Wednesday, February 25, 2004
This blog entry is with the express purpose of introducing a certain person who drives me batty saying I should talk about her sometime in my blog, instead of giving undue coverage to the megalomaniacs who inhabit my flat - but then to megalomaniacs there's really no such thing as 'undue coverage' - and so, without further adieu and enhancing the already sizeable size of this blog entry, I shall hasten to utter the very simplistic name of non-megalomaniac Deepa Rajan.
One down, one to go.
The second objective I had in mind was to publicize a certain practice of mine that I frequently used to indulge in Calcutta, whenever I was not in a partcularly social frame of mind. Namely, look deep into a glass full of water and twirl it.
Try it sometime. It's perhaps the most hypnotic spectacle you might ever see. I can't explain it, can't say why it had that strange fascination for me. But whenever my friend the Sensei caught me at it, he would touch my shoulder lightly and with a smile on his face, ask me what I was thinking about... aaa, I miss those guys ... twirling waters... they looked beautiful to me.. I don't know what the shrink would say if you told him about my practice, why don't you find out? isn't there any sexy self-help website called shrink dot com?
May be I should log in. The equivalent of being admitted - at least, I'm bound to see a lot of friendly faces in there. that most esteemed individual who has been hounding me for an honourary mention in my blog and who has finally been gratified (I hope!), namely, Deepa Rajan, will probably have soup with me every night for dinner.
(Or maybe, she likes fudge.)
Alright, I just have a few minutes left, as I'm already late for Business elective.. just had a teeny-weeny thought to share. It's a line from Sharon's blog - she wrote something about 'magnifying ants to death'.
In a way, that's life here at ACJ for us. I can almost imagine MJ, with her glasses and pepper hair looking down at us, miniature versions with six legs and cute antennae, and focussing a huge pair of magnifying glasses. 'Here comes the sun, whoa-oo-oo, here comes the sun.... it's alright... it's alright.'
The other scenario is more of a high-brow one. 'Making mountains out of mole-hills' kind of a thought. Magnifying anything beyond the right proportions manages to do that. The picture I now have is of Sharon being pumped and pumped full of hot air - Sharon, since the 'magnifying...' phrase was her creation - till she becomes this huge blimp and sails off into the wild blue yonder and finally bursts. Crash, boom, bang. And, yes, all that heartflush, headrush thingy of Nelly, too.
Sharon, please don't kill me.
Monday, February 23, 2004
I have a very goofy smile, and if you've seen me in person or pics, you'll realise just how true I am. There was this invigilator in one exam who, while collecting admission forms, suddenly stopped to pat my head and comment, "You should always keep on smiling like this!" There was my e-friend living half way across the world who said one fine day that my smile was definitely one of those to make heads turn - "bring sunshine in the room" were his words.
Alright - I'm actually not trying to blow my trumpet so hard here - I can't help it if it all comes so naturally, guys. So bear with me...
The point is - I have a weird, goofy smile. In a way, that shouldn't be allowed. There was this old guard at ACJ who had this psycho grin stuck perennially on his face, and I would go on cracking jokes about it to Neyha - and then, she would turn around and say, 'Hey, boss - have you looked in a mirror lately?' When my passport photo is passed around the table, there are peals of laughter about the smile plastered on my face. It takes a lot of hard work to appear happy on a passport photo - and I pass the test with flying colours! Damn!...
I love my goofy smile, though. It gets me compliments - and insults that are actually compliments. It gets me incredulous stares as to how on earth I can be so f***ing happy when my love life is pretty much in shambles and my professional life has got millions of deadlines to meet. It also gets me goosebumps when I finally do follow Neyha's advice and look in the mirror.
Saturday, February 21, 2004
Standing Alone: the title
Alright, this is a dreamy short story - a love story, really. Blame it on the hangover of 'Love, actually', if you will. the immediate provocation was this great poem on Nelly's blog. I got the images from there, and put it in prose.
I wonder if you can sense me here, standing in the shadows behind your drapes. I’ve been waiting here for ages, it seems, and all because of that one burning feeling I have in my heart each time I picture your dancing face before me. Every time I cross the street with you, holding your hand, it doesn’t really matter if I dally for a second too long and don’t find the time to dally any longer – because I have you in that instant and that’s all I want. So I’m standing here now in the shadows, watching you where the light plays and I wonder whether you can sense me.
You face the tall mirror and gaze into its depths, my love, and sigh. I would give a thousand lifetimes to wash away your sighs - rush right out of the shadows in a flash and gather you in my arms and wash away your sighs with sweet nectar. I would run my lips along your sweet tanned skin and make you fall in love with me all over again, all new again. It’s a new, beautiful world out there, my love – every second, every instant – and yet, what does that matter in the end, for here you are, and there I am, watching you, loving you, waiting to possess you.
