Advertising and all that

Did I tell you about the time when an old ex-close-friend's-best friend very sneakily stole one of my picture and made an ad out of it? No? Then let me tell you about it. An old ex-close-friend's-best friend very sneakily stole one of my picture and made an ad out of it.

But then it's alright because post that we became friends and there was very little awkwardness left. And he also temporarily made me famous on facebook. I miss being famous.

Good day to you all.

What's on my mind...YOU tell me

I'm on crossroads and it's making me happyunhappy. I'm still where I was two years back, but I'm getting promoted. I've started a little creative project but I'm constantly worried about it. I haven't achieved all that I aspired to two years back but I've got a lot that I never thought of.

Happyunhappy. Its a paradox. From close quarters, it seems like nothing has changed. From afar, it's been one hell of a ride. I wake up every morning hoping for something new but nothing happens. Every weekend in retrospect I realise something has changed. I wait for time to pass by quickly; when I pause to breathe, I panic that time has flown.

Happyunhappy. Sometimes I think of my life and wonder, "What the hell is happening." Sometimes I sigh and smile, "Better this than that." She asks me, "What's up dude, update." I think, I ponder, I struggle, I resign and say, "Nothing." While sitting behind a rickshaw listening to some old melody, looking pensively at the road my life flashes like a movie reel and I think, "Life, stop being so eventful."

Happyunhappy. I dread the routine as it drains out the need to be creative, as I get ready to go to bed I giggle a little thinking how funny my own jokes are. I haven't made new friends but as I roll out the invites every 22nd November, I realise I need to trim the list. I detest my work most days, I fall in love with it when I see it in print.

Happyunhappy my days are. Confused, perturbed, irked and agitated through the day, I generally find that I still sleep well. It's rather annoying and mostly amusing. I don't know the state of my mind.

Have you ever come face-to-face with awesome?

.........no guarantee this is awesome. But it's pretty awesome because it's making me happy. http://www.facebook.com/LoLokplease?fref=ts my page for all my drawings and jokes.



This is going to be awesome

MAATROOO

 I wrote this long back for some work. Just found it. Posting it here :)


"Gaadi ki disha mein pehla dabba mahilaon ke liye aarakshit hai. Purush yatriyon se anurodh hai ki mahilaon ke liye aarakshit dibbon mein na baithei. Aisa karna dandniy apradh hai."

Some women may think the general compartment is one which sanctions a 'enter at your own risk,' with dirty men ready to brush against you with the pretext of jostling to the door. You may also get letched at by a bunch of adolescents, with raging gorilla hormones. But most women know not what awaits inside the WOMEN compartment. That, is a different, unchartered territory.

Here's a walk through that world and a precautionary list for the first timers.

1. Being over weight is one, but throwing your weight around is an altogether different story. Middle aged women with bums the size of two guest rooms are usually seen sitting smug on seats. Don't ask them to move, you will only get stared at.

2. There is a chance you may get hot boxed due to the aromatic extravaganza the Metro provides: deodrants, perfumes, sweat stench, ponds talcum powder, smoke, old socks, bear breath, stale/fresh tiffin food..etc. Try not to locate where each smell emanates from. You will only get stared at.

3. If you receive a call, message, mail or a tweet, if possible, avoid opening it till you reach home safely. Once the phone is opened, the ones plastered behind you will resolutely peek into your screen and read the notifications without embarrassment. Others who's vision is obstructed, will slide, move or stand on their toes, just to peek into your screen. Try not to look up at all those who were looking. Atleast 17 pair of eyes will stare straight at you. Remember, in Delhi, everybody's business is everybody business.

4. Try to avoid any movement or emotion while in the Metro. Laughing, sneezing, coughing, crying, hiccuping, scratching, snorting, smiling, breathing, ALL will earn you stares. Long stares, even. Everyone in Delhi stares at others like they are a piece of art. Hence, stay like a piece of art. Don't move.

5. Here, it is perfectly normal to pronounce Metro as 'matro', used abbreviations in casual conversation "Uske bf ka mere hubby ke fb pe comment dekha? Yaar, O Em Gee." Also, it is perfectly normal to hear things like, "Bhai, mera favourite rock artist Bryan Adams hai. Mera favourite rock band Boyzone hai, and Adheleee is a great rock singer." Don't comment at ALL. They will think one of two things: You don't know anything about music...or you don't know anything about music. You will also get stared at.

6. Don't hold conversations in English, over the phone or with a friend especially if you are travelling towards areas like Rajouri Garden, Punjabi Bagh. People will think you are a tourist, so you will be fleeced and stared at.

7. Try not to over hear broken English conversations or make grammatical corrections in your mind. You will have to eventually shoot yourself. Oh, yes, also, did I mention? You will be stared at.............I have no idea why.

