An Update

Ah yes, finally an update. Your lives have meaning all over again.

Let’s see what has transpired in the interim.

The Men in Blue fail miserably.
Britney Spears divorces Kevin Federline.
Salman Khan is suspected for having links with the underworld

Yes, as you can see it’s been a season of surprises.
Good, so now that we’ve reviewed the world news and covered all the important topics like global warming (the real reason why Britney didn’t wear underwear), genocide in Sudan (Madonna adopting an African kid) and George Bush’s assassination (I wish) we will move on to the personal front.

I lost my phone…. again. Rather, someone saw it and decided that they wanted it… again!
The fourth time, this is happening to me. Anyone who has lost their phone, even if its only just once, will know the supreme pain it is. And I mean this in a fishing for ‘new’ one rupee coins at the PCO and scavenging around for lost contacts kind of way. Like my friend KC quite accurately put it: Losing a cell phone is like losing a limb. I felt worse then than after any of my break-ups.

I still remember the first time it happened. It was a dark and stormy night…. My beloved Samsung C 100 was a mere 42 days old, still in cell phone infancy when someone laid their greedy paws on it. Oh the trauma! I went through all the 5 stages of grief, dealing with the loss.

Denial: No, it cannot be. I could not have lost my phone. It just cannot be.

Anger: WTF! The thieving muddher f*%^#&s!!!!!

Bargaining: Okay, if I find my phone I promise that I’ll never give fake accounts to my parents again. God promise.

Depression: Do I really need to explain this. I mean come on, I lost my baby.

Acceptance: So long my sweet. You were my first and will always hold a special place in my heart.

Getting to the final stage was a long winded journey. Being my first phone, I simply could not comprehend my miserable luck. Why me? Why me? Why me? Why me? Why me? I related my tale of woe in the weeks that followed to everyone and more. Initially I believed that I was the only recipient of such an injustice. Yet every time I narrated my tale of incredible misfortune the listener had a similar story to tell. Left it in the auto… Kept it on the table…. Went for a concert…- different beginnings with the same result. This got me thinking… has no one managed to escape the Fate of the Fidgety Fingers? And then I remembered a story my granny told me when still under five feet and wore those hideous contraptions called Bermudas.

One day when Buddha was meditating under the Bodhi tree a villager approached him. He was young and well built, but his gait was haggard and his clothes were disheveled. Seeing the man’s tear-stained face Buddha’s heart went out to him. “What is it young man, that causes you so much grief?” he enquired. “O’ enlightened one”, the man sobbed, “My Beloved Wife died last night.” His face was downcast with grief. “You are all-knowing, O’ wise one. Why must I alone be subject to such misery? Please bring her back to life.”
Buddha knew that this was not one of the trifle questions he usually encountered like, “Why does my neighbor have 15 cows when I have one?” So he thought carefully before answering. “I will grant your wish and bring your wife back to life”, Buddha said, “but on one condition.” The villager instantly perked up and nodded his head in consent. He was prepared to do anything to bring his Beloved Wife back to life. “I want you to bring me a handful of mustard from a house that has not had a death. If you can perform this act I will bring your Beloved Wife back to life.”
While the young man was puzzled by this unusual request, he wasn’t going to argue with one who had attained salvation. Besides, it seemed like a simple enough task. The man set out immediately. All day he went from house to house, asking for a handful of mustard. While everyone was more than willing to oblige him, he soon found that he could not accept it from any; because there wasn’t a single family who had not experienced the death of a loved one.
It was dusk, and the bereaved husband was still empty handed. But though he was unsuccessful in his quest, he finally understood the point Buddha was trying to make. Death and sorrow are the universal facts of life. No man can evade them.

In case you’re wondering; there is a link. Because such was the lesson Pooja learnt as well. While death and sorrow aren’t exactly an inevitable part of a student’s life and may eventually go the small pox way thanks to cloning and some good ole weed. The loss of a cell phone on the other hand, is the inescapable reality of today.


