This Week:

All thanks to Krishnan(for informing me about it), I won a 255 bucks Gift voucher from Odyssey( a book store in Hyderabad) for winning a quiz competition organised by the Hyderabad Quiz Club. The guy who partnered me, I don't quite remembered his name has to be the best quizzer in Hyderabad, all his guesses were hitting the bulls eye. JK's team came second( he was the quizmaster for OHT 07). Perfect way to end my stay in Hyderabad.

HP was unleashed and well...all who have read the book will agree with me when I say that well....we all sorta guessed the end didn't we?( barring a few flashbacks comprising the climax) and serious Albus Severus? Won't he be taunted by his little wizard buddies!

Pune seems to be one stop congregation of all urban college going junta. They seriously have an excess of them. They seem to be haunting every nook and cranny, infesting their wretched souls upon every kiosk, every counter, every table. Honestly, if you ever feel the absence of bright tee and dark jeans clad youth(especially feminine), you know where to head too.
Another thing about Pune, it acts like a slow poison with a burning after taste. The moment you land there(airport), you are greeted by lush greenery. Every hue of green is snugly arranged and it makes for a great viewing. A drive though this bio reserve is truly spectacular and then the reality rams up that tiny little orifice in your buttocks! People drive here to kill! The roads are magnificently adorned by extra deposits of tar which gives one an excuse to miss those rides in the amusement park. The not-so-lucky ones' tyres get stuck in the strategically located depressions. The perfect killjoy!
Pune is like the kid that wanted to be cool, but sorta lost his money.
But then there's a bright side to pune as well, they have some real nice eateries. Lovely bakeries that serve delectable savories. The cops are friendly. They are, atleast to a boy whom they catch sandwiched between two attractive women( he isn't aware that they are his cousins and wouldn't believe it either) at midnight, letting him go without any corporal punishment or sexual impairment( and no fine).
By convention every street MUST have an institution either spiritual or educational in nature catering to a medium or small proportion of people( some of which have to be foreigners, also by convention).
They have an amusing conversion system when it comes to autorickshaws, bodmas is extensively applied.
Conclusion:Pune is better than a lot of other places.

While in Pune, I also got to watch DIE HARD 4.0

The movie has to be the dumbest action flick I have seen. Okay Okay, I know that might have been like a massive slap across the moobs of you macho men but I can' help it. But hey, I never said it was a bad movie. It was very good, good in the sense that at any point of time, some one could walk into the hall and start watching the movie and yet not feel as though he's missed anything substantial. Computer genius not getting due credit for his mastermind project decides that its payback time and tries to bring the nation to a halt and cause a firesale. Wow! That's uber original!
Bruce Willis has done a commendable job in beating the cyber criminals( a chinki assasin included) to pulp, without even hurting his fists.I still feel the movie has been given tooo much hype, I'd watch Con-Air anyday.

And now in Delhi. its 2.34 AM and the people I want, aren't online. Might not update for a few days, or maybe the next post directly from Pilani.

Cya all there!

Charminar

I think I’ve never (and shall never) seen so much life, as I’ve seen on the streets.

Charminar should’ve been nominated as a Wonder. But then how does one explain the beauty of Charminar to one who hasn’t been there? I accuse even the fraud Hyderabadis (you know who you are, myself included) of laying claims on this massive structure and calling it their pride when in reality they are incognizant to its history, its culture, its heritage.

Charminar isn’t just a building; it’s a way of life. Calling it a merely a monument with four minarets would be equivalent of molesting it of its glory, for its so much more than that. The Mecca Masjid, the Lad Bazaar, the trillions of Irani Café’s, the sea of people, some burqua clad, some lying on the road with torn trousers with their hands outstretched, some adorned by rings of all hues. It’s a different world, a reminiscent of old times, which hasn’t yet been touched by the nefarious forces of the neo corporate world. It has evolved, yes, but in its own way. Only the ignorant go on effusing about the riots there for its clearly visible to the ones frequenting the place that perfect harmony exists, be it for the sake of mutual growth of business, but it prevails nonetheless.

It’s almost romantic to see how amidst the plethora of Muslim enterprise and culture the Hindus have craved a niche for themselves here and there.

