Perorations of my endless thoughts

Peace out, man.

2012-01-24T07:42:00.002+05:30

After a long hiatus, finally a nightmare-free sleep.

The MOST Intelligent Person on (at least) Earth

2011-08-02T19:34:00.010+05:30

Over the last three years of my stay in Bangalore, I have come to realize that I am a highly intelligent and potent sample of the species Homo sapiens. This is the only logical explanation to what has been bugging me all this time; Phlegm.

My nose has been exuding huge dollops of phlegm continuously for the last seven days. This has been a recurrent event throughout my life, sometimes occurring randomly and mostly when I’m trying to impress a girl.

It obscures the clarity and coherence of my thoughts, just the thing a rival country or species from another planet would have wanted. Otherwise, owing to my intelligence and potency, I would have solved all of the problems of humanity. So, phlegm was planted in my body to prevent me from using my intelligence to its fullest – a perfectly reasonable and mostly logical conclusion.

Given below are my phlegm’s properties:

• It’s huge. It grows and occurs in huge dollops.

• It’s not tasteless. It tastes awful.

• It is not odourless. It smells awful.

• It’s not colourless. It’s coloured awful. If there can ever be a general consensus on an awful colour, the awful colour would be the colour of my phlegm.

• It’s thick.

• It’s very thick.

• It’s mind-bogglingly very thick.

• It’s stubborn.

• It’s very stubborn.

• It’s not mind-bogglingly very stubborn, though. It could, however, pass as mind-bogglingly stubborn.

• It has no evaporating point. It does not evaporate. It stays. Forever.

• It’s highly viscous. It could stay put and party in my nose and breathing tract forever sans my body’s efforts to dispel it. Maybe it plays cards all this while in my breathing tract, or does something else to while away all the time (like composing songs for the Indian Coke Studio or drafting US economic policy).

• It self-replicates/reproduces vigorously in my body. Research is underway to replace guinea pigs with my phlegm.

• It was rumoured that Iraq was studying my phlegm to create biological weapons.

• It’s a lot like love. It make one breathless. It makes one stammer. It seems to attempt to fill every void/pore/empty-tract of my body. One can get it from another.

• It’s very irritating. If irritation could be condensed into tangible matter, phlegm would be the result.

• It’s absolutely useless. For example, it can not produce electricity. Otherwise, I could have used myself to charge my laptop. In the process, I would have saved a tree or two, much to Rajendra Pachauri’s delight.

• It’s an obnoxious little twit, much like the HR folks.

• Finally, and oh-so-frustratingly, it’s inescapable. Again, much like the HR folks.

Eff You Phlegm. May you rot in Splitsvilla, or a Paris Hilton's leaked video. Forever.

Awesome Ringtone!

2010-12-12T23:21:00.000+05:30

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HZNc2CMkaD0

The Transmuting Phantom and its Ephemeral Existence – Part I

2010-10-29T20:38:00.002+05:30

This post is about a chain of thoughts that almost made me let myself run over by a car.

I believe that one must brood upon and create ideas that one may not be otherwise required to. Being the (ostensibly) only living species that possesses the wherewithal to rationalize and philosophize, man is not only privileged but is also obligated to do so. Otherwise, one might as well be replaced by an animal or a robot (which will, by the way, pretty soon develop such faculties).

Coming back to “the” thought chain, it was a progeny of a conversation with one of my close friends. For the sake of this post, that friend shall be referred to as BMP2. The seminal conversation occurred largely in the most unexceptional fashion. However, it led to a major shift in my perception of BMP2. Later on, a retrospect on the outcome of the conversation led to “the” thought chain.

Before elaborating on the thought chain, a short discourse on my hypothesis of life. What is life? It is not, and I don’t expect too many dissents on this, just a corporeal operational system – the living body - inhabiting and serving a customary purpose in a co-operative societal setup. Consciousness. This is a word that is too often used (and even abused) for describing the core essence of life. What, then, is consciousness? It is the reply to this question that I will take a (rather juvenile and jejune) shot at giving.

Consciousness is plainly the cumulation of memories of different experiences. Here and during the remaining of this deliberation, I use the word experience interchangeably with perception of the experience. A new experience might react with, instantaneously or over a longer duration, other experiences in ways that alter one or more memories incurably. For example, an event “a” might be experienced by an individual “X” in a way a-X. Therefore, X’s consciousness is the set {a-X}. With the termination of X, the unique sub rosa set {a-X}, completely owned by and defining only X, ceases to exist. Hence {a-X} perishes with the death of X. This could explain why people write autobiographies. An autobiography could be X’s attempt to share and materialize {a-X} in a perdurable fashion. Such a venture, if successful, would result in sustained existence of {a-X} which is the definition and form of the person X. This points to X’s voyage in man’s eternal quest for immortality.

For a person Y such a set would be {a-Y}. The possibilities and permutations abound. The sets {a-X} and {a-Y} might have common elements. An element of one set might, directly or indirectly, influence an element of the other set. A new element of a set, apart from being added to the set, might alter the already existing elements of the set. In this aspect, such sets are dynamic and inter- & intra- dependant. Now, a lot of challenges and brickbats might be thrust upon this theory. Children, animals, artificial intelligence, nature, supreme consciousness, dreams are just some of the many entities from our immediate milieu, the justification and resolution of which demand a vigorous scrutiny of this theory. However, in the interest of the current context, I reserve such scrutiny for future time. In the meanwhile, I will have to be humoured by the prima facie acceptance of this theory.

Now, “the” thought chain. The conversation contained a particular soliloquy from BMP2 that changed markedly my perception of BMP2. So, my memory of the experience “BMP2” was altered irrevocably in one go. Though this was a drastic and glaring change in my consciousness, it pointed towards changes that often go unnoticed. These numerous, and very often unheeded, subtle metamorphoses occur in my, and for that matter in everyone’s, consciousness every second of our supraliminal existence. This implies a ceaseless modification in one’s consciousness during the course of one’s existence. Such modifications might have a somnolent tinge or might, in other cases, be accentuated.

What does the recognition of such a continuous change connote? Well, a lot. The first idea that germinated in my sciolistic mind was the futility of judging people. My perception of people, of whom I have a perception, mutates every passing moment. I might or might not be consciously aware of such mutations. Also, there is a possibility that after several modifications, I might come back a full circle – arriving at a particular perception of a person that had already existed in the past. In light of the ever-transmuting nature of this phantom, passing judgment on a person based on the prevailing perception is futile, if not wrong. Whether such estimates, an apt alternative to the word ‘judgment’, are required under certain circumstances or not is a different question.

Resorting to the set representation, my consciousness at some time “t” would be {a-Me-t}. Each element of this set is modified, to varying degrees, with each passing moment. At time t’ my consciousness would change into {a-Me-t'}. At time t, I might have utilized element ‘P-Me-t’ to form an opinion on a person P. At time t’, when P-Me-t would have developed into P-Me-t', I would realize that the earlier formed opinion has changed. So, the act of forming the opinion was an exercise in futility.

