My dad watches action movies on mute. Which is an excellent idea of course. It’s an altogether different matter that he has watched some action movies fifteen times over (with the exception of True Lies which he has seen 73 times thus far).
What disturbs me somewhat is that, these days, he has taken to watching the NEWS on mute. Does that say something about my father or about the state of the world?
Not that there has been much action on the local News channels in the past few days. On Christmas day those poor dear TV channels were reduced to reporting how people had spent their holiday visiting
a) Victoria Memorial,
b) the Zoo and
c) Dharamtala.
Apparently the star of the Dharmatala show threw a bit of a tantrum and drew her curtains and refused to let little children oggle at her while sucking on their ice-lollys. The reporters seemed duly perturbed at this uncooperative attitude of the leading lady of the Opposition and they expressed their distress by devoting the next seven minutes of the News show interviewing the ice-lolly-sucking/unfortunately-unable-to-be-oggling children on the advisability of sucking said ice-lollys in December.
hmm...you know what, i think my dad's got it right this time.
Friday, December 29, 2006
Saturday, December 16, 2006
Monday, December 04, 2006
I have an exam in less than two hours. And as the least observant reader has probably figured out by now, I am
a) not studying
b) blogging
Somewhere in the background the parents are getting progressively more nervous. To be precise they're biting their nails and occasionally letting out strange noises, which could be snorts but which sound a lot like hysterical giggles.
After almost eighteen years of watching me prepare for exams they still haven't come up with survival strategies on what-to-do-if-the-daughter-shows-no-signs-of-swotting-before-an-exam. Amazing really. It makes me wonder how parents survive at all. The number of times I've had to tell them to breathe/watch a movie/go do prem by the lakeside, is not funny. But instead of listening to me what do they do? Yep, they sit right there biting on their nails and laughing nervously.
I mean, it's simple really, the entire point of an exam is not to panic. At least not to panic before the exam actually starts. Which is my justification for going out and getting sloshed the night before the exam actually.
My rule for these exams is basically not panicking and not studying till the last minute. In ther words, I'm saving on the hysteria. It's all going to burst out in fifteen minutes of non-stop laughter *after* I see the question paper. Which will be my way of spreading sweetness and light in the classroom. After that of course I might have a heart-attack or be throttled by forty-eight irate and decidedly nervous examinees. But at least I shall have laughed. Which is what makes life worth living. And if we're getting philosophical, here's the phishy definition of happiness for today.
Happiness is laughter and hugs. It's also studying till dawn and dozing off for a little bit, only to be woken by the phone ringing and an equally sleepy voice wishing you luck against the backdrop of one solitary myna chirping brightly and one river flowing its own way. On that cryptic note, Oh World go out and be happy!
a) not studying
b) blogging
Somewhere in the background the parents are getting progressively more nervous. To be precise they're biting their nails and occasionally letting out strange noises, which could be snorts but which sound a lot like hysterical giggles.
After almost eighteen years of watching me prepare for exams they still haven't come up with survival strategies on what-to-do-if-the-daughter-shows-no-signs-of-swotting-before-an-exam. Amazing really. It makes me wonder how parents survive at all. The number of times I've had to tell them to breathe/watch a movie/go do prem by the lakeside, is not funny. But instead of listening to me what do they do? Yep, they sit right there biting on their nails and laughing nervously.
I mean, it's simple really, the entire point of an exam is not to panic. At least not to panic before the exam actually starts. Which is my justification for going out and getting sloshed the night before the exam actually.
My rule for these exams is basically not panicking and not studying till the last minute. In ther words, I'm saving on the hysteria. It's all going to burst out in fifteen minutes of non-stop laughter *after* I see the question paper. Which will be my way of spreading sweetness and light in the classroom. After that of course I might have a heart-attack or be throttled by forty-eight irate and decidedly nervous examinees. But at least I shall have laughed. Which is what makes life worth living. And if we're getting philosophical, here's the phishy definition of happiness for today.
Happiness is laughter and hugs. It's also studying till dawn and dozing off for a little bit, only to be woken by the phone ringing and an equally sleepy voice wishing you luck against the backdrop of one solitary myna chirping brightly and one river flowing its own way. On that cryptic note, Oh World go out and be happy!
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
*beeble*
That's one word which could mean a lot of things.
It says, I'm happy. It says, I'm studying and need to run away. It says, I'm really high/stoned/smashed out of my wits. Sometimes it just says, I'm really embarrassed at making an ass of myself, but I know you find it cute, so hehe to you too.
Yep, that's one hard-working word alright.
And sometimes it just means, I need a hug. Badly. Not concern, not curiosity; just a hug.
You don't get those easily. People wanna know what's wrong, why it's wrong, what I'm thinking, how I am, what I'm up to. And I don't want any of those questions. Not because I don't appreciate concern. Mostly I'm grateful that people care. But gratitude doesn't change the fact that I still don't wanna discuss what's wrong. I just want a hug.
*beeble*
That's one word which could mean a lot of things.
It says, I'm happy. It says, I'm studying and need to run away. It says, I'm really high/stoned/smashed out of my wits. Sometimes it just says, I'm really embarrassed at making an ass of myself, but I know you find it cute, so hehe to you too.
Yep, that's one hard-working word alright.
And sometimes it just means, I need a hug. Badly. Not concern, not curiosity; just a hug.
You don't get those easily. People wanna know what's wrong, why it's wrong, what I'm thinking, how I am, what I'm up to. And I don't want any of those questions. Not because I don't appreciate concern. Mostly I'm grateful that people care. But gratitude doesn't change the fact that I still don't wanna discuss what's wrong. I just want a hug.
*beeble*
Saturday, November 25, 2006
would someone please keep reminding me that getting sloshed out of my mind with exams less than ten days away is *not* a good idea.
ye gads. my head is so reeling.
what was i supposed to be studying? plato..hmm...maybe not.
i think i shall find a very soft pillow and go to sleep. if i'm cranky tomorrow morning, blame it on the hangover willya.
but, it was fun *huge grin*
ye gads. my head is so reeling.
what was i supposed to be studying? plato..hmm...maybe not.
i think i shall find a very soft pillow and go to sleep. if i'm cranky tomorrow morning, blame it on the hangover willya.
but, it was fun *huge grin*
Thursday, November 23, 2006
completely in love...
*happy sigh*
happiness is keeping off the grass and still floating high
happiness is reading story books when i should be studying my gills out
happiness is finishing a book and realizing i'm in love
it won't last of course. these things never do. but at the present moment, the fish would like to freely confess that she's in love with sam.
sam the sudden.
what a book! what a man!! go read it *now* if you haven't already. on second thoughts, don't. he's too good to be shared.
happiness is keeping off the grass and still floating high
happiness is reading story books when i should be studying my gills out
happiness is finishing a book and realizing i'm in love
it won't last of course. these things never do. but at the present moment, the fish would like to freely confess that she's in love with sam.
sam the sudden.
what a book! what a man!! go read it *now* if you haven't already. on second thoughts, don't. he's too good to be shared.
Monday, November 20, 2006
exams bring out the blogger in me. actually they bring out the ranter and this blog is daily turning into a rant space. well if you leave a fish alone at home for a day, it is to be expected that she will turn into a ranting lunatic, inevitable only. especially if fish in question has been studying derrida (whom she would dearly like to deconstruct, piece by painful piece) and such like thingys (observe how ze fish politely restrains herself from using words like mindfucking rubbish, other people may think theory is the most inane balderdash humanity ever came up with, second only to himmesh reshammiya perhaps, but you won't read such things on the blog. definitely not.)
clarification : studying does not mean studying. for all ye innocent non-theoretical/ non-pretentiously-intellectual-gittish type of people who thought a word means what it means, here's news, it doesn't. specifically when you see the word studying on my blog it means sitting at home, whining, dining (alas without the happier sort of wining) and most assuredly *not* studying.
don't ask me what i do with my time. if i knew, i wouldn't be doing it. don't tell what to do either. chances are, i won't be grateful.
clarification : studying does not mean studying. for all ye innocent non-theoretical/ non-pretentiously-intellectual-gittish type of people who thought a word means what it means, here's news, it doesn't. specifically when you see the word studying on my blog it means sitting at home, whining, dining (alas without the happier sort of wining) and most assuredly *not* studying.
don't ask me what i do with my time. if i knew, i wouldn't be doing it. don't tell what to do either. chances are, i won't be grateful.
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
undated conversation snippet
babelfish : i’m so brilliantly workless that the thought of the world weighed down in work is twaumatic.
boy : aha we. twaumatized hocche wocche.
bably: (breaking into gushy tone) awwwy…aha we is jaake bole boddo cute :D
boy : yes. i am reaching for my twusty ewwephant gun
babel: (shocked at such suggestions of violence) erp!
boy : (brooding tone)or is that weaching?
babe(l): (wide eyed stare, jake bole bolo bolo chokh) you're gonna shoot a fish with an ewephant gun? a *fith* actually!
boy : (gleefully) fishy wishy go boom!!!
boy : aha we. twaumatized hocche wocche.
bably: (breaking into gushy tone) awwwy…aha we is jaake bole boddo cute :D
boy : yes. i am reaching for my twusty ewwephant gun
babel: (shocked at such suggestions of violence) erp!
boy : (brooding tone)or is that weaching?
babe(l): (wide eyed stare, jake bole bolo bolo chokh) you're gonna shoot a fish with an ewephant gun? a *fith* actually!
boy : (gleefully) fishy wishy go boom!!!
Imagine fishy bedroom. Fish struggling to rise at some unearthly hour of the morning, ten o’clock probably. Enter The Father.
Father Fish : (deeply suspicious tones) Are you going to college now?
(suspicion dear reader is the one thing which always turns the fish off and jump starts her bad sensayuma)
Babelfish : (exaggerated sigh) No Dad. I’m going for a movie.
Father Fish is deeply perturbed at this bewildering announcement. Exits room muttering to himself. Bably almost collapses back into sleep. Almost that is.
Re-enter Father Fish : Kon hall-e? (which hall are you going to?)
Bably sighs. Realizes sleep is not happening anymore.
Babel : Dad it’s a new hall. It’s called JUDE. Jadavpur University Department of English.
Father Fish exits room wildly relieved. Re-enters in five minutes, just as Bably has decided it would be so much nicer to just go back to sleep.
Father Fish (having thought up wildly witty retort in the five minutes) : Hero ke? Dr. Abhijit Gupta?
*erm, yes well, explanation…dad remembers the names of four of my professors …the man who is god (because I talked of him all the time at home as well as on the blog, dhuh!) the divine brother-in-law (who is generally very famous) dr gupta (because they share the same name) and umm never mind the fourth, let’s just call him dr bleep bleep.*
Bably : Uh no. Actually it’s Dr Bleep Bleep.
For once wit isn’t a problem. The father jumps in his place and declares : Oh tahole toh flop show!!
Father Fish : (deeply suspicious tones) Are you going to college now?
(suspicion dear reader is the one thing which always turns the fish off and jump starts her bad sensayuma)
Babelfish : (exaggerated sigh) No Dad. I’m going for a movie.
Father Fish is deeply perturbed at this bewildering announcement. Exits room muttering to himself. Bably almost collapses back into sleep. Almost that is.
Re-enter Father Fish : Kon hall-e? (which hall are you going to?)
Bably sighs. Realizes sleep is not happening anymore.
Babel : Dad it’s a new hall. It’s called JUDE. Jadavpur University Department of English.
Father Fish exits room wildly relieved. Re-enters in five minutes, just as Bably has decided it would be so much nicer to just go back to sleep.
Father Fish (having thought up wildly witty retort in the five minutes) : Hero ke? Dr. Abhijit Gupta?
*erm, yes well, explanation…dad remembers the names of four of my professors …the man who is god (because I talked of him all the time at home as well as on the blog, dhuh!) the divine brother-in-law (who is generally very famous) dr gupta (because they share the same name) and umm never mind the fourth, let’s just call him dr bleep bleep.*
Bably : Uh no. Actually it’s Dr Bleep Bleep.
For once wit isn’t a problem. The father jumps in his place and declares : Oh tahole toh flop show!!
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
wildly exciting life...oh my eyes...
Ze fish would love to write about how she has spent the last sixty three hours but she fears that would result in the hasty departure of the last remnants of her reading audience as it might be too much for their collective moral sensibilities; suffice to say ze fish has slept for all of three and a half hours out of those sixty odd hours of darkness and light, heehee. On that happy note...goodnight world!
Saturday, October 21, 2006
Kali Pujo in *Kommunist* Kolkata
There's a kali pujo pandal outside my house, one of those non-descript para'r pandals, which inevitably has a sound system which is about three and a half times as big as the clay idol where they've been playing songs from Kabhi Khushi Kabhi gham all morning...gah!!!
And there's a little stall beside it, which is all decorated in red. Not in order to be kolour ko-ordinated with Kali but because it's a book stall set up by the CPM selling books on kommunism. Karl Marx would presumably be tossing and turning in whatever non-religious nether world he landed up in.
And there's a little stall beside it, which is all decorated in red. Not in order to be kolour ko-ordinated with Kali but because it's a book stall set up by the CPM selling books on kommunism. Karl Marx would presumably be tossing and turning in whatever non-religious nether world he landed up in.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
With abject apologies to Tori Amos and heart-felt gratitude to Sandy for providing half the lines and *all* the funny bits...
Long long ago, in a land far far away there was a fish. To be precise a Babelfish.
Actually if we're going to be precise about this thing, I might as well state, it wasn't that long ago and it certainly wasn't far in the same way as Eccentrica Gallumbits of Eroticon 6 could be described as far off.
But there certainly was a B'fish. And she knew a not-sandy haired gentleman called, strangely enough, Sandy.
And on a certain night, at a certain hour (well 2.13 A.M. actually) when sane and sensible people should be in bed, sound asleep and hopefully dreaming of things with large tentacles and larger teeth, ze b’fiss and ze sandy had a conversation.
