A thought experiment

Is it possible for someone to change their personality overnight?

At least outwardly. And once the outward change is completely manifested over a period of time, will this gradually lead to an equivalent change inwardly as well?

Especially if that someone has entered into the latter half of his twenties?

This is a thought experiment being conducted to ascertain the feasibility of such a theory.

A precognition required for this discussion is the concept of inner and outer personalities, one which is apparent to the outside world and one which is apparent only to the individual.

Let us start by assuming that it is not possible to do so.
It is not possible for someone to change his or her personality once they are well into their adulthood.

This means that this person will display the same set of different reactions to various stimuli consistently according to the dictates of his conscious personality.

Ergo, the person's reactions can be predicted to an accurate degree by keen observation during the application of a same set of stimuli under different circumstances.

But, the one thing that nature has taught us and which has been proved by considerable empirical evidence is that the behaviour of men is highly stochastic.

This means that there is a part of the behaviour which is known, predictable and easily explainable. But there is another, quite substantial part, which cannot be understood and thus predicted or explained.

This is especially true in times of extreme stress or under those rare but unavoidable circumstances when the rational brain is bypassed by the amygdala to achieve quick, instinctive responses.

Thus, an apparent paradox comes into being which can only be resolved by recognizing that our initial assumption is untrue.

Thus, it is possible for a person to change his or her personality even at an age when conventional wisdom states that the personality is more or less reaching a state of stasis.

As to what proportion of outward personality can be changed vis-à-vis the inward personality is still unclear and may require further discussion by people more erudite than myself.

As to the possible application of the conclusion derived above, that is something I plan to adopt in the following days.

Whether the attempt is successful ergo proving my hypothesis is something left to the people in my coterie to ascertain.

I can only hope that it is so.

Note : The desirability of the application of the result of this thought experiment to society is something which is not included in the scope of this discussion.

The curious incident of the light in the night time

Ok this is some real freaky shit that's happening to me!

Someone is playing tricks with me and my parents swear it ain't them.
On Thursday morning, I woke up to find my mom standing in front of my bed with a frown on her face.

I wasn't in the mood to find out the reason for this so I pulled the covers over me further. But she pulled them off anyways and finally I found out what bugged her.

I had left the room tubelight on during the night. Knowing it was a touchy subject with her, I grudgingly listened to her complaints about the rising electricity bills, the recessionary state of the economy, etc.

Eventually I managed to soothe her frayed temper by promising never to commit such a heinous act again in a million years.

But on Friday morning the same scene was reenacted. This time I was mightily confused. I was damn sure I had switched out the light before hitting the snooze mode myself. This time she hadn't turned it off herself like yesterday so that I could see the proof with my own eyes.

Before hitting the bed yesterday, I paid special attention to the fact that I had switched the damn light off and I had locked my door too. But today morning the damn thing was on again.

Either I'm losing my mind, am suffering from some strange sleepwalking episode where all I do is switch on the light or there is a frigging ghost in my room with a pretty sad sense of humour. I plan to stay awake tonight with the lights off. I am going to solve this once and for all.

Hell yeah!

Marketing

If there is one subject which is full of self-important jargon it is marketing.

Try some of these on for size.
We should leverage our core competencies to target the value for money segment.
By optimizing the usage of the 4Ps we shall provide a value proposition to all our stakeholders.
We will position our brand to attain relevant synergies with the consumer.

I could go on. One year in MBA has given me this tool with which I can "pfaff" with ease. Pfaff(P silent) - the latest word added to my vocabulary. One which in its simple structure covers the entire course of MBA.

MBA is all Pfaff. What does Pfaff mean? It means making stuff up as you go along, all the while enclosing it in a mist of meaningful sounding jargon to hide the fact that all you are saying is utter bullshit. In a way all MBAs learn to be confidence men or shysters. Some get better at it. Some like me initially rebel against it but later join in the flow.

Because its easier to do so and more practical.

Wretched thoughts

There is a nihilistic urge within me that threatens to immolate me. I feel I could self combust at any instant such is the nature of the urge. It has been caused by my inability in the recent past to have any kind of control or be able to harness my thoughts and my actions.

