Friday, August 25, 2006

Don't cry, baby, don't cry

There was a time when I was sixteen and my creative juices overflowed like nobody’s business
Which led to a high turnover in hankies, not to mention a certain dizziness
But more than groaning, more than spots, more than the tendency to turn red and make small yipping noises when my wife-to-be wore her corduroy pants,
More than the inability to actually appreciate anything other than doggerel such as Ogden Nash writing about the inner angst of industrious ants,
More than just about anything else, this embarrassing
Excess of hormonal productivity led to my harassing
Certain unfortunate classmates with poetry. Or what I called poetry because
I didn’t care to admit that as a poet I was a total loss.

Because I tried to Use Big Words and I tried to Sound Profound
Neither of which makes much sense when one is the most superficial sod around.
And I tried to be clever and I tried to be witty
And other stupid people encouraged me, more’s the pity.
So I spent five years or so doing very stupid things like entering for competitions in creative writing
When I should have been busy with healthy uncomplicated male things, like hitting a ball or scratching myself in public or just fighting.
This had several side-effects, all of them unfortunate.
Where I should have been comparatively carefree and occasionally (in my pleadings with ladies, for example) importunate,
I ended up with intellectual ambitions and an air of being constipatedly superior
Which did nobody any good and gave me the general demeanour of a sat-upon posterior

As time wore on I realised that I would never be a Nobel Prize contender
In fact I could not even aspire to be an Asian-Age-short-story-competition pretender
So, albeit reluctantly, I stopped mass-producing merde and switched to more productive things
Like exams, passing and job, getting (one may “pliss excoos” this lapse into rhyme-scheme, for the purpose of, words-backwards-putting)
For years thereafter I was this nice dull file-pusher and my life was comparatively placid.
Then I discovered the Internet and it was like a large injection of formic acid.
Quite apart from Google searches for … well, never mind,
And the subsequent subconscious guilt pangs and fears of going blind,
This business of surfing when I should have been working did not augur
Well. Ere long, literary longings re-surfaced and I became a blogger.

For two years now I have churned out post after post
And though I am nowhere near as prolific as most,
At least I don’t write my posts in SMS-ese or describe in detail my last trip through Sion-Koliwada
Or spend 2000 words describing the love-life of my puppies and finish the post with “yadda yadda”.
I am aware that my blog lacks the cachet of being erudite in any way or even faintly libertarian
I don’t link to The New Yorker. I don’t party at TC. I don’t have a PhD thesis. I’m far from being Uncut, in fact I’m more of a “no-hair-ian”.
I can’t hand out tips on picking up women, I’m not an erudite economist with comic-book panache,
I don’t know where I can pick up good weed, let alone post about sharing my stash.
I last read a book some years ago and I have no idea of the Booker short-list
I know little or nothing about world cinema though I do know that Hitchcock did not make “The Shootist”
In fact I can’t even hold forth on the filmography of Mithun Chakraborty so I am definitely not a cineaste
I don’t surf the Net enough to find weird or learned articles and even if I did I couldn’t make witty comments about them, all I can aspire to is cut-paste
I don’t have a secret identity as a call-girl, nor am I a leading literary critic
I can’t be a youthful investigative curry because when I make allegations I can’t make them stick.

I freely admit that my blog isn’t the biggest thing since Desibaba, it can’t even claim a wardrobe malfunction
But even so, it’s my blog and I love it even if it’s ugly and cross-eyed and I don’t want it to suffer from feelings of rejection
So when I find that it has not been shortlisted for the Best Indian Blog by the Asian Blog Awards I feel like a father whose child has been left out of the cast for the school play
And my first reaction is emotional and I mutter dark threats about suing them and making them pay.
After all with only a couple of million blogs from
India they could well have emulated the Pharakgandh Screen and Telly Awards and created award categories to accommodate everyone
They should understand that this whole elitist approach of shortlisting less than a dozen blogs is Just Not Done.
Therefore I shall console my blog with the inalienable truth that we have known all along,
To wit, that it is the Best Blog ever written by this Sad Old Bong.


**** ****


32 comments:

neha vish said...

Awwww. This is supremely wonderful. Even if you don't bother to hide from us that Wife To Be wore corduroy pants.

We shall fill your world with links.

The Marauder's Map said...

Be that as it may, beloved Sad Old Bong,
Do remember, that your song,
Is shared by so many others, such as I
People who blog but do not have blogs That would make people go 'oooh, it is for to die'
In fact, as you can see, I cannot even rhyme
Our wild-haired poetic friends would say that's a crime,
But, dear, this must our consolation be:
We still have each other, you and me.

Bonatellis said...

tsk tsk :) ... may age never dry up your (creative) juices.

Tabula Rasa said...

brillig, twas truly brillig.

except, why not just:
"Like exams-passing and job-getting"

udayan said...

Sheesh !! And just to think I kind of imagined I was writing "J.A.P"-ish posts as a tribute.

I have stopped reading this blog as of yesterday.

Now that is done away with ... can we have another poem? This one's beyond words ...

Priya said...

Ei je most nyaka Dadu, Grow Up! Is that why you blog? To be rewarded and recognised? How pimpish!:P And we are attention whores to be leaving smart comments on your blogs, hoping against hope some cool dudes will visit ours from here;) The world knows or not, we know you rock (and sway a bit, too), so carry on, SOB!

Jabberwock said...

Hitchcock didn't make The Shootist?! Are you sure?

(Btw, ol' Hitch never won no Oscar either, so you're in grand company dude!)