Which was, as these things tend to be, too funny not to be blogged about.
But which was also, inevitably a bit erm..ah..ahem, well y’know…
Let’s just say that the gentleman who on a certain occasion castigated me for not being a tad more considerate of the sensibilities of aged honorary relatives should go away right now if he doesn’t want a heart-attack. Also anyone who still thinks that the stork leaves new babies and that four letter words (or three letters words spelled as s-e-x) should be whispered in hurry, well if anyone like that should be reading this page, there’s a little button at the top extreme right with a cross sign on it, go for it!!
The rest may read on…
So there was the b'fiss, wasting time as only fishes from the joo know how to, on the computer well past witching hours and what-not with a status bar on gtalk which read...what if I’m a mermaid in these jeans of his…
Yeah random I know, so shoot me for it!
And out of the blue this little box popped up....
sandy : then his crotch wouldn't be of any use to you?
(Ladies, gentlemen and little kiddies who cannot be chased away by mere A ratings, I ask you, what an opening line?!)
b’fiss : (discreetly raises virtual eyebrows) why not?
sandy : (with an air of breaking the news gently) because it would look awkward; i don't think mermen have their equipment up front.
b’fiss : (hastening to explain all) nonono, i've got it all planned....dufus he wouldn't be a merman to begin with!
sandy : ah! (takes a moment of to let this sink in and ponder the possibilities) oh well...so is he a centaur in torn jeans?
b’fiss : (a little stunned at this lack of faith in the male members of the species homo sapiens) ordinary men would be too boring i suppose?
sandy : (decidedly) wouldn't be acceptable
b’fiss :(fishing for escape routes) he could be a man with a wooden leg called sam
sandy : no no...(in his most charming convincing tone) i mean...there must be an imbalance, part animal...i mean..if he was a centaur..then his jeans would have four legs...which then makes it ironic
b’fiss : (drily) why because i would only have one leg? or no leg?
sandy : yes! (then stops to think it over and lets loose his imagination) or...actually..he wished he had a tail to scour the seas..and you wished you could ride a horse!!
b’fiss : (slightly confused at this change of subject matter) butbutbut...this was something else bothering me...forget the merman's equipment...where does the mermaid, you know, get it off?
sandy : (pauses, wonders and launches off on new exciting explanation) so that's the great mystery that entices the centaur in, you know...one of those unanswerable questions...reasons why couples stick together....and he'll probably never find out....and they'll live happily ever after :)
b’fiss : (pauses at length to let *this* sink in) happily ever after on no sex? sandy, you're losing it man, slowly but surely! i mean, the assumption of every great romance is that the lovers die *before* the sex gets boring! there is no great love story based on no sex!
sandy : no...honestly...first of all there is taboo involved...a mermaid and a centaur! doesn't happen everyday, so..if they got together...it would be for a very brief instant and he'd be interested with the above mentioned...
and she'd be cherishin the moment...hahaha
b’fiss : i still don't buy it...brief instants are often enough to fit in a raunchy romp, so to speak
sandy : this isn't a great romance..but it has just the right ingredients to make a crappy one...and perhaps..if they do have sex...she'll turn into a woman...and he'll turn into a merman
b’fiss : nono
sandy : so..she'll be able to ride a horse...but not him..
b’fiss : her turning into a woman is fine, but i vote he stays a centaur, way more turning on!
sandy : and he'll scoot after all the other lovely mermaids, hehehe
b’fiss : yes except i think we have the same problem of missing equipment
sandy : i'm sure a mermaid would know where his equiptment is
b’fiss : yes, but it's just that after being a centaur this new merman would just die of frustration!!
yes well, we didn't reach much of a consensus on that one but at least it got me posting again *stretches virtually* it's good to be back in the blogsphere!
Actually if we're going to be precise about this thing, I might as well state, it wasn't that long ago and it certainly wasn't far in the same way as Eccentrica Gallumbits of Eroticon 6 could be described as far off.
But there certainly was a B'fish. And she knew a not-sandy haired gentleman called, strangely enough, Sandy.
And on a certain night, at a certain hour (well 2.13 A.M. actually) when sane and sensible people should be in bed, sound asleep and hopefully dreaming of things with large tentacles and larger teeth, ze b’fiss and ze sandy had a conversation.
Which was, as these things tend to be, too funny not to be blogged about.
But which was also, inevitably a bit erm..ah..ahem, well y’know…
Let’s just say that the gentleman who on a certain occasion castigated me for not being a tad more considerate of the sensibilities of aged honorary relatives should go away right now if he doesn’t want a heart-attack. Also anyone who still thinks that the stork leaves new babies and that four letter words (or three letters words spelled as s-e-x) should be whispered in hurry, well if anyone like that should be reading this page, there’s a little button at the top extreme right with a cross sign on it, go for it!!
The rest may read on…
So there was the b'fiss, wasting time as only fishes from the joo know how to, on the computer well past witching hours and what-not with a status bar on gtalk which read...what if I’m a mermaid in these jeans of his…
Yeah random I know, so shoot me for it!
And out of the blue this little box popped up....
sandy : then his crotch wouldn't be of any use to you?
(Ladies, gentlemen and little kiddies who cannot be chased away by mere A ratings, I ask you, what an opening line?!)
b’fiss : (discreetly raises virtual eyebrows) why not?
sandy : (with an air of breaking the news gently) because it would look awkward; i don't think mermen have their equipment up front.
b’fiss : (hastening to explain all) nonono, i've got it all planned....dufus he wouldn't be a merman to begin with!
sandy : ah! (takes a moment of to let this sink in and ponder the possibilities) oh well...so is he a centaur in torn jeans?
b’fiss : (a little stunned at this lack of faith in the male members of the species homo sapiens) ordinary men would be too boring i suppose?
sandy : (decidedly) wouldn't be acceptable
b’fiss :(fishing for escape routes) he could be a man with a wooden leg called sam
sandy : no no...(in his most charming convincing tone) i mean...there must be an imbalance, part animal...i mean..if he was a centaur..then his jeans would have four legs...which then makes it ironic
b’fiss : (drily) why because i would only have one leg? or no leg?
sandy : yes! (then stops to think it over and lets loose his imagination) or...actually..he wished he had a tail to scour the seas..and you wished you could ride a horse!!
b’fiss : (slightly confused at this change of subject matter) butbutbut...this was something else bothering me...forget the merman's equipment...where does the mermaid, you know, get it off?
sandy : (pauses, wonders and launches off on new exciting explanation) so that's the great mystery that entices the centaur in, you know...one of those unanswerable questions...reasons why couples stick together....and he'll probably never find out....and they'll live happily ever after :)
b’fiss : (pauses at length to let *this* sink in) happily ever after on no sex? sandy, you're losing it man, slowly but surely! i mean, the assumption of every great romance is that the lovers die *before* the sex gets boring! there is no great love story based on no sex!
sandy : no...honestly...first of all there is taboo involved...a mermaid and a centaur! doesn't happen everyday, so..if they got together...it would be for a very brief instant and he'd be interested with the above mentioned...
and she'd be cherishin the moment...hahaha
b’fiss : i still don't buy it...brief instants are often enough to fit in a raunchy romp, so to speak
sandy : this isn't a great romance..but it has just the right ingredients to make a crappy one...and perhaps..if they do have sex...she'll turn into a woman...and he'll turn into a merman
b’fiss : nono
sandy : so..she'll be able to ride a horse...but not him..
b’fiss : her turning into a woman is fine, but i vote he stays a centaur, way more turning on!
sandy : and he'll scoot after all the other lovely mermaids, hehehe
b’fiss : yes except i think we have the same problem of missing equipment
sandy : i'm sure a mermaid would know where his equiptment is
b’fiss : yes, but it's just that after being a centaur this new merman would just die of frustration!!
yes well, we didn't reach much of a consensus on that one but at least it got me posting again *stretches virtually* it's good to be back in the blogsphere!
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
Ze babelfish has a question. One that has long perturbed her tech-retarded soul. She has tossed and turned and pondered long and hard and unable to come to a satisfactory conclusion herself she has decided to throw the question open to the blogsphere. Or at least those blessed, beloved individuals of the blogsphere who occasionally drop by ze fishbowl.
Yes well, this question, or to be precise this insoluble mystery of mysteries which has long bemused, befuddled and bamboozled the phishy mind is this....
What is phishing?
More importantly how does one report it?!!
And why does one report it?!!!
Those who have no clue what this phishy is talking about should now turn to that Great God of Little-Geeks, namely GooGLe.
Googleshwar incidentally is a charming thing. When it's not being an utter pain in the virtual ass of course.
One of the less charming things it did in the past was to introduce a direct chat option, without the polite invisible setting. Grrrrrr.
But that is inconsequential.
What perturbs the fishy soul is that everytime she gets a mail she is faced with a number of reasonable options such as reply and reply to all, some moderately unreasonable ones like show original and message text garbled and the truly unreasonable report phishing.
And much as bably would like to believe her reputation precedes her to the extent that google forewarns it's several million users against her this is obviously not a feasible option. Happy thought, but impossible.
So what eet eej??
Yes well, this question, or to be precise this insoluble mystery of mysteries which has long bemused, befuddled and bamboozled the phishy mind is this....
What is phishing?
More importantly how does one report it?!!
And why does one report it?!!!
Those who have no clue what this phishy is talking about should now turn to that Great God of Little-Geeks, namely GooGLe.
Googleshwar incidentally is a charming thing. When it's not being an utter pain in the virtual ass of course.
One of the less charming things it did in the past was to introduce a direct chat option, without the polite invisible setting. Grrrrrr.
But that is inconsequential.
What perturbs the fishy soul is that everytime she gets a mail she is faced with a number of reasonable options such as reply and reply to all, some moderately unreasonable ones like show original and message text garbled and the truly unreasonable report phishing.
And much as bably would like to believe her reputation precedes her to the extent that google forewarns it's several million users against her this is obviously not a feasible option. Happy thought, but impossible.
So what eet eej??
Sunday, July 23, 2006
I seem to use this blog for nothing but cribbing. It's very sad. And anyone reading my posts would receive the distinct impression that I lead a very sad life. Which is probably true.
I mean, at least half the people I know think my life is terribly sad and I really need to reform myself. The other half seem to have given up hope. Somewhere in between are those people who valiantly insist that I'm a good girl, or a good fish, as you will.
Just the other day a friend of mine declared that not only did he firmly believe I was a nice sweet girl, but he was willing to come over and convince my parents if need be. I can do no better than to copy paste his own words...
Maybe I should go speak to your parents. And say she is a good girl. Only smokes when she's not drinking. Only drinks when she is not gambling. Only gambles when she is not doping. And only ever dopes when she's not...hehe, well you know what... Otherwise ekebare sweet bengali girl type.
Yes well, as you can see the people I know really take their duty as my friends seriously. Since my foes don't seem to be remotely interested in destroying my repustation or my life, these guys have just taken over the task.
If people who had never met me were to believe my friends they'd find themselves convinced that the babelfish smokes really really rarely...on two days in the year wonly...on the day when it rains and on the day when it doesn't!
Even so, given a choice between having a reputation and having friends, I'd still opt for the latter. It would be a gun-held-at-my-head-and-lighted-matchsticks-between-my-toes kind of decision but at least it would be a firm clear choice. What a fish wants and needs and has is fiends, I mean friends.
What a fish also happens to have is people who love her like a daughter/niece/grand-daughter/sister/ or better still mother/grand-mother/aunt although they are not even remotely related to her.
Yes well it's a complicated life. But I'm not complaining. I'm absurdly happy. For one thing I'm over being sick and I'm going to make sure I don't fall sick again in the future. For another I love it when long overdue things come to pass and prove to be better than expected. And for the last, I'm just happy.
And on that happy note I shall sign off with the merry thought that if anyone who thinks I love them is reading this they should now go away and seriously wonder if I do and if after five seconds serious thought if they still believe I do they're obviously wrong, hehe.
I mean, at least half the people I know think my life is terribly sad and I really need to reform myself. The other half seem to have given up hope. Somewhere in between are those people who valiantly insist that I'm a good girl, or a good fish, as you will.
Just the other day a friend of mine declared that not only did he firmly believe I was a nice sweet girl, but he was willing to come over and convince my parents if need be. I can do no better than to copy paste his own words...
Maybe I should go speak to your parents. And say she is a good girl. Only smokes when she's not drinking. Only drinks when she is not gambling. Only gambles when she is not doping. And only ever dopes when she's not...hehe, well you know what... Otherwise ekebare sweet bengali girl type.
Yes well, as you can see the people I know really take their duty as my friends seriously. Since my foes don't seem to be remotely interested in destroying my repustation or my life, these guys have just taken over the task.
If people who had never met me were to believe my friends they'd find themselves convinced that the babelfish smokes really really rarely...on two days in the year wonly...on the day when it rains and on the day when it doesn't!
Even so, given a choice between having a reputation and having friends, I'd still opt for the latter. It would be a gun-held-at-my-head-and-lighted-matchsticks-between-my-toes kind of decision but at least it would be a firm clear choice. What a fish wants and needs and has is fiends, I mean friends.
What a fish also happens to have is people who love her like a daughter/niece/grand-daughter/sister/ or better still mother/grand-mother/aunt although they are not even remotely related to her.
Yes well it's a complicated life. But I'm not complaining. I'm absurdly happy. For one thing I'm over being sick and I'm going to make sure I don't fall sick again in the future. For another I love it when long overdue things come to pass and prove to be better than expected. And for the last, I'm just happy.
