"Life is a moderately good play with a badly written third act"
- Truman Capote
Since I was a child, I have had my father tell me "you are incorrigible". It is 2008 and I certainly feel that it is the only means to prove your point. There are times and instances when one should be outright and approach the steps of plain refusal. Listening is a means through which we show our inclination to comprehension. But then we stumble over ourselves and I for one, feel that being unenthusiastic about what lies ahead shall always be dealt with better. Everything which is to be done by me in order of importance is done. But therein I somehow manage to unconsciously forget so much. Especially having developed this habit of double checking everything, but only after knowing its relevance is passe. A sudden reluctance hits and I feel tired of being repetitive.
Most of the things I do right are my fault.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Sunday, May 18, 2008
It Is No Powerful Force.
I switch off the tube light, draw the curtain, switch on the air conditioner and the yellow bulb at the table lamp, and pull supplies close enough such that I will not need myself to shift much to reach them. I proceed to push the blanket such that it stays below my knees and read to myself Keats. To call him ordinary would be a misnomer but I am already inundated with mundane thoughts behind what the purpose of an insincere tonight would be. I could haplessly reorganize similar thoughts and wish they would placate momentary sadness but the fear burrows me to further lows and the only hope is tomorrow's Sunday Express crossword. I have made it a habit to complete it, come what may. Half of it takes 15 minutes, the rest I do at ease taking till the evening to put the final touches. It looks grand when complete.
The Flicker By The Bedside Fails To Help.
Something from a year ago. Starts with something Trent Reznor said and carries as I like it..
"I wrote some words and music in my bedroom as a way of staying sane, about a bleak and desperate place I was in, totally isolated and alone. [Somehow] that wind up reinterpreted by another with a different era of thought, from a radically different mind and still retains sincerity and meaning - different, but every bit as pure.
I will drown in this black chair of leather, bit by bit. Beneath the movements of time, these feelings disappear. You are someone else. I am right here. Trying to move myself away from who I was and who you are, I will let you out.
People think its funny. How we resolve consequence. I am in every bit not arbit. What is done randomly is just another excuse of going through it without a proper explanation.
Needles have become needless now. I fall back on every bit of talk stored in frozen places. This requirement to talk does not exist.
- My hands on these thorns, the keyboard of broken thoughts. I cannot despair. I cannot. -
This was not needed to be sent. You did not have to read it. I am still right here.
This depiction of traits overlapping circumstance. Henceforth was a decision always, hence forth is a word of hope of defeating the idea of 'this' could last longer. The probative principle is to silence the itch and all the words you attach with the word 'if'. Nicely bundled up in a cozy little room for one too many, you just light it up and when you do, the fire is warm in that cold, and that gleeful smile on your face at having done something 'sensible'. Construction starting with destruction, hammers blowing away at the remains of the old structure, the hammering, and in the community center they are playing something at a function, of a more puritan taste though, with a harmonium and the kind of voice you hear at mosques. It's sunny outside, but it's not hot, it's dry. This place is small, this little corner of wounds and trepidations, no triumphs and tribulations of late. A lot of people I come to hate and a lot come to hate me, it's easier to hate when you start to hate where you lie. It's noisy. I haven't slept in a long time; my system has been subject to a harmonious rhythm of nicotine and spirits, everyday, without lunch. A lousy breakfast of one boiled egg in the morning. And a decent meal in the evening followed by dinner. I have stopped bothering about getting rid of my animalistic dissent. I act coy in front of my colleagues giving the impression of an innocence which starts to hurt, there are moments that kill who you once were and then there are moments which kill who you will be. But I am quite right here.
I wrote a lot and then realized none of it woud actually make sense to you. Let alone make sense to me. For starters, I hate boiled eggs. But again, we become so dilapidated in our own conscience that we change from crimson to blue, as the day progresses. I have come to accept, us become haplotypes. I still think why I do not get it all on a platter. I wish I was someone's malediction, to spoil their day. Quench their happiness and shroud it to pieces. This verbose insanity, that I attempt to emit becomes so intense that I lose out on that basic facade that separates. We look at every thing so meticulously and with such a straight face that it confuses the other person's independent thought process. Think about it. They look at you. And then request the trip you are on. Vicious circle, food chain? Whatever. We are stuck at the absolute end point, the depressing one. And we just make it worse. Maybe you do not deserve happiness. Maybe its not supposed to come for the next few weeks. Maybe. Embalmed in this quincunx. You sometimes want me quiet, sometimes listening, your anomaly. I've been reduced but I'm still right here. The only problem is, this isn't happening.."
On another level, I have work to do. Having been given the job to come up with themes evolving around "change", my mind has hit a roadblock. I cannot get myself to accept change, let alone put it in a funny manner. And I was supposedly good at such stuff. What is left of me anyway, I despair.
Cricket and my general displeasure with the shortest form. I cannot stand this version. Yes, I do make it a point to check out the matches if I can get myself to Wankhede but that is about it. Somehow, this makes me realize I will not be able to stand an ODI ever again and I will have to get myself to enjoy this form of entertainment.
It is also funny how people complain the "cricket has become entertainment" and become commercialized and everything else in the same vein. But is cricket not a sport and has not sport always been around as a source of entertainment. What is my gripe anyway.
And I could have written much more, a lot more than what has been presented. But most of all of this ceases to make sense anyhow. There is no point to anything anymore. We live in a cruel world. Where we are made to believe that all things unessential are sacrosanct. But there should be certain method to madness, I need a life wherein I am free to proceed like I wish and free to be whoever I, whoever I want to be.
Hello Newspaper, Goodbye Lifelessness.
The Flicker By The Bedside Fails To Help.
Something from a year ago. Starts with something Trent Reznor said and carries as I like it..
"I wrote some words and music in my bedroom as a way of staying sane, about a bleak and desperate place I was in, totally isolated and alone. [Somehow] that wind up reinterpreted by another with a different era of thought, from a radically different mind and still retains sincerity and meaning - different, but every bit as pure.
