The Weird Guy Whose Wit Went Incognito

Of Birds and Girls Alike

2010-04-24T11:18:00.003+05:30

“Patridge!”

What was that? It almost sounded like…

“Patridge!”

There it was again. This time louder!

I turned around to find a girl who was about to say something, but stopped midway and smiled at me. I found myself smiling back without realizing why. She was wearing a pair of grey slacks and a green t-shirt that said ‘Bird Vs Beast’ and had an intricate drawing of a what I assumed was a falcon and a dragon fighting each other, enveloping a solemn Yin-Yang that was probably saying ‘What the fuck am I doing here?’ She also wore yellow plastic hoop earrings and a tiny nose ring on a tiny nose. I had never seen her before or knew who she was, but she looked cute.

“I’m sorry, but do I know you?”, I said squeakily, trying really hard not to sound shy at the same time as trying really hard to sound confident.

“No, I don’t think we’ve met. I just moved into the city.”

“But, how did you know my name?”

She looked puzzled. “What is your name?”

“It’s Patrick…”

“Oh… Oh! I said Patridge! I saw you staring at that bird for so long with such a serious face that I only assumed you were wondering what kind of a bird that was.” She said pointing at a weird looking bird and laughing, showing off the dimples that had suddenly blemished her flat cheek. “We really ought to put up a sign somewhere”, she then said, looking around for a signpost she already knew wasn’t there.

I was clearly at a loss for words because I was talking to a pretty girl around the same age as me and I had just walked carelessly into an open trap where every passing second seemed determined to make me appear more awkward and embarrassed than the previous one. So I decided to change the subject.

“Do you work here?”

“Kind of. I actually own this little bird sanctuary. I’ve had it for 8 years now, ever since the guy who used to run this place earlier, decided to pack his bags one day and move to Kenya.”

“That’s interesting. Kenya, I mean. Wow! That’s really far away.” I said, trying unsuccessfully to keep the conversation from dying out. I had nothing to do for the next 12 hours and I realized that it was too long a time to kill, in solitary anticipation of the next day.

She remained silent for a while. “Can I ask you a question?”, she said and continued without waiting for a response, “What are you doing here at 2 pm, on a hot Thursday afternoon, wearing a tie, and shoes so well polished that I can actually see my face in them?”

I wasn’t surprised, I had already gotten strange looks from passersby as I walked across the park, past kids who were basking in the rebellious victory of skipping school and deciding to spontaneously make out on every standing/sitting/lying object in their path, past old women who had nothing else to do on a Thursday afternoon, past a happy sleeping security guard who looked like he’d eaten the best lunch of his life.

I looked out of place, but given the circumstances I don’t think I would have changed into something more casual for a walk in the park.

Given the circumstances, I wouldn’t even have been at the park on a hot Thursday afternoon.

She stood there with her black eyes staring listlessly at me for some sort a reaction and for some reason I did not want to lie to her. I felt calm in this strange place, among the company of birds and strange girls alike. And given my track record of random encounters with strangers, I knew with certainty that I would never again see her in my life.

“I quit my job today.”, I said sincerely after taking a deep breath and deciding to open up.

“At the bank?”, she asked coyly.

Unbelievable! The guess was spot-on! But the conversation was not going as I would’ve hoped. I was looking forward to having a serious conversation about where my life was headed and this girl was zoning in on ridicule, taking me back to my embarrassing school days.

I must have looked offended because she then said, “That’s cool!”

“Is it really?”

“No, I mean it’s cool that you’ve quit now! What happened though?”

I spoke slowly, drawing words from the back of my head, conjuring up the images that I had buried deep within, under layer upon layer of anger, that had made me a completely different and volatile person.

But all I could muster was a feeble,, “I was just tired of it all.”

I said it like I was wheezing.

Apparently I didn’t really want to talk about it, ever.

“I understand. So what next?”, she said and I felt like a great weight had just been lifted off my shoulder.

“Oh, I don’t know. I want to keep my options open. Maybe I could open up a little bird sanctuary? And for a change, actually charge some sort of an entry fee?”

I am flirting with her.

“Yes! There’s a fantastic career move for a guy who couldn’t identify a patridge!”, she said laughing.

Again with the ridicule, I thought. Strangely enough, I actually felt drawn towards her, every time she openly humiliated me. This wasn’t like high school at all.

“Yeah, I was kidding! I’m not really a big fan of birds. I just walked into this part of the park because it was the only place that had no people around.”, I said, immediately regretting not filtering my thoughts before speaking.

I realized that I had just told her that her little bird paradise sucked. But she stood there, with a perfect balance of nonchalance and irritation, and nodded her head, gesturing me to keep going.

“Well, to be honest, I don’t have a plan. Quitting the bank job was a first step of sorts. What lies ahead of me is a blank white sheet.”, I said, stopping before I could say something corny.

“But there’s got to be something you like doing, right?”

“Lots of things! But none of them are destined to make me any money.”

She smiled and said, “Screw that! I don’t make much, but I love what I’m doing. And that’s the most important thing in life. Twenty years down the line, when I look back at my life, I’ll realize that I have been happy throughout.”

“I’d like to believe you’re right, but I have to experience it to believe it, I guess.”

“Wow! Look at that view. The sun’s coming down and it looks beautiful. Everything is bathed in it’s glow, a burnt orange.”

It really did!

She stared at me long and hard for a while, and then took 3 steps forward until she was level with my face, and her gaze never left my face. It wasn’t sudden, but it was enough to make me uncomfortable at least. I finally gave in and asked her, smiling a bit, “What are you doing?”

“I’m looking at you, silly! You know, you aren’t as tall as you seem.”

“It’s usually the other way around”, I said in a slightly offended tone, although I didn’t really care because she was standing so close to me. I could smell the hint of whatever conditioner she’d used on her hair and it was heavenly, at least when the wind was blowing towards me.

“Well, in case you’re interested, I have an opening here, at the bird sanctuary.”

I laughed for a bit.

“Thanks, but no thanks. I think we have established that I’m not really a bird-person. I guess I’m more of a beast?”, I said subtly hinting at her t-shirt war montage and feeling stupid a second later because it was cheesy, and thankfully lost in the conversation.

She sighed. It was a long, deep sigh to clarify to me that it was completely fake. And then she spoke.

“What does a girl have to do to give a guy her number?”

“Oh!”, I exclaimed, stumbling for words, knowing fully well I couldn’t say anything to escape from this situation, unscathed. I didn’t care though, because in front of me was this really pretty girl, full of charm and wit. A combination that’s almost extinct in this commercial sell-out of a city. And she was into me!

The next few minutes were a blur and I remember walking away from her after, with a weird warm feeling in my heart. Or maybe it was the scrap of paper in my pocket with her digits. The morbidity of the day’s events had long been forgotten and I was only looking forward to getting to know her. Whatever her name was!

Wow! I didn’t even ask her for her name! I am really bad at this!, I thought to myself.

“PATRIDGE!”, she screamed from far behind, laughing uncontrollably.

This time, I just smiled to myself. I didn’t look back.

I had a dream. It was surreal. It was real.

2009-08-22T00:16:00.004+05:30

The content below is a first-person narration from my point of view, as I woke up one morning with scattered thoughts, and threaded all the wisps of memory together to form something I never want to forget.

I've heard that the power of imagination is scary. And I'm translating it to prose. And will forever do so.

~*~

I'm blind. It takes time for my eyes to get adjusted to the light in the dead of the night. It's surprisingly bright for a sepia toned dream. For a second I almost think I'm wide awake, thinking about my past.

'Something is familiar about this place', I tell myself. It feels like I've been here more often than necessary. It's a doorstep. And I'm sitting on it.

As the light slowly fades away, I begin to recognise where I am. An old apartment building, which almost looks defunct now. I still cannot figure out which year it is. And because it's a dream, I don't even care. I can hear a lot of noise around me. In spite of the desolate ambience the place bears, it feels like there are a lot of people milling about.

I'm outside the very house I used to live in, in the early nineties. And I hear a girl's voice next to me. She's sitting next to me on the doorstep. I don't know how I didn't notice her before, even though I'm already in the middle of a conversation with her.

I'd like to hope she's pretty, but I'm not allowed to see her face. I know it's as easy as just looking at her, but I'm unable to. She has a nice voice though, and that calms me down enough to not bother about who she is or where she came from. She has a soft voice and breathes words into my ears. The serene monotone is resonant with a lifetime of patience. She's a listener. And it reassures me, even though I have nothing to tell her.

We sit in silence, barring the incessant murmur of voices that I haven't been able to shake off since the dream began. Her head is leaned on my shoulder and I hear a sigh. All of a sudden, the door opens and I witness a torrential downpour of wails and laments. That's when I realise someone is dead.

It's clearly a time and place for mourning. Everybody sits brooding, shrouded in a cloak of obscurity, hiding from what I can only assume is fate. 'I'm afraid it's a little too late for that', I tell them, in my mind. I still cannot recognize anyone. The reason could perhaps be that I am not really going to be thrilled to find someone I know, amongst the weeping crowd.

“He's dead”, she says. The woman, who I assume to be the mother of the person who died, has just walked up to me with her arms open, not in an embrace, but in a way beggars ask for alms. I'm queasy and ask the obvious question.

'How did it happen?' I still have no idea who the deceased is, but I realise that it is too late for such a question to seem appropriate.

'He was just taking a shit. And he died.'

I'm aghast, both at her incredulous use of the word 'shit' and at how my dream was taking such a bizarre turn.

I stutter, unsure of what to say or do.

'I'm sorry', I murmur.

I'm ushered out by the girl because she knows I'm uneasy and she says so. We walk right upto the top of the winding stairs.

As far as I can recollect, the apartment I used to live in did not have a long winding staircase. This is a different place, from a different memory. And that's when I hear someone groan.

We look down and find a woman working her way up. It's looks like quite a struggle. The stairs are really steep. The woman is really large. In fact, the more I look at her, the more I come to the conclusion that this woman could easily be the biggest woman I have ever seen. She scorns every time she looks up at us peeping down at her.

She heaves herself over the steps with surprising gait and I'm half-scared because I expected her to lumber along at a pace reserved for crippled people. I suddenly don't want her to come up. She frightens me. She trails all the way to the final landing, cocks her head to one side and looks keenly at the last flight of stairs that separates us and her. It seems like an eternity. She smiles. In the way a predator smiles to keep his prey calm and relaxed. It creeps me out.

And then the old woman gives us an exasperated look.

'It's too much', she says.

She looks tired and on the verge of giving up. I feel a tiny bit victorious and I'm not ashamed of it. She trudges down the stairs. The girl giggles. I shoot her a silencing look, which makes her laugh even more. I am not sure if it was the look on my face that prompted the loud, raucous laughter, or if she just did not like being told what to do.

She grabs my hand and runs up to the roof. I protest all the way, even though I realise I'm sprinting at an unbelievable pace. We arrive at the top, a little out of breath.

'Let's do it!', she says.

My face is as blank as it can get.

What is 'it'?

She walks to the short wall overlooking the road and shows me what 'it' is. She wants to jump.

She is still laughing from before. I'm a bit annoyed to discover that the quiet girl I liked has now dissolved into complete mayhem.

'Someone will catch us', she says, smiling reassuringly, and jumps.

I don't scream. I run to the edge because I'm curious to find out if she was telling the truth.

She had a parachute. I never knew!

I watch her lithe frame float it's way down to the black road. I check myself thoroughly and am a bit relieved to find that I do not have a parachute. I make the trek back to the doorstep in solitude.

I'm back at 'home'. But there's nobody here, except for two people I assume to be my parents. I still cannot see anyone's face or features clearly. There are also 2 policemen and a dog.

They are here to investigate the murder, I'm told. I have no knowledge of a murder, but I don't want to get in anybody's way. I act like nobody's there and walk towards what I think is my bedroom. I pick up an old shirt. I think it's mine, even though I have never seen it before. There's some dried up blood on it, but I don't really care.

I walk back to the living room, still clutching the piece of cloth. That's when I hear the growl. The cops have let the dog stray on it's own, free to wander the house. And it looks up at me with such ferocity that my stomach twists into complex knots. I realise I have stopped breathing in the hope that the dog would ignore me and carry on. I also notice that the only thing separating me and the dog is a thin passageway and I contemplate ways to escape, each one less successful than the last.

Even before I'm done thinking, he charges. I see flecks of saliva left behind in still air, it seems, judging by the pace of his leaps and bounds. I also see the large, inhuman canine teeth meant primarily to tear and devour flesh. I blank out and I don't know what to think for the next 3 seconds.

He leaps. I duck. I hear the sickening crunch of the dogs muzzle hit the wall with such force that I find myself feeling sorry for the dog. I look up to see a mixture of saliva and blood on the wall and the dog whining on the ground below.

What happens next is just a blur. I only remember the cops walking away in a huff. I have no recollection of the dog.

The next morning, I find a handyman in the house. I don't know if something needs fixing, but it isn't my concern in any case. There are other people in the house who take these decisions. He looks like most handymen do, with a uniform and a tool belt on his waist. He also looks lecherous. I hate the sight of him and long to throw a punch at his sneering face everytime I look at it.

I shrug my shoulders and go online.

A good two hours have passed and I'm still sitting on the chair. I stretch. And I freeze. I get the uneasy feeling that there's somebody over my shoulder. I look back to see him frozen in place, with the same sneer on his face. I do not know how long he has stood there, so I ask him.

'All the time you've been here', he says.

I clench my fists in revulsion. He peers over my shoulder and scans the computer and then licks his lips.

'She's pretty', he says.

I have no idea what he saw, or who he looked at, or if I knew her, but I was already pushing him with all my strength, out of the room, through the passageway, through the living room and out of the front door. All the time, he looks transfixed, and I would give anything in the world to not know what he was thinking.

As I heave him out the door, I find 6 construction workers waiting for him. They are covered in grime and are wearing hard hats. I am intimidated because they look strong and all I want to do is just close the door and bolt it shut from the inside. But something told me that a simple bolt wouldn't stop these men.

Standing still, I feel a surge of adrenalin and glare at them viciously. A few of them look startled and I feel pleased and decide to continue with my new found bravado.

I look at one of the men. He is black. And he looks like Laurent (from 'Twilight', the movie). He is large, has dreadlocks and speaks in a fluid accent that I would never be able to master if I was awake. Still, in the dream, he sounds exactly like he would, like he was meant to.

I'm repulsed by the sight of him. He moves his mouth constantly and I imagine him uttering vile curses not comprehensible by my untrained ears. I call him a pussy. He glares back at me and says, 'Call me that 20000 times.'

I am not aware what significance the number twenty thousand bears, but I'm least bothered. I'm tired and want to call it a night. I lift a pair of garden shears and scissor his head off.

I see a fountain of blood spurt from where his head should have been.

And I wake up, fists clenched, feeling completely satisfied.

~*~

It's a love hate thing

2009-02-28T12:45:00.003+05:30

“You’re boring, empty and never really have more than one thing to say at any given point of time.”

“I spend every day trying to fulfill my life. I shouldn’t have to fulfill yours too.”

“Yes, but you spend every waking minute with me. And your way of life makes me want to end it. I feel the need to clasp my full palms around your supple neck and snap it.”

“The only thing I would take away from that is the fact that you love me to bits. And pieces?”

“It would really help if you were unfunny at this particular point of time, but I can’t help the fact that I’m stuck with a loon who needs to gratify himself by making an absolutely witless statement every passing minute.”

“Your drawling voice, combined with a straight, emotionless face and a monotone make you seem like a drooling 80 year old woman on sleep medication whose children have long left his side. Metaphorically speaking.”

“True. True. And don’t forget the fact that I’m a talentless leech.”

“Certain things are better left unsaid. But yes, you are as talentless as a headless chicken with the bid flu.”

“I will have you know, I have talent. I have the innate ability to make people rue the day they were born. I cannot get through a day without satisfying the half-empty sadist in me. I’m human, I need to be satiated.”

“So what you’re trying to say is that you like insulting people so much that if you don’t find anybody by your side, you would much rather insult yourself?”

“Yes, that is exactly what I’m saying.”

“Good, then I guess we finally have something in common. Let’s make out, unless your bony lips have given away under the impact of you actually making a contribution to this hapless conversation.”

“Yes, and I’m about as turned on as a switch right now.”

The end of all beginnings

2008-11-30T23:27:00.004+05:30

Every time I feel the annoying urge to put some words down, I always think of a great ending. The perfect sign-off. The calm after the storm, only the other way around.