And on that happy note I shall sign off with the merry thought that if anyone who thinks I love them is reading this they should now go away and seriously wonder if I do and if after five seconds serious thought if they still believe I do they're obviously wrong, hehe.
there are eighteen screeching women in my living room.
i think i'm going crazy.
most of them i've never seen before in my life. they've all seen me though. and they keep tabs on me, every one of them. they know when i leave my house and when i enter, i think some nights they stay awake and watch from their balconie,s even on nights when i return at 2am.
in other words they're the neighbours. and they've descended on my house to solve their problems.
the parents fishes have been playing referee.
and i've been clutching my head for the past two hours and imploring any mephistopheles who happens to be in the vicinity to take my soul in exchange for even ten minutes of peace.
oh my good sweet lord, will no one have mercy on a fish's soul.
they say trouble sires three children. the first passed through last weekend. the second was the fever which almost killed the fish over the last week and certainly had the parents palpitating in panic. this must be the third. if there's anything worse on its way i don't think i'll survive.
and whoever said man is a social animal obviously didn't have neighbours like mine.
i think i'm going crazy.
most of them i've never seen before in my life. they've all seen me though. and they keep tabs on me, every one of them. they know when i leave my house and when i enter, i think some nights they stay awake and watch from their balconie,s even on nights when i return at 2am.
in other words they're the neighbours. and they've descended on my house to solve their problems.
the parents fishes have been playing referee.
and i've been clutching my head for the past two hours and imploring any mephistopheles who happens to be in the vicinity to take my soul in exchange for even ten minutes of peace.
oh my good sweet lord, will no one have mercy on a fish's soul.
they say trouble sires three children. the first passed through last weekend. the second was the fever which almost killed the fish over the last week and certainly had the parents palpitating in panic. this must be the third. if there's anything worse on its way i don't think i'll survive.
and whoever said man is a social animal obviously didn't have neighbours like mine.
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
insanely angry
Babelfish says:
arunava
Babelfish says:
two things
Babelfish says:
firstly i thought X was your friend, or rather you were X's friend
Babelfish says:
Secondly you're proving to be something of a loser, in fact i am so mad right now i would go so far as to call you a fucking loser
Babelfish says:
amend that, a fucking losing god-forsaken worthless piece of nothingnedd
Babelfish says:
nothingness
Babelfish says:
excuse the typos
Babelfish says:
and you can put this up on your blog if yu like
Babelfish says:
if you won't i will eventually
Alluder of Alliterations says:
fishy... you may consider me to be whatever you want,,, you will always be a fishy to me..
er in case you havent noticed.. i thought you were the one lecturing me not to put up convos on blogs and extolling the virtues of discretion and all that.. and look.. you are free to post whatever you want... why tell me? and believe me i have better things to blog about than this...
Alluder of Alliterations says:
and why on earth such a big deal about nothing
Alluder of Alliterations says:
??
Babelfish says:
excuse me?
Babelfish says:
big deal about nothing?
Babelfish says:
listen up, very carefully
Babelfish says:
if i blog this
Babelfish says:
i would NOT
Babelfish says:
NOTNOTNOT blog the bit abot X
Babelfish says:
i would blog the bit where i call you a worthless good-for-nothing loser
Babelfish says:
that's the bit i meant
Alluder of Alliterations says:
goahead.....
Babelfish says:
and discretion has nothing to do with that
Babelfish says:
it's my opinion or worse, it's my judgement of you
Babelfish says:
and i'm judging you out here boss
Babelfish says:
and you're failing every god damn test there ever was
Babelfish says:
im not a perfect person, in fact i'm a horrible person
Babelfish says:
but hey i'm not as bad as you it seems
Babelfish says:
what kind of fucking right do you think you have to say such things about X
Babelfish says:
who died and gave you the right to gossip about X
Babelfish says:
what the fuck
Babelfish says:
how many other people have you told this "wildly exciting piece of gossip" to
Babelfish says:
have you been hauling people up in the corridors and telling them this?
Alluder of Alliterations says:
no one else ... and it isnt wild and exciting... and no
Babelfish says:
fuck it you bastard
Babelfish says:
you have no fucking right to put things that way
Babelfish says:
HOW DARE YOU?
Babelfish says:
how dare you say something like that about X
Babelfish says:
are you stupid or what
Babelfish says:
go back and read what you wrote
Babelfish says:
read the words
Babelfish says:
if a friend of mine said something like that about me, in those words i would kill them
Babelfish says:
or at least disown them for life
that was a random conversation snippet. it's not supposed to make sense. the rest of the post is a rant. that's not going to be making sense either. sigh. this blog is getting to be too personal. then again, i'm getting too emotional these days. what to do. such is life.
*begin rant...*
If I love someone it's usually for life, and I'm as protective as hell. It doesn't matter if the person doesn't want to be protected. Maybe X wouldn't have minded such things being said about her. But you will not, not and NOT gossip about my friends in front of me. Not unless you want the police to have to drag out your body from under the JU jheel . I don't wanna be hanged for murdering someone, least of all for stabbing someone with a blunt knife fifty seven times. But there are times I would do it, and when you say something nasty about someone I love trust me you're micro-millimetres away from the land of the dead.
*end rant*
**phew**
Oh and yeah I'm probably sounding self-righteous as hell here but truth be told I'm not a perfect person; as prone to lying, bitching and being nasty as the next person in the room or you the reader. But some things I don't do. And I do not bitch about people who are my friends. If you wanna yell at me cos you've heard I bitch about you and you feel betrayed, sorry boss you're obviously not that special to me. Deal with it the way you want to but this is how I am. What random people think about me is not an issue. I care without limits for a limited number of people in the world and you watch your trap when you talk about them. Otherwise I always have my trusty blunt knife or alternatively this rant space I call my blog.
arunava
Babelfish says:
two things
Babelfish says:
firstly i thought X was your friend, or rather you were X's friend
Babelfish says:
Secondly you're proving to be something of a loser, in fact i am so mad right now i would go so far as to call you a fucking loser
Babelfish says:
amend that, a fucking losing god-forsaken worthless piece of nothingnedd
Babelfish says:
nothingness
Babelfish says:
excuse the typos
Babelfish says:
and you can put this up on your blog if yu like
Babelfish says:
if you won't i will eventually
Alluder of Alliterations says:
fishy... you may consider me to be whatever you want,,, you will always be a fishy to me..
er in case you havent noticed.. i thought you were the one lecturing me not to put up convos on blogs and extolling the virtues of discretion and all that.. and look.. you are free to post whatever you want... why tell me? and believe me i have better things to blog about than this...
Alluder of Alliterations says:
and why on earth such a big deal about nothing
Alluder of Alliterations says:
??
Babelfish says:
excuse me?
Babelfish says:
big deal about nothing?
Babelfish says:
listen up, very carefully
Babelfish says:
if i blog this
Babelfish says:
i would NOT
Babelfish says:
NOTNOTNOT blog the bit abot X
Babelfish says:
i would blog the bit where i call you a worthless good-for-nothing loser
Babelfish says:
that's the bit i meant
Alluder of Alliterations says:
goahead.....
Babelfish says:
and discretion has nothing to do with that
Babelfish says:
it's my opinion or worse, it's my judgement of you
Babelfish says:
and i'm judging you out here boss
Babelfish says:
and you're failing every god damn test there ever was
Babelfish says:
im not a perfect person, in fact i'm a horrible person
Babelfish says:
but hey i'm not as bad as you it seems
Babelfish says:
what kind of fucking right do you think you have to say such things about X
Babelfish says:
who died and gave you the right to gossip about X
Babelfish says:
what the fuck
Babelfish says:
how many other people have you told this "wildly exciting piece of gossip" to
Babelfish says:
have you been hauling people up in the corridors and telling them this?
Alluder of Alliterations says:
no one else ... and it isnt wild and exciting... and no
Babelfish says:
fuck it you bastard
Babelfish says:
you have no fucking right to put things that way
Babelfish says:
HOW DARE YOU?
Babelfish says:
how dare you say something like that about X
Babelfish says:
are you stupid or what
Babelfish says:
go back and read what you wrote
Babelfish says:
read the words
Babelfish says:
if a friend of mine said something like that about me, in those words i would kill them
Babelfish says:
or at least disown them for life
that was a random conversation snippet. it's not supposed to make sense. the rest of the post is a rant. that's not going to be making sense either. sigh. this blog is getting to be too personal. then again, i'm getting too emotional these days. what to do. such is life.
*begin rant...*
If I love someone it's usually for life, and I'm as protective as hell. It doesn't matter if the person doesn't want to be protected. Maybe X wouldn't have minded such things being said about her. But you will not, not and NOT gossip about my friends in front of me. Not unless you want the police to have to drag out your body from under the JU jheel . I don't wanna be hanged for murdering someone, least of all for stabbing someone with a blunt knife fifty seven times. But there are times I would do it, and when you say something nasty about someone I love trust me you're micro-millimetres away from the land of the dead.
*end rant*
**phew**
Oh and yeah I'm probably sounding self-righteous as hell here but truth be told I'm not a perfect person; as prone to lying, bitching and being nasty as the next person in the room or you the reader. But some things I don't do. And I do not bitch about people who are my friends. If you wanna yell at me cos you've heard I bitch about you and you feel betrayed, sorry boss you're obviously not that special to me. Deal with it the way you want to but this is how I am. What random people think about me is not an issue. I care without limits for a limited number of people in the world and you watch your trap when you talk about them. Otherwise I always have my trusty blunt knife or alternatively this rant space I call my blog.
Monday, July 17, 2006
A few hours back I wasn't sure if I should be happy or if I should cry.
Because I thought things were ok, I thought we could forgive and forget and move on. And I was touched; incredibly, insanely touched that there are people who are concerned. People who aren't even family but who care enough to think about me when I'm not thinking for myself.
It kinda made me happy. And a little sad. If you know what I mean.
Now I'm just howling.
Cos I've discovered life ain't that simple. And it doesn't help that none of the people I'm howling for will ever see this space and I have no idea how to make things ok again.
I’ve just had everyone taking my trip all day. Taking. My. Trip. Again and again.
And obviously I deserved it. Also equally obviously I've been an idiot. Correction, an idjit.
This is a cross between a public apology and a private rant. That means people who don't know what this is about should not ever ask what this is about. And if the people this is about do accidentally or otherwise drop by, well, I'm trying to say I'm sorry.
I made a mistake. I know that. I wasn't thinking straight. Hell I wasn't even thinking. But it's over. Really. It won't happen again. Ever again. I don't know if I can say sorry often enough to make you forget what happened. I'd swear by everything I hold dear but swearing ain't a test of anything. I haven't given you any reason to trust me. But I need your trust. Because I love you. All of you. For caring enough to yell at me. And if you can still find it in your hearts to care for me a little I won't let you down again.
Phishy promise.
Because I thought things were ok, I thought we could forgive and forget and move on. And I was touched; incredibly, insanely touched that there are people who are concerned. People who aren't even family but who care enough to think about me when I'm not thinking for myself.
It kinda made me happy. And a little sad. If you know what I mean.
Now I'm just howling.
Cos I've discovered life ain't that simple. And it doesn't help that none of the people I'm howling for will ever see this space and I have no idea how to make things ok again.
I’ve just had everyone taking my trip all day. Taking. My. Trip. Again and again.
And obviously I deserved it. Also equally obviously I've been an idiot. Correction, an idjit.
This is a cross between a public apology and a private rant. That means people who don't know what this is about should not ever ask what this is about. And if the people this is about do accidentally or otherwise drop by, well, I'm trying to say I'm sorry.
I made a mistake. I know that. I wasn't thinking straight. Hell I wasn't even thinking. But it's over. Really. It won't happen again. Ever again. I don't know if I can say sorry often enough to make you forget what happened. I'd swear by everything I hold dear but swearing ain't a test of anything. I haven't given you any reason to trust me. But I need your trust. Because I love you. All of you. For caring enough to yell at me. And if you can still find it in your hearts to care for me a little I won't let you down again.
Phishy promise.
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
Imagine fish. Imagine dead drunk fish. Now imagine dead fish. And there Ladies and Gentlemen you have a summary of the b'fissy existence.
The fish hereby formally announces her intentions of joining a nunnery. Or, since no self-respecting nunnery would admit a self-respecting babelfish, the fish shall run away to the mountains and live a life of solitude, meditating on her sinful past. In other words, the fish is in deep trouble.
To cut a very short story even shorter, here's the jist, without the prelude.
The Father Fishy was at Oly Pub last evening.
*enter long line of beeps censoring some bloody strong language*
**whiskey tango foxtrot I say!**
First the sister comes home and does a sweep search of my computer. Then the father lands up in the one place I would never ever have expected him. Is there nothing called privacy and the sanctity of human space. And anyone who wants to interject at this point that the father has as much right to enter Oly as I do can go stuff his or her head into a dragon's orifice. This is moment of great anguish and trauma.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The fish hereby formally announces her intentions of joining a nunnery. Or, since no self-respecting nunnery would admit a self-respecting babelfish, the fish shall run away to the mountains and live a life of solitude, meditating on her sinful past. In other words, the fish is in deep trouble.
To cut a very short story even shorter, here's the jist, without the prelude.
The Father Fishy was at Oly Pub last evening.
*enter long line of beeps censoring some bloody strong language*
**whiskey tango foxtrot I say!**
First the sister comes home and does a sweep search of my computer. Then the father lands up in the one place I would never ever have expected him. Is there nothing called privacy and the sanctity of human space. And anyone who wants to interject at this point that the father has as much right to enter Oly as I do can go stuff his or her head into a dragon's orifice. This is moment of great anguish and trauma.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Monday, June 19, 2006
My best friend told me to stay away from nineteen year olds. My sister actually told me that when I was fouteen and I didn’t pay much attention then. Damn me for not listening this time either. Cassy, if it’s any consolation you were right. Trouble is an understatement.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
umm, sorry, just needed to get that out of my system.
no, wait. cover up for a bit please.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
sigh.
yeah, i'm done.
