Plop goes the Cockroach

To: Professor Rahul S Nair

Cc: Orkut Proud-to-be-Mallu Community members

Thesis précis on Kanjiyil Paata.

K.Bullshee, B.Tech, M.Tech, BSc, LLB

University of Mallu Studies, Kuravankonnam

2009

Mallu-dom is the vast expanse of everything that comprises Keralite culture. This includes alcoholism, jaded communism, wildly hormonal males, bashfully coy females, Mohan Lal, the backwaters and of course, coconuts.

But none of them is better known than the phrase “Kanjiyil paatayiduka” – “to put the cockroach in the rice gruel”.

To understand why this is such a popular set of words, we need to dissect the Mallu being. Find a well sized Mallu and lure him in with a carefully set trap; a noose laid out on the ground, with a trip wire connected to a bent over coconut tree. The kind Wiley Coyote sets to catch that blasted Roadrunner - Poor Wiley, all he wants is to make some Roadrunner ’65 or perhaps a Sweet Corn Roadrunner soup, or maybe even go all out and whip up a Kadai Roadrunner. But that irritating bird always gets away and Wiley keeps making "Kersplat" sounds against the canyon floor. But if you are smarter than Wiley, you will use the right bait to capture your Mallu. I would suggest a bottle of Old Monk Rum (OMR). If that is not easy to find, since the Mallus have drunk it all, I would suggest a steaming hot plate of Porotta-Chicken Curry.

Once you have ensnared a gullible specimen you may continue with interrogation. The best possible technique is the Kerala Police Interrogation Technique circa 1965(developed by Kerala Palarivatom Sub Inspector Pathuveetil Ramesh Gopalakrishnan Nair). This involves beating the pulp out of the person you want answers out of. Once you make sure they are only able to communicate with hand signals or mumbling sounds, you can ask the first question. You then accuse them of all the crimes committed in that district since 1990 and get a written confession.

Of course, if you choose a more environmental friendly method (by which I mean something that doesn’t threaten the existence of the human race), you would soon find out that Mallus have a unique distrust of each other. By nature, we are suspicious of every other Mallu we meet and will not trust them in any way until we have shared at least one peg together, after which we are the best of friends, inseperable till death.

The phrase “Kanjiyil paata”-dropping the insect into food, comes from the ancient tradition of dropping a creepy crawly into your enemies’ food, thereby grossing him out, causing abandonment of that day’s nourishment. This in turn leads to weakness the next day, and you can overcome your enemy with a carefully thrown coconut or if you can get your hands on one, running him over with an autorickshaw.

Famous Mallu anthropologist K.Valsalakutty says “Though predictable to people from other parts of the country, Keralites are ticking time bombs with each other. They tip toe around one another and it is quite customary between friends to ask each other not to put Paata in their Kanji before embarking on any kind of venture. Infact, the other day I heard my son asking our neighbors’ son not to put Paata in his Kanji while he was talking to the new girl at his tuition class. Anyway, there is no way that Sulochana’s son can out talk mine. Her husband is earning only Rs.20,000 a month, you know? And they have a daughter who is of marriageable age. Do you know any good boys? Don’t tell I told, you just go to them with the horoscope…”

Unfortunately, we ran out of time with Ms.Valsalakutty and do not have space to publish her extended thesis on the matter. However, she did provide us with these diagrams which represent Pre and Post OMR influences on Mallu relationships.

Pre OMR phase

Post OMR phase

As can be seen, all trust issues in Kerala can be solved with ample amounts of liquor, so we should petition the government to provide subsidies on OMR and lemon pickle.

The purpose of this thesis will be to score a just - pass in this subject, while involving minimal effort, as I have to go to meet my friends in Amrita bar later today. Professor, you are welcome to join, but you have to pay for your own drinks, but I will pay for the Peanut Masala. Therefore please consider this as my submission for my Ph.D in Mallu Studies at U.M.S, Kuravankonnam.

Bloody Uninspired

Nothing's going through my head...

I can't be funny...

I can't be tragic...

If I write something it'll turn out tragically funny...

