Peeves, The Second. Bleh.

As promised, a bunch of profile peeves. And finally, the bullets make an appearance!

• About me classics -
   “I AM WAD I AM! U cannot change moi!!!! if yu dnt lyk me den F off!!!”. What, you have some spare nylon cords? Oh, Just Do It already.
• Another thing, almost everyone on Orkut is “relli cool.…hottt…. sexii….. nd… stylishh!!!”. Hot and cool, hot and cool. If I was a chauvinist chump, I’d say almost everyone on Orkut is working to become a female female, get what I mean? Yeah... Thing is, I’m willing to say that despite being a certified (if only biologically) female.
• “I don’t befriend strangers so stay away!!” – this from the kid with 400+ friends. Gets you thinking.. benefit of doubt is a difficult thing to dish out.

Best part is, all of this ends with an “I don’t have an attitude problem, get it?” comment. Am I the only one to find that funny? Uhm, nevermind.

When it comes to music, people listen to 'everything'. Cuisine? Why, everything. Arr.. how do they do it!?

Books? “I hate dem!!!!!!!!! / nott in mah vocab!! lolz”. Idiots. And if not that, some wax eloquent about Nancy Drews and Agatha Christies. For real. They were good, sure, but venture out some please? I find it disturbing that people don’t want to move out of the high school reading zone or try out authors outside the Archer-Sheldon bracket. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy them too, but sometimes, just for the sake of variety and all, ye know..?

A popular idea of a perfect first date –on an isolated beautiful island filled with greenery, surrounded by water on all sides, on a candlelit table for two. lavish dinner and then a walk along the beach. World, it’s the first date – why, unless there features a death wish or acute desperation and consequent mindblock, would someone want to be on an isolated island? People are either naïve or very naïve. I just know I’m going to get attacked for this one. Defense put off till then. :l

And then you have the frandship brand. You buy it for the first 10 seconds, then decide it’s a joke profile and have a good laugh. Fine fine, maybe not in every case. Yeah, right. Whatever be it, they make for interesting reads. Many testimonials have people paying homage, and rightly so. After all, who else offers 'frandship and loveship advice to strangers drifting in the ship of life'? Difficult to miss this one, but in case you haven’t been here before - http://www.orkut.co.in/Main#Profile.aspx?uid=14707071151543310205

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I’ve been thinking. Yes. People (yes, I'm 'people' too) come off as ruder/snarkier online than they really are, nay? Heh, I sure hope so.

So long.

Peeves, The First-Punctuation

Only recently got back with a long lost love – peoples’ profiles on Orkut. All it involves is hopping from one community to the other, clicking on names and display pictures at random and reading what they spent hours putting together. Status message - check. Profile sections, testimonials, photo album - check. In times of killing boredom, scrapbook all the way to December last - check. By then, you are likely to feel the first waves of nausea which have been sourced to potentially fatal overdoses. My suggestion, pick another random face from your would-be-could-be culprit’s friend list. Repeat procedure.

Be rest assured I propose a tried and tested, oh-so-respectable way out of boredom. Hours of entertainment AND no viruses, imagine. Heck, you can even create your own blog and write about it! :P

Bulleted below are a few um, choice portions. They can make you laugh and alternatively make you pull out your hair and scream in agony. I’m sure you’ll recognize most, perhaps even identify with some. Feel free to add to the list.

Before we hit separate sections of a profile, my one basic pet peeve - spelling and grammar conditions. May seem like a dry point to you, but that’s beside the point. Point is, i don….. undrstnd yy…. da peeps need tah… type lyk dis!!! Their POV is that the words can still be made out. Yeah, right. If you’re a seasoned decoder.

For cripes’ sake, it’s a 5-step demolishment policy they’ve distributed worldwide! Exclusive excerpts (painfully retyped in the King’s English for the most part) brought to you straight from the Haay Cumshinner’s desk –

a. Eliminate vowels. Vowels affect chances of peaceful afterlife.
b. Extended and misplaced ellipses (………..) are supplied at wholesale prices. Free of cost, for the elite. USE THEM!!
c. Capitalization is evil. Socialists we shall remain (no, not related) and teeny tiny typeface throughout we must propagate.
d. Do away with onomatopoeic “Haha, hehe, heehee”s. Bring in the lolz, lmao, rotflmfao – and swt. All else failing, go “ssup???????”.
e. Punctuation died with Gandhi. Make up for the commas, periods and question marks with scores of ‘!’s.

