Holidays, Holes and Hope

It’s the end of yet another set of holidays, and, yet again, I find myself wondering how time flies by. December 5^th has turned to December 30^th, as after a cursed and delayed journey, I check back in to my room in R-land. It was another waste of 3 weeks, as I spent the days out leaving all those plans made early in the semester in shambles. The chance of a summer internship- abroad or otherwise- seems very bleak, considering the fact that I’m yet to make my resume. So does the chance of gaining any love and/or respect among any past batch-mates, considering the fact that I called up only one of them, and that too only once during my entire stay. In short, I’ve been a fiend of a friend, a shallow student, and worst of all, a sallow son. And what do I do to make up for it? Sit up at one in the morning to type it all out. The lessons learnt...

 

I also happened to catch two movies in the theatres during the holidays- Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi and Ghajini. Both were highly incredulous too many times to like, but the former’s music only slightly helped it stay afloat in my sea. The more memorable watches were the repeat watches of the Pirates series- you can’t get tired of Jack Sparrow too soon! Also, I posted on this page an incredible eight times, which reminds me I really feel Sushi’s absence in the comments pages.

 

Over 2000 kilometres apart, the irony is too good to ignore. Last night, I was sleeping at home with the air-conditioner turned on, and as soon as I got out of the bus a few hours ago, my feet froze in a flash, my jaw clenched close tightly, and my arms went all around my chest looking for a way to keep warm. Even the 30-second stroll to the canteen from the room was quite a struggle, with the swirling mist hissing and striking hard on my cheeks. A steaming-hot soup Maggi was what it took to wrench open my jaw again, and after that light dinner, I checked back into my room, to see that even with the heater turned on, the temperature was a measly fifteen degrees Celsius. I’m sure this winter is going to be tough on us 8’o’clockers from the Electrical department!

 

I know resolutions aren’t my thing (as stated here) but, boy, I need some prayers for the year to come! The competition is ever-increasing, the cut-throat nature of this whole process is definitely not built for someone like me, but, as they say, when the going gets tough, the tough get growing.

Loony List 1: Delicious Dishes Dug

First things first, merry Christmas everybody! It’s a relief of a holiday for parents, which means my face is administered a thorough check-up by Mom, and all possible remedies for those blackheads/ whiteheads/ pimples/ what-not are peacefully ignored as I go on practising my classy albeit slow rendition of N.I.B. by Black Sabbath on my guitar (whose story can be found here).

 

I’d been to my school yesterday, and the breathless wait notwithstanding, I shuddered when I reached the gate and in another one of the now-common panic attacks that I have, I feigned a phone-call and went past the gate some five more times, waiting for a mate to turn up to give me company. But, fate is cruel to cowards, and as I ran out of balance and patience, I mustered enough courage to walk till the portico and start running through the notice boards. Ah, nothing’s changed, I thought to myself as I ran through the list of school’s achievements. Cowardice still had me in its grip, though, as I didn’t dare to step inside fearing a barrage of teachers to wish, and catch up with. Wait a minute- this is what I had turned up for! But, I continued to stand, stare, feign a few more phone calls until one of the organising alumni turned up, and a few greetings and conversations later, so did the mate I was waiting for.

 

Unfortunately, I had conveniently forgotten the fact that school functions rarely begin on time- we had reached dot at half past three and there were only four souls to be seen in the hallowed quadrangle, and I looked at the stage where the morning assemblies were held, a smile on my face. Mate and I then proceeded for a walk around the school’s corridors, revisiting many an old classroom, and also commenting on what a disgrace it was to put class ten on the first floor alongside ten-year-olds. The old store-room, later converted into a room for the then-newly restarted class eleven had now been made the maths lab. Mate said he still felt like throwing around things in that room; for us, it’d always be the dump yard.

 

Old teachers were greeted, names forgotten and retold, memories revived, many a smile here and a smirk in jest there- nostalgia was clearly the order of the evening. Two hours later, spent roaming around in the grounds and the cycle stand, we went back to the quadrangle to see more excited pass-outs bumbling about, and a few girly shrieks were heard and ticked off. The teachers were definitely having a ball- some even posing for pictures with every single alumnus they met- God only knows when, or even if, you people will turn up again. I was disappointed to see the sea-change in one of my favourite teachers- the prim and proper (as in that wonderful story in class six whose name I forgot) lady was now a hasti-khilti friendly teacher. The earlier avatar was so much more memorable, I thought to myself. The favourite class-teacher was seen, too, and after a gasping exclamation of ‘Murty!’ she was lost in work and other alumni, not to be seen again for the rest of the evening.

 

The school in twilight and dark has always fascinated me, and as the clock went past 180 degrees, the alumni meet officially began. By this time, most other batch-mates had duly turned up, and after an initial measly four, it was our year’s batch with the highest strength, and also the highest level of complacency as we totally ignored the speeches, poems, woeful anchoring and the usual hullabaloo associated with social occasions. People from many a batch came and spoke about their colourful memories from school- no one, unfortunately, was in a comic mood, and as my erstwhile classmates continued to push me onstage, my reservations took over and I stayed put. Meanwhile, one by one, people went on stage, spoke something into the mike, and went to receive what-looked-like-mementos from the new principal. What’s he ever done that I haven’t in school, I muttered. Later, I found out, everyone was going on stage at random, giving their name and what they were doing now, and then went on to receive some tokens of gratitude. Pulling along a friend who said she still hadn’t overcome her stage fright, I went to those steps to the stage where I’d been so few times, but each being memorable in its own right. The friend went, spoke uncharacteristically confidently into the microphone, leaving me to follow as she went on to collect her souvenir. Yours truly put a spring in his step, jumped up to the podium, put his mouth to the microphone, and spake thus:

“Good evening, everyone! My name’s M.V.R. Murty and I’m from the class of 2005. Questions asked- What’s your name, batch and what’re you doing now? My name and batch I’ve told you already, and what am I doing? Well, at present, I’m embarrassing myself on stage!”

 

Most teachers who cared to hear in the front row either gasped, put up a contorted expression, or just said- Still the very same. He won’t ever change!

 

The principal said while handing me the souvenir, “I didn’t get a word of what you said. Still, hope to see you next year!”

 

Same here, Ma’am! Same here...

 

P.S.- Oh, did I forget? I’m scrapping the lists idea. I’m too lazy to make those lists. I’m too lazy to change the title as well.

 

P.P.S.- The accompanying friend later thanked me for helping her fight her stage fright. When asked if I ever had some, I quipped “Didn’t you hear me speak into the mic?” and smirked confidently. She said “No, obviously!”

All Apologies

I’m back again. I tried it all. I saw two riveting Bourne movies, felt too tired to watch Wall.E and saw one of my, and, as I found out later, one of Aamir Khan’s favourite movies- Forrest Gump once again. I saw four days of high-quality cricket- as expected in a clash between the world’s top two teams. I stared at Shambhavi for about 133 seconds but even good looks can’t save a show as doomed as G-Talk is. How can you expect a show hosted by too incorrigibly unintelligent, nosily noisy and irritatingly giggly chicks- one not even pretty- to survive my remote’s ungrateful juggernaut? I tried sitting online- visible, for a change- for four hours at a stretch and that too not in the happy hours. I even tried becoming a regular viewer of Saas, Bahu Aur Saazish but nothing worked. The only option that’s been left untried is that gleaming DVD in the back of the laptop case containing 3 seasons of bites of heaven in the form of that goddess called Cobie Smulders. I restrain myself from doing that because of my unspoken law of following a maximum of three TV shows at a time. Thankfully, Heroes has completed season three. But, two episodes remain for me to watch. I even went outside- alone, for the first time in these holidays. But, even that venture ended up in me either muttering about all the stupid people along the way, or humming Society by Eddie Vedder.

 

This overwhelming lack of zest has left me in a state where even my grammar has taken a beating. Good music gives respite only for a few minutes. Even the Sudoku is now done and thrown away with contempt. Television is a drag- even with over a 100 channels, although discounting the vernaculars, it’s probably six dozen. I’ve become the epitome of the lost geek- I lack passion for everything. The only thing that interests me apart from chatting with my family, is chatting with a pair of twins I haven’t met in nine years. But, they live in a time-zone that’s almost a mirror image of time here- an eleven-and-half hour time gap. Other people I’d like to chat with are either in situations where I’d rather not bug them with whines like this, or are never to be found. The only thing to look forward to seems to be the school alumni meet four days away. Even Douglas Adams’ sequels seem rather dull- I only read a chapter a day now, compared to a book a day some time ago.

 

The last way I wanted to post again was this. Oh, I had such brilliant plans. Or what I thought to be brilliant. The prevailing cynicism, though, now suggests that I’d be the only one who’d think so. OK, I’d let it out. I had planned to make seven lists of my top six for the year gone by- 42 things of the year. The last list, to be published on the last day of the year, was supposed to be my top six moments of the year. Others were the top six songs I heard in the year, top six movies seen, six things that I’d rather not have happened with me, six people to watch out for in the year to come, six dishes I totally dig, and six quizzes I’d love to do in the next year but trust myself to be too lazy to make. But it all seems like a worthless exercise now. I can’t believe how I’m able to survive without little or no passion for almost anything. The usual spring in my voice on the phone is now replaced by a morose ‘pata nahi’ for just about everything. Even the prospect of staring at the usually-mesmerising Parizad Kolah doesn’t sustain my interest for more than a minute now- probably because Navjot Singh Sidhu’s incessant, unnecessary laughter kind-of puts me off. I find Raghu’s blatant bleeping on Roadies more interesting. That and the promise of Premier League football may make for a better weekend. Or else, they might make for another long drag of a post.

