Category: Writing

There are two important things in life. I can't quite recall what they are but they most certainly are two in number. But that is besides the point. There is no point. I never indulge in the frivolous exercise of making points. What's the point in that? Even this God person created the universe pretty pointlessly. Some of us believe in God. Some of us don't. To each their own. I believe there is a God. I just don't believe in Her (yes, God is a woman).

As I sit somewhere along the equator where summer and winter have as much meaning as lilac and violet have for a heterosexual male, I ponder over the miracle of life, the futility of death, and the sheer ecstasy of adultery. 'Adultery' is not the same as 'adulteration' the same way 'women's suffrage' is not the same as 'women's suffering'. It is funny (and excruciatingly annoying at the same time) how many people get words all mixed up. This is probably why capital punishment is still a reality. Bad vocabulary is reason enough to be executed. That, and making a personal diary out of a blog.

My disregard for those whose blogs are nothing better than a journal is public knowledge. I am not interested in some woman's sordid love life, choice of dildo, or leather fetishes when in all probability it is a man masking behind the anonymous wall of the internet making those entries. Don't ask me how I know this. I just do. You would feel the same way about divulging your sources of information if you had been there on that dark and stormy night. And since I am not a dog named Snoopy, my dark and stormy night stories don't necessarily have happy endings.

Time for some reflection. At least as much reflection as this space can possibly permit. The previous year has been a weird one. I got married. The frequency of my blog posts went up. And Aran refused to guest edit Cosmopolitan. Well, she would have refused had she been offered but you get the point without my ever having to make it. Does it mean that the best points are the ones that are never made? Perhaps...

Current Mood: Gloomy
Current Music: David Bowie - The Man who Sold the World
Much has not been made of my ability to survive cranial atrophy for long periods of time. As a tribute to the human race's ineptitude in making anything of anyone other than themselves, this blog post shall be completely devoid of a particular word. There in, as the Bard would say, lies the rub. How could someone not use a word yet convey that such a disuse was intentional and in no way reflective of their vocabulary or lack of it?

Perhaps we will never know, the same way we know that all it takes to get anything (but money) out of me is a woman batting her eyelashes. A few women went even further which probably means that women are not attentive, whatever they accuse us men of notwithstanding. That said, this is a good time to have a contest. The first person to guess the missing word in this post gets to be the first person to guess the missing word in this post. Voila!

Fantasy has been morphing into reality. That is the single greatest truth of the modern era. This basically (and acidically too (ha ha, the engineer's humour strikes!)) implies our dream pool is shrinking. Not the 'in tropical paradise surrounded by gorgeous women' dreams but the 'landing on the moon' dreams. Frankly, I believe those kids who dreamt of becoming astronauts were retarded. But that does not mean I am happier than Queen Latifa's arse as we rob our future generations of their dreams by realising them.

This paragraph can be safely skipped. 'There have always been dreamers. People who see not what is but what can be. There have always been doers. People who make what can be what is. This is how things become possible. This is how the quality of our lives improves. Because we dream. Because we do.' Yes, that is from an old commercial of an automobile company that went bust. I don't know what is more frightening - my remembering such useless things or the fact that we may not be able to dream anymore because there will be nothing left to dream about.

There will be nothing to make us look forward to a new day. Cynics would point out that this has infact been true for a good few hundred years. But who gives a pig's armpit about what cynics say? They speak so much truth so matter of factly that we invariably go into self-preservational denial. No one wants to be told they have an utterly insignificant existence for on a long enough timeline the significance of any being or event approaches zero.

That's that.

Current Music: Limp Bizkit - Now I know
There are some things beyond human understanding. Terrorism is not one of them. Anyone who claims to walk on two legs and breathe oxygen should be able to get the hang of it. Yes this includes the allied forces fighting the 'war on terror', strange though it may appear. Even for a fleeting moment I don't buy the allied bluff. I don't think anyone else does. Fighting for the free world, they say. Go figure.

