But I still cant find to call old friends! Damn!
Yaari Dosti and Phone Calls
I have reached that point in life where I don’t get time to call friends. Not that I am busy. I go our for long lunches, go see movies, sleep enough, take breaks etc.
More about Mobile Blogging
So now that I have a smart phone and a lot of tome on hands to kill, I am trying to discover what all can/may (till about two days back I didn't know the difference between the two) I do with one.
Of the many things, the one I am most excited about is mobile blogging. Pity my wordpress blog is still not accessible from this device but I can use blogger and post here.
Subscribers beware! For the fury of mini blogposts is about to be unleashed on you!
I came, I saw, I wrote
I am bored outta my wits. I cant seem to find an occupation that would interest me enough, a friend who will keep me engaged, an activity that I would enjoy.
There is nothing to do expect waiting for that inevitable moment when your blip would disappear from the radar. Yes, I have been thinking about it for quite sometime now.
Anyways, I am so bored and I am wondering why am I the only one to get bored like that. Let me write a totally boring post. What if I write about everything I see right now? Apart from my laptop screen, the headphones and that low battery sign flashing on the lower right corner of the screen.
I am looking at Polyester Prince, Filming, Into The Wild, The Matlock Paper, Bedside stories (flicked from Krasnapolsky) and a book that is covered with newspaper. Along with these, I have a piggy bank that is almost full. Need to buy another one. Two actually. One to collect all the change and the other to collect coins from other places I have been to. Then I have a bronze Ganesha Idol that KG got for me. I have a bong that I got for CYR, a Rubik’s 360, a Hexbug tht I got for KG. Got all these three things from my last trip. Then I have sgElectra’s keys, a CD spindle with I don’t know what all disks in it, a pen stand and few pens and pencils in it. A couple of boxes of pencil lead. And my BB.
There is nothing to do expect waiting for that inevitable moment when your blip would disappear from the radar. Yes, I have been thinking about it for quite sometime now.
Anyways, I am so bored and I am wondering why am I the only one to get bored like that. Let me write a totally boring post. What if I write about everything I see right now? Apart from my laptop screen, the headphones and that low battery sign flashing on the lower right corner of the screen.
I am looking at Polyester Prince, Filming, Into The Wild, The Matlock Paper, Bedside stories (flicked from Krasnapolsky) and a book that is covered with newspaper. Along with these, I have a piggy bank that is almost full. Need to buy another one. Two actually. One to collect all the change and the other to collect coins from other places I have been to. Then I have a bronze Ganesha Idol that KG got for me. I have a bong that I got for CYR, a Rubik’s 360, a Hexbug tht I got for KG. Got all these three things from my last trip. Then I have sgElectra’s keys, a CD spindle with I don’t know what all disks in it, a pen stand and few pens and pencils in it. A couple of boxes of pencil lead. And my BB.
And thats about it. Ab kya?
An Ode to Agony Aunts
Amongst all the wonderful things that God made, before He put us down here, probably the most underrated is this creature called the Agony Aunt.
Folklore has that when Adam got bored of Eve and all the apples in the Garden of Eden, he got so disillusioned with life that that he actually shunned all forms of pleasure. He became a nomad and set about on a journey, with no destination in mind. And while he was meandering around, he bumped into this his wonderful creature, which initially looked like yet another human being, but tuned out to be much more. He immediately felt at peace moment he saw her. He knew that she might not have all the answers, infact no answers at all, but she is someone with whom he could be himself again and let all worries take the back seat. He called this creature Agony Aunt.
So who exactly is an agony aunt? Someone who is around when you need her? Someone who you trust? Someone who won’t judge you for your actions or for your thoughts when you go and bare your soul? Someone who would not sell out gory details of your actions to paparazzi for paltry money? Someone who would not expect any damn thing from you? Someone who is all of this? And a wee bit more?
I am so grateful to this life that I have the bestest agony aunt ever. Funny thing is that no greeting card company has created The Agony Aunt’s day. Lemme take a lead and declare 15th Nov as Agony Aunt’s Day.
Happy Agony Aunt’s Day VK! Thank you for everything!
Folklore has that when Adam got bored of Eve and all the apples in the Garden of Eden, he got so disillusioned with life that that he actually shunned all forms of pleasure. He became a nomad and set about on a journey, with no destination in mind. And while he was meandering around, he bumped into this his wonderful creature, which initially looked like yet another human being, but tuned out to be much more. He immediately felt at peace moment he saw her. He knew that she might not have all the answers, infact no answers at all, but she is someone with whom he could be himself again and let all worries take the back seat. He called this creature Agony Aunt.
So who exactly is an agony aunt? Someone who is around when you need her? Someone who you trust? Someone who won’t judge you for your actions or for your thoughts when you go and bare your soul? Someone who would not sell out gory details of your actions to paparazzi for paltry money? Someone who would not expect any damn thing from you? Someone who is all of this? And a wee bit more?
I am so grateful to this life that I have the bestest agony aunt ever. Funny thing is that no greeting card company has created The Agony Aunt’s day. Lemme take a lead and declare 15th Nov as Agony Aunt’s Day.
Happy Agony Aunt’s Day VK! Thank you for everything!
Dear Anonymous Writer
Dear Anonymous Writer,
Thank you for your letter, which I must add, was very, moving, for want of the right word. My secretary, who has seen more world than Christopher A. Columbus, was in shivers when she delivered the letter to my desk. She held your letter the way first time mothers hold their newborns. With so much affection that you think the mere touch will hurt the baby. That you will leave permanent spots, ugly and dark ones, wherever you hold the baby from. Such was the shock on her face that I had to leave my putting practice for the charity golfing event next week and attend to her. And trust me, no man worth his salt wants to be interrupted while he is practicing putting. Who else would know if better than someone who uses the 9 iron!
