You enter my room
Woeful and lost
To say you’ll be back
In an hour,
But the look on your face
Says clearly to me
That you intend to remain
For more.
You begin to talk
Of nominees and banks
I know you’ve been harassed
By his calls;
You make small talk
About colleagues long gone
And your medicines
And errands of yore.
You tell me it’s hard
With no one for help
You tell me it’s tough
To cope,
To manage alone
To not rely
For in this new place
Ground and comfort lay afar.
I see the silent plea
In your rheumy eyes
I see you beg me
To get involved,
To hold you
As I would hold him
To care for, to love
To respect and to adore.
But don’t you see
I can’t do it
Not for you,
I can’t.
Despite knowing
How you need me
And how much it takes
To ask.
It’s too soon for me
The loss is still fresh
It hurts
And that never must show;
But why don’t you realize
Though I would never say it
His place
Will never be yours.
I’m struggling to cope
Though I hide it well
I’m trying so hard
To stay strong,
But every single time
I enter his room
Or see his silly netbook
The tears still fall
Friday, September 17, 2010
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Clarity
The scale was balanced perfectly,
Both sides ugly yet neither likelier -
Was this just an ugly dream forced unto me?
Or reality I must share with every other?
A dozen voices sounded, fuelling the barrage
In the dark, secret chamber of bittersweet assembly
Oh how they came together and invoked sacrilege!
An image wrought with repulsive disharmony.
Childish outlines boxed together portions of the image
Unseen hands scrawled across them messy labels in crayon.
“Unity!” sought a voice, clubbing cloud and wave
And thus sky and sea were one, discounting the horizon.
A voice mocked the stark light reflecting off a steeple,
“Garish, primitive bacteria” the man’s stars were reduced to.
Another spoke of a castled king, bemoaned the fate of his people
Of miniscule men and homes shredded to bits in the whirlpool.
Scandal after another! I was numbed to the fight
But their devious, twisted barbs I could no longer disregard.
I retorted as I knew best - I sat down to write
And thus I rant in defense of clarity; I write to end this spar.
Most onlookers figure the loudest must surely know it best,
They argue - “Would the poor man yell so if he didn’t?”
Alas! Mistake them not, if only at my behest,
For connoisseurs of art or interpreters of true intent.
Chaotic voices in our heads, they must lead us to ambiguity
Blinded as they are to the evident, the straightforward.
But from my moonlit perspective -and this I offer in triumphant glory-
I see only a spirited clump of grass inching smartly heavenward.
Both sides ugly yet neither likelier -
Was this just an ugly dream forced unto me?
Or reality I must share with every other?
A dozen voices sounded, fuelling the barrage
In the dark, secret chamber of bittersweet assembly
Oh how they came together and invoked sacrilege!
An image wrought with repulsive disharmony.
Childish outlines boxed together portions of the image
Unseen hands scrawled across them messy labels in crayon.
“Unity!” sought a voice, clubbing cloud and wave
And thus sky and sea were one, discounting the horizon.
A voice mocked the stark light reflecting off a steeple,
“Garish, primitive bacteria” the man’s stars were reduced to.
Another spoke of a castled king, bemoaned the fate of his people
Of miniscule men and homes shredded to bits in the whirlpool.
Scandal after another! I was numbed to the fight
But their devious, twisted barbs I could no longer disregard.
I retorted as I knew best - I sat down to write
And thus I rant in defense of clarity; I write to end this spar.
Most onlookers figure the loudest must surely know it best,
They argue - “Would the poor man yell so if he didn’t?”
Alas! Mistake them not, if only at my behest,
For connoisseurs of art or interpreters of true intent.
Chaotic voices in our heads, they must lead us to ambiguity
Blinded as they are to the evident, the straightforward.
But from my moonlit perspective -and this I offer in triumphant glory-
I see only a spirited clump of grass inching smartly heavenward.
MindPorn
They say many a poem is penned
In moments of passion, inspiration and boredom.
I plead guilty to the two that guard brother Inspi then
PB minus J, I shall break free of thy hold!
He wants to talk to me tonight
He adds, "Is that a change or what!"
I'm surprised I didn't want to sock him in the jaw
Au contraire I laughed, it delighted me so!
A quarter of a day must go by
Before the hour of our chat comes along
Yet the prospect of conversation, of talk light and merry
Brings peculiar relief - What's this, MindPorn?
And then there's this pal who owes me some dough
But today seems to remember it not
So I mumble like a fool and feel like a fraud
Then give it up as a lost cause.
I thought it wise to put off
The collection of dues, you see.
On a rainy day I had planned to collect
In an endeavour to spend wisely.
Well the rains have arrived, they have
And washed away all memory and how!
Now that I'm slightly baffled and slightly broke
Fine, that's his birthday gift, like it or not.
A message just came in, I paraphrase -
I'll give you the money tomorrow, says he.
Now this MindPorn offer I must decline
For I rather fancy the other end.
In moments of passion, inspiration and boredom.
I plead guilty to the two that guard brother Inspi then
PB minus J, I shall break free of thy hold!
He wants to talk to me tonight
He adds, "Is that a change or what!"
I'm surprised I didn't want to sock him in the jaw
Au contraire I laughed, it delighted me so!
A quarter of a day must go by
Before the hour of our chat comes along
Yet the prospect of conversation, of talk light and merry
Brings peculiar relief - What's this, MindPorn?
And then there's this pal who owes me some dough
But today seems to remember it not
So I mumble like a fool and feel like a fraud
Then give it up as a lost cause.
I thought it wise to put off
The collection of dues, you see.
On a rainy day I had planned to collect
In an endeavour to spend wisely.
Well the rains have arrived, they have
And washed away all memory and how!
Now that I'm slightly baffled and slightly broke
Fine, that's his birthday gift, like it or not.
A message just came in, I paraphrase -
I'll give you the money tomorrow, says he.
Now this MindPorn offer I must decline
For I rather fancy the other end.
Friday, July 23, 2010
AITM And After.
Thinkers from different time periods and time zones have given the world their take on a gazillion different issues. Inclusive of trivial, metaphysical, moral, the works. Funny term, 'thinkers' - they're people who probably thought the same as a thousand others but had the sense to market it, to say it out loud, maybe even write it down. And then people tell kids to be quiet is to be good.
Come to think of it - and then they say marketing is a new subject! Marketing has been around since man first learnt to hack and grow and kill but not share; that's how bartering came into place, right? If you want a more modern scenario that supports marketing, take India post independence.
Priority in '47 was basic administration. IAS = best thing ever.
A little further and infrastructure was the need of the hour. All hail engineers!
Then Gates opened up, Jobs came in later and the race to be more "hi-tech" than the next set up demanded IT professionals, boriya bistra baandh kar.
Managing the imbalance between infrastructural needs, options and possibilities and the workforce handling them meant MBA grads outshone IAS babus and how!