I will drown in this black chair of leather, bit by bit. Beneath the movements of time, these feelings disappear. You are someone else. I am right here. Trying to move myself away from who I was and who you are, I will let you out.
People think its funny. How we resolve consequence. I am in every bit not arbit. What is done randomly is just another excuse of going through it without a proper explanation.
Needles have become needless now. I fall back on every bit of talk stored in frozen places. This requirement to talk does not exist.
- My hands on these thorns, the keyboard of broken thoughts. I cannot despair. I cannot. -
This was not needed to be sent. You did not have to read it. I am still right here.
This depiction of traits overlapping circumstance. Henceforth was a decision always, hence forth is a word of hope of defeating the idea of 'this' could last longer. The probative principle is to silence the itch and all the words you attach with the word 'if'. Nicely bundled up in a cozy little room for one too many, you just light it up and when you do, the fire is warm in that cold, and that gleeful smile on your face at having done something 'sensible'. Construction starting with destruction, hammers blowing away at the remains of the old structure, the hammering, and in the community center they are playing something at a function, of a more puritan taste though, with a harmonium and the kind of voice you hear at mosques. It's sunny outside, but it's not hot, it's dry. This place is small, this little corner of wounds and trepidations, no triumphs and tribulations of late. A lot of people I come to hate and a lot come to hate me, it's easier to hate when you start to hate where you lie. It's noisy. I haven't slept in a long time; my system has been subject to a harmonious rhythm of nicotine and spirits, everyday, without lunch. A lousy breakfast of one boiled egg in the morning. And a decent meal in the evening followed by dinner. I have stopped bothering about getting rid of my animalistic dissent. I act coy in front of my colleagues giving the impression of an innocence which starts to hurt, there are moments that kill who you once were and then there are moments which kill who you will be. But I am quite right here.
I wrote a lot and then realized none of it woud actually make sense to you. Let alone make sense to me. For starters, I hate boiled eggs. But again, we become so dilapidated in our own conscience that we change from crimson to blue, as the day progresses. I have come to accept, us become haplotypes. I still think why I do not get it all on a platter. I wish I was someone's malediction, to spoil their day. Quench their happiness and shroud it to pieces. This verbose insanity, that I attempt to emit becomes so intense that I lose out on that basic facade that separates. We look at every thing so meticulously and with such a straight face that it confuses the other person's independent thought process. Think about it. They look at you. And then request the trip you are on. Vicious circle, food chain? Whatever. We are stuck at the absolute end point, the depressing one. And we just make it worse. Maybe you do not deserve happiness. Maybe its not supposed to come for the next few weeks. Maybe. Embalmed in this quincunx. You sometimes want me quiet, sometimes listening, your anomaly. I've been reduced but I'm still right here. The only problem is, this isn't happening.."
On another level, I have work to do. Having been given the job to come up with themes evolving around "change", my mind has hit a roadblock. I cannot get myself to accept change, let alone put it in a funny manner. And I was supposedly good at such stuff. What is left of me anyway, I despair.
Cricket and my general displeasure with the shortest form. I cannot stand this version. Yes, I do make it a point to check out the matches if I can get myself to Wankhede but that is about it. Somehow, this makes me realize I will not be able to stand an ODI ever again and I will have to get myself to enjoy this form of entertainment.
It is also funny how people complain the "cricket has become entertainment" and become commercialized and everything else in the same vein. But is cricket not a sport and has not sport always been around as a source of entertainment. What is my gripe anyway.
And I could have written much more, a lot more than what has been presented. But most of all of this ceases to make sense anyhow. There is no point to anything anymore. We live in a cruel world. Where we are made to believe that all things unessential are sacrosanct. But there should be certain method to madness, I need a life wherein I am free to proceed like I wish and free to be whoever I, whoever I want to be.
Hello Newspaper, Goodbye Lifelessness.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
What Has This Become..#2.0
I saw the news today, oh boy.
As preliminary despair breaks into unease, a pale disquiet comes to surround the whole area. It is one thing to be punched, another to be pulverised into submission. I am mostly torn between wanting rain and pining for certain moments to repeat themselves. While those who may be considered unlucky or not worth it make the most and become happy, I find myself further relinquishing the little drops of joy. Somehow, I do not hate being tired, which in no way suggests that I ought to be, lest my body take this blog seriously. While my bones are thin, and weakly attached to the joints, it is the girth with disturbs. Not exactly a lot but I had a point to make. And this is not even equivalent to "getting something off one's chest".
I'd hum in autumn but I have funny ink traces all across my white shirt and vague hands. They spell hard work and thus, i would not wash my hands for quite a lot. I sought myself but got caught in this opera where an era seems to cascade upon millions. Many minions surface, making one bequeath beneath the grim undertow. Eschewing and ruing over the little brittle pieces that now lay squandered and rendered useless. Chastening one to be of some use, in lieu of what they could have otherwise done. In this act of miser usage in age with words that pertain upon certain tones that bring a ubiquitous serenade that fades. It satiates and then permeates into this rhyme. I could be stabbed bad but I would rather have the intestine pine for the knife to thrive through and be turned and undone once it is within. I have come a long way today by chosen profession. As I grew, I went from being a scientist to a table tennis player, from being a financial analyst to being a poet and from starting my hotel chain to making do with a scam. Now, I find some peace though it is a disease in such context wherein text is hardly a measurement of vent that i could spew anew. Colliding with the bathroom wall, I stand my full tall to make myself feel comfortable.
I hate some things I did when I was young. I remember flicking some money off the dining table a couple of times to eat at the canteen. I once picked up Rs. 20 (which i felt was a lot) and was scared to bits for a few days every time my mother entered the room thinking she might sense, Now, that I think of it, I understand that it was just a score of money and hardly worth her trouble, I might as well have asked her for it. I then recall the next day taking the same money to the canteen and bought myself a drink and something to eat and asked a random friend to share it with me. I saw my brother walking past and I never offered. It is not of much consequence now and neither did he know that it was my money and little did he care but somehow the guilt edged me wants out. I have not come close to death and I already feel like I have seen life flashing in front of my eyes. I have to pen all of this down for myself, before I fail to forget.
