From the Dark Side of the Moon

Unfuckinbelievable.

No other word can describe what happened tonight better, though ‘catastrophe’ might be another good bet.

The best fuckin football team on earth lost to, erm.. Switzerland. No pushovers themselves, and certainly no DPR Korea, but still only Switzerland. They run banks. They make cheese. And they play football on the side. And they beat Spain. You call that fair? You call that FUCKIN fair?

By now, you’ve already figured that this post will be the ‘Casino‘ of blog posts. Bear with it.

I’ve been supporting Spain quite vocally in Facebook and Twitter and pissed off some evil South Americans. I’ve celebrated the stuttering wins of Brazil and Argentina as if they were bad losses and rubbed it in their faces. Which pissed them off even more. I guess I should’ve known what was coming. Karma. Bitch. Fuck.

The football we’ve played over the last 2 years have been orgasmic. Save one game versus the Americans where Sergio Ramos was a sissy fuck. And the Americans had an organised and determined defense. Ringing bells.

The Swiss were expected to park the bus. The first temptation is to slate them for playing ‘Anti-football’. But once you think it over, what chance do you have against the best passing side in the world? Any, if at all, lie in being a fucking wall. Being a fucking wall which can anticipate, block, stand firm, and kicking the assholes up against you into submission when necessary. Which was most of the time. And go on the counter with what little you’ve got and hope the best upcoming international centreback, a most experienced one and one of the world’s best keepers fuck up together.

They did just that. And all the pieces, each and every fucking one of them, fell into position. The wall was so omnipresent that even Xavi fucking Hernandes couldn’t pass his way through it. Xavi. THE BEST PASSER IN THE WORLD. FUCK . And God, that’s the ugliest goal I’ve seen in a World Cup, even from a neutral perspective. But Who cares? The Swiss won’t give a flying fuck, and rightly too, coz they had a gameplan , and they executed it to fucking perfection.


Standing, from L to R : What, The and Fuck.

Do they count possession? 67-33. No. Do they count shots on goal? 24-7. Twenty fucking four. No. Do they count fair play? 18 fouls suffered to 8. No. What do they count? GOALS. 1-0. Football needs an overhaul, baby. Not.

Now let’s move on to me. The aforementioned evil South Americans and just about every fucking passerby defiled my Facebook profile. It saw more activity in a day than it’s seen in fucking years. Kind of like a teenager getting gangbanged. Can you believe that the generally mildmannered Captain Chandrakant Nair made 21 comments on various posts in my profile and more in his. Don’t get me started on the vindictiveness of HVR who was physically exhausted from gloating and harassing me, if such a thing can happen. You’ll get a clear picture, if you know the said gent in person and imagine what it must take to exhaust him. Others, please imagine Po with the personality of The Joker.

Being a reasonably intelligent and mostly successful person, I don’t get into many embarrassing situations. But today was a day, my friends, I fucking hope never to live again.

Back to football. The Swiss being a team which haven’t let in a goal in their last 4 worldcup games, I guess , on second thoughts, this , while being an unexpected occurrance, is explainable. They shut shop and we didn’t have a plan B, simple as that. But Chile and Honduras are hardly sides which can do what the Swiss did, half as effectively. Chile are an attacking side, they will play 4-3-3, go gung-ho and play into our hands, while Honduras is just not good enough to keep Spain at bay for 90 minutes. Plus, there is the little matter of the wounded pride and desperation. This is part analysis and part speculation and part hope.

What the heck? I declare we will beat the fucking hell out of them.  The time for modesty is long past and being modest is no fun, anyway. I’ve always been a gambler. Hence I’ve stuck my neck out on Facebook again and made all the manly declarations I just made and in addition , threatened the South American fucks of the repercussions of the Samba they danced today on my modesty.

It is quite likely that we meet at least one of the said South American once we roar into the next round. Indeed, I pray fervently for it. Nothing can be worse for me than tonight. On the other hand, it can be the awesomest of all awe-fucking-some things to happen in this world since Istanbul if we do exact revenge. Not their revenge though, my revenge.

