Tuesday, August 30, 2005

Here's the thing..

I don’t say it is wrong to be arrogant. You can be arrogant. Arrogance is just a human flaw, among others such as immaturity, narcissism, patriotism, tooth decay et al.

I see a lot of people being offended on their encounters with such brats. Don’t!

In fact, feel sorry for them. They nurse insecurities and fears far deep rooted than any of your shallow counterparts.

Well, take it from me..

Saturday, August 27, 2005

We dont need no ejyucation!

I am not sure whether I am up for it.
Up for what?

For the last few days, I have been trying, and I say trying, so hard to sit a place and study. But the candid fact is that I have not sat and studied since I left school/college, which was not so long ago actually. But any way, this is not happening.


Not happening!

Bah! I hate math. WTFF!!

Tuesday, August 23, 2005


That was fun.

P.S. I am back!

Monday, August 08, 2005

Episode 5

"What is there to see around here?" I ask.
"See madam? Well, nothing really madam. Its just a sober town" the guy behind the counter replies. I was beginning to hate guys behind counters.
"Nothingggg?" I persist.
"Well, there are a few temples around but you would not be too interested, I presume" he concluded.
I walked upto a mirror and took a good look at myself, I felt his eyes trail me. I returned to the counter, "well, you presume wrong!"
He did actually presume right. But I was not keen to be received as predictable. I thought Indian cricket matches are the proud owners of that honour. I would hate to discredit them.

At this point, meet Mr. Ramanna. For the reminder of the tour, a key figure. Ramanna was a middle aged driver who had trouble figuring out why I was there. Sure, he could make out that I was there to see the place, but he had trouble understanding why. The staff told him something in the native language, to which he nodded honestly. I presumed he told him that I was a young lady, seeking the blessings of the Almighty for a hastened and prosperous hand in matrimony. Well, I presumed. He was wrong, anyway.

I am not a fervent theist to be honest. I dislike visiting temples. You will never get me to go to one even if Eddie Vadder was the priest in there. Okay, that was a lie. Anything for Eddie. But the point, the point is that I was doing something against tradition. Ironical, but true. I was going on a temple tour. For some strange reason, I did not resist much. May be because there was no one to force. Hmm.

Theology apart, the temples were interesting structures. They were these entire round pagoda like architectures, with the idol at its center. A couple of interesting notes follow.

There was one at this place called Madhur, which greets with this sign right up front, "Admission restricted only for Hindus". I had a laugh, but I could see no point in the moral high ground I was assuming. I was in a temple, for gossake! What could be more foolish- a sign as such or an action of accepting a spiritual entity as an owner?

There is an interesting tale for this one temple in Udupi. Apparently, long ago a few devotees were stalled from seeing the idol for some bureaucratic reason. So they start singing at one of the walls of the temple. Lo and behold! The statue makes a sweet ninety degree turn to face the singer. Now, there’s a real Indian Idol.

There were few more I visited but soon I got bored. Well, I believe in omnipotence of God, afterall. In other local visitations, Ramanna showed me something called the Baikal Fort. A very important incident occurred here apart from Arvind Swamy singing Tu hi re.. in Bombay. That being a certain jump off a seven foot wall by moi. The applause may die now, please.. because the result of this death defying dare devilry was a sprained foot. What can I say, two falls in three days!

So for the next two days, I had my foot up, watching waves crash on a beach somewhere on the shores of Arabian Sea. Atleast that’s what that sign said.

Friday, August 05, 2005

Episode 3

He was not there!!

My eyes scurried round the bus, but soon enough stopped at the red sweatshirt by the door. There he was, talking to the driver. He was not your regular boring hunk with the bulging biceps and a smug face, but seemed more like the guy next door with a Tuesday stubble. Stubble's are good. Umm. As he made his way back to his seat, did I notice a fleeting curve across his lips? I was totally checking this guy out. What more, my subtlety was letting me down. "Behave yourself Dee!" I reprimand myself.

For the next few hours, I kept my eyes out of harms way and on the road, watching the lights run along the bus. Highways are like little children When you are around them, you seem t become a different person. They suck the worldly self out of you. Things seem so simple and clear.

I think it was Stephen Hawking or was it Donnie Darko, who said that if you have a time portal, a metal vessel travelling the speed of sound and water, you could reach the gateway of time travel. Well, I say we can do without the portal, because I certainly did go back in time on a bus on a rainy day. Nostalgia! I get reminiscent on long journeys most of the times. Thinking about the by gones, smiling to myself quietly, an odd tear maybe. I know a lot of us do. May be, it has to do with the fact that man finds his true place in the world when he is by himself.

It was one of those cold uncomfortable nights where the blanket does not seem long enough. Somewhere, sometime in the middle of which, I feel asleep. But around five in the morning, my eyes opened to some rustle bustle along the aisle. People were getting off. I sleepily look out of the window to find us parked at a rather sized station. I got down to inspect the turf. The vendors were calling out in a different tone of language than what I was accustomed to. I guessed we changed states. Well, the board was a giveaway too. It read, "Bangalore".

I had never been to Bangalore before. But it had not even dawned yet for any flamboyant changes in the itinerary now. Moreover, I was still yawning and sometimes really loudly so that I would stay awake while I walked around.

