The story so far:
Aw, what the heck! Read it up!
****
I saw a sly smile on my face.
(This confusion of pronouns is really getting to me now.)
“What makes you think there’s only one of us??”
“What? Look, there’s only one…”
And then it struck me.
“You mean - ”
The sly smile again.
“But - ”
The sly smile widened a little.
“Look - ”
The sly smile was now a grin.
“Oh, wipe that silly grin off your face!!”
The grin disappeared. Literally.
“I didn’t mean that!! Get it back. GET IT BACK!!”
The grin came back. Literally.
“But how?”
“Let’s just say we’ve evolved a little longer than you have.”
That was news. If there are super-evolved sentient beings who can change appearances - and do it on a whim - then, it meant…
“No. We don’t.”
“Wha- How? Did you -”
“No, we can’t read minds, yet.”
I heaved a sigh of relief. And then the processing yielded the obvious question.
“Yet? You mean…”
“Well, we can read faces. As much as you can. Basic mentalics, you know…”
“Oh.”
There was a silence. I wouldn’t call it uncomfortable, because one of me was still smiling. And it wasn’t me. I (the real me) did not know how to break it.
‘What the heck,’ I said to myself (the inner self, not the outer DNA-replicating-impostor, please) ‘let me try, anyway.”
I cleared my throat.
“So let me get this right. You are super-evolved sentient beings who can replicate whatever basic building blocks of life, simply by coming into contact with them. And yet, you accost me in this dark alley like a thug and scare the wits out of me. May I ask this simple question: What do you want from us?”
“Us?”
“I meant humanity. I think I speak for all humanity. You wouldn’t be able to understand us if we spoke all at once anyway.”
“Well, nothing.”
Nothing? NOTHING?? All this scaring, and displaying of power, and DNA-based replication capability for nothing?
“Nothing?”
“Nothing.”
“But you must want something! World Peace! Galactic War! Inter-planetary Trade! Something!”
“Well, we carry our world with us, and we’re at peace. So that takes World Peace out. The next Galactic war isn’t due until a while - strike that, too. And inter-planetary trade - we don’t need it. We derive our energy from the Parent-star. You guys don’t seem to be using yours, anyway.”
“Yeah, we’re still trying to figure that one out.”
“It’s quite simple, really. You see-”
“I SAID, WE’RE TRYING!!”
“Okay!”
Silence.
How do you sustain conversation with (a) super-evolved sentient being/s with instant-replication capability and a desire for nothing? Simple answer: You can’t. Elaborate answer: You try, but you still can’t.
“Okay, if you want nothing, I might as well leave. No point in me hanging around, right? Toodle-doo, pip-pip!” And I started to move.
“Wait!”
“What?”
“Don’t you want anything?”
“Me? I want world peace - can you give me that?”
The other me opened my mouth to answer.
“No wait. Wrong choice of question. Discard that.”
The open mouth quickly closed shut.
“You can give me anything?”
“Well, almost anything.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“Free?”
“Well…”
“Ah, I knew it!! There had to be a price!! Everything has a price! There’s no such thing as a free lunch!”
“Actually…”
“Name your price! I won’t disclose what I want until you name your price! NAME IT!!”
“We’ve already taken. We’re here to give.”
“Huh? What? How? When?”
“You needn’t worry about that. You’ll never even notice what we’ve taken. Clearly, you didn’t notice it when was there…”
I was puzzled by that intriguing statement, but I was also exhilarated by the choices made available by that statement. I had the power to make a decision that was usually the honor of the privileged few.
“Wait a second, why do I get to make the choice? Shouldn’t you be talking to someone else? Someone in power? Like the President, maybe? Or Hugh Hefner?”
“No.”
“Just ‘No’? No further explanations?”
“No.”
So that meant I also had to be responsible with my choices. Damn!
“Okay, can you give me some time?”
“Is that what you want?”
“NO! NO! I meant, I want to think before I make my choice!”
“Oh, okay!”
Phew. Close call.
I quickly formed a list of what I needed the most. A sweet girlfriend, a secure job, a fat pay-cheque, a cozy home, and a great retiring pension. Kinda selfish, ain’t it? It suddenly hit me that whatever I would ask for, would leave a long-lasting impression on - not just me, but - the entire of mankind. Like, the huge-leap-and-not-small-step kind of an impression. I would have to be R-E-A-L careful…
World Peace, then? Nope. Too abstract.
Scientific Progress? Can’t hand it on a platter…
Smarter Politicians? Erm…
Upgraded Sensibilities? Eradication of Poverty? Peaceful International Relations? Humanitarian Beliefs? Utopia? Asking for one of them meant forgoing the others.
A whirlwind of thoughts buzzed through my head. I couldn’t settle on anything. Each option seemed equally favorable, and all options seemed equally necessary.
It didn’t help that I was standing in front of my favorite Pizza place. I could easily have asked for an order of my favorite pizza with my favorite toppings - and gotten it.
And, then it struck me - clear as day. It had to be THE choice.
I simply looked at me. Basic mentalics did the rest.
I (the-impostor-me) looked puzzled at first and then I (the-impostor-me) smiled.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I guess…”
“Well, that is indeed unique. But if that is your choice, so be it,” the impostor-me said and smiled. I smiled in return. And, with that, the impostor-me vanished. Disintegrated. Disappeared, in a puff of smoke.
I could see the sign on the door of my favorite Pizza place. The sign that had helped me save the world.
The sign that simply said:
“Thank you! Visit again!”
*******
Ta-Da!! I FINISHED IT!!
I know it’s not good at all. I have been out of touch, I guess…
Thanks for being patient. 
The Story So Far:
I am returning home from work and encounter disembodied humanoid voices. When I ask them (boldly) to appear in front of me, they do. And I scream.
*****
It was me.
No, no. I mean I was standing here and then I was standing there. And I hadn’t even moved. Which meant there were two of me. Here was me and then another me.
Puzzled, confounded, confused, and all the synonyms lent themselves to immediate reference. But none found their way to provide the adequate and corresponding exercise to the tongue. And that was indeed novel for me.
And then I spoke.
Actually the other me spoke.
“Please don’t freak out. This is the best we can do. You are the only subject we have encountered so far. We can only replicate your DNA.”
DNA? Replicate? I did the puzzled-and-its-synonyms act all over again.
“Yes, your DNA.You see, we don’t have a shape of our own. We utilize the basic building block of any sentient being and construct a parallel model based on that building block - which in your case we analyzed and found it to be De-Oxy Ribo-nucleic Acid or DNA. In fact, we are forced to admit, we are a little surprised and confused.”
I (the real me) realized that keeping my mouth shut was actually working.
So I continued to do that.
“Actually, we did not anticipate to create an identical model. We just assumed that there would be mutations automatically. But, it seems that your building blocks are coded quite specifically. Hence we can retain our mental abilities, but we must conform to whatever physical aspects YOUR building blocks dictate.”
Things were getting clearer. I knew I had to take a stand and I had to do it fast.
“Alright, genetics class over. Could you please go back to being humanoids or whatever it was that you were? I am not exactly comfortable with the status-quo, you know?”
I could see puzzlement on my face - I mean - my clone’s face.
(Yeah, what else do I call that thing??)
“But, I thought you wanted to see what we looked like!”
“Hey, humanoid - or whatever it is that you are - we know one thing for sure. You don’t look like me. You CAN’T look like me. Period. I am me, and I am unique.”
“Interesting. You have an ego!”
“Yeah, I also have a fist. And I also have this sudden itch to punch myself squarely in the face and see myself while I do that. And something tells me you will be an unwilling participant…”
“We detect violence and anger.”
