Imagine a buxom blonde, big boobs, pearly white teeth, silky straight hair. In a colourful bikini. She’s one of the participants on a contest-type show. The audience is cheering her on. It's one of those shows that has been dubbed, so the white American host is speaking in flawless Telugu as though he was born and brought up in Machlipatnam.
The contest? The blonde has to hold a chaddi in her hands in the way you hold it when you’re about to wear it (please, I cannot get any more descriptive than this). Then holding it a few inches away from her body, at a little below knee-level, she has to jump into it and out of it. Into it, out of it. Into it, out of it. You get the picture? She has to get both legs into it and right up to her bikini-clad bums each time, only then it is counted. She is given a minute to jump in and out of the chaddi smoothly and given points for each time she does it perfectly. Then everyone claps.
Imagine a guy wearing a t-shirt and an underwear doing the same thing.
Now imagine what I must have gone through watching this on TV last night on Maa Junior (their perception of what is 'junior' is skewed, clearly). I vaguely remember the blonde being gifted a jewelled underwear for her wonderfully wet-dreamesque performance.
Maybe I wasn’t missing all that much when I didn’t have a TV, after all…
September 30, 2011
September 27, 2011
The old monk who sold his rum.
So the story goes, there was once an old monk who lived in one of those lands that are always so far far away. He was a travelling monk. He had denounced all worldly pleasures and used to roam around the land. He was given food by kind people. He was dressed sparsely, a simple saffron robe protecting him from the elements of nature. He never spoke much and only uttered a few chants to bless the people who gave him food. But he could always be seen muttering something under his breath, maybe prayers.
He walked most of the time, head bent low and arms swinging on his sides. He only carried with him a saffron-coloured cloth bag, in which he kept all the things he owned in this world- a string of prayer beads, a notebook, a pencil carved out of wood and a bottle of rum. The rum kept him warm during the harsh winter days and nights. He made it himself. His forefathers had taught him how to.
One day, when he was out on one of his walks, he passed by an inn. He was stopped short by the heavenly fragrance of something delicious being cooked. He generally didn’t give in to temptations like this. He was a monk, after all. But this time, he couldn’t resist. He walked into the inn and up to the manager.
“What is that heavenly scent wafting from your kitchens, oh good man?”
“That is the scent of a new dish that we’ve discovered, oh monk.”
“What new dish?”
“It is made of rice and chicken mixed together, with spices and other things. It’s called Chicken Biryani.”
“Would you be so kind as to let me savour it, good man?”
“But of course! I cannot refuse a pious man like you! Please have a seat.”
As the inn-keeper walked out of the kitchen with a plateful of Biryani, his wife, who had overheard the whole conversation, flew into a rage and hissed at her husband. “What do you think you’re doing?! The rice and chicken, and especially the spices, are very expensive. We spent a lot of money on buying the stuff. How can you just give it away for free??!!"
“But dear woman, he is a monk. I cannot take anything from him. Plus, I don’t think he carries any money with him.”
“I don’t care. I cannot give it away for free.”
The inn-keeper reluctantly walked up to the monk with the heaped plate and told him shame-facedly “Oh good monk, please pardon me. But my wife is unwilling to give this dish away for free, as it cost us a lot to prepare. We would require payment for this.”
“But I do not have any money.”
“I understand, oh monk. Is there anything else you can give in exchange?”
The monk rummaged in his bag and pulled out the only thing he could bear parting with- his bottle of rum. He handed it over to the inn-keeper, who accepted it gratefully.
“Thank you, good old man. I hope you enjoy your meal.”
The monk took a bite. He closed his eyes and let the taste of the dish sink in. He seemed to be at peace. “This is delicious. Would you mind pouring me a bit of that rum too, dear inn-keeper?”
And that’s how the monk sold his rum. He passed on the recipe to the inn-keeper,who perfected the art of making it and named it after the person who has sold it to him. Old Monk Rum.
And that’s why, to this day, Chicken Biryani tastes best with a bit of Old Monk Rum.
P.S:- No offence to monks, sages, any community, religion, or class of people. I request you to take this with a pinch of salt and a plateful of yummy Biryani.
*To know the actual story, kindly go Google it up. And send me a link if you find it.*
Dedicated to a certain somebody for introducing me to the Old Monk.
*Images courtesy Google.
