whatever you say.

KreePee (straight faced): And if the car gets too tired with the load of the grapes, we can make both sleep side-by-side and continue their journey later.

Me (giggling hysterically): Uh huh, sure! It’s totally your call, Kree!

(Enter Pussycat, another classmate)

Pussycat (squealing with excitement, pointing at the ensemble): WOWWW! What is that?

KreePee (annoyed): Kuch nahi. A car that’s transporting grapes. Don’t disturb it.

Pussycat: Moo, dikha na kya hai. PLEASE! What is it?

Me (handing over the eraser): Le. Mar. Kharab mat karna.

Pussycat (caressing eraser): Oh shooo cute! Hai kya yeh?

Me (with naughty grin): ‘Rubber’ hai.

Pussycat (returning naughty grin): Aila! Why are you roaming around with ‘rubbers’?

(Enter In-DUH-vidual, a third classmate)

In-DUH-vidual (looking at rubber in Pussycat’s hand): Ae show na! Kya hai woh?

Pussycat: Rubber hai, Moo ka. What a nice gal with good habits she is, na?In fact, bahut acchi aadat hai.

Me: Yeah, isn’t it? And this one smells nice too!

In-DUH-vidual (with stupid grin of non-comprehension and smelling the ‘eraser’): Moo, don’t use this rubber. It’s very nice. Save it for a special occasion, na!

Pussycat (shocked): What is this, In-DUH-vidual? How can you just stop people from using rubbers! Dekha Moo? Bas isi mindset ke vajah se aaj India ka yeh haal hai!

I laughed so hard, that I was certain my intestine would come bursting out of me and splatter itself on the wall. Somewhere near my left ear, I heard KreePee spray everyone with a water fountain. Pussycat hi-fived me and burst into a fit of giggles. And as usual, In-DUH-vidual bestowed us with her default stupid grin (that signified she hadn’t understood anything that happened in the past 3 minutes), while we gathered our stuff and waited for the professor to bring us back to the mundaneness of our dreary lives.

Oh ok, so maybe you had to be there. Hmph.

When friends misunderstand...

I feel badly battered. Beaten up. Knocked out cold.

Aren't those the feelings you go through, when someone you call your friend misconstrues you totally and gives you hell for something you didn't even do? What's more, didn't even mean to do? Aren't friends the people who you'd want to understand you, no matter how obscure or unreasonable you are? If they don't want to be as nice and understanding as they'd like you to believe, why put up an image? And for who's benefit?

I think I lost a friend today. And I still don't know why. Was it me? Was it him? Was it both of us? Or was it the lack of confrontation? Was it something else? With both of us having egos the size of giant rogue elephants, will it ever be the same again? Do I want it to be the same again?

Not after what happened. Do I need people like that in my life?

Random

Enigma. Heroes. Computers. Literature. Friends. Fancy. Musing. Spectator. Understand. Relatives. Buildings. Collapses. Fiery. Magic. Love. Pristine. Cucumbers. Hatred. Print. Clothes. Fortune. Poetry. Funnies. Bovine. War. Rosary. Vocabulary. Blockhead. Gangrene. Feet. Distance. Cars. Vacuum cleaners. Fairies. Trips. Idiosyncrasy. Vertigo. German. Trinkets. Christmas. Death. Language. Digression. Formality. Travel. Vacations. Alignment. Customer. Cashews. Trees. Concrete. Bikes. Music. Bold. Opportunities. Wayward. Alliance. Dirt. Vomit. Pigs. Rains. Bicycles. Closure. Ambiguity. Corporate. Chocolates. Ice-creams. Fish. Food. Camera. Photographs. Suicide. Prevention. Trade. Chopsticks. Keychains. Marshmallows. Chimpanzees. Aquariums. Walks. Drives. Gravel. Filigree. Parents. Chow. Keyboards. Earthquakes. Flight. Obscure. Finish.

Someone once said, that writing off random words helps ridding oneself of Writer's Block.

Doesn't seem to have worked though, I'm not any wiser, and I have a thousand random words floating about in my head. Not a good sign.

* Waits for inspiration *

License to Kill!

So yours truly went gallivanting to the Andheri branch of the RTO, to get her permanent driving license. Right. So after spending what seemed like an eternity in the bus ride, I finally got off when the conductor announced Andheri RTO aala, utra Andheri RTO wale! Now people who know me really well (or not!) do know the amount of mental preparation I have to put in while crossing the road. So I need not mention that it took me 15 minutes to get to the other side. In my defense, it was the LINK ROAD! How can you not take your time crossing it?

