Diary of a Suicide Bomber

DISCLAIMER:
This is purely fictional - just an idea for a creative writing article. You will probably find it politically incorrect(not to mention naive) too.
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Diary:
Today is the day. The 15th of August. D-Day. Independence Day, too; which is precisely WHY it is D-Day. Big crowds will attract less attention when I detonate myself. Although, after the bombs at Surat and Bengaluru, Chennai's been put on high alert; I doubt there will be too many big crowds. There are always some naive and so-called "patriotic" fools, though, who will gather to scream "Hindustan Zindabad" while I ride up there on my bike and decapitate all of us. It is unfortunate that the bombs in Surat and Bengaluru have gone off right before I planned to make my debut in Chennai. Although, "debut" is a pretty ironic word, seeing as there will obviously not be any repeat performances.
I cannot lie; of course I am a little nervous. But I have waited (expected, rather) this day for so long, that I'm almost numb. I will burn my diary before I go, but I don't want to be forgotten; which is why I will detach this entry in hope that someone will find it.

*******

I would like to start from the beginning. I will not disclose my name; reader. You will not be able to find out, either, because I have made sure that every record of my life is now nothing but a wisp of ash floating about in the universe somewhere. I am a social recluse; and no-one will be able to tell you my name. I am 23 years of age, but I have no family. I have neither married, nor sired any children. I was an only child, and my parents had big aspirations for me. I, of course, disappointed them by running away from home at the age of 13. Since then I have been on my own. Their deaths occurred when I was 15 and 18, respectively, and caused me some amount of relief, because I wanted to spend my days as anonymously as possible. I would be lying if I said I grieved after their deaths. I am queer in the sense that I am completely unemotional. I have never loved anyone in my life. I was educated till I ran away, so I can read and write. I read newspapers, and bettered my linguistic skills. I stole food (and was never caught), and hence, I survived.

At 16, I tried to join politics; but realised its futility; because the party I had my eye on was fraught with corruption. Do not think me evil; reader; just because I will shortly go on to kill myself and a whole lot of other people. Speaking of which, I will make myself clear right now: I do not work for any organization whatsoever. I perform this act because I want to make a difference. I want to make my voice heard. Given my beginnings, I have no other way to do so except a suicide bombing. Most people will probably dismiss me as a pathetic, psychotic youngster who had too much time on his hands. Maybe I am.

But, reader, know this. You, whoever you may turn out to be, are holding the fruit of two years of my careful planning. I, though, have not left this sheet in any place prominent (but, as you have seen, I have encased it in plastic), because it gives me a weird kind of exhilaration to know that the reason for the bomb in Chennai may not be found till maybe, two, three years after the incident. I hope people will not dismiss this bomb as the work of the Surat-Bengaluru bombers; because that would defeat my very purpose.

As they are bound to do in India, people will speculate about my religion. Hindus will brand me Muslim, and Muslim will swear I must have been Hindu. Sikhs, Jains, Buddhists and Christians will shake their heads and blame the deterioration of the country on the Hindu-Muslim rivalry. And therefore I will clear every one's doubts. I am a hundred percent agnostic. Not atheist, please note. After all, the presence or absence of a Higher Power is unverifiable; so why take a side? I will not disclose the religion I was born into, because there are enough religious controversies in this country of mine anyway.

Yes, I reiterate - this country of mine. I am very much a patriotic Indian, and love my country, very literally, to death. My suicide-bombing venture is only a manifestation of the love I feel for India - Bharat - Hindustan - my country. There are of course, flaws, but who doesn't have flaws? I only hope that my death and the deaths of those I cause will make atleast a tiny change for the better in India. May the relatives of the bereaved, and in general, all the people in Chennai, unite in their suffering. May they move on. May they forgive me. Reader, please offer them my condolences. I am so sorry for including their children, parents, siblings or friends, in my plans. But what is to be done, must be done. This is only for the good of the country.

Jai Hind.

Farewell, reader.

It is time.

Wimby '08. The greatest finals EVER.

