"Welcome to India" a parody by Mc Vikram and Luda Krishna
Adapted from "Welcome to Atlanta" by Ludacris.
Yaa, MC Vikram and Luda Krishna representing you,
That's right ... increase the volume please ... thank you.
Welcome to India, mango juices and lassi,
samosa crazy desisand little kids that are milking the bhainses.
Toothbrush in my pocket, what is that?
We use our fingers here to keep our teeth clean, who said that?
Luda Krishna here, Vikram owns the Tata gears,
and I'm sitting in the Maruti Supreme, with the cooling glass on no one bothers me.
because stars since the ever famous Mamooty.
Come with me to a place where we sip Frooties
and we eat the sweets while monkeys roam the streets.
Old uncle sits - big belly and very smelly (burp!)
Thank you Vikram, would you please pass the jelly
I mean the pickle, hand it down this way, no mistake.
We greet the people at the end of the day!
Sixty five people hanging out the door, sweat coming out the pores.
Therefore, please don't raise your hand, you are not sure.
I broke into the local corner-store,
bought myself a very nice looking carrom board.
My fingers get sore when I shoot and I score,
and the ladkis all scream coz they all want some more,
of the Luda Krishna and the Vikram MC,
Sweetest things to hit the States since Mango Chutney.
We keep the kundis shaking, you better trust me.
The name is Luda Krishna, but my friends call me thambi, what!? (burp!)
Ohhh, Vikram, is that you my friend?!
That is me my friend!
Oh, please enter this rap game!
Ok man! C'mon ... tell me where you are going my friend.
Welcome to India where the cows eat hay,
and we drive auto-rickshaws everyday,
Goat-meat, yummy sweets while monkeys roaming,
The roosters don't crow till five in the morning!
(2x)Now the kundis don't jiggle till I am rapping,
So please don't pass the gas when you are laughing.
Up the music charts like mango trees I climb,
With a smooth voice like mine, is it a crime
Representing rap music since ninety seven?
Rap maharaja, I don't work at 7-Eleven.
Throw your hands in the air if you've got facial hair,
Not just for the guys, c'mon ladies be fair!
I'm the MFCs most obvious player,
Wearing hot lungis, do you think I really care?
Monday night - computer club,
Tuesday night - at Akbaar rotary saying "Sweet thing, what is up?
"Wednesday - I'm out making Rupees
Thurday - On the lookout for Bharatnatyam queen
Friday - Everybody must know where I'm at,
coz I'm chilling on the field with my big cricket bat.
Saturday - my farts are breezy ... believe me,
so strong they will get you mad dizzy,
Sunday - Yaar, I cannot start weeping
because on Monday I will start the creeping .. Hallo!
Ohhhh ... I love that my friend!
Yaa dawg, that was funda-stic.
Hey thank you, you're fabulous!
Oh, thank you my friend!
Oh ...Welcome to India where the cows eat hay,
and we drive auto-rickshaws everyday,
Goat-meat, yummy sweets while monkeys roaming,
The roosters don't crow till five in the morning!
(2x)Oh, oh, Go Luda, go Luda.
Ah, its my b'day!
That is your b'day man!
Yaaaaah. You go boy!
Oh oh oh ... it's great!
Ah, Indian my friend.
Good night!
Alright, goodbye ... kiss my buttocks!!
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
Saturday, November 11, 2006
Domestic Struggles
Gasp! November 11th? Has it been that long? The truth is that I have been drowning in the sands of wasted time. My own fault entirely.
The problem with a stainless steel plate is that it refuses to let you eat. It plays a cruel game of hard to get. As you lower your hand to tear off a piece of hot roti, it glints maliciously as it swivels away from you and comes to a stop right where your food is farthest from your hand. So you try to maneuver your hand, arm, body, chair, table and house in such a manner that you will be able to tear the roti on your stainless steel plate without it evading your every move. When this fails, you try to negotiate politely with it, offer reasonable terms for its co-operation during meals; a gentle, all-natural, lemon-scented cleaning liquid with anti-aging properties, its own personal rack in the kitchen pantry far away from all the ceramic riff-raff, a jaccuzzi. But all your offers fall to deaf ears. When temptation fails, you begin to threaten it; you will banish it to the puja room to live out its days in a thick, gooey paste of kumkum and sesame oil, or worse, you will give it to your little sister to use in her "indoor activities." But your ultimatums ellicit absolutely no response. Finally, you resort to underhanded methods. You cleverly pretend to be watching Grey's Anatomy, or reading about the antics of the revered CM and his progeny until your plate lets its guard down. Then you pounce. It doesn't work, believe me. The thair catori goes flying across the room, dal splatters all over the wall, pulav carpets the floor and the plate winks up at your stunned face in innocent amusement.
The problem with a stainless steel plate is that it refuses to let you eat. It plays a cruel game of hard to get. As you lower your hand to tear off a piece of hot roti, it glints maliciously as it swivels away from you and comes to a stop right where your food is farthest from your hand. So you try to maneuver your hand, arm, body, chair, table and house in such a manner that you will be able to tear the roti on your stainless steel plate without it evading your every move. When this fails, you try to negotiate politely with it, offer reasonable terms for its co-operation during meals; a gentle, all-natural, lemon-scented cleaning liquid with anti-aging properties, its own personal rack in the kitchen pantry far away from all the ceramic riff-raff, a jaccuzzi. But all your offers fall to deaf ears. When temptation fails, you begin to threaten it; you will banish it to the puja room to live out its days in a thick, gooey paste of kumkum and sesame oil, or worse, you will give it to your little sister to use in her "indoor activities." But your ultimatums ellicit absolutely no response. Finally, you resort to underhanded methods. You cleverly pretend to be watching Grey's Anatomy, or reading about the antics of the revered CM and his progeny until your plate lets its guard down. Then you pounce. It doesn't work, believe me. The thair catori goes flying across the room, dal splatters all over the wall, pulav carpets the floor and the plate winks up at your stunned face in innocent amusement.
