Randomosity.

Well, life has been spectacularly boring the last few days. Broken up by sporadic bursts of adrenaline rushes. Like the CAT. Or the Food Poisoning From Hell. The cramped bus journey home. Driving a car after a really long time.


Yeah, I was among the sea of humanity who courted The Feline in hopes of a better life. Among other things. You see, everything you wish for has to be the one thing that is going to change your whole world.


Like, in school, the tenth, twelfth board exams were going to be the "stepping stone to a great future". Yeah, we all know how that turned out. But the Illusion never really stops. It continues with the Entrance Exams ("...if I get into a great college, that's it, my life's set..."), campus placements. By this time, the Illusion has become a Hallucination. Everything is about the Elusive Dream. 


"If I can get there, that's it, my life's made."


The there varies with the position we're in. When we were in college, the there was "Get into a reputed software firm. So what if they make you work for 15, 16 hours a day, you'll get paid for it." Of course you will.


Finally, by the strength of your back, and the sweat of your brow, and some ridiculous hiring interviews, you get your first job. Which, considering where you are, is a pretty big deal. The Illusion now is "Revolutionize the world with your creations". You do not exactly know what those creations are, but you know they're going to revolutionize the world anyhow.


Now the there is "Project, and then Onsite."


One year down the line, half of which was spent on The Bench, Nirvana is attained on a Friday evening, at 5.47 in the evening. The whole world is getting ready to enjoy the weekend, and you sit in your air-conditioned cubicle, paying for the sins of your past life, which have come back under the guise of a bug, that has seemingly no humanly comprehensible fix. Mails with CC to Really Important People Who Could Screw You Over are flying back and forth.


It is then that you tell yourself, "Ithokke yenth".


Roughly transliterated from Malayalam, it reads as "All this, is what?"


Simple, but at the same time eloquent. Having heard this for the first time from my CET friends during my training days, the true meaning sunk in only much later. That's all of human philosophy there, in two puny words.


As my friend Daniel likes to say "Dude, in the cosmic sense, all this doesn't matter in the least." Of course, he says that to everything. But, he's got a point.


That kind of existential crisis about The Futility of It All tends to strike between 3 and 4 AM. This usually happens when you've been sitting up really late doing something that requires minimum brainpower. Like chatting with your girlfriend. Or playing games that involves mindless carnage. And then you reach a point where you eyes refuse to stay open, and you bow out of whatever you've been doing, and lie down, and Bam!


Another thing that I've noticed about late nights is The Proposal. You see it all the time. Guy and girl talk for a long time into the night. Starts out totally platonic, but as the clock ticks, secrets spill, and Bam! Guy proposes. This is a Night-Only phenomenon, because you put the same guy and girl together on the phone in broad daylight, nothing happens. Must have something to do with The Witching Hour and all that.


Something to think about, then.

"Friday the 13th" PWNED by "Thursday the 12th".

So, Friday the 13th is drawing to a close, and barring any TGIF-booze-fuelled hijinks from here till midnight, I have managed to go through it without any major incidents.

Well, yesterday kinda made up for it anyway. So what happened yesterday? Those of you who follow my tweets, or visit my sporadically-active Orkut/Facebook pages, got the point that my mobile was stolen. Or lost, according to Maraimalai Nagar's finest. 

But as with everything else, things are never what they seem to be. There’s always something that's not said.

Here's what really happened.

My mobile, or ex-mobile anyway, religiously belted out George Thorogood's "Bad To The Bone" at 6.30AM everyday. Including Sundays. And I religiously snoozed it as long as it took for it to the point, and went back to sleep till 7. Or 8. Or 9. Why should yesterday have been any different. As soon as the first guitar riff started echoing in the living room (yeah, we sleep in the living room. Welcome to The Life Of An SE.), I clicked on "Snooze", without even opening my eyes. I've worked at that. Around 7.30, Switchfoot started on "Dare You To Move" to tell me that somebody wanted to talk to me at this ungodly hour. Click. Mercilessly silenced.

What happens next, can be part of any Quentin Tarantino movie. And this is the part that really sucks (nope, still not over the whole lost-my-phone thing!), so I'm just going to rush through this. 

