spoilers.

I have no words to describe how I feel about Fanaa. I could have slept. I could have just continued on on that bus and not got off. I could have saved myself the long walk from the bus stop to the movie hall. I could have jumped off a cliff.

It was awful. They had Aamir Khan, Kajol, Tabu and Rishi Kapoor and all of them were gasping for dialogues. It was a sad, pathetic movie. Everything sucked. The acting, the talking, the not talking, the story, the make up, the fighting, every damn thing. And it was full of things that could happen only in a Bollywood movie. They guy almost dies in the middle of a snow storm and the only house for miles around is inhabited by his former flame. She was blind all her life and one bloody surgery gives her 20-20 vision. I wanted to kill myself. I clapped when she killed Aamir Khan in the end.

In one word - puke.

All is well that ends well. ALmost.

Ala - thanks, but I have sort of figured out Hyderabad. Tolichowki - bad, kondapur - bad, madhapur - ok, begumpet - too far, jubilee hills - nice, banjara hills - nice. And so on and so forth. And I have looked at apartments in almost all these places. I say almost because I haven't gone to Begumpet yet. Everywhere else, tick.

I finally found shelter for my weary self and my 3 huge items of luggage. In Banjara Hills, next to the Times of India building, if you want specifics. There are 4 people living there now, and it is going to be very crowded when I move in tomorrow but 3 of them are moving out next week or so. So, good stuff. I am very tired of talking to brokers and greedy landlords.

And thus end The Chronicles of CD and Her Almost Neverending Search for A Place To Stay In (capitals, mine).

Life goes on.

I'm going to see Fanaa today. Aamir Khan has suddenly become 'socially conscious'. People, naming no names, say that it is due to his recently tying the knot with 'some girl called Kiran'. He was called 'Citizen Khan' on CNN-IBN yesterday and Gujarat has refused to screen his movie. He looks old.

Have to go bathe. Bye.

Fate hates me. And it is very difficult to convince somebody when their mind is made up. Especially when there are two of them. Not one person with two minds. Two people.

I went apartment hunting today. Saw 5. Hated one. The others were ok. I like the one with lots of shops around and a little away from the main road. The other two people liked the one in the middle of nowhere. And the one I dosen't even cost much more than the other. I'm fated to die a sad and lonely death. Or live far, far away from civilization. Don't know which is better. The really sad thing is that both of the are so nice. I can't even argue with them.

I need sleep. And I need figure a nice way to tell them that I really really don't like that other place. And that I really really like this place.

Help!

Still looking for shelter. Empty salary account. Going to Bangalore next weekend. Brain dead. V for Vendetta.

The last is the most interesting. It was wild, colourful and corny. Dramatic and over the top. I loved it. It could have been a million times better, but it was very entertaining. The 3 others who came with me were not very happy to be there before the movie - They would have seen Gangster if I had not bugged them. Thankfully they liked it too.

Natalie Portman seemed like she was just hanging around, throughout the movie. Weird.

Bye.

I timed it. I stood in the queue for 17 mins, shovelled food onto my plate in less than a minute and looked for a place to plonk my seat for 5 mins (this was not timed. I was too busy wading through the crowd, looking for a empty spot.) It took me less than 2 mins to decide that the food was not worth having. My thoughts must have appeared in a bubble over my head because when I got up from my chair, there were three people behind me attacking the poor thing. One grabbed the backrest, one tried to climb over it and one tried to slide in between the two (dramatization).

There has to be a better system than this. They need to get a better food contractor and more space. And better food. And I need to get a life. And a place to stay in.

I'm getting kicked out of this most luxurious guesthouse by the end of next week. I need a flat. I am sharing this as of yet unknown flat with someone. A known someone. Not very well known but better known than many others. SHe was my neighbour at the college hostel; the state of her room was worse than mine - that's an accomplishment on its own. Oh well, we'll see.

It's official. I'm staying in Hyderabad. Now all I have to do is find a place to stay in.

Hey people. Did you know that they remixed songs sung by Reshammiya? Sigh.

I don't know what to write. I hate it when this happens. It is as if a giant NO is sitting on my my mind. No No No No No No I won't let you think, I won't let you write, I won't let you do anthing you want to do. Get lost!

I'm sleepy all the time. I guess I'm still not used to getting up at 8 am and staying awake till dinner. Gah!

When is it time for dinner and when is it time for supper? What is the difference?

