Monday, 30 November 2009

lessons learnt from an educational tour

College trips are these fast and furious things. All I can remember now is a hazy picture of lots of laughter and a lot more of disaster management. I also managed to measure my loser quotient: as the rest of the folks got zonked I watched NDTV.

I also remember the fact that a girl called me cuddly and tried to hug me much to my discomfort. God it’s only the girls, and only the weird ones who can understand that even I am hormonal. What has the Almighty made me into?

An important fact must be noted down: I bargained in Hindi which is merely adulterated Bengali. No wonder I could not reduce the prices much. One of my classmates bargained, claiming that we are students and we need to have our caution money and hence can’t afford to spend so much. I have also realised that mentally I am an aged aunt. I bought two laundry bags for home. Now that’s something only loud aunts and mothers are supposed to do.

Bangladeshi songs are way better than Bollywood. I have danced to it and have sung in my croaky voice without anyone even attempting to kill me. Bangladeshi rappers make Chiranjeevi look like Rock Hudson. (Check out the video here)

Men are good at carrying luggage. May the Almighty churn out their types as long as we female folks carry huge baggage. And that shall be till eternity.

Jodhpur ‘super fast’ express is running to make people nostalgic about the Partition and all that it entailed. One bunk is to be shared by three people, reservation or no reservation. It validates the great Indian philosophy of sharing with a big smile, however fake that may be.

Apart from other typical ages-old rules that are meant to be broken, Jain temples have made it mandatory for people to smoke out there. See last line in poster for confirmation. I'm not sure whether non-smokers are chucked out or not. I survived.

Friday, 13 November 2009

As I go on updating my blog, my scope of writing diminishes, narrowing down to a small sliver of ideas till I have no more. If I could talk of love and passion, the world around me would embrace my ideas, for these are universal feelings of goodness. But whenever I attempt to write about love, it ends up being simply about the love for me. Every romantic line that I attempt to write seems like some poetic description of an impending fart.

The problem lies perhaps in the colossal love for self, which is so rigid that it won’t permit anyone else within its narrow domain. I don’t have that eye for details in the trees and birds and grass. Only literature that I read comes from the newspapers, I don’t like animals, and I prefer cats to dogs. There is not a single band I am fascinated by, just a few songs that have been with me since ages continue to fascinate me even now. My knowledge hasn’t increased, neither has my world around me by any greater degree. I haven't matured much since ages ago, though at times pretend to be the know-it-all. And as gradually my ideas diminish, and I have ended up making fun of every single thing I am aware of, my enthusiasm for writing shall perhaps cease to exist.

Hmm. On a serious note, not really :D

Friday, 6 November 2009

Yo man! It's d kewl dude

I have always believed that every big social change gradually creeps in, it’s the icing, the grand finale which is the social revolution. A certain form of malignancy (can also be deemed as entertainement) have been creeping in: the band of ‘cool dudes. It’s only a matter of days till a revolution takes place and they shall rule the world. They are sprouting up in every nook and corner of the city.


1. They wear sunglasses in the dark, occasionally removing it to check out a girl properly. Impractical folks. I have always said that the best way of eyeing a girl without seeming to be vulgar is to look from the corner of the eyes. But no one listens to me.

2. Buttons to the shirt are an extinct fashion statement. Anyone putting them on is clearly making a great fashion faux pas of the highest degree.

3. They have oh-so-godly girlfriends that even make an absolutely normal girl like me salivate. There are plenty of times when I have imagined myself to be this ultra macho girl fighting the hooligans for the sake of protecting the bold and the beautiful.

4. Fluorescent is THE colour. The flashier the better. It’s truly attractive. A flashy disco belt shall put my father’s generation and Mithun Chakroborty to shame. The Disco Dancer cult has returned with reloaded fervour.

5. ‘Yo dude’, pronounced ‘yo dood’ with loads of attitude: possibly followed by a mild pelvic thrust of the Cheeranjeevi type.

6. Their shrill desi citees are absolutely beautiful. I have always tried to master the art myself. Their brains have this automatic nerve centre that directs them to whistle the moment something even remotely looking like a girl passes by. I have this feeling that they do the same, subtly in their mind, when female animals pass by too.

7. They wear these weird and extremely low waist jeans. They have no sense of the gravitational pull and all that it entails, it seems.

8. Their havens are the public transport system. They can cling on any random girl like a stubborn louse, with a vague i-know-nothing look. If the girl scowls, they scowl back as if the girlie scowl has just robbed off their honour as well as that of their forefathers. Anyway perhaps things could have been better if they wore some deodorant.

With these killing looks and attitude, they’ll soon be reigning supreme all over. Bless them, my Lord.

Rocket Science

Rockets were designed on the model of the unholy connection of human brain and posterior. A slight holy flickr won’t do. The blessed rear must be a raging fireball creating halo around it for the mind to realise that it’s time to do what should be done, or rather what should have been done a long long time ago.

Ideally the great initiator of a mystic metaphoric fireball should be available at the right time. Like whenever a desperate teenager sees the picture of Penelope Cruz, desire does not need any procrastination. The required kick is felt almost instantly. But when it comes to examinations this isn’t the case. I have been waiting for this great kick of a lifetime since the last month and it’s nowhere to be felt or heard. The cause can’t possibly be the lack of a humungous rear as per the Apple Boy Newton, it can be easily deducted that small site of action requires small repercussion; hence a slight hint of a jolt should set me free, prancing away to pedagogic glory. Not that it works only for an examination. I have a class at college after an hour. It takes me a wee bit more than an hour for me to reach college. And I am blogging. At home.

Dear Lord, Throw me the fireballs.

P.S: For the folks who think that I am still a nerd, I curse you religiously on something that should not be mentioned here. :p

P.P.S: plagiarised-soul.blogspot.com: I stole your title. Not that it was yours.