tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-57352162659530599962024-02-02T09:26:40.132-08:00Confessions of a Rambunctious WhipperSnapperRambunctious WhipperSnapperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10061050156768587405noreply@blogger.comBlogger138125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5735216265953059996.post-56806242152639080592013-12-16T02:14:00.001-08:002013-12-16T02:14:29.784-08:00We’re here, we’re queer, get over it!<p>One silver lining out of this whole nightmare brought on by the supreme curt is that the voice of the LGBT community and its straight allies is finally being heard. The images from the global day of rage are just-pardon my french-fucking awesome. </p> <p>We’re not a community that will tolerate being put under siege anymore. We will stand up and fight for our rights. We will not let a few homophobes take away our rights. We will stand and shout and gently give you nice suggestions about the places where you can stuff your homophobia in. (We’re gay, remember? According to you, we’re supposed to know this stuff!) </p> <p>Here are some of the places where you can see pictures of yesterday’s protests: </p> <p>1) <a href="http://orinam.net/377/377-gdor-images/">Orinam.net</a> (<a href="https://twitter.com/chennaipride">@chennaipride</a> on twitter) <br /> <br /><a href="http://orinam.net/377/377-gdor-images/"><img height="244" alt="Delhi3_gdor" src="http://orinam.net/377/wp-content/uploads/2013/12/Delhi3_gdor.jpg" width="325" /></a></p> <p>2. <a href="http://hystericalfeminist.tumblr.com/">Hysterical Feminist</a> </p> <p><a href="http://hystericalfeminist.tumblr.com/"><img alt="" src="http://31.media.tumblr.com/3fc9545ac2f0636e3b914bbc3d73d3c1/tumblr_mxvr8i40Q81t61hq0o1_250.jpg" /></a></p> <p>3. And <a href="www.buzzfeed.com/tasneemnashrulla/the-world-raging-against-indias-ban-on-same-sex-intercourse">Buzzfeed</a>, which contains my favourite image: </p> <p><a href="www.buzzfeed.com/tasneemnashrulla/the-world-raging-against-indias-ban-on-same-sex-intercourse"><img height="419" alt="http://s3-ec.buzzfed.com/static/2013-12/enhanced/webdr05/15/16/enhanced-buzz-6524-1387143141-2.jpg" src="http://s3-ec.buzzfed.com/static/2013-12/enhanced/webdr05/15/16/enhanced-buzz-6524-1387143141-2.jpg" width="556" /></a></p> <p>Couldn’t have said it better myself. </p> Rambunctious WhipperSnapperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10061050156768587405noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5735216265953059996.post-71481752485221047472013-12-07T07:47:00.001-08:002013-12-07T07:47:35.099-08:00You Are Not Alone<p>It began with a secret. </p> <p>The one I had been carrying around for three years. The one whose existence had always reminded me that the world will never accept me for who I am. The sort of secret that made me pretend to be someone else. </p> <p>Then, one day, in a place I always thought of home but was hundreds of miles away from my actual home, strange yet familiar, I broke down. I wanted one more day away from my overwhelming problems. I wanted to run away for just a few hours more. But I couldn’t stay there forever. I had to go home. I had to face myself. </p> <p>I came back home, still in a haze, meandering through each day. Something made me turn to the internet to find some peace. One google search led to another, and I found a few blogs by other people who were the same as me. Other people who faced the same problems that I did. Other people who wanted to stop living a lie. </p> <p>I wasn’t alone. </p> <p>Reading a few years worth of blog posts in just two days filled my mind with words. I signed up for a blog myself. I couldn’t think of a name. Then I remembered an old story from an Archie comic, in which Mr. Lodge calls Archie a whippersnapper. I probably heard the word rambunctious on an episode of Frasier. And I intended this blog to be a sort of diary. That is how I came up with the title. </p> <p>It was on the virtual pages of this blog a few years ago, during this very month,  that I first said – or rather typed – those words out loud. It was the first time I stopped being in denial and admitted to myself that, yes, I was gay. Yes, it wasn’t a phase. And yes, I had to stop fighting myself. </p> <p>I still remember the moment I hit publish. It was like  huge boulder lifted from my back. Yes, I had said it! Someone knew! Someone out there in the ether of the internet, knew that I was gay. And the world didn’t end. Everything was still the same. </p> <p>Of course, I wasn’t completely out of the woods then. As I look back and read those posts, I am reminded of the scared little boy I was in a twenty five year old man’s body. It was as if my life was on hold since the moment I discovered that I was a little different from my friends and classmates and that they might not appreciate it. I still had a lot of growing up to do. </p> <p>As I read those posts now, I find them very over-the-top, quiet melodramatic and most of them make me cringe. But I still go back and read. It reminds me of how far I’ve come. It reminds me that there was a point in my life where I never imagined that I could be living the sort of life I’m living now. It keeps from taking things for granted and to never try to be someone I am not ever again. </p> <p>Those posts also remind me of the community that this blog helped me build. It gave me something that I most required at that moment. A group of friends who accepted me for who I was, warts and all, no questions asked. A group of mostly anonymous strangers who I had never met or might not ever meet who not only encouraged me but also let me lean on them. </p> <p>They laughed at my sad little jokes, praised every little step I took in the right direction, called me out when I was wrong and let me think that my borrowed thoughts were some sort of profound wisdom. They helped me become whole. </p> <p>That is why I always keep coming back here. It feels familiar. Like a place that you once used to haunt along with a group of close friends. A lot of them have disappeared into the black hole of the internet. Some of them, even a couple I met in real life, have become strangers again. Yet, I remain thankful to anyone who read my posts, or posted a comment or sent me an email or just passed through without saying a word. All of you made me feel less alone. I’m glad you came into my life, even if it was for a few fleeting moments. I don’t hold a grudge that you left. But I will always cherish the time we spent together. </p> <p>So if anyone out there is reading this, remember, don’t think that you have no one to turn to. You do. </p> <p>You are not alone. Don’t keep your secrets to yourself. </p> <p>It ain’t worth it. </p> Rambunctious WhipperSnapperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10061050156768587405noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5735216265953059996.post-55969079427118446982013-01-13T02:09:00.000-08:002013-01-13T07:17:02.759-08:00Never Going To Leave YouI really can’t quit you, personal blogging. I get to do my most favourite activity: talk about myself at length without being interrupted by someone else. Shut up and publish all my terrible posts, blogger dot com. <br /><br />
I remember when I started blogging in December 2007. I was such a different person at that time. For one, I was only ugly fat and not morbidly obese like the present. Second, I wrote things here I couldn’t even admit to myself (eg: I liked British sitcoms! BUT BUT THEY WERE RACIST TO US TILL 1947?). <br />
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And of course, there was the community. I “met” a lot of people through the blog. Some, I’m still in touch with. Some I’m friends with. Some got freaked out by something I said and vice-versa. Some are lost in the past. Some have disappeared into the abyss of the internet. Some are getting married to their version of the anti-christ. It’s all good. <br />
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I hate to use these words because, REALLY?, but blogging also helped me to find a little bit of who I am. Turns out I wasn’t the broken shell of a human being being who was dead inside and wasn’t able to feel any emotion whatsoever. In reality, I was a broken shell of a human being who was dead inside and wasn’t able to feel any emotion whatsoever who also likes to write sentences who only he finds amusing! WHO’DA THUNK IT? <br />
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Nowadays, even though I do most of my blogging in my diary - because even I’m not that narcissistic to put so many banal things on the internet - it always feels good to come back here. <br />
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I can’t believe I actually wrote the words <i>I’m not afraid to be real</i> in the last post. Ugh. Who am I? A contestant on <i>MTV Road Rules? </i>Such a fucking drama queen! What’s next? Shouting <i>I’m not here to make friends!</i> to random people on the street? (To be fair, I did say that once to a dick co-trainee during the second week of my first job so that wouldn’t be such a stretch. Can’t believe I was in denial about being gay at that time. I mean, HELLOOO!). <br />
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Also, writing more blogposts in one week than I have written in three years? If it was still 2012 I would have made an ‘ARMAGEDDON MUST BE NIGH’ joke.<br />
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Rambunctious WhipperSnapperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10061050156768587405noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5735216265953059996.post-7989224133563268712013-01-11T11:24:00.001-08:002013-01-11T11:24:13.184-08:00This is How We Say Goodbye<p><em>Hi!</em></p> <p><em>Hey, welcome back! How have you been? </em></p> <p><em>Good, good. What about you? </em></p> <p><em>I’ve been good too. What’s going on? </em></p> <p><em>Nothing much. Remember when I texted you from ____ that I had something to tell you? </em></p> <p><em>Yeah . . . .</em></p> <p><em>Well, the thing is, I’m getting married. To a girl! </em></p> <p><em>Umm, congratulations? </em></p> <p align="center">* * * </p> <p>It didn’t upset me that you were marrying someone else, cause I got over you a long time ago. </p> <p>It didn’t upset me that you didn’t reply to my questions when I asked you if you were dating somebody. </p> <p>It didn’t upset me that you didn’t tell me about such a big decision about your life that you made twelve months ago and yet only told me nine days before the fact because you wanted to tell me in person so that you could – what you imagined – see the pain on my face and were reasonably upset when there wasn’t any. </p> <p>I found the fact that you expected me to attend your sham wedding quite hilarious. </p> <p>And don’t worry “buddy,” you didn’t change me a bit. Just because I let you in and got burned doesn’t mean that my next experience will be be affected by it. </p> <p>I’m not afraid to be real, anymore. </p> <p>You are. </p> Rambunctious WhipperSnapperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10061050156768587405noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5735216265953059996.post-20066358792802597082012-03-03T23:37:00.001-08:002012-03-03T23:37:20.174-08:00<p>It’s that sort of a day when you continue to listen to a song on repeat. Not just because you are too lazy to do something about it, but because you want to wrap yourself in the familiarity. </p> <p>It’s that sort of a week in which you wonder how things you never imagined could happen to you actually happen. </p> <p>It’s that sort of month which fills you with both excitement and anticipation. </p> <p>It’s that sort of a year which feels like you are living someone else’s life and any minute now you will  snap out of it and then everything will go back to as it were before. </p> <p>You still cannot really fathom what is going on in your life. </p> <p>So you sit there and wonder, is this really you? </p> Rambunctious WhipperSnapperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10061050156768587405noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5735216265953059996.post-20665641766846083642011-11-15T10:23:00.001-08:002011-11-15T10:23:00.265-08:00Somebody that I used to know<p>That awkward moment when you cannot spend even ten minutes without getting bored talking to someone with whom you could at one time have had a conversation for an eternity. </p> <p> </p> <div class="wlWriterEditableSmartContent" id="scid:5737277B-5D6D-4f48-ABFC-DD9C333F4C5D:f002327b-8636-402f-a07e-77014d63bd9b" style="padding-right: 0px; display: inline; padding-left: 0px; float: none; padding-bottom: 0px; margin: 0px; padding-top: 0px"><div id="34846e49-d77d-456e-a632-924c6b770bfd" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; display: inline;"><div><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8UVNT4wvIGY" target="_new"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsoU_MKSxEQHZ8IkZdVWjmJzqHS9gvqtTABvBouqTUcwVpDWoELtUlJYBa-vDHV55Bk9Aj3jBy2BQdIt92LyuBUShQtmnymkwmUAmVoHOxTBYkFpBYiOsOvYOr1Y0hKShQKBgVgOh0TO9s/?imgmax=800" style="border-style: none" galleryimg="no" onload="var downlevelDiv = document.getElementById('34846e49-d77d-456e-a632-924c6b770bfd'); downlevelDiv.innerHTML = "<div><object width=\"425\" height=\"355\"><param name=\"movie\" value=\"http://www.youtube.com/v/8UVNT4wvIGY&hl=en\"><\/param><embed src=\"http://www.youtube.com/v/8UVNT4wvIGY&hl=en\" type=\"application/x-shockwave-flash\" width=\"425\" height=\"355\"><\/embed><\/object><\/div>";" alt=""></a></div></div></div> Rambunctious WhipperSnapperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10061050156768587405noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5735216265953059996.post-59981853179711987512011-03-09T08:29:00.001-08:002011-03-09T11:14:00.991-08:00You’ve come a long way, baby!