The Good, the Bad and the Sneaky

What is it about some bad guys that makes us like them? Take for example, Agent Smith. I mean, all right, he's an evil computer program who doesn't play by the rules, and becomes "The about Nine Million" to annihilate "The One" Neo. But everything about him is so utterly cool that if I were given the chance to play a role in the Matrix movies, I would pick the Desert Eagle-wielding Smith. I don't particularly fancy wearing suits, but Smith proved that you could wear a suit and still be a veritable goddamn freezer. The way he pauses while speaking as if searching for the exact right words to use and says things like "Human beings are a disease, a cancer of this planet. You are a plague, and we... are the cure" make me wish he'd stick his hand inside me and convert me into another Smith. I'm sure you're familiar of the saying "If you can't be as cool as them, you might as well join them". Bring on the shades, but lose the earpiece. For now, I am a free man, so to speak...
Another breed of immensely cool bad guys are of course, Daniel Ocean and Co. They're so likable that it's actually quite difficult to use the term "bad guys" with them. They can be called "Bad guys" only by the virtue of the fact that they steal and stealing is a crime. But, man, I love them so much that I went so far as to start copying Rusty Ryan after noticing that he wears his wrist watch on his right hand [The fact that Brad Pitt could be left-handed did cross my mind, but what the hell...]
I can quote many other bad guys like Memphis Raines [Nicholas Cage] from "Gone in 60 Seconds", Vic Deakins [John Travolta] from Broken Arrow and Charlie Croker and his crew from "The Italian Job" all of whom ensured permanent membership of the Cool Club by pulling off heists in inimitable style and panache. They all made the occupation of Thievery fashionable and glamorous. But of late, some idiots have been tarnishing the image of the above-mentioned geniuses by pulling off heists of their own. I am talking about the jackasses who were responsible for leaking the Harry Potter books 5 & 6 and ruining the ending for me. What sort of an achievement is that?
Reading a Harry Potter book for the first time not knowing what to expect is THE best feeling in the world. As you progress into the plot, you try to spot extremely well disguised clues and try to guess what’s going to happen next. Rowling has this habit of giving vague hints about what’s going to happen next and this makes the whole experience of reading that much more enjoyable.
To quote one of such hints, in book 5 when Harry wants to talk to Sirius about James and plans to use Umbridge’s fireplace, Hermione turns to Ron and demands his opinion on the matter. And then, Rowling says that Harry is irresistibly reminded of Mrs. Weasley demanding Mr. Weasley back in Grimmauld Place before term started. And what happens in book 6?
There are more of such hints, which haven’t been “fulfilled” yet. They could be real clues or could be nothing at all. For instance, in the Dept of Mysteries, when Harry and Hermione first see the mysterious Veil, he’s “strangely attracted by it and feels a strong desire to walk through it to the other side”. Does this mean Harry is going to suffer the same fate as Sirius?
And very recently, my cousin discovered that Rowling has borrowed several crucial character names [such as Cornelius, Trelawney, Fortescue, Black, James, Ronald and Peter] from Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes stories. She even borrowed the author’s name and called Ron’s father “Arthur”. Does it mean Arthur Weasley will have an important role to play in book 7?

You know, I am actually sad that the 7th book is going to be released in less than 12 hours. I wish I had more time to form more theories of my own about what is going to happen in the 7th book. But since Harry and co. smashed all the Time Turners by the end of Book 5, there’s no time for detective work anymore for anyone. All we can do is wait with bated breath for the moment when we’ll get to lay our hands on the book, lock ourselves up in the room and dive in.

But no… Some people don’t want us to wait for the book, they want to do us a favor by telling us what is going to happen. So they went ahead and by an unbelievably freakish streak of luck, managed to somehow get around the 10 million pound security net and leaked some parts of Book 7 into the Internet.

I cannot begin to express my disgust and contempt for the people behind this. I expect they’re all sitting in a dodgy pub somewhere and having a laugh about their “heist” over a round of booze. I did not want to use abusive language on my blog but I am extremely pissed off at these assholes. Here’s my message to these people:
Who do you think you are? Ocean’s 11? Get real, you’re nothing but a bunch of sneaky fucking pricks. Do you hear me? YOU’RE JUST A BUNCH OF SNEAKY FUCKING PRICKS! When they catch your sorry asses, I hope you’ll be drowned in a cauldron full of undiluted Bubotuber Pus, ripped to tiny smouldering shreds by Blast-ended Skrewts and fed to Flobberworms.

