Too much of a good thing

Everyone has a distinct way of conveying feelings. When bots ask me to download exclusive and irresistible Neetu Chandra wallpapers thrice every day in the comment boxes, I know it’s their way of saying the world misses regular posts on this blog. Ahem.

So have you found yourself going back to those pseudo poetic blogs? As it turns out, all that applesauce isn’t half hard to write. Your first step would be to think up a title for your blog.
This involves only middle-school sentence formation. But you sucked at grammar back then even worse than you do now, you say? That’s not just okay; we’re in fact counting on it. Now think up 7 random words or expressions. Choose (3-5) ones to put together, which on a scale of unlikely to nonsensical, tend towards the right hand side, and voila! there you have it!
For Eg. Tap Water Romances
The man who said absurd is the new poetic was right. He is also fictitious but he most definitely is right. Be generous with colors and seasons, occasionally throw in a material thing and allot sensory sentience to all and sundry.
More examples:
Pilferage of the bluest detail (See? Now imagine that in monotype corsiva size 16. You *almost* sound good to go)
You can go on forever:
Interview of the Summer Fruits
Newlywed February
Paintings of a dizzy cauliflower (You little Yeats, you)
Slightly saner (Green Orange the Hypocrite?) and you’re losing touch. However, if you do, for a change, have any matter to post at all, and you’re the typical liberal arts prick who is emo and endlessly annoy about life and love and everything noone is interested to know about, your whiny crap would go under ‘No breeze is for keeps’ or ‘Demonic gaze of a pedestal fan’.
To complete the effect, give your picture a dim-as-you yellow lighting. Artsy schmaltzy picture of the ear or the feet or the liver or the esophagus- you get the picture (heh).
Lastly, just go far FAR away from my blog.



Too much dal makhani I think.

Because when gradualism stuck its tongue out at you, you were unaware that you were infact spoilt for choice. Whether your seat in the stands is something you should thank for or blame for, is again perspective.

Because a someone's smile has medicinal properties and because crossbones isn't persuasive enough to dissuade you. Because dreams are only so much useful as a cradlesong for a stillborn; because walkovers are rare, and there's confusion ensuing where they commission an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.

Reason frowns with arms akimbo, but you ignore it like a friend you're embarrassed to be seen with. Excesses are committed and compliments withdrawn. And because some stacks of papers are too thick to staple, and you're so old- or so old to know storks didn't bring you home. The decisions are waitlisted. That dinky one and that life-altering one and that one about the cellphone model.

Will you redraw the lines on your face and wear yet another look of disgruntled or will you throw in your favorite hat?

Labels: Catharsis, dearblogyou'renotdead.yet., dudeHOW

Relationships are like homepages. You know it will come on when you open the browser. You’ll open other tabs all day. Visit a million different sites. Stop the frikkin homepage from loading even and type in a different URL. But the blasted thing will unfailingly open the next time. You know that mighty well. You know the homepage will come on when you’re unsure what to surf. But while you make up your mind, it will appear.

I like Chrome.

After days of cribbing and generally locking myself up in my crib [If I were you (and thank heavens I’m not) I’d haha here], I’ve decided I’m going to adopt Barney’s principle of ‘Whenever I get sad, I stop being sad and be awesome instead’. Only, I’m going to involve you guys in the exercise. So every time you sense that I’m not at my chirpiest best, you will all pretend I’m insanely awesome.
The sentence cue you will be sampling now is: Fuck you.
So that’s settled.

Today saw the last straw fall for a lot of things. Among others, my morbid fear of dogs got the better of me (and you thought there was NO room for improvement and I’m the pinnacle of awesome? Oh well). So this tall black dog, creatively named Lambu (I bet it’s middle name is Blacky), was running around nearby, where M and I were talking. It was fresh in M’s memory, the day my nails sunk into her arms when randomguy walked his Doberman a 40 meters away. Now, the most natural thing to do (almost as natural as doing an MBA after your engineering; irrespective of what your interest/field of work etc is) would be to er protect me from the dog. Common sense prevailed and she blocked Lambu by standing in front of him, while I stood in front of her. The 3 body system that we were, rotated for a bit. And then M must’ve had a lapse of memory, humanity and whatnot and being the ass that she is, spread her legs (nope, I will not give you her number). Lambu leapt at me, growling and clawing at my front, springing to tear me apart from limb to limb. M might claim he just wriggled slowly from under her, but I'm the awesome one here. Aaaand…uh..and..um.. sigh..