I realised that even while writing about nothing in particular, I still am pretty mediocre at it. Which is why the droll wit and the long meaningless sentences that help the reader focus that nonchalant gaze on the static screen, need to rise up to a colossal end so as to give him/her the satisfaction of not having completely wasted the last 10 minutes of his/her time.

I do not deceive. I do not force the reader to read enrapt, the random ramble of words, conjured phrases and self-inflicted ridicule. A reader by habit feels the need to end what he has started. A reader that puts a book down always picks it up again one day. It is not necessary that the book needs to be particularly interesting. Every reader has an ego that remains invisible to the eyes of people, an ego that only he can satiate, which is to leave nothing unaccomplished, leave no book unread.

My choice of words are open to speculation. It is therefore fortunate nobody has stepped up so far to refute my opinions (which I am not ready share with anybody anyway). So while you sit there, disgruntled and hold me in contempt of my crass way of undermining your power of authority to tell me how to frame my sentences or how to edit what I type, I sit amused. Not at the expense of your helpless plight, but at my unfair advantage.

I might remain misinformed regarding the variety of your opinions, criticism far beyond my reach. My argument remains that such a predicament is a very good thing. I wouldn't particularly like to be told I suck, until I approach a publisher, upon which time I expect to be more than 30 years old. And successfully capable of procuring a licensed firearm. So thank you for all the kind words that remain locked up within your mental prison which keep telling you how smart you are, and how condescending I am.

Yes, I understand this is very abstract but the boring part is almost done with and the good part is almost here.

I am referring to the end, which I originally began with...

And to really sum it all up, I think all of the above is horse crap!

Cheers.

Walking away

2008-08-15T15:46:00.004+05:30

Everything seems vaguely fluid, without a constant state of being. I feel connected to every single element that extends generously to grasp my palm, grip it tight, and reassure me that I am not exclusive, not abundant at the same time.

Its as if I've been staring into the light for enough time now that I can't see the darkness anymore. (I couldn't have seen darkness anyway)
But I'm not comfortable, because I feel at home in the dark, and the spotlight that is getting increasingly hot is trying to eradicate that thinly veiled layer of anonymity and falsehood I have sought shelter within.
Its not the placid, calm light that lights up a street or the living room. It is sharp, and sears my skin.

Well, its not going to accomplish much, for I have already had many a hole burned right through me. It feels like a torn brittle white transparent piece of paper being held up by tiny invisible strands of dried up glue and an unspoken agreement with the listless wind.

Yet, I remain nonchalant and come to terms with the fact that I've been holed up
in.. a.. hole..
And I don't want to climb out, not because I'm afraid, but because I don't like what's on the outside.

I want to reach out and communicate with nostalgia, give him a great big handshake and never speak to him again.
For there have been no glory days of the past.
Just days - Long, tiresome, never-ending days filled with false hope and lies.
Is 'lies' too strong a word? Maybe.
But since I have already said it, there is no point reiterating the fact that I don't care.

I have tried to walk along the path of time, but I keep moving in circles, concentric circles with no ambition or grip on reality. Life has begun to take its own course, unguided and furious.
As uncontrollable as it already is, life is also like a bunch of grapes.

Grapes are fun fruit. You could spit seeds at other people, simply throw them about, or just squish them between your toes.
I like to toss them as high up in the air as possible and attempt to catch them in my mouth. Of course, they always end up hitting me in the eye.

"Why do you repeatedly hit my eye, oh grape?"
"If you'd stop looking right at me with intense concentration, I might do otherwise."

Yes, life is a bunch of grapes. It's all about having some fun, but once you begin to focus really hard, you get knocked off your feet. And you are laid down in a state of paralyzing dismay for the rest of your life, or until you get over it.

Or you could simply choose to walk away...

Rendezvous

2008-07-26T11:03:00.003+05:30

There are just two people in this tale.
He.
and She.

He: "I hate parties. The loud music, the smoke. And most importantly, the hollering, because nobody can hear you through this LOUD music! Wow! I mean, it's really loud!"

She: "Are you saying all of this because you want to talk to me in private, somewhere far away, preferably under that lone tree? Maybe you'd like to say something romantic. And maybe I might make your dreams come true tonight..."

*SNORT*
"Hahaha. That was corny. Yeah, all that would be nice, but I just want to talk. It doesn't matter if we make any sense."

"Speak for yourself. I plan on making a lot of sense."

"I'll take you up on that when this Bourbon is over."

* tiny blades of grass scream softly as they get crushed *
* the leaves laugh - rustle *

She: "So I guess we're now going to talk about how screwed up our lives are."

He: "How about just staying silent for a while..."

"Until?"

"Until I say so!"

* the sunlight winks at the two, burning through stray leaves *
* the leaves scream as they burn *
* the other leaves laugh * the sun laughs * nobody cares *

He: "Who the heck has a party in the afternoon? I mean, that's just borderline crazy."

She: "You're here aren't you?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty borderline crazy myself."

"I know. That's why I'm sitting here, next to you, instead of in there, trying to grab some ass."

"That's a strange thing for a woman to say."

"I think you're mistaken . I'm not a woman, I'm a dude."

"Liar! In that case, you're the first dude I feel like kissing."

~*~

She: "Can we go back to your place?"

He: "No. I have this policy. I don't take drunk women home. I don't like it."

"Ah, a gentleman!"

"Actually it's because they throw up. A lot!"

"Ah, a gentleman!" *sarcasm*
"There's something you should know. I don't have any policies at my place."

"That is very suggestive. But I actually said no because I have a girlfriend."

"Oh..."
"Wait, is that the truth?"

"No, I'm actually married."

"Ha. Ha. The truth!"

"Okay. If you want the truth, I'll give it to you. But you might not like it, and it might ruin a lot of good things you might have going for you right now."

"I've braced myself."

~*~

"I'm not real... I'm in your mind..."

* the leaves laughed * the sun laughed * the music was loud no more *

Simplicity Swami

2008-06-25T23:29:00.002+05:30

A trail of invisible vapours breathed an intoxicating scent around the small, sparsely furnished two bedroom house.
By the time the heady aroma wafted towards his nostrils, Swami was already up and about. It was a proud day for the Subramaniam household, and for the many generations that had carried the Subramaniam family name.

~*~
Swami couldn't believe his eyes when the appointment letter arrived a week back. It wasn't that he had performed badly during the interview, he was just too simple a person to believe that he was capable of greatness.

Swami was as devout as most devout brahmins go. It was not surprising to watch him pray fervently before opening the envelope and then praying afterward, only to thank God for his good fortune and promising to visit the temple nearby, for every day of the following week.
~*~

As Swami emerged from his bath, the smell of talcum powder and bath soap almost nearly overpowered the scents from the Puja (prayer) room, if only for an instant. He looked at his neatly pressed, clean white shirt, and his father's red tie. He also looked at his shoes extra hard to check if he could see his face grinning back at him. He had spent most of the previous night trying to polish the shoes to make them as shiny as possible.

"It's a shoe, not a mirror!"

~*~
There was nothing abnormally unique about Swami, nothing unusually weird that might pass off as cool or strange. He was a typical, run-of-the-mill brahmin boy that many parents in Madras once had, before losing their sons to nicotine, alcohol, girls, late night parties, pre-marital intercourse and social circles.

For instance, Swami had just two pairs of jeans, both gifted to him. One was given to him during Diwali, and the other was bought for his birthday. And he neatly pressed them every time, before categorically placing them in the 2 shelves that held all of his clothes.

He had a few friends. Well, they were technically not his friends, for they were unlike him. They were the sort that would look at women lecherously, make snide remarks, pick up quarrels with random people, drink on the street with the money stolen from their parents during the weekend, etc. But they were the closest he had to friends, and so Swami had to make do.
Of course they made a lot of fun of him, mainly because he was an outcast, but they seldom crossed the line, because Swami was as helpful as he was obedient. Whenever it came to money for cigarettes, whiskey, bribes, bail, etc, the guys always counted on Swami.

"Swami, you are so simple! What are you doing here in this dangerous city?"

"Yesh, Simple.. Shitee.. SWAMI!!"

"Haha! Simplicity Swami! That's what we'll call you."
~*~

'Simplicity Swami' wolfed down idlis and sambhar as quickly as his mouth, and mother permitted. He had to take the blessings of many elders in the neighbourhood, as well as drop in to see his uncle and aunt on his way to the work. He wanted to make it to the office a good half hour earlier than he had to, because he was the kind of person who always tried to make a good impression on people.

Most importantly, there was nothing to deter the foretold path his future ought to take. Stones had been cast, parrots had preached and palms had been read. Swami was going to live his life to the fullest, in the best of health, make lots of money and find his bride.
His mother was clearly overjoyed, because even as Swami was saying his goodbyes, she was already planning his marriage, and mentally making a note to call the marriage broker the following day.

And that's how Swami came to gaze up at the 100-storey, glass encased structure that would soon become his home away from home for many years to come.

That of course, will be a different story altogether......

Road Trippin'

2008-06-15T03:24:00.006+05:30

I'm still totally in awe of the title I chose for this post! It is so apt! I feel so clever!

Anyway, here goes....

He was just about to head home.

"Hey man, do you smoke up?"
"Yeah, cool. Is that what you guys are doing there?"
"You don't have to if you don't want to."
"No that's alright. I want to."

20 minutes later he was navigating his bike through the crowded streets, but before that...
A brief stop to grab some mint.

He gets off the bike and marches with very confident steps to the shop nearby and asks for some mint.
Almost immediately he swings around because he's not sure if he remembered to put the stand on his bike. Phew! Close call...

.... And then, his mind speaks!

"Mint in hand. Why the fuck are my legs so shaky? Wait, did I pay the guy? Crap! Okay, just reach out for your wallet... "
"err, where is it? Ah! Got it. Hee! The coins feel so weird on my numb palms. Wait! My palms are freaking numb! How the hell did that happen?"

"Okay, I can't get the fucking mint in my mouth, *$^&%^*%!!"
"Oh wait, my helmet's in the way! Hahaha!!"
"Dude, you better calm the fuck down. Everyone around you is looking right at you!"
"What??? Aaaahh!!"

"Wait! I don't think they are. It's just a hallucination, but you should stay calm anyway and not draw any attention."
"Okay, the chewing helps. Good move there man! I thought You/I were/was totally going to lose it."

"Yes! I'm back on my bike now. Hey! This feels so strange. Now before we start, there are a few groundrules we must go through..."
"Wait! I haven't started yet! Don't take off!"
"Aaaah!!!"

"It's okay, I'm going to keep looking at the speedo and make sure I don't cross 35!"
"Oh crap! I forgot to look at the road. Heehee!"

"This feels so strange, I'm going to remain so focused on the road though. If I get caught in this state, people are bound to know I smoked some really good shit. God! I hope I don't get into an accident even if it isn't my fault. That way, when they run some tests they will detect marijuana and I'll be in trouble and be found guilty even if the accident was not my fault at all!"
"Aaaahhh!!"

.......... He used to talk to himself very often. A lot more than normal people normally did. He had a little voice inside his head that spoke to him and asked him many interesting questions.

He now felt as if the voice inside his head had just injected itself with ultra-strong caffeine, for the voice kept asking one question after another, without as much as a single pause for breath.

"Hey, do you feel like blowing a bubble with that gum you're chewing?"
"Shut up! I'm wearing a full-face helmet right now!"

"Hey, do you feel like giving some random person a lift?"
"No."

"Are we there yet?"
"How long is it going to take?"
"You're going to get screwed! Do you know that?"
"Why are matchstick heads black in colour?"
"When did you last clean the bike?"
"I hope you don't run over a dead rat on the road"
"Can I please listen to the Ipod? Stop the bike, I want to listen to some music!"
"All that chewing is driving me crazy!"
"Are you on the right gear?"
"The wind feels strange on my face, do you feel it too?"
"Hee! My sweaty palms feel all tingly because of the breeze!"
"Do you think you have a flat? I hope not!"
"Can I try speaking in different languages?"
"Can you take both your hands off the bike?"
"Can I call you, 'me' for a while and me, 'you'?
"Please let me listen to some music! Can I hum? Okay, I'm going to start singing in your head."

"Aaahh!"
His mind was going to explode, he knew it. But how could he shut it up? He soon realised it was going to be physically impossible and therefore gave in to the charms of the robotic voice that blasted question after question like a smoking machine gun barrel.
Almost at once, the voice died down, as if finally realising that it did not have to struggle and therefore lost interest.

"Dude!! The road! Don't drift off!"
"Phew, thanks for that... So, the road then."
"Wait!! What is this road. Okay, I don't fucking remember which road this is. Am I supposed to be here? Where am I? Nothing seems familiar!"
"Aaaahh!!!"

"Okay, don't panic. Just keep riding till you find something you recognize."
"Crap! I'm coming to a turn. Where do I go? WHERE DO I GO???"
"Aaaahh!!"

"Ah yes, I know this route, turn right... Phew!"

"Man! That was close, I hope I don't get lost again."
"Hah! I'm totally blogging about this."

The continuous repertoire of events happened sequentially, over and over again, every 2 minutes, as he kept drifting off to engage in new, confounding arguments with the self, about nothing of great importance. His eyes were glazed, blazed, and he was blitz'd right out of his skull.

Being high was awesome!

And in the end, everyone lived...

Okay, this story may be fiction............... Don't tell the cops anyway!

Trainspitting

2008-06-10T14:57:00.011+05:30

This is a cleverly crafted, detailed, 'do-it-yourself' instruction booklet that teaches one the finesse of hurling beautiful and wholesome balls of spit, right out of moving trains.
Also included is a detailed guide on how to carefully structure the spittle into an aero-dynamical figure so as to let it fly effortlessly against the wind.

I know you fell for that, and yes, I disgusted myself while I typed all that...
Read on, I promise you the rest of the post is 'spit-free'. That's a sentence I might never say again!

Alright, so I have already complained about the awesome bus journeys one can take in Chennai and the awesomeness of our national aircraft carriers. I guess there's just one thing left to do...

The following article (I'm calling it an article because it sounds professional, and awesome!) is based on a man's journey through the vast sea of bodies nestled so closely together, much like;
1. Pollen on a bee's bottom.
2. An unemployment office.
3. A jar of Amla, homemade by my grandmother (Yuck!)

I hadn't ever given public transport any thought till I started college.
I suddenly came to realise that the bicycle simply would not cut it and that I was way too undeserving to be able to coax my father into buying me a motorcycle.
And during my short tryst with the lovable chaps who have cursed me, have gotten cursed at, have drawn blood, and at one point of time, even jumped out a moving train, I must say that my attempt at traveling by the local train to college and back was an experience to reckon with.

Once upon a time (which is how all stories usually start), we gathered outside the college to catch the usual bus home. In the distance we noticed a mangled pile of bodies heading our way. It looked like the most complex human pyramid ever. Much like the Rubik's cube of human pyramids. The sheer number of bodies topped by yet another sea of bodies cleverly hid the bus that bore the brunt of all that weight. It almost appeared to seem that, if another person set foot on that bus, it would have groaned (like a human being) and collapsed (like a human being).
Exaggeration aside, the bus was not fit for travel.
Which was how I came about experiencing the wondrous joys of traveling in a train. Mainly because it was better than a bus...
Or was it!

Daredevils?
Being men, we have a penchant for living life on the dangerous side. This would involve several life threatening adventures of sorts like;
1. Walking on a ledge several feet high
2. Trying to attempt a wheelie
3. Flirting with an attractive woman, already in a relationship with someone else, preferably a guy obsessed with visiting the gym twice a day.
4. Sitting through an episode of Sex and the City
... And the likes...
Anyway, since I'm digressing and would very much like to talk about what I originally intended to talk about, I must tell you that the train offered enough and more scope to be young, spirited and driven loco! (Loco is a clever usage of the word because of the association it has with the word locomotive, which is featured predominantly in this 'article'. You might be skeptical, but I actually try very hard.)