This thought is replete with logical inconsistencies and gaps. However, if the thought is accepted for a brief instant, an experiment that I carry out on myself with a lot of other thoughts, a liberating feeling surges. Many a knots, intricately wound together by grudges held against others, unravel.

The set representation of consciousness acted as a precedent to another thought, even more liberating. The proceeding thought was far-sweeping in the elements of life directly conflicted by it. This was the thought that almost made me let myself run over by a car. More on that later.

Will you respond to the question I've just asked?

2010-08-17T14:36:00.004+05:30

Recently, I was training a few distributors on product application. At the end of the presentation, I was asked the most devious qestion ever drafted, "Are you taking questions?"

I was not taking any questions after the presentation. That's when I realized why the question was so devious. How was I supposed to respond to the question? Was ignoring the person an option?

P.S. Origin of facebook: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LoO3C5Ir2mA

Too Cool for Facebook

2010-07-22T23:22:00.002+05:30

In the words of an enlightened rock band, “It doesn’t even matter how hard I try”…..because I can’t make myself like Facebook. I don’t think I’ll be able to have as much veneration as some of my friends have for Facebook.

One of my “friends” expressed disgust about people posting their travel plan on facebook in his status (Why the f do people put their travel plans on facebook? As if anyone cares). There were two “likes” and zero comments on the status. I moved the moise pointer to the white portion (that usually says ‘Write a comment…’ in a faded font) below his status. I typed the following, “Why the f do people philosophize about facebook statuses? As if anyone cares”

After musing over the course of my actions in the last few seconds for a few seconds, I removed my comment. I realize that I’m too cool to comment on facebook.

P.S. The total time spent was 2*(a few seconds). Also, had I commented, it would have led to recursive comments of the following form:
func Comment (char x[])
{
return ("Why the f do people philosophize about " & Comment (var x) & "? As if anyone cares");
)

P.S.P.S. The origin of Facebook is a very well-kept secret. Though what the rumour mills might generate, the concept of Facebook came from India (yes, our very own I-love-my-India). Mark Zuckerberg is an avid Bollywood fan and is said to secretly adore Shilpa Shetty. Watch 1:09-1:12 of this video:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LoO3C5Ir2mA

The Saga of Put-tea and The Toaster

2010-04-25T21:00:00.000+05:30

What thou shall be told is a tale that does not wag and a story that does not make a building. There was once a destitute who ailed from a disease so rare but so potent that even the mightiest of kings prostrate before the might (the one in “dude, it might vitiate us). The name was Put-tea. Not of the disease but of the destitute. The disease was, of course, Negativus Sense-o-humourus.

Hopeless, Popeless and dopeless, the non-catholic boy had no money even to buy weed. This did not make sense since grass was available for free. All the cows in his time were always high after consuming grass as it grew only on hilltops. The boy was mocked by friends and foes alike. While others children dreamed of becoming gallant warriors and shrewd rulers, Put-tea never had any money for dreaming. This did not make sense since people were never charged for dreams. Only batteries had to be charged for dreams.

However, the boy had one aspiration. This is the story of how Put-tea went about fulfilling his aspiration. Even now, Pu-tea’s attaining the unattainable provides hope and faith to kazillions of losers like us on this planet. Put-tea always wanted a toaster and desired to flaunt it with the greatest of pride. But, alas! The poor boy did not have money to buy one. This makes sense, one might say. Incorrect they are. Only Bengalis make Sens.

As a wise man once said; “He giveth thee more than what he taketh.” God not only took Put-tea’s sense of humour away, but reduced it to such negative levels that he became a sucking vortex of humour. He would even, inadvertently though, sap all the humour surrounding him. “What sap?”, one might say. “I’m kewl. What sap with you?”, would be my reply. However, God gave Put-tea an uncanny sense of music. He could convert any object lying around him into a musical instrument. He could conjure the most soothing music from the hardest of stones and from the most delicate of flowers.

On that fateful day, a messenger came from the faraway lands of Flaunton. The messenger sang of Flaunton’s requirement of the best musicians in the world. This was music to Put-tea’s ears, even literally. At Once did Put-tea decide to embark on the quest that eventually led to his aspiration. He was, at the time, experimenting with his prodigious talent in an alley named Once.

Put-tea reached Flaunton with no possessions except his lack of any trace of any sort of sense of humour. Impecunious, Put-tea had to create an ingenious musical instrument. This makes sense, one might say. Ever so, incorrect they are. Only perfumers make scents. Put-tea named the instrument bagpiper. Noticing his talent, Royal Band of Scotland inducted him in their legion.

Put-tea had to quickly adapt to the new life at RBS for its members did not have Faaltu Time. Adept as he was at music and its nuances, Put-tea quickly rose amongst the ranks in RBS. Soon, he acquired fame and money and with it, the finer art of flaunting. After months of dedicated hard work, Pu-tea decided that the time had arrived.
He threw a grand party and invited rulers of all lands. Investing all his hard-earned wealth in the party, Pu-tea left no scope for any improvement. Flawless were the decorations and unmatched the comforts. Choicest of chefs were hired and funniest of stand-up comedians invited. This did not make even an iota of difference as Put-tea sucked all the humour. “What iota?”, one might ask. “The same that makes Corolla.”, would be my reply.

Soon, everyone had arrived. The stage was set and the time was ripe. Put-tea went to the stage and paid everyone cash for their attention. This did not make sense since attention was free. People always had a tension in their lives. Everyone looked up to Put-tea. That moment depicted the triumph of a poor boy against all odds and is a testimony to grit and perseverance of humans. Amidst the wave of expectant and probing gazes, Put-tea said, “I would like to raise a toast.”

Out of a contraption held by Put-tea, out popped two loaves of bread.

P.S. Put-tea is also known as HKP, Plaster and Critique Gupta.

Lethargy of Time

2010-03-07T00:16:00.002+05:30

Failure at achieving aspirations. Not so successful in a peanut-paying job. No girlfriends, not even one. The launderette gets closed as soon as I reach there. For the sake of statistics, that too after carrying 2.25 kgs of clothes for almost 1.2 kms. Of course, the clothes had to be lugged back home. So 1.2 should theoretically be doubled. And yes, even though I’m utterly indifferent to, no comments/likes on facebook status. To top it all, three of the only four jeans possessed get stolen from the terrace. This last one is hitting below the belt.

I can make a blockbuster laugh-riot on this life. Always knew this is a practical joke being carried out on a large scale. Notwithstanding the fact that the joke is on me, I’ll laugh along. Though this axiom doesn’t need a mention, Andaz Apna Apna would (still) be the best comedy movie ever.

P.S. The following video re-affirms my awe of Pakistani music talent.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zz78R2rCOvE

Good Morning!

