tete-a-tete

These dinner table conversations will be the death of me. They’re not even conversations really. More like a banal exchange of sounds, the only purpose of which is to make the silence sound…well…less silent. And you’d think our imaginations had gone comatose, there are so pitifully few topics for discussion. In fact I think I can summarize every conversation I’ve had with certain people in the hostel under two broad headings:-

1. food
2. studies

I don’t know what could possibly be so mystifying about these two subjects, but the regularity with which they feature in hostel discourse would suggests a fierce obsession which for me is inexplicable (not that I don’t love food, but I’d rather eat it rather than jabber about it endlessly). Either that or an acute shortage of anything else to talk about.

One would say I’m being needlessly harsh, it is sort of natural to discuss food at the dinner table. And I totally agree, my standards would be way too exacting if I did not permit epicurean chit-chat while indulgence in any gastronomical activities. What is unnatural is if THAT IS ALL YOU CAN EVER TALK ABOUT.

It comes in lots of shapes and sizes and variants, following are illustrations:

“the food sucks yaar, why can’t they just cook, I mean its not rocket science?”

or

“I ate sooo much yaar I think I’m going to burst, look at my tummy. Ughh I need to diet!”

why just last night I was dragged into one such an exchange

“hey would you like an extra laddoo? I’m really quite full”

what the annoying worm wanted me to say in response,

“why, why…(broad sly grin)…dieting kya? Generally ke for someone special…”(more sly moronic grinning followed by moronic giggling)

what I chose to say,
“no”

the response I would have liked,

“ok!” (exclamation mark optional)

instead, the response I got,

“but your plate is so khali! You’re on a diet I’m sure…I’m sure… I’m sure”

Worm’s desired response

“arre no re, who do I have to diet for?” (giggles of an exceedingly moronic type to follow)

My response,

“no”

and then people wonder why I complain so much… the astute observer will note that the subject of diets and boys does feature quite frequently as well. But I think diets can be subsumed under the larger classification of “food and related topics” and as for the significance of boys, though a popular fallback option, their importance pales in comparison to that of eating.

Discussions on padhai also follow roughly the same pattern, though with far fewer instances of those moronic giggle fits-

“how much have you done?”

or better still, “how much have you done? I’ve done nothing yaar” (severe breathlessness in lieu of giggles)

“whats with the teachers at d-school yaar, why can’t they just set simple straightforward papers?” (best delivered in nasal whines)

“d-school sucks, all we ever do is study”

…you get my drift.

But of late I manage to subdue most babblers by cold vibes, subdue them to silence followed by rapid chewing and swallowing and a stealthy escape to anywhere outside a 5 metre radius of myself. The coldness varies with how intellectually damaging a direction I feel the conversation is going.

“hey this gobi sucks…so oily…eesh” vibe-o-meter reads: room temperature

“I really feel we should have a meeting and discuss this food issue” vibe-o-meter: cool bordering on indifference

“so when are your exams ending? ” vibe-o-meter reads: cool bordering on mildly icy

“so when are your exams ending? Oh right you have rohini’s course, that’s the last paper in the time table right? 26th if I’m not mistaken?” vibe-o-meter reads: decidedly icy

“how are we ever going to complete this course yaar?” vibe-o-meter: frigid

this last cold vibe type is especially effective at getting the desired response: single minded mastication followed by hasty retreat.

so far I’d say that its been bearable. And the bright side is that at least it gives me something to chew on in my free time, some food for thought (astute observer will note the repeated use of bad food related puns, I’m a victim of the circumstances). Writing about it makes the whole experience slightly less tedious. But the worst is yet to come. In fact it is sort of already manifesting itself slowly and sneakily. Magic topic number three.

3. placements

vibe-o-meter reads: sub-zero

desired response: teleportation/spontaneous combustion

Adventure in the RTL (2): Pooch's day out

My recent tryst with blogosphere has proven to be a tremendous ego boost. I’m hesitant to speculate how many fresh admirers I’ve acquired, but it seems to have given my existing fan following, albeit small, a reason to confirm their affection for me.

However, some unfortunate incidents have transpired on the sidelines. I’d like to relate the experience of one such blimblopper (that sounds cool doesn’t it? took me just 3 minutes to come up with that one), which merits documentation.As with all funny stories, the challenge here is to communicate the hilarity adequately. And given my reputation for killing the most ‘tell’able of jokes, the prospects appear to be quite dim. In the event of such a homicide I shall resort to the common response of all unintentionally unfunny people, i.e. “you had to be there”

So somehow, Pooch (the protagonist of this tale), who had heard so much about my blog (from me of course) decided (at my insistence) that it must be checked out post haste. Being a technologically challenged “socio-person” (they’re going to come after me with pitchforks for this one) and unable to find the necessary search engine to zero in on my blog (this despite my verbally specifying the words “blimblop.blogspot”), Pooch came under the mistaken impression that the only way to access a blog was to have one for yourself. So glowing was the praise for my blog (me again) that the added inconvenience of creating a blog paled in comparison to the grief of being deprived of the pearls of wisdom enshrined in mine. However, young pooch did not bargain for the verbal ingenuity exercised by residents of blogland in the arena of blog nomenclature…

Among the many variants tried and failed

Musings
Thoughts
Wanderer
Lonely wanderer
Aimless wanderer
Paradox
Paradoxes

Followed by the slightly more ambitious…
Little by little
Bit by bit
Little bits

and further on to..
Lost for words
blah
blahblahblah
blah.blah

And here’s where it gets really absurd… all of the following are already taken

Marmalade
Orange marmalade
My orange marmalade
Green grass
Blue bananas

These are but the choicest few in the long list that was narrated to me. Pooch finally had to settle for something less than satisfactory (name withheld on request of said protagonist, who feels it is an insufficient indicator of his/her creativity). It was only at the template and format fixing phase that our hero finally discovered something was amiss and that blimblop was no closer than when the journey had been embarked upon. Later, through a careful process of elimination and deduction the desired destination was arrived at.