He walked most of the time, head bent low and arms swinging on his sides. He only carried with him a saffron-coloured cloth bag, in which he kept all the things he owned in this world- a string of prayer beads, a notebook, a pencil carved out of wood and a bottle of rum. The rum kept him warm during the harsh winter days and nights. He made it himself. His forefathers had taught him how to.
One day, when he was out on one of his walks, he passed by an inn. He was stopped short by the heavenly fragrance of something delicious being cooked. He generally didn’t give in to temptations like this. He was a monk, after all. But this time, he couldn’t resist. He walked into the inn and up to the manager.
“What is that heavenly scent wafting from your kitchens, oh good man?”
“That is the scent of a new dish that we’ve discovered, oh monk.”
“What new dish?”
“It is made of rice and chicken mixed together, with spices and other things. It’s called Chicken Biryani.”
“Would you be so kind as to let me savour it, good man?”
“But of course! I cannot refuse a pious man like you! Please have a seat.”
As the inn-keeper walked out of the kitchen with a plateful of Biryani, his wife, who had overheard the whole conversation, flew into a rage and hissed at her husband. “What do you think you’re doing?! The rice and chicken, and especially the spices, are very expensive. We spent a lot of money on buying the stuff. How can you just give it away for free??!!"
“But dear woman, he is a monk. I cannot take anything from him. Plus, I don’t think he carries any money with him.”
“I don’t care. I cannot give it away for free.”
The inn-keeper reluctantly walked up to the monk with the heaped plate and told him shame-facedly “Oh good monk, please pardon me. But my wife is unwilling to give this dish away for free, as it cost us a lot to prepare. We would require payment for this.”
“But I do not have any money.”
“I understand, oh monk. Is there anything else you can give in exchange?”
The monk rummaged in his bag and pulled out the only thing he could bear parting with- his bottle of rum. He handed it over to the inn-keeper, who accepted it gratefully.
“Thank you, good old man. I hope you enjoy your meal.”
The monk took a bite. He closed his eyes and let the taste of the dish sink in. He seemed to be at peace. “This is delicious. Would you mind pouring me a bit of that rum too, dear inn-keeper?”
And that’s how the monk sold his rum. He passed on the recipe to the inn-keeper,who perfected the art of making it and named it after the person who has sold it to him. Old Monk Rum.
And that’s why, to this day, Chicken Biryani tastes best with a bit of Old Monk Rum.
P.S:- No offence to monks, sages, any community, religion, or class of people. I request you to take this with a pinch of salt and a plateful of yummy Biryani.
*To know the actual story, kindly go Google it up. And send me a link if you find it.*
Dedicated to a certain somebody for introducing me to the Old Monk.
*Images courtesy Google.
September 26, 2011
Breaking up...
I hesitated. I was not sure if I wanted to do this.
I mean, it’s not like this was my first time. I had done it once before. So I knew what it felt like.
But a lot of time had passed between then and now, and I wasn’t sure if I could do it again. What if I didn’t like it? What if I got paranoid in between? What if the voices in my head didn’t shut up?
I had heard from others who had done it that it was difficult, but they had felt good at the end of it.
I was afraid of what I was going to lose. I wasn’t willing to think of what I would gain.
Me: Yes, I want to do this.
Efbee: But why?! Is it something I did??
Me: Yes, and no. I cannot deny the good times I’ve had with you. You brought a new light into my life. But I’ve reached a point where I don’t find you interesting anymore. And yet, I can’t seem to let go. I’m weirdly addicted to you. When I think of you, I’m reminded of the song “With or without you” by U2.
Efbee: Let’s work on it! I’m sure we can still be together! Please!
Me: No, I need a break from you. I need some time and space. I need to get away from the whole world and be by myself for a while. I may or may not come back to you. But right now, I know this is what I want.
Efbee: Are you sure?
Me: Yes, I am. I have thought about it for a while. I know it’s not going to be easy. But I’ve made up my mind. I want to do it.
Efbee: But… I thought your entire life revolved around me!! That you couldn’t live without me!! Remember, you had told that night, that you could not imagine a life without me. What happened to all that??!!
Me: My life?? What sort of a life is this? I’m sick and tired of playing it safe! I’m tired of being afraid to do what I want! I’m tired of the whole world!
Efbee: But.. I’ve changed!! I’m better now! I’m more interesting now. And I’m trying everything possible to keep you in my life forever. I’ve brought you closer with your friends even! I need you! Don’t you understand that?!
