Dhamachokadi - A Chaotic Mind

trippin´ on europe

2008-10-20T04:31:00.002+05:30

So how do people do a eurotrip in 20 days, a month, a year... getting where i am headed? There really is so much. Not just to see; but to feel. Really, to feel. Once you have done the sight-seeing, which itself is herculean at best, then you can start discovering the real thing. And by the time you realize that (like i am doing the hard way), you might have missed the bus (you guessed it.. much like me). But i feel way too fortunate to have seen the tip of the iceburg to at least (begin to) wonder what the whole thing could probably be like.

Change of thought stream: I have a mixed feeling of living in this parallel universe. Ever since i took that train from Warsaw and have divorced reality to completely lose myself to these unfamiliar exciting environs. The only worry has been the next meal (which i must tell you, has jettisoned my hairline to the ´fall´ season: to make up for having missed the most beautiful season in Europe[throws hands up in the air at the soporific sense of humour{or the lack of it}]). What an ugly use of paranthesis! The way i have been going, i know it is all finally going to be a blur of mind blowing sights and sounds, esp. given my awesome memory. But this melange will always be etched somewhere like the first kiss/joint. One which will always be reminiscent of euphoria, like the intense ephemeral delight of an orgasm. Few days down the line i would probably be pegging the cathedrals to countries much like my impeccable skill with the darts of making a cork board of the wall, yet i´ĺl covet the experience as crazily as Buffalo Bill did, his shit.

Optimistic: will find a wallet stuffed with euros on the road one day so that i CAN EAT without doing the math and shrugging off a much needed proper meal for truck loads of bread and spread. My only grouse: a die hard foodie like me walking past eateries slurping up the dripping rheum and all but committing hara-kiri :(

My world

2008-07-10T03:02:00.000+05:30

Ours is not to ask why/when/where

2008-07-10T02:44:00.003+05:30

Ours is to travel... and how!!

Did you walk Kms no end with essentials on your back?
Did you survive on bread, nutella and maggi?
Did you lose your way amidst the hills?
Did you walk through meadows smothered with horse/cow/sheep/goat crap?
Did you cry to shepherds to ask them the way?
Did you shiver in the cave all night?
Did your legs give up on you?
Did the icy rain drench your body and drown your soul?
Did you sip rum to warm your very marrow?
Did you lose yourself in the lap of nature?
Did you walk up the glacier?
Did you look around only to be surrounded by mist?
Did you guard your food from mountain dogs?
Did you try to light sodden for hours to warm your heels?
Did you lose yourself in the bluest skies?
Did you hum to the pitter-patter of rain?

Did you NOT forget it all?
Do you not wanna LIVE IT?

:)

Rajasthan.. off road

2008-04-15T02:07:00.002+05:30

He looked at all the magnificent blue and his creative spirit was kindled. Some swishes of white across the blue. He then blows on them to give them a wispy look.

‘Is that all you got? White! Virgin white alright but no better…’, I dare..

‘Wait up’, says he and pulls out a glowing orb from his pocket and sets about performing some mesmerizing chromatic jugglery with sweet hues of pink, mauve, purple, red, orange… ‘Huh’ says he.

‘Ah huh’ is all I manage as I stare unblinkingly.

He is Him. I am mute as I sit on the dune and stare upwards at His canvas. A gust of wind passes by and rustles my hair like I am wont to doing to kids passing by. I smile, a little on the outside while my soul exuberates within.

Can-aaa-B[L]iss ??

2008-04-06T03:54:00.008+05:30

Lo and behold!!!

And we still make an issue of it. People have been doing it for ages, esp. us "conservative" Indians, though I wonder what makes us conservative. It is all a facade mon amis!! Just hypocritial bitches.. that's what we are :). Coming back to the point, list of people who smoke/d up: http://boards.cannabis.com/activism/72501-famous-people-smoke-weed.html

They are from 'all walks of life'. So... humans have been consuming this since God knows when, honestly.. Prehistoric. Why does our society relegate things to trash as per convenience, I'll never know. There is conjecture of people consuming/"drinking smoke"(that's how 'smoking' was described ere the word 'smoking' was coined) as early as 5th BC.. hah! Ganja was known to be an ingredient of 'Soma', the intoxicant of the Gods. The Gods merrily flew, while us lowly denizens are denied our license to fly... c'mon not all of us have a 20/20; and it was not under our control that our retina played a bitch and got distorted, or we got opthalmologically screwed otherwise or the like: we too should have the right to fly.

In a world where we are constantly unhappy, stressed out, cussing one and all for bettering us, doing us in, screwing us up, kicking ass, making it, doing it, rocking it, fuckin it, fucking her/him... we could use a little numbness, listlessness, light-headedness and ALTITUDE.

Soar you fledgling soul..

for once lose sight of thy goal

look around: it's all putrid and rotten

that's all that's begotten

in the Green meadow, gambol you foal

Back on the road?

2008-01-21T22:04:00.001+05:30

So this blog has been my wench. Had a good time writing while I did and dutifully dumped it for well.. nothing better or worse. It so happens that I have resolved to do better things and do things better and merely a co-incidence that it happens to be around the new year mark but I'll save me the pressure by calling them 'new year resolutions'. One such promise is to visit this space often and fart away to glory for I realize the pleasure of reading what i had written in the past.
I mark it with a change in the profile pic - which is an indicator of my finally being able to discover the photographer in me, however crappy he may be. Just for kicks I shall re-live my last 7 months:
back to studies... but not to books
drink like a pig
life away from girl
dance on stage
attempts and more attempts to start studying
life without a vehicle
new bunch of friends
bangalore: ah i miss you
gurgaon: you can do much better
melting in summers.. freezing in winters
case studies and pre-reads.. base studies and un-reads
off to jaipur on bike
porcupine tree
paradigm shift
make some effort to socialize
make no effort to socialize
prison break addiction
BUSTED!!
marketing or finance??
my camera.. my love.. [unrequited for her though]
gtalk.. bloody waste of time
ah well.. BLOODY WASTE OF TIME anyways
rue bad handwriting in answer scripts
grades.. who am i kidding anyways
laziness beyond laziness
procrastination and more procrastination
drunken driving... it's fun!!
veg maggi... grrrr
parties.... this merits a post for itself
mcleodgunj
receding hairline
fit no more?
yet to learn to say NO
yet to maintain accounts
chooth.. the remix :D
maggi advert
empty coffers
assignments and projects
quizzes and term papers
mess food
Dome
15th aug '07
CTC
fly baby fly
Yazzo's place
Charma's car

Things have changed and so have I. Life in Bangalore for the past six years had been one compressed experience - a great one nonetheless. Seven months hence, it seems to be a something of a thing of the past.....

