The Last Official Day...

31st January, 2007. Wow. School is finally over. Finally? Haha. No more of fighting with your sleep in the morning, no more of sitting in boring Chemistry classes, no more annoying sessions of prep, no more “punishments”, no more of “volcanoes” and other annoying people, no more of dealing with school politics, no more childish cat-fights and no more minor acts of homosexuality. That’s it. It’s all over - a hurdle crossed, a bar cleared, a mountain conquered, a story written, the Section A of “Life” is over. Wow. I should be happy and glad for my childhood prayers have been answered, right?

But then why is it suddenly so difficult to accept? I have been waiting for this moment (and of course, also for end March), and now that I am experiencing it, I just want to rewind, or relive, or continue in the same old cycle, with the same old people, enjoying the same old friendship, the same old flow of love (however corny that sounds), the same old sense of belonging, the same old same old. It’s difficult dealing with attachment, detachment seems almost impossible.

Today was full of contrasting emotions. First was pride. Our slightly younger peers, i.e Grade 11, blew me (us) away with a beautiful rendition of voices and passion. Then the hypocrisy seemed to seep in, not from them, but generally, and that left me wondering negatively. Loads of pictures, rehearsals, autographs (weirdly enough), hugs and smiles followed. I felt happy and sad. Happy for I would be running away from the wasteful and unnecessary politics and wrongness, and sad as I will not get to spend time with those genuine people that I have genuinely grown close to. Sad - more, for I will miss the pure stupidity that elated us, that moment of immaturity that broke my heart, only to mend itself into a stronger one and the pure respect and love that I and we received from those that saw well in us. From the subtle encouragement of our teachers, to some moments of their sheer brilliance, to their acceptance of our failure, to their respect for our honesty, to their company for our pleasure, to their guidance and support in times of our weakness – it just blows me away. There is so much good and bad, but to appreciate the good and learn from the bad is to make the most of what you get.

It is confusing, this emotion. I know I will miss school and that I will always have this un-destroyable desire to return to school, but at the same time I know I have to look beyond it and dive into the realms of what the future holds for me. I will miss our school and the people I have grown to love, but I will not forget them and those that have changed my life, and taught me it’s greatest lessons. I don’t need signed shirts to do that. I will forget the bad, and make my own soft hours to which I can turn to. This contradiction leaves me almost emotionless – I can’t believe there is no more school.

P.S. Attachment can be a source of annoyance, but it’s the greatest sustainer. Wow – now I am philosopher. Anyway, I still have 2 months of studying left, the before-party, the farewell dinner, the board exams, and the Sports Day to look forward too. Not quite completely over yet now, huh?

"Love's Sweet Salute"

Movie: Salaam-e-Ishq
Length: 220 minutes = 3 hrs 40 mins
Feedback: Fake, 'Faltu' and Filmy

How long can a movie get? How pathetic can acting become? How boring can a feature film be? Salaam-e-Ishq answers all of the above questions more convincingly and satisfying-ly than any other film I have seen to date. It broke records - we actually walked out after the interval.

Why? It’s as if the God wanted to make a really bad film and thought of taking it out on Bollywood. “Inspired” from the classy English film ‘Love Actually’, Salaam-e-Ishq couldn’t go that wrong now could it? Well it did. Sprayed with “un-inspiring” songs and road-side acting, I cannot really point out any positives. Yes the caste seemed very impressive, but figure the following: Vidya Balan is not bad, but is un-pretty and fat; John Abraham is John “too-cool-but-fake-ironed-hair” Abraham; Salman Khan is the epitome of fake + annoying; Priyanka Chopra is fatter and fake-r than ever; Govinda is half decent, but annoying to people who have a general disgust for him; Anil Kapoor hardly speaks a word, but a random, hot, young girl kisses him on the cheek for doing her a small favour, and thus begins a desperate extra-marital wannabe love-affair; Akshaye Khanna is the best over-actor ever and Sohail Khan ridiculously just doesn’t ‘get’ any, but the car in which he is trying to “do it” does fall into his parents’ new house through the roof, but no one dies.

Basically, it was utter bullshit, which was not funny in any way, and this we figured after watching 90 minutes of it, only 130 minutes were left when we walked out. Now if 90 minutes can’t sustain you…

Fine, I guess a story can never, and should never go wrong when it comes to love, but this movie proves even that wrong. As an Aaj Tak reported put it, somewhere within the Fat Lady that is Salaam-e-Ishq, the Thin Lady is waiting to burst out, but the friggin’ flab is too much of an obstruction. I laughed a lot during this Fat Lady. I laughed at the crowd which laughed at the lamest of jokes, I laughed at the ridiculousness of the film, I laughed at Salman Khan for he is one funny pain-in-the-butt and I laughed at myself for paying 35 dirhams to watch this film.

