Things I learnt from Prakash Jha's RAJNEETI

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?

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

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.

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.

... 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

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)

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.