Humour is the SHIZZ

I would like to bring to my attention that my last few posts have been very soppy and full of emotions and maybe a little bit of tears and definitely lots of phlegm. And honestly that’s not who I am - I surely don’t have phlegm issues. So I wanted to drop in and document this decision, that from now on I will only post funny things. I will leave my thoughts and emotions aside and concentrate on things that really matter - funny things. Everything will be along the lines of funny - be it observational funny, my life is funny, here’s a joke & it’s funny, your face is funny, my life is funny .... funny funny funny. You get the point, right? Now I know what you must be thinking and probably saying out loud - “But Aditi, funny is relative” to which I would like to say that “I don’t believe in relative or relatives or relations”. 

So, I don’t know why in every relationship - best friends, husband and wife, brother sister, sister brother, brother brother, sister sister, mother daughter, mother son, son mother, father mother, father daughter, owner dog, dog owner… there has to be one person who is funnier than the other. And that particular person never wants to accept it. Like take my case for example, clearly I am funnier than my Husb (new acronym). But he is so blind to that fact. And, what’s worse is that he is not only blind to the fact, he is also a thief because he trashes all my jokes and then steals them and then passes them off as his own. He is quite shaatir. Between me and him, it's kind of like that Chandler-Ross episode of the joke in Playboy. I mean look, humour is like a machine; it needs oiling and maintenance and I am all for oily, greasy things. Heres a Did You Know fact btw. Did you know that truffle oil isn’t actually truffle oil? Most of the truffle oil that we purchase from the market isn’t original truffle oil at all ... it’s fake. Pretty much like most people. 

Which brings me to the thought - if people are fake, then would the opposite be original? Often we hear people say “Yaar Aditi (or any other generic name inserted here), that girl Swati naa….she’s so fake!”. But if Swati wasn’t fake, would people compliment her by saying “Yaar Aditi, that Swati is so original.” Really, why isn’t that a commonly used compliment? I would for example, prefer a statement like this. “Aditi, kuch bhi kaho yaar, that Swati is a moti but she is so original ... like 100%”. I would like such compliments directed at me as well, occasionally. But more than that, I would like some form of appreciation for my humour too, like any form really. Say a compliment like “original”, as I have already established, is one. Even money or gift vouchers are a form of compliment. 

I think a sense of humour is the most undervalued quality in a woman. Like all people ask for is “fair, tall, slim and trim girl chahhiye”. But what about sense of humour? What about “I want a girl who is fair, slim, trim, tall and funny?” And you could throw in “original” too if you are really into this compliment, not me though, I am okay-ish about it. 

Anyway, it was appreciation for humour we were talking about and it is appreciation I mean whole heartedly. I believe it is important for each and every one of us to take that little time out in our life, go up to someone, tap them on their shoulder, smile and tell them they are funny. Because beauty is only skin deep, humour is cranium deep, and the brain is the most important part of the human body. 

I am sitting in my office and typing out this whole blog at the risk of being caught. But I got a little time off and decided - what is that ONE topic that I feel very strongly about. Of course the first topic that came to mind was Irritable Bowel Syndrome which I suffer from but I decided to stop digging deeper. I needed something more surface level, tbh. And so, I knew it had to be …. jokes. 

I will end this post with a joke I recently told my colleague and he didn’t find it funny which is fine because I figured he doesn’t have a cranium. 

Oh, man!

A hyperbole totally ripped into this bar and destroyed EVERYTHING.

Fin.

Bombay is Bombay is Bombay

Its been two months of pleasant surprises and "huh? What did you just say?" here in my Bombay office. I like working with these people, but there's no denying it—they're also a little strange. I'm going to list the strange quirks and typical responses that I come across on a daily basis here:

1. Be rude. It is the medium of communication; it is healthy. Saying things like, "Aaye kya time waste karta hai rey bhondu" to even a 70 year old is normal. These phrases and tones cut across all age and designation hierarchies. If you don't speak like you are the king of the world, you are immediately made to feel like an outsider.

I now regularly make my boss wait when she calls out to me. I still haven't gotten around to using the usual phrase thrown at the boss- "Ayee kya hai..! tu ruk na!" But......I'm getting there.

