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".
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
The post that was supposed to update you on my life
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*
I don't think I can go on without bursting into tears about the fading holiday. BOOOOHOOOO! :(
Will continue with updates later.
*grumble grumble*
Friday, October 17, 2008
This is how Good Relations woos journalists
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?
Wednesday, October 01, 2008
Reasons why I wish to remain childless
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? :|
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? :|
Monday, September 29, 2008
The birth of a new blog
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!!
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Modern Bhakti
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.
"Crash course in Bhagvad Gita. Enrol today!".
Ermmm...Ooookay then! See you at the orientation.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Updates on my life
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. :)
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. :)
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Tales from the land of Mishti-doi and Sondesh...
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*
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*
Sunday, August 03, 2008
I...
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.
--
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.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
It's a Bug's Life
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!
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!
Saturday, July 26, 2008
24 Hours with...
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.
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.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Working Woman...Shhh...
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*
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*
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
The End.
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.
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.
Monday, June 09, 2008
Free advice? Erm...Put it where the monkey puts its nuts.
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?
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?
Saturday, June 07, 2008
Plase don't discurrage.
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:
...And you complain that people these days just aren't as nice as they used to be!
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.
...And you complain that people these days just aren't as nice as they used to be!
Friday, May 30, 2008
Money, money, everywhere but not a coin to spend!
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:
Beats me.
Signing off. Hopefully the next time I update, I'll have a job or something.
*Sigh*
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?)
Beats me.
Signing off. Hopefully the next time I update, I'll have a job or something.
*Sigh*
Monday, May 26, 2008
A-moosing, innit?
Your resident cow, Moo, is truly flattered at the overwhelming attention she's receiving from her faithful readers. :D Thus, as promised, she has decided to make a post of all the Moo-isms that have been churned out in honour of her. For this, she would like to thank the Overrated Outcast for spreading the idea like an epidemic, G@k for being a quick learner, The Mugger Much who doesn't like to be left behind, the White Phoenix who is simply a copy cat and Mikachu, who cannot resist taking part in anything to do with me. So here goes nothing! And thanks to the efforts of the aforementioned blokes, Moo now knows what it is like, to be Bruce Lee. I bet no other living person has this feeling. ;)
Moo now proceeds with the task at hand:
Q: Which is Moo's favorite Prabhudeva Song?
A: Moo-quabla
Q: Which is Moo's favorite cocktail?
A : A Moo-tini
Q: Which is Moo's favorite city in the US?
A: Moo York
Q: If Moo was made the Chief Minister of Maharashtra what would Bombay be called?
A: Moo-mbai
Q: Which is Moo's favorite Karisma Kapoor song?
A: What is Moo-bile number!!
Q: What will Moo's "suhaagraat" be called?
A: The Moo-n landing
Q: Why does Moo keep watching Umraao Jaan?
A: Because she loves the Moo-jra
Q: What scooter does Moo drive?
A: A moo-ped
Q: What is Moo always wondering about?
A: To Moo or not to Moo
Q: Why is Moo a cannibal?
A: Because she eats beef.
Q: Who did Moo vote for in the UN secretary general elections? [or Moo's favorite Thai abuse]
A: Ban Ki Moo
Q: What drink does Moo ask for in a sports bar?
A: The Moo Shake
Q: Where does Moo go for a night out?
A: To the Moo-vies
Q: Why doesn't Moo do any work?
A: Because she has lots of Moo-lah
Q: What did the French guy call Moo?
A: Le Moo
(Moo credits The Overrated Outcast for the above gems).
Q: Moo's fav dance number?
A: Moo-ngda!
Q: Moo's fav cricketeer
A: Moo-ttiah Moo-ralitharan
Q: What is Moo's favourite Marathi Song?
A: Mi tujha mama, de mala Moo-ka!
Q: What is Moo's favourite dance step?
A: The Moo-n walk!
Q: Moo's fav beauty product?
A: Moo-ltani mitti.
Q: Moo's fav moo-vie dialogue?
A: Moo-gambo khush hua!
Q: Why will moo always be a lil girl?