 

If only I had that NDTV Imagine pack. Oye, It’s Friday seems to be a bit of relief from the mundane bunch of TV shows nowadays. So does Fantastic 5 on MTV. But it’s only a five-minute filler, as the name may suggest. Oh, if you’re really on the dole, then try reading the whole of the Tickr on MTV- you’ll realise there are more jobless people than you- a fact that may be comforting, in the right mood.

 

P.S.- Roadies this season so far seems to be heading for only one word- DUD. The auditions throw up stupid people, and the ones chosen are even more so. Plus, there’s no chick factor, either, yet. The Ahmedabad and Bangalore auditions, for instance, were a farce.

 

P.P.S.- Sometimes I almost feel people with exams right now are darn lucky. And, curse Microsoft for not putting Minesweeper in Vista Business. Now, how do they expect one to be busy?

Nostalgia, Nineties and New pinch!

I was thinking that I’m about to go crazy. I do that quite often. Think, that is. I had to wait for another day. A full two hours away. Jason Bourne gladly obliged...

 

It’s 1:47 a.m. as I start typing out yet another post- I’d made a note on the sidebar before I started the movie lest I forget what it was to be about. Dad just purchased that ubiquitous GRE preparation book. For Big B. I laid my hands on it a day before he could. The look of the packet gave away the fact that it wasn’t a second-hand copy. Boy, no! It was a spanking new 2008 edition cover. White and a shade of sea green whose precise name I don’t know- my vocabulary is limited when it comes to colours. I guess turquoise and fuchsia are as far as I go. (The fact that MS Word 2007 thinks it’s spelled right has me very pleased!)

The packet looked inviting, even more inviting than the bunch of The Hindu newspapers- Deccan Chronicle is entertaining alright but you can’t survive without a proper newspaper for more than four days. (May I gleefully add, I actually went through over half of the Sunday magazine supplement today- and I must say, it’s a most wonderful joyride!) The clock has just gone past 2 a.m. and my internet connection’s happy hours start now. I’ll just move over to the room with the router, and be right back. You may go and pick up a cuppa coffee, till then...

 

OK. I’m back. So, where were we? Yes, I’d just laid my hands on Big B’s brand new book, and opened it with little or no regret. The smell of a new book is intoxicating, highly pleasurable, and in this case, brought back some sweet memories...

 

The re-opening of school is this seriously amazing time- the holidays are long beyond a point, and even the fiercest of school-haters get bored enough to want to go back to school. Ah, back to school! The phrase was all over- on people’s lips, their bags, the stickers on their books. Oh! The best part about being back to school was new books! The long waiting in the non-existent queues, the ever-present heckling over the prices, and the overwhelming curiosity to see how colourful the books would be! The big fat ones were always eyed with suspicion, and although one would be very happy to see they were not going into his/her packet, the curiosity to hold even those mountains was always present in the back of the mind. It would be one long, seemingly longer wait to get home and scythe through those packets and lay our hands on the shiny new books! Oh, boy! The calls from the parents to wait till the haldi (turmeric) was applied were almost always disdainfully ignored- at least when it came to the books of that one wonderful subject. After all the covers had been compared- even those of Big B’s- our greedy hands would go straight to the English books- the readers, to elaborate. We’d finish off the whole book the very night- the Maths and Science books would lie untouched for most of the year, leave alone that particular night! But the English books were spared that fate- when the reader was finished being read, and discussed animatedly, sometimes even the main course book, better known as MCB or even MSB in some places, would be scourged for stories, if any.

I remember how my spirits weren’t so high waiting for the class 9 English books, having read Big B’s already. The change in CBSE syllabus couldn’t have come at a better time! Plus, it had stories by O. Henry, R.K. Narayan and Guy de Maupassant- a total joy for short-story lovers! The poetry section was classy- although the archaic language tried its best to make it difficult to digest. I also recall how classes 11 and 12, where I’d shifted to the A.P. state syllabus, were so very disappointing, with almost all stories being repeated, and very few good new ones. Big B had better ones, including the first-ever detective novel- The Moonstone- for full novel-reading. We had Treasure Island, for god’s sake! Brilliant book it is, but more than half of the class had read it multiple times years ago! Not me, though. But I sympathised, and thus, echoed the disappointment anyway.

Anyway, my favourite English reader was the one we had in class 7- not sure whether it was the one published by Oxford or McMillan. But it had some of the most brilliant stories- especially considering the fact that it was a class 7 book. The likes of Riding The Divorce Express, The Slaughter Of The Lamb (by Roald Dahl, I guess), The Monsoon by Khushwant Singh and Rikki Tikki Tavi by Rudyard Kipling are still revered greatly. After You, My Dear Alphonse was nice, too.

And, for the record, I screwed my chance of topping my school in the class 10 board exams in English, thanks to some unforgivable mistakes like not knowing what to fill in ‘He came home and took ___ his boots.’ I had no idea, for some reason, and guessed ‘out’. I got 95. My teachers weren’t too pleased. And, the state board? Don’t even talk about it. Class 11 boards- I thought I wrote a near-perfect paper and got 90. I toned down the language, shortened my answers, actually read a guide for English (a total disgrace, forced upon me though) and after writing the class 12 paper, said confidently- “I challenge you to give me anything less than ninety-freakin’-nine.”

 

I got 80.

Dostana, Digression and... Dhupia?!

Today’s a Tuesday, meaning it’s the day for one of my favourite columns in The Hindu- Know Your English. The knowledge gained today was particularly interesting, the standout being the phrase ‘academic bulimia’. It really amazes me as to how the languages sometimes have the exact words or phrases for common things- and trust me, look up the phrase, unless you know it already, and you shall be, too! Another interesting titbit of info was about the pronunciation of ‘potpourri’. So many years of reading and using the word, and only today did I realise that there’s a silent ‘t’! That’s what I love about this column- it’s almost always got a revelation in store! In fact, the juicy quote at the bottom of this column every week is the source for my most-used quote, which can be found a few pixels to the right of what you’re viewing presently. Of course, too many variations of the same have now been used by a gamut of celebrities- including the one by Neha Dhupia, where the feet in the quote were replaced by... you should know it- I can’t mention it here- on a FilmFare cover .

 

(Digression- It’s the Dostana playlist playing right now, and the very song Lefty wanted on my playlist last time out!)

 

Anyway, chatting with a friend on Gmail the other day, I mentioned that I was obsessed with my blog these days, and that everything seems worth a post- more and more signs of shifting to the second type of bloggers. Sad for them. Oh, another digression, please.

 

(Digression- Did I forget to mention in the music post, that I totally dig Shut Up & Bounce, and it was on the playlist that night? Although I so didn’t dig the unofficial Indian ambassador to the city of London, Ms. Big Brother, in the video!)

 

A glance at my last three posts revealed that I blabbered on TV, music, movies and food- pretty much everything I’m upto in these holidays, unlike others off to the explore the wonders of the world, in Egypt and China, to be precise. Can’t wait for their excited narrations. Speaking of Egypt, I saw The Bucket List last night. Very nice movie. Another Morgan Freeman starrer on the list of movies I like- this brilliant actor might as well take over SRK, at least numbers-wise! I also happened to watch a movie called Definitely, Maybe. It’s a 2008 release, and of the actors, I only knew Rachel Weisz (pause for drool and starry-eyed sigh... and we’re back), and had kind-of heard of Ryan Reynolds. I’m not really sure which genre to club it in- romance might fit best, although rom-com isn’t too bad either. Again, I might be walking a tightrope saying this- Big B gave me a most quizzical look and said I had pathetic taste- but I really liked the movie- especially Abigail Breslin as the protagonist’s 11-year-old daughter, Maya. Plus, Isla Fisher’s really cute in the movie, playing April Hoffman, and Rachel Weisz as Summer Hartley is, as always, worth pausing and drooling. The pause-and-drool list, by the way, is ably led by Catherine Zeta-Jones and Nicole Kidman, among a host of others. I tend to make up this list whenever there’s a new addition.

 

The MTV Tickr, a fairly popular addition this year to the channel, was looking for writers, the other day. On some days, I seriously think it does need good ones, badly, although the guy/gal writing the Uday Chopra or Ghajini jokes isn’t really bad. The horoscope guy is simply pathetic- seems like just a space-filler.

 

(Digression- Dance Pe Chance has weird lyrics, but I guess with that kind of title, it’s warranted!)

