Sunday, December 30, 2007

Taare Zameen Par - not really a review

The makers of TZP say that it's a movie which should be watched by the kids and parents together. Well, seems likes most people in town took the advice quite seriously. They arrived in hordes, armed with - Prams, Pampers, Pacifiers, Nannies, Grandparents et al. Nothing and no one was left behind. The entire paraphernalia that goes into raising a piddly little kid, had descended for the 4.15pm Saturday show.

Now please don’t get me wrong, I like kids (as long as I am not asked to play/talk with them). Kids look cute on a playground - jumping with joy awaiting their turn to go down a slide. Kids look cute in a Kindergarten – with neat uniforms & water bottle hanging around their neck. These are the places where a kid truly belongs. But a movie theatre ? That's one place where kids should be banned from entering, ever. What kind of sadist parents decide to put their kids through an ordeal, by making them sit for well over 3 hours in a big dark room amidst total strangers ? Little wonder that these kids, the moment the lights goes off, freak out and scream their guts off in an attempt to flee to the safety of world outside, with all of its bright lights, candies and ice-cream.

"Every child is special" exhorts the tagline of TZP. When I sat down to watch TZP along with screaming and whimpering bunch of fledglings, I felt the tag line should read - "Every child is a rascal" ( "Can somebody please take them out ? I got a movie to watch & review" ) Alas! my silent pleas were met with more high pitched screeching & crying. I grudgingly shut them out of my mind & shifted my attention to the story unfolding on the screen.

TZP is a movie with a heart & message. (And) a very dangerous message at that, depending on how you interpret it. After watching this movie, kids will have an extremely smart excuse for flunking in studies..

"But mamma, can't you see I am dyslexic, like Ishaan in TZP.."

"It’s not my fault. If anyone, blame the flawed genes that you and dad passed on to me."

"Can we watch TZP again now, but before that, Please sign this report card"

So my friendly warning to all parents out there - If your kid doesn't suffer from dyslexia and is just plain dumb & idiot, DON'T let them watch this movie.

Now about the movie proper, it does well in driving home the plight of dyslexic kids. Darsheel Safary (all of 11 years) has enacted his role with just the right dose of innocence, restraint, and touch of naughtiness. The scene which stood out for me, is when, after having a fight with a neighbourhood bully, he scampers up onto the terrace and is seen breaking into sobs, quickly followed by seething rage. Waxing and waning between tears of helplessness interspersed with anger, Darsheel handles these these two extremes of emotions quite effortlessly . I am afraid, I can't pass any compliments to Aamir Khan. I found him a wee bit gimmicky, with just a touch of extra (artifical) zing in his portrayal of a sensitive & bubbly arts teacher. Throughout the movie, he has this patent look : creased forehead, crooked raised eyebrows, dimpled smile, twitching nose and the "Look maa, am so cute and nice" kind of bemused stupid expression (think Akshaye Khanna).

The film flounders aimlessly at times, driving the same point over and over again. The characters are well established, so why not move on with the story ? We are shown Aamir Khan, travelling in a bus, helping a fellow passenger change her kid’s nappies.. (what for ? by now we know that he is a nice guy, so why go for the overkill ?) Another scene he is seen taking pity at a kid working in a Dhabba and treats him with tea and biscuits.. By all means you are a good guy Aamir, and you are the bloody director/producer of the movie as well, but if I was the editor, I would have mercilessly cut these and few more superfluous & indulgent scenes from the movie.

As the credits rolled up, I saw the 50-plus uncle sitting next to me, wiping tears with his shirt sleeve. While walking out of the theatre, I overheard 2 guys (in their early 20s) saying "Ladke ne kyaa acting kiyaa hein yaar, I cried at so many scenes", his friend nodded in agreement , "Haan yaar, I also cried" . Now if a movie can make (seemingly non-sissy) grown up men cry, then surely the movie has succeeded at some (or rather many) levels.