A person traveling by the local train has two options;
1. Stand (Never sit! Because you can't anyway) inside the train, amongst fishmongers, people who detest having to take baths, people who desperately need baths and various escapees from the local zoo. Oh, and also, one must be prepared to witness the variety of body parts that are likely to go numb because of the constricted blood flow.
2. Hang (by a hand, leg, finger, wisp of hair) from the side of the train, which is very perilous and involves great expertise. Of course, when you want to trade with Dr. Death, you will be rewarded with fresh air and a funky new hairstyle (a.k.a messed up, rearranged hair).
This part of the compartment, where many hands grasp the thick iron bar (am I the only one who finds this sentence lewd?), where I spent almost all of my traveling time, would forever be known as the Bridge of Fear (or Freedom as the case may be).
BOF - Because suddenly I like saying the word 'Bof'. It sounds childishly amusing.
Anyway, about this Bof, man! It's like so totally awesome that when I'm on it, I'm like... Woohoo!

Isn't the change of writing style totally annoying?
I know! I feel the rage too. I honestly can't imagine why people would want to talk like that.

Anyway, when I'm not enjoying the thickly polluted wind on my face, I am busy grappling for space on the Bof which is barely 4 centimeters wide (I'm lucky if I get a toe in). I'm also trying to dodge flecks of spit that a careless passenger in front would have let loose. I'm also trying to avoid getting thwacked by some of the electric poles that run alongside the train. I'm also trying to mentally train my palms to not sweat profusely.
Have you ever seen a fat person's fabric ripping apart? Well, a crowded train is symbolically similar. The people hanging off the Bof look like that excess fat that has caused a tear at the seams.
Another clever association here is that I don't fit into any of my clothes now, and by typing this I suddenly feel so motivated to lose weight and eat nutritious food!
NOT!

Anyway, this place on a train is unbelievably territorial. There are several unwritten rules in the imaginary book of Railway Bof Travel Guidelines that state that;
1. One must not try to uproot one's existing premium position as the leader of the Bof (the front part of the bridge), unless he/she(yeah right!) is willing to encounter greater risk. This should be aptly demonstrated by running alongside the train for a far greater time (before boarding), than the reigning champion, to state your claim as leader of the Bof.
2. As a collective, you must look out for your Bof Brothers when they are about to lose their grip. If you are too busy trying to save yourself to notice, you shall be pardoned.
3. If a fellow Bof aspirant is trying way too hard and risking all odds to claim a rightful place, he must be saluted and helped up. Such rare people should be respected, especially if they fail to board and get terribly injured.
4. If a person manages to get on the Bof by committing adultery or by classic betrayal, he ought to be stripped off his brotherhood. But since the policing patrons are also imaginary, nothing of significance can be done, apart from giving looks that say, 'I Hope You Die!'.

On one fateful day (which is how all sad stories usually start, but don't worry. Nobody dies here), while we waited patiently for a train in the overly busy platform (why are these people 'busy' if they're on their way back home?!?), a train arrived, ridiculously full of people. It reminded me (John Dorian style) of the Indian way of transporting cattle to slaughter houses. Unfortunately for us, instead of two trains plying on two sets of railway tracks, one was closed for maintenance and everyone had to travel by that single train. Even while we stood there, debating whether it was worth the risk or not, we found ourselves getting pushed into the train (Yay, for automated decision making!). When the train reached the next station, we tumbled out like drunken overweight acrobats, gasping and wheezing for breath. When we turned around, we witnessed this;
1. People wanting to get out couldn't, because of people wanting to get in.
2. People wanting to get in couldn't, because of people wanting to get out.
3. There were people who actually swung their arms around windows, securely latching their bodies (and also their fates). In case they did manage to slip, their shoulders would get dislocated, but hell! They would stay glued to the train by that stretch of skin, mind you.

Anyway, I think that was the day of solidarity, when we swore as a collaborative that we would find alternative ways to reach college. Also, I got caught for ticketless travel once (I totally bluffed my way out... Suckers!)
Thereafter, I got a motorcycle, which was stolen later, which is a long story.

Large Drunk Angry Man:
One unusually bright morning (which is how weird cheery stories start, unlike this one), when the train was relatively less crowded (which meant I could stand and breathe), a large angry drunk man (henceforth known as LAD) came ambling about. I could smell the cheap whiskey in his breath and his clothes from a mile away. And he decided to pick on me and abuse me in a language I hadn't ever heard (let us call this language 'angry drunk babble'). I heard a lot of rrrrr's and assumed it might be French after all.
Anyway, LAD's next move was an attempt to push me out of the moving train, which I took to with great alarm. Not because he was angry or drunk, but because he was large.
As people held their breaths, as I whimpered, as he glared with those glazed eyes, and as I continue with this melodrama, he charged at me. I side-stepped with ease, mainly because of the fact that he was staggering in slow-motion and moreover, he fell off the train as it was slowing down at the station. I don't think he was bruised much, but I didn't wait to find out.

I had a tee that had an album cover of 'The Wall' by Pink Floyd that I wore to death, till it ripped in various places. And then I played basketball with it, until it became so useless that sweat would just flow down it, instead of getting absorbed. And then I planned to frame it on my wall when it mysteriously disappeared to begin its career as a wash-cloth.
One fine day (it actually wasn't, but I like starting my sentences so), while I wore the tee for the umpteenth time to college, a guy peered at it in the station and said; "Haha... You're wearing pink!"
"Dude! Read! It says Pink Floyd, and it's a black tee. And it's awesome!"
Of course, I knew the cretin would never really be able to understand that even if I had said it, and I walked away with my nose in the air, as if to ridicule the man's ignorance.

Poles of Death (PoD):
Yes, abbreviations, many! Poles of Death, otherwise known as the PoD, were a force to reckon with, because we all got well acquainted while we flew swiftly over the land on the Bof. At times when the train would get overly crowded (which was almost always), as people would spill out of the entrance-way, the PoDs would stand as watchmen to make sure we remained safely within their reach as the trains barreled their way to the next station. The PoDs were basically electricity poles that would run alongside the railway tracks, without which the train could not function. As we approached yet another PoD, it was the duty of the Bof Brother way up ahead in the front to warn the others to stay out of harms way. This is normally done by screaming 'Pole!' so that people know when to completely suck their breath and compress themselves inside the train for a brief second. Due to a constant repetition of this routine, the train itself looked like a living, breathing organism. Only it looked ugly as hell.

Yes, my experiences were many. But they were also juvenile and hopefully will remain strictly memoirs of my past.
As a conclusion, I would like to salute all those brave comrades who have fallen (literally?) to the inviting bliss of the BoF, even if it was their fault they were drunk or stupid.
I really don't know the difference between joking and joking about something solemn, like death. To me, everything is humour.

But someday in the near future (which is how most stories usually end), I would like to be that guy again.
To stand on that ledge, uncaring, free, with the thickly polluted wind rushing past my face...

First Impressions

2008-05-24T00:02:00.006+05:30

The smoke spiralled upwards until she could see it no more. The wispy grey strands simply blended with the dark night sky, dotted with hardly any stars. The city was still wide awake.

She peeked over the rail. The penthouse suite stood a formidable height from the entrance to the Plaza hotel. She could hardly see anything on the streets below, but she could hear the incessant roar of engines, hasty cab drivers, and sirens.
Typical, she sighed.

She took some time to open the new pack of cigarettes. And it was not the three glasses of scotch she had drained earlier, that slowed her down. Her life was running way faster than she had expected. She needed to waste as much time as possible.

As a new model in the city, Sophie was doing fairly well. She got invited to all the glamorous parties, even if she didn't particularly enjoy herself. The job demanded it. Atleast she was not vying for attention by scandalously rubbing herself against older rich men. Even if the job demanded it. She used her mind where her body did not tread.

The sound of cheers and rants and loud music suddenly overpowered the introspection, for a second. And then the jubilant noise was silenced by a plexiglass slider door.

Greg: Hey there.. Is this... Roof taken?

Sophie: Nope. And that sentence makes no sense.

Greg: I guess. Do I get a another chance?

Sophie: Can you blow smoke rings?

Greg: I can...

Sophie: Alright, I believe you.

Greg: Don't you want to see them?

Sophie: Not particularly... No.

Greg: It's a bit unfortunate because I was really counting on that window of opportunity.

Sophie: It's a particularly small window.

Greg: You use the word 'particularly' a bit too much.

Sophie: Have you been counting?

Greg: Yes, twice so far.

Sophie: Well, isn't that particularly annoying...

Greg: Thrice.

Sophie: You can stop now...
So what do you do, apart from desperately trying to look cool at a party you managed to sneak into?

Greg: INVITED to. And I'm an independant agent.

Sophie: Ah, yes of course. You bait innocent young women by luring them with pictures of famous models and give them a false hope of making it big in a city full of masked identities.

Greg: Innocent? Please! I beg to differ. None of you are 'innocent'. As a collective, you could rob a bank if you wanted to.

Sophie: Well, I daresay that would go as perfectly as planned.

Greg: You're the one to talk. I see you standing out here alone, while the party of the year is changing people's lives inside. Are you trying to prove you are different from the rest?

Sophie: No. I am different.

Greg: I see a recluse. A woman who made it as a model, but doesn't like the lifestyle. You're in the wrong place at the wrong time. You feel the others are imperfect and that you're better than them. Well, you should prove it in the real world, with a real job. And then you'll know how difficult it is. I daresay it'll be easier for you because you could just sail away on your good looks.

Sophie: Well... I hate my job, but not as much as I hate having to work hard. And my solidarity is just a demonstration of my indifference. I don't particularly care about proving my worth or making sure I'm better than the rest. I honestly couldn't care. But as long as I keep doing what I do, I shouldn't really have a problem. And neither should you.

Greg: Well, I'm naturally inquisitive, right up to the point where I become annoying, until I crack, or the other person does.

Sophie: Well... That is just so... Smooth!

Greg: So what now?

Sophie: Well, there is only one cliche we need to get past. Is it going to be your place or mine?...

Greg: But honey, I'm gay!

*************************************************************************************

Inter-Planetary Penitentiary

2008-04-16T13:32:00.001+05:30

Well, I did swear I'd continue from where I previously left off...
Refer: http://themoondothshine.blogspot.com/2007/02/may-force-be-with-me.html

And here is the much (non)awaited sequel to my inspired ramblings.
I have never been the same since I discovered Douglas Adams...

*--~~--***

Dear Non-Electronic Diary that smells like fermented bird excreta…

I must tell you that the Shazaa’n battle cruiser finally caught up with me. I was about to flee through hyperspace when due to unfortunate circumstances, I was held up at a traffic stop.

I blame my capture on the Balky Milk Company, for if they hadn’t had to transport 2500 tonnes of their sour Zow’s milk, I wouldn’t have been held up for a week at the traffic stop.

So here I am!

A dark and musty cell somewhere in the Shazaa’n stronghold. I think I must be in Zuisse because it smells like stale cheese here.

I’ve been holding out fine. My previous cellmate was a blast, literally, because he kept exploding all the time and I have to tell you that although there’s nothing quite as nasty as an old person farting, I hope you never get stuck in a cell with a Barkan SlatherBlaster. Especially one with really bad dietary problems. Of course, like all cellmates usually go, he did try to eat me. Anyway, I have finally found a use for that lighter I salvaged from earth. I simply threaten to light him up with fire, the next time he ‘explodes’.

My current cellmate is a real bore however! In fact, it’s just so depressing in here that I’d much rather live in the midst of all the nauseous fumes of the SlatherBlaster.
Yes, the newbie is an earthling.

It’s Geri Haliwell! I am not sure, but I think the Shazaa beamed her up when she was halfway between her jump off the sixth floor at some seedy Motel. Maybe somewhere in between the fourth and the third floors, I’m not really sure.

I think she intends to sing herself to death, and kill me in the process… If I hear one more song by the Spice Girls, and her incessant bawling about why she should never have quit, I’m just going to impale myself.

Yet, although I’m a whinnying tool, the facilities here are not really as bad. The Shazaa have really good taste when it comes to Jazz. But it’s a bit unnerving to watch the guards do weird things to their privates (I think masturbation), every time the music plays.

From what I hear, my release papers have been re-released because apparently, before I sign the release papers, I must find someone who would allow me to be released in the first place. And to find this person, I must sign another release form in triplicate to be granted a temporary release to find this person who could eventually release me. I have released a sample of my urine today to let the authorities know I have not been smoking Verulean grass on the sly.

The most important lesson I’ve learnt here is: DO NOT TALK TO ANYONE!

Yes, it’s so important that it needs to be written in such threateningly bold letters. Thankfully I learnt by watching someone else have a bad experience.

Poor Victor didn’t know the terror that was coming to him when he asked one of the members of the Kill-U Brotherhood, what the time was. Although they invited him to a game of poker *, his terribly mutilated body was found later on, in a dumpster. His head, which still retained the ability to converse, told the authorities that he accidentally poked Bleed-Bore (Kill-Gore’s younger sister) thinking she was a member of the brotherhood, and was responsible for his own fate.

* - Poker is a game where you poke a person, who in turn becomes the poker and has to find other people to poke. The game was invented in the boring shores of Crakkar, where other equally pointless games such as ‘crab counting’ and ‘rodeo’ have been invented.

This is where I have to stop, mainly because the paper in this diary is so rotten that the ink just seems to run off the sheets.

Moreover, Prison Guard XoXoX is coming by later to pick up a stool sample. He’s never really satisfied with the cafeteria food…

Also, I plan to gag Geri in her sleep tonight!

Cheerio!

TAG!

2008-03-31T23:50:00.004+05:30

This is what it comes to. I make a pledge and solemnly vow to never attempt one of these things ever again. But I read the questions and I honestly don't have an answer to most of them.

So unless you have other unimportant things to do, please don't read this. I guess that's a disclaimer of sorts, of the impending doom that's about to surface. Yes, I like Melodrama.

Rules (blah blah) - Remove 1 question from below, and add in your personal question, make it a total of 20 questions, then tag 8 people in your list, list them out at the end of this post. Notify them in their chat box that he/she has been tagged.

1. Name three most valuable assets.
- Music for every mood
- Shampoo and Conditioner
- The ability to shape-shift. Non-physically.

2. One truth in your life that haunts you every day?
1+1=2

3. If you were to be stranded on a deserted island, who are the four blog buddies you would take alongside with you?
Easy! Nobody. I like being by myself. The end.

4. Where is the place that you want to go the most?
Amsterdam, for all the right reasons (as opposed to any other place for all the wrong reasons)

5. If you can have one dream to come true, what would it be?
I wish the darn Coyote would catch the Roadrunner at least once.

6. Current inspiration?
The fact that there are still pretty women in the world today.

7. What are you afraid to lose the most?
My libido... Whatever is left of it

8. What would you do if you found a briefcase full of money?
Buy a boat, buy some champagne, buy bikini models (Yes, buy) and go to the Bahamas
I assume it's a fairly large briefcase.

9. If you meet someone that you love, would you confess to him/her?
No. I'm chicken-shit.

10. List out 3 good points of the person who tagged you.
She's a girl (I think) :)
She advertises
She reminds me to stay clean and stay sexy even if I do otherwise. :P

11. What are the requirements that you wish from your other half?
Brains. No brawn. Unless we decide in advance who gets on top.

12. Which type of person do you hate the most?
The kind of person whose back I scratch, but the turd doesn't return the favour. Oh the itch!

13. What is your ambition?
To find someone who I can stand for the rest of my life and vice versa

14. What is the thing that will make you think someone is a bad person?
He who farts in public is nasty.

15. For you life is?
A giant pint of beer, frozen stiff, thawed and chilled again.
Never drunk.

16. If you could do one thing different in life, what would it be?
Inventing interchangeable face panels. For myself.

17. Are you a shopaholic or no?
No, I live off other shopaholics. Not cheap, smart!
I do say "I MUST have it" very often, but I don't act on my instincts.

18. Which actress or actor you would like to be?
Zach Braff in 'Garden State'. I already am playing his part to perfection. My character's on TV!

19. Who do you turn to for questions on life?
The hidden caverns of my brain. Or Douglas Adams. Or both.

20. Do you have any plans for tomorrow?
Tomorrow is dependent on what I choose to do or what I don't, so the query is flawed because it questions my predictability to the extent of ascertaining whether or not I follow what I originally plan, in which case, if I fall short of my own expectations, the question would make me feel guilty and wrong and I don't like anything to wield that much power. Therefore to flatten the ego of the question, my reply is 'undecided'... Which does not mean it is a 'No'. Because that would imply I led a pathetic life that was driven by the tasks other people set for me.

I am already lost within the realms of my mind.

And I tag NOBODY, because as weird as it sounds, especially coming from the mouth of a sadist, I don't want to put anyone through such hazardous mental pain.

Good night.