I am desperately trying to maintain social order here.
As preliminary despair breaks into unease, a pale disquiet comes to surround the whole area. It is one thing to be punched, another to be pulverised into submission. I am mostly torn between wanting rain and pining for certain moments to repeat themselves. While those who may be considered unlucky or not worth it make the most and become happy, I find myself further relinquishing the little drops of joy. Somehow, I do not hate being tired, which in no way suggests that I ought to be, lest my body take this blog seriously. While my bones are thin, and weakly attached to the joints, it is the girth with disturbs. Not exactly a lot but I had a point to make. And this is not even equivalent to "getting something off one's chest".
I'd hum in autumn but I have funny ink traces all across my white shirt and vague hands. They spell hard work and thus, i would not wash my hands for quite a lot. I sought myself but got caught in this opera where an era seems to cascade upon millions. Many minions surface, making one bequeath beneath the grim undertow. Eschewing and ruing over the little brittle pieces that now lay squandered and rendered useless. Chastening one to be of some use, in lieu of what they could have otherwise done. In this act of miser usage in age with words that pertain upon certain tones that bring a ubiquitous serenade that fades. It satiates and then permeates into this rhyme. I could be stabbed bad but I would rather have the intestine pine for the knife to thrive through and be turned and undone once it is within. I have come a long way today by chosen profession. As I grew, I went from being a scientist to a table tennis player, from being a financial analyst to being a poet and from starting my hotel chain to making do with a scam. Now, I find some peace though it is a disease in such context wherein text is hardly a measurement of vent that i could spew anew. Colliding with the bathroom wall, I stand my full tall to make myself feel comfortable.
I hate some things I did when I was young. I remember flicking some money off the dining table a couple of times to eat at the canteen. I once picked up Rs. 20 (which i felt was a lot) and was scared to bits for a few days every time my mother entered the room thinking she might sense, Now, that I think of it, I understand that it was just a score of money and hardly worth her trouble, I might as well have asked her for it. I then recall the next day taking the same money to the canteen and bought myself a drink and something to eat and asked a random friend to share it with me. I saw my brother walking past and I never offered. It is not of much consequence now and neither did he know that it was my money and little did he care but somehow the guilt edged me wants out. I have not come close to death and I already feel like I have seen life flashing in front of my eyes. I have to pen all of this down for myself, before I fail to forget.
I am desperately trying to maintain social order here.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Drops Of Jupiter..
I step into the train for forty minutes of agony, the impetus coming from daily routine. Haggard and brought down by the endless load, my eyes refuse to stare at the afternoon news I picked up. Today must be lucky, for I have a seat. Today must be lucky, for I have a pretty girl sitting opposite me. Her hair, assembled across her forehead, the length of which delights is further braided into prose. Her eyes barely capture her lovely face and she barely smiles. All the while looking out, she firmly settles herself closer to the window. My thoughts hover from her nonchalant gaze to the reasoning behind her not being in the ladies compartment. The engines pull.
The weather is ameliorated by her presence and she only observes me with a quick glance, wherein I see no sense of disapproval. I implore myself to words but without success. Everyone around becomes inconspicuous to my lost mind, despite the whole cacophony in revelry. Her office skirt is dark blue while she isn't too indignant to all those staring at her, for I guess that is why she chose that seat. I detach these earphones every instance her head tilts away from the window, Incubus to infatuation. A movement in her lips breathes conversation and I believe the dark circles represent ache. Her earrings are silver and her feet agonizingly close to mine. Close such that a strike might lead to an exchange of sentence. Her phone suddenly rings, and much to her amusement, a half dead lot of the homeward bound Bombay working class tunes in. She removes the sound from the brown bag and slips it through her fingers, her words faster than this train.
She eventually senses my inability at conversation or else she needs information. My nearly dry throat botches up a reply, my face ever cumbersome. The moment of truth begins sourly but ends with an exchange of well framed lines. I come to know her exit is the same as mine and I begin to brace myself in hope for a happier expresso today. We get up in chorus as the train leaves the penultimate stop and manage to reach the gathered crowd for Santa Cruz. While the men make space for her, I am peculiarly, or maybe typically left behind by three rows of sweat. I can hardly jostle to move ahead by telling them I am with her, so I stay back. As the train slows, twenty push to drop out and I face an incoming barrage of people getting on before I can finally manage to stifle myself onto the platform. I brush my shirt, check my wallet location and look up to find her missing. After an unsuccessful few moments, I do see her already off the stairs and moving towards the East. I am too tired to run and catch up with her, I would not shout for fear of being admonished and because I have no name due to my not being pedant.
Her frame in my sight subdues as I make way towards the West, slightly calm, tranquil, and with the smugness of having done a pleasant train ride.
The weather is ameliorated by her presence and she only observes me with a quick glance, wherein I see no sense of disapproval. I implore myself to words but without success. Everyone around becomes inconspicuous to my lost mind, despite the whole cacophony in revelry. Her office skirt is dark blue while she isn't too indignant to all those staring at her, for I guess that is why she chose that seat. I detach these earphones every instance her head tilts away from the window, Incubus to infatuation. A movement in her lips breathes conversation and I believe the dark circles represent ache. Her earrings are silver and her feet agonizingly close to mine. Close such that a strike might lead to an exchange of sentence. Her phone suddenly rings, and much to her amusement, a half dead lot of the homeward bound Bombay working class tunes in. She removes the sound from the brown bag and slips it through her fingers, her words faster than this train.
