It's now safe to turn off your computer.

I'm scared. I think my computer passed through evolution when I wasn't looking and now it's *gasp* alive. Any moment now the monitor is going to open its eyes and blink at me to prove that I'm right. I do not pronounce this lightly. I know what I'm talking about. Just now I took 20 minutes to reboot because as soon as Windows loaded, the screen told me that it was now safe to turn off my computer. I'm sure it was safe, but what about it being desirable?

My machine has possibly laid claim to 'intelligence' overnight. Or maybe it was bit by tiny bit every night for the past so many nights, but that's not the point here. The point is that it has developed a mind of its own. And it knows a weak opponent when it sees one. I have no qualms about admitting that I know zilch about computers and their workings. Sitting duck, me. The big bad machine sees me and thinks, there's a dumb one. Let's play with her. That's so not good.

My sole aim these past few days has been to make explorer, yahoo messenger and MSN messenger work at the same time. But my sadistic computer, it doesn't let me. Yahoo.exe has caused an error in so-and-so and will now close. Explorer has performed all illegal operation and will now close. Restart your computer and try again. Contact your vendor if the problem persists. It's raining error messages.

I'm too scared that the computer will finally stop working one fine day and I'll have to call a computer person. He will want to hit the monster on its head and kill it, then breathe artificial life into it again so that it works like I want it to, not how it wants to. In other words, reformat.

Here comes the absolutely scary part. The reformatting has been done earlier and that I count as one of the most traumatic experiences of my life which has been instrumental in shaping me. In fact, I might go so far as to say that I trace the start of my paranoia back to it. Even after 'mother god promises' and umpteen assurances, I simply cannot stop thinking about scenarios involving the loss of the precious information that I have in my system. Complete and repeated explanations regarding copying the information on CDs before formatting and writing down of what I want saved does not help either. I cannot tell you how hard it is when a computer goes for reformatting. That one day is absolutely horrendous. It's like you're giving off pieces of you.

Amidst all this hand-wringing upheaval and distress, there is a very real possibility that I'm falling dangerously in love with my monitor because it has this as a desktop wallpaper. How can one not fall for that? Here's a secret: I sometimes grin and wink at it when I'm alone. Hmm. For all future purposes, I did not write that.

But you see the pure dilemmatic situation?! I'm falling in love with something that will surely hurt me in the long run. Sooner or later, it's bound to. It's even more certain than death and taxes. And I'm unable to fight the love or the dependency. I cannot take it off my desktop the same way I cannot cut my arm off. I might even do away with the arm if comes to choosing between the two. What's an arm when there's irresistible sexiness to be considered? See? I'm doomed.

Touché

Recently, I've developed a new affliction. It's right in line with my unusual diseases, so I'm not too concerned. Either that or I'm putting on a really brave front but am quaking inside. Yes, perhaps that's the truth. But with me and my second-guessing, you'd never know.

I'm totally ignorant when it comes to illnesses, mainly because I don't fall sick very often, and that is always a cause for deep heartache. Who would want to miss all the attention that goes along with minor sickness? I still remember the way I used to gaze forlornly at sick (as in unhealthy) little kids who came to my mother's clinic for medication. My mother the doctor talked really nicely to those kids. Cajoling and loving them right into a necessary injection. They never knew what happened. Sigh. My mother the angel. My mother, kindness incarnate to those little kids who already had a mother of their own to give them love. Those bloody snotty little kids hogged all my mother's attention. Ungrateful weasly beings. Snatching, crapping and marking themselves all over my territory. Oh, those days! The trauma!! Let me take a moment to compose myself...

Ok. So back to this thing, it's a skin problem I think. On the outside of my right foot. The mother saw the thing, felt it, and pronounced the diagnosis. Elephant skin. I'm not joking. That's what she said it is. I swear. It kind of feels hard and dry and scaly to the touch. I even have photographic evidence. (The real elephant is to the left. The right is 'No, this is not happening to me')

See what I mean? I'd do any elephant proud. But jokes aside, it's really sad. As if I needed any more identification with big, grey, hulking, fat beasts. Will it never end?!

Immediately after being diagnosed, I was understandably in a thoughtful mood. Who wouldn't be? I asked the mother how she knew it was Elephant skin. She said it felt like that. A pause. Then I asked her when she'd felt elephants before. She said she does daily. Ahem. I looked at dad and giggled. Of course all this hilarity and good cheer was to diffuse the tense atmosphere of the moment. We're good like that. We diffuse tense moments. But it still didn't make my foot-skin problem alright.