----------------
Now playing: Frou Frou - Must Be Dreaming
via FoxyTunes ----------------

Change... And the pointless quest to remain the same

2008-02-13T19:39:00.004+05:30

The more things change, the more they stay the same...
(Someone said it sometime back. Someone famous. I don't know who. I don't need to know.)

Some call change, fate.
Others call it destiny.
Some don't even realise they are no longer who they were.

Is there ever such a thing as a constant state of being? In death perhaps, but we really don't know what goes on in our mind beyond that line, do we?
We don't remain constant for long... And by calling it a temporary state of constant being, I'm making no sense at all.
So, what can you call it, really?

I know that people oppose change like the devil. They beg and plead and hold on to dear life to all that they know is familiar to them.
Nobody goes down without a fight. The harder you try to hold on to all that seems to make sense to you, the harder it is for you to realise that you need to change.

The only thing you're fighting against, is your own will, or rather your unwilling desire to remain the same.
What is 'same'? How long have you stayed the 'same' before you last felt different?
The thinking might take you far back, longer than you could ever remember. But this really isn't about how powerful your memory is...

There are a lot of people that don't want to change. They fight a vicious fight against an enemy they know nothing about.
It's like running into battle with your helmet on - backwards.
And they never seem to really understand the reason for their blind stand against change. It soon becomes a power game with no purpose or meaning to it.
People just want to stay exactly the same, for as long as possible.
By standing perfectly still, rooted to the same spot they've grown familiar to.
They seem to like it, even if in actuality, they really dislike it. Because in case they do suffer, they would've at least gotten used to the pain.

What really dissuades people from taking that leap of faith and clearing the gorge is not just the fear of plummeting down through an endless abyss. Rather, it's the fear of imagining what might be waiting to break their fall. Who knows what kind of pain awaits them in a land unknown? Chances are, it might be even worse.
So people maintain their status quo and walk a path already cleared by someone else.

The strange thing is that in the end, people do change...
And when they do, it's not monumental. It's not like the earth stood still in wait of their transformation. People assume that in the wake of their tireless anticipation, the journey they are about to embark upon would be started by a big bang.
But you hear no explosion...
It doesn't even grab that slightest bit of attention, you were afraid somebody might notice.
Nobody would actually notice it unless they looked really close.
And thank God they don't.

But you see it. Inside you, that change makes a world of a difference.
And you hope that it really is phenomenal, because it would go on to determine the kind of person you would become and remain that way forever*.
* Forever - a term used to describe a period of time that is unknown and cannot be known, because people assume and hope that they will never have to change again.

People might remain morose, they might remain happy.
The new awakening could spell detrimental to their existence, but people eventually do give in.
Phases change, just the same as faces change...

I feel different today. A different kind of different since yesterday...
Or the day before...
And I never fight it. I welcome change with arms wide open...

Because I know that, in the end,
Change always wins...

Uncool & 2 Old 4 School

2007-12-23T21:47:00.000+05:30

She: Damnit! I can't be seen in these coffee shops anymore... I don't like it. They make me feel... So much older...

Me: What the heck! You're just 22 years old, woman!

He: Ha ha ha...

She: I mean, you see these 'kids' all over the place now and they seem so full of life, drinking underage, exploring sexuality... And stuff...

Me: Well, you have a warped sense of the term 'full of life'... Because, it certainly is not what you miss doing, rather it's just being jealous of never being able to do any of those things...

He: Huh?

She: True, I've never been adventurous or impulsive, but something about these kids makes me feel like I'm incomplete... And no, it isn't a philosophical argument about a glass being half-full/half-empty shit. It's just the lack of ever thinking, 'Hey! I could do this!'... And now it's years too late...

Me: Do you at this point of time really envy these kids? The 15 year old girls with weirdly thin, weak and frail bodies and pants way too low? Or the guys with starter caps and jeans that are just begging to be pantsed?
And you really need to define 'years too late', because from where I stand, I know that you can still get into a nightclub without having to try to act cool, or even sit morosely at a secluded seat at a club, or even tire from dancing for 10 minutes straight.
It isn't the ability at question here. It's the choice...
You'd much rather be a different person, choosing maturity, over being one of the minnows...

I mean, look around! These kids are a new generation by themselves. Gone are the days when a generation gap lasted about 10 years, because it's now not more than 4-5 years...
And every generation has a faithful pack of lemmings, each one trying to look like the other, Every one of them patronizing a washed-up rockstar, looking scruffy just to get noticed and with no regard for hygiene or well-kept hair...

It is NOT a conspiracy. The only reason they're all around you talking about how cool they are, is because they probably are... You just choose to discuss other things at the same place, with like minded people. Why does that make you feel angry or left out?

So what you need to tell yourself now is, different is not necessarily bad... It's just a phase...
And you really ought to leave the worrying about aging when you're almost 40, and please make sure I'm nowhere near you by then.

He: Heh... Yeah. That's what I meant to say...

(At this point, you'd naturally expect sense to be driven home, while worry takes a momentary trip to incognito... Alas, it isn't just a question of what you're talking about, but who you're talking to as well...
And you realise that when you made friends back in the days, you weren't as wise.
And in that select group, are people who just want to be heard, with no regard for what you have to say.)

She: Ah yes... I understand...
Oh my God! A whole bunch of school kids just walked in... I'm never going to enjoy a coffee at one of these places ever again... I mean, I just feel soo...

Me: Don't say it!
What the heck!
You're just 22!!

Damn! Never again...

Andrew Drew The Line...

2007-12-15T23:06:00.000+05:30

The same untidy clump of hair...
The same tired eyes, reminding him of many sleepless nights...
The same nose, broken in two places, but with fresh remnants of cocaine residue from the previous night.

"Where the hell was I last night?"

Andrew continued to gaze into the mirror, not really knowing what to look for.
He didn't look a damned bit different.
But why did he feel so?

It was probably because he was going to wash his hands off all the dirt he'd been nestled neck deep under.
The flurry of events last week had been a real eye opener.
The death of his mother...
And his girlfriend Katherine leaving him, forever...
He had been doing a great job of cleaning up his life since last Sunday.. Barring last night..

"Really! What the hell happened last night?"

Everybody wants to live the life of a dealer at some point of time in their lives.
He's The Fonz of all druggies.
He is always there when they need him and they're always in awe of him.
He is a life saver. He is a miracle worker.
He. Is. Cool.

Andrew was a damn good dealer. And he knew it.
It was a shame he had nothing to leave behind. No legacy. And he'd gotten really attached to his little one room apartment.
He carefully picked out all the pebbles he'd laid around the cactus and shoved them down his left trench coat pocket.
His right still bore the evidence of a previous deal, gone bad.
Andrew had sat witness to one of the biggest drug brawls in the history of downtown Manhattan.
A bullet claimed one half of his ear, but he managed to get away with a pound of pure, safe inside 'Wesley', his right trench coat pocket, aptly named after his dead grandfather.
(Legend has it that his grandfather also had as much coke inside him at most times.)

Andrew knew he would be clean once he managed to sell this burden he had been dragging along for over 2 weeks.

He scraped at the freezer with an old ice pick as discretely as he could. The ugly swelling on his head was turning a shade of purple and desperately needed some ice.
"Something bad happened last night!"

That was when he saw the note.
'Stan - meet me at Hope & 6th at 9:30. Get that load off your back.'
Andrew had found a buyer. But when? Last night?

He glanced at his watch, one of the few things that he owned.
In five minutes, Andrew was already tiptoeing out of the apartment, lest he wake up the large Mexican woman lying naked in his bed.

It wasn't difficult to find Stan on a cold, November, Sunday morning.

[What transpired between Stan and Andrew is best left to what we'd already assumed as happened. A buyer found. A burden lifted.]

Andrew was supposed to make the drop at half past 10, for a whopping million quid. Andrew had no idea the stuff was worth that much, and immediately regretted having hastily agreed to sell, just as Stan also regretted not having quoted lower.
But Andrew was desperate to clean up and Stan owed someone a favour in return for not having to stare at the muzzle of a gun and so, negotiation clearly wasn't a prerogative.

They checked into a hotel room at night and waited for the buyers to arrive.
Andrew didn't think much of Stan. He knew he wouldn't last another month. Not in this part of the city. But then, he was thankful Stan didn't really feel much like talking.

And then, the door opened...

12:00 am

Andrew walked slowly, careful not to slip on the newly formed layer of ice on the sidewalk.
He jealously clutched a piece of paper in his hand.
A paper that bore digits. Numbers of a Swiss account and the illegible signature of a wealthy business mogul.

Still, he wasn't delirious with happiness. He didn't feel like bursting into song.
He felt guilty.
His mind was plagued with thoughts about how he shouldn't keep money that wasn't his, money that he had gotten out of doing what he wanted to stop doing.
The cheque slowly started to appear like the very pound of pure he had been trying to get rid of.

Andrew was slowly approaching the corner and felt uneasy about the whole ordeal.
He knew that last night was just like any other night in his life.
Involving unknown people, unknown places, hard drugs and sex with unknown women.
And he would never be able to forget what he wanted to leave behind because of this slowly crumpling piece of paper.
He stopped to ask a man at the corner what time it was.
His watch had stopped. (Was it a sign?)

*Realisation*

Even as he turned around the corner, Andrew was already taking long strides and his pace quickened.
His sweat dried up and his face broke into a healthy smile.
Katherine lived just a couple of blocks away. He would convince her about his turning over a new leaf and maybe, just maybe, she might forgive him.

Of course, Andrew knew that he would never tell her or anyone else about the million dollars.

The man with the open guitar case around the corner had yet to realise he'd become a millionare...

Author's Note:
For starters, I don't know jack about Manhattan, so places like 'Hope & 6th', the extent of claiming the biggest drug brawl, and the frozen ice on the sidewalks are all a figment of my imagination, more so attributed to my sheer lack of willpower to find out anything about Manhattan...

Everything is fictitious!
Including names, places, sex scenes, drugs, the methodology of purchasing drugs, the roles & responsibilities(?) of a drug dealer, and finally, the english words that helped frame this story.

Poor Old Dmitri

2007-11-20T22:47:00.000+05:30

“Pitter Patter…”

Dmitri cursed under his breath for the first time the entire day, long after the sun had set, after the city had plunged into eternal dark gloom and the overcast sky had finally given in to everyone’s expectations.

‘What kind of a ridiculous phrase is pitter-patter?’ he thought.
How could anything this morose and depressing be associated with something that sounds quaint, and pleasant!

Dmitri peered past the blinds and shooed away the birds taking shelter on his ledge.
‘MY Ledge!’ said Dmitri, just for emphasis, to noone in particular.

There was no pitter or patter about the rain tonight.
Just a conglomerate of loud noises, each trying to out-muffle the other. Be it the metallic clink of the rain on tin cans, or the thud of fat drops on concrete, nothing could be heard distinctly.
It was a competitive orchestra of chaos, ridiculing the entity it had set out to create – Music…

Dmitri cursed again, a little louder this time, as he looked wistfully at the roses below. He had taken so much care to grow them, and they were being hammered down to submission by the relentless fat drops of rain.
They’d be dead by morning… He knew it. He would have, on any other day raced down like any protective father would have, but he had already undressed for bed tonight.

He moved away from the window and back into the musty one room apartment.
He breathed in familiar sounds. Like the creak of the floor-board, the rhythmic sound of the leaky tap on a rusty pail, Frank Sinatra’s melancholic voice, and the occasional thunder that dared steal past the environment he’d gotten used to – which was his to cherish.

Dmitri cursed a third time, just for the sheer heck of it, only this time he was loud enough to wake up Lord Barkus, Ms. Gretchen’s 10 year old Retriever.
Dmitri was both glad and angry at himself for that. He was happy to hear the familiar sound of life, but he didn’t really want to get in Ms. Gretchen’s bad books, not with her being the best chef in the world.

Dmitri sat pondering for a long while. He really wasn’t sure if he wanted to write his diary tonight. He hadn’t been around much, and there was nothing that had caught his attention. As his gnarled nails scratched away the few remnants of thin grey hair on his head, he figured he’d save the pages for something really grand. Although there wasn’t much going on in his life, he was positive he’d witness something worthy of mention. Who knows? Tomorrow might turn out luckier.

‘Oh! Who am I kidding!’, he thought aloud and he slowly hoisted himself out of his wheelchair and onto his bed.

The bed shook and the coils creaked as he flailed around trying to find a comfortable spot. As he lay there, haunted by the still sounds of dead things making their presence felt around the room, he couldn’t stop thinking of his roses. He had saved them for something special although he didn’t quite know what it was yet.

Still, he felt that something had changed around him. He drew up the window by his bed and peered into the still darkness, faintly lit by the glow of a city fuelled by crack-whores, late night cab drivers and a flowing stream of alcohol.

The rain was no more. Dmitri felt tomorrow arriving even before he knew it.
And it was going to be a great day!
Dmitri finally fell asleep with a smile on his lips.

Ms. Gretchen plucked every one of the 23 dead roses the next morning with a solemn face.
Lord Barkus was the only other, to say goodbye…

*****************************************************************************

The Grim Reefer - A Poem...

2007-09-17T11:24:00.000+05:30

The Grim Reefer

His age underestimated,
The strength of his hand,
He rolled one with ease,
A skilled craftsman...

With a match, he lit,
And fired up his joe,
Took a mighty hit,
And felt his head grow,
Expanding his mind,,
Beyond belief,
Like the sun-shaped ridges,
On a Cannabis leaf.

He smoked up a cloud,
And looked at the crowd,
Standing, staring,
Not really caring,
About the reefer...

A wizened old man,
A forlorn griever,
With a joint in his hand...

***************************************************

I've created another blog.
One that will feature just poetry...
Chances are I'll end up spending more time there, than here because poetry comes quite easily to me nowadays...
Moreover, I don't really have much to ramble about, let alone make sense...

Visit me there;
http://verse-inverse.blogspot.com/

Dear Dark Lycan - A Poem

2007-09-16T14:15:00.000+05:30

Dear Dark Lycan...

The forest, a vast expanse,
Lost in the Guynd, *
Where the leaves dance,
To the whistling wind,

Her bare feet on wet earth,
Echo with mirth,
The wind tussles her hair,
A clandestine love affair.

The moon on silent water,
On a lake so wide,
A thousand eyes watch her,
From where the shadows hide.

Taken aback by surprise,
She gazes into the dark grey,
The light from her undying eyes,
Seem to say,

" Dear Dark Lycan,
Not a moment too soon,
Throw back your mane,
And howl at the moon. "

He the predator, she the prey,
Sharp teeth white, on a face grey,
On his skin, etched is the rune,
' We are the tribes of the moon. '

******************************
* - Guynd (Pronounced: g-ind, Rhymes with 'wind')
Meaning: The Gaelic word for a high, marshy place.

All that burns, dies...

2007-08-06T00:40:00.000+05:30

All that burns, dies...

In the dying light,
The bright faces shone,
The faded picture tarnished,
By time alone...

Used and abused by fingers aplenty,
The creased edges shied away,
The picture lit up one last time,
One last time, today...

The hiss of a lit match,
A cathartic bind,
A little too late,
For a change of mind...

From a far corner,
The smoke rose in a spire,
The faces vanished,
Slowly eroded by fire...

Erased memories,
Broke free with ease,
Wisps of black flew by,
Unguided by the breeze...

T Wheeee!

2007-06-26T13:07:00.000+05:30

In a land where television viewing is controlled strictly, mixed feelings of anger and envy are bound to be evoked. And so it happened.
While the diplomatic government decided to play a cat & mouse game just to make the lives of all the people in one state miserable, nobody realised what was to come out of this.

If one tried driving in the streets of Chennai, he would gain first hand experience at how emotionally charged the people are. Well, frayed nerves and the break of gathering tension teethering on the edge of anarchy is inescapable in a country like India, but Chennai just takes it a step further. Symbolism comes into play when, for instance, if a careless motorist cuts across someone else's path, the reaction triggered is as if the person had directly insulted his family. And as ironically as this goes, although people are just waiting all day long to bark at other people and get agitated at the blink of an eye, they stand in line with smiling faces and do nothing as the government trods upon and squeezes all the joy out of them.

Messages like "For the benefit of the people" seem a farce and they don't need a rude awakening to, because it is as evident as it can get. It is shameful that, while everyone could sit at home and complain all day long among other people who share similar views, not a voice is raised, not a complaint is sent forth and it is as if nobody actually cares, while on the contrary, they would all find it excruciatingly bothersome.

