Tuesday, June 28, 2005
There comes a time in your life when you realise you have some kind of social responsibility. I found mine today.As the old joke goes, I'm a responsible kid. I'm always held responsible for whatever goes wrong! :)Sorry if the punchline sounds cheesy, or the Photoshop work looks pathetic.
Jus' a li'l something I figured I'd feel good about.
T h e
c h o i c e
y o u r s.
To all the Bloggers who've tagged me, I'm really really sorry about breaking the chain. Appo ezhudhanam-nu aasai irundhudhu, but I've postponed it for so long now that I've completely lost interest. Didn't mean any disrespect. (Jus' a li'l something so that I won't feel bad about it! :D )
Thursday, June 16, 2005
Yet another meet, yet another hotel. But don't worry.. this time, I didn't experiment with food I haven't tasted before. Stuck to my favourite PBM. :)***************
When you are mad at shoddy work, irritated that things have gone wrong, frustrated that the guilty party doesn't even realise his mistake, and sad that your property was damaged, though your first instinct is to rip the offender apart limb for limb, you give him one last chance to redeem himself. One chance to explain his mistake and apologise for it. Your entire being hangs on that one last shred of patience, mentally willing the offender to say something that wouldn't make you blow your top in a way that Mt. Etna would be proud of. And during those tense moments, those milliseconds when you wait for his answer, time seems to slow down to a trickle. The effect is almost (and I've used this word before).. Matrixy!There are two reactions you expect to give depending on his response. One: Act dignified and say everybody makes mistakes, if he sincerely apologises. Two: Go the Etna way and lose your head like the volcano, if he couldn't care less.But what happened yesterday fell into a slot you just can't categorise!Ferrari had ordered Butter Roti. The waiter (who I suspect was finding it hard to take his eyes off the girl sitting at the other end of the room) was at his shoddy worst, serving us with his mind evidently elsewhere, with butter dripping off the Roti like doggie drool (oooh, that must have spoilt your appetite!). And even as Ferrari tried to bring it to the guy's attention.. SPLAT! A drop of butter fell right on his knee, soiling his rather expensive pair of trousers.Ferrari saw red. (pun unintended!)He looked like he was going to lose his cool, when that part of his brain kicked in that tries to give the wrongdoer one last chance.So he composed himself as much as he could, and without bothering to hide his irritation, turned to the waiter and hissed between clenched teeth, "Yeh kya hai?"Time slowed down as expected. All heads turned to look at the waiter. We knew things were about to turn nasty going by the innocent and puzzled look the waiter seemed to wear on his face.And then came the response we were waiting with bated breath for..."Roti". I think he still doesn't understand why we were laughing! :)***************
And before I forget.. the ppl who turned up were...Sorry, wrong number.. but here's who really turned up.
That's Maverick, and Ferrari..
That's the Chocolate Milkshake that Maverick is looking at...And that's me, pretending to be a busy aapeesar! :) Naah.. was talking to Praveen.
PS 1. Ok, ok, don't break ur head. PBM stands for Paneer Butter Masala. :)PS 2. I've exaggerated the event tenfolds. Don't mind! :P And also don't mind the message on my T-Shirt (if u can read it!)!PS 3. Why do PS1 and PS2 sound familiar?
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
Two new gained. An old one kicked.
Walk in an extremely ungainly manner. I didn't notice I was doing it until my cousin yelled, "Oy! enna da aachu unakku?". This li'l strut of mine might probably give Chappaani a run for his money. Or should I say, a walk for his money.
It's a bit like this.
a. Put the left foot forward.
c. Take the right foot all the way over a semicircular path and place it just in front of the left foot.
d. Repeat steps (a) through (c) till destination is reached.
Bozo, when bored, bites the sleeve of my pant and doesn't let go unless I scratch him behind his ears or play with him. The minute my attention wanders to something else, he snaps at my leg, and hangs on to the already frayed sleeve of my jeans again.. leaving me no other option than to literally drag him along wherever I go.
Distract him with a biscuit when I hafta go somewhere. Make a consientious effort to walk without my right foot doing a mini ballet step. In simpler words, walk straight for Godsake!
Check behind the door, like the cops do in Hollywood movies, before entering the bathroom.
Tadaaaaa.. Bozo again! It was surprising enough that I wanted to have my bath, that too in Bangalore. I'd almost closed the door after entering the bathroom when I received a pretty nasty shock. Bozo, almost hidden behind the door, was giving me that very silly grin he reserves for me. The one displaying all his teeth, yet having his mouth open just enough to stick his tongue out in a funny angle and his tail thumping a li'l african beat on the bathroom tiles.
And it was such a nasty shock, that I yelled "WOAAAHH!!", and Bozo howled "Wooooooooooowww", and we ended up having an extremely uncivilised conversation entirely in high pitch, echoing off the bathroom and practically reverberating throughout the house. It's another matter that the only person who was shocked by the episode was me. My cousin was busy laughing her butt off, sniffing back tears of mirth.
No cure. Continue habit till I get back to Chennai. The last thing I wanna do is to perform a strip-tease to my dog! I love dogs, but not THAT much!! :) (no further mention of this topic will be entertained. :P Gatham gatham. Matter close! No kinky stuff for me, thank you very much! :D )
Fiddling with my cellphone 24x7.
Exorbitant roaming rates on Airtel!! :) With 3 and a half rupees per msg, and 5 bucks knocked off every time I attend a call, I'd rather put my cell in bubble-wrap and stow it away in deep freeze!
What cure? I check my msgs hardly twice a day, as my cellphone lays forgotten in a dark corner of the room. In fact, the oldest msg in my Sent Folder shows:
Date and time:
By my standards, that's a bloody miracle! Hallelujah, I'm temporarily cured!! :)