The premise is this: You are a millionaire and your ‘mission’ is to find someone/some cause to ‘help’. To do this, you must first live anonymously in a community far removed from your home. You start with zero money, you earn your own living through the week, you meet people, make friends and acquaint yourselves with their lives. At the end of the week, you give away thousands of pounds of your own money to people who you think need/deserve it.

EVERYTHING in that description is contrary to popular understanding of the social mores. And yet, it produces a whole plethora of emotions you didn’t know you were capable of.

Watch it at least once. Seriously.

Over the last few years,  I have had this happen to me on a number of occasions. Just when I think I should call it a day,  the brain starts buzzing with possibilities in haven’t considered and probabilities that merit considerable attention. What is truly irritating is the fact that these ‘flashes of brilliance’ disappear into oblivion byvthe time you are ready and fresh to start a new day.

The ideal thing to do would be to collect this information and make a note of it – write a diary,  record a memo/note-to-self,  post a blight, you get the general idea. However, the ensuing back-and-forth of opinions between the brain and a very tired body often leads to the latter being declared victorious more often and most of these ideas end up being lost for eternity or until a strange set of coincidences causes them to be invoked at some random point in time.

One reason, I suspect, is that we have genetically evolved to take an account of the day when we lay our tired bodies to rest. (The idea merits more attention when you consider the ‘life-flashing-before-your-eyes’ metaphor.) I suspect our brains have been programmed to analyze all the information collected during the day and draw conclusions relevant to our existence – either by way of opinions or ideas.

Not unlike a personal assistant would do at the end of a day at the office.

Taking the metaphor a step further, the personal assistant would probably expect you to have acted on the information provided and will not bother reminding you until you explicitly state it.

Yeah, that must be it, I guess.

Knees cocked, arms to the side,
I slowly lean towards the tide.
The vast expanse of ocean blue,
Presents itself, an enchanting view.
Will it be glory? Will it be a wraith?
I wonder & take the leap of faith…

——
I will be quitting my job at Radio Mirchi at the end of this month. In other words, yours truly will no longer be “RJ Shrikant” anymore.

:)

Yes, the blast was a cowardly act.
Yes, it only spilled innocent blood.
Yes, the perpetrators were inhuman.
Yes, they *could* have been interecepted.
Yes, there are a zillion ways things could have been different.

But they aren’t. So live with it.

Stop blaming the authorities. Stop blaming everyone else. Stop pointing that finger all over the place. If that finger did not have indelible ink last year, then you have no right to raise it – much less point it at anyone.

I have always wondered why our voluntary emergency response is always much better than the Emergency Response Teams. The answer, it recently struck me, is actually quite simple: the volunteers work out of passion, and not merely out of a sense of duty. The former ensures efficiency while the latter is the cause of mediocrity – both, at all levels.

Add to that the absence of an Emergency Reporting System – something akin to 9-1-1 in the U.S. or 9-9-9 in the U.K. – one single, short, number that can provide ALL sorts of Emergency Medical services AND be easily remembered by everyone. They did try the stunt with 1-0-0 a while back – but clearly, it has come to no use. Then again, other derivative numbers like 1-0-2 & 1-0-5 and 1-0-8 pretty much confused the hell out of everyone. By the time, anything was operational – everything was confusing & no one chose to utilize ANY of the number.

So how do we get this one single number working & operational?

Well, I have an idea:

Thanks to out-sourcing, India has a large number of call-centers, right? Say, a few of the larger ones (or many of the smaller ones) promise to dedicate 1% – 5% of their resources to the EMS call-centre (let’s assume for convenience, that it is) 1-0-8. Let’s say, hypothetically, the government decides to make their operational costs of allocating these resources tax-deductible – as an incentive for “social responsibility” or some such arrangement is arrived at, somehow.

We, the people, will have an Emergency Response Service with a dedicated number 1-0-8 & a (fairly) dedicated set of people on the other end of the line – not just some bored, apathetic, cynical, underpaid & over-worked cop, who’s sure that the caller is a crank even before s/he picks up the phone.

I want to actually work on this plan – on a city-wide scale first, then the state & then, hopefully take it country-wide. Any leads are welcome, any body willing to add their ideas is welcome, anybody willing to join forces with me is more than welcome. This time around, I want to DO something – something concrete, tangible; something that will *actually* help.

I don’t want to sit around uttering those two stupid words:

“What if…”

Yes. You read it right – hitched.

United.
Wedded.
Espoused.
Matrimony.
Saying I Do.
Tying the knot.
Led to the Altar.

Yes.

