I Was Brought To My Senses..!

A few hours to go till an unplanned trip to Gokarna (Karnataka) and South Goa. Very abrupt. A perfect end to a year spent backpacking and shifting all possible forms of luggage. 4 of us, with hardly an explanation for idiocy.

2007.

A surprisingly satisfactory year. Probably the best to have happened since 2001. Or maybe the awkward 2003 had its moments but this time around, everything was treated in grandiose fashion.
A silent Januray, mostly spent at work and Vasant Vihar and included a quick trip to Khajuraho and Jhansi and February brought along with it nearly 3 car accidents. March was the usual, with all plans to leave Delhi stemming up and further deliberations on Europe. I fell for her, completely, though to not much avail, in April, which was spent drinking and Euro Planning. May has been spoken about every time and I won't forget a bit of it that easily, selective amnesia apart. The whole month was joy. From loss to life. Music to my mind. It had it all. A continent in 30 days. Solo. June was quick with shifting and July onwards is covered in the previous. There was nothing which now seems amiss through the year. Assuming I had traveled just one airline to every place this year, i would have gathered enough miles to travel to and fro anywhere. But there was non anticipated sadness too. Death. Too many people this year. The depression existed through most of the days, an estimated 300 days of the year involved intoxication and many more spent in mere discovery. Nonchalance in thoughts and letting it happen as it did.

2008

I do not wish to look forward to it. It won't better this year. No future year will, I am so sure of it. I can state "I have lived" but there are a few things left to finish. Mid next year maybe.

And Benazir Bhutto is dead. An expected shock. I am happy for her. She was stressing herself too much in the news anyway. And she could have easily wailed life away in luxury back in England. She made the effort and they did the rest. I'd like to know how Nawaz Sharif it taking it right now.

Debris.

I need to fill more space than I am currently filling.

Bombay.

So, she bled as she past by him. Had he waited a bit more, had she not come up to him first, had she not wanted to, had he not held out on false promises, over, it would have been, easily.

Now, she sticks like she shouldn't. It gets difficult explaining. In the corridor, over the phone, a never ending drove of talk, he has had enough.

Next night, she has left for home and he is not so sure if she would be required anymore.

Short Sold.

Happiness is a fish I can't catch or even when caught, I hardly wish to pick it up and show everyone around. If this year had 14 months, I would happily agree but yet I resent with the knowledge that they might spoil all of what has been.

I had plans, short term - long term. Not anymore. It is now time to draw a wishlist. And maybe build my first new year resolution since 2000 or around. But this time, I shall follow. I need to quit.

Another Stark Reminder.

I am going to write just for the sake of filling up space here. There is no point to it. But thats just one way of looking at it.

You look around. A casual glance. There is something behind. Maybe something you left, now languishing all by its own. A casual glance. It permeates through the very well being of the day. You want to just pick up what was written and just paste it all over. You hate that extra effort, especially when it would not improve your life in any manner whatsoever. You hate every second spent doing nothing at all. You write more drafts than sent mails. You misconstrue everything in and around just because whichever way you might wish to perceive, it will not actually make much of a difference to the real world. I spend money. Everyday. On consumer goods, on all types of products. But other than a significant 5 line read in the newspaper, I forever wonder why inflation does not affect me personally. Another casual glance. This week is hit 3%. Blame the base year taken last year or either way, it still does not harm me. On one hand, they say its really sad its still decreasing, its not good for the economy. The government should increase fuel prices and when the policy people say they shall do it next week, its uproar. I wish I knew my economics. I know everything, I just do not know anything inside out. Specialize. A last casual glance. Done talking. The movement behind stops. It is all good now.

With the habit, I am home again. It does not feel much like home though. Delhi has changed. Pollution is back. They call it smog in this part of the world though. Too much construction. Gay looking malls in the vicinity of where I stay. Shabby, hopeless architecture which makes you not want to look that side. People all excited about a couple of movies and too much gaga over Diwali.

"My Karma Ran Over Your Dogma".

But its when I slip inside a blanket at night, curtains closed, and just a sense of chill in the outside world, a complete ignorance of sorts, playing music that still remains back home, with just a glance over to access the day that has been to help relinquish any undesired feelings, and just a knowledge that all is well, however ambition less my life is, and then eventually without any further inclination, I admit to myself that I feel S-M-U-G.

(Nice Dream)

What exactly has not been a misnomer thus far? 11 exams drain out the best out of everyone and its not because of the amount of study I have done, which has been done with keeping history in mind. Its the whole effort of having to go through it done. Bombay is as dirty as it would ever get every year. Its certainly overcrowded, with an over rated festival and overly enthusiastic people. The whole blemish, someone runs right, another does riot. Too much colour and poverty further making everyone further reluctant to admit it has been a good day. I am okay.

And there will always be so much to keep in mind for the rest of my life. India won a world cup, actually they played cricket (or something similar to it) for a total of 24 days (yes, one day) over the past one week or two and made around four million in total with another five looming up next year with the Stanford deal. WTF!! Ajit Agarkar and Joginder Sharma will die believing they are 'world cup winning' material. Honestly, WTF!!

Reconcile. So much has occurred since the last post that let alone being unable to mention it anywhere, its been unimaginably 'better off'.



Thats right outside college walking with Sahil and getting a "local newspaper waala" moment and he being coerced into clicking it, courtesy. It was odd, it didn't make sense, they did not wake up, we got away, I am now putting it up here, and writing weird and random stuff, and really not in the mood for it. Waking Life.

Next Week.

Painted Room, Something Wrong.

After rain, through unfolding glow, the unbridled essence
Of sidled clouds, streets meet rational incoherence
This obtrusive glance, what may not be, hence
Green evenings make larger arcs into the fence.

Forlorn looks breaking down the erudite,
Rallying between the rhetoric and prescribed,
This cession of knowledge, all we bequeath
Ricochet, this tarmac of becoming grief.

Grim eyes chastening the already been,
Sans the sentences that create a scene;
Vignettes spread o'er shades of malevolence,
New autumn nears with a naissant spell.

Let little pieces reign over those toys,
In voices that barely resemble their echo;
Stifle through the week with little hope,
A city whose nadir is that it does not snow

Contrasting shadows that slip into coldness,
Heavy and gathered around this parallel abyss;
Rue the ruins that built the spark which charred,
One foot small, a few more, a little too far.

Contained in the laughter the pervades,
Humor regaining consciousness o'er regard,
Melting stares which rue rain with fixation,
Literature is poetry without connotations.

Declining, resigned still to the inflictor within,
Movement spells reveal, why should thy complain;
Hast you ever , you might have been the known,
Reign o'er memories that speak archaic in vain.

Gently caressing through gloss, encroaching dew,
The ability to become aught, ignorance speaks true;
Blankets left by the wayside, linen still unwashed,
A visible aureole, no intrusion shalt be marred.

Starched in structures, spanning all momentary disdain,
Eclectic themes rummaging peculiar, favorably prosaic;
Anguish makes favor, brackets nixed what we proclaim,
Life support, hands cut twice, this cynical display.

A paper plane from the dustbin, an idea lost,
Lapses in memory; bickering over thoughtless talks.

One stops, assuming the other needs to speak,
This is how it has been, week after week after...

Just.

This shall be better.

The semester approaches an end, three months of mostly downs. An unnecassarily hectic life, over the top expectations, FYI talk, dilated pupils, and everything you may wish to summarize as etc.

Exams. Not the dreaded term as they held ages back. Average. It comes, happens, leaves. 11 in 13 days does not entice scare, the whole 'still left' material does not deter arbitrary happenings. It just happens.