2. Talking about standard phrases reminds me of another thing.The usage of the word "tu". You become a "tu" in the first meeting in Bombay. In Delhi, 99% people spend their entire lives trying to build a "tu" relationship with people and mostly fail. 99.9% people in Delhi are referred to as "aap". Also, 'yes' is "haanji" or "haan" in Delhi. 'Yes' in Bombay is a grunt.

3. While we speak of speech, let's also discuss the condition of Hindi here. Speaking in (what I assume is regular) Hindi immediately makes you an outsider. I have been working on deteriorating my Hindi for the past two months just so I can fit in. Its hard work..but I think I'm improving.

4. Accent. You've got to have an accent, my friend. English, Hindi, Marathi, Urdu, French. Everything needs to be spoken in an accent. What accent is this, you may ask? American? British? Russian? To that I would like to say....

I have no idea.

5. "Haan bollll naaaa!"

This is the first time I am talking to you, I just said hi. I was hoping we could have a pleasant conversation, maybe even become friends...is what you think. 

But the sudden snap makes you feel- Why are you making me feel like I've been pestering you for eternity? For every greeting you are presented with an impatient reply- "haan bol NA!"

Okay man! Relax.

6. Here I would like to take the opportunity to enlighten you about a beautiful, golden response which confuses me no end because I don't understand the attitude behind it. "Chalega."

Hi, can you send out that mail?
Chalega

Your report is pathetic. Rework it.
Chalega

Your dad just died. You need to cremate him.
Chalega

Can you jump out of the window?
Haan chalega

Our Delhi moms often would insert this phrase during their loud, hollering sessions which went something like "I am sick of your chalega attitude in life!!"

Here "chalega" definitely has more respect. I recently heard my company's MD say "chalega." They use it like it's a free country. Disturbing.

7. Vada pav. This is actually a delicacy. It is consumed during meals, in between meals, when hungry, when not. It can be consumed by a Bombay-ite at any time of the day; sometimes even while sleeping. An average Bombay person's dream consists of many random images with a vada pav in the background. There is a separate category of beggars who beg for ONLY vada pavs. There are vada pav vending machines here. Everyone likes vada pav. Everyone is a vada pav.

Bombay is a funny place...its unique. But very charming. It's a free city; only a fool would hate it. You may wear what you want, say what you feel, do what you wish and enjoy the revelry around ....there's something here for everyone! For the uninitiated, I love Bombay. I really do.

Tabula Rasa

Back to the drawing board? Not really. Everything seems pretty; different pretty. A different drawing board. My board has many colours now—there's a bright yellow here, and an orange there. It's got hits of blues and specks of grey. It's a fresh coat. It's still drying. Some colours are running. And mixing. I only want to watch. This is just the first coat.

It's not easy, I think to myself sometimes. A moment after I realise, it couldn't be easier than this. My mind has a mind of its own. My thoughts are running  everywhere. In the past and sometimes in the near future. During blank moments of thoughtlessness, it slips back to the past. The one I recently left behind. The one that I will NEVER leave behind, I tell myself.

My present has never been so prominent. It's got multiple stories. Each moment is new.  

I am me but I am not the same.

Oh look. A new coat. A fresh one.

I am dripping.

If only this could work

So many friends I am havingg

Today, I decided to pay a remembrance to all the amazing little friends I've had throughout my childhood.  These were ones I rescued, fed, bathed, fed and looked after and who finally left me by either dying, running away or being stolen.

1. Mickey, the squirrel:  He was my brother's, actually. He invaded my brother's head, made a home there, shat on it, slept on it and thought the dense mass of curls was home. He never left his head to come say hello to us. I was too small and too scared of him. My dad found him one day while driving home from work (ah! a potential pet, he thought!). A baby squirrel, sitting near a tree, lost and lonely without a mom. I don't know how he left us but we were told he was sent to a "farm" with many more squirrels. So no harm done, right :) He's probably playing there still, must be 30 years old now.

2. A series of anonymous pups: We got a new pup home almost everyday (the neighbourhood bitch was quite frisky, you see). Brother and I would feed them, play with them and mom would scorn and disapprove. Dad was okay, but one day we realised that the pups needed to be clothed. So we made all of them wear my dad's T-shits, vests and underwear (why did we choose my dad's wardrobe, I will never know). But after that, my dad decided this little shenanigans needed to stop because he was running out of inner wear. And so all our pets were banned from being brought home. 

