Let's get Fatboy to run

'Come on now, Fatboy! Let's get you to run. Raise your feet. Don't shuffle 'em. Raiiise 'em. Look there. Look, look, look. See the Sun? That's a golden donut. That's a golden donut coated with honey crust. Tell me, tell you don't want that donut and we'll stop running. 

'Fatboy? Your mummy's a pretty rad lady. She's no stupid. She had you 'cause you were once your dad's rad sperm. You were a bloody superstar in her ovaries. That's quite a something. No? No? Come on. You can nod your head while running. But you CAN'T shuffle. Remember, Fatboy, all your life, you were meant to run. See? See? Good. 

'Now, Fatboy, a while ago, they came up with this piece of trash called the Sound of Music. Heard of it? Yeah, you have? Watched it? Oh yes? Well, did you like it? No? Heh. Nasty liar. Anyway, they got it all wrong. I'll show you the real sound of music. Jog up, that's right. Now listen. Heave, heave, pant, pant, heave, heave, pant, pant, heave, heave, pant, pant. HAHA. That's right, boy.

'Fatboy... Fatboy? You've got to catch up now. No, no, no, no, nooooo. Don't stop. Don't! Get up. Geeeet up. GET UP, Fatboy. You don't want your obtuse coach to beat you, right? You don't want him to say stuff about you, your family, your generation? In fact, you don't want to be beaten by yourself, huh? How'd that feel, I wonder. How'd it feel to be a-so delusional about one's own ability? How does it - yes, yes. That's it. THAT'S IT! YOU GO, BOY! Now don't stop. Keep running. That' it. HAHAHA. Keep running ... don't stop ... DON'T STOP.'

Because, no matter what, it's so important to keep running.

Comeback?

I’m such an opportunist.

I haven’t blogged since a year and three months now. Agreed, I have blogged on my Tumblr. But those have been cool website links, two liners, photos & videos, some advertising copy I’ve written; in essence, all the articles that don’t take too much time to put up. An easy way to pacify the lethargic mind.

Since the last post on this blog, your writer has suffered (mindless) emotional turmoil, an exaggerated bout of restlessness, I-have-to-figure-myself-out-ness and have lost faith in writing short fiction.

I named this blog just over two years ago with no particular reasoning. Miraculously, today I cannot find a better name for the portal that is curated by a sluggish, confused writer than Blog in a Spot.

I’ll round off by justifying the opening line. During the aforementioned year-long hiatus, I reveled with companions, forgetting the few activities that brought me joy during my times in solitude. Now that I’m back to square one, I am returning to those very few activities that I so comfortably ignored. Blogging is one of them.

I believe this is a comeback.

And to you, dear reader, I want to say stay tuned!

Abhigmistake

The inconsequential ding

Hey

Wts up?

About time, Abhijeet thought. He was growing weary of the unfamiliar portal. He was the kind who preferred phone calls to mind numbing Internet chatter. But he had long since realised this was the first step to getting to know her and thus had resorted to it. And hence, he had decided to dedicate an entire evening to chat with her.

He cracked his knuckles while he waited for her response. He took a long swig from the half consumed cola bottle and looked to his left. Aai was busy washing the lunch boxes for the next day. He frowned at the sight and deciphered what it meant - the maid had decided to do a bunk again. 

The doorbell rang, but the door wasn't locked. Baba walked in, shutting and bolting the door behind him as he entered. He carefully replaced his chappals on the shoe rack. A pair of sneakers strewn on the floor haphazardly caught his eye. He mumbled to himself as he picked them up gingerly and stuffed them in the rack.

Abhijeet watched Baba's antics all along. He loved Baba for simple man he was. He was nearly fifteen years older than Aai, but that hadn't prevented him from treating her like a queen. Abhijeet was proud testimony of their unconditional love. Baba ruffled Abhijeet's hair when he passed him, saying softly to himself: Sirjee is studying. We'll disturb him later.

Abhijeet felt a pang of guilt. Nevertheless, he maximised the chat screen. His heart fell. Still no reply.

Sanya? 

u der? 

Now Baba had changed to his baniyan-lungi and reached the kitchen. Abhijeet silently watched as he wrestled the dish wash brush out of Aai's hand.

'Nai Shubha! Main karoonga!' he said forcefully. Aai knew better than to argue when her husband raised his voice. She smiled gratefully and stood by the kitchen door, watching him work.

Abhijeet was virtually beaming now. He wondered why he hadn't noticed these diminutive gestures of affection before. 