<p>It has been bought to my notice that lately, this blog has been focussing a lot on Winter. I hadn’t really noticed. Although, to be fair, I don’t notice many things. Once, when I was a kid, I didn’t notice that an actual monkey was biting my hand. I only realized that when all the other kids started running away from me. Hey, don’t blame me. It was my birthday, and all I could think about was cake. </p> <p>As it was obvious from my last post, Winter isn’t a huge part of my life anymore. Not that he was for a long time. But I could only write about it once I was over it. I did spend a few months sequestered from the rest of the world trying to get over him last year (<em>how is that different from my usual sequestering? Well, firstly, I had a beard. No, not a fake girlfriend, an actual beard. I KNOW! Secondly, lots of baths were avoided! HEY, I WAS AN EMOTIONAL WRECK, I WAS ALLOWED TO SMELL LIKE A HOBO. And, thirdly, needless to say, there was lots of food involved. Lots and lots of it. Hey, wait a minute, you’re right. That is no different from my usual sequestering. Sigh.</em>).</p> <p>However, I’m still glad it happened. For one, my unrequited feelings were wasted on a gay guy! So, PROGRESS! I also learnt what all not to do when you’re trying to date someone. Previously, before I came out, whenever I had a crush on someone, I used to get really douchey around them. Like belittle their life choices, roll my eyes at their hilarious joke and generally make them feel small and unwanted. Granted, I still do that to everybody, but this was with an extra zing. Like putting chilli flakes on your jalapeno dip, if you know what I mean. </p> <p>Thanks to Winter, I am not a total nervous wreck around new, potential mates [<em>Tip #1: DON’T CALL THEM THAT TO THEIR FACE. SEE, I’M LEARNING!</em>]. Not that there have been many opportunities. As if being fat wasn’t enough of an albatross around my neck, I am also jobless and have cheeto breath. Strangely, that is not what a lot of people are looking for! Even freaks avoid me! </p> <p>Winter probably deserves some of the credit in my finally leaping out of the closet. When I realized what I felt for him, shit got real. It feels strange to think and talk about now, but it was the first time I actually felt like I was gay. The way I could relate to Winter, I could never ever have that with a woman. Or a straight guy. </p> <p>I know these things come easy to some people, but when I think back to a time when I was terrified of expressing how I felt about a guy, even to myself and then I remember how nonchalantly I referred to Winter as “babe” in public, I realize how far I’ve come. </p> <p>I once gave a gay friend a really hard time when he told me that love was not all about sex. I chided him for his naiveté, because I really was that cynical. And then, this whole Winter thing hit me and I realized that it really was not about the sex. I had never been able to connect with someone like I was able to connect with him. </p> <p>I always used to scoff at all those stupid people in love with their puppy dog eyes and their doing things for each other that they wouldn’t do for anyone else and thinking that every song is about them but ZOMG! I was one of those stupid people with puppy dog eyes walking around assuming that every song was about me and doing things for Winter which I could never imagine doing for another human being! </p> <p>I guess what I’m trying to say is that I was ….er……umm…cough….ahem…cough.... <em><font size="1">wrong</font></em>. </p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p>Just don’t tell anybody I said that!</p> Rambunctious WhipperSnapperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10061050156768587405noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5735216265953059996.post-26749241726897663552010-12-06T03:50:00.001-08:002010-12-06T03:50:13.352-08:00And then we came to an end<p>So what we were talking about?</p> <p>I don’t remember. </p> <p>Haha, why?</p> <p>I’m a little sleepy. </p> <p>Then go to sleep. Why are you forcing yourself to remain awake?</p> <p>Because what if you get your visa tomorrow and leave and don’t even have time to say goodbye? I’ll sleep when you leave. </p> <p>God! You’re so paranoid. I’m not going to get my Visa tomorrow. And I won’t leave in a day. And I won’t leave without saying goodbye. </p> <p>You promise?</p> <p>Yes. I promise. </p> <p><strong>. . . . . . . .</strong></p> <p>Hi, good morning! </p> <p>Good morning!</p> <p>Guess what?</p> <p>Honey, I’m too tired to play the guessing game right now. So go on?</p> <p>I just got a call from the embassy. I finally got my Visa!</p> <p>HUH?</p> <p>When do you leave?</p> <p>Tomorrow….</p> Rambunctious WhipperSnapperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10061050156768587405noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5735216265953059996.post-29122069365066611522010-08-29T16:10:00.001-07:002010-08-29T16:10:11.612-07:00100 days of Winter<p>You meet a guy. You call him Winter, because you met him in errrr, winter and this is supposed to be an anonymous blog and you just saw <em>500 Days of Summer </em>the other day and well, you put two and two together and voila. </p> <p>This is how it all began: </p> <p>One day, out of the blue your friend introduces you to a guy. By introduce, you mean asks you whether he can give your phone number to this great guy he met. You shrug your shoulders and say yes because, your friend knows that you are too much of a wuss and would never call him if you had his number. </p> <p><strong>Day 1:</strong></p> <p>So Winter, finally calls you one day. Both of you have a great fifteen minute conversation and then hang up. You don't think much about it because you know that nothing can happen with this guy because you're fat and no one likes fat people anyway. </p> <p><strong>DAY 2:</strong></p> <p>You're checking something on your phone and you chance upon Winter's number and you decide to call him. What's the worst that can happen anyway? You call him and he actually sounds like he means it when he says that it was nice of you to call. You have another great conversation with him and you reference the fact that you're fat about a gazzilion times, just to make sure that he gets the message. </p> <p><strong>Day 5:</strong></p> <p>It’s Winter’s birthday. You end up playing an un-deliberate game of phone tag with each other and after getting fed up, you wish him through a text message! </p> <p><strong>Day 6 to Day 12:</strong></p> <p>You and Winter continue talking to each other for a week, getting to know stuff about each other. </p> <p>Then you decide to meet. </p> <p><strong>Day 15:</strong></p> <p>You don't call it a date, because it's not a real date. Both, Winter and you are uncomfortable calling it a date. </p> <p>Actually, it's just Winter who is uncomfortable. In your mind, it's a freaking date. </p> <p>You head out for lunch. You don't go to the place you promised Winter you would take him to because you CAN'T FIND IT. You mentally punch yourself in the gut, freak out as always, but are still thankful to Winter when he politely asks you to choose another place.  </p> <p>At lunch you try to make Winter comfortable and keep reminding yourself that you're out on a non-date date and you shouldn't pig out, because you look even grosser than usual when you do. </p> <p>When lunch arrives, you pick up your fork and proceed to pig out. </p> <p>A minute after you've stuffed your face with food like a redneck at a wings buffet, Winter looks at you and smiles. </p> <p>You realize that the reason he's smiling is because you've started eating <em>his</em> order. </p> <p>You smile in embarrassment, and continue to apologize profusely, something, unbeknownst to him, you would be doing for the rest of the day. </p> <p>You then pay for lunch, over Winter's loud and ardent protests, because of the pre-pubescent alpha-male bullshit you got going on in your head. </p> <p>You then ask Winter if he wants to go book shopping. He says yes, and that makes you full of unimaginable glee because: ZOMG! HE LIKES BOOKS!! </p> <p>You try to contain yourself and thankfully prevent a catastrophe of epic proportions by not asking Winter to move in with you. </p> <p>You head towards the book shop. You do not find the entrance by which you came in last time, even though you've circled the damn building three times. Then you realize that the entrance is closed. </p> <p>You apologize again, and you go around the other end of the building. </p> <p>After five minutes and ninety million stairs later, you finally reach the bookshop. </p> <p>You're huffing and puffing like you're going to blow down the house of a pig from a fairytale. </p> <p>Winter asks you if you're okay. You force a smile, look up, try to stand straight, stop leaning on your knees for support, and give him the international sign for "<em>S'okay</em>". He shakes his head and asks you to sit down. You act like you're not getting a fucking seizure and refuse to sit down, because your ego is larger than your ass. </p> <p>Anyways, you proceed to browse the bookshop, and you discover that he shares your distaste of <em>he-who-shall-not-be-named, </em>among other undistinguished authors<em>. </em>During the course of the three and a half hours you spend at the bookshop with Winter, somewhere "<em>Should I get this book?</em>" turns into "<em>Are we getting this book?</em>" </p> <p>And then, you commit the biggest piece of dumbfuckery anyone has ever pulled. </p> <p>You turn to Winter and tell him "<em>I think I want to gift you a book</em>". </p> <p><em>MAYDAY!! MAYDAY!!</em></p> <p><em>HOUSTON, WE HAVE A MORON!!</em></p> <p><em>READY FOR LIFT OFF!!</em></p> <p><em>MAYDAY!!</em></p> <p>You immediately realize what you've done. </p> <p><em>SERIOUSLY, ASSCLOWN, WHO DOES THAT?</em></p> <p><em>ARE YOU HIS AUNT SHOSHANA?</em></p> <p><em>THEN WHY DID YOU JUST OFFER TO BUY HIM A GIFT?</em></p> <p><em>ON A FIRST FUCKING NON-DATE DATE.</em></p> <p><em>THIS IS WHY YOU'RE GOING TO DIE ALONE, SLUMPED OVER A COUCH, WHILE WATCHING 30 ROCK RERUNS AND EATING YESTERDAY’s LEFTOVER FRIED CHICKEN.</em></p> <p>You try to explain that you’re trying to make up for not being able to wish him on his birthday and that you aren’t <em>that guy</em>, even though you just presented him with evidence to the contrary. Winter turns to you and politely refuses, not making you feel like a total freak. </p> <p>But you know what you have done. You start banging your head on one of the bookshelves. You end up knocking down a semi-huge pile of books. </p> <p>You immediately withdraw yourself away from the situation and pretend to be as horrified as the bookshop employees who rush to pick up the books. You look towards a guy talking on his phone who has his back turned towards you and shake your head, immediately grabbing the higher moral ground. </p> <p>Or so you think. </p> <p>The cold stares you get from the bookshop employees trying to clean up your mess enlighten you about the fact that you may not be as suave a liar as you think you are. </p> <p>Fortunately for you, Winter is somewhere else and does not notice your handiwork. </p> <p>You ask him if he's done shopping. he says yes. Both of you proceed towards the counter, to pay for the stuff you bought. </p> <p>You go first. You pay for your stuff and then since Winter is standing behind you, you try to be nice and all and ask him to hand you his books, so that the bill-guy can tally Winter's stuff while the packing-guy packs yours. </p> <p>Unfortunately, Winter takes this to mean that you just offered to pay for his stuff, AGAIN. </p> <p>You realize that because <em>THAT'S WHAT NORMAL PEOPLE DO, YOU FUCKING IDIOT</em>.