One can always lose one’s self as well as get lost in the gullies (really narrow streets). Gullies which twist and turn a la rattle-snakes, which with every turn present another facet of this part of Hyderabad, be it women clad in jhathaak( so much so that shades are required to shield you from their radiance) clothing, hawkers selling boulder sized gol guppas or the blinding colors of the Bangles in the numerous bangle stores.

And then there’s the exotica:

Rumors of a street which sells exotic and no-so-exotic birds reached my ear through Vivek. We checked the placed and were shocked to witness the melodrama. Birds from all the corners of the world were caged. I was a little hesitant to take pictures for the fear of being mistaken as a PETA activist, which would’ve surely resulted in some serious impairing, if not an unceremonious death (after which we’d have been sold as meat by the way things looked around here). We witnessed wild hares trotting, cute pups tethered, turkeys, sparrows and roosters chilling out in their respective cages, given up on life. We saw a Macaw, which was on sale for two lakhs; however this was the least of what we amazed us. What really shocked us was this: This bloke putting his hand inside a bustling cage thus causing even more furor amongst the tiny winged beings. His hands which were mammoth in comparison to the infinitesimal bird, cornered it and grabbed it entirely and put in a paper bag, which one would usually encounter at a grocery store. Following which he dispassionately tied the neck of the bag with a black thread, with the bottom of the paper bag still swerving in random directions. People also buy crows, then direct them towards their neighbors house thus unleashing upon them a bad omen and decorating their (neighbor's) life with misfortune and sorrow.

Three hours out on the streets and I was convinced that it’s the one stop shop for all your needs, you could find anything here. Vivek joked that you could even find individual keyboard keys here; somehow I got the feeling that it wasn’t a joke.

Come night time and the entire area is lit up. Its a mania and one can very well appreciate the need to pedestrianize the entire region. As you look around you, you notice that you’re eyes transformed into a kaleidoscope.

Closing thought: The Biryani of the old city surpasses everything else in terms of its superiority (Yes you Hyderabad house, Paradise worshippers; I'm pointing my fingers at you) and taste.

Keep Guessing

The first BITSIAN quizzing blog has set up. It's open to one and all.Do come everyday and keep the statcounter ticking. Most colleges have one( Jadooooopur has one too), so why not us?
To promote participation we're handing out free I-Pods/Smutty mags/Sneakers to everyone who just stumbles onto our blog, so do leave a comment(preferably an answer to the questions). We're dedicated, we'll track back your IP and send you the goodies :P

The name of the blog is KEEP GUESSING!

The rules have been put up on the top right of the blog, do mug them up real nice.

Alea Jacta Est

Harry Potter: The wait is over!

All around me I see people raving about how they were the chosen few to witness a phenomenon. The First Day First Show (FDFS) of the latest Harry Potter flick: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (OOTP). It’s almost as though the theaters could suddenly cater to a hundred fold extra audience just for this show. I am one of the few who got to watch it on the second day (by which time half the world had seen it)

J.K Rowling is surely having a gala time as the movie has shattered all box office records (just like all Potter movies do) and is raking in the moolah. It’s second in terms of first day earnings. Director David Yates took over from Mike Newell. And Wikipedia had this to say about the movie

Rowling wrote on her website on 19 december, 2006 that she was given a 20-minute preview of the film, which "looks fantastic"; after seeing the final product, she proclaimed the film "the best yet". Unlike some authors, Rowling has consistently offered her praise for the film adaptations of her work

Having seen all the Potter movies, except the Prisoner of Azkaban( for which I have to whip myself considering I feel it has the best climax of all the Potter books), I can vouch for the fact that this one has the best special effects, an aspect of the movie which has received unprecedented publicity. But then the reviews have been mixed. I agree to some extent with some of them. It’s a book about magic and magical worlds; sadly there isn’t much of magic in this one. The jokes are a lot more subtle, though not many.

Some other things which I noticed:

Personally I didn’t like Emma Watson in this one. Okay Okay I know I am going to have stones pelted at me for that but then hey…it’s my personal view. I preferred the cute Hermione from the first movie. People grow up I know. However almost everyone who’s seen the movie is totally mesmerized by her, so it’s probably just me.