George Bernard Shaw, or someone like him, once said something to the effect that patriotism is the blind faith that one's own country is right simply because one happens to be born in it. Entire wars have been fought upon this flimsy premise. Although this post is not about the futility of war, I should definitely like to mention that in the history of the human race only two wars have ever been justified - the great war of the Mahabharata, and the 1971 Bangladesh war. Every other war has been the result of man's greed for more.

I digress. The thing is events around me hardly ever shake me up. I am one of those cynics or realists or idealists or whatever other labels you can choose to come up with who believes that the world has always been the same. Almost two millennia ago there were the crusades. Today you have jihad. When colonialism became politically incorrect, it was merely replaced with words like globalisation or intellectual property rights - anything that ensured the wealthy remain that way by sucking dry the old colonial world. Remarkable that Nehru had made this prophecy during a NAM convention, eons before these terms became fashionable.

In my 9 years of adulthood, I have never voted. Not once. Yes, I have never let up on an opportunity to complain about the system but when it came my turn to do something about changing it I remained inactive. I assumed I was insignificant. Forgotten I had that it was that one nail that undid the horseshoe that resulted in a battle being lost.

This time something inside me stirred. It did not stir before. Not when the WTC came down. Not when the Parliament was bombed. Not when Akshardham was attacked. Not when the Mumbai train bombings happened. Not even when tragedy struck closer home in Hyderabad. Nothing. Zilch. Nada. Had I been completely desensitised? I don't think so. People not using a condom during sex completely riled me. Then why this apathy towards terrorism?

It was possibly because I realised that the brilliance of democracy is that a country gets the governance it deserves. I realised that with someone who has never once won a Lok Sabha election heading the government, things could not possibly be any better than they are. I realised that all this mindlessness was our own doing. We never tried to change things. All we did is scream off the rooftops.

But what was different this time around? I guess being away from India gives you a very cushy perspective. No, I am not in what is considered to be a developed nation. I am in Nigeria, a country known more for its disorder. Yet, I feel safer here than I did back home. But that is not it. It is a little hard to explain. Let me give it my best shot.

I caught most of the Mumbai news stories on CNN / BBC. I was very touched by the empathetic manner in which they handled this story. They gave the tragedy the dignity it deserved. Indian news channels, on the other hand, turned it into a TRP gimmick. It was appalling. It was even more appalling that reporting news in such a barbaric manner increases TRP. This is a reflection of the kind of people we have become. Deep down, we revel in others' tragedy. And this is saddening. What stirred inside me was a sense of loss. We have possibly lost India to our inner demons. That gives me the goose flesh.

Current Mood: Gloomy
Current Music: None
Over the past week or so I have come to the damning conclusion that there is little separating me from the make-your-living-out-of-sensationalising-news channels. Not that it is going to have any impact on the content on this blog but it is good to realise the obvious every now and then as long as we don't make a habit of doing it often enough to take the sheen off living completely. Denial gives us something that nothing else can - a garb of pretence that considerably lessens the lure of suicide.

Living is perhaps the hardest thing to keep on doing. We all have our own methods to push ourselves for that one additional sun rise. For some, it is that business deal to close. For others, it could be that holiday in the Alps. For the more evolved among us, it is that hope of a threesome. What takes the biscuit, however, is that these goals are not an end in themselves. There is always another milestone looming over the horizon once this one is crossed.

Honestly, I am all for this human urge to push the boundaries of its fogged up existence. After all, if man had rested after inventing the wheel then we would not have those cool Swiss watches to show off to our friends. After the discovery of fire had man been satisfied with his primary objective of being able to see a woman's bottom in the dark, we would not have the joys of Tandoori chicken. Had Einstein been happy with, well, anything we would not have the lunacy of satellite television. That said, I do believe we should draw the line at this zest to 'save' the planet. It is communist. I am appalled the capitalist world has not cried foul over it.

First, let's get this straight. Anyone who has delusions of being able to save the planet belongs in the nut factory. We have done far too much damage to salvage anything. Why not make the best of whatever few years the Earth can support us for and then die partying the night away rather than worrying about which colour code to use for non-recyclable materials? Two, as I said, it stifles free market.

