Death by Customer Care.

Hi, I’m *inaudible*, how may I assist you?

Hi, my cable’s not working – no audio, no video, just a big blue screen. It’s like there’s no connection at all.

Are you sure?

…
I’m looking at the blue screen right now.

Have you tried switching the TV off and back on again?

Yes.

Do it again.

…
What?

Try it again.

Because you think I managed to do that *wrong* somehow??

Trust me sir.

Fine. Switching off now. Switching on now. Flipping to AV mode.
…
Nothing.

Hm. Try switching it off from the main power and switching it on.

…
Are you serious?

Trust me sir, these things happen.

Fine. Switching off with the remote. Switching off at the main power. Switching on main power. Switching on with the remote. Flipping to AV.
…
Nothing.

Hm. Is the Set Top Box on?

Yes.

Try switching it off and on.

You have *got* to be kidding me!

Try it sir, these problems are usually solved this easily.

Fine, fine! Switched it off! Switching it off at the mains as well (since I figure that’s the next step)! Switching it all back on!
…
Still nothing!

Hm. *pages flipping*. That’s unusual. Let me transfer you to the Tech department.

Wait, you’re not the Tech department?

No sir, I’m just the customer care guy.

Then why did you tell me to switch everything on and off repeatedly?

Because that’s what it says in our instruction manual. Most problems are solved by doing that.

…
*deep breaths*
*counts slowly to 10*
Whatever. Transfer me to the Tech department.

Please hold.

*annoying promos*

*Heavy South Indian accent* Hi, Tech Department, I’m *mumbled*. How may I assist you?

Right, so my cable’s not working. No AV. Just a blue screen.

Are all the lights on on the set-top box?

Yes.

Are the wires plugged in to the TV?

Yes.

Are they tightly fitted?

Yes.

…

Have you tried switching the TV off and back on again?

*head implosion*

For lack of REM.

A few hours ago:

It’s 1am. I can’t sleep.
Kurt Cobain asks me wailingly “Where did you sleep last night?”. Not that that’s relevant in any way; it’s just curious how that would randomly choose to play right now.
(He also refers to me as “My girl”, but I’m trying to ignore that bit.)
Mind you, this isn’t particularly unusual; I’ve had many a sleepless night before. However, as of late, I’ve been sleeping well.
(Okay, maybe “well” is a bit of a stretch, but at least I get my hours in, like the good little boy I’m trying to be.)
Which begs the question: Why? Why am I still up tonight? I mean, ordinarily, when I’m this tired, and my eyes feel this heavy, I usually konk off in seconds.
Maybe I’m stressed. Wouldn’t be too hard to believe, really. I tend to stress out more than I know. Besides, this whole new bottle-it-up way-of-life I’m trying to adhere to has been quite a strain.

… You don’t know what I’m talking about yet but I’m gonna tell you soon…

Nina Simone is a strange one. I can’t decide if I like her or not. On the one hand, she belts out Sinner Man, one of the few ten minute long songs I can actually be entertained by; on the other, she covers George Harrison’s Isn’t it a pity? which can only be described to as ‘curious’. But then again, she also made Julie Delpy dance in Before Sunset (though I might be wrong about that – it’s been a while since I saw that movie). That, at the very least, evens out the score. (Julie Delpy is a cutie!)

I love random playlists. It’s probably the only reason I stick to Windows Media Player. Of all the players I’ve tried in the past, this was the first one I discovered that generated auto-playlists that would shuffle songs too. I don’t know, maybe there are more; it’s been a while since I downloaded another music player.
But then again, I guess that tells you something about my fondness for windows Media Player.
And to think, all you need is a well-maintained Media Library. Microsoft rules! Woohoo!
(…)
(Dear God, I can almost hear the guns cocking.)

