Whistle Blower

I love train journeys. I can't say it enough and I can't get enough of them. So what if we still have only holes in the floors of our toilets or still have to rely on metal chains to secure our luggage. Train journeys are fun. And relaxing. And oh so comfortable! Unlike a bus journey, you don't have to worry about when the next pee stop will be and whether you will have to look for a thick bush or a big tree. Unlike a plane journey, you don't have to get to the place at some god forsaken hour and some hundreds of god forsaken hours before the scheduled departure. Nor worry about not looking good for the journey, or worse still wonder which one of your co passengers is carrying that suspicious looking piece of luggage.

No Sirre Bob. You get to the station either on time or later, because not in the history of Indian Railways has any train come before time. If it is late, you look at your fellow passengers, give that all knowing shake of head and comment about the state of Indian railways. Following which, you buy a book or magazine, plonk yourself on a small piece of ledge or bench, asking the people to skooch over and make a little place, while giving them the half apologetic, half "come-on-lets-be-nice-now" look. You may start reading you material but you still look around, to look out for any interesting specimens, and of course to make sure every five minutes that your luggage, which is at your feet, is still there and very much safe.

Since it is a place always bustling with people, your eyes don't linger long enough. Occasionally you catch someone else doing the same. You look away, you don't maintain eye contact for long. You don't want to discover acquaintances, you don't want to strike a conversation. You just want to bide your time till the train comes. Beggars approach you, you pretend to not notice them. They look at you, they stay for a while, they judge you. If you look easy, they don't move away till they see you dig into your purse/wallet for that coin. If you don't, they move to the next person. If the train is really late, you catch the same beggars again and again. The same rounds, the same expression, the same tone, the same perseverance.

You see someone interesting. A kid, a family, a lady, a man, a bunch of students, a group of nuns, a gang of what looks like ruffians. You look at them in between flipping pages of your reading material. You don't want to alarm them, make them feel conscious, break their rhythm, draw their attention to you. You wonder if they are locals or tourists. You try to decide based on their clothing and mannerisms. You wonder if they are boarding the same train, if they will be your companions for the next few hours. You wish they are, you wish they aren't.

There is a rustle on the platform, a collective movement. Someone heard a whistle, someone saw a train approaching. The announcements are read out over the microphone in the same monotone. You can barely catch it, except if you hear hard enough, the train number and/or the train name. All you rely on are the porters, who are the best source of information. They'll tell you which train is late before even the enquiry section comes to know of it. They'll even tell you why, if you ask them nice enough and if they are bored enough. Then they walk away. They have to be someplace, they have to make a living.

The train finally arrives. The whole platform is now alive. You see the mad rush for the doors of the general compartment. You let out a silent shudder, thanking your stars that you don't have to be a part of it. The snob in you wonders why they can't just be civil. The rest of you feels ashamed at that thought. You walk up to your bogie and see that the scene isn't too different here. The only difference is in the attire. People are still crowding around the door, not even letting the ones inside alight. You wait for it to clear.

You get inside, not even giving a second look to the station or platform. You are more bothered about finding your seat, securing your luggage and getting comfortable. Your journey has just begun.

Wine and Women

First things first. Hello, remember me?

Moving on. Old age is hitting me hard people! Barely a few days after my twenty *PEEP*th birthday, the signs are there for all to see. Health wise, it has been a roller coaster ride since the past few months.

Poisoned! Five of us, one reputed eat out. One person falls sick, and how. No prizes for guessing who that is. I shall spare you the details by summing it up in one sentence - "what goes in, immediately comes out". Nothing and I mean absolutely nothing was willing to stay inside. Eventually, I was on a diet of ORS (Oral Rehydration Solution) only. Yes, ORS is what kids suffering from diarrhea are given. And non diabetic old people.

Broke Back mole hill - Remember the torture mistress from an old post of mine? Yes, the aerobics instructor. Oops, she did it again. Before you get any ideas, let me be clear. After much deliberation I decided to get back to aerobics again because a rolling 5'2" ball isn't a pretty sight for the eyes. But alas, that wasn't to be. Lady Hitler gave us such a heavy workout, which included weightlifting, my poor lazy back gave way. Result? Excruciating pain, which got worse over time and caused a mini black out too. I won't lie to you, the episode was scary.

Salt or Pepper? Sigh. Spotted my first gray hair. Well, kinda. It isn't exactly gray. It is really light brownish and has bits of gray towards the end. Like it's still deciding whether to come out or not. Great, a gay strand of gray. Again, hadn't I mentioned somewhere on this blog itself that I would be proud of my gray hair? Well, I am. Just in an...erm..protected manner right now. So lets tuck it under the other healthy bunch of hair for the time being, ok? Ok!

Short and sighted - As if the above weren't enough cause for misery, along came a visit to the eye doctor. It was long due. I had noticed the blurriness some time back but had kept procrastinating. She confirmed my worst fears - I needed an extra pair of eyes. I have never found glasses to be flattering and I still don't. Contact lenses? And me? Hell, no! I'll probably poke my own eyes out thanks to my clumsiness and stubby-fingerness. One look at my phone and you'll know why I should be crowned Ms. Butterfingers. That poor device is scratched more than a flea infested mongrel.

So there you have it, my sob story. I just hope that 30, far as it may be, is less cruel to me. But just in case, I think I should get a set of dentures made now itself.

