Disclaimer: I still do maintain that writing heart wrenching; melancholy stuff is way more beautiful and harder than writing this seemingly mindless rambling about burps and farts that I wish to now tread.
My father has now taken up the role of Seiko, in my life’s adaptation/ rendition of the Kung Fu Panda! Not only does he help me answer and understand the usual questions about life like every father has to, must and does; he is also been my mentor in the field I have taken up as my choice of career- HR. He is by the way the best mentor ever. He gives hugs, dresses up as Santa on Christmas eve (still!) and also lets you rest on his tummy while you watch movies.
Now he has added another dimension to it. To reform this Phoo Phoo Panda, into a Kung Fuing HR Panda. Now the questions/ quizzing on ID Act are followed by a 75 minute jog in the nearby park. *silent sigh. He was the parent I used to look upto in the “eating and not caring” department. (I also look upto him in the “loves shopping and not telling mummy what I recently bought” department). Mom was always too “bird like eater” to be liked. But dad, he was Homer Simpson, the nonchalant burp-er (told ya this post was about burps and farts :D ). He was super cool, till a few years ago. Then the exercising bug got to him. Now mother (emphasises on the world to ensure coldness) had to physically stop him from stretching himself. He was eating right, exercising, and dolling out advice to me and the leprechaun. With great pain in my heart, I had accepted that aliens had abducted my dad and sent in this make-shift, cheap, not eating, jogging maniac replica daddy.
Readers legit query: Why would the aliens kidnap my dad in the first place? They don’t need him for his HR expertise. Their punishment and punishment strategy has done them good all these years.
Me: Well a) how the hell do you know what has done them good all these years. *raises eyebrow. Whispers to self “It does look one of them”.
And b) they kidnapped him cos of his innate awesomeness. Did I not mention the cute pregnant belly bit?
I had accepted this dad, and learnt to also ignore the advices given to us, the regiment he implored us to follow. Well the regiment had one great chink in its armour of applicability. It needed moa to wake up at 7 in the morning. No can do imitation-of-daddy-alien-person!
Anyway, as me and brother mastered the art of ignoring father, like normal children must at some part of their lives, he dropped this biggie of an antler on me. Utilize your unemployed month and get some exercise. Well he had a point there. I was unemployed still, and eating out his pocket in this recession hit time. So exercising would lead to my intake of pocket-hallowing food being lessened, and also I had a moral obligation to do so, since he did mention my unemployed ass was getting bigger and bigger by the day. *rolls eyes.
So I thought the father-daughter duo could use some bonding, and agreed to go jogging with him every evening. (Should have just weaselled my way out like the lawyer did. God, he is intelligent!)
So, me gets ready for a time that will inspire movies, the great bond between a father and daughter strengthened while their calf muscles also got strengthened. Boy was I wrong. Some facts about my jogger father:
a. He doesn’t like to talk (in general. Thought to kick you off with a no brainer fact about father-ly person of mine)
b. He carries his cell phone n head set, which means as soon as he steps into those jogging shoes of his, he cant hear a word you are saying.
c. If you do need to say something to him, it better be said while he is changing radio channels.
d. If you aren’t jogging 33% of the time, he will refuse to acknowledge you in the park.
e. He has given nicknames to all the ladies who come to the jogging park. They are pretty cute ones too! Like the headlight lady, who always uses her mobile phone’s lighted screen as headlights to manoeuvre her way when it gets dark. You get the idea.
Readers legit query: don’t you have lights in the park?
Me: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA. NO!!! We do have an open septic tank- more like a pool- there for the kids to play around, in… whatever.
Some of the facts about his Panda like daughter:
a. Only goes to the park to check out boys. They do look lovely running and all!! *flashes a toothy grin.
b. Gets royally ticked off if someone overtakes her in the park. Will try to tailgate them and push them off balance.
c. If ever she outruns her dad, will stop and quickly retrieve to a 5 step radius of her dad, like most 1 year olds do in the park.
d. Cant get it quite right: how do you keep the earphones from falling off your greasy sweaty ears whilst you run?
Readers legit query: was this bit on you needed??
Me: $*%^&.. its my blog init?
Anyway, it sounds not that bad eh? How bad can it be to have Santa Claus as a jogging mate? Well REAL bad. I do call him Seiko for a reason. I suppose he has had an encounter with the Tylon (lawyer) of the family. No wonder the Seiko like insatiable standards. :-| Poor Phoo Phoo Panda!! Also wondering when will he begin his food as incentive training.
Anywho, I cant believe this blog has actually turned out to be this long.