I can see the light in your wide eyes as you turn around towards me, or think I do, at any rate. I can see the way you look startled, then happy, then alive, as you come into my arms. We don’t need to close the drapes, they have a mind of their own, and the soft amber light through the windows makes us burn in their life anew. Ours is a burning love, it always has been. You have always wanted to own me, and I have always wanted to be yours. You have always wanted to be radiant, and I wanted you to shine so bright. We burned together my love, even as I watched and you danced, even as I took you in m my arms and led you up the stairs to make love.
In the middle of the afternoon, and yet there we were, lying in bed together. I kissed your earlobes and you laughed. You sighed again, and this time, I thrilled to hear your soft breath. My fingers danced atop your honey skin, and revelled in that dance. There were no drum beats my love, save the strange passion emanating from between us. There was no world around us at all – only that deep, dark cesspool in which we found ourselves, whirling and whirling on, hoping and praying that this would last on till eternity. And it has… In spite of all those fears we once had that this was transitory, for a mere moment, the truth is at last upon us. That soft, tremulous love, that fleeting emotion that we marvelled existed in this world, that feeling of light headedness that we were sure every man and woman in the world longed for… it has come and it is here to stay for me.
For that last time when we crossed the road, me holding your hand in mine, when I dallied for a second too long, I didn’t have the time to dally any more.
But that’s alright… because I have you in this instant and that’s all I want.
PS: Yes, the ending sounds very Ghost.
Nonsense for today
I'm full with food and I'm fat right now.
I'm noteven thinking about the effect all that yummy food is going to have on my waist line.
Hell, I'll probably have another vanilla cone with arun tonight.
I think I'm obsessed with food.
Food and sex.
And nonsense like this.
PS: This is like a red flag to that bullish random lizard (who ever he is, god bless his soul!) to make a sarky comment.
Friday, February 20, 2004
On a serious note
Last night, I met up with an old friend - but the conversation turned out to be not quite as I had imagined it. We started talking about God, and I realized that my friend had been redoctrinated, as it were, into the precepts of his native Christianity.
I should not have said 'redoctrinated' - that sounds negative - and, in spite of my sarcastic vein, I would not want to poke fun at anybody's fundamental beliefs or religion.
But I was surprised, nonetheless, and we had a long conversation that lasted through the entire night - and carried on till 11 o'clock this morning. He urged me to read the bible and understand what it meant for. He urged me to give myself completely to God and be moral. He said he'd done the same. The difference between him and myself was that he believed - and I... well, he said he thought that I was empty.
May be I am.
There, I said it. My concession to morality. Maybe I have forgotten to believe. May be I'm sad that way. When I looked at my friend and saw the eager way that he thumbed through the pages of the bible and showed me para after para that he had carefully marked in green highlighter, I wondered why on earth I had never believed that intensely in any thing. Not in religion, at least.
When he asked me about my ideas about religion and god, I answered something silly about God being some sort of a Grand Support System designed by the suffering masses of humanity... my friend looked at me with a wry grin on his face and asked me to try again - this time, something that made sense.
Do I believe wholeheartedly in the pantheon of Hindu gods and goddesses? I don't think so. Yet every year, we have Saraswati and Lakshmi Puja at home. Each year, come Durga Puja, I bow my head and pray to God for success. That is like a mantra to me - success. I want it - I am insecure enought to lust after it. And I pray to God that he would deliver it.
There are other times, when my grandfather was undergoing blood transfusions to combat his leukemia that I prayed fervently that God should save him, times when I was lying in bed and praying that my Mother would have the happiest birthday of her life the next day, times when I prayed that no accident would befall my brother as he flew down from Mumbai. Those were heartfelt, genuine. Even as those other prayers were, when I prayed before Saraswati that I should excell in my exams.
I'm not sure where I'm going with this. I like to think that in some way, I do believe. May be not in the gospel truth of the bible or the vedas or the koran, but certainly neither in that ridiculous Support Mechanism theory. It seems silly - not to mention, terribly egotistic - to have even come up with such a stupid reply.
What my friend emphasised again and again last night was that I should think about all this more often in my life. Life is not all that short, he told me - despite what the hedonistic ads say - you can't choose when or how you're going to die, only how you'll live. There's plenty of time left to grow old in - and if I really want to say 'no regrets', as I continually affirm I do, then success must be replaced by something else on the top of my priorities list.
Even though that sounds maudlin it's probably the truth.
Thursday, February 19, 2004
Movie masala bland
I have been given divine inspiration last night. Any movie I make must incorporate the following:
1. The heroes must have long stresses of dirty hair that would be perfect 'before' pictures for Medicare Lice Shampoo. Of course, one of those manly men must do away with the length of his hair in gradual phases - first waist length, then shoulder length, and ending with the great spikyhairontop-cross-hedgehog look. Very chic.
2. The vamp must make bizarre cat woman faces and keep on jumping on the good guy's back and try to murder him in an almost erotic way. For details, check up on any Bond film.
