Thursday, November 29, 2007


I can see you gasping and scratching your neck. I can see you thirsting. Thirsting for more, and more and more. And how more is never really enough. You want to know. Its like a fountain of joy and intoxication and addiction. You want to discover, uncover, realize, grasp, fathom, and you want to understand. For all of you, for those who couldnt and wouldnt believe there wasn't more.

I'd just finished shaving this morning and was busily ogling at myself in the mirror. Its something I do regularly, as a matter of habit and as a procedure of self-therapy. Its said (by learned rishis of yore) to have curiously excellent healing powers. The self-admiration boosts self-confidence. As I stare and stare, I stand up a little straighter. I grin a little. I smirk a bit. Aaj khush to bahut hoge tum, I ask myself. I act cocky. I begin to get inappropriately self-assured around my reflection. [If my reflection was another actual person, he'd have walked out by now. Not that I would have behaved in such a way around a 'he'. Let us be clear about that. I'm into girls. Actually, and dont you read this if you're one of those kind of people who are not into vulgar jokes and get easily offended by what would otherwise have passed for normal everyday humour around normal everyday open-minded people unlike yourselves, as much as I get to be before their moralities kick in. Score! *self high five*]. After a sufficient number of feigned takes and double-takes at the mirror, I stop, look, and casually flirt a bit. I'm good. It works. I usually get my phone number.

The compliments I so lavishly shower upon myself? They have their noble, practical function too, in case you've already begun snivelling about my self-obsession. I see it as a morning exercise. It gets me going. It gets me thinking. It gets my head working. If I see another soul for the rest of the day, morose, depressed and in need of compliments or lavish false-praising-about, I'm onto him/her in a flash. Within two minutes of said therapy, they emerge gracefully with erect back, a wide smile, and a deep shade of blush. Aww, I'm too nice! My work is about giving. I ask not for payment, no sir. It is the joie de vivre gleaming off their faces that's my prize. They insist on letting their gratitude be known, and I indulge them by letting them buy me a little something at the canteen. It helps them.

Anyway, like I was saying, I have taken to ogling at myself in the mirror. A most unavoidable habit, you will agree. Speaking about today's session, I was randomly chatting with my left-handed self in the mirror, when I said something silly and out of place. It defused the charm I'd been building up. An unfortunate ambience buster. So I stuck my tongue out at myself, to mock myself for embarrassing myself in front of me like this. I wouldnt have that obviously. Its the sort of behaviour I have come to disapprove. Even of myself. So I stuck my tongue out back at me, and I dared me to a fight with a Matrix en garde.

What? Dont understand? Try this. Stick your tongue out, at a mirror or a trusted friend who wont think it too weird of you. Now, in your best fight pose, carefully and slowly pull the tip of your tongue up. Up, down, up, down. Also simultaneously do it with the fingers of your hand. Now think of the fight scene in the first Matrix movie when Keanu Reeves haughtily dusts his clothing in the subway station and invites Agent Smith to have another go at him. Get it? Now measure it to your royal challenge to your mirrored self. Way cooler huh?? I know I know!

Also, in an aside from this rather intellectual, biting-in-the-head conversation, remember the days when Road Rash used to rule the lives of young pre-teens, teenagers and computer geeks everywhere and of all ages? I loved the game. I mention it because recently when I was reminiscing about the good ol' days of carefree childhood, my mind wandered and settled upon an old memory. It was of me lying on the sofa in the living room. Or, so to say, my material earthly form was lying on the sofa in the living room. My thoughts were lifted and airborne, free from the bounds of human existence and the black-holes of impure thought. I was thinking single-mindedly of the Diablo. I had a Perro, and it was good. But the Diablo had a style of its own. It was large and powerful. Nothing could beat it on the straight line tracks at the start and finish of the races. True, I'd have to be traffic-wary in the urban zone, but I could handle that. I mean, just look at the sheer speed of the thing! I'm not sure if I remember all too correctly, but I believe I did buy one at the end. And of course I won the whole game. I remember that. And I remember it being the first place I read the phrase mano a mano, and thinking it sounded so cool. I just recently found out what it means.

P.S: Do you find the first paragraph making really no sense with relation to the ensuing post? Lol. I beg to differ. No, wait. I differ. That will be all.

Sunday, November 18, 2007

Six Point Arbit

Its a very curious thing. Its you who's unable to write. And its you again who's going around getting me to write more. Hmm. Kyra moves in mysterious ways, her wonders to perform.

Anyway, on with the Random Tag.

Random Humor

A priest, a rabbi and a muslim cleric walk into a bar. The bartender looks at them.