I despair. I despair at my inability to wake up from my slumber. It is as if a part of me has been blindfolded, ruthlessly cut off from the rest of my being. I find solace in writing this down. Slowly I find my frustration ebbing as if the inner clutter is being swept away. I glance at my hands as they type, tippety-tap, on the keyboard. I wonder how I'd live without them. To be rudderless in an ocean of misery.

But then my mood lifts. It was all due to a game I had begun with someone. Trying to infect that person with my negativism. And it seemed to work. I seemed to have transferred my fury and rage and incoherence and the translucent haze was lifted off my mind. I could see clearly how facetious I had truly been, how all these words and thoughts were an elaborate charade, created by a bored intellect and mistaken for torpor. I could see through the self important claptrap and suddenly I realized. I need to stop typing and start studying.

Oh wretched BDA, you soporific subject taught by that odious demagogue, I take a stab at you again!

I do declare in a solemn voice ...

I have recently noticed this trend, of people deleting information from their social networking pages such as Orkut, Facebook. People have ensured that unfavourable comments and information about them written by their friends in more carefree times have been removed. This excessive anxiety has been brought about by the recent trend of recruiters checking the web for incriminating information about potential employees.

I find this tactic ridiculous and derisive. I mean, how does my social life have any bearing on how I am able to conduct myself professionally. Will my friends calling me a sad weasel make my coding skills any less efficient.

So this is a declaration to any recruiter who wants to gain ideas about my personality through my blog ... What I write here isn't who I am ... neither will the comments by my friends give you the slightest clue to my personality... And this post shall never be deleted ... And if you still have gained a negative impression about me ...then I do declare in a solemn voice ... Recruit my ass...

Appu Logy

I apologize to all those people who are not from SFIT batch 2001-2005 and who couldn't understand most of the in-jokes in the post below.

I intend to write on more generic topics from now on.

As for those who did get all the jokes, I hope you'll enjoyed.

In the words of Comrade Namboodaripad, the legendary Malayalee Communist Revolutionary, "Thaang yoo for your support"

How to be more interesting

So I was perusing through some books in my office library (in the non non-fiction section obviously) when I kinda gazed upon the adjacent shelf where the self-help books were kept.

And then a title caught my eye. The title of this post. How to be more interesting. Feeling that familiar feeling of unbridled mirth welling up in my self, I inched closer to see the author of this ridiculously named book. The name of the author left me in shock - Edward De Bono. The Edward De Bono. The guy who's made his name and untold millions churning out those lateral thinking books!

I would have thought at least De Bono with all his expertise in lateral thinking would have the basic marketing sense that no customer in his right mind would be caught dead reading that book!
I mean suppose you're this under-achiever (i simply abhor the alternative term for under-achiever that starts with L and refuse to use it) who people find boring and find it difficult to string together a conversation without putting the opposite person to sleep! The last thing you would do is to been seen buying the book and be a confirmed bore.

I would like to see how many copies of that book have been sold! I mean was De Bono drunk when he allowed the editor or whoever to name this book. Or is this a fake, not written by De Bono? Is my office library stacking up books of imposter? Whatever may be the case I don't think that I'd have any further faith in De Bono teaching me any strategies on how to think!

Ok, so finally now that you have waded through this utterly boring asinine crap masquerading as a post, let me ask you this.

Do you think I need to read that book?

Who is the man behind Hariteman ... And I don't mean Khalap

Who is Hariteman? Where does he come from? Why does his face always have a frown, as if he suspects someone is going to releasSSse a particularly noxious batch of wind on him?

It all began on a cold wintry day 6 years ago, in the winter of 2001, when there was a college called as SFIT, a subject called as BEE, and a new professor called as Harite.

He had been in the industry for more than 10 years honing his skills and perfecting his sour-puss expression. But the industry had disillusioned him. The people who entered into the industry after completing their engineering were extremely pathetic when it came to practical knowledge and more often than not floundered miserably initially and the companies had to spend a bomb on training these retards.

But Harite knew that it wasn't really the fault of the students. It was the fault of that evil sinister entity better known to the general public as Mumbai University, which had designed engineering courses to teach students everything but how to actually engineer stuff.

Harite was an idealist, a pragmatist and a masochist.

He believed that he would change the system, he would educate the youngsters of today and make them the engineers of tomorrow, the real ones that India Inc so desperately desired. His intentions were noble, his teaching methods were honed to perfection.

