Rules:
1. Put your MP3 player on shuffle
2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer.
3. You must write the name of the song no matter what. No cheating!
IF SOMEONE SAYS “IS THIS OKAY?” YOU SAY?
Scarborough Fair-Simon and Garfunkel(I mean Are You Going to Scarborough Fair)
WHAT WOULD BEST DESCRIBE YOUR PERSONALITY?
Karma Police- Radiohead( She Talks in Math...detuned radio.... This IS what you get when you mess with US---me and my evil twin I mean)
WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL?
The Start of Something-Voxtrot( Not one lyric in the song is the same)
HOW DO YOU FEEL TODAY?
Something in the Way-Nirvana
WHAT IS YOUR LIFE’S PURPOSE?
Arriving Somewhere But Not Here-Porcupine Tree
WHAT IS YOUR MOTTO?
I Will Survive-Gloria Gaynor( I HAD to put this in!)
WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU?
Warning Sign-Coldplay(Heh. I Hope that you choke. Miss Nayar)
WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR PARENTS?
Somewhere A Clock Is Ticking-Snow Patrol
WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN?
Lucy In the Sky With Diamonds-The Beatles
WHAT IS 2+2?
Matt Damon's rendition of My Funny Valentine. There couldn't be a more symmetrical number than 4.
WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND?
Jigsaw Falling Into Place-Radiohead. This is fun.
WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
Another One Bites The Dust-Queen
Naina-Rahat Fateh Ali Khan
WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY?
You Know That I'm No Good-Amy Winehouse
Eleanor Rigby-Beatles
WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP?
Papa Kehte Hain-Qayamat Se Qayamat Tak. I've wanted to write that for like ever.
WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
Coming Back To Life-Pink Floyd
WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU?
Map of the Problematique- Muse
WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING?
Dekha Jo Tujhe Yaar Dil Mein Baji Guitar. Heh. In memoriam 16th December 2006.
WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL?
Blackout-Muse
Exit Music for a Film-Radiohead( Now We are ONE in everlasting peace)
They have to. If they don't I shall die all over again.
WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST?
Staring at Kunal Kapoor. So O Re Piya--Rahat Fateh Ali Khan
Bohemian Rhapsody-Queen
WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET?
I Saved The World Today-Eurythmics. HAHAHAHAHA
WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS?
Drops Of Jupiter-Train.
The Rite Of Spring-Igor Stravinsky.
Im Being EXTRA nice here.
WHAT SHOULD YOU POST THIS AS?
The Grand Duel(Parte Prima)-Luis Bacalov
Thank you Ms. Nayar for the one good deed you have done in life.Apart from writing my peer evaluation ofcourse.
Im having fun. FINALLY.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Autumn Non-Sannata
Its pretty difficult to observe the onset of a season, especially when you happen to be as visually impaired as I am. During the monsoons, you realise that the rains have finally arrived when your glasses-your window to the world, decide to put on a tantrum and behave like a diva(in other words, get covered by raindrops). You know summer exists because of the anti-glare spectacles you spent a fortune on, which you pretend are like the latest fashion statement just to make yourself feel a bit better. So how does a person like me know that autumn or more specifically a phenomenon called 'pujo' is here?
It happened last evening finally, while driving to my math class, that the it finally dawned on me the pujos are days away. It wasn't because I suddenly learnt to see billboards screaming "Ektar shonge charte free' or "Chhottirish Palli Sarbajanin Durgotshab" or millions of those garish, "denger"ously spelt bus advertisements with men who like to pretend that they have some purpose in the world. It came to me, strangely through a smell.
They call it Raat Ki Raani. Yes, yes, perverted notions aside, it never fails to surprise me. There is something so vivid about the smell, that all you need to do is close your eyes and within moments see a dalan, a parikrama, the third eye, a chalchitro, a bisharjan and red, and even if you have never been sure about anything else in your life, this smell doesnt leave much to conjecture. It's self-assured, confident, and brash. Everything you're not. And yet, you can't help but fall in love with it.
So, how do you explain the concept of a Pujo to someone on a "Discover India" trip? Well, if you're me, you don't--you just snort and walk away. If you're a tour guide carrying truckloads of Japanese tourists, you make them wait outside Pantaloons pretending that only with purchase of items above Rs. 5000 will the deity in question bless you. And if you're me in a sympathetic mood, you say--
If you want to see a city clad in yellow, try Shoshthi; if you need to observe a city breathing, gasping, panting for breath, Shaptami to the rescue. If vermillion is your choice of poison, look no further than Ashtami and before you have time to catch your breath, Nabami will follow your every move in its multi hued splendour. And you tell them that, if there ever was a mourning, there was a Dashami.
Imagine, if you will now, a structure made of bamboo. Call it a pandal, if you will. Imagine now, plain green drapes that cover this 'pandal'. Let it resemble a house. Complete with windows. Now imagine if you can, a deity with long flowing tresses,a technicolor rakshas and observe around this pandal a huge unused space. Let it be called a square. Now imagine a beehive. And see each and every bee that is a part of it. Start with the queen bee--the lazy one, the one with the power and move onto the workers. Now imagine the bees are in a fight. For what reason, no one knows. Nobody cares about who is the queen and who is the slave. Because everyone is fighting for survival. Now, imagine, if possible, a vast congregation of "pati bangalis" -the biggest that you possibly can. And imagine this 'square' to be the beehive. No one is fighting here. But everyone is still trying their hardest to survive. Because every breath you take here, you should be thankful for. You don't know when the next one may come along. And if you dont manage to die this way, look around and see the riot of colours that greet you. Mismatched pinks and violent purples, electric blues and rangoli yellows. Shiny sparkly jewellery designed to permanently blind you. See then, men in the famous bangali 'Lal Ganjee' and bandanas. Don't miss out the Livestrongs and most definitely the potbellies. And of course, the colors. And of late, the bling.And, for the first time, you're not ashamed of being a pati bangali because you get away with anything.
Oh and before I forget, lets call this place Maddox.
Pujos in Calcutta are like a Radiohead song. Its arrival is strange- almost unexpected; the buildup is immense-- almost earth-shattering,in anticipation of what is about to come. The lyrics are inexplicable and sometimes they don't even fit in logically but by the end of it, it's seeped into so much of you already, that the rest doesn't matter. And both are adept at the art of leaving, an art which only few can master. Its the art of saying goodbye at just the right moment--when euphoria is at its peak and you cannot imagine your life without it. Its the art of an endless wait--a longing for the last verses, for the last sensation, the last call.
Samit Basu,I owe you one. Thank you, for Sambo, Kirin. And everything else.
It happened last evening finally, while driving to my math class, that the it finally dawned on me the pujos are days away. It wasn't because I suddenly learnt to see billboards screaming "Ektar shonge charte free' or "Chhottirish Palli Sarbajanin Durgotshab" or millions of those garish, "denger"ously spelt bus advertisements with men who like to pretend that they have some purpose in the world. It came to me, strangely through a smell.
They call it Raat Ki Raani. Yes, yes, perverted notions aside, it never fails to surprise me. There is something so vivid about the smell, that all you need to do is close your eyes and within moments see a dalan, a parikrama, the third eye, a chalchitro, a bisharjan and red, and even if you have never been sure about anything else in your life, this smell doesnt leave much to conjecture. It's self-assured, confident, and brash. Everything you're not. And yet, you can't help but fall in love with it.
So, how do you explain the concept of a Pujo to someone on a "Discover India" trip? Well, if you're me, you don't--you just snort and walk away. If you're a tour guide carrying truckloads of Japanese tourists, you make them wait outside Pantaloons pretending that only with purchase of items above Rs. 5000 will the deity in question bless you. And if you're me in a sympathetic mood, you say--
If you want to see a city clad in yellow, try Shoshthi; if you need to observe a city breathing, gasping, panting for breath, Shaptami to the rescue. If vermillion is your choice of poison, look no further than Ashtami and before you have time to catch your breath, Nabami will follow your every move in its multi hued splendour. And you tell them that, if there ever was a mourning, there was a Dashami.
Imagine, if you will now, a structure made of bamboo. Call it a pandal, if you will. Imagine now, plain green drapes that cover this 'pandal'. Let it resemble a house. Complete with windows. Now imagine if you can, a deity with long flowing tresses,a technicolor rakshas and observe around this pandal a huge unused space. Let it be called a square. Now imagine a beehive. And see each and every bee that is a part of it. Start with the queen bee--the lazy one, the one with the power and move onto the workers. Now imagine the bees are in a fight. For what reason, no one knows. Nobody cares about who is the queen and who is the slave. Because everyone is fighting for survival. Now, imagine, if possible, a vast congregation of "pati bangalis" -the biggest that you possibly can. And imagine this 'square' to be the beehive. No one is fighting here. But everyone is still trying their hardest to survive. Because every breath you take here, you should be thankful for. You don't know when the next one may come along. And if you dont manage to die this way, look around and see the riot of colours that greet you. Mismatched pinks and violent purples, electric blues and rangoli yellows. Shiny sparkly jewellery designed to permanently blind you. See then, men in the famous bangali 'Lal Ganjee' and bandanas. Don't miss out the Livestrongs and most definitely the potbellies. And of course, the colors. And of late, the bling.And, for the first time, you're not ashamed of being a pati bangali because you get away with anything.