Anyone living in a big city knows that the best place for fresh air is your air-conditioned office. No one has yet thought of mandatory office breaks for rejuvenation in oxygenated cubicles. This would birth a whole new industry. As smog increases, sales of detergents would too. As water gets more polluted, sales of purifiers go through the roof. As people start falling sick, it is boom time for hospitals. Imagine the possibilities! And we choose to stifle industrial growth in already bleak times, all in the name of environment?

Current Mood: Gloomy
Current Music: Generator Jam
Being all that I am, a culmination of most things extremely fulminating, I have been accused of many things. All of them derogatory, but deserved nonetheless. Not like I give a rat's ass to any of them. Err, why would I ever want to use 'rat' and 'ass' in the same sentence when I could have used instead 'Vida Guerra' and 'ass', and not just in the sentence mind you. May be what I believe is not affecting me is affecting me, or any other pseudo-psychological balderdash that could be suitably inserted in this space by self-professed psycho-analysts.

I am exceedingly (yes, not excessively - I mean this in a good way) opinionated. I believe there really is no point in having an opinion if you do not feel strongly about it. At the same time, that opinion has to stand the test of time which means super-human research / experience has to precede the formulation of the opinion. For instance, I abhor fence-sitters. You have to be either here or there. The middle path is always the road-divider - you never get anywhere perched on it. That does not mean you are not allowed to glance at / admire a red hot Ferrari going the opposite way as long as you are not whimsical enough to jump ship.

I do not believe 'right' or 'wrong' are universal truths for everyone. They are opinions or points of view. Also, I believe ends do not justify means in the same way that an urge to have sex does not justify rape. At this point, I would like to tread down a path very carefully.

We all have our set of morals and ethics that we live by. For Ms. A, for example, getting off a parking ticket by bribing the policeman is thoroughly acceptable while for Ms. B driving a further two kilometres to find the legal parking spot is absolutely essential. I am not judging either as long as they are consistent with their code of morals and ethics. What is good for Peter may kill Tom, after all. It is the hypocrisy I cannot take. Ms. A, to continue with the above example, may occasionally get away through a bribe. She will not complain until she comes across a police officer who hauls her up expecting a pay-off when she has done no wrong. Then she will go all holier-than-thou look-at-me-I-am-being-harassed-by-the-police.

Going back to the point I was making about ends not justifying means, I can never justify rape. Perhaps there are those out there who can, and if that is the code they choose to live by then I have no qualms over it. Just so long as they are not infuriated when their mother / daughter / sister / beloved falls victim to the crime. I can never justify cutting corners through bribery. Perhaps some out there can in which case they have no right to be incensed when a drunk driver runs over someone they care for, and then gets off through a bribe. The problem with the human race always has been to justify things the way they suit us.

The minute you start justifying to others the choices you make you start to realise they may not be the right ones for you. And the minute you feel the need to justify your love it ceases to hold all meaning it had for you.

PS: This post was inspired by Shakeela's comment on rock_26iin's blog.

Note to Shakeela: I never assume I am doing good. I believe there is a fine line between what is ethical and what is moral. Doing what I believe is morally right is more important to me than doing what is ethically right.
Note to rock_26iin: Trust me when I say that I have been there and done that. The opinions I express are not formed out of thin air.
Note to her: I think I have a fair idea about what must have transpired, and what it was that you kept rock_26iin in the dark about. Despite that, I believe you deserve better than rock_26iin to whom it appears it is more important to be proven right than it is to be with the one he has delusions of love for.
Note to self: Stop meddling in people's lives.

Current Music: The babe behind me blabbering on the phone
Ho Hum. Another orkut login, another friend request.

Disclaimer: I am not implying I am extremely 'popular' on orkut. I have one of the most common first names in India, possibly even the world, which sometimes gets people who are looking for the namesakes to contact me. We should change the phrase, "Every Tom, Dick and Harry" to "Every Tom, Dick, Harry and <my name>".