But coming back to random playlists: It’s fantastic. No matter how well you might know your music and what you’ve managed to collect over the years, it still manages to surprise you. You just pick a song to start with, and let it go. Every now and then, you hear a real gem that you hadn’t heard for ages, and you find yourself transported to a time when things were simpler and (thank God-or-whatever for poor memories) happier. Although you do tend to come across a few that are just not apropos to the moment (The Beatles just wished me Good Day, Sunshine. At 1am. The crazy b*stards.), you’re only a ‘skip’ away from the next surprise.

… the more I get of you, the stranger it feels, yeah…

Did everybody see The Dark Knight? I know it’s really late to be asking this, but eh, who’s really going to care? Despite all my trepidation at Heath Ledger being a lousy Joker (hey, in my defense, how many people would honestly have thought Brokeback boy could act??), I was blown away by the guy. The rest of the movie was, well, nice, entertaining, and y’know, comic book glory and what-not, but *man*, the Joker was one creepy mofo. Gave me chills. Fantastic.

Also, did anyone else feel he had a point with the whole “Why so serious?” thing? I mean, sure, it was twisted and all that, but it seemed like an important question, if you ask me. Life’s too full of shit to take everything so seriously. Laugh a little. Like I’d said during some rapidly exchanged SMS-es after the bombings here in New Delhi with SB, I appreciate flippancy. Sure, there’s “a time and a place” for everything, but a little light-heartedness never really hurt anybody.

Then again, there was that guy we all beat up in school because he started laughing when we lost some football game (or something like that. The details are hazy now. I don’t really care to remember too much of, well, stuff).

Hm.

It’s now 1.30am. Either I’ve been typing slower than I thought, or this isn’t flowing out as easily as I thought it would.
Oh well, I should hopefully be asleep on this side of 2.30, at least. That’s something.
…
Should probably stop sipping this leftover Coke though.

… Isn’t it a pity? Isn’t it a shame?…

All right, George Harrison, rep-RE-sent! Aiite! *crotch grab*
(I need to stop chatting with Ravin’. Crazy southie-wannabe-gangsta.)
See! Random playlists! Incredible! What are the chances that the player would play *both* the versions I have of the song in a span of 40 minutes? It can’t be too high; I have around 5,000 songs here (give or take), and it’s played only about 10 so far.

I suppose this is one of those *infinitely* rare occasions (well, except maybe in Vegas) when someone asks the question: Is there a math-guy in the house?

… bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum…

(That’s supposed to be the bass cello Tom is playing in the episode where he serenades some chick-cat with Is you is (or is you ain’t) my baby?, in case you were wondering.)

(Nothing to add to that, really. Was just “bumming” along.)

(Edit: If you’re interested: http://in.youtube.com/watch?v=ZIOmzsiecuA)

… And her name was G…

Gloria is such a fantastic song. Not that it has particularly deep lyrics, or particularly intricate music (at least not to my hopelessly tone-deaf ear), but so much fun! I’d love to be drunk somewhere when Gloria suddenly came on – I can just imagine everybody standing around screaming!

Come on now, everybody!!

And her name is G!
L!
O!
R!
I-I-IIII!
G-L-O-R-I-A!!!
GLOOOORIA!
G-L-O-R-I-A!!!
GLOOOORIA!!
I’m gonna shout it out now!!
GLOOOORIA!!!
I’m gonna shout it everyday!!
GLOOOORIA!!!
Yeah, yeah, yeah-yeah-yeah…

There are just some songs that are better suited for drunken indulgences than others. The last party I went for, I wound up dancing for hours to a slew of questionable Bollywood songs. Not particularly because they made me want to get up and *dance*, mind you; it’s just that it was so much fun to be part of the group that sang and danced along, with everybody acting out the lyrics in their own crazy way.
(Plus, with enough alcohol, everything stupid suddenly becomes so much more fun.)
(*sigh* I miss drunken stupors. Why is Delhi not mature enough for 24-hour liquor shops??)

…

Time update: 2am.

(I really wonder how I’d manage all these sleepless nights without music for company.)
(Ah, if only I had an ear for it. I’ve heard it’s nice.)