I barely recall what has occurred since the last post. RGV Ki Aag, which was a disgrace to Indian cinema. I don't even feel like a mention of it right now, this could be humor but I shall skip till..!!

Then I Rock. Two days of bad and average music rubbing my eyes, hemp wasted, tight sleep and etc. People come to gigs just to mosh. That is Bombay. Not that the capital was much cooler but then again, at least it was.

Brilliant stoner game. Once at a level, start. It just invents on its own as you discover new forms of laughter. Name a band and a song by them and the next person takes one word out of the whole "band - song" deal and names a new "band - song" with the same. e.g. - X says "Chemical Brothers - We Are The Night" and Y says "Pearl Jam - Who You Are" and thus forth. It just becomes. Nobody can feel left out and that is the primary motive.

Now, a week to go and then a two week count till I can afford a smile to say the least. She does not talk to me anymore. We don't communicate anymore. What is etched cannot be erased.

This could have been better.

"I Am Sure There Is A Better Way To Say What You Just Said. I Am Becoming More Like You."

Every evening sleeps over itself. I follow myself onto the stairs, neither one knows what’s happening. The further I come, the further it goes. I am a long way from home.

2200 hours. Of life that does not augur well for most stuck in it. Glory that is reduced to fragments of its usual self. All accolades dwindle in that one last attempt to feel sane. The skies are livid with obtuse pain; as they witness the haggard bodies scrambling across to reach over, do not get the point.

Its Wednesday. Its rheumatism. The erudite. Its Pearl Jam and then it is Ani DiFranco and then it is Sting.

In the midst of so many gigabytes of unarranged music, there is Pearl Jam's 'Leash'. "Troubled Souls Unite, We Got Ourselves Tonight". Just the beginning captivates, how I can stop the song then. "Get outta my fuckin' face." There is ''All Four Seasons' and there is Porcupine Tree's 'Lazarus', which when searched for results in Sting's 'The Lazarus Heart'. Had I told some, they would have come up with another "its a small world" tag. Unintelligent brooding is the norm of 2007. Though nothing suggests or portends a good or a bad outcome, it is the vicinity of those who move ever so happily that scare me to imagine what is happening. I am normal. But there is something missing. The medical circumstances break even with this trajectory of daily occurrences, frail self-rummaging through past anecdotes and tales of times there have been. Lazarus - Follow me down to the valley below. It’s almost like telling myself that I will somehow manage to complete this. Get over this agony of twisted falls and break silence. Tweed coats look spectacular in English summers. Radiohead's 'Thinking About You' comes out of nowhere, without me. Let us repent NOW. And blogger now saves my drafts automatically. Do not preach, I know what to say and when to say whatever it is that I wish to say.

In the normal life, it has not been hectic. But has been very tiring. I went out of the city towards the mountains this weekend, we drove an old Maruti 800 to Khandala and forth, losing almost half the car, if I may recall. Unintended it was as four of us just left city limits, breeching all posts and saving toll tax to just somewhere. Life flashes before one's eyes in certain instances despite death not being too imminent. One of those times. We stood with the car parked in darkness, next to the sound of 10 waterfalls in chorus. The bridge in front of us, and city lights out of context. Someone's bright idea of switching on the car's parking lights provided icing, to a cake still unbaked. We stood there, honest fireflies all around, we counting them, the picture that may eventually spell very little taken and listening to almost the only two songs on a whole. We then drove back, quiet, emancipated by a prompt trip, which was mere deafness in the silence that has engulfed this whole desire to reach ahead.

Radiohead's 'You And Whose Army' begins, the quaint Thom Yorke monotone ringing in a Thursday, much without that boring string in his voice. An elusive break later, and some further work completed for submissions next week, I am back to my favorite pass time. A nation hobby is what writing should be made to. Maybe someone new will come up with interesting means of describing 123 and whatever is so nuclear about it. Then I also know people who defend the leftist policies for their far-reaching thoughts and they can take everything along with them their death bed. Retardation, in the face of democracy. And then they say we should not have an unhappy life. What am I exactly writing? I do not know. But I want to make sense. I want to get across so much to everyone around without acting seemingly over excited and without that hint of sarcasm. I wish, I wish, I wish = Radiohead's 'The Bends'.

"Two jumps in a week, I bet you think that's pretty clever don't you boy.
Flying on your motorcycle, watching all the ground beneath you drop.
You'd kill yourself for recognition; kill yourself to never ever stop.
You broke another mirror; you're turning into something you are not."

Radiohead's 'High & Dry''. Uninteresting, I know. I have mastered the art of being random, as arbit as it is and trust me, you will never figure out a fucking pattern. However predictable I may become.

Ani DiFranco - "Art may imitate life, but life imitates TV."

Her.

I am still bothering myself with a simple query. Did I have to do this Delhi trip? Was it really that consequential? Nothing really materialized out of it. But then, I would not have achieved value addition in Mumbai either. Trying to construe what all of this could have really blended well into, there is but a little apprehension at going back. Sitting here staring out the aircraft window with Beck entertaining me, this happiness is hard to find. Music, which is so subtle in all means in which it is consumed, is what eventually makes the difference. Yesterday was more than typical depression. I do not know till when this would last. We will meet up once in six months and those two hours will be etched till I meet her again. One good thing out of this whole process is the fact that I can now afford to delete all her saved messages since the last time. As another new process of text has been validated and shall hopefully, be a certain means of getting up to each new dawn. Every time I meet her, it reconciles with me as to how much I still have to read in life. I stopped short of the Kafka collection; I am yet to complete so many classics, which stay rotting. Her chant of Virginia Woolf echoes through this whole grace, magnitude surpassing the want to pick up ‘to the lighthouse’ and get over with it. The best part about her is that I don’t feel like I have much to prove to her. She is happy narrating how her life has been (nothing new) but inculcates some sort of insanity in talk, as if it is yet exciting. She goes off on her old self, as our intelligent souls become fickle minded as we try to rate every mutual friend and every other idiot who chanced a meet with either. This time was slightly better off. We actually went off on a whole trail of India China discussion and eventually, settled the conclusion in sand. She does not know how much I love her.

Another question. What exactly in Love? I used to ask myself and knew for a surety that we love only once and I had been through the whole ordeal and the rest of my life and females I would end interacting with were mere reflections of a good time happening. But maybe it was not love the first time around. I cannot recall the last time I felt so depressed as soon as I left the company of anyone. Each time, well dressed she did come, I did drop her home, she still looked as radiant as she did when I had picked her up. I then changed the angle of the rear view mirror too look at myself out of curiosity and found a forlorn smile, emptied due to worn out eyes.

New Delhi. However much I might have mentioned it previously and compared it to Mumbai has that permanent authority. Ever calm without movement, it is the perfect embodiment of what not to do when peeved. It keeps away the grains that start me to feel wholesome. In a nutshell, the wide roads and empty skies, the daytime haze and nighttime shimmer, the whole not happening city. There is a stark difference yet. Delhi changes as people change, we actually hold power to look at it in our own way. The city adapts. Mumbai, on the other hand, makes a person change. It makes the whole public re think and dilute every notion of doing it ‘on their own’. Street spirit is emancipating and people have the ability to think different from day to day, all the while getting engulfed in their ability to make something new happen.

I wish I were an authority on some subject in life. I am but I do not know on what.
Like me always told her, a la radiohead, “she goes backward, I go forward, somewhere we shall meet”.

Night Delhi. Maybe it is life that beckons. Beck.

Dettol.

The ability to write has gone. Not exactly but it feels better to tell myself that. Because that is when the result seems reasonable, work well done.

