BEYALORA

A Dovahkiin Rests

2012-02-17T00:25:00.000-08:00

Adam Adamowicz (1968-2012)

The idea of someone dying can fuck with people's heads in so many different ways. I used to think that only when someone you were related to, or were friendly with, died, did it effect you. A stupid notion that was. I know that now.

Till about two and a half hours ago, I had no idea who Adam Adamowicz was. And then a friend told me how the internet was abuzz with some people claiming that Whitney Houston's death stole the thunder of another person; "the Skyrim guy" she said. It's funny how the internet works. Within thirty seconds we found out it was Adam Adamowicz. Within fifty, I found how some people online were fighting over how fan posts over his passing were such repeats on this forum. It's a little sad how we lose some sense of morality online. I guess when one has a really badass or hipster user name, one has to live up to it. I shouldn't be judging them though. I have laughed/yawned at funerals. I guess it had a lot to do with some boring rituals hindu funerals are made up of.

Adam's passing hit me like something I had not felt all throughout the last year, when famous people were dropping down like extras in disaster films. Ignore my crassness. There's something weird about celebrity deaths and the social media. I haven't figured it out yet but I can't help but sadly laugh at things like "RIP Steve Jobs is trending on Twitter".

Adam was a concept artist who gave us Fallout 3 and Skyrim. Ever since the Skyrim videos were released in late 2010, I have been glued to YouTube and since then, I've been planning on building a gaming rig that could support this game. The point is, I was surrounded with Adam's and the entire Bethesda team's work.

Remember how you felt when you were told that Heath Ledger was dead, right before the Dark Knight hit the theaters? That's how I'm feeling right now. I haven't played Skyrim yet, but now I must. I can't comment on how his friends or colleagues feel right now. I better not try to gauge what his family must be going through. But to all the people who knew Adam as the genius behind making the world of Tamriel come alive in Skyrim, I tell you this - it is okay to feel sad about his passing, but let us celebrate his immortality instead. Enjoy the game for all that it offers, treat it like an old painting in a museum for it is in no way a lesser work of art. Every hour you have been/will be spending in Skyrim, let it be a tribute to the artist who used to be behind the scenes.

Adam, you will be missed.

I will stop crying now and go back to working.
Only then can I afford that rig I promised myself.

It hurtsssss us!

2012-02-16T03:35:00.001-08:00

I just chatted with clients who say "ASAP" about 47 times in a conversation. This beats the record for "like"s I had heard while talking to a friend, who's like ya-know, like, very, like chilled and cool otherwise.

Then there's this another client who calls himself Shown Parker on the internet. I kid you not - that's how he spells it. Turns out he's a Gujju who wants to hire "Contain" writers.

This planet is strange.

Alestonia

2012-02-14T15:29:00.000-08:00

February has so far been different. It's not that I feel really old or anything, but I seem to have settled into this comfortable groove when it comes to getting a lot of work done. That is not good. I'll explain.

You see, I'm not used to things falling into place. The panic of deadlines, the mystery surrounding exam dates, the fear of confronting many people or things - that was my life. I'm used to that and I'm pretty good at it. This change that I think is happening right now - that scares me. My work keeps me busy but it also lets me be indifferent to the truth that I do not take any risks anymore. Not that I want to jump from the first floor again or race a DTC bus, but I can't help feeling the need to do something .... reckless.

I want to do things I don't generally do. But always wish I did. All the time. Maybe I'll try writing a song, finally. The guitar is sounding good these days. I can sense that it's looking for some hardcore strumming and killer riffs. (Note to self - Learn some killer riffs.)

Speaking of things that I don't generally do, I managed to bridge the gap between getting a girl's phone number and having a cup of coffee with her. Oooooh yeah!! (high fives? anyone?) I don't know why I was a little nervous but I tried to hide it by talking of random things. <hangs head> I do hope that soon she sees that beneath all this layer of awkward fat and lame jokes, there's a guy who doesn't like to eat alone.

Also speaking of things that I don't generally do, this is my first post ever written in the Inconsolata font. I know it's been overused all over the internet and movie scripts, but this is the only jazzy thing I can afford right now. So there.

P.S. - Noida, Sector 15-A has a park called Alestonia where we smoked a joint.

That's Billy Corgan from Smashing Pumpkins trying to write a song.

How 2011 (rear) ended me..

2012-01-01T12:34:00.000-08:00

Facts -

Net Resolutions around Dec/Jan have exponentially increased since the arrival of Facebook.
The number of fucks Delhi gives in regards to global warming is zero.
The content writer is the scum of the universe. Even below the outbound Hindi call center guy who stays near Atta market in Noida. And he is NEVER content.

So, how did I spend the night of December 31st, 2011 you ask? Come, (don't) I shall tell you.
Did you ever have a dream where you're surrounded by beautiful naked people all around you, stuffing things into each others' orifices?

Well, neither did I. (But I'm sure someone does dream about those things)

But, I got to live one of these dreams. Oh yes! (repeat 6x)
So, when the entire world was celebrating the arrival of the last year of human existence (Yes, I believed everything the Mayans and John Cusack's movie told me), when my yellow bro Thupten was asking me to accompany him to a party which I'm guessing had booze, women, grass and a guitar, when Pori was having a good time with her sisters, when Sunayana was being the cool hippie somewhere in Rajasthan, when my parents were gorging on excellent food back home, when Kar was enjoying the after-party of her birthday party somewhere in the hills in North Bengal, when Pankhuri was eating all the cakes her Mum was baking at home, when the Nigerians in the next building were going in with crates of alcohol every ten minutes, when Johny Hendricks was knocking out Jon Fitch with one left overhook at UFC 141, I was....

... writing 24 articles for the website www.mangasm.com (The lack of hyperlink is intentional. No, seriously.)
This website sells anal sex toys for men and I (of all content writers out there, WHY ME???) had to write about the heightened orgasms a guy could get if he rubbed his prostate gland with the right amount of pressure. And that was just one of the 24 topics!

So yea, there were no girls, only guys inside my head... and that too, naked ones with this expression. If I were a gay content writer, I could have still seen the silver lining... but, sigh...

I tried going out, but Delhi winters are seriously not good for Bengali boys like me. Also, the auto guys were charging 50 bucks for a 20/- ride to Priya. Screw this!! I wanted to hit them on the head with the biggest prostate massager mankind has ever seen...

I came back to my room and tried to finish the work. I even waited for Stockholm Syndrome to hit me. But no. Nothing. I just sat like a loser and carried on typing.

Happy New Year, everyone.
Die.

P.S. All you guys out there who want to 'experiment'. Let it be known that stimulating your prostate gland can induce an orgasm which can last up to an hour. For more details, go to mangasm.com

Woody Guthrie's New Year Resolutions from 1942.

Assembling a PC - from lowest to highest budget

2011-12-30T15:21:00.000-08:00

Lately, I've been quite obsessed with assembling a Gaming PC, mainly because my laptop (a Compaq CQ45 Core2Duo with 3GB RAM and 256MB dedicated graphics) is about to die soon.

Also, another teeny weeny reason is that ..
SKYRIM HAS RELEASED!

Anyway, whenever I'm not working or eating or sleeping, all I do is browse the World Wide Web for PC Assembling guides. That is when I came across a link which has a detailed chart on what hardware to use for assembling the best PC for any budget. Of course, I cannot afford the last two configurations, yet. But some of you might. So here's the link.

http://i1002.photobucket.com/albums/af150/The_FalconO6/CurrentLogicalPCBuyingGuide/Guide.png

Thank me.

Everybody's changing and I don't feel the same

2011-12-01T15:41:00.000-08:00

Warning - This is a rant.

This year was sad. Some friends just moved far, far away. The trouble is, I don't know if it's something I did or if they just got bored. What I find more scary is that everyone seems to be growing up really fast. Jobs, partners, aims, 5 year plans, etc. If the Kids are All Right, then why the sudden race? I can never get my head around it.

I even tried planning a trip with one of them. Didn't work. Sudden exams are the universe's WMDs which annihilate my happiness this time. I realized I upset this lovely friend. And now we are suddenly distant.

All of us, have had our own things going on - work, studies, struggles, families... but now, it seems to be too visible. The other day, one of them told me - "What the hell are you doing with your life?". I had no answer. How does anyone answer that? I can't bore others with my "plans".

Barney Stinson was right. When he's feeling down, he becomes more "awesome". I want that power.

I'll try my hand at juggling, I think.

Thanks for listening.

Headphones, Food and People - A walk through Old Delhi

2011-11-08T23:42:00.000-08:00

Deep fried fun.

Shaahi Tukda - A royal piece indeed.

Don't be fooled by the crowd - they give you way more space than rest of Delhi

Cool Topis.