Roomie gets up 7.45ish, leaves for office around 8.30. Leaving the door closed, but not latched. Because the door is usually locked with a padlock from outside. With the three of us inside, not yet back from our trips to Neverland, he usually just closes the door. But the law of averages finally catches up with you when you're bent over, tying your shoelaces. With the emphasis on "bent over".

I finally decide to get up, and reach out for the mobile, which would be in the vicinity of my head. A quick hand-scan reveals that it's not there. So, it must be under the pillow. Right? Wrong! It's nowhere. Maybe Roomie-Who-Leaves-Early was looking at it and kept it somewhere. So I take Roomie 2's phone and dial my number. It's ringing. Except, I can hear it only through his phone.

Someone, let's call him Some Odd Bloke, or SOB for short, picks it up. I appeal in a jumbled mixture of Tamil, Hindi and English for him to return the phone, for which I would pay him whatever he wants. As expected he cuts the call, and after that every call is greeted with "The number you are trying to reach is currently unavilable...".

By this time Roomie 1 and 2 are doing frantic recons inside the house to see what else SOB has taken. All the money from my wallet too. Cards, thankfully, are still intact.

So here's what happened. Roomie-Who-Leaves-Early, does what he does, he leaves early. SOB walks into the house, picks up mobile, pulls out all the money from a wallet that's lying around, and thanks to my outrageous luck, it's mine.

Realization finally sinks in.

Mobile stolen. Check.

Wallet emptied. Check.

All this accomplished right in front of my eyes, except that they were closed. Check.

Major bummer. Double check.

Welcome to Singaperumal Koil. A small town with a big name, hiding unnoticed on the outskirts of both the Chennai and Kancheepuram districts. In fact, it's so strategically placed that neither district wants to claim ownership. A nondescript halt on the Grand Southern Trunk Road. If you run too fast in this town, you end up in the next one. One with an equally imposing name, Maraimalai Nagar.

Welcome to a world where anything is possible. To a world where three laptops are flicked during a power outage from a first floor apartment, because they happened to be near a window. A world where "SE" loosely translates into "Filthy Rich, Arrogant, and Gullible.". Where you have to shoo away the flies to see what you're eating. Welcome to the middle of nowhere.

The fact that a pack of tenacious SEs have survived in this desi equivalent of The Outback for this long is no mean feat. To see a documentary of their "Life", from early 2007, click here. Only 5 of the original 11 now remain. 

So, the done thing when your mobile is stolen is to block your SIM. The highly skilled individuals, down at the call center, put you through a "Virtual Frisk". And they are so polite that, they begin and end a sentence with "Sir". Also, every other sentence is "Thank you, Sir"."Sir, can you please confirm in whose name this number is taken, Sir?". "Thank you, Sir". " Sir, please stay on the line while I retrieve your information, Sir". "Thank you, Sir". Finally, my SIM has been barred.

Apparently, the next thing to do is to mail cop@vsnl.net with the following details.

Notice the use of words lie "just have to" and of course "no need to go to police". So easy. And therefore, guaranteed to NOT work. You see, disabling phones when you give them the IMEI number, is a no-go for GSM phones. ie, unless your phone came with a SIM of it's own, say "Tata goodbye" when you lose it. Atleast, that's what repeated interactions with Highly Skilled Individuals @ Call Center revealed.

Now, there's one part that I've left untouched. And it's my personal favourite. The bureaucracy.

cop@vsnl.net is the terror-inducing email ID of the Cyber Crime Cell. They have a mobile number too. The person who answers it has one thing to tell you. "File FIR local police station". "I sent you an email...hello? hello?". He's said it so many times, to so many gutted people, that it's become a lifeless monotone sans prepositions.

So Roomie-Who-Leaves-Early and me tagged over to the nearest police station. Which is located in the neighbouring town of Maraimalai Nagar. Extremely convenient that Singaperumal Koil does not have a police station of it's own. But that's not the point.

I will try to recreate the conversation from inside that Hallowed Place.

Me : Sir, my phone was stolen from inside my house.

Sir : Who stole?

Me : Eh?

Sir : Who allowed inside house?

Me : Huh?

Sir : Go see Madam. (...pronounced "Me-dum".)

Me : Thank you, sir.

Madam, meanwhile, was busy yelling at someone. So we waited outside, till she spotted us, and indicated that we should enter her presence.

Me : Madam, my phone was stolen from inside my house.

Madam : How door open?