The driver informs us that Mangalore was six hours from there and that he would be starting shortly. So I hurry to the door, hands still tucked in my pockets. In my attempt to board the bus like a limbless moron, I slip my step and bundle at the door. Right in front of.. yes, Mr. Cute Guy. If it were a movie, he would have been behind me, breaking my fall and taking me by his arms. But it was NOT a movie, so I ended up a little red at the cheeks and a sore bum.

Some really green pastures mark the route from Bangalore to Mangalore. The bus travels through a ghaat road as they call it. To get a better view, I take a seat in front. As the bus serpents through the narrow roadlines, the driver becomes chatty. His show and tell stories of the accidents along the way were actually gripping. As morbid as it may sound, but I kept imagining our bus tumbling off a curve. I thought the green valleys make for great graves.

To top it off, it began to rain. I have this strange habit, I try to read patterns on the rain water running down the windows along ridges. Well, it's been more than two decades but am still largely unsuccessful at it.

It was around noon that we reached Mangalore. It was a little too big to be called a hamlet and a little too small to be called a town. But it was just right to be called beautiful.

The slopes up and down the hills, the small houses embedded between carpets of trees, the narrow lanes, the sand walls, reminded me a bit of Goa. But through all the rustic appeal, it did show signs of civilization of course.
As I boarded off, of what is my longest bus journey ever, I saw the cute guy walk off. As he got into his car, he turned and waved. I waved back. Sometimes, great love stories don't need the condition of transpiration.
With my tongue still in my cheek after that statement I made up, I ventured into my net challenge, to find a Hindi speaking taxi wallah to get me to a hotel.

"Madam, yengeli ki podu?" Pardon my Tulu.

Thursday, August 04, 2005

Episode 2

"No buses at all?" I almost screamed.
"But I have to go.." Well, I had my bags packed, would seem quite a waste, all that effort.
"You can take the Mangalore bus madam and shuffle there. Its just 60 kms or so" the man sold.
Mangalore now? Now where is that? All logic says somewhere near Bangalore. If nothing else, I can always take a flight to Mumbai from Bangalore.
"When is the bus due?"
"In about 5 minutes.." he said.

True to the clerk's word, a volvo pulled up in exactly five minutes. As I watched the monster of a vehicle approach, I saw all the pieces falling right in, like some scripted movie. This had to be a movie!

Still skeptical about the wisdom of a unplanned trip, I watched the door open. "Mangalore?" the driver shouted. "Yes, Mangalore" I replied. I faintly remember the Alto ad flashing across my mind. Let's go.

"That will be Rs.830" he handed out a receipt. Buses, who said they were inexpensive. The bus was fairly empty. Most of the seats were vacant and very clean. Nominally, I scanned the entourage and settled in an aisle seat, though the next one was empty. Well, I am an aisle person, what can I say.

Cozying in, I watched the roads pull away. Let me tell you something at this point, in my six month residence in this city, I have not really picked up much of its language. So the couple in the seat behind me had nothing really to worry about as they made hushed noises at my choice of wardrobe for the journey.


Buses are fun places. I remember being taken to many a picnic and us singing songs which were not quite waranted under adult supervision. Well, it was a picnic afterall, so not many really minded. I did not travel much in buses after leaving school. But I always maintained, buses are fun places. This one had a TV too.

The telly was switched on soon and everyone was engrossed. Everyone, but a certain miss. Well, me.. silly! I did not understand half of the words being spoken, so I just mustered out a meek smile everytime someone laughed. Soon enough I got bored, and anyone who knows me knows that it is a disease with me. So, I start staring at people through the window panes.

Suddenly, I notice a real cute guy sitting on the other side of the aisle. He was looking out of the window, not much interested in the movie either. May be, he had already seen it. May be, like me, he too does not understand the language. May be, he is sad. May be, he is bored. May be.

I wanted to go over and ask if he was. Well, he was cute afterall and I had nothing much really to do. But my Lonely Indian girl Traveller Handbook said otherwise. Oh, I hate handbooks, they take too much space. In the head.

Oohh.. he is turning, quick.. grab the laptop and pretend you are working. Better, get typing on your blog.

Ten minutes of acting later, worthy of atleast a Golden Globe, may I add, I look off the laptop and casually browse the scene. Wait.. He's not there!!!!

(of course.. to be continued..)

Wednesday, August 03, 2005

This is how it started..

Date: July 26th, 2005
Place: Hyderabad
Mood: BAD

"Mumbai. One ticket please." I asked. The clerk behind the counter smiled. Clerks never smile. It is against the Holy Clerkship Regulation Act, 1979. But it seemed this one was blasphemous. A bastard child of a wholesome afternoon meal and the male testosterone, which invariably surges on the sight of a pretty face. "No tickets available ma'am. Atleast not on such short notice." he smirked. He smirked. I hate people who smirk. You cant see their teeth when they do and it sort of defeats the purpose of expression.

I did not want to waste anymore time on the silly clerk anyway, so I step off the line and into a slight drizzle. A taxi waltz right up. "Chalna hai kya madam?" a voice beckons. Its a strange word - madam. A sort of dive in savior for the egos of hundreds of women across the country. The sentence in its absence would have sounded so improper, save its obligatory address. I got into the cab as it pulled away. "Kaha ku?" he inquired. I did not exactly know the answer. There is a thing about answers and me. I never seem to have a stock of them. Kahan ku, kahan ku.. my mind repeated. I do that sometimes when I hear a queer dialect.

