The Importance of Being Idle

I remember when, I remember I remember when I lost my mind

2010-06-06T12:38:00.002+05:30

I never ever thought I'll be the kind to feel happy at weddings. And I don't mean happy in the oh-there'll-be-yummy-food-to-eat kind of way. I'm talking about the oh-this-is-so-lovely-and I'm-so-happy-for-them feeling. I must be getting soft in my old age. Dammit.

So the marriage procession of close friends has begun. The day when there will be pressure piled on me to be part of it is not far away, I assume. I'm trying to decide which way to approach the situation, when it arises. The first way, of course, is blind protests and arguments. I'm a pro at that. Plus my stubbornness has become a kind of legend around the family, so perhaps that will hold me in good stead. Then there's method No.2, which I shall call Throwing Down the Gauntlet. In this, I tell my parents: 'So you want me to get married? Fine, find a boy who can deal with me, go ahead, I dare you.' This, I guarantee, will throw my parents into an immense fix, since they are aware of all my obsessions -- with football, tennis, sports, music, books, driving etc -- and really can't see anyone else being able to handle all these things. It could work, though there is a certain amount of risk attached to this approach. The third solution, and looking the most likely, is to take the escape route. Move out, far away from the marriage madness. Yes, I have it all figured out.

The best laid plans

Anyway, returning to this wedding, My friend T, who I've known since the time she also used to work in IE, had been telling me to block the dates for her wedding for the last 6 months, and like everything that is planned well in advance, the likelihood of my making it to Mumbai for the proceedings was thrown into disarray at the last moment. I felt a bit ashamed at asking for leave just a month into the new job, but well, I just had to. And only three days. That's allowed. The night before the train, I stayed up the whole time and wrote out what felt like a million stories so I could keep all the deadlines. Whew.

Me and a couple more of her friends were traveling from Delhi with her family by train, and though we all met for the first time, we had an excellent time. It began with becoming co-conspirators. We were all supposed to get off at Bombay Central station, but because we wanted adventure and had had enough of the train, we decided to scoot off at Borivali and find the way to Dombivali on our own. So we very smartly jumped off with our luggage and walked outside to the other coach where T and her family were, to say goodbye and see-you-later. Whereupon we were subjected to glares and yells from our dear friend, who couldn't believe we actually saw through our insane plan, which we had been discussing in front of her for the last 12 hours, by the way. Anyway, we were a bit shaken by the extreme reaction, so much so that we forgot about our main POA once we reached a station, any station: Vada pav. Instead, we found a cab and began the journey.

Of course, angry messages and concerned calls (from the fiancee) kept coming our way, but we kept going. The drive was rather nice, I thought, all the highways. It was hot hot hot and humid, but tolerable. We didn't take too long to reach, but it took us a million minutes to find our hotel. After flopping down on the bed for some much-needed rest, the remaining wedding party arrived, and more glares from T. The rest of her family were finding it all very amusing, as was I, but it is NOT good to burst out giggling when you're being glared at, keep that in mind. The anger subsided within a few hours, though, as we were all allies in a tricky situation: How to break the locks off suitcases when you forget the keys at home.

Crazy girls

The next day, we took a train from Dombivali to Ghatkopar, and I have to say it was the funniest train ride ever. We behaved like proper tourists and clicked pics in a local train, giving off crazy smiles. People were staring I'm sure, but well, anytime I think about that I crack up. Funny funny funny. After we reached our destination -- Lokhandwala -- the assault on ice creams began. We ate and we ate and we ate. And we continued our walk down the streets, occasionally stopping at shops to empty our pockets.

I spotted this shop with Liverpool mementos in the window and started behaving slightly kooky. Concerned, the other two accompanied me into the shop, and I began pointing furiously at various things I wanted. But the clock I really liked, on closer examination I saw it had a shadowy image of DaVID BECKHAM on it. on a LIVERPOOl clock. i mean, really.

So I ended up increasing my keychain collection considerably, and everything else the shopkeeper showed me (Liverpool towels, Liverpool bottles, Liverpool posters), I was forced to admit I already have them all, much to the amusement of my friends. Oh well.

A lot more shopping, vada pav, shawarma, coffee and juice later, we began the long journey back to the back of beyond. We reached Dombivali pretty late, and since the wedding was scheduled for 5.30 am, we were obviously not going to get any sleep. We still managed a couple of hours and then began getting ready. The others were wearing sarees, but I just had to put on a salwar kameez (pink :-)) so I had no tension. Instead, I sat and ate more vada pav as I watched them struggling with their sarees. More headshaking in despair at my pig-like appetite.

The wedding, which we missed most of coz there were some car issues, was lovely. I clicked a lot of pics, and at one point of time when I was standing in the middle, right in the front of the stage and smiling away, I realised I was the only one there. I sheepishly moved away to a less conspicuous place. The food was awesome too. I felt sad while saying bye to T, I would've cried if I wasn't made of steel. She won't be living in Delhi anymore. Sigh.

On the way back, the cab we were traveling in on our way to Bandra had a flat tyre, on the side where I was sitting. I knew I shouldn't have eaten so much the last few days. And a bunch of friends were waiting for me near Toto's, so I kept frantically checking my watch and attending calls to tell them how far I've reached. After a lot more drama and waiting on the road for a friend to pick me up and laughing to myself at how everything seems to go wrong at the same time, we all finally met. Ate great food, gossiped a crazy amount, laughed even more, and then it was time to head to the airport. A whole lot of insanity squeezed into four days. I want to do it all over again, with new methods of madness, of course.

I've been reggae and calypso...

2010-05-27T21:55:00.000+05:30

So my football obsession is plunging new depths of shamelessness. But the way I see it, no one I know should be surprised at all, so in effect, all I'm doing is sticking to the script. In the latest chapter, I jumped into a football jersey discussion at my new office and demanded a Liverpool original for myself from a total stranger. And the best part is, it's mine now. Yesterday on my return from the 100-minute drive back home through agonisingly slow traffic after work, after which I'm usually too tired even for conversation, I opened the packaging and stared at the jersey for millions of minutes, a big smile on my face. The 'This is Anfield' stitched in onto the inside neck lining, the golden liverbird at the back, the very familiar Carlsberg logo, I just couldn't stop looking. Oh I have many Liverpool shirts, but they are from the roadside stalls of Bangkok. This, you see, is the real deal. And it's MINE, MINE, MINE. Happiness. Is football. True story.

In other good news, I finally feel like a proper sports journalist again. Today I took a trip through the dusty roads of Uttar Pradesh, chasing a World Cup medal-winning shooter and her 70-year-old mother who set the trend for pistol shooting in their village, and then further on into Johri, a village which is currently producing an incredible number of international-standard shooters. Of course, I couldn't bring back guns for everyone like I had said I will. Oh, well.

The point is, this trip and the earlier one to Patiala to see the pathetic conditions our Commonwealth Games cyclists have been training in made me realise that this, THIS is what I wanted to do. Write out these stories, the ones in which bravery shines through all the bleakness, where unnoticed revolutions finally force us to take note of commendable effort. And I'm glad I feel like hunting out these stories again. By the end of my time at IE, I had become too complacent, the days had settled into depressingly familiar routines that did nothing to inspire. Change can do the trick. But strangely enough, quitting the first time around was such fun, I'm looking forward to that feeling again. Where you know you'll be leaving so you can come in late, hang around, and then say your goodbyes when it's all over. Yes, just a month into my new job, you would think these are strange thoughts to have. Get this -- it cropped up in my head the DAY i got hired. Ah, the wonderful weirdness of my mind.

Just my luck, the day when I could have watched the French Open all through the holiday, it has to get rained out. Nadal's match has been postponed to tomorrow, after I went through all the effort to arrange my schedule around it. Unfair.

That reminds me, I must make up my World Cup chart. I usually can't resist writing out predictions for matches, even though I know it will have that incredible jinxing effect that follows me around, but I will try to hold back this time.

I've been reading some nice books, and my collection continues to grow, as always. Soccernomics by Simon Kuper and Stefan Szymanski is very very interesting. They attempt to explain why some nations are great at football while others suck, who are the biggest fans, and why football clubs are always going to be bad businesses so no effort should be made to make them otherwise. The only issue I have with the book so far is this observation the authors make: 'After their team gets knocked out of a competition, the person doesn't sink into depression and life goes on the next day.' I tend to disagree. Football depression is a big, big part of my life and I demand that it be recognised.

They'll call me freedom, just like a waving flag

2010-05-16T18:02:00.000+05:30

Greetings, my idle minds. It's tiime for the first proper post of 2010. Popular perception would be that May is a bit too late in the year to begin, but really, just look at what I call this blog and it all starts making sense.

The past few weeks have made me realise that I can do just about anything if I set my mind to it. The catch is, the mind has to be convinced beyond a measure of doubt. But once an idea takes firm control, even if I try to push it behind it pushes back itself out, makes itself heard, and doesn't take a break till the deed is done. I CAN talk myself into just about anything -- the long conversations in my own mind are testimony to that -- and that's not always a good thing. What follows is, of course, the refusal to listen to anybody else but me. Stubbornness.

After all that faff, the facts. I quit my first job, after nearly four years, last month. Many attempts were made to make me stay on -- it was flattering, I admit, to be given a sense of such importance -- but like I said, once an idea takes over, it sees me through to the logical end. And it was. The end, that is.

So I decided, a break will be good. I wasn't really looking frantically for another job, I just applied to this one place that I had been wanting to join for a while, and when it looked like it wasn't likely to work out, I thought nothing of it.

Holiday time. Bangalore, an old friend, and my mission in the city -- to break all drinking records. Accomplished, and how.

The one and only job negotiation continued, with me in my characteristic procrastination mode. Finally I turned them down. A day later, they called back to say I would be given what I wanted. And so, two weeks of break time later, I'm back to the working life. Magazine life is much different from newspapers and so far, so good.

For someone who used to stay up all night and sleep at dawn after watching the sun peep out, now I live in a totally different timezone. And I have to say, it's a very refreshing change. Partly due to alarm at my growing beer belly, and partly because it's just healthy, I wake up and go for a morning walk. When I step out of the house, music in my ears from my constant companion -- my i-Pod -- and look at the empty streets, I feel happy. It's a good way to start the day.

The drive to work is rather long, but if you were to look at me when I'm in my car -- bobbing my head to music, singing my favourite songs loudly, laughing at some of the memories a few bring back -- you would think I'm having the best time ever. Even on the way back, after long days at work, as soon as I sit in my car and put on the music, the energy returns. I can feel people around me in other cars looking at me, wondering at the weirdness (sometimes I eat while driving as well, when hunger strikes), and that makes me laugh even more.

So now I'm one of those people who follow the 'early to bed, early to rise' maxim. It's a new feeling, and I like it. Of course, the weekends, with the late nights, the 'high' spirits and excessive foodie indulgence, bring it all back to square one.

The football season has ended, but the tensions continue. Transfers, next year and the rebuilding we'll have to do at Liverpool, possble injuries from the World Cup, etc etc. The sadness and badness which stayed with my club this whole season shall be ranted about at leisure on the other blog.

But I'm really looking forward to the World Cup. I know I can expect a lot of depression since it's a given my teams (Germany and Spain) won't be able to deal with the jinx of my support, but while the wait is on for the tournament to begin, I can dream.

Where we take obsession to the next level

2010-03-20T15:14:00.004+05:30

There have been so many updates since the last post, I can't think where to begin :-) But it shall all be put down in words after a few days.
Meanwhile, a fellow football obsessive and I have begun writing at http://worthafight.blogspot.com. Mostly it's football we agonise about, interspersed with some other thoughts. Check it out.

McLeodganj revisited

2009-12-23T00:40:00.006+05:30

Sitting outside with a blanket in the cold night air as the people of McLeodganj hurried down the hill at the end of their day, with the iPod on full blast so the music could be heard by all, a few drinks to keep us company, and that tipsy feeling which makes you point to the stars again and again and wonder at the kind of things which seem wondrous only when you're drunk. That, along with a whole lot of foodie indulgence thrown in, plenty of walking so my legs seemed sore even a day after I returned, and enough shopping to make me buy an extra bag -- that was McLeodganj revisited for me.
I was returning to the place just ten months after my last visit, this time with a school friend, and now that I'm back home, I'm only thinking of when I can take the time out to holiday there again. This time all the planning -- train tickets, accomodation, taxi, bus etc -- was done by me, so obviously there was scepticism all around, and to all the non-believers I say HA!
Thankfully on the train journey there, we got the end two berths, which are away from everyone else, a fact which we were thankful for since we didn't want annoying families with noisy kids disturbing the peace. As it turned out, the only ones who did that were D and me. We're both kinda crazy, and we believe in laughing at anything and everything under the sun, moon and stars LOUDLY. No one chucked us out of the train, though, and we made it to Pathankot safe and sound, and sleepless, in my case. Another insomniac night for me, despite the hypnotic swaying of the Dhauladhar Express, but I felt fine, and awake once I washed my face with the ice cold water on the train. I was brushing my teeth as it was moving, and the train door right next to the wash basin outside was swinging open and shut in turns, so I had a feeling any minute I could be flying out into the fields. Jumping off a train is something I want to do once, but that didn't feel like the time, and thankfully, it wasn't.

Staying hungry would have been a good idea
I made a terrible mistake at Pathankot Junction, from where we were supposed to take a taxi to McL, three hours away. I was starving, but considering my history with motion sickness despite all the years of hilly travel, the wisest thing to do would have been to stay hungry a while longer. But something goes BOING! in my head as soon as I see food, and in the form of this disgusting, oily plate of poori-bhaji, it was calling to me. Mistake No 2 -- I gobbled it down in 20.4 seconds and I felt much better, little did I know it was just temporary. We got the taxi fine, but just about an hour into the journey, there was just a bit of throwing up I had to take time out for. D was kind enough not to take pictures.
Anyway, it was getting colder and colder as we neared the final destination, and once we reached the Chocolate Log and dumped our stuff, all I wanted to do was take out those nice thick blankets and take a nap. But I decided to resist, and good I did, because there was food, glorious food, to be had.
First stop, Carpe Diem, down Jogibara Road itself. The place is as lovely as ever, and since it was afternoon, we had a mild sun for company, which was just lovely in the cold winter air. And by cold, I mean COLD. The floor seating arrangement had been taken over by two snoozing dogs, they looked so peaceful just lying there, so we settled for the chairs and tables. D ordered a lasagne, I ordered tacos, and the portions were so huge we couldn't do complete justice to them. For musical accompaniment, we had Bob Dylan, and an additional guitar. As we paid the bill, we made a mental note to return the following day for breakfast. We already knew what we wanted to eat.
We got the chance to witness a bit of fierce Scandinavian rivalry: These two guys, kinda oldish, walked in, ordered, ate and were generally talking. One of the cafe guys went and asked them: "Are you finished?". The older of the guys, who was wearing a viking helmet, vehemently protested and said, "No,no, we're Danish!" There were hurried explanations about how they meant 'finished' and not 'Finnish', and a lot of laughs. Viking Helmet guy wished us bon apetit as they left, perhaps seeing the dreamy look in our eyes once the food arrived.
　
Money burns a hole in your pocket
Now I had bought some stuff last time around, but shopping does not have an end point. I discovered this little secondhand bookshop which I literally had to be dragged out of, but not before I had emptied my wallet a bit. A nice thing about all the book places in McL, and also all the cafes that allow you to read their books, is that you will find literature in many languages out there. I saw this Danish version of Lord of the Rings that I thought was worth a picture.
I also bought those Tibetan flags which you see hung all over the places there. One for me, the rest I bought for my friends. I plan to hang mine over all the Liverpool posters in my room. They need all the prayers they can get.
There is very little room for bargaining in McL, and the expenses stopped us from buying a few things. It is such a touristy place, even in the off season, and since the shopkeepers don't really have to bargain with the foreigners, they can afford to keep selling at their high prices. But most of the people there are really nice, and I will be grateful to this shopkeeper in particular from whom we bought the flags and mugs, since he directed us to JJI Cafe for 'very good momos'.
It looked like a typical coffee shop when we entered, but what totally sold me was the huge musical influences in there. There was a billboard with articles about Hendrix, McCartney and the Beatles, a great pic of Hendrix on another wall I wanted to steal, and an entire side of the cafe had little handwritten notes from visitors all over the world, in so many languages. Promises to return, praise for the food, the music (The Beatles, for the entire duration we were there) and the ambience. I took as many pictures of the little messages as I could. There were also a lot of references to the Exile Brothers, a Tibetan rock band which the owners of the place belong to. You can read about them here.

I ate mixed fruit pancakes, mutton momos, and drank a cappuccino, while D had a plain pancake and a lemon tea. She didn't like her food much, but i thought the momos were out of this world, and my pancake was nice too.

I wish my stomach was a bottomless pit
Disappointment at McLlo's, the place we went for dinner -- no Old Monk. So I had a bottle of KF strong, and a bowl of chicken chopsuey, nice, but a huge portion for me to eat. D had thukpa, which looked nice, but I was too full to try it out. We went back to the room and finished off a bottle of plum wine, which was nice, but not much in the way of alcohol. And then we smoked a pack of Gudang Garams, of which I had the most, and by the end I was chainsmoking. It was fun then, but the next day my throat was completely screwed. Later I discovered GG has a tiny marijuana content. Awesome.
Perhaps it was that which made us venture a 6km walk uphill/downhill the next day. We went to Dharamkot, which had this really pretty place with the little colourful Tibetan flags wound in and around the trees, and then we decided to find the Bhagsu waterfall too. We walked for around 4 hours, taking pictures, bumping into this English-Aussie couple again and again, and envied them their speed. They had been travelling all over India, and Shimla was the next stop for them, and maybe a return to McL. I began envying their holidaying life too.

Our uphill climb continued, and stopped at this little cafe at the top. The waterfall was still an hour's walk from there, so we gave up and instead sat down to eat. Whoever thought we could get Maggi and cheese toast up there? Another feast, even though we had a monstrous, yummy English breakfast at Carpe Diem in the morning.
The rest of the day went past in a visit to Norbulingka, as picturesque as ever, and then Oogo's cafe. The food there wasn't great, the sandwich I ordered had hard bread, but the grilled chicken salad was excellent, the vegetables sauteed just perfect. I strategically positioned myself right next to the bookstand, and they had SO many, in all languages. Nice little posters on the wall, too.
Dessert was at Jimmy's, and we were so loud this couple kept giving us disgusted looks. Not that it made us quieten down.
We FINALLY laid our hands on Old Monk, and then headed back to the Log for the final drunken night in McL. We didn't buy enough to even get me high, but I was so tired from all the walking I fell asleep real quick.

Food, food everywhere
We did spend a lot of time eating, do you blame us? And there are still so many places to go to. I'll remember that pastry shop right in the main square for the cream rolls and doughnuts, it was hard to resist buying one everytime we went there.
Breakfast on the final morning was had at Jimmy's, right next to the sunsoaked glass windows as people hurried to begin their mornings. A little bit of sightseeing was still left, so after eating, St John's church and the waterfall was where we headed. The fall was just a trickle, but even with just the rocks, it made a breathtaking picture.
We had made a new 'we will not stuff ourselves anymore' resolution, but how long do these things last anyway? D had been told about this place called Khana Nirvana which she absolutely wanted to find, and it's great we did, coz it's one of those places I will definitely return to. On the way there, we found these pretty scarves which were so cheap I just had to pick up a bunch. As we entered Khana Nirvana, we were talking about how we'll just drink some fresh lime, but after seeing the Mexican menu, that discussion quickly changed to the possibility of a shared pizza, and then when we couldn't agree about the kind of pizza, we ordered separate dishes for ourselves. Tostada for me, falafel for D. Both yummy. And it's a totally vegetarian place, so you can just imagine how good it would have to be for my strictly non-vegetarianness to be totally blown away. They were preparing the menu for the christmas dinner, which we weren't going to be there for, but it looked amazing. The ambience of the place was memorable, you could sit on the floor, on barstools, or on chairs/tables. We chose the barstools, and again took a lot of pictures. There was this American guy from Austin, Texas, who was sitting opposite us, and he asked us to spell out Navratri, Diwali, Dussehra etc, because that's what he was writing about on his online journal. He had been in Delhi for those festivals and was totally fascinated by the Ravana-burning. He then went to Kashmir, now he was in McL, and his travels would continue.

Wrapping up
The 4'o'clock bus was nearing, but before that I just had to pay a visit to that secondhand bookshop. I managed to buy these:1. The Reader -- Bernhard Schlink
2. Wings -- Terry Pratchett
3. The Deep End of the Ocean -- Jacquelyn Mitchard
4. Anil's Ghost -- Michael Ondaatje
My backpack was bursting, my little bag too, and also the extra Tintin in Tibet bag I had picked up. All for a good cause. We had some time to kill after checking out, so the Norling cafe was the last stop. this time, we really did just have some fresh lime, and our wish to get momos packed for the journey back didn't pan out because it was taking too long.
We nearly missed the bus, but were saved by my uncharacteristic wish to make small talk with the bus station guy. It turned out the bus would be leaving from another place, so baggage in hand, we ran to make it just in time.
The bus got real packed as we moved along, taking sharp turns down the hills, but everytime things got too annoying, all you had to do was look outside. One glance at the snow-capped peaks which were glowing as the sun went down, life suddenly didn't seem so bad.
　

And another thing...