A starving belly, a walk through one of the best yet cheap gourmet lanes in town at a time of the day when the locals had just broken their fast, coupled with some of my favourite music arranged in an arcane playlist, and the best bit – shuffle mode. This, I tell you, is the life. So when The Shins started strumming their way into simplistic glory on New Slang, I found myself walking just like the guy in the video, clueless about what to dig into as an appetizer. (The next time someone says soup I’m gonna souperkick his derriere to Manchuria). Like a true Bengali, I start with a sweet dish – pretty sure I’m gonna end my feast with another. The Shaahi Tukda is made from specially baked sweet bread, mixed with all kinds of dry fruits topped with a not-too-sweet-but-fat layer of dry cream and a plate costs you ten rupees. I was happy. ‘Twas short lived as the track changed to Phil Collins’ Another day in paradise. I was suddenly conscious of the three street urchins staring at me from the other side of the narrow lane. Always had this argument with myself whether I should give in to the pleas of street dwellers, or walk on out to discourage the culture of begging for alms.

Pressed NEXT and walked on. (sneer at my apathy, yes)

Mohammed by Dandy Warhols helps me forcefully distract myself from such random arguments. My shallow heart aligns its beats with the haunting bass intro of this beautiful song...”I only wanna do the right thing, but all these demons pass my side...” So I find this entrance to a dargah, and sit out the remainder of the song. Listen to it, and you’ll kind of have an idea why.
The track changes to Seven Seas by Antix. As much as I love their work, I couldn’t help noticing after two minutes, that my steps were matching up with the exact beat of the song. And that’s when I realized, it’s about time I changed the track. It’s physically impossible to keep up steps while walking with the beat of a trance number. You’ll eventually end up running like they do in the Roadrunner Show. Classic rock in the form of The Doors comes to my rescue. I was literally shadow singing to the beef kabaabs and tikkis as they were being roasted on the grill. What else can you do with a song like Light My Fire? Do not answer, it was rhetorical. The kabaabs and tikkis complimented each other like the drums and keyboards did in that amazing instrumental break. The plan of taking my own sweet time while eating food of such great quality takes no time to fail. Picture Homer Simpson gobbling a beef steak. I was as dedicated. That’s it, appetizers were over. Not that I had enough space for a full meal from here on, but hey, I do not loiter around in Old Delhi every other day, do I?

Lord of the Rings

Stepping into a small restaurant called Sultan Hotel, I head straight for the small table upstairs under a small but strong wall fan. I look for someone to help me place my order. Abdul, a boy of about fourteen, bounces up the stairs. I ask for two tandoori rotis, a beef korma, and nihari. He seems more intrigued by the shape of my head, as if he’s planning a PhD, on the dents* up there in my skull. I repeat my order. He jumps out and hops back in exactly in a minute with the food. The Doors give way to Chet baker, although I doubt if, while writing My Funny Valentine he had the same look in his eyes, as I did while drooling over the juicy meat pieces. As if I cared... One slow track follows another, and this time it’s Radiohead with Talk show host. This is a true testament to the greatness of food over here in this part of Delhi – even my favourite band in the world cannot distract me from my mission. Two more rotis and Pearl Jam’s Nothingman have passed, and I’m suppressing burps trying to convince myself and there’s more space left. Some other day maybe - No, not maybe - some other day for sure.

And now I’m thirsty. It’s sort of hard to spot your favourite lassi shop in a crowded market, but frankly, Smashing Pumpkins’ 1979 animated my monologue of bumps and grunts and anglicized Urdu apologies. I finally find it, order a big glass of sweet lassi and end it with a very satiated “Aaaahhh” as if I was the third band member Wham! never had. Bob Marley sings Coming in from the cold. Ok, this might not mean a lot to most people, but to me, some of my close friends and lots of people I’ve met in Kasol, Himachal Pradesh, Mr. Marley is Lord Almighty. The night was ending quite well. I was in two minds whether to take a rickshaw back to the subway, or just walk. I decide to walk as the track changes to Born Slippy by Underworld made famous by the closing scenes in Trainspotting. I smile and wonder if my music phone has a mind of its own. I’m sure it does when I enter the train. Radiohead is back again with Fake Plastic Trees.

*Ah yes, the dents on my skull - My birth involved forceps. And, someone dropped me right after I was born. My head hit the gurney. Now, there's a dent on my head.

Photos by - Tracy Ghale (https://www.facebook.com/tracy.ghale)

gangi frá engill

2011-05-23T16:46:00.000-07:00

Never knew I'd be such a drama queen. The news was something I had been expecting for some time now. But then again, you know, there's always this hope... that may be things are not as bad as your fears tell you. The good thing is, I've run out of fears now.

I needed to run.

Just got out of the room and made my way to the main road. finished a smoke by the time I reached Kusum Pahari Slum. The road from here to DLF Vasant Kunj was a straight mile stretch. There were no cars on the road. The traffic lights were red though. Weird.

I ran.

For drama's sake, I dashed as the lights turned green. I wasn't expecting a great pick up. May be I wasn't as heavy as I thought I was. The thing with running too fast is, you seem to lose your balance if you try to slow down too soon. I was surprised my head was filled with useless info such as this when all I actually wanted to do was just run and let all the bullshit out. part of me was angry too. at myself.

I had barely managed to reach the turning that led to the mall when I looked up to the streetlights. closing my eyes was a stupid idea. I tripped on the pavement and fell. No bruises. Was I tough? I didn't feel tough. i didn't bother getting up. Breathing was not easy. I never had weird horse-like noises come out of me before this. I wasn't dying, that would have been too pathetic.

A car zoomed past. Someone threw a plastic bottle at me from the inside. I picked it up and somehow managed to throw it back. the car stopped. I didn't move. A girl stepped out. We looked at each other. I hadn't yet realized my forehead was bleeding. She went back in and drove away. A dog paid attention to me. i was momentarily happy. I waited for it to wag its tail or something. Bastard just sniffed the bottle and left. i tried whistling for attention. I didn't know how to whistle.

I wanted to pass out. I would have been successful too, had the weather not been so awesome. what were the odds! fucken Delhi summers!! shitty things can happen on good nights.

They say you can't have what you want unless you accept what you are. I hope it's true for letting go as well. I was a chaser obsessed with chasing the impossible. Now I will try to let go. May be.

I took an auto back home.

Song fo da moment (i want to be able to talk like this) - Lunatic Calm - Leave You Far Behind

Do something pretty while you can.

2011-03-31T21:44:00.000-07:00

This photo defines my four months in Guwahati.

The long vacation, which gets longer every time I book my return ticket, seems to be coming to an end. I feel like in some indie home-coming flick; nothing actually has happened, and that's where all the joys and sorrows seem to be.

December saw me trying to push a cause and 'make things happen' to something that could very well do without such external forces. The lesson that came out of it - when someone needs space, the dimensions of said space are such that it is 5'7" tall and weighs roughly 70 kilos. A lesson learnt well. But fate has always been a two-faced bitch. Now I had space too - to think, to plan. We sylhetis plan a lot. A plan which was based on a time-line that ends on 11.11.11. So, I told myself, I'd work my bum off and finally say goodbye to this cruel world on the set date. Hell Yeah!

January made me realize what a stupid plan* that was. Much more important things were happening and I learnt that I could sleep better, if only I'd resign to the truth that I'm NOT the hero of this story. 'Sleeping better' should always be the ultimate goal. This indie-flick side character, you could say, grew up a little with such little bits of wisdom. The space needed some respect and could not be ignored. The need for such a thing could not be the giant invisible elephant in the room anymore. Move on. End of Chapter One.

Whatever.

This Dude sleeps really well, I think.

February, as it fades into March. New Plan. Yes, roll your eyes bitches! I have to write a lot. Need to finish the script, the book of short stories that will never get published, while leading a dual life as a content (read far-from-content) writer who has to write about everything from hedge funds to men's thongs. The money has to come. One of the goals for which I need the money is to fund the upbringing of my own Pig in Pami's farm. (That's one of HER plans). Maybe one day, it'll go to college. Like any bad indie film where random things happen to people who have nothing to do with the continuation of the plot, I was witness to a bomb blast when my friends were having a nice meal in another zip code. Sadly, the blast wasn't big enough for me to realize how short and precious life is. (This is precisely why I need to grow up and learn how NOT to relate every random event to MY existence.). TIA - This Is Assam; bleh, whatevs I say.

Theme song for this post - We rule the school by Belle and Sebastian.

*the stupid plan still lives. It will happen. The dream lives. So does the longing to fill some spaces.

My very own lame Oh Boy moment... alone.

2010-11-26T13:34:00.000-08:00

There must be something about weed and hyper consciousness. They say stoners think at a different level. True. What I did not know was, they also observe every unimportant detail with CSI like precision.

Smoked a big one, alone.

No, I generally share. But this time, the people I was about to share it with were dancing to some good music. And they were dancing well. The last thing the scene needed was me stepping on the floor with my "moves", which actually make Chandler Bing look like Michael Jackson. So, for everyone's sake, I decided to stay put on the mattress and roll one joint after another. It wasn't that anyone forced me to dance either; you see, my reputation precedes me, and my mates respect that. So once they left the room to drop off the ladies, I picked the biggest doobie of the lot, took out an apple from the fridge, put on some Armin Van Buuren (yes, trance and weed are cliched. Sue me) and had my very own party.

Was out in three minutes.

