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*

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.

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.

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.

I signed on to orkut a while back to find this 'teaser' from some random stranger : for someone so adorabel how can you be single?
Deep breath. Right. That sentence should tell you why I’m avowedly single on orkut.
I didn’t bother suggesting to the sender that he should go get himself a word processor but just opening my mail and finding that message sparked off this whole feeling of mutiny and rebellion and unpleasant-ish memories. By now I've figured there's some nascently malignant force at work whenever people sign onto messengers or chat forums.

As a brilliant example of slow murder of the english language this is the transcript of an amazing conversation I had with a complete stranger over yahoo once. Let’s call the man tb, not just because he was as unwanted as tuberculosis but because it’s the abbreviation of his name. Read on…

TB : Hw R U?

*bfiss momentarily confused, since she knows no man/woman or extra-terrestrial creature by the name of TB, remains silent*

TB : wAZZup wid u?

*bfiss continues to be silent and confused*

TB : what U R up to?

*confusion has gone for a walk, to be replaced by slight annoyance; profound silence continues though*

TB : I think U r not in a mood of....... wid me..

*slight annoyance blooms into severe irritation and quells the deep desire to remain silent*

bfiss : I don't know you.

TB : Mera naam Ting Tong Buzz hai.19/m

*m? what’s m? male/married or is he just 19 metres tall? bfiss resolutely ignores rising curiosity and continues in frigid tones meant to repel*

bfiss : L,ook knowing someone's name is not the way to know someone. I honestly don't have time to spend chatting with strangers I don't know. I would appreciate it if you quit messaging me.

TB : Thanks 4 UR advice but really I was MAD 2 chat wid U. som times can I give U wishes{dat only eys remainin wid me} cn I?I will not msg U unnesserily,OK

*who? what? whose eys remain with him?*

TB : so just leave UR 1 msg 4 me Bye.............................Gud Nite....sweet dreams,,,,,,,,,,

*just when you think, phew, good riddance, five minutes sixteen seconds later*

TB : PLEZ LAST MSG{ABOUT ''can I wish U?''}DEN PROMISE I'LL NOT NEVER DISTURB u

bfiss : What the fuck. I said I dont have the time for this. I dont think you're someone I'd ever want to chat with. Let me put it this way...I have a huge problem with people who cannot write a coherent sentence in English and insist on using inane sms short forms even when it takes a few extra seconds to be coherent. Suggestion : learn English. Then try to speak to complete strangers. Byebye.

TB : F''' ''' K u .gOOD BYE

*and the bfiss is left grinning and wondering what prompted such ire in the man. Of course these people never give up, so even after such a dramatic exit, next day there's an offliner announcing…*

TB : SORRY...............! 4 YESTERDE'S DIDS, 4RM 2DE I'll NEVER DISTURB u ,OK BYE

What does one say after this? English is dead, long live english perhaps.

I've been tagged by the once beloved cassandra and since cribbing, ignoring and outright refusing to complete the tag hasn't worked here goes.
Presumably the point of this exercise is that someday prince charming or the green-golden-hearted-ear-wax-filled version of him will drop by my blog and on reading this list will promptly realize I am the woman of his dreams and then apply the Ickenham process virtually. Of course there's also a fair chance that there is absolutely no purpose to this little tagging exercise. And more importantly that any overtly suspicious prince charming trying too much waggling is likely to get a sharp kick right where it hurts. That said I should add that people with easily offended moral sensibilities should probaby hum a little tune and head for the exit, right about now.

Eight reasons why I would want to spend the rest of my life with one man :

1) He should be drop dead gorgeous. Well, maybe not drop dead but most certainly gorgeous enough to make me drop my jaw. In case anyone feels inclined to comment that beauty is only skin deep this is where I echo Pratchett, as if a man ever fell for an attractive pair of kidneys...and...They said they wanted a soulmate and helpmeet but sooner or later the list would include a skin like silk and a chest fit for a herd of cows. Going by the same rule, this fiss demands a handsome hunk.

