Madhur Bhandarkar in love

I'm stinking like an uncovered manhole. I haven't bathed in two days. Day one: laziness. Day two: more of it. I plan to introduce my body to some water after this post if I don't feel lazy all over again. I'm usually in high spirits when I'm typing something completely irrelevant and senseless. The less sense I make the happier I seem to be. The happier I am the less lazy I seem to be. My plan is to shed laziness after this post.

I find the implicit relation between Harry Potter and The Hobbits and everything related to the hobbit-lore unnerving. Everything about Harry Potter reminds me about something from the Middle Earth. The Invisible Cloak, The Ring. The House Elves, Smeagol. Forbidden Forest, Mirkwood. Harry and his firends, Bilbo Baggins and his entourage. The Whomping Willow, Ents. Voldemort He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, Smaug the Magnificent/Sauron. Proffessor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Gandalf. Good vs Evil, Good vs Evil. Haa, but what the heck. I love them both.

My bloody battery broke. It was on the verge of exploding into tiny bits of lead and shrapnel so I had to shell out 550 bucks on it. Five bloody fifty bucks to keep my cell phone from switching off every couple of hours, which I actually prefer, because the only calls that I get are from my office at unearthly hours from people whose voices I don’t really admire. Twelve pints of beer poured down the gutter.

My guitar is as fucked up as my musical talent. The strings all look like barbed wire from a war movie. I play He’s A Pirate and it sounds like a grunge version of Suraiya’s Ye Mausam Aur Ye Tanhai. I got to do something about them.

My roomie is down with Jaundice. One recovered and the other went down like a bullet hit bird. Talking about birds, I’ve had more than a dozen *complete* chickens in period of 4 weeks. I’ve suddenly found a ferocious fascination for well cooked grilled and tandori chicken. My monthly chicken consumption is as much as that of a small nation. I don’t know if it’s addiction, temporary obsession or an activity emerging out of sheer boredom. All I know is I love birds. Well cooked and served with beer or lime juice.

I haven’t been able to buy myself a nice pair of canvas shoes. Neither in Bangalore nor here. I went to the same bloody showroom where I bought my previous ill fated pair of *black* canvas shoes. I couldn’t find them there. I asked for them here. Out of stock. This is bad business. Things that are out of stock are the things that the people are asking for, you morons. Instead of all the garbage you sell in your bad smelling, heavily lit, nosy salesmen filled showrooms you should have more stuff that is not out of stock. Things are out of stock because people like them. Sell more of them you idiots.

I’ve recently realized that I’m growing an ugly tummy. As scary as it sounds, it really is making its way out into the big wide world. Imagine a long, thin toothbrush. Imagine it pierced through a boondi ladoo. Imagine an inverted V shaped toothbrush stand on which this toothbrush is mounted. Now if this arrangement had life it’d be me. No. Wait. Engineers are lifeless gits. Imagine that arrangement and it'd be me.

My fishes are doing fine. Madhur Bhandarkar is having an affair with Sterile. I’ve seen them snogging and doing stuff with each other after I turn off the lights. Anyway, the next pair of fishes I get will be named Severus Snape and Fred Weasley. Yes. Severus and Fred.

I grew up watching his videos. My mom loved him. My dad would praise him, awestruck, every time he did those gravity defying moves. I loved those bold crotch grabs, those dog howls, that insane amount of money he made, those extravagant videos he produced and his tip toed stand like a ballet dancer. Sad way to die.

And before my fishes die, I better take a bath. Read, listen, watch and love. And hate those fundamentalist motherfuckers.

Peace.

Illusion Delusion

I died there
Reborn on Earth
I'm not an alien
But I am one
There is a place
After death
Where we all suffer
Every breath
It is here
This is it
You think you live
If only,
If only you knew.

Another cog in the murder machine

In a violent place we can call our country,
Is a mixed up man and I guess that's me.
The sun's in the sky but the storm never seems to end;
It's a place of sorrow but we call it a home.
And the darkest thoughts, yeah I guess they're my own;
There's wealth in the bank but there's nothing to show inside.

I have denounced BJP and declared my support for Congress. I tell people I believe in Congress. But it doesn’t mean Congress reign is the ultimate solution to all our problems. We have a truck load of problems and innumerable such trucks. We, as a country, are completely, irreparably fucked. We live in a twisted, jigsaw puzzle of a country that nobody knows how to solve. We are fucked beyond recognition. We have been so since the beginning of the time: since before we carved those naked chicks on temple walls; since before we censored our movies; since before Asoka was a warrior; since before he laid down his sword to meditate. To cleanse his life. To find salvation. To forget his sins. He said balls to the country, his politics, his lust and his state and hugged the great Buddha.

