what price, TV?

what is wrong with national television?
if after a hard day's hard labour, an honest tax-paying citizen can't come home and watch some TV, what is the point of life? so very pointless.

i switch on the TV in the hopes of getting some suitably mind-numbing entertainment. something that would soothe my frayed nerves and make everything else seem less terrible by comparison, and what do i get? crime against humanity perpetrated without any shame or remorse. has PETA nothing to say about this? is no one willing to pose nude to highlight the plight of the imprisoned modern woman?

the first sight that greets mine tired eyes is a constipated looking tusshar kapoor serenading an even more constipated amrita arora (?or rao?) with a totally constipated song by some constipated lyricist about badals and pani and their respective colours.

my defense mechanism kicks in and delivers a shot of pure adrenalin to my fingers which in turn helps me switch channels before i die of disgust.

and what do i see?

that normally wholesome asin in a dangerously short skirt executing moves that threaten a wardrobe malfunction with the dabanng khan in a very prabhu deva song with very prabhu deva choreography.

the next panicked channel change does not bode well either. promo for some movie proclaiming itself ‘india’s first 3D film’. must serve chills of spine tingling proportions if the hero’s face is anything to go by. what could be more horrific than a man who looks like a badly shaved potato?only himmesh reshammiya. but that is another horror story.

the only saving grace was the promo for the kiddie movie ‘stanley ka dabba’ which shows some very real looking kids eating some very real looking food and a suitably pervy looking schoolmaster. I am buying a ticket.

the zoo in my room

when the pest moved away for his post graduation, i rejoiced for days on end, thinking that my room would finally be my own, and that i would be freed from loud, off-key renderings of a tasteful selection of the choicest of himmesh reshammiya hits.

but in keeping with 'the best laid plans o' mice and men, gang aft a gley...' and all that jazz, my hopes were dashed against the merciless rocks of fate. little did i know that this was but the lull before the storm.

there is this thriving bee hive right under the eve of my window. the members of the colony think that my room is the most happening hot-spot in this part of town, with the hottest chick, to boot.
come evening, all of them make a bee-line (aha!) to my window and hang around buzzing to be let in. the ones who do manage to sneak in somehow, spend the rest of the night making giddy circles around the light, serenading the unresponsive beauty with buzzy ballads sung with much enthusiasm and never-ceasing effort.

the most ardent of suitors are well-versed in the casanova-style of seduction. they shun the direct 'i'll fly at you, and you fall for me' approach and try more sophisticated variations. some of the smoothest moves i've seen so far include moving in a diagonal path towards the object of adoration from the farthest corners of the room, making sure to do all sorts of impressive stunts on the way. they dip, they soar, they manfully thump their rumps against the wall, they walk backwards, they walk forwards, they fly in circles, they fly in straight lines, they lay in wait in seeming indifference and then make quick feints...all of course, with total disregard to the rightful owner of the room, trying to read her book in peace. the braves terrorize any visitors i might have, who offer interesting reactions of their own and shrieks of varying decibels and tonal qualities.   

if all this was not excitement enough, the gecko family has decided to make my room their home as well. the pater-familias (i think, though i can't be certain) keeps peeking out at me from behind the bulb and casts malevolent glances in my direction.
my traitorous mother refuses to have them swept out of the house, and has been ignoring my pleas on the grounds that they make huge dents in the insect population. i would gladly eat all the mosquitoes she can catch, if only i can be free of the specter of a yellow eye beaming malice at me.

the mother-of-mother is a kindred spirit. i suppose a supari offer is in the offing. an offer she cannot refuse.a weeks-worth of smuggled in sweets in exchange of the dirty deed.


why must such tragedies be visited upon me? my only refuge from the madding crowds invaded. tragedy of 9.99 magnitude.

horror story

my mattress is out to murder me.

one day i shall be found impaled upon a spring from my own mattress. what a way to go.

unsolved mystery: number 6

why do doors, seemingly-innocent by daytime, creak at night?

by night, my room door, the bathroom door, the fridge door, all assume characters out of the ramsay brothers flicks of yore and engage in indiscriminate groaning and ghoulish creaking. this mysteriously stops the moment it starts looking like dawn.

what? am i being haunted by the door-hinge ghost?

on pe(e)a brains

important scientific discovery of the day -

i'v just discovered the missing link.
he owns a paunch, wears glasses and has a brain the size of a smallish pea.

someone pay me a lot of money, fast.
i will gladly and expertly stuff him and even throw in the glass display case for nothing.