My dear friend claims (on plenty of poking, prompting and prodding by me) the harrowing journey was completely worth it and absolves blogger.com of any blame in the matter citing encouraging suggestions forwarded by blogger during the process of blog christening (myorang-eymarmalade.blogspot being a notable example). I’m just glad pooch survived the experience without major blood loss.

So we sat down to rack our brains over what would be a suitable name. Being a “socio-nerd” with a passion for gender issues and an ardent cake fan I initially thought gendercake.blogspot would be a good idea for pooch. However, upon realising that such a name would be an invitation for pervy people all over the world, I issued a hasty (and amused) retraction. Tragic protagonist failed to see the humour. What can I say Pooch? You had to be there, in my head…

****

Dear Pooch,I have shamelessly exaggerated your escapades. But what can one do? I have become a slave to the masses. A prostitute if you will. I hope you still love your fallen friend and continue to provide more food for thought.

****

Dear Anonymous,

I set out to make this post as frivolous as was possible. Its lovely to be insightful and all but sometimes a good laugh is essential. Me thinks the end of the month is one such time. I hope you had a laugh or at least the 'odd' mental giggle.

****

Dear Ma,

I simply can't imagine starving myself for myself, let alone for another person. But I inadvertently ended up starving myself for you today. Lal says every one has a choice... but I'm not so sure. I mean how can one ever exercise a choice they didn't know they had in the first place?If you have the strength to establish contact, you'll find me somewhere poised 'twixt cynism, feminism and blasphemy.

****

Dear books,I was all set for our much anticipated rendezvous today, but I deferred it in favour of some (more) revelry. The blame lies with that evil calendar, I discovered that October has 31 days and not 30. And if that isn't a reason to celebrate... I don't quite know what is.

the weather is terrible again, the sun is out and it is so horribly dry…feeling terribly parched… I wish this wretched bus would just come… maybe this is what today’s blog post will be about…ya right standing for half an hour in the scorching sun waiting for a fucking bus to show up… stellar stuff puri… arre why worry yaar, I’ll just put some existential angle on it, throw in some fancy, multisyllabalic words and you’ll have a masterpiece so there…you’re such a phony its not even remotely funny… N says write what you feel…ok so you’re going to let what other people want dictate what you write eh…jesus you need a shrink woman…haha life is hilarious…and to think you spent all those years giggling under your breath about pseudo people…so what should I write should I write should I right…ok someone is approaching me for directions…is the information desk over at fms open on Saturdays?how the hell am I supposed to know?I’m just standing in the sun waiting for the bloody bus, working on my tan and wasting precious precious time simultaneously…talk about multitasking…maybe I should be in a bschool…this poor guy is still waiting for an answer…I could just plant a kiss on his mouth for being so patient…no no polite shake of head is adequate… he looks so focussed… damn it, if I could only have focus, life would be so much better…look at him!he looks like the sum total of his entire existence was geared toward this Saturday morning trip to the information desk at fms…what a bastard, I envy him so…no no Mathu assures me that bschool people are as clueless as non bschool people…they don’t really know where life is taking them either…right now I want to go to kozhikode and plant a kiss on Mathu…via Cochin of course (can’t disappoint korah)

now there’s a dharna happening…halla bol halla bol…someone with a leaflet, hide!…ok so I’m going to try to blend into the wall and just pretend I don’t exist so they can’t see me… access to wall is denied by a cow…I know what Aby would say if he were here, “In Kerala, that (the cow) would’ve been on a plate”… he’d also chide me for bargaining excessively with rickshaw wallahs who are the only people in the world who “do real work anyway” before reminding me that I’m way too insecure… haha we had some laughs and fun times… the leaflet approaches, something about the unfortunate goings on in ramjas…shit everyone has focus yaar the fms guy, the dharna, the leaflet, even the stupid cow knows where she.. no wait, yes it’s a she, wants to go… this sucks… damn they’re asking me to join…well I can’t really, I’m waiting for this bus which really should have come by now…hmm…hmm…I have to go meet an old friend in cp see he’s in town from Norway for only a couple of days and he’s sponsoring an entire weekend of fun for anyone with whom he had a conversation in college…uff that boy is too nice re…I wonder what I’ll order…don’t get to go to QBA everyday you know…damn I wish I had known would’ve slept through breakfast…I can’t join the demonstration can I? can I?no no, but I will think about it while I’m chewing on the coriander in my mojhito…MOJHITO! That’s what I should order…excellent, one difficult decision taken care of, now I just need to decide what to do with the rest of my life…ho hum…you know you think way too much moron, while you’re here waiting on a bus which is so not going to show up, avoiding cows and opinions…having embraced inaction as a way of life…every sane person in your class has hit the books with a lethal vengeance scanning into their brains all necessary and unnecessary information…shit this is funny, god must really like me…having made life so simple…for a directionless goophead like me…goophead… interesting word

must sit in the last metro bogey…priya says it’s the least likely to be blown up in the event of a terrorist attack…what’s happening in ramjas is sad yaar…but everyone knew all along so why didn’t they just do anything about it huh?huh?huh? so that’s what I’ll write a about today, sexual harassment- we’ve all been victims of it at some point of time or the other…remember how every time you board a bus for home you pray under your breath that nothing unpleasant happens again…no no wait I can’t write about that…nobody knows about it…I hope the guy rots in hell…bloody bastard…but speaking of buses…what about the time I fell off one in the middle of ITO…nearly got run over by a car…the kind auto wallah put break oil on my arm wound…my eye was swollen solid…like one of those star trek aliens…the old captain kirk series not the more sophisticated Patrick stewart episodes…sported a black eye for a week I did, Jayant said I was now a genuine “black eyed P”…haha…yes yes, near death experiences totally worthy of documentation…who are you writing for anyway?clearly not yourself…you’d never put down what you wanted to say, really wanted to say…pai says a blog is a good way to keep track of what your friends are up to…hmm..hmm..good point…right now I want to go to Singapore to plant a kiss on pai…so seriously if I can’t write what I really feel what should I do with that stuff…I mean I have to do something…but I don’t particularly feel like telling anyone those things either…unless in a non-committal way if the subject does come up in conversation…see that’s what’s been your problem all along sweets, you resist sharing what you really feel with even those among the general populous who are ok with you just the way you are…and you’ve convinced yourself that it s good thing to not have to count on people…boredom and loneliness as it manifests itself in your life is not a product of circumstances, it is a construct of your own deliberate actions…but then what’s so wrong with that anyway?I chose to be this way and choose to remain this way so there must be some wisdom to all this madness…besides I’m too old to change anyway…so ok I’ll have one blog for them and one that’s all mine…eh but do you really see yourself writing for a blog that no one visits…it could happen…who’re you kidding? No it really could… bleh…just look at your last few posts yaar…you started off writing about lots of ugly feeling etc. and now you’re talking about pimples…so totally playing to the gallery its not even funny…

