Gossip Girl 3

(A series of articles showcasing people who have not by any stretch of imagination shaped the world we live in. These personalities are anything but go –getters and would probably help restore nature’s balance as crime abettors. These personalities have carved a niche for themselves… (no-one cares in which cobweb cuddling nook and cranny) as the connoisseurs of crap .Their stories deserve to be told. These unsung heroes shall sing even if there are rioting readers with countless bouts of irregular bowel movements and nauseating convulsions. Their childhood will be dissected, their traits debated and their entrails eviscerated. Brace yourself a reader for this is ‘shitty’zen journalism at its best. Brought to you by your very own Gossip girl.)

Well, it’s a season of comebacks; BRET THE HITMAN HEART is back on WWE!!
So it’s about time Gossip Girl made her presence felt.

YEAR: 2010.
TIME: 1.00 P.M.
LOCATION: a vapid cubicle located in the precincts of Deloitte, Hyderabad.

The clock’s ticking. His throat is dry. He tries to steady his hands but they don’t stop shaking. Beads of sweat line his furrowed brow. His shirt is soaked. Infact, if he were in the Sahara desert right now, the natives would have called his armpits an oasis!!
In his sweaty palms is a cell phone.
The clock is still ticking. He must make up his mind. Should he make the call?
He knows that they are coming for him. They will show no mercy. Maybe he can put an end to this? He musters courage by chewing off all his fingernails and then he gently punches the keys on his cell phone, the beeps generated felt like hot needles piercing his marshmallow arse. It’s ringing. He holds his breath, his butt muscles taut in anticipation Even constipation is better than this he mutters to himself. Suddenly, the ringing stops.. Then there is static…His heart skips a beat. HE NOW RESEMBLES A DUMBASS WARTHOG WHO STOOD UNDER A PEEING ELEPHANT TO ESCAPE THE POURING RAIN!!

Dumbass Warthog!!

“Hulloo Saar…thank you for calling Pijjjaa Hut …..How may I help you? Please order cheppundi??”… Crackled the voice.

“Hello, this is SHANKER MOHAN., if you listening to this you are the resistance…” muttered Shanker.

“No saar…my name is not resistance… My name is M.T.E.C.H. Babu…..Mohan Telengana Chiranjeevi Hyderabadi Babu ….but you can call me Babu …please may I take you order “said the bewildered voice.

“Listen to me you Gultee Gummybear…This is Shanker Mohan…if you’re listening to this you are the resistance… (Yes. I stole this line from that sissy John Connor who is fighting microwave ovens and washing machines in the distant future and making a big deal out of it.)…I have been fighting a long time…I am outnumbered by them…they wont let me be. The 3rd Rats!!”

MTECH Babu is disgusted. ”Saaaary saaar we don’t serve rats on our pijjjas, would you like to try some aalives and jhallapenos on your pijjjaa?”

“You don’t get it do you…the 3rd Rats killed your C.M, they sabotaged the chopper, they are now trying to divide your state like a medium sized cheese crust pizza. Just join the resistance and deliver a pizza to that abbreviated anthropoid KCR, end his fast with a cheese blast and put an end to this mutton munching mayhem.”

MTECH BABU thinks aloud…We don’t serve rats on our pizza but the 13th amendment of the Sexy-Gultee act proposed by Varaprasad (The Food and Ogling at Women minister, also a lecturer at NIT-calicut) states that:

“THE CUSTOMER IS ALWAYS RIGHT, ESPECIALLY IF THE CUSTOMER BELONGS TO THE FAIRER SEX [:)…evil and lascivious smiley inserted here]…IN THE EVENT OF THE ABOVE RULE BEING VIOLATED THE PARTY AT FAULT SHALL WRITE AN ASSIGNMENT ON THE 5 P’S OF MARKETING 55 TIMES AND SUBMIT IT ON MY TABLE TOMORROW”.

(Note: the 14th amendment to this act proposed by Varaprasad adds a sub note which states that whenever this law is stated in public, written or even thought of it must be accompanied with Shaggy’s song “Sexy Lady” playing in the background and the party violating this rule will have to write an assignment on the 5 P’s of marketing 555 times and submit it on my table tomorrow.)

After much thought, MTECH Babu yields…” Ok saaar…I am willing to join the resistance, but please tell me how many people are there in the resistance that would be fighting these so called 3rd Rats?”

Shanker Mohan who is now overwhelmed by joy and is prancing around like a pink pony in a cast iron chastity belt proclaims buoyantly…” The resistance now proudly boasts of two members who will bravely battle a warring barbaric horde of 120 3rd Rats!!”

“120 3rd Rats!! What are you…a Hippopotamus tripping on Hajmola. Dumbass warthog who stood under a peeing elephant to escape the pouring rain.. You pazhampoori eating Punani…You ever call here again I’ll feed your nuts to the chipmunks at Charminar” bellow a furious MTECH Babu.

The phone goes dead. All he hears is silence. This is the story of Shanker Mohan. A man who spends every waking moment of his life in fear. A fear so primordial in nature that it has baffled many a quack and found its way into the medical books. It is referred to as:
“ ende- daivameyy-it’s -a- 3^rd Rat!!-o-phobia”. A sissy warthog like fear of a mythical race of Mundu wearing barbarians called 3^rd Rats. But before the fear, the bed –wetting and the paranoia there was a time of peace and innocence.

On November 30^th 1987 when all the planets in the solar system had aligned mysteriously to resemble a S. The astrologers prophesized that a baby would be born who would do absolutely do nothing to prevent the end of the world in 2012.It was printed in the “astrologers speak column” in the Times of India just below the lucky color and lucky number for the day.

Shanker Mohan was born to a Doctor couple in a sleepy town whose name really is of no consequence whatsoever. He was a large baby, magnanimous with big round innocent eyes which gaze at you lovingly and say “feed me or else I will rain a godly F*$%in firestorm upon you”.

When his father first laid eyes on him he was overcome with joy and said “All iZZZ welll…mera beta engineer banega.”