 

Speaking of horoscopes, I’d like to let you in on some more about me. I simply love reading the horoscope in the papers every day. Before you add a few more points to my weird quotient, may I add that I do so only after the end of the day. I just like to measure how they accurate they turn out to be, and the days they do turn out to be even a little close to reality- after various twisting, twirling and imaginastics operations- I smile and go on to read Calvin and Hobbes, which, needless to say, is simply mind-blowing! My philosophy when it comes to astrology and horoscope, is borrowed from the beginnings of quantum mechanics- take known results and fit them into theories, or build theories around them. That way, the chance reading of my Chinese zodiac sign’s Wikipedia entry was great fun. The thing with astrology, at least in the case of sun-signs and Chinese zodiac, that most people dismiss as inaccuracy is actually quite unfortunate. Of course, it’s impossible to predict one’s characteristics when hundreds of thousands of completely distinct people are born in the same year, or the same span of weeks. But, the characteristics that these methods attempt to give are only a set of traits that may define a person, and it isn’t necessary that one fits all- one is supposed to fit only a particular subset of that set. Try looking at it this way, and you might just be able to appreciate such things. My Chinese Zodiac sign- Horse- is amazingly close to being me, especially that particular paragraph about secrets on the Wikipedia page, left me awe-struck. Mom and Big B are both Tigers, something the latter always uses in arguments involving deciding who’s more majestic.

 

(One final digression- Just finished playing the whole RNBDJ album. Not as impressive as the reviews, but Haule Haule is too charming to snub the album! And, a tip for all those with a small but growing library- just play the Rock On album when you run out of tracks; there’s a song for every mood!)

 

Before I sign off, I feel very strange ending a post without any post-script(s). No useless info to add. Sigh!

Confessions of a glutton

(Originally published on December 13, 2008 at 3:37 p.m.)

The plates, sparkling clean, are inverted, and they stare upwards, their mouths open. The glasses are subjected to, and they do, the same. The vessels with the steaming pappu (Dal, in Telugu), the delightful baingan ka bharta, and the distinctive palak paneer, and of course, rice, come in, and are carefully placed on the little stands, so as to not bother the delicate tablecloth. As the food starts getting served on everyone’s plates, I look up to notice Big B’s absence on my side of the table in the now almost set formation. The delectable aroma of the bharta, though, distracts me, and, having washed my hands a few seconds ago, I set my sights on a wonderful dinner, which is to be finished by curd-rice, with a most delicious combination with achaar (pickle).

This dinner is one week into the holidays. Plus, the food’s nothing distinctively Andhra, or even South Indian for that matter, apart from the dal. So, a blog post on that? For me, this dinner was, after a long while on our dining table, for a change. OK, looks like, I’ve got some background info to give now...

Mom’s in NTPC, and we used to live in the quarters, till I finished Class 10. The township is almost 40 kilometres off the main city of Vizag, and my brother’s college, which he was joining then, is a further 15 kilometres away. (I hope I’m not mixing up my tenses, here) So, we shifted to the city, on rent, where Mom and Dad would shuttle to their respective offices daily, Big B to his college, and me to my coaching classes- a five-minute walk away. But, most of our essential furniture, to this day, remains in the NTPC house, where Mom has to stay whenever she’s got her duty.

Well, I could’ve just said we live in two places, and this is where the dining table (and a 29-inch TV!) is, but I guess it’s clearer this way, and by now, I guess you know that I like the longer ways out! So, our dining table is in NTPC, and we’re here, too, minus Big B, who’s gone to play in the University Nationals Tennis in Vellore. Let me tell you, as stupid as it sounds, it’s two totally different things eating at the dining table with the idiot box a room away switched off for good, and eating otherwise. And, this experience is much more wholesome. For me, the best part about eating at home, apart from the run-of-the-mill reason- Mummy ke haath ka khana- is eating by hand, or not using spoons (I hope I got the phrase right). I always add a particular anecdote when I’m telling this to friends. Akshay Khanna was on this eatery show on a news channel one Sunday, and the anchor was surprised to see him, eating by hand. He replied, “Eating is an experience, that should satisfy all the senses- you see the food, you smell it, you taste it, you can hear yourself eating it, and the sensory experience is complete only when you feel the food with your hands.”  I have this unexplained sentimental thing for not eating by hand at the insti- I guess the food there isn’t exactly what I’d like to experience too often! But, at home, every single time the food slides down my hand into the mouth, I feel grateful for these wonderful moments!

 

Speaking of moments, I’m reminded of my wonderful plans for the blog, and I plan to release them later, but assure every jobless soul reading that I’ve got loads to offer for the rest of this month, even after 4 posts this month- almost like, leading up to a grand first bloggiversary! So, regular readers/torturees, rejoice/wince! I guarantee at least a few more posts, a few more insights and opinions, whines and winces, revelations and somnambulations  (if there’s a word like that), till the end of this year, hopefully!

 

Signing off, with a short post, for a change!

 

P.S. – I hope jobless is not taken literally. Please. It’s just a slip of tongue, or rather, slip of index fingers.

 

P.P.S. – Full respect to those who use spoons when eating rice, or those who eat only rotis for meals, but, honestly, you’re missing out on something!

 

P.P.P.S. – By the way, the place where I am now, doesn’t have an Internet connection, either, as said in the previous post, and which explains the time and date at the top of the last two posts.

Music, Movies and Joblessness!

(Originally published on December 11, 2008 at 10:31 p.m.)

As I start typing out another post, I’m beginning to wonder if I’m getting on your nerves, but then I take solace in the fact that you have the choice to shut out this page, or worse, just scroll down and comment for the heck of it.

 

Carolisa Monteiro’s mesmerising voice in Phir Dekhiye is playing in the background, and I’m sitting on my first-ever computer chair after a long while- the actual length I can’t seem to remember. This blue chair is nice, lets me stretch my back, although it creaks now, thanks to ageing. Ah! The song’s over. It’s Farhan Akhtar’s... erm... once-fresh voice that’s being heard now, in Pichle Saat Dinon Mein. Rock On had one brilliant soundtrack, and two reviews for the movie from Dela and Lefty come to mind. Interesting they were. I still haven’t seen the movie- and judging by the reviews I’ve got from various sources, I get the feeling this SRK fan might like it, and earn a few more scoffs and scowls from the people who’ll probably jump to comment on this post now itself. I seriously wonder if we do need to take our brains to movies, at least, Hindi movies. I agree that the times they are a changin’, but there’s been enough evidence and experience in the past for us not to! I’ve grown up enjoying David Dhawan no-brainers and SRK entertainers, and I guess that’s exactly what we try to do when we go to the movies- try to put aside one’s issues and have a good time. But starting this debate does put my existence at risk, and I agree the latest David Dhawan movies are utter embarrassments, and Priyadarshan has lost it after Hera Pheri.

 

A conversation with a long-lost friend over movies did raise a valid point, by the way. Gone are the days when one could go out on a free Saturday night to watch the last show of a movie with the family-not a single movie now comes without moments where you’d wish you simply disappear from your seat when that non-veg joke was cracked, or when that item number began, or worse, the actor starts doing an Emraan Hashmi. These moments, resulting in an awkward shuffling in the seat, uncomfortable silences, sudden pretence of getting a phone call, or plain staring at the feet, aren’t exactly pleasurable experiences, and are definitely not memorable! The song that just finished playing was Haule Haule from SRK’s next, Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi, and I must say, it’s a charming little number, and the music right at the start, is very catchy. Anyway, I was talking about uncomfortable situations at the movies, and one thing jumps up to mind. The last three movies I saw with Ma, Pa and Big B in a theatre, were Salaam Namaste, Kabhi Alvida Naa Kehna, and Fanaa- all of whom had their fair share of scenes which made me do one of the aforementioned, apart from the third, as I didn’t have a cell-phone then. Lucky Big B. I remember breaking into a loud laugh when Jaaved Jaffrey, in his legendary role in Salaam Namaste, commented “Short-term mammaries, huh?” (sic). I was busy laughing to notice my parents staring at me, until Big B pinched me, signalling to stop. The silence after the movie wasn’t fun, trust me. When I was watching Dostana with Lefty, I was silently very pleased that I hadn’t forced my unwritten clause at home to watch every single Karan Johar movie with the family! The film industry would like to say that they’ve matured and are making more realistic movies to explain such moments, but it pains me to think that apart from Sooraj Barjatya movies, which I wouldn’t exactly like to spend two hundred-odd rupees and three-plus hours on for crying, movies worth watching with the family are very rare nowadays. I almost feel sad that I saw Khosla Ka Ghosla alone, and Taare Zameen Par only with Big B and his friends. But, to be honest, I can’t just blame the present lot of filmmakers- Qurbani was playing the other night when Mom and I were in Noida, and I could only hum the songs while peering hard into the laptop, avoiding a scantily-clad Zeenat Aman on the television screen.

 

My playlist has gone way ahead, meanwhile, going past a haunting Mar Jawaan from Fashion, a catchy Ride It from Jay Sean’s new album, and another catchy, but rather long-drawn, Tu Hi Meri Dost Hai from Yuvvraaj. The track playing now is another nice one from Fashion, Kuch Khaas Hai. I’ve come to hear all these pretty late. I guess some of you must be wondering what I’m doing listening and talking about these now-stale songs, or just giving me that baansi khabar look! I’ve just gone past one page on Microsoft Word again, with the word count past 800 and inching towards 1000 for the third post in a row- a feat which I barely am able to complete half of, when writing for the magazine! Darn... another post which will force me to give a few hmph’s. Hmph.