</p> <p><em>THAT’S IT. YOU’RE THAT GUY. CONGRATULATIONS!</em> </p> <p><em>DO HUMANITY A FAVOUR, GROW A LARGE BEARD, ADOPT A DOZEN CATS AND MOVE INTO A HAUNTED HOUSE ALREADY!</em></p> <p>You take your stuff and step away from the counter, because you've already done all the damage that you could do. </p> <p>After paying for your books, both of you decide to head to the coffee shop next door. </p> <p>Things go of well, you're getting along, having a nice conversation, even though you end up saying a lot of corny stuff, but you save yourself (<em>kinda</em>) by mentioning how corny the stuff you just said was, and how you meant it "ironically". Then you ask yourself when you became a FUCKING HIPSTER!</p> <p>Then you insist on ordering some thing to eat along with your coffee, because (a) You're hungry and (b) Since it took you a bit of time to get the table, you feel it's inappropriate to just sit there and have coffee. So you decide to order some cookies. </p> <p>The guy gets some weird looking thing which doesn't even look like what you ordered. </p> <p>You eat that weird thing. </p> <p>Then, suddenly, you don’t feel that good. No, it’s not the usual feeling of disgust, which you even get for small things like a Jay Leno joke. It’s the real thing, like the one you get when you realize that a poor person is somewhere in the vicinity. In short, you want to throw up! </p> <p>You look up, Winter is talking about something interesting. You nod along, but you concentrate hard on not trying to puke all over the coffee shop. Even though there is this irritating lady on the next table who deserves to have puke all over her botoxed face, you resist. Then you immediately get up and run to the washroom. </p> <p>You come back after ten minutes, looking like hell. </p> <p>You apologize to a confused Winter. </p> <p>He signals for the cheque, and you don't say anything, because even you are not that dumb. </p> <p>You head outside. </p> <p>Then, you discover that both the car and the driver are missing. </p> <p>The driver isn't at the designated spot and is not picking up your call. </p> <p>You and Winter roam around looking for him. </p> <p>You find him after half an hour, sleeping in the car, which  is parked a thousand miles from where you told him to park. A person who looks like your driver is sleeping in the car, oblivious to the ringing phone. </p> <p>You don’t tell the driver anything, at that precise moment, because Winter asks you not to. However, to paraphrase Russel Peters, <em>SOMEBODY GONNA GET A HURT REAL BAD</em>. </p> <p>You finally proceed to go home. You drop Winter off. You see him go, probably for the last time ever. </p> <p>You think to yourself that, well, at least you have a what-not-to-do guide for a first non-date date. </p> <p><strong>Day 16:</strong></p> <p>You still thinking about yesterday’s disastrous non-date. You spend the morning moping. </p> <p>Well, more than usual. </p> <p>Then, just when you are about to dig in to your compensatory steak, the phone rings. </p> <p>It’s Winter. </p> <p>He called!</p> <p>But that’s a story for another day. </p> Rambunctious WhipperSnapperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10061050156768587405noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5735216265953059996.post-91633245508745746222010-07-02T18:21:00.001-07:002010-07-02T18:21:27.567-07:00Some things are not over even after the fat lady has sung!<p>I thought I wouldn't write any more posts about 'coming out' cause I am <em>so </em>over it. I assumed that I had left those days behind in 2009. </p> <p>However, one day while watching something on the telly, it dawned on me that I would be 'coming out' (<em>advertently/inadvertently</em>) for the rest of my life so why not. </p> <p>I would be coming out everytime I meet someone new and they ask me about my girlfriend (<em>this is why I simply don't like meeting new people</em>). I would be coming out everytime one of my "friends" on facebook read the favourite music' (<em>Gaga + Glambert among other things</em>) section on my profile and put two and two together. I would be coming out to complete strangers when they see me cavorting with my future boyfriend (<em>who I think will probably always remain hypothetical. But that's a whole another post.</em>) in public. </p> <p>And that is fine by me. I made my peace with that a long time ago. </p> <p>It would have been easier if I had a youthful gayface like David Archuleta, but nobody's perfect, I guess. </p> <p>I had told my sister a few weeks after I <a href="http://rambws.blogspot.com/2009/11/one-huge-step-for-whippersnapperkind.html">told my Dad</a>. There wasn't a lot of drama there, she just said that she just wanted me to be happy. She told my bro-in-law last week. So that completes all the adults in my family.</p> <p>But to me the big one was my brother, who I happen to casually come out to a few months ago. I finally spelled it out for him and confirmed his worst fears.  </p> <p>I told him that I don't like teh vajayjay (<em>I call it that not because I can't say V_g__a, but because lady reproductive parts gross me out. No offense, I'm sure all you ladies out there must find it useful, say for holding a pen or twittering or something)</em>. </p> <p>To say he was shocked is sort of an understatement. </p> <p>However, the whole thing took an unexpected turn. </p> <p>I was expecting accusations, anger and animosity. </p> <p>I got none of that. </p> <p>He was pretty nice about it. </p> <p>Him and me actually sat down and had a long conversation about it. On top of that, he wanted me to tell him all the details (<em>like since when I have known etc.</em>). </p> <p>For a while, he was just my big brother! </p> <p>It was like I was eight again and he was warning the mean fifteen year olds down the street that if they bully me they would have to deal with him or I was in school and he personally drove me to my exam centre instead of letting me take the driver because he knew how nervous I was and would probably throw up on the way and would appreciate having someone familiar tell me that it;s going to be okay. Or he was the same guy who was surprised that his 'little' teenage brother was buying Eminem CDs which had an 'explicit lyrics' warming on the jacket. </p> <p>So it was perhaps our most adult conversation ever. I told him about my boy crushes. managed to explain the term 'fag hag' to him and even discussed my idea of the future with him. </p> <p>When I said to him that one day I would move away and leave everyone else in peace so that they don't have to deal with the consequences of me wanting to be who I am, he actually got angry and told me that I was stupid to think that and just because I am gay he or anyone else in the family would love me any less. And that I am still the same brother he's always had, except with a little bit more metaphorical glitter!</p> <p>To say that I was flabbergasted would be an understatement. </p> <p>Ever since I've known that I was gay, even back when I was in denial, I use to try to push my family away. I sort off convinced myself that I was doing it for them, so that it would eventually make it easier for them to forget me. However, that was me, trying as always, to make things easier for <em>me</em>.</p> <p>I can't even begin to describe how wrong I was. However, they couldn't have been more understanding And it makes my heart break that I used to think that they would have been anything but. </p> <p>I'm not the easiest person to like. But, somehow, my family has been doing it for all these years. And will continue to do it, despite my best efforts. </p> <p>I know that a larger battle looms ahead. However, the freedom to be me ALL the time, not having to hide who I am from the people closest to me, is a precious gift that I’m glad to have. </p> <p>So here I am, closing the door to my closet from the outside, thinking of the long time it took for this day to come, and then wondering what all the fuss was about!</p> Rambunctious WhipperSnapperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10061050156768587405noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5735216265953059996.post-50176093311887123032010-05-13T13:19:00.001-07:002010-05-13T13:19:17.151-07:00Memo to the Indian media: Not everyone can be a “gay icon”<p>Most of the time, the Indian media is really clueless about gay issues. But, sometimes, they go so far beyond clueless that’s it’s embarrassing. Embarrassing for them, that is. Humorous for us. </p> <p>Let’s start with this recent article about the poor man’s Aamir Khan <a href="http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/entertainment/bollywood/news-interviews/Shirtless-Imran-next-gay-icon/articleshow/5879984.cms">posing shirtless</a> for his movie posters:</p> <blockquote> <p>Ever since Imran’s shirtless pictures were splashed in various newspapers, the phones at Dharma productions (Karan Johar’s company which is producing Imran’s next, I Hate Luv Storys) have almost been ringing off the hook with calls from gay fans requesting an autographed picture of the actor.</p> </blockquote> <p>The whole article in short: Oh look, random shirtless person. Wait, he’s also showing a tiny part of his posterior. That’s it. HE IS A GAY ICON! Because isn’t that what “the gays” love? Pecs and asses? STOP THE PRESSES!</p> <p>Also, this is the worst bullshit that has been ever written, even by the standards of the Times of India. Really? It’s 2010. There are millions of more ‘explicit’ and less photoshopped pictures available with a single google search. This is just typical self-loathing homophobe Karan Johar’s idiotic way of promoting his little movie.</p> <p>These were the same people who just a few months ago annoited John Abraham to <a href="http://www.radiosargam.com/films/archives/22121/john-abraham-talks-about-being-a-gay-icon.html">gay icon status.</a> </p> <p>Why? Well, because he was shirtless while starring in a messy movie mashup of <em>Three’s Company</em> and <em>I Now Pronounce You Chuck And Larry</em>. Also, he “exposed”, and showed a part of his butt! So, GAY ICON!</p> <blockquote> <p><em>How does it feel to be a gay icon?</em> <br />Today homosexuality is so open world over. To think that the same gender likes you is a plus. <br /><em>Have you ever been propositioned then?</em> <br />Oh, all the time. Be it Philadelphia where I came back from or Miami. Women and men have come up to me to chat. I have been asked ‘Are you single?’ <br /><em>That’s a compliment.</em> <br />Listen, I can’t take this as a compliment. My trainer Mike Ryan used to go for walking with me and he is a tough guy. And when two tough guys walk together, people look at you and wonder. And before anybody said anything, I would say, ‘He is not my boyfriend.’ In Miami and San Francisco, the best looking men are gay. Can you beat that?</p> </blockquote> <p>Yes, Bipasha Basu’s ho is really scared of being identified as ‘gay’. Ahh, what a nice “icon” to have. </p> <p>And before Mr-One-Expression-Only, it was bearded Neetu Kapoor who was, you guessed it, a <a href="http://www.gobollywood.com/2007/10/ranbir-kapoor-gay.html">gay icon</a>!</p> <blockquote> <p>A little more than three weeks still remain for Ranbir’s first film Saawariya to hit the theatres and the newcomer from the Kapoor clan has already become very popular with youngsters, particularly girls and gays. The gay community in Mumbai has already labeled Ranbir as their new icon. On the other hand, girls can’t stop drooling over Ranbir wherever he goes to promote ‘Saawariya’.</p> </blockquote> <p> <br />Yup. Because in his first movie, he almost showed his butt, because the scene was cut by mean censor board, because they hate small butts and they cannot lie? [<em>Btw, <a href="http://www.ranbir-kapoor.com/ranbir-is-our-greek-god/">this article</a> about Ranbir is a laugh-riot! Not only because of the bad english.</em>]</p> <p>Now, before you think this is limited to just random actors, you’re in <a href="http://ibnlive.in.com/news/rahul-gandhi-becomes-the-new-gay-icon/93307-3.html">for a surprise</a>. </p> <blockquote> <p>Rahul Gandhi emerged as a youth icon during the General Elections with even Prime Minster Manmohan Singh acknowledging his contribution to the Congress' thumping victory.</p> <p>But it isn't only the youth that are looking to him for a voice. The country's lesbian, gay, bisexual and trans-gender (LGBT) community voted overwhelmingly for the Congress hoping that young Rahul would take up their cause.