We all want a better India. We want good jobs. We want Japanese gadgets that we can show off in India. We want Russian websites to gratify our Indian lust. We want American TV shows to forget the reality. We want iPhones to bitch about the Bush administration even though we don’t know fuck about his policies and politics. We like to blame Americans for everything bad that’s happening in this world and our personal lives. “Damn! my girlfriend ditched me. Fuck Bush”. We’ve come down to this. Obama won. It was like baby boys were born in our homes. Ok baby girls. Don’t call me sexist.

We are a country where homosexuality, consensual sodomy, fellatio and fingering are considered crime. By the law. What one does with ones chosen partner in the comforts of ones home is supposed to be nobody’s business but theirs. This is sexual fascism. This is British Raj. This is Auschwitz gassing our freedom.

My point here is, we are stuck somewhere deep in a pile of shit we call culture. We are ignorant about the global progress. We are aping our forefathers. They burnt the widows alive. We are burning each other. Don’t get me wrong. I love sari clad women. I appreciate spicy dal tadka. I love Shah Rukh Khan when he cries. But when you drag out a woman having a merry time in a pub and beat her black and blue in a mindless cultural frenzy, you have no right to be classified under the family homo-sapiens. You are an extinct Jurassic ear Tyrannosaurus making an unexpected and undesired comeback. And if you look closely, right now, India is a palaeontologist’s heaven.

John Lennon’s words are nothing but nice sounding lines put together to create a nice sounding song. It’s an abstract painting that we’ll never understand. And when we do, we’ll get it all wrong. Like a misunderstood satire. Like a rebuked daily strip. Like us.

I like to believe that there’s no hope. Wait. I think there is. The only hope rests with extraterrestrials. Aliens. We can only hope that some highly advanced freaky looking guys from Alfa Century land in India, taste our dal tadka and take us all to their planet, brainwash us and make us one of them. It’s impossible until we change. And, well, we will not change. Look at the sky at night and pray my friends. Pray for a saucer. E.T is our only hope.

We are a fucked up generation.

A fucked up generation.

We gotta get out of here.

It’s cloudy now.*

* It’s Cloudy Now, composed and performed by Blackfield.

Imagine, composed and performed by John Lennon.

Patriot, performed by Pearl Jam

Obituary

It is with deep regret that I inform the sad and early demise of Sangya, my guppy fish, who under the careless and irresponsible charge of my lazy roommates suffered an extremely painful death. A home funeral was conducted in the loo by the same lazy roommates in the wee hours of Tuesday. The fish was finally flushed to rest.
He will always be remembered for his great blue fins.

Queen

Morose

Perched by the window sill

You feel the cold wind

Emptiness within

You were once his Queen

The clouds howl and cry

You sip your wine

Yearning to fill the vacancy

Where he had once been

He had called you his Queen

Light fades, night falls

Intimidating to last forever

He’s singing your love songs

To another

He’s calling his new Queen

Let me breath you once more

I hold her firm and close
In my grip, like firefly, she glows.
On a dull evening she inbreathes the air
I smell, savoring her fragrance on a wooden chair.
She entices my fingers, my hand, my body
Like cool breeze, like someone to nobody.
Close to my face, she stares me in the eye
She holds my hand and I can only sigh.
Crackling, she inches towards my lips
I disappear and reappear; oh, she's a magical eclipse.
Travelling the emptiness of the void space
Her moist lips take me to a scenic place,
A place where troubles are like cold nights
And pain, the wait for the morning light.
A place where those are never forever
A place where eternal love blossoms, however.
My fair lady, kiss me once more,
Oh, hold me, let me breath you once more.

New Shoes

O God, that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains! that we should, with joy, pleasance, revel, and applause, transform ourselves into beasts! ~William Shakespeare, Othello


Never drink and drive. And more importantly never go shopping after a pitcher of beer. I’m embarrassed, I feel like a complete ass, I’m angry and I’m thirsty for a pint of beer. I’ll soon come to that.
Divs tagged me the other day. She wants me to list my favorite quotes. Um, I love way too many quotes to mention just a few. But I’ll mention some anyway. These quotes are not exactly what I’d call my most favorite quotes or the only ones that I love but these are the ones I can remember now in my cubicle. Yeah, today’s an official working day. Fuck my life.


“A man can be happy with any woman as long as he does not love her”
Oscar Wilde.
One witty bastard this guy. And gay. Not that there’s anything wrong with it. If I were alive then and this time was that time, I’d have loved to be friends with this guy. Talk about women, politics and sexuality and women.

“Everything popular is wrong.”
Oscar Wilde.
Right.