Oh and before I forget, lets call this place Maddox.
Pujos in Calcutta are like a Radiohead song. Its arrival is strange- almost unexpected; the buildup is immense-- almost earth-shattering,in anticipation of what is about to come. The lyrics are inexplicable and sometimes they don't even fit in logically but by the end of it, it's seeped into so much of you already, that the rest doesn't matter. And both are adept at the art of leaving, an art which only few can master. Its the art of saying goodbye at just the right moment--when euphoria is at its peak and you cannot imagine your life without it. Its the art of an endless wait--a longing for the last verses, for the last sensation, the last call.
Samit Basu,I owe you one. Thank you, for Sambo, Kirin. And everything else.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
And on the 8th Day, God Said "Let there be Kool"
The women in all the beauty pageants of the world are often asked this question(besides the obvious ones on world peace and Mother Teresa) :
"If there was one incident in World History that you could change, what would it be and why?"
To me, the question has a clear cut answer, it was the day that the word COOL went from being "neither warm nor very cold;giving relief from heat" to being a punctuation mark in the lexicons of our everyday life. Technically speaking, this unspeakable word now has come to mean "a
fashionable and attractive person who is socially adept", or atleast the Oxford Dictionary seems to think so. For me,although, this word is probably one of the scariest words I have come across in the 18 years of sheer terror that I sometimes like calling my life. I'm sure when all the supposed decision makers of this world talk about the Weapons of Mass Destruction, they are infact codenaming this word.
Cool is a creepy word. It makes you think you are wanted in this world. It makes you feel a part of the Herd. Its an initiation ritual into the depths of human Sadity.
(definition: Sadity(noun): State of utter and complete patheticity
Eg: We've reached a new level of Sadity here: laughing at the fact that we changed Sonali's name from Sonali to Sanalu)
Cool makes people feel accepted into The Cult of Cool People. That can be an especially traumatic experience for many who have no idea of the dangers they are exposing themselves to. I know because, I too have made the brief but immensely unforgettable, painful journey to the Dark Side of the Cool People.
Cool people look like normal people in school, but outside school they finally get rid of their disguise and embrace their Cool Factor(now popularly referred to as Kool factor). They hand you an Invisible List of things to do to be branded Kool. The list looks somewhat like this:
THINGS TO DO TO BE COOL
1. Wear fug bands to school [def: Fug bands(noun): black coloured bands made of rubber which would be useless in most cases,except if your trying to strangulate someone with it, but become fashion statements due to the influence of CERTAIN people]
2. Go blonde/colour your hair or better still, straighten it---the faker, the better.
3. Get hold of a boyfriend. He has to be from either LMB or St. James or at the most BHS, and the relationship will be accepted even if the man concerned, looks like he's fathered more than one generation.
4. Attend social events dressed to kill[def: dressed to kill (adjective): turn up at a social event, wearing clothes that barely cover you and in normal circumstances would make you look obscene, with heels that are aerodynamically designed to make "a dwarf look like Gisele Bundchen"(Source: A Very Prominent Kool Persons' Candid Confessions by Kool Kelly)]
5.Listen to Hip-Hop[def: Hip Hop: A state of mind which confuses people into believing that randomly said words (which in normal state of mind, would be classified as noise or babble) and half naked women(with hip movements defying gravity and logic) constitute music. It also makes people think that diamonds in their teeth are cool.]
6. Become a Goth[def:Goth: A state of mind which makes boys believe that black nailpolish makes them magically attractive. This also is confused with a related state of mind called Emo, where men think revealing their deep dark tortured soul, and kohl lined eyes makes them look KOOL]
7. Photograph yourself in a seductive manner, in your own kitchen, and then put the pictures up on a public forum for people to appreciate.
8. Visit Tantra or any similar sounding nightclub in floral shirts and in what can only be described as outrageous costumes and purple hair[for men], and fat obese women, wear clothes that barely fit into your arms, let alone the rest of your body. Make sure the crowd usually consists of overenthusiastic teenagers who are enjoying their first night of freedom and 45 year old Marwari businessman, with potbellies big enough to house the entire population of Monaco(if the country exists) and suffer from what can only be described as the "ABHI TO MAIN JAWAN HOON" syndrome.
9. Going to CCD. That is the ultimate KOOL meeting point. Then there are the hookah bars. Lets not go there. I feel my next nervous breakdown coming.
10. Smoke or smoke up. Need I say more? And use Cool as a punctuation mark. For e.g
Girl: You're so cool.
Boy: Not as cool as you are. You're so coooooooool.
Girl : No way, cool it. When I say cool, I mean Kool. You're So COOL you make other Kool people look uncool.
I Dare not continue.
Now that that is done, I cannot end this without mentioning the creditable and also important contribution of the Neo Cool Intellectuals. In Bengali, they are referred to as Aaatel.
Def:Aaatel: Intellectually superior Bengali individuals characterised by the following:
RULES OF THE AAATEL CLUB
1. If you haven't read Catcher In the Rye, you aren't fit enough to exist. Let alone being treated as a human deserving compassion.
2. If you don't know/like Che Guevara, there is something wrong with your anatomy.
3. If you don't own/ haven't watched depressing French/Swedish cinema, you deserve to die in a pool of your own vomit.
4. Dylan & Morrison are Gods. Period. And so is Gautam Chattopadhyay.
5. If you don't smoke ganja, you can't enjoy music.
6. If you don't read Huxley, Kundera, or Kafka, go do US a favour and DIE.
7. Joyce must be a night read. Otherwise, the exit is that way.
8. Entry Fee: Deposit jhola. FabIndia will be your second home.
9. Guru Dutt is an unheralded genius. Ritwik Ghatak, Shyam Benegal and Adoor Gopalakrishnan deserve standing ovations for every frame they have directed.
10. An ancient pair of spectacles are your secret superhero power. You take them off, and be ready to be debadged.
So there you have it. The greatest epidemic plaguing mankind. And we don't even realise it, as usual. As Miss North Carolina puts it when asked why 1/5th of the population of America don't recognize USA on a World Map, "Well, some people, don't have maps or own them", and becomes 2nd runner up. So I guess being cool works for some people. Me? I call it "Unexplained Mysteries of Being Annesha Sil". So there.
"If there was one incident in World History that you could change, what would it be and why?"
To me, the question has a clear cut answer, it was the day that the word COOL went from being "neither warm nor very cold;giving relief from heat" to being a punctuation mark in the lexicons of our everyday life. Technically speaking, this unspeakable word now has come to mean "a
fashionable and attractive person who is socially adept", or atleast the Oxford Dictionary seems to think so. For me,although, this word is probably one of the scariest words I have come across in the 18 years of sheer terror that I sometimes like calling my life. I'm sure when all the supposed decision makers of this world talk about the Weapons of Mass Destruction, they are infact codenaming this word.
Cool is a creepy word. It makes you think you are wanted in this world. It makes you feel a part of the Herd. Its an initiation ritual into the depths of human Sadity.
(definition: Sadity(noun): State of utter and complete patheticity
Eg: We've reached a new level of Sadity here: laughing at the fact that we changed Sonali's name from Sonali to Sanalu)
Cool makes people feel accepted into The Cult of Cool People. That can be an especially traumatic experience for many who have no idea of the dangers they are exposing themselves to. I know because, I too have made the brief but immensely unforgettable, painful journey to the Dark Side of the Cool People.
Cool people look like normal people in school, but outside school they finally get rid of their disguise and embrace their Cool Factor(now popularly referred to as Kool factor). They hand you an Invisible List of things to do to be branded Kool. The list looks somewhat like this:
THINGS TO DO TO BE COOL
1. Wear fug bands to school [def: Fug bands(noun): black coloured bands made of rubber which would be useless in most cases,except if your trying to strangulate someone with it, but become fashion statements due to the influence of CERTAIN people]
2. Go blonde/colour your hair or better still, straighten it---the faker, the better.
3. Get hold of a boyfriend. He has to be from either LMB or St. James or at the most BHS, and the relationship will be accepted even if the man concerned, looks like he's fathered more than one generation.
