A: So, you are sure about this.
B: Yup.
A: Really.
B: Yup.
A: Writing a comic-book is how you want to begin your career in the literary world.
B: Yup.
A: Okay. Whatever you say.
B: Hey, I'm not kidding. I can draw pretty well. And write a bit.
A: And you won't have to worry about grammar as much.
B: Exactly!
A: But do you have a basic theme for the comic-book?
B: I've thought about that a bit, and I've decided to do a superhero comic-book.
A: Superhero?
B: Yup.
A: Isn't that a little old? I mean almost every kind of super-hero has already been done twice over. What kind of superhero would you create?
B: Oh, I had a couple of ideas about that. But I think I'm going to go with "Mr Clean".
A: Mr Clean?
B: Yup. He turns into a sponge whenever something gets dirty.
A: A sponge?
B: Yup. A big yellow sponge.
A: Umm...
B: And his secret identity will be Robert Bleach.
A: Robert Bleach?
B: Yup. Of course, this comic-book will be targeted at housewives.
A: I think you're a little late with your idea. There already is a sponge called Bob.
B: Really?
A: Yes. And he's not exactly a superhero.
B: Hunh? What a waste of sponge!
A: Right.
B: Well, my other idea was Spinach Man.
A: Spinach Man?
B: Yes. He gets his super strength from spinach.
A: I think they've done that too.
B: That too?
A: Yes. It was very long ago. You know, I think you need to stop thinking about sponges and vegetables.
B: Oh. So you think Captain Celery won't make a good superhero?
A: Oh I'm sure he will. But I just think that your idea is a little ahead of its time.
B: Yeah, me too.
A: Maybe you need to think more in terms of special powers that can be used to save the world, you know?
B: Now that's a very good idea!
A: I know.
B: Hmmm. Let me think. Hey! I got one!
A: What is it?
B: I could write about Writer Boy!
A: Writer Boy? I thought you were writing a superhero comic book.
B: Yes, and that's the name of my superhero. Writer Boy!
A: And what does he do exactly?
B: He saves the world from evil villains by arriving at the scene, and writing a happy ending.
A: Ah.
B: It's a fantastic idea, isn't it? Just imagine. The evil villain plants a bomb on a bus, and tries to trigger it off by remote control from his hideout.
A: I'm listening.
B: Writer Boy appears on the scene and saves the day by writing a happy ending where the battery on the remote control receiver of the bomb dies, and the people get off the bus safe and sound!
A: Ah. Sounds interesting.
B: Didn't I tell you? I'm going to make millions!
A: I'm sure you will. But every superhero has a weakness. What will your hero's weakness be?
B: That's a good question. A superhero isn't a superhero if he doesn't have a weakness. Hmmm. I know! Writer's Block!
A: I don't think you can use Writer's block as a weakness for a super hero. It needs to be something that the evil villain can use.
B: Good point. Ah yes! His weakness will be broccoli!
A: Broccoli?
B: Yes. Writer Boy can't stand broccoli. It makes him nauseous, and he can't control the ending. Writer Boy gets into a bad mood, and could write any sort of ending if he comes too close to broccoli.
A: You know, broccoli is actually very good for you.
B: You sound like my mom.
A: I am your mom.
B: Ah. I thought you looked familiar.
A: You know, I think you should go get ready, or you'll be late for school.
B: But I told you, I don't want to go to school. I don't need to! I'm going to write a comic-book!

It's one of those seedy pubs - the kind where you get drunk on the alcohol fumes, and get cancer on the passive smoking. The kind where the floors are wet with spilled beer - sometimes spilled on its way into a drunk, or as is the case more often, on its way out. Customers here tend not to get remembered when they return. It could be the whiskey. Or it could be the fact that it's difficult to recognize a man who has spent most of his time in the bar lying on his face.

At one corner of the bar, a man sits alone, staring at the empty glass an inch from his eyes, his wallet empty. He's hoping that any moment now someone will walk into the pub and shout "I got promoted today! One round of drinks for everyone, on me!"

Well, he's allowed to hope, isn't he?

He wears a somewhat loose black t-shirt, apparently hand-embroidered with pink, orange and lavender colored threads. The letters on the back of the T-shirt say K.I.S.A.

The only thing that separates this drinker from the rest of the riff-raff in the pub, is that his t-shirt looks clean. Washed, anyway.

A random drinker approaches the bar for a refill. He looks like a stockbroker who may have lost a few million today. He's not been drinking too long, so unfortunately for himself, he's still relatively sober. Relatively, of course, being the operative word. He notices our K.I.S.A. friend sitting alone in his corner.

