Writings on the Wall

Yes, Facebook can be fun. And since we never have the pleasure of enjoying comments on the blog, we thought of writing an entry out of comments from FB. Here's introducing the participants from what started as a FB Kavvi Sammelan and eventually turned into a hip-hop free-for-all.

Me: Writing a status message is but a pastime,
But now I struggle to get them to rhyme,
To get over writer's block,
As prescribed by the doc,
And get back to my writing prime.

Priyanka: The try was worth a watch i say
But puns i love i would daresay
Till the time u have more puns to spare
Ill hide my happy comments somewhere!

Me: Hide your comments, for what joy?
When they are so awesome, oh boy!!
Writing a pun,
May be fun,
But this is what I'm starting to enjoy! :)

Navin: Writing a rhyme
Is a bit like consuming a bit of thyme
Cathartic and therapeautic,
As opposed to getting high on an unknown narcotic,
Go on, make Ogden swell with joy,
...Keep the rhymes apolitical, unlike Ms. Roy !

Me: You are one quizzing freak,
It even shows in your poetic streak,
Why wake up poor ol' Nash,
for this rhyming mishmash?
...So lets not invite miss roy,
and keep it simpler, my boy!

Navin: Good ol' Nash wouldnt mind being pestered
Esp. when we unleash poetic prowess so unfettered,
Yeah, we are all scared of Ms. Roy,
After all sedition is no boy's toy,
This rhyme is a little simpler I hope,
...With verbal diarrhoea, daily I cope :)

Me: Is this rhyme much simpler, I'm not so sure,
Your references still demand a guided tour,
Not for me an Ogden, or miss Roy,
not even a Bradman, or Van Nistleroy,
I like natural references, like the wind, the sun, or even hay,
...Because they create an image in your mind, what say?

KD: when in trouble to make me sound,
dont let the worries let your world go round,
just get some xxx and then watch some,
and soon enough the poetry will cum!!!!

Me: And here come KD, with always a lot to say,
but never for conventions, he always has his way,
He sure has his references, just as his thoughts go,
But boy, he has talent, when it comes to innuendo.

Navin: This rhyme's taking new turn, me thinkee,
KD's turned it up a notch with da kinkee,
Yo, dis house is rockin'
50 cent's soul just possessed me, not jokin',
Yo Sudhir bro, you made dis shit viral,
...Who's gonna go next, Admiral??

Me: This looks like the job of KD,
with Priyanka, the only lady,
with Navin, our quizzing freak,
and this dawg, it's quite a clique.

The world according to Google

Here's my version of the dictionary, which one Mr. Rich was referring to in the New Yorker.

Yahoo: It's a reality check, especially when you take gmail for granted.

Ask: Seriously? Do you even need to?

Wikipedia: It's what googlers(employees and fans alike) fill up when they feel charitable.

Cricinfo: Is what Indians read, when they're not on Google.

Internet: err...google? Spot the difference.

www: Should be followed by google.com

Microsoft: The world's biggest jokebook.

iPhone: That's youtube and gmail in your pocket.

Facebook: Nice interface, to discuss your favourite youtube video, or your blogger post.

Money: Is what we'll gladly share with you. Read terms & conditions for Google AdSense

Bing: Yea, right!

Monopoly: It's what you are accused of, if you are the only entity doing something right.

Information: A word that will soon be replaced by Google in all dictionaries.

Charity: Refer to Wikipedia.

Environment: Is what will be saved if you stop reading all the crap that is published, and read everything from google instead.

Privacy: Is about the only thing you'll get if you ignore google.

Chill: Is what you should try doing if you don't like what you are reading(which BTW is on blogger)

Victim: You are. We are. Who isn't? Welcome to the machine(Which is a nice song by Pink Floyd. Don't forget to youtube it, and google the lyrics).

God: A manifestation of everything google cant give you. Privacy included.

Rajnikant: A superset of God. And google.

Dilli Boor Asth

There used to be a time in life when I didn't know what I was up to. Things haven't changed very radically since then, besides giving me many more things to laugh about. So let me take you back safely to the beginning... of this piece.

I didn't know where my life was headed till advertising happened. And boy, did I feel at home once I got there. Not because it was full of almost-writers and almost-artists. Not even because there were some almost-film makers or almost-musicians. And certainly not because I was enamoured by a Don Draperesque work-life balance which involved having Martini lunches with clients, and doing hot secretaries in the office cabin.(The truth being, we neither have secretaries nor cabins. Hell, we don't even have lunch at the worst of times.) It was only because it was full of people who almost got there by chance, owing to having no inkling of where they were headed before they got there.

