Posts from the ‘iTalk’ Category

My Mind Wanders Often…

I never get Sundays off. As if it wasn’t enough that Mondays put the ‘blue’ behind ‘Prussian’, the Universe has conspired since the day I got to high school that Mondays would be designed to suck the life out of me. So in school I spent Sunday nights praying I passed the Monday test, during under-graduation I wanted flight tickets to Delhi every Sunday evening to spare me the horror of another week in that hell-hole and post-graduation sees me put my vocabulary to extremely innovative use as I cuss at Monday reviews, AutoCAD and fate come 7p.m. Of course, if I am overworked, then the only reason you would want to speak to me is if your idea of a fun Sunday evening is to have your head bitten off by me.

Also, have I ever spoken of how my mind can come up with extremely judicious ways of squandering away precious time when every second counts? This gone Sunday, at 1 a.m., when I should have been enumerating housing stock and creating pretty pies and splattering them on sheets, I was instead wondering: whatever would happen if there existed a parallel universe where every number had an identity? NumberMommy would tell her kid to study hard; else, he will end up as the housing deficit of Gangtok.  Two NumberAunties would spot a neighbor who has recently had surgery done and whisper, ‘Did you hear? She was fudged!’. Eve teasing would occur in the form of NumberRomeo1 telling a friend, ‘Dude, check out the curves on THAT integral!’. A little kid would run home after the races yelling, ‘Mommy! Mommy! I ‘one’ the race!” Moreover, arranged marriages would be a whole lot dicier because, didn’t you hear? He got into Census of India 2011.

The moral of this post? I am a sleep-deprived geek who needs to find something better to do on Sunday evenings.

P.S: Propriety states that I credit Sahil Sasidharan here for physically assaulting me with a thwack on my back with a roar that sounded a little like, ‘Dude! This idea is a gold mine!’ and for causing me to choke more than once on my lunch while putting forth inane suggestions for this post, some of which have, sadly, been incorporated.  Thanks, Sahil! 🙂




This Year, I Resolve To…

Despite being awarded Cynic of the Year on 31 December 2010, I decided that I will be a Brand New Person, at least for the first month of 2011. And the plan of action involved doing everything that 2010 Me would have puked on, what with me being a cynic and all. So I copied Anjaana Anjaani onto my portable hard disk, joked about my laptop crashing and my life coming to a standstill, wore a bright red windcheater that drove people into epileptic spasms of laughter and made a New Year resolution.

I think I liked the old me better.

I also went a step ahead and instead of promising myself things that I really needed, such as hitting the gym or sleeping more often, I decided my New Year resolution would have me being positive in situations where I otherwise would have started counting my last hours. KhiKhi burst into peals of laughter when I confessed, hoping for an evaluation that affirmed that I had successfully driven myself closer to self-actualization, and instead said, “Yeah! I’d like to see THAT happen!”

If I were to count my blessings, the list would read something like this:

  1. I am a strong, healthy person without any major diseases.
  2. I study at the School of Planning and Architecture.
  3. My most major expenses are the prints I take every week for my review.
  4. I am studying Planning, which is taking me to new places and by the time I am done, I will know a few cities like the back of my hand.
  5. I have a small set of people I hold close to my heart and I know that when I need them, they will come hold placards at protest rallies I organize and tell me those jeans do not make my bum look the size of a country.

Since I suck at giving up awards conferred on me, I shall also simultaneously list my un-blessings:

  1. I am a strong, healthy person without any major diseases, apart from chronic migraine and balding at 23.
  2. I study at the School of Planning and Architecture. OhNo. ‘nuff said.
  3. My most major expenses are the prints I take every week for my review. I need to get a life and some weekend plans.
  4. I am studying Planning, which is taking me to new places and by the time I am done, I will know a few cities like the back of my hand. Till now, that list only includes Bathinda.
  5. I have a small set of people I hold close to my heart and I know that when I need them, they will come hold placards at protest rallies I organize and tell me those jeans do not make my bum look the size of a country. Forming this tiny circle comes at the cost of heartaches, tough lessons and knives in my back I could have done without.