3. Kittu, the baby bird: One day, while my cousin and I were playing in my grandparents house, we saw a little a baby bird fall from a nest, on the floor. Her mother, it seemed, had abandoned her. Cousin and I immediately decided— "She will be our daughter," and daughter, she truly was. We took the role of Indian moms very seriously and decided the best way to bring up a child was by feeding it.....a LOT. Every time the bird opened her mouth to cry (probably was asking us to leave her alone but who knows, probably not) we fed her — from bread, vegetables, sugar, rice, curd to chocolate, mithai and more, we ensured she had a full, wholesome diet. Everything but that wretched bird food—ew, our daughter won't eat that! She slept in our room, we sang her lullaby's. She was becoming very well fed, and soon, we realised, this could be a problem. Her stomach started growing, and so we contemplated a strict diet plan. But nothing seemed to work. Her crying made us feed her more, her bloating tummy made us cry more. Eventually, her digestive system gave way....and she passed away. We gave her a very formal burial, just so you know.
This is a true story btw. No exaggeration.

4. Kittu, the cat: You see, when it comes to names, clearly I am very unoriginal. Her mother was killed in a tragic accident and so dad got her home. She was christened Kittu, in remembrance of not only my previously failed 'bringing up a bird project' but according to dad, it was a Ranjan tradition to name all cats 'Kittu'. As the drill goes, I took her in as my own child, washed her (she didn't need washing btw), fed her, tried to clothe her (dads underwear to the rescue!), tried to establish friendship between her and my family dog (who tried to eat her) and basically was a complete slave to her. She stayed in the basement and was extremely needy. I would wake up at 5 in the morning to feed  her milk in an ink dropper. I taught her how to climb up the basement stairs into the living room. Later I realised it was a big mistake. She would climb up, 'meow' on the dog's face and create a ruckus at home. Every day after school I would bolt towards the basement, hug her and tell her how much I missed her. She was always hungry and very space demanding. While our friendship lasted for a few months, our family dog decided it was time to turn on the dramatics—he stopped eating, threw a tantrum and basically made us get rid of the cat.

5. Jimmy, the tortoise: While driving to a new city that we were to call home, my dad yet again spotted a potential pet on the road—Jimmy the tortoise. I happily took him in and he sat on my lap throughout the journey. I had BIG plans for Jimmy, because our new house had a big garden. He would be the king of a new green, kingdom. I was happy about two things mainly—he would eat grass, thus I would not have to chart a diet plan for him. The second, he was a tortoise. They live for like a 100 years. Nothing I do will ever lead to his death. It was a win- win situation. He and I remained friends for precisely one night. The next morning he was stolen from our garden.

6. Red cap gold, the red cap gold fish: Now in retrospect, I do feel my parents should have staged an intervention. I mean, every afternoon I would sit in front of our aquarium, and talk to the fish, REALLY loudly (because I thought they wouldn't be able to hear me through the aquarium glass). I fed them fish food, chit-chatted with them, and considered them my new best friends. However, this friendship too was cursed. One day, our family dog jumped up, pulled them out of the aquarium and ate them. I was horrified, disgusted and heartbroken. There could be no burial. But I didn't speak to the dog for a whole day.


7. Mickey, the squirrel: Yes, just the way all cats were to be named Kittu, we decided all squirrels would be called Mickey. To cut a long story short — I fed him, took care of him and well, it was all short lived.  All in all, a lovely time spent and so many new lessons to learn.

Advertising and all that

Did I tell you about the time when an old ex-close-friend's-best friend very sneakily stole one of my picture and made an ad out of it? No? Then let me tell you about it. An old ex-close-friend's-best friend very sneakily stole one of my picture and made an ad out of it.

But then it's alright because post that we became friends and there was very little awkwardness left. And he also temporarily made me famous on facebook. I miss being famous.

Good day to you all.

What's on my mind...YOU tell me

I'm on crossroads and it's making me happyunhappy. I'm still where I was two years back, but I'm getting promoted. I've started a little creative project but I'm constantly worried about it. I haven't achieved all that I aspired to two years back but I've got a lot that I never thought of.

Happyunhappy. Its a paradox. From close quarters, it seems like nothing has changed. From afar, it's been one hell of a ride. I wake up every morning hoping for something new but nothing happens. Every weekend in retrospect I realise something has changed. I wait for time to pass by quickly; when I pause to breathe, I panic that time has flown.