A: Kyuki Moo-ch nahi to kuch nahi!
(...G@K came up with the ones above. Sigh! :D).
Q: What would you call Moo if she decided to blow up people professionally for a living?
A: Moo-jahideen
Q: How would you congratulate Moo if she married Obama and dressed up sluttily for the occasion?
Q: Moo-barack Ho.
Of course, Moo's favourite food crop is obviously "Moo-ng Dal".
Q: Moo's favourite South Indian diety?
A: Moo-rugan.
Q: Moo's favourite Bollywood gangster?
A: Moo-na Bhai.
Q: Moo's favourite civic hangout?
A: The Moo-seum.
Q: Moo's favourite district of Bihar?
A: Moo-nger.
Q: What weird-smelling vegetable do you get if you cross the Moo with Jet Li?
A: Moo-li !!
(Courtesy: The Mugger Much)
Q: What kind of money does Moo like?
A: Moo-lah
Q: What will moo have if she goes for a sex-change?
A: A Moo-stache.
Q: Moo's fav bollywood song for abt her nymphomaniac neighbour(if there's one)?
A: Padosan apni Moo-rgi ko rakhna sambhal mera Moo-rga hua hai deewana.
Q: When does Moo fart the most?
A: When she eats Moo-li parantha!
(That was the White Phoenix jumping on the bandwagon)
Q: What does Moo say when she's troubled?
A: Moo-si-bat hai!
(Mikachu came up with that!)
Q: What will the world know Moo's kid as?
A: A Moo-latto! :D
(Teehee...I came up with that!)
Moo now proceeds with the task at hand:
Q: Which is Moo's favorite Prabhudeva Song?
A: Moo-quabla
Q: Which is Moo's favorite cocktail?
A : A Moo-tini
Q: Which is Moo's favorite city in the US?
A: Moo York
Q: If Moo was made the Chief Minister of Maharashtra what would Bombay be called?
A: Moo-mbai
Q: Which is Moo's favorite Karisma Kapoor song?
A: What is Moo-bile number!!
Q: What will Moo's "suhaagraat" be called?
A: The Moo-n landing
Q: Why does Moo keep watching Umraao Jaan?
A: Because she loves the Moo-jra
Q: What scooter does Moo drive?
A: A moo-ped
Q: What is Moo always wondering about?
A: To Moo or not to Moo
Q: Why is Moo a cannibal?
A: Because she eats beef.
Q: Who did Moo vote for in the UN secretary general elections? [or Moo's favorite Thai abuse]
A: Ban Ki Moo
Q: What drink does Moo ask for in a sports bar?
A: The Moo Shake
Q: Where does Moo go for a night out?
A: To the Moo-vies
Q: Why doesn't Moo do any work?
A: Because she has lots of Moo-lah
Q: What did the French guy call Moo?
A: Le Moo
(Moo credits The Overrated Outcast for the above gems).
Q: Moo's fav dance number?
A: Moo-ngda!
Q: Moo's fav cricketeer
A: Moo-ttiah Moo-ralitharan
Q: What is Moo's favourite Marathi Song?
A: Mi tujha mama, de mala Moo-ka!
Q: What is Moo's favourite dance step?
A: The Moo-n walk!
Q: Moo's fav beauty product?
A: Moo-ltani mitti.
Q: Moo's fav moo-vie dialogue?
A: Moo-gambo khush hua!
Q: Why will moo always be a lil girl?
A: Kyuki Moo-ch nahi to kuch nahi!
(...G@K came up with the ones above. Sigh! :D).
Q: What would you call Moo if she decided to blow up people professionally for a living?
A: Moo-jahideen
Q: How would you congratulate Moo if she married Obama and dressed up sluttily for the occasion?
Q: Moo-barack Ho.
Of course, Moo's favourite food crop is obviously "Moo-ng Dal".
Q: Moo's favourite South Indian diety?
A: Moo-rugan.
Q: Moo's favourite Bollywood gangster?
A: Moo-na Bhai.
Q: Moo's favourite civic hangout?