And after admin, infra, tech and management more or less in place, what's needed more than ever before is going out there and telling the world what you have to give it. You want to sell yourself, your vision and your services and you want to sell it right. You need the media, you need good promotion.
Sure, you needed promotion then and you need AITM today. You had doctors, architects and lawyers then, you have and need them today. Have I picked the right field, considering today? I don't know. Did I pick a sensible train of thought? I did. Thank Mr Dhunji Wadia, Orientation '10.
The previous post, I'm sorry, killer tha and not quite in a sense flattering to me. Have stuff about the concept of Time playing on my mind but I think it's safe to assume I may leave that for later.
Come to think of it - and then they say marketing is a new subject! Marketing has been around since man first learnt to hack and grow and kill but not share; that's how bartering came into place, right? If you want a more modern scenario that supports marketing, take India post independence.
Priority in '47 was basic administration. IAS = best thing ever.
A little further and infrastructure was the need of the hour. All hail engineers!
Then Gates opened up, Jobs came in later and the race to be more "hi-tech" than the next set up demanded IT professionals, boriya bistra baandh kar.
Managing the imbalance between infrastructural needs, options and possibilities and the workforce handling them meant MBA grads outshone IAS babus and how!
And after admin, infra, tech and management more or less in place, what's needed more than ever before is going out there and telling the world what you have to give it. You want to sell yourself, your vision and your services and you want to sell it right. You need the media, you need good promotion.
Sure, you needed promotion then and you need AITM today. You had doctors, architects and lawyers then, you have and need them today. Have I picked the right field, considering today? I don't know. Did I pick a sensible train of thought? I did. Thank Mr Dhunji Wadia, Orientation '10.
The previous post, I'm sorry, killer tha and not quite in a sense flattering to me. Have stuff about the concept of Time playing on my mind but I think it's safe to assume I may leave that for later.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
The Week. Kill Me.
This is the story of a week.
A week that never was.
A week that never will be.
But be it should, oh yes, it should!
A trial in every sense of the word I propose.
Be warned, it reeks of unexplained trickery.
I speak of a week that will drive you to insanity,
Except that it never will be.
Day 1 – The day it all begins
This city is robbed of transport.
Yes, plundered overnight.
The roads are ripped off the ground
Runways follow suit.
No trains, buses or taxis.
No rickshaws, cars or bikes.
Bicycles went out at the stroke of midnight,
It’s like your city never could commute.
We dare not speak of choppers,
Of airplanes in the endless white.
Vanish into thin air all did,
No trace of immediate respite.
Day 2 – The end of another beginning
“To communicate is to build bridges”,
Pronounce men of word and tech.
They suggest the powers of the Internet,
Phone lines, they say, remain.
They say the city will cope,
Indeed, emerge triumphant it will.
They invoke the spirit, the resilience,
But dare you hope at only their behest?
So those who ordained the transport lift,
Further ordain thus.
Your city is naked, you cannot converse,
Soft speech is all you’ve got.
Day 3 – The day of denial
Initial panic overruled,
A sense of calm prevails.
You numb yourself to the unnerving state of rest,
Pooh! A lucky holiday is all it is.
All will be back to normal, you say.
This is but a dream.
Just a chance to shirk tasks and chores,
With deadlines you may now play.
Day 4 – The day you start to see
What felt like a godsend does no more,
The city has been stripped bare, that’s real, yes it is.
You’re stranded, do you now see?
Stranded with no route in sight.
And there is no one to blame.
Indeed, no reason to name.
Did you desert your places of being, my friend?
Or did your city desert you?
Day 5 – The day you begin to brood
You yearn to kick-start your Scooty Pep.
Your Verna begs your touch.
You ache to feel the rush of a frantic sprint,
And that shared sigh once finally aboard the bus.
Your insides resemble a kaleidoscope,
With shifting images of LED indicators;
Your senses glowing numbers taunt and tease,
For the 8:16 left without you.
You itch to get those files in order,
You know work aplenty awaits.
But some part of you believes that this is it,
To never return to that desk, your fate.
Day 6 – They day the chain snaps
Daily wagers are at wit's end,
Local workers hold on tight.
For much as you insist it is one big city,
Much shorter are some cross-state flights.
Flustered folk must stay home,
Or job-hunt high and low.
“Ah but its quality we want, not numbers”, say employers.
Oh the tables never did quite turn.
Men were quiet thus far, they were,
They hid their fear well.
But to jostle for bare necessities now,
Is it not the very essence of indignity?
Day 7 – The day all jump into the fray
All the men of power and all the men of rank
Now marshal their forces, to maim, to vandalize,
Walk for glory and reward many eager youths will,
But how far and to where?
For who is the enemy? Who is it they fight?
They stand ready, but alas! ready they stand without end.
Dusk will see them fall apart, for a ghost you cannot stab,
This is the end for them then, of muscle there shall be no praise.
Meanwhile you struggle, as you have all week long
You're shackled with no relief in sight,
You stay up nights to devise antidotes for The Week
Don’t. It never will be.
A week that never was.
A week that never will be.
But be it should, oh yes, it should!
A trial in every sense of the word I propose.
Be warned, it reeks of unexplained trickery.
I speak of a week that will drive you to insanity,
Except that it never will be.
Day 1 – The day it all begins
This city is robbed of transport.
Yes, plundered overnight.
The roads are ripped off the ground
Runways follow suit.
No trains, buses or taxis.
No rickshaws, cars or bikes.
Bicycles went out at the stroke of midnight,
It’s like your city never could commute.
We dare not speak of choppers,
Of airplanes in the endless white.
Vanish into thin air all did,
No trace of immediate respite.
Day 2 – The end of another beginning
“To communicate is to build bridges”,
Pronounce men of word and tech.
They suggest the powers of the Internet,
Phone lines, they say, remain.
They say the city will cope,
Indeed, emerge triumphant it will.
They invoke the spirit, the resilience,
But dare you hope at only their behest?
So those who ordained the transport lift,
Further ordain thus.
Your city is naked, you cannot converse,
Soft speech is all you’ve got.
Day 3 – The day of denial
Initial panic overruled,
A sense of calm prevails.
You numb yourself to the unnerving state of rest,
Pooh! A lucky holiday is all it is.
All will be back to normal, you say.
This is but a dream.
Just a chance to shirk tasks and chores,
With deadlines you may now play.
Day 4 – The day you start to see
What felt like a godsend does no more,
The city has been stripped bare, that’s real, yes it is.
You’re stranded, do you now see?
Stranded with no route in sight.
And there is no one to blame.
Indeed, no reason to name.
Did you desert your places of being, my friend?
Or did your city desert you?
Day 5 – The day you begin to brood
You yearn to kick-start your Scooty Pep.
Your Verna begs your touch.
You ache to feel the rush of a frantic sprint,
And that shared sigh once finally aboard the bus.