Remember that line in Hitchhiker's Guide that says that If anybody figures out the purpose of the universe, it'll vanish and be replaced by something even more bizzare?
My life feels like that already happened, only not bizzare, boring. I am being fiercely "trained" and I already feel useless. It has not even been 2 weeks since I joined. I can't help thinking that I am going to be one of those bitter people who are never happy with what I get.

Why do I keep missing lunch when I know that I'll be hungry by 4pm? It feels like my stomach is grunting and groaning from the lack of food. Be at peace my stomach, supplies are coming.

I saw Poseidon on saturday. It is a remake of the old Poseidon Adventure (Gene Hackman as a priest?). Anyway, it was Titanic with a tsunami instead of an iceberg. And mercifully without the romance. Entertaining, but nothing great. Kurt Russel dies in the end. Which is a good thing, however you look at it.

I also saw a movie called The COre. It was Armeggedon meets Journey to the Centre of The Earth and not as entertaining.

ciao. later folks. I get to find out today if I am staying in Hyderabad or not.

I'm a snob. If somebody pronounces the 'b' in debt or 'p' in receipt, I snigger. I am not proud of it, but what the hell. Nobody's perfect. I am so close. Sigh.

There are way too many people here. And they all look the same. Not really the same, but the same as in I still don't know most of them and their faces sort of blend. I was talking to somebody the other day and he mentioned a name. I didn't know who he was talking about and I said Who?, and he said "the girl with dark hair." And pause and me - "What?". And he said, "Sorry. I have no idea why I said that."

People with naturally dark (read dark brown or black) hair should not colour it straw. Red is not good either. Straw and red are ok if that person is creepily fair (Addams Family-ish) but not when they have sub-continent, melanin excess. Or normal brown skin. LIke the same somebody said earlier this week, it looks like they threw up, on their hair. NOt always, but there are some regrettable incidents. Bleagh. Anyway, what do I know, I have had the same hair style since I was 14 and my hair went from straight (till I was 11) to curly (11 to 14) and back to a weird straight (14 till date). So, while I am no expert at follicle dynamics, I do have eyes. Short sighted, but they work. When I wear my spectacles.

Spectacles. I wear them and I sometimes watch it as it unfolds. English is a weird language.

There are so many tamil-speaking people here. I miss Bhubaneshwar where I could say anything in tamil to a small-ish group of people and get away with it. Also miss actually having people to talk to, but I don't want to be maudlin.

I did not know that Indian Idol was so popular. I have not seen it. And I don't want to, after watching a few episodes of what it is modelled on. I might have said this before, Ace made me want to throw up with his version of Train's Drops of Jupiter. Felt like somebody stuck a hot iron in my ears. Is the previous sentence right? Should it be " stuck hot irons"? Whatever. Anyway, somebody (not the same somebody) told me that it was very popular in the north and the only reason some guy (his name started with a K) didn't win last season was because he didn't get enough votes from the south. I didn't get it. I still don't.

Haven't had lunch. GOing to have some food. BYe.

There was a glass bowl on the table next to the monitor. It was perched precariously close to the edge. It had Chlormints and Alpenliebes - both the normal caramel stuff and the awful strawberry flavoured ones. They got over quickly. SOon only the wrappers remained. I had a file full of certificates - they have stories too. Stories that are too embarrassing for me to reveal; which implies that they will get exposed soon enough. ANyway, I was rummaging through my certs, trying to figure out which order they were in and if the photocopies were in the same order as the originals and if I had photocopies for all certs and vice versa, when CRASH!! Silence. I contemplated hiding my considerable bulk under the desk. FOrtunately it hadn't fallen on anybody. Atleast I don't have damage to a person's foot (or some other part of the body) on my consience.

I will always be known as the girl who broke a bowl on the first week of work.

Damn people all laughed. They laughed, damn them.

Dinner tonight with the big wigs. Wonder what I'll break there. Touch wood.

I'm tired. Uncomfortable seats and prosy people make me morbid. I'll tell you someday.

There is a guy here who looks just like Richard(?) in Caroline in the City. Similar hair, glasses and dorky good looks. He must think I'm a creepy stalker or something. I keep staring at him. He'd be right. Heh Heh.

People here are staring to look familiar. That's a good sign.

Anyway, here is the link to The Great Noodle Challenge

My eyes are burning. I have to sleep. Later people.

