"'Truth is strange," you know, "stranger than fiction' - besides being more to the point" - Edgar Allan Poe

July 30, 2005

Never been kissed

Her name was Anne, a nice ordinary name that'd bring a smile upon your face if you heard it. The fact that she was French just added to that mysterious glint in her eyes, and you could imagine her walking, maybe skipping down the cobblestone road in an alley that seemed to have too many butterflies. And we'd assume she was happy, and that her accent and soft pink lips were her greatest assets.

Yet she was sad. And no one knew why.

So one day she decided that eternal rest would end her misery, and like many before her (and many to come) she reached the bridge overlooking the Seine river. And looked down into the blue water, holding her breath in fear of what was to come. And in her mind, the question flashed, "Why do you want to die?" It seemed to be in an unknown voice, yet a voice she'd known all along. And she said, to the voice in her mind, "Because I've never known love, and it is a sin to live a life of hope, with no hope at all. Oh, to feel the lips of one that'd breathe life into one's body, to hold close my lover and never let go... that is why i must die, because I've never lived before."

And the voice in her mind replied in anger, "Child, you diasappoint me. You were only human, to give up. But you gave up too soon. Thus you will be granted your wish, and that boon will be a terrible curse indeed. You will be loved without love, and you will live without life." And the voice faded away, and Anne wondered if she had even heard it at all. She waited an instant longer and jumped into the river, and soon let out her breath, and died as many would in the same river.

----------------------

And when her body was fished out, a cast was made of her face, and people were asked if they knew who she was and why she died. And everyone who saw the face were left feeling confused. It was the curve of her face, the weakened smile, and an inexplicable attraction towards this unknown woman that left them lightheaded. And the poets would write poems about her, the artists would conjure up images, and people would talk about the girl everyone knew, but no one knew at all. "Her name is Anne", they'd say as if she still lived amongst them, "and she's the stuff dreams are made of."

And then people learnt that one could revive a dead person by sharing air. That a person who's feared dead could be resuscitated by locking lips, and waking up the heart. And one realized that this must be taught to the world, and countless lives would be saved. And when a model was cast to practice on, the face was that... of Anne's. And CPR was born.

And now she's kissed by millions; and never kissed at all. And she gives the hope of life to millions; without ever having seen true life at all.

Hey, guess we were wrong about the accent.

(A true story)

July 29, 2005

I want to kill myself sometimes when I think that I'm the only person in the world and that part of me that feels that way is trapped inside this body, that only bumps into other bodies, without ever connecting to the only other person in the world trapped inside of them. We have to connect. We just have to.


Al Pacino in "Frankie And Johnny"

July 28, 2005

Alright, so I'm enabling comments again. Yes, I'm a jackass. Yes, I want to hear opinion from other people.

But I'm still saying "Don't read the comments".

Come to think of it, I never said commenting was bad. La dee da.

Snicker.

Ever clicked on the "Next Blog" button on the top right corner of every blogspot page? Everytime you do, you find a new blog there. And I found this-

chemicalbilly.blogspot.com

ManOhManOhMan

Che Faro Senza Te?

(Right, so I know I posted this on OWM and LJ, but whatever. This one's for Citrus.)



Meera came home that night later than usual.

It was way beyond a decent hour before Meera actually reached the door of her double bedroom apartment, now badly in need of a new coat of paint. But that was later. Right now she was driving down the road at a comfortable pace, despite how late it was. She took the left bypass and noticed how empty the roads were. The dashboard clock showed 11:45 pm, and made her realize how late she actually was.

Idly she thought to herself, if I lived in a different time zone, life would be much better. Life sure had changed in the past for Meera and Krish. Krish had one of those ‘creative’ jobs in the marketing department of a cosmetics major, which basically meant he was being paid peanuts for sitting and designing ads for cheap shampoo and bad cologne. Meera advanced in the executive ranks through the textile industry though, and was getting to be quite the breadwinner for the home. Of course, this meant that she wasn’t home most of the days, and some of the nights. A case of want versus need.

