Window Blogging

Video Games

2012-01-20T23:34:00.000-05:00

I'm feeling crispy. You know... the opposite of mellow I suppose.
I'd started feeling mellow at first. It was just easier. Then I read and I thought and I had happy thoughts and I had happy feelings. Not intentionally of course. That would have been like excercising. They just floated in. The happy ones. On their own. And they've stayed.

I sound retarded. Crispy people perhaps do. I'm in love, which also has a lot to contribute to all this. I've been in love with her for a while. But for some strange reason it's just grown and grown. Like the happy thoughts and feelings, it just floated in and stayed, but unlike them it's grown ginormously whilst inside me. Like a mind of it's own.

It sounds uncontrollable. Love often does. I quite like it all, which perhaps aids the process. I offer no barrier to obstruct the flow. No immovable object to meet unstoppable force. It's a peaceful ginormousness. That just sounds weird.

And I'm going to go and hug her now.

Advice For Young Mothers To Be

2011-12-15T16:13:00.000-05:00

Man, I don't know about you, but I could easily do with a vacation. The need has never been greater. I need to get the hell out, soak in some mojo, get rejuvenated, smile a little, laugh a lot. Take a trip. Maybe two, maybe three million.

Coincidentally, we are hopping on a few metal birds and whooshing to new lands for a few days, soon. But soon is 5 days away. 5 days is like 5 million from where I'm sitting. 5 million is a few million too many.

I've started using big numbers now to elaborate. I blame the multiple financial crises for instilling the usage of these big numbers in my daily vocabulary. 20 billion, 1.4 trillion and such. If I would have said 500 days instead of 5 million days, it wouldn't have cut it. I'm a man of the times and the times demand big huge humongous numbers.

Now instead of saying I'll have it done in a day or two, I say I'll have it done in a day or 20,000. My boss never quite gets that line. He's obviously not of the times.

Going to Singapore and then Sri Lanka. Both island countries. Shit I just realised that. Not that it matters but I'm chuckling at making that connection. So spontaneously brilliant. It must be cause I'm royalty.

Going to meet my craziest bestest friends in Singapore and then The Girl's family in Sri Lanka, where we've planned to take up a resort in a remote part of town. Kick our feet up, get drunk, eat a lot of seafood ( I love seafood), forget about some things, make new things. That sort of thing.

It might turn out to be very drink heavy. Which is why we decided to not drink 2 weeks before we left. A little sanity to prepare for the insanity. Which ofcourse hasn't worked out. So now, we're instead reaching out to a little insanity to prepare for the insanity.

There, just popped a different perspective pill.

Little Lion Man

2011-11-06T00:42:00.000-04:00

"These are mad times, mad"
And yes, I'm going to say it again - cause even though I've used that excuse before, I lied. This time though it's real... till I lie again that is.

So yes, life came and took over.
Ah joyous life. That wandering minstrel, that untamable of spirits, that most meddling of beings. It grabbed and I complied. After all, a blog should ideally be the least of one's priorities. A means to get away perhaps, but always a loyal subject, giving way when life needs no getting away from.

But then again, a lot happened and a lot didn't happen. Much like you I suppose. We're all the same after all, each and every one of us. (I'll philosophise soon, cause I'm getting that urge, but not now. Now it's more of a self satisfying need).

So on that front, the travelling diaries had a few pages filled. A couple of notches and if you're of the wizarding variety, more streams to add in your pensieve.

For sometime in the middle of this summer, we hopped across the border to a small town called Mexico City. Which we later found was one of the 3 biggest cities in the world - so not so small after all. And we absolutely, whole heartedly, unambiguously loved it. All 4 days over there. It's got a little of the rustic charm we've been chasing, a little of the good life we've been avoiding. It's delicious.

You know, having been to Colombia and now Mexico, it's easy to make an observation. Latin America, and yes I club Mexico in that, knows how to party. Everyone, or at least the ones we bumped upto, has a smile on their faces and come sun-down a jump in their step, a drink in their hands. As opposed to the work/stress obsessed, calorie counting, very measured city that is New York. Easy enough observation? Yes, perhaps. But I agree, there's always a layer cake.

Then just before winter took over, we went to Rhode Island. A state on the eastern coast here, where it's pretty, but very American. If you know what I mean. It was a good change of pace, nothing else. But more importantly, my parents came on a jet plane to visit us here and they made the Rhode Island trip a colourful one. We laughed and we fought. We played, we merrily swayed and we shared. I found new facets to them and rediscovered old ones. All so interesting, all so enriching. And they finally met the girl. In the sense of actually getting to know and spend time with her.

I miss it all now. That jet plane, it giveth and it taketh. But it was all so good. So very good.

And as my man Seneca said :"As is a tale, so is life: not how long it is, but how good it is, is what matters."

So how's the good life been treating you fine folks?

The Times They Are - A Changing

2011-07-13T16:44:00.006-04:00

I hate spiders, which is why I'm going to try and break some cobwebs.

So, I was thinking recently. Thinking's a weird activity man. It's all jumbled up in there you know. Millions of paths everywhere, stray thoughts fighting for space and I stay fickle. Which is probably why I don't blog much.

So like I said, I was thinking. Being philosophical and all that. I'm pisces but I understand that scorpios are supposed to be the most philosophical of all the signs. Think Morrison said that. I wasn't taking any of that. Called bullshit on it today and tried to lay claim to that domain. Using one fish to distract the scorpion while the other chomps the shit out of him. Philosophically speaking.

Think pisces are the most fickle of the lot though.

Anyway, thinking/wondering, how time you know, goes by so fast. I'm 31 now. Maybe you're 20, or 40 or some strange age, but regardless, or maybe not regardless, maybe it's relative, but even then - the last 5 years from whereever it is that you're standing, seems to have been a whirlwind. No?

And then again, 2 years into the future, making decisions on what will be, where will we be, how it'll pan out, seems like a lifetime to live.

Uncertainty looks longer ofcourse, even with something as definite and quantifiable as time.

Sweet Jane

2011-06-03T23:29:00.002-04:00

I was carrying a bag, ripped at the seams
I was punching visions, that seemed all too mean
If I could have feigned, I'd have chosen brevity
But I had words to say...
after all, didn't it stink too much of reality?

I went on to battle ennui
I tore it down, but it left a scar on me
Now I keep laughter gas at the ready
I wear it like a super hero who has no alternate identity.

I came across the end of everything
but it's got nothing on me
It's a poem captive in another poem
a dream ripping through the seams
that grips and claws at me.

Satisfaction

2011-03-31T22:16:00.002-04:00

oh man.
It's been real, this month.
Not the kind of "real" I'd ideally want. Which would be the kind sprinkled with spontaneous adventure, crazy parties, sinful deeds... something like that. This one though, was more of the practical variety. Which means it came with boring edges.

Early in the month we got attacked by the american dream. Which in my world translates to, must own house/condo, else haven't really settled. So we tried it. Went condo hunting the land, to try and plunge some serious dough in some not so serious livings. Turns out not so crazy about the dream after all. Also don't trust the US economy enough to make that commitment just yet.

Going to rent and instead plunge some serious dough into the travel dream.

For breathing room there was the birthday. I thought I should start to mellow down a little, live the easy life. The boring edges I mentioned. So instead of meeting everyone for dinner, which on past experience always turned to drinks and watching the sun rise, decided to meet for brunch. The Girl chose the brunch place. Turns out brunch came with unlimited drinks. Should have guessed. Which meant to nurse the brunch hangover we went to evening drinks, which turned to dinner, more drinks and watching the sun rise.

I'm sticking with starting the revelries at dinner time going forward. Going to start mellowing when the lunatics I hang out with mellow first. It's just easier that way.

And yesterday, I came as close to crying as a grown man can (the movies don't count and don't let The Girl tell you otherwise). I lived India beating Pakistan, in the world cup semi finals. Even tried educating the masses here in the US about the game, the craziness. I think they get it, but they have so much to learn still. I missed being back home for this.

So wish us luck for the finals won't you. Unless you're Sri Lankan. Then I wish you luck. It's the right thing to do.

I'll be up in the wee hours of the morning to see the game. It'll be unreal.

The Bagman's Gambit

2011-02-04T22:58:00.001-05:00

A few of us are getting together this saturday.

Well, to be perfectly plain with you, it's more sinister than that.

A few of us are planning to get together this saturday to imbibe. Tons of Alcohol hopefully. But we're venturing a little boldly this time. We're doing, no attempting, a scotch tasting.
Each one's been asigned a region in scotland - the highlands, lowlands, speyside, islay, what have you - and to bring a bottle of the amber from said region.

I don't know why really. A desire to do the usual with a little culture added in. Two birds, one stone, that kinda thing. Whisky and I don't mix, but then again, this is scotch. I'll probably prove the misty eyed wrong and say both have the same effect on me, both are the same, but no pain no gain eh.

Also, the weather's been awesome in New York. The white skinned have been complaining about it though. But I've come to realise it's comes naturally to them. Complaining that is. The weather reminds me of them hill stations in India. The misty skies, the cloudy overhanging rain bearing skies - I want to wrap me in, have chai and pakodas and watch through windows and raindrops breaking ground.

The ice I can do without. The snow I could do more of. Snowmen you see. I've wanted a suicidal snowman of my own ever since I picked up a calvin and hobbes book.

Bloodbuzz Ohio

2011-01-22T02:51:00.003-05:00

Damn, I'm in love with this song.
I keep singing "I still owe money, to the money, to the money I owe...", more than I should. I'm probably going to subject it to overkill and in the process hate it. And I don't want to hate it. Sigh.

And I just sang that line 2 more times while writing all that.

Ah well.

But...but if you want a change, watch a french movie. Cause I'm assuming your regular fare is hollywood/bollywood. And I'm throwing it out there that you want a change (who doesn't?). So go on, try one...and you'll know why. It's the camera angles, the portrayal of life, the lines, the dialogues. They just express things so differently. I'm convinced it's a cultural thing. There's more drama outside of france. In the dialogues, not in the lives they live. Lives are dramatic everywhere.

I like them french movies. For the moment that is.

And if you ask me for suggestions, I'll just frown your way. Cringe perhaps. Reviews/suggestions are for losers. For settlers.

Don't be a settler. Catch the trade winds. Sail.

Fuck me. I sound so preachy, and so optimistic at that, today...it's probably just a phase. Allow me this sin.

We No Speak Americano

2010-12-29T18:52:00.003-05:00

Colombia. That's what the parrot pulled from it's gypsy flavoured pack of cards. That's where the vacation angst ridden took a metal bird to.

Yes, after much racking, and bitching, and whining - for that's how great things come about - we impromptu-ously ran to Colombia. Uncanned. With a lonely planet and a few choicy spanish words. And the backpacking skills of the girl (I'd fall on one knee and propose to her just for that if I hadn't already married her).

We Cartagena-ed, we Cali-ed. Salsa-ed or tried to at least, drank like mad and said hi to a snow covered volcano. Which then proceeded to emit sulphuric fumes, and so our guide made us run. Colombian volcanoes, unlike colombian people are not friendly. The guide said.

In cartagena, the girl went Gabriel Garcia Marquez crazy, re-living every book of his by the streets. Even touched the walls of his house. I tried to speak spanish with hand signals.

Drank so much coffee, but more importantly slept amid coffee greens. In an old plantation house, next to a trail on which had traveled Simon Bolivar. And then drank so much more coffee. Exported some of it over to our apartment as well. Drinking so much coffee.

But then the snow monster fucked us proper. I'm convinced I'm jinxed with air travel. It's out to get me. But no pain no gain. I laugh and wink now, but when we were stranded in Bogota, with no one speaking english, and no planes departing to Neuva York, I was close to crying. The girl almost punched a few airline people in frustration. I probably would have cried for sure then.

But now, laughing and winking, I'm being the saying whew. It's good to be home. Until the next holiday, eh?

Tower Of Song

2010-10-28T22:51:00.000-04:00

Yello.
How's the good life treating you then? Plodding along hopefully... willing to punch me for asking such staid questions?

Argh, so desperate to sound cool. Sigh. Ok fine, I take full blame. But in my defense, I didn't have anything to start with, so I shot from the hip. And I'm more Indian than cowboy (*and then proceeds to remove tongue from within cheek*).

Now I've lost my chain of thought. I was going to take the desperate cool forward, but as you saw, my consciousness stepped in. Or something like that.

So instead I'll throw a thought that's been nagging me, your way.

Vacations. I've had it with canned vacations. Like driving out to see fall colours in Vermont, or some stupid trees in DC, going skiing in the Alps/Colorado, golf holidays, going to big cities like Paris, London, or even Miami. I don't really know what exactly I have had it with, what irritates me about them. It's most likely the feeling that they feel so... so safe. So normal. So boring.

And like with most forms of angst, I don't know the solution just yet.

Perhaps Everest Base Camp; Backpacking in colombia, where I don't know the language, maybe biking across it; River rafting for 10 days across a dangerous untamable river; A drinking trip, except one inspired by the ten deadliest drinks (found here, a website The Girl found and one that'll absorb me for the rest of the year for sure).

You got solutions?

Space Oddity

2010-09-28T00:08:00.002-04:00

I don't like the BBC.

I do however believe, that they're one of a few unbiased non-sensationalism-seeking news channels left. A belief that has been much strengthened after living in the US for a while now.

But it still stands. I don't like them.

Why? Well, there was this time when I used to watch them everyday. And loved it. Then one summer (it's always a summer that gets destroyed), I picked up a book to read, and I heard the BBC's male commentator's voice reading the words out back to me - this is the one who starts speaking once the pictures start. No matter what I tried that damn BBC commentator would chirpily pipe up in my head when I'd read a sentence. With his same sing song manner, the same pauses and the same accent. If I read aloud, he'd disappear, but that didn't appeal as a long term solution.

It was fun in the beginning and then got irritating very fast.

And it happened with every damn thing I read. The newspaper, the websites, even menu's in restaurants. Brunch tasted different that summer.

So I stopped watching the BBC. And stopped liking them. And eventually I drowned the bugger out.

But today, accidentally, while flipping channels, I saw BBC as an option, raised my eyebrows, and ventured forward as means of an adventure.

Now I'm dreading picking that book up. What if the bastard's back?

Show Me How To Live

2010-09-15T21:34:00.001-04:00

Look ma, he changed the look.

