Be cool, yaar

People ask me why I don't post regularly. Why I have become so unpredictable and why my posts lack spirit, heart and motivation.

That's because of two things:
1. Because I've forgotten how to write.
2. No one asks me the afore mentioned questions.

I've been doing this for 2 years, and I still say, as easy and wonderful writing is, its equally difficult and painful, especially when you have a long list of followers who might just decide to one day, read what you've written, and in the hope for some occasional smidgen appreciation, I keep at this blogging business.

All lies. I don't give a flying 'fudge' about what people think. Because, a. I don't have a long list of followers. b. I don't have an eventful life.

Actually I do. But I'm extremely lazy, and I have much to say, but I don't like contributing to the low IQ creative pool of the blogging community.

All lies. Okay, here's something interesting.

The fire alarm drill at work. Which isn't a drill at all. Every third day, the usual functioning of the office is interrupted by a loud siren which can basically burst your nerves and make you want to throttle the people in your cubicle. But, we here, don't do that. The moment the siren goes off, we first check who all jumped at the sudden noise, then we take a pen and stick it inside our ears. Then we yawn because it is time to put on the 'I'm so cool, this don't scare me, we're fire-resistant' expression (cos that's how Indians roll yo). Oh, what's more. We never hear an announcement which says, "This was a fire alarm drill. Don't worry, please get back to killing yourself with work."

What if a fire really breaks out and we're still stuck in our seats being cool? When do we get the cue to scream like little girls and run for the exit together (that's how Indians roll yo) and all basically get toasted together (any which way.)

I don't think anyone has ever given this a thought. I have, I mean, sure I have. But, I'm not motivated enough to bring it up. Hey, I won't move a muslce till I see a REEEA AAAlLLL fire break out. Cos that's how Indians roll yo.

Monday morning posts and such like

I know Incredible India ads can be a little over the top, sugary, gooey 'India is really incredible, really really', but what to do. I love them all, they make me swell with pride. Cos guys, India IS incredible, so screw you who thinks otherwise.

 Winter is here, and waking up early is a curse.I hate it with all my heart, especially when my dadi says, seeing my groggy face, "Tumhare office mein winter timings nahi hote?" ................................

There's going to be some music, dancing, few close friends, lame jokes, and lots to drink, soon. After very long, I am looking forward to 22nd, I am not going to sulk this year, no sir.

Anyhow. While in the Metro, I saw this one girl reading a book I read some six years back, and I remember, as a class, we were more than mesmerised by his writing. I remember dropping some of these, in casual conversations and no matter how morose it sounded then, and even now, there's something about this poem. So, here it is:

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Write, for example,'The night is shattered
and the blue stars shiver in the distance.'

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me sometimes, and I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is shattered and she is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight searches for her as though to go to her.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

Another's. She will be another's. Like my kisses before.
Her voide. Her bright body. Her inifinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my sould is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.

Pablo Neruda

Cinema was AT HOME

I think I'm going to have to eat my own words. I could delete them but I'm going to eat them.

Suits, Woman on Wall Street was a great read. Not only was the narrative fast, interesting and fun, I could in some way relate to the protagonist and I almost felt nostalgic in the end. I have suggested this one already to some and while some guys might find it a bordering chick-lit sort of a read, it is one that will for sure keep them entertained, nevertheless.

I started my morning with the usual facebook browsing while I tried to avoid listening to the chitter-chatter in the Metro and tried to divert my mind which was constantly screaming, "Why can't woman just use a damn deo?" I saw, right there from one cousins wall to the other, a video post. A song from this movie.

And I remembered something. Back, during my school days when adolescence was bursting out of me I was full of ideas that needed a platform. So a friend and I started a small venture. Which had no budget nor takers. It was a venture of spoof videos.

We had many ideas and too many ambitions. I had a phone which had camera cataract. Friend had a phone which resembled a soap case. We wrote our own script, dialogues and no movie was more than 10 seconds long. Mostly because we had to shoot it all in one go. We knew zilch about editing and we were very lazy.

Each video was made in not more than two takes because we were just that good (also because we were lazy.) But we believed a lot in improvisation. I was always the guy because my friend's Hindi sucked. Since some spoofs were on Bollywood movies, her Hindi was a hindrance. So I was different hindi-speaking characters in different videos. Some times a vegetable vendor, sometimes a local goon. One blockbuster hit video had me starring as Govinda. In the many others I played actors and characters from our daily life but mostly, I was Govinda. That's why I am a big fan. I feel for the guy, I played him through most of my adolescent hood. Friend had a more versatile role. She was the protagonist, narrator, backstabber and villain. She did a good job at even giving background score cos she's a great singer. She was also quick at giving inanimate objects in my room roles impulsively which made them very happy.   