Red light.
9.8.4.4.3.5.4.9.0.5.
“I’m sorry, but the customer’s phone you’ve called has been switched off.”
Dammit. Krish never puts his phone off. I wonder what’s wrong.
Green light.

They used to be the favorite young couple in their social circle, but that was a long time ago. There is nothing to be said of their friends, plainly because there weren’t any. They hadn’t even gone out to dinner for a long time, now just living off delivery and ready-to-cook food. It wasn’t too difficult making the house up with pretty figurines and yuppie artifacts. Krish used to while away most of the night surfing the net, bored out of his skull. Once a week he would lovingly wash and polish his bike, then ride around for a half hour before coming back home and hitting the sack. He’d indulge in a book now and then, but of what use reading one, when there’d be no one to talk to about it? In short, not only had the romance in their life died, but they had also become total strangers to each other.

She even forgot his birthday that year.

---------------------------------------------------------------------
Krish looked at his watch for the umpteenth time. That’s it, he thought. That’s as long as I’m going to wait for her. She hasn’t turned up, and that’s fine by me. But tonight he’d give her one last chance. Till midnight. He poured himself another shot of whisky and gulped it down. And waited.
---------------------------------------------------------------------

The radio was playing one of those mundane Bollywood themes, but that didn’t bother Meera too much. She was thinking about the past, and not many things can distract a person from doing that. She remembered the long drives, the dinners, the marathon phone conversations… life had seemed quite perfect then. They’d been very much in love, and everyday had been a futile exercise in keeping their hands off each other. They didn’t realize that life was getting repetitive and the spark that had brought them together in the first place was long gone. By then it was too late; the full mouthed kisses soon became informal pecks on the cheek, and now they just gave each other an informal pat on the back every morning.

The clock beeped at midnight. She found herself feeling sorry for the sordid state of affairs. An involuntary tear rolled down her cheek which she absent-mindedly wiped away with her left hand. Maybe she could give some more time to her husband. He had been generous, kind and caring; she was obligated to atleast try and salvage the marriage. It might even happen that some buried love would come out of this attempt. Ironic, she thought, that such a boring end would have come of this relationship. None of the pomp and glamour associated with a Hindi movie breakup. She immediately shut the radio up and cursed it for trying to put sublime thoughts into her head. She missed him too much already. Tonight she’d talk to him, and try to get back to a life of a married couple, living the life of a husband and wife as they should. It seemed to be the right thing to do, and she spent the rest of the drive planning the conversation she would have with him, and the words she would use in it.
Soon the car passed through the gates of the residential complex, with little interference from security. The guard couldn’t help but notice the look of anxiety on Madam’s face, like she was nervous of confrontation. He looked up at their flat and observed that the lights were out, which probably meant that Krish Sahib was asleep. Back to work, he thought, and settled into his chair. Meera locked the door of the car, and walked hurriedly to the lift. The ‘out of order’ sign turned her towards the stairs, and in a few hops and jumps she was standing outside her apartment door.

The nameplate ‘Krishnan and Meera Iyer’ stared back at her, making her want to burst into tears that very moment. But no, she had to remain calm and composed. She wanted to talk to Krish in a proper manner, and not project herself as an emotional fool. Her key opened the door easily enough and she stepped inside, only to be disappointed to see that the lights were out. He’s asleep, she reasoned, so I guess this’ll have to wait till tomorrow. Almost relieved of a burden, she walked into the dimly-lit kitchen, looking around for leftovers. She found some curry and rice in the fridge, and decided on a bottle of fruit juice as well. She placed the meal on the table and noticed a clean white envelope on it. The words ‘I Love You’ were written in the center, and for a moment, Meera didn’t know what to do. She took the envelope and walked to the bedroom, meaning to ask Krish about it. After reaching the room, the sight of him sleeping quietly in the darkness changed her mind. She walked back to the dinner table and opened the envelope as she sat down. Inside were his wedding ring and a single sheet of paper. Hesitatingly, the paper came out and she saw a letter in his handwriting.