DISCLAIMER: For all you non-tennis fans on this page; this is a long and winded description of a match. You probably don't want to read this. Oh, and chances are tennis fans will also consider it the same. But whatever man. I'm not stopping you from hitting the the red X.

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For those of you reading my blog who aren't already acquainted with me, I should tell you that I'm a tennis maniac. Not the playing kind of course, on account of how I'm the laziest bum that walked this green Earth; but the watching kinds. I'm not an expert on the subject, since my fondness for the sport waxed only a few years back. Neither do I watch EVERY match that is broadcast.

Okay, I guess I'm not what a standard definition would call a tennis MANIAC, but I'm a huge fan of the sport anyway. And especially one of the most adorable/strongest/cutest/most determined tennis player in this era - Rafael Nadal. *Siiiigh*.

So, today, on the 1-week anniversary of Rafa annihilating the "World #1" Roger Federer on the 122nd Wimbledon Gentlemen's Singles Final - my topic for my post will be just that - the Wimby finals, baby!

It is not with modesty (:P) that I proclaim that I DEFINITELY, DEFINITELY played a part in Rafa's awesome victory. No, really! Nadal has always won the matches that I watch live on TV. The 4 Roland Garros finals? I watched every point glued to the screen. But the Wimby? Not so lucky.

Last year, I watched until the 4th set, but then had to go out for this movie. I told my mum how instrumental I was to Nadal's success, but she rolled her eyes and told me to get a move on. Something about spending quality time with family and all of that. Whatever man. The movie (The Prestige) sucked (I didn't understand the plot until my sister, who was watching it for the 2nd time, explained it to me at the interval); and Nadal lost.

The year before the last, I was on a train, returning from Calicut after a cousin-in-law's (yes, I know the word doesn't exist) sister's wedding.

I don't remember my alibi for the other Wimby matches, but I sure as hell wasn't present. And the first year I watch the match from the 1st point to the last - he wins! What does that tell you, huh?

Anyway, on to the match. The 122nd Wimbledon Lawn Tennis Assosciation's Gentlemen's Singles Final was THE BEST MATCH, WITHOUT DOUBT, THAT I HAVE EVER WATCHED!!! The semifinals of R. Nadal v. C. Moya in the Chennai Open 2008 comes a close second. Rafa won 6-7(3) 7-6(8!!) 7-6(1). But more about that later.

When the players were walking out (there was a 23 minute delay due to rain), before the match started, Vijay Amritraj commented on something, and I found it strange too. Nadal walked out first, and Federer followed behind him, like a meek little puppy. Then again, maybe they both couldn't fit through the door at the same time and one had to walk out first. Anyway, I took it as a sign of Nadal's impending victory. He looked so determined to win! It was beyond adorable, I tell you! :P

He took his usual ten-minute ritual after sitting down - the one which involves drinking water from 5 different bottles, untying and retying his shoelaces, and making sure that all his rackets were in fine order. Finally, he walked out to the net - where Federer had been waiting with a bored expression on his face - to commence the coin toss. He won it (duh. I was watching, remember? ;).

I remember Vijay Amritraj speculating that the very first point of the match would qualify as "Play Of The Day" material. I agreed with him, as it was definitely a >5-shot-rally. Boy, both Vijay and I sure didn't know what we were up for in the next 4 hours and 48 minutes!

The first two sets passed in a whirlwind of skilled tennis. Roger couldn't break Rafa in the first set, resulting in a 6-4 win for Rafa. And after Nadal broke Federer early on the second set, Federer managed his only conversion of the many break point opportunities that he got. Nadal promptly broke back though, and won the set (again) 6-4.

Then came Rain Break #1, and provided some relief for Federer. His face, which had become considerably smaller as the second set progressed, took on a more confident note, and he defended all his serves in the next 2 sets. Nadal defended all of his serve games too, which resulted in neither player being able to break the other. Hence the two tiebreakers, both of which Federer won, 6-7 6-7. Nadal had had 2 championship points by now, but had failed to convert either. Rain Break #2 followed, and I cursed London's whimsical weather.