Coming back to the topic at hand, TV regulation has finally worked out, or so they say. Maybe they decided to use the people in Chennai as guinea pigs because they probably knew there wouldn't be an uprising or a revolt. Silent protests make no difference, as history has shown. So ipso facto, the 'highly classified experiment' has turned out to be a huge success, only at the expense of so many underprivileged people with no say or choice in the matter.

But then again, why should the government care about how the people feel?...
(That's exactly what I'm saying!.. Eh? Say what?)

I believe the terms 'TV junkie' or 'couch potato' are non-existant nowadays, because there are so many channels and so many shows playing at the same time that it is near impossible to watch more than one thing at a time. And when the confused fan tries to watch 2 shows in one go, he is left with a TV watching experience which is just a bit more entertaining than watching an ant farm. I am confident that pretty soon 'channel surfing' will be included in the long list of ridiculous 'extreme' sports. (Maybe it already is?)

In a language which is seemingly much more simple, quality shows that appear on prime time are nothing but junk! (Prime time is when families gather around their TVs with their dinner plates balancing cleverly on their stomachs)

We are never spared these days.

* The World's Most Amazing Police Videos/The World's Most Amazing Police Chases/The World's Best Police Videos/ The World's Amazing Police Chases
They all have different but similar names (oh-so-creative), but they all have something in common. They suck!
All the shows hire the same commentator who I believe also wrote the dialogue for the crappy "4th of July" speech on 'Independence Day'. Police chases are ill vented humour that the commentator sensationalizes to an extent that just borders on beyond belief.
"Oh My God! He's got a gun! He has kids in the car! They're screaming to him, please don't shoot us daddy, please stop the car daddy!"

* We aren't even spared by the news channels nowadays. Among the horde of Indian news channels that seem to love talking about something trivial like the muck in Aishwarya Rai's fingernails, there is no Indian news channel that decides to tell us something else happening around the world.
Sure! Sunita Williams is scheduled to land in 2 days, so don't go raving and ranting about it for endless hours. For a woman who was born and brought up entirely in the US, we sure have a lot of spunk to celebrate her return and claim it a feat for India. And of course, prayers for Sunita? What about the other people on board?
Times like these, when news channels wander about trying to find distant relatives of Sunita once removed, anywhere on the subcontinent, makes me wonder if there is anything at all happening in the country.
"And we have with us, a little girl whose cousin studied in the same school as Sunita in the US."
"And in other news, 15 people were killed in a bomb blast in Kashmir, but let's get back to the issue at hand... So, Mr. "I work in NASA as the janitor", please tell us, what food is Sunita going to eat when she comes back?"

* Reality TV shows are a simple recipe for disaster. The risk involved in producing a reality show is evident. People either love it or they don't. There is no scope for; "Hmmm... I guess it's alright, but it's not that bad." And inspite of this, facts still elude me as to how 'American Idol' and 'The Apprentice' became popular at all. If there should ever be a reality show, it should be to discover the best pole dancer.

* We are the government and we are terribly ashamed of channels that deface our cultural values and show women parading in mini skirts without any shame and wearing other hideous apparel that showcases their limbs all in the name of this blasphemous facade called 'fashion'. Hence, as mature individuals, we decided to ban fashion TV from telecasting in India for some time, you know, just to punish them and teach them a lesson.

And I sit here thinking, how does Ftv even give a damn about whether an old perverted man watches their channel all day long just to catch a glimpse of a breast? And then I realise that it is only when the old perverted men succeed in catching that glimpse, do they complain to the government about their quality TV watching experience being ruined.
We are the world's biggest hypocrites! We will also go one step further and call other people hypocrites, but we will never accept the fact that we are among them! See what I mean?

And of course, AXN dared to telecast the world's most sexiest commercials. How dare they! We are the government and we are all pervasive and domineering, so off you go! You're banned for a month! I better not catch you sneaking around here...
I happened to witness an hour long show about bikini models on Zee Cafe a week back and I was deeply saddended about the impending doom that the channel was about to face... Tsk.. Tsk..

******************************

He didn't care to look left or right as he deftly flicked the bicycle handle to the right and he swiftly careened across the road.
*SMACK!*
He didn't see the auto that was taking a U-Turn without bothering to look if there was anyone behind him.
It might not have been funny if someone had been terribly injured, but nobody was, so out came the guffaws. And what ensued was a captivating battle, first with threatening gestures, then with words and then with fists.
*BIFF*
*THUD*
(I miss the old batman series. Actually I don't... Robin was totally gay for Batman in that)

They knew they were both wrong,
They also knew the other person was wrong.
But they had to clear their name,
They fought to escape the blame,
Okay, I never intended this to be a song.

Anyway, watching that, I realised how fortunate I was to be there and witness those blokes fight it out for something stupid which they would've both realised later that day and curse themselves for the unnecessary hospital charges...

And when we have such quality entertainment at the drop of a hat, who the heck needs a TV???

The Lone Soldier (A poem)

2007-06-04T01:32:00.000+05:30

THE LONE SOLDIER

They marched on a fateful day,
Many a song on their lips,
The weather cloudy grey,
On the day of the Apocalypse,

Charging through the town,
In tune to deafening blasts,
All green turned to brown,
As careless bullets flew past.

His comrades heartily cheered,
Revelling in their victorious feat,
Looked at the dead and leered,
Showing blood stained teeth.

He felt a shudder,
It was worse than he'd feared,
A griefstruck mother,
Her child in her hand, speared.

His rifle in hand,
An option to kill or pity,
He couldn't take a stand,
A diplomatic adversity.

Through the open doors he went,
Saw the child hiding under the bed,
And in the spur of the moment,
He shot him in the head.

Rooted to the spot he stood,
His face aghast and grim,
He then ran as fast as he could.
Not knowing what came over him.

From afar he looked back,
At the bullet ridden wall,
The burning haystack,
At the city's great fall.

He silently wept,
Amidst cheers and guns in the air,
For he was a lone soldier,
In the wake of warfare.

- Arvind, 4th June (1:40 am)

Tag-along

2007-05-22T18:07:00.000+05:30

I tag you, you tag me,
We're fools for the world to see...
You're too cool, you deserve to be,
Hung upside down from a tree...

Oh, you dolts! Stop reading already and go burn something you don't like...

The following are snippets from my interview with Rolling Stone magazine, who are total dweebs by the way...

1. Pick out a scar you have, and explain how you got it.

Well... I was young and unspoilt, and very unwisely stepped in the path of a couple of guys duelling.
It was one of those 'hurling-stones-at-each-other' kinda duel.
Anyway, at the end of the day, I managed to freak other kids out by the sight of blood and I left the scene with a scar shaped like a bindi on my forehead. I have been called a girl ever since...

2. What is on the walls in your room?

There is this weird thing I picked up at Nathula Pass which is supposedly a Nepali artefact. It's a door of some sort. Anyway, it looked pretty cool to me...
There is also a weird tribal face mask made of bronze...
Many posters of cars which seriously need some tape to hold them back up...
And of course there are a hellova lot of nails carelessly hammered in and forgotten about...

3. What does your phone look like?

Like shiite compared to what's the rage now.
But I'm planning to keep it with me and sell it after 10 years as a priceless antique...

4. What music do you listen to?

Ah well... You do NOT want to ask me that question...
In case you're still curious, please make sure you take a look at my orkut 'music interests' page...
In case, you're too lazy to even do that, you suck...
And anyway, the answer to the question is 'I Listen To Everything!'

5. What is your current desktop picture?

Finally! A question I like...

I have 'Cristina Scabbia' all over my desktop now...
She is the lead singer of Lacuna Coil and is the hottest chick in metal right now...

Tomorrow, I will have Elisha Cuthbert all over my desktop... :)

6. What do you want more than anything right now?

Peace of mind...

And a few million dollars...

7. Do you believe in gay marriage?

Yes I do... Not for me, but for the other queers out there.

8. What time were you born?

I don't really know... Because you see, when I was born, watches and timepieces had yet to be invented...
Why do you even care?!?

9. Are your parents still together?

Yes... I believe so...
Who started this tag? I'll bet it was an American!

10. What are you listening to now?

Tokio - Ubers Ende der Welt

And no! I don't understand what they're singing!

11. Do you get scared of the dark?

Maybe...
But I'm deathly petrified of the pair of green glowing eyes under my bed...

12. The last person to make you cry?

I don't know... I haven't cried since I was 5...
Ooh! I'm not trying to potray the whole 'I'm a rough 'n' tough guy' image.
I am naturally cold and have no emotion...

13. What is your favourite Perfume/Cologne?

Well, I'm more of a deo guy and I have atleast 8 cans of environment unfriendly CFC sprays stashed in my cupboard...
Out of them all, I like Nike Pure the best...
And if it really has to be a cologne, I like Drakkar Noir and Boucheron...

14. What kind of hair/eye colour do you like on the opposite sex?

Well... I have a thing for brunettes. Dark, long hair does it for me...
The eyes don't really matter, as long as they're not closed all the time or completely stoned...

15. Do you like pain killers?

Sometimes... But I seem to like pain even more...

16. Are you too shy to ask someone out?

Heck! I'm too shy to even look someone in the eye!

17. Favourite pizza topping?

Mushrooms, Jalapenos, and a lot of cheese!

18. If you could eat anything right now, what would it be?

I would like to sink my fangs into a delicious Mexican Burger at Baywatch in the midst of all the sea breeze and a view of the beach at night...
But I must tell myself that fitness comes first...

Or maybe not...

19. Who was the last person you made mad?

Myself... I got really fidgety and then asked myself to cut it out.

20. Is anyone in love with you?

I don't think so... I don't know...
I'm not even in love with myself...

Aah! Yes...
Here is my favourite part...
Where you leave me alone!

Bye...

To Die For.... (A Poem)

2007-04-27T16:25:00.000+05:30

To Die For....

He arrived miserable and late,
They had gathered to grieve,
His apetite could not wait,
He wanted desperately to leave.

He knew someone had died,
He didn't want to break the law,
But he suddenly charged to the side,
His eyes fixed on what he saw.

A solace to his boring night,
He charged and rained blows,
His eyes narrowing at the sight,
Of the 300 pounder looming close.

In his frenzied hurry to the wicker basket,
He took a careless leap,
Crashing into the glass casket,
Bearing a man fast asleep.

Spilt his drink on the grieving wife,
When he passed her by,
Half-turned to apologise,
And clipped her neatly in the eye.

After a final careless clout,
A scuffle ensued,
Once he was thrown out,
Valiantly he stood.

Sitting on the stone cold floor,
The last of all places,
He looked back at the closed door,
At all the shocked faces.

He laughed as much as he could take,
Till his face turned red,
He held the last muffin cake,
"This is to die for"... He said.

- Arvind (16:00, 27th April, 2007)

*****************************************************************************************

All I want to say is... :-)

& I also want to tell you all about the 'recommended songs' on the far right hand side -->
I shall keep updating them regularly... So, do check them out...
Hey! I just pimped my site! :P

Cheers!

*****************************************************************************************

10 reasons why you shouldn't 'DO IT' in complete darkness

2007-04-23T17:29:00.000+05:30

When the Ugly Fat Guy (UFG) is left all alone, and is as horny as a dandy, he uses his keen sense of wit and comes with yet another list of ten things you shouldn't do... EVER!
There is however, a disclaimer, which I would prefer everyone to read (for legal purposes... Bah! The Constitution! Whatever!)

Disclaimer: Please note that you may continue reading only if you enjoy lewd remarks interposed tastefully amongst all the droll wit and overflowing sarcasm... And of course, provided you don't feel uneasy reading aloud the names of various sexual organs. You may however be glad there are no weird diagrams, which are NOT labelled. On a related note, I hate biology...
Most importantly, keep children below 14 away, because I assume 14 year olds know what I'm talking about...
And your parents too, if you can...
The bottomline is, I couldn't care less if you 'do it' in absolute darkness, but it does give me something to talk about...

If you just read and dissed the dis(s)claimer, you qualify anyway... So read on!

10 Reasons Why You Shouldn't 'DO IT' In Complete Darkness

Reason 1:
Because you don't want to ask him/her if he/she is a man/woman mid-way...
And moreover, the senses of touch/taste/smell/hear won't make any difference because;
"What you see is what you believe"...
And if the influence of alcohol causes your vision to be blurred even if you can see, it's time to discover your bisexual roots...

Reason 2:
When she goes down on him and doesn't come back up...
Or vice versa too...
(NOTE: This point coincides with the no.1 point on the other list: "Ten Reasons why hygiene is important when you 'DO IT'.
The other 9 reasons keep reminding you to have a bath...)

Reason 3:
When she goes down on him and slips out of the room...
Or vice versa too...

Reason 4:
Because everyone wants to avoid really weird conversations which might just change the way everything is going. Nobody wants to tell the other person which part of the bed they are on, which direction they have to move and where 'what' is...
Also, nobody likes to hear;
"Ummm... You're kind of sitting on my face..." OR
"Before you totally freak out, I'd like you to know, what you held now, was just my finger!"

Of course, on the flip side, you get to tell everyone at work the next day, how you almost got laid.

Reason 5:
When she ensures that the bedpost on the far left gets a lot of hot love and also makes sure it's well 'protected'... While you wait patiently on the other side...

Reason 6:
So that you don't wake up the next morning;
naked,
totally worn out,
utterly satisfied,
smiling,
and handcuffed to a bed in someone else's room...

Reason 7:
Because you do not want to discover that what you thought was lotion, was actually super glue...
Thankfully, your hands would be stuck together before you could get to doing anything further...

Reason 8:
Because scented candles don't really shed much light, but are there anyway to overpower bad smells such as sweat stains, to start with...
But they are in no way strong enough to overpower the smell of burnt hair...

Reason 9:
So that, when you two barge into the room;
She doesn't break her knee on a little table, thereby shattering a ming vase...
She doesn't get knocked senseless by the low ceiling...
And she doesn't get impaled on that giant lance your brother left carelessly about, when she jumps on the bed...

Reason 10:
Because lights help you sober up faster when you're hammered and don't know what the heck you're doing!
And more importantly, WHO you're doing...

While that sums it all up, you must also realise that she's not going to able to see that huge 6' life-size nude poster of Yasmine Bleeth, posing for playboy...

So you see... It's simple!
Stop reading stupid lists like these and just go about doing what you want... I don't care if you don't heed my warning...

All I ask from you, is that you give me that poster when you're dead and gone...

Signing out;
xoxoxxx
ooxxx
xoox
xox
xooxxxo
xoxxxxxoooxoxxoxoxoxoxxxooxxxxxxxxx.. ..
.. ..
... ... zzzzzzzzzzzzz

Where do we come from...

2007-04-03T23:53:00.000+05:30

I apologise for the almost permanent hiatus...

It's that time when I have absolutely no clue about anything in life...
And don't know what I'm doing, or what I want to do, or what I'm going to end up doing...
I have spent countless hours staring blankly at a computer screen and not doing anything much...
Oh well, I exaggerated a bit... I was staring and not doing anything at all...

And while I might have pushed my parents to the extent of consulting psychiatric aid, I find myself leaning on the edge... On the brink of existence... An existence that defines who I am...
And frankly, I'm beginning to lose myself...
As one of many last ditch efforts to regain and realise what I'm doing to myself, I decided to type some words and get all those little rusty wheels and and other mechanical apparatus in my head working again...

Anyway, voila! I present to you, poetry... Which might imperatively be pathetic because it has obviously been a while...

************************************************************************************

Where do we go now

Heady under the shots,
Of tequila and lime,
Careening through parking lots,
Trying to race time.

Last night, we left town,
Midnight chilled the air,
Riding with the top down,
The wind tussling her hair.

She threw back her head,
Had not a care,
Where we came from,
Or what lay ahead,

Southern rock I heard,
The radio continued to scream,
A swig of whiskey,
And the girl of my dreams.

Blurry visions, I sped past,
Watched her body sway
Every time we passed,
The lights along the way,

Long roads they wind,
A lost & confused mind,
Where do we go from here,
... And where do we go from there?

- Arvind,
28th March, 2007

************************************************************************************

March!

2007-03-28T12:22:00.000+05:30

This is just to show you that I have NOT sat idle through the month of March...

Oh well... Looks like I have!

On a completely different note, you see that poem up there?
Yeah.. I'm talking about the post that was made AFTER this..

