Crackers for the soul

A little rat. Scurrying around the house, nibbling whatever it can lay its two front teeth on. Never finishing off what it started, the size of the find far exceeding its capacity. Never going back to finish either, because who wants to eat rat-bitten stuff? Until it begins to see the waste. If only food came in smaller portions, it sighs.

So i went and bought me a book on short stories. Called (ironically enough, no wait, i'm not sure this is irony. Strangely enough? Coincidentally? Inappropriately? Ahh, i think i'll go with that) The Cats Pyjamas.

One short story later. I dont think i've got the hang of reading short stories. I keep expecting the last sentence to deliver some kind of a punch. To go with a bang, not to fade slowly into the sunset.

I twitter on my blog

(because no one reads my twitter. Not even me.)

All you need to get lost in the web is a starting point.

What if you are not suitable for the kind of life you want? NSFL. Heh.

What is it with bookstores keeping the sci-fi section next to the romance section? <An aaha! moment later> Are both meant for dreamers? For people who want an escape from reality?

Its a good thing credit card companies consider me not stable enough for a card. With Wikipedia asking for support, what other excuse do i have for not extending some?

Somedays at work make you feel like the Kitty to a brilliant Karamchand.

There is a comfort in seeing poeple online on weekends. Hum panchi ek daal ke kind of comfort.
They are sharing a drink called lonliness,
but its better than drinking alone
Oh la la la ...
You miss the ones who arent green, even if you never talk to them when they are. You begin to wonder, did they finally get a life?

Still on TV

&lt;rant> It is starting to look like i've found a cause. I am apparently the person who raises her voice against Incorrect Portrayal of Indians on American Television. TBBT is the latest series to evoke my wrath. Dont get me wrong. I have nothing against them introducing Rajesh Koothrappali as a caricature Indian and making the usual jokes about over population and arranged marriages. (Was there a one on us being cheap?) I even laugh when they are funny. What gets to me is the little details that they mess up. If I were to assign marks to the following based on their likelihood,

1. Rajesh Koothrappali is from Delhi
2. Rajesh Koothrappali calls his parents mummy and papa in what i understand to be a North Indian accent
3. Rajesh Koothrappali's parents live in Delhi but pronounce Punjab an PUnjab
4. Rajesh Koothrappali's parents are trying to arrange his marriage with a nice PUnjabi girl called Lalita Gupta

1 would get an 8, 2 would be a 5, 3 would be, well, 0.5 and can things have negative likelihood?

I realize its a comedy show. I realize these small inconsistencies do not take away anything from the enjoyment for most people watching the show. I do not believe everyone in the world should know their India basics (I was surprised at all the indignation flowing when years ago George Bush, while running for President, didnt know who the Indian PM was. Why should he?). But for people who care enough to hire people especially to get the physics right, who plan to have an actual problem being solved on Sheldon's board through the season, why overlook such tiny things that any Indian over the age of 10 will laugh at? &lt;/rant>

With that out of my system, i shall now get to drooling over the series. Great fun! And very very precious, now that i'm out of fresh stock for almost everything i watch. One joke that redeemed the arranged marriage episode for me:

(Raj is over at Leonard and Sheldon's place, voice chatting with his parents)

Papa: If you decide on a spring wedding, we can avoid the monsoon season
Raj: Spring Wedding!
Mummy: Its up to you, we dont want to meddle
Raj: If you dont want to meddle then why are you medding?
Sheldon: If i may, you parents probably dont consider this meddling. While arranged marriages are no longer the norm, Indian parents continue to have a greater than average involvement in their children's love lives.
Raj: (irritated) Why are you telling me about my own culture?
Sheldon: Because... you seem confused.

Touche.

Be Right Back

Three posts in the drafting stage. Not one i can sit with long enough to finish.

So many "good" movies i ought to watch, but 3 hours of undivided attention is asking for too much of someone as bloated up as i am on a diet of 20 and 45 minute TV shows.

Books i guess are the worst hit. I still religiously go to the library, see stuff i would have liked in another lifetime, and get it home. Only to return it unopened. And mostly late. Other than a P.G Wodehouse or a Terry Pratchett, there is no other book i can reasonably guarantee i'll even open.

People i havent called up in an unforgiveably long time.

Places i have declined to go to.

I can of course blame it all on work. On the tending towards insane hours, on being called on holidays and weekends. But i know its more than that. Its like someone injected me with a giant syringe full of indifference. It is slowly spreading all over, and one by one the systems are shutting down. (Yes, too much medical drama in my diet). The only functions that are untouched yet are work, TV and strangely enough, the gym.

Now that most TV shows are on an unscheduled (and in my humble opinion illegal) break, the silver lining seeker in me hopes some of the above will rush in to fill the vaccum created.

On the other hand, i have been known to say BRB when i actually mean GTG.

Let the goose that lays golden eggs lay the eggs

There is no better way to "feel the love" than to pass through the comments section on various torrent sites. The ones that deliver, i mean. People are falling over themselves to thank the uploader, bless him, take his dog out for a walk, just anything for for the pleasure of being able to watch that movie or this episode of that TV series. Of course, the fact that they only have to type out their gratitude makes them promise more than would actually care to deliver if it came to that, but i have a feeling a lot of them mean what they say. And i can understand the love overflowing, but people, you have to be careful you dont drown the poor guy! The best example of what i'm trying to say are the <* I go for axxo but you can fill in the name of your favourite uploader here> for president! messages. To the people posting such messages. I understand you think just about anyone would be an improvement. I understand what axxo has bought to your life few others will. I understand you want to share the sense of happiness and fulfillment. But please, think for a minute. If axxo becomes president and goes around saving the world** with the same dedication and sincerity with which he rips movies, where will we go for our daily fix?


* Yippie! I finally remembered before publishing a post that angular brackets wont work.
** Yes, its the Heroes effect. Even the apple i eat somehow saves the world. Eat the apple, save the world.

To the one who (supposedly) sits up above the world so high

(For the record, this is not what i want to be writing. At all. The disclaimer just so i feel less of a hypocrite.)

You didnt have to do it. No, really. Take a casual comment, inspired more by nostalgia than any real love for the season, so seriously and bring winter to my city overnight. And while i have your attention, how about looking into that other stuff i've been going on and on about?

TIA.