In case you happened to overlook the fact, the ellipses come in to buy time; particularly when they realize the next worked has to be spelt the Oxford way. Proven fact (Definitely the second half if not the first… Nonsense! That was tautology :l ) that it takes longer to think up “quirky” spellings and type them out than it does for Old Schoolers (in this case, inclusive of the likes of me) to type out entire ‘normal’ paragraphs.

Wait a minute. This post started out as one of those ‘mock the man!’ missions… turned into something along the same lines, but not quite. The finer aspects of profile hopping and subsequent revelations will come your way soon. Truth be told, I’ll enjoy writing about it far too much to put it off indefinitely.

Of Nothing, To Be True.

And hello. Been a while, hasn’t it? Then again, you wouldn’t dare reply in the negative, would you now?

Update of sorts – I’ve taken to running out of the house at 6 am to jog (most reluctantly) and play badminton (most enthusiastically) in the company of a few friends. I’ve been having a great time playing and meeting new people! You walk off court after a good 3 hours feeling all fresh and ready to take on the world – the exhaustion kicks in once you’re home and asked to put the laundry out to dry… You get what I mean. We are, so to say, getting back in shape. ‘Back’ kaha se aaya pata nahi, but it sure is heartening!

Some sincere counsel – do your best to avoid being paired with people you can’t yell at when you play doubles. You have some chumps who ignore shots, and therefore the game, because they figured “it was closer to your quadrant” and the most you can do in response is flash a slack jaw. Like seriously, what!? Some birds watch the bird fly overhead and admire the fluidity of motion. Birdie numb numb! Inside unfunny joke, don’t ask. They make annoying partners but hey, they might just be good players. Net result being that if you mind playing cameos, you’ll just have to lump it. Now for some foolproof advice – If you enjoy going for the shots and running around on court, warm up, ye hear me? Strongly seconded by some aching, inflamed and very stiff muscles.

Haha, we tried some wheatgrass juice after playing the other day – it came highly recommended. So much so that it cost us nothing. I’ll have you know one thing - post drink, you’ll feel like a cow. A grazing, mooing, cud-chewing cow at that. And akin to the dry masala puri after a plate of pani puris, they then give you a spoonful of moong sprouts to chomp on. Have all you want, but I’m warning you, you’ll feel like a horse.

- - -

In other news, I’m trying to get my portfolio in place. Keeps the mind busy, to say the least. Sometimes, I feel like my kid sister should be the one appearing. She is one creative chick. She’s also encouraging – she steals my paints, thereby forcing me to rescue them colours and put them to use. Sisterly affection in full force, yep.

- - -

After over a decade of seeing cheesy, jammy Monaco biscuit-sandwiches being advertised on bright yellow backgrounds, I decided it was time to try them out for myself. Verdict - Awesome snack! Also the kind you can patao a kid to make. Don’t whine if you’re the kid in your family, sucker. Send me some with a tall glass of iced lemon tea and a good book instead. Ooh wow, I need to go picture that folks... so long.

Les Blues Run The Game...

If we were talking football, I’d say I’m RED all over. Any day. But only IF. Right now, I’m blue all over. That it, folks – The blues are here! All those shades... shades I normally go gaga over, really. But sometimes, they suck. Nice and concise. Whoop dee do! Pulitzer with a side order of chicken wings please. Ack, no chicken. Dead things are bluesy. S&G sure got it right. All hail. The Internet's dead chicken below - viewing free.

All this feeling sorry for yourself business is so dumb. The rational part (not half) of you gets that it is anti-purpose, but while the majority rules… yuk yuk yuk. Emergency! This must end.