So while I am beginning to accept these hard Facts of Life, I am very much loving my new Moto C 168 with FM radio and 4096 colors and all for just Rs. 2700!! So here’s wishing it a happy first month anniversary and praying that I will be fifth time lucky. And hopefully its resemblance to a Made in China plastic toy will play an important role in deterring subsequent phone thieves.

IROM SHARMILA CHANU
I SALUTE YOU

The strongest part of me is my indifference. What I once regarded as an advantage is actually my biggest flaw. Very few things can draw me out of this haze of detachment with which I blankly float through life.

I SALUTE YOU, Irom Sharmila Chanu. You make me ashamed of what I am. The pointlessness of my existence is magnified by the contrast of your struggle for the people of Manipur.

I can never hope for your greatness and integrity. I respect your integrity and mission. You are a queen.

Say NO to the Armed Forces Special powers Act of 1958. it is a violation of the basic human rights of the people of Manipur.


You decide!
Read about the Armed Forces Special Powers Act (1958)-

http://www.satp.org/satporgtp/countries/india/document/actandordinances/armed_forces_special_power_act_1958.htm

Tehelka’s interview with Irom-http://http://www.tehelka.com/story_main17.asp?filename=Cr032506_Iroms_iron.asp

The Girl without a boyfriend



"You don’t have a boyfriend? You’ve NEVER had one? But why?"
Demanding; not asking.
I was not conforming.
I’m always having to explain why I don’t have a boyfriend and its getting increasingly annoying.

I’ve always had difficulty answering that one. It always seemed to me, that going around (if you’ll excuse that juvenile terminology) requires the alignment of a number of factors. While many are known to obtain this magic configuration quite frequently, I have encountered several obstacles. Through my lack of things to do (including boyfriend), I had the spare time to explain this in detail to you.

The situation is best represented as a probability problem-

Event A- Pooja gets a boyfriend

P(1) A single boy- 0.25
P(2) Boy likes Pooja-0.1
P(3) Pooja reciprocating (within the given time span)- 0.1
P(4) Pooja feeling vulnerable and romantic- 0.13
P(5) Boy asking me out during this period of mutual attraction/affection- 0.76
P(6) Pooja not pretending that she didn’t hear him ask her out- 0.37

P(A) = P(1) . P(2) . P(3) . P(4) . P(5) . P(6)

P(A) = 0.25 . 0.1 . 0.1 . 0.13 . 0.76 . 0.37

P(A) = 0.0000228475


Thus the probability that the outcome of Pooja’s encounter with a boy will culminate into a beautiful romance is 0.0000228475

Now you don’t exactly need to be Pythagoras to know that at a probability of 0.0000228475, you’re chances are not good!

Notice that I haven’t even taken into account 2 important factors
a) The boy is old enough to vote
b) Pooja studies in all-girls college


Yet, despite being perfectly content, I find myself almost apologizing to inquisitive others regarding my single status. It’s only on one’s own blog space does one get to illustrate the matter at hand with the help of a probability sum. You might see that this method does not go down too well as conversation. Least of all when someone asks you a seemingly simple question like “Why don’t you have a boyfriend? (accusatory)


For long I had to combat the interrogation with nothing more than a half-hearted shrug and a sheepish (almost guilty) grin. I’ve always known that the truth is overrated but it’s taken me unusually long to apply it here. As a rule its always more interesting to lie.

I have a boyfriend, it’s a long distance relationship. We met in a chat room.
My parents have fixed my marriage with a boy who lives in Dubai when I was 7.
I’m a lesbian.Ofcourse
My first boyfriend died of leukemia and I can’t bring myself to love anyone again.

It’s a good exercise in creativity to come up with something innovative every time. Besides, Mastercard could not buy the priceless reactions I get.

Who cares?