4. Attend social events dressed to kill[def: dressed to kill (adjective): turn up at a social event, wearing clothes that barely cover you and in normal circumstances would make you look obscene, with heels that are aerodynamically designed to make "a dwarf look like Gisele Bundchen"(Source: A Very Prominent Kool Persons' Candid Confessions by Kool Kelly)]
5.Listen to Hip-Hop[def: Hip Hop: A state of mind which confuses people into believing that randomly said words (which in normal state of mind, would be classified as noise or babble) and half naked women(with hip movements defying gravity and logic) constitute music. It also makes people think that diamonds in their teeth are cool.]
6. Become a Goth[def:Goth: A state of mind which makes boys believe that black nailpolish makes them magically attractive. This also is confused with a related state of mind called Emo, where men think revealing their deep dark tortured soul, and kohl lined eyes makes them look KOOL]
7. Photograph yourself in a seductive manner, in your own kitchen, and then put the pictures up on a public forum for people to appreciate.
8. Visit Tantra or any similar sounding nightclub in floral shirts and in what can only be described as outrageous costumes and purple hair[for men], and fat obese women, wear clothes that barely fit into your arms, let alone the rest of your body. Make sure the crowd usually consists of overenthusiastic teenagers who are enjoying their first night of freedom and 45 year old Marwari businessman, with potbellies big enough to house the entire population of Monaco(if the country exists) and suffer from what can only be described as the "ABHI TO MAIN JAWAN HOON" syndrome.
9. Going to CCD. That is the ultimate KOOL meeting point. Then there are the hookah bars. Lets not go there. I feel my next nervous breakdown coming.
10. Smoke or smoke up. Need I say more? And use Cool as a punctuation mark. For e.g
Girl: You're so cool.
Boy: Not as cool as you are. You're so coooooooool.
Girl : No way, cool it. When I say cool, I mean Kool. You're So COOL you make other Kool people look uncool.
I Dare not continue.
Now that that is done, I cannot end this without mentioning the creditable and also important contribution of the Neo Cool Intellectuals. In Bengali, they are referred to as Aaatel.
Def:Aaatel: Intellectually superior Bengali individuals characterised by the following:
RULES OF THE AAATEL CLUB
1. If you haven't read Catcher In the Rye, you aren't fit enough to exist. Let alone being treated as a human deserving compassion.
2. If you don't know/like Che Guevara, there is something wrong with your anatomy.
3. If you don't own/ haven't watched depressing French/Swedish cinema, you deserve to die in a pool of your own vomit.
4. Dylan & Morrison are Gods. Period. And so is Gautam Chattopadhyay.
5. If you don't smoke ganja, you can't enjoy music.
6. If you don't read Huxley, Kundera, or Kafka, go do US a favour and DIE.
7. Joyce must be a night read. Otherwise, the exit is that way.
8. Entry Fee: Deposit jhola. FabIndia will be your second home.
9. Guru Dutt is an unheralded genius. Ritwik Ghatak, Shyam Benegal and Adoor Gopalakrishnan deserve standing ovations for every frame they have directed.
10. An ancient pair of spectacles are your secret superhero power. You take them off, and be ready to be debadged.
So there you have it. The greatest epidemic plaguing mankind. And we don't even realise it, as usual. As Miss North Carolina puts it when asked why 1/5th of the population of America don't recognize USA on a World Map, "Well, some people, don't have maps or own them", and becomes 2nd runner up. So I guess being cool works for some people. Me? I call it "Unexplained Mysteries of Being Annesha Sil". So there.
Thursday, August 2, 2007
My Pensieve
Memories are a funny thing. They attack you when you least expect it, plague you when you'd rather forget and ofcourse act all pricey when you seek them. Memories make PMSing sound reasonable, understandable and forgettable. They make Paris Hilton sound intelligent and make a certain Mr. Reshammiya sound like Grammy worthy(although considering the recent couple of years it doesn't seem too outlandish). Considering the fact that I am technically supposed to be a quizzer, it seems like too much of a risk to possess a goldfish's memory. Yet, I go on-- undeterred by the distinct and imminent possibility of Alzheimer's...
The bizarre storehouse that calls itself my memory just forgets that I actually existed for the first five years of my life. Therefore, I must rely on Priyanka's who reminded me of a time long long ago of an embarrassing bathroom dance which I must admit I am happy to have forgotten. Apparently, it was on a bright sunny day in junior school when birthdays were days to celebrate. It consisted of wearing a bright frilly pink dress to school and giving off pricey "return gifts" to the other people in my class. Apparently it was a big prestige issue with most parents. You know the gifts just had to get bigger every year or something was surely wrong with your IT returns. So it was one of those days and apparently I was so caught up in the process of celebrating my birthday, I forgot to congratulate myself on my birthday. The class was obviously not the right place for such matters of national importance, in addition the ogre babies( huge, fat and almost green) in my class were too busy finishing off the cake,(Did I mention that cakes were part of the "return gift" package? Only Kookie Jar was impressive enough, or ofcourse, if you were Doogie Howser and could bake a perfectly edible chocolate cake at the age of five, then nothing like it) so I decided to use the school toilet. Little did I know my peaceful celebrations( consisting of picking up my overbearing pink dress and breaking into an impromptu butt dance) would be disturbed by none other than Priyanka. And thanks to the look of "Earth is being invaded by aliens right at this moment and nobody can stop the destruction", I have since not forgotten it.
Then there is the case of a recent memory, around two days ago, when my mother realised the medium called the computer could be used to correspond free of cost to other mortals of the world। So, she sat down at the keyboard to type an email to my mashi. Believe me, the moment was epiphany... it was like Early man rubbing the two stones together to create fire. As she pressed down, sceptically, the keys of the keyboard hoping they wouldn't retaliate, I realised that Priyanka is not the only victim of this incurable disease called technology.
At this juncture, my memory divulges a little more and reminds me of the impacts we used to "perform" on stage(read as euphemism for "making an ass of ourselves' and a polite way of saying we polluted Atmodaya Bhavan--thank you to the LMB ppl who were gracious enough to let us use their stage). For the first year since I was Anish, my roles consisted of either being Prince Charming's gay partner or playing an LMB student of Class XI. Then of course comes my memory. We were supposed to perform this play for this fest Syzygy which is basically the Computer Club fest.
The bizarre storehouse that calls itself my memory just forgets that I actually existed for the first five years of my life. Therefore, I must rely on Priyanka's who reminded me of a time long long ago of an embarrassing bathroom dance which I must admit I am happy to have forgotten. Apparently, it was on a bright sunny day in junior school when birthdays were days to celebrate. It consisted of wearing a bright frilly pink dress to school and giving off pricey "return gifts" to the other people in my class. Apparently it was a big prestige issue with most parents. You know the gifts just had to get bigger every year or something was surely wrong with your IT returns. So it was one of those days and apparently I was so caught up in the process of celebrating my birthday, I forgot to congratulate myself on my birthday. The class was obviously not the right place for such matters of national importance, in addition the ogre babies( huge, fat and almost green) in my class were too busy finishing off the cake,(Did I mention that cakes were part of the "return gift" package? Only Kookie Jar was impressive enough, or ofcourse, if you were Doogie Howser and could bake a perfectly edible chocolate cake at the age of five, then nothing like it) so I decided to use the school toilet. Little did I know my peaceful celebrations( consisting of picking up my overbearing pink dress and breaking into an impromptu butt dance) would be disturbed by none other than Priyanka. And thanks to the look of "Earth is being invaded by aliens right at this moment and nobody can stop the destruction", I have since not forgotten it.
Then there is the case of a recent memory, around two days ago, when my mother realised the medium called the computer could be used to correspond free of cost to other mortals of the world। So, she sat down at the keyboard to type an email to my mashi. Believe me, the moment was epiphany... it was like Early man rubbing the two stones together to create fire. As she pressed down, sceptically, the keys of the keyboard hoping they wouldn't retaliate, I realised that Priyanka is not the only victim of this incurable disease called technology.
At this juncture, my memory divulges a little more and reminds me of the impacts we used to "perform" on stage(read as euphemism for "making an ass of ourselves' and a polite way of saying we polluted Atmodaya Bhavan--thank you to the LMB ppl who were gracious enough to let us use their stage). For the first year since I was Anish, my roles consisted of either being Prince Charming's gay partner or playing an LMB student of Class XI. Then of course comes my memory. We were supposed to perform this play for this fest Syzygy which is basically the Computer Club fest.
So our impact team with our great ideas decided to make a computer come alive. So we had a Backspace key and and Alt key(a character with a split personality disorder), all come to life, and somewhere in the middle I came in( pretending to be an LMB student). Forever reliable, Shweta got really sick and turned up on the day of the Impact without a voice,quite literally. So I had to pick up Sign Language in a day and as was the ritual with our impact team, doom was inevitable.