Damn right I did. I'm a sucker for marketing - I'll buy the iphone, I'll walk down organic food aisles, sell my soul to social networking sites, and perhaps jump on a few other bandwagons along the way. So what's a little blog redecorating, huh.
Or is it peer pressure? Or something deeper. Do I need a shrink for this? Do I?

Regardless, it is what it is.
And that's how the world goes.

And so I'm back. I missed this. I'll probably disappear again. But till then....

Wasted Hours

2010-08-10T22:34:00.002-04:00

It's probably too late. You've most likely already moved on to the next big thing and this, coming so late as it is, might leave a stale taste. But it's uncontrollable now. I have to let it out.
So I'll say this, cause I will say it, but I'll do you one. I'll say it real fast and without the danger that is emotion.

Finally!
After I'd supported the buggers for 3 world cups.12 years. They finally delivered.
Ah espania, much against your "la roja furia" name, I say you're like safe drivers. Better late than never. I don't care either way. I would have rejoiced equally if you'd sped, swerved, scratched and still won. But thanks.

There.
So much better I feel now.

And what else?
...and then there's been life. It's been trying to catch up with me for a while now...which it did and so I had to take care of that.

I'm going to sip some wine, listen to music and try and lose it once again. Life that is.

El Porompompero

2010-06-19T02:44:00.005-04:00

Somethings are too emotional to be said all by yourself. So I'm going to use other people's words to reflect on the next 21 beautiful days, that will be spent watching a beautiful patch of green grass.

“Football, a game in which everyone gets hurt and every nation has its own style of play which seems unfair to foreigners.”
George Orwell

“I fell in love with football as I was later to fall in love with women. Suddenly, uncritically, giving no thought to the pain it would bring.”
Nick Hornby

“To say that these men paid their shillings to watch twenty-two hirelings kick a ball is merely to say that a violin is wood and catgut, that Hamlet is so much paper and ink.”
JB Priestley

“Amongst all unimportant subjects, football is by far the most important.”
Pope John Paul II

“In football everything is complicated by the presence of the opposite team.”
Jean-Paul Sartre

“Some people think football is a matter of life and death. It is much more important than that.”
Bill Shankly

“Rugby is a game for barbarians played by gentlemen. Football is a game for gentlemen played by barbarians.”
Oscar Wilde

Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa

2010-05-27T16:16:00.004-04:00

It's going to get very real, very soon. And also wet. It might even smell of fish.

You see, I just resigned to go to another bee hive. But that's not important. What's important is that I get 10 days. 10 glorious, shiny, full of possibility days between these things they call "jobs". And it somehow coincides with the beginning of summer, the defeat of winter. Isn't coincidence a wonderful thing?

What's also important is that we've decided to unleash our inner kerouacs and go on a road trip. To catch a beach town while driving on a sea-side road. Step onto cobbled streets, eat with the local fishermen, swim in their seas, watch their sunsets, drink with their blessings. That kind of thing.

Someplace much removed from Morrissey's "Everyday is Like Sunday" seaside town. Someplace much out of an artists biased potrait of everyday small town living.

It's not completely "on the road" I will admit, marred as it is with a little planning thrown in. It's the price you pay for living in a foreign land.

And yes it's a boring thing. The being planned.

But worry not, we will throw caution to the wind. Without abandon we will.

So if you see a small rented car, going east from new york, with two, smiling like the dickens people, yell us on and if you want postcards, drop your address in the backseat.

No Surprises

2010-05-21T11:43:00.003-04:00

I'm coming today to vent.

I love my mum and dad. Unconditionally and insanely.
I hate my grandmother (dad's side). Conditionally and sanely.
But that might change. Unconditionally and insanely being common.

She's a right bitch that one. Always been mean to my mother, always been mean to other daughter in laws. You get the gist. You've seen that TV serial.

And I know the drill. Life's not fair, blah blah blah. And another blah. She's elder and senile and all those excuses. I've heard them all before.

I still don't see the light.

I'm sure she won't pop it soon (or soon enough) or won't suddenly make an about turn and start being a loving one rather than an insecure grouch. Yes, I've been through all those thoughts and permutations in between before. If you label me a rank amateur in your head, you've got the wrong joe.

So what can I do. Other than a shoulder shrug and a sigh.

Mum's suffered a lot. Still does. And I feel so helpless so far away. So far away. So fucking far away.

That's all.

California Stars

2010-04-28T20:23:00.006-04:00

I have the time, and I don't have the time.
I want to write, and I don't want to write.
I have those words on the tip of my tongue, the bite of my finger,
and yet it feels like I don't.
In that sense it's like an everyday day.

I used to have a lot to say. Actually I still do. But perhaps now, because I'm happy, I mean happier...with the status quo, the words come coated with a paint of laughter, a tint of contentment.

Tragedy makes good writers. Contended writers on the other hand sound boring, even to themselves.

But they wouldn't want it any other way.

But I will say things, soon I will shout and rant and blurt. I will jump to conclusions, I will make my assumptions, I will dispense existential angst at will and I will wander aimlessly as well. The paint of laughter and the tint of contentment though, will not fade. It's a permanent structure now and as permanent structures go...unfadeable.

...cause it's on the tip of my tongue, the bite of my fingers.

Lemon Tree

2010-04-01T11:12:00.006-04:00

A day dedicated to fools?
Nay sir, it's but confusion.

A day dedicated to being a fool?
Nay sir, your lack of understanding merits a repetition. It's but confusion.

A day dedicated to foolery?
Aye sir, aye. It's but confusion followed by laughter. Like watching the world through kaleidoscopic eyes (with yellow smiley's floating in the background), through lenses that colour in myriad but joyful ways, that don't break, but bend. It's understanding that tragedy is manmade, laughter is organic. That tragedy is forced, self indulgent and that without so much as an effort you can poke at it with spokes of laughter. If you so desire.

A day dedicated to desire?
Aye sir, you're catching on. But that's all you'll get from me. For it's the first of April and there's much foolery to be done.

Creep

2010-03-25T12:24:00.002-04:00

Ok enough of the mushiness already.

My chest hairs have started to bristle, my muscles ache to be clenched and I fear that I might have to go camp, kill a wolf, eat it's raw heart just to cleanse myself.

It's a little disturbing I know, but don't blame it on me. It's but genealogy.

(At least I hope that's what it is, else chicken won't be our staple diet anymore).

On similar notes, we've been painting this mean ol town red. It has to be done. And no plans. Nothing. All plans have been thrown to the wind where they flutter lifelessly. Just her, me and a town named boo.

oh and last night, in a karaoke bar, I sang my post marriage rendition of Creep. A girl at the bar yelled "If I had underwear to spare, I'd throw it at you".

Making life difficult for single guys, one bar at a time. Ah bliss.

Strawberry Fields Forever

2010-03-08T18:47:00.008-05:00

....
To tell you the truth, the honest god forsaken and all the different kinds it comes in, truth - I don't know that much of the written word to describe how much of a blast it was.

But if you were in front of me and saw my hand gestures, the excited tone in my voice, the eyebrows with a mind of their own, the bulging eyes themselves, you'd see my point. Even if I didn't have to pin you to a wall and scream it out, you'd see it.

I lived those two weeks.

I laughed, I danced, I drank, I sat on a horse, I wore heavier clothes than I've ever worn, some jewelry too yes, I hugged a thousand people, I reflected a million flashes of the camera on my skin, I made my jaws ache by smiling so much, I walked in a daze, I saw family and friends I hadn't seen in ages and I cried for it, and I smiled for it

...and she looked so lovely through it all. And I crossed my fingers every time I managed a secret glance at her.

Now we're busy assembling ikea furniture and the camera's are slung on tourist necks clicking past me at the buildings and the concrete.

Shit I miss the attention.

Dance Me To The End Of Love

2010-02-03T00:28:00.012-05:00

And here I'd almost given up on February.

You'd think that once you'd gone ahead and told the months the roles that they'd play, they'd behave. But really all they do is stick their tongues out at you and make a face. Collectively at that too.

In April, I had whispered to May to tell June that I had the ring. May gave me the stressful hibbie jibbies instead. I'm not even sure if he passed my whisper on.

And then June came. I was ready to fall on one knee. But man, June went on some mischievous-binge then. She threw my game around, surprises around every corner, a hiccup here and a hiccup there, but thankfully, it all played out prettier than a masterpiece. I'll always love June for that.

And then I spared the rest.

Except for February. All I had told February was to hurry up with the wedding. And all the bugger really did was play the immaculate tease.

But now, now it's finally here. And I can hear the music. And I can almost touch her now.
It's started it has.

She Loves Everybody

2010-01-20T15:56:00.004-05:00

Friend of London boy : "But you hate americans"

London boy : "Everyone hates americans. But she's from New York. They're almost like us."

From a UK drama thingy that I have been watching about this guy in london who’s doing the long distance with this girl in new york.

Despite the cheesy backdrop, I’m loving it for the moment.

Hellhole Ratrace

2010-01-11T13:33:00.004-05:00

“You’re very well read.” That’s what she said.

You’re not sure what that means really.

The english language relies heavily on relatives. Perhaps the other languages do as well, but you never bothered to learn them, so commenting on them becomes a technicality.

It’s all relative. “Very well read” relative to the average person. Does that even matter. “Very well read” relative to the people she knows. Should that be a compliment? An insult?

You never bothered to know the people she knows, so technicality claims another victim.

You keep quiet. Nod perhaps.

“You’ve changed.“ That’s also what she said.

Fuck hell you have.
You, you change in the course of a day. There are moments every day you shed an old skin and grow another. Some are subtle, still camouflaged, some so completely new, they revolt with the environment. Given that you are meeting her after a year, that's 365 possible sheddings. You'd wager that the maths suggests they can't all be of the subtle variety.

This time you tell her all that. And for extra measure add, I’m not sure what you mean.

“You know what I mean.”

No I don’t. I’ve changed to something you don’t like. Is that what you’re hinting at?

She keeps quiet. Perhaps nods her head.

Temazcal

2009-12-23T21:48:00.009-05:00

Allow me to introduce you to the anti-resolutions.

It's something like French beer. Sure it exists, but do you really want to try it? And then like the wise kid said "there's only one way to find out...".

So why not? Why not a year full of indulgences, excesses and beating the nagging, creeping desire of improvements to a pulp. And then drinking that pulp while eating bacon and sausages. Caviar on the side. After all what's breakfast without tiny fish eggs, eh?

I'm assuming you're going to try and lose some weight...why not, the world and his wife's doing it. And perhaps eat more vegetables, be nicer to people, do something or the other for society.

But that's sooo 2009.

The coming year is all about change. The crazy kind. The wild thing kind. So come join us if you don't want to miss out on the caviar. Ok so caviar tastes horrid and is only a fad. But the bacon. Oh the bacon.

And the baskin icecream, the nirula HCF, the clothes, the splurging on unnecessary but yet essential things, the many different alcohols you haven't tried. We're guessing french beer couldn't be all that bad. Your body is crying out for them. Screaming for them. If only you could hear it.

Don't worry about the beer belly or the cholestrol or the hangovers. We'll get rid of them in 2011 (man, that'll be a boring year).

Oh and Conor Oberst's back. Fuck, things are looking excessive already. I'm soaking it all in. One caviar egg at a time.

Mr. Pitiful

2009-12-17T21:47:00.012-05:00

There's a story that the old men of the Sahara tell. But they tell it very rarely. For they believe that repeating the story diminishes the message it carries.

But tell they must. At least once in their lives. That apparently is their burden and that is how it has been for ages past.

They're not sure what the message it carries really means. Most reckon that it's been repeated so many times, it's already diminished in its essence. While some think it's something that man wasn't meant to understand anyway. A few think it's worth starting a religion for (thankfully they've always been a minority).

It's a story nonetheless. An ancient one but a story at the end of it all. And you can only read so much into it. Cause it's a story after all.

But because of the storys' myth or perhaps because of the words it says, the eldest in the tribe is held in the utmost respect. He gets the choicest morsel of food, the first look at the new sun, water whenever he desires and an ear whenever he speaks.

The eldest after all heard the story in it's least diminished form. And he knows more than they ever will.

There's a story that the old men of the Sahara tell...and there are still places where the old don't get shunted to nursing homes.

Thnks fr th Mmrs

2009-12-13T23:57:00.005-05:00

It's cold.
Shivering cold.
Is there any other kind? Yes, you fool. There are a gahzillion kinds. And it's all those kinds right now. Like a communion of colds. Fuckers!

The shivering cold is the loudest though. For the moment. I hate loud colds (I'm ambivalent towards loud people).

But they tell me it's going to get colder still. The communion is going to reproduce and do communion dances around my shivering body. They also tell me bitter cold will find her voice and be the loudest then.

I'm a tropical person. Tropical climate oriented that is.

So when my tropical brain - clad in its penguin swimsuit, whilst surfing waves and slurping smoothies - cause brains can do that, reads the papers, it can't help but put on a smirking smile. The devious kinds.

I can't wait for global warming to hit.

War

2009-12-01T10:54:00.009-05:00

There is something in the air in Delhi. I know it's mostly bad, but whatever it is, it always stopped me from having a hangover the next day. Maybe pollution does have a good side. Now only if I could get it bottled, with attractive packaging, at a store near me.

I realise I'm coming out as overly alcoholic. Last post, this post. But I'm really not...or maybe I am. Or not. Whatever.

But what's worse is this Obama character. He's waging war after safely tucking the nobel peace price in his pocket. Shrewd no?

Now now, I do admire the man. I would have voted for him if I was of this land, but that doesn't mean he's right in everything he does, now does it? He doesn't get my "yay" to his every action.

And to be fair to him, even he's stopped trying to win everyone over, if you notice the changed tone and words in his speeches. Politics does that to you. You start up being a suckup, and then when you win the election you...stop sucking up.

But if he'd still want to listen, I'd perhaps shoutout..."War. What is it good for? Absolutely nothing. Ho!"

City Of Electric Light

2009-11-13T13:22:00.014-05:00

Somethings are hard to change. Like every now and again when I go to a store or the like, I ask for a 'polythene' bag, instead of a 'plastic' bag.

Sometimes, like last night, I get a funny right back at me.

Store clerk: "That's a lot of alcohol. Big Party tonight?"
Me: "No, just me."
Store clerk: "hmm ok"
Me: "Can I have a Polythene bag to take that?"
Store clerk: "A who?"
Me: "A Polythene bag".
Store clerk: "Wow, sure fella, but why do you have to get all chemical on me"

But then again, when I almost start to get used to calling things the 'plastic' bag way, I make a trip back to the mothership.