I am going to stop shouting now and go to bed. I have to wake up by 5 tomorrow and catch a bus to Bangalore to get my copy of the Book 7. Judgment Day is upon us. And I wish good luck to Harry, Ron, Hermione, Hagrid, Lupin Ginny, Neville and Luna.

AN ACCI-DENTAL TRUE STORY

It all started on a cold November morning four years ago. I was already extremely late for the first hour and by the time I warmed up my ye-olde-Suzuki Samurai, my Timex Ironman read 07:44:36. With the Mission: Impossible theme playing inside my head, I kicked into gear and blasted off leaving behind a cloud of acrid smoke. Being a Speedfreak, I used to push my poor bike to the limits trying to get to the college parking lot within 4 minutes [Covering 3.5 km in 4 minutes on an 8 year old 100 cc bike is not easy, mind you]. So there I was, cruising at about 70 kmph, the chilly wind whipping my hair all over the place. A maniacal grin on my face and watering eyes, you’d think I was crying with ecstasy. And you wouldn’t be completely wrong…

That’s when things started happening. I overtook a Tata Sumo* [*Name has been changed to protect privacy] narrowly missing a zombie-pedestrian sleep-walking across the road. I looked back and bared my rather prominent canines at him like a pissed-off wolf [Poetic license, baby]. Satisfied, I turned back to the road and spotted another potential target for highway harassment – a guy on a scooter who seemed unaware of the fact that fourth gear existed and his right indicator flashing. [Why on Indian roads is the right side called the wrong side and the left side called the right side?] I went “What a moron!” and decided to give him a little scare.
Putting on a burst of acceleration, I sped towards my target. When I was about nine feet from him, he began to make a right turn. Much to my alarm, I realized I was the moron and slammed into him before I could say “Oh sh@#”

My bike kissed the unforgiving asphalt and so did I and for the next few scary moments the road and the sky alternatively filled my field of vision. When I stopped rolling, I could feel blood oozing out of a dozen scratches all over my body. But fortunately, I didn’t break anything except for my precious Timex Ironman and half an incisor.
Now incisors happen to be those teeth in the front, the ones you display when you put on you million-watt smile. I was so devastated by the tragic loss that I couldn’t sleep in the class for two days after that. For months, a part of me ignored it and another part of me hoped the chipped incisor would heal and grow back wolverine-style. I know, it was stupid.

A year later, I was at a Dentist’s clinic – for the first time ever. The door opened and the Dentist said brightly “Come in!” Justifiably, I looked up to the heavens and muttered “please don’t screw up this time”. When I noticed that the Dentist was already wearing his surgical mask my hyper-active imagination kicked in and I started getting disturbing ideas. Maybe he doesn’t want me to recognize him in case he messes up and I come back for revenge. Or maybe he has bad breath and/or crooked teeth?

Anyway now I was occupying a reclining dental-chair-whatever, feeling apprehensive. Suddenly, a high-pitched whine filled the room. The source of the noise turned out to be a small drill which the Dentist ran on my tooth while I closed my eyes. Then he said “now open your mouth wide”.

For the next fifty minutes, I lay there with my mouth wide open and my eyes shut tight. My jaws were stretched stiff and getting quite painful. So I decided to distract myself by thinking about something pleasant. I imagined a nice twisty piece of empty road and myself at the helm of the Devil-among-cars, a wicked Lamborghini Murcielago. The nasal roar of the Lambo’s massive V12 playing in my head considerably mitigated the pain in my jaws. Blue sky, green grass, black Lambo – it was heaven… [Devil in heaven? Poetic license is brilliant!]
I was knocked out of my reverie when the Dentist said “Open your eyes, it’s done”. Anxious about my tooth, I hastily washed my mouth and grabbed a mirror. What I saw shocked me to the core. My canine looked like Count Dracula’s fang. Numb with shock, I said “it doesn’t look right” pointing to my canine. The Dentist started laughing. He took off his mask revealing perfect, white teeth and said “It was the adjacent incisor that I fixed, can’t you make out? I didn’t even touch your canine.”

Now when I look back at the whole incident, I realize it was stupid of me to be reckless on the road. Perhaps even more stupid than telling everyone that my canines look like Count Dracula’s fangs...