Since two weeks, I have been upto more than or maybe not. I have many an achievments to talk to myself about. I have video-graphed a college show, had 8 and a half pitchers in less than 4 visits to toto's in 7 days flat, driven half way to and fro to a farmhouse on Mumbai outskirts semi drunk, swam for half a day in a 'talaab', heard a band play stage without monitors, got an apple, claimed a place on the 'poor joke' walk of fame - read for examples etc. Not interesting, I know. This is life. And yes, I am over with my law presentation and am enjoying moments spent in movies and music, all sourced from various people. I speak to one person on a daily basis and google my way out of this unholy spectrum of pessmistic joy.

I have to upload pictures, have money to repay, have marketing phone calls to make, project deadlines harbouring, a New Delhi trip starting tomorrow (first time when I cannot wait to get home), and so many people to tick off from the list of "people I like to talk to".

Examples as told above -

Q. What do you call Las Vegas the day it comes into fashion?
A. Las Vogues.

Q. When a Mumbai person says "apun", how do you reply?
A. Intended or Unintended.

I have also accomplished consumption of a Custard Apple in one hour, semi stuck to one place, eating it for all its worth, a state of brilliance. I have written poetry this past week. I have seen rain and the sun but I am not the only one.

I got to go home. I have to update this space before I realize in 2011 that I do not remember anything of what happened.

Fuck off.

When You Look Into An Abyss, The Abyss Also Looks Into You.

Perhaps this nay sounding and uninvolved voice has me asking questions I would have never asked. This particular regime of waking up, washing self, walking down, witnessing, and withering away by dusk, only to be semi rejuvenated at fall. A pursuit of non existing intangibles and this whole jargon filled tenure to get simple points across. Of foreign languages and perishable verbosity. Trying to fathom every reason behind not doing as planned and accumulating notional significance, every figure of speech anew. Brought into this cacophony subdued by melancholy strains, this whole void of expression which deters one from attempting to displace reasonable accounting doubts. This world of randomness, a whole paradigm lost in circumstance.

I am so bored nowadays despite everything that I can honestly amuse myself by just writing in brackets. The conscientious approach to everything, a fortuitously provided yet feeble attempt to leverage everything that starts becoming even a tad bit confusing, hollow and juxtaposed. Life is like the lyrics of a song you cannot understand all the words of, but the song is musically so good that you keep listening and replaying it, however monotonous everyone else might think it may get eventually. And every time, on repealed listen, you come across and are able to comprehend another word and that makes you want to hear it over and over again, till it makes my day.

Fortitude, this lack of exuberance and unchallenged euphoria. I am out of music which made me smile knowing not more than 0.3% of the world's population would have heard of it, the immaculate splendour and the trepidation with one may approach another. Mellowed by consequences and history, a subtle reminder of little moments encompassed within time.

A conclusion to my personal tryst with spiritual thoughts - there may be an objective reality which is the source/cause of our subjective experiences. However, since we can never experience this objective reality in itself, all we can ever experience is our own subjective experience of the representations of this objective reality and not that objective reality itself. The only manner in which we can say a particular object exists, is when it has been experienced by us personally. This is because we know nothing about this objective reality other than how this objective reality is represented subjectively to a being constituted such as we are.

"When you look into an abyss, the abyss also looks into you."

Famous quote or just another bone of contention?

An easy solution to conclude this would have been -
The personification of the abyss is clearly a poetic strategy. Without a magical poet's hat, I can say no more.
Straightforward but further thought and introspection results in more.

So is it a mirage or an illusion? I think we create our own reality, so whatever we think is real, is real to us. Breaking down knowledge is just as real (or unreal) as making it up. If one is implying an existence of absolute reality, then I, honestly, have no clue as to what’s real. philosophy questions more than it answers, ridiculous. It is like the subject is creating the subject and that creates more matter for another subject.

Nietzsche is fucking with my mind and I know it is not too good. He has put beyond me the realms of typical modern day thoughts and the art of conventional thinking has further lost itself. Maybe all he did wish to refer to could be summed up as self-consciousness, but he perhaps was not being so grammar specific then.

It is easier to sum up Backward Integration than put my mind to Bipolar Distinctions. This parabola of misappropriated and consigned parameters that are changing this whole gamut that is still to be put to perspective. `

Science doesn't cope with the abyss, it doesn't mind the abyss, but takes it as is and uses its division to explain to us the laws that govern us. (except for reflection upon law itself, upon the abyss, that is what it doesn't do and that isn't bad or a flaw of science, not at all.) Art, on the other hand, confronts us with the abyss. Love experiences the abyss and division, but also that division is what makes love possible and meaningful. It is a longing to cross the divide and with that partial success. Love makes experience of being together and not being together at that same time possible, one can hold the contradiction. Practical abyss. Sensual pleasure throws us in the abyss, loss of the division, temporarily by which its return shows us the deepness of the abyss, the absoluteness and beauty of division and its momentary overcoming. The abyss exists in the likely and unimaginable reflections of illumination and animated sense. It's also the essence of every shadow our towering intellect creates. There is no further authenticity to whatsoever thoughts I type.

I've "seen" the abyss while lying on bed, I looked too much into life and found a null void staring back at me, which caused terrible afflictions. The abyss is life without an optimistic blindfold over your eyes.

There are some people for whom differences of opinion - whether philosophical or political - are a bit like differences in hair or eye colour. Such differences do not on the whole get in the way of forming friendly relations.
And there others for whom these are much more important. Such people will find it very difficult to relate to those whose opinions are different from their own; they will perhaps be able to tolerate certain differences, but they will always have a particular area of sensitivity where the meaning of the slogan "the personal is political" becomes crystal clear, and they will be unable to form any kind of relationship of trust or intimacy with another whose opinions are diametrically opposed to their own.

However much I would like to be the first kind of person, I must confess to being the second....

Prosecutors Shall Be Trespassed.

Would I wish to be known by a sobriquet (the good type) or a pre cursor in my eulogy, down the line, a potent social being who was very much involved in activities that everyone seems to be involved with? Would I want a street, toilet, website etc dedicated? Am I really one to work that hard or do something worth a mention such that it does get public attention? In 21 years of foolish existence, I have already ensured I will not get a nickname preceded by Honest, Happy, Fun, Cool, Rockin' etc. Not because I could not had I wished so, but I am more or less, already better off. This non eloquent touch to everyday life, eccentric thoughts that pulsate my mind and take a heavier toll than reading Selected Readings and the same which torture this endless realm of fortunate couplets dosed within an ethereal surface called 'self'. I do not violate legal guidelines so far as they do not have an issue with me. There is no real anger to vent, no such purpose...

Real Life 101. It is Wednesday, known popularly in my life as the 'middle day' of the week as it ought to be so. I am settled on the second floor of a building nestled next to a traffic signal which circumscribes the road more famously referred to as the 3rd largest 'red light' region in Mumbai. I am very serious, not that I have much to do with anything I have said thus far. In a city, where every mosquito bite before sleep seems like an attack of malaria, dengue or chikungunya. Where surface tension eases the past tense in current terms. I wish this was American Beauty (refer to second or third last post on page) and I was playing a vital role and screaming "this is the first day of the rest of my life." Unfortunately, I am not even remotely close to the more than one hundred enthusiastic people I see everyday at this gory reminder called NMIMS, people doing something or the other. Running from floor to floor, networking, making notes while reading a newspaper (the 4th most retarded thing ever), and taking part in whatever is happening, without acknowledging the reality that they cannot make tails or heads out of it. Where does this energy come from? Is this the joy they potentially rip off from this whole monotonous exercise of 'pinning the donkey's tail' and pseudo prententious involvement enough to suffice the whole purpose of this institution called MBA. I am as confused as a BCG person when he first read the GE matrix. (I admit in a post below that I suck at analogies, so shut the fuck up).