Saturday, October 21, 2006
What then?
The wind has blown a sly calm over the sea.
The rays gently tinge the surface with gold.
It gives me a false sense of security.
For in my mind, the hawk still flies and the
regal grey wolf still serenades the moon.
Can my brave page have reached the shores of Neverland?
And yet in doubt, I must soldier on and
save for a rainy day. When the bomb is
dropped and in the rough lies not a diamond
but a slithering blue serpent....
What then?
The rays gently tinge the surface with gold.
It gives me a false sense of security.
For in my mind, the hawk still flies and the
regal grey wolf still serenades the moon.
Can my brave page have reached the shores of Neverland?
And yet in doubt, I must soldier on and
save for a rainy day. When the bomb is
dropped and in the rough lies not a diamond
but a slithering blue serpent....
What then?
Saturday, October 07, 2006
The Old, The New
I am in a strupor...sooper...aargh..stupor. Self-imposed insomnia will do that to you.
Anyway, I thought I'd break away from tradition and put up a story that is strictly normal, though it is, in my opinion, one of the best I've ever written. I wrote it way back in the 9th standard, so it's a bit primitive. I think that contributes to its charm.
MADRAS MONSOON
It was the monsoon of ’73. It would have seemed to the beholder that a great hole in the sky had been unplugged through which buckets of water were pouring onto the streets of Madras. Thunder rolled overhead. Lightning flashed, illuminating the lone figure of Ramachandra Babu.
“Why me?” thought Ramachandra as he slowly squelched his way down 13th cross. Why was he not home, safe and warm, with his newspaper in front of him and a cup of hot coffee in his hand? Why wasn’t he at home in the front veranda with his wife fussing over him? Why was he the only person out on a Sunday evening in the torrential rain with an utterly inadequate broken umbrella ? “Life simply isn’t fair,” thought Ramachandra.
He trudged dismally onwards. Something small and dirty collided with him. Ramachandra staggered backwards with the impact and almost fell into a muddy gutter. He peered through the almost opaque sheet of rain and spotted a small, dirty, naked creature. The child just ignored him and rejoined a group of street urchins with whom he had been playing. They splashed around in the muddy gutter with screams of delight.
Ramachandra stopped for a moment to contemplate the simplicity of a child’s mind. Something as gross as a dirty gutter brought so much joy into a child’s world. The young mongrels reminded him so much of his own childhood. A time that seemed eons away ; before the responsibilities of adulthood had wrinkled his forehead.
A clap of thunder followed by another strong gust of wind broke his reverie. He took one last wistful look at the screaming children. With a sigh, he pulled his coat a little more securely around himself and took a firmer hold of his umbrella. Shivering, he continued to slowly plough his way through the muddy road.
Anyway, I thought I'd break away from tradition and put up a story that is strictly normal, though it is, in my opinion, one of the best I've ever written. I wrote it way back in the 9th standard, so it's a bit primitive. I think that contributes to its charm.
MADRAS MONSOON
It was the monsoon of ’73. It would have seemed to the beholder that a great hole in the sky had been unplugged through which buckets of water were pouring onto the streets of Madras. Thunder rolled overhead. Lightning flashed, illuminating the lone figure of Ramachandra Babu.
“Why me?” thought Ramachandra as he slowly squelched his way down 13th cross. Why was he not home, safe and warm, with his newspaper in front of him and a cup of hot coffee in his hand? Why wasn’t he at home in the front veranda with his wife fussing over him? Why was he the only person out on a Sunday evening in the torrential rain with an utterly inadequate broken umbrella ? “Life simply isn’t fair,” thought Ramachandra.
He trudged dismally onwards. Something small and dirty collided with him. Ramachandra staggered backwards with the impact and almost fell into a muddy gutter. He peered through the almost opaque sheet of rain and spotted a small, dirty, naked creature. The child just ignored him and rejoined a group of street urchins with whom he had been playing. They splashed around in the muddy gutter with screams of delight.
Ramachandra stopped for a moment to contemplate the simplicity of a child’s mind. Something as gross as a dirty gutter brought so much joy into a child’s world. The young mongrels reminded him so much of his own childhood. A time that seemed eons away ; before the responsibilities of adulthood had wrinkled his forehead.
A clap of thunder followed by another strong gust of wind broke his reverie. He took one last wistful look at the screaming children. With a sigh, he pulled his coat a little more securely around himself and took a firmer hold of his umbrella. Shivering, he continued to slowly plough his way through the muddy road.
Friday, September 29, 2006
Life has been surprisingly courteous to me over the past week. Nothing outrageous to report, nothing licentious to complain about. Infact, life at present is akin to a page full of .......s. But I'm not complaining.
I was recently alerted by a dear friend of the existence of a most intriguing and amusing piece of art.I hope to acquire it in the near future. If I do, I will be sure to put a picture up for all to see. Then I will proceed to dissect its many subtleties and tear them to shreds with entirely justified derision.
Can't wait!
Yours Truly
I was recently alerted by a dear friend of the existence of a most intriguing and amusing piece of art.I hope to acquire it in the near future. If I do, I will be sure to put a picture up for all to see. Then I will proceed to dissect its many subtleties and tear them to shreds with entirely justified derision.