Keep these pointers in mind. These will not ease your journey in any way, make you more street smart or help you brave the journey in the women's compartment. However, it's good to know the devil before you meet it. All the best, ladies!

Some awesomeness it surely is

It will be super awesome and it will be pretty.....awesome. I'm working on something and I am hopeful that at least some millions will like it and I'll be rich, since famous I already am.
.........................................

Actually, I am nervous and I am sweating. I have no idea what I'm upto and why I have worked this hard for it. I am not sure if people will like it. All I can hope for is that.................some millions will like it and I'll be rich, since famous I already am.

Anyway, that little something will be launched soon.

O, did I mention? Goa, is two days away. I am so excited and I am so excited.


Love

Thasssiit

I know it.

It's decided now. All I want for a career is to spoof movies.

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.

There's A Whole Lot Of Lot

Yup, there is. I've been fidgity, restless and mostly bored. Hence, I needed to channel my energies to avoid being engulfed by ennuie since I'm bordering scared of knowing either- a) I have nothing to do or b) whatever I do, bores me. I've been busy yes, but I need to be happy busy. And so I put my credit card at work. I've been reading like a famished, uncontroable, sickeningly crazy book worm. I might've eaten bits of the stray pages too (don't new books smell so edible? No wait, old books smell even better..either way they're all delicious).

Apart from that, music, that I had been not keeping up with, finally decided to keep up with me. Dewarists attracted me as a screenshot on facebook, with the face of Monika Dogra, from Shair and func, which I happen to like. Curiosity made me want to watch the entire link. I was amazed, and I ended up watching the entire season of Dewarists. I'm badly hung over them, oh yes. The two tracks that are just unbelievable are the ones made by Shri, Monika and Rajasthan roots. Also, Agni, Saumya Rao and Parikrima. Sonam sir went completely ballistic on the guitar. I remember meeting him long back for a college documentary we were making. We were so silly to have interviewd him by asking him lame questions like, "What is music to you, how much do you enjoy playing the guitar," etc. I mean, watch him play it, and you'll feel like that isn't even an act, a hobby, a skill. Music is his second nature. How stupid of us. Some people said the Dewarists are better than Coke studio. I agreed too, but then I went back to Coke, just to be sure, and I am back tracking from what I said. Leslie might've screwed up Coke Studio towards the end, but the music they've made over time, is really, quite, QUITE nice.

Christmas is just two days away. This year, surprisingly, I have no plans. What I do plan to do, however, is to decorate the underfed, more twigs-less leaves, sad christmas tree look-alike at home, just to be in tune with the spirit of the festival. I remember at school, we used to be taught all the Christmas Carols. All of them. Jingle bells, Silent night, Three kings, Away in a manger, Rudolph the red nose reigndeer, etc. Practice after practice after practice later, we'd be sick of singing them. The teachers would scream and pinch us if we went out of tune. That's why, we loved singing Rudolph. Why? Because of the line- "Then all the reigndeers loved him, and they shouted out with glee, YIPEEE". And at the 'yipee' part, we'd go out of control, scream our lungs out, and make it a stretched line. That's why the music teachers hardly made us practice Rudolph. Ever.


I'm off to Bombay for New Year  and what a truly happy feeling it is. The only thing I've been looking forward to for the past....2 months.

Anyway, more later. Work calls.


Love.

SOCOOL

So its' one of those fail monday mornings. You know, one of those when you reach office and think of all the important things you could've done instead of coming to work. And then you feel that the morning is a bigger fail because of all the things you could've done, were quite possible, if you had the no-guilt syndrome of taking unnecessary leaves. And then you feel like an even bigger fail because you realise that the people around you, well, they go ahead and do what their early Monday morning mind tells them to do.

Then there are the smaller, less consequential feelings of feeling the days's a fail because you find yourself relatively free. And so you decide to catch up with friends on gtalk.  But what happens is that, a) either they're too busy soaking themselves in the monday morning blues, which is to say, they're on a cribbing spree, which you don't want to hear about because, your day is already a fail, or b) they want to talk about things you definitely don't want to talk about and vise-versa, or c) they deliberately try not to laugh at your AWESOME jokes, because, they're probably not as awesome, or, its just a fail day d) they answer every question with the youtube link, which they KNOW won't open on your P.

Anyway, we were talking about how fail a day can be. Fail it is. Fail fail fail. You know how annoying it can be with someone peeks into your screen and comments? Or when you open your blog and see recent updates by people that are so fail. Or when you go to the wash room and find it infested with faces powered with white paint and your way through the crowd of bimbets and wash your hands, while rolling your eyes, listening to their negatively graphed intellectual conversations.