A: The Moo-seum.
Q: Moo's favourite district of Bihar?
A: Moo-nger.
Q: What weird-smelling vegetable do you get if you cross the Moo with Jet Li?
A: Moo-li !!
(Courtesy: The Mugger Much)
Q: What kind of money does Moo like?
A: Moo-lah
Q: What will moo have if she goes for a sex-change?
A: A Moo-stache.
Q: Moo's fav bollywood song for abt her nymphomaniac neighbour(if there's one)?
A: Padosan apni Moo-rgi ko rakhna sambhal mera Moo-rga hua hai deewana.
Q: When does Moo fart the most?
A: When she eats Moo-li parantha!
(That was the White Phoenix jumping on the bandwagon)
Q: What does Moo say when she's troubled?
A: Moo-si-bat hai!
(Mikachu came up with that!)
Q: What will the world know Moo's kid as?
A: A Moo-latto! :D
(Teehee...I came up with that!)
Mikachu, oh Mikachu...What do we do with you?
Fine. FINE. I'll write about it. But only because I want to.
Have I told you about my pet, Mikachu? Well, she's this crazy, freak I know, and I love to death. She's funny, random, quirky, impulsive and all the things I'm not. I'm not going to make this verbose, and just say that Miks is one of the bestest things that have happened to me in a while. She's THE ideal gal pal. :)
So I get this random call from her yesterday, telling me she wanted to meet up. Huh? On a Sunday afternoon? Can't it wait? NO. It can't. Meet at Bandra, will give instructions when you alight. 5ish. Click, went telephone.
Sigh. OK. Off I waddled (standing in the train all the way to Bandra) and I was given mafia style instructions by Mikachu's boyfriend (what do we call him?) to get to the place they were. What the fuck was with the suspense anyway? Were these people into drugs? Sex trafficking? With a weird sense of foreboding, I reached the place I was asked to come to. And was given a big grin and a welcome by her boyfriend (who we shall call Y) and I understood.
Of course. A tattoo parlour. I KNEW it.
We enter the tattoo parlour, and I'm greeted by a HUGGGGEEEEEE scream and a big hug from Mikachu. Followed by an annoyed look by the tattoo artist, who smiles at me. My eye wanders over to Mikachu's left ankle where inscribed is one of the most beautiful tattoos I've ever seen. It's in the form of a creeper, but instead of just leaves and flowers, there are words that the creeper is made of. 12 words, that describe Mikachu, or are symbolic of what she wants to be. Beautiful idea, really. And what I loved most about the idea is, that the entire idea was designed by Y, and the words are in his handwriting. The tattoo artist made an exact copy of the design, and inscribed it. That's what makes it so much more special. Y was only short of tattooing her himself! :)
I admit my teeth went all chatter-y with the ugly buzz of the needle. I hate the sound. I'd prefer getting poked in my gums by a dentist (which I quite like, actually), but to each, his own. At the end of the business, Mikachu has a beautiful tattoo and a lovely smile pasted on her face (which got a bit alarming later since she refused to stop smiling). I'd have posted pictures of her tattoo, except she doesn't want 'plagiarizing whore bitches hijacking her lovely, lovely tattoo'. Fair 'nuff!
People get weird stuff tattooed onto themselves. And in weird places too. The guy who owned the tattoo parlour Mikachu was in, has a tattoo on his tongue, and even on the soft skin below the tongue (and behind your lower teeth). Ouch! That mustn't have felt ticklish. There are some wierdos who get their girlfriends' faces etc. tattooed on various parts of the body. Just one question for these losers.
What do you do when you break up? ;)
Edited to add: As of now, we have 21 Moo-isms. For those who want to see a seperate post for them, keep adding more pearls of wisdom. :D Man, I feel like Bruce Lee! :P
Have I told you about my pet, Mikachu? Well, she's this crazy, freak I know, and I love to death. She's funny, random, quirky, impulsive and all the things I'm not. I'm not going to make this verbose, and just say that Miks is one of the bestest things that have happened to me in a while. She's THE ideal gal pal. :)
So I get this random call from her yesterday, telling me she wanted to meet up. Huh? On a Sunday afternoon? Can't it wait? NO. It can't. Meet at Bandra, will give instructions when you alight. 5ish. Click, went telephone.
