Goodbye

Goodbye

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I could say Au revoir or Adios or any other fancy goodbye, shed a tear or two and dramatically wipe them but I think blogger deserves none. And I am partly to blame considering I put up with it for a good year and a half. It’s time for something better and that time is now. I’ve moved to Wordpress and I hope to see you guys there. Let’s go!

Desi Melomane

Desi Melomane

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If there’s one thing we are all exceptionally good at, it is to criticize, carp, pass judgment and in the process, mock what others do. Oh come on, don’t be modest. Yes we do. Let’s say it together this time: Yes We Do!! I’m no saint and I’m a victim of that disease too. But instead of getting help to change my attitude, I decided to take the highway and put it to good use – by starting a blog to critique Music Albums! My love for music is something that keeps my motor running every day and it is only fair that I share the joy. My first post is up here and I’m excited! Do move along, read them and give me your feedback!

P.S: If anyone still cares, this blog is not going anywhere. I will continue to haunt you in the mild yet creepy way that I have always been fond of; because let’s face it, one can only tolerate so much change at a time right?

Cheers!

I Bet You Never Saw It Coming

I Bet You Never Saw It Coming

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“Let’s go Bananas! Bananas! Bananas! Bananas!

 Bananas! Bananas! Bananas!

 Let’s go Bananas! Bananas! Bananas! Bananas!

 Bananas! Bananas! Bananas!”

No, I haven’t had an episode of non compos mentis, nor have I indeed gone bananas. Not yet at least. This is the chorus from a song called ‘Hey Mr. DJ’ from the movie ‘Phata Poster Nikhla Hero’ which recently caught my attention on account of the ridiculous use of the word ‘Bananas’. It’s been used, brace yourself, FIFTY SIX times in the entire song, so much so that I have added it to the playlist titled ‘Listen when Constipated’ along with the likes of Lungi Dance from Chennai Express, Bang Bang from The Great Gatsby and Harlem Shake. Just to be clear, the name of the playlist is to be comprehended literally. Like literally.

I am the kind of person who smirks and sniggers crudely when I hear my parents or grandparents comment in utter disappointment and disapproval about ‘the songs these days.’ There is a video I saw recently about how a “brown” parent would have reacted to Wrecking Ball (Miley Cyrus). If you haven’t seen it yet, please do and you will agree with me that it is quite an accurate description of the aforementioned situation (maybe slightly exaggerated but hey, I’m not one to judge; either this video or the intended Miley Cyrus video). I mean, it’s understandable right? It is, after all, because of generation gap right?

Wrong.

If you pay attention to the songs these days, in particular the lyrics, this is probably how you would retort:

On a closer examination, I grasped that the songs fall broadly into the following six categories

(Note: A strictly Desi observation. Adjust please):

1)    Damn I’ve lost my vocabulary

Samuel Coleridge once said that poetry is nothing but the best words in the best order. I think the person who wrote the song, Malang from Dhoom 3 took it a little too seriously:

Dum malang malang

Dum dum malang malang

Malang malang dum dum

Malang malang, malang malang

Dum ishq, ishq hai malang mera

Yes, we understand that you are madly in love; besotted, infatuated and smitten. We get it. Really. What we don’t get is how one sings this song the first time without getting tongue-twisted. Try it. I mean it.

2)   The Yo Yo Honey Sting Phenomena

When he began his career with songs like Angrezi Beat from the album International Villager and the title track of the Tamil movie, Ethir Neechal, I was pleasantly surprised and it was quite frankly, refreshing to hear a different style of Desi Hip Hop/R&B in Bollywood. But now, whenever I listen to a new Hindi song, I wait in bated breath for the first fifteen seconds, desperately hoping that I won’t hear “Yo Yo Honey Singggghhhhuuuuuu!” Overdose. Plain and simple.

3)   Bitch, I can rhyme

I shall admit here that I find sentences with rhyming words absolutely fascinating, as is evident from some of my blog posts. I find unparalleled joy when my sentences rhyme. My friends have pointed out, exasperatedly, that I have been using them way more often than is advisable or humanly tolerable. In this backdrop, do you think it is at all possible for a person like me to find rhyming words in sentences weary and gross? Yes.

