Ooh, look what 2011 is doing!

Its just the second month and i've already taken two leaves. Both last minute oh-i-wont-be-coming-tomorrow leaves, which is not so good. But neither of them were oh-i-am-too-bored-to-get-out-of-bed, which rocks! If you dont get why i am jumping about this, i present to you my 2010. In which i must have taken, oh, 3 leaves? 2 of them because i was bored.

So, yes, 2011. Keep up the good work! And try not to make a philanthropist who donates all her leaves to the office charity out of me, yeah?

Yes, again!

(To post something, anything, in the hope that it will over-shadow what in the light of the day seems an embarrassingly naive outburst from yesterday.
Umm. I really should stop writing SoPs for my posts.)

So. We were kidding about existential crises the other day (i dont remember the context, but it could have been about how the product builder couldnt build the product anymore and imagine the size of that e-crisis) and i got to wondering about the things in my life that should be going through the e-crisis.

1. my phone
On my birthday a couple of days ago, i got more calls than i get throughout the year. That might actually be true, modulo telemarketing and what time are you coming home calls. I dont organize using my phone, i dont make calls, i cant dont surf. So basically, its a Rs 10,000 alarm clock. That, thanks to my brothers constant yelling, i now have by my side at all times. People selling insurance can get to me at any time of the day. How they must love me, the telemarketers. Also,
Oh how blind that love must be
As to most of them
I still am
Mr. Vinaya N.

2. my orkut account
If it cannot connect me to my social network, if it cannot warn me of approaching birthdays, if it cannot show me baby pictures or trip pictures or home pictures, really, why does it exist?

3. My weekends
Weekdays are easy. Weekdays have structure, they have purpose. Weekdays are when we are animals, doing what we are programmed to do - providing food. Weekends are when we get to be human, when we get to rise above our programming and do what we want to do (unless you are one of those who are providing for their food by doing what they want to do, in which case, bye, i dont want to talk to you).
There was a time when not having a structure to the weekend used to be enough. Not anymore. There was a time when entertainment used to be enough. Not anymore. So, what is it that i want to do, what makes me human? *shrug*

4. The adult inside of me
Inspite of fast approaching ages that need 6 bits to be expressed, i do things like taking a mug shot with the wafer on my birthday cake as the name plate. (Trust me, it sounds funnier than it looks. Its got me in profile, not something recommended for those of delicate composition). I regularly skip while getting down stairs. I got a Tintin DVD set as a birthday gift. I absolutely dont mind playing hide and seek with kids. And you better not get caught with me near a construction site with sand that can be jumped upon... All of which would have been fine, well, weird but fine, if i had also taken on some of the responsibilities of being an adult. No thank you, i say, when adulthood beckons with the promise of freedom. 9 cases out of 10, i am happy to be led. It is that one case, however, that might end up making an adult out of me.

We interrupt our regular broadcast of silence to bring to you a realization

(Seriously. Its been so long my browser has forgotten the address of my blog.)

Remember the story of the rakshas who had his jaan in a tota? And how to get to the parrot you had to cross seven seas and climb seven mountains and break seven cages and stuff? Well, i realized today that if you put your jaan in a tota, you have no choice but to imprison the poor thing! You cant tell it to fly free and then worry yourself sick every time you hear, or dont hear, the flapping of wings. So think before you do any such thing. Its not fair on you, its not fair on the tota!

Road trip

There is this bachcha in the office see, and i'd been eyeing his cycle for a while now. Today, during our customary post lunch walk, one thing led to another and by the time we were back on our floor, we had exchanged keys, him and I. I was to cycle my 11 kms, my bike would take him his 12. After which, he asked me 10 times if i was sure knew what i was doing. I asked him 15.
I left work "early" (it was already dark outside, so really, there was no point to the early), went to the parking lot and then realized i didnt know which cycle was his. I called up all people that were not him to see if anyone knew. I was advised to take whichever cycle opened with the key. The first one i tried opened and i was off! Some distance later, when i tried playing with the gears i saw that the gears were only one side of the bike. Now, i'll be the first to admit my memory has somewhat disintegrated with age, but i was reasonably sure the last time i was on his cycle, there were gears on both sides. I looked at the gearless handle to see if there was any way the gears could have fallen off. Finally, i stuffed by ego and called him up. He laughed, told me his was a Firefox, told me to hurry back in case the police were already there to solve the case of the missing cycle.
A swap later, i was off on the right bike. My dabba bag hanging on the handle and my "purse" twisted all around my neck so that i could get to my phone and change radio stations. 'Cause you know, what is a road trip without music?

Yeh jo des hai tera

By the time it ended i was on the main road and sorely missing the mirrors.

Rukumani rukumani...

It is Rehman's birthday today and all radio stations were going nuts. Which meant the songs would be okay. I came to the Symbiosys hill slope and almost died. Once on the other side, i couldnt believe the song i was hearing! On my bike, i would have sung along at the top of my voice but now, i did the best i could.

Tu ek resham puff dor pant
Teri chal damn ashiq pant uff
Teri zulf ghani

I crossed the big University signal and a bus crossed me. It was all downhill from there.