Okay, so today I painted. I kinda get why I averaged 4’s in school… make that 4.5’s. Then again, it could be the Blue Curtain dictating what I’m saying. To hell with it! So yeah, I painted. On leaves, on paper, with paints – I painted, get it? Good. All colourful stuff, I’m happy. Aw what the heck…

- - -

Now see, there’s this chap (I forget who) who said that if he was bored writing about something, he figured the janta probably wouldn’t enjoy reading it. Profound it isn’t, but so true, innit? So I’m gonna get the final fullstop of the day in place – soon. Not immediately, because I’m not bored. I’m just blank. And when over the murky blankness descends the heavy curtain… the moths attack. I have a few moth stories, actually. Ah shoot, I just got my Dad mad at me – I refused porridge at 8.20 pm, can you believe it!? Slam goes the door! Sue the girl I shall! Gah. Will someone please tell me who gets to be the teenager here?

The pictures helped, not a word from you - The dead chicken (sourced from Google, where else?) looks more alive than not. The crayons (sourced from some random profile, where the heck else?) make me happy. I sound like I think I would if I was drunk. I’m outta here. Here’s hoping Vikram Seth will help. Heh, I’m approaching a Holocaust story. My stars zonked out this evening, I tell you. Death to any joker who says this post made him/her laugh.

So long.

All Over The Portfolio

It has been decided. A portfolio I must have. Poems and articles work, ditto photographs and craft. Paintings and sketches - doodles, even. And guess what? I’m super excited! For real! Dunno why, but just the idea of getting paint and paper in contact gets me all animated! Doodles and snaps - awesome! Now I do get the feeling I’m overdoing the “!”s but hey, humour me... I’m excited, remember? Yeah!

So after 4 years of wishing Mrs. Sabrina David (art teach at school) would find herself a broomstick to fly (C’mon, she gave me 4 on 10 all along.. 5’s would be her biannual acts of benevolence. Never mind that the ‘artists’ in class averaged 7. ), and then 4 more years of paintless relief, it comes to this. A little out of pattern, do you think? Wrong, dear doofus. Absolutely wrong! It’s one of those round circle things, ye see… I’m sure I loved paints as a kid. Actually, it’s quite possible that I didn’t but umm… Okay, so unsafely assuming I loved paints, then tolerated them and finally detested them, it only makes sense that I fall for them all over again. See, I’m making perfect sense.

Ahh, I’m gonna paint! I can almost see some stuff - all I have to do is get off my lazy butt and make it. I’ve roped in my Nani – she’s my motivator cum art enthusiast cum creative guru. And boy, she does the best watercolours ever! She could make me feel like I was missing out on something great even during my AntiPaint phase... and mind you, it takes a lot to say no to temptation when it’s a matter of pointless principle.

My kid sister is all for it – she’s currently my centre for Lost&Found. Which is I-R-O-N-I-C. You know what I mean if you have a sibling. She even rummages for paintbrushes on her bed, that horror. Her bed the horror, she's a terror. Well, mostly not. To quote her – “My 12th standard Physics and Chemistry sister has to give drawing and colouring exams!? Oh my God, I have to help her!” Design entrance test reduced to a colouring exam. Heck, I was reduced to a Phy-Chem sister! Gave me such a sense of self worth. Small mercy that Math wasn’t featured. Another thing worthy of mention - I carried a pouch filled with her sketch pens, only one of which I used.
Lucky for her, she lives in this grossly simplified world where respect is dealt out on the basis of er... nothing. Authority, maybe. Which is why I get zero respect. The OMG bit – normally, I would have started a “Does God exist?” thing, but with her, nope. I tried it once when she was about 7 – she got hysterical, bawled. Nice and loud and scary, at that. And amidst her tears, she found the time, breath and energy to curse me to hell, call me names, come up with filmy dialogues AND promise me that God would punish me for being 'so disgusting'. I even got the royal ignore for the rest of the day. No theological discussions for us for a few years, no sir. I’ve smartened up, true.

- - -

Hehe, I got told this afternoon that I talk like I blog – All over the place. To me it felt like the biggest compliment ever! Dang, I even live all over the place. But then again, who am I to say… your venerated take on it would be?

Zip. Zilch. Nada.

Been five days since the naught discussed exam took place. Does the world look brighter, more colourful? Meh. Airier is all. Been sleeping more, jabbering more, online more, on the streets more… more of a slob than before, to be brief. Before the break, you’re so full of ideas… you see yourself chasing food fests and reading loads, catching up with friends and ‘doing something’, getting all artsy and going backpacking. But once the break has been flagged off, you’re lazybones reloaded. Combine that with some stubborn writers’ block and what you get is zilch. Nothing. One half of me wants to do a poll to pick a topic – that evil li’l thing! – while the other sincerely believes I should have taken up that moviemaker’s offer, auditioned or summat. Whatever’s left wants me to clean up the cobwebs.