“Yeah. And you’ll detect lots of blood too, if you don’t stop the nonsense. Especially the usage of the first person plural! I mean, I know you are from another planet and all, but I don’t see more than one of you. So, use I, not we!!”
I saw a sly smile on my face.
(To Be Concluded)
*****
Yeah, time to finish it off. Am pretty much sure of what the end should be, but I’m waiting to see if I can think of something better.
And I did want to post this earlier, but chose not to do so. (Sorry Navneet…)
Mumbai 26/11 shook me. Quite badly, I must add…
Peace y’all…
PS: The Pune microsite of Radio Mirchi has launched. I write a li’l more regularly (thanks to a corporate dictat) on that blog of mine. But it’s also a lot more pretentious, truth be told.
Beware! You have been warned!
Check it out: http://www.radiomirchi.com
The story so far:
On my way back home, I encounter disembodied voices. Takes me a while to actually figure out they are disembodied. But when I do, I freak out. The story continues…
*****
Very slowly, I started to back out, throwing occasional glances all around, trying to ascertain if the voice-without-a-body was just that, or if it had other surprises in store, hidden away somewhere.
I must have hardly taken a few steps, when I heard the same wheezy, “Excuse me?”
“Yes?” I noticed that my voice came out an octave higher, what was commonly called a squeak.
“We detect fear. Are you a-fear?”
“Afraid. The word is afraid,” my TA instincts took over, “And the answer is yes. I don’t talk to disembodied voices everyday, you know!!”
“No, no! You have gotten us all wrong. We are not dis-whatever-ied. We are humanoid voices!”
“Humanoid?”
This seemed somewhat familiar - thanks to all the sci-fi novels I’d devoured. And familiar territory always helps calm jangled nerves. I silently thanked all the Asimovs and Clarkes for being there.
“Yes. We possess shape-shifting capabilities. We look and sound very human. You will never recognise the difference.”
“Well, in that case, how about giving me a demonstration?”
“Demonstration? How is that?”
“No, you don’t have to appeal for a wicket. Just come out of the shadows and say a simple ‘Hi’ or whatever it is that you Humanoids say by way of civilized greeting.”
“Greeting?”
“Yeah, greeting! You know the random things you say when you meet someone for the first time??”
“Oh those! But we did greet you the first time, in the exact Earth custom of the humans, didn’t we?”
“You did??”
“Yes we did! We said ‘Excuse me!’ like all the other Earthlings!”
Earthlings? EARTHLINGS?? That meant…
“Listen! What do you mean by Earthlings? What planet are you from? And why don’t you show yourself, whoever or whatever you are??”
The entire exercise was getting a little frustrating. Also, the realization had dawned upon me, that the direction the entire exercise was taking, any attempts at channel-surfing the telly and that cup of hot coffee would have to wait another day. And that exactly, was what was frustrating about the entire exercise.
“Well, we can’t tell you where we are from. But we can show ourselves, provided you promise NOT to - how do you say it - free-caught?”
“FREAK OUT, you mean.” TA instincts again. “Yeah, I promise.”
Before we continue to the exciting part that follows, I must mention that this silly habit of mine, of going ahead and promising has landed me in trouble many a time. And I am not referring only to the more aesthetic samples of the female species. I mean the whole concept of saying the stupid phrase, in general.
Just as I did in the paragraph earlier to the explanation.
I wasn’t really ready for what I saw.
In my defense, I’d say, no one could have anticipated what I saw, let alone prepared for it.. And though I had been amply fore-warned, the scream that left my throat could easily have earned me one of the top 3 spots on the list of THE Ten Scariest Blood-Curdling Screams of All Time.
*****
To Be Concluded.
—–
No. Honest. I have had enough of not finishing stories. So I am gonna CONCLUDE this one with the next post.
Missed ya, all! 
Did I tell you about the time when I saved the world?
No, really. I did.
It happened like this.
I was on my way home after a long day’s work. And I was really looking forward to some R & R, mindless channel surfing on the telly coupled with a hot cup of coffee and jelly-filled cream biscuits…
Along the way I was cogitating - thinking, that is - about the problem I had left half-solved on my lab desk.
The solution to it was just around the proverbial corner. Except, the proverbial corner was not in proverbial sight, far as the proverbial eye could see.
Too many proverbial what-have-yous spoiling the proverbial whats-it-called.
Engrossed in my thoughts thus, I was traversing my daily route, almost robotically, when I heard a wheezy, “Excuse me?”
I stopped to see who it was that the voice addressed.
Oddly, there was no one around. That meant only one thing - I was the one being addressed. And if I was the only person in that place, then the voice that was addressing me must be devoid of a body to go with it.
Certain paranormal and supernatural entities immediately lent themselves to reason. However, the brain decided to do a little more of the Sherlock exercise before jumping to finalities.
The part of the city I had reached in my perambulations was what one would call partially deserted. Partially, because it was architecturally bestowed, but the architectural efforts had never seem a human complement.
As I stood there pondering about my next move, I heard the same wheezy voice, and the same words, “Excuse me?”
Thoroughly confused, I said the first words that came to my mind, “Yes? How may I help you?”
That is what a Teaching Assistant’s job does to you.
“Erm, thank you for your kind assistance. You see, we are slightly lost…”
A weird thought crossed my mind. Talking to voices was exactly like teaching in a classroom full of sleeping students. They are there, but not THERE.
“Oh, ok! Go straight down the road, take the second left and the first right at the traffic signal, you’ll reach the Train station. Hard to miss.”
“Thank you, that’s very kind of you, but that’s where we just came from.”
“Ooops sorry, kinda jumped the gun!” I said grinning away to no one in particular.
No one in particular.
No one in…
No one.
That’s when the thought actually hit me in its entirety.
“Hey, wait a minute! Who am I talking to?”
Silence.
“Hello? Are you there?”
Silence.
I could have sworn a voice just spoke to me and said that they were slightly lost.
THEY??!!
Beads of sweat were beginning to form on my forehead, as the gravity of the situation came crashing down on me.
Very slowly, I started to back out, throwing occasional glances all around, trying to ascertain if the voice-without-a-body was just that, or if it had other surprises in store, hidden away somewhere.
I must have hardly taken a few steps, when I heard the same wheezy, “Excuse me?”
To be continued…
*****
I know you hate those three words by now. But I LOVE them…
*Evil Grin*
Back after a long hiatus. Hi.
Too many things to say. Too lazy to say them all.
The most memorable birthday of my life and no pictures, whatsoever. Imagine that…
Disturbing images and worrisome thoughts.
We know what films are releasing this weekend, but we don’t know the headlines of yesterday’s newspaper.
Hungry for news, and thirsty for information. No retention, please, we’re Indian.
Babies born. Babies dead. Babies born again.
One murder per page sells so many copies. How many murders before you can sell them all?
Everybody knows what’s wrong with the world. Nobody knows what’s wrong with everybody.
They all get their 15 minutes of fame - Standing, sitting, lying down… How far does one go?
Push it to the limit. And then pull it back just a little. Call it breathing space.
The young ones learn to fly. They fall down and die. We light candles.
Assumption. Accusation. Action. Acquittal. The new cycle of life?
Music is a recourse, not a discourse.
Roads. Rages. Road-rages.
Itching for a brawl. Macho-ism? Masochism?
Curiosity. Voyeurism. Call it what you want. What’s the difference, anyway?
Yearning for Green. Searching for Peace.
Searching for Green. Yearning for Peace.
Friends. Online. Offline. Invisible. Network. Community. Scrap. Thread. Notify. Wall.
Too many things to say. Too lazy to say them all…
Or am I?
I have been kinda busy.
Hmm. Not quite the way to start. But does keep the reader guessing. Sure, let’s keep it. No wait, let’s modify that a little.