I never fancied the railways. I always excused myself admitting I was fastidious. Well, it was raining anyway and the smell of rusted iron can be a bit repulsive at times.

"Kahan ku.. madam?" the driver growled. "Bus station" I quipped, more as a reaction than an assertion. "Kaa? Imliban?" he deliberated further. I had no clue. "Bus Station!" I asserted this time. "Hau wahi.." he tuned away, pushing a tape in for the deck. I had no idea what it was playing but by the look of his head bobbing, I guessed it was popular. He smiled at the rearview mirror. Nice gutka stained teeth. Thumbs up.

As he waived through the traffic, I had a few simple questions lined up in my mind. Why am I going to the bus station? More importantly, Where am I going? Answers!! I did not want to go to Mumbai anymore. Atleast not in a bus, atleast not in the rain. The journey would kill me. What are you, a chicken??!

"Kaa jaari hai madam?" my friend behind the wheel opened his trap again. "Aaa..umm.. Manipal" another reaction! Manipal??!

"Lekin ab koi bus nahi reta madam. Mera bhai.." he motored on.

Who is this guy, the ride-an-inquiry? Shut up already. But I queried anyway, "Kab rehti hai, bhayya?"

"Pata nai, kounter mein poochlo" Well, he was not the inquiry after all.

He then assumed that I flatter myself by indulging in conversations where I nod and smile meekly, because he began to recite his opinions about the great vehicular congestion and the downtrodden state of the taxi community. On any other day, he would have had my sympathy or may be even a word in jest, but this was not one of those days. It was a day I was going to a bus station and allegedly to Manipal, which I thought was close to Maharashtra all this while. But apparently, as my map told me, it was not.

Well, I could go to Manipal, afterall. Nice beaches. I understand it is in Karnataka and is quite a way off Mumbai, but I could give it a try. Hmm.. but why would anyone indulge in such a frivolous activity? Just like that. Finally an answer! Atleast an answer I like.

Meanwhile, Mr. Taxidude is waving at the traffic cops. I ask him how long more before I reach the station. At this point, I would like to tell you that a taxi wallah's definition of an answer is quite different from the universal one. An answer is any random statement, which follows an interrogatory statement. So, he replies that I could get a ticket at any bus stand or the bus even. I thank him profusely for his benevolent answer and get down at the next bus stand.

I walk up to the little counter there and ask for a ticket to Manipal. The clerk behind the counter grins and says, " Saari, no buses for Manipal from here now."

(to be continued..)

Monday, August 01, 2005

She's hit the road..

The blog admin has been on a road tour for the last week or so, hence the absence of posts. She is expected to be back shortly.

Monday, July 25, 2005

Little things..

There are little things in one’s life that should never be forgotten.
Case in point, an umbrella on a rainy day.

There are little things in life one should never be worried about.
Case in point, forgetting an umbrella on a rainy day and getting drenched.

But there is one thing in life, one must always remember.
Never eat ice cream on a rainy day that you have forgotten your umbrella and are drenched. It is not cute. Even if you are walking your neighbour’s dog. On a rainy day..

Bless you.. err.. me!

When you are bored and you know it.. take a quiz!

What type of killer are you?

You kill with magic.
You are very skilled with magic, but have poor fighting skills. But it doesn't really matter anyway since it can be as powerful as other weapons. You are probably missunderstood by people and have some pain inside you. You are not the kind of person to start a fight, but if you are provocted you respond. You probably don't have that many friends either though you might want some. According to you life is a lonely journey and you try not to care to much. Most people who are witches or anything similar is thought to be evil and want to see all people suffer. That however is not true. You don't feel that much joy seeing others in pain. You are probably peaceful and quiet when left alone.

Main weapon: Potions and spells
Quote: "A man can be destroyed but not defeated" -Ernest Hemingway
Facial expression: Blank eyes

Courtesy: Poison

Sunday, July 24, 2005


No man is an Iland, intire of it selfe; every man is a peece of the Continent, a part of the maine; if a Clod bee washed away by the Sea, Europe is the lesse, as well as if a Promontorie were, as well as if a Mannor of thy friends or of thine own were; any mans death diminishes me, because I am involved in Mankinde; And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; It tolls for thee.

-John Donne (Meditation XVII of Devotions Upon Emergent Occasions)

They say that no man is an island
And good things come to those who wait
But the things I hear are there just to remind me
Every dog will have his day..

-Jon Bonjovi (Santa Fe)

Saturday, July 23, 2005

She defends.. again.. (why?)

I met up with some friends today, who I knew a long time back. Things have gotten all “sober” from the times gone by. I like my friends, they are a good set of people. They don’t worry about complexes, egos.. petty things like that.. anymore. Most of them are now settled in life, typically. So as the encounter progressed, anecdotes started flying around, giggles and laughter followed. But suddenly, at one moment everyone (read three) looked at me and sighed. I, in most of the social congregations, am the epitome for the phrase.. “Had everything.. lost everything”. I never agreed. I vehemently defended every “odd-ball” action of mine. Everytime. These people are the conventional open minded people who do realize and respect the choices of an individual, but I always find the look of disappointment in their eyes when they look at my “wasted” life. I hate that look, it is the same look my mom sports.

