I am always keen to examine the trending topics on Twitter. It sometimes gives you insight into things and people around you. And I like that. Steve Jobs had Liver was trending yesterday. Two weeks ago it was, Congratulations Nick. I am not even sure what it meant, but that is alright. Now, I see, it is all about Father's Day and Dads. We have men and women, gushing and getting sappy about fathers and regaling us with all that they did to celebrate their hero.
Reading it, makes me feel a bit odd and a little low. Not that you need a day to remind you of your loss. But, it doesn't help either. It has been four years and seven days now, but the memory of that day remains vivid.
Anyway, what was funny and good to see is that, Dads were ahead of the much discussed Iran elections. Yes, dads trump even democracy, don't they? It was fun to read all the my-daddy-is-the-strongest stories there. Equally fun were the, I-just-don't-get-my-dad stories. And of course, that made me think of mine.
Appa was peculiar in many ways. But the one thing that I remember is something which annoyed Amma and several people. This was his ability to respond to a question with a song. Or in the way that he sometimes would jump into a conversation with a song. Mind you, the song had no connection to what was being discussed. At best, there was some phonetic and/or stretched connection that it had with the conversation.
Over the years, I have come to realise that, even though it is annoying for the one at the receiving end of this kind of singing, the one indulging in this, enjoys it immensely. The last few years, I have adopted this too and recommend it to everyone. Let me give you some examples.
Amma: When will you get yourself a job?
Me: I have one.
Amma: Not this one. A proper one.
Me: *raised eyebrow*
Amma: You know, where the company will give you their laptop? When will you get yourself a proper job?
Me: Soon
Amma: When?
Me: Soon
Amma: How soon?
Me: Sun Saiba Sun... Sun... Pyaar Ki Dhun
A: What is wrong with theotherA?
Me: What is wrong with theotherA?
A: I am asking you that.
Me: I don't know. So, I am asking right back.
A: You have become very silly in your old age.
Me: Silli hawa choo gayin...
It ensures that you win all arguments. Or at any rate, end them. Works best with Hindi songs.
Thank you, Appa. How much cheer you continue to bring to my life.
Miss you.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Resistance is Futile
There are many reasons to keep a dead Blog alive.
1.You can announce the life altering events that have taken place in your life while you were not Blogging.
2.You will always have some place to to rave and rant. Because let's face it, Facebook, Twitter and Orkut (as of two days back, I do not exist in that world) has too many significant people. For example, sibling who is ready with gyaan, aunt who is ready with gyaan, former employer who wants to offer you that SAME job, potential employer who doesn't want to offer you anything and suchlike. And with that kind of constraint, it is not a rant safe place any longer.
3.Also, when late bloomer types tell you that they are writing a Blog you can most airily announce that you used to Blog in 2005 and point them to the link if needed. I also like to add how insanely popular I was at that time. And how boys fell over themselves trying to befriend me. And how I got date offers, written about in national dailies and have publishing offers thrown routinely at me. And also, how I used to be a troll magnet. A little bit of stretching the truth, but blame that on the times that we live in. And dear old and imaginary readers, didn't I have that Hawk person?
4.And most importantly, you can just resurface one day and come up with a charade of a post and pretend that you had never abandoned the Blog.
Plus, the recession is supposed to be over and that means self-indulgence and excesses have made a comeback.
Hello.
1.You can announce the life altering events that have taken place in your life while you were not Blogging.
2.You will always have some place to to rave and rant. Because let's face it, Facebook, Twitter and Orkut (as of two days back, I do not exist in that world) has too many significant people. For example, sibling who is ready with gyaan, aunt who is ready with gyaan, former employer who wants to offer you that SAME job, potential employer who doesn't want to offer you anything and suchlike. And with that kind of constraint, it is not a rant safe place any longer.
3.Also, when late bloomer types tell you that they are writing a Blog you can most airily announce that you used to Blog in 2005 and point them to the link if needed. I also like to add how insanely popular I was at that time. And how boys fell over themselves trying to befriend me. And how I got date offers, written about in national dailies and have publishing offers thrown routinely at me. And also, how I used to be a troll magnet. A little bit of stretching the truth, but blame that on the times that we live in. And dear old and imaginary readers, didn't I have that Hawk person?
4.And most importantly, you can just resurface one day and come up with a charade of a post and pretend that you had never abandoned the Blog.
Plus, the recession is supposed to be over and that means self-indulgence and excesses have made a comeback.
Hello.