Saturday, December 22, 2007

Roots



Ubermensch asked me to pick one photograph (snapped in 2 0 0 7) which occupies a special place in my heart, and I did just that. As you can see, I have put up two snaps instead of one. Of course, I have very good reasons to bend the rules of this meme (btw, I sill don't know the real meaning of this word. Just keep hearing it in blogosphere. Never heard anyone in real life using this word while talking. I am not too fond of learning words which don't figure in everyday conversation).

Okay, so why two pics ? It's because one would be incomplete without the other. The blue house belongs to my mum. Most of my school vacations were spent in this house. My visits to our native place became less frequent after my grandmother passed away. She was the nucleus of the joint family, with her being the lone survivor amongst the first generation dwellers of this house. After her, the house got divided in fractions (as it happens with most 2nd generation households). This November, I went there after almost 10 to 12 years. The house is now in a progressive stage of decay. It doesn't feel like a unified unit now. The people staying there appear to me as mere cohabitants and not family members. I didn't stay there this time round. Just visited as a guest, snapped few photographs for posterity, exchanged few "Ohhh those were the days" kind of conversation and walked away like a stranger, totally bereft of any feelings. With the passage of time, I don't know if it's me who has died a little or whether the charm, that this house once possessed, has vanished. I didn't feel anything. And to think, there was a time when we cried unabashedly (all 3 of us - me, my sis & mum) while boarding the bus, heading back to Mumbai, after a month long vacation.

Coming to the 2nd pic, this rather dour looking house with reddish brown facade belongs to my dad. I don't have many memories associated with this house. As you can see, it's quite modest compared to the sprawling house of my mum. Naturally ,we preferred staying at our mum's place more than at dad's place. My grandparents from dad's side passed away while I was still a toddler. After them, this house has more or less been locked up. My dad had spruced up the house with the hopes of staying there after retirement. But along with retirement, came the usual set of ailments which prevented him from realising his one final dream. In May 2005, he spent about a week or two in this house. Within 2 months after returning from that trip, he passed away. It would have been nice if he had had more time to re-connect with the place where he grew up as a kid.

Anyways, this is what makes these 2 pics very special for me. These are my roots.

p.s. : I am bit uncomfortable with the whole passing-the-tag-business, so I won't name anyone in particular to take this thing forward. But, please feel free to be inspired by this concept and put up a special photograph from your own 2007-collection. It's that time of the year, when its perfectly acceptable to indulge in a bit of nostalgia. Don't worry I've got a box of tissues ready, just in case..

Tuesday, December 11, 2007

Mera Gaon Mera Des ( Re-posting for Cheti)











These were taken during my recent trip to India. I went to my native place (in Konkan, Maharashtra) after a gap of almost 12 years. (and) This is what I have been missing out on, during all those years. All pics were taken with a simple point & shoot digital camera.

Sunday, September 16, 2007

Crickey Crickey Bang Bang

"Bang-Bang-Bang. Twenty-20 cricket is like sex, without any foreplay".
- (musings at 4 O'clock in the morning. Insomnia rules)

Saturday, July 21, 2007

Aye Ganpat - 'Chal Daaru Laa'

"Bad luck ?
It floats around, has to land on somebody. Say a storm comes through, some folks sit in their living room & enjoy the rains. The house next door gets torn out of the ground & smashes flat. It was my turn, I was in the path of tornado." (Shawshank Redemption)

Okay, It wasn't so dramatic. There was no tornado. No house got uprooted. But yes, there was bad luck, and more importantly, there was me - in close proximity of bad luck.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

There is this cardinal rule about men's dressing - 'black doesn't mixes with white'. Those with religious bent of mind would recollect the un-written 11th commandment:

"Thou shall not wear white shirt on black trousers"

I violated this rule & got promptly punished.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

