AYBABTU Takes Over…

Part 1: All Your Base Comments in TC Are Belong To Us.

Technical Communication class. i.e. a well-timed one-hour during which everyone works on their assignments/practical files/reads Sheldon or Wodehouse or even Ayn Rand (yes, it’s that kind of class) etc. In between, we steal a few glimpses of our err… attractive TC Prof. whose pout has resulted in her earning the nickname of “Angelina Jolie”. We were learning something related to article-writing. I don’t mean to brag, but, as I WAS a *ahem* Star *ahem* Student Correspondent with the Times of India, so I should know a thing or two about writing newspaper articles. Anyway, the first thing about article-writing is the headline. It should be snappy and something that “hooks” the reader. “So”, she asked, “Can anyone come up here and write yesterday’s headline of either the Times of India or the Hindustan Times?” As expected, there were no volunteers. “Harish” she said. I was busy doing my chemistry practical file, so it took some time for the familiarity of the name to sink in. My first instinct was to refuse…

but then…

I took the piece of chalk in my hand. I approached the green-board (yes, it’s green. This isn’t a school, despite the name). I began to write…

A

There was no reaction. I followed it up with a couple of L’s. Still no reaction. Deep breath. I had to write this quickly…

YOUR was but the work of a couple of seconds and BASE came even quicker… Two people in the class of 50 understood (Akhil was absent)  and burst out laughing. A life’s aim was accomplished.

Part 2: All Your Beers Are Belong To Us.

The end of the semester coincided with the 19th year of my existence… It’s college… Alcohol can’t be too far away. The problem was and is, that there’s an age-limit. Guys from outside India and even Delhi might wonder what the big deal is all about, I am 19… Well, babies (a tribute, sort of)… the min. age in Delhi and NCR for the consumption of alcoholic drinks is 25! That’s right! 7 years more than that in the US! Jebus has left the building… Ajeebus has taken his place. (That’s a pun, there… no, wait… THERE) But, we decided to give it a try.

Into the valley of Geoffrey’s Bar rode the mighty… three. (cowards, the rest of them). At the entrance of the place, we thought that there might be a glitch in the program. We all didn’t shave and look nearly 26 anyways…. but we were carrying college bags. Our back-up was that we’re doing our MBA from the Business School. BVP people can also use this ruse… NSIT/DCE… I’m not sure. An IITian can just say “I’m an IITian, let me in.” Anyway, I walked (confidently?) in first and asked for a table for three which was granted. On being seated, we stashed our bags below the table and waited for the menus to arrive. First up, came the starters menu. The cheapest item on it was the Chicken Five Spices… for a 195 bucks! Not good.

Then, the waiter placed another menu in my hand…

I opened it and I could hear the concluding part of the second section of Handel’s Messiah play in my head. It was the drinks menu. Everything I had ever learned about drinking was from the Ultimate Book. We decided that we’d better order the cheapest Hors d’œuvre and three pints of Foster’s. The order was placed as follows:

“We would like…”

“Yes, sir?”

“A plate of Chicken Five Spices”

“Yes, sir?”

“And…”

“…”

“Yes, sir?”

“…”

“treepineoystrs”

“I’m sorry, sir?”

“Three… pintsofFoster’s”

“I’m sorry, sir…”

*oh, shit!*

“We do not…”

*oh, shit he’s going to say serve alcohol to people under-25!*

“…have pints. Shall I get three bottles instead?”

“YE… I mean… yes, please. Thank You”

We hung around for an hour or so. The ambiance was great. Stimulating stuff. We ordered another bot too. In total, the beer was consumed as follows:

Harish: 38.33%

Akhil: 33.33%

Fudda: 28.33%

I stayed the most sober… Fudda was smiling like an idiot for hours afterwards. The bill was a grand one. (punny, I know)

We all had headaches the next morning, but I doubt if those were hangovers.

The beer tasted bitter and seriously, I doubt if I’ll ever order the revolting stuff again! Unless I want to write, of course, because I noticed that in my mildly inebriated state, words flowed from my mouth like… sewage and effluents from an industrial plant into the Yamuna river. (I could’ve for example, come up with some better imagery)

So that was that.

