Two Things

There's two things I want to say in this post.

1. I'm a slave to my whims. It's incredible. I've made mistakes, and I've said, yea, am glad this happened... I'm wiser for the experience. And then, I go and do it all over again. It is incredible.

2. Thing two is a bit happier.
Everyone has catchphrases... am not sure they're called catchphrases, but I mean phrases that we suddenly find are stuck in our heads, and we use it all the time. And they're not always phrases... it might just be a single word.
Like my current catch(word). Supreme.

Let me demonstrate, it really is a great word.

- I've a supreme headache!
- I'm supremely bored.
- I had a supreme time.
- You look supreme!

I dunno where it came from, but its stuck.... I don't use it all the time.. its a subtly sticky catch(word). I use it once in a while, and it comes naturally... and I think to myself... Yea, its definitely my current catchword.

A week

It's been an interesting week. Both my roommates are out of town, (for another whole week as well) and I've had a busy time. The week started off on a weird note- confusing, and painful, but its worn off.

Tuesday was Blackjack night. Quite a few of the group was out of town and couldn't make it, but the four of us who went, had a good time.

Wednesday ticked off the start of a Theatre Festival in Hyderabad - four great plays from across the country came over courtesy the The Hindu, and gave Hyderabad a much needed and very refreshing feeling of 'something interesting to do.'

The first play was produced by a group from Bombay. Love Letters. Rajat Kapoor and Shernaz Patel. Nice. Good performance, especially her. And nice set. Rather, barely any expect for the 'tetris' like blocks they kept rolling over and over.

Thursday had the Madras theater group's version of Five Point Someone. Conventionally directed, and adding almost nothing new in comparison to the book, the performances were strong. Great actors.

Friday was the most interesting and experimental play of all... An original work from the Harami Group from Bangalore - Butter and Mashed Bananas - was an excellent satirical, hilarious piece which touched politics, censorship, with a engaging script, use of dance and music, and a very good looking and talented cast.

Friday was also the day when I threw a little party, but more about that later.

The last and final play, was Amadeus. Again from Chennai, this play was the longest and probably the most demanding in terms of engaging the audience, but it was elaborately made, and the lead actors did a fantastic job. Amadeus is a play about Mozart - his life and death, and is also a famous movie. It was a bit too long, and my fever did cause me to nap off for a few minutes here and there, but, but but... I liked it.

Now, about the party. When roommate - Agent M - was leaving for her 2 week long holiday, we teased her that we'd have grand parties in the house, and basically do all the things she would not approve of. And well, we stuck with the idea, and decided to really have the party.

Invited a mixed bunch, half didn't turn up, but another bunch turned up anyway, and we:
1. got drunk
2. got acquainted
3. played a super drinking game and got smashed all over again
4. got told by the neighbors to shut up
5. made more noise
6. didn't stop laughing at all

Shame my Bohemian theme didn't work out - but there's always next time to have an authentic bohemian party.

Ah, nice. Have been resting and indulging today. Also saw:
1. Harold and Kumar go to White Caste
2. Requiem for a dream
3. Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events

Don't have anything else to add. Oh wait, darn Monday!

Cheery

I have exactly 120 seconds to make this post. I haven't even thought of a title yet.

After all the depressing self-help stuff I've been posting, I finally feel nice enough to post something cheerful.

Am off for the third session of the Black Jack Tuesday Night (drinking) Club.

And I'm pleasantly happy to find on my Google Analytics that 51% of all visitors on my blog use Firefox. Supreme stuff.

And now I have to run. Time's up...

High Hopes

I'm listening to Pink Floyd. Feeling apprehensive, sad, bewildered, and I possibly have expected this. Maybe I'm used to it.

Just telling myself two things:

The person I am depends on the choices I make.
And that I should begin to move away from the edge and find my center. One day at a time.

Guilt and the delicate lines

These days I'm going through an unfamiliar phase. I am guilty. I should feel guilty. I did. But I don't anymore.

It's confusing, I don't know where the lines are - between good and bad, wrong and right. I'm making my decisions and choices, and I'm learning along the way.

I'm not sure I'm doing the right thing, (or the wrong) but I think I'm drawing my own lines... and they wont coincide with anyone else's. Is there really so much grey between the black and the white?

Sin

If I could just hide
The sinner inside
And keep him denied
How sweet life would be
If I could be free
From the sinner in me

- Depeche Mode

Sinned again... and I can't even say how. Sinned, knowing I was. And now it's time for torture.

Happy Birthday Google

Google turned 9 yesterday. Happy birthday to us all.

No Fear Cricket

How can I not post about cricket this week? Last week itself, when I sat down in front of my TV and saw some of the matches, I was marveling at the incredible love we Indians have for cricket. I think even if the British hadn't brought the game here, we'd still have loved it that much, and still been as good at it as we are.