He asks, "What is this? Some kind of joke?"

(You needn't laugh out of politeness, thank you. This joke, incidentally, has never worked in any way, save to perpetuate, among the weaker populace, the ridiculous notion that I have a dumb sense of humor.)

Random Book

The William Series by Richmal Crompton - I've never owned one. The first and last I bought, at a long ago Calcutta Book Fair, I ended up leaving behind in the taxi on the way back. Still haven't entirely gotten over that incident.

The Wheel of Time series by Robert Jordan - I'm a huge fan of fantasy fiction, and nothing beats this for scope, size and wonder.

Random Boredom

I like to sit with a blank piece of paper and a pen. I dont keep my next few actions planned. I could write about something random, in which case more paper will soon be required. Or I could draw another one of my exactly similar 5000+ renditions of hills and lake and cottage and tree and setting sun. I have the artistic genius of a Class II student drawing his favourite holiday, in art class.

Random Worries

Of my shoelaces coming untied.

Of stepping outside the border of a tile, with my foot unevenly crossing out.

Of confusing what day it really is today.

Of where I'm supposed to be and what I'm supposed to say.

Of maybe never actually meeting Carmen Electra.

Of saying something absolutely stupid, at the worst possible time.

Random Memories

Coming back in the rain with someone who was so special then, and I didnt know it.

Playing Ludo with my grandmother.

Reading a gigantically large picture book of Peter Pan. It must have been 2 feet in height.

Climbing a neighbour's tree for guavas.

Reaching out to hold someone's hand, and receiving a warm, reassuring squeeze.

The adrenaline upon finishing The Fountainhead.

Random Realizations

That the past is past. Some things must be shut out. By force, if necessary.

That life won't ever be Calvin and Hobbes. Or Cartoon Network. Even Speed Racer.

That I'm very cryptic sometimes, and perhaps its only my assumption that people actually understand any of this.

That I really need to be studying tomorrow. So I should sleep now.


I tag the following lazybums - Rimi; Indrani and you. Yes, you. *points finger through computer screen*

Friday, November 16, 2007

Call Me UFO

J'aime tu beaucoup, mon belle fille.

Simple words. Yet they carry a declaration so excellently mighty. That, ladies and gentlemen, is yet another testament in the skyscraping pile of proofs which each individually and, might I add, vociferously proclaim the sheer awesomeness of this humble vessel of fantastic things and brilliantness. Yours truly.

The words, each pronounced in that slurred, deep-throated fuck-weirdness. Each syllable getting dragged out to its full Cyrano-esque romantic glory. The glorious sentences flow like honey flowing in golden viscous magic out of a Dabur bottle. That 20 rupees one. There is something especially beautiful in the honey held inside the littleness of that bottle. Especially when its nearly finished, and you wait for a minute and a half with your tongue stuck out, your head held high and your eyes straining to watch the progress of the last few drops making their way along the glass sides and mercifully finally landing, silently, straight onto your outstretched tastebuds. Thats the one I'm talking about. Thats how the words flow.

They, the common chidden masses at my French class, they gasp in awe as I effortlessly take full command (in no time, let me mention) of the awful complexities of the beautiful French language. Like the avaricious shrew being tamed by a shrewd Antonio (it was Antonio wasnt it, in The Taming of The Shrew?), I tame this speech of romance and love and emburghers, and claim it for my own.

A piece of my brilliance:

Bon soir, bete. De main je vais chez le dentist car j'ai mal aux dents.

And another:

Q (me to French girls): Est-ce que nous sommes en France?

A: Oui! Oui! *whispering amongst themselves* Cet homme est beau!! *giggle giggle*

Uff! Uff! I'm just too much!

For those who couldnt yet guess, UFO - Utterly Fantastic One.

Tuesday, November 13, 2007

I Even Have OCD

There is something about fruits that puts me on my guard. Bananas, oranges, mangoes, apples - the entire lot. They bear a medicinal face, making me reluctant to purchase.

I'm slightly nervous around dogs too. I dont trust them much. I'm sure I'd be at complete ease, displaying inspirational bravado and courage in the face of adversity, in the company of a man-eating tiger. But not so much dogs. The best I can summon is a superficial cool and an unfettered nonchalance, spoiled slightly by cautious, nervous steps to always maintain a safe distance (lest it suddenly decide to jump).

I dont even have a favourite toothpaste or deodorant brand. I'm always switching from one to the other. Oh, remind me to buy a new toothbrush later, will you? Its been a while.

