BEYALORA

What's up, Doc?

2014-03-28T16:46:00.000-07:00

This is my first submission to this group, which is otherwise filled with some outstanding creative brains from my generation. The topic for that night was - "The Rabbit has it."

2013-10-23T14:51:00.001-07:00

As a Juventus fan with a friend circle full of Real Madrid fans, this is how I feel right now.

You know you're old when...

2013-10-22T21:48:00.000-07:00

...the comments on porn clips are more 'interesting' than the clip itself.

P.S. I just came across this.

Err...that didn't come out right.

Fuck it.

After all this time, Liz Parker

2013-03-06T16:32:00.001-08:00

Just when I thought HBO's 'Girls' was losing the plot, the fuckers brought in Shiri Appleby as a guest star. For those who have no clue what I'm on about,
- "Girls" is a TV show about life in New York from the eyes of a few twenty year olds. I loved the first season but the second season was so far 'meh'.
- Shiri Appleby played Liz on Roswell, one of my favourite TV shows from when I was in high school. The show wasn't all that great but it had great music (check out the soundtrack) on it (this was a time before One Tree Hill, The OC or Grey's Anatomy) and it was about aliens.

Here's a song I heard on Roswell, which incidentally also features Appleby in the video.

Guilty pleasures, I tell you.

A Shitty Morning

2012-12-26T14:32:00.001-08:00

We live in really weird times. One of the first thoughts in my head, as I realize I'm headed for what looks like a break-up, is how I'll have to download break-up songs onto the iPod. Don't get me wrong - the situation is bad, but I'm also disgusted at knowing what I've turned into. A fast food-hogging, slow loading internet page of pop-culture references who has an mp3 (not song) up his sleeve for every fucken occasion.

Some habits, unlike hope, never leave us. While rushing out of her place, I see the neighbour's newspaper on his doormat. This is enough for the klepto in me. It's my copy now. The front page carries a full page ad about Vicco products. Suddenly, the song inside my head is "Vicco turmeric, nahin cosmetic.. Vicco turmeric ayurvedic cream." Have you ever tried making sense of a shitty situation while trying to shake off an iconic pre-liberalization ad jingle from the late eighties? I have.

Vicco turmeric. Fucken asswipe.

Cold Delhi morning in December. Waiting for an auto-rickshaw. In winters, these fuckers should be called "freezing death traps".

Bhaiyya, how much would you charge to kill me every second till JNU main gate?

Just till the main gate? You don't want to get killed till inside?

No.

Hmm, sir.. ninety rupees.

What?!
Yesterday someone killed me for just seventy. No, I won't pay ninety.

Yeah, something like that.

As the auto-driver picks up someone else, I realize I have stormed out in her chappals. The walk back to her flat is weird. I Go in. Change chappals. Storm out again. Only this time, there's no goodbye kiss.

Hopefully, we'll work things out.
But this morning cannot be shittier.

On getting "bystandardized"

2012-11-04T22:56:00.002-08:00

So I'm smoking a cigarette alone at the entrance of Ozone, waiting for the others. Then I see this tween boy...skinny jeans, emo hair and all that..walking briskly and crying silently. I asked if he was okay, making sure my concern sounded genuine and not pedo-like. He looked at me and said in a very mumbled voice - "John Cena died."

"Who died?"

"John Cena!"

Like an ass, I replied - "So?"

He just walked away.

Came home and checked. John Cena is still alive.

My first reaction was that of confused admiration. Did the tween just pull a fast one on the not-minding-his-own-business weirdo? If that did happen, I was actually impressed at his cheekiness and that too when something else had clearly made him upset.

Later, when I was discussing this with a friend online, a little more research burst my bubble. Apparently there was a facebook viral message claiming that Cena had died of some accident. (details - here)

This social network influenced life can be really disturbing at times.

Title suggestion - Swati Tyagi

On being Agony Uncle...

2012-03-25T15:26:00.001-07:00

A lady friend, who had recently met a guy, asked me today - "How do you let a guy know that you want him to kiss you?"

It was nice to see her happy. A little clueless, but happy.
The thing is, I'm the last guy one should approach for "guy" advice. I pretty much suck at studying people's minds when it comes to heart shaped discussions. The gender does not matter. It does not make matters better or worse either. However, the latest bout of mushiness I had gone through (hopefully it's passed), made me indulge her as sincerely as it was possible by my standards.

All I could suggest was - "If I wanted a kiss, I'd have asked it plainly."
This was just another example of what a deep fucken hypocrite I am. I'd never ask a girl, would I? Chhee Chhee, what would she think?

But at least it got me thinking. (I think when I'm not working. No, seriously, a ghostwriter leaves his brain behind when working.) Why would anyone want that kiss? Is sucking face that important... right after you've had a nice time conversing with each other. Also, after hours of talking over cigarettes and joints, wouldn't you NOT want to share mouth space that smells of tobacco?

