Checking in. Or as we say it in India, checking in.

It has been three years since Mad-ear-madman has graced us with his benign views on, uh, spitting. I guess the gora way of life is quickly catching up to him. We also had the pleasure of reading the first three chapters of Toothy's - do we have to use those nicknames? We're cussing 18 years old! - full fledged 1049 page bestseller which has now been adapted into an oscar winning motion picture 'Morgy's on first, Mike's on second, you can piss in public but not be gay.' And then, of course, there's Spooky's deep writing which everyone thought had something to do with time flying, but really it was just about finishing a ten word sentence in 7 letters or less. It's as he says, there is skill, samuel jackson's technique of cussing and my lazing around skill. So, let us all remind all our viewers(haha!) what's been up- no not arrest. Or gravity. Or for some specific lame-asses, not the sky- these past few years. No, not the time the blog's name got changed from awesome-foursome to Rss. That was before mad-ear-man hit puberty and realized what double meaning really means. In that context, he's 18.5 now and the last post was three years ago, so he hit puberty when he was..so pretty :') My purpose here is fulfilled, peace out.

Lookin Back..

mm...
I look back in time..the way it flew..and i look back at everything that happened in 9th..
turns out it was this grade that gave me the greatest moments of my life
and i'll miss it like hell..i met my best friend here..i met the girl i love here..i met the 1st teacher who was humble enough to call me "her fav student"
i met people..who i can call mine,forever..
i guess times will change now..with the 10th grade coming..and all the pressure..
and other stuff which is gonna change evrything i love in here..
my english teacher..not teaching me
my best friend n my gang..will be "shuffled" away from me..and because of a few studpid external power(for more details..contact the principal)..i won't be able to hang out with the girl i love either..
time..the way it flies..it's sadly intrigueing,and brilliant..

Lessons in silence.

While returning home today after having a relatively uneventful match of cricket, I, for some unknown reason, decided to take the kaccha rasta. Halfway down the road, I saw an old man lying on the side, with an even older looking golden colored Luna opposite to him. Old is surely gold. As I was passing, he beckoned me towards him, and I stopped. I'd put him around 80 years old. He didn't seem to be able to speak, because he first pointed towards himself, then towards his Luna, and then made a kicking action with his leg.

I understood the message; he needed help in starting it.

At first, I felt alarmed. Was this some trap to steal my cycle? (it's anyway worn-out, they'd have problems with it.) But then I saw the look of helplessness in the man's eyes and immediately got off the cycle. As I studied the dated controls on the handlebar, I realized this was going to be no mean feat. I tried searching, unsuccessfully, for the kick start, but it was of no use. The old man saw what I was doing and slapped his head. OK. Pretty embarrassing. He slowly got up, shuffled towards me, then tardily guided my foot towards the pedals. He then pointed towards the accelerator, while at the same time kicked into the air with his foot again. I understood what he meant, kicked the pedals, and accelerated. Nothing happened. The old man slapped his head again and produced a pitiful noise from his throat. I really felt like just leaving him there and running away, but decided against it. I took it up as a challenge.

The old man did all the previous actions again, and then pointed ahead. "Aap chahaten hain mein chale jaoon?" I asked him, speaking for the first time. He shook his head, repeated the action, this time more vigorously. I got it. I had to run and then kick! This was turning out to be more than what I had bargained for. So I ran ahead, kicked the pedals, and- baam! I fell down.
There was a loud impatient noise behind me, the old man was looking livid, slapping his head. I quickly picked up his Luna, and stood aside. He pushed me away, and beckoned a passerby. The old man showed him what to do, but the other guy shook his head and walked away. This made me angry, and I decided I wouldn't go away without helping this man.

So I silently took the ruthless Luna in my hands again, and followed the procedure. Voila! It worked! A spluttering noise came, and the phatphatiya came to life. I looked around, to see the old man smiling jubilantly. As I was handing him the Luna back, I left the accelerator, and it switched off. Arrrgh! The old man slapped his head, yet again. I tried valiantly to start it again, but failed. After I guess six tries, it finally took some pity and made the disgusting noise again. This time, I carefully and slowly handed the bike back to the old man, who was looking really happy. He kept his hand on my head, and I could understand all the things he wanted to convey to me. That moment, I realized that actions speak louder than words. He then drove away, leaving me standing there for quite some time, the image of his twinkling eyes still imprinted in my mind.

