Monday, December 25, 2006
Monday, December 04, 2006
Incoherence
I prefer golden green apples to red ones. I'm not sure why, they both taste pretty much the same. Its not an important enough thought to kindle my curiousity, so I leave it as it is. An unanswered question.
Quite a few of my questions end up that way. Sometime someone I know will voice a question that I once dismissed, and I'll think that it's heartening to know there are others like me, feeling perhaps a sense of comradeship. But we aren't really the same are we? She asked, I didn't.
I saw my baby nephew a few days back. He's turning out to be a very cute kid, and I'm not going to see him growing up, because he's leaving for Australia in less than a week. I've never really been in close proximity with a baby for a long duration of time. I wonder sometimes how I'd have been as an elder sister. Considering the fact that most people around me act like 2 year olds, I'm confident enough that I'd have done a pretty decent job. But I wouldn't be the same as I am now would I? Ah well, another unanswered question.
I feel like I've changed in the past three months. I promised myself in the beginning of college that I wouldn't. Now I see, change isn't really a bad thing. I've been promising myself that I won't change since I was 8. I think I meant I won't forget. That I wouldn't open my diary one day and not be able to understand the person I was then.
I like perusing old diaries. Initially, I used to write about the menu for the day, and why exactly "lime rice" is my most unfavourite dish in the world. And then in the middle somwehere, I used to religiously write down the happenings of the day. A pretty boring read, I assure you. Nowadays, its hardly a diary. More like a collection of thoughts, incoherent to anyone but me.
As is this post.
Quite a few of my questions end up that way. Sometime someone I know will voice a question that I once dismissed, and I'll think that it's heartening to know there are others like me, feeling perhaps a sense of comradeship. But we aren't really the same are we? She asked, I didn't.
I saw my baby nephew a few days back. He's turning out to be a very cute kid, and I'm not going to see him growing up, because he's leaving for Australia in less than a week. I've never really been in close proximity with a baby for a long duration of time. I wonder sometimes how I'd have been as an elder sister. Considering the fact that most people around me act like 2 year olds, I'm confident enough that I'd have done a pretty decent job. But I wouldn't be the same as I am now would I? Ah well, another unanswered question.
I feel like I've changed in the past three months. I promised myself in the beginning of college that I wouldn't. Now I see, change isn't really a bad thing. I've been promising myself that I won't change since I was 8. I think I meant I won't forget. That I wouldn't open my diary one day and not be able to understand the person I was then.
I like perusing old diaries. Initially, I used to write about the menu for the day, and why exactly "lime rice" is my most unfavourite dish in the world. And then in the middle somwehere, I used to religiously write down the happenings of the day. A pretty boring read, I assure you. Nowadays, its hardly a diary. More like a collection of thoughts, incoherent to anyone but me.
As is this post.
Friday, October 20, 2006
Need for speed
It has been two months since I started college. And believe me, each morning is a new adventure. Literally. Our bus driver is Schumis cousin twice removed, and even though the man doesn’t have the blonde hair or the charming smile, he more than makes up for it when it comes to pushing the pedal.
A man with a mission, to get us to college on time. And so dedicated is he, that it is quite understandable that he forgets the mild requirement of actually picking us up once in a while. Our college cultural committee ought to applaud him for teaching us the Mexican hat dance, which is the only thing he will stop for, if it is enthusiastically performed in the middle of the road by a minimum of five people.
No diets or gym memberships are required when this man is around. The sight of atleast four people chasing the bus in the evenings gets him into a good mood for the rest of the trip. If he’s really happy, we are thrown up to the ceiling by 5 speed-breakers. If he’s in a horrible mood, its 15. It’s just an added bonus if someone is drinking Miranda at that point.
But mind you, his talents are not limited simply to the mundane task of driving. It is sad indeed, that the Mozart of this century hasn’t been discovered. Even with the barest minimum number of instruments at his side, he still manages to create a glorious..um…admirable…er…loud symphony with his beautiful horn.( I assure you, several plans were hatched to remove it during the first two weeks, but we weren’t too sure if the red wire was for the horn or the brake)
And who doesn’t love that personal touch that makes the world seem so much cozier? I do so enjoy the attention I get as I approach the bus, and he announces to all the other drivers, ”Oy kozhandhapaapa varaa, thalliko thalliko”.
We are lucky indeed to have found someone so dedicated to his cause and so enthusiastic in carrying out his duties. Raise your glasses, and let us toast. To our beloved driver of route 14, may he race in peace.
A man with a mission, to get us to college on time. And so dedicated is he, that it is quite understandable that he forgets the mild requirement of actually picking us up once in a while. Our college cultural committee ought to applaud him for teaching us the Mexican hat dance, which is the only thing he will stop for, if it is enthusiastically performed in the middle of the road by a minimum of five people.
No diets or gym memberships are required when this man is around. The sight of atleast four people chasing the bus in the evenings gets him into a good mood for the rest of the trip. If he’s really happy, we are thrown up to the ceiling by 5 speed-breakers. If he’s in a horrible mood, its 15. It’s just an added bonus if someone is drinking Miranda at that point.
But mind you, his talents are not limited simply to the mundane task of driving. It is sad indeed, that the Mozart of this century hasn’t been discovered. Even with the barest minimum number of instruments at his side, he still manages to create a glorious..um…admirable…er…loud symphony with his beautiful horn.( I assure you, several plans were hatched to remove it during the first two weeks, but we weren’t too sure if the red wire was for the horn or the brake)
And who doesn’t love that personal touch that makes the world seem so much cozier? I do so enjoy the attention I get as I approach the bus, and he announces to all the other drivers, ”Oy kozhandhapaapa varaa, thalliko thalliko”.