"Heeeeeeeey!" he says to the man in the t-shirt, swaying as he speaks.

The man in the t-shirt turns slowly to look at him, as if half asleep. He nods.
Encouraged, the stockbroker sits down on the barstool next to his.

"Mind if I... ssssh-sit here withhhhhh... you?" he asks. In a short while speech will become more difficult - which will allow him to concentrate on his drink. But for now he's feeling chatty.

"No," comes the reply.

"Gooooood-d!" says the stockbroker as he sits down, and smiles widely. "My name is... is... Harry!" he shouts, and extends his hand. The shouting wasn't necessary, but it feels good to exercise the vocal chords.

The man in the t-shirt doesn't bother with replying or extending his own hand, and goes back to staring at his glass.

Harry shakes hands with the air, and says "Nic-sh-c-sh-e to meet you!"

The man in the t-shirt doesn't seem to feel the same.

Harry looks at the letters on the t-shirt and says "Naai... Niiiice embra... em-bra... embryo... em-bar-dery... colours!"

At this, the man in the t-shirt turns to him and says "Thank you. I did it myself."

"Gooooood!" says Harry, and smiles even wider. His smile is the kind that reminds one of the story of the man who smiled so much, that the top of his head fell off.

"What doesh... K-K-Kaaaay... Aaaaiii... Esssssshhh-ssh-sss... Aaaay... What'shit shtand forrr?"

"Knight In Shining Armour."

"Kniiight?" asks Harry.

"Yes," says the knight.

"Then where ish... your... your... horshe?"

"I hired him out to a man in Manhattan. He gives people joyrides around Central Park."

"Annnd the sh-sh-shiningggg arrrmour?"

"Gave it to a guy who needed a costume for a party."

"Shh-shhh-shworrrd?"

"That too. But it's okay. I nailed the hilt to the scabbard."

"But ww-w-w-why?"

"Because I'm out of a job and it was the only way I could think of getting my hands on some money."

"No jobbbb?"

"Nope. None at all."

"Thaaat shucksh!" says Harry, and pats the knight on the shoulder. "Get ano... ano... another onne!"

The knight looks Harry in the eye and says "Do you know how hard it is for a knight to get a decent job these days?"

"No," says Harry simply.

"Well, the last dragons died in 1572."

"No drrrragons?"

"No. The knights of that time had no understanding of the delicately balanced nature of the ecology. They killed them all!"

"No drrraggonsss... Go to Chinatown!" says Harry happily.

The knight decides to ignore him. "And you should see the women these days! They don't even need us anymore!"

"They don't?" asks Harry. The thought of women not needing men sobers him up a little.

"Of course not. They want to be independent now! They have jobs!"

"Mmmm," says Harry as he runs his tongue over his teeth. "Must be the chicken," he thinks.

"I nearly had a heart attack when I found out that they're actually learning self-defense!"

Harry nods vigorously. He wishes someone had told him a little earlier, though.

"I mean, women and self-defense? What do they think knights are for? Playing chess?"

"Hmmmm," says Harry. He wonders why playing chess at night is not a good idea.

"I was walking down a street the other day," continues the knight. Without my mask on, looking for a job as usual, when the most wonderful sight caught my eye. There was this drunk-looking man shouting at a woman who was passing by."

"'Ah!' I had thought. 'Finally a something to do!' I'd planned to rescue the woman from the drunk. Maybe she'd fall in love with me. Maybe she'd offer to make me dinner. If nothing else, maybe she'd offer me some money!"

"Ah," said Harry wisely.

"So, I stepped into a shop to put my mask on. I have my secret identity to protect, after all. But by the time I stepped back out, what did I see?"

"Whhhaaat?" asks Harry, in suspense.

"The drunk was lying on the ground on his stomach, the woman had her knee pressed against his back, and was twisting his arm behind him!"

"Ah," says Harry. He makes a mental note to stay away from any women after he leaves the bar.

"It's as if there is no purpose to my life anymore!"

"Ah," says Harry.

"Stop it with the 'Ah's already. And what are you staring at?"

"Niiiice em-brai-drrree."

