HYPOCRITE!!!!!!!!!!!!

Either crib about the power bill, or stop leaving lights, fans and other electronic equipment running in the room when you leave. You can't do both.

Oh, and yeah, switching on an AC to 22 degrees and leaving the room for three hours is NOT the ideal way to save power.


GOD!!!!!! Gyyyyyyaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrgggghhhhhh!!!!!!

IPL Thoughts

A lot of people are already aware of this, so please, bear with me while I inform the rest.

Here is my original policy for supporting IPL teams in any given match:

Always support the team that comes from further south, except when:
a) KKR is playing, in which case, support them, or
b) Mumbai Indians are playing, in which case, automatically support the other team.

My reason for disliking MI is fairly simple. I don't like how the team is named. I mean, the opening batsman and bowler are from Sri Lanka and South Africa respectively... Why call the team Mumbai Indians?

As far as supporting KKR goes, I just liked their black-n-gold colour combo. Oh, and that wicked awesome flaming ancient Roman war-helmet logo.


Which brings me to the next topic: How To Choose Which Team To Support:

a) By Performance:
The IPL does this for us, Rajasthan Royals coming out on top, with Deccan Chargers and Bangalore Royal Challengers bringing up the rear.

b) By Team Colours:
KKR takes this one hands down. Really. No contest. Delhi Daredevils and Kings XI Punjab fight for the next spot. Bringing up the rear, Deccan Chargers and Chennai Super Kings.

c) By Team Logo:
KKR wins. 'nuf said.

d) By Cheerleaders:
Rajashtan Royals take the crown. Wow. No, I mean WOW. Bangalore Royal Challengers come in second (Go Mallya!), with KXIP coming in third. Bottom of the table: Mumbai Indians and Chennai Super Kings. Seriously, people, get a clue. Male cheerleaders? With the two remaining females in trackpants? For CSK, that too yellow? Not happening.




Oh, and I now support a toss-up of CSK, DD and KXIP. No specific reason as such.

Rats Leaving A Sinking Ship

Where do they go, really? I mean, I get that they're the first ones off, but where do they go? Do they get into the lifeboats with the survivors? That would make a nice scene:

Rose and Jack both get off the Titanic and get into a lifeboat. They hold on to each other. Look deep into each others eyes, gossamer clouds forming as they breathe heavily after their ordeal. "Jack, this is no time to play footsieeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!" And the women unanimously and simultaneously jump off the boat preferring to brave the freezing, choppy waters of the North Atlantic, overbalancing and therefore, capsizing the poor little vessel.

Damn, I can see that Oscar for best screenplay coming my way...

But seriously, do they swim around, or what? And if they're in the middle of the freezing ocean, do they keep swimming till they die a natural (not to mention painfully frostbitten) death? Or do they survive till they are picked off by predatory sea animals or birds? What does Maneka Gandhi have to say about this?

Really, can someone provide an answer?

News Now Sucks

I'm sorely disappointed by the team over at Times Now. I mean, Arnab Goswami used to have it right. He'd read the news like it was, and the bar at the bottom was nice and sober.

Then my cable guy decides that I've had enough of Times Now and removes the channel for a couple of months.

Yesterday, I find it again. And what do I see? Times Now's main feature, Newshour, now looks like most post-10 pm shows on Aaj Tak - loud, opinionated, with gory music and special effects added to 'spice up the news' or whatever. The news bar at the bottom now occupies almost half the screen, with Arnab and his new apprentice reciting the news in time to the horror music playing in the background.

And what's with saying, "A look into the gruesome murder of Arushi - possibly a honor killing!" with so much relish in your voice? Firstly, their 14 year-old daughter's been murdered. As if that wasn't bad enough, you just want your little sound byte. Understand something: it's a murder investigation. Revealing details about it can hamper the investigation. Oh, right... That doesn't matter, just as long as you get your scoop. Still, can you stop sounding so happy that it happened?

And if it does get botched up because of your reports in the first place, you get another great story: "Police Botch Up Arushi Murder Investigation. This report, coming up in about three minutes." What is with that, anyway? You already said at the beginning of the show what you were going to talk about, what's with saying it again and again and again saying, "Coming up in a bit, but first..." or "That story in about four minutes from now..."

This is sad to see. Really. At least NDTV seems to be doing okay, though even Dr. Roy was floundering a while ago...




Oh, and Arnab's little apprentice, it's 'an honour killing', not 'a honor killing'.

And Arnab, stop calling it 'your news channel' on live national TV. It's not my TV channel, and it's not cute.

Clothes-Gifting

Okay. Let's get a few things straight. Seriously. 'Thin', 'Fat', 'Very Fat' are not shirt sizes. Let's try to refrain from the line of thinking that goes, Jayant is so thin, his shirt size must be 'Small'. "Excuse me, do you have this in a size 'Small'?"

Later saying, "Oh, that's fine... Body-hugging t-shirts that show your muscles are the new in thing!" will not help.

Okay. On to the next order of business. Collared, quad-coloured, striped/plaid/checked t-shirts haven't been willingly worn by people younger than 32 for at least 15 years now. Honestly. Get a clue. He'll say, "Oh, that's a lovely t-shirt! I don't have one that colour (of course he doesn't; that colour combination looks good on fish swimming under coral reefs, not people). Thank you! It's awesome!" If you insist, he'll even wear it, just to show you how nice it looks. That's it. That's the last time. After you leave, it's going to lie at the bottom of the clothes stack. It will then be discovered three years (or more) later, when the cupboard is being cleaned out by his mother. Thereafter, it will be gifted to the bai's child, who will promptly wear it the next day, acting like the stud of the eastern suburbs.