Book Review: The Lost Symbol

WARNING: THIS BLOGPOST CONTAINS A LOT, IF NOT MOST OF THE KEY SPOILERS FROM THE BOOK. IF YOU HAVEN'T READ IT ALREADY, THE TIME TO CLOSE THIS WINDOW IS NOW!

You have been warned.

I don't know how to begin. Perhaps a little background would do. I have read 4 out of Dan Brown's 5 published book. So, I think I am in a comfortable position to do this. If you don't know already, the book is based on the one of the most powerful (cults?)societies in USA - the Freemasons. I will not go on to list each and every twist and turn in the plotline in the book, but I will list down the points which did not make this book all that "awesome" for me:

1. One of the most important ones: the focus on USA. Yes, Brown is an American author. I understand that. But he went overboard here. He just about stopped short of shouting or rather printing from the rooftops that USA is the greatest nation in the world. Maybe it had something to do with his target readers. But what it does to the rest of us, the non American readers is to make us sigh and groan "This again? don't we have enough Hollywood movies doing that?"

2. Too much lecturing. We all know that Robert Langdon is a lecturer, but apparently, so is Dan Brown. The overdose of philosophy (is that the right word?) in the book becomes overbearing after a certain point. Many authors have understated messages in their narration. But it is bearable when it is understated and subtle. In The Lost Symbol, there were moments when I got fed up of it and skipped those paragraphs. It isn't just a few lines, he preaches in paragraphs, one after another. We all know we live in troubled times yada yada now can we get back to the plot please!. If I want to ponder about these things, I will pick up a book along those lines. I expect fiction interspersed with startling facts, mythology from Dan Brown, not a lecture on the greater good, truth, good and evil, etc.

3. Too much spirituality/religion. Before you say it, yes I know that was the whole premise of The Da Vinci Code. But that was different. It was crucial to the plot of the book and we discovered some amazing lore/legends and that was combined with the main storyline. The end result was spectacular. The same doesn't happen here. I don't know if Dan Brown is trying to make amends or get back on good terms with the Church but that is what it seems like. He hasn't glorified the church but he has gone to lengths defending the Bible and glorifying it. I can point out quite a few instances when it seems to be a pathetic attempt at pacification. Whatever the reason may be, he has played it really safe this time around.

4. The basic premise. Yeah, I know this should have come right on top. I cannot bring myself to believe even a little bit of the basic premise, on which this book carries its story forward. One bit that refuses to get out of my mind is the experiment that Katherine Solomon conducts, which helps her in measuring the weight of the human soul. Oh please! No matter how much I tell myself to have an open mind about it, I refuse to digest this piece. I am going to look up Noetic Science but I doubt if that's going to change my opinion at all. When we read a book, we surrender our minds to the author, allowing him to shape our thoughts in his/her way, making us see things that only he/she would have seen till now. But we have a limit. I know when you are bullshitting me.

5. If you have read The Count of Monte Cristo or seen even a few Hindi movies, you know within the few lines where he talks about Zachary Solomon that its Mal'akh. So that eliminates the surprise factor. Fine, that was just a minor glitch. Next up is the "threat to national security" angle that Sato plays and is the reason the CIA is involved in this treasure hunt in the first place. A few individuals captured on camera performing dark rituals? I am sorry, but that's the best you could come up with? Sure, since all of them are prominent American individuals, it will have a big impact, but ahem, you are afraid of a Youtube scandal? I thought CIA had better things to worry about.

I could go on and on. Sure it is an entertaining read, but it has failed on too many fronts for me to love it. It is a long read and isn't even the can't-take-your-eyes-off-it, fast paced book. It is not boring and you should definitely read it but do so with an impartial mindset. Maybe the fact that I am a skeptic and a cynical person has something to do with it but I am sorry to say that The Lost Symbol was lost on me. I am a reader who wasn't wowed, and that's the truth.

I would rate it 3/5.

Oink flew

How many of you are scared? How many of you have started wearing masks? How many of you have stopped going out to public places?

I see the situation in Pune/Mumbai, and I think it is a little scary. I see the situation in Bangalore and I find it extremely funny. Masks have become a style statement here. Or at least that's what they want it to be. To me, (to quote Red Forman), its a dumbass statement. The masks that people wear are no thicker than two tissues or maybe even toilet paper quality tissues held together. I'll come to them later, first here are a few observations that make my days:

1. People will not give up on malls. It's one thing if you are working there. You should, in that case take all precautions. But it's another, that you go there, out of your own will and reason and then pretend that you are scared for your life. Some may argue that it is to keep the spirits high, how long can you stay at home? Well, why can't you stay at home? Malls don't provide basic facilities. You can get your provisions at the local store, barely a stone's throw away from your house and which is frequented by a fewer number of people. The only thing basic about malls is the clothing that they display on the mannequins.

2. People think they can control this virus by sheer will power. How else do you explain a lady, standing in the queue to buy movie tickets, totally unprotected. 5 min later, same lady, one row up ahead, taking out the aforementioned tissue thin, useless, streetside, sold for 10 Rs. mask and wearing it. You see, she couldn't catch the virus standing next to scores of people where her face was exposed to all and sundry! No Sirree Bob! It is only in the dark confines of the theater, once she is settled in, and is sure that no one can spot her with the hideous thing on her mouth, that the virus will think to themselves "hey, she is well equipped now, so let us attack the others!".