I believe no one outside the law profession has inserted a disclaimer in the middle of a piece, and that in bold letters. Not that I think very highly of it. No, not the inserting of disclaimers, even though that is an exercise in existential escapism - no one stands for what they believe in anymore. I was referring to the law practice - no offence meant to the fraternity that takes great pride in keeping rapists out of jails, more so since my wife belongs to the brotherhood.

Since I am a man, it is usually a great ego boost to have someone else make the first contact on personal /community sites. For some reason, women never do that. It is almost as if the female of the species (all the feminists out there please note that the word 'female' has not been used as a derogatory reference to the fairer sex) fears that a male appendage will suddenly sprout between her legs if she ever did that. But that is a subject matter for another day. Like that day will ever come!

The matter at hand is me. Or rather someone making first contact with me. That is not a deal big enough to warrant an entire blog post - perhaps a paragraph or two at the most. That the contactee in question called himself 'loveble_man_hyd' is horrifying to say the least. More so because the contact message said, "Did you like my friend?" Most of us with an IQ slightly greater than that of a piranha would know that when a man asks you about his friend without naming the friend then there is only one friend he is asking you about.

Make no mistake. I am not homophobic. Not by a long shot. Given an entirely different environment to grow up in, I could have swung both ways. But that is all water under the bridge. I have never been asked about a 'friend' before. Something tells me, this is not going to be the last of it.

Note: The opening line to this post is a tribute to all the Shakeela movie reviews on this site. They are sorely missed. Perhaps the site admin(s) could throw some light on this.

Current Mood: Gloomy
Current Music: The sound of thunder
Each moment of my life that I log on to the blogs summary page, I am usually greeted by the ubiquitous 'If you can read this post, it means that the registration process was successful and that you can start blogging...' blurb in the 'Latest Posts' section. The mere act of creating a blog seems to be enough to knock down the blood and sweat it takes to ham out a post.

Oh well. Those who have been putting up with my posts of late know that it does not take any effort at all to update a blog. Either that or the effort is so lame that the writing is unable to rise above it. I prefer to think it is the former. Whatever it may be, there is a minimum sense of reverence that every new post on a blog must evoke - at least in a web server - and by that minimum I am only drawing the line at automated or system generated blog posts ranking above those that require human intervention.

I realise I could have bypassed all this angst-venting on a public forum by writing directly to the administrators of this site. Where is the fun in that? Besides, when I come across something that I believe is enough material to make a post about I usually succumb to the lure. I am invertebrate like that - take the low road.

Much has been made of this low budget movie 'Hulla' making a mountain out of a molehill, in the sense that a two hour movie could be woven around the silly little premise of a watchman whistling. I do not know if the writer of that movie frequents this space because I seem to have quite mastered that art. There is one thing that I do know. More people are going to end up reading this blog than those who are ever going to watch that movie.

Current Mood: Gloomy
Current Music: Shaggy - It wasn't me
I have no morals or ethics. At least none that can be spoken of. You may even say I am morally unethical or ethically immoral or any combination thereof. Dennis Franz, or may be someone else, in NYPD Blue once said, "There is a fine line between what is ethical and what is moral." Of course, most of us would only remember NYPD Blue as the show that introduced on-screen nudity and objectionable language to pre-watershed television.

Since I am a man, I am pro VSNL (to the uninitiated, that stands for Violence Sex Nudity Language and not Videsh Sanchar Nigam Limited). And contrary to what people have begun to expect of me, this post is not about sex. I have come to realise over time that my posts on sex tend to get the least number of user comments, which is a sure-fire indicator of the degradation of the human race. Aren't we, by not appreciating in-your-face sex discourses, fighting against the very impulses that make us human? Therein lies the irony - are we human? I will not answer that question. Partly because I don't feel like it. Mostly because existentialism transcends insanity.

There is one aspect of note that I would want noted. Anyone notice that Carrie Bradshaw (Sarah Jessica Parker's character in Sex and the City) is the only one who never takes her clothes off in the series? Why is that? As has always been my forte, I have a theory. Samantha (Kim Cattrall's character) is way more popular than Carrie. Parker knew that she could ever get more adulations than Cattrall. What does she do? She decides not to shed her clothes. So, sometime down the line, when all is done and dusted and people still remember Cattrall, Parker could always say, "Well, at least I did not have to parade around naked to get famous."