(What if His system is that arbitrary? Each one of us gets a slice of His time and whatever we happen to be wishing for at that moment, is ours. We'd have to be clean and clear on the inside, 24x7. No more looking left one minute and be convinced that right is the way to go the next. No more wishing that guy would choke on his own cigarette, or wanting all traffic lights to turn into fairies and fly away, or wishing for a big tree to fall on her head and knock the nonsense out of it. It'd be worse than being good for Santa Claus!)

Now accepting applications for the post of driver for my Nova

Aah, Thursday's done! Just one more to go. Wish i didnt live this far from office, the ride is really starting to get to me. 40 kms a day on days i go to the gym, even the petrol pump assistant recognizes me now. At least it has stopped raining. Rains in November, what is the weather coming to? Heh, maybe the weather gods have also had to suffer layoffs. Maybe they outsourced to some developing part of heaven and are now dealing with communication issues. Idiot, at least dont make fun of your own side! I have to admit though, the rains make for a smoother ride. Right. And do you plan on getting those brakes fixed anytime soon? Whats wrong with them? So their output doesnt exactly correspond to the input, but i've gone months without any output from them at all. You think i cant do this? Oh fine. Even if you do say yes now and swear that you mean it, you are never actually going to do it. Like all those times you swear you are going to call up people. Err.. aah post rain is nice. Hey, man crossing the street, hurry up, i dont want to have to break for you. Damn he stopped! Why did he have to stop? He would have made it too. Break, break break. Damn it all, looks like i'm going to fall!

Excuse me. I hate to disturb you, but you do realize you are lying down in the middle of a fairly busy road? Maybe its time to try and get up? Whats the big hurry? I'm pretty sure no one will crash into me and say - woops, didnt quite see you there. I mean, i am lying in the middle of the road. Exactly. Fine, i'll get up. That wasnt so bad. Now for the bike. Shut it off first. Damn it, where are the people who gather around every accident and generally make a nuisance of themselves when you need them? Aah, there comes one. Yes sir, i'd like some help lifting the bike. Oh you can do it without me? Thank you. Yes i'm fine. You could have been a little less cheerful about that fine, you know. Yeah, yeah. I'm off though, arent i? Damn it, this means no gym tomorrow. Aerobics it was too. Nice going. This isnt so bad. Not much pain, i dont seem too disturbed or shaken, think i got away pretty light. OMG, is that a tear in my pant? In my latest if if i were to convert to a religion in which i'd be buried when i died, these are the pants i would want to be buried in pants?? What have you done, you stupid accident??? You might want to stop staring at the tear and lookup

BAM!

Where am i?


P.S. Since i am typing this, obviously at some point during the narrative my imagination divorced reality. But i do have a torn pant and a grazed knee to prove that once upon a time the two were together and very much in love. On the plus side (though nothing can make up for that tear) i got an injection and a dressing! I aint 'fraid o' no shots! I dont actually like them, but not being afraid makes me feel all (there really isnt a better word for this) macho. And dressing. Its my favourite thing about getting hurt. Bandaids, bandages, casts... the bigger the better! Totally makes up for the pain. Except maybe the time i hurt my upper lip while trying out some equipment in the gym and had to walk around with a Charlie Chaplinesque moustache for dressing. Okay fine, i loved that too.

Heroes, one season later

Warning: minor spoilers possible. So if you are not there yet, keep away.

It really is the best way to watch a series. Start late, so the episodes can gush out (a stream, a river, an ocean if you can take it) instead of the once a week trickle that you have to otherwise be satisfied with. For you own sanity though, make sure you have some immovables in your life to hold on to. Being swept away is fine, but you never know when the current becomes too strong to resist.

So, Heroes. Awesome series, totally hooked! Random observations follow.

Out of the billions in this country, find me one, one person named Mohinder Suresh. What kind of a name is that?? Seriously, for all the trouble they seem to have gone into to include world culture, Mohinder Suresh?? I'd have to try really hard to come up with worse. Maybe Bahadur Venkatachalam. Or Panjabakesan Singh. On a related note, how cool is it that they have a track completely in Japanese? Very. I now know that anything written on paper seems to be called manga in Japanese.

Its surprising how much Angela, Nathan and Peter actually look like family! Peter of course is my pick, but that guy needs to tone it down a little. You may be the one who blows up the world (okay New York city, but why split hairs?), but being hyper will not help.

Also, i'm not trying to be a bi**h here, but do fourteen year olds really look like Claire?? And her dad, oh he is easily the most morally manipulative character ever! Starts out by being the villain. Then we are told he has done it all to save his daughter and suddenly, everything is forgiven. Just like that, he is the good guy. It really struck me when i found myself rooting for him, that there is more grey in this series than, no there is only grey in this series. I'm pretty sure even Syler is going to come redeem himself at some point. Its like that voice tells us at the beginning of some episode (or maybe the end, its all one big mash in my head now), its not about right or wrong. Its about survival. It is bloody stupid to judge them by our moral yardstick, but hey, its the only one i have.

And how easily they kill of characters! Now they fill up an episode, and the next one they are gone. And everyone's life is so full of problems, no one looks back. In fact they seem so suspiciously caviler about the whole thing, for a while i thought they'd bring back the dead ones. After all, anything is possible. I really wonder how the writers manage to limit themselves to a coherent story. That much of freedom, i'd have gone mad picking a path and sticking to it.

I'm crossing over to season two now, but no spoilers so its safe. I love the way the Irish speak! I've kind of had a soft corner for them ever since i read Trinity. If i'd known Conor Larkin spoke like that, that accent, that lilt, oh damn!

Of course i have to end with if i could what one super power would i pick. Sticking to the ones they've shown so far and not considering the one with all the other ones, flying is in. So is becoming invisible. Talking to machines too. If i were a true geek, at some level i'd already feel connected. But i'm not. Think how super cool it'd be if i could just touch a machine and tell you why it crashed!

I think i'll fly. Have a house in the sky.

And finally, if i seem harsh, its only because i love you and want you to do better!

P.S Just back from imdb. Found out that the dude who plays Mohinder is named Sendhil Amithab Ramamurthy. I eat my words.

Do not do unto others...

Sometimes, all you want to do is hold up a mirror to people. In the hope that they'll see what they have become. That they'll see the exact things they find so difficult/unkind/wrong in others staring back at them. That what they'll see will affect them enough to want to change.

But you dont.