2009-07-27T22:34:00.002+05:30

Perpetual state of bad luck - (noun)
a state in which, no matter what, each and every thing that can / can not go wrong goes wrong. In such a state, the victim usually begins to blame everything on luck, starts to feel like a loser and tends to magnify even the slightest of setbacks to the biggest of failures.

There are pros and cons of being in a perpetual state of bad luck. Pros include (and are not limited to) the freedom to ascribe all of one’s perennial inadequacies to bad luck so that one is acquitted from them. Also, one is in constant anticipation of contretemps of all forms to occur. Such prognostic deportment makes one well-equipped and better prepared to endure (and not solve) the before-mentioned contretemps.

But if one takes a closer look, all the above pros are cons unto themselves. Perpetual state of bad luck makes one diffident and pessimistic. Every small hitch seems to be a big roadblock. Each of these “roadblocks” seem to be contrived by fate to make one realize what a big loser one is.
The worst part is the mornings. One wakes up to complete gloom and with no zest for life. To expound on the waking-up theory, I have given below two comprehensive cases.
1) Waking up after a Bad Dream/Nightmare: While sleeping previous night, one hopes for a more promising tomorrow, forgetting everything bad that has happened recently. The nightmares, however, just thwart all those hopes. Instead of obliterating all the memories, they bring them to the fore, accentuating the abysmal feeling.
2) Waking up after a Good Dream: Scarcely the case in dismal times, good dreams end up reminding one of a state one is not in or, of something one does not have. The false sense of achievement reminds one of how close one has been, yet not there. So close, one can only stare at and keep desiring to be in that portrait. Imagining being there, all the while knowing one can’t get there, makes one despondent.
Imagine a long slide, swerving here and spiraling there. There are only three objects that can be seen : the slide , the destination and yourself. Pitch black darkness pervades all other space. You are sliding along the slide’s steep surface, doggedly holding on, no matter how precarious the situation becomes. All along, you can see the destination. Even though you are afraid of falling down, you cling on and strive hard to do so. You’ve almost reached there. You begin to reflect on all the struggle endured and it seems to be paying off. You’re so close that the destination seems tangible.
Suddenly, a rift appears in the slide, sucking you into it. Your heart skips a beat. You can’t breathe for a few moments and keep falling into the darkness. The worst part is the tenacity of the agonizing image of the destination. It refuses to fade away.

One scene from “Taarey Zameen Par” that has and will always stay vividly in my memory is that of the dyslexic child waking up with a smile. Waking up with sadness smeared all over one’s being is the worst possible way to start a day.
One has two choices: either let the stream of events take their due course and take one along with it or; make efforts to change the situation (which won’t work because of the basic definition of PSBL). Both can be justified in their own respect. But all said and done, I guess it’s denial that aggravates the problem. More on this may come soon.

P.S. Go nuts with the following data:
Median age of India -25.1 years Median age of US - 35.9
Average age of Lok Sabha – 53.03 years Average age of US Senate - 62
(Figures might vary a little)

23

2009-05-19T21:35:00.004+05:30

"He not busy being born is busy dying."
- Bob Dylan

I turned 23 on the 17th of this month. “No problemo, nothing changes in one day.”, the enlightened Joe would say. I am not referring here, of course, to the Supremely Enlightened One from F.R.I.E.N.D.S. Every one remembers how he wailed, and pretty loudly at that, when he turned 30 in “The One Where They All Turn Thirty.”

I am forced to write this post because of a peculiar feeling I experienced on that day. 23 sounds big. A day back, I was still 22 and it sounded really young. Turning 23 sounds like crossing a bridge to the other side, or the next phase. I can picture a responsible Homo sapiens who is no longer carefree. Furrowed eyebrows giving a serious, which could be mistaken for a menacing, look. Upright posture and an overall thoughtful, motivated and inspired look.

Now before someone starts suspecting the occurrence of any sort of revelation in my life, let me clarify a few things. Yes, I do not feel like 22 anymore. As a matter of fact, I never did. I still feel like a 16 year old. Lets make that 17, lest one begins to call me a “delicate bud” in Hindi. I still try to shout as loud as a child running by (Well, a lot of children happen to run by me on a consistent basis). I still get excited upon getting chocolates and toffees (or, was that when I was 13?). It is 13. Anyway, I still feel like the carefree me of 17. However, by the looks of some events that have transpired recently, I might reach the bridge earlier than I ever thought. Scary.

Now, down to the details. Had a quite uneventful birthday this time around. Though, that happens every year because of the education system’s conspiracy. My flatmates and friends nearby did not remember. One of them actually went to his cousin’s place a few hours before the clock struck 12. So, there was no cake or any putrefied fruits in liquid state. I missed my cake. Not in a “Oh my God (sniff)! How can you forget (slap)!!” sort of way. But a more ”Oh God! Where’s the delicious creamy all-chocolate cake I would like to eat by myself?” sort of way. They would not even have given me b’day bumps had Now-nerve (who remembered) not come to my place to wish. Got the thrashing of my life from 100-god Jerk. I shouted my lungs out, cried wolf. But he was so bent on wiping clean the seats of my jeans with his slippers, that he convinced them to take me out of the society premises lest some family complained. To ensure that this post passes censors’ knife, I’ll refrain from any further, thoroughly violent details. Enjoyed the rest of night smoking Hukka and playing guitar (the first string snapped) with Poo-le-jaa as the fourth entente.

Got a call from everyone who matters. Woke up late next day. Knee-tee and Sheep-raw gave me b’day presents, which was the highlight of the day for me. Felt really excited about and elated over the presents. The gifts are actually very useful and certainly one of my best : a toy car, Times Food Guide, P.G. Wodehouse omnibus and Pictionary. Had delicious boneless chicken Biryani in Meghna (a restaurant, in case anyone begins to reflect) with Now-nerve. Planned for a treat in TGIF. Mother Nature had other plans though. It rained cats and dogs and all animals alive/extinct. The plan got cancelled. Had dinner at home, watched an episode of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. and slept. By the way, I kept receiving b’day wishes till 11 in the night.

P.S. In case I ever “fall in love” with someone, I would never post a video with her pics and a mushy romantic song on youtube. Eeek. Just a reminder in case I read this post then.
P.S.P.S. At the end of the day, b’day ( more commonly, and in an irritating way, known as budday) is just another day. The date (except for the year part) just happens to coincide with the date of the day one is born. In spite of the futility of any sort of excitement over the date, I’d like to mention the following for their efforts to make a call or being there : Man-nee, Now-nerve, Tan-new, Puk-gaya, Knee-tee, Sheep-raw, Home, More Homes, Hen-jo, Pee-po, Half-tickit, Fish, Raw-hulk We-ass, Chaman, Troo, Put-tea, Hand-awe, Cena, Even More Homes, Gym Sheep-raw, Scew B, Delhip, 100-god Jerk, Poo-le-jaa, Quiet Ni. In case one wants to get one’s name included in the list above, transfer 1000 bucks to my a/c.