I’m not making it a habit.

Nimish, Dinesh…No comparisons.

I’m even more disillusioned now.

The Greatest Band Ever.

Nimish and me tend to go on and on and on about Radiohead. I think its time for me to set the record straight. Radiohead is definitely one of the greatest bands ever, no doubt. But no band has ever, even for a second in all their glory, come close to these four guys:

1. Jimmy Page
2. Robert Plant
3. John Paul Jones
4. John Bonham

To put it in a linear graph of greatness…

Iron Maiden is at x=6, Coldplay is at x=10, Radiohead is at x=15, The Beatles are at x=10, Led Zeppelin is at x=7793246462135451136532315412.

Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating a little.

But they are the greatest. Ever.

Comments are off. Non grandum anusa rodentum to your opinions.

Song Idea

It’s odd. I don’t drink or do drugs and my excuse has always been the same: I’m high and weird in my normal state, what can drugs and alcohol do? The point is that, I got this idea for a song while coming to the british council today… I don’t why I get these ideas in the metro… must be something in the air conditioning.

Anyways, the Lacucaracha has thus thunk :

There should be a Radiohead song… tell Jonny to get his Ondes Martenot and throw in a Electro-Theremin too for good measure. Thom Yorke, listen to to Numb, get the exact same deep, deadpan voice as the Edge’s, somewhat similar to A Wolf at the Door. There should be no drums while Thom sings, heavy bass and usage of a multitude of instruments, but no percussion whatsoever. The drums kick in only towards the end of the song, with a chaotic instrumental consisting of all instruments used in the song. ( Ondes Martenot, Electro-Theremin, Glass Armonica, Piano, Violin, Electric Guitar, Keyboards etc.)

The lyrics:

A graphic detailed instruction manual of how to painfully mutilate a person’s body, ending with the line, “And kill him thus” repeated over and over…

I need help.

The Ultimate Final of Ultimate Destiny

There are few useful things that happen on Orkut…

This, however, is one of them.

I, for one, would love it.

Trebleulations…

If you’re all going to Wembley clap your hands,
If you’re all going to Wembley clap your hands,
If you’re all going to Wembley,
All going to Wembley,
All going to Wembley clap your hands.

Drink, drink, wherever you may be,
We are the drunk and disorderly,
And we don’t give a sh*t and we don’t give a f*ck,
We’re going home with the Cup Winners cup.

We’re gonna win the cup,
We’re gonna win the cup,
And now you’re gonna believe us,
And now you’re gonna believe us,
And now you’re gonna believe us,
We’re gonna win the cup.

We’ll be running round Wembley with the cup, p*ssed up,
We’ll be running round Wembley with the cup, p*ssed up,
We’ll be running round Wembley,
Running round Wembley,
Running round Wembley with the cup, p*ssed up

We won the cup,
We won the cup,
Ee-aye-adio,
We won the cup.

Bring on the double, bring on the double tonight …

We’ve done the double, we’ve done the double tonight …

We’ve done the double, we’ve done the double again …

Tell me ma, me ma,
To put the champagne on ice,
We’re going to Wembley twice,
Tell me ma, me ma.

Though we must celebrate, it’s the Champions League that scares me. AC Milan won’t quite be the pushovers that Roma were.

I believe that the semi-final is going to decide whether or not we win the Champions League this year. If we can get past AC Milan, Chel$ki/Liver-fool is nothing.

The first leg is at the Theatre of Dreams on my birthday (thanks to time difference). We HAVE to get a huge goal margin. I suggest a line-up with a stronger emphasis on the midfield to counter Kaka and Seedorf. Use Scholes as an in-the-hole player, which perhaps how Ancelotti’s going to use Kaka and Carrick as a holding player. I wish we had someone like Cantona to counter Pirlo, but I guess that Carrick will have to shoulder this responsibility. Wish we had Hargreaves already!

Giggs will play an important role because Cafu won’t be able to do anything to him.

Cristiano will have to put Maldini under pressure. Maybe if he distracts Maldini enough, that might make Nesta abandon his position and help, which will unleash Rooney. If you ask me, Milan’s weakness is on their left and hence, Giggs and Rooney will be the most important players from our side.