… Battiyaan bujha do!
(Arrey, batti to bujha de, yaar.)
Battiyan bujha do ke neend nahin aati haaaiin
Battiyaan bujhane se bhi neend nahin aayegi…

Of the handful of songs I have on my PC that are not in English, this would probably be my favourite (Sorry, Juanez).
I’ve found that I have a predisposition towards songs that tell a story of sorts. Especially ones that seem to build up with the story. It’s probably one of the reasons why I appreciate old R. D. Burman songs. That man knew his shit, man! Here, what starts off as a depressingly morose tunes, ends up with a lot of male grunting, funky disco beats, and powerful vocals! How can you *not* like that??! It makes you want to beat your chest and scream “I HEAR YOU, MAN! RESPECT!”
(…)
(Damn you, Raven.)
But either which way, I haven’t met a guy yet who has heard the song and doesn’t feel heartened by it. There just aren’t enough “We will survive” songs for men.
(…)
(Okay, I have to admit, I tweaked that stream-of-thought a little. Cake’s version of I Will Survive started playing, and I just wanted to make it seem like I have coherent thoughts that aren’t just running on lack of sleep and endless music.)
(But, having said that…)

… And yooou see me with somebody new, I’m not that stupid little person still in love with you…

As I was saying, there just aren’t enough guy-power songs that don’t sound pathetically mushy. I’ve never been a guy who appreciated songs switching genders (you know, like a guy version of Nothing Compares To You is just so wrong, or a girl version of You’ve Got To Hide Your Love Away. No real logic behind it, it’s just always felt wrong, y’know?). But every so often, a couple of them make the jump quite sweetly, I think. Sheryl Crow’s versions of The First Cut is the Deepest and Sweet Child O’ Mine are nice; they don’t get automatically compared to the original in my head. They just stand and declare themselves as independent songs, and it works.

Cake’s version of I Will Survive is bee-yoo-tiful! I mean, it’s souped up, and has a lot more anger in it (which is really something people should learn to understand is a *crucial* part of getting over someone). I first heard it by accident – I was actually looking for a video clip of the The Replacements rendition, when Kazaa (I *think* it was back when I used to use Kazaa) popped up this version, which blew my mind away.

Although, now that I think about it, I wonder if I can still get that clip somewhere. Maybe on Youtube. Must check whenever I get online.

If you haven’t seen it, it’s a fun scene. A bunch of big ornery men singing, clapping and line-dancing to I Will Survive in a jail-cell.
(…)
(Let me take a moment here to specify: No, I’m not gay.)

(Edit: if you’re interested, go to: http://in.youtube.com/watch?v=R9LhScThq84)

…

It’s 2.30am.
I’m going to bed now.
I have work tomorrow, and it’s hard enough to stay awake on a full night’s sleep.
Can’t even imagine what tomorrow’ll be like.
Yikes.

Goombye, please.

Midnight meanderings.

(Don’t you hate it when something you know turns out to be a lie?
I very recently discovered that Teardrop by Newton Faulkner, a song I’ve been telling everyone to listen to just to prove that he’s not a one-hit wonder, is *actually* a Massive Attack song. Apparently, the lead singer wrote it when she heard about Jeff Buckley or something.
Man. That sucks.)
(But, back to our regularly scheduled programme.)

“Life hasn’t turned out quite the way I wanted it to be.”
“Tell me what you want.”

Hello all. It’s been quite a while. I didn’t think I’d ever write again, to tell the truth. Having recently vowed to not complain anymore (yeah, I know), I’ve been left with nothing to say, and quite honestly, the personality of a goldfish.
(I’ve been told that’s a good line, and I keep using it whenever I get the chance. My apologies if you’ve heard me say it a dozen times already.)
Sadly, this has also affected my ability to have conversations. Apparently, bitching had become the cornerstone of my small talk. It was all I ever had to contribute to a conversation. Now, dialogues tend to end very quickly now (“Hey, how you been?” “Can’t complain” *awkward silence* “So, I’ll see you later!”).
This may or may not be a good thing; I haven’t decided yet.
It does give me a lot more free time though.