Came down to my room and restarted the The Godfather Part I movie which I was watching this afternoon. 'Twas then I had my Oh Boy moment. You see, Vito Corleone was just about to be ambushed by some other wiseguys outside a fruit stall. And then I saw it. Paused the movie and here's the screenshot - (don't be lazy, click on it, it grows in size)

The boxing promotion poster in the pic said Jake La Motta vs some guy. Jake La Motta was the main protagonist in Scorcese's 1980 movie, Raging Bull where Robert De Niro played him. And Robert De Niro also plays the young Vito Corleone in The Godfather II. How cool is that! Ok maybe not to you, but I was super excited and felt really important at having seen this.

You say I need a life? I say you need Blu-Ray.

Sunday Morning, or, How I Scare My Own People.

2010-09-07T03:19:00.000-07:00

i sleep late. really late. Munirka village comes alive at 6:30AM - kids run to the local school, the caretakers of all buildings turn on the 'paani ka motors', the day job people come out to have bread omlettes and tea at Tripti Restruant (that's how they spell it here), the paper boy throws up the newspapers to the 4th/5th/6th floors with sniper-like precision, and landladies curse the sabjiwaala and then bitch about the north eastern people they have rented their rooms out to, the all white wearing landlords stand in their balconies and check out office going women from the strategic angle (as if that's not disturbing enough, some of them also burp in, what I think is the G-major and F#minor scale while pleasuring their eyes and rubbing their bellies), the guy who clears out the dustbins from my building accidently wakes up the the creepy old man who sleeps in a cot in the verandah and they have their customary MC/BC session.... these are the things that tell me that it's time I crash into the mattress.

But yesterday I was more hungry than other days. My work for the day was done but I just couldn't sleep. It was 5:15 in the morning and Munirka was still sleeping.

New Delhi has it's India Gate, Munirka Village has her Pal Dairy. A boon to cockroaches like I, and some call center people, it opens everyday at 5:30AM. All I had to do was wait for minutes. But I knew that staying in the room and watching episodes of Seinfeld wasn't possible with the stomach whining and growling more than George and Kramer* put together. So after almost eight years, i decided to go for a morning walk. The shop was eighty yards away from my room but,... umm... hunger amplifies distance. I stepped out, and it was still dark. But suddenly a familiar smell took over the entire scene. I couldn't recall what it was, but I had to know. A lady, about fifty or so, had just passed by, and I was sure it was her hair oil which triggered my curiosity. I finally had something to do till the shop pulled up its shutters.

I followed the lady. She was walking about twenty yards ahead, and stopping near every ground floor balcony and plucking flowers from the flower pots and putting them on a gold coloured vessel. Must be bengali, I said to myself. The fact that I did not know what that smell was, was killing me every second. It was too familiar to just ignore. Speeding up to her, and finally catching up, I asked in my politest voice which hair oil she used. She turned to me, slightly puzzled, and semi-shrieked in proper bengali-hindi - "O Ma, hum toh dor gaya tha!... Hair oil se kya hoga? Tum toh taakla ho." She told me to use castor oil for quick hair growth, and left the scene like a pickpocket leaves a crowded bus after the job's done.

I was speechless. And bald.
And I hadn't figured out what kind of hair-oil she used. I'd like to think it's a tie between Bajaj Almond and Keo Karpin. My aunts in Silchar used these, and hence the vague familiarity.

On the plus side, Pal Dairy had opened, right when I remembered I was hungry.

*George and Kramer are the best characters ever written for television. And Seinfeld is the best show.

The Break and the Brake.

2010-07-16T20:08:00.000-07:00

    Being a kid of the eighties, the boy too had had his share of being pushed and shoved into the mainstream of academia. The elders tried to convince him into believing that he was destined to be a great engineer or maths professor. His biggest mistake was defeating a drunken uncle in a game of chess when he was five. He was from a lineage that was symmetrically divided by the ‘chess leads to IIT’ and ‘you can be popular among your friends by being an expert in Robindro Shongeet’ schools of thought. A big city away from home was the only escape. And he escaped. Although deep down inside, he hoped for greatness – so what if chess was the only indication?

    It had been almost a year now that the boy had started to think for some reason he was “creative”. Not that he had ‘created’ anything so far, but he felt it was more like something that was always at the brink, sort of like global warming (?). A lot of time in the last four years was spent in the ‘big city’ just hanging around not-so-happening places, alone, where he just stood and stared at people, cigarette shops, dogs chasing cars that were chasing women, walls with no graffiti, etc. His stares were blank – his head created stories instead of observing the actual ones unfolding right there. You can’t say he missed a lot of trains; he was just one of those who were fascinated by the station. He’d rather walk.
Having walked a lot, now he knew what he wanted in life. And at the top of that ‘want’ list, was a break from all of this. Mind you, besides getting a useless degree, he hadn’t done anything in the big city. As I write about the boy, even I’m wondering – from what exactly does he want a break? He just wanted to go home. Just for a little while. Now that he thought he knew how to create stories from a spoon or a table fan, he tried to connect with everyone and looked for beauty in everything. And home was beautiful, I’ll at least agree with him on that. At times I feel he was too romantic, not in a Romeo, but Jesus way. So his luggage home consisted of a guitar, a notebook and some pens.

    Home was just as he expected. The weather was good, but the city was changing. Inside his head, he felt like a homecoming king. Or like the changed and reformed cyborg in the second Terminator movie. He actually had a shrink to patient conversation with the auto-rickshaw driver on his way home. His folks had shifted to a new flat, and our boy missed his old place a lot. So much so that during the first few days of his ‘break’, he used to take a bus to the old place and smoke a gold flake cigarette every other evening right outside his erstwhile kingdom. One such evening, after having one of the best idle conversations he had had in many months with ... someone, he decided to get a taste of his old life. He walked into Ganesh Saloon* – the place where he used to get a haircut every other month since the mid-nineties. He was high on life and decided that he needed a haircut. Go figure.

    Still maintaining his prom king like walk, he walked in and produced an extended director’s cut ivory smile to the barbers. They smiled back. This was his cue to announce to everyone in the town that he was back.
Boy – Don’t you recognize me after all these years? It must be the beard, right?
Barber - Arrey Saahab, aap? After all these years? I’m so happy to see you. Please take a seat. Will be with you in a minute.

    Our boy smiles that whole entire minute. A mixture of pride and nostalgia mixed with a pinch of hope that the world is still a happy place. He adjusts himself on the hot seat when his turn comes and the good ‘ol barber asks him how short he wants his hair to be cut. The boy, still as romantic as that French skunk from the Bugs Bunny Show, opens up to the barber and tells him he doesn’t care how short the barber chops it, he showed up because he missed Ganesh Saloon and the people that worked here. So the trimming and the snipping commences along with our boy telling the barber stories about big city barbers and how they do not ‘connect’ with their customers, while charging them around eighty bucks for a cut that’s probably worth twenty. And other anecdotes continue, till our boy dozes off like a baby in its mother’s arms.

    Ten minutes later he wakes up to find that his month long effort of growing a pseudo-intellectual beard goes down the drain. His new style resembles some Italian magician sporting a French beard. He could have hoped to carry off the look or hide in his room for a week, but with the military length hair even that plan seemed futile. Without saying a word he gets up and places a hundred rupee note in the ever-so-smiling barber’s hand, expecting at least seventy-five back as change. The barber asks our tragic hero – “Ekdum looking like foreign, no?” and returns a twenty rupee note.

    Our boy comes home and doesn’t really know how to deal with getting ripped off and looking like a European paedophile. So he books a ticket back to the big city.

*most of the other saloons have turned into “Salons”.

Things I learnt from Prakash Jha's RAJNEETI

2010-06-05T01:58:00.001-07:00

1. if you're showing a Leftist politician on silver screen, the loudspeaker he's holding also needs to be Red.
2. dialogues like "Comrade Bhaskar Sanyal ko main Bhagwaan maanti thi" sheds new light on how much the so-called young leftist girl has read about the Marxism-Atheism relationship.
2.5. "Bhaskar Sanyal"?!!! Seriously? Read this
3. All one night stands, lead to unwanted babies.
3.5. Marxist ideology is so weak that Comrade Bhaskar Sanyal leaves the political scene and forgets the ideology and makes a run for it, all because he feels guilty about having consensual sex.(talk about sowing the "seeds" of revolution.)
4. Bollywood does not believe in the umbilical chord, again.
5. Unwanted babies are natural survivors when it comes to floating on a river in a basket.
6. Winning an all-Dalit kabaddi championship makes you the leader of all Dalits.
7. when you're character is inspired from Suryaputra Karn, your name HAS TO BE ......Sooraj.
8. A political party with the party emblem - 'a handshake', feels appalled at the idea of forming a coalition.
9. the party office, just so that you know how non-leftist they are, have this Picture on its pin up board. (yes the scene was so boring, my eyes started to wander off)
10. the Party president gives a pep-talk to the other party ticket holders in the party office......using a Power Point Presentation.
11. When you're almost a PhD., in Victorian Literature and have just returned from the US., and you ambush your political rival in a run down basement, by surrounding him with your armed goons, you still feel 'not right' to fire that killing shot, cause he's unarmed.
12. American white people, to show how much they can relate to violence and terrorism, can play the I'm-actually-Irish card at any point in the movie without prior notice.
13. the only news channel on TV is Star News (one of the media sponsors), and all other news channels are made up names. i think one of them was Maury.
14. it's the political party that asks the public the question - "what's wrong with you?", NOT the other way round.