It's a typical weekday morning, I curse and drag myself out of bed. After a quick shower, with towel wrapped around my waist, I find myself inspecting my wardrobe. It's a not a pretty sight. Crumpled shirts and ill-fitting trousers hanging dejectedly on assorted hangers. I scan through my collection of trousers. To call it a collection would be a joke, coz this collection of mine consists of a sum total of 3 pairs of trousers:

1> Dark chocolate(y) brown
2> Light brown
3> Khaki brown

Minimalistic is the buzz word. All 3 trousers are crumpled and worn beyond redemption. It's been almost 2 months since they saw the innards of a washing machine. In a state of panic, I turn to my collection of jeans, which again is, Minimalistic. Two pairs of blue and one pair of black. I look at the black jeans with hope & trepidation. From a distance it can pass off as a black formal office trouser. I decide to stretch my luck. I settle for black jeans with an off-white (whatever that means) striped long-sleeved shirt.

The thing with long-sleeves shirt and me is that, I always find the sleeves bit too loose around my wrists. I have very slender feminine wrists (to go with my delectably soft hands). My wrists, make it almost impossible for me to wear men's wrist watch (or for that matter even women's wrist watch). Seven years back I stopped wearing wrist watches altogether (much to the disappointment of my mum). She use to look at my bare wrist and feel sorry for me. Which mum doesn't like to see her grown up son sporting a manly wrist watch ? My mum is no exception. Okay, I digressed enough. So you get the picture (slender bare wrists, loose ill-fitting off-white shirt, rolled up sleeves, black jeans).

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

It's evening, I am now at Saravana Bhavan (the friendly neighbourhood South-Indian eatery) . Standing at the cashier's table I ponder over my order. (Much earlier) the day in office had gone off uneventfully. As always, nobody had the time or inclination to notice me (or my black jeans). At Sarvana Bhavan, you need to place your order at the cashier & pay-up in advance. They, then give you a plastic token number which you place strategically on your table, and wait. I order one 'appam' and coffee. Just then, my eyes wander to the tantalizing array of sweets on display right next to the cashier. Predictably, I give in to my temptation. To gratify my sweet tooth, I order one Baadushaa. The dessert is handed immediately at the counter on a small steel plate. I pick up tissues, spoon & fork from the self-service cutlery counter and then : Tragedy strikes (Tornado, House, Path, Badluck, Me..... Remember ?).

With tissues, spoon-fork in one hand, a steel plate with the sweet in other hand I start walking precariously, looking for an empty table. As I walk past few tables, I notice a guy with his ear glued to cell phone, looking at me. For few tiny seconds my eyes lock with his and I know from that moment onwards I am doomed. Still talking animatedly on his cell, he raises his free hand and signals me. This isn't any friendly 'hey there buddy' kind of waving of hand. I know for sure, what's on his mind. I ignore his frenetic calls and continue walking past him. He almost grabs hold of my arm and tries to stop me in my tracks. That does it, I can't take this humiliation anymore. I stop, turn back in my stride and shout on top of my voice :

"I am not the friggin' Waaaaiteeeeerrrrrrr"

My words float gently in the air (for what seems like an eternity). The ripples carry across the length and breadth of the restaurant. A hushed silence descends. The tension is palpable. The cell-phone guy lies stunned & frozen. In a reflex action he disconnects the phone and starts apologizing profusely. I don't need an apology (if anything, i should be thanking him for gifting me with a blog-worthy anecdote). I brush him aside and make my way past few more stunned diners and find an empty table. Sometime later, as the 'real' waiter comes with appam and coffee, I realize my folly. The dress code for waiters, in Saravana Bhavan, is same as mine. White shirt & black trousers. It was a classic case of me being at the wrong place, at the wrong time, in wrong attire.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

p.s. : song of the week

Aye Ganpat, Chal Daaru La..
Ice Chala, Soda Kam, Thoda Paani Mila..
Thoda Table Veble Saaf Kar De Na Yaar..
Aye Ganpat, Ganpat..