[phone call from home: it astounds me how rude I can be to people who’ve kept me fed and clothed for more than two decades…how are you…terrible…college sucks and life is boring…what happened today? Nothing… haven’t we established that college is boring…how’re all your friends…ok…is there anything you’d like to say…no]

yes where was I? [reader loyalt test/contest: anyone who has read through this entire post and survived to tell the tale may please contact author for bumper surpirise prize] ah haan haan…but ammu chechi once said that’s how all relationships, the romantic kind go- at the start you’re always sizing the other person up and being sized up by them so you start out discussing special and profound things, like issues you’re passionate about, various shades of grey in the world, wider significance of seemingly silly things and feelings and emotions and you feel all grand because such complex issues never really come up in the course of day to day mundane conversation…but then later, that’s what it becomes-day to day mundane conversation about studies and food and clothes and nasty people and nice people and yes even about pimples…so its ok really, ammu's right...this is just the beginning of your love affair with yourself…the others are purely incidental…well actually they’re crucial but in an incidental sort of way…hmmm I like the sound of that :)

right now I want to go to chennai and plant a big wet kiss on ammu...

A Retreat to the Hills

Inertia... and fear. Well.. erm mostly inertia.. No wait... a fair bit of fear as well.

With that stupendously eloquent piece of prose, I, Blimblop, writer of long winded sentences who aspire to be paragraphs, that convey next to nothing and could instead be replaced by a handful of words, albeit at the tragic loss of the signature verbose-ness of which i have am routinely accused, do hereby stage a dramatic comeback to blogdom. Its been a while so audience, bear with me till the juices start flowing in earnest.

Having gone incommunicado for the better part of forever I'm all set to escape into the wilderness for a while. Go visit my dad in Samirpur, district Hamirpur in Himachal where he presently works. Samirpur, dist. Hamirpur is a tiny little village stuck in the back of beyond, in the midst of some of the most verdant hill valleys I’ve ever seen (ok so I haven’t seen too many, but if you asked, “how green was my valley?” I’d say, “pretty damn green”). The nice people at Jaypee ITC decided to build an industrial training institute there and proved their niceness further by appointing my father it’s principal.

I feel this is papa’s true calling. I always thought that if he could take to fatherhood as a profession he’d not only be rolling in it, he’d be really and truly satisfied. That’s because VKP was born a father, or rather conditioned by life to become one. He once told me how painful it was to feel completely cut off from Bauji, a difficult person to talk to at the best of times and that he never wanted to be the kind of parent who couldn’t be spoken with. There’s just way too much ‘dad’ in him for just two children and I believe his inherent ‘papa-ness’ makes him best suited for his latest career shift. All that uncertainty after his leaving the Navy finally seems worth it… he’s happy and that works brilliantly for me. There’s really nothing more upsetting than watching your parents put up a brave face.

Papa is really a dad’s dad. Always enthusiastic to drag us to the most obscure touristy places, museums, monuments, amusement parks, exhibitions. I’ve been for the republic day parade 3 times with him (4 times in all, I’m a real patriotism junkie) and each time was more fun than the last. Together we’ve been to Agra, contemplated atheism on the painful journey up to Vaishno Devi (ok that was just me), successfully survived the stinky alleys of benaras and mathura, explored just about every ‘makbara’ of merit in Delhi (humayun, safdarjung, lodhi and more), suffered indigestion at the hands of super spicy Andhra food in Lalbagh, been ridiculously short of breath in Leh (at first it was the lack of oxygen, later the scenic beauty and later still the wonderful people)… and while we were in Bombay, done the craziest things while touring ships docked at the naval dockyard: ate papads in the galley of the Godavari (a frigate, for the uninitiated), squirmed in and out of a submarine, raced up and down the tarmac of an aircraft carrier (I think it was Viraat).

He’s also at some point of time been everyone’s dad. Every kid in my family has a silly story associated with him. And as we grow older and more obnoxious, he’s the only one who still gets a laugh out of all of us. Some parents have authority, some have wisdom but all have good intentions. What I love most about my father is that he was never ashamed or scared of them. That may not sound too unique or grand… but its hard to explain in any other way.

The people we turn out to be depends on so much more than what our parents put in. But even if you do judge my father’s performance based on his progeny you’d say he did more than a half decent job. I don’t know how successful we’ll end up being, but we’re good, sincere and hard working individuals who are responsible with money and other peoples’ feelings.

And after all that, all he really asks for is for us to be ourselves, be happy and visit once in a while. I am a horrible horrible child…

Samirpur, dist. Hamirpur, here I come

****

In other news, I recently took a decision. Of course, as is characteristic of me and my irritating me-ness i subjected it to more thought than is humanly possible. Pluses, minuses, pros, cons, best-case, worst-case... Cautious pessimism is an art.

But post all the if-ing and but-ing and general pondering I suddenly suspended all thought for a split second. Some decisions should be allowed to make themselves. By some beautiful accident they may happen to be the right ones.

****

Many thanks to the Duke (he of Puke) for braving the vicissitudes of what promises to be an interesting patch of weather.

