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?

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

Google Photus Because I Suck :P

Ratpack I am, yes :D

My Mother Is On Facebook.

Silence. The deafening variety.

She's on Facebook, she's on my list on friends, she's everywhere!

Now, don't get me wrong. I love my mother to bits and would live my life for her. I have this theory that living your life for someone/something must be infinitely tougher than giving it up for that particular whoever/whatever, but that's for another time, another post.

And she didn't track me down, sneak up on me, put on a "yo, imma hot dude, add me yu sexii chica!" disguise (that would never -wont ever- work, don't get funny ideas anyone...) and then do an India TV "parda faash!" gig at dinner one night. Au contraire, I'm the one who got her off VSNL and introduced her to Gmail and Facebook and my humble blog - I'm your modern-day saintly proponent of clicks and codes. I'm glad she's open minded and eager to learn the ropes on here, to see how these work best for her. I'm glad that it has given her an opportunity to reconnect with classmates, neighbours and friends from the years past. I'm glad she's being progressive about it and not giving me some "too old, too busy, and who cares anyway" concoction. 

I'm glad, glad, GLAD. Proud. I truly am. Come to think of it, I probably sound like a proud mum. Anyway, I think she's wayy cool.

But okay, picture this. Fictional situations all (so Ma, don't freak out.. nevertheless, CPR on hold guys!). Only for the sake of point making, ye get? So, for whatever reason, you upload on Facebook some pics of you and a bunch of friends downing criss-cross drinks or trying out some random grassy thing or in general playing the stupid/dangerous/perverted fool. Surprise surprise, your mom gains access to them! Oh and in case it hasn't crossed your mind yet, you're underage. HOW WILL YOU FEEL? I dunno know how you'll feel but boss, those pics will self destruct. Poof! And if that doesn't happen in time, haha, someone's gonna get hurt real bad tonight... 

Milder version of the same - you're flirting with whoever, and I'm talking serious flirting. The responses make you happy in the heart and mushy in the mind. And out of nowhere, Momma puts in an appearance. Potential poof situation. Not ideal, see? That's what I'm getting at. Virtual privacy ka popat.

Then again, this works both ways. Anytime she decides to crib about me, bitch or rant, I'll get those flashy red notifications. She decides to blog-rant, I can read. Random conversations with friends, I get updates, the inside scoop. 

We could go in for a cordial understanding that the other's profile is not to be looked at, updates to be ignored, but who am I kidding? We're sneaky pigs in that regard - do pardon the language, bas grasp the implication. And it'd get too boring, too soon. Guess we'll let things remain.

I'll just have to remember to flirt in private ;)

** This also holds good for college profs. Detected one on Facebook the other day. This might just turn into a series of "Who's On Facebook?" posts. :|

Paper For Seats?

WHAAAT is this thing females have about leaving the toilet seat down? :X 

A little tap works wonders. One word. Gravity. When you lift it up you're fighting gravity. Tap and the thing will whoosh-whack-bump its way down.  Easy peasy, innit?

I don't know where this is coming from. Perhaps I'm just turning into a reverse feminist, if that makes any sense. But boss, when something bothers you all day long, you bloody well hammer keyboards about it.  Life's a series of buttons being pushed anyway. 

And anyway, why does the toilet seat in particular get to decide a guy's standing on Le Scale de Chivalrie? Toilet paper would be a better option, no? Something like this -

Roll and guy dono laapata? Nevermind... that's why the women's mags advise against monogrammed ones anyway. Unless they're Gucci dahlings! Chanel? Pooh, you're better off without them.

Roll of toilet paper still to be seen? He isn't a petty thief. Then again, maybe it's just the CCTV thrill/scare you gave him earlier.

Roll seen in place? He cares.

Ripped but diagonally? Oh just them big, clumsy fingers...

Razor sharp, horizontal line? Keeper! 

Unused? Get the noose ready, he's putting your needs before everything else! Alternatively, he could be slid off the list clearing the bottom margin some. The trick is to decide on either funda and stick with it. 

See, that's all there is to it. 

Oh and that line about life being a series of buttons being pushed was profound. And original. You just don't know kitna... :P

Massive, Massive, Massive.

The mere mention of Chate’s Coaching Classes is invariably accompanied by some ugly allegations. Old news. Also stuff I don’t need to go into. But a recent experience proved beyond doubt the (ab)sense of ethics when it comes to the man running the show at Chate’s Vashi branch. 

I accept that there is little point in ranting and raging on a blog that is probably read by 5 people a week, if I’m lucky. But when I left the coaching centre, I was convinced that a blazing write-up for a news daily, in The Twin City Times if it came to that, would be next on my agenda. I rather liked the idea of involving the MNS youth wing, until it dawned on me that I’m a north Indian and Chate dear is definitely not. Back to the article - I told myself that being a BMM student would only help my case and screw up his. Also, a copy of the article would have to be slid under the door to the office. The write-up that formed itself in my mind as I walked away was, at the very least, the equivalent of a watermelon sized stink bomb escorted by two baseball bats for some physical impact. 

Par kya hota hai na, your face goes from a furious red to a peaceful tan, you age by a day, you realize you have lesser time left to waste now than you did yesterday and so you calm down… which is why this will go up as a blog outburst and remain one. I’m writing to feel good about having let it out. That does not mean another is obliged to read. Read forth if you don’t mind a long winded post about something that may not be of concern to you. If you do mind, I suggest you head to FML. 

