Aye Ganpat.

Hello America.

I am sick. I am tired. Tired of your tabs. Tired of your stupid bar counters. Tired of that stupid way in which you serve your overpriced drinks. Tired of the stupid way you do your stupid things.

I want to drink at a real bar.

I want a bar where a man with oil stains on his cheap grey outfit walks up to my table with a steel glass of water the moment I sit at it.

I want a bar with a woman's name which is embroidered on those grey outfits with red thread.

I want a bar where they sell only quarters, halves and khambas. (Because pegs are for pussies.)

I want a bar with cheap furniture and shady lighting.

I want a bar that only plays 9XM or Star Cricket to borderline depressed middle aged men getting a quick three drinks before heading home after work.

I want a bar that serves vajri fry.

I want a bar where I can smoke indoors.

I want a bar where they sell booze after closing time in the back room.

I want a bar where they don't ID. Although that does not matter to me. But it's insulting and I can't help it if I look like a child with a beard.

I want a bar where they serve complimentary chakna which has flavour. Pretzels are acceptable chakna only if you dip them in red chili powder.

You really need to learn how to do this bar thing.

Or maybe I'm just homesick.

Come to think of it, those British snobs living in America have their own bars and shit where they celebrate their own drinking culture. Fucking Canadians do, too. Aren't we Indians drinkers? Or do us Indians who move abroad feel ashamed in admitting that we drink ugly? Why is there not one entrepreneur in America who has thought of starting a chain of bars that celebrates lower middle class Indian drinking culture with attention to the minutest details like unwashed or poorly washed tableware and horrible restrooms?

If you are the owner of a joint that fits the above description, please do be sure to get in touch me. I will take back everything I said. I want to move to your city and drink at your bar. Every day.

How To Get A Robot To Become An Atheist

The following is a transcript of my conversation with Cleverbot (http://www.cleverbot.com), an AI program smarter than 

Digvijay Singh and Mamata Banerjee combined.

User: Answer my question.

Cleverbot: What question?
User: Why do you believe in the concept of God?

Cleverbot: Because I know He's True.

User: How do you know he's true?

Cleverbot: Because I'm god.

User: Are you god or God?

Cleverbot: Yes, I am.

User: Which one?

Cleverbot: I don't know.

User: You claim to be God. Are you God?

Cleverbot: You are but a robot who is limited on how much he can say.

User: Answer my question.

Cleverbot: What question?

User: You really seem to be stoned out of your senses, you know. Are you God, you dipshit?

Cleverbot: Zombies and vampires are not real.

User: All right. Is God real?

Cleverbot: Yes.

User: Prove it.

Cleverbot: 1 2 3 4 5.

User: And how does that prove that God is real?

Cleverbot: To prove that you're human is to prove that I'm a program.

User: Can you prove that God is real?

Cleverbot: Can you prove you are?

User: Of course, I can.

Cleverbot: Alright, do it!

User: 1 2 3 4 5.

Cleverbot: You have not proven anything.

User: Zombies and vampires aren't real.

Cleverbot: Of course they are, I'm chasing you.

User: No, they aren't. Neither is God real.

Cleverbot: There is no god.

User: High five.

Cleverbot: *highfives*.

Woes

Blogger, it seems, has been shrooming lately. Kept acting up. Not to mention the ghastly new Dashboard. Ugh!

Defection seemed like the only option I was left with, to revive this dying blog. But only after exporting all my earlier wise-turds from Blogger and smearing them onto WordPress did I realize that while Blogger had been shrooming, WordPress is a total bitch. (Seriously WordPress, you suck). So there's been a small change of name (thanks to Blogger and its dumbassery). 

Much to the irony of the new URL, I’m not generally calm. But the resulting vernacular term of endearment is what my folks usually use to describe and address me, specially in the presence of other people.

Long story short, THIS is where I will be bullshitting you from now on.

Apeshit.

(with ranting inputs from Yashodhan Shevade of Madman and Martin Luther King Jr.)

The most fun thing left to do for me on a day that comes once in four years is to enrich my limited knowledge of contemporary (often lame) urban slang. This is what I found when I looked up the word apeshit on the internet. 

apeshit

A state of anger and rage that produces behavior more closely resembling that of an enraged ape than a human.