2009-12-07T01:59:00.001+05:30

I seem to do a lot of living in my mind. Which could be why sometimes my dreams and my reality merge into each other. I wake up in one, scream soundlessly into the other, and finally wake up into the actual world.
I get up from nightmares which at the time are just like life, and many times I want to be woken up and taken away from terrible events which actually turn out to be life in real. Sometimes I'm not in me, I'm looking at myself from above, marvelling at my naivety, and laughing. Almost. I want to tell myself it'll all be ok, words I repeat to others in full faith, and it will, I know. I just know.
Sometimes, after chewing on a problem for hours on end, frustrated, unable to see the light, I just put it aside. And the moment I stop thinking about it, BAM! There it is. Not a solution, just a realisation that it really isn't the end of the world. A light shines down and washes all the tension away. That light, I believe, is the me that is floating somewhere out of my body, the one that shakes its head fondly at my antics, and sometimes in despair.
The worry. It's perpetual, it's never-ending. It's like rush-hour traffic, it's like smoke rings. One leads to the other, much like one drink to the next. About what, you may ask. The health of my family, for the most part. The events of two years ago, and maybe even before that, have left a dent the size of a gaping hole in my heart, my brain. They will be filled out someday, but the rate of progression is extremely slow. But they will be full again, someday. I know this because two years ago I couldn't fathom life going on, but it has. I laugh, I meet friends, I'm willing to be slightly social once again. In 2007, this was unimaginable.
Yet even now, I hate waking up in a cold sweat, touching wood over and over again to ward off superstition. If I think horrible things, they won't happen, I tell myself as I put my mind through torture. Only the unexpected happens, the steely voice continues in my head, so I make myself spin terrible tales, winding in and out of each other, spiralling one on top of the other, till they all fall down and assault me with their dead weight.
Funnily enough, I'm the least affectionate person alive. I'm sure certain members of my family think I hate them, but it's not true, it's not, it's not. I cannot express myself through the spoken word, and all I will offer in terms of empathy may be a bad joke or a sympathetically twisted face, or even a grunt, sometimes. I can listen, but that's all. My poker face has become my shield, and now it's glued to me. Deal with it.
But, I want to say, I'm not damaged, I'm not crazy. A while ago, I would have proudly laid claim to insanity, but now I'm scared, I'm so scared. I don't want to be labelled. I want to always be the me that others see. Awkward, dumb, laughing, stupid. But happy, outwardly. Ok, I don;t WANT to be dumb, stupid, but being without worries is so tempting. Maybe I would bear that. Maybe.
You may find it hard to believe, even in the midst of all these floating strands of inexplicable thought, I have other tensions. And these are real ones, you all may not get it. You may dismiss it as being nonsensical, unimportant, but to me they are real and I hope with all my heart they don;t happen. Football. Tennis. Sport. The reason I still cling to my job. ALL these I cannot live without, and that is the simple truth. It's all too complicated to deal with in this post, so I will pour my heart out in the next, but I do deeply care about all these parts of my life too.
Music.
It saves me, I swear it does. Not just because I use it to drown out all the pettiness of the outside world, but even on its own, without any ulterior motives, it has an immense power. Those pick-me-up songs, the sad ones which yet make you smile, the insane ones which you know you'll always like. Yes, one of my worries involves my computer crashing and taking away all my music.
Books.
I'm reading like my life has a deadline and I gotta finish all that I have. I have bought 11 books in the last 10 days and the end is nowehere in sight. I also can't stop talking about what I read, I offer my opinion on everything, and recommend books to people like I'm full of immense knowledge. I really can't help it. I feel the need to blurt it all out, what I'm reading.
To sum up: BLAH.

And the voices in my head still carry on

2009-10-11T16:19:00.000+05:30

Endless replays of music to drown out the dangerous drift of my thoughts. Pearl Jam being the current obsession, their new album Backspacer to be precise. The words seem to speak to me of life, as though they're only for me, as though I'm the only one who's meant to sing them out loud. In shuffle, a loop, a continuous circle of music wafting out from underneath the door of my bedroom, as if I will figure out the secret to life, the universe and everything by cracking the code supposed to be revealed through Eddie Vedder's voice. I can't remember the last time I've been so dependent on music for sanity.
I accept that I am self-obsessed. In another fit of desperation, I delved into my blog archives, dating back to August last year. Some nice, funny things were found that made me shake my head with a grin, almost wondering who the girl who wrote all that down was. The list of things that made me happy is stll true for the most part, but there is more, so much more detail that needs to be added. The music list needs more artistes included, for example, I left out a million of my favourites. The books list too, the ones that make me feel at peace. Another list is of the to-do kind, things I intended to follow up so that my life is in order. Out of 24, I realise that only three have been put into action. Two of them relate to blogging less and reading more, that has definitely been done. The third instruction that I have been true to simply says 'move on'. I assume it is do with a boy and a broken heart, though I don't remember the specifics right now. Nevertheless, that was done too.
Do all of you grit your teeth in irritation if anyone tries to make conversation with you as soon as you wake up, or is it just me and my increasingly antisocial being? All systems screwed. See, I reach home late from work, and as a result I sleep late. Even if I wake up at a decent hour, my brain doesn't begin working till much later, and so if you try to throw words at me I'll only feel like a confused extraterrestrial being subjected to strange sounds without understanding a syllable. And I will be all rude if you persist.
I wonder if you all have seen South Park? My state of mind and current existence is a mixture of Kenny and Tweek. That the end is always near is but inevtiable (Oh my god! They killed kenny! You bastards!), and while I get there, there's the nervous jumpiness (Aah! Too much pressure, man!). But even then, the giggling fits don't fit in. And yet they are there, a million a day, if laughter is good for your mind, body and soul, I should be the fittest person alive. Far from it, is the truth. I wonder if science can explain this.
The worrying now stretches deep into the subconscious mind as well. In dreams. Two nights ago, another one, the main themes which it revolved around were among the following: My car, the police, Liam Gallagher, Obama and his Nobel prize. And it all happened in Vasant Kunj, apparently. i was doing some strange kind of stunts in my car, and even after being given a warning by the police, I persisted. After a while, it so came to be that my car was flung inside a park, where it was all right, but to get it backk I would have to pass the policemen who would no doubt take it away. While trying to think of a solution, my friends and I went to Liam for help. He promised he would, and the weird thing is, he was living in a really shady house. So anyway after lunch, we went to Obama's victory party where the celebrations were numerous, but all I felt like doing was sitting in a corner, thinking about my poor car. The other details are hazy, but involved a lot of fretting, I'm sure. Thankfully, I woke up and realised all was ok. Whew.
When will offices listen to my suggestion and have vending machines that dispense alcohol? Apart from increasing prodictivity, there will be many more giggly, tipsy people around.
Oh, this whole post should have subheads, but as testimony to the confusion in my mind, I will let the jumble remain.

All we want is a getaway

2009-09-24T02:53:00.002+05:30

Some streets, however winding and whirling they may be, become unforgettably familiar to us. Even in the case of a person who can get lost without the slightest effort, there are roads which I could drive on in the dead of night without fretting about the next turn. The way from work to home, to a few friends' places, to school and college, libraries and music lessons, no problems there. Then there are the ones we come across in dreams. A lot of mine are about journeys, travels, trips, understandably the majority features my car, and a lot of driving. There's this chain of flyovers that crops up again and again, up and down, it has a million exits, and it doesn't exist in the real world. There's a lovely place with lots of trees and lights, sometimes it has a restaurant, and again, it's not real. A strange haunted forest also finds its way in sometimes, and for all my love of horror movies, I do feel relief when I wake up from those ones.
Since the subject of journeys has been touched upon, there was a short trip my friends and I took to Agra earlier this month, and it was lovely. It was my first road trip in the new car and we all survived. It had been planned for a while, but the endless spells of rain had me a bit worried, oh heck, I figured we should just power on. We did.
Music, for me, is an essential part of the driving experience. I plug in the music system and have a listen even before I put the car in motion. People who talk loudly the moment one of my songs plays have the misfortune to bear my resentment, apart from suffering from exceedingly bad taste, and yes, I am a music snob, so you can go drown yourself in the waxyassed Jonas Brothers if that bothers you. So for this ride I filled up a pen drive with some good ones -- select songs from Oasis, The Beatles, RHCP, The Killers, Pearl Jam, Bob Marley, Bob Dylan, Collective Soul, Radiohead, Jack Johnson, Switchfoot, Flogging Molly, MCR -- and off we went. The rain, far from disrupting the drive, made it a pleasant one, clouds in the sky kept the sun from bothering us, and around four hours after leaving Delhi, we arrived at.... McDonalds for a quick bite, which turned out to be an hour coz I was just so hungry I had to eat two burgers, and thus well fed and watered we set off again. Not long before we reached.
Just outside the main city of Agra is Sikandra, Akbar's tomb, and we stopped there to take in the sights. After clicking and being clicked, marvelling at the architecture and the angles, we began the hunt for a hotel. On the way, we got stuck in a terribly awful traffic jam that had me in a tiny service lane off the main road and a million vehicles all around me, bikes trying to squeeze past, men in autos spitting at five-minute intervals and bus drivers trying to be maniacs even in crawling traffic. But I've become used to all that in Delhi, so we stuck through it.
Hotel found, bags dumped, food eaten, we set off for the Taj Mahal. I had been there before twice, the last time in class 7 on a school trip in 1997, so all the memories I have of it are some BAD photographs taken by me on that old hotshot camera I had, the kind you have to wind after every shot. But here we were again.
The corwds, of course. Craziness. Together with all the wannabe guides who sell themselves with such an annoying fervour that you want to smash their faces in, I was glad once we were inside. The sun was just setting when we reached there, so I got some nice pictures. Of course, I can never put them up on FB or show anyone in the family since this was a secret trip and for all practical purposes DID NOT HAPPEN.
We went for drinks to Oberoi that evening, pretending to be all fancyschmancy so they wouldn't turn us away. But three charming girls can work it, of course, and we got to sip our cocktails from their brilliant balcony that has a great view of the Taj.
Our main target, to see the Taj at dawn, ultimately didn't happen. The driving had tired me out, and C and A were also pooped, so we had a bit of a tough time getting out of bed the next morning. We did make it there, only to turn back without going inside, and instead packed up, checked out, and made our way to the Agra Fort. Now this was impressive. You read about Agra and the Taj and everything, but this is definitely worth a look-in. I particularly liked the retaliation ideas for enemies who tried to enter the fort -- they were treated with steaming jets of hot oil and water down the walkway. I would like that for my next house. At least it would discourage annoying salesmen who try to make you buy useless things in the middle of your afternoon siesta.
The return to Delhi was clocked in at four hours, very good time. I rushed to A's place, picked up my stuff, drove home, and flopped down on my bed. Mom was surprised to see me so tired after simply spending the night out, but I was way too tired to explain, I wanted some precious sleep before office began, Yes, I work on Sundays.
So we left on Saturday morning, and were back by Sunday afternoon. No fuss, no tension, and we'll definitely do it again.

Turning 24
Birthdays deserve at least a subhead, so here goes. September 3, the actual day, was family time and good food day, September 4, also C's birthday, was Get Drunk and Wasted Day. Shots were all we had, and were we whoozy. The original Mocha Bar plan finally did happen, despite the brief threat of Urban Pind, and it turned out to be pretty awesome. I'm afraid to hope that 24 won't suck like 23 did, but maybe, just maybe, it could happen.
Oh, I want to start a BookBlog. I've been planning it for a while, but of course, what would I be without procrastination. Lately I'm becoming consumed in them, even more than usual, and I must let out all I'm thinking. I think I'll take the plunge.

I solemnly swear

2009-08-27T00:24:00.008+05:30

Oh, will you look at that, it's been a year in blogdom. And true to the spirit of laziness and procrastination that is supposed to (ahem) characterise this blog, it's being recognised many days later.
So well, we have been through a lot together, TIOBI and I. We started happy and optimistic, gave ourselves into a writing frenzy that compelled me to post with an alarming frequency the most mundane of happenings that I chanced upon. Football love was celebrated, agonised over, funnies were jotted down, holidays were laid out for all to see in every little decadent detail. But now, now it's far removed from the early days. Pessimistic outpourings have been at the crux of nearly every post, even the pseudo-happy ones, and I'm afraid I must rename the blog to something dark, depressing and with a Dementor-ish ring to it. But let us try one more time.
Did I tell you all I've moved? I now have my very own proper space, where I can lounge around at my own free will and don't have to dread every moment spent indoors. Strangely enough, I actually feel like waking up every morning. Today was my holiday, I've been up since 9, and I didn't even go anywhere except drums class. So yea, it's getting better *immediately reaches over to touch wood*
The best part about my room is all the books. The ancient bookshelf is right in front of my bed, and I got to 150 while counting the books till I caught the cover of a second copy of 1984 I didn't know I possessed. I guess I just bought it without remembering I already had one. Poking around second-hand book stalls can do that to you. Anyway, today I arranged them all and stuck little pink labels on each category. Am I a nerd or what? From the top left corner, there're Music, Sport, Fantasy, Literature of the Subcontinent, Travel Writing, Funnies, Language and More Good Stuff.
The second-best thing is I can finally put up all my posters. On the wall in front of me are Mike and Bob Bryan doing a chest-bump on a nice doubles poster. On the wall behind me are Steven Gerrard and Raul Gonzalez, and on the right I still have to put up two Liverpool posters from The Champions League final. Next week, I'm getting a TV, to make up for the fact that I've been pretty much without a TV for the last three years, and the one I did have didn't have any sound. I still need to buy a small bedside table and a chair maybe, but there will still be room for my drumset.
I guess in a few months from now I'll be fat, lazy, poor from not wanting to work, and will have watched everything there is to watch on TV and on my laptop. Even blogging will seem like too much work.
I've started looking for another job, but all I got is an implicit rejection. Seven months till I absolutely HAVE to get one. Actually, I'm not so sure about that time frame. It's getting harder and harder. See, the pessimism creeps in again. Sigh. It'll take a while.
Oh, all of you, do hear this Irish American punkrock band called Flogging Molly, excellent drinking songs in there. I recommend 'Beer Beer Beer' and 'Fuck You I'm Drunk'.

I think that's about it. Oh wait, I got a new car. The colour, of course, is red.

"In a real dark night of the soul it is always three o'clock in the morning, day after day."

2009-08-12T02:45:00.006+05:30

Have you ever felt like all the contradictions inside you will simply cancel out your existence one day? Or maybe they'll build up to a crescendo and silently implode into a black hole, leaving nothing behind. I just read The Curious Case of Benjamin Button by F Scott Fitzgerald, and I couldn't stop turning his beautiful words over and over in my mind, the helplessness, the despair the unfortunate person feels as he recedes into middle-agedness, teenage, childhood, and then, the nothingness.
The nothingness, I think, is something we all fear. I know I do. Thankfully, we don't face the problem Benjamin Button had, we will age the normal way, living out Shakespeare's Seven Ages till the last day. In any case, we also have a limited time.
I must say I'm disappointed with the experience of being 23. Twenty-three was supposed to be THE age, Jordan's number, the year when I could do everything and kick ass at it, own the universe, and yet, it's been 11 months and a bit more of just trying to keep my head above water. As 24 approaches, my expectations are lower than Nottingham Forest's ambitions of returning to the top-flight, but I do see some flickering lights of hope, I do.
Things at home have finally come to a head (insert yelling, discomfort, and a lot more of nightmarish things I don't wish to talk about), and the only silver lining is that we're moving out. I will finally have a room to call my own, no sense of being a terrible problem, and walls to put up all my Liverpool posters on. A bookshelf in which all my books can be in the same place. I feel happy just looking at my books, you know?
Maybe I'm jinxing all this horribly by writing it out, but I do want to put it down in words, or hope just doesn't seem real anymore. It has to be out there, visible, or I feel like it's just some ramblings in my head. And the ramblings in my head deserve much more space than these few lines.
As for work, well. I used to think it's good to quit while you're ahead, except that now I'm so far behind I can see just endless stretches of parched desert land, with signboards propped up every few kms saying I should simply give up. It's time to move on, and it's not the same as giving up. Just a recognition of my strengths, weaknesses, and sticking a cheeky tongue out at the sense of inadequacies I have been made to believe I possess. I have a little over seven months to find a new job. Luck, ideas would be appreciated. All I know is I want to write. About sports. And if I can't have that, then just write. Or maybe work with books.
My alcoholic capacity is increasing. Which is not a good thing, financially. It means I need more and more alcohol to reach the fun, head-spinning, babbling whoozinesspoint, and hence more money vanishes quickly. But going to work drunk is great. And you know what's greater? When you put your head down and close your eyes after a binge... your whole world spins round and round, upside down, it feels like a rollercoaster. Awesome.
Sometimes, it amazes me, how I can drink and be merry, laugh like a maniac, make the most inane jokes at this current crap point of my life, what with everything at home and work getting worse simultaneously. I definitely do have moments where I could resort to mass murder, and yet there are those times when my friends have to look around embarrassedly after one of my laughing fits in public. I feel like two people, no, make that a million. And they're all great.
Oh, the drum classes are awesome. I tried to keep them a secret but the parents found out and there was a bit of a deal. It blew over when they realised there was simply no way to stop the 'madness', as they said. I must finalise the drum set deal soon. And make enquiries about sound-proofing my new room.
A new football season begins in a few days. Nervousness, worry, hope begin to set in. I foresee a lot of football fights this season. Beware all, especially if you support the red scum from Manchester.

My perfect day, just like Lou Reed sang

2009-07-31T04:32:00.007+05:30

The great thing about getting to live through the best day of your life so far is that you can go back to the memories once all the subsequent crap of everyday existence starts happening. When you're being yelled at for a ridiculous reason, or being asked why you did something you shouldn't have, you can just switch off the present and think of the perfect day, the one Lou Reed sang about.
I'm sure all of you have your own perfect days chalked out, some in the past, some imaginary ones, hopefully to unfold some day in the future. A day when the sun is just right, the rain falls and makes everything new and freshly washed, nothing gets in your way and not a word can put off that smile. My own perfect day may disappoint you, the two readers who may read what I write, but it involves no flowers, no romance, and here I must offer a warning: if you have a deep antipathy towards football, click the back button on your browser right away.
If you know me, you'll know my perfect day has to include Liverpool FC, but of course, and if you don't know me but had a kinda clue about the extent of my football fanaticism, well now you have it, the whole truth.
I was in Bangkok for the Liverpool match last week and I had an epiphany. Actually, I don't think you call it an epiphany when the same thought strikes you again and again, do you? Anyway, I'm pretty sure I'm meant to make a profession out of following the club all over the world on their travels, watching them, cheering them on, and just taking in every moment. It'll happen someday, you'll see. Maybe I'll get a lot of money from somewhere or my craziness will be recognised for reward. Something's gotta give.
I've attracted plenty of strange glares, mostly among my friends, for this obsession I seem to have developed over the years. The one that makes me rearrange social engagements for matches, makes me drive in a tearing hurry so I can get somewhere with a TV, makes me fight those who oppose my views on football and the best club in the world, makes me fail exams and not regret it the next day, and causes those who know me to express slight concern for the maniacal gleam I get in my eye when a win is on the way.
Out there, in the stadium were thousands of people exactly like me. All screaming, yelling, singing, chanting, waving flags and banners and giving a rat's ass about others who just didn't 'feel it'.
I kept trying to calm down, to look around, soak it in, preserve a memory, but the inside of my head was like one of those giant wheels when they come down, like that funny feeling you get in your stomach, kinda tingly and like it'll fall out, but NICE. I screamed myself hoarse, slightly unbecoming if you're sitting in the stuffy old press box, but who cares, and I sang all the songs I knew (I knew all, btw), but the Mexican waves I could just watch. They swept me away, they were so beautiful. I kept thinking of firsts, my first Liverpool match, my first Liverpool goal, my first Mexican wave, my first football abuse, my first live anthem. Fifiteen minutes to go in the match, a light rain began to fall, and it was a coming together of all that was good. The raindrops, the Beatles songs that resounded across the ground before the match, and the match itself -- those three things alltogether on the same day made it what it was -- my perfect day.
All subsequent 24-hour periods of my life will be measured against that one, I told myself, as I made my way out into the open road, trying not to let the exquisite sadness you feel at the end of a Moment take over my thoughts. Everything good that happens to me won't be quite as good as the days I spent tracking Liverpool around the city, watching them train, seeing them play. It won't even be close. Until another perfect day comes along, and you can bet it will feature twenty-two men trying to kick a ball into a net.
Oh it's such a perfect day, I'm glad I spent it with you. Oh such a perfect day. You just keep me hanging on. Just a perfect day, problems all left alone. Weekenders on our own. It's such fun.

Blah.

2009-06-24T03:57:00.000+05:30

It's so terribly hot these days. The air hangs heavy whenever I step out, even if it's for a minute, but not as thick as the sense of impending doom that is just THERE, perpetually, every minute of every day. I don't know what, or why, or how, or when it'll go away.
You know how when you pack your stuff to go away on a trip, and there ALWAYS always has to be something you forget? In my case, I accept that as a fact of life, but I can never rest at ease till I figure out what exactly it is that has been left behind. A book, toothpaste, a charger, i just need to know, so that uniformity prevails and I can get on with my life. Sans the omitted item, of course.
Just like that, every day can't be perfect either. Today, I was in office, working, listening to music, happy because of whatever was playing on my iPod at that time, and I realised with a shock that up till that point, the day had been pretty good. I thought hard through the events -- waking up late, listening to music, talking to mom, going to the market, driving to office, starting work -- but nothing seemed amiss. And that's when the dread came back. If something horrible hasn't happened yet, that means it's coming up, served piping hot and fresh with a side dish of despair.
This isn't me, I promise, I have been taken over by someone. I'm trying to get rid of Them.

#$%^^&**&@$$%@%$

2009-06-13T01:53:00.002+05:30

I shoudl've known today was going to be up there on the list of Really Bad Days. When I stepped out of my house to leave for work, the first person I saw was this guy opposite my house, doing nothing but staring at me, while I walked to the gate to open it, while I walked back to my car to reverse it out of the drive, while I walked back to the gate to shut it. The whole time, the bastard was staring, actually, leching is more like it. So I reversed my car into his bike and it fell down with a crash. Ha.
And then I told him off because he said I should look where I was driving. I hope he fucking ate my dust as I drove off.
Then: work. Fridays at work are always a new kind of terrible every week. Forgettting my glasses at home was bad enough. The workday ended with a design disaster on a page that happens to have my story going on it, and it pissed me off. I tried to calm down, music usually works, so the first thing I did after getting into my car for the drive home was pull out my earphones and find a good song. I did: Kill All Your Friends by MCR.
But obviously, the day had to finish as it began -- with me feeling murderous. The moment I pulled into my lane, I could see nothing but a pair of bright, blinding lights -- they belonged to this truck parked outside my house, loading some construction material from the house that's being built in front of mine. I could see NOTHING, really. Somehow I inched closer and managed to pull in at the gate, and there were three assholes just looking at me instead of continuing with their work. Constantly, for two whole minutes, they just stopped what they were doing and stared. Now, I know it's not smart to pick fights with random men at 1:30 am, and I really tried to stop myself. But, it had to happen. When I walked to the gate to close it, I shouted out to them what the hell exactly their problem was. They shook their heads and looked away, finally. Man I could kill right now, I really could.
I hate getting angry. I hate yelling. I hate snapping at people. I hate people who snap at other people. I hate situations which involve people snapping at other people. I miss my old, calm self. I order it to return now.

See how they fly like Lucy in the sky, see how they run

2009-06-08T02:56:00.001+05:30

On a random stroll in office today, I happened to pass by one of those conference rooms. And it was a host to a very rare occurence -- an actual conference. There were people inside listening intently with the kind of rapt attention I know I'll never have, or even bother to fake, they were nodding with all the seriousness in the world as they listened to the speaker. It wasn't a heated argument, there were no books being flung over ducking heads, no veins throbbing in temples, no rising tempers, no coffee flung on the walls in extreme rage. Then, I got this sudden, extremely strong urge. You know the kind when you get one of those bubble wrap covers and have no peace till you've popped each and every one of them. Or like when you see a dry leaf on the floor and will go out of your way to crush every trace of sound of it. So anyway. Watching all those people sitting calmly on their chairs, heads slightly cocked to the side in a classic display of keen attention, my first instinct was to open the door, stick my head in, and say, no scream, something on the lines of YABBADABBADOOWHEEEEYAAAAAA!!!!!!!!! My second instinct was to curb my first instinct. The two contrary instincts began this strange fight in my head, and while it was resolved, I found myself in the bathroom. Which I think was where I intended to be in the first place before being taken over by the necessity to disturb the peace. The moment had passed.
Yes, I am looking for a good psychiatrist. Any recommendations?