Dida is rubbish. I think Scholes, Roon, Giggs and Cristiano should keep up a relentless series of shots. He’ll crack very quickly.

Relationship Status: Committed

That’s the one line in my orkut profile that’s shocking the bejesus out of everyone. Committed? Him? What kind of silly, blind, insane, sadistic prick of a girl would ever think of being in a relationship with a guy who thinks that… with a guy who thinks! Well, laddies and ladies, here’s something from the dictionary:
Committed: (transitive verb) CONSIGN. To place in a prison or mental hospital esp. by judicial order.

It’s not a case of sour grapes, I can assure you. I believe that I am, as Bertie Wooster was, in the words of Jeeves, “One of nature’s confirmed bachelors.” I’m just not boyfriend material. College-life, though just a semester and a half old, has shown me why. What I present is wisdom gained from experiences into what it takes to be a boyfriend at:

1. Amity School of Engineering.
2. St. Stephen’s College
3. Hindu College
4. Sri Venkateshwara College
5. Lady Shri Ram College
6. Netaji Subhas Institute of Technology
7. Delhi College of Engineering

Among others (Bethany High and FAPS, Bangalore need mentioning as primary sources in the others category). How do I know this? Fests. You are almost forced into observing and admiring the sheer valor and bravery it takes to be a boyfriend. Indeed, I openly admit my inadequacy, for I do not have what it takes. I cannot:

1. Abandon all self-respect, vanity and ego; in front of my girlfriend. The mentioned qualities expand gargantually when in front of my friends, but I’m not willing to be a guy who’s so desperate to be in a relationship and have a girlfriend so as to show off in front of his mates that I’ll swallow my pride and let my self-respect be ground to the dust.
2. I’m materialistic. But I’m not very well-off. That would indicate that I’ll have to sacrifice all of my desires for her. So, instead of buying that ‘The Best of The Doors’ CD I’ve been eyeing, i’ll have to get two gold-class tickets to see a crappy romantic comedy that probably stars Hugh Grant (I’m assuming that I’ll never fall in love with a girl who’ll make me see ‘Salaam-e-Ishq’. That’s just NOT happening), buy popcorn and stuff and then take her out to dinner. Riiiight.
3. The process of approaching a girl without her reaching for a can of pepper spray, talking to her, convincing her to go out on a date with you and finally, getting some “hey-hey” is long, arduous and requires almost infinite resolve and infinity plus 1 reserves of patience and desperation. Of which I have neither. Besides, sex isn’t everything. It’s a lot, but it’s not everything.
4. I cannot listen to things which, had they been said by anyone else, I would’ve banged my fist on the table and demanded that the person, “Stop Talking Rot!” (and I’m not sure it’s not, “Bally Rot!”), but since they come from the mouth of my girlfriend, I must listen… and listen… and listen… and listen… and listen… and listen… and listen… and listen…
5. I’ll also have to talk “Bally Rot!”. I cannot send heart-icon text messages or stuff like, “Do not sleep with a broken heart, for that heart is mine…” at midnight, rather than sending “We’re trashing Roma 6-0! This is fuckincreadible!” Or call her things like “sweetie” while she calls me “jaanu“.
6. It can’t always be my fault. No it’s not! Goddammit!
7. I haven’t seen ONE relationship where the guy and the girl discuss something remotely intellectual. I have seen too many relationships where all discussions are gossip.

There are perhaps more reasons, but they’ve been discussed to death and I’m starving, so I’ll stop here. To any person of the opposite sex who’s reading this (I have 1,800 hits… 1200 are Nimish, 400 are Dinesh and 189 are mine… that’s 11 readers), no offence. Nothing against you. I just value my sanity too much. Or rather, my insanity.