Yes, the brain cells are dying...the writer's block is stifling...

Is it all the alcohol? Is it the lack of everything I smoked back in college?

Someone needs to push me along in the right direction. So I'm starting a little competition called "Be Bullshee's Puppet Master". As PM, you get to define the direction of the next post and will be the editor for it before it gets published!! Throw words at me, and I blog on the best one. Use the comments section to shout! Submit by the 20th. If no replies, I gather that you all hate me and I burn my laptop.*

Potential words:

*Fart with Feeling

*Goobelydook in the Wind

*Esophagus and what I see in there

*Suicidal lover, Not!

*Mr.Bombastic, Mr.Fantastic

*Mocha choca in a polka!

The winning word will get a shout out on the blog, with a picture of your choice AND a coconut and one Five star chocolate bar...

*I can't really burn my laptop, but I probably will give it a good smacking.

And this little piggie went to the Wedding Pandal

Quite a week it’s been. Off on a vacation of sorts, I left the smoke-belching, pub-hopping, IT-loving, metrorail-building-(Oh-My-God-will-you-blockheads-finish-building-it-already???!) citylife that is Bangalore and exchanged it for the ever lovely locales of my hometown, Trivandrum, where the people are affectionately nosey and your dhothi/veshti/lungi will fly away only as far as the wind will carry it. But alas! All was not well in the peaceful town, for sinister deeds were afoot and yours truly was treading on thin ice.

Though I am fully aware that Trivandrum is dead center in the middle of the tropics and the only way I could be on thin ice would be that they serve in your drinks from the crappy refrigerator at the SreeMoolam Club, I stand by that euphemism! Because the aforementioned dark deeds cannot be worded lightly and without dramatic effect.

My dear friend Praveen, old school-chum, cohort in mindless sessions of girl gawking, fast bowler for our cricket team, and most notably, the same age as I, was getting married! The horror!!! THE HORROR!!!!

Now, gentlemen readers who share the same number of birthdays as I, have quickly recognized the predicament I faced and are probably tsk-tsking in a most sympathetic manner, but to all others in the dark, let me shed light on the matter. When parent-folk see the friend-of-their-son get married, it flips the detonator button on a once dormant bomb. They are now in heat seeker mode and trying to get their sons married as fast as a waiter in a 5 star hotel will try to push the foie gras' onto unsuspecting patrons before they realize the stuff has gone rotten.

So for the first few days here I was diving behind sofas to avoid my dad, who would be bounding down the stairs to find me, armed with a photograph of a “family friend’s” daughter, I just had to “meet”. And for once, I am not using double quotes to imply something raunchy or of sensual nature. Sad smiley-face follows here.

I came down to Trivandrum in quite a different frame of mind, but I realized I was in quite a dire predicament when I sat down to the following conversation:

“Listen Dad, sit down. I need to talk about something quite serious with you.”

“What is it son?” he asks me, leaning forward with a oddly mistimed twinkle in his eye.

“I need to talk about the funding for my MBA. As you know, I plan to do it in the U.S and that’s going to be a pretty expensive affair. But I think it’s the right choice for me at this point in life, you know? And will advance my care…”

“Onnu poda”, the senior shouts, quite literally asking me to get lost, “and here I was thinking you were going to tell me that you had finally found a girlfriend and you were going to tell me you were ready to marry her!!!”

“APPA!!!!”

“Well, you’re getting older as it is, and there’s no denying that receding hairlines run in the family”, he moans patting the old retreating fur.

“I’M b#@*%y 24 YEARS OLD!!! AND YOU HAVE WELL-MAINTAINED HAIR FOR A MAN OF YOUR AGE!!”

“I’m just saying…”

And here I was expecting the old boy to be like all Indian parents and be proud that I was looking ahead for my future and making a career for myself that would earn me wads of cash. Instead he’s more worried about the focusing of energies on romancing of future daughter-in-laws. Parents these days, I tell you! Not anything like the traditional folk of yesteryear. Sigh!