Blue Eyes, hypnotize teri kardi a mennu

I swear! Choti dress mein bomb lagdi mennu

           

Even though this song, Blue Eyes by the YoYoDude killed the charts, it also killed my soul and the little respect I had for him. The levels of laziness displayed in the lyrics never fail to bewilder me. Oh and one more of the YoYoDude from Lungi Dance:

Ghar pe jake tum Google karlo

Mere bare mein Wikipedia pe padlo

Creativity just died; and spins (not rolls) in its grave every time someone hears this song. Given everything said so far, it is only fair to expect crazy shit from a YoYoDude’s song but this is just too much ya. I weep for the future of Desi Music.

4)   Like you’re listening anyway

A Matt Groening said “I know all those words but that sentence makes no sense to me.” More often than not, we find ourselves in such a situation and that was precisely my response when I first heard the song Oye Boy Charlie:

O my baby baby

Tera chakkar chala jalebi

I did a Google search on what the second line meant and the result had me in splits: “Your whirlpool circles around me like a jalebi.” Now every time I have a Jalebi, I sing this line to the person next to me; which I now I realize is perhaps why people avoid me at weddings. Sigh.

5)  Pay me a million and I will come up with a word. A lousy non-existent word. Even two.

1 2 3 4 Get on the dance floor

Booty Shake Booty Shake

Dapaankoothu Hardcore

Shoulder Hichik Michik

Body Hichik Michik

Gimme gimme gimme gimme

Gimme gimme some more

Stop shaking your booty! And what the hell is hichik michik? I pray, from the very bottom of my heart, stop asking us to:
Give you Give you Give you Give you 
Give you Give you some more.
Whatever it may be.

6)   I was too cools for English grammar classes

It’s become acceptable these days to say “I do party all night.” What else do you do-do all night? And when will you stop do-doing whatever you did-do all night? And then there’s this beautiful and melodious song from Student of the Year called ‘Ishq Wala Love.’ Ishq means love. And love means, well, love. So what is Love Wala Love?

There’s probably more but I fear that if I keep digging, I may eventually stop listening to music altogether. Now that would be a catastrophe considering it is the only thing that’s keeping me from screaming at people in an Arnab Goswami fashion. So I guess all this proves is that, in a way, our parents’ and grandparents’ reactions are justified; and that we are headed in a path that has little or no direction. Basically it’s depressing. So whatodoo?

a) Turn off that part of your brain that has this intense desire to logically reason    everything.

b) Hit play on your iPod.

c) Let’s go Bananas! Bananas! Bananas! Bananas!

Mission 2014: Word Porn

Mission 2014: Word Porn

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Dude 1: Yo Bro! U C Brian’s new Phablet? WTF rite? Absol derp move. I mean srsly, I wanna vom. Look @ dat piece of shit! Wat a douche bag.

Dude 2: Whateves.

Dude 1: Obvs, wat cn u expect 4m a hippie? He cudn’t last more dan a min w/out squeein bout it on Twit. YOLO it seems, my ass.

Dude 2: Totes.

Dude 1: BTW, nice jorts in ur DP. I was lik OMG wen I saw it. Epic. Sm1’s getting better @ selfies? *insert nudge wink emoji*

Dude 2: Tnx.

Dude I: Newez. Hav a food baby ‘cuz of mama’s del lunch. Gotta slp. Byes.

Dude 2: b4n.

If you managed to comprehend the above conversation without squinting, squirming or even remotely barfing, you’re either an inordinately fanatical juvenile who literally (and I mean LITERALLY) communicates thus on a daily basis, or you’re a parent to an inordinately fanatical juvenile who literally (and I mean LITERALLY) communicates thus on a daily basis.

I recently set out on a mission to learn at least two new words every day. I’m sure nerd, geek, dork, dweeb and spod are some of the words that come to your mind right now. Yes, frankly I would have thought so myself and would have made it my life’s mission to ridicule the person who proclaimed something like that, had it been a few years ago; a few years ago when you could read an article on the internet without having to check onlineslagdictionary.com every few minutes; a few years ago when you could have a decent conversation with someone in English and not Hinglish, Tanglish or a mind-numbing combination of the above; a few years ago when reading books was an addiction and not a hobby. Before nostalgia takes centre stage, I think now would be ideal to tell you why I dared to take up such a challenge.

