The most bizarre run out

Been quite some time I haven't been blogging. Have got too many fantastic ideas in mind, but I've been too lazy to write. Superhectic work kept me busy for the first half of this year and since then superlethargy has been the culprit. But a couple of nights ago, I had such a bizarre dream that I could not not write about it. What transpired is so whacky that seeing it happen alarmed me. Actually alarmed me. I got up from my sleep. Never mind it was about 10 am.

So, here's what happened in the dream sequence.
Characters: My school friends and I. We're 15-16 years old.
Location: Our school's playground.
Activity: We were playing cricket.

After our class X board exams, we used to play cricket at the school ground in the morning. This dream took place in that setting.

Now, I've always sucked at cricket (and at other sports too). I'd never get to bowl as most of my balls would go wide or fly above the wicketkeeper's head. I was always one of the last batsmen as I had neither the technique nor the brute strength to score runs.

Ha! But in this dream, I was asked to open the batting. I remember, in the dream too I was slightly taken aback at this. Every schoolboy wants to be the first to bat. So it was surprising that a weak link got to open, unopposed. I was at the non-striker's end. My friend scored a run and then I was on the crease to face the next ball.

My moment had arrived. To prove I'm not a bad player. I'd always crib that I never get a chance to bat. And when my chance would come, half of the time I couldn't bat out because mostly I'd be in the last batting pair and the other guy would get out. But this was my moment. I was ready.

The bowler started his run up. I was neither nervous nor excited. I was confident. The bowler hurled the ball towards me. I swung my bat with power, fully sure of making the full contact of the blade with the sphere. Sigh... That was misplaced confidence. And misplaced bat. The ball touched only the upper edge of the bat and flew over the wicketkeeper's head, backwards.

Now, the school's boundary wall lies less than 10 metres behind the batsman's crease. The six-foot high boundary wall separates our school from a park. The highlighted green patch on the right side of this pic shows part of our pitch.

The ball kissed the upper edge of the bat, sailed over the boundary wall and into the park. When such a thing happens in reality, the game gets paused till the ball is retrieved. But in the dream, my batting partner and I ran to score runs. I was wearing hawai chappals and was not able to run fast enough. Was struggling to keep my chappals intact. As I was running back to the batting crease, the fielder who had jumped the boundary wall to fetch the ball threw it from the park, and the ball directly hit the stumps when I was a long way from the crease.

Run out. Done and dusted. Gone. Just like that. Faced just one ball, couldn't connect it, running was more of save-chappal campaign, and got run out in the most stupid fashion. Who gets out like that! Such misfortune! Why did Murphy's Law had to apply to me! Why'd they ever let me bat again!

This type of run out was so bizarre, I was so crestfallen and in such disbelief that the feeling jolted me out of my slumber. Sad way to wake up. 

Interpretation
What did this dream intend to convey? That I'll forever suck at sports, no matter however much push I get? But the truth is, I wasn't too bad at sports by the time I reached classes IX. I was an OK cricketer and decent at football, pseudo-good at volleyball. Then what could this dream mean?

Wait. That one cannot run fast with chappals on his feet? But I already knew this!

“My mom told me to follow my dreams, so I took a nap.” —Unknown

Why I had chosen journalism

In July 2008, as part of the admission procedure at my journalism college, IIJNM, I had to give a small write-up on why I wanted to be a journalist. I found that piece today among old documents on my computer in my hometown. Hahaha... I had joined journalism to change the world, but what did I do as a journalist in my 4.3 year-long career? I'll come to that in a later post. As of now, let's have fun reading an unrealistic young idealist's Utopian dream, written in poor English, pasted here verbatim. It starts on such a narcissistic note!

Why I Want To Pursue Journalism

& What I Hope To Achieve Through It

95.69 percentile in MAT – the candidate would get admission in any good b-school he wants (isn’t it?), can opt for a lucrative career as MBA. If he decides to let it go and goes for journalism, much less rewarding in terms of pay, it is clear that the individual’s passion for the chosen field exceeds his preference for luxury and money.

I’m very keen to join journalism. I want to be a very popular and influential writer who’s capable of awakening masses and charge them up. I’m very patriotic in nature, I love my country very much. That’s why it hurts to see how this country, once known as ‘The Golden Bird’ has deteriorated in every sphere. 60 years past independence and we’re still a developing country.

Basic amenities like food, cloth, shelter still inaccessible to majority of population. We in Mumbai house Asia’s biggest slum. Millions live below poverty line, millions still illiterate; despite the overtly leniently set limits for both. 60% of our population living neglected and overlooked life in villages. We produce surplus food, yet thanks to ill management we’re facing crisis. Communal harmony, concept of equal society still a distant dream.

High corruption, bureaucracy, red-tapism, complacency are all taking us down. For what we are, where we are today, we, the common people are as much to be blamed as our politicians.

As a journalist, I wish to bring up all such issues into conscious and subconscious minds of our middle class (the most influential section in any democracy) and make them lot more active, aware and involved in our democracy… To bring upon the necessary changes and turn our potential into performance, to bring back the “legacy” to the name I N D I A.

~The end~

P.S. To meet my objectives, I needed to learn not journalism, but Godism. Hahaha... 

Dear diary, I totally rock

A few days ago, I took out my ink pen and my diary to write stuff. Writing diary is cathartic. Oh, and reading it is pure entertainment. You go "awwww" when you read something downright stupid and find it cute. You feel sympathy and empathy for your younger self. And you feel proud for being so cool and so emotional.

So that day, I got so involved in reading my previous posts and getting impressed with myself that I forgot the need for catharsis. I thought of sharing some of my gems here, on the blog. Isn't blog like a diary anyway! The more I blog, the less I write in my diary. The more I write in my diary, the less I blog. Of late, I do neither as I've become lazy.

My diary is going to be published as a book after I become an iconic rockstar (pretty soon). So makes sense that I give my fans a taste of what the book's gonna be like. So let's get started!

There's one thing that caught my eye, jutting out like a sore thumb. "My heart brakes on seeing a heartbreak." Can't believe I wrote this. My heart "brakes" on seeing a heartbreak? Otherwise it accelerates? I was really an emotional fool then, using foolish English when emotional.

When it came to studies, I merrily looked the other way

But there are a few high points too. I had written the following post ahead of the final semester exams of my graduation. And I'm so proud of my devil-may-care attitude. I've got some spunk, man!
"Just 24 hrs. more and I have to write an exam on a subject I scored just 3 and 1 out of 10 in two internals. Hell with exams! My loneliness is killing me." 

That's how that diary entry began. I was so impressed when I read this! So, the next day I had an exam in which I had fared superbadly previously. I mean 1/10, 3/10? That's pathetic! I'm so cool that despite such poor score I couldn't care less about the final exam even though it was just a day away. It takes guts to brush away a semester exam like that. I'm mighty proud of myself!

And the diary entry that came two days after the abovesaid post was like the icing on the cake. "Novel padhte hain. Hope tomorrow's paper turns out to be a cakewalk."
Hahaha... That's something. So, I have a semester exam the next morning but I'd rather read a novel than prepare for the exam! Boy, that's cocky. That's confidence. That entry means, "Who needs to study to pass! To hell with the books and the course! I can cook up answers to pass. Let's party!" I like this immense coolness and confidence I have. This clarity, that I didn't want to score well, needed merely to pass, which I could do without studying. Oh yeah!

