The following was the result of a "Blogthings" Quiz I took...
"Optimist or Pessimist", it said!
| You Are a Realist |
 You don't see the glass as half empty or half full. You see what's exactly in the glass. You never try to make a bad situation seem better than it is... But you also never sabotage any good things you have going on. You are brutally honest in your assessments of situations - and this always seems to help you cope. |
I am a convert. A definite one. It's taken me two years, but it is never too late I guess. Indian Idol has grown onto me like an unconventionally good looking girl does over a period of time. The same's happened with me, vis-a-vis Indian Idol.
I started watching after a friend jokingly asked me to. Challenged me to. Exorted me to.
There was no cricket on TV. I reasoned out, what the hell, if I could sit through Big Boss, why not Indian Idol. And the first episode that I viewed, the cynical side of me couldn't help itself. Criticism about how the hosts (basically the Production Team), waste time and create unnecessary suspense. Make technical mistakes in the process. And that completely overshadowed the glaring fact that the singers were good. More than good in the hindsight. Awesome would be a better word.
The next few episodes quickly saw me make that transition from being a critic to thoroughly enjoy the singing performances. Unfortunately, I have not had the chance to have Anu Malik give his expert opinions so far, but apart from that, the three Judges have been reasonably sober. Udit Narayan does try to act cool some times. One such instance was when after a singer's performance, he stood up. People thought he would be on his marks to give the Singer a standing ovation, or probably a round of applause.
Our man, instead, gets up from his seat and looks at the singer. Pauses. And says, "Aapne kaafi achha gaaya."(You sung well). In true Udit Narayan style. Wonder whether he was exercising his bored limbs. But I think it only adds to the overall fun. And it surely is fun.
With the obvious seriousness related to any competition. The joys and sorrows, the agonies and the ecstasies, and the other vagaries for the participants. Some have already packed their bags and gone home, some are front runners to take 'Trophy' home.
Lastly, hats off to the mental toughness exhibited by one of the participants, Ankita, who lost out, but still managed to keep a brave, smiling face, and actually sang like she's just won, and not lost. Need more of them around.
I hear that there is a call to ban people from accessing Orkut in cyber cafes. Planning to put something like this?
"Visiting Porn Sites and Orkut is not allowed in this cyber cafe." Ooo lala!
Then I think, Blogs should also be banned, because I am so sure, there would be people writing about Objectionable Material(OM) on Blogs as well.
How about E-mail chains? That could also be used to propagate a lots of OM within the people. And very frankly, who wants to end up getting a mail sent to 87 other people, exorting it to be forwarded all the people on the recipient's address book in the next seven and a half minutes lest the recipient turns into a toad. Ban it baby.
What's next on cards? Talking?
Basically, if someone puts a bad community up on Orkut, you ban everyone from using Orkut, some one talks shit, uses unparliamentary language, you use the same yardstick and ban it. Don't allow people to talk honey, let's all get to the stone age, and get some peace.
And yeah, that would also ensure that we would no longer be able to wish others a happy Valentine Day.
Someone asked me to fill this. Have nothing else and better to do.
Here goes...
I am thinking – about the weekend and it’s plans.
I said – nothing, am unusually quiet today!
I want – to book my tickets to Chandigarh really quick!
I wish – I could play cricket more often.
I miss – the summer of ’99.
I hear – my cell phone ring, wait…brb!
I wonder – why did things go the way they did in the last three months or so.
I regret – almost nothing.
I am – Suneer…koi shak?
I sing – “Laari Chhootti” from ‘Ek Chaalis….’
I dance – in my bathroom and in the autorickshaws of Mumbai.
I am not – a lot of things that people think that I am!
I write – because I think it is the best form of expression.
I hate – people remembering you only in the times of distress.
I confuse – between bus numbers, directions and geographies of places
I should – be more selfish
No, I don't think that Delhi is a bad city. It is just that I am from Mumbai, and the experience I had on my last trip to Delhi made me a bit apprehensive of the same. Couldn't help compare it with Mumbai. But fret not, I wouldn't dare to compare the two here, this is not just the right forum. Just wanted to share a couple of "memorable" experiences I had on my last trip there. Been half a dozen months, but it may just help to get it out of my system.
I am placed at Noida. It is January. It is cold. Especially for a guy from Mumbai, for whom the definition of winter is "the season in which you sweat less than the summer".
I need to meet a friend for dinner at Delhi. South-ex, if I am not wrong. I get into a bus.
Me (to the guy distributing tickets): Does this one go to South-ex.
Him: This bus goes everywhere. Ten bucks for the same.
