The Jinxability Blog

Thank you my brother. Thanks to you, I have learned some valuable lessons on life, weddings and life during weddings recently. 


Now. I don't like weddings. We Mallus have five minute weddings. As in, if you're not the groom or bride, the wedding basically is a five minute affair. Show up, smile at some people, go eat, and then go home.


I hate going to those! I hate all those relatives who come up to you, pinch your cheek and say: "Do you remember me?" I usually say: "No I don't." which is met with condescending looks from all around. It would eventually turn out that they last met me when I was a five month old baby in diapers.  


North Indian weddings, my friends, are sadly not that easy. The lessons I've learnt at the one I was at recently?


1. Be safe than very sorry
Never EVER get married to a North Indian girl. If you unfortunately happen to fall for one, make sure that she is not one of those who always dream of having a big wedding. 


2. Don't play Who's Boss?
Don't tell your parents that you're getting married, until after you're already  hitched. Unless of course, you willingly want to spend your time listening to, and being party to, the myriad efforts trying to out-do the other side. 


"They are coming in Volkswagen for the wedding, we'll hire BMW." "They bought new shoes from Bata? We'll atleast have to buy Luis Vutton!" Yes, you will feel like killing yourself after a couple of days of this. 


3. Beware of 'em relative folk
Do not force people into coming if they really are not up to it. Asking them to dress up and take part in customs they do not understand or endorse is only going to start a crib-match. Which you do not want to listen to. If you're related to them or not. 


At the reception, somebody said: "When you get hitched, don't go for somebody outside our fold. Going through all these customs is very difficult for us" I answered: "Even if I do or don't, you are not invited. There! Problem solved!" 


4. Horses don't dance
Sadly, people are expected to. Northies have this Baaraat thing where the groom (who got the rest of us into the mess) sits on a horse and his relatives are supposed to dance him from some kilometre or so away up till the wedding venue. 


Baaraat: Needed: Young relatives who have no shame. 
What we had: 40+ relatives who hadn't moved their upper body since 1974. 
Recipe for disaster.
What is worse than being the only guy in a young age bracket and having to do the honours of writhing uncontrollably to shitty music? Having to watch your older relatives try to follow suit. Trust me. Painful. Very. 


5. The law of Exchanges
Which, sadly, do not apply in the case of such weddings. Why do I propose this? Because of the needless amounts spent on things that go to waste or are not appreciated enough. 


For example, at this wedding, both the sides were expected to give each other kilos upon kilos of dry fruits. Nobody eats them (well perhaps maybe me. But I do have limits you know!) and they didn't seem to serve much of a purpose. 


Instead, why couldn't they just have called it even, and said: "OK. Let's just not buy any!"


The sides were also expected to give each other apparel. I caught disapproving looks on stage many a time as the gifts were given and received. Can't blame them. Can't blame myself actually. Pink really is NOT my colour. I mean, come on! Seriously?


Anyhow, going to one is enough to put one off marriages for the rest of his life. I still can't understand why we're struggling with a population problem!


(Images Courtesy: Talash.com, Indycarriage.com)

I have two kinds of days. No matter how much I try, it is always either one or the other. 
It is either an On-Day, or it is an Off-Day




4:00 a.m.
What else do I do now? C'mon think of something. Get off your ass! Jeez!
Why am I even up at this time?


9:00 a.m.
Oh I'm up early. Have to get things done. 
I hate you sunlight. Fish you God!


11:30 a.m.
This and that and that is done. I feel happy about myself. 
*Drools* Say what? 


1.00 p.m.
Now I will have lunch!
I should probably brush my teeth. 


3:00 p.m.
Get on train, go for work. Awesome!
I should probably get out of bed now. #fml! 




5:00 p.m.
Work is awesome! They'll probably promote me if I work this hard!
What's the point? I'll die an old man doing the same job. Why God, why?


9:00 p.m.
I belong here don't I? I could work like this without taking an off for days at end. 
I need a vacation. I need a camera. I need a car. When is the pay-day again?


10:30 p.m.
Time to leave already? But, but, there is nothing to do at home!
Gawd! I thought this would never end. Home sweet home. Well not quite, but atleast it's quiet. 


11:30 p.m. 
This movie, that movie. Book. This one, that one. I'm hungry. What restaurant will be open now? 
What movie have I seen, does not require me to think, and is fun? Damn, I'm hungry. 


2:00 a.m.
I should go to sleep shouldn't I? Will wake up early and have another awesome day tomorrow. 
What's the point. No sunlight. Awesome time to be up. Yayy!


4:00 a.m. 
What's the point? Why am I even up at this time?
Alright enough! Get up off your ass NOW!


(Image Courtesy: antonylowe.wordpress.com)

And then, there are those days. Days without one word being written!

Or weeks. Or months. 

Steps to overcoming the dreaded disease that all Bloggers face one time or the other: 

Step 1: Denying Denial

Tell yourself that you ARE actually blocked and can't write even a few scant words. 

Stop telling yourself that you're not writing because 

a) There is not a good enough topic; 

b) You don't have time; 

c) The keyboard isn't good enough. 

Step 2: Think of an Action Plan

Come to the realisation that all awesome things happen because of action plans. Figure out how you might possible go about getting around the block. 

OR. If you're NOT an anal freak, skip to step 3. 