-

Before kicking this post off I would like to indulge in some shameless self-promotion (in addition to the very existence of this blog which itself is as shameless as self promotion can get)

1. I am an expert balloon blower: My remarkable lung capacity allows me to blow the most stubborn of balloons at a freakishly quick pace… making it a brilliant career option just in case nothing else works out

2. Besides balloon blowing, my other talents include light-speed-post-regurgitation intervention a.k.a. puke cleaning. I’m known as sort of a legend in this department with the yet unsurpassed ability to eliminate all signs of an unpleasant situation in 15 minutes flat. (all that remains is a faint smell… very faint though)

Having convinced my readers that I am an invaluable asset for any and every kind of party I now proceed…

You know I don’t ever want to grow up. I remember when I was little, apart from alternating between wanting to be a photographer, tourist guide, actor, writer etc. what I really wanted to be was 21 years old. That was my ambition, because back then 21 was a fantastically glamorous number… it entailed wearing grown up clothes, talking grown up talk, grown up freedoms and responsibilities. Being 21 meant being beautiful and successful.

Fast-forward to the eve of my 22nd birthday and the last thing on my mind was the glamour of it all. There were assignments to do and tests to cram for. And the fact that I had completed 22 years of existence and not struck off a single thing on my grandiose ‘things to do list’ was something buried in the deep recesses of my mind under all those mundane everyday details. Birthdays seem more and more to be like a chore, sad considering how eagerly, anticipated they were once upon a time.

[I remember some kids as having the most elaborate countdowns, eg. If your birthday was on the 11th you’d start crossing days off your calendar starting from the first of the month… giving you 11 days of unadulterated anticipation. This unfortunately didn’t work out too well for me. But I compensated by telling everyone that my birthday was “on the 2nd day of the 2nd month” lending it some novelty.]

Which is why last night’s events were such a breath of fresh air. Sug’s birthday and these three got it in their heads to throw a surprise birthday party. So much plotting and hopeless finger crossing later the plan turned out to be a roaring success. I hid under the table, pooch behind it and Raquel under the bed… for a full 5 minutes during which out of me came the most terrific giggle ever. A product of sheer excitement, it shot out straight from my stomach, bypassing lungs and throat… so spontaneous and powerful I thought I’d collapse from breathlessness. It was a five year olds giggle followed subsequently by repeated bouts of hysterical laughter. The 5 of us were barely coherent by the end of it… and I loved every uncomplicated minute of the madness.

Back in college, we’d mastered the art of surprise birthday party throwing. It all started with ponnie’s rooftop party post Mughal-e-Azam. We said it with candles, cake and booze. I got smashed and tried my hand at Malayalam, pai got hammered and retreated to the loo but it was jose who having consumed no alcohol at all, stole the show, intoxicated by our unceasing compliments. Success continued with Liz’s bash, where the star attractions were 50 pastel coloured balloons and two kadhais full of GC’s special pao bhaji that no one ate (I know because I did… for the next two weeks… for breakfast lunch and dinner). But I think our crowning glory was jose’s 19th birthday… furniture draped in every scrap of blue cloth that we could procure from within a 1 mile radius…35 people leaping up from behind a screen of bed-sheets with blue balloons in their hands (all of which were blown by yours truly)… it was beautiful.

The one that I hold closest to my heart was my 20th. You always know something is up, its just hard to pin it down to what it is. An elaborate scheme to keep me out of the house, dinner at my favourite restaurant in Majnu ka Tilla, ‘traffic jam’ at the ganda naala juice bar and when I finally walked in through the front door- a brilliantly engineered tent, made of bed covers, suspended by what was till that morning our clothesline. Inside the wigwam, a feast - grapes with ample quantities of vodka injected in them (using real live medical syringes) with plenty more vodka on the side. And even though that night ended with me having to sweep up Thambi’s vomit before finally sitting down with a micro assignment due the next day (on which I incidentally did really well) it was the most amazing day ever.

Maybe I am still a child… deriving so much joy from these little things and maybe I’m more a child now than I ever was. I sometimes feel I grew up too fast, in the sense that I was deathly serious by the age of 8 and hung up my prank playing and naughtiness gloves while still in gestation. I think that’s why I hate kids so much, because the universe lets them get away with so much that I never allowed myself to.

Or maybe this is growing up. Realising what time is slowly depriving you of and figuring out a way of life in which age and maturity are not irreconcilable with innocent and meaningless fun.

Zit

(warning issued in the interest of the faint hearted and easily grossed out: avoid this)

This post is to commemorate the much awaited and eagerly anticipated demise of one of the most resilient blobs that has ever come to reside upon my face. Now I’m not talking your ordinary garden-variety facial blemish. I’m talking something in the league of “in the event of a nuclear holocaust- cockroaches, Cher and this pimple alone would be all that survives…”

Now as if my adolescence wasn’t tortured enough by hyperactive sebaceous glands, up to the ripe age of 22 I’m having to, now and then accommodate, for not altogether short periods of time, on an altogether not-inconsequential* portion of my face the most abhorrent little vesuviuses. Growing up was tough, especially when everyone around me looked like they had traipsed right out of a fair and lovely/clean and clear commercial (the post treatment transformed people of course.. I was the 'before' to their 'after'). And these beautiful people weren’t particularly bright either (this judgement just might need to be taken with a mug full of salt). It always boggled their minds as to how I had resigned myself to such a scarred existence. “your skin is terrible, why don’t you do something about it?”. Oh I don’t know maybe I just like being ugly, it just adds that extra delicious kick to my acute and seemingly chronic self-esteem droughts. Sheesh… they were all either incredibly insensitive or mind numbingly moronic. Either way it hurt... I found recourse in a mixture of indifference and humour. But my demeanor was just a brave front for an injured little heart (and the crowd goes.. awwww).

The universe seems hell bent on drilling the old adage, “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” into my head. The latest in this long line of pimples had a life of its own… it had character and a personality. It marched to its own beat it did. So vast that it entered every room before I did… and virtually occupied a time zone distinct from the rest of me. It seemed to burgeon with every passing day and was determined to display all the colours of the rainbow during its painfully long existence... starting from an apparently harmless pink hue to a dangerously bright shade of red with variants of purples and yellows along the way (and the crowd goes eewwww!).