At times when we needed more than two characters, we used Buffy to play them. He once played a cut for intermission which he liked a lot since it only involved him sleeping and giving us a snoring sound bite. But on another occasion when we used him as a shopkeeper who was supposed to give us Twix, he didn't like that idea at all so he snapped very angrily and tried to eat my disabled-cataract camera phone. That didn't go down too well for us so we had to drop him completely from our venture. From then on we used torn jeans, bags, guitars and bras to play other important roles.

We needed an appreciative audience so we showed our amazing movies to a close friend AN. While we played it all in front of him, he watched them like a stone carving - he never emoted, smiled or even applauded (which was very rude.). In the end we would insist that he gives a feedback and all he would say was, "Theek hai." Today we wonder how he's still friends with us.

We tried to add more people to the venture, like that one time when we got another friend MC to play a vital role in our movie. But she turned out to be too good. We had to drop her too.

Such was our blooming career. It was short lived but it was very successful. That was probably the first and last time I actually enjoyed my work. All traces and evidences of all those videos have been sadly wiped off from the face of this Earth. But those those were good times.

This one is dedicated to my bast frand who played my leading lady at all times. The show must go on....

We are going to be busy for a while...

...with THIS.


I know. It looks like a regular, run-of-the-mill gender biased, women minioritised  sort of a story. Or maybe like a Devil Wears Prada. But for some reason, I am expecting better. Anyhow, I've just paid 350 /- for this, it doesn't matter what direction this book flows in.

I had a lot many choices this time. There was a perfectly, absolutely, gripping, dark, thriller-suspense book that I came across, but I passed. And, another story of a family struggling through the Civil War. "Not right now," said my steaming cup of coffee. We need something light hearted, stereotypical and bordering senseless. Not that I am judging...this book by its cover. I am, actually.

Bah, in two days I shall be devouring this, with baked Lays. Cos I'm cool like that (also fat).

Lesseee....lessseeee  

Please, not now

There's a lot happening around me, but there's always an impatience. I feel like the weather of Delhi-moody, unpredictable, happy and grey.

Work is good, and responsibilities are double..... triple. Sometimes I feel like a winner- I'm "smack in the centre" of the journalism hub of India, I've managed to survive it all for more than a year, and I've done well. At other times, I feel I should call all of it quits and start doing something really creative. Like write a book or start shooting spoof movies (lucrative career option #332837). Or I should just completely switch my field. Should I go back to advertising, and give copy for products that mean nothing to me, nor the client, nor the audience? Should I become a theatre artist? How about I join a fashion photographer and become his assistant. Or. Not.

Today, is a good day. Its a....a day which isn't an everyday. That's one. I've been reading some seriously awesome articles which make me go "whoaaa" after EVERY DAMN READ. Which is again, awesome and awful. When exactly will I reach that stage when I will be able to write my own opinion column, and talk about issues that need to be talked about.

I'm hungry. I'm always hungry. Sometimes when I'm in my meditation class, I imagine eating food to calm my mind. I feel I'm in Big Chill and I'm dressing the pasta with Oregano and chilli flakes, and I'm readying myself to dig in. That. So relaxing. Best therapy.

More laterish.

Oh I'm so +ve

It's very unlike me to feel so positive, all the time. Its weird, and it's an emotion I can hardly keep up with. Anyhow, that's how we are right now, and that's how this post shall be.

There've been some 'ha'mazing discoveries on youtube, and I've found just the perfect way to use my free time, watching some great stand up comedians, doing their thanngg. Although, must I add, its difficult to keep a straight face in front of scowling 70-year-olds and 50 somethings passing by my work station after every mili second. They don't laugh at nothing. They are always angry and disapproving and they also have no business around my work space.

I bought three most amazing things, this weekend that made me very proud and very young. After being denied tickets for two consecutive shows for Amazing Spiderman, a friend and I walked around. And there, we saw something that made us shriek. Four rows of the best games, action figures and books. We spent maybe a total of 1.5 hours there, and came out with loaded bags. I bought a pack of Uno cards, a TRANSFORMER (sideswipe, thankyou) and...........JENGA!

 Of course, there were many who protested, smirked, poked and pointed at us, as we proudly displayed our buys on the round table in costa coffe. But the finger was duly given.

There are some official travel plans, to not a very amazing place, but yes, something is there. Next week seems slightly promising and there maybe some interesting things to look forward to.