3. The good guy's dad must of course die in sonny boy's arms, reciting some shloka together.
4. Good guy's dad must also look dandy in an anti-Gandalf black robe, and come back from the dead, to help sonny boy in turn come back from the dead.
5. Lunatics with no legs and screaming insantities to rats are a must-show.
6. There must be at least one rat, which has big bulging eyes that turn yellow, and talks to humans, in an effort to turn them also into ratty humans. There's a deep philosophy there... somewhere.
7. Blonde American sex bomb must twang Hindi like Brit Liz hurley must these days, and also climb up buildings after taking lessons from the Amazing Spiderman - though, she doesn't really go for all that 'friendly neighbourhood' crap.
8. The baddie must try to ellicit sympathy from the goodie just before the goodie kills the baddie. And of course, the goodie must have green cat eyes when he kills the baddie.
9. Goodie's gal friend must be a cold hearted bitch who wants to experiment in many different ways on goodie - which is not necessarily a bad thing, especially when she lets him experiment on her with dollops of oil... and yes, this blog ought to be rated PG definitely.
10. Goodie's slippery girl friend is an american scientist with a whole lot of other American scientists, who love wearing denim cut offs and spaghetti tops 365-24-7, and whose favourite night-time activity is dancing on table tops in bars for scores of leering men, pouring loads of beer on their legs, thighs, bosoms, tummies.... PG! PG! PG!
11. There's no need for a soundtrack. Vamp and slippery heroine moan and gasp and pant a lot to suffice. Maybe it's because of all that massage and all that oil.
PLUS: Some quotes to preserve for all eternity -
* "Bhagwan is a kind of internet."
** "Doing puja is... cool."
Check this space for more. For details, watch Rudraksh. If you dare.
When the F$#@ will that dratted King RETURN?!
Ok, blame this on the unmitigated disaster of hearing your friends back home rave about how good 'Return of the King' is, and not being able to see it yourself, cuz it hasn't released in this F$#@ing CITY!!!!
Check out this column, that appears on collegehumourdotcom. It's bound to have you rolling on the ground in splits of laughter. It's a King Special.
Wednesday, February 18, 2004
What do I write today?
Where do I begin
To tell the story
Of how cruel life can be
Not mine, it's Francis Lai of Love Story fame - except the very profound What do I write today? Welcome to Wednesday, people, and a whole new set of things to eat, discuss, dissect, ruminate, and culminate in....
Fine, I have not the slightest clue where to go with this. I have loads of time free now, but don't feel like catching up on backloads, so I'm writing inconsequential stuff here... I wonder just how much inconsequential stuff I could type down, till you finally swore 'Aw, bugger off! ' and ditched my blog for good - and that's why I'll stop being inconsequential for now.
Valuable lesson i learnt today: Success breeds boredom. Won the current affairs quiz for the third consecutive time, but there's barely a thrill.
So go ahead and bore me, baby... bore me.
A hand at rotten poetry:
Sleeping in my car
I wanna caress you
Sleeping in my car
I wanna arrest you
Sleeping in the back seat of my car
Making love. Making love.
No, never happened to me. Happened to some peroxide bleached blonde and her skinny boyfriend (who's probably gay), who go about calling themselves Roxette.
Bore me, baby... bore me.
Gettin 'Peppy' with it
I was feeling decidedly peppy last night and I don't know why. That happens to me sometimes, inexplicably enough. One moment I'm feeling decidedly lower than Atlas with all his crap, and in the next I'm feeling giddy and feel like leaping from cloud to cloud. That happened to me on the night of V-day, and it happened again last night.
I remember there was this time when I reached alarming proportions of peppiness during the busride to ACJ, so much so that poor Kunal - who was sitting next to me - actually winced. Not all of his half-baked insults and taunts could compell the peppiness to dissipate, however. That happens sometimes, too. And though I might pity the poor devils who have to take me in these moods, there's no way I'm going to stop plunging myself wholeheartedly when the mood comes around knocking.
There's a special joy in that. ;-)
They adopted a kitten next door last night - sort of - and i just couldn't stop singing Smelly Cat in the best imitation of Phoebe Buffay that I could muster up. There's something quite rhythmic in that song, really - something sole-searching... When I sing it, you might want to advance on me with your shoes like Kunal did on the steps last night.
Thankfully, they weren't the outrageously shiny white specimens that he dug up from some flea market sale in Old Delhi, and for which he spins questionable odes of epic-proportion nowadays.
Or, you might be even more vicious, and break into a little jig of your own, like my other lunatic flatmate, the Tam-bram does.
Monday, February 16, 2004
I dunno whether I'm posting this a second time... posted it once, but the damn comp duznt seem to show it.
So, here's Sort-of-poem in the making - part II
When you see scarecrows and think them men
And think they're scarecrows.
- Burts of inspiration, while the bus was crossing Kodambakkam bridge. ;-)
Sort-of-poem of the hour
When you see scarecrows and think them men
And think them scarecrows...