She eventually senses my inability at conversation or else she needs information. My nearly dry throat botches up a reply, my face ever cumbersome. The moment of truth begins sourly but ends with an exchange of well framed lines. I come to know her exit is the same as mine and I begin to brace myself in hope for a happier expresso today. We get up in chorus as the train leaves the penultimate stop and manage to reach the gathered crowd for Santa Cruz. While the men make space for her, I am peculiarly, or maybe typically left behind by three rows of sweat. I can hardly jostle to move ahead by telling them I am with her, so I stay back. As the train slows, twenty push to drop out and I face an incoming barrage of people getting on before I can finally manage to stifle myself onto the platform. I brush my shirt, check my wallet location and look up to find her missing. After an unsuccessful few moments, I do see her already off the stairs and moving towards the East. I am too tired to run and catch up with her, I would not shout for fear of being admonished and because I have no name due to my not being pedant.
Her frame in my sight subdues as I make way towards the West, slightly calm, tranquil, and with the smugness of having done a pleasant train ride.
Monday, March 24, 2008
razzies.ppt
My faltering sense of humor is taking its toll on me. The lack of ability to make myself laugh makes me laugh more than anything anymore. Id just write about a hectic few weeks than a monthly adventure of what has actually been.
The Razzies 2008, NMIMS.
The most controversial night for my batch. Everything side, it was staged to be the perfect evening. Id accept here than I was involved from the very beginning. Ill start from the very first time I heard of it.. (oft mentions un-included)
Stark and falling off on alcohol at the Annual Alumni Meet in Juhu, I am forced to meet some 'popular' seniors. I behave typical rude, much to my own amusement and their shock. They hold me by arms and tell me about the whole ceremony that eventuates Euphoria. 4 years of splendid recordings stare me in the face all throughout. Who should host it? Who all should be involved? Etc are just some of the questions that shall not let me appease the whole aura of them. Started off in '04 by a couple of enigmatic seniors, they took the whole event to the very extremes. What seems now like constipated fun was surely the rudest shock for many of their own batch. Two fellows with a very much in common surname staged the first ever, filled with lesbian drama to announcing the nominations on everyone's desks. Id glee in delight on first mention, but it seemed like a herculean task to own. It is followed by 2 more years of the same before my senior batch did it to themselves. An awkward yet sweet evening, with the "(no) offense meant at all" tagline attached (or not).
I was first given the responsibility with due diligence a month ago. When first told, I could hardly encapsulate excitement, let alone walk around with a tad unbecoming smile. Amused at the whole charm of them, I started pondering over the creative stuff. In came two more fellows and out went two others from other divisions who I wished had been involved (only back then, they did not know what they had been asked to leave dinner for and come, and thus, they skipped). The first major meeting happened in the Quad., total silence as the last year's show played on a borrowed laptop. After viewing, we called on a classmate to be this year's host. More for his command of vernacular tones than his subtle yet sexually laden sarcasm. A team in place (a fifth member from my batch was there yet not in focus - one of those people who would never end up contributing much but was there was the sake of being there).
Two weeks prior to the night, we settle on some categories. What starts off with some bangs turns into a whimper but we are down to quite a few minutes already that shall let us survive a happy journey. Bunking classes and meeting in hushed voices over 'cutting chai' keeps us from selling the drama. We slowly start selling the rumors though, to great affect. My Marketing mind hits Sahil's as the first in a series of A4 sheets hit campus.
M1 - We take a series of randomly rhyming clues as we post 3 of them with the final clue pointing towards the show night.
M2 - "Every Award Is Special" - A new campaign is released, albeit enthusiasm. But it works wonders as people actually begin to think of the same. Ishan Awasthi becomes a brand ambassador, free of cost.
M3 - Involves the A4 Smiley on word with the simple "One Expression You Will Not Remain - The Razzies 2008".
M4 - All The Emotions campaign.
M5 - The brilliant CV by Sid. "Bending over" attracts finite attention.
And a few more..!
These sheets have a the buzz going as we regularly meet, but differences crop up every now and then. I become the 'bakra' per se, to ensure that Razzie Night plays to a level headed evening. My nominations are quite a few eventually (to be cut down later though) and I do it myself. It is the paucity of time coupled with other responsibilities that holds us from meeting in a proper way. While all of this is on, RC is quite one up on the script, which has mellowed sarcasm and some witty humour, that promises to leave no stone unturned. Sahil is busy adding and subtracting picture a week prior as the presentation is yet to take off. Tension starts building as we realize there is not much time left. We scrape up the final few nominations for various categories. Lecher, 69 (which was initially supposed to be a take off from a senior couple caught out but got reduced to ashes), Draupadi (which eventually ended as 'sati savitri'), Khudkhushi etc are on the table. At an international conference a week prior, it reaches crescendo when we come up with stuff like "placecomm ka alumni" etc which are finally vetoed by the same senior who initially proposed the same. let us not glorify, tada..! The two associated seniors drop in every once a day and ask random questions and they believe that our show "is not class enough" while at the same time, being reluctant to really stand up for what it is. A moment's contradiction surfaces into lifetime hypocrisy as they can do no better than argue over everything.
A twist comes in the unusual reasoning behind not involving another set of courses in the award. Though it has not been the norm, it should have come to change. But personal vendetta and egos clash as some deserving people are left out. My team and I can do little but stay worried about the outcome, for no fault of ours, for no fight that we has ensured ensued.
The drama begins to unfold on the penultimate day. We have nothing in store. As Zero and Indian Ocean close their sets, we rush to realize we have not much in hand. The next day's early morning is full of anticipation while we have not done as well as we thought. The categories have to be trimmed, nominations finalized, this sounds bigger than anything, Indeed.
Five hours to go and we have little or no picture left. Me, Sahil, and RC gather in one room after the other, as we are shunned out on anyone taking seat's possession. Short of pictures, we move through people's facebook and orkut profiles, which is to eventually become a bone of contention. But the stone retains moss as we are not quite there. Sahil determined to make a good show out of it, we are eventually met by the two seniors. They make us cut, saw, chop, and edit a lot. From saving face to keeping grace, one of the best ideas is shredded down, while somethings not in public interest are added. Not to popular choice but anyhow. "I have to save his girlfriend" becomes the new tagline. Tempers fly high an hour prior as I refuse to stand down on some of my nominations including getting this year's elects off the list. Some of this is what some would never know. People would never know the extent of humiliation they were never made to see. All in good fun, but there was some bad blood for the taking and we never got enough. At the same time, our apprehensions about not backing down come true. Still undecided, I leave with 25 minutes to go, searching for various accessories to give away as the award. We settle on "bananas" and a "maala". RG to do the honours.
