Am I the only one in this world who reads the last few pages of a book first?
Seriously. Why is this so hard for people to digest?
After reading the foreword, acknowledgement, and the first page of a new book, I flip to the last few pages and read the ending. Then I come back to the front again.
Is that really so weird?
Why do I do that?
Because it gives me immense peace of mind in knowing how the book ends, and once I know that, I can happily read the rest of the book. If it’s a sad ending, I’ll be prepared for it. If it’s a happy ending, I’ll be super-duper excited about it.
It’s as simple as that, really! There is nothing to break your head over it! And I really don’t think it’s weird. I think I caught that habit when Maari and I used to read Nancy Drew novels. The last few pages of the novels always used to have a making-out scene. So we used excitedly skip to the end and read those pages. :) I guess the habit just stuck on after that. Every single book that I read, I read the last few pages first, whatever be the genre.
Even with Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince, I read the end first, found out who the prince is and who killed Dumbledore, and then started from the beginning. And the book was just as fascinating for me as it would have been for someone who didn’t know the surprise ending.
A line from When Harry Met Sally comes to my mind when people give me incredulous reactions at this habit of mine. Harry tells Sally, “I read the ending of a book first, so that even if I die without finishing the book, I’ll at least know how it ended”. Or something along these lines.
One of my friends, to whom I happened to mention this during our conversation, described it as similar to “wanting to have an orgasm before the foreplay”. Err.. I don’t think it’s like that AT ALL. :/
Do you guys have any habit like this that seems normal to you, but everyone else considers you cuckoo for it?
P.S:- For all those who eagerly opened the post after seeing the title, so sorry to disappoint you. What can I say, I'm a born tease. :p
May 22, 2012
May 17, 2012
From Amsi, with love
Be it the time you hit your face on the Luna while diving valiantly to take that catch when we were playing cricket, and you broke a tooth…
Be it the time you burnt your fingers during a flowerpot mishap that Diwali…
Be it all the times we played cricket inside our tiny little 2BHK flat, with a diary for a bat and the front door as the wickets…
Be it the times you took all the brunt of whatever mischief I had done, just because you were the older one…
Be it those countless times when we constantly fought over the phone, or that one single remaining hug-pillow, the twin of which we had hugged away to its ruin…
Be it the n number of movies to which you have let me tag along with you and your friends…
Be it letting me wear your clothes, even though they never fit me properly…
Be it the times we’ve fought over who will get to read the latest issue of Tinkle first, setting our own rule of ‘whoever sees it first gets to read it first’…
Be it the times when I finished off three-fourth of a bottle of Hajmola or a plate of grapes before you even noticed, and then you proceeded to count out the remaining ones and shared it equally…
Be it the way you always put an extra 1000 bucks in my account than what I had asked for…
Be it the fact that all the three phones that I’ve owned till now were sponsored by you, not to mention half my wardrobe…
Be it the way you call me Amsi…
Be it the way you yell at me for doing too much drama…
For all that and more…
I love you more than these mere words can ever express.
You are the best sister anyone could have ever asked for, and I wouldn’t trade you for anything in the world. Well, maybe for an iPhone. But we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it, ok?
Happy 30th to the strongest and most delightful person I know (besides me, of course).
Happy b’day, my dear chech.
Be it the time you burnt your fingers during a flowerpot mishap that Diwali…
Be it all the times we played cricket inside our tiny little 2BHK flat, with a diary for a bat and the front door as the wickets…
Be it the times you took all the brunt of whatever mischief I had done, just because you were the older one…
Be it those countless times when we constantly fought over the phone, or that one single remaining hug-pillow, the twin of which we had hugged away to its ruin…
Be it the n number of movies to which you have let me tag along with you and your friends…
Be it letting me wear your clothes, even though they never fit me properly…
Be it the times we’ve fought over who will get to read the latest issue of Tinkle first, setting our own rule of ‘whoever sees it first gets to read it first’…
Be it the times when I finished off three-fourth of a bottle of Hajmola or a plate of grapes before you even noticed, and then you proceeded to count out the remaining ones and shared it equally…
Be it the way you always put an extra 1000 bucks in my account than what I had asked for…
Be it the fact that all the three phones that I’ve owned till now were sponsored by you, not to mention half my wardrobe…
Be it the way you call me Amsi…
Be it the way you yell at me for doing too much drama…
For all that and more…
I love you more than these mere words can ever express.