I was listening to our commentators. Ravi Shastri and Harsha Bhogle. Listening to how Brit they spoke. I was thinking of my mum, far away in Bombay, and her absolutely ridiculous superstitions. Superstitions like, 'Cross your right leg over your left leg when you sit, its good luck.' And, 'If we see the batsman who's to come out for batting next, a wicket will certainly fall.' God, we've laughed at those. I was thinking about the thousands of times I've wondered how boys can play cricket at Azad maidan in the phenomenal heat of a Sunday afternoon in Bombay.

It was raining. It was the most perfect thing to do - let the sounds of cricket wash over me, and wow, the excitement of Twenty 20 Cricket.

India was in excellent form. When I saw South Africa collapse, I decided that the most exciting parts of cricket are:
1. Getting an opponent batsman bowled.
2. A pull-out-of-the-air catch.
3. Run outs.
4. Stumped.
5. I hate LBWs.

And of course, when your batsmen are batting - the boundaries, and the perfect cover drives.

But what I really want to write about, is the World Cup Final Match.

India vs Pakistan. World cup final. An event that will make millions of crazy cricket fanatics hold their breaths and scream in a single voice.

It was in office that someone suggested that we put up a big screen and watch the game. The big screen was not a problem. The problem was the cable TV connection. Our marvelous facilities and tech teams pulled off the feat easily, and we had a new cable connection installed right in time for the match.

India was batting!

What followed was a completely awesome experience. More than a hundred crazy Googlers, three large screens, and not to forget the ample Googly free food, as Pranav put it - what more can anyone ask for? Beer, I would say, but I could make do without.

The atmosphere was so electric - and the most classic moment was when someone in the crowd started a crazy chant - jeetega bhai jeetega, India jeetega! And the crowd joined in... and as our voices hit a peak, we got a wicket. It was amazing... Everyone jumped and went crazy. And this went on non stop, till the end.

(I was most astonished to see this chap from my team, who's as quiet as a mouse generally, being the one who started the chant, and was the leader in all the chanting. In fact, he teased the crowds and played with them, slowing and quickening the pace of the chant and getting them to do the same. Later, after all the insanity and raucous behavior was over, he gave me a shy smile. After all that! )

My happiness actually is in the attitude of our new team, and its brave new captain. It's easy to see that he means it when he says that he wants our team to play no fear cricket, and ultimately wants the boys to have a good time. Am glad cricket is back.

I love Bombay

Wow... I have never heard my key click so loudly in my door lock as it did tonight. Nor has the light slipping through my windows been so bright, as it did tonight.

I love Bombay.
I love beer.

Now, the question is, which do I love more?
I think, wherever in the world I am, I will always love beer.
And I think, wherever in the world I am, and drinking beer, I will always think of Bombay and everyone there who's been my drinking buddy.

I love beer, and Bombay.

Tonight, after more than a week of intense, super-focused work, Zareer asked me if I would join him for a beer. My splitting headache, (that a beer can always miraculously cure) was reason enough for me to say, 'Yes! Let's go!'

We went to Ten Downing Street (also the first pub I ever visited in Hyderabad) and ordered our pitcher... Our plan had been to have one beer, and leave.. after all, it was the middle of the week.

We soon got on our way to a hilarious, but much needed session of boss bitching. Wow, it felt good. Of course, the pitcher soon gave way to more... and Blackjack's music had us screaming loudly to the songs he played - Tuesdsay night, a classic DJ Blackjack takes over and hits us with the best rock music there is.

Blackjack, during the course of this evening, played superb stuff, and had us screaming our guts out to the music... he also compiles a cd each week, based on a theme, or artist and gives them off to his Tuesday night guests at Ten Downing Street. Nice... I got myself a Jim Morrison Cd, and a Blackjack 200th Session CD.. and some chocolate. He's a cool dude... bald, pot-bellied, and with a nice voice. Goan, am sure.

Anyway, that's when we decided that we need a bunch of chaps to join us henceforth...

We've decided to start a Tuesday Blackjack Night Club.

By invitation only - we would invite a couple of new chaps each week to join us, and have a blast.

Sounds fun... and God, if these are my last few months remaining in Hyderabad, I wanna make the best of it.

What's the point of life if you don't go drunk to work at least once a week... especially when you're 22 years old?

A whole hole in the pocket

I've just returned from an exhausting session of shopping.

And I bought myself, among many things, my first bottle of perfume. Perfume, is generally gifted to women. From admirers, lovers, boyfriends, fiances, husbands, etc. I, tragically, have none of the above. And so, I pampered my aching soul by flourishing out my credit card, and getting back, in exchange, a little pretty bottle.