Hedonism and Revelry.. is it too bad?

2007-10-28T04:53:00.000+05:30

Jack did it.. can't I?

So… you’re an MBA... that don’t impress me much....

2007-09-12T04:36:00.000+05:30

Welcome to the world of the money makers; the movers and shakers; the decision fakers; the faff rakers… it sucks [F.R.I.E.N.D.S season one, episode 1… any takers?]. Oh well, these guys sure can make powerpoint presentations and bullshit on them for hours. Well actually not all of them can!! It’s engineering all over again, albeit with lesser time on hand and more crap on the plate. At least then we weren’t the pretentious lot. We walked the talk… that we are bloody jobless and we are having a bitch of a time. Now we talk the talk: The Talk… and wait… talkity talkity talk[nursery rhymes anyone?]. So we are a bunch of ‘achievers’: oh ya… we ‘belled that CAT’[fuckin’ clichés]. Honey… you’d rather I was a rocket scientist. More of the cynicism later…
Right now I am particularly kicked about having heard the Full Circle live. The lady crooned her living lungs off and somewhere I say my heart was blown out of the door. Had I stayed till the end of the gig, I swear I would have gone up to her and told her that I leave with a couple of gaping holes in my musical soul [and later blamed it on the beer… how convenient.. eh!!].
Full Circle… one more fan... tick.[yay!!]

Spleeku klamata

2007-05-29T11:59:00.000+05:30

That didn’t make sense, did it now? Now try your voice modulation with these two ‘words’ – if I may call them so. Spit them out; whisper them meaningfully; enunciate them; hum them to a tune… go ahead experiment. You can make them mean a lot just in the way you say them. At least I used to think so. As a kid I used to this in the confines of my room, and enjoyed it a lot. Maybe, I thought myself to be a prodigy who could fabricate a whole dialect. Possibly it was a Calvinesque streak. Thankfully I didn't stretch it all the way to Hobbes - but that wouldn't have been too bad.. not for me at least!
What the hell.. I still do it sometimes
Am I deranged?!

Day Sleeper

2007-03-23T12:22:00.000+05:30

What happens when five bums, roam the streets of Bombay all night and finally get on a local train to reach their respective destinations before day break:
H: Either he got a hen's neck bones transplanted recently or felt too bad about missing the Iron Maiden concert. His head kept jutting out of his neck periodically; so much so, I got scared he might uproot it. Who can sleep with such vigorous physical activity?
L: Arm on knee, whole body weight on it. With half the frequecy of H's head-banging/neck-jutting, his elbow kept buckling: body weight shifting crazily. Thought he would topple any moment. He had a better plan though. Rested his arm on me, and bam, head on my shoulder, all in slumber. Wonder if some xyz, or better still - a lady, was sitting next to him.
P: Redefining 40 winks. He would sleep some, then wake up and look around as if he had been awake all the while, though I am sure he never registered what he saw. Who was that charade for?
B: Just shut his eyes and froze. Boring!
God bless the others for entertaining me. You never know what can humour you.

PS: Day sleeper is a neat song by R.E.M.

buzzzzzing

2007-01-22T01:59:00.000+05:30

Have been aimlessly browsing the net for while. Lot of stuff in my head. When when when will I put it down. Do I wanna? Let's face it - you can't blog your brains off, can you? You don't want people in on it; atleast I don't. Not the gupt gyan that we willingly dole out in a patronising fashion, the real stuff: the dirt, the slime clinging to the inner walls of one's soul, the innermost, the insecurities, the complexes, the mindset. People who pour it all out - are they exhibitionists? Anyways, we are all voyeurs, aren't we? [bloody rhetoric]. Just peeping and poking, to catch people in the buff - even physically, however ugly: at times[every time.. mind you] to feel good about our own selves.
I am in a mood to rant on, but it's pretty late and early office tommorow. Yes Mr. Raj Kapoor, the show goes on. The audience is mute though, and then they jerk off...

:)

2007-01-20T23:39:00.000+05:30

khuss hein hum aaj. cat ke baad thora dissapoint to hua tha hum ko. lekin ee xlri ne humein bulaava de diya. %ile thikkai hai 97.37 aur sectional bhi kaafi balance raha. ab jo hai kamar kas lena hai ee interbhew ke liye. aaj tak to sooiye rahe the, leki thore jaage hue hi theek hein. ab US jaane ke opher ko thukrane ka gam bhi kam types hua hai. waise bhi wahan to abhi tatton ki kulfi jum jaati. aur phir kal eph.m.s bhi likhna hai. na to koi enthu padhne ka. ab dekhte hein kya hoga.....

The long blog vacation continues.... hope to start writing soon - but don't seem to have the time these days.

Ghar ki Murgi..

2007-01-03T22:13:00.000+05:30

Homes sweetest homes..
So far.. the sweets.. and then 98.2
Not good enough for the big calls from As Bs or the Cs. So it didn't pays off. So whats; I bes happy that I worked hards. I ain't cribbin babies!! I am ups to the it. Some serious kick assin' next years.
What I cribs about is getting backs to the b'lores, to the daily drags, to the 'routines', to the grinds. Many decisions to be tooked, many works to be worked, lesser home yummies to be eated. The bads it is.
I gotta pack my bags...
and heads from home...
I am standin here with a paunch to show...
The lifes will sucks, the life will goes..

The Catchline

2006-12-17T23:24:00.000+05:30

I am Indian: I am influenced by Bollywood!!
Hence.. my Blog now sports a corny english catchline to go with the hindi name.
It feels complete finally!!(oh.. the pic too)

HearSee

2006-12-17T22:26:00.000+05:30

Cool Dude1: "Dude.. Bombay is the place to have fun"
Cool Dude2: "Duhhuud... Bombay is fun, But Bangalore is fun with class"

FMAG*1: "Yaar.. lekin kabhi kabhi intimacy ho jaati hai..."
FMAG2: "Hmmm... karo, par ghar pe pata nahin chalna chahiye!!"

*FMAG = Frustrated Middle Aged Guy

Billboard of latest Kannada Flick:

Noone has ever invented condom for the gun...

He is deadly dangerous.............