Now an unrelated blabber, courtesy dysfunctional brain activity in me head:
You know what I hate the most about the liberties boys have. Its not the fact that they can wear shorts anywhere anytime, or that they don’t have to be afraid of being teased as they walk out of their door or that they are given preferential treatment in families. What my bone of contention with boys is that they can publish, put up their mobile numbers as their profile names on orkut, as their status messages on gtalk and the like without fear or inhibition. Life aint fair.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Monday, April 20, 2009
My experiments with blog writing.
12:03 am by the clock
<< Back from a successful midnight snack hunt, satiated and still wide awake, ready to write. Whoever said artists need to starve to create great stuff, sure din have my fridge to savour on. Or maybe he just meant those Paris painter artists. Because almost every writer I have known seems well fed, and some what of a gourmand! Makes mental note: read more into the dietary habits of well known writers. >>
I have decided to demarcate my blogs into the funnier ones on Meggs.. and the more sentimental ones, and of course the more in numbers also on Something… avid reader (yes reader not readers) of my blog have certainly appreciated this. maybe the melancholy got to them. Of course there are other readers who just don’t care… but hey, Kotler never said that your target group can’t be just one individual.
<< Another of those sleepless nights it is, thanks to the training MBA has given me. I still don’t know what the heck a HR person is supposed to do, but sure can give chaukidar bhaiya 101 tips on how to pass the night without nodding off!!
Movement outside bedroom door. Bhaiaya’s room opens, and he treads towards the loo. One of the many trips the brother sister duo makes through the night. And if we were to ever cross each others path in the pursuit of this, we would pass each other unacknowledged. This wasn’t my idea, m sure. I am the more hello-er and hugger kind of a person. He is the unhappy leprechaun! Also, being the older one, his word is the rule here. Must have been his idea when we were kids to play agents-operating-on-the-enemy-soil-don’t-recognise-each-other strategy. God knows, maybe he is one of those people who cant pee if he knows someone knows he is peeing. GAWD, talk about being self consumed. Anywhoo…
Pursuit for words to write.. think think thi…
Corner of my eye notices movement… Lizard alert, lizard alert!!
Head spins into action.
Brain cell no. A 4359, “This is dispatch, we have a code 0889”
Brain cell no. M 188, “aha, lizard alert. Follow protocol.”
A 4359,”Yes sir”. Types in the big head central computer thingie. “All senses alert, code 0889, follow protocol”.
So, now that my head has acknowledged the thread and sanctioned me to follow protocol I will. Oh and if you were wondering what Protocol is for code 0889: “Commence staring the lizard, follow every move, no sudden moments except those of the eye. See where it is going, and make a mental note of its habitat. Also, keep throat salivated, in case you need to scream”
So, the staring game begins. Wait, the lizard is staring too. Brain cells feverously type, and retype strategies. We will continue staring in hope to win the staring competition and force the enemy to back down.
Staring, hard, harder, harder….
10 seconds up… almost 15 up… eyes watering. The lizard, still cool as a cucumber, still staring.
Don’t blink Meghna, don’t blink…make the lizard blink first. Wait a minute, does the lizard even have eyelids?
This strange conclusion makes me raise and eyebrow, seeing which the lizard retreats!!
Ah, the sweet taste of victory. I smile, as I picture my brain cells hi-five-ing each other, and opening little champagne bottles! Well done my friends!
Now what, oh yes, the writing. >>
For the first time in years, I don’t think I am in love. And hence the lovey-dovey part of my writing has taken a break. And so I am struggling. With words, with inspiration, with searching a topic to write of.
<< Bored already, tunes into the radio. Hears some lady saying most happening music over and over again. Oh yes, its Saturday night. All the radio stations play good foot tapping number off some “99 back to back party hits” album. It is their attempt to make those of us young and unlucky enough not to be out partying like the rest of the town feel worse. Imagine this: all of the people you know are at some brilliant little pub or lounge, having cocktails and partying, while you are at home rummaging through leftovers to make a decent midnight snack in your “daddy’s little girl” jammies. Then as the sadness of your existence dawns upon you, you tune into the radio, trying to zone yourself out. Only to hear those stupid tracks go on and on making sure the fact gets resonated that you in fact have no life! worse, you have a zindagi. Yes my dear pals, that’s the dainik jagran reading, himmesh reshamiya listening, ZINDAGI!!! Lets out a silent sigh>>
20 minutes later…
<< Nothing, not a word!! Why god why? I struggle to find where the screen of the laptop is, because my vision has been temporarily blocked by what I call ‘medusa’s little wormy snakes’ (!!) better known as my hair. Its that time of the year again. Its hot, the fan is at its highest, makes me want to go bald because of the hair flying everywhere. And if you let it rest somewhere, like make a braid or something, that part of the head just heats up. And then we start losing brain cells. That’s how A 4359 lost his wife. May her .. err… do brain cells have souls? If they get one, I want one too!!