I cried

That’s right. My tears made their first ever public appearance.
If the story has already traveled to you, and you called up to ridicule me about it, wait till I get a boyfriend with a Boston Dane!

P.S. My new favorite-thing-to-say is 'Oh well'. Ohwell ohwell ohwell ohwell ohwell

Labels: Everyday things

Why in the world would Oscar Wilde write The Importance Of Being Earnest? Shouldn't Hemingway have written it?
Geddit, children? Gahahahahahaa!

On a different note, I found this:

A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialization is for insects.

-Robert A. Heinlein

Chew on it. om nom nom

Labels: Random

Man is a social being. Update to the 2.0 version now: Man is a social networking being. What's also a given is that everybody can do with a hug. Some would say a kiss is an even better cheer-me-upper. Now I don't have anything against hugs/kisses. Heck, my Orkut profile says I'm even turned on by "public displays of affection". What does bother me is the fact that I have an entrance exam to write in 3 days (If you bought that, I'm also selling flying carpets). The ubiquitous 'xoxo's on Facebook are what bother me. It's not like everytime someone signs off with the aforementioned string of characters, a greyhound is set loose on me, but I don't have anything else to blog about either.
I've had my issues with >:D< and :-* too. The latter would sow in your head seeds of doubt that the person who typed it was actually Sharad Pawar in disguise (y'know, him and :-* both with not-centrally-placed mouths?).
Anyway, then came along the muahh scourge. It is borderline understandable if your face-to-face actions corresponded to your facebook-to-facebook ones. But appending a muahh/mwaah when you wouldn't have done it ordinarily if you were with the person, is just not acceptable. I'd overlook that too, if not for the next generation hugs&kisses. It just baffles and bedafafaffles me! Firstly, there's never a single hug and kiss. I've searched and searched in vain for just an xo. But it's always an xoxo. Secondly, it's always alternatively placed. Two hugs or kisses aren't ever given together. So if you're really bored, and are imagining the sequence, you're guaranteed some laughter.
Sometimes I lapse deep into thought, phasing out from the rest of the mundane world, and I wonder if a lower case 'o' is a tighter hug and whether an upper case 'X' means a sloppier kiss.
Well, it's not gonna be long before your notifications say 'XYZ has commented on a photo of you with an xoxo' or 'XYZ has written on your wall an xoxo'. The day, dear reader, is not far away. Until then, unpredictable as I am, XOXO!

Labels: Random

There are two kinds of people in the world- The ones you like and the ones you don't understand :-)

Labels: Life gyaan

Not often enough to breed un-remarkability, some events leave you jolted. And when they happen, you're staggering for a rubber grip. Some things, you expect to be free from alteration. Like the sexiness of Hugh is taken for Granted. Like remembering the Alphabet. The impact, when you are dislodged from your comfort couch is stupendous. It makes you... blog.
With a build-up like that, I owe you a good storey.
It begins of course, at the place I've been spending the last 4 months in- good ol' room, where I was passionately badmouthing the Egyptians for a practice they've diffused. Have no doubts, Mummy expletives were included. When I then got down to observing that blastid tradition; that most painful obligation to society- more famous as showering, I... I..er.. forgot...er...which knob was for hot water, and which one for cold! I might have worn a left shoe on the right foot and vice versa. I might have not been able to tell the difference between elastic and inelastic collision. I might have mistaken a Lamb of God song for Akon's. But THIS, dear reader, is different. Grudgingly notwithstanding, I have been religious in bathing daily. For years!
I could tell you how much the knobs should each be rotated to get a cozy lukewarm. In degrees AND radians, goddammit. But that day, that cursed day, the basic distinction was forgot. How. HOW.