2) Having said that I shoul clarify I'm not demanding tall, dark and handsome. Just handsome does fine. I don't even insist on add-ons like brawn and brains. A football-toned body is a wonderful thing of course and brains are terrific in blocking the direct passage of sunlight through the ears but my focus is exclusively on good looking. In fact, tall is not good. I want that comfortable sort of height where I don't have to stand on tiptoes to kiss him.

3) I'm perfectly cool with all socially defined vices, hell I don't think my perfect man would be uptight about smoking, drinking or doping but the one point where I draw the line is promiscuity. I've just met too many men who think nothing of cheating on their girlfriends/wives and while I'm not self-righteous or pompous enough to take it on myself to sit in judgement over them since this is an idealistic list of perfect values and what not, trust is important. And fidelity.

4) More importantly though, he shouldn't play golf. This is a dead no. Primarily because I don't play golf. And anyone who knows their Wodehouse will know that if only one half of a couple plays golf the relationship is pretty much doomed to being ended by the entry of some beautiful young damsel who has a handicap of 18.

5) Going by the same rule, he shouldn't be a poet. Actually that's not as important as the corollary to the point; he should never ever ever accuse *me* of writing poetry. I can happily endure accusations of murder, treachery and stealing my best friend's boyfriend(s) but not even the Spanish Inquisition could get me to confess to writing poetry. Especially related to a) angst b) depression c) love d) nature umm, the list is endless. Point is I don't do poetry. And I most certainly wouldn't do a poet.

6) He shouldn't be a millionaire.Or a billionaire. They're too boring, and they attract far too many dependent and/or conniving relatives and damsels in distress and svelte model types.

7) He should be sufficiently challenged visually to insist that I look good. He should stick to this basic simple plot line irrespective of what I'm wearing. It doesn't matter if I'm in a sari and looking like it's all going to fall off any second or if I'm vibrant in red pants if the man is to be described as perfect I demand that he should be perfect at the little white lies which make a fiss so happy.

8) And since I was obviously saving the best and most important point for the last, listen in carefully. This is like the defining criterion. Points one to seven can go hang themselves but any man who doesn't fit this point is obviously not the right man for me. Basically. He should be a good, no, an excellent gardener. If he can't mange those plantations I keep planning to plant I honestly don't think it's going to work.

hmm...I actually managed eight points. Anyone who's interested, go ahead and tag yourself please. And anyone who fits the bill, hehe, you know where to find me. Or conversely if I hear of anyone who's perfect, I might just hunt him down...

So. After a week of obsessively thinking of politics and campaigning continuously and shamelessly the elections in our department took place yesterday and the results came out today. I'm terribly upset of course. So we're not going to discuss what the results were. Instead here's my personalized list of instructions for polling agents at the booth. It's meant to be a completely confidential and serious document. I have absolutely no idea why everyone who read it started giggling. Do let me know if you find any part of it funny. I wouldn't want people to think I don't take the electoral procedure seriously. It's a bit long, but since I was planning to suggest to the authorities and all political parties that this should be their format for instructions to polling agents all criticism is insincerely invited. Here goes.

INSTRUCTIONS FOR THE POLLING AGENT :

DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES SHOW THIS PAPER TO ANYONE.

Anyone includes professors, polling agents from other parties, your best friends, your worst enemies, vague acquaintances, random strangers, and even the dogs strolling the corridors. BASICALLY EVERYBODY.
Naturally it is implied that since you won’t be showing it around, you won’t dream of giving it to anyone other than the Babelfish. THIS IS REALLY REALLY IMPORTANT. I don’t care if you find it incomprehensible, but it’s important.

