Friday, 28 September 2007

I travelled with Team India, and that's all I did


Why didn't I tell them...
* that India has Won, woo hoo, thank you, and we are a happy billion country
* that Monday's victory marks the end of my curse. That I have never seen India win against Pakistan (that is the curse) and each of India's victories against Pak happened because I forcefully tore away from watching nail-biting last overs and shopped instead
* that I courageously challenged the curse and watched the finals alone in a Coffee Day outlet with strange men for company. And ruined my sophisticated image by uttering non-utterables when Pakistan's sixes went flying
* that I would have died if Sreesanth had not taken the last catch
* that if I was ten years younger, I would have had something other than sisterly feelings for Sreesanth
* that I think Dhoni helping a kid wear his victory t-shirt is far sexier than twirling it over his head
* that the rise of the Pathan brothers has given power and hope to the masses
* that they should have kicked Malik for thanking all Muslims in the world for supporting Pakistan
* that they should have thanked Shaid Afridi for congratulating Indian nationS (we are colonisers, ay)

Why didn't I walk up to them and tell them all this on our flight to Bangalore last night? Instead, I stuck to my seat, made conversation with a bureaucrat, cribbed about flight delays, ate Indian food and...well.. fought 30. Sigh!

Saturday, 15 September 2007

Killer Instinct

I have murder in my mind. In fact, I have even started maintaining a list of those I would like to kill. This list grows each time I take an auto back home.
The latest additions over the last two days:
1. M Manjunath
Badge 41703
DL 313/03
Police SL No: 70216/06
Address: 10th Cross, Bendrenagar
2. Yusuf
Vehicle No: KA02 BR 887
Manjunath is guilty of telling me to step down from his auto on a very rainy day because I dared to tell him that his meter was running at double. And while I stood on a flooded road, minus an umbrella and drenched to my bones, the gentleman gave me a smug smile and sped away.
Yusuf is guilty of abusing me and leaving me stranded in a lonely corner at 9:30 pm, because I pointed out that he had a sneak button somewhere which he uses to shoot up the numbers in his digital meter. How else would the fare rise by 5 bucks with a blink of an eye? (For details, Read Digital auto meter is also not foolproof: Action panel.)
It is a scary thought, but I am finding myself reach insane levels of rage each time I encounter a crook driver. The present run rate of which, I must point out, is at least one a day. As the meter ticks erratically, I imagine stabbing them, tearing their hair, and sprinkling a fair amount of pepper spray into their eyes till they burn and burn and plead for mercy and promise they will never tamper with their meters again.
I am amazed how some people manage to stay calm and composed when faced with such evil. Like Conscience Keeper, for instance. His wallet can be stripped clean but he would not come up with a single bad word. It must have something to do with his previous birth, as TOI suggests. He must have been a flower in his past life, no doubt, while I would have been a ruthless underworld operator who killed for supaari.
Ah! Now I understand it all. What I really, really need to come to terms with Bangalore autowallahs is Past Life Regression Therapy.

Looey Me

I hate dirty stained loos. And I enjoy cleaning them.
I thank God for putting some kind of balance in my life.
(Random thought at the department store)

Monday, 10 September 2007

I don't miss you...

You can't see what I see
But you know about it

Those familiar streets I once tread
Those heritage buildings, India's assets
Dumb caricatures
Of polka-shirted foul-worded Delhi men I still dread

You can't feel what I feel
But you know about them too

When I don't belong, something ain't right
The heat, the dampness, the smog
Chaos and sweat
In the middle of a blank empty night

You can't think what I think
Hah! But then, you know it all

My wanting to shop till I drop
But broke without my debit card
Instead, meetings
Reviews, one-on-one, only seeing new problems crop

I am cities away
But you know so much

Without moving, at your desk, staying put
There is nothing more to share, you are not missed
Curse
The damn Airtel, Gmail Talk and Orkut

Wednesday, 5 September 2007

Someone said I look like Mallika Sherawat

Ah, well, well, someone almost said that. I mean someone said I could look like Mallika Sherawat if only I would rework on my wardrobe. And yes, also remain faithful to the aerobics class I signed up for two days ago, so that I could lose some 25-odd kgs and 10 inches of waistline. Since I am so close to becoming a glam doll, I might as well get some discipline in my life.
But life in the gym is not turning out to be easy. The last two days weren't. All those Bollywood hits I joyously listen to on my way to work in the morning turn trecherous in the evening. Especially when I have to hyperactively jump and shake my booty at every change of beat. The guys of course have it worse, considering they don't have much booty to shake, so the next-best-thing they land up doing is move their legs and look dumb. Not that I am faring any better. Despite God's overgenerousity in the right and wrong places, I can hardly whip up a sexy wriggle. Sigh!
Another 27 days to go before I can pick up the pen and write to Ram Gopal Verma. Moi shall wait.