Everyone in my family retired to bed at mid-3rd-set; with the exception of moi. Their support had been oscillating from Nadal to Federer to Nadal again. But not my dad, oh no. He's the staunchest supporter of Federer, which made the match, if you ask me, quite heated, with both of us yelling our heads off for our respective players (well, me yelling my head off; and my dad only clapping. Hard.).

I was a nervous wreck after Federer equalised Nadal's 2-set lead. I sat in pin-drop silence, feeling my heart thump (loudly) against my ribcage every time Nadal won or lost a point. The final set, thank God, disallowed a tiebreaker (as is the rule in all Grand Slam titles' deciding set). The set stretched on, with each player playing his best. Federer's best though, I noticed, was considerably worse than Nadal's best. The thing that surprised me most about Federer's game was the number of unforced errors he made. Mostly nets, and a fair proportion of wides too.

It's 6-7. Nadal's serve. If Federer breaks Rafael this time, he wins the title - making history as the only man to win the Wimbledon 6 times in a row. Unfortunately for him, a determined (and cute) Spaniard stands in his way. And stand in Federer's way, Nadal does. He wins on his serve, making the score 7-7. The atmosphere is tense. Everyone's heart is probably thumping as hard as mine is. It is Federer's serve. Nadal teases Federer, coming to break point at 15-40. But there IS a reason Federer is World No. 1. He slams an ace and makes it 30-40. Nadal still has one break point left. Federer plays ferociously, compelling Nadal to make an unforced error, and evens it out to a deuce. Nadal has thus not managed to convert either of his 2 break points in this game.

Deuce. Heart-stopping play occurs and Nadal wins an advantage, and then wins the game, thus breaking Federer! He yells a victory cry but then regains his composure. This is the first time in 3 sets that either player has broken the other. Nadal is just ONE game away from winning what is, arguably, the best Wimbledon final of all time. Kudos to Federer though, as he "tried everything" to break Rafa back, bringing the final game of the championship to a deuce. Federer doesn't let Rafa claim his third game-set-championship point after Rafa wins an advantage. So it's deuce again. But no-one can stop the Spaniard now! The sweet taste of victory entices him, and he aggressively wins another advantage. It is his fourth championship point. AND THEN FEDERER NETS THE BALL!

AND RAFAEL NADAL IS THE WINNER OF THE 122ND WIMBLEDON GENTLEMEN SINGLES TITLE! I, of course, not content to hug this to myself, run to my mum's room and pummel her until she wakes up. She drags herself to the living room and smiles at Rafa. Because who doesn't smile at Rafa's adorable-ness? The minute that ball bounced off Federer's racket and failed to cross the net, Rafa was flat on the ground, screaming.

And then, cuteness at its peak, he scrambles over the roof to get to his parents and his coach and his (sniff) girlfriend, and hugs all of them. And he walks across the roof to shake hands with the Crown Prince Of Spain, Felipe. Awwww! Someone throws him a flag of Spain, and he drapes it across his shoulders and descends back to the court.

His post-match words were beyond sweet. He praised Federer and said that Federer was still World #1, regardless of who won this final. Could he be more polite? I think not!

Okay, allow me just one line of sadism. Mwahahahhaa all you Roger fans out there! Not so great now, is he? In your face, suckers!!!! :P Yup, I'm done. I needed to get that out of my system. :P