Labels: dudeHOW, Life gyaan

If there's one thing I cannot stand, oh alright, if there are four billion seventy thousand and eight things I cannot stand, then right on top of the stack is someone using my loo. There's a reason its mine. Please buzz off to the Amazon and dig holes; at my place you shall only have nature's missed calls.
Anyway, I hate humans. I really reaaaaalllyy like inanimate things. The samsonite suitcase in my room is the loveliest thing EVER. It just stays and shutsthefuckup. It doesn't get redundant or irritating or stupid or boring. It just stands there.
The bunch of reedy rags playing football in their I'm-cool-look-at-me lampard jerseys outside must learn a thing or two or three or four or five or how if I keep doing this? They could do something worthwhile like getting run over or even struck by a lightning or evaporate. But I digress. Humans are reaaally lame, they're just not right. I can't think of one human who's not a bozo . Bozo reminds me, I looove tazos. Maybe it's because you can use it like a plectrum on your brother's/friend's/any other lame variant of the human species' guitar and make them mad.
And clotheslines should be banned. They're very intrusive when you're absentmindedly reflecting how much you hate them humans. And venting is highly over-rated.
Oh I don't know where this post is going but I can safely mean it when I say I don't care. I don't want to post this but where the FUCK is my secret blog headysilence? The fuckingfuckingfucking assholes say it's not available! I know! I think the organisms behind blogger are humans. Hah thats it! But they better not restore the shitpiece now that I'm exposed. AaaaAAaaaoooohhh noooo!
Of late (fine, from just a moment ago) I've been wondering why Limp Bizkit would name themselves that. My theory is that the guy was eating marie bizkit dipped in milk and it became uncrunchy and he loved the taste of it and thought 'Hey THAT'S what my band will be named after'.
I absolutely adore nights. Daytime should be abolished to some other planet. It's just so dark (you didn't know that, did you?) and unpretentious. Not flashy or strong and yet penetrating. Still, oh yes, I think that's why I love it. It's still and more stiiiiiiiiilllllllll.
And the dozen of you that can't stop sending LAME Nightreaders v/s PUC Royals SMS forwards, can please feed yourselves to alligators. Talking of the T20 hoopla, just how much further in the timeline will you minions continue to find the I-watch-T20-for-the-cheerleaders-lolz lines funny? Think about it. Think about this and everything else and then DIE.

Edit: DUDE! I just found out its 'Deewana hua BADAL' and not 'Deewana hua PAGAL'!!! :O And all these years... *faints*

Labels: Catharsis, Random

Math exam tomorrow, but I don’t believe in studying for it; I declare myself matheist. 

You could plant some of my recent posts in place of the script of Radha ki betiyaan kuch kar dikhayengi, blow your fringe upwards, and nobody would be able to tell.

But I'm back; back to being as irritated as somebody who's had to listen to Sandeep Khosla talk. You HAVE to listen to him! If you do not clutch your hair like it has rubber grips and wrench it apart before he’s 3 sentences into talking, I’ll personally pray to God you’re exempted from 'Which Dostana Character are you' Requests on Facebook.

I have to change my URL. Not so much because it’s lame as much as because I don’t want it discovered by people who’d turn permanently paraplegic if they chanced upon it.

)Yes, I can play goody girl to perfection(.*

Oh if You read this, please remember you're an insensitive BITCH. And I hope the tiny plastic covering at the end of your shoelace comes out when you most want to wear your converse. BITCH. :)

And please leave comments about what the Kisses chocolates remind you of. I need reassuring that I’m normal. 

*Oh, that’s anti-parent-heses 

I intended to write a post today, but the deviously planned exams make sure I cant afford even a half hour. But I'll edit this post after my exams, and it'll be dated today all the same. HAH. 

The Passage, as we know it, dismembered

Another year decembered.

It’s been no Bosch painting. Maybe it’s because the year’s taking with it undergrad college, that I feel drippy. Lessons were learnt. Fingers, burnt. Oversights. Love bytes. Subsequent Red eye removal too. Some lovely fixtures and then some. Attention seeking. Attention getting. Keepsakes. Sweet chariot cakes. Sizing up, Growing up, Up yours, ‘Sup mate’s.

Now, after the breakneck speed with which the 2 years whizzed by, if you said ‘It’s something unpredictable, but in the end it’s right... I hope you had the time of your life’, I’d reply with a ‘Yes’ without as much as a second thought.

I’ll miss some people more than I’ll ever work up the humility to admit.