Shanker was the apple of his mother’s eye, no not apple actually more like a jackfruit, considering his size. Shanker was gifted boy; he learnt to talk before he could walk, cry or even poop and boy talk he did: rumor has it that baby Shanker spoke to his pet dog which was aptly name Patti for a record breaking no rather making 7 days. The dog suffered irreparable brain damage and his parents had to pay PETA a hefty sum to keep them from pressing charges. The above incident brought great joy to the household because the Great Sage Snoop Doggy Dogg (who had taught Pandavas the fine art of rapping) in his great treatise titled “GangstaVeda-the rule of the Dogg” says

“Yo!!….Ssup…bitches..
If your baby can rhyme,
From time to time…
And drive a mofukin dogg nuts,
Without any If’s n Buts.
When this baby grows bigger n bigga..
Its gonna be one helluva nigga!! “
……svaha!!

The great Sage Shri Shri Snoop Doggy Dogg!!!

Shanker was a boy with great compassion and love. It was as if some-one has stuffed a moral-science text book up his arse.
Chapter 1: Truthfulness
Chapter 2: Forgiveness
Chapter 3: Helpfulness…and so on…he was full of all these good qualities.
One day as he sat watching TV, he heard Madhuri Dixit singing “Dhak Dhak karne laga” accompanied by pelvic thrusts and the works. Something in Shanker rose….yes…it was a wave of compassion (if you were thinking of anything else you need to pull that moral science book from Shanker’s ass are read a few chapters yourself…).

Shanker decided to put her out of her misery so he barged into his parents room and proclaimed “Amma and Appa, I have decided I am going to become a cardiologist and help Madhuri Dixit”.

Alas! The schism created by society between parents and their children is too wide and hence Shanker will have to bury his dreams and be a dutiful son. In the meanwhile Madhuri Dixit found another cardiologist who solved her problem; she fell in love with him, married him and now lives in the US. One cannot help but think. If only Shanker had pursued his dream. Sniff…Sniff… I guess we will never know.

Shanker's aims but Madhuri is someone else's misses..oops...mrs!!

Shanker’s shatterd dream had a profound effect on him; every night before he fell asleep he would sing to himself Aqua’s Dr JONES, a song that symbolizes the irony of the situation. In muffled gurgles sniffs and snot filled sneezes and wheezes he sang “DR Jones…Jones…calling Dr Jones…Dr Jones…Dr Jones wake up now” .Sorry Shanker but the doctor in you has to be put to sleep.

It is believed that every incident that unfolds in our life is all in accordance to a grand plan; it is akin to a jigsaw puzzle. One such incident that occurred one summer morning would change his life forever. He was gamboling in the fields when he chanced upon a group of disgruntled communists.
The communists were bored, they had managed to riot for every conceivable and inconceivable reason, they managed a 365 day Kerala Bandh, they managed destroy a few factories, sing songs and showcase their dance moves to silly tribal songs that spoke of poverty and capitalism. And now they were bored. They needed a cause to fight for so their chief called up Medha Patkar.

“Medhaji…namasteji…pavbhaji..pooribhaji..aloo bhaji”ranted the chief of the commies.

“Saale M@darCh%d…I’m fasting here because they are building a dam across Narmada River and you are talking about food .” retorted Medha Patkar.

“Sorry MedhaJi…just tell us what to do we will support you cause” said the chief.

“Just randomly take to the streets and scream NARMADA KO BACHAO…” quipped Medhaji.

Now the Mallus believe that Hindi originated from Malayalam. They believe that it was not the chicken or the egg that came first, it was a Mallu. Infact they believe that the sun is not the center of the Solar System it is a Mallu and his name is Mohan Lal. So armed with their so called 100% literacy the Mallu communists took to the streets.

“NARMADA KO BACCHA DO….NARMADA KO BACCHA DO”…bellowed the communists.
Our Shanker Mohan who had blossomed into a fine young man overheard them screaming.

“So many men and not one can help Narmada with her baby…shame on you …mallu men are suppose to be the Greek symbols of Virility ( oh by the way the mallus also believe that the Greeks are actually mallus)…send her over to this volcano of lust “ proclaimed young Shanker.

The Mallu communists had enough. There are three things that will incur the wrath of a Mallu man.

1) Lack of coconut in any of his meals.
2) Comparison of Mallu movies with other forms of cinema. It is their belief that every Oscar winning movie is a remake of a Mallu movie. (Forrest Gump, Godfather, Bridge on river Kwai, Gladiator, The Matrix …You name it …they are all remakes of this Mallu movie called Manichitrathal)
3) A comment on his Virility.

The Mallu communist had to teach Shanker a lesson. They got hold of a Soldering Rod from one of their friends who was studying Electronics at NIT-Calicut. They held Shanker Mohan down and etched the Communist symbol on his ass. The last thing that Shanker Mohan remembers before being blinded by unbearable pain was the red hot tip of the soldering rod bearing down upon his pimply ass. That night when Shanker looked into the mirror and saw his Communist vandalized ass…the hammer and sickle glowed. He felt like Harry Potter.

The communist's vandalized his ass!!

Shanker has to wear Undies that function as perfectly black bodies to prevent the symbol from glowing when in public. He takes great care not to reveal this dark secret that glows (ironic isn’t it!!) for he now employed in a Capitalistic organization named Deloitte which would not tolerate any from of left wing symbolism.
In fact when his 40 yr old bald manager casually coaxed Shanker into doing a night shift by using provocative statements such as “your ass is mine “,”your ass is going nowhere tonight” and “Lets kick some ass tonight, buddy“ , he panicked and fled the building

“Even I want to leave a mark that will last forever…hence I am going to NIT –Calicut” swore the young lad with vengeance in heart and burn marks on his ass.

Shanker’s sojourn at NIT-Calicut was eventful. Everybody was blown away by his talent. When he spoke dogs howled, crows cawed goats would bleat and the girls would giggle and say “aww…all the animals love him,,.that is soo cute!!”. Infact when it came to the ladies Shanker would transform into his alter ago .BENNY LAVA. Benny lava was a poetry spewing; candle-light dinner eating, romantic song –crooning sweet –talking smooth criminal who stole the mallu hearts of the mallu damsels.

BENNY LAVA!!

His Self titled composition “BENNY LAVA” was such a rage that Prabhudeva who was having trouble with the ladies approached him for some tips and to express his gratitude used this song in one of his movies .One simply has to listen to this song to understand the overpowering Chutzpah of this irresistible alpha male. The lyrics will blow your mind away .I will take the liberty to quote some of the profound words that have touched my heart:

My loony bun is fine Benny Lava
Minor burn engine made Benny Lava
Anybody need this sign? Benny Lava
You need a bun to bite? Benny Lava
Have you been high today?
I think the nuns are gay!!!