“Sometimes when I reflect back on all the beer I drink I feel ashamed. Then I look into the glass and think about the workers in the brewery and all of their hopes and dreams. If I didn't drink this beer, they might be out of work and their dreams would be shattered. Then I say to myself, it is better that I drink this beer and let their dreams come true than be selfish and worry about my liver.”
Jack Handey
He’s a mind reader.

“Beer is the cause and solution to all of life's problems.”
Homer Simpson
This is just one example of Lord Papa Simpson’s observation on life. I worship that man.

“The Dilbert Principle: People are idiots.”
Scott Adams.
If you are a cubicle dwelling, quarter life crises facing, frustrated engineer, grab a copy of that book today. Now.

“Man, I see in Fight Club the strongest and smartest men who've ever lived. I see all this potential, and I see it squandered. God damn it, an entire generation pumping gas, waiting tables – slaves with white collars. Advertising has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don't need. We're the middle children of history, man. No purpose or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our great war is a spiritual war. Our great depression is our lives. We've all been raised on television to believe that one day we'd all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars, but we won't. We're slowly learning that fact. And we're very, very pissed off.”
Tyler Durden, Fight Club (film)
I know the entire film by-heart. I know all the quotes from the novel that inspired the film. In Tyler Durden I trust.


"If you are reading this, then this warning is for you. Every word you read of this useless fine print is another second off your life. Don't you have other things to do? Is your life so empty that you honestly can't think of a better way to spend these moments? Or are you so impressed with authority that you give respect and credence to all who claim it? Do you read everything you're supposed to read? Do you think everything you're supposed to think? Buy what you're told you should want? Get out of your apartment. Meet a member of the opposite sex. Stop the excessive shopping and masturbation. Quit your job. Start a fight. Prove you're alive. If you don't claim your humanity, you will become a statistic. You have been warned.”
Tyler, Fight Club (film). Pre-movie warning.


“I'd like to share a revelation that I've had during my time here. It came to me when I tried to classify your species and I realized that you're not actually mammals. Every mammal on this planet instinctively develops a natural equilibrium with the surrounding environment but you humans do not. You move to an area and you multiply and multiply until every natural resource is consumed and the only way you can survive is to spread to another area. There is another organism on this planet that follows the same pattern. Do you know what it is? A virus. Human beings are a disease, a cancer of this planet. You're a plague and we are the cure.”
Agent Smith, The Matrix
I remember watching it in the late 90s when I was high school kid. I didn’t understand no shit save for the action sequences. My sister has to explain me for an hour who, what, where and why. Even today this movie sends a shiver down my spine. Just that “Mister Anderson” by Agent Smith is enough to give me goose bumps. He features way up in my top-ten list of fictional villains.


“Let’s fuck.”
Adam to Eve after she offered him the apple. This is merely my assumption.

That’s that.

I bought myself a pair of canvas shoes from Levi’s, Brigade Road. Rewind 1 hour. I was guzzling mugs of beer at The Pub World. Little did I know that a pitcher of beer had the potential to meddle with my decision making abilities. I and my able friend Abhi enter the showroom and point at these nice looking ankle length shoes to the salesman. He happily asks my shoe number. I utter a number I think makes sense. I say 9. And I’m 10. He brings them over from the stockroom and I test them. They feel perfectly fine. And today as I type this here my toes and ankles hurt as if a thousand red ants are making merry chewing on my feet and bellowing, “Chutiya hai re tu,” with their mouths full. Seriously it hurts like hell.
I can’t replace the shoes now. I’ve lost the receipt and it’s already been a week. More than my feet my heart is in pain. It hurts like I’ve lost my teenage love.
Life’s a bitch. Divya pings and reminds me of this song about shoes. Sukrit, as usual can’t keep his lady-mouth shut. By the way, dude, do you remember the other story about my jogging/tennis shoes which are now part of my Friday casual wear? I still can’t figure out why on Earth I bought them. I’ve got to go back home and change my shoes and wear those uglyass, yellow-soled tennis shoes.
I think I’m going to auction my shoes online. I can’t just keep them packed in the boxes feeling all helpless and angry. Anybody who’s interested in black, canvas, unused, ankle length, UK number 9, Levi’s shoes, please mail me. Anybody who has novel ways on how I could make the best out of useless shoes, mail me. Anybody who wants to scream, “Chutiya hai re tu,” with the ants, please mail me.
It’s a gloomy Saturday, I’m in office wearing shoes that don’t fit me of which I’ve lost the receipt and the showroom won’t replace them not only because I’ve lost the receipt but because they are a week old and they think I’m an old, pain-in-the-ass customer that buy goods just to return them. To add to my woes people ping and tell me listen to songs about shoes.
Yes, Divya. I’m submitting it to Fuck My Life.