XXXX XXXX XXX - II

2008-12-23T11:59:00.002+05:30

Rating: Insane Advisory. Must be read under the supervision of a lunatic. Extreme discretion advised. Disclaimer: The following text is highly contextual and any resemblance to any person or any incident, no matter how far-fetched, might turn out to be true. I am not responsible for anyone’s psychic powers deciphering the import of the statements that follow

The knight had once desired to njoy during the tutelage he received in Daily-Dally from Hope A. Mar. However, some arcane archives suggest that fate took his bliss to other arcades. Dejected, he went to far-off cold lands of Mighty Mittens. There and thence he was anointed as the generalissimo of the gentlemanly gentry. It is there that he chanced to meet the generous damsel. Smitten by the gentleness of the noble woman, the knight could not fore-see the arrival of the dragon. The dragon, though devoid of any mal-intent, had a prior covenant bequeathing him with the lady’s affection. The woman had to choose one between the two. To the knight’s delight, the woman played true to his hopes.
What transpired there onwards is not for everyone to know. However, the knight did shower many a people with this fable. People such as me, pie’-popper…some needy, some small, and some who entered a shell.

P.S. The disclaimers are not applicable to any of my sort-ofs….and for the umpteenth number of time, the post is not about me. In case any one desires to know the controversial title, a special request needs to be sent to me.

XXXX XXXX XXX (Title censored after protests by Bad-rang Bull)

2008-10-29T01:52:00.002+05:30

Rating: Insane Advisory. Must be read under the supervision of a lunatic.

Disclaimer: The following text is highly contextual and any resemblance to any person or any incident, no matter how far-fetched, might turn out to be true. I am not responsible for anyone’s psychic powers deciphering the import of the statements that follow.

There was once a knight in shining armour who saved the damsel in distress. Since then , they started having long walks and protracted conversations lingering for hours at a stretch. But now, I and the pie’-popper know that the knight, with a crown on his head and wired to the hype-o-ed, has got a chink in his armour.

P.S. The disclaimers are not applicable to any of my sort-ofs….and for the first and last time, the post was not about me. In case any one desires to know the controversial title, a special request needs to be sent to me.

A Few Breaths Lesser

2008-10-16T23:45:00.002+05:30

Am I not asking enough questions?
(A sharp metallic hum. Strong dark silence)
Have I lost track in the quest they call life? What is this feeling? Is this an overflow or a void? Why am I getting this feeling, whatever it is? Ah, questions. Why should I ask questions?
(Silence.)
Why did I just do that? Is it my responsibility to do so? Why do we have responsibilities? Why does someone have to do it? Why does it have to be done? Oh, it’s the same feeling again. It’s getting stronger. Sad. Why is it making me feel sad? Why do I feel sad? What is sadness? Ambition. Aspiration. Why do I imagine myself in a better situation? What is better? Why can’t this moment be the best? Does this moment have to be “the best” at all? Can’t I do without being in “the best” moment? Why do I desire? These questions have begun to scare me. I don’t want to ask anymore. I wish I could sleep this moment right here, without an ounce of care in the world.
(“Why is he so quiet today?”
“I don’t know. Diptanshu, what happened?”)
A Question. (Silence.)
(“Oh, nothing.”)
Have I become less articulate? What is this feeling that I get upon her success? Why do I feel angry, bitter and sad for someone else being better? Is this a feeling I should not have? Fear. Why am I so afraid of this feeling? Weak. Why does it make me feel so weak, drained of all the self-exalting confidence I flaunt so often? Why am I afraid of feeling weak? Fear. Hey, I just tried to run away. Wait, do I run away from frightening thoughts every time? Am I a coward deep within? Am I so weak? Ashamed…of myself, of my weakness, of this resentment within me for others’ might. No more questions. Hunger. I must feed myself.
(Silence)
(Footsteps)
Choler. Ire. Why did I let him go? Why did I not hit back? Why did I not give that arrogant piece of dirt a piece of my mind? Is my anger too transient to last a retaliation? Why should I have retaliated? Why do I care? Does it matter anymore? Did it matter to me back then? Should any of it matter at all? Should I care? Why am I here? What do I want? Is there any interminable gain to be obtained from this meaningless existence? If everything is so ephemeral, what am I striving for? Does crying over anything help or, will laughing it off do the job? Is any of these emotions relevant to anything? Void, overflowing.
(Footsteps.)
Hey, I don’t know that person well. We’re only acquainted. Yet, he showed concern. Why did I reciprocate now? What happened to the angry me earlier? Why was I transfixed then? Was I afraid of the consequences? Why did I show concern for this guy? Was it forced or was it impulsive? Is this stimulus in-born? Or, has it been fabricated in me by the society in a senseless act of dictation? Why should I show concern if I don’t feel it? Why does everyone put on such pretenses every insignificant day they live? Why do I do it? Have I not ever questioned such a meaningless consuetude as this before? What use am I to this society if I too stop questioning it? Of what use is this society to me? Why am I so dependant on it? Why do I need the assurance of having atleast one person to look forward to, if everyone else turns his back at me? Fatigue.
(Blackout)
(Silence)
(Blackout)
(“Oh come on, say something. He’s freaking me out.”)

Am I worrying too much about something trivial, missing on something vital? Have I squandered too much and collected little? Hold on…..am I asking too much?
(Silence, Blackout)
(Light, Warmth)
(Air, Smile)

Seeking Solace

2007-07-24T12:04:00.000+05:30

I am not afraid of failure. What appalls me is not giving my best.
When I do my best, even the most humiliating of defeats seems to be but a lesson. When I don't, I know that even the most exalting victory is nothing more than a fluke.

As some wise man must have once said;

" It's not the destiny that matters after all. What persists is the road traversed. "

Staad Wads I --- Fall of the Supedhedos

2007-06-20T17:03:00.000+05:30

(*The following is an excerpt from digary ---digital diary--- of Fluke Skywalker. The digary was, apparently, inadvertently dropped in a time-travelling contraption and was detected and then captured, even more inadvertently, by my secret time-travelling-contraption intercepting contraption. One of the incidents seems to be dated to 1.3 Janworry, 0 AD. It’s written after the supposed death of Darth Hey-dhar in the lap of his own son whom I’ve been able to identify, after reading lots of the digary, as the straight Fluke himself. Interestingly, AD appears to be After the Death of Darth, which, as I find logical, should have been called ADD. Anyway, AD is also reported to be 23.5 Exceptember, 4172 AD ----Anno Domini. It’s also mentioned that just before his demise, Hey-dhar muttered something which seemed to be a query about kun-taynts of some random course called something like “I’m a Bengali rockstaad, tay-day ko kya padoblem hai?” Though this something doesn’t have any particular relevance as such, but demanded a mention due to its idiosyncratic mention again and again. Also, the writer seems to have a feverish predilection for a seemingly sacrosanct phrase, “May the force, chores and whores be with you.” Must have been a powerful, obedient, pervert kid, I must say.*)

A long time ago, in a galaxy not far away, there existed a planet called Earth inhabited by an unevolved, weird, diminutive species called Homo sapiens. The problem with these creatures was that they kept quarrelling amongst themselves for miniscule gains and sometimes, not even for that. Appallingly, the pitiful Homo sapiens failed to accept the futility of the constant bickering during their short life-spans. It’s said that they seemed to possess dark forces like ego, jealousy and the likes, which led them into bitter feuds. In their fanatical one-upmanship, Homo sapiens began to misuse the natural resources present on the beautiful Earth. This led to wide-scale pollution and rapid depletion of the resources.