Rafa will be back

2009-06-05T00:58:00.004+05:30

I've been trying to search for new grandiose descriptions to convey the loss of Rafael Nadal to Roland Garros 2009, but it seems all those verbose expressions are on strike. Probably in protest due to overuse by players, current and former, reporters, ballboys, racquet stringers, all the people of Spain, probably including even Nadal's milkman.
Week Two is in progress on the red clay in Paris, and in a few days the Coupe des Mousquetaires will be held aloft by a different pair of hands, but who's thinking of that now? Judging by the streams of reactions pushing each other for breathing space as they struggle to make themselves known, not many. Robin Soderling, a skinny Swede with hair so closely cropped you have to see it to believe it's there, managed to take the road never travelled with the match of his lifeagainst Rafa, and in the process, began another endless list of speculations about the Spaniard's reign in the tennis world.
But a quick fact check is in order. Nadal lasted 31 matches unbeaten at Roland Garros and is the owner of the longest claycourt winning streak with 81, he won the title on his debut and for three more years since then, he has six Grand Slams to display at his house back in sunny Mallorca, and even an Olympic gold from Beijing. The statistics are staggering, and put this loss into perspective, though maybe not as perfectly as the player's words themselves. Nadal may still need many more lessons to master the english language, but he was spot on with his post-match comments: "You need a defeat to give the value to your victories. I lost a match, nobody died."
The man whose place he took at the top, Roger Federer's observation that the entire tennis world would be 'spinning' after the defeat of Nadal is fairly accurate. Once normal service prevails and it settles down on its axis with the 23-year-old continuing his rule at the top, this loss will be seen for what it is -- simply a loss. An early, unexpected vacation from Paris for the young record-breaker, who did, after all, prove himself to be human.
And some good can still come of this. Last year, as Rafa went his way collecting trophies from every tournament he signed up for, he admitted to being 'tired' after losing in the semi-finals of the US Open. Always the case by the time the trip to Flushing Meadows comes along for the calendar's last major, 2009 might just be the year he adds the missing Slam to his collection.

Que voy a hacer? Je ne sais pas

2009-05-12T16:21:00.001+05:30

I love beaches. The sparkling sand, the refreshing water, the crashing waves, the incorrigible laziness that implores you to forget the crap of your life. You can just sit at the water's edge and let the waves come to you. It's therapy.
Ever remember building castles in the sand? Or hell, any tall pile of dirt which you insisted petulantly was a castle to all the sniggering voices around you. But it was never permanent, a fixture. Knocking it down was probably the easiest thing in the world, aside from perhaps knocking down Cristiano Ronaldo (another pile of dirt). Sometimes it would be a strong gust of wiind that did the job, a careless stroller walking on the sand, or a mean bully who considered destruction one of the simple joys of life (that would be me). Lately, that pretty much sums up my existence. From scratch, I begin building my hopes, cautiously, not sure if they'll last. As they grow, so does my confidence, slowly, surely. But then the blows come. They wipe out all the good stuff. They wipe it away so well I can't remember any of it. All that's left is the crap. I get up and try to do it all over again, get back to what I was. But what do you do when it gets so tiring you don't want to try anymore?
Right now, my head is a mass of mumble. In fact, the way I imagine it, I can almost see the kicking, screaming nerves fighting it out inside. Some of them are red and are wearing funny hats. The rest have their hands in their shoes. Nothing makes sense to them either, so they start fighting each other. Sometimes, they all find an idea that tickles them all the same, a laughing fit follows. The hats fall down, the shoes come off, they're shaking so hard with giggles. But that is just momentary. Back to the hats and shoes.
While I'm writing this, one of the voices in my head tells me to cut out the word play and get to the point. Another voice says it's fun to put out the craziness and I must continue. A third knows exactly why I don't want to spell out the problems in words just yet.
To tell you the truth, I'm actually sick of whining. I'm afraid if I tell another person how sad and fed up I am they'll just stop talking to me. So i'm going to try out not speaking to anyone for a while. And if I do it'll only be for trivial nonsensical matters. None of the serious stuff. Instead, I will only write the serious stuff here so that everyone in the universe can see it and think I'm a psycho anyway. It defeats the purpose, I know. It's all right.
My mom went back a few days ago. It's back to hell at home. The thing is, events past have left such an imprint on my mind that even if things change I'll never forget them. The desire to stay out of sight and wish for silence will never go away. Not that they'll ever be any different, of course. I want to run away, stay alone. Nobody'll ever agree to that, they'll cite safety, security, comfort as reasons I should keep staying here, with family. But how safe is it really to wake up everyday feeling a new level of hopeless? Can't be very good for the mind, can it now.
Then, there's work. I was already on the edge as far as office was concerned, and now I'm pretty sure this is what standing on the edge feels like. It's not just a mental thing anymore, the toll it's taken on my health will soon be off the charts. I'm tired all the time. Mentally, physically. Two nights back when I returned from work, around 1 am, the first thing I did was flop down on my bed, as always. Then, i saw an ant, or i think it was a small cockroach, a little more than an arm's distance away from me, crawling on the bedsheet. I couldn't even summon up the energy to get up and flick it away. I couldn't. I just watched it crawl.
This is no longer laziness, but simply I-can't-do-it-ness. Scary.

All is quiet, on New Year's Day

2009-04-15T21:38:00.001+05:30

Today is Bengali new year. Shubho Noboborsho everyone.
It's a funny thing to compare the two new year days that have gone by this year.
The first of January passed in a hungover daze, the morning of which I was cleaning bits of vomit from my hair and desperately trying to recall the events of the previous night (passing out in the loo at a friend's place and leading to the door being broken down. Yes, we're a filmi bunch.) I still don't.
The 15th of April, I was home alone after a long long while, I don't even remember the last time that happened. I woke up around noon, unhappy but defiant over last night's football result, watched three movies in a row, ordered in my favourite cheesy crusted pizza, took a leisurely bath, and had my first proper holiday in weeks. And the best part of the day was the solitude. I was alone, completely alone.
If I had to choose between the two, I would go for the shut-out-the-world-and-relax-at-your-own-pace thing every time. I'm getting increasingly sick of socialising. I'm getting fed up of people. The human race. People I know. Everyone. Sometimes, even myself. I simply want to be left alone.
I know, I know, somewhere ages and ages hence (yes, Robert Frost), I'll wish for the opposite. It'll probably happen. I'll be lonely, and want to be surrounded by the very people I longed to be away from. Life has a strange irony, and I've known enough of it to expect any different. But till then, this is the way I am.
Have I ever mentioned how much I hate cricket? It didn't always used to be so. World Cups would excite me, I would pray for India to win the toss, bat first, finish them off. I would count the runs as the numbers piled up, every new record would fill me with awe. I had a list of my favourite players too. But then, I started working for a newspaper and all the fascination changed. I badmouth cricket and cricketers every chance I get, I ensure ignorance of every new aspect of the game, and I make a million disgusted faces every time I'm asked to make a cricket page. I usually never am expected to, but I guess all that will change once this darned IPL begins. Oh sure, it's excitement for you all, but to us it's just a ton of extra work. Which is amazing fun if it happens to be the football world cup, a tennis grand slam, the olympics, but this is CRICKET. Argh.
Lately, I've been getting so fed up of work I've wondered whether it's any use going on like this. The reasons are many and I'm not going to be getting into the nitty gritties here, but it worries me. And that's the only emotion I feel now, there ain't no enthusiasm. Of course, it's the worst time to look for work, but then, when has anything about me ever been about good timing.
Whenever I feel all drained of hope, I always go and out and do something drastic. Like chop of all my hair. But right now, I like the way my hair looks. It's growing and shiny and I don't want to cut it. Unless things just get terribly out of hand. Weird, huh?

My quarter-life crisis

2009-04-01T04:07:00.000+05:30

I feel like I've done a lot of work by simply writing down the title of this post. It must be the pressure of thinking of headlines just before deadline time at work. And finally coming up with a not-so-brilliant one which makes people take off their shoes and aim for your head. Ok, an exaggeration, but you get the idea.
Right, so this quarter-life crisis is the least original thought ever. I think everyone on earth is going through it. Apart from those who're dealing with mid-life crises, of course. Ah well, we'll be there someday too. Depressing thought.
The uncertainty is the worst. It catches you breathless. Stuff you could say without a doubt three years ago now stands on grounds as shaky as one of those earthquake prone zones. If you had imagined your life to be a certain way by this point, and it's not, it's like the rug is being pulled out from under your feet. Slowly. Things I fought for, things I still want to believe and cling on to are eroding. Confusion is all I see. I don't know what to think, what to do, and what to say. That's why I'm not big on talking these days. I've always been the opposite of the social butterfly, but perhaps all this will end with me getting even more firmly ensconsed in my cocoon.
That brings me to the guilt. Because of the above uncertainty, anxiety and feeling of being a fish out of water, struggling to breathe, makes you more than a tad selfish. People you know end up getting hurt. You may say things you don't really mean in a bad way, and decide to shut out the world and those who don't deserve to be blocked. You can't really blame the teen hormones now for the crabbiness. I've started fighting and raking up issues unnecessarily with people I'm rather fond of. I miss the calm me of old. I can't shut out the world forever. I know that, and yet, solitude is what I crave. That's why I love the night. The universe sleeps, so I can stay awake in peace.
And everything gets piled on. you build one block of guilt/worry/panic on top of other till you begin to totter and it starts getting tough to keep your balance. Speaking in non-alcoholic terms here. You sway from side to side, seek advice which provides only temporary solace since ultimately you have to figure it out for yourself.
Maybe we need to stop the madness and look at ourselves from outside of ourselves. Maybe then we'll see what we really are. Maybe it's not so bad. Maybe. Maybe not. My current state of mind leans towards the pessimism.
This weekend, in yet another instance of how much older I feel than my 23 years, I was invited by one of the teachers at the spanish institute to speak to a bunch of kids about life as a sports journalist. From fearing my inability to speak to kids for more than two seconds without losing my patience, I talked for more than an hour. And I had fun. One of the kids actually came to me later and said she thought whatever I spoke about was very nice. Of course, I took it as an opportunity to do some brainwashing too (I may have mentioned something about Liverpool, and how cricket isn't the only sport in the world), but the point is, it made me appreciate what I have. What I am.
And yet, barring those few lucid moments, the feeling of sinking into quicksand surfaces far too often. It gets hard to live with, sometimes. I don't want to wake up with a groan every morning. I don't want to count how many hours are left till the day ends, only to dread the same old things as the next day arrives. Life is just so chockfull of things to do, I don't want to waste it by feeling like a dump all the time.
It can't last forever I know. I just want it to end. Now.

It all keeps adding up, I think I'm cracking up

2009-03-28T02:19:00.000+05:30

I've been wanting to write for a while now, but the words decide to bury themselves in incoherence just as soon as I begin to try putting them down. But today I must write. I don't know exactly what the niggling doubt inside me is saying, but it grows bigger everyday, so I must ramble on a while before anything apart from nonsense appears.
Today while driving back home at midnight, I realised the Laxmi Nagar flyover is quite pretty in the dark, when there's no traffic chaos and cows trying to cross the roads. The streetlights stretch on and on into the distance, and if you take a moment to just take in the sight from a bit further away, the image will stay in your mind. I think the effect was even better today because the roads were glistening with rainwater.
I'm pretty sure whoever dares to look at me while I'm driving thinks I'm a crazed psycho. But I sing when I drive, sometimes loudly, and I must have the facial expressions down pat too. It's practice for my big award. A Grammy, preferably. Cruising at night is the most peaceful. I take my time, speed thrills me only when there's competition. When the roads are empty, I can pause, look at trees, the stars, and the moon, pretend I'm a Formula One driver when I take the turns, and sometimes leave the stearing wheel to see how far the car can go without any supervision. Yes, you need to be brave to sit with me in my car. Oh, and another thing I like doing is making sure I'm the first to zoom off when I'm in the first row at a traffic light. And if you're behind me and honking unnecessarily like a madperson, I will go oh-so-much-slower, just to piss you off. Don't say I didn't warn you.
So now that all the driving angst is out, I realise it's been three paragraphs and still the heart of the matter hasn't been reached. But maybe it's because there isn't one? Perhaps everything is the problem? I don't know. Lately, I just don't know.
(Abandoned due to sleepiness. Will be wrapped up soon, for sake of peace of mind)

When I grow up, I want to be a hippie

2009-03-02T14:45:00.003+05:30

I'm old enough to know that life isn't fair, but not mature enough to stop complaining. Getting back to work after a holiday has got to be the toughest thing ever, and there's nothing more I want to do except rush back to the views of snowy mountaintops and eat breakfast with the cool wind making conversation with my hair.
It's decided then, McLeodganj is where my base will be once i embrace Hippiedom in all its glory. It was a short trip, but enough to make me fall in love with the place. And this despite the fact that I don't do drugs, well not yet anyway, so that part of the experience was wasted on me. But anyway, great COLD weather, loads of nice, inexpensive eating places, seeing the same strangers again and again, taking photographs at the rate of a click a minute... all will be missed. Till I go back of course, in all my hippie-ish glory.
R and I took the night train on Tuesday, and I realised with a shock it had been more than 10 years since I had been on one. And man, had I missed it. Train journeys are such a joy, the slow swaying motion lulling you into a peace so serene, the wonderful sights you pass by outside -- people, animals, green fields, the wires, telephone poles, garbage, ramshackle little abandoned constructions -- everything just seems so exciting. I don't know why, I love it all. Thankfully we got two lower berths and there was no one else in our section, but the loud Punjabi family next door unfortunately had a few whiny kids in tow. But thankfully, they shut up after a while, and I'm pretty damn sure they must've been cursing us for talking and laughing like there was no tomorrow.
But there was, and the first stop the next morning was Chakki Bank station in Pathankot. The plan was to take a cab from there to McLeodganj, but not before a quick bite at the station. We weren't really spoilt for choice, so tea and poori bhaji was all we got. But when hunger strikes, I'm pretty sure I can eat even dirt, and boy, that had a lot of it.

The Chocolate Log
It wasn't tough to get a cab, and three hours later, we were doing the first of many uphill climbs to The Chocolate Log, home for the next three days. The couple who own the place -- Mrs and Mr Templeton -- also have a bakery and a wine business, which sadly was due to open only in March, so missed that by a whisker. But I've heard they do excellent bakes and cakes. The room we got was red **grins and salutes Liverpool** and it was very comfortable. The only problem was the lone plugpoint, which we had to use to charge phones, i-pods, cameras and the heater. Ah, such slaves to technology we are.
There was an extremely noisy, giggly couple next door, and it's a good thing we weren't in the room much. But we can talk equally loudly and comprehensively ourselves, so I won't be surprised if they were directing a few curses our way.
That Wednesday we walked a lot, uphill, downhill, on level ground. If I continued that regime here in Delhi I would have such perfectly toned legs. But with my current lifestyle, that is unlikely to happen. I bought a few things too, from the stalls scattered across the streets. I saw this bandana which was C's style, but unfortunately for her, I tried it on later and decided to keep it for myself. I did buy her another one later though, so don't judge me.
But the main activity on the trip definitely had to be eating. Jimmy's Italian Kitchen (Big Chill copy, much better ambience and prices, food not as great), Mandala (a coffee shop), Carpe Diem (my favourite, especially for breakfast), McLlo's (popular for its bar), Ashoka's (Indian food), we tried them all. I didn't need the belt on my jeans for a while.

Carpe Diem for breakfast
Carpe Diem was situated at a perfectly strategic location. On the uphill climb from the Chocolate Log to the main chowk, it's right in the centre, and you feel like you should just drop in for a bit. And once you're there, you feel like you should just eat a lot. On the upper level, they have cushions on the floor and tables, and on the other sides there are chairs and tables for those who prefer it that way. We sat on the floor the first time, and the view that we were treated to was just amazing. I would kill to eat breakfast with snowcapped peaks for company everyday.
We had arrived on the day of the Losar festival, but it wasn't being celebrated in protest of the treatment of Tibetans in China. The rows of monks were sitting in the main chowk, and I did feel a bit guilty everytime we passed discussing which eating place to try out next.
There are a lot of tourists who make it a point to stay a while in McLeodganj in their travels to India, and it was strangely nice to keep seeing the familiar faces again and again. There was this particular man, an Israeli who counts France as his favourite football team and once tried to look for masala dosas in Africa, who sticks in my mind, particularly because of his capacity to talk. He would enter a restaurant, look around for any guy sitting alone, and sit down and begin a conversation. He knew everything about everything, and more. Whatever I know about him is what I overheard, and man, did I want to jump into that conversation about football.

Wherever I go, there's football :)
Speaking about football, this holiday could have been considered to be reeking of bad timing, since Liverpool were due to play Real Madrid in the Champions League on Wednesday night. I just found out my colleagues had a lot of evil plans torment me about the result, but we did win, so that poured water on their grand intentions. I shouldn't talk any more about my club, because it pains me. In fact, there will be a whole new, whining, upset, depressed post about how quickly football fortunes can fluctuate. Oh, but I do believe I played my part in rolling over Real, defying coach Juande Ramos' confidence that the Reds would be easy meat. You see, I drank a can of Carlsberg for good luck, even though I hate beer (Carlsberg are the sponsors of Liverpool FC). That was my sacrifice, and it worked.
Anyway, so remember how I said we kept seeing the same people again and again. But of course, Murphy and his stupid law had to kick in, and I never got to see this extremely dishy guy -- probably the most goodlooking man in McLeodganj -- for a second time. Sigh.
The Dal Lake was quite dirty, but it was a very peaceful spot. And the still water suddenly sees a lot of orange coloured disturbances if you happen to throw bits of bread in -- the fishes. Norbulinka, the place of the Dalai Lama, was another place you could hear a pin drop, and with a ton of clean, pretty sights. We were asked more than once if we were indeed Indians, and were not charged the fee for foreigners, and again, such questions amaze me. Are people blind?!
The monastery in Mcleodganj was quite a walk away from our hotel, but it was worth it once we got there, even though it had become dark by then. But we did get a chance to see the prayer room, though photography was not allowed. But I quite like all the pictures I did manage to take, and those of you lucky enough to be on my friends list on Facebook can see them all :P

Nearing the end
Our train tickets for the return journey had still not been confirmed by the time the final day arrived, but since they were wait list 1 and 2, we weren't really taking too mcuh tension. A bit more shopping was done, the St John's church was visited, plenty of pictures were taken, till the time came to pack our bags, settle our dues and wait for the bus which would take us to Pathankot. Thankfully we got places to sit, and it wasn't too cramped a ride. I'm glad we took the bus back instead of the cab, it turned out to be extremely entertaining. Apart from the breathtaking views of the snowy mountains, and the sharp turns the driver was taking which reminded me of Harry Potter's Knight Bus, there was a comical fight over the trivial issue of luggage placement. This guy I presumed to be Spanish, since i could understand some of what he was saying, had placed his huge bag next to the driver after checking if it was all right with him suddenly found himself to be at the centre of a storm. The conductor protested, this annoying lady poked her nose into the matter and started yelling, the spanish guy started yelling, a couple more foreigners started yelling. The bus was stopped at a police station on the way, and while I presumed the police would have better things to do than solve such petty issues, I was wrong. They climbed on board and demanded the hombre to show what he was carrying. A couple amused hippies sitting to my right asked me what was being shouted, and i translated the proceedings for them while keeping my ear out for any more spanish words.
After this tided over, things were smooth. The spanish guy appeared more amused than anyone, and he just couldnt keep the smirk off his face. I had Jack Johnson, the Killers, and a whole lot more music for company the rest of the way, and we finally reached Pathankot bus station by 8. We had to take an auto till Chakki Bank for the train, and the traffic was bad bad bad. We got on to this road, at the end of which was a HUGE jam, so we had to turn back and retrace our steps, or rather, wheels. But not before I saw an incredible sight. On the road which we turned back from, which we needn't even have gotten on anyway, was a shop which proclaimed in bright red letters -- LIVERPOOL. What are the odds?! In the middle of dusty, tiny Pathankot, it was just amazing. I had no time to take out my camera, so I had to make do with the one on my cellphone. I still can't get over it. But it was shut, so I have no idea what it sold. I made a mental note to visit it again.
Oh, our train tickets were confirmed around four hours before the train, so all was good. I would have loved an extended holiday, but I had to work on Saturday, so that was not possible.
I was quite sleepy, and this time I got an upper berth, so I happily slept off, rocked into dreams by the motion of the train. I woke up at 6, bleary eyed, and lay down for ten minutes more before realsing New Delhi Railway Station had arrived.
I got down to lower berth level, woke up R, who would probably have continued sleeping for a while more if I hadn't, got off with our bags, and there ended our little holiday.

Please don't stop the music

2009-02-04T03:34:00.001+05:30

She didn't think of herself as suicidal, certainly not. There was so much she wanted to do in her life, so many places to visit, so many languages to learn, so much still to be discovered. And yet the strange fantasies about her own death leapt out at her most unexpectedly from around the corners of her life.
Trucks careening unexpectedly into the middle of her car, neatly breaking out through the middle.
A single bullet: it would always come from the side, never in front.
The occasional chest pains she was prone to, finally unending, severe, and snatching away the last breath.
Unimaginative. Something she always suspected she was, and the thought bothered her as she continued on the drive home, hearing the radio but not really listening. But strangely, enough, that terribly normal emotion usually, sensibly, accompanying these wanderings of the mind was conspicuous by its absence. Fear. There was no fear of death. It was just an ending, and if the good parts would end, so would the bad. But, she thought, as she fumbled for the front door key in her ridiculously pink bag, dying would probably be too easy a way out. It just doesn't work that way.
The bad days seemed to be piling up on her thick and fast, sometimes she felt them as physical objects -- chasing her down dark alleys and sunlit streets, disguising themselves as inviting bookshops and restaurants, only to discover them to be pits of despair once she stepped inside. Today was another of them, weighing her down mentally, physically, emotionally, but even weary of that burden, sleep was the last thing on her mind. She wanted to write.
It was getting a bit exhausting spilling out all this angst to her friends day after day. A piece of paper was better, she could ramble as much as she liked without worrying she had said too much. Sitting in bed with a snack by her side, she glanced through the latest on TV before the night's writing began. There was nothing on, as usual. She left it on anyway.
Just then, the yelling began.
Even through the closed door, the words seeped through. They were petty, confused, and senseless. But they hurt. They even hurt her, though she was away from the scene. The last time it got so bad, she had called up her mother in tears, who said she would just have to stick it through. She didn't call about that again. But today it was getting bad. Louder. Higher-pitched. She wanted to go out and put an end to it. She wanted to stay away and block it out. The earphones were right next to the computer. Full volume, drown them out. Escapist.
That was how she used music, all the time. Cellphones, I-pods, computers, they provided her life's soundtrack, constant, supportive, incessant. Music was the only thing that made sense, and the only words she wanted to listen to. But it didn't matter how loud it was -- the beats drowned out the outside world, but they didn't stop the unnecessary thoughts from scattering themselves around her already troubled mind.
To be continued, maybe...