- Sudden burst of inspiration, while the bridge was crossing Kodambakkam bridge.
Check out this site. Pretty irreverent, so I love it like hell.
PS: Except where they poke fun (read: horrible, horrible, malicious fun!) at Lord of the Ring.
By the way, the site contains your average psycho student's condensed notes - for every single work of literature you ever heard of, and then some.So click HERE.
I must be getting old and mellow
Last night I saw this Brit movie called 'Love Actually', starring Hugh Grant, Colin Firth, Emma Thompson and half of the of the Brit movie industry. It was actually pretty good - the odd thing would have been if they had phuqed (stole that one from Nelly's blog) it up with the cast they had! As the name says, it was a love story - and even one of those disgustingly sappy love stories, the ones I so love to breathe sarcastic dragon-fire at.
Surprise, surprise, I actually liked the movie. Loved 'Love...', actually. (groan! ok, I'll give up the silly puns! ) All the way back, Pantu and I were crooning "I feel it in my finger/ I feel it in my toe-oo-ooo-ees/ Christmas is all around me/ and so let it snoo-ooo-ooow!" Go figure it out - watch the damn movie for yourself.
I think I'm getting old and mellow. True, I was examining every single female member of the cast from a purely lusty, carnal point of view, and inevitably discovered shortcomings in every single babe - one was too plump, the other too flat, the other too bad, one more too strong-jawed, and one too old - but the fact remains that I was actually singing that sappy song with Pantu in the overcrowded auto back home.
I must be getting old and mellow.
I wonder if I'm starting to hanker for love. I've always been of the opinion that I don't have time for love now (ah, but sex is a totally different matter altogether) and there's time galore for all that, when I'm more or less decently established with a job paying a more or less decent salary. So, what's changed now? I've always had female friends who hankered for love around me before and I've always made silly comments about sappy sentiments. I've always had some friend give me advice on love and sex - though with Nelly, I think I've touched a new high, or low, depending on how you look at it - so what the hell is new now? I loved 'Love...', actually.
I must be getting old and mellow. Thankfully, my one-liners are still crappy - small mercies.
Sunday, February 15, 2004
The one with the long sentences
First things first: I'm going to start this entry off with a disclaimer. I have been accused of going through my pals' blogs and writing nasty comments about them in my own entries - and that too, more than once - so that of course requires a most vehement disclaimer.
Get your reasoning caps on, people:
I hereby declare that any and all mentions in the said blog www.livinghigh.blogspot.com are to be considered in a light vein of mind and not heinous or caluminous or perchance scandalous, in accordance with the author's purity of mind and motive, intentions and practices, except in such cases where the intention to be abusive is most clearly stated as in a clear 'I shall hereby be abusive and am meant to be taken seriously when I proclaim that... yada yada yada...' so that no further doubts may remain in the mind of the prospective reader, and insofar that the particular blog entry deals with the most hallowed subject of sex wherein the room mate of the estemed blog author is advised to keep his mouth shut but all others may revel in the genius flippantry of the said author and acknowledge the gospel truth of his words.
I, esteemed blog-author, hereby take the Blog Authors Disclamatory Oath.
By the way, Valentines day was actually pretty cool. Went out with Deepa and Kunal and a lot of other guys/gals/asses to this great place in Nandanam that served the most divine Continental food, of which I partook of the Lasagne with Chicken and rounded off my voracious dinner date with piping hot walnut brownies and vanilla ice cream, laced with gooey chocolate sauce.
This is the entry where my fingers labour to find a full stop, in vain.
It's about gutter width
For those of you who care, this is being pre-written on Word before I actually upload it tomorrow. For the record, this is Saturday the 14th of February, that day people generally look upon askance as Valentines Day, and I’m sitting here in a half-deserted computer lab that still manages to be a very noisy class indeed. ACJ will do that to you…
There are a lot of things going right in my life now, and a lot of things going not-so-right too. I guess that’s life. Saw this neat blog entry by that silly ass Kunal, which was very ‘cute’ and ‘chweet’ and ‘mushy’ – but was actually very nice, indeed. Kind of reminded me about my earliest memories too – gawd! That sounds SOOO yucky touchy-feely – too much to describe! A chauvinist till the last, that’s me.
I don’t even remember my first day at school, like Kunal does. Just some vignettes. Some old lady teacher who would jerk me hard when I used to play games in class… then this fat principal with the most frightful black glasses that screamed out ‘Jacqueline Kennedy’ loud… my many girlfriends on the swings and the slide. I wonder if I ever used to sneak a peek up some frilly skirts at that time in my life… ;-) Probably not – I was a very well-behaved kid who rarely got into trouble, harrumph, HARRUMPHHH… except when that horrible old lady felt the need to jerk me hard.
Oops, I just realized the horrible connotations of that last line.
Aw, get your minds off the gutter.
I don’t think anybody can call this childhood remembrance story ‘cute’ and ‘chweet’ and ‘mushy’ by any extremes. I don’t know how on earth you’d classify this one, really.