Thing is, I’m rather okay with the decadence. I don’t really mind being a bum… except for every now and then. What I’d love to be doing right now is river rafting. What a way to wake up entirely! Had a go on the Teesta river in WB once – absolutely divine! One wild river, that. 20 minutes - You sing, you laugh, you have adrenaline pumping through you and of course, you work the oars. You bloody well work the oars. In that sense, rafting is one foolproof way of forging trust. The part about appreciating nature comes after you’re off the raft. Because really, when the alternative to singing and getting a kick out of it is thinking about how you can’t brake when the ride gets dangerously rash, you prefer to yell out jumbled lyrics. The best part is, no one's gonna notice.

Right, rafting. Upper limit on adventurous right now would be cooking up something fourth-worldly to guzzle down minus the beer. Third front : fourth front :: third world : fourth world. Get it? No, shaddup.

- - -

Ah. I figured I was rather thick skinned, all set to have ‘Bring It On!!’ emblazoned on my tee and stuff, but wow. Waking up to reactions along the lines of Tweak and Delete can do weird things to one’s epidermis. What the sun can do, you guys can too. So for the sake of my skin people, do be kind and leave comments telling me what part of the post did or did not go down well with you. A spot test is all very well since it gives out an idea about how the post was received, but it’s the comments that really let me in on what you’re thinking. No doofus, a comment doesn’t mean a compliment – anything constructive would be most welcome. So pull out your keyboards, and get your good deed for the day in place. Much thanks.

- - -

Daily dose of ramble shamble - MS Word sees ‘shamble’ and ‘shambles’ as different words. Obviously. No, I meant that in the context of what synonyms they provide, not how they’re spelt. ‘Shamble’ goes down as waddling or dragging your feet but ‘shambles’ is a muddle or a dump. And and and, ‘shamble’ is put down as a synonym for ‘shambles’. What a mess! See how shambling through the shambles of the thesaurus maker’s mind would make for difficult times? Uh, nevermind.

Have a lazy weekend. What, ideas? I freelance, sure.

The New Face Of Heroin

With great ideas, comes great procrastination. And with great worklessness, comes great desperation. (So I’m not Spiderman’s script writer, sue me!) But man, when all of these combine…

Naah, you deserve a complete sentence. So. When I’m the one full of ideas, procrastination, worklessness and desperation, what you get is an online advertisement for a job. And me being me (whatever that means), what I get, are responses.

This was around March end, just after the boards. It was mostly an experiment to get to know about the job scene for someone who is, for all intents and purposes, a prospective baarvi paas. The ad went precisely like this:

I just gave my HSC Science exams, and am looking for a job through the summer - April-June, to be precise. I'm open to trying out with almost any field. In case there's some sort of opening in a place you know of, do let me know! Thanks a ton.

The replies went precisely as… unexpected.

The first from Mr. Hotjapan went “You have a wonderful photo, congrats!!”. No kidding. Had him figured out for a weirdo. I mean, c’mon, even I wouldn’t have an email id that introduced me as hot japan, let along the ‘congratulations’ for a snap. More like lucky light effects with lucky genetic mixup. With my email id, I’m all mysterious yet straightforward – “i.me.maself” *groans*. What was I thinking..? Coming back to his mail, he then proceeded to give me some sefl-admittedly sound career advice - A truckload of entrance exams, an engineer in the making. Engineer. Definitely a weirdo, well-wishing and all.

One Rajnikanth asked me to mail “all my details”. Er, like what? Who to? Two others dropped by with concise one-liners – “u can mail ur resume”. My resume? To “u”? No friggin’ way.

There was a “dear miss,goodday.saw ur posting.i have a vacancy for telecaller.this is a security guards provider agency”. First person to tell me what job he was talking about. Considerate soul, to say the least.


The whole thing about how different people see things differently is so true. Some chap commented on the background, one got to the point and one provided tantric help. Seriously. He was offering ‘free astrological consultancy, complete problem solution, tantra and pooja so call now.’ For free! Heck, he even calls himself Dev.

