Greetings to all my victims, I hope you are well. My computer at work has been taken away from me. By the lady it belongs to. The happy news is that right now, I'm sitting with a big cabin and a really fancy computer all to myself. I'm thrilled. Don't know how long it will last, but I like to drift along from moment to moment.
Last night, I forgot to save the changes to a document I was editing- being me, of course. This morning, a truckload of people turned up to look at it (including the clients, I think) and when I went to open it, with all the onlookers breathing down my neck, it was nowhere in sight. Needless to say, I made a complete ass of myself. Hmm. My internship has been broken in.
I opened Google News this morning as usual, as soon as I got to work, only to see that Hilary Clinton has won the election in Pennsylvania. The candidates campaigned in Scranton where two (out of twelve thousand) of Hilary's grandparents come from. This makes me more suspicious than ever. The election rigmarole is unfolding itself more like the Bold and the Beautiful (the most unnecessarily dramatic thing I can think of!) than anything else. Things are built up to a nail biting climax.
Hilary Clinton might be full of s***, but she does know one thing. Familiarity, genuine or otherwise, goes a long way. Have I mentioned that before? Even if I have, I feel compelled to say it again. Think about when you vote for the student council in college. You see a candidate standing on stage, smiling diplomatically and you would probably think "I know him, I saw him on the other side of the dance floor at that party I went to two months ago." Perhaps Hilary has lost elections in college before.
The elections seem real as much as "Indian Idol" was a reality show. Everything looked very beautifully rehearsed to me and this does too. I would dearly love to know what they have up their sleeves this time. But I'm also a little afraid to find out.
You should know that sheer boredom compels me to come here and say a lot of things when I'm not in the mood to say anything at all. I hope that sufficiently justifies the rambling, even if it doesn't excuse it.

The La Di 'Do'

Part of my job description, apparently, is to go for parties. Entertainment Inc! I went for my first one tonight. It was a 'bit of a do' for a good cause. I stepped into the Leela only to be greeted by that distressingly familiar baritone boom. An evening with Usha Uthup. Four songs with Usha Uthup. She is a good singer, but I'm a tad bored with "I just called to say I love you" and "Hava Nageela." Everybody who is Anybody was there, with smiles all ready for the cameras. The photographer from the Times of India was the most sought after man at the party. People were falling all over themselves to get to Benedict, who went around with a commendably benevolent smile on his face all the while.
I stuck out like a sore thumb, I'm sure. I was strutting about in my work clothes with a glass of orange juice in my hand (part of my teetotalling ways!) amongst all the cocktail clad men and women, who had obviously spent no short amount of time in the beauty parlour. They were buffed and scented to the tip of every straightened hair on their heads.
The hostess' husband was completely convinced that he and I were old chums. When Benedict made to introduce us, he cut him off, saying, "I know this young lady very well, I see her at all the dos." Being the impolite brat that I am, I was far too amused to keep a straight face, although I have been overcome with mirth in so many akward situations that I know now how to turn a cheeky grin into a smile of great wonder and fascination.
The socialites stood about, smiling broadly, looking around fervently for Benedict and his camera. They even talked to one another occasionally. Benedict, I noticed, leaned in to say something to a man there, who mistook it for a la- di- da-kiss-kiss and he moved in with rather questionable enthusiasm!
The kids for whom the charity was being organized came on stage too. That was easily the most genuine part of the evening. I couldn't help but wonder how some people can have so much, underserving though they might be, while some have nothing at all. There were empty glasses strewn on the floor, laughter that was far too loud and donations that were made with a little too much reluctance. The kids who came on stage, though, did it with all sincerity. Those donations really were changing their lives. The loose change that somebody put in a bowl to impress everybody else at a socialite gathering is about to change a child's life. Perhaps they'll make more of themselves with our loose change than we ever will with all our fortunes. And goodness knows they deserve to.