the bane inane

WHY do people ask certain questions?

what is it that drives people to inquire solicitously of you when you drip your way inside from the pelting rain oh, you got wet? is it raining? when you are too damp all over to clarify not at all. just felt like practicing the butterfly stroke.

or are you having lunch? when you have your mouth too stuffed to reply not really. just licking it before i spit it out.

or are you reading? when you have your eyeballs stuck to a page, and are dying to say, no,no,no. gasp! no. never. just trying to think of ways to use this to scare away stalkers.



i am going to cultivate a ruthless expression. one that shouts i-hate-questions-especially-the-inane-variety. i have already mastered the half grimace. only the nose-hair is left.

blood and gore

the receipt for B's wedding gift lists 'one neckless' bought and paid for, and our DTH service proclaims 'the service may be temporarily unavailable due to a mechanical or weather condition at your end'.
my end? which one? the one that is struggling with helpless incomprehension or the one that is painted black at the tips? someone educate me.

the (un)holy state

all my friends persist in being ardent advocates of matrimony. like it is some giant exclusive club they are dying to join. more is the horror, they would do anything to drag me into the quagmire as well.

members' benefits - exciting conversations about the lord-and-master's eating habits, sleeping habits, working habits, spending habits and bathroom habits. why do they imagine for a moment that such fascinating details could be of absorbing interest to their unmarried friends? do my glassy stare, tapping foot, yawns and frequent peeks at the watch convey anything else? i think i need one of those workshops on body language. or perhaps, i could take a cue from my old deaf cousin great-grandfather and shout 'it is all nonsense. NONsense' at them.

what is the point? i get told - companionship, children, some one to look after one in one's old age, social acceptance...

companionship is plenty. all around. if one is a self-sufficient individual one does not lack it. or else, simply cultivate a reading habit. that banishes a want for company.

children? adoption is not a crime, surely? why go through all the horror?

support in old age - what a selfish notion. abhorrent. does one have kids just so they can be effective pay cheques in the future?

social acceptance - why bother? why bother at all?

today i got told that i am to lose one more to the marriage-mafia.

my poor, silly, optimistic friend. why, oh why are women so silly?

i live in dread of the other shoe dropping. may it not.

Diwali

there are crackers going off incessantly outside, and the sky is lit by flares and fountains of light. old age must be catching up with me. spent the entire day reading in bed. it is celebration of a sort, i guess.

at any rate, i am not all dolled up like amitabh bachchan on the Big Boss show in something pink, emboidered and feminine. perhaps the dress was generously lent to him by that doyen of high fashion faux pas, the newest addition to the family, mrs. rai-bachchan.

i don't understand men who wear pink, much less geriatric men who wear embroidered pink - with a matching pink embroidered stole! that is taking metrosexuality a bit too far, in my opinion.

he is going batty in his dotage. i took a poll. the family and i much rather prefer shilpa shetty and her marvelous curves gracing the Big Boss screen.

kyon? kyon? aakhir kyon?

i am doing so much early-birding nowadays, that soon all the worms will end up(down) my gullet.

my increased state of awareness raises some hitherto unasked questions in my bosom (by me, that is. i am sure that dastardly Shakespeare must have already gone and asked them, and done it a lot posher too) (and yes, i have one)

anyway,

now that i know why men have earlobes, and that the greatest recorded length for ear-hair is a staggering 4.5 inches (which, by the way, is a record held by a teacher in India - some teacher, that!), and various other unmentionables -this is a family blog, for those in doubt. we publish only those things that anyone can watch on prime-time K-serials. which, includes tame things like multiple marriages, mothers who look younger than their grand kids, flash divorces, extramarital affairs by the dozen, illegitimate children, poisoning, stabbing, shooting, seducing, vamping, people who get reborn/plastic surgeried with alarming regularity, and other such traditions closely in keeping with the values of our traditional tradition- it still throws me into knots of bafflement why men don't listen or see. except of course things like sports/women/cars/women/bikes/women.

why is it so difficult for the human male to locate a sock that is staring belligerently at him out of his own cupboard shelf? why does he feel the need to repeat "where is my sock" in all permutations and combinations of decibels and levels of urgency, descending to desperation, untill some sensible pair of female hands stuffs them obligingly down his throat?

why do they invariably go and buy matchsticks when you ask for butter and act surprised you aren't grateful for the help?

ar ar arf

there are days when i want to stomp on every single inch around me, and set fire to the entire world.

like today.

Advice from a no-good do-gooder - in short, advice you daren't use.