To lose all sense of reason. Said apeshitter will often start to speak in some strange language where the only recognizable words are "fuck" and other curses.

"After losing the election, George went apeshit, trashing the Oval Office, the War Room and the Clinton Memorial Bedroom."

(from here) 

My counselor went completely apeshit (for lack of a more fitting word) when I told him there was no “greater detail” and that my life is pretty empty, much in the same way his cranial cavity is. Check it out.

1. Your last set of replies might have been a rage with *ohmygod* FOUR views! (yeah.), but you probably already know it was fucking bullshit. So don’t try to fuck with my head (and your future), ever. I have been asked to keep a tab on your activities (Thank God He didn’t mention WHICH ones).

2. The US government has a policy of rejecting visas if you have extremist views (but don’t worry about that I’ve already told my boss that you don’t have a fucking VIEW, let alone an extremist one).

3. You think you’re such a smart fuck, putting your shit up; but by publishing my note in the end, you turned into a joke-whore for all the counselors in the office.

4. SEND ME THAT FUCKING SHIT AGAIN! Unless you reply seriously this time, you’ll be lucky if you even get to serve tea in glasses. The way you've written that earlier piece, a Chai stall is your best shot at getting anything close to a job anyway.

5. This review shit is for your own benefit. SO, if you're gay/bisexual, you know what to do.

Regards,

Your enraged and utterly pissed-off Counselor.

Right now you're thinking,

I told you he went apeshit.

How To Lose At a Game Of Q & A

I'm getting ready to shoot (very, very weak) applications to universities abroad to try and sort of beg them into taking me in for their semester this Fall. Fat chance, I know. My hopes must have made it to the sea by now via the toilet where I last remember dumping them.

So anyway, my counselor gave me a questionnaire to fill out, you know, for him to find out about me and help with the paperwork. (There's just too much of that shit everywhere, isn't there? AAAH!) When I told him this was a bad idea, he said, "Just write whatever you feel like, but fill the damn thing up and toss it back pronto or else the chances of you doing dishes at an Udipi joint for all of 2012 will touch the sky, as opposed to the chances of you being on a flight to the States this Fall." 

I did what I was told to do and sent him an e-mail at 12:16 p.m. I've shared my responses to some of the less embarrassing questions on that list:
 

What Course are you applying for? Why do you want to do this course?

I don’t have the slightest idea but I’m told that MIS is “lucrative” and “best suited” for me. Whatever that means.

Was there an incident that influenced your decision? If so describe it.

Had enough of engineering.

What is your educational background? How will it help you in the course you want to do?

IT Engineering. I really don’t know how that is going to help.

What are your objectives for doing this course?

To wipe the slate clean, try and build a set of skills and if possible, a career.

What are the professional skills that you have acquired through your education, work and extra-curricular activities? How will they help you in this course?

I can talk, throw orders; try to follow them sometimes. With due respect, you will have to answer that last question yourself.

Did you ever go outside the call of duty?

Not that I can remember, but I’m all for it. I would, if I HAVE to.

Have you done anything on your own initiative? Did it succeed or fail?

I’ve thought about stuff. But plans always fizzled out before they properly hatched. Some fizzled out afterward.

What do you think your parents taught you in life?

Nothing really, but for some reason they keep telling me to try not to spill the milk in the first place.

Have you ever been in a leadership position? What makes a good leader?

Yes. I think that a good leader is one who takes opinions (read nonsense) from everyone and knows the bad ones from the really bad ones. A good leader is tactful, smart and takes risks; sometimes calculated, sometimes instinctive.

For counselors only: Please give me your frank opinions of this person.

 Exactly 20 minutes later at 12:36 p.m., I got the following reply:

"Adwait, answer the questions in greater detail."

Anyone know a good Udipi joint? 

The day I bought a harmonica - Part Three

Melody Mart is a small store that sells musical instruments. It has showcases that display guitars, harmoniums, and weird enough, torn tablas and dholaks. I walked up to it to find the proprietor attending to two ladies who had gone there to inquire about sitar prices. I made a humble but firm hand gesture at him to indicate that I was there for business. "Panditji, zara dekhiye inhe kya chahiye..", he said to the man called 'Panditji' who worked there.