 

Hope you’ve enjoyed my playlist so far- I tend to play Bollywood music at home, more diplomatic! I can’t go around playing Black Sabbath or Dire Straits at full volume, now! Plus, I love it when Mom loves a song and starts humming along- with, more often than not, the wrong lyrics! I love it, too, when my aunt says she loves listening to the music, and then falls asleep! Khuda Jaane, from, needless to say, Bachna Ae Haseeno had finished playing before Jaaniye from Dus Kahaniyaan started- bustling number, this one. Separating this into paragraphs is going to be a tough job; so is waiting for an Internet connection 40 kilometres away, to publish this. I seriously don’t know why I’m going to publish this post; I just don’t have anything better to do than type away, now! Just hope that isn’t bugging you, and preventing you from enjoying your holidays/ preparing for your exams/ doing anything else, in any way. If I have managed to waste five minutes of your precious time with my incessant blabbering, I beg your pardon, and hope to serve you, oh dear reader, better with my next offering, which considering my present frequency, shouldn’t be too far away! I think I’ll sign off now, with Kahin To Hogi Woh from Jaane Tu Ya Jaane Na playing, and Phir Dekhiye queued up once again, before I set out for a good night’s sleep. So long!

 

P.S. - You might as well thank me if I’ve given you a nice song to hum for the rest of your day- or the next. Or you might as well pat yourself on the back for having heard- and hummed for a day, maybe- all of the tracks on my playlist! I wonder if this belongs on this page but can’t help typing- J .

What's in a name?

The end of another calendar year is near. Ergo, so is this blog’s first anniversary- better known as the first bloggiversary. And, less than a month before the D-day, the blog’s name has been changed as notified in the previous post but mostly ignored. Hmph. I guess that’s because I never explained the change. Well, here goes...

Yours truly was sitting in this delightfully warm room in Noida, and with the cable’s limited capability, was reduced to watching a half-hour ‘news’ report on how four friends hacked another friend to death during a drunken night out. Infotainment at its very best, one might say. Another might just throw up on him. But, one might just deftly change the channel, to a totally unintelligible Tamil channel and then decide to just shut the idiot box for good. This is exactly what I did, as I sat down to type out one of my longest posts. And, change was the thing on my mind, as I thought up more interesting about-me’s for Orkut and Facebook, and this page wasn’t spared too, as I thought ‘The Geek speaks... or rather types!’ wasn’t even a joke any of the Big Bang Theory quartet would’ve appreciated, and, Amy Lee, Shawn Michaels, The Rock, Jena Malone (who played Christopher McCandless’s sister in ‘Into The Wild’) and a few other arbit crushes and idols crossed my mind, and, the next thing I know, I have a new title for this webpage! Of course, implementing that change, and publishing that post, were 8 hours of sleep and a 4-hour flight away. But, then, after that patient wait, spent dreaming about playing the Sultans Of Swing guitar solo in front of my tenth grade batch, and reading the in-flight magazine twice over (ignoring the stupid lofty ads, of course), the changes were duly made, and they shall stand till the next change of mood comes along, ignoring peacefully the challenges posed by nostalgia, incumbency, and a fetish for choosing easily memorisable dates for occasions.

Whoa! Was that sentence long? Grammatically correct, but the structure was surely something my high-school teachers won’t be proud of. I remember telling one- my class-teacher for two years, and one of my favourites- about my blog. She did express a sense of happiness, pride, and some more emotions you would associate with teachers when you meet them after a long while. But, little curiosity was exhibited. Boy, they do know how to dodge these kinds of situations! Never once was the link to my blog asked for, and lost in conversation, I forgot to give it, too. Sad. I guess I’ll get a banner, or wear a T-shirt, to publicise my blog at my school’s alumni meet. I wonder if I’ll be kicked out unceremoniously. Or worse, not allowed to enter in the first place. But I know it’s a dead idea, anyway- I’d be too lazy and too frugal to get that T-shirt made in the first place. The Black Sabbath T-shirt, on the other hand, is a much better idea. And one I think I am going to go ahead with. Oh, in the sudden change of topic, I forgot to mention- I’ve become a huge fan of Black Sabbath over the past couple of months. But, Dire Straits still rule- Crazy Train was toppled by Brothers In Arms. Tandoori Nights, though, continues to play in the background. If loving you was wrong, I don’t wanna be right... (A highly nasal) Rabba Rabba...

 

By the way, back home, and I haven’t learnt any lessons from all my previous holidays, and continue to sit watching TV series and movies on the computer, when not fulfilling the role of Couch Potato. TV’s seen a sea change, now though. No more K-serials on Star Plus. That’s probably robbed the pleasure, and killed the routine, of many a housewife, and working ladies, too, across the country. I know this is coming very late but I had to experience the change to talk about it- and although the channel listings are full every time I press ‘Guide’ on the remote, the hole left by the removal of these serials, not just on the channel, but in our lives, is yet to be filled. Afternoons and nights aren’t the same anymore. This, of course, has given a great opportunity for the other contenders for the No.1 channel spot to rise, especially when one of them has a Balaji show running on it. But, Bani can never be a Tulsi or a Parvati. I still remember, when we’d shifted to Vizag, and had survived in a house without cable television for a few months (Jai Hanuman, Suraag and Chitrahaar were the saviours then), how everyone had a glimmer in their eyes, when they discussed Mihir’s killing-off, and subsequent bringing-back-to-life. I remember reading in newspapers, that Resident Welfare Associations (RWAs, Noida residents would prefer) had actually taken out rallies in many cities, demanding a change in the story, to bring Mihir back. Considering that, the response to this taking off air of the very same serials, has been quite muted. It’ll also be interesting to see how Smriti Z Iraani and Sakshi Tanwar (thankfully, no numerological name change for her) will come back to try and break away from the moulds of the immortal Tulsi and Parvati, respectively. And also, whether Ekta Kapoor will ever deliver something as legendary as KSBKBT and KGGK ever again- these along with KBC, have been enchanting TV viewers since their almost simultaneous release nine years ago.

Speaking of KBC, in what seems to me as an attempt to regain viewership, Star One is now telecasting ‘Legends of KBC’, a collection of classic celebrity KBC episodes. Interesting it will be, to see whether it does gather eyeballs. What has caught mine, though, are some really interesting advertisements. The Futures General insurance ad, showing how a family helps their elderly grandma blow all the candles on her birthday cake, and the new Airtel ad, with Shreyas Talpade rolling back the years with his father, manage to bring a smile to one’s face, and I consider them to be delightful ads. The new Virgin mobile ad, although not as brilliant as its predecessors, remains characteristically cheeky, and gets the point across, importantly.

 

Sigh! There goes another attempt at a short post! There goes another attempt at a good post! There goes another post... (A sigh of relief may now be let out by you without any reservations)

 

P.S.- Do check out my Orkut About Me. And the status message, too. Puhleez!

P.P.S.- Whatever the post may suggest, I liked Kahiin Kisii Roz (not sure about the spelling) the most, as I had a brief crush on Mouli Ganguly, and for the legendary Ramola Sikand. Just to clear the air, I watch F.R.I.E.N.D.S and Scrubs, mostly, nowadays.

P.P.P.S.- Kung Fu Panda is an awesome movie. Forgetting Sarah Marshall is forgettable. Memento isn’t- condition or no condition. And BBT season two is off the hook!

Where are the mines?

The clock ticks away relentlessly on the bottom left, the targets keep decreasing a little more solemnly on the bottom right, as I click away furiously while analysing the numbers, looking for more squares to flag triumphantly. Sky blue 1s, bottle green 2s, maroon 3s, navy blue 4s, red 5s and the elusive turquoise 6s and black 7s adorn my imagination while I’m trying to eat in the mess, and I know I’m addicted to Minesweeper again. I make continual attempts at breaking my seemingly pathetic expert level time with the touchpad when an exam‘s 5 hours away with a sunrise in between, and I also know I’ve picked the precisely wrong time for doing that. The exams have passed by now though, taking with them a blur of a third semester. I realized, though, over this span of 14 surprisingly short weeks at the insti, that studies really are way more important than the next Prison Break episode, that assignments are to be submitted on time even if you manage to convince 85 in a batch of 86 that it’s OK not to, that I haven’t really changed much in the past few years- some say in the past ten- and that it’s never too late to try ironing my creases.

 ***

I hate using sentences with the word ‘life’ in them whenever it refers to one’s being; I’m too naïve, and it’s too way too early for me to do so. Plus I think things like “What I’ve learnt from life is…” or “Life is…” are for old people. I’ve edited these very lines at least thrice while typing them to make it very clear that they’re heavily opinionated. The word could’ve featured at least four to five times in the previous paragraph, and a few more times in the ones to follow. But it isn’t worth it. For me, it rarely is. I dislike Orkut status messages that say “Mah life’s screwed” or “Life’s tuf” or compare it to female dog, or any similar professions. They’re way too shallow for teenagers to be broadcasting. ‘Life’s like that’ is the only such sentence I like. Not because it’s by AP, but just because it’s too darn simple, and to the point, and so very logical. It’s almost instinctively understood, like ‘My name’s Bond’. Plus, it actually looks and sounds kind-of nice too. Try it.