My dad, and later my mum, used to show me letters they used to write to each other. The topics they covered dealt more with which cousin eloped with which lover, who had how many beers after Kapil Dev ripped through the Australian line-up, how the cycle ride to the next village was better in the evening than in the morning... and such other gibberish, than with how much they loved or missed each other. Back then I used to wonder why anyone would talk such bullshit on a postcard. Later, I grew up and understood the necessity and charm of a good conversation. Forcing a bad joke on someone is not as cruel as forcing your obsession. (no matter how bad my jokes are.)
I don't know why the kiss is so important. If it's really that precious, can't we get over with it somewhere in the middle, say, when we're eating? This way, I could also taste what she's eating. (foodie high five? anyone?)

On a slightly depressing note, my friend and I figured out that we were both told by our respective dates that we'd soon meet and travel - "here, there, anywhere..".
Is this a new template I'm unaware of? Because, like a child, I believed her.

But I couldn't let my friend drift back to her cynical self.
I gave her some bullshit about how being cynical is like playing it safe - you won't be disappointed no matter what, in case things head south. We ended our chat by agreeing to be hopeful with a sense of humour.

The Smiths are helpful at times. Hopefully.

A Dovahkiin Rests

2012-02-17T00:25:00.000-08:00

Adam Adamowicz (1968-2012)

The idea of someone dying can fuck with people's heads in so many different ways. I used to think that only when someone you were related to, or were friendly with, died, did it effect you. A stupid notion that was. I know that now.

Till about two and a half hours ago, I had no idea who Adam Adamowicz was. And then a friend told me how the internet was abuzz with some people claiming that Whitney Houston's death stole the thunder of another person; "the Skyrim guy" she said. It's funny how the internet works. Within thirty seconds we found out it was Adam Adamowicz. Within fifty, I found how some people online were fighting over how fan posts over his passing were such repeats on this forum. It's a little sad how we lose some sense of morality online. I guess when one has a really badass or hipster user name, one has to live up to it. I shouldn't be judging them though. I have laughed/yawned at funerals. I guess it had a lot to do with some boring rituals hindu funerals are made up of.

Adam's passing hit me like something I had not felt all throughout the last year, when famous people were dropping down like extras in disaster films. Ignore my crassness. There's something weird about celebrity deaths and the social media. I haven't figured it out yet but I can't help but sadly laugh at things like "RIP Steve Jobs is trending on Twitter".

Adam was a concept artist who gave us Fallout 3 and Skyrim. Ever since the Skyrim videos were released in late 2010, I have been glued to YouTube and since then, I've been planning on building a gaming rig that could support this game. The point is, I was surrounded with Adam's and the entire Bethesda team's work.

Remember how you felt when you were told that Heath Ledger was dead, right before the Dark Knight hit the theaters? That's how I'm feeling right now. I haven't played Skyrim yet, but now I must. I can't comment on how his friends or colleagues feel right now. I better not try to gauge what his family must be going through. But to all the people who knew Adam as the genius behind making the world of Tamriel come alive in Skyrim, I tell you this - it is okay to feel sad about his passing, but let us celebrate his immortality instead. Enjoy the game for all that it offers, treat it like an old painting in a museum for it is in no way a lesser work of art. Every hour you have been/will be spending in Skyrim, let it be a tribute to the artist who used to be behind the scenes.

Adam, you will be missed.

I will stop crying now and go back to working.
Only then can I afford that rig I promised myself.

It hurtsssss us!

2012-02-16T03:35:00.001-08:00

I just chatted with clients who say "ASAP" about 47 times in a conversation. This beats the record for "like"s I had heard while talking to a friend, who's like ya-know, like, very, like chilled and cool otherwise.

Then there's this another client who calls himself Shown Parker on the internet. I kid you not - that's how he spells it. Turns out he's a Gujju who wants to hire "Contain" writers.

This planet is strange.

How 2011 (rear) ended me..

2012-01-01T12:34:00.000-08:00

Facts -

Net Resolutions around Dec/Jan have exponentially increased since the arrival of Facebook.
The number of fucks Delhi gives in regards to global warming is zero.
The content writer is the scum of the universe. Even below the outbound Hindi call center guy who stays near Atta market in Noida. And he is NEVER content.

So, how did I spend the night of December 31st, 2011 you ask? Come, (don't) I shall tell you.
Did you ever have a dream where you're surrounded by beautiful naked people all around you, stuffing things into each others' orifices?

Well, neither did I. (But I'm sure someone does dream about those things)

But, I got to live one of these dreams. Oh yes! (repeat 6x)
So, when the entire world was celebrating the arrival of the last year of human existence (Yes, I believed everything the Mayans and John Cusack's movie told me), when my yellow bro Thupten was asking me to accompany him to a party which I'm guessing had booze, women, grass and a guitar, when Pori was having a good time with her sisters, when Sunayana was being the cool hippie somewhere in Rajasthan, when my parents were gorging on excellent food back home, when Kar was enjoying the after-party of her birthday party somewhere in the hills in North Bengal, when Pankhuri was eating all the cakes her Mum was baking at home, when the Nigerians in the next building were going in with crates of alcohol every ten minutes, when Johny Hendricks was knocking out Jon Fitch with one left overhook at UFC 141, I was....