You are the best sister anyone could have ever asked for, and I wouldn’t trade you for anything in the world. Well, maybe for an iPhone. But we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it, ok?
Happy 30th to the strongest and most delightful person I know (besides me, of course).
Happy b’day, my dear chech.
May 7, 2012
Clicketty click (55 fiction)
Click.
There. She had finally had the courage to click on that button.
She had finally unfriended him from her Facebook list.
Now to work on removing him from her heart and her mind. If only there was a simple one-click button option available for that.
Unfortunately, there isn’t. That’ll take time. And some faith.
There. She had finally had the courage to click on that button.
She had finally unfriended him from her Facebook list.
Now to work on removing him from her heart and her mind. If only there was a simple one-click button option available for that.
Unfortunately, there isn’t. That’ll take time. And some faith.
April 30, 2012
On the market
So people, I’m on the market now. The Marriage Market.
Acha made me register on some matrimonial website, with the most decent-looking pic I could find, and one long description about me and about the kind of partner I’m looking for.
I did it just to get Acha off my back, because I'm in no way ready to get married right now. I created the profile and then left it to him to handle it.
Wrong call.
Because what do I see now when I open the account? My dad has sent ‘interest’ to countless moustached Mallu uncles with pot-bellies who are ‘simple guy loves family looking 4 true luv’.
:/
If there are any Mallu guys reading this, then I’m sorry. I really am. But you gotta admit, mallu men are not the best-looking guys on earth. You’ll find one in a hundred. Alright, I admit, I’m not a Vidya Balan myself. I’m short, dusky, wear spectacles, have a large nose that would give even Ganesha ji competition, and as of now, my ‘physical structure’ is ‘average’ rather than ‘slim’. But that doesn’t mean I should get married to a guy who looks older than my dad no?! And yes yes, looks are not the most important thing, it’s the person that matters and blah blah. But hey, I have to spend the rest of my life with the guy. I need to be able to look at his face day in and day out, right? As shallow as this may make me seem, I’m not willing to spend the rest of my life with a guy who resembles an 80’s Mallu movie villain (I’m not exaggerating. My dad actually did send interest to someone who looked like that. And went ahead and got the horoscopes checked also, after which he’s telling me that it matches perfectly and that the ‘party’ is very interested. :/ I told him that while I may not be Miss Universe material, I don’t think I can get married to a guy who looks older than my dad.) I'm not searching for an Adonis either, but at least not someone who considers a moustache to be the ultimate symbol of manhood. I don’t like guys with moustache, unless it’s accompanied by a French beard or stubble. And the worst part is that Mallu men without moustache are hard to come by!
If it’s not the looks, it’s the name. I mean, seriously! What is it with us Malayalis and the fixation for bad names!! There was a slightly interesting profile that I was checking out. Looks ok-ok, job ok-ok, etc. Then I read the name. Shine. :/ Can you even imagine what my kids’ names would be like, with that as a surname? They would sound like the brand names of liquid bleach. Or like the name of a dry-cleaning store! Another guy had a name that was just one letter different from the camera-brand Nikon. I don’t judge him. I judge his parents. Why would they do that to their own flesh and blood?! And don’t even get me started on Mallus and their fixation for the sound ‘sh’ in names. They just love it. while most names are good, some of them are so imaginative, it’s ridiculous.
In my ‘Partner preference’, I’ve given one lamba-chauda list of requirements, not at all on the lines of ‘seeking groom from good family background’. There’s actually a long list of things, starting from ‘preferably a Nambiar, so that I don’t have to change my surname’ to ‘someone who loves Calvin and Hobbes’. I think most of them got scared away just reading that. :/ Because no one seems to be falling for me. No one good, anyways. :( The ones who do show some interest make me want to become a nun.