Me: No, you don’t need me. If I leave, someone else will take my place. There are many others who are addicted to you, just the way I am. Maybe they don’t have a problem with that sort of an addiction, but I can’t handle it anymore. I’m just one tiny little person. You’ll survive. You’ll live. You don’t need me for that.
Efbee: Will you at least think about it? About coming back to me after a break?
Me: Yes…
Efbee: Alright then.. I’ll miss you.. you really are special to me..
It was time to end this.. it was time to move on. Delaying this any further was only going to make it tougher for me to leave. It was better to do it quickly, like ripping off a Band-aid. In one swift motion. Quick and painless.
.
.
.
.
.
.
With a deep sigh, I clicked on the “Deactivate your account” button.
I mean, it’s not like this was my first time. I had done it once before. So I knew what it felt like.
But a lot of time had passed between then and now, and I wasn’t sure if I could do it again. What if I didn’t like it? What if I got paranoid in between? What if the voices in my head didn’t shut up?
I had heard from others who had done it that it was difficult, but they had felt good at the end of it.
I was afraid of what I was going to lose. I wasn’t willing to think of what I would gain.
Me: Yes, I want to do this.
Efbee: But why?! Is it something I did??
Me: Yes, and no. I cannot deny the good times I’ve had with you. You brought a new light into my life. But I’ve reached a point where I don’t find you interesting anymore. And yet, I can’t seem to let go. I’m weirdly addicted to you. When I think of you, I’m reminded of the song “With or without you” by U2.
Efbee: Let’s work on it! I’m sure we can still be together! Please!
Me: No, I need a break from you. I need some time and space. I need to get away from the whole world and be by myself for a while. I may or may not come back to you. But right now, I know this is what I want.
Efbee: Are you sure?
Me: Yes, I am. I have thought about it for a while. I know it’s not going to be easy. But I’ve made up my mind. I want to do it.
Efbee: But… I thought your entire life revolved around me!! That you couldn’t live without me!! Remember, you had told that night, that you could not imagine a life without me. What happened to all that??!!
Me: My life?? What sort of a life is this? I’m sick and tired of playing it safe! I’m tired of being afraid to do what I want! I’m tired of the whole world!
Efbee: But.. I’ve changed!! I’m better now! I’m more interesting now. And I’m trying everything possible to keep you in my life forever. I’ve brought you closer with your friends even! I need you! Don’t you understand that?!
Me: No, you don’t need me. If I leave, someone else will take my place. There are many others who are addicted to you, just the way I am. Maybe they don’t have a problem with that sort of an addiction, but I can’t handle it anymore. I’m just one tiny little person. You’ll survive. You’ll live. You don’t need me for that.
Efbee: Will you at least think about it? About coming back to me after a break?
Me: Yes…
Efbee: Alright then.. I’ll miss you.. you really are special to me..
It was time to end this.. it was time to move on. Delaying this any further was only going to make it tougher for me to leave. It was better to do it quickly, like ripping off a Band-aid. In one swift motion. Quick and painless.
.
.
.
.
.
.
With a deep sigh, I clicked on the “Deactivate your account” button.
September 20, 2011
Happy Mother's Day, Shree
Has it really been that long, Sree, since we first met? 7 years?
Has it been seven years since that day, my first day at college, a month after the rest of you had joined because I had my compartment exam to clear, where I met you and the rest of the gang, and decided immediately that you were too snooty and hyper for my own good? I had looked at you through narrow, skeptical eyes, and then turned around to talk to someone else. This was college, not school. Choose your friends carefully, my parents had advised me.
But of course, it must’ve been Fate. Why else would I get the only seat remaining, which was right in front of yours? I had to endure one full day of your constant chatter from behind, with Neethu, Arun and Arjun contributing to it. I had figured out by now that you were THE Gang. By the end of the day, I had decided to sit somewhere else the next day. But the next day, all seats were taken and I had no choice but to go and sit in one corner of the side bench, with the other end occupied by Arun and Arjun. Remember how Shirley Ma’m then rearranged the seats, and somehow, you, me and Neethu ended up next to each other on the ‘side bench’? Who knew, that would be the beginning of one of the most special relationships of my life.
