Hooked

tata ttyl

2012-01-03T16:38:00.000+05:30

This is not the first time this blog is seeing a goodbye post. Like a cockroach that needs repeated blows from a chappal before it finally dies, this blog too needed a few final posts. It has managed to come back every time, due to some exceptional efforts from Pintu who sends me a message not to do it. However this time there is a difference. I’m not intending to shut down the blog forever but to clear the clutter and possibly start a new one on a different ground.

Since you have been supportive and patient enough to read throughout, I am obliged to give reasons as to why I’m planning to write the same type of shit all over again in a new place. I have a New Year resolution to take writing seriously and detach myself from my characters. The spider that crawls on my spine when people comment on my older, more personal posts makes me scrutinize every single letter I put up here. Not to mention the exceptional family who criticize every post and have a Freudian theory about how the post came into my head. Unless I write about unicorns, rainbows and princesses, of course.

This blog has been different from the other ones; it has given me a whole new set of friends. For someone who has always been apprehensive about online friendships this was a major thing. From best friends to the online equivalent of tongue-ties, it has given me all. It also gave me an opportunity to write in a team blog with some writing giants. Abhinav, Vignesh, Venkat, Pramodh and Nikhil are some exceptional bloggers I met through the wonderful comment section Blogger provides. They are also some of the people who proved my mental stereotyping of men was wrong on a very basic level.

This post would be incomplete without mention of an extraordinary person in my life, who patiently read through my ninety-four drafts, whose e-mails has given me new ideas for a post and who provides valuable criticism ranging from “You wrote this shit?” to “Why the fuck is this not on the blog yet?”. Vandana, your job isn’t done yet. :P And Dany who responds to my constant pestering without complaining and gives me names for all the characters at any time of the day (night?). Also I have to thank Divya and Aarthi, girls who wrote novels in the lunch break, for not taking blogging seriously themselves but still encourage me to write.

Thank you for being part of this emotionally instable roller coaster journey and for pushing the horizon further. I hope you don’t lose your superpower to understand long, incoherent passages by the time I start writing again. :)

LA style salsa

2011-12-08T14:45:00.001+05:30

It was one of those rare, special evenings. Me in his arms, swaying to a Latin beat.

But something felt wrong. He felt rigid. His smile and rhythm were missing. He bent down and whispered “It’s over.” I thought I misheard him and looked up, only to see him nodding at a girl at the other end of the dance floor. My knees felt weak.

I moved to the rhythm unconsciously but my head was analysing the last month. Sure, it had some ups and downs. But wasn’t such a period part of every relationship? How could he do this to me? What is going to become of me? How was I ever going to move on?

“Ladies, move on”.

The next minute I found myself in the hands of another man. My new partner smiled at me. He moved effortlessly and didn’t keep muttering numbers under his breath like the old one. I grinned back.

It truly was turning out to be a special evening.

Well played, Mr.Bachman

2011-10-20T08:14:00.001+05:30

I bought The Regulators for my birthday in an used book store and was more intrigued by the preface than the actual novel. It went on to describe how Stephen King was the King of Thrillers and the Richard Bachman on the cover was his pseudonym. It also said that the author had died and long after his death his widow had discovered The Regulators among other incomplete drafts. This was the most complete one and with help from the publisher who added some touches, The Regulators was released. It was a brilliant book and I have been desperate to read Desperation, which is its twin novel under King's name, ever since.

Today I had the shock of my life when I saw that a new novel of King was scheduled to release sometime in mid-November. Huh? What? HOW? The next ten minutes had me wiki-ing Stephen King and realising it wasn't him who died but it was Mr.Bachman who died of incurable cancer in his pseudonym.

How on earth could I have missed THAT?

To the rare random reader, my birthday falls during the end of the last week of March. So this becomes a brilliant April Fool's Day prank I literally walked into.

Well played, Mr. King.

Sympathy for the Devil

2011-08-11T19:33:00.001+05:30

A lot has been said and written about the existence of God or rather the lack of it in the blogosphere. Everyone has their own view about the Supreme Power and His powers. But what almost all atheists, agnostics and theists ignore to discuss is the other side of the coin. The arch-nemesis of God – The Devil. We tend to ignore it as an evil power which loses to God always, used much like how Nambiar is used to glorify MGR. What good is a superhero if there were no supervillains?

Before we continue, this is not an attempt to glorify The Devil or neither am I a Satan worshipper. As we know too well, history has been rewritten to glorify the victorious. The more badass the villain, the sweeter is the victory. But does this apply to mythology as well? The Devil is referred to by many names, much like God. The Satan, Lucifer, The Arch-Fiend and many others. I like to refer to it as The Fallen Angel. In my opinion, this name has much significance unlike the rest. Taken literally, it could mean as the angel who had fallen from the heights of Heaven into the depths of Darkness. Metaphorically, it could mean as the angel who had fallen from its righteous duties and morals. Accurate either way. But what righteous duties exactly? Mythology tells us Lucifer got jealous of God’s position and wanted to take over Heaven and the Earth. As a result of his blasphemous thoughts he was banished to Hell where light existed only to show the infinite darkness around.

Justifiable eh? Where there is monarchy, there is always a seed to rebellion. This is true even in our mere mortal world. When we look at such human rulers who punish rebels with death as dictators, why do we justify what God had done? But never mind. This article is not about Him. This is about the other him, who had been erased from the books of Heaven and reduced to a mere It in our God-fearing minds.

If you had been pushed to a place where there is nothing but pain and fear, you would reduce to nothing too. But not the Devil. It had/has the Supreme Power against it, but it still has proven its existence without doubt to every one of us mortals. There can be many who may doubt the existence of God but not one who denies the presence of Devil and its attributes. There is no God-fearing man really. We use God merely to make wishes, blame for our misfortunes and in rare cases, thank for the lives we have. In the deepest part of our hearts, we only fear the Devil and his lake of fire. Our souls are essentially his and without effort or moral science classes, we would be his.

How did this major transformation happen? The Devil did not stay fallen. I’m not defending any of the Devil’s deeds. They were all evil most definitely. The point is he worked hard to gain control of the human minds and did that successfully. We are expected to be like the Devil to succeed now. Treat other people as mere rungs of your corporate ladder; you need to step on them to move up. Don’t trust your aides completely. Lie. Cheat. Hoard money. Live in luxury. Don’t share unless you get something better in return. There is always the end to pray for forgiveness. Live at the moment.