Friday, February 13, 2004
Sometimes, I don't get this 'living high' thing
So the current affairs quiz came by once more, and surprise! surprise! we won again! There's something addictive about winning, but I guess we all learn that lesson sooner or later in life.
The Joint Editor thing is also plodding along. Maybe not hyperspace-zooming-spaceship speed as I'd hoped, but not very slow, either. My main worry is to ensure that this cycle does not intrude onto next week... I don't want to have to worry till Thursday whether this headline is spaced alright, or that article has punctuation errors... There's nothing quite so irritating.
I'm not very sure I should ask personal questions here in my blog... considering that half the college reads it now - ego speaking, beware. But then, even though I wasn't very sure where I was headed with this when I started with living high, at least I know that it wasn't supposed to be any sort of a private thing. I think I'm some sort of an exhibitionist at heart... but no, that can't be true either, since I'm so completely averse to showing affection openly in public. To think... I used to be much worse in Calcutta than I am now. Now... I can hug my friends when I want to... call them mushy terms to their face... geez, I sound gay.
I don't have any gay friends, by the way. Just this specimen in Cal, who we used to tease sometimes, but then we all knew he was as straight as an iron rod... sorry, couldn't think of any amusing witticism back there. Bivas says I'm a homphobe... god, I don't seriously know whether I am, don't really care - which I suppose confirms his analysis. But since Nelly accuses me of being sex-centric in my blog, I shall not traverse on this path any more now.
I don't know how to write poetry. I only wrote a couple of specimens in my life - none of them anything to write home about... silly pun. I wonder what the end result would be if I actually tried:
Thinking of you
The time we spent
On our backs
Hard floor beneath
Soft sky above
Stars that shine and burn
They seem so far away now
Now that I'm here
Thinking of you
Well.... I said if I 'actually' tried. And you'll never be able to prove that I did. You'll never prove anything.
Egoists take their secrets with them to the grave.
Thursday, February 12, 2004
At least somebody got all 'sexed up'
The idea of valentines day seems horrific to most of the people I know here - singletons all, I think it's the Bridget Jones complex come to roost. All that pressure by Hallmark doesn't really help, either. So what are we going to do when the fated day finally does arrive? Probably go out for ravioli and pasta at Galloping Gooseberries... on a purely platonic basis, of course. Anything else would be strictly prohibited.
All this reminds me of that article I'd written last year about not going in for relationships, because frankly, who needs them?! That was an article that meant something to me... sniff, sniff... I think I spoke my mind quite lucidly in that one... moving, as well as entertaining. i think i shall pass it on to Sharon, the next time she starts whining for a boy friend.
Almost all the people here are dying for an orgy. Sex, it seems, is the new diva... when on earth was it anything else? Sex: the great savior, the great soother, the great seeker, the great serpent... we're all so starved of it here that we all want it... I almost make ACJ sound like a harlot's den... something from biblical times, deliciously soaked in sin and gin. ;-) Unfortunately, we're actually quite boring. In order to be delicously soaked in sin and whatever, you need to have a certain amount of pizzazz... here in ACJ, we're much too worried about gutter widths and leadings (newspaper terms, all )to even think about arousals.
That's why we watch all those poor saps on the Tamil music channels.
Wednesday, February 11, 2004
More inanities, Scotty
I came back, because i said i would. But i don't have much else to say. Nothing constructive, you understand. I could go on rambling as I am and as I have done before, but somehow, that doesn't really appeal to me. (Actually, the idea of going on typing inane stuff rather does appeal to my egoistic self, but I'll gloss over that for now. ) I have the urge to write something... profound... or at the least, something that is substantial. Not so completely fluffy... not so completely batty... again, not so completely weepy.
I'm stuck for ideas, though.
I saw Kill bill the other night, and though I liked it (somewhat ) I'm not going to wax eloquent about it on the lines of the mad cap Sharon. It was okay... kinda different from the usual stuff you get, but Uma thurman has looked loads better before. I guess i sound like your standard teenager who jacks off every ten minutes when I say stuff like that, but somehow, somewhere, there's bound to be a value for inane stuff like that. May be in some different universe or dimension or whatever.
So beam me up, Scotty.
I'm feeling very happy right now - almost rejuvenated. We just came back from winning this current affairs quiz and even took a snapshot of the group and all! The others found it all pretty hilarious, but it was actually a lot of fun... for the first time, the whole group connected - we all answered a whole lot of questions - instead of just one or two people hogging the limelight... yes, and that does feel good.
More on the joint editor front... I'm afraid i may turn out to be a bit imperious, but then I reason that a joint has to exercise a fair degree of control on his board. These people are my friends, and I have to be firm with them - or run the risk of being run over. (I dare say that's what Hitler said to himself while forming the Third Reich,.. but I won't think of that now.) I hope I'm being a good joint - I don't want people to think i'm too bossy... but I want my ship to be well run too. I hope I reach that balance soon.
