86400

Your days are limited; no shocker there. But what if you knew the precise number?

And what if you had to spend those days with just as many people, only one person a day? All of them real people who exist today, all of them people you personally know. So no Star Wars, no Shivaji and definitely no Salma Hayek unless Salma Hayek insists she knows you.

Would a thousand days fall short? Would a hundred be far too many?

What if you may contact them only on that one day allotted to them - never before, never again?

What if you were given the chance to draw up your list, your own order of preference? Who would you eliminate? Who would you include?

Would new bonds be forged? Would those you took for granted snap?

Would your time with those you love be spent buried under nostalgia and farewell or would you still go out for a movie, a meal, a drive?

Would you permit acquaintances, the fillers by force, to come closer and get to know you or would you hold on to old biases, fake a headache and sleep through the coffee?

Would you be able to take in your stride the days that bring you bitter fights and misunderstandings with some? Would you be able to accept absolutely no more shared smiles and tears of mirth ever with some others on your list?

Would you be able to survive the agony of 86400 - no more, no less?

Pathetico

Pass On By

One day I shall learn how to ask,

To believe I deserve what may come after

But until that day comes along, I suppose

I’ll continue to laugh for an answer.

I don’t expect clairvoyance, no sir

Or a zero error upsets-radar,

It’s not even concern I seek, to be true

But I couldn’t put a name on it, couldn’t think that hard.

Still, next time we meet or talk from afar

Don’t bother with the How-do-you-dos

Just get on with your story, tell me what ails you

I’ll fix it and we shall yet again grow apart.

That's how pathetic I've become. That I actually relate to this stuff is patheticer :|

Two options lie ahead. Scrap this blogging business and get all maudlin in private - Dickinson in the making, yessir! OR do a continuing series or RIPs. Covered Lethargy earlier, Suckingdom next. Must I pick?

Year 10 and 40! And Day 1.

So The Flintstones are almost as old as my father. Ow. Killer start.

Bright side - they completed 50 years of being aired yesterday which means those of you whose parents and grandparents were cool enough to have a gay ol' time with The Flintstones in addition to being TV-ownings seths before obnoxious little(?) you came in have no business complaining about communication gaps. Same stuff, ha! Bright side for people who think you're still obnoxious, of course.

Wait, not many would fit in there. In the cool+seth category, not obnoxious-considerers. Okay, chuck. The Google Photus ref still makes me happy. 


And don't be surprised to see odes and obituaries someplace on the Internet, The Flintstones were the 46th most popular search topic on Google at 5 in the bloody morning yesterday. Time zones are evil, yessir. Obituaries for the writer's childhood and "days of believing in  make believe" *eye roll*, not for Fred and Wilma.


I miss The Addams Family. Won't deny they creeped me out at the beginning. If only they were the Addamses with a single D. Addams makes them sound like a very South Indian concotion. Why South Indian? I can totally picture Rita --a house help (Maid servant? Naah.. didi? Yep!) at our place when I was around 10, she was from Belgaum-- say it like that. Add-dums. But then she also insisted "Okay" was a Kannada word because everyone in her village said it all the time. The arguments we used to have... I digress. Addamses? Addams? Dimsums. 

Oh and those Sunday all Hannah-Barbara cartoons inclusive races they used to hold every uh, Sunday. Anyone?



In other news, Pranav's blog led me to this, which in turn led me to vv . Er, that's a down-two-paragraphs arrow. Never mind. 

Something tells me I'll be linking there and borrowing plenty. =)

Which is why we're patrons of The Flintstones and not Sleeping Beauty. Wisdom again.

Mera Hai.

“I am the King of Rome and hence, above grammar”.

Okay. So we’ve heard that one before. However, while the King of Rome has made his way into history textbooks world over, news of his direct descendants hasn’t exactly hit the newspapers. I therefore take the liberty of deducing and declaring that no one –barring he who can prove his lineage and his nominal claim to the Roman throne– is above grammar. No one may be ignorant of its intricacies and none whatsoever may disregard it. Or at least, that’s how it’ll be once the world is mine.

Picture a uniform world order of language. Let there be plurality but let it not corrupt what is. Big Brother from Orwell’s 1984 went overboard with Newspeak; what I propose is neither totalitarian nor restrictive. Freedom will still be yours. Use slang, but just not at the cost of expression, explanation and context. Abbreviate, but for rapid note making, not all talk and text. Speak the language of your choice but not by butchering another.

Boyzone crooned “It’s only words/ And words are all I have…”. They’re hardly idol material but I say if words are all you have, make them count. Make them worth the other man’s time. And make them right.

I am conscious of entering a zone rife with potential for political debate (and consequently, political mileage) and lawsuits on the grounds of invasion of privacy and violation of cultural freedom. But what I propose is as democratic and secular as you want it to be. And see, what with the world being my conquest and all, I’ll be the boss anyway.

Slowly and steadily the world will come to love and respect language. <rapid read> Laws will be drafted, acts enacted, officers appointed. A secret detection unit will work stealthily. There will come a day when the want and need for coherence will overpower the cooltah of SMS language. All will self correct and the dictionary and the thesaurus will be the new TOI and Guardian. Wren & Martin’s lost glory shall be restored! </rapid read>

Letters will be all the shapes the world knows. Vs, As, Hs and Ls will realign themselves to form paper clips. Q will be the new face of Yin & Yang. Isolation cells for juvenile delinquents will be B shaped, benches will form Es and swings for round bottomed duos will emulate Ws.

Social networking is a boon, yeah? Scores of opportunities to nitpick and fix lamentable language AND to identify, recruit and group potential grammar Nazis of tomorrow. Here’s how it’s gonna work for me.

Men of words shall meet with men of science. The outcome? The Stingray! Na na, erase all thoughts of irregular copulation; this will be an invention that’s a cross between Word’s Spelling & Grammar Check, a stun gun and ellipses (…) . Neon green exclamation marks will cover foreheads of repeat defaulters. Stingrays will do the rounds of the city. MO – Point Stingray at target, a red aura surrounds the target. Double click to shoot and see short, sharp bursts of (harmless, nowhere near fatal but decidedly impactful slime globs or) ellipses make contact with said target’s body. Spasms, seizures, motivation to fix all! Language edits itself! Perfection.

No really, when it’s my world, it’s gotta be my word.