Sigh. OK. Off I waddled (standing in the train all the way to Bandra) and I was given mafia style instructions by Mikachu's boyfriend (what do we call him?) to get to the place they were. What the fuck was with the suspense anyway? Were these people into drugs? Sex trafficking? With a weird sense of foreboding, I reached the place I was asked to come to. And was given a big grin and a welcome by her boyfriend (who we shall call Y) and I understood.
Of course. A tattoo parlour. I KNEW it.
We enter the tattoo parlour, and I'm greeted by a HUGGGGEEEEEE scream and a big hug from Mikachu. Followed by an annoyed look by the tattoo artist, who smiles at me. My eye wanders over to Mikachu's left ankle where inscribed is one of the most beautiful tattoos I've ever seen. It's in the form of a creeper, but instead of just leaves and flowers, there are words that the creeper is made of. 12 words, that describe Mikachu, or are symbolic of what she wants to be. Beautiful idea, really. And what I loved most about the idea is, that the entire idea was designed by Y, and the words are in his handwriting. The tattoo artist made an exact copy of the design, and inscribed it. That's what makes it so much more special. Y was only short of tattooing her himself! :)
I admit my teeth went all chatter-y with the ugly buzz of the needle. I hate the sound. I'd prefer getting poked in my gums by a dentist (which I quite like, actually), but to each, his own. At the end of the business, Mikachu has a beautiful tattoo and a lovely smile pasted on her face (which got a bit alarming later since she refused to stop smiling). I'd have posted pictures of her tattoo, except she doesn't want 'plagiarizing whore bitches hijacking her lovely, lovely tattoo'. Fair 'nuff!
People get weird stuff tattooed onto themselves. And in weird places too. The guy who owned the tattoo parlour Mikachu was in, has a tattoo on his tongue, and even on the soft skin below the tongue (and behind your lower teeth). Ouch! That mustn't have felt ticklish. There are some wierdos who get their girlfriends' faces etc. tattooed on various parts of the body. Just one question for these losers.
What do you do when you break up? ;)
Edited to add: As of now, we have 21 Moo-isms. For those who want to see a seperate post for them, keep adding more pearls of wisdom. :D Man, I feel like Bruce Lee! :P
Saturday, May 24, 2008
Pickled Tink *hic*
(Warning: Long post, but extremely well-written and worthless).
So after about a zillion weeks, Zander was sweet enough to take Moo out for a fun day to Inorbit. For those one and quarter faithful readers who've been tracking my health over the last two weeks, I'm much better now. Stomach upset is kinda there sometimes, but nevertheless, I decided to go hog on a very big lunch even if it proved to be my last supper. So this is what I ate:
1) Half a pasta (the spiral kind, dunno what it's called) with rose sauce (not the flower, but basically tomato and cream), and loadsa veggies.
2) One chicken drumstick in some amazing sauce.
3) A diet coke after what seems like a decade.
4) Half Chicken Caesar Salad from Pizza Hut
5) Half a Pepperoni Pizza with lots of cheese.
6) Half sizzling brownie with vanilla ice-cream (Courtesy: Cafe Coffee Day)
7) Lots of water.
* burp *
I think I ate enough for three Ethiopian adults. * hic *
Anyhoo, Zander and I roamed about for a zillion ages after that, looking at stuff in Lifestyle and Shoppers' Stop, after finally concluding that Calvin Klein and other assorted brands need to be reported for extortion. Call me cheap, but how can you justify a stupid plain yellow tee (the colour of pale poop, to be precise) at a price of 2500 bucks? I mean, did you forget a decimal after 5, or something? Silly, everyday jeans you wouldn't look at twice, priced at 3400 bucks, while somewhere else a white racerback with polka dots is supposedly worth a grand. I'm very fond of good clothes myself, and with friends like Mikachu, one really tends to become Rebecca Bloomwood, but let's face it. I'd rather use my crisp 1000 rupee notes as toilet paper, than throw it away on some random piece of ' branded' textile that you wouldn't even spit on. Pah!
