May 20, 2008 § 5 Comments
Get chicken from supermarket (whole chicken(cut pieces wala chicken is for sissies and smart people, we dont need that 😛 ), frozen, and it was never fed any steroids as it says on pack)
Stop crying because the chicken did not have steroids, you’re not going to get muscles anyways.
Debate with self how to defreeze the chicken. Oven? Heater? Stove? Hot, boiling potentially dangerous water? Hot, boiling water it is then.
Wrestle with chicken pack, in hot hot water. Scream “Hot Hot” everytime hand comes in contact with water.
Debate on which knife to use. Decide on biggest available knife. Ignore chances of grievous injury and all of moms advice to stay away from sharp things.
Hold chicken by wings, make chicken dance on table top.
Decide to cut the legs of chicken first. Chicken leg is indestructible, wont be cut by simple knife cut. Decide to go samurai way. Hold knife with both hands over head(like one does a hammer), aim at point at which chicken leg is to be cut and chop with all the force possible. Keep knife down, collect chicken pieces from opposite corners of kitchen.
Recite a prayer for the chickens soul which might be shuddering in chicken heaven at the cruelty being dealt to its body.
Chop, slice and dice the chicken into pieces; all the time thinking of how it will taste.
1 hour into this, try to keep calm. Ignore all the weird slime that has accumulated on your hands.
Marinate the chicken with chilli powder, turmeric, ginger garlic paste, salt, weird powder found in kitchen cabinet(hey, it was tasty) and something in the fridge that smells like vinegar.
Chop onions, tomatoes. Think of what life would be like if you had a girlfriend who would do this for you. Try not to chop off finger.
Pour oil in cooking pan. Try not to put any water in pan. Run away when some water gets “accidentally” introduced into pan.
Fry onion, put all masalas available in kitchen into pan. Yes, even that weird yellow-green coloured one with no label on bottle. Who cares what it is, it looks like a masala.
Put tomatoes into pan. Add chicken. Add salt. Let it cook. Watch TV.
Put chicken into dish.
Pray to God that it does not turn out to be poisonous.
Eat. Watch others finish off your two hours of work in fifteen minutes. Feel good when everybody tells you how good it tastes. Tell them it was a magic ingredient. Wonder what that yellow-green powder was.
For people who are wondering ki how it looked. Here are some pics:
April 1, 2008 § 5 Comments
Do you remember the trick you played on me exactly one year ago? Do you remember? The complex web of tricks, the chats, the preparation for which you must have done weeks in advance. Do you remember? How I fell for that trick; hook, line and sinker. Do you remember? How you called me up, just at the right time and told me that it was a trick. Do you remember? You may not. But I do. And I also remember the smile that stayed on my face for the rest of the day…
January 28, 2008 § Leave a comment
Thanks to the WordPress Stats page, I know that a substantial number of hits on this blog are generated by google searches for phrases such as “mithun movie like michael jackson”, “do not cry frye”, “ahista BOLT” and most amusingly, “kingfisher airhostess photos”. Yes, yes, I know that I never produced/directed/wrote/starred in anything resembling mithun like michael jackson and that I have never encouraged anyone to not cry (but with a name like frye, I guess that person does have a right to cry 🙂 ) ,much less by singing (which most definitely will lead to crying) and I have absolutely no idea why Google(or whichever search engine they use) thinks that my blog has anything to do with ahista BOLT. As for the photos, I don’t have them, really 😛
However, there are other, more sinister searches that make people land up on this blog: searches that include “How to propose”, “How to marry”,”How to propose and marry”,”How to Propose ______(insert name of random girl here)”, “how to get drunk and propose” and weirdly something that makes no sense : “I love you Mithun” (why, why dear god why?), to which I say: Come hither, vile spawn of satan and let your neck taste the fury of my samurai sword…or something like that. I live in constant hope that the search was not targeted at me but at one of the many mithuns in this world (of which there are many). But I digress from the whole point of this blog.
Which is the announcement of a post to appease all the searchers : a post on how to (shudder)propose. [btw, that shudder is on my part; do not shudder when proposing (unless you want to scare the person off); though the shudder will come naturally after you realise what a foolish thing you have done]. I am being helped in this by my friend, The Mediator. Will have the post up soon.
October 26, 2007 § 2 Comments
Read the intro here .
The Mediator was a quirky person. He knew a lot, yet gave away little. He spoke little, but made a lot of (non)sense. He smiled a lot, for some reason. He would sit at one place & reflect on things, able to focus even with his whole group jabbering away. He would be silent for long, staring at empty spaces (sometimes full), as if trying to decipher the meaning of life. Maybe he knew about that too. As it were, his answers were cryptic, which took deciphering. The contained hidden messages.Here’s a short litany of questions and his answers (none of which are mine I add; I am as clean as compiler optimised code 😛 )So here goes (with my decipherings)
Asker(A) : O Mediator, I think I like her.