Ajj din chadheyaa

A little ahead, i crossed the bus.

Hamma hamma

The bus again! And it came to me, a flash of knowledge from a long forgotten era, there was a time when i knew what nuisances buses were, as surely as i knew the sky looked blue. What else had i lost to the years, it made me wonder.

Muquabala Muquabala

Seriously?? Picasso ki painting mera peecha pakad ke??

Aaha! Almost home.

Roo-ba-roo, Roshni.

Well, that wasnt so bad.

Chinnamma chillakamma

I'll stop with a story that song reminds me of. Long long ago, in a age when i used to go on trips, we were on one in Matheran. And my friend, in what i can now with confidence say was an attempt to flatter, called my other friend a chipkali (lizard). On investigation, it was discovered that he meant to call her a titly (butterfly). We spent a lot of the time on the slopes of Matheran (seriously, have you met a more boring hill station??) singing Chipkali daboch li maine. Eww. It seems to have worked however, since him and her are now happily married and leaving no continent untouched!

Its been a while

And its the end of the year. Usually around this time i pop up to wax cynical. This year too, that was what i was going to do. But it is also the end of the decade! And that is special!

Because evolution gave us 10 fingers! Ha!

I dont know, maybe it is. When i look back at me in the year 2000, i see a little girl in a little college, very confident that she knew nothing anyone would pay her to do. Not just that one, i can now stand here and laugh indulgently at almost all of her fears and doubts and questions. Not because i am an over achiever, but because i was rather a dork back then. This doesnt mean that i am now doubtless, questionless or fearless. Its just that now I struggle with a different working set of doubts, fears and questions. What hasnt changed is my strategy of dealing with them - one learns to swim when pushed into water. At the end of the next decade, i hope i am laughing indulgently at me, and ready with the next working set!

And now onto some random.

I finally started on the Wheel of Time series. If i'd known the series is called WoT, i might have started it earlier. I'd bought the second book in the series more than a couple of years ago but hadnt touched it, waiting for the first one. The library to the rescue! Its a good book, even though it drags a bit. I also got to meet the tropes of epic fantasy writing - unlikely heroes, get separated, make long journeys where not much happens, ridiculous odds and the Dark Lord - sound familiar? Still, thoroughly enjoyable. I'm fondly fingering the second one now, wondering if my infatuation will carry me through its 600 odd pages.

I fell flat on the road. Carrying two bags and a laptop. For no reason at all.

My teeth have been aching for attention. They were the only part of my body that had withstood the ravages of age. Sigh. Each member of my family has their own dentist and so, i have 3 to pick from. Gah. I hate choices. I have picked the least convenient of them three.

I (well, we) made mocktails! At the mocktail making competition. As part of new year celebrations in the office. And won a consolation chocolate. And realized that i might actually enjoy organizing games more than playing them. The fact that we got disqualified in all the games it was possible to get disqualified in might have something to do with that realization.

Its idiotically cold, my city. The coldest it has been in 20 years, they say. On most days i still manage to get myself out by 6.30 and in the gym by 7. Except for my weekly bunk, which can fall on any day of the week, sometimes two. The gym, surprisingly, is not not boring. Yet. At the end, this one instructor asks us to hold our hands behind, bow down and thank the Almighty for giving you such a beautiful life. One of these days the Ennhh in my head is going to escape.


Edited to add: I donated to Wikipedia! Not much, the minimum only, didnt even come to a thousand. And felt like a hero! I inspired one other to donate, and felt like the hero's sidekick! I also caused another to pause and think about donating. I felt like the stranger in a movie who makes a random comment that changes everything!

I wasnt going to write about this, because like big phillum stars, i dont believe in talking about all the good in the world i do. But Wikipedia is still short of donations so i thought i should give it a shot. If like me, you usually read their message and move on, classifying it as Someone Elses Problem, do pause and consider. I dont think i know anyone who cant afford a thousand rupees. And i'm sure we all agree that the world would be a better place without Jimmy Wales face staring out of Wikipedia!

"I think" this will help

in what you are trying so hard to feel - senti. Thats not why i'm saying it though. Ahem. Here goes.

People are leaving. I dont like it.

Talks

I heard myself speak for the first time today. As part of a recording for a presentation that has been plagued by bad luck of epidemic proportions. I sounded like a child! Why no one has ever told me that, i dont know. With a tinge of Maharashtrian accent*, if anything. Very surreal, the whole hearing oneself speak thing. There was nothing at all in the recording to tell me that it was me speaking. A little bit like when you sometimes look into the mirror and dont recognize what you see.

Presentations. Sigh. I wonder if i'll ever get used to them. Takes me about 4 times the time it should take to prepare. Like Calvin here, it takes me an hour before i'm done griping. Then another hour of getting scared. Then i meander through the material, mostly keeping off the main road, getting lost in the lanes, some of which lead to other universes where the audience is very interested in some personal anecdote precariously connected to the presentation material. Finally, when its just about too late, i gather up whatever thoughts are closest and go talk.