First: Celestial Conversation
Previous: Belief: Celestial Conversations - XXI

God: Hello!
Me: Hi! You've been missing a long time now.
God: Someone's reported Me missing?
Me: No, no! I meant that I haven't seen You in a long time.
God: You haven't actually seen me, ever. This is the internet.
Me: Right, but You know what I mean.
God: And that is?
Me: Nothing!
God: You can't mean nothing. Or why would you bother to speak at all?
Me: Oh God!
God: What?
Me: I wasn't talking to You!
God: How many Gods do you believe in anyway?
Me: Hundreds I guess. I'm a Hindu.
God: Ah.
Me: Anyway. Where have You been?
God: Everywhere, of course. There's a reason they call Me Omnipresent.
Me: I mean, I haven't seen You online in a long time.
God: Yes. And?
Me: Why haven't I seen You online in a long time?
God: Oh, someone stole My laptop.
Me: Oh! So where are You chatting from now?
God: A computer in the school library.
Me: Ah.
God: Yes. It's quite hard.
Me: What, the computer?
God: No. Losing it.
Me: You've lost it?
God: I just told you, it got stolen!
Me: No, I meant that as a joke.
God: Joke? What joke?
Me: I... Never mind.
God: Whatever you say.
Me: So, did the cops say they could get it back?
God: No. They told me it was probably God's will.
Me: Strange cops. But why would You want Your laptop stolen?
God: That's exactly what I said!
Me: And?
God: They gave me funny looks.
Me: Of course they did. What else would You expect people to do if You go around saying You're God?
God: But I am God!
Me: So?
God: *sigh* So what was I saying?
Me: You were talking about Your laptop.
God: Ah, yes. I lost a lot of data.
Me: Like what?
God: Like telephone numbers, my address book, 50 recipes on how to make a meal out of bread and peanut butter, and the list of people who are allowed to be in Heaven.
Me: You need a list?
God: Of course!
Me: Why would You need a list?
God: To be able to tell if someone was living in Heaven illegally.
Me: Oh.
God: Yes. I had to start the list, after we realized that there was a pizza guy who had come to make a delivery and never bothered to leave.
Me: Ah. But aren't You supposed to use St Peter's Big Book for that?
God: Yes. We got an electronic copy after the Pope fiasco.
Me: Oh yes. So did The Pope get in, finally?
God: Oh, he got tired of waiting and went back to inhabit the new guy.
Me: Okay.
God: Yes.
Me: So You were saying You got an electronic copy of the Big Book.
God: Yes.
Me: And the original?
God: We had to destroy that. There can only be one Big Book.
Me: Really?
God: Yes. It's got something to do with copying from the right, or something.
Me: You mean copyrights?
God: That's what I said.
Me: Um...
God: Anyway. So we're in a bit of a soup now.
Me: Oh?
God: Yes. Everyone's arguing about how they think some of the others aren't really supposed to be in Heaven.
Me: Oh. And you didn't get any backup?
God: What didn't I get back?
Me: No, I meant, didn't you backup your data?
God: Backup?
Me: Yes?
God: What's Backup?
Me: It's copying your information somewhere else, for safety.
God: Like into a book?
Me: No, like on a CD.
God: Aren't CDs too small?
Me: Of course not. You could fit an encyclopedia onto a CD.
God: By writing very small?
Me: Hunh?
God: Aren't CDs these shiny pieces of plastic, a little bigger than the palm of your hand?
Me: Yes?
God: Well, if I wrote on one of them, I'd barely be able to fit the Ten Commandments on them.
Me: What?
God: And I'd have to use one of those felt-pen things. Pencils don't write very well on CDs.
Me: Eh?
God: And they're so shiny, I'm sure it'd be quite difficult to read from them. I think I'll just use a notebook.
Me: Um.
God: Call Me old-fashioned. I never really got the hang of technology, I guess.
Me: I'd have to agree.
God: It's a little hard to keep in touch with all the new things people keep inventing. Like the stuff they can do with a ringtone, for example. Makes My head spin sometimes.
Me: Right.
God: Anyway. I'll be off then. Must buy that notebook.
Me: Bye then.
God: Bye.

Next: One of Us: Celestial Conversations - XXIII

A story I posted as a comment on the blog linked above -

Birthday Party

It's the girl's birthday. She's opening her presents. People are gathered around. As is usual on the girlfriend's birthday, the BF's present is opened last. It's this huge box, almost as tall as the girl herself.

"Did you get me a giant teddy bear?"

BF smiles.

She rips open the box, to find a whole lot of confetti, and a smaller box inside. It's around waist-high.

"Oh, it's that cute Victorian-style dressing table stool, isn't it?"

BF smiles even wider. He seems to be sweating just a little.

She rips open the box to find even more confetti, and a smaller box inside, around two feet high.