It ain’t funny any more…

There’s always a moment when you start to fall out of love, whether it’s with a person or an idea or a cause, even if it’s one you only narrate to yourself years after the event: a tiny thing, a wrong word, a false note, which means that things can never be quite the same again. For me it was hearing a stand-up comedian make the following observation. “These scientists eh? They’re so stupid! You know those black box flight recorders they put on aeroplanes? And you know they’re meant to be indestructible? It’s always the thing that doesn’t get smashed? So why don’t they make the planes out of the same stuff?” The audience roared with laughter at how stupid scientists were, how they couldn’t think their way out of a paper bag, but I sat feeling uncomfortable. Was I just being pedantic to feel that the joke didn’t really work because flight recorders are made out titanium and that if you made planes out of titanium rather than aluminium they’d be far too heavy to get off the ground in the first place?
(…) There was no way of deconstructing the joke (if you think this is obsessive behaviour you should try living with it) that didn’t rely on the teller and the audience complacently conspiring together to jeer at someone who knew more than they did. It sent a chill down my spine and still does. I felt betrayed by comedy in the same way that gangsta rap now makes me feel betrayed by rock music.
- Douglas Noel Adams

It’s bleak.

You almost don’t feel like making jokes, wisecracks, PJs and the like.

Kurt Vonnegut is dead. He was an influence to many, including Douglas Adams. He followed Asimov as the Honorary President of the American Humanist Association.
He wasn’t afraid of speaking the truth. Saying stuff like:

If you really want to disappoint your parents, and don’t have the nerve to be gay, go into the arts.
George W. Bush has gathered around him upper-crust C-students who know no history or geography.
No matter which one wins, we will have a Skull and Bones President at a time when entire vertebrate species, because of how we have poisoned the topsoil, the waters and the atmosphere, are becoming, hey presto, nothing but skulls and bones.
By saying that our leaders are power-drunk chimpanzees, am I in danger of wrecking the morale of our soldiers fighting and dying in the Middle East? Their morale, like so many bodies, is already shot to pieces. They are being treated, as I never was, like toys a rich kid got for Christmas in December.

And finally, How to: Write a short story.

1. Use the time of a total stranger in such a way that he or she will not feel the time was wasted.
2. Give the reader at least one character he or she can root for.
3. Every character should want something, even if it is only a glass of water.
4. Every sentence must do one of two things — reveal character or advance the action.
5. Start as close to the end as possible.
6. Be a sadist. No matter how sweet and innocent your leading characters, make awful things happen to them — in order that the reader may see what they are made of.
7. Write to please just one person. If you open a window and make love to the world, so to speak, your story will get pneumonia.
8. Give your readers as much information as possible as soon as possible. To heck with suspense. Readers should have such complete understanding of what is going on, where and why, that they could finish the story themselves, should cockroaches eat the last few pages.

I need to buy his books.

Killer Punch:
I saw an episode of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. today. Is the target audience of the crappy excuse for entertainment so dumb that they cannot handle more than one word syllable alphabet per sentence? Unless of course, it features the word sex.
I’m going to the British Council Library tomorrow and I’m going to watch Monty Python till they pull me away from the computer terminal.
I know Nimish has already done this with Indian comedians (The Great Indian Laughter Challenge ones. The only challenge there is to find something worth laughing at), but I’ll do it with something everybody and my sister simply adores.
Here are some F.R.I.E.N.D.S. jokes: (the better ones!)

• A man leaves his cell phone on the table, causing Rachel and Phoebe to argue over who gets it. During the argument Phoebe says, “Yeah, well my mother killed herself!” She then goes on to say, “Oh, have I used that already today? Oh, I’m sorry.”

• Joey dresses up in all the clothes that Chandler owns, and remarks, “Look at me, I’m Chandler, could I be wearing any more clothes?

• Oh…my…God!

• The first time I met Chandler, I thought he was gay, Now here I am, Singing on his wedding day!

• Fat Monica

Right. So That’s why they use a laughter track! Not only are the viewers of the show so dumb that they need to be told when to laugh and/or cry, there is NO joke in it!

Now… here’s a John Cleese sequence in ONE part of ONE Monty Python sketch.