The end result is not as bad as it used to be a long time ago, but its all magic to me, really, because i dont seem to have learnt anything about how to get there.



* Which doesnt mean much, other than the very obvious fact that i absorb the stuff around me. A few days ago, i invented a litmus test for determining the place you belong to. Famous people of whichever place make you feel a teeny bit more irrationally proud of their achievement than the rest, that is where you belong. If someone from Pune (or Maharashtra) achieves something - i feel nothing irrational, though i've lived here practically all my life. But talk about Rehman or Hariharan or V Anand or (you were waiting for Rajnikant, werent you? Ha!) and there it is! The feeling of a tiny bit of their glory being reflected off me.
Idiots from everywhere though, I treat the same.

Zarin made me want to write, with this post of hers. She has taken really good care of the celebrations, what i'd like to get into is the treasure hunt part.
Long long ago when i was at Persistent, some people had organized a treasure hunt as one of the games in a week long celebration of something i dont remember. (Pooja? Harsh, if you ever wander here by mistake?). Though i sucked at it, i really liked the whole idea. So last year when we were to have our annual Diwali thing, i thought i could try that here. With Zarin and Mohsin getting involved, we pulled off a pretty good hunt, i think. Naturally, we repeated the exact same this year too. Minus Mohsin, either because he figured his demotivation (thats what he claims to be there for) was not motivating enough, or because it worked too well on him.

The game in short. There are teams. We give them one clue at a time. Each clue leads them to some place in the office building, where they find a chit of paper with a number written on it. They come and tell us the number and we give them the next clue. First team to get all the clues wins.

The unimaginably stupid thing we did last year essentially boiled down to this: We gave people chits with questions written on the front and answers written on the back! Yes. Fortunately, it wasnt that obvious. Only one team realized it half way through (and made full use of it).

The clues this time:

1.




The easiest (in hindsight. When we are coming up with the clues, we have NO idea how easy/tough/confusing it is going to be).

The Answer: The VoIP phone in the conference room on Alpha (the first floor). Thankfully we found an acceptable image for P :D

The story: We were hanging around in office late Tuesday, waiting for it to be deserted but that was not to be. So we took our chit to Kumar the office boy, no, the office man Friday and asked him to stick it in the conference room. He went in and then realized someone was actually using the conference room. He very casually picked up some random notebook and a tea cup lying on the table and stuck the chit under the table on his way out! The resourcefulness of that man, i tell you. Also, i went in to double check on the chit early Wednesday morning. He had hidden it so well, i couldnt find it!


2. बेहरा कौन


My favourite!

The answer: Oh you want a clue? Translate the first word.

Done?

Yup. Defcon!


The story: Not too many teams got this one without the clue. The best part was explaining the clue to this guy, who represents us at Defcon every year and whose desk the clue led to!

This is me helping some team get to the place:

Me: translate the first word
Some team member: Dumb?
Me: (wanting to him STM then remembering that when i'd originally made up the clue it was goonga kaun until Zarin saved me by correcting it) no no
STM: Mute?
Me: (shakes head)
STM: Deaf?
Me: Now join the two

It doesnt make any sense to STM. He gives up. But i dont.

Me: Come on. Just translate the first half.
STM: Beh? Beh?? Forget it, i'll talk to my team members.
Me: Noooooo dont go!

Yeah, when i set out to help help an old man cross the road, he is sure as hell going to cross the road.


3. Neil Armstrong, Yuri Gagarin, Hillary and Tensing, ???, Shantanu


The Answer: This person from our office who had biked to Leh Laddakh this year.

The story: Not much. Almost everyone got it. Shantanu, who had gone up to Everest base camp, was Zarin's brilliant addition (even though he had left much before she joined). It got the focus from space to our office.


4.



My second favourite, and the one that caused most confusion!

The Answer: No, not the second floor. The conference room where we hold all our Beta upgrades.


The story: Every chit has a number for our convenience only. Since this chit had just one symbol, the number (52) suddenly became very conspicuous. Everyone assumed it pointed to some location on the floor. My desk was ransacked because it was number 252. There was a tiny slip of paper on my desk with a 10 digit number written on it that people assumed must be the thing. I have no idea how it got there. No really. I only wish i was that devious. Others called up extension 52 which happened to belong to one of three people in office at that time who were at their desk. A laptop with asset number 52 was thoroughly dissected.


5.




The answer: Net inside the office i.e. the table tennis table.

The story: This was the first clue to get cracked. That team, despite repeated instructions to not disturb the chit, tore it off and got it along to proudly display to one and all. Of course we sent them back. After that, not too many people got it.

6. Denmark @ office

The one that no one got!

The answer: Clue? That place in office that keeps going under water. Yeah, the parking lot.

The story: At one point, 3 teams were stuck at this clue. Firstly, apparently, water is not the first thing people think of when you say Denmark. Its milk or chocolates or even people from the office who have recently been there. Oops. Secondly, there are three or four things that go under water. Thirdly, the chit in the parking lot was very well hidden.