I heard Snape is dead. Good for you, HP7 fans. I am glad if the fact that Rowling may not write another is true. Why should she want more? She has had more than her share of attention, considering the utter garbage that she managed to garner and distribute over the past decade onto bookshelfs. Does she really need more money? I mean, honestly, who the fuck is she making a fool out of anyway, little kids without a clue? Whats this whole deal with "kids are back to reading with the new book" and the media taking note of how this whole phenomenon has kids taking time off cyber sex and focusing on finishing this horrendous piece of fantasy literature called something followed by deathly hallows. Does not anyone realize that this hype has had the little children of 2007 doing a quick read for around 20 hours all of this year to finish one book and then getting back to typical life. I may not and may never have a valid point to criticize the book with, but this whole drama is creating hazards that make normal life unsubstantial.
Did I miss the bus?

A Newspaper To Block Ze Door.

There is something or the other which always bothers someone or the other. Everything from figments of my imagination to notions of how well the next instances shall pan out. An overdose of depression to rumination of delight, it was Sunday.

Saturday was fun too. Wine and Poker ensued and had all ingredients of a perfect night. While I lost Rs. 40 on a basic game, another odd one made Rs. 800 on one round of 'matka' alone. And then followed a time which was so high in expectations from what I had been asked to believe. Gullible myself.

I hate people who do not involve themselves when the remaining are in activity, not because they are not interested but because they are unable to understand whats up and then spoil it for those in the queue. An whole evening wasted. People who get so inquisitive as if it is their birthday party and they still do not know their age. Retards.

Either way.

Today morning began early, Sunday Morning - Maroon 5. And I left for the best parts of Mumbai. The same old. The good part was when with an old friend, slightly intoxicated, we walked into the hallowed national gallery of modern art and spend up to 2 hours just staring at masterpieces. Interpreting what they meant to us etc. I want to meet a certain Nalini Ramani who has some really amazing stuff there and especially, and if they are depressed enough to say 'hello' to me, M.F. Hussain and Tyeb Mehta. Splendour in the heart of the city.

Got back. And thus, did nothing all over again.

This faded vanity, an attempt to sublime discussion that is just about becoming nada and this lack of provoked sadness, that too which is becoming prolonged. I have this tendency to get lost in the middle of sentences, on the way to the station, and while deciding upon 'selected reading'. Goodnight.

Please Read To Understand A Dominant Component Of Statistical Theory...!!

Once upon a time, X, L, and M decided to go for a walk. They walked together for 37 and a half minutes before L decided to take a breather. Now L is a typical mentally challenged fellow. The one you you used to to make fun of when your school took you for NGO visits at Prayas or Shiksha. Thus, he takes a break. M, who is mentally ok but technically, special, sits so as to provide L much needed company. Now, M is lacking in the organ department. He does not have a liver. One of the 2. No wait. Is there not like 1 liver only. I am a commerce student, I do not know. And he has 203 bones. The 204th and 205th were lost were lost from the hand while trying to feed his dog and the 206th is inherent. This he has never said but I know because even his mother's chest has a rib missing. How do I know?
Anyhow. The break is currently happening when L decides to get up, he does not know why but does know that he wants to. Those typically retarded children without a purpose in life. No, actually. M gets up and they start walking towards the kirane ki dukaan. Akin to Napoleon Dynamite, they walk, shouldering each others hopes and giving fateful company. Suddenly M runs onto the road, at an incoming Maruti 800 and watching that, L gets irritated and says "loser" and keeps walking towards the kirane ki dukaan. Then he realizes that M is 30 metres from the car and will be hit in 30 seconds if he keeps running at his current speed of 1 metres per second. He gets all paranoid and starts running at double the speed, so as to catch hold. When he finally does, he gives him one tight slap. And says "one tight slap" as he slaps. Okay they, YOU are not the only one who watches MTV. He siphons off the sweat from M's brow, and starts shouting at him in the typical retarded fashion, explaining why it is not worth it being hi by a still car more so due to the fact that the court will not provide any compensation nor shall it ever be a hindrance to anyone else's life. M looks dejected and ponders for a moment and they decide that it had better be a car that was coming AT them (in motion too) and it was nothing less than a Honda Accord. Now, they are settled and they start walking to the shop again.
"Hey fuckha", shouts M, "remember the last time we were using the computer together". "4 Wednesdays ago", L retorts. "No fuckha", screams back M, "last Tuesday, when you were using the keyboard and me the mouse". L says he knows what M means but is not really in a habit to talk as much as M and thus, he will not reply because verbal communication produces energy which can be as efficient as a butterfly flapping its gay wings and that can lead to evolutionary changes in the way this world proceeds and nature becomes and more importantly, very soon movies shall be begin to be made on "the special people effect" and the last thing he wants is to be compared to a butterfly, especially in 2007 when there is so much global warming. M nods, knowing very well what L means. After all, he also harbours the ambition of being a space tourist or a Geo tourist, whichever he makes first. The kirane ki dukaan is 387 and a quarter step away when they start reminiscing their school days.
L & M had first met in class at a 'special help' school run by the Birlas in Ranchi. A class of 37 of the best delinquents and cases varying from 'missing limb' to 'wife beating' were registered there. Trying to act cool and wanting to be more active in class, as they had been back benchers in nursery, they took the second seat and sat together for an entire semester. Both very active in studies and topping the class regularly with 73 and 86 marks out of 100 respectively. 243 and a 3 quarter steps left.
All of a sudden, they break out of dreams and get into another. This is equal to an episode of jassi jaisi koi nahin when a bubble used to form near a character as the character slept into a dream. They thought of the days when they fooled the college cricket coach and went on to play in the blind cricket tournament and won it for their college and then were then picked to represent "Bihar" in 60-60 matches. They had won it and were subsequently picked to play for India and both donned the blue colours of pride on the day they stepped out at MCG to represent India in the blind cricket world cup. They were caught on suspicion of doping and using performance-enhancing drugs and tested positive for Erythropoietin. They were deported to India when they tried to flee Melbourne for Perth and that it was also proved they are not blind. They came back in the historic summer of the year in which Fiji had an Indian PM removed via a vicious coup. They wrote with pride on the beach "we was here". When they went back to check it out in 2003, the sign was gone and that removed their weird notion that a sea beach has a surface similar to a moon's. 97 steps. And thinking of all that, they start walking "tip top tip top". Like the way they used to do in their village while making the toss. 83 steps.
The Kirane Ki Dukaan is not in sight and they eagerly step up and meet other people who they have decided to ignore ever since they started listening to black metal as they think that makes them cool and kvlt and what else not. So they decide to ignore which is a very vital thing in this story as then I would have had to tell you the entire conversazione which would be like that 'about to die' chap called Anand who used to ask people about some chaat or what not they had to share when they met neat the erection minar in South Delhi. I know. 15 steps.
'There There" says M, trying to mock the subtle genius of Thom Yorke by using the song title while L fists his hand with that being followed with a \m/ sign to show how un metal his can never become and how Death and Kreator are the greatest bands in the whole black world. 7 Steps.
As they take the final steps, they go into slow motion, treading with care as they enter the Kirane Ki Dukaan and look around the Kirane Ki Dukaan. The owner looks at them and smile and asks them what they want to which they reply "nothing, we just came to make a fool out of ya, woohoo, gay people pride".
I know YOU are not pissed off yet because of a mystery. I have mastered this great art of story telling and you want to know who the fuck is X..?

Do not deny, I know.

Well, I will tell you.

