We Are Shifted.

I realized only today that there are people who've signed up as followers fairly recently. You slavedrivers expect me to write more, eh? Drive me. I need it for things beyond completing college assignments and consuming daal. Yellow, unchanging, diversified forms of daal. I love daal. How could I not? Bah. Digression.

I'm surprised people want to read stuff I've written over the last 2 years and continue to. Genuine surprise but it feels nice. Thanking you'll is stupid, you aren't reading to do me a favour. But nice toh it remains. Just saying.


So yeah, there was this college assignment due for Creative Writing last October - a new blog. I kindasortamaybe cheated in that some posts on that blog were sourced from this one. It's still stuff I wrote and edited, right? Yeaaaah! Thank you. Oh but the template's happier and even though I like this url better, that's there too.. it's a direct lift and yet it isn't. Heck, I named it the same. *judges own lack of originality. decides to call it "brand loyalty". take that, bitches!*
That's where I've been posting ever since. Posting irregularly, in no more than spurts, but posting nonetheless.

Am I getting you to follow 2 blogs to slyly take up my Followers tally? Gah. I stopped checking that long back. Right when I figured I was writing mediocre things on a public forum that I don't market anyway. Feels weird but I'm learning to sell what I do. I'm selling myself! =O
And getting marked for it.
Blessed BMM.
Ask about the resume I made for Brand Communications. I feel invaded, on a certain level. Like I've been invaded, not my privacy, you read that right.


Haan so getting to the point! Fucking digression. The man I keep was right. This is the blog. Where I Doodle, college edition. On your pretty page, waiting to be "discovered", read and perhaps thought about. Feedback is always welcome. lyfbrat prompted this post and in turn lit up your Reader. Be nice.

Oh and that bit about selling stubborn in/un/non-creativity and calling it brand loyalty? Bhenchod I might just manage to survive (not stay sane) in media. I find I'm capable of thinking like them.

Google Photus Because I Suck :P

Ratpack I am, yes :D

How To: 1

PS - Fans because bloody gory executions =/= my thing.

Dear Lethargy, RIP.

Dear Lethargy,

We've been friends for close to two decades now. And what a friend! What decades! What a combination, darn it! My mind's tear glossed eyes see delayed replays of the times we walked hand in hand, strolling through the park and picking berries. Okay, so that was a lie. The berries never did quite make a show. You never even moved off your lazy behind, goddamn it! As for the tears... Still. The innocence. The heartfelt disregard for the rats that raced. Excuse me while I mop up this teary mess...

Remember the times when assorted deadlines flew by and all we wanted was to hear the "whoosh!" and see the back of them? When Monday came and Sunday went but everything, from bread to bath water remained unchanged? When the family got B grade movies for dinner because the other counters were too far away? When the bed first developed persistent depressions and consequent lumps?  When the birds overdid the mango tree routine because we chose to be generous? And lethargic, heehee. Sorry.

Some would call us 'chaddi buddies', some 'langotiya yaars' and some... okay, let's not go down that road.

The essence of it all is, you've been as faithful a companion as I could ever have wished for. Never have I felt the slightest trace of treachery or abandonment. You were loyal. You were there. True blue Liverpool style. True red, I mean.

But now... but now! But NOW!!

Okay guys, cut. So we just collectively discovered I can't handle filmy dramas. And Symbi needs me to be a drawer. Artsy fartsy. Whoop de doo, Mumbai it might just be! Coming back to the drama - It's worse when the script demands that first I K-reminisce and then do an about turn and screech "Magar aur nahi... main yeh zulm, yeh bojh, yeh nainsaafi bardaasht nahi kar sakti!". System overload ho jaata hai yaar. 

The general idea was to let it be known that killing off this blog is NOT the plan. I'm gonna get back to writing stuff and regularly. Sometimes there's so much to write about that I put it away for later... other times, there's "nothing to write about".

So I hope to hit up the New Post option sometime tomorrow and give you a well-deserved dose of my gyaan. Okay, so maybe you don't really deserve it.. but whoa, big deal.

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.

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.

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!

- - -

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*