Hmmm... haven't seen Deepa all day. She's gone out reporting. Neyha's not here either - she's still in bangalore, probably eating death by chocolate... grrr... bitch ! ;-)
I'm bored now - that happens far too much with me these days - so I think I'll sign off, instead of writing inane stuff like this. Ciao. I hope to be back later.
Tuesday, February 10, 2004
I think this means I'm hungy
I'm not really sure what kind of a mood I am in, - and no, this is not any of Nelly's fictional drugs talking. I just came back from a reporting assignment, met this guy who handles one of the most important NGOs for Sri Lankan Tamil refugee rehabilitation. That also happens to be my dissertation topic for the college, and that's why Deepa says the only thing on my horizon right now is that teeny little country in the Indian Ocean... she cracked that maybe I'd fallen for a Sri Lankan cutie... damn, I wish I had.
I looked up Millersville University on google also - that's where my anonymous contributor Richard is a junior at. Seemed like a nice, old place. Kind of like Xaviers, from where I come from. That now reminds me of home...
I think you can tell that this is going to be a quiet sort of a blog entry. No dramatics, theatrics, funny bone tickling, or bombastics... shit, except for funny bone whatever, that last collection would have rhymed. That's the extent of my poetic prowess, I guess.
I'm joint editor for the college paper this week. It came out of the blue - turned out, I'm the only guy who hasn't had a chance this term... so I guess I should be happy. I am happy, I guess... in a quiet kind of a way. You can ascribe it all to that strange comment I made in the very beginning about not knowing how I feel.
I want to go on a holiday now. Maybe Pondy, back to that sexy beach, with the sexy French food... no calamari this time for me, thank you - it's too rubbery and tasteless - i'll have a rubber band if I want something like that. Or maybe to Mahabs... beach again, with ravioli at the German bakery and prawns grilled with garlic sauce... I should be the maitre'd at some fancy restaurant, but then that place would go bankrupt as I'd eat them all out... what an original thought. (Sarcastic tone, eyebrows upturned. ) I've also been dying to visit Bangalore, if only for the most delectable ice cream sundae I've ever feasted on... Death by Chocolate, on a base of sexy chocolate truffle cake...
I think I equate good food with sex... or maybe I give precedence to the former over the latter. Certainly, that's the way God intended it, I think... ask me, I'm God.
Pleased to meet you.
I see I can still be a narcissistic pain in the ass, even when I don't know how I feel. There's a special talent there, waiting to be tapped.
Monday, February 09, 2004
Try being King
I saw a great entry by Deepa in her blog the other day - it wasn't something highly literary, so don't worry overmuch about not 'getting it'... just something highly profound about a kidnapper tickling his victim's feet and then letting her go... (don't raise your eyebrows at me - i just report them, don't write them!)
Then of course, I took a peek at Sharon's stuff... I don't particularly understand what she's talking about, though ... something about circles.. somewhere in the middle of it all, I guess she was selling herself as the centre of the universe, but then we egoists do it all the time, 24-7, so there's nothing new in that. My newly honed (?) journalistic skils (?) would try in vain to find what is called in dumb-speak a 'story angle' in it.
By the way, I've decided that this particular entry is going to be a commentary on the entries in my friends' blogs. I always wanted to be this bitchy critic who has ample space to air his purely subjective views, and thanks to blogger, I now have that priviledge. So sue me, people...
Nelly has a new entry too. It's something about the suicidal tendencies he has - again, stop looking at me like that... (never mind about the guilty conscience jazz)... if he's been helping himself into my medicine box, it's frankly not my problem. I just hope he doesn't get that 'urge' when he takes me out on a bike-education class... just call me Sympathy personified!
Silly ass Kunal's been lazy... 'I on Me and Myself' was brilliant, but there was nothing at all after that. No creativity, child.
Ditto with Vineeth. What are you people upto???
Pantu keeps typing some one-liners in her blog that don't make very coherent sense, but are lovable, just the same. I like you, Pantu... you're sweet ;-)
Boring... there's no one else left. O, yes, the anonymous Richard wrote something about being restless and loving black olives pizza. I've never had pizza with black olives, so I can't really comment on that.
On the whole, people - not a very inspiring performance today, was it? Chop, chop - how do you expect to earn my unbound admiration if the trend continues?
I want ice cream now.
Funny to be horny
I discovered a horrible new twist to myself today, while working on my dissertation. There are probably only two things in the world that will get me grumpy – that happens either when I’m working, or when I’m horny. It seems strange, and the implications of that are even stranger. Does that mean the two are one and the same? Does that mean that I get turned on when I’m working.. or more horrible yet to imagine, that I actually find sex as boring and tiresome as slaving over a computer…?
Valid questions, those, in my little rabbit hole here… and then, Sharon gave the clincher when she asked, in all seriousness, whether that meant that I got horny when I was working - what do I do then, when I’m slaving over a desk, and free willy decides to get a rise?