We are lucky indeed to have found someone so dedicated to his cause and so enthusiastic in carrying out his duties. Raise your glasses, and let us toast. To our beloved driver of route 14, may he race in peace.
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
Of travels and travails
The last time I flew on a plane alone, I was in the 9th grade, returning from my Uncles place in Dubai, and had an air-hostess looking after me throughout. This time, I was on my way to meet my sister in Ahmedabad, and actually had to find my OWN way around the airport. And would you believe it, I didn’t lose my luggage, didn’t land up in Timbuktu, and didn’t even trip or fall despite an extremely slippery floor at the airport. Little Soumya is all grown up, sniff!
Well…not quite. (In my defense, I had finished my book, I was hyper, and under no adult supervision) My neighbour on the plane was a nice polite blue eyed German, who was talking animatedly with his wife about Indian cuisine, and the attention to detail with respect to the flight food on Jet Airways. The tray had some brown mucky stuff, some yellow mucky stuff, and a vadai. Mister Blue Eyes was raving about the brown mucky stuff, just as I pushed it away from my plate. From the corner of my eye, I saw him doing the same thing. I took the yellow mucky stuff and mixed it with chutney. He, I realized, was doing precisely the same. Fascinated, I sliced my vadai like a bun, spread tomato chutney on it with a knife, threw some brown muck, some yellow muck, and some butter on it, and in a delightfully choreographed maneuver, ate it with a spoon and a fork. He beamed at me, I smiled encouragingly, and he proceeded to slice, spread, throw and eat. Now before you judge me, let me remind you of all those times you’ve sat in a Chinese restaurant with your chopsticks on the floor for the third time, while the Chinese couple sitting adjacent to you have expertly finished ther noodles and are giving you haughty stares. In fact, the more I think about it, I am increasingly sure that when I finally do travel in China, I’ll find them all using forks and grinning guiltily at me. I just wanted to know what kind of sadistic pleasure they derive with their chopsticks. So consider what I did as an analysis of human nature, and not a cuckoo-ish nuthead clowning around.
I did tell my sister the story, as soon as I reached. I think she began to think of excuses to lock me up in the hostel room when she wasn’t around. But I got the support of her friends soon enough. I realized quickly that the secret to bonding with them was to generously peddle embarrassing childhood stories about my beloved sibling. Worked like a charm.
The first thing we all did was go to a Garbha. And I loved it. It feels good to know that I can finally dance an Indian dance without looking like a drunken gorilla. You can have two left feet, but you still manage to look graceful as long as you twirl and clap every 30 seconds. Plus, it is highly probable that you aren’t the worst dancer there, simply because of the humongous number of people present, and hey, who doesn’t love the occasional ego boost right?
I was also given an official tour of the campus. Which is gorgeous. I was completely taken in by the huge open spaces, the lawns, the trees, and the red brick buildings that made the entire place seem like a palace.
I had the mess ka breakfast, and mess ka dinner a few times, and it wasn’t bad at all (Due to lack of proficiency in Hindi and the necessity to prove that 5 days in Ahmedabad has had SOME effect on me, you will henceforth find a few kas, kis, kays and thows scattered here and there) We went out for kay a Gujarati thali lunch thow on one of the days, and it was marvelous. We had “kanvi” and “passey” and kithow “dokla” and lots of other yum kikow dishes, the names kaki of which I can’t kaykay remember, but it was all delicious. I think I’ve displayed enough of my Hindi speaking skills to last quite a while, so I’ll stop now.
I also witnessed their traditional birthday celebrations, which involves smearing hot pink cake on the birthday boy, throwing him up to the ceiling, and almost but not quite bashing him against a wall. Sophisticated I know, and hilarious to watch too.
So far, I think hostel life is awesome fun. But then again, I got to enjoy all the perks without having to open a book throughout, so that MIGHT have influenced my opinion in a teeny tiny way.
I have learnt
1. If you are a boy about to be engaged to a very pretty girl, stay away from other girls who WILL want to pinch your cheeks every three and a half minutes.
2. A hostelite will have to accept Maggi as a staple food sooner or later
3. Sleeping before 4:30 in the morning WILL be frowned upon
I really had a fantastic time. I loved being able to spend so much time with my sister, I loved the LAN (bid a tearful farewell to it), I liked her friends a lot, and now the next time she mentions “Cole” or “Sebi” or “Nautanki” or “Kaushik”(his nick cannot be used as this is a PG rated blog), a solid face will pop into my head, and not just some hazy description.
Heres to WIMWI!
Well…not quite. (In my defense, I had finished my book, I was hyper, and under no adult supervision) My neighbour on the plane was a nice polite blue eyed German, who was talking animatedly with his wife about Indian cuisine, and the attention to detail with respect to the flight food on Jet Airways. The tray had some brown mucky stuff, some yellow mucky stuff, and a vadai. Mister Blue Eyes was raving about the brown mucky stuff, just as I pushed it away from my plate. From the corner of my eye, I saw him doing the same thing. I took the yellow mucky stuff and mixed it with chutney. He, I realized, was doing precisely the same. Fascinated, I sliced my vadai like a bun, spread tomato chutney on it with a knife, threw some brown muck, some yellow muck, and some butter on it, and in a delightfully choreographed maneuver, ate it with a spoon and a fork. He beamed at me, I smiled encouragingly, and he proceeded to slice, spread, throw and eat. Now before you judge me, let me remind you of all those times you’ve sat in a Chinese restaurant with your chopsticks on the floor for the third time, while the Chinese couple sitting adjacent to you have expertly finished ther noodles and are giving you haughty stares. In fact, the more I think about it, I am increasingly sure that when I finally do travel in China, I’ll find them all using forks and grinning guiltily at me. I just wanted to know what kind of sadistic pleasure they derive with their chopsticks. So consider what I did as an analysis of human nature, and not a cuckoo-ish nuthead clowning around.