On the planet Earth, there existed an even more beautiful territory (called country) by the name of India. This territory was abundant in natural resources and was, at one point of time, blessed with intellectuals of caliber far exceeding the others and comparable to creatures of today. It’s said, however, that incessant invasion of the territory by people from other territories enfeebled its core cultural and intellectual identity. The invasions were so powerful that even after liberation, people did not relent from stooping lower still. This resulted in a lot of corruption and again, pollution. These two factors, as is the legend, led to the fall of superheroes of yore and ultimately, rise of the diabolical ass-kit-ball player Darth Hey-dhar.

In the year -2165 AD, a massive congregation of superheroes was planned in Delhi, the capital city of India. The gathering was called Pee-8 and was convened to discuss means to tackle global problems like pollution, child labour, poverty, IIT female Homo sapiens, remixes, hip-hop, She-may Fray-shammiya, Mooli-kha Sharafat etc. The superheroes belonging to the conclave were called developed superheroes. Also present at the time were other “developing” and “under-developed” superheroes. The legend has it that all the superheroes died in Delhi. Here’s how;

1) Superman: The invincible, herculean superhero possessed extra-ordinary abilities like flight, laser eyes and the most envied ability; to see through objects, most notable amongst which were clothes. On that fateful day, while flying over the outskirts of Delhi, Superman happened to pass over Najafgarh drain.

Apparently, the local organization which was responsible for drainage, also called Municipality Corporation of Delhi (MCD), thought of it as an ingenious plan to make their young ones exposed to and thence, immune to environmental adversities. Sadly, though, it led to large-scale genetic mutation and gave rise to evil species like Rash-us driver-us, Pervert-o rapist-us, 764 conductorus, Slum-y dweller-us and the most dreaded of them all, Iit girl-phus. The drain was replete with all sorts of junk possible. It gave away obnoxious fumes having an acrid smell, a heady concoction of poisonous chemicals.

Unknown to and unforeseen by Superman, the fumes also contained his only weakness; Kryptonite. He was forced to inhale lethal amounts of Kryptonite, which led to his death. The inhabitants of Najafgarh mistook him for the monkey-man and called the police and the paramedics. As was the custom at that time, which I find to be very peculiar, the police and the paramedics reached a good hour and a half later. What ensued was complete furore. Indian rulers blamed its neighbouring territory, Pakistan, for the tragedy. Employees of various local organizations, particularly MCD, were relieved of their jobs. An inquest was swiftly ordered and the investigating authority, Delhi Coolies, hastily came up, perplexing as it may sound, with a list of suspects. Autopsy reports reported strangulation of the deceased and then backtracked on its statement, citing suicide as the reason, only to revert back to murder. Rumour has it that records relating to the inquest; compiled in one of the most durable, long-lasting, clever contraption ever made and called Indian government files; are there to be discovered floating in space.

2) Batman: One of his kind, a superhero without any superpower, Batman used his intelligence to beguile even the disguised. But alas!! Even his intelligence could not shield him against official apathy and the murky world of Indian politics. Due to airport staff strikes in India, a concept highly practiced and prevalent during those times, Batman was forced to shun Batplane in favour of Batmobile to travel. Driving over the bumpy roads of India, a tough ordeal in itself, Batman found his Batmobile engulfed in the infamous Gujjar strikes. The Gujjars, as is believed, were followers of Batman’s arch-nemesis Jokers and used to play practical jokes & political gimmicks.

Being the Good Samaritan that he was, he chose to evade the mob rather than kicking their posteriors. Hooking his grappling hook to one of the skyscrapers in a place called Gurgaon, Batman landed on a busy traffic intersection. Left all to himself, fighting paan-stains (which, even his special batsuit couldn’t exuviate), sweltering heat, Batman got Delhi belly, an ailment, and died soon thereafter.

3) Spiderman: A hybrid between spider, another species belonging to that era, and Homo Sapiens; Spiderman was known far and wide for his crying antics, adolescent mood swings & rebellious behaviour and, at times, for his agile body & spider sense. On his way to the Pee-8 summit, Spiderman’s websling got entangled in a horde of people. Fate always has the luxury of circumstances as its conniving partner and so it did at that moment. Spiderman got carried away with the mob to their destination, Baybay Kaam-de’s camp. After laying witness to the various pliant stances of Baybay, Spiderman got intimidated and felt that his girlfriend, Meri Pain, is cheating on him with Baybay. A challenge was raised and a duel followed. After 5 excruciating days of body-wrenching stances, Spidey’s body started whining and gave way. “Meri back, Meri Pain. Hasta Lavista Baybay.”, cried Spidey just before his quietus.

The fate of five others, I shall demystify later. But before that, let me expound upon the rise of the nefarious Hay-dhar, the Dark Fourses and the saviours of our times, the aa-ay ha-ay chee students, the group of farcical Homo sapiens. Even the bare mention of the likes of gunnyraj, troo the flu, Sexy Sam, a hoop, yell jo, half pant, chee po and of course, dipped 'n shooed were enough to give enemies agonizing moments of stomach pain from laughter, to set them rolling into convulsive fits of laughter.

(*The above text was translated from Sanskrit. The rest will be deciphered, as soon as I learn how to get to the next page in the digary.*)

21

2007-05-24T14:07:00.000+05:30

“ Except ye become as little children, except you can wake on your fiftieth birthday with the same forward-looking excitement and interest in life that you enjoyed when you were five, ye cannot enter the kingdom of God. One must not only die daily, but every day we must be born again. “
-- Sayers, Dorothy L.

Unlike many other Homo sapiens, I don’t fret when confronted with the number called age. I treat it the way it should be, like a plain number. A silly fact that’s used in filling forms and helps doctors to judge the metabolic stage of Homo sapiens. Once one forces one’s hesitant psyche to go beyond the numerical nitty-gritty, all’s left to one’s prerogative. In short, one’s as old as one believes to be.
A lot of Homo sapiens, which pretty much includes everyone who knows me, think that I am childish. Well, I admit to have always been in awe of children. The infectious enthusiasm, the relentless curiosity, the ability to switch from sorrow to joy in an instant, the ability to be happy rather than just wanting to be, the gift of sleeping without a worry in the world. There are a lot of weaknesses as well. Agreed. But then, why look for qualities one does not want to imbibe? So much for positive thinking.
But then, yes, it’s time I grew up.