--------------------------------------------------------------
Dear Meera,
I love you. Ché faro senza té?
For many a lonely night, my heart has become sadder and heavier. The queen of my life has lost her love for me, and nothing I can do can get it back. Where have you been?
I miss you so much that it hurts. I ache inside when I remember the life we used to have, and the love that swept through it, consuming our every waking moment. Why did it go away? Was I mistaken when you said ‘forever’? How could someone I knew so intimately become a stranger in my own world?
I don’t want to hurt so much anymore, honey. You were the center of my life but now you’ve turned away. I apologize for the times I couldn’t make you happy, and for all the misguided attempts at doing so. I understand the life you live and the commitments you make; yet I cannot bear to be around in an empty house waiting every time for you. I know I can’t hope at us getting back together, and that thought saddens me even more. What more can I say?

Krish

-------------------------------------------------------------
The shock of the letter burned through her soul in an instant. He was going to walk out on her. After all the silence, he was leaving her. Ché faro senza té… where had she heard that before? She stood up and walked to the bedroom door, now determined to wake Krish up. She would beg and plead, try to get things worked out. Maybe it wasn’t too, late after all. Atleast now she knew that he still loved her. And she truly believed that she loved him too. She flicked on the switch and walked up to the bed, and casually looked at the bedside table. On it was a glass, a half-empty bottle of whisky, and strips of tablets. Sleeping tablets. Slowly, she turned Krish over and placed a hand on his chest, hoping to find a heartbeat. And that’s when she realized where she had heard the phrase. When Krish used to write poetry to her, this Italian piece was a recurrent line. The motionless chest seemed to scream out those very words to her now.

Ché faro senza té?
What would I do without you?

Identity

As I was walking up the stair
I met a man who wasn't there.
He wasn't there again today.
I wish, I wish he'd stay away

---------------------------
(Also)


As I was sitting in my chair,
I knew the bottom wasn't there,
Nor legs nor back, but I just sat,
Ignoring little things like that.


Hughes Mearns



(Hil, that's the source of the poem. I remember you asking for it a while ago.)



-----------------------------------------------------------

If you're into philosophy and psychology, I suggest you visit-

spiritrambler.blogspot.com


Good stuff.

July 27, 2005

So the idea is simple. If you want to take over someone's world, you must either be feared, or loved.

Or both, which would make you a maternal uncle.

But there's a catch- you must never, EVER try to be 'cool'. You must always fart when it's least expected, be old (and act your age), play nothing more complicated than freecell, and complain like hell when the nephew plays music that requires six strings and a loud voice. The gray hair must never be dyed out, and walking into the bathroom once he's just left, must not be complained against (natural, what?). The mixing of underwear every thursday mst be tolerated, as must the blocking of the phone line. The latenight leftovers you used to snack on are no longer your property, neither is the exclusive love your mother (his grandma) used to shower on you. The crossword will be long done before you wake, and it's very possible you might get a migraine by hearing too many of the following words- Y'know, chill, cool, whassup, macha, jeez and more.

In exchange for this, the nephew will never touch the HondaCity, despite the drool that must be wiped off the floor everytime he sees it, will not come home drunk, will make no excessive financial demands (coff), act like he's fifteen, and pretend that 'sex' is the plural of 1/60th of a minute. He will make it a point to massage your head when you want it, and say things like "Favourite uncle" every 3 hours. He will make you taste some of the food he tries to cook, and some of it (double coff) will be good. He will sneak in dessert when your wife complains that you're putting on weight, and help you check your email without thinking of you as a troglodyte. He will laugh at all the bad jokes, and strangely look sincere while doing so. And yes, when he says he loves you, he'll probably mean it.

The office - 4

A few days ago, tension ripped thru' the office. The net connection was down. A summary of it's consequences.