I did tell my sister the story, as soon as I reached. I think she began to think of excuses to lock me up in the hostel room when she wasn’t around. But I got the support of her friends soon enough. I realized quickly that the secret to bonding with them was to generously peddle embarrassing childhood stories about my beloved sibling. Worked like a charm.
The first thing we all did was go to a Garbha. And I loved it. It feels good to know that I can finally dance an Indian dance without looking like a drunken gorilla. You can have two left feet, but you still manage to look graceful as long as you twirl and clap every 30 seconds. Plus, it is highly probable that you aren’t the worst dancer there, simply because of the humongous number of people present, and hey, who doesn’t love the occasional ego boost right?
I was also given an official tour of the campus. Which is gorgeous. I was completely taken in by the huge open spaces, the lawns, the trees, and the red brick buildings that made the entire place seem like a palace.
I had the mess ka breakfast, and mess ka dinner a few times, and it wasn’t bad at all (Due to lack of proficiency in Hindi and the necessity to prove that 5 days in Ahmedabad has had SOME effect on me, you will henceforth find a few kas, kis, kays and thows scattered here and there) We went out for kay a Gujarati thali lunch thow on one of the days, and it was marvelous. We had “kanvi” and “passey” and kithow “dokla” and lots of other yum kikow dishes, the names kaki of which I can’t kaykay remember, but it was all delicious. I think I’ve displayed enough of my Hindi speaking skills to last quite a while, so I’ll stop now.
I also witnessed their traditional birthday celebrations, which involves smearing hot pink cake on the birthday boy, throwing him up to the ceiling, and almost but not quite bashing him against a wall. Sophisticated I know, and hilarious to watch too.
So far, I think hostel life is awesome fun. But then again, I got to enjoy all the perks without having to open a book throughout, so that MIGHT have influenced my opinion in a teeny tiny way.
I have learnt
1. If you are a boy about to be engaged to a very pretty girl, stay away from other girls who WILL want to pinch your cheeks every three and a half minutes.
2. A hostelite will have to accept Maggi as a staple food sooner or later
3. Sleeping before 4:30 in the morning WILL be frowned upon
I really had a fantastic time. I loved being able to spend so much time with my sister, I loved the LAN (bid a tearful farewell to it), I liked her friends a lot, and now the next time she mentions “Cole” or “Sebi” or “Nautanki” or “Kaushik”(his nick cannot be used as this is a PG rated blog), a solid face will pop into my head, and not just some hazy description.
Heres to WIMWI!
Saturday, September 23, 2006
Bulletin board
1. Am going to Ahmedabad on Wednesday and back on Monday. YIPPEE!! Am going to try dancing there, so I warn anyone with a sensitive heart condition or high blood pressure to stay at home. Staying with my sister, the first time both of us are away from home, together, and in the same place all alone, so fire stations ought to be on alert.
2. A month of college is officially over. Yes I've been ragged, and all those who rejoice will have their toes cut off. I got up at 5:30 the first week, 5:45 the second, and am now used to waking up at 6:00 and getting to the bus stop with my shoes half undone. It is an achievement that i haven't made the bus wait for me yet(prompt-appluause)
3. I have done a few collegey things so far, mass bunked a class, had a spoon of the canteen biryani, had the lime juice there too (which I had to "serve with a smile". For the confused, look up point no 2), and have bravely walked all the way to the MCA block and had mango ice cream.
4. I have also cut my hair, though unfortunately noone seems to have noticed so far(HINT)
Hardly realise the weeks going by, hardly any time to think, hardly time to write full sentences, or think up other ways to say "hardly". Oo rarely! Mind, gibberish, flowing, crankiness, will stop, now.
2. A month of college is officially over. Yes I've been ragged, and all those who rejoice will have their toes cut off. I got up at 5:30 the first week, 5:45 the second, and am now used to waking up at 6:00 and getting to the bus stop with my shoes half undone. It is an achievement that i haven't made the bus wait for me yet(prompt-appluause)
3. I have done a few collegey things so far, mass bunked a class, had a spoon of the canteen biryani, had the lime juice there too (which I had to "serve with a smile". For the confused, look up point no 2), and have bravely walked all the way to the MCA block and had mango ice cream.
4. I have also cut my hair, though unfortunately noone seems to have noticed so far(HINT)
Hardly realise the weeks going by, hardly any time to think, hardly time to write full sentences, or think up other ways to say "hardly". Oo rarely! Mind, gibberish, flowing, crankiness, will stop, now.
Monday, August 28, 2006
A sole vacation
Have you ever started something, and watched it take you over so completely that you can't understand where it ends and you begin? I started this blog on a funny note, hoping to showcase the comedy in my life. Now my life has become a regular slapstick routine, just so that I'll have something to write about.
I never really experiment with shoes. I keep one pair of floaters for years together, until one can hardly recognise that the threads constitute a shoe. I don't really wear heels either, not because I find the idea repulsive, but simply because I'm too much of a klutz to be allowed 10 feet near them, let alone two(hyuk hyuk get it?)
Yet once in a while, you simply HAVE to experiment. After all, the biggest risk in life is not to take any risks. Filled with inspiration, and the powerful urge to cross boundaries never attempted by...um...myself, I did it ladies and gentlemen. I wore shoes during my European vacation.