I have been terribly busy.
Yeah, give yourself that importance. You self-centered pompous freak!
I have been tied up with certain things that take most of my time.
Right. And the whole world is out fishing. C’mon!! The truth can’t be so bad.
I have been quite lazy these last few weeks. So lazy, I have found it difficult to do the one thing I love the most – write.
A tad too much, eh? What the heck. Let’s just give it to them plain and simple.
Being an RJ is like… like…
Now, where is a good simile when you want one??
…like practicing for a big game? Nah, too sporty!
…like shopping for matching shoes? Nope! Too shoppy!
…like trying to eat a vadapav and a burger? Nay, too sloppy…
…like eating and burping at the same time? Ewww, disgusting!!
…like wearing a Tie on a T-Shirt?? Huh?? WHAT??
…like playing Base-ket-ball
Yeah, that kinda fits.
Being an RJ is like playing Base-ket-ball. Too many rules, too few players, and no idea of who’s doing what. But somehow, at the end of a play, you gotta earn points. Brownie points. And I don’t even like Brownies.
Yeah, that’s a good start. Fits like a glove.
An RJ, depending on whether s/he’s on contract or payroll, puts in around 4-9 hours of work each day.
Scratch that. Sounds like an article for Radio & Music.
I start my day pretty late…
Scratch that, too.
I work hard for my show, and harder after it ends.
Better.
I work hard for my show. And even harder after it ends. Every moment I spend on air has to be crafted to perfection and embellished with the right amount of garnish and adequate spice, and yet, not leave a bad taste in the mouth.
Hey, this one beats the Base-ket-ball simile hands down.
And that leaves me little or no time to spend for myself.
Yeah, straight on!! No chance to block the jab. Just knock ‘em out!
Worse, it has now taken me more than a month to upload this post.
That’s right!! Make them feel sorry for you. Let them have pity on you. Not sympathy, P-I-T-Y, pity. Sympathy is for dogs and cats.
Makes you wonder, is it all worth?
Good! Sow the seed of doubt. Let them feel guilty for having pestered you.
Well yeah! RJ-ing is fun. You get to be a celebrity without having to worry about NOT having a private life. You see, nobody knows you. You are just another person, lost in the sea of humanity. Just another face.
Cute. A sneak peek into the life of a pseudo-celebrity. Pummel on!!
And when people do recognize you, it’s a different high altogether!
Okay, that’s enough. Stop gloating.
But, you do have to adhere to strict timings. You have to live by the minutes and the seconds. Those who have spent an entire life-time watching train time-tables like a hawk (read: Residents of a metropolitan suburbia) would understand this perspective.
The only difference – as I see it – there are no trains on the RJ-ing track. Only stations – Radio Stations.
Guess what, good similes do appear when you get into the groove!!
The schedules on these stations – Radio Stations – are tighter than the trains of Suburbia. There are no delays. Every thing has to – and does – run on time.
Beware of overkill.
So, adhering to such time-tables gets kinda hectic and tiresome, even if you have to do it religiously for only a short span – say, four hours a day.
Slip it in. Quietly. They will never know when this hits them.
Imagine having to watch a clock and a pressure gauge simultaneously, answer calls, make witty speeches, interact, watch out for treacherous software, pesky interruptions, listen to rants, pacify superiors, and yet keep a smile on your face.
That’s right. Rub it in.
Sounds like a regular day at the office, eh? Yeah, it does…
WHAT ARE YOU DOING!!! That is suicide!!
Now try doing all of the above when 20 lakh people are watching every move you make. Or rather, listening to every breath you take.
Brilliant!! I eat my words!!
Yeah, that’s what I do for a living. Fun, no?
Short, crisp and concise. Killer finish!! You will have them eating out of your hands!! You ARE a ROCKSTAR!!! Long live the King!!
*****
Yup! I have finally lost it. 
Just when you think all the doors are closed.
Just when you think life has unloaded its supply of lemons on you.
Just when you think it couldn’t get worse.
Just when you think fate has dealt you all the wrong cards.
Just when you think there is no hope for the world.
Just when you think life has been impartially unfair to you.
Just when nothing more could go wrong.
Just when you are beginning to lose faith in everything – you, your fate, your destiny, your family, your friends, the people around you, the world – there comes a moment.
A jiffy of existence that manages to turn everything upside down.
Lose hope. Gain hope. Despair. Repair. Suspicion. Trust. Believe. Criticize. Ridicule. Support. Agree. Disagree. Confusion. Clarity. Perspective. The bigger picture. Understanding. Misunderstanding. Error. Correction. Sinister. Simple. Diabolical. Divine. Ring out the old. Ring in the new.
A year ends. A year beckons.
People live. People die. People are reborn. Or are they?
Perspectives change. We lose the old one, gain a new one. Change the perspective to suit you, or change yourself to suit the perspective. Or get a totally new one.
When one loses hope, someone else gains it. Does hope also follow a law of conservation? What was it that someone said, “Hope is eternal,” right?
Do we have free will? If we have free-will, is there destiny?
Does fate deal a raw hand to everyone, now and then? Are people entitled to large or smaller shares? Is it based on a system of points decided by karma? Or is it random? What is random? How can we be sure the Universe is not plotting the course of events?
Perfectly normal paranoia, as Slartibartfast/Zaphod would say.
If paranoia is abnormal, why does everyone have it? If everyone has it, why isn’t it normal? What is normal? Is it conscious or sub-conscious? Does consciousness stem from a series of synaptic impulses? Or does it go beyond that?
I don’t know what exactly I wanted to say. I just wanted to say something.
So I said it.
*******
I hate to end it on this sour note. So I’ll just copy-paste this line from the movie Crash (2004)
“It’s the sense of touch.”
“What?”
“Any real city, you walk, you know? You brush past people. People bump into you. In L.A., nobody touches you. We’re always behind this metal and glass. I think we miss that touch so much that we crash into each other just so we can feel something.”
One gulp.
That’s all that was remaining. And a gulp was a life-line.
Should he use it now? Or should he wait for things to get a little clearer. But, using it now would mean that they would get clearer. Yeah, he’d use it.
No, wait! What if things would get clearer anyway? What if using it was actually wasting a perfectly good gulp? And the only one? No, he decided. He’d wait.
The horizon stretched before him, and his vision was sort of blurred at the edges. A trick of the light, he told himself. A few meters more, and I’ll find it.
Find what, came the question. Whatever it is that I am supposed to find, went an answer from nowhere, to nowhere. An oasis, another question was instantly shot back? Yeah, maybe. Just keep moving.
And so, he kept moving.
The desert stretched as far as his eyes could see. Actually, it stretched farther than his eyes could see. But he didn’t know that.
He also didn’t know that he’d been walking around in circles. The shifting sands of the desert always covered his tracks as soon as he made them. Every hundred steps, he’d end up where he’d started.
And he would, probably, never know.
Treacherous place, the desert.
His eyes scanned the landscape. Nothing new. Nothing distinguishable. Nothing certain. Except for one thing. The thought filled him with a sense of dread. He shook his head, as if wanting to clear the thoughts. Not that it helped, but at least it was worth a try.
Darn all those books he’d read.
He made a mental note to write a letter to all authors requesting, nay telling them, that shaking one’s head does NOT clear any thoughts. Hell, it doesn’t anything even remotely similar. If anything, it leaves you with a headache. And a headache is a bad thing to have in the middle of a desert.
Back to square one.
He looked skywards. No change.
Silly planet, he mused to himself.
What quirk of cosmic fate would have two suns at exactly opposite positions in the sky at all times of the day? The suns merely seemed to circle around each other, like birds of prey. And what was worse was, the imaginary center of the circular path of these diametrically opposite suns seemed to be exactly overhead.