Of God and girls
Then there are so many paras addressed to God, devoted to girls. I wrote this one just two days after joining my journalism college in Bangalore. "Why the heck do I get so nervous while talking to girls here! My English just sucks when I'm talking to girls. Man, my Hindi sucks too when talking to them. Shit it's so embarrassing. I'm going to get over it. I'll speak slowly-slowly."

Reading this makes me laugh at myself, for being so stupid. I remember vividly. I'd get tongue-tied and the words that'd come out of my mouth were neither Hindi nor English. I did get over the nervousness in a few weeks. I was 20-1/2 years old and had hardly spoken to girls earlier. A small-town guy amid city people. Shuru-shuru me phatna toh banta tha. 

My discussions with God about girls continued. It went like: "God you know I'm a good guy. I deserve lots of good friends, don't I? 
Ok, I admit I like that girl ______, but nothing like crush so far :-) I wish to be good friends with her."

Ten days later, I was still talking to God about the same thing. "God I'd really like to make lots of good friends, and again, especially girls ;-) But well you know that I really admire/adore them and that's it. I suppose you agree with me that I'm a good guy :-)"

Hahaha... Just because God doesn't talk back doesn't mean you take His silence as His approval. Then, I indeed was a good guy. Many of my prayers were for others. Like this one, in which I requested Him to see to it that the girl I liked (realised later that I loved her) is united with the guy she loved: "And God, get these two together, please. Be kind on at least one couple I know. No, two actually. Include ____ and her love too. Heed to my request.
And great yaar, I'm always given the role of side-hero. Hero kab banaoge!?! And where is my heroine?"

Yes, God, I still have the same question. I'm still getting the role of side-hero in failed love stories. Mera number kab aayega?

Comedy (in brackets)
In my diary, I pester God a lot, request a lot of things. This request was found worthy of putting here simply because of my attention to details.
"I want a physique of an underwear model (male model, i.e.)"

Hahaha... I might have thought that if I don't specify "male", God might grant me the physique of a female underwear model. That would have been a disaster. Thank God for parenthesis. They are a beautiful communication aid. For example, take the parenthetical interruption in this May 2010 entry:
"I want to have a beautiful, accommodating, understanding, super hot, sexy, rich and very loving (not in this order) life partner. Whoever she is. She should be very loving, caring and understanding. I must be in love with her too." 

In this list of qualities, beauty comes first, love comes last. Ouch! But this is not what I meant, that's why I immediately wrote in brackets "not in this order". "I must be in love with her too." Hahaha... Yeah, one-way traffic, don't want. I always paid attention to details.

When I mean business

All of my entries were not about girls and looks etc. This entry, written two-three months after I graduated from my journalism college and was jobless (had chosen not to work immediately after college, so hadn't appeared for a single placement) makes me proud. I knew what I wanted. Finally, I got it.
"I want to establish myself as a very efficient employee at desk. I give the best headlines in no time. My copy-editing is flawless and ultimate. I am MVP of the company. I know every little nuisance of English language."

Yup. I see that I wrote "nuisance" when I meant "nuance". Yes yes, I'm ashamed. The correct sentence will read: "I know all the nuances of English." Being a sub-editor, I cannot not correct an incorrect sentence. Awesome alliteration. Yet again!

Buri nazar wale tera muh kala
I was aware that my diary could fall into someone else's hands. Realised that in the middle of writing some sentimental crap. So immediately wrote a polite note, requesting them to leave my diary alone: "[ANY INTRUDER READING MY DIARY, I'LL KILL YOU IF I FOUND OUT YOU DARED LAY YOUR HANDS ON MY PERSONAL STUFF]"

I just deleted three-four paras about a friend who read up my entire diary. Haha.. Will write about it in another post. But I wonder whether anyone's still reading this absolutely self-indulgent blogpost or it's just me, getting amused with my own sense of humour. You know, like new parents who unleash a barrage of their baby's pictures on Facebook. Although me getting a girl and we tying knot seems a highly improbable event, if and when I do become a father, I'll not upload baby pictures. Promise.

I don't like ending write-ups abruptly, but I think this narcissist blogpost needs to be terminated here and now.
“Please read my diary, look through my things and figure me out.”
—Kurt Cobain

A poem I wrote

All work and no play make Jack a dull boy.
All work and no play make Jack a null boy.
All work and no play make Jack a single boy.
All work and no pay make Jack a poor, single boy.
All work and no pay make Jack a hungry boy.
All work and no pay make Jack an angry boy.
All work and no pay make Jack a sundry boy.
All work and no pay make Jack a grumpy boy.
All work and no pay make Jack an irritated boy.
All work, no play and no pay make Jack a dull, null, single, poor, hungry, angry, sundry, grumpy, irritated boy.
All work and no pay make Jack a jackass.
Oops!

I'm great! People say so

YO YO YO YO YO! The Champ [pause] is [pause] HERE!! 

Hahaha... That used to be the opening line of WWE wrestler John Cena in his initial days. The crowd would go crazy when he'd say that. And that's how most of my emails to friends used to start. That was years ago. Why am I reminiscing the old stuff? I was looking at my pics of yore when an acquaintance sought to see my photos in which I look healthy. So I logged into Orkut, showed off my pics (I was such a looker during my graduation days!) and then drifted away to reading testimonials. Wow!

No doubt, Facebook is miles ahead of Orkut, but letting people's friends write testimonials for them is one good thing that Orkut did and Facebook hasn't. As I started reading my testimonials, I felt glum. I felt good. I'm so awesome! I'm great! Deeply satisfying when you have other people saying that for you. Hahahaha... So let's get down to the brass tacks and see just how highly my friends regard me. 

The first one: On April 8, 2007, I received my first testimonial. My bestest friend wrote it for me. I was 19 then. I guess that was for the first time I had tears of joy. Ahhhh... How great it all felt :)

• Hemant! I was wondering 5 min before.. why I am writing testimonial for him. but hey now enough , people really need to know the real Hemant…..now if u think dat hemant is Idiot,stupid, mad ,carziii feella who is never ever serious 4 anything… :D ( jaisaa ki pehle mai sochti thi.. in my school days) den I am sorri to say . u all need to update the file in ur minds named hemant… and know the real new version of him… which is finally I got to know ! B-)
  A boy wid Awesome writing skills (gosh ! I got shocked wen I read his article) It was just superb.. he is a boy whom u can trust on… always ready to listen N yaa mind it… he is listening to u wid full sincerity, that’s wat is imp. a boy who wanna do something for poor people.grt thinking yaar… he is kool v friendly v intelligent.. :) wonderful person by heart….. he is v simple and pure…. :) :)
  And yaa I can’t dare to forget his singing talent helloo don’t get surprised… he has damn good voice…. B-)
  He really added new colours to my life…. As such a grt friend.. who ll let u know abt ur mistakes on face and’ll praise even a smallest improvement… B-) he is lovely frd I ever had ..alwayss be same hemant.. not u ppl around u need change now…. God bless u…. Thankss for being my friend…… :) :)

From an angel: I have known her since I was in class 9. She's three years younger and was my next-door neighbour for two years. Such a sweetheart. Everyone loves her. She saw the aforementioned testi and it spurred her to lavish praise on me. Good decision, I say! This came on May 7, 2007, btw.