“You were smart.. you could have become a lawyer or a manager” or “You were the prettiest among us.. you could have been on TV or maybe have become a tennis player atleast” someone always quipped. Notice, the tennis bit at the end.. that was a suggestion at the heights of humour, a sober software analyst can reach. Fairly pedestrian, I agree.

My defining feature throughout my adolescence was my appearance. I was not a drop dead gorgeous bimbo, as my braggadocio might have suggested, but was fairly attractive. I always thought it ruined my chances of being acknowledged “intelligent”. I did manage to rake up some high scores in most of the exams, but I was always the cute one, not the brainy one. I hated that. But every one thought I ll become “successful” in life anyway. Heck, I still am young and have a long way ahead, but this is where my history steps in.

For brief period in my life, I was in the state of, well.. disillusionment. Like every other kid in the great city of ours, I too was caught in the classic teenage affliction – DRUGS, SEX and ROCK n ROLL. In years gone by, some one said.. “Talent is no virtue, when desire ceases.” Desire is not defined for a teenager, it is misconstrued.

People make mistakes. Some pay for them instantly, some in installments. But every body pays. You just take the receipts and walk on. The only problem is.. that my receipt is stuck to my butt! And I want it off.

So at the turn of the day, as the clock reads 0021 hrs, I declare.. NO, MY LIFE WAS NOT DONE IN! IT WAS NOT WASTED!! Again.

Friday, July 22, 2005

In the name of God, a redundant post!

A photograph from a local daily. Fans of Mr. Bachchan performing a yagna for him in Kolkata.

I do not mind seeing the gentlemen seated there in the saffron wrap praying for the well being of a fellow being. Autistic, may be.. but none of my business. I do not mind posters of mortals becoming idols of worship. My walls had their share of pin-ups as well. So, no complaints. I am just fascinated by that little kid in blue, who is all excited and is probably mouthing something like “Amitabh Maharaj ki JAI” or something to that effect. A kid who is just there for the free prashad or maybe an odd playmate. Or may be just following his family. He in some way reminds me of every other being on this land. We, who make make/believe Gods for his prashad and call ourselves devout and humane.

“And the point is…?” you ask? None. There never is one.

P.S. Just testing uploading images from the laptop.

Thursday, July 21, 2005

One from the annals..

In a little corner of the room, she lay. Dark, it was.. like the stream moving along her arm. Cold, she lay hugging her knees close to her chest. Tears still moist against her cheeks. Heart still pounding slowly, almost inquiring for continuance. “ Close your eyes, it will go away.” She kept whispering to herself. No one was listening.

The door opened slowly, bringing in piercing streaks of light that pricked into her eyes, sharper than the razor was against her wrists. The murky silhouette at the entrance waved towards her, beckoning her out. She cuddled in closer, head burying in her lap, shutting her eyes forcefully. The door closed. Darkness was reclaimed. The faintness lulled her to sleep.

The night lasted for months.

Then one day, the curtains fell to floor. The room lay bare in front of the mighty Helios. He marched in and like a drunken pig in whorehouse, he ravaged the naked walls. Every inch of the darkness was now printed with violent marks of luminosity. The little girl in the corner watched in revulsion, as her home was torn down by the powerful lord of luster. Her darkness was gone. Her home, lost.

Wednesday, July 20, 2005

Career advice please..

I want to foray in advertising. Could someone please suggest the needful qualifications/schools.
Pretty please.

Tuesday, July 19, 2005


That's the score this evening.
I played tennis after a loooong time, today.. braving rains and muddy courts, at that.
And yes, I won.
Just thought everyone should know that.

A little too symbolic, you say?

This afternoon,

PS games on PC/Laptop.. not quite the same.

P.S. I feel I grown "down" five years in four days.

Monday, July 18, 2005


The gongs were sounding. Her head was responding to their rhythmic loudness. The walls were moving in, squeezing out the darkness enclosed. Her eyelids part in the most unhurried motion possible. The gongs mellowed.. TTRRING. The door! TRRRINGG!! Somebody get the door! GET THE DOOR, dammit! Her head moves around, surveying the site. She was talking to herself again. There was no one there in the room.

She walks her zombified self across the hall to meet the wicked bell ringer behind the door, gonging away to glory. He was a huge dark guy with HUGER moustache and a red blood eyes. When he grins, which he never does.. his pearly white teeth make an appearance, forming a contrast against the skin worthy of a place in a wannabe kitsch fashionista’s line. His round hairy belly wiggles every time he chuckles, which again.. he never does. She finally makes her way across the hall which seemed to have stretched across eternity. She opens the door only to find a middle aged woman baring HER teeth to her. It was the maid. She says something in the regional dialect, but was incomprehensible. Everything seemed so.

As she walks back to her room, her eyes falls on a little shiny thing hung on the wall. Something beckons her towards it. As she moves closer, a witchy little figure appears on it. A female form with strange big hair, small eyes and a huge crimson mouth.. SCREAAAAAAAAAM! The maid comes rushing in, inquiring and leaves immediately snickering. She’s evil! That must be her evil witch sister there in the picture. She moves in again braving the sinking feeling inside.. it seems a more familiar picture this time around. Carefully observing the face, she remembers.. that’s.. her. It was a mirror. Cursing her imbecility and bad take-off-your-lipstick-before-sleeping manners.. she calls for a cup of coffee.