Here’s the wedding invite:

Yes, her name’s Gauri. She’s my sweetheart from college days. She currently teaches Psychology to Grad students studying the SNDT curriculum. She’s commented on my posts often – as “Simple Thoughts,” “Maitrai” & herself…

Yes, a crazy RJ like me needs a ‘psycho’ professor like her. Ha ha. :P

No, our parents didn’t object. (Okay, they did object a little, but thankfully, they came around soon enough.)

We’re getting wedded on the 22nd of Jan (yes, that’s two days from now) in a simple court-signing style without any ceremony. We’re hosting a dinner to celebrate the momentous occasion.

This is where it’s happening:
Suryoday Hall, Sai-Section, Ambernath (E)

For the Techies:
Google Maps link: http://bit.ly/MyWaterloo
GPS co-ordinates:
Long: 73 deg 10.922 min E
Lat: 19 deg 12.3874 min N

If you are in the vicinity, do drop by. I’d love it if you could be there.

:)

Having read a few works by the two authors, enough to be acquainted with their work, I decided to read further. I am glad I did, because I was thoroughly impressed by the comparison that Stuart MacMillen made in his comic.

Wikipedia has a good primer about Aldous Huxley & George Orwell; but if you’re feeling lazy, here’s the gist of it: George Orwell was the one who wrote the classics like “1984” & “Animal Farm” which gave birth to the classic quote, “Big Brother is watching you.” Aldous Huxley, on the other hand was the man behind “Brave New World” – a book I haven’t entirely finished reading.

I hadn’t given either of the books a second thought until I found this comic – it put them in an entirely new perspective for me!

The image I have uploaded is the final strip of Stuart’s comic – but not a spoiler in any sense. The entire image is too large to display here, and I wouldn’t want to take away any credit (& traffic, too!) from Stuart.

Check out the entire article, “Amusing Ourselves to Death” at Stuart’s website Recombinant Records.

I’ve been tagged. Again.

A dear friend of mine tagged me with this meme a while back. For lack of interesting content & imagination to post a story, I’ll try & enthusiastically (?) answer the questions, hoping my answers will entertain you.

Here we go. Again.
——–
RULES:

• You can only answer yes or no.
• You are NOT ALLOWED to explain ANYTHING unless someone messages or comments you and asks.

Ready, Set, Go!

I break rules — Yes
Been arrested? — NO!
Kissed someone you didn’t like? — No
Slept in until 5 PM? — Yes
Ran a red light? — Yes
Been suspended from school? — NO
Experienced love at first sight? — YES
Totaled your car in an accident? — NO
Been fired from a job? — NO
Fired somebody? — NO
Sang karaoke? — NO!
Pointed a gun at someone? — No
Done something you told yourself you wouldn’t? — Yes.
Caught a snowflake on your tongue? — NO
Kissed in the rain? — No (?)
Had a close brush with death (your own)? — YES.
Seen someone die? — No.
Played spin-the-bottle? — No.
Smoked a cigar? — Yes.
Sat on a rooftop? — Yes.
Smuggled something into another country? — No.
Been pushed into a pool with all your clothes? — No.
Broken a bone? — Yes
Skipped school? — No.
Eaten a bug? — No!
Sleepwalked? — No.
Walked a moonlit beach? — Yes…
Dumped someone? — Yes. No.
Lied to avoid a ticket? — Yes.
Ridden in a helicopter? — No.
Shaved your head? No.
Made your girlfriend cry? — Yes
Eaten snake? — No.
Marched/Protested? — No.
Had Mexican jumping beans for pets? — No.
Puked on amusement ride? — No.
Seriously & intentionally boycotted something? — No.
Been in a band? — No.
Been on TV? — Yes.
Shot a gun? — No.
Skinny-dipped? — No.
Gave someone stitches? — No.
Ridden a surfboard? — no.
Drank straight from a liquor bottle? — Yes.
Had surgery? — Erm, yes.
Streaked? — No.
Taken by ambulance to hospital? — No.
Passed out when not drinking? — No.
Peed on a bush? — YES!
Donated Blood? — No.
Grabbed electric fence? — No.
Eaten alligator meat? — No.
Killed an animal when not hunting? — No
Peed your pants in public? — No.
Snuck into a movie without paying? — No.
Written graffiti? — No.
Still love someone you shouldn’t? — No.
Been involved in/witnessed a natural disaster? — No.
Met a celebrity? — Yes.
Been in handcuffs? — No.
Believe in love? — Y.E.S. :)
——–
I’m also supposed to tag 15 friends. But I won’t. Reasons?

