Hope...

His eyelids seem to weigh a lifetime.It would take him more than willpower to get them open.

"I am dead.And this is my life after death", he said aloud. With this thought ringing in his head, he opened his eyes.A bright light, with the power of a thousand needles pierced his eyes.He lifted a hand and shielded it.The world, a world he believed no longer existed, came into focus.

"No you aint.Thats just the Operating Light over your head and nothing heavenly."

"I am not??"

"Nope!! you tried real hard though. Jumping in front of a car wasn't wise.Should ave tried a highrise maybe.You know..."

"Shut up for a second will you??How are you feeling?"This time the second guy spoke.Both of them had been the only people in his field of vision since he had opened his eyes.The one talking seemed to be in command.The other, though a little frail, looked more angelic.

"Oh me?I feel fine...never been better...dont know..there is some sort of a disconnect that I cant figure..."

"There is NO disconnect", this time a little more curt."just rest a while and you will be fine...and yeah you are alive...so (*thinking*) thank God!!yeah why not?Thank GOD!"

"um ok...I guess I will.Thanks guys."

The Talking Guy's face broke into a grin."Ah its ok. You could always thank later.Everyone does.Well, most do.Maybe not most...but ah, for now, rest, ok?We will meet you again.We will leave now."

With these words they walked out of the Operation Theatre.As soon as they stepped out, the frail guy burst out, "You think its funny??Its not always funny!!You really need to understand that!!"

Talking Guy's face remained contorted with that grin.

"Why so serious?", he said and dug into his pocket.Took out a cigerette and lighted it.As wisps of smoke curled from his lips, he turned to the Frail Guy, grin in place.He looked up and said;

"Dont you think its easier to fool people when they are dead?"

Me-Wanna/Be...

Allo, whadup?Things have been sort of a whirlwind of late and as a result, I did not get time to write much on the blog.No, actually I was kidnapped by Martians and was tested for terrestrial tolerance to martian bullshit. Not really, I mean you wouldn't want to talk about Your experience of being a part of the Indian contingent to the International Summit of Polka Dotted Umbrella Users, would you?

Okay Smartypants, I did not know what to write.There, I SAID IT!!

Looking at my previous posts,one must have definitely got the point that this blog is the result of a software bot malfunction.So, I thought, I might try to add a little bit of the human aspirational (inspirational, respirational??) value to it.Most of you guys who have cared to glance through the previous clog of words must have noticed that I am indeed a part of a Radio Station. But, ah, the bittersweet irony of life, I am not a jock. I am someone who pretends to be creative and also pretends to be extremely good at clacking the keyboard at brain-numbing speeds.But yes I have had my moments of glory behind the Microphone.That's the saga that I thought could deserve a little narration.

There was this jock(read Radio Jockey) who had to go on a leave for the marriage of some estranged cousin in Ranchi( often mentioned in association with the likes of the mentally deranged).As a result she recorded her show for a good week and left. The only problem that arose was the execution of live traffic updates from the studio.And who better to save the day than me;The saviour of the greedy (um needy??) and ill-begotten (downtrodden was it??).I was to do four traffic updates in two hours for a period of five days.That's when the catastrophe finally decide to rear its ugly head.

The On-Air console(read Radio Jockey remote control) resembles a badly drawn industrial township map by a fifth grader.It has a huge cache of brightly coloured buttons and a lot of twiddly faders which just go up and down and not sideways.The only buttons that I was asked to handle was a red button which was "OFF" and a yellow which was "ON".There was also this fader which was supposed to be pulled down after I had done talking and then push the red button which would switch the Microphone off.In the studio, on one of those days, I was struck by a bolt of creative lightning.I decided that the Fader in question was not of much consequence.So I put it up and let it be there.The rest of the job was done by the red button and yellow button.

What a discovery!!Less confusion, better and supreme control!!I was the master of the NASA-esque console!!Better still, in my own little cosmos, I was a friggin RJ!!

And then it happened.Between the traffic updates, listeners call up and tell you where the traffic jams are. So as soon as I finished an update, I lunged towards the telos kept at the side of the studio.All was going good. Till the I-am-listening-radio-in-car angel called up.

Me:"Radio *beep* bataiye jam kahan laga hai??"

C:"Maine aapka traffic update suna...mujhe song dedication karna hai."

(Lord help me NOT to shoot this guy dead over the phone.)

Me:"Sorry only traffic updates...please traffic update bataiye."

C:"Wo to nahi tha...magar...."

