When the people struggled with a keyboard and learnt dos commands, he gave us the mouse. When cell phones struggled to design a perfect keypad, he threw it out of the equation and gave us the touch screen. When laptops were growing smaller, he pulled one out of an envelope. And when the world was getting used to smart devices, he gave us one that you could TELL what you wanted it to do.
The man made a humble fruit worth $300 bn has now moved on to another world. He touched lives, he changed definitions, he made people shed a tear when he introduces a gadget that was merely plastic, metal, chips and wires, because he believed in it so much that it transformed into the one thing that you HAD to own.
Every time I have touched my phone, I have bowed down to respect this man. May he rest in peace and probably change the equipment that they use in Heaven. Give God the iPad and he will see what miracles really mean!
IReapect Steve Jobs.
Wednesday, October 05, 2011
Thursday, December 16, 2010
An ode to Mrs. Doshi
I don’t know why I never looked back at my own blog for three years. It’s December 2010 and I feel I have forgotten how to type long accounts of the goings-on in my life but well, one needs to try, right?
So, what all has happened in these years? To begin with, I have aged significantly. No, seriously… I feel old as a hag on temple steps. But not in a bad way though. I have changed jobs and my line of profession to a certain degree (radio to television, but I am still a writer, albeit of different things) and I have made new friends (who are fewer in number compared to those I have lost along the way); nope, no regrets there. I like losing touch with those who don’t need me or who I don’t need. It’s easier to manage things that way. More so, a possible meeting and conversation with these lost friends in a vague party, does not feel too awkward if doors are left open. Usually, the only two words that are enough to start a chat are, “Long time?” The rest takes care of itself. Anyway, I digress.
If there is any significant change that is worth a mention, is that I am now very happily married. I have had a wonderful relationship with a nice girl who I now proudly introduce to one and all as my wife, Meghana. I think we have the shortest love story and that speaks nothing of the largeness of our lives together as man and wife. We met at work. We travelled together. We fell in love with each other. We mentioned it to the respective families and bla-ba-da-boom! We got engaged and married (with blessings from everyone… no masala there). But that I think was only the beginning. What came after the wedding was truly an experience.
Our honeymoon was in Italy where we enjoyed the crisp air and crisper pizza dough, soft gentle rains like the pasta at a small cozy tavern, a quiet time that sat undisturbed in bottles of red-wine on tables and long walks on swirly roads hugging the mountain-sides like spaghetti clings to the fork. We saw passion for art and nonchalant teenagers from varied origins walking right past it. We witnessed streets filled with people and cobbled stone lanes bereft of life. Sunny days that had no trace of heat and the rain felt cold and warm all at once. We saw the country-side and the major cities and felt like aliens in a somewhat familiar land. But all in all, we fell in love with a new country and a little more in love with each other. That was really the beginning of our love story.
When I was younger, I have had my share of musings with the fairer sex. And in those experiences I had learnt how important it is to find a friend to be with rather than struggling to convince a friend to be more. In the times when I was single, I dreamt of having a wife who would be that friend… idealistic is it not? Every matured man may look for someone like that. A friend to live with and every man who has claimed to find that perfect match has ended up confessing to a “marriage” rather than that “friendship” he desired. Not me, though. I am married to my friend for almost two years now and it is an awesome ride. We are the kind of people who care not for what conventional marriages are “supposed” to be. Where couples fight over adjustments, we adjust over our disagreement to fight with each other. Of course there are arguments and then there are conclusions; very conclusive closures. And then, a sea of love follows such 30 minute discussions. Egos? Yes, of course, those do clash too but the thing that means happiness to the other, takes precedence and soon the egos give in to a kind word of forgiveness, begged and granted in an instance.
I don’t mean to harp about my wife as if she was perfect but her imperfections are what I fell in love with and I still love dearly. It makes her human. She is not pretentious, nor absurdly forthcoming. She is not clumsy (a bit forgetful but that’s OK). She loves to love and hates to hate. Demands little and provides more, speaks a lot yet listens with as much passion and most importantly, holds no emotion back. I dreamt of having a wife that had a passion to live with enthusiasm despite any odd conditions. That dream has come true for me. I love my wife for everything that she is… but I love her even more for everything that she is not. I dedicate this post to her.
Thank you Meghana, for being what I always wanted my wife to be. I love you and always will, promise!
So, what all has happened in these years? To begin with, I have aged significantly. No, seriously… I feel old as a hag on temple steps. But not in a bad way though. I have changed jobs and my line of profession to a certain degree (radio to television, but I am still a writer, albeit of different things) and I have made new friends (who are fewer in number compared to those I have lost along the way); nope, no regrets there. I like losing touch with those who don’t need me or who I don’t need. It’s easier to manage things that way. More so, a possible meeting and conversation with these lost friends in a vague party, does not feel too awkward if doors are left open. Usually, the only two words that are enough to start a chat are, “Long time?” The rest takes care of itself. Anyway, I digress.
If there is any significant change that is worth a mention, is that I am now very happily married. I have had a wonderful relationship with a nice girl who I now proudly introduce to one and all as my wife, Meghana. I think we have the shortest love story and that speaks nothing of the largeness of our lives together as man and wife. We met at work. We travelled together. We fell in love with each other. We mentioned it to the respective families and bla-ba-da-boom! We got engaged and married (with blessings from everyone… no masala there). But that I think was only the beginning. What came after the wedding was truly an experience.
Our honeymoon was in Italy where we enjoyed the crisp air and crisper pizza dough, soft gentle rains like the pasta at a small cozy tavern, a quiet time that sat undisturbed in bottles of red-wine on tables and long walks on swirly roads hugging the mountain-sides like spaghetti clings to the fork. We saw passion for art and nonchalant teenagers from varied origins walking right past it. We witnessed streets filled with people and cobbled stone lanes bereft of life. Sunny days that had no trace of heat and the rain felt cold and warm all at once. We saw the country-side and the major cities and felt like aliens in a somewhat familiar land. But all in all, we fell in love with a new country and a little more in love with each other. That was really the beginning of our love story.
When I was younger, I have had my share of musings with the fairer sex. And in those experiences I had learnt how important it is to find a friend to be with rather than struggling to convince a friend to be more. In the times when I was single, I dreamt of having a wife who would be that friend… idealistic is it not? Every matured man may look for someone like that. A friend to live with and every man who has claimed to find that perfect match has ended up confessing to a “marriage” rather than that “friendship” he desired. Not me, though. I am married to my friend for almost two years now and it is an awesome ride. We are the kind of people who care not for what conventional marriages are “supposed” to be. Where couples fight over adjustments, we adjust over our disagreement to fight with each other. Of course there are arguments and then there are conclusions; very conclusive closures. And then, a sea of love follows such 30 minute discussions. Egos? Yes, of course, those do clash too but the thing that means happiness to the other, takes precedence and soon the egos give in to a kind word of forgiveness, begged and granted in an instance.