Happyunhappy. Sometimes I think of my life and wonder, "What the hell is happening." Sometimes I sigh and smile, "Better this than that." She asks me, "What's up dude, update." I think, I ponder, I struggle, I resign and say, "Nothing." While sitting behind a rickshaw listening to some old melody, looking pensively at the road my life flashes like a movie reel and I think, "Life, stop being so eventful."

Happyunhappy. I dread the routine as it drains out the need to be creative, as I get ready to go to bed I giggle a little thinking how funny my own jokes are. I haven't made new friends but as I roll out the invites every 22nd November, I realise I need to trim the list. I detest my work most days, I fall in love with it when I see it in print.

Happyunhappy my days are. Confused, perturbed, irked and agitated through the day, I generally find that I still sleep well. It's rather annoying and mostly amusing. I don't know the state of my mind.

Have you ever come face-to-face with awesome?

.........no guarantee this is awesome. But it's pretty awesome because it's making me happy. http://www.facebook.com/LoLokplease?fref=ts my page for all my drawings and jokes.



This is going to be awesome

MAATROOO

 I wrote this long back for some work. Just found it. Posting it here :)


"Gaadi ki disha mein pehla dabba mahilaon ke liye aarakshit hai. Purush yatriyon se anurodh hai ki mahilaon ke liye aarakshit dibbon mein na baithei. Aisa karna dandniy apradh hai."

Some women may think the general compartment is one which sanctions a 'enter at your own risk,' with dirty men ready to brush against you with the pretext of jostling to the door. You may also get letched at by a bunch of adolescents, with raging gorilla hormones. But most women know not what awaits inside the WOMEN compartment. That, is a different, unchartered territory.

Here's a walk through that world and a precautionary list for the first timers.

1. Being over weight is one, but throwing your weight around is an altogether different story. Middle aged women with bums the size of two guest rooms are usually seen sitting smug on seats. Don't ask them to move, you will only get stared at.

2. There is a chance you may get hot boxed due to the aromatic extravaganza the Metro provides: deodrants, perfumes, sweat stench, ponds talcum powder, smoke, old socks, bear breath, stale/fresh tiffin food..etc. Try not to locate where each smell emanates from. You will only get stared at.

3. If you receive a call, message, mail or a tweet, if possible, avoid opening it till you reach home safely. Once the phone is opened, the ones plastered behind you will resolutely peek into your screen and read the notifications without embarrassment. Others who's vision is obstructed, will slide, move or stand on their toes, just to peek into your screen. Try not to look up at all those who were looking. Atleast 17 pair of eyes will stare straight at you. Remember, in Delhi, everybody's business is everybody business.

4. Try to avoid any movement or emotion while in the Metro. Laughing, sneezing, coughing, crying, hiccuping, scratching, snorting, smiling, breathing, ALL will earn you stares. Long stares, even. Everyone in Delhi stares at others like they are a piece of art. Hence, stay like a piece of art. Don't move.

5. Here, it is perfectly normal to pronounce Metro as 'matro', used abbreviations in casual conversation "Uske bf ka mere hubby ke fb pe comment dekha? Yaar, O Em Gee." Also, it is perfectly normal to hear things like, "Bhai, mera favourite rock artist Bryan Adams hai. Mera favourite rock band Boyzone hai, and Adheleee is a great rock singer." Don't comment at ALL. They will think one of two things: You don't know anything about music...or you don't know anything about music. You will also get stared at.

6. Don't hold conversations in English, over the phone or with a friend especially if you are travelling towards areas like Rajouri Garden, Punjabi Bagh. People will think you are a tourist, so you will be fleeced and stared at.

7. Try not to over hear broken English conversations or make grammatical corrections in your mind. You will have to eventually shoot yourself. Oh, yes, also, did I mention? You will be stared at.............I have no idea why.

Keep these pointers in mind. These will not ease your journey in any way, make you more street smart or help you brave the journey in the women's compartment. However, it's good to know the devil before you meet it. All the best, ladies!

Some awesomeness it surely is

It will be super awesome and it will be pretty.....awesome. I'm working on something and I am hopeful that at least some millions will like it and I'll be rich, since famous I already am.
.........................................