You may have already realised that I still have no sense of direction. And since there has never been a 'no looking back' situation in my life, I'll take you back to my first foot in the door. An Agency in Delhi found me a worthy candidate, or at least they said as much. Thinking of it as my first launchpad, I flew! That too, after promising to repay a borrowed sum once I got my first 'copywriter's paycheck'(kindly note that neither the lender nor the borrower caught that oxymoron). And what an eye opener that was. Err... I'm still talking about Delhi here.

Greeting me at the Airport was a queue at the prepaid Taxi stand. After asking my friend for his whereabouts, I hop onto a taxi. 'CR Park' I say with childlike excitement. 'Aji Kyun Nahi?' he says, in his Punjabi-Hindi, like that's were all of Delhi resides. After the taxi gets on to the main road, and I stick my head out like any country goon would at the sights of the city, 'Toh ji, kahan jana hai aapko?', he asks. Now here's where I felt I'd be taken for a ride.

'CR Park. Ek hi toh hai.' I tell him, defiantly. 'Bolne ka matlab hai, ki kahan sey jana padta hai?' Interesting!! I should have guessed. CR Park is probably not such a great landmark, after all. My good friend, the blue-eyed boy of a boisterous Bangla background, could have possibly given in to a patronising notion of CR Park being the capital of India. After all, he does polish off a plate of Macher Jhol before I can even break it down into coherent syllables. Surely he should deal with this driver. And introduce them I did, over phone. After speaking to the driver and explaining all that he possibly could, my friend tells me,"Ah! Don't worry. He's just playing mental games with you. Be firm. Be brave. And you have nothing to worry about."

If this was meant to be an assurance, it sure made me feel like I was on my way to spend a honeymoon in Siachen. 'Toh sir, hum ab Ring Road se chale?', 'CR Park wahi se jana hota hai na?', 'Ring Road se jana theek hoga?', 'Hauz Khas se Aage jana hai?', 'GK sey right lein?'. The migraine just got heavier with every question. On sensing this, the goon muttered, 'Kahan jana hai, pata bhi nahi hai. Bas, taxi mein chad jaate hain.'. That did it. Mental disintegration like I'd never experienced before. 'Kya bole aap?', I ask, not even awaiting an answer. ' Bolne ka....' he stuttered. 'Bolne ka kya matlab hai aapka', I beat him to it. 'Sir, aap to burah maan gaye?'.

'Toh aap samajte nahi ki mujhe CR Park pe utarna hai?', I try and put an end to his bluff. ' Aur aap kaisey bhi chalo, meine toh Rs. 200 dey di hai. Ab ussey aap mujhe Dilli ghumana chahte hain, to theek hai. Bas aur koi savaal naa karen.' Ah, that just had to be the Kayo. Try and better that, bugger! 'Lekin mein to yahi puchna chahta tha ki CR Park mein kahan niklengey aap.' Hell, these guys know how to make you feel like an idiot. And there's no reasoning with them. ' CR Park mein Police Station toh hoga?'I ask him, bordering on intimidation. 'Vahin se directions puchenge.'

Having had enough of this fellow, I decide to get off at the police station. There is only so much idiocy that I could take from one man. And as it turns out, he did have the last laugh anyway. He'd promised to drop me at CR Park, but only took me as close as two miles away from the final destination. I'm tempted to think this is but a metaphor for the ways of Delhi, to the uninitiated. After all, one Mr. Suresh Kalmadi promised to take the entire Commonwealth to the 'Best Games' ever. But after making so much of noise all through the decade long ride, we know a day before the event that what he presents tomorrow will be very far from what he'd first promised.

Mr. Teavee is such an idiot

Found this awesome piece of verse from Roald Dahl's Charlie and the Chocolate Factory