</p> <p>"He's really cute... he's so good looking and young. He's like the Ranbir Kapoor of Indian politics. He has all the charm and he didn't even have to drop a towel," says a gay rights activist </p> </blockquote> <p>*Facepalm*</p> <p>BUT HE DID NOT SHOW HIS BUTT? HOW CAN HE BE A GAY ICON? THAT’S NOT EVEN CONSISTENT BY YOUR OWN DEFINITION! </p> <p>I’d be surprised by their ignorance, but it’s nothing new. The coverage has always been this clueless. </p> <p>Anyways, scribes, hacks and other idiots, let me break it down for you. </p> <p>Firstly, contrary to popular rumours, all the gay members do not gather around in their secret gaycave every week and decide whom to elevate to the status of the next top gay icon. You’re confusing us with Tyra Banks. </p> <p>Also, secondly, just because you talk to a few idiots looking to see their fake name in print, doesn’t make them representative of the gay community. Neither do editors of some small-ass internet or print publication. Or for that matter any random blogger. </p> <p>See, the thing is that just because someone poses shirtless doesn’t make them an icon. Gay icons are people who actually do something for the community. Either they tread the road less travelled, or blaze their way through glass ceilings and never look back. </p> <p>Okay, that sounded too dramatic. Even for me. </p> <p>Simply put, gay icons are people who give something back to the community. Or they entertain us. </p> <p>Like Harvey Milk, Lt. Dan Choi or Elton John or Ellen DeGeneres or our patron saint of the immaculate penis, Lady Gaga. </p> <p>Hell, gay people loved Liza Minnelli so much, they even married her a couple of times. </p> <p>Besides, we even take care of our non-icons. </p> <p>Look at Antonio Sabato jr. Whenever he runs out of money, he takes his shirt off in a movie or reality show and we throw some gay coins at him. But, he didn’t become our ho in one day. Bitch had to work it. He did a couple of movies where he got naked, (<em>and unlike Indian actors, he had the balls to show his, ummmm, balls</em>), and had simulated gay sex. We appreciate him for that and hence he never goes without money. </p> <p>Therefore,  the moral of the story is: You don’t become an icon just because you show some P & A. </p> <p>But you can <em>still</em> be our ho! </p> <p>Just remember to get naked. Often. </p> <p>Otherwise don’t call us. We’ll call you. </p> Rambunctious WhipperSnapperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10061050156768587405noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5735216265953059996.post-38622214028597635172010-03-20T10:57:00.001-07:002010-03-20T10:57:54.066-07:00This is why March is known for it's madness!<p>I wanted a breather from the 'hectic' life I have at home so I went back to my favourite hilly town again. I was expecting great weather, good food, a small number of people and a bookstore which I could spend hours at. </p> <p>Either nothing was as I left it last time or my memory is hazier than the storylines of <em>Lost</em>. </p> <p>The weather was like Drew Barrymore's career, good in some parts but really crappy overall. </p> <p>The food was worse than Julia Robert's choice in men. The espresso bar I used to frequent earlier was dead and gone, replaced by a shop for some stupid clothing chain. God-damn capitalists with their need for maximum profit! </p> <p>There were more people there than the number of Jennifer Aniston's ex-boyfriends. I went there because it was March and I thought people would be busy with their stupid children's stupid exams and that people would be busy in doing one of those job things which though sound really awful, seem to be the in thing these days. However, apparently, everyone had their stupid exams in February and those job things come with something called 'vacation time' now. Whatever happened to exploiting your workforce? Everyone seems to have turned into a god-damn socialist! </p> <p>And don't even get me started on the bookstore. The probability of me going back to that bookstore is even smaller than the chance of J. Lo having a successful comeback. All the books were stacked together like common pieces of merchandise. How can anyone enjoy shopping for books when they are presented to you like they present a large number of probable child brides to rich, horny old men in small Indian villages? Where is the romance in <em>that</em>?</p> <p>On top of that, the owner of the bookshop had the temerity to recommend to me a book whose exact tag line was "<em>It's like the Da Vince Code . . . only better!!!</em>" [sic]. He didn't notice, but I ended up putting a curse on him. Read all about it in the new thrilling future bestseller <em>The dreaded curse of the combustible Homo</em>, in a book store near you  early May 2035 - <em>It's like the Da Vince Code and The Secret got together and had a baby!!!</em> </p> <p>Another thing which bothered me was that since it was the off-season for the hilly town, everyone was using this opportunity to get their shitty hell holes re-painted which made all my allergies act up. </p> <p>To make it worse, the one route I loved to walk on, because of it's solitary nature, was now dotted with more hotels and those infernal tea-shops for the poors, who seem to find their way into every place. If they really have no money, what <em>are </em>they doing at a hilly town?</p> <p>If I said anything to anyone, they would tell me that it's nice of me to get out of my 'comfort zone' and I should give it a couple of days. What does that even mean? Why would anyone like to get out of their 'comfort zone'? Don't people spend their whole life trying to <em>find</em> a freaking comfort zone? So why fix something which ain't broke? I think it's just one of those things that people say which they really do not mean. Like "Of course this plus-sized t-shirt doesn't make you look fat" or "Just because you slept with him on the first date doesn't mean he thinks you're a slut". </p> <p>I felt the same mixture of anger and disappointment which people feel when they realize that they have a crush on John Mayer. </p> <p>I wondered what happened to this hilly-town? It was supposed to be my happy place (<em>before I discovered Ryan Carnes</em>). Nothing felt right. It seemed to be a metaphor for my life, where nothing felt right too. Just like me, the hilly town seemed to have lost it's mojo! It was also probably spending it's time brooding in it's room, listening to <em>Speechless</em> while eating chicken from it's nearest KFC. </p> <p>So I stood there one day, on the balcony of my room, high on benadryl and paint fumes, thinking of packing up and leaving the next day. Just then, a family friend who sort of lives nearby the hotel I was staying in, came knocking. He had heard about the terrible time I was having and he promised me that he would make it up to me. Since I was not in my senses (<em>more than usual</em>), I agreed to join him for a ride after lunch. Mostly because he did not use the words "comfort" and "zone". Smart man. </p> <p>And it turned out to be one of my better decisions! Even better than the time when as a five year old, I kicked a stranger offering me ice cream right in the cajones. Yes, I am smart like that, sometimes. Very rare times, in fact. </p> <p>So the family friend took to me to a part of the hilly town that I haven't ever seen, even though I had been visiting the place for almost two decades. And that place had the most amazing view ever! It was one of the best scenes I have ever laid my eyes on. I had begun to think that just like a straight Jonas brother, such a view would be impossible to find! But I was wrong! (<em>Still right about the Jonas brothers though! They're probably gayer than a Saturday night at Elton John's house!</em>)</p> <p>Then we went to a bookshop where I found the book that I had been wanting to read since a long time. We ended our sojourn at a place which serves the most amazing waffles I've ever had, which were accompanied by a delectable cup of coffee.</p> <p>I did everything I wanted to do in a span of two hours! And then, just like Chris Brown before the grammy's, it hit me. At about 8000 feet above the sea level I realized that life was trying to send me a message in it's own effed up way. That even if you get old & derelict like Madonna and end up losing your way every now and then, somehow, someway you will find something new and surprising inside of you. Even if it is a guy whose name is pronounced as Haysoos. </p> <p>Maybe it was imaginary, like Sarah Palin's high school diploma, and maybe it's a little to self-helpy when I think about it, but at least I got out of my comfort zone!</p> <p>Shouldn't that count for something? </p> Rambunctious WhipperSnapperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10061050156768587405noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5735216265953059996.post-11322693349135726852010-02-22T23:02:00.001-08:002010-02-22T23:04:10.373-08:00Three bigots walk into a bar, and drown it with their stupidity!<p>So the case against reading down of 377 supreme court is going to be heard sometime this year. </p> <p>Turns out, there have been a large number of additions <a href="http://www.hindustantimes.com/Clash-over-gay-rights-in-SC-set-to-snowball/H1-Article1-511039.aspx">to the original</a> petitioner who wanted to criminalize adult consensual sex. </p> <blockquote> <p>On Saturday, the number of petitioners in the Supreme Court - challenging the July 2009 decision of the Delhi High Court to strike down an anti-sodomy law - stood at 16 from the original two.</p> <p>Two Christian church coalitions, three Muslim NGOs, two Hindu astrologers, a disciple of yoga guru Baba Ramdev, an NGO run by a former Delhi police officer, and an environmentalist, will be among those in the Supreme Court when it hears an appeal next month against the overturning of the Indian Penal Code' section 377.</p> <p>Only one person, film director and Rajya Sabha MP Shyam Benegal, has quietly joined the original petitioner, Delhi NGO Naz Foundation, in support of gay rights in the Supreme Court.</p> </blockquote> <p>Here is what I think of the petitioners:</p> <p>1) Christian Church Coalitions - Really? I can only give you a fair hearing when you actually punish those members of your clergy who were caught molesting little children. Until then, how about shuting the fuck up on morality? KThanksbai. </p> <p>2) Three Muslim NGOs - Is having just a <em>single</em> partner the thing you have a problem with? Because, really, I'd expect polygamists to be a little sheepish (<em>Sheep, Also!</em>) about criticizing other people's sexual habits?</p> <p>3) Hindu Astrologers - Yeah, I'd take you seriously if you'd be able to predict ONE fucking thing correctly. Or that you could see that punch in your fucking face that's in your future!</p> <p>4) Police Officer NGO - This is the same guy who appeared on tv last year and wanted to have sex with a female dog. And somehow, kept calling his wife a bitch? Confused!</p> <p>5) Environmentalist - Dude, firstly no one is having buttsex with teh environment. I hope you realize that if it wasn't for Lesbians, there would be no environment to save. Also, I don't have documents to prove it right now, but Mother Earth is probably a big ol' lez too. </p> <p>Now, here are some of the arguments that are being presented:</p> <blockquote> <p>Chairman of the Jammu and Kashmir Panthers Party, Prof Bhim Singh, said in his petition that the Delhi High Court ruling would be "a disaster for the Indian defence forces and the security of the country… <strong>in deserted areas</strong>".</p> <p>"Seedlings of homosexuality developed among the (European and US) soldiers during the first and the second world war when they had to stay back in the forests and the hills for years <strong>without having any access to meet their sexual desires</strong>," said Singh, whose party otherwise fights for the reorganisation of J&K.</p> </blockquote> <p>Yeah, <em>I know</em>!!</p> <p>Where do I even begin with this guy? So I'm not gonna even try!</p> <p>But I'm sure he's pulling his arguments out of his own <em>deserted </em>area<em>!</em></p> <blockquote> <p>"My challenge of the (Delhi) high court judgement is that it should not have relied on foreign judgements," said Mushtaq Ahmed, counsel for Mumbai's Raza Academy, a 32-year-old Islamic advocacy group. "We can't impose a foreign cultural morality today."</p> </blockquote> <p>Hey, dude from whatever academy, let's go on a little tour. Thousands of years ago, when India had only one religion and everything was considered Hinduism (Jainism, Buddhism etc.), and everyone had sex with everyone else (<em>it wasn't the land of the Kama Sutra for nothing!