Because you are not sure you cannot handle a mirror being held up to you.

The Three Hundredth

Post this one is. Which of course means it has to be a meta-blogging one. I did toy around with the idea of postponing it to the 301st, but pretending to be different? Lame-r than following the herd.

Warning (inserted after having written halfway): This is going to be very boring to anyone who was not there. And since no one but me was there though the 6 years i plan to cover...

The first two years
She inspired me to start. With this post. Took a few posts to develop the courage to come out to my friends. Started a group chat on MSN, our communication lifeline back then. For everything from lunch to tea to snacks to badminton to birthday cakes to random leg pulling to gossip.

Me: I have a confession to make (or something equally dramatic)
She: Now what?
(To this day, i remember she said that. I wonder why. Its not like we did dark confessable deeds everyday. We were seedhe saade bachche log. Very. The only way we were conspicuous was by the amount of noise we made on the lunch table. And err... the number of helpings of food some of us couldnt do without.)
They read. Didnt laugh. Continued to read without having to be reminded. And that is how it took off. Did anything change? I'd like to think so. Most of them blogged at that time and i think reading each other pushed us away from that line that divides colleagues and friends.

The next two
IIT. I know the blog helped. Provided the bootstrapping i needed to come out and start talking to people and hitting people and throwing things on people... (That and the most embarrassing game of basketball ever, but shhh). And i'm so glad at least some bits of that magical time are on record because in a few years, i'll have no problem believing it was all a dream.

The last two
Is when the blog became something more than (lets face it) an outlet for my vanity. Writing helped. Added meaning, at times took it away, made things appear lighter. And has it changed anything? It has been recently discovered at work, not that i'd made it difficult, there is a link on my Orkut page, for God's sake! What does it say about me that it took two years even so? That maybe, i'm not done with needing the bootstrapping.

New theory on weekends

A weekend expands to accommodate all the episodes of Heroes you have managed to get home. After all, it would do at all, would it, if you went back to work on Monday with unfinished business?

The post that shouldnt have been

I know a couple of people like that. Who dont like celebrating days - the day she was born, the day we met, the day Ram killed Ravan, the day Jesus came back... who believe that celebrating something on a designated day actually takes away from the occasion. Celebrations should be spontaneous, they say (or i imagine they do, havent really asked), not turned on and off by the calendar.

I couldnt understand why they analyzed so much. After all, how often would you spontaneously go through the bother of making 10 different kinds of sweets or treat 15 people to dinner? Punctuation marks inn what would otherwise be a really long sentence.
(How do you say did you see that? did you see that?did you see how clever i was? without actually saying it?)

Until of course, i caught the same disease. A milder strain, to be sure, but the disease is the same. I dont like mass distributed happy messages. Okay, maybe i dont dislike them, but I do think they are quite meaningless. All they really say is that you are in the sender's address book. (okay, i admit there is a corner of my heart (that i would like to disown) which is glad of even that). Its almost as impersonal as Airtel wishing you a Happy And Prosperous New Year!

Given that half of the people who currently read this blog actually sent out Happy Diwali messages, i wonder why i even wrote this. I mean, given a choice between being nice and being honest, i pick nice. Always. Its so well established in certain circles that people have stopped asking for my opinion on the new cupboard they have bought. Not that that is such a bad thing, me not being a particularly interested or competent authority on cupboards anyway.

Who knew blogging could bring out the nasty in me!

About Aditi

Khabar Nahi is the new Aditi. Like Aditi, it can pick me up from bottomless hells, telling me everythings gonna be okay. While Aditi did it with the words, with the music, with the voice, this one does it just by being.

Of course, it might turn out that the fool is singing it to his sandwich. After Aditi turned out to be about a cat, nothing will surprise me.

Cat!

P.S. After the 25th hearing in 3 days, i have to regretfully admit its not in the same class as Aditi. The lyrics dont make the cut.

P.P.S. Anyone here mad enough about that series to guess where that last Cat! came from? A cat that could have been named Micheal.

Milestones

Sometimes you have to look back to know how far you've come.

I came home today to a rearranged room. The "library" had moved in and the only occupied shelf in it was finally filled not with raincoats, not bills, not orphaned bits of clothing, but books. My books. Stuff that I had bought. Bought. Put a big smile upon my face. And i knew, the only person who would really understand that smile was me from 10 years ago. I wanted to go tell her, look, we did it! Just stood there for a while, drinking it all in. For the first time, i wanted a photograph on my blog. Something to say i was here. Did a quick scan and realized about half of them were SF. Of course at this stage of my addition, what surprised me was that half of them were not.

I just hope that somewhere, me at the fag end of my 30s is dancing with excitement, wishing she could come and tell me the same. Which would be really something, because now, where are the dreams?

Will my world ever come around?

My first time was an accident. A friend, her sister and me were supposed to go catch DCH. We met at the theater and found that the tickets had sold out. Now what? Black? I was too chicken to go approach them. My friend, on the other had, had moral or rather parental objections to deal with. (Remember times when the two were the same? Sigh. Simpler times.) But i really badly wanted to see the movie. So she approached them for me, got me a ticket and left. And that is how it came about. Me watching a movie by myself. It felt like such an adventure, i couldnt wait to do it again!

The second time the gang at my old office had decided to watch Catch me if you can. Work came up and I had to ditch at the last minute. They liked it a lot and told me what an idiot i'd been to miss it. So one fine Sunday i took myself to Inox to watch it. But this time, it wasnt fun. The novelty had worn off. Plus, life had a lot more people in it and i kept feeling sorry for myself at having to be there all alone.

That would have been the end of my solo movie watching career if life hadnt decided to go barren again. I really badly wanted to see Jab we met but couldnt find people to go with. By now i'm sure you know how this goes. But the difference was, this time i had a fantastic time! It helped that i liked the movie, it helped that by this time i'd discovered caramel popcorn, it helped that i was highly amused at having bought the last row last seat ticket, but it went beyond that. I felt complete, relieved, free. To unashamedly enjoy the movie, even the cheesiest parts. To laugh out loud. To get lost in the movie without being distracted by the people i'd come with. To cry. (yeah, i do that embarrassingly often. Dont even get Veer Zara anywhere close to me) But the best part? I didnt have to do the walk. The walk from the movie hall to the parking lot. That is a walk so pregnant that one moment is all it takes to give birth to an embarrassing silence. (did i just say that??) A good movie for me is something i live through. For those 3 hours, it is my world. And when we are walking back, i'm somewhere in between the two worlds. A little lost. What words do i use to describe that look, that silly joke or that meaningless gesture that spoke so much to me? We havent really been watching the same movie. Not all movies do that. Crap ones are easier to deal with. You trash the jokes, trash the songs, trash the story and why... there is your trusty two wheeler, your means of escape!