I completely loved Imelda Staunton for her portrayal of Dolores Umbridge. She was flawless. With the Ministry’s backing and the power of pink, she simply stole the show. For me, the movie was all about her. Every dialogue she delivered those perpetual giggles and the style. Marvelous!

Luna Lovegood, played by Evanna Lynch was another spectacular role. She was so cute and so…erm…loony, as it is supposed to me. It’s almost as though she was meant to speak in riddles and was living in this endless dream sequence

Grawp was adorable, really cute and shit. But something about him struck me.

Does he resemble someone else we know?

And seriously, they have to make Voldemort scary.

This cannot be the ultimate face of terror which is supposed to freak the hell out of everyone, so much so that people shudder to utter his name.

Nor this

I get a feeling that he was made intentionally made to look like a douche so that children (who actually believed in works of fiction) wouldn’t piss in their pants.

I think most people loved the movie even more so because of the disaster of the previous one, which was in plain words: Boring!

This one thankfully has enough lines for everyone (well almost), unlike Goblet of Fire where everyone had a word limit of around 50 words.

Most hardcore Potter fans will love the movie despite its minor glitches here and there, though some people are rather shocked at some details not matching with the book. It was a 700 page book and a two hour movie, come on! Some parts just had to be edited and reframed, get over it and enjoy the movie for the other stuff. All in all I’d say; go watch it, definitely worth a watch.

Shock!

So when was the last time you were in a situation that actually motivated you to call yourself a “chutiya”? (Roughly translated to dickhead)

The other day I was trotting about the house in my usual tumultuous ways, as is common to bored blokes with a lot of sugar clotting their blood, when my eyes fell upon a piece of paper. It was neatly folded, characteristic of an official letter, more so of the most dreaded of them all. Bill.

It had BSNL etched on it and from the moment I laid my eyes upon in, my heart started to beat faster. And the blood circulation cut short (if you get my drift). I inched closer, slowly, thus creating a pseudo slow-motion moment with my arms extended and longing to tear that seal and get over with it.

Oh, I was no fool (or fu as my brothers from the ghetto would like calling it). I knew very well that the bill was going to be quite a handsome sum, which would make its way to the hardworking people in the PSU: BSNL. I gulped couple of imaginary snot balls down my throat before unleashing the demon upon me.

And then I did it. I was enlightened.

It wasn’t a demon.

IT WAS SATAN HIMSELF.

From then onwards I was convinced that the number of the beast wasn’t 666 and was indeed the number that I had my eyes transfixed on: 9850.60 (The devil deserves accuracy up to two decimal places as well). 9850.60, approximately 10K bucks! How does one get that? How is that even possible? Seriously, it makes for excellent conversation material. I mean who wouldn’t take notice of a guy who blew up 10K on his phone bill.

Surely there had to be a miscalculation. Surely! It just seemed like such a travesty considering that we’re a struggling third world nation (errm…lets suppose we are, it’s my blog, ergo, I get to make the assumptions). Where was the god-damn concession? As I were to realize after heavy scrutinizing of the bill on numerous occasions and from various angles, the kind folks at BSNL did cut down on a lot of money before kindly passing on the bill to our household.

The real blow was to come once I saw the break-up stats. It wasn’t the phone bill exactly that sky-rocketed the bill. The phone bill didn’t even cause a collateral damage (It was responsible for about one tenth of the entire bill). It was the Internet. The underdogs, the whore, the vamp, give it whatever name you want to. I felt mugged and raped if not both. 7000 bucks! Who does that? That’s ludicrous! Can you keep a straight face while publicly telling people that you spent seven grand on internet without breaking into a guffaw(even more so lest you end up farting simultaneously). How does one achieve that? Then the memories exploded. 150 videos on Youtube, constant Orkutting, endless Wiki-ing, tireless browsing, updates, blogs, more blogs. Science, Business, Tech, Movies, Filth Diaries, more business. Never log out of the Gtalk, so much so that people started to doubt whether I had exchanged my real identity for a virtual one and was leading a life on the web. BSNL had given me 2500 free MB of upload/download limit, plus free usage during 2-8 AM( which they called Happy Hours, clichéd yet true), which came to around 3000 MB. Despite all these goodies I used another 8K MB (obviously during the day) which cost me around 7K dosh, thus accounting for a lion’s share of the humongous amount.