The very fact that i have been asked to write for the college magazine as one of the exs invests certain glamour to growing old, and salvages a little of my much-battered and bruised pride. i now have the satisfaction of knowing that i have done at least two things successfully, in the eyes of the world -

(a) Go to college 

(b) Pass out of college. Barely.

It is especially useful, because it puts a new spin on my bio-data which read so till now;

Occupation: Tilting at windmills

Academic qualifications: Being the zillionth, totally vocationally-untrained graduate in India

Favourite pass time: Bugging the brother

Special talents: Playing second fiddle, being able to sneeze and talk at the same time, not yet having a cell-phone, being the only woman on the face of the earth who does not like Hritik Roshan's nose......it is quite a long list, but i do not like to boast - being convent educated might have something to do with it. 

That said, before i get lost in delirious self-congratulation over the been there done that part of being an ex-Christite, let me offer you some advice from The Endless Store of Creative Advice, Inc. one of my pet enterprises. i absolutely thrive on giving advice ( - A veritable horn of plenty, if you ask me. Strange, no one is beating down my door for a share of the wisdom..........curioser and curioser......). 

Here goes. A bulleted, easy-to-digest, clear-cut guide to having a life of quality;

• When (and if) you make enough money to build a house of your own, paint it in happy colours. i am currently confused between a maroon-blue-green-yellow combination and a black-orange-purple combination. If you have ever thirsted for admiring ques outside your house every waking moment, this would be the path to achieve it.

• Wear a helmet. The advantages are many. Use your imagination. You can then glare/cuss freely at insensitive aunties who insist on blocking your way on busy roads, and newbie drivers who toot horns every alternate second.

• To counter bouts of low self-esteem and doubts about one's intelligence, watch the Reshammiya wonder-flick 'Karzzz' (i hope i got the right number of zs, did i?) or the other film featuring the genius actor. The experience is guaranteed to leave you feeling like a possessor of abundant grey-matter - like Einstein, or Da Vinci.

• Be kind. Especially to inanimate or moronic forms of life like politicians, cows in the middle of our roads, rickshaw-wallas who insist on driving in creative zig-zags and pan-chewers who spit perfect arcs of spittle in precise trajectories. They are put there to try us, and hence build character.

• Do not use sunscreen. You will then acquire complexions in interesting shades of orange and brown. A good conversation starter.

• If there is only one thing that you can learn, learn how to raise just one eyebrow. Never fails to impress.

• To beat a blue mood, sing Reshammiya songs even outside the bathroom, as loud as you can make it. 'ta tananana tandoori nights....' is a personal favourite.  

• Do not pick your nose in public. It is a crime against humanity.

• Help little old ladies cross the street. You can vary the routine sometimes by asking them if they wish to cross the said street, before you help them do it.

• Acquire an interesting pet. A snake coiled around your arm is highly recommended. Creates feelings of awe in your fellow man. Or woman.

• Memorise Shakespeare, Kafka and Neruda. Research shows that spouting incomprehensible prose or, better still, poetry significantly ups one's intelligence quotient - in the minds of the listener, that is.

• Read Neil Gaiman. His disturbing dystopic stories will make the real world stop seeming so horrible to you.

• Get yourself a cat. All the feline disdain and utter lack of acknowledgement of your existence as anything other than a lump of matter attached to the fingers which scratch their backs, is good practice for the real world. It will make rude people  easy to bear.

• Reduce your carbon footprint. Save the water from your bath and water your plants with it. If your plants die, do not be discouraged. Water your neighbour's plants instead.

• Smile at street dogs. Their loyalty is easily gained and hard to lose.

• Do not smoke. If God meant you to resemble a chimney, He would have made you one.

• Do the mandatory good deed every day. If you follow any of the advice given above, it is your only chance at staying out of hell.
  

Disclaimer - 1 : None of the opinions in the above article reflect the author's own point of view. In fact, the author is a delusional, anti-social misfit with a death-wish, who had been abducted by aliens in infancy, and brought back to the planet in a state of extreme brain-washedness. Hence, it goes without saying that you follow any of it at your own sole, individual, own, personal, risk.