Then somebody(yours truly) came up with the suggestion that Backspace(the character Shweta was playing) was such a pricey character that he wouldn't speak at all and instead communicate every emotion through some other character. So we got this girl, Priyanshi to read from the script(on the stage,mind you) and in the play she happened to be the virus in our computer.
So on stage the scene goes like this:
So on stage the scene goes like this:
Priyanshi reads from the script Backspace's lines: "Are you a virus?" and then realises it's her line next so she looks into the script,reads my illegible handwriting, looks up, convincingly at the audience and says" Yes, I am a virus" in a matter of seconds. I swear if I could sink lower I would, but there wasn't a deeper pool close by to drown myself.
And then ofcourse we had the everenthusiastic people from the audience shouting that we were reading from the script, just making our eventful day better. I would have given anything to get off the stage right then. But not even half our play was over and through the relentless abuses we went on, undaunted.
And even after all that we had the courage to face the same stage a year later, this time albeit, me as Bappi Lahiri and Shweta as Mithun Da and my friend as Himesh Reshammiya and ofcourse Bappi had to have a lil boy crush on Himesh--just the icing on our cake. And THIS the audience had no difficulty understanding.
My memory is a strange thing. It acts in weird ways. It behaves independently and refuses to respect me. But at the end of the day, whatever little I remember makes me laugh hysterically, and makes this world a little more approachable and a little more understandable....no I correct that-- only more approachable, the world still baffles me to no end.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Bohemian Crapsody
I have often asked myself why I took up quizzing. I convinced myself for quite sometime that it wasn't because I was a geek and hence it was like a duty I had to perform to be affiliated to the Club. It didn't help that my fellow quiz team members( especially Priyanka) reminded me everyday that I was exactly what I had calmly vowed never to be--- a geek.
It didn't help that I had spectacles that highlighted my already damaged facial structure( making me look incredibly like my 70 year old grandmom who I hate with every nerve of mine). It didn't help that I had a metallic smile and it certainly didn't help when I answered on stage the breed of puppy that Aishwarya Rai got for her birthday.
Time went by and slowly, although extremely hesitantly, I realised that I was resigned to my fate and did nothing to change it in anyway. We were a very average quiz team who usually won either when no other team was around, or by virtue of where we sat when we answered the prelims. Then, of course a funny thing happened... we got ADDICTED. Before we knew what happened, we realised we had inadvertently entered a trap we couldn't quite escape. And that is when we realised that usually in a quiz everyone is happy to win--- a possibility previously unexplored by us. A usual day in a quiz consisted of us turning up at the venue five minutes before the prelims, looking for what refreshments were promised to participants, Alokita ogling at any male species that moved and of course making sure that in case, if by the grace of God, we did manage to qualify, Ashok Hall wasn't pronounced as Ashokaaaa Hall, or worse Ashoke Hall Hall( yes it has happened). If we did qualify, the routine on stage consisted of trying to think intelligently when we hadn't a clue about the answer, spilling any drink offered to us( copyright Priyanka Kumar), and of course me saying "Ooooh, I know" excitedly and keeping other people ( who were technically in MY team) clueless about it. Priyanka's red pimple usually assumed catastrophic proportions at this point in time( well whose wouldn't-- I am by far too annoying for my own good). We messed up answers almost all the time, looked valiantly towards each other when questions we were embarrassed about the answer came up( yes, the glorious days of Jacoiz---We were shown a horn and asked to identify the missing part, Priyanka came up with a gem of an answer( something me and Alokita couldn't let go of), 'the Thing with which you blow". I swear Barry O Brien, the righteous God-fearing, stoic, devoutly Christian man he is, tried his level best to hide the obvious blush and frankly speaking we sort of refused to associate with Priyanka for the next seven days. This was about the time that God (sorry Priyanka) looked upon our sorry sorry condition and decided that maybe it was time to give us a chance after all. It didn't mean we answered more questions or got smarter, just that our embarrassing guesses just magically turned out right.
Anyhow, when God seemed finally to be on our side, something else happens. We call it the Roger Federer effect. I mean the guy IS really good--can't Nadal ever give him a break. Atleast as far as the French Open is concerned. Not to say we are Roger Federer, by any means, although what we wouldnt do to believe so, but well we were finally winning, and then come along Enfant Terribles. Well, not only wasnt this team younger to us( yes, Priyanka has turned 18 and I don't let one day go by without making her realise that) but took away our only strengths. Me and my maniacal love for cinema and Priyanka's obsession with Dali. I mean seriously who watches Bergman on a regular basis or knows "Don't Cry for me Argentina" from its opening riffs. Me and Priyanka have many a conspiracy theory( the most outlandish being the driving force of the team has a twin brother, which I wouldn't be too surprised to hear). Then ofcourse the Grand Finale came last Saturday a supposedly Music Quiz, that should have probably been announced as a RED FM promotional campaign but I cant really blame them they did warn us about the fact that the quiz was just an excuse.
and then of course there is Our man Stanley. Its this species who if aliens existed without doubt would surely be one. Usually onserved trailing Barry I mean trailing, just enough not to touch His Holiness, observed with a object very aptly christened Stanley Sir's laptop although if he is a Sir I might as well be the Dalai Lama. You know they say there are sad people and there is Stanley, listless, loveless, Stanley---not asking for a moment of appreciation for his bobbing his big round head during prelims. Just dragging along his laptop..... Melancholy and the Infinte Sadness they call it. Well, That is a separate story.
(look for Stanleys illustration by Priyanka in the next blog.
Anyhow, when God seemed finally to be on our side, something else happens. We call it the Roger Federer effect. I mean the guy IS really good--can't Nadal ever give him a break. Atleast as far as the French Open is concerned. Not to say we are Roger Federer, by any means, although what we wouldnt do to believe so, but well we were finally winning, and then come along Enfant Terribles. Well, not only wasnt this team younger to us( yes, Priyanka has turned 18 and I don't let one day go by without making her realise that) but took away our only strengths. Me and my maniacal love for cinema and Priyanka's obsession with Dali. I mean seriously who watches Bergman on a regular basis or knows "Don't Cry for me Argentina" from its opening riffs. Me and Priyanka have many a conspiracy theory( the most outlandish being the driving force of the team has a twin brother, which I wouldn't be too surprised to hear). Then ofcourse the Grand Finale came last Saturday a supposedly Music Quiz, that should have probably been announced as a RED FM promotional campaign but I cant really blame them they did warn us about the fact that the quiz was just an excuse.
and then of course there is Our man Stanley. Its this species who if aliens existed without doubt would surely be one. Usually onserved trailing Barry I mean trailing, just enough not to touch His Holiness, observed with a object very aptly christened Stanley Sir's laptop although if he is a Sir I might as well be the Dalai Lama. You know they say there are sad people and there is Stanley, listless, loveless, Stanley---not asking for a moment of appreciation for his bobbing his big round head during prelims. Just dragging along his laptop..... Melancholy and the Infinte Sadness they call it. Well, That is a separate story.
(look for Stanleys illustration by Priyanka in the next blog.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Making Friendships
Around 17 years from now, if my daughter or adopted daughter were to ask me to tell her a bedtime story, assuming it would have to be technology related(because they were probably programmed into believing so-- am I getting too Aldous Huxley?) it would go something like this...
Around 17 years ago when the world was still a place you could breathe in without asking for permission and I was just getting over the depression of turning 17, strange things started happening. Firstly, I became a girl, then Priyanka( please refer to as "the hand") got drunk and told everyone around her how even though most people presumed otherwise, people around her were "good people", Sonali became visible and Shweta baked chocolate bread. It was around this time that the world woke up to something even more terrifying.. something that would change the very basis of our daily existence...No it wasn't Himesh Reshammiya's nose or Liz Hurley's hideous pink saris... it had a new fancy Turkish name. People began calling it ORKUT.
One fine morning, some computer developer's girlfriend( his first one in the 35 years of his existence) decided he was boring( snigger) and left him. He was Turkish and very sex deprived and wanted to find himself a friend. So he went online, and instead of going on a "find a friend" site suddenly, had a brainwave and decided to create a webpage so that he could find himself a girl. We all know how innovative computer programmers are, so he happily called it by his first name and thus was born Orkut.
Orkut, although not successful at first, soon found himself a girl. Realising that fellow computer developers would probably go through the same agony and pain he decided to open it to a public forum.
Then Bangalore entered the Oxford Dictionary and software developers in India( the most frustrated kind) discovered it. And they told their friends and they told theirs and soon Sector V got to it. Then one day, innocent and uninformed about the ways of the world, I opened my inbox to find an invitation from a cousin of mine. Intrigued, I joined. I told my friends and invited them too, not realising what I had got myself into. For the first two months, I interacted with few friends, scrapped myself on my own scrapbook four times before being told it wasn't the way to go, and generally kept myself happy. I discovered my school community and although anything but patriotic about it, I joined it for the simple reason of being connected in someway to the world around me. My South Korean cousin told me to put up a photgraph of mine and update my profile and seeing Priyanka around me doing so every couple of weeks I went along and did it .