Black vs. Female vs. Republican (and the American dream thrown in)

Hilary Clinton has discovered another fore father. This time, from Pennsylvania. Why, you ask? Because she desperately needs to save face now. Barack Obama, a black man (pardon my racist implications, unholy me!), with a middle name like Hussein and a last name that rhymes with Osama, is actually doing pretty well. And that's not altogether too surprising.
Like I was saying, Hilary Clinton has risen valiantly to the occasion, this time as a Working Class Heroine. Obama points out, very rightly, that she seems to discover roots all over the place. This time, it is a great grandfather who worked in mines in Pennsylvania. Hilary, during her childhood (I'm not making this one up, honest!), learned to fish, shoot and play cards and spent her time around men with names like "Old Hank". The Old Swank hung around with people named Old Hank.
Obama and Hilary, an African American man and a woman seem to be taking the elections by storm and that makes me suspicious. Both the Democratic candidates are far from typical (by American standards atleast). So what are they gearing up for? A new (pseudo) order? Or a Republican candidate? Is John McCain going to be put in the Oval Office at the end of it all?
Someone pointed out in the article I was reading that the lady who grew up rough is now worth a hundred million dollars. Are people really foolish enough to fall for her sentimental prattle about the American dream?
Barack Obama seems to have good intentions, atleast, let's not think about where those always lead! He supported pastor Jeremiah Wright who blamed America for 9/11.
But what good have good intentions ever done? Forty three people have been sworn into the Oval Office so far, but what changes have actually happened? A grand total of none. Which of the Presidents has actually been able to make life easier for the Hispanics and make living conditions in the ghettos a little better? Really makes you think, doesn't it? And what on earth is the American Dream?

IPL

The British did an absolutely fantastic job hyping football. Making some clubs and spending ridiculous amounts of money is a brilliant technique, I think, when the game itself, when played by the people in question is rather boring. How amazinglyd defensive these people get in what should be a fast paced, offensive game! One team takes the ball to their goalpost and then runs off with it just as quickly in the opposite direction, toward the opposition's goal, just to make sure that their own goal isn't blocked. Wild!
This is not what I came here to talk about, however. The Indian Premier League is taking center stage in my brain right now and for the next five minutes, roughly, so I will say all that I can as quickly as possible, before my brain wanders off for a short sabbatical somewhere else.
The Indian Premier League has been one of the most ridiculously hyped events I have ever seen in my time in this world. I don't even knoow anymore what is actually being hyped. I'm sure a lot of people would have to think about that too. There's so much publicity now that the hype exists more than the game itself.
I was thinking last night about how much the players are being paid. It's absolutely absurd! Players from all over the world are giving patriotism a good hard kick in the backside, sending it as far away from them as quickly as they can. Racist comments are no longer an issue. Who cares anymore that they're all under committment to the lowly brown people? Money always always talks and I think that it's far better than colour talking.
Can you imagine the amount of betting money that's being put into the IPL right now? If you were to do a ratio of how much each player is paid in proportion to the amount of money that depends on him, the cricketeers are hopelessly underpaid. I can't seem to sympathize much, though.
What the British did extremely cleverly was to bring about an interestin the game itself. Schools in India, a country that really never played the game much, found themselves forming teams and going for tourneys. So, after a bit, even when the glamour of the thing dies down, the passion for the sport keeps it going. I wonder what will happen to the IPL.
Shah Rukh Khan and Karan Johar seem to be getting a lot more importance than any of the players are and here in Karnataka, the Royal Challengers are an advertisement for Vijay Mallya and his bounty. Yay.
I can't help feeling that the glamour of the thing is going to die down soon enough. It's terribly money consuming, firstly. Besides, for how long can anyone crowd inside a stadium on a summer night to watch firework displays and Vijay Mallya with all his playthings? Perhaps it will soon be brought down to the basics, an excting, fast paced game of cricket.

Of internships, Prathiba Patil, glamour and chicken.

My first day interning. I must say, it's terribly exciting to be able to walk in and out of the Times of India office anytime I like, without having to wait in the reception for twenty minutes each time. That's the best part.

I was made to ask people I know which celebrity they want to talk to and what they would say to them. My friends have such amazingly diverse minds, though a surprising number of them seem to want to talk to dead people. Prathiba Patil, Dipti says, should really stop wearing full sleeved sweater blouses. I agree, so does everyone else here at the office. Who even makes those things for her?