I had trouble meeting my father’s eye that night. I thought I’d get a lecture from the folks about how I’ve lost the focus in life and they might even speculate "moaning Danish pornstars" to be somehow involved in this affair. They might go on about how when they were my age there was no such distraction to occupy their time and hence they are where they are today and I am 90 Kilos. Instead, Dad was quite bemused to see his son stare at his toes with ardent interest as though it was the most interesting thing in the vicinity. Clearly he hadn’t seen the bill. But that day would come too…and pretty soon.

Tongue in cheek!

What? You've never seen a hot popular football sensation stick his tongue down a struggling committed actress? :P
A Portuguese with a Bong( does that sound familiar????)
Actually if you zoom 10x, you'll notice that there's no lip contact in the picture. There's just one photo for the two caught-in-the-act, and this is it. Zee has been raving about it.
It might very well have been a friendly peck, but you know what made the difference?
The mother fucking hand!
Him caressing changes the entire tone of the pic. It accentuates the sensuality and sends the message that they aren't just being cordial. And this is rather ironic considering Bipasha is the one who is the spokesperson as far as her relationship is concerned.
It was bad enough that Bipasha was compering the new 7 wonders ceremony. She has proved that Indians are extremely wary when in company of foreigners and just have to make a fool of themselves by trying to be someone they're not.

And yes! WTF is she wearing? What color is that anyways? Chameli pink?

As I type this entry, each muscle, each ligament is screaming out in agony. Begging me to somehow cast a magical spell over it, Harry Potter-esque (or maybe Hermione since Harry is plagued by juvenile delinquency). Actually, it’s more of a silent scream. If every part of my body had its own independent vocal existence, it would very well give the impression of an intrinsic mass orgy taking place, since moans would be the only things surfacing. Screaming is just too much of a bother.

My body, which had renounced from any form of hardcore physical activity, took centre court yesterday. With a racquet in my hand and a couple of balls in each pocket I warmed up (which is essentially just standing on my toes). Suddenly all the memories came back, one flash at a time and it was a reminiscence of an archaic life, a time when I’d find solace in sports.

Back then, I had tried my hand at everything, tennis, cricket, swimming and had a decent command over all of them if not rising to the status of a pro. Somewhere down the line priorities changed and interests shifted.

Whoosh!

I fired my first ace!

I was having a great time running all around the court, as though tracing out a probability density function. Guess I still had the ol’ touch, or was it beginners luck? For things can only get worse with time, right?

After nearly an hour of panting and sweating from all possible pores on my body I reclined on the steps with a smile that exuberated confidence and a rage that I’d long forgotten dwelled inside me. Fiery eyed I bounced back within minutes to take on any Federer/Lendl.

All the hulla gulla aside, I knew the truth. I knew that these emotions wouldn’t last outside the court. Outside the court there’d just be one thing.

And then it bequeathed! Oh the pain! The fother mucking pain! Oh how it slowly filled me up, meticulously navigating its way into all my tissues and organs. I revolted; it was a struggle but finally had to give in. There was no use fighting it, might as well embrace it, hoping for it to forge an alliance and go away.

But it didn’t!

And it doesn’t!

Every inch of my body moans and groans, reminiscent of our great fore fathers who laid down their lives in order to achieve independence! So what the fuck was I fighting for? Why did I have to torture myself like this? Those two hours of supreme arrogance transformed me into a gimp. Blisters have infested my fingers, a testimony to the eroded grip of the racquet. Even my toes ceased to infer the nerve sensations; they were doing their own bit, wriggling aimlessly. Asked Mamma to feed me dinner for my arms had long turned atheist and wouldn’t budge. I’d try to sit down but my pelvic muscles would retaliate swearing at me for subjecting them to this torture: You don’t give us pleasure, at least don’t gift us pain. Stating that I was comfortably numb would be a lie as blatant as Pamela Anderson saying that she believed in natural products.

Guess will have to sweat it out again day after tomorrow!

Some thoughts!

It’s there in the last spasm of a dying musk deer, the last breath of schools of fish trapped under oil spills, the diminishing numbers of migratory birds, the rapidly vanishing habitat of the giant panda.

It’s the cry of the earth. Can you hear it?

Do your bit. Save our planet. Please. Time is running out...