"A small TV for my room?"

BF adjusts his collar, still smiling.

She rips open the box to find yet another pile of confetti and a much smaller box.

"Ah, I know!" she says excitedly. "It's an iPod isn't it?"

BF is still smiling, but looks quite worried now.

She rips that open too, and finds confetti. She turns the box upside-down, and watches the confetti float softly to the ground. She shakes the box hoping that a smaller box will fall out.

Nothing.

She turns around to look at BF angrily. "What...?"

There's a collective gasp from the guests.

He's on his knees, holding a small ring with a large diamond in his hands. "Sweetheart, will you marry me?"

She's shocked.

He looks up at her expectantly.

She looks around at all the guests.

They look back at her.

The tension in the room is palpable.

A tear appears in her eyes.

He gets to his feet, and puts his arms around her. She cries against his chest.

Then he pulls back, and slips the ring onto her unresisting finger.

There is much celebration, women shrieking, guys shouting, and lots of people hugging each other.

The guests go home.

As the girl says goodbye to the last guest and shuts the door behind them, she turns around to face the BF.

"How dare you?" she asks.

"Hunh?" (Come on, he's a guy)

"How DARE you???"

"I..."

"You didn't even have the common courtesy to ask me in private first?"

"Uh... umm..."

"Just assumed I'd say yes, did you?"

"Well..."

"No warning even!"

"I..."

"In front of all those people!"

"Er..."

"Do you know how embarrassing it was for me?"

"I'm..."

She slips the ring off her finger.

"?"

"You did it on purpose didn't you? You proposed in front of all those people so that I wouldn't be able to say no."

"!"

Gives ring back to him.

"!!!"

"And you still owe me my birthday gift."

" "

"And to make up for it, you'll get me that giant teddy bear. One with a bow. A small TV for my room. An iPod. And you'll engrave my name on the back. Not yours. Just mine. And there'll be so many bouquets of flowers, that I won't have enough place in the house to keep them. And a big box of chocolates. Make that two."

BF looks at her blankly.

"Do you understand me?"

He nods.

"Good."

She walks toward the bedroom.

"Close the door when you leave. I'm going to sleep."

The End

BF = Bloody Fool

Now for the prologue. Yes, I could simply call it the background for the story, but big authors who get paid to write, call it a prologue, and I haven't given up my Pulitzer hopes yet.

The inimitable aNTi (I haven't yet figured out what he is anti, but that's the topic for a whole new blog) wrote something that caught my eye the other day. And to make it more interesting, one of the things that gave him the the idea for what he wrote, was one of my stories.

Yes, I know it's confusing. And the fact that I'm feeling particularly literarily-challenged (is that even a word?) right now, isn't helping. But anyway.

Referring to an episode of Everybody Loves Raymond where Raymond proposes to Debra (now his wife) in public, aNTi asks the following question -

In ficticious works of art, like the [Everybody Loves Raymond] episode mentioned above, I notice that a lot of protagonists getting the message across in full view of a lot other people. Does this happen in real life too? Do you guys know of any incidents where such acts have backfired, and the gal goes - "Hmmmm...., I am not so sure"?...

The short story I've reproduced above, was my attempt at describing what might happen in that case. As mentioned earlier, it can also be found as a comment to that blog post, and since I tend to collect my stories on this blog, I decided to reproduce it here (with some editing).

Not to mention that it's a good way to slightly increase my pathetic blogging frequency.

Which brings to mind the fact that I sometimes feel I've written more interesting comments on other people's blogs in the recent past, than I've written posts on my own blog.

My first ever article/story published online was a collection of rants. So were a large number of posts I have published on this blog. The title of this blog itself, is a rant.

You see, my favourite activity in the world is to complain. When I was born, my first thought was - "Put me back in there! This place is cold! And it smells!"

My mother has had to bear the brunt of my complaining. When I was a kid, I used to complain about anything she cooked. Everything I ate, was too hot. Hot as in temperature, most of the time. And if it was ice cold, then it was still too hot. As in spicy. I have even claimed to find salted yoghurt too spicy. All the women who've had the misfortune to cook for me (my mom and my aunts), have at some time considered replacing the salt with rat poison. But they know I'd probably complain that the food smelt weird.

In spite of all the complaining though, I've been known to keep a cheery disposition. Most of the time, anyway. The secret to that, of course, is the complaining.