There. So much for resolutions. I think they are nice things, however, these annual promises. They allow us to live in a tiny happy bubble that leads us to believe that we are capable of positive change. They are also, however, causes of impulsive (and expensive) Make Me Better decisions such as gym memberships and cookery classes. And they are exceedingly fascinating, because we all know one person who puts up theirs as a Facebook status or encourages earth-shattering discussions that begin with, “So, what’s your New Year resolution?” or writes long, tedious blog posts about it.




And We’re Back

What better way to commemorate a hundred (odd) days away from the blog than a *drum-roll* blog post! *ta-dum dhoosh*

That sounded better in my head.

In the years I have been away (the past few months have felt like a lifetime lived and wasted), I joined the School of Planning and Architecture in New Delhi for a Master’s degree in Planning with a specialization in Housing. It is not as fun as it sounds (and if it doesn’t sound like fun, then bang on!) Sleep is no longer considered an important bodily function, no amount of work is good enough, co-operation and symbiosis are words best left to the dictionary and ranting becomes the norm. I’ve even lost my sense of humor. GAH.

Recent realizations indicate that I may have an OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, for those from Mars). I feel an irrational need to label and tag everything I do. I put data in folders. Tens and tens of them. I capitalize the names on each one of those folders. When I name my music, it HAS TO contain the artiste’s name, followed by the name of the song. I have begun classifying the movies I store into genre folders. When I make a PowerPoint presentation with a group of 8 people, I take everyone’s parts, make a folder (again) and then rename everyone’s parts with their names. Even if we have to present in ten minutes and there are forty-five slides to compile. Heck, I had a brand new black bold-marker and nothing to do one Sunday afternoon, so I went and labeled every spice jar in the kitchen with the spice it should contain. Needless to say, it gave my roommates fodder for two years’ worth of ribbing and the labeled jars never contained the spices that I intended them for. I just might end up on Criminal Minds. Oooooooh! Shemar Moore, Thomas Gibson, Matthew Gray Gubler *obscene amounts of salivation*

SPA has a few friendly dogs on campus, one of whom I have named VIP, for the sole reason that he waltzes into our classes, curls up right next to the teaching platform and shamelessly goes off to sleep as a prof drones on, while we look on in absolute envy, longing for a full night’s sleep. VIP reminds me of Puppae, the street pup my roommates had adopted a year ago. While he was with us, I eventually got tired of his flaws, but in retrospect, I find myself missing the cute antics, the incessant need for love. Distance is probably a good thing because it allows us to focus on only the positive. There is only so long you can remain upset with someone, unless they give you a solid reason to hate. I have friends who have lasted the entire period I was away from Delhi during under-graduation and then I have ‘friends’ in Chennai who I ultimately got tired of, simply because their flaws eventually overshadowed whatever good they had in them. A long-distance relationship is easier in so many ways, because it allows you time for yourself, for friends, for studies, for marathon Criminal Minds sessions; yet it is a million times harder because you have to keep the chemistry going, the faith needs to remain unshaken, the commitments need to be adhered to. I probably expect too much of people, because honestly is definitely not everyone’s forte and being disappointed seems to be mine.

I really don’t have a point to prove with all gobbledygook I seem to be capable of (except for wanting Shemar Moore. THAT is not to be taken lightly!). SPA. Like I said, ranting becomes the norm.