I don’t mean to harp about my wife as if she was perfect but her imperfections are what I fell in love with and I still love dearly. It makes her human. She is not pretentious, nor absurdly forthcoming. She is not clumsy (a bit forgetful but that’s OK). She loves to love and hates to hate. Demands little and provides more, speaks a lot yet listens with as much passion and most importantly, holds no emotion back. I dreamt of having a wife that had a passion to live with enthusiasm despite any odd conditions. That dream has come true for me. I love my wife for everything that she is… but I love her even more for everything that she is not. I dedicate this post to her.
Thank you Meghana, for being what I always wanted my wife to be. I love you and always will, promise!
Thursday, December 27, 2007
Phobo-philia
I envy children; as much as I hate them. Those bratty little hooligans can take a toll on your peace and sanity but that’s the very thing I envy the most. Do what you think is right and no one is going to blame you for it. Kick people where you feel they deserve it and the smile back, pull your cheeks and say, “naughty boy” and wink at your mom. Spit all over the place, pee at will, cry, make noise, run around the house with no conscience nagging you… I was not like that. Now I feel I missed doing what I was licensed to do.
But there is something I can never get over; the sense of fear that they have and the fear we live in (at our age) is poles apart. What do children fear? Nothing! There are a lot of children who fear the darkness or the monster in the closet, they fear their own shadow but for how long? Till the night passes? Or lesser still, till they fall asleep? I sometimes fear sleep itself. Dreadful dreams; work pressure speaking to you in the middle of the night, sometimes gnawing at you even during the day; Bosses, their temper and ego, parents, their temper and ego… even your own temper and ego cross your life and jolt you now and then. I fear silence, I fear loneliness, I fear my future and there is nothing that comes without fear as side dish. I thought growing up was all about learning how to get rid of fear but no one told me there was fine print that read, “get rid of one fear and the other comes free after the first.”
Few find sense in their fear(s); fewer find their answers lying hidden within their fear(s). “Fear does pose questions and finding answers to them is the way to get rid of fear”, is what some philosophers say. Others opine, “When you look through fear, it will vanish by its own virtue. For fear is nothing but a figment of your own imagination.” I feel fear appears like God when its time for you to introspect or set things right for yourself. We keep looking for signs from god when we are dreading something and the solution is lurking within that darkness.
I stand by it: when fear strikes, be prepared to know what’s beyond it. All you need is one bold step towards the battle against your own dark side.
But there is something I can never get over; the sense of fear that they have and the fear we live in (at our age) is poles apart. What do children fear? Nothing! There are a lot of children who fear the darkness or the monster in the closet, they fear their own shadow but for how long? Till the night passes? Or lesser still, till they fall asleep? I sometimes fear sleep itself. Dreadful dreams; work pressure speaking to you in the middle of the night, sometimes gnawing at you even during the day; Bosses, their temper and ego, parents, their temper and ego… even your own temper and ego cross your life and jolt you now and then. I fear silence, I fear loneliness, I fear my future and there is nothing that comes without fear as side dish. I thought growing up was all about learning how to get rid of fear but no one told me there was fine print that read, “get rid of one fear and the other comes free after the first.”
Few find sense in their fear(s); fewer find their answers lying hidden within their fear(s). “Fear does pose questions and finding answers to them is the way to get rid of fear”, is what some philosophers say. Others opine, “When you look through fear, it will vanish by its own virtue. For fear is nothing but a figment of your own imagination.” I feel fear appears like God when its time for you to introspect or set things right for yourself. We keep looking for signs from god when we are dreading something and the solution is lurking within that darkness.
I stand by it: when fear strikes, be prepared to know what’s beyond it. All you need is one bold step towards the battle against your own dark side.
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Natures Rave
I went for a little party the other weekend.
This lovely person called Monsoon invited me. It was very nice of him to send me a shower that said, “It is time you took some time out, friend. Here is a lovely opportunity for you. There is little get together and you should come along to let your feet dangle and head swing to some fab music by DJ River Featuring Waterfalls and the Sparkling streams. Not to mention the Trees are going to be performing a little jig for you. Venue: Close to Pune, time… whenever the hell you like”
So, I took up the offer and organized a trip to Pune with a friend of mine, who has two friends staying there and they know the city well. Little did I know, what was in store for us.
The morning after we reached Pune, we hired a car and decided to let the host (Monsoon) take over from there on. 40 Km south of Pune, waited our first welcome committee. A small stream that trickled out of the big fat wall of Munshi Damn came out to greet us at the bridge. The carpets laid out, were all green and a mix of different shades of it, too. The sky pulled a perfect roof of clouds over us, which made it difficult for us to know what time of the day it was. Not to mention, it struck a perfect contrast to the lovely greens. We then moved on. A serpentine, gray road kept taking us higher and higher like an elevator. The greens grew darker and lighter at each turn and the small droplets of rain kept attacking us like a naughty child’s idea of bothering the guests. A boisterous gust was playing a lovely tune while the trees, the tall grass, fat bushes, all danced to the music. We would stall the car every five minutes and take a walk on the wet gray road. Mist rolled down from nowhere and waterfalls found their way from dizzying heights to the one rock where they would gush and gurgle to add another instrument to the orchestra of Nature.
Overwhelming sights were presented to us as we ordered for chai and biscuits. Sitting right in the center of a meadow we watched a boar grunt, buffalo herds being driven out and in the distance there lay a vast expanse of a lake with jetties hanging menacingly, over the clear yet gray waters. A dark cloud would fill the horizon, as we would watch for a great black Viking ship to break the mist and roll over to our side. Of course, that was not going to happen but darkness was having its effects. The party continued but the guests were all starting to get tired, a little edgy and the rains almost threw a tantrum. So we all decided to let them clear up behind us and we would relish the drive back to civilization.
At that point in time, I had no inclination towards returning. All of this was a scene straight out of the Shire and the images still play in my mind. We made a small attempt to capture beauty in our little cameras and what you see here is only a fraction of a fraction, of what we witnessed and more importantly, what we experienced.
This lovely person called Monsoon invited me. It was very nice of him to send me a shower that said, “It is time you took some time out, friend. Here is a lovely opportunity for you. There is little get together and you should come along to let your feet dangle and head swing to some fab music by DJ River Featuring Waterfalls and the Sparkling streams. Not to mention the Trees are going to be performing a little jig for you. Venue: Close to Pune, time… whenever the hell you like”
So, I took up the offer and organized a trip to Pune with a friend of mine, who has two friends staying there and they know the city well. Little did I know, what was in store for us.