1. I enjoy it.
2. Having complained about something, I find it infinitely easier to deal with.

Of course, there is the problem of those things that you can't complain about. Things you're not allowed to complain about. Things that are too personal to tell anyone else. Things you can't share with anyone. These pent up frustrations can be quite depressing. But there's a slight solution to that too, right? Complain that you can't complain!

Yes. I'm quite crazy.

So, on this hundredth post of mine, I thought I'd compile a list of one hundred things that I have complained about at some time in my life.

In no particular order -

1. Homework.
2. Teachers who gave homework.
3. Having to learn more than one language.
4. Having to learn more than two languages.
5. Exams.
6. The fact that there are Integral equations that cannot be solved (Yes, I'm quite the math buff).
7. Engineering submissions.
8. No work.
9. Too much work.
10. Deadlines.
11. Computers with 1GB of RAM that take 25 seconds to delete a zero-byte file.
12. That there are no single women left on this planet.
13. Women who claim they are single but really aren't.
14. Children who swear more than I do.
15. Not being able to bring myself to swear as much as some of my female classmates.
16. Not being able to speak every third sentence without the F-word.
17. Having to watch clean versions of movies on Star Movies with all the interesting parts removed.
18. Global poverty.
19. Global warming.
20. Pollution.
21. Printers that don't make it easy to print on both sides of the paper.
22. Being misunderstood.
23. Cafeteria food.
24. My own cooking.
25. Missing mom's cooking.
26. That eating Chhole Bhature can give you gas.
27. Having to eat rice everyday once I moved to Chennai.
28. Chennai auto-rickshaw drivers.
29. Power-failures in the sweltering Chennai summer.
30. Waiting for the rains on a hot summer day.
31. Waiting for the sun to come out on a rainy day.
32. Potholes.
33. People playing Holi with permanent colours.
34. Women who ruffle my hair and mess it up minutes after I finally got it looking presentable.
35. Women who say I'm "So Sweet!".
36. That all women are different.
37. That all women are the same.
38. Being called "Uncle" when I was seventeen.
39. Being the only person my age at a party.
40. Attending a friend's wedding to find that they're the only people I know.
41. Having to rice with my hands at a South-Indian wedding because a spoon would damage the banana leaf.
42. Being given a spoon at the next South-Indian wedding even though I didn't ask for it.
43. Plagiarism.
44. Writer's block.
45. People who write emails and blogs as if they were writing an SMS.
46. HTML mail.
47. Browsers that don't support web standards (read as IE).
48. Inequality of the sexes.
49. Men who beat their wives.
50. Child-molestation.
51. Rape.
52. Suicide.
53. Murder.
54. Terrorism.
55. Communalism.
56. Sexism.
57. Racism.
58. Casteism.
59. Hate.
60. Cities where people lack civic sense.
61. Cars that cost too much.
62. Rising petrol prices.
63. Restaurants in the US that give you ice in your water when the temperature outside is -5°F (~ -20°C).
64. Sugar in lime-juice (Yes, like I mentioned before, I've got very specific tastes).
65. People who don't follow the instructions on the back of the box when cooking Knorr instant soups even if it turns out more tasty than when I tried.
66. Having to watch that growing dust-gathering pile of washed clothes on my roommate's bed, because he was too lazy to put them in the closet.
67. Years later, watching a growing dust-gathering pile of washed clothes on my own bed, because I do not have the time (I'll fold them today, I promise).
68. The fact that Lime'n'Spoon is not a national sport.
69. Knowing that we probably won't learn if there is any other intelligent life in the universe, in my lifetime.
70. The fact that I picked up my first Isaac Asimov book only after Asimov died.
71. Not being able to lay my hands on a single unused copy of Asimov's Empire novels.
72. That Douglas Adams never finished writing his last book.
73. Talkative fellow passengers on an eight-hour flight when you are in no mood to socialize.
74. Fellow passengers who keep to themselves on a nine-hour flight when you are extremely bored.
75. Rude flight-stewardesses.
76. Airline food.
77. Mini pretzels.
78. Juice shops that add water to their milk-shakes.
79. Needing to have malaria to get time off from work.
80. The fact that almost all my friends are getting engaged or married by the end of this year.
81. People who buy movie tickets in black.
82. Friends making me watch a movie with tickets bought in black.
83. Hard and extremely sharp grass in the company lawn that was planted to make sure the employees do NOT sit on it.
84. Reading a suspense story through to the end, only to find the last page missing.
85. People who give away the plot of a book before you start reading it.
86. Finding out who the killer was in the movie "Kaun" before I saw the movie.
87. That most movie/book reviews have spoilers.
88. That no word rhymes with "Orange".
89. Missing a large number of movies I wanted to watch because I didn't have company.
90. Reaching the US when a movie I wanted to watch is no longer running in movie halls.
91. Returning back to India to find that the movie is no longer running in movie halls there either.
92. That it's extremely difficult to get company to watch a show on Broadway.
93. That my cellular provider won't switch me to a post-paid plan without changing my number.
94. Spam.
95. Having to throw away food because we couldn't eat it all before it went bad.
96. People who don't cover their mouth and nose when they sneeze or cough.
97. People who put the wrong thing in the wrong shelf (No, the plates do NOT go in the same shelf as the pressure cooker!).
98. People who don't try to clean up the mess right after they spill something.
99. Roommates who use your blanket without asking if they can.
100. That when it comes to things to complain about, one hundred is too small a number.