But as history has duly recorded, his choice was f***ed up!

He chose to start with SFIT.

Some people have sworn under oath that the very first day that Harite entered FE-EXTC to teach BEE (Basics in Electrical and Electronics) in winter 2001, he had a smile on his face. The very same people have also sworn under oath (and under their breath) that he never smiled again in his life after that.

Soon all his illusions about the potential in the youth of today were blown away.
He soon saw them in their true colours. Noisy, chattering, obnoxious monkeys wearing colourful clothes and torn jeans and dancing with gay abandon in the corridors.

The students never left him in peace - in the parking lots where they surrounded him like a bunch of beggars begging for marks which they never deserved, which they couldn't even begin to deserve. Even in his sleep he could hear their chants "Gimme the Marks! Gimme the Marks!" rising into a crescendo eventually drowning out all sound from his brain.
He found them invading every inch of his life be it in the staff toilet where they weren't supposed to drink or the nearby Majestic Bar where they weren't supposed to piss. Or vice versa.

Every time he valiantly tried to chastise them, to show them the error of their ways, they simply jeered at him, booed him behind his back. His expression grew grimmer, his physique grew slimmer, his bald pate started to shimmer. He tried to torture them, bribe them, seduce them but ultimately failed to help them evolve from their primitive ape-like state.

Eventually he realized the hopelessness of his cause, renounced engineering and SFIT and Mumbai University and returned back to the warm, comfortable bosom of the industry where he spent the rest of his days happily listening to the rhythmic sounds of humming machinery.

But little did Harite know, how big an impact, how big an imprint he had left in the mind of a young impressionable monkey known as Santosh Bhat. Little did he know that he had been elevated to the status of a super-human in the weird little tales penned down by this grotesque chimpanzee.

Little did he know about Hariteman (and his pansy sidekick)

I am Legend (Yeah rite! Santosh!)

Coupla' weeks ago I happened to catch the Will Smith starrer I am Legend, a tale about apparently the last man on the earth, after the rest of humanity was wiped out by a virus which turned survivors into carnivorous vampire-zombie hybrids (or vombies). I found the movie to be a hugely wasted opportunity which squandered its interesting ideas for some unconvincing action scenes with hokey CGI-rendered creatures.


But the basic premise did revisit me back to the days when I was a kid and used to fantasise about being the last human alive. Imagine! A world all to myself! The adventures I would have!

Now that I have grown up I realize how foolish those kiddie notions of mine were! Every adult male in every specie knows that his primary function in this world is to procreate and further his race. So being the last man (or woman) alive would completely negate this primary function and thus make the purpose of his existence void.

So that means that a Last Woman on the Earth would be needed as well. This would solve the immediate problem of procreation (a very important solution none the less) but still would be of no use in furthering the race, because inbreeding and its associated genetic damage would ensure that not many further generations would be spawned.

This is the major reason why I do not believe in the Adam and Eve concept because that would make us all genetically mutated freaks related to each other.

A possible (and extremely pleasurable) solution could be that I would still be the last man on earth but the women on earth would still be represented in a sizable number. But even this argument provides many problems.
A. The inbreeding issue would still remain.
B. One man among many women will give rise to jealousies, hatred and would eventually lead to my death in case a tug - of - war like situation developed for possession of me.

So eventually this would necessitate the presence of another male and thus the entire fantasy of being the last man alive would come crashing down.
Maybe last man alive per country would not be such a bad idea!

p.s. On a serious note, leaving aside the sexist undertones of this post where I wish for a situation of many woman to few men, there lies a serious danger of the reverse case occurring, especially in a country which is so happy with aborting female fetuses and infanticide. I hope people realize, that without a balanced sex ratio, the country will witness more cases of desperate acts by a sexually frustrated male population. No one bloody well ever thinks of the bigger picture. Its time they started to do so!

This is Social Reformer Santosh signing out!

First Be something and then Blog

Pehle kuch bano Santosh.

Duniya mein tumhe kitne log jaante hai???

Paach sau? Hazaar?? Bus itne hi??

Tum yahan kya likhte ho, kaun padhta hai aur kisse pharak padhta hai???

Kise bewakoof bana rahe ho yaar? Sirf apne aap ko??