By this time I was about to go to the next caller.As I was about to disconnect his call and take the next, he said the words.My blood froze and the studio clock stopped ticking.My brains zzzed for some time and fused.

"Gaane ke upar aapki aawaz arahi hai..."

I looked at the console.The fader was up just as I had left it all the time.Only one thing was different this time.The yellow button glowed, glowed with the devil inside it.

THE MIC WAS ON!!

I reached the Red button which seemed a gazillion miles away and pressed it.The microphone was silent.A little vein at the side of my head throbbed merrily.I stepped out of the studio,praying the world had come to an end.Seemed it hadn't. But thankfully enough, no one had noticed. Slowly, very slowly, the world that I knew, came back into focus. It was intact.

Not even a nick.

Most people often decide that being an RJ is probably the next easiest thing to being a security guard. All you need to have is speech, comprehensive possibility of differentiating between a baboon and a banana and voila!!You are an RJ!!One and a half years later, I still hope to be one, THAT when I am on the inside. My idea is not to deter goals or crash hopes.All I would say is being an RJ is tough.Maybe not as tough as being an aeronautical engineer but tough nonetheless. With that, my dear reader, I rest my case.

(P.S.-It is indeed heartening to see that a lot of you guys seem to like what I write.More cases of twisted humor and horror coming soon.Keep reading!!)

Laters.

:)

The Strange Tale Of Mr R...

I have been in two minds about writing what I am going to write now.Most people would refuse to believe it, casting it aside as a rather fertile figment of my imagination, but no. This is as true as the lines on my palm or the thinning line of hair on your head.Or you could have it the other way if you want.

This happened at a party a few moons back and I came across this story through word of mouth from a colleague.Believe it if you have to. I wouldn't have. Mr R is a real person and is a part of the organization that I work for.The rest can speak for itself.

It was a vibrant party, almost down to its smouldering embers now.The press conference had attracted many a guests, some freeloaders, some people of renown.Mr R had a moustache with a sense of humor.Tonight he was happy after guzzling down a few drinks and trying to catchup on the swarm of words buzzing around his head.His wife sat in the corner, blissfully ignored.

The lady stood in the corner, exactly like she would have in a Sidney Sheldon novel. The dim light made it difficult to figure out how she looked, but with more lighting, she would have more than made it into the "look-ma-I-am-rich" club. Suddenly she dug into her bag and came out with a nicotine stick; the surefire combination of feeling rich and looking famous.

At this point, Mr R's mind finally gave up on trying to catch the flying wisps of conversation.His vision strayed and came to rest on the dark shadowy figure standing near the bar. All the novel jackets of his school days; the novels he could never fathom, nor read, flashed before his eyes like a short film.His senses were alert; a strange glow filled his eyes. Then she decided to walk towards him, nicotine stick carefully held between her beautiful fingers...

Time slowed down.The lights seemed to dim a little more. The lady walked up to him and stopped. Mr R could have been a part of the Big Brass Band with his heart thumping away to glory.

" Got a light?", she said.The surroundings melted away.Thus she spake.It was just him and the voice of the lady, as it seemed to take all the time in the world to reach him. Time warped out to nothingness. His wife still lay catching a few fleeting Zs on the couch next to him, seemingly oblivious of the fact that history was being created at the very moment.Mr. R reached down to his pocket and grasped something.The lady waited patiently.The whole thing seemed to go by in slow motion. A few lazy eye-balls turned to look at the sheer piece of art that was addressing Mr. R at this very moment.

In the moment, Mr R looked deep into her eyes as he held on to the magic charm that would free her out of her misery.Slowly, very slowly, with magic precision, the hand finally came out.What it held was beyond the reckoning of the human race...

And then he said, " I have an application on mobile.It give out light."

:)

Ze story of ze soopid callers...

Aloha...have been away for some time, and there have been some "under" developments. I am under stress due to rising inflation and the rising tirades of the existing auto wallahs.I am also under obligation to my office people for choosing the most god-forsaken place on the planet to build an office in, where most fear to tread. Most of all, I am under intense obf-li-gation(try pronouncing it...its fun!!) to the callers who decide to call my workplace and the guard at the reception (no bimbette there!!!) who happily forwards these soopid, stewpid, stooooooopid calls to me.

Alright, Shakespeares, STUPID calls.

