Bored into Blogging

Now the blog's design must make you think that the blogger in question studies in class four, and on being asked what class he's in, replies with a beam on his face that he is in class fourth 'D' but come April and he'll be in fifth 'E', while not forgetting to add: "which is the senior-most class of the junior school!". As much as I wish that were the case, the truth is the blogger in question is, sadly, already twenty five. A couple of weeks ago he had his birthday, but, he would like to make known that he's still keen on shamelessly accepting belated birthday wishes, more enthusiastically so if they come with something he can beautify his as yet bland and semi-furnished house with.

The next thing he would like to make known is his intention of discontinuing with the affected third-person manner of referring to himself in the post, because I think it's pretty clumsy and not very pretty.

What I'm thinking right now is that I can really waste a lot of time, and write a lot of words, without actually saying anything. And what do you know, I'm even feeling glad about it.

Here in Bombay I have been put to working night shifts at my workplace. And since you're wrong about always having thought that I work at a call center, there aren't many of us in the huge, labyrinthine office there at night. The facility that during the day accommodates as many as 300 analysts has, at night, only four of us. And since I'm the least busy of them all, I spend half the night (the other half spent working) getting up from my desk every ten minutes and going to one of the other three to ask them if they'd like to play TT for a while.

I wouldn't mind as much if they just said no. But their answers usually transform my consternation from one of boredom to one of linguistic torment. "No man" they say. This is how they talk here, everyone it seems. No man. It sounds a lot like going to a Juice shop and telling him "give me a glass of pineapple juice, Juicemaker" or going to a saloon and saying "I want a neatly cropped haircut, Barber" or going to a dog and saying "hey dog" or going to Alaska and saying "show me where you live, Eskimo." My point being, people have names for some reason. And even if it isn't advisable to take names all the time, 'Man' is no replacement for 'yaar'.

And neither is 'dude' any substitute, which happens to be their second most favourite address. Not like this dude, what are you doing dude, this is perfect dude, we have a lot of work tomorrow dude. You hear this and go in your head: Dude, don't call me dude. It is painful to see this address is so commonplace here, this address which in Delhi we employed only during sarcasm or confrontational repartee.

Ok, let's chuck that. Another thing that irks me about Bombay is how we're all so short of space here. Even the sacks at ration shops are much, much narrower, and thereby taller to fit in adequate grain, making them look like test tubes of jute. Oh, so now you think I'm nitpicking?

Huh.

Bye.

AK Called Today

I miss my college life. It was as close to [Jerome-ian, Wilde-ish (except the homosexuality), Chekov-ian] 19th-century as you could get in the 21st. It wasn't that our college was like that, it was my own little group's little way of life. The rest of the college, as best as I remember, seemed McInerney-ish in its pace and possessedness and, for lack of a better word, greed.

Which reminds me of A, who was forever knocking at the gates of our group. Not to enjoy being in it but to make it like the other ones. He was the kind of friend who added you on linkedin before facebook (while being active at both places, I must add). Eventually he trapped AK. Gullible little AK. Oh, dear, AK: he was one of those guys who walk holding hands, on roads, in busy markets, with another guy - without even being gays. Who are so innocent that it is weird. One day we were watching Dasvidaniya and AK started crying when the song "Mammaa" began. Ok, I shouldn't have been revealing that. Anyway, I'm cutting the names to mere initials now.

Anyhow, AK certainly belonged in our group. By now you must be thinking that our group wasn't all that great a place to be in anyway. And it doesn't bother me if you're thinking that.

The thing is I joined a new job recently. And dearest AK only got to find out about it through A! It was really embarrassing.

Film Review: Black Swan

Screenwriter Andres Heinz smoked up and wrote a story. He presented it to a drunk Darren Aronofsky who selected it for his next movie. Now Darren smoked up and made the movie. It would all have turned out perfect, but I hadn't smoked up before going to see it.