- O all ye exorcizers come and exorcize now, and ye clergymen draw nigh and clerge,
- For I wish to be purged of an urge.
- It is an irksome urge, compounded of nettles and glue,
- And it is turning all my friends back into acquaintances, and all my acquaintances into people who look the other way when I heave into view.
- It is an indication that my mental buttery is butterless and my mental larder lardless,
- And it consists not of "Stop me if you've heard this one," but of "I know you've heard this one because I told it to you myself, but I'm going to tell it to you again regardless,"
- Yes I fear I am living beyond my mental means.
- When I realize that it is not only anecdotes that I reiterate but what is far worse, summaries of radio programs and descriptions of caroons in newspapers and magazines.
- I want to resist but I cannot resist recounting the bright sayins of celebrities that everybody already is familiar with every word of; I want to refrain but cannot refrain from telling the same audience on two successive evenings the same little snatches of domestic gossip about people I used to know that they have never heard of.
- When I remember some titlating episode of my childhood I figure that if it's worth narrating once it's worth narrating twice, in spite of lackluster eyes and dropping jaws,
- And indeed I have now worked my way backward from titllating episodes in my own childhood to titillating episodes in the childhood of my parents or even my parents-in-laws,
- And what really turns my corpuscles to ice,
- I carry around clippings and read them to people twice.
- And I know what I am doing while I am doing it and I don't want to do it but I can't help doing it and I am just another Ancient Mariner,
- And the prospects for my future social life couldn't possibly be barrener.
- Did I tell you that the prospects for my future social life couldn't be barrener?
Couldn't have put it more succintly myself. Forget about my 'future' social life getting barren, even my current one seems to be getting less fertile. Why else would I blog? Ha Ha. That said, let us begin.
Actually I must be losing my social charm. Yes, This is me and I am saying what you read in the last sentence. Go back and read it if you don't believe me. It'll still say the same thing. What made me come to this earth shattering conclusion? Well, a lot of things the last of which was my weekly train pilgrimage to Chennai. Started on a Friday, and the omens were definitely not good. I had resolved to try and reduce my smoking, which in itself is a very bad omen for me, because it makes me very crabby and restless. Well, you say, you're a crabby and restless old geezer anyway! Ah, yes gentle reader, be that as it may, this particular fact has a bearing on the tale I'm about to relate. So please keep bearing with me.
I got on to the auto to get to the station and got stuck in the traffic. Aren't you tired of hearing that about Bangalore? Yes, you say? Good. Then you can hear it again. I got stuck in traffic. And again. I got stuck in traffic. Hopefully I have milked that point for all its worth, and will proceed.If you think I haven't please do let me know and I will correspond with you personally and repeat that line a hundred times. It helps getting things out of your system, y'know? This time my getting stuck in traffic was made even more enjoyable by the fact that, I got stuck behind a truck. Well, we all do that, so whats so special about you, you may ask? In fact if you haven't gotten bored already and showing great perseverance have reached this point of the narrative, you'd have to be an extremely considerate person not to ask that question. Or pretty dumb, come to think of it. This was one of those tanker type trucks and had a sign which said 'Danger - Inflammable material'.
What it should have said was 'Stop breathing or You'll regret it'. Ever been in a class room where your benchmate had beans for lunch? A lot of beans? And the fan was not working? Let me tell you, that class room was heaven compared to what it smelt like in the auto. I mean, I have a serious doubt whether it was inflammable material or hazardous chemical waste of some sort, that the truck was carrying. The kind of chemical waste that makes teenage mutant Ninja's out of turtles. You know the sort I'm talking about. That was one concept I never could figure out anyway. I mean teenage turtles are bad enough. The one's on Discovery are only interested in eating seaweed and having sex (ostensibly with other teenage turtles). They very rarely seem to call in for pizza's. But mutant teenagers who're turtles and also Ninja's? Whoa... I can tell how much LSD the creator of those characters must have been on...
