When will indians ever learn to mourn? It's disgusting to see women huddled, flaying their sweaty bodies around and crying their hearts out with sadness - a little for themselves and a little for others, and men standing in a corner covering their mouths with unwashed towels, carefully avoiding each others' gazes in the hope that it won't be their turn next.
P.S: Reason for angst: The awesome pteronodon picture went unnoticed.
Sunday, April 30, 2006
List of people that I don't hate
Finally, I've come up with the list of people that I don't hate. Here it is:
1.
Crap... Mission aborted.
[EOM]
1.
Crap... Mission aborted.
[EOM]
Saturday, April 29, 2006
New blogger template
Spent three hours on this. Tell me if you like the new template or if I should go back to the old one.
Friday, April 28, 2006
Thursday, April 27, 2006
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
Lost in translation... from English to English... (recycled)
Since I am in an angst mode and all such kind of stuff, it would do the world much good to read one of the recycled posts
I sometimes can't help but wonder the fate that would befall poor Lynne Truss if she ever finds her way to the desi land.
Not only does she have to tolerate the spineless pandering of a typical desi, but worse, listen to grammatically incorrect flavour of whatever is left of English in this land. And if fate has it that she meets a techie in the vicinity of bangalore who makes sure that s/he rolls every R, but is quite oblivious to the other mistakes that gush forth at the rate of 3 grammatical and 2 semantic mistakes per sentence with liberal sprinklings of hindi/tamil all over the place, she would be tempted perpertate much more than a symbolic act of defiance with a permanent marker, and would probablyl go on to throw up all over the place.
If the liberal use of apostrophes can drive a person crazy, sentence constructs can drive him over the edge, steal an XM-29, and happily pump round after round of bullets blindly in random directions, and once the ammo runs out, proceed to buy another pack and empty them too.
A popular outlet in Bangalore says:
Latest fashion dresses for men's women's boy's and girl's
And for God's sake, it wasn't even an undergarments outlet.
A leisurely walk along Hosur Road would have driven out the British faster than the Mahatma, who unfortunately, was a stickler.
Side sing Package trip to Ooty, Kodai, Mysore and Coorg
No, this is not a safari of the tribal heartlands of Kodai and Ooty where tribals line up on the either sides of the road to sing a soulful song on thier favourite two-headed dog-demon that kills innocent unwary tribals, and no, it is not the pot they smoke before killing snakes, though you might actually end up buying it. It is not a courier service either, as the package trip might suggest. What the board means by wisely tearing out superfluous letters is that they offer packaged tours for sight seeing. Parsimony at its best, I would say.
Further down the road, right next to the real estate agents who also rent out VCD's and DVD's, past several hotels that surprisingly don't provide lodging, and offer interesting dishes on the lines of Spinach omlet and Mashroom Manjuri, you would see a board that reads in bold letters
Child cutting done here
You pass out for a second, regain consciousness, shake your head in disbelief, rub your eyes just in case, see the board and promptly faint again. You are brought back to reality by the bakery owner next door who incidentally sells Cocanet balls and explains that it is a barber shop and they give children a haircut here. Relieved, you ask for a soft drink to bring down your heart rate. The shop owner gives you a look that is usually reserved for 25 year old men who run down the road screaming out loud that there is a tyrannosaurus rex in his underpants. You say 'Pepsi' and his face promptly brightens up and he exclaims, Ah, cooling, sir!.
You finally get a feeling that there are a few things that you don't understand, and the term cooling is one of them. If science can't explain cooling, there isn't much that you can trust science with. The shopkeeper then smiles, extends his hands and says
Myself Pandey sir, Dayal Pandey
Who is Myself Pandey here? you ask, after looking around to confirm that there are only two people in the vicinity. You are yourself, fine!; he is Dayal Pandey, great! but where is this Myself Pandey? You bend and look under the table to see if you can find this elusive Myself Pandey.
No, he isn't there. Quite a strange name for a person- a reflexive/emphatic substitute for a name. Interesting! So thinking, you go on to finish your pepsi. But Dayal Pandey is not amused.