La musique nostalgique

2006-12-15T22:03:00.000+05:30

Listening to the new album by Enigma. It’s good – very ambient; I am crazy about ambient music. It takes you to a different plane of existence. It is a catalyst, which can make any experience extraordinary – very much like the SonyErricson ad which has been showing lately. It just trickles through; it commingles with the mellifluous juices of a succulent pan, it flows with the cool pre-winter breeze as I walk in the inky blackness of the alleys of Koramangala late into the night.
Music induces in me a sharp feeling of nostalgia. It stems from the mutation of my musical preference with time, from the habit of overkill of what I am in love with then. It then becomes a marker of that chapter in the diary that is life. Play me High Hopes and I am teleported to my room in Calcutta, switching off the worries of the impending engg. entrance exams and lying in my bed soaking the magic of Floyd. Turn on Robert Miles and I ratchet down the highway of memory to the plush leather upholstery of my friend’s dad’s new Esteem; seat reclined, doors thrown open, as the garage throbbed with the beats of my very tryst with trance. Atif takes me down the corridor of my hostel during the last few days of college life. Enigma’s first few albums jog me down the Military Park in the sultry morning air, as I smiled quietly at the queer mannerisms of the motley morning walkers, thinking about how smooth my preparation for Std X boards was coming along. Rangeela finds me waiting in the car for my brother, as we got late for school in Ranchi. Pet Shop boys shrinks me into shorts with elastics when we got our very first music system- a Videocon, which was out of bounds for us as we got our first taste of English Pop. Pankaj Udhas plays softly in the background as we have our Sunday lunch of kathi daal-chawal in our airy duplex in Ranchi. Cranberries croons to my heart as butterflies flutter in my tummy – I sit dreamy-eyed stupidly smitten by a girl at her first sight. Maiden finds me stay up late nights enjoying my tension-free pre-engineering days. Prodigy and FatboySlip make me jump around like crazy in my first single room. Coldplay is what some happy memories are made of. And Himessss willl remind me of the days when Baba, Jalan, Dilip and I went grocery shopping; popped our heads out of the windows and 'serenaded' the unsuspecting bikers stuck at the traffic signal.

the beer speaketh...

2006-12-08T22:58:00.000+05:30

i glug the drink..
i am my own shrink..
i think trivial...
bring on the next vial...
my soul turns pink!

et tu brute.. so be me!!

2006-12-08T22:46:00.000+05:30

i am a stoic again..
i am a sponge...
i live life in the grunge...
is it any good???

Motor(quadra)cycle Diaries - A game of points

2006-12-07T16:49:00.000+05:30

Disclaimer: If you are a family member of mine kindly skip this post.
After all I could do without another tirade of cling and clang [refer: The Prelude]. As my parents rightly put it – post-trip – the Maruti, a very light car with minimal safety features, isn’t the best suited vehicle for doing 1900kms on the highway. And it was our very job to find out why. It all started with the post-dinner drive in the first leg of the journey. After a filling snack of chicken kebabs and paneer manjuri (this is how they spell Manchurian in namma Karnataka), washed down by on-the-house rasam shots – spicy enough to disinfect the entire system – we took on the highway again. Four hours on the road prior to this had seen off the frustrating and infuriating city traffic and the deceptively well-laid highway stretch. Ak had indulged in the thorough cleaning of the wind-shield while we chewed furiously at the kebabs in the dimly-lit bar (no thanks, we were keeping away from the drinks). The highway deserves a mention here. It was mosaic of ravaged bits of pathway threaded together by crumpled boards whispering "diversion", visible only when your nose is touching the board. Driving on this 150km stretch of rubble at night was quite a challenge. Ak took it up as I struggled to get a couple of winks, crumpled in the back seat of the car with another soul, B, with a gargantuan ruck-sack wedged between the two. Rather, I was wedged in and was only hoping that I was born a frog with three folds in my legs. We started off flying over a bump, and braced ourselves for the ride to follow.
Another interesting feature on this stretch was the immaculate positioning of bumps; a couple of meters before the diversion. In case one didn’t spot the board, the bump would do well to throw the car off balance before consummation, be it the ditch at the end of the road or the car heading surreptitiously from the other side of the diversion. This is exactly what happened at one of the diversions, as Ak didn’t spot it on time, and hurtled down up the bump and down the incline, barely managing to lose some speed in the process and missing the car from the other direction by a mere whisker. 50 points. And thus began the game of points.
Another diversion; another mangled board; yet another case of night blindness; screeches; clouds of dust; car stopped within kissing distance of a mound of red mud, or was it coagulated blood? 40 points.
2am: on a smooth road, well marked with boards on both sides. I am driving with the windows rolled up to keep the chill out; music fills up the car; I am humming to myself enjoying my personal time as the others have been engulfed by sleep. Thoughts stray back and forth as I don’t bother to wake the others – they have to get behind the wheel later – but the truth is I am thoroughly enjoying it, whizzing at no less than 100km an hour. The signs on the sides forewarning turns race by as they lead to mellow turns with banking that are negotiated easily. Another board marking an impending left turn; a casual glance as my foot is firm on the accelerator: mistake; another seemingly innocuous turn, and there is no urgency to floor the breaks: mistake. The turn coiled menacingly and it was too late to jam the breaks. I gently squeezed the breaks and turned the wheel a fraction alternately; too much of either would throw the car off balance. The screech of the tyres rises to drown the music within. I entered the curve from the left and finished on the right, couple of feet off the railing on the right. As the car slowed, the heartbeat raced. Victor: 50 points.

Motor(quadra)cycle Diaries – The prelude

2006-12-05T19:46:00.000+05:30

The choice of the title is not intended as a smart-ass pun(only…); it is the best description for a Maruti 800 as compared to the new generation cars. What else, other than a label as belittling as a cycle, could be more apt for a car that lacks even a power steering and power breaks in this age. Maybe that’s the beauty of it. Maybe we Indians have a special attachment for it. Maybe that’s the reason people still buy it, though a few more thousands can facilitate a more comfortable driving experience. I choose to brag about this beauty – one that still constitutes a high percentage of The Chaotic Indian Traffic – because she has performed exceedingly well under trying conditions. I may not know much about car maintenance yet (probably why she makes my life easy) but I know she’s here to stay.
I am compelled to write this after a road trip to from Bangalore to Pune, and back; all of 1800 Kms completed within two days and two nights. That it was maniacal, I would vouchsafe and my parents would testify; they did give me a hard time for doing this. I don’t blame them; their progeny-safety alarms had gone haywire when I called them and very coolly said. “Guess where I am. In Pune. We drove all night…” [cling cling clang]. I’ll save you the dirty details.