April 23rd, 2008 / Bata Rules, ok?

2010-05-12T15:59:00.000-07:00

I've been spending too much time in the room. Havn't seen the sun in almost a week. This time it's not American Express. They think I have malaria. I hope that's what the cheap helpful doctor writes in. My friends think I'm happily wasting my life in the AC enabled corporate office. That's what I'll tell them. It'll save me from being part of all those condolence-unlimited-conversations. Yes, I got chucked. And it sucks.

So now the only consistent person in my life is the delivery guy from McDonald's. Poor guy has to climb four storeys every day, so that I can stay hidden. And fat. I hope he makes it to some NIT this year. His joint rolling skills will come in handy over there I'm sure. I have torn chappals and I really wish Bata would start some home delivery service. Something like "30 mins nahi toh free socks." Too much to ask. I reach Kamla Nagar and end up buying new ones. Reach home and realize they are too bouncy. Too new. They don't sell faded slippers. I hate these new chappals.

I've forgotten how my friends look. Someone must have gotten a haircut. I want to see them. If only all of us could just meet and not talk. Not be 'social'. I message them to find that they are in Arts Faculty, waiting for me. The only think I'm excited about is the Banta. 15 mins and I'm there. The new chappals give a bounce to my walk. I look like a 70's Disco Guy walking towards the dance floor when the DJ plays Bee Gees. I look happy. It works. No one asks any questions. Happy hugs all around. And I realize I need some real bad. I love these new chappals.

The Banta wallah doesn't have change. May be the doctor supplying the fake certificate does.

A day-night match

2010-03-12T21:17:00.000-08:00

The beauty and harmony in a snowflake. We call it beauty although, the pattern is based on mathematical logic. Does that mean the pattern of a snowflake, is predictable? Then why isn't there a beauty and harmony in cancer or a road accident? I've been hearing about that butterfly for many years now, but not one of us has been able to predict a single hurricane. Some say our brain conjures up all this pure abstract. they also believe math precedes every other fact.

2, 4, 6, .....

We are happy. We know the next number is 8. is this the absolute truth? or is it just another way to look at fear. Of the unknown. waking up in a dark room at 3:30 and not knowing whether it's AM or PM fucked it up for me. what was the truth in those 10 minutes of doubt I spent inside just lying still? War, death and you were all I could think about. I stepped out, realized it was AM. And the brain just stopped. Nothing made sense. Unlike other times, detachment was claustrophobic.

Then someone send me this link, and in a scenic way - everything made perfect sense.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s8MDNFaGfT4

The Cosmonaut.

2010-01-17T15:41:00.000-08:00

Dilli is a cold place. And I'm not talking about the weather. The winter suits me. Everyone stoops down to my natural level of laziness. Yes, like all the earlier posts, this one too, is about me. But that's where the concept of 'everyone' stops. Our generation for some reason, is too obsessed with space - between two people, or siblings, or friends, or lovers; and even enemies respect each others space. The thinkers talk about shared space, open space, and they talk about these on MySpace. The junkies can't get enough of outer space. It's all good, I guess. But then why do I miss chaos, and I don't mean it in a Hiroshima way, or some anarchist convention way. Come to think of it, anarchists aren't supposed to "convene". I'm talking about the chaos of opinions, of interactions, of mismatches, of debates, of choices...Scientifically, the word that I'd prefer is Entropy. Big Bang was also a chaotic glitch, and it resulted in life.

This blog I'm writing, is also supposed to be my own space. They say it's a forum where both you and I speak. Then why does it allow me to edit the comments? When have we become so fragile, that we are scared of reactions? Senior tells me these are the questions a stalker or suicide bomber asks himself before he becomes one. Senior was high on Shark Tooth. Never try to outsmart your old man when he's drinking. He'll beat you to it. Or he'll just beat you.

Talking of shared spaces, why is it that it's ok for a wedding procession to create all the noise in the world at any place it wants, but not ok for us to play drums in our own rooms? To play a song on a guitar in the centre of Priya's Shopping Complex, you need to ask the permission of about ten people; they say it's a public nuisance, but it's all good if you have a banner saying "RSJ Presents". What freakin shared spaces?!!

Don't get me wrong, I'm still the same person who used to and still does, complain about folks calling up everyday to ask what I've eaten. But, ..I can't seem to be at peace with the fact that it's ok to write on a stranger's wall, or even poke him or her, online..but they'd probably let the dogs chase me if I show up at their doorsteps with a jar of paint looking for an empty wall, or maybe with my granpa's umbrella to poke them with. It's depressing. And Dilli is a cold cold place. On the plus side, Hollywood is back with beautiful movies. And they call me a downloader man.

You got your space, and I got mine. Don't drift away though...I'll see you soon.

December 15, 2009.

2009-12-14T12:43:00.000-08:00

... today was good. (Tuhi re by Hariharan plays as I type). had lunch at majnu ka tila after many months. you never realize how much you miss a place unless you're far away from it at all other times. same with people i guess. Pori was here. She has lost her appetite, but she's nice and funny. The butter tea she ordered wasn't nice. And that was funny. It's amazing how a simple place can pull me towards it. I please easy too. Beef and mashed potatoes, i loved my lunch. we talked, I ate, she nibbled. I tried to act cool at random parts. she saw through most of the time. she's clever. she knows too much. Should I, or should I not.... kill her? I'll get back to that in a while.

Nikhila joined us later. She has a pup called Gulab Jamun. Life was discussed. Naturally, grass too. (the track changes to Pardesi from Dev D..at low volume). We missed Amartya. Pori called him up. She tried to be cool. He didn't get it he says, cause he stuck in the limbo of loglike sleep and waking life. I thought he wouldn't respond. we love to sleep. he might've been cursing us at that moment. But hash was mentioned. picture a happily dazed bug moving towards a nightlamp. We were all bugs. Arts faculty was the table holding up the lamp.

30 mins, and we were all there, lucky enough to find a good spot. Naina joined us. I met her yesterday. Once earlier too, but then i was ...errr...brain dead. everything was ready. by everything, i mean the joint. we decided to wait for Amartya to show up. We were nice people. Between you and me, I wanted to light it. kept my mouth from cooperating with my mind when i found we didn't have matches. Yes, let's wait. He came. He sat. We smoked and had a good time, lots of good laughs. (Rabbi Shergill screams out Gill Te Guitaar...volume is lowered, for it to not drown out the sound of the drizzling rain). We passed two joints, and two momos too. Don't ask. Later, everyone left. I head to Amartya's where more friends wait. Good times, and good laughs.

Not a filmy or exciting post, I know. But I'm happy...and i want to read this fifty years from now. Pori would call me a loser. (The Moldy Peaches - Anyone else but you). But she'll probably be long gone by then, one way or the other. ;)

Fall/Winter 2010

2009-11-26T18:20:00.000-08:00

Dead is the new unambiguous. Bipolar is the new undecided. Heavily armed is the new born again. Bald is the new head .... and the new crotch. Hairy is the new face. Sheepishly admitting to having an STD is the new flirting. Finding the time that is right for you, is the new impotence. The smiley face emoticon is the new "sincerely yours". Smoking is the new outdoorsy lifestyle. Looking forward to insanely expensive private schooling is the new yuppie birth control. Veganism is the new "tastes like chicken". Texting is the new talking. Talking is the new singing. Singing is the new SOP. Graduation is the new "be careful what you wish for". Anti-depressants are the new crowd control. Misinformed is the new patriotic.

Scoring. (it doesn't seem right, no wonder it doesn't rhyme)

2009-11-16T15:17:00.000-08:00

Feigning an innocence
i walk out of the slum
creases on forehead
give me away.
I try
to justify
the cynic, the observer
my life is shit too
i remember her.

Turn. Walk back.
i can, i won't.
the kid, needs help, needs a lot
more than i do
this dirty brown bag of pot.
does he cry out
for company, for love?
glad, I'll never know.
sad, I'll never ask.

Mirrors are more fun
than Television.
Broken Frames, mine.
Shattered dreams, his.
these green glares i seek
they masquerade my guilt.
I'll do what i can.
I'll provide
by dropping in.
Buy some, and more later.
Irani, Pahaari, or
maybe Malana cream.
And find my way
to him
Gladly, Sadly, Madly
like a salmon swimming upstream.

On tuesday, i fell in love again.

2009-09-29T15:28:00.000-07:00

On tuesday, i fell in love again. With my bag. It was an epiphany. I had just climbed four storeys carrying a bag full of beer, vodka and whiskey...i placed the bag gently on the floor. One of the would-be-drunk people commented something about me being too delicate with my bag, as if it were my partner. i justified my passionate desterity with a speech about the importance of booze in a loser's life and walked away. couldn't stop thinking about the comment though. I mean i did put the bag down gently, but my bigger concern for some reason was the bag getting wet in case of a boozocide, not the boozocide itself. I love these subconscious regression therapy moments. Grass had nothing to do with it. it was pure unadulterated subconscious. and it told me that i loved my bag.