Right now I could spend a good bit of time just grumbling about boys...and I use the word very pointedly...all men are boys and I don't care how matured and menopausal they pretend to be.
sigh again.
And whichever idjit first said women can't keep secrets was a brainless dimwit. It's the males of any age between say twelve and a hundred and twelve who blab. Bloody indiscreet pigeons.
Ah well, I'm done grousing for now.
Somebody get me a gun.
ahem. fine. change of topic.
So...Last night I was telling this utterly adorable Jedi/Samurai/Vampire-Slayer I happen to know, that someday I should just write a book and call it A Day in the Life of a Fish. If I ever do, there'll be a whole chapter dedicated to earrings. Well, maybe just a paragraph. For you Dear Reader, here's the preview...
The art of extricating earrings from ears is a delicate one. Traditionally it is known to require intense concentration. However earrings have also been known to succumb to the gravitational attraction of the earth and mysteriously vanish from the ears. Inevitably this seemingly innocent phenomenon will have the most disastrous consequences possible. The fishy explorations in this matter suggests that it is part of the Ineffable Plan (to be referred to later as I.P) that
a) the laws of gravity will apply to only one earring while the other will remain ensconced in its place and
b) that the detached earring will fall in the most inconvenient place imaginable, usually a place where one is not supposed to have been at a given time, or for that matter at any time.
Practising the fine art of taking the damn danglers off is a good idea when going in for a shower (let's forget the fish analogy for a second please). Leaving them on the bed however is not quite the smartest thing to do. Forgetting to wear them again is of course an even worse idea. Especially if the bed does not happen to belong to the owner of the earrings. Or if the bed happens to belong to one who does not own any earrings at all. In fact, earrings on the bed are a bad idea all things considered. For one thing, they have been known to break. Into two irreparable halves. Thus leading to much fishy woe.
Chances are I'll never get the energy to write the rest of the book, so this paragraph stands as testimonial to the Babelfishian masterpiece that never will be.
Besides life is too good and far too indiscreet to be written about.
Which reminds me...
Gentle Reader, if you ever have a son (or indeed if you have one already) would you make it a point to teach the kid, How To Be Discreet.
Trust me it'll save the universe a lot of confusion later.
On the count of three...
sigh!!!!!!
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
umm, sorry, just needed to get that out of my system.
no, wait. cover up for a bit please.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
sigh.
yeah, i'm done.
Right now I could spend a good bit of time just grumbling about boys...and I use the word very pointedly...all men are boys and I don't care how matured and menopausal they pretend to be.
sigh again.
And whichever idjit first said women can't keep secrets was a brainless dimwit. It's the males of any age between say twelve and a hundred and twelve who blab. Bloody indiscreet pigeons.
Ah well, I'm done grousing for now.
Somebody get me a gun.
ahem. fine. change of topic.
So...Last night I was telling this utterly adorable Jedi/Samurai/Vampire-Slayer I happen to know, that someday I should just write a book and call it A Day in the Life of a Fish. If I ever do, there'll be a whole chapter dedicated to earrings. Well, maybe just a paragraph. For you Dear Reader, here's the preview...
The art of extricating earrings from ears is a delicate one. Traditionally it is known to require intense concentration. However earrings have also been known to succumb to the gravitational attraction of the earth and mysteriously vanish from the ears. Inevitably this seemingly innocent phenomenon will have the most disastrous consequences possible. The fishy explorations in this matter suggests that it is part of the Ineffable Plan (to be referred to later as I.P) that
a) the laws of gravity will apply to only one earring while the other will remain ensconced in its place and
b) that the detached earring will fall in the most inconvenient place imaginable, usually a place where one is not supposed to have been at a given time, or for that matter at any time.
Practising the fine art of taking the damn danglers off is a good idea when going in for a shower (let's forget the fish analogy for a second please). Leaving them on the bed however is not quite the smartest thing to do. Forgetting to wear them again is of course an even worse idea. Especially if the bed does not happen to belong to the owner of the earrings. Or if the bed happens to belong to one who does not own any earrings at all. In fact, earrings on the bed are a bad idea all things considered. For one thing, they have been known to break. Into two irreparable halves. Thus leading to much fishy woe.
Chances are I'll never get the energy to write the rest of the book, so this paragraph stands as testimonial to the Babelfishian masterpiece that never will be.
Besides life is too good and far too indiscreet to be written about.
Which reminds me...
Gentle Reader, if you ever have a son (or indeed if you have one already) would you make it a point to teach the kid, How To Be Discreet.
Trust me it'll save the universe a lot of confusion later.
On the count of three...
sigh!!!!!!
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
filling in the blanks
been busy and missing for a while. the blog's been lying around like a little lost soul while i was roaming around like a little lost lamb. much gratitude is felt for those who still drop by the fish bowl. the fish promises to write at length, and soon.
for the moment
for those who really want to know...the fish has been and is happy as hell
for those who really want to know...the fish has been and is unhappy as heaven
for the moment
for those who really want to know...the fish has been and is happy as hell
for those who really want to know...the fish has been and is unhappy as heaven
Monday, June 05, 2006
Rule Nineteen is: Remember Never to Forget Rule One. And always ask yourself: How come it was created in the first place?
When it comes to Pratchett, Rule One is Do not act incautiously when confronting little bald wrinkly smiling men.
When it comes to the Babelfish, Rule One is way simpler.
Do not mess with this fish.
She doesn't get mad and she desn't get even.
She simply forgets.
When it comes to Pratchett, Rule One is Do not act incautiously when confronting little bald wrinkly smiling men.
When it comes to the Babelfish, Rule One is way simpler.
Do not mess with this fish.
She doesn't get mad and she desn't get even.
She simply forgets.
Sunday, May 28, 2006
the sister is on orkut.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
curses and bloody a thousand and one abuses on whoever invited her there.
my virtual life is now officially over.
this after i extracted a promise from every person i met on orkut who knew her vaguely to never ever let her know of the place.
the next thing i know she shall get a blog.
i did not just think that.
anyone who knows the sister, is not to tell her what a blog is; and is certainly not to tell her i have a blog.
the fish is now off to drown herself.
and yes bhooter raja, i know that makes me a bad fish, but i'm a bad fish anyway and worst comes to worst i can drown myself in air as the duck has testified on orkut.
post script : erm...i just happened to sign onto this orkut thingy and i have a message from someone whose user name is bitchslave who says and i quote, hello maam do u want a sex slave?
how does one deal with these things? will it be too rude if i say no. i wouldn't want to traumatize this person for life. such a polite person too.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
curses and bloody a thousand and one abuses on whoever invited her there.
my virtual life is now officially over.
this after i extracted a promise from every person i met on orkut who knew her vaguely to never ever let her know of the place.
the next thing i know she shall get a blog.
i did not just think that.
anyone who knows the sister, is not to tell her what a blog is; and is certainly not to tell her i have a blog.
the fish is now off to drown herself.
and yes bhooter raja, i know that makes me a bad fish, but i'm a bad fish anyway and worst comes to worst i can drown myself in air as the duck has testified on orkut.
post script : erm...i just happened to sign onto this orkut thingy and i have a message from someone whose user name is bitchslave who says and i quote, hello maam do u want a sex slave?
how does one deal with these things? will it be too rude if i say no. i wouldn't want to traumatize this person for life. such a polite person too.
Friday, May 26, 2006
The pheesh has the phevaar. To be frecise, the fever haf the fish. And while the fish was lying in delirious throes with a fevered brow and wotnot she was treated to much sympathy from her friends. Of course when I say friend, while I might not mean fiend, I mean something not far from it. Read on for choice snippets from the self-scripted play, Sympathy for the Fish...
Scene One :
babelfish : I'm ill and weak and dying.
sympathetic-fiend : Ki hoyechhe?
fissy : Jor! Shordi!! I'm forbidden chilled stuff for practically the rest of summer!!!
Unexpected interlude of unsympathetic silence on messenger which stretches to the next day.
sympathetic-friend-continues-on-phone : Well, I was working. And I thought oh, she'll survive. You just had to factor in all the awws and shaat shaat.
*i'm factoring in a lot of things mistah. grrowl.*
Scene Two :
sympathetic-senior-citizen-who-shall-not-be-named-because-he-is-much-respected-blogger : Abaar shorir kharap keno?
babelfissy : shorir kharap mane cold :(
respected-senior-citizen-whose-sympathy-is-grieviously-suspect : dhyatt
babelfissy : ???
evidently-unsympathetic-senior-citizen : You should have a mysterious wasting sickness.
*yes saar, as soon as i can manage to get wasted saar.*
Scene Three :
concerned voice over phone : Ki hoyechhe?
Babel repeats same old story
concerned-voice-promptly-changes-to-wickedly-grinning-voice : Hneehnee, and *what* have you been up to?
Yes well, there are those who think that fever and a fearful cold are poetic justice and divine retribution for the fish's complete avoidance of studies over the past month.
To which ze fiss has this to say : yeeeeargh!!! (and you can factor in the tongue stuck out)
And finally to add to all the phisshy misery the sister has returned home. Which is not to imply that I do not love the sister muchly. She is the jewel of my eye and wotnot. But, I kinda draw the line at her coming home. For one thing, she has the knack of coming across things I would ideally not have her come across. Sigh, I might as well tell you the story of my final woe...
This afternoon, while I lay nursing one pillow, one glass of warm milk and one bad temper the sister did a conspiratorial crawl across the bed and whispered to me in as conspiratorial and concerned and elder sisterly a voice as my gentle reader would care to imagine, "bably, why was there a packet of condoms in the back of your cupboard?"
To be honest, I did toy momentarily with the idea of giving her the catchline of buladi ads or alternately informing her that the parents must have decided two kids was two too many for them to handle. But then I stuck to the safe story and explained to her how I'd been handed these packets at an HIV-AIDS awareness workshop I'd attended in college.
And Dear Disbelieving Reader of mine, for once I freely confess I was not lying.
Yes well, there are times when I shock myself by telling the truth.
All in all then, tis a sad life but there are the occasional bright spots. Today, for example, I got this one line in the mail from a dearly beloved source, who wishes in the hallowed tradition of magazine help columns to withhold his/her name, address and gender here.
Read and decipher this if you can Oh Gentle Reader,
"Seat no 15 man middle aged, cheating on his wife with his secretary two children and one cat.."
Scene One :
babelfish : I'm ill and weak and dying.
sympathetic-fiend : Ki hoyechhe?
fissy : Jor! Shordi!! I'm forbidden chilled stuff for practically the rest of summer!!!
Unexpected interlude of unsympathetic silence on messenger which stretches to the next day.
sympathetic-friend-continues-on-phone : Well, I was working. And I thought oh, she'll survive. You just had to factor in all the awws and shaat shaat.
*i'm factoring in a lot of things mistah. grrowl.*
Scene Two :
sympathetic-senior-citizen-who-shall-not-be-named-because-he-is-much-respected-blogger : Abaar shorir kharap keno?
babelfissy : shorir kharap mane cold :(
respected-senior-citizen-whose-sympathy-is-grieviously-suspect : dhyatt
babelfissy : ???
evidently-unsympathetic-senior-citizen : You should have a mysterious wasting sickness.
*yes saar, as soon as i can manage to get wasted saar.*
Scene Three :
concerned voice over phone : Ki hoyechhe?
Babel repeats same old story
concerned-voice-promptly-changes-to-wickedly-grinning-voice : Hneehnee, and *what* have you been up to?
Yes well, there are those who think that fever and a fearful cold are poetic justice and divine retribution for the fish's complete avoidance of studies over the past month.
To which ze fiss has this to say : yeeeeargh!!! (and you can factor in the tongue stuck out)
And finally to add to all the phisshy misery the sister has returned home. Which is not to imply that I do not love the sister muchly. She is the jewel of my eye and wotnot. But, I kinda draw the line at her coming home. For one thing, she has the knack of coming across things I would ideally not have her come across. Sigh, I might as well tell you the story of my final woe...
This afternoon, while I lay nursing one pillow, one glass of warm milk and one bad temper the sister did a conspiratorial crawl across the bed and whispered to me in as conspiratorial and concerned and elder sisterly a voice as my gentle reader would care to imagine, "bably, why was there a packet of condoms in the back of your cupboard?"
To be honest, I did toy momentarily with the idea of giving her the catchline of buladi ads or alternately informing her that the parents must have decided two kids was two too many for them to handle. But then I stuck to the safe story and explained to her how I'd been handed these packets at an HIV-AIDS awareness workshop I'd attended in college.
And Dear Disbelieving Reader of mine, for once I freely confess I was not lying.
Yes well, there are times when I shock myself by telling the truth.
All in all then, tis a sad life but there are the occasional bright spots. Today, for example, I got this one line in the mail from a dearly beloved source, who wishes in the hallowed tradition of magazine help columns to withhold his/her name, address and gender here.
Read and decipher this if you can Oh Gentle Reader,
"Seat no 15 man middle aged, cheating on his wife with his secretary two children and one cat.."
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
This is a guest post. Sort of. That is to say, the guest who's posting it doesn't exactly know he's posting it but I'm guessing he shouldn't mind given it was his idea to post it in the first place. At least I think it was his idea. Never mind,. Clarifications can be sorted out later.
First the standard Parental Guidance type warnings.
Ahem.
Yes well, observe the delicacy with which I side-step the issue of age.
For one thing, the first time I suggested censoring a post for all those below eighteen I found a comment from two American bloggers who were aged thirteen. I have no idea how they found the page, but it's perfectly possible that they simpled googled for all pages which refused access to those below eighteen.
The second and more important thingy is that the guest in question is practically eighteen himself. Well no, nineteen. About to be twenty. But still, he's a teenager. So umm age is not a criterion in warning people off the rest of the post.
On the other hand moral sensibilities are a bit of a bugger. If you don't like hearing the word sex repeated too often skip this post, it just ain't meant for you.