The link to this song is given below,:

BENNY LAVA!!!

However, not far from the horizon storm clouds were gathering. Shanker was oblivious of what lay in the days ahead. He had been turning heads, but little did he know that he was going to face his worst nightmare. An opponent who is invincible, dark and sinister. The mysterious organization called 3rd RATS. (Lightning crackles, the wind howls and the cats purr….)

Whenever the human civilization reaches the pinnacle of happiness and self sufficiency the 3rd Rats some forth to play spoil sport and remind mankind of his darker side. The 3rd Rats are descendants of barbaric ancestry. The bubonic plague that pillaged Europe was the work of their ancestors the Bubba Rats. After the bubonic plague the Bubba Rats branched out into two factions the Autocrats and the Plutocrats. The autocrats crossed the Atlantic and set foot upon the previously uncharted Americas. The Pluto crats headed east and forayed into India. The wrecked havoc by making holes in the undies of many Mughal emperors. They had their furry paws in every historical event that has shaped India.

They now exist in secrecy having made NIT-Calicut their base., they have mastered the black arts. Nobody knows what they look like. It is believed that their leaders undergo facial reconstructive surgery every 3 years. The organization is headed by three people who are referred to as the Maha chuhaas or Machhar ke bacchey…which means “the descendants of the blue blooded mosquito”.

The first Maha Chuha is Dilip Kumar, also known as “the silent killer”. The second Maha Chuha is KunJacko also known as” the dance of death” and the last and most lethal of them all…god a chill runs down my spine when I think of his name…He is the one who should not be named, for the mere mention of his name chills the winds and blocks out the sun. Nobody knows what he looks like, whenever someone tries to get a peek of him he transforms into a…into a…Into a… (God I have to say it)……POROTAAA!!!!… (Frosty wind blows…sun has been eclipsed)

The only available photographic evidence of the 3rd Rats!!

The Maha Chuhaas had set their sight on Shanker Mohan. They believed he could be a valuable asset. But they had to be subtle about it or else they would be compromised. But they had a plan. One night when the whole on NITC was asleep and Shanker was…was … lets just say ….experimenting with his soldering rod. He heard a knock.

“Who could it be at this unholy hour?” wondered Shanker.

He opened the door. There was no one there but he would a trail of Snickers, Bounty and Galaxy chocolates starting from his door and leading into the darkness of the corridor. Shanker who always believes in treading the untread path followed the trail into the darkness ,the trail led past the Bihari rooms that were playing Himesh Reshammiyya hits, past the cellular phone lovebirds who would put call centre employess to shame into a derelict room with a creaky door. He had a choice, he could either turn back or he could open that door and see where it takes him.

Shanker opened the door and entered the room illuminated by a blinding light. The communist symbol on his vandalized ass shone bright red.

Waiting for him were the Maha chuhaas…two men and a parotta.

“Welcome Neo…I see that you have made you choice” said on of the men.

“My name is Shanker Mohan…if you were women you could have called me BENNY LAVA …But no. To guys and edible objects .I am Shanker Mohan” said Shanker Mohan staring wide eyed at the Parotta.

“We are the 3rd Rats!!…and we would like you to join our club, would you be interested??” question the Maha Chuhaa.

“Yes” said an intrigued Shanker.

“But before we induct you we need you to prove your mettle so you will have to take part in a series of competitions.” quipped the Chuhaa

“Im game fellas “retorted Shanker.

What followed a grueling test of the body and the mind. From mind stressing events like wacky dance, pot pourri, shipwreck and one man dumb charades to mettle testing events like walk to silent valley, adipara waterfalls and treasure hunts. Shanker aced all. He was a natural; he could be rat like none other.

“We are very impressed with you Shanker. You shall make a glorious 3rd Rat. Now there is only one step that is left a small but important formality. The Oath.”

The Maha Chuhaas stood up and in their hands was a piece of cheese the symbol of rat hood which would be presented to the new inductee.

“Shanker Mohan also know as BENNY LAVA to the ladies, are you willing give up this pathetic excuse for a life that you are leading and embark upon the higher journey of 3rd Rat hood and upholds its highest ideals and moral code which includes leching at women as they return form class, displaying the finest form of mob mentality, advocating chaos in the face of rational discussion and getting kicks out of playing four a side football matches. If you are willing then eat this piece of cheese and say I WILL ,SPARTA!!”

A jubilant Shanker gobbled the piece of cheese and shouted with enthusiasm “I WILL FARTA!!!!”

The Maha Chuhaas were shocked.
”What did you just Say??’ the commanded

“I WILL FARTA!!!!” replied Shanker meekly

“You disrespect our ancestors. Take back your words young man” warned the Maha Chuhaas

“But I said what you asked me to say…I WILL FARTA!!…Oh I always forget guys…I have this condition and patients suffering from this condition are called Kaminney..Main SA koh FA bolta hoon….I am foo forryy…’

Shanker Mohan!!!...kaminney!!!

SHANKER MOHAN was a dead man. The 3rd Rats were insulted .they would not let him go lightly. Shanker fled, but they would not let him go, they would hunt him down. Shanker was on the run. He hopped from room to room evading the 3rd Rat assassins who were assigned only one mission: Kill Shanker Mohan

Shanker sought refuge under the bed of a Ruffles Lays munching pot-bellied Chinese Buddhist monk. This is no ordinary monk. It believed that in Zen Buddhism there are various levels of nirvana that one attains after years of hard penance. There is believed to be a level of nirvana which is beyond the grasp of the human mind that even Buddha himself failed to breach this final frontier. A monk who has reached this level of Nirvana is called a ZEN ESTILLO that’s Chinese for “tranquil mind and jiggling belly”.

The path to become a ZEN ESTILLO monk is filled with uncertainties and perils and one must be truly destined to achieve this state of mind. IT IS CALLED THE WAY OF THE WETFINGERS
The monk must first find an original albino crocodile and seduce it with lady like charm, then it must be pinned down in a compromising position .The monk must then proceed to insert his index finger and ring finger in its olfactory orifices and sensuously whisper with a thick African accent
”ooh baby…Say my name…. Say my name…”


This monk who had now achieved the ZEN ESTILLO state of mind sensed that Shanker was in danger and granted him asylum. Nobody knows his name, except for the albino crocodile. But for some strange reason everybody referred to him Tolia a.k.a Fat B@stard.