They will do it for me. I know they will. My team. My playahs.Viva Espana.

Tonight’s just a blip. Go get them, mothafuckahs . Or as they say in Spain,

A Por Ellos!!!

PS: The title is an inside joke. Between me and the BFP. Which is quite brilliant, believe me. So you are free to smile at it . If you insist you must  know it, say so in the comments. 🙂

Image courtesy : Zimbio . com

Are You Homeophobic?

Rock was adamant in his stand on Homeopathy. “Bloody Quacks, the lot of them”, he raged, ” Cattle doctors”.

Scissors said that the statement was wrong on multiple levels. Not only did he refuse to believe that the respectable practitioners of homeopathy were quacks, he also raised an objection to the intonation that a cattle doctor was in any way less respectable than any other doctor. Not to mention that he failed to understand the relation between Homeopathy and Cattle doctoring. Or veterinary science, coming to think of it.

“Give me solid proof, mate and I will begin to consider a homeopath for an itch on my little finger”.

It was on this note that Paper entered. Scissors gave a cry of joy. A most reliable guy, he had always felt, though he could go to pieces at times. And Rock was cowered in his presence.Moreover, Scissors knew that Paper had just been to a homeopathy clinic recently and with some luck, was freshly in awe of it.

“Lend me a hand, buddy, I’m getting crushed here”

“What up, folks?”

“Well, Rock here takes a narrow view of homeopathy. He thinks they are all fakes and he wouldn’t go to them even to treat an itch. I’m trying to make him see reason. They might not be the best around, but they know their job”.

“Well, dude, I should say he has something there. In particular, he has done particularly well to figure out the itch part.”

“Whaaaa? You take homeo stuff all the time.”

“Not all the time, and certainly not any more. Not one more fuckin time in my life.”

“Why? What did the doctor do to inspire such murderous feelings? ”

“You sure you want to know?”

“Damn yes, I do.”

“Okay, here goes.”

Thus it came to pass that Rock and Scissors were made to swear an oath of secrecy which would stand till hell freezes over and were told this story by a strangely straight-faced Paper.

I am not an ardent believer in homeopathy by any stretch of imagination. When my nose clogs up and body burns, I gulp a Paracetamol down like any sane chap. But I used to root for homeo for some specific maladies. For example, there is nothing which soothes an itch like the good old tiny sugar balls. Thus, when it came to itsy-bitsy stuff on the skin, I’ve always made a beeline for the nearest clinic which hands out sugar balls and the not-chalk powder.

As you know, I was away in the village for a week, visiting my cousin. I thought a week in the good old rural setup would do me a world of good after all the stress I’ve been coping with, lately. I came back with a light heart, a clear head and an itchy groin. Very itchy groin. I am still not clear as to where I made the purchase from. Probably it had something to do with the hours spent in mud, playing ball, or maybe not. All I knew is that I was just not able to keep my hands away from my balls for a second. I will not traumatize you with a description of the crime site. But let me assure you it was not a pretty sight.

Long story short, I ended up in front of the Doc. You know me, no one can accuse me of being reserved. But I become strangely out of my element in front of a doctor. The chap has to make his diagnosis based on subtle nods( “motion? “) and subtler shakes (“loose?”).

However it was soon clear that this one  had no intention of letting me off lightly. He launched into a monologue on the history and nature of homeopathy, despite the sight of me scratching away to glory right in front of eyes.

“You see, Mr.Paper, Homeopathy is all about communication. A drug which helps one fellow might not help the next fellow. It might not even help himself , a couple of years down the line. So, for me to treat your itch effectively, I need to have a complete picture of your emotional and physical state. Communication, you see.”

I nodded vigorously. Try nodding vigorously with both your hands in your underwear, it’s no mean feat. It affects the balance, I tell you.

“Traditionally, we homeopaths have depended on our analytic skills and memory to help diagnose and cure the worst diseases known to humanity. And we’ve been doing fine.”

*Itching*

“But now, it’s much simpler. Just look at this new software I ordered from Belgium. Cost me 7 lakhs, but it diagnoses all diseases and prescribes the compounds required to cure them, once you type in all the symptoms and the mental and physical traits of the patient. Reduces our workload considerably, don’t you think?”