Blogging for dummies

2009-01-30T01:38:00.002+05:30

Blog (definition): an online diary; a personal chronological log of thoughts published on a Web page. Typically updated daily, blogs often reflect the personality of the author.
Right, now that we have that out of the way, for those who don't know. Don't laugh at them now, we all learn.
It's funny how I always find a new way of tempting fate. Following is an sms sent by me to AR two nights ago: 'At least They can't tell me I'm not 'thinking like a blogger'. Turns out, They can. Sod it. You're entitled to your opinion, and I'm entitled to mine. This happens to be MY blog, so MY opinion rules on it. It's the 'I'm driving, so I choose the music' rule all over again. But I'm willing to hear you out. Bouquets, brickbats, let them out.
The Yawn Sweepstakes
Remember the time Roger Federer invited a bemused ballboy to take over his position on court while he took a breather on a linesman's chair? How about the day he climbed up the umpire's chair just to make his point clearer, egged on by a crowd desperate to see a few fireworks? Oh, that's right, he never did.Tennis' former No 1 aspires for perfection, which has seeped out from his tennis racquet to his on-court demeanour, all the way to his slow, deliberate walk across court, the barely readable poker face, and each meticulous wipe of his wristband after a particularly gruelling rally, which, but of course, he won. Cue monotonous elevator music, and do try to suppress that yawn.
While new epithets detailing the subliminity of Federer's backhand crop up with every second match he plays, the inescapable fact remains that the great man is, ahem, a tad boring. The concept of sport as entertainment takes a beating far worse than anything the Swiss has inflicted on hapless opponents, miles removed from the days of John 'you cannot be serious' McEnroe, and Jimmy 'I can turn the crowd against you' Connors, back in the days when things were a lot more fun.
If you compare him with the contemporaries, there's Andy Roddick, a former No 1 himself, who has held forth on Saturday Night Live during his short reign at the top, and turned away questions about his love life -- from Mandy Moore to Maria Sharapova and swimsuit model Brooklyn Decker -- with a ready smile and quick wit guaranteed to raise a few laughs. The talking point in Federer's case has often been the latest cow he was gifted after yet another tournament win in Gstaad.
There's yelling, cussing, antic-king Marat Safin, also said to be extremely talented, but whose outpouring of emotions stands in the way of similar greatness. The Russian has said this is his last year on tour, and though he may have only two Slams to his name, his incredibly timed sulks and unbelievable gestures on court will be sorely missed in a sport on the hunt for personalities.
There's Rafael Nadal of the now-abandoned pirate pants, sleeveless shirts and messy hair, who pumps his fist like no other, and isn't afraid to let off a little scowl his adversary's way, just to show him who's boss. It's war, mate, but Federer doesn't seem interested in getting his hands dirty. The most you will get from him is a barely imperceptible shake of his head, and he always does manage to find the way to victory anyway.
Tennis purists, critics and writers may sing the same symphony of praises each time he systematically demolishes a guy like clockwork, but the fans beg to differ. The keywords 'federer, boring' throw up 173,000 links after a web search, and while the 27-year-old may have a few defendants, the damning verdict is still the same.
He reminds one of another legend, who also had to battle with similar 'he's too boring for words' accusations, and coincidentally, possessed the same the one-handed backhand which is an impeccable part of Federer's game -- Pete Sampras. While the American was constantly, and unfavourable, measured against Andre Agassi on the personality stakes, Federer seems to have the same thing going with the passionate outpourings of the man from Spain who has taken away his throne. But then again, maybe that's his secret.
Nadal has shown it isn't only the calm and collected -- or drab -- who own all the accolades, but it probably all lies in the mind. Both possess the brain of a champion, but while the Spaniard wears his heart on his sleeve, Federer keeps it all inside -- stodgy allegations nothwithstanding. What's more fun to watch?
Nobody can make you feel inferior without your consent -- Eleanor Roosevelt

Confundido!

2009-01-18T00:26:00.003+05:30

What do you do when your boss gives you the 'no-confidence motion' after telling you good things about your work, your 'home' feels nothing like one, and you don't have the shadow of an idea what you should feel happy about in life? You go shopping, of course.
Retail therapy
All the money-saving ideas can go take a leap out of the nearest shop window. I need to splurge. Anyway, since I intend to get a fulltime job as a travelling hippie pretty soon, what use will bank balances be to me? Might as well splurge on the right outfits, shoes, earrings, sweaters, bags, etc. And of course, I shouldnt forget the fancy eating joints.
Aren't credit/debit cards the best invention ever? I withdrew some cash today because I was down to 20s in my wallet, but I didn't spend much of that. I charged all the Penny Lane stuff to my card. And since it was flat 50% discount, I was actually SAVING money. Good stuff they had. But only one changing room, which I shamefully hogged for a long time while trying on a dozen outfits. And it isn't my fault they all fit me, so I had to get them all obviously.
But I gotta do something about my handwriting. Cheques are bouncing because each signature of mine is different from the last. Do you think they would listen if I requested for a thump-print rule for me?
Shit happens
Anyway, so I'm kinda confused about the whole work situation. Five days ago I was upset, angry and sad -- I made my CV and posted it to a couple of places, and began finding out about more jobs. I was determined to leave no matter what, but now that I have calmed down slightly, the realisation that this isn't the best time to job-hunt has hit me. I go through alternate phases where I think I should stay on and wait for it all to tide over because I'm really not that bad and have enough confidence in my ability, and others when I think I should stop fooling myself and move on. I don't know... sometimes my head feels like it's about to explode. Sigh.
Nobody said it was gonna be easy, but nobody said it would be so hard either. The slight unfairness of it all, for the past few months, also gets to me. For all my cockiness, for all those who know me, I get a bit too critical of myself when it comes to work, so when I think I have been working hard, I know I really have. It's all getting a bit hard to bear now, it feels suffocating. And I don't know what to do. Advice, anyone?
Spanish!
Ah, now that is one thing I look forward to. Despite the terrible final exam, I managed to get myself a good number of marks (maybe the highest :O) and I joined the second level, which began today. It's going to get a lot tougher, but it'll all be worth it. Now my classes are on the weekend, and everything may just slip out from my mind between one week to the other, but I gotta try.
I was trying to find out about music classes, and there's a place where they have them once a week. I want to join those too, and carry on from where I left my drum lessons incomplete. But I don't know where I'll find the time. There's so much to do! Am I going through a quarter-life crisis and packing my life full of things so I don't get time to think? You bet.
Emotional attyachar
As if everything else wasn't way high on the suck-o-meter already, Liverpool decide to throw caution to the wind and get a bit adventurous in the League, giving those damn Red Devils a chance to wag their cocky little tails. It's unbelievable. Were we at the top all this while simply to warm up the No 1 place for that diving contingent? The next few days are crucial. Stevie's trial in the middle of a derby sandwich. And Rafa's going through a mid-life crisis, mouthing off about Fergie who should just be ignored, not signing a contract, and letting Pennant get shipped off to Portsmouth.
My favourite sportswriter Simon Barnes has hit the nail on the head yet again, giving the perfect description of that marvelous diving exponent, Cristiano Ronaldo -- It is impossible to gaze on Ronaldo for long without feeling an irresistible desire to kick him in the seat of his trousers.
Isn't it awesome? This was from an article about self-love, Ronaldo, and Kevin Pietersen. Check it out, and for more of Barnes, read his book, The Meaning of Sport. It's the meaning of amazing.
Here's a thought for every man
Who tries to understand what is in his hands
He walks along the open road of Love & Life surviving if he can
Bound with all the weight of all the words he tried to say
Chained to all the places that he never wished to say
Bound with all the weight of all the words he tried to say
and as faced the sun he cast no shadow
As they took his soul they stole his pride

Here I am

2009-01-11T15:14:00.003+05:30

It's the new year, really? Why does the world try to give the impression that after the 31st of every December, the past year will be wrapped up in tight little memory bundles and thrown away so we can start each January 1 with a clean slate? It isn't like that. I think we should have only months, give them different funky names -- maybe we could have competitions to pick one -- so that there are no 'years' and false impressions. You think the world is ready for that?
So anyway, my new year began in a state of giggly unconsciousness and involved a door being broken down, but we will get to that in good time. At the moment I am in Chennai, and it's almost time to go back. I had thought I'll get plenty of time to blog while I'm here, but as it turns out, I didn't have much time to myself. The tennis at the Chennai Open has been fantastic, and if Somdev wins today, I'll add a 'freaking' to that.

Sight-seeing
I have been spending a lot of time at the stadium, but also managed to move around the city. Both the beaches, Marina and Besant Nagar, of which the latter wins hands down, have been explored. I got up early today and went to BN again, and just sat there on the sand, letting the waves come close. I noticed a bunch of scorpions poking out their heads from their holey homes near the water, but none of them decided to come out for a stroll. The current was pretty strong, and the water looked lovely, with the sun bouncing off the waves.
The first time I went to BN, one of C's friends took us to what I now consider the best burger place in the universe -- Pupil's. Huge and yummy, I finished one, and then ate half of another delicious sandwich. Ladies and gentlemen, the pig is back. The beach visits were the most important items on my agenda, and it's a good thing I got my fill. If I stayed in a city with a beach, that's where I would be living, I'm sure of that. The feeling of forgetting the huge issues in your mind for even a few minutes is precious, and I would give a lot for that sense of peace.
The government museum is pretty fasninating, too. There's so much to see, but before I could get inside I had to convince the ticket-seller that I am indeed Indian, and so will not pay the Rs 250 charge for foreigners. He must've had pretty bad eyesight, I don't look like I'm from any foreign country, and neither do I have any strange accent. Well, anyway.
The architecture section got back memories of school and college, and I wonder why I was never good at history, considering it interests me deeply. But the history of South India used to trouble me the most, for some reason, try as I may, I could not get my tiny little brain to remember anything. The animals, and *ugh* birds exhibits were awesome. I was brave enough to go to the birds place, and though they were all stuffed, I maintained my distance. Yes, birds creep me out. I know exactly how Chandler Bing feels.
Amethyst is a pretty restaurant, and the day I went it was raining, so it was even better. It's a bungalow made into an eating place, there are plants all around, and you do feel as if you, and a bunch of other people, have stopped by for a snack at someone's house. Quaint, and the creme caramel was delicious.
The food at Tangerine was quite nice too, except that I couldn't finish all of mine. The pig comes and goes, you see. I did some shopping at Spencer's too, but I think the rest of Chennai will have to wait for my next visit. I fly out tomorrow.
Edited to add: Went to Zara's and, contrary to earlier resolution, had a shooter and some rum... wheeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!! Zara's is really nice!!!!! Great music, food, and I shocked everyone with my ability to eat :D

New Year's Eve
Ah, yes. Quite a lot of entertainment and drama for everyone present around me, but I don't remember a thing. For this reason, I will give you two versions of the story.
What I remember: Going to A's place, getting ready for the party at R's, reaching there around 9, and getting the part started. I had all the cheap bollywood/dance numbers, you see, and there ain't no party without them. So I was playing the music, drinking, eating, freezing outside in the cold, dancing, and having a great time. The next thing I remember is waking up in a bed in R's room, feeling strange and woozy, looking down at my dirty clothes and thinking, 'Oh man, someone threw up on me.'
I lay there for a while, thinking of the events of the night before, but I couldn't for the life of me remember a shred. Slowly, the pieces began to be put together, by my friends. FYI, I STILL don't recall anything.
What actually happened: I was playing the music, and drinking. Midnight came, and we all wished each other, and the party continued. Around 2, I got up to go to the loo, but well, I couldn't walk. Three people had to assist me, and all this while I was giggling like crazy. I fell on a lamp, I fell on my poor thin friends, and finally, I fell on the floor while continuing to laugh like a maniac, assuring everybody that I would do their share of giggling if they didn't want to. I made it to the loo, and despite people telling me not to lock the door, that's exactly what I did. And then I passed out. After I was in there for really long, the worrying began, and I was not answering to a lot of knocks and yells, prompting this guy outside to speculate on my being alive. A yelled at him, hahaha.
Anyway, he was the one who broke the door down so I could be taken out, and ummm, I wasn't exactly the easiest person to carry, considering my appetite. With a superhuman effort, I believe it was P who picked me up and put me on the bed, after which I showed my gratitude by throwing up on everyone, which in turn made a couple more people throw up. Ugh Ugh.
I had just broken my drinks intake record the week before (11 in a night, and I was fine), but I think what happened to me on new year's eve was the terrible mango vodka PLUS the rum and coke. Never again.
Needless to say, the next day went by in a hungover daze, which is not the best frame of mind you should be in when a 2000-word story is due in 12 hours. Oh, and since my jeans were in no fit condition to be worn after my throwing up antics, I had to borrow R's who is a few sizes bigger. I looked like an escaped convict. Despite my resolution of being done with alcohol, I had a few this week in Chennai, at The Park's pub. But really, till the clouds in my mind clear, I shouldn't be going near drinks. I've noticed, the last couple of times, after the happy high wears off, I get really depressingly sad, and that's something which is a first for me. Giggling and saying the most brilliantly crazy things is all I do after I'm down a few, and sad is really not my style. It's got to stop.

Football fights
In the middle of yesterday's confusion about Rainer Schuettler's withdrawal, a couple of funny things happened to me. I was wearing a Liverpool tshirt of mine, and as I was walking from the courts to the media centre, three little kids saw me and asked, 'Liverpool?'. I don't like talking to kids much, so I just smiled and moved on, but as it happened, my choice of attir began a fight.
'Liverpool is great!'
'No! Chelsea!'
'ManU will beat Chelsea tonight!'
'It's tomorrow, you dumbass!'
You get the drift. Never have I felt happier at having started a squabble. Liverpool is worth fighting for.
As I continued my walk, this rather nice-looking guy also asked me if I'm a fan. I said yea, and asked him, and of course, he was too (Yippee! But unfortunately he was sitting with a thin, long-haired, well-dressed girl, so that's that. Sigh). Anyway, so Liverpool fans do exist, do you believe me now?
Words are flying out like endless rain into a paper cup
They slither while they pass
They slip away across the universe
Pools of sorrow waves of joy are drifting thorough my open mind
Possessing and caressing me

Where were you while we were getting high?

2008-12-19T02:20:00.005+05:30

Remember how I wrote that I really did intend to study for my Spanish exam? I had it all figured out. Saturday, my only free time before the exam day, would be a day packed with irregular verbs, infintives and other spanish-type things. My schedule was supposed to be...
1. wake up around 11
2. study till lunch
3. study from 4 -8
4. watch liverpool's match till 10:30, then a final revision

But you know what happens to the best laid plans.....
1. I woke up around 12
2. Called up C and A and we fixed up to meet at Big Chill (slurrrrrrrrp!) in Khan Market after lunch
3. Lolled around in bed
4. Sent messages to C and A reminding them to get me episodes of How I Met Your Mother, Gossip Girl and One Tree Hill (Note: this is an important point. Tuck it away in a corner of your mind. We'll come back to it)
5. Considered opening a book to study. But.. oh, will you look at that! It's lunchtime!
6. As a result of getting ready leisurely, I got a bit late leaving the house. Fortunately, I'm a good liar. 'Oh, I left ages ago. There's too much traffic! I'll be there in 15 minutes!' 4:30 now
7. Sigh. Big Chill. Tiramisu. Yummmmm! We got a table upstairs.. in the open, my favourite place.
8. 7:30. 'Do you have time to hang around?' You can guess my answer to that. Studies schmudies.
9. So I got home around 8:30. Perfect timing, Liverpool were just walking on to the field.
10. From 10:30 to an A.M. hour, I watched season 4 of How I Met Your Mother (HIMYM), and finished season 1 of Gossip Girl (GG). And then I moved on to season 2. I did manage to read a few things while watching GG, though. It counts. You'll see.
11. I slept off around 4 am, then repeated the whole pattern the next day. Except I had to go to work around 5. So I had spent about an hour with my books in all, while watching TV shows at the same time.

The exam.....
........was among the funniest I had given. I kept laughing through it. At various amusing things one would not find so amusing while attempting to crack a 100 complicated marks. I reached the place early, took my chosen seat in a corner at the back. The room was awesome, one wall was completely mirrored! I sat next to it of course. Hey, I could at least spend time looking at my reflection if I didn't know what to write, right? R and I finished more than half an hour before the due time, causing the other people in the room to gasp in shock and horror. Of course, we ran away from there after giving in our sheets. Easy paper, I thought. Surprise, surprise.

The result.....
........ was shockingly good. 87! Eighty seven! Ochenta y siete! I think it was the highest! That has never happened to me, you understand? That's why I'm rambling on. Wheeeeeeeeeee! Of course, unflatteringly, others were shocked as well. I was asked to confirm a lot of times whether it was 87 out of 100. Dad asked me if it was out of 500. He was kidding, but the others were genuine queries. Oh well.
So obviously, I have figured out the perfect way to get the grey cells cracking. Procrastination + HIMYM + GG + keeping your books in close proximity in the hope that you may feel like looking at it. That's my problem. I have NO discipline. If I don't FEEL like doing something I just won't. Shamelessly unapologetic. Anyway, all those of you pouring over your books, stop and consider this 'less is more' theory.
But now now, it won't do to get complacent. Final exam is on the 3rd. A day before Ieave for Chennai. We study more and more difficult things everyday in class, so I'm worried I may have to do some of the real studying. Sigh.

Alabama Song (show me the way to the next whiskey bar)
I went to Cafe Morrison after what feels like an era on my holiday yesterday. Whoever invented happy hours... I have no words, so full of gratitude I am. Also, you know what I am? A rum-n-cokehead. Couldn't go overboard coz I had to drive halfway across town, but just enough to go Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! in my head. In fact, I think I sent a lot of Wheeeeeeeee! messages. I think I may have used Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! as comments on some blogs as well. It's a nice word. And if you translate it into spanish, it's ¡Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! "

The title
A line from Champagne Supernova, by my favourites, Oasis. Noel and Liam Gallagher have also sung 'Who the fuck are Man United', which makes me love them even more. It's so meant to be. Hmmm. I haven't heard 'Cigarettes and Alcohol' for ages.
Slowly walking down the hall
Faster than a cannon ball
Where were you while we were getting high?
Some day you will find me
Caught beneath a landslide
In a champagne supernova in the sky

The places you have come to fear the most

2008-12-13T02:43:00.002+05:30

The truth is, I was ready to descend into blogland two weeks ago. But, but, but time has been as tough to find as parking spots which you don't have to fight for. As for the sad stuff, it's still there and will be for some time, but I don't want to talk about it. Problems at home, if you can call it that... things would be so much better if my parents were here, but they're not and it goes on. I feel terrible most of the time, but I've managed to pack my life full of things to do. There aren't many minutes to be found for depression, and I'm glad for that. Of course, I'm slowly getting drawn into an antisocial, leave-me-alone, would-rather-be-with-my-books-and-music-than people shell.
Anyway.
I'm a student again after two and-a-half years, and it feels strangely good. I have an exam on Monday actually, and what I'm looking forward to the most is being wished 'all the best' by everybody. Weird, I know. I started taking Spanish classes three weeks ago, which are great fun. In fact, I have never answered more in class or been such a nerd, not in all my 12 years of school or three years at college. I was the girl in the last row, who used to do her homework an hour before it was due in class, hoping the teacher wouldn't notice. The girl who used to catch up on her sleep or a food craving while wisdom was being imparted. The girl who used to pass notes of the stupidest but also hilarious ideas, or throw chalk at those right in front.
Now, I'm the girl who agonises about finding time for homework between office hours, who answers even others' questions in class, and who intends to study seriously for the exam. I do, really. Wish me luck.
The worst part about the classes is the fact that they're early (10 am is early for me coz i get home at 1 am from work!) and around an hour away from my place. Also, Hauz Khas is filled with people who are extremely, obsessively, disgustingly territorial about their parking space as well as the area ten feet around it. Whether it's ever going to be used or not. And of course, they all come with extremely foul mouths and petty minds. I've been having to argue every day, and some of the things they do are almost funny, much much later. This one guy GLUED on a homemade 'no parking' notice on the windshield, with gum or fevicol or something, a very messy deal, and pretended not to hear me when I tried talking to him. Another guy parked a bike RIGHT next to my car door, so I wouldn't be able to open it. I asked this guy nearby who was cleaning it if it was his and if he could move it, first he said it wasn't his and started muttering all sorts of rubbish. Two minutes later, the bike DID turn out to be his, surprise surprise, and he moved it, but not without a whole lot of dramatic shit. I want my car to be foldable, so I can carry it around in my bag. Otherwise, I sure as hell will kill someone. Also, I want wings. Oh well.

Cost-cutting
Snce I am now spending around 17-18 hours out of the house, the cost of living has shot up. Lunch outside, killing time between end of class and office (which usually translates into shopping), and not to mention the petrol costs. I try telling myself sternly that it's the last time I use my card for all that is beyond my means with cash, but it's only words. I'll come home at night with a bag of books, earrings, or clothes which are really unnecessary, but I can't help it. Especially if its books, soon I'll have to rent an apartment just for them. And you can't blame me for not being able to resist a bunch of Tintin dvds I happened to stumble upon. Tintin! and Snowy! And Captan Haddock! Billions of blistering barnacles and a thousand thundering typhoons! Ok, that's what I'll yell out in the next fit of road rage.
Also, I have a terrible confession to make, a testimony to my sloth, but it's a load off my mind. Now I know what Sophie Kinsella, or Becky, would feel like after clearing her credit card bill. Except in my case, it's ONLY laziness, nothing more, nothing less. I have been on three trips for work this year (Manchester - February, Bangalore - March, Srinagar - June), but I settled all my accounts for those trips only today. Whew. I had lost most of the little bills, but I managed to get a clean slate. On the way back to my department from accounts, my legs were a little rubbery with relief, I kid you not.

It's official
It's happened far too many times now, alcohol on an empty stomach. And it's not good. Except for the people I'm with, of course. Entertainment unlimited. My colleagues and I had gone out for dinner and drinks one night, except it turned out to be drinks and dinner, and by the time the food came, it was already too late..wheeeeeeeeee! I don't remember all the effects of that rum, but here's a few things I did/said. Only a few.
1. I stole everybody's water, including the bottle my boss had ordered with his scotch. I was BEGGED to for a glass of water I had stolen, but I simply refused. I told them to steal from somebody else.
2. I tried to have a burping competition, but I was woefully out of practice.
3. I tried to convince everybody that the next table's dinner was going to be the baby they kept parading on their table. And I was, umm, LOUD.
4. I started saying 'I want to pee!' 'I want to pee' over and over again. even after somebody said they don't want to know, I gave them a scornful look and kept at it.
5. Those who were brave enough to get driven by me on the way back had to endure my sudden breaking out into song: 'This hand is your hand, this hand is my hand'. Remember when Joey finds his hand twin in F.R.I.E.N.D.S? I don't know what I had found, but it certainly wasn't my senses.
6. I wasn't allowed to work or make a page when we reached office again, something I took great offence to. I wanted to make page 1, dammit. I accused my colleague of stealing my page coz she started making it, and then I moved on to you-stole-my-french-fries and you-stole-my-bottle-of-water accusations.
So anyway, a drunk me is the 'most entertaining thing in the world'.