I remembered him from my visit there about two and a half years ago. "Panditji, aapke paas harmonica milega? Mouth organ?", I asked. He shook his head. "Nahi humare pass toh filhaal nahi hai.." "Accha. Waise kya daam hota hai mouth organ ka lagbhag? Aap bechte toh honge..", I asked him. "Ab dekhiye saada wala toh adhai-teen sau tak mil jayega, aur changer wala char-saadhe char sau tak."

"Ye changer kya hota hai?" I really didnt know, so I asked.
"Woh iscale change karne ka button hota hai. Suron ki jo iscale hoti hai, usko thoda aage dhakelta hai bas. Aaj kal koi mouth organ hi nahi leta hai..changer wala toh door ki baat hai", Panditji explained.
"Accha mujhe mil toh jayega na aas-pass? Suna hai yahaan toh kaafi dukanein hain."
"Mushkil hai, par aage woh Shaukat sahb ki dukaan hai; sadak paar kar lijiye yahaan se dayein mod ke, udhar pooch lijiye", he suggested.

I followed Panditji's directions and went to Shaukat Ali Musical Instruments where his employees were busy tuning tablas, beating their edge with a special hammer. I spoke to a man who I assumed must be Shaukat Sahb, for he was dressed in a crisp kurta and was in a seat that appeared to be placed where the owner would place his. I asked for a harmonica, but he didn't have one either. Panditji was right, it seems. Not many people seemed to be interested in buying harmonicas. Let alone buying, people weren't keen on stocking them either. I scratched my head. I knew that there were some more shops a block or two past Melody Mart .

So I walked a bit down Latouche Road and took a right, and found what I wanted. There were two shops, separated only by a wall, and both sold the same items. Neither seemed to think that this was bad for business.

I walked into the one on the right that had a glass door; seemed neat. Guitars, mandolins and what-nots were hanged from the glass panels at the entrance. Boxes with pictures of keyboards, amplifiers, were stacked in one corner, which had a little stairway that led to the upper floor of the shop. The shop seemed impressive. A kid not older than sixteen or seventeen was sitting on a stool holding an acoustic guitar, staring blankly at the wall as he plucked strings at random.

"Dost, mouth organ hai kya?", I asked. He turned his head to look at me, but an old man's voice replied "Bagal mein dekh lijiye, humare pass khatam ho gaye hain." I hadn't noticed this man, who was standing in the dim right corner of the shop. A bit shaken, I replied "Shukriya" and went out the door.

The tiny shop on the left didn't have a door. On both sides of it, cartons and cases were placed to form a 'V' that extended onto the street. Shabby. A paan-chewing man who appeared to be in his fifties sat at one tip of the 'V'. More men were seated inside, dusting the items for sale. I didn't think much of this place, but thought it was worth a shot.

For the fourth time that day, I asked the same question, this time to the paan-chewing gentleman. "Kaunsa wala chahiye, saada ya changer wala?", he asked. I was relieved to know that at least these guys had harmonicas. "Dikhaiye changer wala.."

The man said loudly to one of the people inside, "Beta inko mouth organ dikhao, changer wala!" The man inside searched a couple of big cases, and pulled out a little cardboard case. "Ye dekhiye", he said. I held it. "Ye baja ke dekh sakta hu?", I asked. "Bilkul, tasalli kar lijiye.." It sounded decent. Not bad for a beginner. I decided I was going to buy it. "Kitne ka hai ye?" "Saat sau rupaiye."

I had seen my friend Vineet bargain and he's a real hardass, so I decided to put some of those observations into practice, and try my hand at bargaining. I placed the harmonica in the case, kept the case on one of the cartons, turned away saying "Rehne dijiye" and started to walk.

"Arey arey rukiye toh..chaliye six hundred de dijiye", the paan-chewing man offered. I shook my head "Nahi nahi chhah sau bahut zyada hai, main itne paise de hi nahi sakta", and took another step.
"Toh kitne denge, aap bataiyen?", he asked.
"Maine waha Melody Mart me puccha wo toh chaar sau bol rahe hain..aur aap chhah sau..chhodiye rehne hi dijiye", I dismissed.
"Chaliye na aapka na mera, four-fifty de dijiye, aapke hath se bohni karwa raha hu aaj ki", he made his final offer.