Can't wait!
Yours Truly
Saturday, September 23, 2006
Something to think about, and hopefully do something about.
"Look at the cell phone. The phone has a little mineral in it called coltan. It is a capacitor that intensifies the energy that enables this little machine to send signals. Coltan is mainly mined in the eastern Congo, by thousands of people living and digging in the forest. They need meat. Therefore they eat gorillas and elephants. So your little cell phone helps kill gorillas. Then you had a cup of tea this morning. Somewhere rainforest is falling to plant more tea."
Source:
Interview with George B. Schaller, The Hindu
http://www.hindu.com/2006/09/23/stories/2006092305741100.htm
Source:
Interview with George B. Schaller, The Hindu
http://www.hindu.com/2006/09/23/stories/2006092305741100.htm
Friday, September 22, 2006
Thursday, September 21, 2006
In the Land of the Free
It seems to me, that our nation's leaders read the constitution. They read it and promptly tore it, threw the peices on the floor of their beloved parliament house and walked all over them.
Our wonderful government; the one that celebrates Rajyotsava day with great pomp and splendour every year, the one that sits in the shade of Kanteerava Stadium sipping nimbu paani and watches as primary school children sweat in the noon sun waiting to dance, sing and entertain for their majesty's pleasure; the very same government has now proposed to ban all Hindi and English songs from the radio.
In the land that we call Karnataka, the land of the free and the home of the Digs, plans to build new roads and to conserve the city's greenery never make it past the omnipresent line of shoe-throwing, pot-bellied hypocrites, but plans to remove all semblence of good music off the radio will. Without a doubt.
This really is the last straw. It is one thing to preserve our indigenous culture and language. It is another to tie us down and force it down our throats.
Forget infringement of fundamental rights. Prohibition of non-Kannada songs would force alot of successful radio stations out of business. RJ's are already leaving Bangalore for more liberal, and I dare say, more reasonable states. Economic opportunities for all?
Dude, you're off your rocker!
Our wonderful government; the one that celebrates Rajyotsava day with great pomp and splendour every year, the one that sits in the shade of Kanteerava Stadium sipping nimbu paani and watches as primary school children sweat in the noon sun waiting to dance, sing and entertain for their majesty's pleasure; the very same government has now proposed to ban all Hindi and English songs from the radio.
In the land that we call Karnataka, the land of the free and the home of the Digs, plans to build new roads and to conserve the city's greenery never make it past the omnipresent line of shoe-throwing, pot-bellied hypocrites, but plans to remove all semblence of good music off the radio will. Without a doubt.
This really is the last straw. It is one thing to preserve our indigenous culture and language. It is another to tie us down and force it down our throats.
Forget infringement of fundamental rights. Prohibition of non-Kannada songs would force alot of successful radio stations out of business. RJ's are already leaving Bangalore for more liberal, and I dare say, more reasonable states. Economic opportunities for all?
Dude, you're off your rocker!
Monday, September 18, 2006
The Experiment of Life
Objective:
To cross the bottomless pit that leads straight to Hell.
Apparatus:
A single swinging rope hanging from an unknown part of the sky.
Theory:
At the bottom of the bottomless pit { :) } lies all manner of pain and ugliness. On the other side lies the closest thing one can find to happiness.
Note:For true happiness, one must give up one's material possesions and live the life of a buddhist monk with a shaved head, dressed in a saffron rag in a mud hut bang in the middle of the Siachen glacier.
Procedure:
1. Pray a little before you begin.
2.Stand 10 feet from the ledge of the bottomless pit.
3.Wait for the swinging rope to come as possible to the edge of the abyss.
4. Take a running leap and grab hold of the oscillating rope just as it begins to swing back to wherever the hell it came from.
5. Ride it safely to the other side.
Result:
Happiness and satisfaction...or the closest one can get to it without actually giving up one's Ferrari (see theory).
Precautions:
1. Time your leap such that you don't drop into the abyss thereby sentencing yourself to burn for all eternity.
2. Do nothing to stimulate the sweat glands during the duration of the journey.
3. Do NOT look down or to the northeast.
Note: To the northeast lies the entire cast of Baywatch Hawaii.
Sources of Error:
1. One may make the mistake of reading this experiment.
To cross the bottomless pit that leads straight to Hell.
Apparatus:
A single swinging rope hanging from an unknown part of the sky.
Theory:
At the bottom of the bottomless pit { :) } lies all manner of pain and ugliness. On the other side lies the closest thing one can find to happiness.
Note:For true happiness, one must give up one's material possesions and live the life of a buddhist monk with a shaved head, dressed in a saffron rag in a mud hut bang in the middle of the Siachen glacier.
Procedure:
1. Pray a little before you begin.
2.Stand 10 feet from the ledge of the bottomless pit.
3.Wait for the swinging rope to come as possible to the edge of the abyss.
4. Take a running leap and grab hold of the oscillating rope just as it begins to swing back to wherever the hell it came from.
5. Ride it safely to the other side.
Result:
Happiness and satisfaction...or the closest one can get to it without actually giving up one's Ferrari (see theory).
Precautions:
1. Time your leap such that you don't drop into the abyss thereby sentencing yourself to burn for all eternity.
2. Do nothing to stimulate the sweat glands during the duration of the journey.
3. Do NOT look down or to the northeast.
Note: To the northeast lies the entire cast of Baywatch Hawaii.
Sources of Error:
1. One may make the mistake of reading this experiment.
Saturday, September 16, 2006
Interesting
..and quite funny actually. The following is an extract from an article in The Hindu online.