Now to sympathize with me, you have to know a bit of the geography surrounding the RTO. To reach the goddamned place, you have to walk in straight through a tiny entrance of a construction site. Yes people, it’s pretty much like Harry Potter’s ‘Room of Requirement’, only a zillion times more disgusting. So when you’re through the entrance, you immediately end up stepping in a pile of construction dirt and what inevitably escapes your tongue is the choicest swear word you know. After you compose yourself and muster your dignity, you look up to find construction workers leering at you. Perhaps they secretly hoped that I was the new recruit their contractor had mentioned. Anyway, from here onwards the tasks keep getting increasingly difficult. When you move on from there, you come to this REALLY steep staircase consisting of around five huge steps, and if miss a single footing, you’re down straight into the sinking sewer there. The kind of smelly-poisonous-fume-emanating sewer I wouldn’t wish my enemies to ever come across. After holding onto the pretend railing for dear life and crossing the steps, you come to this area you can cross only by help of the almighty and your ancestors’ blessings. Yes, my dear ladies and gentlemen, you’re at the place where you can place only one foot at a time, with no railing, and ONE false step will land you straight into the aforementioned sewer. Ugh. And as if that wasn’t enough, there are people coming at you from behind and the front, and the only way you can let them pass is by forcing yourself through before them. Oh by the way, I hope you haven’t forgotten that I’m on my way to the RTO Office. Nope, not on a trek, and certainly not for an interview to gain employment at a construction site.

Whew! Finally you find a place where you’re supposed to walk over piles of cement (but after all that I’d gone through, walking over piles of cement felt like gliding in the air), more construction workers with gross fantasies about you and trucks coming straight at you. What you came across after that was the world’s share of marsh that was secretly conspiring to make you fall and soil your best jeans and chappals. I have never seen an ugly two-inch thick layer of marsh in my life. And all on my clothes. And this is supposed to be the goddamned RTO office! HALP!

I finally met the other people from my driving school and was handed over my form. Like schoolkids, we were made to stand in a big line and warned not to get in each other’s way. I half expected Stand with a finger on your lips! to be shouted out to us. 15 minutes into the line, and we were taken to this place and made to re-form the line outside a small room. Most of us thought that we were supposed to get new pictures clicked or something (I was hoping so vehemently, since as usual, the photo on my Learner’s License arouses fierce emotions of hilarity from everyone). But that wasn’t to happen. We were jostled out from that queue (without visiting the room), and made to stand exactly where we were before. Eh? Whatever, really. Perhaps forming and re-forming queues was their idea of entertaining us. Pshaw!

After 15 minutes, we were made to re-form lines (AGAIN!) in a big ground, this time in front of a desk. Aha! Finally the test was going to happen. We submitted our forms again, and were made to make a brand new line, (What is it with these people and lines?) waiting for them to call us and start whizzing on wheels. At least there was something to look around here, while we waiting. Other driving schools had started with their tests and one of the students almost drove into us. I don’t blame him, because that’s what happens if you keep clutching at your steering and expect it to turn on it’s own and sense people ahead. I bet he didn’t get his license.

Finally, the line started moving and the butterflies in my tummy woke up with a jolt. I suddenly started wishing I hadn’t eaten those biscuits, nor drunk all that water. No no, I wasn’t afraid of the chance that my license would get rejected. What made me yellow with fear was that if it did, I’d have to brave all this AGAIN! I was rudely brought back to reality when I realized that the line was moving really fast, considering that people needed to finish their tests before the ones behind could start moving. Come to think of it, it was moving suspiciously fast. Surely they couldn’t have finished their tests! When I came to the desk, a bewildered me was asked to fish out 200 bucks. Why, I asked. For the SmartCard, Madam, I was told. Oh alright then. I handed over the cash and was told to come and collect my license on Saturday.

Umm…WHAT? Excuse me? Isn’t there supposed to be a test? Isn’t there going to be me sitting in the driver’s seat with an instructor breathing down my neck? Hey wait a minute…Was I just part of a BIG bribery racket? Somebody get me some water!

After what seemed like ages, I asked this menacing looking man from the driving school Uncle, test nahi dena hai? He gave me a dirty look and says, Nahi jao, sab hua hai.

*gulps*

Do you realize the gravity of the situation? Just yesterday, 50 odd people got their licenses without knowing how to start a car, right in the RTO office. No no, an officer was actually inspecting all the cash being taken and the instructor telling us to go. Extremely funny, considering police are confiscating licenses of drunk drivers. Ermm…In the current scenario, you don’t even have to be drunk to knock people over. Just take your car out on the road and your job is done. And this was just yesterday. Can you imagine the number of people getting licenses like this EVERYDAY?