Actually, I am nervous and I am sweating. I have no idea what I'm upto and why I have worked this hard for it. I am not sure if people will like it. All I can hope for is that.................some millions will like it and I'll be rich, since famous I already am.

Anyway, that little something will be launched soon.

O, did I mention? Goa, is two days away. I am so excited and I am so excited.


Love

Thasssiit

I know it.

It's decided now. All I want for a career is to spoof movies.

Be cool, yaar

People ask me why I don't post regularly. Why I have become so unpredictable and why my posts lack spirit, heart and motivation.

That's because of two things:
1. Because I've forgotten how to write.
2. No one asks me the afore mentioned questions.

I've been doing this for 2 years, and I still say, as easy and wonderful writing is, its equally difficult and painful, especially when you have a long list of followers who might just decide to one day, read what you've written, and in the hope for some occasional smidgen appreciation, I keep at this blogging business.

All lies. I don't give a flying 'fudge' about what people think. Because, a. I don't have a long list of followers. b. I don't have an eventful life.

Actually I do. But I'm extremely lazy, and I have much to say, but I don't like contributing to the low IQ creative pool of the blogging community.

All lies. Okay, here's something interesting.

The fire alarm drill at work. Which isn't a drill at all. Every third day, the usual functioning of the office is interrupted by a loud siren which can basically burst your nerves and make you want to throttle the people in your cubicle. But, we here, don't do that. The moment the siren goes off, we first check who all jumped at the sudden noise, then we take a pen and stick it inside our ears. Then we yawn because it is time to put on the 'I'm so cool, this don't scare me, we're fire-resistant' expression (cos that's how Indians roll yo). Oh, what's more. We never hear an announcement which says, "This was a fire alarm drill. Don't worry, please get back to killing yourself with work."

What if a fire really breaks out and we're still stuck in our seats being cool? When do we get the cue to scream like little girls and run for the exit together (that's how Indians roll yo) and all basically get toasted together (any which way.)

I don't think anyone has ever given this a thought. I have, I mean, sure I have. But, I'm not motivated enough to bring it up. Hey, I won't move a muslce till I see a REEEA AAAlLLL fire break out. Cos that's how Indians roll yo.

Monday morning posts and such like

I know Incredible India ads can be a little over the top, sugary, gooey 'India is really incredible, really really', but what to do. I love them all, they make me swell with pride. Cos guys, India IS incredible, so screw you who thinks otherwise.

 Winter is here, and waking up early is a curse.I hate it with all my heart, especially when my dadi says, seeing my groggy face, "Tumhare office mein winter timings nahi hote?" ................................

There's going to be some music, dancing, few close friends, lame jokes, and lots to drink, soon. After very long, I am looking forward to 22nd, I am not going to sulk this year, no sir.

Anyhow. While in the Metro, I saw this one girl reading a book I read some six years back, and I remember, as a class, we were more than mesmerised by his writing. I remember dropping some of these, in casual conversations and no matter how morose it sounded then, and even now, there's something about this poem. So, here it is:

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Write, for example,'The night is shattered
and the blue stars shiver in the distance.'

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me sometimes, and I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is shattered and she is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight searches for her as though to go to her.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

Another's. She will be another's. Like my kisses before.
Her voide. Her bright body. Her inifinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my sould is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.

Pablo Neruda

Cinema was AT HOME

I think I'm going to have to eat my own words. I could delete them but I'm going to eat them.

Suits, Woman on Wall Street was a great read. Not only was the narrative fast, interesting and fun, I could in some way relate to the protagonist and I almost felt nostalgic in the end. I have suggested this one already to some and while some guys might find it a bordering chick-lit sort of a read, it is one that will for sure keep them entertained, nevertheless.

I started my morning with the usual facebook browsing while I tried to avoid listening to the chitter-chatter in the Metro and tried to divert my mind which was constantly screaming, "Why can't woman just use a damn deo?" I saw, right there from one cousins wall to the other, a video post. A song from this movie.

And I remembered something. Back, during my school days when adolescence was bursting out of me I was full of ideas that needed a platform. So a friend and I started a small venture. Which had no budget nor takers. It was a venture of spoof videos.