Right, having tempted ye enough Dear Reader, let me introduce the guest poster. Who is probably in bed right now oblivious to the fact that I am ghost writing his guest post. Little in fact needs to be said about him; suffice to say he is a Duck.
*pause*
**ahem**
***clarification***
Gentle Reader, I understand this is a difficult statement to accept at the best of the times, especially since there is a famed duck of destiny and a quackpot duck who went to sea who both happened to visit this fishbowl once upon an ancient age. Give it a minte and remind yourself there are other ducks in the sea. This one for example is a blogging duck who used to be a travelling duck. Now he's the Red Bantoo and never mind why. He also happens to be a duck who says things like "I don't give a flying duck". And he writes poetry. I think that says it all.
Oh last point, before anyone brings on the criticism, he is also my darling choubachha*.
*This at the best of times is a difficult idea to translate, but to simplify a bachha is a child whereas a choubachha is a water tank; as you can see it's just a bad pun, so never mind.
Enough of introductions, on with the post. Which in fact is also in fact a tag.
The rules are simple enough, those tagged have to answer the questions below to the best of their ability. Having answered all the questions they have to add one question in the same vein. And then tag one other person. Just one please, not an indiscriminate tag list of your eight favorite people.
The questions incidentally were provided by the Duck who obtained them by fishy means from a reputed insitituion in the city which believes in teaching its students to be fine upstanding moral citizens of the country. Not that I have a problem with anyone who fits those three adjectives but in view of the fact that these questions were part of a hundred mark examination it seemed appropriate to address them to the blogsphere....
To begin with then, I tag the choubachha himself...awright baby, enjoy answering this lot...
we begin with the medical and the practical type of question...
1) If one doctor tells you that you have asthma and another tells you that you have bird flu, are their statements contradictory? Explain why or why not.
move on to the metaphysical and spiritual...
2) From the behavior that is found in human beings only ( 'I know myself', i.e., 'I know I'), prove that a human being has a soul that is not material.
and then to the literally *spirit*ual
3) Explain how drinking enough (a) alcohol to be drunk and (b) smoking causes addiction.
then comes the good bit...
4) Explain how the focus of attention in a sexual dream is different from the focus of attenion when one stimulates oneselft sexually by masturbating. Explain why masturbation is both sinful and addictive.
from good to better...
5) Contraception, of any kind, is always an action done to oneself and hence, contraception turns the attention to oneself and destroys love. If a woman uses a diaphragm (a woman's condom) as the only way to avoid a life threatening pregnancy, she is doing unnatural sex to survive. Which is the way to reach eternal life : to die as a martyr instead of violating natural law (God's law) by doing sex in a condom or to do sex in a condom and survive? Explain your answer.
possibly to best...
6) Just as one should avoid high-calorie foods to control weight, the couple should abstain from sex when conception is possible to control birth. How is this natural way to control birth different from contraception?
and finally the question which left me speechless in all its seriousness...
7) Why do premarital sexual relations hinder a boy and a girl from knowing each other before marriage?
OR
Why does a married couple who married as virgins have a better chance to have happy sexual relations after marriage than a married couple who had premarital sex?
OR
Why does premarital sex tend to lead to divorce?
Explain.
Explanations anyone?
First the standard Parental Guidance type warnings.
Ahem.
Yes well, observe the delicacy with which I side-step the issue of age.
For one thing, the first time I suggested censoring a post for all those below eighteen I found a comment from two American bloggers who were aged thirteen. I have no idea how they found the page, but it's perfectly possible that they simpled googled for all pages which refused access to those below eighteen.
The second and more important thingy is that the guest in question is practically eighteen himself. Well no, nineteen. About to be twenty. But still, he's a teenager. So umm age is not a criterion in warning people off the rest of the post.
On the other hand moral sensibilities are a bit of a bugger. If you don't like hearing the word sex repeated too often skip this post, it just ain't meant for you.
Right, having tempted ye enough Dear Reader, let me introduce the guest poster. Who is probably in bed right now oblivious to the fact that I am ghost writing his guest post. Little in fact needs to be said about him; suffice to say he is a Duck.
*pause*
**ahem**
***clarification***
Gentle Reader, I understand this is a difficult statement to accept at the best of the times, especially since there is a famed duck of destiny and a quackpot duck who went to sea who both happened to visit this fishbowl once upon an ancient age. Give it a minte and remind yourself there are other ducks in the sea. This one for example is a blogging duck who used to be a travelling duck. Now he's the Red Bantoo and never mind why. He also happens to be a duck who says things like "I don't give a flying duck". And he writes poetry. I think that says it all.
Oh last point, before anyone brings on the criticism, he is also my darling choubachha*.
*This at the best of times is a difficult idea to translate, but to simplify a bachha is a child whereas a choubachha is a water tank; as you can see it's just a bad pun, so never mind.
Enough of introductions, on with the post. Which in fact is also in fact a tag.
The rules are simple enough, those tagged have to answer the questions below to the best of their ability. Having answered all the questions they have to add one question in the same vein. And then tag one other person. Just one please, not an indiscriminate tag list of your eight favorite people.
The questions incidentally were provided by the Duck who obtained them by fishy means from a reputed insitituion in the city which believes in teaching its students to be fine upstanding moral citizens of the country. Not that I have a problem with anyone who fits those three adjectives but in view of the fact that these questions were part of a hundred mark examination it seemed appropriate to address them to the blogsphere....
To begin with then, I tag the choubachha himself...awright baby, enjoy answering this lot...
we begin with the medical and the practical type of question...
1) If one doctor tells you that you have asthma and another tells you that you have bird flu, are their statements contradictory? Explain why or why not.
move on to the metaphysical and spiritual...
2) From the behavior that is found in human beings only ( 'I know myself', i.e., 'I know I'), prove that a human being has a soul that is not material.
and then to the literally *spirit*ual
3) Explain how drinking enough (a) alcohol to be drunk and (b) smoking causes addiction.
then comes the good bit...
4) Explain how the focus of attention in a sexual dream is different from the focus of attenion when one stimulates oneselft sexually by masturbating. Explain why masturbation is both sinful and addictive.
from good to better...
5) Contraception, of any kind, is always an action done to oneself and hence, contraception turns the attention to oneself and destroys love. If a woman uses a diaphragm (a woman's condom) as the only way to avoid a life threatening pregnancy, she is doing unnatural sex to survive. Which is the way to reach eternal life : to die as a martyr instead of violating natural law (God's law) by doing sex in a condom or to do sex in a condom and survive? Explain your answer.
possibly to best...
6) Just as one should avoid high-calorie foods to control weight, the couple should abstain from sex when conception is possible to control birth. How is this natural way to control birth different from contraception?
and finally the question which left me speechless in all its seriousness...
7) Why do premarital sexual relations hinder a boy and a girl from knowing each other before marriage?
OR
Why does a married couple who married as virgins have a better chance to have happy sexual relations after marriage than a married couple who had premarital sex?
OR
Why does premarital sex tend to lead to divorce?
Explain.
Explanations anyone?
Sunday, May 14, 2006
early morning conversation between two sober sane serious studious friends intent on preparing for the next day's exam....
cass : i was told bhogoban hishi korle brishti pore...*it rains when the good lord maketh water*
babel : eeew!!!
cass : na seriously that’s what they taught me as a kid.
babel : i think my parents balked at the thought of saying such an offensive thing to their incorruptible innocent daughters and simply told us that it rains when the big man upstairs cries
cass : well, the best thing I ever heard was that when it rains it means god’s defrosting his fridge
babel : hey that’s nice. unless of course he’d kept aasnthe maachh *smelly fish* in it in the first place.
cass : eeeeeew!!!
babel : i have a feeling after this conversation we’re not going to want to step out in the rain for a few days.
cass : haan butbut imagine peeing for forty days!
babel : maybe he had a bladder retention problem.
cass : maybe he’s sitting up there laughing himself off his chair.
babel : or he’s going, where’s my thunderbolt? lemme strike these blasphemers down this minute!
cass : well depends on whose god it is. if it’s the chrisitan one, he’s like oh these people are going to hell anyway. and if it’s ours they’re like, where’s the ganja?
babel : na boss, they’re already high on ganja.
cass : na na they’re probably going, where’s the rest of the ganja?!
babel : or they’re like, bah, ei duto-to gaanja na kheyei arom bhaat bokchhe!...*wow, these two don't even need ganja to get psychadelic and weird*
cass : but seriously i think we ought to get really high and write the exam tomorrow, emnitei ja chhorabo!!...*we'll make such a mess anyway!*
like i said sober, serious and studious that's us. sane i'm not quite so sure about though.
cass : i was told bhogoban hishi korle brishti pore...*it rains when the good lord maketh water*
babel : eeew!!!
cass : na seriously that’s what they taught me as a kid.
babel : i think my parents balked at the thought of saying such an offensive thing to their incorruptible innocent daughters and simply told us that it rains when the big man upstairs cries
cass : well, the best thing I ever heard was that when it rains it means god’s defrosting his fridge
babel : hey that’s nice. unless of course he’d kept aasnthe maachh *smelly fish* in it in the first place.
cass : eeeeeew!!!
babel : i have a feeling after this conversation we’re not going to want to step out in the rain for a few days.
cass : haan butbut imagine peeing for forty days!
babel : maybe he had a bladder retention problem.
cass : maybe he’s sitting up there laughing himself off his chair.
babel : or he’s going, where’s my thunderbolt? lemme strike these blasphemers down this minute!
cass : well depends on whose god it is. if it’s the chrisitan one, he’s like oh these people are going to hell anyway. and if it’s ours they’re like, where’s the ganja?
babel : na boss, they’re already high on ganja.
cass : na na they’re probably going, where’s the rest of the ganja?!
babel : or they’re like, bah, ei duto-to gaanja na kheyei arom bhaat bokchhe!...*wow, these two don't even need ganja to get psychadelic and weird*
cass : but seriously i think we ought to get really high and write the exam tomorrow, emnitei ja chhorabo!!...*we'll make such a mess anyway!*
like i said sober, serious and studious that's us. sane i'm not quite so sure about though.
Saturday, April 29, 2006
just for the record
"Once upon a time you loved him. A lot. That's the only reason you hate him now. Otherwise you'd just be indifferent."
"Tell me something I don't know."
"You're beautiful."
"Tell me something I don't know that happens to be true as well."
"You're beautiful."
"Tell me something I don't know."
"You're beautiful."
"Tell me something I don't know that happens to be true as well."
"You're beautiful."
Thursday, April 27, 2006
First I rant, then I have to recant.
sigh.
I walked into college today and was informed first by beloved friend *who will soon stop being best friend if she continues to be this nasty* that she thought my post was silly.
pout.
Then AG very kindly informed me that I had probably been too clever for my own good.
ouch.
In short I feel like a misunderstood moron.
whimper.
In long, therefore, if you've already read the post this is the after-thought. If you haven't read the last post take a second off, read it and then get back.
But read before jumping to conclusions please.
And Gentle Reader, forgive me if I was too subtle in the previous post.
I forgot people still take me seriously.
So, the basic clarification is as follows.
Despite the over abundance of saccharine sweetness in the department at this present moment, despite the fact that the first years have exhibited a disturbing tendancy to pair up faster than you can say, oh ki mishti couple!!, the babelfish would like to announce very clearly and firmly and as loudly as possible that she has no, no and no plans of
a)getting a life
b)getting a man
c)getting a man to address her as sugarplum
d)getting whatever else spring has on offer.
In case this clarification doesn't seem to fit in too well with what I wrote last night let me put it this way; the problem with leaving myself deliberately open to misinterpretation is that I am liable to be misunderstood. Yes well, obvious innit.
So yeah , I know everyone got pretty excited by the "dark alley" bit but umm when I mentioned the "strenuous activities" I meant "heart-stopping" in the sense of permanently heart-stopping.
Yes well. Go figure.
And as for the *requited* passion. The primary difference between this and unrequited passion is that any hindi film second string heroine worth her salt(y tears) will give up her life for any man who doesn't love her back. In real life when two people feel truly requited passion for each other they're ready at any moment to kill each other.
Oh and I assumed everyone had heard of Lucrezia Borgia. If you haven't I can only quote the darling of the department, "you can never trust the Borgias you know". Now you can go google for her name.
And finally, this fish would like to clarify that she might mix politics with pleasure but never prem. Despite my inordinate passion for this man, I don't feel the slightest inclination to spend the rest of my life calling him sugarplum. I only want to kill him.
sigh.
I walked into college today and was informed first by beloved friend *who will soon stop being best friend if she continues to be this nasty* that she thought my post was silly.
pout.
Then AG very kindly informed me that I had probably been too clever for my own good.
ouch.
In short I feel like a misunderstood moron.
whimper.
In long, therefore, if you've already read the post this is the after-thought. If you haven't read the last post take a second off, read it and then get back.
But read before jumping to conclusions please.
And Gentle Reader, forgive me if I was too subtle in the previous post.
I forgot people still take me seriously.
So, the basic clarification is as follows.
Despite the over abundance of saccharine sweetness in the department at this present moment, despite the fact that the first years have exhibited a disturbing tendancy to pair up faster than you can say, oh ki mishti couple!!, the babelfish would like to announce very clearly and firmly and as loudly as possible that she has no, no and no plans of
a)getting a life
b)getting a man
c)getting a man to address her as sugarplum
d)getting whatever else spring has on offer.
In case this clarification doesn't seem to fit in too well with what I wrote last night let me put it this way; the problem with leaving myself deliberately open to misinterpretation is that I am liable to be misunderstood. Yes well, obvious innit.
So yeah , I know everyone got pretty excited by the "dark alley" bit but umm when I mentioned the "strenuous activities" I meant "heart-stopping" in the sense of permanently heart-stopping.
Yes well. Go figure.
