As always, my luggage was the last to arrive in the baggage claim area. After collecting it, I made my way out of the Dabolim airport and got into a waiting taxi. I immediately got into flashback mode as to how after six months of planning, we were finally going to have another reunion. I had been pressing for The Andamans as the venue, but it didn’t manage enough nods. The ill-effects of democracy are everywhere! But then, when it is Goa, the electorate doesn’t complain. The tough part was keeping the wives out of the plan. Some people had actually even wanted their wives to come. In the end, common sense had prevailed.
My reverie was broken as the mobile rang. The name flashing on the screen automatically put a smile on my face. Before I had the chance to say Hello, a voice said in an unmistakable tone, “Kahan hai tu?”. 57 seconds and 6 questions later, I hung up only to realize the smile had only grown. Boy, this was going to be fun! The taxi sped past a ground where half-naked children were playing cricket. After three successive World Cup wins, cricket had surpassed football in terms of popularity in Goa.
I reached the resort and was greeted by a familiar figure at the lobby reading the hotel pamphlet in a bid to increase his knowledge base. We hugged even as he motioned to someone to quicken up with his check-in formalities. I scanned the hall and finally saw him. Age hadn’t slowed him down - it would have been a rather difficult task indeed. He slowly advanced towards us as I asked, to no one in particular, what the nurse must have said when he was born. “Good slower delivery” came the reply. Age definitely hadn’t slowed him down.
Together, the three of us went to the room where everyone else reportedly were; expecting them to greet us with abuses. Instead they were locked in an intense debate and didn’t even bother noticing us. It was evident it was one against the rest. Just when it appeared that the rest had almost driven the final nail in the coffin, something happened - something we have come to dread all these years. He nonchalantly said, “Toh?”. That was check and mate for the others.
Someone finally sensed the presence of new people in the room. Profanities flew and everything was normal again as we hugged each other. I mustered up some courage to enquire about the person who was instrumental in helping organize this event. I was pointed to a small bed in the corner where he was sleeping peacefully.
The evening cruised along; we were doing quite well on the ‘Bhasad’ meter. Two people shifted uneasily as the topic steered to some ‘jugalbandi’ which they had indulged in during one hell of a night, before one of our plays in college. But much to their relief, the door swung open just then, and there stood the last of the persons expected – a mere eight hours after his scheduled arrival. A gentle enquiry on the reason revealed that he had opted to self-drive a car he had hired and had lost his way.
It was time for dinner. For the next 15 minutes, everyone’s eyes were glued to one man as he calmly washed his face, then wiped his hands, then put on his contact lenses and washed his hands. Then he wiped them and put on his socks following which he washed and dried his hands again. Then he put on his shoes and – surprise, surprise – he washed and wiped his hands dry. After he was done with his drill, he smiled at us wondering what we were waiting for.
“Kitne lagenge?” asked someone as we were just leaving. Unperturbed by the reply, he allowed his hands to leave the comforts of his hair as he gestured with his hands in ACP Pradyuman style, and said “Chal”.
The night had just begun.
*****
Post Script: Was reminded of a text forward which Poonam had sent a while back, "Fikr-e-rozgar ne thode faasle badha diye.. Warna sab yaar saath hi the, abhi kal hi toh baat hai"
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Thursday, December 8, 2011
What's in a name?
I had once noticed that "Shaitan" anagrams to "I, Anshat". And to think we had been calling him Prabhuji all along. A couple of days ago, Amol Patil had put up a picture of himself, sitting in the cockpit of a plane. I couldn’t help comment that "Amol Patil" anagrams to "Maal Pilot".
It was then that Gunjan gave me the idea of doing a blog post on anagrams. I just looked at my last few day’s activity at Facebook for inspiration. Found enough matter to do "a naughty junk on" my friends. After all, the expression was an anagrammatic (if ever such a word exists) way of saying, “Thank you, Gunjan”. So here goes:
I found "Rohit Chawla" had put a FB status message questioning the double-standards of the government in exercising control over Grade C & D bureaucrats and over the Internet. I wanted to warn him that speaking against the government could soon become illegal. But then I stopped myself. Maybe he’s destined to fall on the wrong side of the law. I mean, doesn’t his name anagram to "Lowcha -> Tihar"?
