Although I had promised that I am not going to crib before the year ends, something absolutely forced me to crib again.
Ø I am unable to understand what’s up with my lenses. Every time I wear them, my right eye becomes watery and forces me to fill buckets. It grows red giving me a dopey look. It has also made my right eye look smaller than my left one. Hell! Interestingly, I cry only with one eye (the right one of course) and seeing the condition of the eye, the nose starts crying and running at the same time.
Ø Another thing that is troubling me is my boss’s attitude. He treats me like an outcaste and a fathead who doesn’t understand anything. He makes me feel that my dad wasted his money by in trying to educate me as I am (he thinks so) still an uneducated ass.
Ø Why does my father insist on occupying the bathroom only after 8:30 am? Why not around 8:25 am? He should understand that now even I have to go to office and it’s not just him who’s working now. Is he aware that a word called ‘adjustment’ exists in the world?
Ø Why does Tanaz have to say “so sweet” to every darned thing?
Most people make resolutions for the New Year, I am making a Wish List and I hope that the chap who lives in the skies and calls himself God fulfills these wishes. Here goes the list:
Ø I wish that my college and college mates behave properly with me and try to understand that it is hateful to keep on thinking about their own selves and comfort.
Ø I wish that Delhi Jal Board does not goof up on the water supply in our locality so that we are not forced to go to the temple a street away to fill our buckets and that my grandmother sees the logic behind my so many arguments on leaving this locality for good.
Ø I wish that my lenses stop troubling my eyes and try not to turn them into hosepipes.
Ø I wish that my boss stops behaving like that.
Ø I wish that my father occupies the bathroom by 8:25 in the morning and vacates it by 8:50.
Ø I wish that I get lectured less from now on.
Ø I wish Tanaz stops saying “so sweet” to every darned thing.
Ø I wish my hypocrisy level goes down by the same time next year.
Ø I wish that I will have fewer reasons to crib next year.
Ø I wish that God grants me two more wishes the next year just in case I need to ask for more.
Cheers and wish you all a very Happy New Year!
Friday, December 29, 2006
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
Life in the Metro
This has been a rather frustrating end of the year. However, I want to end it on a humorous note. So, now I present a little anecdote from my life in the Metro (Metro as in the Metro train), though I must admit my Haryanvi language is extremely bad. So my apologies.
As usual the day began with lectures—that how I do not exercise and stuff like that. As usual I ignored it and settled down with the newspaper and shouted at my brother to stop bothering me with his set of Maths problems (Maths and I hardly go together and nor can we tolerate each other. I refuse to solve its problems and its problems just refuse to be solved by me). Anyways, we are digressing from the topic. Finally got ready to go to office after wondering what to wear today as everything that was staring at me from my wardrobe was O! so boring! The water as usual was hot and I was still feeling cold. After dressing up in all the finery and having had a typical unexciting breakfast of bread and butter with Bournvita milk, I stepped out of my house armed with a P.G. Wodehouse to read in the Metro. As usual I contemplated what mode of transport should I use—rickshaw or bus. I settled down in favour of the bus thinking that since it is winters, I would be better off in a warm bus, even if it is crowded, rather than a windy rickshaw. So left-right-left (I had just watched this programme on TV. The effects were still to wear off. The programme is about army cadets and features quite a number of eye-candies. Anyways, back to the topic again) I went to the bus-stop, boarded the bus and thanked God that it wasn’t too crowded and mentally uttered abuses at a few gawk-ers (Lord! How I hate such people) and finally reached the Metro station.
Again the usual—huffing and puffing, I finally climbed the stairs of the Metro station (They do not make escalators in our part of the metro station. This is what happens to the minority community in this country— injustice. The number of people who travel in the Metro from our part of the station is smaller than the other side—this makes us the minority community among the Metro travellers. We want reservation! We want reservation! Hopefully I will get a seat in the train from now on). Oho! Again we digress. Coming back, this time I got the escalator and climbed up. You see, that makes it quick—climbing the escalators with the escalator climbing in the same direction takes you up faster (This is Nobody’s Devil Law of Motion! But I hate Physics too!). And so I am on the platform now. The train arrives 1 minute late and I mentally reprimand the driver for being “so” late forgetting that it is India we live in. Then as usual, I stand back bemused watching the way in which people are trying to get into the train, literally pushing and pulling each other as if the train is going to leave them there and the next train isn’t going to come. I make a mental note of this and nod to myself in a righteous sort of way that at least I am not a part of this rat race quite forgetting the fact that it is me who has made an effort to remember the exact point on the platform where a door of the train opens.