Experience says never to trust the Devil. For you will be merely his slave. He will use you to fulfil his own dreams and aspirations and would not give a damn when it comes to yours. And there will be no perks compared to what you get as a God’s slave. Instead be the Devil. Play the game like he would. The Powers would definitely push you down for they are scared of losing their own throne. But do not stay fallen. Prove to be a challenge.

Amen.

Title lifted from one of my favourite Rolling Stones songs.

The blood and the gore

2011-05-21T20:53:00.001+05:30

I have been thinking about this for a while now. Procrastinations aside, something happened today which is forcing me to type this off. This is going to be blunt, so all you squeamish people, please take a glass of water, a pill maybe and lots of deep breaths and continue. If you want to. In short this is going to about me being a girl. Female sexuality in broader terms. About the inevitable menstrual cycle of the female sexuality to be precise.

I have spoken enough about the utter stupidness of menstrual seclusion, the inevitability of the monthly event and the general superstitious beliefs surrounding it offline. I have grown up in quite a liberal Hindu household where there was little or no special rules to be followed during "those three days". As long as it was not mentioned aloud among the menfolk of the house.

What on earth is disgusting about a natural menstrual secretion? Don't all orifices secrete some kind of fluidy or fluid-like substance? How is a period more frightening and taboo than the green thing that runs down your nose or sweat or tears? Is it the blood? Is it because it involves the most iniquitous orifice of the human kind - the vagina weighed down by the cultural baggage? Oh, what blasphemy to even mention the V word aloud. Apart from baby making, the organs that make a human a female are disagreeable. Unmentionable. Only when a foetus is involved, the parts are seen as holy. Divine. But as I said before this is not going to be about holiness or divinity. I want to talk Biology. Pure plain facts.

Okay. If you think I am exasperating because I am on my wrong side of the month, you couldn't be wronger. But that is precisely the point I am trying to drive across. Menstruation is not an illness. Pre-menstrual Syndrome isn't either. Every girl has them. Symptoms vary. Wikipedia says there are over 200 symptoms for PMS. It can range from plain irritableness to epileptic fits. It is anything but an illness. I'm not denying any woman's difficulties but if it really were to be treated as even a light illness, we would have a global health crisis with the hypothetical fifty percent of the population suffering from it. So stop treating that woman like she has caught a disease and put her in a room. We, in a typical Hindu family, celebrate the first period. As primitive as it might sound. We shower the mostly scared girl with gifts. And then, the very next month, we push her off as an untouchable. Unclean. Nonsense.

If such an natural event is seen as unacceptable, what was it compared to in the first place? The male reproductive system? Ridiculous. If such a stupid comparison was made, then women would be pushed into believing that there is indeed something abnormal with them. Something that is wrong. How can something natural be wrong eludes me. All I know is I am frikking normal with my blood, nausea, pain and all.

Coming to the issue which made me type this. Our Hindu Goddesses are kind-hearted. We have female Goddesses in every one of our temples. Being on your natural menstrual cycle does not make you unclean. Even if it did, They wouldn't care. There are worse sins and our Gods take all the sinners inside their home with equality. Purity has nothing to do with fluid flowing down through your orifices. When you can go inside a temple and attend those holy functions with a cold with snot dripping through your nose, you can very well do that during your periods too. No God will curse you with eternal damnation if you dare to attempt such blasphemy. No, our Gods are not pre-pubescent as they portray them to be.

However, if you retort to pill popping to postpone your periods just to be a part of a function with purity, THAT my dear lady, is going to cause some very bad consequences than eternal damnation. Hormones are natural and like any other natural thing, they can prove to be deadly if fucked with. The stupid stigma surrounding the whole Unmentionable Monthly Disorder has only claimed the healthy lives of women. Even an occassional use of hormonal tablets to delay your period increases your risk of getting cervical cancer.

Delaying your period is like holding your shit in. Now that is abnormal. Not living through your womanhood like you are supposed to live. Take my word for it.

conversation

2011-05-11T17:22:00.001+05:30

"I'm never getting married." he said while checking the phone of his new customer. "You know what I mean! With the kind of things that happen in marriages these days."

"Not exactly." thought his customer, still nodding.

"Don't get me wrong, but I think I've lost trust in marriage." he said, while searching for a replacement battery.

The customer remained silent, understanding he probably needed someone to talk to.

"Love marriages or arranged ones, everything seems to end at the court."

The customer was shocked at how disillusioned he was.

"My parents are getting a divorce. This month. I've never seen them happy together. So I'm not forcing them against it. But that has added to my conviction to not marry.", he added before his customer could respond.

At that moment, the phone worked again. The customer thanked him for staying up after the shop hours to help him out. He reached for his wallet to pay for the battery.

He managed to get a glance of a picture of the man, a lady, probably his wife and a small girl in his customer's wallet. As he closed his shop that day, he thought, "Maybe some people do have happy marriages. Man, that was a great customer to talk to. Wish I had more customers like him to chat with." He returned home with a light heart.

Sometimes a conversation helps. Even if it is one-sided.

renewal

2011-03-20T10:03:00.000+05:30

It was a Wednesday evening. People walked on the street with identical tired looks. For her, it was just another long and weary day. She was rarely excited about anything. For her, going home was just a short break from work. She was just one of the several others. Nothing touched her deeply. She never felt any strong emotions. Ennui was her mood.

She often wondered what would happen to the world if she died. Will she end up on the list of noble souls? Or will she just fade into the oblivion? Her thoughts kept running as she walked into her compound. She saw two kids on the common area swing. Their laughter was loud, innocent and clearly said they didn't care for anything more. She was jealous. It had been very long since she had laughed so heartily.

And then she saw him. He was sitting on the pavement with a guitar in his hand. His eyes were closed and he had a serene expression on his face. He was playing some tune, she didn't know what. For a second all she heard was his music. Her eyebrows relaxed and the tense lines disappeared. He opened his eyes and made eye contact with her briefly. He noticed his fan and acknowledged her with a nod and a smile.

The guitar was his voice. It spoke stories of shattered dreams and broken promises. She stood there absorbing his music. Nothing else mattered. Then she thought : He is playing for me. Her eyes pricked at the thought. For a while, there existed nothing except his music.