3. Mobile - check, wallet - check, sunglasses - check, silly mask - check. This other incident is directed at those of you who have made a mockery of this whole thing. You buy these surgical kind masks, not even knowing that the only thing they can protect you from is probably dust, or if the material is too cheap, just dirt and then wear it all over the town, apparently very proud of your responsible behaviour. You get on Brigade/MG road (places in Bangalore where people get dressed up to walk, randomly, for no reason) and you see this girl, stylishly attired, wearing a tank top, snug pair of jeans, hair let loose, sunglasses on even though it's past 7 p.m. and of course, a mask. She has the air of a princess who is walking amongst the commons. She has a green cloth over her mouth, surely no virus can harm her now!

4. The smelly cats. Have you received the forwards about how some drops of oil on your handkerchief will magically keep you safe? These are the people who overdo it. They bathe in these oils, probably after brushing their teeth with it, spraying it on their whole body, massaging it into their hair and using it in their car as fresheners and sometimes maybe even washing their clothes in it. Nilgiri/Eucalyptus oil is the new Dettol. Thanks to them, a closed space smells like a dirty, shady high-on-dope-and-suggest-this-oil-for-all-treatments-sadhu's abode.

5. The conspiracy theorists. My favourite people! Don't they make every problem so much fun to deal with! I mean who cares if it is a medical condition which may get out of hand if not dealt with properly, all these people want to do is point fingers at the government/s and demand answers.
"Last year we had Avian Flu and this year it is Swine Flu. If birds and pigs cannot be trusted, what is the government doing about it?".
"Michael Jackson, who is 'so called dead', mated his chimpanzee, who has AIDS with Tiger Prabhakar's pet pig, who if sources are to be believed, is half Tamilian and half Sinhalese(the pig, not Tiger) to produce this virus so that people are so distracted that his "death" is not looked into. This project is partly funded by Tupac and Osama Bin Laden."

Before I end this piece, let me make it clear. I am not ridiculing the disease, it is a very serious business and people have unnecessarily lost lives to it. I am ridiculing dumb people. If you want to be safe, do what I do - stay AWAY from those disease carrying germs on kids and preggies!

P.S.: Almost forgot, my pic came in Deccan Chronicles. Yay! Before you start assuming, not because of this blog or any book offer. Hell no!

Ugh..People!

I am in a very strange mood right now. I am so tired of people, in general. I am tired of greeting people, I am tired of looking at people, I am tired of talking to people and I am most definitely tired of making conversation with people!

This isn't about what people think. No, that has got nothing to do with it. It is just that right now, it just seems to be that there are too many people around me. There are times that I just want to walk into a place and not be spoken to. Just do away with the formalities, go on, ignore me. But more than that, what I really want is to be able to walk into a conversation and walk out when I want to. No special reason. Not because the person disgusts me or the topic is getting out of hand. Just that I just don't want to be a part of it. Just like that.

I am not a loner. Far from it, actually. I don't like being alone. But there are times I feel strangely suffocated, suffocated by people around me. You need to know what everyone is doing, everyone needs to know what you are doing, you ask them, they ask you, you make them acquainted with more people, they make you acquainted with more people. People, people, people. It's a circle that keeps expanding and some believe that bigger the circle is, more "popular" you are.

But don't believe what they say. Bigger your circle, more people there are to keep tabs on, to keep getting mixed with, to keep talking about. It never ends. There comes a point that you hit saturation and just want to forget all these people! Make them go away from your memories, make them strange faces you look at, once again. Make them strangers, people you didn't know, people you didn't want to know. Just random faces, people who know very few of your people.

Before you get me wrong, this isn't about friends. I have few friends. I am not one of those people who label acquaintances as friends. So we are good, this isn't about friends. Did I just say that again?

This is about people - so many of them! And ironically, I have posted this on my blog, where more people will read it. Great, just great.

sPillover

I wouldn't have believed you if you would have told me a few years earlier that my threshold of pain would go down, slowly. You see, I am the kind of person who doesn't believe in pills. I mean, it's not like I refuse to believe that medicine works, that small quantities of certain chemicals will in turn take care of certain chemicals in my body and magically, things will be better. Phew. No, that's not what I mean.

What I do mean is..wait, let me illustrate it with the help of a story. A very long time ago, there used to be a little girl. A delicate little girl, who used to fall ill at the drop of a hat. Her parents wouldn't let her take allopathy treatment as they were scared of the side effects. So throughout her life she was used to taking these small balls of sugar. And they worked, placebo effect or not.

Then one fine day, the girl happened to watch a movie. A very average, if not below, Hindi movie. It starred Salman Khan and umm..Revathi? Well, to cut a long story short, which unfortunately they didnt, the climax of the scene involved the girl getting into a macabre accident i.e. glass piercing through her abdomen. No medicines would work on her as since childhood she used to pop those evil tablets and capsules, for no reason, even if she was hale and hearty. So scientifically they explained in the movie, that it lead to a lower immunity and no medicines would work on her.