Mediator(M) : Life is to like. To not like is to waste life.(So what do I do?)
Asker(A) : O Mediator, does she like me?
Mediator(M) : Yes & no. Its actually how you look at it. Perspective matters. Life without perspective is like, well, life without perspective!!(Its actually how she looks at it dumbass; why don’t you go and ask her?)
A : O mighty mediator, what is Love?
M : Love is hell, Love is Heaven. It is the tormentor yet it is the reliever. Love is pure yet purity is not love. Love is complicated, yet simple. Much like a quadratic equation with simple roots.(I don’t have a clue!)
A : O marvellous mediator, should I?
M : The question you should ask yourself is should you not? Your wisdom amazes even me (to the point of swearing!! Complete the question, nincompoop!)
A : O Mediator, should I propose to her?
M : What is not revealed is lost forever. What you don’t give out, stays with you forever. Do not what your heart wants you to do, do that what you want your heart to do.(In short, yes do go on, what other entertainment do I have?)
A : O malevolent mediator, she said no to me!!
M : (searches in dictionary) why you!! you give me a bad name! Yet I shall answer you, for I am kind. Do not cry, for you have lost nothing, except your dignity and honour and maybe your sanity. Yet you show courage and traces of madness in trying to pursue her. Accept the verdict, give up. (Yeah I knew she would say no…I knew)
A : (with moist eyes) O Mediator, mediate for me!
M : What you ask of me is a difficult task, yet I shall carry it out. For I am bound by the mediators code of honour. I shall mediate. ( A delicate proposition, but it shall happen)
A : (Drunk) O wighty Wediator, how should I propose?
M : (Equally Drunk) Purrpose? Yeh. It is important to purrpossh. For without purrposshal there is no dishpossal (hic). Do that what your heart tellsh you to do. But heed my whords!! An arrow released does not come back! Well, if the whind ish blohwing towarrdsh you, it might come back, but that rarely happens, no? (A wise thought. The way, does not matter, unless the intentions are correct. Search yourself, guage your intentions, then do the deed. An arrow fired cannot be recalled. Wise indeed)
A : O Mediocre Mediator, what do girls want?
M : A mighty question, insulter of mine. One can only guess. It is suspect whether they know even. But a generalisation is in order. They like that which is platonic, they desire that matter which is grey, they need that which provides material, they crave that which mills around a boon and demand that which binds. (Deciphering this is hard, I do not know what the mediator says here)
That was just a sampling of the mediators’ answers to lifes perplexing queries. His relentless attack on the inanities of life is never ending. His answers are cryptic but they contain meaning that is layers deep.ξ Mithun Kotian
October 23, 2007 § 9 Comments
I am 22. So are most of my friends. This, unfortunate as it is, is the age when er… relationships blossom. Some of which develop holes in them and sink. Didn’t get the last one? (Oh well, relation-ship, ships which have holes in them sink!! Oh the tragedy of having to explain a clever line!!) So where was I? Yes, relationships. Lots and lots of them. Blossom like flowers they do. Unfortunately, a majority of them are nipped in the bud as soon as they start to blossom or are crushed in the fell clutch of circumstances. A lot of such things happened in my class (well, my ex-class). We had all kinds of relationships; the kind in which both the guy and girl knew that they were in a relationship, the kind in which the guy knew, but the girl didn’t and vice-versa. There were also a couple of instances in which the guy and girl didn’t have a clue but the entire class knew. There were two-way, one-way and one & half-way (I kid thee not 😀 ). It was the time when our class discovered the joys of Internet, of yahoo messenger, orkut and chat in general. A populace that hadn’t interacted properly in 3 years, was now chatting furiously on the net. Out of this were born mini-romances, their flames stoked by the presence of broadband connectivity. It was all nice, hunky-dory, like a parabola equation – all smooth going. In short, too good to be true. It was. Something had to give, something had to break. And break it did, a little too fast. The lull was over, now was the time for the storm. The storm had come. Of broken hearts, of desires nipped in the bud, of advances spurned, of feelings scorned at. At the receiving end were guys mostly, their proposals rejected, made fun of; glumness reigned supreme. It was like a war zone. Bloodied souls, broken hearts.
Yet one man stood alone in this wasteland of emotions. Surveying the field, picking up survivors, urging them to live, giving advice, doling consolation. He was looked upto by the fallen. He was the one guys went to with their problems, queries about girls, about relationships, their outcome. He was the bandage to their wounds. He was the answer to their queries. He knew everything, everyone. He knew of problems. He knew solutions. He was inspiration. He was wise. He was THE ONE. He was THE MEDIATOR.