-Productivity jumped up 300% (Not making this number up. Actually documented.)
-The OB walked around the office, and bad luck followed her wherever she went. Printers jammed, a cat walked into the MD's office, somebody forgot to flush a giant doodie, the tea was really bad (though they're blaming the peon for this), my laptop hung, the stud's bike refused to start, and so on. All this in a span of 6 minutes. I timed it.
-One person was actually observed reading a book. A book! An actual paper and bind book! (Unfortunately, it was 'The Da Vinci code', but still a vast improvement over 'GrandmaTitties')
-Lunch break was extended on either end by 1 hour. Which means 11 am to 3.30 pm.
-And yes, a whole lot of single females across B'lore wondered why their 'friends' had stopped messaging them.


Hmmm, ok maybe I did make up a bit of that. Which parts? You tell me :)



PS- Happy belated birthday wishes, Solitude's earnings.

July 26, 2005

Despair

It is a writer, with nothing left that he knows how to say
It is an artist, and fingers that will never catch the vision


Neil Gaiman

July 25, 2005

So it's really bugging me, this not reading comments thing, yet wanting to comment anyway. And I decide fine, I'll just look around the neighbourhood, and then revaluate my priorities. So I go check out what the usual fan following at OWM. And I see a familiar name... M. Last I knew about her, her orkut profile was about a mile long, and one of her passions was a Mexican Jedi AKA StaresTooMuch.

Fine. Distant enough to be a stranger, but close enough to relate to. Click.

And the number is staring me in the face - 43 comments. Bloody Hell.

Do I click? Do I not click?

Click.

GuffawHarHar....

Man, now I feel great about not reading comments. Or writing them (except for the occasional lapse, of course). But this takes the cake. I wonder why 'M' hasn't had a nervous breakdown of sorts.


This one's for you, M. Whoever you are. How I pity thee.

SatireWire | Feature: Interview with the Search Engine

SatireWire | Feature: Interview with the Search Engine: "INTERVIEW WITH THE SEARCH ENGINE"


Hahahahahahahahaha!

It's enough to make a believer out of anybody, I tell you.

So I'm pondering over the book, right, and I've got this whole krackerjack ending set up. And a beautiful start to the book, and it's looking it's going to be a lovely 300 (atleast) page read, with shades of philosophy and just the right amount of ambiguity to let a reader sit back, sip some more hotbutteredrum and think about what was just said. Even moments where you just have to put the book down and say 'Fcuk! Not bad at all!'. And it's simple vocabulary, not because I choose to make it readable for all, but because I don't know the words :) I'm trying not to be profane, just mildly profound; not extra fundoo, just a little fun.

And I wonder if I'm selling my soul to the devil with this.

A lot has bothered me about the book. I still stand by my credo of not showing any work to anybody else until I'm absolutely done with it. Which means I've not even discussed the basic thoughts that've shaped the philosophy on the book. And the storyline that's holding it together is very VERY loosely based on things that've happened to me, and those around. Which I'm guessing isn't such a bad way to go about writing a book. I can honestly say that I've managed to stay away from topics that were really easy to get into and given that extra push to the book; which means I'm not writing about an engineer's life (screw you, cb), or an indian perspective on a boring life (which seems to sell like friggin' crazy now). Of course, I don't deny the inspiration from some brilliant books I've read (see post end) or the friends I've had (some might say...)

Back to what's bothering me then.
The problem with reading other blogs, especially ones of people you know, is that each blog affects you differently. And you start wondering about what public acceptance means. On the one hand, there're these really chutiya posts that attract a hive of nobodys who comment on things even more bizarre, and then there are the really good posts that don't.
Also, and I remember talking to TD about this, is that sometimes I take somethings personally that may or may not be meant for me. For example, you might have just read the previous problem about comments, immediately remembered a 30 comment post you had, and felt mildly offended that I just referred to you. But I didn't, I swear. Hell, I don't read comments anymore, remember? I can recollect getting very pissed a few months ago with a particular post a friend put up, and I was so sure the bastard was talking about me... in the end it turned out he wasn't. Strange how I can see my own flaws in another's words.
Then of course, there are times when I've been having major writer's block, but in that enthusiasm to put up something, dammit anything at all, I'll post something I'm certain isn't good at all (atallatallatall...) But then a friend will come up with a brilliant post on the poignancy of winter and feel me feeling like an inferior hack. Thankfully, at times like these, I read up on some of my old blogs, even remains from LJ days, and life seems better. I don't know how long this'll hold out though.