Who knew i'd enjoy making people run around so much! If the 10 year younger me could have seen me that day, she would have simply stood in open mouthed amazement - I was telling an office full of people what they should be doing! She'd also be appalled at my inability to speak more than two sentences in English. If the 15 year younger me could have seen me though, she'd understand. She was used to hearding a society full of children into the chosen game of the day.

Turbulence

This guy comes to town to launch his book. I'm undecided about whether or not to buy it. He reads out a passage. I end up buying two.

The book being marketed, Turbulence, is on display everywhere. I pick up a copy to get it signed. I'm wondering if i have to buy it first. According to the insides of my head, its a big loophole in their system - what if i get it scribbled on and then not buy it? Apparently they dont care. I loiter around him. He notices and asks if i'm waiting for... I nod and hand over the book. He writes my name and starts to draw something, possibly to give me time to say something. I focus my everything on the drawing, like i'd driven all the way across town to see him draw. He shows me the drawing and says - its a really bad cartoon of a superhero flying at you. I look at it. Yes, its really bad. It looks like a moose - is what i want to say. But i dont, because i dont trust those sentences to come out like that. Bad. Moose. is what i expect to manage. Instead, i giggle in what i hope is an intelligent manner, thank him and walk away.

This is what i would have liked to say if, you know, i had been less me. I love you books. I've read the first two in the GameWorld trilogy. I bought the third one a couple of years ago, but decided on a whim, to read it only when i'd steered my life out of this by-lane it was stuck in. Thank you for writing two more books and helping me cheat!

Here, have a biscuit

It started out as comfortable silence. After all, we have known each other for 7 years now, this blog and I. However now, it threatens to become indicative something deeper. I'm beginning to question if there is anything i can say to you, blog, given that 90 percent of the people who know you also know me. Lest i go too deep into the question and find answers i dont like, let me tell you about my latest gym.

- Its pink. Yes.
- It doesnt have a treadmill.
- Just as i was about to get onto this one machine, the instructor asked me, finger on the ON switch, with urgency and abruptness and utter lack of context only justified if the fate of the world depended on my answer, if i was married.
- At the end of the workout, I was asked to thank the almighty for something i didnt quiet catch, but i suspect might be something more substantial than a good workout.
- The notices around the gym? Pink. One such notice says in soft pink tones that the management can and will break your bloody locker if you dont take you damn stuff out.

But, but. Its different. And that might just do the trick for me.

Plants versus Zombies

Not really. Its books versus TV, but who writes trite titles like that? If i had to choose between a world that could have one or the other, books would win that war, hands down. But its the daily battles that they fight over my time that are more interesting and well, real. Broadband means unlimited TV (of course TV also means unlimited TV, but not as unlimited as Broadband does. What, there are different sizes of infinity, you know.) Landmark means unlimited books* And the winner is determined by a complicated algorithm that factors in, apart from what is to be watched or read, the following:
- how much of the weekend remains
- who is around to judge what i'm watching
- how much i need to feel better by watching miserably complicated lives of others
- how loudly was the little voice in my head telling me i wouldnt finish the book when i shushed it and bought the book anyway
- how much is it a book i would like to like. I'm shallow like that
- what time in the morning did the first cock crow

With the arrival of a library, books were clearly winning over the past month or so. But yesterday, all that changed. Yesterday, we started getting BBC entertainment. Yesterday, we switched on the TV randomly and there was Fawlty Towers going on. Bhai and i thought it had something to with the Pythons and John Cleese came on screen. We squeaked and my mom wondered why she had to have kids who got excited about a middle aged balding man with that moustache**. And i spotted the Vicar of Dibley while channel surfing. TV has hit back and how!

* Landmark unfortunately has gone to meaning squat. I went there when their sale was on, and bought nothing. Nothing. I spent more time and enthusiasm looking at stuffed toys for a "3 year old". I did go over to the science fiction section, but there was no spark. Sigh. The Library. It works swiftly and surely.

** See? There are some moustaches i remember.

To,

To some September born: I am more sorry than i can ever tell you.

To other September born: Happy Birthday! I cannot tell you how much pleasure it gives me, seeing you get old!

To one i hope will be September born: I'm waiting!

To the government: Gimme my money. Dont make me fill forms for it. Please?

To the sutradhaar: Wake up!

To my bhai: Let me tell you how birthday gifts work. Your birthday, you ask, i get. NOT your birthday, you ask, i ask you to get, you forget, i set deadlines, they expire, i set new deadlines, they expire, we build a graveyard for the expired and the dead.

To my 12 year old nephew: No, i am not adding you to my professional contacts on LinkedIn.

To me: %$#^&@**#

To the man. who cried wolf

The next time you decide to cry wolf because you thought you smelled something that vaguely resembled what your granny's cousin, who had seen a wolf once as a child, had imagined one would smell like, pause. Think. Can you see anything even remotely dog-like? Hear wolf sounds? See small animals running scared? Foot prints? I'm not asking for evidence admissible in a court of law here. Just enough to register an FIR will do.

I'm telling you this because there is no point in telling me to use my discretion. You know and I know that the second the cry escapes you, i will be there by your side, patting your hand and nodding my head and in general agreeing with you that that (immobile) sack of potatoes is indeed a big bad wolf.