And that; was my version of the Wimbledon Finals 2008. But it is 12.26 AM right now, and I need to wake up early tomorrow to finish my Physics homework. So I'd better go now. Seeya later fellas! Signing off!
~~~~~~~~~!!!!!!!!!RAFA 4EVER!!!!!!!!!~~~~~~~~~

All Hail the King.

My dad, on my 14th birthday, gave me a double-cd pack of Elvis Presley. (No, no, he hasn't even heard of him, but he knows I like music so he randomly picked three cds for me :P). I, at the time, squealed excitedly, because I was looking to diversify my music tastes (which consists of what plays on the Top 40 channel in my WorldSpace Radio), but then cast it aside in my little yellow cd-box, preferring the Bon Jovi numbers instead.

Much later, me and this cousin of mine who was over for the weekend, were watching VH1 and it was Elvis Night or something. I groaned and switched channels because that's what I do when Hinder/John Mayer/Beyonce/Avril are not playing :P. My cousin, in case I failed to mention, is like a huuuuuuuuuuuuge oldies-music addict. He excitedly asked me to change back to Elvis and I protested. But since I'm so nice (:P), I relented, and we went back to VH1. Cousin Dearest then started telling me how women went crazy about Elvis, and his intense voice, and the way he absolutely controlled the crowd. Blah.

The next day was Bhaiphota, which is the Bengali version of Rakhee, and my brother gave me this BIG wrapped-up present. And when I tore it open, it turned out to be a book: Elvis Presley. Unseen Archives. Again, I was all excited for all of three minutes. The book was banished to my table. My cousin went back to Bangalore, because that's where he works. When he came online, almost a MONTH later, he asked me if I'd read the book. I went all, 'Oh, yeah! I've started it, and it's really interesting.' I was hoping he wouldn't begin questioning me about it and he didn't. But I HAD started. The first three pages. It wasn't like the book was boring, I just had better things to do. But then, out of guilt that day, I began reading it, and I practically devoured it.The book was basically loads of pictures with follow-up writing beside each picture. But it gave plenty of fodder about his life. And what a life! His promiscuous ways, his discerning charm, and his (apparently) oh-so-sensuous voice (I still hadn't listened to the cds) proved to be quite a good read. Inspired by the book, I picked up the cds, and hence began my love affair with Elvis.

The first song I fell in love with was 'Can't Help Falling In Love.' At risk of being corny, in his slow songs, his voice just reaches out through the speakers and caresses the listener. His faster songs, the most popular of which is Jailhouse Rock, are way too good too! Completely foot-tapping, and completely different from the other songs of that period. Elvis was criticised heavily in his time, when he was just being recognised as a star. Anyway, some of my other favourites are Love Me Tender, King of the Whole Wide World, One Broken Heart for Sale, Shake That Tambourine, Such An Easy Question and They Remind Me Too Much Of You.

The lyrics are so cute! They totally make me smile. All the songs I've heard are only the songs he's sung for his movies. They're obviously pertaining to the story, so it's not like Elvis wrote them himself, but still. I guess I've grown to be a little partial where he's concerned. :P. Listen to him, all you non-fans, and join the rest of the world. :)

P.S. - This is an edit. - My dad apparently, does know of Elvis. :P

Rock-A-Hula Baby! ;)

Completely plagiarised from The Fountain Of Orange Juice, blog of the Atulaa. =P

Rules:
1. Put your MP3 player on shuffle
2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer.
3. You must write the name of the song no matter what. No cheating!

This is fun!!!


IF SOMEONE SAYS “IS THIS OKAY?” YOU SAY?
Love Her Madly. (Lol, talk about thinking hatke!)

WHAT WOULD BEST DESCRIBE YOUR PERSONALITY?
Anything For You Love. (Oh please, I'm not that desperate!)

WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY?
No Way Out. (Huuhhh?! =P)

HOW DO YOU FEEL TODAY?
Unchained Melody. (That sounds profound. Me likey! ;)

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE’S PURPOSE?
Surrender. (Whaaatttt!? NO FRIGGING WAY!)

WHAT IS YOUR MOTTO?
In The End. (Lol, why is this turning out so morbid?)

WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU?
Sweet Child Of Mine. (Awww!! :) Thank you, thank you very much!)

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR PARENTS?
Fluroscent Adolescent. (Hahahahahahhaha. My mum would probably wrinkle her nose at the NAME of this song!)

WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN?
Against All Odds. (Makes no sense..)