</em>) and then some weird people wanted land and money and shit and so they invaded this county and along with themselves brought their religion(s) and their own morality. So, India had homosexuality much before it had Islam or Christianity or mughlai food. Therefore, using your own logic, I could say, STOP TRYING TO IMPOSE YOUR FOREIGN MORALITY ON US!! But, I'm not going to do that. Cause I ain't no uneducated bigot moron who doesn't know what the frack he's talking about! Because, two can play the same game. I just choose not to. </p> <p>Yeah, so these are the people we're up against. </p> <p>They shouldn't be out there presenting arguments for a case, they should be institutionalised, or have their own show on Fox News. These people can't string together a coherent sentence, let alone justify their bigotry. </p> <p>Most of our judges know better than that and this makes me hopeful that the Supreme Court will come out on the side of equal rights too!</p> Rambunctious WhipperSnapperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10061050156768587405noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5735216265953059996.post-15687432838649619062010-01-27T06:04:00.001-08:002010-01-27T06:04:58.309-08:00Blog protocol requires that I put the word 'random' somewhere in the title . . .<p>. . . but fuck blog protocol (<em>I really need to start using another profanity. I'm not Kathy Griffin at NYE, for crying out loud</em>). </p> <p>I finally sat through <em>When Harry met Sally </em>and saw it at one go. *Spoiler Alert* - They do end up together. Whoopti-fucking-do. Damn straight people. They have it so easy. All they need to is to start hating someone and <em>voila!, </em>they end up spending the rest of their life with that person. Why in the blue hell do gay people love this movie? I guess that's because all of us need some sort of myth to believe in. Like Brangelina. Or the secret of the universe hidden inside Lady Gaga's magic peen. </p> <p>* * *</p> <p>Speaking of stupid things people believe in, is it me or everyone is getting married this season? About four different sets people I went to school with choose to spend eternity with each other's cooties. Some were even younger than I am. </p> <p>I usually try to avoid weddings like the plague that they are, but since a few of these people were my drinking buddies and a few of them might be useful for a few (<em>future</em>) cheap laughs, I sorta went along. </p> <p>Everybody had an average of four large dinner parties. I can never understand why people have so many do's when they are getting married. It's like their telling the world, <em>We're going to spend the rest of our forlorn miserable existence together. We would like you and everybody else we know to believe that we are good, monogamous people, even though one of us looks like a whore. So come celebrate with us and stuff yourself with so much food that you need to loosen your belt buckle.</em> <em>Also, we make so much money that we can afford to feed a thousand people some pseudo-exotic fruit which, let's pretend, came from some exotic country</em>. <em>Now shut your pie hole and eat something.</em></p> <p>If I were straight, I would have actually run off and got married in Vegas or something. But hey, it's your money. If you want to spend it feeding more than a thousand ungrateful souls, half of whom are jealous and the other half just pretending to like you, then please go ahead. Who am I to judge?</p> <p>Although, I did get to meet some people I went to school with and laugh at their sad little existence. One of them had a really nice and interesting wife. If I wasn't so gay, I would've hit that. Too bad she's married to that insufferable old coot. I'm pretty sure she's going to become a cougar in twenty years. </p> <p>* * * </p> <p>I think I might have a small crush on the Baskin Robbins delivery guy. Well, at least that explains the freezer full of uneaten tubs of ice-cream in this arctic winter we've been having. They really DO have 31 flavours, ya know? Pretty neat. Coming back to the guy, he's smart, educated and does not take any tips. It's against "company policy". Geez. What a dork! Just take the money and drop your pants, you fool. </p> <p>Sigh. Porn movies make it look so easy. (<em>Not that I would know. I heard it from one of my ..ummm.. friends.</em>)</p> <p>Why does the sort-of-romantic part of my life always involve food in one way or the other? I think I have issues. Freud would have a field day. Thankfully, that mofo is dead. </p> <p>No, I don't know anything about psychology. I accidentally read up on him a few years ago on wikipedia while I was aimlessly surfing the interwebs. </p> <p>I was at work at that time. What else was I supposed to do?</p> <p>* * * </p> Rambunctious WhipperSnapperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10061050156768587405noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5735216265953059996.post-78548320958341366372010-01-01T00:56:00.001-08:002010-01-01T00:56:59.099-08:00This is what happens when you listen to Alanis Morissete while you are high!<p>I'm probably going to gain more weight than I lose, for the rest of the year I'm probably going to be be feeling like that person who goes to pick someone up at the airport and waits till all the passengers depart only to find out that the person he was waiting for did not even board the plane and I'm probably going to have my last remaining hopes and dreams crushed by reality . . . </p> <p>. . . but you know what?</p> <p>Fuck being a jaded cynical asshole. </p> <p>Fuck having zero expectations from life. </p> <p>Fuck not trying to look for happiness in material things. </p> <p>Fuck reality. </p> <p>Fuck not trying to fill that void with alcohol and great food. </p> <p>Fuck not trying to be suspicious of people who are nice to you for no reason.</p> <p>Fuck trying to connect with people with whom the only things to talk about happened a decade ago. </p> <p>Fuck worrying about the past or the future.</p> <p>Fuck second guessing yourself. </p> <p>Fuck being a curmudgeonly old pessimist. </p> <p>What I mean to say is,</p> <p>HAVE A GREAT FUCKING NEW YEAR, EVERYONE!!</p> <p>xoxo</p> Rambunctious WhipperSnapperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10061050156768587405noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5735216265953059996.post-7832373055089629002009-12-24T11:34:00.001-08:002009-12-24T11:34:10.148-08:00Let's just leave it at that!<p>A week after I came out to my Dad, guess who calls me up?</p> <p>S-Girl. </p> <p>Remember <a href="http://rambws.blogspot.com/search/label/S%20Girl">her</a>?</p> <p>Yup. </p> <p>She called me. </p> <p>Again.</p> <p>I had already ignored 9,999 of her previous calls, therefore I decided to pick this one up. What can I say? I'm nice like that, sometimes. </p> <p>So we chat for five minutes, ignoring the literal elephant in the room (<em>hey, I was looking into the mirror</em>). </p> <p>She then declared that she wanted to meet. </p> <p>I immediately regretted picking up her call. I just spoke to her after a long time of ignoring her calls, and now she wanted to meet? I then realized that this is a woman who has no sense of boundaries at all. The memory of all the really horrible things she had told me about herself a few years ago came puking back. </p> <p>She clearly told me that if I did not meet her she would stand outside my house and shout out cuss words in victorian english, so I was left with no choice but to meet her.  Although, to be safe, I asked her to meet me in my family home, so that there would be witnesses just in case things got a little bit out of hand. I'm smart like that, sometimes. </p> <p>Anyways, time passes too fast, the metaphorical clock ticks away to five, and I ask my Mom to make sure that my precious books are distributed according to the list I have prepared, just in case I am unable to "survive" this meeting. Of course, my Mom thought I was just being a tad melodramatic. I guess I can't blame her for that. I am the same person, who, a few months ago forced her get rid of half the plants in her garden because I felt like they were too judgemental. It might sound a little crazy, but under circumstances will I be judged in my own home. At least not by those green, freeloading basteds. </p> <p>Right. Moving on. </p> <p>The bell rings, I pray to the almost empty bottle of Vodka on the table to keep me out of harm's way, and then I go to open the door to meet her. </p> <p>Okay, fine. I didn't <em>exactly</em> open the door myself, I might have 'politely' asked someone from the household help to do it, just in case she was carrying a weapon. Hey, they're poor and they live in a third world country. Their lives are probably less valuable. </p> <p>So let's not lose focus here, people.  </p> <p>After the door is opened, S-Girl enters the house. She has the aura of a lame serial killer from a Dan Brown novel. We sit down, she makes small talk. I continue to nod constantly, while also trying to be alert enough to watch out for any sudden movements. </p> <p>The conversation keeps moving while my pea sized heart tries to exit via my mouth. </p> <p>S Girl: You know, we really should finish what we started a few years ago. <br />Me: What? <br />S Girl: *head tilt* You know what I'm talking about . . . <br />Me: No, I have no idea. I have trouble remembering things. I drink a lot, remember? <br />S Girl: (<em>Moving closer</em>) Let me remind you then . . . <br />Me: (<em>getting up</em>) I'M mmmmmm GAYYYYYY . . . VERY GAY . . . . GAYER THAN A HUGH GRANT MOVIE . . . <br />S Girl: What????????? <br />Me: Yes. I'm gay. I like boys. Not girls. Don't like girls. I mean, I <em>like</em> girls, but just not in that way. <br />S Girl: But . . . how can you be gay? . . . <br />S Girl: Look at you . . . you're wearing Reeboks with corduroy jeans? What's up with that? <br />Me: Well, I haven't entered the <em>being fabulous</em> phase yet. <br />Me: Still working on <em>that</em>. <br />S Girl: Seriously? I hope so, for your sake. <br />S Girl: Only redneck farmers and 90 year old Belgian grandmothers are allowed to have so much facial hair.   <br />S Girl: Also, that tub of lard needs to go. <br />Me: Hey, I just haven't shaved in a while. <br />Me: And that's not a tub of lard, bitch. That's my stomach. <br />S Girl: Just letting you know stuff, buddy. <br />Me: Might I remind you that you were the one who was about to KISS ME a few minutes ago? <br />S Girl: Yeah, but I'm a married Indian woman. I take whatever I can get. <br />Me: I hate you, you know! <br />S Girl: Ha. Fine. Tell me something I don't know. <br />S Girl: So, since when have you known that you're a pole smoker? <br />Me: Offensive, bitch. <br />Me: And I guess I've known since as long as I can remember.   <br />S Girl: Ummmm, were you gay when we were going out?  <br />Me: We were never 'going out', per se.  <br />S Girl: Well, you know what I mean! <br />Me: Yeah, okay. <br />Me: Well, I did know, I guess, but I was deep in denial at that time.  <br />Me: Although, now that I think about it, you probably might have helped me confirm it. <br />Me: I might have been confused, but after our whole thing, I was pretty damn sure I was a 'mo. <br />Me: Don't wanna be rude, but you might have even turned me . . . hahaha <br />S Girl: *Looks like a piñata got stuck up her cervix* <br />S Girl: WHAT. DID. YOU. MEAN. BY. THAT? <br />Me: Just a joke. Kidding. I had a drink during lunch. Lighten up. Take a deep breath. <br />Me: Cookie? <br />S Girl: So you're definitely gay? <br />Me: Yup. I am. Thankfully. <br />S Girl: Yeah. Sure. What a "loss" to straight woman. Boo fucking hoo. <br />Me: Yeah, that's rich, coming from a desperate housewife. <br />S Girl: Touché. <br />Me: Thank you, madam. <br />S Girl: So you like boys, huh? <br />Me: Yeah. <br />S Girl: Then stay away from my husband. *stupid grin* hahahaha <br />Me: Please, even if he is the last man on earth, I'd never hit on <em>that</em> sad little fucker. <br />S Girl: WHY? what's wrong with him? <br />Me: Errrrr, nothing. <br />S Girl: Is it the hair? Or the moustache? Or the mole? <br />Me: NOTHING. He seems like a nice guy. <br />S Girl: It's the hair isn't it? <br />S Girl: Or is the way he talks? <br />Me: Okayyyyy. Let's just leave it at that, please? Great. Thank you. <br />Me: So the weather is being such a bitch, isn't it? <br />S Girl: Is it because of the way he laughs? Does it makes you want to join a cult, too? <br />Me: So have you read <em>Wolf Hall</em> yet? I'm hearing good things about it. <br />S Girl: Why wouldn't you want to do my husband? <br />Me: Cause he is <em>your frikin husband</em>!! Does that mean anything to YOU? <br />S Girl: Meh. He's probably gay, anyway. <br />Me: EXCUSE ME?? <br />Me: WHAT?? <br />S Girl: Nothing. <br />S Girl: I think I'd better leave. <br />Me: Yeah. That would be for the best. </p> <p><em>(Then I went to see her off, so as to make sure she doesn't come back)</em></p> <em></em> <p> <br />Me: So this was fun. <br />S Girl: *Silence* <br />Me: Nice catching up with you. <br />S Girl: (<em>gets into car</em>) <br />Me: We should do this again sometime. <br />S Girl: (<em>closes door, starts engine</em>) <br />Me: Give my best to your husband. <br />S Girl: (<em>speeds away, hopefully never to be seen again!