We’re coming down to the ground. There’s no better place to go.

I recently watched Wall-E. Fan-f*cking-tastic. For a movie with almost no dialogue, it does a surprisingly good job of keeping you attentive all through; you barely notice how long the movie is. I didn’t even look at my watch once!
I love it when animated movies reach you as well as, um, ‘real’ movies do. It helps me validate my childhood, and the many, many, many arguments I had with Mom about comics and cartoons being important for my development.
(I rarely won those arguments.)
(In fact, I think I rarely even completed those arguments.)
(*sigh*)

(Although this does remind me of a discussion I had with a friend in college about how he’s “in touch with his inner child”…)
(…)
(Yeah, I didn’t want to hear anymore about it then either.)

I’m starting with the man in the mirror. I’m asking him to change his ways.

Finally watched American Psycho. What can I say? The name really says it all. Strangely disturbing. I say “strangely” because it’s not the psychotic murders that really disturb you, but the incredibly shallow world everyone seems to live in. I don’t know, maybe it’s just a guy thing; maybe we just wrap ourselves up in what we think because we don’t really want to know what others do, lest it shatter our fragile egos.
…
I get the feeling that women everywhere are cheering silently.

I won’t hesitate no more, no more.

I went to the F Bar & Lounge today. Alone.
(No, I’m nowhere near that successful to make the F Bar my watering hole. My company was associated with a running event happening there. I had to go because of work.)
(And the f*ckers made me pay too.)
But it was a surreal experience. I suddenly knew exactly what Bill Murray (and countless other actors in similar situations in the movies) must have felt like. Sitting there, alone, at the bar. Not a friend in the world. Just me and my Bloody Marys.
(Incidentally, if you’re looking at drinking a lot after a tiring day, and you like Vodka (that ought to narrow it down quite a bit), I *strongly* recommend a good Bloody Mary: A dash of lemon juice, a dash of Worcestershire sauce, pepper to taste, a dash of Tabasco sauce, vodka (I prefer Smirnoff in a cocktail – Absolut and Grey Goose ought to be had simple, with lime), topped off with tomato juice. Serve in an old-fashioned glass rimmed with salt. It’s a helluva pick-me-up, goes well with snacks, and doesn’t give you a hangover the next day – or at least, hasn’t given me one yet *crosses fingers*)
But anyway, while initially I was wallowing in self-pity (“Dear God, what have I been reduced to?! I’m pathetic.”), after a while, I realized I *love* being alone. The live act was good, some nice slow jazz – covers, to be sure, but done in ways you’d never imagined. The singer was fantastic, and the keyboardist was incredible (eat your heart out, Raven). Hell, I only realized she was doing covers when she belted out Rooo-xanne, and I vaguely remember hearing at least 2 lines from Use Me (I was not in one of the ‘better’ seats).

And I had these studly Bloody Marys in front of me!

(You can see a bit of the same duo – singer and keyboards – in this youtube clip (they’re “Sonia & Harmeet”, by the way): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uZxAIS-zahU)

So as it turns out, I love me. I know how narcissistic that sounds, but I truly ended up having a better time just sitting there by my lonesome rather than spending time with some people I know.
Does this imply that I’m a closet sociopath? That all I want to do is sit in bars by my lonesome, sipping happy drinks, and listen to nice off-beat music? I mean, this would explain a lot – why I don’t meet up with anybody, for instance.
(Somewhere, fireflies is shaking a fist at me.)
But is it wrong to like spending time with yourself? I’ve always been the kind of guy who enjoys sitting in the quiet of his room, nice music playing (loud enough to hear from all corners of the room, not loud enough to disturb the neighbours) and reading something, or mulling over how to better myself.
(My mom tells me that I am effectively asking the nice men in white coats to show up with their funny jacket and electrodes, but what does she know…)

…

Crap, is that the time? I have work tomorrow.
Will continue this later.