In all hurriedness, we go change into the night show time dress. Once back, there is a smoke break wherein we catch up breath and defuse pre show nervousness. A bite half my hand off chewing my nails, as I look at faces who have little idea that they might end up there.
Last moment stupidity - with the songs and slides in place, last moment tinkering to get some people on board and remove friends becomes talk and a helpless us can do not much but to stifle, especially on the 'pastry'. We take our the deserving and put in the undeserving, the cream has left. I seem next to crestfallen but manage to get the pack going. The music in place as Sahil takes his seat next to the presentation. AM checks the lights for the night as last year's host climbs the stairs to the wonderful stage with a simple background, RC seems excited but should make the night tonight and Sid is willing. RS has the garlands ready and all the help is there..
The seconds pull close as the ex host calls upon this years show to begin. Faltering lights do not add to the damage and Razzies 2008 are go..!
Sid and RC make their way. I with a microphone stand next to the console and Sahil checks himself again. This is what it all comes down to. There is a reasonable crowd, nothing less than 300 people and the Quad. has had it long since it was so full. But this is more than just the people who are there to witness. Alongwith these awards, there is the whole college drama being sold, personal vendetta being eroded, and intensity at an all new level.
Admist random shouting at people, I notice Sahil brilliantly working his well made powerpoint with the music. And RC at his witty best with an amazingly well done up introductory speech. They rip..!
One Razzie after the other, it happens. This is something I'll skip. 17 in total, if I recall correct and a commercial break to along with it. Bananas are eaten, strewn, thrown back into the host's face and even shared by two guys on stage. The sport, we are all, innit? People seem awfully pissed and the undoing shall be tough, I can feel it. Sahil gets on stage for a bit of fun and they all look cheerful as apprehensiveness about next day's farewell and everything else is still making my head go weird. This is it..
It all rolls perfectly, including the end with nostalgia. And videos they make to tell other how good their two years have been. The camera and lights switch off and the ignored or neglected step up and an unnecessary ruckus emerges backstage. I see a couple of people shouting at me and one who almost hit me. All of this is being taken too far but parity is soon resolved. We head off from their to the safety of Asiad and liquidate our nights away.
A lot has happened since. I have twice been surrounded by groups and asked to explain, I have had a 26 year old fellow sitting in my room and crying his heart out, I have been called an "eternal asshole" by a girl, who in all her high handedness did so with neither rhyme nor reason. I have apologised. Sahil, Sid, and RC have borne quite the brunt of it too. I can be blamed, they scrutinized, we murdered, but I wont ever forget the 'best presentation we ever gave'.
No more apologies. You reap your rewards. A big fuck to those who took offence when not required, an apology to those when we took somethings personal too far, loads of blame on those who made us edit the good, and a smile and another 60 ml to the four of us :-)
The Razzies 2008, NMIMS.
The most controversial night for my batch. Everything side, it was staged to be the perfect evening. Id accept here than I was involved from the very beginning. Ill start from the very first time I heard of it.. (oft mentions un-included)
Stark and falling off on alcohol at the Annual Alumni Meet in Juhu, I am forced to meet some 'popular' seniors. I behave typical rude, much to my own amusement and their shock. They hold me by arms and tell me about the whole ceremony that eventuates Euphoria. 4 years of splendid recordings stare me in the face all throughout. Who should host it? Who all should be involved? Etc are just some of the questions that shall not let me appease the whole aura of them. Started off in '04 by a couple of enigmatic seniors, they took the whole event to the very extremes. What seems now like constipated fun was surely the rudest shock for many of their own batch. Two fellows with a very much in common surname staged the first ever, filled with lesbian drama to announcing the nominations on everyone's desks. Id glee in delight on first mention, but it seemed like a herculean task to own. It is followed by 2 more years of the same before my senior batch did it to themselves. An awkward yet sweet evening, with the "(no) offense meant at all" tagline attached (or not).
I was first given the responsibility with due diligence a month ago. When first told, I could hardly encapsulate excitement, let alone walk around with a tad unbecoming smile. Amused at the whole charm of them, I started pondering over the creative stuff. In came two more fellows and out went two others from other divisions who I wished had been involved (only back then, they did not know what they had been asked to leave dinner for and come, and thus, they skipped). The first major meeting happened in the Quad., total silence as the last year's show played on a borrowed laptop. After viewing, we called on a classmate to be this year's host. More for his command of vernacular tones than his subtle yet sexually laden sarcasm. A team in place (a fifth member from my batch was there yet not in focus - one of those people who would never end up contributing much but was there was the sake of being there).
Two weeks prior to the night, we settle on some categories. What starts off with some bangs turns into a whimper but we are down to quite a few minutes already that shall let us survive a happy journey. Bunking classes and meeting in hushed voices over 'cutting chai' keeps us from selling the drama. We slowly start selling the rumors though, to great affect. My Marketing mind hits Sahil's as the first in a series of A4 sheets hit campus.
M1 - We take a series of randomly rhyming clues as we post 3 of them with the final clue pointing towards the show night.
M2 - "Every Award Is Special" - A new campaign is released, albeit enthusiasm. But it works wonders as people actually begin to think of the same. Ishan Awasthi becomes a brand ambassador, free of cost.
M3 - Involves the A4 Smiley on word with the simple "One Expression You Will Not Remain - The Razzies 2008".
M4 - All The Emotions campaign.
M5 - The brilliant CV by Sid. "Bending over" attracts finite attention.
And a few more..!