What is the big deal about brands anyway? What is it about brands that make us so patronising towards people who buy clothes from regular stores? Personally, I have a few brands I completely adore, like Lee / Levis for jeans. I have yet to come across other brands which makes jeans like they're meant exclusively for my bum. Same goes for Adidas t-shirts. It's the comfort and fit that matters the most to me, although I've bought so many clothes and kurtis from random stores just because they were nice. But, I have a cousin who will buy tees and jerseys from Adidas or Nike, simply because he can yak about them to his friends later. Another friend has a stupid pair of Police sunglasses worth 10k, which I'm not sure he could even afford at the time. And believe me, they do nothing to distinguish him from the ass that he is. Cliched as it may sound, I still firmly believe that class and attitude comes from within. Don't try too hard by going to fancy places, unless you LIKE the stuff you're spending on. No one cares that much, really. So, the next time someone wants to dress up in street clothes, don't forget he may be more stylish than you are, what with your branded wear and all. I can't count the number of time women in ridiculously expensive clothes (and horrendously ugly) by Anita Dongre (AND, as her brand likes to be addressed) have made me guffaw. When you have style, it shows. Wearing clothes by AND, BUT, EITHER and OR isn't really the answer, people! Pasted that in your hat? Good. Now go dress nicely.
In other news, I've finally received the damned blog award that's been going around in circles, but never coming to me. Although I have a problem with it being pink, it will have to do. Maybe I'll get Zander to photoshop it into a deep blue or something. :P The Gentle Whisperer said so many kind words while parting with the award, that I was moo-ved to tears. Ok, so that was a sad one. :P Anyhoo, here goes my blog award!
I'm not sure I deserve this award, because I've seldom done anything for social welfare on my blog. Let's see, so far, I've laughed at the Chinese for their atrocious English (can't say I regret it though. It's still one of my favourite posts :P), I've only whined and whined about myself (although you can't say I didn't warn you ;)), been really mean about small girls who fell into the drain (and who unfortunately came out alive), written banal poetry, wished pedestrians were dead (ah, that was a fun, FUN, time!), written about 'my knight in shining armour' and some other stuff I'd rather not mention. The only worthwhile things I remember writing about is the social work bit and the RTO post. Weak defences, but will have to do. Sigh! It's been so long. So much time spent in observing people, their habits, exaggerating, mocking, being bitchy (if I don't like them) and then writing about them, watching the comments flow. If you've been the butt of my ridicule, all I can say is, behave yourself the next time. ;)
It's now time to pass on the honours. It was a tough choice to make, since most of my readers have a) either received the fucking thing before I did (hmph!), or b) don't even bother to update their bloody blogs. After contemplating for about 39.4 seconds, I decide to pass on the award to the following people. We, the Jury, are very biased, but you already knew that.
1) The White Phoenix: Because I love his blog, and I love him for the person he is. His laziness in updating his blog space would put a mule to shame, but once he does update, it's totally worth it. So here's a shiny, pink award for the Phoenix we all love.
2) The Overrated Outcast: NO one can talk pure rot with astonishing insight like this guy does. We met through a common friend, namely, Arjun Singh (the old hag with the reservations. Yes, that's the one) and today, we share a blog relationship like no other. We're both sarcastic bitches, with an opinion on everything under God's benevolent gaze, and this misanthropy is what is the foundation of the ardent admiration we share for each other. :D Oh yes, and how can I forget the compilation of Moo Jokes that he's so labouring on? He truly deserves this award like no other.