Then there was "Shruti Ordia" putting up pics from her New York trip. Before some <insert random Hindu God name here> Sena accuses her of wearing only Westerns and not promoting Indian culture abroad, let me point out that it was in the best interests of everyone. After all, her name anagrams to “A horrid suit”.
Then you see a picture of a chronic fracture victim who had torn a muscle. Again. I think she should stop introducing herself as, “I, Tanushree Podder” and instead use the exact same letters to say, “Hi. Dud on tear spree”.
And then you chance upon an awesome poem by Golchha. You just can’t help wonder how much talent this guy has. How does he manage all these things? “Hm. Kaise Bhai?”, you ask. He just needs to jumble the letters and answer, “I am Abhishek”. Enough said.
A few days ago Saurabh had posted about starting a band. "Ayan Deb" liked the post. The anagram of his name explains why. “A band? Ye”.
You see likes and comments by Jain "Aashish" and you tend to ask to your self,“Why this Kolaveri D?” “Why this extra A?”. But the answer is neatly hidden in his name. Ayn Rand would have shut us up with, “Shh. A is A.”
"Manish Agrawal" had once shared his rendezvous with a random girl. Instead of going into the details, let me sum up what happened by using his anagram: "A gal saw him. Ran."
Post script: The title of this post also anagrams to something about this post: "New. Mast hai na?".
It was then that Gunjan gave me the idea of doing a blog post on anagrams. I just looked at my last few day’s activity at Facebook for inspiration. Found enough matter to do "a naughty junk on" my friends. After all, the expression was an anagrammatic (if ever such a word exists) way of saying, “Thank you, Gunjan”. So here goes:
I found "Rohit Chawla" had put a FB status message questioning the double-standards of the government in exercising control over Grade C & D bureaucrats and over the Internet. I wanted to warn him that speaking against the government could soon become illegal. But then I stopped myself. Maybe he’s destined to fall on the wrong side of the law. I mean, doesn’t his name anagram to "Lowcha -> Tihar"?
Then there was "Shruti Ordia" putting up pics from her New York trip. Before some <insert random Hindu God name here> Sena accuses her of wearing only Westerns and not promoting Indian culture abroad, let me point out that it was in the best interests of everyone. After all, her name anagrams to “A horrid suit”.
Then you see a picture of a chronic fracture victim who had torn a muscle. Again. I think she should stop introducing herself as, “I, Tanushree Podder” and instead use the exact same letters to say, “Hi. Dud on tear spree”.
And then you chance upon an awesome poem by Golchha. You just can’t help wonder how much talent this guy has. How does he manage all these things? “Hm. Kaise Bhai?”, you ask. He just needs to jumble the letters and answer, “I am Abhishek”. Enough said.
A few days ago Saurabh had posted about starting a band. "Ayan Deb" liked the post. The anagram of his name explains why. “A band? Ye”.
You see likes and comments by Jain "Aashish" and you tend to ask to your self,
"Manish Agrawal" had once shared his rendezvous with a random girl. Instead of going into the details, let me sum up what happened by using his anagram: "A gal saw him. Ran."
Post script: The title of this post also anagrams to something about this post: "New. Mast hai na?".
Thursday, September 29, 2011
... Phir na palat ke dekha dobara
Please read the first part of this story [Link] in order for this to make sense. Note: The author is in no way responsible if this does not make sense even after reading the first part.
This is a continuation of the true story.
Over the past three days, I have been flooded by fan-mails, tweets, SMSes and comments telling me that they’re dying to read the rest of the story. So here goes.
Ok fine - everything beyond this point is true.