I learnt a big lesson today, I needed to improve my communication skills!

-

Bluaaks

Mad-Ear.

Bluaaks-Thu!

Bluaaks-Thu!

Just like we have a National Symbol, a National Anthem, a National Animal, and so many others, why not have a National Sound? There's no need to search for it. Our eardrums have recorded the frequency permanently even before we were born. You can hear it everywhere, just lean on the rooftop wall of your house during the early morning, and look down at the hustle and bustle.

Bluaaks-Thu!

I did this, and formed a law (yeah, something like what Newton did). At any given moment, a human, say A, will be able to see any other human, say X, make a queer noise in his/her throat and then spit out a red stuff with the velocity, v. Let the state of the spitter's teeth be measured by its' color, C, the darker, greater the magnitude, and R be the reaction seen in the observer. So here goes the equation:

R(A)=X(v)C

I inserted the numbers, and the results made me nearly retch. Quite a reaction for studying someone else's reaction!

Anyway, my question is, where and how was this intricate process of inserting the tambaaku in the mouth started? Just carefully follow the actions of the driver of a car at a traffic signal. He'll probably follow these steps:

1. Greedily shake out the contents from the brown packet.
   
2. Grind them hard on your hand by using the index finger of the other hand.
   
3. Pull down your lower lip, and then insert the contents into your mouth.
   
4. Then, for some unknown reason, slap your hand hard!
   
5. Savor the taste in mouth for about 5 minutes (while happily yellowing the teeth), and then-
   

Bluaaks-Thu!

It can be seen coming out of anything, and everything. Be it an Ambassador, a Porshe, a penthouse, even the local toilet! Our nation's full of it, at every government office, you can see a decade old layer of some red stuff on the wall, thicker than all the walls combined.

Bluaaks-Thu!

So let's make the 14^th of February the National Spit Day, because moral policemen like Sri Ram Sene have anyway branded Valentine's Day as "foreign crap". That's good, because then we would have to celebrate only one occasion.

That's all, and now I'll end with a- hang on, I'll just relieve my mouth of some stuff by spitting out of the window,

Bluaaks-Thu! Period.

-

Bluaaks,

Mad-Ear.

Dhinchaak Dhinchaak

I'm extremely scared of performing in the public (In fact, starting this blog was itself a frightful experience). So when our class decided to farewell the 10^th graders in a traditional manner (read dancing), I freaked out. I was shy of dancing in front of my own reflection, let alone a hundred familiar students! Then another thing dawned on me, dancing. It was one skill that had always managed to escape my outstretched begging hands. Of course, I thought, I could always raise my index finger and yell balle balle, just like a Punjabi, but then I remembered Bal Thackerey. What if one of his Marathi manoos fanatics saw me dancing like a wretched North Indian, surely then I would have to face his music! No, I'll dance like everyone else does, to the beat.

How wrong I was.

Understanding the song they'd selected was difficult enough. I just couldn't get the hang of the music, it sounded as if it had been pumped out of the smoke exhaust present in one of those government Ambassadors, which was probably last serviced when the British were packing up their suitcases and getting ready to go. So I started imitating everyone else. Their hand and leg coordination was perfect. I tried, but soon realized it was looking foolish. Then I understood the reason. My limbs had gone stiff. They just couldn't handle the attention of a dozen pair of eyes.

So I gave up, returned to my desk, which was laughing with mirth at me, and started writing this. I felt this was a much better way to communicate with people, rather than wildly rotating the hips. I finally understood Thackerey's sentiments. His hatred towards them North Indians wasn't because he thought of them as intruders, it was because they could raise their index fingers anywhere in the universe (even a black hole) and yell balle balle.

So much for the dhinchaak dhinchaak.

-Bluaaks

Mad-ear.