Disclaimer - 2 : I did not write this. No one saw me write this. Hence proved.

sunday is not a funday

the gods who preside over our municipality have woken up from a fitfull slumber, yawned, picked their noses, rolled up their sleeves, and decided to have some fun. the regular cronies were invited, given spades, shovels, drills, and what-have-you and unleashed upon the unsuspecting world.

result - the enitre day spent against a non-stop, setting-teeth-on-edge background drone of drills digging holes into our street. why did they have to do something so damaging to street-beauty? our street is nicely holed and uneven on its own. it needed no help.

and, they who dwell in far-off municipal-land seem to have the unrealistic conviction that ordinary citizens are descended from grasshoppers or gophers. what else explains the long, deep tunnels and holes decorating our street and others before and after in an intricate (if viewed from above, no doubt beautiful) web of unpassable hurdles? how am i supposed to get to my bus tomorrow? not walk all the way to the corner house - the third from mine? such insensitivity! and in my early-morning brain-dead condition! who will be responsible for the mayhem that i shall cause in my irritability at school?

the government, i tell you!! it should be banned.

yi yam not happy

i must have been a hen in my past life. rains make me feel gloomy. feeling under the cloud all day. or is it u-know-what?

am i turning into that most horrendrous of creatures - a giggler? the gang better kill me in the most painful of ways, before i go the aishwary rai way.

fever-pitch

my throat feels as if there are many many many little monsters scraping at its insides with rusty razor-blades .
my eyes feel like they are on fire.
my tongue feels like sawdust.
my nose feels like it would get ripped off from all the itching.
my right ear is aching proper to fall off my head.

someone is going to pay for this!

how does one erupt into spontaneous elbow-claps if one has not sharpened one's saw/not had an aha-moment/light-bulb experience/paradigm shift?

ponder-point: what is an 'elbow clap'? does one bang one's elbows together? mine hurt. too bony. and the only sound produced are quiet ouches.
it is one of those institutional idiosyncrasies which get irritatingly popular amongst the worker ants, and become dangerously commonplace. it is like how a hurricane can never be anything but 'devastating' or a review can never be anything but 'rave' or an odour can never be anything but 'rank'........
my teeth are near-worn out from all the gnashing i make them do these days. some others i can't stand are;
paradigm shift (which happens to everyone every other split-second, this being a school for 'life work change' - we take our motto seriously, we do.)
aha moment (which, more often than not, is an OHO!moment or an OH YEAH???moment, or an OH!NO!moment in these parts)
sharpening the saw (all the better to cut each others' necks with? apart from our motto, we take steven covey very seriously too. perhaps more seriously than his wife or son or publisher or even his dog do.)
light-bulb experience (for the chronically dim-witted? one is expected to have one such 'experience' every day. all the energy i burn in getting those bulbs afflicker can probably light up the entire earth for a day or something.)

on building walls

the idiot needs to be ignored. strongly. cold shouldered. freezingly.
oblivion to idiots!

it does not help that one keeps feeling like one is struggling at one side of a divide.
bad things never come in ones. atleast not to me these days. someone up there is in some foul mood.

shr leaving uk-wards by the 9th. one more friend lost to unholy matrimony.

PMS

to parody the lycra ad, i have got it, have you?
i call it misery. mom calls it 'showing your true colours'.

sound bites

i just cannot seem to get away from a surplus of decibels. wherever i turn these days, i get my eardrums fried by blaring noise being passed off as music. even the commute to school, which used to be my substitute for zen, is now a disco on wheels. and to think we paid for having the radio installed! talk about cutting the branch one is perched on... to make matters worse, singers who should be shot for singing even in the bathroom assume it is okey to sing along if the song is being played on radio. that is the worst part. noise, i can handle. what does not bear thinking about is the accompaniment.
finally seen the last of the DTT thingie. the relief is indiscribable. words fail me. freedom! blessed freedom from the constant feeling of having an axe hanging over your neck, ready to drop any time. mala ma'm had tears in her eyes at the bye-byes. a sneaking suspicion if all the saline water was prompted whether by sadness at not seeing us anymore, or less charitable thoughts. probably not - she called moa's reflective report 'flawless' and moa 'brilliant'. moa retaliated by doing something moa does rarely- moa touched her feet, and sought her blessings.

the goddess of hair is having her revenge by making innumerble tendrils stick out of my braid. considered sticking pins into the braid, but decided against it, as it would be too weird, even for me.

on the brighter side, he-who-is-not-going-to-be-named is starting to look a little less green around the gills. less like the thwarted coming face-to-face with the thwarter. good, i guess. redemption.

i think i just murdered my blog.
nowadays all i do is fret and fume at the powers that be, and agonize over my hair.
even the usually pleasantly productive passtime of irritating my bro to fits dosent seem to do the trick. makes one wonder if menopause strikes one in the early twenties.