In between these bouts of staving matrimony away, I managed time to meander into Praveen’s nuptials with other school mates and was pleasantly pleased to find the old boy had overdone himself and that his fiancé was a treat to the eye, to say none the least and we couldn’t have been happier for him. We shared in their joy by pillaging the feast and left no banana-leaf-masquerading-as-a-plate unturned, which in Kerala it turns out to be, quite a few.

Pre and post wedding bachelor drinking parties occurred of course, both times without the groom (who happens to be a teetotaler), but who cares? Evil grin smiley-face follows here.

Of course, as a believer in karma, yin-yang, and do-unto-thy-liver-as-your-liver-would-do-unto-you, I knew there would be staunch consequences to all the revelry and sure enough two days later, I’m stuck in bed nursing a head cold which accelerated into a full blown fever. And not the good kind of mild fever that helped you skip school and get a guilt-free day off work. This was the bad kind, which makes the mercury pop out the end of the thermometer in T&J cartoons.

Soon, I was delirious, and I vaguely remember calling my friends in Bangalore and Mumbai, all safe and sound hundreds/thousands of miles away warning to take precautions to protect themselves against swine flu. Luckily after a few gallons of my mom’s home brewed herbal tea and a concoction of antibiotics prescribed by my doctor-in-training brother, I felt strong enough to weakly sit up in my bed, eat a few spoonfuls of gruel, puke it all out and loose consciousness again. A couple of Rinse-Reject-Repeat cycles later, I pulled out of it and have been raring to get back to Bangalore ever since. Even though I’ve been there only 1/8th of my whole life, the place has grown on me, and needless to say, it’s a place I love to call “home”.

Interesting side-note. I was spotted the other day at Spencer’s Supermarket in Trivandrum by a supposedly female reader who spotted me cruising past the vegetable section, picking up mushrooms, coz that’s just what us cool guys do. Though the reader did not approach me in person then, for the obvious reason that she had seen me in person, she was kind enough to leave a comment in my last post, which sadly had not seen many comments till then. So in a two-birds-with-stone situation my ignored comments section was getting some action, while I, as a person, was not. Hey, wait a minute….that’s not how it’s supposed to work!!!

Anyways, to make this getting-recognized shindig a bit more exciting, your truly has been featured on the "Blogger of the Week" section at Online Magazine www.folks.co.in !!!

I would like to thank the folks at Folks (these jokes just come to me out of the blue, I swear) for the honor of putting me up on their webpage and to hereby serve legal notice that I am in no way responsible to a drop in hits or flurry of ensuing hate mail.

Technology Daivangale

Technology Daivangale!!!

Oh Gods of Technology, ye mighty wielders of new age power, I beseech thee; look favorably upon this humble servant of yours. How many coconuts must I break to appease your wrath?

I lower my head dejectedly, fully aware of the fact that the Gods had chosen to ignore my plea. My laptop lay before, smoke arising slowly from its black, logo embossed shell. I munch on my fingernails, as I always do when nervous. Not at the fact that I would have to drag my lazy ass to office to get the blasted thing repaired for the umpteenth time, but because there is some very precious information tucked away in the recesses of those silicon veins which I can’t get at now. And no, it’s not porn. God! Get your heads out of the gutter, people!

With my brain on risk mitigation mode, I quickly type a carefully worded message to the Partners and Associates in the UK – “Guys, bad news! My laptop has died on me. We should be able to retrieve the info on our Government deal, but it’s going to have to wait a while. Sorry about this”. Good, I think as I press the “Send” button - Let the telecommunication networks, the precious messenger of the Technology Gods air the news of their vicious destruction to the rest of the World. With the time zones working in my favor, I estimate I still have about four hours before they wake up and start tearing their hair out, curl into a fetal position at the foot of their beds, and suck their thumbs like they were bright red lollipops, designed to make the pain go away.

A long, drawn out bike ride later – longer than usual as the traffic signals weren’t working – I stride cautiously into the lobby of the ThinkPad center, my precious data tucked safely under my arm. The flirtatious receptionist, whats-her-name, looks my way and coos

“It’s youuuuuuu again! Hiiiiii! Broke it again?”