The maid walks in sometime with a cup of coffee and a rather disgusted look* on her face. In her broken Hindi, she inquires why she was home at this hour. OFFICE!! She slept through the morning.. it was Monday, and she was “late” to office. Again.

Her head was on the verge of exploding. It could, but it wont.. coz that would be a good thing… and good things don’t happen on a Monday morning. A Monday morning that comes after a Sunday night. After a (drink-all-you-can-coz-tomorrow-is-a-Monday-again) Sunday night. It’s a vicious circle.

She rushes in and out of the bathroom faster than a speeding bullet. Wet hair and all, she grabs her bag and mobile, scurrying out of the door..

Two minutes later, she slowly makes her way back through the same door and bundles in the sofa.. she need not go to that office anymore.. she quit two days back.

Friday, July 15, 2005

Come to think of it..

I have no expectations in life. Ok, not no, maybe low. I live in a world of fantasy where I am God. I create my own standards, my limitations, my luxuries. Say, when I step into the mall, I shop like there is no tomorrow. There is. No tomorrow. People tell me this is a bad way of living life. I think they are wrong. I say this because of two reasons. One, people are just forced factors of conditions in my life who have an unfortunate gift of voice. Two, I am never wrong.

Being right or wrong is relative. What I do is always right to me, and I shall abide by my decisions throughout. My decisions become my factors of conditions thereafter.

Life is just about dealing with the conditions around at the end of the day, ainnit? I like making my own conditions. I dictate what affects me. Is that a safe way of living, is that living in a bubble? Maybe. Then are we all not living in one?

We are all living in a rather rigid set of conditions governed by the information we are imparted with. What if the world that we are informed about is false, then nothing is true. Every thing is possible. Is denial of everything the ultimate freedom then? Or an ignorant trip of escapism?

Either way.. I do not really give a rat’s behind, for this world is not worth worrying.

Desperate housewife.. me?

1. Lie in the bed and wallow
2. Look at it longingly
3. Look away
4. Look back
5. Curse it.. it causes migraines (cold + migraines = bad combo ~ sick)
6. Throw a pillow at it
7. Make a face
8. Turn your back to it and pretend you are sleepy
9. Realize you are as sleep privileged as an owl
10. Oh, what the hell! Plug it in already.. you are married to it for gossake

Oh darling laptop! I missed you.

Tuesday, July 12, 2005

Well, it was floating around..

Liquid Sunshine tagged me, so here goes..

Three names I go by:

2)Lutin (thats french)
3)D****a (my name)

Three Screen Names:


Three things I like about myself:

1)that I dropped out of college
2)that I care two hoots about "work"
3)that I dont read too many books

Three things I don't like about myself:

1)that I once beat a man till he bled off his balls
2)that I SOMETIMES lie (*wink)
3)that I think being honest is important, in everything

Three things that scare me:


Three essentials:

1)Will to live on
2)Will to say - no
3)Will to say - yes

Three things I like in the opposite sex:

2)Trimmed nails

Three things that I want to do badly now:

1)Eat shepard's pie (can't)
2)Light up (can't)
3)Have wild, unreatrained, unihibited, shameless, orgasmic sex (can't.. wait e minute, no.. can't)

Three places I'd love to go on vacation:

1)Great Barrier Reef, Australia (oh yes)
2)African rainforests (never been there)
3)My mom's hometown, of course

Three kids' names I like:

3)Sasha (All kids I know)

Three things to do before dying:

1)Catch myself in the mirror honestly laughing out loud, again
2)Make a movie
3)Get rid of my tattoo

I guess I have to tag three people as well, so:

1)Handful of Hell
2) S!
3)Sanity Sucks

Monday, July 11, 2005

L n G, she's finally lost it!

I have a little flower pot at my window. I was watching it for sometime and this monologue followed.. (unedited, non-embellished version)

A. What is it doing there?
B. You put it there.. silly!
A. Do you think it is beautiful?
B. Of course.
A. Is it happy?
B. It’s a plant.. it must be.. it gets its stock.. it must be happy.. it is.
A. But I put it there, should not I worry about it? Its happiness?
B. It’s a plant!! Who do you think you are? Its God?
A. Does my God think so too?

Sunday, July 10, 2005

She's such a showboat!

They call it the Rubik's Revenge.. Rubik's 4x4x4 cube. Solved it in 2 hrs 22 min. They say the world record is under a minute. But I am getting there.. slowly.

Hey, I was a little rusty!

Friday, July 08, 2005

Puckish deed of the day

At lunch, I dragged EVERY one on the shift, out in the rain and gotten them drenched.. and they liked it too. Don't go by the complaining and resistance, all that was just... an act of grown-up-ness. By the end it all, everyone had a blush and a shampoo-ad-look to sport. They tell me since not since the CMD visited the office last year was there such anthology of dampness in the employee clothing. Oh.. and there were a lot of squishing sounds too.

As a recompense for my pro active contribution to such.. (*cannot come up with an adjective, put one yourself*) environment, I was personally invited to my boss's chamber and was rewarded with earful renditions of office ethics, I think.. He concluded something like, "Whjo fo uo yjink uo ae? .. " I could not understand it in the entirity, I was too busy getting water out of my ears.