</em>) <br /></p> <p> </p> <p>Do you think I might have touched a nerve, somewhere?</p> <p>Even if I did, well<em>, </em>she started it. </p> Rambunctious WhipperSnapperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10061050156768587405noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5735216265953059996.post-73188532788084387262009-11-06T01:30:00.001-08:002009-11-06T01:30:27.472-08:00. . . One huge step for Whippersnapperkind Part 2<p>I never thought this day would come so soon. I had promised myself not to end 2009 without telling my Dad, but I spent most of the year ignoring that. </p> <p>However, for the past month, I've had this intense feeling in the pit of my stomach (<em>that's where my brain is I think. What can I say? I'm a medical marvel!</em>) that I need to come out to my Dad. </p> <p>This past week, I had almost come out to him but I didn't because he had some stuff going on with his sister. I thought I would wait for the right time. But, then I figured that it would never be a right time and that I would just have to bite the bullet and tell him the truth. </p> <p>So day before yesterday, I decided that it was D-day. I gave my Mom a heads up, and then waited for my Dad to come home from his office. </p> <p>Me: Dad, I need to talk to you. <br />Dad: Okay.</p> <p>We head to my room.</p> <p>Me: Dad, there is something important I need to tell you. <br />Dad: Wait, let me guess, your girlfriend's pregnant. <br />Me: No, Dad. I don't have a girlfriend. <br />Dad: So your ex-girlfriend's pregnant? <br />Me: No, Dad, no one's pregnant. <br />Dad: So you've been offered a job. <br />Me: No, Dad. No one's that crazy. Or that desperate. <br />Dad: Don't say that. There are lots of people like that out there. At least I hope. <br />Me: Okay, Dad I can't keep having this conversation again and again. <br />Me: I'm not looking for a job. <br />Me: Now, can we move on? <br />Dad: Sigh. Yeah, sure. <br />Me: Dad, I need to tell you something which I have been keeping secret for a long time. <br />Dad: Is this about that time you and your friends were almost caught by the police for being underage and drinking in your car and you bribed your way out of it? <br />Me: You knew about that? <br />Dad: Pretty much. <br />Dad: Your friends Dad had called me and told me about it. <br />Me: Uh-ok. <br />Dad: What do you think the great lecture of '98 was all about? <br />Me: Okay, so that was what you were talking about when you said that I wouldn't be able to "bribe my way out of everything and that I need to stop fooling around like that". <br />Dad: Yeah, what did you think I was talking about? <br />Me: Oh, I thought you were talking about when I tried to smuggle my mathematics answer sheet out of the classroom because I didn't know the answer to any question. <br />Dad: You tried to <em>do what</em>? <br />Me: Ahem. Nothing. Can we move on now? <br />Me: And will you please stop guessing? <br />Dad: Okay, what is it you want to tell me? <br />Me: *Silence* <br />Dad: Yeah, go on . . . <br />Me: *Silence* <br />Dad: If you don't speak now I'll start guessing again . . . <br />Me: Okay, Dad, this is not easy for me to say what I was going to say. <br />Dad: Did you "forget" to pay your credit card bill again, for six months? <br />Me: No, Dad, there is something else. <br />Dad: Then, do me a favour and tell me what's on your mind. <br />Me: Okay . . . .  Dad . . . . . . I, ummmmm, don't like, mmmmmmmmmmmm <br />Dad: You don't like what? <br />Me: Dad, I don't like girls. <br />Dad: What do you mean? <br />Dad: Do you like boys, then? <br />Me: Yeah, sort off. <br />Dad: That's sad. <br />Me: In what sense? <br />Dad: You do know this is a disease, right? <br />Me: What, being gay? <br />Dad: Yeah. <br />Me: What are you talking about, Dad? <br />Dad: Well, you should see a psychiatrist. <br />Me: Look, Dad, I'm not asking you for advice. <br />Me: It's how I was born. <br />Me: I could have gone my whole life without telling you and there was no way you could have found out. <br />Me: I'm not asking for your blessing or anything. I'm basically telling you that this is how it is. <br />Me: And I would expect someone as educated as you to keep an open mind. <br />Dad: See, I'm not forcing you to do anything. Just giving you my opinion. <br />Dad: It's your life, and your choice. <br />Me: Thanks. <br />Me: If you feel ashamed of me, I will move out in a few months or whenever I get a job. <br />Dad: You really don't need to do that. <br />Me: What, get a job? <br />Dad: No, move out. <br />Me: Oh, it's good that you said that. I wasn't gonna move out anyway and it would have been really awkward ...... for you. <br />Dad: *no reaction* <br />Me: So I guess we're not ready to joke about it yet. <br />Dad: *Gets up to leave* <br />Me: <em>begin sarcastic tone</em>\ Sorry for being such a disappointment. /<em>end sarcastic tone</em> <br />Dad: *Opens door to leave, looks back* No, there is nothing like that. <br />Me: *shrugs* <br /> <br />It wasn't as bad as I expected. He didn't shout or say anything really mean. And he was probably shocked, to say the least. But I am glad I told him. It was time. Even though I think he wishes that I rather had a pregnant girlfriend, I think it's going to be fine. </p> <p>He's going to do what he usually does when I take decisions which he does not agree with (<em>basically, ALL of them</em>). a) Sulk b) Blame my Mom for "encouraging" me c) Fire someone in his office d) Begrudgingly get on board Team Ramby. </p> <p>It took me such a long time. It's only fair I let him take his.  </p> <p>Anyways, the important thing is that now, there would be no more secrets. No more half-truths. No more use of ambiguous words like "partner", "fellow-human" and "casual friend". </p> <p>I guess the truth <em>does </em>set you free!</p> <p>Hallelujah!</p> <p>Although, I still am never going to tell him what really happened to his car in January 1996. That secret is going with me to the grave. Or whatever weird vegan ceremony I'm going to have when I finally log out and pass on to the big blogosphere in the sky. </p> Rambunctious WhipperSnapperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10061050156768587405noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5735216265953059996.post-7061549239815156392009-11-04T06:48:00.001-08:002009-11-04T06:48:07.885-08:00One small step for man, one huge step for Whippersnapperkind<p>I just came out to my Dad. </p> <p>It happened like 10 or 15 minutes ago. </p> <p>He wasn't happy about it, but he still reacted much better than I expected. </p> <p>I am still shaking. </p> <p>Will be back when I can write more coherently. </p> Rambunctious WhipperSnapperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10061050156768587405noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5735216265953059996.post-1532703512876666062009-08-09T08:10:00.001-07:002009-08-09T08:10:42.508-07:00It's different!<p>The other day, I was reading an article written by a famous right-wing journalist who is famous for being a right-wing journalist, in which he said that he is okay with "tolerating" gay people but he thinks that it was wrong of the high court to equate hetereosexual and homosexual relationships.</p> <p>Now, at that point of time, I obviously disagreed with him. </p> <p>However, yesterday after reading this post <a href="http://indiequill.wordpress.com/2009/08/04/the-indian-male-fixt/">here</a> and this article <a href="http://www.tehelka.com/story_main42.asp?filename=Ne010809coverstory.asp">here</a>, I sort of had an #epiphany. (<em>Sorry about the "#", I've been really using twitter a little too much. I know, I'm addicted. #snapperfail. Sheesh.</em>)</p> <p>I seem to have changed my mind. </p> <p>I think equating gay relationships and straight relationships is wrong. They are not the same. </p> <p>Why do I say that?</p> <p>Well, the answer dawned on me after huge amounts of generalising, stereotyping, pseudo-scientific analysing, hypotheticalising (<em>I know that's not even a word. But let's just pretend that it is. There is a word for arbitrarily pretending something is true for the sake of argument. I just can't think of it right now.) </em>and assuming my ass off.</p> <p>Now, we know that most men in our country are bought up with a huge dose of entitlement. Since the day they are born, they are taught that they always get first dibs on everything because they can pee standing up. Now the mothers spend the rest of their lives blaming other people for her son's mistakes, while the fathers spend the rest of their life blaming the mother for the extreme love and affection that they showered their son with. Yes, if there was an Olympic competition for cognitive dissonance, then most Indian parents would qualify for the gold medal. </p> <p>Alternatively, Indian girls are made to realize that everyone frowns around them because daddy wanted a little boy and mommy wanted a little boy and granny also wanted a little boy. And no one really cares what grandpa wants because grandpa is 80 and delusional and sharts all the time. </p> <p>So after such a  warm welcome, while the girls are growing up  it is drilled into their heads that they really are second class citizens and were sent to this earth to cook, clean and put out whenever their husband wants to fall asleep on top of them. </p> <p>And then when both of them grow up, then they are paired with each other and spend the rest of their lives resenting each other and each other's parents. And when things get really bad, they have kids. Because that's the solution to every problem in a marriage. </p> <p>Now, this is where gay relationships are a little different. </p> <p>Usually when gay people set out to find the person they want to have a relationship with, they aren't actually looking to fulfil the position of "house_maid" or "income_generator". They aren't looking for a "<em>smart, fair, homely girl who can make three chappitis per minute"</em> or a "<em>thin, fair handsome man who makes income in excess of six figures and has been to different countries like New York and the USA</em>". </p> <p>Gay people usually seek out a relationship based on trust, love for each other, mutual respect and because both of them cry towards the end of <em>When Harry met Sally</em>. </p> <p>So, yes, Mr Right-wing journalist, gay relationships are different from straight relationships. </p> <p>Thank God for that.  </p> Rambunctious WhipperSnapperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10061050156768587405noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5735216265953059996.post-84050079180500043922009-07-03T08:28:00.001-07:002009-07-03T09:29:15.556-07:00India's second tryst with destiny<p>I always wondered what it would have been to be an Indian pre-1947. Being born into the country decades after the British had left the country, I always wondered the euphoria the people would have felt at the stroke of the midnight hour on 15 August 1947, when the world slept while India awoke to life and freedom. </p> <p>Perhaps it is the same feeling that I felt yesterday. While the rest of the country was freed of colonial rule on 15 august 1947, the members of the LGBT community in India was still being treated as second-class citizens in their own country, for simply being who they are. </p> <p>The judgement of the Delhi High court on 2 July 2009 has finally freed the last section of the population which was still technically under colonial rule. The judgement is historic. It provided hope to millions of people. People who have been persecuted for being who they are. Persecuted for simply wanting to love and be loved. Persecuted for being brave enough to want the rights that were guaranteed to them under the constitution. </p> <p>Yesterday was India's second tryst with destiny. At the stroke of the afternoon hour, while the world looked on, India awoke to life and freedom, one more time. </p> <p>The achievement we celebrate today is but a step, an opening of opportunity, to the greater triumphs and achievements that await us. Are we brave enough and wise enough to grasp this opportunity and accept the challenge of the future?