…

P.S: I highly recommend everybody read Post Office by Charles Bukowski. Short, disturbing and yet entertaining.
It also gives you an insight into the phrase “going postal”.

Bachelor, Baby!

Can any guy *not* relate with these?

Free time.

I’ve decided to stop complaining.
(Yes, you heard it right.)
(Oh, shut up.)

Don’t get me wrong; I’m not giving up cribbing because I’ve finally had a change of heart (missing a crucial part there), or I’ve decided that the world is a great place after all (Pshaw. Don’t you watch TV?), or because my glass is half-full, or because I feel that I am lucky to have the little I do because there are *so many* out there who don’t have even half (puh-lease. What about the tons who have it better? Hell, I know enough of them!).

It’s just that, there comes a time in every man’s life when he realizes that there is only so much he can fight and complain about. After a point, you realize your complaining has only made things worse (inevitably because one of those sympathetic ears had a loud mouth), that you haven’t won any battles (no matter how tiny) in recent memory, and that if you are forced to deal with it, you can.

Ergo (don’t you just love that word? It sounds so intelligent, and yet so peppy!), give up, man, give up. Nothing can swim against a raging river and win; well, except for salmon, and that’s only because they’re headed to an orgy of Caligula-esque proportions (I swear, if there was a way to bottle up the energy men expend in order to get some, we’d never need fossil fuels again. God, I sound like such a woman. I need more male company.).

Unfortunately, this leaves me with a lot of free time on my hands.
…
*sigh*
This would have *so* been the ideal time to complain.

Oh well. So it goes.

…

I recently saw Fiddler on the Roof for the first time.
(Well, most of it, at least. I dozed off for the last half-hour, dang it. Now I’ll have to wait another 3 months before it repeats.)

And while the movie is pretty dull (really. Big, fat, hairy men singing and dancing is only *so* entertaining.), I loved that Topol guy! Hilarious!! I could watch him jiggle and wiggle to “If I Was A Rich Man” forever! And how can you not like a song where the chorus is primarily made up of “Yaba dibi dibi dibi dibi dibi dibi dum”?!

(Yes, I counted.)
(What? Did you not read the bit up there about free time?)

Everybody, now: “If I was a rich man… Yaba dibi dibi dibi dibi dibi dibi dum!” *jiggle jiggle*

Simple sighs, mon.

I love finding something new to like in an old(ish) song.

Listening to Kaiser Chiefs’ Ruby for the umpteenth time on the way to work (not particularly by choice; my shuffled play-list seems to favour it quite a bit), these lyrics leaped out at me:

Due to lack of interest, tomorrow is canceled.
Let the clocks be reset and the pendulums held.

I think that might be the highlight of my day.

(I’m simple that way.)

*sighs contentedly*

…

Edit:

Why it makes sense to have commitment issues:

*sigh*

I enjoy having reasons to be an ass.

Holy Holi, Batman!

Ah, Holi.

Where people of all ages decide to attack random people with water balloons and colourful filth. What can only be described as a weekend of terror. My office lies pink in it’s wake. My drycleaning bill is huge. My clothes are mothered. My only pair of comfortable (i.e. they still fit. The other one is too tight. (Yes, I have put on weight. I’m starting to look like a giant pin-cushion, with my needle-like arms and legs.)) black trousers are purple. Hell, even my undies have a pinkish tinge to it. My nice little Dharamshala beads now glow with a white light (I had to wash them in detergent to get the green stain off of them. Now they have a faded plastic-ky feel. Not good.), bringing to an end roughly 4 years of wearing them (*sigh* ’tis the end of my youth). I hate fat Punjabi people. You would think someone with so much area to clean would not want to get dirty, but noooooo; we *must* indulge our childhood again, mustn’t we?!! B@$tards.

The world around me was like a bad day at the hostel loo (with psychedelic colours, no less). Random urchins paint it black, giving a whole new meaning to the term “grease monkey” while drawing visual analogies to half-naked guerrilla-fighting VietCong.