There! I feel better now.

No. It's not this blog's birthday.

First of all, I prefer the term blog-anniversary. So if anything, it is one day past the first anniversary of this blog. Not a blog birthday. Not a blog anniversary. Okay?

So now you're going to say that that's not true. The earliest post on this blog seems to be posted on the 17th of April, last year. Well see, that was just to throw you off. *evil grin*

I did start blogging on the 17th of April in 2004. But that was on Sulekha. That "blog" if you want to call it that, can be found here. The first post on this blog was posted on the 5th of June, 2004. Once I started blogging here a little more regularly, I just copied my first ever blog post to this site, with the original date. Why? Oh, it felt like the right thing to do at the time.

Anyway. So, what else is special today?

Let's see. It's the 6th of June in the year 2005. That's 6/6/5. So one year from now, the date will be 6/6/6. The year of the Devil is just a year away.

Yes, I know. Very funny.

So, I've been blogging here for more than a year now. What next?

Well, I have a couple of things on my mind. First, hopefully, I'll start blogging everyday again. (Of course, that's probably just wishful thinking).

The other thing I've been thinking about, is starting a blog version of a soap opera. Why? Oh, just like that. It's something to do. In general of course, I've always been afraid of sharing a half-finished story with the world. But I'vevjust begun writing a story for which I don't have a specific end in mind, and I think I'll have to watch it evolve over an extended period of time, to see where it goes. And now I've experimented with episodic blogging in the Celestial Conversations, so I'm just a little more comfortable with the idea of publishing an incomplete story.

I've read stories split over multiple parts on blogs before. One of my favourite bloggers who does this, calls herself Fizo_Al on Sulekha. She now also blogs on blogger sometimes. Of course, I haven't read any of her latest stories, but they used to be quite interesting to follow.

What I'm going to attempt, though, isn't supposed to have a specific end. At least not yet. So writing something, and then not being able to go back and change it, is a little scary.
Still, let's see.

So does that mean that there will be no more Celestial Conversations? Naah. My God's not going anywhere yet. *smile*

I've also had this idea for a blog sit-com for a few months. I haven't been able to write one complete paragraph about that yet, though. Hopefully the new year of blogging will bring me some new words.

There's also that play-type comedy that I've been unable to complete for almost two years now. And the long pending blog-template update.

Lots of blogging to do. So little time.

(Alright. I can't resist it. Happy Belated Birthday Bloggy!)

In a moment of intense masochism a couple of weeks ago, I set up a Google Alert for the following piece of text - "it was a lovely december morning" (Yes, I hear you saying "Don't tell me you're still going on about that", but I've been known to be quite persistent about certain things).

So, last night Google sent me the following link - Sulekha Expressions

Now, I was initially a little surprised to see that link there, since JALS hasn't been on the main Sulekha page in ages. So I clicked on the link that took me to the page, and as I expected, my story wasn't there.

Still a little curious, I checked Google's cache. And was taken to this page - Google Cache for Sulekha Expressions. (The cache entry will probably expire soon, so here's a screenshot for the sake of posterity).

As you can imagine, my surprise soon turned to shock. Someone had plagiarised my story on Sulekha itself! Yes, it did get taken off the site within a day or so, but still! The fact that it went through their review process (one that lasted four months the last time I sent them a story of mine) and passed, is proof of a gaping hole in the way Sulekha functions, isn't it?

My disillusionment with Sulekha has been increasing for quite some time.

