Random Rant-3 : Tangled Earphone Wires

I want to listen to music. NOW. The iPod is in the bag, which I extricate with ease. The earphones are somewhere in there too, let me just... yeah, I think I got it... nope, that's it there... eureka, and here we go... WHAT THE FUCK.

It is a veritable mesh of rubber casing, and somewhere in the jungle I can see a 3.5mm jack poking out, struggling for breath, imploring me to save it. And thus begins the epic (quite literally) quest of untangling the friggin' mess.

And it's never easy, no. You can see one end of the wire entering an abomination that would put a seaman's knot to shame, but you cannot for the life of you find where it comes out from the other side. Okay, so finally you do and manage to squeeze it through only to land yourself in the same predicament again. And rubber does not slide easily on rubber (especially with iPod earphones, what the fuck is up with that?), so you can't pull it out easy. Repeat this procedure about 12 times till you finally get it untangled.

I'm so angry that I just want to rip it apart, that fucking wad of irritating tangled bullshit, but I can't, because they are so fucking delicate. And decent replacements will cost, what, 800 bucks? Fuck that!

And it's not only earphone wires. All wires. We all carry a lot of gadgets these days, with a lot of accessories. Chargers for mobiles and laptops, mice (or mouses?), lan cables, etc. etc. And yeah, sure, they are bound to get tangled, I get that. But then how the fuck do they end up in this apocalyptic knot to end all knots? It's like, you bound them up properly and put them carefully in your bag, but how THE FUCK did it manage to get like this, how was it even physically possible for it to get so intricately intertwined, as though a thousand tiny fingers were working overtime to get it done? Because if you sat down to actually do that, you would never get it done. It would take you hours, maybe days even to complete such a work of art.

Pardon me for being knotty, but Murphy's Law can only hold so many times. This is fucking Chaos Theory. Oh, what a tangled web we weave.

Random Rant-2 : The Public Stereo

The Fresh Prince is not amused.

It's happened to all of us. And it can happen anywhere, at any time. We all have seen someone like that.

Say you're enjoying a nice game of pool with your buddies. Hey, you're even playing pretty good for a change. Or you're in a really slow line to buy movie tickets for that summer blockbuster you've been waiting ages for. Maybe trying to have a snack in the cafeteria. Any public place.

That's when some cool dude, who's far cooler than you are, whips out his iPod, iPhone, or otherwise musically enabled electronic device, selects the most bombastic track he can find, and presses play. On speaker. So that everyone in the room is treated to his most refined and excellent taste in music.

Himesh Reshamia. Soundtracks from Ajab Prem ki Ghazab Kahani or Dabaang. Hip gyrating item numbers or Anu Malik's latest. Justin Beiber or that old Backstreet Boys album.

You look over at him and are all like, "'the fuck?"

As time passes, your anger bubbles more and more.

Why? Why do people do this? Why the fuck do they think we want to listen to their music? I just don't understand this. It's like they think they are doing everyone a favor bu playing music very much at their own expense. Trust me, assholes, its more at our expense.

It's as if every one of them believes he is a great aficionado of music. That their taste is unparalleled and ground breaking. Everyone must hear my awesome playlist, says they. Not only am I providing myself this pleasure, but I am trying to infuse culture into these flea bitten mongrels that call themselves "people". Do you really want everyone to know you listen to that retarded club thumping drivel?

Seriously? Akon? He's the Himesh of the west. Lil' Wayne? Yeah nigga, you's from the ghetto. Pull your pants the fuck up and turn it down. Rap is bullshit (god bless, Mr. Smith, you are a far better actor). Don't even get me started on Beliebers. Oh, and metal heads. The cocks who think that no one else knows what real music is, and if you listen to anything else, you are simply of subpar intelligence. It's 10 minutes of growling and disoriented guitars, jackass, don't cleanse humanity of us lesser mortals just yet.

I suppose you could ask him to turn it off. But, you know, life could be so much more simple. If you want to listen to music, well, there is this nifty little invention called earphones that will spare the rest of us your music that is really, in all honesty, way to cool for the rest of us that are just trying to have a good time. Try them.