They were really marvellous that first week. I smiled benevolently at my blue striped black Adidas shoes, taking pride in its squeak, weeping tears of joy when it did a successful "kreeech" on the marble floor. This of course earned them, and through those dear shoes, me, admiring gazes from my neighbours, who I assure you didn't find the noise the least bit grating on their nerves. That was the first week.
Towards the second, the shoelaces decided to rebel against my authority. No amount of chiding, scolding, or bribery with squelchy mud patches did any good. They simply refused to cooperate, and I trudged along unhappily, waiting for peace. And suddenly, one day, there was silence. Not a lace twitched, or tried to trip me over. Blissfully, I walked along, and it began to rain. My romantic mind assumed the sky was shedding tears of joy at the idyllic state of affairs below, and I really did expect flowers to fall any minute. Thats when I heard "flap, flap, flap". Wondering if the sanctity of the situation really required white doves to grace the heavens above, I looked up eagerly, only to realise that the sound was in fact coming from quite the opposite direction. The sole of my right shoe had decided to perform independently, and while it constituted a rich musical sound, it was completely and permanently distracted from its original purpose. I flapped dismally all the way to the shoe store nearby, and a sneaky voice nudged me softly, showing the silver lining of my dark cloud. I was going to get nice new sneakers, probably Nike by the looks of the store. A smile lit up my face, and I pranced in joyfully. We found brown shoes, black shoes, grey shoes, a great many shoes that would fill any soul(pun unintended) with glee. Yet, as my life always seems to be more than happy to point out, for every balloon there are 8745678 needles. Thanks to the abnormal tininess of my feet(which in no way reflects the size of my brain, so any jokes WILL be resented) there were no shoes my size. It was either one that was two sizes too big, or my flap shoes, which had decided to progress and now alternated between a thud and a flap.
I miserably bought the giant shoes, and stuffed them with tissue paper to keep them out of trouble, for the last day of my vacation.
Coming back home, I kissed me dear floaters in joy. The next day was a play, the last show of the theatre festival. For those of you who have lived in hotels and trains for two and a half weeks, wearing the same old clothes, rushing out every single morning after barely combing your hair, you will understand the need to grab any opportunity to "dress up" that presents itself. Feeling that the occasion was special indeed, I decided to move on undeterred in my fight to make my life more interesting, and wore a pair of strappy beautiful heels.
Three guesses to what happened right before the play.
1. Did Soumya go through the evening in an uneventful manner with no mishaps whatsoever?
2. Did Soumya receive many compliments on her exceptional grace and carriage?
3. Did Soumyas' heel tear off so that she limped with one shoe with a heel, and one that just managed to keep her foot from direct contact with the ground, so that she begged the world around her to inform ant curious onlookers that she fractured her big toe while saving a lame puppy from a lorry?
I never really experiment with shoes. I keep one pair of floaters for years together, until one can hardly recognise that the threads constitute a shoe. I don't really wear heels either, not because I find the idea repulsive, but simply because I'm too much of a klutz to be allowed 10 feet near them, let alone two(hyuk hyuk get it?)
Yet once in a while, you simply HAVE to experiment. After all, the biggest risk in life is not to take any risks. Filled with inspiration, and the powerful urge to cross boundaries never attempted by...um...myself, I did it ladies and gentlemen. I wore shoes during my European vacation.
They were really marvellous that first week. I smiled benevolently at my blue striped black Adidas shoes, taking pride in its squeak, weeping tears of joy when it did a successful "kreeech" on the marble floor. This of course earned them, and through those dear shoes, me, admiring gazes from my neighbours, who I assure you didn't find the noise the least bit grating on their nerves. That was the first week.
Towards the second, the shoelaces decided to rebel against my authority. No amount of chiding, scolding, or bribery with squelchy mud patches did any good. They simply refused to cooperate, and I trudged along unhappily, waiting for peace. And suddenly, one day, there was silence. Not a lace twitched, or tried to trip me over. Blissfully, I walked along, and it began to rain. My romantic mind assumed the sky was shedding tears of joy at the idyllic state of affairs below, and I really did expect flowers to fall any minute. Thats when I heard "flap, flap, flap". Wondering if the sanctity of the situation really required white doves to grace the heavens above, I looked up eagerly, only to realise that the sound was in fact coming from quite the opposite direction. The sole of my right shoe had decided to perform independently, and while it constituted a rich musical sound, it was completely and permanently distracted from its original purpose. I flapped dismally all the way to the shoe store nearby, and a sneaky voice nudged me softly, showing the silver lining of my dark cloud. I was going to get nice new sneakers, probably Nike by the looks of the store. A smile lit up my face, and I pranced in joyfully. We found brown shoes, black shoes, grey shoes, a great many shoes that would fill any soul(pun unintended) with glee. Yet, as my life always seems to be more than happy to point out, for every balloon there are 8745678 needles. Thanks to the abnormal tininess of my feet(which in no way reflects the size of my brain, so any jokes WILL be resented) there were no shoes my size. It was either one that was two sizes too big, or my flap shoes, which had decided to progress and now alternated between a thud and a flap.
I miserably bought the giant shoes, and stuffed them with tissue paper to keep them out of trouble, for the last day of my vacation.
Coming back home, I kissed me dear floaters in joy. The next day was a play, the last show of the theatre festival. For those of you who have lived in hotels and trains for two and a half weeks, wearing the same old clothes, rushing out every single morning after barely combing your hair, you will understand the need to grab any opportunity to "dress up" that presents itself. Feeling that the occasion was special indeed, I decided to move on undeterred in my fight to make my life more interesting, and wore a pair of strappy beautiful heels.
Three guesses to what happened right before the play.