3) The Mugger Much: Now this guy truly deserves the award in the true sense of the term. I'm not sure I understand what he says most of the time, but nod intelligently and he'll love you. He'll write beautifully about anything ranging from short stories, to life at the IIT, to breakups or Communism. His brain needs to be transplanted when he isn't looking and inserted into my skull. So dear Croc, here's your pink award. It's all I could do. :P
4) Ess: This guy too, has a take on everything there is to have a take on, but subtlety is his middle name. He comes across as someone who'll make you feel like a jackass, but rather politely. Love his blog for the philosophy there is, but weaved in a rather fun, light way. So here I thrust the award on the unaware Ess. :)
That's about it, I guess. I expect link love and acknowledgment, not to mention some traffic diverted to my site after this whole charade. Don't think I doled about the pink picture because I meant the things I just said. Geez. And others interested in lobbying for it (we live in the country of Vijay Mallya), take me shopping and feed me a brownie, and the award's yours.
'Nuff said for one post.
*collapses with exhaustion*
So after about a zillion weeks, Zander was sweet enough to take Moo out for a fun day to Inorbit. For those one and quarter faithful readers who've been tracking my health over the last two weeks, I'm much better now. Stomach upset is kinda there sometimes, but nevertheless, I decided to go hog on a very big lunch even if it proved to be my last supper. So this is what I ate:
1) Half a pasta (the spiral kind, dunno what it's called) with rose sauce (not the flower, but basically tomato and cream), and loadsa veggies.
2) One chicken drumstick in some amazing sauce.
3) A diet coke after what seems like a decade.
4) Half Chicken Caesar Salad from Pizza Hut
5) Half a Pepperoni Pizza with lots of cheese.
6) Half sizzling brownie with vanilla ice-cream (Courtesy: Cafe Coffee Day)
7) Lots of water.
* burp *
I think I ate enough for three Ethiopian adults. * hic *
Anyhoo, Zander and I roamed about for a zillion ages after that, looking at stuff in Lifestyle and Shoppers' Stop, after finally concluding that Calvin Klein and other assorted brands need to be reported for extortion. Call me cheap, but how can you justify a stupid plain yellow tee (the colour of pale poop, to be precise) at a price of 2500 bucks? I mean, did you forget a decimal after 5, or something? Silly, everyday jeans you wouldn't look at twice, priced at 3400 bucks, while somewhere else a white racerback with polka dots is supposedly worth a grand. I'm very fond of good clothes myself, and with friends like Mikachu, one really tends to become Rebecca Bloomwood, but let's face it. I'd rather use my crisp 1000 rupee notes as toilet paper, than throw it away on some random piece of ' branded' textile that you wouldn't even spit on. Pah!
What is the big deal about brands anyway? What is it about brands that make us so patronising towards people who buy clothes from regular stores? Personally, I have a few brands I completely adore, like Lee / Levis for jeans. I have yet to come across other brands which makes jeans like they're meant exclusively for my bum. Same goes for Adidas t-shirts. It's the comfort and fit that matters the most to me, although I've bought so many clothes and kurtis from random stores just because they were nice. But, I have a cousin who will buy tees and jerseys from Adidas or Nike, simply because he can yak about them to his friends later. Another friend has a stupid pair of Police sunglasses worth 10k, which I'm not sure he could even afford at the time. And believe me, they do nothing to distinguish him from the ass that he is. Cliched as it may sound, I still firmly believe that class and attitude comes from within. Don't try too hard by going to fancy places, unless you LIKE the stuff you're spending on. No one cares that much, really. So, the next time someone wants to dress up in street clothes, don't forget he may be more stylish than you are, what with your branded wear and all. I can't count the number of time women in ridiculously expensive clothes (and horrendously ugly) by Anita Dongre (AND, as her brand likes to be addressed) have made me guffaw. When you have style, it shows. Wearing clothes by AND, BUT, EITHER and OR isn't really the answer, people! Pasted that in your hat? Good. Now go dress nicely.
In other news, I've finally received the damned blog award that's been going around in circles, but never coming to me. Although I have a problem with it being pink, it will have to do. Maybe I'll get Zander to photoshop it into a deep blue or something. :P The Gentle Whisperer said so many kind words while parting with the award, that I was moo-ved to tears. Ok, so that was a sad one. :P Anyhoo, here goes my blog award!