And then it ended. Not abruptly. The smooth final chord reminded her of hope. It told her hope was her key to everything else. Hope would bring fresh air back into her life. Tears began flowing freely on her cheek and she gave him a bright smile. She went near him and managed to whisper a faint "Thank you".

He nodded, discerningly.

15 days more

2011-03-13T10:19:00.002+05:30

This birthday I want a nice pair of sneakers.

This birthday I want that vegan chocolate truffle cake from Cake walk.

This birthday I want to have fun without burning a hole in my wallet.

This birthday I want to go to the beach and build sand castles.

This birthday I want a long lost friend to wish me.

This birthday I want a fruit and nut Bournville.

This birthday I want a midnight hug.

This birthday I want to share a birthday party with Divya.

This birthday I want to wake up to see a puppy.

This birthday I want happy tears.

This birthday I want a quiet family dinner at Rangis. With both mom and dad.

This birthday I want a gift voucher from Landmark or Odyssey.

This birthday I want a rainbow.

This birthday I want at least 10 people to remember it without the help of facebook.

This birthday I want to watch a movie on DVD with friends and popcorn.

This birthday I want a nice big tote bag. BIG.

This birthday I want a LLR.

This birthday I want to get surprised.

This birthday I want at least one of these wishes to come true.

Next birthday, I don't want to put up this post again.

Happy Women's Day!

2011-03-08T00:39:00.003+05:30

Yes. This is going to be one of those "I love the women in my life, Happy Women's day!" kind of post. I tried fitting all this into a facebook status last year and there was just not enough characters to describe all these irreplaceable characters. But now I have a blog with no character limit and without further ado, let me introduce you to some of the best women who made me what I am.

Usual disclaimer : No specific order. :)

Indra

My paternal grandmother. The most inspiring lady I know. She was a high school math teacher. And she had a life with twists and turns equaling a typical Kollywood story. Like any other girl in those ages, she got married to a nice man few years after school. When her second son was barely in school, my grandfather passed away. Not deterred, she went back to her father's home, completed her B.Sc in Mathematics with a gold medal and landed in a government job almost instantly. She raised her boys in her salary alone and built a house on a piece of land, the only property her husband left her. Amazing cook. She taught me the hobby of collecting coins. She is the only reason I have over 50 American quarters hidden in my wardrobe. Superstitious, god-fearing lady. She had some of those cliched conservative paati characteristics. Arian. No wonder, my mother finds me to be a younger version of her. Highly stubborn in her views. Go-getter in nicer words. Takes no excuses. Very rational, logical and calculative. Effect of the years of dealing with girls and mathematics, I suppose. I have her coin collection, her zodiac and her genes.

Pankajam

Yes, my maternal grandmother. She might seem contrary to Indra paati but on the whole she is a strong woman. My grandfather, a mechanical engineer too, worked in Germany, Malaysia and Singapore. His part in raising kids was only restricted to sending letters in seperate envelopes. This woman single-handedly raised four children - three daughters and one son. An amazing artist. She cooks, crochets, plays the veena and sings. She was the one who introduced me to Michael Jackson. A lady who likes country music and carnatic. The silent lady behind the success of my grandfather. She even takes all digs of my grandfather in a light-hearted manner. It is truly hard to imagine how much she absorbs just for the family. She couldn't continue her studies after school but can recite parts from Julius Caesar. Has a massive weakness towards history. Very calm, sensitive and has a nice way of getting things she wants. If I resemble half the girl I should be, I owe it to her.

Deviant Art

Sreepriya Ashok

My principal. I owe my language to her. Many from my school would definitely agree. She could run the school without punishing a single student or a teacher. School was nothing short of heaven during her reign. When I had problems within the family, she counselled me back to normal. She helped me get out of the shell and taught me it was okay to do things I wanted to. She taught me one major lesson: Just because no one is going in a way doesn't mean it must be a wrong route. It is okay to try, get hurt and learn lessons. If we were to learn lessons from other's experiences, we would stay learning while others experienced. The best teacher I ever had. English lab classes were the best.

Meena Suresh

The other principal. She makes me go awestruck even today. This lady has an aura to her. The way her eyes light up when she reads out a passage and the way she cracks a sarcastic joke in the middle of a serious (i.e, sleepy) class is absolutely a delight to watch. She takes no nonsense. The kind of principal who actually scolds a girl if she has got too much oil in her hair and doesn't bother to look pretty. Expert in dealing with all the problems we throw at her. She always looks a few feet taller in my eyes.

Amma

What is a women's day post without a special mention about the woman who made us? We have had our nice times, we have had our drifts, some "I-told-you-so"s and some "You-won't-understand"s. She has a majority share in raising me up. Her rule is simple. Let the child be. She doesn't force any of her views, opinions or ideas on me. And she expects the same. A lady with simple needs. A former computer science teacher, she even took my extreme dislike towards it lightly. Making fun of her has always been one of my favourite past-times and she never misses a chance to pull my leg too. We share a lot more in common than just eyes and hair. She is me 30 years older.

Now you know where I get it from! Blame these girls for my awesomeness. :P

Happy Women's day!

the victim

2011-03-06T15:54:00.001+05:30

One late evening, he was bored. He needed company for the night. He walked on the road and saw her walking into a library. She was tall, fair and pretty. She even looked like one of his previous victims. Her sleeveless pink salwar just made her irresistable. He walked into the library behind her, extra careful not to be spotted.

And 5 minutes later, he saw her between stacks of books. She stood in the library holding an open book in her hands and did not see him. He didn't know whether she saw him but all he knew was he wanted to get closer. He wanted to hold her and kiss that fairy tattoo on her arm.

He made his way across the hall rather boldly and stood before her. She looked up and he was thrown away by the fierce and ruthless look her eyes gave. Beauty and intelligence in equal parts seemed to flow through them and he held a newspaper as if like a shield.

"Tale of a nomadic soul? That seems rather deep for someone young like you? Shouldn't you be over there in the Mills and Boons section?". He cast her one of his million-dollar smiles, something for which he was popular in college.

"I can't believe people come to the library to read newspapers!" she said with a grin.

Target locked, he thought.

"Actually I came to try some new stuff. Your book has an interesting title. By the way, hi. I am Rakesh."

"Nice to meet you, Rakesh. If you are interested in this genre of books I might have something to offer you."

Wow. This just cannot get any better. A voice in his head was screaming with happiness and he gave himself mental hi-5s.

"Really? Where do you think I should get started?"