So after the initial enthusiasm of me writing my first 2 blog entries and a week of walking through life thinking, “Hey that is so cool, I should write about it in my blog!” it suddenly hit home. Why would anyone care to read my blog? What is going to set mine apart from the millions of others floating around…. What is so special about my I-woke-up-and-brushed-my-teeth routine that its going to convince all those highly discerning readers (with the attention spans of a goldfish, if I might add*) to spend an extra 3 minutes logging in to read what I did over the week. Or, do I really have something special to say?

And suddenly it all seemed so pointless, like one of those moments when you question the value of your existence…. All those ideas that seemed so brilliant initially just seemed bleached now. I’ve never been strong in the face of opposition. This time it was so convincing that I instantly decided that I didn’t want to blog anymore. So I let it lie, which was quite convenient since it meant that I could stick to my routine of doing nothing.

Now here’s the part where I insert an incident/anecdote that caused a change of heart and mind, leading me back to the blogosphere. But truthfully (no one uses truthfully anymore), nothing happened. I’m here because I like to write, it makes me happy. Besides, I can always pretend not to care that no one reads my blog.

I still don’t see how my insignificant words are going to make a difference anyway. The same doubts seep in every time I sit down to write. Because lets be honest, who cares? And the answer is (my favorite): I don’t know.

* A goldfish is said to have an attention span of 6 seconds. Strangely (or maybe not so) a recent survey conducted said that 6 seconds was also the attention span of the average American while skimming through channels. You do the math.

Orkut calling....

Riddle: What do you call a person who spends way too much time on Orkut?
Answer: An orkaholic!
(to be followed uncontrollable spasms of laughter: hah ha ha ha aha ha ha ha)

I see that! I see you rolling your eyes and pretending that you didn’t find it funny. I say go ahead and laugh. I won’t judge you. FYI, I made it up and I’m mighty proud of it. Since then I’ve been airing it out to all those who (don’t) care to hear. So far, all I’ve got are sympathetic stares you usually reserve for the pity-friend* in the gang. (I’m NOT suggesting anything here.) Alas! Genius is seldom appreciated in her time.

* Pity-friend: a person from a lower ‘league’ adopted on a trial basis by the members of a way-cool group as a pet project or out of sheer sorrow for the aforementioned person’s abysmal social status.

Recently I met up with some of my old classmates. Now I’m not usually one to comment or criticize (BLATANT LIE ALERT!) but it seemed as though they were… I can’t put my finger on it, what was it about them… oh yes, they were completely obsessed with Orkut. As I said before, I’m not one to pass judgments but it does come across as a little loser-ish no? I might have been able to take the higher road here and say, “Bah, what a waste of time!” had I not gone home and updated my profile the very next day.

Still, this Orkut phenomenon is quite fascinating….

First of all who would have thought that anything with a name like ‘Orkut’ would be successful?

I’ve sounded it out many times, even had some imaginary dialogues involving variations of the word’ like-

Karan: ay loafer, yen maadthiya? (translation- hallo ole’ chap, top of the morning to you)
Rahul: orkutnalli timpass madthaiddini (translation- hoy there! Balmy weather aye? I’m on Orkut, Just scrapping an old bloke from school)

How wrong does that sound?

Secondly, who’d have imagined we’d spend so much time sending ‘hey what up’ and ‘beeatch’ and other such variations of a scraps to people we just met in college the same morning?

Thirdly, we’re always complaining of how Bangalore is such a small world, how claustrophobic, I can’t wait to get out blah bluh bluh…. Then we waste what could have been some seriously productive hours, sending and accepting invites, sucking us deeper and deeper into this networking maze of interconnected people.
And you can’t omit the absurd pointlessness of reacquainting with the lost-touch–with friends.

Scrap#1- hey is that you? remember me?

Scrap#2 – long time… whatcha doin now?

Scrap#3- I’m doing XYZ in ABC college

Scrap#4- lol…. We should meet up…

And after the preliminaries have been concluded, they all sink back into the oblivion they came from. So you’re left with sending ‘wassup loser’ scraps to your college bud you last saw 2 hours ago.

Where’s the sense in that????????????????????????