Aai began to complain about how the maid hadn't turned up for the third time in the week. Ungrateful minx, she called her. Baba chuckled. Aai, motivated by Baba, cursed her more. Aai's intense dislike for the maid seemed to amuse Baba more and more and his laughter grew louder. Abhijeet was thoroughly enjoying himself now.

And then Baba choked. And tears filled his eyes. The laughter turned into uncontrollable coughing. Aai rushed to where Baba stood and stroked his back. Abhijeet flew off his chair, looking worried. 

But the cough was gone as soon as it had come. Baba panted and heaved, gripping Aai's arm firmly. He looked up to see a worried Abhijeet standing rooted to his spot in the hall. He lips curled into a faint smile.

'Nalayak!' he said. 'Thought I'd die laughing at your Aai's poor joke?'

Aai playfully hit Baba, her flushed face lit with relief. Abhijeet joined his father in the laughter. 

Ding!

Abhijeet looked down at the monitor to see his chat window flashing.

Hiee Abhi!!!

Wt u upto?

Sanya had finally replied. Abhijeet stared hard at the monitor. And he looked back into the kitchen. Now Aai and Baba were hunched together, washing the boxes. 

Earlier that evening, he'd decided to dedicate the evening to Sanya. Someone whom he merely shared with a 'Hi-Bye' relationship. Ironically, here were two people who had dedicated their lives to him and not once had it crossed his mind that he must act, feel or give mutually in return the very same.

He smiled as he typed out a hasty goodbye to Sanya and hardly felt guilty. After all, it was an inconsequential ding.

--x--

Specially dedicated to Anna and Amma, the superheroes in my life :)

Purpose

I was playing this track, Ajnabi from the Kunal Khemu starrer Superstar on my PC.

...

Replay.

...

Again!

...

And again.

...


Trust me, every time I listen to this song, I question the purpose of my existence. Am I worthy of the 10x12 ft room (Pune), 40x60 ft house (Bangalore) I occupy? Do I deserve a meaty four grand every month as pocket money? Am I worthy of adding another question questioning purpose or should I get to the point?

The answer is on my lips, or in this case, my fingertips.

[CLICHÉ ALERT]

We're all here to do justice to the purpose of our existence. Yes. It's true. That's why we're here.

The first ancestor (We'll call him Mr. K) of my breed was born to add the initial K to my name (Abhinandan K.S). His kids were born to add Mr. K's name as their father's name in their names. More generations were generated just to retain the K as an initial. Later, my great-great-great grandmothers were born to produce a string of kids. And my great-great-grandmothers and great-grandmothers joined in to contribute soon after.

But what was common among these venerable ladies and gentlemen? Purpose. Be it making my identity so outrageously South Indian or ensuring that people around me always remain baffled about why K stands for what it stands for, these people nailed it!


That's that. Now, here's a bit on about my purpose of living. We're nearing the end of the February and I've not:
1. blogged even once this year.
2. been writing stories like I used to.
3. been reading comics,
4. been following cricket.
5. visited Bangalore. 
6. laughed so much I cried.

It's then I realize the purpose of this blog. If you scroll up to the top of this page and see, etched right under the title, 'Blog in a Spot' is 'Joie de vi-vre. n. Hearty or carefree enjoyment of life.'

[ABRUPT ENDING ALERT!]

This time I nailed it. That's the purpose of my life :)

What's not to 'Like'?

Having spent more than three years on Facebook, I can safely say I'm networking veteran now. I've watched as Facebook has grown from 'that poke-wala site' to the revelation that spelled doom for Orkut.

Everyday you 'Like' tonnes of stuff your friends post. So much so, that the word 'Like' has now been reduced to a mere button. Back when I was in high school, 'I like you' was a potent little proposal; not as dangerous as an 'I love you' but far more effective than an 'I think I have a crush on you'. And today, well, the less spoken the better.

So on the last day of the decade, I will give you some invaluable advice. I will tell you what NOT to 'Like' on Facebook. Here's the list.

• Gangadhar Raman posted this 5 minutes ago | Gangadhar Raman likes this.

No. You may love your writing. But please, don't 'Like' your own posts. The moment you do, the world will know you're inspired by Kamal R Khan.

• Gangadhar Raman went from 'in a relationship' to 'single'.

You may feel a sense of euphoria after breaking our dear Gangadhar Raman up. But that doesn't mean you gloat in public. You're no Saif and our Gangadhar is no Shahid.