“Yes, I…mxxppshhffedd…”

“Ok, I have your info from last time, and the time before that, so give me the machine and I’ll give it to the engineer.”

The aforementioned engineer pokes his head through the cubby hole that’s used to pass the broken laptops back into the repair floor; a proverbial Gates of Hades for ThinkPads.

“Hey Alex, how you doing?”

“Hey, nice to see you again, maaaaan!! Back so soooooon?”, shouts Alex, making sure everyone in the waiting room understand that I’m one of the frequent flyers here.

“Yes, soon. Alex, please make sure I can get the data back, ok? Please make sure!”

“I will try maaaan!”, and with that Alex plays the part of the boatman at the river Styx and drags my poor, damaged friend through his portals of Technological Doom.

For the rest of the day I field questions from a set of very fidgety British people, all of whom are certain that I have burnt my laptop and destroyed all evidence of the critical work that we’d assembled over the last two weeks and saved on my system. I calm their nerves and explain that India has the best hardware engineers and that is why most of their jobs have been moved to Asia. This stresses them all the more, which I can’t understand, but a good deal of soothing “Everything will be ok Beta”s later, they seem placated and I can get back to my day. There’s no power at home – even though Bangalore’s been flooded with 9 inches of rain over the last two days, the rain didn’t fall in exactly the right spot to flow into the turbines which generate the electricity for the city. It’s quite obvious that the Rain Gods have been conspiring with their younger brothers to wreck havoc on the innocent populi.

I am quite about ready to give up on these Gods who have tortured me endlessly, to hand in my motorbike, internet connection and precious blog page, and live the life of an ascetic, using pigeons to deliver my messages and scratching out my thoughts on palm leaves. That’s when I get the call:

“Sir, this is David from Vodafone. Your new Blackberry is ready for delivery. My agent will drop it by your place in one hour”

I squeal like a little boy who’s been given a shiny, helium filled balloon. I forget my data, the nerve-wrecked colleagues from the Isles and the malfunctioning traffic lights. In an hour, I’ll be caressing my precious new toy, fiddling with its functions and rejoicing in the glow of its technological brilliance. For in truth my friends, the cold, hard and bitter truth, I am a technology slut – and I will bend over backwards for the next piece of silicon based, soldered, wired hardware handed to me and will forget any injustice that has been meted out to me by its predecessors.

All injustices forgotten, and two hours of app-loading later, my Blackberry is raring to go with Facebook, Gtalk, Windows Live and GPS all freshly installed. I am soon messaging gal pal Twink in Singapore,

“Dude! Check it out! Messaging ya from the new Blackberry”

“Enough showing off, stupid”, came the quick reply from a girl who knows not to mince words.

“But this is so freaking cool!” I argue trying to make her see the light.

“Shut up”, she argues back, “do something useful with your time”

I comply and sit down to blog. I quickly realize that working with the tiny QWERTY keyboard isn’t conducive to blog posting and switch to the revamped, re-fanned, re-motherboarded laptop.

As I listen to Simon and Garfunkel’s “Bridge Over Troubled Waters” on the new baby, I realize that I haven’t emailed the friends across the seas about the retrieved data. They must’ve sucked down to the bone already. I now have the task of alleviating their agony.

Getting to it now!

Bullshee's Theory - The Deferred Rant

The rambunctious rajah of Rum, Mr.JT, the veritable vanguard of Vodka, Mr.Bullshee and Whiskey’s wondrous whore, Mr.Kondu lay on the new carpet, their arms splayed in various directions, each uttering a groan every few minutes. Several bottles lie around them, emptied, sucked dry of their glorious contents; contents which are now rushing through corrupted veins, turning brain cells to mush.

For the last half an hour, JT has been cruising through his favorite topic – his future nuptials. An anomaly to all bachelors, he feels it necessary to have a beautiful wedding, a loving wife and happily married life as soon as physically possible. A desire which he’s been carrying around in that misshapen head of his ever since he was a little girl boy.