A very sad case of loser-psychology at play. Even sadder than the motto, "It does not matter whether you win or lose but how you play the game." I mean, who believes in that? The Indian Olympics contingent. Right. Ethiopians, training on the streets of Addis Ababa, win all the distance running events. Nigeria, training on the sands of Lagos beaches, gets the silver in Football. And all we do is crib over the popularity of cricket putting other sports on the backburner.

Current Mood: Gloomy
Current Music: Madonna - American Life
The Fountainhead is the best book I have read in the last two years. It is also the only book I have read during the time. Although I do not subscribe to Ayn Rand's views in their entirety, I do believe she hit the nail on the head when she spoke of triviality being accorded a revered status, and that, in more ways than one, would hold for her book too.

That said, no one writes with the intent to impress. I am assuming, of course, that biographers and myspace members do not come under the umbrella of authors. Writing is the most selfish of all human indulgences - you do it simply because it makes you feel good. But when a piece of writing that can only be termed plain, and that in a zest of euphemistic zeal, pleases the creator enough to have it out there for the whole world to read then it does not augur well.

It, in fact, raises two pertinent questions.
1. Was the writer blinded enough by her sense of false vanity to not see how pedestrian her piece is?
2. Is the writer genuinely not good enough to come up with something better?

The latter can and should be glossed over. The former is unpardonable. It is even more unforgivable in the light that connoisseur-impersonators would read between those lines that do not even exist, thereby interpreting such writing to be a victory or a successful way of life. Successful way of life? That can only happen in the denial cocoon we all live in, which is not a bad thing. However, seeing things that do not subsist by itself calls for a visit to the shrink. Then he compounds it by his number seeking ways.

I don't believe I will ever get over this number seeking business, more so since I happen to be "male number seeker's" safety bet. It is degrading to be thought of as a second, which is alright. But how would he ever digest that he even lost his safety?

Current Mood: Gloomy
Current Music: Door Gagan Ki Chaaon Mein - Aa Chal Ke Tujhe
I saw Om Shanti Om today. Nah, it was not an nth repeat - I lost my cherry. Movie buffs would scoff at me, I suppose. Fans of the actor/director would be up in arms, probably. Since I am neither, "Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn."

Contrary to box office performance, I liked the movie. I could even love it. It had the potential to be an all time classic. But I am probably nitpicking. Perfection is hard to replicate, more so outside the confines of this blog. That does not mean I am above doffing my hat when I see something fantastic. I am simply amazed that this movie came from the same person who made Main Hoon Na, a movie that by setting the box office on fire considerably lessened the credibility that film collections had of being the prime indicative factor of a film's watchability.

Phew, the above sentence took a lot out of me. Perhaps I am getting too old and senile. That is besides the point of this post. There really is no point to this post, the same way there never has been any point to any post on this blog. However, I should like to choose this moment to insert a disclaimer: The point of this blog is to be completely pointless. Whether I have actually made a point by making that disclaimer is going to be a source of endless debate among the intellectually challenged.

The same way whether my point of view matters in the larger context of things is not going to be a source of endless debate since no one knows what the larger context of things ever is. Om Shanti Om, though, is a good movie. And it is a good movie even in isolation. Whatever I said about isolation in my previous post can be shoved up some unfortunate bloke's creek.

I have always held my blog in high esteem. Have never allowed this place to become a movie review forum, not that there is anything wrong with a review forum. It is the reviewers I cannot stand. But this movie made me. It is unlike anything I ever expected to come out of the Hindi Film Industry. It is the most spicy masala movie. Parts of the movie are brilliant, sheer genius. Importantly, as far as I am concerned, the songs were poetry. How can you not appreciate things like 'Chand teri roshni ka halka sa ek saaya hai'?

This hangover will take time to shake off.