Why am I reminded of you

When my favorite song plays  

Averted eyes and half-smiles

Of never-been days                

Afterthoughts: What is UP with me! I'm making gay lines rhyme when everybody else is recruiting melt-in-my-eyes dates to snog on New Year's Day. I must've sensed something was radically wrong when the only analogy I could drawto my interest-in-guys curve was an inverse Newton's Law of Cooling graph. But I learn from my mistakes. Next time Bonham's symbol reminds me of pending Venn diagrams, the stop-mugging alarm will go off. 

Labels: cheesyimpulsivepoetry

So like any other self-respecting passive citizen, I changed my status message and blogged about it. As livid as I am about the hundreds of innocent people shot, it is the policemen who’re giving their all to fight the maniacs, that pinches me about not affording help. To see them there, lying in blood- willingly spilt, is heart-wrenching. The image that stays with me though, is the sureness of the NSG guards and the commandos alighting from the trucks, to seize the day after a siege of a day. I salute you guys!

Live and LeT die!

If ever you plan to give me an irritability-meter, make sure it is calibrated to very high levels. Courier it. If you risk coming within a mile’s circumference of where I am, the learned will assume you want to relocate your facial features. Or resemble Sudhir Mishra (with due respect to his creator).

I have scores of scores to settle (so long, Creativity!).

Nokia earphones first. Unheard of companies like Sony Erection and Pee-lips manufacture decent canalphones that provide proper isolation from surrounding noise. What’s more, they don’t double up as acupuncture kits with a grudge against your ears. What pricks! Pun intended.
The bus driver’s and my music tastes aren’t very compatible. What I mean to say is, it is not too pleasant to hear Radio Mirchi and Radio Indigo simultaneously. This is what an average minute sounds like:
I've found a reasonii de nakhre for me to change who soni lagade o meinu a reason to keindie po po po start over new po po po jaane jaana and the reason is you-oooooo and the reason is mainu bhi nakhre you-ooo and the reason is po po po.

Next.
Orkut has switched to Railway format of timings. (Whatever you call the 1840 hours thing).
Isn’t it of any fucking consequence to them that subtracting 12 requires my as many minutes?

Next.
I’m unable to make up my mind whether to marry Will Smith or Imran Khan. :|
They’ve been waiting out in the lashing rain for 2 days for an answFine! I’ll drop it. :|
But anyone contesting my claim about the absolute cuteness of the former’s incisors or the latter’s skin folds near his temples, can kiss their Sharukh-loving asses goodbye.
Barack Obama, by the way, is out of the race. Not the US presidential one, silly!

Next.
I want to change my name to something that takes less than 9 seconds to pronounce, and 9 months to pronounce right. Suggestions are invited. If you are, in any way, related to Andhra Pradesh Finance minister Rosaiah’s christeners, have mercy and abstain.

Bah, now I'm bored. More coming soon.

Did I hear you groan?

Labels: Rants

Its like the whole universe is mocking me about how less I've been studying.

I was reading this Beatles trivia and I came across George Harrison and Pattie Boyd. Harrison and Boyd.

One fat untouched book. Morrison and Boyd.

If you don't think locating a Reebok store on Sampige road in Malleshwaram is the most frustrating thing to do, only next to living through Madonna's 4 minutes, then you my friend, excuse me for this, think from between your butt cheeks.

I'll tell you why.

First, the disappointment from knowing the fever I had was nothing exotic like Chikungunya; normal viral jazz. To endure assorted sicknesses, without deriving satisfactorily revolted reactions, you must agree, is thankless.

So I was waiting in a bus-stop for my cousins to drive there from their offices so we could go eat dinner someplace. Now you can’t manage to amuse yourself, with just a man there who looked 15 months pregnant, for 2 hours. The thought of him walking into a room, a minute after his belly-button does, can only occupy you for a few minutes. I still had my loyal radio though. Only, it had an impressive way to turn me off too. Katie Perry’s ‘I kissed a girl and I liked it’ had just replaced Coldplay’s ‘Viva La Vida’ on top of the charts. What was the world coming to?! I’d rather tie myself to some rusting track and get run over 438 times than have it on my imaginary 70 GB iPod.