Coming to the matter at hand, you obviously are talking about last week’s double homicide at Civil Lines. I must say that you have woven a very tight story around the evidence recorded at the crime scene. Even the 9 iron. Not even the real murderer would have known the things that you have shared with us. Like the 9 iron. The editor in my head wants to give credence to your letter and declare you the actual murderer. But then the skeptic in me is not allowing me to. And, over the years, I have learnt to go along with the skeptic whenever in doubt. On one hand, your letter could mean the story of the year and on the other, a shot for a Joe Nobody at his 15 seconds of fame.
Talking of Joe Nobodies, there are quite a few like you. You might be surprised to know that just my office has received about a dozen letters relating to the case, eerily similar to yours. May be because of exclusives we ran on the murders or may be because we were the only paper to have dug so much background information on the victim and his lonely life. In fact, the profession I am in, we are bombarded with communication from readers day in and day out. Most of it is the anonymous kinds. In the regular course of events, almost all of it finds its way to the trash can or the paper shredder almost immediately. If not for my secretary and her fear of golf clubs, especially the one that you claim that you put to use last week, your letter would either be resting in my dustbin, along with remains of the sandwich that I had for lunch or would be shredded into thin long paper strips and would have other pieces of unsolicited messages, office memos, even death threats for company.
However I must commend you on the beautiful prose that you have written. You obviously are a man with excellent literary talents. On a different day, I would have offered you an opportunity to intern and may be, just may be, one day, allow you to work here with me in my team and the newspaper that I spend my life building. As a fan of written word, I really want to share your letter with the world but since I respect the institution, the responsibility, the power of media, I will not. But then, I did send a copy to the police station. Trust me, howsoever burdened they might be with all the crime in the city, even they like reading fiction once in a while.
Finally, I would want to offer a piece of advice, before I go back to my practice. In my profession, anonymous letters are not really accorded as much respect. We ascribe anonymity to the writer’s inability to stand scrutiny and often doubt the intentions. Next time you exercise your right to freedom of speech and want to fulfill your unfinished childhood businesses or fantasies or whatever you call them, try using your real name. People tend to take you and your thought slightly more seriously.
I sincerely hope that you use your talents elsewhere and do something constructive! Please do let me know should you think I could be of some help. And please wish me luck for the tournament.
With Regards,
The Editor
Thank you for your letter, which I must add, was very, moving, for want of the right word. My secretary, who has seen more world than Christopher A. Columbus, was in shivers when she delivered the letter to my desk. She held your letter the way first time mothers hold their newborns. With so much affection that you think the mere touch will hurt the baby. That you will leave permanent spots, ugly and dark ones, wherever you hold the baby from. Such was the shock on her face that I had to leave my putting practice for the charity golfing event next week and attend to her. And trust me, no man worth his salt wants to be interrupted while he is practicing putting. Who else would know if better than someone who uses the 9 iron!
Coming to the matter at hand, you obviously are talking about last week’s double homicide at Civil Lines. I must say that you have woven a very tight story around the evidence recorded at the crime scene. Even the 9 iron. Not even the real murderer would have known the things that you have shared with us. Like the 9 iron. The editor in my head wants to give credence to your letter and declare you the actual murderer. But then the skeptic in me is not allowing me to. And, over the years, I have learnt to go along with the skeptic whenever in doubt. On one hand, your letter could mean the story of the year and on the other, a shot for a Joe Nobody at his 15 seconds of fame.
Talking of Joe Nobodies, there are quite a few like you. You might be surprised to know that just my office has received about a dozen letters relating to the case, eerily similar to yours. May be because of exclusives we ran on the murders or may be because we were the only paper to have dug so much background information on the victim and his lonely life. In fact, the profession I am in, we are bombarded with communication from readers day in and day out. Most of it is the anonymous kinds. In the regular course of events, almost all of it finds its way to the trash can or the paper shredder almost immediately. If not for my secretary and her fear of golf clubs, especially the one that you claim that you put to use last week, your letter would either be resting in my dustbin, along with remains of the sandwich that I had for lunch or would be shredded into thin long paper strips and would have other pieces of unsolicited messages, office memos, even death threats for company.
However I must commend you on the beautiful prose that you have written. You obviously are a man with excellent literary talents. On a different day, I would have offered you an opportunity to intern and may be, just may be, one day, allow you to work here with me in my team and the newspaper that I spend my life building. As a fan of written word, I really want to share your letter with the world but since I respect the institution, the responsibility, the power of media, I will not. But then, I did send a copy to the police station. Trust me, howsoever burdened they might be with all the crime in the city, even they like reading fiction once in a while.
Finally, I would want to offer a piece of advice, before I go back to my practice. In my profession, anonymous letters are not really accorded as much respect. We ascribe anonymity to the writer’s inability to stand scrutiny and often doubt the intentions. Next time you exercise your right to freedom of speech and want to fulfill your unfinished childhood businesses or fantasies or whatever you call them, try using your real name. People tend to take you and your thought slightly more seriously.
I sincerely hope that you use your talents elsewhere and do something constructive! Please do let me know should you think I could be of some help. And please wish me luck for the tournament.
With Regards,
The Editor
18 till I die
After I dont know how any days, I slept well. Maybe overslept. And as a result, I woke up fresh. Fresh like a whatever is meant to be freshest.
I feel young, good, sexy, super efficient, loaded with work all at the same time. Looking forward to the day.
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