Your insides resemble a kaleidoscope,
With shifting images of LED indicators;
Your senses glowing numbers taunt and tease,
For the 8:16 left without you.
You itch to get those files in order,
You know work aplenty awaits.
But some part of you believes that this is it,
To never return to that desk, your fate.
Day 6 – They day the chain snaps
Daily wagers are at wit's end,
Local workers hold on tight.
For much as you insist it is one big city,
Much shorter are some cross-state flights.
Flustered folk must stay home,
Or job-hunt high and low.
“Ah but its quality we want, not numbers”, say employers.
Oh the tables never did quite turn.
Men were quiet thus far, they were,
They hid their fear well.
But to jostle for bare necessities now,
Is it not the very essence of indignity?
Day 7 – The day all jump into the fray
All the men of power and all the men of rank
Now marshal their forces, to maim, to vandalize,
Walk for glory and reward many eager youths will,
But how far and to where?
For who is the enemy? Who is it they fight?
They stand ready, but alas! ready they stand without end.
Dusk will see them fall apart, for a ghost you cannot stab,
This is the end for them then, of muscle there shall be no praise.
Meanwhile you struggle, as you have all week long
You're shackled with no relief in sight,
You stay up nights to devise antidotes for The Week
Don’t. It never will be.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Sometimes, Numbers Kill It
I adore numbers. The shapes, the sounds, the significance.. and their innate saladity. You toss them around, you add dots and dashes, you bring in some variations and voila! Something new!
Number plates fascinate me. I'm forever trying to make some sorta connection between the digits and letters on there. Math operators can be your best buddies during long drives and now you know how. MH-43-AN-2362? I promise you there's more to it than meets the eye. It's a Sindhi surname, for fuck's sake!*
You know, sometimes, you think. No, that's wrong - sometimes, people come at you from all sides, all at once, and tell you they expect you to think. It's what most profs this semester have been emphasizing. How our thoroughly looked down upon, much-abused education system doesn't require/teach us to think and how they, the preachers, are made of a different cloth entirely.
They insist their word isn't the final word - just the first word, and only if we want it to be. Thrilling, but woah! You really want to know what we think? I think that's something I'm gonna take away from Sem III, BMM. That's it's okay to tell people what I think - "IMHO" type. That they might actually want to know. I might just graduate from dishing out opinions on aaltu faltu stuff to things more solid. I look forward to it, I do =)
Upar ka stuff was unrelated, but whatever. So I attended my first lecture of media studies this morning. Interesting. And it blunted the number-joy for me somewhat, albeit temporarily. We were discussing media censorship and organized media blackouts during emergencies. What of it stayed on in my head all day? Some emergencies. How we refer to them, if you prefer specifics. 7/7, 7/11, 9/11, 26/11.. Everything's a number, everything's a statistic.
Am I turning into a media kid, hoping to dramatize the whole thing? Hoping to change 13/4 to Baisakhi Bloodbath? I think not. But while numbers still fascinate me, I think sometimes we need something more humane.
* MH-43-AN-2362. 4-3=1; 2^3=8. 8-6=2. 2/2=1. That's MH-1-AN-1. Lets turn the 1s ti Is. Mhiani. Sounds like a respectable Sindhi surname to me. Doesn't do anything for you? Tal Re, Ja!
Number plates fascinate me. I'm forever trying to make some sorta connection between the digits and letters on there. Math operators can be your best buddies during long drives and now you know how. MH-43-AN-2362? I promise you there's more to it than meets the eye. It's a Sindhi surname, for fuck's sake!*
You know, sometimes, you think. No, that's wrong - sometimes, people come at you from all sides, all at once, and tell you they expect you to think. It's what most profs this semester have been emphasizing. How our thoroughly looked down upon, much-abused education system doesn't require/teach us to think and how they, the preachers, are made of a different cloth entirely.
They insist their word isn't the final word - just the first word, and only if we want it to be. Thrilling, but woah! You really want to know what we think? I think that's something I'm gonna take away from Sem III, BMM. That's it's okay to tell people what I think - "IMHO" type. That they might actually want to know. I might just graduate from dishing out opinions on aaltu faltu stuff to things more solid. I look forward to it, I do =)
Upar ka stuff was unrelated, but whatever. So I attended my first lecture of media studies this morning. Interesting. And it blunted the number-joy for me somewhat, albeit temporarily. We were discussing media censorship and organized media blackouts during emergencies. What of it stayed on in my head all day? Some emergencies. How we refer to them, if you prefer specifics. 7/7, 7/11, 9/11, 26/11.. Everything's a number, everything's a statistic.
Am I turning into a media kid, hoping to dramatize the whole thing? Hoping to change 13/4 to Baisakhi Bloodbath? I think not. But while numbers still fascinate me, I think sometimes we need something more humane.
* MH-43-AN-2362. 4-3=1; 2^3=8. 8-6=2. 2/2=1. That's MH-1-AN-1. Lets turn the 1s ti Is. Mhiani. Sounds like a respectable Sindhi surname to me. Doesn't do anything for you? Tal Re, Ja!
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Presenting All that Is Average
Showed up in the Drafts folder, you might as well rush through it :)
Today, I went to church. We were singing the hymn 665. Out of curiosity, I looked to see which church song deserved number 666. It was missing. MLIA
Today, I went with my mom to a furniture store. I was bored, so I just sat on a chair the whole time. Two elderly ladies came in and stared at me, talking to each other, trying to determine if I was real or not. MLIA
Today, I was in the AT&T store with my sister. I tried texting my own cell phone from one of the ones on display, and it actually worked. Later on, I saw a younger girl looking at the same cell phone I had used. I sent the phone a text reading, "Buy me." I don't think she caught on, but her totally shocked expression was priceless. MLIA.
Today, I was asked to substitute for a grade 9 geography class. They were learning about Inuit culture and had to watch a movie. About half way through, an adorable Inuit baby came on screen, laughing and running around. A boy in the front of the class then proceed to raise his hand and ask why the baby was laughing in English. Life fail? I think so. MLIA.
Today, I was waiting at the grocery store for my friend when a woman walked through the electronic door and froze in place. I heard her mutter to herself, "What did I come here for?" I called out to her, "Toilet paper! Milk! Bananas!" She looked at me and said "BANANAS! That's a great idea!" and dashed off. I saw her later, walking through the store. Her arms were full of bananas. MLIA.
Today I was making a craft project that used different colors of wool. I couldn't tell wether one bit was black or dark blue, so I held it up to my face and sniffed it. I then realized that I lack the ability to smell color. MLIA
Today, I was in a restaraunt using my knife to make a reflection on the ceiling and move it in erratic patterns until I realised the girl two tables away was doing the same thing. We then spent over five minutes playing Tag with our cutlery reflections. We're going out on Friday. MLIA
Today, I was using the bathroom in a restaurant. While I was doing my business, I considered the "Knick Knack Patty Whack" song. I suddenly realized that it goes to the same tune of the "I Love You" song from Barney. I was so shocked that I gasped very loudly just before the automatic flusher went off. A little girl in the stall next to me said "These potties scare me too." MLIA
Today my family was eating dinner. My step mom set down potato salad on the table. I thought about it for a while and realized that I like like potatoes, and I like salad, but when their forces combine...I completely hate it. I told this thought to my sister and without skipping a beat she said, "That's exactly how I feel about camel toes."