Anyway, my sister called at long last and asked me to locate this restaurant called Rasa on Sampige road and walk to there since it was a one-way, and they couldn’t pick me.
‘Rasa, opposite Reebok’, she said. Which main? ‘Opposite Reebok’. Cross? ‘Opposite Reebok’. Any landmark? ‘Reebok. Opposite Reebok’.

Aah wait. This narrative is getting so fucking boring. I’ll just tell you this smart-fart chick I asked directions from, said Adidas has better stuff, and asked me to go there instead of Reebok. Let’s just say, I gave her a substantial piece of my mind.

Bottom(read: under)line(read: statement) is, I’m not the best person to suggest to, an Adidas store when I’m looking for a Reebok one.

Fine, technically not a bottomline, but you can lay off if I cared.
Damned Reebok fellows have changed their logo. It’s now some gay blue plain writing. I’ll only tell you I walked past the store twice without noticing that was the store. 2 hours. 2 fucking hours.

Bah.

Labels: Rants

It’s funny how this heartbreak thing works!
The very thing that did somersaults in her tummy every time He spoke to her, now lay spent inside her. She felt bad for herself. For not having that proverbial easy charm. For not believing in herself. For always being so insecure. For loving him unconditionally.

There was nobody she could talk to. Nothing they might say could make a difference.
He was her personal 911. He was whom she opened up to. And yet, he was the one she was scared of. She was possessive, and understandably so. Everybody seemed better than her. She feared he would look for greener pastures, after all!

Hold your breath, her fears did come true. Sometimes, knowing what will happen does not prepare you any better for it. He did go. She thought they had traded hearts. She wasn’t prepared for make-shift.

At that point, she hated the world. She despised her parents for making the pitiful being that was her. Cursed God. Lost faith in him. Felt as helpless as hopeless. Gave up on her responsibilities. He had done a good job turning her into a woebegone, broken soul. She had no more tears to cry, so she hurt herself. She substituted it with blood because something had to flow! She did not want to be this vulnerable. She tried sleeping it off, but it also bailed out on her.

And then it came. Exploded. Hate like she never had known. She hated him. And that gave her comfort. Knowing that somewhere deep, really deep, it would sting him to know she loathed him. And that assuaged her. She picked herself up, employed pretense and went about her life.

She loved him.

P.S. The story is completely fictional. The guy would have his rear end burnt if the 'she' in question was meant to resemble me. ;)

Labels: Life gyaan

Boredom is no longer the single prevalent mood now. Fuckness is back, and how!
Owing to 25 hours of Orkutting a day, newly discovered joys of blogging, cycling lessons to nieces, Khaled Hosseini, Opeth et al, my scores reflect an IQ matched only by a shoehorn. If I don’t do miraculously well in the coming test, I’ll sure as hell be kicked out of my JEE tuitions.
I think it’s anyway an inevitability, given my past records. I’ll try to break my fall with a decent score and then come back here. Excuse the sporadic comments, replies and posts. Be back on 22^nd, folks! :)

Bus rides be a very enriching experience:

You learn to appreciate people’s perspiration prowess. And curse global warming protesters for discouraging the use of deodorants. Hope the new government would make bathing thrice a day a fundamental duty. Fear your feet will become 2 dimensional from all the stamping. The optimist in you surfaces- You always see the bus half empty, never half full.

And then there are these simple joys you never uncover in an air-conditioned Honda City. Finding glee in getting a window seat, Horror at having slept through your stop. Getting off the bus while its still moving, fully knowing the ‘taley kettidiya’ that is going to follow, Relief at the arrival of a delayed bus et al.

And of course, the sporadic memorable anecdotes that come as refreshing antidotes to jaded travels (insert 'that you can tell your grandchildren' if appropriate to probability).