And as for the *requited* passion. The primary difference between this and unrequited passion is that any hindi film second string heroine worth her salt(y tears) will give up her life for any man who doesn't love her back. In real life when two people feel truly requited passion for each other they're ready at any moment to kill each other.
Oh and I assumed everyone had heard of Lucrezia Borgia. If you haven't I can only quote the darling of the department, "you can never trust the Borgias you know". Now you can go google for her name.
And finally, this fish would like to clarify that she might mix politics with pleasure but never prem. Despite my inordinate passion for this man, I don't feel the slightest inclination to spend the rest of my life calling him sugarplum. I only want to kill him.
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
The babelfish has a most grievous confession to make. It shames her and mortifies her to say this in a public blog accessible to vast millions who may never even choose to read it but she has wrested with her conscience, she has spent sleepless nights tossing and turning and turning and tossing unable to get these thoughts out of her head and bed and she has finally come to the conclusion that an open confession might be the best way out.
*of course when I say nights I actually mean one night, but let's not get too carried away with details here oggay...and when I say here, this rather hold for the rest of the post too....but, I digress and for once I shall try to cut a long story short and thou dear reader are most welcome to imagine for your gentle self a five page preamble with extra dollops of drama*
In short then, I have committed the unforgivable, the unfathomable, the unforgettable, the unforeseeable.
I have fallen with bone-splintering-rib-cracking-nose-fracturing-jaw-breaking intensity for someone.
And this is where I must clutch my breast and rend my hair and confess most shamefully that when I say someone I don't just mean someone I mean a political rival.
*the italics by the way indicate hushed tones...go back and read it again, this time drop your voice for the last two words...*
And you were wondering what the drama was all about.
*sigh*
*and sigh again*
Will my gentle reader excuse me while I indulge in some heavy-duty furnace style sighing...siiiiiiiigh!!!
I will not bore you with the when and where and whom, I shall only describe the epiphanic moment when I first realized this heart-stopping, horrific happening.
So, there I was, in a room full of very politically motivated gentlemen. There was just one other female in the room, which says a lot about the male female ratio in political outfits and never mind the occasional sonia/maneka/mamata/indira/jayalalitha/uma! *interesting innit how all their names end in a. nevermind.*
On the one side, there were the men from the engineering faculty, across the aisle were the men from the science faculty and bang in between were the arts faculty reps. And this man, this jaw-breaking-rib-crusher was speaking. And when I interrupted his beautifully worded very persuasive monologue in pure undiluted bangla he turned to me and rasped out, "wait, let me finish...".
And I almost swooned as I realized that this was the man I wanted to drag off into a dark alley for some heart-stoppingly strenuous moments. And ever since that moment, to be precise, 8.07 PM Monday, the 24th of April, my heart flutters at the thought of him and beats faster.
And to all the cynics who say this is only because he has threatened to cut me into ickle pieces and feed me to the fish in the ju-jheel I say nahi!!
This then is the fish's confession. If she is, someday in the not-too-distant future found drownded on dry land it will because of this man for whom she feels such requited passion. Conversely if she is found guilty of indulging in acts reminiscent of Lucrezia Borgia...you heard it here first!
*of course when I say nights I actually mean one night, but let's not get too carried away with details here oggay...and when I say here, this rather hold for the rest of the post too....but, I digress and for once I shall try to cut a long story short and thou dear reader are most welcome to imagine for your gentle self a five page preamble with extra dollops of drama*
In short then, I have committed the unforgivable, the unfathomable, the unforgettable, the unforeseeable.
I have fallen with bone-splintering-rib-cracking-nose-fracturing-jaw-breaking intensity for someone.
And this is where I must clutch my breast and rend my hair and confess most shamefully that when I say someone I don't just mean someone I mean a political rival.
*the italics by the way indicate hushed tones...go back and read it again, this time drop your voice for the last two words...*
And you were wondering what the drama was all about.
*sigh*
*and sigh again*
Will my gentle reader excuse me while I indulge in some heavy-duty furnace style sighing...siiiiiiiigh!!!
I will not bore you with the when and where and whom, I shall only describe the epiphanic moment when I first realized this heart-stopping, horrific happening.
So, there I was, in a room full of very politically motivated gentlemen. There was just one other female in the room, which says a lot about the male female ratio in political outfits and never mind the occasional sonia/maneka/mamata/indira/jayalalitha/uma! *interesting innit how all their names end in a. nevermind.*
On the one side, there were the men from the engineering faculty, across the aisle were the men from the science faculty and bang in between were the arts faculty reps. And this man, this jaw-breaking-rib-crusher was speaking. And when I interrupted his beautifully worded very persuasive monologue in pure undiluted bangla he turned to me and rasped out, "wait, let me finish...".
And I almost swooned as I realized that this was the man I wanted to drag off into a dark alley for some heart-stoppingly strenuous moments. And ever since that moment, to be precise, 8.07 PM Monday, the 24th of April, my heart flutters at the thought of him and beats faster.
And to all the cynics who say this is only because he has threatened to cut me into ickle pieces and feed me to the fish in the ju-jheel I say nahi!!
This then is the fish's confession. If she is, someday in the not-too-distant future found drownded on dry land it will because of this man for whom she feels such requited passion. Conversely if she is found guilty of indulging in acts reminiscent of Lucrezia Borgia...you heard it here first!
Friday, April 14, 2006
Much has been happening in ze fissbowl. For one thing the mother has discarded home, hearth, husband and the one and only younger daughter in order to re-enact some well chosen scenes from trashy ekta kapoor serials at the no-longer-tranquil home of the newly-wed one and only older daughter.
The father predictably is pining away. Ok, that's an understatement but I have no words to describe how melancholy he is these days. He hangs around the house and mopes. In snatches he remembers that he is supposed to be playing mother hen to b'fissy and comes around clucking with a vengeance.
The outcome of the pater familias doing mother hen imitations has been rather mixed. For example, having lovingly watched me set off for college one morning and in the process of standing at the door and waving a forlorn metaphorical hankey in farewell he noticed that my shoes were pretty shabby. And then he forced me to go shopping with him and bought me two pairs of shoes. That was the good bit.
The bad bit was the time the father in a fit of excessive love and misplaced zealous tenderness decided to put a bottle of water into my college bag. In the process discovering a match-box in said bag. Father questoned daughter and daughter gave an answer which was a hazelnut surprise and two layers of truffles short of an entire chocolate box of honesty and then father and daughter went on with make-believe world where suspension of disbelief rules bigtime.
We get along my father and I. More than happily. When we're utterly bored with everything around us we start some bizarre conversation which keeps us high on aantlami *pretentious intellectualism* for prolonged periods of time. And occasionally we do father-daughter talks where he asks me interesting questions like who's the flavour of this season and *you don't even want to know the context of that one*! But through it all I know he's too busy missing Ma. Me, I'm the half-hard-hearted one of the family, so I don't miss her at all *and if you heard me howling I want my mommy in college the other day you were obviously hallucinating*. But he sits by the phone all the time he's at home. And gives it little looks and occasioanlly picks it up to check if it's working. And sometimes he prods it a bit with his little finger like he's gently trying to nudge some divinity in charge of communications to get her to call.
But while I'm not as mushily mopey as he is, home isn't home unless Ma's there to yell at me. And Baba can't even yell properly if Ma's not there. Sigh.
Change topic. I can feel myself getting morose and sentimental over this, gah! Instead I shall write about the other major event in fishy's life. Which is a continuation of all my electoral woes of last month and the surprisingly not-quite-woeful results
To cut a very very long story short. There was an election today. Students from all three faculties of the university voted for six students members of the court council which is supposedly a hi-falutin inexplicably powerful administrative body *basically blah*. And out of the six very elite court members not one has any affinity for shades of red. But one of the six is a fish. This fish to be precise. In other words, this is a happy fishy right now.
The father predictably is pining away. Ok, that's an understatement but I have no words to describe how melancholy he is these days. He hangs around the house and mopes. In snatches he remembers that he is supposed to be playing mother hen to b'fissy and comes around clucking with a vengeance.
The outcome of the pater familias doing mother hen imitations has been rather mixed. For example, having lovingly watched me set off for college one morning and in the process of standing at the door and waving a forlorn metaphorical hankey in farewell he noticed that my shoes were pretty shabby. And then he forced me to go shopping with him and bought me two pairs of shoes. That was the good bit.
The bad bit was the time the father in a fit of excessive love and misplaced zealous tenderness decided to put a bottle of water into my college bag. In the process discovering a match-box in said bag. Father questoned daughter and daughter gave an answer which was a hazelnut surprise and two layers of truffles short of an entire chocolate box of honesty and then father and daughter went on with make-believe world where suspension of disbelief rules bigtime.
We get along my father and I. More than happily. When we're utterly bored with everything around us we start some bizarre conversation which keeps us high on aantlami *pretentious intellectualism* for prolonged periods of time. And occasionally we do father-daughter talks where he asks me interesting questions like who's the flavour of this season and *you don't even want to know the context of that one*! But through it all I know he's too busy missing Ma. Me, I'm the half-hard-hearted one of the family, so I don't miss her at all *and if you heard me howling I want my mommy in college the other day you were obviously hallucinating*. But he sits by the phone all the time he's at home. And gives it little looks and occasioanlly picks it up to check if it's working. And sometimes he prods it a bit with his little finger like he's gently trying to nudge some divinity in charge of communications to get her to call.
But while I'm not as mushily mopey as he is, home isn't home unless Ma's there to yell at me. And Baba can't even yell properly if Ma's not there. Sigh.
Change topic. I can feel myself getting morose and sentimental over this, gah! Instead I shall write about the other major event in fishy's life. Which is a continuation of all my electoral woes of last month and the surprisingly not-quite-woeful results
To cut a very very long story short. There was an election today. Students from all three faculties of the university voted for six students members of the court council which is supposedly a hi-falutin inexplicably powerful administrative body *basically blah*. And out of the six very elite court members not one has any affinity for shades of red. But one of the six is a fish. This fish to be precise. In other words, this is a happy fishy right now.
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
Various people at various points of time have asked members, honorary and otherwise, of JUDE what it is that they do all day in college. The answers, roughly summed up, are as follows :
Of course "nothing" often includes prem kora and panu kora or wait....the two are the same right? Ahem. Never mind.
And of course, there's sitting at Monida and doing "nothing". Monida, for those glorious millions fortunate enough to be ignorant of the existence of such a glorified place, is a canteen. In the glorious (not that I know what's so glorious about it anyway) tradition of canteens on campuses across calcutta it is named after the supposed glo-nevermind proprietor.
When I say supposed of course I may be erring on the side of caution but one does so like to get these little details right and anyone sitting at Monida's for long enough will get the distinct feeling that the place is actually owned by half a dozen dead flies, a few thousand dozen live fleas and a random assortment of dogs, male and female, perpetually horny and occasionally gay. Oh and by The Smell. And the crows. By Blind Io and the crows who ate his eyeballs, how could I have forgetten to mention the crows.
Crows!
They fought the dogs and killed the cats,
And bit the babies in the cradles,
And ate the cheeses out of the vats,
And licked the soup from the cooks' own ladles...and well, substitute babies with innocent college-students and you've got the general idea.
This then is Monida's. A place we are all inordinately fond of. Why is not a question which should drift into the reader's mind at ths moment. The reader had best assume that the average JUDEan's love for Monida is all part of the Ineffable Plan. And in case you were wondering what the Ineffable Plan is, well, it's a bit like this you see, thereasonIcan'ttellyouwhattheIneffablePlanisisalsopartoftheIneffablePlan. Can I get on with the story now?
Oh. Except there is no story. Well, not as such. Just another random snippet from another random conversation on a random day at a random table at monida's :
babelfish (half mooney voice) : sigh. you know what, I just realized the other day he looks like a greek god.
cass (in her did-you-loan-your-brains-to-the-crows voice) : no. he doesn't.
bably (jolted out of her monida-ydreams) : b-b-bbutbut he does!
diva (in her why-did-I-ever-join-this-madhouse-I-wannawannawanna-go-back-to-delhi voice) : No!
babe(l) pouts
cass (trying to be sensible and turning out to be most condescending) : look. he's adorable but he looks like a teddy bear not an imitation apollo!
bably (small voice) : umm...what about one of the smallish greek gods, like herme-
diva : NO!
bably (barely audible voice) : but the whole look that he has...umm maybe a bit like zeu-
cass : NO!!!
babel : I shall sulk.
I'm still sulking by the way. Because whatever those disbelieving gits might say, he does look like a greek god. Does too.
And in case you're wondering who he is. Stop right there. I'm not about to tell you. So teehee to you too.
- *half-concerned shrug* "nothing"
- *look of philosophical acceptance* "nothing"
- *look of mortified realization* "nothing"
- *vaguely embarrassed look* "nothing"
- *blank look* "nothing" (this last one I find rather unnerving because it leads me to suspect that JUDE is slowly filling up with dull half-wits of all shapes and sizes)
Of course "nothing" often includes prem kora and panu kora or wait....the two are the same right? Ahem. Never mind.
And of course, there's sitting at Monida and doing "nothing". Monida, for those glorious millions fortunate enough to be ignorant of the existence of such a glorified place, is a canteen. In the glorious (not that I know what's so glorious about it anyway) tradition of canteens on campuses across calcutta it is named after the supposed glo-nevermind proprietor.
When I say supposed of course I may be erring on the side of caution but one does so like to get these little details right and anyone sitting at Monida's for long enough will get the distinct feeling that the place is actually owned by half a dozen dead flies, a few thousand dozen live fleas and a random assortment of dogs, male and female, perpetually horny and occasionally gay. Oh and by The Smell. And the crows. By Blind Io and the crows who ate his eyeballs, how could I have forgetten to mention the crows.
Crows!