This morning saw the end of the eyesore's career. But much like its predecessors (of which there have been several) this too will leave in its wake a tiny little discolouration, its legacy, to remind me of the week for which I sported a big red teardrop on my cheek. This respite is transient but I'll celebrate it nonetheless.

As an aside, it amazes me that I can wax eloquent at such length, that too about a zit. And I also marvel at how blogosphere provides me with a platform to do so…


*today is the day for double negatives

****

I met 'drama'prasad online today, who informed me that I am hilarious and even though I walk like a penguin, I have no business being single (cue to pai for "i can't understand it", background vocals by pooch and everyone over at the "why why why them and not us" chorus, ). That made me think, what about the people who aren't hilarious... are they undeserving of love simply because they fail to elicit a giggle?

But lets dwell a bit more on the subject of mirth. So either my sense of humour is so esoteric that only select audiences can appreciate it or being a barrel of laughs simply isn't a key criterion anymore. Recent celebrity interviews (my primary portal into the happenings in the outside world) show that "should have a great sense of humour", which once occupied top of most famous peoples' list of must have's for a prospective mate has slipped behind some other usual suspects like personality (yeah right), simplicity and down to earth-ness (good grief). Other casualties include "smart" and intelligent" and many go as far as to explicitly demand good looks and wealth though some old fashioned at heart heroines and starlets still claim alleigance to wit.

And that just makes me a little sad. I mean if women (and that too a select few) are the only one's rooting for the joker, then my target audience has been wrong all along. I wish enlightenment had come earlier (it's not as if ponniee wasn't a more than enticing endorsement of sappho's charms) would have saved a lot of time. So much energy spent on 'not caring' about what boys really think and so much time on looking 'dishevelled and thrown together' so as not to give men the satisfaction of actually putting in effort to appear aesthetically pleasing.

Had I pursued women from the beginning, there is no way I'd have failed. I wonder why men think women are complicated, they're remarkably simple and easy to please.

****

I hate to relegate this to the end (note: THIS IS NOT A POST SCRIPT) given that it is a matter that requires evasive action. I would like to send a love filled shout out to my curiously pseudonymed friend 'qq'. I wish you wouldn't be so hard on yourself. I don't know if this helps but we're all slightly miserable really. In small little ways, in our small little lives. The trick is to change the subject as frequently as possible. And when the shit really hits the fan, rest assured there are people who will still love you, who know what it is to be a victim of bad circumstances and who would never ever hold it against you.

And most importantly, out of all the people I know, short of Amu Chechi, you are the most likely to make baldness look gorgeous. I know I sound like a clown, but I kid because I care.

You are a creature of great wisdom and beauty, a mysterious cocktail of the most brilliant and intoxicating ingredients. The universe is just plain jealous.

adventures in the RTL (1)

it's funny how for someone who dreaded the very prospect of another day at d-school, i now spend the better part of my waking hours lounging around in college. 'A' says that d-school for him... is like a drug, he hates that he can't go without it. even more than he hates the place itself.

there are moments when i really love it... but they are few and far between. on the whole i'd say that i've grown to not dislike it. its sort of pathetic, this reconciliation being strongly tied to the even more pathetic realisation that i don't really have much of a life outside of this place.

what's scarier still is what comes next. i don't quite relish the prospect of being thrust out into an unfriendly world where no one takes me seriously. the last thing i could accuse people here of being is unfriendly (that's more my area of specialisation). and that's what makes spending time here all the more painful, the prospect of getting used to it.

however, there are some unblemished things here that no amount of acrimony can rob me of. guilty pleasures that my recent state of liberty allows me to indulge in shamelessly.

i stumbled upon the most beautiful book in the library today, a veritable cornucopia of the most brilliant information ever. it changed my life, it did.. this book. even if for just a split second.
it was called the "language atlas of india", a detailed (so meticulously detailed) description of different language groups in india.

[when i learnt that it was compiled by some lady IAS officer, who's name i forget, i zeroed in on my true calling...drum roll please, the cynics back home will love this one... to be an IAS officer, but only one who writes really cool books]

the first section dealt with the distribution of Indo-European languages in the country.. and i had this sudden urge to learn all of them, simultaneously. to become a linguist (i'm addicted to a lack of focus). then came the non-scheduled languages and that's where the fun really began- bhili, bhota, dogri, gondi, khurukh, santali, ho, kharia... just rolling these words around in my mouth was so delicious, imagine what it would be like to speak them!

in the course of an hour i learnt so much and felt so grand. i learnt that the country is simply crawling with bongs ('twas great to have my first hand observations vindicated in print, that too a map) followed closely by gujjus.

i learnt that in my home town of chandigarh, 168 people speak manipuri and only 1 each in rajasthan and punjab. which made me ponder that it must be quite lonely to be that one person, don't you think?

49,736 people in india speak sanskrit, 44,847 of them in UP and 695 in karnataka... two places separated by such a vast expanse of land and gazillions of people... it's enough to make a softy like me cry.

at times the colour scheme in the legend was a bit misleading... the different shades of pink were difficult to discern from those of red which lead me to some hilarious conclusions: 53% people in Madhya Pradesh speaking Telegu etc. but some of the facts once verified left me quite dumbfounded. like the 17,000 people in bihar who speak tamil.

so few things leave us feeling truly enriched and it is really quite spectacular when you find inspiration in places you least expect to...

i was perhaps a tad naive to believe that such linguistic dispersion just didn't or couldn't happen (in fact some might argue that it isn't nearly as much as it should be). but i suppose that's the brand of ignorance that is truly blissful, the kind that leaves room for perceptions to be shattered... and bucketloads more to be learnt.

head... jammed between arm and rock hard pillow... the only thing that can get me to sleep at night is a vice like grip (pai, you were the first to notice.. probably during one of your clandestine night time experiments on comatose people... weirdo..)