... writing 24 articles for the website www.mangasm.com (The lack of hyperlink is intentional. No, seriously.)
This website sells anal sex toys for men and I (of all content writers out there, WHY ME???) had to write about the heightened orgasms a guy could get if he rubbed his prostate gland with the right amount of pressure. And that was just one of the 24 topics!

So yea, there were no girls, only guys inside my head... and that too, naked ones with this expression. If I were a gay content writer, I could have still seen the silver lining... but, sigh...

I tried going out, but Delhi winters are seriously not good for Bengali boys like me. Also, the auto guys were charging 50 bucks for a 20/- ride to Priya. Screw this!! I wanted to hit them on the head with the biggest prostate massager mankind has ever seen...

I came back to my room and tried to finish the work. I even waited for Stockholm Syndrome to hit me. But no. Nothing. I just sat like a loser and carried on typing.

Happy New Year, everyone.
Die.

P.S. All you guys out there who want to 'experiment'. Let it be known that stimulating your prostate gland can induce an orgasm which can last up to an hour. For more details, go to mangasm.com

Woody Guthrie's New Year Resolutions from 1942.

Assembling a PC - from lowest to highest budget

2011-12-30T15:21:00.000-08:00

Lately, I've been quite obsessed with assembling a Gaming PC, mainly because my laptop (a Compaq CQ45 Core2Duo with 3GB RAM and 256MB dedicated graphics) is about to die soon.

Also, another teeny weeny reason is that ..
SKYRIM HAS RELEASED!

Anyway, whenever I'm not working or eating or sleeping, all I do is browse the World Wide Web for PC Assembling guides. That is when I came across a link which has a detailed chart on what hardware to use for assembling the best PC for any budget. Of course, I cannot afford the last two configurations, yet. But some of you might. So here's the link.

http://i1002.photobucket.com/albums/af150/The_FalconO6/CurrentLogicalPCBuyingGuide/Guide.png

Thank me.

Everybody's changing and I don't feel the same

2011-12-01T15:41:00.000-08:00

Warning - This is a rant.

This year was sad. Some friends just moved far, far away. The trouble is, I don't know if it's something I did or if they just got bored. What I find more scary is that everyone seems to be growing up really fast. Jobs, partners, aims, 5 year plans, etc. If the Kids are All Right, then why the sudden race? I can never get my head around it.

I even tried planning a trip with one of them. Didn't work. Sudden exams are the universe's WMDs which annihilate my happiness this time. I realized I upset this lovely friend. And now we are suddenly distant.

All of us, have had our own things going on - work, studies, struggles, families... but now, it seems to be too visible. The other day, one of them told me - "What the hell are you doing with your life?". I had no answer. How does anyone answer that? I can't bore others with my "plans".

Barney Stinson was right. When he's feeling down, he becomes more "awesome". I want that power.

I'll try my hand at juggling, I think.

Thanks for listening.

Headphones, Food and People - A walk through Old Delhi

2011-11-08T23:42:00.000-08:00

Deep fried fun.

Shaahi Tukda - A royal piece indeed.

Don't be fooled by the crowd - they give you way more space than rest of Delhi

Cool Topis.

A starving belly, a walk through one of the best yet cheap gourmet lanes in town at a time of the day when the locals had just broken their fast, coupled with some of my favourite music arranged in an arcane playlist, and the best bit – shuffle mode. This, I tell you, is the life. So when The Shins started strumming their way into simplistic glory on New Slang, I found myself walking just like the guy in the video, clueless about what to dig into as an appetizer. (The next time someone says soup I’m gonna souperkick his derriere to Manchuria). Like a true Bengali, I start with a sweet dish – pretty sure I’m gonna end my feast with another. The Shaahi Tukda is made from specially baked sweet bread, mixed with all kinds of dry fruits topped with a not-too-sweet-but-fat layer of dry cream and a plate costs you ten rupees. I was happy. ‘Twas short lived as the track changed to Phil Collins’ Another day in paradise. I was suddenly conscious of the three street urchins staring at me from the other side of the narrow lane. Always had this argument with myself whether I should give in to the pleas of street dwellers, or walk on out to discourage the culture of begging for alms.

Pressed NEXT and walked on. (sneer at my apathy, yes)

Mohammed by Dandy Warhols helps me forcefully distract myself from such random arguments. My shallow heart aligns its beats with the haunting bass intro of this beautiful song...”I only wanna do the right thing, but all these demons pass my side...” So I find this entrance to a dargah, and sit out the remainder of the song. Listen to it, and you’ll kind of have an idea why.
The track changes to Seven Seas by Antix. As much as I love their work, I couldn’t help noticing after two minutes, that my steps were matching up with the exact beat of the song. And that’s when I realized, it’s about time I changed the track. It’s physically impossible to keep up steps while walking with the beat of a trance number. You’ll eventually end up running like they do in the Roadrunner Show. Classic rock in the form of The Doors comes to my rescue. I was literally shadow singing to the beef kabaabs and tikkis as they were being roasted on the grill. What else can you do with a song like Light My Fire? Do not answer, it was rhetorical. The kabaabs and tikkis complimented each other like the drums and keyboards did in that amazing instrumental break. The plan of taking my own sweet time while eating food of such great quality takes no time to fail. Picture Homer Simpson gobbling a beef steak. I was as dedicated. That’s it, appetizers were over. Not that I had enough space for a full meal from here on, but hey, I do not loiter around in Old Delhi every other day, do I?