According to Wikipedia,
x commonly represents an unknown variable. Even though any letter can be used, x is the most common choice. This usage can be traced back to the Arabic word šay' شيء = “thing”, which in translated algebra texts and similar was taken into Old Spanish with the pronunciation “šei”, which was written xei, which was soon habitually abbreviated to x. (The Spanish pronunciation of “x” has changed since.) But some sources say that this x is an abbreviation of Latin causa which was a translation of Arabic شيء. That started the habit of using letters to represent quantities in algebra. In mathematics, an “italicized x” () is often used to avoid potential confusion with the multiplication symbol. By extension beyond mathematics, “X” has come to represent a generic placeholder variable whose value is unknown or secret, as in project X or mister X.
x is the usual symbol for the variable represented on the horizontal axis (ordinate) in analytic geometry.
In Roman numerals, X denotes ten (there are also separate Unicode characters for this number, 0x2169 “Ⅹ” and 0x2179 “ⅹ”).
The symbol (×), similar to the lowercase x, denotes the multiplication of two numbers, the cross product of two vectors, or the Cartesian product of two sets.

Remove Formatting From Selection.

When you enter class 4 minutes late and realize you are not going to be given attendance, the whole motivation to study goes for a toss. You sit there, disinterested, thoughts running faster than a speed gun and knowing there is not much to say or make a fool out of yourself, all over again. So I decide to leave the lecture, go to the computer place and type out all these mind numbingly brilliant and totally eloquent thoughts that have been rummaging through my mind. I make a short detour but as I descend stairs, take a favourable seat in the laboratory and sit down to type, I have half forgotten the purpose and I feel like an amnesiac all over again.

Inundations caused by slow reprise, and heavy morning rain can be quite a cause for depression. The mood swings, absent therapeutic talk, the lack of the company of one, and total delusion in what the day is going to be. A post without any pictures as willing to first procure them from e-mail and them upload is all an effort. And Wednesday was anyway never a day for show off.

Of everything that bears a striking yet uncanny resemblance to something I have already written, once before.

S&M, A&E, & MBA.

And,

6 Days. Yes, a long long time. But I will not start with blaming myself.

I would have ideally written before, and ideally been polite throughout the day, but its not an ideal world, is it?

I run temperature. Been more than a year since I had such high fever. I do know people who never get fever, however feverish they might feel. Fever must be like a myth for them. Running it again? This is already the most absurd paragraph ever written. Remember pinhead and the fact that there is beauty in suffering and torture. Hellraiser, it was. Its that authoritarian nature. The want or rather, desire to control another being. This results in masochism and I now do know the cause of all pain. Inflict.

Disconcerting views, innocuous thoughts, and self deprecating humour. All of this now, a subtle part of life which is average. I am just happy at the knowledge that I am going home in middle August. One can get so bored at times that you start counting to the stone age. Its different than before. A semi abrupt purpose and withheld happiness.

There is no real method of measuring life, joy count etc. Can I say I have a better life if I see better movies than before or can I say 2006 was a better annual because I got my hands on some of the best music ever. Can I, Can we?

This one is from Salzburg. One does not in slightest bit, need to be even an average camera chap. Just stand at the spot on the bridge on the Salzach, that which is already demarcated and click away to glory. The lights are everyday reflection. What a quaint town, full of Sound Of Music and Mozart, neither of which gave much of a fuck about it once they had become, per se.

And Harry Potter has released and the mania is as gay as it ever got. All people who read the book or like the movie should be forced to kill themselves. Coming Soon (like I always have said) : A post on Harry Potter and its imbecile fan base.

And what about A&E and MBA? Well, even I don't know. I cannot think.

Cold Silence Has A Tendency To Atrophy Any Sense Of Compassion...!!

...that, which was tOOl, was a good line.

It has been ages since I last wrote in and it seems years since I did anything constructive. MBA is hectic, around 40 times more hectic as compared to the situation in the previous post. Over burdened, and still nothing much to blog home about. It is Monday.

Reminds me of another picture, which makes one feel a tad bit stifled and unsettled. Especially because you walk through the whole of Dachau on the outskirts of Munich all happy visiting a concentration camp, I obviously without a tour guide so as to save money. And then on entry is this gate, which one only reads properly on exiting as the initial stages make one not so concerned about everything. The happiness dims through Hitler's plans which were amazingly well done. How the stupid Jews were fooled and killed and everything else. Of how 30,000 were killed and tortured and used as traditional guinea pigs in those days.



Translated into "Work Will Set You Free".

I don't want to write more today. My head aches and bad news from home has me further a bit not-too-happy. A need for Disprin in one hour. Till soon enough.

Plastic Papercups & Optimum Utilisation Of Resources.

Brahmaputra (2005) - to start wit. While crossing the river from Arunachal to Assam (check 4th or 5th post from bottom for another from the same state). This was a spectacular journey, of recall. The boat took its time as it rode from hills (semi-Chinese ones, before I create political controversy) to tea plantations on the other side. Nothing as such is brilliant, else the tree leaves that come on their own in the picture, occupying a staged role as if they are accustomed to their picture being taken. This is fun and integral to my daily escapades nowadays. Pick up some old pictures from the past 5 years of kvlt travel and then try and think of the emotion that did flood my mind back then. All the ones in this blog may have nothing to do with what I felt that, just a Stark reminder of a good life that I had managed to have.
Reality, this time, is surprising. Its an oft repeating thing that is so cliched that it hardly makes sense. For a person who took years to realize how horrid he was at analogy, I should shut up. But yet, this willingness to write in the most utter of statements, that I shall laugh at, were I read this link 'gain in 2009 or around. 2 years is not far off. I still am my cynical self, a firm believer in the fact that economy is headed in a downward spiral pretty soon, and jobs being
1. Scarce
2. Transferable
3. *one more point he said*,
shall become an 'economic good'. One shall struggle to make ends meet. I am so confident and will be okay if such is to become.

This week has transpired into substance worth zilch. Those harboured dreams of becoming a poet and maybe, sitting across the bay or in the mountains, writing line after line, have crashed. Hobby, it remains, but the whole facade of imagination I wished is slowly being curtailed, sans the happiness. The curtains leaf over every hope, bringing down all those predicaments I complicated myself within.

And despite my escapades this year, I feel further deprived when I talk to whatever collection of whatever I still have left. Someone is in Tokyo, else biking down (or up?) to Ladakh, another just flew into Mumbai day before on his way to Cochin, another is now in Sydney doing her own forms of randomness, and many more have plans in store. And worst is the fact that they heap it all on me. Comes back full circle for all the misery I piled on them over the past few months/years. Stifled in anticipation as to meet some people soon, I carry one nonetheless.

College, Friday. Odd start. When 4 different professors give different interpretations to the word - "CONSUMER", one is supposed to be baffled, a precarious situation more uncertain than trying to determine the meaning of life. Or maybe we have been given the freedom to create the reality we experience because we are supposed to learn from it. Or maybe not. I'm more baffle than I was yesterday, actually this becomes every time my mind becomes over exercised. Situation demands such.
I keep asking myself 'why'?. But then again, some music is better than other music, some songs more appropriate and meaningful than another. I must be the most obsessed "fake plastic trees fan" in the whole white world (nobody cares about the blacks - they are below the poverty line). Its a complete song, not in the 'bohemian rhapsody' musical arrangement manner, but in its own emotionally challenging manner. The song can make one drop to the knees and cry. Thom Yorke himself broke down, sincerity.
"She lives with a broken man, a cracked polystyrene man
who just crumbles and burns.
He used to do surgery, for girls in the eighties, but gravity always wins."
and,
"And It Wears Me Out, it wears me out, It wears me out, it wears me out. If I could be, who you wanted....All the time.."

