Of Con-Men and Kurosagi

In this world, there are three types of swindlers…

Those who defraud other people out of their money….

 

Those who deceive others by manipulating their feelings….

 

 

And then, using these two as his only source of food…

 

…is the ultimate swindler in history…

 

…a swindler of swindlers…

A year ago, I saw an 11 episode series about swindlers. Kurosagi. It’s one of those awesome shows that keeps you guessing what will happen till the last moment. Old school plot progression that fleshed out the main characters each episode all the while juggling new ways to evade the good guys, and bringing the smack down on the bad guys. Not to mention the soundtrack was amazing

 

(I’m a sucker for good stories and soundtracks)

 

So naturally, after watching Kurosagi, I became a bit more educated in the various conspiracies around me that wanted to cheat me out of my money. Some investment people came to work (yeah this story is that old) and wanted us to invest in their organization and recruit other members to invest too. Basically a pyramid scheme.

 

Fortunately I saw an episode of Kurosagi where this exact scam took place. I remember yelling Sagi! and walking out of the auditorium (which in hindsight is what probably bought me into the sights of the upper management as an employee they could do without)

 

By the way, Sagishi is a swindler or a scammer. Sagi hence is scam (Ataka, correct me if I’m wrong).

 

The reason I remembered this is because I nearly got scammed twice today. In the span of one hour.

Would Be Scam #1

I was at Corporative Market looking to buy a framed slate with Quranic Letterings on it. Loh-e-Quran if you want to be really technical about it. Mum forced me to go buy it since a family friend living abroad wants two.

So I found a sober, decent looking one at a roadside stall at an intersection. The owner was a springy elderly gentleman. I asked him if he had another one in stock. Now the slate cost 300/- and I had a 1000 rupee bill. So, he asked me to give him the money and he’ll go get me my second slate. While he was doing that, he asked me to sit by the stall and keep an eye. Wore his jacket and went.

 

I sat there like an idiot for a few minutes, and suddenly I feel the urge to hum “Daite Daite Senorita” . . . which I remembered happens to be the theme for Kurosagi. My mind started to work in overdrive with turbo-boost.

• The guy asked me for money before delivering the goods.
• He didn’t let me follow him.
• He wore his jacket and went (it was quite warm at the time)
• He slipped away without telling any of his neighbouring roadside stalls to take care of his stall.

Now for the next 15 minutes I was freaking out. I half expected the real owner to walk up to the stall and ask me why I was sitting there. I even contemplated taking that one slate and making a run for it, but the tailor from the nearby shop was staring at me (which further reinforced my being scammed theory)

 

Finally the old dude came back. With another slightly different slate. Honestly if our craftsmen had their way they’d cover every single picture of the Kaa’ba with glitter and mirrors (forgive my blasphemy but if you saw the Loh-e-Qurans I saw, you’d be saying the same thing.)

 

In short I didn’t get scammed, but the possibility existed in spades. Also note, if you ever go to buy Loh-e-Quran there are two variations. A 15 block one and a 9 block one. Who knew?

 

Would Be Scam #2

 

Finally with one slate in hand, I was heading home. The problem with being poor is you have to depend on buses to get you places. Buses also have a habit of being late or at times unreliable. So I went asking every Taimur, Dilawar and Hamza where I could catch Z-2 from.

 

I was in the middle of asking my 13th Dilawar when a Hamza rudely interrupted me asking me how weak my eyesight was. (I hate being a Leo – fucking curious as a cat)

 

I answered, which probably in Hamza land… (btw these names are a stretched out play on Tom Dick and Harry in case it escaped your mind) …meant lets start with an “OMG True Story” type routine.

 

He has a son, who had a –6 when it came to his vision. And you wouldn’t believe it, after a full herbal treatment he was back to 20/20. Hamza then told me about these herbs I was supposed to get from some guy from some shop. Sounded interesting but the herbs he told me about went over my head. So, I ended up following him through an alley to this guy’s herbal medicine shop. Hey, atleast I was cautious enough to firmly grip the 8 inch long micro-Phillips head screwdriver I bought moments ago, ready to take an eye or something if he started to undo his zarban.

 

Shady medicine shop. Hamza asked Taimur #14 to get a bottle of 60 rupee herbal paste. Sealed and it even had a hologram on it. wooo! Since I seemed interested, Hamza got Taimur #14 to add the necessary herbs in to the sealed bottle after breaking the seal. About one and a half tablespoon of something that looked like white pepper went into the paste, and roughly the same amount of powdered ginger. Hamza ‘authenticated’ the herbs by dabbing his pinky in the powder and rubbing it on his gingivitis infested gums. How drug-dealer-ish innit? 

 

Apparently these powders were given out in doses costing 30-70 bucks per dose. Guess how many doses in a tablespoon? 11 freaking doses. Taimur #14 was busy mixing what looked like flour (what is it with powdered herbs and white? Where is the shocking pink herb or the sparkly diamond dust)

 

Hamza, now running at full steam, was busy mixing the “medicine” and telling me how I’ll be throwing my glasses away in a month’s time. He took a butter knife from somewhere and scooped some of that slimy green goo and told me this was the required dosage.