Anyway, there’s a list of things that I desire to possess but have not acquired yet. It omits a lot of things I now consider frivolous but wanted some time back. I present it to assist those who intend to give me gifts on my 22nd birthday. Also, I’m not being a whiner. I know it’s better to count one’s blessings than otherwise but desire is what keeps us alive.
No matter what the circumstances be, whether it’s befitting or not, I’ll get the following for myself someday (said with the grit, confidence and awe-inspiring tone of Cinderella man or whatever).

The tip of an iceberg (no preference order):
-> a pair of good formal-shoes
-> an ipod
-> Playstation (3)
-> a violin
-> a PC/laptop with the best configuration
-> a watch
-> a cricket bat with two sets of wickets
-> a football
-> a tennis racket
-> two badminton racquets
-> a car with all state-of-the-art techno-gadgets
-> Happyness
-> my own cricket ground/ stadium/ whatever’s more viable
-> tuna spread
-> a cruise tour with Brittany Murphy

What I can no longer become (but wanted to, in chronological order):
-> Mathematician (first love: maths)
-> Magician
-> Cricketer (fast bowler)
-> Classical singer
-> Theater actor
-> NBA player
-> Tall...on second thoughts, lets make that taller (still some scope, the eternal optimist that I am)

P.S. I never wanted to become a super-hero, as most of young tween want to.

Peeeee Pee-pip

2007-05-17T17:05:00.000+05:30

This one, like all other events, starts with the Big-Bang, or whichever way the Universe was created. (Why do people care anyway?) However, setting aside all the details I deem unnecessary, allow me to come straight to the point. Also, let me try and keep it short this time (no pun, no intention, not funny).
Homo sapiens of my college are required to waste 50 priceless summer vacation days to undergo summer training. Sahee, Lullee (not a sheep, not even a female Homo sapiens) and I (a resounding applause, accompanied by generous doses of catcalling and appreciative whistling by the front-row audience) got selected by SRF. After much contestation, Lullee was selected to be butchered in Bhiwadi. Sahee and I were placed in Gurgaon. So, it started on 14th of May, when I heard that sound for the first time.
On the first day, all we expected us to be forced to do was to get acquainted with the L’ affaires of the office and that is what we almost ended up doing. We got introduced to the technical staff, which has more than half a dozen alumni Homo sapiens from my college, and to some from the administration. Here’s my first impression; hard working Homo sapiens, nice and accommodating; HR Homo sapiens appear to have abnormally fast internal metabolisms; lunch’s good; though usually impassive, people start whistling and singing in the company bus. Towards the end of the first day, both of us were summoned by our training supervisor. So, we’ve to prepare design documents for distillation and heat transfer, which, would take loads of theoretical studying and sifting.
On the second day, our tables are assigned and this is where my ordeal begins. I get a table right in front of the floor entrance and all I get to hear all day long is “Peeeee Pee-pip”. Apparently, some SRF techno-freak decided to install access machines at every floor entrance….and nobody protested.
So, every time the machine’s used, which, gallingly, happens quite a lot, “Peeeee Pee-pip” rams its way through my ears and down the auditory canals to the tympanic membranes. Well, I know so much because I tried to find a solution to the problem by studying the whole hearing system. Anyway, I get to hear the sound when I’m about to sleep while studying, when I wake up, while I’m concentrating on the gargantuan work at hand, while having lunch and while all other nominal activities in between, which includes studying. What unnerves me even more is the fact that it can possibly attack my subconscious when I’m half-asleep, studying. I don’t want to become a pee-holic/peep-aholic/whatever. The only gratifying fact is that I’ll get an access card soon and can then, make the sound come out of the @#$ing machine anytime I want. In a way, I’ll conquer the sound, rule over it. It’ll play to my tunes…and, I’ve already started losing it.
While writing this post, I got two more reasons to crib about. First, a Punjabi ringtone. The guy, brazenly, never puts his cell on silent mode. Second, another guy talking on his phone as loudly as pot-bellied neighbourhood Sharmaji laughing at his jokes and as brazenly as the previous guy. Another observation, the guy seems to be under a strange illusion that a well-formed English sentence must comprise of at least four “like”s and have to be pronounced as likeuhh. Annoying, brain-jamming, to say the least.

P.S. Thank god Sahee’s here. The F in SRF is fibres and not fertilizers. There’s one cute girl in the office. Whippiee.

Me

2007-03-27T17:12:00.000+05:30

Maybe. Maybe not. But it's close.

Read my VisualDNA™ Get your own VisualDNA™

2007-03-08T23:00:00.000+05:30

Verbum sat sapienti.
--“A word is enough to the wise.”

There have been so many of them, yet I remain clueless.

“Thy white is as pristine as snow, yet darkness is all I see.”

Mid-Semester Dilemma Syndrome

2007-03-08T22:45:00.000+05:30

Symptoms:
Holi passed by quite uneventfully this year, but it didn’t matter.
Send an “Appy Oli” SMS to all my friends. Some replied, some didn’t. It didn’t matter still.
Had my favourite, bhel-puri on Sunday. Did I relish it? I don’t think so. Worse still, was I possibly blasé about it? Given my insatiable craving for things even remotely spicy and unending loyalty towards culinary delights, I hope I wasn’t.
Slept early on Sunday night. Yet, I woke up a fatigued, dazed Homo sapiens.
Similar events, galore.

Diagnosis:
A public park, somewhere on Earth. A child, unsure of his steps, comes up to his father and starts glancing curiously at a boy walking alone. The boy walks confidently, with brisk steps, towards a place unknown. A black cat crosses his way and scurries away towards the park exit. An old beggar, slouching comfortably on a pavement near the park exit, looks at her pleadingly as she walks away into oblivion, talking on her cell phone, trampling on the ants.
On the same planet, in some Delhi college, I (a resounding applause, accompanied by generous doses of catcalling and appreciative whistling by the front-row audience) was walking towards the college campus. Being a Homo Sapiens, who is, as pointed out by my well-opinionated Civics teacher, very much a social animal, I usually don’t get the opportunity to savour solitary walks. That was exactly the need of the hour, or of the last week or so. So, on my way to the campus, I decided to introspect/retrospect or something to that effect. In that highly contemplative mood, I realized that I was suffering from what I coined as Mid-Semester Dilemma Syndrome (a collective awe from the front-row audience).
Well, lets get further insight of the disease by trying to unravel the origin of the disease. The roots of this illness lie in the education system of India. The twelve annual examinations have ingrained in every school student, a natural tendency to get depressed in the months of February and March. Coming back to a more contemporary context, first minor examinations have just ended (two weeks back, to be precise). Second minors are imminent (two weeks hence, likewise). So, I can’t decide whether I’ve done enough, or a lot still remains. As a result, I end up wasting most of my time either doing nothing or day-dreaming. Should another episode of “Eroes” be watched or some deliberation be done on the applications of acoustic methods? I am confused, diffident. I stammer when I talk, get tongue-twisted. Even I, one of the most ardent patrons of my jokes, don’t laugh at them anymore. As a matter of fact, I don’t laugh at all. I walk with an uncertain, weary gait. I want to sleep all day long.