And yes, there is now a forbid against "tight" clothing in our office, unofficially of course. Hurray to the PHBs every where. (*All sarcasm intended)


Thursday, July 07, 2005

Couple of things creasing my forehead..

There is an eternal question every person (of the same sex) asks me on a first encounter, a question I am sure a lot of people are asked. “Are you single?” I know, it might be an innocent streak of curiosity or a kind way of striking a conversation, but what is irritating is the patronage that follows. “How can an intelligent girl not find a girl?” or “Oh.. but you are sooo beautiful..” or “But you earn good, that doesn’t add up..” I know all that, but can’t one just be single out of choice?? As if! Lol.

I always go around telling everybody my life is happy and it is the way life should be. I smile, I tap, I clap, I do everything but blow up a poodle out of a balloon. I genuinely believe being happy is the most important thing in life. But sometimes, I think I just pretend. To myself.

This is turning out to be a sad post.. I need to stop. No, I mean, I have work.. lots of work.. in case, you have not noticed.. I am not blogging regularly of late.. Blame it on the boss-man.

Yeh deadlines.. uff!

Tuesday, July 05, 2005

It was unfortunate but..

I ll keep this short.

Will someone please tell RSS/VHP/BJP to shut the fuck up!!?

Yes. Thank you.

Friday, July 01, 2005

Can you play left handed, sir?

A smaller racquet please, this one's making the other guy look silly.

Wimbledon Gentlemen's Singles Semifinals update:
Roger Federer beat Lleyton Hewitt 6-3, 6-4, 7-6(4).

Thursday, June 30, 2005

The sigh of summer upon my return..

Certain songs are sprawling threads to the past, sometimes. We hear a particular song and are immediately reminded of the scene when we first heard it, or that special moment in life when it was playing in the background.

Sometimes, I wonder whether all this stems out of the perception of man that his life is in fact a “real” movie and afterall, it’s the soundtracks that make the movie dramatic and we are all drama queens in some way. Or that the rocker drumming it out there is just you in some different spiritual form.

I ve gotten hold of this old CD of mine, Still Life (Opeth) and immediately have been thrown into nostalgia.

Still Life was a typical Opeth album released before Blackwater Park and Deliverance (read Steven Wilson).. which wavers between progressive and death metal. Their lead (Mikael Akerfeld) exhibits everything from growling to screaming to deft vocals in a seemingly conceptual album about a girl called Melinda. There is one song called “Benighted” (which apparently every girl-friend of mine likes and every guy skips on play) where he almost passes off for any random Tom Yorke. In the same album you have “Godhead’s Lament” which has the conventional heavy metal intro and “Face of Melinda” an almost jazzy solo included soft one. This is not a review hence no song descriptions, but any one’s who’s ever heard Opeth knows what I am talking about.

Why is this album special to me? Again, stupid personal reasons.. there is always something somewhere in an album you can relate to. Or maybe, it can be as simple as an object of sentimental value.

What can I say, I am like this only (apologies to the originator)..

Wednesday, June 29, 2005

This is an overdose!

All afternoon, I have been dreamily bobbing my head and humming Raindrops keep falling on my head (B.J. Thomas) I can't get it outta my head.

Seems like the monsoon spirit has won me over.

Raindrops keep falling on my head
And just like the guy whose feet are too big for his bed
Nothing seems to fit
Those raindrops are falling on my head, they keep falling..

There I go again!

Rain rain..

My friend let me drive her car to work today, as we were getting late and I was considered to be the better Schumacher of the two. But I don't particualrly fancy Santros with their feather light steering and rock strong brakes. I am always hard on brakes in a Santro, always.. its an illness, I tell you. So, I avoid them all together.

It was also pouring, (get the Schumi analogy?) so I was showering my "blessings" on quite a few unsuspecting and disgruntled pedestrians. Five to be precise. Every one of whom bared their teeth and clenched their fists. I felt sorry for them but the idea of halting and apologizing didn't seem very sane.

Finally, in spite of traffic and everything, we made it on time. Without a wet spot, at that :p .. making faces at my drenched motorist collegues, strutting to my desk, I get to my toil ground, my wage earning sandbox, my work.

(Luch time)

It's a beautiful sight, rain is.. little drops hitting against the glass pane.. hot coffee cup warming your palms.. head against the wall.. looking down at the streets, watching little kids play.. those innocent smiles.. it's a beautiful sight, I tell you..

"Arre.. Dee.." a hand tugs at my shoulder, the same shoulder that fathers my arm, which in turn is related to my edgy wrist, guardian of the half filled coffee cup. The little animation results in a nice abstract model of caffeine art on my shirt and an aide memoire - splash and thou shall be splashed upon.


Here I go again..

This is a bitch-eat-bitch world, they tell me. Being a romantic in life is being a fool. But isn’t it all about being true to yourself. Knowing what you want, your life and the world you choose. Even if it is dubbed unsuccessful in the worldly norms.

I ‘ve always oscillated between two points of view, one of that which an objective views of life, the self progressive, self gratifying way, and the other of the simpleton where love and happiness is the answer to everything. As a teenager, that was my identity crisis. Years passed, I grew out of teen-hood.. and started living the ‘real’ life, you know the one with money and extant societal subsistence issues. I stopped thinking about the values behind life, though from time to time, leisure fetches the topic in.