(And now for the real bit) After being successful in finding my favourite place to stand in the train, I look around just to make sure nobody is gawking at me (if I had found such a person, I would have taken the pleasure of calling him a few names as well. Sadistic! One may say. However, I have found a new victim for that—my boss). Then I fished out my P.G., as I lovingly call it, and started reading. The train keeps halting at Metro station and moving again, as it is supposed to do. Comes: Pratap Nagar Metro Station. Enter: Mr. Haryanvi Jaat.
Mr Haryanvi Jaat (let’s call him HJ just like that weirdo Michael Jackson—MJ or maybe Mary Jane of Spiderman fame): Oh bhai! Ye Shahadra jayegi k nahi? [Will this train go to Shahadra?]
Helpful Passenger: Haan haan jayegi tau. [Yes, yes, it will uncle]
(Methought: Is it a f*****g bus?)
HJ is unable to balance himself. Falls on the passenger standing nearby who is looking distraught at having been relegated to such a torture. I, meanwhile, try to contain my laughter.
HJ: Ib is goley ka k karoon main? [What am I supposed to do with this token. Please note, the gola in question is the Metro token?]
Helpful Passenger: Is ko jab Shahadra utrogey tab dabbe me daal dena. [When you arrive at Shahadra, put it in the box].
HJ: Ye Shahadra jayegi na? [Will this go to Shahadra or not?]
(Methought: How many times are you going to ask that? Shut up now and let me read! The fool!)
The guy standing opposite to me is gaping at HJ in wonder contemplating whether he belongs to some other planet. I grin at him. He doesn’t grin back, clearly lost in thoughts. (Methought: Of course HJ belongs to the other planet—Haryana. Now that was a racial slur. Bad girl!)
By now it seemed that Helpful Passenger had gotten tired of him.
Helpful Passenger: Tau Metro me zyada bolna mana hai. [Uncle speaking too much is banned in Metro]
But HJ is damn smart.
HJ: Ib dikha de k kidhar likha hai Silence. [Show me where is it written: Silence, obviously he meant Maintain Silence.] (But this was no time to display my subbing skills. There was too much excitement on the ground, or maybe in the air, or mid-air. Oh whatever! Just read on!)
Repeats the dialogue a number of times, much to the amusement of the people around.
(Methought: This guy is just too cool. I am his fan. Autograph please!)
HJ: Acha beta! Manne ye bata k je tumhara thaila kho jaye, to kahan report likhwani padti hai. Mera thaila kho gaya tha pichli baar Metro me. K wo mil jayega? [Son! Tell me where should I report if I lose my bag in the Metro. I lost my bag last time here. Will I get it back?]
By now it seemed to me as if Helpful Passenger was in a mood to have fun with HJ.
Helpful Passenger: Tau agar paise honge to kabhi na milega. [If it had money, you will never find it]
HJ: Na beta. Paise na the. Bas kuch kagaz they, kachcha aur baniyan tha. [It did not have money. It had a pair of undergarments]
Helpful Passenger: Driver se pooch lena. [Ask the driver].
(Methought: The driver must be wearing your kachcha [underwear] and baniyan [vest] right now. That too over this pants playing Superman. Now that was an old joke)
In between the conversation, HJ had already asked whether the train will go to Shahadra at least once more. While most of us were getting down at Kashmiri Gate (wonder why Kashmiri Gate. Kashmir is in Jammu and Kashmir, not in Delhi), he asked once more the same question.
(Methought: If he says it once more, I am gonna scream and say... No, this one goes to Timbaktu)
As usual the day began with lectures—that how I do not exercise and stuff like that. As usual I ignored it and settled down with the newspaper and shouted at my brother to stop bothering me with his set of Maths problems (Maths and I hardly go together and nor can we tolerate each other. I refuse to solve its problems and its problems just refuse to be solved by me). Anyways, we are digressing from the topic. Finally got ready to go to office after wondering what to wear today as everything that was staring at me from my wardrobe was O! so boring! The water as usual was hot and I was still feeling cold. After dressing up in all the finery and having had a typical unexciting breakfast of bread and butter with Bournvita milk, I stepped out of my house armed with a P.G. Wodehouse to read in the Metro. As usual I contemplated what mode of transport should I use—rickshaw or bus. I settled down in favour of the bus thinking that since it is winters, I would be better off in a warm bus, even if it is crowded, rather than a windy rickshaw. So left-right-left (I had just watched this programme on TV. The effects were still to wear off. The programme is about army cadets and features quite a number of eye-candies. Anyways, back to the topic again) I went to the bus-stop, boarded the bus and thanked God that it wasn’t too crowded and mentally uttered abuses at a few gawk-ers (Lord! How I hate such people) and finally reached the Metro station.
