Tagged (updated)

I don't know why tags exist, but they do.

A random attempt at easing the pangs of ennui (a word definitely coined by a mallu who just happened to get bored and wanted to screw around with the English language) felt at the office led me to fulfilling this tag. I was tagged by T.B.

The silent hum of the A/C along with random buzzing of horrible cell phone ringtones (one of them that stupid whistling theme from Fanaa, ohh Lord!!), interspersed with the noise of people typing away on keyboards have led me to this state. I like the sound of me typing away though.

At this rate, I would be agreeable to do a pig census if only I were going to get paid for it, and would be provided with clean, decently prepared vegetarian lunch with a sweet lassi as an aperitif.

The tag:
Write a post with six weird facts or habits about yourself.
At the bottom name the six people you will tag next.
Leave them a comment to let them know they've been tagged and to read your blog.

I am not in a position to completely honour the tag by passing this on to six other people, but all the same, I thought its going to be fun writing down stuff, given the fact that I am as normal as normal can be.

Let me state, categorically, that I am not going to tag people. Instead let me make it completely voluntary.

Dear Reader,

You've read the tag. You want to take it up on your own and honour it, be my guest.
If you know about any ongoing pig-census, send me a mail. I would appreciate that too!

Thank You


Now, the tag, six things about me that you probably don't know. I wonder why you'd bother anyway.

1. I read matrimonial ads in the sunday newspapers to make fun of the ads.
The manner in which every single person is respectable, fair, of above-average height, and wants someone from a respectable family with wheatish complexion and high paying MNC job husband posted abroad and all is just too funny to read.
Its almost as if everyone is similar, and wants people with similar tastes. I shudder to think of such a homogenous society.

2. I gross people out to try and eat food off their plate.
This is sometimes achieved by taking toilet humour to extremes, but it seldom does happen. In addition, my appetite is not even remotely voracious, ergo, the action defeats its own purpose.

3. I worship the TV, quite literally.
There have been instances when I have gotten down on my knees after an elaborate tribal dance around the TV and prostrated in front of it in a manner befitting the honour given to Gods by the cannibal societies. This has happened in the not-too-distant-past, the last time being when I was emotionally overcome with joy at having tuned the old TV in my hotel room in Oslo to receive English channels that cast some really decent shows.
Tribal worship time, it was.

4. I pretend that I am pretending to be a misanthrope.
...which means, I am one, you retard. So much for what you learnt in school about english usage.

5. I am scared of potatoes growing from the back of my ears
Enid Blyton has left this indelible scar in my psyche with content in some of her books that have naughty kids who don't wash the backs of their ears accumulating so much dirt that they grow potatoes back there. After having read it, my paranoia levels shot up and till date, post-bath, the back of my ears get a hard scrubbing, just in case.

6. I am afraid of heights.
Dead scared. Not of inclines; those I can take head on. Trekking is not out of question.
Its the sheer drops that scare me. The third floor of the forum in Bangalore is ample enough height to trigger my fears. Concrete jungles, be damned.

End of tag.

Now that you've been enlightened, and can win some trivia quiz about me if I ever get to a level where such a thing will warrant itself.
I have successfully passed my time, I bid thee adieu.