I'm beaming there this tuesday and yes, I'm planning to go all chemical.

Where's The Pleasure

2009-10-18T03:16:00.008-04:00

And open orchestra.

I saw a drink and travel show. Sunday actually. And apart from being jealous, I learnt things. Jealous of the host. Learnt of the alcohol (Poetic license for you grammarians).

The show claimed there are 150 master sommeliers in the world. Only 150 they said. More people have gone to space than there are master sommeliers. I think.
Will verify later, will philosophise now.

But more importantly, people everywhere drink alcohol. Everywhere. Even in places where religion hasn’t grabbed. And they almost always clink their glasses, say a word and drink some more.
Cheers, Prost, Salut, Sante, Kampai...

Isn’t that a wonderful thing. Although there's nothing to equal that in Hindi. No word to say before a drink.
I'm going to invent one.
Soon.

And close orchestra.

You know, I think bonus season’s started. People, at least in my office, have got the scent. They’re out there, behind corners, near coffee machines, in the alley near the loo, waiting, ready to pounce on any one of the big bosses.

It’s shameful really the length they go to. Sucking up was an art form. Now with everyone doing it, at this time of the year, you’re bound to get some amateur work.

I’d tell you stories about it, but it’s nothing new. The usual bores me.

A friend asked me "How're you doing?"
I replied "I'm doing mundane". And then I realised I loved what I said. So I smiled. Which threw him off. He winced. Mundane and smiles don't mix.

I'd talk more about normal people, but there's nothing new. The normal also, it appears, bores me.

So feed me a waltz of your abnormal.

And open rock symphony.

Raincoat Song

2009-10-08T21:08:00.002-04:00

I do not understand the legacy thing.
Ambition also I don’t. Nor the need to break one’s back to prove to the world that you’re worth the salt.

I’m not saying that since everything boils to nothing at the end and that you’re always invariably going to be forgotten, why bother with life.

No, that’s not what I’m saying.

Even if it does all boil down to nothing, and no one will care about you or what you did after a while (which they really won’t), you’ve still got this time to fill right?
Between the cradle and the grave.

I’d rather fill it with something fun than existential angst. We live very short temporal lives. Relative to a butterfly we might live long, but not relative to much else. So chill I say. And chill well.

I mean if you’re doing it for recognition in this lifetime and pure adulation or the comforts that the money buys, then you’re thinking like me. But morals and virtues. And you’re fooling with it all then.

It’s not a selfish thing.

The comforts, are after all subjective. You could be comforted by helping others and that’s all good. Or comforted with a new golf set that only you use. That’s all good too.

Why should altruism get more than it’s worth?

Yankee Bayonet

2009-09-21T22:49:00.010-04:00

Now I really want to do them justice. So I’ll try and do this well.

This weekend I get an email from a friend saying he’s going to see a band play and since I’m of the musically inclined variety, would I be interested?

And if I was constrained to use but one sentence, that is probably how I would let you know I came about to see a band that goes with the name of “The Decemberists”. Live ofcourse.

That was the first I’d seen or heard of them (I know, it hurt me to realise I was so out of it. Especially in the music side of life. Celebrity gossip, TV serial knowledge, movies etc I don’t give fuck all about. But this hit where it hurt. Sigh.)

Now I’m in love with them. The unconditional variety. They’re mindblowingly good live. And that just might be me making an understatement.

You know, they didn’t have a set prepared. The first words the lead singer uttered was “this time we’re leaving it to fate”. Then they brought out this master-of-ceremony guy who rolled a big lottery drum and choose songs out of it. He did have a strangely put on british accent, but the Decemberists obliged every time. No set. Just fate apparently, albeit through the mouth of a fake british accent.

It was such a different experience. And New York laps different. Hell even I lapped it up.

On one particular roll, the master of ceremony said “Fuckin 'ell. All this ball here says, is that Colin is to make up a song right now." So Colin, got up to the mic and sang a song - about new york city and how when he’d come here the first time he stole something from the empire state building's gift shop. And he’s not returning it back.

Oh and you know what else he did. During the song “Culling of the fold”, he jumped into the crowd, while doing the hand touching thing with the front row he took someone’s cell phone, went up to the stage, dialed a number from the phonebook and kept singing loudly into the phone. If you know the lyrics to that song, you'll know that that someone on the other side of the phone lived through a lot.

He did return the phone back. Most likely since it had nothing to do with the empire state building.

And he wore suspenders. Fuck I really want suspenders now.

Where The Wild Roses Grow

2009-09-14T00:51:00.009-04:00

Well then, I survived the psychological experiment fine and ok. Boss didn't notice. Maybe I should be worried. bah...Although, please don't be trying this at wherever it is you call work. Only trained artists please.

On other fronts, this city has been besieged by rain clouds. They’re nice though. Just stick around, drizzle on you and make you happy. Well one person's version of happy at least. I love rain clouds man. They’re like the official flag of the hill stations in India. The light chill, the mist everywhere, the view from your window when rolled up in a blanket near the fireplace. I love hill stations man.

One side effect of the rain clouds though is that they’ve rendered me a hopeless romantic. It’s like a chemical reaction. And I just saw someone’s holiday pics on facebook, from Greece and Puerto Rico, and now I’m a jealous hopeless romantic. That’s not a chemical reaction. I hate facebook.

Talking about weekends, I did a house movie night where we saw Watchmen, followed by poker. I love that book man. Perhaps the only thing that stayed with me from the movie though, was that I’m definitely going to make out to the song hallelujah playing in the background. But the Leonard Cohen version. He does it so much better.

Went home and saw Wall Street, again. Now I really want to wear suspenders.

Fiction affecting reality. But ofcourse.

Stir It Up

2009-09-07T03:22:00.006-04:00

So I did a naughty thing.

I did two days of golf in a golf resort this Friday and Saturday. 3 friends; 4 rounds of that old picturesque, beautiful and yet frustrating game; blissful dinner with tired hands that could barely lift the cutlery and a countryside that probably inspired poems and sketches (that most likely hang on banker walls).

This country has it easy man. The fertile soil, the sun tanned climate, the frolicking wildlife. My development economics teacher always touted the golden rule of these developed economies as “Location Location Location”. So he stole it, but he used it well he did.

And then as I hit Manhattan, the ugly smell of perfume, deodorant, high heels and concrete brought the dream crumbling down...

But wait, naughty thing. That being I bunked work for it. I just plain didn’t show up for work on friday. No leave, no notice. Something like this is very alien to the american psyche, what with their work worshipping way of life.

So what we’ve got here, is a psychological experiment. I’m assuming my boss, never having any experience in this kind of behaviour, either:

1. Renders me insane and doesn’t confront me.
2. Confronts me but stalls for words to form a respectable question regarding my behaviour.
3. Shrugs his shoulders at me when he sees me on Tuesday, sighs and gives me more work. Essentially ignoring the whole absence.

Really, I doubt if he has any other options. It’s that far removed from their way of thinking.

I’m rooting for option 1. I’ve never been labeled insane and it’s been a dream. Wish me luck.

Donna And Blitzen

2009-08-08T18:08:00.006-04:00

I’ve just woken up from a dream filled sleep and it’s raining on the streets right below my window. I have Tiny Dancer streaming from the speakers in the room. It makes the rain drops dance.

There’s an old samurai saying “Rain is only a problem if you don’t want to get wet”. The Samurais and the Russians, for some reason, seem(ed) to have a way with aphorisms. But it's too early in the morning to wonder why.

I’d ideally have liked to put on the radio instead. Cause deep down inside, I feel music coming from a playlist or the like sounds, for lack of a better word, stale. Like in a bar or a club.
With no radio jockey talking between the songs, about the songs, about the band, filling you in with what little trivia he/she knows, the music doesn’t sound - how do I say it? - fun.
But they play shitty stuff these days on radio. Hip Hop is not conducive to anecdotal radio jockey stories. There is no story behind the lyrics anymore.

Video might have killed the radio star, but hip hop’s dancing on his grave.

The title song is from Badly Drawn Boy. Isn’t that a cool name? It's from a character in a children's show. If you had to choose a stage name, what would it be?

A friend of mine recently got married and she walked down the aisle to this song.

Badly Drawn Boy’s originally from the UK, came to america, stayed a while, played a while, got homesick and went back home. He claims to be happier now.

I feel like a homesick badly drawn boy.

Singing In The Rain

2009-07-24T00:27:00.006-04:00

Hello. I’m back and I’ve got good news and bad news.

The good news is that recently, on a moonlit night, sitting on a Parisian bench, opposite the Louvre, I fell on one knee with a ring in open palm, facing the girl.

She smiled and said "Ofcourse yes". But not before she took her time.

The bad news is that that apparently means I’m engaged.
Ok I lie, it’s all good news.

And then we went gallivanting across that food and wine flavoured land of the French and drank in it's "live the easy life" obsession. We had cognac in Cognac, crepes covered in nutella in Montmartre and more than is lawfully allowed of our share of croissants, pain au chocolate and coffee. We lived in a chateau inside a vineyard, hosted by a real Count and his Countess, one who's great grandfather commanded the Scindia's army in India.

And more, much more.

Now I'm back in my tiny Manhattan apartment, she's sipping her chai in her Delhi house and we're talking and laughing about the last 2 weeks.

It's raining here and as I call time out to step out and grab a cup of joe's almost french coffee, I can't help but sing.

Wake Up

2009-06-16T18:48:00.013-04:00

If you cared, I’d say the last 3 weeks were like being inside a whirlwind.

But I’m guessing you don’t. I mean I understand, I wouldn’t care myself either.

I mean let’s be honest. You don’t reaaally care, do you now? It’s all well and ok to come here and read me out. But you’ve got your own real whirlwinds to deal with.

My breathings, sometimes lucid or well drawn out though they maybe, might be interesting, might be highly mundane, but at the end of it all, they’re just a chapter in a novel for you.

And so they should be.

Which is why I’m going to do this one just for myself. After all everyone needs a selfish every now and again.

So lets see CD, what did, we do?

There was that asshole of an exam for which you took a whole week off from work to study for and give. They had said study a minimum of 3 months for it. But no, what do they know. After all they’re not as intelligent as you. You laughed at them and said 3 months is one week for me, you tossers. Showed them 2 fingers and scowled at the same time.

When you finally sat down to it and saw what the syllabus entailed, you barely had time to shit. Now you’re praying the results, when they come out in 2 months time, show you some mercy. For they won’t.

Then there was the pool league. Now that was good news, wasn’t it. Your team reached the playoffs, won the finals and you were busy getting drunk in celebration. And then in the middle of his 9th drink, the captain of the team suddenly got out of his drunken stupor, all big eyed as if finally remembering something massive. He grabbed you by the collar and yelled “Shit! I forgot to tell you guys, for winning the finals, we get a free paid vacation to Vegas in August”.

It was only when you were brushing your teeth and looking at the bags under your eyes in the mirror the next day that you remembered what the madman was yelling.

Oh that toothpaste, it never tasted so fine.

Your memory fades you now. Everything’s becoming untangled from the timeline. But you know somewhere in those 3 weeks there was the first poker game you’ve ever won, the secret quest for a secret something that drove you near mad, friends over from India who needed to be drunk to, friends over from the east side who needed to be drunk to, friends over from the west side who needed to be drunk to, bad news, really bad news and really good news.

And despite all this, it always threatened to be just the tip of the iceberg.

There was the new role at work. They moved you to the buy side and you could finally yell at the sell side. Called brokers and yelled at them just for the heck of it. “Cause you could”. Learning experience your trader told you. Initiation rite. You told the private equity guys their funding was being frozen. When you heard the grown man at the other end of the line almost cry, you realized your power trip could drive you mad.

Then you remembered your favourite quote - “Work is an ends to a mean, not the end in itself”. And so you left work at the work place. Drank beer at the beer place. All was well with the world again.

You yelled back at your pool captain, while he was holding your collar and shouting some drunken gibberish - “Power trips are for ego maniacs and soulless bastards. I want hiking boots and undiscovered lands. A fishing rod, more than enough to drink and a girl with a sense of humour and a smile to make it alright”.

You wondered how his toothpaste tasted the next day.

And through it all, your spine’s been tingling. Yes, the same holiday tingle it loves to do whenever it gets the scent. You’ve been browsing travel websites about Paris while hungover almost every day at office. And after lunch you’d move to Bordeaux websites. Booking cars, hotels, insurance, visas.

Friday is almost here and that jet plane leaves with you on it. She’ll already be in Paris when you land. At the airport. It’ll have been 6 months. In most religions that’s blasphemous. But that tingle in your spine nags at you and lets you know it'll be all that much more worth it.

And you know, this one has the sense of humour you've been waiting for and the smile to make it alright.

The Blues Are Still Blue

2009-05-31T01:30:00.010-04:00

I’m eating cholesterol free icrecream with diet coke poured liberally over it as we speak. Fat free America is slowly but deliberately creeping into my kitchen.

I’m also chatting with Australis as we speak. I tell her this. Her response “what kind of garbage is that?” makes me reach out for some Cheetos.

I’m easily influenced.

Oh, funny thing happened a while back...I was in a bar with one of my squash buddies. We were winding down after a game and I noticed a strange apparatus on the bar. It instantly brought back memories of one of the craziest nights I have ever had. In Prague. 3 people and 2 Absinthe shots each. That’s all it had taken.

I recounted said night to squash buddy.

He said “Wow, that is a crazy night, but more importantly what the fuck is Absinthe?”

You would be happy to know that I wacked him for his ignorance (I'm of the spare-the-rod-spoil-the-child side of life).

So I told him “Basically it’s rumoured to be a hallucinogenic”.

We ordered 2 shots. It was the american watered down version, so we ordered 1 more. I know, americans, plich!

Anyway, after those 3 shots, we hummed and hawed for a while and in one of those moments of silence that usually ensue in conversations, he proceeded to start texting. And for some reason he really seemed engrossed in the texting. Also, at the same time, a whole bevy of beautiful yet slut-ily dressed girls descended into the bar (The Lord, He Giveth every now and then).

Squash buddy looks up from his texting, looks around at all the girls and says “wow, this Absinthe shit really works!”.

I need smarter friends.

We did have another shot and he was highly disappointed that the "hallucinogenic" didn't make the girls take their clothes off.

Battle Of Evermore

2009-05-26T01:57:00.012-04:00

In the olden days, in kingdom-ised India, a man was known by the amount of cows he had. A woman by the man she had. It was simple.