Like the night when some guy in an Esteem with no-fear eyes stickers glaring at you from all over the body of the car misjudged the size of his car and that of his cranial apparatus. He apparently was trying to play dashing cars and in the course, bumped into the bus I happened to travel in. Some heated words later, the drivers of both the vehicles decided to substitute it with flying fists and bleeding lips. Some curious cats stopped, some drove past uninterested. Meanwhile, even as the brawl was underway, one of the more ambitious guys from the car got into the stalled bus and told us we’re all done for unless we get the bus driver to back off. It was as close to bus-hijacking as you can get! :D

And then there are these not-so-sensible-to-tell-your-grandchildren stories.
Like one of the nights I was getting back from tuitions. 3 hours of total overhead transmission in class later, I got a seat next to a total potty-head, who seriously needed classes in English and striking conversations, apart from a life. For the sake of convenience, let’s call him Loser Dolt With Moustache (LDWM)

LDWM: So you go to college?
Me: huh?
LDWM: I go to Surana college.
Me: Kind of them to admit retards! Uh huh!
LDWM: It’s near south end circle
Me: And your head? OK.
LDWM: Which college?
Me: Err... MCC
LDWM: Cool. Coming back from tuitions?
Me: No, knitting lessons. Yes.
LDWM: You have a mobile and all ah?! My parents are not getting me one only!
Me: They’re doing lot of people a favor. It’s not mine. My brother’s.
LDWM: Umm... Don’t you get scared to travel at this time?
Me: WTF! No, I’m a girl. *sneer* :D

And now for the part I’m a pro at: Embarrassing instances.
Just a week ago, the mannered dweeb that I am, offered a seat to an apparently pregnant lady.The unsuspecting woman took it. When I didn’t get off the bus, she was confused why I gave up my seat for her in such a crowded bus. Only later did I realize why those silly women around were giggling! The lady was not pregnant. That was just adipose deposition being partial to her stomach! =/

Not to forget my ingenious (I forbid you from rolling your eyes) ways of sneaking out of trouble! Here’s one such gift of mine to bus-commuter-kind. :P

Note to P: My pass expired yesterday. So if you end up breaking your Activa from the routine falling, they wont let me take mine. We'll have to resort to above. :P

Thanks, Mac! *sob sob* :D

4 Jobs I’ve had in chronological order

4 Places I’ve Lived (in order)

1. Detroit
2. Berlin
3. Pune
4. Malaysia

1. Rajajinagar
2. Vijaynagar
3. Chandralayout
4. Nagarbhavi

4 TV Shows I Like

(This is suicidal! I don’t know why I’m owning up to watching these!)

4 Favorite Foods

This is easy! Anything vegetarian, with chocolate, minus vegetables will do.

4 Places I’d Rather Be

1. On a beach with some-of-you-know-who. =/

2. Some extreme sports place with some-of-you-know-who. =/

3. Medieval Russia with some-of-you-know-who. =/

4. Afghanistan with some-of-you-know-who. =/

And I'm done with the baby steps of blogosphere! :D

P.S. Brown bomb at corner house, busywriter! For saving me the mortification of not understanding the tag-funda! :D

Labels: Tagged

(N, please miraculously overlook the picture and spare me!)

Me: We WON! We fucking won! Dingchik dingchik =D
N: I knoooww!
Me: I was so fucking scared! Faint hearted would be right! Fuckness it was!
N: That too after losing so many matches!
Me: Huh? *nonplussed*
N: S called me up and told me we won
Me: Fucker you didn't watch it!? :O You chose math over the MATCH!
N: I saw half-half in between
Me: :|
N: Dravid was looking soooo adorable after winning!
Me: Err, wait. What in Jack's matty dandruff are you talking about?
N: Royal Challengers match no?
Me: *thud*

Labels: football, Pal stuff

So what if I thought white flames looked hot 2 years ago?
So what even if I grew a brain and hair, I’d still need a head thrice the size of mine for my helmet to fit right?
So what if I look like an astronaut neck up?
So what if it’s so horrendously macho that it’ll make Suniel Shetty look like a demure lady?
So what if it gives me half a foot of extra height?

It does not entitle you to smirk/guffaw/chuckle/grin/fell-good-about-not-having-to-wear-it!
At least it’s better than the Kolkata Knight Riders’ hideous golden one with the nose-guard or whatever jazzy name it’s given!

So if you drive on and around the streets of Vijaynagar, you wouldn’t want to stare and sympathize with me, unless you think tire marks on faces is going to be in vogue soon.

Labels: Rants

[All characters mentioned are non-fictional and I fervently hope they read this post (hah! fat chance) and realize what screwed up dolts they are]

The newspaper, every morning, does to me what coffee does to most others- gear you up to take on another pointless day. (albeit the best it can get is to a rusty 6^th gear. Let’s not go there)
So what do you do when your mum puts salt instead of sugar in the coffee? What do you do when you wake up to a pile of horsemanure in the name of ‘news’?