 

Just then, totally grossed out by the paste, I looked at the receipt book Taimur #14 was filling out. The paste and three powders were currently at 580 or so. I faked a coughing fit and headed out the door for some “fresh air” I heard Hamza tell Taimur #14 to add the anti coughing herb (which I’m guessing would be Plaster of Paris.) Still ‘coughing’ and with Hamza following me, I quickly walked out the alley.

 

 

 #1 is where I found Hamza. #2 is Taimur#14’s shop. Blue is my escape path trying to lose Hamza. #3 is where I finally stopped (it is, in fact, the next road) I didn’t double-back intentionally, I got disoriented. –_–  

Of Stellar IQ Levels Around Me

Yesterday, during English class, our teacher decided to split us all into groups of three and wrote down a list of things on the board

a pen and papers	a bottle of Pepsi	ointment
matches	a nylon tent	20 meters of nylon rope
an axe	a knife and fork	a saucepan
a blanket	an atlas	knitting needles
a camera with 5 rolls of film	radio with batteries	Flashlight

The dire scenario that the teacher presented was that we were all going to board a plane and we were allowed to take 8 things with us. The plane is going to crash on a deserted island and we’ll be stuck there for an indefinite period of time. Needless to say the 8 things each of us chooses has to help us survive.

Once each of us had made his/her list, the teacher wanted us to come up with a group list (by convincing others to agree to our logic why we chose something) then two groups were merged with the same concept, and so on and so forth till there were two lists in the entire class. Leaders of both groups had to come up and present their reasoning and make one final list.

Easy eh? Hardly. As soon as the class started with the exercise, you could hear 4 very sane people sigh out loud and curl up into a fetal position.

The basic aim of this exercise was to develop one’s reasoning, listening and speaking skills. Throw listening and speaking down the drain, the reasoning was enough to make us 4 cry.

So, the gas canister (who happened to be in my group) suddenly decided to take knitting needles with him. Why? To sew up wounds. >.> Yeah, I can so imagine taking a knitting needle and using it to sew up a gash. Why not take the axe and chop off the offending appendage as it is.

Now, everyone in this class is on his/her way to become an engineer. So, naturally one would assume that problem solving is a key attribute to becoming an engineer.

The majority of the class rejects useful items like:

• Radio (“who will listen to FM91 on a deserted island” and “the batteries will run out”)
• 20 Meters of Rope (“what will we tie with it?”)
• an axe (“it will get rusty, knife and fork better”)
• a flashlight (“we can make a fire” and “batteries will run out”)

You can use a radio to transmit morse-code, or scan incoming traffic for any sign of incoming planes etc. You could use a rope to tie logs together to make a makeshift raft or erect a bigger structure for more people than a nylon tent. . . oh well.

I’m sorry people if I seem like I have a stick up my ass. But honestly, can you blame me for wanting some level of maturity from these people. Its like I never left work. I’m still surrounded by little kids who want mommy to do everything for them.

Of This Blog's Mission Statement

You know, this blog lacks a mission statement. There is no clearly defined purpose for this blog.

Strangely enough, this blog started off like pretty much any other angst-y blog from the subcontinent.

First, I needed a place to vent out about the people who screwed with my life, since I was unable to do so in reality. So made this account to unload my spite.

Got bored. It's not like I felt that I was writing for empty space. As a rule, emos are drawn to sorrow. So naturally, I'd have gotten my message across to someone. It's that whining didn't really appeal that much. True I despise them to this day, but other than the scathing comment then and now there really was no point telling people I was hurt by these. I, according to me, would just be giving them the satisfaction of messing with me

Now we come to the real deal. One fine day, I was browsing through some geek-blogs (you know, comics, tech, etc) and Amby told me my ex had a blog. Curious, I opened it.

- Had I not done this, I wouldn't be blogging right now -

Oh God! My Eyes! Emo Blog. whining, bitching, crying, fighting with best friends. And it was black. I checked out her commenter's blogs. More Emo Blogs. I did a localised search for blogs. Countless Emo Blogs.

Well, I decided that, I'll be different. I erased all my old posts, revamped the look, and wrote about stuff that amused me. Or bothered me. Or stuff I questioned.

This blog's purpose is to bring my readers something different. I know I may go emo once a while, I apologise for that. But other than that, it's generally mindless (or maybe not) cynicism, rants about stuff you all experience at one point or another.

So. Go on down to an obsessive blog about a chronically depressed teenager, cry a few fake tears, and return to read something vaguely interesting. Can't find anything of interest, Go to the blog-roll on the right and click on any (or all) of the links.

Were you hoping this would be an emo blog about someone crying "Why Me??"
Then you should have stayed at the emo blog.

Cheers and Happy Reading