Me : Door was not latched, only closed. (Notice that talking to important people with a lesser command of the language forces you to speak like them.)

Madam : Aha! You not take care of things, then what we do?!

Me : But ma'am, it was taken from inside the house!

Madam : No! How you know?

Me : Madam, I called the number and...

Madam : I see people like you daily. College students, roaming around on two wheeler, at 2 or 3 at night, all ganja.

At this point, I realize that the conversation is totally out of our hands. Which is a fate that it now shares with my mobile too.

Madam keeps going for another few minutes in a staccato mix of Tamil and English. We have reached a point where we expect her to accuse us of stealing a phone. But the storm blows over and she asks us to come the next day to see The Inspector. But, she says "Only missing! No stolen". 

Me : But madam, my phone was taken from inside the house!

Madam : Missing only!

Me : Thank you, madam.

I called up the Cyber Crime Cell to inquire whether a missing statement would be enough. "File FIR local police station".

It's like a thick fog that engulfs you. Bureaucracy truly rules. In every sense of the word.

Yeah, so coming back to where I started. 

Compared to this, Friday the 13th paled in comparison. That kind of stuff is hard to live up to. 




PS : And speaking of PWNED!, check this out. "Sick, Wicked and Nasty."

When Bell-bottoms Ruled The Earth.

NOTE : 'Jump Breaks' DO NOT work! So it's a long, long post. Any help on this will be appreciated.


Things are never what they seem to be. There’s always something they don’t tell you. Like, about that time your dad asked your mom out for the first time.

They went for a movie, The Sound Of Music. And then, Happily Ever After.

Sure. That’s what they tell you. But here’s what really happened.

******************************************

When Bell-Bottoms Ruled The Earth

Circa 1965.

“So tell me about her, this girl you’re pursuing”.

“Oh, it’s nothing really. Just a passing fancy. A natural curiosity. “

“Oh really. And that is why you want me to build a mini-tracking device?”

“Er. Well it’s kinda complicated.”

***


Well it was. Ms. Kelly was the object of my affection, secret as of yet. But I planned to change all that. If I could tell her apart from Ms. Sheila, her identical twin. But it was nigh impossible. It was like trying to tell apart one electron from the other. Which was certainly an interesting concept, because no two electrons behaved the same way twice under the exact same conditions according to a latest study.

But that was not the point.

Ms. Kelly. I could tell it was really her once we had talked for a couple of minutes, but there was no way I could tell her from her twin at first glance. Both of them were fellow lecturers at the college where I taught, I mean “tried to teach”, doped-out, hippie clones the way around the atom. And guess what, they both taught Math. So that was a dead-end street.

A couple of times I’d passed one of them in the corridors, wasn’t exactly sure which one it was. So I smiled, and tried not to, both at once, which in retrospect definitely did not look good at all. And this one time, I was talking to one of them, only to find out after a few minutes that I was flirting with the wrong twin. Thankfully, she didn’t realize that I was flirting. Well, it was rather cunningly disguised.

So, what I needed was a way to tell them apart at first glance. Some kind of mark. But that was out of the question, because it would look rather suspicious if I tried to brand one of them. What I needed was a signal that would tell me it was Kelly, and not Sheila. A signal. And a signal meant…

“Bill, I need a favor”

<! -- more -->

***

“And this is what you came up with? A mini-Geiger counter and a radium diode?”

“Well, you have to admit, it's a stroke of genius.”

“It’s crazy! Are you out of your mind? For one, how do you plan to implant it on her?”

“Oh. Yes. That. Well, that’s the other favor.”

“Huh? You want me to do what?”

“I have observed she wears a hairband, you just have to tape it to it. And it’s most convenient since both of you share the same staffroom. Thanks, Bill.”

“No no no, I meant that in the tone of ‘You want me to do WHAT?!’”

***

So, finally, Bill has agreed to The Mission, as we’re calling it now. The Ticker is coming along nicely too. It’ll fit in my pocket and start ticking whenever that radium diode comes close. So you see, I have my signal!

Kelly, here I come!

***

Tick. Tick. Tick tick tick.

“Good morning Professor O’Hara, I love what you’ve done with your hair today”

“Oh! Thank you, Professor Mitchell. And a very good morning to you too.”

Smile.

Blush.

Tick. Tick.

***

Hah. “Crazy”, sayest thou, Bill?