Deccan Herald is one of the few remaining papers that still uses sensibility to sell. Not Jay-Z’s nostril size. Or so I thought. Maybe, unlike the ToI, it doesn’t bank on Kareena Kapoor’s waist size, but of late, its reporters are so mindfucked that they make an article out of every insignificant little poop and pass it off as the ‘latest buzz’ or ‘trend’. Get a life and a story. Please!

An analysis of Metro Life, the supplement (to substantial news), May the 15^th.

Front page article ‘Wear your attitude on your Tshirt’ catches my bored eye.

Some chick’s pic: wearing an Iron Maiden Tee. (I rub my eyes properly to read. I’m interested. Hopefully they’ll have mentioned where I can get those!)

Wanna say something on someone’s face and get away with it? Then why not wear the message on your tee-shirt? There just can’t be another in-your-face of saying the truth as effectively as this.

1. It is ‘want to’ and not ‘wanna’. Are you a 14 year old yo-yo kid disguising as a reporter?

2. You’re saying it on your flabby frontside, girl. Not in anyone’s “face”.

3. We’ll get away with saying things alright. That bean between your ears? Water it.

4. This is the “most effective way of conveying the truth” eh? Somebody give me a Tee-shirt that says ‘Is being how dumb you are fashionable? What other excuse can you have?’

5. Get the grammar right! Please!

And that was just the introductory paragraph to the article folks!

“The latest message I sport on my tee-shirt reads ‘I am allergic to people’. No, I love being around people but donning this tee gives me a high. I buy them only for their writing, I am choosy and wouldn’t mind spending a bomb on that.” says 21 year old Pranalika Mahanta, a postgraduate student of Jain College.

1. The world can do without people who get a ‘high’ by wearing something they think is uber-cool. Why don’t you jump off your terrace?

2. Of course you’ll spend a bomb on that, hun. Its after all some graying guy’s money. He loves his daughter. But why should she be mindful of expenditures! You’re after all of a tender 21 years.

I’ll leave the bleeding article here. I’m too indignant to continue! :D

Resigning to the fact that all articles can’t cater to my stream of thought, I turn the page. Some sensible articles later, on Page 3, I find the shitwits aren’t done bullcrapping yet.

‘Pocketful of Penny’

(I was frustrated by now. The potential blog post on the ludicrousness of the reporters came to mind, and I was encouraged. Bracing myself, I started)

No kidding! Kids are getting richer by the day. What used to be Rs. 300 per month for pocket money, 10 years ago has now shot up to Rs. 1800, according to the Associated Chamber of Commerce and Industry of India. Says 16 year old Simran Sabharwal, “I get a pocket money of Rs. 2000 per month. The entire amount goes in paying my phone bills. Apart from that I get around Rs. 600 to 700 a week for conveyance. I will be getting more once I join the college” she is optimistic. But its not just the Richie Rich who is getting more than a pocketful. Even the middle class income group is letting their children splurge.

“Times They are a changing” indeed. Consumer continues to be the king but that consumer includes the youngster as well.

1. The Chamber of Commerce calculates pocket money? What next? Adolescent ear-bud expenses?

2. Simran sweetie, someone speaks to you for worth 2 grand a month? Or do you call up those ‘hi h r u call me notty ramu 9846736721’ kind?

3. At least I save. I’m 16 too but I don’t think I need toilet seats with swavroski crystals. Methinks I can save 3 bucks a day without having to read this pitiful newspaper.

4. It takes 700 bucks a week to travel? How far is your rehab centre really?

5. What the fluffyduck! How can you extrapolate one jazzy kid’s luxury to generalize everybody’s life?!

6. Ms. Anupama Ramakrishnan. Get. The. Grammar. Right.

A couple of other useless columns made up the rest of the paper. This was as far as I could get myself to be bothered! =D

Its freaking 40 degree Celsius in Bangalore! Already!