You are comedy sir. Mein Dayal Pandey hoon, myself
You couldn't stop the violent spasm that makes you splash the remaining pepsi on the walls of the shop. Between the frightful coughs you also find time to wonder what makes you a comedy!
At this moment, your survival instincts take over. You suddenly don't want to stand near a shop that indulges in paedicide and to talk to a reflexively referring individual. You grope for your purse, pay him and rush out. As you come out of the shop, your eyes happen to notice that they sell Grill Sandwhich, shudder and run for your life.
P.S: Also serves as a pointer to those who want to write posts on "spelling mistakes", if you know what i mean :D
Tags: grammarnazi, angst
I sometimes can't help but wonder the fate that would befall poor Lynne Truss if she ever finds her way to the desi land.
Not only does she have to tolerate the spineless pandering of a typical desi, but worse, listen to grammatically incorrect flavour of whatever is left of English in this land. And if fate has it that she meets a techie in the vicinity of bangalore who makes sure that s/he rolls every R, but is quite oblivious to the other mistakes that gush forth at the rate of 3 grammatical and 2 semantic mistakes per sentence with liberal sprinklings of hindi/tamil all over the place, she would be tempted perpertate much more than a symbolic act of defiance with a permanent marker, and would probablyl go on to throw up all over the place.
If the liberal use of apostrophes can drive a person crazy, sentence constructs can drive him over the edge, steal an XM-29, and happily pump round after round of bullets blindly in random directions, and once the ammo runs out, proceed to buy another pack and empty them too.
A popular outlet in Bangalore says:
Latest fashion dresses for men's women's boy's and girl's
And for God's sake, it wasn't even an undergarments outlet.
A leisurely walk along Hosur Road would have driven out the British faster than the Mahatma, who unfortunately, was a stickler.
Side sing Package trip to Ooty, Kodai, Mysore and Coorg
No, this is not a safari of the tribal heartlands of Kodai and Ooty where tribals line up on the either sides of the road to sing a soulful song on thier favourite two-headed dog-demon that kills innocent unwary tribals, and no, it is not the pot they smoke before killing snakes, though you might actually end up buying it. It is not a courier service either, as the package trip might suggest. What the board means by wisely tearing out superfluous letters is that they offer packaged tours for sight seeing. Parsimony at its best, I would say.
Further down the road, right next to the real estate agents who also rent out VCD's and DVD's, past several hotels that surprisingly don't provide lodging, and offer interesting dishes on the lines of Spinach omlet and Mashroom Manjuri, you would see a board that reads in bold letters
Child cutting done here
You pass out for a second, regain consciousness, shake your head in disbelief, rub your eyes just in case, see the board and promptly faint again. You are brought back to reality by the bakery owner next door who incidentally sells Cocanet balls and explains that it is a barber shop and they give children a haircut here. Relieved, you ask for a soft drink to bring down your heart rate. The shop owner gives you a look that is usually reserved for 25 year old men who run down the road screaming out loud that there is a tyrannosaurus rex in his underpants. You say 'Pepsi' and his face promptly brightens up and he exclaims, Ah, cooling, sir!.
You finally get a feeling that there are a few things that you don't understand, and the term cooling is one of them. If science can't explain cooling, there isn't much that you can trust science with. The shopkeeper then smiles, extends his hands and says
Myself Pandey sir, Dayal Pandey
Who is Myself Pandey here? you ask, after looking around to confirm that there are only two people in the vicinity. You are yourself, fine!; he is Dayal Pandey, great! but where is this Myself Pandey? You bend and look under the table to see if you can find this elusive Myself Pandey.
No, he isn't there. Quite a strange name for a person- a reflexive/emphatic substitute for a name. Interesting! So thinking, you go on to finish your pepsi. But Dayal Pandey is not amused.
You are comedy sir. Mein Dayal Pandey hoon, myself
You couldn't stop the violent spasm that makes you splash the remaining pepsi on the walls of the shop. Between the frightful coughs you also find time to wonder what makes you a comedy!