 ***

For the record, by the way, in the fag end of the semester, I gave up on consuming eggs altogether, and thought it’s not really a bad idea to be a total vegetarian from now on. The guilt consumed me too much and too often for me to continue the habit. Also, I think it’s time I really start thinking seriously about my religion, and spirituality, in general, because talking to myself can only take me so far. It isn’t too hard on me and my schedule, and it can only make a better person.

 ***

One of my favourite pastimes, apart from the aforementioned game, the aforementioned TV series, and repeating long words in sentences, is reading through my past posts, and the comments on them. I love analyzing the changes in my writing- content and style-wise - and also reader reactions and frequency of comments. It’s fun. I actually cringe at the punctuation in my first few posts, and also realise how crazy the incessant brackets made you feel. It brings a smile to my face now that I think of it. And, laughing at the jokes in the comments, even when I know what‘s coming. It really is fun. I remember talking to my master about my blog, and he mentioned about the categorisation of the bloggers we know- the glory bloggers and the true bloggers. And he didn’t take a second to point out that I belonged to the first category. I agreed graciously, after an instinctive first rebuff. Before I forget, glory bloggers are those who post only once in a while, after a lot of editing and only after carefully considering whether their readers would love reading that or not. The second category, on the contrary, refers to those who post as and when they feel like, don’t really care what their readers think- or even if they have any- and stick to the definition of a web log. I guess I do fit into the first category, considering my aims at present, but also considering my shift in mood and content over the past few months, it isn’t long before I seamlessly shift to the latter. Talking of my lazy inactive master, I’d like to ask him, while restraining my impulsive desire to abuse him, to please start reading again. I guess I do fit into the first category!

I’d also like to add, that this habit of revisiting past mutterings, and discussions, extends to e-mails and chats, even those on Facebook- I sometimes copy-paste them and save them as drafts. I’ve also saved a few special mails in the ‘starred’ folder of my Gmail account.

 ***

The fact that I talk so much has made me so very transparent that I fear I may not have anything more about me to add when I’m tagged, if I’m tagged. For those who aren’t insane enough to get to the end of my posts, like AP, who I actually think might not even reach here, I’d like to remind you of my request to start the practice of tagging in the blogosphere again.

 ***

I’m typing this post as I sit in a delightfully warm room in Noida, where I’d reached last night after two bus rides I’d love to write home about. The first was with AP, where I, as usual, had a wonderful time chatting for almost the entire length of the six-hour journey, apart from the few motion-sick minutes where I’d slept with my mouth wide open. We came up with exciting plans for the magazine, ones we’d love to share with the Perusing Poet, who just about missed joining us.

The other was alone on a rickety Blueline, from the New Delhi inter-state bus station to Noida, in which I couldn’t stop raving about and feeling sad for and bad about the capital, at the same time. I was born in New Delhi and had lived 40 kilometres off the capital for about 9 years, before shifting to the city of destiny, Visakhapatnam. It’s been another nine years since, but clocks roll back effortlessly whenever I have a rendezvous with this wonderful mega-polis, and I still can’t understand, leave alone explain, the sheer love and affection I have for it. People who’ve lived here all their lives will probably never get it. Those who’ve shifted to the city might just. It doesn’t matter to me. I still can’t properly answer the very common question ‘What’s your hometown?’, and usually say ‘It’s kind-of complicated’. The feeling I have for Delhi is most efficiently described by this- je ne sais quoi.

 ***

Roaming around in the markets of Noida, it was impossible not to notice the greatly heightened security measures- frisking is mandatory at the entry points of almost every mall- and although it was only a Wednesday evening, and it was two days before a momentous one in India, December 6^th, the sparse crowds were conspicuous, and a fact that didn’t exactly make my first visit to Great India Place very exciting. Reading the news reports over the week, looking at the pictures of rallies all over the country, the news of the candle-light rally at the insti, and many conversations I’d heard or participated in, all pointed to just one thing- we’re all very very united right now. But it’s sad to think that only incidents as ghastly as those of the past week end up in shows of such solidarity and togetherness. I wonder if it really needed to take this horrid event for us to finally rise and demand for change. It’s not an accusation, and it’s not that I’m trying to suggest we’re hypocritical or that I don’t appreciate this unity in any way- it just comes as a question to a simple mind like mine. There’s been enough carnage in the past to instill a sense of doubt as to whether our chosen representatives have been capable enough of protecting our homeland. But, you know what? I love the fact that people don’t care whether the guy wearing that white T-shirt standing beside them is a fish-gobbling Bengali, or that lady in the white top is a chatter-some Punjabi, or that man in that sober white shirt is a Bihari, or even someone from the north-east, or any other arbit place- all that matters is that he/she is wearing white and holding a candle for India and Indians. It’s touching, and makes me proud. If only  we could have the same feeling every single day of our lives. Utopia is a wonderful place…

 ***

P.S.- This is only for those nice guys who… wait, I do have girls reading my blog, or at least I’m trying, or am deluded enough to think so, so… This is only for those wonderful faithful tolerant people who actually did read till here. It’d be nice if you inform me what you think of the name change for the page, if you’ve bothered to notice it, and whether you think I should scrap it.

 

P.P.S.- As much as I tried not to, for a fear of sounding depressing, I couldn’t help mentioning 26/11. It weighed a little too much on my mind.

 

P.P.P.S.- I deliberately avoided using examples with profanities in the ‘Life is…’ paragraph, although the most popular example is such, as popularised by the Wild Bore.

And so begins...

As stupid as this may sound, I actually love following my Orkut fortune widget on the Home page. And, after a series of Google Easter Eggs, like 'The man who reads your fortune is on vacation. Try visiting someone's profile instead', my cookie suggested two days ago, 'Now is the time to try something new'. Frustrated as I was with my ever-the-same poor preparation for the end-sems, the want for some good news made me trash the usually-interesting cookie, and go renew my affair with Minesweeper, which, I may inform you, is one of the most brilliant games of all time!

Late into the night, though, the Orkut Home page somehow wandered back into my mind and I decided it really was time for trying something new- but not momentarily. Instead, I wanted to start a tradition- one that would stand for some time to come, and one that people, even if they only were a handful, would remember and associate me with. And, as I smiled to myself waiting for the time to come when I would begin this not-so-grand exercise, my scatterbrain took over again and I found myself thinking about the Fantasy Premier League while trying to remember the features of some strange-looking w(h)att-meters...

The best part about exam-time is that my mind always happens to cook up wonderfully pleasant theories about which pair of socks would go with my sweater, without contrasting too much with my sandals. The sad part is I'm not supposed to do so with the sword of Damocles hanging precariously over my head.

The best part about winter is that I sleep like a log, and dreams are longer, and more enjoyable, and, most importantly, more remnant, in this season. The sad part is the insti happens to schedule exams at the same time, and your slot happens to be the 9 a.m. one.

It's been a pleasing week thus far, the best being today when I happened to meet a very old friend, who now is 12 time-zones away, on Facebook and nostalgia has been the only thing in my mind, since then. I love Facebook, by the way. I joined a month or so ago, and I love wasting time on the dumb movie quizzes. But, Orkut is my first love...

My exams start tomorrow, and, I haven't forgotten, dear reader, of the tradition I spoke of at the beginning of this post. From today, I shall post on the eve of every set of exams I write at the insti. That means 21 more, at least. That way you'll have a post to look forward to before every time you feel jobless before that sham begins. Oops, I almost forgot- I've got non-insti readers, too. Or, at least, I'm trying to get some. So, that guarantees three posts every 6 months. That'll mean I can, if I stick to this tradition, get close to two-and-half score posts on this webpage by the time I graduate- or pass out, as popular usage would go!

I guess I'll get back to studying, now, before I make it more exams than scheduled to post before! So long, patient reader! Good night, and wish me good luck!

P.S.- Dela, I do love Lefty, I'd like to remind, assuming you are getting a sense of deja vu.

Love, logic and long phone calls...

Useless info- This post was ready an hour after the last one, but wasn't posted till date because of the very few comments on the last one. I've decided to post it anyway considering that the fall in readership from 10 to 5 is like po-tay-to po-taa-to.

Reliance Telecom is one smart company. It sure knows where to make its money- the bastions of young, smitten couples. And what better place than the insti! I guess Reliance's Uttarakhand unit makes more than half its turnover from here, especially this year's must've been markedly higher. With many taking the step from 'just good friends' to 'not a moment without you', the need for staying in telephonic contact cutting across barriers of distance has resulted in many new Reliance handset boxes making their appearance on study-tables, with the first recharge being the omnipotent Rs. 496 pack, which basically translates to free STD calling. And, dear-oh-dear, the innovations this development's led to has left conservative, not-committed-but-oh-so-jealous people (striking example- the author) open-mouthed. Most of the nerds around don't really give two hoots, the guys hooked up in the insti are satisfied with their prevailing connections- Nescafe is their temple, and others think Sergey Brin and Larry Page decided to go into the Internet business only to serve their purpose!