Huh? That's actually the last time I get amazed during the journey. The rest of it is a blur.
I wonder whether this was the bus from that famous Fevicol advt. depicting all those travellers sticking out of the bus. At least looked similar from rear.
Inside, both my feet are almost in air. No, they are definitely in air. Fellow travel comrades stick to me like they have done it all their lives. It was a good thing that I had been practicing traveling in the Mumbai Local trains a week before getting there.
Just like Tendulkar had practiced playing in the rough before Shane Warne came to India. I think of Indian Cricket. My mind gets diverted from the current predicament for a while.
Anyways, I am breathing in only carbon dioxide, and the conductor seems hell bent on sucking in more people. Wonder whether the vehicles in Delhi are tested for CO2 with passengers inside.
Somehow, I get to South-ex.
Or so I think.
It is not South-ex. I think I have got down at the wrong stop. As I invariably do.
No. Apparently the bus that I had got in never had South-ex as one it's listed destinations. The "conductor" had duped me of my precious ten rupees. Damnit. Small matter that I was still 30 minutes away from South-ex. And already running late.
I get into a second bus. The conductor is a nice guy with a monkey cap. I suddenly realise it is cold. The journey is eventless. Nothing at all. Damn.
We meet. Friend and me. Friend hands over a monkey cap. What was it with monkey caps today?
Me: Why this?
Friend: Mum wanted me to take a jacket and some thermals as well, she thought you might feel cold in your half sleeve shirt.
I smile. Friend's parents think that I haven't heard of the stories of the Delhi Winter. I had. Apart from the Sensex and the Indian Cricket Team's performance, the only thing going down here was the mercury. But, so thoughtful and warm of them all the same. The only thing that was.
We talk. We dine. It is 9.30 p.m. Time to get back home.
Friend drops me till a point. There, I wait for a bus. After the previous incident I am a bit vary and picky about the bus I get into. Ask every guy whether it gets to Noida.
They look at me like I am on a changeover en route Mars.
They say there exists no such bus. No bus goes to Noida. I will need to take an auto.
I groan. Not for the first time in the day. I haven't heard too many good stories about autos there as well. The stories about skulls been discovered in Noida recently, echo in the throes of my mind.
A chill passes through me. I shiver. Cold and Fear gel to form a potent combination. I have no idea about directions in this alien city.
Noida suddenly seems light years away. One auto guy agrees to transport me. He asks for seventy bucks. I have no idea how much should it actually be. I don't know how, but I bargain. In spite of myself. So brave of me. So foolish of me.
We agree at sixty.
I get in.
Five minutes later, I am lost. Have no clue about the road, besides it is dark. No road lamps either. I am scared. As they say, "Shitting bricks and all that stuff in my pants" (Big Pants I would have to have). Probably because it's bitterly cold in an auto, going at 40 kilometer per hour.
Should have taken my friend's monkey cap. Damn.
Soon, ours is the only vehicle on the road. The watch shows 10.15 p.m. The city seems dark and dead. I feel the same for myself as well.
I wish I had a knife. Or even an AK-47. I make a mental note to learn karate when I get back. If I do.
I clench my fist, in case the driver tries something funny. It reminds me of the auto rides I had in Mumbai, at least I could dance to the Himmesh Reshamaiyya's tunes. Here, I was dancing to the auto driver's tunes instead.
Fifteen minutes later, he stops the rickshaw. I am no where near my place. It is pitch dark. No-one on the road. He looks back. I fear the worst. I think of the impending World Cup. I think of all those people who love me. I think of people whom I love. The two lists almost match.
Him: That's it. You will need to take another rickshaw.
I am surprised. I am relieved. I am worried. And then I realize my jaws are crackling against each other.
I thought I was a goner. But I am alive. I have no clue where I am.
I pay him. I get out. And suddenly another rickshaw arrives. Almost as if this rick-guy and the previous one had conspired to share the booty.
I tell him. He asks for another exorbitant amount to get me transferred there. This time, I have no fuel left in the tank to argue. I immediately agree and I almost exort him to get me home safe. Ten minutes later I am standing outside my hotel.
Safe. One piece.
Very very scared.
The watch on my wrist shows 11.00 p.m.
The rains are here. So are the ‘Juniors’. Another week or so, and we would officially be crowned as ‘Seniors’ to a set of 200 odd students. In fact going through some of the “online meets” that the guys have organized, reminded me of our own foray back into the college. The Online, and the not-so-online meets.
Some one asked me, how does it feel to be a senior?
As if the feeling was as tangential as the answer to, how does it feel to be married, or probably how does it feel to be a father? How does it feel to hold aloft the World Cup?