This is how it started:
A: “Crazy traffic... aargh! We may not make it on time”
B: “Hmmm”
P: “So B.. what if you miss the train”
A [matter-of-factly]: ”What’s there… Will drop him to Bombay”
B: “Yes yes… let’s do it man”
A: “Yeah sure… We are talking 950 kms here… That too over the weekend; to and fro… Shut up and start praying that we reach on time”
B: “Dude… I am serious… It’ll be awesome”
B [Praying]: “I hope we don't make it on time... God please pleeaassee”
P: “Wazzzzzaaaaa”
[tee teeent] sms from U: “Kahaan ho??”
B: “Gaadi mein…. Duhhh”
B: “Abe chal yaar… C and Ak will be ever-ready… you just gotta say yes”
A: “Sup….”
P: “WAZZZZZZZZZAAAAAA”
B: “WAAAAAAAAAAAAZZAAAA”
A: “WAAAAAZZZZZZAAAAAAAAAAAA”
K: [Bewildered, confused, obfuscated… should I reach for the thesaurus now]
[tee teeent] sms from U: “Kab pahunchoge… train nikal jaegi”
A, B & P[in unison]: “HAHAHAH.. WAAAAAZZZZZAAAAAAAAA”
K: [Befuddled, flabbergasted, lost; I did reach for the thesaurus]
A: [Expletives galore at the sight of a broken down truck in the middle of the road – the cause of the traffic jam]
A: “I think we’re gonna make it on time. B, what say… you wanna catch it?”
B: “Are you crazy… we doin this man!!”
A: “Yes we are…”
K: [Shake of the head] “Tch tch… you guys serious?”
K: [Back to: astonished, baffled, confounded]
P: “Wazzzzaaaaaa”
[tee teeent] sms from U: “Jaldi aao…”
We pull up in front of the station. B gets off with his luggage; U had been looking at her watch every split second. In the meantime she had finished reconnaissance and pinpointed the coach and the berth.
U: “Chalo jaldi karo.. choot jaegi”
B: “Huh.. so??”
A: “Yeah.. so???”
P: “WAAAZZZZZZZZAAAA”
U: [ Bewildered, confused, obfuscated, Befuddled, flabbergasted, lost, astonished, baffled, confounded… all at once]
Enter C and Ch.
Plan briefly blurted out; Ch nodding; C neighing
C: “Abbe yaar trip safal ho gayi!! Let’s do this... I am calling Ak, he’ll surely come”
Poooooonn.. Chugg chug…
P: “C’mon guys, lets do some drama…”
[Authoritative tone] “B get on the train… A and C start running… B, get pulled down from the train”
A, B & C too excited to do anything; P pouting and sulking
P: “You guys are useless…”
U: “You guys are out of your heads”
A, B, C and P[in unison]: “WAAAAZZZZZZZZZAAAAAAAAA”

zoooooommmm

2006-12-01T10:34:00.000+05:30

How often do you get back home at 5:45am, hair all coarse and entangled, putrid alcohol laden breath, eyelids weighing down like lead weights, back a tad stiff, yet, spirit soaring high as the first light of the day lights up a quiet a smile on the face. Sometimes, we decide to do something really stupid, and we love for those times. The times when we just head out against all odds, shrug off the common sense, and throw reason in the trash can.
We did just that, couple of nights back, bang in the middle of the week. One friend was visiting us, and another was about to leave - to erase everything on the blackboard, that is life, and start afresh. The occasion had to be given its due respect. Hence, we decided to head out at the stroke of midnight, to drive down some 80 kms to the Coffee Day on Mysore road. Someone suggested that we get some beer on the way, so that too was taken care of. Only at that hour, are the roads of Bangalore a pleasure to drive on (not all of them mind you). All that’s left to do is to roll down the window and let the good riff or the rhythmic bass-line permeate your senses. (The cool beer down the throat doesn’t feel too bad either!)
Joking, munching, chatting, drinking, humming, clicking, we overshot the pick-up point for C by about 10kms. But no one minded the 20 extra kms on the road, except for C, of course, who had been waiting there, braving the chill. The effect of the beer was evident only when I got off the car and realized I wasn’t walking too straight, and come to think of it, I had advised K, who was behind the wheel of the other car, to take it easy with the beer. B, with his motion sickness compounded by the beer, was queasy on the way back and let out a few jets of murku and a quarter donut marinated in beer.
By the time we got home we were half dead, with the ringing thought of getting to office in a few hours time. It was promising to be a hell of a day. K had to attend meetings throughout the day and ended up calling in sick(in fact he just slept all day, not even bothering to call). I zombied my day through work and then ended up going for a late night dinner, where I gulped in more air, in hideous yawns, than food on the table.

And BTW, tonight we leave for Bombay: 950*2 kms; two days; one Maruti 800; four guys up; three guys down. Later...

Lull after the storm..

2006-11-27T14:10:00.000+05:30

Have been off the blog for some time now. I have just been putting up bits of good stuff I came across recently. Primarily because there hasn't been anything of consequence to talk about or ponder over. I have just been comfortably numb since the ominous 19th; and for some reason unknown to my own self, I have been spending a lot of time in office. It's the rush to hit the deadlines for other applications(god bless the net). Unnecessarily traumatic experience that. Don't even want to vent my frustration on that.
Apart from this I have been frantically looking for books to read; besides the rendering of utopian architectural layouts of the worst planned parts of the city. It's wierd how you end up doing totally unexpected things in life - using crayons, which I thought I would only be doing when I have pesky kids of my own trying to tame their wild spirits, attempting to keep the shocking reds of an apple within the fruit or the garish greens of a parrot not look like droppings of the same colur. And it was bliss!! I was really something I was enjoying, which I probably would not in the aforementioned situation, perhaps only because it was an absolute departure from anything I do. (For the record, I absolutely ADORE kids, contrary to what I may sound like right now.)
I have also been making up for the alcohol debt my blood had been subjected to lately. Not quite to the extent I had been gearing up for it mentally. I also have been feeding my recently acquired appetite of Indian reality series. Kashmeera Shah is out….Yea!!! (psst… I had contributed to the noble cause with a vote)
Now, I am looking to do/learn something new; something virgin. I don't know what yet, but something….

Levitating verses..