The morning after we reached Pune, we hired a car and decided to let the host (Monsoon) take over from there on. 40 Km south of Pune, waited our first welcome committee. A small stream that trickled out of the big fat wall of Munshi Damn came out to greet us at the bridge. The carpets laid out, were all green and a mix of different shades of it, too. The sky pulled a perfect roof of clouds over us, which made it difficult for us to know what time of the day it was. Not to mention, it struck a perfect contrast to the lovely greens. We then moved on. A serpentine, gray road kept taking us higher and higher like an elevator. The greens grew darker and lighter at each turn and the small droplets of rain kept attacking us like a naughty child’s idea of bothering the guests. A boisterous gust was playing a lovely tune while the trees, the tall grass, fat bushes, all danced to the music. We would stall the car every five minutes and take a walk on the wet gray road. Mist rolled down from nowhere and waterfalls found their way from dizzying heights to the one rock where they would gush and gurgle to add another instrument to the orchestra of Nature.
Overwhelming sights were presented to us as we ordered for chai and biscuits. Sitting right in the center of a meadow we watched a boar grunt, buffalo herds being driven out and in the distance there lay a vast expanse of a lake with jetties hanging menacingly, over the clear yet gray waters. A dark cloud would fill the horizon, as we would watch for a great black Viking ship to break the mist and roll over to our side. Of course, that was not going to happen but darkness was having its effects. The party continued but the guests were all starting to get tired, a little edgy and the rains almost threw a tantrum. So we all decided to let them clear up behind us and we would relish the drive back to civilization.
At that point in time, I had no inclination towards returning. All of this was a scene straight out of the Shire and the images still play in my mind. We made a small attempt to capture beauty in our little cameras and what you see here is only a fraction of a fraction, of what we witnessed and more importantly, what we experienced.
Sunday, July 01, 2007
Writing Blues
Why have I lost my taste in writing? Why have I become passive to the one medium that allows me to be free with my thought? What has gone wrong?
I always wondered if it was a good idea to make your hobby, your profession and the answer is, “I don’t know”. I have tried thinking of it as a positive phenomenon but it just doesn’t come to a point, where I am completely convinced about it. Sometimes your profession makes you sick to the bone and you try taking solace in the fact that it is your “hobby”, thus, it must be fun. Conclusion? I must be tired.
So what have I done about it?
Nothing out of the box, really. A few days off because I suffered from Positional Vertigo… (I’m in no mood to explain what it is… look it up!), some movies… Lost season 2 is done with… some books (trust me, I was reading two books simultaneously) and driving around with friends. It did not help much but it did refresh my thought process. The funny part is, I got back to work and within a week, fatigue set in again. Now, what must one do? One has concluded that one must get out of the city. So, I have plans to go to Pune shortly and take three days off. I know this post has almost made you loose interest now and that is my point exactly; I don’t know what to write. I have lost the touch because now I only write 30 second commercials. This post seems menacingly long and it is beginning to annoy me because I still don’t see the point in typing all this out. I guess I will drop it here for now. Hopefully I will come back with something more interesting. So, all my loyal readers, (if I have any) please don’t hold this post against me. I’m just not in the “zone” yet.
I always wondered if it was a good idea to make your hobby, your profession and the answer is, “I don’t know”. I have tried thinking of it as a positive phenomenon but it just doesn’t come to a point, where I am completely convinced about it. Sometimes your profession makes you sick to the bone and you try taking solace in the fact that it is your “hobby”, thus, it must be fun. Conclusion? I must be tired.
So what have I done about it?
Nothing out of the box, really. A few days off because I suffered from Positional Vertigo… (I’m in no mood to explain what it is… look it up!), some movies… Lost season 2 is done with… some books (trust me, I was reading two books simultaneously) and driving around with friends. It did not help much but it did refresh my thought process. The funny part is, I got back to work and within a week, fatigue set in again. Now, what must one do? One has concluded that one must get out of the city. So, I have plans to go to Pune shortly and take three days off. I know this post has almost made you loose interest now and that is my point exactly; I don’t know what to write. I have lost the touch because now I only write 30 second commercials. This post seems menacingly long and it is beginning to annoy me because I still don’t see the point in typing all this out. I guess I will drop it here for now. Hopefully I will come back with something more interesting. So, all my loyal readers, (if I have any) please don’t hold this post against me. I’m just not in the “zone” yet.
Thursday, March 01, 2007
You Give Me Fever
It feels strange when your odyssey ends. Although you have gone through a hell-like experience for most part of your stormy journey, the rewards seem sweet. Sometimes there are no rewards yet a sense of the slightest achievement is ecstatic. The long and the short of it: I feel like Simbad when he returned with his princess. Sometimes I wonder if he was a Mallu from Kunnur but that’s another story.
BIG FM is history, for all practical purposes. But I miss the place. Come to think of it, that’s the catch. I miss my friends, colleagues, associates, the assholes at the top but heck, I am so glad to be out of the organization. All said and done, I received a warm welcome from vultures when I had joined the place and I got the sweetest farewell from them, as a fellow vulture, leaving the pack to invade browner deserts. (I would have said greener pastures if vultures ate grass, but they don’t call me a creative guy for nothing).
So, this vulture has arrived in a blood-red organization called Fever 104 FM. The newest kid on the block, is the result of Hindustan Times copulating Virgin Radio (now that’s the strangest thing I have said) and this place kicks some serious butt when it comes to knowing Radio. But the curse of the 82 never left my side even for the slightest moment. I enter a team of hungry wolves from the early days of middle earth. In the tongue of the commoners, they are better ill famed as “Sales Executives” and man, they can suck your brains out through your skull. Of course, I had to be a part of a team that does nothing to understand the medium they are dealing with. In the words of Meja, “Its all about the money, its all about the dum dum du-du-du-dum” and who gives a flying fuck about creativity, knowledge, feasibility… and such like terms. Having said that, I must admit, I am liking it, much more than BIG. I get to go home at 7:30 p.m. I see people when I go home and not half-dead sleeping dogs. For the unaware reader, I used to work till 1:00 a.m. every day, sometimes later.
Thus the proud sailor embarks upon a new journey of magical adventures and ugly clients with an attitude. Bon Voyage is what I told myself this morning before leaving home.
BIG FM is history, for all practical purposes. But I miss the place. Come to think of it, that’s the catch. I miss my friends, colleagues, associates, the assholes at the top but heck, I am so glad to be out of the organization. All said and done, I received a warm welcome from vultures when I had joined the place and I got the sweetest farewell from them, as a fellow vulture, leaving the pack to invade browner deserts. (I would have said greener pastures if vultures ate grass, but they don’t call me a creative guy for nothing).
So, this vulture has arrived in a blood-red organization called Fever 104 FM. The newest kid on the block, is the result of Hindustan Times copulating Virgin Radio (now that’s the strangest thing I have said) and this place kicks some serious butt when it comes to knowing Radio. But the curse of the 82 never left my side even for the slightest moment. I enter a team of hungry wolves from the early days of middle earth. In the tongue of the commoners, they are better ill famed as “Sales Executives” and man, they can suck your brains out through your skull. Of course, I had to be a part of a team that does nothing to understand the medium they are dealing with. In the words of Meja, “Its all about the money, its all about the dum dum du-du-du-dum” and who gives a flying fuck about creativity, knowledge, feasibility… and such like terms. Having said that, I must admit, I am liking it, much more than BIG. I get to go home at 7:30 p.m. I see people when I go home and not half-dead sleeping dogs. For the unaware reader, I used to work till 1:00 a.m. every day, sometimes later.