Cut to drawing room of large English country house. Sitting around are various standard Agatha Christie type characters, Colonel Pickering, Lady Amanda Velloper, Kirt, Anona Winn. They drink tea, read etc. Outside there is thunder. Inspector Tiger enters the room.
Inspector Tiger (John Cleese): This house is surrounded. I’m afraid I must not ask anyone to leave the room. No, I must ask nobody … no, I must ask everybody to… I must not ask anyone to leave the room. No one must be asked by me to leave the room. No, no one must ask the room to leave. I … I … ask the room shall by someone be left. Not. Ask nobody the room somebody leave shall I. Shall I leave the room? Everyone must leave the room… as it is… with them in it. Phew. Understand?
Colonel Pickering: You don’t want anybody to leave the room.
Inspector Tiger: (clicking fingers to indicate Colonel Pickering has hit the nail on the head) Now, alduce me to introlow myslef. I’m sorry. Alself me to myduce introlow myslef. Introme -to-lose mlow alself. Alme to you introself mylowduce. Excuse me a moment. (bangs himself on the side of the head) Allow me to introduce myself. I’m afraid I must ask that no one leave the room. Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Inspector Tiger.
All: Tiger?
Inspector Tiger: (jumping) Where? Where? What? Ah. Me Tiger. You Jane. Grrr. Beg your pardon, allow me to introduce myself I’m afraid I must ask that no one leave the room.
Lady Velloper: Why not?
Inspector Tiger: Elementary. Since the body was found in this room, and no one has left it. Therefore … the murderer must be somebody in this room.
Colonel Pickering: What body?
Inspector Tiger: Somebody. In this room. Must the murderer be. The murderer of the body is somebody in this room, which nobody must leave… leave the body in the room not to be left by anybody. Nobody leaves anybody or the body with somebody. Everybody who is anybody shall leave the body in the room body. Take the tablets Tiger. Anybody (as he searches for the tablets) with a body but not the body is nobody. Nobody leaves the body in the … (he takes the tablet) Albody me introbody albodyduce.

At this moment a surgeon enters with two nurses and starts to operate on his head with sawing noises.

CAPTION: ‘THE SAME DRAWING ROOM. ONE LOBOTOMY LATER’.

The surgeon is packing up. Inspector Tiger’s head is bandaged.

Surgeon: Now for Sir Gerald.
Inspector Tiger: That’s better, now I’m Inspector Tiger and I must ask that nobody leave the room. (He gives thumbs up to the surgeon who is at door) Now someone has committed a murder here, and that murderer is someone in this room. The question is … who?
Colonel Pickering: Look, there hasn’t been a murder.
Inspector Tiger: No murder.
All: No.
Inspector Tiger: Oh. I don’t like it. It’s too simple, too clear cut. I’d better wait. (he sits on sofa) No, too simple, too clear cut.

The lights go out. There is a scream followed by a shot. The light goes up. Inspector Tiger is dead. He has a bullet hole in his forehead, an arrow through his neck and there is a bottle marked poison on his lap.

Colonel Pickering: By jove, he was right.

Hence Proved.

If you still think F.R.I.E.N.D.S. is better… Laugh. Titanium and Aluminium doesn’t matter.

How to: Waste a day. Totally.

Day-wasting is an art. You might think, “Oh, it’s easy, I do it all the time.”

Wrong!

A day is truly wasted if you:

1. Gain nothing from it. Nothing. Not even experience. You have absolutely NO chance of getting anything in return for your efforts. Not even in a wild and sudden turn of events.

2. You spend a lot of:

a. Time. Hours in going to the main location, say, the University of Delhi. Bus from sector-41, Noida to sector-37, bus from sector-37 to sector-18, bus from sector-18 to Barakhamba road, metro from Barakhamba road to Vishwavidyalaya (that’s ‘University’ in Sanskrit-esque hindi). Minutes in finding the place, say, the DU branch of a particular bank that says it offers student accounts there. You’ve checked and double-checked that this isn’t only for DU students. You’re told that it’s near FMS. It’s not. Check 2(c). When you finally reach, it takes seconds for them to tell you, “I’m sorry if you’ve been misinformed, but student’s accounts are ONLY FOR students of the University of Delhi.” (This isn’t actually what they said. It was ruder and less eloquent.)