Then, I proceeded to buy a few more clothes. Not at all necessary, but my conscience has been feeling a bit faint and weak, (due to my constant abuse) and it was easy to ignore its weak protest.

Now, I'm not feeling too good.

Nice lesson to learn: A faint, ill conscience, and its subsequent abuse can have ill effects such as disbelief at one's actions, and a remorseful hole in the stomach (not to forget the pocket.)

Tomorrow, I will start paying due respect and will make it up to the poor, dear little voice in the head.

Good night.

It's just a phase

Everything is just a phase.
And gets over soon.

Every goddamn thing.

Of Bomb Scares and Collapsing Bridges

Thank you Pranav, I've been meaning to write about this for a while.

Pranav and I were just chatting... I asked him if he would join me for a walk at the lovely KBR park. He said, "Ok. If it doesn't rain. And if there aren't any bomb blasts.'

The life of Hyderabadis these days has undergone a change. When we ask each other what we're doing over the weekend, the answer generally is, "Staying at home, of course."
"Good."

First the bomb blasts. For me, coming from Bombay, it wasn't so hard to deal with it, although, I was angry and frustrated about it. But Hyderabad hasn't been the same since.

Our malls have super-extra security now. Entry from this side, and exit from another far-away corner. Ditto at the building in office. It's annoying how these ridiculous acts of the terrorists affect our day-to-day lives. Pisses me off.

Then, a bridge, that's been under construction for more than a year (when I first arrived at Hyd, I remember seeing the construction going on) collapsed after a bit of heavy rain (pretty normal by Indian Monsoon standards, I thought), right outside an extremely popular mall in the middle of the city, on a Sunday evening. Fantastic. Just what we needed.

I haven't bothered reading the newspaper to see what the government / construction firm says. "So and so is at fault." "It was out of our control." "There will be a (three year long) inquiry, and report (we'll never hear of it again.) We've set up a committee to look into it (16 greasy fingered slugs.)"

But, yes. Life is now not the same here. I'm astonished by how often when I'm in public spaces, my mind's corner reminds me of a possible lurking danger...

Nothing to be done about it, but to tug along bravely. Or just tug along along, anyway.

I am a lonely planet.

I don't have a satellite.

My planet has its own course in this universe.

I wont get affected by any other planets orbit, or gravity.

Until a black hole sucks me in... or I explode.

Hocus Pocus and my inner eye

Aargh. I believe in magic ok... romantic magic, etc. etc.

Right now, I'm at the point of making a crucial decision in my life. And I've nearly made it. At this point, enter Mom, and hocus pocus aunt, who consults a pendulum and 'sees my future.'

Here is what the pendulum says to mother, and hocus pocus aunt:

"Afrin must work at Google for another 5 years. She will never be a film maker. Ding dong."

Aarrrrgh. So annoying, depressing, and disgusting.

Here is a friend's advice to me, after hearing the pendulum tale :

"Tell you mum that you believe in the pendulum theory, and you've had 3 glasses of scotch, and your head is swinging like a pendulum, and it tells you to go back to Bombay."

Here is what my orkut fortune cookie tells me (I don't ever look at it usually, and this morning my eye went straight to this) -

"You are soon going to change your present line of work."

Woohoo... All hail the orkut fortune cookie.

PS: The last time I posted about the Orkut fortune cookie, when it claimed that I was going to go shopping, well, it came true. I go shopping all the time ya.

Book Review - Sputnik Sweetheart

See, I told you I loved the book. So much that I've written a stiff formalish book review. Not my usual practice, but what the hell.

Sputnik Sweetheart – Haruki Murakami

Haruki Murakami’s delicately written, mysterious novel ‘Sputnik Sweetheart’ is a fascinating and surreal read. This was the first book I read by him, and after ages I was transported by a book so much that it was unconsciously always playing in my mind and everything I did, had a shadow of the book over it.

A young Japanese school teacher narrates this story about his beloved, eccentric friend Sumire, who yearns to write and lives a careless and ‘beatnik’ existence. He is secretly in love with her, but she loves him not, and instead, she falls in love with a woman 17 years older than her.

This new love with a woman transforms Sumire, and throws her into a ‘new fictional setting,’ one she is unfamiliar with, and not used to. But her love for Mui is overwhelming, and Sumire changes into a neat, clean and suddenly feminine person and suddenly finds that she can’t write anything.

She travels to Europe with Mui, and on a Greek island, mysteriously disappears into smoke – without the slightest trace.

Our narrator is then sought out by Mui for help, and travels to Greece to help trace Sumire. In Greece, he experiences something surreal, and discovers things about Sumire, Mui, and himself that is as complete an answer and as enigmatic a question as any.

This book is an exquisite story about loss, and loneliness, and love, and discovery. Murakami’s style and words leave strong images and designs in your head that stick, and leave you with a mix of hope and surreal wonder.