Tom Pinkerton said...

Heh. Brilliant!

We also think that you would make an *awesome* Asian-Age-short-story-competition contender. :D

And for what it's worth, *we'd* vote for you. No, really!

Anti-establishment Inc said...

:) Nice post!

Ph said...

Oi snap out of it. Its not always about you. I am back. I have posted. Go do the needful.

Anonymous said...

Habsholutely!

Falstaff said...

There, there. You realise it's only for Q1 right? And you've just effectively ensured that you'll get nominated next time around.

Meanwhile, what was it Byron said:

"What is the end of fame? 'Tis but to fill
A certain portion of uncertain paper
Some liken it climbing up a hill
Whose summit, like all hills, is lost in vapour
For this men write, speak, preach and kill?
And bards burn what they call their midnight taper?
To have, when the original is dust
A name, a wretched picture, and a worse bust."

What I really want to know is: who's the blogger with a secret identity as a call-girl?

Inkblot said...

and what is wrong with corduroy pants I say?

if it inspires poetry of this nature...:P

Vi said...

http://belledejour-uk.blogspot.com/ <-- Call girl, great stories.

I like your blog. =)

terah745 said...

This is a selfish world.

And there is very less to do.

We blog and try to be free.

From those things.

Which we think might kill us.

Some fine day.

This is not in general.

But it is so simple and common.

These outlets will some day fill up.

Then where will the garbage go?

Well the garbage is already stinking.

It is unbearable.

Who can fart the most exquisite one?

That's not a billion dollar question?

People tend to make it one.

Haven't read your any other post.

But this one.

Tell you the truth.

Your's is the most endangered fart in today's list.

Cheers.

bongopondit said...

A post like this deserves a more clever comment - but alas, creativity is not one of my vices.
So a plain and simple Thanks for the immesene joy. Wonderful way of capturing the essense of our blogosphere.


And we shall institute our very own awards much like the filmi people so that everybody is happy !

gawker said...

I have set these lyrics to music in raag marwa to be sung to the accompaniment of the tanpura when the sun begins to set and the hankering for alcohol leads you to your makeshift minibar behind the water closet.

M (tread softly upon) said...

You of course know that you're the best. Eta ki attention seeking?

The ramblings of a shoe fiend said...

Ok I left a comment and it got lost. I have nothing to say except 'My name is SHoefiend and I wear Corduroy too. In moss green'.

km said...

If it's any consolation, nothing can be as big as Desibaba.

GREATBONG said...
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
GREATBONG said...

"Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought."

Indeed. Cheer up. Indibloggies are coming soon. And then we also plan to have Satyendra Chatu Annual Blogosphic Awards sometime in January.

As Bonatellis said, here's to your creative juices

Caffeinism said...

hey..that was a nice blog!

Territorial-Male said...

In future inform us well ahead
Who is awarding virtual trophies instead
So we shall take a cue
And ofcourse! Nominate YOU.

Anonymous said...

You'll always have my vote sad old bong. Jane Sunshine

ggop said...

Lovely!
gg

Kaushik said...

Zimbly woanderfull only.
Lola would approve.

dhoomketu said...

Nominated to Aamir Khan award for staying away from awards and still managing to feel better than the winner, because after all, neither Amitabh nor Shahrukh are poets.

Also, the Ogden Nash award for getting most comments in poetic forms ever.

Scritch said...

hello, i just stumbled across your blog while waiting for dinner to appear miraculously from my empty fridge. and it has been a very pleasant wait.

the problem with all these call girl bloggers is that after a while they stop whoring but still continue writing. what fun is that?

J. Alfred Prufrock said...

Neha, thank you muchly for compliment and for link, but what do you have against corduroy pants? Your’s no longer fit you?

Marauder, we do? Egad! Nice rhyming and you know it, so stop fishing.

B’tellis, Udayan, A-I Inc, Tom P, Vi, Caffeinism, Jane S, GG … thank you, thank you, your votes make all the difference, I lurrrvvve all of you! (waves both arms high above head so that large necklaces and pendants dazzle the cameras)

T. Rasa, that was bureaucratese, mocking, for the purpose of.

Priya, confusion worse confounded.

Jai, don’t confuse me further!

Ph, yes’m, wented, did. But it IS always about me. Ask Jay!

Falstaff, would that I could believe your assurances. And Byron he say too much – why can’t you quote Charlie Brown, eh? Vi answers your question …

Inkblot, ShoeFiend, thanks for the corded support. (Believe me, those pants were da goods!)

Terah, d-uh?

J.A.P.

J. Alfred Prufrock said...

BongoPondit, good idea about the awards. Rope in Arnab, he is a great organizer.

Gawker, I salute your kaalchaar, but why behind the water closet? This is a strange kink, podner.

M(tsu), I know no such thing. Tell me often enough and I might even believe you. And of course it’s attention seeking! Pay attention!

KM, you forgot The Great Kiruba!

Arnab, Shelley yet? And it is NOT Chhatu, it’s Satyender Sattoo!

T-Male, my rhyming friend, you are too kind.

Gaushig, wo-ho, we le-urvve gomblimends!

Dhoomketu, ki hetu / eto proshongsha? / Tomraa thhakbe paashe, shei ullashey / amaar shwopno / amaar asha. Now go find a bilingual award!

Scritch, get your blog back up!

J.A.P.

satanbug21 said...

daroon sir...durdanto...
paaben aapni Satyendra Satoo Best blogger award...