2006-11-24T13:23:00.000+05:30

When Mr. Saladin Chamcha fell out of the clouds over the English Channel he felt his heart being gripped by a force so implacable that he understood it was impossible for him to die. Afterwards, when his feet were once more firmly planted on the ground, he would begin to doubt this, to ascribe the implausibilities of his transit to the scrambling of his perceptions by the blast, and to attribute his survival, his and Gibreel's, to blind, dumb luck. But at the time he had no doubt; what had taken him over was the will to live, unadulterated, irresistible, pure, and the first thing it did was to inform him that it wanted nothing to do with his pathetic personality, that half-reconstructed affair of mimicry and voices, it intended to bypass all that, and he found himself surrendering to it, yes, go on, as if he were a bystander in his own mind, in his own body, because it began in the very centre of his body and spread outwards, turning his blood to iron, changing his flesh to steel, except that it also felt like a fist that enveloped him from outside, holding him in a way that was both unbearably tight and intolerably gentle; until finally it had conquered him totally and could work his mouth, his fingers, whatever it chose, and once it was sure of its dominion it spread outward from his body and grabbed Gibreel Farishta by the balls.

-Rushdie

Tracer Bullet's ma name..

2006-11-24T12:14:00.000+05:30

PS: Blog tip - Don't give yourself a headache trying to read the miniscule print, click on the picture and maximize the window... Voila

Floyd said..

2006-11-22T17:16:00.000+05:30

Run, rabbit run.

Dig that hole, forget the sun,

And when at last the work is done

Don't sit down it's time to dig another one.

Lubb Dubb.. Lubb Dubb......

2006-11-19T18:27:00.000+05:30

There was no real nerve-racking tension on the eve of or on the morning of the exam. But now it begins. As the various coaching institutes start speculating the cut-offs and conjecturing the very derivative english answers.
As of now we stand here:
Quant: 44
DI: 48
QA: 30

This is what is making my heart skip beats by the hundreds. But one can never be too sure of the english answers that are put up. Will do a little more tallying as more answer keys infest the net with a lot more analysis and a barrage of unsolicited gyan. I will get off the comp and get out off the house, lest I kill myself with tension.

PS: The actual CAT hasn't been a very bad experience. I was not the bundle of nerves that I was expecting my myself to transform into in the lead up to CAT. Now just hoping the effort turns out to be fruitful.

Not shaken... a little stirred

2006-11-18T02:34:00.000+05:30

Well, I can’t really think of anything particular to talk about, but insomnia compels me to do something useful with my time. I saw Casino Royale today in a cheap non-descript theatre, with many groin scratching guys who would ogle at anything remotely feminine, including a tiny scared-looking kitten that could easily fit on my palm. And well my comprehension of the movie was no better than theirs. Anyone with even an iota of knowledge about marketing can tell you the infallible mantra – Customer is King: especially the target demographic. And cost-cutting at any level is a huge plus. No wonder, the speakers in the balcony were switched off. Only the people sitting in the stalls could hear the dialogues. Hence, we were all on a common plane: cheering 007 whenever he chased and fought and kicked and stabbed and shot and killed! At other times we carried on with the usual banter and wondering who got kicked out of Bigg Boss’s house today (damn I still don’t know... I hope it’s not Rakhi Savant; I have indeed developed a soft corner for her). Of course we did whistle and hoot when we saw firangs locking lips on the big screen; and got utterly disgusted when we realized that some scenes had been removed – rather “edited”, since they were not suitable for Indian audiences. A mindless action flick is what I ended up seeing. So much for watching the landmark 21st Bond movie, which redefines the cult series, on the day of its world wide release.
I don’t know why I am just not sleepy. I feel like taking the old wheels out and going for a drive. Just the cool Bangalore air, Coldplay/Lifehouse/trance, and my thoughts. It is just the balm I need to soothe my senses. Maybe I’ll do just that……

Musical Inspiration: Enigma

2006-11-15T16:54:00.000+05:30

MCMXC a.d.

If you believe in light, it's because of obscurity

If you believe in joy, it's because of sadness

And if you believe in God, it's because of the devil

The Cross of Changes

Return To Innocence

Love - Devotion

Feeling - Emotion

Don't be afraid to be weak

Don't be too proud to be strong

Just look into your heart, my friend

That will be the return to yourself

The return to innocence.

And if you want, then start to laugh

If you must, then start to cry

Be yourself, don't hideJust believe in destiny.

Don't care what people sayJust follow your own way

Don't give up, and use the chance

To return to innocence.

That's not the beginning of the end

That's the return to yourself

The return to innocence.

Le Roi Est Mort, Vive Le Roi!

Things are changing

But nothing changes

And still, there are changes

Le roi est mort, vive le roi!

Morphing Thru Time

Earth, a biosphere. A complex, subtly-balanced life support system.

We are floating over the line, let us follow our mind

All our life we'll wait for the answer, and the question is: Why?

If we're following our mind, we can glide into light

No one knows if there'll be an answer while we're morphing thru time.

We are floating over the line, let us follow our mind

All our life we'll wait for the answer, and the question is: Why?

If we're following our mind, we can glide into light

No one knows if there'll be an answer while we're morphing thru time.

The Screen Behind the Mirror

Silence Must Be Heard

Look into the others' eyes, many frustrations

Read between the lines, no words, just vibrations

Don't ignore hidden desires

Pay attention, you're playing with fire

Silence must be heard, noise should be observed

The time has come to learn that silence...silence must be heard

Or diamonds will burn, friendly cards will turn

Cause silence has the right to be heard

People talk too much for what they have to say

Words without a meaning, they are fading away

Silence must be heard, noise should be observed

The time has come to learn, that silence...silence must be heard

The Screen Behind The Mirror

Here's the mirror, behind there is a screen

Turn around, on both ways you can get in

The experience of survival

Look around just people, can you hear their voice

Find the one who'll guide you to the limits of your choice

The experience of survival

Try to think about it...

That's the chance to live your life and discover

Try to think about it...

The experience of survival

The experience...

Cynically yours!!

2006-11-13T15:27:00.000+05:30

My so-called prep for CAT has shown me how easy it is to be cynical. Remember the story of the sour grapes. When things are difficult, tending to downright impossible, you start looking at them with “objectivity”, so to speak. You look at them for different angles - acute and obtuse but not so right… and reflexive? You are capable to do all kinds of manipulations, calculations, estimations, assumptions etc. You apply all kinds of permutations, probability, allegation, Weird-Greek-Philospherus’s theorems; and arrive at a derisive conclusion. You question the purpose and the very being of everything closely related to the CAT and an MBA degree.

Who is to be blamed? ‘Halaat ne majboor kiya’ syndrome is the best possible explanation. The ubiquitous pressure to be successful that has hounded us all our life. Ironically, the most immeasurable of quantities is comprehensively quantified by various parameters, by people who have the least of it. And let’s face it; everyone wants to be successful, as it is a bare necessity to stand upright in the “society” with your nose facing north. Hence, the Great Indian Software-professionals’ Exodus to B-Schools all over the globe. We are all looking for our pot of gold at the end of the rainbow (read MBA).