I feel completely insignificant.

Now I know how worker ants feel.

How do I start all over again with a few thousand new people?

The Great Noodle

There was a resounding bang. It was the Perciatelli representative. She had knocked over the can of cheese that the cook had forgotten to put away. She looked around sheepishly, but the others had gone back to their loud and sometimes, violent, arguments. It was an eclectic bunch that had assembled this year. Some old, some new, some borrowed and some blue. The old ones, like the bearded Trachana, disapproved of the younger ones like the Scooby Do. They were, according to him, unnecessary. But unfortunately for him, the Cavatappi had been almost wiped out by the youngsters. The Scooby Dos were represented by the scruffiest person that the old Trachana had ever seen. His naturally occuring curves accentuated by the weird dyes he wore and where ever he went, he took along with him a most unpleasant Ketchup smell. Ketchup! Hah. The Ziti and their cousins the Zitoni had sent a common representative - an unpleasant and loud mouthed girl. She was stridently arguing with the Manicotti rep.

He was saying, "I really wish they would make slurping illegal. It is such an undignified way to go. We should form a lobby against slurping; if we have to die to feed these people, we should atleast have a humane death."

She snorted. "One, you are not human. Two, who will you lobby? It's not as if we have seats in the human government. And three, humans don't give a shit. You are a pasta, man. Flour, butter and egg. You really think they are going to worry about how they eat you?".

"You are really most unpleasant. I was just making conversation." said the plump, flustered man.

SHe said, "Get stuffed." and giggled. "Wait. You'd probably like that!".

"Insufferable".

"Ignore her, my good Manicotti. Tell me, who do you think will be elected the Pasta Boss this year?". This was the young and powerful Penne representative. Manicotti thought that he was really too young to be representing the Penne, the Mezze Penne, the Penne rigate, the Penne Zita, the Pennette, and the Pennoni families, who traditionally sent only one common representative. But that was the problem with the popular families; there were no old ones left. And the families that did have old ones left, didn't have the clout any more, to affect changes. It was very sad. While all these thoughts were flashing though old Manicotti's mind along with extreme displeasure at the sight of his old rivals, the Vermicelli and the Spaztle, ("Damn those worms!") at a speed considerably less than that of light, even very slow light, the Penne representative had moved away. He was now talking up a storm with the Mafalde and the Mafaldine, an unlikely alliance - one short and rectangular and the other long and ruffled and with tempraments to match.

Manicotti looked around. It was almost time for the voting to begin. Last year, the Farfalline had won the vote with the huge margin, mostly because of their sudden popularity with salad chefs. They were still very popular, so maybe it was a good thing that the Great Pasta Comprehensive Rule Book of Many Complicated Rules (commonly know as the Good Book) said that a family could not have a representative made Boss 2 years continuously. This, many felt, was a good rule. Mainly beacause overbearing and hideously rich Lasagne family would have been dicatators otherwise. There was no place for dictators in Pasta World.

Ah! More annoying youngsters. Alphabets! Alphabets? MAnicotti was enraged. In his day, Pasta cane as ribbons, shells, or noodles. Bowties were bad enough, but alphabets?! Disgraceful! And those colours? Ridiculous. What is wrong with cream? The world, if Manicotti had designed it, would have only cream. Maybe a little olive green. None of that ridiculous red and purple. What did they think they are? Breakfast cereal? Nincompoops.

The horn was sounded. Everybody gathered around to hear the candidates speak before the voting began. The Orzo candidate got onto the stage. It was embarrassing to watch him struggle up that high platform. He could hardly be seen over the crowd and Manicotti didn't even know when he had started to speak. He was looking at the Canelloni representative. They had sent the same man for the past four years. The Canelloni were unique in the Pasta World as they were the only ones who had never sent a candidate for election. They would always come, obediently, every year. Not say a thing, vote and leave. This year, their representative was fast asleep in the last row. His stout body looked even stouter, bunched up like that in his chair. The Orzo had finished sometime ago and the Anelli girl was talking now, something about unions and better work environment. WHat ideas children get these days. You are made, you live in a box, you die. When will they realise that whatever they do, they are going to die in a pot of boiling water some day, in the company of dead fish, cows, goats, or depending on where you are, even dogs. Unions. Hah!