Tuesday, July 17, 2007

Life is a bitch, Tag of 8 and everything in-between

Punds tagged me to write 8 random facts about me, and i promptly complied. I was mighty depressed after finishing the tag (woh bhuli daastaan , loh phir yaad aa gayi & all that crap) . Anyways, a man got to do - what a man got to do. So without further ado, here are 8 randomly hand-picked facts about me :


1> I have rolled Tele-Prompter pages for Shekhar Suman.

I had a very brief stint in fillum industry (more precisely TV industry) for about 6 to 8 months. I use to work for Ken Ghosh ( google him, if you must) . This was much before he ventured into films. Back then he was mostly into music videos, TV ads and song-based countdown shows. He had a team comprising of 2 female assistant directors & one in-house editor. Myself & another friend of mine, we were one rung lower to the assistant directors & editor. Boley toh "assistant ka assistant". In plain simple words I was a glorified filmy Peon. Doing everything and anything in the name of "struggle". So one of my task (during shoots) was to sit next to the teleprompter with script pages, put it on the teleprompter and roll it slowly as Shekhar read the dialogues off the screen.

Before you guys dismiss this as a no-brainer kinda job let me tell you: It's not. It's a delicate job. You need to be in sync with the reader. If you pull the page too fast or too slow then it can mess up the dialogue delivery and you will end up will lots of Gaalis from the actor and the director. I must say, I pulled it off quite competently.

2> I have updated bank-passbook for Ken Ghosh's wife.

Refer point 1. One gets to do all kind of stuff under the name of "struggle". Some of my other duties included :

- Paying telephone/electricity bills. Ordering take-outs for the in-house staff.

- Buying Rubber bands. Ken use to sport a small ponytail (back then) which he use to tie together with rubber band. When he ran out of those, me or my other buddy use to scoot to the nearest dukaan to replenish the stock.

- Carrying the Beta Tape (video) Recorder from studio to shooting locations & back

- Writing down the shooting log. You basically note down the start and the end timing between each 'take' and mark each shot as N.G (No Good) or O.K

- Make connections of the beta recorder to the AVID editing system and keep it up & running for the editor to make the final cut.

- Digitize the shooting tape . Which is basically copy the recorded video material from tape onto the hard disk and segregate the shots.

- Stand and watch the edits

- Carry the edited tape for Beta-Mastering

- Carry the beta-mastered tapes to Star Plus / Zee Offices for them to broadcast

- Give creative inputs for the VJ script for the countdown shows.

- Be on stand-by during shoots to do just about anything and everything

3> My name has appeared in Credits on Star Plus and EL TV (circa 1996/97)

Refer point 1. This was for 2 countdown shows. One hosted by Shekhar Suman and another hosted by Rakshanda Khan. My name use to be listed as assistant editor for one of the shows and as assistant director in another show.

4> I have never hit a boundary during my (brief & eminently forgettable ) amateur cricketing life.

This has to be the biggest regret of my life. Not even once, did the ball hit the middle of my bat and raced to boundary. Never ever. But then I had very limited opportunities being the number 11 batsman in my team. (And) I was too lukkha to garner the strength required to hit a tennis ball hard enough to hit the fence. Okay enuff excuses. I confess, I sucked at cricket. Period.

5> I have been licked by Shoba De's dog

I happened to be at her home in Cuffe Parade for some official work. No, Shobha was not there to offer me nimbu-paani. Her maid & a rabid dog entertained me in her absence.

6> I got 49 marks in Hindi in 10th std.

After all these years, I am still so fucking upset about it.

7> I can float on my back without moving hands or legs

I am so good at this that once while floating in a pool, one guy mistook me for being dead and (almost) dived into pool to save me :)

8> I cannot use a soldering iron.

Which is not such a bad thing, but then, my convocation certificate says I am B.E. (Electronics) from Mumbai University. Strange but true.

