I'm baaaack!

Yo!

I've just got myself a computer, and it feels soooo good after having to live without one for about 10 whole days.

Life here in Ahmedabad is very very very very hectic, so I can't stop to write much now (got a truckload of stuff to do for class tommorow). Will put up a post as soon as I can. Lots to say, lots of reflections, lots of stories to narrate, lots of wacky things happening here on campus.

Until then, ta!

Goodbye... for now.

I'm leaving my home of 8 years (Chennai, that is) and family of 21 years in 2 days. Less actually, 31 hours or so. I'm off to Ahmedabad on Monday...

The last week has been a whirlwind of activity. Visting relatives, last minute packing, wondering whether I should take a pillow along or buy one there, realising I wasn't using the most efficient way of ironing a shirt, buying stationary, listening to endless lectures on why I should eat properly (padikkyara payyon), trying to remain strighfaced when sermonized by well-meaning uncles on the evils of alcohol (too late!)...

And catching up on memories. I didn't realise, until a week ago, that clearing one's desk can be such an emotional experience. The cover of a failed album by a failed band I was part of 10 years ago, old birthday cards, notebooks with more doodles than useful content, arbit quiz papers, little chits that had been passed to me in class, a forgotten photo of an unforgettable girl... I lingered on every photograph, every scrap of paper, every memory, even as my mother kept pushing me to clear everything as soon as possible.

I also met some of my closer friends, and in each case managed to hold my tears back until I was alone and have a quiet little memories-regrets-loss-missing session in private.

And I bought a suit! I hate shopping in general, and even more so for clothes. But when I saw the suit and felt the material, I fell totally in love with it. Yours truly believes he looks rather natty in it.

This, of course, is relative, since the aforementioned yours truly (not to be confused with yours Schumacher or yours Hakkinen) is usually to be found in shorts or a rather disreputable pair of jeans that are crying (actually, not so much crying as slashing their wrists in agony) for a hard, good, long-overdue wash.

Anyways, it's a whole new life there and I'm really looking forward to it. I'm very excited, and am looking forward to recording all my inital impression on this blog for posterity. I don't think I'll have a computer for atleast 10 days after I get there, and when I'll get an internet connection is something I dare not think about now. The upshot of all this uncertainty is that I will not have any contact with this blog until say, the 5th of July. So, if you find this blog curiously static, don't think I've given up blogging or have gone into hibernation or have been run over or something of the sort. In the words of Governor Arnie, "I'll be back". (Sylvester Stallone later said, "I'll be Beethoven" but no one paid him any attention. (Pause for hysterical laughter and applause.))

For any first time visitors during my hiatus, here is quick intro to my blog and life to bring you up to speed (Please do click on the links or else...):

Q. Who is this AC guy anyways?

A. I'm a regular chap in almost aspects of life and existence except that I'm just a little nuts and am an Anna University engineering graduate. For further details, read each and every single entry in this blog... If you're female and would like me to read it out to you, call me.

Q. Why is he going to Ahmedabad?

A. The truth might be in the vaguely-described "out there", but the answer is here and here, in two parts!

Q. What does he look like?

A. Oh, normal. 10 digits, one nose, two eyes, all that. Plus a paunch! Batteries not included, some assembly required.

Q. Does he have a sex life?

A. A very good question. Here's the closest I've got to it. If you are female and would like to volunteer to educate me in this respect, call me.

Q. Does he have any special talents?

A. You bet! I'm a pro at a very special contact sport. If you are female and would like coaching, call me.

Q. Does he love nature?

A. Well... yes and no.

Q. Why is he even named AC? Is there an expansion, or is that a sad attempt at trying to convince the world he's cool?

A. Ah, why I am named what I am named makes for a very interesting story. I'm just too lazy to tell it to you, so you'll have to make do with this. And if you are female and do think I'm cool, call me.

Q. Why on earth is this blog named 'The Lord of the Things...'?

A. The answer to that is shrouded in the mists of history, leading all the way back to the 11th of November 2004 when this little baby was born... And the world was never the same again... this was the beginning.

Q. And last but not the least, is AC desperate for female companionship?

A. No, of course not! But if you are female and still think so, call me and I'll tell you why I'm not.

That should answer most queries. Have fun, and cya all in a while!

Bombs away!