Fail morning. You know what also really fail? When you put up a status that says something personal like, "miss my life!" Or, "my eyes feel scratchy" and some moron you've never spoken to asks you "whyyyyy?" Or "vaaat you mean", when that status really wasn't for them. What's also fail is when some attention-seeking-jobless-idiot puts a facebook status saying, "I'm so saaaaaaaaaad! I'm so lonelyyyyy even though I only have some 2538 friends on my fb list and I'm a party animalhhhh I'm so saaaaad" and some equally attention giving-jobless-idiot will comment on it saying "oooh don't worry, I am there na! Please don't be sad. Heart".

Sofail. I have many more things to say this fail morning. But I've got to get back to work and such like.
More later.

The Daily Riff Raff

To begin with, they all wrote off Ra. One. Yes, they all thought it was a piece of trash, copied, duplicated, influenced and all of it, unsuccessfully. To all that I say-SURE. I know I’ve seen Spy Kids, Demolition Man, Terminator, Iron Man, He Man, Hanu Man, etc. However, this guy, this man, Shahrukh. He still makes me skip a beat, blue eyed or not, ra one’d or not. And till the time that skipping continues, I shall remain faithful. And I shall also whistle, scream and hoot in the hall, even if no one gives me company (as happened recently). Who cares. Who care who cares I say. Who cares, traaa laa laa laa…

Coming back to life. I’ve realized something, over ten months. Actually, two things. One. Life is nothing without work. And the moment your work becomes your life, you have no life. So basically. The two have a symbiotic-cum-parasitic relationship. One must die to let the other live. Kind of like Harry Potter and Voldermort. “Neither can live while the other survives.”

Secondly, when it comes to books, nothing and I repeat, nothing can beat the classics. I mean, seriously. Can you imagine how these writers came up with a Rhett Butler, Howard Roak, and Heathcliff, in those times. These are the creations of a fertile, creative and non-confirmist mind. Today, as I read more and more contemporary literature, I realize, that no matter how gripping, exciting and over-whelming the plot may be, my association, lingering memory is always latched to characters. For example, when I think of ‘The Quiet american’, by Graham Greene  more than the Vietnam war and the Third party controversies, I think of  Thomas Folwer, his cynicism, his ideologies and his  non-challance. Either the latest books have some fundamental problem with weaving the plot with the personalities, or they’re too busy telling a story. And this format, has me lost and distracted. Ofcourse, not every author is not worth all the fame, there are some. But let’s just say. If I walk into a library (virtual or real), I will invariably walk into the moldy, rusting section of the books long forgotten.

New year is round the corner and plans are all up in the air. Let’s hope this new year too, turns out to be as good, or better as the previous year. For now, there’s a piling stack of unending work glaring at me. I must battle with it. I must win, and I must win fast (before 7 PM, atleast).

For later, tchus

Athithi kab jaoge, seriously!

OMG, I just found this unpublished post in my old drafts. Sigh. Brings back memories


I hate unwanted guests, who land up without informing. Period. No point being diplomatic about it. I detest it. And I'll probably not entertain you, so you will eventually have to show yourself the door. And leave. Vanish. Pooof!

So we're more than just 4 people in this PG, I realized. And that's not a very happy thought. Because our unwanted guest is A. Devoid of all any etiquette B. Cursed with a huge appetite. C. Fat. D. Stnky E.Slimy F. Pro at hide and seek.

So this fat, rat of a thing would scamper around the house when you're least expecting to see a huge black blob whizzing past you when you're getting ready to go somewhere. Has found the perfect hide out, which we have been unable to trace. Ate my potatoe which was being used to hold up the incense sticks. Shat on my room mates thaple (gujrati roti's). The deification was done in a very precise manner too, mind. 'Smack' in the middle. We let out an "eww", in unison, I remember. For the longest time I thought our PG was haunted, when I saw my stuff missing or brutally chewed on, since there never was any sign of another human or animal existence.And it used to give me the chills. And nightmares. It used to frustrate me to no end. "I'd rather have that, than this. An unknown ghost is truly better than this known devil," I thought.

Funnily, though, now. This activity has been going on for some time. So much so, that we needed to name.. "it"... Raju, he was christianed. And Raju has become an important part of our daily dictionary. Our PG life. An equal party to all the going on's, and ofcourse, has equal authority over our food. He believes, truly, in sharing. We share our food, he shares his shit. We share our room, he shares his...never mind. A symbiotic relationship, has thus emerged.

Raju, however, will have to leave, some day. Maybe he'll just grow old, and die a normal death. Or take his adventures and travels to new destinations, plunder other rooms and lives. Who knows.

P.S- I remember Raju having left us right after this post was written. Maybe he found a new home, maybe he was literate and was deeply hurt. Maybe he died, maybe he vanished. All we know is that his (over)stay left us deeply moved and affected our lives to a great/grave extent.