"My home."

"WHAT? Come on!"

"Hahaha! Your mind is corrupt as hell! I have lots of spiritual books in my home. This library does not offer much. Maybe you can come with me? It is a short 5 minute walk, very short I promise".

He pinched himself. The victim was walking into her own trap. He felt high at getting something with so little effort. And they began walking.

When they reached her flat, he noticed she lived alone. He pulled her into his strong arms. Surprisingly she did not put up a fight. She did not even scream. She smiled.

"I knew it from the way you stared at me." she said with a wide grin. "I need a shower before this. Wait right here till that, sweetheart. There is some beer in the fridge, help yourself".

She disappeared into another room. He stood there surprised at the sudden change of things. He took off his socks, shoes and jeans and sat on the couch waiting. She was taking too long and he was hungry. He went to her kitchen and decided to help himself with something from the fridge. There were 2 bottles of beer just like she had said. There was also some wine, cool and inviting.

And on the top shelf, there was a severed head of a teenage boy nice and fresh.

As he swung back the fridge door, he saw her at the kitchen entrance. Her hair was dripping wet and she was wearing nothing but a towel. She was sexy as hell and her smile was a killer. She held a machete in her hands. And she smiled.

Courtesy : DeviantArt

blogger's block breaker-2

2011-03-04T21:05:00.001+05:30

Dear substitute teacher,

I am really grateful to you for acknowledging and appreciating my supposedly risky decision of choosing mechanical engineering. I understand I tend to attract attention sitting all alone in a corner like that. But please, do not single me out like that. You spent an hour with us and found us hyper-active, ruthless and undisciplined. I am part of it. Maybe just the silent spectator but I belong here. I understand your urge to make me feel more comfortable but at the end all the attention you shower me with, only backfires. And the last thing I want is to earn the wrath of my classmates.

It is but common sense that people tend to get jealous when a teacher shows special attention to just one. I have been there, gone through it. I don't want to be at the other end. For all I know, I am quite a fun person to be with. You, in your futile attempt in trying to make the class accept me as a "friend" are only pushing in things deeper and destroying my small efforts in getting accepted. Next time, please ignore the lady and discuss how the world would end without English with the actual class. Thank you.

Yours sincerely,

The lady in the first bench.

Image courtesy : Deviant art

blogger's block breaker-1

2011-03-03T20:22:00.002+05:30

Hope to be in my element soon. :)

Moving homes.
Moving hearts.
Moving on.
Moving up.

Photo - peppermintuniverse

10-minute ordeal

2011-02-17T17:03:00.001+05:30

2 AM
I am up. Obviously.
It would have been okay if I had been made to stay up because of an evil assignment or exam. It was not.
Thankfully I had slept for 3 hours.
I try to sleep again. In vain.
Fine.
You win.
I am up.
At 2 AM.

Thoughts are rushing.
Not the happy ones.
Good memories don't make you break into a cold sweat in the middle of the night.
They don't make you scream.
The voices are speaking.
I am not in control anymore.
This dark and dingy room is not helping.
Need change of scenery.
At 2.05 AM.

Lying on the couch.
Curled up like a ball.
Like a foetus.
Searching for comfort, a voice of a human.
Not finding any.
The only voice I hear is in my head.
It laughs.
It points and laughs at how helpless I am.
I am angry. Because truth always hurts.
What a great way to feel.
At 2.05AM

Wait.
I am not a baby.
So why feel like one? Look like one?
I don't need to be hushed to sleep.
I can fight the demons in daylight.
This is just silly.
Honestly.
This will not help.
At 2.07 AM

I am up.
Standing tall.
Feet on ground.
Shoulders wide.
Head held high.
Ignoring the hallucinations.
This is me.
I am strong.
I don't succumb. Ever.
Do you hear me?
I am up.
At 2.08 AM

2.10 AM
Back to bed.
I sleep.

a second

2011-02-02T17:48:00.002+05:30

The familiar surroundings of his room opened up in front of his sleepy eyes. It was 2AM and his phone was ringing. It could only be one person.

And it was her. He smiled wryly. He, despite being robbed off his peaceful sleep everyday would not even dream of ignoring her calls. It was a new question everyday and if there wasn't any for one night it only meant apocalypse was nearing. And as soon as he pressed the green button, he heard her.

"Rohan! How long is a second?"

Her question kept up with the tradition of her asking something out of nowhere. He never understood the trail of her thought. Experience taught him to just answer her questions without pondering on how she thought of it.

"Its one-sixtieth of a minute. Will you sleep?", he said, though he knew what was to come.

"Arey! I know that! But how long is it?"

"Elaborate on your question." - It was going to be one sleepless night.

"It doesn't stay the same. Do you understand what I mean?"

"Yes, I do. But the length of a second is always the same - Its always one-sixtieth of a minute. Its your perception that varies."

"My what?"

"Perception. And to me, I feel you have a very warped perception of time. Waking me up at 2 in the night when you very well know I need to get up at 6 to go to office!"

A silence filled his telephone. She wasn't speaking. Which meant she wasn't satisfied. He honestly could never be annoyed with her. The underlying innocence in her question had a childish charm. A charm he could never resist.

"Okay, listen. A second is how long it takes for you to say 'elephant'. A second is how long you take to smile back if you are honest about it. A second is all the time you get as a warning when your heart is about to be broken. A second is all you need to know you are in love and its all you need to know you're not in love either. But if a second is a length of distance rather a length of time - its the distance between you and me. A second is all you need to reach me. Are you satisfied?"

He felt her smile from the other end.

"Fine, sleep. You have office tomorrow."

"So do you. You went to Mumbai for a meeting! Not to think about minutes and seconds. Get some sleep?"

She hung up. But he knew it wasn't over yet. It was never over with one question. The two years they have been married taught him atleast that about her. Rohan made himself a cup of coffee and waited for her next call for the night.

what the....?

2010-12-19T15:28:00.000+05:30

I added an old classmate on facebook today. Lets just call him A. A and I tried to catch up in spite of all the hindrance facebook chat provided. And one fine minute, he said something which made me go wtf.