toes...wrapped up tight.. almost straight jacket like. till morning that is. toes wake up first, slide gingerly out of the cocoon... preliminary reconnaissance.. temperature, sunshine intensity, bad-vibe levels, wind speed and direction...

forecastes predict a good day. not just a not bad day. a real live genuine good day... a 'dium' to be 'carpe'd

brain... shakes off last few vestiges of slumber. mundane things to start with. 'things to do list' making muscles creak into action... anything more ambitious, past experience says, results in instantaneous breakdown... relapse into sleep

(i hate sleep, i always feel like i'm missing out on life and all the things beautiful or otherwise, happening in the universe)

get out of bed on the right side (the left being plastered to the wall... apologies to the humour police)
brush, loo etc.
bathe... water temperature- not particularly fussy, can handle cold water showers well into november. but today is special. anything outside the range of hot to skin scalding may jeopardise prospects for the coming 24 hours
(this of course being contingent on my success in an all too complicated early morning game of bathroom musical chairs. too few geysers... too many girls)
dress... i could just be lazy and throw on a t shirt and jeans (which incidentally haven't been washed in over a month, ma had better not be reading this) but today is no ordinary day... today is a day for looking splendid

*****

the weather in delhi has taken a turn for the beautiful and the coffee is exceptionally good even though i don't have the most exacting standards when it comes to caffeine. i appear sufficiently disinterested for classmates to approach and have successfully managed to frighten the juniors into submission (who are convinced i eat puppies for breakfast everyday)

and a day full of the most brilliant possibilities lies ahead...

free...

i begum phoolkumari*, having emancipated myself from the last in a long long list of tedious academic tasks, do hereby hail this momentous day as "the day of 2 blog posts" in celebration of my ultimate velaness and the boredom that is almost certain to follow...

i think pooch and i shall get drunk today... being ridiculously short of cash, energy and imagination to even consider an alternative. either that or we'll sit and bitch/philosophise (if that's even a word)/laugh like banshies/behave like nincompoops.. we don't even have to be drunk for that...

today i shall try to sleep early (or sleep for that matter) and but bliss will evade me as i toss and turn and ponder how 5 hours of sleep thinly spread over the course of three days is enough to subsist...

today i shall capture the remote control from the evil fiends in the hostel from hell, assertively assert myself... and today there will be absolutely nothing but shit on the tube, i will complain, resign myself to a marathon of channel surfing and complain again.

like every other eagerly awaited day, today again will disappoint and be an absolute kela (i like the sound of that.. henceforth i shall use the word kela more frequently)

but even if it does... today is a day of victory, the trojans stand defeated (or at least momentarily quarantined). General Somanathanus is pleased with my valour and i have earned my repose...

and the most brilliant things in the world are there for the taking, solitude and coffee...

mellon collie and infinite sadness...

(1)

C

You left without telling me. That was a horrible thing to do. There was so much left to be done. So much awkwardness left to survive: matchmaking and marriage speculation, parental squabbles, hours of glorious bitching, growing old, pretending to get along and perhaps even, by some miracle, getting along.

So much joy to be stolen from our sordid situation.

And you left while I wasn’t there… I wish you hadn’t. So that I could share what your going away has taught me, with you.

Rasna, Maggie, a cane basket hurled down the stairs post a sneaky underhanded tyre puncturing scam, Pinjore and Barog, our pop star ambitions, hide and seek and dark room, the shoes we were too sleepy to steal but still got paid for, my political incorrectness…your giggles, whispered conspiracies and a fervent wish to be “any place but here”.

I hope you are at peace. Don’t worry about us… we’ll huddle through somehow

(2)

Fucker, madam, pimp and whore* (a.k.a. ‘the flat club’)

I miss you all so much sometimes…
I hate 9 out of every 10 people I talk to. I go easy on the 10th person simply because so much hatred requires that much energy. And its all your fault you know.
I really regret having “forced” myself to get along. The rest of humanity is simply unbearable after two years of you.

I hope you are suitably pleased with the outcome. Smug little weasels.

And I still think I have a cute ass, so there.

Love,
Me

*it all started with Ponniiee calling me “fuckerrrrr!” and the only response I could muster up was “whore”. The other two were added to complete the brothel. Its funny how we are the last four people in the world one would associate with names like that… especially Jose…

eh…

(3)

Raquel,

I bet your shoulder is still wet from that fateful September day. Next time I’ll carry a hanky. God had better bless you. Else I’ll stop believing in him.

In blasphemy and otherwise,

Puri

(4)

For Liz on her 22nd birthday

I wish I could envelope you in happiness, if only for a split second. Roll you up in a ball of all the joy you’ve given us. If only I could blow away all your nagging fears and insecurities (unlike my valiant efforts with those resilient candles on all my birthday cakes)… Leap about ten years into the future when it will all be ok… When we’ll know for certain that all this worry was unnecessary.

Then we’ll look back and laugh at having resisted complaining about the big things and finally allow ourselves to complain recklessly about the little ones. I so look forward to those easy guiltless complaints, as I’m sure you do too.

(5)

Shru-j

Everyone has bad hair days, its nothing personal.
Coffee is a brilliant antidote to most hopeless situations.
And even though you betrayed the Sisterhood of Vindictive Man-haters, I won’t hold it against you.

(6)

For Pooch on just another day…

Perhaps you are the child you seem
Hell bent on being misunderstood
Or one whose unfathomable depths
Explore or unravel no one could

Celebrate the meandering monologues
Idiosyncrasies, yourses and mines
And drink a toast to that precocious imp
Who refused to paint within the lines

(7)

DD

If I don’t take you for granted… who will I?
You however, are not permitted to do the same.

I love you way more than I will ever allow myself to admit.

(8)

Varda turns 22

Vicious whispers, diatribes
Aimless gup, sarcastic jibes
Rapacious appetites for chat
Discussed, digressed, been there, done that
And there’s somehow always room for more…

V(name withheld on request)’s questionable charms
And P(spoils the rhyme scheme, but I could get into a lot of trouble)’s loving arms
Reckless advice for woes we’ve traded
Dark hours of loneliness evaded
Ah! And how the hearts did pour…

Victims of a system asinine
And self condemned to walk the line
Revolt, conform or just maybe
Dithering imbecilic baby
A battle of half wits, who kept score?