One dude (or whoever created his profile) replied to my dad’s message- “Dear father please give clear and polite partner preference and please remind this to your daughter and marriage is not at all a business deal”. It isn’t? Then why was he paying money to look for a partner on the internet? :/ Well, actually I'm not surprised he responded like that, because in my ‘About me’, I've written “My forte is humour and satire, so if you don’t get sarcasm, chances are you won’t like me at all”. Well, I was right about that, wasn’t I?!
Another guy who expressed in me claims to be a blogger, but also mentions that we can’t find his blog by typing his name. Seriously, dude? And his paragraphs were like loose motion- no full stop, comma, or punctuations of any sort.
Ok, so maybe proper grammar is hardly the thing you look for in a prospective life partner. There are a lot of other things that matter, like income, family background, personality, etc. But it matters to me! I tend to judge people based on their grammar and how well they can write. WHAT do I do about it?! Do you think I’ll die alone, surrounded by grammar books? :(
And a couple of them had the nerve to send me friend request on FB. Did they REALLY think I would accept their request? Seriously?! Damn you, FB!
I think my dad truly believes that the world will indeed come to an end in December 2012. I can’t see any other reason why he would be in a hurry to get me married off to one of those. I would rather die single than Mrs. Thick Moustache.
Damn. It does look like I’ll die all alone in a room surrounded by grammar books, no? :/
Acha made me register on some matrimonial website, with the most decent-looking pic I could find, and one long description about me and about the kind of partner I’m looking for.
I did it just to get Acha off my back, because I'm in no way ready to get married right now. I created the profile and then left it to him to handle it.
Wrong call.
Because what do I see now when I open the account? My dad has sent ‘interest’ to countless moustached Mallu uncles with pot-bellies who are ‘simple guy loves family looking 4 true luv’.
:/
If there are any Mallu guys reading this, then I’m sorry. I really am. But you gotta admit, mallu men are not the best-looking guys on earth. You’ll find one in a hundred. Alright, I admit, I’m not a Vidya Balan myself. I’m short, dusky, wear spectacles, have a large nose that would give even Ganesha ji competition, and as of now, my ‘physical structure’ is ‘average’ rather than ‘slim’. But that doesn’t mean I should get married to a guy who looks older than my dad no?! And yes yes, looks are not the most important thing, it’s the person that matters and blah blah. But hey, I have to spend the rest of my life with the guy. I need to be able to look at his face day in and day out, right? As shallow as this may make me seem, I’m not willing to spend the rest of my life with a guy who resembles an 80’s Mallu movie villain (I’m not exaggerating. My dad actually did send interest to someone who looked like that. And went ahead and got the horoscopes checked also, after which he’s telling me that it matches perfectly and that the ‘party’ is very interested. :/ I told him that while I may not be Miss Universe material, I don’t think I can get married to a guy who looks older than my dad.) I'm not searching for an Adonis either, but at least not someone who considers a moustache to be the ultimate symbol of manhood. I don’t like guys with moustache, unless it’s accompanied by a French beard or stubble. And the worst part is that Mallu men without moustache are hard to come by!
If it’s not the looks, it’s the name. I mean, seriously! What is it with us Malayalis and the fixation for bad names!! There was a slightly interesting profile that I was checking out. Looks ok-ok, job ok-ok, etc. Then I read the name. Shine. :/ Can you even imagine what my kids’ names would be like, with that as a surname? They would sound like the brand names of liquid bleach. Or like the name of a dry-cleaning store! Another guy had a name that was just one letter different from the camera-brand Nikon. I don’t judge him. I judge his parents. Why would they do that to their own flesh and blood?! And don’t even get me started on Mallus and their fixation for the sound ‘sh’ in names. They just love it. while most names are good, some of them are so imaginative, it’s ridiculous.
In my ‘Partner preference’, I’ve given one lamba-chauda list of requirements, not at all on the lines of ‘seeking groom from good family background’. There’s actually a long list of things, starting from ‘preferably a Nambiar, so that I don’t have to change my surname’ to ‘someone who loves Calvin and Hobbes’. I think most of them got scared away just reading that. :/ Because no one seems to be falling for me. No one good, anyways. :( The ones who do show some interest make me want to become a nun.