I'm not sure I deserve this award, because I've seldom done anything for social welfare on my blog. Let's see, so far, I've laughed at the Chinese for their atrocious English (can't say I regret it though. It's still one of my favourite posts :P), I've only whined and whined about myself (although you can't say I didn't warn you ;)), been really mean about small girls who fell into the drain (and who unfortunately came out alive), written banal poetry, wished pedestrians were dead (ah, that was a fun, FUN, time!), written about 'my knight in shining armour' and some other stuff I'd rather not mention. The only worthwhile things I remember writing about is the social work bit and the RTO post. Weak defences, but will have to do. Sigh! It's been so long. So much time spent in observing people, their habits, exaggerating, mocking, being bitchy (if I don't like them) and then writing about them, watching the comments flow. If you've been the butt of my ridicule, all I can say is, behave yourself the next time. ;)It's now time to pass on the honours. It was a tough choice to make, since most of my readers have a) either received the fucking thing before I did (hmph!), or b) don't even bother to update their bloody blogs. After contemplating for about 39.4 seconds, I decide to pass on the award to the following people. We, the Jury, are very biased, but you already knew that.
1) The White Phoenix: Because I love his blog, and I love him for the person he is. His laziness in updating his blog space would put a mule to shame, but once he does update, it's totally worth it. So here's a shiny, pink award for the Phoenix we all love.
2) The Overrated Outcast: NO one can talk pure rot with astonishing insight like this guy does. We met through a common friend, namely, Arjun Singh (the old hag with the reservations. Yes, that's the one) and today, we share a blog relationship like no other. We're both sarcastic bitches, with an opinion on everything under God's benevolent gaze, and this misanthropy is what is the foundation of the ardent admiration we share for each other. :D Oh yes, and how can I forget the compilation of Moo Jokes that he's so labouring on? He truly deserves this award like no other.
3) The Mugger Much: Now this guy truly deserves the award in the true sense of the term. I'm not sure I understand what he says most of the time, but nod intelligently and he'll love you. He'll write beautifully about anything ranging from short stories, to life at the IIT, to breakups or Communism. His brain needs to be transplanted when he isn't looking and inserted into my skull. So dear Croc, here's your pink award. It's all I could do. :P
4) Ess: This guy too, has a take on everything there is to have a take on, but subtlety is his middle name. He comes across as someone who'll make you feel like a jackass, but rather politely. Love his blog for the philosophy there is, but weaved in a rather fun, light way. So here I thrust the award on the unaware Ess. :)
That's about it, I guess. I expect link love and acknowledgment, not to mention some traffic diverted to my site after this whole charade. Don't think I doled about the pink picture because I meant the things I just said. Geez. And others interested in lobbying for it (we live in the country of Vijay Mallya), take me shopping and feed me a brownie, and the award's yours.
'Nuff said for one post.
*collapses with exhaustion*
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Illiteracy, thy name is Moo. :(
This slightly mean (but lots nice) woman I know, Chandni, is upto no good again. :( She's put up a list of books that you're supposed to have read by now. She seems to have gobbled the entire fucking list, while I don't score anywhere. I should kill myself. Anyhow, I'm being man enough to admit that I'm not well read, but I want to be. I REALLY DO! So I'm going to post the list of books here myself, the ones in bold being those I've read, while those in italics being ones that in the bookshelf waiting to be read. The ones whose fonts I haven't messed up are the ones I haven't read, nor own. Whew! Here goes. *sob*
Half of a Yellow Sun - Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
The Longest Memory - Fred D'Aguiar
Things Fall Apart - Chinua Achebe
Twelve Bar Blues - Patrick Neate
The Book Thief - Marcus Zusack
Gone With the Wind - Margaret Mitchell (WHY wasn't this in the list?)
Chocolat - Joanne Harris
The Diary of Anne Frank
Lord of the Flies - William Golding
The Rape of the Lock - Alexander Pope
A Thousand Splendid Suns - Khaled Hosseini
The Purple Hibiscus - Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
An Old Captivity - Nevil Shute
The Colour Purple - Alice Walker
Little Women - Louisa May Alcott
Shakespeare
The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown
Love Story - Eric Segal
Boogers are my Beat - Dave Barry
Marley and Me - John Grogan
The Godfather - Mario Puzo
Harry. Fucking. Potter.