I mentioned innovations? Sometime in the past fortnight, I was playing Bingo in class (as always) when the Scuttling Shuttler decided to take a look at the AoE-addict Ace and me shooting away numbers at each other, interspersed with triumphant yelps of 'Bingo!'. Taking time off his PJ-cracking, SS asks us to teach him the game, and after a few hundred seconds, we three are at it while the professor merrily goes on rattling about some 731 arbit types of galvanometers, unheard beyond the six people under his nose. Later in the day, SS is seen on his newly-installed (you guessed it right) Reliance phone explaining the rules. Interesting. But, what happens later is even more intereshting. It's two in the morning, when I'm roaming around looking for company to go to the canteen, when I see SS sitting highly pleased on his bed, pen and paper in front of him, playing Bingo with his opponent a full 500 miles away! And, he later adds with a huge smile on his face, 'I let her win every game!'

This story, of course, took place long after the Sassy Sage got his Reliance connection. SS-2, though, remained loyal to his Airtel phone- for the free STD messaging pack, which helped him stay in touch during classes, until it unfortunately got stolen, only to be faithfully replaced by my number! SS-2, though, is now hooked to Gmail, I believe with the new video chat option being given first preference, but only as long as the erratic Wi-Fi connection plays fair.

I, though, fail to understand all this hullabaloo to stay in touch. I guess, the best part of a long-distance relationship is the very fact that it is long-distance, making continous contact difficult-yes- but making every single meeting once in three months or so, very very special. Also, although as cliched as it does sound, it is the absence of a person that makes you realise their significance. And, again, talking everyday might as well lead to more and more utterances of 'Aur bata' and 'Kuch khaas nahi', leaving very little to talk about. For the best example, take these blogs. I would rarely ever get something to post about everyday!

But, then, as the Perusing Poet likes to put it, 'You won't realise this until you fall in love, my geeky friend'. Yeah, right! Fat chance of any sane female interested in bearing my chatter for anything more than a few seconds! PP thinks it's the perennial concern, that shows in the regular phone calls, which strengthens a relationship more than any corny lines or mushy poems. It's the very fact that you care, that urges you to press that number time and time again, that helps you stay up all night to talk to that one special person. I still believe the only people I can talk on the phone for more than an hour are Big B and Mom. And my cellphone expenses rarely cross two hundred bucks a month. It's totally illogical for me- talking to the very same person every night for at least a couple of hours with essentially nothing new to tell.

PP inters, 'Love doesn't go by logic... And, of all people, you talking of logic is quite a paradox. An SRK fan, who doesn't think Prisoner of Azkaban is the best of the seven, who thinks Catherine Zeta-Jones is way better than Genelia D'Souza, and is still actually crazy about his high-school crush who, quite obviously, defies all the parameters of his own SSB funda... You know what seperates us from apes- the fact that we think, and analyse things, and form a clear perspective, a unique perspective. You, in the most common cases, don't do that. And, one fine day, you come along with your 'logical analysis' to say love is illogical. Of all things possible, you chose love...'

To be honest, I think PP was right for most things. I do not tend to think about things- I just do them. I do not tend to analyse books or movies or music- I just like them or I don't really like them. There's not got to be a well-thought-out reason for me- just the fact that I like it or not. I can't really explain why I adore SRK and his movies so much, or why I like American Desi so much, or why I find The Goblet of Fire better, or why I'm a Manchester United fan, or why my favourite colour is red- I just go by primal instinct. I just dig Catherine Zeta-Jones. I just like to talk...

Footnote- All the best to all I know who're writing CAT. And, for the record, PP and SS-1, are some of the best guys I've met at the insti so far.
And, I am single, and ready to sing a jingle.

P.S.- For once, I hope, the title does manage to attract a few eyeballs...

Late edit- I was kindly informed by SS-1 that the Rs. 496 pack is now defunct. What they all have is the 600-odd rupees pack, for free STD calling to Reliance numbers for two months.

Long time, no see...

Alright. It's been a while since I last managed to bug you with my whining, grumbling or my brilliant sense of humour. 25 days, to be precise. But, this has been a period of change for your truly. 10 days after the last post, I happened to receive my personal computer, or, if I am to indulge in some shameless bragging, my ultra-fast, uber-cool and supremely brilliant (configuration and performance-wise) personal computer. And, it's only a matter of time, before I start getting accused of lack of social activity since its arrival, which might as well be a reason for the inactivity of this very page.

Now, I wouldn't delve into a SriPri or Dela-esque post wondering why I haven't posted in a while, or a Lefty-ish post listing all the wonderful things to have occurred during this hiatus. Not that I dislike doing that; I'm just too lazy. And forgetful.

My sheer joblessness has reduced me to sitting on Chehra ka Kitaab (which always reminds me of that song from Baazigar) with no one else online, sifting between the 'Home' and 'Profile' tabs when not gawking. This, more often than not, results in either me posting, or publicising the blog. As indolent as I've been to type anything longer than a few four-line verses, I chose to do the latter. And, it has actually resulted in something positive, after all. Apart from praise, friends getting nostalgic, and a few cases of nausea, people have actually started taking interest in the blog, even recommending topics for posts. Now, here comes one which I had thought of right at the beginning of this semester before I became too involved in it to remember.

Age of Empires (AoE) had, by the end of the second semester, become quite a fad in our year, so much so that it actually became a significant parameter for the choice of hostels. But, as luck would have it, the branch-wise allotment system led to all Electrical guys being forced to set up base in Azad. But, also as luck would have it, some of the more addicted gamers in the year above ours also happened to move into Azad, resulting in the creation of a huge following and addiction for the game. When I say 'addiction', I mean it.

No meal of the day would have a non-AoE conversation. Strategies, analysis of the previous game, predictions for the next, discussions and a myriad other related things were the order of the day. Chats, even spoken conversations, would be generously littered with spatterings of GG (good game), 11 (AOE chat lingo for laughter), 8 ("All hail, King of the Losers") and other numbers and abbreviations, making normal people (like thou, for a certain period of time) rack their brains.

Now, though, with half the wing playing the game, and the other half too used to it to bother, the aura surrounding the topic has slowly dulled, the LAN installation, removal, and reinstallation being flashes in the pan.

Meanwhile, I also happened to discover that concentrating isn't a tough job. 'Spirit walks', the name stolen from a popular TV series, the idea from Paddy, is this brilliant thing I've discovered which actually lets me think about pin-point issues- an ability whose absence has been felt severely, and mostly reflects clearly in my writing, me being such a scatter-brain.

The other day, a spirit walk went a little astray, with me wandering off to the corner of Azad Bhawan, barely able to hear the chatter at Ravindra Canteen, with Bhupi's voice clearly audible in the now-chilly night air. I went up to the wall and ran my hands over the shreds of broken glass embedded in cement. The instinctive urge to touch those sharp edges surprised me. I started to think of heights, and how I feel it completely natural to imagine falling- not the part where I hit the ground, it's too gory for my fraidie-cat self- it's the idea of falling, going down with gravity, that, well, fascinates me. But, then, the crazy mind of mine began to evaluate the source of the broken glass- light bulbs, broken windows, used tumblers, and whiskey bottles! Yeah, at least all that boozing comes to some use!

Just for the record, a busy Thomso passed by in the weeks gone by, and so did an uneventful Diwali, apart from the night being lighted up by the electrifying guitar scene in one of the most legendary movies of all-time, Karzzzz (It's four Zs, according to the initial publicity promos of the movie).

P.S.- (As promised) Special acknowledgement for the Electrical kholu, for giving an idea for the first half of the post.

Of rekindled, current and messy affairs

Holidays usually make us bring out that oh-so-common line in our blogabulary closet- time to re-ignite the flames of my on-off affair with the television. (Ah, feels strange to use the full form, for a change. I know what you’re thinking, by the way!)

I was just surfing channels, which basically translates into going through the sports channels and then shifting to news if nothing’s going on. The next-channel-button-killing stopped when I saw a marquee on the screen saying- “Coming up- The US Presidential Debate”. I just happened to say to my brother, “Hey, this’ll be our first Debate watch right?”, and the remote was put down. With most phrases like “sub-prime crisis” , “the Georgia situation” , “the healthcare crisis” going over my head, the urge to move on to other channels was strong but, I thought it’d be a good idea to boast about it here. I kept on watching trying to get the nuances of the accent and also, the style of oration, while secretly admiring the lady in the last row, a glimpse of whom the camera had managed to catch while roving to capture Senator Barack Obama. A commercial break inevitably followed, and the remote was hastily picked up and three thumb-strokes later, the loud, boisterous voice of a news anchor struck me, with the words “Aakhir kyun roye Amitabh Bacchan? Jaan-ne ke liye, dekhte rahiye City60!” (Now why did Amitabh Bacchan break down? Keep watching City60 to find out!).