"Change is unceasing. I am told that the thumbs of modern children are evolving into ordinary fingers. As their speech reverts to grammar-free neanderthal grunts, their preferred form of communication is the text message, requiring a new digital dexterity. As we slither back down the evolutionary chain we would do well to know where we are heading."
- Simon Jenkins
Read the complete article here.
"Change is unceasing. I am told that the thumbs of modern children are evolving into ordinary fingers. As their speech reverts to grammar-free neanderthal grunts, their preferred form of communication is the text message, requiring a new digital dexterity. As we slither back down the evolutionary chain we would do well to know where we are heading."
- Simon Jenkins
Read the complete article here.
Sunday, September 10, 2006
Madness
Ah blogger, it has been too long.
What I am about to tell you may shock you. It may leave you stunned. It may cause your parasympathetic nervous system to overload and your cerebellum to capsize leaving you twitching helplessly on the floor. I find that in such cases, a strong cup of chocolate flavoured coffee helps.
When I boarded the tiny bus to Woody's, I was aware of the risk I was taking. To board the small school bus is to sign your own death warrant. The driver is mad. Every few seconds, you will see passengers bouncing off the walls and hanging from the roof by their ears. Your body will undergo a series of Gibb's energy changes leading to the superimposition of waves in the pericardial fluid. Essentially, your brain will shoot out of your ears and will be instantly devoured by the screaming kids.
Those kids are scary.
After spending 20 minutes in what I have come to believe is Dante's fifth circle of hell, we got down at Woody's. Interestingly, it was here that we concocted the worst drink the world has ever had the good fortune never to have tasted (I think there's something wrong with that sentence construction, but as I am presently high on sugar and coffee, I am unable to put my finger on it.) For those adventurous enough to try it, the recipe is as follows:
1 cup citric acid
3 spoons coffee (black)
2 spoons of panneer butter masala
1 cup coke(alternatively, one can use an equal quantity of common pesticide)
2 spoons thaingai chutney
Don't say you weren't warned.
....not one of my best posts..but give me some time. I'm out of shape.
What I am about to tell you may shock you. It may leave you stunned. It may cause your parasympathetic nervous system to overload and your cerebellum to capsize leaving you twitching helplessly on the floor. I find that in such cases, a strong cup of chocolate flavoured coffee helps.
When I boarded the tiny bus to Woody's, I was aware of the risk I was taking. To board the small school bus is to sign your own death warrant. The driver is mad. Every few seconds, you will see passengers bouncing off the walls and hanging from the roof by their ears. Your body will undergo a series of Gibb's energy changes leading to the superimposition of waves in the pericardial fluid. Essentially, your brain will shoot out of your ears and will be instantly devoured by the screaming kids.
Those kids are scary.
After spending 20 minutes in what I have come to believe is Dante's fifth circle of hell, we got down at Woody's. Interestingly, it was here that we concocted the worst drink the world has ever had the good fortune never to have tasted (I think there's something wrong with that sentence construction, but as I am presently high on sugar and coffee, I am unable to put my finger on it.) For those adventurous enough to try it, the recipe is as follows:
1 cup citric acid
3 spoons coffee (black)
2 spoons of panneer butter masala
1 cup coke(alternatively, one can use an equal quantity of common pesticide)
2 spoons thaingai chutney
Don't say you weren't warned.
....not one of my best posts..but give me some time. I'm out of shape.
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
A letter to the Taras
Voluntary warning out of good intentions and decaying logical sequences:
The following matter may be innapropriate for children, the aged, those suffering from unmitigated nasal discharge and anyone whose name is Ugranarasimha Veeralakshminarayana Bin Tughlaq. Dirty supervision is recommended.
Hail oh alpha tambrahms!
I give you much thanks for your highly enlightening medium of communication which in all its insipid glory has thrown to light new vistas of hopelessness in the complex nature of our existences.
Why yes, I did get the point, which may or may not exist, and which by following logical thought (whose own definition remains unclear), proves that our existences as complex or abstract beings is in question. Ah...the infinitely confusing and rather boring depths of existentialism. It has driven the best of us mad. Infact, just this morning, a certain person A was going into involuntary spasms over the fact that her economy-sized ego consisted entirely of displacement reactions.
I seem to be rambling, which is definitely a good thing because it leaves my mind with infinite potential to focus. That I am currently not actually focussing on anything of note is besides the point(which may or may not exist).
From your confused, slightly crazy friend,
At a cerebral frequency of 435643 Hz,
Dhadi
The following matter may be innapropriate for children, the aged, those suffering from unmitigated nasal discharge and anyone whose name is Ugranarasimha Veeralakshminarayana Bin Tughlaq. Dirty supervision is recommended.
Hail oh alpha tambrahms!
I give you much thanks for your highly enlightening medium of communication which in all its insipid glory has thrown to light new vistas of hopelessness in the complex nature of our existences.
Why yes, I did get the point, which may or may not exist, and which by following logical thought (whose own definition remains unclear), proves that our existences as complex or abstract beings is in question. Ah...the infinitely confusing and rather boring depths of existentialism. It has driven the best of us mad. Infact, just this morning, a certain person A was going into involuntary spasms over the fact that her economy-sized ego consisted entirely of displacement reactions.
I seem to be rambling, which is definitely a good thing because it leaves my mind with infinite potential to focus. That I am currently not actually focussing on anything of note is besides the point(which may or may not exist).
From your confused, slightly crazy friend,
At a cerebral frequency of 435643 Hz,
Dhadi
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Monday, August 14, 2006
sigh..