Here’s to helpless laughter, endless wails
And the mystic powers of lizards’ tails

Driving Ms. Puri: Up the Wall and otherwise

As if the omnipresence of a certain long haired Neanderthal in d-school wasn’t a constant reminder that my esteemed erstwhile employers have given me the boot (I’d say overlooked, but who am I kidding), every day at around 21:00 hrs the three missed calls on my phone bring back memories of my summer of woe with annoying regularity. Whoever said that men are unreliable clearly hasn’t met my mystery-man-missed-caller (even I only vaguely recall ever having met him) who will without fail, 7 days a week, at the hour in question give me a call. No no… correction, missed call, 3 in fact.

Ring…ring…ring…silence
Ring…ring…ring…silence
Ring…ring…ring…(you get my drift)

(actually I hate all the ring-tones on my phone so it’s always on silent mode. Its actually more like vibrate…vibrate…vibrate. But you try saying vibrate…vibrate…vibrate without sounding obscene)

So this person is in love with me. He told me so himself. And he’s fairly convinced so don’t try talking him out of it. Trust me I have tried…alas in vain. The last time we spoke (which was funnily enough the first time we spoke) I was trying to explain to him that it was illogical to fall in love with a complete stranger. Which is when he shot back in an injured tone and informed me that we were anything but complete strangers. We’d met in Dehradun. He was the driver who took me to Mussourie for a day for some asinine internship field visit. He sat in the front… I sat at the back. Lets just say for him it was “love at hind sight”.

Though I have a lot of faith in the potency of my charms, this was just a smidge too much too swallow. Anyone else would have showered him with expletives, but I thought the guy needed help so I tried to reason with him. My superlative psychiatric skills were totally wasted on him. Well… not totally. They were only repulsive enough to make him avoid conversation with me. The missed calls keep coming though.

I’ve stored his number under “anotherslime”. “another” because he was preceded by truly-mystery-man-caller cum stalker a.k.a. “slime”. There was a guy with character. He allegedly got my number while sitting next to me in a shared auto on the way to Batra (who’d have thought going to the movies could be so terribly injurious to health). Now he really and truly loved me… to the extent of following me home and in and around Kamla Nagar. A die hard romantic.

But back to drivers… I’ve met quite a few colourful characters in my time. There was the guy who bamboozled my poor unsuspecting parents into an antique shop in Srirangapatnam in the hope of earning a commission from the owner (to whom he bore a striking resemblance… familial nepotism zindabad) and fell asleep on the wheel (no I’m not being poetic… I’m talking genuine real life slumber) and almost got us all killed. He was funny… I liked him. And our driver in Leh, who in response to a request for a performance of a local song gloriously belted out, “pardesi…pardesi…jaana nahin…” rescued us from the brink of death (teetering uncertainly on the edge of a hill with nothing but rocks to break your fall) and in return asked us to take a photograph so he could send it out to local matchmakers.

Then there was my all time favourite, the driver during a trip to Sikkim. If Marlon Brando were a Bhutanese taxi driver he would still not be as cool as ‘Dazu’ (which is what we called him, Bhutanese for elder brother I think). He had a leather jacket, listened to GnR and assorted Nepali rock bands, smoked classy cigarettes (or smoked ordinary cigarettes classily…same difference). On our way to Nathu La our party apparently didn’t have the requisite number of security passes, so a friend and I (the two tinier people in the contingent) were smuggled in under blankets and shawls!

At that time I’m afraid I was the smitten one, I kid you not. If he had only asked me to run away with him I would have emphatically said “yes!” and jumped into the passenger seat singing something sufficiently corny to the effect of “drive me to the moon and let me dance beneath the stars…you are all I long for…” blah blah…

Being a big fan of seemingly endless car journeys I’m bound to come across some more interesting specimens. As for whether next time around will be a close encounter with penury, death or cupid? Watch this space.

everyone of these posts is turning into an "oh the universe is so terribly unfair i almost wish i weren't part of it.." sort of diatribe. but events as they transpired today confirmed that this universe is truly truly unfair, that too to the nicest people. and right now, i really wish i weren't a part of it..

today i have to deliver bad news to two of the nicest, most sincere and hardworking people i know. news they've been waiting so patiently to hear, half hoping the suspense would be over, even if it means having their worst fears confirmed.

there is simply no value for good intentions these days, even if they are backed up by hours of toil. i'm so pissed off i can't even bring myself to try and make this thing interesting. i'll make amends in the next one.. bleh..

xenophobe

in my next life i want to be one of three things

1. a foreigner in India (preferably caucasian)
2. a V.I.P.
3. tall

of course i'm open to variants, the most preferred of the lot being tall caucasian foreigner in india who also happens to be a V.I.P. i don't think i'd fancy being a japanese person in india even if that means i'd own an SLR and under no circumstances would i want to be an african in india, not even a V.I.P. (even they're treated like shit).

i'm sort of iffy about being an englishman in new york.. unless of course i'm sting.