After I left the confines of my school 7 years back, I’ve had the ‘privilege’ of experiencing the Chennai life for most parts afterwards. You need to understand here that I was educated in Vellore in a Christian institution, where it was sacrilege to even casually talk to someone in Tamil while in the school premises. It didn’t help that that was when I was introduced to Star World and BBC News. This process eventually reached a stage where I was more fluent in English than in Tamil and I gagged more than once trying to pronounce words like ‘Shashtyabdhapoorthi,’ ‘Ekkaduthangal‘ and “Apithakuchalambal.”

For 13 years, I blissfully soaked in British English, often frequented by Shakespeare and Alfred Tennyson. Then I walked into Singara Chennai and I was exposed to a life where talking in English warranted derision. I was branded as ‘Peterrr’ which is slang for “someone who often displays his/her English linguistic skills, much to the displeasure of others around.” My colleagues stared at me uncouthly the moment I began to express myself in a language even mildly resembling English. Any defense from my side meant that I was iconoclastic. Slowly, I accustomed myself to this pathetic state of affairs and I restricted my English speaking desires strictly to my school friends. Life moved on.

A year or so back, when I was texting a friend of mine, I suddenly realised that not a single word in that text was in English; unless of course you consider ‘Machi’ or ‘Babe’ as English. When I tried to remember the last time I had a conversation in English, I got a mishmash of a headache and a mild heartache – I couldn’t remember when. Revolted, abashed, ashamed and mortified don’t even begin to describe how I felt. I mean, would you forgive someone in India if he says he doesn’t like cricket? Same feelings.

Ever since then, I’ve made a sincere effort to revive the lost art of communicating in one of the most fascinating languages one might possibly come across and I must admit that it’s been a success. Till a few months back. In this process of trying to be English language’s Erin Brockovitch, I began to notice the sheer volume of slangs being used of late, most of which are eventually incorporated in the Oxford Dictionary for reasons beyond my comprehension. I am embarrassed to admit that even I use a significant number of ‘LOLs’ and ‘Obvs’ to the extent that it can be termed as suffocating. And thus began my mission to learn genuine new words, even if it meant liking a page called “Word Porn” on Facebook.

Unlike a few decades back, today, anyone can understand and express what they feel in English. Or rather, in what they think is English. But the fact remains that we underrate and belittle the power of this language and its potential in representing precisely who we are, with little or no effort from our side. We live in a global village today and I believe what differentiates between good, better and exemplary is our ability to express something in a casual yet classy comportment. For this to have an impact, it has to be effortless. For it to be effortless, it has to be a part of us. That can happen only if we put in that extra effort and go beyond believing that internet reading is sufficient to hone our vocabulary.

I am aware that this isn’t one of my usual merry-go-rounds in the sarcasm genre but it is something that I feel and care deeply about. Nothing has changed about me. I still believe in Murphy’s Law and I cry myself to sleep every night because chocolate might soon be a thing of the past. Nevertheless, put down your tablets or smartphones or whatever the hell they are called these days and read a good book once in a while. The pleasure you derive from that is inexplicable. If you're still not convinced, would it help if I say from experience, never underestimate the seductive power of a decent vocabulary?

The Episode of Three Percent

The Episode of Three Percent

Posted by Unknown

Numbers don’t mean anything; or so we constantly thought

And then there was a ping that left us all fraught.

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,

And this is a story of a student conned.

Long ago, not so long ago

When the Internet was slow and the world didn’t say ‘Yo’

Little Miss Sunshine rolled the dice

Oh to steer clear of any sign, she rolled it thrice.

The outcome was transparent, clear as the sky

The future was apparent, if only for a blink of an eye.

“To become an Auditor is my dream,” she announced,

Failing to hear her soul scream, as in its den it denounced.

Hoops and hurdles she did cross, one at a time

While her youth went for a toss, leaving her to chime.

Now, the time did come for her to write the exam

Eight subjects she did cram, and about the rest she gave a damn!