Bombay
Unbelievable. All my favourite places in that city became scenes of terror. I had just booked my tickets for the Live Earth concert in Bombay an hour before it all began. I would still have gone, but I didn't want my parents to freak. And I didn't have the strength to argue. I cancelled the visit.
As a part of the media, I was amazed and disgusted by what some of the TV channels did. How can you ask someone whose family may not be alive how they feel? How? If that's being a good journalist, I'll never be one.

The title
It's a song I listen to over and over again, by Dashboard Confessional. They have a bunch of nice songs. 'She talks to angels', 'vindicated', 'hope you're happy', 'stolen', 'remember to breathe'. Ok I'll stop.

Buried deep as you can dig inside yourself
And covered with a perfect shell
Such a charming, beautiful exterior
Laced with brilliant smiles and shining eyes
Perfect posture, but you're barely scraping by
But you're barely scraping by

Probably the last.

2008-11-24T01:45:00.000+05:30

Pouring your bleeding heart out when you're drunk. What a cliche. There's a good chance this will be the last post. I don't like writing sad and spreading sadness. It was nice knowing you.Usually on such nights I'm happy high. Crazy. Hilarious, more than usual. Senseless, more than usual. Tonight I'm just sad. Like the unhappy disillusionment of the past few weeks has just been forcefully poured down my throat. I'm choking on it now. Earlier, I was having trouble with work. Now, that's the least of it all. A welcome distraction, at best. It wasn't supposed to turn out like this. I was supposed to be flawless at work, loved by all, especially the guys I like, and most of all, happy. I know that bad times don't last. They aren't supposed to... is what I tell my friends. Obviously, there's got to be an exception.

Sinking

2008-11-04T00:15:00.002+05:30

It always came without a warning, or even a hint of one. She tried to watch out for the signs, but there was no pattern, no schedule, no telling when the next wave would come.
It could be the next time she was in her car. One minute singing along with the radio, the next fighting back hot, stinging tears. It could be the next time she met her friends. Recalling the times past, sometimes the memories would stretch even further back to the simple childhood life, and replace the laughter with a lump in her throat. It could be at work, while she was surrounded by everyday routine. It would creep up on her and swallow her whole. She had no place to hide.
How do you run away from sadness? How do you duck when it aims straight for your heart? How do you pick it up and toss it away, how do you free yourself? She didn't have any of the answers, and she was tired of trying to find them. She had had enough of herself, but umfortunately, that was the one person she couldn't get away from.
She was slowly shutting out everyone else, closing one door after another. She stopped going out, ignored her friends' pleas to meet them and shed some of her baggage. Enough of that, she thought to herself, as she stared at her phone after disconnecting yet another call. There was nothing to say.
She had read about death taking away a piece of you along with the person but she never imagined it would be so bad. Sleepless nights, no will to eat and a propensity to burst into tears at the slightest -- that was the whole package, now she knew. But the worst part was the unshakeable feeling of forever. Just when she thought it was going to be fine, back came the shroud of grief to wrap itself around her. Tightly.
She was drowning, and there was no one to help.

Snapshots......

2008-10-27T21:23:00.013+05:30

Quiet, calm, peaceful. At loggerheads with what goes on inside my head. Usually.

I'm a dog person from head to toe. But this one was posing.

Everything looks clean and freshly washed :)

They're pink!

Traffic jams, but so orderly! There's zero honking! It's annoying :P

I love pay phones :D

He took from the rich and gave to the poor. Alcohol too? :P

The view with a room

I flew I flew!

2008-10-25T23:30:00.003+05:30

Before Chandler Bing and I discovered that pigeons, in fact, are quite creepy and to be avoided at all costs, I used to wish I was a bird. Hey, they can fly! Also, they can crap on the heads of anyone they don't like, and that's an added bonus.
But obviously, Transfiguration ala Harry Potter wasn't going to happen, so I thought up my very own flying formula with all the conviction an eight-year-old can possess: Run, run, run at the speed of light on a terrace or any area a few feet above the ground, and jump off. You will fly. It was that simple.
I never did try out that theory, but I got my five minutes of flytime two days ago. True story. To explain, three words: Paragliding in Pattaya! Till I go bungee jumping, that'll be as close as I can get to that flying feeling.
It was awesome!!!! From the moment I 'took off' till I came back down to earth, there was this crazy, happy, insane grin on my face that just wouldn't go. Such a rush. I was going whoohoo! the whole time I was up there, and looking down at all the little people, and then looking up into the sky. Wow. I realise I have rambled on, but seriously, there are no words. Man!
I had instructed my parents to take some GOOD pictures of me, but nah. In the ones they took, you can just about see this speck in the sky that could be just about anybody :D
After that, a nap on the beach and a ton of food later, it was time to ride the waves. Jet skiing and another string of whoohoos! Now this I had done last time, and it was funnnnnnnnnn again!!!! I went quite far in, huge waves crashing all around, making sure not to bump into other boats/people seeing as how there ain't no speed limit, and keeping the lever pressed tight. When you reach the ends, you have to make some pretty sharp turns...well, you don't HAVE to, but it's fun that way. Makes me feel like those MotoGP riders, you know how they turn corners so that their knees are practically scraping the ground? Yup, Casey Stoner better watch out.
Back to Bangkok the next day, and one of those boring social dos that I was dragged along to, an international film festival, sure sounds interesting, but believe me, when half the talking is in Thai you want to hit snoozeland! I don't like all that stuff, being polite, making small talk and all. I never do all that! So on the very rare occasions I let myself be talked into going to one of these things, I end up looking bored, yawning, standing in a corner with my phone, etc etc -- in other words, plain rude, but whatever. My phone isn't working here, so that option got killed. I did what any self respecting fish out of water would do -- head to the alcohol. Two glasses of wine on an empty stomach, but I didn't feel tipsy or anything. More yawns! A couple of strange conversations happened, though.
1. Lady (to mom): Hello, is this your daughter? (like I can't talk for myself)
Me: Hello. (painfully-bored-but-trying-to-be-nice smile)
Lady from Poland: And how old are you?
Me: 23
Lady from Poland (clamps hand over mouth in shock): Oops! I'm sorry, I thought you were 16!
Me (laughing in a totally inappropriate way): Nooooooo!
WOW! Imagine! I look 16, behave like I'm 12, so is the birth certificate all wrong then?! How about my driving licence? My school papers? Office details? I only hope that when I'm 40, I look 30 :P
2. Old Man from Argentina: I hear you know a bit of Spanish.
Me (in trying-to-be-polite-but-it's wearing-off mode): Yes, I took lessons for a year in college.
Old Man from Argentina: Then you must get a Spanish boyfriend!
Whaaaaaaa?! Why does everything have to be about boyfriends?! Why do people keep bring up my 'boyfriend' all the time?! Where is he? I'm looking for him too! Please, when you figure out who he is, direct him to me, ok?

Bangkok, baby

2008-10-22T23:06:00.004+05:30

Yup, deep philosophical introspection, that's what it is. Realisation strikes. With shock and horror, I'm trying to come to terms with the fact that the founding basis of my life so far, the one that has made decision-making so easy in my 23 years, is halfway down the road to extinction. The mind shudders to think that I could be turning into one of those that (gasp) hardworking specimens that inhabit the earth. It is time, people. Time to rediscover the Importance of Being Idle.

So I'm in the land of pink taxis, shopping at paradisical prices, and Football Paraphernalia Central. Bangkok, baby.

For all those of you who think being lazy is the easiest in the world, I beg you to drop that misconception like a hot potato. It's an art, and perfection comes only with practise. For example: packing with minimal effort. My method:

1. Open suitcase

2. Throw in everything, don't think too much, just pick up and throw. Don't pack a lot of stuff, there's a ton of shopping to be done after all :D

3. Only if it doesn't shut do you need to start thinking about fitting things in properly. Again, stressing the minimal effort part here

4. Do not listen to anybody's advice. Pack only what YOU think you will need. I was told not to load my bags with books, so I did what was expected of me: I didn't listen and got along 10-15 of them. Sometimes I wonder why my parents even bother with telling me what to do :P

Half my suitcase, though, was full of stuff my mom wanted me to get, plus gifts sent for my parents. But the books I had to take. I'm gonna say I don't have enough clothes/shoes, and hence get a lot of shopping done :P

Another thing. Why must you always get the annoying, whiny, bratty kids sitting next to you on airplanes? Seriously, like you can choose 'smoking' or 'non-smoking' tables in restaurants, and vegetarian or non-veg eating options on planes, I demand to be allowed the freedom to choose my immediate environment: at least 20 rows away from said kids. And of course they were the bawling, noisily eating, begging for attention, always wanting to pee, staring at my face kind. One glare can do the trick, though. If not, periodical glares must be dished out about once every half an hour, or in extreme cases, 15 minutes.

When it wasn't the kids, it was this lady whose purpose on this earth appeared to be simply to snore away to glory in my ear while kicking out at my leg. Oh boy, was I glad when I landed. I've got to learn flying fast. Must practice the Hitchhiker's technique.

It was early morning, and muggy, which kinda made me miss the chill that's slowly taking over Delhi. But when I return..winter!!! Yippeee!!!! So anyway, back to hot, muggy Bangkok. I haven't been here for a year and a half, but it's the same as ever. Little food stalls every two feet, unbelievably patient traffic snarls (they don't blow horns here even if you're stuck in a jam for three hours :O Sometimes the sadist in me wants to transport these peaceful drivers to the roads of Delhi and watch how they deal with the delicious madness of it all :D), and the pink taxis. Also blue, purple, green, but it's the pink ones that fascinate me. Splashes of colour, wherever you go.

I hadn't slept much the night before, but I didn't want to take a nap anyway. There was too much to do, I thought. See what I mean, it's these non-lethargic thoughts that scare me sometimes. Anyway, so Shopping Trip No 1 happened. Unbelievable scenes: Mom telling me to buy this, that and the other, me pleading to go home, I've bought enough, I don't need anything, I don't want anything. Only to hear: But you must try this on, that jacket looks good, that's a pretty dress, how about these shoes? It's like a parellel universe. Man the prices here are unbelievable!

I think I'm going to stock up on DVDs also. Apart from what I have to buy for friends, I'm planning to buy a bunch of One Tree Hill seasons. And, umm..ashamed to admit after reading fellow bloggers' raves about Gossip Girl, I still haven't seen any. Should I buy? How many seasons down are they? I have all of F.R.I.E.N.D.S and most of Sex and the City, so not those. Oh, Gilmore Girls too!

But tomorrow, Pattaya. We'll be leaving in another 6 hours, so I should get some sleep, but important football match in 15 minutes. I will sleep on the way :)

A funny story (coz I sure as hell need one)

2008-10-15T03:35:00.006+05:30

I knew this girl who... Ok fine, let's abandon all pretence, it was me.
Ever watched one of those cheesy movies with stuntmen out in full force? The ones who jump over moving trains, out of mid-air aeroplanes and into burning buildings? How about the ones who make their dramatic entry by charging through entire walls of glass before blowing the villain's brains out with Smith&Wesson's finest? The last one, right there. I did that, without the villain-and-gun part. And I wasn't even paid, nor did I get famous. Ummm, well, notorious maybe.
It was one of those eagerly awaited school trips, a novelty in those days. My school considered Lodhi Gardens as the perfect place to dump us and pretend they were giving us a fine 'outing', letting us run loose among the nauseating couples and the dancing monkey entertainment, so a chance to go all the way to Manali appeared pretty unbelievable. Except that it was true.
The parents didn't need much convincing, my friends needed none, and so one early May morning, we were off. It was a crazy, fun, long bus ride, during the course of which some extremely embarrassing pictures of my Rip Van Winklesque-self were taken during a quick nap, but that's not the point of this story.
We reached the hotel, checked in, did some more crazy, juvenile Stuff which deserves another post, but me, I was looking ahead to just one thing. My high point of the trip was definitely going to be Rohtang. I had been dreaming of snow, and this was the first time it would be real, not just descriptions within the pages of a book or on TV. I turned these delicious thoughts over in my head as I awaited Day Two. The only problem was, Day One didn't end so well.
Now this part needs details, so if you get bored, go ahead and skip to the next paragraph. The hotel rooms were huge, so my gang of four was sharing one, and each room had a balcony. We were sitting out and chatting there for a while, tired out after a couple of excursions earlier in the day, when we were called downstairs to the dining room for dinner. We came inside, got some of our stuff together -- strict instructions from parents and the like about notkeepingvaluablestuffanywhereandthingslikethat -- and prepared to go downstairs so we could stuff our faces yet again. I was almost at the door, when I remembered I had left my key out on the table in the balcony. Now, I don't remember exactly WHY I RAN, it was probably the waiting food that made me , but run I did. Towards the balcony. Next thing I know, there was a loud CRASH! and then there was me staring dumbfounded at what I had just done.
Yes, I had run into a door made entirely of glass, bringing the whole darn thing down. Not even a shard left intact, it was all in pieces strewn around me. My first thought -- Oh boy, am I in a whole lot of trouble. My second -- I don't think I got hurt. That was before I looked down.
My jeans were cut, and there was blood oozing out of my left leg, and oh yes, there were screams all around me. Not from me though. I was silent, as I was made to sit down and the injury examined. First aid won't do, was the verdict, as I just sat and stared into space, as the room filled with a bunch of horrified expressions.
I was taken to a hospital, and four stitches put in, after a painful injection on my ass. That was where I learnt I won't be fit to go to Rohtang, and right then, that was the moment the tears, absent so far, finally came.
From what I heard later, they were free-flowing back at the hotel. Imagine, I made all my friends and classmates shed buckets. Well, I didn't mean to, but I was touched :P
But that was only at that time, many years ago. Now, the story seems to get more hilarious every time I tell it. You walked through a glass door? A GLASS door? You couldn't see where you were going? WHY do you always do things like this? ... are just a few of the queries...before the endless hysterical laughter begins :)
But I have to go to Rohtang some time. And I have to stay at hotel. It all has to be the same. With a few minor details altered, of course :P
Not one shred of evidence supports the notion that life is serious.

A day of rest? You've got to be kidding!

2008-10-12T16:02:00.003+05:30

From what I've heard, even the one who created this universe got the time to take a breather on Sunday. Why then do I, a tiny speck of dust on the planet, find myself in the office? Wait.. Don't answer that.
It takes a battle of epic proportions to make me get out of bed on Sunday. On any day in fact, but Sundays appear to be specially worse. And the lethargy deepens when everyone around me is working out exactly how many hours of an afternoon siesta they can work in on their holiday. A slow reading of the papers, perhaps a movie, planning a day out with friends... Relaxation is the order of the day, and I get lulled into imagining myself in the same mode, going about my business leisurely... when one look at the clock ruins all such illusion.
When I can put it off no longer, I put on my glasses, slip into my slippers, and head to the car. On the way to office, I see instances of Sunday-sloth everywhere -- the couples strolling along the dusty roads with all the time in the world, little brats running after each other as if existence depended on who reaches the playground the fastest. I blow the horn to make sure they get out of the way, and they turn and stare at me incredulously. Why's the crazy lady in such a rush, their eyes ask me silently, as their running games halt for a few seconds while I make my way through. Even the dogs, lying in the middle of the roads, occasionally snapping at flies while they sun themselves in the afternoon blaze, appear to be mocking me. Sometimes, they get up and run after my car a few seconds, barking their displeasure at the disturbance.
The only good thing about going to office on Sunday? Parking is a breeze, a welcome change from the other days, where three-deep rows of bumper-to-bumper cars make even walking down the road impossible.
And by far, the worst thing about working on Sundays is the growing realisation as the day progresses that what follows the next day is even worse: Monday!

Sigh.

2008-10-12T02:00:00.000+05:30

It just hasn't been happening me for me lately. Blogging, that is. At least fifty times a day a profound thought pops into my head, and the mind goes 'Ah...hmmm!', but before the brilliance can be translated into a few hundred words of blog-worthy stuff....sigh, they've gone. Fleeting, but brilliant, I'm telling you. What a waste of wisdom. Instead, I'm left with making random observations like the perfect symmetry of words beginning with 'W' in the last sentence. And thinking of what I'll name my dog. When I get one. The whole time I was a kid, I was rather keen on 'Snowy'. Tintin's dog, you see, me big fan. Then Timmy -- Famous Five. Buster (Five Find-outers) I also considered, but then came back to Snowy. Snoopy also I thought about, and then Goofy. Goofy I rather like. Anyway, I have time.
PS -- I wonder if I can get a collar with the Liverpool logo?

I'm a sucker for Q&As of any kind... Of course I was gonna do this one

2008-10-06T13:04:00.005+05:30

And what do you know, the doctors were right after all. So I'm still in bed, still sick (a bit worse actually, after yesterday's office trip), and out of action for a couple more days. Instead of buying new clothes for Durga Puja, I'm ensuring my supply of tissues doesn't run out, and rather than treating the taste buds to those delicious sweets, I have to pop in a few of those pills. Ah well. Now I have enough time to do all that I wanted to, you would think. Except that I'm bored. So bored.
I've been doing nothing but lie around and do nothing for three days, and I've had enough. I'm forced to take leave from work now coz I can't even sit up for long, but that totally goes against my Sick Leave theory:
You should take sick leave only when you AREN'T sick. If you take leave when you're actually sick, all you'll do is sit around and get bored coz there isn't much you can do/feel like doing. However, if you take leave when you AREN'T sick, you can pack in a whole lot of fun on that day, go crazy, do what you want. Now does that make sense or what?
I got a tag, I remember, and now's the time to reply to it.
Tag rules:
RULE #1 People who have been tagged must write their answers on their blogs and replace any question that they dislike with a new question formulated by themselves.
RULE #2 Tag 6 people to do this quiz and those who are tagged cannot refuse. These people must state who they were tagged by and cannot tag the person whom they were tagged by continue this game by sending it to other people.
1. If your lover betrayed you, what will your reaction be?
I would be in denial, heartbroken, and then sooooooooo angry he will live to regret it, in that order. HEEHEEHAHAHAHA.
2. If you can have a dream come true, what would it be?
That I could have just one conversation with the people who I've lost. They left too soon.
3. Whose butt would you like to kick?
I can't name just one person! How about I get to kick one new butt everyday? :P
4. What would you do with a billion dollars?
Become a travelling Liverpool supporter. And go to an Oasis concert. And Wimbledon.
5. Will you fall in love with your best friend?
It'll take me a while to figure out this 'best friend' thing (again, how can I just pick one :P), but sure, it's so easy to fall in love with a friend. Not always a good thing, but easy and comfortable.
6. Which is more blessed: loving someone or being loved by someone?
I want to love someone who loves me back. It has to happen someday, right!?
7. How long do you intend to wait for someone you love?
I always say, what's the rush :P
8. If the person you secretly like is attached, what will you do?
Hmmm. Forget about them. I need very little discouragement.
9. If you could root for one social cause, what would it be?
The cause of the elderly.
10. What takes you down the fastest?
Something happening to the people I love. And football, sometimes.
11. Where do you see yourself in 10 years time?
In Liverpool, perhaps as the stadium cleaner or the club's official driver :D But seriously, ten years is too long, I can't see where I'll be even in a few months! But a Liverpool fan I will definitely be till the end. I get awfully emotional about football, don't I?!
12. What’s your fear?
Losing the ones I love.
13. What kind of person do you think the person who tagged you is?
Very talented, a hard worker, and an excellent writer :-)
14. Would you rather be single and rich or married and poor?
I think I'll be staying single, so I would definitely like to be rich :P
15. What’s the first thing you do when you wake up?
Sometimes I reply to messages in my sleep. And then when I wake up, I try to remember exactly what I may have said. I have this strange habit of deleting messages from the 'sent' folder immediately after I send them, so often I'll have no idea of the crap I may have said. Of course, I might as well disable the saving sent messages option, but I won't. One of those quirks :P
16. If you fall in love with two people simultaneously who will you pick?
Well, if I have to choose, it would have to be the one who has a high tolerance level of insanity. Otherwise, I don't see how we'll be together for long anyway. And the one who's funnier.
17. Would you give all in a relationship?
I have no past experience to speak from, but I would think not. Did I mention selfish is my middle name? :P
18. Would you forgive and forget someone no matter how horrible a thing he has done?
You know, I think I would. So many times I have told myself, I'm never speaking to him/her again, that was a horrible thing he/she did. And yet, in a few hours I'm back to normal. Hate that.
19. Do you prefer being single or in a relationship?
Single!
20. List of 6 people to tag:
OhNo!
Sea
upsidedown
akshya
rupha
graphic designer nerd

And that's how it's done!

2008-10-06T00:10:00.003+05:30

Some prefer the 6-0 demolitions. Those occasions where the opposition rolls over faster than that diving schmuck Cristiano Ronaldo. The matches where victories look certain even before the man in black blows the kick-off whistle. But at Liverpool, we do things a bit differently.
We wait till the second half of a European Cup final before getting on the board. We wait till the final minute of FA Cup final injury time before giving ourselves the chance to hang in there by a thread. We prefer winning the Champions League to ensure a chance in next season's competition rather than finish fourth in the Premiership. Oh, we like living on the razor-sharp edge.
And truth to tell, despite the myriad range of emotions one has to go through as a fan, I wouldn't prefer it any other way. It's worth it.
Today, I could've avoided going to work, seeing as I had a bad case of 'acute pharyngitis' (whatever, I don't believe the docs). But then, I went, for the following reasons:
a. It felt like ages since I worked even though I've been ill for only two days
b. I'm a nerd (I actually **gasp** like my work :O)
c. The lovely big TV which makes watching football such fun
Now usually, I would much rather be alone while watching a match, even more so a Big One. This was Manchester City, the newly recruited Moneybags of the EPL, they had Robinho, Wright-Phillips, and a ton of other reasons not to be regarded as pushovers. So I don't know why I was brave enough to venture to work to sit through this one. I guess I did Know.
The first half, then, was a nightmare come true. Not only did I have to watch all That unfold in front of me, on the big TV which seemed to magnify my misery, but I also had to think of sharp comebacks to the Snide Remarks.
SR: What's happening to Liverpool? They're 2-0 down...
Me: There are 45 minutes to go.
SR: Have Liverpool ever come back from behind?
Me (unable to supress my own Snide Laugh): Excuse me, do you NOT know about etc etc etc etc
SR: But City are throttling Liverpool.
Me: Not at all.
Inside, I was not happy, oh no, not happy at all, Koptimism was also fading... But I couldn't stand to hear anybody else abuse them.
Second half.
I moved right to the front, just below that screen, closer to the action. Well, as close as I can get, for now. That penalty appeal, oh I wished it had been given. I thought of that other chance in the first half Kuyt had messed up. Keane should've started, I told myself, he had just scored in midweek, plus he has a great record against the sky-blues. I remembered Benitez saying this match would be 'a test of credentials'. I went over previous seasons, which started brightly, but ended in fourth-place whimpers. Is this the beginning of the end of this season's promise? Torres interrupted me right there: 2-1. Whoa!
That red card for Zabaleta, then. That was the Moment. It was going to happen. Torres again, 2-2. It's fun to win like this, I thought, while recovering from a coughing fit. A few minutes of doubt when El Nino skied that oh-so-easy-looking shot that would've been the winner for sure. Perhaps a point is all it's going to be, I let myself consider that possibility. But 3-2, it just had to happen. Of course, it was in the movie script. The closing credits were drowned out in the sea of voices singing You'll Never Walk Alone. I'll be among them, someday.
But pity I have a terribly sore throat that makes even talking tough, if my voice was intact there would've been some pretty loud celebrations in office.
So as I walked back to my desk, I rehearsed my best I-told-you-so expressions, practiced the sneering questions I would ask the Doubters, together with one of my vintage smirks. You gotta have faith.
A lot of football success is in the mind. You must believe that you are the best and then make sure that you are. Bill Shankly

Do you have the time, to listen to me whine?

