Little Lion Man

"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

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

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

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

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

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

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?