The 3rd rat assassins barged into Fat B@stard’s room.

“Where is Shanker Mohan? “Bellowed the assassins seething with rage.
Fat B@stard paused for a moment, consumed the cream and onion flavored chip in his hand and spoke thus:

“Oh 3rd Rat assassins,
Why do you seethe with such bilious rage? What is tickling your rodent asses??
Must you always be such Mean Chows??
Chillax and eat Ruffles Lays,
Together we will sit and watch that Gultee movie Happy Days!!”

“Fat B@stard tell me where Shankar Mohan is or else I will sushi your Chinese ass!!”

Before they could harm Fat B@stard , Shanker Mohan mustered courage and yelled

“I am here you rambunctious rodents come and get me!!” but not before he jumped through the window and took to his heels. Shanker Mohan ran like he had never run before, it was a scene straight out of National Geographic., a sissy warthog running for his life as he is being chased by cheetahs. Just then the first drops of the monsoon rain descended from the heavens and Shanker mutters in agony…

a peeing elephant !!

” I must find a peeing elephant to escape the pouring rain!!”

That’s all folks.

(Shanker and Tolia…jokes apart…you guys are the coolest juniors I have ever known. Thanks for making my college days a truly memorable experience…you guys are a big part of it.
Loads of love and a little tomfoolery
Chutney)

INTO THE WILD!!

4:10 PM: I step outside the examination hall. Another one down. How do I feel? Numb.Yes, Numb is the word; I stagger past the crowding multitudes and head for the exit. I have been waiting for this moment for some time now.No, I am not referring to the examination that I just negotiated, my plans have a subtly higher purpose. I wave down the nearest passing auto rickshaw.
“Boss, Brigade road ….” I probe. He nods. Alls well and I’m on my way.

4: 45 PM: I am standing in front of BLOSSOM’S book store(It’s my getaway, You should try it some time, it’s a great place to be , for both you and your wallet).

God! The place is choc -a- block with people. You have your regular kurta clad journo-types devouring Algebra of Infinite Justice and likes. Then you have the IT crowd lapping up Warren Buffet and The Apple Story simply because they could mention it on their resume and how can I forget the posse of teenage girls going gaga over the Twilight series. I head straight to the counter.

“INTO THE WILD by..John..John..Krau…Krau..” ,Now I’m just embarrassed.
“Krakauer..John Krakauer…”.says the guy behind the counter.

Mission accomplished. Clutching my new prized possession I head home,but not before I stop by at CORNER HOUSE to pick my chocolate fudge and mocha Ice-cream.(You see, celebrating after an examination is a ritualistic process and Ice cream is an important ingredient, without it, the gods of the “F@ck around after exams “ pantheon will not be appeased).

A quick shower, I slip into my “happy feet” t-shirt and Bart Simpson boxers. (Yes, I have a t-shirt that says “happy feet’!!) and I’m ready. In my hand is a copy of INTO THE WILD, the glossy paper back a dilapidated green and white bus numbered 42 on its cover. I hold the book close to smell the paper. God, I love the smell of new books, makes you feel all clean and fresh.

3:00 AM :Roughly seven hours later as I leaf through the last page of the book. I lay in bed, choking with emotion. It’s not an emotion that can be defined as black or white, its anger, awe ,sadness and a sense of hope all arranged in one chocolate box.(The kind of chocolate box that Forrest Gump talks about).

INTO THE WILD is a riveting account of a young man named Christopher John Mccandless who defies supposed rational thought as defined by society and marches into the Alaskan wilderness to experience what he aptly describes as “the most ancient human conditions”. Christopher Mccandless or Alex Supertramp as he later christened himself is real, not a figment of some rubber tramp’s imagination.

Christopher was born in well-to-do family living the American Dream. Born to a NASA engineer and his equally competent wife, Christopher graduated from Emory University at the top of his class majoring in anthropology and history, his grades he quoted were good enough to pave the way for an Harvard Law school degree, just as his parents hoped for. But little did they know that their son had other plans.

Christopher John Mccandless donates all the money he saved up for his college education to OXFAM ,a charitable organization. And just leaves. He travels the length and breadth of America, hitchhiking, canoeing, and freight train hopping. His ultimate adventure lay in Alaska, for which he trained rigorously. Sadly, it was to be his final resting place. He survived 113 days in the Alaskan wilderness before succumbing to starvation at the age of 24.

When his story was first made known to the world. There were mixed reactions. Some called him a visionary, a man living his dream. Some called him narcissist who had caused his family immense pain and suffering. Some called him fool hardy for undertaking such an adventure without adequate preparation and reprimanded the media for making him a hero. Everybody had an opinion and I have one to.

I put down the book and I let it all play out in my head like a movie. Christopher John Mccandless in my opinion is human, but with qualities we could probably hope to imbibe. I feel a strong wave of anger consume me when I think about the void he left in the lives of his parents. I feel hopeful and reassured when I know that it is actually possible to live your dream irrespective of its consequences. I feel sad that all dreams come to an end. I admire Mccandless for his determination to achieve his Alaskan dream inspite of countless people dissuading him from doing so. Another observation that really fascinated me was his ability to the touch the lives of every single person he met on his peregrinations, from a seventeen year old girl who had a crush on him to an eighty year old war veteran who wanted to adopt him as his grandson. Their bonds with him really leap off the pages and become vivid examples of the man he was.

My Mccandless experience doesn’t end here. I crawl out of bed and switch on my computer and check my torrent software .Yess, it’s done. C’mon, you have to agree that this story deserves a film adaptation.

Directed by Sean Penn and starring Emil Hirsch, the movie doesn’t disappoint. However as is the unwritten rule, the book is more fulfilling. The movie pays attention to the sights and sounds that Mcclandess experiences whereas the book focuses more on the people that were a part of his brief but extraordinary life. They book and the movie compliment each other perfectly.