This was during the times I did not even know the spelling of the word paranoia. But set in, it did. Since that time, I had vowed to never be so stupid, I mean what if glass or any other sharp object for that matter went through my abdomen or any other part of the body for that matter! So I avoided pills whenever I could. Incredible pain, terrible flu, high fever, any kind of ailment and my treatment would be to sleep it off. For milder cases, it worked. When it got really severe, to the point that maybe my survival depended on it, I would resort to pills.

But as Murphy, my best friend, was watching all of this, I think somewhere he gave a sinister laugh. He also gave me acne problem. And it was the kind of problem that doesn't go away with clean and clear. There were pills, capsules, tablets, colourful, stinky, long, small, you imagine it, I have taken it. But one good thing came out of it - I outgrew my paranoia, to a certain extent. Pills weren't so bad. Pills are good, if taken in normal quantities.

Alas! With these positive changes, came the negative. My will power, strengthened by my paranoia in the bygone years, has gone down considerably. Ok, maybe you are wondering what kind of a psycho would willingly want to suffer, when in pain. Good point. But it's not easy to explain. Let me put it this way - nowadays, if I am in pain, the first thought I get is where the painkiller is. If it's a cold, I want to reach out for the tablet that in the advertisements sends a golden light through your oesophagus and magically cures it.

Fear, in the right amount and at the right time, can serve us well. I need to be afraid. Someone please show me a news link of a woman/man who developed 15 butts as a side effect from taking medicines for common ailments. Maybe that will help me snap out of this.

This and That

Since it takes quite an effort and patience to actually come out with something that makes sense, here's a compilation of random thoughts that I would like to put down here for posterity:

The easiest way to know if he/she is serious - See if you are introduced to the friends. Forget family, they come much later. If you are introduced to the "gang", its on. Why did I suddenly think of it? Well, I promised you random, didn't I? Word of caution: if you have been at the other end of sweet nothings but still don't what the best friend looks like, move on.

All good things to eat are short words. Really, think about it. The three words that come to my mind are pizza, cake and coffee. Fine, you got me there. You don't eat coffee. But you get my point, don't you. Half the fun goes away if you spend fifteen minutes trying to pronounce it. Try ordering "croissant, on the go". That's why all of us love "puff" so much. And eggs. And Maggi. "Oh, there's nothing to eat, do you wanna have the instant-noodles-that-can-be-prepared-in-2-minutes?" I don't think so.

Google has spoiled all of us. I remember the time when the Encyclopaedia used to be the last word on everything. When you needed to look a word up, you got up, you went to fetch either the pocket dictionary or if you wanted to know some examples along with the pronunciation, you went to fetch the big daddy of dictionaries. It weighs at least 2 kilos. So once you had it on your tiny lap, you thought "oh what the hell, might as well look up some more words". Now, you just find an obscure link and prove to everyone that the way you say it is right. Stupid internet.

If you want to get a "hostelite"(people who don't live with their families) to get all emotional, play either of these songs - Purani Jeans/Yaaron Dosti/ Pal/Yaadein. Serious faces, tight body language, uncomfortable silence guaranteed. If there is alcohol in the vicinity, expect water works too. Disclaimer: listener must be fluent in Hindi.

I am back to the world of books and loving it. Sure, it's not like each and every book I get my hand on turns out to be the best published work in the world, but it's good to feel the workings of the funny device inside my cranium. Once in a while it does take a little bit of re reading to grasp something, given the distractions at hand. The speed has definitely taken a beating too. But hey, not all is lost. It's a wonderful world, the world of books.

If you have a cold, passive smoking will destroy you. If you can't avoid it, at least make sure you don't wash your hair in cold water. Forget nose block, sneezing or throat pain, it is the loss of the sense of taste that's the most painful. We take our sense of smell and taste for granted. Imagine eating five different things, but being able to judge only the difference in texture. It's as bad as being colour blind, if not worse. Stay healthy people.

Which reminds me, I find it quite difficult to believe that man has traveled to the moon (and back, if you were to listen to Savage Garden) but is still unable to find a remedy, or at least ease the symptoms of the common cold. I am not asking you to cure cancer, spread world peace or walk on water. I just want you to tell me that this can be done. Forget anti matter, give me anti splatter.

Of stripes

Did you guys see? He is dead. Yes, the big tiger that had been scaring the wits out of a particular government in the land of the Ravana. Honestly, I never knew what the big deal was about. I do take some interest in current affairs but this issue was always, I don't know how to put it, well, boring. If a squabble(usage of this word might offend few of you out there, bite me) goes on for so many years, the onlookers do get tired of it, don't they?

But this blog hasn't been composed to discuss the politics or the current situation in our neighbouring country. What I do intend to discuss is how I felt when I first saw the news on tv. Other than shock. Why shocked? Did I not expect him to ever get caught? Of course I did, after a certain point every place in the hide and seek game gets exposed. So it was inevitable. The shock was at the swollen face with the bullet in his head. You see a pic of a stout man wearing funky military camouflage uniform, posing like it's his 10th birthday, in the morning. By evening, that very man lies dead, with the news channels making sure that every 3.798 seconds the particular visual is flashed.

The next reaction was obviously sadness. Death isn't a pleasant thought, no matter who suffers it. It was followed by regret. Yes. Regret. For the simple reason that another "icon"(again, readers, easy with the flaming torches) of our generation is no more. Confused? It's simple. Throughout our lives, we have certain constants. These constants are outside of our family and friends, of course. Constants like Veerappan, Yaseer Arafat, the Pope (old one, I still expect the hunchbacked form to appear instead of Benedict) and the greedy Bangalore auto driver.