One dude (or whoever created his profile) replied to my dad’s message- “Dear father please give clear and polite partner preference and please remind this to your daughter and marriage is not at all a business deal”. It isn’t? Then why was he paying money to look for a partner on the internet? :/ Well, actually I'm not surprised he responded like that, because in my ‘About me’, I've written “My forte is humour and satire, so if you don’t get sarcasm, chances are you won’t like me at all”. Well, I was right about that, wasn’t I?!
Another guy who expressed in me claims to be a blogger, but also mentions that we can’t find his blog by typing his name. Seriously, dude? And his paragraphs were like loose motion- no full stop, comma, or punctuations of any sort.
Ok, so maybe proper grammar is hardly the thing you look for in a prospective life partner. There are a lot of other things that matter, like income, family background, personality, etc. But it matters to me! I tend to judge people based on their grammar and how well they can write. WHAT do I do about it?! Do you think I’ll die alone, surrounded by grammar books? :(
And a couple of them had the nerve to send me friend request on FB. Did they REALLY think I would accept their request? Seriously?! Damn you, FB!
I think my dad truly believes that the world will indeed come to an end in December 2012. I can’t see any other reason why he would be in a hurry to get me married off to one of those. I would rather die single than Mrs. Thick Moustache.
Damn. It does look like I’ll die all alone in a room surrounded by grammar books, no? :/
April 24, 2012
Et tu, Brute?
Dear blogger,
Life hasn’t been all that kind to me lately. 2012 isn’t exactly what I can call ‘a walk in the park’. It’s been just four months, but I already feel like taking VRS. True, I finally took that vacation I’d been wanting to, and had a fab time in Goa with my friends. I spent all the time I wanted to at the beach, sat by the sea in the moonlight, finally did parasailing and a few other water sports, got dunked into the water and thought that I had died, got a temp tattoo (which washed off in two weeks instead of staying for a month. Apparently, not taking a bath too often would’ve helped it stay longer. Yes, brilliant idea. That too at the peak of summer), got burnt to a crisp because of the heat, wore shorts to my heart’s content and ate a lot of seafood.
Sorry, what was I talking about again?
Ah yes, 2012. So yes, as I was saying, 2012 hasn’t gotten off to a great start. Too many things have changed, and there’s more to come. You know what I’m talking about, right? People have done an about-turn, circumstances decided to change without giving me proper notice, and Hyderabad is so unbearably hot, I could weep.
I understand that change is constant. Change is mandatory. It may or may not be for the good, but it’s mandatory. It’s what propels life forward. I get all that jazz.
Whenever I open my FB account, I get scary visions of the timeline profile that will apparently be made mandatory soon. FB keeps asking me if I want to switch to it, but I ignore it. Because I DON’T want it. I’m happy with my profile the way it is. I don’t have any life-changing events worth time-lining. Unless you count winning the skipping race in 2nd standard.
But then, I’m not much on FB these days anyway, so I figured, maybe it won’t be the worst thing if the timeline becomes mandatory. I always have the option of quitting, right? Right.
A couple of months back, your clan gave me a scare, saying that they’re going to upgrade to some new profile thingy. You and your elder bro (or sis or dad or mom, whatever) Gmail said that you guys are also going to change. I didn’t take it seriously. I was like “Arre, ye tho apne hai, nahi badalenge”. So in true Hyderabadi style, maine light liya.
Lo and behold, a few weeks back, when I opened my gmail, it had gotten a makeover. It didn’t look too complicated, so after the initial panic attack, I calmed down. “Chalo koi nahi, at least blogger tho nahi badla ab tak”, I thought.
Saale kameene! Tu ne bhi dhoka diya! Who told you to change without asking me! Just because I haven’t blogged in a while and haven’t even logged in for a few days, this is how you take revenge? By turning into this super-complicated thing that I’m just not able to make head or tails of. Yesterday it took me almost half a day to figure out how to publish one comment. God only knows how long it’ll take me to publish this post after I’ve finished typing it in Word.