There are some instances both in the book and the movie that will remain in my memory for a long time. The green and white abandoned bus no 142 where he camped at while living his Alaskan dream. The references to Jack London, Tolstoy and Thoreau.
A particularly touching chapter where his parents visit the bus where he spent his last few days. His mother picks up his tattered pair of jeans that lay strewn in the bus, holds them close and then says to husband.” They still smell like Chris”.(This was one of those choke moments; where I go okay now easy there. men don’t cry…n stuff)

But above all the most haunting impression is that left by a self portrait taken using a minolta camera in his last few days and his last words that he carved into the bus. They read :

All Hail Alex Supertramp!!!

I HAVE HAD A HAPPY LIFE AND THANK THE LORD AND MAY GOD BLESS ALL!!

Perhaps someday when I have made enough money,I would like to head to a sleepy little town called Fairbanks,catch this path called the Stampede Trail and pay a visit to Bus no 142,the last remaining proof of a man who dared to live his dream .

The movie has a fantastic soundtrack and there is this one song that really encapsulates the whole Christopher John Mccandless experience ,it’s a beautiful track and there could undoubtedly be no other person that I can think of who could have remotely come close to pulling it off other than Eddie Vedder. The song is called Hard Sun.Here’s the link
.
HARD SUN -EDDIE VEDDER

Mann…I missed blogging!!

God..its been such a long time..i guess self imposed exile has really taken its toll on me..there’s so much i wanna blog about..
Malcolm Gladwell…lassi at oye amritsar!!…how much i miss my dog….the ‘CAT’astrophe..me making potato and capsicum curry….yadayada…but i guess too much information amounts to noise..so why dont we take things slow n check out this really cool song I heard recently…its one of those happy happy songs…called

Fireflies by Owl City

Fireflies by Owl City

Connecting the dots!

Steve Jobs!!

“Manna from Heaven” (quoting Kurt Vonnegut),they say is hard to find.The Israelites found some on their trip through the desert and since then there has been no news of it.Well I found it.Yes a I bet countless people beat me to it and maybe I’m just another guy in the line but still its my moment of truth.
I am referring to the Steve Jobs’ Speech delivered at the Stanford College commencement in 2005.
I experience this adrenaline rush every single time I listen to it.
His story on connecting the dots really strikes a chord.
The links are given below:

The speech

The text

It was literally a “BIG” day….Wohooo!!

Ramu went to the market bought 2 apples, a banana and a mango and paid Rs 20 for them. In how many ways could Ramu have bought the fruits if the individual cost of each fruit is an integral value?

Now I think to myself:

Ramu ..oh.Ramu..If only I could meet you in person I’d whoop your sorry ass to high heaven. Don’t you have anything else to do on a Saturday morning? No I don’t blame you; I’d rather beat that shopkeeper who sold you the fruits to pulp. Which sorry excuse for a human being endowed with the bare minimum intellect would sell one banana and one apple?

Mr A says to Miss B, I am four times as old as you were, when I was four times as old as you are now. If the sum of their ages is 104. Find the age of Miss B (in years)?

There is only one solution, Miss B kindly approach Ramu, borrow his fruits ,shove the two apples up his unholy orifice and comfort him by saying “An apple a day keeps the doctor away, now that you have two you will never ever have to say ..What’s up Doc”. Having done that Miss B kindly approach Mr A and reprimand him for his manners for a lady’s age is not exactly dinner table conversation.

Yes, It was gonna go down as yet another uneventful Saturday where I would battle “interesting” CAT problems which immortalize dipshits like Ramu in print. But then a miracle. Yes,miracles do happen. The phone rang. I pick up the receiver.

A voice…Yes a voice devoid of divinity, cleaniliness, godliness and all nouns associated with halos, wings and bright lights crackles.

“Dude, MR BIG is in town, they are playing tonight, don’t worry about the money I’ll pay .We are going tonight, I have already booked the tickets”

“Are you an angel?” I ask overwhelmed by emotion.

“No, dude I’m Renzil “replied the voice.

Renzil. No it’s not an ointment for ringworm. It’s a name of a person, a highly evolved homo sapien who gets kicks out of running indecipherable code for multi-national corporations and organizing sausage fests when bored out of his mind.( In fact, Renzil once proclaimed “My sausages are better than those at Subway’s).

MR BIG. Yes people. I was there… .Courtesy Renzil D’souza. I don’t think you quite get the gravity of the situation. Let me spell it out. Loud and clear. God created us lesser mortals and then he created Paul Gilbert, Billy Seenan ,Eric Martin and Pat Torpey. He got them to form MR BIG and then unleashed them upon us.

My first ever international gig and who better than one of my all time favourite bands Mr BIG to lead the way.

I stood just feet away from the one of the greatest guitarists that music has ever been endowed with. PAUL GILBERT. Yes I stood just feet away when he played countless face melting guitar solos. When he pulled out a handrill and played the guitar with it, I went into shock. Yes people a handrill, he made music using a handrill!!!!

paul gilbert and some drill magic!!

I saw one of the fastest bass players in the world BILLY SEENAN explode on stage with his antics, He did literally everything his bass would musically permit him to do and more.

ERIC MARTIN, the lead singer left me speechless. I have never heard a voice that has such clarity, energy, soul and joy all stirred up to give a heady cocktail of awesomeness.

In short it was AURAL NIRVANA.

When they played one of their most brilliant compositions “Green tinted sixties mind”, I overheard someone say that having experienced the song live, they could die in peace. I beg to differ, I‘d want to live only to experience it again. Trust me it’s one of those things worth living for. I can’t wait to make a butt load of money take the next flight to whenever they are playing and let them rock the living daylights outta me.

I had started the day in the dingy confines of my prison cell like room –staring a meaningless sea of mindless math in fine print and ended it singing my heart out loud at Palace Grounds, Bangalore along with my favorite band. Such joy, pure and child like is hard to come by. It makes me wonder, why do we always look at the big picture, the better tomorrow and miss out on the little joys that today offers.

On that note I’d like to conclude by saying:

Wohooooo…I’m no longer an International gig virgin.!!!!

Positive-A short film by Farhan Akthar.

No,this post is not written to send out a social message.This post is not meant to create awareness or change the world.It is merely written to express my heart felt gratitude towards the makers of this short film.When you look into a mirror,you tend to miss the obvious.Sometimes ,you need to take a closer look .Funny thing,I found real life in reel life.The sense of Deja Vu is overwhelming.