Thus the proud sailor embarks upon a new journey of magical adventures and ugly clients with an attitude. Bon Voyage is what I told myself this morning before leaving home.
Friday, January 19, 2007
Murder that ad and i shall pay you for it
He sat there with a frown and eyes squinting as he stared at nothing in particular and sharp was his nose as it twitched while he thought. His aggression, manifesting itself in the vibrations of his throat, as he prepares to speak. His left hand palmed his right fist, tightly clenched as if to protect a very important something from being stolen out of his hands. And he spoke with the authority of a U.S. General declaring war on Iraq. His forehead glistened with a bead of sweat as he opened his mouth and he uttered five words, in a low voice that was hard and cold like stalagmites in an arctic cave.
“IT HAS TO BE CLUTTER-BREAKING”
These rogues come in varied shape and form and they are better known as ‘clients’, dreaded by the agency, by every agency. It’s ironic that the reason for the existence of an agency is one and is also called, “the client”. The hand that feeds the mouth also pokes the tummy (and how?) My banter actually lies not in the inequities of the monster mentioned but in the five words he uttered. The old joke, if I may quote, is “you are unique, just like everyone else” and now this needs a change. The new version should be, “I want an ad that’s clutter breaking” Period. If every goddam client wants to break the clutter, allow us to make some first. The agency then brainstorms to come up with a “unique” idea that “breaks the clutter” and the client sits scratching his little chin. He then paces the room staring at the screen displaying slides of the presentation. A sip of water, an occasional grunt, a throat clearing ritual and lo, you have a client stripped of all that aggression he had displayed in the previous meeting. His face tightens and he looks at you with the concern of a mother and says, “well, nice idea but is this not too early to experiment such a drastic shift in conventional advertising?” You pathetic bastard… what else do you call “clutter-breaking”? A female selling shaving cream for men is clutter; would a man selling shaving cream thus become, clutter-breaking?
That’s not where the buck stops. You give him an ad he would like and he will kill it for you. Changes, as they are known, are his right to cruelty for he pays you to be victims of it. After a thousand such changes, you look at your own creation and wonder if it was your idea in the first place. You started off with an image and a headline and a body copy that flowed evenly, ample white space, lovely font and strategically placed logo. What you end up looking at, is a notice from the court. The image is gone, the white space is a waste of his money, the logo has to be larger than the goddam print area itself and the copy has to have the eighty-five-year-old history of the company and the future it promises in the next eighty years. Not finished yet, it should also tell you who the CEO is and how did he become the CEO and who wiped his poop when he couldn’t do it himself in sixth grade. Everything.
I don’t even know why am I writing all this in the first place… I belong to the radio industry… but they are no different there, either. In my case, my bosses are my clients… go figure my sadness out.
“IT HAS TO BE CLUTTER-BREAKING”
These rogues come in varied shape and form and they are better known as ‘clients’, dreaded by the agency, by every agency. It’s ironic that the reason for the existence of an agency is one and is also called, “the client”. The hand that feeds the mouth also pokes the tummy (and how?) My banter actually lies not in the inequities of the monster mentioned but in the five words he uttered. The old joke, if I may quote, is “you are unique, just like everyone else” and now this needs a change. The new version should be, “I want an ad that’s clutter breaking” Period. If every goddam client wants to break the clutter, allow us to make some first. The agency then brainstorms to come up with a “unique” idea that “breaks the clutter” and the client sits scratching his little chin. He then paces the room staring at the screen displaying slides of the presentation. A sip of water, an occasional grunt, a throat clearing ritual and lo, you have a client stripped of all that aggression he had displayed in the previous meeting. His face tightens and he looks at you with the concern of a mother and says, “well, nice idea but is this not too early to experiment such a drastic shift in conventional advertising?” You pathetic bastard… what else do you call “clutter-breaking”? A female selling shaving cream for men is clutter; would a man selling shaving cream thus become, clutter-breaking?
That’s not where the buck stops. You give him an ad he would like and he will kill it for you. Changes, as they are known, are his right to cruelty for he pays you to be victims of it. After a thousand such changes, you look at your own creation and wonder if it was your idea in the first place. You started off with an image and a headline and a body copy that flowed evenly, ample white space, lovely font and strategically placed logo. What you end up looking at, is a notice from the court. The image is gone, the white space is a waste of his money, the logo has to be larger than the goddam print area itself and the copy has to have the eighty-five-year-old history of the company and the future it promises in the next eighty years. Not finished yet, it should also tell you who the CEO is and how did he become the CEO and who wiped his poop when he couldn’t do it himself in sixth grade. Everything.
I don’t even know why am I writing all this in the first place… I belong to the radio industry… but they are no different there, either. In my case, my bosses are my clients… go figure my sadness out.
Saturday, January 13, 2007
Condition Zero - the mind game
The times when you want to return to that one state of mind that is ‘state of zero’ for all good reasons, are simply those times when you never want to turn around and ask yourself how you got to it in the first place.
Allow me to explain… Once in a way (invariably when you are alone and never want to be otherwise) your mind finds this one niche that is so peaceful, that you don’t want to move away. Maybe you might even feel a smile but that is the beauty of it… you never want to see it; just feel it.
For the irony, we have a simple sound of the earth calling you back; maybe just that message on your cell phone from a bank offering you credit cards at no additional cost; it brings you back, never-the-less. So here you are trying to run from everything that was ever taught to you and it’s the same ‘enemy’ that can pull you right back into itself, with the slightest whisper.
I guess I found one song that came close to that feeling. In terms of music, it is the only song that can take me there and then I discovered the lyrics… a little difficult to understand at first but the absolute pleasure lies in relating to it.
For your reading pleasure:
Angel (Sarah McLaughlin)
Spend all your time waiting
For that second chance
For a break that would make it okay
There’s always one reason
To feel not good enough
And it’s hard at the end of the day
I need some distraction
Oh beautiful release
Memory seeps from my veins
Let me be empty
And weightless and maybe
I’ll find some peace tonight
In the arms of an angel
Fly away from here
From this dark cold hotel room
And the endlessness that you fear
You are pulled from the wreckage
Of your silent reverie
You’re in the arms of the angel
May you find some comfort here.