Oh man. Those pics make it look worse than it really is. Look at the furrow-like things on that left one. Totally hideous. Ok, I managed to scare myself all over again. If I hadn't taken those pics with my own hands, I'd have felt deep overwhelming pity for the one who had those things. It's the angle or something, it isn't really that bad. So don't start writing those obituaries yet. And see the vague discolourations on the leg in the right pic... that's the site. Don't ask me how I managed to take a pic of that part like that all by myself. Contortionistic no?

And finally? It's some skin cream that smells like eggs gone bad for me. I forget to use it more times than not, and actually, I think I've lost the tube... but then the offensive thing came on its own, it can as well go away on its own. I'm not catering to something my mother called elephant skin. No way. One fine day in the near future I'm going to wake up to beautiful, unblemished feet and fall in love with their loveliness. Mere payr, kitne sundar, kitne komal...

Related nonsense: Do not ever search for pictures of elephant skin. Don't even click on that link. Seriously. It's not good. Especially the pic called "Experimental butchery of an elephant..." which looks like they're skinning an elephant.

Not so related, but nevertheless cute nonsense: Allapum. That's what my cousin used to call an elephant when he was little cos he couldn't say elephant. It's now our family's official name for elephants.

Related, necessary (non)sense: The title of the post is pronounced 'too-shay'. I've always liked the word.

The Link-happy Feel-sad Post

I'm morose. That sounds infinitely better than merely depressed, doesn't it? Morose just makes you think of a sad droopy-faced person sitting in a corner. Too lethargic to even cry or weep, this person wallows. And that's how it is with me right now.

*Start of small divertion from subject of post*
By the way, did you know that lugubrious is a synonym for depressed? Well, it is. That, apart from being my contribution to the vocabularies of my 6.5 readers, is also a reason for me to rant in the middle of writing a post as I'm wont to do more often than not. Lugubrious - What kind of a ridiculous word is it? How can it mean depressed? Which self-respecting depressed person will say he's feeling lugubrious and risk being laughed at rather than being comforted? You get what I'm driving at? It sounds exactly like so much garble around a mouthful of paani-puri. Sigh. The English language really needs a clean up soon.
*End of divertion*

The reason for abovementioned moroseness is that I've been reading blogs for the past three hours. Yes. That can be a cause for the gloom. Let me explain. People out there - They're. So. Damn. Good. I needed to say that with the full stops in between because otherwise the pain would be too much. I mean, there's so much talent out there, and with it, so much envy. Envy on my side of course. Yes. I can admit to being envious. I can also admit to resorting to voodoo or some other such magic to interchange myself with people I'm envious of, (and I can do it, beware!) but I will control the impulse because, let's face it, magic is stupid and it doesn't work. I'll just be left with a little doll with a lot of pins stuck into it and no real interchange of lives and talents. I'll still be me with a mutilated doll, and that is something I'm totally unwilling to do. I'm kind. I cannot pin-prick dolls, especially when I know there's nothing in it for me. Mother Teresa, I. Well, ok. Almost.

My favourites' list has grown by 4 today. Now there are 4 more blogs that I'll check with something akin to mania everyday. Of those, I'm extremely jealous of the straight-faced humour ones. Like Finding Franny and Henry the Adequate in my to-read blogs. Read if you're feeling curious enough, though why I'm directing traffic to people who are the cause of my misery I do not know. (I fully blame, I mean attribute the finding of Henry the superhero to MsShadow. Yes, thank you for all of this. I'm sure you're really happy right now.) Also, Anonymous Lawyer... he's quite something.

Then there are those super-intelligent, almost geeky American girls. They're girls. Young females, barely out of their teens and they write about things that make me feel painfully illiterate. Please. How many nineteen year olds study astronomy and excuse me... wha..? What's that? Foreign diplomacy? They teach things like that? Really. What rot. I don't believe it at all. I'm sure they're planted there. I know they're actually 60 year old University professors and have come into all that learning after a lifetime in libraries and are parading as teenagers just to make sundry internet people who mistakenly land onto their blogs feel woefully insecure. Yes. That's it.

Oh and there are... well... the witty people. It's all too much for a person like me to take. I'm sure it's all a huge conspiracy. Can you believe that someone who says something like, 'Today is actually rather ghastly' actually exists? Well, no. She can't. I think she's a highly evolved computer program or something. Seriously, how can she think up such word choices otherwise? And look at her. No one can have that figure, look like that, and have a blog like that. No, it's not fair to humans. She's not real. That's all.