Lord of the Rings

Stepping into a small restaurant called Sultan Hotel, I head straight for the small table upstairs under a small but strong wall fan. I look for someone to help me place my order. Abdul, a boy of about fourteen, bounces up the stairs. I ask for two tandoori rotis, a beef korma, and nihari. He seems more intrigued by the shape of my head, as if he’s planning a PhD, on the dents* up there in my skull. I repeat my order. He jumps out and hops back in exactly in a minute with the food. The Doors give way to Chet baker, although I doubt if, while writing My Funny Valentine he had the same look in his eyes, as I did while drooling over the juicy meat pieces. As if I cared... One slow track follows another, and this time it’s Radiohead with Talk show host. This is a true testament to the greatness of food over here in this part of Delhi – even my favourite band in the world cannot distract me from my mission. Two more rotis and Pearl Jam’s Nothingman have passed, and I’m suppressing burps trying to convince myself and there’s more space left. Some other day maybe - No, not maybe - some other day for sure.

And now I’m thirsty. It’s sort of hard to spot your favourite lassi shop in a crowded market, but frankly, Smashing Pumpkins’ 1979 animated my monologue of bumps and grunts and anglicized Urdu apologies. I finally find it, order a big glass of sweet lassi and end it with a very satiated “Aaaahhh” as if I was the third band member Wham! never had. Bob Marley sings Coming in from the cold. Ok, this might not mean a lot to most people, but to me, some of my close friends and lots of people I’ve met in Kasol, Himachal Pradesh, Mr. Marley is Lord Almighty. The night was ending quite well. I was in two minds whether to take a rickshaw back to the subway, or just walk. I decide to walk as the track changes to Born Slippy by Underworld made famous by the closing scenes in Trainspotting. I smile and wonder if my music phone has a mind of its own. I’m sure it does when I enter the train. Radiohead is back again with Fake Plastic Trees.

*Ah yes, the dents on my skull - My birth involved forceps. And, someone dropped me right after I was born. My head hit the gurney. Now, there's a dent on my head.

Photos by - Tracy Ghale (https://www.facebook.com/tracy.ghale)

gangi frá engill

2011-05-23T16:46:00.000-07:00

Never knew I'd be such a drama queen. The news was something I had been expecting for some time now. But then again, you know, there's always this hope... that may be things are not as bad as your fears tell you. The good thing is, I've run out of fears now.

I needed to run.

Just got out of the room and made my way to the main road. finished a smoke by the time I reached Kusum Pahari Slum. The road from here to DLF Vasant Kunj was a straight mile stretch. There were no cars on the road. The traffic lights were red though. Weird.

I ran.

For drama's sake, I dashed as the lights turned green. I wasn't expecting a great pick up. May be I wasn't as heavy as I thought I was. The thing with running too fast is, you seem to lose your balance if you try to slow down too soon. I was surprised my head was filled with useless info such as this when all I actually wanted to do was just run and let all the bullshit out. part of me was angry too. at myself.

I had barely managed to reach the turning that led to the mall when I looked up to the streetlights. closing my eyes was a stupid idea. I tripped on the pavement and fell. No bruises. Was I tough? I didn't feel tough. i didn't bother getting up. Breathing was not easy. I never had weird horse-like noises come out of me before this. I wasn't dying, that would have been too pathetic.

A car zoomed past. Someone threw a plastic bottle at me from the inside. I picked it up and somehow managed to throw it back. the car stopped. I didn't move. A girl stepped out. We looked at each other. I hadn't yet realized my forehead was bleeding. She went back in and drove away. A dog paid attention to me. i was momentarily happy. I waited for it to wag its tail or something. Bastard just sniffed the bottle and left. i tried whistling for attention. I didn't know how to whistle.

I wanted to pass out. I would have been successful too, had the weather not been so awesome. what were the odds! fucken Delhi summers!! shitty things can happen on good nights.

They say you can't have what you want unless you accept what you are. I hope it's true for letting go as well. I was a chaser obsessed with chasing the impossible. Now I will try to let go. May be.

I took an auto back home.

Song fo da moment (i want to be able to talk like this) - Lunatic Calm - Leave You Far Behind

Do something pretty while you can.

2011-03-31T21:44:00.000-07:00

This photo defines my four months in Guwahati.

The long vacation, which gets longer every time I book my return ticket, seems to be coming to an end. I feel like in some indie home-coming flick; nothing actually has happened, and that's where all the joys and sorrows seem to be.

December saw me trying to push a cause and 'make things happen' to something that could very well do without such external forces. The lesson that came out of it - when someone needs space, the dimensions of said space are such that it is 5'7" tall and weighs roughly 70 kilos. A lesson learnt well. But fate has always been a two-faced bitch. Now I had space too - to think, to plan. We sylhetis plan a lot. A plan which was based on a time-line that ends on 11.11.11. So, I told myself, I'd work my bum off and finally say goodbye to this cruel world on the set date. Hell Yeah!