Evolution, along with bringing a multitude of choices in cars and washing machines, has also gone ahead and complicated the simple thing.

I've decided to propose a simple thing. Music.
(Now that man has developed a taste for cow meat, it would be torture to subject food as wealth. So we're leaving cows out of the mix for this one.)

So yeah, tell me your taste in music and I’ll tell you how many cows worth are you. I'm sure its a bit more complicated than that, but blame it on evolution.

I'm also proposing a take at this "evolution" thing. They’ve been telling me for a while now that we’ve become much advanced as a civilization. They throw moon landings, digital cameras, planes that fly faster than sound, disease curing antibodies, central heating at me.

All fair and well. But me, I won’t call us civilized till they throw a beer my way that doesn’t cause a hangover the next day. Now that's a daily useful evolution thing.

Call me a cynic. But know that my music cows outnumber your music cows anyday.

Oxford Comma

2009-05-16T20:21:00.006-04:00

The Crime of the Broken Heart Rhyme

Good evening ladies and gentlemen
Good evening to your exalted selves
Gather round have you
Looking for someone to blame.

A broken heart I believe is the crime at hand.

A horrible way to go
And I understand there’s no emotion left to show.
I wasn’t there I tell you
I wasn’t even close.
Far from the battleground;
But I heard the broken pieces fall.

There must have been tears
Screams and maybe a few fears;
It must have been quite a sight
A fate I couldn’t wish on any of you.

A horrible way to go
Nothing but whispers left behind
Nothing but a new love to find;
And to convince oneself
That it was all perhaps a laugh.

But the question of the blame
Ah, the scrutiny, that old game
The him or her debate
I leave you to that
Let your roving fingers feed
And wish you luck ladies and gentlemen
May your blame be good
For the punishment sometimes don’t seem to fit the crime

*I think I wrote this 7 years back. I was also into aerosmith in those days and so the last line. Thankfully that's a thing of the past. Going through old documents is a mixed bag. Not as cathartic as I thought. I thought I'd share this one out.*

Paper Planes

2009-05-09T01:17:00.011-04:00

The bastards in accounting took our coffee away. The good kind that is (they left the bad variety there). Something to do with cost cutting and the like.
Wankers.

It's surprising how much an average corporation survives on the daily cup of coffee. You come to my office and I'll show you zombies like the kind you nightmared about. Zombies with good taste mind you, cause we refuse to touch the bad coffee, even with a ten foot pole.

Also, our first kill is going to be an accountant.

I've got the flu. The seasonal flu that is. Not the swine kinds. But everytime I sneeze in the subway, people turn away and look at me as if they're about to report me to the CDC, in case I sneeze again. I always try and sneeze again. It's fun to play with people's fears. Paranoid people are the lowest in Darwin's hierarchy and need to be flushed out.

You think if I sneezed a third time they might have a stroke and die?

Played poker 2 weekends in a row. Lost in poker two weekends in a row. My phuphaji always said "unlucky in cards, lucky in love" after he'd thrash me in courtpiece. I repeated that to myself two weekends in a row. Nothings changed.

Actually, I take that back. A lot has changed. Maybe it's the peekaboo of summer or the possibility of a brilliant holiday in France in June. Or just that I had an ice cream cone with hot chocolate sauce dribbled liberally over it. Regardless.

So fuck them accountants. I'm buying my own coffee.

Burn ( by Ray LaMontagne)

2009-04-25T03:53:00.004-04:00

Why do people say " Don't worry about it, It won't happen in a million years"... It's not like we’ll ever have a million years to test that shit out.

Yeah, I know, it's ridiculous. Like people saying "I have no regrets. If I had a choice I wouldn't change a thing"... I mean do they even sit down and consider the alternatives.

What if the alternative was being born as rich as a king, the body of a god and superpowers like flying and shit. Make any man or woman fall in love with you and do whatever you want where you want.

How the fuck is that absurd thing an alternative.

Ok I went a bit overboard. But there are always alternatives to consider.

True. But sometimes you’ve just got to realise that you’re all alternativ-ed out.

This conversation isn’t going anywhere.

Why do people say that? Why the intent to always get everything somewhere. Something even as everyday as conversations.

Jamaica Farewell

2009-04-17T21:55:00.007-04:00

Jamaica did something bad yesterday. I know that because I live in the west village in Manhattan.

For you see, the west village is also where the best known gay bar in the city claims residence (this is ofcourse purely coincidental).

Now yesterday, after what was a grueling day at work, I got out of the subway stop and made my way home. I passed said bar and noticed a fair crowd gathered outside the bar, complete with a camera crew from some TV station, like some buzzing irritating fly.

Movie crews are always shooting in Manhattan, and the west village in particular, so after a while it becomes part of the background very soon. Glamour and the movies are enchanting only as long as they’re not easily accessible.

But this was different. There was black liquid flowing down the streets.

Bear with me.

Apparently the Jamaicans had pissed off the Gay and Lesbian community somehow. I’m not sure how those hippy liberal buggers managed that, but they did. And the gay bar, in a show of reproach, had decided never to serve Jamaican rum ever again. Fair enough. But...but they went as far as to actually empty their whole stock of Jamaican rum on the streets.

Now then…
Allow me to catch my breath.

Now, it’s a universal truth that it takes a lot for a man to throw or waste alcohol away. But to throw what is probably a years supply is just plain ridiculous. I mean c'mon, there are so many other options. Resort to violence, sing hip hop songs to jamaicans (they hate that), do a protest rally, don't go to jamaica ever (99.99% of their GDP is from tourism. That should hurt).

This though, is just pushing things way too far.

I felt like Captain Jack Sparrow felt when that numbnut of a woman burned his cache of rum on that island.

And I’m still seething.

If anyone suggests burning away jamaican grown marijuana, I'm going to resort to violence. While singing hip hop songs.

Another Brick In The Wall

2009-04-07T01:29:00.003-04:00

Been hiding.
Firstly there was the birthday recovering. Then there were other birthdays and recovering from them. Then there was random merry making. I think I'm turning into an alcoholic. I'd quit, but it's so much fun, and the alternative sounds like something me and my friends would laugh at.

Which reminds me...isn't Apple the new Microsoft? In the evil empire way. It's everywhere. In the coffee shops, in the offices, on the tele, in hollywood, on that hot girls ear, in my ear. There's just so much peer pressure.

My next laptop is going to be a windows based one.
Ok I lie.

Anyway.

Oh and this was bound to happen. It was waiting to. Like a tick ticking timebomb.

"Ineligible Bachelors: Indian Men Living in U.S. Strike Out"
http://online.wsj.com/article/SB123896998996190775.html

But really? "Wife hunting trips"... wtf is that? What cereal are these journalists eating? Should I be responding with "Anyone know a good hunting-jacket shop?"

Although, my office is going to have a field day with that article. Sigh.

Oh Darling

2009-03-09T19:30:00.011-04:00

I never had a traumatic childhood. Well, the usual trauma stuff, you know. Not enough to write a book about or blame everything wrong in my current life on.
But I sure as hell am having a traumatic workhood. No not the much publicised recession and the like. This is on a whole different plane altogether.

Let me give you a glimpse into what I mean.

A friend wanted to order a surprise birthday gift for his fiance but didn't want it delivered to his home, lest she saw it and ruined said surprise. So I volunteered my office address (I'm nice that way). With a warning though, that as long as it wasn't anything kinky, adult-ish, or anything to do with cute pink teddy bears. They're all really the same things.

So anyway, I'm working from home on Friday and my colleague calls me asking for some help. I say I'm busy and make a great excuse(I'm always learning from Dilbert).

Colleague resorts to threats and then blackmail. Says, she'll tell everyone that she's holding a package from Anthropologie for me. I quickly google anthropologie and realise it's a womans only store, that sells lingerie and pretty pink dresses.

Bloody hell. The fool sent women's clothing to my office with my name on it.

I say it's for my girl friend.
She says your girl friend is in India.
I say you know too much, stop stalking me.
She says she'll sell the story to office folks, which will involve me cross dressing. It'll catch on like wild fire.
I say no one will believe you. They love me too much.
She says do you want to test that out.
I say no.
She says you changed your mind about helping me yet.
I say yes.

After I've sweated for an hour over a dumb model she wants, I get an instant message on my laptop from my boss.

Boss: "I have your dress."
CD: "Come again."
Boss: " *Insert colleague's name* dropped it over to my office for safekeeping."

*CD swears under his breath*

CD: " It's for my girl friend."
Boss: "She's in India."
CD: "Why does every one know that?"
Boss: "Don't worry, I'll keep it over the weekend in my office. I won't tell anyone, unless they ask me."
CD: " Sure you won't."
Boss: " I promise."

On Monday, I enter office, and see this right outside my boss's office.

The post it says "Ask Me What This Is."

Obviously everyone's been asking why I'm wearing pants today? How come no flannel jeans or a yellow polka dot dress? Is the silk lingerie tickling me?

You think I'm ready to write that book now?

Move Along

2009-03-08T19:20:00.005-04:00

I think every profession should date outside their own. Date, marry, make out etc...
Make out? Actually, I take that back. How does it matter who you make out with, but the dating and marrying bit stands. Fair?

It just makes it more exciting and entertaining. You last longer. And the more far removed the professions the better. Upto a certain extent ofcourse.

On a different tangent, I read something somewhere recently and it’s been bothering me.

Some economists had been crying hoarse about the average person living beyond his means, before the crisis as we know it happened.

But almost every scientist has been crying hoarse about us living beyond our environmental means and destroying the world, with our way of living.

And unfortunately, mother nature doesn’t do bailouts.

Isn't that a bothersome concept now?

Coming Home

2009-03-03T22:43:00.005-05:00

Suddenly I realise that there are a ton of movies releasing this year that I can't wait to watch.

- X-men
- GI Joe
- Inglourious Basterds
- Harry Potter
- Angels and Demons
- 2012
- Star Trek
- Ice Age 3
- Crank 2 (sounds horrible but I love Jason Statham, man)
- Gomorroah
- 9
- Watchmen. Ah Watchmen. You know, if the movie industry fucks this one up (again), I will lose faith in hollywood forever. I will send a dead horse’s head to the director, I will.

It somehow makes even the apocalyptically inclined news that's been showering on us off late, bearable now.
It's all good.

Redemption Song

2009-02-16T02:12:00.005-05:00

NYC, Feb 15, 2009

A coffee shop - a generic name for a place where for centuries a tradition of soul stirring conversations and life changing decisions have often been made.

One such conversation between a wise grandmother and her about-to-take-on-the-world granddaughters.

“....and if you have to choose between looks, money and a man who can make you laugh, chose the latter. The other two often lose their charm very fast...”

She also went on to complain a lot (as is the nature of the old) and said something to the effect that you young people will ignore this advice and go on to make the mistakes my generation made all over again (and while you're at it, some new ones). But at least you’ll learn faster (although harder) that way.

After all, dear grandmother, initiation by fire is the best advice.

Common People

2009-02-11T19:27:00.016-05:00

I always knew it. Felt it in my blood...literally...hehe. (Yes, if you'll excuse me, I am in fact laughing at my own joke, but don't worry, you'll hopefully get it once you've read the post).

So, on a recent trip to the Mothership, my grandmother told me this tale of yore, about us (the family that is) being of royal descent. Yes I know, I did a double take as well. But dear reader, for better or worse, true blue I am. Lets just accept that and move on.

For as you know, grandmothers can't lie.
So here's the truth then.

Apparently, my great grandfather was the king of this small (or was it medium) kingdom in North India. The great behind the grandfather lends him enough ancestory to have been around the Mutiny of 1857. Although he did win a medal in British India, I am not sure what else happened...whether he fought or sipped chai all day long...for this part of the story was left vague by said grandmother (If I remember correctly, at that time in the story telling, someone had got Rasmalai and as you know, grandmothers can't resist Rasmalai).

Now after the Rasmalai, it transpired that my king ancestor had 2 daughters from one wife and one daughter from another and no son. But as was the nature of the disease that afflicted most royals in those days, he went and adopted a son. The rest as they say is history. That thankless bastard, on great grandpa's death, threw the 3 daughters out and took over the kingdom.

One of those wives was my great grandmother. God bless her. Hope she's throwing rotten tomatoes from heaven into hell at the bugger.

So there ends my sad but true tale. I should have been born in a palace with glittering chandeliers under royal guard protection and the watchful eye of a scheming minister, but instead was born in a private hospital in a dusty town called Gurgaon. I am what is commonly called, in exile.

Some say it was obvious to the eye after meeting me, the royalty bit that is, but why dwell on that. Although, I do hope my maths teacher somehow gets to know off this and realises I was right all along. Doing Maths homework is no way to spend a prince's school life.

To make up for my Maths teachers ignorance I recited this story to my boss. His response - "So, now you want to be addressed as Your Highness?".

Sigh, everyone's got a funny bone here.

I said "Well, I was really looking for a raise, but yes, I'll settle for your highness".
At which he guffawed.

Bloody Common People!

Brimful Of Asha

2009-02-05T20:07:00.003-05:00

I've been working for a decent number of years now. And there's that feeling every now and again that I could have done so much more.

I don't mean work-wise, no. I never intended out ever to do more at the 9 to 5. Work's for the working class. I'm a bit of the dreaming class. We rarely attach much to what happens at the desk.

I mean otherwise.

For you see, I've always believed that ambition should be a negative word.
Hobbyist, explorer, adventurer and their derivatives on the other hand, should be words worth more than their weight in gold.

For you see, I've also always believed that I was born in the wrong century. A few centuries earlier and I'd be discovering new lands, fighting off people discovering my land, sailing on ships amid tumultuous seas, courting women I shouldn't be courting, a Romeo to your Juliet and if a girl, a Viola to your Duke. And yes probably dying very young. Can't win em all can you.

....

As you've well imagined, this is me having resorted to dreaming at work, for I've had enough of this fucking spreadsheet.

Where Is My Mind?

2009-01-21T23:00:00.007-05:00

It snowed the whole weekend here. I swear. I saw it with my own eyes. I wonder if the novelty of it will ever wear off. Perhaps if I lived in Canada or Finland. Doubt it though - all that snow, I’d be like Calvin, building suicidal snowmen all day long.

This year, I finally got over the novelty of resolutions though.

Tried Twitter yet? I did. It was intriguing in the beginning and then the, ahem, novelty of it, nosedived without warning. And I thought narcissism would be fun. We’ll just stick to the blog now shall we.