As always, today’s conversation revolves around how his better-half is going to clean up his act and sort out the incessant alcoholic binges. Kondu rolls his eyes and leans back on the sofa. My partner in crime for the last three years, he and I have opened a thousand bottles and watched a thousand movies leaning against our favorite wall together. Come to think about it, this small, puny, brainy idiot was my wife was for the last three years, though he would like to think he was the man in that particular dysfunctional relationship. In a couple of days he was going to leave, off to California to do his Masters in Artificial Intelligence, with dreams of becoming Google’s future front line of attack when it comes to understanding what people want when they surf the net(besides porn, of course).

Moving across, I lean besides him and begin to expound on what I left off in Pattaya with JT.

“Da Kondu, do you believe in heaven and hell?”

Kondu doesn’t reply, but looks at me expecting me to carry on with the rant he knows is coming. Over the next ten minutes I chatter on with my multiverse theory, which involves hypothetical particles called Goodlions and Eviltrons, parallel universes, particle polarity, space-time curves and finally the manifestation of the Powers-that-be. He listens to everything in rapt attention, and keeps his peace as I wrap up my jabbering.

I wait expectantly waiting for his comments, but he just grunts and replies “Imagine another planet, just like Earth, with similar life forms, but instead of being irrational like us, they are rational. No emotions that cloud their decisions like anger, greed, jealousy and not even love and sympathy. Everyone working for the common good. Which species do you think would survive longer?”

“Well, it would definitely be a cruel, cruel world, but the rational one, I think”, my reply.

“Yes, a cruel world. I agree, but the rational one would last longer, right?”

“No! The irrational one! Our world!” blurts out JT, furious at being part of a dying species, “what would the world be without emotions?”

“Not without emotions, there would be all the emotions, but they would be capable of not letting them get in the way and changing the right decision to the wrong one. They would be rational.” explains the new-found theologist.

“Ok….?” I prod, wondering where he was going with this idea.

“Well, in that case, do you think God is rational or irrational?”

Unable to contain himself any longer JT screams, “This is a stupid topic! No one thinks about this stuff! Both of you are drunk and talking bull. Let’s talk about something else!”

I look at Kondu and smile. He smiles back and takes another sip of his whiskey and makes a quip about JT’s bride-to-be. Soon the conversation is back on its easy, oft beaten path.

As I let the bustle of their talk fade into the background, I think on how angry JT’s reaction to the topic was. Quickly, make a note to self not to publish the Multiverse theory on the blog. Some things are meant to be understood but never shared. I guess Kondu will be one of those few guys who will always understand what I’m chattering on about.

Time flies by, at around 2 in the night, Kondu feels the need to take a stroll under the yawning moon. That unforgettable walk would take us through a confrontation, a questioning, a ride, a proposal, a plea and finally a pardon. But that’s a story for another *hic* day.

Bullshee's Theory - The Set Up

Pattaya Beach,

Chon Buri, Thailand

July 2009

The four young men sit idly in their deck chairs sipping cold beers, staring out into the blue ocean.

JT swings around and gestures to the wizened old lady sitting under the beach umbrella, who quickly moves towards them and asks in the nasal tone, which has become all too familiar, what they want.

"Four more beers; two Heinnekken and two Singha", replies JT, who has developed a taste for the local brew. The woman whips out her pen and scribbles the order on a chit of paper and drops it into the wooden cup, placed on a table in between the chairs. The cup is already overflowing with chits, a testament to the beach side alcoholic binge the gentlemen’s party has been indulging in.

Maman and Pappu get up, chug down the last of their beers and pull off their T-shirts. They run towards the ocean to get in a dip before the next chilled beer arrives. Bullshee leans forward and pulls the table closer to him and plunks his feet on top. A beach vendor moves across their view of the ocean and chatters to the remaining two Indians, cajoling them to buy the T-shirts he’s hawking

“Chalo freeeeends, buy nice Tshirt! Chalo!”

Bullshee’s eyes linger for a moment, wondering whether he should try one, thinks the better of it and waves him off, with a polite but firm No,thanks!