Jaao Aamir Khan ke blog ko padho. Sirf 10 posts aur 10 hazaar comments.

Tumhare blog se tum kya ukhaad rahe ho?? Sirf ek mazaak bana ke rakha hai.

Apne aap ka!!

Chalo ab log out karo! PC switch off karo!
Kitaab kholo. CAT ke liye padho. Pareeksha mein acche number laao.

GD/PI mein excel karo.

MBA karo. Top honours ke saath graduate karo!!

Successful bano! CEO bano!!! Kuch toh bano pehle!!!

Phir blog karo!!!!

Aur phir dekho ... phir dekho ki kitne comments milte hai.

Chal shuru hoja.

Abhi se.

Hair today gone tomorrow ... concluding part

Read below post before reading this one.

The First of November.

This was the day when I was going to begin my battle against the wanton destruction of my follicles. The plan was that I would meet up with my benevolent benefactor after work and he would lead me towards this miracle man, this doctor who gave people like me hope.

The day had started out well but by evening time the sky had grown dark. Huge rain clouds were gathering and the early droplets started pelting my head when I got down from the office bus. As I met the benevolent benefactor I could sense the change in his mood. He was worried, tensed about something. For some reason, the thought of visiting this doctor had robbed him of, temporarily at least, the desire for conversation. After a few futile attempts I stopped making further attempts at chit-chat and gazed out pensively from the rickshaw which was taking us to our destination.

The clouds had completely enveloped the evening sky in a deathly embrace and bright, livid flashes of lightning scarred the dark sky. It was as if the Gods had gathered to witness this epic battle against hair-loss that was about to begin. And were clicking snaps to commemorate the occasion.

When we arrived at our destination, the building that loomed before us further heightened my sense of apprehension. It was the infamous Laxmi Chhaya Apartments of which, just a few months ago, a wing had collapsed and killed at least 30 people. The clinic was apparently located in one of the undamaged wings.

When we entered the receptionist handed us a token. It said #13 on mine. Funny number to get, I mused. Especially since I could see just 3 other patients in the clinic. We sat down to await our turn. Since the benevolent benefactor still didn't display an inclination to converse, I whiled away the time checking out the other patients. Two of them were aunties and the third a hot chick, sitting next to the receptionist's desk.

I wondered what she was doing over here. She certainly wouldn't have come for the same reason as I did. Could she? I tried to ascertain it. She had long luxuriant hair of which a single strand was tentatively hanging in front of her lips, and ever so often she would blow it to the side. But the strand of hair had the same idea that I did and it would swing back to the front of her lips.

Of course, the close attention that I was paying to this drama unfolding in front of me did not go unnoticed from the eyes of one of the more sterner looking aunties and she immediately called the girl towards her. Her mother I realized to my discomfort. The look in the mother's eyes said it plainly. Don't you dare stare at my daughter you balding buffoon! Or I'll make sure that you won't be left with any hair for the good doctor to save!! I'm sure this was what she was thinking.

Taking heed, I immediately started staring at an extremely interesting speck of dirt on the marble-tiled floor. "#7", sang out the receptionist. We all looked around. After 5 seconds, she sang out again, "#8!". She looked at me. I was sure that my expression must have carried the message to her. "How can #7 and #8 be expected to exist when I the fourth here am no 13!!!"

The call for #9 came soon enough.

Half an hour passed by and finally my turn arrived. I followed the benevolent benefactor into the doctor's chamber. Immediately all his previous truculence left him and the benevolent benefactor and the doctor started conversing in their native Gujarati. Two minutes passed before they noticed the embarrassed odd man out over there and the benevolent benefactor explained, "Doctor! He is here for the same reason as I am."

"Ohhh ... Whale whale whale!" the doctor started. "Late us see weight we cane do!"

He told me to pull back the hair from the front of my scalp and made a sympathetic clicking sound, which made my stomach sink.

"Whale Whale ... So Mr. Butt! Err you mayreed?"

"Excuse me? I'm sorry doctor but I didn't get your question."

"He is asking if you are married?", explained the benevolent benefactor helpfully.

"Oh .. er.. No", I stuttered.

"Do you wees to gate mayried, no?" said the doctor again, smiling genially.

"Er yeah sure", I stuttered again. I wondered where this line of questioning was going. Was he a doctor cum matchmaker? Or did he just find me to be the perfect groom for his daughter?