What happens next? A video plays with the original Big B delivering a few stirring dialogues from his uber-famous movie, Deewaar, and then shedding tears after the performance at a concert as part of his ongoing world tour. The same video is shown from 4 different angles, twice zoomed in, and another time in slow-motion with pictures of Amitabh’s (recently deceased) mother being flashed and another few times simultaneously with the original movie sequence. A thorough analysis, sprinkled generously with passionate questions asked by the anchor- “Aakhir kyun?” (After all, why?), “Kya mahanayak ko apni maa yaad aayi?” (Did the great actor reminisce of his own mother?) and others, ended that particular report. I quickly started the ride back to the channel broadcasting the Debate, but managed to catch a cue to the next report- “Aage dekhiye- Nana Patekar chhodkar film ki shooting, karne chale asli shooting!” (Up ahead- Nana Patekar picks up the rifle, leaving aside movie shooting.).

An intermediate channel was showing an interview of Montek Singh Ahluwalia, with the host being Karan Thapar. Two classy speakers, and I stopped by, only to hear more phrases go above my head (Liquidity crunch, anyone?) but with one Harvard and one Oxford alumnus on each side, I had to listen for a few minutes.

The Presidential Debate ended soon, and I had gained, apart from the knowledge that Estonia, Latvia and others were threatened by the re-emerging Russia, comfort in the fact that all this hullabaloo by some news channels to gather eyeballs was not going in vain, as my aunt came by to comment “Hey, is the Amitabh Bacchan report over? Why are you watching those American guys debating on Darfur? Switch over to the other channel, fast!”

Sadly, that report was finished. So was that programme. But, loyal viewers were not to be disappointed.

“Credit card. Mobile phone. Revolver. Akhbaar. Dekhiye kis tarah in chaar hathiyaron se kiya gaya ek ghinauna gunaah. Ab se bas kuch hi der mein...”

(How a credit card, a mobile phone, a revolver and a newspaper were used to commit a dastardly crime- we tell you in a few moments ...)

Garba in Ghatkopar, Disco Dandiya in Dombivli? Yeah, right! I’m interested!

P.S.- How long could I keep my (wrist-less, thanks to a few unhappy red ants) hands off that wonderful Shift+9, Shift+0 combination? Or the one at the start of this part, too...

Home Sweet Home...

Long time spent at a master’s. A bite in the canteen. A long way back cycling with a flat back tyre.

Back to the hostel. Watching friends blowing others’ heads off. Another long cycle ride. And back.

Mates sleeping, me readying for a long night. Orkut open in one tab, Wikipedia in another.

Chatting with friends not seen for a long time. Burning ROMs with Nero’s help.

Two and a half hours left for departure. Packing begins, drowsily. A pack of biscuits greedily gobbled up.

Long chats with Mom on the phone in the early hours of the morning. More biscuits being devoured.

A sip of water, a brief goodbye to the room, a hasty signature and a rickety rickshaw ride.

Long time at the railway station, spent peering curiously at strangers I seem to know.

A brief glimpse of a short crush. Three trains, four phone calls and a noisy boarding later, I’m in my seat.

A brief chat, an SMS home and another brief chat. Sleep at long last.

Little time spent with Dad, more in the waiting area and, I’ve boarded again.

More sleep, struggle for space to stretch notwithstanding. 3 phone calls, an SMS to a friend not seen in almost 9 years and a car ride back home.

Home.

A well-needed bath. A car ride to a sandwich-selling franchise. The beach.

The beach.

An unexpected wash-up, some shaking off of sand and 5 rounds of gol-gappas with Big B.

Big B. Long time, no see.

It’s great being back home. Bliss.

Eternal rain in the talkative mind

Disclaimer: The content that follows can only be described as one long-suppressed depressed whine. Any comments on the language/writing style/why-do-you-want-to-suffocate-us are unwelcome, as this is one long-suppressed, depressed whine. Any judgements about me are unwelcome, as this is one long, depressed whine. And, if I don't sound bad enough and you have managed to stay in that chair and continue reading this without controlling that primal urge to go for the Alt+F4 combination, you may read on, at your own risk, because (one last time, for good measure) this is one long-suppressed, depressed whine.

One great soul once told me, "You got a problem? Blog about it, forget it.".
This, of course, differs greatly from my not-so-great quote, "You got something good? Brag about it and don't let anyone forget it.".
But, then, I'm not a great soul, anyway. So, one wouldn't expect it from me. What one would expect from me, now, is a few, rather quite a few geeky jokes, some totally useless campus news and my views on them, and a few, rather quite a few whines.

My latest depresses period came about at the start of this semester- nothing new, just the same reasons I had some time ago (blogged about here). But, I had resolved to kill these issues with my personality off once and for all in the holidays (in December, and in July) but, to no avail. I couldn't force any of my friends to bear my depressed mumblings and I surely couldn't bug any of the so-far-very-patient seniors with that, too and thus plunged into some let's-call-it-useless activity for the past few days.

Playing Age of Empires (better known as just AoE) has become quite a fad down in Azad and, despite my repeated statements of not plunging into its elaborate plans to make me an addict, I just sat and watched the battles for hours. Playing AoE till three in the morning is bad enough, just blankly sitting, staring and asking dumb questions about it is pathetic! So, after getting quite a few rebukes for my indulgences between matches (Chatting in AoE is built for someone like me, but only if I could play and not just chat!). Then came the long hours sitting alone in the room...

You anti-social, over-idealistic nerd. You bhalu (bear). You retard. You over-talkative dumbo. You irritating...let's not go into the details, for preserving the family-reading part of this anyway-not-read page. Can't socialise. Can't drink. Can't smoke. Over-hesitant. Apprehensive about almost everything under the sun. Unrealistic. Impractical. Hypocrite. Haddu Ghissu. Argumentative. Irritating. Over-talkative...Ah, forget it!

What I've lost since coming here, and what I so miss, is that characteristic of being impuylsive, instinctive about everything. Don't think about it before, during or after it. Just get it done (avoiding the active voice for fear of copyright infringement) and forget it.
Before my instinctive answer to an invite to go out would have been "Yeah, where to?". Now, it's a highly apprehensive "Why?". Not a no, not a yes, not a when but a highly questionable why. Why? I wonder why. Where's that instinctive, impulsive, happy-go-lucky, forget-it-yaar Murty? Why do I now have to wrestle with a boring, grumpy, geeky, irritating, over-doubting, idealist Bhalu?

This was what caused my depression over the last fortnight.
This was why I posted.
Now, I'm done with it.
Now, I hope I don't sound like I'm in love- because I'm not.
Now, I hope I'm not speaking (a lot of) Greek and forcing people to up Oxford University Press' sales- because I'm not.
Now, I can continue to finish my box of Laddus, with zero regrets.
Even now, I don't like 'Jaane Tu Ya Jaane Na' and still think my review- no- my VV was better than the very best.
Now, I can peacefully watch 'Into The Wild' and, maybe, decide to do a DV on it.
Now, I can stop irritating those who either ignored the disclaimer, or misunderstood it or have nothing better to do than read this.
Or, maybe, like my old self, I can continue to type on like a crazy diamond.

Ah, I feel good. I can do what I should.
Someone tell me how PTV thought of that quote right at the start of the post. How!

P.S.- If you have nothing better to say, just forget it and fulfill your desire of clicking on that red cross.

P.P.S.- Apologies to those offended by the last part. On second thoughts, Nyah na na nyah nyah!

Who loves Orange Soda?

Another late entry into the room, another tired look around, another slump into the bed; after the mandatory brush, of course.

Settling into the new academic session has been an experience uncannily similar to the one in the first year- new hostel, new room (Ah, the smell of fresh paint!), new fellow 'inmates', more luggage-shifting, new classmates, new professors- it's been another tough time settling in. A week into the year, the room was in some state of order, the new mess had nothing different in the culinary sense but the allowance of shorts was a welcome change. The batch-mates got used to me (and my amazingly irritating sense of humour), and I adjusted myself to the grind of classes (read: filling the last page of my notebook and the polished yet ink-tarnished bench with laterally inverted alphabets, a new passion). Yet, there was this sense of incompleteness, a sense of a certain disconnection.

(Evening) After another long nap, I get up to a (most favourite) wet garden outside, dampness in the air, and rain-drenched yellow walls. Frustration. A lazy, drowsy walk around the wing fails to remove that overwhelming feeling. Two hours in the Computer Centre spent lazily drifting between "Home" and "Profile" links suffer the same fate. I wash my face- vigorously- as if trying to rub it off my head, but its recalcitrant character doesn't fall to saponification.

(Night) It's a crawl of an evening, and after bugging a few friends with some (you guessed it right!) let's-call-it-unnecessary small talk, we were headed for dinner. An unsatisfactory meal later (Stuffed tomato? I'd rather not get started), my friends wisely choose to leave me at my room (for their own good) and solitude is easily one of the most potent vectors for the ghosts of the mind to use. Irritation. A sense of incompleteness. A feeling of disconnection. Puzzling clues. The mind's not getting enough exercise. What? Enough exercise? OK. Got it. A quick trip to the security guard, and I'm sitting, having Mom's delicious (Again, I'd rather not get started on those adjectives) laddus and chivda, with enough ammunition to handle those haggard beasts in my head.