But what he has seen is enough for him to launch into his favorite topic – speculative philosophy. He glances sideways to check whether JT is snoozing, and sure enough, his comrade-in-fun is struggling to keep his droopy eyelids open. Imagining the repercussions of dragging JT out of his peaceful slumber, he leans over and slaps JT on his bare thigh.

“Oww!!” screams the victim, who is now wide awake and trying to rub away the pain. Satisfied that he has the full attention of a hapless audience, Bullshee starts his onslaught:

“Da JT, do you believe in heaven and hell?”

Knowing Bullshee like a brother, JT understands that there is no point in trying to avoid this conversation and there will be no sleep got until his friend runs this topic dry.

“Yes, I do”, he says, reaching forward for one of the beers which has been freshly set on the table, deeming to make good use of this time he’s not spending asleep.

“So you’re saying that the purpose of man’s life is to lead an existence which will keep him out of hell?” questions Bullshee, slightly irritated at his friend’s conventional approach to the topic.

“No, it’s to lead an existence which will get him into heaven!” comes the retort.

“That’s bullshit”, says Bullshee, using one of his favorite phrases. He leans back into his chair and puts his hands behind his head, ready to begin what he expects to be a fun debate. He frames the next question in his mind and continues, “So are you saying that the Powers-that-be spend all of their time, determining what an insignificant species as us does, as good or evil?”

“Yes! Of course”, comes the miffed reply from JT, angry at being made part of an insignificant species.

“So, suppose in the billions and trillions of galaxies in the universe, we have just two planets capable of supporting intelligent life – Earth and umm… Zygot VII in the Googlex Nebula. Let’s assume that Zygotians are a hyper intelligent life form who use telepathy to communicate and reproduce by entwining their elephant trunk like noses. Are you saying that the Powers-that-be ignore this species, in their division of good and evil?”

Thinking on this for a moment, JT replies, “No, they should be judged as well”

“In which case, is there an Earth-Heaven and a Zygot-Heaven?” questions Bullshee, trying to talk JT into a corner.

“Yeah, maybe there is, who knows?” retorts the believer, preferring to rely on the unknown as an answer.

“Hmmm, interesting…And what about animals here on Earth?”

“No, they don’t go into Heaven or Hell!” quips JT excitedly, glad to have a point he can comment upon, “since they don’t have a conscience. It is the human conscience which differentiates us from animals. They live purely on animal instinct”

“So are you saying animals are incapable of complex emotions? What about dogs that are viciously loyal to their masters and will mourn for days, if their masters die before them? What about elephants who are known to cry and never mate with another, if their original mate passes away? Do they live purely to eat, sleep and screw around Who are we to say that animals don’t understand love or attachment?? Or is this kind of love not good enough for the Powers that Be?”

Faced with an interesting argument, JT concedes a little leeway and mutters his agreement, “Yes, I guess it’s possible that they go to Heaven or Hell.”

“So, heaven is full of animals and people and Zygotians who have been good in their lifetimes…correct? But I find it difficult to imagine that all of them who get to heaven are perfect creatures. No one is without ANY bad in them. How can the Powers-that-be let that bit get into heaven? What if….what if the point of the universe is not mere existence. What if the point is to divide light from dark???”, so saying, Bullshee plunges into silence.

JT smiles and gulps down another mouthful of brew and rolls over in his chair, well aware that for the next thirty minutes or so, his friend is going to be lost in his own, muddled thoughts.

“Time to get some sleep”, he mumbles as the tide rolls across the golden beach.

Read Bullshee’s Theory – The Rant on A Monk In Hot Water, to be published next week.

Four of a Kind

In my mind, tagging is what bloggers do to get other people to write what they’ve already written.

It’s what blogger guys do when blogger gals say “Hey dahling! I’ve tagged you” and it’s what they ignore when OTHER blogger GUYS say “Hey biaatch! I’ve tagged you”. That is why, in keeping to accepted psychological trends, I threw Philip’s a.k.a DPhat’s a.k.a Old-Thunder-Thighs’ (don’t ask) into the trash, but when several geeeeeorgeous ladikyan like Gkam made the request, I dug it out and started typing. The basic idea, which does not need you to derive Heisenberg's Principle of Uncertaininity is to fill in headings(sets of four), with your own words...don't use mine again. I'll kick your ruddy ass if you do.