So tired of the straight line
And everywhere you turn
There’s vultures and thieves at your back
And the storm keeps on twisting
You keep on building the lie
That you make up for all that you lack
It don’t make no difference
Escaping one last time
It’s easier to believe in this sweet madness oh
This glorious sadness that brings me to my knees
In the arms of an angel
Fly away from here
From this dark cold hotel room
And the endlessness that you fear
You are pulled from the wreckage
Of your silent reverie
You’re in the arms of the angel
May you find some comfort there
You’re in the arms of the angel
May you find some comfort here
Allow me to explain… Once in a way (invariably when you are alone and never want to be otherwise) your mind finds this one niche that is so peaceful, that you don’t want to move away. Maybe you might even feel a smile but that is the beauty of it… you never want to see it; just feel it.
For the irony, we have a simple sound of the earth calling you back; maybe just that message on your cell phone from a bank offering you credit cards at no additional cost; it brings you back, never-the-less. So here you are trying to run from everything that was ever taught to you and it’s the same ‘enemy’ that can pull you right back into itself, with the slightest whisper.
I guess I found one song that came close to that feeling. In terms of music, it is the only song that can take me there and then I discovered the lyrics… a little difficult to understand at first but the absolute pleasure lies in relating to it.
For your reading pleasure:
Angel (Sarah McLaughlin)
Spend all your time waiting
For that second chance
For a break that would make it okay
There’s always one reason
To feel not good enough
And it’s hard at the end of the day
I need some distraction
Oh beautiful release
Memory seeps from my veins
Let me be empty
And weightless and maybe
I’ll find some peace tonight
In the arms of an angel
Fly away from here
From this dark cold hotel room
And the endlessness that you fear
You are pulled from the wreckage
Of your silent reverie
You’re in the arms of the angel
May you find some comfort here.
So tired of the straight line
And everywhere you turn
There’s vultures and thieves at your back
And the storm keeps on twisting
You keep on building the lie
That you make up for all that you lack
It don’t make no difference
Escaping one last time
It’s easier to believe in this sweet madness oh
This glorious sadness that brings me to my knees
In the arms of an angel
Fly away from here
From this dark cold hotel room
And the endlessness that you fear
You are pulled from the wreckage
Of your silent reverie
You’re in the arms of the angel
May you find some comfort there
You’re in the arms of the angel
May you find some comfort here
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
Its about time I wrote. Or is it?
Sometimes you regret the fact that you have a choice. Its probably as bad as not having any. It happens when you make a wrong choice and Murphy comes to play each and every time. I am not quite thrilled about the work I’m doing for the past few months and this is quite a sad thing to say but the station (radio) I’m working for is not going to survive even a couple of years. Its ironic that I’m in the office right now as I type this out but hey, that’s how bad it is.
The pleasure of going home is greater than the work done in the day. The sense of achievement has been lost on me. The sense of creativity is an alien concept all together. I am a writer and now they make me hate that fact. (if this is now becoming a non-sensical rant then please feel free to view happier blogs). There was a time when I could be confident of what I wrote; only once would I write it and it was a masterpiece at least in my mind. There were several who supported the feeling with zeal and more but now, here, it’s a vice to submit a singular concept. Take a brief (a sad excuse for a brief) think of two or three routes to approach the ad to be produced, write it all out with complete sound design and then one is selected with others going down in dumps.
Sometimes its worse… the selection is done by three different “authorities” and all three select the three different ideas. Then ego hassles will shoot up into cold war among the three and I get stuck in the “grind”.
Well, its not the happiest post to put up after a three month sabbatical but that’s the point, I just don’t have anything else to say to you poor souls (my victims).
Come to think of it, all the blogs I have recently visited are having the same bloody rant… damn! I got sold out to the concept of popularity.
The pleasure of going home is greater than the work done in the day. The sense of achievement has been lost on me. The sense of creativity is an alien concept all together. I am a writer and now they make me hate that fact. (if this is now becoming a non-sensical rant then please feel free to view happier blogs). There was a time when I could be confident of what I wrote; only once would I write it and it was a masterpiece at least in my mind. There were several who supported the feeling with zeal and more but now, here, it’s a vice to submit a singular concept. Take a brief (a sad excuse for a brief) think of two or three routes to approach the ad to be produced, write it all out with complete sound design and then one is selected with others going down in dumps.
Sometimes its worse… the selection is done by three different “authorities” and all three select the three different ideas. Then ego hassles will shoot up into cold war among the three and I get stuck in the “grind”.
Well, its not the happiest post to put up after a three month sabbatical but that’s the point, I just don’t have anything else to say to you poor souls (my victims).
Come to think of it, all the blogs I have recently visited are having the same bloody rant… damn! I got sold out to the concept of popularity.
Monday, September 04, 2006
Me Big Boss!
A single most important issue with human nature is its tendency to look for something it can not tackle. Complications spring up more because we want them to. Implicitly, it is a boost to any human’s large ego. What could also be the case, (which I have concluded after much deliberation) is that we constantly look for attention. If not in the form of approval, then in the form of pity. If not from near-and-dears then from ourselves but we want to know that we are dealing with life just perfectly.
We want to figure out all the nuances and sometimes nuances that don’t exist. We want to have a control over situations that are uncontrollable by making ourselves believe it is within bounds of human control. A simple example is an everyday argument. I’m not saying that there is absolutely no reason to put forth your point of view but more often than not, we want to simply raise issues so that we can tackle them. Not meaning to sound like a saint from the Himalayas but I do understand this from experience. I have tried this several times… let go of some issues completely. If someone says something you don’t like, don’t utter a word. Simply nod and try looking for a reason to like the point made. If you cant find any, still shut up and go ahead with the conversation. Then, if you still feel an urge to refute, go ahead. But you will definitely sto being a control freak or at least feel nobler than the rest of the world.
Think about it while I go and do some more deep thinking… (deep breath taken and eyes shut)
We want to figure out all the nuances and sometimes nuances that don’t exist. We want to have a control over situations that are uncontrollable by making ourselves believe it is within bounds of human control. A simple example is an everyday argument. I’m not saying that there is absolutely no reason to put forth your point of view but more often than not, we want to simply raise issues so that we can tackle them. Not meaning to sound like a saint from the Himalayas but I do understand this from experience. I have tried this several times… let go of some issues completely. If someone says something you don’t like, don’t utter a word. Simply nod and try looking for a reason to like the point made. If you cant find any, still shut up and go ahead with the conversation. Then, if you still feel an urge to refute, go ahead. But you will definitely sto being a control freak or at least feel nobler than the rest of the world.
Think about it while I go and do some more deep thinking… (deep breath taken and eyes shut)
Sunday, August 27, 2006
Memorablia
Putting up pictures and videos to comemorate oone;s escapades is nice. In honor of such wise and meaningful thoughts, one has started off with a new blog which features the pictographic remains of journeys embarked upon... knock yourself out... mind you, the videos might take some time to load. patience is required.
Its called Memorablia
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Un-bored
I feel proud of myself at times. I guess that is a good thing. I find pride in knowing that I actually make use of my time. The fact of the matter is that a whole lot of people have no time to do anything. They are busy either with work or with telling people how busy they are. No really, I know people who spend a half hour on the phone trying to explain to you how much work they have and how their minds have been molested by the unwanted.
