And so, I am back. With plans — big ones — a Bangkok travelogue, several book reviews, the usual (at least a ) post a day promise, more Ileana pictures on the other blog, a short story, three novels and many, many such things I know you could care less about.
And so I am back, and what’s the first thing I read? Plans for a Sepia Mutiny meetup in Los Angeles. A rare desi blog meet in this very country, and where is it held? As far away from Florida as humanly possible. Not a coincidence, I assure you: I know planned it that way.
In case you think I am overreacting, then how do you explain this: People wait for me to leave Chennai, and the very next week, they hold some sort of BlogCamp there. Clearly, it is part of a distrubing trend: Bloggers just don’t want to meet me. I know my intellect can be a little offputting to all you dumbasses, but still… You know what? Screw all you bloggers. (Poor Manoj excepted, of course. The jerk meets me everyday so that he can have something to laugh about with his new wife.) If you are a non blogger, the hot pictures are over on the other blog.
I’ve done it before, and I’ll do it again now: My own blog meet, right down the street from my own home. At my favorite coffee shop, run by dear old Mandy and her husband, who were nice enough to give us exclusive access to the place for the whole evening…
Here are snippets from the meet…
Bloggera: Smells coffee. Then tastes it. “Wow, this is great coffee. Ummm… just awesome. What would the world be without coffee?”
Falstaff: “A World Without Coffee. 1. It would be illuminating to consider what the word world means in this context. The world…
Bloggera: “Excuse me, but that was a purely rhetorical question. I don’t really want to know what the world would be without coffee.”
Falstaff: “Oh, I see. But can I finish off this speech though? I only have 37 more bullet items to go through. And then, about 18 footnotes.”
Bloggera: “Please, no. Let me drink my coffee.”
Megha: “This coffee is cho chweet. Gleat.”
Bloggercthruz: “What a thoughtful sentence.”
Suddenly, multiple rays of light emanate from her eyes.
Megha: “Don’t worry, that was my eyes twinkling. Thankoo Bloggercthruz. Thankoo cho cho much.”
Me: “I’ll be back guys. Gotta go pee.” Comes back in five minutes. “So did I miss anything?”
Bloggerb: “Umm.. not much. Megha got 18 more comments. Manish wrote four posts at UltraBrown, and made 3 releases of RocketPost. Amit made 11 posts on his blog, and wrote an article each for Cricinfo and the Wall Street Journal.”
Me: “Damn. In other words, ink flowed out of their pens, while piss flowed out of mine?”
“Eww. Groan. Puke. Good Lord.”
Unidentified Young Man: The speaker is trying to make a joke. He is using the fact that pens and penises are shaped similarly. I don’t like the joke much because Amit and Manish use keyboards, not pens.
Me: “Anyways, to be fair to myself, I did think of a post in the bathroom. In fact, I think of most posts when peeing, so I guess you could call me the number one blogger in India.”
Amit: “Damn, that joke was too bad for even India Uncut.”
Kiru: “Wait a minute, does that man I am not the number one anymore?”
Chenthil: “Of course not. Your blog sucks.”
Kiru: “If Himesh Reshammaiya can be the most popular music director in India, why can’t I be the number one blogger?”
Me: “Yeah, and let’s not forget the national award for Amitabh Bachchan.”
Kiru: “Thank you!”
Me: “Why are you guys here? Who invited you? Jai, is your DVD player broke or something? Chandrahas, don’t you have a book to review or a mattress to buy? Ammani, what about quick tale 156? Who’ll write it if you are here? Please leave.”
Ammani: “You ingrate. I blogrolled you and all, and you won’t even let me in? Jerk.”
Jai: “Yeah, what’s up with that?”
Me: “Ok, ok. To explain, I got to make a speech.
Quick Tale 1000.
She got into the elevator on the top floor. The well dressed young man got in on the next floor. She smiled at him and he smiled back.
The eleveator stopped on the next floor down and another young man got in. He was dressed like a punkster, and didn’t return her smile.
After that, another floor. Another young man. She wasn’t sure about smiling, so she started fiddling with her cellphone instead. The third man smiles at the second man, and the second man returns his smile.
Ammani: “Go on.”
Me: “That’s it.”
Chandrahas: “I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, but that was pathetic.”
Ammani: “Horrid. So what’s your point anyway? Why didn’t you invite us?”
Me: “The point is, parody or no parody, I can’t really write like you guys. You write too well for me.”