What's this got to do with the book? Well, I'm trying to write something here that won't let me betray my own morals, but will still be something people would want to read. I'm trying to be funny, without trying to conventionally jokify. I'm trying to be proud of what I write, without being egoistic. I'm trying to be original, but with every line I punch out, I can almost hear the echoes of another writer bouncing back the same words at me. AND I'M TRYING NOT TO BE CONTINUALLY INFLUENCED BY TUPPENY THOUGHTS THAT FLOUNDER THE NET, YET STICK TO YOU LIKE FLYPAPER. A lot of blogs piss me off nowadays, notably IITian holier-than-thou-my-opinion-is-the-word-of-god blogrings. I know, I know, I can simply get by with not reading them, but it's amazing how so many people look at these as relevant and true. Look thru' the bullshit people, and you'll see that under that shell is still a little boy/girl just aching to be heard. (CCCF: CB, yet again. Maybe even some seniors who refuse to give up.)

And I realize I could do the same thing, and still get away with it. Which bugs me the most.
Hypothetically, I could write about an Engineering graduate (coff) who's facing the real world head on in a metro, still unsure about the layers of people and learning to separate the good from the bad, with that indian touch of dalchawal (which 95% of Indian Actresses swear to as their favourite meal, the deprived freaks) and learning that family is important, while exploring the boundaries of sexuality, and how tough it is is to get laid, and yadayadayada... Man, that'd be a bestseller for sure!

But I refuse to. I cannot go back on my beliefs now. Honesty is honesty, let the world be damned.

Anyway, after all that inconsequential chatter about, well, nothing really, I'd like to tell you that I do hope it gets published. And that you, you and you read it. And tell me what you think. And if you'd like to read more like it. It ain't pissinyourpants funny, it's not a military thriller, nor a fantasy buildup to a battle so fearsome that the entire universe is at stake. It's about the simple things. And how we decide what matters. And yeah, maybe I'll throw in a lusty wench :)

Cheerio. Till next time then.


--------------------------------------------------------
Caught the race yeaterday (Alonso won, yeehaw!) and I think this settling into a routine with TheOneWhoCallsMeEinstein is getting better each weekend. Won't give too much detail here, but the dude is slowly becoming the brother I always wish I had. Strange, how a mug of beer can bring up so much feeling (with the occasional burp). I think I'm going to enjoy B'lore after all. A nice routine, wasn't that was I was looking for?

On the other hand, I'm not certain about the job too much. The pay is good (great, actually, considering my lifestyle and expenses) but I'm still not doing 'WhatILove'. Should stop reading Readers Digest success stories, it'll be easier to deal with this sort of disappointment then.
---------------------------------------------------------
There's I_. And then there's I_. Endearing.
---------------------------------------------------------

With my first salary I'm going to buy Alok DK2. I'm putting it in writing here so that I make sure I do it.
----------------------------------------------------------


Some books I just loved, yet am quite sure aren't 'big' books-
1."Raven" - Swiniarski - First introduction to Poe. Dude wakes up with amnesia, and realizes he's a vampire. The only thing he can remember is Poe's 'Conqueror worm'. The book just takes off from there. Some bitch borrowed it and never returned it. Bitch. Still ranks as one of my alltime favorite books, though.

2.The "Young Scientist" series. 20 hardbound books giving basic fundae on everything in the world. This was thanks to a salesman who threw a brilliant sales pitch to Mom, when Dad wasn't around. Drew me towards Science and how things work. All the better for it.