Random Rant-1 : The Elevator Tango

So its Monday morning (or really, it can be any day and any time, but somehow Monday morning has a lot of scope for pissing people off). You reach the lift (say, in my case at office, but again it can be anywhere). There is no one in sight. There's no way in hell you're taking the stairs (because you woke up at 6:30 to go for a jog and want a break, or you're just a lazy bastard).

You press the button and the machinery makes that annoying bing-bong sound. Down comes the lift, nice and empty, not a soul in sight. You're quite pleased, it's never so easy. Well, of course it's not.

You enter the lift and the door closes... but just as its about to shut- bing-bong - some prick just reaches outside and presses the call button, requiring the door to reopen.

You take a moment to curse under your breath because it's not that hot girl you would kill for a moment alone with, but rather some fat, out of breath guy with a week's worth of beard growth. Prick can't even shave properly and come on Monday fucking morning. You glare at him. The elevator music is starting to piss you off.

The doors close and you regain your composure when suddenly - bing-bong - and enter two giggly, airheaded girls talking animatedly about the latest airhead Bollywood movie they saw. They see your scowl in the reflective doors and smile knowingly at each other, trying and failing miserably not to laugh. Oh yes, its a fucking riot. Ha ha. I can hardly control myself.

Which is fine, except as the door closes- bing-bong - and in walks in a hefty Punjabi, jovial and spirited, all smiles and sunshine, all on a Monday morning. I love the ol' Punjabi energy. But on a Monday fucking morning? Do I really need to face such a chipper attitude from anyone? Which would be fine, except he holds open the lift and shouts, yes shouts, "Oi, jaldi aa jao!" You roll your eyes. Sometimes I think they know one language and one volume. Of course, whoever he was shouting to does not come jaldi, they come at their own damn pace. In waltz in a handful of colorfully dressed happy-go-lucky crowd, all of them very expressively excited that they made it in time. You grind your teeth.

And so it continues. Person after person suddenly appears out of nowhere. They don't come together, oh Lord no, that would be too easy. But as though it was practiced, they all come exactly on cue just as the lift doors are about to close completely. Your back is pressed against the wall, and you are assaulted with the scent of breakfasts from around the country: poha, aloo parantha, idli sambar, chicken roll, coffee and croissant, and what seems to be an entire tandoori chicken. You look at the Punjabi again.

A minimum of 6-7 minutes later you disembark on your floor, shoulder pushing everyone you come in contact with, lips pursed into a fine smile, all the while grumbling to yourself, WHY DIDN'T I TAKE THE FUCKING STAIRS???

The Masochist

You are the great educator. As soon as you entered you began teaching me and I started to believe in things I hadn't before. You are the destroyer. It's like everything I had fell to the ground and I was back at square one.

You are something special, something different... words fail. I can't put my finger on it. Words used to describe you come off as shoddy euphemisms. You would require a new language. For your beauty is something else. Your beauty is such that I don't have to go looking for beauty anywhere else anymore, I just have to find you. Your beauty is such that it humbled me. It changed me. And you didn't even have to say a word.

Just over the hill is where you live, and I come over to see you, hopefully to talk to you. Million of ideas of science and creation whirl through my head, but when I talk the words are infantile. In front of you, I speak the words of a child. It's as if I'm in some joyous daze. When the moment is over, I can believe it's already passed.

It's enough for me just to gaze on you once. To see your smile once (a smile that's enough to move a man to tears). To hear your voice once (and I can carry it the rest of the day). And I have to come and see you. For the day is a wasted one, only half completed when I don't see you. It's a grayer day, the one when I don't talk to you.

Yet I know the harsh truth. I can never have you. You will never be mine. No matter that you entertain me when I come on one of my visits. Do you how much I look forward to them? But you couldn't. You float on a cloud where nothing mundane can touch you. But it doesn't matter to me, the moments are golden.

And I know the only way to cure myself. To cut you out. Out of sight and out of mind. If I can't see, then I can't hurt. Wouldn't that be worth it? I promise myself that today, I stop this. I won't come to see you. I won't speak to you. And then I'll be proper again.

But I'm a liar. I know I'll make that journey. And I know when we've said goodbye, it'll hurt again, and I'll just wait for the next time I get to see you.

But I don't care. I'll take all of it. And swallow it down. It's all worth it anyway, just to see you. Yes, I would do that, and you'll never know of my immense sacrifice, but that's alright. I don't even know if you'd care, but it's alright. I'd risk all that just to see your smile. I'm happily resigned to it. This is what you've done to me.