So my advice – don’t you dare watch Salaam-e-Ishq. And if you do, please feel free to walk out whenever you wish. You can enjoy the sheer stupidity of it, but even that gets annoying after some time. To me, this movie is a definition of what not to make and what not to see, so if you are still trying to figure what that is, then it’s a must see.

P.S. It was my sister and my cousin who “forced” me to watch this film.

Penn Masala: The American-Indian Talent + For Facebook Lovers

Penn Masala - in a nutshell - they make me proud! They are a bunch of Indian students studying in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania who have formed an A Capella group. They are the first group in the world to play Hindi A Capella songs, but what's brilliant about them is they way the bridge cultures and mix styles inculcating English, Hindi and Arabic in their songs which are vocally excellent. My favourite covers by them are "Aicha" and "Maa Tujghe Salaam". You can hear their music on - www.pennmasala.com

I got to know "Penn Masala" through this awesomely hilarious video made by them. It's titled "The Facebook Skit".



It's funny, plus the singing is awesome, and the redone words of Enrique's "Hero" are brilliantly intelligently funny. They have so much talent, and I hope they make it bigger than ever! Kudos and good luck to them.

P.S. Friggin' inspiring.

Becks In The States

" It's tantamount to a semi retirement isn't it? "
-Gary Lineker on Beckham's move.

Totally. It's an escape, with a hint of exploration for Becks, and family. Obviously, Becks’ PR agent is brilliantly diplomatic, for all his public statements are a hundred percent politically and “for-good-image”-ly correct. Apparently he is in it only to raise the "soccer-bar" of the USA. Right. But credit to David on that. How much ever he does get the stick, there is this general radiation of genuineness in Beckham which must be appreciated. But his wife? Well let’s just leave that bit to the “Insider”.

Let us first understand the enormity of this contract – 128 million pounds of 5 years – yes 128 with 6 zeros, to play for an American “Soccer” Team, in country which calls the age-old game of football, “Soccer”! All in all, the moneys adds up to about 26 million pounds a year, and about 490,000 pounds a week, which is about 70,000 pounds a day. Yes I know everyone can do the math, and everyone knows the “figure(s)”, but I need to reiterate – It’s a bloody large sum of money! All I am saying, Mr Beckham, is that, being Godly is all good, but a sum like that would attract even Him. So it wouldn’t be all that bad to admit the fact that, well yes, the money is a ‘fair’ factor, and along with that, “I can also bring about some growth in the MLS, and take American “soccer” to another level” and the other rot. A good counter on that statement of mine would be that Becks has enough already with all his endorsements, so more of these “paper-notes” wouldn’t make that much of a difference to him, but humanity and Posh are different. We humans spend a lot if we can and so does she, maybe her a 'little' more than we can, and when you have 3 mouths to fill, you need that much money now, don’t you?

Sorry, that does sound a little harsh, but sometimes it’s so glaring that we debate only because of the severity of the situation, which goes beyond reason. Let’s not do that. I feel the money is one of the major factors to David's departure and a sum like that will always be - just accept it - no one’s going to kill you. Another "factor", according to me, is Posh. The Hitler-Beckham would love to go the States right, and to Los Angeles? Jackpot!Well to put it nicely 'the family' would love to spend time in one of the most livable places in the world. Now if one women could get a reward for the highest amount of ‘influencing-of-a-man’, it would be the spicy Victoria. From the wackiest haircuts that sometimes even the most open minded people found horrendous (though some were actually good), to the wrongly spelt Hindi-‘Vhictoria’ tattoo, Posh has shaped the pink-man that David is today. Well she is his wife, so it’s not all that bad, but ever since the one thing he is half-good at, “football” has gone no where. His hair, his tattoos, the children, the money, some more hair and so on have been the center of his life. But then, we shouldn’t take anything away from David, after all the best men are the family men. But Davy-boy, let's leave all that apart, just tell us gossip-hungry sadists the real reason for your new pursuit - that’s all I want.

Maybe I am making a big deal out of the family factor and the female-Hitler, but hey how deceiving is what appears? We will never know. So for my selfish pleasure, I write this half-sadistic post and try and ridicule the living day lights out of the Beckham family.