Was there even a day? Did this planet even rotate? Or revolve even? Will this planet have a permanent dark side like The Moon, too?
Maybe the universe does have a sense of humor, he thought.
He raised his flask, and took his last gulp.
*******
I received this mail from my past self.
“Dear future self,
I’m reminding you about your stated goal on 43 things, to “write a book”.
How’s it going? Have you written more than a chapter yet?
Since you have forgotten already, here’s a reminder. Now get down on your ass and start hammering on that keyboard!!”
Geez! I WAS smart back then!!
Three simple words:
INDIA, COME BACK!
And now, the lengthy discourse that usually follows a simple message…
As of a few hours ago, Harbhajan Singh, a.k.a. Bhajji a.k.a The Turbanator a.k.a. the Wizard Of(f) Oz a.k.a. “Symonds, go back!” was reportedly banned for a duration of three Test matches, for a racist remark dealt to Andrew Symonds.
Symonds has faced Indian ‘racism’ before. Indian fans at Vadodara and Wankhede repeatedly pestered him with monkey chants during the One-Day series in late 2007.
Cut to, circa 2008. The Sydney Cricket Ground has been a witness to some memorable moments in cricketing history. Another moment was added to the list, withe Symonds-Bhajji spat on Day 4.
Reams and reams of paper, Unimaginable tape lengths and gigabytes and terabytes of data will be spent trying to reconstruct the incident.
Not one will come close to what happened.
Simply because, the truth is a secret closely held by three people - Symonds, Bhajji and Sachin. (Yeah, he was there too, remember?) Here’s a clearer (not unbiased, mind you) account of the incident by AdelaideNow. (Do read the comments too, they make for interesting reading.) Here’s the situation as I percieve it.
Day four. India on a roll. In spite of umpiring setbacks and sloppy footwork, Sachin and Bhajji are going strong. Ponting who has never seen a Day Four happen on an India tour of Australia, suddenly finds himself in uncharted waters. (*smirk* *smirk*) And thus, the mind-games begin…
I condemn racism - unequivocally, unabashedly, unconditionally.
I also condemn sneaky manoeuvres - unequivocally, unabashedly, unconditionally.
Ponting claims, “There is absolutely no doubt this match has been played in the right spirit.” Kumble responds, “There was only one team playing in the spirit of the game, that’s all I can say.” (via The Daily Telegraph)
My heart goes out to the guy.
What kind of a person would look at Day One, look at all the Umpiring Bloopers, and say, “It’s just Cricket!” and move on?
What kind of a person would choose not to lodge a protest after all this, if only as token?
What kind of a temperament must he have to not lose cool even when a batsman stands his ground after being cleanly caught in the slips?
What does it take to not erupt when the umpire takes the opposing captain’s word and not the 3rd umpire?
A very, very large-hearted person, that’s who. No wonder he’s called Jumbo - must be his heart, three sizes bigger and all…
And the Indian Cricket Board has decided to stay and complete the Australian tour. Not for the money, I presume. There’s a lot more in endorsements. I suspect, it’s only to ‘maintain relations’ with Cricket Australia - or whatever it is they want to maintain.
What power on earth gives these pompous S.O.B.s the right to cry wolf about something they have been doing day in and day out for years and years together? Who told them that they could make their own rules and change them if someone used it against them? Who gave them the right to make rules, anyway?
Somebody tell them that the M in MCC stands for MARYLEBONE, not MELBOURNE.
Ask a psycho-analyst to profile someone with these characteristics, and the answer would, in all probability be - a mentally-retarded three year old with acute over-possessive tendencies.
Not too far from the truth, eh?
I think Team India should walk out of the remaining Test matches. Turning the other cheek and all that is fine - we did it after Day One and the saga of bad umpiring decisions. But when that too, is done, it’s time to follow Munnabhai’s example. We will stand by you whatever happens after that.
Why this sudden patriotic fire, you ask?
Well, we the people of India, were shown a dream on the 24th September, 2007 at Johannesburg. Silly, gullible, idiots that we were, we believed it then.
And, we believe it now…
COME BACK, INDIA!!
It is now time to introduce a surprise element into the story. Nothing about her existence will be revealed except for one small fact – that it is an entity of the female specie.
Alright, alright, it is a woman, to be precise.
——–
She watched the events warily as they happened
Each time the universe collapsed, she had distinctly felt an almost uncontrollable urge to snap her fingers.
Of course, she had no clue that doing that would bind her irrevocably to three other destinies that she had been following closely – albeit, merely out of curiosity.
Mercifully (and surprisingly) she had not yet given in to her almost uncontrollable urges - snapped her fingers, that is.
She had observed the entire proceedings right from the beginning. Her interest, however, had been piqued when she saw the duo collide.
Before that she had been vaguely aware of six cups of black coffee being delivered to the same table – all within a short span of two hours. Only, she wasn’t sure if the coffee was being consumed by the same person each time.
You see she was trying to focus her Chi. So she couldn’t really have noticed. You can’t focus you Chi if you are busy noticing inane things such as six cups of black coffee being delivered to a table and wondering whether they are being consumed by the same person. Tut, tut!
But when the collision happened, all her attempts to focus her Chi were abandoned in the hope (or promise) that an interesting scene would follow.
However unlikely it may have seemed at this point, the promise of an interesting scene remained just that – a promise. Yes, she was to be deprived of any interesting developments that might have resulted out of the collision.
As both the characters (the ones involved in the collision) went their separate ways, she was suddenly conscious of that urge yet again. She managed to overcome it with some difficulty.
It was no coincidence, she thought to herself, that he occupied the same chair that the girl had vacated.
And it was certainly no coincidence, she thought, that the girl had left her phone (distinctive ‘apparel’, she chuckled to herself) on the table. Not that he seemed to take any heed of it.
As she was noting these observations to herself, she wished she could jot them down for future recall. Rummaging through her haversack, she found a piece of paper, but no pen. Strange, she thought, and turned to call the waiter to ask for a pen.
It was then, that she noticed him standing outside the café.
One glance at him told her that some minor catastrophe had befallen him, especially, looking at the manner in which his clothes had been messed up. More than coffee, he looked like he needed a bath.
What struck her instantly though, was this – his face had a clearly hateful expression.
And it was directed towards the new occupant of the aforementioned table, the same one that had seen six cups of black coffee being delivered. What’s more, the new occupant had apparently ‘discovered’ the existence of the ‘appareled’ phone.
And then the waiter swooped down and came up with the scarf. A beautiful scarf. She felt a twinge of feminine jealousy, for a short moment. But the moment passed soon enough, and she was herself again.
Her rational brain her swung into gear by this time, and she quickly assessed the situation. Making all the correct observations and drawing all the right conclusions was a simple step. And having followed these steps, she arrived at a perfectly normal conclusion.
It was all a misunderstanding, and she could easily clear it.
She felt that urge again, but she shook it off determinedly. There was a task waiting to be done. She would question and analyze her own urges later. And having decided thus, she returned to concentrate at the task at hand.
So what was she supposed to do?
Ah yes, clarify the situation to the two characters involved in the silent drama. One, who was oblivious of the other, and both oblivious of the fact that it was a huge misunderstanding. But how was she to do it?
Voila! She could simply bring the two of them face to face and explain the situation, and they would easily see reason.
All she had to do was call for the waiter!!
She called for the waiter.
And, in doing so, the universe was recreated.
———-
I have a strong suspicion, this is leading nowhere. And if so, I better move this story to some place else.
What say?
Here’s the pep talk that SRK gives the girls of the Indian National Women’s Hockey team before their final Match against Australia.