These sheets have a the buzz going as we regularly meet, but differences crop up every now and then. I become the 'bakra' per se, to ensure that Razzie Night plays to a level headed evening. My nominations are quite a few eventually (to be cut down later though) and I do it myself. It is the paucity of time coupled with other responsibilities that holds us from meeting in a proper way. While all of this is on, RC is quite one up on the script, which has mellowed sarcasm and some witty humour, that promises to leave no stone unturned. Sahil is busy adding and subtracting picture a week prior as the presentation is yet to take off. Tension starts building as we realize there is not much time left. We scrape up the final few nominations for various categories. Lecher, 69 (which was initially supposed to be a take off from a senior couple caught out but got reduced to ashes), Draupadi (which eventually ended as 'sati savitri'), Khudkhushi etc are on the table. At an international conference a week prior, it reaches crescendo when we come up with stuff like "placecomm ka alumni" etc which are finally vetoed by the same senior who initially proposed the same. let us not glorify, tada..! The two associated seniors drop in every once a day and ask random questions and they believe that our show "is not class enough" while at the same time, being reluctant to really stand up for what it is. A moment's contradiction surfaces into lifetime hypocrisy as they can do no better than argue over everything.
A twist comes in the unusual reasoning behind not involving another set of courses in the award. Though it has not been the norm, it should have come to change. But personal vendetta and egos clash as some deserving people are left out. My team and I can do little but stay worried about the outcome, for no fault of ours, for no fight that we has ensured ensued.
The drama begins to unfold on the penultimate day. We have nothing in store. As Zero and Indian Ocean close their sets, we rush to realize we have not much in hand. The next day's early morning is full of anticipation while we have not done as well as we thought. The categories have to be trimmed, nominations finalized, this sounds bigger than anything, Indeed.
Five hours to go and we have little or no picture left. Me, Sahil, and RC gather in one room after the other, as we are shunned out on anyone taking seat's possession. Short of pictures, we move through people's facebook and orkut profiles, which is to eventually become a bone of contention. But the stone retains moss as we are not quite there. Sahil determined to make a good show out of it, we are eventually met by the two seniors. They make us cut, saw, chop, and edit a lot. From saving face to keeping grace, one of the best ideas is shredded down, while somethings not in public interest are added. Not to popular choice but anyhow. "I have to save his girlfriend" becomes the new tagline. Tempers fly high an hour prior as I refuse to stand down on some of my nominations including getting this year's elects off the list. Some of this is what some would never know. People would never know the extent of humiliation they were never made to see. All in good fun, but there was some bad blood for the taking and we never got enough. At the same time, our apprehensions about not backing down come true. Still undecided, I leave with 25 minutes to go, searching for various accessories to give away as the award. We settle on "bananas" and a "maala". RG to do the honours.
In all hurriedness, we go change into the night show time dress. Once back, there is a smoke break wherein we catch up breath and defuse pre show nervousness. A bite half my hand off chewing my nails, as I look at faces who have little idea that they might end up there.
Last moment stupidity - with the songs and slides in place, last moment tinkering to get some people on board and remove friends becomes talk and a helpless us can do not much but to stifle, especially on the 'pastry'. We take our the deserving and put in the undeserving, the cream has left. I seem next to crestfallen but manage to get the pack going. The music in place as Sahil takes his seat next to the presentation. AM checks the lights for the night as last year's host climbs the stairs to the wonderful stage with a simple background, RC seems excited but should make the night tonight and Sid is willing. RS has the garlands ready and all the help is there..
The seconds pull close as the ex host calls upon this years show to begin. Faltering lights do not add to the damage and Razzies 2008 are go..!
Sid and RC make their way. I with a microphone stand next to the console and Sahil checks himself again. This is what it all comes down to. There is a reasonable crowd, nothing less than 300 people and the Quad. has had it long since it was so full. But this is more than just the people who are there to witness. Alongwith these awards, there is the whole college drama being sold, personal vendetta being eroded, and intensity at an all new level.
Admist random shouting at people, I notice Sahil brilliantly working his well made powerpoint with the music. And RC at his witty best with an amazingly well done up introductory speech. They rip..!
One Razzie after the other, it happens. This is something I'll skip. 17 in total, if I recall correct and a commercial break to along with it. Bananas are eaten, strewn, thrown back into the host's face and even shared by two guys on stage. The sport, we are all, innit? People seem awfully pissed and the undoing shall be tough, I can feel it. Sahil gets on stage for a bit of fun and they all look cheerful as apprehensiveness about next day's farewell and everything else is still making my head go weird. This is it..
It all rolls perfectly, including the end with nostalgia. And videos they make to tell other how good their two years have been. The camera and lights switch off and the ignored or neglected step up and an unnecessary ruckus emerges backstage. I see a couple of people shouting at me and one who almost hit me. All of this is being taken too far but parity is soon resolved. We head off from their to the safety of Asiad and liquidate our nights away.
A lot has happened since. I have twice been surrounded by groups and asked to explain, I have had a 26 year old fellow sitting in my room and crying his heart out, I have been called an "eternal asshole" by a girl, who in all her high handedness did so with neither rhyme nor reason. I have apologised. Sahil, Sid, and RC have borne quite the brunt of it too. I can be blamed, they scrutinized, we murdered, but I wont ever forget the 'best presentation we ever gave'.
No more apologies. You reap your rewards. A big fuck to those who took offence when not required, an apology to those when we took somethings personal too far, loads of blame on those who made us edit the good, and a smile and another 60 ml to the four of us :-)
Friday, February 15, 2008
February Stars.
A pleasant stay home. Somethings are equal or at least occur as per perception and we can then behave like we do concur. Imaginative. Wintry in the Rajasthan night, a helpful Delhi always does suffice. As if I have been made to constantly stay at the periphery of all the good things, once the group makes a circle and at other times, simply adhere to those who require the same.
Amy WHinehouse has stacked off 4 grammys more than she deserved but its alright, I can live with it. I forget easily.