Today my computer was saying that it could not detect my keyboard. It then proceeded to ask me to press F1 to continue. MLIA
Today, I was sitting in the park and saw a guy walking a turtle. The turtle had a leash. MLIA
Today, I took a math test which I found really easy, so I drew an "A" at the top and put it in chains, with the words "free him" next to it. When I got it back, my teacher had drawn scissors cutting the chains and wrote congratulations. How did scissors cut metal chains? MLIA.
Today, my biology teacher passed out our quiz. About ten minutes into the quiz, almost everyone in the room was laughing uncontrollably. Why? We are studying genetics, and my teacher decided to use two students in the problem on the second part of the quiz. Apparently, these two "never wanted kids, but after experiencing how fun it was to make babies, they had three." They were sitting next to each other in class. I didn't know that two people's faces could get so red. MLIA
Last week at family christmas, my grandma asked me when I was getting married, trying to guilt me by saying she's not going to be around forever and she wants to see one more grandchild get married. I'm still in college and haven't though much about marriage, replied I'd get married when my boyfriend asks me while dressed as Prince Charming. Apparently my grandma told my boyfriend and today I was proposed to by Prince Charming, and I'm now engaged. MLIA
Today, I was reading MLIA to see if my story had made the website. Everytime I saw "Today," I got excited thinking it was my story. It wasn't. MLIA
For more.
Today, I went to church. We were singing the hymn 665. Out of curiosity, I looked to see which church song deserved number 666. It was missing. MLIA
Today, I went with my mom to a furniture store. I was bored, so I just sat on a chair the whole time. Two elderly ladies came in and stared at me, talking to each other, trying to determine if I was real or not. MLIA
Today, I was in the AT&T store with my sister. I tried texting my own cell phone from one of the ones on display, and it actually worked. Later on, I saw a younger girl looking at the same cell phone I had used. I sent the phone a text reading, "Buy me." I don't think she caught on, but her totally shocked expression was priceless. MLIA.
Today, I was asked to substitute for a grade 9 geography class. They were learning about Inuit culture and had to watch a movie. About half way through, an adorable Inuit baby came on screen, laughing and running around. A boy in the front of the class then proceed to raise his hand and ask why the baby was laughing in English. Life fail? I think so. MLIA.
Today, I was waiting at the grocery store for my friend when a woman walked through the electronic door and froze in place. I heard her mutter to herself, "What did I come here for?" I called out to her, "Toilet paper! Milk! Bananas!" She looked at me and said "BANANAS! That's a great idea!" and dashed off. I saw her later, walking through the store. Her arms were full of bananas. MLIA.
Today I was making a craft project that used different colors of wool. I couldn't tell wether one bit was black or dark blue, so I held it up to my face and sniffed it. I then realized that I lack the ability to smell color. MLIA
Today, I was in a restaraunt using my knife to make a reflection on the ceiling and move it in erratic patterns until I realised the girl two tables away was doing the same thing. We then spent over five minutes playing Tag with our cutlery reflections. We're going out on Friday. MLIA
Today, I was using the bathroom in a restaurant. While I was doing my business, I considered the "Knick Knack Patty Whack" song. I suddenly realized that it goes to the same tune of the "I Love You" song from Barney. I was so shocked that I gasped very loudly just before the automatic flusher went off. A little girl in the stall next to me said "These potties scare me too." MLIA
Today my family was eating dinner. My step mom set down potato salad on the table. I thought about it for a while and realized that I like like potatoes, and I like salad, but when their forces combine...I completely hate it. I told this thought to my sister and without skipping a beat she said, "That's exactly how I feel about camel toes."
Today my computer was saying that it could not detect my keyboard. It then proceeded to ask me to press F1 to continue. MLIA
Today, I was sitting in the park and saw a guy walking a turtle. The turtle had a leash. MLIA
Today, I took a math test which I found really easy, so I drew an "A" at the top and put it in chains, with the words "free him" next to it. When I got it back, my teacher had drawn scissors cutting the chains and wrote congratulations. How did scissors cut metal chains? MLIA.
Today, my biology teacher passed out our quiz. About ten minutes into the quiz, almost everyone in the room was laughing uncontrollably. Why? We are studying genetics, and my teacher decided to use two students in the problem on the second part of the quiz. Apparently, these two "never wanted kids, but after experiencing how fun it was to make babies, they had three." They were sitting next to each other in class. I didn't know that two people's faces could get so red. MLIA
Last week at family christmas, my grandma asked me when I was getting married, trying to guilt me by saying she's not going to be around forever and she wants to see one more grandchild get married. I'm still in college and haven't though much about marriage, replied I'd get married when my boyfriend asks me while dressed as Prince Charming. Apparently my grandma told my boyfriend and today I was proposed to by Prince Charming, and I'm now engaged. MLIA
Today, I was reading MLIA to see if my story had made the website. Everytime I saw "Today," I got excited thinking it was my story. It wasn't. MLIA
For more.
Wherein I Theorize
That panel on your right, the one that calls itself Labels? It lies. I've been so full of moods lately, 9 is a bad bad bad BAD misapproximation. The last few posts are proof. So anyway, I figured I'd let the rambling be and embark on another topic close to my heart. Theories. The sort few know about and fewer care to know. But laa la laa, this is my blog and hence, know you will!
To commence proceedings, there is my RockStar theory. A personal favourite. So. Some folks idolize 'rockstars', some tolerate them and only the tiniest minority ever ignores them. Rockstars are cool, period. And you know how it goes - If someone says they are, one must prove they aren't.
Consider rocks, whichever sort you fancy. All rocks -big rocks, small rocks, nice rocks, mean rocks, all rocks- start out as teeny tiny things. They get fatter, they grow older, they grow wiser and then they die. You with me? Right. Now as children we were told that on dying every goes right up and becomes a star. So stars are essentially rocks.
Now, every star -big star, small star, nice star, mean star, every star- starts out as a teeny tiny thing. It gets fatter, it grows older, it grows wiser and then it dies. But see, stars are cooler than rocks - they don't become starrier. They explode. Dhadaam! Crackle, sparkle, crackle. Sometimes, some fragments reach The Big Blue Barn and stay put. These, dear reader, are your rocks. And then they get fatter, grow older, grow wiser.. you get it.