It was a sad, sad day when what entered the world as a quart-sized premature baby decided to ponder on the complexities of a falling apple instead of eating it (like any sensible person would do) and single-handedly created the bane of high school existence.
Immemorialised on the covers of the most mind-blowingly boring textbooks in the world, he has cultivated my hate and abject loathing since the 8th grade.
Stupid man, I bet his wife left him and he turned into a bum on the streets of wherever it was he lived....Newton I believe. What nonsense!
Immemorialised on the covers of the most mind-blowingly boring textbooks in the world, he has cultivated my hate and abject loathing since the 8th grade.
Stupid man, I bet his wife left him and he turned into a bum on the streets of wherever it was he lived....Newton I believe. What nonsense!
Sunday, July 30, 2006
SEEK
My Dirties on Day 1
The proud Taras.
Pav Bajji-phrenia
Food was so bad, the only thing you could do was laugh.
Phenom - setting up for its mind-blowing performance
Friday, July 28, 2006
Pools of black have no depth
Pools of black have no depth.
I wish I could look into a sea that had shades of mauve and gold and blue and silver.
I wish i could see purity and experience what it is to be pure.
I wish I could hear liberty ring.
I wish I could smell vitality.
But all I see are shallow brown pits,
Overflowing with hypocracy and deceit.
All I hear are malvolent lies.
All I smell is the dust of defeat.
I cannot help but feel shallow
Feel hollow
Feel pain
Feel desperation
How I long for pools of green.
I wish I could look into a sea that had shades of mauve and gold and blue and silver.
I wish i could see purity and experience what it is to be pure.
I wish I could hear liberty ring.
I wish I could smell vitality.
But all I see are shallow brown pits,
Overflowing with hypocracy and deceit.
All I hear are malvolent lies.
All I smell is the dust of defeat.
I cannot help but feel shallow
Feel hollow
Feel pain
Feel desperation
How I long for pools of green.
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Humming Under My Breath
Sunny days hmm hmm hmm
Hmmmmmmm hmm hmmm....
I'm on hmm hmmm
Nanana air daadaaaa....
Can you tell me haaanaa naaa
Naa naaa na hmm hmm hmm hmmm...
hmm hmmm hmmmh mmm mmmm......
Hmmmmmmm hmm hmmm....
I'm on hmm hmmm
Nanana air daadaaaa....
Can you tell me haaanaa naaa
Naa naaa na hmm hmm hmm hmmm...
hmm hmmm hmmmh mmm mmmm......
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Oh thank God I found you. I had the most horrible day today and I've been looking all over for an audience to whom I can pour forth my innumerable, unreasonable, illogical woes sans annoying interuptions.
It started out pretty much the same as usual; studying frantically for a bio test in the bus and deciding somewhere along the way to give up and pray that fate would kick in just this once and help me get a respectable score ( I hate fate). So far so good. But at around 10:00, after the bio test during which fate resolutely turned its back on me, we were told to go down to attend a lecture by the director of Amity Law School, Delhi. So we all traipsied down to the basement, which by the way smelled horribly of the stale remains of cabbage and month old gas, and stood looking expectantly at the entrance. We waited...and waited.....and..waited(during this time all three yoga teachers came in, fiddled aimlessly with the sound system, lights, their clothes and hair and left). Just when we started to suspect that the whole thing was an elaborate and remarkably idiotic plan to trick us into doing yoga, the director showed up. That was the beginning of the most uncomfortable hour of my life. It went something like this....
" Good afternoon boys and girls. Amity Law School in Delhi was founded in 1998. I also founded NLS in 1989....so as I said ALS was founded in 1998..."
Oh God...my legs are dead. Maybe if I just sat in a different way...
" So as I said...I founded NLS in 1989..."
OK, now they hurt, bad idea...maybe I could move back to my original position. Oh God, why is Shubha staring at me like that?? I am so hungry...my stomach is going to fall out.
" ...I founded NLS, and I am director of ALS..."
Great and now I have to pee.
" So any questions?"
Can I please visit the toilet , Sir?
Mercifully, the lecture ended at 11 whereapon I forcibly restrained myself from running to the lavatory. However, I went there only to find myself at the end of a mile long que consisting predominantly of squealing babies whose ground floor toilet had been roped off to ensure silence in the area around the conference room where a meeting was being held. So basically, 500 plus students were now expected to share 3 stalls, one of which wasn't functional, in the span of 10 minutes. It was ghastly. Puddles of water overflowing, screaming kids splashing in the puddles, the stench of human...ahem...and its derivatives permeating our very souls, unflushed toilets. Gaa!!
The rest of the day, to tell you the truth was bearably normal. So I'll leave you now to mull over the shocking inadequacies of our school and my brain.
It started out pretty much the same as usual; studying frantically for a bio test in the bus and deciding somewhere along the way to give up and pray that fate would kick in just this once and help me get a respectable score ( I hate fate). So far so good. But at around 10:00, after the bio test during which fate resolutely turned its back on me, we were told to go down to attend a lecture by the director of Amity Law School, Delhi. So we all traipsied down to the basement, which by the way smelled horribly of the stale remains of cabbage and month old gas, and stood looking expectantly at the entrance. We waited...and waited.....and..waited(during this time all three yoga teachers came in, fiddled aimlessly with the sound system, lights, their clothes and hair and left). Just when we started to suspect that the whole thing was an elaborate and remarkably idiotic plan to trick us into doing yoga, the director showed up. That was the beginning of the most uncomfortable hour of my life. It went something like this....