*rrrring* *click*
C:"Hello??Radio Station se bol rahe hain?"
(No.you have reached the Railway Status Enquiry.Press one if you are single or press two if you WANT to be single!!)
Me: "Haan boliye."
C: "Ji actually hamein yehi wala Radio Station Alwar mein kholna hai...Iska franchise kaise kharid sakte hain?"
(Why not???You could open up the station and also sell piping hot masala dosas and coconut water too!!It will add to our station's alternate revenue and also become a franchise in the true sense of the word!!)
Me:"Nahi...Actually aisa allowed nahi hai..."
C: "Lekin hamare paas budget hai..."

*click* *beeeeeeeeeee*

***

*rrrring* *click*
C: "Radio Station se bol rahe hain??"
(Bad luck there!!you have just reached the self-destruct zone of the tele-network...in 5 seconds you lose your human status and become a chimp...54321...eeeep)
Me(doped):Haaan...boliye...

C: "Aapka studio hai??"
(Here I really lost him.There were two possibilities;Income Tax Department or better, he had really changed into a chimp!)
Me: "Haan... bataiye..."

C: Actually, I am singer. I compose song and write also. I want to use studio to make album.
(Ladies and gentlemen, presenting the next big thing in the music industry;the Radio Studio Singer!!*deafening and blinding applause*)

Me: "Sorry...Aisa to hum nahi karte..."
C: "To aapke paas studio nahi hai??"
(@$%&*!!!!)

*click* *beeeeeeeeeee*


And that, my beloved junk readers, is not the end of it all.When I thought the calls couldnt get worse off than these (besides song dedications, RJ audition calls etc), there came the mother of all calls till date day before yesterday.

*rrrring* *click*

C:Hello...kaun bol rahe hain??

Me: You called up...aap bataiye...

C:Actually main rajesh bol raha tha...mujhe janna tha ki aap degree Haryana University se dete hain ya Kurukshetra university se?

(at this point in time my brain did a backward summersault and imploded...a red light blinked for two seconds and the backup power came on...)

Me: Degree to hum dete nahi...Waise aapko kya degree chahiye?

C:Mujhe Business Management mein Bachelors karna hai aur travel ko added subject rakhna hai...

(backup fizzles out....)

Me: Aapko kahan baat karni hai??

C:Ji Yeh Jagannath Institute of Management Studies hai na??

*click* *beeeeeeeeeee*

And that my dear readers, is just another day in office.

(Disclaimer:all the calls above are absolutely real and bear no resemblance to any person imaginary.The institute exists as well."Doped" is just an expression.Well, atleast here.Besides, "C" is supposed to denote "caller" and NOT any other expletive that comes to your mind.The motto of the post is nothing but to entertain and not to demean anyone.Radio has a long way to go to really make people understand its true meaning!! :) )

Laters.

The Subtle Art Of Faking It In Office...

Allo!! I came across this really brilliant blog in the past few days which is based solely on typos...its there on my blogroll so do check it out...and?umm...yeah!!we had a retro party in office yesterday..cuz its like 7 years of Organization Completion Redemption whatever!!



Q:You have been honoured with the infamous title of "JOOS- Juvenile Office Orkut Scrapper"...what do have to say to that??

Me:Whats the prize??!!?



Q:People from your office claim that you put ketchup and act dead on your keyboard everytime you are given an assignment??

Me: *grumble*



Q:People have also come up with claims that you meet bloggers more than you meet the Key Result Areas of the organization??

Me: *Tugs at goatee furiously*



Q:Is that goatee for real??It looks as fake as your long hair!!Are you even a part of this organization??

Me: Could you please excuse me??I think I am getting an official call from Mumbai...



Q:Call from Mumbai??Do you even have a cell??You use your landline to make crank calls to your collegues in office saying "guess where your pinky is" and use the office computer for mp3 downloads and blogging!!

Me:Its actually "guess where your dinky is" but...

Q:What is the black suspicious wire that you carry around office??
Me:Its my data cable...I..

Q:Dont you know that data theft is a heinious crime in a multi-national organization MR SCRIBBLER!!
Me:Ohhhhh!!How did you??? aaahhhh....

*crumple crumple**tearrrrrrrrr**gulp*

Q:Hey thats my questionnaire!!you cant eat it up!!are you...

*whummmmp*
*thunk*

*whisper whisper...commotion*

Q:I didnt do nothing!!hit himself with his own keyboard and collapsed!!and now he is...he is...ohhh gaaawd...he's bleeding ketchup again!!!NOOOOOOOO.....

*darkens*

The Juvenile Office Orkut Scrapper does it again....... >:~E

Laters.