January made me realize what a stupid plan* that was. Much more important things were happening and I learnt that I could sleep better, if only I'd resign to the truth that I'm NOT the hero of this story. 'Sleeping better' should always be the ultimate goal. This indie-flick side character, you could say, grew up a little with such little bits of wisdom. The space needed some respect and could not be ignored. The need for such a thing could not be the giant invisible elephant in the room anymore. Move on. End of Chapter One.

Whatever.

This Dude sleeps really well, I think.

February, as it fades into March. New Plan. Yes, roll your eyes bitches! I have to write a lot. Need to finish the script, the book of short stories that will never get published, while leading a dual life as a content (read far-from-content) writer who has to write about everything from hedge funds to men's thongs. The money has to come. One of the goals for which I need the money is to fund the upbringing of my own Pig in Pami's farm. (That's one of HER plans). Maybe one day, it'll go to college. Like any bad indie film where random things happen to people who have nothing to do with the continuation of the plot, I was witness to a bomb blast when my friends were having a nice meal in another zip code. Sadly, the blast wasn't big enough for me to realize how short and precious life is. (This is precisely why I need to grow up and learn how NOT to relate every random event to MY existence.). TIA - This Is Assam; bleh, whatevs I say.

Theme song for this post - We rule the school by Belle and Sebastian.

*the stupid plan still lives. It will happen. The dream lives. So does the longing to fill some spaces.

My very own lame Oh Boy moment... alone.

2010-11-26T13:34:00.000-08:00

There must be something about weed and hyper consciousness. They say stoners think at a different level. True. What I did not know was, they also observe every unimportant detail with CSI like precision.

Smoked a big one, alone.

No, I generally share. But this time, the people I was about to share it with were dancing to some good music. And they were dancing well. The last thing the scene needed was me stepping on the floor with my "moves", which actually make Chandler Bing look like Michael Jackson. So, for everyone's sake, I decided to stay put on the mattress and roll one joint after another. It wasn't that anyone forced me to dance either; you see, my reputation precedes me, and my mates respect that. So once they left the room to drop off the ladies, I picked the biggest doobie of the lot, took out an apple from the fridge, put on some Armin Van Buuren (yes, trance and weed are cliched. Sue me) and had my very own party.

Was out in three minutes.

Came down to my room and restarted the The Godfather Part I movie which I was watching this afternoon. 'Twas then I had my Oh Boy moment. You see, Vito Corleone was just about to be ambushed by some other wiseguys outside a fruit stall. And then I saw it. Paused the movie and here's the screenshot - (don't be lazy, click on it, it grows in size)

The boxing promotion poster in the pic said Jake La Motta vs some guy. Jake La Motta was the main protagonist in Scorcese's 1980 movie, Raging Bull where Robert De Niro played him. And Robert De Niro also plays the young Vito Corleone in The Godfather II. How cool is that! Ok maybe not to you, but I was super excited and felt really important at having seen this.

You say I need a life? I say you need Blu-Ray.

Sunday Morning, or, How I Scare My Own People.

2010-09-07T03:19:00.000-07:00

i sleep late. really late. Munirka village comes alive at 6:30AM - kids run to the local school, the caretakers of all buildings turn on the 'paani ka motors', the day job people come out to have bread omlettes and tea at Tripti Restruant (that's how they spell it here), the paper boy throws up the newspapers to the 4th/5th/6th floors with sniper-like precision, and landladies curse the sabjiwaala and then bitch about the north eastern people they have rented their rooms out to, the all white wearing landlords stand in their balconies and check out office going women from the strategic angle (as if that's not disturbing enough, some of them also burp in, what I think is the G-major and F#minor scale while pleasuring their eyes and rubbing their bellies), the guy who clears out the dustbins from my building accidently wakes up the the creepy old man who sleeps in a cot in the verandah and they have their customary MC/BC session.... these are the things that tell me that it's time I crash into the mattress.

But yesterday I was more hungry than other days. My work for the day was done but I just couldn't sleep. It was 5:15 in the morning and Munirka was still sleeping.

New Delhi has it's India Gate, Munirka Village has her Pal Dairy. A boon to cockroaches like I, and some call center people, it opens everyday at 5:30AM. All I had to do was wait for minutes. But I knew that staying in the room and watching episodes of Seinfeld wasn't possible with the stomach whining and growling more than George and Kramer* put together. So after almost eight years, i decided to go for a morning walk. The shop was eighty yards away from my room but,... umm... hunger amplifies distance. I stepped out, and it was still dark. But suddenly a familiar smell took over the entire scene. I couldn't recall what it was, but I had to know. A lady, about fifty or so, had just passed by, and I was sure it was her hair oil which triggered my curiosity. I finally had something to do till the shop pulled up its shutters.