Again the usual—huffing and puffing, I finally climbed the stairs of the Metro station (They do not make escalators in our part of the metro station. This is what happens to the minority community in this country— injustice. The number of people who travel in the Metro from our part of the station is smaller than the other side—this makes us the minority community among the Metro travellers. We want reservation! We want reservation! Hopefully I will get a seat in the train from now on). Oho! Again we digress. Coming back, this time I got the escalator and climbed up. You see, that makes it quick—climbing the escalators with the escalator climbing in the same direction takes you up faster (This is Nobody’s Devil Law of Motion! But I hate Physics too!). And so I am on the platform now. The train arrives 1 minute late and I mentally reprimand the driver for being “so” late forgetting that it is India we live in. Then as usual, I stand back bemused watching the way in which people are trying to get into the train, literally pushing and pulling each other as if the train is going to leave them there and the next train isn’t going to come. I make a mental note of this and nod to myself in a righteous sort of way that at least I am not a part of this rat race quite forgetting the fact that it is me who has made an effort to remember the exact point on the platform where a door of the train opens.
(And now for the real bit) After being successful in finding my favourite place to stand in the train, I look around just to make sure nobody is gawking at me (if I had found such a person, I would have taken the pleasure of calling him a few names as well. Sadistic! One may say. However, I have found a new victim for that—my boss). Then I fished out my P.G., as I lovingly call it, and started reading. The train keeps halting at Metro station and moving again, as it is supposed to do. Comes: Pratap Nagar Metro Station. Enter: Mr. Haryanvi Jaat.
Mr Haryanvi Jaat (let’s call him HJ just like that weirdo Michael Jackson—MJ or maybe Mary Jane of Spiderman fame): Oh bhai! Ye Shahadra jayegi k nahi? [Will this train go to Shahadra?]
Helpful Passenger: Haan haan jayegi tau. [Yes, yes, it will uncle]
(Methought: Is it a f*****g bus?)
HJ is unable to balance himself. Falls on the passenger standing nearby who is looking distraught at having been relegated to such a torture. I, meanwhile, try to contain my laughter.
HJ: Ib is goley ka k karoon main? [What am I supposed to do with this token. Please note, the gola in question is the Metro token?]
Helpful Passenger: Is ko jab Shahadra utrogey tab dabbe me daal dena. [When you arrive at Shahadra, put it in the box].
HJ: Ye Shahadra jayegi na? [Will this go to Shahadra or not?]
(Methought: How many times are you going to ask that? Shut up now and let me read! The fool!)
The guy standing opposite to me is gaping at HJ in wonder contemplating whether he belongs to some other planet. I grin at him. He doesn’t grin back, clearly lost in thoughts. (Methought: Of course HJ belongs to the other planet—Haryana. Now that was a racial slur. Bad girl!)
By now it seemed that Helpful Passenger had gotten tired of him.
Helpful Passenger: Tau Metro me zyada bolna mana hai. [Uncle speaking too much is banned in Metro]
But HJ is damn smart.
HJ: Ib dikha de k kidhar likha hai Silence. [Show me where is it written: Silence, obviously he meant Maintain Silence.] (But this was no time to display my subbing skills. There was too much excitement on the ground, or maybe in the air, or mid-air. Oh whatever! Just read on!)
Repeats the dialogue a number of times, much to the amusement of the people around.
(Methought: This guy is just too cool. I am his fan. Autograph please!)
HJ: Acha beta! Manne ye bata k je tumhara thaila kho jaye, to kahan report likhwani padti hai. Mera thaila kho gaya tha pichli baar Metro me. K wo mil jayega? [Son! Tell me where should I report if I lose my bag in the Metro. I lost my bag last time here. Will I get it back?]
By now it seemed to me as if Helpful Passenger was in a mood to have fun with HJ.
Helpful Passenger: Tau agar paise honge to kabhi na milega. [If it had money, you will never find it]
HJ: Na beta. Paise na the. Bas kuch kagaz they, kachcha aur baniyan tha. [It did not have money. It had a pair of undergarments]
Helpful Passenger: Driver se pooch lena. [Ask the driver].
(Methought: The driver must be wearing your kachcha [underwear] and baniyan [vest] right now. That too over this pants playing Superman. Now that was an old joke)
In between the conversation, HJ had already asked whether the train will go to Shahadra at least once more. While most of us were getting down at Kashmiri Gate (wonder why Kashmiri Gate. Kashmir is in Jammu and Kashmir, not in Delhi), he asked once more the same question.