1. Do not attempt any sort of campaigning or canvassing for votes inside the polling booth. It doesn’t matter if the voter is your best friend or your boy/girl friend and you think you’ll just drop them a hint. Perish the thought. There’ll be enough people outside to campaign and cajole voters. If anyone inside the booth says anything their candidate might well be disqualified. Play it safe. Smile but don’t open your mouth. You may however offer your pen to a voter who seems to have strolled in without any form of stationary. Pen, not pencil. Black or blue, never red.*

*Incidentally it seems I was dead wrong about this point. The authorities thought it was enough that people actually landed up to vote without expecting them to bring their own stationary as well. So in the generosity of their hearts they provided the necessary writing instrument. Which happened to be a pencil. And red. Sigh. Another of those inherent conspiracies you see. It's all about auto-suggestion and psychological warfare. To understand the full implications of this footnote you have to remember that the opposition was SFI. Which is commie. And blood red in colour. And all government buildings are always painted an ugly red. Which is why I prefer Buckingham Palace. Never mind.

2. Make sure that the name of every voter present is marked by the presiding officer in the electoral roll sheet. This is pretty vital, and the presiding officers have been known to be forgetful. Short term amnesia is not appreciated here.

3. The ballot paper must be signed by the presiding officer before it is given to the voter. Please continue the battle against short-term amnesia.

4. The voter must sign only the counterfoil of the ballot paper which is to be kept by the presiding officer. Voters have a fascination for signing everywhere. Urge them to suppress the desire. One sign, one vote.

5. In the case of certain names there are problems in the final electoral roll. If no objection is raised by the presiding officer or the other polling agents do not mention them. In case of any argument, produce the letter from the Dean. If that doesn’t work call Bably and I’ll create a minor war on the spot. Which should be fun.*

*Always remember peaceful votes are no fun. If you don't believe me ask the head of our department. He of all people can tell you how much bombs and such like things can add to the enjoyment of an election. We don't call him the Don for nothing.

6. Remember to cast your own vote at some point during the day. This is critical. Remind yourself ten times over. In case you forget which names you’re voting for try banging your head really hard on the wall. That works wonders.

Best of luck. Have fun. Vote for me. And remember gazing in rapt adoration at a suitably admirable professor is one of the little things that make life worth living and eggjams worth writing.

Right. That, I thought, was a simple, to-the-point list of instructions. Serious also. Which is what I am. Not simple exactly, but serious. Especially now that I'm marginally heart-broken about the results.*

*All those who promised to come vote and then gracefully dropped excuses for not coming please don't comment on this post. On the other hand this is the moment when I should go all teary eyed and thank cassy and sohini and diya and aniroe and panu and supriyo for landing up just to vote despite the fact that they needed to study for tests.

AFTER-BLOG-THOUGHT :Incidentally this is my hundred-th post. Which should have been a happy post. But in keeping with the gloomy mood of the rest of my posts I thought this had best be as sad as it gets. So, *sigh*, I might as well tell you the results. There are nineteen people in the department who don't love me. Or at least love other people more than me. Which doesn't discount the hundred and sixteen people who accidentally or unknowingly seem to have voted for me. But still. I'm mourning those nineteen votes now. Maybe I should feel happy about the fact that I got the maximum number of votes in the department but well, there were nineteen ballot papaers which had no indication of people wanting to vote for me. In case you're wondering why this makes me unhappy, it does. Unhappy enough to want to get miserably sloshed sometime soon. So if you hear of me getting thoroughly inebriated please understand that's not me celebrating my victory-thingy and the fact that every independent candidate of my department sailed through with a huge majority. I'll be mourning those nineteen. Now if I could only wipe off this silly grin.

BELATED UPDATE : umm, since people did ask, here's an update on the results of the entire university :
Faculty of Arts : SFI- 48 seats; Independent candidates - 6 seats.
Faculty of Science : SFI - 1 seat; We The Independents - 23 seats.
Faculty of Engineering : SFI - 10 seats; Democratic Students Forum - 75 seats.
Freaky darling I take sincere umbrage at your friend's remark that the world is good and red again. hehe. it's not. Having bored all those completely disinterested by politics I shall now get back to grinning like a maniac.