• hemant bhaiyya is da sweetest boy ive ever come across......friends like him r very rare.....and iam very lucky to be one of his frends......he is always ready to lend a helping hand.....very frank and open....can be very moody too at times.....lolz..hez very caring....loving and is always there fr u.....wonderful listener.....and alwaz gt new and exciting stories to tell.....u will never gt bored wid him....and also hez gt an amazin memory....remembers everything u tell him....and he alwaz makes otherz feel SPECIAL by remebering those little things.NEVER EVER CHANGE BAHIYYA!!!!!

Bestest friend again: She would keep deleting accounts and creating new ones. You know how it is with girls, right? So she wrote me another one from her new account on March 14, 2008. God is great. Hahaha ;)

• Our friendship Is not a result of random chance fate or luck, there is a master plan of god behind it!! I know hemant will not believe in it. But I do :) .. he is sooo loving , caring n helpful person one can met in his life/her life….nobody can be more caring Than him. If u have any problem d first person on earth who is worried abt it it Hemant .. who will not sleep till he find out a solution fo it !!(but to enjoy dis service u have to be his frd naa :P
  He seems to be v funny, careless at the times..but guys beware dats not d real hemant! He is damn serious abt evrthing happening around him… not an easy person to understand even ur small act can pissed him off….he takes even d smallest thing u said to his heart,,, he have a Divine heart yup I mean it…a divine heart which onli think abt doing gud….he is a total harmless creature …. :)
  He is a bundle of incredible abilities …an amazing creation of god … well it’s a different thing that he has completely messed up with life..and god loves watching every detail of his life…….but god don’t want to help him out…coz he know hemant don’t need any help….he is organized wid all powers v well …..Just d problem is to realize how to use those powers :)
  keep rocking :)

Who wrote this one? This one is dated August 3, 2008. The person has deleted his/her account and I really don't remember who wrote this. I guess this person was one of those who were part of the online group where my anti-reservation articless were a rage. While I can't recall who you are, thanks for the kind words.

• its a waste of tym to write ....its deep, grafted in my mind dat ur d fuel of future IINDIA, "SONE KI CHIDIYA" . . A KRANTIKARI IS BORN....

Yeah! That's my boy: Now this is what I call manufactured consent. Anna, 24 ghante chaukanna, the brainiest, multitalented kid. This maha-phodu aadmi was my classmate in school. In fact, we traded testis. No, not the organ. I meant plural of "testi", the slang for "testimonial". It was his idea. He said you write for me, I'll write for you. We sent each other his testi by mail and then posted it after obtaining consent. The first draft of what he wrote for me was far too nice, so I asked him to add some masala, which you'll see as his closing remarks. Hahahah... Oh, the date is January 22, 2009, btw. I was in the second sem of journalism college.

• HEMANT... hmmm HEMU... hmmm TINNY...hmmm bas enuf with the nick names... lets get going
  one of the coolest guy i (or rather anybody else who has come in contact with him) have ever met in my whole life. GOD he has got brains and that too a versatile one which he puts to use in a MYRIAD of situations except studies. there are some guys who can't be judged by the silly paramaters set by today's mundane world and i assure u HEMANT is one of them. he is just above all these things. as they say "SOME THINGS ARE JUST MEANT TO BE.... " never change man!!! u rock. who said nobody is perfect !!! you already are !!!
  and ya one thing that is the rarest in the meanest of breeds (humans of course ) is ALTRUISM b'liv me this guy has cultivated this to the fullest. a nice company, the best guy. kudos to u my pal... but saala aajkal kutte type bhaagne laga hai ladkiyon ke peechey haalaki vishesh sutron (SHUKLA) se pata chala hai ki darne ki koi baat nahi hai "HE WILL BE WITH US ONLY KYUNKI BAHUT PHATTU HAI ".

Shhh! The Secret: Nah, sorry. Nothing secretive about the one who wrote this. He/she too has deleted his/her profile and I can't recall who it was. What I remember is that he/she was part of the Orkut community about The Secret. It was this docu-movie and these people whose support bailed me out of the toughest time I had in my life. Thank you so much! (I've got a feeling I recall who wrote this. Was a girl, I think.) Sent on August 3, 2009.

• haha.............hez Hemant...one of d most talkative prani of r comm......lol......bt hez nice n helpful person...........n i'll pray to God.....bhagwan ji...is balak ke sapne Bhut badeeeeeeeeeee hain......jaldi se pura kar do.....nai toh ye VAAchal Prani aapko b nai Bakshega..lolA Frn is an Appreciator, A critic, alwayz stay by ur side in goOd n Bad times, showS u d rite Path, ScOlds u,
  Lvs u, plAys every possible Role in ur Life.............just fr u.........bla bla bla..list goes on n oNNNN.....but u r a LuCky Star fr Me whIch SECRET has given to me
  HaPpy ManiFesting
  Khush reyon
  PEace

Yeah, this is all. I mean this is all besides the silly ones like "Cute tweety for a cute friend", roses, teddy bears made out of special characters. I mercilessly declined such spam-ish stuff.

Orkut became a digital cemetery long ago. That doesn't mean I don't get any compliments now. I got an email earlier this year from a fan, saying I'm a jackass and I should get an Oscar for acting like a good guy. Oscar, man! That's some compliment.

Here's what lack of journalism training does

An article on media watchdog website The Hoot raises some pertinent questions about the Indian press. It says: "There are guidelines (see here) governing coverage of sexual offences, war, communal riots or conflict. Are journalists not aware of these guidelines? Do they get any kind of training or orientation when they do go out into the field? Don't they have editorial gatekeepers who vet copy?"

Here's what I think the answer to her questions is. No, many journalists—if not most—are not aware of these guidelines. About training, highly unlikely that the organisation they are working with trains them. I'm three-and-a-half years old in the newspaper industry and have friends in all the major newspapers. Nowhere will you find any formal training to sensitise the recruits. I'll respond to the third question (editorial gatekeepers) later and elaborate on the training part first.

Broadly speaking, there are three types of journalists:
1. Those with a specialised course in journalism, like the ones IIJNM and ACJ offer;
2. Graduates of mass communication courses; and
3. Other professionals-turned-journalists. With no training either in journalism or mass communication.

I'm an alumnus of Indian Institute of Journalism & New Media and, therefore, know that it teaches students about media ethics and the legal aspect of journalism. That media should not give away any identifying detail of a victim of sexual assault—and legal nitty-gritty of other things like libel, plagiarism, copyright etc—were taught to us every week in the first class of the first day of the week. I presume Asian College of Journalism too imparts this knowledge.

But what about mass communication colleges? I don't know if they tell their students about the boundaries of a journalist and dos and don'ts of the trade. I don't know, so I won't make any sweeping statement. But going by the appalling ignorance of such colleges' graduates I've worked with, I presume that not much attention, if any, is given to media ethics and the profession's nuances, which are vital to not-incorrect journalism.

Ill-equipped recruits
Many students of BA in mass communication land jobs as trainee reporters or trainee sub-editors. Journalism is just not the focus of their course, but a mere part of it. Just like public relations, advertising, literature and/or some other subjects. Most often, they land the job because of their decent knowledge of English. And most often, that's the be all and end all of they know. And it reflects in their performance.