The latest one i did on my own? Dark Knight. This one i wanted to see by myself. Almost everyone i knew had already decided to like the movie and i didnt want to watch it with their expectations. (Coincidentally, Bhai happened to come to the same theater, same show with a friend for his fourth viewing of the movie. Given his strong views on people who watch movies by themselves, it is to his credit that he didnt refuse to recognize me!) The movie? Was OK. I spent the first half mostly obsessing over the popcorn i'd decided to abstain from. Gave in in the interval. Spent the second half alternating between feeling thirsty and guilty. Now tell me, would you have liked to watch it with me?

But will my world ever come around to thinking its okay? To watch a movie by myself. To eat in a restaurant by myself. To cycle to work. Climb trees. Play badminton at "my age". Be stupid. Just be myself, even if that means i dont fit right into the slot the world has created for me.

He's the dude

He was one of those dangerous people who are soft, squidgy and cowlike provided they have what they want. And because he had always had what he wanted, and had seemed easily pleased with it, it had never occurred to anybody that he was anything other than soft, squidgy and cowlike. You would have to push through a lot of soft squidgy bits in order to find a bit that didn't give when you pushed it. That was the bit that all the soft squidgy bits were there to protect.

Douglas Adams, in Dirk Gentlys Holistic Detective Agency

How does he do it? How does he look inside and come out with just the right words? And how come with words like squidy and cowlike, it is still so perfect?

Back to one liners

Bhai sniff Germany sob Higher Studies baaaaaaaaaaaawl.

With problems like these, who needs a life?

So a cat gets into my cupboard today morning. I am awake but trying my best not to make it official when it is discovered, so the details are a bit hazy. I can hear Mom requesting/scolding/threatening/poking it with a very long stick so it comes out. It, on the other hand, is just saying meaow.

Come out, you cat!
Meaow
What is it? Why wont you go? Shoooo!
Meaow
Yenna aachi idhuku? Yen poga maateingarudhu?
Meaow
Come on, i'm poking you with a stick!
Meeeeaow

Dad helpfully shouts out from the bathroom, asking her to give Hindi a shot. Everyone suspects the reason for the stubbornness but none of us wants it to be true. It is sitting on top of lot of my clothes, so the evidence no one wants to see can very easily be not seen. I finally make it official and go say hello to the guest. Dont even look at the stick. Someday i'm going to have to grow up. I can see myself not liking it.

And then we see them. A bunch of kiddie cats, all snug on what would really go well here is something really cool, preferably branded, but since i dont know any names leave alone own anything, lets stick to the truth? something i bought years ago and thankfully dont fit into now. Mom gives up the stick in frustration. She knows when she is beaten, but she doesnt have to like it.

Its happened to us before. More than once. On the terrace, under the stairs, deep inside the under-side of the bed. We've hosted generations of cats mommies. In fact, i bet this one said her meaow world from somewhere within this very place she has come back to call her own. Our house is probably one of those family secrets that are passed down from mother to daughter. Given all that hostory, is it really asking for too much to expect her to pick a spot slightly more conventient for everyone, whats a little discomfort between family friends?

After the initial apprehension, we decide to live and let live. Which is when Bhai brings up the rats. Its all good, i tell him, she may not have to leave the kiddies to go looking for food. But i hope she has been bought up to wash her hands after lunch. Tere kapde kis lie hain, he sniggers.

We set up a watch. The moment the mother leaves to get food, i raid the cupboard and gather enough stuff to last me for ten days. A minute is all it takes. That has to be the fastest i've ever decided on what i'm going to wear. Now as long as the rats have sense enough to stay away, i'm okay.

I can see this becoming one of those stories that every kid from now on is bought up on. One that teaches them about the dangers of un-closed cupboards. Its certainly going to live for ever in my family. But the moral i take off the story? Two, actually. One, dont put all your clothes in one cupboard. In fact, better not put them in any cupboard. Two, have too many clothes. You never know when a needy pregnant cat will come knocking on your cupboard.

Update: She and family left us for the neighbour's stair landing last night. I dont think we'll ever live down the shame.

Subeh ke sapne...

My phone is in silent mode. Which it never is.

It buzzes. Which it never does.

I hear it. Which i never do.

I look at the name on the screen. It says King Khan. Which it never does.

I answer. I hear that irritating Airtel voice that usually tells you to not waste any time in downloading completely "free" ringtones at Rs 6/min. It says - Befirkar rahiye! Is number se aapko call aa hi nahi sakta! [Followed by something that amounts to - so kindly go back to your loser life]. I let the message repeat a couple of times, just to make sure I'm hearing right.

And then the King answers. Only, the voice is yours. Which never happens.

And then I'm awake, a relieved grin on my face. Relieved because this wasn't the weirdest part of the night. No, there were dreams within dreams and when i woke up from one dream into another, i had to decide whether what had just happened was real or just a dream. And if it was real, OH MY DEAR GOD, i had to deal with it.
The grin because i know you wont be flattered.

Words

Its amazing and more than a little shameful how American Television, meaningless in itself, can add so much meaning to a weekend.

Its just plain shameful that all i can come up with these days are one liner posts.

And a little pathetic how i'm trying to make it look like this isnt one of those. Like how we used to fill up exam answer papers with words, hoping they add up to some meaning.

I'm trying to fool myself, knowing very well that i'm trying to fool myself. Does that make me honest or stupid?

Probably both.

Because I think its funny

I shall not code in Perl.

Oops.

All growed up

We, have arrived. We, got rid of a dead rat today. We, are now responsible adults.

Damn.

The long silence

Because sometimes, everything you want to say is unprintable.

Off the wagon

I seem to have fallen into the bad habit of vomiting god-awful first draft of my posts and then spending forever cleaning them up. Its beginning to seem like work. I dont like. The latest theory attributes this obstruction of ahem... literary flow to withdrawal symptoms - I havent touched a book in a while. I should have known i'm not strong enough for cold turkey.