At this moment, your survival instincts take over. You suddenly don't want to stand near a shop that indulges in paedicide and to talk to a reflexively referring individual. You grope for your purse, pay him and rush out. As you come out of the shop, your eyes happen to notice that they sell Grill Sandwhich, shudder and run for your life.
P.S: Also serves as a pointer to those who want to write posts on "spelling mistakes", if you know what i mean :D
Tags: grammarnazi, angst
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
QoTD
"I'm feeling down", he said. "I feel like singing I'm looking through you, you're not the same", take an andean trek, live among the amish, burn the world down and take you along with it".
He said, "I am reminded of the poem
He said "I want to be the she, I want to be the tree, I want to burn like the tree, like her".
He said "I'm in the pack's-last-condom, DDLJ-induced nostalgia".
He said much more, on and on.
And she said "I understand", and he froze.
He wanted to shout out "But you don't. You think you know, you want to know, but you don't. I won't let you know".
But he didn't. And he was happy.
He said, "I am reminded of the poem
".
She believes if she could only overtake
The riding rhythm of things,
Of her own electrons,
Then she would be at rest
If she could forget school,
Climb the tree,
Be the tree,
Burn like that.
He said "I want to be the she, I want to be the tree, I want to burn like the tree, like her".
He said "I'm in the pack's-last-condom, DDLJ-induced nostalgia".
He said much more, on and on.
And she said "I understand", and he froze.
He wanted to shout out "But you don't. You think you know, you want to know, but you don't. I won't let you know".
But he didn't. And he was happy.
Those crazy buggers - The Beatles
If you consider LSD was cool, read this:
This excerpt is from Pete Shotton's excellent book 'The Beatles, Lennon And Me' (originally published as "John Lennon In My Life", 1983, Stein and Day Publishers :
From page 217:
"One afternoon, while taking "lucky dips" into the day's sack of fan mail, John, much to both our amusement, chanced to pull out a letter from a student at Quarry Bank. Following the usual expressions of adoration, this lad revealed that his literature master was playing Beatles songs in class; after the boys all took their turns analyzing the lyrics, the teacher would weigh in with his own interpretation of what the Beatles were really talking about. (This, of course, was the same institution of learning whose headmaster had summed up young Lennon's prospects with the words: "This boy is bound to fail.") "John and I howled in laughter over the absurdity of it all. "Pete," he said, "what's that 'Dead Dog's Eye' song we used to sing when we were at Quarry Bank?" I thought for a moment and it all came back to me: Yellow matter custard, green slop pie, All mixed together with a dead dog's eye, Slap it on a butty, ten foot thick, Then wash it all down with a cup of cold sick.
"That's it!" said John. "Fantastic!" He found a pen commenved scribbling: "Yellow matter custard dripping from a dead dog's eye....". "The Walrus" came from Alice in Wonderland.
"Let the fuckers work THAT one out", said John.
This excerpt is from Pete Shotton's excellent book 'The Beatles, Lennon And Me' (originally published as "John Lennon In My Life", 1983, Stein and Day Publishers :
From page 217:
"One afternoon, while taking "lucky dips" into the day's sack of fan mail, John, much to both our amusement, chanced to pull out a letter from a student at Quarry Bank. Following the usual expressions of adoration, this lad revealed that his literature master was playing Beatles songs in class; after the boys all took their turns analyzing the lyrics, the teacher would weigh in with his own interpretation of what the Beatles were really talking about. (This, of course, was the same institution of learning whose headmaster had summed up young Lennon's prospects with the words: "This boy is bound to fail.") "John and I howled in laughter over the absurdity of it all. "Pete," he said, "what's that 'Dead Dog's Eye' song we used to sing when we were at Quarry Bank?" I thought for a moment and it all came back to me: Yellow matter custard, green slop pie, All mixed together with a dead dog's eye, Slap it on a butty, ten foot thick, Then wash it all down with a cup of cold sick.
"That's it!" said John. "Fantastic!" He found a pen commenved scribbling: "Yellow matter custard dripping from a dead dog's eye....". "The Walrus" came from Alice in Wonderland.
"Let the fuckers work THAT one out", said John.
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