*gulps some more*

Do I still love my India?

Ahem ahem....No applause please!

Yay! Take a look at this and know why I'm chuffed. :D And comments are more than welcome! :)

Disillusionment

I. so. suck. at. driving. Someone please get me a refund.

Driver Shikaau Ahe!!

So, yours truly had her first driving class today. Since I've never been on the driver's seat before, it took all my attention to keep myself from forgetting to hang onto the steering and stare out of the window thinking, "Hey, that truck's really close to my car!"

Anyhoo! Got along pretty well as far as first driving lessons are concerned. I crashed into just three trees, one roundabout and one autorickshaw. And yes, worthy of mention is also this one really old woman who seems to have lost the use of one foot ever since I passed (over?) her. Oh well, what does she need both legs for? Some people don't have even one.

The car looked really different when I was done with it. The bumper and the bonnet look..erm...out of this world. So that's what Dilip Chhabria feels like when he looks at a redesigned car. That was easy, I say...So how come he gets all the fame?

Now let me rant. A car is an effin' complicated contraption, I tell you. What I don't get is, the placing of the clutch, brakes and accelerator all in one line, at the feet. I mean, I have only the minimum number of feet granted by whoever grants feet - two, to be precise. How am I expected to control three things when I have to be looking at the mirror for other passing vehicles, stealing furtive glances at the rearview mirror to see who's tailing me, change bloody gears, hold on to the steering for dear life and watch out for signals at the same time? Pah, pah, PAH! What I would really like, is to have no clutch. Or maybe it could be voice sensitive? Yes? And perhaps we could do away with the gearstick too? Or merge all gears into one big gear stick to be operated by the backseat-warmers? No? C'mon! I need some help around here!

Thankfully, my instructor's pretty cool. Once you get past the constant paan-chewing and ugly-red-stuff-spitting ritual, he's pretty funny too. And for some reason, he called the radiator the 'readywater' (not a bad derivation, I say) and gave me a oh-this-girl-speaks-bad-English look when I said 'OH, the radiator!' in a sudden burst of comprehension.

I suppose that was it about my uneventful first day of driving school. More stories coming up as the days go by. But if I disappear from this space for a longish time, kindly come to Borivali jail and bail me out.

Toodle-ooo, me hearties!

P.S. Is it me or is there an old woman with one foot really floating under my building?

My Knight in Shining Armour

The title is self-explanatory enough. Don’t waste my time and read ahead.

1. First and foremost, if you’re Aamir Khan or Mel Gibson, you don’t need to read the rest of the list. Just come on over with a platinum wedding ring.
2. But then, if you’re not Aamir Khan or Mel Gibson, I don’t think there’s any point for you to read this list at all.
3. Still, if you’re so hell bent on having me as your soul-mate (sigh!), I’ll have to say that the least you can do is be lean and tall. I nurse this childhood myth that short men are very unromantic and grow fat easily.
4. Speaking of fat, don’t be it. I have enough fat reserve to last us both a lifetime, so we can do without your share.
5. I will allow no pets in my house (the latter has to be a two-storeyed thing, while we’re on the subject).
6. You must have a bike. If not, don’t bother to read further until you make arrangements for one.
7. You absolutely must have hair on your face. Somewhere. I will not allow Govinda wannabes anywhere near me.
8. Flashy underwear is strictly prohibited.
9. You will get up before me every day, and keep breakfast ready before I get up. Then, you can eat it with me. And you need to be a good cook, since it’s not acceptable that both of us have no culinary skills.
10. Please finish washing all the clothes regularly and don't keep work pending, especially since I’m nice enough to help you fold them up.
11. You’re not going to smoke or drink in my house. If you choose to, you might as well get a new wife, or a new house. Not both.
12. When I tell you to sleep on the couch, don’t ask any questions and just get lost.
13. Get this straight in your head – Shopping is absolutely a necessity for me. Don’t dare crib about a shopping spree. Ever.
14. Prepare to die if you ever forget a birthday or an anniversary. If you do, you will have a divorce notice waiting for you the next morning.
15. Don’t hover around me all the time. I may sometimes choose to go have a good time with people that don’t necessarily like you.
16. If you’re ever suspicious about me having an affair with somebody (especially if that person is my friend), then I’ll keep feeding your suspicions and ruin your life.
17. Don’t mess with me when I’m angry. Chances are that you are responsible for my wrath.
18. I need someone to hug when I’m sleeping. Although I don’t want you to be fat, please don’t be skin and bones, too.
19. I’m always going to cheat on you for Aamir Khan and/or Mel Gibson. Just be mature enough to accept it.
20. Oh yeah, no watching T.V. in my house. Or better still, let’s just not own a TV set.
21. Did I mention I don’t like people with yellow and crooked teeth? No? Well, there you go.
22. Do everybody a favour and don’t be ‘secular’. I have no patience with the likes of you.
23. The clauses in this list are subject to change without notice.