Thank you,the cast and crew of Positive for that little push when I needed it most.

To the reader:
The links to the short film are given below,do check it out:

Positive:Part 1

Positive:Part 2

One Surely Temple..please..

(This is an old post from my previous blog.So for those who feel a sense of Deja Vu.It is warranted)

The clock struck five. Wait a minute. It just struck me that soon clocks would no longer strike as they wouldn’t be around, that privilege would be solely reserved to angry unions in communist countries. Nevertheless the haloed antiquity of the English language permits my digital clock to strike five as a figure of speech.

It is time for the alter ego to take the stage. I step into the shower and wait for the warm water to purge me of all my sins. I’m greeted by the reproach of cold water. ‘I can’t help you. Your only hope is to pay a visit to the temple.’ the water echoed in repudiation as it struck the marble floor.

But they say He is omnipresent, omnipotent, omni-maruti etc’ I pleaded cogently.

‘I can’t hear a word your saying. I guess I am too loud. But you better watch your mouth for he can.. .’ the water gushed.

‘Oh Lord Almighty, Can you hear me?’I beseeched reverently.

“He can’t hear you. I am too loud” the water reasoned pretentiously.

“But you said he can hear me. Maybe I should step outside the shower and try.”I ruminated.
“I doubt that, it will be of any use. The coterie of cellular companies and their signals get in the way. They are a real nuisance, why just the other day a plane full of people went down because their prayers couldn’t get through to Him. And all this after repeatedly being instructed by the petite flight attendants to switch off their cell phones. Now all that’s left of them is a flotsam somewhere off the coast of Papua New Guinea.’

I emerged from the shower with a parturient resolve to get my message across to the Big Guy. But a question wormed its way into the back of my head. Isn’t Papua New Guinea French for my new daddy is a guinea pig?

I slipped into a White Kurta. You may call it vanity but I believe it always help to make an impression when you step into the Lord’s house. I venture outside armed with my IPod playing…What if God was one of us…By that apparently mellifluous singer named Joan Osborne. (Actually I hate her sugar coated candy pop poncy voice, but apparently she is on His ITunes list so I don’t have a choice. I wish He reaches a state of ennui and gives Ozzy a try.) I make my way to the temple, quickly inspecting all the thank yous and I wants on the checklist.

I can sense the spiritual energy consume me just like a Chicken Puff would have sensed me consuming it. As I approach the temple in anticipation of being greeted by the sanctity of peace, I close my eyes and step towards the temple only to be welcomed by turd that had graced my feet.

“Why that B!#@h of a Cow!!! “ I muttered and then cupped my mouth with my hands. Profanity doesn’t earn you brownie points said the Bhagavad Geeta. I hope He didn’t hear that. Up above in the blue heavens lightning whips a crack and clouds grumbled thunderously. I think he heard me.

“My Good Lord, I think you heard me wrong. It must all these damned cell phone signals. I was merely admiring the marvel of creation and overcome by its ebullience I said why that blush of a cow!!! It is a romanticized figure of speech used by young folks of the Victorian era upon encountering anything that reaffirms their faith in the beauty of nature”

No thunderous mumblings…pheww…That was a close one.

With a penitent smile and a maladroit gait I ambled into the temple but not before getting rid of my sordid footwear. Before me He stood, His leviathan presence freezing my craven feet. To my right stood the coterie of Iyer ladies planning their itinerary for their south Indian temple tour. A posse of pretty girls and their muffled giggles circumambulating the temple with young suitors following behind. His abode it seems has come to become a fecund hunting ground for marital prospects.

I closed my eyes and thus began…

“Dear God. First things first…Thank you for everything…and by everything I mean… the chocolate flavor for which I have a predilection, TV,IPL, buxom ladies in low budget remix videos and oh oh…I almost forgot.. Parents, education, and…and… you know what I’m talking about don’t you… off course you do… you know everything.”(I know I sound embarrassingly obsequious but hey I’m very pedantic when it comes to prayer)

Now that I have flambéed the cake its time to up the ante and get that wish list ready…..

“Dear God, I know you are a very busy man but when you are taking a break kindly glance through this wish list. I have ensured that it doesn’t sound too prolix so that you wouldn’t be troubled it. So here goes…

I Want………….

So what’s playin on your Ipod today??

Ten songs on my playlist that really make my evening walks an experience.. that one simply has to ..(for the lack of a better word)..experience.
(Click on the songs for a sneak-peek)
1) Seven by Dave Matthews Band.

The song has such a happy vibe to it.The song just draws you into it and effortlessly takes you through its structure and all the while maintains its inherent simplicity.

2) Admiration by Incubus.

The song is kind of like a tuning fork it grows in intensity until it consumes you and you are in perfect resonance with its music.

3) Destiny by Zero7.

Bangalore weather and this song fit like hand in a glove.I recommend this song to everyone anyone dying to get away from the all apparent symptoms of a choking city and experience its steady pulse on a chilly evening.

4) Ooops by Shaiir+Func.

Func’s a goddess.Period.Beyond that its a great song.You have to see it to believe it.

5) Broken hearted by Eric Clapton.

When “Slow Hand” talks,sings ,plays guitar or for that matter breathes..everybody listens.Beautiful track.When Clapton sings about pain,it’s even beats the real thing!!

6) Ritual Dance by Kaki King (soundtrack for the movie August Rush)

Ok.Confession time.Huuuuuuuuuuuuge Crush.I have never seen anyone play the guitar the way she does.The song is permanently etched in my brain.

7) Easy by Faith No More.

Sad song?I dunno about that.Good Song ? No doubt.Mike Patton’s sublime voice really makes this song “Easy” listening.

8 ) Save Me by Junkyard Groove.

Junkyard Groove’s music has loads of my college memories tied to it.So what’s an evening walk without an little reminiscence.Hence “Save me” by Junkyard Groove.The guitars at the intro really take me back in time to college.

9) Possess your heart by Death cab for Cutie

Haunting track.Something eerily comforting about this song.It puts you at peace but an uneasy feeling lingers.

10) Free Fallin by John Mayer (cover)

When your favourite artist takes a really special song and reincarnates it in his own image.The result is magic.Its a beautiful rendition of “Free Fallin “by the Blues preacher,John Mayer.

So what’s playin on your ipod today??