Anyone care to make the necessary changes and give it to the Coach of the Indian Cricket Team? (The ‘official’ BCCI XI, of course!)
Wait, do we even have a coach?
Well, anyway, here goes:
सत्तर मिनट.
सत्तर मिनट हैं तुम्हारे पास.
शायद तुम्हारी ज़िन्दगी के सबसे ख़ास सत्तर मिनट.
आज तुम अच्छा खेलो या बुरा,
यह सत्तर मिनट तुम्हे ज़िन्दगी भर याद रहेंगे.
तो कैसे खेलना है, आज मैं तुम्हे नही बताऊंगा .
बस इतना कहूँगा की जाओ,
और यह सत्तर मिनट जी भर कर खेलो
क्योंकी इसके बाद आनेवाली ज़िन्दगी में
चाहे कुच्छ सही हो, या न हो,
चाहे कुच्छ रहे, या ना रहे,
तुम हारो या जीतो,
लेकिन यह सत्तर मिनट तुमसे कोई नही चीन सकता, कोई नहीं.
तो, मैंने सोचा की इस मैच में कैसा खेलना है,
मैं तुम्हे नहीं बताऊंगा, बल्कि तुम मुझे बताओगे. खेल कर.
क्योंकी मैं जानता हूँ की अगर यह सत्तर मिनट इस टीम का हर player
अपनी ज़िन्दगी की सबसे बढ़िया hockey खेल gaya
तो यह सत्तर मिनट खुदा भी तुमसे वापस नही मांग सकता.
तोह जाओ. जाओ और अपने आप से, इस ज़िन्दगी से, अपने खुदा से,
और हर उस इंसान से, जिसने तुम्हे – तुम पर – भरोसा नही किया,
अपने सत्तर मिनट छीन लो.
{Thanks a ton to Google Indic Transliteration. They always manage to surprise me… :)}
Just in case you couldn’t read that, here’s the entire thing in Roman characters.
Sattar minute.
Sattar minute hain tumhare paas.
Shayad tumhari zindagi ke sabse khaas sattar minute.
Aaj tum accha khelo ya bura,
Yeh sattar minute tumhe zindagi bhar yaad rahenge.
Toh kaise khelna hai, aaj main tumhe nahi bataunga.
Bas itna kahunga ki jaao,
Aur yeh sattar minute jee bhar kar khelo
Kyunki iske baad aane wali zindagi mein
Chahe kucch sahi ho, ya na ho,
Chahe kucch rahe, ya na rahe,
Tum haaro ya jeeto,
Lekin yeh sattar minute tumse koi nahi cheen sakta, Koi Nahin
To, maine socha ki iss match mein kaisa khelna hai,
Main tumhe nahin bataunga, balki tum mujhe bataoge. Khel kar.
Kyunki main jaanta hun ki agar yeh sattar minute iss team ka har player
Apni zindagi ki sabse badhiya hockey khel gaya
To yeh sattar minute khuda bhi tumse wapas nahi maang sakta.
Toh Jaao . Jaao aur aur apne aap se, iss zindagi se, apne khuda se, aur har uss insaan se, Jisne tumhe – tumpar – bharosa nahi kiya, apne sattar minute chheen lo.
Translation:
Or something like that….
Seventy Minutes.
You have Seventy Minutes.
Maybe the most special seventy minutes of your life.
Today, [it won’t matter] if you play good or bad,
These seventy minuteswill stay with you for the rest of your life.
So, I am not gonna tell you today, how to play [your game]
All I am gonna say is, Go!
And play these seventy minutes to your heart’s content.
Because in the life that is about to follow, [irrespective of]
Whether things are right, or wrong,
Whether things stay, or go,
Whether you lose, or win…
Nobody can take these seventy minutes away from you. No one.
So, I decided that I will NOT tell you how to play [your game] today.
Instead, you will show me. By [actually] playing it [out].
Because I know that if each player on this team
[manages to] Play[s] the best hockey of her life
Then no one, not even God can demand these seventy minutes back.
Go. Go and grab these seventy minutes from yourself, from God,
From all those whom – who – wouldn’t believe in you.
Quite good, is all I have to say.
Note:
The additions in square brackets are to aid better English and create a semblance of Proper translation.
Or so I believe, anyway.
And so we continue…
——
The Story so far:
Nothing much, really.
A girl who drinks a lot of coffee. A guy immersed in Tarantino-Kubrick-Greenway films. Another guy who does not believe in omens. Put the three of them together at one coffee shop and what do we get?
Nothing, really.
——
He couldn’t see him, since he had his back to the entrance.
The waiter approached him and without warning suddenly swooped down towards his leg.
The first thought that flashed in his mind, was typically Tarantino. Is this waiter a were-wolf? Is he gonna bite my leg off? His questions ended up in disappointment as the waiter retrieved a pretty silken scarf and held it in front of him.
It was definitely pretty. Colors seemed to jump in and out of it. It would have looked pretty on any girl, even the librarian. It would have looked even prettier on the girl who had just collided with him, a few minutes back.
A faint thought rumbled in the deep confines of his brain.
He remembered thinking about olives when they had both fallen on the floor. Now he realized why. The girl had been smelling of olives and lemon. Maybe it was her perfume, maybe it was her shampoo.
And then, another thought rumbled in the deep confines of his brain. This one was quite far from the first one. But somehow, with a mighty effort, his brain managed to co-relate the two, and he brought the scarf near and sniffed it.
And then, the Universe collapsed, again.
****
As he stood at the café entrance, debating whether to go in or wait for her outside, a ray of hope suddenly parted the clouds of despair.
He took out his cell-phone and called her.
As he dialed the number he scanned the café area though the transparent glass door to check if he could spot her. And then he saw it.
Was it a coincidence? Was it…
The sweatshirt looked excruciatingly similar. And why was he not answering the call? Was he afraid? Apprehensive? Guilty? Worried? Would he reject the call? Would he answer it?
If he did answer it, he’d surely get an earful. If he rejected it, he’d move straight in and go one-on-one with him. He was in fairly good shape though he had stopped gymming a few months back.
And then, he hit the silence button.
Why did he do that?
Wait, here comes the waiter. What is he pointing at? He’s picking it up now. Is it… Is it… No it can’t be! Oh, but it is… the scarf!
The silk scarf he had so lovingly gifted her. The first gift out of his first salary and all that jazz. Why did she do it? Why him? He looks so… so… weird!
So that was why she was acting weird. That was what the entire charade was about. She’d been two-timing him, the bitch!
Wait, did he just smell the scarf?
That’s it! I’m gonna crucify him. I’m gonna tear him from limb to limb! I’ll kill him, strangle him, slit his throat, cut him up…
Wait, what’s the use? What’s he done? He must have fallen prey to her foxy ways. In many ways he’s in the same position as I am. No, it’s not his fault. And anyway, he looks weak. I could probably blow him away with a puff.
It’s all her fault! She’s the one to be blamed. She’s the one who should be killed, slaughtered, strangled, slit, cut up, etc.
His entire train of thoughts came to an abrupt halt at this point.
As he turned to leave, his eyes were clouded. And it wasn’t just hate.
—–
Author’s Note:
Mental Block reached. Trying to overcome it. Might be successful in a few days, hopefully. Wish me luck…
He stepped out of the auto-rickshaw, and paid the driver in a hurry.
“I don’t have change!”
“Keep the friggin’ change!!”
“Hey thanks! You might smell funny, but you have a golden heart!”
The funny smelling guy made his way to the café entrance and was about to step in when the importance of the auto-rickshaw driver’s remark hit home.
******
It had been a really bad day.
The first thing he did every morning was wake up on the right side. Today, it had been the left. And then as he was brushing his teeth, she had called.
He really should have ignored that call.