Incidentally, I chanced upon this, and my world changed. http://f-o-o-d-p-o-r-n.tumblr.com/ now my hunger is insatiable. If this food can be cooked by any good man or woman, I will be their servant for life...(Kind of).

I've been reading up on aliens and various theories related to them, during my free time, at home. Its QUITE intriguing and slightly scary.

For now I shall sign off and get down to work. More awesomeness later, and be happy all ye faalooowwsss!

Sunday no more a Sunday

bikhre toote tukde, saare jud rahe hain dheere dheere haule haule..
betuke se sur wo saare mil rahe hain, dheere dheere haule haule..aaine ka dhundhla chehra khel raha dheere dheere haule haule..

nanhi si ek jaan ne apna bachpan khoya
khauf ki maili chaadar odh ke soya
bebas akela bezubaan chupchap roya
barson se ye behte aansoo tham rahe hain dheere dheere haule haule
khul rahi aankhein jo ab tak nam rahi hain, dheere dheere haule haule
aaine ka dhundhla chehra khel raha dheere dheere haule haule..


If I may say so, yes, I am an admirer and a supporter. I don't want to see the rolling millions and the commercial brilliance, of this show. All I want to see, discuss and debate over are the issues that remain, tragically, stagnant. Think about it. Female foeticide, dowry, child abuse. We've been reading, watching, hearing and witnessing them for aeons. But when we watch a re-run of the same old issues once again,  the weight of the reality comes crashing down on us like an iron ball. Here, there is no blaming or pointing fingers and naming. Here, they talk of solutions and facts. I like that. I like that, once again, Sunday mornings have become important days that get a family together, to watch and learn, of what is hidden behind the everyday hub-a-dub.

I remember, as a kid, every weekend was spent in the matchbox flats of the Saket DDA colony, where my grandparents stayed. I was welcomed by the religious curry rice cooking of my dadi and the smell of a freshly opened pack of cigars, that my grandad inaugurated, to signal that the weekend had begun. Sunday mornings, my brother and I were woken up early, and sent for a shower, because we had to get ready to watch 'Aap ki adalat', with the entire family. We would crouch beside my granddad on the floor mattress, with our cereal bowls in hand, and watch wide-eyed and confused, a pseudo court room session on TV. A half-bald-bispectacled man would, in short, be royally taking someone’s ass, and that someone, would generally be a known-household name. My granddad and dad would share a smirk and my mom and dad would 'tut-tut' with worried expressions. My brother, perhaps pretended to understand what was going on and would accompany the studio audience when they got the cue to laugh. I would just be confused, wondering why I wasn't allowed to play outside. However, even then, at that young age, in my state of absolute cluelessness, I still knew, Sundays' were important. The half-bald-bispectacled man was doing the right thing by asking cheeky questions and making people sweat. Everyone would would be pleased watching when the accused going to pieces. But in the end, for some strange reason, the judge would clear the person of all charges and end the show.

Not exactly, but I kind of get a strange nostalgia, as I wait for Satyamev Jayate, every Sunday at 11 AM, and think of my late grandfather. He would definitely watch this programme too, religiously, wearing his trademark white kurta-pajama, and watch the programme intently without a word, slowly smoking his freshly opened pack of cigars and make no comment before or after the show.

I've put up a link of a song sung on the second episode of the show. It has the most beautiful and simple melody and soulful lyrics.

I know this show could be one of those, that come, make an impact and go, and along with it, goes the ignited spirits and motivated actions. But for now, what I see, what I hear and what I learn is more than I thought was possible through a commercially designed social-awareness show.

Kudos to Aamir Khan and a salute to all the survivors who talk about their lives. I know this sounds cheesy, but what the heck. Satyamev Jayate!

It's a Thursday

It’s chronic restlessness that I feel all the time. No, it wasn’t the constant leg shaking, nail biting, teeth grinding that gave it away. It was actually the perpetual ill health on Thursdays that was an alarm bell. For one, the bad health is mostly a concocted one, that stems from boredom and a sudden lack of monstrous work.  I’m sick, though not physically. I’m sick, psychologically. After the ritualistic slogging throughout the week, Thursday’s, that promise lighter ‘times’, actually, make me nervous.

Let’s put it this way –I need to be busy. It’s an addiction now. When I can see and feel the clean black wood shining bright on my table, and my desktop clear and the blue-green sea wallpaper smiling sleepily at me, I gasp for breath.

Yup, some –‘coholism’ this surely is.

MIA-No More

So take up your makeup

And pocket your pills away.

We're kings among runaways

On the bus mall.

We're down

On the bus mall.

