Tuesday, 27 November 2007

Such a beautifully simple theory

As long as there's God, and couples can make children, why should politicians put in hard work?

Andhra Pradesh Labour Minister G Vinod has suggested that tribals should have
more children to offset the high number of deaths of their children due to viral
fever, malaria, diarrhoea, etc. This advice comes in the wake of several deaths
in the past few weeks in Adilabad district due to various causes, especially
viral fever, that is rampant in the area.

With election season kicking in, I completely trust our Karnataka politicians to make more enlightening observations than this one. Oh, how I will miss them all, sitting put in this cubicle of mine.

Sunday, 25 November 2007

The only OSO moment that made me think...

What's so funny about 'shoving it up your nose'? A bunch of young girls at the theatre broke into uncontrollable laughter when the reincarnated Om, as an arrogant son of a cinestar, made his poor secretary shove an infected thermometer into his nose.
Am I missing something?

Friday, 23 November 2007

I am looking for Someone Special

...Who will locate the house keys for me when I leave it hanging on the door
...Who will dig out my pen, my pen drive, my papers from my purse
...Who will remind me to fill fuel before the tank gets empty
... Who will remind me to carry my tickets when I am travelling
...Who will remind me to carry cash when I go shopping

A Special Note: To all the guests who pooled in to foot my party bill last evening (if you are reading this)... lots of thanks and heaps of blessings. May y'all have a great life!

Thursday, 22 November 2007

Birthday Post

"Appa, see the time."
Appa potters groggily to the loo, ignoring me completely.
I try again when he returns.
"Appa, see what is the time?" I whisper, afraid to wake up the dozing household.
His drowsy eyes try to force open before the large wallclock. He peers for a while, then announces, "12:02".
I smile broadly.
Ah! He nods. Realization seems to have dawned on him at last. "Why haven't you gone to bed yet? Every night you wake up and watch TV. No discipline in life at all. And then, in the morning, it will be all rush rush. Nobody can put any sense into you," he mumbles as he retreats into the bedroom.
"Appa, its 12:02 of 22nd," I say weakly as he closes the door.
After 15 long seconds, his door opens again. Now wide awake, and looking adequately sheepish, he sings "Wish you a hap hap happy birthday".
Well, all, thus began a new year of my life.
2007-08: A year in which I shall cling to my twenties with my bare fingers, fight the thirties with my fists, and wish to hop-skip-jump to voluntary retirement age.
I couldn't sleep all night, I was just too excited. Last evening, when Conscience Keeper and I were scouting for silver jewelry he promised to buy me, he suddenly remarked, "Shubha, you take your birthday quite seriously". And my reaction was - Oh Bloody Yes!
Well, I always did, and perhaps still do. When I was very young, my sister used to decorate all the rooms with streamers, my mom worked hard on the menu I gave her two weeks in advance, and my dad would hang little lights and lanterns outside the door and in the balcony to announce the arrival of the Big B Day. I still clearly remember the frilly pink frock (with tiny red dots) I wore for my sixth birthday; a shapes-and-numbers game a family friend from Hyderabad gifted me when I turned seven, the yellow cake an aunt brought home when I was in Class Four, and how heartbroken I was when my mom returned all the gifts my friends brought for me on my tenth birthday party.
Coming to age did no good. At 23, I was on top of the world (and I even remember singing that Carpenters song loudly) when Special-Friend-With-Vested-Interest remembered my birthday and posted a mail that ended with Love, XXX. And the day I turned 25, I wished so badly that Conscience Keeper would propose and profess undying love "atleast today". The proposal came two months later, but the profess-undying-love part is still to come. Atleast today?
Perhaps, as I was explaining to Conscience Keeper yesterday, it has something to do with the festive season. I land up feeling quite low post-diwali dhamaka, and birthday works as a good distraction.
The year-gone-by has been terribly uneventful. I spent the night trying to list down milestones, which turned out to be quite a disappointing exercise. Nothing note-worthy, not even a pay hike dammit! Ok fine, there's a bike, a blog, a few other things ...but nothing big, nothing substantial, nothing remotely sleazy or scandalous.
So now I have drawn up a list of things-to-do before I get another year older.
Here goes:
1. Lose weight and look hot (to be taken up on priority)
2. Read a new book every fortnight (or atleast buy/ issue one every fortnight)
3. Begin writing short stories, and give limericks a shot
4. Make use of my passport
5. Analyse more, describe less. i.e. Think more, talk less.
6. Be a professional social butterfly. Before that, get a social life and some branded clothes.
7. Spend time with girlfriends (and their babies).
8. Be a successful match-maker. Have atleast one success story to boast of.
9. Learn to drive. And make someone else buy a car.
10. Etc.
Goal setting over. Now it is time to party.

Monday, 19 November 2007

I'm a Roadie

God knows, I have earned my new smug look. After four years of being tormented by Bangalore’s insufferable autowallahs, I finally got down to doing what I should have done long ago: Buy a gaddi of my own. Now I am a proud owner of a Dravidian-bottomed Honda Activa.
It’s been three weeks since I climbed onto an auto, and so relieved am I that I have good-naturedly forgiven all the potholes and traffic jams and traffic-rule-breakers and bullying big-car-drivers that mar my 24-km up/down ride everyday.

Observations by the latest roadie in town:

  • Two-wheelers flow like water; they flow to fill in every bit of vacant space in a traffic jam. This means that while cars stare and glare, we, the hyperactive fast-movers are well on our way home.
  • There is also a great deal of comradeship between two-wheeler drivers. We may not be able to see eye to eye, thanks to our steel hoods; we may be small-minded when it comes to grabbing the only patch of smooth tar on a bumpy bylane – but we are large-hearted when we share road space on a congested street. Unsurprisingly, two-wheelers in Bangalore move like a herd of elephants, always sticking together.
  • I fear drivers who make SRK-like entries from the left. I swear at drivers who break into a jhoom barabar jhoom without announcement. I am impatient with slow coaches, though I am not a fast rider myself.
  • I am suspicious of smooth roads, for there will inevitably be a cutesy pothole that will catch me off-guard. Reminds me of me, like how I itch for a fight when all is peaceful.
  • Pedestrians are often stupid. And blind.
  • I find cars with blinding high beam headlights annoying. More annoying than the aggressive marketing types these cars remind me of.
  • I daydream a lot while driving.
  • I also sing. Loudly. Inside my helmet. And sing on till the wind shield turns misty. Usually I hum ditties I learnt in school.
  • I have come to believe that I drive like my dad. Slow, cautious, on the left and religiously maintaining ‘Economy’ speed limits. I used to be far swifter in my khatara Luna I owned a decade ago. Is it because I’ve become old? More respectful of others on the street? More respectful of myself?… I think its because I dread a nasty bruise.
  • I have plans ready for 15 years hence. But when I park my bike outside my gate, I’m plain glad that I managed to live another day.

Monday, 12 November 2007

Star Struck

Always thought myself to be a bundle of contradictions. This explains it. I am, as it turns out, a Scorsagian.