So I guess I love my own pain. I'm a masochist, among others things, for you.

The Pacifist

'Twas not even a drop of noble blood in him. Nay, the boy was but a child of a farmer. A peasant. No more than a lowly serf, suited but for the servitude others. Yet foolish and headstrong as he were, he tooketh to arms as though he were of noble blood, and went forth searching through the land for fortune.

With a few victories under his belt and a head full of airs, he tooketh to the road in search of greater treasures. What creatures in what lairs would he find? He was confident he was sufficiently fit to faceth them all.

But alas! He faced many battles in his quest to build a kingdom and fell many a time. Defeat hung at him like a plague. His worth was made known to him. He traveled alone and long under moon and sun to no avail. Thinking he were one of burly stature and wit, he withered now with remorse.

Still he fought on! For see!, he would thinkst, See they, of all shapes and sizes, from all lands, they come and build such might castles! Oh, if only I were to have such a castle. what a just rule I would hold over my kingdom! Yet none would hear him.

And so finally he retreated, weary and beaten, into the forest. 'Twas there that he saw many beautiful things, things he had not seen before on the road. Deep in the forest, there he found a peace which he had not known before, could not know. He layeth down his arms. The peace consumeth him. He is calm. All memories of lost battles and grievous defeats fadeth away.

It chanced that one day a traveler met him. He asked, "What doth thou expect to accomplish here? How wouldst thou build a kingdom living in this wilderness?"

The peaceful warrior replied, "I am a pacifist, sire. Fight? I cannot. I do not care if I win or lose, so long as I can live in peace."

The Benchwarmer

Alright, so I've been out of the game for a while. I got sent off a long time ago for some stupid play on my part, I agree (especially after reviewing the game footage). But since, I've found it difficult to find a place on the pitch again. Perhaps The Manager has lost faith in me. Or perhaps the game has just changed and I just can't keep up with it. This is highly possible, I've always been a little old fashioned. Whatever that means.

But truly the game has changed. India has always been a tough pitch, but the times, boy are they a-changing. I blame this on the internet, MTV, Bollywood, and the extremely skewed and ever dropping sex ratio of this nation. It's making it more and more difficult for out of favor chaps like myself.

It's high time for some serious introspection. I'm going to look at this objectively as possible. What are my strengths, what are my weaknesses. And what is wrong with me? Let's start with the obvious. Now I guess I look pretty ok. I mean, I look ok for your average Maharashtrian male from one of the "village-cities". Which places me at about the 5.9 billion mark worldwide, in a ranking system where, say, Cristiano Ronaldo would be first. Incidentally, I share a birthday with Cristiano. However, that is where the similarities end. Look-wise, I'm more comparable to his Portuguese national team compatriot, Luis Nani.

Ok fine, I've had several injuries and there has been a debatable loss of form (the damn media seems to think so, and as you know, whatever the media says is right). But one learns from their mistakes. I've been training really hard since then, and it shows. And I know all the tactics. Playing it defensive, or all out attack, or even sitting deep and hitting them on the counter. I have studied the theory thoroughly. Oh my god, I have so studied the theory. I'm quite proficient with it now and just need a chance to put it in practice and prove myself. I just need that chance, and its all up to The Boss to put me in.

Yet week after week, I find myself on the bench. Just there, but not quite. I'm on the sidelines. And no one questions The Gaffer. Every time I ask him to put me in, he just looks at me like this:

No one argues with The Gaffer, bitch.

You try arguing with that.

Its hard sometimes, watching from the sidelines. I just wonder, why is The Gaffer always passing me over? I mean I see much less capable players out there making a name for themselves and scoring some real beauties. My teammates often tell me its not about build, or beauty of play, or other such technicalities. Well what then?

Come on Gaffer, put me in. Its obvious I'm not your favorite player, but that's ok. You don't want me to start, well that's quite clear, and that's fine. But go ahead and put me in as a sub! I don't mind, really I don't. A late sub if it pleases you! Just to go out and stretch my legs if nothing else! My only aim is to please. But I can't do that from the sidelines, now can I?

