The politics of English language

We have already debated a lot on the Language, it's use and abuse on the blogosphere. But did you know that Orwell, way back in 1945, already considered that the English language was in a bad way? Here's adding more fuel to the fire, again.

PS: Of course, I'm a primeval being, hence, agree with Orwell, almost completely.

An Auto Guide to High BP

Act: Hail an auto; Scene: I Time: Am/pm and anytime in between

The scene at 9am everyday: Boss, MG Road?
A wry smile ( like saying 'you're good, but not good enough for me,baby.' yuuuck, puke); a disgusted look; didn't-hear- you, total ignore; nonchalantly drive away; Rs 40 (it's 18 bucks from my house, goddamit)

This is only panning the myriad responses one hapless "immobile" journo faces day in and day out, even before the day's drudgery begins. And this despite putting on one's most charming smile(could give all the Miss Beautiful Smiles a run for their frigging money) and being the most polite self and putting on that most distressed damsel I'm-getting-late-for-work look. Nothing F***ING works. (sorry about the expletive, but believe me,it's much worse when you're the victim). The experience is exasperating, harrowing, agonising,torturous,(feel free to add adjs), to say the least.

The scene at 6.30 pm everyday: Ditto

The scene at 6.30 pm on a rainy day in Bangalore: Even the Gods forsake Pensioners' Paradise. Leaving the Auto Mafia to rule a waterlogged, traffic snarled, anarchical Bean-scattered Town.
Ok, am probably just another one of those daily suffering souls in this godforsaken city. But to be relegated to such dehumanised Nazi-esque treatment by sundry mercenery autowallahs? HELL. What's worse, it's like banging my head against a wall. I can continue to fume, rave, rant and scream expletives(kancha khistis galore), but even God wouldn't know how to get their stinking butts moving. You ask them if they'll take you somewhere(distance not withstanding), pat comes the nod of the head, if he's polite; others don't even bother to answer, just drive past like you didn't exist. Or you are some alien who asked for a drop to some forbidden land! Slowly, and steadily, the mercury content of blood rises till you can see the redness in the ears, nose and forehead. But alas! The autowallas are colourblind and deaf, tempered with generous laddles of shamelessness. (Guess what? I think the Gods peered in through my Venetian blinds and saw me writing this...all hell's broken loose here. They're thundering and spitting fire at me! I'm banished to Kingdom Come!)Nothing can stop me from writing this, even if it be my swansong. Ok, so where was I? Anytime of the day, come rain, come shine "One and a half saar." Or the more kinder variety: "10/20/30...arbit rupees extra madam!" (Yes, today will be one of those days.) Like just because it's the IT capital, everyone's a millionaire! S-O-B, SOB, sob ;(. Wish I were, at least a daughter/wife of one!(Envy that Malaysian journalist.) Complaint centres, letters to editors of various papers seem to be making precious little difference. And of course, the government can't be bothered. Though, must appreciate the effort of police near the Commercial Street Junction. Does help, sometimes.

In a city whose public transport also offers F*All, what do commuters have to rely on? The Auto mafia. Hail Auto!
So why are people still swarming this city from all other parts of the world, like this is the only land of opportunities? May be one should ask the Autowallas.

Sad to say, the city wasn't built to tackle a techboom...it was meant to be a Pensioner's Paradise.
Advice for wannabes shifting base to Bangalore:
1. Make sure you own a two-wheeler or four wheeler.

If you don't, please, oh please:
1. Consult Autorikshaw Association of Bangalore before choosing a flat/house.
2. Consult Autorikshaw Association of Bangalore before choosing your place of work.
Only if they approve both localities, make all other necessary arrangements. So best of luck! For those of us who are bitten by yet smitten with this GFC(godforsaken city, duh!), we'll wait for some good Samaritans to salvage us from this seemingly irrevocable plight.

Where next?

On a more serious note, is this where the world is headed?

Gory idea

I decided to try reading as an antidote for my cerebral allergy. And, hell! It wasn't just a bad idea it was Gory! And promptly, as they say in good old Kolkata, Current off hoye gelo! (aka loadshedding/power failure...oh whatever u call it, damn).
Thank God, I'll be spared the ordeal of being electrocuted by Chopracity, but my sympathies to all those who will have acess to it. But hey, if you do get the channel, I'd really like one of you there to report on it.
Oh what would happen to television channels without the quintessential Indian? From NDTV (ok, correction. Bongo TV), CNBC, BBC, CNN to the works...name a channel without a successful Indian on it? And who's best at poaching Indian brains, but the US ofA? Be it Academics,Technology, Consulting, advising, preaching...the works.
Where would the world (read USA) be without the antel (intellectual) Indians?

