Google April Fool Joke 2010


I have been thinking about a lot of things the other day. Nothing made sense to me. But suddenly April fool’s day came up in my mind, for no apparent reason. [I think I was trying to remember which month this was. Whatever,] Internet-isation has affected people so badly that April fool’s pranks are getting celebrated more on online space. Among the many, Google has always been the forerunner of this art with their serious Gmail “joke” to the silly toilet-flushing prank.

An idea suddenly flashed inside my cranium, blinding my eyes and paralyzing my thoughts for a moment. I got an idea for next year’s Google prank. Even if it is not of the same class as that of making people flushing cables and routers down their toilet, it’s worth a shot.
The idea

Gmail has stayed serious for a long time now. Let’s try to change it, if only for a day at least.

Among the most useful features of Gmail, perhaps the most striking is the embedded GTalk application. This idea exploits GTalk’s popularity.

Upon logging in to Gmail, the user gets a chat request from a celebrity like the U. S. President or Will Smith or some one well known and damn famous. Once the user accepts the invitation, game begins. The intelligent chatbot (ex. A.L.I.C.E.) at the other end would start the chatting. If the user couldn’t identify the chatbot for five minutes, it would give him a phone number (toll free, if possible) and direct him to call this number for more discussion. Make him sing, when he calls.

So Google, what do you say?


Tumhare khushi!

A red diary came in through the door and said “Tumhare khushi. Kutch bhi likh do”.

What the…?

Here’s the story. I was goofing around the net after an exhausting morning cycling trip with harsha, mano and choodi. Suddenly the door bell rang. A few seconds later, while I was still deciding whether to answer it or not, it rang again. This time it was followed by a hard knock on the door. “Oh what trouble!” I went to answer the call. When I was opening the door, the first sentence happened. Except that the diary was held by a hand.

It took me a while to understand what just happened. The door getting opened, the diary showingup near my face and the voice which conveyed precious little meaning happened so fastthat I stood there staring at the diary for a few minutes [ or was it seconds?]. Then I looked up to find the owner of the hand.

There were two of them — a thin-old fellow and our owner-of-the-hand — provided that we already know the diary.

Owner-of-the-hand was keeping the diary between the doors to prevent me from closing it. That made me a little uncomfortable. Then he spoke “*** *** **** , **************** , *** …” a lot of stuff in Kannada. Suddenly he stopped, gave a little push to the diary and looked at me expectantly. I blurted out, “Kannada gothilla” – the only thing I knew in Kannada. “Tumhare khushi. Kutch bhi likh do. Mandir mein khana milega.” Oh! I took a good look at the opened diary. It had rows and rows of names and across each name was listed the contribution they made. So he expected me to donate money.

No”, I heard myself saying. Silence. He started talking after giving me a stern look, “kuch bhi likh do. Sou, fifty, dus. Kutch bhi”. He thrust the diary again at me. The way he looked at me when I said no, freaked me out. It seemed to mean, “Just give me the money. It’s enough that I’m asking. Come on spill out.” Since the diary was still stuck between the doors I couldn’t close it. I was getting really nervous.

I took a deep breath and said, “I said no. It means no.” For a fleeting second I thought he would fling the diary at my face. But no, he hissed something between his teeth, turned around and climbed down the doors.

I slammed the door close.

Then it suddenly occurred to me. Was the thin-old man smiling at me when I said “no”?