“Hi, howey, Ah-b bwushib wight *slurp* wight wow..”
“We need to talk.”
The voice at the other end of the line sounded tinny.
“Fyo-ore, Whoa-awh-ead…”
“What are you doing?” It sounded irritated.
He spat the foam. “I said I am brushing. What is it?”
“Alright, finish whatever it is that you are doing and give me a call.”
Click. The line went dead. It was an omen.
But then, he never believed any of that crap.
His day in the office was markedly negative. Negative reviews, negative opinions, negative appraisals, negative colleagues, negative bosses, heck, even his bank balance showed a negative figure.
During lunchtime, he remembered that he hadn’t called her. When he did, she yelled at him left, right and centre. He didn’t understand most of it. Although, he was pretty sure he heard words like irresponsible, forgetful, pathetic loser. He caught three words quite distinctly – “evening,” “café,” and “meet.” Was that at six or eight?
Bad network connection – blame it on them. But then, omens do not really exist, do they?
And then things took a turn. For the worse.
He stepped out only to find both the wheels of his bike punctured. So what? There’s always Public Transport, right?
Unfortunately, for someone who’s never been in a bus, the first time is a terrifying experience, pun unintended.
He had barely managed to hang on to the foot rail.
Hanging on to the foot-rail is a thing of skill. You have to practice it for years, with a lot of rope and/or harness, or a trustworthy friend, before you can do that. Even the greatest of athletes tremble at the mere thought of attempting such a hazardous feat. And here he was, out on a limb, pun unintended, again.
No prizes for guessing what happened next.
The treacherous city roads existed for the passengers. They existed for pedestrians. They also existed for posterity. Basically, they existed for all mortals. And the bus-driver is no mere mortal.
The city roads, especially the pot-holes adorning them, did not exist for the bus-driver. There is no spoon, he muttered to himself and drove on.
One moment he was hanging on to dear life and the very next moment he was lying in a puddle that was probably on a vacation from its original residence in Sahara. Unfortunately, it had also brought along, it’s closest relative called Sand, and had turned into the Great Indian Slush.
And that was exactly where he landed.
What added to the discomfort was a cow had recently gifted the puddle some of it’s own precious water that it had made itself.
And that was how his day had been.
To Be Continued…
Arbit Observation:
The best part of writing a story can be expressed in three simple words:
“To be continued”
Contd. from The Scarf: Part 3 - A Breather.
To preserve your sanity, I recommend you read none of these posts. If you do want to go to the depths of stark raving madness, click on the link or continue…
—–
What then, does happen to the passengers on the train?
Well, complying with the fundamental principles of Quantum Mechanics, the passengers may or may not switch trains while these ghost trains pass through each other .
(I believe another pint ot two of the golden brew might help at this point.)
Depending on whether the passengers do switch trains, (or refuse to do so) the collapsing of the universes may or maynot happen.
Notice the plural usage of the term ‘universe.’ I chose the plural since we have already established that the universes we are talking about are decidedly individual, It’s the thing in vogue, don’t you know?
So, as we were saying this collapsing of universes depends on whether you decide to switch trains ( No, not you r daily eight fifteens and nine-twenties. I mean, the ghost trains we are talking about!) Of course, if you try the switching-trains act with your daily eight-fifteen and nine-twenties, you’ll only end up being a candidate for the padded cell or a specimen for the students of medicine, one way or the other…
Yes, I do tend to confuse my parentheses…
Assuming for the moment that you do switch trains, your world order in existence (until then) changes (None of the sky-turning-green or grass-turning-blue business, remember?)
This change in the world order is not noticeable. In fact it is as furtive as a cat-burglar hopping over an open window sill trying to do his job. And that is precisely what it does - its job. The job under scrutiny being nothing else but coming into existence. It is a definite pity that this coming into existence business is not heralded as, I believe, it should rightly be!
A change in the world order signifies a change in the event segue, which is, as we know, unheralded, yet taken as a completely natural course of action.
We often tend to mistake such event segues as providence or Acts of God, while the truth is that we ourselves have induced it. Not that we know we have.
Take for example, a simple case.
Remember the time when you chose a particular piece of apparel over the other? The very act of choice was enough to send the universe collapsing without giving it enough time to pack its bags and beat it. And with equal intensisty, fervor and haste was ushered, a new universe, a new world order to make suitable amends.
The point of the entire thing is that your choice of apparel either caused someone to turn a wrinkly nose up in distaste or an equally (if not more) wrinkly eyebrow up in praise. Either ways there was something wrinkly going up.
Notice that, irrespective of the nature of choice, a new world order is bound to emerge.
And when a new world order does emerge, the first thing it does is obliterate any vestiges of the existence of the previous one. No point in clashing two titans where only one can exist. better clear out the playing fields, what?
Do this uniquely existing NWO tries to bandy its existence about the place, as successfully as a string quartet playing the harmonica and as is wont, fails miserably.
The cause for failure must not be attached to experience, or rather the absence of it. For, experience caunts naught in trhe business it is supposed to perform. On the contrary, the cause for failure is the inevitable truth that NWOs have an exceedingly short life - well, shorter than most, actually.
At this point, may I suggest another pint or two?
What with NWOs clashing with each other and attempting to remain unique with their exitences what happens to the trains?
Now, don’t tell me you have forgotten about the trians already?
Tut, tut! To simplify things, I shall now attempt to bring the two examples and analogies together and combine them as one, so as to render understanding this concept, astoundingly easy!!
Listen closely, the tracks that I spoke about, while discussing the trains (the ghost trains to be more specific) are merely instances of different world orders.
The trains are, well, event segues that keep changing these tracks and keep running into each other without crashing. The passengers in trains are people - us, you, me and the rest of the world (although, why anybody would ride ghost trains is beyond me…)
Aha, I hear you say! How can two people, with two obviously unique and distinct lives, ride the same train? Isn’t thee a flaw, a fallacy in this argument? Doesn’t it indicate a chink in the armor of your reasoning?
To that, my answer would be a ruddy “NO!!”
It doesn’t. Hear me out. It’s quite simple, actually.
Remember that the trains are merely event segues. And an event is nothing but a blot, a point on the four-dimensional landscape. To refresh your memory and your Advanced Physics 101, the four dimensional landscape is made of three dimensions of space and one of time.
(Though, why anyone would add the two together is a little weird.
And if you can picture a 4-d landscape, you may quit reading at this point, find yourself a nice shawl, a comfortable rocking chair and do what you bally well do the best. Nod off to sleep, that is. Sweet dreams.)
To the rest of you who have not yet nodded off to sleep, let us board our ghost trains yet again.
Since events are merely a blot on the 4-d landscape, and we humans are the same, it is a simple deduction. You know the methods, dear reader. Apply them.
If you came up with an equation that resembled something of the sort:
We, humans = Events on the 4-d landscape
Well, you have earned your Advanced Physics degree and are on your way to winning the Nobel prize for physics. People have been given the prize for far fewer letters in their equations, the notable one being the much bandied about:
E = mc2
But, I digress.
Although you may have earned your Advanced Physics degree, it does not help to rest on your laurels. Personally, it is a little difficult to imagine why one would rest on laurels, what with laurels being placed (traditionally) on the top of the head as a kind of substitute for crowns, thus rendering the actual resting-on-laurels part a tiresome and extremelyexercising feat to be achieved only by those possessing a lithe body and a burning desire to rest on their laurels.
Coming back to the equation, now that we have figured out that we humans are a blot on the landscape - of time and space - and events too occupy the smae position as we do, it follows that… well, whatever follows, follows.
So sitting in this train - which is analogous to an event segue - running on tracks that are nothing but individual NWOs, we the passengers happen to share the same event and hence it so happens that we end up co passengers on the same train!!!
