Tuesday, 21 July 2009

Curious case of the dog on blogtime. :|

Fame is followed by spiteful intrigues. And if the famous victim of all conspiracies happens to be someone like me who totally lacks seriousness in certain issues, then the twist and turns are often hilarious, though at times they tend to harp on highly sore and sensitive strings. Some anonymous being had been stalking this ill-reputed blog, and a typo-brawl ensued with another being of the milder kind. A few spectators including me left the members of the blog-fight club to do their own thing. I mean, audience aren’t supposed to meddle in wars between valiant men. (I did meddle, trying to delete a few of their arguments but since I have a life other than being online, I left without completing the task. Very unfortunate.) This happened to hurt the sentiment of another fellow being of an even milder form. Thus I was categorised as a person who fakes being someone else in the blog, etc etc. now that charged me up big time. A few comments later some another being, not of a milder form, commented on the blog of the being whose sentiment I did hurt, that he’ll sue him for criticising. I found this mildly hilarious; (though I don’t know who the legally expedient bloke is, but I have got my hunches, considering the fact that I lamented about the whole funny mishap to a few in one of the social networking sites other than my blog-comments :p) thanks to my complete lack of seriousness which I wish to imbibe in course of writing this post. So I have been blocked by the kind soul, who thinks that I have declared legal war against him. So is the story.

But amidst all this, barring the fact that I respect people who know when to draw lines if something goes against their principles, I still find things funny. Therefore, finally I have come across something in me that I needn’t be complacent about, barring my weight and physical attributes. It’s my complete apathy towards seriousness in life. So from now onwards, I shall be amputating my funny-bone (which was limited to a few classical jokes stolen from wiser friends and family) and from now onwards my blog shall be thoroughly serious, with grim professorial language that I am sure is somewhere latent in me.


May the Gods help me.


P.S: Need not jeer. I really couldn't think of a better title. :D And calling myself a dog does not amount to any gaali. They are good beings.

Sunday, 19 July 2009

Can't think of a title... What the heck. :P

The college I just got myself into is our family’s hereditary college or something like that. An obscure great grandpa was a physicist there, and then gradually the rest started ditching science, with my grandfather and parents dealing with geography and me finally completing the process of dumping by taking up history. My parents and sister were all teary eyed and all that as I got myself admitted. A friend has even mustered up the audacity to say that the college is responsible for the existence of my sister and me, since my parents were classmates there when my father started to eye the gorgeous chic that in course of time produced the two of us. But history shall not repeat itself. Those days had handsome hunks like my father.

But this institution is highly weird. On the first day we came across this teacher who had gravity defying chest hair sprouting up from his disco shirt like savannah on a fertile land. And then he started teaching us about the Neanderthal Man.

A few days later we saw him in a gorgeous car with an equally gorgeous wife. Evolution of man. He taught us about that too.

Then a second lady teacher came up to say instantly that it was our duty to utilise her. I could hear the sudden tremor coming from the direction of the boys’ benches.

The college canteen has been the hub of all ideas for generations, or so all the seniors claim in the college. Me, the poor new kid, went there and found everything normal at the first sight. Then a few girls started singing and a boy started to play the guitar to a completely different tune. Then dogs flew. They leapt onto the tables, jumped over them like they were rings of fire, played 'crouching tiger hidden dragon', darted towards the students whom they fancied, stopping midway to find a good spot to release themselves. They were the superheroes minus the chaddis, doing their own thing in their super-land. They perhaps lick the plates clean on which we get our food. Saves water that way. Very environmental. There is a legend that a surplus of chicken product in the canteen is usually attributed to one of the dogs giving birth to her litters. I could see that the fable has got the possibility of some authenticity.

There are also these legendary cobwebs in the sky high classroom ceilings that the ancient spiders webbed as my forefathers attended classes. Talk about continuity of time. They cannot be cleaned because no normal ladder can go up to that height. They are also there as part of the heritage building.

I must admit that I am enjoying this place. :p

P.S: on a completely different topic: Rakhi Sawant is on every blogger’s mind. Well, almost. I was hopping from one blog to another in my list and at least five, including me, had her name or at least something related to her mentioned in their blogs. Ah, the Lady India that shall unite us all. :P

Wednesday, 15 July 2009

Noorie...noorie... :|

When there is a set of rules one unfortunately often forgets the hapless minorities. I mean, the XXS size is way larger than me, stupid world. They forget that beings like me exist too. College fresher’s welcome is supposed to be ideally this angelic happy-go-lucky get together where the juniors and the seniors alternately smile at each other till they get bored and then continue the process with each and everyone, in between blaring music through cracked jukeboxes and desi chilly chicken and fried rice. It’s supposed to make us new kids on the block feel like oh-my-god-this-is-home kind of a feeling, with tear bedimmed eyes and all that. To break the ice one is supposed to be made to feel comfortable, then why oh god why are girls supposed to wear saris and not something else they wish to, and the boys are supposed to wrap themselves up in dhotis, grandpa style? With these stupid boys who wear polka dot boxers underneath some hyper-translucent dhotis roaming all over like batty cows, life can’t get worse for a moaning sissy like me.

