My Darling Readers, you would be glad to know that I am now officially a published writer. This post has been published in the 14th August issue of JAM (available now – published by Rashmi Bansal). My previous literary achievements ranged from a poem published in the school journal at age 11, and two essays submitted to the college magazine for the sole reason that my teacher threatened me with dire consequences if I didn’t submit something. Now, I rate somewhat better. It might not be much, but it’s a start.

Note: The following is a completely personal tirade on a personal topic. People might identify with it, but it remains personal. If that is not to your taste, do not read further.

In spite of the pleasing news of publication, this whole morning has been highly depressing. My DVD player (bought two months ago) went kaput a few days ago. After a disturbingly large number of phone calls to Philips, a technician came last Tuesday and declared that the internal power supply would have to be changed. Since then, till now, even after many more calls, they keep promising me that he’ll return with the new one ‘tomorrow’. I remind them that that’s what they said yesterday, but the operator is always a different one, and does not know anything about yesterday. And then, on Saturday, the DVD-drive on my computer followed the same route, so now I have no way of watching DVDs. The eight DVDs I borrowed on a number of library cards now lie useless on my desk.

Sify is playing an even more fun game with me. I booked a broadband connection on 20th July, and was promised that it would be installed and ready to use by the 28th. Today is the 8th, and still no sign of it. I called thrice today (as on every alternate day before today) and was finally promised a connection by the 12th. The biggest source of irritation is the fact that there are three executives there that I talk to individually, and none of them seem to be in contact with each other, so that I have to remind each of them of the developments since last time, because my last call has always been with a different one of them. Today I berated two of them individually, talking for about half an hour (at their expense) and told them exactly what I thought of their mismanagement, and what I thought of the three of them in particular.

I would have loved to complain about this to a friend, but my friends are sitting in college right now. You probably know how much of a pleasure it is to vent your spleen to a friend. Hearing them agree and say, “the limey bastards,” “the useless pigs,” and perhaps “the fucking idiots” is always a huge relief. Today’s spleen session is set for 3:30. But till then, it is nice to put it up here. Please comment. Three hints have been provided to help you. You’re welcome to include your own epithets.