cookless karma

Some say cooking is an art. I agree;
as long as someone does it for me, that is.

There was a certain time, when I was about to embark upon lets just say an unusual journey, where relying on my own abilities was to be of utmost importance. I had managed to learn the ancient art of creating nearly edible common indian staple food including rotis with imperfect circumference and messed up salt ratios.

Surely being 'the male' I'd be easily exempted from it?
turns out it somehow boosts your metrosexuality, apparently.

Anyway, three years went by and not practicing enough led me to forget it. The time had come for me to to add some garam masala to my unused competencies yet again.

"Sanjeev Kapoor will worship me by christmas," I bragged on for a month. Unfortunately for me, like the government's promises, it um didn't quite happen. It wasn't long before hunger led desperation started to kick in. By then, I knew how to make a half-decent sandwich. and an omelette. and maggi
Getting bored of the same old crushing white balls and playing around with bread, I started going out. Met new people, made new friends—meet Mr. Food. Junk Food. Mrs. Frozen said hi.

Immediate ancestors have had a history of blending the symphony of spices just right; Mother says I should have it in my blood. But then, she was a topper unlike the relatively average scorer yours truly is.

Some have suggested I should try and combine my passions.
Or maybe I should blog about it.. you know, with pictures and all.

As for now, lets just put it this way—cooking to me is what a good hairstyle to Himesh Reshammiya is.

Update: Man I love coincidences. The DailyMail reported yesterday a rise of the 'gastrosexual' as more men are taking up cooking to seduce women.

As much as I'd love to seduce her with my spices, being branded a 'gastrosexual' (ugh) is just wrong on so many levels.

la gujaretté

Sometimes, small things give you kicks.

I did level 1 french 4 years ago, easy peasy.

And I bet no matter how many baguettes he has for breakfast, Nicolas Sarkozy or any of la peoplé, ain't speakin no Gujarati even if they sat from now until christmas they won't.

Why would they want to? I don't know.
They probably couldn't care less.

But if they had to? hah! no way man. no freakin' way.


mathematical moronism

(note to self - deal with the likelihood of random lazinesia attacks before starting a blog)

Blogging? pah! just how hard could it be? write a couple o' words off the head, string a sentence off the hook and hit publish;
kisee ko pataa nahin chalega.

Not quite, it turns out.

Of course, not the first time the brain has done dhokha with thee.
Enter the early 90's. I was just another average student minding my own business. Exams coming up? no problemo.
Copied the timetable off the ol' blackboard and home I went.

Maths was second. Just a disorganised mess of distinctively shaped characters which made sense when added and multiplied together, was all what I thought of it. Father was quite good at teaching, helping me absorb the number junk into my ever-so-mathematically-incompatible-head. After nearly 16 hours of added effort, multiplied determination and undivided attention before the D-day, I was ready to conduct a numerical orchestra. "what could possibly go wrong?", I reassured myself.

Or so I thought.

D-day, 2 hours before exam, with friends.
"done with revision?" I flaunted.
"almost. just finishing off petroleum distillation"
"I hate bad jokes dude, specially before exams"
"can you see me smirking, dear?"

The world swept off beneath my feet faster than a bullet train and white walls appeared red. Maths, turns out, was a day after.
Thanks to life saving revision done before hand, I was fairly confident for science. Gave some more last minute kicks and it went okay.

"how did it go?"
"need to tell you something mom, just don't freak out"

Fast-forward to result day.
60% leysun genlmen, 60% I managed. can you believe that?
One hell of a 'scientific discovery' that was.


primordial peculiarity

Never thought I'd end up punching black squares off the laptuter all for the sublime, unreciprocated love for blogging. But as it happens, it has. I've been bit by a bug. again. This time though, it appears to be one of those sublime but catchy ones which seems to spread across the nation by the day presumably faster than a kareena kapoor gossip. Thats right, the infamous blogger bug that is. One which even has some high profile celebrities caught up in its writey grasp. At first it all seemed normal. Then, they started appearing. Everywhere. Tiny little sinister looking spots blogspots all over my ignored thoughts, somewhat comical actions, and dry humour itching through every single minute in the day. Surely this might be short term enough for me to take any notice; or so I thought. The sidebar side effects started to slowly kick in. The symptoms were justified, and I'd already had enough. The condition was fairly popular and the outbreak seemed to have had grasped the country at a fast pace. I just had to blog.

Then, there were complications. Me attempting to try and conjure up a few lines of words was not only a rare event, but an unmissable act of sheer wannabe writer desperation fighting laziness. Writing a blog post, even, seemed almost comparable to reader's paranoia a paranormal phenomenon. It was as likely as two pilots falling asleep in mid air; now what are the chances of that happening, I hear you say.

well, didn't take long did it?

and so, I blog.

Although I'm known to be an introvert, I can be quite narcissistic sometimes in a subtle but obvious way. So much so, 90% of this space might just end up being that. In an even of such a horrible, boredom inducing disaster, do feel free to throw in some unflattering criticism.

Oh and pardon the excessive 'd' word usage in the sidebar.
No, its not the hidden pedantic in me dancing around shamelessly on the blog, just that I was sucked into the whole 'd for deewana' thing when I started.

Met blogger through a common friend back in may. Three months ladies and gentlemen, three months is what is took me to come up with this mumbo jumbo. Can you believe that? better late than never, eh?

watch this space for more!


Are you an alien?
ofcourse no. well, maybe.
alien to this society and its frivolous ways.
but then, we all are anyway.

Whats with the obscure, mildly amusing blog name?
procrastination just called, he says hi. will explain later.