Actually I must be losing my social charm. Yes, This is me and I am saying what you read in the last sentence. Go back and read it if you don't believe me. It'll still say the same thing. What made me come to this earth shattering conclusion? Well, a lot of things the last of which was my weekly train pilgrimage to Chennai. Started on a Friday, and the omens were definitely not good. I had resolved to try and reduce my smoking, which in itself is a very bad omen for me, because it makes me very crabby and restless. Well, you say, you're a crabby and restless old geezer anyway! Ah, yes gentle reader, be that as it may, this particular fact has a bearing on the tale I'm about to relate. So please keep bearing with me.
I got on to the auto to get to the station and got stuck in the traffic. Aren't you tired of hearing that about Bangalore? Yes, you say? Good. Then you can hear it again. I got stuck in traffic. And again. I got stuck in traffic. Hopefully I have milked that point for all its worth, and will proceed.If you think I haven't please do let me know and I will correspond with you personally and repeat that line a hundred times. It helps getting things out of your system, y'know? This time my getting stuck in traffic was made even more enjoyable by the fact that, I got stuck behind a truck. Well, we all do that, so whats so special about you, you may ask? In fact if you haven't gotten bored already and showing great perseverance have reached this point of the narrative, you'd have to be an extremely considerate person not to ask that question. Or pretty dumb, come to think of it. This was one of those tanker type trucks and had a sign which said 'Danger - Inflammable material'.
What it should have said was 'Stop breathing or You'll regret it'. Ever been in a class room where your benchmate had beans for lunch? A lot of beans? And the fan was not working? Let me tell you, that class room was heaven compared to what it smelt like in the auto. I mean, I have a serious doubt whether it was inflammable material or hazardous chemical waste of some sort, that the truck was carrying. The kind of chemical waste that makes teenage mutant Ninja's out of turtles. You know the sort I'm talking about. That was one concept I never could figure out anyway. I mean teenage turtles are bad enough. The one's on Discovery are only interested in eating seaweed and having sex (ostensibly with other teenage turtles). They very rarely seem to call in for pizza's. But mutant teenagers who're turtles and also Ninja's? Whoa... I can tell how much LSD the creator of those characters must have been on...
Anyways, arrived at the station with my sinuses clogged up. Nothing that an industrial strength drain cleaner couldn't have rectified, after repeated applications (say twenty three or so times). And a whacking great head ache. As luck would have it, bumped into one of my B-School classmates and her friend. We got talking about jobs, and when the friend heard I was with an IT company, she asked me a lot of questions on a career in IT. The regular reader's of this blog will know how comfortable I am with technology, and as for the newbie's suffice to say that I am as technology savvy as you'd like to have a root canal done. Without anesthetics. But alas, my ego got the better of me and I answered the questions posed, with great wit and wisdom, for half an hour. I just hope she didn't take them at face value. I did tell her at the end of the conversation that my wide and varied experience in the IT field was all of two months, though. I somehow don't think it increased my equity with her tremendously. In fact, post the information on my short IT career, it must have fallen like Enron stock after the bankruptcy announcement.
Luckily the train arrived and saved me the necessity of being stared at like the insect found mixed up in the tambram mama's curd rice (Only by the friend, and not by everyone else at the station. That bit comes later). Its called the Shataabdi (the train, not the insect), which translates into 'anniversary' (I think), and also 'the train that is as comfortable as having someone stick a pin into your backside' (I'm sure). Boo had traveled by this epitome of comfort and gave me rave reviews on the culinary accomplishments of the catering coach. I was really looking forward to the journey (Little did I know). I've got to get even with her one of these days. Probably convince her about a skiing holiday in the Sahara or a clubbing and pubbing holiday in Afghanistan or some such, and send her off. Before getting in, as usual, I checked the passenger list to a.) ensure that I had been recorded in the manifesto as a 'male' and also of the correct age. Proving these two, if they've been put down wrongly is rather embarrassing in public and the former more so than the latter. Especially if you have a loud Railway official, demanding proof. And b.) hopefully check if the person next to me was female and went by the name of Isabelle Adjani or Salma Hayek. Situation a.) has happened more often than situation b.)
I got onto the train, in the AC compartment after being poked and prodded in various places by the luggage of various people, who seemed doubtful about their seats vanishing into thin air if they didn't get on in thirty seconds. By virtue of being thin, I managed to get in, in one piece. 'You can never be too thin or too rich' as the Duchess of windsor once said to me in a personal communique.