WHAT IS 2+2?
Jhoom. (Lol, my Math teachers have been proved right man! I do know absolutely nothing!)

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND?
Under The Bridge. (?!)

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
Wiseman. (Hahahaha. So he IS intelligent huh?!)

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY?
Bad Day. (No it isn't!)

WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP?
Intermission. (What am I supposed to translate that to?!)

WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
Aicha. (That IS one of my favourite songs, but makes absolutely NO sense in this context!)

WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU?
Is It Saturday Yet? (Lmao. I'm THAT tiring?)

WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING?
Dard-E-Disco (Hahaaahahahhahaha =D)

WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL?
Stay Away. (I'm soooo laughing out louuud now!!)

WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST?
Race Saanson Ki. (Chah, I wish I was that active! Lol)

WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET?
Come Undone. (Um, okay? If you say so, I guess...)

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS?

Commitment. (Ummm... raaandom, but makes sense in a weeeird sorta way.)

WHAT SHOULD YOU POST THIS AS?
Rock-A-Hula Baby. (Aye aye Captain!)


Raaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaandom. But school let out today. I'm high. Whadaya expect?! :)

Testimonial to Shailya.

This post is completely dedicated to my best friend. It's more for me to write than for you to read, actually. Writing is becoming therapeutic.

So, Shailya. My best friend. Whose moving away in... let me see... 6 days. We cannot boast of a friendship that has spanned decades, like some of my friends can.

We met just two years back, on July 27th, 2006. Our friendship strangely, was instantaneous. Well, not technically. A mutual friend introduced us, and I just smiled and said hi. That was it. But then later, we had this whole-class drill, from which we were both chucked out. For lack of better company, we started talking, and I could make out she was a lot of fun. We chatted about completely random things, now that I come to think of it.

We had these rough patches too. We were put in different sections, which really did have a (bad) impact. First, I had this "gang" in my section. And in the 9th std., we grew so close, and there was a tiny point of time where I actually held them in higher regard than Shells. Then I came to my senses. After that, me and Shailya grew closer than we've ever been. The gang disintegrated with time, though I consider a few people who were in it some of my closest friends.
The one thing that draws people to her like bees to honey is her niceness. She's so goddamned sweet, you wouldn't believe it. She'll say yes to anything you ask her. People kind of take advantage of that, which I hate. But the picture I've been painting of her isn't exactly accurate. I've been talking all mushy.

The fun times I've had with her are too many to count. We get absolutely drunk (not literally!!) sometimes. We laugh crazily, with absolutely no reason whatsoever. Some words/actions which seem completely normal to the third person, start us off. God, just thinking about it makes me smile. :) Though our friendship hasn't been on for a lifetime, we've certainly got a lifetime of fun/sentimental/happy memories with us.

Her tolerance. Geez, if I was in her place, I'd have chucked me a loooong time ago. About 90% of the other friends she has, I hate. I can't stop bitching about them in her presence, and she just smiles tiredly and takes it. Whoa!

And now, she's leaving, back to where she came from. She tells me she doesn't want to leave, but the rest of her family is homesick for Mumbai. We threw her a surprise party yesterday, just a tiny group of her closest friends. She fell for it completely, and adored the pink teddy bear we got her (yes, the subject of my previous post!). It was awesome. :)

Bye Bye Shells! I'll miss you!

The Pleasant Surprise That Comes With An Unexpected Encounter with Niceness!

What is it about urban city-life that has made people brand it "cold"? Is it the fact that no-one has that minuscule piece of time it takes to simply smile at someone? Or do people genuinely not care?