b. Money. Transport and more importantly, water. You’re walking in 313K heat and don’t want to suddenly see spots and everything around you going black. Also, rickshaws to places you don’t know. I understand that it’s manpower and that they’re poor. That’s why I don’t haggle, but the bastards rip you off.

c. Effort. Walking from Vishwavidyalaya to FMS (via Ramjas College, Kirori Mal College (whose alumni includes Amitabh Bachchan and Sheila Dikshit), University of Delhi Women’s Hostel, the “Lover’s Park” etc.). This is, I reiterate, in 313K heat. Then when you reach the bank branch near FMS, they say this isn’t the University of Delhi branch… that’s on Mall Road. You don’t know where Mall Road is, so you take a rickshaw that charges 25 bucks. Turns out it’s next to St. Stephen’s College (on the other side, not the one that faces Hindu College). Point 2(b) proved. Refer to point 2(a). You walk from Mall Road to Vishwavidyalaya.

3. You’re can’t pass the time because:

a. You don’t have an MP3 player/i-Pod.

b. Though your cell phone plays radio, all nine stations are playing either Himmesh, Kareena Kapoor’s latest item song or something equally as revolting (I doubt if such stuff exists) Even the AIR Gold channel’s suddenly not playing any Rafi or R.D.Burman, but are instead playing what I’m sure are vinyl discs of 1940-50s stuff. I like some oldie songs (hence the Rafi/R.D.Burman thing), but not such ancient stuff.

c. You DO have a walkman (what? Those things?) and a tape of U2’s ‘Zooropa’, but the batteries are through. No place has any. (htf!)

4. You return feeling miserable.

Sigh!

5. You type stuff like Sigh! Without actually Sigh!-ing in real life.

Maybe I’m feeling down because of this:

“Seems a bit rough on the old rhino as well,” said Dirk.
“And now here’s another one.”

Why?
He was only 49.
Schmucks, assholes and dickheads live to a hundred! Why him at 49!

U2 is soothing when you’re down. Try it.

This is Really Smart!

Hyper-Text Markup Language.

The Guide says that: “HTML stands for HyperText Mark-up Language and is the ‘code’ used to create webpages. It is made up of a number of special ‘tags’ such as <I>, <U> and <B>. Each tag consists of the tag’s ‘name’ and ‘attributes’ between < and >. A generic tag would, therefore, be <tagname attribute=value>. Most tags require a closing tag which is simply the name with a forward slash (/) before it: </tagname>. All of the attributes are set in the opening tag and almost all tags must be closed.“

The function of tags to the readers of blog entries and comments is to act as a substitute for things such as intonation and voice modulation. Hence, it’s understood that <b> is BOLD, hence the person is either shouting at you or trying to get your attention. <i> is Italic,  used either while quoting another person/source or trying to be poetic/romantic. <a href=”> is used for hyperlinking which can act as a “lookie-here” sort of thing. Other tags include underlining, to add greater ferocity to the statement; headings, colors , paragraphs and line breakers etc.
But…
What about a very fundamental form of speech which has been completely ignored by html tags?
What about…
Sarcasm.
It’s happened.
I think the person means what he’ saying, only for it to be sarcastic and vice-versa w.r.t. me.+
The importance of sarcasm is that you insult the person without truly insulting him and being witty t the same time. It’s basically meant for people to whom you can’t say, “Pardone mois, but I believe that you may have been incorrect in your assertion, no offence meant.”, but you wouldn’t want to say, “Shut Up! Dickhead. You’re lyk, soooo totally wrong! lolzzz!!!” as, you have an intellectual standard. Hence, sarcasm fills this gap in speech quite nicely. When understood, it also saves unnecessary explaining.
So, I think it’s time to propose a solution.
Sarcasm can perhaps be best represented as , i.e. underlined and in italics. The reason being, it is perhaps spoken as a form of quoting other/being poetic, i.e. fictional and also, you’re making a strong point. The underlined italics can eliminate the need for having to gauge sarcasm using the worst scientific tools in history, experience and belief. And since none of us are Professor Frink to invent sarcasm-detectors, I think that this brilliant idea will help us all in personal communications over the internet.