Sunday, March 01, 2009
Mere Pass Cheese Hai (also the obligatory Slumdogging)
I am hooked on to Balika Vadhu, the serial on Colours. And I am most sad that the somewhat weird Pratap is dead. (If you don’t understand what I am talking about, it is okay). Of course, his death was coming. The last few weeks there had been an overdose of cutesy and happy moments. That is the classic television/ cinema rule: too much happiness will be followed up by serious trauma and pain. Ditty and I had a discussion on what will happens to poor Suguna and what will be the long-run impact of this death. Well, that explains why our friendship has survived all these years.
I must confess, I was hoping some kind of filmy miracle will happen and Pratap might suddenly wake up. There always have been some surefire ways to wake up the dead.
For example, the moment the hero/heroine/ someone close to them was declared dead, someone needed to violently beat up the immobile person. It used to work best when the man was playing dead because clearly, nobody can deliver the blows with as much as feeling as the woman could. I think medically, this is like giving those “shocks” and the beating the chest with the palms was definitely a more cost effective way of waking up the person.
Similar to the violent beating up was the sloppy dying kiss. It usually worked best when the dying person/ dead person happened to be the heroine. The husband/lover would fall on his knees and after wailing - mujhe chod ke mat jao, will in manner of Emran Hashmi breathe life into his loved one. Tad ah!
If the hero/heroine has some peculiar quirk, one could invoke that for one last time. This could be playing the national anthem for a yesteryear war hero. Or pull the ear of the heroine. Or tickle the dead person. Or sing the family song. Or even do the family dance. No doctor will be able to tell you what to do, but you need to figure it out.
And if all of this fails, given how deeply spiritual we are, you could make the mother/wife/ girlfriend/ sister/ or any other woman to collapse in front of God. On needs to play high voltage music in the background. And preferably get some bells to chime. This method is a surefire winner and the chances of success improve when:
a) You pray to the God of another faith
b) You pray to Gods of several faiths
While this works best when the woman invokes the divine spirit, it works beautifully when an agnostic male finally surrenders himself to the god.
However, if the divine method also fails, you can claim that the hero who just died was actually the villain pretending to be the hero after a basement plastic surgery. The same will be revealed by the plastic surgeon who coincidentally happened to be passing by the scene.
And now poor Pratap is dead. And all these surefire methods of bringing back the dead have not been put to use. Which makes me wonder, what happened to that type of cinema? Since when did Bollywood (sorry the Hindi film industry) get so dull and intelligent? Why, why, why?
Which is why, I was so happy to see a movie like Slumdog Millionaire. Remember that lovely scene where Jamal and Latika are rustling up a Sandwich for Manjarekar?
Sigh.
I must confess, I was hoping some kind of filmy miracle will happen and Pratap might suddenly wake up. There always have been some surefire ways to wake up the dead.
For example, the moment the hero/heroine/ someone close to them was declared dead, someone needed to violently beat up the immobile person. It used to work best when the man was playing dead because clearly, nobody can deliver the blows with as much as feeling as the woman could. I think medically, this is like giving those “shocks” and the beating the chest with the palms was definitely a more cost effective way of waking up the person.
Similar to the violent beating up was the sloppy dying kiss. It usually worked best when the dying person/ dead person happened to be the heroine. The husband/lover would fall on his knees and after wailing - mujhe chod ke mat jao, will in manner of Emran Hashmi breathe life into his loved one. Tad ah!
If the hero/heroine has some peculiar quirk, one could invoke that for one last time. This could be playing the national anthem for a yesteryear war hero. Or pull the ear of the heroine. Or tickle the dead person. Or sing the family song. Or even do the family dance. No doctor will be able to tell you what to do, but you need to figure it out.
And if all of this fails, given how deeply spiritual we are, you could make the mother/wife/ girlfriend/ sister/ or any other woman to collapse in front of God. On needs to play high voltage music in the background. And preferably get some bells to chime. This method is a surefire winner and the chances of success improve when:
a) You pray to the God of another faith
b) You pray to Gods of several faiths
While this works best when the woman invokes the divine spirit, it works beautifully when an agnostic male finally surrenders himself to the god.
However, if the divine method also fails, you can claim that the hero who just died was actually the villain pretending to be the hero after a basement plastic surgery. The same will be revealed by the plastic surgeon who coincidentally happened to be passing by the scene.
And now poor Pratap is dead. And all these surefire methods of bringing back the dead have not been put to use. Which makes me wonder, what happened to that type of cinema? Since when did Bollywood (sorry the Hindi film industry) get so dull and intelligent? Why, why, why?
Which is why, I was so happy to see a movie like Slumdog Millionaire. Remember that lovely scene where Jamal and Latika are rustling up a Sandwich for Manjarekar?
Jamal (whispering and wooden expression 1): come away with me?
Latika (hissing and pained expression 3): and live on what?
Jamal (whispering and wooden expression 5):Love.