(apologies to my hapless readers for the poor sense of humour and the odd rascist comment in this post.. but since there are just two of them (readers that is.. not comments), both well acquainted with my idiosyncracies i think they'll let it pass)

last night i went to a dance performance.. "Ananya" at the Old Fort here in Delhi. i was so looking forward to the experience, being a loyal patron of the festival for 4th year running (yep babies it's been 4 years.. i feel so old right now.. positively decrepit). the stars however, weren't quite aligned in my favour last night. i didn't reach the venue in time (an hour in advance being the requisite amount if you fail to fall in any of the three categories mentioned above) but was surprised that i managed to bag a seat in the "not-quite-forgotten" section of the area. so i sat down satisfied that i had done my best to acquire a good place to park my bum and began crossing my fingers and praying that the only people eyeing the seats in front of me were midgets (i haven't spared any minorities in this diatribe) as has become second nature to me (and to vertically challenged people all over the world).

and yet again the universe thought it fit to test my patience by sending giants (and i mean really tall and really big.. i'm sure they're nice people though) to sit right in front of me. not only did they arrive half an hour later than me, they also committed what i consider one of the most inexcusable sins (as if being tall were not bad enough) ever.. they brought their kids. children aren't a minority, as much as i wish they were.. but i hate them all anyway, not necessarily caucasian offspring of tall V.I.P.s in India.. ALL of them.

so not only did i have to spend the bulk of the performance bobbing my head around while the evil giants and their eviler progeny fidgeted, shifted, squirmed and took pictures of anything and everything with their fancy digital cameras.. i had to do it over the near constant din of their annoying drawl..

and that's why i want to be one of them next time around- you get to arrive fashionably late and still poke fun at "indian standard time", you wear horribly tasteless indian clothes, horribly tasteless clothes in general or very few clothes at all and get away with it and you get to speak in ghastly accents and still get taken seriously.

being 5'3" (optimistic), wheatish complexioned (tho in my defence i am "convented"- inside joke) and well not important (yet), what i'm not is one of them. what i was, was pissed of and slightly sea-sick (what with all the head bobbing)

as an aside while leaving the programme last night i also had the most trying time ever trying to catch an auto, all under the lecherous gaze of the finest specimens of the muck that populates most of delhi. in my next life i want a car or a boyfriend. a boyfriend with a car would work well.

blast from the past

everyday seems to further confirm that there are certain things i don't want to do.. i just wish once in a while life would tell me what i should do

today i bumped into someone, someone i knew from not so long ago. we'd even had the odd animated conversation or too (odd being the operative word). less than a year into working he's already sick of it.. i'm so dreading being in the exact same situation a year from now.. it's a scary proposition.. hating where you're at and not knowing where to go from there.

i wonder if i'll ever know where i really want to go. i suppose it would help if i were the kind who had strong likes and dislikes.

i don't know how much i'll dislike working.. the hours, the curse of the cubicle, the clothes, the positive interaction, the networking, the pretending to be interested and making a song and dance of your enthusiasm.. i sound so cynical, but if two months were anything to go by then this mouse just aint gonna cut it in the rat race.

of course it helps that i'm ridiculously optimistic, good things will happen to good people. and i'm pretty sure that applies to me as well.

till then i'll just keep flotsam - jetsoming around, and hopefilly, through a careful process of elimination (a.k.a trial and error) arrive at my true calling

wife of a rich arab sheikh.. i could so do that..

stupid cupid

you know i figured out why i haven't fallen in love yet.. after carefully eliminating what was a very long list of possible reasons i've finally reached a conclusion. and i'm surprised it took me so long to see the light..

i've messed with the gods of cyberspace..

ever get one of those mails (evil chain letters) that warn you of dire consequences such as- forward this to at least ten people or else you'll die unhappy/lonely/miserable/a virgin etc.? if your aswer is an emphatic/exasperated (notice i love "/"s) yes then my hypothesis will make a little more sense. i too have received such epistles of gloom and doom. in fact, days seem incomplete without a warning of my impending and possibly perpetual single status..

but as much as i love skimming through these doomsday prophecies, i've never actually mustered up the energy to actually pass the word on to others. and that friends is why cupid has snubbed me time and time again.. the little bastard is in on the whole thing. i've angered the powers that be in the world of "www" and just about every god in every pantheon by association. my lethargy and procrastination have condemned me to a loveless existence..

now i'm a fairly rational person and ordinarily i'd dismiss such explanations as fanciful. but very recently a friend (and also one of the most intelligent people i've ever met, name withheld for obvious reasons) forwarded just such a mail to me (it claimed i'd "meet the man/woman of my dreams TOMORROW" if i just sent the mail across to 20 people). now i don't know if it worked for him (or her.. thought you'd got me there didn't you?) but the very fact that he/she sent the mail across implies he (ok fine i'll admit it was a "he") must be on to something.
and given that he is far brighter than myself, it is but natural that he picked up the scent before me.. but in time figured it out nonetheless

my brilliant powers of deduction notwithstanding, i'm still reluctant to just go ahead and do it.. submit to conspiratorial gods and just click "forward"..

i mean, what if i'm not ready to meet the man/woman of my dreams tomorrow (i'm usually scheduled for a bad hair day on friday), what if i need some time to prepare? what if i just want to see the man/woman of my dreams, give it some thought and chart out a course of pursuit. there are just so many variables to consider, so much spontaneity to be planned. its not easy to just fall in love you know.. ask me!

so i'll let this one pass (after all i'm certain i'll get another one in no time at all). but the next one will be shot out to unsuspecting friends (or assorted elements who comprise my mailing list). i'll give myself a few more days to curse and complain.

i'm just a little scared though.. the only thing that's worse than some fool proof plans not working.. is well.. when they work.

ramble ramble

I finally shook off my inertia for long enough to actually go ahead and "create" this monstrosity.. and as it turns out my reluctance to blog wasn't without good reason.. i suddenly find myself with absolutely nothing to say..

so i'll start by spewing some existential angst why don't i.. (isn't that what blogs are for anyway?)

here goes- i don't know who i am or what i'm doing, where i'm going etc. i've never had an ambition that i could hold on to for more than 15 minutes, i've never had a role model.. never taken anyone seriously enough to want to be like them.

off late i don't like letting people in (in fact i think they're too scared to even get close) though they seem to walk right over me with alarming regularity. i'm a martyr to the cause of my own martyrdom- everyone comes first, everyone's convenience is more important than mine. and (since no one is going to actually read this.. why hesitate right?) i'll confess- i'm a really nice person too, no complaints from life, i hate it most when i'm even slightly inclined to hate someone..sheesh.. this really sucks, but only because its all true.

i can't decide whether i'm misunderstood or just not understood at all and i can't decide which one of the two is worse or if they're both all that bad. i'm also really really sleepy.

ok i think that takes care of right now.. but i've got these coming out of my ears so look forward to more in the future

yada yada yada