We had formulated a plan. Now we’ve always been firm believers and proponents of planning. We always plan everything right down to the most minute of details. We hate people who leave scope for last minute glitches. Rohit and Manish went to McDonald’s, while Poonam and I went to Mall 21 so that we could inspect everything from the windows up there. (For the uninitiated, Mall 21 is opposite McDonald’s in MI Road).
Poonam and I reached Mall 21 and discovered that it didn’t have a single window which overlooked McDonalds. Please ignore whatever I had said about planning. Uma called to inform she was already there. I asked her what was she wearing. “An orange top”, came the reply. We called up Manish immediately, who had spotted someone in an orange top with another girl in red top. “Was this going to end in an orgy?” was my immediate thought.
We asked the soldiers on the ground to monitor their every movement and report back anything suspicious. Rohit and Manish got down to ordering burgers. Uma called up again. I asked her if she was alone and she replied in the affirmative. I told her I didn’t see her in McDonald’s. She said she was waiting outside the joint.
Poonam and I stepped out of the mall and across the road saw a girl waiting outside McDonald’s wearing an orange top. No one seemed to be around her. We couldn’t chicken out at that moment, and crossed the road. We went to the hawker selling lemonade outside Raj Mandir (about 15 metres from where she was standing) and ordered ourselves two glasses. We had the target locked, and she had no clue about it. Jason Bourne, I hope you are taking notes.
We spotted a muscular man at the take-away counter a few meters behind her. He was wearing a sleeveless shirt which showed off his muscles and revealed a tattoo stretched across his biceps. He was eating the burger he had ordered. “Why would anyone order from a take-away if he had to eat there only”, screamed our brains (please recall that we were being coached on logical thinking in those days). He walked closer to her. I chewed on my straw. The tattoo became clearer now – it revealed a mermaid. Duh. He crossed her and went on the other side of the outlet. Our fears were baseless. She was alone.
Poonam paid for the lemonade. We approached her, and then I saw it clearly. Her eyes! Brown like the Vegan Shake of CCD. Calm, yet oozing out like the sauce in Chocolate Bomb of Little Italy. Mysterious yet comforting like the sight of mom-cooked food. After staring at her for a couple of seconds, I just had one question:Kya aapke toothpaste mein namak hai? Who put the stars in your eyes? Her eyes said so much.
We confirmed if she was Uma and I confessed I was the one who messaged her. She asked, “Tum Mahesh ho?”. She looked disappointed.
Her entire life must have played back in front of her eyes – memories of all the times when some guy (probably named Mahesh) used to call and bother her, memories of her past troubled relationships; and she looked disappointed because it could have all been avoided if only she had met me before. As I had already mentioned, her eyes said everything.
I didn’t want to build any relationship on the foundations of falsehood so told her how I got her number. She was confused, because she had gone to the institute just once to enquire. I told her that it was all a joke and that I was sorry. She, and her eyes, simultaneously said, “Ye sab ek mazaak tha?”. Before I could get myself to say anything, she walked away from us.
When Manish and Rohit arrived at the scene, I had one arm stretched and was chanting her name loudly trying to call her. I phoned her but she wouldn’t receive my call. She never replied to my messages.
End of story, but there are some points I would like to make:
1) The lemonade sucked.
2) Uma, if you ever read this, I am still sorry. Agar jaane anjaane mein maine tumhara dil dukhaya hai, toh ho sake to mujhe maaf kar dena.
3) She probably would have never joined the coaching institute, so I am sorry to them as well.
4) Since I am in the mood: to all the people, who, for some reasons read this - hahaha.
5) Her eyes were really special. I don’t think I remember anything about her face, but I’ll definitely recognize those eyes if ever I see them again.
This is a continuation of the true story.
Over the past three days, I have been flooded by fan-mails, tweets, SMSes and comments telling me that they’re dying to read the rest of the story. So here goes.
Ok fine - everything beyond this point is true.
We had formulated a plan. Now we’ve always been firm believers and proponents of planning. We always plan everything right down to the most minute of details. We hate people who leave scope for last minute glitches. Rohit and Manish went to McDonald’s, while Poonam and I went to Mall 21 so that we could inspect everything from the windows up there. (For the uninitiated, Mall 21 is opposite McDonald’s in MI Road).