Elementary, my dear reader!
What is actually a cause for wonder - and concern, as well - is the ease with which we manage to switch these trains. The closeste metaphor that strikes the brain is - weaseling out of a situation. Unfair as it may sound, you, my discerning reader will appreciate the justness of the same!
But what actually had my goose cooked for a while, was the fact that to switch these proverbial, exemplary (is that the right word?) trains, and not suffer any damamge, we too must be made of the same constituents that these trains are made up of!
Ergo, we must be ghosts, too!
But, we quite evidently are not, which means one is not equal to one, and all is not well with the world!!
And that is where reason steps in like a white knight in shining armor and calmly bonks the dragon of confusion on the head and returns the damsel in distress to her ivory tower and -
[CENSORED for indecency]
Erm, I mean to say that the ghost train story, complete with the tracks and passenger constituents was merely an analogy, a metaphor for larger things and should not be mixed.
Gee, these things should come with warning labels attached! “Not to be confused with real life.” “May cause unexpected results.” Many a time, these things have caused me an insufferable headache, especially when consumed in large quantities. The best remedy (or so I have found) is to bottle them and keep them bottle - till eternity.
Trust me, it helps. Really.
What with this talk of bottles and headaches and such, I have this sudden urge to partake a pint or two of the golden brew. Care to join me?
Aah, off to secure that Advanced Physics degree of yours, I see! Well, ’twas nice talking to you!
Cheerie-O!
Well, this one was actually titled “Random Ramblings about Collapsing Universes.”
But I guess it fits the current storyline much more. So, here goes…
—–
Everytime the universe collapses, there is a high chance that you, my dear reader, are the principal cause.
Before you get your knickers into a twist, allow me to offer an explanation.
The collapsing of the universe happens too frequently, too often for anyone to notice. And it usually does that without the slightest preliminary notice that we all think it should serve.
Obviously, not everybody (or should i say everything?) follows the man-made precept of following rules laid down by other men.
Which in itself would be a great contradiction, because we can’t set rules for something (or someone) that set the rules for us in the first place.
Aah, I see that I am beginning to ramble. So I will very prudently get back to the thing I was attempting to explain.
The collapsing of the Universe has nothing to do with bits and pieces of everything flying hither-thither, like an explosion on some war-fields. It is much like the collapsing of a wave function, which - if you have your quantum mechanics right - happens whenever you try and detect the ruddy ol’ thing!
The collapsing of universes merely represents the shifting of probabilities that happen with every moment of decision hat comes your way. What shirt to wear, what trousers to match, what color of socks to choose, to the amount of aggression required to carry it off. Each of these decisions cause your individual universe to collapse and merge with subsequent universes, much like a segue into a song playing on the radio.
I have a distinct feeling that you may have heard all of this before. And it is a feeling i strongly despise. What with the internet and the wealth of information lying thereabouts, it would be a wonder if hadn’t stumbled across this sometime or the other.
Still, given my ability as an (unaccomplished) raconteur, I’ll just egg on, regardless. Back to collapsing universes then…
At each point the universe twists and shifts and moves in mysterious ways, its wonders to perform. Each decision, each choice, each of your moves gives the universe a new path, thus causing the old ones to collapse and re-form (pun, unintended) its ways to the new.
While all this twsting and shifting and moving in mysterious ways to reform is happening, where, I hear you cry, are we??
Well, the answer to that would be a vague-is sort of “Here, we are!”
I know, I know, that is the vaguest vague-ish sort of an answer you could ever expect, but it’ll probably help you a notch, if I added the words, “Here, being a euphemism for the present…” Is euphemism the word I am looking for?
So with all those questions and vague-ish sort of answers out of the way, we return to attack the matter at hand - the matter under scrutiny being the collapsing of universes and the cuases and effects, thereof.
The universe has this ruddy tendency to collpase at the drop of a hat. Not that many hats are being dropped these days. Come to think of it, who wears a hat these days? I am pretty sure that the trademark hat wearers - the cowboys - too desist from wearing hats for pretty much the same reason; that it stereotypes them too much!
But I digress. Where was I?
Aah yes, universes collapsing at the drop of a hat, yes!
So these universes, which have a striking affinity for dropping hats, tend to collapse and there you are!
Where, do I hear you ask, are we?
Tut, tut, I have already answered that question a few paragraphs back, so it would kindly help if you sort of got yourself into an iterative loop and paid more attention to what I was saying…
And if you do manage to extricate yourself out of the aforementioned iterative loop with a break statement or a switch case (which I safely assume you have done, since you have reached this point) I may as well go on with the proceedings, so to say.
So on with the proceedings, as you say, most of which seem to involve (or not involve, depending on which point of view you prefer) dropping hats and similar other things…
[Author's Question: Why do the stupid things have to drop anyway??]
A collapsing universe signifies a break from the current chain of events to a new twist in th tale, a new development hitherto unseen, a different outcome of a possibility (which as we happen to know, exists in galore.
Thus when a universe collapses, the world order changes.
No, no, the sky does not go from blue to green, nor does the grass seem to effect a similar chromal exchange. What do you think it is, a ruddy cartoon?
It simply means, dear reader, that a new sequence of events is estanblished. And it might please you (or surprise you) to know that this sequence exists only unitl the time of the next universe collapse. Which, as we happen to know happens too soon for the time scale experienced by us humans.
With all these ruddy collapses happening all around us, where do I hear you ask, are we?
Tut, tut. I do think a pint or two, of the golden brew might help you restore our jangled nerves at this point.
Having already answered that question before, I will not attempt to delve into it again, since there are other, more important, questions that, I feel, require more of this delving into business…
The establishment of a new sequemce of events is not too difficult to comprehend.
In fact, it is quite simple.
Picture a series of railway tracks.
Where?
Well, picture them in ruddy ol’ Timbuktu for all that I care! Just picture them!!
All good? With me so far?
Okay, now picture them crossing each other many times over.
Not too difficult, eh?
Well, now try picturing them with trains running on them.
Aah, I seem to have had you there! You might be wondering why these trains do not crash into each other, it the tracks do not cross over many times over.
Well (and a pretty good “Well!!” I might add) the thing is, the trains do crash into each other, but they do not blow into smithereens.
They simply pass through each other as if they were ghost trains.
To be continued…
I just upgraded the CMS on this blog.
The TagBoard may not be available for the next few days, until I find the appropriate plugin for the new version.
Kindly bear with it.
Also, if you find anything amiss, do let me know!
Cheers,
Shri!
Well, the show started…
And that’s an unintended pun.
The phone calls started flowing in and I tried to answer as many calls as possible, but I did eventually lose out on a lot of them.
Then the sales team entered, with Vikram at the helm.
They brought me out into the conference room, where a cake had been set up, oops sorry, a huge chocolate cake, with lots of icing, cherries, the works…
I already had a hunch where some of it would end up.
I attempted a small thank-you speech, but failed miserable. I was too dazed to attempt anything. And so, I turned my attention towards the cake…
The knife sliced through, and with one wary hand to stop (or at least pause him from transferring the cake from its rightful position on the table to a new location, viz., my face) But his hand seemed to have a mind of its own…
After I had fed the cake to my Prog Head Kanchan, I turned to find the cake in my face.
Not all of it, just a huge chunk of it.
It tasted yum
And smelt yum, too! Heh heh.
(Some of it slid down my nostrils. Hence the statement)
Revenge!! I ran after my Prog Head and Producer, to ‘hug’ them. Diabolical of me, no? Heh heh.
The rest of the day was mostly a barrage of phone calls, well wishers, and so forth. A listener actually came to the studio with another cake. I was almost over-whelmed.