Then one night, it happened. Somebody scrapped me with words that have since scarred me for life "Hi wanna "make friendship" with me?". Beside this,a tiny profile picture with a guy with a pair of sunglasses. Creeped out and convinced that I must have done something terribly wrong I closed the website with the hope that this post would have magically been erased. Instead, the next day I found the man again staring at me through the creepy "Raye band' sunglasses. Remember that Japanese horror film "The Ring" where you watch some video and as soon as you finish it, someone calls you saying "You'll die in seven days" and the way your throat just chokes up and you realise your vocal chords have just disappeared, yup, the same happened to me except I felt I didn't even have that much time left. But after seven days of living in mortal fear and watching every footstep of mine I chanced upon a friend's profile to find the same identical message on four people's scrapbook. It was then that I realised that this phrase had pervaded so far into the average Indian conscience that it had become deadly and incurable. So much so that the people afflicted with this disease aren't even aware that they have it.
"Make friendship" is a serious disease. It makes especially Indian males to assume that " make friendship" constitutes a comprehensible English phrase and means " be friends". But the question for most people who aren't afflicted by it is how is it possible to make friendship: it most certainly isn't play dough.
But Mr Buyokutten had more surprises in store for me. He informed me that not only do creepy guy with violently Red shirts and pants(and not all of them are called Nishil Gorsia), scrap you, they actually ask you to be their friends and when they you generally reject them, "make friendship" compels them to somehow assume that you are playing hard to get and they keep asking you to be their bestest friends. "Make friendship", due to evolution of the male species, also changes its manifestations. When you don't respond directly to "make friendship" requests, innovative scraps are also sent. In the form of "although i am a stranger to you, if you add me and get to know me we won't be strangers any more." A few other variations to detect Make Friendship viruses....
a)" Nobody knows each other when they see each other for the first time. Yet, if you don't make the effort you wont know what you might have missed."
b) " I know you are not eighteen.. tell me the truth"
c) " If you were a Butterfly you would be the Empress butterfly, if you were a flower you would be a Rose..."( Barf)
d) Friendship messages expanding each letter of friendship say F for faithful R for Responsible blah blah.
e) Your profile is very interesting and we have the same tastes( I can almost see the creepy wide toothed 35 year old paedophile grin)
Then of course there are people, like me, who have not been afflicted by this disease but have been afflicted by another one...obsessive compulsive disorder to reply to scraps from people I know and inspite of the number of Make Friendships increasing by the hour I have been compelled to reply to these scraps. I know there is an invisible force tugging at me everywhich way and all though my fingers tire of typing H and I's on the keyboard, quite magically I do.
Around 17 years ago when the world was still a place you could breathe in without asking for permission and I was just getting over the depression of turning 17, strange things started happening. Firstly, I became a girl, then Priyanka( please refer to as "the hand") got drunk and told everyone around her how even though most people presumed otherwise, people around her were "good people", Sonali became visible and Shweta baked chocolate bread. It was around this time that the world woke up to something even more terrifying.. something that would change the very basis of our daily existence...No it wasn't Himesh Reshammiya's nose or Liz Hurley's hideous pink saris... it had a new fancy Turkish name. People began calling it ORKUT.
One fine morning, some computer developer's girlfriend( his first one in the 35 years of his existence) decided he was boring( snigger) and left him. He was Turkish and very sex deprived and wanted to find himself a friend. So he went online, and instead of going on a "find a friend" site suddenly, had a brainwave and decided to create a webpage so that he could find himself a girl. We all know how innovative computer programmers are, so he happily called it by his first name and thus was born Orkut.
Orkut, although not successful at first, soon found himself a girl. Realising that fellow computer developers would probably go through the same agony and pain he decided to open it to a public forum.
Then Bangalore entered the Oxford Dictionary and software developers in India( the most frustrated kind) discovered it. And they told their friends and they told theirs and soon Sector V got to it. Then one day, innocent and uninformed about the ways of the world, I opened my inbox to find an invitation from a cousin of mine. Intrigued, I joined. I told my friends and invited them too, not realising what I had got myself into. For the first two months, I interacted with few friends, scrapped myself on my own scrapbook four times before being told it wasn't the way to go, and generally kept myself happy. I discovered my school community and although anything but patriotic about it, I joined it for the simple reason of being connected in someway to the world around me. My South Korean cousin told me to put up a photgraph of mine and update my profile and seeing Priyanka around me doing so every couple of weeks I went along and did it .
Then one night, it happened. Somebody scrapped me with words that have since scarred me for life "Hi wanna "make friendship" with me?". Beside this,a tiny profile picture with a guy with a pair of sunglasses. Creeped out and convinced that I must have done something terribly wrong I closed the website with the hope that this post would have magically been erased. Instead, the next day I found the man again staring at me through the creepy "Raye band' sunglasses. Remember that Japanese horror film "The Ring" where you watch some video and as soon as you finish it, someone calls you saying "You'll die in seven days" and the way your throat just chokes up and you realise your vocal chords have just disappeared, yup, the same happened to me except I felt I didn't even have that much time left. But after seven days of living in mortal fear and watching every footstep of mine I chanced upon a friend's profile to find the same identical message on four people's scrapbook. It was then that I realised that this phrase had pervaded so far into the average Indian conscience that it had become deadly and incurable. So much so that the people afflicted with this disease aren't even aware that they have it.
"Make friendship" is a serious disease. It makes especially Indian males to assume that " make friendship" constitutes a comprehensible English phrase and means " be friends". But the question for most people who aren't afflicted by it is how is it possible to make friendship: it most certainly isn't play dough.
But Mr Buyokutten had more surprises in store for me. He informed me that not only do creepy guy with violently Red shirts and pants(and not all of them are called Nishil Gorsia), scrap you, they actually ask you to be their friends and when they you generally reject them, "make friendship" compels them to somehow assume that you are playing hard to get and they keep asking you to be their bestest friends. "Make friendship", due to evolution of the male species, also changes its manifestations. When you don't respond directly to "make friendship" requests, innovative scraps are also sent. In the form of "although i am a stranger to you, if you add me and get to know me we won't be strangers any more." A few other variations to detect Make Friendship viruses....
a)" Nobody knows each other when they see each other for the first time. Yet, if you don't make the effort you wont know what you might have missed."
b) " I know you are not eighteen.. tell me the truth"
c) " If you were a Butterfly you would be the Empress butterfly, if you were a flower you would be a Rose..."( Barf)
d) Friendship messages expanding each letter of friendship say F for faithful R for Responsible blah blah.
e) Your profile is very interesting and we have the same tastes( I can almost see the creepy wide toothed 35 year old paedophile grin)
Then of course there are people, like me, who have not been afflicted by this disease but have been afflicted by another one...obsessive compulsive disorder to reply to scraps from people I know and inspite of the number of Make Friendships increasing by the hour I have been compelled to reply to these scraps. I know there is an invisible force tugging at me everywhich way and all though my fingers tire of typing H and I's on the keyboard, quite magically I do.
I profess my love for Johnny Depp and Ralph Fiennes publicly and laugh my arse off at Anish Agarwals (with About Mes as diverse as I am a smart boy..). I dont get asked out publicly on my scrapbook and although each Make Friendship is creepy as the next and my throat still dries up at the sight of people who think display pics with a middle finger sign or Salman Khan makes them cool, sorry "kewl'( another watch out for Make Friendships), I may surprise myself and have some fun.
I hope for my sake, my daughter has a chance for all that. Come on, where's the fun if you dont get afflicted once in a while.
P.S. this does not give creepy Make Friendships the right to contact me.
Saturday, June 16, 2007
The Importance of Being Idle
Now cows have it easy. All they have to do is show up at an appointed time... which in case they forget everyone around them knows about. There are no hassles, no retakes and definitely no dissatisfaction report filed so as to speak of. A few may insist on dressing up----getting an Elvis Hairdo or even using Orbit White but that is as far as a cow will go to impressive its prospective partner. And within a matter of months you have a healthy calf right under ur nose. Quite a convenient arrangement, right?
But human beings as a race love and thrive on complications. A simple "hi" gets get convoluted to Hello, nice to see you, asphyxiating hugs, we haven't met in such a long time blah blah blah. So mating, rather in human-like sophisticated terminology, "courtship" is a long winded, intensely complicating, morally wronged, vague and arduous process. They say technology has made the world a smaller place. They obviously haven't come across a huge section of the human population, especially in this little hamlet called Calcutta.