(Methought: If he says it once more, I am gonna scream and say... No, this one goes to Timbaktu)
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
To add to it....
Still more to add to my existing frustrations, this is what has been happening:
Ø There has been no water supply since 3 days. My grandmother refuses to leave this damned place and refuses to see the problems her children and grandchildren are facing without water. Had it been peak summer, I would have understood that there is shortage of water, but it is winters now. Areas around our locality are facing no such problems, then why only us? Everyday we have to fetch water from the temple a lane away—which has got a water booster—and carry the water to the first floor. Last year in the summers we had faced similar problems. Water had eluded us for 10 days at a stretch. I am sick of this locality, sick of this darned Haiderpur gaon.
The other day, I shouted hard at God, called him names and told him if I had friends like him, then I am better off without enemies. But he doesn't listen. There are enemies. Why is he like that?
Ø There has been no water supply since 3 days. My grandmother refuses to leave this damned place and refuses to see the problems her children and grandchildren are facing without water. Had it been peak summer, I would have understood that there is shortage of water, but it is winters now. Areas around our locality are facing no such problems, then why only us? Everyday we have to fetch water from the temple a lane away—which has got a water booster—and carry the water to the first floor. Last year in the summers we had faced similar problems. Water had eluded us for 10 days at a stretch. I am sick of this locality, sick of this darned Haiderpur gaon.
The other day, I shouted hard at God, called him names and told him if I had friends like him, then I am better off without enemies. But he doesn't listen. There are enemies. Why is he like that?
Friday, December 15, 2006
Reasons why I am frustrated...
Ø I am going to miss out on an office party. Reason—practical exam for a subject that is just about useless and is called Radio Programme Formats. when the name of the paper is so dull and drab that one can very well imagine the content of the subject. And for such a subject, I am going to miss out on a rocking office party. :( :( :(
Ø This makes me regret why, in the first place, did I agree to join the stupid course. Why did I give in? I have nothing but my own weakness to blame for the same. But there is no use crying over spilt milk now. What had to occur has occurred and it cannot be changed as much as I may want a time machine to make the necessary changes.
Ø Another thing and this one is not my fault—that college is crap. My 54 grand stands wasted. The machines do not work properly and if they do, there is no electircity and there are no generators in our part of the world (read: campus. The other parts have been connected with the generator but it is only the Centre for Media Studies that has been singled out for this step-motherly treatment. If I try and be liberal, the faculty is just about average. We have been left like orphans, trying to find our feet in the University on our own with no one to help us. The weekend programme has been converted into a weekday programme to complete all the pending work beacuse the studios were not ready on time and we lost at least 2 months. Just to make the grim picture complete, the authorities have been made to feel as if we are not serious about our studies. I mean what the hell!
Ø On top of it all, my parents are not ready to admit that taking admission into this Goddamn university was a mistake. They feel they have done the right thing. One gets post-graduate degrees in any damned correspondence course from any non-descript university and that too in peanuts if it was just the degree that they were interested in. But no… they are always correct.
Yeah, I am frustrated. Anyone will be. Everything seems to predict just doom. Doom Doom Doom and Boom, I just blew up. Some day IP University, you are gonna pay. And I will make sure that day comes soon.
Ø This makes me regret why, in the first place, did I agree to join the stupid course. Why did I give in? I have nothing but my own weakness to blame for the same. But there is no use crying over spilt milk now. What had to occur has occurred and it cannot be changed as much as I may want a time machine to make the necessary changes.
Ø Another thing and this one is not my fault—that college is crap. My 54 grand stands wasted. The machines do not work properly and if they do, there is no electircity and there are no generators in our part of the world (read: campus. The other parts have been connected with the generator but it is only the Centre for Media Studies that has been singled out for this step-motherly treatment. If I try and be liberal, the faculty is just about average. We have been left like orphans, trying to find our feet in the University on our own with no one to help us. The weekend programme has been converted into a weekday programme to complete all the pending work beacuse the studios were not ready on time and we lost at least 2 months. Just to make the grim picture complete, the authorities have been made to feel as if we are not serious about our studies. I mean what the hell!
Ø On top of it all, my parents are not ready to admit that taking admission into this Goddamn university was a mistake. They feel they have done the right thing. One gets post-graduate degrees in any damned correspondence course from any non-descript university and that too in peanuts if it was just the degree that they were interested in. But no… they are always correct.
Yeah, I am frustrated. Anyone will be. Everything seems to predict just doom. Doom Doom Doom and Boom, I just blew up. Some day IP University, you are gonna pay. And I will make sure that day comes soon.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)