So. I was there with an acquaintance of a few hours to complete a task. Do drop the “task-who?” queries. We were sent out to earn some money. Given - 3 hours, a combined capital investment amount of Rs.20, a cellphone as a team bonus and our oh-so-marketable baarvi paas skills. Down to our last hour, we felt like cavemen who had just figured out what to do with fire. After all, we had our modest but hard-earned pay stuffed deep inside the deepest pockets. During the course of the afternoon, we’d met some entrepreneurs some of who who genuinely wanted to help and did – them we were grateful to; some who found that Sundays didn’t translate to a day with spare work lying around – I’ll leave it to you to work that out; and then some blessed souls who as good as slammed the front door in our faces and then tried to spray some Baygon through the cracks in the wood just in case. Nevertheless, I was feeling, and do pardon the sad but fitting OSO reference, “like the KING of the WORLD!”

Chate’s, right. We walked in, briefed the boss there and were subsequently given some records to fill in, phone calls to make. All conversations started with this totally sadau “Hello, I’m calling from Chate classes” intro (NOT my dream job : | ) and went somewhat like this –
                   “Aapka beta aaj class kyu nahi aaya?”-“Bai.. ho ka? Nighaalla hota toh.. mee tabadtop yete! Tumhi thaamba!”-“Naahi, raahu dya.. ushir aalla asel. Mark nahi kiya hoga. Sorry.”

So we spend an hour learning new panic words in Marathi, systematically penning absentee records right down to the excuse. All while the lady employed to do this stuff quizzes us about our future job expectations and what we would do if a new co-worker happened to delete all our work and the boss “took the newbie’s side”. Would we resign because the boss had no confidence in us or would we stay on to prove a point? I’m serious. I left out the quotes and commas because they can be a pain more often than not, but those were her exact words. I know, I know, the things we do… Anyway, so an hour goes by, we work, then get up to see the boss so we may reap due monetary benefits. Here you’ll say we should have decided on a certain amount beforehand. Hah. Keep saying. Mr. Ghosh, showrunner extraordinaire, decided to disappear instead. Then over the stoopid Tata Indicom his voice made its crackly crinkly way to reach us. We get told there was no “commitment on his part as such” and we have no right to demand payment. We were begging for work, he felt sorry for us, so he gave us some shitty calls to make. No contract, remember? Yeah, right. Dickhead. 

And that led to a firing. Self to Showman. Derived tremendous satisfaction from it too. And it was this dignified firing that told him exactly what I thought of him. Ah, I was so proud of myself! Incidentally, so was the acquaintance of a few hours. He was also taken aback. Net result – he stopped hitting on me. Mera time 200% vasool. :D

I for one did not get the point of basically cheating two 17 year olds. For what, I can’t understand. Say there isn’t anything for us to do and we’ll go dude! Deceive why? I didn’t type out 900+ words to complain about having lost out on 50 odd rupees. Far from that. I probably ought to take the blame for having walked into an establishment like Chate’s and then expecting fair play. I don’t know. It’s just that the whole incident had me so mad!!

My point is this – Even in the absence of a lawyer, a contract drawn out on stamp paper and two witnesses, we need to get around to honouring agreements. Just plain ol’ staying true to our word types. Be it going out to play with a kid sister, meeting a pal on time or something we actually consider ‘major’. 

This may even sound preachy. But after a thousand words and a mind mad at that man all over again, I don’t really care.

Entertainment Pimp. Of Sorts.

Secrets are fun. Particularly when they’re someone else’s and you get to read. Anonymously. *evil cackle*

Most people see it for the harmless entertainment it is and enjoy it - no I don’t want to know what that says about me. Usually, hang ups can be sourced to an unusual (note: I did NOT say stuck up) sense of another’s privacy (make what you will of that…), nasty moods or plain ol’ fatigue. 

The way I see it, if the chump concerned doesn’t mind putting up something that may be ‘personal’, why the hell should we care? Same goes for all revealing blogs. If YOU enjoy reading them, just go ahead and fill MTNL’s coffers anyway. 

One globally popular adda is PostSecret. For some reason, I’m not a particularly big fan of all those pics covered with text, but hey, to each his own.

A few days back I looked up a site that I’ve heard a lot about but never actually visited. Highly entertaining stuff. You’ll find stuff you can relate to in a “Oh shoot, me too!” way. You’ll find stuff that has you hooting and doubling over. Then there’s some that’s essentially sad, you’d hate it if it was happening to you, but because it’s someone else, you pick up on the humour and give a wry smile anyway. Of course, you’ll find posts that do nothing for you, but hey, having you read it does nothing for the post either. 

The site is www.fmylife.com For the anti-abbreviationists out there, that’s Fuck My Life. 

Samples –

• Today, I signed up for an online dating service, a couple of days after my divorce. I got my first batch of matches, and number one was a smiling picture of the woman who had just divorced my ass after 20+ years together. Her profile shows she has to have been active there for months. FML

• Today, in my science class I sat next to my friend Jill. My teacher always gets our names confused calling me Jill & her Liz. She decided to combine our names. I'm now known as Jizz. My teacher clearly has no idea what it means. FML

• Today, I was driving in my car when out of the corner of my eye I notice a car pulling up next to me trying to get past me. I speed up, so as not to let the car pass me. It took me a while before I noticed I was racing against the shadow of my own car. FML

• Today, I yelled while I was sleeping....I was sleeping at a very important meeting with all the customers and my boss. FML

• Today, I lost my cell phone. But found it again! And then dropped it in the toilet. FML

You can post anonymously, answer a spot opinion poll and leave comments. Have a few good laughs, lighten up some, and get back to me with more sites if you know of them. 

Apologies to anyone who expected the post to be along drastically different lines. :P

Cheers

=)

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!

- - -

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

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*