• The management behind the portal, specially the creative section, is hardly professional anymore.
  Here's a something I heard from a fellow Sulekha author -
  "I submitted the story a few months ago to Sulekha, and they rejected it - quite rudely - telling me that I should consider adding a little humour to it. I then tried submitting it without any changes, a couple of months later under a different name, and this time they published it in a couple of weeks."
  For the record, I considered that particular story quite funny.
• They keep adding new sections to their portal, without bothering to fix serious existing bugs.
• The link to the "Vintage" article on the site hasn't been changed in almost two years.
• Submissions sometimes take months to appear on the site, and then appear without letting the author know.
• Sulekha management is unresponsive.
• Their weblogs were supposed to have RSS support a year ago, and there is no sign of that yet.
• Private submissions magically became public during the last major upgrade, and there is no way to delete them now.
• The site design is confusing to say the least.

And now this.

Unfortunately, it is probably still the most popular forum for the Indian Community on the internet. And until that changes, they won't have any motivation to get their act together.

So, I'd just like to thank the kind soul who pointed the plagiarism out to the authorities. Thank you!

Update: Fixed broken link to JALS

First: Celestial Conversation
Previous: Prayers and Art: Celestial Conversations - XX

God: Hello
Me: Hi!
God: So, did you do anything interesting recently?
Me: Oh. I saw The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy.
God: Ah. On Discovery Channel?
Me: No, no! This is a movie, and is based on a radio show and a five-part trilogy by Douglas Adams.
God: Five-part Trilogy?
Me: It's complicated. But it's funny.
God: If you say so.
Me: It's quite nice.
God: So, this Douglas Adams chap.
Me: Yes?
God: Is he any good?
Me: He was, yes. Very good.
God: Was?
Me: He died a few years ago.
God: Oh. May I bless his soul.
Me: Amen.
God: I think I'll try to pick up one his books at the library.
Me: Uh, You might not like his writing all that much.
God: Why? You just said he was very good.
Me: Well he was an atheist.
God: So?
Me: That means he doesn't believe in God.
God: And?
Me: You're God.
God: I happen to be quite aware of that particular fact.
Me: And it doesn't bother You?
God: Why should it bother Me?
Me: Why wouldn't it bother You if someone doesn't believe You exist? In fact, Douglas Adams gave this long lecture once, about how he was convinced that You don't exist.
God: Would it bother you if someone somewhere stood up in the middle of a classroom and tried to convince everyone that you don't exist?
Me: Um... Probably not. In fact, I think I'd find it funny.
God: Same here.
Me: Interesting.
God: I don't have the slightest problem with atheists. They're a very amiable sort. It's the theists that I have trouble with.
Me: Hunh?
God: I'm not kidding.
Me: And why would You say that?
God: Because it's true! Atheists don't go around killing people in your name. Atheists don't blame you for everything that's wrong in the world.
Me: But atheists kill people too.
God: Not any more than theists. But at least they don't say it's for My sake.
Me: Surely, it's not all like that...
God: Have you ever woken up in the middle of the night because a six year old child was praying to you to make his father stop beating him?
Me: Uh...
God: Have you ever had anyone pray to you to make their pain from chemotherapy stop?
Me: Um...
God: Did you know that almost every hitman says a silent prayer for forgiveness right before or after he makes a hit?
Me: Er...
God: Do you know how helpless it can feel to not be able to be able to feed a family of seven, after the father - the only earning member - died after being run over by a truck, all because of the policy of non-interference?
Me: I guess not.
God: It can be quite hard to be Me.
Me: I'm sure I can't imagine how hard.
God: I wish I could do something. But changing one thing today, changes an infinite number of things in the future. Moving a pin from one side of a desk to the other side, means billions of people who will never be born.
Me: I've read about that kind of thing. I believe the chaos theory is all about stuff like that.
God: You people have come up with a theory about chaos?
Me: I guess so.
God: Human beings never cease to amaze me.
Me: Well, it was You who created us.
God: I did no such thing!
Me: So You're still sticking to that story?
God: Story?
Me: That the universe just happened, and that it wasn't Your fault?
God: That's not a story.
Me: Fine.
God: Good. But tell me, what about you?
Me: Me?
God: Yes, you. Do you believe in Me?
Me: Um... er... Oh! Look at the time, will You? I had better go now!
God: Oh, okay. Good night then.
Me: Good night.

Next: Stop! Thief! : Celestial Conversations - XXII

Sticking to fiction kills a blogger's blogging frequency. No? I think so.

Are numerical digits any different from letters of the alphabet? Weren't all ASCII characters created equal? Don't all of them occupy the same number of bits? Isn't 'W' just as long to a computer as '1'? Would you buy a keyboard with a missing 'E' over one with a missing '0' (zero)?