-The Decemberists

As I type this out, I see some really bizzare pictures scrolling on their own accord on the indiatimes site. There's something here about Shilpa Shetty's baby shower (wait! She was pregnant?!), Shahrukh Khan with daughter Suhana (is he still suffering for removing Ganguly from his team?), and some nude woman's photo shoot (who're you again?), Malaika Arora looking really bloated (pity), KS Ravikumar's daughters wedding (how'd they get hold of her wedding album?).....its going on, I can't sit through this anymore. Oh, for the uninitiated, you should know, indiatimes is possibly the worst site ever made by any brand.

Coming back to the Times of my life, both inside and outside. Let's just say, end of April and begining of May has been relatively eventful. There's been a short trip, there have been trips made by friends, there has been peace, there's been a little promotion, there has been a marginal appraisal, there have been sincere career misgivings, there has been lots of work and a small stint opportunity in the glam world which was dutifully rejected.

Anywhooo. Let's bullet this, shall we?:

1. Rudy's visit this time, was like Dilli Darshan. All directions, every corner, four days in 8 plates, we skimmed the city like a pair of wide-eyed tourists.

2.  I read this brilliant book called 'I know this much is true', recommended by a friend. Honestly, its review and cover, when I saw online, were slightly over-the-top  and extremely dark. Not that the book wasn't it. It was. It was bleak, depressing and emotionally, a really heavy read. But you know what. There are two kinds of dark. One is repulsive, the kind that pulls you down. And the other is one, that in a mysterious way, actually, ignites hope and leaves you teary and, yes, happy. This one's the latter.

3. Haridwar and rishikesh happened, and much joy and happiness and peace followed. I sat by the Ganga, at this isolated place, behind a not-known ashram. Just me and the river. If you just watch the fast current and emmerse your feet in the ice-cold water which seems to have just freshly melted from the glaciers, you get a brain freeze. But it's an enjoyable one. You're thoughtless, for all the while that you sit by the river. At the cost of sounding like an eccentric, orange- robed, all-knowing sadhu, that Ganga has something very unique about it. I don't know exactly what it is.

4. Weird-golden haired-frog look-alike takes the same Metro as me, in the morning. Once she pointed her finger at me, with her eyes bulging and in a thunderous voice said something that sounded like a prediction, "You work in BCCL." I didn't know if it was a statement or a prediction. I nodded. She then continued with her prediction-like voice, "Share the auto with me." And I said, "er..no? I prefer walking to office." After which she continued to stare at me like I was mad, with her eyes bulging out more. It costs 15 rs, really. Did I really turn down a great money sharing offer that would slash our budgets to half? I think not. Anyhow. She still stares at me, maybe she's punishing me in her mind. How can anyone in the world turn down such a great auto-sharing offer, she thinks.

5. Peeking continues, and all chats, mails, messages, are still read. Sometimes commented upon.

There could be more points here, but there aren't. Simply because, this isn't twitter or facebook, and I cannot possibly make it seem thrilling and exciting. That's it. Signing off.

Love.

Happpyy newwwyyyeeeeerrrr

*Tadaaaaa...dummmm...DIIISHHhhhhh*

And happy it was, the New Year :) Also, overly eventful and extremely dramatic. Now when I think back on those five days, it's like a stop motion film in my head. Starting from running at T3 to catch our flight after the final boarding announcement. Everyone laughed, giggled and pointed at the two girls who were literally strutting around the airport initially, now dashing across rows and rows of seats. And then these girls ran clumsily with their bags slung over their backs, their hair flying and they cursing, very audibly. Hotness said we'd probably already ruined our impression on the hot male stewards on Kingfisher flight. We'd probably be stared at by EVERYONE present on the flight. And we could just forget buying that awesome big jute hat we saw at Mango ON SALE. Then came the meetings, the more meetings, the chugging the chewing, the hollering the hearing the fits and the fights and the awaited new year bash which seemed never ending till the shots took effect.

I'm back and I'm cold. I'm cold because I'm back to bullying myself to do what I do everyday. I'm cold because I don't have an awesome, dramatic and page 3 life anymore. I am cold because I want to continue to eat out. And yes, I am cold because it IS BLOODY COLD IN DELHI. It's some 3 degrees today, no kidding. I feel I'm on a constant brain freeze because it's so cold.

Anyhow. Buffy, now famously called 'fifi' by my maid, has his birthday tomorrow. He will be 17 years old. Nope, he's not graying, he's not any more senile than he already was and he still looks like a dashing young fur ball. Yes, that's right.

So that's all for now. More to come later.

All the love and all that jazz.