Holi should be spent with boring friends in a quiet room, with a *lot* of intoxicants and a little token colour. Not with a few intoxicants *anywhere* and with enough colour to affect general visibility.

…

Thank God it’s over.

The times, they are tho changing.

My God. What have they done?!

Poor Dylan. I wonder if he knows what our ad-world is doing to his classic?

The latest Reliance ad features the tune of a song that’s so familiar, it infuriates you that you can’t get it. Maybe it’s the just the terribly boring singing, I don’t know. The lyrics have, of course, been suitably changed to tell some story (ridiculously relevant to the product, I’m sure), but it’s the final line that’s the absolute clincher!

“The times, they are *tho* changing!”

Dear God. Is nothing sacred anymore?! Why would they do that? Why would they take a classic like that, and butcher it mercilessly? Why? Why?!

And it wasn’t even nicely done! I mean, the vocals are so dull – were they trying to mock Dylan? Was it supposed to convey their attempt to stay true to the song? I have no clue. I don’t even know how effective it’d be, really. No one’s going to pay attention to the lyrics, the visuals don’t particularly stand out, and really, I think the whole point of the ad was to just convey the line. Pathetic.

But you know, that’s what sucks about advertising nowadays. Almost everything you see has been done before, or is just not… um… well… nice! I mean, they don’t really speak to *me*. Does it really help develop the brand’s image to be associated with some crappy communication? Yeesh.

Have you seen the equally-if-not-more-so stupid rediffmail ad? The one that seems to say “Spam is good!” and “Please send more pointless chain letters, because they *do* make a difference to that kid in the Andes with a so-rare-it’s-never-been-heard-of disease”? Now, this one I paid attention to (as opposed to spending twenty seconds going, “Aw, no, come on!!!”) so I can give you a quick synopsis: Man tries to protect lady from eve-teasers, gets butt kicked, and then decides to send some crazy forward to the entire community saying “Stop the eve-teasers” and the entire society comes out to the street to kick eve-teasing butt. The final VO even says something about “Send a rediffmail and see what happens!”

Yeah, like, that’s accurately depicted.

Who thinks up these things? Does anyone *actually* believe that you can make a huge difference by just sending a mail? And even if you can believe that (I assume that the world isn’t full of cynical b*stards like me), how the heck does this make any sort of impact for Rediffmail? I know I wouldn’t use their mail service because of “the power of a Rediff-mail”; would any of you?

But, to be fair, I’m sure there are tons of people out there who would. I don’t know this for a fact, but I’ll be optimistic, and assume that there is some kind of rational thinking that goes behind all these bad ads on Indian TV, and that’s really the only rational explanation I can come up with to explain it.

Although, I have to admit that I’ve liked at least one of the ads I saw today on TV. The mentos ad. Although it’s a rip-off (they’ve practically lifted the *entire* concept from the Fatboy Slim Right Here, Right Now video), I still thought it was done decently enough. And, above all else, it at least was in-sync with their tagline. Story’s simple enough: You have a lazy ass being drawn along by a monkey. The ass takes a nap, the monkey has a mentos, evolves into man, who then makes the ass draw him along. The evolution-animation was done pretty decently too, if you ask me. Gives it a nice, unique feel.

And they didn’t ruin the original song.

…

(Edit: Turns out, this isn’t the first time The Times, they are A-changing has been used in a jingle; it was used in the ’90s for a Canadian bank – or so wikipedia tells me. (Ah, wikipedia.) But I’m sure they’d have done a better job!)
(Yeah, okay, so I’m biased.)

A Beautiful Day.

I had my first cold shower of the year today. I also spent the day wandering around Saket in just a T-shirt and cargoes. Absolutely fantastic!