1. Did Soumya go through the evening in an uneventful manner with no mishaps whatsoever?
2. Did Soumya receive many compliments on her exceptional grace and carriage?
3. Did Soumyas' heel tear off so that she limped with one shoe with a heel, and one that just managed to keep her foot from direct contact with the ground, so that she begged the world around her to inform ant curious onlookers that she fractured her big toe while saving a lame puppy from a lorry?
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
You better have missed me
Bring out the confetti cos I'm back I'm back!
To those ignorant things who did not realise I was missing, I've been in Europe for the past two and a half weeks and to those who are interested, I had a BLAST. This blog will soon be graced with posts about everything I did, but for now, I will respond to a tag, just to keep this blog from dying.
Once you've been tagged, you have to write a blog entry with five complete lies about yourself. That is, five things about you that are completely not true. Not even slightly. THEN hide in the entry a 6th line, something that is absolutely TRUE and the first person to guess which one is true wins
Six things about me that are completely untrue
1. Never get angry
2. Am very coordinated and graceful and never trip, fall, or wear my clothes inside out
3. My nose does not wiggle when I'm upset
4. Hardly smile
5. Hate bananas
6. Addicted to coffee
To those ignorant things who did not realise I was missing, I've been in Europe for the past two and a half weeks and to those who are interested, I had a BLAST. This blog will soon be graced with posts about everything I did, but for now, I will respond to a tag, just to keep this blog from dying.
Once you've been tagged, you have to write a blog entry with five complete lies about yourself. That is, five things about you that are completely not true. Not even slightly. THEN hide in the entry a 6th line, something that is absolutely TRUE and the first person to guess which one is true wins
Six things about me that are completely untrue
1. Never get angry
2. Am very coordinated and graceful and never trip, fall, or wear my clothes inside out
3. My nose does not wiggle when I'm upset
4. Hardly smile
5. Hate bananas
6. Addicted to coffee
Monday, July 17, 2006
And now for something completely different
Evam performed its latest play, "Python Hysteria 2- The Sequel", this sunday. And it was a smash hit. We rolled about in out seats, watching the best of Monty Python performed by an enthusiastic cast, that managed to keep the audience in fits of laughter from start to finish.
Its hard to decide which sketch I enjoyed the most.Was it the blancmanje UFO sighting, where the poor witness had to describe what he saw in a high pitch to the first attendant, a deep low voice to the second, and finally, a high speed ramble to the third. Or was it "The Producer", where six young writers struggle to keep up with a crackpot producer(Karthik Srinivasan), whose entire script revolves around a tree. Sunil as the chartered accountant who dreams of being a lion tamer for ant eaters was hilarious, and KK in a pink toga as Michelangelo produced the traditional slapping of the thighs in riotous laughter.
The only thing I could find wrong with the entire production, was that it ended too soon. Caps off.
Its hard to decide which sketch I enjoyed the most.Was it the blancmanje UFO sighting, where the poor witness had to describe what he saw in a high pitch to the first attendant, a deep low voice to the second, and finally, a high speed ramble to the third. Or was it "The Producer", where six young writers struggle to keep up with a crackpot producer(Karthik Srinivasan), whose entire script revolves around a tree. Sunil as the chartered accountant who dreams of being a lion tamer for ant eaters was hilarious, and KK in a pink toga as Michelangelo produced the traditional slapping of the thighs in riotous laughter.
The only thing I could find wrong with the entire production, was that it ended too soon. Caps off.
Monday, July 03, 2006
Baby blues
I was woken up yesterday by a three foot thing, jumping up and down on my tummy, and politely informed that I was a boat, the bed the sea, and the sole purpose of my creation, to throw my passenger off.
Six year olds can be quite a handful, with a few exceptions of course. Me, I was an angel in disguise, simply indulging in the occasional breaking of the mixie and throwing idlis under the table to make sure I didn't blow my cover. Born toilet trained too, in case you were wondering. And no, O cynical readers who roll their eyes, I didn't start discussing the pros and cons of a capitalistic society at the age of one. It took me a few more months to grasp the entire concept.
Now, with cut throat competition, the survival of the fittest, and all that jazz, babies these days find themselves under tremendous pressure, and so, obiously, they're a little jealous of my accomplishments. Which is why they poop as soon as I pick them up(And if you are one of those annoying people who goo goo them, they'll promptly drool all over your favourite shirt). Having learnt my valuable lesson, I am now goo goo reformed. Though to be honest, intellectual conversation doesn't really work. It doesn't even put them to sleep, like it would for any normal adult. They just look at you like you belong on a diaper, until you feel awfully insecure and begin reevaluating your entire life goals.
Funny faces do the trick though. You can make fish faces, act like an angry bear, and in drastic conditions, resort to pulling your lips apart in an attempt to be a platypus. Though as they grow up, you have to reinforce the fact that under no circumstances are you to be referred to as "platypoo"
In fact, while we are on the subject, you should never let two or more hang out with each other for more than an hour, because after exchanging the general how do you dos and the weather is a little peaky today, they are more often than not plotting the destruction of humanity, or twenty ways to make platypoos' face turn purple.
Yet, inspite of all of that, you tend to forget the injustice meted out to you when they gurgle their gurgles, and squish themselves on you, and you can smell that baby smell, and cuddle them and watch them laugh and clap their hands, and go awww...googooo.
Oh shoot!
Six year olds can be quite a handful, with a few exceptions of course. Me, I was an angel in disguise, simply indulging in the occasional breaking of the mixie and throwing idlis under the table to make sure I didn't blow my cover. Born toilet trained too, in case you were wondering. And no, O cynical readers who roll their eyes, I didn't start discussing the pros and cons of a capitalistic society at the age of one. It took me a few more months to grasp the entire concept.