Current Mood: Gloomy
Current Music: Om Shanti Om - Om Shanti Om
One of my all time favourite dialogues is from Kshatriya, a pretty obscure movie if you were born after 1981. Being as it was released in the 90s with no cable television or internet porn, yours truly watched it at least three times - twice in colour, and once in black and white on my granny's Beltek TV. Those were simpler times indeed. We were happier then with much little than we are sad today with much more. Whoa, that was quite an insightful statement. I had to read that over ten times to completely soak in its beauty.

Anyway, the dialogue. It was a scene between Vinod Khanna and Sunny Deol. Deol, who had just returned from London, wanted to get married to Khanna's daughter, which was impossible for the same reason that Aamir Khan and Juhi Chawla could not get married in QSQT. The father of the not-to-be bride (Vinod Khanna, of course) says something to the effect that their families share a fiery enmity to which Sunny says that you cannot fight fire with fire and you need water to douse the flames. This is when this gem of a line comes from Vinod Khanna, "Oh, and you have brought the fire-dousing water from London!"

In isolation, the dialogue itself is not interesting. Then again, in isolation nothing is interesting unless I happen to find Angelina Jolie in isolation. However, the dialogue has stayed with me for a good fifteen years now. In retrospect, perhaps those fifteen years were not all that good if the only solid memory I have of those years is that of a cheesy dialogue from a super flop movie. I should have got out more often, and not like those Goa trips with my parents. I probably should not have said that out loud. Hot women reading this post should disregard that statement.

This raises another question. No, not the question if any hot women read this blog at all. The question simply is this, "Would a woman continue to be perceived as hot if she had the time to wander in the online space reading some loser's ramblings? Shouldn't she be out there getting laid?" Another insight to nicely round off this post.

Current Mood: Gloomy
Current Music: Katy Perry - I Kissed a Girl
What is it with smokers?

1. Honour: Every smoker I know, no matter how miserly, has never refused a fag or a light to a fellow being in need. It is like there is an unwritten code - thou shalt always share the death stick. It could be a stranger who speaks ancient Hebrew for all you know. But when she has to borrow a stick, it is as if they all speak some universal language. An act as simple as sharing a cigarette could lead to a BFF scenario.

2. Bonding: Male bonding is over-hyped when you compare it with the nicotine bond. It forges ties stronger than those that motherhood does. Make no mistake, I will probably never know what it is like to be a mother mostly because I am a man - I am simply going by what the advertisements project motherhood to be. It could be anywhere - airport smoking areas, office galleries, homes, pubs, streets, open fields, toilets, or even shady back alleys - once a butt is lit you can rest assured the backslapping will ensue.

3. Whining: Then they whine! Really, they whine. Yes, we all whine. It is just that smokers take it to a whole new level. What makes it particularly unbearable is that they whine solely about one thing - not being able to quit. Sadly, we seem to have given them a licence to do that since we all tend to think it takes superhuman resolve to quit the habit. Jeez! I know people who have smoked 50-60 cigarettes a day for 25 straight years, and they have quit. They were smokers. A day later not a single fag. Just like that - on and then off.

4. Defensiveness: They know they are going to die young. But they make it sound romantic, almost like Jon Bon Jovi does in Blaze of Glory, "You ask about my conscience, and I offer you my soul. You ask if I'll grow to be a wise man, well I ask if I'll grow old." What they do not know is that unlike Jovi who talks of a painless death by the gun, these guys are probably going to be breathing out of ventilators in a few years time.

I could go on about this. But I won't for two reasons. One, I have used up my thinking time for the day. Two, I have done my, as Aran said once, four reasonably sized paragraphs.

Current Mood: Gloomy
Current Music: Aerosmith - Dream On
I have never been one for quoting others - well, quoting famous people anyway with the exception of Douglas Adams. I have never been one for reverance especially when most people on this planet are only slightly more intelligent than jelly fish, no offence to jelly fish. I have never been one for modesty, what with vanity being my favourite indulgence. I have never been one for glossing over the monstrosities of our shallow existence - euphemism is the reason we are all in the mess that we are.

