Why you such a chutiya, bro?

Yes! Its that time of the day, that day of the week, that week of the month, goodness knows which one, and that month of the year, when I get to finally sit in front of my computer screen, with only 6 tabs open, unlike a gazillion on usual days. Mind you, I work with two screens. And now, I am completely at sea about what it is that I wanted to write about in the first place.  By the way, the job's great, the girl isn't yet repelled by my overtures, and I get to daydream about cars all day long. And my dad's not pushing me to master any Business Administration. Amazing! 

Anyway, it's time for "The word of the day". Today's word is 'Eponymous'. The word means that a cocky bastard made something and named his made thing after himself. So much in a desperation to leave behind a legacy! I would totally not bother with any eponymous creations of my own, which mind you, is a complete lie. But I just abhor it when some bugger goes about engraving or embossing his name on a beautiful looking pen, or ring. 

As I write this, my dad's ordering a crate of beer... In front of me. Now that's something new. I'm looking at him as he's placing his order, and he gives me this "Kid, you're not getting any of that beer" smile. I'm not big on drinking, or so I like to say. Pot, anyone?

Huh? What??

My phone doesn't catch network at my workplace. Which is in a way, a good thing. Mom doesn't call all the time now. Poor thing. I said this to a friend, who was, to my chagrin, looking for a new service provider. He asked me "Dude, how's Idea?". I said "No idea.". I don't know the buffoon who walked up from behind and said "Get Idea, Sirjee", but I had better things to do than mull over utter buffoonery. By the way, I just gave Idea Cellular an ad idea. Looks like Idea lacks ideas. Okay, too many ideas. 

I belong to a middle-class household. Well, upper-ish middle class home. Nevertheless, the freezer is always stocked with condiments of all kind, rather than chocolates, ice-creams, or anything, that is actually supposed to be mainstay in an ideal refrigerator's freezer compartment. But, BUT, BUT, as you know, middle-class people scurry to the nearest shop to get the good stuff (read ice-creams), the moment guests are expected. I love ice-cream. More so, when I have an opportunity to avenge myself in front of guests. I know, I'm awesome. I feel elated by the very thoughts of watching the expression on my parents' faces when they discover that the ice-cream they bought yesterday, for the guests, passed through my guts, into the commode, just today morning. I let my kid sister in on my grand plans of finishing off all the ice-cream before the guests arrive. You know what my sister told me?

"Why you such a chutiya, bro?"

Kids, nowadays, I tell you. No respect for older siblings.

There are a few more things that come to mind. The other day, I was staring at two coins, a one rupee, and a two rupee coin. Now you know how jobless I am. Mind you, no one dropped these coins in my hand because they felt how pitiful my condition was. Back to the coins, the two rupee coin is the latest in circulation. The one-rupee coin is the last one that got replaced with new punier ones. And both of them, the one and two rupee coins, are dimensionally the same.  Isn't it slightly weird? We go about, carrying these coins, which are given some value by a seemingly insurmountable, all-governing body; not to forget all the pieces of paper(Read money) we have grown so fond of. Chaps may rant about a need for standardization of exchange of commodities. Bollocks! Okay, maybe I'm wrong. But who gives a hoot? Two coins of the same size, with some minor difference in their fancy designs, not even made out of different materials, are surprisingly different in value. Thumbs up to that!

Anyone listens to radio anymore? It may sound a bit old-school, specially with Gaana.com, and a gazillion more 'apps'(Goodness, I hate the word 'apps') like it playing everything you'd ever listen to. But that said, even radio is a pain in the arse, ear actually. three-fourths of the time, you hear random ads. The remaining time, you hear Honey Singh. If my dad's playing the radio, I do hear melodious Mr. Kishore Kumar. But oftentimes, the experience is ruined by the perpetually saccharine Ms. Lata Mangeshkar. She should replace the 'L' in her name with a 'T'. If you know what I mean. Coming back to radio channels, the way the ads play out on the radio, each brand squeezing every second of available air-time, all of them sound like,,,,

"Mutual funds are subject to market risks. Please read the offer document carefully before investing" played at the rate of 2000 words per minute. No one hears it, and it is maddeningly irritating. 

Jeremy Clarkson is a superbly bright man. I know, I sound too opinionated, and yes, I am talking about the 7-foot, octogenarian-looking, erstwhile host of BBC Top Gear. In his book "Clarkson on Cars", in which the Brit goes about beating up everything on the road, the bugger made a very astute observation. It goes this way.  If someone uses the bus to get to work, the chap would mostly make use a bus to get back. In that vein, if some "X" number of people use the bus in a day, it wouldn't be far from truth that actually, the number of people using buses on an average day are actually "X/2". Or maybe, I find that to be an astute observation because I am a huge Clarkson fan. He looks bloody ugly, though.