Now go away. Shoo…

Things that Frighten Me

I don’t know why I’m even writing this post. I am pretty sure I’m inviting trouble and ridicule for myself, but let’s just say I’m in a daredevil mood. So here goes.

1. Escalators.
2. The thought of escalators.
3. The thought of falling off escalators.
4. The thought of falling off an escalator when I’m wearing a skirt.
5. Water.
6. A ride in a speed boat.
7. Creepy, crawly, slimy insects.
8. Completely bald men.
9. The rain.
10. Thoughts about falling off trains, or dying under one.
11. Crossing roads
12. The dark.
13. My mum, when I’ve annoyed her.
14. Meeting friends I’ve avoided speaking to.
15. Exams, when I know even the bluffing had better be good.
16. Unfinished homework.
17. Dogs.
18. Pups.
19. Cats.
20. Animals (to cut a long story short).
21. Footsteps.
22. Thoughts about dead bodies (Why do I even have such thoughts, again?)
23. Ghosts.
24. Speed.
25. Rash drivers.
26. Eating with forks, knives, spoons and other apparatus.
27. Sons and Lovers.
28. Falling asleep in the midst of dumb lists.

Good night, if you aren’t asleep already.

....You'll Never Understand

You’ll never know about the things I’ve had to let go,
Just so you’d feel secure about me.
I know you’ve done a lot for me all along,
But does that mean I’ve done nothing?
Just because I don’t speak about it, or make a big deal,
Does my pain count for naught?
You’ve helped me grow as a person,
But haven’t I done the same?
You’ve helped me group my faculties,
But have I only made you insane?
I’ve given up on loved ones and worlds,
Just so I could be closer to you…
But things are changing around here,
I need a new point of view.
I need your help, your support, not your wrath,
I want to grow and mature with you, not apart.
Maybe I want to break away, let nothing you say affect my being,
But sadly you haven’t realized, you are my being.

Tryst With Reliance

As a rule, I have always avoided having any stint with Reliance whatsoever. There have been so many instances where friends and relatives have tried to tempt me into getting a Reliance cell phone because they have attractive schemes. Inspite of all the pressure, I have steadfastly avoided any contact with Reliance. Until a month ago. The laptop provided by my company came with a Reliance Wireless Internet card. And since begins my tale of woe.

I have come to terms with the fact that the Reliance internet is extremely slow. So slow, that you can click on a link, go for a quick pee, wash your hands, drink some water on your way back, eat a biscuit and return to find that the computer is still trying its best to open the link. Sigh! Well, so what has happened is, I was stupid enough not to courier my bill to my office on time. Thus, they [the office] took their own sweet time dispatching the cheque and resultantly, my internet services have been discontinued. Sniff.

This morning, I put forward a call to my accounts department and demanded an update on the payment to Reliance. They told me they'd forwarded the cheque and furnished me with its details too. Ahaan! There was nothing that could stop me from getting my services reconnected again. Armed with all the details, I called up Customer Care.

*Lady with pretentious voice*

"Welcome to Reliance Customer Care. For information in Zulu, please 778.58. Your call is importantttt to us. Pleeeease, hold the line!"

*2nd Lady with a squeaky voice*

"Refer Reliance Net to your frands, and win exciting prizes like webcams, knickerbockers, stapler pins, safety pins. For more information, please speak to our executive."

Both these women alternatively kept repeating the SAME lines over and over, for a full 20 minutes till I reached the point where hopping on one leg and beating my hand over my chest seemed the sanest and most logical thing to do.

FINALLY, after what seemed like a decade or two, a morose sounding person named 'Saaathishh' picked up. After that, the conversation went as follows:

Saaathishh: Gudd maarning, this is Saaathishh how may I asshist you?

Me: 'Morning. I wanted some information regarding my Wireless internet payment.

Saaathishh: Surtanly Maadam. Plizz help me with your number.

Me: Number? What number?

Saaathishh: Your number, maadam.

Me: Yes, which one?

Saaathishh: The one you are hauuwing.

Me (confused and sensing a throbbing in the temples): I don't have any number. Could you please specify?

Saaathishh: The Reeeliance mobile number you are hauuving with your caaard.

Me: Oh that. You should have mentioned it earlier.

*Saaathishh jots down number*

Saaathishh: Okay maadam, what eez thee praablem?