  • …is “Coffee, sometime?”, so darn hard to say?
  • …is it so hard to follow rules, but so easy to ‘zara side hona’ when a lady the size of Bangladesh attempts to fit herself in that little space between two metro seats that would otherwise count as… well… nothing?
  • …have the aliens told Ma that lesser salt in my food will help me lose weight?
  • …should I quell my childish streak just because I am twenty-three? I will continue to throw my hands in the air every time my circa 1952-model laptop finishes saving a Photoshop file and do a hands-rotating-near-chest-hips-not-coordinating jig every time I figure out a structural detail a five-year old could draw in his sleep. Yeah, babeh!
  • …is there a silent-farter in the coach every time I travel by the metro? Every. Single. Time. MEH.
  • …can the tightest jeans and the shortest shorts be tried out, but it takes a saree to get The Boy to give you a second look?
  • …can’t I understand the difference between the prefixing of ‘in-‘ and ‘un-‘ when attempting an antonym?
  • …do men NEVER get it when we want them to ask us out? And if anyone gives me the ‘men can’t read hints’ bulls**t, I will hunt them down and assault them. Battery, even.
  • …bother providing world-class facilities when the citizens who use them can never get their heads out of the gutter? I suggest everyone try at least once, to get into a metro at peak travel time. The men push the women, paw wherever they can, the ladies squeal and throw bags to save a seat and somewhere amidst the mêlée, the kids get crushed and senior citizens get propelled in and out of the coach without needing feet.
  • …does Ma’s face register more satisfaction when an irritating mosquito has been murdered, than when I get through a Masters course?
  • …must all Delhi men look diagonally when they walk and all women look down? The female gender is not meat and even if it takes me a machete to get that into the male brain, I’m all for it.
  • …must I face my demons to prove my strength? I feel the need to surround myself with people who make me happy, but fate has other dirty plans for me.
  • …must the Delhi Government attempt events that are the scale of the Commonwealth Games when Connaught Place requires six months for a facelift, ‘streetscaping’ involves the digging up of medians and then allowing Pretty Rain Pools to accumulate in them and freshly inaugurated stadia have their roofs caving in? As much as I try to be a cooperating citizen and comply with the zillion travel delays that occur owing to the infrastructure overhaul, I find that all that is happening is a merry Pass-the-Parcel with the blame game.
  • …must all good things come to an end, especially when they involve kittens on the desktop and forgetting to save files you have slogged all day on?
  • …not?

When In a Hurry

  1. You will be stuck at every possible red-light between source and destination. If you are particularly lucky, you will be stuck at the same light twice.
  2. The driver of the share auto you are breaking your back in will decide to socially network through the entire route. Hellos will be exchanged, families will be enquired about and new inclusions will be made to the friend list. In case the driver fears manslaughter at the hands of the passengers for stretching a five-minute ride into an episode of Desperate Housewives, he will choose to only super-pat a fellow auto-driver.
  3. If you want to travel to Spencer Plaza, every share auto at Thirumangalam will be headed to T.Nagar. And in the sudden occasion that you do have to travel to T.Nagar, all share autos will be routing to Spencer Plaza and the drivers will inform you about the same with a look that seems to say that only an idiot would ever want to go to T. Nagar.
  4. About half a minute before you reach your stop, your share auto driver will decide that this is, infact, the most convenient time throughout the day to stock up on petrol. Of course, since you are supremely lucky, the distance to your destination on foot would be equivalent to a trek up the Alps.
  5. As soon as you are about to cross the road, the signal will turn green and you can only helplessly wait till the Lord Almighty remembers that red is indeed a possible color on the signal, again. If perchance you do get to cross the road before the traffic onslaught AND you are smart, you will try to thread your way through still traffic (effectively jay-walking); but then again, since you are good luck personified, the signal will turn green when you are exactly halfway through with your traffic-tango. True story.
  6. You will be absolutely, completely out of loose change and the conductor will threaten to throw you off the bus if you don’t magically come up with exactly Rs. 3.50. That you handed him a ten-rupee note and his money-bag sounds like a tambourine on crack, is inconsequential.
  7. You will run out of your house 30 minutes before the printers’ shop shuts down and once you have mapped out how long the ride to the spot will take, how you will threaten people with a ghastly death if they cause delays in any way AND you have walked the hundred miles to the bus-stop, you will realize you left your pen drive at home and all the files you needed to print are on it.
  8. You have a submission in ten minutes and your graphic pen will run out of ink, colour pencils won’t sharpen without the points breaking off at least thrice and your design partner will vanish off the face of the earth.
  9. Your computer will hang exactly when you are going to save the final copy of the Photoshop file you have spent the last hour editing. And then re-start on its own. And while that happens, a long-lost friend will call with a sob story, expecting a shoulder.
  10. You want this post to have ten points, but you cannot think of one and you still want it to be ten points long (because a nine-point post is just weird) and so you decide to create a point of how you want it to be a ten-point post. For propriety’s sake. I’m sure you understand 🙂

P.S: Super thanks to the grand total of 4 people who commented on the earlier post. You make me want to continue attempts at The Blah-g 🙂