The most important thing we've learned,
So far as children are concerned,
Is never, NEVER, NEVER let
Them near your television set --
Or better still, just don't install
The idiotic thing at all.
In almost every house we've been,
We've watched them gaping at the screen.
They loll and slop and lounge about,
And stare until their eyes pop out.
(Last week in someone's place we saw
A dozen eyeballs on the floor.)
They sit and stare and stare and sit
Until they're hypnotised by it,
Until they're absolutely drunk
With all that shocking ghastly junk.
Oh yes, we know it keeps them still,
They don't climb out the window sill,
They never fight or kick or punch,
They leave you free to cook the lunch
And wash the dishes in the sink --
But did you ever stop to think,
To wonder just exactly what
This does to your beloved tot?
IT ROTS THE SENSE IN THE HEAD!
IT KILLS IMAGINATION DEAD!
IT CLOGS AND CLUTTERS UP THE MIND!
IT MAKES A CHILD SO DULL AND BLIND
HE CAN NO LONGER UNDERSTAND
A FANTASY, A FAIRYLAND!
HIS BRAIN BECOMES AS SOFT AS CHEESE!
HIS POWERS OF THINKING RUST AND FREEZE!
HE CANNOT THINK -- HE ONLY SEES!
'All right!' you'll cry. 'All right!' you'll say,
'But if we take the set away,
What shall we do to entertain
Our darling children? Please explain!'
We'll answer this by asking you,
'What used the darling ones to do?
'How used they keep themselves contented
Before this monster was invented?'
Have you forgotten? Don't you know?
We'll say it very loud and slow:
THEY ... USED ... TO ... READ! They'd READ and READ,
AND READ and READ, and then proceed
To READ some more. Great Scott! Gadzooks!
One half their lives was reading books!
The nursery shelves held books galore!
Books cluttered up the nursery floor!
And in the bedroom, by the bed,
More books were waiting to be read!
Such wondrous, fine, fantastic tales
Of dragons, gypsies, queens, and whales
And treasure isles, and distant shores
Where smugglers rowed with muffled oars,
And pirates wearing purple pants,
And sailing ships and elephants,
And cannibals crouching 'round the pot,
Stirring away at something hot.
(It smells so good, what can it be?
Good gracious, it's Penelope.)
The younger ones had Beatrix Potter
With Mr. Tod, the dirty rotter,
And Squirrel Nutkin, Pigling Bland,
And Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle and-
Just How The Camel Got His Hump,
And How the Monkey Lost His Rump,
And Mr. Toad, and bless my soul,
There's Mr. Rat and Mr. Mole-
Oh, books, what books they used to know,
Those children living long ago!
So please, oh please, we beg, we pray,
Go throw your TV set away,
And in its place you can install
A lovely bookshelf on the wall.
Then fill the shelves with lots of books,
Ignoring all the dirty looks,
The screams and yells, the bites and kicks,
And children hitting you with sticks-
Fear not, because we promise you
That, in about a week or two
Of having nothing else to do,
They'll now begin to feel the need
Of having something to read.
And once they start -- oh boy, oh boy!
You watch the slowly growing joy
That fills their hearts. They'll grow so keen
They'll wonder what they'd ever seen
In that ridiculous machine,
That nauseating, foul, unclean,
Repulsive television screen!
And later, each and every kid
Will love you more for what you did.

The Man who walked around the world

Your comments, please.

Yes, ladies & gentlemen. It's been four years since I first introduced myself to bloggers at Livejournal, which was incidentally my first attempt at blogging. But 4 blogs and 218 posts later, little seems to have changed. The number of comments over the years has at best experienced a very modest, toned-down version of the 'Hindu Rate of Growth'. Maybe it's a good time for a review.

Initially, I was very kicked about maintaining a blog. I would look forward to writing a new post. I'd collect all my thoughts, revise all my puns, note down all pop-art or newsworthy references, all this while the BSNL dial-up struggled for ignition. After the blog was updated, there would be a joblist to be completed, which would encompass a 360-degree marketing activity. Casually mention the blog. Check. Rave about your latest post. Check. Refer to the 'one' funny comment on your blog. Check. Upload link on your Gtalk status. Check. Post link on an Orkut community. Check. Send link as a forward to dad. Check. This process went on for six months. Then on one fateful day, I stopped caring about my blog. And then I've always looked back ever since.

Now when I think about it, I realise why this blog has never been so comment-friendly. A guy who is in denial about his age, who is completely incapable of political opinion, who's not graduated from the musical collection of his college days, who's read Harry Potter a decade after it was a rage, who still laughs at his occasional pun, and whose Facebook Status draws more comments than his blog obviously doesn't have enough going on in his life to talk about. That pretty much puts this case to rest.

Now for the way forward. May be an insight or two from the 'Target Group' will give me an idea - a cliched line from the advertising industry that refuses to go out of vogue. From my recollection, blogs that boast of millions of comments belong to:

A) Celebrities
B) Women
C) Both of the above (Damn, this reminds me of my engineering entrance exam. When in doubt, mark C)

Now things are starting to get clearer. 17 days of determined contemplation, and my path becomes crystal-clear to me. I should assume a feminine non de plume. And stay anonymous. That's it. That way, I could be mistaken for any one of the above categories. I can safely write about some seriously earth-shattering topics like what I had for breakfast, what I had for a drink and where, and how I hate toddlers in aeroplanes, and how I hate cats and dogs, and how I hate nosey male bloggers who have absolutely nothing to offer to this world but for their comments on my blog. Oh boy, I cannot wait to read the comments that will flow from then on. Score!

Getting Married like nobody's business.