I followed the lady. She was walking about twenty yards ahead, and stopping near every ground floor balcony and plucking flowers from the flower pots and putting them on a gold coloured vessel. Must be bengali, I said to myself. The fact that I did not know what that smell was, was killing me every second. It was too familiar to just ignore. Speeding up to her, and finally catching up, I asked in my politest voice which hair oil she used. She turned to me, slightly puzzled, and semi-shrieked in proper bengali-hindi - "O Ma, hum toh dor gaya tha!... Hair oil se kya hoga? Tum toh taakla ho." She told me to use castor oil for quick hair growth, and left the scene like a pickpocket leaves a crowded bus after the job's done.

I was speechless. And bald.
And I hadn't figured out what kind of hair-oil she used. I'd like to think it's a tie between Bajaj Almond and Keo Karpin. My aunts in Silchar used these, and hence the vague familiarity.

On the plus side, Pal Dairy had opened, right when I remembered I was hungry.

*George and Kramer are the best characters ever written for television. And Seinfeld is the best show.

The Break and the Brake.

2010-07-16T20:08:00.000-07:00

    Being a kid of the eighties, the boy too had had his share of being pushed and shoved into the mainstream of academia. The elders tried to convince him into believing that he was destined to be a great engineer or maths professor. His biggest mistake was defeating a drunken uncle in a game of chess when he was five. He was from a lineage that was symmetrically divided by the ‘chess leads to IIT’ and ‘you can be popular among your friends by being an expert in Robindro Shongeet’ schools of thought. A big city away from home was the only escape. And he escaped. Although deep down inside, he hoped for greatness – so what if chess was the only indication?

    It had been almost a year now that the boy had started to think for some reason he was “creative”. Not that he had ‘created’ anything so far, but he felt it was more like something that was always at the brink, sort of like global warming (?). A lot of time in the last four years was spent in the ‘big city’ just hanging around not-so-happening places, alone, where he just stood and stared at people, cigarette shops, dogs chasing cars that were chasing women, walls with no graffiti, etc. His stares were blank – his head created stories instead of observing the actual ones unfolding right there. You can’t say he missed a lot of trains; he was just one of those who were fascinated by the station. He’d rather walk.
Having walked a lot, now he knew what he wanted in life. And at the top of that ‘want’ list, was a break from all of this. Mind you, besides getting a useless degree, he hadn’t done anything in the big city. As I write about the boy, even I’m wondering – from what exactly does he want a break? He just wanted to go home. Just for a little while. Now that he thought he knew how to create stories from a spoon or a table fan, he tried to connect with everyone and looked for beauty in everything. And home was beautiful, I’ll at least agree with him on that. At times I feel he was too romantic, not in a Romeo, but Jesus way. So his luggage home consisted of a guitar, a notebook and some pens.

    Home was just as he expected. The weather was good, but the city was changing. Inside his head, he felt like a homecoming king. Or like the changed and reformed cyborg in the second Terminator movie. He actually had a shrink to patient conversation with the auto-rickshaw driver on his way home. His folks had shifted to a new flat, and our boy missed his old place a lot. So much so that during the first few days of his ‘break’, he used to take a bus to the old place and smoke a gold flake cigarette every other evening right outside his erstwhile kingdom. One such evening, after having one of the best idle conversations he had had in many months with ... someone, he decided to get a taste of his old life. He walked into Ganesh Saloon* – the place where he used to get a haircut every other month since the mid-nineties. He was high on life and decided that he needed a haircut. Go figure.

    Still maintaining his prom king like walk, he walked in and produced an extended director’s cut ivory smile to the barbers. They smiled back. This was his cue to announce to everyone in the town that he was back.
Boy – Don’t you recognize me after all these years? It must be the beard, right?
Barber - Arrey Saahab, aap? After all these years? I’m so happy to see you. Please take a seat. Will be with you in a minute.

    Our boy smiles that whole entire minute. A mixture of pride and nostalgia mixed with a pinch of hope that the world is still a happy place. He adjusts himself on the hot seat when his turn comes and the good ‘ol barber asks him how short he wants his hair to be cut. The boy, still as romantic as that French skunk from the Bugs Bunny Show, opens up to the barber and tells him he doesn’t care how short the barber chops it, he showed up because he missed Ganesh Saloon and the people that worked here. So the trimming and the snipping commences along with our boy telling the barber stories about big city barbers and how they do not ‘connect’ with their customers, while charging them around eighty bucks for a cut that’s probably worth twenty. And other anecdotes continue, till our boy dozes off like a baby in its mother’s arms.

    Ten minutes later he wakes up to find that his month long effort of growing a pseudo-intellectual beard goes down the drain. His new style resembles some Italian magician sporting a French beard. He could have hoped to carry off the look or hide in his room for a week, but with the military length hair even that plan seemed futile. Without saying a word he gets up and places a hundred rupee note in the ever-so-smiling barber’s hand, expecting at least seventy-five back as change. The barber asks our tragic hero – “Ekdum looking like foreign, no?” and returns a twenty rupee note.

    Our boy comes home and doesn’t really know how to deal with getting ripped off and looking like a European paedophile. So he books a ticket back to the big city.

*most of the other saloons have turned into “Salons”.

