Saturday, September 15, 2007

Of scraps and other debris

Sometime last year, or perhaps the year before, I joined orkut. After months of holding out, refusing to join another pointless networking site, was finally coaxed, cajoled and charmed into doing so. It wasn’t all that bad, although the lingo did take a little getting used to:

– Hey, she scraped me!
– Eh what, who? You got in a fight?
– No man, I’m gonna scrap her back once my boss leaves, he’s hovering over my shoulder looking into the comp.
– Er… right. Have fun ‘scrapping’.
– Yeah, I’ve got 1900 scraps already.
– O…k… (freak)

And so it went. To be fair, I did meet up with a whole lot of childhood and school friends and other such ghosts from the past. It was nostalgic and quite charming, ‘scrapping’ each other and howling over the time I burnt a hole in my friend’s chemistry observation or the time she got a book thrown at her for snoring during assembly or the time we high-fived everyone as they left the exam hall, cuz no one, no one attempted the 10-mark geometric progression proof. Sigh. Good memories.

But then, there were also the other kind, the truly scraptastic stream of spelling-challenged imbeciles with a fierce aversion to vowels and a burning desire to ‘make friendship’ the way other people made, say, car engines or 700-tonne bridges. I stopped orkuting, because there’s only so much of ‘hi i m suresh frm choolaimedu chmical enginr I wnt 2 mk frndshp wid u ad me pls’ that I could take. And then of course, as these things usually happen – more often in Meg Ryan movies than in actual reality – something happens that makes you go… hmm.

Perhaps it would be easier, to simply copy and paste the entire exchange.

The one that started me off on this rollicking rhyming spree. A scrap, from an absolute unknown to me:
Hail! Devourer of Pratchett style fantasy
The gurgling gargoyle has deigned to write thee
While ranging through Orkut in search of life forms
That can weave worlds with words, songs with syllables
And 'tis now your turn to engage in boisterous banter
In rambling tales that up the tree of life do squirrables
Speak of thine own self, of dreams and rants
Of homoerotic fantasies and marxist slants
Of rambleworthy nightmares and ridiculous fears,
Of events causing both laughter and tears


Shalom. Hello. And greetings to thee.
Scavenger of scraps, and other debris,
The time has come, the eggman said,
To speak of many things,
Of dreams and rants and traveling pants,
And a walrus that sings,
I have, you see, no fantasies – homoerotic especially –
But for what I lack, I make up with my stack,
Of maoist bags and communist tees,
As for boisterous banter and rambling rants,
And elementary penguins and hare Krishna chants,
Drop by, oh amusingly alliterative one,
To my blogspot, at squarerootofnegativeone
But while we’re here, sipping ankh-morpork beer,
Let me toss in your bowl and orkut hole,
A hi, hello and how do you do
And throw in for good measure, a truly orkutian treasure,
hi i wnt 2 mk frndshp wid u.


Ohmigod Ohmigod Ohmigod! Now what do I do?
My pretensions to poetry have been exposed through and through!
Yikes, shites, bring out the kikes
That I may vent my frustrastripes
Upon their backs, bellies, and gripes
That erupt from my failed pen in floods of tears
May turn to foamy head, and thence lager into beers!
But hold, for I have yet one weapon still!
If rhyme be a crime, then prose shall be my pill!
Friendship with thee I certainly shall make
For now 'tis not just reputation at stake.
Granny Weatherwax did hint that things would go astray
But never once mention my tongue'd have to enter the fray!
O exalted one, I lay my pen beneath your feet
Let's can this cranberry, and go grab a bite to eat!


A bite? Why, yes, I think I might.
It would, after all, be a welcome respite
From endless work, and dreary disquiet
Thus said, I accept, your timely invite
To travel and traverse across the multiverse
Swimming past stars and swinging by seas
Taking flight by night, past moons of green cheese
Past suns of red, past leaves of lead,
Past discs on elephants that by turtles are led
Past restaurants diverse, at the end of the universe.
We shall rest on clouds, going from bed to verse
Till daylight cracketh, as sure and as true
As Dorothy and her ruby shoes, two
And the house that fell on all she never knew
But for the dog that was spared and a scarecrow, shit-scared
And a tinman, some sheep, and a lion that weeps
While my guitar gently creeps
Across skies of blue that a winged-monkey flew.
So pick up that pen, while I grab my wand
And together we shall go far and beyond
The limits of time and the restraints of rhyme
To Valhalla and oz and Scarborough fair
And penny lane and the sorcerer‘s lair
As for your tongue… well, the night is young
But for now I think,
We shall make do with ink.

To be continued? Well let’s see. And in the meanwhile, here’s to scraps and things much verse.

*chinks mug of ankh-morpork beer*


Ashok said...

no comments :)

W H said...

Nice (honestly).. This is exactly why I closed my orkut account!!!

Vidya Shankar said...

My Goodness! I was living under the false impression that I was one of the craziest people to tread the face of the earth. Never knew competitors with such brilliant credentials coexisted. My goodness what a way to converse on Orkut!!


compos mentis said...


And you sir, would do well to keep your silence

@w h

well, mine's kind of defunct right now. Had been for a while.

@ vidya shankar

But of course! And where else, but on such treasures of the modern world as social networking sites to find intelligent life-forms or those that pass for one?

Anonymous said...

Interessanter Beitrag

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