Yes, another library

Popped up, this time literally a stones throw away from my place. Its so close, and so inside my galli, i dont even have to dress up to go there! This one is in a little bamboo shed in the garden of a bungalow. Its run by the old-ish lady who presumably lives in the bungalow. We have a history, that bungalow and me. The previous owner had a dog with a split personality. It was the fiercest dog we ever knew, but she laughed at us for keeping our distance, insisting all the time that it was a fraaandly dog. Its been years since they moved out, but i still keep my distance. Which is probably why i didnt notice the little library before.

A bamboo shed in the garden, with plants all around, bean bags and a hammock outside, a bright cheerful light inside, books, books, books. Many of them look owned. Read. Loved. Popular fiction, Indian writing, Science, Science fiction, kids books - all the usual suspects. However, the collection is not usual. I see bestsellers sprinkled here and there. But I also see books that would not have made it to any list, that must have been handpicked by someone who knew what he/she was getting.

A friendly old lady who knows what she has. A man who pauses from talking about books to play the flute. A kid sprawled on a bean bag, nose deep inside an Astrix, oblivious to an Aunty who pretends to get offended because he has forgotten his manners and not greeted her.

I want to talk to her, tell her she has a great collection, ask her if all these books are hers, if she has read them all. I want to tell the man with the flute who said he'd just bought The Graveyard Book that he is going to love it. But i dont. One, because i'm me. And two, i'm not going to join her library. I've already joined a "big bad corporate one". At some level, i think i've cheated her. I slink out when she is busy trying to understand what the man with the flute is saying about bar-code readers.

I walk the ten steps to my home thinking i've finally found one snapshot of old age that doesnt scare the hell out of me. I'd like to be that old lady. I'd like to lie on the hammock while people come and lose themselves in my collection. Only, i dont know many people who can lose themselves in two shelves of chiefly science fiction.

New retirement plan - I need to diversify my assets!

Why growing up sucks

The trouble with trying to be an adult, in getting your backside off your comfort zone and trying something new, is this. Once you are done, you still want to rush to mummy and show her your drawing. You still want her to look at the box and two lines you have drawn and tell you its the best damn horse in the world. You want your efforts appreciated, even though you know, and she knows, and she knows that you know, that by this time you should be drawing horses that look ready to jump off the page.

OMG!

OMG! OMG!
Please bear with me! I think it'll be a while before i can stop talking in exclamation marks!
I just joined a library!
What do you mean, that doesnt deserve such excitement!
Do you have any idea how that changes my life!

You know the truckloads of pressure you are under, when every book you want to read, you have to buy? You cant just pick stuff up on a whim. The depleting bank balance, the filling up shelves, you are answerable for it all! I feel terribly guilty for the 10 percent books that i have bought and am almost certainly not going to read. I fear they will go through life with abandonment issues, all because i didnt know what i wanted.

But now? I can pick up stuff without any consequences whatsoever! Except for loss of time, but who cares about that! I can read crap! My dad can read crap! For 200 a month! Eeeeeeee! The remaining exclamation marks and the accompanying words will come with bullet points.

• They have a pretty good YA section! Percy Jackson! Artemis Fowl! Phillip Pullman! All stuff i want to read but dont want to buy!
• They have the Wizard of Earthsea! This is one of those books i cant not read, even though i am unlikely to like it much. (So what if i bought and read it and didnt much like it about a month ago. I'll never have to do that again!)
• They have the first book in The Wheel of Time series! For some reason, i bought the second one first and there it lay. In the "unlikely to read' pile. Until today!
• They have all P.G. Wodehouse (not that i mind buying those) and all Terry Pratchett! (i've already bought most of those, also i dont know what they were doing in the pre-teen section).
• They have 18 branches or something in Bangalore! Dont ask me why i care!
• I'm hoping the library will help me come out of my comfort zone. Try something other than SFF.

There. I think the exclamations have gone. To all those friends of mine sitting in Europe and showing off their public libraries, Ha! I now have a private one.

Landmark, my love, looks like you might finally have some competition. Also, looks like i might be able to keep my hands off the second season of 24 after all.

24, one season later

When write my own TV series no, i promise not to


1. Make it 45 minutes long. Its an entry barrier for people starting late and wanting to catch up. I also double promise not to take Anil Kapoor in it.

2. Have dialogs like this:

Hero: Do blah.
Any Other Character: I cant, because of these perfectly legitimate reasons.
Hero: DO BLAH.
The Same Other Character: Fine.

3. Kill people off randomly. Hell, i'll probably not kill people at all. There can be so much drama in life, why bring death into it at all?

4. Make the hero dig a deeper and deeper hole for himself and then when i get bored, pop him out clean through the other end of Earth.


5. Make the audience feel manipulated.


Which is probably why no one will watch my series. Which is a good thing, i sometimes think, when i imagine the humongous number of man hours spent watching stuff on Television. I'm going to try and stay off Season 2, but September end is so farfaraway, i dont know how i'll survive.