2008-10-02T04:08:00.005+05:30

It was a nice office. I remembered sitting on that comfy couch the first time I was there, nervously cracking a few jokes while waiting to be called upstairs. Every time the door opened to let somebody in, I would look up, and observe their confident strides to the elevator. Some smiled at the receptionist, others were busy on their phones. But, clearly, they all belonged there.
I didn't have any great expectations. Fresh out of college, an English literature graduate degree was all I had, and no other epithets deemed necessary by the world to be considered 'qualified'.
Well, I was about to be surprised, pleasantly. As I looked through the bundle of papers handed to me offering up my dream job, there wasn't a moment's hesitation. A milliion thoughts swarmed through my mind, yet only one took concrete form: I'll take it.
That was a little over two years ago. The time when 'everything' seemed to happen. Teething troubles, getting used to schedules, people, work, canteen food... It was all a part of it. It was hard, but I tried. Second day of work, first attempt at reporting -- made a fool of myself. Another time, a seriously careless mistake with political repercussions on the same day of my first proper story -- take the bad with the good, I told myself.
I really was having a good time. I was writing, and rediscovering something I used to have a passion for but let slip away due to sheer laziness. Here, I had to work with deadlines, and strangely, I found it to have a positive effect. Even now, if something is due next Friday and I start work on it today, chances are I really won't get into it till Thursday night. Deadlines, I had heard, were scary things, but that's one good thing I can say about them.
The 2006 football World Cup was upon us barely a month after I got on board, and being a part of a World Cup desk really was incredible, complete till the staying-in-office-till-3 part. My family held their heads, but mine was held high. I was contributing. Discussing matches, watching them, threatening bodily harm to anyone who dared go against my choice of team (Germany and Spain, if you must know), and going home at the end of it all, looking forward to the next day.
A lot more happened in two years. Good, bad, and ugly. I consider myself lucky to be doing something I love, in an area of genuine interest, and yet, today, I feel I may have overstayed my welcome.
Nothing's going right, in fact, things are going wrong with alarming frequency. It's not the people I work with, the crazy hours, the amount of work... It's something in me. I learnt to believe in myself coz no one else wanted to, but now, even that prized quality is slipping through my fingers. You wouldn't know it if you met me in office. Oh wait, I just remembered people have been asking me what the matter is in the past weeks. So the carefully concealed truth may be out.
Every day brings with it a new crisis of thought. A steady chipping away of my confidence. Moments when I want the floor to open up and swallow me, but instead, I make my poker face and stare on at the computer screen. Days when I want to make a dash for it, but instead, I walk to my car and back.
Sometimes, I think this isn't worth it. Dream job or not, my time's up. I make up my resignation letter (always assuming I'm not asked to leave before that occasion arises), wondering whether to be truthful or vague. I long for the relatively unstressful student life, thinking back to college with extreme attacks of nostalgia. How nice would it be, I wonder, not to live in fear of the next day and another example of my inadequateness (it's a word, I checked). It's just a matter of time before I'm shown the door -- I think, while I continue wallowing in the sinking pit -- so I might as well make my move now.
Tagging along with the above thoughts is always an extreme state of depression. Of being brought back down to earth when I thought all was good. Of not being competent in the one job I thought I was born to do. Of being a failure. Of letting Them win. Of fooling everybody, and myself. Of evaporating hopes and broken dreams.
So, I try to think of something else to do. Anything else I want to make a career of. Something else I enjoy, and which can be translated into a job. This is what I came up with: Nothing. The bottomless pit I was sinking into just got a lot more frightening.
A bit of me doesn't want to give up. I can turn it around, I say. I can do it. Every job is difficult and not without stress, and this is just another one. Others have survived, and so will I. I worry about it so much because I care for it, and if I don't care, I'm just an empty shell, I tell myself. I'm not terrible in everything I do. Some things I'm rather good at, I would like to think. The ones I confide in tell me the same. Just concentrate on what you need to work on, they say. But I feel like it's too late. The damage has been done, and it may just be irrepairable.
But then again, it may not. I don't like being pessimistic and sad. When people I know are pessimistic and sad, I try talking them out of it, and I think I have a pretty good success-rate. Just yesterday, I was told I'm the 'official stressbuster'. I'm good at making people feel better. But that's because I really do believe in their ability to be happy, and right now, I'm not quite sure of mine. If I were to practice what I preach, I would know that this too shall pass. I would understand that it's just a difficult time and I'll be stronger when it ends. I would tell myself to think of happy things the moment Those thoughts start entering my mind. I would think of all the people/things I will love no matter what. I would be assured with the knowledge that deep down, what I truly am and what I truly like about myself is not all bad. I would search my mind for one thing to look forward to every day, which makes all the other stuff worth it. I would tell myself to quit it, there are a million things to be done, and all more appealing than moping around.
I want to believe I can fix this, I really do. But it doesn't seem likely. I really thought I could 'make it'. Guess I was wrong. But perhaps it was just meant to end this way.
Our greatest weakness lies in giving up. The most certain way to succeed is to try one more time. -- Thomas Alva Edison

After I Eight

2008-09-29T01:06:00.006+05:30

I've been thinking. That's usually dangerous. Anyway, so have I mentioned how people accuse me of being drunk/doped even when I'm not? :D And even more strangely, when confronted by these accusations/genuine enquiries, my eternal response is even more crazy laughter. Hence confirming the previous assumption.
But behold, the explanation hits me: There's way too much sugar in my diet :D :D :D
In fact, this post is being written Under the Influence, people, so brace yourselves.
So I got a ton of chocolates yesterday, but JUST two big boxes of After Eight. Sigh, nowhere close to enough. Anyway, they will have to do for now. I ate half of one box last night, while carefully placing the wrappers back inside, to create annoying illusions for those who may just decide to delve into MY CHOCOLATES (remember F.R.I.E.N.D.S and Ross's MY SANDWICH episode? Well, these are MY AFTER EIGHTS). Hehehehhe. Still reading? Mighty brave, I'd say.
So anyway, I got off work early today and rushed home, mom's visiting. And on the route, as an added incentive, stood the magical world of Nirula's, housing a million sweet-somethings, all for me. Or so I would like to believe. Crazy rush being a Sunday night, so I had to park a little way away and walk. I had been pondering a vital question through the whole drive there, and the time had come to make the choice: Ice cream soda or Hot Chocolate Fudge? What do you say? Ah, gotcha, this was a trick question. The answer, of course, was BOTH :P
I was kinda worried about the car, so once my order was ready, I muttered a thank-you, practically snatched the goodies away and made my way out. Whew, car's safe, I can start slurping now, I thought. I still had to drive back home, though, and let me tell you, balancing two COLD glasses while changing gears and giving the indicator is no mean feat. But it was all for a good cause. Home was hardly a distance away, but by the time I got home, the Golden Glow was nearly gone. Just a few more slurps and it was time to begin on the HCF. Mom was shocked/amused at my explanation regarding the pigging-out and perhaps a bit impressed at my driveability considering the situation, but I had been deprived of these two items for way too long. It won't happen again.
I always seem to come back to Nirula's. Big Chill does a few mean desserts too, but they aren't the same. Anyway, ice cream from any source is heaven on earth. So is chocolate. Except white chocolate. Give me the dark any day. And give me After Eight every day. Every hour, in fact.
All the Snickers, Toblerones, Hersheys lying in the fridge, while being awesome too, aren't the same. Nevertheless, I shall eat them, I consider it my duty. Shouldn't waste food, that's what I always say. It's dangerous to eat chocolate at night, though, the stuffing-your-face bit just goes on and on and on. My record: nine snickers in a row. Can anyone better that?
Oh wait, I just remembered there's chocolate cake too! Blogging ends where eating begins... Later!!!!

Ferry 'cross the Mersey, and always make me Red

2008-09-28T03:03:00.004+05:30

Oh, that darned Riley tried. He refused to give us freekicks, he tried being blind for the Blues, he waved away a few furious Carragher yells. But how much could he possibly do, when El Nino decided to light up Goodison Park with a couple of fine ones. Should've had his third too, but oh well, the point is we got the points. And the local bragging rights. They were always ours, but it's fun to hammer it in their faces every now and then, innit?
Last year's derby was awesome, Neville's own goal (an ex-ManEw, current Bluenose scoring for the sworn enemy...Sadistic pleasure can get no better :P) was the piece-de-resistance, and this time 'Dim' Cahill's marching orders added a bit more to the delightful derby. Koptimism did pay.
Everton 0 Liverpool 2

Take a deep breath, count to 10. That's the secret

2008-09-26T02:11:00.004+05:30

I wish my car had an ejector seat. And that it could whip out blades from the wheels. I wouldn't say no to some intricate fireball-throwing machinery either. Road rage ain't easy to deal with.
Now, I'm usually a calm person. I'm not hot-tempered. I don't think screaming is the way to deal with problems. But sometimes, usually when you're in a great rush, when there's a nincompoop in front of you yakking away on the phone while pretending to drive, all you really want to do is ram his head on his fancy silver hubcap. Oh, my blood boils.
And what's with the constant honking when you can SEE there clearly isn't any place to move?! Will the obscenely loud noise magically make your car sprout wings and fly away towards open spaces? Will it have a Moses effect on obstructing traffic? WILL IT?! Grrrrrrrrrrrr.
How about the people who don't know their right from their left? You see the left indicator in the car ahead, you carry on straight... Oh wait a minute, they actually had to go RIGHT. Sure, zip diagonally through traffic, who gives a damn about those screeching to a halt to avoid hitting you.
Makes it more fun does it, these calisthenics?
And the spitters, ugh! Did someone tell them that the red signal at traffic lights is actually NOT a cue to spit out whatever may be rotting in their filthy mouths?! The bigger the car, the more the spit, I have noticed. I want to invent a road-building material that causes spittle to bounce BACK at the offender the moment they indulge in such activity. That'll teach them!
In the same category fall those who think the streets are their personal dustbins. Empty packets creating a mess in the car? Just ate a bit of something you want to throw away? Take them to a proper bin, dammit!
How many people actually know that the right lane is the fast lane? Which means, you CANNOT use it to carry on a lover's argument on the cellphone while driving along leisurely. You CANNOT be diiscussing life's philosophies with your co-passenger while there are others behind desperately waiting to move ahead.
Don't get me started on the two-wheelers that try to squeeze through every miniscule available inch of space between other vehicles. Me, I'm a sadist, so if I spot any potential for this kinda behaviour, I make sure I pull up as close to the car in front so they put all such idea out of their minds :D
I must admit, I have a huge ego on the roads. All those people who glance at me and think, 'ha! lady driver, this is easy' have come to deeply regret that thought, however fleeting it may be. If someone tries to smart-ass me, I don't stand for it. Foot on the accelerator, eyes straight ahead...and zoom, eat my dust!!!!! You bully me, I bully you, and that's the way it shall be.
There are times when you can't help but scream at the dude reversing without looking in his rearview mirror, though. But I have a whiny, soft voice which won't be heard if I do yell, so what I do is, I en-un-ci-ate. I mouth the following: What-the-f***-are you-doing?! OR Can't-drive-or-what OR You're-a-freaking-asshole. Saves energy, but has the desired effect :P
There are some decent people out there, though, it's just that I don't chance upon them too often. I better start working on those wheel-blades.
Have you ever noticed that anybody driving slower than you is an idiot, and anyone going faster than you is a maniac? -- George Carlin

Word of the day

2008-09-26T01:58:00.002+05:30

Koptimistic -- A state of mind which causes you to believe that a speedy recovery from 3-0 down in a European Cup final against the favourites can happen again, and again, and again...
(note: discovered in 'Here We Go Gathering Cups in May')

It's getting crowded

2008-09-24T03:08:00.008+05:30

Not a lot is going right in my life. Thank god for football. It's crazy, but it keeps me sane.
It's been a busy time for the Liverpool lot, and for those keeping track of their pardonable shenanigans. I'm still savouring the sweet taste of The Win, so what if it's been ten days. I'm allowed. The Marseille game was quite an excitement, I can say that now, since we safely won. Stoke was a disappointment, the proverbial trough after the crest, but I still can't shake off the incredible feeling of optimism. Tonight, Crewe got the treatment -- 2-1, will do.
I had just settled myself into a comfortable reflection of all these matters while trying to fill up a blank page at work (I'm an incredible multi-tasker), when realisation struck in the form of a fixture list. It's Everton this week. It was one of the dates I marked out when pre-season dates were released, I wonder how I forgot. Oh well, it happens to the best of us.
I don't know if I'm ready for this, so much is going on, but I figure at least the football part of my life has to look up. The law of averages must kick in. As long as Stevie and Co are up for it, we'll be just fine.
Some days there won't be a song in your heart. Sing anyway -- Emory Austin

I'm nowhere close to being a visionary

2008-09-22T02:00:00.005+05:30

A tendency to be immensely stubborn is my barrier to that phenomena commonly termed 'sense'. Starting tonight, however, I've decided to digress from my usual (read: unreasonable, illogical behaviour). The spectacles shall be worn again, at all times.
I have decided this many times in the past, only to lapse into my lazy ways after a week, at best. But this time, I figured it's the best course of action, AND I'm actually carrying it out, instead of scurrying off in the direction of non-sense. I must be growing up.
I usually wear my specs at work all the time, but after that, they disappear into that black hole I call my bag, and the next time the black frames see the light of day is the next time I grumpily walk into office.
I've never had good eyes. My first pair of glasses was in class 3, forced on me after I was dragged kicking and screaming to the doctor. I think I was caught out in school. My terrible fear of anything that meddles with my eyes caused me to launch my cheating career rather early in life. The medical check-ups in school always entailed reading that dratted board of tiny letters on the wall, and that's the time I would practice becoming a memory marvel.
While waiting my turn, I would walk around the infirmary, sidle up to the board, sneaking glances at the ridiculously small letters till I resorted them to memory. And when my turn came, I would walk up to the doctor proudly, look innocently ahead, scrunch up my eyes for effect, but only slightly, and rattle off all the letters right down till the tiniest. But then they caught on. And then they caught me. Sent me home with a letter to my parents, who promptly got me a pair of terribly ugly coloured frames.
But back then, I didn't care how they looked, I wouldn't have worn them if they were made of platinum and dispensed chocolate every hour. And I didn't. They found out (HOW do parents get to know these things?). My teachers were sent notes to make sure I wear them at all times. My refusal to listen became a subject of PTA meetings. I didn't know you could sue people for harrassment back then, or my lawyers would definitely have contacted a bunch of them.
So all my life, I have been pushed, pulled, bullied (really!) and ordered to keep them on. I didn't listen, of course. And incredibly, the power of my glasses remains the same. It's hardly anything if you see the number (0.5), which bewilders me all the more -- the proportion of I-can't-see-ness to actual power is weirdly lopsided.
Last year, after feeling more blind as each minute passed, I worked up the courage to visit the eye doctor ON MY OWN. A small step for mankind, a giant leap for TheDropper. So, feeling all grown-up, I prepared for my first honest eye-test. Only to be told, your power is the same (0.5), your current glasses are fine. You could've knocked me down with my Liverpool scarf. This is how the conversation went:
Me: I can't see very clearly.
Doc: Your eyes are the same as ever. These specs are fine
Me: Then why can't I see as well?
Doc: Your eyes are the same, must be some other reason.
Me (increasing desperation): But WHY can't I see?
Doc (increasing exasperation): Ok, take these eyedrops for sometime.
It was a ploy to make me shut up, methinks.
Ok, I guess it's my job that's to blame. Sitting in front of a computer all day long and working on QuarkXpress isn't really the cure for bad eyesight. A refusal to wear glasses outside office doesn't help either. And it's not because I'm so concerned with the aesthetics, it's just such a TASK, you know. Take out specs, clean them, put them on, make sure you don't leave them around, don't drop them (Hello, I'm THEDROPPER, what do you expect?!). Too much work.
And don't get me started on lenses. Lots have tried to convince me and failed, so don't even try. The thought of putting anything in my eye....ugh! I can't even watch ads for contact lenses. I don't know how people do it.
But now I think I must hold on to the glasses at all times. I can't recognise people till they're close, coz I can't really see their faces. I can't see the scoreboard when I'm out reporting. I can't see scores on TV. I can't see how many minutes of injury time are left. I can't read book titles till they're right next to my nose. And, the worst, I've started driving real slow at night, coz, well, my night vision leaves a lot to be desired.
Wait a minute, was I celebrating maturity at the beginning of this post?! Aargh, it's old age, dammit!
Careful. We don't want to learn from this -- C&H

Booked

2008-09-17T03:40:00.001+05:30

They draw me to them. They call out to me. They make me break my resolve each single time. And that's how another book gets added to the collection I'll never have time to read.
In ten days, I have managed to snap up no less than 11 books. I don't plan it this way, it just happens. I enter a bookshop, telling myself repeatedly to picture the unread stacks in my room, but the silent self-admonitions last just about the distance from the door to the first shelf. Then, it's back to normal. Normal is me struggling to decide which of four books I should buy, and then buying them all. Cash no bar, what are cards for if not to fund things you can't really afford right then?
I promise myself that now it'll be different, now I'll slowly but steadily chip away at the growing backlog, but then along comes another tournament to be covered, a bunch of other stories to be written, a ton of have-to-go-to places, and there go the minutes I would gladly have spent turning pages.
Secondhand book places are heaven. Like the ones in Saket. I've found some real treasures there. The last was a beautiful book on Wembley, which was a gift from parent to son, judging by the inscription on the opening page. How did it find its way to a dusty roadside stall? A bit sad, isn't it. But I will take good care of it.
Sifting through books on a Sunday morning in Daryaganj can be quite an experience too. You have to be patient, but it's worth it. There used to be one secondhand stall in Janpath too, but I haven't been there in some time.
If I see a book I've already read and liked, but don't own, I have to buy that too. So what if I already recite chapters from memory, I have to OWN it, understand? And I do think books make the best gifts. For receiving and giving. If I'm giving, then I usually make sure it's one I would like to read too :P and it's ok if you read it a bit before you gift it away, isn't it? You know how the ancient Egyptians used to have food-tasters to try out their lunch/dinner/breakfasts before they began the feast themselves? Well, kinda like that. Hey, it's hard to resist sometimes! :P
I don't for a second regret my obsessive-compulsive book-buying actions. I just wish I could do justice to them all. I want to take a reading vacation. I want to gather all my books, sit in a room with clear Do Not Disturb instructions, and read, read, read. I can just see myself explaining this reason-I-need-leave-from-work to my boss now.
The problem with the future is that it keeps turning into the present -- C&H

One of those car capers

2008-09-16T02:38:00.005+05:30

Is there a limit to being spaced out? I think not. Not in my personal experience, at least. Just when I think I couldn't get any worse, along comes another example. Yes, I surpass myself each time.
Once upon a usual late night in office, I was walking to my car after work was done. One of those long days, and I couldn't wait to reach home and hit the bed. Little did I know...
I reached my car, took out my keys, and pressed the unlock button. No sound, it didn't open. That happens sometimes. I pressed it again. No response. I pressed the lock button, just to see if that worked. No luck. I pressed all the buttons frantically... panic was setting in.
Batterydownwillhavetoleavecarinofficebuthowcanidothatmaybeifigetsomeonetopushitthatmayworkbuthowwillthedoorsopenthealarmwillgooffifitsforcedopen... no pause as these thoughts raced through my exhuasted mind.
As I pondered on the Why Me question, I continued pushing the on/off buttons on the key, weighing up my options. Strangely then, I became aware of a noise. A familiar noise. A 0012 noise. Only thing, it was coming from two cars away.
And THEN, it hit me. Wavering between feeling extremely relieved and extremely stupid, and hoping no one was watching, I briskly walked to the correct car, opened the door, and sat down. Yup, all the while I was standing next to the wrong Matiz. Aargh.
In my defence, it was dark, I have bad eyesight, and the other car was exactly the same colour with exactly the same dents. It happens, ok. Don't judge me.