Senior? *chuckle*
Nothing. Absolutely nothing. A totally indifferent feeling. A feeling very similar to that, when I underwent this very transformation in Junior College and Graduation. Somehow, the Gyaan-Giving Sessions, Induction in the form Introductions and the so-called Connection during “Ragging” Rendezvous is not for me. Unless someone actually walks up to me and asks for it. They all say that MBA’s biggest take-home is the networking. Knowing more people than others. I call this a forced form of networking.
And even if networking is the reason, is this a way to go about it? Well, frankly, I have no answers. I just know, that I have survived, and decently so, over the last 25 years without making any conscious effort to network, and I think I will continue in the same vein in the future as well. Till, probably, it becomes impossible to.
Probably I am just too apprehensive of the word Senior. Given that the 8-10 year old boys that come home for tuitions from Dad, already address me “Uncle”. Probably it is the now-oft used term, “quarter-life-crisis” that bothers me and makes me want to be isolated. Probably the conversation I had with a friend who spoke about Giant Robots, He-man and even Ramayana and Mahabharata that we caught on that channel called Doordarshan not so long ago is still fresh in memory like it’s just happened yesterday.
Probably I should get back to playing cricket every Sunday evening.
I am only 25. Senior Citizenship begins at 60.
Mathematics tells me its 35 years away. So does Logic.
I want to sit back and enjoy life
Cricket has broken off from it's parent entity, i.e. this Blog, and formed another subsidiary. The Initial Public Offering has already been made. This one will continue for all the Non Cricketing bit!
Kindly read the Red Herring Prospectus at
http://sonofapitch.blogspot.com
And yes, kindly comment!
Friday, a new month. June. Also the last day of the working week.
My day in jist yet...
9.30 am to 1 pm :- Tea, Breakfast on table, Moneycontrol, Cricinfo, Blogging, Attempt at sleep with eyes open.
1 pm to 2pm :- Lunch, not at table.
2 pm to 7 pm :- Tea, Snacks on table, Moneycontrol, Cricinfo, Blogging, Attempt at sleep with eyes open. (note the difference between the first slab of 'work' and this one)
7 pm to 7.15 pm :- A Long, "Important", meeting with Boss.
7.15 pm :- Pack my Bags.
But it couldn't have gone better after that.
Met up with the School guys, A and S. S seemed his excited self. Wounded me bad in the process. A was his cool self. Discussed a motley of stuff. Cricket, Pay cheques, Girls, their boyfriends, old classmates, older gossips about 'em, amongt other stuff.
Dinner came and went. And so did a session at the Shivaji Park Naturals'. As most of you guys would have guessed, Malai Vanilla with Mango Pieces was had. Licked clean. Heart felt satiated. Soul felt purged. And among other feelings, Bliss was at the top.
I was with my people.
Home coming reluctantly happened at midnight.
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Saturday, first of the weekends. Second Day of the Month
For i = 1 to 5 do (I did!)
{
Slept.
Breakfast.
Orkut/Gtalk.
John Grisham.
End.
}
Some thing tells me that the word "End" should be outside the braces. Any software programmers? Anyways, who cares.
A small footnote about the John Grisham I read. King of Torts. Unimpressive. Did not live upto his standards one bit.
------------------------------------------
Sunday. 3rd June.
Early Morning Show of "Pirates of the Caribbean". 9 of us. I will be frank here, did not understand it.
Reason: Simple. Had not watched the first two parts.
Could have as well named the movie "Australian Cricket Team". They were the true Pirates of the Caribbean this year. At the World Cup that is. Bad Joke. One bad Joke a post is allowed for me.
Moral: Watch part 1 and 2 a couple of times before going for this one. Understand your history of PoC well. Toss a coin. This at least reduces your probability of spending 100 bucks to 50%
Lunch at Discovery. Chinese. NP's pharmaayeesh. Marketed by me. She says I am second only to Phillip Kotler. Wondering whether IT is the right line for me now. Or should I also sell soap?
Slept at home. Chatted with some old friends and started with another one. Frederick F. (can neither pronunce nor spell his last name.)
9 p.m. Koffee with Karan: Kidding? Did not watch it after this
10 p.m. Cricket Controversies:
Siddhu: Blah blah blah...Miniskirts....Statistics....Kid in Dance Bar...Air Hostesses....blah blah....I agree with Mr Dungarpur, Surinder Amarnath and the Media Guy
Mr. Dungarpur: (Quiet most of the time). I agree with Mr. Siddhu, Surinder Amarnath and the Media Guy.