You have to endure routine to be able to enjoy surprises.
You have to sometimes be hated and looked down upon, to be able to know how precious it is to be loved and mattered and cared about.
You have to be weighed down by company to be able to cherish solitude.
You have to get through by telling yourself 'It'll pass' when you’re down, to appreciate the times when you're around people you love and let yourself just be. With no pretense.
You need the scorching heat to be able to love the soothing touch of rain.
You have to be faced with the wrong side of some people to be able to thank God for knowing the beautiful beings that some others are.
You have to endure hip-hop to appreciate Bob Dylan. =D

You need to be reminded to treasure those moments. And when they come, you know what you’re living for.

=)

Labels: Life gyaan

I broke up with my sense of humor, I don’t know how to tag people, I just realised I've been using my brother's toothbrush, I claim to be a fan of Man-U only because I’m ignorant of any other club, black nail polish is the closest some people can get to metal, I get an average of 1 SMS per 3 days- 2 of them from CellOne asking me to download satyabhama-baramma as my caller-tune.

So don’t you ask me ‘How’s life?’!

Labels: Ascorbyl palmitate, Random

I was trying to figure out if my gameboy could ward off my boredom, when the non-vegetarian symbol on it caught my eye. After brooding over why on earth it made its way there, I realized it was the Japanese flag. :-|

I mistook 'Mensuration of triangles' for 'Menstruation of triangles' and submitted my notes that way. :-|

If your friend is going out with a cottonian, and is looking for something cute (not in my opinion, though) to call him, NEVER suggest 'Cotton Candy'. :-| However pleased you may be with yourself, never expect your friends to appreciate it. :-|

Labels: doihaveaboneinmybrain, Random

You’d think making a lousy-excuse-for-a-mall richer by a few hundreds would justify playing ‘Hide-n-seek’ in it. It was almost empty except for 7 make-believe human beings in Sigma mall. Girls from a nearby college, that had extended the lunch break on the occasion of Christmas, to be precise.

A fat, scary (even by our standards) sweeper-woman approached us menacingly. “Idu aata aado jaaga na? Horage hogtira illa manager saar karila?”

The intelligent species that we were, didn’t expect the cutest guy with the kindest heart to be the boss of that Parvathamma-impersonator. We knew better than to risk our N-95s and Metro-bought-ballerina-shoes (We were exhausted of cash, you see). We had a problem on hand. M’s buy-anything-below-50-bucks treat to P was due. You see, P completed the dare to empty her bladder in the men’s restroom, which invited a variety of stares, ranging from morbidly terrified to downright disgusted. I tried to look like I wasn’t a part of this uncivilized faction which had missed out on evolution. It would have been a lot easier if I wasn’t wolfing down a plate of pani-puri beside the sink. So then we hurriedly came out before the mall authorities could register our faces so well that they’d recognize us the next day when we played ‘Lock and key’. We tried to put on ‘we’ll-show-you-who’s-the-boss’ expressions on our faces, but all I managed was a ‘Do-you-really-have-to-look-at-me-like-I’m-an-
overworked-
backside-of-a-constipated-baboon' gaze!

At least M had a bright side to look at. 50 bucks saved, without having to be a jerk. But it’s not like there are no eateries outside Sigma or that we are satisfied, understanding people. So M, realizing there was no way to boost her non-existent economical side, succumbed to our hyper-active enzyme glands (err...just assume I used the right term).
That was when the hormones too decided to operate. We didn’t mind even a red-haired man with yellow pants, incapable of movement. And that’s exactly what we got. With a smile on his face, and inviting arms, Mr. Mc Donald beckoned. It was just a matter of which of the 7 of us got there first. If not for his @ss glued to the platform, I’d bet my appetite, he’d be racing the buses in the opposite direction.

With little minutes left for a mind-numbing Physics lecture, I meekly suggested getting back to college. Many disapproving glares later, the gang decided to head back. It wasn’t my fault that the teacher thought arrivals late by more than half an hour (of a 40 min class) merited denial of (much needed) attendance!! Inconsiderate. It wasn’t like we hadn’t had our share of getting kicked out for the day!!

Anyway, we managed a just-in-time entry. The drone in the teacher’s voice was sedative. Her redundant explanations of the same topic drove my neighbor to groan ‘kitni baar!!’ My half asleep brain transmitted those words as ‘Kick me hard!!’


And ta-daa, I let the footballer in me take over.

Labels: College sprees, doihaveaboneinmybrain, football