Dust, kachra, stony stony tukdas. Rocks, stars. Rockstars, that's right. So when people talk of 'da rokkkstarzz', they're basically talking recycled dust and grime. And minerals and all, yes. Rocks are inanimate, we could go someplace with that but then they wouldn't be allowed to die and my entire theory would have to be reworked. Nyet nyet. Still, between you and me, rockstars suddenly seem so uncool, yeah yeah yeah? :P
Wherein I Warn:
Talk not of how you don't believe the going up to become a star story. You did as a kid, I'm telling you you did. And if you still believe that story.. hell, talk not at all! Talk not of how rockstars (the gaana waalas) come and go just like rocks and stars do. Talk not of how I bungled up with "bad bad bad BAD misapproximation" - 5 negatives make a negative, I didn't screw up. Talk not, not ever, if you believe this was reason to kickstart a serious 'discussion' about anything at all.
All ye rocks, all ye stars, I grudge you not your happiness.
To commence proceedings, there is my RockStar theory. A personal favourite. So. Some folks idolize 'rockstars', some tolerate them and only the tiniest minority ever ignores them. Rockstars are cool, period. And you know how it goes - If someone says they are, one must prove they aren't.
Consider rocks, whichever sort you fancy. All rocks -big rocks, small rocks, nice rocks, mean rocks, all rocks- start out as teeny tiny things. They get fatter, they grow older, they grow wiser and then they die. You with me? Right. Now as children we were told that on dying every goes right up and becomes a star. So stars are essentially rocks.
Now, every star -big star, small star, nice star, mean star, every star- starts out as a teeny tiny thing. It gets fatter, it grows older, it grows wiser and then it dies. But see, stars are cooler than rocks - they don't become starrier. They explode. Dhadaam! Crackle, sparkle, crackle. Sometimes, some fragments reach The Big Blue Barn and stay put. These, dear reader, are your rocks. And then they get fatter, grow older, grow wiser.. you get it.
Dust, kachra, stony stony tukdas. Rocks, stars. Rockstars, that's right. So when people talk of 'da rokkkstarzz', they're basically talking recycled dust and grime. And minerals and all, yes. Rocks are inanimate, we could go someplace with that but then they wouldn't be allowed to die and my entire theory would have to be reworked. Nyet nyet. Still, between you and me, rockstars suddenly seem so uncool, yeah yeah yeah? :P
Wherein I Warn:
Talk not of how you don't believe the going up to become a star story. You did as a kid, I'm telling you you did. And if you still believe that story.. hell, talk not at all! Talk not of how rockstars (the gaana waalas) come and go just like rocks and stars do. Talk not of how I bungled up with "bad bad bad BAD misapproximation" - 5 negatives make a negative, I didn't screw up. Talk not, not ever, if you believe this was reason to kickstart a serious 'discussion' about anything at all.
All ye rocks, all ye stars, I grudge you not your happiness.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
The Gods In The Himalayas Received Live Feed!
As a kid I had this firm belief that all we do throughout our lives is in accordance with a definite script. That every single person has a sharp, unconscious, built-in and regularly updated awareness of their role and that the very purpose of one’s existence was to act it all out to the satisfaction and amusement of immediate superiors. By ‘superiors’ I mean people with higher authority – in my world, that meant parents. And at every level, superiors decided the basic outline of the script their charges would enact.
The way I saw it, we were all theatre artists. And the ones who got to the big screen were the ones who made it big (with respect to others at the same level), which is why they were on the receiving end of all that fame and adulation, all that bhav. So just like we could go to Vishnudas Bhave Natyagraha and Prithvi Theatre to watch people enact certain stories, I figured our superiors were watching us too. Big Boss style, absolutely.
So you had the bachchas who were their parents’ puppets and so on until you exhausted living familial hierarchy; then came some mid level authority I never thought about; and at the very top of that controlling pyramid sat The Gods. Oh yeah, I was a believer back then, Dadi took care of that… I have fond memories of those times. No, don’t try it now.
Getting back to my story – which I believe you’re still somewhat interested in since you’re still reading :P – I used to visualize usually homogeneous pairs of Gods and Goddesses in stereotypical God/Goddess garb (flowing black hair (white for Brahma), loads of skin show, glitzy blingy ornaments, silky satiny rhinestone-studded clothes...) sitting on separate sofas that flanked a coffee table loaded with grub (they always always always had peanuts), laughing at the antics of us mortals as giant spools of real time recordings played on giant Videocon Bazooka screens. Laughing good naturedly, indulgently, never mockingly, but laughing nonetheless. Real time? Dunno how they did it man.. Even then, I could see how it was funny… I mean c’mon, you have all these humans falling over themselves to be promoted just some more, wanting to be in a position that allows them to decide the actions of so many others around them. By the time a global drama inclusive of all levels was actually put together, it was probably a holy comedy of errors. Pun, haha, pun.
I always wondered if tapes of the part I was enacting were important enough to be viewed by the Gods themselves or if they only reached the city-level authority for perfunctory checks and were then tossed aside. Never did quite manage to figure that out. Nor did I work out how the tapes reached the gods (Bluetooth ka baap?) or how scripts were communicated to us actors – we just knew what to do and went about doing what we had to, unaware of this twisted manipulation. Mind you, we experienced joy, frustration, ecstasy, sorrow, anger, embarrassment and just about every regular emotion you can think of while we were at it.
Doodlebug, a short film by Christopher Nolan and crew, was what brought this eerily vivid piece of imagination to the surface. Tried uploading but Mom's lappy doesn't seem to approve. Do look it up.
And just in case the idea of Hindu gods living on Indian land and ruling/governing/ manipulating/spying on the entire world offends you, my 5 yr old self apologizes. That was what I knew, okay? Apologies all the way from the bottom of my heart, all sincere.
PS – Please don’t start working out why my mind/imagination works the way it does/ the way it always has. You might be tempted to suggest I take up Management, seeing how I had pyramidal admin structures, checks and controls, authority and regulation all worked out at the age of 5. Don't. You might be tempted to probe tomes on Psychology and comment on my concept of the unconscious or reveal that it has to do with a repressed desire to control / act / manipulate / tell stories / eat peanuts. Speculate all you want, just don’t tell me. The way I bombed my Psychology end sem, I don’t think I’ll welcome anything connecting me and the subject for a long long time to come.
The way I saw it, we were all theatre artists. And the ones who got to the big screen were the ones who made it big (with respect to others at the same level), which is why they were on the receiving end of all that fame and adulation, all that bhav. So just like we could go to Vishnudas Bhave Natyagraha and Prithvi Theatre to watch people enact certain stories, I figured our superiors were watching us too. Big Boss style, absolutely.
So you had the bachchas who were their parents’ puppets and so on until you exhausted living familial hierarchy; then came some mid level authority I never thought about; and at the very top of that controlling pyramid sat The Gods. Oh yeah, I was a believer back then, Dadi took care of that… I have fond memories of those times. No, don’t try it now.