I have gotten into one of those moments again.

Is being individualistic overrated and glorified? Can an independent entity exist in this society? Is existence the mere dictum of life?

Too many questions. No appreciably rational answers cropping up.

I think I should go to sleep.

Tuesday, June 28, 2005

This is hilariously aberrant...

It is one of those days in the office where I have nothing to do (read have no intention of doing anything). Out of sheer boredom, I discover...

I got this twice in two different tests :p

Monday, June 27, 2005

How to pick up a great book..

About two months back, I was walking through the aisles of this one bookstore, accompanying my more well-read friend on a general shopping trip. My friend, who is a bookie, no.. that means something else, my friend is a books-enthusiast. If she gets into one of those bookstores, it is hard to drag her out of one.

It was one of those quintessential situations. It had been twenty minutes and there was no sign of her approaching the counter. I begged, pleaded.. no avail, I caught her by the hair, and pulled out, no retort.. just an absent minded nod. Finally, after an eternity she looks up and says.. “Why don’t you pick up something?” The last lit book I read was something by Vikram Seth, a delightful book nevertheless, but I am not one of those bookies..er.. book-people. I was a computer girl. I didn’t read books unless it had names, Richard Stallman or Steve Jobs on the cover and they had none of them around.. at least none I wanted. So I just tailed along her, tugging away at her salwar like those lil kids in super markets pestering their parents. “Ee.. chupp!” she hushed me up, typically. “Pick a book and we’ll leave..” she mumbled. “Promise??” I hopped. “Umm.. promise..” I heard a reply.

Desperately, I looked around that shelf, nice hard covers, beautifully made intelligent looking covers. But all intellectual books by some obscurely famous writers, I never knew. After bobbing my head up and down first and the rhythmically right to left, then left to right, suddenly my eyes fell on this title.. “Brave New World” it announced. Iron Maiden in a book!??!! This was the album that ruled my ex’s car forever. I never heard a different album, ever in that car, never. I can sing Wicker man better than even Bruce Dickenson. I grabbed that book (amazing abstract cover.. didn’t even bother reading the foreword) in one hand and my wailing friend in another and marched to the counter.

Ten minutes later, we got out the bookstore with her sporting a silly grin. Two hours, I wince. Two months later, I complete a dystopian novel by Aldous Huxley.

Friday, June 24, 2005


“I don’t do this often.. in fact never..” this is my line. I use this almost in every possible situation imaginable in a social lifetime.

Last night, I was up till three in the night(morning) talking to a stranger online about how life treats its owners. I don’t do this often, in fact never. That was my first time a public chatroom, a depression support one at that.

What started out as an insensitive prank turned into a therapeutic session. I was told its liberating to confess, apparently it puts phantoms of the past to sleep. There are these little boxes in the church where a padre sits listening to sinners admit to their follies. They call them confession chambers. In the comfort of anonymity, one can find solace in strangers. I don’t know.. I am not too spiritual sort of girl.

But I thought I found one of those boxes yesterday. They call them Yahoo IM chatboxes. Who knew, a 32 year old house wife in Ohio would turn out to be my best shrink! Well.. what can I say.. mysterious are His ways.

Btw, seen this?

Wednesday, June 22, 2005

Tennis anyone?

Yesterday night, I watched someone play tennis the way I had never seen in a long time. True, I don’t watch tennis as religiously anymore, so I am not abreast with the Nadals and Sharapovas. But after a long time, I watched a tennis match in continuum. But this kid played what I thought was pretty darn good tennis.

There is something about lefties. They make everything seem so easy. They say there is one left hander for every ten right handers. That puts them in an exclusive club already, if consider minority an elite.

Anyway, I was talking about left handed tennis players. Monica Seles, Martina Navratilova, Thomas Muster, Marcelo Rios, John McEnroe... a few I can remember. A few that I liked watching.

When a left hander whips a forehand crosscourt leaving Serena Williams bemused, its fun. It’s fun to watch. When she runs down the baseline and returns a passing shot kissing the line, it’s more fun. When she lobs one right over her head and it lands inches inside the line.. it’s hilarious, no.. actually that is fun too. I never liked Serena Williams. Maybe because she had better triceps than me, or maybe because she pretends to have a fashion sense. Factual ‘bloody’ errors, both of them. But this is not about her, it’s about a 20 year old American called Angela Haynes. 14-12, she won the first set tie breaker, before Star cut off transmission. I am not going ahead to make a Vijay Amritraj like statement that she had tremendous future blah.. blah.. because I know zilch about tennis and yes, that is a humble statement. But she is GOOD.

Eventually updated, Serena Williams won 6-7, 6-4, 6-2. Nevermind!

Sunday, June 19, 2005

I want to go to Africa!

Perhaps he knew, as I did not, that the Earth was made round so that we would not see too far down the road.

Thursday, June 16, 2005

kismet : n : fate, fortune

Do you believe in kismet? Notice the ‘e’ instead of the ‘a’ to testify my anglization of the word. Well, either word.. I believe it.