Right from childhood, when pleasure was equated with slumber

She was fervently taught the importance of the number.

'One' was pee-pee and 'two' was going long

But I think we can agree that 'three' was missed somewhere along.

Soon she did find out the significance of three

And without a doubt, it made her flee.

For it was the pass percentage, a bold single digit

That drove her into a cage, to fiddle and fidget.

The future looked bleak, marked by the absence of hope

She rambled like a freak, not knowing how to cope.

As she contemplated the circumstances with utmost sincerity

She was amazed at the expanse of lack of parity.

It was foul play in the greatest detail

That made the verdict sway against her, on a vast scale.

For she knew her capability and as she came to terms with a clatter

She realised with immense comprehensibility that numbers don’t matter.

P.S.: Dedicated to all the CA Students who were harassed by the recent results. As Steve Maraboli would say, “Cry. Forgive. Learn. Move on. Let your tears water the seeds of your future happiness.”

So, WAS 2013 The Dumbest Year?

So, WAS 2013 The Dumbest Year?

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It’s the end of 2013 and as is customary, the internet is being gobbled up with reminiscences about the year. I’ve never paid much attention to this norm (apart from watching “Top 10 Tamil Songs of the Year”, on Sun TV during school days, attributable largely to boredom & lack of DTH services and to a very small extent to being lame) but this year was different. For me, 2013 was a vastly relaxed (barring my attempt at CA Final Exams), meaningful (barring my attempt at CA Final Exams) and to a great degree, a productive year (barring my attempt at CA Final Exams).

However, after reading this article on the 33 Dumbest Things That Happened in 2013, it was time for some re-evaluation. In the very very few areas that I take a keen interest in, 2013 was nothing short of a dramatic tragedy. The NaMo revolution may have replaced the Nano saga, Mars maybe the next Star Wars, NSA seems to be spying on US Citizens, Sachin Tendulkar bid a tearful goodbye while Andy Murray gave Britain a Wimbledon after 77 years and the Aam Aadmi Party won its first election in Delhi. If this seems about right to you, then you have missed the big picture. Here’s how:

(forgive my fondness for numbered articles)

1.   Chocolate is on the verge of extinction.

Bold. CAPITALS. Self-explanatory.

*faints*

*recovers*

*stocks up on as much Nutella as is possible without raising suspicion*

2.   Karan Johar is back with KWK Season 4.

Now, he’s ‘dancing.’ Ouch. Like the world needs reminding that the end is approaching. I’ve never had much respect for the man thanks to his bright green jackets and the shameless giggling to his own jokes but my disrespect has reached new levels after seeing him ‘dance.’ What is with the ambition Karan? No really? Couldn’t you have stopped at pretending you could make movies? Now you have to flap your arms and legs around to prove to the world that you are, indeed, a loser? No amount of shouting “I’m baaacckkkk” is adding to your attractiveness. Or lack thereof. So next time, take a hint. Get married. And stay at home.

3.   Amazing is now Amazeballs.

Tweeps, Lollage, Laymanize, Squadoosh, Zhoosh, Verbal Diarrhoea and Mantyhose were some of the many astoundingly preposterous, ridiculous and bizarre words that were added to the dictionary in the last year that made me wonder if my education was of any use in this new age. As if learning (and seeing) what twerking was wasn’t enough. FOMO? YOLO.

4.   Another Kardashian enters the world.

And her name is North West. There is never a dull moment in the lives of the Kardashians is there? Enough said. The more the tabloids obsess over the Kardashians, the more episodes they make of “Keeping Up With the Kardashians” and I know for a fact that we will never be able to keep up. Emotionally, mentally or physically.

5.   You can now print a gun. And yes, it may fire.

While groundbreaking innovations are laudable in the areas of healthcare and artificial intelligence, it’s a matter of opinion whether the 3D printer was put to the best use by printing a handgun, claimed to be ‘the guns of the future.’ At what cost? US $30 and the innocence of the former candy bearing children. So have you printed yours yet? Is it any good?