Gradually i picked up the pieces of that missing puzzle. i always thought, or so i was told zillions of times by other people, that i loved myself the most. True. I am selfish. Sue me. but now it dawned, that it wasn't me, that i loved - it's my daily stuff i love. and having lived out of home for a long time now, my bag, my ever faithful black bag, is the shining star in the night sky of my life.

small incidents in the past came to my mind. everytime, i didn't finish my syllabus two hours before an exam, i packed 3-4 fat books in the bag, and surprisingly read almost each one of them in the final metro ride. Everytime i went to score grass, i stored seemingly worthless documents in my bag to back my claims of being a student researching on slums, in case i got busted. The grass itself used to travel through the nooks and corners of delhi in the secret pouch inside the bag, passing undetected through all metro stations. Sita did not have as much spare jewellery with her while getting air lifted by Ravan, as the amount of spare change i have with me at any point in time. My bag jangles with memories of useless transactions. when i collect these memories and put them on the payment counter in a KFC, i enjoy the ghastly look on the cashier's face. i enjoy it more as i say with a smile holding up my darling bag, "there's more where it came from." And i don't need to mention a black bag's importance in a kleptomaniac's life, do i? let me clarify one little thing - i did "buy" the bag though. An investment. a good one.

My bag helps me hide things which if carried in the open, would render me a "bad boy" in this oh-so-perfect-and-decent-society. i shall not go into details of those objects. people who know me, know them. I'm too drunk right now to compose a song for my beloved adidas bag. I love by bag, i love people too - but my bag loves me back.

Full course meal : Shuffle mode

2009-09-26T13:20:00.000-07:00

Not being religious is fun. If you don’t want to, then you don’t have to dress up weird for all those festivals, and you can have all kinds of meat on all days, including weekdays and public holidays. Shallow reasons, I know. But it beats mobilizing mobilizees and panditzees to march towards wonders of architecture, just because it’s not the building where your god lives in. It also beats planning for world domination by ostracizing the good ‘ol condom and proclaiming that it’s the devil’s creation. For real? Birth control and Rock music must be siblings then.
So last Friday, I decided to take one of the siblings with me as I went to the kabaab wali gali, near Jama Masjid in Old Delhi. Before conclusions are drawn, allow me to add that this one involves putting something into your ears. Mystery solved, for most people I hope. Yes, I was referring to earphones. A starving belly, a walk through one of the best yet cheap gourmet lanes in town at a time of the day when the locals had just broken their fast, coupled with some of my favourite music arranged in an arcane playlist, and the best bit – shuffle mode. This, I tell you, is the life. So when The Shins started strumming their way into simplistic glory on New Slang, I found myself walking just like the guy in the video, clueless about what to dig into as an appetizer. (The next time someone says soup I’m gonna souperkick his derriere to Manchuria). Like a true Bengali, I start with a sweet dish – pretty sure I’m gonna end my feast with another. The Shaahi Tukda is made from specially baked sweet bread, mixed with all kinds of dry fruits topped with a not-too-sweet-but-fat layer of dry cream and plate costs you ten bucks. I was happy. ‘Twas short lived as the track changed to Phil Collins’ Another day in paradise. I was suddenly conscious of the three street urchins staring at me from the other side of the narrow lane. Always had this argument with myself whether I should give in to the pleas of street dwellers, or walk on out to discourage the culture of begging for alms. Pressed NEXT and walked on. Mohammed by Dandy Warhols helps me forcefully distract myself from such random arguments. My shallow heart aligns its beats with the haunting bass intro of this beautiful song...”I only wanna do the right thing, but all these demons pass my side...” So I find this entrance to a dargah, and sit out the remainder of the song. Listen to it, and you’ll kind of have an idea why.
The track changes to Seven Seas by Antix. As much as I love their work, I couldn’t help noticing after two minutes, that my steps were matching up with the exact beat of the song. And that’s when I realised, it’s about time I changed the track. It’s physically impossible to keep up steps while walking with the beat of a trance number. You’ll eventually end up running like they do in the Roadrunner Show. Classic rock in the form of The Doors comes to my rescue. I was literally shadow singing to the beef kabaabs and tikkis as they were being roasted on the grill. What else can you do with a song like Light My Fire? Do not answer, it was rhetorical. The kabaabs and tikkis complimented each other like the drums and keyboards did in that amazing instrumental break. The plan of taking my own sweet time while eating food of such great quality takes no time to fail. Picture Homer Simpson gobbling a beef stake. I was as dedicated. That’s it, appetizers were over. Not that I had enough space for a full meal from here on, but hey, I do not loiter around in Old Delhi every other day, do I?
Stepping into a small restaurant called Sultan Hotel, I head straight for the small table upstairs under a small but strong wall fan. I look for someone to help me place my order. Abdul, a boy of about fourteen bounces up the stairs. I ask for two tandoori rotis, a beef korma, and nehari. He seems more intrigued by the shape of my head, as if he’s planning a PhD, on the dents up there in my skull. I repeat my order. He jumps out and back in exactly in a minute with the food. The Doors give way to Chet baker, although I doubt if, while writing My Funny Valentine he had the same look in his eyes, as I did while drooling over the juicy meat pieces. As if I cared... One slow track follows another, and this time it’s Radiohead with Talk show host. This is a true testament to the greatness of food over here in this part of Delhi – even my favourite band in the world cannot distract me from my mission. Two more rotis and Pearl Jam’s Nothingman have passed, and I’m suppressing burps trying to convince myself and there’s more space left. Some other day maybe - No, not maybe - some other day for sure.
And now I’m thirsty. It’s sort of hard to spot your favourite lassi shop in a crowded market, but frankly, Smashing Pumpkins’ 1979 animated my experience of bumps and grunts and anglicized Urdu apologies. I finally find it, order a big glass of sweet lassi and end it with a very satiated “Aaaahhh” as if I was the third band member Wham! never had. Bob Marley sings Coming in from the cold. Ok, this might not mean a lot to most people, but to me, some of my close friends and lots of people I’ve met in Kasol, Himachal Pradesh, Mr. Marley is Lord Almighty. The night was ending quite well. I was in two minds whether to take a rickshaw back to the subway, or just walk. I decide to walk as the track changes to Born Slippy by Underworld made famous by the closing scenes in Trainspotting. I smile and wonder if my music phone has a mind of its own. I’m sure it does when I enter the train. Radiohead is back again with Fake Plastic Trees.

Burn it !!! it's a brand....

2009-09-09T13:05:00.000-07:00

JNU is not my university. I'm more like the Neelgai that just hangs out there...oh, and has dinner as well. Going by the whole silver lining attitude towards life and its fuck ups, i can say that one of the advantages of not being a student here is that, no one asks you about your affiliations - political/dental...whatever. Having said that, this alienation does not however protect you from shrieking at some of the pamphlets that are out there in every empty 12" x 8" space around campus.

One such pamphlet screams out against the JNU administration for allowing Cafe Coffee Day to open up one of its tiny outlets in one of its schools. I think its the School of Languages. Frankly, i couldn't care less, cause School of Languages is too far for me to walk, just for a cup of coffee. But the stupid reasons for rising in rebellion over this outlet, demands a stupid blog post. Apparently, CCD is evil. Does Darth Vader serve you the coffee?? No, although it would've been fun...picture Mr.Vader asking you in his grave machine induced voice 'Would you like some more cream with that?'.. Apparently, a CCD outlet would desecrate the socially conscious atmosphere inside the campus. The same campus where people enjoy their Cokes and Pepsis (burps included) without looking towards the heaven to check whether good ol' Karl's frowning disapprovingly or not. They complain that the chai is too expensive at 10/- and a samosa at 8/-..."it's very elitist" they say."They" are also regulars at the nearest PVR Cinemas, where nachos are sold at hundred bucks. Go figure.

Recently, a so called "North East" Dhaba has opened up next to 24X7 Dhaba. The most popular drink over there is the Fruit Beer@15/-....Not a bad deal i say. Surprisingly, the comrades do not mind the fact that the soda used is McDowell's, and the guys behind the counter store them in a Coke Machine. well, not too hard to understand actually....i mean it says Beer, they call it Beer...and it's refreshing. JNU is secular. They say. they proved it by opening up the much awaited NE Dhaba. But seriously, a NE restaurant without pork or beef?!!! so much for being secular, eh? It's like one of those north indian momo places which says in bright red/yellow Chinese Food, and yet when you ask for a plate of momos, they wait for you to specify whether you want chicken, veg or (worst choice) paneer momos.

Well, at the end of the week, the CCD outlet is forced shut. No one gives a rat's ass about the guy who was supposed to work there...most likely a student in some private college, who needed some extra money. No one cares about Pami's friend who said screw the shitty coffee, i love the pastries they serve. What every one seems to care about is 'My party was the first one to come up with the CCD condemning pamphlet'. Liberal my arse. Ask them to name one person whose life would've changed for the worse had the outlet been allowed to run, and they return your question with another one 'which party do you support?'.....Holy Molly, the coffee-pastry-loving-i-can-afford-it-if-i-cut-down-on-four-branded-cigarettes-a-day you fucknuts!!!!

Seriously, the advertising firm handling Cafe Coffee Day got this one right - a lot CAN happen over coffee.

Once upon a time..