For the very first time in my life

I made maggi today. Fine. You can pick up your jaw from the ground now. Despite the very many years i have spent on this earth, its not really all that surprising given that i have never, as my mom pointed out, had to cook for myself. Home or hostel. Food has generally been SEP. It wasnt bad, the maggi, although it turned out looking more like something made out of little cylindrical tubes of rava. In my newbie enthusiasm i broke the maggi into tiny little pieces, not one of which were of slurp-able length. Aah, one lives and learns.
One has also stooped down to blogging about what one had for lunch. As long as one has come this far, one might as well register one's grievance against the content on the maggi packet.

What the hell were you thinking, Dear Sir/Madam,* when you printed on the back of the packet, not instructions on how to cook whats inside, but long touching stories on how a 5 year old made maggi on his ownsome lonesome for his Mom's birthday? Did no good, I'm telling you, not to the dish i ended up making, and definitely not to my ego!

* Dont you wish all letters could start like this?

A (short?) story

John Scalzi had this fanfic contest a few months ago. I sent in an entry, just like that. Now that the results are out and i didnt win (sniff, sob, bawl and all), i thought i should put it up here. Apart from the obvious reasons, this is also because stuff i've written that is not on the blog tends to get lost. In defunct mailboxes and sites that have since disappeared and machines that have been formatted. (Okay, so its happened once, but if i dont learn from my mistakes whats the point in making them?)


So, yes. I am telling you this post is more for storage purpose. You are welcome to go through my basement, but you are also welcome to not. So many disclaimers because, umm, it is rather long. Also, it doesnt have a title.

Has the Outside always been so pretty, John wondered as he lay lazily on a chair made for just that. He’d been trapped for weeks in the Inside of some "top secret project he cant tell you about". Today he had finally come out of it and decided to spend the day reacquainting himself with this world he inhabited. It had started well. The Sun and the blue sky he had taken in without much of a shock to his system. He’d then moved on to trees. He didn’t look particularly happy about their existence now. He couldn’t believe how lucky they were, being able to make food simply by standing in the sun. Why evolution had to give up that line of research to take on one that led to his 10 fingers with opposable thumbs he’d never understood. Hunger had been gnawing at his insides for over an hour but there was no way he could get himself out of his chair. And all those trees showing off were not really helping.

Wil looked under the bed for the three hundredth time. Nothing. Does anyone have such a clean under-bed anymore, he wondered sourly. He almost wanted a monster to be under it, with his script in its dirty yet non-salivating jaws. Because then he’d have something to do, an enemy to fight, a script to rescue, and in the end, a rehearsal to go prepared to, happily ever after. Now, all he could do was look at empty under-beds. Sure, yesterday’s gaming had been pretty wild, but he couldn’t believe the script, the script for tomorrow’s rehearsal, the script without which he’d just have to go there and be a pretty face, that script had been involved. He could imagine the producer’s icy tone. What is that you say? A big bird came and took your script? You could have respected us enough to make up something more imaginative. A crawling horse, a flying kitten, something? Yes, he had to find something.

And as it usually happens, when the right thing to do is not the fun thing to do, people run away to the land of excuses. The place where all excuses come from, brought to life by human need. To do something they shouldn’t. To get out of something. To beat common sense and responsibility and convention and accepted wisdom. To be. To not to be. Stock excuses, now those are easy. Most people can get them off the top of their head. Bad traffic, my alarm didn’t go off, the wife says no. It’s the creative excuses, handcrafted to fit your situation and none else that need to be worked on. For those you need to go deep into the land, finding little pieces that fit the big picture in your head, shaving this, sawing that, refining the big picture all the time till you end up with a piece of art. Art, now that is not formed by fitting lego blocks as per instructions. In the land, you will not find pieces that fit together. If that is what you want, the stock excuses department is that way, have a good day. But if you look at a piece hard enough, you can turn it into what you need. It is a dying art, this, one only people with some imagination and whimsy continue to practise.

John roamed the lands, his hunger forgotten in the excitement of all that was possible here. Strange things were all around him and he was having fun trying to see how each might work as an excuse. There were trees here too, but they didn’t look like they were taunting, they looked to be showing him possibilities. Somewhere in the murky recesses of John’s brain, an idea was born. It wasn’t even fully formed yet, and already he could see it had taken control and was changing him. He stood still, scared, not in a bad way but in an oh-my-god-is-this-really-happening-what-does-it-mean-i-haven't-even-thought-it-through-but-how-cool kind of way. He let a few minutes pass before he looked at his hands. Yes. Green. Chlorophyll-ed. He went and stood out in the sun. Food.

Wil closely examined the broken finger. Not his. He was fascinated by everything around him. He took in one thing at a time, sure that the whole picture would overwhelm him. Done with the finger, he looked around and saw the clown sweater. His clown sweater. His INFAMOUS clown sweater. He put it on. And smiled. The world seemed familiar again.