The answer to unhappiness is both liberating and infuriating, but here it is. Happiness doesn't depend on anything that has or has not happened in the past, nor does it depend on your future prospects (thank God, eh?). The simple fact is, in order to be happy, one must DECIDE to be happy. I conclude that I must suck at decision making, thus.

Give Thursday Some Credit..

How can life, that was still calmer till yesterday, gain enough impetus to become arrogant and irritating in less than 24 hours. It is basically 3 factors - The people, the people, and the people.

Yesterday evening ended on a happy evening at a Sports Bar in Andheri and was followed by Fuzzball and Pool, free of cost, yippe..!!
Today was a little less certain, the day began in usual rush and was followed by heavy uncertainty as this law professor came into the picture. He startled me and then sent me to sleep. Asleep, I heard him murmuring all kinds of random alliterations that would be required to our lifestyles. I had half a mind to correct him at exchanges, especially the stuff he said about us reading books and our decomposed knowledge but I did not have the energy. That was followed by 4 more lectures and just when I would have fallen off into deep slumber for the 6 PM to 9 PM evening show, this really interesting teacher stepped up, a certain catholic and did random stand up comedy, incorporated into his marketing lecture and got me back to life. Through the day, so many X's down, and near to 7 cutting chais, it feels good getting to write something NOW. This day is horrid and whatever was considered fun is not anymore. Especially with Sunday's exam looming, more and more projects, place comm/alumini comm applications (optional) etc. The A&M of MBA. I dislike 'definitions' too, Mr. D'Souza.

This was a quick on. Coming soon : A Post On Pinkpop 2007 and good stories.

This is good diary entry, at its normal worst.

Tooth Decay & Knowledge.

I shall start with Paris. What was a one day stop over in May now seems like a lifetime spent in the capital of France. A day, full of rain, as I had got out of Paris Bercy and realized the train was from Gare du Nord. Far off and had spent 2 hours just trying to figure this out on a classic french map, all the while getting drenched, and trying to reclaim some peace of mind. Gare du Nord was finally available in sight, and in hindsight, going there first seems like a splendid decision, especially the blank look of its Belgian architecture based platforms with no trains coming in or going out at that moment when my eyes did shadow it completely.

This is the Louvre which was the first sight I did visit before heading west (atleast in my direction plan) for Notre Dam. Did a bit of cleaning on the picture to give it an 'evening' feel, and now it feels the gloom it did always deserve. The next is from near the Notre Dam during the evening. What a lovely walk it was all the way from wherever I was coming from, all alone, no one to disturb me, the wine bottle purchased. The island had it owns charm, and the Turkish 'Kebabs' drowned in the wine's spirit. No photoshop at all and if I recall correct, this was the only 1 hour during the day when it did not drizzle a bit.This last one is while walking from the 'Louvre' to 'Champs De Alleys' in rain, late evening. With the bottle of wine still in tow, restricting myself from jumping out in pale excitement. The transient nature of trees which looked so "Autumn" in early summer. Tourists, which otherwise flooded towns like army ants, were in reduced numbers, and it was a true walk to remember for me.
Now, harsh reality again. It is near two days and this habit of writing in here is still not diminished. Which is actually a great thing. Actually, a good thing. But in class, a professor recommended a book which supposedly takes one from "good to great". It is difficult living in 2007, since everyone does not seem to have read at all and if any have, their favorite books range from "seven habits of highly effective people" to Shiv Khera's "You Can Win". It is almost as if before the books were written, people did firmly believe they never could win. I did give the former a try and put it down almost instantly. Not that I am any more motivated or confident compared to the rest, but it is just this matter that is so repulsive. People taking everything for granted. Coming soon is a post about "things I hate, things that annoy me, things that I will never do..." etc. But still, these have taken expectation levels to such extreme depths that now, when someone claims a favorite as "Angels & Demons", it certainly is consolation. And I am sure half of more say it just to act cool in the sense that like other run of the mill stray idiots, they did not say "The Da Vinci Code". But I do quite enjoy people who know how to read well and have read good books but now rather, wait for the book to be made into a flick and then make the most of it. Maybe they have something good to do in their simple life.

I also cannot stand people who use the words "buddy", "bravo", "rockin". Actually, those who used to say "rockin'" back in 2004 have themselves taken a dislike towards saying it. I last used it in maybe 2001-02. I must be way cooler. Now, the sun has been doing some catching up and movement is becoming dull. Yesterday, as in Tuesday, was synonymous of any typical Tuesday, when one wakes up, knowing in advance it is the most hated day of the week and yet makes a feeble attempt to whisper through the day. The classes were a drag. The first class had this faculty fellow who seemed like one of those people who come to Bombay to act in movies and are unable to secure even back-end roles and thus, resort to other honourable means of income, never the while forgetting their initial pursuit of happyness and sticking to portraying their love for acting in whatever occupation they complete daily. The professor told us how many adversities he had been through in life, and how he had to come to Bombay from Karachi in 1947 as a refugee. I did not feel sorry for him. I tried to, but alas, maybe it was the drama he included while making it so. Wait a second, did I just say back-end there. LOL. I also hate people who use "LOL". It is OUT OF VOGUE, you 1957 born people.

I myself feel old. My bones do not permit me sports to a feasible level, my teeth are losing colour due to ash deposits (hah!!), and I feel tired every 15 minutes, AND I go off to arbit sleep while in conversation. Time to change sleep habits, and utilize more of the free time, that is around 23 hours/day. I have again, become accustomed to letting people finish their lines and sentences, let them, I tell myself. Once they are done, react in the way you generally do and they will themselves realize foolishness.

The second class was this teacher who came to pronounce a subject called "Written Communication in Management". I mistakenly acknowledged that I write for more than half an hour a day at a stretch and then she had to come back to me more than once. I hate teachers like her, especially the red colour hair she had. Disappointing and not expected from a sensible teacher. *does a spell check on whatever is written so far and realized he does not know how to spell HAH, LOL, and HAPPINESS*.

And then last night was spent playing FREE CELL. What a good game, I like such stuff where there is a certainty of a result, either way. Today morning, or Wednesday (I say the day names out aloud for simple re assurance) was spent in momentarily waking up and going back to sleep only to wake up again and rush through the showers and run to college. College was nothing and till twenty minutes ago, us students had become so enthralled with the whole MBA concept that we took to doing self preparatory case studies. Talk about initiative.

I have to thank the Chai Waala outside college in this post. Dude, if you do ever read this, thank you.

The Delhi winters. I miss their charm. Each morning used to seem to be colder than the last, and each morning was more difficult to step out of a warm bed into a cold world. I used to shiver, hug myself (what a nice phrase - to hug yourself), push my head through a cardigan, go to the window, though more out of bravado than anything else, and stare out at a cold world. And I used to say to myself, it is colder than yesterday. The nights were even special. The morning russet mantle clad had not yet come out to walk over the dew. And in the darkness, you could hear the calm ticking of the wall clock and other musical insect sounds.

To twelve hours of classes tomorrow..!

July, "Our occasional critic."

This is much inspired by Mr. Behram Contractor's 36 years of writing. All apologies for plagarism. Sue me, you Afternoon Despatch & Courier or Mid-Day people.

Somebody once had recounted how there was this pastoral charm about Monday mornings. They begin on a sullen note, everyone taking time, haggard faces looking tired, trying to get accustomed to the thought of a whole week that may lie ahead of themselves. This is still about Bombay. People, confused and lethargic, a not so sturdy resemblance of their weekend self.

Doing an occupation, which contains weeks of toil, which most would have thought they would quit when they first took to but were left submitting months and years of thankless effort to. Most of them with jobs that, if they were not done, would not matter. They take the some morning local with the same pretentious looks, knowing nobody gives a fuck as to who they are or what they do. Solidarity. The harsh cruelty of our over employed country.