Anywhoo, and the worst part is when people (read Ronald and its kind) meet me and say “wow such lovely hair, why do you curse them all this while? They are so good! And look so manageable.”
Well Ma’am looks are deceptive! They are like pairs and pairs of twins, like octapulates. I know how you feel octa-mom! They seem all cute and cuddly when they are all well fed, and bathed and dressed and out in the park. But try keeping them for a day. The combing and the washing and the cleaning and the straightening of these babies!! I could spend half a day just combing through them.
Now what… brain zones out… muscle memory settles in and takes charge, and begins to systematically crackle every of them 206 bones in my body. I once did count how many of my bones I make chatkao. There was the phalanges, the spine, the neck, the knees, the shoulder… you get the idea!>>
The dearth of words and the inability to find them has made me ask a very important question to myself: was this all there was? Was I like the one-hit wonders, or that scent-making master in the movie ‘perfume’ who made a famous scent when he was young and that’s all there was to his genius? Am I over, am I all written out, all consumed nothing else left in me? If so, am I right in writing myself off? Maybe I was the one hit wonder, the one-love wonder. Makes me wonder more, and more of his importance in my life, was he the only one capable to inspire me to write so?
<< Smiles at self, intelligent piece that, writing myself off! Now what, more procrastination? No, or Ronald would call me the queen of melancholy and melodrama once again. And I don’t want everyone reading that AGAIN.
Also, wonders if I have been mentioning Ronald too much here? Well, no one else seems to care. :-|
GENIUS I am, with the discovery of the holy grail of emo-cons |
Movinggg on…. Almost 2 it is. Need sleep! >>
Dozes off. And oh, if you are thinking whether I finised the blog for something-so-anything, well you will have to go and see it there!! :D Good moro!
<< Back from a successful midnight snack hunt, satiated and still wide awake, ready to write. Whoever said artists need to starve to create great stuff, sure din have my fridge to savour on. Or maybe he just meant those Paris painter artists. Because almost every writer I have known seems well fed, and some what of a gourmand! Makes mental note: read more into the dietary habits of well known writers. >>
I have decided to demarcate my blogs into the funnier ones on Meggs.. and the more sentimental ones, and of course the more in numbers also on Something… avid reader (yes reader not readers) of my blog have certainly appreciated this. maybe the melancholy got to them. Of course there are other readers who just don’t care… but hey, Kotler never said that your target group can’t be just one individual.
<< Another of those sleepless nights it is, thanks to the training MBA has given me. I still don’t know what the heck a HR person is supposed to do, but sure can give chaukidar bhaiya 101 tips on how to pass the night without nodding off!!
Movement outside bedroom door. Bhaiaya’s room opens, and he treads towards the loo. One of the many trips the brother sister duo makes through the night. And if we were to ever cross each others path in the pursuit of this, we would pass each other unacknowledged. This wasn’t my idea, m sure. I am the more hello-er and hugger kind of a person. He is the unhappy leprechaun! Also, being the older one, his word is the rule here. Must have been his idea when we were kids to play agents-operating-on-the-enemy-soil-don’t-recognise-each-other strategy. God knows, maybe he is one of those people who cant pee if he knows someone knows he is peeing. GAWD, talk about being self consumed. Anywhoo…
Pursuit for words to write.. think think thi…
Corner of my eye notices movement… Lizard alert, lizard alert!!
Head spins into action.
Brain cell no. A 4359, “This is dispatch, we have a code 0889”
Brain cell no. M 188, “aha, lizard alert. Follow protocol.”
A 4359,”Yes sir”. Types in the big head central computer thingie. “All senses alert, code 0889, follow protocol”.
So, now that my head has acknowledged the thread and sanctioned me to follow protocol I will. Oh and if you were wondering what Protocol is for code 0889: “Commence staring the lizard, follow every move, no sudden moments except those of the eye. See where it is going, and make a mental note of its habitat. Also, keep throat salivated, in case you need to scream”
So, the staring game begins. Wait, the lizard is staring too. Brain cells feverously type, and retype strategies. We will continue staring in hope to win the staring competition and force the enemy to back down.
Staring, hard, harder, harder….
10 seconds up… almost 15 up… eyes watering. The lizard, still cool as a cucumber, still staring.
Don’t blink Meghna, don’t blink…make the lizard blink first. Wait a minute, does the lizard even have eyelids?
This strange conclusion makes me raise and eyebrow, seeing which the lizard retreats!!