I thought it left them with absolutely zilch to do. Any nursery kid could play homeo doctor with the software. Probably the thought crossed him too, a moment of puzzled silence showed.

I interjected, ” Sir, the itch started last week…”

“Ah yes, the itch. We’ll get to the point, right?”

About fuckin’ time.

“Tell me, do you like going out a lot, Paper?”

“Yes, sir, but the itch….”

“It is necessary to understand the canvas before you can paint a picture on it, my dear fellow. So, tell me , are you an extrovert?”

The doc seemed very devoted to the holy tenets of homeopathy. I gave in to the fact that I would not leave the room until the guy knew me inside out. And he had apparently just spent a bomb on the software, so it was understandable that he wanted to give it a proper run out.

“You could  say that, Sir”.

“Nice”.

He gave a toothy smile and turned to the system and typed in ‘Extrovert’.

“Do you like physical activity? Sports?”

“Yes, sir, I play football”.

He turned and crunched the keyboard again.

“Do you lie a lot, son?

“Whaaat?”

“Whaaat?” Said Rock and Scissors.

“You have to be honest to your doctor, kiddo, and in homeopathy, doubly so. So, out with it”.

“Well, I suppose I do, sometimes, sir. “

I was rewarded with an I-thought-so grin and in went ‘Compulsive Liar’. Now, that was a moment for righteous indignation, if ever there was one and I was about to give vent to my hurt feelings. But then, I remembered that it was better to get out of here as soon as possible and I should just play along. So, I braved another 10 minutes of inane questions and gave straight-faced answers and winced as a very shady character was being painted in the Belgian software.

And then.

“Okay, now I’ll have a look at it. Open up, son”.

“Erm… Is that really necessary, doc?”

“What do you mean, of course, its necessary. How will I treat you otherwise?”

Well, to be fair to him, the questions till the moment had dwelt on my social habits rather than the itchy groin, so he needed to have a look for the diagnosis to have a bit of credibility at the very least. I obliged him and dropped my pants.

Armed with a torchlight, he inspected Ground Zero. A few weird Oohs and Aahs later, he was back up.

“I am impressed.”

“What?”

“The itch is of a malevolent variety. In fact, you are lucky that I happen to be researching on it at the moment. I know just the thing to kill this chap.”

“You do? Nice.” The ordeal seemed to be heading for a finish earlier than I had hoped for.

“But, before that…

“Yeah?”

“Can I have a click?”

“Whaaaaaaaaa?”

“Whaaaaaaaaa?” Echoed Rock and Scissors.

“Can I take a picture of the infection?”

“Is THAT really necessary?”

“Well, as I told you, I’m doing research on the disease and a picture of such a delightful variation would do me proud.”

“I’m not sure I like the idea, Doc”.

“No names will be used and unless you have your name tattooed down there, no one is ever going to know. Why cannot you do a good turn with no harm done at all to anyone?”

I was in a tight place here. I did not like the idea of my private parts appearing on an international journal or much less, floating around the WWW. I did not like it ONE BIT. But then, as he said, no one will ever have to know about this, and it would be churlish to deny him in the situation.

What made my decision is my desire to get out of there. The itching had receded a bit. I could grab whatever the guy extends me and get something proper for it , later, if it did turn out to be horseshit. At the moment, cooperation seemed to be the better bet. I nodded my head and the doc fetched his camera with disturbing glee.

I made sure he was not getting anything which would remotely lead back to me , in focus and shut my eyes tight to keep out the sight no one should ever be subjected to , their genitals being photographed.

“Done”

He had a smug smile. I sighed with relief, at last I was getting out of here.

But it lasted only a moment. He turned to the keyboard where the software waited with a page long list of some very undesirable character traits.

And typed in capitals.

E-X-H-I-B-I-T-I-O-N-I-S-T

And that is why I lay off homeopathy now, fellas.” Concluded Paper.

“Not faulting you. Scissors? ”

“Opened my eyes”.

Thus, as always, Rock beat Scissors.