Getting back to my story – which I believe you’re still somewhat interested in since you’re still reading :P – I used to visualize usually homogeneous pairs of Gods and Goddesses in stereotypical God/Goddess garb (flowing black hair (white for Brahma), loads of skin show, glitzy blingy ornaments, silky satiny rhinestone-studded clothes...) sitting on separate sofas that flanked a coffee table loaded with grub (they always always always had peanuts), laughing at the antics of us mortals as giant spools of real time recordings played on giant Videocon Bazooka screens. Laughing good naturedly, indulgently, never mockingly, but laughing nonetheless. Real time? Dunno how they did it man.. Even then, I could see how it was funny… I mean c’mon, you have all these humans falling over themselves to be promoted just some more, wanting to be in a position that allows them to decide the actions of so many others around them. By the time a global drama inclusive of all levels was actually put together, it was probably a holy comedy of errors. Pun, haha, pun.
I always wondered if tapes of the part I was enacting were important enough to be viewed by the Gods themselves or if they only reached the city-level authority for perfunctory checks and were then tossed aside. Never did quite manage to figure that out. Nor did I work out how the tapes reached the gods (Bluetooth ka baap?) or how scripts were communicated to us actors – we just knew what to do and went about doing what we had to, unaware of this twisted manipulation. Mind you, we experienced joy, frustration, ecstasy, sorrow, anger, embarrassment and just about every regular emotion you can think of while we were at it.
Doodlebug, a short film by Christopher Nolan and crew, was what brought this eerily vivid piece of imagination to the surface. Tried uploading but Mom's lappy doesn't seem to approve. Do look it up.
And just in case the idea of Hindu gods living on Indian land and ruling/governing/ manipulating/spying on the entire world offends you, my 5 yr old self apologizes. That was what I knew, okay? Apologies all the way from the bottom of my heart, all sincere.
PS – Please don’t start working out why my mind/imagination works the way it does/ the way it always has. You might be tempted to suggest I take up Management, seeing how I had pyramidal admin structures, checks and controls, authority and regulation all worked out at the age of 5. Don't. You might be tempted to probe tomes on Psychology and comment on my concept of the unconscious or reveal that it has to do with a repressed desire to control / act / manipulate / tell stories / eat peanuts. Speculate all you want, just don’t tell me. The way I bombed my Psychology end sem, I don’t think I’ll welcome anything connecting me and the subject for a long long time to come.
Friday, April 16, 2010
The Boy In The Striped Pyjamas
This isn’t a movie review as much as it is a post of frustration and absolute helplessness. It’s one of those times I wish I knew more, never enough, of everything – language, history, people… Language so I may express better. History and people? I don’t know how to explain those. You either get it or you don’t.
I’ve spent a small, probably insignificant amount of time in the last few years looking up details about the Holocaust. Books and movies, the internet and reference guides. The usual. Since History textbooks in school would fly out the window before they elaborated on the period (“Jews were subject to inhuman torture.”), I was lucky to have a mother who was more forthcoming.
Anne Frank’s diary was, and do pardon me for putting it this way, an ideal introduction to the Holocaust for a kid. No, no kid should have to know about something so ghastly. But then no kid should have to live in a world that saw something so ghastly. Ideal? Shall we replace that with ‘appropriate’? I don’t know.
Ideal is hypothetical – Grade 12 physics said so. So do historians, philosophers, gamblers, parents of teenagers, realists and anyone who knows. Damn them all.
I’ve been trying; I can’t say a thing about The Diary Of A Young Girl –or indeed, anything to do with it– without feeling like what I’m saying is wrong. It’s not about being politically correct, it’s not even about what I think is wrong; it’s about how I feel when I try and put my thoughts on paper. Every word seems out of place. Inadequate. Just see the words used so far dammit – inhuman, ideal, ghastly. They simply do not do justice. Words like ‘disgust’ and ‘anger’ mean nothing because hey, aren’t those the words we use when we speak of nasty smells and broken mugs? You’re angry because someone didn’t call you back; you’re angry because millions had to live through “inhuman torture” – Really?
There was The Great Escape, but the spirit and faith aside, it dealt with how a bunch of prisoners of war found a way to beat all odds and break out; sunshine at the end of the tunnel, catchy music to boot. There was Schindler’s List. Oh Lord. There was Vikram Seth’s almost biographical account, Two Lives. There must be hundreds and thousands and thousands of books out there that refer, if only fleetingly, to the Holocaust. And during practically every such book or movie, your stomach clenches, you choke up and pillow covers get replaced.
I don’t know how far it is the collective suffering that elicits reactions and how far the individuals stories. I don’t know if I’m a masochist. Why it makes me think of a dagger being forced in and twisted in a neat circle, I can’t say. In the light of it all, everything else becomes so trivial, so fast it scares me. It makes me want to do something for all world over – Jews, Germans and otherwise. Somewhere, I know chances are I won’t do a constructive thing about it. I know nothing can be done for the people who perished during those years. For their families and souls, in their memory and all, yes. But nothing that would be any help directly. It all just feels like a failed cause, much as we may say being humane now will make a difference. I ramble.
This is one of billions and gazillions of posts, letters and notes written all over the world. Some furious, some intimate, some showing solidarity and others helplessness. As a blog post, it’s pretty useless – unless you decide to go look up the few samples I’ve mentioned. It isn’t entertaining, funny or informative. It’s my take on something that garners a unanimous, identical opinion worldwide. It’s long, it’s vague and it’s repetitive. But it’s something that needed doing. Don’t be surprised if you come across a repeat.
Bottom line? No one deserved to live that life. And no one deserved to die like that.
I’ve spent a small, probably insignificant amount of time in the last few years looking up details about the Holocaust. Books and movies, the internet and reference guides. The usual. Since History textbooks in school would fly out the window before they elaborated on the period (“Jews were subject to inhuman torture.”), I was lucky to have a mother who was more forthcoming.
Anne Frank’s diary was, and do pardon me for putting it this way, an ideal introduction to the Holocaust for a kid. No, no kid should have to know about something so ghastly. But then no kid should have to live in a world that saw something so ghastly. Ideal? Shall we replace that with ‘appropriate’? I don’t know.
Ideal is hypothetical – Grade 12 physics said so. So do historians, philosophers, gamblers, parents of teenagers, realists and anyone who knows. Damn them all.
I’ve been trying; I can’t say a thing about The Diary Of A Young Girl –or indeed, anything to do with it– without feeling like what I’m saying is wrong. It’s not about being politically correct, it’s not even about what I think is wrong; it’s about how I feel when I try and put my thoughts on paper. Every word seems out of place. Inadequate. Just see the words used so far dammit – inhuman, ideal, ghastly. They simply do not do justice. Words like ‘disgust’ and ‘anger’ mean nothing because hey, aren’t those the words we use when we speak of nasty smells and broken mugs? You’re angry because someone didn’t call you back; you’re angry because millions had to live through “inhuman torture” – Really?