I’m too lazy.
I’m scared I’ll be killed for passing on such silly time-pass.
I don’t know 15 people.
There aren’t 15 people who’ll read this post.

The last one is true. Honest. :P

Finally, posting the (grand?) finale!!

I suggest, you read 24 & Dead – Part 1 & 24 & Dead – Part II before you continue…

—-

The fuckin meteorite had broken my toes, caused the girl and my cellphone to split, and worse, it had also fried my phone’s innards. I stopped to think – how did that happen? Magnetism? I looked at my watch. It was broken, but working. Radioactivity? Maybe… If that was it, it could be frying my innards, too.

And at that moment I knew I was going to die. I was only twenty-four and I was about to die. Pity.

I thought of fighting death till my last breath and all that poetic, euphemistic jazz. Then I realized that even if I were to make it out of here alive, I would still have to fight my extreme [blood]-phobia, somehow get to a payphone, call Emergency services, and hold on to ‘dear life’ until they managed to locate me – because I did not have a clue as to where I was. And even if they did find me they’d have to do so within the next few hours – because I estimated I’d be dead anyway by sunrise.

And then again, even if this miracle somehow DOES happen, there’s still the suspected radioactivity to consider. Already I could feel my DNA mutating, my genes shifting, my chromosomes doing whatever-it-is-that-they-do, my balls hurting… (Okay, so the last one wasn’t due to the radioactivity, so what?) Plus, I had nothing in my stomach – no food, no pills, nothing.

I’d once attended a camp at a cop-school when I was a kid. There was this guy with a deep baritone, and thick moustache who used to give motivtional speeches. I could clearly picture him saying, “If you are stuck in a situation, don’t panic. Do a quick S-W-O-T analysis. The solution will come to you.”

So I did a S-W-O-T analysis. This is what came out:

Strengths – Not enough to move the meteo-fuckin-rite.
Weakness – Too much and growing.
Threats – Death.
Opportunity – None, as far as I/eye could see.

No solution. Only panic setting in. Not good.

I tried other tacks as well – as many as I could remember. Scout camp, Survival camp, First day of college, Ragging, Office, Girlfriends. None worked. The last one did give me some momentary distraction, but then my balls began to hurt even more, so I decided not to get distracted – momentarily or otherwise. One thing all these ‘tacks’ definitely did was, add to the panic. Definitely NOT good.

In this entire process, what I hadn’t realized was it was almost sunrise. And my estimates had been right. Another few minutes and the first rays of the sun would pierce the horizon and I’d die a slow, painful, burning death.

In the last few minutes of my life, I thought about how ironic it all had turned out to be. Just a few months back, I was twenty-four, extremely successful, the hot-shot guy with the hot-shot car, rising up the ranks like nobody’s business. And then like any other fairy-tale, I met this hot chick, fell in love with her and we decided to get married.

So far, so good.

Now with 20/20 hindsight, I could see that the signs were there all the time. I just never noticed them. For example, she used to say, she liked me the way I was – twenty-four, young and hot-blooded. I thought she’s was being understanding & sweet. We’d meet only at night, but I attributed to her being a nymphomaniac. I even remembered having secretly thanked my stars back then!

So, when she said those fateful words, I should have realized right there and then that it would all end in disaster especially for me. I had the peculiarly extreme hematophobia, remember??

But, I did what I did, and I have no regrets about it. Especially now, that I am about to die.

They say that the best way to kill us is to drive a wooden stake through our heart, or shoot us with silver, or stuff garlic – into us or around you. I was always careful to avoid any and all of the above.

What the heck, at least I’ll die doing something my ‘new-found’ brethren would never do – watch the sun rise.
—–

:)

I suggest, you read “24 & Dead – Part I” before you continue.
——

So. There I was, minding my own business, eyeing the hot chick across the road, trying to think up a suitable pick-up line, when all of a sudden, there was this huge crashing noise. And then, predictably, the next thing I remember was that I was down on the road with this huge boulder was lying on my foot. My toes had been smashed. To a pulp. But you already know that. So I’ll skip that part.

Typical story, right? In fact, you know what happened next, don’t you? A huge crowd gathered around me, and someone made a frantic call to Emergency Services, while others tried to move the boulder, etc. Frankly speaking, I would have loved to say that, too – but I’d be lying.

There was no one except me and the chick, and she took one look at me, the boulder, and she split – just like that. Whatever happened to humanity and the human milk of kindness? I’m sure this one was busy staring at liposuction ads when the human milk of kindness was being distributed.

So anyway, there I am lying on the road, in the middle of nowhere, with a boulder on my feet – which are completely smashed to a pulp – and not one soul around.

Must be my lucky day.