Poonam and I reached Mall 21 and discovered that it didn’t have a single window which overlooked McDonalds. Please ignore whatever I had said about planning. Uma called to inform she was already there. I asked her what was she wearing. “An orange top”, came the reply. We called up Manish immediately, who had spotted someone in an orange top with another girl in red top. “Was this going to end in an orgy?” was my immediate thought.
We asked the soldiers on the ground to monitor their every movement and report back anything suspicious. Rohit and Manish got down to ordering burgers. Uma called up again. I asked her if she was alone and she replied in the affirmative. I told her I didn’t see her in McDonald’s. She said she was waiting outside the joint.
Poonam and I stepped out of the mall and across the road saw a girl waiting outside McDonald’s wearing an orange top. No one seemed to be around her. We couldn’t chicken out at that moment, and crossed the road. We went to the hawker selling lemonade outside Raj Mandir (about 15 metres from where she was standing) and ordered ourselves two glasses. We had the target locked, and she had no clue about it. Jason Bourne, I hope you are taking notes.
We spotted a muscular man at the take-away counter a few meters behind her. He was wearing a sleeveless shirt which showed off his muscles and revealed a tattoo stretched across his biceps. He was eating the burger he had ordered. “Why would anyone order from a take-away if he had to eat there only”, screamed our brains (please recall that we were being coached on logical thinking in those days). He walked closer to her. I chewed on my straw. The tattoo became clearer now – it revealed a mermaid. Duh. He crossed her and went on the other side of the outlet. Our fears were baseless. She was alone.
Poonam paid for the lemonade. We approached her, and then I saw it clearly. Her eyes! Brown like the Vegan Shake of CCD. Calm, yet oozing out like the sauce in Chocolate Bomb of Little Italy. Mysterious yet comforting like the sight of mom-cooked food. After staring at her for a couple of seconds, I just had one question:
We confirmed if she was Uma and I confessed I was the one who messaged her. She asked, “Tum Mahesh ho?”. She looked disappointed.
Her entire life must have played back in front of her eyes – memories of all the times when some guy (probably named Mahesh) used to call and bother her, memories of her past troubled relationships; and she looked disappointed because it could have all been avoided if only she had met me before. As I had already mentioned, her eyes said everything.
I didn’t want to build any relationship on the foundations of falsehood so told her how I got her number. She was confused, because she had gone to the institute just once to enquire. I told her that it was all a joke and that I was sorry. She, and her eyes, simultaneously said, “Ye sab ek mazaak tha?”. Before I could get myself to say anything, she walked away from us.
When Manish and Rohit arrived at the scene, I had one arm stretched and was chanting her name loudly trying to call her. I phoned her but she wouldn’t receive my call. She never replied to my messages.
End of story, but there are some points I would like to make:
1) The lemonade sucked.
2) Uma, if you ever read this, I am still sorry. Agar jaane anjaane mein maine tumhara dil dukhaya hai, toh ho sake to mujhe maaf kar dena.
3) She probably would have never joined the coaching institute, so I am sorry to them as well.
4) Since I am in the mood: to all the people, who, for some reasons read this - hahaha.
5) Her eyes were really special. I don’t think I remember anything about her face, but I’ll definitely recognize those eyes if ever I see them again.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Milte hi jisne Uma tha mujhko...
This is a true story.
I had just come out from a two-hour session in the gym. I was marveling at my six-packs when the phone rang. It was Uma again and she was begging me to meet her.
Ok fine - everything beyond this point is true.
The year was 2007 when I was a student in Jaipur. It was the year of romance and love. Err, it was also the year when Kareena and Shahid Kapoor broke up, and it was the year when Rizwanur Rahman was honour-killed by his in-laws. But it was the year when “Aap Ka Suroor - The Real Love Story” was released. So FTW.