Now, with cut throat competition, the survival of the fittest, and all that jazz, babies these days find themselves under tremendous pressure, and so, obiously, they're a little jealous of my accomplishments. Which is why they poop as soon as I pick them up(And if you are one of those annoying people who goo goo them, they'll promptly drool all over your favourite shirt). Having learnt my valuable lesson, I am now goo goo reformed. Though to be honest, intellectual conversation doesn't really work. It doesn't even put them to sleep, like it would for any normal adult. They just look at you like you belong on a diaper, until you feel awfully insecure and begin reevaluating your entire life goals.
Funny faces do the trick though. You can make fish faces, act like an angry bear, and in drastic conditions, resort to pulling your lips apart in an attempt to be a platypus. Though as they grow up, you have to reinforce the fact that under no circumstances are you to be referred to as "platypoo"
In fact, while we are on the subject, you should never let two or more hang out with each other for more than an hour, because after exchanging the general how do you dos and the weather is a little peaky today, they are more often than not plotting the destruction of humanity, or twenty ways to make platypoos' face turn purple.
Yet, inspite of all of that, you tend to forget the injustice meted out to you when they gurgle their gurgles, and squish themselves on you, and you can smell that baby smell, and cuddle them and watch them laugh and clap their hands, and go awww...googooo.
Oh shoot!
Monday, June 26, 2006
The first review
Sniff...honnnkk...here comes the first ever serious post.(Those who whistle get a cookie)
I saw "The cut of Hamlet", an evam production this weekend. The first half had a cast loaded with potential, but the script by itself was a little strange. Sure, it had its funny moments, but after a while, all I was doing was waiting for the occasional joke so that I could guffaw in relief.
The second half was a spoof on Hamlet, and with the traditional Evam trio, started out looking quite promising. They definitely had our attention, and the script was clever. But it was like the comedian before Pink Floyd, only the band never turned up. They seemed to be heading in the pantomime direction, but after all the interaction with the audience during the first half, the magic didnt really work. I do remember laughing quite a bit, but repeating the same performance three(i think) times kinda wore the audience out.
All in all, it was a decent enough spoof, but nothing extraordinary about it. A far throw from their usual productions. Oh well, you gotta have variety right.
I saw "The cut of Hamlet", an evam production this weekend. The first half had a cast loaded with potential, but the script by itself was a little strange. Sure, it had its funny moments, but after a while, all I was doing was waiting for the occasional joke so that I could guffaw in relief.
The second half was a spoof on Hamlet, and with the traditional Evam trio, started out looking quite promising. They definitely had our attention, and the script was clever. But it was like the comedian before Pink Floyd, only the band never turned up. They seemed to be heading in the pantomime direction, but after all the interaction with the audience during the first half, the magic didnt really work. I do remember laughing quite a bit, but repeating the same performance three(i think) times kinda wore the audience out.
All in all, it was a decent enough spoof, but nothing extraordinary about it. A far throw from their usual productions. Oh well, you gotta have variety right.
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
Say Cheese!
After months of careful research, and preening in front of mirrors at one in the morning, I have finally come to the conclusion that anyone with a camera in their hand, detests me.
They're nice enough as long as the camera is 10 feet away, but the moment the equipment touches their fingers, evil spirits take over, and they find themselves, through no fault of their own, compelled to click JUST as you raise your hand to scratch your nose, JUST as you blink, and JUST in that fraction of a second when you change your smile, so that the result looks like you're trying to wink with your mouth.
As you can see, you're always at a disadvantage. But then again, there are those few blessed souls who never find the need to scratch themselves, or apparently, blink. These are the ones who write books like "How to say cheese in a way to please". And while I'm sure they keep your best interests at heart, their recommendations in fact, aren't worth tuppence.
For example, they ask you to count to 3 and open your eyes, flashing a dazzling smile at the cameraman. The probability of you opening your eyes exactly at the moment the photographer clicks is 0.00151. The probability that he hasnt changed the position of the camera while you were closing your eyes dreaming about the wonderful picture you were going to have taken, is 0.00154. Basically, the probability of this rule working is equal to the probability of a one eyed rhino named Stevie being able to dance.
You CAN practice in front of a mirror, which SEEMS to be a very good idea. But the problem here is that when you're finally having your picture taken, you DONT have a mirror in front of you. So you're actually smiling what you ASSUME is a heart melter, when you might actually look like the newest addition to the Adams family.
I'm not one to sight problems without giving solutions. No siree that simply isn't my style. So here it is, all you unphotogenic people out there. The next time someone brings a camera near you...
DUCK.
They're nice enough as long as the camera is 10 feet away, but the moment the equipment touches their fingers, evil spirits take over, and they find themselves, through no fault of their own, compelled to click JUST as you raise your hand to scratch your nose, JUST as you blink, and JUST in that fraction of a second when you change your smile, so that the result looks like you're trying to wink with your mouth.
As you can see, you're always at a disadvantage. But then again, there are those few blessed souls who never find the need to scratch themselves, or apparently, blink. These are the ones who write books like "How to say cheese in a way to please". And while I'm sure they keep your best interests at heart, their recommendations in fact, aren't worth tuppence.
For example, they ask you to count to 3 and open your eyes, flashing a dazzling smile at the cameraman. The probability of you opening your eyes exactly at the moment the photographer clicks is 0.00151. The probability that he hasnt changed the position of the camera while you were closing your eyes dreaming about the wonderful picture you were going to have taken, is 0.00154. Basically, the probability of this rule working is equal to the probability of a one eyed rhino named Stevie being able to dance.
You CAN practice in front of a mirror, which SEEMS to be a very good idea. But the problem here is that when you're finally having your picture taken, you DONT have a mirror in front of you. So you're actually smiling what you ASSUME is a heart melter, when you might actually look like the newest addition to the Adams family.
