8 Things Me

Now that I'm bored and I have actually nothing else to do (Nothing at all! Nothing! Null! Zero! Void!), I think I'll get back to the tag Kriti passed on ages ago. Eight random facts about me? Let's make this a bit more interesting. I'll come up with eight facts which, I believe, none of you know. Here goes-

1) I think I'm Italian. Don't ask me why. I just believe my great-great-grandfather was a Romanian Emperor. Or maybe his dad was. I just know my origins are somewhere back in Italy.

2) I hate dogs. Pups are cute, dogs are yuck! I have this long history with them. Long history of mutual hostility and enmity. Whenever I see one, I feel like kicking it. Or hitting it with a stone. Go on. Call me cruel. I don't care. Dogs are bad. They've done bad things to me! Ironically, almost all my closest friends have dogs. OK, all dogs are not bad. Most are.

3) I daydream a lot. Especially when I'm supposed to be studying. You see, as far as learning something is concerned, I just can't focus if I'm not interested. So I proceed to open the book and daydream. About superpowers. I tend to recall situations that went bad and dreamake them. And I add the Hindi movie touch. Yes, that makes me happy!

4) I can manage time very very efficiently. That's one thing I can happily boast about. And that's one thing that helps a LOT!

5) I'm not a geek. I can play with codes a bit, I can be online for many hours during the day, I can easily complete the toughest computer games ever. That doesn't make me a geek. You should really meet one if you still think so.

6) I don't have best-friends. And I don't have enemies. For me, you're either friend, family or people.

7) I don't resemble Tushaar Kapoor. For the last time, NO! I don't know why everyone keeps saying that. But that's wrong! Farce!

8) I'm not gay.

I'm supposed to tag 8 more people to this. I think there's hardly anyone left who hasn't done the tag as yet. Let's see. I tag-

Apoorv (who, I'm sure, will not waste his time on this)
Sanchit (who might)
Perx

Yep. That's it. BTW, 8's my lucky number :D

P.S: Fuck You Mr.Shoaib Akhtar!

Injury-Pinjury

Before you run off to check your dictionary, swearing under your tongue, let me clarify- there's no such word as pinjury. I just happen to be a fan of the Hindi phrase- injar pinjar toot gaye (all possible parts are broken).

Some phrases just can't be converted through languages, eh? They lose their "feel"! (OK, now my slang needs to be checked. Circumlocution, Bloviate, Flabbergasted, Assanine, Condescending! There you go..) I mean, how can one possibly get the satisfaction on saying ab aaya oont pahaad ke neeche by any other method?! Or bandar kya jaane adrak kaa swaad and chhor ki daadhi mein tinka for that matter! Sorry. I'm not gonna go translating each one of them. Same is for English. Saying "a bee in my bonnet", "a bad egg" or a "bull in a china shop" almost makes your day. Anyways, that isn't the case here.

So, as I was saying, my injar pinjar are in really bad shape these days. (Another reason why you shouldn't play too much while you're still not fit to) Currently three of my body parts are severely injured and thousands of others (yep! I'm huge!) are literally moaning. And I'm not hating it at all. On the contrary, rather. That's part of the Rocky-effect (remind me to explain that later).

It all started two weeks back when a hard kick fired at a football was revenged by a rebound almost breaking my left thumb into two halves. Down went the first victim along with a horribly large blood clot and a surprisingly faint "ouch"! The next day meant a bloody bruise for the knee. And the routine continued. You may think I'm mad, but I was constantly kinda enjoying this. I can't seem to imagine playing without bruises and bumps. It feels empty. Bruises make you feel heroic! And I love that.