3.The Asterix series- Goscinny and Uderzo- Ok, definitely a big book, but I didn't know it at the time. A cousin moved to the states, so her mom gave the WHOLE series to me, and I managed to keep it for 6 months. During which I met the whole gallic bunch, and developed my first fictional crush (Panacea, yum). I loved spending extra time on each panel, looking for all the hidden details GnU used to draw. And Dogmatix was a personal favourite. T'was only when I walked into Engg that it hit me that it' quite a popular series, cult status even.

4.Tricks and Stunts to fool your friends- The cover showed a guy with a grim face, waving a hand at a circle drawn on the ground, with an X marked in it, presumably in chalk. Behind the kid is a bunch of adolescent kids with mouths agape. Yup, the marketing worked. The book has card tricks, number tricks, magic tricks, tricks, tricks, tricks... loved it. And I still read it on a rainy day. Maybe I've always wanted to be a hero like the cover boy.

Will continue this list later.

And for those who haven't been to www.vishalpatel.com yet... where have you been?

July 24, 2005

Tolerance is a beautiful thing when you see it's consequences from another's eyes.

July 22, 2005

V_ -2

On second thought, I should have actually polished that last piece. Too much bullshit got in the way something personal. Damn.

The best

A blog I wrote a while ago, but forgot to post.

The Guiness Committee of world records has been documenting the strange, weird, wacky superlatives (most, biggest, smallest, strongest, weirdest) in the world for decades now. It showcases what extremes human, animate and inanimate objects can extend themselves to in this world (and beyond) and makes a display of it, to show people what's possible within this tiny framework of rules that govern the universe.
Considering the human angle, it regularly manages to make a public display of people (who voluntarily cooperate) who have managed to break conventional boundaries with their own bodies, and shows people this with an ever exploding media. Records include strechiest skin, most body piercings, maximum no. of hulahoops, farthest airplane pulling, and so on. These people, in exchange for a 'certificate', are sometimes paid a small fee to appear on television and display these 'records' or attempt to make it on tv itself. Books, the internet, tv, and yes, even a radio show have publicized these things for years now.
And the public laps this up with a frenzy unparalleled, genarating revenues that would put the GDP of a small African country to shame.

How very sad.

Sometimes true superlatives are just not appreciated. I wish these guys would catalogue some more extreme human achievements that actually affect our lives in significant manners. Maybe a showcase for best computer database search algorithm, since that's what runs Email and search engines across the world, and the way it does is quite amazing, really. How about 'the best charitable organization' that's been working to eradicate disease, poverty and suffering across the world? Maybe a Guiness record for Jonas Salk, for ridding the world (almost) of polio with a method that was inexpensive, easy to administer and saved the lives of millions of people (he's not even been given a nobel prize). Perhaps a 'ragstoriches' record for people like NRN, and how the man, with a handful of other CEOs, managed to make India an IT superpower while providing employment to millions of Enginners in the country. Hell, give a record to the religious diversity in India, and how, despite a lot of obvious problems, it has managed to 'preserve' culture and give a billion people living in a developing country (yeah right!) faith to look forward to another day of life with that magic word, 'hope'.

Mediocrity is ending the world, on word at a time.

July 21, 2005

From today, I even stop commenting on other blogs. This habit must go.

July 20, 2005

Don't read the comments

If any of you'd like a to have a good read, check out -
jikku.blogspot.com

But don't, DON'T, DO NOT, read the comments section.
Come to think of it, next time you go to anybody's blog, don't read the comments. It removes a piece of soul that I can't explain yet.

DON'T read the comments. It doesn't gel.

Support the 'dontreadcomments' movement. I'm serious.

If you trust me, you won't read the comments on jikku.
If you believe I make sense once in a while, don't read the comments.

I beg you, stop reading other people's comments!

It's only because I care that I ask you not to read the comments.
I did. And I don't feel like going to the site anymore.
Comments dirty another person's thoughts. Consider, if you had a personal journal, one of those cool books and a lovely pem, would you let any random stranger scribble their thoughts in it? I don't think so.