Such 'journalists' don't even know the rules, which is why they nonchalantly violate them. Journalists ought to treat information with a healthy scepticism, instead of blindly believing a 'source'. They need to understand that news is not what the PR agent is nagging them to publish, but what someone is trying to hide. Good news is not found in the AC halls of star hotels hosting press conferences of corporates, whose PR agencies welcome you with folders, some gift, a notepad and a pen. Good news is found by sifting through volumes of tiring, boring government records. It is found in the hostility of a babu, reluctance of a politician and rage of the oppressed. Good news is found in hard work, definitely not in hotel press conferences.

But much of the stuff you read in today's newspapers is a stenographer's report of what happened.  On the occasion of XYZ, Tom said blah blah blah. Dick added yappa yappa yappa and Harry seconded him. This brand of 'journalism', which is the bread and butter of most 'journalists', is most prevalent. Events, press conferences. Period. Even a high-schooler can do this.

Routine embarrassments
And if you think journalists are required to ask the right questions, I want to tell you about this press meet I had covered more than four years ago. (Covering them is an unavoidable part of a reporter's life.) Infosys chief NR Narayana Murthy was a speaker at the event. After it got over and he sought to leave, mediapersons (print and TV) approached him for a byte. I don't recall the questions, but I remember I was horrified upon listening to the downright dumb and pointless questions of media 'professionals'. I was still in my J-school and that assignment was my first brush with the stupidity of 'journalists'.

NRN found their questions so funny that he broke into a laughter when questions as different as chalk is from cheese were randomly being thrown at him. Laughing, he told the mediapersons, "You people are very intelligent! I want to make even my daughter a journalist."

That was my first brush with the inane, mundane, 'brain drain' 'journalists'. Then I got a job in a newspaper and realised that it is such people who are in the majority in the print media (can't say about broadcast, as have no experience there). These disinterested fellows cause embarrassment to the profession. The good news is that there have always been sincere, intelligent and sharp journalists, albeit in minority.

People with the right training/knowledge are few in the industry, I think. This brings me to the third question the article raises: "Don't they have editorial gatekeepers who vet copy?" Of course, sub-editors are there to vet the stories. Alas, many don't even know their job is to vet the copy instead of just turning it into English from inglis. Their college did not tell them. The company—presuming that they are supposed to know so they know—does not tell them. Isn't a chain as strong as its weakest link? This is why media draw so much flak. ("Medium" is singular. "Media" is plural. It's incorrect to say: "Media draws...")

If Press Council of India chairperson Justice (retd) Markandey Katju castigates journalists, he has a reason.

Something about sloppy journalijam

When it comes to the highest standards of journalism, The Hindu doesn't spare even itself. P Sainath's followers must surely be remembering his brilliant criticism of Times of India over the latter's news-cum-advertisement about the company selling Bt Cotton seeds. The Hindu Readers' Editor AS Panneerselvan is being just as intolerant in his columns about his paper's sometimes shoddy approach.

His comments in today's 'Corrections & Clarifications' section made me get up and write this. Totally worth a read:
"A note from the Readers' Editor: On July 11, 2013 there was a report in the Vijayawada edition titled 'Promoting girl child rights' that failed to meet the basic journalistic principles. An insensitive quote was attributed to 'Ms. Carol Fifon,' founder of Care and Share Trust because the reporter did not cover the event, and used a third party source to file the story. There was no attempt to check with a second source. This was very unprofessional behaviour on the part of the reporter, and the Editor expresses his regret to Ms. Carol Faison (even her name was misspelt in the report) for any damage the article would have caused her. I consider this a failure of both the reporter in particular, and the Vijayawada bureau in general." (sic)

Glad and relieved that the paper does not hesitate to acknowledge its mistake and offers no excuse. This inspires faith that principles of journalism matter to this institution. The Readers' Editor has, rightly, indicted not just the lazy, insincere reporter, but also the unsuspecting bureau for carrying the story as it is. My editor once told me that we (sub-editors) don't have to second guess the reporters all the time. But we need to, given how low they are stooping. We need to cross-check every spelling, every fact, every factoid. Need to. Or else we run the risk of looking like idiots. Sub-editor are the gatekeepers of the news. We need to know how to separate true from false. For this, we need to question the reporter. And this is where things might get dirty.

Dirty? (Before I proceed, I assert that I'm talking about the bad apples, aka pseudo-reporters-cum-stenographers. By God's grace, sincere reporters too exist.) I personally know reporters who have a reputation of not attending events. They either file a story on the basis of press release sent to them, or they ask their fellow reporters in other papers to pass on the information to them. Change the wording, send it across. No one would know. Live happily ever after. Well, just a matter of time before you end up being guilty of something as big as the error made by The Hindu reporter, who must have got it nicely from his/her superiors.

Ideally, reporters should be sincere and honest. But—as my journalism college's vice-dean would often say—we don't live in an ideal world. Reporters (again, not all, but many) are failing us, which is why we need to be extra cautious and approach each story with suspicion. Sub-editors should have the confidence to question the reporter and tell them what seems wrong when it seems wrong.

I have worked only in two newspapers and neither place had the culture of promoting interaction (and harmony) between the two departments. Desk and reporting is like Tom and Jerry. Even at best, a cold war is always there. Both sides look down upon each other. (Disclaimer: This doesn't apply to all the people, but most people. I've had a reporter abusing me, throwing a fit when I removed byline from a single-source story and told him/her, upon being asked, that such stories lack credibility.)

When a sub-editor gets a gobbledygook story from a reporter who has given him a piece of her mind earlier, the sub-editor concerned chooses not to be a concerned sub-editor for the sake of the peace of his mind. He doesn't seek clarification from the reporter, goes by the dictum of 'when in doubt, leave it out', and maybe that's how we lose on what the reporter thought was crucial to the story. This is how mistakes too happen. This is why The Hindu Readers' Editor has blamed the Vijayawada bureau too for carrying the story.

Anonymous sources

Another vice of reporters that the desk has come to accept is anonymous sources. I just loved the way Mr Panneerselvan disapproved of this "notorious practice" in his July 1 column. Allow me to quote a few lines from the piece: "...many journalists do not recognise that it undermines their own standing." "...a diligent reporter would have strived to find an attributable source even five years ago." "...anonymous sources are an easy way for rather lazy journalism."

I get sooo many stories that have a single source and even that person is not identified. I vividly remember that when we were learning the tricks of the trade in our journalism college, our professors just did not accept any story with anonymous or a single source. We would give excuses, justifications about why the source wouldn't speak, doesn't want to be identified and blah. Our teachers won't have any of it. They would sit on our head until we got that quote, with the name and designation of the person concerned. And it just so happened that most of the time we got someone in the thick of things to speak. You work hard, you'll get that quote. Period.

Journalists today, whether they are on desk or on the field, need to be more diligent. Journalism students learn about the platinum standards of the profession in their college, and then look at newspapers and say: "These national dailies are doing the kind of stuff our teachers say is anathema. The papers must be right, maybe our teachers are being pedantic, unnecessarily fussy." It will be sad if newspapers' 'chalta hai' approach becomes an excuse for aspiring journalists to relax their standards. Newspapers were supposed to be the benchmark, right?
 