Rosh, Kanchan, Shubhra, Smita, all the jocks, my alter-ego Romesh (who is actually looking over my shoulder as I type this - yeah, I am doing it to placate him…) this has been the best budday I have had till date!! Thanks a ton!!
All the thanks in the world wouldn’t express how much I actually mean them…
A silver jubilee year, with such a golden start. What more could I have asked for!!
Oh and almost forgot. Here’s the link to those fotus…
Date: 14th June
Time: All day event
PROLOGUE:
———–
After a barrage of phone calls from all those near and dear, I fnally managed to pick up my sorry ass, off the bed and take a shower. (To all those with the skeptical look: Yes indeed, I DID take a shower…)
I reached the office, and was promptly called in by Sameer (VP & Station Director, Radio Mirchi Pune) with a serious expression on his face. My Prog Head, Kanchan and all the other jocks were present there as well.
I sensed something was amiss. Sameer broke the silence.
“What is this guys? Where’s the quotient?”
“But Sameer - ”
“No ifs and buts!! This is not done! You’ve been told a thousand times, maybe more than that! And if you still can’t maintain the quotient, well, there’s something really wrong somewhere…”
Then he turned his guns on me…
“Shrikant, you especially, have had a bad quotient. You really need to work on it!”
What a start to the day. 24 revolutions around the sun, and the 25th has to begin like this. I was trying to check and verify the validity of his statements, when -
I did not see Kanchan tripping.
I did not see the rest of the jock team, attempting to hide their grins.
I did not see Sameer ‘trying’ to maintain a stoic face as he said this.
I did not see everybody trying hard to suppress the laughter that had bubbled up.
And then it burst forth.
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!”
I was picked, kicked, congratulated, hugged, shoved, tickled, and all the jazz and razmatazz.
What a way to start my 25th birthday. Heh heh.
I wasn’t complaining. No way!
CHAPTER 1
———–
Roshan (my Producer, sweet woman ) and I planned the show for the day. It was World Blood Donation/Donors day, I interviewed a pan-shop vendor who had donated his blood 170+ times, the show was set.
With my writing pad in tow, I entered the studio, and got set for my show…
4:50 PM:
RJ Maanasi, the Total Filmy Jock, signs out…
4:56 PM
I set up my Sound effects and the songs to play, and get ready…
4:59 PM
The program credits begin…
5:00 PM
Before I begin to describe what happened, a brief introduction is required here:
I begin all my shows with a standard opening line:
“Punekar Mirchiwaale, zara ghadyaale kade laksha dya, paach waajun gelet kaay!”
[Read: “Punekar Mirchiwaale, do look at your watches, it’s 5 PM, it’s show time!”]
After this I usually launch into the topic of the day, describe it a wee bit, and ask the listeners a question. The show I host, is a games show called Bumper2Bumper. It has lots of contests and loads of fun-filled moments.
So I began,
“Punekar Mirchiwaale, - ”
That’s as far as I got.
After I had spoken those two words, the entire Programming team at Radio Mirchi Pune, barged into the studio, screaming, yelling, and basically making as much noise as they could.
And then, the entire city of Pune knew that it was my birthday.
To say that I was shocked or surprised is an understatement. I was dumbstruck, speechless, ecstatic, words-had-left-me, grinning-like-mad, euphoric, shaking, you name it.
Kanchan, Roshan, Safia, Shubhra, Mirchiman Aniruddha, Khubsoorat Smita, Aditi of Purani Jeans, Dr. Love, Neha, Maanasi, almost everybody was in the studio and wishing me…
That’s about all of it that I can remember, apart from being dazed.
After wishing me on air, the guys left and I began the show a little unsteady from the high that I had just recieved.
And then, the phone lines began ringing…
This was going to be one pleasantly long day.
“Hello, Radio Mirchi…”
(To be continued.)
A sneak peek at part 2:
Enter - the Sales team - a huge chocolate cake - a complete mess - funny pics - and a whale of a time…
My Laptop has conked off.
Actually, my stupidity entirely. I deleted the entire Linux partition without transferring the GRUB off the MBR. And now Windows won’t boot.
And, THAT is exactly the reason why I haven’t been able to post the next part.
Sigh.
A few more days. Really.
Cheers!
They say that you are supposed to look where you are going.
Obviously, he wasn’t around when they said that.
The collision was inevitable. She was engrossed in her thoughts, and he was trying to solve a differential calculus problem. The problem stayed where it was. He ended up as the denominator, and she, the numerator(1).
They soon regained their primate postures(2) and stood facing each other, uncomfortably. But one glance at the floor saved them from any uncomfortable exchanges.
The contents of her purse had spilled out, like in the movies and she hastily began to stuff them in.
It is indeed, a matter of awe to watch a woman put away her stuff back into her handbag.
First, the bundle of tissues (unused) went in. Then came the mini-make up kit, consisting of the compact foundation box, the corresponding brushes, a few mascara and kaajal sticks and a folding mirror (small). The face-wash tube and lip-stick tubes went in next. And finally, her wallet, which seemed to be bulging at the seams was stuffed inside.
The entire process would have been easier, had the hand bag been a little larger.
The said culprit of a hand-bag was slightly larger than her palm.
A matter of awe, indeed.
He resumed the differential calculus problem that had been so rudely interrupted and made his way to his regular table. He was pleased to find it empty and available. Smiling, he pulled a chair.
****
A steaming hot cup of lemon tea made way to his table.
“New phone?” piped the waiter.
“No, the same old one.” He replied on auto-pilot, his mind still on the calculus problem.
“Weird way to dress it up if you asked me… Heh heh!”
“Nope, I didn’t ask.”
“Well, enjoy your tea, then!” Saying thus, the waiter left him in peace.
A few moments later, it registered on him. He moved the cup of tea slightly to the left and there it was.
His first thought was that it was a headless doll. And then he realized that it wasn’t a Tarantino film. So he gingerly touched it. It didn’t move. He mustered up enough courage to pick it up.
And pick it up he did.
It was a sweatshirt all right; except, it was at least twenty sizes too small for anyone. For a brief moment he wondered if Tom Thumb and/or Thumbelina really existed. And the previous thought kicked him again. It wasn’t a Tarantino (or even a Kubrick, or a Greenaway) film.
The shiny zipper at the front demanded attention. And he tugged at it. At that moment he attained enlightenment(3).
The entire contraption was a holder for a cell phone. He was living in reality after all.
He sighed. What a disappointment. He made a mental note to watch less films.
No, strike that. Watch more films. At least, they are exciting, unlike reality and its representation in life.
While he was making notes to himself, the sweat-shirt began to shake as if possessed, and emanated weird sounds. The Tarantino-Kubrick-Greenaway connection had barely made its presence felt, when reality kicked in and brought him down crashing to terra-firma.
The phone was ringing. So much for imagination.
But now, he was in a dilemma.
If he were to answer the phone, he would be guilty of trespassing on someone’s private property. On the other hand, if he let it ring, it seemed likely that he would be verbally, even physically, abused in the next few minutes.
The spinal cord in cohorts with the medulla oblongata(2) does really weird things. From telling your heart when to beat, to snatching your hand away from a hot stove, it issues orders with the rapidity and precision of an army general.
It is still a matter of debate, whether it was the above medium or the brain that issued a command to hit the silent button, but the command was issued the same.
And then, the universe collapsed.
——
Footnotes:
1. Readers will kindly excuse the author’s affinity towards mathematics, pathetic jokes and any combination of the two.
2. Readers will also kindly pardon the author’s complete lack of any knowledge of biology. It wasn’t one of my favorite subjects, anyway.
3. Too many Zen Koans…
Uhh, how does personal sound?
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