I Can't Believe I Forgot!

The Unofficial Personification of Sex Appeal, Mr. Dev Patel, turned 19 yesterday and I missed out on that because I was too busy eating cake at my own brother's birthday party. He turned 12, by the way. It's a year late, but we're expecting his Hogwarts acceptance letter pretty soon.

Anyhotness, I still can't get over how Frieda Pinto is sticking onto my Dev. I get it, she's going international now. She has a makeup label that's dumping Gwyneth Paltrow for her and she's snagged a movie with Woody Allen, but seriously, woman, HANDS OFF!

By the way, these two were spotted canoodling in Tel Aviv where Pinto is shooting for her next movie. Sometimes I think there's just no justice in the world...
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1... 2... 3... 4... Get to Ten Before You Kill Someone...

I walked into Crosswords recently to buy myself a bunch of old favourites; books which I had lost or lent to someone who never gave them back (you know who you are) or just ripped apart by accident. So I scrambled around here and there and managed to pick up a few Grishams, Ludlums, a copy of The Tempest, the entire Lord of the Rings series and a couple of *cough* romance novels *cough*.

So here I was holding all these books and fumbling towards the counter when this girl, probably as old as me, came up to the cashier and asked, "Do you have a copy of The Three Musketeers?

To which the cashier replied, "Yes, ma'am, we do. Would you like the original or abridged version or one with cliff notes?"

"I don't know. Can you point me to where that is?"

He waves towards a section of stacks. "Near the classics section."

The girl gave a huge smile and FINALLY left, giving me the opportunity to dump my books onto the counter.

Oh, but knowing my luck, she was back in seconds. "It's such a big shelf of books! I have no idea where I'm supposed to look."

I was doing my best not to shout my ass off at her, when the cashier intervened and said to me, "I'll be right back, ma'am" and made me wait for a good three minutes.

The girl appeared with the cashier, seeming extremely happy for getting her hands on one lousy book, and almost crashed into me at the counter. And the idiot that I am, I tried to make the situation better by making small talk.

"So, do you have to study that for school or something?" I asked casually, hoping she'd just go, "Hmm" and I could rest in peace again.

Only she started gushing, "NO! I saw this book was mentioned in that movie. With that cute guy!! The Slumdog one... Have you seen it? Dev Patil is sooooooo cute!"


*Cue ominous background score*

...Mentioned in that movie...

The Slumdog one...

...Have you seen it?

Dev Patil...


Holy mother of *beeeep* !

My Second Dev Patel post in two days? Even the fates
can't deny that we're meant to be...

Let's start from the beginning:

1) You don't read Alexander Dumas because his name is mentioned in a movie. You read Alexander Dumas because he's freaking Alexander Dumas!

2) Slumdog... Have I seen it? Are you really asking an Indian that? Shame on you. Even if I hadn't seen it voluntarily, I'm sure some crazed fan (read: my friends) would have pulled me into the theatre by force of hand to watch it. We're lame like that.

3) When you want to buy a book, you check up on it first. Like what genre it is, or when it was written and whether it would be remotely interesting to you. Or at least read the back cover. I doubt someone who reads a book just because Dev mentioned it would find a story about earnest friendship, extreme valour and applaudable patriotism, all set in the medieval French period, a good read.

4) It's Patel, OK? He's Gujju. It's not Patil; that's not Gujju at all. He's the reason I started eating Dhoklas and watching Sarabhai vs. Sarabhai so remember: it's Patel. PATEL!


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Mainstream Cinema is Giving Me Unrealistic Hopes

My Acer laptop bailed on me a week ago due to unknown reasons.

OK, fine. I accidentally poured water on it. Operative word: accidentally.

And my Dad was completely against paying to fix the damn thing, which I was OK with since the laptop is really old. I'm talking Yuvraj-Singh-going-out-with-Deepika-Padukone old. That must have been, like, five years ago, right?

Regardless, my Dad finally agreed to let me call customer service and ask them what the hell they were doing selling me a laptop that fused when you just dropped water on it. Even if that is pretty much the only criteria you need to fuse out any circuit. The little details don't matter. So I call their 1800 line and some dude in a Scandinavian country (at least I think so) picks up and thanks me for calling and that my issues will be immediately attended to and to hold and that I'll be dispatched to a customer services line in - wait for it - India.

So the line was on hold with that awful music for about ten minutes before a guy picked up and started chattering away in that horrible anti-British accent all those call centre people seem to have. Needless to say, being an 1800 line, I didn't get anything useful out of it and my appeal for warranty was, very rudely, rejected. But I couldn't care less since my Dad will eventually stop fuming anyway and take the laptop somewhere into the hidden IT section of his company that no one sees or knows and get it made as good as new, with the latest iTunes installed.

So my laptop? I don't give a damn. But what I did care about, for a large portion of the call and subsequently after, was whether the call centre guy looked like Dev Patel.

Seriously.

I'm gonna hit that. Soon...

For all I know the call centre dude must be married with kids, probably rides a Scooty Pep+ to work and watches Nach Baliye reruns. But what if, just what if, he turned out to be an annoyingly cute British-Indian with a life-long ambition to track down a girl he met years ago and wouldn't rest until he was united with his one true love?

What if this Dev-ish person was actually one of my kindergarten classmates who used to pull my plaits and pour water down the back of my multi-coloured uniform?

And what if that boy got hit with a large stick of utter cuteness as he grew up and started thinking, "Maybe I shouldn't have pulled her plaits and poured water down the back of her multi-coloured uniform" and attempts to find me and take me far, far away to a... umm... CST terminal where we can start life anew with our tender love and affection for each other?

You can't see me, but I'm jumping in my swivel chair, yelling, "Hell, yeah!"

And you know the best part?

He'll be ten million bucks richer by the end.

Which means "Goodbye, Acer" and "Hello, MacBook Air".
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