You might wonder how I would be talking about a post I'm yet to write, but thanks to the screwy world of minor technical glitches on Blogger, this is now possible!!
THAT (up there) was posted on 28th March and two deeply meaningful comments were added to that post.
Of course, Ugly Fat Guy, being a terrible editor with a bad eye for detail noticed shocking grammatical errors and set out to set them right.
But, Alas! When he returned, the comments had been magically removed..
While he contemplated the audacity of Blogger to play an April's fool prank on one of their bloggers, he failed to notice that nobody could no longer post any comments on that post as the 'comment' link had disappeared into the unknown...
He was saddened to note that nobody would be able to laud his poetic prowess...
Hence, after a lot of debating and experimenting, he decided to copy-paste the poem and create a new post...
But then again, he came to realise that the post would have no relation to the month of March, as it would've been re-posted on April. Which would also go to show that the entire world would come to know that Ugly Fat Guy had been idle and had not done anything with his blog, the whole of March. This was a severe shortcoming because, not only was that claim false, but it was also unfair.
Hence, I, who is the alias of a very ugly fat guy, have decided to scribble a few words of no profound meaning in this post, just so that blogger KNOWS I did something on March!

Now that you've read it all, please feel free to comment...

HAH! You can't...
And if you're wondering why you can't, you obviously didn't understand anything I was talking about all this while, which makes me want to make you peer into the barrel of a shotgun...

Until then, keep rueing the day you had a lot to say, but you unfortunately couldn't! :-)

May The Force Be With Me!

2007-02-09T13:16:00.000+05:30

*A tribute to the 'Ultimate Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy'*
I'm not done yet.. This is not the end..
There are more things to write about... And more planets to explore.. :)

************************************************************************************

~Star Log 21-20, Aboard ship 'Eternity'~

23rd October, 5499

Dear Diary,

I fled through hyperspace, challenging light and eons, at the speed of many light years raised to the power of ten...
Defying time, age, and the more important inter-galactic bathroom break, I sped aimlessly and endlessly, for of course, the universe is vast. And it doesn't stop there... When you realise it's vast, it becomes a little more vast. And when you realise that, it becomes seemingly larger than it were...
And when... Oh alright.. You got it..

Anyway, I stopped at many a planet, each lodged in it's own time capsule, ignorant and oblivious of the universe in all it's existence. Some of these planets were picturesque wih fountains of wine and doe eyed, beautiful women with hardly any clothes on... Yet again, some of the planets were gloomy and cast a deathly palour all around.

However, my quest for the ultimate answer to life and evolution, still remains elusive.

Right now, I hate to say this, but I'm nowhere near my goal and if at all, I have only made my quest a bit more complicated, now that I am being chased and hunted down by the dreaded peace corps, 'Shazaa'..

Note: The 'Shazaa' were once a ruthless gang of evil bandits who caught unsuspecting aliens and severed their limbs in such a way so that only two arms and two feet were left... This in turn, caused several suicides induced by depression and soon, the mutilated aliens became outcasts... They could no longer do 10 things at a time. And as a result of this, their highly evolved brains could not match the simplicity of having to coordinate only four limbs and it was not an uncommon sight to see a mutilated alien get frustrated, blow up internally, and 'go up in smoke' *...
Anyway, the diplomatic government of Zenobia Xii **, fearing an epidemic, decided to check the suicide rates and conjured a way to keep the Shazaa happy, for, the average government official could not afford to have his limbs amputated. The Shazaa, given a license to conduct legal dissection of body parts were more than satisfied and continued their reign of terror far beyond the galaxy...
(* - Citation is needed to prove the phrase 'going up in smoke' was derived from the planet Bn3 in Krakatzoan galaxy...)
(** - Xii does not mean 12... It is to be actually pronounced, 'xiiii'... A common misconception made by the average ignorant earthling)

I had but two arms and two legs, and although I was deathly curious to find out what the Shazaa could possibly do to me, I didn't waste any time to find out...
The control screen kept screaming, "Shazaa hot on tail... Shazaa hot on tail..." and warning lights I'd never known started to go off... Just as I looped across the Sun of the Mezciene Solar System and faked a crash landing on Planet 'Alpha Bee' to put off my pursuers for a while...

Planet 'Alpha Bee'... A world very similar to the Earth, full of human beings, only with heads twice as large... And where there were two moons and people had the option of choosing whether they wished to have daylight or moonlight... Votes were always ushered the previous night as to what the people preferred to wake up to the next morning.
It was known to be one of the last few worlds that had evolved to such an increased state of maturity, that people got along amiably with one another.. (Yes diary, I know how unbelievable that sounds...)
They were experts in all fields of study and non-study. They were the knowers-all of everything!
But they had one tiny flaw... The doom of Spelling...

It was known that a few centuries ago, a statistician, an analyst and a counsellor got together during an orgy, but little did they know what was to transpire from their discussions that fateful night...

Statistician: I just checked my sheet of 'important statistical figures', and I believe we waste an average of 2 hours every month writing/typing letters in words that are extra and unwanted. I wish we could calculate effecient data and devise a way to curb wastage of time.
Analyst: I have just completed my thesis on the topic actually. If we consider alternate ways of conserving this precious time, it's a close call between;
a) Simultaneously milking 5 cows in one go at a particular globally accepted time, to minimise vital seconds taken by the cow to lactate everyday.
b) Creating artificial stimulants to digest food inwards and make it biodegradably soluable within the body, and thereby, not create any waste. The essential time taken for early morning ablutions could be stopped. However, this is still in the experimental stage as a few volunteers died of liver damage and intestinal rupture.
Counsellor: After listening to the both of you, I think I've arrived at a solution that will help people conserve time. We should reinforce a world-wide edit of leading languages. Letters that are not necessary must be removed and words could thereby be shortened.

And while the three cheered to that universally simple solution, a very drunk member of the parliament overheard them and it struck him to be the easiest excuse to give the next day for coming hung-over and late. That, he had to write his report which contained a lot of unnecessary letters...
What he didn't predict, however, was the issue becoming a cause for a global emergency and people working round the clock to figure out an effective answer...
Finally, one man who decided to look through his wife's internet chat history, ignored the e-sex she had shared with 'hotstudd666', and instead, he discovered that a new language had been born...
For example; A word like 'bliss' would now be spelt 'blis'. And 'water' would be spelt 'watr'..

Diary, you might laugh at how seemingly stupid it looks and sounds, but in the long run, it has proved that more students had finished their assignments on time. and the government saved an annual 2% of revenue spending on paper.

If you may stop laughing, I will now continue my log...
Diary!! Stop!!
Aah! That's better..
I don't know how I manage to live with micro-chips all around me...
What? No! I didn't say a word! Not a peep!

Anyway, I met the chancellor of the planet and told him of my predicament... He assured to give me all the sanctuary I needed till the Shazaa threatened to destroy the planet, after which I would be unceremoniously thrown out...
I had a very difficult time living on that planet...
One fine day (actually I think it was night... But it was during the day...), on the streets, a young woman walked up to me, raised her hand and say 'Hy'...
I assumed she'd said 'hey' and was about to say 'Hy' back when someone carelessly unloaded bales of hay on my head... It was very depressing...
I took over an hour to read the first few lines in the newspaper the next day... It was a random article about a young girl winning the annual spelling bee and that she was selected to represent the planet in the 'Tazer Inter-Galactic Spelling Bee Competition'... I wish that little girl lots of luck...

Another day, I met a scientist/philosopher/lunatic... He was a part-time chief advisor to the President. I finally confessed to him that I didn't think much of the ways of their world and put forth my own challenges...
Questions that I'd kept within me burst out in the open all of a sudden...
"How do you spell 'a'? Or how about 'an'? Or 'if'? If you waste time writing them, why won't you remove them too?"
"Or atleast, how about a larger word like 'feed'? You can't remove an 'e', for it would just be 'fed'... You can't remove the 'd' either, for it would just be 'fee'... You can't remove the 'f' either.. What would you do?"

A couple of days later, I was unceremoniously thrown off the planet... But I was secrectly pleased to find out I had created an uproar among the nations of the globe. The president of 'country XII' * waged war on 'country Beta xXx', once they found out that abid was misread as 'abide' instead of 'a bid' and as a result lost all mining rights for schrezokian rock on their soil.
It was, but a beginning of a global catastrophe.. And I predicted they had less than a year for complete annihilation of their race..
(* - This time XII is to be pronounced 12... And not Xiiii... If you can't make out the difference, you must be something really stupid... & in all probability, an earthling!)

'So much for living amiably', I thought to myself and smiled a grim smile...
I raced across the galaxy with the Shazaa'n battle cruiser still hot on my tail...

And my adventures, or misadventures at various other planets spread across the universal diaspora, will be told to you another day...
Until then,
Goodbye dear diary...

Once tagged, Twice? Never again!!

2007-01-17T17:02:00.000+05:30

Something/Someone(S): Oh well... You've been 'tagged'...

Me(M): Really? Have I? Are you sure?

S: Yes you idiot! Go look up Advitiya's blog if you don't believe me...

M: Oh alright... I believe you. Wait! Who are you?

S: I'm that little voice in you...

M: You're the one who makes me sing Nelly Furtado when I'm high?

S: No No... The other little voice. That tells you to be nicer than you already are. To be sensible and responsible and mature along with a lot other things that are nice.

M: err.. Okay! What are you doing here all of a sudden? I haven't seen or heard from you all my life!

S: Well. I'm not going to mince any words, nor am I going to sugar coat them, but it's come to obvious concern that you suck!

M: WHAT?

S: Yes... I expected that from you, you ignorant bastard... Anyway, I'm here to help you reform.

M: How?

S: Well, just read on...

************************************************************************************

(Why are they called resolutions? Do they even 'resolve' anything? Or let alone solve? Or let alone 'olve'? Okay... I went too far with that one...)

1. I will 'TRY' to be genuinely nicer to other 'PEOPLE' henceforth.
For example, if an old man sitting next to me starts, "You know, in 1962, when I was.... blah blah..." I will 'TRY' my hardest not to think: "Man! Why didn't you die last month? I'm sure your kids hate you... If you don't leave now, I'll stab you."

2. I will oblige with a smile. And a bow, for a hint of exaggeration.

"Look at what you did! You smashed right into my car!"
Me: *SMILE*
"Son of a b**ch! You're not going to get away with this!"
Me: *SMILE*
"What are you smiling like an ass**** for? Give me your license!"
ME: *SMILE* *BOW*
(I'll try different adaptations and modifications of the routine for added effect)
"Are you mad?"
ME: *SMILE* *BOW* *SMILE*
(I will also contemplate throwing a carefully aimed punch when he is least expecting it. Yes! You guessed right... Inbetween a smile & bow!)

3. I will grow my hair till it reaches my shoulders and beyond, this year! I'm tired of giving up when summer settles in. I am no longer going to be bothered if my hair becomes icky and loses colour because of all the humidity & sweat. It's a small price to pay to be able to pick lice, wear a hairband and remove knots from my hair. I am also dying to experience how unkept hair will bring out clumps from the root like in the advertisements on TV. Which reminds me... Visit me at your own risk because there's going to be hair on everything I own... And stuff I've borrowed from you.
I also hope to market my own hair-care products one day and use witty lines such as "Does your hair bristle with difficulties? Try our new product 'Hairum-Scarum' & you'll show all the women how sexy being bald is..."
Another work-able prototype; "Hey baldy! Having hair problems? Oops! Sorry... Relax now! Keep your 'hair' on... No need to flare up... We can be a little 'hare-brained' at times... Tee Hee."
Ahem...
Other witty recommendations are most welcome...

4. I solemnly swear to never be influenced by advertisements any more... I will not rush out & buy a product however hot the woman endorsing it is... That sexy purring voice will not win me over... I will no longer be distracted (& drift across the road) by large hoardings of Katrina Kaif in 'veet' adverts showcasing her legs (One of the many causes of road accidents). Now that I've made myself clear, I must confess I already feel a void and desperately need a Bacardi Mojito and a few of those dancing girls from the ad...

5. I'm going to 'TRY' to incorporate the 'sleep early - wake up early' routine. As crazy as this might seem for any nocturnal person, it is physically & morally wrong! We were never intended to stay awake when our side of the world turned dark. It's turned dark for a purpose! If God intended us to make merry at 2 in the night, he would atleast have given us some light...
Anyway, the temple being just 50 feet away from my house, I might as well rediscover my religious roots & visit it atleast once! I will defy all rules & wear jeans! And shock all the elderly women who come there early in the morning to pray for their families who in all probability will still be asleep...
(Can you believe the temple actually has a board that says people in shorts and jeans are not allowed? Hah! I'll show them!)
The fact that this blog was posted past midnight has to be excused! Okay? Take me to the Supreme Court if you want! Bah!

6. 'ATTEMPT' to live for an entire month in complete isolation... In a place where I will know nobody and have absolutely no means of communication! A kind of solitary confinement, because I'm kind of a 'solo' guy and I would love to find out if I could live upto my own expectations!
errr.. A TV cable connection wouldn't hurt though... :S

7. Hold 'sarcasm workshops' for government officials and other such retards who make people stand in queues all the time! I believe they possess the natural charm & wit for producing very sarcastic replies to queries because they're on the whole, insensitive and mean, not to mention painfully annoying...

- "Oh! You wanted me to send the money order to your sister in Belgium! Oh, I'm soooo sorry... It's now gone to Pakistan. I'm sure you're glad you made some kid happy. Oh well, that'll be 850 rupees"

- "You want to know if this is court room number 9? Oh not at all... The sign here is a fake! This is actually a fancy dress party where we all dress as lawyers, scream at the top of our lungs and throw slippers & chairs at each other..."

- "Oh! You want to meet the notary public officer? You really do? Don't kid now... Really?"

- "You are so lucky! The officer in charge just went 'some'where to do 'some'thing. Why don't you just stand around here for 'some' hours and if you're in luck you'll catch him today. I predict a fun filled day! Don't you agree?"

8. Act like you're really glad to do something which you absolutely loathe & would probably consider doing it only if it were the last thing on earth!

Advitiya, this message is meant especially for you from the absolute bottom of my heart. I can't tell you in words or actions how much I loved to write this post. I'm filled with an undescribable ecstasy. I can feel little bubbles of joy exploding within myself. I'm on a high and I haven't felt this way since I last inhaled petroleum fumes. I feel like cascading in a multitude of cartwheels, but alas!! I can attempt only 2 at a time... However, I will forever cherish this moment, bestow my deepest gratitude and forever be indebted to you for giving me the power of self-realisation for, I feel like a much better person already...

9. Never EVER come up with a list of 10 resolutions because it really doesn't matter in the end.
I'd like to see you keep up ATLEAST one of your resolutions.

************************************************************************************

M: You know what? I really don't give a shit... If I swore to fight for poor starving kids in Somalia, I'd have actually given it a good thought. But your list just bores me to death! Not to mention how drab & impossible it sounds.

S: What? I thought it was pretty decent. You ungrateful wretch!

M: Oh scram! Back to where you came back from... I know how to get rid of you... I'll drink shitloads & sleep it off...

S: 'I'm like a bird... hummm... hummm...' (Really bad rendition of Nelly Furtado's 'I'm Like A Bird')

M: Holy Cow! It WAS you!!!

*fade out to sounds of a scream... Like someone just got stabbed*

Untitled Poem II

2007-01-11T11:57:00.000+05:30

************************************************************************************

Curtains drawn aside,
Sunlight streaming in the day,
A shard of bright light,
Screaming the dark away.
Coming alive,
Leading the way,
Misty paths, I hope,
They clear before it's too late.

Colours, they start to fade,
Smudging fine lines, traces,
Stabbed & left for dead.
Drained out the life,
Nothing I would trade,
Nothing to last.
Colours, they run,
Stained in a parallel past.

Confused and lost, and then,
An ashen face,
I thought back to when,
I'd betrayed myself.
All the time spent,
In Nothingsville,
My ears I had lent,
Taught myself to lie.

Scissor edged reality,
Cutting through,
A paper thin mirage,
A wish to come true,
Hope nothing gives way,
Thoughts whisked away,
Haunting faces, places,
From my memory erases.

It's time to depart..... To fade away.....

************************************************************************************

(No! I am not troubled & my heart does not ache... You may now go back to playing with your respective blow-up dolls...)

All's Fair In Love... And Death??

2006-12-21T12:23:00.000+05:30

They met in the park & in his bed,
A tale of how it all began,
A forbidden love, no scope to wed,
To the fire, from the frying pan.

