C.I.D.

Man, that show has been running for a long time. Thirteen years, to be precise: from 1998 to the present day. Sony TV has made a huge profit, so much so that they can't seem to stop airing it. Whenever you switch to Sony between 14.00 and 18.00 hours, it's always C.I.D. Fulltoo timepass.

C.I.D. is no stranger to awards. In 2004, it entered the Guinness Book of World Records for their episode "The Inheritance", which was filmed in one shot for 111 minutes without a single cut. One of their characters won the award for the best-looking guy on Indian television (crazy, right?). They also organised a grand function called the C.I.D. Gallantry Awards in 2010.

There is a certain fun in watching that serial. Like most Indian media, it's a 'leave-your-brains-at-home' thing. For how could seven officers investigate every case in Mumbai? Or how did they justify finding a laash in every episode, or never investigating anything apart from murders and kidnappings? Kuch to gadbad hai.

Inspite of all its faults, C.I.D. is a noteworthy attempt by director B.P. Singh, who has cleared both national and international records. And if you haven't watched it yet, there's no doubt you have never been in the vicinity of a television set.

Crossroads At Crossword

I always called Crossword 'Crosswords'. 


What? There's absolutely nothing wrong in doing so, because a crossword could have a plural. My only problem was that I did that when I referred to the bookstore Crossword.


And so, Sharvari aai called me over to Mulund to browse through books and whatever they sold there. They sell, predominantly, books. Goos books. So. I texted Shruti and Maddie:

Going to Crossword's' tomorrow. 

With Sharvari. 

Coming?

But they had 'other plans' and so I was to accompany Sharvari to Nirmal Lifestyle, which is a bitter-sweet venue for reasons unfathomable and reasons indescribable. And unnecessary *wide-mouthed grin*

So. I realise I am 'so-'ing a lot, but that's forgivable. 

And I realised on my way to Mulund that I must have eaten something inedible (read: addled, and for those of you who don't know what it means, ask Thomas Edison. His teacher used to call him that.) and I felt like puking during the whole 'journey to the mall'.

It goes without saying, that the mall had a men's room. And the rest, you have understood, I hope.

And then, I went to Crosswords where Sharvari stood with my wallet and phone in hand. *Phew, she had it* How could I live without texting.

And then, I was confounded as to what to get for myself. I had a strict budget. And I am very indecisive. You can ask Sharvari. She just made a decision for me. And today, aai helped me with my budget, and I got a book on Psychoanalysis! *Yay*. Yes. We are both Psycho-freaks. Not psychotic! :O

So. Then we went to McDonald's to eat ice-cream and Sharvari aai wanted waffles. He did not have 'vafls'. We then had a regular ice-cream 'softy' and coloured our faces with chocolate sauce and oh, also our hands. And we left for the railway station.

Not to beg.

And oh. I don't remember where my ill-health went off, or when. :)

Choices

Inky Pinky Ponky.
Daddy Had A Donkey.
Donkey Died, Daddy Cried,
Inky Pinky Ponky.


Sheetal is a good friend and classmate of mine. We were talking the other day at our maths tuitions about an exam called NATA. She apparently has to do physics and chemistry for the exam, which obviously *phew* is not on the humanities' to-do list. *phew again*


So, Aabha, classmate and friend, said they'll select their answer by choosing a random alternative from the four given.


Not too random, though. 


Inky-pinky-ponkeying will do just fine.


What?! #1 - I'd do the same thing, okay? 


And so, moving on to worse decisions, Sharvari aai made a decision for me today (or so she says). Well, I think she suggested; only I took it too seriously. 


What?! #2 - You can obey your friend, okay?

We're Birds Of A Feather -_____-

To my dear co-blogger and everyone who is reading this now.

I love Star World. 

And, FYI, I love Animé.

My favourite cartoon, to date, is not Powerpuff Girls. 

Feels goos* to pull the carpet from under Sharvari aai's feet.

My all-time-favourite cartoon has been The Cardcaptors (the Sakura thingy). 

As you might know already, I am NOT averse to fantasy. Make that ALL fantasy.
:)

It was is, like, the bestest cartoon ever. 

I went so mad for it that after it got over, I actually started thinking I could capture and use natural elements to 'everyone's' benefit. 

And yeah, I'd cried when Sakura captures the last card, Hope.

So. 

I think Animax could challenge Star World too.

Aai, we are birds of a feather.

(NOTE - *'goos' is equivalent to 'good and comfy' and is a result of constant misspelling on the keyboard and the keypad while typing and texting respectively.)

If you found that note a bit too formal, go, chill, watch some animé, because it's goos.

Cartoons

I've been addicted to cartoons for some time now. Not Powerpuff Girls or Ben10 - though Tom & Jerry is still hilarious - but anime cartoons that they play on Animax. My favourites include Busou Renkin and The Stigma of the Wind. They're in Japanese or Korean, but they have English subtitles, and as you know, I'm not averse to reading.

Why, you ask? Apart from the fact that I have nothing to do in the holidays and hence have no choice but to watch crap, Anime has every fantasy element I love. Magic, martial arts and weaponry, all so tastefully done that the plot seems to dissolve from one end to the other. Star World is no match for Animax. Yes, Jai, I just said that.