"Whale if date ease yore wees then we bater do something about yore hare foal quickly."


I gulped. I had always known that it was bad but I never knew that the situation had become so serious. My marriage and the continuation of my line was all dependent on the outcome of this battle. This battle to which I had arrived after it was almost all over.

But Herr Doktor smiled genially again and wrote me a long list of medicines on a sheet of paper. I glanced down at it but I could make no sense out of the illegible scrawl on it. All doctors should compulsorily be made to attend a cursive writing course in school again, I swear! I hoped that atleast my chemist would be able to understand it and would give me the right medicines, instead of wrongly giving me a laxative or something.

He continued, "These 3 ease after brakefust, These 3 ease after lunch, These 2 after evening snakes and last 3 ease after deaner."

He continued smiling and patted my shoulder, "Don't worry!"

And the session was over. And I was soon light by 500 bucks.

Yeah right! Not to worry! After you made me realize that my future marriage was at stake over here.

The tale of how I bid adieu to the benevolent benefactor, stumbled to the nearest chemists shop, acquired the latest medicines and finally made my way home, I myself remember hazily.

I have started the medicines in full earnest. Daily I ingest about half a dozen tablets and capsules. Whether I do win the battle and manage to spawn a new generation ... of hair, only time will eventually tell. I just hope that finally I am well equipped with ammo.

This is Santosh Bhat, making his last report from the battle, taking yore leave... err...taking your leave!

Hair today Gone Tomorrow

I have been having steadily for the past 3 years going bald.

Everyday my pillow is a battlefield strewn with the bodies of my dear departed follicles, follicles who were once proud regal upright untamed beasts residing in the forest of my scalp. But pollution and the ravages of time have laid to waste these noble warriors. I dutifully collect them in the palm of my hand and say a prayer for these old friends and companions of mine before i deposit their bodies respectfully into the waste bucket.

My forehead has a singular mission in life, its lakshya so to say. It is in the tradition of great conquerors of the Napoleonic era, bent on conquering new lands and new territories and it's eventual goal is to extend its kingdom to the back of my neck. Or at the minimum it wants to win the game of oneupmanship against Anupam Kher's scalp.

For the past few years I have been a mute witness to this carnage. It has greatly saddened me no doubt, but I took it philosophically as terminally lazy people are oft to do. I was maybe hoping that everything would automatically be all right. People whom I consulted in the matter, namely my mother and my father, assured me that I was worrying about nothing. This was not a genocide of follicles that I was witnessing, merely a culling of some of the more unhealthy ones among the general population. They assured me that at the end of it all I would be left with a strong but still numerous batch, ones who deservedly remained.

Thus I managed to still the malignant doubts and fears in my heart up unto now. But the mirror never lies. It showed the pain, bald truth from all vantage angles and finally at the end of three years of being a non-combatant I was finally ready for some action. To quote Bill Pullman who played the President of the United States in Independence Day:
"We can't be consumed by our petty differences anymore. We will be united in our common interests. Perhaps it's fate that today you will once again be fighting for our freedom... Not from tyranny, oppression, or persecution... but from annihilation. We are fighting for our right to live. To exist. And should we win the day the world will declare in one voice: "We will not go quietly into the night!" We will not vanish without a fight! We're going to live on! We're going to survive! Today we celebrate our Independence Day!"
(Hear original speech here)

Suitably inspired I contacted a dear friend of mine who had been undergoing the same problems, who had decided to battle against it and who ... atleast according to him ... was beginning to win. I will not name him over here. I will simply refer to him as my benevolent benefactor.

I had heard strange rumours come out from the more well-known purveyors of anti-hair fall treatments ... The Batras ... of immense fees and prolonged treatment periods ... and I willingly followed my friend to a place which he assured me would treat me quickly and effectively.

My benevolent benefactor took me to a see a doctor two evenings ago, one who had supplied him with the necessary ammunition he required to win back his lost territory. And what a strange evening it turned out to be...