When buying clothing for men, some tips to follow:

• When buying a kurta-pyjama, try not to buy something that looks like a woman's salwar kameez.
• Embroidery, while beautiful to you, is not oft considered the same by men. Especially when it has beads and stuff woven into it. I'm all for honouring the craftsmen and all that, but please. Most people would instantly start being called 'queen', 'fairy' or straight out 'gay' if they were found dead wearing something like that, respect for the dead aside.
• Haldi yellow is NOT a good colour for pants/pyjamas.
• Avoid lace.
• Don't buy women's t-shirts by mistake.
  

I feel, rather strongly, for people whose lives are ruled by these simple words:

Could not contact Blogger.com. Saving and publishing may fail. Retrying...

I wonder... A month or so ago, was I one of them? Where do these sudden urges of mine come from? Is it just the Theory of Bloggability, or can there be more to it? The quest for an answer shall continue...

And The Music May Yet Be Your Saviour...

I want to congratulate the guys over at companies where they make music players and music software. Their shuffle playlists somehow or the other just intuitively know when to play the right track. It's like my life is a movie and the soundtrack's playing in the background, mostly just random whatever, but occasionally, finding the perfect track to match my emotion just as it turns.

Now playing: Sorrow - Pink Floyd

P.S. I didn't want to extend this to lyricists as well for their profound insights into my life, but what the heck... Of all people, George Micheal got it right... Oh, and Stone, I'm going to miss you tomorrow.

Demon Hunting

Close your eyes. Breathe slowly. Calm yourself. You need it. Now, try to clear all other thoughts and try to picture the most fearsome, fierce demon you can imagine. Once you're sure that you can see it, try to describe it in words. Be as explicit as you can, delve in as deep as you dare. The greater the detail you go into, the more accurate this will be. Write down or type out your description. Ask common questions like what is its colour, height; is there one or several; what is it doing; does it have any weapons; so on and so forth. Once this is done, your demon should, rather accurately, show you the things you most fear.

Here we go.

It is huge. Tall, broad, in fact, positively muscled. Possibly twice the size of a normal man. It has horns (click here for as accurate an image as I can find). Initially, it is silhouetted, so I can only make out its rough shape, with only the outline clearly defined. It is bending forwards aggressively, fists clenched. I'm not sure about the skeletons around it, because I think I added them later. It roars, but not like a lion. It's almost a cross between a sound a human voice can make, only deeper, more coarse and much, much louder and the skree of an eagle. It has cloven feet (click here if you don't know what that means) below thick, muscled thighs.

Its body seems to be made of darkness, as no light seems to be able to fall upon it. Inside the outline, faintly, veins can be seen, made of what seems to be lava. These glow much brighter when it roars. The eye sockets seem to contain fire. They glow a bright orange yellow. When it roars, this darkens to almost border on red. The rest of the face remains in shadow, and is only lit up when it opens its mouth to roar. The inside of the mouth is fire. It does not contain fire, it does not just breathe fire, the inside of its mouth is inferno itself. The rest of the face isn't much to talk about - cold, hard human features, drawn back with rage.

It is standing between two heaps of cooling magma; I think it may have walked through what was originally one. The backdrop is dark, but behind the demon I can see a river of magma flowing down the side of a volcano, bright orange, yellow at its hotspots.

That's pretty much it... I'm guessing if you look hard enough, you'll find all of my fears there.

The Flying Van

The boy looked around him. The commotion was endless. Uncles strode around trying to look purposeful. Aunts mostly just sat and stared. He stood by the window and watched. Almost everyone was outside now. Only a few remained inside. His parents weren't among them.

They loaded him into a van. It was pale blue. The really old, faded, pale blue that's fit for metal office desks. His father and two of his brothers did it. Heave up! Now inwards, push! Wow. They must have some muscles... Wait. They closed the doors. Why was no one else going?

He tapped his aunt's waist. Being six, he couldn't get any higher. "Where are they taking him?" he asked. "He's going to heaven." He stood there at the window. Watched the van leave the garage. Watched it trundle down the road. Watched it go out of sight. Everyone came back into the house.

He stood at the window. He could still see it. Out of the city it went, now. Past the clustered traffic-filled roads, into narrower, more open ones. Heading for the hills now. Slowly making its way up. Mid-afternoon sun glinted off the windshield as it made its way up the winding road, turning left, then right, then left again, climbing, climbing...

And finally, it was at the top. Taking a long run-up, it made for the edge of the hill, shooting out into the sky, soaring up, up, onto a path made of golden sunlight, heading straight for its source.

He stood at the window and watched it all happen.

Long-lost Love

They met in secret. Without anyone knowing. Outside, it was pitch black. The kind that you didn't get to see very often in the city. But the fates seemed to have conspired to make this moment more beautiful for them. Not a light to be seen anywhere. They sat alone in the room. The only room, the only light in the world.

A meeting of lovers. They had a history. A beautiful history. They were inseparable. Still, he hadn't seen her in a month. He breathed her name, terrified she would disappear. Or that he wouldn't know the words. Wouldn't be able to touch her as he had. Remember anything of what they were.

Tentatively he reached out. Held her in his arms. A familiar embrace. One he'd held so often and so long. He could still remember the days when he'd spent the hours sitting with her. Playing. Running his fingers lovingly over her. Tonight was the same as each of those days. They were the same moment, just delayed experiences.

He closed his eyes and played. And let the music guide him on.

Why I'm Afraid of Driving

I'm perpetually terrified I'll be overtaken by some upstart auto-rickshaw while I'm doing 95 on the highway...