Prescription :
A more articulate, though outspoken, view would run on the lines of, “I feel screwed up.” Is there a solution to this illness? I am afraid not. I am confused and uncertain, remember? Only time can undo its misdeeds. I am sure that a very vague picture of MSDS (yup, it’s significant enough to get an abbreviation) has been projected through this incongruous, incoherent post by an absolutely befuddled me. Rx.

.....I reached the campus and confronted Troo and El Jo (no, she’s not Spanish) with this sad news. Troo found it to be quite amusing and told me why she dropped Programming Languages (a Computer Science course in my college). She even proposed a possible extension to my theory and merged it with time variables (future, to be precise). El Jo smiled, nodded her head in approval and confided to me that it troubled her as well. Basically, what I want to prove over here is that I am not the only victim of this illness and that, unless proper precautions are taken, it can affect any student. So beware as it might just be lurking round the corner.

P.S. It took me seven days to write this rubbish...and all because of MSDS.
P.S. P.S. It’s imperative to discern symptoms of MSDS from the exalted state of being (or falling, as they call it) in love.

Anything, but happiness

2007-01-13T01:38:00.000+05:30

The event described below took place quite a while back, a day after my last majors(final examinations), to be precise. The precision may not be sharp enough for Homo sapiens not from my college (the name of which I avow never to state). But it’s sufficient to know that it happened “quite a while back” The reason that the event is being described, quite simply, is that it compelled me to write this post.
Majors have a galling tendency of physically restricting hostellers to the confines of hostel(s), institute, xerox shops and Nescafe. Hey, on second thoughts, it’s not that “confined” either(??). Anyway, after seven such trying days, the worst possible place to be is the college itself and that is exactly where I was a day hence. Yes, I know my life appears to be a bit non-happening or un-hep(if that’s a word). Buttttt, this could be attributed to my day-scholar friends, who thought it wiser to savor a day of solitude in their homes in spite of doing the same thing during the majors. “Invigorated and refreshed” is what they feel thus. Luckily, I chanced to meet Pats and Aooooop before it got too late. A unanimous decision was swiftly made: to flee the college.
First stop: Green Park Market
1700 hrs
It’s, without any exception, not a very happening, bustling place. Or, in less disparaging words, GPM is a serene, laid-back shopping block. The long walk from Pizza Hut to the ATM and then, back to MCD (Mc Donalds for the uninitiated, in case there’s any) was not what I had exactly wished for, but the companionship made up for the languid aura the place exuded. After waiting in three separate lines for 7 minutes, three burgers and a coke were ordered and duly served after 19 minutes. Another 20 minutes were efficiently wasted to consume the meager amounts. The last morsels were dearly held on to; and the endeavor to eat them up reminded me of Indian brides being reluctantly sent to their in-laws on M-day. All right, bad imagery...Apologies accepted…..I mean, granted. Aooooop was dissatisfied with the victuals and to date, owes me 60 bucks.
Stop One and a half: Uphaar complex
1815 hrs.
I would suggest Harry Potter fans to either skip this part or lay aside any expectations. I call this part of our excursion as “Stop one and a half” since it formed a small part of the whole thing and was entirely for official business: withdrawing/retrieving/whatever money from an SBI ATM. Another dull place valiantly put up with. Of course, with the assistance of the other two musketeers.
Second Stop: SDA
1900 hrs.
Pats, the expert bartender, makes Aooooop an offer he couldn’t refuse and we ended up in Masala Junction. Pats offered to demonstrate his alcohol-concocting prowess and share a drink with Aooooop. Aooooop shied away at first and then, acquiesced, reminding me, peculiarly, of a betrothed girl. Masala Junction is not a bad place to dawdle after putting one’s legs to test for three hours. Soothing ambience, a friendly waiter/bartender/whatever, propinquity with our college and above all, discount for Homo sapiens from our college.
Drinks were ordered by the dexterous Pats, which included a mock tail for an amateurish me. Is “mock” tail a pun, contrived by alcoholics?? Anyway, Aooooop subjected his drink to the same treatment that Punjabi truck drivers give to Lassi, much to the disapproval of Pats. Candid discussions, a fundamental feature of the activity of wasting time over a table of drinks, soon followed. As is the custom; inconsequential, exhaustive dissection of all unimportant issues was done. An innocuous question sprang up from Pats, “Is there anything in the world, which can leave you completely contended….or happy?” Ahem….I think over the kazillions of options and promptly eliminate each one of them. A terse reply, “Nope, I would still want more.” Pats was even quicker to retort, “Tu bauhaut jaldi buddhha ho jaayega.” Aooooop smirked and nodded hid head in approval. I twitched me eyebrows in protest…that’s usually the minimum I do to protest.
Hostel
2100 hrs.
I decided that I was not getting old. I came up with a list of things that give me even a moment of joy, if not ever-lasting happiness. If there’s a female Homo sapiens reading this post, my suggestion would be not to get an idea from the list. It may not be applicable for all male Homo sapiens. The list is still incomplete and is not arranged in any sort of preference.

1) Tasty, filling, sumptuous food. If it’s home-made, then all the more better.
2) Complements, big time. Especially being called ‘cute.’ I crave for attention and praise. A weakness, I agree.
3) Meeting friends after a long time.
4) Good academic performance.
5) A smile.
6) Kids.
Maybe, eternal happiness is just a concept. It’s the smaller moments of ‘bliss’ that we should look out for, cherish them and let them stay. Hope doesn’t spring eternally, but is nurtured by these pearls. Make a list of your own and see if it makes a difference.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I don’t know half of you half as well as I should like; and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve….” (;Bilbo Baggins)
-J.R.R. Tokien
(The Hobbit )

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http://www.esnips.com/doc/b278f178-5d1d-4e25-89af-b672ad10c3e9
-Courtesy aj (http://azzuandme.blogspot.com/)