" Good afternoon boys and girls. Amity Law School in Delhi was founded in 1998. I also founded NLS in 1989....so as I said ALS was founded in 1998..."
Oh God...my legs are dead. Maybe if I just sat in a different way...
" So as I said...I founded NLS in 1989..."
OK, now they hurt, bad idea...maybe I could move back to my original position. Oh God, why is Shubha staring at me like that?? I am so hungry...my stomach is going to fall out.
" ...I founded NLS, and I am director of ALS..."
Great and now I have to pee.
" So any questions?"
Can I please visit the toilet , Sir?
Mercifully, the lecture ended at 11 whereapon I forcibly restrained myself from running to the lavatory. However, I went there only to find myself at the end of a mile long que consisting predominantly of squealing babies whose ground floor toilet had been roped off to ensure silence in the area around the conference room where a meeting was being held. So basically, 500 plus students were now expected to share 3 stalls, one of which wasn't functional, in the span of 10 minutes. It was ghastly. Puddles of water overflowing, screaming kids splashing in the puddles, the stench of human...ahem...and its derivatives permeating our very souls, unflushed toilets. Gaa!!
The rest of the day, to tell you the truth was bearably normal. So I'll leave you now to mull over the shocking inadequacies of our school and my brain.
Sunday, June 25, 2006
Girly Men
Though unfair, it is one of the sad facts of life that girly men are objects of ridicule and shame whereas manly women are treated with courtesy..and in many cases, respect.
Beckam....rumoured to prance around his house in frilly pink lingerie, his apparently undecided sexual affiliation makes him the butt of rather mean jokes. I think it is very unfair that he should be made fun of for the reasons that he is. The man makes several millions of dollars a year. His athletic ability is legendary. To top it all, he has had four children...with a woman!! An even if he was bi, I don't think that that should be any reason to pay him less respect. Angelina Jolie is bi, and she has done worse things than run around in pink panties (though come to think of it, the thought of her doing something like that would probably be met with ecstatic approval). She has actually bottled her blood and gifted it to one of her ex-husbands. But everyone still respects and/or fantasises about her.
James Blunt...I like this guy. So his music sucks, so he has long blond hair, so his voice is high pitched and slightly off-key. So what? I think his girlish good looks work well for him.
Michael Jackson...Actually, in his case, I think the ridicule is justified...so forget him.
HK...Look, you can't help how you talk. Some people are just born with a nasal voice that sounds like the mating calls of varying avian species. HK has innumerable admirable qualities. He is smart, gets good grades, and can act very convincingly as a woman. I think his portrayal of Mrs Mani in his skit at Lit Fest was commendable. But most importantly, he is extremely tolerant. Where anyone else would blow up and start brawling, he takes alot of unnecessary crap from the class in good stead. I have alot of respect for HK.
Beckam....rumoured to prance around his house in frilly pink lingerie, his apparently undecided sexual affiliation makes him the butt of rather mean jokes. I think it is very unfair that he should be made fun of for the reasons that he is. The man makes several millions of dollars a year. His athletic ability is legendary. To top it all, he has had four children...with a woman!! An even if he was bi, I don't think that that should be any reason to pay him less respect. Angelina Jolie is bi, and she has done worse things than run around in pink panties (though come to think of it, the thought of her doing something like that would probably be met with ecstatic approval). She has actually bottled her blood and gifted it to one of her ex-husbands. But everyone still respects and/or fantasises about her.
James Blunt...I like this guy. So his music sucks, so he has long blond hair, so his voice is high pitched and slightly off-key. So what? I think his girlish good looks work well for him.
Michael Jackson...Actually, in his case, I think the ridicule is justified...so forget him.
HK...Look, you can't help how you talk. Some people are just born with a nasal voice that sounds like the mating calls of varying avian species. HK has innumerable admirable qualities. He is smart, gets good grades, and can act very convincingly as a woman. I think his portrayal of Mrs Mani in his skit at Lit Fest was commendable. But most importantly, he is extremely tolerant. Where anyone else would blow up and start brawling, he takes alot of unnecessary crap from the class in good stead. I have alot of respect for HK.
Thursday, June 15, 2006
Panique de chocolat
Où a tout le chocolat allé ? ? ? Je dois avoir quelque chocolat ! ...aah beaucoup de mieux. C'est la vie.
Sunday, June 11, 2006
A Revised Divine Geaneology
I spent Friday night sitting in the temple of Doom discussing the relationships that the mother of all Asuras and her numerous proginy share. Confusing as it is, I think I may have just about worked it out.
Aditi: Mother of the Devas and Father of Asuras, she is the creator and destroyer, the male and female (seizures of laughter), she is her own antithesis.
Hema: The daughter of Aditi.
Tara: The soul sister of Hema, and therefore the step-daughter of Aditi.
Vasudha: Tara's alter ego. Tara and Vasudha complete each other's sentences and thoughts. So that makes Vasudha Hema's step-soul sister, and Aditi's daughter once removed.
Shruti: In a new development, it has been discovered that Shruti is Hema's twin sister. So she is Aditi's daughter, Tara's alter soul sister, and Vasudha's alter souls sister once removed.
Whew!
Aditi: Mother of the Devas and Father of Asuras, she is the creator and destroyer, the male and female (seizures of laughter), she is her own antithesis.
Hema: The daughter of Aditi.
Tara: The soul sister of Hema, and therefore the step-daughter of Aditi.
Vasudha: Tara's alter ego. Tara and Vasudha complete each other's sentences and thoughts. So that makes Vasudha Hema's step-soul sister, and Aditi's daughter once removed.