</p> <p>This ruling does not bring with itself social acceptance. There will still be families and friends who disapprove. People will still make still snigger. Nevertheless, the past is over and it is the future that beckons to us now. We have to learn that there will always be people who will discriminate against you because of who you are. Whether it's because of the colour of your skin, your name, your shoe size, the way you style your hair etc. </p> <p>We don't need acceptance from those people nor we need a "you're moral" character certificate from the "God-hates-you" crowd. </p> <p>We only need our own acceptance, and the love and support of the people who appreciate us for who we are and not who they would prefer us to be. </p> <p>Be fabulous. Always.</p> <p><em>xoxo</em></p> <p> </p> <p>_____________________________________________</p> <p>(<em>Okay, for those who haven't figured it out yet, this post heavily borrows from Nehru's speech that he gave to the constituent assembly on 15 August 1947. I'm sure he would have wanted to say this. He was one of us, after all. <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tryst_with_destiny">Click here</a> for the original. )</em></p> Rambunctious WhipperSnapperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10061050156768587405noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5735216265953059996.post-77651511939410197102009-07-02T00:04:00.001-07:002009-07-02T00:04:39.637-07:00BREAKING: Delhi High Court reads down article 377<p>I never thought I would see this day in my lifetime. </p> <p>I think something happened over the past week. Somehow, the world around us has changed.</p> <p>This is not the end of the fight, but it's just the beginning. We do have a long way ahead. </p> <p>However, right now I would like to commend the Delhi High Court for being on the right side of history. </p> <p>I would also like to express gratitude for everyone who did not lose hope and kept fighting and gave a voice to millions of others. </p> <p>I'll be back when I can write more coherently. </p> <p>Cheers, everyone.  </p> Rambunctious WhipperSnapperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10061050156768587405noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5735216265953059996.post-25929263523737547632009-06-26T05:40:00.001-07:002009-06-26T05:40:18.645-07:00Not a Dangerous Thriller<p><img height="252" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/thumb/7/76/Michael_jackson_bad_cd_cover_1987_cdda.jpg/225px-Michael_jackson_bad_cd_cover_1987_cdda.jpg" width="252" /> </p> <p>When I was old enough to have my own room, I sort of inherited it from my elder siblings. They had a variety of posters in their room because I think that's what kids used to do back then. Now, I removed the Samantha Fox and Bruce Sprigsteen posters because staring at a chic in her drawers was never my thing. However, I let one poster stand. It looked exactly like the one pictured above. </p> <p>Cause I knew who Michael Jackson was before I could even read or write. </p> <p> <div class="wlWriterSmartContent" id="scid:5737277B-5D6D-4f48-ABFC-DD9C333F4C5D:1b185f57-67e3-4978-9e35-6051d708b124" style="padding-right: 0px; display: inline; padding-left: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; margin: 0px; padding-top: 0px"><div><object width="425" height="355"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/ACPsfcsg4ZE"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/ACPsfcsg4ZE" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"></embed></object></div></div> </p> <p>There were many pop acts and artists who were the rage when I was growing up. However, no one was as big as Michael Jackson. Most of my good childhood memories have some kind of Jackson song playing in the background. </p> <p>Whether it was being thrown out of class and being punished because I wrote the lyrics to <em>Black or White </em>instead of my cursive writing assignment . . . </p> <div class="wlWriterSmartContent" id="scid:5737277B-5D6D-4f48-ABFC-DD9C333F4C5D:1cf8abcf-28ce-4462-a282-555696ee9dca" style="padding-right: 0px; display: inline; padding-left: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; margin: 0px; padding-top: 0px"><div><object width="425" height="355"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/ZI9OYMRwN1Q"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/ZI9OYMRwN1Q" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"></embed></object></div></div> <p>. . . Or playing basketball with <em>Jam </em>blaring from the boombox.  (<em>Oh, and the song was a pop culture phenomenon. It had the other MJ, Micheal Jordan and who could miss Kriss Kross!!</em>)</p> <p> <div class="wlWriterSmartContent" id="scid:5737277B-5D6D-4f48-ABFC-DD9C333F4C5D:751dd5a1-831b-49e0-b342-3d44d0e44032" style="padding-right: 0px; display: inline; padding-left: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; margin: 0px; padding-top: 0px"><div><object width="425" height="355"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/13ZGZexsaFo"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/13ZGZexsaFo" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"></embed></object></div></div> </p> <p>I even remember watching him perform during the Grammy awards (<em>back when they actually meant something</em>) in 1988, on bootleg video of the DD broadcast! </p> <div class="wlWriterSmartContent" id="scid:5737277B-5D6D-4f48-ABFC-DD9C333F4C5D:980049b4-41be-4e6a-9482-fed9b5ef4605" style="padding-right: 0px; display: inline; padding-left: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; margin: 0px; padding-top: 0px"><div><object width="425" height="355"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/u3Zdb6YqY04&hl=en&fs=1&"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/u3Zdb6YqY04&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"></embed></object></div></div> <p> </p> <p>My and my cousins were actually put his performance on repeat and were dancing along. </p> <p>When I think about it, it seems so lame. At that time we thought were so cool and so funny!  </p> <div class="wlWriterSmartContent" id="scid:5737277B-5D6D-4f48-ABFC-DD9C333F4C5D:b92cabcc-1011-442b-85d9-da3d31021c24" style="padding-right: 0px; display: inline; padding-left: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; margin: 0px; padding-top: 0px"><div><object width="425" height="355"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/RsF1oxfK094&hl=en&fs=1&"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/RsF1oxfK094&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"></embed></object></div></div> <p> </p> <p>Hey, we didn't have cable TV or the internet. So how was a brother supposed to pass time?</p> <p> </p> <p>Anyway, some of his songs told me stuff about me which even I didn't know was true!</p> <p> <div class="wlWriterSmartContent" id="scid:5737277B-5D6D-4f48-ABFC-DD9C333F4C5D:f3875eca-13d5-4df7-9b5e-2b21a980e1b4" style="padding-right: 0px; display: inline; padding-left: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; margin: 0px; padding-top: 0px"><div><object width="425" height="355"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/cupnsUDyjuA&hl=en&fs=1&"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/cupnsUDyjuA&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"></embed></object></div></div> </p> <p>Seems so ironic now.</p> <p>Maybe these songs remind me of a time when I wasn't such a cynical, jaded, smartass gasbag. Maybe it's because these songs were our symbol of rebellion, PG-13 style. </p> <p> <div class="wlWriterSmartContent" id="scid:5737277B-5D6D-4f48-ABFC-DD9C333F4C5D:c28fcaa4-3193-4e62-81cd-78b4365a41e6" style="padding-right: 0px; display: inline; padding-left: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; margin: 0px; padding-top: 0px"><div><object width="425" height="355"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/gCqQ2JcQWGs"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/gCqQ2JcQWGs" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"></embed></object></div></div> </p> <p>Before yesterday, when someone thought of Michael Jackson, it was usually his Wacko Jacko persona. </p> <p>However, he will be remembered by most people as someone who made great music. </p> <p>I'd like to say that maybe we will learn from this. Maybe we won't make other children go through the life he went through. Maybe people will finally realize that that fame, celebrity and notoriety is not for everyone. I've read a lot of comments at various places which says that when people become famous, they sign up for the tsunami which is going to change their lives. That it's okay to dehumanise someone because they are rich and famous. Surely there is no schadenfreude behind such a train of thought?</p> <p>Yes, the jokes and the sleazy tabloid stories will come tomorrow. People will huff and puff for a few minutes while pretend-serious media outlets will cover those stories while their anchors feign outrage all the way to the bank. Even in death, the Michael Jackson story is going to make a lot of people a lot of money. </p> <p>But today, I'd just like to . . . </p> <div class="wlWriterSmartContent" id="scid:5737277B-5D6D-4f48-ABFC-DD9C333F4C5D:0d20dfbf-7899-4ba2-b902-0805aba9a529" style="padding-right: 0px; display: inline; padding-left: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; margin: 0px; padding-top: 0px"><div><object width="425" height="355"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/nDxsM5jLNxM"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/nDxsM5jLNxM" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"></embed></object></div></div> <p> </p> <p>R.I.P.</p> Rambunctious WhipperSnapperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10061050156768587405noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5735216265953059996.post-44030321004249207562009-06-09T11:20:00.001-07:002009-06-09T11:20:53.913-07:00This post does not remember being a post<p>Today, early in the morning: (<em>okay, really early in the morning</em>)</p> <p>*Ring* *Ring* (<em>not actually a ring, but the theme from Mad Men</em>)</p> <p>Me: Hello</p> <p>Caller: Hey, watsup . . . </p> <p>Me: Nothing much really. Long time, eh?</p> <p>Caller: Yeah, I know . . . </p> <p>Me: So how's the wife doing?</p> <p>Caller: She's doing good . . . </p> <p>Me: . . . When is the baby due?</p> <p>Caller: What baby?</p> <p>Me: Er. . . Aren't you guys pregnant?</p> <p>Caller: No . . . </p> <p>Me: . . . WHAT HAPPENED?</p> <p>Caller: We HAD the baby, idiot! That's WHAT happened!</p> <p>Me: CONGRATULATIONS! When? And why didn't you tell me? </p> <p>Caller: Last month . . . </p> <p>Me: LAST MONTH? . . . </p> <p>Caller: Stop shouting. </p> <p>Caller: I DID tell you . . . </p> <p>Caller: . . . And YOU came to visit us in the hospital!!</p> <p>Me: I did?</p> <p>Caller: Yes. Twice.</p> <p>Me: Are you sure?</p> <p>Caller: Of course I'm sure. It's pretty hard to . . . forget the day your child is born . . . </p> <p>Me: Yeah, of course. </p> <p>Caller: . . . . specially because on the first day one of the guards got fired because you wandered in during non-visiting hours . . . </p> <p>Me: That does sound like something I would do, yeah . . . </p> <p>Me: . . . however, are you sure that you aren't pulling a prank on me?</p> <p>Caller: Dude, for the past month I've been knee deep in dirty diapers, I have been dozing off during meetings because I barely get to sleep at night and if I see one more relative wanting to give "good wishes" to my child, I'm going to jump from the terrace. </p> <p>Caller: So I am hardly in a mood to kid around and pull pranks on someone . . . </p> <p>Me: Aright . . . chill, don't get so emotional, man . . . </p> <p>Caller: And since you don't remember, you also gave us a nice gift . . . </p> <p>Me: Really? I'm so glad you liked whatever I gave you.  </p> <p>Caller: Yeah, even  ______ likes it. He plays with it all the time.   </p> <p>Me: You HAD a <em>boy</em>????</p> <p>Caller: *Click*</p> <p> </p> <p>What'd I say?</p> Rambunctious WhipperSnapperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10061050156768587405noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5735216265953059996.post-4836343469184219012009-05-11T20:39:00.001-07:002009-05-11T20:39:27.688-07:00This post has no idea how it got here<p>I stopped being technologically relevant quite a few years ago. Technology is a tricky thing. You can only keep up to it till a certain point of time. I remember back in the "day" when I all of us who had invitation-only GMail accounts thought we were the über-geek. We used to laugh at all those with just 5 MB (<em>or was it 2 MB?