Gossip Girl 2:

(A series of articles showcasing people who have not by any stretch of imagination shaped the world we live in. These personalities are anything but go –getters and would probably help restore nature’s balance as crime abettors. These personalities have carved a niche for themselves… (no-one cares in which cobweb cuddling nook and cranny) as the connoisseurs of crap .Their stories deserve to be told. These unsung heroes shall sing even if there are rioting readers with countless bouts of irregular bowel movements and nauseating convulsions. Their childhood will be dissected, their traits debated and their entrails eviscerated. Brace yourself a reader for this is ‘shitty’zen journalism at its best. Brought to you by your very own Gossip girl.)

A straight account of two gentlemen hell bent on love.

They say… (Isn’t it convenient that we mask our ignorance with an all knowing and authoritative pronoun ‘they’…)…Now where was I…yes…They say marriages are made in heaven, trashy romances in college and biryani in Hyderabad. But what about true love? now that’s one commodity that even the inflation cannot touch. What gives us mere mortals the right to demarcate boundaries, draw up rules and impose stereotypes on a feeling so divine?

Violation of the law of nature. My foot. If a wooly Mammoth wants a Tundra Bear, then that’s the way it is. Yes, the consummation of their union may result in an Anjam Majeed but we just have to deal with it. Now that’s the law of nature. You don’t look convinced. Well then, I’ll let Darwin do the talking.

Tango Charlie!!

Charles Darwin, a “queer” little fellow wrote a story originally titled “Oranges and Peaches” for his man servant Manfred, whom he deeply loved. In this story Darwin gravely remarks

“If a wooly Mammoth wants a Tundra Bear, then that’s the way it is. Yes, the consummation of their union may result in an Anjam Majeed , but we just have to deal with it.”

tundra bear+ wooly mammoth = anjaam majeed

Manfred was moved by the story, but fearing public outrage he pleaded with Darwin to get rid of the story line, retain the sentences that had dependent clauses and publish the book as “Origin of Species”. The rest they say is history. Darwin pleaded with Manfred to at least retain the Mammoth-Tundra quote so that their love would be immortalized and would last the ages, but Manfred wouldn’t have any of it.

Darwin overcome by grief drowned himself in a bowl of punch and Manfred who couldn’t imagine a life without his “Tango Charlie” followed suit.

They were united again at the gates of heaven. But just when they were about to embrace their union in the afterlife by… you know actually…Ahem…actually embracing each other, Peter (the dude who hold the key to the kingdom of heaven and acts really important and refuses to do night shifts And is currently lobbying for a appraisal..) Intervened.

“Hola amigos, what’s going on here? Don’t you ignoramus iguanas know that Section 377 applies to the Kingdom of Heaven and to a radius of 100 km around it right upto Limbo.

“What is Section 377?” the lovers asked in unison.

Storm clouds gathered. Lightning struck and thunder…hmm…I guess thundered. And Peter Spoke…
“Oh innocent lovers … Section 377 states thus…
OYY…ONLY LOOKY… NO TOUCHY!!!!”

Darwin and Manfred were heartbroken. Is there peace in this war for love?
Where are the fruits of the labour of love?

Just when it seemed like it was the end of the road and Peter was about to realize that he was losing out on his lunch time an idea distracted him. He summoned the lovers to his office.

“There is one way out” he said as he pointed to a strange box that beamed flashy images of people and had the words ‘Idiot Box ‘ inscribed on it.

“I recently bought some VCD’s of Hindi movies…Good stuff …you know…Naagin , Karan Arjun ,Kaho Na Pyaar Hai. All these movies talk about rebirth. apparently rebirth is the in thing in India. Yes, section 377 is applicable there…but it’s India so nobody gives a damn. I just received a sms that there are two vacancies in downtown Kerala right now…so if you guys are interested lemme know. ”

Folks…True love transcends prophecies, premonitions and cheesy concepts like rebirth but just like when the chips are down even you will eat your mother’s horrible oopma…(Upma…to some…) the lovers had to resort to rebirth as Mallus for there wasn’t another way out.

“Ok …Peter…I don’t mind being Mallu I will eat puttu-kadala and kappa meen curry but please gimme a cool sounding name, I mean I cant go from being called Darwin to Kakassery or Muralidharan…please …please…pretty please” begged Darwin.

“Im ok with anything …just gimme loads of cohonas … (that’s Spanish for…ahem…manliness…)”simpered Manfred.

“Shsh …you two…hmmph… lovers and their eccentricities…You Darwin shall be born as Sebastian Pattom in the mallu town of Kochi and meen curry is the least of your worries there will be so much meen in your life that it will find its way into your vocabulary and you naughty fellow Manfred ..want cohonas…eh. You shall be born as Vignesh J(Why the initial J ..Even I do not know…Strange are the ways of the lord…).Well u shall get a butt load of mallu cohonas…and mallu manliness is all about the mane…so meen and mane it is..Beware of what u wish for my beautiful roses. Off you go…”

So at the stroke of midnight two babies went “Oooouuwaaan..Ooooouwaan”(As you can see I am handicapped by the limitations that the English language poses..But I must admit it is a fairly accurate description).At the stroke of midnight when the world sleeps …two lovers were reunited by birth…but nobody gave a rat’s ass for they were all fast asleep. Peter as promised did not fail to deliver. Not only were the babies Mallu… their parents …the nurses…ward boys and even the guys who prepared their birth certificates were all Mallu.

Peter’s prophetic promise had percolated to every aspect of their lives. Sebastian’s first words were uttered when he saw his cherubic baby self in the mirror…”WHAT THE FISH!!” he blurted in muffled gurgles. His parents were overjoyed by his inherent malluness for his first words included fish. Poor parents little did they know that it was Darwin who spoke in disbelief as he stared on at his mallu avatar.

Sebastian or Patsy as he was fondly called had his western air about him right from babyhood. People mistook it for non-existent colonial influence but it was actually residual Darwinism that showed fleeting glimpses of itself from time to time. Sebastian’s voice had this tone of longing and yearning associated with it…in short he a whiny voice that had little to do with lost love but owes its existence to the inebriated priest who baptized him with a swig of wine..Instead of holy water (although the Priory of Sion argues vehemently that wine is the only form of holy water…and those who do not believe so are thereby committing blasphemy and belong to an ostracized cult called the tea-totallers…who should not get any aid from the Vatican).