They fought the dogs and killed the cats,
And bit the babies in the cradles,
And ate the cheeses out of the vats,
And licked the soup from the cooks' own ladles...and well, substitute babies with innocent college-students and you've got the general idea.
This then is Monida's. A place we are all inordinately fond of. Why is not a question which should drift into the reader's mind at ths moment. The reader had best assume that the average JUDEan's love for Monida is all part of the Ineffable Plan. And in case you were wondering what the Ineffable Plan is, well, it's a bit like this you see, thereasonIcan'ttellyouwhattheIneffablePlanisisalsopartoftheIneffablePlan. Can I get on with the story now?
Oh. Except there is no story. Well, not as such. Just another random snippet from another random conversation on a random day at a random table at monida's :
babelfish (half mooney voice) : sigh. you know what, I just realized the other day he looks like a greek god.
cass (in her did-you-loan-your-brains-to-the-crows voice) : no. he doesn't.
bably (jolted out of her monida-ydreams) : b-b-bbutbut he does!
diva (in her why-did-I-ever-join-this-madhouse-I-wannawannawanna-go-back-to-delhi voice) : No!
babe(l) pouts
cass (trying to be sensible and turning out to be most condescending) : look. he's adorable but he looks like a teddy bear not an imitation apollo!
bably (small voice) : umm...what about one of the smallish greek gods, like herme-
diva : NO!
bably (barely audible voice) : but the whole look that he has...umm maybe a bit like zeu-
cass : NO!!!
babel : I shall sulk.
I'm still sulking by the way. Because whatever those disbelieving gits might say, he does look like a greek god. Does too.
And in case you're wondering who he is. Stop right there. I'm not about to tell you. So teehee to you too.
Saturday, April 01, 2006
To my best-best-best-best-est friend.....
I'm sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.
Really really really sorry. I didn't forget, I swear I didn't. I am just a complete, utter, inexcusable ass. I shall grovel and plead for all eternity. Pleeeeeeeeease forgive me.
I have a seminar in another two hours and a paper to present which I still haven't written and am about to write now. Stayed up all night and all of last night tao lekha hoye ni kintu mane that does not mean that I've stopped grovelling sincerely and seriously.
And you have every right to be mad at me and hate me for all eternity but please don't, mane I'll be even more heart-broken tokhon.
Thorry.
Will leave now to write paper but will also keep apologizing indefinitely.
**pleading pleading puppy dog eyes**
I'm sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.
Really really really sorry. I didn't forget, I swear I didn't. I am just a complete, utter, inexcusable ass. I shall grovel and plead for all eternity. Pleeeeeeeeease forgive me.
I have a seminar in another two hours and a paper to present which I still haven't written and am about to write now. Stayed up all night and all of last night tao lekha hoye ni kintu mane that does not mean that I've stopped grovelling sincerely and seriously.
And you have every right to be mad at me and hate me for all eternity but please don't, mane I'll be even more heart-broken tokhon.
Thorry.
Will leave now to write paper but will also keep apologizing indefinitely.
**pleading pleading puppy dog eyes**
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
I have to do this. I'm sorry, I apologize most sincerely and profoundly in advance for forcing this on all my readers and all those who might accidentally stumble on my blog but I had to had to do this.
This is the warning, the final watchumacallit, that censorship stamp. I'm about to put up some umm rather uh graphic umm visuals which err happen to be about *whispered undertone* best positions in bed. But before that unfortunately I have to do this long overdue tag.....
1. Were you named after anyone?
ooh now that's a long story. I share the first half of my name with a cool twenty percent of the population of India but my parents tagged on a bit at the end which resulted in my name becoming one of the most uncommon common names ever.
2. Do you wish on stars?
No.
*insert sickly sweet voice* I think they're God's own daisies chain...barf!!!
3. When did you last cry?
I'm a fish.
Salty drops of water on my cheeks....naah, these ain't tears, they're an existential hazard!
4. Do you like your handwriting?
I prefer my hand doing a lot of other things but it's cool when it wants to grab a pen and write.
5. What is your favourite meat?
If I was being obtruse and aantel I'd talk about Freud's analysis of a certain dream in Interpretation of Dreams. But that would be downright dirty, so let's just leave this question aside shall we.
6. What is your most embarrassing CD on your shelf?
umm that depends on who's looking at it. I mean I wouldn't be embarrassed by stacks of pornography; then again you might, if the stacks existed that is. For now we'll settle for ummm the original vcd of Shrek II...bit of an inside story, suffice to say embarrassing.
7. If you were another person, would YOU be friends with you?
oooh, would I be another male person or a female person. This is one hell of an important question...go figure.
8.Are you a daredevil?
This is a blog frequented by kiddies, what sort of a question is that?!! Oh wait, you're not asking why I'm a daredevil? A yes or no would do...hmm....dhuh!!! That's a yes, for those who are slow on the uptake/intake/anytake.
9. How do you release anger?
This one involves nails and teeth and a lot of passion. Let's not go there shall we, it's ugly.
10. Where is your second home?
Easy ain't it...JU.
11. Do you trust others easily?
According to everyone else yes. According to me hell yes! Until the second i'm about to betray the other in question that is.
12. What was your favourite toy as a child?
Barbie. Oh yes, absolutely. You have the option of disbelieving me and not believing me. Wouldn't it have been easier to ask what my favorite toy is now?
13. What class in school/college do you think is totally useless?
umm....compulsory bangla *all judeans who were looking to hit dirt out here, forget it, courtesy a certain five fingered piece of fluff my blog is accessible to certain profs *polite smile* so we don't discuss these things here anymore*
14. Do you use sarcasm a lot?
Who me? Sarcasm? How could you even think of such a thing? It just goes to prove, you're obviously not as stupid as you look.
15. Have you ever been in a mosh pit?
Short and sweet...NO.
16. What do you look for in a guy/girl?
In? umm in where? *scratch head..rub nose, look embarrassed* uh, maybe I should just gently move on to the next question.
17. Would you bungee jump?
Well yeah. But what's more interesting is my list of people-I-would-most-vehemently-urge-to-go-bungee-jumping, preferably without a safety rope.
18. Do you untie your shoes when you take them off?
I cannot answer this question as it is against my religious principles.
19. What's your favourite ice cream?
This one is against my other principles..whatchumacallit...ethical, aesthetical, i'mtooboredwithsillyquestionsical principles.
20. What are your favourite colours?
Ooh now this question is discriminatory. Seriously. It's against all principles of equality and democracy and basic decency. What kind of a question is this? What if I were colour blind? Does whoever started this tag realize that I could have been left psychologically scarred for life...harrumph!!!
21. What are your least favourite things?
Books. Absolutely. Hate them. Can't stand them. Wouldn't read one of them if you hit me on the head with ten of them.
22. How many people do you have a crush on right now?
See, it's like this. You know Pratchett? Wait, I'm not saying I have a crush on Terry Pratchett, which I might but which is irrelevant right now. The reason I mention Pratchett right now is because he writes about Trolls. And well, trolls can't count beyond many. So they say one, two, many, many many. I'm numerically challenged too. Let's just say one.
23. Who do you miss most right now?
Someone who knows it better than I do. Is that too vague as an answer? Well, it's supposed to be, it's going to save my sorry ass when fifteen people ranging from beloved best friend to beloved sister some day want to know why they aren't indisputably on top of the list. But it's also an honest answer. You know who you are and I miss you.
24. What are you listening to right now?
The imitation railway engine in the next bedroom which goes by the name of My Father.
25. If you were a crayon, what colour would you be?
Pink. If you believe this after everything else clearly you deserve to believe it.
26. What is the weather like right now?
There's a volcano erupting outside my north-east window and a gentle breeze banging the south-east windows. Are you going to rush to rescue me from the hurricane that's sweeping things off my balcony?
27. Last person you talked to on the phone?
Oh, wouldn't you like to know. Next you'll be expecting me to tell you what we talked about!!! No wonder they say privacy is an outdated concept in this age of convergence technology *I didn't come up with this, Don C did*
28. The "first" thing you notice about the opposite sex?
If I was being soppy, I'd say the eyes. If I was being honest err remember the bit about this being a blog frequented by kiddies. I mentioned it a while back. Next question.
29. Do you like the person who sent you this?
Drat. He's going to be reading this ain't he. Freaky why daahling how nice of you to send it! *blows kiss, waves enthusiastically* But, it's like I luuuve his blog and like what fascinating posts he like writes and what a wonderful like soulful person he is...umm is that enough?
30. How are you today?
You're dying to know aren't you?
Well, if you're not, then why bother.
31. Favourite non alcoholic drink?
What's that? Oh, you mean like water? Can't think of anything else, so water it is.
32. Favourite alcoholic drink?
Yeah right, you want me to pick one. Fine, mutter mutter, eenie meenie...Vodka.
33. Natural hair colour?
I don't have hair, I have scales and the occasional fin..dhuh!!
34. Eye colour?
Why don't you look into my eyes and tell me?
35. Wear contacts?
See that's another of those questions which discriminate against the visually challenged, the myopic and the plain unfortunate. In other words, yes.
36. Siblings?
I copy this from Freaky......."A darling, hardly-ever-heard-of sister… married happily!"
37. Favourite month?
As and when I deicide I'll tell you but I wouldn't suggest you hold your breath in anticipation.
38. Favourite food?
I could be on a diet, you know. Not that I am, but if I were this wouldn't be a good time to talk about eating umm things.
39. Favourite day of the year?
Refer to the 37th question. Or wait. What if I tell you my least favorite day of the year? 8th December.
40. Have you ever been too shy to ask someone out?
Shy? Me? Obviously this tag was accidentally sent to me. Come to think of it when was the last time I had to do the asking?
41. Scary movies or happy endings?
What I consider a happy ending might well scare someone else out of their wits. Oh hell, go read this.
42. Summer or winter?
Air-conditioned rooms in summer and leper tola in winter.
43. Do you want your friends to write back?
If I'm taking the bloody effort to write to them in the first place, they better write back. If they don't they're obviously not my friends and I hardly care tuppence about them *huffs and tosses hair over shoulder*
44. Who is most likely to respond?
Respond to what again...
45. What book/magazine are you reading?
You don't want to know...oh wait, you do want to know...deep breath... ruthrendallunkindnessofravenspgwodehousepicadillyjimhanifkhureshiintimacythepoliticsofaristotlebeowulfanditsanalogues
So, did you really want to know?
46. What's on your mouse pad?
One of those toon figures in a flimsy yellow dress with flying auburn hair and huge brown eyes and a little snub nose and a big smile and huge umm I mean a very curvaceous figure. Also the word ALBA. Is anyone going to analyze this? Personally though I'd have preferred this...
47. What did you watch on TV last night?
Bunty or Babli. Yep. I know they showed it cos there were ads all over the papers so how about you assume I watched it.
48. Favourite Smell?
There are some smells which you think will make you gag but then you fall in love with them all over again each and every time. Like the smell of wet earth after the first rains. It's a muddy oozy smell but it's beautiful. Does that answer the question or should I have been even more explicit?
49. Have you ever regretted breaking up with someone?
Two things I learned before I even forgot how to lisp..no loothe endth, preferably no thtrings and no regretth!
50. Most tiresome thing you’ve ever experienced/done?
The most tiresome thing I've ever experienced is putting up with people who really really get on my nerves. Oh but you wanted to know fun things ain't it. Would watching the dawn break qualify as fun tiresome?
pheeew I'm done. Terrible that was.
Incidentally I'm not sure how these tag thingys work. I figure I'm supposed to tag some other people so any dearly beloved reader will please consider themselves tagged if they wish to answer these fifty questions.
Oh and belated realization...was I supposed to tell the truth back there.....ummm....right, I may have err slipped up a wee leetle bit in the general department of honesty and such like thingys. But to compensate there are pictures, as promised, of the best positions in bed. Here goes :
*sigh*
This is the warning, the final watchumacallit, that censorship stamp. I'm about to put up some umm rather uh graphic umm visuals which err happen to be about *whispered undertone* best positions in bed. But before that unfortunately I have to do this long overdue tag.....
1. Were you named after anyone?
ooh now that's a long story. I share the first half of my name with a cool twenty percent of the population of India but my parents tagged on a bit at the end which resulted in my name becoming one of the most uncommon common names ever.
2. Do you wish on stars?
No.
*insert sickly sweet voice* I think they're God's own daisies chain...barf!!!
3. When did you last cry?
I'm a fish.
Salty drops of water on my cheeks....naah, these ain't tears, they're an existential hazard!
4. Do you like your handwriting?
I prefer my hand doing a lot of other things but it's cool when it wants to grab a pen and write.
5. What is your favourite meat?
If I was being obtruse and aantel I'd talk about Freud's analysis of a certain dream in Interpretation of Dreams. But that would be downright dirty, so let's just leave this question aside shall we.
6. What is your most embarrassing CD on your shelf?
umm that depends on who's looking at it. I mean I wouldn't be embarrassed by stacks of pornography; then again you might, if the stacks existed that is. For now we'll settle for ummm the original vcd of Shrek II...bit of an inside story, suffice to say embarrassing.
7. If you were another person, would YOU be friends with you?
oooh, would I be another male person or a female person. This is one hell of an important question...go figure.
8.Are you a daredevil?
This is a blog frequented by kiddies, what sort of a question is that?!! Oh wait, you're not asking why I'm a daredevil? A yes or no would do...hmm....dhuh!!! That's a yes, for those who are slow on the uptake/intake/anytake.
9. How do you release anger?
This one involves nails and teeth and a lot of passion. Let's not go there shall we, it's ugly.
10. Where is your second home?
Easy ain't it...JU.
11. Do you trust others easily?
According to everyone else yes. According to me hell yes! Until the second i'm about to betray the other in question that is.
12. What was your favourite toy as a child?
Barbie. Oh yes, absolutely. You have the option of disbelieving me and not believing me. Wouldn't it have been easier to ask what my favorite toy is now?