David Beckham’s right foot is legendary in its own way – but then, that’s it. His time at Manchester is also legendary, but since Madrid, it’s been downhill battle for him, and Posh hasn’t really helped. Will Beckham do any better in a “Galaxy” far, far away? Will he “revolutionize” American soccer? I really don’t think so.

MLS commissioner Don Garber said in a statement: "David transcends the sport and is a cultural icon. David is clearly one of the most recognizable athletes in the world”.

I say: "David is clearly one of the most recognizable male-fashion-icons of world, beyond the little football he can play with his right boot.” But then who the hell am I?

P.S. I superficially apologize for the harshness, but my views stick.

Hot Or Not?

Bored? Don't know what to do? Feel like judging people? Feel like being superficial? Want to be fascinated? Go here and click away: www.hotornot.com - Relax it's not porn, on the contrary, it's "fun, clean and real". Enjoy your moment of pure sadism and required stress-relief. Sometimes judging people is all we can do, so why not do it to those who actually want to be judged?

What the sites does is, it gives you a picture, and asks you to rate that picture on the scale of 1 to 10. That's preposterous, right? Come to think of it, it's unbelievable, the site that is. About 26 million people from all over the world have registered their pictures, and over 12 billion votes have been counted. Now more than a million people can't be wrong. Right? Wow. But I have to admit, it is a little bit of fun. :P

You can add yourself to the "Hot Or Not" list too, but I don't think I want to end up seeing my picture there. Right?

P.S. "Dhruv" (the 8th commenter on my previous post) - Thanks for the link - fascinating...

3 Months...

3 months and then F R E E D O M - that’s how I like to look at it. But I complain, and keep complaining. I just have to bring up the now age-old debate – “The Indian Syllabus & How Bad It Is…Or Not” - I am writing a book on it. For the look-a-likes, India Today hit out on the Indian Syllabus calling it an “all rote” experience, and a survey of 30,000 students made them conclude that the Indian Syllabus is way behind the international standards. Apparently the 30,000 Indian students’ survey was good enough for researchers to prove that application-wise most Indian-System-bred Indian students can’t be compared with the international-system-ly bred students. Right. It's true, we sometimes just can't apply Newton's 3rd Law, but then how do we still end up doing well? I think we Indians are just too darn hard-working – and that is the greatest lesson the Indian System can inculcate in us, but then, that’s it.

I am not here to enlighten the already enlightened anymore about how wrong the Indian System is, I am here to complain. I hate this time. Beyond the personal stuff, which always gets messed up at this time of the year, the studying has got to me - B I G-time. There are like a billion distractions, and if I can’t find a distraction, I make one, like reading “Aquarius”. Who does that? I watch Al Ahli V Al Wahda on the television, and convince myself as to how “The Bold & The Beautiful” actually has some substance. Facebook is friggin’ addictive, and I can’t stop eating.

At this point, I wrote another 400 words on how I hate “this time”, which I have no intention of putting in, because it’s too darned whiney. So to sum it all up: I can’t, and I mean, I cannot wait for these 3 long, dreary, painful, fattening, annoying and BORING months to bamboozle themselves out of my God-forsaken life.

That felt good – venting helps.

To bring in a little optimism or dreaminess – there is so much to look forward to as soon as the ISC exams end. Ideas and dreams start erupting one after the other as I seem to plan out every single day beyond the trauma. There is so much to do, football, work, Redial Entertainment, salsa (hopefully), football, gym, football, University, and just the ability to watch television for hours without feeling guilty about it. Bliss…

…is 3 months away,

P.S. I think, and only think, that “rote” is a new Indian term for “mugging” as in memorizing. Please do enlighten me if I am wrong.

2oo7

A supposedly “planned” out day almost fell apart thanks to well, “God” and a few other “betrayal- of-trust” people. Okay, We ditched the booze-ful, dance-ful and event-ful party atthe Ranches because it was completely contradictory to our definition of fun. But, we heard a lot later of the eventful night that was at the Ranches. Right. Anyway, the highlight of this day was supposedly the football match between the ex-students of our school and us, the current students. But hey, quite obviously the ex-students didn’t show. Hell the guy who was “organizing” the ex-students himself didn’t show up. Thanks Kumar! But credit to Josie for being a darling, and blessing us with his half-hippie presence. So what started of as a would-be formal match, ended up as Man Utd fans v/s Arsenal fans match (kinda), in which the lucky-asses of Man Utd won. Fine and damn. It was fun, none the less.