Coming back to reality, the harsh type. I have been wondering why a moment can't become that is 'truely' grandiose? A moment that may engulf all forms of emotion and enrich my life a bit more. These tiny crevices of time are slowly giving way to this rambling that I could easily continue well past midnight but there is certain joys that I would rather make use of than waste time piling myself with more stuff that hardly makes sense. The cities have moved in the shape of a fertiliser plant with all its ancillaries. Where there were paddy fields, there are concrete stacks. But the roads have improved and the driving is smoother and everything is approached that much faster. I still firmly disregard the theory of "everything happens for good". But then again, when has it? I could have typically assumed a couple of tips from all accidents in life but the (in) human psyche is such that whatever is not persistent shall soon be forgotten. These pulsating ribs and increasing weight, the dilemna called 'thought'. Slightly poetic. As I learn to accept the chances of congenital diseases and stock market spreads.


Today, was no better than yesterday. Yesterday was bad enough but there was Die Hard to be seen at Sterling and it actually did transpire into today morning, being an eleven post meridian show. And the movie was actually fun. The same old "America is the only nation left in the world...no wait...it is THE only country left...and there is BUT one person who shall save us again.." And then Mr. Willis enters and tries to understand the digital world, making so many mistakes. Think how easily the kid could have actually dismantled the computer system and retrieved information had Bruce uncle not decided to be rude on the phone to the important villains. And they forcefully made the female playing the negative role unzip her top to a proper extent. Its amazing how these fashion designers manage that. The top cuts just fit perfectly, never too low, never too high, revealing just about enough for anyone to be curious to concentrate more. The accurate acute (obtuse in special cases) angle and the formatted buttons that shall never open however wide she may stretch her arms, or jump from floor to floor, etc. Why was Bruce Willis even fighting her? Die HARD.

And today was warm. I actually wish the rains were unkind to the population and hit big time tomorrow, again.

The people out here seem to be of two types. Those who say they enjoy the monsoon and those who say they abhor it. Those who return to the hostel or their rooms as fresh and dry as they were when they left in the morning. And those who return home in the night, looking like drowned rats. If you are enjoying the weather this week, you belong to the first type. If not, you belong to the second.


Tuesday's going to be gone, with the rain.

Floods And The Art Of Them...

"Ay boss, ek coffee deneka..."

Thus, it happened. What started as drizzle at 3 A.M. turned into fast precipitation in an hour, and by the break of dawn, symmetrical, many a kilometres per hour rain. But it was brilliant. The hostel became an island, as the closest gutter overflowed, giving us immense joy as we got to call our place 'riverside apartments'. The stench early after the rains ended, is another story. The high tide further aided the depression over the Arabian Sea and by afternoon yesterday, the whole bunch was a bundle of joy. That was till the electricity was tripped off and we were told the mess was semi-underwater and with time, rations might run out and thus, it led to afternoon siesta to overcome laziness, either way. Awoke, transpiring into some intense thought, provoking ourselves to go get ourselves an Old Monk and with it, almost Rs. 300 plus worth of food materials for the night, absurd. A long night which ended with Tarun, myself, and Sharadh just somehow managing the whole bottle without really get high. Good going, folks.

I would reward myself more for this picture than the B&W photoshop. A spectacular motion captured, as people scurried for cover from the Seaface and I gained enough time to spoil the camera. But either way, whatever makes ME happy. And that was wrong on my part, according to the communications professor, it is rude to write in capitals. Sounds like one is shouting at the other, is that not the point anyway?

And now, it becomes Sunday. A day when a normal and lazy myself would generally take time to get out from the right hand side of the bed before just randomly doing nothing at all. Unshaven and unwashed, it is that day of the day when you look best, an averag. e hair day and not bothered in the least about how life proceeds. After garam tea, and lunch, one can adjust some time in retrospect or rather, introspect of how and what life has become and where it shall take me.

But today, I woke up to get out and take the Western Line, the 1040 slow from Ville Parle to Churchgate, a BEST from the station and before I knew, rain and Colaba beckoned. There is something about this part of Bombay. Its real, its jovial, and it can make me make my day any time of the year.

It is the reason why I get up from my seat and head to the train gate, as soon as the train crosses Mahalaxmi. Standing there, watching the line proceed, just to check out the train lines and view along the West, the ever dirty yet gracious Police Gymkhana, that double tennis court, the majestic Wankhede, a patch of ground which is forever flooded (even if there is basic showers) and a clean hockey turf along with the Marine Drive coast. There is a reason a Santa Cruz or Bandra or Goregaon will never be Bombay and that is it.

Those 2 minutes the train does pause at Marine Lines is enough to remind anyone at all of Jaane Bhi Do Yaaron and the flyover in the background makes it much more obvious. "Hum Honge Kamiyaab..Ek Din..." What selfish singing, then.

This is a brilliant picture and I don't remember whom to credit it to. But its brilliant. The tag line on the truck outdoes the Robert Frost lines in the movie I just spoke of. The sweet precious rain drops fall after one another or rather, in tandem, just becoming a pool as they touch the concrete, the smell further paralysing any form of movement in me. A sense of happiness evolves as monsoon takes control. The most expensive real estate in India is mere resemblance to form a background was someone to take a picture of me from a boat on the sea.

A disruption in routine. I still stand still. Moved by an average weekend with glimpses of why I am not the happiest person in the world. But I have learnt one important lesson through yesterday, Old Monk is not exactly as good as it used to be sometime ago.

And hence, the last bit of weekend hath past. A will to move out of this safe periphery called 'town' is becoming rapid by the minute. That is the splendour of life. A boring, monotonous, and a devoid of emotion life that can be made to seem 'better than usual' by simply writing it out. Not that I really credit myself with much.

"boss, ek coffee aur dena..."

As The Rain..

There comes a time when someone tries to make abundantly clear how unnecessary another is to them. And then the interest trails off.

Friday. One of the best days ever invented. Its more to do with it's strategic placement, a pre cursor to every weekend. And thus, we are happy. Thursday was a good long conclusion to the last two weeks and other drizzle. It's been raining since last morning and after 30 plus hours, the same weather that was eagerly awaited has become literal pain.

What has made this day confident after last night's something is American Beauty. A movie that can range from shocking to ironically sublime while simply describing a malfunctioned family. Brilliant. And despite not being a suspense thriller kind of a flick, it manages to capture thought, interlude after interlude. And then there are those moments that flicker from genius to 'made within constraint' to outright class and never making the story (which may come across as a tad bit superficial) seem even a bit OTT. Then the following sequence which is a killer amalgamation of perfect thoughts -

RF : I was filming this dead bird.
Angela :: Why?
RF: Because it's beautiful.

or maybe,

"It was one of those days when it's a minute away from snowing and there's this electricity in the air, you can almost hear it. And this bag was, like, dancing with me. Like a little kid begging me to play with it. For fifteen minutes. And that's the day I knew there was this entire life behind things, and... this incredibly benevolent force, that wanted me to know there was no reason to be afraid, ever. Video's a poor excuse, I know. But it helps me remember... and I need to remember... Sometimes there's so much beauty in the world I feel like I can't take it, like my heart's going to cave in. "

These are truely genius moments captured so well on camera. But again, whats set apart is set apart.
But then, this is one of those rare occasions when I like a movie which is genuinely enjoyed by everyone. Unlike movies like Forrest Gump (a sad gay flick), The Godfather - both I and II (kill me, yes), The Matrix (outright dumbness) etc.