I'm not one to sight problems without giving solutions. No siree that simply isn't my style. So here it is, all you unphotogenic people out there. The next time someone brings a camera near you...
DUCK.
Saturday, May 20, 2006
Beep
People can piss you off sometimes. Like if they make a really bad joke, and then explain it to you, assuming that you’re not doubled up in laughter simply because you’re too stupid to GET the joke. Or if they pick fights with you just because they're bored, or irritate you to watch your face turn purple in rage.
At times like these, you have this incredible urge to lash out, to pour out a string of words that aren’t normally used in civilised conversation. And yes, it’s a wonderful technique to calm yourself down, because by this time, your opponent has turned violet and is getting geared up to fire back.
Yet more often that not, you land up in trouble, probably because of the appalling nature of the words you have carefully chosen to initiate the endless fight. Due to my desire to maintain a family rating on this blog, I shall refrain from mentioning the words you normally use. Instead, I present to you the perfect solution to all your problems.
Monkey bum.
No, a monkeys bum is not the solution. Perhaps I should be a tad more clear.
You have to admit that when you first saw “monkey bum” on the screen, you were inclined to go “pfft, who are you to talk porcupine nose!”. But in fact, I have a very nice nose. Its small, and proper, and...wait, I’m drifting. Where were we?
So, the trick with insults such as these is to make them really ridiculous. For those who don’t have the imagination to come up with anything particularly irritating, here is a simple method.
Take up a random animal, and add a funny body part to it.
Voila, you have..
Armadillo eyelashes
Anteaters nostril hair
Zebras toenails
Frogs belly
Of course, if you’re afraid that you might be considered a little too immature by your peers(bah! coward!) theres always the less radical translation approach. For this, you need to have some grasp of the Tamil language.
You can call a really tall person “coconut tree”. Or an idiot a “woodhead” or a “mangohead”. Basically, you’re translating common abusive phrases used in tamil into english, though if you’re going to call an idiot “woodhead”, you’ll probably have to explain the insult to him, which might spoil the entire purpose of insulting him in the first place.
But hey, you get the idea. And the possibilities are endless! So go on, get out there and do some serious beeping.
At times like these, you have this incredible urge to lash out, to pour out a string of words that aren’t normally used in civilised conversation. And yes, it’s a wonderful technique to calm yourself down, because by this time, your opponent has turned violet and is getting geared up to fire back.
Yet more often that not, you land up in trouble, probably because of the appalling nature of the words you have carefully chosen to initiate the endless fight. Due to my desire to maintain a family rating on this blog, I shall refrain from mentioning the words you normally use. Instead, I present to you the perfect solution to all your problems.
Monkey bum.
No, a monkeys bum is not the solution. Perhaps I should be a tad more clear.
You have to admit that when you first saw “monkey bum” on the screen, you were inclined to go “pfft, who are you to talk porcupine nose!”. But in fact, I have a very nice nose. Its small, and proper, and...wait, I’m drifting. Where were we?
So, the trick with insults such as these is to make them really ridiculous. For those who don’t have the imagination to come up with anything particularly irritating, here is a simple method.
Take up a random animal, and add a funny body part to it.
Voila, you have..
Armadillo eyelashes
Anteaters nostril hair
Zebras toenails
Frogs belly
Of course, if you’re afraid that you might be considered a little too immature by your peers(bah! coward!) theres always the less radical translation approach. For this, you need to have some grasp of the Tamil language.
You can call a really tall person “coconut tree”. Or an idiot a “woodhead” or a “mangohead”. Basically, you’re translating common abusive phrases used in tamil into english, though if you’re going to call an idiot “woodhead”, you’ll probably have to explain the insult to him, which might spoil the entire purpose of insulting him in the first place.
But hey, you get the idea. And the possibilities are endless! So go on, get out there and do some serious beeping.
Thursday, May 11, 2006
Money money money, must be funny
I woke up yesterday with this incredible urge to change something. The problem was that I didn’t really know WHAT I wanted to change, but frivolous details like that couldn’t deter me as I went about trying to come up with a plan.
Biting my lip and looking around the room, careful to avoid the untidy pile of books in the corner in case my conscience felt like pricking me into cleaning it up, I saw my desk, and thats when inspiration struck.
I got my own room only a year back, and before that, being the younger kid, I never really had a say as far as decoration was concerned. Which basically means the only thing I got to decide was how the books would be arranged in my cupboard.
But now, I realised that even though I COULD do exactly as I pleased, I hadnt really exercised that option yet. A vase full of gorgeous flowers in a corner of the desk sounded quite appealing, so grabbing my wallet, I pranced happily to the florists.
Beaming at the man there, I asked for daisies, and orchids, and red roses. The initial smile that he had plastered on his face slowly washed off, as he tried to imagine the hideousness of my request. But I take pride in my ability to cheer people up, because that fake smile came right back on as he handed me the bill. This time, it was MY turn to carry out the wash off routine.
Me:A 100 bucks???! Isn’t that a little too much for a few flowers?
Fake Smiler: No, Paapa, it’s the orchids. They are very expensive
Me:(A little stiffly now, and trying to sound older) Um...ok. So leave 3 and take away the rest.
Fake smiler: Its Rs. 80 now. There are too many roses
Me:(Scowling visibly now)Sigh...fine. So give me as many as you can for 40.
I came back home with a sad little bunch of daisies, and a woebegone look on my face. The condescending world out there has no heart for a poor 17 year old.
Sigh..next time, I’m buying potpourri.