Surinder Amarnath: (any cricket fan worth his salt could speak what he did, dont remember half the things)
Media Guy: But why can't Indian Cricketers unite?
Media Guy (again): I think the Indian Cricketers should unite
Media Guy (once more): Indian Cricketers are at fault because they do not unite
Media Guy (enough now): Indian Cricketers should form a chain and do something
Overall, I think, the host did not ask the right questions. At the right times.
Sonali Chandran does a much better job. Wish she was the host. A very sensitive Cricketing topic spoken about in a very frivilous manner. An utter waste.
Will Sleep now. Tomorrow is another day with Mr. Garrtner. Bless me.
Watched Dil Chahata Hai last week. After a long time, that is.
Had plans to doze off early that night. Hit the bed at eleven. And, at the eleventh hour decided to do some surfing. Mistake. Big Mistake. DCH ensured that I did not sleep before one.
There are certain movies, plays, TV episodes, entities….even conversations with people that are just perfect. One cannot think of modifying or wanting to modify anything in 'em. DCH is one such movie. A movie that uses understatements and silences to convey everything it wants to. And much beyond.
One scene that stands out in the movie is the one having Aakash pass by his college, and remember those better days, when he was with his closest friends. When life was so uncomplicated. When life was fun. He sees himself with the other two. The expressions on both the Aakash's face are unbelievable. Say a lot without saying anything. The music in the background is surreal. One of the very, very few movie scenes that make me go weak in my knees.
Watching the movie and remembering that scene right now, I also remember two people. People whose names I would not like to mention, but I still think about. I wonder where they would be. Got no clue about the same. Though, I do wish that our paths do cross some time. Where we get a chance to explain ourselves. And talk about the gibberish we always did. The three of us, together. Mind you, I am not sorry one bit for what happened. Not an inch.
But I would be the first to admit. I am selfish. I remember the two of 'em only when I want to. Remembering them is almost like an antidote to what happened. When I am sitting alone, the clock wanting to tick away to the next day, when nothing else works on my mind, when I get hit by a bout of those rhetoric…I think of them. The feeling of lifting the phone up and corresponding hits.
The feeling is like that of a pain that a masochist enjoys.
A feeling of loneliness that gives pleasure.
A feeling of valium-induced light headedness.
But, I do nothing about it.
And then I sleep.
Then comes the next day. Things are back to normal. Back to where they were before. Back to the rigmarole of the present, where the past has no meaning whatsoever, and the future is as mysterious. They had disappeared from my life and have long disappeared from the mind. Like a bad nightmare of the previous night. I soon suffer from amnesia.
It's better this way. It's calm. It's peace.
Except for those moments when I wonder. When the mind goes into a tailspin.
It's a serious calm otherwise.
A report on the first page of one the leading newspaper said, “Showers hit Mumbai, some rail services affected”. Or something to that effect.
I groan. Rail services affected??? With this much rain? It’s just the first of June. And it was less water that came down, than what I use to bathe daily. And that affected something as important as the Mumbai Train services? Bloody Delicate Darlings. I don’t catch cold that easily man.
I shudder to think of the heavy rains that Mumbai has witnessed over the last two years. Pardon me for being cynical, so does that mean that everything would get affected. Buses, Trains, Cabs etc. And what about those three wheelers called Ferraris (better known as auto rickshaws)? Wouldn’t at least them, be left for the rescue act?
What about sea services? Heard about a new sea route coming up here for commuting? Surely rains would not affect water. Or is the Mumbai rain bad enough to screw them up as well. Someone tells me that water services shut down first. Huh? Water affects water services? Criminal. Unfair.
What about hiring one’s own hovercraft. Or a jumbo jet. Don’t tell me that the rains falling on the wind shield of the jet, would prevent the driver (???) from proper viewing. Wonder why do they have a wind shield? Why not have a rain shield instead.
So, we are left with only one option.
Swim. Swim to and from my college. I hear that the Government has done a good soul searching and cleansing job. And in turn a good, drainage cleansing job. Swimming may not be that bad then.
Why, why does it still not motivate me to learn to swim, is beyond me.
I groan again. I hope I do not get a job in Mumbai. 26 years is a long enough time to face the Mumbai rains.
I just hope that my evening plans do not get screwed because of the rains. Else, it’s going to be a long, long day.
P.S. This is my 50th posted article on this blog, and I cannot even raise my bat to the pavillion because it's raining so hard!
P.P.S. On a more serious note, I would like thank everyone (wellwishers and critics alike) who has been directly or indirectly instrumental in encouraging me to continue writing.