By the way, my foot got burnt. Oh throw that look away. As if you didn't know that already. Stop feigning! For the people who did care to ask how that happened, here goes- (And you! Close your eyes!) (And no! I was not burning effigies!). You see, there's this huge park in the center of our colony. And at the edge of this park is a huge wall of bushes that separates us from the neighboring plant nursery. Now some foolish bloke had set fire to a pile of leaves right next to these bushes. And while every other damn guy kept laughing about it, the fire had spread itself, almost penetrating into the nursery. I don't know if it could and would have been a huge accident had it not been controlled, or not. I certainly had my doubts. And I certainly couldn't stand it. So I went along with a small boy (who was the only one serious and willing to come along) and doused the flame by pushing the pile into a nearby pool of water using a hose-pipe. Somewhile during the pushing, apparently a spark got in contact with my shoe and set it afire. Only when we were done extinguishing the fire completely, did I realise the burning sensation in my foot. Unfortunately, by then some damage had been done and my sock was almost engraved onto my foot (which got all itchy and irritating). The pain only intensified with time. And the next morning, I felt I had gotten up in hell. One good thing was that this was my first "getting burnt" experience. So there's another point off the list.

Lately, my schedule has been too tight. Consequently, my title-draft-spree is back. I'm so glad I finally did manage to find time to write this post. Feels good!

4 Steps to Making a Self-Obsession Movie

1. Be ultra-bored.

2. Be alone at home.

3. Be self-obsessed.

4. Be ultra-bored.

Sneezy Melon's Self-Obsession Movie

Booloolooolalalalaoolooolalalaoooloo

And I actually know how to pronounce that. Sounds pretty much like the lingo at the IPL Delhi Daredevils vs. Bangalore Royal Challengers match at Feroze Shah Kotla, Delhi. You could also try shrieking at the highest pitch your throat allows.

Yeah, I was there! I remember how I had posted sometime back about the carnival being an all out riot. Well, lets just say, compared to the show put up at the IPL, you could say it was nothing more than an all nun tea party. Let me start from the beginning.

The day started normally with the mundane jog in the University grounds. Although, I was pretty excited about the IPL plan. Sanchit was to arrange four passes as a birthday treat. At around 1:45, we reached his house after the confused rikshaw-waala went past A block four times before finally finding B block. Actually, we didn't even reach his house. We got stranded near some tiny park with ancient jhulas from where he picked us up. Then, after meeting up with two more friends, we went for "The Ex", which turned out to be as stupid as a movie can get. I mean, have you seen convincing an angry wife about how her ex is a cheater get over in less than five minutes? And have you seen overacting at its peaks (if you haven't yet seen Main Prem Ki Diwani Hoon already that is)? No? Then go watch the dumb movie. I wanted so much to see Shutter. Anyways. The second half was so small, it didn't even last the nachos. They were good, though. At least until I found the hair and got my appetite killed. Later we went to Barista (which was full of clicking-empty-table aunty/uncles and Google guy/girl freaks) where, again, I didn't have anything (read above). Then we went on to eat (or drink or lick or whatever) chuskis from the roadside (after a long long long time). And it was paradise. Seriously. Last time was way back. I don't even remember when. And considering my roadside-eating standards, that's pretty bad.

Next, we tried our bargaining-skills-that-don't-work on the taxi waala. They didn't work. So we had to take it because auto-rikshaw was not option unless we wanted to be 3 hours late for the match. And that's only as long as it lasts. Nonetheless, the already-irritated taxi waala pulled over in the middle of the road and asked us to get out when I asked him if he had any extra IPL passes. Dunno why that was so bugging. I think it must have been Sanchit's manually checking if the meter was actually out-of-order. So we had to get an auto finally. And the auto driver being partially blind didn't make things better. Now the problem was- there were two passes, and three people. Karan almost killed Sanchit with the constant swearing. So this whole time passed with intermittent calls being made to different people and trying to arrange another pass. After what seemed an eternity and a long metro ride, we reached Sanchit's home. Technically, of the 7 hours since I had left home, 3.5 were spent in travelling.