By request, for The Namesake :)

2008-09-16T01:17:00.006+05:30

As far as I remember, you did not fill any farewell sheets for me on the last few days of school. And no need for all those crappy explanations about your reasons (it's not farewell, etc)... Whatever! :p
Anyway, here's a list of top 10 fun you-and-me memories, with love from me to you :)
1. Corbett, when we tried removing that wooden table, only to realise we just shifted the top and not the legs :O
2. In Kanatal, where we froze, and you accused me of eating up packets of Gems in the middle of the night. I did not, btw!
3. The time I spent Holi at your place, and we played with those annoying kids next door to you!
4. Sending annoying messages to people in the middle of the night, and synchronising replies to increase the irritation factor. Hahahahhahhahahhahaha.
5. Manali, me walking through glass and creating havoc :) and you gave me your scarf for the hospital trip. Thank you :P
6. The night I spent my birthday eve at your place (Chicken Legs was also there :P) and how scary the pictures came out coz we were all in our nightclothes :P
7. At Nandu's place, when the glass outside crashed and scared the shit out of us. Well, not literally, thank god :P
8. The wedding! All the people, the rituals, the nice clothes, and the nice food! And I understand Kannada now :P
9. That night I was upset at work when I was staying in the PG, and I came to your place for the night. Feels like home now :)
10. Movie marathons :) (but we need to be more consistent :P) and shopping sprees!
Oh well, two more.
11. My birthday two years ago, and the drive you, me and Nandu went on after dinner, and managed to get scared on that road :)
12. Laughing for NO reason whatsoever!
Happy Birthday again!
I count myself in nothing else so happy as in a soul rememb’ring my good friends.-- William Shakespeare

You gotta have faith

2008-09-14T15:00:00.002+05:30

Previous disappointments may have steeled my heart, but this year, just for a lark, I have one cautious experimental hope -- that the elusive victory over Manchester United will come along on September 13. I'll take it from there. -- Me (28.07.08)
I cannot get over it! :D

When you walk through a storm, hold your head up high, and don't be afraid of the dark.
At the end of a storm is a golden sky, and the sweet silver song of a lark.
Walk on through the wind, walk on through the rain, though your dreams be tossed and blown.
Walk on, walk on with hope in your heart, and you'll never walk alone -- The Anthem (Gerry and the Pacemakers)

I'm a believer

2008-09-14T00:45:00.004+05:30

You thought we'll crumble, you thought we'd lay down and die. Oh no, not us, we survived.
Eat dung, Man-Ew! And wipe that look from off your face, Fergie. It did happen! Liverpool 2, Manchester United 1.
And no, I will not stop showing off. I had predicted this outcome months ago. If you're fool enough to be a disbeliever, check this out.
All right then, Man-Ew fans, it's time to crawl out of the woodwork so I can rub it in good and proper. What happened to all the smartass comments you were spouting before this one? What's that? Lucky win, you say? Three points, I say. Hahahahhahahahhaha.
Wes Brown and Edwin van der Saar, you were brilliant. Hats off.
All ye of little faith probably grinned wickedly after seeing the Reds team sheet. Piece of cake, Gerrard and Torres on the bench: oh, we'll pack off the rest in no time at all, you may have chuckled. Who's laughing now? Meeeeeeeeee, that's who! Hehehehhehehhehhehehehe.
These are the moments that make you believe. This is what makes you realise the worth of loyalty. This is what makes everything worth it. At the end of this one, I felt like running towards the Kop, screaming, yelling, and pointing to the Liverbird on my jersey. Someday, someday.
But wait a minute, let's return to earth. There's roads to be conquered yet. The Champions League, FA Cup, Carling Cup, and of course the Premiership. The Premiership I want. Laugh if you must, but it will happen. In my lifetime, I know it will. What's the hurry?
Meanwhile, let's gloat about this one.
"We will beat them one day, I can promise you that!" Gerard Houllier on Manchester United

RIP

2008-09-13T23:44:00.002+05:30

It could've been you. Or me. Or somebody you and me know. Instead, it was Them. Faces we'll never know, names we'll recognise only as statistics. Three, four, eighteen... Meaningless numbers noted down in green files, tossed around in dirty grey buildings, given a cursory glance by workers just before they spit out red betel leaves after each pile of papers is cleared.But they were people. Someone's father, mother, brother, sister, friend. Waking up to a bright Saturday morning, looking forward to a bit of weekend shopping, looking at themselves in the mirror while getting dressed, looking out to see the sun in the sky, did they get a premonition? Did they get the sense that everything they were doing would be the final time? Had they fought with a friend without the knowledge that there would be no time to make up? Was it a birthday, an anniversary, or a preparation for one that caused them to saunter along to their regular hangouts? All hopes and dreams shattered, with little pieces of shrapnel piercing their very core.
With them, a little bit of Delhi died today.
When my time comes, forget the wrong that I've done,
Help me leave behind some reasons to be missed,
Don't resent me, and when you're feeling empty,
keep me in your memory, leave out all the rest.
Linkin Park (Leave Out All the Rest)

Wishlist at 1:00 am

2008-09-12T01:03:00.004+05:30

I want...
1. 72 straight hours of uninterrupted sleep
2. To lock myself in a room, with food supplies and books, and read, read, read...
3. A happy football result on Saturday
The only bleak possibility is number 3, and I'll take it in exhange for the rest

All you need is love, and loyalty

2008-09-09T03:04:00.005+05:30

Some people just don't get the whole being-a-fan thing. I'm constantly asked to change my allegiances because I support 'losers'. Particularly in football. I suggest you look up the definition of 'loyalty' in a dictionary, oh sore ones.
It's about believing, despite the odds being so highly stacked against you that you can't see reality. Denial, you may call it. You're a Manchester United fan, aren't you?
It's the Man-Ew fans who bother me the most. I seem to have developed this standard interview question, the non-pressure ones, of course. Usually with kids I can bully. It begins like this...
Me: So, what other sports do you follow? Football?
Whoever: Why, Yes, I like football.
Me (drippng innocence): Oh, really, which club do you support?
If the answer is Man-Ew, after wrinkling my nose in disgust and asking 'why?!', I proceed to say, 'We're so going to whip your ass next meeting.' Vehement argument may follow.
I seem to have made my peace with Arsenal fans. Perhaps because I seem to meet a lot of Gunners these days. Chelsea fans also I can just about tolerate, though I do think they could be the jumping-on-the bandwagon kind :P
Oh, and I use 'tolerate' in the loosest way possible. Stay away if bad thoughts about Liverpool crowd your mind. And it's a good idea to steer clear a week before and after matches with my Reds. Of course, if the result is in our favour, I will be seeking you out to gloat myself :D
Manchester City fans I can identify with. They hate Man-Ew too, plus the Gallaghers (Noel and Liam) love them. They've done this great tune: 'Who the F*** are Man United'. Me loves it! Also, earlier this year, I had gone to Manchester for the derby, and I truly believe it was my presence that made City win...whoohoo! But this season, their signings have made them a tad scary.
Newcastle I am quite fond of, kind of like a poor inferior acquaintance you feel a bit sorry for. It's a pity they mess up so often. They have some of the best football songs. I recommend 'Santa is a Geordie' and 'I'm a Geordie'. Plus Michael Owen hangs out on Tyneside now. Poor unfortunate soul, he should never have left us.
"It's not denial, I'm just very selective about the reality I accept." -- Calvin
PS -- Panic attack update: We're hosting Man-Ew this weekend, and the skipper's probably not going to be fit. Torres too. I had made bold predictions regarding this tie months ago, and I'm afraid people will be seeking me out after this one. But I believe, and I trust we have your support.

Shock, horror and heartbreak

2008-09-08T02:06:00.005+05:30

In the privacy of my room, I do a pretty good Rafael Nadal fist pump. I've got the facial expression down pat too, I think. But I would have much preferred the real thing.
Rafa just lost to that lil pipsqueak. Fine, Murray played well and all the accompanying jazz, but I don't care. If you're reading this and saying, I knew he would lose, you can go and boil your head.
I really thought he would win, I did. I was scared first, but as the match went on, I grew in confidence, as did he. He put me through agony in that endless deuce game, but then he got a break in the fourth set.
I could just see the fifth set. It's going to be a Federer-Rafa final again, I was thinking. Rafa will cream him again, I was thinking, savouring these delicious thoughts in my head.
(Sound of glass shattering) Then the Brit Brat broke back and soon, he had the match. It all happened too fast. I demand a rematch. I demand a review of some of those points. Those forehands were pretty close, really. I demand that time turn back and reinstate the order. This wasn't how it was supposed to end.
So Rafa lost, Federer will probably win another Slam and do that sickening recreating history bit that he does, and I will sit and sulk because there's pretty much little else I can do.
Ok, I'm sure you're wondering about how greedy I can get. Rafa won the French, Wimbledon, the Olympic gold, and he must be pretty low on the energy count right now. But I will need time to get over this. I cannot believe I have to face the world tomorrow after all that has happened. And it'll probably be a horrible day too. Ugh.

Navigationally challenged

2008-09-07T02:44:00.005+05:30

After 'Most likely to walk through a glass door', the FB superlative that is fast becoming more frequent to describe my ways seems to be 'Most likely to lose her way even with maps and a clear navigational system'. The first one does make for an interesting tale, it's true, but it's the latter which provided far more entertainment, if you really think about it. For others, of course.
Today, I forgot where I parked my car in that godforsaken mall's basement parking. I thought I had an idea of how to retrace my steps back to it, but like all hunches of mine even vaguely related to a sense of direction, it turned out to be horribly off course.
So I walked back and forth, through the rows of fancy wheels, weaving through lucky car owners who had found their vehicles simply because they weren't so impossibly dumb as I, and past bemused parking attendants who may have mistaken me for a lunatic. The basement parking lot wasn't really a place for a nighttime stroll, was it?
Panic set in after a couple of rounds. I didn't recall actually locking the door, what if it was stolen? But then, a stream of sensible thought halted that fleeting assumption right there. How many times had people laughed off this anxiety of mine oh-so-flippantly, Who would steal YOUR car, they would say, laughing, before turning their attention to more worldly matters. Grrrrrrrrr. I continued the search.
I spotted a cart, like those you take around the golf course, next to an exit, clearly for traversing the huge parking area. Could I get into it and drive around, I wondered, it would speed up the search. Should I call my friends? Should I admit my stupidity to someone there and plead for help? And THEN, there she was. Standing sedately next to the wall I had left her.
Keeping my eyes firmly ahead to avoid looking at the attendants I was crossing for the third time, I breathed only when I unlocked the door and sat in. Whew.
And you thought I could lose my way only from East Delhi to Saket, Connaught Place to Gurgaon, North Campus to Noida. This has to be a new low. Especially since it was below ground level. Bad joke, but I laugh anyway.
Life's disappointments are harder to take when you don't know any swear words -- C&H

Q&A

2008-09-06T04:51:00.003+05:30

Q: What hurts more than being told you're no good at the one thing you thought you'll be really good at?
A: Realising it yourself

Things I should do (and therefore, I won't)

2008-09-06T04:35:00.004+05:30

1. Get some sleep
2. Blog less, read more
3. Eat on time
4. Eat healthy
5. Slowly but steadily finish the unread books
6. Stop buying books before I've read the ones I possess
7. Spend some time at home
8. Understand that sometimes it's fun to do nothing
9. Stop worrying
10. Be nice to people
11. Stop taking football talk personally, even if it's (ugh) Manchester United
12. Think before I act
13. Work harder at what I've been told to work harder at
14. Wake up at a normal, human hour
15. Start collecting my newspaper clippings again
16. Clean my room
17. Abolish the laziness
18. Face reality
19. Cut out the stubborn behaviour
20. Be well-mannered
21. Look for lost possessions
22. Get back in touch with some people
23. Move on
24. Temper my laughter
But then, life wouldn't be half as much fun. So I'll quit making this list now.

Epiphany

2008-09-06T03:56:00.000+05:30

"Expect the best out of life, and the worst out of football." -- Me

Read the following if you dare :P

2008-09-05T03:37:00.001+05:30

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I took the one less travelled by, and that has made all the difference...
Lines from my favourite Frost poem. There's something about venturing into unknown territory that has a strange kind of romance attached to it, even to a deep-rooted cynic like me. But while I complain about work, deadlines, car trouble, bad football results, not getting time to read and so much more, sometimes I feel I lose sight of one simple fact: that's life.
The unknown is all we have, and that's what makes it worth living. It's like you're writing a book, and the preface and conclusion is all in your hands. There's destiny, of course, but you can't just sit back and expect it to deliver everything, gift-wrapped.
I do believe we can gently nudge it where we want to go. I read somewhere that if you want something truly enough, the powers that be in the universe work towards getting it to you. Some things are just meant to be. Is that true? I guess I'll find out as life goes on. We all will.
Remember The Truman Show? I found it fascinating. Jim Carrey didn't even get to write out a chapter of his life. Closer to reality, this Japanese man actually went through the same ordeal in 1998, except that he wasn't making the big bucks in Hollywood.
Nasubi didn't know he made primetime viewers glued to their television sets in Japan while he lived his uncomfortable life, apparently in a tiny room, but in reaity, being broadcast all over for everybody to see.
We have the luxury of living. Of learning, every step of the way. Of making choices. Of learning from the bad decisions. I don't believe in planning, from past experience, everything seems to go wrong if you plan. And also, playing it by the ear is fun.
It's when the unexpected good comes and sweeps you off your feet that you realise what a gift life is. It can't be summed up by the 'Seven Ages of Man', like Shakespeare attempted. It can't have specific rules packaged into 300 pages of self-help crap.
The unexpected bad also wishes to make its presence felt, bringing tears, anger and fear in its wake. Those times when you wish the world would end, or the ground would open up and swallow you whole. But there's a reason that doesn't happen. To provide entertainment for everyone else, and also, it's a part of the knowledge process. Even when we grow old, we won't stop learning.
I turned 23 two days ago, and have already exhuasted the 'older and wiser' line. 23 is the year, I said. Supported by a lot of theories, might I add. Discordianism, the belief that chaos is as important as order, seems to be right up my alley. That philosophy believes 23 is an enigmatic number, it can be lucky or unlucky. Good or bad. I don't know which road I'll take. Ask me how it was, in a year.
PS -- I don't believe I've written all the above bullshit :P I think I may have a 50-year-old alter ego! Or maybe I'm just hungry.

The Age of Irresponsibilty

2008-09-04T14:21:00.000+05:30

Yes, that's what 23 is. Or so I have decided :)
Starting... now!

Happy Birthday

2008-09-03T02:38:00.000+05:30

For the record, today is a great day. The chain of events that were set in motion on this date many years ago ensured things would never be the same again. The newly formed Liverpool Football Club played their first competitive match on September 3, 1892, defeating Higher Walton 8-0, and there were many more great victories to come. A historic occasion, indeed. And oh yes, and 93 years later, on September 3, 1985, I was born :P
This discovery of mine, that the date of the Reds' first competitive match coincided with my birthday, was made a few months AFTER I pledged life's support to them. I guess it was just meant to be. Happy Birthday, Liverpool :)
"There are those who say maybe I should forget about football. Maybe I should forget about breathing." -- Gerard Houllier

Write and wrong

2008-09-02T03:05:00.000+05:30

"I think you're going to be a doctor," said my mom, once upon a time when my age was still in single digits. And then she walked away in disgust.
It wasn't brains, dedication or brilliance that caused her to make that prediction. It was my terribly undecipherable beetle-track handwriting. She hoped that with time, my words on paper would begin to gain semblance to human handwriting, but it stays stuck in that time warp.
Take a minute and count your blessings for reading these sentences off a keyboard :)
My job now involves a whole lot of typing, and very little of putting pen to paper, and thank god for that. But still, forms need to be filled, cheques need to be drawn out, and most importantly, notes need to be made during an interview. And all those occasions bring out the worst in the history of scrawls and scribbles, bringing with them a whole new collection of embarrassing situations. Oh yes, and my signature is never the same. Do you have any idea how tough it is to make identical squiggles ALL the time? Try it. I think it's the no-two-snowflakes-are-alike theory all over again.
One of the banks I go to doesn't believe in ATM cards. You have to withdraw the old fashioned way: by cheque. Once, and this has to be a record, I was made to sign TWELVE times to get my signature to match the one in their records. Except it still didn't tally. They gave up and decided I didn't look like a criminal after all, it was much easier than instructing me HOW to sign. Honestly. At one point of time, the exasperated lady turned her computer screen to me and said, "Look, that's how you signed the first time. Copy it out exactly like that." I thought she was going to cry.
And obviously, that was the day I withdrew all the money from that account and put it in the wonderful world of instant cash withdrawal. Technology, sigh, sometimes you just have to stand back and admire it.
In school, my classmates used to borrow my notebooks so they could catch up on stuff they missed.. and return it a few minutes later. They couldn't decipher what I had written. Sometimes, even I couldn't. Take your book to the chemist, was one helpful suggestion.
Last month, in an extreme state of nothing-t0-do, I was trying to decide on which font on my laptop was perfect. I stumbled upon one that had an uncanny resemblance to my beetle-tracks, and it has a great name too: Boopee! Windows has finally recognised genius...whoohoo!!!!
Tell me if it's anything like mine. I tried to type my article out in that, but it was a 2000-word piece, and after some time, my eyes began watering, so I switched to good old Times New Roman.
Confession: I have trouble writing when people are LOOKING at what I write. I think my handwriting gets even worse then. Maybe it's shy. But strangely, I still love writing letters. I have a feeling people don't like receiving them, though :P bad for their eyes.
While sorting through a pile of old possessions earlier, I came across a little box of books. They looked familiar, but I couldn't place them. As I rummaged through them, I realised they were cursive writing exercises from nursery, and surprise surprise, they were all empty. So while a bunch of kindergartners like me were solemnly bent over their books in a quest towards great calligraphy, I was evidently involved in other pursuits.
I hope I tortured my teachers a whole lot, though. The bad marks would've been worth it then.
Well, remember what you said, because in a day or two, I'll have a witty and blistering retort! You'll be devastated THEN! -- Calvin

Whatever will be will be

2008-09-01T04:37:00.000+05:30

Why, Rafa Benitex, why?
Why would you play 4-5-1 when you have a chance to go top of the table?
Why would you play players out of their postion?
Why would you ingrain it into everyone's minds that they can't win without Gerrard?
What will all the negativity get you? A point? Well, it ain't enough.
Aargh, make me manager someone, anyone.
Oh, bad times this reminds me of. Now Torres will be among the absentees. No Torres, no Gerrard. Big matches coming up. Dropping points so early. Champions League to be dealt with. Pressure. Bogey teams. Missed chances. Defensive howlers. No goals. Injuries. Pain. Sadness. Sigh.
Ok, stop. Take a deep breath and count to ten. Whatever will be, will be.

It's a sign

2008-09-01T03:57:00.000+05:30

Laziness is the one divine fragment of godlike existence left to man from paradise.

The moment I consider changing my lifestyle, along comes a pearl of wisdom which reinforces all my beliefs. Coincidence? I think not.

These are a few of my favourite things

2008-08-31T04:43:00.001+05:30

Whenever I'm sad, I just stop being sad, and be awesome instead -- Barney Stinson (How I Met Your Mother)
If only it were that simple. But there is a way. And sometimes it works. It's actually the above philosophy, but better explained, and you're already aware of it. Think The Sound of Music, and 'These are a few of my favourite things'.
We seek comfort in the constant, unchanging parts of our lives. People or things we know will always be there for us, cheer us up and make those dark days seem less so. It could be family, a friend, a book, a song, or even memories. Make a list. Here's mine.
1. Rain. Always makes me happy. I don't understand why people say they get depressed when cloudy skies come around. Me, if I look out the window and see it's all grey and sunless my first instinct is to hop into my car and go for a celebratory good weather drive.
You know what's even more fun? Driving in pouring rain when the windshield wipers aren't working :D It only happens in 0012!
2. Food! Hot chocolate fudge, ice cream sodas, pizza, hot tea on a freezing day in the hills, bhelpuri outside college and at the blind school mela, cigarette candy in school, rajma chawal, chocolate cake, maggi, vada pav (sigh), keema pav in cafe bandra at 4 am (sigh again), bengali market chaat, gol gappas, kulfi!, midnite meals at ichiban, pandara road, ice cream from india gate, Big Chill!, chuski. All right, food needs a whole separate post.
3. Driving. Anytime, anywhere. Only requirement: music. Preferably cheap bollywood songs :P For more serious occasions, oasis, creed, the doors, abba, bob dylan, billy joel, the carpenters, the beatles.
4. The Catcher in the Rye works. For football depression, Fever Pitch. For everything else, there's Calvin and Hobbes.
5. Chocolate. This is not classified under 'Food' because well, chocolate is not food! It's a necessity. After Eight, at any hour.
6. Writing. And not for work. For yourself. Writing to your friends who are just a phone call away if you don't feel like talking. Writing becuase you like it and knowing that will never change. Writing a letter the old-fashioned way because it feels better. Not for the person who has to read it, though, we're talking seriously bad handwriting here.
7. Looking at the football goodies you have collected over the years but haven't displayed because you want to protect them from the big bad world. Hey, if I put the posters up, they might get torn!
8. Talking. Sometimes.
9. Not talking. Sometimes I feel cell phones are the worst invention ever :P except sms. Sms is great. It's the calling facility which should be barred.
10. Helping friends. I know I'm supposed to be cold-hearted and emotionless and all, but despite myself, I find that doing some good actually makes me feel good. Surprise surprise.
11. Bugging friends. Dr Jekyll and Ms Hyde, if you will :P
12. Making lists. Like this one, it's fun.
13. Knowing that whatever happens, I will be a Liverpool fan. I don't know why, but it makes me happy. Guess it's the constancy factor I mentioned earlier. And I am secure in the knowledge that at least once in my lifetime they will win the league. Whoohoo!!!
14. Discussing certain 'issues' with friends and finding they think exactly the same.
15. Holidays. Planning holidays which are a long shot...but planning them is still fun :) bombay! essel world! goa! london! australia! liverpool!
16. Conquering your fears. I haven't started on this yet, but once I do, I'm sure it'll be pretty darned good.
17. Looking at old letters and notes passed in class :)
18. Being a smartass with such skill that it amuses the person you're smart-assing, and everybody's happy :)
19. Buying books. Even if you hardly have time to read.
20. Old songs.
21. Knowing you tried your best.
22. A happy family
23. Knowing that this too, shall pass. And that bad times don't last. That's a rule.
That's the difference between me and the rest of the world! Happiness isn't good enough for me! I demand euphoria! -- Calvin

Keep the dreams alive

2008-08-31T00:29:00.000+05:30

A Grammy or an Olympic medal? Well, I want both.
If you're done with the hysterical cackles, may I continue? Ok then.
Dream 1.
Those of you who have heard my 'dulcet' tones would agree it's an absurdity to harbour hopes of an award for singing. But my dreams don't hurt your ears, do they now :P
Just in case, though, I will write my Grammy acceptance speech soon. And I will keep practicing. Like right now, I'm in my room, writing and music, as always is playing. And the lead vocals are miiiiiiiiine :P And even when I drive, always with music, and always singing aloud. Sometimes I think the cops will catch me if they think I'm talking on the phone instead of perfecting the voice, but I'm not a rule-breaker, I'm just crazy :) And I'm the only star inside 0012, let's get that clear.
But I do want to sing in public one day, and NOT cause listeners any pain. And since I'm also painfully shy (it's true, my friends), there will have to be a sufficient amount of alcohol inside me for that to be possible.
Today I watched Rock On. Nice movie, could've been slicker, though. But anyway, the scene that totally gets me is the one where KD sings 'I will survive' and swivels his ass to resounding applause. I also want to do that someday. After all, the journey to a Grammy begins with one little drunken performance. Note that down.
And if you want to be thanked in my Grammy acceptance speech, applicants are under consideration. Be nice :P
Dream 2.
An Olympic medal in WHAT, that is the question. Any suggestions? Who, oh why, isn't pizza-eating a sport? Just my luck. An assured gold medal, that.
Or, driving people nuts. I'm sure you all will agree to that :P
Laughing like a maniac?
Getting lost on the roads?
Most random ideas per minute?
Stretching the limits of procrastination and laziness?
Stubbornness and an amazing inability to listen to reason?
Dammit.
So the search for a winnable discipline continues.
But I'm worried I'll be snapped up on doping charges faster than Usain Bolt's 100m dash. The thing is, I have to answer these questions almost everyday: a) 'Are you drunk?', b?'Are you on dope?'
Hehe, I think it's the laugh :P
But I trust you all will vouch for me.
What would be better than being cheered on by millions and standing on top of the podium with a gold medal around your neck and the national anthem playing on. Sigh. But The Rolling Stones said it the best: You can't always get what you want.
The dream chronicles will continue, I seem to have a lot of them.
I'm no stranger to this place, where real life and dreams collide,
and even though I fall from grace, I will keep the dream alive.
-- Oasis

Wake me up when September ends...