Has it really been that long since you welcomed me into the ‘gang’ wholeheartedly, and the squabbles that followed? Remember that day, we fought with those two and I took my bag and walked out of class? You and Neethu consoled me while I sat crying in the Ladies' restroom. It hadn’t taken me long to figure out that you and I were of the same type pretty much. We both liked to roam around the campus rather than sit in class during free periods. We both shared the same interest in the wonderful pastime called ‘vaayanokkal’. Remember how we used to call good-looking guys as ‘chaakara’? :) I can never look at fish again without bursting out laughing at that. Remember how we used to doze off during Yohanan Sir’s Hindi class? Of course, was it our fault that they kept it right after lunch break? I still remember the look on Sir’s face when he handed out our half-yearly exam answer sheets and saw that we had scored above 70. The girls who paid the least attention in his class had scored such decent marks! I hope your students don’t fall asleep like that in your class. :) I wish I could go back one more time and sit with you in the chapel- so peaceful, so calm. The perfect place to hide when we wanted to bunk classes. And we used to promptly go and break the tranquility by our giggly whispers.
Remember how we used to bug Neethu in YG’s class, making her sit in between the two of us and pulling at her bra strap? :D God, if it had been anyone else, they would’ve given up on us long back. I wonder how our sweet little Annama put up with us. And how you put up with me- your cranky, temperamental best friend who was confused about a lot of things and had a penchant for messing up not only her own, but others’ lives too.
But you did not judge me. You did not give up on me. Yes, you laughed with me, consoled me when I cried. But when you saw me going down the wrong path, you also reprimanded me. And you stood up for me when I had failed to do it for myself. You were like a lioness guarding her cub, lashing back at anyone who spoke against me. When I had got lost somewhere in between, you brought me back. And our excursion, remember? That was the first time you ever got upset with me and ignored me. Till then, I had not realized how much you meant to me. But I could not bear the thought that you could be angry with me over something, even though the fault was entirely mine. Why did you punish me, Sree? Why did you make me cry? Maybe because you understood that it was the only way to make me see things for what they were. And you were right, whatever be the method you chose. I don’t know what I would have done without you.
You know what I want to do the most right now? Go to Minus 24 with you, order one Slush each, Orange for you and Mango for me, and sit there for hours together, gossiping, laughing, checking out the scarce pasture, and basically being carefree. Remember how you used to accompany me on those special meetings? Then we would go to Style Plus and shop for absolutely nothing. And to the CCD in Kowdiar. Sit on that corner couch and waste away three-four hours, ordering the Cool Blue that looked so much like Harpic and was so cold that it froze our tongues, turning it blue, and gave us a headache.
I don’t talk so much on the phone these days. I don’t like to, I get bored after 5-10 minutes. But I miss talking to you twice a day, minimum half an hour each, during the study holidays, discussing anything but studies. Remember how we used to strike a deal? “One call you make, the next time, I’ll call.” I pestered mom and dad to get me an Airtel connection saying that call rates to other Airtel numbers would be less, so I won’t use the landline to call you. I used to end up messaging you, calling you from the cell, and then again call you from the landline to check whether you got my message or not and why you missed my call. What a pain I was, no? And I still remember calling you at midnight, petrified, scared out of my wits and emotionally drained. But you heard me out. You consoled me and told me to go to sleep, more so because you yourself wanted to sleep. :) I really missed you in the last two years, when, you know, all that crap happened.
You know how I like to correct others’ grammar, don’t you? But it doesn’t give me as much pleasure as it used to when I pulled your ear and you yelped out “Ok ok!! HAVE to, not WANT to. Got it!!!”, muttering abuses at me under your breath. Do you do that to your students now? :) Every time I get into a bus, I remember how we used to sit on the side seat in a bus and create a ruckus, so much that by the time we got down, the rest of the passengers heaved a rather audible sigh of relief.
Has it really been that long? Today, when my phone pinged the arrival of your husband’s message “Sreedevi and me blessed with a baby boy”, my eyes filled up. I could not contain my joy. My dear Sree, who only I have the license to call ‘Shree’, had become a mother. You, who used to roam around the city with me, checking out guys and eating mutton cutlet and French fries at Oasis in Saphalyam Complex, had become a mother. At an age where I still can’t handle the idea of marriage, you had actually gone through labour pains and brought a tiny little person into the world. My love and respect for you has just multiplied. I know we have grown a little apart from each other over time, what with being in different states and jobs and, in your case, a husband and all, but each time I call you, it’s as though we just spoke last night about catching a movie the next day or complaining about the stupid essayists who’re ruining our sleep.