It all starts on a bright sunny morning when most of the adolescent population is asleep( owing to night long conferences with people they don't know yet happily engage in nonsensical conversation with), when suddenly someone's phone rings.
Hesitantly and quite reluctantly and after 15 minutes of other worldly bantering the caller says something that will alter the lives of an odd 128 people forever( more if you are Shweta Sengupta Sharma): "Listen I like someone"
Steps to be followed after this are of the following kinds:--
a) If the person in the conversation is closely or directly connected with the object of affection then the caller must leave the sentence hanging in mid air amidst a shroud of suspense which will, no doubt infuriate the other person and is typically designed to arouse his/her curiousity for a heightened period of time.
b) if the person in conversation is not directly involved, then the caller will confide in him/her and ask for the caller to somehow through a very complicated network arrange for some sort of clandestine meeting(which in all eventuality more than 20 people will know about)
c) if the caller is really desperate or an old style romantic(rarity) he/she will post a love letter on a public forum( case in point Priyanka Kumar, who recently had to experience the embarrassment of being asked out on Orkut)
lets deal with person A first
After 7 days of futile code breaking, the person will finally reveal the crush in concern(which in many cases may have moved from the original interest to someone totally new). This can incite these kinds of behaviour.
1) Most often blatant and unabashed ridiculing-unending laughter sessions and calling up to inform a few hundred other people who will react in the same way until finally it will reach the person in concern by which time the originally afflicted by love may have lost concern in the girl/guy. But the ridiculing will not stop here--will continue months on end resulting in even years of oppression.
2) the person will be actually concerned and will help the guy get the girl or vice versa.
3) if the person you are confiding in, secretly is in love with you and if he/she at heart is not a bad person(well what are the chances of that) then he or she will do all in their power to secure the love interest.
4) if you belong to LMG you will open a fan club(something on the likes of Pink Bunny) where all the women will be given training by senior sluts on hiking the skirt up, laughing at the right moment, cheering on your man if he is a stud.
From now on, if your friend is genuinely interested in your welfare(expecting compensation in the form of a few Marlboros for every successful more- than- five -minute- private conversation you engage in) you will be forced to accompany unknown people to either CCD or some coffee joint where you will be left alone to talk to each other( Still a concept not fully understood by me). in most cases the guy will organise the date and therefore after it, or during it, the girl will receive a few hundred calls from people she didnt know existed to confirm how evrything is going.
To that if she goes by the name of Sonali Gangal will pretend that it was a torture machine(which even eating to her is) or reply "whatever", yet when asked out for a second date will not decline. Then again if your date is an ATM machine you wouldn't either.
again if your love life is on a separate course as in the person you have fallen for is an out and out jerk, you will seek solace in the arms of someone else(I cant believe i am making this sound remotely poetic) who you will say yes, to to whet your massive ego first but a few months down the line you wont hesitate in baking chocolate fudge(which turns out more like chocolate covered bread, but dont be deterred) for this person and especially when you do not want to miss out on Tommy Hilfiger shopping sprees.
In effect when you start going out with a person you become his or her property. therefore when someone so much as even steal a glance at your boyfriend or girlfriend( and especially when happens to be a former flame) it can result in very public Bridget Jones style catfights, which may be flattering to say the least but forever be imprinted in their memories.
this may often elicit responses such as " He is your weekend bungalow that you need to visit sometimes for recreation, I am your fifth floor apartment". Talk about dialogues. And K serial writers thought they had it all.
For me, although its far too much trouble. Firstly, I will never end up with a person quite as perfect as George and its too much of an interference trying to remember anniversaries, buy pricey gifts or even remember appointed dates especially when you aren't all that interested in the first place. Secondly, no one in their right frame of mind would be interested. Thirdly, I get only 60 bucks per month to refill my balance on my mobile( and my driver gets more). Fourthly, if this is the process I have to go through everytime, then I think I prefer being a cow.
But human beings as a race love and thrive on complications. A simple "hi" gets get convoluted to Hello, nice to see you, asphyxiating hugs, we haven't met in such a long time blah blah blah. So mating, rather in human-like sophisticated terminology, "courtship" is a long winded, intensely complicating, morally wronged, vague and arduous process. They say technology has made the world a smaller place. They obviously haven't come across a huge section of the human population, especially in this little hamlet called Calcutta.
It all starts on a bright sunny morning when most of the adolescent population is asleep( owing to night long conferences with people they don't know yet happily engage in nonsensical conversation with), when suddenly someone's phone rings.
Hesitantly and quite reluctantly and after 15 minutes of other worldly bantering the caller says something that will alter the lives of an odd 128 people forever( more if you are Shweta Sengupta Sharma): "Listen I like someone"
Steps to be followed after this are of the following kinds:--
a) If the person in the conversation is closely or directly connected with the object of affection then the caller must leave the sentence hanging in mid air amidst a shroud of suspense which will, no doubt infuriate the other person and is typically designed to arouse his/her curiousity for a heightened period of time.
b) if the person in conversation is not directly involved, then the caller will confide in him/her and ask for the caller to somehow through a very complicated network arrange for some sort of clandestine meeting(which in all eventuality more than 20 people will know about)
c) if the caller is really desperate or an old style romantic(rarity) he/she will post a love letter on a public forum( case in point Priyanka Kumar, who recently had to experience the embarrassment of being asked out on Orkut)
lets deal with person A first
After 7 days of futile code breaking, the person will finally reveal the crush in concern(which in many cases may have moved from the original interest to someone totally new). This can incite these kinds of behaviour.
1) Most often blatant and unabashed ridiculing-unending laughter sessions and calling up to inform a few hundred other people who will react in the same way until finally it will reach the person in concern by which time the originally afflicted by love may have lost concern in the girl/guy. But the ridiculing will not stop here--will continue months on end resulting in even years of oppression.
2) the person will be actually concerned and will help the guy get the girl or vice versa.
3) if the person you are confiding in, secretly is in love with you and if he/she at heart is not a bad person(well what are the chances of that) then he or she will do all in their power to secure the love interest.
4) if you belong to LMG you will open a fan club(something on the likes of Pink Bunny) where all the women will be given training by senior sluts on hiking the skirt up, laughing at the right moment, cheering on your man if he is a stud.
From now on, if your friend is genuinely interested in your welfare(expecting compensation in the form of a few Marlboros for every successful more- than- five -minute- private conversation you engage in) you will be forced to accompany unknown people to either CCD or some coffee joint where you will be left alone to talk to each other( Still a concept not fully understood by me). in most cases the guy will organise the date and therefore after it, or during it, the girl will receive a few hundred calls from people she didnt know existed to confirm how evrything is going.
To that if she goes by the name of Sonali Gangal will pretend that it was a torture machine(which even eating to her is) or reply "whatever", yet when asked out for a second date will not decline. Then again if your date is an ATM machine you wouldn't either.
again if your love life is on a separate course as in the person you have fallen for is an out and out jerk, you will seek solace in the arms of someone else(I cant believe i am making this sound remotely poetic) who you will say yes, to to whet your massive ego first but a few months down the line you wont hesitate in baking chocolate fudge(which turns out more like chocolate covered bread, but dont be deterred) for this person and especially when you do not want to miss out on Tommy Hilfiger shopping sprees.
In effect when you start going out with a person you become his or her property. therefore when someone so much as even steal a glance at your boyfriend or girlfriend( and especially when happens to be a former flame) it can result in very public Bridget Jones style catfights, which may be flattering to say the least but forever be imprinted in their memories.
this may often elicit responses such as " He is your weekend bungalow that you need to visit sometimes for recreation, I am your fifth floor apartment". Talk about dialogues. And K serial writers thought they had it all.
For me, although its far too much trouble. Firstly, I will never end up with a person quite as perfect as George and its too much of an interference trying to remember anniversaries, buy pricey gifts or even remember appointed dates especially when you aren't all that interested in the first place. Secondly, no one in their right frame of mind would be interested. Thirdly, I get only 60 bucks per month to refill my balance on my mobile( and my driver gets more). Fourthly, if this is the process I have to go through everytime, then I think I prefer being a cow.