Wil then moved on to larger objects He found a Superman Cape hanging on a tree and put it on. It went really well with his clown sweater. He jumped from trees and ran really fast and in general was the Superman Wil aged ten would have been. Which is when he saw a pair of eyes looking at him from within a clump of bushes. "Here, here, come out," he tried. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if just a pair of eyes came out. The eyes stayed. He took his cape off and waved it around like a Matador. The eyes pounced.

It was on him, whatever it was. Cat? Wings?? Horn??? Start again, his brain said. And this time, no naming body parts. A cat. No, call it kitty, sounds cute and fuzzy and not at all like an evolution defying creature put together by hand. So, a kitty. And at the back... Pegasus. And that from a Unicorn. Recapitulate. Kitty. Pegasus. Unicorn. Kitty. Pegasus. Unicorn. Kitty... PuTTY! "Here PuTTY, here PuTTY". PuTTY, in the meantime, had been mooning over the clown in his sweater, purring and making other happy kitty noises.

It was the kitty John saw first. He was already smiling when he saw the clown on the sweater. He knew there was only one way that sweater could end.

"Hi Wil," he said, without looking up.

Eh?

Well, Wil didn't actually say Eh. But his face did. It rearranged itself into an Eh?

"It’s John." Eh? "Scalzi." Eh? "Velvet Wesley Crusher." Ah!

"John! What are you doing here? Did you see my kitty? Isn't it just the most amazing thing? Look at those magnificent wings. And horn! I'm calling it PuTTY...," Wil prattled on.

‘PuTTY’ was sitting on all fours, looking into the clown's eyes. John reached Wil and raised his hand for a high-five. Next thing he knew, the magnificent wings had come down and scooped Wil up in one graceful motion.

Wil was now sitting on PuTTY, face rearranged to spell EH???

"I come in peace," said John, lifting both his hands up.

"Green Peace!," exclaimed Wil and went back to an Eh?

John tried using his experience with cats to make friends with PuTTY. Granted, PuTTY wasnt exactly a cat, but 60 percent of it was, he knew nothing about horses and he had to start somewhere. John gathered some catnip leaves from nearby and gave them to PuTTY. PuTTY responded, which made Wil calm down a little. His brain finally got around to processing the message his eyes had been sending him for a while now.

"Umm.. John?"

"Yeah?" said John, who couldn’t take his eyes off PuTTY.

"You are green."

"Yeah," said John distractedly.

"Not exactly your colour, you know?," Wil tried again.

"Look," John said getting irritated. "Its about a little more than looking pretty, okay? Here, let me show you," he said and walked towards a patch of sunlight. "Thats all i have to do for food. For the rest of my life. Stand. Chlorophyll-me up, baby! Millions of years ago, two roads diverged in the woods that day," he thundered, "and today they meet in me."

"ZOMG! They will have to create a whole new position for you in the food chain! Wait, will it still be a chain? Cycle! Tree?" Wil wondered, as the implications of what he was seeing hit him. "John?"

"Something’s wrong," growled John. "I don’t feel full." "Ears," squeaked Wil. John felt them and realized they had grown. Pointy. Lumps were sprouting all over his body. "Greenskin," he croaked, before falling over in pain. This tended to happen with improbable excuses. They decayed to the nearest stable state - something that required minimum suspension of disbelief.

Wil’s brain had had enough. Had too much, in fact. So it decided to forget what it knew and start from scratch. Take what it could see as given and work from there. So, John was turning into an Orc. Okay. What do i know about Orcs? Oooh, what do i not know! Here was familiar ground. Here was where the What kind of a Orc are You quiz he’d scribbled on the back of his script would save lives. Orcs came in all shapes and sizes and most importantly, attitudes. Dealing with them depended entirely on which mythology they subscribed to.

"John? Are you in there? Listen! I’m going to get you out of this. Joooohn!" he screamed, as John (or Orc?) got up with a roar that startled PuTTY who jumped and up went Wil. John had made considerable progress towards Orcdom and had acquired an armour, a spear and the above mentioned roar. Orc was marching towards him slowly, fighting with John for each step. Wil shouted out his first question. "Would you like to eat me?"

John knew his share in John/Orc was shrinking. The power of Orc was overwhelming; all he wanted to was to give in. Focus, he told himself. Focus on something that’ll remind you that you are human, that there is good in you. He saw the horn on PuTTY. Thats it! What was better than a Unicorn horn to remind you of being noble and good? Orc meanwhile had reached a very similar conclusion for very different reasons. John and Orc march as one.

Wil noticed the increase in speed. "JOHN," he yelled out. PuTTY meanwhile had prepared itself for battle. And also, apparently, him. Wil found himself with a spear in his hands. Desperate, Wil yelled out his second question. "Whats you favourite colour?"

John/Orc had almost reached PuTTY. Already, John felt clearer, more focused. All i need is that horn, he thought. PuTTY had given up all pretensions of being a soft kitty. It hissed and spat. Its eyes shone with a manic glow. John/Orc charged. Kitty sprang. Wil aimed his spear at the Orc’s arm and yelled out his third question. "Does this hurt?"

Somewhere, a Volcano let go.