She broke news of her folly,
Her father's brow furrowed,
Her doors barred and she wept,
Her face in her hands, burrowed.

He pined for her, she for him,
As she made one last call,
They agreed, A final meeting,
They decided to take the fall.

At the edge, they took a stand,
Eager as ever, his eyes shone,
She casually brushed off his hand,
And told him to go alone,

And he stood, as still as turned to stone,
His body rigid and stiff,
The light from her eyes, gone,
And she pushed him off the cliff.

************************************************************************************

Order Order Order!!!

2006-12-13T12:12:00.000+05:30

It was just like how I'd always imagined it. When I used to watch stormy court scenes in tamil movies on the television. The overfed guy with sharp eyes, dressed in a black shiny robe that swept the floor, calling out 'My Lord' at the end of every sentence. I always wondered why they used to show the statue of a woman blindfolded, weighing a scale. As a kid I thought the scale would magically tip to one side thus proving the right criminal guilty.

I'd laugh now if I saw those scenes again.
Laugh at the robe billowing like a grand evening gown.
Laugh at the lawyer prostrate like a slave in front of the half asleep, uninterested judge.
Laugh at how the crowd and the judge himself are moved to tears when the hero tells them that he would go to jail for his brother.
Laugh till my insides hurt or until the overweight heroine bounces across the screen (Whichever comes first).

Anyway here I was...
The Location - Saidapet High Court.
The Time - 11 a.m. With annoying rainfall and sunshine almost together.
The Reason - I was here to plead 'not guilty' for a murder case...

NOT!

I was here because my stupid insurance company suddenly needed me to get an order from the court stating that the cops could not trace the stolen bike. Apparently a certificate from the cops wasn't enough. One day, I'm going to go on a bombing spree and I wouldn't even have to worry because they'd surely catch the first suspect in the city & force him to confess that he committed a crime he had no knowledge about. That's the average South Indian cop to you.

But I'm not here to talk to you about retarded policemen. It's all about the court...

And like all court buildings, or any buildings built during the British regime, I saw red everywhere. The brick morphed cleverly into the wall, distinctly segregating each and every layer as the red blocks stood out. (Why could they not paint it another colour? The British had long gone. And 'My Lord' had become 'Your Honour').
Most of all things, I noticed there were scores of heads moving in confused haphazard movements. I stood just for a minute watching enrapt as people avoided elbows, shoves, a large puddle of water & standing people haggling with lawyers to reduce the bribe, as dad found out where Court No.9 was.

As I entered the building, two things caught my attention;
1. How it stank. The reek of old forgotten files of paper... Of sweat... Of shit. (Uh Oh! Somebody had stepped on something...)
2. How dirty the place was. There was no mat and the scores of chappals, sandals and bare feet that trod the wet ground outside, managed to merge the stone floor with the slush.

As we walked cautiously trying to find a sign that showed the way, scores of men in long black robes (They looked like the kind women usually wore. The satiny ones...) kept walking and talking at the same time.
Walking from one court room to another.
Talking to someone begging him for help, or on the phone haggling about the price for settling a law suit.

After we passed Court No.9 twice (No signs or boards anywhere), we came across the person from the Police Station we were scheduled to meet. He looked down at his watch and told us he'd been waiting since 9 in the morning, with a disapproving look.

"But you asked us to come only at 11!"

Silence...

"I understand... But still punctuality is very important saar."

The urge to punch him in the stomach, (parts of which could be seen sticking out through gaps of the stretched shirt) was overwhelming. I wouldn't miss a target so large anyway. But I was distracted when a sleazy looking lawyer walked past with a fair woman.

"TV Serial actor", I heard someone whispering. And I shut my ears to the rest of the conversation which was primarily on debating which serial she acted in. I looked up and noticed she was overweight, had a double chin, but carried it off well. She was good looking compared to what we normally saw on TV (a.k.a Horror Shows). But I knew that the South Indian film industry didn't care if a woman had a large mole on her nose, or if she looked pregnant. She just had to be fair, which this woman was.
(The fairness is a very tiresome issue & I'll blog about it later. I can't blog about something else in this post).

The cop's eyes stopped hungrily wandering about her voluptuous figure and he turned to us and told us we had to wait for a while as the advocate was having his lunch.

At 11?? Or was it a pre-lunch snack?

I debated as I watched a uniformed cop hold a ruffian by his collar and sternly admonish him for keeping his cellular phone switched on in court, even as a dozen lawyers sailed past in unison, all talking into their mobile devices. (Hard to believe a ruffian like that even owned a cell phone). Biased rules always make me feel sick.
But that was not all that made me feel sick. Claustrophobia coupled with watching lawyers adorned in a complete suit with bow and the dumb billowing bathrobe in the sweltering heat & humidity was making me nauseous.

I wished the advocate would just show up, let me sign, and leave.

I breathed deeply and glanced down. The sight that met my eyes was compeltely revolting. I jumped and moved away from the corner. After thorough inspection, it revealed not a single corner had been spared... Sometimes, even parts of the wall sufficed.

I noticed red splotchy dried up stain marks left after careless people spit their 'paan'. I wondered to myself if that was why the building was painted red. To hide the shameful fact that people would spit on anything that was cornered off by concrete. But the marks stood out. A deeper shade of red than the light, faded, weathered red of the walls. Just like the people stood out. One day, I hope they would turn as red too and clean up after themselves. Give me a spinning kick and call me Lucy, but I definitely think that day might come.

I thanked the stars when the lawyer arrived. He looked like such a pathetic mess. With his fat self, white hair sprouting sparsely from his head, his face like a baby's, wet sputtering eyes and a foaming mouth. I found it very hard not to stare at the tiny spectacles that balanced precariously on his fat, pudgy nose. The only thing broader than his forehead was the tikka he had carefully spent time drawing in the morning. He slapped his visiting card down on the corridor wall. 'Something Varma - B.a. LLb. etc... etc...'. (I forgot)

Anyway, the real test came when he opened his mouth. I was glad I was blessed with good reflex because they came in handy avoiding the saliva. He spat more than he spoke. Illegible words tumbled out of his mouth, all sprayed wet. However, I was busy dodging and hoping he'd shut up, and thankfully he did.
He then asked me for a few details which I furnished him with. He scribbled it all on a blank sheet of paper. My name looked like 'Anvil Pomash'. I hoped he could read what he'd written.

And later, we proceeded to the actual Court No.9, which was a dingy little room. My hopes of a large court with audience clapping and lawyers striding up and down vanished and instead, I found a bunch of lawyers, stuffed into a tiny room screaming and talking loudly, all at the same time to the judge, who looked like he might break down at any point of time.

It was somewhere between that and the lawyers banging their fists on the poor table, when Mr. Varma dropped the bomb. Cleared his throat and said, "That will be Rs. 800".
My eyes popped as I stared in disbelief. (Rs. 800 to get a signature on a green paper? Sure beats the bizarre fines in my college any day!)

With dad standing and arguing that the cop had said it would cost only 300 and the lawyer's defiant claim that the cop didn't know anything, being new on the job, I was standing there ready to give up when they reached a consensus.
Rs. 500! (So, what are we buying? Smuggled Chinese electronic goods on the road?)
Anyway, the deal was sealed & I guess that's all that matters.

I've to go this evening to collect the duly signed sheet of paper (Hopefully, I'll fake a hernia or intense pain in some part of my body & ask dad to go by himself). Honestly, I'm not in the mood to dodge saliva sprays. I like my glasses without specks of froth on them. I'm not in the mood either to spend 'quality time' at the cursed place watching lawyers make more money than they could've ever imagined.

The only thing I remember distinctly from my visit however was the signboard that said 'Beware of touts' put up in many a place. I found it amusing when, what the people actually had to beware of, were the lawyers themselves, and the law itself.

I'd barely finished thinking this, when the red stains on that corner made a new friend.

It went like this.
The old man in the lungi walked over to the corner, his mouth full of something and spewed red liquid with careful aim and......... blah... blah...

************************************************************************************

Fly... Fly... SWAT (stupid bledy slapstick jokemaker)

2006-11-12T23:16:00.000+05:30

*crackle*

*hiss*

*beep*

"Good afternoon. This is your captain speaking. Welcome aboard flight A-616.

We're right now cruising at an altitude of.... errr...
Aah! Found it!
32,000 feet and we're flying.. errr..
Pretty slow..
You see, the co-pilot had stale Tandoori chicken & I can't push these rusty thrusters single-handedly. So, because we're flying at half our speed, we'll probably be twice as late. Don't worry.. The delay in time is directly proportional to the amount of time the co-pilot spends in the little girls' room, which, by the way is the restroom to your right, lest you step inside and die of asphyxiation.

Anyway, as I was saying... please co-operate with our air-hostesses. We're terribly understaffed already as two of our best stewardesses had to visit the emergency room today because of a heart attack induced by high cholesterol and plain old age.
I'd also like to issue a warning that if any of the passengers get frisky and try to paw any one of our 'mature' airhostesses, they'll have have to deal with me first...
Yes... In private...
In my umm... Private cabin...
mmhmm...
Oh yeah...

*cough*
ahem...

As we're cruising at a very high altitude, I'd advise everyone to stay at their seats and not try to jump out of any of the broken windows while we play the evergreen famous 'Hum Aapke Hain Koun' which was a superhit in 19... errr...
I don't quite remember... Anyway, it was fuckin famous back then okay? A few international delegates who travel frequently with us know the dialogues by heart and only 4 of them have died so far...

Also, please pay attention when the stewardess comes around asking for what you'd like to have for dinner. A small in-flight secret I'd like to share among you. Always ask for the burnt Chicken Wings instead of the Grilled Sandwiches as they're poisonous.
If you're asleep when they come around asking you, you're as good as dead... Which I'd say you already are, choosing this airline in the first place...

And now, we move on to the main security instructions...

Oh come on!
You know the drill...

Those emergency doors on either side... To open them you gotta... Oh come on! The instructions are written over there... Read 'em yourself!
Anyway, the rest, you know... yada yada... blah blah...

& ONE very important thing! Do not bother the air hostesses unless it's a dire emergency. Like if someone is running amok brandishing a firearm...
Which is likely, coming to think of it, considering the lax security...
However, we do not encourage complaints such as, "the 'fat lady' next to me is pushing me off my seat." We are also not going to accept claim that you saw advertisements for the airline where the seats looked king-size. We used midgets for the ad...

Anyway, I hope I've summed up all you needed to hear about our flight to Tokyo, Japan...
We should be reaching our destination early tomorrow morning at... errr...

No... No... Hold on there...
IF we've left today, we should've gotten there yesterday! No... No... That's not quite right...
If we left yesterday, we'd reach today... Nope... Not that either...
Japan is 1... 2... 3... Oh darn I lost count... Now how many hours is it forward by? Or wait...
IS it forward or backward in time?

So, if we left Delhi at 12 p.m...
No! Come on! Let us be realistic. Which plane ever leaves on time? So, after considering an hour extra to wait for the crew to make it through the traffic to the airport...

And that bathroom call that took ages! I think it took exactly 46 minutes... Which reminds me... Don't anybody visit 'Pyarelal ka Dhabba'!
Ok... So that one hour and 46 minutes... And the delay in baggage transport because the boys were playing rummy...
Now the average speed of the baggage carrier is roughly around 24 kmph carrying around 40 individual pieces of luggage of various shapes & sizes. Now, if we consider each suitcase/bag to weigh an approximate 14 kilos, the speed of the baggage carrier will reduce relatively. The distance from the baggage clearance to the plane's cargo hold should be roughly 2 km. Of course, I must also take into consideration the time wasted when the baggage carrier driver and the runway inspector shared a passionate discussion about why Saurav Ganguly should be kept on the team...

Oh! Why am I even bothering! I failed math all my life!
Which goes to show, children, that you don't have to study hard to make it big in life. Just sleep around a lot and tell your parents to stick it! You just listen to your captain 'uncle' and you'll go a long way...

Anyway, passengers... I think I'll stop boring you now & let you get on with the movie...

Thank you all for listening to me and I'd also like to let you know that since I've been doing everything but flying the plane, we're miles off course and maybe you should call your loved ones to share a heart-to-heart last conversation...

I hope you all make your call... Haha! Make your call! Get it?

Oh wait... I just realised... I don't think your networks will work because we're underwater...
Oops!
That's one big blooper right there! Haha... Anyway, cheerio and all that jazz..."

*click*

*buzz *
*crackle*

"Oh wait! I almost forgot to tell you all the most important thing...
Thank you for flying Air India... Come again!"

*click*

I wish I were mad....

2006-09-25T18:17:00.000+05:30

Apparently, he'd moved to my street just a couple of days back... I had no clue, but I was strangely mesmerized and also creeped out to an extent...
I stopped on my way to the football ground to watch...
He lay on the sidewalk with his rustic, dirty, colourless large plastic bag with something bulky inside and he looked at the sky and laughed...
And then, he laughed some more...

A couple of passers-by called him mad in a voice that was louder than necessary and I cringed...

Was he really mad?
Or are we all?
To him, all of us would seem loony because he was just different. And like minded people would be able to relate to him...

So who was really mad?
Memories of Paulo Coelho's "Veronika Decides To Die" lashed my numb mind repeatedly...

He looked at least 60 years old if not older & he badly needed a shave, a bath & his teeth were probably a few years too late for an appointment with the dentist. But I don't think he actually cared...
Cared not about how many people had spit on the sidewalk where he lay...
Cared not about where he would seek shelter as the day drew to an end...
Cared not about who was standing, staring at him as if he were a specimen at a lab...

And to think of the number of people who would suffer a nervous breakdown if they were denied the luxury of being able to cut their toenails regularly...

The Pity:

I don't know who he was...
No one knew who he was...
And I'll bet nobody was willing to ask him who he was in fear that he may not know it himself...
And the prospect of not having an identity scared me. As materialistic as I could get at that point of time, I wondered how I'd be able to survive without an identity.

No credit card...
No vehicle...
No bank balance...
And the end of life as I knew it...

I still couldn't grasp the intensity of the concept. For example; He could be well smarter than anyone I know but nobody would be able to find that out but himself... And unfortunately he wouldn't be able to do that himself...
Incapability of self-discovery is no man's land...
A deserted place nobody would want to tread upon...

And very selfishly, I prayed that I never lose my mind...
And lie on dirty sidewalks one day staring at empty space and laughing...
And having people who think they're better than me laugh and smirk loudly...
And not caring about whether that dog across the road would chew on my foot if I dare slept a little...
And not pausing to think about the future...
I honestly did not want to be him...

Or did I?

The Envy:

His only belonging seemed to be that ragged plastic bag which he jealously clutched to himself...
I couldn't say I'd be happy to give up all my worldly belongings & live the life of an ascetic with bare minimums to survive... I wouldn't survive for an hour...
But everyone has this tiny fantasy about having to worry about nothing...

About what to have for breakfast the next morning...
Or whether he/she would call anytime soon...
Or where I'd be spending the night...
Or if it's going to rain anytime soon...
Or generally about what's happening in the world...

He was lost in his own precious time capsule.
I can't predict what he assumed of other people....
Maybe he thought people were all dead...
Maybe he thought we were all vegetables simmering in a soup...
I guess he would be able to converse better with an illiterate dog than another human being.

But I still envied him... For;
Not having a family, nor friends... A solitary life without a limit on time to do anything...
No responsibilities in life... No objective to accomplish...
Do whatever he wanted such as 'lying on the sidewalk and admiring the blue sky'...

And as I type this out, I feel incredibly guilty about having made up an entire synopsis of a man's life I have no clue about...
Not even to the extent whether he's happy or sad being himself...

************************************************************************************
The clouds were pregnant for a few days...
The gallons of water mysteriously held up somewhere in the sky all came crashing down last night...

I hope he had moved to some place safe & warm & dry...

Untitled Poem

2006-09-13T23:43:00.000+05:30

Caution: Some of the poetry might be graphic, so kids, if you're caught reading this, you're mom's gonna whoop your ass...

************************************************************************************

He saw her late that night,
Coming out of the Opera,
Dressed in shimmering white,
And her glistening silver tiara.

His face slathered with spite,
Clouding in the grey,
In the rain from last night,
That forgot to fade away.

Devoured by his steely eyes,
From his dark secret perch,
A large trenchcoat covering lies,
A sinister angel in the lurch.

Crouching at momentary lapse,
Menacing steps and sweaty palms.
She looks to him and gasps!
And falls right into his arms.