*I undertook the impossible mission of deciphering his ultra-short sms lingo and his grammar which would make Wren and Martin go bonkers. Hence minimal amount of editing has been done..*

...
Me - What the fuck man!
A - What did you say?
Me- I mean, nobody told me!
A - Not that. You are using bad words and all.
Me- I did?
A - **** and all you told.
Me- Oh, that. Sorry, but it's not that bad, you know.
A - Bad only.
Me- Ohkay fine! I won't use that in your chatbox.
A - You will talk like this onlyuh?
Me - Guess so?
A - It is not a good habit. You should change.
Me- I'll try. (*mind voice - yeah, right!*)
A - No you should. That is only good for you.
Me - Actually I think you are taking this a bit too far. People don't take such words seriously anymore.
A - When a guy says its different. You are a girl.
Me- What the fuck man!

I needn't add that I sprinkled the rest of the conversation with S, C, B, W words with generous amounts of the F word. Sad he had to leave. I really wanted to exhibit my tamizh swear word proficiency.

Mavane, kaila kedakaamla poyiduvaan?

suck it up

2010-12-14T16:32:00.001+05:30

Once upon a time, in a faraway town.
Lived a very unhappy, laughterless clown.
His mood swung worse than the price of gold.
He cracked lame pj's but also shut in cold.

He mourned for his past
And would never let it go.
He puts himself last,
He, his greatest foe.

He believed he was alone,
And did not have a shoulder to cry.
He fakes a cheery tone
Thinks he smiles, well hiding the sigh.

He looked forward in the dark tunnel
Hoping to see light at the end.
But he would never have a reason to revel,
As light was behind him, so were his friends.

He had laughed with them when happy,
We know if it is for real or just pretense.
But when he felt bad, he turned to poetry
Instead of friends wanting him to get back to sense.

The poetry-writing, sky-blue feeling clown,
In real, cannot hide his feelings or the frown.
So if there is no point in the stuff he writes down,
His readers are going to beat him down.

To know about the clown who frowned and later got beat up, visit here.

the woman's touch

2010-11-28T13:40:00.002+05:30

Caution - Long post. Very Un-Keerthi-ish, if I may add. Guys who feel nauseatic reading sappy, girly, sentimental posts - please stay away.

Yes. This blog is dying. This engineering thing is killing a whole bunch of other things too. Memories of all the fun I've had in my 18 years and 9 months of existence keep me running and for some strange reason I seem to be lost in the past this week. This post is kind of "inspired" from this one. I really wanted to put this up on Thanksgiving day but thanks to this whole internet only during weekends thing, its a little late. So there. A post dedicated to all those girls who kept/keep me alive. A post to assure you readers (if any) that you cannot rejoice over this blog's death already. And a post to disprove that I hang out mostly with the guys now and have forgotten the special girls in my life.

I was a really shy girl in my early memories about me. I had my own world. Filled with family, grades, i-think-it-was-a-crush stories and grades. Never knew why was I so obsessed into getting perfect scores in every test and submitting every assignment on time. There was this girl group in my class. Headed by Srilakshmi along with Kalaivani and Maathangi who I imagined to be her sidekicks. She was the star. A diva. But my grades were better. Nothing else mattered right? I was way out of their league. Or so I imagined.

Third standard. It was the day after friendship day and every girl was sporting atleast one friendship band. Except yours truly. I didn't cry but I sat thinking where had I gone wrong. I gave my notebooks to everyone who asked them. I mean, what else could be friendships made of? And then this girl asks for my right hand. Asha. I was still lost in thoughts and almost didn't notice that purple friendship band. She had remembered me, the girl who comes in her auto, when she bought friendship bands. I didn't care how many other bands she gave out that day. I kept pestering her if I was really her friend. She said yes. That was my first real experience with friendship. My first friend. At 7.

Same year. Dheekshita. I have no idea how she put up with a very self-obsessed, obnoxious little me. She was devoted, to say the least. Listened to all my cock-and-bull stories. The only one I confessed about the crush I had on A. (Third standard and second crush already. :P) I hung out at her's when I stayed at Amma's. and with Asha when I stayed at Appa's. My life wasn't so structured back then and thus began my shuttling spree. I owe you girls a lot for sticking with me. :)

I changed schools one and a half year later. The day I went to get application forms with my mother, I saw a couple of girls entering Class-IV. One had the arms on the other's shoulders. Divya and Gomathi, I was to know later. I peeped in to the register to see an Aarthi before me. My mother started cracking jokes about the rhyme in our names. I followed her name everywhere - from the notebook checklist till at the school tailor's. And I saw them all on re-opening day.

Keeping up with the tradition of being late the first time anywhere, I was late to school. There was another late-comer too. Sathyabanu. We had chairs and no tables. I don't remember which one of us started the conversation but it sure didn't end for the 6 years to come. She loved holding on to my arm while walking. I loved going doubles on her ladybird. Endless phone conversations lasting for hours. Notes passed during class which were to be read, torn and flushed in the school toilet. Code names. She showed me giggles, gossip and the girly things.

There was also Preethi. She stayed with me for one year. She moved to London and then Mumbai. The girl who made ISD/STD calls at midnight for my birthday. The girl whose birthday I forgot every single year. The girl who forgives my lack of talent for remembering dates.

And there came this point when I started judging people. Analysing their every action. Began seeing flaws with a magnifying lens. I was being scrutinized and I reflected it back to my world. I was always lost in thought, mostly of self-pity. I had turned into this introverted girl at the corner. And the girls slapped me into reality. Harini, Akshaya and Sornavalli were to join later but they all helped me get back to my senses. I was still twice-shy but the original prankster was resurrected in my 10th. The only year I loved going to school.

Then I changed schools again. Harini came with me and I held on to her as if my life depended on it. I didn't make any new friends. I was finding it a little hard to come into reality that I had really passed my tenth. And I fought with Divya. A really dirty one. I am sorry, girl. Coupled with appendectomy and lost attendance, clearing 11th became a huge task.

I saw her one evening as I came back from my Physics tuition which had started even before my twelfth class. Srilakshmi. She spoke nicely and remembered a lot about me including the yellow hairband I wore to school everyday. I was surprised. All the misconceptions I had about her were crushed. The funny part was she thought of me to be a head-strong girl too proud of her grades. That evening, I felt really nice.