(I hope my mum’s not reading all this right now – for all my ‘liberation’ I’m still a prude in that sense – I’d like my mum to think that I’m an angel, and I like to think that she’s an angel, too.)
So, I’m sure you see the ‘horns’ of my dilemma now – and I’m sorry for springing that horrible, horrible joke on you – but of course, Sharon being what she is, and me being what I am, we promptly glossed over the problem, and went on to discuss more profound things like whether or not I look like an ape.
I wanted to have an ice cream tonight so bad… but I didn’t get to have any, and it’s all Sharon’s fault. Next time, I’m not going to give Nelly a choice – I’m just going to grab him and have ice cream – vanilla, with choc-o-dip dripping on top.
I’d like to be very clever with my blog and do some silly stuff like Richard does in his, with all the ‘Current stuff’…, so here, I’ll give it a try…
Current hobby: making silly sex jokes with Sharon
Current feel-good: typing silly things on my blog… it’s pretty therapeutic, really.
Current pain in the ass: dissertation and ACJ, and a Politics class assignment I’ve been putting off for a very long time.
Current jack in the box (read, surprise): I dig R&B
Current inspiration: a yummy Italian lunch at Galloping Gooseberries (sometime this century)
Current decision: Going out right now to have that vanilla ice cream
Sunday, February 08, 2004
No idea, but living high all the same
So I saw DDLJ last night. It was quite an exciting moment for me... like a walk under an avenue lined with cedar trees, back into time. I'm going to stop trying to be poetic - I'm no good at it... I'll leave all that stuff to the Vin Man, or Sharon. The other day, Sharon was sitting on my bed and explaining the finer nuances of haikus to me and Nelly (or is that Nelly and I?) It was actually pretty interesting stuff.
Like this one about some old man standing in his 'loose suit' outside a building that bears his name. According to Sharon, it's all about the passage of time - there's this old man, whom time has forgotten - the hour of his victory has gone and now he's just an old man in an old suit, looking up at this swanky building all humming with life and energy, which has no place left for him... or it could be about incredulity at the new turn of things - a representative from an old era come to gape at something of the new age... or it could mean the intense pride of a parent towards the child, the offspring... no reason why we must always look at the sad part of moving time...
I said I'd stop trying to be poetic... well, I shall now.
Just for the record, people, I've added a new blog account to my chain - look down to the right where it says anonymous. That's going to be the column for blogs of people I've never even met or talked to, but whom I've come across on the net by chance, and which I really like. So far, there's just one in that column - it belongs to some guy called Richard, and it happens to be real nice. I'd advise all you people to look it up. (You'd think that I get paid for all this PR work, but no, I still get by on the back of my non-existant journo-in-the-making's salary.)
Signing out now. I think I'm happy now - but I have no idea why, really.
Saturday, February 07, 2004
I don't want to be poor... may be a porn star
I remember the crap I wrote in my ACJ form - something about helping people speak, and reporting faithfully what they had to say... I'm not sure how much of it has changed down the line, I'm not sure if any of it really has. I still believe in that ideal, and yet I don't want to be poor. That's a major conundrum.
I want to be a business journalist, I decided at one point of time - and then Neyha accused me of wanting that because of all the extra perks like sexy lunches at five star hotels and freebies like that... I can't dispute that part either. I like the idea of making good contacts, hobnobbing with sexy people, eating chocolate mousse... I like the idea of partying late into the night, and biting into a portion of roast chicken, and looking up at the stars from a swanky penthouse... I like all that. I think the problem is, that we're all drilled into thinking that all of that is so completely materialistic and unimportant. And of course, ever since I joined ACJ, all that rhetoric has only got stronger. It's like they tell you: you're the voice of the people, the conscience of society... I hate performing under pressure... I hate all that crap. Let people find their own conscience, I don't want to worry about all of that.
I want to be a materialistic, irreverent joker who sells out on journalistic unselfishness.
There, I said it. And it doesn't really bother me overmuch.
I'm going to see DDLJ tonight - that brilliant movie which is all about candy floss and happy romance and grumpy dads who capitulate in the end and tujhe dekha to ye jaanaa sanam... I adore that movie, and I can see it at least a couple hundred times. I love Shahrukh Khan, even if he is gay... I love his attitude, I love the way he shrugs off everything and believes in himself... I think I love him because he believes in himself so very much. An egoist myself, I think I have a special bonding with other egoists. Everybody in my flat is an egoist - and even Sharon who's like an honourary member. Neyha gives this big show of being an egoist too, but I think at heart she's this big softy... I like softies too. ;-)
I haven't had a yummy softy ice cream in ages... swirling vanilla on a crunchy biscuit cone, melting here and there... dripping sometimes, so that I lick it with the tip of my tongue... then swallow a huge portion of it, so that it touches the back of my throat and tingles me... a sigh, and then another long lick, my teeth biting in renewed urgency... I should have been the scriptwriter for a Hollywood porn flick.