Clickety-Click

2006-11-10T16:58:00.000+05:30

The photo blog is up. I have uploaded quite a few. Mke use of the "older posts" link at the bottom.
http://dhamachokadi-clicks.blogspot.com/

2B or not 2B?? 36B maybe...

2006-11-09T09:34:00.000+05:30

O, that this too too solid flesh would melt

Thaw and resolve itself into a dew!

Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd

His canon 'gainst self-slaughter!

O God! God! How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable,

Seem to me all the uses of this world!

Fie on't! ah fie! 'tis an unweeded garden,

That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature

Possess it merely. That it should come to this!

- Hamlet

Hamlet said it for his reasons; I can identify with these words today for those of my own. Not remotely in a similar context; meaning a lot different, but could well be expressed in these words.

The first of the famous soliloquies that define the play; Shakespeare's tour de force - the most sublime tragedy. This is where we first get a glimpse of the philosophical persona of the very spineless prince Hamlet. What a misfit in the setting of the play. A warring State; a lascivious[sic] Queen; undertakers philosophizing and discussing politics; a fratricidal, lecherous[sic] King, more actor than emperor; apparitions doing the nightly beat; a smitten suicidal maiden; a play within the play; a vengeful brother; couple of dimwitted spies; an instinctive murder; a flaky, loquacious counsel; a pubescent, emotive actor; a vengeful brother; and a crazy prince/weeping philosopher/righteous son/vacillating thinker/ingrate lover/self-proclaimed actor/disrespectful son/irresolute avenger... Something was definitely rotten in the state of Denmark!!

As the "wise" old man said.. Brevity is the soul of wit. Thus I speak no more. I must add, it is one of the best pieces of literature I have laid my eyes on.

PS: Pardon me for the frivolous subject. I just gave in to one of those impulses when a horrible PJ is screaming in your head, dying to be let out.

Glimpse of the CAT prep!

2006-11-06T00:24:00.000+05:30

I chose to rhyme.. It don't cost me a dime..

2006-11-03T12:34:00.000+05:30

Rings of haze breath’d to the sky,
With holes, your lungs, it doth glorify,
A habit too compulsive to shirk,
Lips curl'd in a pretentious smirk,
Why O why, you exercise your right to die?

Chinese torture......... the Indian way!!

2006-10-26T23:27:00.000+05:30

That is what was meted out to all the cricket fanatics in India. The Indian Cricket team is professional in that capacity. Bastards. They never looked like winning; what with the horrid body language, unbelievably insipid bowling attack, supremely sloppy fielding, and frustratingly underperforming batting. The so called medium pace bowlers, who are only spinners at best who bowl with an intended, yet not so upright seam, are out to prove their mettle by banging the ball in short. End result: dolly short pitches at waist height, which the most incapable of batsmen, that too West Indian, are able to dispatch to the boundaries with absolute disdain. Ronacko Morton displayed his world class batting skills, in the way he got dismissed. He was able to pitch his tent on the pitch and milk the Indian bowling attack. Strange that it should be called an attack. It was the most inept and artless of bowling performances. Pathan and Agarkar were spraying the balls all over the pitch. Maybe they thought the pitch wasn’t well rolled and took it upon themselves to do the needful and even it out by bowling all over it. Brilliant. Definitely, the Indians have been endowed with the trait of unconditional love. Most of the international players have their bests against India. Quite a reputation to uphold.. eh!

Fanatics we are, to sit and watch the entire match in the hope that these bungling fools can actually pull something off. Match fixing... not even a possibility. These guys don’t seem to be able to do anything at will. What was Dravid doing on the field? Is he the captain? I’d rather have a Ganguly on the field. However bad his form is; whatever flak he takes from the media, critics and a billion maniacal morons; he fights on the field as a captain. He expresses emotion. Mongia and More always made their presence felt with their incessant shouts of encouragement. Dhoni obviously thinks he’s a gentleman who’ll lose out on his ad-value if he shouts too much on the field. Get me eleven incapable players, who at least look passionate on the field, and I’ll be a lot happier.

And whenever there seems to be the slightest chance of victory, a sliver of hope, the Indians look upon it as a glorious chance to prove what spineless jerks they are: Yuvraj misfields, Raina drops a catch( not to be undone, Dravid joins in), Munaf sprawls prostrate on the field after the ball is well past him; while the skipper, Dravid looks askance hoping for some divine intervention. It’s like hearing that your mother passed away, a split second before you are about to climax.

I haven’t used more expletives. I haven’t felt more like tearing my hair off, stuffing the lump down my throat and then committing hara-kiri to pull it out.

Disclaimer : This post was written right after India lost hopelessly to the Windies. I was not in my senses then and this is an expression of my exasperation then.

Mushkil hi nahin….

2006-10-25T17:12:00.000+05:30

Don ke Amitabh Bachchan ki nakal karna namumkin hai!!

Yes, I did see it. It’s one movie I didn’t want to miss whether I liked it or hated it. Somehow, I end up seeing all the SRK movies, though I strongly believe that his acting/over-acting skills leave a lot to be desired. I must admit that I recently saw the original Don, only so that I can criticize the new one. However, this is not only a SRK movie; it is a Farhan Akhtar movie. Had anyone else attempted to pull off this stunt of re-making(or remixing for that matter) an Amitabh “Angry-Young-Man” Bachchan movie, he would have been greeted by huge, rotten, stinking tomatoes at the box office. That Akhtar has done a good job of it, is undoubted. The most impressive thing is that he has presented Don in his own way. He put his own signature on it; and the entire movie didn’t end up looking like the horribly done “Khaike pan Benaraswala” song, with the unwanted extra beats, ungainly choreography, and a Shah Rukh trying very hard not to do a Shah Rukh, and worse still, attempt to do an Amitabh.

The old one was more about Vijay, the very vulnerable Don lookalike, who takes on a very dangerous mission, to provide for the kids that he had taken responsibility for. Needless to mention, Amitabh fitted that role to a T and endeared himself to the audience with his unimitable oily haired, kohl-eyed, pan-spitting, motormouthed, outrageously humorous persona. Akhtar just couldn’t have done without that character since it was central to the movie, and SRK, being himself, just couldn’t act the part. He did not look look rustic; the lungi had given way to denim. He did not look the kind who can eat a pan; and enjoy it. He could not spit the gob. And I will not get started on the half hearted attempt at a UP-Bhaiya accent.