Me: “Anyways, now that you are here, I’ll give you all non speaking parts. Why don’t you go sit by that man JAP there and watch without speaking? Oh, and thank you for not bringing Amardeep and Anna along.”
Me: “He is taking notes on how bad everyone’s shoes are. Before you go to that table, I suggest you take off your watches and shoes, unless you want to be called a fashion challenged cretin on tomorrow’s post.”
Meanwhile, Kiru strikes up a conversation with Mandy.
Kiru: “Hmm.. so you own this establishment?”
Mandy: “Yes sir, that’s correct.”
Kiru: “Would it be accurate to call you the attractive, self-made CEO of a growing startup company?”
Kiru: “I am India’s leading blogger. Can I do a podcast with you?”
Mandy walks away, and returns with her husband.
Mark: “So who here wanted to do something dirty to my wife?”
Kiru: “Podcasting is not something dirty sir. I can do it with you too. I will then post it on the internet.”
Mark: “Do it and then post it on the internet? What the fuck? Do I look like Paris Hilton to you? Get out of here now!”
Unidentified Young Man: “This confusion arose because of the unfamiliarity of this gentleman with the word podcasting. Since he didn’t know the word, he assumed it meant something dirty.”
Me: “Dude, why do you keep stating the obvious all the time? Who are you?”
Me: “Ah, that explains it.”
Me: “Is that all you can do? Puke?”
Nilu: “No, I can also talk about prime numbers.”
Me: “That is boring. What else?”
Thennavan: “Oh, I also know a lot about prime numbers.” Widens cheeks, and holds pose.
Me: “What’s that for?”
Thennavan: “That is a smiley. It’s always safe to throw in a few when you are talking. So, I know a lot about prime numbers. I love Chennai, I also love India. When will I find a girl to love?”
Nilu: “Please excuse me, but I need to do this first. Puke. I can also write erotica.”
Me: “Damn, that’s exciting. Give us an example.”
Nilu: “The auntie was chopping onions in the kitchen. The kids were out playing cricket. Uncle comes into the kitchen, and lifts up auntie’s saree. They then roll on the floor, back and forth, back and forth. Up and down, up and down. When he is done, uncle is crying, because of all the onions that got into his eye. Later, when auntie serves coffee to uncle, he flicks away an onion stuck to her ear. She blushes.”
Jai: “I feel a bit nauseous myself.”
Ammani: “Thanks for not inviting us.”
Me: “Wow. You should stick to puking.”
Patrix: Onions cause one to tear up, because they contain oxalic acid. Although people shed tears when they come into contact with onions, they are not actually crying.”
Nilu: “Double puke.”
Unidentified Young Man 2: I, find, all„„this„,very„„„funny;
Me: And who might you be, young man?
Me: “This is such a boring blog meet. Le’ts talk about something interesting.”
Kaps: “Let’s talk about blogging. I read somewhere that to be a successful blogger, you have to write 365 posts a year. My question is, what does one do during leap years?”
Me: “I said talk about something interesting.”
Amit: It is a logical fallacy to assume that what is interesting to you will be interesting to other people.”
Me: “Well, hmm…”
Amit: “Do you disagree. God, I wish this was my blog. I would’ve linked to eighteen different Latin terms on Wikipedia to prove you wrong.
Falstaff: Ears perk up on hearing some Latin. “What a phrase! Actio personalis moritur cum persona. So lyrical, so poetic. I love poetry in other languages.
Amit: “Um well, that was a legal phrase. But whatever…”
Me: “Maybe we can talk about Hair? What do you guys think about the whole $500000 thing?
Neha: I love to talk about hair. Have I told you about how poetry altered my hairstyle?
Me: “Only a hundred times. But I was not talking about that hair.”
Annie Zaidi: “How mean! Men are pigs. All men are morons.”
Dilip: “What a thought provoking statement. That makes you a fine journalist.”
GreatBong: Clears throat.
Bloggerathruzandsomeothers: “Ha, Ha, Ha. Hilarious.”
GreatBong: “Shut up guys, this is serious stuff. So, Dilip, tell us how calling all men morons makes one a fine journalist?”
Dilip: “Oh a difficult question. How I wish this was my blog — I could’ve buried this one under a deluge of posts.”
GreatBong: “So ?”
And just as quickly as they came, everyone was gone.
PS: Please, please, don’t remove me from your blogrolls. That would break my heart. I love you all. Well, sorta.