Woe Infinitum

2006-12-04T16:37:00.000+05:30

The door was still locked. All my efforts to find the key went in vain. And my senses had begun to give up. Stupefied by the exertion and out of sheer desperation, I slammed my fist hard on the door. I wanted to cry out aloud, but a whimper was all that I could have uttered. After all, the ants were watching me. Surprisingly, or shockingly rather, the door opened by the thump. It was never locked…...
With apprehensive steps, I entered the room. Even though the lights were on, the room was dark. The tube lights above were connected end-to-end and formed a big halo. It illuminated just a narrow region, making rest of the room appear even darker. To my utter surprise, the halo seemed to be the devil itself in disguise. How could the only source of light be fiendish? To add to that, my vision was obscured by a haze thinning out with every moment that passed by, only to get murkier. The room was empty.
Faint noises could be heard from somewhere. Everything, every element of the room seemed to inebriate me with delirium. I started feeling cold. I looked around for some support. It was then that the wall caught my eye. The wall undulated to the mumbled noises and grew bigger with each reverberation. A rickety table lay in front of the wall the wall, with a rotting clock above it. The table was infested with termites and the clock was, astonishing as it may seem, being devoured by a host of ants. The ants went nowhere and didn’t appear to build anything from what they feasted upon. The clock was disappearing, slowly and steadily. The table had a woman’s statue besides it. With one of the most distressing expressions ever seen by me, it seemed to emanate gloomy vibes all around. With tears in its eyes, the statue rankled me to the core.
Something moved in the corner. Anxiously, I turned around and saw him sitting on a chair. My confidant, my closest companion was always there. He knew it all and was always there in the room. Yet, he never revealed it to me. I went closer and was taken aback with what I witnessed next. He had turned into a ghastly figure. With hollowed eyes and blood dripping from the fingernails, he was no longer me. In spite of his pitiful state, he was relentlessly reading a book, rambling incessantly to himself. The ants were watching him too. I tried to talk to him, but no sound could come out from my mouth. I tried to shout but was helplessly unable to do so. With only one aim in his mind, he had completely forgotten about anything that existed outside the room. I was alone once again……
Despondently, I looked around for the last time. The keys were there, right in front of me. The door was never locked. Somebody had unlocked the door and had been awaiting me all that time. Maybe the person wanted to talk to me. Maybe the person was always there for me and I had ignored the door. Everything boiled down to a stream of maybes and a despairing concoction of what-could-have-beens. Maybe, I never looked in all this time. As that realization dawned on me, my heart kept sinking to the depths of desolation.
Now, only an image remains, a reflection refusing to fade away. I just wish I could talk to her once. Maybe, I have lost her………...…..forever.

Ze Tribute to the chapaating Red-coloured green monster, Mr. X

2006-11-22T01:44:00.000+05:30

“Laughter is the shortest distance between two people.”

True, isn’t it? Every time I laugh with someone, I find myself getting drawn closer to the individual. It seems as if a thousand words have been spoken, all the secrets have been confided and every impediment overcome. Even an affable smile with that genuine spark in the eyes is more than enough to let me be……..

One of my sort-ofs, Mani unkill, started writing a blog last year. It started out as an assortment of bounteous pictures and unkill’s trademark PJs. The blogs had intermittent sparks of good humour(beg your pardon) in an otherwise unattractive blog. They were a far cry from his hilarious runtime PJs. However, chapaat was the only one of its kind. Gradually, it started evolving and improving with every blog that he wrote. They started getting longer, more comprehensible and humorous. It started gaining popularity. Some people even started patronizing chapaat. What happened to the blog thence should be seen to be believed.
I’ve, in this blog, made a suicidal attempt to write a chapaat. Believe me, this is going to be one of my most incongruous, silly blogs but that’s the way life seems to be.......plain silly.

CHAPAAT!!
As I woke up from one of my deepest slumbers, I found myself winking in Tarr’s class. Opening my eyes had never been so damn difficult. On the top of it, I had to face one of the most apathetic, annoyed, grimaced faces ever seen on the face of this planet. I kept reminding myself that it was just a passing phase and even if it wasn’t, I’d to face up to it. On the face of it, it didn’t seem to be that bad a proposition. Moreover, you have to face the music for your sins someday.
Besides me sat two of the most sincere maggoos of my class: aathi and unkill. Unkill meant real business while taking down notes diligently. Aathi, who’s a very reticent girl, was plotting new ways to waste all the faltoo time she usually has. In that extreme semblance of tranquility, I tried to get the two of them talking(to me, obviously). It worked and yet it failed. We ended up talking about the catalytic recirculation of fluidized electro-mechanical micro-aeronautical studied beer. Whew!! Bandiraj started jackie-ing with his new-found MJ-powered vocab. LSR, in spite of having faltoo time, didn’t speak much.
We got so involved in the topic that we became completely oblivious of the class. Suddenly, a dumb student asked an even dumber question, “Mr. Raman, what yiss pee?” HS looked up. It was no ordinary dumb student. It was the man himself, Tarr. Ostensibly, Tarr’s eyes caught only bacchi-raman talking. Mandi and I, astutely, started staring blankly at the board.
Tarr left the teacher’s podium and started advancing towards our bench. He came up to baccha-raman and told her gravely, “Yiff yoo dyon’t yansur thee nexta question corrrrectlee, I’ll geev you ay yeff yin this coarse. (now, with a transformed big B voice) Course fukke ke liye, agla sawaal, yeh raha aapke laptop screen par.”(accompanied by KBC background score) I distinctly heard RJ gulp. The spot lights focussed on the four of us. Everybody awaited the question amidst stunned silence. Thus spake Tarr, “Melody itni chocolatey kyon hoti hai?”
Suddenly, Tarr started guffawing at us. Everybody in the class started laughing. The guffaw travelled across the portals of time and space. Mona Lisa’s smile transformed into a laugh. Devdas started to laugh. Gabbar, Samba and hence, Kalia started laughing. The just-crowned anorexic Miss Universe, who was trying hard to force tears out of her enfeebled eyes, started laughing. Tulsi and all the saas-bahus from the K-brigade left their eternal weeping and began to laugh. Kapil Dev, busy crying on TV for doing nothing at all, laughed. The readers of this blog also started laughing. Haathi ravan, I and bandiraj were still clueless. But, what the heck, even we started laughing.

2006-11-17T23:05:00.000+05:30

The e11even commandments........

My first blog is just going to elicit some of the points I’ll keep reminding you about, in my yet-to-come blogs.

1.) I’m not exactly one of those kinds who have their way with words.
2.) I can be highly pensive at times and yet, become as blithe in the same breath. I guess, maybe that’s why nobody takes me seriously.
3.) I’m mostly sure about what I say. Still, I could change my stand on something, only to revert to what I said earlier.
4.) Even I have no idea how talented I am.
5.) I love criticism and would love to have as many comments as possible on this blog.
6.) I gain pleasure and calm from mocking life in general, especially if it’s mine.
7.) As a principle, I try never to get offensive to anybody callow or even weaker than me.
8.) Anger appalls me.
9.) I hate to hate anybody. Still, I find myself helpless at times.
10.) People make a person appear grander than his work (a view I share with Mani unkill).
11.) No names will be harmed in the production of my blogs. Computer special-effects generated pseudo-names shall be used. This rule may be violated on the request of the infringed individual.