Wil opened an eye. Nothing green or dead. Encouraged, he opened another. He saw the ground rushing beneath him. Realized he was still on PuTTY but no longer trapped by its wings. He let go. Fell off PuTTY and rolled harmlessly into a clump of grass. Opened eyes. One. Two. Saw John/Orc standing over him. Screamed and ran. Or tried to.

"Stop," said John. John. Not John/Orc. John.

Wil turned back. John. Not green. Close. Open. Still John. Not green. Breathed.

"What happened?" he asked. "Looks like PuTTY found another toy at just the right second," said John, nodding in the direction of the volcano. And there it was, flying just above the lava, dipping its horn in it, making pretty designs and in general back to being a kitty. "And you?" "I managed to hold on to PuTTY’s horn for a second before it got distracted by the volcano," said John. "Turns out that was enough." The two friends slapped each other on the back, did a little jig and left. They didn’t say good bye to the land. They’d be back. They’d been there before.

John was full. Hell, if he had been an Orc... okay, too early for Orc jokes. Wil had fed him till he was ready to burst. Wil cleared his throat. John knew what was coming.

"Yes, Wil?"

"Will you be my excuse for tomorrow’s rehearsal?"

Virtual reality

It is a cloudy weekday afternoon. The kind you've always wished you could spend sprawled on a bed with a book, a coffee and some conversation.
"I'm feeling sleepy," i tell him.
"Welcome to the club. I am its President," he says.
We fight over that a little, then go on to wonder if there is any way we could sell our sleep to all those insomniacs and old people out there who dont have any. Donate even. It smacks of communism, i think he likes it.

"Have you heard Pee Loon?" i ask him. He lives under a rock as far as Bollywood is concerned, and i am his dealer of new hindi songs. He comes looking for a fix once in a while when he is completely out of stock, and i'm usually able to supply. "Not today," he says. He is on some weird Kumar Shanu and Abhijeet trip and is not in the mood for anything else. Which i might have otherwise let go, but he has just said no to Mohit Chauhan. I'm offended and i let him know.

He is stirred enough to defend his choice. "Romantic songs of the 90's, it doesnt get better than Kumar Shanu". I tell him to sleep it off. I cant really fight because i dont remember a single K.S number. "Let me help you out," he says, realizing this. "Badalon mein chup raha hai chand kyon". Damn. He doesnt kid around, this one, he has started with the big guns. "Der se hua par pyaar to hua re". I shrug, i havent heard. "Ek din aap you humko mil jayenge". He scores. "Tum Mile, dil khile". "Aye kaash ki hum hosh mein ab". I'm down and out.

After some silence filled with his gloating he asks casually, "So, what were you saying about Mocho?"

And then for a while i hear nothing but the sound of several pieces falling into place. At the end of which i'm embarrassed, sure, but i'm also in a happy place in the distant past. We had this senior in college whom everyone called Mocho. A quiet fellow, what little i saw of him, but any time he made an entrance, people stopped what they were doing to greet him with an "Arre Mocho". I never figured out why, but they all seemed really happy to see him. And thats where i was, in college, one of my happy places, probably my happiest. I wonder how i never asked why they called him that. Mocho. Its such an awesome nickname. I want my Mohit Chauhan to have it.

"Let me help you out some more," he says. "Ek meetha marz dene aana tum kabhi". This is ridiculous. Mocho has sung songs i dont know about?? "Its in Welcome to Sajjanpur," he says smugly into my silence. "You must have heard Guncha", he says. I shake my head. "Are you going to keep shaking your head till i come to Masakali," he asks finally. It is then that i realize that that is exactly and entirely my big war plan. I cant think of a single Mocho song other than that. I dig deep and come up with "Pehli baar mohabbat ki hai". And then i submit "Pee Loon" in case he'd forgotten.

By this time he has lost interest in the fight. For all practical purposes, he is fighting from both sides. He decides to get personal. Its good strategy. It'll either make the fight interesting or put an end to it. "What lyrics. Pee Loon. Aisa lagta hai nasha karke aaya hai". Thats it. "Download the song. Listen to it. You can then apologize to me," i say and walk away.

He apologizes later. The song has spoken louder than words. Mocho has won.



A few points:

1. Does the fact that this conversation took place over chat, with me sitting in my office in Pune and Monu in his department in Kharagpur make it any less real? (Other than the communist inclinations i imposed on him. Those are entirely my imagination). Chats are my primary (and for the most part only) medium of social interaction these days, and in spite of all its limitations i'll be damned if i let anyone tell me its anything less than face to face talk. Different, sure. But not real? No way.

2. I hope this post has put an end to all the (very valid) cribs about my being cryptic.

3. I also hope none of my seniors read this. After 5 years of no interaction preceded by a year of strictly necessary interaction, it'd be damn weird if they saw themselves featured in my happy place.

4. Monu's insistence on putting an h in Kumar Sanu's name reminded me of Pronoy Roy. He was once interviewing Amartya Sen and insisted on pronouncing his name as Omartyo. Which irritated me immensely! I wished Amartya Sen would stop answering his questions and tell him - "I dont know whom you are talking to. That sure as hell isnt my name!". Stupid, i know, but there it is.