Fuck, man, fuck.

This is one of those really random personal posts. This has no business being on my blog, even. I just need to vent. Things have been going steadily downhill and I am becoming more and more depressed. One of those times when you want to blame someone for the shit you’re in and realise that you cannot. I have no idea if I will even complete this post, but if you’re reading this, you know I have. Or I may not have. I might have just gone ahead with the half-baked thing I have like I tend to do with a lot of things. Things which usually end up fucked because of my half-baked preparation for them.

Take exams for instance. Not a new thing. I’ve been going in half-baked for exams for 4 years now. I always used to scrape through. And I assumed that I will do the same this time too. Despite higher stakes this time. With a job and a possible IIM K call on the line, the genius that I am, slacked off even more than I do normally. So much so that my mother gave up yelling at me 3 days into the study hols.

And now, I am reaping, baby. The first 4 exams are all touch-and-go affairs, though I guess I’ve done just about enough to scrape through, based on previous experiences. But today, the devil came to collect. It even had a paranormal touch or two. The paper was not what you’d call a particularly sadistic one, it cut my kind some slack. On first glance, it looked like I’d got away again with watching School of Rock on the eve of an exam again. But 2 hours and 45 minutes into it, I was still sinking in the muck, trying hopelessly to break through to the surface – the hallowed 40. I have NO fucking idea where all the time went, I did spend some 5 minutes sticking a pin I found on the floor in an eraser I found on the floor.

When the invigilator collected – the devil rarely comes on his own to collect, he sends his minions – I was still scribbling away furiously. Not something which happens normally, I lay down my weapon long before the final gong normally. And I was horrorstruck to find that I’d not found time to put down at least 10-15 marks worth of questions. When you work with the margins I normally toy around with, that’s a death knell.

So, I am depressed. Even more than yesterday. It’s the season IIMs hand out their calls and many good friends have converted their dream tickets. I’d not really given thought to my K call until last week, but the other IIMs publishing their lists have generated a flurry of wellwishers enquiring when I will be packing their bags to IIM-K. Bless their good spirits but Father, forgive them. They do not know what they are doing.

So, as is my habit, I’ve been doing a lot of useless thinking on stuff which I cannot undo now, like the interview which didn’t go particularly well. With the Cryptography text open in my lap, I was replaying the interview, wishing I’d said some things differently. That added to my normal slacking, if I might dare to say so. Or may be not, I might have just spent the time on thinking something else, probably.

Well, it doesn’t matter now. I’m fucked anyway.

Fuck.

Tagging Along

I haven’t done a tag in a long time and when HVR stabbed me in the back extended me one, I had no choice but to accept.

The tag demands me to reveal 7 random things about myself, preferably relatively unknown facts. Sounds disarmingly easy but as I found out, it’s pretty tough , assuming you make an attempt not to state the bleeding obvious like HVR  or blaspheme – according to HVR – like abhipraya.

Here goes my list.

  1. I have an irritating habit of launching into nonsensical songs or loud humming when trying to concentrate on studies. It was quite a giveaway in my schooldays when my mother used to listen outside the door if I was studying or reading “useless books”.  However the singing more or less died away once I reached college because of the extreme rarity of the causal event.
  2. At the age of 10, I used to play tennis against the wall – which I later learnt had a whole sport built around it called Squash 😀 – pretending myself to be Thomas Muster and the wall to be André Agassi. I wasn’t actually a fan of Muster or for that matter, didn’t even really understand Tennis then, but the name had a ring to it which I liked. Perhaps my preference for Nadal over Federer has something to do with those sultry afternoons I spent smacking a plastic ball as The King of Clay.
  3. My lean frame belies my love of good food. In particular, I am an eternal connoisseur of Chicken Biriyani and can find my way to the restaurant with the best C.B in any town I end up in Kerala, given I have been there at least once before.
  4. One for the well-known fact quota. I am a die-hard fan of Liverpool FC and detests anything that has to do with Man Utd.
  5. Now for the blasphemy. I prefer to watch a VVS Laxman in full flow more than a Sachin Tendulkar in full flow.
  6. One of my biggest regrets is that I didn’t venture out for a single quiz in the first two years of college.
  7. At different points in my life, I adored Harry Potter, Backstreet Boys, WWF and Steven Seagal movies. On realising their uncoolness on coming into contact with their grown-up versions, I now treat them with the contempt they deserve. 😀
The rules of tagging:
1) You have to tag 7 people.
2)You have to link their pages to your post
3) You have to leave them a comment saying that they have been tagged.
4) Say who tagged you.
I’m tagging Hari, Raju, Abhijith, Doc and anyone else who feel like they want to take this on.