P.S. : I have burnt the bridges which took me through point 1,2 & 3. When I look back at that phase of my life.. It seems like, it happened in another lifetime and to another person. It was the happiest phase of my life, but it didn't last long. Life is a bitch.

Wednesday, July 11, 2007

Tranquil




These pics were shot with a no-frills point & shoot digital camera. On this particular day, the late afternoon light was nothing short of 'divine' and it shows. No fancy SLR camera, no fiddling with aperture/shutter speed, no post-production touch-ups, no nothing. Just frame & shoot. Easy.

Monday, July 09, 2007

Guilty without a trial

Friday mornings almost invariably put me in good mood (in contrast to Friday evenings, which invariably put me in somber mood). As I start getting ready for office, a peppy song makes it way to my lips and I find myself singing aloud :

"Aawaaran Bhawnrey.. Jo Holley Holley Gaaye..
Phoolon Ke Rang Se.. Hawaayen Sar Saraayen.."

In my mind, I see a very perky & bubbly Kajol frolicking in sunflower fields with half a dozen busty friends.

"Kyaa Uncle, ekdum light ??"

My roommate interrupts my early morning reverie and I crash land back to earth. From time to time we (as in me & roomies) have this peculiar habit of slipping into 'Satya' lingo. In past 6 years we must have watched this movie atleast a dozen times. For reasons well beyond me, my roommates unanimously labeled me 'Uncle' after the bearded eccentric lawyer (Makarand Deshpande) from Satya. Agreed that, I am ‘now’ old enough to be called an Uncle, but 6 years back when I was christened as 'Uncle' for the first time, I was still a sprightly 27 year young lad. I still had not started dyeing my grey hair bi-monthly (as I do now). No way, I could have been an uncle back then. But somehow the name stuck. Six years down the line, I have grudgingly made peace with the Uncle tag. Anyways, moving on to this Friday morning, I pick my dialogue cue, and reply back,

"Arey Shabbo ko try to kar, keechad mein bhi kamal khiltey hein dost"

Pleasantries exchanged, roommie makes his way to the bathroom while I gather my wallet, room keys, office access card, cell and head out of our apartment. Soon I find myself waiting for the MRT. The song is still with me, but this being a public place, my lips are sealed. It now plays silently in the deep (ok maybe, shallow) recesses of my mind. The train comes. Incredibly, its not crowded as it normally is. Although I don't get a seat, but still there is plenty of legroom to stand comfortably (& ogle). Four stations before my alighting point I get a seat. It’s a corner seat, adjacent to the door.

"Please offer this seat to those who need it more than you do"

Says a sign-board above this corner seat with the customary picture of 'a pregnant lady, a child & a cane totting senior citizen' accompanying the textual message. As if right on cue, a heavily pregnant lady enters at City Hall station. One look at her incredibly fat n rotund belly and I promptly slip into flashback mode.

Flashback to Wednesday :

Same City Hall station. Same heavily pregnant lady. Same me. I am looking at her tummy with a mixture of intrigue and fear. The girth of her belly makes me wonder if the baby would pop-out even before we reach Bugis (the station next to City Hall). A girl sitting on the corner seat, quite graciously offers her seat to the preggy lady. The preggy lady equally graciously declines the offer saying she is getting down at next station. End of conversation. Preggy lady indeed gets down at next station. End of flashback.

Back to Friday Morning :

This time, I am seated in the corner seat, I recollect the scene which happened 2 days back. I can't be wrong, she is the same lady. There is no mistaking that belly. Normally, I would have offered the seat to her but knowing that she gets down at next stop, I just sit there with my eyes focused to infinity. As always, infinity doesn’t keep me interested for too long, my eyes start wandering around the compartment. I notice 2 pairs of eyes (belonging to 2 good looking girls) staring at me with un-disguised contempt and anger. Unlike me, they don't have the benefit of the flashback. They obviously are pissed that I haven't offered the seat to preggy lady. In their eyes, I am an insensitive sonofabitch. An impromptu tribunal is set. I feel like I am standing in a witness box and am being cross-examined by 2 pretty Ally-Mcbealish-lawyers-cum-co-passengers. My offence ?