A few days ago I was feeling envious of people who got paid for writing in a magazine or newspaper, and had readable blogs with a huge fan following - like The Compulsive Confessor, to name just one. Now I'm down to envying just about anybody who can write well. Notice the degeneration? See the slipping standards of envy? What next? Am I going to go green about artistic templates now? Blah.

Note that I'm saying nothing of all those blogs that are on my everyday read list but not linked here. (Should I put them up? They're not exactly humour blogs, so I haven't linked them, but they so deserve to be read.)

So, anyway, morose we are. And to think that only a few hours ago we were feeling so good because of the nice comment on the previous post. Yes, he tried. I know. We should be grateful and happy that we're being adored. But, alas, we're being glum. We're also trying to rise above our sad state here by using the royal pronoun in an attempt to diffuse feelings of not being good enough. And we shall overcome, some day.

By the way, why do you think the commentor's called Sad? Verily, in this is a sign for those who give thought...

2025: The Death of Romance as we know it

Lately, I've been thinking about how much I'm dependent on the Internet. I almost live here. This could be called my second home. Or actually my first. Of course, all this fascinating thinking was due to my plans of going abroad for higher studies and not imagining a life without a laptop and the Internet. And of course my thoughts couldn't have stopped right there and I had to have these horrific visions where there's this whole world of people who simply cannot live without the Net. I really do not know where it came from. If I was the sort then I'd have blamed the Martians for tampering with my brain, but I'm just content with blaming the Moon for my mood swings. That's me - mild.

Imagine the next generation being so tied up to a computer that they don't know the warmth of sunlight or the cold of winter. They sit in front of their computers in artifical environments and experience everything second-hand. Shopping, TV, movies, mail, meetings, work, school - everything is digitized, credit carded and email ordered. The only contact one can have with the world is through a cable. A malfunctioning server can make you feel suicidal. The scenes that my mind conjured up overtook me so badly that I went on a crazy conversation in my head...

Two teenage girls chatting.
Girl 1: You know, I found an old photo album of my mom.
Girl 2: Cool. What's the URL? Flickr?
Girl 1: No, you don't get it. An actual physical album.
Girl 2: *shocked* Oh. My. God. I'm so sorry.
Girl 1: Yes, I know. I didn't know how to react. It was so weird. I didn't know my mother had physical photo albums as late as 2005. The photos are so raw! Nothing is photoshopped. She must have been about 20 or so but she looks so haggard. So normal and lower class. I mean, I once saw her without her make-up a couple of years ago. I was reminded of that. I keep thinking why she did it. I know for a fact that there were photo editors back then. Why would someone choose to have photos of themselves that are not edited? *sad*
Girl 2: *consoling* Well, it's ok. It's not that bad really...
Girl 1: But it is! You wouldn't know. I also found...
Girl 2: What?
Girl 1: You promise me you won't tell anyone about this.
Girl 2: K.
Girl 1: Promise!
Girl 2: Ok, I promise.
Girl 1: She was... she was with a guy.
Girl 2: You mean..! *too shocked for words*
Girl 1: Yes, they were on an actual date.
Girl 2: I don't believe it! I realise how you must be feeling. *hugs* Well, how quaint!
Girl 1: It's not quaint, it's awful. Maybe we were too poor to own a computer so she had to go out and physically meet a boy.
Girl 2: I'm so sorry. This is really sad. It's totally... I mean... who would've thought?! Your mother looks so cool and technologically advanced. Remember the time when we were just five years old and she debugged your first computer for you? No one who looked at her now would believe she went on a physical date in 2005!
Girl 1: Yes. Maybe she was a rebel. Maybe she had a difficult childhood or something. I'm going discuss this with my therapist. She's going to log on in about half an hour. I'm feeling really bad about it. I won't feel fine until I write it all in her chat window and save it in her archives to get it off my head.
Girl 2: Yes, you do that. Btw, how are you doing with Boy?
Girl 1: Oh well, I don't know. He's funny and I'm positively in love with his display pic. His homepage is awesome. I was instantly attracted to his web-profile you know, the same interests! He even sent me an e-card and a bouquet from SendaBouquet.com after our first cyberdate, but he tried to cyberkiss me on our second cyberdate. Can you imagine that?! I totally froze when I saw the kissing smiley in the window. I didn't know what to type. Also, his email signature says, "Reality is just a crutch for people who can't cope with drugs", and sometimes he seems pretty phased out in chat. And he so cannot multitask. Chatting to three people at the same time is his limit. So... I'm in two minds about taking this further.
Girl 2: Did you two skype yet?
Girl 1: Oh yes, we skyped and webcammed all night yesterday. Mom probably saw the light under my door or heard the keyboard tap-sounds and sent me a 'go to sleep' email. I mean, how could she? I'm just having some fun. At least I'm not going out on physical dates with boys and leaving physical photos for my daughters to find.
*pause*
Girl 1:Oh my God! I just realised... do you think my mother physically kissed real boys on her physical dates?!!!
Girl 2: Oh GROSS!!!!
Girl 1: I think I'm going to be sick...