Me: I have paid my Reliance bill via cheque on blah-blah date. The cheque no. is so-and-so and it is drawn on favour of ICICI bank.

Saaathishh: Huh?

Me: Excuse me?

Saaathishh: What?

Me: What?

Saaathishh: Nothing.

Me: Eh?

Saaathishh: What?

Me: Nothing.

Saaathishh: I shall hauve to put you on hold. Let me check thee inphormation.

Me (furious): How much are you going to keep me on hold? Firstly you guys never receive calls on time. Secondly, you have such incredibly whiny music that makes me want to cry. And thirdly, WEIRD WOMEN WITH EQUALLY WIERD VOICES KEEP REPEATING SAME LINES OVER AND OVER AND OVER...

Saaathishh (like nothing happened): I will have to keep you on hold.

Me: But...

*next second, repetitive woman with the weird voice catches me unawares*

"Refer Reliance Net to your frands, and win exciting prizes like webcams, knickerbockers, stapler pins, safety pins. For more information, please speak to our executive."

*Followed by*

Welcome to Reliance Customer Care. Your call is importantttt to us. Pleeeease, hold the line!"

Just as I felt tears of self-pity well up in my eyes, Saaathishh returns. Seriously. I don't know which was worse.

Saaathishh: Sorry Maadam. We hauve no resivd any inphormation regarding thee payment. When did your hoppis [office] made the payment?

Me: 22nd.

Saaathishh: April?

Me: Huh? How can it be April? March, obviously.

Saaathishh: Okay. Sorry Maadam. You will hauve to go and check in the nearesht Reliance WebWorld. We hauve not resivd records for any such payment. Anything else I can help you with?

Me: No thanks.

Saaathishh: Thank you for calling Reliance WebWor-

*blank*

That was me hanging up. After wasting 20 minutes on the phone with a man named Saaathishh (who I bet was smelly, too) and enduring the murder of the English language (what the hell is hoppis, anyway?) all he said was to go to the nearest Reliance gallery. Yeah. I will. And when I go there I will tell them to employ you, dear Saaathishh, to assist people in the language you speak at home. Or maybe you just need to go home and gorge on an overdose of sleeping pills.

Ruddy fuckahs!

Moral of the story: Reliance harms. And not only does it mess up your pocket, but also your mental well-being. *sigh*

My Agenda for the Vacations

It's high time I decided what I exactly plan to achieve in these vacations. Generally I have monumental plans before the holidays actually begin, which I then keep procrastinating, and I finally achieve, umm...well...nothing. But things have to change around here, now. I am a new and improved person, wiser than last year by twelve whole months and a person of substance.

My agenda for the vacation is as follows:

1. Since I am not a teenager any more, I will not indulge in frivolous activities like computer games. From now on, there will be lesser of Zapak.com and MSN Uno, and more of reading and writing. I'm, after all, a person of substance.
2. Try and keep myself in shape. And by that I don't mean, round-shape. I will not let myself be spread out like a banyan tree.
3. Visit my libraries at least twice in 3 weeks, and not keep renewing my books in manner of a busy person with no time to read.
4. Reply to all e-mails and messages. This will keep all friends happy.
5. SPEND LESS TIME ON BLOODY ORKUT. Realise that it is a useless site with absolutely no intellectual value and the biggest reason for having no time to do anything constructive. Check orkut only once a day and that too not more than 15 minutes.
6. Try and be regular with sleeping. Also refrain from sleeping too much and at all irregular times.
7. Go out for more walks and meet up with friends.
8. Stop writing like I'm imitating Bridget Jones (seriously...why am I sounding like her?).
9. Reduce the number of times I eat out and eat wholesome, healthy, home-cooked food.
10. Spend a lot of quality time with mommy.
11. Learn how to drive.
12. Buy lots of books. Oh, and read them too.
13. Spend less time on the phone chatting aimlessly. Also try and reduce cell phone bills as they burn a collosal hole in my minuscule pocket.
14. Not shop compulsively and buy clothes I will not even look at when I come home. Realise that money takes a whole month to appear in bank account, and does not materialise as and when I want it.
15. Keep my room cleaner, and clear mum's doubts of a hurricane hitting it. Was very insulted when ants crawled out from under a pillow when an aunt was visiting.
16. Try and finish reading the prescribed books for next year, so I am abreast of all that will happen in class. Then I can piss my classmates off by answering all of the professor's questions and appear like a wiseass.
17. Write more constructive blogs.
18. Refer to this post everytime I drift away from this plan of action.

Wish me luck and a fruitful vacation, folks!! And if you're lucky, you'll have more blog posts hurled your way! :P