Step 3: Get off your Ass

Come to the realisation that your endless procrastination skills are not constructive. To anything. 

Give yourself a date. A deadline. Try and figure out a topic. Or don't. Just decide to go with the flow. 

Step 4: Fight the fear

Refrain from asking yourself questions such as:

- But what if it isn't interesting enough?

- What will all my thousand readers thinnk?

- What if nobody comments?

Step 5: Truth Time

Tell yourself the truth that you keep buried deep, deep inside:

- Your posts are never interesting.

- You don't have a thousand readers. In fact, you might not have more than two. 

- Nobody usually comments anyhow. Besides you, yourself. 

Step 6: Final realisation

Come to the painful but beautiful conclusion that you primarily write for yourself. So who gives a shit anyhow? 

Step 7: D-Day

After a further procrastination of a few days, and just type what comes to mind.

Hit 'Publish' and keep your fingers crossed for all the critical acclaim, tons of comments and showers of love from subscribers. 

(Image Courtesy: storesonlinepro.com)

This post had been in the making for quite some time. First lack of time, then lack of sleep, and then lack of a laptop put me off from writing it.

Until I was heartbroken to see that somebody else had already written on it. My good friend Jonva, over at These Days, wrote this post to commemorate the Independence Day. Oddly enough, staunch and proud Indian I was, I couldn't but agree with what he was saying.

First off, this is the first Independence Day that I've seen quite a few of my friends actually saying that they did not quite enjoy celebrating it all that much. Possibilities:
1. I made a lot of friends this year.
2. I made a few friends this year, but they were all 'rebels'.
3. Independence Day fell on a Sunday this year; hence people actually started thinking about it, rather than thank it for a merciful holiday.

Whatever the case maybe, they are right. We're all pseudo-patriots. We take pride in our country because everybody else does. Not because we understand, give two-hoots about, or because we know what it stands for.

Our national pride and sentiment are restricted to the days when our nation comes to the rescue in the form of a national holiday. Now that is the case with most of us. I'm not quite sure where to put the army-men, freedom fighters and their kind. They seem to be fighting for the country, with the staunch belief that they're doing some good.

Though, I wonder, won't a soldier in Pakistan think the same thing? Will he, for instance, wake up one day and say: "Oh damn, Musharraf is such a dick!" I suppose not. What makes him better or worse than one of our own soldiers?

Our forefathers. And their brave actions that gave us freedom from the fat and boring English (of course, they did not have the EPL then). Why? Why did we need it so bad? What good did they think they were doing?


Fact of the matter is, we need those army-men and politicians. Though I agree with every word Jonva said in his post, I don't think he sees the point.

You see, in an ideal world, there are no hypocrites. In an ideal world, there are no politicians. No hunger, no poverty. No richer man. And no poorer man. In an ideal world, there is no money. There are no differences.

Unfortunately, we don't live in the ideal world. We probably never will. I keep thinking it will take a nuclear war for the ideal world to emerge. Still might not at the same time. We're too damaged to think as one now.

There is no answer. Just. Hope.

(Image Courtesy: human3rror.com)

She had her eyes trained on me. All eight of them. For a moment, I was lost.

Do I let go off my bike handle bars, swat the damn thing away; or do I keep on riding, stop somewhere safe and then make sure that I don't become as big a pathetic loser as that Spiderman freak.

Option 1, sounded better. SWAT! Spider gone. I'm safe.

With new found confidence, there rose an anger. I looked toward the source from which this not-so-radioactive arachnid sprang hence. A garbage truck. As it braked, and then accelerated, and then braked again in the noon traffic on Sardar Patel Road, bits and pieces were showered on those unfortunate enough to be riding anywhere close to it.


Which took me back to another incident a week or so back. Riding back from office late at night, I ended up behind a truck that was carrying rubble of some sort. Concrete that was dug up from somewhere. Presumably a good-looking road.

As I came up behind, the flap was lifted off by the wind, and I was showered with debris. The bike started wobbling after it went over a few stones that were being sprayed onto the road. Weirdly, it reminded me of an action sequence from some Will Smith movie. Bad Boyz I think. Dunno.

Anyhow, point is, half the stuff that these idiots carry end up on the road. Another reason why our roads aren't so great. I mean, in a way, it makes sense. If you're carrying things that people don't really WANT, such as garbage or rubble, who cares if it reaches the end-point or not right?

Well, I care you fucking morons. You fuck up my eyes, you screwed up my tyres, you almost made me into fucking Spiderman!

I think the folks that pass all those unnecessary laws should enforce some rule enforcing condoms on the back of trucks. Desired results:

1. Less number of freaks running around in tights,
2. Road safety;
3. Something to do for those damn traffic cops, other than terrorizing little-to-blame sane riders.

Just saying.

I was reading an interesting article the other day, about how the two slashes (//) (as in http://www.iamdumb.com)  in web addresses was a mistake and how actually there should have been only one.

Now, imagine how many keystrokes would have been saved if it hadn't been for that one error. It's weird.

Yesterday, I had that same feeling once again. I was tweeting, and I shared a link, and added a sarcastic comment to it: It went something like:


Now, you read it as sarcastic coz I already told you it was going to be sarcastic. But, I kinda figured some people hadn't got that message when the link was retweeted five minutes later:

Any suggestions to improve, campaign for and get this done are always welcome!