Sigh.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Displaying signs of triviality
You know that you are really old when you visit an old aunt and she asks you, do you still will have sugar in your kaapi. It becomes even more apparent when she announces that she stopped taking sugar in her kaapi when she turned fifty. I like my kaapi and tea really sweet, I told her and added another spoon of sugar. And her raised eyebrow stayed put for the one hour that I was at her place.
Recently I went through a Master Health Check Up. One day before I went for the tests, my dad’s aunt had come visiting. In true filmy style, she came with a dabba of Gajar Ka Halwa. As I got a big cup and spoon, she told me, don’t eat it today, you might get diabetes in your tests tomorrow and won’t be able to eat Gajar Ka Halwa for the rest of your life. Such impeccable logic appealed to me and I insisted that the same be refrigerated and only be opened post I got the clean chit. I am not diabetic, but I am anemic. I also have PCOS, which means my chances of making babies are reduced dramatically. Or so the doctor says. A helpful aunt told me, cysts are the least of your problems.
Since I am unemployed person, I double up as many things. This includes - plumber, mechanic, and travel agent of my extended family of aunts. Also, I am apparently ‘the’ geek. Ahem. So, an aunt called me up frantically and demanded to know what did w00t mean? I will not claim to know very much about the etymology of Internet language, but I gave her some gyaan. And I must confess, while I have used w00t in the past, more often than not, I prefer saying yay! And if I feel particularly cheerful and/or annoying, I follow that up with half a dozen exclamation marks. Anyway, the aunt went a little silent after my long-winded explanation. So, I asked her why the sudden need to know about w00t. It seems my cousin w00ts too often. My aunt was convinced that it was some kind of vulgar expression. Why can’t she just say, I am so happy, my aunt wanted to know. You know that you are really old, when an aunt complains about her ill-mannered daughter (who happens to be your cousin) to you.
My niece called me some days back to tell me that she was playing Hrithik Uncle in their school annual day. It seems, the school she goes to is totally filmy and believes that UKG children must dance to – Khwaja Mere Khwaja from the movie Jodha Akbar. I thought it was important to inform her that she was playing Akbar Uncle and not Hrithik Uncle. At which point, for some incomprehensible reason, she started bawling. I had to hand over the phone to mom and she did her cooing paati act and our Duggu was pacified. Of course baby, you are Hrithik, the paati reassured her. On hanging up, my mom told me, you are a wicked aunt.
I told her, I am anemic and must be forgiven. It seems, being anemic gets you no sympathy and does not forgive being a party pooper. Who would have thought?
Recently I went through a Master Health Check Up. One day before I went for the tests, my dad’s aunt had come visiting. In true filmy style, she came with a dabba of Gajar Ka Halwa. As I got a big cup and spoon, she told me, don’t eat it today, you might get diabetes in your tests tomorrow and won’t be able to eat Gajar Ka Halwa for the rest of your life. Such impeccable logic appealed to me and I insisted that the same be refrigerated and only be opened post I got the clean chit. I am not diabetic, but I am anemic. I also have PCOS, which means my chances of making babies are reduced dramatically. Or so the doctor says. A helpful aunt told me, cysts are the least of your problems.
Since I am unemployed person, I double up as many things. This includes - plumber, mechanic, and travel agent of my extended family of aunts. Also, I am apparently ‘the’ geek. Ahem. So, an aunt called me up frantically and demanded to know what did w00t mean? I will not claim to know very much about the etymology of Internet language, but I gave her some gyaan. And I must confess, while I have used w00t in the past, more often than not, I prefer saying yay! And if I feel particularly cheerful and/or annoying, I follow that up with half a dozen exclamation marks. Anyway, the aunt went a little silent after my long-winded explanation. So, I asked her why the sudden need to know about w00t. It seems my cousin w00ts too often. My aunt was convinced that it was some kind of vulgar expression. Why can’t she just say, I am so happy, my aunt wanted to know. You know that you are really old, when an aunt complains about her ill-mannered daughter (who happens to be your cousin) to you.
My niece called me some days back to tell me that she was playing Hrithik Uncle in their school annual day. It seems, the school she goes to is totally filmy and believes that UKG children must dance to – Khwaja Mere Khwaja from the movie Jodha Akbar. I thought it was important to inform her that she was playing Akbar Uncle and not Hrithik Uncle. At which point, for some incomprehensible reason, she started bawling. I had to hand over the phone to mom and she did her cooing paati act and our Duggu was pacified. Of course baby, you are Hrithik, the paati reassured her. On hanging up, my mom told me, you are a wicked aunt.
I told her, I am anemic and must be forgiven. It seems, being anemic gets you no sympathy and does not forgive being a party pooper. Who would have thought?
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