I vehemently agree that girls look drop dead gorgeous in all those yards of cloth, elevated to the position of being woo-worthy by people of all genders. There have been times when even I have followed PYT in the form of girls like a lovestruck Romeo. But then the option of wearing something else must be there, for extreme minority souls like me who weigh precisely 36.5 kilograms including weight of shoes, clothes and braces. How do they expect me to find drapes of my size? I suggested to my mother that I tear one of hers to something smaller, but her glaring eyes prevented me from executing the idea. Anyway it’s not me who’s going to bear the brunt of this decision of the elderly peeps out there. If all of a sudden they get the spook of seeing a ghoulish invisible body wrapped in a pale sari, it’s not my fault. They should have known.

Sunday, 12 July 2009

mystifying queries of life and all that.

If nothing else, life definitely has an extra dosage of question and answer till you hit 30 after which the hyper-curious hormonal blobs seem to finally comprehend the red signal. Not that I am chastising others. I am as curious as these fellows, just smart enough to keep my mouth shut on some occasions. Though the difficulty level of the questionnaire pattern gets higher as one proceeds up in the age-ladder till its time for the person to don the hat of the quiz master himself, us young mortals standing with shaky hairy legs on the precipice of teenagehood aren’t spared either. It’s not the aunts and uncles but also one’s compatriots, compromised in the same position. I don't mean to say that I dislike such things, considering the fact that I bombard them at times too :p The questions range from embarrassing to questions that are utterly mystifying where hunting for the reason is concerned:

1. Do you have a boyfriend? (I dislike the terminology.)
Depends on whom you classify as a boyfriend. No I have eight male consorts whom I replace every month keeping the quota for married people constant as young souls like my get a boost in the matter of the hearts where older men are concerned.

2. What are you planning to do after college?
I intend to get married after giving ad in the matrimonial or allowing my parents to bribe a male thing into marrying me and then shall be solely concerned with knitting, sewing, cooking and mild population explosions.

3. Why do you want to study history and not English honours?
Oh it’s very simple I am too good in English and I know everything so I needn’t study that. I am studying history to further intellectualise myself so that I can impress the bribed folks who’ll be my in-laws.

4. How are the boys in your college? (Cheesy grin).
Where? What? Is this a co-educational institution? I didn’t notice.

5. Why won’t you sit for the IAS examination after college?
That’s because I am too intelligent to study for that.

6. Why are you so thin?
Thank god you said that. I am dieting. Does it show? Pretty please tell me. I’ll be so happy (gasping for breath in excitement.)

7. What do you want to become in life?
An owner of a male harem with men wearing skimpy clothes. I’ll throw one rupee notes as they shall dance like Rakhi Sawant.

8. What have you done with your boyfriend? (Sleazy grin or glaring eyes.)
I only have a male consort. (Rest of the answer is censored.)

9. Have you studied for the examination?
Yes and I am expecting nothing less than 100 percent in the result. I am great.

10. The best one of the lot: Why do you blog?
Hmm. I see. Hmm.

P.S: Merlin humbly and unknowingly provided what the college couldn’t. Thank you, old friend. May you find all the answers to your SQCA.

Saturday, 11 July 2009

happy and gay... and why not?

Since time immemorial men have been men. Then god started making them ugly. Adam and Eve was one happy go lucky pair in the Garden of Eden. Then they had to do the thingummy with the apple. The problem with time is that it has a tendency to be wild. I mean, Adam and Eve could have easily rested in peace, doing all the things that they were supposed to do if you know what I mean. But the fellows got bored and what follows changed the course of history, or myth or whatever.

So to go back to what I was saying, at a point of time men were men. Now they wax their chest. Previously God made women like Aphrodite. Now they make things like me. I have this belief that when a business expands and production rises because of higher demand, and public being the way they are constantly wanting faster and better service, the divine bloke can’t make all people look like salivating-worthy anymore.

With the number of men dwindling, women are bound to choose women as their partners, and since the bloke up in the sky can’t make many gorgeous women anymore, brawny men have to choose their waxed counterparts. And since the Almighty still knows his art well, provided it is sent in limited numbers, there are still some good looking women and men who are Men, being sent to earth, so it’s not that all are so called deviant folks, and therefore religious groups needn’t worry their pretty heads about misbalancing the social structure and all that. So decriminalising gay sex is an act that follows the course of nature, and it also helps to reduce population. With all its plus points, I can’t see why homosexuality shouldn’t be decriminalised.


I am simply trying to explain to the jammed heads that being gay isn't abnormal. Just because a group is in the minority doesn't mean that they'll have to adhere to the norms of the majority. With all the quotas in India we should already know.

Doh :|

One of the reasons why I should be burdened with examinations and exam related depression is that they provide me with the adrenalin to waste time. Since I am a rather eminent nincompoop I’d pass my time writing blogs and hence this place would at least have respectful posts for it to swank.

College life commences. It will be wrong for me to claim that I have been dreading this. There is something genuinely wrong with me apart from the fact that I can give Kiera Knightly inferiority complex where skinniness is concerned. One is supposed to be this lost fish kicked out of water, gasping for the life saving drops or else would get conked then and there. I mean, a bloke isn’t really human if he isn’t chickening out with this new-place thingy. I am supposed to do some frustration-ventilating head banging, poem writing and the et cetera. but me being the odd person that I am, I went there, barring the first two days when I hovered around with glassy eyes thinking I am going to be badgered to death by some opinionated honchos, I actually found college pretty similar to school. Except for the fact that our school had more boys. Or that there are small human chimneys here and there to which I am slightly allergic, to say the least. Or, like school, I am the skinniest kid in the block. I am a tad bit concerned about this abnormality of mine.