2008-08-29T04:19:00.000+05:30

Growing up just takes the fun out of everything. Like birthdays, for instance. Once upon an era, I used to begin the countdown to The Day months before. On the 3rd of every month, I would dispatch smses to all my buddies, '5 months to go', '4 months to go', '10 days to go'... you get the idea. The countdown would not go unnoticed.
Now, five days to go, and I wish it was the day after. I know it doesn't do to dwell on the past, but that is exactly where I wish I was. When everybody I loved was around me. I didn't realise back then that one day, they won't be there to gift me their best wishes. That the first groggily answered 6 am birthday phone call would just not be coming my way one day. That the birthday card would have one signature less. Then two. Then three. That the few people I really want to be with on my birthday would go away forever. That I would never get the chance to tell them how valuable they are, and always will be. That when people ask you what you want for your birthday, you realise the answer is something you can never get back.
Last year, I wasn't happy on my birthday. This year, I'm bordering on indifference. A step up, I think, to look at the bright side. I wish things weren't like this, but sometimes, that's just the way it is.
PS -- what does make me happy, though, is that two of my best friends have their birthdays in September too! And, that reminds me, I still haven't bought gifts..shit!
PPS -- Don't get me wrong, I am thankful for everything that I do have. Family, friends... what would I do without them?

Continuing the crazy talk...

2008-08-29T03:40:00.000+05:30

For all of you who didn't figure it out, my previous post was an attempt to ease myself into the big bad world of the European Cup. The draws were announced today, and like always, I feel that Liverpool have been handed the toughest. Except that this time I'm right. PSV Eindhoven, Marseille, and Atletico Madrid? Are you kidding me? Together with the fact that Gerrard's off to have an operation, the news just depresses me. Sigh.
But then, if it's meant to be, we will get through it all, come what may. We've done the business over bigger teams in the past when nobody was expecting us to, and so we can do it again. I can think of at least three tragic plots to further dramatise the route Group D may take, but I won't get into the details. Group D, see that's another thing. The group of death. I hate it when these corny phrases fit so well. It's like a bad movie.

Are you your football club?

2008-08-29T02:29:00.000+05:30

Whichever way you look at it, the easy way out just doesn't seem to be an option. I think this when I look at Liverpool. And then I think it again when I look at myself. Are my fortunes reflecting in my football club? Or vice versa?
You think about it too.
1. A few scattered moments of brilliance are all I can boast about through my life, rather than consistency. Like the Anfield Road men. A moment of genius immediately followed by a blonde moment. Well, if we all were the same all the time it would be so boring. What say?
2. I seemingly like to make things difficult for myself, for instance, I will never ask for directions, will always get lost, get late and finally be in a panic before things sort themselves out. Because I happen to think it's fun. Not everybody seems to understand this.
Liverpool, too, appear to be like this, don't they? They prefer to go 3-0 down in a Champions League final before beginning the legendary comeback. They wait till the last minute of injury time in an FA Cup final before grabbing the equaliser. They make you hold your head in despair before a sublime moment of genius reaffirms your belief that you will never indeed walk alone.
3. I have the honour of chalking up the most embarrassingly horrendous mistakes in the universe, be it at work (everyday examples abound), home (ask mom), with friends (remember the walking through a glass door, people?) or driving (don't ask). So, too, do the Reds. Own goal in the League Cup final? Put your hand up, Stevie. Fighting with referees to ensure a sending-off. Sounds familiar, Javier? The most loyal Kopite and bravest defender smacking one into the back of his own net. Yes, Carra, we know you meant well. So did I. I always do. These things happen. People just don't get it.
Hence proved. In the words of Bill Shankly, I was made for Liverpool, and Liverpool was made for me..whoohoo!!!!!!! Well, he didn't say whoohoo. And I realise I may be appearing to celebrate mediocrity but I'm not. I'm just saying, the journey is important, whether you reach your destination or not is another matter altogether. Enjoy the ride.
We're so busy watching out for what's just ahead of us that we don't take time to enjoy where we are -- C&H

Hope springs eternal

2008-08-28T03:32:00.000+05:30

Why must Liverpool make things so hard for themselves? And for my nerves... whatever frayed bits are left of them anyway. The return leg of the Champions League qualifying round against Standard Liege at Anfield just ended, with a signal for me to breathe again. It was 0-0 from the first leg in Belgium, and so it remained till the final few minutes of extra time.
Yes, you got that right, not injury time, but EXTRA TIME. Three minutes away from the pain of penalties, Dirk Kuyt saved us. He didn't exactly do much through the match, though, except a whole lot of messing up. Nobody did. Poor injured Gerrard, what all must he be expected to do? 120 minutes of football to dispatch the Belgians -- not encouraging at all. Much bigger challenges lie in wait, and blundering through to a narrow win after sending a million strikes wide of the post, over the bar, or straight at the keeper just won't do. Former kings of Europe sweating just to make it to the Champions League proper, is this what it has come down to?
Never mind. We shall persevere. Gerrard will get fit, Kuyt will get better vision, Babel will get some sense, and Fernando will not be flashy. Hope springs eternal, and hope is what I live on. YNWA.
If you can't control your peanut butter, you can't expect to control your life -- Calvin

Laughter is the best offence. Or defence

2008-08-28T00:54:00.000+05:30

There was a time when I would make myself get up on time for a morning walk. I forget what motivated me, either my paunch or a genuine realisation of the need to exercise. Needless to say, that burst of enthusiasm, like most others, was short-lived, and soon I was back to normal -- waking up to the new day anytime after noon.
But in my short time in the world of early risers, there was a bunch who would draw my attention. This group had one agenda -- Laugh Out Loud. I admit, it appeared pretty odd to me at first, I mean, there would be a periodical chorus of guffaws, in perfect sync, it just seemed too perfectly rehearsed to be genuine. Was it really helpful, I wondered, this forcing out of the joviality? But then I was struck by realisation. Who was I to judge them, when every day, people I know are raising objections to this very excessive behaviour on my part -- laughing :)
Yes, I am too free and easy with my laughter. Not that I regret it one bit. Last year, I thought I had forgotten how to laugh, but life goes on. And so does The Evil Laugh. (Note: Insult Liverpool or my car, though, and I won't find it funny. I will make you sorry you were born. HEEHEEHAHAHAHA!)
So anyway, my most recent laugh victim got so pissed off, he left this party I was at. And I felt mighty proud of myself. I got the power! I truly believe I was put on this earth to annoy people and have fun while doing it, and that moment reaffirmed my faith :P
Yes, I have been called a hyena. An airhead. Dumb. A laugh slut (Oh wait, I call myself that :D). And a million more names. I am told everyday -- 'Don't laugh.' My friends are asked in my presence -- 'Why is she laughing again?!'. Colleagues in other departments have to travel to mine and tell me to stop announcing my presence with the cackles. But they don't realise, all these reactions only make me laugh more. Well I find a lot of things funny! So shoot me :P
But sometimes, the embarrassment factor makes itself known. Put yourself in this situation: at the airport, you're about to catch a business flight, you've arrived bright and early to check in, and now you have nothing to do but wait for the boarding call. You're sitting all alone, when an incurably hilarious memory hits you out of the blue, hits you so hard that you have no option: let roar. Sure, you try to disguise the sniggers into polite little coughs so those sitting around you won't think you're a total loony, but it doesn't work. This, people, happens to me all the time. Luckily, the option of whipping out a book and pretend it's precisely that which is so enthralling is always there -- though if it's The Diary of Anne Frank you could attract some dirty, accusatory looks. Another option is to emergency-call a pal, but constant giggles with no explanation may leave them a bit irritated too. Sigh. I crack myself up :P
But sometimes, I feel like Chandler Bing, my favourite F.R.I.E.N.D. Using humour as a defence mechanism and all. Perhaps I laugh off too much of what should be dealt with in a different manner. It's easier to keep people at a distance when they think you're all about the laughter, and nothing but.
I thought my life would seem more interesting with a musical score and a laugh track -- Calvin

And then there was Stevie!

2008-08-24T03:39:00.000+05:30

Football brings out the worst in me. If bad things are happening, I glare, abuse, am rude to people who try to have conversations with me, and get horribly distracted from work. If there's a complete turnaround and everything's in my favour, I'm even worse. Extremely obnoxious, still abusive, cockily oversmart, and yes, unable to concentrate on work again. Like today. Middlesbrough, horror of horrors, took the lead at Anfield, overseen by that Mike Riley, who doesn't have a fair bone in his twitchy little body. But I kept watching. Out popped Carra for the equaliser: it was credited as an own goal to Emmanuel Pogatetz, but we know where it came from. So, 1-1, but dropping points at home early in the season... Still worrying.

And then there was Steven Gerrard! Later, he said the Kop inspired him, but really, isn't he the one dooing some serious inspiring stuff here? So a 2-1 win grabbed away just in the nick of time -- the fourth minute of injury time, to be precise. Take a bow, Stevie.

PS -- Arsenal lost to Fulham at Craven Cottage. And something tells me Manchester United won't be doing the job against Portsmouth on Monday night either. Go Pompey!

Tour de France, maybe

2008-08-24T02:32:00.000+05:30

After days of crashing as soon as I got on to my cycle, I remember what a thrill it was when I got the balance just right and could ride like a pro. There was no stopping me then. Morning and evening, I just had one agenda -- cover the miles quick. Oh yes, I had to stick around my neighbourhood -- mother's instructions -- but I didn't care. I was happy.
And then came the moment when I felt I had conquered all my fears. One day, cycling down a backlane, I just took both hands off the handlebars... and didn't fall. On and on I went -- it was like the bushes on either side were cheering me on, the dogs were stopping to acknowledge my feat, and the sun graciously stepped into the clouds so I could take centrestage. Well, I've always been a bit dramatic. But you get the idea.
That red cycle was sold off by my mother when we moved house. The rat race of life won't allow me time to go for leisurely rides now like in the old days. The choc-a-bloc roads and construction obstructions would make it tough. All excuses. If I really wanted to, I would begin cycling again. Maybe I will. You never can tell.
Tonight when I was driving back, I went back to those Bengali Market days -- the best days of my life. I took both hands off the steering wheel... And hurriedly put them back as a huge truck with glaring lights came staright at me out of nowhere. The good old times won't ever come back. But the memories... now, no one can touch those.
Life's ambitions occupy my time, priorities confuse the mind
Happiness one step behind, this inner peace I've yet to find.
This heart of stone is where I hide, these feet of clay kept warm inside,
Day by day less satisfied, not fade away before I die...
-- Extreme (Hole-hearted)

If only...

2008-08-23T05:03:00.001+05:30

A memory strikes me sometimes, of car moments in the past when I wasn't the one behind the wheel. Being driven by my mother with cousins for company to the cool contours of Pontoon Bridge, which remained magically untouched by the sweltering Delhi summer. Of the hurriedly planned family picnics to places which seemed far-off back then, taking advantage of a rare spell of good weather. Of all of us squeezing into the tiny family car to go to another boring wedding, which surprisingly turned out to be fun, since we all were together. Travelling in one car got tougher as my sister and I grew up, and after a while, my parents decided it was time for another, so we could all travel comfortably, albeit in two groups. They wanted it to be a surprise for my grandfather, but he didn't wait. He left us. He left me. He loved driving too. I would have liked to take him around in my car, I wonder what he would think of the way I handled the roads. I'll never know.
Last year, my grandmother joined him. It was tough for her to climb down the stairs to reach the car, so I never got the chance to drive her anywhere either. But the morning of that day in 2007 connects me with a painful driving memory, when I had to rush to reach her house. It was raining outside, and inside, as I struggled to see the roads, the tears wouldn't stop either.

Keep your eyes on the road, and your hands upon the wheel

2008-08-23T03:58:00.000+05:30

What can I say, the best therapy for me was to get in my Marlboro car and drive it. ~ Al Unser (former Indy 500 winner)

My sentiments exactly. Sometimes, I feel truly at home only in my car. When the world pisses you off, and you begin driving with music for company, with each kilometre, the mind clears. I love long distances, particularly to uncharted territory: It means I will surely get lost. Have I mentioned how it's such fun to lose yourself when in a car? Aimless, I have been called.

And I seem to have this strange affliction which causes a stubborn refusal to ask for directions. Only in the most extreme circumstances, if I'm horribly late for an assignment or some such commitment, will I reluctantly roll down the window and venture the question. "Erm, could you tell me where this place is?", sometimes to hear, "It's right where you are", followed by a barely disguised snigger. Oh, so you know your way around town, BIG deal :)

Even though I have spent hours being stuck in traffic jams that threaten to take on eternity-like proportions, it hasn't stemmed the driving obsession one bit. And some roads in Delhi, as yet unscarred by metro constructions, just encourage me. My favourite is Aruna Asaf Ali marg... What gets me about that one is this straight road is that the middle of it is slightly raised, sort of like a tiny little wannabe flyover. So when you're driving along, you come to a point when all you can see if you look absolutely straight above is the clouds in the sky and the leaves that line the way. Like you're driving into space. Then, the road smooths out again and the illusion shatters. But it's great while it lasts.

Confession: I discovered this in the early office days of anywhere-but-here. To delay the beginning of the working day, I would just confidently drive past the dreaded place on to this road, and after one (sometimes two, three...) spin to the end of it and back, I would be sufficiently strengthened to face the day.

Shanti Path is where you go if you want an extended cruise. Weaving around a few roundabouts, embassies with perfectly manicured lawns on either side, hardly any traffic, and peace and quiet. Only thing is, this is a VIP area, so it's not a great idea to cause suspicion. I have gotten a few looks as I go by again and again, but I'm sure the uniformed men figure, she's a girl, what can she possibly do (HEEHEEHAHAHAHA)

The Vasant Kunj highway too is fun, but there are too many others zooming past. And you can REALLY floor the accelerator on the Greater Noida highway as well. But, with surprise, I realise now that speed isn't really the be-all-and-end-all of my driving life now. I guess it comes with maturity and impending old age. Excuse me while I recover from a brief panic attack.

Bubble trouble

2008-08-22T03:14:00.000+05:30

Twelve pieces of bubblegum chewed together make fantastically fun bubbles. But the trouble is, when they get so big without bursting and then you gently poke them with your finger, and then they get stuck to them so your hands resemble a duck's webbed feet... Nah, no trouble, this is fun too :) Strange how you discover joy in such mundane activities when the work deadline is ticking closer and closer. Hmmm, another of life's unsolved mysteries. Let's leave it at that, and get back to work.

Colour blond!

2008-08-20T03:44:00.000+05:30

Did you think the title of this post is an error? Did you shake your head smugly and think of some smartass comments? Ah, that's how misunderstood we geniuses are :P
Isn't it great how something that initially was a typing error in a Gtalk window actually sounded like a completely valid term if you just paused to think about it?
So anyway, 'colour blond' is the new 'colour blind'. And I am. Colour blond, that is. Update your dictionaries, people. And if I buy you all gifts in weirdly terrible colour schemes, pardon me.

People think it must be fun to be a super genius, but they don't realize how hard it is to put up with all the idiots in the world -- Calvin

Necessity is a sandwich

2008-08-19T02:47:00.000+05:30

This gluttony has to stop. Or at least pause. Hence, a new food experiment has been put into practice beginning today: cut out the junk. So in effect, it meant I was hungry by the time I got home well past the midnight hour. And what food options did I have? Taking into account my inability to cook, my inability to raise a finger beyond absolute neccesity, and uncontrollable hunger pangs, I did what any lazy wise person would do: whip up a good old cheese spread sandwich :D But BUT but I really need to learn how to cook! Nothing fancy, just for survival :P I wonder if I've left it too late. Let's try making a list of my culinary successes:
1. maggi
2. tea
3. sandwiches
4. excuses
So that's it then, and only three of the above are edible.

Why waste time learning, when ignorance is spontaneous? -- Calvin

A star is born!

2008-08-18T04:17:00.001+05:30

Yup, 0012's still got it. For those of you who disagree, answer me this: When was the last time you were featured in a two-page magazine spread? So all those of you who have had the privilege of travelling by these now-famous wheels, I hope you know exactly what you're dealing with. Celebrity, that's what :)

I will stock up on issues as soon as i get the chance... everybody get your free copy now! :P And all we ask for in return is your love and support....hehehehehe! And yes, I know not the meaning of the word perspective, so don't even try and drill it into me :P

This was just chapter 1 of the car obsession :)

I like maxims that don't encourage behavior modification -- Calvin

Not intent on arriving

2008-08-18T01:23:00.000+05:30

A good traveler has no fixed plans, and is not intent on arriving - Lao Tzu
It's like I'm obsessed with quotes. Well, I'll just have to borrow others' till I come up with some of my own :)
So this one I like, coz I just do NOT seem to be intent on arriving -- to my detriment, sometimes, but absolutely no regrets :P
Whenever I get in my car, I just want to keep driving, driving, driving...unto eternity. And you know how I suck at directions? Ummm...well...I hate asking for the way, coz it's just such FUN to keep driving till you figure it out for yourself, and even if it takes you time and you find yourself in a strange place with bullock carts, buffaloes and babies running astray, you get more drivetime anyway. See? It's a win-win! And my driving philosophy really worked last time.. it renewed my faith: When in doubt, go straight. Yup, you can't go wrong with that one. And hey, before you point it out, money spent on petrol is money well spent. Got it? Ok then.
A day well spent
Today A and I put the plan into further action. Out with the old (GK, South Ex, South Dilli) and in with the new. CP, to begin with. After reasonably good food in an unreasonably noisy place which had this real ANNOYING staring kid (why do kids stare, why why why? Ban them I say) we decided to do some strictly-window shopping. A's no-shopping-in-August resolution had worked pretty well till now, but we found a tiny lil loophole :) well, it was raining you see, and her shoes would've gotten spoilt, and so we JUST had to stop and buy these nice chappals to aid walking out in the pouring rain, and since I'm such a good friend, I decided to buy myself a pair too..sympathy shopping, I think it's called :P
Funny though, how we found ourselves more attracted to puddles after that extremely important purchase. We had to test out the new waterproof footwear didn't we!
Next stop: metro station. Impulse visit to North Campus, meeting little sister, sprawling over her bed after sneaking into the hostel, ordering her to get food, drink, etc, dispensing some sisterly advice, making a Great Discovery which made the three of us blabber in delirious excitement, ok fine, I was doing the blabbering, but a new post on the GD after this one.
After another hostel visit a little distance away, we headed back to CP. Final stop: Q'BA. Nice place, great ambience, didn't eat so don't know what food is like, but I would definitely recommend it. Only problem, they have candles on the tables so I couldn't read the menu till I REALLy strained my eyes. (Oh right, I have to make a visit to the eye doc, but I'm chicken :P Hey, what if he sticks a needle into my eye or tells me something horrible is wrong with them! :O Ignorance is bliss, I say)
So TWO new places we tried today, excellent. Next target has also been sighted, and only challenge remaining involves dragging C out of Not-Delhi.

Man-Ew 1-1 Newcastle!

2008-08-17T23:58:00.000+05:30

And on behalf of all fellow Man-Ew haters, I must take a bow.

To begin with, a happy ending

2008-08-17T02:56:00.001+05:30

Ok, so I pretty much behaved myself. True, I did argue a LOT and give some people dirty looks, thump my fist on the desks and computers, abuse a bit and indulge in some cricket-kinda sledging, but all's fair in love, war and football. Unless it has to do with those cheating dive artists from Manchester United, of course. Who, by the way, aren't going to win against Newcastle United on Sunday. Yup, you read it here first, folks.

So it's 1-0 to begun with against Sunderland at the Stadium of Light, and they did make it a whole lot tougher than it should have been, and it took 82 minutes for THE goal to emerge in all its brilliance, but BUT three points and we're happy for the auspicious start :)

"There was something in the air that night, the stars were bright, FERNANDO" :)

But I sincerely hope I don't have to be in office for most of the other matches. For the good of me, you and office equipment.

Why should I have to WORK for everything?! It's like saying I don't deserve it! -- Calvin

And so it begins...

2008-08-16T03:35:00.000+05:30

Surely, this is what they must call true love. Nervous excitement, eagerly awaiting constant updates, perpetual worry, decrying uncertainty, and yet basking in the glow of those successes, however few and far between. Sometimes, nothing else matters. Last year, I was given a gentle nudge in the direction of sense and sensibility: "It's not good to have these obsessions." To which I replied, calm and smiling, "It's too late now." It's true, I'm addicted.
Every time the football season comes along, I know it's time. Time to pack up reason, rationality and everything in between those two annoyances in a tight bundle and make it vanish faster than Fred and George Weasley learnt to apparate in Book Five. Because I know, I KNOW that this will probably turn out to be another frustrating Liverpool season. (Actually, I'm just saying that so I don't jinx them, but since I'm doing it consciously, I wonder if it'll do any anti-jinxing good? All will be revealed in good time, or bad times as the case may be).
So anyway, I can just be sure of one fact at the end of this season's drama. Come what may, I will still be a Liverpool fan. For all my commitment phobia, this one's a shocking given. But at what cost? Health, sanity, social life and a few pissed off friends :-)
Yes, I worry about football results. Don't you? I worry about injuries. I worry about that darned Riley refereeing a crucial match. He hates us. Then there's the Champions League pressure. Tradition and all, and, ahem, five-time champions :P
And I worry about unavoidable social commitments that may cause me to miss a game. Because I need to be ALONE while watching football. You probably already know why, but in case you don't, click here: http://blogs.expressindia.com/showblogdetails.php?contentid=341440

The immediate problem, then, is Saturday night, the 16th of August, the first Premiership kick-off.

The scene: office. Lots of people, including Arsenal, Chelsea, and ugh, Manchester United fans in all their superior trophy-hoarding snobbery. It's Sunderland, but we just about scraped to a 0-0 against Standard Liege (heard of them? Niether had the boys, seemed like) on Wednesday, so cocky confidence isn't exactly the state of mind i enter this match in. Gerrard has been declared fit, but can't expect him to work a miracle every time. Actually, you can, but come on! A miracle?! Against Sunderland?! You've got to be kidding me! It can't be that bad now. Or can it? Sweaty palms, nervous coughs, and the choiciest glares if you dare to cross my path with evil intentions. It's back. True love.

I find my life is a lot easier the lower I keep everyone's expectations -- Calvin

The first evil laugh

2008-08-15T02:43:00.000+05:30

I have a feeling starting this blog is in violation of the principles I live by, as propounded by Messrs Calvin&Hobbes. In other words -- the importance of being idle. But really,when I think about it, it's taken about two years and two failed attempts at blog-sustenance since i first got the idea. True to the spirit of laziness and procrastination, wouldn't you say?
So I guess you would've figured out not to expect much movement on this blog. In fact, if i successfully complete this post, it's very likely to be the only one i could get my lazy fingers to type out. I wish i could just THINK and it would all magically appear here. Hmmm. Coz i do get all these brilliant thoughts, but then, before I get a chance to record them so I could instantly improve the quality of everyone's life, they zoom out of my mind. What a tragic loss...
But did I mention laziness can be overruled by selfishness?? It's the reason I finally got down to serious (we shall see about that) blogging. The prime objective of this space of mine is so I can obsess about my obsessions :) the most important one being self, of course.
The others will all be revealed in good time. I figured my friends were getting sick of me OCDing to them about certain things, so I decided to write it all down in a space where they will HAVE to read it again, for they shall have no choice (HEEHEEHAHAHHAAHA -- a laugh with distinctly evil tones that shall make its presence felt through these pages again and again and again).
To sign off, I ask you this: Is it just me or does a kid-and-tiger duo appear to make the most sense in this world?

Reality continues to ruin my life -- Calvin