You have grown up with these people. Even if they weren't there, physically, they were part of the process. A smuggler was synonymous with Veerappan, anyone with a weird moustache was compared to him. When you spoke about godmen, Chandraswamy's personality came to mind. Fraud makes you think about Harshad Mehta. No one says "tomboy" better than Kiran Bedi. Geek stands for Bill Gates(I mean even if he ends up owning the universe, he won't give up those glasses!). "Break dance"(to us Indians) cannot be performed better than Michael Jackson. Quizzing is Derek O Brien. I think you get the drift. Constants, all of them. One by one, fading away.

You can't help it, isn't this how life works? So you move on. You look for new icons, reluctantly. Look around. Foot in mouth has a new ambassador, George Bush. Cricket commentary makes one think of the charming, smiling, Harsha Bhogle. Attention deprivation has the face of Navjot Singh Sidhu. A ladyboy is Bobby Darling and a ladyboy lookalike to woman like is Rakhi Sawant(cosmetic surgery-jai ho!). And so, the constants change(hunh..oxymoron).

Change - heavy, noisy and always in demand.

Recede

Tough times are upon us people. I will be honest with you, since that is the equation that has been set between us since the birth of this blog. Due to trouble in Uncle Sam's homeland, we are slowly seeing trouble come to our shores. In fact, times are so bad that I have started working hard. Yes, you can panic now. That is precisely the reason why this wonderful corner of my mind has been left to fend for its own. I haven't forgotten about it, not yet.

• Every time I get a call from an unknown number, I get a mild panic attack. I wonder if it is the HRD asking me to "step out of the cubicle" for a quick rendezvous. That's how it happened with the others.
  
  
• I feel like changing my Orkut, Gtalk, Facebook, Twitter and what have you not statuses to "Still Employed". At least people won't have to gingerly start a conversation with "how are you? how's work?". I know what you want to ask.
  
  
• The level of paranoia is so high right now that my mailbox, at any given time, has barely one or two unread mails, that too related to work! I mean, where are the scores of forwards that used to flood my inbox daily? It has come to such a point that I wouldn't mind the really irritating "Gooooood Morrninggggg" mails, replete with sparkles, butterflies and (*ugh*) animated babies.
  
  
• Is it just me or has the crowd started thinning down at work? That's not a good sign. Nowadays, I get a full seat to myself in the company bus! No wait, maybe those are the days I forget to spray on my deodorant. Oh yeah..
  
  
• Every morning at work, at the Coffee Day outlet, there used to be this bunch of managers and senior managers, chatting away to glory and probably making fun of us blue collar job holders. Nowadays, it is so deserted that you can hear the theme of some western movie playing in the background with a ball of hay rolling about.
  
  
• My relatives, whose favourite topic used to be the shame brought upon the family due the marriage of some distant cousin to some fellow from another caste, are discussing economics! Just recently an aunt of mine remarked how she isn't going to buy any more jewelry, taking into consideration the "prevalent market conditions".
  
  
• The only people left unaffected by it all are the auto drivers. They don't care if people are cutting back on expenses and that translates to lesser earnings for them. They still stand by their principles - despite times of trouble, keep demanding double. I wonder if they have something similar to Hippocrates oath, when they take this profession up. The Hypocrite's oath? Never mind, bad one.

Before I go, here's a word of advice - practice safe employment. Use discretion, it works 99% of the time.

Faithless

This one is addressed to all the people like my noble friend here. This is to bring to your notice that atheists are not crazy people. This topic came up when I casually mentioned that my mom plays the Vishnu sahasranam and the Suprabhatam on the computer every morning. It was met with a strong "and you tolerate it?" question.

Yes, I do. I am an atheist, not a crazy person:

1. I don't unpray every night. I don't go to bed thinking thoughts like "God, you don't exist and here's me unpraying to you".

2. Just because you have an answer for everything as God, doesn't mean I need to have one too. I have not figured out how this universe works.

3. Don't expect me to talk about aliens building the pyramids or whales ruling the world.

4. I don't go upto priests in temples and tell them that they should stop misleading the poor people.

5. I don't throw away prasad offered to me, out of spite. I don't even refuse it. The difference lies in the fact that you revere it, I don't.

6. I know a lot about the Bhagwad Gita, Ramayan, Mahabharat. I know the Hanuman Chalisa by rote. I find Indian mythology one of the most fascinating that I have ever come across. "Mythology" - notice that?

7. I don't want to prove anyone wrong or myself right. I am very comfortable with your beliefs, just let me be with lack of mine.

8. There was no drastic event that made me think or not believe in this manner. My dog didn't die in front of my eyes, my grandparents weren't wronged by a Bishop and neither did I meet with an accident that changed my life. I have led a pretty much nondescript life.

9. When forced to go to a temple or attend a religious cenremony, I swallow my ego and pretend. I don't create a scene shouting "But what about Darwin's theory, hunh?". My peace of mind and of those around me holds high priority to me.

10. I don't go about telling people that I am an atheist. This is the only place where I have talked so much about it. Most of my friends happen to discover it. Some of them still don't know. Talking about it makes me uncomfortable, only because I know I'll be cornered with "oh so you think you know everything?" and descriptions of "miracles".