We had many ideas and too many ambitions. I had a phone which had camera cataract. Friend had a phone which resembled a soap case. We wrote our own script, dialogues and no movie was more than 10 seconds long. Mostly because we had to shoot it all in one go. We knew zilch about editing and we were very lazy.

Each video was made in not more than two takes because we were just that good (also because we were lazy.) But we believed a lot in improvisation. I was always the guy because my friend's Hindi sucked. Since some spoofs were on Bollywood movies, her Hindi was a hindrance. So I was different hindi-speaking characters in different videos. Some times a vegetable vendor, sometimes a local goon. One blockbuster hit video had me starring as Govinda. In the many others I played actors and characters from our daily life but mostly, I was Govinda. That's why I am a big fan. I feel for the guy, I played him through most of my adolescent hood. Friend had a more versatile role. She was the protagonist, narrator, backstabber and villain. She did a good job at even giving background score cos she's a great singer. She was also quick at giving inanimate objects in my room roles impulsively which made them very happy.   

At times when we needed more than two characters, we used Buffy to play them. He once played a cut for intermission which he liked a lot since it only involved him sleeping and giving us a snoring sound bite. But on another occasion when we used him as a shopkeeper who was supposed to give us Twix, he didn't like that idea at all so he snapped very angrily and tried to eat my disabled-cataract camera phone. That didn't go down too well for us so we had to drop him completely from our venture. From then on we used torn jeans, bags, guitars and bras to play other important roles.

We needed an appreciative audience so we showed our amazing movies to a close friend AN. While we played it all in front of him, he watched them like a stone carving - he never emoted, smiled or even applauded (which was very rude.). In the end we would insist that he gives a feedback and all he would say was, "Theek hai." Today we wonder how he's still friends with us.

We tried to add more people to the venture, like that one time when we got another friend MC to play a vital role in our movie. But she turned out to be too good. We had to drop her too.

Such was our blooming career. It was short lived but it was very successful. That was probably the first and last time I actually enjoyed my work. All traces and evidences of all those videos have been sadly wiped off from the face of this Earth. But those those were good times.

This one is dedicated to my bast frand who played my leading lady at all times. The show must go on....

We are going to be busy for a while...

...with THIS.


I know. It looks like a regular, run-of-the-mill gender biased, women minioritised  sort of a story. Or maybe like a Devil Wears Prada. But for some reason, I am expecting better. Anyhow, I've just paid 350 /- for this, it doesn't matter what direction this book flows in.

I had a lot many choices this time. There was a perfectly, absolutely, gripping, dark, thriller-suspense book that I came across, but I passed. And, another story of a family struggling through the Civil War. "Not right now," said my steaming cup of coffee. We need something light hearted, stereotypical and bordering senseless. Not that I am judging...this book by its cover. I am, actually.

Bah, in two days I shall be devouring this, with baked Lays. Cos I'm cool like that (also fat).

Lesseee....lessseeee  

Please, not now

There's a lot happening around me, but there's always an impatience. I feel like the weather of Delhi-moody, unpredictable, happy and grey.

Work is good, and responsibilities are double..... triple. Sometimes I feel like a winner- I'm "smack in the centre" of the journalism hub of India, I've managed to survive it all for more than a year, and I've done well. At other times, I feel I should call all of it quits and start doing something really creative. Like write a book or start shooting spoof movies (lucrative career option #332837). Or I should just completely switch my field. Should I go back to advertising, and give copy for products that mean nothing to me, nor the client, nor the audience? Should I become a theatre artist? How about I join a fashion photographer and become his assistant. Or. Not.

Today, is a good day. Its a....a day which isn't an everyday. That's one. I've been reading some seriously awesome articles which make me go "whoaaa" after EVERY DAMN READ. Which is again, awesome and awful. When exactly will I reach that stage when I will be able to write my own opinion column, and talk about issues that need to be talked about.

I'm hungry. I'm always hungry. Sometimes when I'm in my meditation class, I imagine eating food to calm my mind. I feel I'm in Big Chill and I'm dressing the pasta with Oregano and chilli flakes, and I'm readying myself to dig in. That. So relaxing. Best therapy.

More laterish.

Oh I'm so +ve

It's very unlike me to feel so positive, all the time. Its weird, and it's an emotion I can hardly keep up with. Anyhow, that's how we are right now, and that's how this post shall be.