What is this discrimination for, then? Why do these royal 'numbers' get to parade on a keyboard over the common lot of the 'letters', then? Is Mathematics any more important than English? How would you say three thousand seven hundred and sixty nine, if you didn't have language?

How would you sign a cheque? How would Milton talk about Paradise Lost? How would Shakespeare say 'Hamlet'?

Is equality only for the sexes then?

What's the point of all this?

Oh, nothing. I'm just sleepy.

First: Celestial Conversation
Previous: Bye, Mom! Bye Dad!!: Celestial Conversations XIX

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God: Hello.
Me: Hi! So what have You been up to?
God: Oh, quite a lot, actually. We're working on getting that new school up and running.
Me: Ah, that must feel nice.
God: Yes, it does. It's been quite a long time since I've involved Myself personally in helping out.
Me: Really?
God: Yes, quite a long time. The last time I personally did something to help someone, was when I taught Leonardo to sketch.
Me: Da Vinci???
God: No, of course not! He's the one who taught Me to paint. I meant Di Caprio.
Me: What?
God: For that movie he did about that ship that sank.
Me: The Titanic?
God: Ah, yes. That's the one.
Me: You taught Leonardo Di Caprio how to sketch for that movie?
God: Well, I tried. I'm supposed to be the best teacher there is, but Leo was not a very good student. I heard that the director finally decided to do the sketch himself.
Me: Do You have any idea what the sketch was of?
God: No, unfortunately not. I got bored and left early.
Me: Good.
God: Good?
Me: Oh nothing, nothing! So, You watch movies?
God: I try to. I find the whole idea of movie-making quite interesting.
Me: You do?
God: Oh yes! Fiction, theatre, movies - they're all a wonderful concept that you people have come up with. It's a celebration of the act of lying. Human beings are really quite a strange species, don't you think?
Me: Um, I guess we are.
God: Oh, you definitely are. There was this guy I used to talk to, a few hundred years ago. His name had something to do with milk-shakes.
Me: Milk-shakes?
God: Yes. It was a strange name. Anyway. So he's the one who explained the concept to Me. It's quite simple, really. You start with a small lie, build a large number of lies around the first one, and keep going until you get bored. That's fiction. Act it out, and that's theatre. Capture it on film, and that's movies.
Me: Interesting definitions there.
God: Oh, you must take My word for it. He explained it quite clearly. He even made Me write a few stories just to make sure I understood how it worked.
Me: Really? What did You write?
God: Oh, nothing special. Very amateurish stuff. There was one about this young couple who fell in love, but their parents wouldn't let them get married. So they killed themselves.
Me: Umm...
God: And one about a pair of twins - a girl and a boy. Both of them were cross-dressers.
Me: Er...
God: That one was a bit ahead of its time.
Me: Yes, but -
God: And there was one about these three women who used to meet for a cup of coffee around this cauldron in the middle of the jungle, and give people bad advice. The wife of one of the guys who took their advice got OCD.
Me: OCD?
God: Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. She kept wanting to wash her hands.
Me: That's -
God: Yes, like I said, quite amateurish.
Me: I won't even ask. But You were saying that Leonardo Da Vinci taught You to paint?
God: Yes. But I must say I wasn't very good at it.
Me: You weren't?
God: No. I tried painting a portrait of this woman once. I could never get her face right.
Me: Oh.
God: Yes. I kept getting the smile wrong. It looked hideous.
Me: You -
God: Oh it was an embarrassment. I believe it even hung in someone's bathroom for sometime.
Me: You painted -
God: Oh, look at the time! I must be going now. We're taking admissions for the school.
Me: Oh, okay.
God: Bye!
Me: Hey, God.
God: Yes?
Me: Wanted to say one thing before You left.
God: Yes?
Me: Don't take this the wrong way.
God: Go ahead.
Me: Well, a friend of mine is going into surgery today.
God: Oh.
Me: I just wanted to... um... I hope it all goes fine.
God: Oh.
Me: You don't have to reply to what I'm saying.
God: Okay.
Me: Prayers sometimes get answered, but they tend not to be conversational.
God: Right.
Me: So, I'm just praying that it go well.
God: Right.
Me: That's all I wanted to say.
God: Okay.
Me: Um... I'll be going now.
God: Right. Right. Me too. Lots of stuff to do.
Me: Bye, then.
God: Bye.

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Next: Belief: Celestial Conversations - XXI