6.  The Big Fat International Wedding.

No, we are not talking about Princess Madeleine of Sweden and Chris O’Neil. The bride and groom in news is of course, Nokia-Microsoft. The marriage was widely proclaimed as a deal “not even a mother could love.” That ensured that Microsoft retained its reputation for acquisitions that were legen-wait-for-it-dary in their awfulness. Amidst the chaos with this union, poor Blackberry had no takers. All this means is that it’s time, yet again, to embrace Made in China. Cheers.

7.   iPhone 5C. At the price of a Jacuzzi. Made me woozy.

They claim that the ‘C’ stands for Colorful and Cheap. Maybe it should stand for Cheat. Or Con. Or just Crime. Certainly not sublime. I promise, no more rhyme.

Let's wrap it up before I find ways to get that 3D printed gun and use it on myself. Personally, I owe it to Max Black, Jesse Pinkman, Sheldon Cooper, John Reese, Harvey Specter, McDreamy, McSteamy and the ever comforting Chandler Bing without who I would have been like:

Happy New Year y’all!

Aunty Ji, Aunty Ji. Shut Up and Bounce?

Aunty Ji, Aunty Ji. Shut Up and Bounce?

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Dear Aunty,

I am doing great, or to respond to your post on Facebook, I am rocking and my studies are bitchin’. I could have clicked on ‘Write a comment’ but there is this itch that I have been having ever since you became active on Facebook and I realised that the time has come to scratch the crap out of it. Yes crap. It means ‘something of extremely poor quality’ or ‘excremate’ or ‘defecate’ according to Wikipedia from where you seem to grasp a hold of trending vocabulary and use it in its precise sense (remember “I am at the Kabaleeshwarar temple, praying to OMG for my granddaughter’s health”?)

Don’t get me wrong, I am all for the technological revolution that your generation currently seem to be a dynamic part of. It is a necessity that defines our every action and not embracing it would be a taking a step backwards for humanity. A Robert A. Heinlein said, “Don’t explain computers to laymen. Simpler to explain sex to a virgin.” That’s precisely how it started, with teaching mothers how to use dictionary mode in mobile phones to explaining the concept of ‘like’ and ‘tag’ on Facebook, while desperately hoping we don’t get tagged in your self-centered, way too personal statuses that make Kate Winslet in Reader seem mellow and certainly not ‘over-exposing’. Before you reach for Google, Kate Winslet is that British Akka from Titanic and Reader is not a movie that I would recommend you to see. No not even IMDb; for your sake.

But as it turns out, either we didn’t do a good job or you guys just decided to exploit the fake power that the internet bestowed upon you, the former being highly unlikely as we are awesome and the only reason we may have not divulged certain facts was because it would expose our coolness. Basically it all leads to one simple question. How much is too much?

Idea Cellular probably couldn’t do a better job at subtly conveying that we don’t want to be subject to mommy sentiments on a public forum. No amount of nagging, especially in the form of pings on Whatsapp, to accept your friend request on Facebook or follow you on Twitter is going to change our minds. There is a thin yet fine line between checking into a restaurant and describing the entire menu, complete with your interactions with the waiter and your thoughts on how the food could improve, evidenced by 33 photos in every possible angle. Food reviews are for Zomato and Instagram is ideal to post photos of fine dining (please don’t find me on Instagram) but neither is an excuse to abuse your neighbor’s free WiFi. And while we are on the subject, how DO you have as much free time as you do, liking and commenting in a matter of a few seconds?

My intention is not to make this seem satirical but to delicately tell you that it is embarrassing to have to listen to my friends make fun of my Aunty Ji and her quick wit or see them roll their eyes at your comments. And that is not a compliment in case you are still having some trouble with sarcasm. To connect with friends and family at the snap of a finger is genius, but to endure the taunts as a result of sharing intimate daily routines that range from the sudden water stoppage and its consequences to what one does when there is a power shut down seems to make the effort both worthless and pointless. It may sound like I am coming down hard on you and your generation but trust me, both your sons (who have blocked you on Facebook BTW, which is why you don’t receive notifications from them, not because they are the gems you consider them to be) would thank me. Because someone had to let the cat out of the bag before we decided to delete all our social accounts. For good.

I will always love you no matter how many times you call me “My cute Pattani” on Facebook.

Yours sincerely,

Archana

(and the generation that grew up cringing every time we got a notification from the likes of you)