Things I learnt from Prakash Jha's RAJNEETI

2010-06-05T01:58:00.001-07:00

1. if you're showing a Leftist politician on silver screen, the loudspeaker he's holding also needs to be Red.
2. dialogues like "Comrade Bhaskar Sanyal ko main Bhagwaan maanti thi" sheds new light on how much the so-called young leftist girl has read about the Marxism-Atheism relationship.
2.5. "Bhaskar Sanyal"?!!! Seriously? Read this
3. All one night stands, lead to unwanted babies.
3.5. Marxist ideology is so weak that Comrade Bhaskar Sanyal leaves the political scene and forgets the ideology and makes a run for it, all because he feels guilty about having consensual sex.(talk about sowing the "seeds" of revolution.)
4. Bollywood does not believe in the umbilical chord, again.
5. Unwanted babies are natural survivors when it comes to floating on a river in a basket.
6. Winning an all-Dalit kabaddi championship makes you the leader of all Dalits.
7. when you're character is inspired from Suryaputra Karn, your name HAS TO BE ......Sooraj.
8. A political party with the party emblem - 'a handshake', feels appalled at the idea of forming a coalition.
9. the party office, just so that you know how non-leftist they are, have this Picture on its pin up board. (yes the scene was so boring, my eyes started to wander off)
10. the Party president gives a pep-talk to the other party ticket holders in the party office......using a Power Point Presentation.
11. When you're almost a PhD., in Victorian Literature and have just returned from the US., and you ambush your political rival in a run down basement, by surrounding him with your armed goons, you still feel 'not right' to fire that killing shot, cause he's unarmed.
12. American white people, to show how much they can relate to violence and terrorism, can play the I'm-actually-Irish card at any point in the movie without prior notice.
13. the only news channel on TV is Star News (one of the media sponsors), and all other news channels are made up names. i think one of them was Maury.
14. it's the political party that asks the public the question - "what's wrong with you?", NOT the other way round.

April 23rd, 2008 / Bata Rules, ok?

2010-05-12T15:59:00.000-07:00

I've been spending too much time in the room. Havn't seen the sun in almost a week. This time it's not American Express. They think I have malaria. I hope that's what the cheap helpful doctor writes in. My friends think I'm happily wasting my life in the AC enabled corporate office. That's what I'll tell them. It'll save me from being part of all those condolence-unlimited-conversations. Yes, I got chucked. And it sucks.

So now the only consistent person in my life is the delivery guy from McDonald's. Poor guy has to climb four storeys every day, so that I can stay hidden. And fat. I hope he makes it to some NIT this year. His joint rolling skills will come in handy over there I'm sure. I have torn chappals and I really wish Bata would start some home delivery service. Something like "30 mins nahi toh free socks." Too much to ask. I reach Kamla Nagar and end up buying new ones. Reach home and realize they are too bouncy. Too new. They don't sell faded slippers. I hate these new chappals.

I've forgotten how my friends look. Someone must have gotten a haircut. I want to see them. If only all of us could just meet and not talk. Not be 'social'. I message them to find that they are in Arts Faculty, waiting for me. The only think I'm excited about is the Banta. 15 mins and I'm there. The new chappals give a bounce to my walk. I look like a 70's Disco Guy walking towards the dance floor when the DJ plays Bee Gees. I look happy. It works. No one asks any questions. Happy hugs all around. And I realize I need some real bad. I love these new chappals.

The Banta wallah doesn't have change. May be the doctor supplying the fake certificate does.

A day-night match

2010-03-12T21:17:00.000-08:00

The beauty and harmony in a snowflake. We call it beauty although, the pattern is based on mathematical logic. Does that mean the pattern of a snowflake, is predictable? Then why isn't there a beauty and harmony in cancer or a road accident? I've been hearing about that butterfly for many years now, but not one of us has been able to predict a single hurricane. Some say our brain conjures up all this pure abstract. they also believe math precedes every other fact.

2, 4, 6, .....

We are happy. We know the next number is 8. is this the absolute truth? or is it just another way to look at fear. Of the unknown. waking up in a dark room at 3:30 and not knowing whether it's AM or PM fucked it up for me. what was the truth in those 10 minutes of doubt I spent inside just lying still? War, death and you were all I could think about. I stepped out, realized it was AM. And the brain just stopped. Nothing made sense. Unlike other times, detachment was claustrophobic.

Then someone send me this link, and in a scenic way - everything made perfect sense.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s8MDNFaGfT4

The Cosmonaut.

2010-01-17T15:41:00.000-08:00

Dilli is a cold place. And I'm not talking about the weather. The winter suits me. Everyone stoops down to my natural level of laziness. Yes, like all the earlier posts, this one too, is about me. But that's where the concept of 'everyone' stops. Our generation for some reason, is too obsessed with space - between two people, or siblings, or friends, or lovers; and even enemies respect each others space. The thinkers talk about shared space, open space, and they talk about these on MySpace. The junkies can't get enough of outer space. It's all good, I guess. But then why do I miss chaos, and I don't mean it in a Hiroshima way, or some anarchist convention way. Come to think of it, anarchists aren't supposed to "convene". I'm talking about the chaos of opinions, of interactions, of mismatches, of debates, of choices...Scientifically, the word that I'd prefer is Entropy. Big Bang was also a chaotic glitch, and it resulted in life.