Before I wrap this up, let me just leave behind a few words that came to my mind when I was walking back home today, thanks to the roadblock caused by a temple near the area where I live-"I understand faith, I just don't understand religion".

The fine print

My dear friends, I have some shocking news. No, I have not been offered a reality show about underpaid-yet-grinning-like-they-have- it-all-confused-IT person (catchy title eh?). What I do have, is the contract that reality show producers offer their contractees or rather the participants of the show in question. For the benefit of all, I shall list them down here:

1. The participant shall, at no point during the show, be nice or say nice things to a fellow participant.

2. The participant should know at least five words of obscenity, preferably in the language that the show is in. If a participant is found lacking in this regard, he/she should hire a tutor prior to the shooting and get trained in swear/curse words as soon as possible.

3. The participant has to use the F word, irrespective of the fact that they may not mean what it means, at least once in five sentences. While mouthing it, the participant must make sure that they are facing the camera and the lips movement is vivid enough to be explanatory about the swear word's nature.

4. The participant must be capable of crying at the drop of a hat (or any other more suitable piece of clothing). If required, the show producers have to be informed in advance to help the participant in this regard, who will duly run the clips of puppies drowning, babies overdosing or any other helpful clip, on the teleprompter.

5. The participant must be fluent in fake accents. A knowledge of English is not necessary, but that of an English accent is. The show producers reserve the right to expel any participant who gives away a normal accent, accompanied by the customary terrible grammar.

6. The participant must have at least one poor/dying/disabled/terminally ill/ugly family member who will sign another contract allowing the cameramen to shoot them at tilted angles in sepia/black and white/negative mode.

7. The participant will not at any point during the show hide their ethnicity or balk at asking only certain sections of the country to vote for them. A sense of nationality is highly frowned upon and is most definitely not encouraged.

8. The participant will not refuse intervention by the make up artists to magically lighten the participant's skin colour.

9. The participant will wear anything and everything that is dug out by the stylists of the show, even if it includes carrying off silk/satin offshoulder/strapless gowns in the middle of summer.

10. The participant will submit, along with a few other documents mentioned in a separate letter, their dignity to the producers of this show.

There are many such clauses in the contract. Due to some special reasons, which include possible boredom on the part of the reader, I have reproduced here, only the ten important. Point to be noted: the contract may vary from one show to another but this format is largely followed by most shows that have young 18 to twenty somethings as the participants.

Valentine's Day special

Valentine's Day is just around the corner. Personally, I don't believe in the whole concept and know it very well for what it is-one of the most clever and well thought of marketing strategies. Yet, I also believe in personal freedom. Don't worry, this isn't one of the countless tirades against the cowardly man(?) and his burden on this earth goons. What this is, is a prediction of the things to come:

Children's Day: Even though this day is celebrated as a tribute to the first Prime Minister of India, it is just a matter of time before they come up with a theory that since he was born in the times of the British, his birthday is a western concept. So any kids found roaming on the streets that day will be forced to join the closest school. It does not matter if the kids already attend one, and in any case if they are from a particular school, what were they doing outside, anyway? On second thoughts, this isn't a bad idea, if such a situation arises, tons of underprivileged kids might finally have that shot at education.

Mother's Day, Father's Day, Parents' Day: "Why do we need special days to appreciate our parents? This is against Indian culture!" Yes, who decides which day is to celebrated as parents' day? I mean, if you are so keen, go look up which day Shravana Kumar was born and we shall all celebrate it by carrying our parents on weighing balances! So any adults or kids found with a woman or man who is older than them will have to be forcefully adopted by the same. There is no other way to tackle this menace. If you are cheap enough to respect elders other than your parents, you deserve to be punished through adoption!

Teacher's Day: Again, as of now this day is celebrated in India as a remembrance to the first Vice President of India. But if you missed the logic in Children's Day, let me remind you, he was born during the British rule! To add to it, he (to quote Wiki) "he introduced Western idealism into Indian philosophy". Oh my God, people! Do you see what they are upto? They did this to us and we did not even realise it! Down with the Western idealism(whatever that is supposed to mean)! Any student found giving flowers, cards will have to pay for their actions by taking an impromptu test and any function felicitating teachers shall be broken entry into!

New Year's Day: January 1st is celebrated the world over as New Year's day. It is the first day of the Gregorian calendar. Who is this fellow Gregory? We don't know any Gregory! Why should he be the one who dictates when the new year begins? Unless it is some Giridhari who has taken on this Western name, we will not adhere to it! Despite the fact that every state in India has its own beliefs, rituals and its own version of the new year, we will not bow down to Western pressures and participate in harmless revelry! Mobs will be mobilised to crack down on all new year celebrations on Jan 1 and everyone will be made to change the dates on their mobiles phones, computers and any other device which bears the new year in their systems.

Happy Valentine's Day India.

Psychobabble

Have you seen Kaho Na Pyaar Hai? The scene where the heroine has a conversation with the dead hero's lookalike which reminds her of him. Or the scene where the duplicate interacts with the dead hero's kid brother and the kid is reminded of the real deal. Well, freakishly, these things are happening to me. OK, maybe not exactly. I don't "see dead people". It's just that some strangers inadverdently remind me of certain other people I know.