They just kept talking. And Manicotti tried to listen to all of them. He really did. He remembered when he was younger and not so yellow, how he used to be interested in these things. Now he just felt responsible and tired. But his over worked civic sense never let him sleep during these meetings. And he always gave a lot of thought to his vote. You never know, someday it might mean something. What and when was anybody guess.

There were too many candidates this time. All the young ones were clamouring for a chance to speak. Fools. It was almost time to go. Ah. Finally. Voting time. They used a show of hands to decide who was to be the next Boss. First Orzo. Too insignificant. 3 votes. Then Anelli. Too radical. 5 votes. And it went on and on. Something was wrong. Nobody was getting a majority. This was bad. Penne jumped at Tagliatelle and punched him. Oh no. It was turning to something humans might do. Wait wait. WHo is that? It was fat old Pici. Bloody philosopher.

"All of you disqualified yourself from ever being good politicians just by wanting to be one."

"What the hell do you mean?", yelled Spaghetti, perpetually annoyed.

"You want power, you want recognition, you want to be famous. That is why you all stood for election. If you had wanted to make things better for any of us, you would have tried to do something before coming here. But did you? Did you?", Pici yelled, growing more and more animated as the crowed quieted down. "Pop psychology", muttered the young Penne, who apparently knew all about it. But the crowd just lapped it up. Pici was on a roll. "Whom amongst us has never wanted recognition? Who has never stood for election? Who has never been guilty of craving attention?" The crowd looked at each other. Many of the shrugged. Most of them looked lost. Pici was running out of steam when Macaroni yelled, "Canelloni!". The whispers ran hard and fast. Soon the loud whispers turned into shouts, yells and a lot of finger pointing.

Stretching and yawning, the Canelloni chose this moment to wake up. He found himself suddenly on the shoulders of the more exuberant youngsters and they were all yelling, "Canelloni for President!", "God Save The Boss!" and "I'm hungry". The last one was a baby Garganelli which had snuck in when everybody was too busy arguing to guard the door. No one paid any attention to him.

The Canelloni representative had no idea what was happening to him or why and more importantly, how was he going to explain to the others of his family? He was so dead when he got home. Sigh, at least he had had some sleep. It was getting so difficult sleeping at home. The children were getting into that troublesome age where you couldn't stuff them into a box and know that they'll be there and fine in the morning.

One of the youngsters had started up a silly chant. "Canelloni! (Thud Thud Thud) Is Dude! (Thud Thud Thud) Canellon....". "Fool", shouted another. "Canelloni is a noodle! Not a dude! Don't let the elders hear you. You know how much they hate it when we use human slang!".

"Sheesh. OK." "Canelloni, The Greatest Noodle (Thud Thud Thud) Canelloni The Noodlest Great....", and so it went on. He was drunk on pasta sauce.

The next morning, the children of the house were grounded for a month for making a mess of the kitchen. Though they never found out how they children had made a mess of this kitchen when they were in their grandparents' house on the other side of town. Some how, the box of Canelloni was on top of the other boxes of pasta and the cheese was on the floor.


LIst of Pasta

edit:

The next morning, the children of the house were grounded for a month and they had to clean up. They did so, all the while protesting their innocence. Their mother yelled at them some more for lying. What did they think happened? Did the cereals jump of the boxes themselves?

She wasn't as well acquianted with her kitchen as she thought.

One bag packed. 2 more to go. And tomorrow, I am off to the hot city. It couldn't possibly be hotter than CHennai. I went out at 7 this morning and in 10 mins, I was thoroughly drenched. It was not a pretty sight.

Ann Arbor people, congrats on gra-joo-ashun. Yeah, I got your mail Vish.

This morning, I spent an hour getting my papers together. I have to submit 10th, 12th, graduation and post graduation marksheets and associated certificatates when I join. How embarrassing. WHy can't they just make do with the certificates? Invariably, there will be a bunch of overachievers when I am submitting my stuff and they will all be comparing their grades and will make polite noises when I a)refuse to show my marks b)show my marks or c)kill myself in shame. I'll let you know how it goes.

I just printed out about 200 pages of 5 spreadsheets for my father. The first 50 pages are in portrait and the rest are in landscape. The first 100 pages don't have the column labels in each page and the rest do. Fortunately they are all in the same font and size. Thank god for small mercies. I hope I'm not here when he sees them.

Bye.

P.s. Keith. Noodle almost cooked. I still have to type it. It's all in my head.