2009-09-08T13:42:00.000-07:00

You can see a lot of happy faces when a movie has a happy ending. And the expressions more or less look the same. This makes the audience look the same, as if everyone’s from the same family. Scary Brady Bunch shit, I say. It’s not that I hate happy endings. But quite simply put, I’m tired of the conventional, predictable ones. Movies need to be more than that. Otherwise I wouldn’t be able to find differences between a movie and nice meal in Old Delhi, ...well, anyways, like I was saying, a movie is not supposed to just make you happy, and it definitely should stop trying to do so with some lame ass ending where it defies logic, chemistry, and at times even physics (don’t believe me, huh? Go see “Wanted” or “G.I. Joe – Rise of the Cobra”...where apparently, ice sinks). Even worse are the romantic comedies that pop out of Hollywood like shit pellets pop out from a goat’s arse.

People have tried to help me out by telling me things like leave your brain outside with the pack of cigarettes when you watch this one, or use the lameness of the lead guy to point out to your date what a unique find you are, although you are broke, ugly, and have no knowledge of kick-boxing. Tried. Yes, both. Nope. Doesn’t work. Come to think of it, maybe I shouldn’t have tried both at the same time. But then again, when you least expect it, a movie is made by some obscure genius and it hits you big time, in an interesting way. I watched this Dublin based movie called Once by John Carney. Had never heard of him. Will keep an eye out for his work from now on. A masterpiece in Irish Cinema, this one was shot in well under two weeks and with just one handy cam, with a one hundred grand budget. A simple and realistic story, full of quirky genuine moments and real people, backed up by one of the best acoustic guitar playlists consisting only of original compositions. The story is nothing more than a week in the lives to two strangers who happen to hang out together sharing their music with each other. And the romance portrayed between them is magical yet so believable... After the movie ended, I felt the movie did not give the viewers what they wanted, but what they needed. Call me corny, but that’s that.

Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova, who play the leads, are not professional actors, but musicians. In fact, the only other time you’d have seen Mr.Hansard would have been in another Irish gem called The Commitments where he plays a bassist in the most hardworking band in the world. He also fronts the band The Frames, one of the many brilliant, but brilliantly obscured bands in the Irish indie music scene. And when Marketa Irglova mentioned in her Oscar Speech, that this movie was an attempt by a handful of individuals to make these talented but unsigned musicians get a bigger audience, I almost felt like giving her a hug. The fact that she is a hot East European, same age as I am, who sings like an angel and plays anything and everything on the piano from Mendelssohn to Bob Dylan had nothing to do with it. Yes, this duo won an Oscar for the Best Original Song in a Movie in 2007 for the duet Falling Slowly. Listen to it, and you’ll know why.

Do not miss this one my dear friends, downloaders and countrymen. A movie such as this, totally stripped off of the Hollywood formulae, big names, bigger budgets, single-handedly manages to prove that less is more.

Perfect Love Gone Wrong...

2009-09-01T14:24:00.000-07:00

2009 A.D....Delhi metro so far knows three colours – red, yellow and blue. Good. Cause they say, that by 2015, the trains are gonna run in so many different routes each represented by a different colour, that even VIBGYOR-ing your way through the metro maze would be next to impossible. Great! Just when I had decided to give up trying to figure out DTC bus routes and move on to greener (read easier-with-lots-of-air-conditioning) pastures, I am back to square one. Well, not exactly square one. I mean, if you look at a map of the proposed route, then I would call it going back to an intangible mess of discarded guitar strings in a polybag one. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not bitching about the existence of these beautifully made modern marvels of public transport, I mean, my lazy, fast travel loving, sweat hating self loves it. It’s just that when something you love, grows bigger, things get complicated.

Me: DMRC, are you listening?

DMRC: Yes my lover, what is it?

Me: Ummm....you’ve grown too big for my comfort... We need to talk.

DMRC: *sob sob* ...B-b-but, why? ... How could you? After all this time we’ve spend togeth...*sob sob*....Oh Fuck You Raj, deep down inside I always knew you were a shallow pig!!!

Something along those lines, you know what I mean? ... while you’re reading this, do not give me that look that you’re giving right now. It isn’t all my fault. The metro is one confusing ride, which is if you have the time to be confused while travelling. All you need to do is just open up your mind and just listen to the automated alternating male and female voice on the intercom. I shall present a couple of questionable rules laid out, regarding metro etiquette. Exhibit A, Do not play loud music inside the train. What?!! Nayan agrees to my disagreement, his logic being, that it is all a great ploy to keep us restrained to ourselves and moreover, if everyone enjoys their own music through their earphones, it fuels consumerism. My thoughts are, let’s just say, slightly different. There’s a good chance of people breaking into a twist, or bhangra (yeh dilli hai meri jaan) or in my case, as a close friend would add, even a little tap dance recital when they listen to good music. This effects the moving train’s balance. Very hard for the driver to run the train. Did you ever think that he could be dancing too?? Exhibit B, Always check under your seat, there could be a bomb. Imagine the scene if everyone starts obeying that rule religiously... it would look like a group session for self help oral sex to a perverted mind. People could even improvise and break into the Mexican wave version of this odd ritual. Vivid Picture.

Exhibit C (my favourite), Do not talk to strangers. Yeah right, so we should all continue talking to people we already know, and ....and nothing actually, that’s it. Combine Exhibits B and C. It’s freakin dangerous, I’ll tell you how. So you board a train. And say, you’re kind of a selfless being in this modern world, where you look under not only your seat, but also the seat of the other guy sitting opposite to you. Now you see a teddy bear/thermos/transistor under it (things which the DMRC thinks could be bombs...i frankly thought the bad guys had moved on from Mr.India, the movie) ...so how do you tell the other guy Dude, your ass is about to land on the moon... I mean, he’s a stranger, right? Can’t talk signs flashing in your head!!!! The metro doesn’t only warn you about terrorists, but also pickpockets. Hmmm...ever imagined the catastrophic results of both being on the same train same time? So the terrorist places a Winnie the Pooh teddy under a seat and is almost about to detonate it using the Chinese mobile he’s carrying....or is he? Is the mobile still with him...or has Captain Pickpocket attacked and it’s already on it’s way to Pallika bazaar? Gripping tension, drama and panic.....throw in an item song and you have your own Bollywood version of Speed, the movie. Something like Ramesh Sippy presents Raftaar, the speed. Exhibit D, Do not sit on the floor of the train. Why not? Am I asking for too much if I just wanna enjoy the AC under the connecting space between two compartments? ....the interesting folks are always found at those places anyways....and I’m definitely not asking CM Sheila Dixit to wash my denims.

The Delhi metro can be a funny experience. Weird, but funny. It was fun while it lasted my love.

MJ - Momos and Jelly.

2009-07-07T00:07:00.000-07:00

Funny things happen. No, this is not Cpt. Obvious speaking. But yea, funny-weird-diabolical-sad things do happen. About three days back, as i woke up, ideally just minutes before lunch hour*, my roomie suggested momos. So downstairs i trod to "go get some" in a very "stay-give-some" stage of body and mind. The momo walla spiked hair dude was not to be found - yeah man, we got momo wallas with gelled hair humming to classic rock tunes, whatchYOU got bitch?! Huh? Anyway, he was nowhere. Bread Omlette it is then. Again. Fine, so no hummed version of "Light my fire" today. I can live.

Right when i'm done paying the bread omlette dude, for the royal half hour dish he cooked, i hear humming. Not 'The Doors'. Even better. It's Michael Jackson's 'Black or White'...i turn around and there he was. Carrying the steam cooker type of thing on his shoulder and nodding at me. 'Mar gaya na woh? So Bad, man, So bad.' he says...i can do nothing but smile, and acknowledge the passing of our dearly departed King. The humming continues. I chat with this guy for about ten minutes, while he heats up the momos. The topic of conversation ranges from Michael Jackson to......well, just MJ actually. Oh wait, there was a bit about grass, but i guess that would fall under MJ as well. Suddenly all those celebrity interviews on Larry King Live about Jackson's death..and life, seemed fake. Here was this guy, many thousand miles from California, heating up momos, and telling me with a sad smile on his face, how he bunked school back in his village and danced to 'Thriller' and the rest, songs he had on this duplicate cassette he says. Surreal, that's how i felt. Oh wait, roomie's hungry and i too. Packed two plates of hot steaming chicken momos
and hurried upstairs. As we enjoy the food, i couldn't stop thinking about a kid in a hillly nepali village having the time of his life, in that very exact moment, trying moonwalks and being aloof to this crazy hazy world...i was literally there. watching, smiling, smoking....total trip.

As we shared the last piece, suddenly i was pulled back to real life. No, it wasn't the momos running out but the packet the nepali MJ had packed them in.. the packet was probably one of many unused ones from some drug company. Nothing to worry about, right?..well, not if the label says "Parson's Lubricating Jelly". 'Unused' was and has never been a more important criteria ever.

*lunch hour is any time i wake up.

On Lalgarh...

2009-06-20T21:21:00.000-07:00

very amusing that the media is suddenly interested in lalgarh when it's liberated from the WB administration and the tribal locals were finally moving towards self-governance and ultimately, happiness...where was the media when these locals were being brutally killed and beaten by CPM goons and WB police all these years?...i'm not ending this comment by saying 'Lal salaam' cause frankly, it's losing it's meaning more as we speak...but please pause and look around. and question whatever you don't comprehend.