The most unnerving experience of them all had to be the one during my bus journey home. The bus is about to leave the depot and is at the gate when the moderator(?) asks the driver to stop and a girl gets in. No, violins don't play in the background, she isn't wearing a chiffon saree, the pallu of which blows in the wind and there is most definitely no perfect breeze blowing her hair. She's probably a regular looking girl. I say probably because that was the last thing on my mind, to check out a girl. As my luck would have it, she lands up in the seat next to me, much to my chagrin(I like to occupy a two seater by myself. Who doesn't?).

The bus starts moving again and she takes out her phone. The next few words of hers makes me freeze in my seat. Not only does she sound exactly like a friend but she uses the exact same words of greeting on the phone. Before you jump the gun, it isn't a plain "Hi" or "Hello". I have a mental argument with myself, contemplating if it's possible that it is indeed my friend sitting next to me. I steal glances of her face and of course, it is not her. Unaware of the battle that my logic is waging with my mind, she continues to speak on the phone. I swear I would have been so relieved had it been a prank played by a common friend or even by some lame television channel. But it wasn't to be.

This wasn't a one off case. There have been others. My team mate in my new team reminds me of a friend - but his isn't a case of exact replication. Just the mannerisms, maybe the way of talking. Just the overall vibes. Needless to say, I am most comfortable around him and started acting and talking freely to him when I was barely introduced to him!

Then there's the duplicate mom in aerobics class. This lady just warms my heart. Everytime I see her, I remember my mother. For the record, they don't resemble each other at all. And this isn't an old woman I am talking about. She may be 4 years older than me, at max. Yet, everytime I see her, I end up smiling out of a sense of familiarity. Maybe it's something in her eyes. She smiles back too, by the way, and seems to be a really nice woman.

Now for some self psychoanalysis: I think I have started to generalize and categorize people. I judge them, that is a fact which is known to all. But now, my brain has started putting all the people I know in separate little mind containers, with each having its set of characteristics and mannerisms, broadly. So the first time I meet someone, to put me at ease, I sub consciously put that person in one of the existing containers. It saves me the trouble of creating new ones, saves me the anxiety of reacting to "new" people and most definitely saves me the time to familiarise with them. In the process though, it is messing with my mind. I don't like it.

Bucket List

Everyone seems to be making one. What is a bucket list? Well, it's a list of things that you want to do before you kick the bucket. My bucket list here is different. Here's a list of impossible things that I want to achieve before the grim reaper claims this grin reaper:

1. Develop a thick, genuine British accent: How is it impossible? You seem to have missed out the word "genuine". Sure, you can easily develop a thick accent if you practice hard enough and maybe even hire a tutor for it. But it will only make you sound like Shoaib Akhtar. He cannot tell the difference between "balls to" and "balls of" but his accent will be thicker than a gentleman from Yorkshire. That is not what I desire. If an English accent isn't possible, give me a Scottish one. Maybe Sean Connery and I can hit if off then. Along with Mike Myers, of course.

2. Be a hot, Latino chiquita: My general knowledge isn't legendary per se but even I know that just like we don't have elephants, maharajas, snake charmers and the Taj Mahal at every nook and corner of India, each Latino woman is not inherently hot. But I would like to be. I would like to have that pout, with full lips and that brilliant sway which would weaken the stomach of many a strong man. Yes, I would like to be the stereotype. Not to forget, the layered full length dress which would obviously, make me an excellent dancer too. One two cha cha cha

3. Have a successful solo singing performance: I usually tell people that my passion is dancing. It's true to an extent but it is also so because I know I don't suck at it. That guarantees me against snide remarks like "for someone who seems to love dancing so much, you aren't so good at it". Secretly, I worship singers. They come second only to the music composers. I just don't get it, how the hell does one compose a tune, forget a full length song! Back to the point, the third wish in my bucket list is to one day be a part of a concert, where people buy exorbitantly priced tickets to listen to me sing and actually clap at the end of it. I wouldn't mind an "encore" or standing ovation too.

4. Be a geek: This might confuse you and I wouldn't blame you. Who, in their right mind, would want to be a geek? Me. By a geek, I don't mean someone who doesn't have a life and is stuck to their system 24x7. That is the most common yet most stereotyped definition of geeks, with respect to software engineers or people related to this industry. My definition of geek is slightly different. A geek to me is one who knows the technicalities of whatever he/she dabbles in, in and out. You ask one single question, and she comes up with various possible explanations. I can never be like that. I get bored very fast and any process that goes on for too long in my life, bores me to death. So I find it remarkable that people can actually stick to a field and become renowned experts in it. Someday, I would like people to hold me in similar awe.

5. Be a child prodigy: While I am totally against the exploitation of children by parents, I am ready to make an exception, if it were to be me. Right from Michael Jackson to even our now bald, now dancing Britney Spears to the very talented-who-now-sings-only-irritating-songs Sunidhi Chauhan, child prodigies are way too cool. Of course, nowadays you cannot tell an authentic one to a fabricated one, thanks to the plethora of reality shows now on air. A little digression from the topic for a special note to the makers of these shows-shoving a script down a child's throat for cheap entertainment is so not done. Back to the point, I wouldn't mind if someone were to go back in time, perform a miracle and turn me into one. Sure, I wouldn't have too many friends and would probably not finish my studies properly, but hey, I would have some talent!