There was The Great Escape, but the spirit and faith aside, it dealt with how a bunch of prisoners of war found a way to beat all odds and break out; sunshine at the end of the tunnel, catchy music to boot. There was Schindler’s List. Oh Lord. There was Vikram Seth’s almost biographical account, Two Lives. There must be hundreds and thousands and thousands of books out there that refer, if only fleetingly, to the Holocaust. And during practically every such book or movie, your stomach clenches, you choke up and pillow covers get replaced.
I don’t know how far it is the collective suffering that elicits reactions and how far the individuals stories. I don’t know if I’m a masochist. Why it makes me think of a dagger being forced in and twisted in a neat circle, I can’t say. In the light of it all, everything else becomes so trivial, so fast it scares me. It makes me want to do something for all world over – Jews, Germans and otherwise. Somewhere, I know chances are I won’t do a constructive thing about it. I know nothing can be done for the people who perished during those years. For their families and souls, in their memory and all, yes. But nothing that would be any help directly. It all just feels like a failed cause, much as we may say being humane now will make a difference. I ramble.
This is one of billions and gazillions of posts, letters and notes written all over the world. Some furious, some intimate, some showing solidarity and others helplessness. As a blog post, it’s pretty useless – unless you decide to go look up the few samples I’ve mentioned. It isn’t entertaining, funny or informative. It’s my take on something that garners a unanimous, identical opinion worldwide. It’s long, it’s vague and it’s repetitive. But it’s something that needed doing. Don’t be surprised if you come across a repeat.
Bottom line? No one deserved to live that life. And no one deserved to die like that.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Spread The Word!
It's funny how moods work. Then again, it's supposed to be this huge hush-hush secret, how moods work. One semester of Psychology revealed that moods have no cause, no reason - emotions are the ones with some point, some reason, some logic behind them. Bloody blessed point. Oh, well. So next time someone asks you why you're so moody, feel free to directly quote Her Awesomeness (Yours truly) and indirectly, Vinay Prabhu, and brush em off. There, good deed for the day done.
Screw previous moods and conversations, I'm all happy right now! The giddy variety, yes =)
I actually typed up a list of songs ("in no particular order, off the top of my head" =P) that tend to make up for most things distasteful. Songs that do funny things to my mood; and I mean funny in a good way. Songs that I carry with me and plug into just about every time I can. You know, that token favourite-music blog post every blogger simply must put up. Well guess what, I don't think I can do that, atleast not right now. Just previewing the post made me feel so vulnerable. Felt like I was sharing something intimate, something that's mine and mine alone. So lets call it The List That Wasn't and leave it at that. Boo hoo indeed.
PS - By one semester of Psychology I meant 10 hours of absorbed reading, get that right.
PPS - I happen to know the most awesome people ever! Moment of realization and gratitude, if you must. Immediate family, some friends and uh-what-are-we?, I love you guys. Go on, spread the word. And if this post was too flaky/senti/mushy for you, bah, just be glad we don't have conversations at 2 AM =P
Screw previous moods and conversations, I'm all happy right now! The giddy variety, yes =)
I actually typed up a list of songs ("in no particular order, off the top of my head" =P) that tend to make up for most things distasteful. Songs that do funny things to my mood; and I mean funny in a good way. Songs that I carry with me and plug into just about every time I can. You know, that token favourite-music blog post every blogger simply must put up. Well guess what, I don't think I can do that, atleast not right now. Just previewing the post made me feel so vulnerable. Felt like I was sharing something intimate, something that's mine and mine alone. So lets call it The List That Wasn't and leave it at that. Boo hoo indeed.
PS - By one semester of Psychology I meant 10 hours of absorbed reading, get that right.
PPS - I happen to know the most awesome people ever! Moment of realization and gratitude, if you must. Immediate family, some friends and uh-what-are-we?, I love you guys. Go on, spread the word. And if this post was too flaky/senti/mushy for you, bah, just be glad we don't have conversations at 2 AM =P
Monday, April 5, 2010
Wantowrite Wantowrite Wantowrite
^ Commendable.
Uuunfortunately, that does nothing for me. *sigh* The joys of being a journalist in the making..
It's one of those days, it is.
Noon saw me grinning. Inspiration! I'll just get to the keyboard and type. Arbit stuff. Let it flow. In no time whatsoever, a blog post will be ready! :D. Now see, that's pretty much the best mood any couldbe-wannabe-but-mustneverbe blogger can be in. Out of nowhere comes this innate confidence that you can write, write on demand and write well when you get down to it. You rest your padded behind on the swivel chair and dayum. Pop goes the bubble.
See, I've been thinking. No, not the 'serious, analytical thinking' that makes up the right half of my mental activity scale. More on that later. But what romance novels call fleeting thoughts? Good kid. Those are what I'm talking about. Of course, the girl in the novel has 'fleeting thoughts' for a week at the end of which she invariably lands up with the guy of her dreams (I refuse to call the bugger Mr Right or worse, The Prince In Shining Armour. Go die, you damsel/dhikra in distress.), the job she always wanted, just the right mix of Bob The Builder inspired "YES WE CAN!!"s and I-have-it-all-and-I'm-only-25-take-that-bitches-! She gets the house, the pet and all that lovin'. Even better, no one in the picture needs to go back to her childhood days, dig out ABBA records and moan about how The Winner Takes It All. No sirree! All's dandy, rosy pink, crunchy crisps. It's a dream. How, you ask? Because of those fleeting thoughts.
Well I'll tell you what. When fleeting thoughts uh, fleet, fleet is ALL they do. They come, they sit, they go. And nothing comes off them. Fact of life. I assure you the birds and the bees will bring to your life more joy, happiness and "all that lovin'" than my flitterbug thought revelation ever will. At best, someone'll call you a flibbertigibbet, you'll spend an hour trying to say it right, you'll look it up on Urban Dictionary and Google and whatever else you've ever heard of for the origins of the word. Or you'll take the easy way out - grin and chuck it. And then? And then nothing.
So while I could have written about how I'm being uprooted and gaadhoed bang in front of PIS, Nerul - prime location as far as bus routes 23 and 25 are concerned; how the kid sister will now have full rights to be a prissy preteen because hey, half of it is what her new school advocates; how I have more existential crises and does-anybody-care moments than I care for - oh yes, very regular teenager like; how I am (EVEN MORE teenager like) so desperate for some bhaav and affection right now; how I'm at a loss for topics to talk or write since none manage to interest even me for more than 15 seconds at a stretch... fuck it. So while I could have written about all of that, I won't. Ooh rebellion. Not. How I wish I was cheap enough to repost that cartoon.
Must the blues run the game?
Uuunfortunately, that does nothing for me. *sigh* The joys of being a journalist in the making..
It's one of those days, it is.