And with a heavy heart, and the hope to practice what I preach, I disable comments from today. I'm sorry, but it must be done. It's not like I get too many, compared to my illustrious blogging brothers (sneer). But still, it's something I support.

Remember- Don't read the comments.

If you have something to tell me, please mail me. I promise to mail you back.

threepointone@gmail.com

And if you want to tell someone about something you read on their blog, why don't you write them a mail? I'm sure they'd love to hear from you.

No more comments.

One last time- jikku.blogspot.com

And, support the 'dontreadcomments' movement.

Great, one more revelation. Looks like I'm going to be changing my style of blog-writing yet again. A return to oldschool.

The office - 3

Last Friday started out as any other, with derelicte(?) software engineers shuffling into the office, looking forward to the weekend. I too, am passing away time in my little corner table (we can't afford cubicle walls) orkutting the bear when the sixfooter S_ walks past me.

Now S_, like myself, is also from Manipal. Unlike me, however, he's the moodiest bastard I've seen this side of the Irawaty (Et tu, Mukka?). And for some reason he removes his shoes and socks everytime he goes into the bathroom (eww...). He also gossips about the alleged liason between myself and the OB (refer the office -1) and has a cellphone the size of timbuktoo.

And when the clock strikes 11, you know he's hitting the bathroom.

So on schedule, the man removes shoes and all that, walk in, background soundtrack of flush, he walks out... and his shoes are missing.

[The next few minutes are censored. Or wait, let's not and see what actually happened]

Kreeeeeaaaaaaagggghhh!!!

Sonofafuckinmotherfuckinshitshitdadblastmutherterichutrassmachapa^$&^(*^)&*!@!@&^
[Feeling: Angry.
Listening to: I hate you, Slayer]
Fuck the fucker who took my shoes! I'll kill him! Or her! (stares at office bitch) Or any of you who got together to do this! What the fuck is wrong with this world? Isn't there a shred of decency left in this country?

[Mood change to: Whiny, Sad
Listening to: Staind]
Look guys, those shoes were really personal to me. I live in them day in day out. My sister bought those for me from the US. I don't even have a spare right now. Why, why me?!

[At this point on he starts walking around from room to room, searching every nook and corner, asking, nay begging somebody to tell him where his damn shoes are. I'll cut out a lot of details here, but let's just say it's hilarious to see a barefoot sixfooter running (yes, really running!) in that tiny office from room to room]

At this point of the story, I'd like to mention a tiny detail I must've forgotten to tell you about before.

I took his shoes.

Worse, I was actually wearing them.

Hahahahaha...

So I go up to the man and ask him in my most serious concerned tone, "Dude, can I help?"... while I'm still wearing his shoes!!! And I actually walk around with the man... in his shoes!!! And nobody's getting it!
I do tell a couple of friends of his, and they crack up laughing, thankfully not spilling the beans.

And an hour later, when he goes up to another floor to check there, I quietly put the shoes back and get back to work.

Life's good, only if you do something about it, and stop complaining that it's getting boring.

July 19, 2005

www.whiteninjacomics.com

Not for the weak of heart.

July 18, 2005

The Best Page In The Universe.

The Best Page In The Universe.: "If these words were people, I would embrace their genocide."



Hahahahahaha.

July 14, 2005

The office - 2 (addendum)

The office bitch is playing with scissors, with a stupidly spastic, yet mildly wicked look on her face. I'm scared.

The office - 2

The toilet is clogged. And it's just 10.00 am.

It's going to be a long day, keemosabi.

July 13, 2005

For dinner tonight


Kadhai Mutter Paneer
Methi Puris
Fried prawns
Mango pickle


The punchline? I cooked it all, except for the pickle.
And it rocked. No flaws. Everything, even the salt was right.


The irony? The woman who would've been most impressed wasn't even around. I wonder when I'll get to cook for you, I_...