Yesterday I had written a hopelessly sorry and pathetic post about my past. Well.. it was one of those moments! I wanted delete it for sometime but then let it stay for some odd reason. It represented my state of mind for the evening and the following morning. I carried it through to my work and generally kept to myself. Noticing my unusual un-chirpiness, that word is quoted btw.. a friend decided to take me out for coffee. Half a cup into the evening, I was there checking a guy out. I don’t this often, but there was something very stimulating about him. I kept looking at him through the mirror. He was not your average hunk to go drooling over but was more a regular software engg types. Soon, his companion informed the chap about his new found “aficionado”. I know, guys tend to overstate. We do too. So, this guy turns around.. smiles with a raised brow and everything and walks right up to me.

With the continuing smile.. “What are you doing here?” he asks.

I thought that was a bit brusque and impolite. I thought it was an unwritten rule that coffee bars are a place where people exchange implicit looks. It was no grounds for an inquiry of any kind. By anyone.

“I beg your pardon!” the poor lil me exclaimed in a sense of absolute astonishment and ignorance.

The guy was rather taken aback by the antagonistic response. “Err.. sorry. I thought you were some one I knew.. sorry..” he excused himself and wimped out. I felt sorry for the guy. There he was standing in a popular societal spot being mortified by a girl who was till then checking him out. I gave a very assuring no-problem sign with the hand and a polite smile. He walked away nodding his head.

But he turned again, my eyes widened. “Are you not Dee?” he asked. That was my name alright. My eyes ran all over his face then pinned in. Then they exploded out. “ARUN!!!!?? You dog!!!!” I shouted out so loud that his face which balanced the pink tone then embraced crimson.
I knew that red faced wimpy canine. He was my ex’s band’s bassist. I had not met him in an eternity. He had this typical rocker look in those days, with long flowing tresses and unkempt beard.. torn jeans. They all wanted to be a cross between George Michael and Slash in those days. They failed miserably on both counts, thankfully. He was the Trainspotting connection. He had all the contacts, he was the man to get the maal.

As I looked at a man who looks far from the loser I once knew, for a moment, just for a moment I wonder – are coincidences for real?

Wednesday, June 15, 2005

I walk a lonely road

When I first heard the Boulevard of Broken Dreams, I thought I should write to Greenday for a royalty. I had written that song when was 19. Years later, they released the song in a different country under a different name (mine was called Avenue for devastated thoughts). But I got busy with other things and never quite wrote to them. Moreover, I liked their version better.

Loneliness has been an integral part of my life, among other things. It was my Hobbes. NO, I am not trying to paint a gloomy picture of a recluse with no friends. I had friends. They called us groupies, I didn’t like the name. I liked calling us friends. We were just there to cheer the band on and go back to watch “Trainspotting”. But they never figured that out. I was thought of being odd and cavalier. This was true. Not the odd bit, but maybe sometimes offhand. But hey, I was a kid and Trainspotting was a good movie.

Then I grew up, became a GOOD girl. I did the right things. I started being industrious and righteous in a secret hope that the karmic accountant relieves me of the seclusion. I stopped being vain, stopped being a dump, stopped everything that made me a me. All in the hope that someday the laughter I sported in the congregations will invite itself when I sit alone next to the wall. I hoped. I am still hoping. It has been years and I still am waiting to see if the hope materializes.

Till then I'll walk away.

Monday, June 13, 2005


Sometimes I did certain things in a different way just because everybody else did it in a particular way. They said that is because I suffer from certain complex to be different. They also told me that this is quite a common trait. So, I started being normal, started to do stuff everybody does.

No, there was no wit in that. It was just a confession.

Sunday, June 12, 2005

Blogging again!

I spent the entire afternoon playing this game called Desert Combat. I know girls are not supposed to play games like this, there are better games in town. I also know that Enemy Territory, Natural Selection or the good old Counter Strike rank better on the list. But hey, a game is a game at the end of the day. I am not an avid gamer per se, which translates into me being an ersatz tomboy. I admit to it. I turned to gaming only because one geeky friend who would spend hours in front of the TV with that lil playstation of MINE and get lost on those combat turfs, and since it was MY playstation I had to outdo him, also that, and someone had a crush on a certain someone. That was where it began, my obsession to video games (we stick to the old names). Did I mention I kick butt in FPS games?

Tuesday, March 08, 2005

Just completed.. phew.. after an eternity

Writers like Vikram Seth don't seem to sit in the judgements of their characters. This freedom probably enables them to come across with a certain warmth.

Wednesday, February 16, 2005

Happy Birthday

Birthdays are of days of genesis. Today is mine. Today is the day I am going to born again. Welcome to me, my world (dont worry, two days of unpacking makes people *blublublu*)..

There is something harrowing about novelty, the newness, the unexplored lands, the virgin territories. That stomach wrenching feeling, that dryness in the neck, those stuttering feet, like that first driving test, the first kiss, like that day before the results, like the .. (I am sounding like Anil Kapoor in 1942, jaise.. kilta gulaab, jaise..) anyways, its nice, and scary.

Its hard to start all over again. From scratch, so as to speak. But its going to be all back again. This I say inspite of the empty walls in sit between, this I say inspite of the blank pages in my phonebook. Today is the day I am going to take that solemn first step towards my future. Why the public announcement? Accountability, for myself. My actions. There is something about the open, that makes people push that bit further. That reminds me gotta help that guy pushing up the fridge. "Aayee.. bhaiah, ek minute..."