Amy WHinehouse has stacked off 4 grammys more than she deserved but its alright, I can live with it. I forget easily.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
What Has This Become..!
Agonizingly cold in a coastal town can leave little to imagination. You sit there, wishing it would rain or maybe never get normal again, and as soon as wishful thinking encapsulates, climate is its average self again. How do you explain? Some advantages can be blaming the increase in rum consumption on the same. It arrived with panache, you add a hint of lemon, coca cola and finish in the drink in a manner akin to having maaza with a straw. Which ingredient contributed the most can act as an eventful debate but we shall let time decide on what made impact.
Apprehension can relate to some sort of anxiety based upon an intuition that something horrid is just around the corner or of which the occurrence has been triggered. One spends night and day worried, wholly occupied by thoughts of how the other will manage, anew in this life. Nobody understands, the one for whom you worry takes it as a a negative opinion and refuses to divulge further, all the while slipping away from grasp. the rest, can hardly be worthy enough to be made to understand. I would elaborate. But I have purpose otherwise. A blanket in Bombay, when alcohol won't suffice, tepid in reckoning, this has come as a surprise. Night.
Apprehension can relate to some sort of anxiety based upon an intuition that something horrid is just around the corner or of which the occurrence has been triggered. One spends night and day worried, wholly occupied by thoughts of how the other will manage, anew in this life. Nobody understands, the one for whom you worry takes it as a a negative opinion and refuses to divulge further, all the while slipping away from grasp. the rest, can hardly be worthy enough to be made to understand. I would elaborate. But I have purpose otherwise. A blanket in Bombay, when alcohol won't suffice, tepid in reckoning, this has come as a surprise. Night.
Monday, January 21, 2008
Other Than You, Natheless.
I have always stayed away from the idea of time. I do turn up everywhere before required or asked to but somehow it is just a conscious effort and not an effort to please time of its worthiness. I also never cringe for a moment once it has passed. I'd ideally just let it go and forget it ever did occur and ideally I'd let the other know the moment was well, but then again, its not an ideal world now, is it?
In another regard, I have after long realized how technology has got the better of a 'not tech savvy' person like me. I have come to write words, disregarding their spelling and showing an utmost lack and disrespect for my paid, formal, English etc education. I patiently then type out everything, everywhere, and then just 'double press' my keypad to get the correct spelling. The convenience of life by letting the machine settle my doubt takes charge of all the past year's efforts to do better at the same. Accepting such is bigamy, in its own way. Its like eating a lizard just because you do not have a spoon to finish the rice. How much I have told myself not to try analogies.
Pining for those crucial minutes is an evidence, fulfilled. We witness our lives meandering away, coasting down a spiral river formation only to meet the sea with obtuse angles.
Rowan Atkinson is the funniest man alive. From 30 seconds of screen space to 15 minutes on stage, he can amuse my boredom with the slightest of slight efforts. Its almost like he can smell how disassociated everyone staring at him is.
Next time, I'll type out something more intelligent but this technology will get the better of me.
Pick of the day - And Then He Kissed Me.
Screeeeaaaam For Me Mumbai..! Less than a couple of weeks and I won't end up going. I just having that tinge..
O'er ze seas and far away,
archaic in sparsely clouded skies.
Whence parched oceans emerge,
athwart endlessly spread times.
Asked to move thither
stood alow. somedeal similar.
Us shalt eventually depart,
with thou upon clumsy feet.
The twain of us will not know
when left thole alone.
Mayhap us will soon realize,
with askance and thereon.
Constricted in this strait, thus
this sweven that leads us.
With this dit calculating dol
I shalt stretch, cometh pain.
Pretension to wisdom thee seek
in hist, you feign the fain.
You are the quiet on an aeroplane, The talk when I'm insane, The bridge when I'm at the sea, This isn't happening.
In another regard, I have after long realized how technology has got the better of a 'not tech savvy' person like me. I have come to write words, disregarding their spelling and showing an utmost lack and disrespect for my paid, formal, English etc education. I patiently then type out everything, everywhere, and then just 'double press' my keypad to get the correct spelling. The convenience of life by letting the machine settle my doubt takes charge of all the past year's efforts to do better at the same. Accepting such is bigamy, in its own way. Its like eating a lizard just because you do not have a spoon to finish the rice. How much I have told myself not to try analogies.
Pining for those crucial minutes is an evidence, fulfilled. We witness our lives meandering away, coasting down a spiral river formation only to meet the sea with obtuse angles.
Rowan Atkinson is the funniest man alive. From 30 seconds of screen space to 15 minutes on stage, he can amuse my boredom with the slightest of slight efforts. Its almost like he can smell how disassociated everyone staring at him is.
Next time, I'll type out something more intelligent but this technology will get the better of me.
Pick of the day - And Then He Kissed Me.
Screeeeaaaam For Me Mumbai..! Less than a couple of weeks and I won't end up going. I just having that tinge..
O'er ze seas and far away,
archaic in sparsely clouded skies.
Whence parched oceans emerge,
athwart endlessly spread times.
Asked to move thither
stood alow. somedeal similar.
Us shalt eventually depart,
with thou upon clumsy feet.
The twain of us will not know
when left thole alone.
Mayhap us will soon realize,
with askance and thereon.
Constricted in this strait, thus
this sweven that leads us.
With this dit calculating dol
I shalt stretch, cometh pain.
Pretension to wisdom thee seek
in hist, you feign the fain.
You are the quiet on an aeroplane, The talk when I'm insane, The bridge when I'm at the sea, This isn't happening.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Hung In A Bad Place..!
You can tell.
When I write, it is at times keeping in mind that I would certainly like someone to read what has been plastered with enthused generosity. It ends up, more or less, editing a lot of jargon, making it 'reader friendly' and less unassuming. And then I thought I did not care much about other's opinions. But I do not.
New Year's Eve and its preceding 3 days were unearthly. Spent the sun lying down backwards on sand, OD'd on beer, and went scrolling through the state at night. Gokarna was way more marvelous.