Men at arms, here i come!

An Englishman in New York?

I'm on my way to the gym. The sun is peeping out sleepily from behind the clouds, debating whether to rise or indulge in those two precious minutes of sleep. In spite of myself, my spirits are lifted. The sun is no longer the enemy, the harbinger of morning, the siren for respectable people to be out of bed. It is just one of us, a co-sufferer, someone with unreasonably early work hours. I give it a metaphorical i know, life sucks pat on the back and move on. Up ahead i see this lady and her daughter standing on one side of the road, probably waiting for the school bus. The lady looks up at the rising sun, closes her eyes, bows her head and folds her hands together in prayer.
It should not come as a shock, but it does. At that instant, her motivations, her feelings, her actions seems so alien to me, that thats exactly what i feel like - an alien.
I suppose at some point in our lives all of us have felt it - the disconnect, the separation, this distance from everyone around us. Which is why even those small, meaningless connections you make with random strangers become all the more important. It is why i love watching Tamil movies in Pune. Being surrounded by all those Tamil speaking people, I feel like i belong. Or the reason why i like Chennai more than i logically should. Which is strange because i dont feel at home with the language itself!

P.S. I wanted to write about how every generation tries to find its own ways to deal with this alienation, to find something to belong to. Be it family and society, or rebellion or a caught in the middle generation that seems wants to belong but but is equally afraid of being bound. To anything. But i couldnt write it without seeming that i was a) being pompous and b) making sweeping generalizations.

Tit for tat?

The age old question again. If someone tats you, is it okay to tit back? Should you stoop to conquer? Or should you just stand straight, taking it all like a fool, hoping to shame the tatter into better behaviour? It doesnt work, this nobility. Except of course, in Hindi movies involving the Mahatma. I'm not arguing against his ways, all i'm saying is that they are not very effective when its one individual against the other. But the question still remains. Does the fact that you are reacting excuse the level you have sunk to? Or do the same standards that apply to your actions apply to your reactions?

I dont like questions i have to find my own answers to.

The messiest of them all

You know the person who exists just so that people can look at him and feel happy that their life will never be that bad? My desk at work is that person. With everything that lies on it and underneath, on a typical day at work, I will, at least once:

trip on the mouse wire
kick my CPU shut
go underground in search of the other end of some cable
pull off the network connection

Its a good thing i dont work on the top floor, people there have whole civilizations under their desk! Just looking under makes me feel like i'm "in" AOE.

(Look at the lame name dropping! Once she has played the game, years ago, by herself. But i guess its better that than pretending to be on first names terms with CS, after months of nothing but second hand association. And anyway, who plays these games nowadays?)

One and a half green bottles...

Know what i've realized after a shamefully large number of years of existence? I suck at keeping in touch. I know, its kind of like "discovering" in the 11th standard that you are left handed, its not like life didnt give you enough opportunities to find out. But thats just it, i think life didnt. Being the kind of person who does more of her talking in her head, even if people have moved out of my life's current window, they are very much a part of it inside. So if you ask me, i'll never admit to being out of touch. Plus, there has always been a current set that takes care of life outside my head.
What then lead me to the realization of left handedness? Remember that 10 green bottles standing on a wall rhyme? Well, it looks like someone seems to be very systematically playing that game with the people in my life. People are "accidentally" falling off. Not anything new, but in the past one green bottle would always be replaced by another. Different, to be sure. but essentially it would still be a green bottle. Now for variety of reasons the replacements have stopped. Or rather, just gotten bizarre. Sometimes there is just a bottle cap where a bottle should be. Sometimes its a green eyed bug. And empty space, lots of that too. And some that i know are green bottles, even though they dont look much like one right now, if i could just get it together to work on them a bit. I could of course go pick up the fallen bottles, none of whom, touch wood, have actually broken because of the fall. Which is when i realize how much hard work that seems like, how used i have got to drifting through life, to taking whatever it gives, to not sticking my hand out and asking for more.

Dark cloud. Black lining.

I complained about having to pay income tax, until i met a man with no income.

Look at the bright side, i told him, at least you dont have to file your returns.

Yes, the last day has come. Once again, having settled on do it yourself, i have not done it myself yet.

Work this week

1. N.O. No. Its just a two letter word. Say it. Seriously, how hard can it be?

2. Seeing what i might grow into, i all the more absolutely do not want to grow up.

To the universe in general: Stop with the signs already! Such obvious ones they are too. I'm not blind, you know. Whatever happened to subtlety, to hidden messages that people had to actually work to get to? I dont even like that book all that much.

Lessons for the day

When you are going on a trip:

Do. Not. Kill the one who says 5 minutes and takes 25. Do. Not. Kill the one who ditches early in the morning. A fine fool you'll look like when you find out later that he did it for excellent reasons. Do. Not. Kill the one who calls up when you are waiting on the road for 5 minutes to turn into 25 and asks - jaana hai kya aaj? Do. Not. Kill the one whose mood takes over early in the morning and decides no one is going anywhere. He will fight it and he will win. Do. Not. Kill the one who goes to sleep 4 hours before you are supposed to leave. Do. Not. Kill the one who thinks coffee is a good idea just 2 minutes before you reach to pick him up.

Cause then it would be just you, another punctual fool and the driver. Much fun that would be. Also because no matter how badly it all begins, the day makes up for it. Many times over.

You could of course kill the oaf who dropped the camera. You might want to find out, as an academic exercise, if that would be murder or suicide.

MPD

Guess who bangs her foot against the door and then apologizes to the foot?

Me. Or should it be We?

Its only just begun

A few months ago, one of my talks to myself:
You can either watch what you eat OR watch your toes disappear under your belly.
And you HAVE to choose. So quit moaning, pick a side and get your a** off the fence.

(Yeah i'm pretty curt to me. And rude. I dont like it, but what to do?)

And for once, i actually listened. Decided i couldnt bear the separation from my toes. Joined a gym. Watched what i ate. When i ate. How much i ate. Lost a ton. Just like that. Leaving me to wonder what i'd done so wrong on all those previous attempts.

Now that i'm off the hook, now that the vigil can be relaxed, do you think i breathe easy? Hah. Like i think i've said before, i dont do grey well. I can say no to everything. I can eat only desserts for lunch. But in between? When i actually have a choice? It feels like whichever side i pick, i lose. Plus, the whole decision making process is so arbitrary, i'll go in determined on one thing and the next second be doing the exact opposite. So when i go out to eat, there is no saying who will be dining: will it be Dr Jekyll nibbling on his salad or will Mr Hyde polishing off the plates.