Also, this damn recession is getting a bit much. With all the hulla bulla, I feel suddenly broke and poorer. Despite any change in finances. This just confirms I’m a sucker for marketing.

So today I asked my boss - “Umm, will we get a bonus?”. He turned around real slow, smiled and said “ *CrazyDiamond’s indian name*, you ask such difficult questions” and then promptly zoned off. I even wistfully looked at a picture of a 42inch HDTV and willed my eyes to well up, hoping I’d appeal to some soft crumbly emotion of his, perhaps he'd hint with a nod of his head if I could buy it or a shake if I couldn't (yes, drama runs in my family). But no. That man’s a stone I tell you, a stone.

Throwing a house warming party this friday. So if you’re in Manhattan and passing by a small apartment with dimmed lights and great music but louder voices, yell my name. I might look out the window and watch you walk by.

But if you have a bottle of alcohol on you, we’ll lasso you inside. Anything except mulled wine. That’s too pretentious for our blood.

Red Right Hand

2009-01-15T00:38:00.002-05:00

You know what it is.
I haven’t bought a book in ages!

There’s been something missing for a while. A tiny nagging something, a tiny something that’s very good at hiding itself but like a little child playing hide and seek can’t stop giggling from behind it’s hiding place.

That giggling finally gave it away, cause only yesterday I crossed a book shop and it hit me. I hadn’t bought a book in 2-3 months or more. Why? I don’t know. I don’t usually do this. I’ve often felt books are my shoes (that’s the closest to an obsession analogy I can come up with from my hearings of women lore).

The right side of my brain wants to come back with a vengeance and buy a shitload. But the left side gasps at that thought and suggests a methodical approach. Since the left side is obviously the high maintenance one, it wins.

Any suggestions?

oh and a happier new year and all that.

One Big Holiday

2008-12-21T18:35:00.008-05:00

Sometimes these vacations start ever too slowly - sometimes even painfully. You’d be in the middle of one and it wouldn’t even feel like it. Going even so far, as to be quite the opposite of what it intended out to be.

Sometimes they hiccup, threatening to stall but coming through at the very last moment. Like old yet faithful cars. Or unplanned for Visa issues. It's really the same thing, no? :)

Then there are the vanilla vacations. Neither here nor there, but good for the soul. Nothing more.

And then, then there are those that start way before. Way before the actual holiday would. As the days narrow to the flight date, the tingling in your spine becomes both, unbearable and a new found love. The scent alone drives you mad. And there's also the constant stupid smile on your face you have to deal with.

I have to go to work on Monday and then I leave for the actual holiday on Tuesday. If my boss manages to get any work out of me on Monday, I’ll readily buy him a bottle of the choicest scotch and mysteriously put it on his desk. The impossible deserves costly gifts.

Like Dylan In The Movies

2008-12-16T19:58:00.016-05:00

So, in case I haven’t mentioned, I've recently moved to a highly gay concentrated neighbourhood in the city (It does have some great coffee shops but a bit too many gyms, if you know what I mean). And no, I’m not homophobic. Far from it. I mingle and have gay friends.

I am what the intelligentsia likes to call “liberal” and my mother “why??”, followed by a “I don’t get you. Befriend all this, but please marry a girl.”

So yes, I do befriend all "this".

But then, there are days...

Friday night.
Party 1. Bar near my hood. I think it was a birthday party. And I wear what are my straightest clothes possible. You know, regular fit jeans, black boots, grey polo and a light blue sweater.

(Come to think of it, my wardrobe's become very boringly straight off late - I think it’s my subconscious defense mechanism lighting up to the gayness around me).

Gay boy singles me out in the party and hits on me.

Party 2. Barhopped to another birthday party (don’t too many people get born around this time!). Now with previous incident in mind, along with my straight clothes I wear what is my straightest attitude possible.
But no, not enough. Another gay boy wants my number.

Saturday night.
House party near Soho. By now I’ve had enough and am leching at girls just to prove a point. But like a bad bollywood movie you know what's coming next. Right?
Sigh.

Now, as you know, I’m not homophobic. Far from it. But not far enough to like the extra attention in every party. It belittles my self chosen sexual orientation. And that just won't do.

Which is why now, I'm paying my female friends some serious money to hit on gay men. Give them a taste of their own medicine, so to speak, or rather, do.

Also, girls, if a boy's being the lecherous kinds, don’t jump so quickly and be so harsh. He might need pity more than the usual routine you throw his way.

Ma Rewa

2008-12-09T23:30:00.010-05:00

You know what - writing insightful, soul bearing, prioritised desires in single succinct lines should be all the rage. No one can escape it I say. No one.

And if you’re strong enough to, then shame on you.

But seriously though, isn't there this charm that a list bears? Cathartic, binding, freeing, screaming, unchanging, constraining but dynamic if you have an eraser. Not entirely explainable but not entirely unexplainable also. It’s like the twilight zone.

Or, to bring things more in perspective and ask what is perhaps a much more valid and penetrating question - is it just the wine?

Yes, I’ve been drinking and here's my 20 prioritised desires before 35 list.
Cause 20’s daunting enough and 35’s a ripe old age.

001 Travel for 6 months, at a stretch. Anywhere remote.
002 Publish a book of poems.
003 Speak French fluently.
004 Buy a roadster.
005 See the grand prix in Monaco, the carnival in Rio and a polo match in Argentina.
006 Learn to cook. The fantastic kind.
007 Spend a weekend in Venice with the love of my life.
008 Spend a month in Tuscany with the love of my life.
009 Get married.
010 Bungee jump.
011 Master the tango.
012 Adopt a Labrador and buy a horse.
013 See Machu Picchu, the Pampas and the Aurora Borealis.
014 Shave my head.
015 Learn how to make wine and actually make it.
016 Start a band and record three songs. And then disband.
017 Have washboard abs.
018 Learn the nuances of photography.
019 Get a tattoo.
020 Always have an eraser.

Subterranean Homesick Blues

2008-12-03T23:22:00.007-05:00

There is no denying that homesickness is real. But even though it lurks, it does so, wearing different masks.

For when I was in boarding school, it mostly broke loose when my tummy grumbled or on still, bright, weekend afternoons, when you could free your thoughts and imagine what home would be like.

But never when the seniors ragged or the teachers scolded. Never when the sports injuries bled all day long. That was just the nature of the beast.

Now, in a foreign culture, much like a boarding school, only worse at times but never better, the sickness brandishes an uglier mask. Yes, the tummy's been grumbling for Ma’s food, the thoughts trail on most afternoons, but having lived through that before, what troubles most is the lack of an anchor.

The alien sports culture, the strange accents, the school or college stories that office colleagues laugh at, to which I can’t relate.

No one to talk to about cricket victories, or break into hinglish every second minute or to laugh at exaggerated stories about that road trip to Dharamshala/Goa. No one to joke about how we survived college or floundered school rules that seem trivial now but made us heroes then.
I miss the raucous parties, the huge deal a simple event such as a rock show was, the hunting for food late at night, tons of people no matter what.

Booked tickets for Delhi. As you can see, can’t wait.

The Joke Isn't Funny Anymore

2008-10-28T01:12:00.014-04:00

Oh my fucking lord.
Yes.
The whole fucking deal.
I need that. I do. The venting. You know what I mean. And if you don't, I need to impress upon you the whole fucking deal.

I've lived a whole nine yards in the last 4 days. It's been that harrowing.

Why am I ventilating so? Why am I in these throes?
Ah well...explanations. Fucking explanations .
(The author is currently amid frustrations and might display cranky behaviour. This is not an apology. It's just what it is).

So on friday last, chicken little was to fly to Londres. There was some work to be done, but it was mostly pleasure. It was highly anticipated, it was going to be the best holidays ever. I swear, ever. Then the sky fell. Fucking chicken little and her philosophies.

I hate the British, people. I love London. But I hate the british. See, no capitals. No respect. None. I hate the british. Bastards. See, capital there.

They didn't give me the visa in time!

I had to miss my flight, rebook, wait, wait some more, bite nails, wait for nails to grow, bite some more, and then finally I get it today.
Sigh.

My dad suggests I should have applied earlier. Yes yes, ofcourse now.
But why couldn't the british have seen my flight dates on the visa application. Why couldn't they have read that? Been more reasonable. Bastards. I'd even given them the suggested 10 working days. Slackers. Wankers.

Pardon my French (on which I'm just getting started).

I'm going to learn French now, just to piss them off. So if the next time you come here and see posts only in French, don't be alarmed now. It's only revenge.

Ok, flying off in a few hours. It's going to be the best holidays ever.

Where Do The Children Play?

2008-10-16T00:40:00.005-04:00

So financial crisis 101.
Things happen in cycles. What must go up must come down. Newton discovered it, with some help from an apple. We’re discovering it with some help from a street named after a wall.

This time though, it’s gone a bit more helter skelter. It’s as if the bloody apple’s not happy with just stopping at the ground, it’s barreling it’s way to the core.

There. There’s so much of that being written around, I thought I’d comply and put in my two paragraphs. I'll rebel another day.

On other fronts, I’m going to Londres next week. Oh yeah, London baby London. And yes, going again. Would you believe me if I told you this time it’s different?

My boss tells me I treat London as my backyard. Going there every few months. That I’m so this and so that. That perhaps he pays me too much.

This, after the bugger just went to Chile and to Costa Rica before that. Alaska too. I told him, “You go to such exotic places on your vacation days, whereas I land up in ‘normal’ places like London and India. Want my backyard for yours?”

He said “ heh ‘normal’ places - that’s perspective for you.”

Man’s got a point. So apparently he thinks India is exotic and I think Chile is. He also apparently thinks I should come to work earlier. Ah bosses.

Though to be honest, he’s very cool. And if I was a girl, I’d sleep my way to the top without blinking an eye.

Sexist you say. But you haven’t even seen him.

Bohemian Rhapsody

2008-10-02T21:30:00.008-04:00

It's been a while now, hasn't it? This thing, it's been gathering dust. But I've been a victim of time. A lack of it.

So since I posted last
- I've moved apartments. It's a right pain in the ass to search and move homes in this city, man. There are mostly shitty apartments in shitty areas out here. And when that holy grail of a perfect place at a great price comes along, you're always a day late.
But I think I got a decent grail - it's not holy, but it shines.

- The markets sighed, screamed, bucked and then tanked. Friends I know lost jobs. The US govt became socialistic, saved the rich people, and helped plunge the economy deeper. Things like this happen in an emotionally charged country like America. And so time got involved in it all too.

- India became "smoke free". I don't smoke like smokers do, but this overarching control of the government doesn't go down well with me. Free will is dying. A slow silent death at that too. Governments are taking over the way to live everywhere.

- A wong kar wai fan recommended Chungking express. She said she began to believe in love after seeing it. She also said the end is what makes the movie great. I saw the movie. I loved it. But I slept off before the end. By next morning my friend had returned the movie back to the movie shop. So I never got to see the end.
But then, I'd begun to believe in love before the movie began.

So, what did you do?

Hush Little Baby

2008-09-22T00:04:00.002-04:00

Girl and Boy

She’s all alone
Says she’s not a watering hole
Been trying all possible alleys
And love just whistles on

He’s within himself
Basking in the loneliness
But that’s not what he calls it
And love just whistles on

Wonderwall

2008-09-02T13:31:00.006-04:00

If they aren't always good, why call them "goodbyes"?
If they aren't always hellish, why call them "hello's"?

When will english stop being a funny language?
The irony hurts at times.

Papa Loves Mambo

2008-09-02T08:52:00.009-04:00

Alright, she's going to hate this.

Maybe I should have asked for permission before. I mean she's threatened me with a libel suit in the past and even though I doubt she'd pull it off (the libel that is), you can only push someone so far. Especially someone with a french disposal to life (and that too, only because I feel they hate the attention obsessed, chihuahua totting americans. And that's a good thing)

But this is me falling prey, to the pimping way of the blogging life.

So click here for the Indian In Paris blog. It's funnier than it sounds and highly intriguing in places.

And honestly, this doesn't come easy. No, not really. This is probably being impulsive and adulatory, but to be fair, if a blog is funny (or silly) enough to make us impulsive it shall be pimped.

That's the law. To which I comply only but rarely.

And you have to pay the bribe. That's also the law. Corruption and pimping is what this government is about.

But please be nice, quiet and discreet. She's going to hate the attention, even though she has a blog stat counter right plomp in the middle.

Handbags And Gladrags

2008-08-20T10:48:00.024-04:00

These are lean days in the blogging world. The economy's not doing too well either. Not that they're related but I thought I'd just put it out there.
Actually, come to think of it, companies and bloggers are shutting down alike - so maybe they are related.

Does it matter? In the long run, not at all. In the short run, bah who cares. They're all the same. Capitalists and bloggers. Who'd have known, eh?

So I had this post created for the longest time. Like 2 months back or something. It's been sitting in the post list and weeping to get out. It was hilarious at the time. A list of a few of the gtalk chats I've had with my insane gtalk friends. I swear they're insane. And it's too late also. They think they have a good thing going. The insane bit that is.

But things are getting a bit dry, so why not let it out. It's been weeping after all.

And you might not find them funny the way I do, but hey, at least I'm not cribbing about a relationship this that, or preaching insightful ways to live life.

Or putting up a shut down notice. Which, though fun they are, is against our religion. I'd rather walk away sneakily. Hate goodbyes. Sniff.

------

CD: "How's it going, BFF?"
Guy1: "What does BFF stand for? b^ttf$%king fantasies?Pardon my french"
CD: "It's up for debate really. It could be anything as random as bum fum foo's. But why blame the French?"
Guy1: "Because the french are f$!^kng cu£$%ts. Pardon my french."
CD: "hehe"
Guy1: "Did BFF mean Best Friends Forever? If it did, remind me to beat you up when we meet."
------

Girl1: "I got an iPod as a gift"
CD: "Dammit"
Girl1: "And a donkey in a happy meal"
CD: "I hate you"
Girl1: "my life is complete"
CD: "I made a voodoo doll of you"
Girl1: "show me"
CD: "There - did it hurt on your left arm"
Girl1: "nope but it made me want to get a glass of wine"
------

Girl2 : hehe
CD : hehe
CD : How come you laugh like me.
CD : "hehe" and not "haha"
Girl2 : haha is stupid. Too much effort.
CD : too much.
Girl2 : hehe is much more easy, comes naturally. Hoo hoo is the hardest. So is hee hee.
Girl2: yeah, so hehe it is.
CD : Fuck, you’re crazy
Girl2: you’re fadacked.
------

Guy2 : oh btw, just between us
CD : shit, gay moment
Guy2: Whatever dude. So, * insert serious love interest's name * has had a lesbian experience
CD : nice. So?
Guy2: She wanted to take the girl home and the girl said no.
CD : Maybe she’s lesbian. No sex for you, ever for life.
Guy2: ok..so much for telling you. That’s my fear.
CD : Maybe she’s bisexual.
Guy2: Maybe
CD : I highly doubt it. Once they go there, they never come back.
CD : No sex for you. Ever for life.
Guy2: ok so much for telling you.