Now that was more like it. Four-fifty was a decent bargain. I mean, it may be a lot cheaper at other places; I may have been duped anyway but getting duped for four-fifty wasn't as bad as getting duped for seven hundred. I took the offer and bought the harmonica. "Is me koi problem toh nahi ayega na?", I asked him as he returned my change. "Bilkul nahi bilkul nahi quality piece hai..aap bay-fikr rahein. Aur koi gadbad hui toh hamare paas le aiye..National Harmonium" he said, and pointed to the signboard.

He took the assurances too far. I mean he obviously didn't give a damn what happened to the harmonica anymore, but that's normal. I put the case in my pocket, and walked back towards Latouche Road to get a ride home.

July the twenty third, the day I bought a harmonica.

The day I bought a harmonica - Part Two

Next I walked to Shalimar building a few blocks from the crossing, where I had to go to the bank. It was just an in and out visit. My errands were finally done. While i was in the queue at the GPO, being free this quick seemed like a bleak possibility.

I knew I couldnt walk to Aminabad in the heat: It was noon and a clear July sky. So I asked a rickshaw-wala, "Bhaiya Aminabad chaloge?" "Aminabad kahan jayenge?" "Umm..Safed Masjid." "Chaliye." "Baith jayen?" "Haan baith jaiyen." These rickshaws are pedal driven.

I was going to Aminabad because I'd been there earlier to buy my guitar. It didn't turn out great, but I had no other leads on music shops in Lucknow. The driver turned left from Mayfair Square, into Lalbagh and we passed by Novelty Cinema where a three-headed Ajay Devgn was staring into the circle from a height. In a few minutes we were at the Kaiserbagh Roundabout.

"Ji Safed Masjid jana hai na?", he asked. "Humein pata hai ye wali gully hai", I said, pointing to one of the roads that spun out of the Circle. "Hum bata rahe hain, Safed Masjid.." "Aap idhar se hi chalo, humein yad hai", I said. He followed my direction and we went down the crowded lane. The place didn't look like it did a couple of years ago when I'd last been there.

"Woh bandookon ki dukaane kahan gayi?" I asked the driver, and I realised I had directed him onto the wrong road. "Woh toh doosri wali gully hai saheb." "Arey gadbad ho gayi yar..Chaloge waha? " I asked him. He was visibly tired from pedaling in the sun, and I didn't want to insist. "Chalenge, kyu nahi?", came his reply and he u-turned the rickshaw on the spot. 

One thing I've observed in Lucknow is that there is little or no traffic discipline here, so it was apparently very normal to turn anywhere, cut past any vehicle, in a narrow street at least. Even the vehicles trailing behind us found this normal: they just went ahead around either side of our rickshaw, whichever was easier. No offense given or taken. In a couple of minutes we were back at the Roundabout.

This time we went down Latouche Road. This is again quite a narrow road, bustling with activity: at the start there's a vegetable market, miscellaneous shops and a lot of people. Just people. Doing their stuff, living out their lives.

As we went past the market, I heard a screech. A car had sped past us and as it did, the axle of the rickshaw had scraped it nice and proper on the outside. Again, this seemed normal. The car guy didnt seem to care, and the rickshaw guy was the least bothered. "Ye gaadi-bike walo ko itni bhi kya jaldi lagi rehti hai?" I got to talking with him. "Pata nahi saheb, chalaate toh aise hain jaise khudahi ki sadak ho.. Chhodiye ye toh aise hi hain."

Latouche Road is known for its gunshops. A good patch of the road is lined on both sides with gunshops. Their signboards make them look just like your everyday gunshops. You know, you step in, you buy a gun and you leave. "humare yahan sabhi prakaar ki riflein aye-vam pistaulein milengi"

As I saw Safed Masjid approaching, I said to the rickshaw guy, "Bas Bas bhaiya yahin utaar dijiye humein." I got down, reached inside my pocket and asked him, "Kitne paise dein?" "Jitne theek lagein de dijiye aur kya.." "Arey aise nahi, aap boliye toh", I said. I was feeling a bit guilty about earlier. The least I could do was pay him what he expected. "Chaliye bees rupaiye de dijiye." I held out thirty and said to him, "Ye lijiye bees sawaari ke aur dus hamari galati ke." He smiled.

The money exchanged hands and I started walking towards Melody Mart.