***

Tick tick tick.

“Hello Professor O’Hara, what do you think of  Julie Andrews?”

“Why, Professor Mitchell, she’s my favorite!”

“Oh do call me Kenneth. Or better still, Ken”

“Well, only if you call me Kelly.”

Smile. “Sure, Kelly.”

Blush.

***

Things are going swimmingly. As a matter of fact, I’m going to ask her out tomorrow. To the Sound Of Music. That should seal it.

***

Tick tick tick.

“Say Kelly, how about a movie, this Saturday?”

“Oh. Oh! Well, I don’t know what to say.”

“It’s the Sound Of Music.”

“Oh! Wow. I, er, hmmm, oh, er, okay.” Blush.

“It’s a date then. Tomorrow evening, 6, then?”

“Uh huh.”

***

“I did it! I did it, Bill. I asked her out!”

“Are you sure you asked the right one?”

“Of course I’m sure, she ticked!”

“Oh. Hmmm, I’m surprised that thing still works.”

“Of course it does. Like a charm!”

“Hmmm, you still need a ticker to recognize your paramour. My my, what a sad Romeo you are.”

“Har har. Well I’m getting better at it, I just need some more time.”

***


I showed up as the Town Hall gong sounded out six times. Parking my trusty Vespa outside her gate, I walked up the driveway, bell-bottoms flapping in the evening breeze, and rang the doorbell. I was greeted by a walrus mustache.


“So you’re Professor Mitchell?”.

The dad.

“Good evening, Mr. O’Hara!”

I’ve heard they do this on purpose to see if the man can stand up to The Dad Test. If you do, you’re in. I think I did. Because he told me to bring them back by 9. No later.

Wait. Did he say “them”?

***

I had a situation on my hands. Plan A had been busted by Mr. Dad-Hopefully-In-Law. Sheila would be coming along. As a chaperone. Yeah, it was a situation. Because, I had no Plan B. And I wasn’t the what you would call, a “go-with-the-flow”, or a “make-it-up-as-you-go-along”, or something to that effect, kind of guy. And so, I did what any self respecting guy, head over heels in love with a girl too awesome for him, would do.

I panicked.

The Vespa had to go. Atleast, disappear temporarily. I slipped out surreptitiously, and wheeled it to a rundown shed next to the gate. I was back on the couch flipping through the newspaper, nonchalantly, when she came down the stairs.

She looked rather nice. Beautiful, and all those things.

Her hair was let down from the tight ponytail she sported in the college. It cascaded down in wavy, well, waves to her shoulders. But I didn’t see that. Because all I could see, or rather couldn’t see, was the hairband. There was no hairband on her head! Why was there no hairband?!

And just to add a nice touch of madness to the mystery, the other one was coming down the stairs now. Dang it, her hair was loose too! This was Kelly. Yeah. Or was it? Didn’t she have smaller eyes than Sheila? Or did she?

My trusty Ticker was just dead weight in my pocket now. I might as well throw it at Mr. Walrus-Mustache and make my getaway while I still had some of my pride left. I found myself thinking about how fast I could get to the Vespa and get it running.


One of them was saying something.

“You don’t mind do you? Daddy insisted.”


Of course I minded! I ground my teeth at no one in particular, but directed it in the general direction of a walrus mustache. Inwardly. Outwardly, I shrugged, again nonchalantly. “No problem.” I chanced an easy grin, but it came out like a snorted grimace. “None at all.”

I wanted to say she looked beautiful, but supposing it was the wrong twin? My first date would be over before it began. So I chose to run my fingers through my hair instead. All cool and nonchalant. Maybe one of them would drop a hint. I just had to bid my time. That was it. That was all.

***

“Hmmm, you still need a ticker to recognize your paramour. My my, what a sad Romeo you are.”

Oh, shut up, Bill’s Voice.

***

She’s sitting next to me, so she should be Kelly, after all, she wouldn’t let her sister sit between us on the first date.

“…The hills are alive…with the sound of music…”


Sheila’s supposed to chaperone. Of course, she’s sitting between us.

“…how do you solve a problem like Maria…”


But what if it’s Kelly? Wouldn’t she think it was highly unnatural if you paid her no attention at all?

“…leigh odeleigh odeleigh eee oooh…”


You know, the worst thing EVER, would be to make a move for her hand now, and then find out that it was the wrong girl. So stay put! Biding your time, remember?