Pulp Fact-ion

2009-04-12T07:47:00.000-07:00

Scene 1 : Was walking out of the Vishwavidyalaya Metro station, when a glowsign neon ad made me pause. It showed a bunch of young we-were-the-original-cast-for-RANG DE BASANTI type of fellows jumping high in the air. they had smiles on their faces, smiles that remind you of horny uncles that lure you towards them with candy or lollipops. The ad said - Study in Australia!!! enroll today and win tickets for the next musical at the Sydney Opera House!!! The people behind me, who obviously were not jobless like i was, didn't find my sudden halt amusing as they grunted while colliding with me. "Arrey BehnChod!!" one of them said under his breath. I wasn't allowed to follow the stop-stare-think routine once again (story of my life). I walked on. U2 forever!!

Scene 2 : The token checking machine( i'm sure there's a word for it..just not in my vocab) and the queue that led to it, saw me standing next to the same BC obsessed guy, only this time he was right in front of me, rummaging through his pocket for the token and holding the line. Should've retaliated, now that i think of it, but i was too busy thinking about the Ad i had just seen. The guy turned behind and smiled. A smile that we men generally use for moments like when someone points out to you, in public, that your fly's open. the index finger that points towards the exact co-ordinates of your crotch doesn't help either. pathetic as i am, i return a smile as if losing the token was the sweetest thing he had ever done. U2 rocks!!

Scene 3 : The Brotherhood of Richshaw pullers waiting outside the metro station had definitely pimped up their style, if not the ride. Spanking the empty seats, they say in perfect rhythm, "Ajao, meri wali pe chadh jao!!"....which translates into,"Come, climb onto the one thats mine!!". The nostalgic memories of the millions of times i've shared a rickshaw with friends, suddenly nauseates me. So avoiding the main exit, i take a detour through the parking lot. the sight of dogs making out is way better than Rickshaw Spank Inferno. Surprisingly, the dogs were absent that afternoon. The post lunch humping hadn't begun yet. Instead i see a Baba with a chillum. He smiles at me. Finally a genuine smile, phew!!. ..so what if he was high as a Kite? U2 should be paying me for this.

Scene 4 : Waiting for a friend, who likes pork and beef as much as i do. The problem of being a guy sitting outside the back gate of a girls hostel, is that every freakin living creature hovering around, will stare at you and give you the "Look". i try to duck/look away/meditate...doesn't help. i run out of options. i look up. An Ad for a computer institute ideally named "Dics" catches my attention. This time people aren't jumping around. just smiling at you. i can actually picture them calling out to whoever bothers to listen - "Come to us, we shall bestow upon you the magic of Dics...Dics....Dics ver1.2". Creepy. The smiling creeps in the Ad have gelled hair, whitened teeth, and extra ironed shirts. i could sense the pride in their Dics....i mean Pics. Bono and The Edge loiter inside my head.

Epilogue : My friend doesn't make me wait a lot. We head off to the land of Beef. Funny how when you're in good company, you stop thinking about Sexually motivated Education Fair Ads and famous Irish rock bands.

2009-04-07T06:46:00.000-07:00

Seven. The number of joints you need to smoke using pure RK puram grass to “lose it” and, as entertaining as it may sound to your friends, open up. For amateur smokers out there, “chhoti” gold flake tobacco, for the mixture, gives you a better high than Navy cut. The topic of conversation can range from kids in Darfur to ‘how groovy the plane looks’ as it zooms overhead like a Mothership that doesn’t exactly know where you are. Previous relationships also add variety to the ‘talk’ but personally i find that dangerous although in public i would rather say its boring. Escapist? You might add. Pink Floyd has become a cliché. Times have changed. Its the age of the Dandy Warhols now. And please don’t spend any money on “decking” up the room to create the perfect ambience. The whole idea of smoking up is to let go of those worries. If you really have extra moolah, get more grass.

Coming back to the number seven, yes, make sure that you have all the necessary material needed for that perfect high – Rolling paper, unused wedding invitation cards for weddings of people who don’t give a fuck about you( the feeling needs to be mutual) – they make excellent roach, cheap quality fried stuff – chips, potatoes, chilly pork/beef, and yes, people who smoke up – i call them grasshoppers. So, are we ready now? Almost. I almost forgot the main ingredient – an acoustic guitar. Floyd plays better on a guitar than on winamp. So there you go, a perfect night awaits you. And yes, please comment if you think we can make improvements. Its open source ;)

My somethin-somethin on the whole media hyped good/bad muslim idea

2009-03-31T23:00:00.000-07:00

Why must a Muslim ( Indian or otherwise) be put through the task of justifying himself, not time and time again, but even once? If X is a Muslim, and Y is a terrorist, why must X have to prove the X is not equal to Y? The major goof-up in this issue, is not 'people trying to come to terms with the fact that there ARE good Muslims who need to be heard' but people from all backgrounds and faiths failing to see that the more the justifications are encouraged (read demanded), the more alienation it creates. Alienation - the alleged grand reason, for 'local goodie Muslims' to just 'cross the line'....is it that hard to see that while trying to unite a nation, all these justifications are rather widening the cracks? The Cracks, which the majority has taken upon itself to exploit. and yet, it doesn't have to explain itself. Funny, i think.

The current social scene in India is not really helping. Look at the support that Varun Gandhi is getting after he proclaims that 'he shall set the Hindus free' of this minority appeasing politics. Hasn't he fit the perfect bill of the Hindu-Terrorist yet?? The Batla House incident where Jamia students were apparently harbouring terrorists (proof? none.), was seen as a success of delhi police. Same delhi police that also managed to create a martyr out of Inspector Mohan Chand Sharma, who according to eye-witnesses, was seen walking out of the locality after suffering a 'minor wound'. The Establishment will NOT help us. Clearly.

In this short time-frame( most of 2008 actually), we have also welcomed a wave of so-called well made movies that raise the questions of communal tension in this country. 'A wednesday' where Muslim terrorists are the cause of the problems of the AAM AADMI who has been forced to take action against it. Very conveniently, the writers HAD to include a "good Muslim" in the Mumbai police too, who by the way, had to hide his 'tabeez' when speaking to the terrorists and his Hindu colleague coming to the rescue...Utter Crap!!! if i may be allowed to say so. Well made movie? may be. but the message its sending across, knowingly or otherwise, is a very dangerous one. "Shaurya" - muslim army officer has to face the music this time around because he knew a thing or two about human rights violation and respected human life. Throughout the movie, the officer is resigned to giving it up to the laws of the Indian Armed Forces. Again, it is upto good'ol Hindu military lawyer to come to his rescue, and tell the world what exactly happened. "Aamir" - common man (read, Good muslim) sacrifices his life for a greater cause - upholding the moral duty of the good muslim of justifying his faith. Bollocks!!!!! all of these might be good movies, technically. but we can't be naive enough to not see past the message that these movies are trying to propagate - some muslims are good, it is upon the ever-so-good hindus to acknowledge, understand, and help them.

something, somewhere is seriously wrong. Please try not to be blinded by the sense of this brotherhood on one hand, while totally ignoring the fact that some of us, albeit unknowingly, are fanning the flames by these justifications.

Organized Religion is bad.

Death is just one word...

2008-12-29T09:01:00.000-08:00

Was it the choice of movies i had seen lately? Elizabethtown, by Cameron Crowe

about a guy who knew his father better,after his death. Or for that matter, Vinay Pathak starrer, Dasvidaniya - about "not just surviving" but actually living one's life. Could've also been the underlying theme of the play that i had seen in a long, long time. Frankly, i wasn't exactly expecting a bubblegum extravaganza at a play titled "When We Dead Awaken" at the recently concluded Delhi Ibsen Festival, directed by Ratan Thiyam. Now this one's about a now-dead guy who missed out on the small but beautiful moments in his life, while chasing a fruitless passion whilst he "thought" he was living. May be.
Also need to mention that, yes, i have been going off to sleep while my earphones sweetly implant by brain(or whatever's left of it after an evening with fellow "grass-hoppers") with lovely haunting acoustic ballads by Death Cab For Cutie. I really don't feel the need to explain what THEIR music is all about.*

Or may be it's just my death loving morbid self.

Ok, yes. i exaggerated. I'm not really the morbid types. And before all of you get judgemental and stuff, let me clarify that the first thing that strikes my mind while thinking about death, is NOT 'oh dear Tim Burton, what am i gonna wear for this funeral ?!'...i guess it's not someone dying, or U.S. induced genocide that gets me off (thinking), but more so, the idea of accepting death as something so natural yet potent even before it strikes; that's the kinda stuff i'm talking about.

Dunno about anyone else, but lately the idea of dying as a social experiment has crossed my mind...let's just say, more than once. The fact that it's i who's playing the roles of the mad professor, and the guinea pig, made me think again...and again,and again. The next best thing , and it comes to me quite naturally,was to just lie down on my dirty old mattress and scare the ceiling with my blank stares, pretending to be dead. I would imagine that i were an art loving zombie who could not smell the paint even while standing beneath the Cistine chapel, could not cry at an opera (mind you, living people cry at operas for lots of reasons, and not just because they wanna get the hell out of there), who couldn't raise his voice, but maybe just growl and drool a bit, against all the oppression thats out there; could never scream out "Aaaaahhhhhh!!" halfway through his first bungee jump, or halfway through actual orgasm. Kinda reminds me of the expression-less bunny in Andy Rileys line of cartoons strips called Bunny Suicides.