Biting my lip and looking around the room, careful to avoid the untidy pile of books in the corner in case my conscience felt like pricking me into cleaning it up, I saw my desk, and thats when inspiration struck.
I got my own room only a year back, and before that, being the younger kid, I never really had a say as far as decoration was concerned. Which basically means the only thing I got to decide was how the books would be arranged in my cupboard.
But now, I realised that even though I COULD do exactly as I pleased, I hadnt really exercised that option yet. A vase full of gorgeous flowers in a corner of the desk sounded quite appealing, so grabbing my wallet, I pranced happily to the florists.
Beaming at the man there, I asked for daisies, and orchids, and red roses. The initial smile that he had plastered on his face slowly washed off, as he tried to imagine the hideousness of my request. But I take pride in my ability to cheer people up, because that fake smile came right back on as he handed me the bill. This time, it was MY turn to carry out the wash off routine.
Me:A 100 bucks???! Isn’t that a little too much for a few flowers?
Fake Smiler: No, Paapa, it’s the orchids. They are very expensive
Me:(A little stiffly now, and trying to sound older) Um...ok. So leave 3 and take away the rest.
Fake smiler: Its Rs. 80 now. There are too many roses
Me:(Scowling visibly now)Sigh...fine. So give me as many as you can for 40.
I came back home with a sad little bunch of daisies, and a woebegone look on my face. The condescending world out there has no heart for a poor 17 year old.
Sigh..next time, I’m buying potpourri.
Thursday, May 04, 2006
I remember, I remember
Yes, I know its probably because I'm neither here nor there right now, that my mind is flooded with memories of school days. Perhaps its the fact that I am stepping into the unknown, and I'm trying desperately to hold on to something, anything, thats familiar.
Whatever it is, I hope a good healthy swig of reminiscence does the trick, so here goes.
We've had our share of clowns in our class. You know the type don't you? I'm referring to the ones who will insist that they are intrigued by that essay competition entitled "My Daddy is the Best", and will make you stand in front of the board for 15 minutes, screeching bloody murder if you try to rub it off.
They're also a part of the "hyuk hyuk" gang. This is a close knit group that comes up with jokes that make you want to rip off your hand just so that you'll have something to throw at them.
To quote a few memorable ones(courtesy of paddy)
Q. Why is steady current holy?
A. It is st. eddy current
Q. Why is a current carrying conductor expensive?
A. It comes with a BIL
The voice of our class was Bk, a guy who gets a thrill out of bellowing notes from Pradeeps, while the class politely requests that he please fall off a bulding, or have the book stuffed down his throat.
Timepass for our class? Hand tennis of course! Jumping over desks, and sometimes even people, as we rushed to the back, to fiercely fight for our turns, leaving a few poor souls the job of 'watchman'. Scrambling back to our places the minute a warning was shouted, and cursing and planning grotesque deaths for the sadistic smart alecs who'd give false alarms.
DumbC matches, feeding the other team names like "Shakespeare and Frankensteins High School reunion" and "Lactocalamine lotion", which to their credit they did successfully act out, even if they didn't realise that we made them up.
The Annual Day, the culturals, a lot of hard work, a lot of mishaps, but both turned out to be pretty darn good in the end.
I'm left wondering how the time flew by so quickly. It seems like I entered our 11th classroom for the first time just yesterday, and now its all over.
But hey, thanks for the memories.
And what do you know?! I do feel better now.
Whatever it is, I hope a good healthy swig of reminiscence does the trick, so here goes.
We've had our share of clowns in our class. You know the type don't you? I'm referring to the ones who will insist that they are intrigued by that essay competition entitled "My Daddy is the Best", and will make you stand in front of the board for 15 minutes, screeching bloody murder if you try to rub it off.
They're also a part of the "hyuk hyuk" gang. This is a close knit group that comes up with jokes that make you want to rip off your hand just so that you'll have something to throw at them.
To quote a few memorable ones(courtesy of paddy)
Q. Why is steady current holy?
A. It is st. eddy current
Q. Why is a current carrying conductor expensive?
A. It comes with a BIL
The voice of our class was Bk, a guy who gets a thrill out of bellowing notes from Pradeeps, while the class politely requests that he please fall off a bulding, or have the book stuffed down his throat.
Timepass for our class? Hand tennis of course! Jumping over desks, and sometimes even people, as we rushed to the back, to fiercely fight for our turns, leaving a few poor souls the job of 'watchman'. Scrambling back to our places the minute a warning was shouted, and cursing and planning grotesque deaths for the sadistic smart alecs who'd give false alarms.
DumbC matches, feeding the other team names like "Shakespeare and Frankensteins High School reunion" and "Lactocalamine lotion", which to their credit they did successfully act out, even if they didn't realise that we made them up.
The Annual Day, the culturals, a lot of hard work, a lot of mishaps, but both turned out to be pretty darn good in the end.
I'm left wondering how the time flew by so quickly. It seems like I entered our 11th classroom for the first time just yesterday, and now its all over.
But hey, thanks for the memories.
And what do you know?! I do feel better now.
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
You've got me spinning
Have you noticed how its only when you have something really important, that simply HAS to be done, that you come up with the most bizarre ways of wasting your time? But the bizarreness of your bizarre idea doesnt really strike you till you're midway through the task, and you suddenly find yourself in front of the stove melting wax, or on the floor spinning bangles, counting the seconds for which the heavier bangle spins. And thats just when someone walks into the room, and while u watch the bangle tinkle to a stop, feeling their eyes bore into your neck, you shake your head thoughtfully, and say "Sigh, it all ends one day".
No? You've never done that?
...
Um me neither! I was just checking thats all!
No? You've never done that?
...
Um me neither! I was just checking thats all!
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