Ah, the sweet taste of victory. I smile, as I picture my brain cells hi-five-ing each other, and opening little champagne bottles! Well done my friends!
Now what, oh yes, the writing. >>
For the first time in years, I don’t think I am in love. And hence the lovey-dovey part of my writing has taken a break. And so I am struggling. With words, with inspiration, with searching a topic to write of.
<< Bored already, tunes into the radio. Hears some lady saying most happening music over and over again. Oh yes, its Saturday night. All the radio stations play good foot tapping number off some “99 back to back party hits” album. It is their attempt to make those of us young and unlucky enough not to be out partying like the rest of the town feel worse. Imagine this: all of the people you know are at some brilliant little pub or lounge, having cocktails and partying, while you are at home rummaging through leftovers to make a decent midnight snack in your “daddy’s little girl” jammies. Then as the sadness of your existence dawns upon you, you tune into the radio, trying to zone yourself out. Only to hear those stupid tracks go on and on making sure the fact gets resonated that you in fact have no life! worse, you have a zindagi. Yes my dear pals, that’s the dainik jagran reading, himmesh reshamiya listening, ZINDAGI!!! Lets out a silent sigh>>
20 minutes later…
<< Nothing, not a word!! Why god why? I struggle to find where the screen of the laptop is, because my vision has been temporarily blocked by what I call ‘medusa’s little wormy snakes’ (!!) better known as my hair. Its that time of the year again. Its hot, the fan is at its highest, makes me want to go bald because of the hair flying everywhere. And if you let it rest somewhere, like make a braid or something, that part of the head just heats up. And then we start losing brain cells. That’s how A 4359 lost his wife. May her .. err… do brain cells have souls? If they get one, I want one too!!
Anywhoo, and the worst part is when people (read Ronald and its kind) meet me and say “wow such lovely hair, why do you curse them all this while? They are so good! And look so manageable.”
Well Ma’am looks are deceptive! They are like pairs and pairs of twins, like octapulates. I know how you feel octa-mom! They seem all cute and cuddly when they are all well fed, and bathed and dressed and out in the park. But try keeping them for a day. The combing and the washing and the cleaning and the straightening of these babies!! I could spend half a day just combing through them.
Now what… brain zones out… muscle memory settles in and takes charge, and begins to systematically crackle every of them 206 bones in my body. I once did count how many of my bones I make chatkao. There was the phalanges, the spine, the neck, the knees, the shoulder… you get the idea!>>
The dearth of words and the inability to find them has made me ask a very important question to myself: was this all there was? Was I like the one-hit wonders, or that scent-making master in the movie ‘perfume’ who made a famous scent when he was young and that’s all there was to his genius? Am I over, am I all written out, all consumed nothing else left in me? If so, am I right in writing myself off? Maybe I was the one hit wonder, the one-love wonder. Makes me wonder more, and more of his importance in my life, was he the only one capable to inspire me to write so?
<< Smiles at self, intelligent piece that, writing myself off! Now what, more procrastination? No, or Ronald would call me the queen of melancholy and melodrama once again. And I don’t want everyone reading that AGAIN.
Also, wonders if I have been mentioning Ronald too much here? Well, no one else seems to care. :-|
GENIUS I am, with the discovery of the holy grail of emo-cons |
Movinggg on…. Almost 2 it is. Need sleep! >>
Dozes off. And oh, if you are thinking whether I finised the blog for something-so-anything, well you will have to go and see it there!! :D Good moro!
Saturday, April 11, 2009
iWonders
Things I am wondering these days:
1. Is Darwinism like a jogging park and its incumbents? The slow walkers overtaken by fast walkers irrespective of age and gender.
2. If point 1 is true, then did the animals who were wiped out during the evolution feel as bad I did when a 50+ auntie overtook me on the running track today?
3. Does my frenchie roommate know my name? B’cos she always refers to me as “excuse me!” wait do I know her name. :- |
4. Why the Matrix trilogy not called “Matrices”.
5. Why do the mosquitoes aim right for my ear, and just hover there? What are they trying to tell me? Big messages come in small messengers?
6. Why do people answer honestly on Facebook quizzes when they know the results aren’t exactly accurate or given by a psycho-therapist!!
7. Why am I one of those people? :O
8. Why haven’t I met anyone yet who doesn’t like the song “Pehla Nasha”. And not feel lukewarm about it but outright loathing. Is there a rule against disliking this song that I don’t know of?
9. If the police get to challan us why don’t we get to challan them?
10. Should I start a trend by writing “Honest” as “Onest”. That is how we spell it!
11. Should I start updating this blog regularly too?
If you know any of the answers, you know where to reach me!!
:D
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