Of course, the readers of this blog should know all that by now had they been remotely exercising that one organ that differentiates us from other primates - the brain. That is not such a bad thing, really. Why else could I keep making posts about the same insipid things if people understood what I wanted to say?

Why am I getting defensive? Has my desire to be read by more people made me weigh quantity over quality? No, I am not talking of my posts. I am talking of the readers who read my posts. Do I really want to make posts that are non-ambiguous enough for the E. Coli bacteria to understand? More than that, should I even bother commenting on posts that are not even worthy of the E. Coli bacteria's attention?

I have in all my blogging life of almost five years not made more than a handful of comments, other than those made on Aran's blog or mine. Of that handful, the few that were meant to be offensive were never taken offense at. Those that were subliminally subtle were deemed offensive. Perhaps that tells a story. SETI (Search for Extra Terrestrial Intelligence) should focus all their telescopes on the earth - let us be convinced that there is such a thing as intelligent life.

Current Music: Ugly Kid Joe - Everything About You
I knew I was getting ahead of myself when I spoke of the readership of this blog in plural terms, unless the blog author herself (purely used to make the language non-sexist - not indicative of the gender of the person in question) counts as a reader. That does beg the question. In my zest to be gender-neutral, have I become sexist? Quite some insight that. I am amazed how I can be so full of myself, yet recognise the little sparks of brilliance I come up with every now and then.

However ('however' is a fancy 'but' that we tend to use when we wish to rise above the mediocrity of conjunctions), this one time even I could not get ahead of myself. I heard somewhere that if you went around a tree at the speed of light you could kiss your own ass. And if you did that at twice the speed of light you could see yourself kiss your own ass. Whoever thought that physics could actually be fun!

This professor of mine used to say, "To understand physics you need to feel the pleasure of it, not the pressure of it." I had no idea that this was the kind of pleasure he was talking about. I could have aced physics you know, that I did ace physics irrespective not withstanding. Yeah, sometimes I like to let the geek in me out. Other times, it just comes out of its own accord.

Anyway. This post was about the exaggerated readership of this blog. I believe I have started regressing into the abyss of banality, what with all my trademark digression now being a thing of the past. That is not depressing enough to not rejoice over my widening reader base. It could be heart-breaking for Aran, though. The exclusivity of all this being exclusively for her would be, well, not so exclusive anymore.

Then again, Aran has stuck by me through thick and thin. That takes resolve, and a pretty thick skin to do. I am not sure anyone else can match that. Really.

Current Mood: Gloomy
Current Music: Alice Cooper - Poison
In my previous post (Technically, the post prior to the previous post since the previous post has been previously deleted but who is into technicalities these days? Especially since we now know that older technology scores over the newer ones, a case in point being the robustness of the Nokia 1110 over the touch-me-not sensibilities of the N95.) I had made a sweeping statement to the effect that it could be the last post on this blog.

Ardent readers of this blog would note the inherent irony in that statement (Of course, they should also note the supreme dullness of their lives if this blog is their sole source of entertainment.). It is absolutely characteristic of me to make such a claim. It is even more characteristic of me to not abide by it. As they say, if horses start befriending pastures what are they going to eat? Not only was that a crude translation, it was also quoted out of context.

Now, now. Here is a brilliant brainwave. Media houses quote celebrities (let's not go into the 'celebrities are proof of the decline of human civilisation' discourse, hard though it is not to) out of context all the time. So, if celebrities start talking out of context would that make the work of the media easier? May be I should patent this idea before anyone else starts to make money out of it. But that would be akin to a non-violent person dealing in guns. I would not be true to my beliefs, my principles - all because the greens would have me blinded. Well, I can live with that.

What I cannot live with, however, are two women. And that is only because my wife would have none of it. Make no mistake. A charming lady she is. Very classy too. It is just that I fail to understand why I cannot keep my box of snacks on the living room centre table. Keep it in the kitchen, she says. Why can a man not be the man of the house?

Current Mood: Gloomy
Current Music: The sound of generator
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