</em>) Hotmail and Yahoo accounts. "You're not using Gmail yet? Really? I don't know how you survive with measly 2 MB of email space. Okay, if you want it that much, I'll send you an invite". For the record, I barely invited less than a dozen people. Why? Because, well, I'm cheap like that. </p> <p>Anyways, there is a fine line to going from being the only one in your training class to know the difference between 32-bit and 64-bit operating systems to one day tuning into a gadget-oriented TV show and going "They can do <em><strong>THAT</strong> </em>now? Ama-fucking-zing!". One really does not know when that line is passed. Hell, I went from espousing the benefits of peer-to-peer networks to discovering BiTTorrent just late last year. Yes, I know. Shameful. However, thankfully, I have over compensated for that. </p> <p>Of course, that doesn't imply that I've turned totally helpless. I'm Indian. Most of us are probably born with an embedded chip in our memory. I've seen little kids who haven't yet said their first words but have coded their own iPhone application.  Go, figure. </p> <p>So my almost dead inner geek woke up this morning when I read about <a href="http://www.newser.com/story/58516/a-wifi-hotspot-in-your-pocket.html" target="_blank">this</a>: </p> <p><img height="231" src="http://www.newser.com/image/207543.image" width="336" />   [AP Photo]</p> <p>Screw WiFi and say halo to my little friend. That's right, bitches. It's called MiFi. The Novatel MiFi 2200. (<em>Sounds less like a wireless device and more like a WMD!</em>)</p> <p>A wireless hotspot in <em>your</em> pocket. </p> <p>*Obligatory they-can-do-that-now shrug and head shaking*</p> <p>As you all know, I am kind of obsessed with the internet. And not just check-email-every-half-hour obsessed. No siree Bob. I need to carry it around with me wherever I go, lest the world starts to end and I miss reading about it. If some natural or unnatural event is going to kill me, I would like to either write a post about it beforehand or at least send a tweet. And if I do have some time, update the status on my facebook. Something like "______ is dying of a really strange disease usually only seen in M Night Shyamalan movies". </p> <p>Currently, my mobile internet requirements are being serviced by my handy GPRS enabled phone. Now GPRS is good and all, but it's only two notches above a late-90's style dial up 56k connection if you're trying to use it on your computer. Although sometimes, it's a lifesaver. Last year, when i had gone to almost-remote hilly town, the only thing connecting me to the virtual world was my trusty GPRS.  Granted, sometimes it was so slow that you would have to combine web surfing with other activities like reading a book/watching a sitcom/shooting at the local population.</p> <p>The sad news is that the MiFi device can only work on 3G networks, so it will take a couple of years before being launched in India. We are just getting started on 3G networks. And right now MTNL is the only company offering it. No offense, but I pity the fool who uses MTNL. It's like wearing a jockstrap two sizes smaller than your actual size. We still get an MTNL bill sometimes even YEARS after getting that connection disconnected. </p> <p>Not that the private operators are better. Recently, my mobile service provider has converted my unlimited data plan to a limited data plan. And the broadband providers are going to follow suit. Now they are going to put caps on unlimited broadband plans. So, pretty soon, when you sign up for a plan which promises unlimited, uninterrupted internet, you are in fact signing up for a, rarely fast, limited-usage account. It's like using two condoms and still ending up pregnant. </p> <p>I don't use a WiFi at home. That's because basically, I really can't figure it out. And since I'm cheap, I don't want someone else piggybacking on my internet. OMFG, that makes me sound like one of those <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JQjPoiVPf2Y" target="_blank">people who wanted</a> to <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sggbZvENjEA" target="_blank">tea-bag Obama</a>. </p> <p>However, I'm still looking forward to the launch of this card. </p> <p>Why? For the simple reason that then I can watch You Tube videos while sitting on the can!</p> <p>Oh, joy!</p> Rambunctious WhipperSnapperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10061050156768587405noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5735216265953059996.post-9048840028758273332009-04-29T21:48:00.001-07:002009-04-29T21:51:42.939-07:00This post has absolutely nothing on it's mindRecently, the most common question that I ask everyone is "<em>What day is it today? No, seriously</em>". I actually do lose track of what day, date, month or even what year it is. In fact, I have been using my own personal time standard, in hours are defined by the time left until the next meal and sometimes two, or three "normal" days are clubbed together because I really don't remember them as separate entities anyway. <p>Not that I am to blame. It happens when one is not gainfully employed. Everyday seems like a Sunday. And not a Sunday in which you know that the next day the grind starts again. No, a Sunday which is followed by another Sunday, which is followed by another Sunday, which in turn is followed by, no prizes for guessing, another Sunday. </p> <p>So, to me, the past year and a half have been like an extended weekend. (<em>Actually, some people I know would like to call it by a different name, but this is what I've decided upon. An extended weekend. Has a nice ring to it doesn't it? Hi, I'm on an extended weekend. What? Oh, that's part of my work actually. Yes, I specialize in extending weekends. It's a inborn talent, really. No, I don't have any branches. Yet.)</em></p> <p>However, there is one thing that even someone as clueless & as intoxicated as me can notice. </p> <p>I've come to realize that people treat those who are gainfully employed and those who take extended weekends which last more than a year, a tad bit differently. I know. Outrageous, isn't it?</p> <p>I vividly remember the days when I used to work. By work, I mean laughing at every stupid forward people send and exploring wikipedia for useless trivia (<em>Did you know Mata Hari was actually not a really good spy? Yup. Surprising isn't it? There is so much useless trivia out there, and so little time. Sigh. Also, </em><em>it only sounds interesting when you are being paid to do something else. Otherwise, who really cares. Pshaw!</em>)</p> <p>It turns out that a job is like an ass. Everyone seems to have them.<br /></p><p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2yDE_N8G5e_ltbZWW-xwBhbJi0-dmG6Clzf5qFXQ35VppAinNaza3uIPPZzKe5N2b4xewvbBLakzjguYlv6w5ci0BQX-qgbbmY2jGzEjnQXJfr_ZzZypOtO7hKMRa6kYZSE499QlM57xI/s1600-h/nothing.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 545px; height: 166px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2yDE_N8G5e_ltbZWW-xwBhbJi0-dmG6Clzf5qFXQ35VppAinNaza3uIPPZzKe5N2b4xewvbBLakzjguYlv6w5ci0BQX-qgbbmY2jGzEjnQXJfr_ZzZypOtO7hKMRa6kYZSE499QlM57xI/s320/nothing.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330342326797573890" border="0" /></a></p> <p> </p> <p>So when you answer the question "<em>So, what are you doing these days?" </em>with the ominous word "<em>Nothing", </em>most people react in a very predictable way. </p> <p>First, comes the indignation. </p> <blockquote> <p><em>"What do you mean by nothing? So you actually aren't doing anything? <strong>Nothing</strong> AT ALL? Are you crazy?!"</em></p> </blockquote> <p>Then comes the surprise.</p> <blockquote> <p>"<em>Why? What happened? You were doing so well! Are you crazy?"</em></p> </blockquote> <p>Then, the weight of the information they have been provided with begins to settle in and a pattern seems to emerge. </p> <blockquote> <p><em>"So you're sitting at home? Voluntarily? Why? Are you crazy?"</em></p> </blockquote> <p>Then comes the search for plausible excuses.</p> <blockquote> <p>"<em>Are you sick? No?"</em></p> <p><em>"Are you trying to lose weight? No?"</em></p> <p><em>"Are you studying? No?"</em></p> <p><em>"Are you helping out your family with the business? No?"</em></p> </blockquote> <p>Then comes the slight tilt of the head and the first step towards the road of acceptance. </p> <blockquote> <p><em>"Awwww. Oh! I'm sure you deserve it. I remember you used to be working so hard".</em></p> <p><em>"Good for you".</em></p> <p><em>"I would never have the guts to do something like this".</em></p> </blockquote> <p>Then come the suggestions.</p> <blockquote> <p>"<em>If you're not busy, you should help out your family with the business".</em></p> <p>"<em>If you're not busy, you should study more and add to your resume".</em></p> <p>"<em>If you're not busy, you should try losing weight".</em></p> <p><em>"If you're not busy, you should try writing a blog".</em></p> <p><em>"If you're not busy, you should help my son get his wife pregnant".</em></p> </blockquote> <p>Then comes the show of fake support along with a huge effort made in trying to encapsulate the overwhelming feeling of jealousy along with a naked attempt to try to make me feel like a loser. </p> <blockquote> <p><em>"So you're staying home for the past year doing nothing? </em><em>So you're doing NOTHING? How do you pass your day?" </em></p> <p><em>"I would go bananas if I had to spend even a day doing nothing! Haha! How do you do it?"</em></p> <p><em>"Aren't you yearning to go back to work?"</em></p> <p><em>"You would have been an ________ by now if you hadn't left your job!"</em></p> <p><em>"What's a blog?"</em></p> </blockquote> <p>Then comes what I lovingly call the insane reasoning portion of the evening. </p> <blockquote> <p><em>"This is not an age to take a break at. One should only take a break when one's sixty".</em></p> <p><em>"Don't you want to get married?"</em></p> <p><em>"You have to do something. Everyone does something or the other. You can't just sit at home".</em></p> <p><em>"Don't you want to get married and give your parents a few grandchildren to play with?"</em></p> <p><em>"You'll start losing the use of your mental faculties if you keep doing nothing for a long period of time. Stop laughing. It's true. I've seen it happen".</em></p> <p><em>"No one does what they really want to do. So go back to work and get married. It's high time you got settled".</em></p> </blockquote> <p>That sums up the conversation with 95% of the people. </p> <p>One of the things about being jobless is that the "different" treatment you get from people. Suddenly, people find it really awkward to talk to me. And my opinion just does not hold the same value for them as it used to before. People really don't know how to start a conversation with me anymore. And there are so many topics they try to steer clear from. Things they presume that I would get offended by. </p> <p>We are so used to identifying and associating people with what kind of work they do that it's really hard for us to look beyond that. Even when we introduce ourselves to other people, in most cases, the first thing that really comes out after our names is our occupation or whatever we do for a living. Because even personally, that's our yardstick for defining who we are. I used to do that too. But my "extended weekend" has made me realize that whatever job or line of work you do doesn't have to define who you are. We are so obsessed with titles, positions, the whole concept of "<em>making a name for yourself</em>" that we let it take over our lives. People define success not by how happy they are but by how many weekends they spend replying to work emails on their blackberry. It's in trying to <em>"be somebody" </em>that we lose track of who we really are<em>. </em>I know that because I did.</p> <p>I'm not trying to knock anyone here. As they say, the road to hell is paved with good intentions. </p> <p>I, for one, love being treated like a pariah. A few of my friends and some assorted family friends have tried to "<em>turn me around</em>" and "<em>talk some sense into me</em>" but most of the time, they end up projecting. It's funny how the same people who used to tell my parents that they were "so proud" of me, now avoid me like the bubonic plague, even using me as an example of explaining to their children on how not to do things. The general consensus seems to be that I've lost it and that this is more evidence that I am a "spoiled" brat. Well, not that there is anything wrong with that. However, as always, I'm too drunk too care. I don't give a flying f@ck about what these people think anyway!</p> <p>Yeah, almost everyone treats me differently. Even God. He answers all my prayers with "<em>I'll get to you in a minute, asshole</em>". To be fair, all of my prayers revolve around food and sex. And I guess God thinks that you can only have one of them at a time.</p> <p>*Chomp Chomp* </p> <p>Is he trying to tell me something? </p>Rambunctious WhipperSnapperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10061050156768587405noreply@blogger.com28