The Curious Incident of the Gentlemen in the Night-Time

Scene 1:

It was the darkest of nights. Not the sort of night for a self-respecting gentleman to be out and about. The night was whispering all sorts of things, again , the sort of ugly stuff that would be of no interest to your average self-respecting gentleman. The message was clear. Gentlemen, stay home.

If one had been out that night, one would’ve witnessed 3 cars tearing along the highway. One would’ve seen the cars turn into the courtyard of the building at the south end of the street. One would’ve watched the cars depositing 12 gentlemen – open to debate – at the doors of the building and one would’ve been excused at thinking that something was afoot. But one didn’t have the chance to do any of these, because one was of course, a gentleman.

The 12 seemed to wait at the doors for someone. Many of the group looked uneasy and even a bit sulky. Of course it would’ve been stretching it to term them the 12 Angry Men, let’s leave it with the observation that there was definitely some unrest.

Soon enough, came a fourth car dashing into the portico and the group appeared to heave a collective sigh. The back door opened and a shrouded female figure appeared. The new arrival seemed to command some respect as the men followed her into the building.

A note to any youngster getting an uneasily familiar feeling ,: From this point on, the plot WILL deviate from that of a Naughty America gangbang video.

Scene 2:

A room in the aforementioned building. 13 shadowy figures are sitting around a rectangular table. At one end of the table, sits the revered female and she has an oblong device of some kind in her hand. At the opposite end of the table is placed a ….. box of some kind.

It looks like a television but the course of events so far would demand something more sinister than an idiot box there, wouldn’t it? We won’t pass a verdict yet, anyone of the henchmen can still walk over to the box, open a hitherto unsuspected lid and take out a goat’s head and a reversed cross and start a Black Mass.

But proving all the interesting suspicions unfounded, the box turns out to be a TV after all, as it turns on to display black and white grains jostling for space. It appears to be operated by the female leading figure using the oblong object in her hand , which at this point, can be safely assumed to be a remote control.

It can be summarily dismissed that watching TV would be the object of such a clandestine meeting of gentlemen at such an ungodly hour. What else could it be, then? The TV seems to hold the rapt attention of all the men. Even though it’s still showing only grains.

One of the men stand up and approach the telephone in the room to make a call. One would expect some sort of development to occur here, he could be letting in the anonymous contact who’s agreed to meet them here. Or convey to the carrier that the coast is clear. A variety of more sinister explanations can lend itself to the man using a telephone at the start of a secret meeting.

The conversation is remarkably short and also achieve the dubious distinction of being the first words spoken all night. He asks for the Cable Guy – obviously a code phrase, whom do they think they are fooling? He asks the “Cable Guy” to “fix it now” . Phht! So cliched for a secret meeting, wouldn’t you say?

He resumes his seat and watches the TV like the other 12. One wonders what interests these men in the grains? As in answer, the grains vanish and the screen is filled with moving images. Images of beautiful women and handsome men. Who are walking up and down ramps to groovy music.

Now, wait a minute. They’re not watching, horror of horrors, FTV? Why would they hold a meeting for that? And in such attention to detail that some of them are using magnifying lenses!

The entire group are transfixed by the images on screen. Suddenly someone yells! “BOOOOOOOBBSSSSSSS!!! YESSSSSSSSSSS!!! BOOOOOOOOOBBBBBBSSSSSSS!!!! WE GOT THEMMMM!!! BOOOOOOOOOBSSSSSS!!!!!” And the meeting breaks to celebratory whoops and yells of joy.