P.S. Yes, i am properly ashamed of caring enough to have gone through it all. But boy, does it feel good!

I think i may have found love

Science fiction section at Landmark. On a weekday. An immensely fulfilling i could die right now feeling slowly spreads through me. Not to be confused with the more familiar i wish i was dead feeling.
Philip K Dick, Ursula Le Guin, Orson Scott Card, God bless you all.

Now reading: The Manticore's Secret. Very good. Although it did seem like the end came because he ran out of pages. My favourite part is the one with the Unwaba. And the third one is called The Unwaba Revelations! I'm torn between the lure of instant gratification and the rewards of patience.

A few of my favourite things

Its my favourite place in the world. Okay, in Pune, but for a frog in the well like me, its really the same thing. A bridge on a river that runs behind my house, whose name i know with a probability of half (there being only two rivers in Pune...). A graveyard on one bank, grass gone wild on the other. Grey, slow moving water. Home to some aquatic forms, but more prominently to plastic bags, dried flowers and other assorted waste generously contributed by the masses. And of course the accompanying stench. Serving as bathroom cum dhobi ghat for the surrounding settlements.

Yeah, thats what you'd see.

What I see (because very cleverly, i go only after the sun has set, when it is too dark for the water to look grey) are the bright city lights lighting up the water. A solitary boatman on his boat. Random flashes of some fish. The coolest wind in my hair, no sign of no stench. Stars so near, i can reach out and touch them. The feel of the bridge as it shakes a little when a bus goes by. And if i'm lucky, a train goes by on the twin railway bridge, light and dark, light and dark, all faithfully reflected in the water below.

In case you think i've lost it. I took a bunch of cousins there last weekend. And they saw what i saw. Except that the young ones were convinced the end of the word had come every time a bus went by.

My second favourite place in the world. A tiny stone wall running by a tree on the main road, with a top is so low and so flat, its more like a bench. I can sit there for hours, listening to songs, watching the world go by. The only distractions being travellers who stop by for a "break". (A wall by the road. And trees. What do you expect?)

As i made my way to the second one yesterday, everything looked new. And green. I couldnt find the damn bench! I walked on for a few seconds with a totally melodramatic expression on my face, this cant be happening, this cant be happening looping in my head. Then just like that i remembered this Monty Python sketch, which i often think is the most brilliant way of saying life goes on. And i had to smile. Suddenly, it didnt matter.

I walked on, revelling in the glorious weather. Up ahead there was this guy lying on his bike, looking up at the sky. Please dont be on the phone, please dont be on the phone, in my head again, but the idiot was. Should have pushed him off and taken over.

P.S. Another one exits. I take solace in Monty Python. And to her i say, shine on, you crazy diamond!
And lets try and make it to that movie this weekend?

Supposedly, i dont watch TV

How could they? After these masterpieces, how could Tata Indicom make/approve/telecast that ad of theirs? Damn, I wish i could find the video somewhere. If you havent seen it, it shows a husband who feels lost in his own home because his wife has gone to her maika. He keeps calling her up, mere shoes kidhar hai, toothbrush kidhar hai, doodh kitna daloon (okay, maybe not in that order, but you get the picture). Its like being caught in a roadside version of some designer dress at a party where the birthday girl is in the original.

If thats what your phone does, encourage such idiocy, maybe the best thing to do is to hit you on the head with it. Even without the Airtel ads for comparison, this one is (at least) 20 years too late.

P.S. Look at the number of posts! Looks like i'm suffering from written diarrhoea.

Introducing...

So i graduated into qualifying for a laptop at work. It was something i'd been secretly expecting. I'd catch myself dreaming, while lazing on the bean bags kept at the library, of some day having a laptop that would set me free. To work from a bean bag. Or a sofa, shoes off, feet up. To lie in some corner, transcribing the millions of posts coarsing through my veins. Even so, when i was called and told, here, its yours, i wanted to yawp and turn cartwheels. Of course, since i was at work, i had to content myself with a few discrete jumps in the loo.
At home, it means we have now become a one-computing-device-per-head family. Before you look down upon this extravagance and shake you head, remember the days when we used to snigger at families with one two-wheeler per head? And those with one phone per head? Its blowing in the wind, this is, and soon it will get to you too. Me Aunt says its the fastest way to bring about world peace. I agree.
I love my laptop (think i should give it a name? Laptop is too formal, lappie sounds like a dog) even though it hasnt exactly set me free. I havent figured out the wireless connection yet. The damn thing only connects to open wireless networks, which, considering where i work, would be like a night watchman leaving his home unlocked at night. As of now, i've been treating it as a giant pen drive, lugging stuff from office to home and back. Someday, it will change my life.

My claim to fame

I watched Batman Begins with a bat in the room. Beat that.

(A bat, which earlier in the day, was christened Chamgu by a cousin. He got so excited when he spotted the bat, he ran after it yelling, chamgadhad, chamgadhad. Everyone thought he was making up the name.)

Keeping the faith

Warning:

Offence intended = NONE
If Offence taken != NONE
Give it back. Its mine.

Most people find it in religion. Some in drink. Me, i find my escape in American television. It can absorb me to the exclusion of everything else. It can show such miserably complicated lives that i come off feeling grateful for mine.

The only time it lets me down is this season break thing. Whoever heard of God taking a break?? Especially on a year when He has already gone on a strike? Unfair, i tell you. I would have switched loyalties, only i've heard God doesnt do Internet.

Its the Monday talking

Why the %$#@ do all questions end up in what do you want from life? And if you havent figured that one out yet, well then, you should be indifferent to whatever life throws at you. In between, where you want something but dont know what that is, in betwwen lies hell.

The God of Small Things

Eshtapappychachen Kuttapen Peter Mon

The name has been ricocheting off the walls of my head since yesterday, each time with a different first name.

Rajupappychachen Kuttapen Peter Mon

Channapappychachen Kuttapen Peter Mon

Its funny, how well it goes with the names it meets off the walls of my head.