The residual Darwinism in Patsy had to be unleashed. Patsy was a talented kid, he played the guitar, he played ball, both with his and others with a level of breeziness that left everybody staring in disbelief. Patsy undoubtedly was good with numbers, his baby diapers were a sight to behold apart from the usual unmentionable stuff it also contained graffiti of complex data interpretation questions that would leave CAT crackers like Amit Ambre baffled.

Patsy’s brilliance earned him a lot of admirers especially among the ladies of Mallu town. Every time he took to the streets girls would blush and giggle. They would do anything to catch his attention .Some made him pazham pooris while others sang delightful romantic mallu songs of the yesteryears. They would beg him to say “WHAT THE FISH!!” in his whiny tone and when he did they would feed him kappa meen curry till he turned blue like a dead fish!!

The ladies man!!!

He was called the LADIES MAN.

But even the crowned beauties of Gods own country did not catch his attention. Titles and pazham pooris meant little to him. He was waiting for someone .There was something amiss. It was only a matter of time.

Vignesh J was a manly baby. He had had a butt load of mallu cohonas as prophesized by Peter. His mane was like that of a lion dipped in coal-tar. His voice deep and dark like a black hole. His gait confident. He was Suresh Gopi-Mamooty and Mohanlal all at once, yet there was a subservient underlying feminity that would show glimpses of itself whenever he would read about a certain Charles Darwin in his school textbooks. People feared his silence; humor had no place in his life for he was all man. His motto was:

Men don’t dance. Men don’t sing. Men don’t cook. Men play ball.

Vignesh played all the ball there was. Football ,Basketball ,Throwball, Pinball, In fact he did anything that involved balls. This proved to be his undoing as Patsy asks him out for a ball-dance and he couldn’t refuse and later he changed his punch line to

Men don’t sing. Men don’t cook. Men play ball and sometimes ball dance.

men dont dance.....

Time had ripened with much haste. Their long wait was over. They both enrolled at Bhavans Vidya Mandir Girinagar to pursue their education. When true love has to fulfill its destiny the whole universe unites in pursuit of it. (This cheesy line was uttered by Sharukh Khan in Om Shanti Om in Hindi. Rejith Ravindran of NIT-C had the cohonas or the lack of it to actually sit and translate it in English and use it on his Orkut Profile. So much for the Origin of Cheesies.)

The point I’m trying to make is, the above line holds true for Patsy and Vignesh, who met in a school play titled “The restroom at the end of the universe” where they had an apocalyptic scene together in which Patsy who is short in built plays a White Dwarf heading towards Vignesh ,a Black Hole its final resting place. It was Physics. It was inevitable. It was love. It was poetry in loose motion.

A bond had been forged. A destiny fulfilled. They were now a force to reckon with. When they played ball their chemistry was magical. They were like electric dynamite. Yet, after the game when the dust had settled they were like young lovers gentle and childish, shy and apprehensive.

Together they made an unstoppable quiz team , there was no method to their success, just magic. One such magical moment was when they were participating in the finals of the Bournvita Quiz Contest hosted by Quiz master De’ Lack o Brains .It was crunch time. They were tied with another team and it was the last question for the day. The winner takes all. It was the buzzer round.

‘Here comes the last question of the day. The scores are tied and the team that answers this question takes home the prize. This one’s gonna be a “nutcracker”!’ roared De’Lack o Brains

The teams with their sinews taut in anticipation stared on.

“What is the National Dish of England?” bellowed De’Lack o Brains .

Time froze. Both Vignesh’s and Patsy’s hands headed towards the buzzer. Their hands touched. Their not so smooth and unporcealin like skin made contact. I dunno about the buzzer on the table but their buzzers definitely went off, in this maelstrom of passion Patsy yelped passionately …”HOLY FISH AND CHIPS!!!!” .Glory was theirs. Call it Destiny; call it whatever you wish…but victory was theirs.

Wherever Patsy went His faithful Viggy the piggy followed. Together they conquered new frontiers, they boldly went where no two men had gone before…err I mean…they moved from Bhavans to NIT-Calicut. Both graduated with flying colors and now are exploring professional challenges at Bajaj. A company that is definitely male, just the way Viggy would want it.

As they ride into the sunset on a Bajaj Pulsar DTSI, that is definitely male. Patsy takes off his Raybans looks into Viggy’s eyes and utters a universal truth that would give courage to many.

“If a wooly Mammoth wants a Tundra Bear, then that’s the way it is. Yes, the consummation of their union may result in an Anjam Majeed , but we just have to deal with it.”

Thats all Folks!!

Happy Birthday!

10pm…Caught in a traffic jam…The city is flooded. The rains pour down hard and as I look out of the window and I wonder…I wonder…As I sway to the hypnotic rhythm of the rain hitting the asphalt… why does it always rain on me?

But no, not today it’s your day. It’s your birthday. I sense this restlessness, like I can’t wait to get home and be a part of your special day. But wait a minute, reality is as maddening as gravity, it pulls you down. Your not here. You’re long gone.

But how can that be. I have the whole day planned.

What happens to the flowers, the reservation at the Italian Restaurant? I know how much you love pasta. And what about the song? I have been assiduously playing the guitar much to the dismay of my neighbors perfecting our song. Mom says that she really doesn’t mean it every time she calls me an ass and that I don’t have to prove her right by singing. What happens to the dress? Yup you guessed right, the same old boring white, but I will never tire of it.

Cars honking. The bus hits a bump and reality knocks me to my senses. I look at my phone. It doesn’t ring anymore like it used to announcing your presence. Its illuminated screen screams in bold 21th May 2009.Its been a year.

But what about the gifts? The other day my eyes fell upon this beautiful Swarovski pendant. It had you written all over it.

“Saar… Your stop is here” says reality disguised as the driver.

As I alight, the cold air catches me, hmm..Its cold out here and the trees are tall. Wait a minute I’m lost in a concrete jungle where did all the trees disappear?

Some special days spent together, some far apart but the life ambles onward on a crutch called the past. Happy Birthday.

(This post is inspired by this crappy short story I read by some godforsaken writer named Apathy Canavian, I figured that even bad and corny writing is an art so this is my attempt at it. So hang on to your footwear, I’m no Bush!!)