(Cocks chef's hat to the right, smiles, and walks off)

July 12, 2005

There is no 'ultimate good'
because there is no ultimate
and there is no good

The stories your teachers taught you
were taught to them by some other people
and so on
until you realize that all of history
is simply the result of figments of a madman's imagination

--------------------------------------


I miss reading. Stupid VC++ manuals and GENIbus protocol specifications do not maketh the man.
I'm dying to read thick artsyfartsy books, walk into coffee shops and make meandering pseudointellectual conersation with people I couldn't really give a shit about.
But I can't. Not right now, don't know when either.

--------------------------------------


Strange. In the poem 'Humpty Dumpty', there's no mention of him being an egg. And yet, every visual that accompanies the rhyme shows a giant egg with a face, an irish(?) hat, striped socks and buckled shoes.

--------------------------------------

July 11, 2005

The office- 1

The Office Bitch- Apparently got her heart broken by the office stud 4 months ago by a level 2 stud (level 3 being the highest), who also works in this office, albeit in another room.
This means that the woman now spend many hours peering at, well, me. The type? Long neck, scrawny (...ier than me!), thick glasses, and for some reason she keeps pinching her own hand; today she actually bit herself.
Man, I sympathise with Level2Stud.

Level2Stud- Very studly. He's the type a 5 O'clock shadow looks kinda cool on. Oversized jacket, Nikes, a usb drive dangling from a keychain that says 'BornFree'. Does not smile. The silent lonely type.
Unfortunately, smells like a jackass. Explains the silence and the loneliness.

The Peon- Full Sleeves, Pants with pleats so that his ass looks twice what it probably is. Touches himself for about half an hour, and then invites the whole office for Tea in the ‘RelaxationArea’. Repeats process in the afternoon. Yuck.

Standard Survival Gear
1. A Source of Music + Earphones
2. Chewing Gum (No cigarette breaks, unfortunately)
3. Bottle of water
4. Clean ironed trousers and a buttoned shirt
5. Full charge on phone
6. The ability to look busy


Timings 0930 to 1800

Currently working on- How to make GUIs. And not to die laughing anytime someone pronounces it 'gooey'.

The hope- 3 weeks from now, a paycheck that'll hopefully take me through 4 weeks more.

PS- Today, some hot chick walks in... with a resume. And she got the job. Tomorrow, we try to find out more about her.
Also, I need to take something to personalize my desk. I'm debating between a bowl of potpourri and my Manny Ramirez bubblehead. Either way, I need something better to stare at, the somewhatcute steno is getting suspicious. I'm so sure she's a dyke.
Finally, 'scheide' (pronounced 'shady') is apparently German for the female... um, the part where... er... y'know...


Hmmm.

[Visualizing a hundred wagging index fingers]

July 09, 2005

blurb

A prayer
--------
In my dreams, I thought i felt reality
In reality, all I ever wanted to do was dream.
Lest I make the wrong choice, dear God, forgive me first
For all the sins I've commited against myself
Like believing that the answers were solutions,
And that the pain would end someday.

I must recap the past two months. Pi, when you read this in the future, I beg you... Learn from your mistakes!

Grandma passed away.
The college screwed me over.
I_ showed up.


On the other hand-
I love my job. Small firms shall save the world, I say!
Learnt driving, and am pretty damn good at it.
I_ disappeared, like she said she would. Just a scare though.



Whywhywhy.y.y.y.y.y.vievievie

July 08, 2005

Rock and Roll can't save the world, it can only provide the soundtrack.

(Chris, about the live 8 shows, G8, the bombings, among other things)

July 07, 2005

Starting today, 100 words a day, minimum.
Starting today, I write without fear.
Starting today, I begin a new life, not bound by my past, and in eager anticipation of the future.
Starting today, I listen to my own opinion. And when I share them, I will remind everyone that it is just that – an opinion. Nothing more, nothing less.
Starting today, I give up criticizing myself. Then again, I will also learn to be more consistent in output.
Starting today, I stop questioning everything. And stop expecting answers to the questions I do eventually ask.

I will start today.