I’m not pleased, dude. Not at all pleased. You can expect many more hate-mails from me. Do NOT mark me under spam.
Not-all-that-sincerely-but-whatever,
A very miffed Spiff.
***
Here's a Dil Chahta Hai-esque pic from my vacation, taken at Chapora Fort.
I wish I could've taken a pic of the moonlit beachside at 2:00 AM, but neither words nor a picture can capture that breathtaking sight. Trust me.
ETA: You remember my friend Rohan, the guy who takes the most awesome photographs (some of which are there in my header)? He lost his cam in Goa. It's like losing a part of himself. We honestly cannot imagine him without his cam. The pic above was taken with his cam, in self-mode. Pray for his cam and pray that whoever stole it has non-stop loose motions day and night.
Life hasn’t been all that kind to me lately. 2012 isn’t exactly what I can call ‘a walk in the park’. It’s been just four months, but I already feel like taking VRS. True, I finally took that vacation I’d been wanting to, and had a fab time in Goa with my friends. I spent all the time I wanted to at the beach, sat by the sea in the moonlight, finally did parasailing and a few other water sports, got dunked into the water and thought that I had died, got a temp tattoo (which washed off in two weeks instead of staying for a month. Apparently, not taking a bath too often would’ve helped it stay longer. Yes, brilliant idea. That too at the peak of summer), got burnt to a crisp because of the heat, wore shorts to my heart’s content and ate a lot of seafood.
Sorry, what was I talking about again?
Ah yes, 2012. So yes, as I was saying, 2012 hasn’t gotten off to a great start. Too many things have changed, and there’s more to come. You know what I’m talking about, right? People have done an about-turn, circumstances decided to change without giving me proper notice, and Hyderabad is so unbearably hot, I could weep.
I understand that change is constant. Change is mandatory. It may or may not be for the good, but it’s mandatory. It’s what propels life forward. I get all that jazz.
Whenever I open my FB account, I get scary visions of the timeline profile that will apparently be made mandatory soon. FB keeps asking me if I want to switch to it, but I ignore it. Because I DON’T want it. I’m happy with my profile the way it is. I don’t have any life-changing events worth time-lining. Unless you count winning the skipping race in 2nd standard.
But then, I’m not much on FB these days anyway, so I figured, maybe it won’t be the worst thing if the timeline becomes mandatory. I always have the option of quitting, right? Right.
A couple of months back, your clan gave me a scare, saying that they’re going to upgrade to some new profile thingy. You and your elder bro (or sis or dad or mom, whatever) Gmail said that you guys are also going to change. I didn’t take it seriously. I was like “Arre, ye tho apne hai, nahi badalenge”. So in true Hyderabadi style, maine light liya.
Lo and behold, a few weeks back, when I opened my gmail, it had gotten a makeover. It didn’t look too complicated, so after the initial panic attack, I calmed down. “Chalo koi nahi, at least blogger tho nahi badla ab tak”, I thought.
Saale kameene! Tu ne bhi dhoka diya! Who told you to change without asking me! Just because I haven’t blogged in a while and haven’t even logged in for a few days, this is how you take revenge? By turning into this super-complicated thing that I’m just not able to make head or tails of. Yesterday it took me almost half a day to figure out how to publish one comment. God only knows how long it’ll take me to publish this post after I’ve finished typing it in Word.
I’m not pleased, dude. Not at all pleased. You can expect many more hate-mails from me. Do NOT mark me under spam.
Not-all-that-sincerely-but-whatever,
A very miffed Spiff.
***
Here's a Dil Chahta Hai-esque pic from my vacation, taken at Chapora Fort.
That's Anand, Chitra, Roro, me and Vijish.
I wish I could've taken a pic of the moonlit beachside at 2:00 AM, but neither words nor a picture can capture that breathtaking sight. Trust me.
ETA: You remember my friend Rohan, the guy who takes the most awesome photographs (some of which are there in my header)? He lost his cam in Goa. It's like losing a part of himself. We honestly cannot imagine him without his cam. The pic above was taken with his cam, in self-mode. Pray for his cam and pray that whoever stole it has non-stop loose motions day and night.
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