The lady next to me was of obvious tambram vintage ( I should know, I'm one of them myself. Besides I got to know her name while exploring the possibility of situation b.) described above). The man on the other side of my seat was around fiftyish. So in all innocent anticipation of an exciting journey, I smiled at both of them and clambered into my seat. I should have known it wouldn't go well from their stares in return. Made me seriously think about getting plastic surgery done. I mean if my being pleasant can evoke that kind of a response..... The lady was loaded with gizmo's and I immediately started getting rashes (refer para 5 above for my reaction to technology). She pulled out a laptop, which could have qualified for a home theatre system, or even just a theatre (it was that big) and started watching a movie.
Then I realised that the fan was on and combined with the AC this was creating to a column of cold air that seemed very pleased to crawl down my spine though my collar. I considered wearing my wind cheater and pulling on the hood, but realized that a 50 Cent lookalike would probably not be very welcome in the compartment, and besides would I'd look like an idiot (more so than I normally do. Why exacerbate things?). So gathered up courage and asked the gizmo queen to switch off the fan (she was hovering over the switch like protective mother). She stared at me like I'd made an indecent proposal and muttered 'Its hot'. Yeah right! It would've been hot if you were an Eskimo probably, but to normal Indian like me.... See what I meant about my social life earlier? Sat through the whole goddam journey hoping and praying for the fan to conk out.
She turned the laptop away so that I couldn't see the movie. At least she tried to, and considering the size of the bloody thing, this was an impossibility. I've seen people who had tickets to first day first shows of 'Sivaji', who were less conceited, and students watching their first porn flick who were less secretive, than her. It was bloody difficult not to watch the movie too, considering the fact that the bloody screen was almost covering half the compartment. I turned to the gentleman seated on the other side,, and a very shifty sort he was too. He was reading a book on taxation, obviously for the express purpose of avoiding them (Lets face it, do you know anyone who would read a book on taxes, just for entertainment on the train?). He was obviously someone to avoid.
By now the much vaunted food started arriving. The first course was a Sandwich. It just a little old and a little tough and crusty. I mean it must have been prepared somewhere in 2 B.C. As for the toughness, the Navy SEALS could have used it in their bullet proof vests instead of Kevlar. Managed to eat it though (one of the great achievements of my life, eating that sandwich). The next thing to come was Tomato soup. It had the delightful taste and consistency of th hot salt water I used to gargle with, during periods of throat infection. the high point was when the shifty man sitting next to me dropped the whole gunk of Amul butter provided for the sandwich into the soup and drank this stirring mixture. Very stirring it was. In fact, my whole stomach was stirring with horror at this combo. It was all I could do not to throw up into his lap.
Lay back and tried to meditate the way I had learnt in the deepest reaches of Tibet (see earlier post on kung fu for further info on this). And dinner arrived. There was a sabji, which seemed to contain some animal matter of an alien nature (it was a vegetarian dinner mind you) and a dal which seemed to contain some plant matter of alien nature. There was also another side dish, which contained indeterminate matter of alien nature (some where in in the evolution chain between animals and plants bought from a galaxy far, far, away probably?) Ate this also. You may marvel at my perseverance, but I had paid for the ticket after all, and all this came with the fare.
After all this persecution reached Chennai, feeling that the Spanish Inquisition should have been a picnic compared to the Shataabdi. Too bad they didn't have this train back in Spain. People would have confessed more easily, after a jaunt on it. Went home to hot Rasam, amazing Potato curry and Curd Rice. A proper dinner.
My life isn't all hardships, come to think of it...
Luckily the train arrived and saved me the necessity of being stared at like the insect found mixed up in the tambram mama's curd rice (Only by the friend, and not by everyone else at the station. That bit comes later). Its called the Shataabdi (the train, not the insect), which translates into 'anniversary' (I think), and also 'the train that is as comfortable as having someone stick a pin into your backside' (I'm sure). Boo had traveled by this epitome of comfort and gave me rave reviews on the culinary accomplishments of the catering coach. I was really looking forward to the journey (Little did I know). I've got to get even with her one of these days. Probably convince her about a skiing holiday in the Sahara or a clubbing and pubbing holiday in Afghanistan or some such, and send her off. Before getting in, as usual, I checked the passenger list to a.) ensure that I had been recorded in the manifesto as a 'male' and also of the correct age. Proving these two, if they've been put down wrongly is rather embarrassing in public and the former more so than the latter. Especially if you have a loud Railway official, demanding proof. And b.) hopefully check if the person next to me was female and went by the name of Isabelle Adjani or Salma Hayek. Situation a.) has happened more often than situation b.)
