Archive for October, 2008

And Here It Is – The Quirk

Posted: October 27, 2008 in Pointless ramble
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Dear loyal readers! I now present to you, my quirky self in six ways. Rads, the empress blogger, has tagged me to write six quirky things about myself. This is no herculean task. I have enough quirks to fill a book. I shall brighten up this festive season with six of those multitude of quirks *rubbing hands in excitement.

(Ekam) When I see a square tiled floor, especially a floor tiled like a chessboard, I always walk in a knight’s pattern on the chessboard – in an ‘L’. If I set one foot on a square then my other foot would itch to step two squares forward and one square to the right or left, or two squares to the right or left and one square forward, both moves depend on the first step. This is a quirk nurtured on purpose. Don’t ask why. It’s a quirk, remember?

(Rendu) I am an avid dreamer. I don’t need to sleep to dream. I dream as I walk and tend to bump into things or people, trip over, laugh out loud, talk to self, sing like I’m all alone in the world. I have a fancy world of my own. I lead a more idealistic life in that world, where I am the most coveted Carnatic musician ever. I play 75 (I’m just being modest with this number here) instruments and I boast proficiency in every style of music one could conceive of. I speak, read and write 35 (or was it more? aah, this modesty is killing me!) languages with the fluency of a learned native. I am the most unassuming person in spite of all the superhuman qualities I possess. All the women want me. Aahh! The dream! I live there. I also have a middle-earthish sort of world of which I am the undisputed emperor!

(Theen) Consequently, my incessant dreaming has made me superlatively forgetful too! I must be conferred the honorary title of ‘Bhulakkad Shiromani’ or ‘Matimarupu Chakravarthy’. There could be no one more deserving! There are tons of instances I could testify with. Once, my roommate and I were busy cleaning our apartment and were moving things around so we could get to every nook and corner and clean them spotless. We were gently moving the TV, along with its rickety roller-stand when I heard a knock on the door. My roomie, poor chap, was still pulling at it from the other side when I, in a momentary lapse of conscious reasoning, let go of it to get the door and……CCCRRRRAAAASSSHHHHH!! The TV jumped off the stand and fell to the ground, screen-first. So much for our cleaning session! I didn’t realize it was falling until it struck the ground. My roommate just stood there and glowered at me in contemptuous amazement, hands akimbo. From the look on his face, I feared he might lift the shattered TV and crash it on my head again, as I sheepishly smiled and bit my fist. There! Do you need a more classic example?

(Quatre) I am now coming to terms with it, but for a really long time, I loathed the colour ‘Red’. Anything close to being the shade of a tomato or blood would be shun-worthy to me. I hated it so much, that I wouldn’t be able to sleep if there were a red nightlight. I hated red coloured cars. I never owned a single piece of red coloured clothing, not even undergarments! I would hesitate to eat ketchup. I avoided looking at the traffic signals for too long. I wouldn’t go more than three-four feet closer to a person wearing red coloured clothes. I was crazy about this girl in my class in engg. who was supposed to be MCing along with me for a freshers’ party. Blissfully unaware of my hatred for red, she said she was going to surprise me that day in a ‘new sari’. I couldn’t wait to see her in her ‘new sari’! I was so looking forward to sharing the stage with her when, to my utter horror, that morning she showed up in a red sari. I was heart-broken. I couldn’t even get myself to look at her and savor the eye-candy that she was. Although I did share the stage with her as I had fancied, I actually avoided looking at her because every time I tried to ignore the ruthlessly impedimental ‘red sari’ and look at her, it would show itself in all its glory. I kicked myself later when all my friends said she looked mesmerizing. That should pretty much sum up my hatred for the colour. Although now I’ve begun to smother my abhorrence and accept the natural optical aberration called ‘red’, I still freak out when I see red lights!

(Hamza) I have an obsession for multiples of 3 and 9. Every number I see, be it a license plate, a bus number, telephone number, price tag, anything, I tend to add up all the digits to check for its divisibility by 3 or 9. If it’s not, I feel this urge to change that number into the nearest multiple of either 3 or 9. Even when I drive, I consciously make an effort to drive at a speed that is divisible by 3 or 9. Also, I hate prime numbers (except 3, of course!). Is this a pathological condition?

(Six) I hate Cricket!

I’m more than sure, the sixth quirk will invite a storm of virtual tomatoes and eggs along with questions being raised as to my allegiance to India! Some might even go to the extent of calling me a traitor! But let it be known to all those mere mortals who choose to rebuke my hatred for cricket, that my love for India is stronger than your love that you flaunt under the pretext of patriotism, for the utterly uninteresting game. I’m willing to give a fitting reply to anyone who dares question my Indianness.