Four places that I have lived in

Minneapolis, MN – where I learned to love the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Mario Bros on Nintendo, Pepperoni Pizza with Extra cheese and Kindergarten (where the teacher had a big German Shepherd dog and whoever finished their math first got to play fetch with him. Understandably, the only Indian kid in class and the dog were soon close chums). It’s also where I learnt to hate bullies, encountered a Pakistani kid who was fascinated, at a very young age mind you, with his teachers’ *ahem ahem* assets and discovered the origin of the phrase “freezing my nuts off”. Very cold place. Very cold.

Trivandrum, Kerala – Home sweet home. Forever. School life, over bearing parents, where I had my first crush, beaches, playing cricket on roads such that a straight drive was the only shot you could play, Ambrosia – a fav hangout, Onam lights near Kannakakunnu Palace, the best food in the world cooked by the world’s best cook –Ms.Mom

Calicut, Kerala – Four best years of my life, where I discovered alcohol, nicotine, Pink Floyd(thank you God), other music, crazy girls, boring girls, lovely girls and girls we never could get. Where I found my best friends and the people I love to hate. Playing pool and getting smashed. I wish I could remember most of it, but it’s just a haze now.

Bangalore, Karnataka – Place I will always associate with surviving till the weekend comes. Where I started earning for myself, and blowing all that money on everything that didn’t make any sense. A place I want to be and call home, but at the same time a place I really don’t want to be.

Four TV Shows I love to watch

House M.D.: House is DA man!!! <> He’s arrogant, an intellectual and doesn’t give a shite what others think.

Besides House, there’s the sexiest Dean of Medicine on the planet, Lisa Cuddy. In Malayalam Cuddy = Kadi = slang for “lust”. Awwwwwwoooooga!!

How I Met Your Mother: This show is LEGEND-wait for it….keep waiting…I hope you aren’t lactose intolerant, because the next word is – DARY!!!

Scrubs: JD and Turk. Funniest bromantic couple on television!

Top Gear: Where I first saw the Bugatti Veyron. I love that car and I love the show. Jeremy Clarkson knows how to keep it real!

Four places I have been on vacation

Himalayas: Dharamshala, Simla, Kulu Manali, Yamunotri – snow capped mountains and quality time with the family. Always fun.

Waynad: Favorite spot to travel with friends during college. Chilly climate and rolling mist made it perfect for unforgettable parties.

Singapore: Kondu and Iyer joined me as we ripped it up in Clark’s Quay!

Thailand: This is not where I’ve been. It’s where I’ll be in 3 days and counting…Woo Hoo!!!!

Four favorite food items

Puttu Kadala – rice powder steamed in a cylindrical mould or sometimes in coconut shells, accompanied with spicy chana based gravy.

Pepperoni Pizza – never can resist it. Cheese. Beautiful cheese.

Caramel Pudding – something mom whips up. Delicious.

Broasted chicken – Arabian style chicken in batter. Something we used to get at Al Bakes in Calicut.

Four Websites I visit daily

Orkut – the only social network I understand

Gmail – this isn’t daily, its every 10 minutes. My link to the world

Explosm.net – for my daily dose of Cyanide and Happiness

Youtube – I gotta get my tube fix!

Four places I’d rather be

Lazing on a beach in the Caribbean.

Sky diving, dropping like a rock, scared shitless. What’s below me really doesn’t matter, but I hope I can get a fresh pair of pants there.

Back in my old college room, the day the exams were over with everyone raring to do something, but no one knowing what that would be.

In the arms of a generous…er…never mind…

Four things I hope to do before I die

Attain the power of telekinesis – that’s where you can move things with your mind.

Visit all 190 countries of the world and initiate the Brown Baby movement in all of those places.

Take a flight into space – hope it’s cheaper in a couple of decades

Write a best selling novel.