Existentialism

Badly doped; high on fever; bloodshot eyes; acoustically shocked; cerebrally allergic; arterially congested; physically challenged.
Phew! Do I exist or what?

Gyanpaapi

Learnings of the day:

1. Talk, think, learn, demonstrate (TTLD)
2. Be an Opportunist
3. Share a vision, no matter how myopic it is
4. I'll Skipe you (Heelloo?? Is this English?)
5. Most importantly: listen to gyan with a straightface .

I am a born leader. And thankfully, my school recognised my leadership skills early and always assigned me portfolios suiting me. So from class captain, to house captain to prefect in charge...the ascent had been quite smooth sailing. And the job responsibility of course was mainly, give others Gyan, at the highest decibel allowed. Ranging from: Don't talk (loudly) when the teacher's absent or between period breaks, walk in single file to PT class ( Yippeee no more boring maths classwork) to "Ok pals, get your butts moving on the posters..buck buck up..." to "Why haven't you cleaned your shoes today..you know your house will lose points..." blah blah blah...And of course I was the most (in)famous and (un) popular leader of wo(e)mankind!

Till, of course, I got down to the brasstacks of the corporate world (That I sold my loyalties for peanuts to the media industry is another story altogether) . For the first time, I was led by others (myopic, look-no-further-than-the-phone journos). And I followed, tamely at that. Ever since, have only been listening...the voice, the decibel levels, no wonder, are a trifle choked now. Only rarely have I even attempted to make some noise. Ahem...ahem...made myself heard. So now when I try, it's either muffled or misplaced.

"Don't talk... just listen. I'm telling you to spike that story." Spike, right? spike, s.p.i.k...spi...ski..skipe... S.K.I.P.E. Did I hear right? Huh... damn my ADD... When will I ever learn??

What the hell is Skipe now?

PS: All ye mortals in Skipeland..can you please enlighten me?

Turn of fate

And before people say what a shame (s)he's dead, But wasn’t (s)he a most peculiar (wo)man? , I thought, I'll be a wee bit sadistic and leave you all counting your Armageddon days here! While I:
...continue to continue to pretend
My life will never end,
And flowers never bend
With the rainfall.

The beginning of an end....

Lost in transit

I lost my voice. It's been quite a while since I last heard from "it".
So I have been indulging in some serious blogreading lately. The blogsphere is so full of writers who can wax eloquent on everything from Dubyaman, Didi, Kurosawa, Coelho, games, comics, movies to mundane things like leching, enduring bad roads and traffic jams. I came across witty, humorous writers, who can pick upon just anything and make a riot out of it; and the more serious ones who want to talk of government banalities or debate over moralities, poverty in India, the Tsunami, etc and some others who review films, books, music. The list goes on and on... Sometimes I stop and wish I could meet this one and that, coz I love their writings...but am afraid. Afraid of falling in love, of being disapponted... because: Readers who meet writers whose voice they have fallen in love with usually need to make a small adjustment in order to hang on to their infatuation. Even though I live in the land of swalpa adjust maadi , am not really famous for making any adjustment. So, move on...
And while I was happily scouting through the airy and blissful blogsphere, as an excuse for losing my writing skills, our firung publisher here on earth lost his cool at some board meeting and stomped out screaming expletives. Never to return. Am told the Indain (NRI) VC's taking full control. I can only await (holding my breath) the major announcement scheduled for 6 pm today.
In the meantime, a colleague gave some reason to flex those muscles around my lips. The chai fellow came and served her coffee in the ex-publisher's green coffee mug! And she decided to come across and ask me what I thought of her drinking coffee in his mug (like y should I bother anyway). In my most nonchalant and disinterested tone (after all she was disturbing my blogreading) told her, "After 6pm you're either gonna be the woman on top or be stomping out of this office." She laughed it off, but promptly went off to change her cup. She was back with another one. Blue, and cribbing: "Just for you, now I have to be content with this broken one." No comments this time...just broken threads of thought. Hunting, searching frantically for the voice.
* Standing atop a hill* : Hellooo...helloooo....can you hear me? (STD now @ Re. 1).

whiff of dementia

Leaving my cracked footprints on the coarse sands of time.
I close my eyes and lean forward
So the sprinting breeze can soothe those bruised cheeks.
A splash of red bloodies the ocular screen
Like the vermillioned parting of a new bride,
The battered brains of a suicidal moron.

With due apologies, these are just random thoughts of a completely demented mind!