“Accuracy is to a newspaper what virtue is to a lady, but a newspaper can always print a retraction.” —Adlai E Stevenson

5 yrs since it all began for me at IIJNM

Generally, I do not write a blog post during my office time. But today is not a general/usual day. On this date, five years ago, my batch at Indian Institute of Journalism and New Media (IIJNM) had its inaugural day. Never mind that I joined the batch after two days, on July 17. Been five years since we started our journey into the world of journalism! Five years. Half a decade. Quite some time.
Do you guys (my batchmates) remember the saplings we had planted in the hostel? You should see them. They are mini-trees now! The mango tree has started bearing fruits!

Does it feel like five years? No way. Seems like only yesterday. I vividly remember everything that happened. Vividly. The laughters, the tears, the joy, the disappointment, the admonishing, the (fill in the blanks). Even as I write this, I can see all of it unfold in front of my eyes.

Like I do every year, I went to attend the inaugural day ceremony of this batch too. I have been going to college whenever there is an opportunity. And I do not know why. I did not have a great time at IIJNM. In fact, that was the toughest time I faced in my life. I was putting too much, undue, pressure on myself to do well and I was doing a miserable job. Have always been sentimental, but my stint at IIJNM coincided with me being senti-cum-mental. Letters were sent to my home in both the semesters, telling my parents that I won't be able to complete the course until I pull up my socks. I had my thing going on and I could never really pull up my socks. I think it's the word I did on The Softcopy, the college's website, that saved me.

I let my teachers down and ended up becoming just a disappointment. IIJNM is the only place where I did not make any friends. (Not that I deliberately did not make; I'll rather avoid this topic) I was such a wreck that I had almost quit the college, not sure if I wanted to return. Now, I can't help but return. I don't know what draws me. For the first few visits to the college after my graduation, it was about nostalgia, memories and all. Nostalgia wears off. I don't know what it is that still draws me to the college. Don't know what makes me get up early automatically on days I have to visit the college, despite sleeping late, after hours of tossing and turning in the bed.

And yeah, I think I have redeemed myself. I had this guilty conscience about my pathetic stint at IIJNM. At the college, I could never focus on work as I was (whatever, that's not important). I was so whatever that didn't even take up a job immediately after work. Our convocation was on May 2. I took up a job the next year, February 26. Quite a delay. But I think I've done well. No, not a mere opinion. It's a matter of fact that I am doing well. I've done well to make up for the time I spent being jobless.

Just wondering if my IIJNM batchmates remember today is the fifth anniversary of our inaugural day. Hahaha... Too inconsequential a day to remember :) I don't even know why I'm writing this. There's nothing interesting here. Just that maybe I want to note that it's been five years! I had told myself that I'd post only important/funny stuff on my blog. This is bland. Diary-like self-talk. But it's ok. Funny posts are for the readers. This one is for myself. Way to go, boy :)
Oh no. I have this habit of playing to the gallery. Let me, for your pleasure, write down some of the questions the students of the new batch asked:
> Can we give a fake story? (This question came after alumni spoke extensively about the perils of plagiarism)
> What's the starting salary range? (This girl thought maybe it's in six figures)
> You said about 500 copies of your first book were printed, no? How many of them were sold? (The first question a student asked the executive editor of a national daily; he was the chief guest)
> "Make contacts" is the most cliched statement we hear. How do we make "contacts"? (The person said this with the quote-unquote gesture)

My jhakkaaasss moment B-)

If you ask me to spell "charisma" and I start with "K..A..", don't interrupt me to tell I'm wrong. I'm not. For me, the word is spelled as "K-A-P-O-O-R". Anil Kapoor—charisma personified.

Yesterday afternoon, I was feeling like a silly teenage girl would. I was so starstruck that no lightning could have struck me harder. I was thrilled. I was nervous. Excited. Trembling. Hadn't had any food but was supercharged. I was in a state of disbelief.

I came office early yesterday to do research for a story. As I stepped in, I learnt that John Abraham was to come to our office shortly. "What! John Abraham! WOW!" I rushed to the 4th floor and sat in the meeting room where the hunk was to come. OHHH GODDDDD!! He was already there. And know what? He wasn't the first one to catch my attention. Sitting with him were Tusshar Kapoor and—oh yeah, baby—Anil Kapoor! Anil Kapoor. The Anil Kapoor. He was the one who caught my eye first when I walked into the room. There he was, with his dark sunglasses, trademark moustache, reclining in the chair, sitting cross-legged, fully at ease. Glowing like a bulb. Basking in the glory of being himself. What a personality!

And that was when I turned into a girl. My heartbeat! It stopped. ——————————. Then it started racing. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^. My eyes widened, jaw dropped and I was overwhelmed by the personality of Mr India. John and Tusshar were sitting straight in their chair, but Munna was at ease, reclining araam se, legs crossed sometime, sometime stretched in front, a hint of a smile on his face. Whoa! He was sitting in the centre, flanked by John and Tusshar on each side. Majestic. Regal. Respect. Authority. Commanding. These were the words that came to my mind upon seeing him.

Ok. The talk started. They spoke about their movie they are promoting. When it ended and they were about to leave, I somehow mustered the courage to tell Anil how I'm so in love with Tashan and just loved his character, Bhaiyya ji. "Bhaiyya ji," he said, nodding. And I went weak in the knees. I vivdly remember how he said "Bhaiyya ji". Wow! My God! Kya personality hai! I told him I'm in awe of him. He extended his hand and I, feeling fully privileged, shook it as he asked my name and what I do. Whoa! I mean, I don't know what to say. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.....!! I just wanted to shout out of joy! Even now. I want to shout. As I'm visualising that handshake, his saying "Bhaiyya ji", I am on cloud number 9.

He pointed out how John kept aside the plate of potato chips and how he (Mr India) had now qualms in having one crisp. Never mind that he picked one, broke it into half and had only that much :) He roared a "jhakkaaasss" and listening to that was like seeing Sachin Tendulkar hit 100 centuries all at once! This is an experience that cannot be described in words. You had to be there to believe it.

It was when he said 'jhakkaaasss' that I realised that it's not the dialogue that makes the man an icon, but the man that makes the dialogue iconic.

From the way he spoke to the way he sat to the way he reached out for the plate of chips that John had stoically swept aside on the table... Even when he wasn't doing anything, you could feel it that there's something special about him. What a pull his persona has! What charisma! What traction! Regal. When he spoke to me after the interview thingy was over, it occurred to me that the Anil Kapoor you see on screen walks and talks just like the Anil Kapoor you'll get to see off screen. He has got that swagger. That charm. Sooo impressive. Whoa!

The entire experience, sitting and interviewing these guys, was such an... such an... well, experience! My colleague who was sitting next to me had apparently made some extra efforts that day to get decked up. Another female colleague sitting on the opposite side of the table... I could read her thought bubbles (there was smitten writ large on her face) when John kept aside the plate of chips, when he flashed his dimpled smile at someone, when any of the three did anything cute.

What a day! My handshake pic with Anil Kapoor has already got 100 likes and counting. I'm so in awe. If I ever make a movie, he's gonna be in it. Ok, let me be a silly, starstruck teenage girl again. "Anil Kapoor, I love you! Jhakkaaaassss" B-)

Reality checkmate: Nothing's changed despite Delhi

Given the uproar of the political and the middle class since the Delhi gang rape, I was thinking that police would adopt a zero-tolerance approach towards sexual abuse of women. That we, as a society, would be more sensitive towards the issue. Accompanying a female friend to a New Year party proved how wrong I was.