13. What class in school/college do you think is totally useless?
umm....compulsory bangla *all judeans who were looking to hit dirt out here, forget it, courtesy a certain five fingered piece of fluff my blog is accessible to certain profs *polite smile* so we don't discuss these things here anymore*
14. Do you use sarcasm a lot?
Who me? Sarcasm? How could you even think of such a thing? It just goes to prove, you're obviously not as stupid as you look.
15. Have you ever been in a mosh pit?
Short and sweet...NO.
16. What do you look for in a guy/girl?
In? umm in where? *scratch head..rub nose, look embarrassed* uh, maybe I should just gently move on to the next question.
17. Would you bungee jump?
Well yeah. But what's more interesting is my list of people-I-would-most-vehemently-urge-to-go-bungee-jumping, preferably without a safety rope.
18. Do you untie your shoes when you take them off?
I cannot answer this question as it is against my religious principles.
19. What's your favourite ice cream?
This one is against my other principles..whatchumacallit...ethical, aesthetical, i'mtooboredwithsillyquestionsical principles.
20. What are your favourite colours?
Ooh now this question is discriminatory. Seriously. It's against all principles of equality and democracy and basic decency. What kind of a question is this? What if I were colour blind? Does whoever started this tag realize that I could have been left psychologically scarred for life...harrumph!!!
21. What are your least favourite things?
Books. Absolutely. Hate them. Can't stand them. Wouldn't read one of them if you hit me on the head with ten of them.
22. How many people do you have a crush on right now?
See, it's like this. You know Pratchett? Wait, I'm not saying I have a crush on Terry Pratchett, which I might but which is irrelevant right now. The reason I mention Pratchett right now is because he writes about Trolls. And well, trolls can't count beyond many. So they say one, two, many, many many. I'm numerically challenged too. Let's just say one.
23. Who do you miss most right now?
Someone who knows it better than I do. Is that too vague as an answer? Well, it's supposed to be, it's going to save my sorry ass when fifteen people ranging from beloved best friend to beloved sister some day want to know why they aren't indisputably on top of the list. But it's also an honest answer. You know who you are and I miss you.
24. What are you listening to right now?
The imitation railway engine in the next bedroom which goes by the name of My Father.
25. If you were a crayon, what colour would you be?
Pink. If you believe this after everything else clearly you deserve to believe it.
26. What is the weather like right now?
There's a volcano erupting outside my north-east window and a gentle breeze banging the south-east windows. Are you going to rush to rescue me from the hurricane that's sweeping things off my balcony?
27. Last person you talked to on the phone?
Oh, wouldn't you like to know. Next you'll be expecting me to tell you what we talked about!!! No wonder they say privacy is an outdated concept in this age of convergence technology *I didn't come up with this, Don C did*
28. The "first" thing you notice about the opposite sex?
If I was being soppy, I'd say the eyes. If I was being honest err remember the bit about this being a blog frequented by kiddies. I mentioned it a while back. Next question.
29. Do you like the person who sent you this?
Drat. He's going to be reading this ain't he. Freaky why daahling how nice of you to send it! *blows kiss, waves enthusiastically* But, it's like I luuuve his blog and like what fascinating posts he like writes and what a wonderful like soulful person he is...umm is that enough?
30. How are you today?
You're dying to know aren't you?
Well, if you're not, then why bother.
31. Favourite non alcoholic drink?
What's that? Oh, you mean like water? Can't think of anything else, so water it is.
32. Favourite alcoholic drink?
Yeah right, you want me to pick one. Fine, mutter mutter, eenie meenie...Vodka.
33. Natural hair colour?
I don't have hair, I have scales and the occasional fin..dhuh!!
34. Eye colour?
Why don't you look into my eyes and tell me?
35. Wear contacts?
See that's another of those questions which discriminate against the visually challenged, the myopic and the plain unfortunate. In other words, yes.
36. Siblings?
I copy this from Freaky......."A darling, hardly-ever-heard-of sister… married happily!"
37. Favourite month?
As and when I deicide I'll tell you but I wouldn't suggest you hold your breath in anticipation.
38. Favourite food?
I could be on a diet, you know. Not that I am, but if I were this wouldn't be a good time to talk about eating umm things.
39. Favourite day of the year?
Refer to the 37th question. Or wait. What if I tell you my least favorite day of the year? 8th December.
40. Have you ever been too shy to ask someone out?
Shy? Me? Obviously this tag was accidentally sent to me. Come to think of it when was the last time I had to do the asking?
41. Scary movies or happy endings?
What I consider a happy ending might well scare someone else out of their wits. Oh hell, go read this.
42. Summer or winter?
Air-conditioned rooms in summer and leper tola in winter.
43. Do you want your friends to write back?
If I'm taking the bloody effort to write to them in the first place, they better write back. If they don't they're obviously not my friends and I hardly care tuppence about them *huffs and tosses hair over shoulder*
44. Who is most likely to respond?
Respond to what again...
45. What book/magazine are you reading?
You don't want to know...oh wait, you do want to know...deep breath... ruthrendallunkindnessofravenspgwodehousepicadillyjimhanifkhureshiintimacythepoliticsofaristotlebeowulfanditsanalogues
So, did you really want to know?
46. What's on your mouse pad?
One of those toon figures in a flimsy yellow dress with flying auburn hair and huge brown eyes and a little snub nose and a big smile and huge umm I mean a very curvaceous figure. Also the word ALBA. Is anyone going to analyze this? Personally though I'd have preferred this...
47. What did you watch on TV last night?
Bunty or Babli. Yep. I know they showed it cos there were ads all over the papers so how about you assume I watched it.
48. Favourite Smell?
There are some smells which you think will make you gag but then you fall in love with them all over again each and every time. Like the smell of wet earth after the first rains. It's a muddy oozy smell but it's beautiful. Does that answer the question or should I have been even more explicit?
49. Have you ever regretted breaking up with someone?
Two things I learned before I even forgot how to lisp..no loothe endth, preferably no thtrings and no regretth!
50. Most tiresome thing you’ve ever experienced/done?
The most tiresome thing I've ever experienced is putting up with people who really really get on my nerves. Oh but you wanted to know fun things ain't it. Would watching the dawn break qualify as fun tiresome?
pheeew I'm done. Terrible that was.
Incidentally I'm not sure how these tag thingys work. I figure I'm supposed to tag some other people so any dearly beloved reader will please consider themselves tagged if they wish to answer these fifty questions.
Oh and belated realization...was I supposed to tell the truth back there.....ummm....right, I may have err slipped up a wee leetle bit in the general department of honesty and such like thingys. But to compensate there are pictures, as promised, of the best positions in bed. Here goes :
*sigh*
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
Prochur BhNaat
This isn’t a a guest post, it’s a guest quote. I’ve been dictated into posting this quote. And when I say dictated, I mean dic-ta-ted. P.B. pretty much ordered me to take out a pen and paper in the middle of class the other day and write down his golden words so I could preserve them for posterity on my blog.
Umm... for anyone who’s not from JUDE, P.B. is the professor of old english in my department. Who is utterly adorable, according to me. Utterly malevolent, according to most of the rest of the department. And is also Grendel’s mother, according to a certain dream a certain member of our department once had.
This semester I opted for the special paper he offered. And happened to be the only student doing so. Needless to say, classes have been fun. Most days we just settle back and chit chat through fifty minutes of class. Other days his conscientous alter-ego threatens to break bottles on my head for bunking classes. Or alternatively, on having it pointed out that his pursuing such a course of action might amount to sexual harrassment, his pragmatic conscientous alter-ego attempts to desperately bribe all female juniors to break aforesaid bottles on my head.
Right... does everyone have a semi clear idea of professor in question? This, then, is what he has to say about the professor with whom fifty percent of the first year population of JUDE inevitably falls in love.
"A**** is part of the Miltonic Scholars Conspiracy to deny Milton’s indebtedness to Old English poetry. And that is why he refuses to openly admit that Milton cribbed large bits of Paradise Lost from Beowulf and Genesis B."
AFTER-THOUGHT : Non-JUDEans please feel free to say eh? And move on to reading other posts.
JUDEans are given the easy options of a) killing P.B. before he gets a chance to flunk bably in her end-sems and b) killing P.B. after he flunks bfiss in her exams. There is of course c) killing A.D.G. for conspiring against Old English but well, we all know what this fiss thinks of option c.) In fact, as I see it, option c.) can go jump into the c.
Umm... for anyone who’s not from JUDE, P.B. is the professor of old english in my department. Who is utterly adorable, according to me. Utterly malevolent, according to most of the rest of the department. And is also Grendel’s mother, according to a certain dream a certain member of our department once had.
This semester I opted for the special paper he offered. And happened to be the only student doing so. Needless to say, classes have been fun. Most days we just settle back and chit chat through fifty minutes of class. Other days his conscientous alter-ego threatens to break bottles on my head for bunking classes. Or alternatively, on having it pointed out that his pursuing such a course of action might amount to sexual harrassment, his pragmatic conscientous alter-ego attempts to desperately bribe all female juniors to break aforesaid bottles on my head.
Right... does everyone have a semi clear idea of professor in question? This, then, is what he has to say about the professor with whom fifty percent of the first year population of JUDE inevitably falls in love.
"A**** is part of the Miltonic Scholars Conspiracy to deny Milton’s indebtedness to Old English poetry. And that is why he refuses to openly admit that Milton cribbed large bits of Paradise Lost from Beowulf and Genesis B."
AFTER-THOUGHT : Non-JUDEans please feel free to say eh? And move on to reading other posts.
JUDEans are given the easy options of a) killing P.B. before he gets a chance to flunk bably in her end-sems and b) killing P.B. after he flunks bfiss in her exams. There is of course c) killing A.D.G. for conspiring against Old English but well, we all know what this fiss thinks of option c.) In fact, as I see it, option c.) can go jump into the c.
Monday, March 20, 2006
CASSY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
HAPPY HAPPY HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
umm, you'll have to overlook the colour scheme, i got a bit carried away. hehe. but it was all meant to convey my undying luurbh and devotion.
incidentally, if I don't come for the party it's because I'm mortally offended at the fact that you thought it necessary to invite me.
now run along and have a good day.
HAPPY HAPPY HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
umm, you'll have to overlook the colour scheme, i got a bit carried away. hehe. but it was all meant to convey my undying luurbh and devotion.
incidentally, if I don't come for the party it's because I'm mortally offended at the fact that you thought it necessary to invite me.
now run along and have a good day.
Sunday, March 19, 2006
Traumatic things which should not happen to the b'fiss first thing in the morning.
The phone shouldn't ring.
If it does, it should not be the father.
And even it accidentally happens to be the father, the conversation should not start as follows.
bfiss : hello?
the father : yes, sugarplum.
*stunned silence*
*Moment of explanation. The father does not call me sugarplum. No one in their worst nightmares, or in my worst nightmares would dream of caling me sugarplum. Any man, woman or child thinking the words sugar plum and b'fiss in the same sentence would find themselves with a dislocated jaw and a decidely relocated friendship. Having said that it remains only to explain the obvious. That my uh father has umm embarrassing names for my erm mother. Ahem. Yes well. And since I will not reveal their little embarrassing secret names *which i discovered accidentally over the phone right now* I'm choosing sugarplum. Which is considerably less embarrassing than the actual names. Which should give you an idea of how mushy the parents are. And why I am perpetually one step away from dying of madness or diabetes. Or both. So, to return to phone conversation.*
the father, somewhat surprised at stunned silence, continues : hello? sugarplum?!
bfiss : na. babel here.
*embarrassed silence on the father's part*
**even more embarrassed silence on fissy's part**
***embarrassment having dropped in decides to camp out for a bit***
the father : oh, ahem. *embarrassed cough*
bfiss : yes *repeat action with ambarrassed cough*
the father : hehe. so. you sound the same as your mother.
bfiss : *dryly* yes
the father : could you umm give the mumble phone umm to su- er your mother?
Thereafter phone was conveyed to the mother. And I went and got an icepack.
Yes well. Bascally. The reason I shall never get married is this overwhelming, overflowing, perpetually gushy, practically adoloscent luurbh between the parents.
This dear reader is Love Fest 1976-2006.
I need a holiday.
The phone shouldn't ring.
If it does, it should not be the father.
And even it accidentally happens to be the father, the conversation should not start as follows.
bfiss : hello?
the father : yes, sugarplum.
*stunned silence*
*Moment of explanation. The father does not call me sugarplum. No one in their worst nightmares, or in my worst nightmares would dream of caling me sugarplum. Any man, woman or child thinking the words sugar plum and b'fiss in the same sentence would find themselves with a dislocated jaw and a decidely relocated friendship. Having said that it remains only to explain the obvious. That my uh father has umm embarrassing names for my erm mother. Ahem. Yes well. And since I will not reveal their little embarrassing secret names *which i discovered accidentally over the phone right now* I'm choosing sugarplum. Which is considerably less embarrassing than the actual names. Which should give you an idea of how mushy the parents are. And why I am perpetually one step away from dying of madness or diabetes. Or both. So, to return to phone conversation.*
the father, somewhat surprised at stunned silence, continues : hello? sugarplum?!
bfiss : na. babel here.
*embarrassed silence on the father's part*
**even more embarrassed silence on fissy's part**
***embarrassment having dropped in decides to camp out for a bit***
the father : oh, ahem. *embarrassed cough*
bfiss : yes *repeat action with ambarrassed cough*
the father : hehe. so. you sound the same as your mother.
bfiss : *dryly* yes
the father : could you umm give the mumble phone umm to su- er your mother?
Thereafter phone was conveyed to the mother. And I went and got an icepack.
Yes well. Bascally. The reason I shall never get married is this overwhelming, overflowing, perpetually gushy, practically adoloscent luurbh between the parents.
This dear reader is Love Fest 1976-2006.
I need a holiday.
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