I’ve always been a winter person – especially the Delhi winter! I think it has something to do with my desert upbringing (Although no one would call Dubai a “desert” anymore, it definitely was when I was growing up! If you didn’t put on the air-conditioner, you’d fast need a mop.); I’m just not used to almost-freezing temperatures – at least, not without an air-conditioner. It’s just so fantastic to wake up in the morning, know you shouldn’t get out of your warm quilt because it’s freezing, get up anyway, go outside and look at the mist rolling by. It’s awesome!

But something about this time of the year brings me immense happiness. The sun pops out of the clouds and shines down, bathing everything around in a nice, warm glow, contrasted beautifully by a nice, nippy breeze. For the first time in days (and I *do* mean “days”!) I decided to get out of the house and away from my one true love (the TV), avoid the mistress (the Internet), and dash out the door.

Unfortunately, I didn’t have a damn thing to do.

(See, that’s the problem with being unemployed – you inevitably have *nothing* to do. Everything you “need” to do would probably involve a trip to the store below, or maybe, at most, paying bills; there’s very little else that might spring up besides these two.)

But I didn’t let a tiny thing like ‘lack of purpose’ stop me – I plugged in my earphones, switched on my music, and walked out into the well-known, utterly undaunted.

(That’s the beauty of listening to music when you’re out walking; it’s like traveling with your own background score! Plus, if you’re like me, it’ll help feed the illusion that your life is really just a weird episode of a TV show (think The Truman Show), which I personally find very entertaining!)

And, by a wonderful twist of fate (how on earth did that phrase originate, I wonder? It always gives me the image of some omnipotent entity gently twisting something hard and surprisingly blunt into the small of my back; then again, I am a cynical bitter bastard.)… But coming back to my wonderful fate-twisting, the first few songs on my shuffled play-list turned out to be Israel “IZ” Kamakawiwo’ole’s beautiful rendition of Somewhere Over The Rainbow/What A Wonderful World, Colbie Caillat’s Bubbly, Feist’s Mushaboom and Razorlight’s America - and let me just say, that’s a *fantastic* way to start a walk on a great day!

*sigh*

I’d describe it more, but there really wasn’t much else to it. It was just… well… *really* nice. You should have been there.

…

Don’t you just love old people in malls? Especially old women; they tackle escalators like knights of yore, attacking dragons – with a resigned sense of duty and an impending sense of doom. This one sweet old grandma was trying to get down from the first floor today, with the aid of her husband and grand-daughter who couldn’t have been more than 10 years old. She (the 10-year old) obviously had no difficulty – she looked like she’d been doing this all her life (and for all I knew, she probably had; kids today don’t have much else in the way of entertainment). She bounded down the escalator two steps at a time, with nary a care in the world. Gramps proceeded to try and guide his petrified wife down along with him, and, with a little countdown, took the big step.

Unfortunately, he underestimated her resolve to stay put (or perhaps, he over-estimated her vow to have and hold till death parts them *snicker*), and left her standing there, screaming bloody murder for being abandoned there all alone. The kid, observing the drama from the ground floor, raced up the Up escalator to Grandma’s aid. Grandma, once again, proved to be a worthy adversary, and was, once again, left standing there, screaming bloody murder (and you scoffed when they said history repeats itself! (Yes, I know that’s not *exactly* what they say; just roll with it.)) Now it was Gramps’ turn to go up again, and give it (or rather, her) a go… and once again, he failed (although, to give him credit, he only let her slip out of his grasp when it looked like she was going to fall – man, she must have sprouted roots or something!). *Again*, the kid proceeded to run up to Grandma’s aid.

Unfortunately, I had to bid them adieu before I could see how this tale ended. For all I know, they’re probably still there, with Grandma screaming like a banshee.

(Good thing it was a slow day at the mall! )

Too funny!

Someone sent me this on Facebook! It’s bloody hilarious!

…

(Man, one thing you have to say about us Indians – we can definitely laugh at ourselves! *giggle*)

 (Edit: Am I the only one who sees nothing? If I’m not, and you can’t see anything either, and you are curious to know what I’m talking about, go to http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HXEvwLAykbk)