Found this random picture on of my CDs. Struck me as 'worth it'. It's fascinating how the picture was there with me all these years and I never really paid attention, much. And now it seems like a metaphor for many a days spend. North East was unusual fun.

Its lovely how the Sun sets on the river, surrounded by the trees.

Enough of time pass now on this computer, time to go live a bit.

Sadistic Pleasure And Forrest Gump.

Midnight and a bike ride behind a hostel fellow brought back a flood of memories of playing second fiddle to Tadasmi as we narrowed down most of Delhi, Old Delhi, and more over the past couple of years. The last day for which I am in debt (adjective). The last day Guinness and cognac and a couple of Romeo Julietas sound as royal as our asinine lives did ever get. A picture that defines the day, the rest as another friend remarked "are soooooooooooooo wannabeeeeeeeee". Hence, never the mind should yourself.

Coming back to 3 AM arbitrary. Am I the only one who laughed as the kid who appeared as little Tom Hanks or 'Forrest' swooped around on one foot with the other dangling behind? That was as early as 4 years ago and has been a part of my neuro system since.

I still often cite to many people the 'girl child theory'. Eons ago, sitting in high school, we were discussing the issue of want for a male child with adequate ease when either Sukrit or Gautam, in a very worldly wise manner came up with a unique scenario were they have to have a female child. Take her to the hospital window and go "oops...". There she goes...

People lament when I repeat the same, a very honest tone though. One moron actually ended up saying "What if the hospital was just a ground floor". I told him I would take the girl child to chowpatty and then come out three minutes later screaming "high tide, high tide, high tide..". Much to most people's dismay, a little lighter too. HA HA!!

I have also come to believe this specific notion that technology is taking its revenge and alongside, a toll on me. Having ignored it all these years, it refuses to occur on time nowadays. My laptop is still due and a postpaid connection verification and start process took a shocking 10 days. That's efficiency for Orange/Hutch/Vodafone/Essar, whatever they call them.

There is this thing too which ensured I fall in love with a song, all over again, at least twice a week. The latest have been Coldplay's The Scientist but the one howering around my membrane without an attempt to decline is Champagne Supernova by you know who.

"How many special people change?
How many lives are living strange?
Where were you while we were getting high?
Slowly walking down the hall
Faster than a cannonball
Where were you while we were getting high?
Someday you will find me
Caught beneath the landslide
In a champagne supernova in the sky"

Read the line in Bold. It's so real. So perfect a situation like everything is. The real Natural Blues.

Time for presentations too, first one coming soon and I am bothered in the least, or not. There is absolutely no room for tension of any sort to rich in thus far. What has to happen shall and shall exit leaving behind the trace which will make me the person I will become. Conflicting thoughts which are as absurd as the situation I am in right now. Good Night.

There is a pronounced high tide in Mumbai on Saturday (June 30th) at 1142 hours. Make the most of it, shall it be a predict of the Met Department which I firmly believe does not believe in R&D.

Till then, and more business plans including stuff that shall be explained as they becomes. Shut Up, already.

Wasted Reprise

Now, just switched off tOOl in the middle of No Quarter. Now before you go, 'have you heard the LZ original', get lost or in case you think what I did was blasphemy, well, then never mind. But the fact is that human psyche is such that even the best of the best seem repulsive under certain situations. And no quarter was never and could never be a 'daytime rain song'. What sounds better is my roommate's ring tone blaring the tune to "ajeeb dastan hai yeh...kahan shuru kahan khatam..."

The hostel, despite its barren look and an almost ignored look on Google earth, has this rustic charm (as wrote before) and which makes it more comfortable than the college quad or anywhere else. The quad is a nice short form, albeit a shade gay, yet somehow so not what it sounds like. Heck, it is not even four sided.

Anyhow. Bombay Rain is good. It can either veer one from laziness to random movement or with tea included, can just take away the jovial spirit to downright sleep.
Its an odd life, I admit yet encompassed within conversations that hardly would make sense a few years down this road. NMIMS. The anthem shall be uploaded as soon as I can find the .mp3 file or the courage to upload it, whichever comes first. Its the college 'Disney like' theme song. The seniors who wrote and composed must have been smoking some real potent stuff. I wonder how they decided to stick proudly to it. Akin to YRF's Jhoom Barabar Jhoom. Disaster. It pays to walk out during the interval. I am two visits old to Marine Drive already and despite those many old times in Bombay, the rains ones are forever extra-isspecial. The last one with Rohit, we managed almost 7 KMs on foot. For food at Bagdhadi. I hate upset stomachs. What is fun and probably the most enjoyable part of these days - The walk down to Juhu Beach or at least Cooper Hospital even if it maybe raining, just to catch coffee or tea, be it 3 or 4 AM. Sharadh has so far been a decent constant in most.

I've also realized I've myself become cheerful since arrival, way more conversation than ever, a fall-out of quietness over the one month Europe jinx. Or not. I miss Amsterdam.

Another thing I quite do well every 3 days to say in the least is take a look at all old diary writings, Delhi pictures, retrospect, and everything else. I forget the people before the cities which are forgotten 34 days before I completely go Amnesiac over the past weather. I shall miss the winters and 'I know whom'.

The classes are fun, except for this chap who talks more than required. I don't deny him his curiosity but there shall be a day, hath he continue such, when I will take my NMIMS I Card and pulsate him to death, a neck so blue...so weary... The red light area outside NMIMS post midnight is another tale, were it not for the Hijras.. That's about it.

As Mr. Bhole said in a lecture "Straight Lines Cannot Be Exact." Holy Fuck, I would have never known.

There are some bad and some really horrid lecturers we got. Making do with them is an effort and I have never resisted so little the want to doze off in supreme force. It's not so interesting and even worse than Pratibha Patil being elected President and Supreme Commander Of The National Forces. Disgrace. She is half baked herself and will not withstand a push. As Suhel Seth said in yesterday's Asian Age "I now wish Sonia Gandhi had not been so pseudo-righteous and taken up the PM mantle, we may just have had MMS as the President."
It sucks even more to see a country's Vice President sigh up independent candidature for a higher post, being unwanted must sting these politicos big time. Grow up, you 70 year old plus monkeys.

This was taken by Sharadh at Churhcgate station, as drizzle began and staring at the background, disarmingly in awe of the BSE structure. It stays till he decided it becomes a copyright issue. But the quaint look of it is pretty as it comes.

Till I write again, As another vague teacher said the other day "To learn how to read, you should know how to write". Yeah, to listen to music, you should first start learning an instrument. Otherwise, fuck knows.

Till a few more days and an eagerly awaited music show at Razz tomorrow, die.

In Tandem And Absurd.

A week bygone, thus. Little to write home about.

What began as disapproval and dejection at every human being met, is not really as bad as expected. There are decent people out here, after all. Conversations are worth it.

Its this paranoia I have of settling in, with ease wherever I may arrive. I am yet to meet more than one person who had heard of tOOl since earlier. Discrimination, yes, but that is how it all comes around.

Its Tuesday now, and I have become accustomed to the wild vagaries, it is not tough staying awake, I could claim to be the last person to go to bed every night in the hostel. Despite prohibhition, nothing is much of a deal.

GR JANI. Now, this is not even close to the best college hostel in Ville Parle (W) but there is something thats gives me a happy tinge whenever here. Maybe the rusting cupboards, the pungent aroma of the whitewash, or ever studious rooms, or heck, even people walking aroud like skeletons.

At times, sitting on the laptops (as due to retardedness on the part of Apple) borrowed from other people, I see a sense of joy in myself. There has been nothing to do over the past few weeks except the rote' of random newspapers and magazine jargons.

To a whole year at Jani and other impure joys.

Early Morning.

Beginners, this is the last assortment of laziness.