The movie is slick. Period. Very fast-paced and very smooth. SRK did what he can do best: look cool. The modified screenplay and camera-work gave the movie the action movie look that it promised to have; what with the matrix rip-off green promos. The background score was very Hollywood; the heavy guitars, the furious drumming and the racy beats. Very much like the original Don, the theme music was always at the centre of all the different arrangements. Kudos to Shankar-Ehsaan-Loy. Finally we do see a breed of music directors other than the God - AR Rehman, doing very good work indeed.

Now, Akhtar did bend the story a bit here and there. Mostly, to remove the fantastical heroics that our heroes used to pull off so effortlessly. I really have to describe my favourite from the old Don – the tight rope act by Pran:

[Drum Roll…]
Heavy voice over the PA :
Witness the most courageous act of all times…
A cripple walks a tight rope between two high-rise buildings with no safety measures…
What’s more…. he carries two half-full grown children in his arms…
With baddies sawing away furiously at the rope…
Can he make it???
Preeeeeeeeesenting JJ
[Drum Roll.. Followed by a more elaborate drum roll]

The reason for the big twist of not killing the original Don was to give SRK leeway to act the way he does. So that he can smirk, croak, stammer, fight, and flirt, all in his way. Give him a role where he has the free license to do all these, and you have an entertainer on your hands, i.e. if you are a SRK fan. For others like me, suppress a giggle or two, shake your head a couple of times, let out an abuse maybe... and enjoy the show. A well made movie, with actors doing their role well. Priyanka Chopra looks hot enough to replace Zeenat Amaan and thankfully has lesser fight sequences, where she doesn’t have to use The Chop Style of karate to kick the butts of 20 goons at a time. Boman Irani hasn’t done many flawed roles, and this surely isn’t one. Arjun Rampal does his bit as JJ. Kareena/Kariena/Karina Kapoor, the aspiring WWF challenger, does well to show her beefy arms and thighs off. Helen would be shaking her head and going tch tch... Even in this era of definitive item numbers, we can have such a shoddy performance. Om Puri gets a very small role since Malik’s character lost favour with Akhtar. SRK…. haven’t I spoken enough about his acting prowess…

The last thing I want to talk about is the smoking bit. This is how we bend rules in India. They are not allowed to show actors smoke onscreen. So our hero exhales clouds of smoke, flicks the cigarette away in style and talks about kicking the habit. Done!!
Kya bhai…. hum to kanoon ke dayre mein hi hein.. kyon??.. aaain!!

Fixali

2006-10-22T18:45:00.000+05:30

Type Diwali on the keypad of your mobile phone in the T9 mode…

Diwali was nice. But Diwali should be celebrated at home… Lighting the dias, away from family, makes you feel hollow. You can make a million phone calls back home but you can never get the same feeling. Things that you never thought about much when you used to stay at home start coming back to you now. Things I could never imagine doing on my own are being done now. I surprised mummy, very pleasantly at that, when I called her on choti-diwali night and told her that I lit 11 dias.

This time we decided to celebrate diwali the good old way; with a lot of fire-crackers. That meant taking a trip to Hosur and purchasing them. Well, entire Bangalore did exactly that. The moment we crossed the Karnataka-Tamil Nadu border, we saw these myriad make-shift shops selling truckloads of crackers. People were carting these away in unbelievable quantities. We got our share and braved the chaotic traffic on Hosur road, in the sweltering afternnon, to get back all tired, yet satisfied. It was totally worth it. It felt great to burst crackers after such a long time. The child-like excitement seen in the professional 23 year-olds, smoking, talking about work and money, tells you they are still kids.

The famous ful-jhari art!! Sidhu and I were up to some antics on the roof while bursting fire crackers. He got really camera happy out there, and the outcome was some really memorable pics.

Acute CAT-atonia

2006-10-22T17:52:00.000+05:30

Weekends are relaxation no more. It’s not the best feeling to forgo the friday/saturday booze party with the guys. But as they say, a man’s got to do what a man’s got to do. Weekends mean studying on Saturday(though I haven’t really been doing much of that). Weekends mean Sunday Morning Mock. It has more or less become a habit over the past couple of months. Yes.. habit. Now that’s a scary thought. You don’t want anything to do with CAT become a habit. It just might mean the monotony starts eclipsing the nimbleness. And I have been guilty of that very often. That really gives me the heebie-jeebies. I am talking about that spell of boredom that creeps in right in the middle of those 150 minutes, in which you have to rev up the mental machinery to perform at its optimum, if not better. I have always been the day-dreamer who just looks out of the window to see the very same leaf of the very same tree rustle in the very same way hour after hour, while sitting on the study-table. It’s a hard habit to kick. Though I must agree that I have worked on it and things are better. But are they good enough?? Ah.. the question of ‘good enough’. I have lost count of the times when I think that, well ok, I have done/achieved X; but is this good enough?? Let’s face it. I have pitted myself against the best brains/most industrious souls in the country that boasts of arguably the highest grey-matter reserves(yes, I do talk of it as a commodity. We’ll get into more of this some other time). And I don’t really have to get into the competitiveness of the exam. The odds are depressing, to say the least.

Getting back to the issue of boredom. It strikes at the very time when it shouldn’t: when I probably haven’t started off too well. Where I should be attacking the paper more feverishly. On the one hand, I want to take as many mocks as possible; as the age old adage goes, there’s nothing like match practice. On the other, I am worried if I am taking it too far by taking two mocks per week. I feel the need to do it since the only real bit of studying I end up doing is analyzing the paper. Hence, my effort/week is getting doubled, though it should be ten-fold now.
Another thing that really matters is, how you feel on that day; two minutes ahead of the gun-shot. On some days I just know that it’s going to be a wasted exercise. And voila... a new low, in terms of percentiles, is, successfully, hit.

I really should stop talking about this stuff now. I am suffering from acute CATatonia!!( a kind of schizophrenic disorder) Happy thoughts Ankit….

I feel pretty,
Oh, so pretty,
I feel pretty and witty and bright!
And I pity…
[Courtesy – Anger Management]

Really.. The Drift..

2006-10-19T17:09:00.000+05:30

Well.. I didn't quite get to the drift in the previous post. I started with the talks about Ranchi to get a starting point from where I would talk wbout what I had in mind initially. Clearly I drifted. The fond memories came back to me and I really had a good time reminiscing those days while writing it down.

Back to the topic.. During one of those aforementioned picnics, a dark, long, rough-surfaced object was spotted floating in water. Much to my disappointment, it was not a fierce crocodile. It was an innocuous floating old log: driftwood. It was a hollow trunk, which was meandering lazily along the stream. The surface was covered with soft moss could have easily been mistaken for a wet carpet. Though one touch of its surface immediately evoked a sound of euuu/yuck from the innards. We played with it for a bit and then forgot about it. Later, while sitting on the scattered rounded rocks, eating, we noticed that it had floated a long way away along the stream.