It was as if all the hoodlums and ruffians of the city had thronged the Brigade Road-MG Road area to have some 'fun' (read passing lewd comments and groping women). My friend and I realised this no sooner than we came out of the party venue, near Brigade Road. Negotiating the thoroughly pervert-infested place was akin to treading on a minefield: there was danger all around and we didn't know what to do to be safe.

Sleazy men with unwanted "Happy New Years" came a dime a dozen. They were on footpaths, on two-wheelers, sticking their neck out of cars... Shouting, screaming, gesturing. Often, in your face. Avoiding roving eyes, blocking ambitious, straying hands and dodging I'll-jump-in-front-of-you-out-of-nowhere 'revellers', we moved ahead.

Our vehicle was parked about a kilometre away and I was worried for my friend's safety, looking over my shoulder, sometimes succeeding in deterring approaching hooligans by giving them a steely gaze. And then it happened. A guy groped her, in the middle of the street, and took to his feet. Aghast, I gave him a chase, but had to give it up soon because I couldn't have left my friend alone. 

Shocked, we decided to travel the 1-km distance in an auto, hoping it would be safe. And we were proved wrong again. When the auto was waiting for the signal to turn green, two guys coming from opposite direction stretched their hand and groped my friend again. This time too I went after the miscreants, but had to quit the chase after 200-300 metres for the same reason.

Sad truth

I'm not the pessimist kind, but these incidents scream that nothing has changed despite Delhi. Many of the 'revellers' seemed to be students or job-goers. For the members of the fairer sex, there was no security despite the presence of 16,000-odd policemen in and around MG Road and Brigade Road. Perverts had a free run. So much for all the talk about dealing with the culprits with an iron fist.  

A stern, loud warning from the police to the ones passing comments when 'revelry' started would/could have deterred the potential troublemakers from bothering the women. Maybe the police found nothing wrong with 'mild' sexual abuse. Condoning a small offence gives birth to a bigger offence.

My every female friend who went outside either experienced for herself or witnessed the horror. And we are talking about reclaiming the night! Dear women, the law enforcement agency does not seem to be on your side.

Slap 'em young

When I narrated the incident to my roommate, he told me how a friend of his once proudly showed him how to grope a woman. This was when they were in class VI, mind you. It was during Dasara celebration in our small town in Chhattisgarh. The venue was crowded. My roommate's friend put his hand on a woman's behind and gleefully asked my roommate to see what he was doing. The woman turned back in disgust, only to find a grinning 11-year-old pervert. Confused, she just walked away. 

That 11-year-old pervert is a 25-year-old man now and I bet he must have groped many since that day. Had that young woman slapped him hard and made a scene, I'm sure he must have given up his perverted pursuits. Impunity emboldens.

So, women, don't spare anyone. And men, stop being mute spectators. And police, well... God, do something about it.

Happy Eww Year, courtesy molesters

Following are the words of a female friend of mine who paid the price for daring to go out to celebrate New Year in Bangalore:

I wanted to have fun and yeah i had fun.
I hadn't planned much,so last minute decision to go to this place on MG road.Bollywood night.
I decked up.I wanted to look good and hopefully i was.
The party was great.I had company a school friend.A very old friend ...we met after ages.He doesn't drink, so i drank.i danced as if no one was watching. Hadn't done that in ages.Yeah so i was having a great time.
The countdown begun.party was coming to an end. we decided to leave. i was feeling happy and light.

His bike was parked at a distance of hardly a k.m. So we had o walk .
we came down from the disc.The streets were crowded.Closing time, every one, i thought trying to go back.
So we started against the mob.I call it a mob because that's what it turned out to be. A mob of shameless pathetic sick men.
We were walking. He trying to protect me.me also trying to protect myself.But still a guy misbehaved groped me.My friend actually went after him, He was angry and sorry.
I was angry too.but i didnt run after that guy.I was angry and shocked.
we took an auto- yeah for half a km.i was extra careful. still some other guy came and tried doing the same.

i realized i have accepted it.the fact that i have accepted such behavior amazes me!It is not the first time.Im sure in todays India every girl has been through a similar incident in her life.

After the delhi incident i was actually thinking that it was just this and nothing else!
i can say a lot against this behavior.it is bad not acceptable, but still can i do anything?!
Dont go in crowded places...men will misbehave!In India how can i avoid crwowd?!!!
Dont go in lonely dark places..men will rape!

Whats the solution? Acceptance. I hope not:/
but then should i live an unhappy sad life because of others?
i was happy should i let some sick pathetic guy take that away from me.
I decided it should not!

An amazing sex query

Here, I'm going to paste a query that appeared in 'Ask the sexpert' column of Bangalore Mirror, November 20 edition. The tabloid owns the following content and I claim no copyright. It's just so funny! Here, go through it:

Question: I am 19 years old and my husband is 32. We have sex every morning. When he was out of town for a few days, I masturbated with a banana. Once, the cook saw this. I was too excited to control myself, so I had sex with him. His penis was much larger than my husband's, so I enjoyed it. During the process, we got wild and I bit his penis hard. Is there a possibility of it breaking? If yes, is there a home remedy for it? Since his penis was larger, is it possible that my vagina has expanded?

Answer: Your vagina will not expand. You really cooked the cook's penis. Fortunately, there is no bone in the penis for it to fracture.

Hahahaha... It's just so damn stupid and funny! One of those things that really make you LOL, i.e. laugh out loudly. 

And, don't assume that I go through that Sexpert column. Some friends showed this question to me. They claim another friend of ours had sent that question to the tabloid. Now, this friend who reportedly sent this question—this friend, a girl, denies sending it—is famous for her childlike/childish antics. That's why this amazing query gains even more significance if it comes from her. She has been vehemently denying it, but I'm not gonna give her the benefit of doubt. I mean this is heights of vellapanti! Banana, for God's sake! Hahahaha... And cook, biting his member hard, broken organ, home remedy!! Oh my God! Dumb-stupid-wild imagination. Hats off to the writer. Hahahaha... Reportedly, this cute li'l girl who has been accused of sending that query had written a four-page description of the steamy act. I'm trying to get hold of the uncensored, detailed description. Didn't know this side of the baby girl's personality. It's such a revelation! I'm in awe of her. Hahahaha... Amazing creativity!

P.S. It's only the question-writer's creativity and imagination that I'm impressed with. I do not approve of using banana. Or cook.

Fair criticism amid undue eulogy

I was so glad, and relieved, to see The Hindu publishing articles criticising Bal Thackarey in its November 19, 2012, edition. As journalists, we have been taught to tell the truth. After his demise, hardly anyone spoke of how he engineered hatred against immigrants. Targeting them, promoting hatred, espousing communal politics... I am not a great fan of these. Be it his anti-Pakistan statements or the routine acerbic articles in Shiv Sena's mouthpiece, Saamna,...