When you say cartoons, I remember my vehement defense against my brother as he tried to wean me off Cartoon Network a few years ago. I found 'adult TV' boring. For all I knew of it was that it aired saas-bahu quarrels and songs. Yes, I was a kid once.

But for now, Animax keeps me alive. Hail cartoons!

No, hail Anime cartoons!

Cleanin' Up After You're Done!

I realised I could be forgetful at times, horribly forgetful, at that. I came to WeirdnessGalore twice today, now, and I was listless at what exactly to write, because I loathe not blogging. And then, *poof!* I realise I have a piece I had thought about writing yesterday. And that is about the awesome, butt-back-limbs-whatever-exercising job I did yesterday. 


The Kurl-On mattress is getting a bit old, and we're getting a new one next month; so I thought we better keep what we have in a good condition, and so, I decided to turn the mattress over. AND to my horror, there was a lot (read hellalot) of dust accumulated deep, deep (Alterspeak- Deep down what now? Nothingness? :s ) uh, just deep, or behind. Whatever. So, I took all the linens and furniture (most of it) to the hall and let them be there for until when I get my room to how an INFJ's room is supposed to be    spic-and-span. And so, I pulled the heavy wooden bed (Alterspeak- Sadly, for you, beds don't come in plastic. :L) to the centre of the room and got all the dust under it into my vacuum-cleaner.


No, I can sweep too. But the dust was fluffier than my broom could ever get. And no, my brooms don't get fluffy. And then, I brought a bucket to the room mopped the floor clean (the good ol' way) and re-arranged. 


And lo! Oh freak! My room looks the same as before. :O


But just, just to satisfy myself, I might as well bend down a little and look at the nice empty space *ahem* deep down under the bed I've made.


And Sharvari did not help me. But it was fun. 

The Two Things I Love the Most in the World

The two things I love the most in the world: books and nature. Both very aptly represented in this picture I clicked at Talegaon. A plumeria flower on a copy of Brisingr, written by my favourite fantasy author, Christopher Paolini.

Christopher lives in Paradise Valley, Montana, USA. When you look at the mind-blowing, breathtaking scenery in pictures of that place, you realise and understand why he could create a world in which mountains loom over the clouds, where the towns are full of boisterious humans, and where a dragon spreads her wings as far as she can in the mighty blue sky.

I agree this post is going away from what it was supposed to be about, but once I start talking about Christopher, I can't stop. His story is what has inspired me to get going in the last few weeks, mostly because I find similarities in us. He was homeschooled and graduated from high school (correspondence) by the age of fifteen. He took two years to write Eragon, after which his parents decided to publish it through their company. Paolini International LLC was a small business, and Christopher had to market the book himself. It was hard work, and his efforts at selling the book meant putting food on the table. Then a writer picked up Eragon at a bookstore and showed it to his publisher, who decided to buy the rights from Christopher. From then on, it was all uphill. At nineteen, Christopher was a New York Times bestselling author.

I want to be like that.

I want to be as much a 'nature writer' - as he calls it - as a fantasy writer. And that is what my story is about. The power of Nature around us, within us. The two things I love the most in the world: books and nature. What better to do than fuse them together and have a career in it.

I want to be like that.

The Procrastination Bug

The hardest thing in the world is to plonk your ass down and write.

Disagree? Let me tell you something: I've been trying to finish a novel that's been in my head since I was 11 years old. I had my 16th birthday a few weeks ago. Agree now?

No matter how many 'How to Motivate Yourself to Write' pages you read online, no matter how many times you beat your computer at Solitare, no matter how much you sleep, no matter how many long walks you take, you still need to have that writing material in front of you and a pen in your hand. You still need to put that pen to the paper and start scribbling words. You still need to open MS Word and type out what you need.

And that's exactly what you can't do. Why? Because you're lazy. Because you procrastinate. Because in a few years time, you're gonna have a paunch and bigger-sized clothes from all the sleeping you've been doing. Because you never plonk your ass down and just WRITE.

When you do open MS Word and start typing though, words flow like water. Which is why I make blog posts and do not write chapters. Because I'm always looking to 'exercise' my writing skills so I can make a start on the book. But no, The Procrastination Bug comes down and bites. Hard.

Now you know why my personal blog has been 'dormant' for years. :L

The Return Of The Passport

Heylao peeples. 


That is so off-me. Hello people. Technically, it wouldn't be wrong if I wrote 'peoples'. That is so, because people of the world, as a collective group can be referred to as peoples. And so, peoples, as I am coming to it, I have become a part of 'peoples', which is to say, that if and when I am stranded on an island (that has a government :P), I am entitled, as a part of the peoples of the world, to get help from my country's embassy. 


Like, they'll have to help me get medicines even in Antarctica if I happen to catch a cold. But wait! Antarctica does not have a government. And you don't catch a cold there. Losers.


Anyway, moving to greener pastures. To dark-bluer passports. That postman at the post office asked me if my mom had sent with me, some chai-pani    in plain words, a bribe. I had two hundred and fifty bucks in my pocket. 