(To be continued ... )

Murder and me

I have this favourite dream of mine ... It involves me putting a contract over the one person who I truly hate ... who is directly responsible for my life not being much much better than it is now.
I will not reveal who he ... yes he's a he ... is.
Well this dream is not so much a favourite of mine as it is ever recurring। The reason it does not find much favour with me is because I always end up getting caught for the crime.
The dream is of two parts. The hitman bumps of his target ... depositing his body off Worli creek (a most reliable place to dispose off bodies according to Maximum City) ... never to be found again. This is the part I like.
Then the hitman gets nabbed by the cops and he leads them to me. This is the part I dislike.
Two things are noteworthy over here.
One - The cops are somehow never corrupt in my dreams (since they're Mumbai cops this is something really hard to believe) and bought off to remain silent.
Two - I never seem to have the sense not to reveal my identity to the hitman while placing my contract.

What to do? It's not like I've written the script. It's what unfailingly happens always. I don't know how many times I've had this dream. I generally never remember my dreams. Only this one leaves me with a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach (weirder than normal that is) when I wake up thus leaving behind it's trail.
I have been having this dream for the past two years ... that's about the time when I first started hating him.

The dream is not always exactly the same though. It differs in some key areas even though the end result is often the same.
Firstly the face of the hitman always varies. It's always someone famous. Someone who's either played a hitman in the movies or someone truly evil in real life. Like Narendra Modi. Hehe.
Secondly the way he exterminates the target changes. Bullets, knives, pitchforks have all made appearances at one point of time or the other.
Thirdly the way he gets caught is sometimes different. Sometimes he reveals it in a drunken stupor to his mistress who moonlights as a bar girl and who is also a part time police informant.
Sometimes he leaves behind a witness. Sometimes he gets caught for a completely different crime and then to gain leniency in his sentence, he strikes a deal with the cops revealing the identities of those who placed the contracts ... like me of course.

Maybe the reason I always get caught in the end is because of the innate conscience within me which knows that killing is wrong, that murderers should never get away with their crimes, that justice should always be done in the end. But why is it then I like it when he gets murdered. Why does realization and repentance of my sins only occur when I get caught?

The reason behind a hitman always being involved ... rather than me committing the deed myself is simple enough. I'm too fattu to do something like this.

But, But, But If a similar opportunity does present itself in real ... say supposing I make friends with a hitman who offers me the chance to bump anyone off as a favour to me (I know it's far fetched)... will I take it?

What do you think? Could I ever be a murderer?


Or maybe I already am one.

Bheja vu ki Deja Fry?

As October begins to sinks its teeth into me, as I spend another Saturday morning glued to my PC screen reading nondescript blogs, the occasional movie review and chatting with umpteen friends online while all the time having this uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach I get the feeling that I have experienced all this before.

Of course, just last year I went through this same routine and the reason for it is so achingly obvious - come mid-November, December the entire jamboree of MBA entrance exams will begin, few of which in I will fare well enough to have an outside chance of securing a GD/PI call and in most of which I will score miserably average percentiles. CAT, XAT, SNAP, NMAT , SHIT ....

Okay, I made up the last one but they seriously should consider naming an exam that. Even last year I did not study well enough, just commuting to and fro to office taking away most of my energy. Foolhardily I have decided to try again. Fortunately this time will be my last, one way or the another!!!

Why am I dong an MBA? Is it just because the rest of humanity (the brown skinned ones that is) is also doing so? The answer is yes!
Why not remain in technical field, to which my talents (or the lack thereof) are more suited? Is it because the Indian IT industry sucks? Yes again!
Why not give up all mortal attachments and go do penance in the Himalayas then? I wish it were so easy.

People who have graduated can empathize how difficult it is to start studying again once courses as abominably unbearable like engineering have finished!

So once again, this year too, I will be spending a lot of cash on applying for these exams and colleges, with very low returns on my expenditure.
If again I am unsuccessful in garnering admission by way of these exams I will hop onto the GMAT bandwagon, then maybe something else.

Who knows one day I might actually even sit down and study something.

Oh the horror of it all

Heyloo,

Somewhere before I had mentioned about some horror story draft which I had discarded midway.
Well I have managed to complete it.

Its located two posts down (apparently blogspot.com arranges blogs based on the dates on which they are started, not when they are completed as I would have done) and is rather fatuously called Nightfall

Read it and you will understand the reason why I have never achieved success and fame for my writing like say a Stephen King or a Sidney Sheldon has.

It might not scare you, It might not give you much to think about, It might not do much of anything actually.