Noon saw me grinning. Inspiration! I'll just get to the keyboard and type. Arbit stuff. Let it flow. In no time whatsoever, a blog post will be ready! :D. Now see, that's pretty much the best mood any couldbe-wannabe-but-mustneverbe blogger can be in. Out of nowhere comes this innate confidence that you can write, write on demand and write well when you get down to it. You rest your padded behind on the swivel chair and dayum. Pop goes the bubble.
See, I've been thinking. No, not the 'serious, analytical thinking' that makes up the right half of my mental activity scale. More on that later. But what romance novels call fleeting thoughts? Good kid. Those are what I'm talking about. Of course, the girl in the novel has 'fleeting thoughts' for a week at the end of which she invariably lands up with the guy of her dreams (I refuse to call the bugger Mr Right or worse, The Prince In Shining Armour. Go die, you damsel/dhikra in distress.), the job she always wanted, just the right mix of Bob The Builder inspired "YES WE CAN!!"s and I-have-it-all-and-I'm-only-25-take-that-bitches-! She gets the house, the pet and all that lovin'. Even better, no one in the picture needs to go back to her childhood days, dig out ABBA records and moan about how The Winner Takes It All. No sirree! All's dandy, rosy pink, crunchy crisps. It's a dream. How, you ask? Because of those fleeting thoughts.
Well I'll tell you what. When fleeting thoughts uh, fleet, fleet is ALL they do. They come, they sit, they go. And nothing comes off them. Fact of life. I assure you the birds and the bees will bring to your life more joy, happiness and "all that lovin'" than my flitterbug thought revelation ever will. At best, someone'll call you a flibbertigibbet, you'll spend an hour trying to say it right, you'll look it up on Urban Dictionary and Google and whatever else you've ever heard of for the origins of the word. Or you'll take the easy way out - grin and chuck it. And then? And then nothing.
So while I could have written about how I'm being uprooted and gaadhoed bang in front of PIS, Nerul - prime location as far as bus routes 23 and 25 are concerned; how the kid sister will now have full rights to be a prissy preteen because hey, half of it is what her new school advocates; how I have more existential crises and does-anybody-care moments than I care for - oh yes, very regular teenager like; how I am (EVEN MORE teenager like) so desperate for some bhaav and affection right now; how I'm at a loss for topics to talk or write since none manage to interest even me for more than 15 seconds at a stretch... fuck it. So while I could have written about all of that, I won't. Ooh rebellion. Not. How I wish I was cheap enough to repost that cartoon.
Must the blues run the game?
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Because I'm Competitive As Fuck & Only Just Realizing It :o
^ Earth Day
^ Hans Christian Anderson's 205th Birth Anniv
Because they're there :P
Friday, February 19, 2010
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Huggles!
I never say it, but I'll say it again - Oh my god!
I was browsing through the archives of a friend's blog (Improper Conduct) and chanced upon a Youtube video. Since I had the time to browse, I had the time to view.
She said it had her teary eyed. Well guess what, it had me bawling. Will you hold it against me if I say I bawl attractively? :P
Reaching out to so many people in such an awesome way is so heart warming.. and if that's something that doesn't agree with your sensibilities, just go hug your friends and family more often already. Think, you had one person on the street stop for 10 seconds and give you a hug but in return you gave him something to smile about, something to pass on to and share with those he's close to, something cheerful to replace work-related talk at the dinner table.
Here's the guy who started it all and made it a global campaign, Juan Mann.
There was a similar campaign to do with getting people to dance that I'm pretty sure you've seen before. Nevertheless, I'll look it up. As for why I'm all bawly, meh, les hormones.
PS - Vinit Mehta, the guy in this video, is a TYBMM student at KC. Awesomeness doubled, eh?
I was browsing through the archives of a friend's blog (Improper Conduct) and chanced upon a Youtube video. Since I had the time to browse, I had the time to view.
She said it had her teary eyed. Well guess what, it had me bawling. Will you hold it against me if I say I bawl attractively? :P
Reaching out to so many people in such an awesome way is so heart warming.. and if that's something that doesn't agree with your sensibilities, just go hug your friends and family more often already. Think, you had one person on the street stop for 10 seconds and give you a hug but in return you gave him something to smile about, something to pass on to and share with those he's close to, something cheerful to replace work-related talk at the dinner table.
Here's the guy who started it all and made it a global campaign, Juan Mann.
There was a similar campaign to do with getting people to dance that I'm pretty sure you've seen before. Nevertheless, I'll look it up. As for why I'm all bawly, meh, les hormones.
PS - Vinit Mehta, the guy in this video, is a TYBMM student at KC. Awesomeness doubled, eh?
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Gracie Lou, Who?
There are times you need to be in this gracious state of mind. Kind, polite, bloody considerate state of mind. All the times someone asks you to "be blunt" (because hey, he can take it, make no mistake of that!), all the times you're expected to tick off a 10yr old but do it all nice and mature (i.e. with patience and blood vessels intact), all the times you're asked to make that one last cup of tea (or hang washed clothes out to dry :| ) when you're running late, all the times a friend behaves like a jackass and what you really wanna do is slap HARD... All the times you click the Social Interview tab on Facebook, for fuck's sake!
And since I haven't been Shweta G. Sharma in quite a while, what you get for this visit to my blog is stuff that generally manages to cheer me up, pack rat that I am. Marginally, atleast :P It ups my sillyness levels for the next half hour or so, and since that's more than what Vodafone can do...
Thing is, I keep planning to upload them but then decide to wait for the next one to make a show. Ab bas! :P
Hope you smile, even if no one's watching =)
Cookie Monster! Awesomeness
"HNY" :P
Sesame Street, Year 40
Oscaaaar!
Series of postcards (Google's getting old) - here because they were there :P
When Bapu = Birthday Boy? :|
ELMO!
Count von Count. Oh you bloody fool, count!
Just her name picks me up! Boombah Chamki :D
Happy 'kite festival', where kite festival = holiday with gajak, popcorn and movies :D
PS - The G dissecting my name? Grace. Shweta Grace Sharma. See? Vodafone reference? The tagline 'Happy to help'. Yes, I suck. =)
And since I haven't been Shweta G. Sharma in quite a while, what you get for this visit to my blog is stuff that generally manages to cheer me up, pack rat that I am. Marginally, atleast :P It ups my sillyness levels for the next half hour or so, and since that's more than what Vodafone can do...
Thing is, I keep planning to upload them but then decide to wait for the next one to make a show. Ab bas! :P
Hope you smile, even if no one's watching =)
Cookie Monster! Awesomeness
"HNY" :P
Sesame Street, Year 40
Oscaaaar!
Series of postcards (Google's getting old) - here because they were there :P
When Bapu = Birthday Boy? :|
ELMO!
Count von Count. Oh you bloody fool, count!
Just her name picks me up! Boombah Chamki :D
Happy 'kite festival', where kite festival = holiday with gajak, popcorn and movies :D
PS - The G dissecting my name? Grace. Shweta Grace Sharma. See? Vodafone reference? The tagline 'Happy to help'. Yes, I suck. =)