Four novels I wish I was reading for the first time

The Godfather – this is the novel of all novels. Something I read every chance I can get, but always wish I was reading for the first time.

The Harry Potter series – yes, I am a Potterian. It’s nerdy, but damn that woman, she can write! EXPECTO PATRONUM!!! - by the way, my Patronus takes the shape of Pamela Anderson in a Baywatch bikini.

Catch 22 – Oh Yossarian, you hilarious, crazy jackass

Couldn’t think of another one – not one that I would want to read again anyway.

Four movies I can watch over and over again

Terminator 2 – I’ll be back

LOTR series – never could get past the drama of it all

Meleparambil Aanveedu(Malayalam) – no other reason – the multi-talented Shobana at her most beautiful

Any Robin Williams movie – that guy is a hoot!!

Four people I want to tag

Okay guys, imagine I’m a sexy gal…er...no, don’t do that…just write the thing!!

# 167 Dad – Snyder is Arizona’s future best selling author. He’s actually got a book written. When will we have a release in India, I wonder?

Jo – The girl, who rocked her own ship, is letting it sink a bit. Hope this gets her up and writing. The love is out there Jo!

Barun – That fat ass, who never fails to get me laughing!! Please write Barchaks!!

Paru – An ancient, ancient friend...who recently entered the blogging world! Time to put her in the spotlight!!

Loo Literature

Since the days when mom got me hooked to the magical world of books, a decision she has long regretted due to the reasons which will soon become evident later in this post, I have taken to ancient art of loo literature.

Historical studies show that the habit of taking some form of literature along with oneself for the morning absolutions dates back to the days of the Egyptian pharaohs, who would tuck the latest papyrus under their arms and hop onto their favorite Seat of Reflection. The fact that papyrus dissolved as they tried to juggle the water mug didn’t help and several great works of literature from that era went down the drain. Literally.

For as long as I can remember, one has been finicky about the choice of text one takes. Once the need arises, one begins the careful five minute selection process. The obvious choice tends to be the morning newspaper. I have found that that The Hindu, South India’s reputed English daily provides a panorama of international and business affairs to read into, but tends to be a difficult choice when you would rather be not distracted from the matter at hand. The Page 3 section of The Bangalore Times are always a laugh, where people who no one knows pay a hefty sum to get their cheery faces into the paper. The fact that the section is full of crap tends to stick to the motif of the moment and provides very light reading.

Our flat, though an overpriced and snotty affair, is conspicuous by the fact that there is but one bathroom. Our roomie, the ever lovable Manjeri is notorious for the time he spends in the above mentioned area. He has a kind of ESP that senses that the other inhabitants are about to make their jolly trip O’ the day and makes a point to dive into the loo mere seconds before it will be occupied by someone else. He also takes in the morning paper, with classifieds and the Metroplus section to boot, taking the time to pore over every word and detail in it. By the time he emerges, there is a queue of people waiting with towels and very distressed looks on their faces, to which he happily grins and announces the headline of the day:

“Andrew Symonds thrown out of world cricket for drinking beer!!” - Sports

“The Kerala CM is in the hospital being treated for Lyme disease!” – Politics

“Vishal Kumar and Twinky Saxena were seen leaving the premiere of New York hand in hand!!” – Society

“Obama killed a fly during an interview!!!” – International Affairs

"26 year old IT software engineer, living in US looking for fair, beautiful Nair girl, belonging to respectable family" - Personal Ads

Of course, everyone’s got their rhythms to get through and we accept Manjeri’s loo antics for what they are. Recently I have tried to class up my literary selections for the day with some truly credible choices.

On the agenda for the next couple of weeks are –

“For Whom the Bell Tolls” – Ernest Hemmingway

“The Proudest Day – India’s Long Road to Independence” by Anthony Read & David Fisher

“Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince” – J.K Rowling

(I ended up getting stuck in the bathroom for two hours straight reading Chapter 12 – 18 in this one)

And last but not least –

“A Treasury of Best-Loved Poems” – Assorted poets

The last one is a fitting choice for the occasion, I believe. After all, what is it they call it?

Poetry in Motion? :-D