I don’t have any work to do. But I have heard “the wise owls” say, “you are lucky. Make use of this time and do things you always felt like doing. Take up a hobby.” What do you know? I did.
I always felt incomplete when the world around me spoke of the magic of books in their lives. All of them, except me, in their school days and college days seem to have finished reading bundles of books. They discuss authors like they were old pals and poets like they knew the very essence of why they wrote. It made me feel out of place and also a little bad about the fact that my parents did not push me too much to read. There it was, all too easy to blame them and sit back and grumble. Until a few days ago, I kept procrastinating, the idea of actually starting with a book. I feared font size 8 and 512 pages like it were a beast out of the bush. Then came along the power of technology and the introduction of a concept that hard core readers swore at and I would swear by: e-books; absolutely convenient to say the least. E-books are available so easily off the net and can be magnified and bookmarked and sometimes if you feel too lazy to read, ask the damn computer to read it out to you.
I finished four of Dan Brown books and I enjoyed them all. Then an Ayn Rand book which I almost slept through. Othello is next on the list but right now, its one of the greatest epics that managed to form cults all over the world: The Lord of the Rings. Enthusiasts will be glad to know that I have this book complete with the prequel (The Hobbit) and the maps (all the maps) and the tree chart of the families. I am presently hunting for Macbeth.
That’s not all. I am also watching the entire first season of LOST at my own pace. It is an awesome series. Next on the serials’ list would have to be “24”. Also I finished an entire game called “Hitman” recently and am planning to upgrade my comp so as to facilitate more games.
I don’t have any work to do. But I have heard “the wise owls” say, “you are lucky. Make use of this time and do things you always felt like doing. Take up a hobby.” What do you know? I did.
I always felt incomplete when the world around me spoke of the magic of books in their lives. All of them, except me, in their school days and college days seem to have finished reading bundles of books. They discuss authors like they were old pals and poets like they knew the very essence of why they wrote. It made me feel out of place and also a little bad about the fact that my parents did not push me too much to read. There it was, all too easy to blame them and sit back and grumble. Until a few days ago, I kept procrastinating, the idea of actually starting with a book. I feared font size 8 and 512 pages like it were a beast out of the bush. Then came along the power of technology and the introduction of a concept that hard core readers swore at and I would swear by: e-books; absolutely convenient to say the least. E-books are available so easily off the net and can be magnified and bookmarked and sometimes if you feel too lazy to read, ask the damn computer to read it out to you.
I finished four of Dan Brown books and I enjoyed them all. Then an Ayn Rand book which I almost slept through. Othello is next on the list but right now, its one of the greatest epics that managed to form cults all over the world: The Lord of the Rings. Enthusiasts will be glad to know that I have this book complete with the prequel (The Hobbit) and the maps (all the maps) and the tree chart of the families. I am presently hunting for Macbeth.
That’s not all. I am also watching the entire first season of LOST at my own pace. It is an awesome series. Next on the serials’ list would have to be “24”. Also I finished an entire game called “Hitman” recently and am planning to upgrade my comp so as to facilitate more games.
The point, my friends, is that when one has time, making use of it leaves no scope of regret later. I am thrilled to know that I am not busy with work or telling people that I am busy… on the contrary; it is fun when people nickname me “Lucky bastard”… (muhuhahaha)
Saturday, August 05, 2006
Monday, July 17, 2006
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Mumbai Rocked… Again!
After a year, Mumbai has been taken by shock but this time it is no ploy of Mother Nature; only some terrorists who tried to prove a point which they have not made. I personally saw it coming, like another friend did. What’s the most vulnerable region where security is minimum and potential damage, maximum? Local trains.
A lot has happened in 12 hours and there is no denying how heart wrenching these past few hours have been and still the spirit lives on and people are back to work. A sight we Mumbaikars are pleasantly surprised to see, even though we are a part of it. What I mean is, we all are back on the go and we all know we can not do much about the casualties and we will mumble under our breaths about the bad security and then in a few days, we won’t bother about it anymore. Clearly, the people who have been in the planning forum are not Mumbaikars. They should know that this is like a dent in the average Mumbaikar’s memory and no more. Terror? Hell no. It’s just one small glitch in the routinely running system which will continue to run in the same, unperturbed way. We all celebrate the spirit of Mumbai and say, “nothing can stop this city” with great pride. Is it really a matter of pride?
We get back to work like an unstoppable gear system because we know we have to. I will call Mumbaikars a sensible lot but they are not the “wow” that we make them out to be. They can’t afford to stop working. They can’t not go to work because they are scared out of their pants. If they do, the consequences are dire, leading to a dent in their income and hence in their entire lifestyle; too much of a price to pay for something as simple as being scared. So, the fear has been driven out of a Mumbaikar by his lust for a higher level of lifestyle and not because he has “the spirit to move on and not look back.” I’m sympathetic towards all those who have lost their family and friends in this unfortunate and rather meaningless mishap and with all due respect, even these people, after the thirteenth day, are going to move on to live their lives. Why should someone stop living because someone close to them has died? Unfortunate? Yes but not impossible or unbelievable. People die. I am just trying to look at this “spirit of Mumbai” thing in a rather realistic light. I feel it’s an overstated fact that can be proven wrong by an even worse attempt to make this city fall on its knees. The more we pat our backs, the more the incumbents will try to stick the peg into the gears.
May the dead rest in peace. May their families find courage to face their loss. I’m sure Mumbai definitely will.
A lot has happened in 12 hours and there is no denying how heart wrenching these past few hours have been and still the spirit lives on and people are back to work. A sight we Mumbaikars are pleasantly surprised to see, even though we are a part of it. What I mean is, we all are back on the go and we all know we can not do much about the casualties and we will mumble under our breaths about the bad security and then in a few days, we won’t bother about it anymore. Clearly, the people who have been in the planning forum are not Mumbaikars. They should know that this is like a dent in the average Mumbaikar’s memory and no more. Terror? Hell no. It’s just one small glitch in the routinely running system which will continue to run in the same, unperturbed way. We all celebrate the spirit of Mumbai and say, “nothing can stop this city” with great pride. Is it really a matter of pride?
We get back to work like an unstoppable gear system because we know we have to. I will call Mumbaikars a sensible lot but they are not the “wow” that we make them out to be. They can’t afford to stop working. They can’t not go to work because they are scared out of their pants. If they do, the consequences are dire, leading to a dent in their income and hence in their entire lifestyle; too much of a price to pay for something as simple as being scared. So, the fear has been driven out of a Mumbaikar by his lust for a higher level of lifestyle and not because he has “the spirit to move on and not look back.” I’m sympathetic towards all those who have lost their family and friends in this unfortunate and rather meaningless mishap and with all due respect, even these people, after the thirteenth day, are going to move on to live their lives. Why should someone stop living because someone close to them has died? Unfortunate? Yes but not impossible or unbelievable. People die. I am just trying to look at this “spirit of Mumbai” thing in a rather realistic light. I feel it’s an overstated fact that can be proven wrong by an even worse attempt to make this city fall on its knees. The more we pat our backs, the more the incumbents will try to stick the peg into the gears.