Anyways, I had been praying until then that this was a practical joke (something I thought I would never do). It turned out it wasn't. And there was the confusion. Now some guy called and told us that free entry had started at some gates. Although this wasn't humanely possible in a city like Delhi unless half the crowd gets stamped-ed by the other half. We started for the ground, however, with the teeniest bit of hopes in our hearts. And we sweared a lot on the auto ride to Kotla. At anyone and everyone we saw. So much so that even the auto driver started calling every vehicle blocking our way a #$&(#^$& or a @!@#&^*&#. After what seemed and what was an hour, we reached Kotla. At around 8:10.

Now came up another problem. Stupidly enough, mobile phones were not allowed inside (and camera were). And we didn't have anyone to give them to. So (*tone gets embarassed*) we stuffed them in some inappropriate places (I dont know why I am still writing this). I can tell you, before you start judging, it was either that, or stand outside till midnight. 'Cause going home at 10 without even entering the stadium would mean lots of mocking laughter and pity smiles. And I didn't want them. Nobody does. So we stuffed them and, yeah, it was uncomfortable. Damn uncomfortable!

Let's move ahead. Forget what's written above. Now we got past the security check and were standing outside the Ticket Checking Counter thinking about what was to be done next. No, there was no free entry. Suddenly a huge crowd of people came running with passes in their hands. I must say, never before in my whole life, had I thought the huge population in Delhi was good, in any way. I do now. Sanchit, the tallest of all, took the passes in his hand, holding them high and dived into the crowd. We got in behind him.

umm..

That doesn't sound hygienic if you know what I mean.

Let's say we got in the crowd too. One guy did try to bhaisaheb out Karan. The crowd got to him first. And we ran. We ran like never before! And we got in! And we screamed! And we shrieked! And we got all freaky! And people started staring at us! And we started dancing! And we started laughing! And we had to drink water to calm down!


What followed was three straight hours of scream-swear-sing-on-top-of-your-lungs. Akshay Kumar was there. Katrina Kaif was there. Booed Bangalore supporters were there. And then there were Delhi guys. Guys who know how to enjoy. And there was lots and lots and lots of screaming (how many times exactly am I gonna repeat this? Lookup exozillian. That's as many times as it happened). And I'm smiling right now. And there's gonna be lots of "Ands" till the end of the post.

Now Sanchit spotted some chick in the second stand who was supposedly some didi of his. So he and Karan went on screaming her name as hard as they could. Didn't make much difference except that the crowd got all confused why they were shouting Akshita when Gambhir was the one hitting fours. Then there were lots of phrases which I thought I would never hear or say. Like ye to apna hi baccha hai when we told the crowd how Tejaswi Yadav was Laloo's son and a junior in our school. And Sanchit asking me if I could shout a name for him. You see, I'm pretty famous for my yelling. No no, I dont yell all the time. That's my sister. But when I do, even the largest of thunders can seem quieter than mouse-squeaks. That reminds me of The One With the Screamer. Well, I did. And she (read Akshita again) looked down. I still dont know if she was actually Sanchit's didi. From her expression and reaction, we were apparently only some random Delhi guys trying to tease-a-girl-and-get-away. Glad that we did get away. And she didn't look down at all after that.

The second stand also had Akshay Kumar, Katrina Kaif and Fatso Mallya who were clearly visible. Kaif did try to quash the boos during Bangalore's batting. And then, Kumar got up, stood on the top pipe of the grill and raised up his hands. The roar that followed almost made him fall down. Katrina got much quieter.

Kallis got a lot of Hindi gaalis after his little spat with Gambhir. More so when he was standing near our side of the ground.

Then there were Mallya's agents. The semi-nude cheerleaders who tried their level best to sway the faith of the crowd. And half the people in front of the cheerleader stage were clinging to the grills and drooling the whole time. Didn't work on us. Did work on a few. The few got booed. The effect washed out.

Then there were the sixes. The crowd simply refused to return the ball. Not until at least 5 long minutes had passed. No ball came our way, sadly. Many players did. Praveen Kumar was the only one, of all the players that fielded near our stand, who could understand Hindi. And did he get booed like hell? Oh Yes! Some people did try to ruin the spirit by throwing paper balls into the ground (which I must say has never been this green and good, at least not since I last visited it). No could do as even they got booed down by the thousands of people. And the best part- WE WON!!