Monday, June 11, 2007
this is what they meant by
Maybe you are right and I am far too lazy to write and since this post has to include the tag so instead of continuing with my earlier post i choose to forward this article by a very favourite journo of mine... chandrima bhattacharya and her adorable column...sex & the city Sex & The City |
| What are men scared of? |
| CHANDRIMA S. BHATTACHARYA WONDERS ABOUT THE POSSIBLE REASONS THAT LED MEN TO LAUNCH A PROTEST PLATFORM IN THE WAKE OF THE DOMESTIC VIOLENCE ACT The first arrest has been made under the domestic violence act. But last week, with the act barely out of Parliament, a group of men went slightly wild. To protect the hallowed institution from the threat of “legalised terrorism” by women, they launched a protest group called Save the Indian Family. When anyone who has been in touch with contemporary Indian culture knows that nothing can save the Indian family since Rakhi Sawant burst onto the scene and I will not dwell on the word “burst” in this context. A democracy has to allow for all sorts of phenomena and their expression: Rakhi Sawant, Gandhiji T-shirts following his rehabilitation through a film starring a bomb blast accused, the possibility of Navjot Singh Sidhu printing his complete works… So why should men who feel that all women are potentially terrorists be stopped from holding their protest march? But I was just wondering what made the men feel so threatened. There doesn’t seem to be much reason. India is the world capital of legislation — it loves to pass acts that will never be implemented. Otherwise the act banning child labour would never have been passed. Without children in our homes, tea stalls, factories and red light areas, the economy will crumble and all foreign journalists will go away. The domestic violence act is very welcome and it will be a shot in the arm for many women, but I have a feeling that many more will never know about it. I know a young woman who works as a cook at several houses. She has two children. She was a bright student and her parents — her father is a watchman — had high hopes for her. But she met a dashing young man one day, the chief mason at a nearby building under construction, and fell in love. True, he drank, but love is a great cure for alcohol. So she gave up school to watch him slap the cement on the freshly-laid bricks and never was watching paint dry so much fun. She married him. Now he doesn’t work, drinks and drinks and sometimes takes a break to beat her up. The women who read the papers would probably have turned to the law enforcement agencies in her situation, but it is unlikely that she will. The act, the men said, brought into being by “modern sadists” and “modern Surpanakhas”, would encourage terrorist activity by women. Are the men worried about this girl? The men can also take heart from the areas covered by the act. It tries to map the crucial areas of torture — marital rape and sexual, physical, verbal and economic violence — and in that it is generous. But it leaves out some notoriously unspoken facts about the tortures of living with a man. They can lead to slow death for the woman. What happens when every day, after a hectic time at the office, the woman comes and sees the floor strewn with empty plastic bottles, which means that not only she has to put them back, but also fill them with filtered water? Then the wait at the filter? Then to find that an empty pizza box is lying on the bed? To find that the fan had not been switched off, though he left home later and came back earlier? That the clothes are all to be folded, while he watches the recap of how India lost because they played Dhoni at number six? To feel too tired by the end of dinner to give in to his wish — of watching a movie together? To have to scream at him, though that’s not how it should have been at all? Day after day after day? What is the name of this torture? The Daily Grind? The Lazy Mind? The Thick Hind? Whatever it is, it is again unlikely that many women, though living through this, will report to the police the details of their domestic lives. Then what are the men so scared of? I think the secret is that it takes very little to make men feel scared. Anything that poses a threat to their control of the world makes them tremble. Even the thought of a threat makes them scared. Sometimes they invent the scare, a great big bogey, from nothing, just to assert themselves. Like George Bush Jr. and the Weapons of Mass Destruction. It is probably no coincidence that the men who formed the society see the women as “terrorists”, “modern sadists” and “modern Surpanakhas”. They could be talking about Weapons of Mass Destruction too.
"....It may be strange, and it may in fact be impossible for anyone else to understand, but until that very moment I'd no real comprehension of the wrong I'd done and the life I'd lost. While I'd committed the armed robberies, i was on drugs, addcited to heroin. An opiate fog had settled over everything i thought and did and even remembered sbout that time. Afterwards, during the trial and the three years in prison, I was sober and clear headed, and i should've known then what the crimes and punishments meant, for myself and my family and the people I'd robbed at the point of a gun. But I didn't know or feel anything of it then. I was too busy being punished and feeling punished, to put my heart around it. Even with the escape from prison, and the flight, running and hiding as a wanted man, a hunted man with a price on my head--even then, there was no final, clear, emcompassing grasp of the acts and the consequences that made up the new, bitter story of my life...." |
Monday, May 28, 2007
Adrift on the nile
Naguib Mahfouz writes sleek little existential dramas. Now I realise that I have already made the mistake of sounding extremely pseudo and really at this point in time I would do anything to avoid being so, considering this entire world around me seems in this crazy race to destroy themselves. What I mean is that, people in this world are just looking for reasons to ensure other people and, quite often themselves that their lives are worthless if Depression and morbid poetry is not a part of their everyday existence---with black nail polish and dollops of kohl on their eyelids( what the guys refer to as "emo") constituting must have accessories. Not to forget coke snorting which just takes "all the pain" away. What I personally fail to understand is this "pain"--- is it the pain of your parents not giving you enough pocket money or a girlfriend who refused to sleep with you or the pain of not having "this pain"--the ,what must seem, immense inability to feel the pain that ur peers so easily do, that inevitably pushes you towards yet again, this pain.
I dunno if its the book or association with vague people that has made me digress so much but lets get on with the point(which i have obviously forgotten by now..)
Last weekend I was at a friends place. Which led to me to a few observations. So i present them ala Mahyfouz style
Scenario for a play:
Characters involved
1. A silent invisible character lets call her Gangal: Usually observed( if you notice closely because this species takes special pleasure in playing dead) trying to hide in one corner of a medium sized room( without purpose, if you havent realised already).Takes immense pleasure when she is talked about by other visible people.. which is rarely so she takes lives for each moment. Usually mentioned in passing conversation when describing a silent invisible character or to make sure that this person is in fact not dead or has not disappeared.
Other purposes to this character include being used to sit upon by overweight or obese characters in Padmasan as an attempt to exert their superiority over such weaklings..
Usually used as rag dolls or as playthings or the Barbies we used to tear the heads off...
2. An overweight/obese character: Usually observed hogging a medium sized bed making it impossible for other normal sized people to be seated in comfort. So the other normal sized people are compelled to act like Palestininian refugees occupying one tiny little corner this medium sized bed. Usually this obese character-- lets call it "bhu" for purposes (both male and female) usually prides itself in its ability to prey on other creatures of the lost ark. Characterized by the presence of a mammoth earthquakish type laughter involving numerous rumblings of the voice and some more violent bed shaking and occasionally an emphatic Tarzan like chest thumping. Seen using their body weight as part of an elaborate Iron Maidenish torture mechanism---ask thin/invisible character for torture references. Usually the one on whom the joke is on.. although if the obese character(usually assumed to be fat headed as well) does realise it is on her, circumstances will be dire for anyone who remotely partook in the joke.
Other characteristics include an insatiable desire for sex and all things of the flesh( pun not intended) and musings about long lost navy men and bulldogs. Not excluding the evil eye on other boyfriends.
I have successfully managed to describe two of the extreme species.Allow me one more indiscretion for I shall keep you waiting for another post for the rest of the characters in my absurd play of errors... if anyone is listening albeit.
I dunno if its the book or association with vague people that has made me digress so much but lets get on with the point(which i have obviously forgotten by now..)
Last weekend I was at a friends place. Which led to me to a few observations. So i present them ala Mahyfouz style
Scenario for a play:
Characters involved
1. A silent invisible character lets call her Gangal: Usually observed( if you notice closely because this species takes special pleasure in playing dead) trying to hide in one corner of a medium sized room( without purpose, if you havent realised already).Takes immense pleasure when she is talked about by other visible people.. which is rarely so she takes lives for each moment. Usually mentioned in passing conversation when describing a silent invisible character or to make sure that this person is in fact not dead or has not disappeared.
Other purposes to this character include being used to sit upon by overweight or obese characters in Padmasan as an attempt to exert their superiority over such weaklings..
Usually used as rag dolls or as playthings or the Barbies we used to tear the heads off...
2. An overweight/obese character: Usually observed hogging a medium sized bed making it impossible for other normal sized people to be seated in comfort. So the other normal sized people are compelled to act like Palestininian refugees occupying one tiny little corner this medium sized bed. Usually this obese character-- lets call it "bhu" for purposes (both male and female) usually prides itself in its ability to prey on other creatures of the lost ark. Characterized by the presence of a mammoth earthquakish type laughter involving numerous rumblings of the voice and some more violent bed shaking and occasionally an emphatic Tarzan like chest thumping. Seen using their body weight as part of an elaborate Iron Maidenish torture mechanism---ask thin/invisible character for torture references. Usually the one on whom the joke is on.. although if the obese character(usually assumed to be fat headed as well) does realise it is on her, circumstances will be dire for anyone who remotely partook in the joke.
Other characteristics include an insatiable desire for sex and all things of the flesh( pun not intended) and musings about long lost navy men and bulldogs. Not excluding the evil eye on other boyfriends.
I have successfully managed to describe two of the extreme species.Allow me one more indiscretion for I shall keep you waiting for another post for the rest of the characters in my absurd play of errors... if anyone is listening albeit.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
George and the sorrow tree Part II
The eternal sorrow tree has grown a few new branches which is funny because spring is over and it technically shouldnt, but then i realise its mine to live with and bear throughout my life so I inadevertently do with it whatever I want to. That,somehow,didn't come out the way i had envisioned it to... anyhow let me introduce George to you...