I remember the day I entered my twelfth classroom. The girls in my class had their "gang" already and I was lost. I sat in the last bench with no one next to me. There were three girls before me - Sowmya, Kamakshi and Shruthi. The teacher made Sowmya sit next to me. She was reluctant and even said that she didn't want to sit with me. I was hurt. I didn't show. Just like the friendship day in my third standard. But she had to. I started talking. She started getting more friendly and their group was my gang. Kiruthikaa sat in the next row and was often the victim to my mokka comments. Visits to the dysentery-inducing Maggi canteen with not more than 10 bucks, imitating the jollu Chemistry sir, using the shelf below the table most usefully during tests - my first term was fun. Amma fell sick. My world came crashing down. I couldn't concentrate. I preferred to stay in a locked room. These girls pestered me to come back to school, wiped away my tears, called me even though I would just cry on the receiver. Pushed me to write my board exams atleast during September. They held on to me. And I survived.

First day on the college bus. This girl runs behind it in true Kollywood style. Kavya. She was silent, I wasn't. It was instant bonding when she heard about the boy-girl ratio of my department. She asked me to have lunch with her everyday. Me and my non-stop speech got ~~fans~~ friends in the girls mess. I get random hi's in the corridor. First time ever, I'm having problems remembering names.

But mostly there was this girl, who stuck with me right from the beginning. I remember how she showed up. Like a lightning out of the blue. But she hasn't disappeared since. Vandana. The girl who is quite like me in many ways yet complements me beautifully. The girl who chooses high heels for me. The girl who makes me wait countless hours before the trial room and waits for my "honest" opinion. The girl who is patient if I call her at 2.30 in the morning/night to tell about a crazy dream. She put me in the world of kajal, handbags and hairspray. The girl who often reminds me that I am a girl. The girl who drags me into the shopping streets of Chennai, Bangalore and Mumbai and takes pleasure in my choosing my stuff. She puts up with all my craziness and that is a huge task in itself. The girl who stays with me through the thick and thin - mostly thick (or is it 'thin' the worse one?) Copes with some erratic mood swings. Also the girl who made me write this super-long post and saved my blog from dying by screaming "You have changed a lot since you joined mechanical! You have forgotten the special girls in your life!"

This is my answer. This is proof I haven't. I never did.

I love you all.

So never underestimate a woman's touch.

Yo Ho Ho and a Bottle of rum

2010-11-08T01:19:00.001+05:30

Statutory warning – Author has a general prejudice against English movies, prefers masala, action films to “art” movies and is a pukka galeej, local female when it comes to her movie taste. Author’s dad however is a patron of English movies, a teetotaler and has a powerful stare which can silence the hooting guy, two seats away.

I am not one of those almost-extinct-species of women who are petrified at the sight of a cockroach, detest Madras tamizh and think “kottaru is kevalam”. So when my Dad asked me to book two tickets for “any new, good movie”, I booked for Va Quarter Cutting. With Jal in its full fury, we set off in a Splendor (which is very similar to the scooter Charan drives in the movie) with our enthusiasm not dampened even a bit, by this.

The movie started with an excellent breathless introduction of all the main, kutti and never going to come again characters. The entire movie takes place in a single night and is about ~~Sundararajan~~ Sura’s (Shiva) noble pursuit in locating one quarter rum in Singara Chennai. He deserves the hoots, whistles and claps at his entry when he stays in the bus to watch the end of a Balakrishna movie and dismisses it as “Trailer irundha alavu padam illa. Seri mokka”. He meets his future brother-in-law, veterinarian Charan who is responsible for sending Sura to Saudi the next day.

A item song, four Caucasian belly dancers (which had the guy next to me hooting, my Dad staring and him shutting up) later, Sura is told that he would be allowed no meat, no women and no liquor in Saudi. The sound of the sudden restriction induces a craving for some rum and after some initial hesitation from Charan, the duo step out into Chennai’s bad, bad nightlife to get one quarter rum.

With one TASMAC for every two streets and none obeying the 11pm shutdown rule, getting a bottle of rum before boarding the 4AM flight isn’t a hard task. So how do you stretch it for 180 minutes? Make it a no-liquor day (it’s not Gandhi Jayanthi silly! It’s bigger. It’s election time), introduce the dark underworld elements and introduce loads of mind numbing chasing. The characters introduced at the very beginning begin to show up one by one and by second half the movie becomes mostly predictable. John Vijay as Prince aka Pichchai with his dark blue eyeliner and pink lipstick puts us in splits and yet terrorizes.

Craig as the doping Anglo guy, Lekha Washington as a dumb blonde with black hair, strict aapeesar S.I. Sundari and the psychopathic Theekuchchi fit the bill perfectly. Chinna annan, Periya thambi - typical Pushkar-Gayatri touch. The climax connects all the random events covered in the initial introduction. Dad felt that the second half dragged a bit, with all the suspense built and nothing to concentrate on the screen during the chasing scene except Lekha Washington’s thighs. (Okay, so he didn’t say the thigh part. But there was really nothing else to watch)

And the climax is obvious – whether Sura succeeds in his mission or not. I wasn’t really paying attention to the climax as I was more interested in my movie partner who had a disgusted look at the beginning of the movie and later began to smile which turned into full-fledged laughter near the end. He however, maintains an “avlo mokka illa. Okay” about the movie. Why don't people take the quarter matter lightly?

Trailerla kekradhae kekraen. "ellathukum message venuma?"

I personally loved the movie! Because,

1. I watched a movie in the opening weekend after a really long time. This means I don’t have to live with that Jessie’s “padam paakardhe paavam” type ponnu image at college.

2. I get something to type in this cyber-space.

3. Now I know that my Dad knows how to open a quarter. But I am so not going to use this fact to blackmail cash out of him. :P

The Retarded Insomniac gives VA Quarter Cutting two and a three quarters on five.

(appdina aaga motham 11 quarter. :P)

Aaromale for this golu

2010-10-16T05:19:00.003+05:30

Hey there,
Golu season is in full swing now. Okay, I know it's almost over. I miss those 10-day vacation during school days. My college has magnanimously decided to give us a two-day holiday (mostly due to fear of Saraswathi kannu-kuththings, I guess) which is also co-incidentally a weekend.

College or no college, evenings for the past one week had been reserved for visiting neighbourhood maami's houses, eating sundal and setting "sundal statii" on facebook. The whole golu routine which sort of became monotonous after two days was something like this.