I’ve digressed. We (the famous “Hum Baraah”) were sitting in our CAT coaching classes. We had already helped Deepak (name changed) figure out how many upward steps he needed to take if he wanted to reach a higher storey in an escalator going down, when he could have just taken the escalator going up; and were on our way to helping a dog catch a thief who for some awesome reason chose to run in strange patterns (disclaimer: no real dogs were hurt in the whole process). In short, we were developing our logical thinking skills. It was the time when the free SMS pack was unleashed on pre-paid customers. We were yet to reach an era of Idea 3G when our phones would help us forget sex, but at least free messaging helped us forget our classes.
I’ve digressed again. A sheet was circulated for us to enter our names. We had just been taught to approach a problem from all angles. So, the ideal student in me immediately flipped the page, to find other names and phone numbers there. One of the entries was Uma (name not changed for its sheer classiness and impact) (number withheld – I won’t do what the Amitabh of KBC did).
Just to show I have no hard feelings towards KBC, and also since this blog is getting a little one-sided, let me ask you a quiz question. You can leave your responses in the comments section. What sound does Uma represent most closely, when said properly with the right emphasis on certain syllables? Is it
A) A slapping sound.
B) The sound produced when bat hits ball.
C) Sound produced while kissing.
D) Sound produced when Manmohan Singh makes a speech.
Ok we have a story to complete, so getting back to it. We exchanged three SMSes (‘Wats up’, ‘Who’s this’, ‘You Forgot?’ types) and everything was going according to the ‘Hitchhiker's Guide to the Most Boring Conversations’, when she called. I could only evade her questions about my identity for a while. In most situations, the name Manish is enough to get you out of trouble, so I told her I was Manish, immediately regretting it, in case she approached the coaching institute. “Mahesh?” she asked, throwing a rope at me. “Bhatt, of course” I responded, accepting it with glee. Then she bombarded me with a series of questions, even giving me multiple options on a couple of counts (<sigh, insert another KBC joke here>).
It made me uncomfortable when she asked me if I was the same person who used to call her earlier. I had once read a story where a person makes crank calls to random people and tells them he knows their ‘secret’ (Abhay Deol style in ZNMD). Then one day he ends up calling a gangster who manages to trace him and kills him. Now, I was never the types who are sure what exactly they wanted to do with life, but ending it was never a consideration.
Then she said she wanted to meet me. Immediately Don came to my mind. “Mujhe do tarah ki ladki pasand nahi. Ek wo, jo mere pass aane mein waqt lagade, aur doosri jo bahut jaldi aa jae”. I did not tell her this, though. We hung up without having arrived at any conclusion.
I had just had a heavy dinner and was lying flat on my stomach in my hostel room. I had just burped when the phone rang. It was Uma again and she was ordering me to meet her.
Over the next twelve hours, (over SMS and phone) she repeatedly asked me to meet her. Her tone ranged from threat to order to plea. She called me again the next afternoon, asking me to meet her near McDonald’s in MI Road. I suggested alternatives. I couldn’t have allowed her to start dictating terms so early in our relationship. She didn’t listen. It was at that moment when I felt ‘the spark’ for the first time.
I told her I won’t be coming. She said she would still wait and expected me to come. My friends and I discussed the various endings that this story could possibly take. Not many were pleasant. But one of them ended with me celebrating the golden jubilee of my marriage with her, in the company of our children and grandchildren. Taking risks was another thing I was taught.
We set out well before the scheduled hour. Rohit and Manish went in one bike, while Poonam rode me in his scooty.
To be continued... [here]
I had just come out from a two-hour session in the gym. I was marveling at my six-packs when the phone rang. It was Uma again and she was begging me to meet her.
Ok fine - everything beyond this point is true.
The year was 2007 when I was a student in Jaipur. It was the year of romance and love. Err, it was also the year when Kareena and Shahid Kapoor broke up, and it was the year when Rizwanur Rahman was honour-killed by his in-laws. But it was the year when “Aap Ka Suroor - The Real Love Story” was released. So FTW.