I tried reaching into my pocket for my cellphone. It hurt real bad. But I had to do it – so I did and somehow got it out. And then I realised that I shouldn’t have done it.

You see, the impact of the boulder caused two things to happen. One it led me to my current state, as I have described until now. Two, when I landed on the ground, I happened to sit on my cellphone, thus breaking it into two separate parts. And before I could entertain any ideas of somehow trying to hold the pieces together to make it work, I realised that it was actually worse than it looked.

The circuits were fried too.

And then, I took a long hard look at the boulder. And it was the that I realised, it wasn’t a boulder at all.

It was a meteorite. A FUCKIN METEORITE.

what are the odds of anyone getting hit by a meteorite, on a lonely road, somewhere in the outskirts of town, when you are minding your own business, maybe, trying to hit on a girl, who also, happens to be the *only* other soul within miles?

Well, my last girl used to say I was one in a zillion. And I used to tell her, ‘Honey, there ain’t so many people in the fuckin universe!’ I guess this little incident was probably the fuckin-universe trying to fuckin-prove my fuckin ex-fuckin-girlfriend fuckin-right!!

So much for gender-equality, I say.

—–

Have I still managed to retain the suspense? :)

Hence, a few of my previous stories have been *really* crappy – sorry about that. Hope this one isn’t – because this just happens to be a one-sitting story. Enjoy! :)
—–

I’m 24. I am dead. Not a good situation to be in, right?

Isn’t it funny, though? I mean, there are a zillion ways of saying, “I am dead.” They are called euphemisms, I’m told. But they all mean the same to me – dipshit. I mean, who cares if I have ‘moved on’ or ‘breathed my last’? I ain’t around to hear how beauti-fuckin-fully you are depicting the end of my existence, am I now? So what difference does that make to me?

But it isn’t my fault, really. I was right there minding my own business, when this huge boulder came crashing down and fell right on my toes.

Yeah, my toes – you got a problem with that? Good. You’d better not.

Because I do. I mean, What a way to die!! WHAT a F**KIN STUPID, PATHETIC, SORRY-ASS, WAY TO F**KIN DIE!! 24 years old, and dead! Dead as a dodo. Dead as a door-nail. Dead as a- oh fuck it, who cares? I’m dead and that’s all there is to it.

Before you go Sherlock on me, no, I do NOT have diabetes or any of that shit that causes blood to stop coagulating. What’s coagulating? That’s when blood clots form after a wound, ya nincompoop! My blood is perfectly fine, thank you very much.

Actually, it was my brain. My brain got fried – like a bloody overloaded computer motherboard. You see, I cannot stand the sight of blood. I go dizzy. I faint. I lose consciousness. Yeah, it’s called extreme hematophobia, I know. I would f**kin know, wouldn’t I? I mean, I f**kin suffered from it for twenty-four f**kin years of my life, for cryin out loud!!

And so here we are. I am 24. My toes were crushed by a boulder. I am dead.

Back to square one.

Twenty-four and dead. Sounds like a movie title. Maybe they’ll even make one. ‘The gory-story of the young guy who died because a boulder smashed his toes to a pulp! Coming soon to theatre near you!’

Maybe they’ll call it “Pulped (to a) Friction” if that Tarantino guy makes the bloody movie – after all he makes the gory ones, doesn’t he?

Oh, who am I kidding? There’s no movie. There’s never gonna be one. Ever. The most I can get maybe, is a feature on one of those new-fangled sites on the internet. Niche segemnt, they call themselves. Perverse, I call them. Or maybe, I’ll get a teeny-tiny-fuckin-insert in a pathetic little yellow publication. If I’m lucky enough, that is.

You are probably thinking, ‘Who’s this guy? Why the f**k is he ranting? How did he die?’

It doesn’t matter who I am. You don’t know me. You don’t NEED to know me. That’s all there is to it. That answers your first question. For the second question, I want you to picture this – you are 24 and you’re dead. Because a boulder fell on your toes. And as an added bonus, your brain got fried, too. Wouldn’t YOU be ranting? That, I believe, answers your second question.

Okay, I understand that the entire twenty-four and boulder-smashing-toes and brain-getting-friend motif is getting a little boring now. But it’s because I am a little pissed with myself – for being a little too careless. And I want to thank you for your patience for hearing me out so far. I just wanted to get that out of my system.

Oh wait, I forgot. I DON’T have a system now. Whatever.

(To be continued)

—–
Author’s Note:
I have split the story into parts for one simple reason – I want to check whether the suspense is enduring. Would appreciate thoughts on the same…

Next post within seven days. Assured. :D