Tweeter And The Monkeyman

2008-08-04T01:55:00.005-04:00

I want to write a happysad post.

You know the kind...

It’ll make you whimper, sniff a little, then slowly (but surely) make you open those ducts and let the tears unwillingly drop out...sob by sob.

...and almost at the same time, your lips will be curling, that smile would be creeping up, your stomach would be doing flip flops, and you’ll burst a happy smile.

Oh, it’ll mess you up so much.

And if you’re sitting in something public like a subway, you’ll suddenly look up and blind people with those blushing red cheeks.

A crazy brilliant smile and tears running constantly.

People might even take a step away from you.

...just you wait.

Float On

2008-07-24T16:53:00.010-04:00

Would I do it again? Ofcourse I would. I don't remember that much of it anyway. Only the good parts.

I'm pretty sure the gut is the emotional bank of the body. All, each and every moment of your historical adventures and misadventures, are soaked dry for emotions, spunged out of their society-induced-behaviours, and deposited in a safe vault deep in the gut, sometimes for more than their worth.

Which is why, if you feel it from the gut, it probably triggered something. Something with more substance than a heart flutter or a parchness of the throat. I'd listen to it.

Pourquoi? Because magic is rare. When it happens, or for that matter happens again, nothing else matters.

So go on, bash on regardless...

The Blower's Daughter

2008-07-21T13:57:00.025-04:00

The origin of the word "Pub" is from the English concept of a "Public House".

Every village in Victorian England would have a public house, usually in the village square or centre; where the villagers would gather, mostly in the evenings after work, for a pint of the lager and to talk life out. (There would always, of course, be the hope that it transpires into more than just a pint, and more than just a talk).

So why this history lesson then? Just to break into, in a manner of the formal essayist way, of the culmination of a recent search of mine. To find one pub in many.

And yes, I think may have found a good one after all. Or changed loyalties at least for the time being. It’s a pub, a bar in the american way, 2 blocks from where I live. It’s small and it’s dark. It’s got a pool table, chatty customers, an irish bartender who gives free shots if he likes you and great, no make that fantastic, music. It’s perfect. It’s the rare kind where you can as easily read a book on a Saturday afternoon in as you can walk out tottering and yelling at 4 am from.

It’s also highly pretentious, calls itself the Dead Poet and has quotes from poets scattered all over the place. Quotes like:

May you be in heaven

Half an hour before the

Devil knows you're dead

- an Irish drinking toast

Man, being reasonable

Must get drunk;

The best of life Is but intoxication

- Lord Byron

There can't be good living

where there is not good drinking
- Benjamin Franlin

Why do I drink?

So that I can write poetry.
- Jim Morrison

To be a poet is a condition,
not a profession
- Robert Frost

Work is the curse

of the drinking classes

- Oscar Wilde

Also, if you share your birthday with a famous literary figure, you get to drink free that whole day. Google tells me I might have Jack Kerouac to thank for free drinks some months from now.

And as Damien Rice said:

“I can’t take my mind off you…till I find someone new"...

The Youth

2008-07-17T16:43:00.004-04:00

Let's start it off with a question. Maybe that might help. Ease the flow; open the faucet - that kind of thing you know. Or maybe you don't. Or maybe it doesn't matter. Or maybe it does.

So yes, the question.

How do you...no…How do you realise...No. That's not it either.

It's tough, it is. Getting the right words. And even then, there are so many facets that could never be captured in these...these words. On a blog. You'll never know what I'm emphasising, how I raise my eyebrow at the third word and bring my tone down just enough on the penultimate word, only to stress the last word.

So why try?

Why not?

Now who can argue with that? Actually I can. Argue with it that is, but no inclination really. None. And it runs deeper than that.

So then...where were we.

…How do you know when, how do you know how, things have changed?
There. That's what I was looking for. More or less.

42.
Perhaps.

Wishlist

2008-06-29T04:35:00.012-04:00

9:15 pm The Meadows
9:15 pm Hartford, Connecticut
9:15 pm The USA
9:15 pm The who cares
9:15 pm The as individuals we’re good people, but as a collective something weird happens to us. Evil weird.

Never mind the rhetoric, at 9:15 pm in The Meadows, Eddie Vedder said “Good Evening Hartford!”.
9:15 pm I was there, soaking it all in.

It had been ages since I’d intentionally played a pearl jam song on my itunes. I’d hear them in the bars that I’d hang out, or sing along to one at a party - but I was exploring other music. In short, I’d moved on.

Like the boy who keeps going back to his ex, today, after what was a great time, I intentionally played a pearl jam song on my itunes. I played Wishlist. In short, I’m back in love.

Most bands are altogether different when they’re live in concert. Most love it and come into their groove...the attention, the pressure, the voices. Some crumble and fall. Pearl Jam were not great, no, they weren’t mindblowing either, but they sang to the crowd, they talked to the crowed, they danced with the crowd. When we all lighted our lighters to “betterman”, Vedder said “that looks beautiful in black”. When “Daughter” morphed into “Another brick in the wall”, Vedder pointed the mic to the crowd and sang with us the whole time.

That, in short, was my justification for being back in love with the band that named themselves after their aunt pearl’s lip smacking jam.

Death Or Glory

2008-06-23T01:05:00.051-04:00

Every now and again, when you least expect it, when you’re down with your defenses, when basically, you’re piss bored…the universe throws an interesting person your way.
It’s probably all part of a big cruel joke.
Probably much like golf - that game suckers you into self-confidence by a few decent shots; and then the next day, you can't hit the fairway if it were the size of Alaska.

But it is what it is.

So let me tell you of the time the universe threw the manager of The Clash my way.
well, if you don't know who they are, wiki fucking pedia it.
...
...
if you did indeed wikipedia The Clash, chances are that you're most likely a spawn of satan. And yes, you should just go back to daddy.

Let’s start from the beginning. So, I work in the boring ass field that is the corporate world. Nothing remotely related to the music industry. Nada.

But last week, while on a conference trip to somewhere in suburban America, I met a colleague.

It was at a bar after our conference.
He said howdy. I said hi.
We bought beers. We sighed. We looked at the tele for the match of the day.
… it was going to be the usual boring stuff..

He asked how things were in NYC. I told him I couldn’t wait to get back, just in time to catch Pearl Jam in concert (I also went ahead and air fisted at this time - it's involuntary I say).

I waited. I waited for some sort of reaction from him.
I waited some more.

He took a sip of the draught, and very slowly, very purposefully, said:

“Eddie Vedder’s so fake man. He sings sad songs but leads a glorious life.”

“How's that?"

“Song writing’s very difficult, man. Not the removed pop variety. The words of my life variety, where when people hear they go “aah, I know what that guy was feeling when he wrote that”.

“Isn’t that from the wedding singer”.

“It still applies”

“Fair enough”

“And really, nothing against that, just that it's not real, man. These bands, of your time, they don't have anything to sing for. There's no cause to rebel against, nothing to fight for. They’ve grown with AC homes, washing machines and exotic cuisines. They make flimsy causes in a desperate attempt to relate. They don’t make bands the way they used to, man. I saw real bands, the 80's were it. It’s been downhill ever since.”

I was going to groan.

And then he said...

“Did I ever tell you the time I managed The Clash? Only for a month really, but it was what it was”.

Oh he was there man. He was there when Husker Du signed up. He pronounced bands to me that have by now overdosed to their death, or just faded from memory. Yes, he's old school and that might explain his cynicism of "Bands, of your time".

He was there when Bill Graham was there. Bill was a bastard, he said. Bill was also the biggest promoter of the biggest bands in the whole world. The whole fucking world man, he said. He had Hendrix, Grateful Dead, Joplin...he had the best venues under his fist - Fillmore west, the Fillmore east...

I managed a small band that opened for Led Zeppelin one time at a Bill Graham venue. Bill was well known to swindle with the fees.

Now, the venue would take 5000 people, be packed to capacity but Bill would be at the back door, letting another 1000 through at $20 an entry. That would all ofcourse, be pocketed by the Graham.

So after this particular concert, our friend and the Led Zep manager, a huge huge English bloke, go to Bill Graham for their fair share of the booty. Bill says it was a bad show with not enough sales. The Led Zep manager, without blinking an eye, takes out a pistol and says “Bill let’s close the door and discuss this. I had counters at the back door”. Bill takes out 2 pistols and says sure. My colleague, who doesn't really have the demeanour for this type of charade, politely asks for what is due him, all the while concentrating real hard to stop that shivering. Get's the hell out he does.

I was pretty disappointed when he wasn't able to tell me what went down between Bill and Led Zep manager that night. "2 crazy guys, one room. There was no room in there for me man".

As for The Clash - they happened to him by pure luck. Being in the right place at the right time, you know. He said he got The Clash job cause he was American. The Clash being an English band had an English manger. For their US tour, they decided they wanted a manager that didn’t take the money and put it up his nose. The british were notorious for that. An American country boy with little experience seemed to fit what they wanted.
He was an American country boy with little experience.

He had a million other stories. Ok, maybe 10 odd stories. Unfortunately they came with "real" band preaching. But they were what they were.

...and that's for a later time. Maybe when you're sitting next to me sipping beers and looking at the tele.

Heretics

2008-06-12T23:14:00.012-04:00

Ladies and Gentlemen,

Two thousand words...

Artist: Banksy.
(Banksy for president, Hell yeah!)

Turn Blue

2008-06-09T21:51:00.005-04:00

It should all really be simple...
so why then does it have to be more like rocket science?

"I guess what I just want to know
when,
at what point, you see,
does all this
begin, or really start, to make sense?"

Here Come's the Sun

2008-05-29T04:58:00.016-04:00

This is not a review things blog. Not even close. Except existential angst, we don't review any thing. And even then that is mentioned in a can't-do-fuckall-about-it way.

It's the difference between cookbook authors and fiction writers. This blog doesn't cook.

But then again, they say, the best reviews are written by someone with an outside eye. We've been known to agree with "they" every now and again... and since it's already a habit...

Delhi is the topic at hand. South Delhi to be exact. It's not the Delhi of my youth for much has changed. It's also the Delhi of my youth for much is still the same.

Turquoise Cottage has closed down. That's a pity. It's obviously not irreplaceable, for even now, Opus in Vasant Vihar claims to be a TC from the past. I beg to differ though. But at least they're trying. They're also currently debating the question - is it better to have tried and lost or not to have tried at all?

Of the new lot of yuppie favoured places - there's Smokehouse Grill, in GK2, for one. It's highly wanna be, with it's policy of couples only at the bar (even when it's empty). If you tell them that you'll be sitting at the restaurant upstairs, they're fine though. The passively aired music's a pain, but there are rock nights and DJ nights. So there might be hope yet. The ambiance I like, with it's pop art walls. But the real cracker were the starters. I loved the chorizo I ordered. The cocktails , with their smoked range, were ok. Trying too much they were.

TGIF is still TGIF. The Vasant Vihar one. It's not the special place to meet in - I don't think it ever wanted to be. But it's the harmless, after work, watch the IPL match of the day place. That's still an enviable spot to be in. The music's become pissful though. The cocktails are still fantastic.

Urban Pind (like the name btw), in GK1, is a tad bit different. The Khajurao art replicated on the walls, is very in your face and very much needed to break the two faced conservatism that is Delhi. I really like the cocktails here.

The crowd though, was much better in Smokehouse and TGIF.

Shalom, GK1, is a sham. I'd stay away and rather sit in a coffee shop. Which by the way are open till 2-3 am on a weekday! There's a no alcohol after 12:30am regulation in delhi. Caffeine, often claimed to be more addictive in certain circles, is as yet not regulated. Wait till the left takes over. Hopefully their idiotic brains haven't visited Urban Pind as yet.

On that the best coffee shop is still Yellow Brick Road, in the Ambassador. My college days came streaming back when I went a revisiting.

Five stars still rule the after midnight market. And after getting an earful of bad music and sometimes bad company, we'd often end up in the sterile environment of a five star's coffee shop. Debating, contemplating and just being there.

So those were my five nights in Delhi.

But bear in mind. This is not a review blog. Judge us as you must, for that is your prerogative, but know, sticks and stones....

The Cutter

2008-05-27T07:57:00.003-04:00

It's been a while and I itch. No, not in the wrong places. It's the metaphor I'm looking for.

I itch intellectually. I itch for answers. I itch for good company. I also itch on my nose. It could be related. Like the butterfly effect?

I don't like the word "itch" now.

In Delhi at the mo. Vacationing I am. Liking it? - maybe.
Actually, in 2 years, I am going to be based and working out of Delhi. I have thought this through and through. It's happening. Decided? - definitely

But 2 years is an infinity.

oh Murphy, why did you have to have a law. I know you said what you had said, in jest most likely. I know you meant well. I know it. But it's messing with me at the present. Treating me as a guinea pig. Empirical evidence I understand.

Why would she ignore me now? Is it because now, I like her?
Same rant, you say.
I would have an answer for you, but I need to scratch my nose.

Civil War

2008-05-18T14:44:00.001-04:00

Yes, I have one going on and like the song "I don't need one more war".

Vegas tomorrow; again; company award this time - the suckers are paying for it. "Highest individual bullshit blah blah want-to-work-you-to-the-bone but-still-have-to-entice-you award". Despite the cynicism, I'm taking it. It's Vegas and I fucking deserve it. Corporate America is finally conquered. So anyway, Vegas tomorrow.

Having one of those brilliant weekends - feels strange that it's been that long that I had one this nice. Despite the apprehension, I'm enjoying it.

So kiss me and smile for me.

In My Life

2008-05-07T00:58:00.002-04:00

She told me to look at London with goodbye eyes. I did. And then I realised I was her London as well.

Manhattan has a big green mass, Central Park, that cuts right through its middle. It also has the East Side and the West Side. If you’re on the east of Central Park, you’re on the East Side and if you’re on the west of it, you’re on the West Side. No, the American’s aren’t very creative with these sort of things.