George O' Malley lives in Seattle, is an intern at the Seattle Grace Hospital. He is hopelessly and adorably in love with Meredith Grey. While these characters maybe fictitious, they are around me whichever way I look. So what is so special about George O'Malley? Apart from the fact that he is Irish, which sort of gives him the right to have just the deepest, bluest and most forgiving eyes in the world. While to most people he is not good looking, but the loser who takes everyone's shit, to me he adds a dimension which was previously unexplored by me----Depression
Surprised by the choice of vocabulary...well if you knew me well enough you would know... you would know how much it hurts to know I can never have him and that he exists only on ABC and Star World and that he exists for only one day in a week and that he exists only as a creation of Shonda Rhimes and some women like me... and what adds further to the ever evolving sorrow tree is the fact that he is essayed by someone who is gay in his real life...
Whereas my obsession with George extends as far as his character goes( or where i imagine it goes) the very fact that in real life he is not heterosexual just adds to my list of miseries. But then George being who he is makes my life better. Icy bitch Meredith Grey is a thing of the past now and now he has proved how truly magnanimous he is by going out with an overweight woman.. just gives us unfit women a tiny ray of hope and a tiny bit of chance of ever landing up with a guy as perfect as that... and as for Christina and her problems with George..well she handled them pretty well didnt she and yet at the end of it all you still fell in love with George all over again.....
Some people just have a way of doing that.
George O' Malley lives in Seattle, is an intern at the Seattle Grace Hospital. He is hopelessly and adorably in love with Meredith Grey. While these characters maybe fictitious, they are around me whichever way I look. So what is so special about George O'Malley? Apart from the fact that he is Irish, which sort of gives him the right to have just the deepest, bluest and most forgiving eyes in the world. While to most people he is not good looking, but the loser who takes everyone's shit, to me he adds a dimension which was previously unexplored by me----Depression
Surprised by the choice of vocabulary...well if you knew me well enough you would know... you would know how much it hurts to know I can never have him and that he exists only on ABC and Star World and that he exists for only one day in a week and that he exists only as a creation of Shonda Rhimes and some women like me... and what adds further to the ever evolving sorrow tree is the fact that he is essayed by someone who is gay in his real life...
Whereas my obsession with George extends as far as his character goes( or where i imagine it goes) the very fact that in real life he is not heterosexual just adds to my list of miseries. But then George being who he is makes my life better. Icy bitch Meredith Grey is a thing of the past now and now he has proved how truly magnanimous he is by going out with an overweight woman.. just gives us unfit women a tiny ray of hope and a tiny bit of chance of ever landing up with a guy as perfect as that... and as for Christina and her problems with George..well she handled them pretty well didnt she and yet at the end of it all you still fell in love with George all over again.....
Some people just have a way of doing that.
Monday, May 14, 2007
george and the eternal sorrow tree
if women were to ask themselves, Where have all the good men gone, they would have compiled something forty five times the size of the Bible, Lord of the Rings, or Wikipedia, for that matter. The truth of the matter is that all the good men are either taken or very very gay. I think the people who came up with the idea of Calcutta city of Joy must have thought of it as a very clever irony until people of this city, true to their nature took it to be true. So the species I observe around me fall into a few categories: the Made Its, the Want to Make its, the Havent Made its but trying oh so hard, the ones who think they have made it and the of course the ones who never will.
The Made its: Usually observed at social events waering the latests from their dad’s shop on Times Square, smoking or smoking up thanks to daddys ATM machine, which automatically grants them an undeniable right to legitimately do so) and if women throwing air kisses at the rest of us mortals.
The Want to Make its: observed trailing the Made Its pretending to be all chummy and trying very hard to extract their hearts deepest desires and a moment later this chameleon species is observed with another sharing the first’s deepest darkest desires in order to well try and climb the social ladder(as if there was a more noble purpose to all this...)
The Havent Made Its but trying oh so hard: usually observed trailing the Want to Make its who (very benevolently) give these people the "tips" to reach the Want to Make it status and pretend that that sort of honor is deserved only for a few lucky ones. so they say the road is very hard, very winded and requires giving up watever little self respect you ever had. so these species are usually noticed fetching cold drinks or smokes or vodka or on rare occasions condoms....
the Think They have made its are the worst of the lot: who think they are cool with a K, still think wearing Livestrongs is a good concept and will set them apart, dope bcoz its the new thing to do, and lech at women as if they have PSP's attached to their boobs. most men in Cal fall into this
and of course we end with the will nvr Make Its: I tend to quite predictably, identify wholeheartedly with this section of the public. atleast these people dont make and effort to be a part of the social circus in Calcutta and are defined by most other people as a "nerd", "dweeb", or simply "retards" but if thats the lowest it can go i accept it wholeheartedly... atleast it gets me George.
so who is George---- well he is wat has reduced me to my sorrow tree--its not really a tree but a figment of my colorful imagination--a place i run upto for security wen i realise all the good men Have Gone so who is George O'Malley---well he's from grey's Anatomy so he is in effect fictitious and a creation of Shonda Rhimes who i suspect is very much like me... and who is George O malley wait till the nxt blog to find out
The Made its: Usually observed at social events waering the latests from their dad’s shop on Times Square, smoking or smoking up thanks to daddys ATM machine, which automatically grants them an undeniable right to legitimately do so) and if women throwing air kisses at the rest of us mortals.
The Want to Make its: observed trailing the Made Its pretending to be all chummy and trying very hard to extract their hearts deepest desires and a moment later this chameleon species is observed with another sharing the first’s deepest darkest desires in order to well try and climb the social ladder(as if there was a more noble purpose to all this...)
The Havent Made Its but trying oh so hard: usually observed trailing the Want to Make its who (very benevolently) give these people the "tips" to reach the Want to Make it status and pretend that that sort of honor is deserved only for a few lucky ones. so they say the road is very hard, very winded and requires giving up watever little self respect you ever had. so these species are usually noticed fetching cold drinks or smokes or vodka or on rare occasions condoms....
the Think They have made its are the worst of the lot: who think they are cool with a K, still think wearing Livestrongs is a good concept and will set them apart, dope bcoz its the new thing to do, and lech at women as if they have PSP's attached to their boobs. most men in Cal fall into this
and of course we end with the will nvr Make Its: I tend to quite predictably, identify wholeheartedly with this section of the public. atleast these people dont make and effort to be a part of the social circus in Calcutta and are defined by most other people as a "nerd", "dweeb", or simply "retards" but if thats the lowest it can go i accept it wholeheartedly... atleast it gets me George.
so who is George---- well he is wat has reduced me to my sorrow tree--its not really a tree but a figment of my colorful imagination--a place i run upto for security wen i realise all the good men Have Gone so who is George O'Malley---well he's from grey's Anatomy so he is in effect fictitious and a creation of Shonda Rhimes who i suspect is very much like me... and who is George O malley wait till the nxt blog to find out
Sunday, May 13, 2007
ahem ahem
what can you say about a girl who knew so little and yet said so much... all the time. forgive me, i am new to this sort of blatant self deprecation that people sometimes refer to as a blog. First of all, there is nothing i have to say to anyone or to the world that i already very emphatically dont, so i am very clueless really about what it is that i want to convey, but hopefully i will figure out soon enough. At the moment though it is generally the lack of anything better to do....
i was floating around a theory the other day about the problem with the entire world's population atleast 95% i think.... they just assume they are too hot to resist. i think for many people this must be a huge boost to self confidence or whatever but seriously the last couple of days i have looked into a mirror all i could think of was how much space i was consuming and if i moderately overweight took up that much space did i fit into the prosaic definition of Hot and since i did not, did i still perceive myself as being capable of oozing any sort of sensuality.... for me the answer a thundering NO but for the rest of the world not quite so. really thw whole world would be a better place if people started crediting themselves a little less for all the goodness and pradas and marc jacobs and jimmy choos and armanis in the world... it would be a better and more environmentally friendly for a whole lotta people
i was floating around a theory the other day about the problem with the entire world's population atleast 95% i think.... they just assume they are too hot to resist. i think for many people this must be a huge boost to self confidence or whatever but seriously the last couple of days i have looked into a mirror all i could think of was how much space i was consuming and if i moderately overweight took up that much space did i fit into the prosaic definition of Hot and since i did not, did i still perceive myself as being capable of oozing any sort of sensuality.... for me the answer a thundering NO but for the rest of the world not quite so. really thw whole world would be a better place if people started crediting themselves a little less for all the goodness and pradas and marc jacobs and jimmy choos and armanis in the world... it would be a better and more environmentally friendly for a whole lotta people
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