We ended day one after arrival doing not much else but sifting through leftovers and preparing for a 6 man bed on an empty beach. It seems pretty drab, unless I include the charming sounds of crashing waves. But then again. It was, till a certain Shane Ratman bumped into us and we did a bed surrounded by 12 candles. With dogs smelling us as we woke up to a virgin beach and an alternating sea, it was splendor. First morning steps involved entering the sea and soaking oneself and setting off on a trek to 'paradise', empty stomach. The trek had its hazards but no one died. We somehow scaled it till 'half moon beach', which was followed by spanning Indian cultural diversity in interacting and then nestling ourselves back to 'paradise' It was alright there. People stoned, not interactive, and everyone in their own world. The shoreline was rust admist the golden sand and we had our fill before a waiting human being coerced me into shifting back to commercialization the same night.
Goa, as spoken short up there, was pretty much unrelenting and be done without, sans the life. What was truly remarkable was getting numbed at midnight and riding up North state to Arambhol beach. And discovering the 'sweet salty' lake. Now a lot of folk have told me since that they have been there and nothing new, but it was quite the adventure. 5 of us treaded through literal boredom and scared nerves as we made our way through empty shacks all spread out in linear fashion on the right of the beach. At the end, we ascended 6 steps that took us into a mountain and the eventuality resulted in sitting alone on a piece of land, surrounded on one side by the vicious sea and on the other by a clean, pure lake and a huge mountain, that seemed half sprung in surprise itself. I am far from dramatizing this already.
There was the reason I had promised myself that I would do my trips and escapades alone. This was quite an example as to why I am not always wrong. Too many opinions, ways to do things, and inquires spoil the mood. One could easily ave avoided most of it. You are bound by questions and plagued by every one's personal wish list and it is seldom one feels like going against majority.
And Iron Maiden are coming to Bombay. I admit to myself I still remember all the lyrics but somehow stepping in there with the population to witness legends does not hold the same fantasy for me. I'd stand there, spending time between songs looking at those who surround me and wondering why I had been stranded for the day. It would be not include ideal fun. Plus, its the first day of the coolest month of the year.
I can't hardly wait.
I used to quote and let know, remember - "You go forwards, I'll go backwards, somewhere we will meet".
When I write, it is at times keeping in mind that I would certainly like someone to read what has been plastered with enthused generosity. It ends up, more or less, editing a lot of jargon, making it 'reader friendly' and less unassuming. And then I thought I did not care much about other's opinions. But I do not.
New Year's Eve and its preceding 3 days were unearthly. Spent the sun lying down backwards on sand, OD'd on beer, and went scrolling through the state at night. Gokarna was way more marvelous.
We ended day one after arrival doing not much else but sifting through leftovers and preparing for a 6 man bed on an empty beach. It seems pretty drab, unless I include the charming sounds of crashing waves. But then again. It was, till a certain Shane Ratman bumped into us and we did a bed surrounded by 12 candles. With dogs smelling us as we woke up to a virgin beach and an alternating sea, it was splendor. First morning steps involved entering the sea and soaking oneself and setting off on a trek to 'paradise', empty stomach. The trek had its hazards but no one died. We somehow scaled it till 'half moon beach', which was followed by spanning Indian cultural diversity in interacting and then nestling ourselves back to 'paradise' It was alright there. People stoned, not interactive, and everyone in their own world. The shoreline was rust admist the golden sand and we had our fill before a waiting human being coerced me into shifting back to commercialization the same night.
Goa, as spoken short up there, was pretty much unrelenting and be done without, sans the life. What was truly remarkable was getting numbed at midnight and riding up North state to Arambhol beach. And discovering the 'sweet salty' lake. Now a lot of folk have told me since that they have been there and nothing new, but it was quite the adventure. 5 of us treaded through literal boredom and scared nerves as we made our way through empty shacks all spread out in linear fashion on the right of the beach. At the end, we ascended 6 steps that took us into a mountain and the eventuality resulted in sitting alone on a piece of land, surrounded on one side by the vicious sea and on the other by a clean, pure lake and a huge mountain, that seemed half sprung in surprise itself. I am far from dramatizing this already.
There was the reason I had promised myself that I would do my trips and escapades alone. This was quite an example as to why I am not always wrong. Too many opinions, ways to do things, and inquires spoil the mood. One could easily ave avoided most of it. You are bound by questions and plagued by every one's personal wish list and it is seldom one feels like going against majority.
And Iron Maiden are coming to Bombay. I admit to myself I still remember all the lyrics but somehow stepping in there with the population to witness legends does not hold the same fantasy for me. I'd stand there, spending time between songs looking at those who surround me and wondering why I had been stranded for the day. It would be not include ideal fun. Plus, its the first day of the coolest month of the year.
I can't hardly wait.
I used to quote and let know, remember - "You go forwards, I'll go backwards, somewhere we will meet".
Friday, December 28, 2007
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.
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.
Saturday, December 22, 2007
Friday, December 21, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, November 12, 2007
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.
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.
Saturday, November 10, 2007
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.
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.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
(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.
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.
Monday, September 10, 2007
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...
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.
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.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
"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."
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."
Thursday, August 16, 2007
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.
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.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
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.
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.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
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....
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....
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
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?
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?
Monday, July 23, 2007
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.
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.
Friday, July 20, 2007
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 Å¡ay' شيء = “thing”, which in translated algebra texts and similar was taken into Old Spanish with the pronunciation “Å¡ei”, 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.
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 Å¡ay' شيء = “thing”, which in translated algebra texts and similar was taken into Old Spanish with the pronunciation “Å¡ei”, 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.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
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.
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.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
S&M, A&E, & MBA.
And,
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.
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.
Monday, July 9, 2007
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.
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.
Friday, July 6, 2007
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.
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 being1. 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.
Thursday, July 5, 2007
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
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.
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..!
Monday, July 2, 2007
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.
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.
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