I dont want them to end. Estha, Rahel, Ammu, Chacko. Every morning, amidst all the chaos, i sneak into their world. And come out only when my folks very conscientiously pull me out and kick me off to work. I dont think i've felt this way about a book in a while. And inappropriate though it is, almost every page reminds me of To Kill a Mockingbird. I get the same wistful feeling i did when i read that one. Of wanting to go back to my childhood, as an invisible, adult, observer, as the omnipresent narrator of my story.

She warns you, oh she warns you on every page that its all going to end badly. And yet, even that cannot stop life, and the love for it, from seeping though. Small victories of small people need not fade away in the face of war, she shows. They can be scooped up and scattered in a book about war, such that they become bigger than the war.

P.S. At some point, it occurred to me that i could do this as a book review. And a much later point, it occurred to me that i havent actually finished the book.

Flashback

In case anyone is wondering what brought about this sudden spate in posts.
Flashback to what i started to write a few weeks ago

Its not that i dont have things to write about. I have about 300 posts in various stages, some swimming in my head, some on paper, some as saved drafts. (okay, 7 or 8 of them, if you want me to be precise). But this immense cloud of laziness seems to have enveloped my world and all it allows me to do is work, eat and sleep. Time seems to pass without too much effort on my part. Its only that stupid voice in my head that wont shutup and still makes up lists of things i should be doing. No, scratch that, even the voice in my head isnt the list making kind. It just randomly throws at me things that i could/should/must/ABSOLUTELY MUST be doing, none of which i catch, all of which fall on the floor, making a big mess, in the middle of which, i calmly exist and continue to do nothing.

I need to bootstrap myself out of this state. And so, with you as witness, O mighty Internet, i solemnly swear to

And i left it at that. Because, life in the past months has tried its best to teach me that there is a time and place for everything, even for the truth. So i decided to postpone the swearing until i was reasonably sure i was out of the slump. And whatdoyouknow, even stuff that you scribble on Notepad and leave lying around in some forgotten corner of you PC, can do magic.

World wide web?

Sometimes, people you meet out of sheer chance (or as Wodehouse would say, concatenation of circumstances) come back later to save you life. Same with some seemingly insignificant thing you overhear. Almost makes you believe someone up there is connecting the dots!*
It is beautiful, yeah. But for me this glass is half empty. Something like this always leaves me wondering about the ones that go unconnected and the big pattern i am missing out on as a result.

*No, i'm not trying to say everything happens for a reason. Yuck, no.

Too many cooks, and you can forget about the broth

Enough is enough, Shyam thought. A king you may be, but there is, or at least should be, a limit on the arbitrariness you are allowed. Someone had to do something. But that was such a general sentiment, more often than not degenerating into no one doing anything. He would be that someone, he decided. He would put an end to it.

By he of course, he meant they. But Ratan was so much a part of his life, it was the same thing really. The two friends discussed opportunity, discussed strategy, discussed execution. As a plan began to take shape, they felt the excitement grow. Oh, this is going to be good, they thought. If things went according to plan, what they were going to start could well turn into a revolution! They would be the leaders, the liberators, they would be hope.

Their plan, they realized after a few days, would have a much better chance of success if Sundar was a part of it. Sundar supported them in principle, but was afraid for his skin. He told them he'd feel much better about the whole thing if Parth was also involved. Parth thought there was a part of the plan that only Karan could handle. Karan thought roping in Bali was a good idea. Bali refused to come unless his wife was there to see him off. His wife was at her mother's, comforting her sister whose favourite cow was having calving troubles.

So their glorious revolution waited, waited for the cow to feel better.

Moral of the story: Sometimes, screw it, lets do it is the way to go.

Notes to self: Listen to yourself. Sometimes, you talk sense.

Donts and dos

I don't want to grow up.
I don't want to be all responsible.
I don't want to be the fixer.
I don't want to be the safety net.
I don't want to be the goto person.
I don't want to inspire.
I don't want to hold your hand when you learn to walk.
I don't want to pick you up when you stumble and fall.
I don't want to look at you with pride when you learn to run and then to fly.
I don't want you to look up to me as i look up to the ones before me.

Only, i so do.

Beach bum

5 stolen minutes out of a hectic, one day trip to Goa. She sits on the beach, looking out at the sea. Wondering, as always, why she loves it so. She knows it is not a remanent of childhood love, when being on the beach meant playing in water and collecting shells. It has withstood the test of time. It is no longer what she does at the beach, it is what the beach does to her. It heightens her sense of loneliness, but in a way that makes her feel complete, like that was how it was meant to be. The world fades away, its just her and the roar of the waves. And peace.
The constant questioning, this search for motive, she realizes as she leaves to catch a bus back home, makes not one bit of difference to the way the beach makes her feel. In spite of all the unanswered questions, she leaves satisfied.

NetWorking

Dad is back early from his walk He rushes straight in, slightly breathless, and asks - Aa gaya? No, i shake my head. Mom pretends indifference, but every now and then peeks out of the kitchen to check. Brother refuses to come home at all, which is just as well. Who wants to watch a fish out of water? They all look to me, with a glance part hopeful, part accusing, . What use is her education, they ask themselves, if she cant even get the Internet to work?

O mighty powers at BSNL, kindly snap your fingers and get the Net working. This is not just about me justifying the space i occupy on this planet, it is about our connection to the rest of the world, and maybe, even to each other.

P.S. If you know the preferred DNS of you ISP by heart, it is probably time you changed your ISP.

Revelation

Having had to debug my cousin's bubble sort* program to figure out why it was not working, and by debug i mean set up watches on variables and execute one step at a time, something tells me that whatever i eventually die of, it will not be of shame.

* Non geeks: Bubble sort is like the Hello World of C programs.

Fit and fine

Of what use is fitness, i ask you, if all it means is that where previously you'd start huffing and panting after half a round, you now need one round just to warm up? You end up working that much harder just to make a difference.

(The voice in my head: Faker! If you want to brag about something, the least you can do is be honest about it!)

A little bit of random: An optical emergency. Again. As i try to slip on my specs the morning, the lens slips and falls. Of my last surviving pair. The whole family rummages through my past and comes up with:
1. a pair of intact lenses that may or may not have at some point in time resided in the same frame
2. a pair of prehistoric but otherwise complete specs. (Soda petti glasses, thick maroon frame that goes on and on till the bottom of my nose, ones i wouldn't be caught dead in, you know the type)

So i wear the prehistoric ones and go to the optician. Very little chance of me dying on my way there, except maybe of embarrassment. I hand over the lenses mentioned in 1. and plead with him to find their Cinderella. He sees the desperation on my face and starts looking. A couple of dozen lenses later, he's found her! And even though she looks more like one of the ugly sisters, who cares as long as the shoe fits! Me and the shiny greenish blue specs go to work and thus the day is saved.
Its D-day+1, and touchwood, the wearer and specs are doing well.