“Not showing courtesy to a pregnant lady”.

I squirm in my seat. Quite frankly, the lady didn’t need a seat, rather she needed a bed in a maternity ward with a mid-wife, a doctor and some epidural on the stand-by. I keep my opinion to myself. I am caught in two minds, should I offer the seat to the lady ? (knowing fully well that she is going to refuse) or should I remain nonchalant and don't bother being in the good books of two un-known girls. I choose the later. I coolly close my eyes and pretend to sleep cutting the victim (preggy lady) and my two accusers out of my vision.

Next stop BUGIS.. (the PA system in the MRT announces the arrival of next station)

Wearily I open my eyes. For sure, the victim alights. I feel relieved & vindicated. I look again at the two jurors. They are in no mood to forgive me. They have already passed their judgment. GUILTY. I shrug my shoulders and close my eyes, once again becoming oblivious to their accusing stares & crinkling noses. In my mind however, I can no longer hold on to the sunny notes of “Aawaaran Bhawrey”. My mood slowly starts to swing from being upbeat to downright morose.



p.s : There would be some factions who might argue that I should have offered my seat to one of the two jurors. Well being a pro-feminist (whatever that means) I feel that gesture would have been downright derogatory and sexist. So there.

Friday, April 27, 2007

One moment in time

There are mornings, and then, there are mornings. Yesterday, was one such morning.

It started out as any other routine listless morning. The weather was tad gloomy & overcast. When I stepped out of the train and started walking towards my office, it started to drizzle. Thankfully the breeze was strong enough to keep the threat of impending downpour at bay (for few minutes, atleast) .

Except for the tropical wet weather, it was a perfectly ordinary featureless morning. It continued being mundane, until I stepped in the lift lobby of my office building. As I waited for the lift to descend to ground level, my eyes settled on the back of this girl who was waiting in front of me. The imagery that greeted my eyes has since stayed with me.

There she was, wearing (what I 'guess' is called) a halter neck top which bared a sizeable chunk of her fair translucent back. Her hair was cropped short, which made her slim poised neck stand out. I suspect she didn't carry an umbrella, because the early morning drizzle had etched a delectable layer of shimmering droplets all over her neck, shoulders and back.

I imagine, this is how her back looks like every morning when she steps out (wet) from the privacy of her bath. A very intimate & sensuous sight. Thanks to the benevolent rain gods, I was being treated to this forbidden sight. She had a delicate butterfly tattooed on her back. Bluish green butterfly perched on flawless dew laden skin, this is the stuff that dreams are made of (No, I wasn't day dreaming). The next precious few moments passed in a blurr. The lift came down. I got in, she got in. She was again in front of me & I was behind her (keeping safe honourable distance, ofcourse). My eyes refused to let go of the wet butterfly. I was jolted out of my hypnotic fantasy when she got down on 15th floor & the lift door firmly shut behind her back. SIGH.

One moment in time. That’s all I have to say about that.

Friday, April 20, 2007

Sick Leave : In Pictures



B.E.F.O.R.E





A.F.T.E.R





a.f.t.e.r - A.F.T.E.R



Took sick leave from office today (Cucumber + Alu Parantha with dahi = Runny nose + Sneezing + Mild Fever ) . The 3 pics above show how i spent my off day.

Saturday, February 03, 2007

33 Years Of Solitude (with apologies to Marquez)

SCENE ONE - INT. IW's BEDROOM. NIGHT.