The “match” gets over, thanks to another cheap ass goal from the Man Utd wannabes, and they win. Exhausted after 3 hours of passionate football we finally breathe. I apologize to all those affected by my uncalled-for and abusive “football-outbursts”, and then thank Dusty for the balls. It is now time to head for our next endeavour, The Beach. But first we decide to freshen up at the ‘always-and-forever’ hideout/second-home, Romit's House. God bless him, his mum and his dad for their whole-hearted acceptance of us, and or 200+ DB noise level. We take turns to shower, and Ali picks up the guitar which clearly signals the most entertaining aspect of any party – Singing with the Best Guitarist ever. We sing the classics; enjoy the flatness of Romit and Harry, while SK, the quiet and bored observer plays TEKKEN 4. Harry comes up with a new song which Tejas encourages, but Ali almost ignores. Ali’s vibrating vibrato than resonates the room, and then enter antagonist – my headache. Okay before any Ali erupts, it’s not because of Ali’s vibrato, nor because of Harry’s and Romit’s flat voices, but because of the dreaded passion of mine, football. 3 hours of heavy football in the cold, cold, "desert" of Dubai seems to have gotten to my head.

Bharath and the rest of the Gang B enter the fray and meet us at Venus Deluxe Restaurant in Karama, and this happens to the be the most entertaining aspect of our day. Vegetarian food at a cheap-ass, but brilliant restaurant, with 10 other guys, turns out to be the highlight of the day. Tejas' & Ali’s balloon is dressed while we wait for a table. Apparently we are the not only people who end up at Venus for new years dinner. The food we order comes quick, and above all is scrumptious. Everyone enjoys his complicated-concoctedly-named dosa. Bharath’s “Dry Gobi Manchurian” is a hit. We order 4 plates of that, and well each one of us eats our heart out, rekindling the memories of the by-gone year and well, our by-gone lives, in which one of the highlights is a certain senior male computer teacher. Then the bill comes, and we are filled with unexplainable joy – 10 Dirhams per head – that’s how much it costs. This makes the dinner even more satisfying. There is nothing like good, cheap food. Call us “losers”, “faggots” or whatever else, but Venus rocks! Meanwhile, my headache, despite the Panadol, is still pissing the hell out of me.

It’s 11. We desperately want to make it to the beach before 12. I struggle with an aching head, and Harry, the sweet guy he is, offers me his Santa cap. Everyone else is hunting for cabs. But all we find is a hundred other people waiting for cabs. We see an empty cab, but the bastard doesn’t stop for us. He prefers to give the Filipino chicks a ride instead. Ass. We give up cursing all the frustrating frustrated cab drivers of Dubai who can be such…well we just give up. Time to revert to a previously non-existent Plan B – Romit’s play area. Romit’s house/building saves the day yet again.

It’s 11:45 and my head is still spinning. I get annoyed. We are running to make it Romit’s roof on time for new years. The gang races ahead, my headache pulls Tejas, Govind, Bharath and me back. We lose our way and get temporarily lost in Romit's corridor. The clock strikes 12. We are still in the corridor. Wow. New Years in a Corridor - simply brilliant. Tejas and me just look at each other and smile, and memories of previous New Year nights race into our heads – Burjuman, City Center and City Center – 3 places of our 3 previous New Years. Yeah, laugh on.

We finally make it to the roof after wishing a party of random people “Happy New Year” on the way and then observe the environment-unfriendly-but-half-amusing firecrackers that light up the sky. It’s then time to wish the people we care about “Happy New Year”. Hugs are exchanged and so are messages and phone-calls. Clichéd-ly ‘awwww’. My headache is still pissing the hell out of me, and therefore I decide to spend the night at the life-saver Romit’s house. Harry & Ali go randomly missing having well a “chat”, anyway I hope there was nothing sexual about their escape. We get a little scared when Ali tells us that he pissed in Romit’s building’s Sauna. What the hell was Harry doing? Observing? Anyway, I ignore, at least then.

We have our “honest” talk at Romits, and then Harry leaves. My head is still spinning so I sleep, and soon the rest follow. The end. But not the end of my head-ache – because the annoying piece of shit still haunts me when I get up. For everyone who still doesn’t get it – its painfully annoying to have a headache on New Years.

New Years is over-rated. It’s an excuse to celebrate, but it’s fun none the less. I celebrate it, and that is a little hypocritical (sorry Ali!) in its own way. But hey fun is fun, and even if New Years eve wasn’t the funnest of fun, it was still an experience.

Happy New Year to everyone, however random you are to me. Let’s hope this year is greater, more eventful and more fruitful than the last. Enjoy…

P.S. A long post, but another memory successfully created.