There've been some 'ha'mazing discoveries on youtube, and I've found just the perfect way to use my free time, watching some great stand up comedians, doing their thanngg. Although, must I add, its difficult to keep a straight face in front of scowling 70-year-olds and 50 somethings passing by my work station after every mili second. They don't laugh at nothing. They are always angry and disapproving and they also have no business around my work space.

I bought three most amazing things, this weekend that made me very proud and very young. After being denied tickets for two consecutive shows for Amazing Spiderman, a friend and I walked around. And there, we saw something that made us shriek. Four rows of the best games, action figures and books. We spent maybe a total of 1.5 hours there, and came out with loaded bags. I bought a pack of Uno cards, a TRANSFORMER (sideswipe, thankyou) and...........JENGA!

 Of course, there were many who protested, smirked, poked and pointed at us, as we proudly displayed our buys on the round table in costa coffe. But the finger was duly given.

There are some official travel plans, to not a very amazing place, but yes, something is there. Next week seems slightly promising and there maybe some interesting things to look forward to.

Incidentally, I chanced upon this, and my world changed. http://f-o-o-d-p-o-r-n.tumblr.com/ now my hunger is insatiable. If this food can be cooked by any good man or woman, I will be their servant for life...(Kind of).

I've been reading up on aliens and various theories related to them, during my free time, at home. Its QUITE intriguing and slightly scary.

For now I shall sign off and get down to work. More awesomeness later, and be happy all ye faalooowwsss!

Sunday no more a Sunday

bikhre toote tukde, saare jud rahe hain dheere dheere haule haule..
betuke se sur wo saare mil rahe hain, dheere dheere haule haule..aaine ka dhundhla chehra khel raha dheere dheere haule haule..

nanhi si ek jaan ne apna bachpan khoya
khauf ki maili chaadar odh ke soya
bebas akela bezubaan chupchap roya
barson se ye behte aansoo tham rahe hain dheere dheere haule haule
khul rahi aankhein jo ab tak nam rahi hain, dheere dheere haule haule
aaine ka dhundhla chehra khel raha dheere dheere haule haule..


If I may say so, yes, I am an admirer and a supporter. I don't want to see the rolling millions and the commercial brilliance, of this show. All I want to see, discuss and debate over are the issues that remain, tragically, stagnant. Think about it. Female foeticide, dowry, child abuse. We've been reading, watching, hearing and witnessing them for aeons. But when we watch a re-run of the same old issues once again,  the weight of the reality comes crashing down on us like an iron ball. Here, there is no blaming or pointing fingers and naming. Here, they talk of solutions and facts. I like that. I like that, once again, Sunday mornings have become important days that get a family together, to watch and learn, of what is hidden behind the everyday hub-a-dub.

I remember, as a kid, every weekend was spent in the matchbox flats of the Saket DDA colony, where my grandparents stayed. I was welcomed by the religious curry rice cooking of my dadi and the smell of a freshly opened pack of cigars, that my grandad inaugurated, to signal that the weekend had begun. Sunday mornings, my brother and I were woken up early, and sent for a shower, because we had to get ready to watch 'Aap ki adalat', with the entire family. We would crouch beside my granddad on the floor mattress, with our cereal bowls in hand, and watch wide-eyed and confused, a pseudo court room session on TV. A half-bald-bispectacled man would, in short, be royally taking someone’s ass, and that someone, would generally be a known-household name. My granddad and dad would share a smirk and my mom and dad would 'tut-tut' with worried expressions. My brother, perhaps pretended to understand what was going on and would accompany the studio audience when they got the cue to laugh. I would just be confused, wondering why I wasn't allowed to play outside. However, even then, at that young age, in my state of absolute cluelessness, I still knew, Sundays' were important. The half-bald-bispectacled man was doing the right thing by asking cheeky questions and making people sweat. Everyone would would be pleased watching when the accused going to pieces. But in the end, for some strange reason, the judge would clear the person of all charges and end the show.

Not exactly, but I kind of get a strange nostalgia, as I wait for Satyamev Jayate, every Sunday at 11 AM, and think of my late grandfather. He would definitely watch this programme too, religiously, wearing his trademark white kurta-pajama, and watch the programme intently without a word, slowly smoking his freshly opened pack of cigars and make no comment before or after the show.

I've put up a link of a song sung on the second episode of the show. It has the most beautiful and simple melody and soulful lyrics.