May the dead rest in peace. May their families find courage to face their loss. I’m sure Mumbai definitely will.
The new and (definitely) the improved
After much labor we have finally improved the sound of:
Nishaniyaan (click to be victimized)
Lyrics: Rakshit Doshi
Music: Austin D’souza
Vocals: Shaban Khan
(This song is dedicated to our boredom and creativity. We can’t decide which came first)
Nishaniyaan (click to be victimized)
Lyrics: Rakshit Doshi
Music: Austin D’souza
Vocals: Shaban Khan
(This song is dedicated to our boredom and creativity. We can’t decide which came first)
Thursday, July 06, 2006
What the hell?
One sits at home pondering over what shall be done about boredom. One reads a book and can’t stay up. One plays a computer game only to be frustrated with constant and persistent failure to kill random soldiers and some general as a mission protocol. Then the Lord said… let there be music… and one follows the inner voice to attempt making music.
Proud to present the very first attempt at home production in both, national language and English.
Anno domini
Nishaniyaan (guitars by Austin D'suza)
In case my willing victims have limited downloading problems with their ISP then this link will take you to a page which allows online streaming (for those technologically challenged, you do not have to download these torture-tunes, you can listen to it online by pressing the Play button)
Your feedbacks are NOT welcome... These musical works of art are strictly for the sake of ‘time pass’ and shall not be produced/distributed/copied by anyone in their own interest.
Word of Advice: Wear ear plugs.
Proud to present the very first attempt at home production in both, national language and English.
Anno domini
Nishaniyaan (guitars by Austin D'suza)
In case my willing victims have limited downloading problems with their ISP then this link will take you to a page which allows online streaming (for those technologically challenged, you do not have to download these torture-tunes, you can listen to it online by pressing the Play button)
Your feedbacks are NOT welcome... These musical works of art are strictly for the sake of ‘time pass’ and shall not be produced/distributed/copied by anyone in their own interest.
Word of Advice: Wear ear plugs.
Monday, July 03, 2006
Listen to the Unheard
So I waited there at the shore for a voice to call me. The sea was violent and there was no space between two raging white waves as they rammed the shore. I was geared for the Rain Gods to test me and I am sure, the boulders at the bottom of the ledge, where I stood, were geared for the wild oceans unforgiving rage; for they stood unperturbed by the brutal force on display. A million eyes watched the sea in awe. Two of them were mine. Little children felt their parents were divine as they hung on to them in fear and surprise. Couples bit on corn as they spoke of distant lands where they would build their quiet home. Umbrellas twisted in pain and the saree-clad ladies laughed as splashes of the sea playfully teased them. They were looking free and away from their mundane existence for a while as thy spoke of happiness to their friends. Now I was not sure if these people were watching the sea or was the sea witnessing the many colored clothes and more varied lives of people. A Million people who lived two or three lives each… how much more can the word ‘gamut’ mean to anyone.
Slowly, the voices around me started to ebb and I started listening to the sea. It said nothing. Nothing angered it. Nothing wanted to take any revenge on it. It spoke of no force that made it wild. It simply was having a nice time. It was excited with the rains setting in. It wanted to go unnoticed. In fact, it was tired of being watched all the time. It was fatigued with eyes judging it. It felt like a child who had a huge body but a tender heart. People who died in its huge form were not prey to its rage. It was their own fault; much like a monkey playing with the electric wire on a post. It was innocent. When it was done playing, it started to roll back into its natural calm and the clouds were done entertaining the sea. They, too, cleared the sky. The people moved away like getting out of a cinema hall, like they would, when the movie is over and the credits are rolling.
The tiled floor was now exposed to the few shadows of bodies that moved around and to the glimmer of the sodium lamps. A silent hum of the sea was broken only less often by the sudden violent wave, like a child’s coughing during evening mass. I still stood there. My legs felt no fatigue but they wanted to rest anyway. The silence was broken when my cell phone rang and the voice on the other side asked me where I was. I had no answer to the question for an instance but my voice cracked as I replied, “Worli Sea Face, you?”
Slowly, the voices around me started to ebb and I started listening to the sea. It said nothing. Nothing angered it. Nothing wanted to take any revenge on it. It spoke of no force that made it wild. It simply was having a nice time. It was excited with the rains setting in. It wanted to go unnoticed. In fact, it was tired of being watched all the time. It was fatigued with eyes judging it. It felt like a child who had a huge body but a tender heart. People who died in its huge form were not prey to its rage. It was their own fault; much like a monkey playing with the electric wire on a post. It was innocent. When it was done playing, it started to roll back into its natural calm and the clouds were done entertaining the sea. They, too, cleared the sky. The people moved away like getting out of a cinema hall, like they would, when the movie is over and the credits are rolling.
The tiled floor was now exposed to the few shadows of bodies that moved around and to the glimmer of the sodium lamps. A silent hum of the sea was broken only less often by the sudden violent wave, like a child’s coughing during evening mass. I still stood there. My legs felt no fatigue but they wanted to rest anyway. The silence was broken when my cell phone rang and the voice on the other side asked me where I was. I had no answer to the question for an instance but my voice cracked as I replied, “Worli Sea Face, you?”
Thursday, June 29, 2006
BHAISAAB, UTARNA HAI KYA?!
Yes, you guessed it right; this is a story of a train journey. Short. Thirty-five minutes is all it takes from Grant Road to Santacruz. And this is a little incident we all encounter. Sort of a template for the quintessential Mumbai “trainee” (as in, a person who travels by the local train).
I am a meek traveller if I may say so. I am the sort of person who does not utter a word in a journey and to keep the omerta going, I carry my headset and listen to the radio on my cell phone. See no evil, hear no evil and most definitely, speak no evil. In the law books of train travellers, it is a mandate to learn at least five Hindi ‘evil’ terms because, well, it is required. I know more than five but it’s best to sit till the station you want to get off is the next one; get up at the right time, move slowly to the door and get off without being a cause of any discomfort. But this is Utopia. I never knew I could be anything but quiet. I realize now that I could.
Khar Road Station and I wait at the door to get off at the next station. The train is relatively empty and this dazed individual stands right behind me sticking his groin into my hip. “Hutt na! Mad@%$%^*&od!!!” I hear myself saying and thrusting him away. He moves away and looks at me funny and says, “Utarna hai kya?” So I scowl at him and indignantly reply, “Nahi, uss khambe pe oodi maarna hai” and point to the signal pole that is coming up ahead of us. He fails to understand and asks, “Santacruz kaunsi taraf aayega?”