Then there was one mail from a Prof who wrote about a NGO called Kanya Vikas, the name being self explanatory. It’s something I really want to do – get involved with NGOs, go out and do something. For a few hours, this experiment ceased to be one. Probed a little, turned out they have a 6 month probation period cum training program. The hours and location brought in a solid CET-related dilemma, so we braked right there. But I genuinely hope something along similar lines will work out for me, and soon. Part time, along with college, perhaps.


But wait, I still need to explain the post’s title. This is where it came from -

Hai,
This is satish kumar mv, from Hyderabad. I am going to plan out a telugu film. I am looking for new faces for heroin and character artists, this film is released in three main languages. If you have interest, hard work, dedications are your qualities. Then you can be part of my team. My profile -I got an international award in 2008 Gandhi panorama international film festival, and I am right now direction a feature film,
Please contact me with your full details, if you are interest to be a part of film
Satish kumar mv

I let go of a chance to become a Telugu actress! Wow... I could've become the new face of heroin, dammit...

Of Rude Rants And Rules..

So let’s talk about the CET. And not talk about it ever again. Sahi.

Chemistry – nothing really. 50 splotchy blobs, at last count. Physics – Closer to 40 blobs, right or wrong. Massacre. Absolute disgrace. Math – hah, better than Physics. I feel like such a traitor... And that will be it.

Sidethought - Slugs can be so exasperating, no?

- - -

I feel a full blown “Males!!” tirade coming on. Not without reason and nothing remotely flattering to the variety, I assure you. But gah, those thickskulls. In some cases, You thickskulls – hey, not my fault! Ever wondered why the last name Dickinson came into being? Okay, polite company, that particular line of thought must be done away with.

Instead, it’ll go down on paper – with ink – phir paper ka rocket banega – and hopefully, my charmed, aerodynamically screwed up craft will manage to puncture a few skulls. Something along the lines of a hot-air-balloon-cum-rocket would be nice. Throw out a few sacks of sand, and voila! You may now hop off and strangle Le Target. Add to that the tagda rocket effect. Whoa. This is one idea that’s bound to work... if nothing else, just because the novelty of it all! Guys, this is what the world needs! Anyone interested in working out some sort of deal - you know where to reach me. Trust me, people like going back to their prehistoric selves. That’s when human skulls were really thick.


I’m having fun.


Though when I stop to consider that all except one of my readers so far have been (em, are too) males... hatt! What do you suppose that means?

- - -

I‘ve been thinking... all these posts have been kinda dhilla. Dismissive, no real substance, get what I’m saying? The NBTD variety, exactly.


Case in point – this particular post. Yes, the post is a pointless rant. No, it’s not going anywhere. A wee bit flippant, granted. I know I won’t be offered the Pulitzer or your compliments for this one, chauvinist world that we live in.


But you know what? I’m enjoying it (the writing, not the evil ways of the world). My blog, thenga to you! Haha!

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A little overdue, but lemme lay down one basic ground rule (My blog, remember? :P) –No offense meant on my part ; now or in the future. If you believe I made a dig at you (make that “when”... after all, it’s one event with sky-high probability), know that it’s ENTIRELY in jest. The probability may inch downwards if you display the courtesy of leaving behind a comment. I hate doing the all-caps typeface, so you know just how serious I am. Good.


C’mon, if I wanted to insult you, I’d bombard your Gmail, Yahoo and SMS inboxes with uh, material. And even if it was a blog post, I assure you the post would have a relevant title. For instance, “To The Sucker I Speak Of”. :P

Swallow And Sleep.

“Abhishek and Aishwarya didn’t get each other just like that... they had to struggle and become famous before they got noticed. Everybody wants to get noticed, no? Change. IMPROVE! That’s how you will find a nice, rich husband.”

And that, dear reader, was my “well-wisher’s friendly advice”. A co-baarati, co-non-dancer, total stranger and, lest I forget, my well-wisher. Sozzled well-wisher, if you ask me… but then again, to me, everyone looked unsteady and smelt the same. No, I wasn’t the one sozzled.

So. I ought to sign up for Bhangra classes. Be enthusiastic about a bit of sporadic wiggle waggle with a bunch of other revelers. Shriek intermittently since that’s part of the job profile. Set an example, there being a kid sister and all. And even the slowest gazelle must run faster than the fastest lion. There. I just condensed 20 minutes of counsel into 5 sentences. Should head to that twitter-tweet place.