Congrats, brand-new mommy. You have a lot on your hands now. You have a new person to look after. Just don’t forget that this friend of yours loves you a lot, and still wishes to go back in time and relive those carefree days, when we never ran out of topics to talk about and missed each other even on weekends. I hope your little bundle of joy brings as much happiness into your life as you brought into mine.
God bless you, my dear. My dear Shree…
Has it been seven years since that day, my first day at college, a month after the rest of you had joined because I had my compartment exam to clear, where I met you and the rest of the gang, and decided immediately that you were too snooty and hyper for my own good? I had looked at you through narrow, skeptical eyes, and then turned around to talk to someone else. This was college, not school. Choose your friends carefully, my parents had advised me.
But of course, it must’ve been Fate. Why else would I get the only seat remaining, which was right in front of yours? I had to endure one full day of your constant chatter from behind, with Neethu, Arun and Arjun contributing to it. I had figured out by now that you were THE Gang. By the end of the day, I had decided to sit somewhere else the next day. But the next day, all seats were taken and I had no choice but to go and sit in one corner of the side bench, with the other end occupied by Arun and Arjun. Remember how Shirley Ma’m then rearranged the seats, and somehow, you, me and Neethu ended up next to each other on the ‘side bench’? Who knew, that would be the beginning of one of the most special relationships of my life.
Has it really been that long since you welcomed me into the ‘gang’ wholeheartedly, and the squabbles that followed? Remember that day, we fought with those two and I took my bag and walked out of class? You and Neethu consoled me while I sat crying in the Ladies' restroom. It hadn’t taken me long to figure out that you and I were of the same type pretty much. We both liked to roam around the campus rather than sit in class during free periods. We both shared the same interest in the wonderful pastime called ‘vaayanokkal’. Remember how we used to call good-looking guys as ‘chaakara’? :) I can never look at fish again without bursting out laughing at that. Remember how we used to doze off during Yohanan Sir’s Hindi class? Of course, was it our fault that they kept it right after lunch break? I still remember the look on Sir’s face when he handed out our half-yearly exam answer sheets and saw that we had scored above 70. The girls who paid the least attention in his class had scored such decent marks! I hope your students don’t fall asleep like that in your class. :) I wish I could go back one more time and sit with you in the chapel- so peaceful, so calm. The perfect place to hide when we wanted to bunk classes. And we used to promptly go and break the tranquility by our giggly whispers.
Remember how we used to bug Neethu in YG’s class, making her sit in between the two of us and pulling at her bra strap? :D God, if it had been anyone else, they would’ve given up on us long back. I wonder how our sweet little Annama put up with us. And how you put up with me- your cranky, temperamental best friend who was confused about a lot of things and had a penchant for messing up not only her own, but others’ lives too.
But you did not judge me. You did not give up on me. Yes, you laughed with me, consoled me when I cried. But when you saw me going down the wrong path, you also reprimanded me. And you stood up for me when I had failed to do it for myself. You were like a lioness guarding her cub, lashing back at anyone who spoke against me. When I had got lost somewhere in between, you brought me back. And our excursion, remember? That was the first time you ever got upset with me and ignored me. Till then, I had not realized how much you meant to me. But I could not bear the thought that you could be angry with me over something, even though the fault was entirely mine. Why did you punish me, Sree? Why did you make me cry? Maybe because you understood that it was the only way to make me see things for what they were. And you were right, whatever be the method you chose. I don’t know what I would have done without you.
You know what I want to do the most right now? Go to Minus 24 with you, order one Slush each, Orange for you and Mango for me, and sit there for hours together, gossiping, laughing, checking out the scarce pasture, and basically being carefree. Remember how you used to accompany me on those special meetings? Then we would go to Style Plus and shop for absolutely nothing. And to the CCD in Kowdiar. Sit on that corner couch and waste away three-four hours, ordering the Cool Blue that looked so much like Harpic and was so cold that it froze our tongues, turning it blue, and gave us a headache.
I don’t talk so much on the phone these days. I don’t like to, I get bored after 5-10 minutes. But I miss talking to you twice a day, minimum half an hour each, during the study holidays, discussing anything but studies. Remember how we used to strike a deal? “One call you make, the next time, I’ll call.” I pestered mom and dad to get me an Airtel connection saying that call rates to other Airtel numbers would be less, so I won’t use the landline to call you. I used to end up messaging you, calling you from the cell, and then again call you from the landline to check whether you got my message or not and why you missed my call. What a pain I was, no? And I still remember calling you at midnight, petrified, scared out of my wits and emotionally drained. But you heard me out. You consoled me and told me to go to sleep, more so because you yourself wanted to sleep. :) I really missed you in the last two years, when, you know, all that crap happened.