“…Edelweiss, edelweiss…”


Ok, it’s now or never. Take her hand. It’s right there. Move your hand. Move it!

Or, I’ll wait a little while longer. She’s bound to say something that would give away who she is.

“…Climb every mountain…”

Ok, this has got to be the worst first date ever. I don’t even know who my date is. And it’s almost over.

“…when you find your dream!”

I’m going to throw the Ticker at the screen.

***

“Oh, it was wonderful! The songs, and the children! And ooh, Julie Andrews!”

“Oh yeah. That. Wasn’t it? I liked it too.”  What children? There were children in the movie?

Please God, or Whoever Is In Charge. I just want to know who it is. That’s all. Just one tiny sign. I just want to know.

***

“Here we are. Home before 9. Just as I promised.”  Dang!

“Thank you Professor Mitchell, and goodnight! It was a great movie! I’ll let you two say goodnight”,  said one of them, and walked up the driveway.


The sign! Kelly was standing by me, smiling. She was the one who’d been sitting next to me! And dammit, I hadn’t held her hand! I didn’t know if I was relieved or disappointed. I was pretty sure a squeak escaped me.

“The movie was really something eh? I mean, riveting. Couldn’t take my eyes off it.”


“Oh, me too. Hmmm, you look strikingly different than you do at college.”


“And that is good or bad?”  What did I just say?

“Goodnight, Ken. I really had a wonderful time.”

And she smiled that enigmatic smile, the kind that ladies world over have used with far-reaching consequences.

***

It’s said that God or Whoever Is In Charge intervenes only when we mess it up so bad, that only He can set things right.

***

I threw the Ticker off a bridge on the way back home.

***

And yeah, there was a Happily Ever After.  That should prove something, though I’m not really sure what.

******************************************

And THAT is what really happened. Don't trust me? Ask them. Go ahead.

DreamCatcher

That bike of yours is going to get you killed one day.

Oh, probably, but I left it behind at the Plaza.

Come on, there’s no time.

Where are we going?

Run faster, you can fly, can’t you.

That’s what happens when people get old.

But you can’t go. You can’t.

It’s inevitable. You know that.

Couldn’t somebody else die?

No, it has to be me.

But I don’t have anybody else!

“…That there

That's not me

I go

Where I please

I walk through walls

I float down the Liffey

I'm not here

This isn't happening

I'm not here

I'm not here…”

What took you so long?

I bought you something. I know you’ll like it.

What is it?

Open it.

Wow. Wow!

You do like it, don’t you?

I didn’t do it! I’m telling you.

No. I saw you. You killed her.

I didn’t! I didn’t!

But you have blood on your hands. Look.

“…In a little while

I'll be gone

The moment's already passed

Yeah it's gone

And I'm not here

This isn't happening

I'm not here

I'm not here…”

We have a long way to go.

Isn’t it amazing?

Oh yeah, we have to do this more often.

These places are like out of Heaven or something.

Yeah we have to take a lot of photos.

Damn, I forgot the cam.

I guess we’ll just have to draw them then.

I’m sorry, but nobody survived.

What? But…No, you’re lying.

We’ve identified the bodies. I’m sorry.

No, I heard them saying they were ok.

They went away.

Where are they? I want to see them.

“…Strobe lights and blown speakers

Fireworks and hurricanes

I'm not here

This isn't happening

I'm not here

I'm not here…”

I missed you. A lot.

I missed you too.

But now it’s going to be alright again, right?

Of course, it is.

Why are you crying?

It hurts so much.

I know, it hurts me too.

Then why are you doing this?

I don’t want to, but I have to.

No! Don’t’ leave me! I love you!

“…It’s only a dream...”

“…only a dream…”

Author’s Note: In Chippewa culture, a dreamcatcher is a handmade object based on a willow hoop, on which is woven a loose net or web. It is then decorated with personal and sacred items like feathers, and beads. The earliest dreamcatchers, commonly called “Sacred Hoops”, were crafted by parents to protect their children from nightmares. Newborns were given charms that were woven in the form of spider webs to protect their dreams so their innocence would not be harmed by the tricksters of the night.

Good dreams slip through the web in the night, and the bad dreams become caught in the web and are perished by morning light.

Lyrics : How To Disappear Completely - Radiohead