Shruti: In a new development, it has been discovered that Shruti is Hema's twin sister. So she is Aditi's daughter, Tara's alter soul sister, and Vasudha's alter souls sister once removed.
Whew!
Thursday, June 08, 2006
On Religion
I find the concept of heaven slightly confusing. See, heaven is pleasure of the senses. So, anything that tastes, feels, looks, hears, smells good symbolises heaven. However, the seven deadly sins contradict that very definition of heaven. Gluttony is supposed to be a sin, but food makes us happy. Lust is a deadly sin, but of course sex makes us happy too. Isn't heaven all about the ultimate happiness? Eternal euphoria? Atleast it should be. It's supposed to be the exact opposite of Hell...which holds pain and suffering. So at the very least, heaven should hold comfort. Food and sex are comforting.
Some religions claim that heaven is supposed to free us of all desire so we are at peace. But in the absence of desire, people fall victim to chronic laziness...which is another deadly sin; Sloth.
So untill someone can enlighten me with alternate solutions, the only thing I can conclude is that heaven either doesn't exist, which is the most probable explaination, or it simply follows earthly laws where the consequences of fornication and stuffing your face are no more serious than law suits and smelly gas.
Some religions claim that heaven is supposed to free us of all desire so we are at peace. But in the absence of desire, people fall victim to chronic laziness...which is another deadly sin; Sloth.
So untill someone can enlighten me with alternate solutions, the only thing I can conclude is that heaven either doesn't exist, which is the most probable explaination, or it simply follows earthly laws where the consequences of fornication and stuffing your face are no more serious than law suits and smelly gas.
Saturday, May 27, 2006
OTH vs OC
It is time now to discuss a question that falls under my favourite topic of conversation. TV shows. TV shows are my favourite mode of escapism. TV is like a book that does all the thinking for you. It takes you to a parallel universe where nothing is ever boring. Anyways....here is the ever-baffling question. Is the OC a better TV show than One Tree Hill?
The OC is about a rich white world. What initially catches your eye are the flashy clothes, the over the top jewellry, the mansions. And while the drama itself is pathetic bordering on stupid, the riches make you want to see more. Again, it is all about escapism. Who wants to know about a poor kids life when they can watch a neighbourhood of mansions and chanel?
On the other hand, One Tree Hill has beautiful people and none of them are the feel-like-slapping-her/him baby-face beautiful...like Marissa. Tree Hill is like a town full of Summers, with varying degrees of attitude. It also has a great deal of the most fundamental emotion that is severely lacking in the OC ; friendship. And sure, there are glimpses of the Seth-Ryan, Summer-Marissa friendships, but not nearly enough, and not with enough intensity. All the OC seems to be about are deaths, trauma and love affairs. One Tree Hill actually has a reasonable, if not great story-line. More importantly, it is centred around a basketball team, so if everything else sucks, there's always the scenes with the basketball games to make it interesting. The thing that OTH lacks, is finer touches. The direction, the cinematography, and in many cases, the acting leaves much to be desired.
So, does the good script, beautiful people and awesome basketball action beat the world of the rich and famous, good acting and direction and excellent music? It is an answer that I may never arrive at.
The OC is about a rich white world. What initially catches your eye are the flashy clothes, the over the top jewellry, the mansions. And while the drama itself is pathetic bordering on stupid, the riches make you want to see more. Again, it is all about escapism. Who wants to know about a poor kids life when they can watch a neighbourhood of mansions and chanel?
On the other hand, One Tree Hill has beautiful people and none of them are the feel-like-slapping-her/him baby-face beautiful...like Marissa. Tree Hill is like a town full of Summers, with varying degrees of attitude. It also has a great deal of the most fundamental emotion that is severely lacking in the OC ; friendship. And sure, there are glimpses of the Seth-Ryan, Summer-Marissa friendships, but not nearly enough, and not with enough intensity. All the OC seems to be about are deaths, trauma and love affairs. One Tree Hill actually has a reasonable, if not great story-line. More importantly, it is centred around a basketball team, so if everything else sucks, there's always the scenes with the basketball games to make it interesting. The thing that OTH lacks, is finer touches. The direction, the cinematography, and in many cases, the acting leaves much to be desired.
So, does the good script, beautiful people and awesome basketball action beat the world of the rich and famous, good acting and direction and excellent music? It is an answer that I may never arrive at.
Friday, May 26, 2006
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Depressed??
It seems to me that my generation seems to have sunk into inescapable self-made grey clouds of gloom. The clouds appear to be custom made to suit each individual; the colours of individual justification for low spirits may vary greatly, but the essential features of this "depression" seem to be mass manufactured. Here are some of my thoughts on why this is so.
I find it interesting that whenever a child draws a "happy" picture, it invariable contains a shining yellow sun, trees, birds and two or more people smiling...possibly holding hands. What it never contains are skyscrapers, cars spewing noxious fumes, and infact no sign of industrial development or any other sort of mechanization. At most, the picture may contain a cheerful brick house. I think that to the human mind, the drab shades of a metropolis represent complications, responsibilities, anxiety, and ugliness in every form; something that we all strive throughout our lives to escape. A large income provides us the means to create artificial serenity. It enables us to surround ourselves with the calming, invigorating colours and sounds of nature; the blue of the backyard swimming pool, the green of the front garden, chirping birds in the birdhouse hanging from the porch roof; the essentials of a natural environment while we still retain complete control. We strive to acquire money to be able to escape the ugliness that surrounds us because it dampens our spirits and gives us a discomfiting sense of foreboding. That's why people prefer the suburbs to the city.