Governments, states, countries, countrymen today make news all over regarding freedom of speech, apparently because one blames the others for snatching it away. I think it's all about who actually is controlling the 'mute' button of our so called SOCIETY. What about the freedom of reaction? i know i sound crazy - i mean, apparently no such thing exists. may be not. But it sure means a hell lot when you're just lying there - undead.

At the risk of sounding preachy, let me just say that Life, no matter how much it sucks now, should be enjoyed.If you have a zombie self, listen to it once in a while. Learn to eat,sing,roam,fuck,smoke,drink like there's no tomorrow. learn to fight all those who try to bog you down( not 'ask you to go down' - i mean enjoy THAT obviously. that's different).

My Undead moments, i owe you guys big time.

*opening lines to a Death Cab For Cutie song -

Love of mine, someday you will die
I'll be close behind
I'll follow you into the dark,.....

Jumper

2008-03-09T11:20:00.000-07:00

"i wish you would step back from that ledge my friend,

you could cut ties with all the lies that you've been living in..."

----- stephen jenkins (third eye blind).

lies?..what freakin' lies? can't we all suicidal folks just accept that truth is what scares us?

NO. don't answer. rhetorical question.

i've observed that the self proclaimed "victimised" people actually have lots of things to take into consideration before that final leap/sip/snort/ekta kapoor episode,etc. to make it a "perfect" one....and i ain't talkin' bout life threatening stuff like what the wind direction is, or what floor you're in,or what's the quality of bone china used for sipping, or what's the minimum payment on the credit card which you're using to sort the lines of coke....these people, quite simply put, "conundrum-ize"(ha ha, always wanted to use this word) themselves just at the last moment creating those "should-i-or-shouldn't-i" ideas in their heads.

THE SOLE PURPOSE OF THIS BLOG IS TO FLUSH THOSE IDEAS OFF YOUR MINDS SO THAT YOU HAVE A FULLY SATISFIED, WHOLESOME SUICIDAL EXPERIENCE.

So, what really stops us from making that "leap"? if you're expecting an answer, fuh-get-a-bout-it...my first name is not 'Agony' and i am SO not your 'aunt'. but then again, generosity while giving advice has always been my forte. if you're a working person, then i'm sure you are quite aware about the dreaded four letter word( starts with a 'b' and rhymes with 'moss')...and stop reading right here if you need a mentos to figure that out !!!...anyway - sorry i drifted away a bit there - coming back to that four letter word B-O-S-S, it really helps if you create such a situation for yourself where facing him/her would be worse than killing yourself. don't sweat your brain muscles too much on how to do that....just get totally slushed and leave a message on his answering machine telling him what you REALLY think about him..believe me, it works. saved me lots of valuable hours by not ever having to type resignation letters...surprisingly, everything just "happened" automatically or was "taken care of".

This option is also open to people who are dating the wrong person. except for few changes in the nomenclature, everything's the same.

Instead of breathing slowly and counting till ten...

2008-02-10T18:04:00.000-08:00

just let it be,till the moment you just can't.
the world around you is merely a garden;
the people you know are no more than clay pigeons.
waiting to come in the way of your bullets with butterfly wings.
for now,just let it be...

Ch-ch-changes...

2008-01-25T04:41:00.000-08:00

I believe Charlie was right.Dunno about Chaplin or Brown, but Darwin surely was.

We have undergone changes to become what we are. We used to hunt to survive,using sharp stones and sticks....now,my weapon of choice is a bunch of food coupons that are accepted at all the KFC's and McD's. We used to hunt in packs; now our social lives have been reduced to saying-hello-waving-goodbye( thank you David Gray), all within a span of two-three hours and TGIF. We used to skin animals to protect ourselves from the weather( we didn't really care about nudity back then...i guess we chose not to); and now we work our asses off throughout the month just so as to be able to afford that coveted pair of levis' or that "cool sweat shirt" from Benetton, not to mention, after discount.

If you have read so far( surprisingly!!),and you're still wondering where i'm going with all this comparisons, then let me give you one more comparison. Earlier people used to write stuff which either actually meant something to lots of other peple in their own respective ways; nowadays we just blog; ideas,intentions and motives can hold each others' hands and take tra-la-la hikes.

The truth is i'm totally confused. Started thinking about all this "change" crap because my personal life literally begged me to learn the art to adapting to change out of thin air.

How many of us have ever been chucked out of someone's life?? I was, and it doesn't feel good,does it? The first thought is obviously very tragic and unfortunately involves lots of questioning and sudden attacks of self pity...you're totally devastated and you're thinking "Oh my god !! what fucken life is this? what am i gonna do now?!"....and several other phylla of melodramatic expression,often making us wonder if we are related to the late nirupa roy(the universal mother of bollywood...just in case you don't remember). This proves that the worse your situation in life is, the lamer your attempts at being funny will be.A certain person i know would even go to the extent of saying in assamese,"Beya lage dei,kabaar karone!!"( which means 'i pity "someone" '!!!)...

Confucius say, taking too much pinch of salt give high pressure.So,here i go again,looking for spoons of sugar.This time it actually works. I guess it has something to do with "letting go" or(NOT 'of' ) crap like that. But if we compare our erstwhile-loved one to a bird, then it is better to let the bird fly away; if it returns,it'll be with us forever, and if it doesn't, it was never meant for us.See readers,sometimes i tend to make sense.
(P.S. philosophies are subject to change with arrival of hunting season.)

This blog is dedicated to all the girls who are ever so ready to break our hearts. And Mr.Charles Darwin.

How the Germans won....

2008-01-12T11:52:00.000-08:00

The European Union commissioners have announced that agreement has been reached to adopt English as the preferred language for European communications, rather than German, which was the other possibility.

As part of the negotiations, the British government conceded that English spelling had some room for improvement and has accepted a five-year phased plan for what will be known as EuroEnglish (Euro for short).

In the first year, "s" will be used instead of the soft "c". Sertainly, sivil servants will resieve this news with joy.

Also, the hard "c" will be replaced with "k". Not only will this klear up konfusion, but typewriters kan have one less letter.

There will be growing publik enthusiasm in the sekond year, when the troublesome "ph" will be replaced by "f". This will make words like "fotograf" 20 per sent shorter.

In the third year, publik akseptanse of the new spelling kan be expekted to reach the stage where more komplikated changes are possible.

Governments will enkorage the removal of double letters, which have always ben a deterent to akurate speling. Also, al wil agre that the horible mes of silent "e"s in the languag is disgrasful, and they would go.

By the fourth year, peopl wil be reseptiv to steps such as replasing "th" by "z" and "w" by " v".

During ze fifz year, ze unesesary "o" kan be dropd from vords kontaining "ou", and similar changes vud of kors be aplid to ozer kombinations of leters.

Und efter ze fifz yer, ve vil al be speking German like zey vunted in ze forst place....

..Of Rajmas and Dogmas.

2007-12-10T15:15:00.000-08:00

Tuesday has just begun. And as an insomniac-by-night-and-narcoleptic-at-high-noon, i'm about to take my nanha munna steps into the ancient artistic world of valmiki-ism, or as they now call it, blogging.

Had zillions of ideas in my head when the blogging bug bit me. I know it's kinda hard to believe this when you start your blog using turds-of-words like "Tuesday has just begun"(the real Raj inside me calls out and says hey,Robinson Crusoe called. He wants his words back). No, seriously....i did have lots of ideas.But then this really hot girl passed me by on the sunny side of the road and nanoseconds later, the ideas changed....i mean,...ummm....disappeared.

So here i am, totally at a loss for ideas,topics,discussions,debates,sweet nothings/somethings/anythings...But a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do,right?..i mean i still have to write something down so that soon some girl actually reads this junk ( so what if she is already drowned in cosmopolitans or pinnacoladas or even Duff beer) and thinks for five seconds that it's funny and the guy who wrote it might be kinda "interesting". Wishful thinking,i know.

So where was i?....ah yes....

Tuesday has just begun.

But wait. My religion doesn't allow me to have non-veg on tuesdays. The Geeta doesn't say anything about blogging though. But do i really wanna take a chance?....i mean i wouldn't want to piss off so many gods. i know i'm twenty now and all,and can probably take on two or three gods max...but crores of them charging towards me on their respective lions, tigers, elephants, cows, ducks, owls, rats, platypi, lotuses is a totally different matter. Or is it?....Did i just answer my own question?No, no....what am i even thinking!! I can already feel some xyz god's divine arrows of confusion piercing through my brain. Forgive me, Father...for i have sinned.Shouldn't have blogged on a tuesday. Penance is due.

So let me say this openly on a public forum : I, raj, of sound mind and thought, pledge to strike out the plate of pork momo and chilly chicken off my menu.....for today. i'll instead go for rajma chaawal. Amen.

P.S. dear readers, i owe you one non tuesday blog which WILL detail my experiences with Lucifer as we drove around town from strip clubs to raves, burping away our pork rib dinner.