There! My six quirks.

With this, I would like to tag some of my fellow bloggers – buddy, BR, Chutney, Nandini, Srividya Angara, Confounded lady. Two others have already been tagged. So guys! Go all quirky!

PS: ‘Ekam’ is Sanskrit for 1, ‘Rendu’ is Telugu for 2, ‘Theen’ is Hindi/Urdu for 3, ‘Quatre’ is French for 4, ‘Hamza’ is Arabic for 5.

HAPPY QUIRKY DEEPAVALI TO EVERYONE!!

SHUBHA DEEPAVALI!

SHUBHA DEEPAVALI!

Sarvejanaa Sukhinobhavantu! Sarvejanaa ‘Quirk’iyobhavantu!

Image Courtesy: www.4to40.com/egreetings/cards.asp?festivals=…

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The new day that has dawned,

Brings no cheer to my life,

No new hopes, No new wishes,

I have no desires, but to survive,

Who will heed my cries?

Who will quell my hunger?

For, a morsel is all I crave,

I have no longing, but to survive,

I walk the desolate road,

Of hopelessness and despair,

If there is an end to it,

Who will take me there?

Who am I, you ask?

You know me and know me well,

I am the dying farmer,

Who ploughs his own grave,

I am the distressed weaver,

Who weaves linen for his death,

I am the orphaned child,

Who sobs for a touch of warmth,

I am the destitute widow,

Who begs for her deprived dignity,

I am the disoriented refugee,

Who seeks deliverance in an alien land,

I am the burgeoning pain,

That the world chooses to ignore,

I am who you call, the ‘Poor man’,

And this is my plea to you.

I know I am a bad poet, but this is the best I could do. This poem was inspired by a better one and my friend put me up to it. He said it was Blog Action Day and the theme was poverty. Hence, the poem.

The tears of the poor man have gone unnoticed, in this ever-changing rich-man’s world. Everyone cries havoc when the stock markets fall and some ultra-rich person loses a chip of his treasure, but does anyone even pretend to hear the wails of a poor man, for whom everyday is a battle?

The world now has close to a billion people who sleep hungry everynight and India is home to a quarter of them. In 2007 alone, 75 million more people were afflicted by poverty across the world. Most of them live under a dollar a day. Even in the most world’s powerful nation, 37 million people live in the most adverse of conditions, without food, water, shelter, health care or any other basic necessities.

They’re calling out for help! Listen and lend a hand!

————————————————————————————–

Image courtesy: : www.solarnavigator.net/poverty.htm

The title is actually a song from ‘Mughal-e-Azam’.

This post is a part of the Blog Action Day ’08.

I’ve been waiting for the usual quirk that would prompt me to pen something worth my readers’ time, but the block seems perpetual. I am still under its spell. The deadly sin, sloth, is also to blame for it. I shall go all out to try and vanquish this deadly foe, but then it’s a catch-22 situation on which I am not going to dwell, right now. By now, as many of you may have established beyond doubt, I am reasonably beyond redemption in being indolent. I’m as lazy as a 200 year old giant tortoise! I don’t know when I’ll be writing a sensible post again (not that all my posts make perfect sense anyway, but nevertheless). While I wait for that quirk of sensibility, I shall shoot the breeze with some pure nonsense.

A sinfully boring desi gathering at an auditorium, with the usual ear-shattering gab about all kinds of nonsense. Amidst the din, I felt the need to relieve myself. A sprint to the public restroom was what i needed. I made it to the restroom and got to work. I was almost done when a guy walked into the restroom and his 2-3 yr old daughter came toddling behind him. She playfully jumped into her dad’s arms and he took her into one of the closeted lavs. I heard the little girl hum her own tunes and rattle away to glory as she relieved herself. I was washing my hands when all of a sudden, I heard the girl scream from inside, “Appa, wash your ass! Appa, wash your ass!“. It was clear, she wasn’t quite conversant with the usage of the proper possessive adjective. She was three, for God’s sakes! The dad, embarrassed, growled at her in Tamil which I think meant ‘Shut up’. I snorted in sheer amusement at the girl’s screams and left.

What amazed me the most was that the little girl didn’t know how to use ‘my’ and ‘yours’ in their right places, but expanded her vocabulary to the word ‘ass’! Kids these days!

I shall ponder over kids’ adeptness at learning indecent words while I wait for my damn quirk, which seems ever-elusive! Aaarrrrgggghhhh!