1. Dress up.
2. See the same dashavathar golu dolls and the park with a zebra crossing running in the middle in every house and yet exclaim about the novelty.
3. Dodge song requests.
4. Eat sundal.
5. Get the gift cover (which would eventually be "regifted")
6. Run to the next house before the eyeliner starts to run. (2 houses per day. Slightly busy schedule :P)

I love every part except the obvious point-3. It's not that I can't sing. I've been to Carnatic music classes when I couldn't write S or R or even A for that matter. And when I was old enough to carry the weight of half a veena on my lap (Read 7) I was sent to veena classes. The teacher was a really dedicated one and emphasized that we cannot get the right swara on the veena if we don't sing with it. (I still don't get her logic btw) And amma was only all too proud she was getting more than what she was paying for. Classes went on okay till the essential "academic break" during 10th and I have never set my foot in that direction again.

If you are expecting that all these have created an aversion towards Carnatic music then no. Instead it has only created an aversion towards those purists, like my veena teacher for instance. There was once a time when I didn't know which R came for Shankarabharanam and played the wrong one. My teacher had this look on her face as if it was blasphemy. Like what the hell? Of course rules are meant to be followed. But isn't music meant as an expression of emotions? If I were to "flow bhakthi through my fingers" won't I find it a little hard to concentrate on the half-a-note difference between Suddha Rishabam and the Chathusruthi one? And maamis at these formal golus wonder why their 5-year old daughter throws tantrums to go to her music class. Carnatic music purists seriously needs to bend a little. Why? Because that would bring in a wider audience. If you are scared that it would dilute the purity, then retain the rules for those who wish to make a career out of it. Why torture poor mortals, for instance yours truly, who use Carnatic music strictly once a year to earn sundal to learn the microscopic nuances?

I understand Carnatic music is very scientific and involves loads of math (hell, I picked up more addition marking thalas for different speeds in my veena class than my school). It is also very beautiful, once you get the ear to it. A basic knowledge in one of the systems will help a long way in appreciating any type of song.

But the amount of detest these purists show towards other forms of music is irritating. Western classical music has notes too and is well-structured just like the Indian ones. A quick wikipedia search on Blues Rock would also show that even Rock has structure. "Ragas are so beautiful. I can't even call the stuff you listen to as music.", Amma comments everytime she spots me with headphones. If a tame Fool in the Rain attracts such comments, I can't imagine her reaction to Akitsa. I used 'even Rock' somewhere above because of a particular friend who till recently looked down upon rock and metal. He, a strict supporter of pop-jazz-trance-hiphop, who made fun of my playlist which is full of ghazals, Carnatic music randomly arranged with 70's rock and black metal, has now opened an ear to Pink Floyd thanks to his hobby as a DJ. His preconceived notion was broken as he started learning the S-R-G-M-P-D-N or rather C-D-E-F-G-A-B- of music. We need to share our music. Among friends, among states and even among countries and that is how it will grow. Rules are meant only to restrain too much growth and never to restrict growth at all.

Okay, moving on to the major question. Why am I making you read all this? So that you can take up this noble cause of promoting "Music is One" along with me. Oh, and I also hope that the maami I'm visiting today would read this post and give me my 2 cups of sundal without asking me to sing or indulging in any other suicidal measures.

Happy Navarathri!

P.S: About the title - Aaromale is what I am planning to sing if anyone pushes me very hard, putting my life (read:sundal) and their life at risk. Aaromale is technically illegal because it's not devotional, but who really cares when there is sundal at stake? :D

Stickmen Saga

2010-10-10T18:16:00.004+05:30

Hey there,
I am unfortunately a first bencher in college now being the only girl and all. And the one thing I miss apart from the backbench galatta is doodling. So when I had a holiday yesterday I took out my physics notebook and drew dragons (which resemble lizards actually), phoenixes and crazy geometric shapes. One of the phoenixes turned out really awesome much to my surprise and I tore out the last page and drew a bigger version of it. I bragged about it (as usual :P) and this boy wanted me to put up a comic strip.

I've already considered putting up comic strips and even drew out characters for a story once upon a time long long ago. But that didn't work out. Today I had some free time in the middle of my busy schedule (Term test :P) and *tada* - Stickmen Saga.

Please excuse the lame storyline. I didn't spend anytime thinking one - just built one on the pun and excuse the bad sketches also. I have a super-lame A810 2MP cam and it couldn't capture the awesomeness. If there is anything left and you love/hate it please leave a comment :)

Edit: I realise I haven't erased the pencil legs in box 3 and the characters have 3 legs. Please ignore. Such a fail I am.

Crushed

2010-09-26T10:15:00.003+05:30

It was a nice mid-August morning. The sun wasn't too harsh and Vikram was excited to go to college that day. That was the day he officially became a senior - The first years were to come. Like every other private engineering college well outside the border of Chennai, theirs too had very strict rules against ragging. But all Vikram cared was for the arrival of the junior girls. Being a NSS volunteer he had to stand right at the gate and guide every student to their classes which was an excellent opportunity to collect details of all the pretty girls.

Half an hour later and there were no pretty girls in sight yet. Vikram was beginning to lose patience when he finally saw her. Reema - he was to know later. Tall and beautiful with long curly hair. But what stood out most was her blue eyes. Vikram fell in love with those the moment he saw them. She bore the look of a deer caught in headlights. She was scared. And he thought that made her more beautiful.

"How do I get to ECE?" She asked.

Vikram couldn't get his words out and seeing his difficulty, his friend Sid gave her the way to her class.

"She would easily be the prettiest girl among the first years" Sid said to Vikram who was still staring at where she stood even after she was long gone.

A week later, Vikram knew everything about Reema. He bribed a few first years, hung out near her class during the breaks and stalked her to her bus to know which area she came from. Guys from his class began to tease him. He didn't care. He day-dreamed about those blue eyes. Any conversation with Vikram finally led to her.

"Macha, blue eyes da! Like Aishwarya Rai. And that silky hair! She is gorgeous. I simply can't stop staring at her."

"I heard her grandfather was English. It seems he fell in love with an Indian and married her. She is 25% British da"

He simply couldn't stop talking about her. His friends had had enough of this and urged him to talk to her. But how? Boy-girl talking was blasphemy in their college. A month had gone by and he still hadn't spoke a word to her. She didn't even know he existed.

Two months after, Vikram noticed Reema going into the library. Lots had changed since the first day. She had cut her hair quite short because she didn't want to braid it every day as part of the draconian dress code. Vikram nearly had a heart attack the next day. He had to console himself thinking of those mesmerizing eyes which would compensate for everything. He followed her and stepped into the library - something he hadn't done for the entire year he was there. It was apparently her first time there too. She seemed lost. Her eyes had the same look she had on the very first day.