It’s funny how now, we both live on the same street, but the exact opposite sides of the island. Exactly different directions. A sign? Of how it was never meant to be? Bah!

I don’t venture to the east side much. It’s a planet all on its own to me. Not a friendly one. No. Everyone looks like her. Every corner I turn I almost bump into her. Every boy there is going to flirt with her. Every coffee shop has her caffe latte order placed, the one with soy milk. My pace is always quickened and my gaze furtive when I’m there. It’s plain bizarre.

All based on a green swathe some people call Central Park.

Do humans mark their territory too?

Irish Blood, English Heart

2008-04-27T01:31:00.004-04:00

“Simply press the button, wait for the beep, blow into the unit, and within seconds the LCD displays a precise digital percentile readout of your Blood Alcohol Content (BAC). An entire test takes less than 10 seconds.”

Saturday night. 2 guys. 1 bar. Copious amounts of alcohol. 1 Breath analyser to bring it all together.

Guy1: “It says here level 0.02 means you’re beyond the drinking & driving limit and I know level 0.12 is when you get into coma.”

Guy2: “ Well then, I think 0.08 is a good limit to aim for”

Guy1: “Perfect. Bartender, we’ll start with 2 Irish Carbombs, followed by 2 large Glenn on the rocks and then we’ll think of something.”

Guy2: “You know, I think I read a book once where this guy had a wicked experience with a breath analyser once.”

Guy1: “Man, you read way too much. People who write about breath analyser’s are obviously retarded...ah here come the irish.”

1 hour later. After attempting many BAC counts and sharing breath analyser with anyone who would talk to us (surprisingly, a breath analyser can make you friends with many people in a bar - unfortunately it is mostly the unwanted jock kinds. It’s the price you pay for ingenuity.)

Guy1: “I’m at 0.07.”

Guy2: “Damn, I swear I was level 0.07 and then after the last jagerbomb shot, this effing unit says I’m a 0.06. I know a girl who swears by jagerbombs. I need to let her know its not alcohol, in fact its an alcohol killer.”

Guy1: “Hmm...I swear by Jagerbombs too. Maybe the units had its fair share of activity. These things were designed for the police to check random drivers, not hell bent drunkards, man. Have Glenn, this shit is nasty.”

Whether level 0.08 was reached is a matter of much speculation. The unit has since been acting drunk and refuses to wake up. We fear it beat us to level 0.12.

Disclaimer:- Identities of people have been changed to protect them from society by using generic terms such as guy, bartender and friends.

Panic

2008-04-15T21:27:00.002-04:00

Write dammit...write it in as many words and as little sentences it takes...whatever needs to be done, don’t shy away. No more lies. It’s only words and words are all you have...ha!...
So much these words can do...create, destroy, humiliate, infatuate, betray...every verb at their control. Humans are the most vocal of all the animals. That is both boon and bane...which is higher in the hierarchy is anyone’s blame game.

Kill the dj, the blessed fucking dj...oh that Morrissey meant well.

Stay sharp man. It’s the drugs...I can’t control my fingers. They type like there’s no tomorrow...but you know what I can do, I can put these dots. Notice the dots...always three in a row...they’re mine. I did them.

There is no point really, just like life. No point, no real point that is. The preachers preach fiction.

You have to watch the details. You have to have somewhere to hang your heart on at the end of the day. Don’t wear it on a sleeve. It’s way too risky that way. Start or follow a band which sings sad songs...now we’re talking.

Tattoos and skinny ties are done. So is the preppy look. Something’s replacing them and I don’t know what just yet. It’s still taking shape. Fashion the fickle art.

Books are my shoes. I have to fight the urge to buy one every week. Every week of every month. That’s a lot. I do judge them by their cover though.There are a lot of bad books out there. Much more than good books. An awful lot of people think they can be writers.

What is the purpose of this madness? What is the purpose of this life?

No more lies please. And less words.

Gin Soaked Boy

2008-03-17T22:51:00.007-04:00

Its a me, myself, Irene post. Its a gin in the gin soaked boy post.

-- I am still having a love affair with Ice Cream.
-- I hate pastries. I’ll eat them if you get them and I’ll buy them for you too. But inside, I’m squirming when I’m eating.
-- If you dress grunge or have short hair, my look will linger when it falls on you. In that linger, I will even have imagined a life with you, complete with smiles, cries, Parisian cafes, Tuscan vineyards and long conversations (I think I fall in love easily...which is also to say that I flit...unless I cling).
-- If you dress pretty, I’ll give you only the customary look.
-- I think you can make out a lot about a person by the music they listen to. I am undecided about making anything out on a first meeting though.
-- I am also undecided about photographs.
-- I open up 60% of myself very fast, 20% after a little prodding, alcohol and trust, the other 15% if I love you. The remaining 5% nobody has known. I wish that were not so (Those numbers are approximate).
-- I don’t know where I want to be when I’m 39. I also take great solace and pride in that fact.
-- I’m afraid of spiders, watching horror movies alone and losing my parents.
-- I get nervous every time I talk in front of a group of people, even though I get over that nervousness in the first minute itself.
-- I want more vacation days.

The Birthday Song

2008-03-12T11:16:00.002-04:00

Plus 1.
Another day and they told me it added a whole year. Cause sometimes, you need a reason to party.

Black Hole Sun

2008-03-01T19:33:00.008-05:00

You’ve been walking to the same beat so many times, the monotony comforts more than it hurts. Like a cocaine addiction, it charmed you in first, then made you want to fight it and now you’re too afraid to move away. For you know for a fact that if you move out into the light, it’ll turn you into flesh and bones. Reality will pierce you through the retina.

You enter the bar where you get your daily drink. There's a girl sitting alone, short black dress and red, very red, lipstick on. She looks at you. Her look lingers. She catches a glimpse of the guy she’s waiting for in you. She waits for you to get your hand stamped from the doorman and turn, realises you’re not him, sighs and turns to her Caipirinha.

You walk straight to the loo. Look at yourself in the mirror. Your look lingers. You catch a glimpse of the guy you’ve been waiting for, in you. Then you sigh and turn.

*fiction of the mad science genre*

This Ain't A Love Song

2008-02-28T00:16:00.004-05:00

Promise me one thing.
What?
Promise me that you won’t ever try and show me your poems.
(Laughs). Yes I won’t. So are you flirting with me?
Hmmm...I’m flirting with the idea of flirting with you.

*from two different movies*

Bullet With Butterfly Wings

2008-02-19T01:47:00.004-05:00

Fiction is not me. I gave being Ellis/Gaiman a chance, tried to steal a look at Borge's words and even wrote under influence. The best case conclusion would be that I'm still raw, but just between you and me, I'm not really in the being-patient market for me to "mature". And also, writer's are a dime a dozen and bloggers wanting to be writers cheaper than that. But you know what, till there’s money in the game, I will stay.

And anyway, like those HSBC ads all over Heathrow, its all perspective (innit?). Which is not to say that perspective doesn't change. For like loyalty, it is very much for sale. Like a microwaved bag of popping popcorn, very much unstable. And with enough butter, easy to swallow but hard to digest. Ah perspective. Pop me one.

Although, at the moment, the popcorn bag is a tad bit empty. Cause I can't talk about existential woes and relationship problems and having fun on dates or fights in clubs. About music, drugs and wine. About how Valentine has a day, how I miss not having her here, how I’m not sure...of most things.

Why. Cause I'm still anti - social at best.

So, hope you get your daily dose of random nonsense from some other blog. Happy window blogging.

Dogs

2008-02-15T13:54:00.005-05:00

Now, I'm a dog lover. The worst kind, cause I have nothing but contempt for the enemy. The cat that is.
There's a cat lover in my office. She's a girl. They usually are. The worst kind as well.
We try and trip each other in the hallway, throw darts at the others thumbnail pic, snarl and float rumours in office about each other. Anything that can pass HR's radar really. As you can see, somewhere down the line it moved away from the dog cat argument.

Today though, she sent this. I think she's trying to get back to the old ways.
But that means I need to have a wittier response ready. Fuck. Just when I was getting really good at tripping her.

-----------
DOG DIARY
8:00 am - Dog food! My favorite thing!
9:30 am - A car ride! My favorite thing!
9:40 am - A walk in the park! My favorite thing!
10:30 am - Got rubbed and petted! My favorite thing!
12:00 PM - Lunch! My favorite thing!
1:00 PM - Played in the yard! My favorite thing!
3:00 PM - Wagged my tail! My favorite thing!
5:00 PM - Milk bones! My favorite thing!
7:00 PM - Got to play ball! My favorite thing!
8:00 PM - Wow! Watched TV with the people! My favorite thing!
11:00 PM - Sleeping on the bed! My favorite thing!

CAT DIARY
Day 983 of MY CAPTIVITY.

My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects.
They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while the other inmates and I are fed hash or some sort of dry nuggets. Although I make my contempt for the rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must eat something in order to keep up my strength. The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape. In an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomit on the carpet.

Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their feet. I had had hoped this would strike fear into their hearts, since it clearly demonstrates what I am capable of. However, they merely made condescending comments about what a "good little hunter" I am. Bastards!

There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight. I was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event. However, I could hear the noises and smell the food. I overheard that my confinement was due to the power of "allergies." I must learn what this means, and how to use it to my advantage.

Today I was almost successful in an attempt to assassinate one of my tormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking. I must try this again tomorrow --but at the top of the stairs. I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and snitches.
The dog receives special privileges. He is regularly released - and seems to be more than willing to return. He is obviously retarded.

---------

Vaseline

2008-02-11T00:39:00.000-05:00

He:
All these years, I’ve lived in the shadows, stalking you under the persona of a friend, harmless and partner in crime to smiles and cries. The guise suited me fine and I could like you the way you wanted to be liked.

But today, when for the thousandth time you asked me for the thousandth drink, another chance to be partner in crime, something finally gave in. Life is a series of moments, that weigh dense in the mind, until one of them, gets ready to burst like a fabulous yellow roman candle. And when that happens, helpless, you can only pray that it was the right one that burst.
This time, under the influence of the thousandth drink, the harmless persona burst.

Her:
Deep. Pretty deep. I’ve known all along, you know. I’ve even waited, with patient breath, for the shadows to part. And now, this, this is your coming out, proposing love from the shadows speech.
Sigh.
Why doesn’t anyone ever give it to me straight? Can we please stick to “ I love you’s and keep you happy forever's” and holding hands with kisses near a bonfire?

I am looking for a Shakespeare, but they give me Sartre.

Title And Registration

2008-02-06T23:03:00.000-05:00

She: “The music’s sad here.”

He: “Yeah. There’s no dearth of sad songs about rainy days and lovers who don’t bring flowers. Here though, they play songs that truly pain - songs so despairing they can make you wonder why you even bother.”

She: “I like it.”

He: “I had a feeling you would.”

She: “No, I like what you said. I don’t care two hoots for the music. Champagne?”

He: “ummm..No, Champagne’s for celebrating. I’ll have a martini. Stirred like crazy”

She laughed. She liked beginnings.

Have A Cigar

2008-01-31T17:26:00.000-05:00

I love cities. I like the countryside too, and visit it often enough and say “aah”, “wah”, “sigh” and other versions of the same. But I like the countryside in the same sense as my mum is ok with gay people - ”I am fine with it as long as you’re not gay”. And so to translate “ I am fine with the burbs as long as I’m not living in one”.

But lately, most weekend trips out of NYC have been to the countryside or some version thereof. Things were getting very close to one becoming soft, nice or vegan. Imagine that (*shivers unrestraint*).This weekend though, Boston beckons. Its going to be really cold, so I’m checking out places where I can stay warm, namely bars, morning hangover brunch places and the like.

Today I took a sick day from office. Damn tonsilitis again. Had hot milk, lots of cereal and after that, for the last 7 hours, its been a bottle of Spanish merlot and once that finished, a bottle of Australian port (always thought port was something that came only from Portugal). The merlot is muy bien, but the port is what really got me done, even though I didn't give it enough respect as a dessert wine. I love sick days.

Today I also blew up a months rent on this trading account. Am playing it cool though. Did scream and hired a voodoo guy to bankrupt the trading account company. He says it’ll take some time, its only magic. So yes, as you can see, using humour as defense against stupid decisions. Won’t be the first.

Today, I read a gahzillion blogs and saw a gahzillion funnies on the boob tube. I think Turk has funnier lines than JD in Scrubs. Also, I realise, having lived in NYC for a while, I find Seinfeld funnier than I did and can sooo relate to it (Ironically enough, they were showing “the stock tip” episode. There’s a line in there somewhere that Jerry says - “I know the Dow fluctuates. I just got fluctuated out of four thousand dollars”. I laughed and then sighed. You know those moments). And I also realised that Friends has now become lame. It has its funny moments, but enough with the re-runs already.

Today was just a thursday.

Today, normal people in the UK learnt that they could potentially earn more money than film school graduates. Here. Alright Youtube!...you tell them that education is useless when it comes to pop culture.

Ok then. I need to finish the Californian Pinot Noir now. Its been a hell of a global ride this has.

New Slang

2008-01-23T22:44:00.001-05:00

I want biting wit. The sharp kind. Not like the one they’d sell at an IKEA for $10 and under $5 in a sale. More like the kind that you’d find being auctioned in a Sotheby’s (or Christie’s, they both price fix equally well), filled with mysterious, unknown, mostly overseas buyers.

I want fleeting time. Not the kind that is the Roadrunner cartoon, which is always tearing across. More like Sonic the Hedgehog, walking, enjoying one moment and then zipping by another, all at the press of a button (or for the need of a better time).

I want dreams. Not the sit at home kinds. But the ones with balls, big enough, to cross the border and become plans.

I want love. Not of the Romeo and Juliet variety, oh so fickle, so sudden, naive and so short.

Easy Lucky Free

2008-01-16T22:01:00.001-05:00

Writers block could perhaps attempt to capture it. After all there’s the writer’s strike going on and the hamster-on-a-treadmill in my brain thinks its entitled to one too. Him and me are still negotiating. So justifiably, I was afraid to venture forth alone. Also, Jon Stewart’s disastrous attempt is not helping one’s confidence. One needs hamsters, one does.

But, maybe just this once. Just this one post without the bloody hamster. We’re in uncharted territory here people. I can feel the hamster shiver.

Also, carrying on with the elaborate excuses (to whom I am not sure), my erstwhile mucho free time seems to have disappeared. Poof!…just walked away and was gone. And, I need sleep. Even if it comes in little installments, I’ll take it. But its disappeared too. Poof!..like in those Archie comics, leaving a white cloud behind.