Well, I don't feel free to use the sharp words I'd have used without having to think twice for any lesser man. And I'm so glad that I'm not on Facebook. Had I not deactivated my account, I too might have posted something on the lines of what a Mumbai girl wrote, and attracted the wrath of Shiv Sainiks and police. His fleet of Shiv Sainiks knows it can run a riot, safe in the knowledge that it enjoys total impunity. Bal Thackeray's nephew Raj Thackeray is just carrying forward this hate politics. The strong, intolerance-reeking statements of the uncle and nephew in the media always irked me. Just who they think they are! They are not the government, but act as if they are superior to the government. How else can they say that they won't allow Pakistan cricket team to play in Mumbai! Just who are they to allow or not allow? Shiv Sainiks can run a riot any minute they want, anywhere they want, with full impunity. Shiv Sena and MNS mock at the very concept of democracy.

I can go on and on about this, but I don't have to. The articles that appeared in The Hindu yesterday are awesome. They say everything. One article was on the edit page and another was an opinion peace by Justice (Retd) Markandey Katju on the op-ed page. Another article that appeared today in the paper also presents a more realistic portrait of the man. I'll just paste the links towards the end of this post. I was relieved and grateful to see these articles, for the stream of undue tribute pouring in baffled me. I don't need to say much. I'll just paste the links of The Hindu articles.

The news item: 'Mumbai shuts down due to fear, not respect'
Opinion pieces: A troubling legacy
Why I can't pay tribute to Thackeray
An authentic Indian Fascism

Dhoom macha le

Today is Diwali and I'm glad my office is not closed. Hate being alone when everyone else is celebrating. Ummm, that's not the point of this post. I was speaking to a school-wala friend a few days ago and he reminded me how he and I were behind a huge, loud, principal-agitating, student-exhilarating *BOOOOOOMMM* during a morning assembly when we were in class XII. Ah, the sweet memories.

It's baffling that I had forgotten this great deed of mine. Usually, I don't forget a thing, have a razor-sharp memory (which freaks people out, by the way). Until the final year of my college life, I had been nursing the deep regret that I could never muster courage to do BOOM-BADAAM in school. This just goes on to show how modest I am; did an act of bravery and forgot about it as if it never happened. It was when my friend reminded me about it that I realised that modesty, like greatness, is inherent in me. You see, it wasn't immediately that I could recall that I had indeed lit the fuse of the bomb that made the principal blast. My friend had to narrate how he and I had come early that day—with agarbatti, matchstick and a couple of bombs—had gone to the toilet, peeled the paper off the fuse, attached it to the incense stick, lit it and came out with the most innocent expression on our face.

After the morning assembly started, off went the Sivakasi product: *BBOOOOOOOOOMMMMM*. What happened next was so gratifying. The bomb was pretty loud. And that it went off in a small, concrete enclosure ensured that echo added to the sound. A wry smile crept on our faces—my friend's and mine. The collective (appreciative) gasp of the students and the anger on the principal's face told us that we had achieved what we had set out to achieve. We felt proud and content. We felt complete. At peace. A deep sense of satisfaction descended upon us. Now, we were something. No one knew who did it, but there was respect in the air from the students for whoever had done that. Respect. I could smell it. It was wafting, just like the baarood. We were basking in anonymous glory. I am grateful that God let me do this.

What's even better is that our principal thought (he was convinced) that one of our juniors was the one who did it. That guy was notorious for being notorious. The principal kept grilling him for quite a few days. He would tell that guy that he knew it was him and he would not rest unless he got proof. The princi made the guy's life miserable. (That chap is not so innocent; he was behind some other blast.)

Hahaha... I  remember how the principal went ballistic about the blasts. One morning, after we did the routine prayer and took the oath that "all Indians are my brothers and sisters", the principal took the mic. "You people are terrorists! School me bomb phodta hai... Yeh sab kya hai, bhai!" Oh, the anguish-to-melancholy shift in his tone was such a delight!

Oops! I Did it Again
Despite having achieved so much, until the final year of my college, I lived with the inferiority complex of never phodoing a bomb in school. Just because I had forgotten. But it has its own benefits. When I perpetrated the 'terrorist attacks' in my college, I believed that these were my first. Felt the first-time-thrill all over again.

In the third year of my BBA at IMS, Dehradun, we were shifted to a new building. I was behind quite a few blasts, did it with friends. One of the bombs was so strong that it shattered a portion of the commode! Hahaha... And then all the guys who had classes in that building had to cough up a fine of Rs200. Yes, IMSians, I was behind it. Wait! I was behind at least one blast, if not more, in the old building too. When the loudest of those bombs went off, my partner-in-crime and I were crossing the corridor of our juniors. Both of us felt that the juniors could tell from our face that we were the bombers. Maybe our countenance was screaming "WOOOHOOOOO!!" even though we maintained a straight face. Rebel streak has a way of getting noticed.

Last year, I was thinking if it would be a good idea to phodo a bomb in the office toilet, but decided against it. Plus, I've nothing left to prove. This Diwali, I thought aaj kuch toofaani karte hain. I took a bath.

My super-infested room

My friend with whom I live here in Bangalore (a guy, FYI) has got a mobile phone with a nice, 5 megapixel camera. I'm glad he has got that, for, now I can tell you stories I couldn't have told you otherwise. Even I owned a camera phone for a short while (it got stolen) and have shot manyyy candid pics and videos. Oh, I love my collection. The point is, it's good to have a camera.

Today, I want to take you to the place I live. Actually, there is something particular about where I live that I want to show you. So, let the games begin...

 

A colony of cockroaches was breeding under a small stone slab kept near the sink. I was like, "Eeeekss!" Next picture. So, you see, I'm not complaining about a cockroach in my room. I'm talking about the entire clan of the cockroachdom. It's too much, even for a loving and accommodating guy like me.

This is the view of a baby lizard and a cockroach that died a premature death when I, or my friend, closed the kitchen door. The cockroach's body has almost decomposed/fed ants, but the lizard's body is still stuck there. Been a month or more, I guess. I find it too yucky to scrape it out.

It was this cockroach whose death evoked sympathy in me. This dude's leg got crushed when I or my friend closed the door. Think of it, his leg was squashed, but he was alive. What's even worse is that he couldn't move; his leg was stuck, it was not severed. He kept trying to get away for about a couple of days and then, alas, he died. RIP, dear friend. I really feel sorry for you. I couldn't make up my mind—should I severe his leg and set him free or should I crush him and relieve him from pain forever? Before I could decide, he passed away. I really felt sorry.

After seeing the following picture combo, maybe you'll understand why I declared a war against the cockroaches.

Yeah, the biggest picture is of a small, caterpillar-ish worm that was inside a french bean. I noticed it floating on water in the cooker, just before I was about to close the lid and start cooking. Phew! Got saved in nick of time. The next picture, of a cockroach floating in my cooker... GRRR! That was the one that pushed me over the edge. That cockroach was in the packet of red chilli powder. When I sought to sprinkle some chilli powder into the cooker, the cockroach tumbled out. That did it and I decided to annihilate the entire cockroach species in my room.

