‘Lefty has Tagged you’, read the subject of the 3918th unread message in my mailbox. My cursor involuntarily moved to the ‘delete’ checkbox, when I received a scrap to the same effect. A scrap meant business, I decided, and off I went from one matchbox to the other, seeking the true meaning of the message, but my efforts were in vain. (My hopes soared when one of my floor-mates put on a ‘don’t-you-know-even-that’ kind of expression on questioning, but all he could come up with was, ‘A tag is that thing in shops on which prices are written.’ Duh!)
Either because I have been hanging around with too many geeks lately or because I myself have become one, I tried wikiing. (By the way, how do you spell that?) As always, it came up with over five dozen results, ranging from Tag Heuer to triacylglycerol. After a few cursory glances, I made a list of five ‘probables’. Deciding that it could neither mean ‘talented and gifted’ or ‘a type of metadata involving the association of descriptors with objects,’ I finally figured out that checking out Lefty’s blog would be a much easier thing to do. I found the answers to all my questions. Enlightenment, at last!
But, as I would soon realize, with enlightenment comes work, and it was then that I truly realized the depth in the saying, ‘Don’t ever go looking for the light at the end of the tunnel. In all probability, it is from an oncoming train.’ There was no turning back now, for I was the Chosen One, or rather one of the Chosen Eight. To quote Lefty, by being Tagged, I had just been inducted into a pseudo-elite group of bloggers who write random facts about themselves to either extol their inferiority complex driven souls, or just because they have nothing better to do.
You might, or rather, will, find this paragraph better written than the rest of the post. It is only because I, remaining true to the great lineage of ‘Taggers’, that I am now a part of, have shamelessly copy-pasted it entirely from Lefty’s post. The rules of Tagging, that now bind me, are as follows:
1. On being Tagged, the blogger must accept 8 as the answer to Life, Universe and Everything instead of the erroneous 42, and devote his or her energies in proving the same.
2. Having pledged to do so, the blogger must post 8 random facts about him/herself.
3. Next, the blogger is expected to enmesh 8 more innocent souls into the Tagged web. He must post a comment on their blog warning them of their fate and ensure that they have received his warnings.
4. A blogger who does not wish to accept the rules of Tagged on being Tagged would find himself in an imbroglio. It would be prudent for him to play along. If, however, he chooses to do a “Screw you guys, I’m a’ goin’ home”, he must remember that the Big Brothers of Tagged are constantly watching him and he would have earned their ire. Their favourite method of execution is to fill the bloggers mail/scrapbook/comments with Tags unless he of she loses his sanity or the will to fight, whichever is earlier.
537 words, and I still haven’t got to the point! Wow, I have grossly underestimated my ‘beating-about-the-bush’ capabilities all along. So, for those of you haven’t gone to sleep already, here are the eight random facts about myself:
1. Though I was christened Abhishek, for some inexplicable reason, the name has never stuck. I have had more than my share of nicknames- Tyson in kindergarten (though my savage behaviour in class had more to do with it than my biceps), Sundar in Middle School, (which, by the way, always got on my nerves. No offence meant, Dad, but somehow, I never liked your name much.) and of course, Dela ever since. I am tempted to narrate the story of how the name came about, but as it has already been repeated more often than the Bulk’s ‘Ding-dang-a-ding-dang’ drones, I won’t . I shall narrate it sometime, when I have completely run out of ideas for my next post.
2. I have this uncanny knack of tricking people into believing things that never happened- something some people, unfairly, call lying. ‘I do not lie. I make fables, like Aesop and those guys.’
3. Like all the others in my lineage, I love food, but unlike them, I am a big eater. (Maybe Lefty and Matty Boy have tremendous appetites too, but their sizes seem to suggest otherwise, right?) My gastronomic prowess has got me into many an embarrassing situation, the most noteworthy being the one that took place during a buffet I attended with my family. Seeing that the food was unlimited, I helped myself to what some might call a lot of food. The host saw my plate and commented, “What a good boy! He has brought food for his entire family.” Hmph!
4. Another fact that very few people know is that I am a reasonably good poet, though most of my poems, like Phoebe’s books, have only been read by me. I write only when I’m feeling terribly depressed, and so, I myself find most of my poems unbelievably soporific. I haven’t written for quite some time though, my last work being ‘Specs Appeal’, a self-consoling poem I wrote nearly half a decade ago, the day the ophthalmologist heartlessly broke the shattering news that I’d have to wear glasses for the rest of my life.
5. I am a huge football fan and have been one right since the days of Cantona and Schmeichel, though the JEE and CAS created a two-year hiatus in between. Manchester United-Arsenal games are huge rituals at home- awaited with bated breath by my Dad and me, and dreaded by my Mom, because whatever be the outcome of the game, it results in uproar. My living room has now been replaced by the Cautley TV Room, and my couch by an armchair thrice as old as me. I haven’t really had time to notice though, owing to the undivided attention that I give the game. Glory, glory, Man. United!
6. My tryst with music, sadly, hasn’t been a pleasant one at all. Despite my trying my hand at various instruments, my interest hasn’t lasted over a year. My innate singing talent, though, is undeniable and has made me the idol of most of my lesser-talented counterparts. (Readers are requested to refer to clause no. 2 again.)
7. Sadly, there is something in my face that makes me the hot favourite among the Gods of PJs- The Reptile, Jumbo the Junior, The Bulk and most importantly, The Grinning-Geek. (Lefty has been deliberately excluded from this list owing to the fact that he comes up with PJs come-what-may, whether or not I am present is secondary.)
8. Unlike Noida, there were no Kala Sangams in Bahrain, and so, my drawings have gained a reputation of being the worst of their kind ever. I have always avoided drawing whenever I could, but in the school where I studied, drawing was a compulsory course. (It wasn’t exactly compulsory, but we had to pick either drawing or dancing, so I had no choice.) On one occasion, we were asked to draw a horse, and while the others were still struggling to complete their pictures, I finished mine well in time. With pride written all over my face, I showed it to my teacher, only to be spanked by her. “Do you ever obey anyone?” she bellowed, “I asked you to draw a horse, not a dog!” I have never ventured into anything even remotely related to art ever since.
Now, on to the best part- the (un)lucky 8. And the winners are: The Reptile (the obvious choice), iPot (though whether or not he is a blogger is a debatable issue.), The Lazy Labrador (hope he gets out of his bed and reads this.), The Grinning Geek (Yep, he blogs too. Refer to the list of links on the right.) DeeKay (The Geek who Lived!), The Incredible Bulk (Yeah, I know he isn’t a blogger, but sorry, I don’t have a choice. I’m running out of people.), The Hirsute Hick (read previous comment.) and Bihari Potter (read the last two comments.) (Here’s a ninth fact about me: I am pathetic at HTML, and anything techy, for that matter. I guess that explains the fact that unlike Lefty, Matty Boy and my other predecessors, I haven’t provided links to the respective pages of the guys mentioned above. The inconvenience is regretted.) (And here’s a tenth fact: I use brackets quite often.) (And here’s fact no. 11: I can’t think of a conclusion for this post.)