I just gave up and showed him the wrong side. When the train pulled in, he jumped onto the tracks and leaped up to the platform on the other side. When I got off, a cold voice informed me, “Pocket check kar lo, chu%$^a kuch nikal na liya ho.” The blood froze in my veins as I felt my hip pocket and found no wallet. It took me an instant to remember that I had shoved it in my front pocket for I feared such a thing would happen. A bead of sweat formed on my forehead and trickled down as my blood finally thawed and I heaved a sigh of complete arrogance. I was now a member of the Mumbai Local Daily Travellers’ Club… Pukka Mumbaikar…
I am a meek traveller if I may say so. I am the sort of person who does not utter a word in a journey and to keep the omerta going, I carry my headset and listen to the radio on my cell phone. See no evil, hear no evil and most definitely, speak no evil. In the law books of train travellers, it is a mandate to learn at least five Hindi ‘evil’ terms because, well, it is required. I know more than five but it’s best to sit till the station you want to get off is the next one; get up at the right time, move slowly to the door and get off without being a cause of any discomfort. But this is Utopia. I never knew I could be anything but quiet. I realize now that I could.
Khar Road Station and I wait at the door to get off at the next station. The train is relatively empty and this dazed individual stands right behind me sticking his groin into my hip. “Hutt na! Mad@%$%^*&od!!!” I hear myself saying and thrusting him away. He moves away and looks at me funny and says, “Utarna hai kya?” So I scowl at him and indignantly reply, “Nahi, uss khambe pe oodi maarna hai” and point to the signal pole that is coming up ahead of us. He fails to understand and asks, “Santacruz kaunsi taraf aayega?”
I just gave up and showed him the wrong side. When the train pulled in, he jumped onto the tracks and leaped up to the platform on the other side. When I got off, a cold voice informed me, “Pocket check kar lo, chu%$^a kuch nikal na liya ho.” The blood froze in my veins as I felt my hip pocket and found no wallet. It took me an instant to remember that I had shoved it in my front pocket for I feared such a thing would happen. A bead of sweat formed on my forehead and trickled down as my blood finally thawed and I heaved a sigh of complete arrogance. I was now a member of the Mumbai Local Daily Travellers’ Club… Pukka Mumbaikar…
Thursday, June 22, 2006
…of random thoughts and drifting sands
I don’t like visits to a hospital. There is negativity just hanging in the air. Every molecule you breathe seems to be filled with aches and pains, moans and even death. Solemn faced doctors and emotionless ward-boys wheeling out the cripple or sometimes rolling in the unconscious. Strange smells of medicines, hurrying sergeants slitting skin and organs and running to perform their act on many unsuspecting patients… something just doesn’t seem right about hospitals. I went there for a check up of my hurting eye and returned with some medicines and a lot of depression.
I am angry with the rains. Coward rain threatens and never falls. I don’t even want to be complaining, actually. I am in no mood to dance around in the grey open expanse of the cloudy sky. Or eat an ice-cream in the shelter of a tin roof clattering with millions of droplets. I don’t want to walk on the shore of a violent sea struggling to engulf the land it can barely reach. Over ambitious, don’t you think? I don’t want the sweltering heat to disappear or the smell of wet mud to invade my senses. Why should I be thinking about lush green gardens and fresh flowers and dew-laden grass? Who needs rains? Do you?
We sold off the Zen we owned in exchange for a WagonR… good car but too small. I guess it was mom’s choice for a city-drive. Fair enough.
I have taken up reading e-books now. Finished one and half way through the other. It's far more comfortable for me to read large font on the computer screen as opposed to microscopic letters spruned on faintly oxidized pages of a thick, demoralizing novel. I know die-hard readers are loading their guns to shoot my eyes out of my skull but hey… your passion is the bane of my existence. Sorry!
Suddenly this lazy afternoon, as I lay on my back staring at the crack on my ceiling, I thought of taking an IQ test. I don’t know why. I just want to take an IQ test. I cant fail an IQ test now, can I? They are nice tests. They don’t upset you. They tell you that you have a brain that is thinking and its rationalizing. See? It is so positive to take an IQ test. All who are wasting their lives while you wait for some dimwits to sort out their ego hassles and give a nice employee a decent job, should take an IQ test. It will surely raise your spirits by telling you that the people you are dealing with (details) are far dumber then you can even imagine being. Fie on the HR dimwits! I shall be a part of the MENSA soon. (I hope I spelt that right)
My Mahableshwar trip is still trapped in the Olympus of my cousin. I want to feel good about the photography I do best. Flowers. I love flowers. Soon I shall be posting some pictures of the flowers I have shot and requesting the flower-experts to help me name the species. I don’t know jack-crap about plants. Sava?
Oh, I digressed while I was supposed to be checking the direction the crack on the ceiling is taking... an inch to the left, from the last I remember.
I am angry with the rains. Coward rain threatens and never falls. I don’t even want to be complaining, actually. I am in no mood to dance around in the grey open expanse of the cloudy sky. Or eat an ice-cream in the shelter of a tin roof clattering with millions of droplets. I don’t want to walk on the shore of a violent sea struggling to engulf the land it can barely reach. Over ambitious, don’t you think? I don’t want the sweltering heat to disappear or the smell of wet mud to invade my senses. Why should I be thinking about lush green gardens and fresh flowers and dew-laden grass? Who needs rains? Do you?
We sold off the Zen we owned in exchange for a WagonR… good car but too small. I guess it was mom’s choice for a city-drive. Fair enough.
I have taken up reading e-books now. Finished one and half way through the other. It's far more comfortable for me to read large font on the computer screen as opposed to microscopic letters spruned on faintly oxidized pages of a thick, demoralizing novel. I know die-hard readers are loading their guns to shoot my eyes out of my skull but hey… your passion is the bane of my existence. Sorry!
Suddenly this lazy afternoon, as I lay on my back staring at the crack on my ceiling, I thought of taking an IQ test. I don’t know why. I just want to take an IQ test. I cant fail an IQ test now, can I? They are nice tests. They don’t upset you. They tell you that you have a brain that is thinking and its rationalizing. See? It is so positive to take an IQ test. All who are wasting their lives while you wait for some dimwits to sort out their ego hassles and give a nice employee a decent job, should take an IQ test. It will surely raise your spirits by telling you that the people you are dealing with (details) are far dumber then you can even imagine being. Fie on the HR dimwits! I shall be a part of the MENSA soon. (I hope I spelt that right)
My Mahableshwar trip is still trapped in the Olympus of my cousin. I want to feel good about the photography I do best. Flowers. I love flowers. Soon I shall be posting some pictures of the flowers I have shot and requesting the flower-experts to help me name the species. I don’t know jack-crap about plants. Sava?
Oh, I digressed while I was supposed to be checking the direction the crack on the ceiling is taking... an inch to the left, from the last I remember.
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