I dont walk across the border of the tiles on marble floors. In case they're too small for me to step inside, I step exactly half inside each.

I'm paranoid about handwriting. Every line must be perfectly horizontal. The 't' should be perfectly crossed. And the 'i' should be dotted just right. Not too bold. And not too lightly either. The 'a' should not resemble an 'o'. And letters wont be connected in groups of more than two.

How about you? Which absolutely normal, everyday things are you strange about?

Friday, November 09, 2007

That Time Of Year

Its not like I dont like Diwali. I like looking drop-dead handsome in where-did-you-get-that-its-looks-so-awesome clothing. I like walking out on the streets, and seeing so many other people around. Everyone laughs, everyone smiles, everyone is talking to everyone else. Every single one is happy for once. A festival leaves no place for sadness. As if by simple requirement, everyone tries to be happy. I also like watching the highly expensive rockets some people by. And I gasp just as much as everyone else, when it completes its mad dash for height, and explodes into a carnival of colour and light. I like to see people holding phuljharis and waving them about in childish glee. I like to do it myself. Its one thing you cannot do, while maintaining a sober face. You cant wave a phuljhari and still be an adult. There's always the tracing out of vivid patterns in the air, the inevitable light-sabre duels, or the aimless waving around in figure-of-eights. There is always the unabashed, unbridled expression of sheer joy as you follow the rapid waving of your hands, the fire-enhanced sparkle in your wide eyes, and we lose ourselves in a shortlived, sparkling candle of light.

Its just that I dont like the bombs. And they're whats most popular now. Its a festival of noise and sound and raucous cheering. It makes no sense to me, and my delicate senses. To a man of such refined tastes as I, it appears only a vulgar pursuit of god knows what. Lighting a little wrapped-up box, throwing it into the air and watch it explode. No lights, no panorama of colours, and no beauty to stare at. Just an explosion. And a loud noise.

So I spend most of my precious time in running about trying to dodge bombs thrown horizontally towards me by rascals and ragamuffins who like to see me jump. And I watch them from behind a post or a tree, and I tsk them. I tsk, and I wonder what has gotten into mankind. And a few of the womankind. *sigh*

Lets look at the positive side. The other guys are lost in their mad scramble and make-believe wars with bombs and explosives. That leaves most of the girls free for screaming and yelping at sudden noises all night. I smoothly slide into the picture, and sweep them off with subtle charm and well-disguised innuendo. The evening pays off.

Happy Diwali!

Sunday, November 04, 2007


After a long time, I walked slowly back. I walked slowly back, with a cool night time breeze through my hair and against my face. I dont always notice it these days. How often have I been staying in my room, involved in something or the other? On nights such as these, evenings sometimes prettier and duskier? How many times have I been sleeping in, because I stayed up late the last night, and so I missed a beautiful day's start? Much lost time. So, I walked slowly back.

And I looked up at a clear sky. A pollution-free, clear sky. And pure black, except from near the lamp-posts. The absolute of blackness, peppered with pinpoints of twinkling. Stars form shapes, if you look closely. There is a beautiful symmetry to them. It doesnt take any effort to pick them either. Eyes must be naturally attuned to picking out shapes from randomness. And there are constellations. I always only see Orion. When did I last do that? Just look up, and stare. When did I last look anywhere and just look, and not have to see and observe and conjecture?

It gives me a rush of blood, thinking of all this. And a rush of thoughts. Random and incoherent when together, but integral part to a maelstrom of random thought over all my thinking years.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep ... The woods decay, the woods decay and burn ... Great and grand thoughts of achievement ... I will do all I want to and nothing else ... And never anything less ... I will know what to do ... I will be simple ... Everything will be simple ... And if you feel you cant go on, in the light you will find the road ... Friends in silent company ... Parting ... Walks ... Laughter ... Everything is good ... Abundant freedom and unlimited happiness ... Little things ... Crayons, action figures, homework and Enid Blyton ... Growing up, so eagerly and so impatiently ... What in the world for?

Adulthood is over-rated. For one thing. I vow to remain a child.

Conventional posts are over-rated. For the other thing. So there.

There is no excuse for forgetting how you always wanted to be.

Thursday, November 01, 2007


Did you know that --

  • Led Zeppelin is the only band in the world to have had all of their albums (each one) reach the top of the billboards?

  • Rice is a fruit?

  • Dragonflies mate while flying? I've actually seen this.

  • though the course may change sometimes, rivers always reach the sea? (Led Zeppelin - Ten Years Gone)

We never know all that we think we know about the world. There is always something new to find out.

Oh, and take a look. An omniscient God.