The One Where The Illiterate Person Sells All Books For "Paani-Puri"

A literate person derives more utility by reading books. But an illiterate person may not read but sell all such books for the sake of "Paani-Puri"

- Refresher Course Economics Std XII


An industry consists of different groups. Let us take the example of 'Cloth Industry'. In cloth industry one group specializes on suitings, another on shirts, the third one on banians and so on.

- Economics Text Book Std XII

Masakalli

These days, I've been listening to that Masakalli gaana from Delhi 6 almost 30 times a day. Problem is that I can't listen to the whole song, because I listen to it on TV.

See, I heard the song for the first time on TV and then I was addicted. So, the natural course of action was downloading the gaana, and that is what I did. I listened to it on my computer, but it just didn't sound the same. As in, I didn't feel like playing it again and again. Which caused me to come to the conclusion that I'm over it.

Then, I heard it on TV again. And I wanted to hear it again and again. So, I kept surfing music channels until I found one playing the song. Once the song was over on that channel, I would surf the other channels and would only stop when I came upon the song again. And since there a good 8 music channels that play the song at regular intervals, I had to deal with disappointments such as being able to catch only the last bit of the song on the 8th channel, because I had been busy surfing the first 7 channels.

And then it hit me. I don't like the song. I like the video. I like a beautiful Indian woman doing the Egyptian dance with a pigeon on her head. I like Sonam Kapoor.

And I like to wonder who I'm talking to.

A Good Year

Time was romanticized. And laziness. Pseudo-sounding words. Empty thoughts. Would-be intellectualism.

Lack of ability poorly veiled by a veneer of an affected nonchalance. Indecisiveness became a way of life. Courage was mustered. And then squandered.

Words were written. Obliterated. And another way of life was laid to rest.

I'm Watching Too Much TV

This evening I was listening to the radio in the car. And it was taking me only a beat to figure out which song was playing.

Yeah, and I actually found myself singing along,

Holle holle se hawaa lagti hai...

Dance pe chance maar le, o soniya...

Dil roye ya ilahi tu aaja mere mahi...


Well, I could go on but you get the point....

Damn, I'm watching too much TV.

I Can't Think of a Title

When you're young, you have these stars in your eyes. And it's just so damn easy to dream. You think this is possible, and that is possible. And you're all inspired by some silly self-help books that talk about the power of dreams and all that jazz.

You watch all these movies, and think, "Yeah, this is good shit, man. I'm going to live my dream like the guys in the movie. I'm going to do the things I want to do."

And then reality comes and does it's bitchy thing. And you're still a jackass.

The Whine Post

Why, oh why do I have to suck at the thing I want to rock at, goddamit?

Why am I the worst sucker in the history of sucking at the thing you want to be good at?

Why is it so hard to chuck it all up and take a chance?

Okay, so this has finally become exactly the thing I didn’t want it to become, but the thing I knew it would become some day. A whine-about-your-crappy-life blog. Damn.

Glory Glory Man Utd

Even as John Terry walked up to the penalty spot at the Luzhniki Stadium in Moscow yesterday, a large part of me knew that he wasn’t going to score. Moscow has always loved the color red.

It’s always nice to get the better of Russian oligarchs in their own backyard but I don’t bear ol’ Roman any grudges. After all, being a Russian billionaire is not easy. But I have a few bones to pick with some of his employees, past and present, at Chelsea Football Club, Didier Drogba being one of them. Big D, much like his (pet) namesake of Whinging Street fame, never seems miss an opportunity to throw his weight around, and show just how petulant he can be. I think Big D and Emmanuel Adebayor hung out a lot together this season, watching Thierry Henry videos. You know what; I won’t be surprised if the three of them get together and start a School Of Petulance For French-Speaking Strikers, with branches in West Africa and the Caribbean.

And at the exact moment when Avram Grant received the loser’s medal from Michel Platini, miles away, somewhere in Portugal, a crabby man afforded himself a rare smile. Jose Mourinho never came across as a gracious man. He’d be thinking that if he hadn’t been booted out of West London, he’d be the one to bring back Europe’s most coveted prize from Moscow. But he’d be wrong, because no one in the whole wide world could have stopped Ryan Giggs and Rio Ferdinand from holding aloft the piece of silverware that their club had last won nine years ago.

There is something about these big European nights. Little else in the world can get me to scream at the top of my voice at 3 in the morning, and twirl my T-shirt around like a maniac.