Pour salt on wound. Rub.

Two kids playing holi accidentally splash you with their water balloon. And then run after a dripping wet you yelling - Sorry Aunty, sorry Aunty.

Like Monu says, i suppose i should be glad it isnt bhaisaab.

The art of selling

I bought shoes. For 4K+. Its all towards developing my new hobby, i console myself. On the surface of it, it should seem quite impossible to see how a salesman can offload a pair of shoes on someone like me for money like that. But study the psychology of the individual, and it’s a simple 5 step thing.

Step 1: Sigh at my foot size.
(Me to myself: Yeah, i know. Please have something in my size. Please. Anything)

Step 2: Ask me my budget and show me shoes more than slightly above my limit. Make me fall in love with them. Okay, so i don’t fall in love with shoes. Make me comfortable with the idea of living with them.
(Me to myself: They are quite hideous. And white too. But really, are looks what i'm looking for in a shoe? They do feel nice. )

Step 3: Tell me what they cost.
(Me to myself: Damn! No way. Damn you, you direct descendent of Satan. Why did you tell me this after i got used to them?)

Step 4: Show me shoes within my budget. Rest assured, you have already spoiled them for me.
(Me to myself: These are okay. But there must be a reason why they cost less. What is my limit after all? Isn’t it just an arbitrary number I came up with? Wouldn’t it be stupid if I was stuck with the wrong shoes just because I was unwilling to change?)

Step 5: Praise the first pair. Tell me they are the answer to all my problems. Tell me they prevent back pain (got that, check), knee pain (check) heel pain (check. OMG, he is in my head!). Also tell me they cure all of the above if I already have them. At this point, I’ll believe you if you tell me they bring about world peace.

And you’re home.

I Think (therefore) I'm Back

I'm back. I think. At least for this post. That, i think it is safe to say, was the longest i went without a posting. No particular reason, just that stuff that would have seemed bloggable earlier didnt seem worth the effort. Not that they seem worth the effort now, but there is only so long you can keep a blog alive on life support, before it is declared dead. And i dont want it to die.

So, since i dont have one earth shattering to say, i thought i'd combine a few earth nudging things and hope the whole is greater than the sum of the parts.

I've been on a major science fiction/fantasy trip, reading wise. Asimov of course, Arthur Clarke, Orson Scott Card (cant recommend Ender's Game and Speaker for the Dead enough!), Frank Herbert, Samit Basu and of course Terry Pratchett. I think i've whined about how i've become too lazy to invest in a new author. Looks like i've found an escape route. I am reading new people, but without much risk of wasted effort. Because though the end of these books usually disappoint, the journey is well worth it.

And i've developed a new hobby. I usually snigger at people who call it a hobby, but looking at how much i enjoy going to the gym, i dont know what else to call it. For almost 2 months now, I've been voluntarily waking up for at 6.30 AM 6 days a week to go exercise. You can tell. cant you, that i'm somewhat ashamedly proud of it?

What else? Oh yeah, i've run out of music to listen to. Kaushik suggested i give the Beatles a shot and i am. If anyone is reading this and has anything to suggest, i'm all ears. But please, no screaming. In the song, i mean.

Thats it? All i have to show for over a month of my life are two paragraphs and a request? See, this is why i have to post more often. I may be writing about dogs in the parking lot, but at this stage i'll settle for quantity over nothing at all.


P.S. I've decided to try and cut down on the exclamations. I have been using way too many of them,. Terry doesnt seem to approve.

To Kerala and back

(This post has been lying around for weeks, waiting for an introduction. Feeling too lazy, so kindly consider the post introduced.)

Kerala!!! Yes! I went on a vacation. A totally unnecessary, unjustifiable trip to coconut country! Or as my friend has named it, cheta land. Home to my true love, banana chips. Where a house doesn't become home until it is pained orange. Or green. Or purple. Preferably all of the above. And where buses present a strange paradox. You see one thundering down the road in defiance of all rules and boundaries and also some laws of physics, and you will, not a little fearfully, move out of its way muttering size does matter. How the driver of the monstrosity gets it to snake through traffic almost making you believe you were watching a long haired youth showing off his shiny yellow bike, i'll never know. (Disclaimer: The last two may be specific to Kozhikode, my host city.) On the plus side, the city has a domestic airport that puts all other airports i've seen, including mumbai international airport to utter shame. (Not that i've seen that many. This was the second flight of my life. The first one was also to kerala. What is it with me and that place? Wonder if I was a coconut tree in my last janam. Or maybe, i was God) I got to stay in an unbelievably beautiful campus. "i voluntarily woke up at 6 a.m on a vacation to walk around" beautiful.
I got to act as the guide. Or the navigator. Or whatever it is you call the person who asks people on the road for directions. Not that i would have done it voluntarily, but however fraud a tamilian i may be, i was still the best they had to connect with the locals.
We went to a waterfall and a beach! I can still hear the buffalo in me moo in content. We drove around 200 kms (okay, okay, he drove, but we all made sure he didnt fall asleep) to get to the fall. It had the perfect amount of water, enough for you to get close to the water and not get washed away. This guard with very a strange gender bias wouldn't let me get close to the water while all boys were allowed. We carried out an argument for a while, me whining in Tamil and him shooing me off in Malayalam. Finally, i gave up and sat down on some rocks. And re-learnt one of life's great lessons. It only stops those who let it. Every person who went passed him was told not to go on, but the only one who listened and stayed back was me. So, when he wasnt looking, i leaped ahead and gave him an apologetic grin. Which he returned!
On the way back, car sickness struck as usual and so i sat in the front seat. I'd taken some medicine, the thing worked like a charm. It knocked me off so bad that i had to be shaken awake when we reached campus.
A wonderful, if somewhat short vacation that left me thoroughly campus sick and grateful that ex-colleagues could continue to be friends across time and space.

Nero

Rome burns while i play the fool.

Whats worse, i've sort of learnt to live with the smell.