I know this show could be one of those, that come, make an impact and go, and along with it, goes the ignited spirits and motivated actions. But for now, what I see, what I hear and what I learn is more than I thought was possible through a commercially designed social-awareness show.

Kudos to Aamir Khan and a salute to all the survivors who talk about their lives. I know this sounds cheesy, but what the heck. Satyamev Jayate!

It's a Thursday

It’s chronic restlessness that I feel all the time. No, it wasn’t the constant leg shaking, nail biting, teeth grinding that gave it away. It was actually the perpetual ill health on Thursdays that was an alarm bell. For one, the bad health is mostly a concocted one, that stems from boredom and a sudden lack of monstrous work.  I’m sick, though not physically. I’m sick, psychologically. After the ritualistic slogging throughout the week, Thursday’s, that promise lighter ‘times’, actually, make me nervous.

Let’s put it this way –I need to be busy. It’s an addiction now. When I can see and feel the clean black wood shining bright on my table, and my desktop clear and the blue-green sea wallpaper smiling sleepily at me, I gasp for breath.

Yup, some –‘coholism’ this surely is.

MIA-No More

So take up your makeup

And pocket your pills away.

We're kings among runaways

On the bus mall.

We're down

On the bus mall.

-The Decemberists

As I type this out, I see some really bizzare pictures scrolling on their own accord on the indiatimes site. There's something here about Shilpa Shetty's baby shower (wait! She was pregnant?!), Shahrukh Khan with daughter Suhana (is he still suffering for removing Ganguly from his team?), and some nude woman's photo shoot (who're you again?), Malaika Arora looking really bloated (pity), KS Ravikumar's daughters wedding (how'd they get hold of her wedding album?).....its going on, I can't sit through this anymore. Oh, for the uninitiated, you should know, indiatimes is possibly the worst site ever made by any brand.

Coming back to the Times of my life, both inside and outside. Let's just say, end of April and begining of May has been relatively eventful. There's been a short trip, there have been trips made by friends, there has been peace, there's been a little promotion, there has been a marginal appraisal, there have been sincere career misgivings, there has been lots of work and a small stint opportunity in the glam world which was dutifully rejected.

Anywhooo. Let's bullet this, shall we?:

1. Rudy's visit this time, was like Dilli Darshan. All directions, every corner, four days in 8 plates, we skimmed the city like a pair of wide-eyed tourists.

2.  I read this brilliant book called 'I know this much is true', recommended by a friend. Honestly, its review and cover, when I saw online, were slightly over-the-top  and extremely dark. Not that the book wasn't it. It was. It was bleak, depressing and emotionally, a really heavy read. But you know what. There are two kinds of dark. One is repulsive, the kind that pulls you down. And the other is one, that in a mysterious way, actually, ignites hope and leaves you teary and, yes, happy. This one's the latter.

3. Haridwar and rishikesh happened, and much joy and happiness and peace followed. I sat by the Ganga, at this isolated place, behind a not-known ashram. Just me and the river. If you just watch the fast current and emmerse your feet in the ice-cold water which seems to have just freshly melted from the glaciers, you get a brain freeze. But it's an enjoyable one. You're thoughtless, for all the while that you sit by the river. At the cost of sounding like an eccentric, orange- robed, all-knowing sadhu, that Ganga has something very unique about it. I don't know exactly what it is.

4. Weird-golden haired-frog look-alike takes the same Metro as me, in the morning. Once she pointed her finger at me, with her eyes bulging and in a thunderous voice said something that sounded like a prediction, "You work in BCCL." I didn't know if it was a statement or a prediction. I nodded. She then continued with her prediction-like voice, "Share the auto with me." And I said, "er..no? I prefer walking to office." After which she continued to stare at me like I was mad, with her eyes bulging out more. It costs 15 rs, really. Did I really turn down a great money sharing offer that would slash our budgets to half? I think not. Anyhow. She still stares at me, maybe she's punishing me in her mind. How can anyone in the world turn down such a great auto-sharing offer, she thinks.

5. Peeking continues, and all chats, mails, messages, are still read. Sometimes commented upon.

There could be more points here, but there aren't. Simply because, this isn't twitter or facebook, and I cannot possibly make it seem thrilling and exciting. That's it. Signing off.

Love.