• Gangadhar Raman > Saif Ali Khan: 'You traitor. You left your polka-dots underwear in my handbag!'

Go ahead and snigger. But don't 'Like' this one. You'll land in trouble the next time you meet Saif.

• Girly A > Girly B: 'I miss you <3 Love you <3 Muuahh! xoxo'

Did she say she misses YOU? Then why're you 'Liking' it you dolt? Remember, this post can be liked only by 'Girly B'.

• Gangadhar Raman | 'borreedddd!'

Trust me, you're boredom exceeds Gangadhar Raman's if you 'Like' this one. 

• Any page that goes like 'If U LuV mE dEn Y dnt U ShOw Ur LOve....hOw D hEll wILL I Noe DAMIt!!!!!' or 'lyf widout u is nt complete how to tell u dis?' or 'Justin Beiber'

Well you can go ahead and 'Like' these. Just don't come crying and tell me people suddenly started ignoring you.

• Gangadhar Raman | 'Lost my beloved great aunt today :(( RIP! i guess idlis are nt gud 4 health'

Now you may agree with Gangadhar's words of wisdom towards the end of his status message. But remember! His Great Aunt died. So, a 'Saif likes this.' below someone's death announcement is not cool.

I hope you're wiser now. If you already were, you're a networking veteran yourself. If not, I'm sure this helped. Thanks for reading. 

Tata :)

P.S. No offence to any Gangadhar Raman, living or fictional, whatsoever. 

Photoshop Blunders!

I don't pride myself to be a software person. But over the past three days, I've been indulging and over-indulging in Photoshop. Yes. I hate that software. But I had a good set of laughs coming up with lewd posters of my classmates (and in one case, myself). Here, have a look.

This is my personal favorite. I spent about two hours on this. Ignore the copy (at your own risk).

This was my first ever design.
Pretty basic, yes. But I got to know what layers thanks to this.

Here's to my beloved roommate :)

It took me nearly half an our to crop Avani into a proper egg :P

I'd promised Goofy a poster. So here :)

I think Photoshop will develop into an addiction. If it does, then thanks to all the people who posed innocently, unaware that they would go on to be scrutinized digitally later on. 

Rushes

I've just concluded ... 'rushes' is my favourite word in the English dictionary. I've strewn all my clothes on Vedansh's cot. Sony Ericsson W705 doesn't have a 3.5 mm earphone jack. While composing a new post you see two tabs: 'Edit HTML' and 'Compose'. The red neon Symbiosis light goes off at 2300 hours everyday. I say I'm left handed. But I'm right handed. But I bowl with my left hand. I've not figured myself out. Advertising is a challenge. Does a Kurta go well with an ad-man? It looks sexy on a journo!  Never saw Mohan Sir wear a Kurta though. Biswadeep Ghosh's blog on the TOI website is called 'All things bright!'. I can't read a blog for nuts. You said nuts? My laptop will surely damage my nuts! World AIDS day is a joke. Condoms anybody? Oops! Sharmila Tagore will censor this. Contact Saif? SRK gets Akon to sing for him. What's with rappers and the Hindi film industry? Go away. 'You're so rude, dude!' - Nitasha Seth on yours truly. She's gotten herself an internship in Florida. She can't have all the internships you know! Amma comes to view first thing when I close my eyes. When I open them, I see Blogger has underlined more than three-fourths of this paragraph with red. I know my English, thank you. Once I felt like tweeting - #nowplaying 'Shakalaka boom boom' from 'Shakalaka Boom Boom' by #HimeshReshammiya but I contained myself fearing hegemony. Kolkata is the only metro I haven't visited in India. My verbal filler is usually 'Erm'. Shall I Wiki the actual definition of 'hegemony'? Zuckerberg invented Facebook. Aamir in 3 Idiots was Phunsukh. Er, am I off the hook? Mind is the seat of the faculty of reason. This is apparently a Shakespeare quote. Vatsala thinks she's smart for pointing this out. How far can my thoughts go? I miss Timon and Pumba, may you both rest in peace. Here's a little trivia: Pumba was actually Pumbus Guinea Pig. Timon was Timonalisa Xena Pumbus. I loved them. I still love them. Ouch! I just hurt my gum while biting my nails. Don't ask how. I'll just go through what I've written now. Line one. Line two ... half way stage ... done reading. Wow ... loads of thoughts ... I've just concluded 'rushes' is my favourite word in the English dictionary.