Or maybe the star. I think I'd enjoy that better.
Friday, February 06, 2004
Discovered Kunal the un-surd's new blog. Pretty cool stuff, even though conceited little me says so! Funny, hilarious, intelligent - most un-surdlike, really. Gets a vote from my end.
But I can't write any more now. I must go and slave over the comp. (This is not slaving - this is soul-time). So, excuse me, while I climb into the pits of hell, and marry off Kamal Nath with Karunanidhi... they deserve each other, anyway.
Wednesday, February 04, 2004
Funny mood and funny diatribe
I'm pissed off majorly now. Calm, but pissed off. Nelly and Sharon watching over my shoulder won't make me any less pissed off... Sharon just said something about the two of them being angels come down to hell, and i didn't give what she said a damn... ho hum... fee fo fum... Why am I so majorly pissed off? Well, when you get to be this unimportant cub reporter for a thoroughly unimportant organization, you'll get - in part - what I'm talking about. I'm not even a cub reporter - just a poorman-inthemaking, and ACJ is not even an organization - it's a Nikesweatshop-meets-MissionariesofCharity wannabe.
I told you I was pissed off - what did you expect, if not the truth?
Now if I were really taking those drugs that Nelly sez I do, I would pop a couple in my mouth and tell myself to calm down. Breathe easy... deep breaths... drops of Nasivion or otrivin or Zoamet (GAWD! I do sound like a massive druggie at times!)... and then a bout of some good music... not even the calming classical crap that Bivas introduced me to once upon a time - no, now I have that silly ass Punjabi flat mate of mine who's hooked me onto a certain Marshall Bruce Mathers III who screams out obscene diatribes against his mother, 'faggot' father, and all the White Americans to boot... I don't hold out much hope that he has an iota of affection for Blacks, hispanics and South asians either... but i still listen to him 'cleaning out his FILTHY closet'...
I try to be funny. When I'm angry or pissed off, I think I succeed pretty well... but then, you'd have to agree with me when i'm in this weird mood... otherwise I'd get my pal the Ralph the Sicilian to come and kill you... after spraying you with hashish, of course.
Tuesday, February 03, 2004
Newsbreaker: Crazy Sharon on top of things
I'm not sure what more to write about - though I still haven't received the notification in the mail, informing me that I won the Nobel prize for literature. I guess I'll have to get by. Look at Sharon - she does. she wrote something deeply introspective about some fish jumping up to the sun... something in which I think she's talking about her life. I like stuff like that - simple and unassuming. Actually, that's why i like Sharon too. In spite of the sexy name, she's simple and unassuming... (god knows she'll kill me for saying that.)
She's been behind my back for almost five days now to write something nice about her in my blog. Personally, I'm not so sure about the 'nice' part - writing something spicey is so much more fun. If i told you Sharon was this strange woman who had come from some obscure corner of Mumbai, who sways to herself even when there's no music, who's got this one crooked teeth on her lower jaw that curves inwards and looks quite wicked, who's got a lot of white hairs jostling for space with a couple of black ones, who keeps muttering 'fee fo fum' as soon as it's eight pm and goes about in search of some meat, who's caught on film doing weird things with her hair, who once looked down the pants of my harmless Punjabi flatmate (ok, so i lied, he's harmless only if you're a US marine armed with magic weapons), and who rushes about the windy ninth floor of my apartment screaming "You're hopeless! Hopeless! Remember that!".... well, if Sharon was all of that stuff then it would be so much more fun now, wouldn't it?
Ok, here comes the good part - Sharon is exactly all of that stuff... and more. The 'more' I can't say, cuz I'm not sure whether any minors will see this site or not.
I'm really not sure whether she'll kill me on seeing this particular post, or jump on top of me to give me a hug... I'm not particularly sure that it doesn't come to the same thing, to tell the truth!
Love you, Fernandes.
Some crazy stuff
Anyway, this is where I re-enter the blog. Like the all-conquering hero or something. Aragorn in Lord of the Ring... Tom in 'Tom and Jerry' (and yes, the cat is still my favourite, even though that blasted mouse has smarts!).... I cant think of any other great big heroes... at least, any that matter... could I add the fat guy(s) in the comp lab who downloads porn? - that swagger is highly self-assured... i guess porn will do that for you.
I'm the city reporter this week for The Word. I suppose its okay... but I was just lusting after being joint editor, thats all... or mebbe, any kind of an editor... I haven't touched a quark page so long, it's like a quirk! (ok, bad pun there - seriously BAD!) For the uninitiated, Quark (Version 5, as long as we're being technically correct here) is this software we use to lay out newspaper pages... all that gizmo stuff that i'm not supposed to be very good at. Don't ask me why I'm bitching about it now... when I regain some of my senses.
Borrowing from my crazy roomie, the bootlegger, ... 'more in the morrow'. They say imitation is thebest form of flattery, but we know better, don't we, roomie?