You know how I like to correct others’ grammar, don’t you? But it doesn’t give me as much pleasure as it used to when I pulled your ear and you yelped out “Ok ok!! HAVE to, not WANT to. Got it!!!”, muttering abuses at me under your breath. Do you do that to your students now? :) Every time I get into a bus, I remember how we used to sit on the side seat in a bus and create a ruckus, so much that by the time we got down, the rest of the passengers heaved a rather audible sigh of relief.
Has it really been that long? Today, when my phone pinged the arrival of your husband’s message “Sreedevi and me blessed with a baby boy”, my eyes filled up. I could not contain my joy. My dear Sree, who only I have the license to call ‘Shree’, had become a mother. You, who used to roam around the city with me, checking out guys and eating mutton cutlet and French fries at Oasis in Saphalyam Complex, had become a mother. At an age where I still can’t handle the idea of marriage, you had actually gone through labour pains and brought a tiny little person into the world. My love and respect for you has just multiplied. I know we have grown a little apart from each other over time, what with being in different states and jobs and, in your case, a husband and all, but each time I call you, it’s as though we just spoke last night about catching a movie the next day or complaining about the stupid essayists who’re ruining our sleep.
Congrats, brand-new mommy. You have a lot on your hands now. You have a new person to look after. Just don’t forget that this friend of yours loves you a lot, and still wishes to go back in time and relive those carefree days, when we never ran out of topics to talk about and missed each other even on weekends. I hope your little bundle of joy brings as much happiness into your life as you brought into mine.
God bless you, my dear. My dear Shree…
September 16, 2011
Nailed it!
Did you see read this piece of news?
World record for longest nails.
That's not a record! That's just bad hygeiene!!!
How?? And more importantly, WHY???
How does she eat?
How does she cook?
How does she chop?
How does she wash her hands?
How does she wipe herself after doing potty?
How does she apply kajal?
How does she brush her hair without getting the nails entangled in the bristles?
How does she scratch her chin thoughtfully?
How does she scratch anywhere at all?
What does she bite when she gets nervous?
How many bottles of nail polish must she be buying just for one time of painting?
How does she scratch her husband's back during you-know-what to show that they were lost in the throes of ecstacy?
How??? And why???
And the worst part is, she's not the first one out there. Sigh... WHat all people do to create records...
***
P.S 1:- I complete a year at my current job today. So far, the itch hasn't surfaced (well, at least not too strongly). Let's hope it stays that way. (Crossing all fingers and toes. Not too hard to do, since I don't have 10 km-long nails.)
P.S 2: WHY is everyone making such a big deal out of the Miss.India not bringing home the Miss.Universe title? You win some, you lose some. Give the girl a break! It's not like Neha Dhupia or Celina Jaitley won at the international level. Is it just because she's a Southie? She must be depressed enough as it is for not winning. The media should stop humiliating her like this. She'll probably be earning more in a year's time modelling and acting than these so-called journalists who are trashing her.
World record for longest nails.
That's not a record! That's just bad hygeiene!!!
How?? And more importantly, WHY???
How does she eat?
How does she cook?
How does she chop?
How does she wash her hands?
How does she wipe herself after doing potty?
How does she apply kajal?
How does she brush her hair without getting the nails entangled in the bristles?
How does she scratch her chin thoughtfully?
How does she scratch anywhere at all?
What does she bite when she gets nervous?
How many bottles of nail polish must she be buying just for one time of painting?
How does she scratch her husband's back during you-know-what to show that they were lost in the throes of ecstacy?
How??? And why???
And the worst part is, she's not the first one out there. Sigh... WHat all people do to create records...
***
P.S 1:- I complete a year at my current job today. So far, the itch hasn't surfaced (well, at least not too strongly). Let's hope it stays that way. (Crossing all fingers and toes. Not too hard to do, since I don't have 10 km-long nails.)
P.S 2: WHY is everyone making such a big deal out of the Miss.India not bringing home the Miss.Universe title? You win some, you lose some. Give the girl a break! It's not like Neha Dhupia or Celina Jaitley won at the international level. Is it just because she's a Southie? She must be depressed enough as it is for not winning. The media should stop humiliating her like this. She'll probably be earning more in a year's time modelling and acting than these so-called journalists who are trashing her.
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