I’ve digressed. We (the famous “Hum Baraah”) were sitting in our CAT coaching classes. We had already helped Deepak (name changed) figure out how many upward steps he needed to take if he wanted to reach a higher storey in an escalator going down, when he could have just taken the escalator going up; and were on our way to helping a dog catch a thief who for some awesome reason chose to run in strange patterns (disclaimer: no real dogs were hurt in the whole process). In short, we were developing our logical thinking skills. It was the time when the free SMS pack was unleashed on pre-paid customers. We were yet to reach an era of Idea 3G when our phones would help us forget sex, but at least free messaging helped us forget our classes.
I’ve digressed again. A sheet was circulated for us to enter our names. We had just been taught to approach a problem from all angles. So, the ideal student in me immediately flipped the page, to find other names and phone numbers there. One of the entries was Uma (name not changed for its sheer classiness and impact) (number withheld – I won’t do what the Amitabh of KBC did).
Just to show I have no hard feelings towards KBC, and also since this blog is getting a little one-sided, let me ask you a quiz question. You can leave your responses in the comments section. What sound does Uma represent most closely, when said properly with the right emphasis on certain syllables? Is it
A) A slapping sound.
B) The sound produced when bat hits ball.
C) Sound produced while kissing.
D) Sound produced when Manmohan Singh makes a speech.
Ok we have a story to complete, so getting back to it. We exchanged three SMSes (‘Wats up’, ‘Who’s this’, ‘You Forgot?’ types) and everything was going according to the ‘Hitchhiker's Guide to the Most Boring Conversations’, when she called. I could only evade her questions about my identity for a while. In most situations, the name Manish is enough to get you out of trouble, so I told her I was Manish, immediately regretting it, in case she approached the coaching institute. “Mahesh?” she asked, throwing a rope at me. “Bhatt, of course” I responded, accepting it with glee. Then she bombarded me with a series of questions, even giving me multiple options on a couple of counts (<sigh, insert another KBC joke here>).
It made me uncomfortable when she asked me if I was the same person who used to call her earlier. I had once read a story where a person makes crank calls to random people and tells them he knows their ‘secret’ (Abhay Deol style in ZNMD). Then one day he ends up calling a gangster who manages to trace him and kills him. Now, I was never the types who are sure what exactly they wanted to do with life, but ending it was never a consideration.
Then she said she wanted to meet me. Immediately Don came to my mind. “Mujhe do tarah ki ladki pasand nahi. Ek wo, jo mere pass aane mein waqt lagade, aur doosri jo bahut jaldi aa jae”. I did not tell her this, though. We hung up without having arrived at any conclusion.
I had just had a heavy dinner and was lying flat on my stomach in my hostel room. I had just burped when the phone rang. It was Uma again and she was ordering me to meet her.
Over the next twelve hours, (over SMS and phone) she repeatedly asked me to meet her. Her tone ranged from threat to order to plea. She called me again the next afternoon, asking me to meet her near McDonald’s in MI Road. I suggested alternatives. I couldn’t have allowed her to start dictating terms so early in our relationship. She didn’t listen. It was at that moment when I felt ‘the spark’ for the first time.
I told her I won’t be coming. She said she would still wait and expected me to come. My friends and I discussed the various endings that this story could possibly take. Not many were pleasant. But one of them ended with me celebrating the golden jubilee of my marriage with her, in the company of our children and grandchildren. Taking risks was another thing I was taught.
We set out well before the scheduled hour. Rohit and Manish went in one bike, while Poonam rode me in his scooty.
To be continued... [here]
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
"Wall"-a-panti
Open Facebook. Check if anybody has liked the status message I had set the last time. Sigh. No one. What’s wrong everyone’s sense of humour? Or is it something with me? Shrug. Scroll down.
Anshat is now friends with 6 more people. He already has more friends than the number of tigers in India.
Somebody has uploaded a pic. Jain Aashish likes it.
Somebody has put a status message. An obligatory comment by Amol.
Sriram K and 5 other people changed their profile pic.