As I finished reading this I felt an intense rush of emotions. My fingers clenched and I stared blankly at the screen.

How many times have we heard this?

We all like to pretend that we care for our planet. And who knows? Maybe in some chamber deep inside our wretched mind, we actually do. But let’s be realistic.

Most of us simply don’t want to bother.

We feel that since we wont live to see the end of the world (unless WWIII decides to spoil the party) why bother? Or better, our pessimism leads us to believe that there’s nothing we can do. This belief generally comes from the environment around us. We see a friend of ours throwing the chips packet he just devoured on the streets. We see clusters of men letting loose (if you know what I mean) on the same wall that has ‘Plis don’t pass urine’ scribbled shabbily. And as time passes we truly feel that “it’s too late”.

A friend of mine who was sitting for a branch allocation counseling told me that his father found people still pursuing Petro Engineering rather amusing since in another 2-3 decades time there wouldn't be much petroleum left in the world to use.

Honestly speaking (and correct me if I’m wrong), saving the earth doesn’t feature in our top priority list. But every time the issue springs up, depending upon how it’s presented to us (especially if creative clips are shown every 2 minutes in between a mega concert), we all become environmentally charged. Sadly, this enthu disappears almost as quickly as it is aroused.

But as long as we’re charged we feel that we can make a difference (do I hear trumpets in the background?). But wouldn’t dedicate our selves to some on ground activity, instead we believe in the power of the exponents.

Little things, if initiated by a lot of people can shake the world

Ah yes! How many times have I heard that? But the sad part is even the little things like walking down to the store instead of zooming on a motorbike or using natural perfumes instead of aerosol sprays seem like too much of a bother beyond a certain point.

You know what the real problem is? It’s not smoke, its not money, its not greed. Its convenience!

It’s more convenient to blog about the issue and comfort ourselves reminding that “we’ve enlightened the public” than actually get off our lazy bum and switch off the fan that’s running, and open the windows to let the fresh monsoon breeze in.

We do what is convenient to us. We let the tap run because one hand is navigating the brush and the other hand is scratching the buttocks. We don’t switch off the lights after leaving the room because we’ve already locked the door. Now who’s going to unlock the door? Bah!

I remember myself, long ago. I was so supercharged after visiting a recycling plant that I stopped using notebooks for doing my rough work. I’d use the newspaper to scribble some formulae or note down our fundamental duties. I did that for almost two years. I guess as we grow up we come to face with the harsh reality (or so we feel) and realize that we’re helpless. Kids don’t feel that since they’re still in that imaginative world where everything is still possible and can be turned around.

At least I don’t feel like a hypocrite.

P.s: Nil dear, this post wasn't directed at you all. Remember the chat we had last night? This is just a vent post.

Think four times before saying, "I DO"

Salman Rushdie is an extremely talented and ambitious man. Yet his scandals supercede that. First he writes a novel which goes on to become the Booker of Bookers. His next novel almost becomes another booker prize winner. He also writes a book on the alleged heretical verses and pisses off most of the Muslims, ergo, gets a fatwa launched against him ironically on Valentines’ Day. And ultimately gets knighted for his services to literature.

I remember my mother telling me once that he commented upon Indira Gandhi’s lips comparing it to a vagina.

Good Lord!

But he is determined to achieve something greater than all these trivial matters, something which will make him the undisputed king of the neo-age. What he truly wants is to break the record of Elizabeth Taylor. Nothing would give him more than to surpass the legendary actress’ unfathomable record.

He’s almost there.

One of the extraordinary things about human events is that the unthinkable becomes thinkable

- Salman Rushdie

And correct you are sir. Indeed!

I remember reading TIME when Rushdie got married again. It had Rushdie quoted saying something about marriage being a holy union of beings. I found it rather amusing to see Rushdie believe in the sanctity of marriage considered it didn’t work for him the last three times. Imagine him at the altar and being asked for the fourth time, “Do you accept this women to be your lawfully wedded wife till death do you part?”

“I do”

Yeah it would have been true had the fatwa been carried out successfully. Yet fate would intervene.