What happened next was captured on video. There is a small enclosure kind of thing near the sink in the kitchen, cockroaches' haven. When I return to my room after work at night and open the kitchen's door, they'll be there, gorging on my tomatoes, bananas and what not. Nobody steals my food and goes scot free. Beware the fury of a patient man. After seeing too many cockroaches all around, I put some sheets of a newspaper in that enclosure and set them afire. The idea was to suffocate them so that they come out from there and then I was to toss them outta my kitchen. However, looked like I put way too many papers and the cockroaches got burnt. But I don't feel the least bit guilty about it. I didn't object to them living in my room without paying any rent, but I can't tolerate them eating my food. Without my permission. Not that I'd have permitted them had they asked. So, some cockroaches got burnt unintentionally. You could tell some got burnt from the smell. One lucky chap emerged outside, alive. I called my friend. He beat up that cockroach with his slipper. But we were not done. We thought that maybe there are some more cockroaches who are out and maybe they would return later. To send them a message, we took the carcass of that slippered cockroach, put it on a note and put the entire thing in the cockroach's 'home'. Here's how it looked:

 

Wuhuhahahahaha... (my 'sister' taught me this 'devilish laugh'). Ever since we left this warning note with poor Mr Roach's body in the Roach colony, I haven't come across another cockroach in my kitchen. The plan worked. Offence is the best defence. Survival of the fittest, baby.

Yeah, there still are small cockroaches in my kitchen. Yesterday I found one in the packet of daal and today saw half a dozen of them in the rack where I keep utensils. But I think they haven't left the kitchen because they are too young and can't yet read, maybe that's why they couldn't make out what's written on the warning note. I hope they get lost from my kitchen soon, otherwise I'll have to unleash my fury again.

And if you think cockroaches and lizards are all I have to deal with, you are so wrong. We have shot a video of how a pigeon entered our room last week and patiently stood outside the toilet, which was occupied, for some time. As the person inside the toilet took his own sweet time to come out, the pigeon shit on my friend's white bedsheet, among other places in our room. That's not all. Moreover, pigeons don't just rest on the window pane of our room (it's on third floor), they often enter our room! Just because I feed them rice grains, they are taking such liberties! Seeking to use our toilet, wanting to rest under fan on a hot day. 

And I don't know if I should talk about our suspicion that a snake has died in the drain pipe of our kitchen sink. We are not sure, so I won't speak of it.

Will you pleej merry me? :P

An empty mind is devil's workshop. One day, out of boredom I started reading the matrimonial section in a newspaper. I took it up because I love the way people seek to subtly glorify themselves but end up squarely embarrassing themselves. Eh, my kind of people. NO! Maybe. Hmmm... Leave it.

You must have come across the word "homely" in the matrimonial ads, as in "homely girl". I used to think it meant gharelu, until I learnt it means "unattractive". I wonder, are the people who say their daughter is "homely" being honest about her? Or do they actually believe that homely=gharelu?

I went through the profile of every bride-in-waiting and although I did not find even one that could interest me, some of them were quite interesting. Paragon of oxymoron! Here are the profiles (in Italics, followed by my comments):

# NAIDU SPINSTR 54 BA Healthy girl seek any well settl any Cast Ok... (Mind you, she is 54 and yet a girl. And "healthy"? You seriously believe I'm not gonna think she's fat, but just "healthy"? Any well settled, any caste is ok. Hmmm... If you take euphemy out of this profile and write it in calling-a-spade-a-spade style, it will read like this: A 54-year-old overweight aunty is looking for a man, any man, so long as he is rich.)

And this 54-year-old 'girl' is not the only little sister of Peter Pan. There are these women too, forever girls, frozen in time:

# ...40 MSc PhD MNC Attractv girl...
# INTELLIGENT BOOK loving Charming Hindu girl 42yrs...

Then there was this ad: ...Marriage enquiries only from unmarried, divorcees & widowers... (You can apply only if you are unmarried, divorcee or a widower! Abe, aur bacha kaun! Hahaha...)

# I found this one really funny: BRIDE 31 OF Interwedded Parents... ('Interwedded' parents! Oh my God! Hahahaha... This is taking 'attention to details' too far.)

Then there was this one: DOCTOR Parents seek Tall, Handsome God Fearing, Professional Grooms with Clean Habits...
(Clean habits? Like, what do you mean? He shouldn't pick his nose? Not piss on a boundary wall when no one's watching? Take bath every day? Brush his teeth every day? Wear socks without holes? Wash hands before eating? I'm telling you, they won't find such a guy.)

Ads on net
Then some ads on internet too rock. Take this one, for example: Wanted a husband: Protestant Christian, social or educational businessman, pastor, missionary, any national, any ethnicity, including Afro-American; must have education.  IF YOU SEND ONLY YOUR EMAIL ID, IT WILL BE DELETED. I have important info there and I expect the same from you. Read the info first and then respond.  Click on the ad and enlarge it.  My life is dedicated to help the poor.  Thank you. 
(This is the only ad where even Afro-Americans have a scope. Was she eyeing a relative of Obama? Btw, the best thing about this ad is that in the body type section, she has written: "More to love". That's quite suggestive, makes my imagination go wild!)

# hi this is Gunasekhar.G i done MBA finance and marketing, previously i worked in apsrtc some reasons i left that job, present i am searching the job and i dont have any family i am single.

(It reminds me of a dialogue of Govinda's sidekick in the movie Sajan Chale Sasural: "Ayyo Raju! Main thoda chhota, thoda mota, thoda kala, thoda ganja, baaki main poora hero maafiq!" To this, Govinda says: "Abe, aur bacha kya!" Hahahaha...)

# I looking beautifull bride (The one who wrote this must be a fan of Transporter. Seedhi baat, no bakwaas.)

# want a mongolian looking bride: Hi I am a decent very handsome 31 y old boy from the south. I am looking for a east or south east girl as my bride. If interested kindly contact me.
(Boy, this man sounds like he has a fetish for women from south-east. Oops! I mean north-east. And, the photo of this self-proclaimed very handsome boy tells me he's a frog-eyed baldy.)

Then, I came across these in a compilation of funny matrimonial ads on India Broadband Forum:

# hello.... My name Arthi..... I am a good characterized woman. I want to run my life happily. I expect the good minded and clean habits boy to marry me soon.... who may be in the same caste . If anyone want to Marie to me u can visit to my home (Ghar Chale aana........ ???)

# I want very simple girl. from Brahmin educated family from orissa state she is also know about RAMAYAN, GEETA BHAGABATA, and other homework (Homework?)

# My wife should be as 'Shivani' as in Kahani Ghar Ghar Ki and as Tanwerr as in KSBKBT...... (Ok I haven't seen these soaps but I am sure he must be demanding too much,ain't he?)

# I love my partner i marriage the partner ok i search my partner and i love the partner ok thik hai the partner has a graduate ok (I am again clueless but I liked the use of "ok". The person is suffering from "Ok-syndrome" )

# I am pran my family history my two brother two sister and Father&mother sister complity marred (somebody please explain in comments section how to get married 'completely' ?)

# My name is muhamad and i am unmarried. please you marriage me please please please please please please please (height of desperation! J )

# I'm looking out for who lives in Bombay, girl simple who trust me lot should be roman catholic, LOVE ME ONLY. (Now that criterion is a must, isn't it?)

# ssc failed three times and worked with private ltd company which not paying salary at present. (Any takers again?)

While I'm poking fun at these ads, I'm not in a cool situation myself. I'll be turning 25 in a couple of months and haven't had even an affair yet. My friends say even the next 25 years will go by like this only if I don't take any drastic steps. Friends are genuinely, sincerely worried. While I'm not gonna take the drastic steps they are suggesting, I indeed need to do something, otherwise I may need to get matrimonial ads published for me. Scary!