Believe me, what has already been written is less than half of what actually happened. I'll stop here, however, before mom eats me up. Go watch an IPL match for God's sake! I tag you to it!

Gauti! Gauti! Gauti! Gauti! Ga...

(Had to actually add another label for this post. Amused just doesn't seem enough. More pics below)

How Gay Am I?

Now she thinks it is because I act like one. But I'm pretty sure that it was my supremely developed acting skills, convincing voice modulation and carefully maneuvered body stances (yeah! I can be pretty self-supportive at times) that helped me force my sister into believing I was gay. And so seriously that she actually believed I was going to slit my wrists, only untl I burst out laughing though.

Now you would be thinking why anyone in their sane senses would find pleasure in doing something like that. I confess it was no extended April Fools Day joke and was only a product of a sudden spurt of mischevious thoughts while I was randomly cracking a gay joke. Nor do I myself know why I went about with it.

As for April Fools Day, once again I managed to fool only a handful of people. Dunno why I always fall into fits, even while the joke is still taking shape, and throw away the cover. Though one of the several planned pranks did work pretty effectively, so much so that it forced the victim into getting all red and lashing abuses to anyone and everyone who could hear him. I have decided not to blog about it though after much consideration. Here's how the phone conversation went with Apoorv Khatreja (at 1 in the morning)-

Sneezy Melon: Hey buddy. Wassup

Apoorv Khatreja: Reading random blogs

Sneezy Melon(*shocked voice*): Damn! You know..

Apoorv Khatreja(*butting in*): Dont you think we're too old for this?

Sneezy Melon(*frustrated*): Fuck you!

Outdoors

I love outdoors! Fresh air, green trees, mud, rain, sun, moon, birds, grass, flowers, sky, breeze, calm, noise, people! I remember how, when I was small and we used to be travelling in the car, I would lower the window, stick my head out as far as I could, close my eyes, and "eat" the air, even as everyone else would keep complaining about the AC's effect getting diluted.

And then there were those frequent trips to Simla for dad's work. Hillstations almost make me lose myself sometimes. Although I must admit, those one-rupee video game parlors at the Mall Road were a rather large part of the ecstatic experiences.

Next came the Astronomy Club outings which convinced me it was 5000 bucks well spent. Not that the hell lot of extra knowledge and free premium softwares they provided us meant nothing. Yet, sitting on cold sand at 2 in the morning next to some lake on the outskirts of the city and gazing up at the beautifully amazing open sky was pure bliss.

You see, even thinking about outdoors made me float away from the actual objective of writing this post. OK, let's get back on track.

Playing outdoors has been my favorite hobby since forever. At one time, during the 10th Board examinations, when I played for almost 10 hours a day, I had been conveniently named the "aawara baccha" by the colony aunties, something which irked my mother too much. Then came 12th. It had already been too difficult to manage the three-times-a-week-ly coaching institute classes along with the inter-colonial football matches. On top came the SATs and broke my flow. The next four months were spent in books and, well, more books. And to satisfy my own self, I forcefully inserted the false program into my brain that equated the kids playing cricket with hideous greasy monsters.

That's when everyone became tensed. Parents started worrying. Cousins started worrying. Friends started worrying. Everyone reckoned I had taken things a bit too seriously, and must get back to the old me. It irritated me a lot only because I knew they were right. Come 29th February 2008, the day before the horribly dreary (I'm really running out of adjectives here) Board exams started. I couldn't take anymore. I threw away all books (not so melodramatically though) and went outside. And I loved that day. It was like sunshine piercing through me.

Finally, bit of me is now coming back. There is time assigned for playing, painting and reading as of now. Must also look into daily work out soon. As for blogs, I am actually going to read each one of those 246 posts lying in aKregator today. Thoroughly!

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