"Where is the Mathematics section?"

Vikram couldn't get his words out - again. He couldn't help but staring into those pretty blue eyes. She was so close and the library was deserted as usual.

"Ummm.. Excuse me, I need a reference book for Mathematics-I. Do you know where I can find that?"

And when he was about to say "I don't know", he saw the blue plastic contact lens above the cornea of her eye.

Another mokka vent

2010-09-18T19:57:00.001+05:30

Should have done this long back. But still, it is not too late.
*drumroll.
I am part of a team blog! I also write (or am supposed to write) here.

Check out some cool posts by cooler people there!

Return

2010-09-04T23:19:00.004+05:30

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 14; the fourteenth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

**
The paddy fields looked only like a flash of green to his eyes. Was it because of the moving jeep or his teary eyes - he didn't know. The serene look on his father's face and the hungry fire gobbling up his corpse was haunting him.

As he got down from the jeep, he saw a bird fly in the sky. He let out a loud sigh as he returned back to prison after his short parole.

**

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

never get your palm read

2010-08-17T16:48:00.010+05:30

Hey there,
You might probably know what awaits me day after tomorrow - College. As I am taking a huge step forward in my life (A small step for me ; But a huge step for tomorrow's history :P) I was expected to give a treat. For what reason my friends need to rejoice in me stepping into Shawshank prison, I don't know. They need a reason. And college was good enough of a reason. So that is how I ended up in Barista last Sunday. Not because I am a fan of their over-priced coffee or anything.

I wanted to get there early before the others because I had this immense pressure to play the perfect hostess but Karthik beat me to it. While we waited for 15 minutes we had the most interesting conversation of our lives (okay, atleast mine). I promised him that I would make a blog post out of that. So here it is. Read on if you are bored.

Karthik claimed not so long ago that he knows how to read those lines on a palm. I totally forgot about that until last Sunday. We both had some time to waste and I wanted my palm read.

"You can read palms, right? Read mine, now."

"Hahaha" (He laughs without reason. And lives in Kilpauk. Not a co-incidence I am telling you) "Okay sure. Before that, do you know anything about palmistry?"

"No, I just know girls have their left palm read."

"Hahaha. Good enough. Now show me your left hand."

"Dei! This is not like one of those scenes in Minnale, right?"

"Hahaha. I don't promise to be that accurate. Neither are you as pretty as Reema Sen."

"Yeah. Whatever."

(For the convenience of the reader - Click on the image to get a better view of my peechaangkai.)

"Your education line seems to be pretty strong. You stood in the first three ranks throughout your school, I suppose?"

"You were in my class! That is how you know it! The line isn't telling you anything, you liar!"

"No. You see how deep it is? That tells me. Also it is pretty long. So you should finish your higher studies without any problem."

"Yeah? Does that tell my first semester GPA also? "

"Hahaha. KP you are so funny! "

"I know. Go on."

"Your wealth line isn't bad. But not exceptionally good either."

"How do you expect it to be good when I spend my entire allowance loaning out money to you people and giving a treat for silly reasons?!"

"Hahaha. Keerthzzz, you are a riot!"

"Uh. You didn't get my point. Still. What else does my palm say?"

"You see this line here? That is the life line. It has a lot of lines cutting through it." (Puts on a really pathetic expression)

"That is a bad thing?"

"Of course it is a bad thing! You won't live to see your 60's."

"I thought we were all going to die in 2012."

"Dude, you are hilarious. "

"Dude. You are freaking me out. Stop saying that."

"This is your love line."

"Ha!"

"Not surprising. It's very faint. You can't almost see it."

"So that makes me a heartless, loveless crook?"

(Tries to tell something - I don't know what - but swallows it with some cappuccino.)

"Wait. It diverges into two! And there is a tiny line crossing off both lines."

"Uh. In human terms that would be?"

"You are going to have a triangle love story in your life!!"

"WTF?"

"Full Kollywood ishtyle!"

"First it was faint and almost non-existent. Now it is two? Whatever. Does it give names?"

(Gives me a weird look)

"Oh. Fuck. Move on!"

"Ok, you can find how many kids you are going to have by looking here."

"I already know. 2 daughters."

"What?"

"Facebook quiz."

"That's dumb."

"So are you. Now what does my palm say?"

"3 boys"

"WHAT THE FUCK!"

"See these 3 lines here? They are rather long. So definitely male."

"SHIT!" That wasn't me. It was my friend Suja. Who is going out with Karthik, by the way.

"You guys are holding hands in public!"

"It's not what you think. He was reading my palm."

Then the conversation moved on to less interesting topics.

Now I wonder if any of those stuff is actually true? I don't know. He could have been bluffing.

I hope he was. At least the last bit.

facebook fraandship requests

2010-08-14T23:17:00.018+05:30

A lot has been discussed in the blogging world on how desperate and grammar-challenged some fraaandship seeking guys are. So when I considered joining the bandwagon by posting some of the private messages I got (pretty girl, private wall - do the math) something else got my attention. Have you ever wondered how facebook reacts to these fraaandship requests? I did. I accidentally happened to read the subject line of some of the facebook mails.

This was how friendship request mails looked as far as I can remember.

Polite.
Sounded rather chivalrous.
And then facebook got bored of being polite. Chivalry is so 80's, right? So it decided to get all hip and dude-y. What followed was,

I was creeped out. I mean how could he? After all the effort I put in understanding Facebook's complex privacy settings and turning all features to friends only? Was he James Bond? Had he also found that I mercilessly killed a cockroach?

Creepy.

Somebody must have written a formal complaint (the kind with excessive usage of the F-word and asterisks). So they changed.

Today it was,
Facebook must have really got pissed off at how tirelessly Vijayy adds me as a friend everytime I ignore. So now it is ordering me.
Confirm that you know him.
Or else you are dead.

OK, so I made up the second line. But I am pretty sure that's what facebook had in mind.

And now the big question.
What next?
A summary on why I should add the guy?
Or worse, facebook automatically accepting the request after matching our horoscopes and interests? (It DOES have my birthday and a history of pages I liked.)

Well, it should be fun getting friends of compatible zodiac and of similar interests. At least it's much better than receiving friendship requests sounding like death threats.

This post has been selected as a Tangy Tuesday Pick on Aug '17 2010