This blog I'm writing, is also supposed to be my own space. They say it's a forum where both you and I speak. Then why does it allow me to edit the comments? When have we become so fragile, that we are scared of reactions? Senior tells me these are the questions a stalker or suicide bomber asks himself before he becomes one. Senior was high on Shark Tooth. Never try to outsmart your old man when he's drinking. He'll beat you to it. Or he'll just beat you.

Talking of shared spaces, why is it that it's ok for a wedding procession to create all the noise in the world at any place it wants, but not ok for us to play drums in our own rooms? To play a song on a guitar in the centre of Priya's Shopping Complex, you need to ask the permission of about ten people; they say it's a public nuisance, but it's all good if you have a banner saying "RSJ Presents". What freakin shared spaces?!!

Don't get me wrong, I'm still the same person who used to and still does, complain about folks calling up everyday to ask what I've eaten. But, ..I can't seem to be at peace with the fact that it's ok to write on a stranger's wall, or even poke him or her, online..but they'd probably let the dogs chase me if I show up at their doorsteps with a jar of paint looking for an empty wall, or maybe with my granpa's umbrella to poke them with. It's depressing. And Dilli is a cold cold place. On the plus side, Hollywood is back with beautiful movies. And they call me a downloader man.

You got your space, and I got mine. Don't drift away though...I'll see you soon.

December 15, 2009.

2009-12-14T12:43:00.000-08:00

... today was good. (Tuhi re by Hariharan plays as I type). had lunch at majnu ka tila after many months. you never realize how much you miss a place unless you're far away from it at all other times. same with people i guess. Pori was here. She has lost her appetite, but she's nice and funny. The butter tea she ordered wasn't nice. And that was funny. It's amazing how a simple place can pull me towards it. I please easy too. Beef and mashed potatoes, i loved my lunch. we talked, I ate, she nibbled. I tried to act cool at random parts. she saw through most of the time. she's clever. she knows too much. Should I, or should I not.... kill her? I'll get back to that in a while.

Nikhila joined us later. She has a pup called Gulab Jamun. Life was discussed. Naturally, grass too. (the track changes to Pardesi from Dev D..at low volume). We missed Amartya. Pori called him up. She tried to be cool. He didn't get it he says, cause he stuck in the limbo of loglike sleep and waking life. I thought he wouldn't respond. we love to sleep. he might've been cursing us at that moment. But hash was mentioned. picture a happily dazed bug moving towards a nightlamp. We were all bugs. Arts faculty was the table holding up the lamp.

30 mins, and we were all there, lucky enough to find a good spot. Naina joined us. I met her yesterday. Once earlier too, but then i was ...errr...brain dead. everything was ready. by everything, i mean the joint. we decided to wait for Amartya to show up. We were nice people. Between you and me, I wanted to light it. kept my mouth from cooperating with my mind when i found we didn't have matches. Yes, let's wait. He came. He sat. We smoked and had a good time, lots of good laughs. (Rabbi Shergill screams out Gill Te Guitaar...volume is lowered, for it to not drown out the sound of the drizzling rain). We passed two joints, and two momos too. Don't ask. Later, everyone left. I head to Amartya's where more friends wait. Good times, and good laughs.

Not a filmy or exciting post, I know. But I'm happy...and i want to read this fifty years from now. Pori would call me a loser. (The Moldy Peaches - Anyone else but you). But she'll probably be long gone by then, one way or the other. ;)

Fall/Winter 2010

2009-11-26T18:20:00.000-08:00

Dead is the new unambiguous. Bipolar is the new undecided. Heavily armed is the new born again. Bald is the new head .... and the new crotch. Hairy is the new face. Sheepishly admitting to having an STD is the new flirting. Finding the time that is right for you, is the new impotence. The smiley face emoticon is the new "sincerely yours". Smoking is the new outdoorsy lifestyle. Looking forward to insanely expensive private schooling is the new yuppie birth control. Veganism is the new "tastes like chicken". Texting is the new talking. Talking is the new singing. Singing is the new SOP. Graduation is the new "be careful what you wish for". Anti-depressants are the new crowd control. Misinformed is the new patriotic.

Scoring. (it doesn't seem right, no wonder it doesn't rhyme)

2009-11-16T15:17:00.000-08:00

Feigning an innocence
i walk out of the slum
creases on forehead
give me away.
I try
to justify
the cynic, the observer
my life is shit too
i remember her.

Turn. Walk back.
i can, i won't.
the kid, needs help, needs a lot
more than i do
this dirty brown bag of pot.
does he cry out
for company, for love?
glad, I'll never know.
sad, I'll never ask.

Mirrors are more fun
than Television.
Broken Frames, mine.
Shattered dreams, his.
these green glares i seek
they masquerade my guilt.
I'll do what i can.
I'll provide
by dropping in.
Buy some, and more later.
Irani, Pahaari, or
maybe Malana cream.
And find my way
to him
Gladly, Sadly, Madly
like a salmon swimming upstream.