Morning arrives, after a long-awaited good night's sleep. But, alas, the devils are laughing. How can it be? More frustration. A stronger sense of incompleteness. That feeling of disconnection attacking with renewed vigour. More irritation. I somehow manage to dawdle my way through breakfast and classes and return, tired and defeated, to my room. The door's being unlocked, lazily, and unlike what would happen in a movie (where my keys would 'accidentally' slip and I'd bend down and see...), I just happened to look down and my ghosts feared their end. Armed with a confident smile, I deftly opened the lock, and slammed the door open and there it was- crisp as a just-bloomed flower, like a raindrop on a leaf. I bent down (not on my knees, careful not to dirty that pair of classy black trousers) and held it with a sense of victory. And, as one would do only when he/she is alone in a room with little risk of anyone else watching, I paraded around the room, holding it as if it were the Jules Rimet trophy.

The newspaper had finally made its appearance on my floor and I quickly turned to the back page to rekindle my temporarily-stalled affair with Sudoku. Four and a half minutes for the easy level- I'm still pretty sharp.

P.S.- The title, as is quite apparent, has nothing to do with the post. It's just a tribute to one of my once-most-loved TV shows, Kenan and Kel.

Deep Thought

You ever wondered when your thoughts are reaching a level you never thought they were capable of? Ever wondered where exactly that place would be, what kind of atmosphere would be around, which people may be there, and what stimulated your mind into reaching the next level?

Well, most obviously, you have better things to do than that so I'd suggest you rather continue fantasising an evening with Catherine Zeta-Jones.

Sample this. A one-and-a half to two hour bus ride from the centre of the city to its vague outskirts, a bunch of (loud) strangers for company, overcast weather, a drab (so-called) summer, and just your empty mind for company. Doesn't exactly make for a great time, does it? But, over the summer just gone by, I realised I thought out my most deep thoughts in that very period. Devising damage-control measures after a few reckless comments, trying to build more torturous ways of wasting web space using this page, and, coming to the point for this post, devising theories.

No, not theories explaining why my ears are a little small (as done earlier by thinking the barber accidentally chopped them off once upon a time), or why my fingers aren't too long (because of me stunting their growth by placing them on an iron), or why two other toes of mine were longer than the Big toe.

Rather, theories like the great 'How 42?' theory (explained here), now well-known as Murty's Law.

Or, the latest one. I now choose this lowly-regarded piece-of-junk blog to state one of the most Idiot-I-always-knew-it theories which will never ever change the fact that the first thing you feel in your eye every single day when you get up is some solidified yellow thing.

When do you know a guy's getting older?
When he starts answering more questions than he asks.

And, before I'm accused of being a male chauvinist, when do you know a girl/lady's getting older?
When she asks more questions than she answers.

Now, before you head for that sink, just try and appreciate the effort put in to think about this on a boring, albeit visually appealing, and long bus ride.

P.S.- Possible names for the theory suggested.

P.P.S.- Don't call me names.

P.P.P.S.- Honestly, all the geeky jokes apart, think about it.

Got more to add: (comes here as it isn't at all related to the post) I totally adore Minissha Lamba and Isha Sharvani. Now, add Prachi Desai to the list. She looks perfectly pretty in the 'Rock On!!' promos.

P.P.P.P.S.- Yes, you may now head to the sink. Without falling four/six times on the way.

(Late edit) Even if I wanted to, I could never make money off this!

Plastic knives aren't a public nuisance

The past week was full of activity. In some relatively insignificant news, the ruling government’s continuing love-hate relationship with The Right’s opposite (which, some consider ironically, isn’t Wrong) took another handful of twists, a lady (who, again, some consider ironically, is half an illusion) took another step towards her cherished dream of leading this very country, another few hundred children were born, another brawl decorated our (some consider ironically) national game and the relationship with our neighbours, and a few more hundred children were born. But the one big news development over the last weekend (which, nobody considers ironically, dominated prime-time on most of our news channels) was the launch of (proclaimed to be India’s most legen-wait-for-it-darrry) chat show hosted by (again, nobody at all considers ironically) India’s most loved (at least if it is assumed that TV channels show what the people want) celebrity, who I shall refrain from naming because of possible notices being issued. The show’s first guest promised that whenever he needed an item number in his movies, the first person he’d call would be the host and played, as he does with any role, the good guest to perfection.

In some more small (compared to the big news, a drop in a glass of sea buckthorn juice) news, a family was out shopping in a city (wrongly conceived to be, on many an occasion, in Orissa, Kerala, Tamil Nadu and in one extreme case, Gujarat) southwards on the eastern edge of the country. After a not-so-difficult purchase of a pair of jeans, and another piece of footwear, one of them left the others at a pastry shop and left, mysteriously, to don’t-know-where. After 20 chocolate-gulping minutes at the shop, which included a few embarrassingly dangerous ones with the kid saying ‘Hi!’ to an unknown lady and smiling at her after he thought she whispered his name, with her (apparently) fat (quite apparent) boyfriend staring right down at him and his mom right beside him, they left for home. At around midnight, when the kid was busy with yet another Sudoku puzzle and his mom was trying to get a few forty winks (after some mentally draining attempts at the day’s newspaper’s Sudoku puzzles), his brother mysteriously vanished (again), apparently to take a phone call. He returned with a (now customary) warm hug, a ‘Happy birthday’ wish followed, and, a (now customary) kiss from mom, a (now customary) ‘Appi Baa-day to you’ and a few (always ready) tears from his aunt, and a (quite big) bite of his favourite chocolate cake later, the kid received one of the surprises of his life- his first guitar! The kid, happy enough to jump for dwarf planet Ceres, eagerly tore the zip down to show off the skills he had (visibly, quite badly) learnt back at his hostel. After quite a few totally out-of-sync notes, and a spattering of his (visibly, quite poor) knowledge of the instrument, he gently placed it back for a (one more?!) bite of the cake and started taking calls and replying to messages. He couldn’t sleep that night, in excitement, in total surprise and, most importantly, in simple love for his family. Even the fact that a few girls may miss ‘scrapping’ or messaging him their wishes (or rather give it a miss), or even a few close (guy) friends might do the same (which, in another show of endearing love, they didn’t!) or a million other not-so-positive thoughts couldn’t stop him from sporting one big (for once, not fake or Rishi Kapoor-ish in any way) smile in the darkness of the bedroom. Apparently, the kid was now officially an adult, which he seemed to like in some ways for the sake of a few acts like voting and driving, but just age can never determine that justly. So, the kid’s heart felt content as he went to sleep, one more day, as a kid.

P.S. - The kid wants to thank every single wonderful person who wished him on his birthday, and also those who forgot and those who chose not to.

P.P.S. – Sea buckthorn juice isn’t great, try Black currant; looks like red wine and tastes like heaven!

P.P.P.S. – The kid chooses not to drive in public interest and not (to quote his History & Civics textbook) to exercise his franchise, in private.

P.P.P.P.S. - Pizza Hut burnt quite a hole in the pocket and The Dark Knight is a nice movie.

Two experiences...

I’ve happened to have read two books over the holidays so far. One was a highly recommended, greatly controversial best-seller about a kid recently kicked out from school, and another, a highly anticipated book by a best-selling phenomenon, about a young suicide attempter and his story.

Two books which I shan’t compare but just recount my experience of reading them (Useless info- I just completed reading the second.).

The former.

All those rave reviews weren’t worth nothing. This, for me, wasn’t just a book but, a totally different take on life, in general. The protagonist doesn’t strike me as a delinquent juvenile, but as a disillusioned thinker, with a particularly world-annoying way of looking at the world (as confusing as the words are, that’s the best I can manage). The book, overall, just gave an amazingly refreshing perspective of our surroundings.

The latter.

Another masala serving from this exciting writer. This book wasn’t greatly spectacular, especially the plot, which was disappointingly over-filmy, I felt. It was his sheer originality and outrageous unpredictability that made his first book extra-special (and also, seemingly, a cult) and the second quality was the one of the few things I liked about his second offering. The original writing style remains but the fact that I could actually predict the next event left me greatly disappointed (even my ego, which would usually jump with joy in the discovery of my super-sleuth abilities, couldn’t suppress this feeling). But, nonetheless, I remained a fan of him, and considering my disappointment with this book, it is indirect praise for the author who will remain a phenomenon, I guess, and his next book will still be even more greatly anticipated.

Now, don’t think I’m also adding a book review (again, unless you’re totally hooked to it, it’s difficult to re-view 255 or 789 wood pulp products, compared to 180 minutes of celluloid) to this torturous waste of webspace. I hope the two accounts are self-explanatory of their purpose...

For those curious souls who were thinking of Googling these books (if they stayed alive through the post, or if they haven’t done it already!), I’d just give it away- “The Catcher in the Rye” and “The 3 Mistakes of my Life” (apologies to those uber-smart souls who were affronted by the previous sentence having guessed already)...6 hours of reading takes its toll...I hope an hour of soporific time-wasting and frantically following (daily) a certain 23-year-old Madeiran’s future can relax the mind now...Sleep can wait...

P.S.- Rupa Publishing rocks! Best-sellers at under hundred bucks- what more can you ask for?

P.P.S.- Apologies for the drop in readability over the last two posts...Maybe it happens when I try to get a little over-personal on the blog...The impassionate accounts are better, maybe...Comments anxiously awaited...