Why I talk about driftwood? Over some time I have started to liken myself to it. The bliss of drifting is great. Just throw your legs up, paddle your hands gently, and hear the water lapping against your ears. It’s very much that. It is sitting in the midst of everything and absorbing the sights and sounds. It is all about going with the flow. I have done that through school and college landed myself a software job, like almost all others I know.

Why I talk about driftwood? It drifts no more. I have decided to take on the currents. Maybe, out of utter boredom of just drifting about. Remember the talk about all the moss on the wood and the synonymous yuck. Its time to shed the shoddy garb, and let the mettle shine through. Are these words too strong? I don’t care; I feel strongly about this. It’s an altogether different kind of high you get when you put your heart and soul into something. Aye there’s the rub!!

Come again.. Pardon.. Sorry, what was that again.. Am I hearing things.. maybe I am too drunk.. You spoke of a high; are we in for yet another binge… That’s the miniature me, dressed in a white robe, who pops up in a little puff every time I have such thoughts. He mocks me. The other miniature me, red-skinned, with little horns and a swishing pointy tail, just sits there with a smug look. He knows that the little angel just gets little-er by the day. He knows that the angel has given up all hope and instead of egging me on; he has decided to make fun of me. If you can’t beat them, join them!!

Mr. Pesky Little Devil would you please take a hike. Its time I had a chat with Mr. Innocent Little Angel. Its time to get out of the laid back lifestyle where days just grow into months and they in turn amass to form years and just go by without having any effect. Time to bring in the days when every minute counts and every day is accounted for. Time to prepare for CAT. Watch this space, for this will be my CAT-alogue: A back breaking attempt to study.

PS: The prep has already begun. Will talk about the past, present and the future, or the lack of it??

Get the drift??

2006-10-18T16:57:00.000+05:30

I remember those days(more than a decade ago) when we used to go for these picnics, in and around Ranchi. That place was really blessed with many waterfalls(Dasham, Hundru Hirni.. some of the names I remember). And there is this place called Panch Ghat. Anyone who has been there will vouch that it is a near perfect "picnic spot": a tranquil stream cornering the soft bends, crystal clear waters - knee-deep at best, soft powdery river bed. It was just the right place for our parents to let lose their brats and not worry much. I say that since the other mighty waterfalls are guilty of frequent fatal accidents. Dasham falls is especially notorious for gobbling at least one hapless soul, who would have dived right into the base of the fall in a show of extreme bravado only to be crushed by the majestic force of the falling waters, every year. No wonder the parents were concerned about the safety factor of the picnic spot as such.

A drive for a couple of hours, nonetheless, on roads that would put the lunar surface to shame(Lalu zindabaad!!), would take us to these watery havens, where we would let ourselves go wild: diving, floating, swimming, splashing, bubble-babbling(aka going under-water with lungfulls of air and letting out huge bubbles/or even letting out screams in those bubbles). We would just refuse to get out of the water. We would hungrily wolf down the sandwiches or parantha-achar rolls that were handed by the mummys on the shore who were merrily catching up on the gossip while nonchalantly conjuring up those easy-to-eat treats for us. There would be a casual call to the kids to be careful which we would reply to in the affirmative, only to resume our activites.

The papas would be in the water with us, hence we would try to edge our way out of there sight, to get some "real" adventure. Mind you, we were 'young men'(we would try to leave the girls behind) and we were true adventure seekers. we obviously had to find out the where the silent stream would scream down the jagged rocks to break into a deadly waterfall. We had to find the deepest spot in the water where we could not touch the bed with our feet and put our recently acquired swimming skills, in the club pool, to good use. We had to search for the dangerous aquatic animals. we would have given anything to see a crocodile. Ever thought, how exciting a story that would make - to share with our school-mates the following day. With all these thoughts in our heads, we would forge ahead surreptitiously with a gleam of excitement in the eyes.

"Get back here.. you are going too far", sounds a booming baritone. The echo adds to the effect.

"But uncle.. we are only here.. we'll be back in a jiffy.. something out there looks exciting..", replies a sugary tone. Lot of hope there. Rule of the thumb, of course, was to make sure one doesn't reply to one's own parent. The uncle/aunty effect was needed.

"Tinku.. back here.. NOW", with an extra boom. Damn the echo. The voice had just got personal.

"Haannnn........", trailing squeak. Had one tried to measure the decibels on that one, he/she would have got an award for discovering a sound with the lowest value ever.

We would come trooping back with sullen faces.. the sticks that would have aided us in our adventure had been disposed of or were being dragged behind us like dead bodies. we were carrying our dead adventurous spirt with us. Another splash in the water and everything would be fine again. Kids.. they are only sad till something else catches their fancy. And there is never a shortage of such things in the open outdoors.

It has begun...

2006-10-13T12:18:00.000+05:30

Finally I start blogging. And i don't like the fact that this editor is not smart enough to make the i a little more assertive(read capital I). And, well, i am too lazy to do that. Or i am too used to not doing that - thanks to MSWord.

Blogging... everyone seems to be doing it and i have been contemplating doing the same for a long time now. Why i haven't done it yet? Guess i used to think too much about would it should be like. Should it be timpass or serious; describe daily activities or pen down the motley random musings; should it be grammatically/politically/theologically/lexically correct.

And i finally end up writting my first blog with a throbbing head, thanks to mid-week booze compounded with very little sleep. Its not the best feeling to sleep at night knowing you have to get up at 6:15 and catch the company shuttle at 7:25, that too after a good 1 km walk from your place. Of course a morning walk, though forced, is good for health. Its even better if its a brisk one or if it then develops into a jog, after frequent frantic glances at the watch, and eventually culminates in a sprint as the bus is seen pulling out of the pick-up point.

Today i managed to break all records. I woke up at 07:08; brushed my teeth by 07:10; dressed up by 07:13; bathed myself in deo, wet my hair and combed by 07:15; wore one shoe by 07:16; searched for the other one in a mound of footwear by 07:19 (yes... Murphy's law); its 7:20 as i jumped down the stairs; i walked with increasing stride; broke into a jog; consult the watch - 7:23; Run Forrest run. Thankfully, the bus comes from the opposite side and the driver spots me running towards the crossing as the bus approaches it. Wasn't worth it if you ask me. Should have just stayed in bed and called in sick; i'd rather shit at home....