I know I complain about being on the bench. But don't worry, I'm not going to do a Carlos Tevez and go play for the other team. Of course I've thought of it. But, er, let's just say that I could never adapt to their style of play. I just wouldn't fit into their setup. No, I ain't switching sides. So it seems I better be quite content with the bench.

Who am I kidding. If I go out there I'll probably make some rash tackle. Then some Cristiano like figure will come over and goad me into getting sent off and then run to wink at the bench. Where I will be next week.

And then I lose my place on the team again.

Oh, this is all bollocks. Imagine what it does to the morale of a player? In my time on the bench, I've seen people get stretchered off, sent off with multiple match bans, score goals, be subbed, and even a lot of unfit players make it out there. It's a shame. And in the midst of all this, my butt has been firmly on the bench. Now I know how Owen Hargreaves feels.

Oi, Gaffer, I'm ready! Put me in the game!

The Facebook Era

Technology. The great equalizer.

And so it came to be that the world was covered by a great web. Isn't technology amazing? Now, no matter what- and i mean no matter what... time of day, distance, availability, weather, geography, socio-political situation- we are all connected. Oh baby, are we connected.

You know that picture on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel with the two fingers touching? I can imagine the same thing only with two people extending computer cables (and 3 billion people "like" this).

The new generation is spoiled. They were born into it. They don't even know what "post" is. Unless its "post something on Facebook" (oh, I've clicked photos of trip to the grocery store! Let's upload them so people can post their comments! And then 923 people "like" this. Really?). They don't understand the gravity and the brilliance of it. They take it for granted.

I was no exception till a few years ago. I was in class in college, depressed and bored (no other way to be in my college), and I was texting a friend back home. And suddenly I realized, "holy crap... I'm here in college and she's 500km away in Goa, and we are talking as though we are right next to each other. Wow...".

Enter the Digital Age. Possibilities are endless. Tamaso ma jyotir gamaya. From darkness, light. Well, I don't think that's quite what they had in mind when whoever said that said it.

We can now stay in touch so easily with anyone and everyone... regardless of whether either party wants to keep in touch with the other. Old school friends, college buddies, long lost pals of childhood days long gone, relatives, colleagues, accquaintences... we can know their life, and they can know ours, at the click of a button. We can interact.

Yet the closer we get, somehow, the more far removed I feel. The more connected I am, the more and more I feel disconnected.

I have a colleague as a friend on Facebook. She works on my floor. 5 days a week, we are no more than 20 feet apart for most of the day. I have her picture on Facebook. But I haven't actually seen her in weeks.

I know that some airhead little girl "thinks her friends are awesome and loves them", but I don't know the name of the guy in the next cubicle.

Facebook can be a dangerous thing too. I like to break balls on the SNS. I once said something that I thought was innocent on a friend's profile. That friend took it really bad, blocked me, and hasn't spoken to me since. Hmmm. I guess we weren't that good friends. But then, what is the demarcation to know the difference? She was in my "Friends List". They are not divided into "good friends", "so-so friends", "can't-take-a-joke friends", etc. Bloody hell.

And how many people that I should really interact with do I actually do so with? My parents. My sister, my grandmother. My good ol' gang of friends (whom I think are friends for life). I see them once in a month, day, and week, respectively. [Footnote: Adding that girl that you like is not going to improve your chances with her either]. Not to mention there are college friends, office mates, and fringe relatives. (<insert number> people "don't like" this. I "don't like" this).

No, its a bit too much. Often there are 50 people online in my Facebook chat. And often I don't feel like talking to any one of them. Sms packs are a dangerous thing. You're on the phone half the time. And you hardly even actually talk. If you don't get a message or a call, you feel depressed. No one loves you. If I don't get an email for half an hour, I feel annoyed. No one cares. Why didn't so-and-so comment on my status or my pic? I am alone.

Look at those people's pics. Why haven't I been there? Why aren't I doing this like that person? I'm falling so far behind. I'm doing nothing with my life. I'm going to die unaccomplished. You don't have to admit to me, but be honest with yourself: you ever felt like that?

Just 8 years ago I was in school, and it was nowhere near this bad. Sure, we had internet, we had the telephone, we had all that jazz. But now, to not be connected is to not exist. Now, I am connected to everyone and everything. Yet sometimes, these days, I feel lonelier than I've ever felt.

Click here if you "like" this. Or I will be very sad.