Sophomore's End
I rejected every second friend request on orkut when I was given a role to play in it. Not quite the becoming thing to do, but I found neither rhyme nor reason to extend my hand to every orkutaholic who laid a box carrying a mug shot of himself in a moronic pose with the words 'Tomdickharry Rockkkssssss!!!!!! would like to add you as a friend' on my account.
I was blind to the 'Accept' button, I tell you. On top of the uncalled-for friend invite, there was invariably a scrap that would go like 'Hiya dude i no ur fren krisnakant. acept ma requets so howzz life?? wassup???' Since it was a difficult proposition to go about putting a bullet in his brain, I had to settle for a mere deletion of the scrap. Rude, you may think. Yes, it is, but then I had recommenced my invasion of The Orkut Empire (I had pulled out of it once afore my this second innings) for a private reason, specifically, a community of 42 fellow earthlings I felt the necessity of memberizing myself in, and not for scrapping and socializing with perfect strangers. I took into my orkutting fold only pals from the inner concentrics of my friendship circles. Anyone else remotely unintimate was summarily given the thumbs-down. And one noticed only five items in my scrapbook, each posted by myself. They were links to the profiles of a handpicked bunch of buddies.
Soon, what with me logging into the forum only on Friday mornings and the community mentioned being as inactive as the grasshopper in the fable, I realized acutely that my sadistic existence was an idle burden on the cheery electronic land of Orkutters, and more or less waitedt for an excuse to make myself scarce. In ripe time a justification, albeit admittedly slight, presented itself, and I latched on to it and shut my doors on orkut.com with despatch and heaved a relieved sigh. That was eight months ago.
One of human life's most discouraging matters is belated ideas. Not a week had elapsed since the deletion of my orkut account, when an experiment popped into my head. I am confident the fancy had occurred to my brainsome readers, and some may have even had the intestines to try it out. Now if only I were given a rebirth in orkut, the first thing I'd do is display a wrong birthdate in my profile. Picture the glee with which I could hold this scrapbook conversation:
I was blind to the 'Accept' button, I tell you. On top of the uncalled-for friend invite, there was invariably a scrap that would go like 'Hiya dude i no ur fren krisnakant. acept ma requets so howzz life?? wassup???' Since it was a difficult proposition to go about putting a bullet in his brain, I had to settle for a mere deletion of the scrap. Rude, you may think. Yes, it is, but then I had recommenced my invasion of The Orkut Empire (I had pulled out of it once afore my this second innings) for a private reason, specifically, a community of 42 fellow earthlings I felt the necessity of memberizing myself in, and not for scrapping and socializing with perfect strangers. I took into my orkutting fold only pals from the inner concentrics of my friendship circles. Anyone else remotely unintimate was summarily given the thumbs-down. And one noticed only five items in my scrapbook, each posted by myself. They were links to the profiles of a handpicked bunch of buddies.
Soon, what with me logging into the forum only on Friday mornings and the community mentioned being as inactive as the grasshopper in the fable, I realized acutely that my sadistic existence was an idle burden on the cheery electronic land of Orkutters, and more or less waitedt for an excuse to make myself scarce. In ripe time a justification, albeit admittedly slight, presented itself, and I latched on to it and shut my doors on orkut.com with despatch and heaved a relieved sigh. That was eight months ago.
One of human life's most discouraging matters is belated ideas. Not a week had elapsed since the deletion of my orkut account, when an experiment popped into my head. I am confident the fancy had occurred to my brainsome readers, and some may have even had the intestines to try it out. Now if only I were given a rebirth in orkut, the first thing I'd do is display a wrong birthdate in my profile. Picture the glee with which I could hold this scrapbook conversation:
XYZ: hey man happy budday!
Me: Thank you, but today is not my birthday.
XYZ: but ur profile sez 2day is ur budday..................
Me: So? Would you have wished me today if orkut hadn't kept reminding you the past week that my 'birthday' was coming up?
I'm loathe to publish how XYZ would react to that.
All the same, I blew my nineteenth candle some day this week, and my mobilephone kept ringing off the hook (?) and getting deluged with various versions of birthday greetings all day. The topper of them was the Computer Science HOD of my school ringing up to say 'Same to you da kanna!' when I texted her 'Happy birthday, Miss!'
The day was as nondescript as any other; if anything, only more so. That was how I preferred it to be too. Why should I deprive the ATM of cash for treats and watch my butt play the recipient of horsekicks administered by the hairy limbs of my mates just because the relative position of this planet with respect to the solar ball was roughly the same an integral number of years ago? To quote myself, I do not believe in birthdays.
Some one-linerisms you can find nowhere else...
A picture is worth a thousand words,
A curve is worth a thousand parametric equations.
Farting dogs seldom fight.
(I beg the pardon of those who know not the lingo of the IIT isle)
Christmas, Ramzan, Ganesh Chathurthi, Krishna Jayanthi, Rama Navami...
Every god has His day!
(My clean-minded friends, skip this one)
Too many chics spoil the brothel.
Why is Phillips in a blue mood?
Because his invention screwed up.
To purr is cat, to forage is canine.
Prose is nothing but poetry with rhyme scheme abcdefghij.
Why did the beasts of Sunderbans mistake the golfer's bungalow for their habitat?
Because the name-plate read 'Tiger Woods'.
Because the name-plate read 'Tiger Woods'.
posted by N at 12:25:00 AM
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