I got onto the train, in the AC compartment after being poked and prodded in various places by the luggage of various people, who seemed doubtful about their seats vanishing into thin air if they didn't get on in thirty seconds. By virtue of being thin, I managed to get in, in one piece. 'You can never be too thin or too rich' as the Duchess of windsor once said to me in a personal communique.
The lady next to me was of obvious tambram vintage ( I should know, I'm one of them myself. Besides I got to know her name while exploring the possibility of situation b.) described above). The man on the other side of my seat was around fiftyish. So in all innocent anticipation of an exciting journey, I smiled at both of them and clambered into my seat. I should have known it wouldn't go well from their stares in return. Made me seriously think about getting plastic surgery done. I mean if my being pleasant can evoke that kind of a response..... The lady was loaded with gizmo's and I immediately started getting rashes (refer para 5 above for my reaction to technology). She pulled out a laptop, which could have qualified for a home theatre system, or even just a theatre (it was that big) and started watching a movie.
Then I realised that the fan was on and combined with the AC this was creating to a column of cold air that seemed very pleased to crawl down my spine though my collar. I considered wearing my wind cheater and pulling on the hood, but realized that a 50 Cent lookalike would probably not be very welcome in the compartment, and besides would I'd look like an idiot (more so than I normally do. Why exacerbate things?). So gathered up courage and asked the gizmo queen to switch off the fan (she was hovering over the switch like protective mother). She stared at me like I'd made an indecent proposal and muttered 'Its hot'. Yeah right! It would've been hot if you were an Eskimo probably, but to normal Indian like me.... See what I meant about my social life earlier? Sat through the whole goddam journey hoping and praying for the fan to conk out.
She turned the laptop away so that I couldn't see the movie. At least she tried to, and considering the size of the bloody thing, this was an impossibility. I've seen people who had tickets to first day first shows of 'Sivaji', who were less conceited, and students watching their first porn flick who were less secretive, than her. It was bloody difficult not to watch the movie too, considering the fact that the bloody screen was almost covering half the compartment. I turned to the gentleman seated on the other side,, and a very shifty sort he was too. He was reading a book on taxation, obviously for the express purpose of avoiding them (Lets face it, do you know anyone who would read a book on taxes, just for entertainment on the train?). He was obviously someone to avoid.
By now the much vaunted food started arriving. The first course was a Sandwich. It just a little old and a little tough and crusty. I mean it must have been prepared somewhere in 2 B.C. As for the toughness, the Navy SEALS could have used it in their bullet proof vests instead of Kevlar. Managed to eat it though (one of the great achievements of my life, eating that sandwich). The next thing to come was Tomato soup. It had the delightful taste and consistency of th hot salt water I used to gargle with, during periods of throat infection. the high point was when the shifty man sitting next to me dropped the whole gunk of Amul butter provided for the sandwich into the soup and drank this stirring mixture. Very stirring it was. In fact, my whole stomach was stirring with horror at this combo. It was all I could do not to throw up into his lap.
Lay back and tried to meditate the way I had learnt in the deepest reaches of Tibet (see earlier post on kung fu for further info on this). And dinner arrived. There was a sabji, which seemed to contain some animal matter of an alien nature (it was a vegetarian dinner mind you) and a dal which seemed to contain some plant matter of alien nature. There was also another side dish, which contained indeterminate matter of alien nature (some where in in the evolution chain between animals and plants bought from a galaxy far, far, away probably?) Ate this also. You may marvel at my perseverance, but I had paid for the ticket after all, and all this came with the fare.
After all this persecution reached Chennai, feeling that the Spanish Inquisition should have been a picnic compared to the Shataabdi. Too bad they didn't have this train back in Spain. People would have confessed more easily, after a jaunt on it. Went home to hot Rasam, amazing Potato curry and Curd Rice. A proper dinner.
My life isn't all hardships, come to think of it...
