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.

:)