The lyrics of some song by Shruti (and her later complaining that no one likes or comments on her updates – which to be frank, is worrying for a girl).
Shantanu comments about Manchester United. Sangit tries to draw Patel into the conversation. ‘Well left’ by Patel.
Somebody has put a good status message or posted a link on Sachin. Like it immediately. Ahh, somebody has something nasty to say about the legend. Give it back to him. I can’t be a neutral here. Ayn Rand had said there can only be a white or a black, all shades of grey are evil.
A cool status message by someone. Click on ‘like’ asap. Scroll further down. The same message by someone else. Ahh, should I now unlike the first one? A real-life ethical dilemma, this.
Some people seriously feel for a cause and have chosen to express their anger - using bad spelling or punctuation.
Some people commenting on corruption and India’s withering democracy, while others taking democracy to a whole new level by voting for (answering) everything, from their favourite handwash to the next president of the United States.
Someone randomly decides to celebrate <insert relation here>’s week, to announce that their <copy-paste the same relation> are the best. Some people spreading <enter disease here> awareness and have devoted their status to the patients for an hour.
Some people are curious as to what a father did to his daughter. Some want to know how Osama was dead, while others just want a peep into the future to see how they’ll look at old age. Some people want to untag themselves from videos. I wonder if they will fall for this.
Close tab.
Facebook is screwed up. It is addictive. You can waste any amount of time on it. There is an urge to upload every pic, share every link you visit, or update with every thought you have. People have broken up because of facebook; people have broken up on facebook. It makes everything else appear so trivial. You rely on facebook to keep in touch with close friends; you use it to stalk someone. WTF Facebook.
Facebook is good. It helps me be in touch with so many people I would have otherwise lost touch with. It keeps me aware of things happening in their lives. It has kept me company on many a nights when I had nothing better to do. I have visited many restaurants, read many books, seen many movies only because of facebook. Facebook FTW.
Anshat is now friends with 6 more people. He already has more friends than the number of tigers in India.
Somebody has uploaded a pic. Jain Aashish likes it.
Somebody has put a status message. An obligatory comment by Amol.
Sriram K and 5 other people changed their profile pic.
The lyrics of some song by Shruti (and her later complaining that no one likes or comments on her updates – which to be frank, is worrying for a girl).
Shantanu comments about Manchester United. Sangit tries to draw Patel into the conversation. ‘Well left’ by Patel.
Somebody has put a good status message or posted a link on Sachin. Like it immediately. Ahh, somebody has something nasty to say about the legend. Give it back to him. I can’t be a neutral here. Ayn Rand had said there can only be a white or a black, all shades of grey are evil.
A cool status message by someone. Click on ‘like’ asap. Scroll further down. The same message by someone else. Ahh, should I now unlike the first one? A real-life ethical dilemma, this.
Some people seriously feel for a cause and have chosen to express their anger - using bad spelling or punctuation.
Some people commenting on corruption and India’s withering democracy, while others taking democracy to a whole new level by voting for (answering) everything, from their favourite handwash to the next president of the United States.
Someone randomly decides to celebrate <insert relation here>’s week, to announce that their <copy-paste the same relation> are the best. Some people spreading <enter disease here> awareness and have devoted their status to the patients for an hour.
Some people are curious as to what a father did to his daughter. Some want to know how Osama was dead, while others just want a peep into the future to see how they’ll look at old age. Some people want to untag themselves from videos. I wonder if they will fall for this.
Close tab.
Facebook is screwed up. It is addictive. You can waste any amount of time on it. There is an urge to upload every pic, share every link you visit, or update with every thought you have. People have broken up because of facebook; people have broken up on facebook. It makes everything else appear so trivial. You rely on facebook to keep in touch with close friends; you use it to stalk someone. WTF Facebook.
Facebook is good. It helps me be in touch with so many people I would have otherwise lost touch with. It keeps me aware of things happening in their lives. It has kept me company on many a nights when I had nothing better to do. I have visited many restaurants, read many books, seen many movies only because of facebook. Facebook FTW.
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