I read somewhere that instead of sleeping 8 hours at a stretch, some scientists reckon, the optimal sleeping habit would be to sleep 30 seconds and then be awake the next 1 minute and then sleep the next 30 seconds and so on.

This reeks of a mad scientist theorising on the days when there is no lightning in the skies, and so obviously, poor chap has nothing “mad scientisty” to do. And faithful Igor’s catching up on his golf. But still....muy absurdo this theory is...and my mother wanted me to be a scientist!

Why can’t these fukkers concentrate instead on getting a teleportation device going (yes yes, its the long distance relationship (LDR) that makes me wish for that evermore, but c’mon, its a win win for everyone, unless, parents or unwanted friends can visit unannounced. Hmm...ok, maybe there’s a reason after all).

It would be a disaster dating someone who was on the wrong 30-second schedule though. Right?

Lover1: “oh, the ways in which I love thee are so many, walking on a naples beach, I’d squeeze...”

Lover2 popping back to life after 30-second “optimal” nap

Lover2: “...and like I was saying, I was so brilliant at work today, worked till 10 in the night, wrapped the deal and my boss is going to shower me with money ”

Lover1: “dammit lover2! this is crazy. You never get me, you don’t listen to what I say and are so self absorbed”

Lover2:”Look who’s talking, cause....wait wait, don’t sleep, not when I was...ah hell!”

Hmm...maybe, its not hard to conceive that there are indeed people on different 30-second schedules.

Here’s hoping you find the right 30-second schedule person.

(Ah, that could so be a South Park moment there, complete with serious soundtrack in the end).

A Story About A Girl

2008-01-07T21:37:00.001-05:00

Well well well. With all the anti social-ness that I try portray and further... one jumped the virtual barrier and the cocoon it offered...and met a fellow blogger. In the flesh. Yup.

It turns out its not that scary a proposition really.

She came for a visit to NYC (from a place she won’t mention for the last 5 years) and she made a promise that she wasn’t an axe yielding psycho before we met. But then again, bigger promises have been made and I had to tag along a friend (to be fair, he just happened to be there really and not for my safety...just clarifying...I took along a bottle of mace for my safety :)... I mean it could be a 60 year old fat fart looking for “fun” you know...its been known to happen.

So having survived all that, Aurora, we’re a fan. That girl is a bundle of fun, all spunk, wit and laughter rolled into one. She really is.
We met only for a few and had a couple of drinks, and wished it was more. The fun part was connecting all the dots that each others blogs have been about. The vicarious life made real...well almost. And getting drunk. She’s a great drunk.

It was fun.

Her brother was most amused and so was tag-a-long friend. Honestly, so was I.

Disclaimer :- The author would like to caution innocent young uns that “ a lot of nice things turn bad out there and that its still a bad world,”. So please be taking big brothers, bottle of mace or other weapons before meeting bloggers. It could be 60 year old fat farts looking for “fun”.

Comfortably Numb

2008-01-06T11:44:00.000-05:00

Sent that to the girl...she laughed.

Piece Of Me

2008-01-06T10:13:00.000-05:00

Not a britney fan, no no no...even though I learnt the lyrics of “hit me baby” with a couple of friends and sang it out loud in a party in high school once...no no no.. but that song title is so fitting. What to do.

So new years day...its a strange one no? In look and appearance its like any other day, and yet it demands a celebration of sorts, stock taking of the previous 365 and irrational exuberance in the next 365. Irrational maybe not, but nonetheless...cause the problem with the future is that it turns into the present.

Hmmm...average year really. Saves me the trouble of trying to recollect most of what went by. And anyway, I tried and realised these new year end thingies are not my cuppa, so refraining we are. No piece of me to shine a spotlight on. Very shy still. Horribly so.

No resolutions, except perhaps to have washboard abs. I was laughed on at that one even before the new year began, so I start with daunting odds already. Sigh, non believers everywhere.

Also, to travel. Am traveling this year peoples. Like crazy. So much so, that I have decided to redefine crazy. In an irrational exuberance kind of way. There’s a list, but spontaneity is on the top currently.

Sleepwalker

2007-12-25T21:37:00.000-05:00

Ok then. Alcohol and me need to have a healthier relationship. These hangovers are giving me hangovers!

Friends’ over from London and we’ve been getting the red paint and going to town with it. So thats the justification at least for the hangovers and also that the long weekend in New York city had to be paid its due respects.

Started off with midtown, after work. Midtown Mayhem the concept is called. 3 pints and much talk. Then to the Village. Place called...shit I forget. Not important really, every bar’s the same in the village. Oh how I hate the Village. No soul there really and way too touristy, if you ask me. But the best Kathi Rolls in town...yummy. Especially at 2 am. I know, the time just flew. Then off to home near the upper west side. Bar hoping. 3 bars. Dead poet, westside brewing company and the gin mill. Hangover, which gave birth to little hangovers. Lots of water at kitchen tap.

And the long distance relationship is getting onto different phases now. Its scary. Like, going to fall any minute. Refusing to start. Very positive the next. Its fun. But please don’t try this at home. Only trained artists.

Christmas was most sunny in new york. Went to Central park with a friend, walked in the rambles, which is a huge ecosystem inside central park and one of the top bird watching sites in the US. I googled that. Who cares really. But it was scary and we got lost in it. Got a coffee from the boathouse and sat on a rock near the lake. Sighed contentedly. Very much so.

Thought I’d do sooo much in this loong weekend. So Much. Drank and made merry. Thats a lot come to think of it.

Where Do You Go To My Lovely?

2007-12-20T16:51:00.000-05:00

I’ve always believed it doesn’t work... even when I saw one myself, hoped for it to work, realised only too late that that hope was misplaced...I still believed all along that there was little chance of a light at the end of the tunnel. The odds against, seem insurmountable.

And now, I find myself at the beginning of yet another long distance relationship and I’m again hoping it works. Its not really a relationship yet, but its got such great potential to be one, if you know what I mean.

This time though, for some reason, it seems different. Not easier, just different in a good way.

They always do, says the devil’s advocate. I smirk saying, but you’re supposed to say that, thats your role, so I’m not listening.
I have a nasty feeling he’s smirking back at me behind my back.

Ah advocates!

I Am The Highway

2007-12-09T21:26:00.000-05:00

Self reflecting day broken into points (cause its weirder that way):

1. I hate the sound of my alarm clock. Yeah, no surprise there. I suppose thats also one of the reasons it works every morning. Even on a freakin weekend.

But what’s worse is that its winning. The alarm clock that is. I swear to you. That cunning fox of a clock is hatching a plan by working its way into my subconscious.

Today afternoon, I was sitting alone in a coffee shop, doing the usual, whatever that is and suddenly I hear the clock. It hurt,no it pained..reached deep into me and brought out my deepest...well, pains. I’m usually sleeping when I hear this, so am not very threatening, but awake, I wanted to upturn the table, tear my clothes and slam my neighbours head into the wall. Thankfully, all I did was to throw my coffee in the air.

The coffee shop wasn’t much pleased. Not my fault that their microwave sounds like the devil worshipping thing that my Alarm Clock is (Notice the capitalised letters...yes, I’m giving it respect from now on).

2. I also took a journey to my past this afternoon. You know, trying to be nostalgic and the like. It was that kind of a day and I give in easy.

But the past is a country of its own. There are barbed wires all along the border and machine gun outposts every 50 yards. Civil war just around the corner.
So I got back a bit bruised. I like the present, only my Alarm Clock to fight with.

3. My potted plant almost died, what with all the snow and cold. But this plant I love, so I worked hard and its now happily revived. Not to its full glory, but much much better than when mother nature had her way with it.

About me:
Fights evil mechanical devices from the future threatening to take over the world, one mind at a time, jumps across borders and barbed wire to keep the past alive and saves lives from the ravishing effects of nature.
No movie offers or peace awards please. No time really.

If

2007-11-30T00:20:00.000-05:00

Behind the door, she waited, she sighed and she debated. Between being happy and wanting to be happy. He's outside, parking the car, with a bouquet and a chocolate bar. Does he think he's had too much of this life or is he hanging on too?

What if the unkown boy of the future,
was the known boy in the past.

She loved him, but he lied. Told her he loved her and then he smiled. She saw through it all and brought it to a close. Time to move on, she’s with the next boy she wanted to know.

What if what you thought were lies,
you later found was truth.

He knew he was smart. College honours, high class job and the wit to go along. But the looks couldn’t keep up and the women went for the pretty ones. Nice boys finish last.

What if when wisdom comes,
everything else fades.

She finally smiled, opened the door, took the chocolate and the orchids. Said hey ho and kissed him on the side. Life’s too long to complain, over a few broken hearts and the one that got away.

What if...what if the unkown boy you waited for,
would be the boy that never showed.

Yellow Submarine

2007-11-28T22:22:00.000-05:00

She never misses the chance to glance into someone else’s purse, hoping to catch a glimpse of their lives.
Sometimes when they’re not looking, she lets her gaze linger on.

He searches for horoscopes at the beginning of each month, trying to to find the one that fits right. He soaks it in and gets ready.

We all live in our yellow submarines.

Somebody Told Me

2007-11-24T13:16:00.000-05:00

Ever noticed how the third song in any (or should it be most) album is the best of the lot. I’ve heard tell of this for a while now. Straight from the horses (read artists) mouth at times too. And now, I’ve tested it out as well. Random sampling has been implemented and the jury is in. All of them. Whatever.

The third song is the best.

Irrefutable proof? Thats crazy talk now.
No proof. Just me and the jury. We’re incestuous that way.

That was always going to be easy though. The tough part is figuring out which is the second best. Bugger!

Ok then... we’re going out again. The jury, me and our best friend - random sampling.

Yet Another Movie

2007-11-22T17:35:00.000-05:00

Movie laundry days! I miss those movie laundry days. Take a ticket, get into a hall, see the movie, see another movie, see another movie. 3 for the price of 1. Bargain. No. Movie laundry days. (You get through all the clothes you want to clean in one whole day.....get it)

Saw Saawariya, Darjeeling Limited and Across the Universe. In that order.

You know, even if I was your enemy, I wouldn’t wish Saawariya on you. I’m nice that way. Its worse than a James Blunt song. I kid you not.

Don't Let Me Down

2007-11-20T23:13:00.000-05:00

Alright then. Sucker for requests I am - but I think this attention thing can be dangerous. Don't spoil me.

Anyway.

hmm...12 days....where to begin.

JFK, new Air India plane, very very fancy, Delhi airport, home in south delhi.

The wedding was in full swing and I sort of jumped in. The adrenaline rushing around is just brilliant in these gatherings, what with arranging the pick ups, the drop offs, the ghodi, the marriage car, the reception, co-ordinating with people etc etc. Frankly I was surprised with the faith that was entrusted on me. One mistake and things could run off keel any minute. But fear not fellow worrier, the faith wasn’t misplaced. The america-returned boy done good.

“Bhabhi”, had 3 friends. Instant liking to 2 of them was shown (I think I fall in love easily, its the getting out thats always been tough....) Fickle you say. Fine, I’ll take that.

So 2 I said. One was of the cute, girl next door kind. The other, the smart, witty, no bullshit, knows what she wants, the one that you want kind. Anyway, murphy’s law intervened, I mentioned the girl next door to my cousin when prodded (I suppose it was the fear of being alienated by the no bullshit girl by being told she’s fancied...you know what I mean...yes you do.) The cousin said he’d keep it a secret and help, but he was such a girl! Very next day, I was linked and teased and linked again..all very publicly. It was fun the whole attention thing I must say. Had to play along, what to do, she was cute after all.

Next time, not that there are any cousins left to be married off, I shall keep mouth shut or develop balls to talk to no bullshit.

Again, fear not fellow worrier (I don’t know what this really means or who I refer to, but I think its funky, so it shall stay and be repeated every now and again)....we’re facebook friends now....I suppose thats a step in the right direction. The long distance sucks though. Oh but Facebook friends with both. Sigh. Choices. Wink.

But man, my aunties, oh the roving eyes of my aunties, the all seeing....they saw it all...they spread it all. Within minutes, I was asked “those” questions, the whens the whys....I thought only girls had to put up with this shit. Sigh.

1 day later, Indira Gandhi Airport, old Air India plane, very very pathetic, London, 3 days later, Heathrow, same shitty Air India plane, gay architect with present from Chandni chowk for his husband, JFK.

Posters

2007-11-08T21:52:00.000-05:00

Ah..back.
Not particularly happy to be back.
But back nonetheless.

12 days is so much to write about that I’m not going to. It shall still though, be noted that twas interesting beyond my expectations. There was responsibility, Delhi driving, a girl, delhi shopping, lots of alcohol, family hugging, family bitching, London stopping on the way over and of course the way over. And now its all over.

Interestingly, on the flight over and the flight back, both times, I was seated next to a gay guy. Apparently the probability of that is not small.The first guy could easily be considered on the handsome side of life and I was happy to see him out of the competition, though we never talked much. The second was an architect, lives very close to my neighbourhood and kept talking about his husband. For 8 hours. I liked him.

“Straight Single men like you are getting rarer and rarer, while straight single women are still a plenty” - gay architect.
Says the man who bought indian sweets from chandini chowk for his husband.

Watching Snatch. Going to burn 5 candles now for choti Diwali.

We Will Become Silhouettes

2007-10-23T16:06:00.001-04:00

Alright...its finally tomorrow, well almost. Tomorrow's when I board that tiny plane and head off to the mother ship..sweet, humid, tandoori chicken laden Delhi.

I tried to get hold of some old numbers and you know what, nobody's there anymore. Either they're in Bombay, Pune, Bangalore, Singapore..and where not or just married, which really is the same thing. I shouldn't be saying that, cause 2 of my bestest are there still, but its not the same without the whole gang, if you know what I mean.

So cousin's getting married and its been a while since I had a flavour of an indian wedding. Though he's the same age and since I'm not married and girlfriendless at the moment, "I'm dreading the aunties" would be an understatement. Sigh...maybe I'll tell them I'm gay and then pinch uncle...I'm guessing they'll say they understand and have nothing against that and then faint in front of my eyes...

Going to see the Shins today with roommate...new music club in NY, kind of like a going away party...

Roommate tells me that Indian Marriages are perfect to get hooked up in...I tell him we'll have to test that theory out now, won't we. But that'll totally mess up my fainted aunties...