Archive | May, 2011

I am grateful for….

25 May

my sister

Chickens are feathered Velociraptors

16 May

Dear Brethren, you probably believe that chickens are little more than what is found in your KFC bucket. You are mistaken. Gravely mistaken. It is out of my concern for your welfare that I will tell you why chickens are actually feathered Velociraptors with evil gleams in their eyes. I kid you not. By the end of my story, you will be on my side.

Once when I was a carefree and innocent little girl, I was attacked by an evil, yes an EVIL domestic chicken. I barely survived with my life.

What was I doing? Well, as little girls do, I was simply testing out my physical prowess by throwing small pebbles at passing objects. It is not my fault that white hens are a few sandwiches short of a picnic. The stupid feathered twit decided to stroll directly into my line of fire.

*whoooosh* *whoooosh*  THUNK

You know that solid second of stillness when you know something is going to happen to you. Yeah, that.

It whipped around and charged directly towards me, scaring the shit out of me. What the hell do you do, when there’s a psychotic bird moving in a straight line towards you at 100km/per hour? You run like fuck.

I did a 180 degree turn and scurried as fast as I could towards the kitchen door.  Halfway there, I looked over my shoulder, only to find that the chicken was CHASING ME. Like it knew what it was doing. Like it knew that I was responsible, and was hell bent on retracting vengeance. Ohmilord, if I’d had more to drink that day, I’m sure I would have wet my pants.

Somewhere in that small mind of mine, I haphazardly remembered that chickens, having eyes on opposite sides of their heads, can only focus one of them at a time. So what do I do? I flatten myself against a wall, heart racing, panicky breathing, hoping somehow that it won’t be able to see me, ‘Jaysus, please protect me from this evil’. I was small alrite, and apparently a few sandwiches short of a picnic as well.

The chicken kept still, and darted its head from side to side and then it caught sight of me. I shrieked my terrified little girl scream as it stalked purposefully towards me, probably having smelt the fear rolling towards me. And then, it stared at me directly in the eye giving me the most hateful, evil look.

I don’t remember how long we were engaged in a staring contest. It was probably ten seconds, but it felt like an hour. You know how people lose track of time when they’re about to be gored to death by a bird.

I honestly thought it was all over, that the crazy bundle of feathers in front of me was going to kill me (somehow). It was just helpless little me, and the bird. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew I deserved my fate.

And then, the Lord decided to save me.  My neighbor (who incidentally owned the chicken) swooped in out of nowhere, picked up the chicken, and then laughed his ass off at my plight.  I didn’t care, I’d just been saved from death and an embarrassing epitaph.

So, you see. You only have to look into those dead eyes of a killer, to realize that chickens are capable of violence towards humans.  Consider yourselves warned my brethren, consider yourself warned.

Obama/Osama bloopers

4 May

Yesterday, President Obama announced the death of Osama Bin Laden. My facebook homepage was subsequently flooded with people posting anti-establishment status messages or sharing links to articles on bin laden’s death and foreign policy, and criticisms on America’s display of patriotism.

A little bit of humour amongst a lot of Seriousness and Contemplation never goes amiss:

                                                                    Thumbs up for faux news

I’m sure all the news publications were under intense pressure to publish their reports on the breaking-news asap.

The thing is, there’s only a letter of a difference between Obama and Osama:

I then cackled to myself in my head.

Someone put the evil-eye on me

1 May

I fell off my pink cloud with a thud.”- Elizabeth Taylor

And it hurted.

It has been the worst week I have had in Hyderabad; let me just say that even coffee failed to make me inappropriately excited. Yes, I know. Shocking. It is a miracle that I did not oblige the homicidal voices in my head.

I will not lie to you, brethren. I am convinced someone put an evil spell on me.

Look – the week started with me having a mild fever, which I wasn’t bothered about – I have this belief that if you just ignore the sickness, it’ll get bored that you aren’t paying it any attention and go away. But this fever acted like it was some sort of bacterial assassin for someone with a grudge against me. Not only did it summon a migraine, but it succeeded in confusing my hormonal cycle as well. I was feverish in a 36°C climate, with a migraine so terrible that I was actually unsure whether the drums I could hear were inside or outside of my head, and my poor hormones were so confused whether to be on PMS mode or not, that they decided to dilute my blood with oestrogen and progesterone so as not to be accused of a lack of effort.

At this point my brethren, you should be reading this post with a sympathetic heart, maybe ‘tching’ a   little and wishing that you had my address so that you could send me chocolate. Clearly I needed it, You would have noticed that I was not having the best week of my life. And then I went to the bathroom and dropped my phone somewhere in that space…

..and consequently it deathed off.  Godzilla II is the sad-ass type of phone, that if you drop it on the road by mistake and come back 5 minutes later to look for it, will still be there because no one is bothered enough to steal such a shit mobile. To be fair though, Godzilla II did allow me to make calls and receive them, which is all that you should expect from a phone really. And now I was cut off from the outside world. From everyone I would have normally called and forced to listen to my whining and bitching.

So I had no phone and no one to give me a hug when I demanded one. I was suffering with sickness, had a sudden onslaught of an almost quarter-life crisis and was hormonally crazy as a loon. There was no chocolate and to top things off, I had no new music.

All this misfortune had to be the work of someone who cast the evil eye on me. I narrowed down my list of suspects – it *must* have been that old lady who glared spitefully at me when I bought the last bun at the coffee place – see, seee, I *knew* that all that muttering under her breath wasn’t just senility.

If I was home, my aachi would wrap rock salt in newspaper, trace the outline of my body with it, make me pretend to spit thrice on it and then throw it into the fire. This was how we’d get rid of the evil eye when I was growing up. Now, eHow informs me that eating garlic is the way to go. Sounds reasonable enough. After I shrug off this hex, I’m going to black magic the shizz out of that old woman.