Here, the scene fades away and I realise how other worldly and scary it is. Let's not wonder about how possible or impossible it is, but think of this as my own personal nod to 1984. If Mr. G. Orwell can write something as outrageously unthinkable (and engrossing) as that and be lauded for it, I don't think I'm losing it as yet.

One of those Seven things

Ok, I have no idea how I was coerced into doing this. Yes, right. Coerced is the word here, but anyway, this person who I don't know what to call in my blog tagged me on one of those seven tag things that have been going around. Going around, like malaria or viral fever. Yes, quite apt.

I told him I won't do a good enough job but apparently the person who I don't know what to call in my blog thought otherwise. Either that or he's terribly sadistic, which I don't think is true because he sounds nice. Of course one cannot believe what one sees on messenger, for example, the sweet personality of the person who I don't know what to call in my blog, but then you do know what I'm trying to do here, right? No? Ok, well, what I'm trying to do is give the unnamed person cause for thinking twice about further tags by casting doubts on his sweet personality. Also, I might be delaying doing the needful.

Sigh, let's get it over with. Close your eyes and Go! (Don't hate me in the morning.)

Seven things I want to do in my life
1. (Everyone seems to want to write a novel, so...) Win the Booker.
2. Get into doing something that is fun. A job I mean. A fun job. Something creative. With awesome pay. And handsome Greek God type coworkers. And a lenient boss who is totally floored by my charm. Oh, and yes, flexible timings.
3. Tear a really high value currency note into teeny pieces and blow it into the wind. Obviously this will happen only when I'm filthy rich, so... you get the point.
4. Drive a superb car at high speeds on a long stretch of highway. This, obviously, cannot happen in India.
5. Win the Pulitzer. Hehehe... when I dream, I go all out.
6. Win the Filmfare and the National award for the same movie, which I will direct. And do we see a pattern here?
7. This one is classified. :p

Seven things I can do
1. Whistle better than my brother. Can carry off tunes too.
2. With all modesty, am kind of good with arty pics. Well, ok, taking pics in general.
3. Be a good listener.
4. Dance to 'Kahin Aag Lage Lag Jaye' and 'Dhol Baaje'. :p
5. Write reasonably well.
6. Enjoy the little things in life that most people miss out on.
7. Put mind over matter. Most times.

Seven things I say the most
1. Hmmm
2. Okies
3. Wha..? / Huh?
4. What you doing?
5. O pls
6. Nah / Nopes
7. Great God!

Seven things I can't do
1. Be photogenic. Why, oh WHY??!!!
2. Cook.
3. Show the slightest interest in other household type work.
4. Read Frederick Forsyth's "The Day of the Jackal" or "Gone With the Wind" - I tried too many times.
5. Play a musical instrument. I wish I could.
6. Get rid of my mood swings.
7. Resist food. Repeat exclamation in 1st point with more feeling.

Seven things that attract me to the opposite sex
1. Wit
2. Laughing eyes
3. Hands
4. An old world romantic charm. Sigh, I admitted it.
5. Well-placed belief in himself.
6. Experience or knowledge.
7. Soft hair. Not too long though.

Seven Celebrity Crushes
1. Milind Soman
2. Milind Soman
3. Milind Soman
4. Clive Owen
5. Salman Khan
6. Zaheer Khan
7. Zayed Khan
(This list is suspect because I really can't think past Milind Soman.)

Seven people I tag
Are you joking? You actually think there's someone here who reads this blog who has a blog of his / her own who would want to be tagged? Can I tag you back, person who I don't know what to call in my blog? Can I?

Oh, but I have to mention the two people who've elevated the Seven tag into an art form.
The Box and deepa. Hope this makes up for not tagging anyone. It damn well will.

Just in: Right, I found someone who would have liked to be tagged. Yay! I had no idea this thing would go beyond the confines of my blog. I thought it was destined to die a slow and painful, well not really, a quick and painless death right here but it has shown me how resilient it is. Crossing oceans and cultures, I bounce the tag on to MsShadow.