The more I think of it, the more bizarre Orkut’s addictive popularity appears.

I suppose the best and only way to explain this would be in the words of Doctor Bhataunekar (the animal specialist spokesman for Orbit [Orkut]).
As Dr, B so accurately puts it:
After all, man is also a social animal!

Hold your breath...

So here comes my much awaited blog- amidst all the media speculation, pre-release hullabaloo and the 7 figure advance… woo hoo! I wish. But in any case, as the old proverb goes “Well begun is half the job done.” But like most proverbs, this one too proves to be a bunch of bullshit! Seriously, who thinks up this stuff anyway? I mean the only reason this cwap has stuck around for so long is because it rhymes. Anyone who has done an inch of work in their lives knows that something begun is just a new addition to the pain-in-the-ass accumulation.

Introduction time…
For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Pooja. Really now, that’s not giving away much since it seems that 54.7% of India’s female population shares my name. If you care to observe, there are hardly any 40-50 year olds called Pooja. But suddenly, 25 years later, the population of Poojas increases exponentially and spirals out of control. And it’s not just a Northie (like Neha) or Southie (like Ramya) exclusive names; this is a national phenomenon. Like one of those bonding factors that makes you proclaim with great patriotic gusto, “Main Hindu nahin, Hindustani hoon!”
What never ceases to amaze me is how all the mommies and daddies of our time thought they were being so original when they decided to bestow this name on their squidgy, crumpled by-products.

Now I don’t watch a lot of Hindi movies but I distinctly remember this phase in Hindi cinema when all the heroines had to had to be a Pooja. Pah! I mean have some consideration, that MY name yo! Not that ‘they’ care. Plagiarists! But the biggest bummer of all was when I went to watch this Karan Johar movie K3G, where none other than this obnoxious skank of a Kareena Kapoor was seen by millions responding to none other than MY already highly misused name. Oh the injustice!!! And as though that was not insult enough, they then decided to shorten it to Pooooooooo. Eeeeyyuckkk! And naturally, like EVERYONE watches a Karan Johar movie (even those who don’t love their parents). Following which all those everyones insisted on calling me- you guessed it- POoooooooooooo (and it rings in the inner channels of the cochlea most distastefully). Anyhoo, Miss Kareena Kapoor did such a revolting version of Pooooh that subsequently, all of Bollywood shuddered at the very thought of naming their slutty virginal heroines the same. Now they have fancy names like Rhea and Nishi (not Nisha, mind you).

Anyway, back to me. So now in college I have like 3 friends. And what do you suppose their good names are? Why don’t you take a shot… come on… you’re almost there. That’s right! P-O-O-J-A. Actually, 2 of them are Poojas; but the third has a severe identity crisis after spending so much time with the 3 namesakes. So under the circumstances we’ve made her an honorary Pooja; otherwise she’ll feel bad and all.

Now while the average Pooja may rant ad whine about her loss of identity, I have chosen to look at the situation in a half-full perspective. It does have its advantages; like attendance time. Teacher starts off with Aditi- present maaaaaaam, Bhamini- yeeeeees ma’am, Divya- (silence) and so on until she comes to P. suddenly, there’s a flurry of activity. Poojas from all 4 corners of the class unite and answer in unison. “Prrrreseeennnttttt ma’aaaammm.” The teacher looks up from her register, quite bewildered no doubt. Now she’s not going to admit that she wasn’t paying attention. Especially after that 23 minute reprimanding bestowed on the bleary eyed class on not doing the same. If at this juncture she were to interject with a “which Pooja was that again?” it would lend a most hypocritical air to her lecture. Instead she compromises, marking the entire lot of us ‘present’ – even those feeding Tiger biscuits to the dogs by the basketball court and the one indulging in a mid-morning slumber session in the back row (me).

So as you see, every cloud has a silver lining (another BS proverb if there ever was one. I mean, let’s be honest here; how many clouds have you really seen with a ‘silver lining’.) But what the hell, it suits my purpose.