I am being persecuted. Attacked. Ambushed. Hounded. Stalked till my nerves are jangling like they've never jangled before. I walk/ride about in fear, trying to avoid open skies as I go about my daily life, a mere shadow of my former self.

My eyes are always open to any offensive. My ears are alert, listening, waiting for the telltale SPLAT as some incontinent bird lets loose. On me. Every time. It's inhuman, I tell you. Inhuman.

I have never been cruel to any species of bird in my life. OK, I've eaten chicken now and then, but that's hardly a reason to torment me in this manner. This relentless shadowing and frighteningly accurate aim... sometimes it makes me want to go. If you know what I mean.

"Hah, he's exaggerating", you say. "What crap!" you comment (quite appropriately). You dismiss my narrative with a careless "This one's for the birds!" Hear ye, dear reader, this be not crap. I speaketh the truth. As Yoda would testify, the truth I speak. History bears witness to the pitiful condition of my relations with the feathered folk.

Four times in the course of the last ten days. Twice on my shirt, once on my bike's headlight and once on the seat. Four in ten. Coincidence? I don't think so. The tally would have been five if I hadn't niftily swerved when I noticed a large yellow-green-white blob heading for me earlier this afternoon. It landed a relatively safe 6 centimeters away.

This has to be an anti-AC conspiracy by the birds. It isn't just the pigeons or crows, it's now all manner and sorts of birds. Some even appear to have called in distant relatives from foreign lands for the express purpose of decorating me or my vahana with their bodily wastes. And the odds are just too great for me to battle against. What chance does one pathetic human being have against a whole battalion of birds who scheme and plot against me. Maybe they even have a bird-Olympics, where one of the most prestigious events is the LALOAH, Land A Load On AC's Head.

I don't mind body art at all. In some cases I would donate rather liberally to foundations that aim to spread the culture of body arts to bring about world peace or the eradication of poverty or bringing a decent educational system (sans politics) to Tamil Nadu or other such causes that I know will not succeed in my lifetime. But I draw the line at the 'body' in the body art being my body. Oh, I know, if I let birds crap all over me and then stand in a glass box, I'd probably win the Turner Prize which, in my opinion, they award to the most insensible and downright crappy installation they find in the competition. But I'll turn down that honour, thank you very much.

I'd much prefer to remain clean and un-bird-crapped. I look just a little better without white-green-yellow blobs on my clothes or skin. I'm sure I smell a lot better without them too, though some might consider this point debatable.

Watch out...

The funniest letter my family has received in seven years. Found it when I was clearing my table, though I have no idea what it was doing there in the first place.

I live in T.Nagar, a locality of Chennai, India, that is a hotbed of politics and crime. And not just coz I live here.

Like all insecure apartment complex folk, we've hired a coupla watchmen from an agency. It never fails to amaze me that all watchmen I have come across are apparently on the wrong side of 60 and appear to suffer from creaky joints and amnesia. Fat lot of good they'd be if a burglar attacked the building. They're the kind who jump like jackrabbits even if the gate creaks. Is it jackrabbits I mean? Anyways, you could scare them shitless by creeping up behind them in broad daylight and whispering 'Boo!' in their hairy ears. You notice I haven't called them guards... Given the fact that they a) sit around all day watching the world go by, and b) would be useless in a real crisis, I think 'watch'men is far more appropriate. But maybe I'm being just a little too harsh. Our houses haven't been broken into yet, nor has anything been set on fire by outside agents. And only one guy has been kidnapped so far. (Not really... the police were called in but it was later discovered that he was lying somewhere drunk!) So maybe these watchmen are OK...

The following letter was sent to my mom (who's the Secretary of our Flat Owners Association) by the proprietor of the 'detective agency' that supplies the watchmen. (Note the impressive string of degrees after his name.) The entire family cracked up on reading this. The choice of words and the structure is priceless!

Check it out here. (Expand the image to regular size to read it.)

[Some details have been blacked out to prevent lawsuits/ embarassment/ withdrawal of service/ other undesirable occurences]

:D

PR

Was fiddling around online, jobless as ever, and decided I'd create a banner for my blog. A Google search and 5 minutes later...

A static one, for now. If I ever feel driven or enthu enough to do so, I'll make a nice moving one...

Whaddya think?