The self-absorption of the me generation may also contribute towards "depression". Self-professed depression could merely be a way to grab attention. Alternately, it may be a way to confirm one's coolness. It is very unhip to show happiness, or to display emotion in any form. Again, it may be that depression is confused with outright boredom, something that seems to have gripped the present generation. What is interpreted as depression may simply be the widespread lethargy, listlessness, incompetence and total ineffectualness that seems endemic in the me generation.
I find it interesting that whenever a child draws a "happy" picture, it invariable contains a shining yellow sun, trees, birds and two or more people smiling...possibly holding hands. What it never contains are skyscrapers, cars spewing noxious fumes, and infact no sign of industrial development or any other sort of mechanization. At most, the picture may contain a cheerful brick house. I think that to the human mind, the drab shades of a metropolis represent complications, responsibilities, anxiety, and ugliness in every form; something that we all strive throughout our lives to escape. A large income provides us the means to create artificial serenity. It enables us to surround ourselves with the calming, invigorating colours and sounds of nature; the blue of the backyard swimming pool, the green of the front garden, chirping birds in the birdhouse hanging from the porch roof; the essentials of a natural environment while we still retain complete control. We strive to acquire money to be able to escape the ugliness that surrounds us because it dampens our spirits and gives us a discomfiting sense of foreboding. That's why people prefer the suburbs to the city.
The self-absorption of the me generation may also contribute towards "depression". Self-professed depression could merely be a way to grab attention. Alternately, it may be a way to confirm one's coolness. It is very unhip to show happiness, or to display emotion in any form. Again, it may be that depression is confused with outright boredom, something that seems to have gripped the present generation. What is interpreted as depression may simply be the widespread lethargy, listlessness, incompetence and total ineffectualness that seems endemic in the me generation.
Sunday, May 14, 2006
A Mindless Conversation
Concience: Really! You have gone too far this time!
Me: What?
Con: An OC Marathon? You wasted 5 hours straight. You didn't even get up to pee. That kind of computer time is bad for you. BAD!
Me: Whatever. I'm gonna go get some icecream now.
Con: Now, if I was in imminent danger of losing my eyesight and the use of my brain, tell me how getting icecream would help me.
Me: It wouldn't. It would make you fat.
Con: WRONG. It would make YOU fat.
Me: Bitch.
Me: What?
Con: An OC Marathon? You wasted 5 hours straight. You didn't even get up to pee. That kind of computer time is bad for you. BAD!
Me: Whatever. I'm gonna go get some icecream now.
Con: Now, if I was in imminent danger of losing my eyesight and the use of my brain, tell me how getting icecream would help me.
Me: It wouldn't. It would make you fat.
Con: WRONG. It would make YOU fat.
Me: Bitch.
Sunday, May 07, 2006
The Colours of My Life
I haven't really written anything of note lately for which I do not apologise. For the past week or so I have had a horrible sense of foreboding, though I have no clear image of what may happen to me ( the things that can go wrong at this point and ruin my life are innumerable ). I felt like writing would only serve to heighten the feeling because the things I write about are usually so inconsequential. I think it also has something to do with the colour of my blog page. Blue, especially that shade, seems so calm and innocent. So much so that it mocks me. Yes, that has to go.
In other news, I have no other news. My life seems to have taken the semblance of a grey wall. There is of course the odd spot of red, a few dashes of blue, green and yellow, but these are conspicuously infrequent. Ah well, I suppose it's better than a wall of black.
On football. The enthusiasm boys have showed in the past for football seems to have escalated to near fanaticism. It's effects are pasted all over the web, newspapers, conversations and status messages. But what confirms my belief in the level of zealotry that has claimed boys is the fact that they seem to have replaced pictures of bikini-clad women with pictures of ... well, I don't really know enough to match most faces with names... soccer players. The entire male population seems to be consumed by World Cup Mania.
On family. My brother has convinced himself that he has abs. He infact treated me to an exclusive glimse of his "abs" which turned out to be .... his ribs. My sister insisted on joining horse-riding lessons again though she is scared of going faster than a slow trot. The rest of my family is not applicable for discussion the reasons being a) they are older than me and hence, have the power to punish me. b) I suspect they read my blog and while I am not entirely sure, I would prefer not to take a chance by releasing potentially lethal information.
I seem to have missed something out. No matter. It is almost certain that it is of very little importance and very probably mind-numbingly boring.
In other news, I have no other news. My life seems to have taken the semblance of a grey wall. There is of course the odd spot of red, a few dashes of blue, green and yellow, but these are conspicuously infrequent. Ah well, I suppose it's better than a wall of black.
On football. The enthusiasm boys have showed in the past for football seems to have escalated to near fanaticism. It's effects are pasted all over the web, newspapers, conversations and status messages. But what confirms my belief in the level of zealotry that has claimed boys is the fact that they seem to have replaced pictures of bikini-clad women with pictures of ... well, I don't really know enough to match most faces with names... soccer players. The entire male population seems to be consumed by World Cup Mania.
On family. My brother has convinced himself that he has abs. He infact treated me to an exclusive glimse of his "abs" which turned out to be .... his ribs. My sister insisted on joining horse-riding lessons again though she is scared of going faster than a slow trot. The rest of my family is not applicable for discussion the reasons being a) they are older than me and hence, have the power to punish me. b) I suspect they read my blog and while I am not entirely sure, I would prefer not to take a chance by releasing potentially lethal information.
I seem to have missed something out. No matter. It is almost certain that it is of very little importance and very probably mind-numbingly boring.
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