42 Quirks

Once upon a time there was a boy named Baba.

Baba was born into a family which was quite poor. They were so poor that the only birthdays they celebrated were when they were born. Obviously, none of them remembered any of it. In fact, they were deemed socially poor BECAUSE they were economically poor and that bothered Baba a lot.

However, that did not deter Baba from wanting to get educated. He studied wherever he could – under the street lights, in the midst of a noisy crowd. All he needed was a little bit of time & a little bit of space. Such was his thirst for knowledge. And it paid ample dividends.

Baba became one of the most well-read, well-educated & well-respected people in the country.

He went on to write a very important book. The book was so important that it was read by everyone, everywhere in the country and referred to at all times. They referred to it when the country was at war, they referred to it when the country was at peace. They referred to it when the country needed guidance, they referred to it when the country didn’t need it at all!

They first referred to it when the rulers of the country changed & have been referring to it ever since…

One very important part of the book that Baba wrote involved a series of statements that went like this:

• To become socially rich, one must become economically rich.
• To become economically rich, one must be backed by the socially rich.
• The only way to break this vicious circle is by ‘booking’.

The ‘booking’ concept was quite radical. You book certain seats in the socially rich section for the socially poor & help them become economically rich and thus, socially rich. Once enough among the socially poor become socially rich (ergo economically rich) you stop these ‘bookings’ & let things go back to their previous state of affairs.

Baba was quite happy with this state of affairs & believed that the entire ‘reductio ad absurdum’ would now mean that nobody would be socially poor!

But where there’s a flight, there are hijackers waiting to usurp control.

This radical concept of ‘bookings’ was clearly a flight of fancy & hence it was duly hijacked & redirected on a direct collision course towards the twin towers of Equality & Justice. And that’s how both of them crashed to the ground.

Thus, as a direct result of the bookings, the socially poor got economically richer, the economically rich got socially richer & the socially rich weren’t the least bit bothered – since it was no skin off their nose, anyway.

One eventful result of this radical bit of thinking was that it earned Baba a lot of followers – some even crossed the line to become his ‘disciples’! His teachings weren’t exclusive but they took the plunge anyway. His disciples ensured that Baba was accorded the respect he always deserved wherever he went – not that anybody wasn’t willing to give it – but they went ahead and stamped their authority anyway; for want of better things to do in life.

Had Baba known, he would certainly be offended about it. But he was long dead by the time this happened. Dead people take no offense, you see, so all was well with the world.

The disciples sang his praises, erected shrines for him, celebrated his birthday year-after-year – they did everything he had always wanted to do, but couldn’t do for various reasons. There wasn’t a handbook to follow per se, but in retrospect, they thought they had managed it quite efficiently & they happily went about patting their backs.

And so it came to be that the boy named Baba, who had NEVER seen a birthday cake in his life, saw his birthday being celebrated with huge processions from point A to point B, with ‘walls’ of loudspeakers blaring the latest popular hits – all done with the sole purpose of ‘ keeping his memory alive’.

- The End -

PS: A few people wondered whether memory & loud-speakers were really connected. Extensive research was conducted into the correlation between memory & loud-speakers, but nobody was able to come up with a satisfactory explanation. Also, it made the disciples unhappy & the subject was dropped anon, without any further explanation.

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Disclaimer: The fictional nature of this post is directly proportional to the readers’ inclination towards irrational fundamentalism. Cheers.

No, this isn’t me selling film tickets in black. This is me getting hitched.

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.

:)

(Thanks to hummingcrow@Flickr for the original pic! Remixed using BeFunky.)

Finally, posting the (grand?) finale!!

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

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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.
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(Thanks to hummingcrow@Flickr for the original pic! Remixed using BeFunky.)
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As promised, here’s the part 2/3 of “24 & Dead.” On time. :)

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.
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(Thanks to hummingcrow@Flickr for the original pic! Remixed using BeFunky.)
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I have realized that I need to write my stories in one sitting. Whenever I take a break, it also breaks the flow of thought, character, humor, crispness – basically everything about the story.

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.
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“Why do you hate the rains so much?”

She was sitting near the window, cradling a cup of steaming, hot coffee, with her legs pulled up. He was sitting up on the bed, papers strewn all around him. She had a mischievous twinkle in her eyes – hard to resist.

“I don’t hate them. I just…” He groped for the correct word – ‘detest’? ‘loathe’? Too strong. ‘dislike’? Too safe. ‘avoid’? Too open. “… don’t like them!” Perfect.

“What’s not to like? Rains are good. Rains wash away everything – from dirt stains, to heart pains.”

“That’s good. Send that one to the Readers’ Digest. They’ll lap it up.”

“Are you mocking me?” He thought he detected a flash of irritation.

“Me? Mock you?” He threw up both hands in mock-horror. She found it endearing. “The mere thought!”

“Oh yes, you are!” the mischievous twinkle was back. Before he knew it, she pounced on the nearest sheaf of papers, picked them up and ran out of the room, yelling to him, “They are yours, if you can catch me!”
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He hated the rain.

“Rains are good. Rains wash away everything – from dirt stains, to heart pains,” she said. And he smiled.

She had this knack of coming up with such gems every now and then.

One time she’d said, “I think there’s no free will. We always have a reason for everything we do, right?” He nodded a yes. “That means everything we do fulfills a definite purpose, right?” He nodded a yes, again. “If everything has a purpose, and everything we do is intended to fulfill that purpose, it implies that everything is pre-destined and free will has no part to play in it!”

Seven seconds later, he smiled and nodded.
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