It is however the closest I have ever come at penning down my autobiography.

Hah! I can hear you sniggering already!

Back to the present

Allo' Allo' Me Peeps,

Me is back from the wedding of me bro.
Freshly rejuvenated and raring to go.

Me Had a whale/blast/gala of a time out there in me muluk, i.e. the birthplace of me forefathers and me foremothers.

Me Bro's wedding was a smashin'/dashin'/friggin' success and was a joyous week overall.

Me participated in a stage dance for da first time in mes life (Yes me peeps, do not rub ye eyeballs in disbelief!) It was a folk/gangsta'/ghati dance and me is glad to report that me performed horribly above expectations.

There was a also a skit written and performed by meself and me couzin brethren which was a huge multi-platinum/major-rocking hit and was something that Shakespeare fella' would've given a arm and leg to have produced.

Everywhere me went, the peeps were all ova me, insinuating/indicating/exasperating me that me is now next in line to be married. To that all that me sez is - 'Pshaw/Ptuii/Puhleeze!'

Mez happy to be single and plan to stay that way for a coupla' more weeks/months/years.

Arebedarchie youz alls.

Random Thoughts while I get ready to go pay the phone bill

The title says it all.

I haven't written in this blog for a long while. Hope this hasn't disappointed the two people who visit this page. Whether the reason for this is me being intellectually bereft of ideas, spiritually bankrupt of inspiration or psychologically distracted with other things to do I will not hazard to guess.

So what have I been doing in the meantime?

1. I had been working on a draft of a horror story but I got too scared to write it and I left it half ways.

2. I tried to complete the love story I had promised to write (and a snippet of which I had posted previously) but have been feeling too cynical lately.

3. I had been busy reading the most intellectually challenged forums ever created on the Internet. I am referring to the comments posted up on rediff.com. I have never seen a more bigoted bunch of ignorant hicks than those who (s)crap over there.

Soon I will be leaving for my brother's wedding to my native place. i really hope that when I return that I will have a lot of whimsical tales that I can post.

And that reminds me why I chose that particular title for this post in the first place.

Cionara folks.

Hopefully you will see a new Santosh soon free from Blogger's Bloc.

Crossroads

My life, for once has come to a standstill.

i have been doing the same thing for the past two years, and theres not much guarantee that things will change ... for better or for worse ... in the next one year.

I gotta make a decision. Either go down one road and continue to do what I've been doing, earn and live comfortably and face the same question again next year, or to take the other road and switch now to something else.

Now everyone who reads this will immediately go like ... now what's so difficult in this? take the second road ... that's what we would have done.

And therein lies the nub of the entire thing. I have always been and always will be a procrastinator.
I delay things to the last microsecond, be it something as trivial as going for a haircut or something as major as visiting the doctor when I'm ill.

Oh chuck it all ... I'm tired of indecision. 'm going to sleep.
I have noticed that I never face such dilemmas in my dreams. Pretty quick and decisive o'er there. Whether it being to save the damsel from distress, or to becoming Bill Gate's son-in-law.

Sweet dreams y'all.

Stuck home on a Sunday

I have entered a phase in my life which I occasionally enter every few months.

It involves me not setting foot out of my house for the entire weekend. I just stay curled up in bed and read a book. The odd thing is that I feel very guilty doing this. I mean, after a grueling 5 days of Office I should be going out with friends to movies or shopping(especially since I really need to buy some new clothes) or maybe to go give my bike for Service, which it seriously requires.

But I can't and won't - no matter how much I get berated by my parents for being so lazy.

So, one might question, which is this great piece of literature that is keeping me so occupied. the current book that has attained this privileged position is Harry Potter - The Order of the Pheonix.
One might snigger hearing this, but I've always found the Harry Potter books to be something that you tend to read in one go, which is getting difficult with every successive volume in the series expanding in size alarmingly.

Why I am I jotting down all this uninteresting tripe??? I have no clue myself!

The next post I plan to write is a detailed critique about the characterizations and plots of all the Hari Puttar novels. Hahaha! No ones gonna read that!

BTW in a completely unrelated topic, if anyone gets damn frustrated in their love life, I recommend dimming the lights and listening to the music of Kailash Kher - Kailasa.
And also Strings.

Signing out!