Summing up my short but impossible list, I would like to be a Latino child with thick British accent who sings exceptionally well. If it's OK with everyone, can I slip in "the first woman to go out into space" too?

Dye me black

For starters, I still haven't spotted my first gray hair as yet. It's a little surprising, given the fact that almost every one I know has had at least one, for sometime now. I am not referring to people above thirty, I am talking about people my age. The reasons might be plenty - pollution, bad diet, genes, and most importantly, stress. So I think that's where I score over the others.

How does it feel when you spot you first gray hair? Do you go ballistic, crying out in agony "Why me God, why meeeeeeeeeeeeee"? Or do you just perform a quick mental calculation, taking into account the cost of hair dye into your monthly expenditure?

Hair dye. Of all the funny inventions that man can be accused of coming up with, this one sits right up there on top. Who thought of it? What was the thought process that was going on? "Hmm..if I just paint my hair, no one will notice how old I am!"? Personally, I feel hair dying is justified when you look your age, or rather, when you can carry it off. So that would be your 30's and perhaps even 40's, if you are watching what you eat and are blessed with a youthful look.

But let's face it, once you hit the 50's and your kids are through college and possibly working, what is that bottle of black hair dye still doing in your bathroom closet? You expect people to look at you and go "oh poor thing, he/she has black hair but terribly wrinkled skin. Must be an affliction which affects the terribly young"?

Before you ask me, let me tell you myself, my parents also belong to this category. Much to my chagrin, they paint their hair religiously every time the grays make an appearance. I have tried my best to convince my mother to try the Indira Gandhi look, if not the Nafisa Ali look and my father to go for the Richard Gere look, if not the S M Krishna one. I am not a kid anymore and I don't expect my parents to look like a kid's parents, either. But of course, they don't listen to me so I have given up. The only thing I can do is to resolve that when it's my turn, I'll go natural.

Aerobics!

Here is the much anticipated, much awaited blog on my current pastime-passion-obsession(?). Aerobics!

Let me address the myths and the actual truths behind them:

Myth: Aerobics instructors are lean, mean, fighting machines, not to mention - hot!
Truth: Let me tell you about my instructor. A lady(first disappointment) of around *beep* years, where *beep* is most definitely not less than 28. Lean? No. Mean? Oh yes, more on that later. Fighting machine? Hmm..depends on your definition but I wouldn't like to be involved in a fight with her, for sure. She isn't fat per se, but when she wears those tight track pants, you wish she would do something about her tyres first, or at least go for the more flattering, loose pairs.

Myth: The class consists of good looking people, wearing tight, shiny spandex costumes.
Truth: You've got to be stupid if you believe this. Why would people join such a torturesome form of exercise if they were happy with the way they look? And coming to the costumes, well, they sometimes are just that. This message is to all those women who wear short tops that stopped fitting them five years ago - looking at your bulge spilling out unceremoniously makes me sick. Please think about the others in your class, the ones who are not in love with you, as opposed to you. More often than not, it's the I-know-I-am-hot crowd who cannot get used to the fact that age is taking it's toll, slowly but surely. Gravity sucks, get used to it. Nothing about the handful of men who are there because they dress appropriately. They realise it's a form of exercise and not a fashion show.

Myth: Adrenaline makes you feel happier or at least gives you a good rush
Truth: OK, I am not going to refute this established fact. Though, one look/meeting with my instructor and you wonder if adrenaline is an evil hormone, which makes you, well, evil! Her method of correcting anyone who commits the horrendous mistake of having the wrong posture/stance while exercising - a tight whack. No, I am not kidding and neither do I attend a course for toddlers. I am talking about a class of grown ups, minimum age 21 and a small-ish woman who is stricter than Hitler's mother(I have no clue how strict she was, but with a son like that, she must have been?). Thank heavens for small mercies that she never uses props like dumbells/exercise balls or the water canister to "mend our ways". Her hand is good enough. A whack, on that part which is in the wrong position - foot, arm, leg, hand, back, shoulder, anything. So in addition to concentrating on not falling, we have to keep an eye out for the bolt from blue.

Myth: Aerobics is easy-schmeasy.
Truth: Come to my class. You do it, while I stand back and laugh. One wrong step and you can bid goodbye to walking for the next few days at least. There are plenty of opportunities to screw up, very limited to get it right. Since it's a group activity, your success also depends on your neighbour's. You go too fast, you collide into them, with a result that varies from a slight bump to a broken nose. You go too slow, well, they collide with you, with similar results ! So what's the middle path? You try to surround yourself with the veterans. Otherwise, you have four noobs around you(front, back, left, right), with each apparently conspiring to send you to the closest hospital. Oh and never go near the burly men. No offence to them, or you, if you are one of them, but those guys sweat buckets! Since no one has the time to stop and wipe it off, it falls on the smooth floor and guess what, it's you who steps on it and slips all the time.

Well then, this is it. There are more details to it like the common corridor between the men's and women's changing room, which has only the non good looking men in only towels walking around and the weirdo who attends the class, who does not leave any opportunity to "help" the other men while stretching. But if I go on about them, this post will never end. So I end it by answering a question which I am pretty sure is on your mind - If I hate it so much, why do I go? Ans: Who said I hate it? I love each moment of it! :D