To Kill A Mockingbird - Harper Lee (HOW did they forget this one? :O)
And I have to go now. I will add some more books later as and when I think of them. For now, I feel better at not being as illiterate as I initially thought. :D Teehee!
Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell
Anna Karenina
Crime and Punishment (hey that's not fair! I am about to start reading The Idiot)
Catch-22
One Hundred Years of Solitude
Wuthering Heights (I'm reading it)
The Silmarillion
Life of Pi : a novel
The Name of the Rose
Don Quixote
Moby Dick
Ulysses
Madame Bovary
The Odyssey
Pride and Prejudice (finally I get to use bold on something)
Jane Eyre
The Tale of Two Cities
The Brothers Karamazov (hasn't anyone heard of Dostoyevsky's 'The Idiot'?
Guns, Germs, and Steel
War and Peace
Vanity Fair
The Time Traveler’s Wife
The Iliad
Emma
The Blind Assassin
The Kite Runner
Mrs. Dalloway
Great Expectations
American Gods
A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius
Atlas Shrugged
Reading Lolita in Tehran : a memoir in books (
Memoirs of a Geisha
Middlesex
Wicked : the life and times of the wicked witch of the West
Quicksilver
The Canterbury Tales
The Historian : a novel
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
Love in the Time of Cholera
Brave New World
The Fountainhead
Foucault’s Pendulum
Middlemarch
Frankenstein
The Count of Monte Cristo
Dracula
A Clockwork Orange
Anansi Boys
The Once and Future King
The Grapes of Wrath
The Poisonwood Bible
1984
Angels and Demons
Inferno
The Satanic Verses
Sense and Sensibility
The Picture of Dorian Gray
Mansfield Park
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest
To the Lighthouse
Tess of the D’Urbervilles
Oliver Twist
Gulliver’s Travels
Les Misérables
The Correction
The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time
Dune
The Prince
The Sound and the Fury
Angela’s Ashes : a memoir
The God of Small Things
A People’s History of the United States : 1492-present
Cryptonomicon
Neverwhere
A Confederacy of Dunces
A Short History of Nearly Everything
Dubliners
The Unbearable Lightness of Being
Beloved
Slaughterhouse Five
The Scarlet Letter
Eats, Shoots and Leaves
The Mists of Avalon
Oryx and Crake
Collapse : how societies choose to fail or succeed
Cloud Atlas
The Confusion
Lolita
Persuasion
Northanger Abbey
The Catcher in the Rye
On the Road
The Hunchback of Notre Dame
Freakonomics : a rogue economist explores the hidden side of everything
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance : an inquiry into values
The Aeneid
Watership Down
Gravity’s Rainbow
The Hobbit
In Cold Blood : a true account of a multiple murder and its consequences
White Teeth
Treasure Island
David Copperfield
The Three Musketeers
Half of a Yellow Sun - Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
The Longest Memory - Fred D'Aguiar
Things Fall Apart - Chinua Achebe
Twelve Bar Blues - Patrick Neate
The Book Thief - Marcus Zusack
Gone With the Wind - Margaret Mitchell (WHY wasn't this in the list?)
Chocolat - Joanne Harris
The Diary of Anne Frank
Lord of the Flies - William Golding
The Rape of the Lock - Alexander Pope
A Thousand Splendid Suns - Khaled Hosseini
The Purple Hibiscus - Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
An Old Captivity - Nevil Shute
The Colour Purple - Alice Walker
Little Women - Louisa May Alcott
Shakespeare
The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown
Love Story - Eric Segal
Boogers are my Beat - Dave Barry
Marley and Me - John Grogan
The Godfather - Mario Puzo
Harry. Fucking. Potter.
To Kill A Mockingbird - Harper Lee (HOW did they forget this one? :O)
And I have to go now. I will add some more books later as and when I think of them. For now, I feel better at not being as illiterate as I initially thought. :D Teehee!
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