IW is seated by a study table, with his back to the camera. Apparently he is updating his (secret) personal diary. He casually glances at the calendar hanging on the wall. It’s a no-frills, out-of-fashion, middle-classy kind of calendar. The kind of which you get from your friendly neighborhood grocer. It has picture of Lord Hanuman (the inspiration & guiding light of all pious indian male bachelors). A thick wad of papers hangs at the bottom of the calendar. It shows the date, with month at top & big fat numbers underneath.

IW is staring at the date. Camera follows his gaze . Now we are looking at the calendar thru IW's point-of-view. The screen fills-up with the numerals 31. It flutters a bit. Camera pulls out, as IW resumes writing his journal under heading - Jan 31, 2007.

Voice over starts. Its IW's voice. Viewers get to hear the lines that are being scribbled.

IW (V/O) : "A New Year is all about new beginnings, new dreams, new girlfriends."

We get to see the lines being written on the page. Handwriting isn't that great. It’s kinda crooked but legible.

Suddenly the page loses its opaqueness. And in typical 60s style movie, a face appears on the page. Its IW's alter ego (IWAE). His inner voice.

IWAE : (dry mocking tone) "Right, Girlfriends. Who are we kidding here ?"

IW : "It never hurts to be positive. "

IWAE : "You are not being positive. You are just plain lying! That too, to your own self. "

IW : "What else can I do ? Everything else has failed. "

IWAE : "Failed spectacularly, at that. "

IW : "Right. Go ahead. Rub it in. Harder. Harder. "

IWAE : "Watching too much porn again ? "

IW : "Get off my case, ar!@h*le. "

IWAE disappears off the page with a deriding laughter. IW tears off the half-written page angrily. Crumples it into a ball & throws it aiming for the waste-basket in the corner. He misses the mark by a mile. The paper-ball lands on the floor. Frustrated, IW walks up to the waste basket and kicks it with all his might. Now we have more trash on the floor. But IW couldn't be bothered less. He heads towards his bed & slumps on it like a crash-test-dummy. The bed creaks noisily. Lights Out.

CUT to a super(impose) with few words of wisdom , it says -

"The terrors of Solitude were not so terrifying, once they were known."

END OF SCENE ONE .

BEGIN BLOG PROPER.

33 Days, 8 hrs & 33 minutes into the new year & so far the only new thing to happen in my life is : I am now sitting in a shiny new office cubicle.

Earlier, me ‘n’ my boss use to sit cheek to cheek (okay shoulder to shoulder) with hardly a distance of a feet & half separating us. The close proximity didn't bother me a bit. But, it bothered my boss a lot. Especially after one sleepy afternoon, when I caught him playing solitaire on his laptop. He was not amused, I guess.

My (old) seating area was cutoff from the rest of office. While everybody else sat in their own private cubes. My boss, me & 2 more folks were quarantined in a separate room. It was like an office within an office. This secluded work place suited me just fine. I am clinically anti-social. It’s a disease which has afflicted me at quite a young age, & like any other chronic disease it has gotten worse with each passing year. Being social requires a person to smile & talk. I don't smile easily or certainly not as often, so as to qualify myself as a social animal. I don't talk much, either. Small talk leaves me speechless.

Small-talk: The kind of talk which is expected of you when you run-into somebody in lift-lobby, reception, pantry or washroom.

The problem is, there is always someone lurking in every corner in this world; eagerly waiting to talk with you. These wretched people expect you to say few nice words every time your paths cross. First, you have to say something pleasant & while you are at it, you are expected to be cheerful & funny. If i were to be brutally honest, then on any given Monday morning, my small-talk would sound something like this :

Lurker : (cheerfully) Good Morning. How was the weekend mate ?
IW : (sleep deprived, depressed, undersexed) Absolutely riveting. I locked myself within the 4 walls of my apartment for the whole of Sat & Sunday. Stepped out only to throw the rubbish. How about you ? How was your weekend ?

That’s exactly what happens on most weekends in my life. Now, please don't think that I am whining or complaining. I absolutely dig being at home & doing nothing. No complaints. I love it. But would it sound interesting & funny to an outsider ?