In case my take counts for anything – I like the ringside view when it comes to that particular circus. Just watching people can be so entertaining. Particularly when those people are weighed down with bling but are obliged to look, feel and sound Punjabi-style festive. Loud festive. And frankly, some cute guy’s wedding is most definitely no reason to hop-shrug-stamp-screech.

And therefore, to quote a pal, “Swallow and sleep”.

- - -

The more I think about it, the more sense it makes. It’s all a public conspiracy. Jaise my world is split into three – one part consists of my Mom’s patients. They recognize me on the streets --dangerous!-- “Arre, bilkul Mummy ke tarah dikhti hai!”. Yeah well, it just happened. Funny you should mention it, no one ever notices... medical miracle and whatnot. I now feel an unnatural kinship with you. Brains of the world, unite! Bah. The second part has all the relatives, ‘family friends’, friends of family friends and such. People who care about you... every time some results are due. Perhaps they’re not so bad - and perhaps they are!

What these two groups have in common is this – they derive some perverse pleasure when they sneak up on you and attack. And they really make you wish you had a brother.

Mid-checkup they go “Woh waha aapki beti thi kya Doctor? Mere building ke saamne hi thi, koi ladka saath tha...” because “bataana chahiye, farz banta hai”. Oh, sure. Power be to you. Hence the brother. And if not that, they dish out shady schemes for The Good Life. The one in which you shimmer and shine like a beacon (literally), get noticed and dig your beacony claws into the next unsuspecting good looking guy. Your life is made. In a nutshell – Bleargh.

For whoever has been paying attention – the third part of my world consists of people I won’t know during the course of my life. No, I’m not talking rebirth and afterlife. They’ll be the ones that never knew me, but showed up at the funeral because they expected to meet some business prospects. Lawyers, probably. So much for that.

PS - Mera life sahi hai, tension mat lo. People in general are much nicer than I believe I made them out to be. Morning posts are just likely to be bitchy. Okay? Okay.

Writer's Block. Already.

7 minutes since the first 'Draft autosaved' notification showed up. The Internet's way of hurrying me up. Clones all. It would be flattering if the chap was actually saving the first post by some future ka bigshot blogger. But when someone thinks they're doing you a favour by saving spreads of spotless white.. uhmm. Lets just say its more of a dampener than not.


Ever had conversations with your Mum where she goes "What's that thing anyway?". Yeah.. Well, in this household, when the mother goes "What's this?", its usually something gadget related. And usually something so elementary, that even I can answer it. I always knew there was a reason I have a dabba-illiterate mother. To make me feel like a citizen of the New World and shit. I love you, Ma. Gotta drop the "and shit". Chalo, ek aur resolution.

Coming back to the point - We have a "What's a blog?" convo. Now I have to play my part, so I come up with an oh-so-gyaani "Just this place online where you go write" comment. Blank look. Reply deemed unsatisfactory. I then proceed to outline foodie blogs (first thing that came to mind, to be honest..), techno blogs (last thing I'd want to be doing - honest!), random everyday nothing-better-to-do blogs. Also let in that I'll probably land up doing something along the lines of the last bit, if and when. Polite interest. Earn myself a "You should blog". Smiley all. End topic.

Now, the bigger point being - This is most definitely a NBTD post. (Work that out and you'll know you deserve to be reading this. Loser. Ha!) When you're reading some random dude's blog, NBTDs are fun. Kinda like leafing through a M&B or summat. Had you hooked? Lucky you, found the needle! If not - chal koi gal nahi, ghanta hi toh laga tha. But man, when its your own blog.. ahh. You know you can come up with better bakwas, par kya kare, writers' block. Convenient thing, that. Ditto for hormones.


A confession is called for - I dont have the guts, the 'daring', to scroll up and go over what I've written. It could be babble. It could be worse. Maybe even a drug to induce permanent writer's block. I dont know. And as much of a sadist as you may be, no treat tonight darling, sorry. I ain't checking.

Well okay, I might just. Wont change a thing though - pinkie swear. Left pinkie swear. And the pinkie is finger number... *cackles*