Padmalakshmi. I guess the only thing wrong with her is her name. But then what’s in a name? I mean she’s so radiantly hot! Apparently she’s really intelligent. Must be hard for her because no one would be willing to listen to her because they’d all be undressing her in their head. Rushdie on the other hand could bear to control his lust for her for the sole reason that in 1999 he had an operation to correct a tendon condition that was making it increasingly difficult for him to open his eyes, so maybe he could pay more attention to what was coming out of her mouth rather than focus on what could go in.

But now it doesn’t matter.

Salman Rushdie has agreed to divorce his wife, Padma Lakshmi, because of her desire to end their marriage

-New York Post

The ignominy of being dumped by your own wife.

Our lives teach us who we are.

-Salman Rushdie.

Care to elaborate and provide some more insight on this kind Sir?

Decc@n Chronicle

For those who have not come face to face with this phenomenon, I present to you Exhibit A. It's ad campaigns are flawless, with tag lines sporting "78% of the trendy middle class people who own a scooter read DC"
Isn't that just so splendid? It rules the plateau with its massive sales.
Every now and then(more often than not), they come up with these advantageous snippets. Have a look here

Now shouldn’t I just thank my stars for that serendipitous encounter while I was browsing the net?

Travel Bag. How convenient. I would’ve never thought about that because I am generally too busy being the brand ambassador of jute by sporting gunny bags to carry my stuff.

It is imperative to sport a clean, handsome look when you are holidaying.

Oh really? Coz the last we all checked our office dress code, being sloven and covered with muck fetched us brownie points.

Also, its terribly interesting how mp3 player/walkman/cellphone has been conveniently replaced by the ubiquious iPod.

Do check out the sports blog Pavilion Seat. Its being regularly updated!( wink wink)

Keepin' it real

Due to the intervention of involuntary and unavoidable forces, I landed up at Hyderabad CENTRAL last night. Upon reaching there I witness the brouhaha and am all curious to figure out its cause. As I walk closer to the crowd I can hear a lot of incorrigible noise which I guessed was some bloke rapping.

Voila!

WAR OF THE DJ’s

The last contestant from the prelims took the stage and tried to put his “shit” together. He got cheered from the crowd and the applause died out just as fast as it started.

It was quite ordinary.

Once he was done, this radiantly hot flesh on bones took centre stage. She was supposedly an RJ on Big FM and looked a lot like Shweta Gulati (the girl who played the role of the bratty Tia on Remix). And well, she began saying something which I’m sure no one took notice of. From where I was standing I knew the reason for this. The cleavage is far more appealing for the eyes than the compeering is to the ears. It was sinister man!

The results were announced and I could sense the disappointment of the crowd for some DJ who had performed earlier in the day (and really well apparently) wasn’t chosen and instead the last DJ to perform in the prelims was who according to me was quite substandard.

What this guy and many others I noticed were doing wrong was this:

They thought that they were still in a club, and the hoards of uncles and auntie ji’s along with chunnu munnu were party animals. And well their attempts of asking the crowd to “sing along” or “Bounce” didn’t really have the desired effect.

Another thing was that the tracks being played were the ones that really had no mass appeal, I mean come on ‘My Name is’ by Eminem was hot like what, a decade back?

And on top of that the WORST thing they did was this: They weren’t ready the moment they took the stage, as in they seemed lax. So what they did was that the moment they got on stage they played some really annoying music (mostly some beats which sounded like the sort of disturbance you get when you get too close to the microphone). Now that too would be fine, what was most pissing off was that this music would repeat itself over and over and over and over, and well never seemed to cease.

I suppose they were so interested in getting the technical stuff right that they forgot the three hundred people who were looking at them. And well I don’t know if you’ll agree, but watching a guy in a tight tee just pushing some buttons and occasionally uttering a nonchalant “yeah” isn’t really that entertaining.

Finally this thin bloke who resembled my favorite African American satirist/slap stick comedian Dave Chapelle, started doing something right. He played the tracks that are currently driving people mad ‘Jhoom Barabar Jhoom’ and got the legion of Uncles and Aunties on his side. Also the jumping and ghoomofying that he was trying to pass off as dance actually worked. The crowd got excited seeing a guy dancing really badly and having the time of his life. He was an instant fav! Also he didn’t keep the crowd waiting with those irritating noise (which sound like gun shots or laser firing) for a prolonged period of time.

I’m convinced that Trance music is the work of Satan!