Apparently, Madame President forgot to salute the Mexican flag when she visited there. What an entertainingly vague lady she must be. I wish I could spend some time with her! Dipti also ferverntly wishes that Rahul Gandhi must try his best not to look like Manmohan Singh when he gets to that age. That would be a great favour to our eyes (and my imagination!) but perhaps he relies on his good looks a little too much now. His glasses and dimples have guaranteed him the female vote and lots and lots of giggles.

Everybody is sitting here and doing exactly the same thing as me. What a fun lot of they are. They meet in the mornings to discuss SRK and the IPL, after which the boss announces she's baked a cake. And a delicious cake it was, too. I wish I could work here forever, I'd be perfectly happy to never have to go back to college again. Although I am rather partial to the canteen.

The team has been far too kind to me, considering I'm a fresh faced, rather ignorant little piece of insignificance. It's great! I hope it holds out! A life of glamour is unfolding itself, a whole new adventure for me. I can't wait.

Just as I was leaving, mum called. On the office landline, no less. When the phone rang, I thought about how my mother calls there an awful lot and well, let's just say that my mum is also rather predictable! She called to tell me to buy some chicken on the way home. There's mum for you! She's the best, life would be drastically less comic without her!

That was the end of a very eventful first day at work. For the second time in my life, I can't wait to go to work. The only other time I looked forward to anything that didn't concern doing as little as possible was in my Journalism days. Those were the best classes. I'm drifting again, so I'll stop. Here's hoping the rest of the month is as good as today! It's one hell of an experience, alright!

The Edgar Allan Bore Syndrome

Have you been in a situation where something is so powerful that it takes over your life? Everything else is cast in darkness, there is only one small light that grows bigger and bigger and brighter and brighter.
Or so it seems. The light is still the same size. It only seems bigger because, although you don't realize it, you're casting everything else into the shadows. One part of you is illuminated by a golden yellow lightbulb that you're attracted to like a moth to a flame. Every other aspect of your life has to make do with whatever light from the bulb reaches it, if any does at all.
What happens when that light is switched off? Your eyes aren't accustomed to the darkness, of course. You're blind to everything, nothing holds any fascination whatsoever anymore. You yearn for the light that was switched off, though a part of you knows that the light had never done anything in the first place except hurt your eyes.

Despondency

THE THOUGHTS that rain their steady glow

Like stars on life’s cold sea,

Which others know, or say they know—

They never shone for me.

Thoughts light, like gleams, my spirit’s sky,

But they will not remain.

They light me once, they hurry by,

And never come again.

("Despondency" by Matthew Arnold)

I finished my first post six months ago exactly, coming to think of it, saying that I intended to take full advantage of the fact that I had the opportunity to say a whole lot of things! Fat lot I've done since then !

Everytime I thought of writing something, I would wonder what on earth I was to write about. This would put me off for the next few weeks.

Just now, I realized that I spend an awful lot of time just sitting around wherever, in my room or on the sofa just watching my thoughts go by. So now I'm going to catch them as they do.

So much has happened in the past six months, it is difficult to comprehend now ! I've grown up. I can't seem to decide whether that's a good thing or a bad one. I was vulnerable and naive then, and I think I'm still both those things. Somehow, grown up or not, I don't think I want to outgrow those traits.

Wordworth and Coleridge had opium addictions. Lewis Carrol liked magic mushrooms. So that's how the brilliance came. They lived in fantasy worlds, just like I can do, although I don't need opium to do it !

Maybe I shouldn't have read Enid Blyton when I was young. Used to spend an awful lot of time shut up in my room, reading. My sister was a baby, my mum was busy with her. Actually, all I can remember of that time is being told to keep quiet, because the baby needed sleep. I couldn't breathe too loudly, for crying out loud! Enid Blyton's fairy stories kept me sane and kept me going.

That's why I spent and still spend so much time staring out the window. A lonely little kid found a friend in a book. The characters in the "Faraway Tree" and Hop, Skip and Jump from the "Book of Brownies" seemed better companions than anybody else.

Why would I want to live in reality when all reality brings is sorrow, loneliness, confusion and despair? Especially when I can live in a world where everybody loves everybody else just by shutting my eyes or looking out the window?