And thus concluded the meeting of the Ministry of Information & Broadcasting which decided to ban FTV in India for the second time.

From the BBC report.

“The visuals were found to be obscene, denigrating women and were not suitable for children and unrestricted public exhibition,” the statement said.

Bah, Humbug!!!

Image courtesy : wonkroom . thinkprogress . org

The Year Ending Post

No time to dream up a punny caption, just a few hours left for 2009 to end. It’s also the end of the first decade of the new millennium -the ‘noughties’ as some insist on calling it *Yuck* – but as I’m not old enough to start thinking of my life in decades, I’ll lay off that angle now.

2009 was a momentous year . Yes, it’s obvious , right? Tiger Woods and all that. 😀 I’ll not speak about the world for once, it’s been done to death, and much more completely than I can ever hope to do. 2009 was momentous for me too.  In many ways. Any year leaves us with things to remember, but I think this year had things which left impressions which will last more, compared to others.  The Chicken pox scars, for instance.

This was the year I turned 21. The door to maturity. I think that’s BS though, maturity is a matter of opinion. I think I’ve been mature from birth while my father thinks I won’t be mature till I die. Maturity is a farce they invented to aid legal proceedings anyway. And to control porn sales.

This was the year I got offered my first job – 2 of them, in fact. Whether or not I end up slaving at Infy/Accenture next year, that will remain a special memory of mine. My parents/peers probably considered my getting a job not only unlikely but positively a signal the world is going to end. I had even less belief than them in my academic prowess – sadly a criterion in job hunts – but I did manage it at last. I’d like to stress that it’s not that I feel happy because I managed something to be very proud of, but I managed to avoid something which could have caused some discomfort.

In contrast, I can afford to be marginally a bit more – only slightly  – proud of the fact that I managed to clear the written rounds of IIFT though the elation can only be preserved if I manage the even tougher task of clearing the next and final round. Hopefully, if I manage to do that or go one better than that by getting through to a better – few are there – B-school, then 2010 will be a more momentous year and you can all forget any contradictory statement I’ve made so far.

While 2009 thus brought some life into my acads after 3 years of embarrassing fuckallness, it will also be remembered as the year where I got my first suppli/backlog/backpaper/paper/arrears. Database Lab, thou are a heartless bitch. I wish you could be the one and only , but there’s a strong possibility you were just the first of many. The first is a red-letter day for all Engineers, anyway.

Moving on to health, it was a nightmarish year. I managed to break a leg, contract Chickenpox and then Measles, all in the span of 3 months. I have been a reasonably healthy child over the years- Not to my Grandma – and this year blotted, nay, ravaged my record. The time spent on sickbed was mostly wasted on the Internet – well a lot of healthy time was , too – while I could have spent the time thinking. On second thoughts, I did think, but I could have thought something more thoughtworthy.

No, I was not hit on the head in 2009, thanks for asking.

I started being regular at 2 things, which I should have seen to, at least 2 years  back – Quizzing and Blogging. Quizzing-wise it was not a very successful year counting trophies, but still, I will state 2009 as a successful year in quizzing for me, simply because I grew a lot as a quizzer. Whether or not this implies the sorry state I was in 2008, I am pretty happy at the way things are going. Lady Luck will hopefully smile on me more often in 2010.

On my quizzing quests, I set foot in a lot of God forsaken corners of Kerala I might never even have heard about otherwise. Yes, travel-wise , 2009 was a busy year. Happy. 🙂

I did not take any major step towards deciding on my future in 2009, I still have it narrowed down to a choice between 3 paths. Very hard to choose one. Let me see. I’ll have my answer in 2010. Again, 2010 is promising to be a more important year than 2009, I wonder why I am bothering with 2009 here. 😛

I did not meet any interesting girls in 2009. Actually I did meet some interesting girls but no interestingly available girls.

No I do not want the *Bleeding-Obvious-Prize* of 2009. Thanks.

Less than 3 hours left. Maybe the time could be spent on creating a Resolutions list.

1. Do not think up resolutions you are not going to keep.

No resolutions then.I’m bored. And confused.

What an ideal way to end 2009.