The other day, the surprising sweetness of a random stranger absolutely made my day. Me and my friend were at Pondi Bazaar looking for the perfect gift for a mutual friend who was leaving. We decided on this huge stuffed teddy bear that the mutual friend would absolutely adore (she's a sucker for the cute stuff). The price, when we asked, was about Rs. 1500. My friend, always up for a bargain, went all out and demanded the teddy for Rs. 600. We had Rs. 1250 together and had a lot more on our shopping list. The shopkeeper, quite a nice person, set the ultimatum at Rs. 1000. As with all good bargaining of course, there was conversation. Out strategy was to plead that we were "innocent little school girls," and hence, deserved a big discount. This other man, who was standing beside us, was listening in on the conversation. He commented that his daughter was in the same school we were studying in. We smiled politely and turned our attention back to the shopkeeper. We'd loosened up and now were pleading for the bear at Rs. 800. The shopkeeper was almost giving in. We strengthened our resolve and badgered him further. He kept saying that he was much tougher than this, but he was only being nice because we were in school. Then, the man who was standing next to us, chipped in and told the shopkeeper (with whom he was on first-name terms), to just give it to us at 800 bucks. He offered to pay the extra Rs. 150.
As usual, I did not catch this exchange, as I was busy mentally congratulating myself for my awesome bargaining ability. My friend though, did, and profusely thanked him. She told me about it in the car, where we were admiring our bounty.I was absolutely filled with awe at the sweetness of it all. It completely restored my faith in humanity!

The Notebook

I just finished reading The Notebook by Nicholas Sparks. It's only the second book I've read authored by him. The first was Message In A Bottle. Both of them made me cry.
Go ahead, call me an incurable romantic, but even the most jaded cynic would soften up with one of Sparks' novels.

The book, if you haven't read it, is about love. It's not a run-of-the-mill thing, though. The story talks about a deeper, more intense, and definitely more lasting kind of love, between two beautiful people - Noah and Allie.
The first part of the story was about how Noah and Allie met for the second time (they'd first fallen in love when he was 17, but they'd had to part).
They discovered that they'd never stopped loving one another - but the clincher was that Allie was engaged to be married.

The second part of the story - the part where I cried at almost regular intervals, is written from an octagenarian Noah's point of view. He loves Allie more than ever, and struggles with her Alzheimer's. Everyday, he reads to her from a notebook in which Allie had chronicled their love story. Some days she remembers him, some days she doesn't.

The book was so beautiful. I cannot say that it is my favourite (since A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini occupies that distinction), but it certainly comes close.
I can't wait to read Nicholas' other books. No doubt they'll be as beautiful as this one, if not more.

In Message In A Bottle, the male protagonist was called Garrett, and he seemed quite similar to Noah. They were both the silent types, and very outdoorsy. They end up being perfect gentlemen, the kind women would die for. I wonder if Noah, Garett, and all the other male protagonists in his beautiful books are actually reflections of Nicholas himself. That's hard to believe, because I was beginning to think that the "perfect guy" did not exist. But most writers identify with their characters in a tiny way atleast, so these storybook guys must atleast be loosely based around Nicholas. *Sigh.* He dedicated The Notebook to his wife, Cathy. She must be really lucky! :)

The Newbie With Her First Post! :)

Well, hello. Here I go blogging. :)
This is quite exciting actually. Two.. no, three people showed me their blogs, and I thought it was a pretty good idea.
And loaaaads of procrastination later, here I am.
I honestly have noooo idea what to write, but I guess I'll get inspired sooner or later.
...
Okay, random thoughts:

Avril's new album IS SO COOL!!!!!! I've listened to this one song, Contagious, back-to-back, about 17 times!!

Oh, the song that's playing now is called 'Everybody's Free To Wear Sunscreen.' Lol, it's quite.. interesting! :) Check out the lyrics if you haven't heard it yet. It's by a man called Quindon Tarver.

Does anyone else find the word "rocking" used as an adjective strange? Like, when people say, "that performance was rocking!" Ew! That's not even a word!!

See? The blog IS aptly named. I AM a lunatic.
[EDIT: This was back when my blog was called "Ravings of a Lunatic". I've become slightly saner since then; and hence the name change. :]

Have you wondered by a person with red hair, is called a redhead, but a BLACKHEAD is this icky little thing that occurs on your oily nose.

Anyway, am off to dinner now. See u laters!!

P.S. - Ew, this post was so... random. Whatever! =)) =P!