The point is, with the sedentary life that i lead, most of the times there isn't anything interesting bit for me to share or talk about. Regardless of that, I still fail to understand this primal need of people to "talk". I am quite comfortable with silences. I don't get anxious or jittery upon being silent for hours. I don't feel the burning desire to catch hold of someone & talk about the sitcom that was aired previous nite or perhaps the soccer game that was played over the weekend, or for that matter, talk about the hot gurl that you met in the bar last nite.

My another weakness is, I am clueless about office politics. I am not aware of the circles within the circles. I am not into bitching about colleagues. That quite narrows down my topics of office conversation. I open my mouth only twice a day - When I walk in & exchange polite Good Mornings; and when I walk out in the evening, waving polite "Good Bye’s".

Once I am settled in my desk, I fiercely guard my silences. I time my pantry breaks in such a way that i don't run into anyone while I am in there. I play it by the ear. I first venture on a dry run, wherein I walk past the pantry, stealthily, keeping my ears tuned to action happening inside. If i hear any sounds indicating human life, I quickly turn around and bide my time by idling at the printer or walk purposefully right ahead, with some documents in my hand, looking busy. When i am absolutely sure that, there is not a soul inside, I make a quick dash for it. In & Out in a jiffy. For the rest of the day, I chain myself back to the chair. Lunch breaks are no different, since i swear by Indian food and nothing but indian food, I am forced to have my lunch alone. Just me, my food & my perverted soundless thoughts. Bliss. 966. That’s the number of lunches which I had without any lunch companion(s) in past 4 years.

Coming back to my new cubicle, it is located diagonally opposite to the pantry. Now I don't even need to do the snooping, to check if the coast is clear. Though my eyes appear glued to the PC screen, the corners of my eyes are always focused on live action happening in the pantry. Its something akin to being at the watering hole in the jungle. Sooner or the later everybody has to come there gasping for a cup of coffee or a quick bite or two. I can now rattle off trivial data as to - who has how many cups of coffee in a day & at what intervals. Who took how many servings of the leftover cake, and so on & so forth Though I don't like to talk, but I do like to "watch". Watch silently at that.

Okay, this post isn't progressing anywhere near to its logical ending so I am afraid, I have to end it abruptly. There you have it. My life at its exciting best. Don't even try to top that. No please don't.

In passing, I would just like to share one more bit. For past 5/6 years, at the beginning of each new year I have been resolving to get married. This year too, its on top of my wish-list. So if you happen to know any marriageable girl between 28 to 32, please pass on my blog URL to her. That way, there would be one less thing to wish-for in 2008.

IWAE : That was quite pathetic.
IW : For once, I totally agree. Pathetic, Lame & Desperate.
IWAE : That too, so early in the year. Hardly a month has passed.
IW : Do you know 14th Feb is just round the corner ?
IWAE : Goodness Gracious, I had almost forgtten. Carry on pimping then.
IW : Bugger off, rubber mouth @$!#&*.

IW & IWAE walk off in the sunset . A song starts playing as the credits start rolling.

" Hum Honge Kaamyaab.. Hum Honge Kaamyaab
Hum Honge Kaamyaab... Ek Din.
Ho Ho Mann Mein Hein Vishwaas.. Puraa Hein Vishwaas.
Hum Honge Kaamyaab... Ek Din. "

Friday, January 05, 2007

Mt. Kinabalu - Early Morning View Through Fields

Feeding Nemo @ Pulau Sapi

Docked Boats - 2 @ Pulau Sapi

Docked Boats - 1 @ Pulau Sapi

View Through The Shrubs @ Pulau Sapi

Jetty Walkway - Appealing Foreground @ Pulau Sapi

Jetty - View From Shoreline @ Pulau Sapi

Jetty - Vertical @ Pulau Sapi

Jetty - Silhouette @ Pulau Sapi