I told him, no, she hadn't. And she really hadn't, suspicion-personifieds! It was just money that I was carting around. And he told me it's a passport. And that, therefore, chai-pani was, uh, mandatory.


Chai-pani, mandatory, the world's foot. And he's going to come home, he told me, to ask for chai-pani. My mom's not home, so I am going to do a plainly good job driving him away or to the Anti-Corruption Bureau. 


And I never told you before that today's was my first visit to a post office. And for those cynics amongst you who think there always has to be a first, this is, I hope, also my last visit to that dingy place. Looked like an over-sized laundry.


And there is something more dismal about my passport. I opened my passport booklet. It has my photo and information about me. I thought they might have 'more info' about me on the inside pages. 

Apparently, those were *sniff sniff* blank. 

What a waste.

Lucky Bhadrakali

Hello. I envy Goddess Kali. She had so many hands! And I'm guessing [(whatever number of hands) divided by 2] heads. And I so wish I had some thirty hands. Not asking for too much, am I? 

Since yesterday, I have been wanting to text, talk over the phone, write a blogpost, write some *other* write-ups, revise some Sanskrit, read The Da Vinci Code, do some math, do some riyaaz, to be quite basic. But see, I have only two hands and only a single brain! And oh, oh, oh. I mustn't forget watching Dexter.

I don't like Dexter anymore because Rita is dead. And I liked her characterisation the best. And so many things could have prevented her death   she could have not returned home to get whatever crap she needed, or she could have turned up late, or she could have never met Dexter, or Dexter could have never met Arthur or interfered in his life, or Arthur could have not had the terrible childhood he had had. But could I have been not as much of a stupid emo person that I am? 

Maybe.

And I hate it when friends call you over and then cancel the plan. Loserness. Mine or theirs? Oh, well, I need to have a fight with my I-shall-contradict-your-reasoning-abilities-in-whichever-way-possible alter-ego. 

And Sharvari aai isn't totally wrong. 

A pillow fight sounds juuust fine. 

Classes

I had a nice time with my gal pals the other day. Though I know Jai baba doesn't mind fluffy pillow fights and shopping stories (believe me, I did neither of these. Never will.) but- though they include a very interesting card game, jokes about my vegetarianism, and falling oover each other while wrapped in thick blankets - I won't go into all that. What I am here to talk about is my train journey on the way back home.

My friend lives in Andheri. Since it's accessible by the Western Line Railway, I had to go all the way to Dadar by Central Line, then cross over and double back to Andheri. I was tired enough when I got into the wrong train at Dadar on my way back, but after I got into the right one, something really pissed me off. A quarrel had started in the compartment. Quarrels are rare in First Class, but when they do come up, civilised women fight like no barbaric ones you've seen before. As usual, it was over seating space. I don't understand why the Railway ministers don't enlarge the Central Ladies' First Class compartments like in the Western Railway, but that's another matter altogether.

After a while, as I was waiting in line to alight at Mulund, I heard the girl who'd been quarrelling come up behind me with her friend. She was still ranting. I listened in (What? Admit it. You'd have done it too) and was appalled to hear what had really happened. Apparently, a Second-class-dikhne-wali female had got into our compartment. As always, the women in the train bristled at her and asked her to show them her ticket. Turns out she did have a First Class ticket.

The woman behind me had a problem with her Second Class behaviour. Angrez chale gayein, inko chhod gayein.

Are we really like this? I hate to admit it, but whenever a cheap-sari-clad, dark woman gets into the compartment, I have a nagging doubt in my mind as to whether she is allowed where she is. I never think at first sight that perhaps she is a hard-working, self-reliant woman who has bought her ticket through her own earnings. Some feminist I am. Until we change our mentality, progress - change - cannot be achieved. Are some prejudices so ingrained that sheer will power cannot uproot them? I am a feminist because I want to be one. I am a vegetarian because I want to be one. But again it comes down to Nature vs. Nurture.

For some reason, Nuture always wins.

What It Takes To Set Your Foot Out. Like, Out.

And you thought of vestments and money and and your toothbrush and Listerine, duh! Well, you don't actually fly unless vous êtes votre passeport. And ask me, it does not come easy. Well, to date, hasn't.

I literally started wishing making passports were like making yearbooks, as easy as holding those little crayon pieces and drawing myself and writing my address and about myself. A burnt child dreads fire.


A harrowed Jai dreads the queue.


Yeah, especially when you have to get out of the queue if your forgot to bring a certain document. Oof, saying "Ma'am, I didn't bring my Homeworknotebook" at school would be easier than explaining why you did not bring what you did not, to the person behind the counter. No, the bullet-proof counter. 


And then, not to forget, this is Hindustan भारत/ India, and so, you must know that it is not odd to log in with your passport details on the Web on the 28th of April, only to be told that your passport will be despatched on the 26th of April. Losers.


Well, so now that I have no US trip to look forward to, I can be an idiot-companion to Sharvari aai. And I have many small things to be happy about now. Like books. Like yummy fooood. Like my bicyle. Like friends. Like Maths. The last one possibly does not count. :P