They slink to a deep dark alley,
To do deep dark deeds,
She knows not her folly,
As she slowly bleeds.

Etiquette thrown unawares,
Gyrating without a pause,
A splatter of brown wet mud,
On her white dress that was.

His breath upon her skin warm,
Like fire against wind and water,
They made love through the storm,
She was the lamb led to the slaughter.

A final war cry of passion,
Clenched fingers clawing the skin,
It was over, it was done.
Her blood dribbled down his chin.

She lay on the wet ground,
Lifeless, not a moment too soon,
Mouth wide open without a sound,
Her face as pale as the moon.

He arose,
His skin frighteningly fair,
The streetlights flickered
In the deathly cold air...
Whistling without a tune,
The air he kissed.
He was soon nothing
But a silhouette in the mist...

- Arvind (13th September, 2006)

************************************************************************************

Bike No More... & a part of me dies...

2006-09-05T12:19:00.000+05:30

9 days from the date of my first accident....

A week after picking the bike up from service...

25th August...
While I enjoyed two delicious burgers by the beach in the dark,
Somewhere, 20 feet away,
Someone was trying hard to pry open the lock & wheel her away into the darkness...
He did!
For when I returned, she wasn't there where I'd left her...

My love... My bike... My dark beauty was gone!
I scoped the beach for a painful 30 minutes... Without avail...

I've registered a complaint with the cops...
Filed the insurance claims...
Asked everyone to look out for my bike...
& I guess all I can do is wait now...

Which is why I haven't been blogging... I haven't been doing anything at all actually...
Just in a state of depression/trauma...
Well, POST-depression actually... It's been enough time but I'm still holding on to hope...

So... I'm not in as bad a shape now as I was before...
& since I need to blog anyway, I'll tell you what all you need to do when your bike gets stolen coz nobody tells you what you're supposed to do!!

Firstly, find out which police station comes under the jurisdiction of the area where your bike was stolen...
For instance, my bike was stolen on Besant Nagar beach but the police station was 'shastri nagar police station'... Apparently the 'Besant Nagar P.S' is in Thiruvanmiyur!! :-S

Before you rush off to the crime branch & register complaints, check if the bike isn't already there in the cops' impound lot. (It'd be pretty stupid to waste hours on red-tapism if your bike's been wheeled away by the cops themselves)...

An on-duty cop will ask you to take him to the site of crime... & just remember one thing...
His bike will not allow you space to sit, but adjust all the same & do not worry about balance or speed... All these are attributed to the fact that the cop will be FAT! Also, don't pay heed to his grumbling as he tours the beach because he will blame YOU for having made him to resume duty...
He'll tell you stuff like, "You didn't lock it! I know it!" & you'll want to respond too... "If you know I didn't lock it, then how could you let it get stolen?"
But it's wise to just shut up...
Other interesting ideas he'd give you to keep your bike secure would be;
"You should take care of your property... Every 5 minutes, wherever you are, you must come & see if it's safe..." Yeah right!!
"Why can't you just take the bus & come to the beach? Then your bike will be safe! Making us do work n all.. Cha!"
IF I had to take a bus to get to wherever, WHY would I HAVE a bike in the first place?!?

The fact being it's past 10 at night, coupled with the fat cop's zero-enthusiasm will not produce fantastic results... & you'll be advised to come the next morning to file a complaint at the police station...

& so I did...
A sleepless night... A sleepless week...
The insurance company's formalities will be another long pointless story...

& my dad asked me... Slowly...
"IF... & I'm just saying 'IF', the bike isn't found, what else shall we get?"

:-/ ..... "I just want my bike back..."

& I do hope I get her back...
Till then, I'll keep looking out from the balcony at the spot my bike used to stand...
The forgotten, dust-gathering blue tarp...
& the keys I'll always keep in my pocket to never forget what it is that I really really want so bad......

I'm foregoing Baywatch & the beach coz I can't bear to go anywhere near there anymore... :(
************************************************************************************

Some alone time... & an accident...

2006-08-16T17:19:00.000+05:30

This post is unwarranted for...

Pardon any spelling mistakes, grammar or any other errors your eagle-eye scopes & finds in this post...
I'm just writing coz I'm buggered off...
& yes... This post could otherwise translate 'A day in the life of the Ugly Fat Guy'...
(Minus the accident of course)

I spent quality time today... With myself!!
For those people who can't stay alone and need someone beside them 24x7, I really REALLY pity you...

The Pamper:

I woke up ridiculously late after dozing for atleast 10 hours...

Made myself some lovely breakfast - Omelette de Fromage (which translates to 'Cheese Omelette') & toast with coffee...

Figured out I should finish up with the formalities in college that I'd been putting off for a mighty long time (read at least TWO months)...

Cleaned my bike (my precioussss), donned my new shoes (I LOVE them!! :D) & took off...

The 'Bulb':

I reached a barren college with not even a single car in the car park... Even during days with the worst attendance I'd find 2 cars at the least...

"College Leave", the 'assholic' security guard tells me... (Damn these religious holidays!)
(Arvind's dictionary - assholic: an asshole under the influence of alcohol)
Seeing I have no more purpose to stay there he starts shoo-ing me away... I take a look around & there seems to be some road laying work going on in college...
Finally, they seem to putting the 60G fee they rip off from each student to SOME productive use...

Normally, I'd be fuming & I was... At that bastard 'friend' of mine who told me to get all my work done in time or else blah... blah...
"You are NOT my mother!!" (Not that I'd listen to her either...)

But I was generally in good spirits because the roads were almost empty as everyone chose to nap all afternoon. Moreover, it was one of those rare afternoons where the weather was pleasant & it was pretty cool with the sun safely tucked away behind the clouds...

The Bliss:

I decided to go right past my house in Adyar to 'Baywatch' on Bessie Beach... I wanted to make the most of my day out...

I plonked myself on one of the chairs there & after ordering a BBQ burger with No veggies & extra BBQ sauce (drool away Suchi... :P) I, once again looked up at the wallpaper which was nothing but a collage of various photographs of people who visit Baywatch... I recognize barely 2% of the people on the pictures... I don't know how they made their way to the wall of fame when I rarely (or never) have seen them there...
I happened to notice a couple of pretty girls too... That too in the afternoon! Yaay! My day was made... :D
Pretty soon, I'd wiped the wax-paper clean of all traces of the burger... Sigh... It's heavenly. Definitely the burger haven of Chennai!
I strolled back to my bike very content... My stomach seemed to think so too...

& I felt this sudden urge to go on a really long ride...

I checked the amount of fuel & to my horror it was already running on reserve...

I finally ended up going on a long winding ride on ECR to VGP & back...

I touched 110kmph & well... There are NO words to tell you how that feels...
It's just mind-numbing as everything in front of you becomes blurred except for the steadily rising needle in the speedo...

The Irony:

On my way back home, I noticed the Bajaj service centre was open... Apparently they aren't staunch followers of religious tradition... I could jump for joy! My bike service was overdue by at least a month now... Primarily because I hadn't finished the required number of kilometres & secondly, because I was a tad too lazy...

I walked in & booked the service time for tomorrow & I was immensely happy that I'd managed to do so many things that day...
& right after that, barely had I gone 500 metres past the service station when my day turned really REALLY sour...

The Accident:

It was a white Maruti Zen...

I was riding at just over 40 kmph...

He looked left, left & then left again... & without as much as glancing to the right, decided to take off past the intersection...

Right in my path...
Even after I honked, blinked my lights & I noticed another car waiting patiently for me to pass...

I jammed the brakes...

I felt the rear wheel lift up for a brief moment as I'd locked the front discs & after that, we pretty much went skidding sideways...

I didn't want to let go of the bike... I just didn't... But my presence of mind had other things planned...
At the very last moment I propelled myself out of the seat & I watched the bike slam sideways onto the car door... Just a second later, I followed suit & knocked my left shoulder on the car really hard...

In less than a second, a guy was wheeling my bike to the side of the road & someone was attempting to lift me up & that's when I felt it...

The rage...
Everything I'd kept bottled up for a long time just wanted to escape from within...

The Rage:

I got up unaided...
Took my helmet of my head, threw it on the road...
Lunged towards the open driver's window my fist balled tight...
Right when two guys caught me & stopped me from landing a hard one on that apologetic middle aged man in the driver's seat...

It took 5 minutes for me to stop to find my breath while I cursed him...
I think it's the first time I've used words such as f**k, bas***d, assh**e & motherf**ker on someone almost twice my age...

& I picked my helmet back up and walked back to my bike...
It's time for that thorough inspection...

THREE ugly f**kin scratches...

I almost feel like I've three deep scratches on my arm... The scars to remain forever & it should always hurt...
Thankfully, I have a servicing schedule tomorrow & I could ask him to check out for other problems my bike might have because of the collision...

I think there's something wrong with my thumb... & my right leg...
I guess I'll just have to wait & see which parts of my body are going to ring in dull shades of blue/purple...
(Luckily I jumped off the bike, or I'd have been pinned between the bike & the car and well... I might have broken a LOT of things in the least!! Thank God for relfex...)

Sigh...
This post is just plain sucky... But I'm going to post it anyway...
I don't care if you read it or not...
I'm just in one of the worst moods I've ever been in...

& Yes... I've always ridden safely & to think this is the FIRST accident I've had on my bike in a year is something a lot of ppl might acclaim in wonder... NO!! I'm NOT happy...

Now, do whatsoever you want... I just hope I feel like blogging sometime in the near future!!

Cheers! (Nothing to cheer about though...)

Change...

2006-08-15T16:18:00.000+05:30

Morning arrives in full glory,
Mercilessly tearing the sky.
Whence arises a different story,
A chapter of his subdued life.

Treaded paths are now but a wisp,
Distant passions forgotten.
Previous pages burnt to a crisp,
A fresh start he has gotten.

Faces of recognition are fraught,
With the fading memory.
Emptiness cleared by a draught,
Enclosing his new territory.

Is nervous about the life dawned,
To potray a new guise.
Telling himself he isn't fond,
Of letting go his old ties.

Apprehensive he looks at himself,
.. A few minutes after, he looks around,
He was smiling through the mirror,
& Now He's Gone.....

************************************************************************************

23-C? 23-M? 29-K? WTF do I take?? - A guide to travelling by public buses in Chennai...

2006-08-08T01:12:00.000+05:30

As the title clearly suggests, I'm going to use my vast experience and list interesting travel tips just so that your first bus journey in Chennai doesn't become your last... :P

Listed below are sequenced tips on how to deal with the ordeal in chronological order...

Travel Smart!

1. Before boarding any PTC bus that comes your way, just make sure there are not more than 200 people inside. If there are, rally up a few jobless college students on the road to clamber aboard the roof & sing and dance all the way to the nearest Police Station.

2. If you are blessed and all luck is on your side, you will probably live near a bus terminus. In which case, take all the time you need to inspect the bus thoroughly inside before taking enough time to choose where you'd like to sit and wait till the bus driver comes after half an hour. In this time, two other buses leaving for the same destination would've departed leaving you cursing the guy who told you 'this' bus would be the next to leave.

3. While you stand in the bus stand, tired, sweaty and eyeing every single completely empty bus passing by with apprehension, DO NOT contemplate taking it even though you might land up in another part of the city. Wait for the bus you're supposed to take however dirty, dangerous or packed it might be. At least you'll be sure of heading home.

4. At the bus stand, try amusing yourself as you battle the sweltering sun & beggars. If anyone comes up to you with a helpless look on their face and asks you which bus to take to get to some place you hadn't even heard exists in the city, just remember... To him, you are God! Answer will full confidence, the three different buses to switch along the way and why he should rather consider taking an auto.
Also, try giving creative advice such as, "Watch out for the conductor on 23-C. He is very short-tempered" and "Oh! 5-B? That's a fantastic bus. I know because my cousin is a pickpocket on that bus."

5. If you are already partially deaf or wish to be so, you could sit near the bus driver and try involving him in a conversation about the traffic nowadays. And exclaim in horror every time a motorist or cyclist tries dodging past the bus. Surely enough, the bus driver would holler at that jerk through his permanently open window just to keep you in good spirits. In reality, they're truly nice people.

6. Never EVER clamber aboard a bus carrying just a 500 rupee note and wave it in the conductor's face. He would request the driver to stop the bus and ask you to get the fuck out. Wise decisions to take in case you are stuck with nothing but a 500 rupee note would be;
- Travel ticketless. Everybody does it at some point of time. Some more than others though.
- If you swear by righteousness and never disobey the law, try and beg for petty change at the bus stop. Just remember that your pleas of 'If you give me your address, I'll send you back your Re.1' sound incredibly stupid.

7. Always keep in mind. Pretty girls who travel in buses are nothing but a figment of your imagination and the next time anybody tells you he saw a hot chick on a bus, you'd know for sure he was bluffing. If somebody up there really loves you & you DO sight a pretty girl on the bus, just keep in mind that you'd never see her on a bus again.

8. Travelling by bus can be very boring at times. Always be wary of the contents in your pockets like your wallet, phone, mp3 player and the likes. If you are wearing cargos with a gazillion pockets, heaven help you! In case you are very bored & you look at that old man constantly staring at you like you stepped right out of a space craft, look him in the eye & motion him to stay absolutely still as you attempt to quietly open the bag of the person in front of you. (who is invariably your friend... But like the old fool knows!)
Watch as the old geezer's eyes pop wide after a while as you casually talk to your friend who you've known for a long time.

9. If at any point of time the bus starts lurching back & forth, don't panic. The driver is just attempting once again to shift gears without bothering to use the clutch. And in case, you hear a loud groan from the front which might sound like a camel being castrated, that's just the friendly clutch plate grinding as the driver keeps pulling at the weird knobbly gear shift. Notice everyone heave a sigh of relief as the bus slowly continues moving.

10. The best seats are at the very front, alongside the bus driver where you can chance upon everybody running helter-skelter to get out of the way of the big bumbling bus. This option is to be exercised only by those who don't mind going partially deaf, as the engine which is located right in the vicinity, sounds like an aeroplane droning right in your ear... Like hundreds of mosquitoes have chosen to sing their latest hits on a megaphone. And pardon me for I can't get more descriptive than that...

11. You probably haven't experienced half the thrill of travelling by a bus if you haven't ever stood on the footboard of a PTC bus. Risking your life is totally worth it, as most people I know would rather choose death, than be stuffed alongside a man who probably hasn't had a bath for eons or is someone who bathed in cheap whisky. This pretty much summarizes the kind of men who travel by government buses. Although the breeze feels like an elixir of life, at times boredom gets to you easily and there are ways to amuse yourself.
- At every stop, alight and keep sneering at the kid next to you who also is travelling by footboard. Give him challenging looks when the bus starts moving again just to let him know that he has competition for 'The Footboard Traveller of the Year' award.
- The best place is to be as forward as possible in that tiny space provided for people to climb aboard the bus. This could at times lead you to get very territorial and anybody who chooses to step in your space is punishable under the 'Footboard Travel Laws' which are more of an unspoken agreement rather than anything else.
- When you are already settled on part of the footboard while someone is running as fast as the bus hoping to clamber aboard, give him space enough to get a toe in. Atleast then, he won't complain that you didn't move at all. Not that the dead men tell tales... Lol.
If you particularly are in a foul mood because somebody was a real bitch to you that day, make him run alongside and look at the contours on his face switch rapidly in quick succession as he sweats, struggles and strains to catch up with the bus only to find there is absolutely no space to sneak a foot in. Don't let compassion overcome you at the very last minute!!

12. If you are a feminist or universally hate all men, please move on to tip number 13.

For the rest, I'm a member of the 'Union Against Women Empowerment on Buses', which deals with battling rights in buses to provide equal rights to both women and men. We are not complaining against the reservation of 'women only' seats in buses. Such thoughtful ideas are well appreciated. We are entirely against the women who'd choose to seat themselves comfortably in the side not specifically demarcated for women while there are plenty of empty seats in the women zone.
Moreover, we also admonish haughty women who raise a ruckus and create a scene every time the bus runs into a bump and as much as a guy's shirt touches their delicate skin. At times, I almost feel sorry for the men, because no man even in an inebriated state would remotely wish to rub shoulders with that scary looking woman. Women of these sorts in turn believe they've just been awarded modelling contracts from Elle and it is entirely blasphemous that a 'normal' man has touched them.
My suggestion is that they wear bubble-wrap the next time they wish to take a bus. Or even better... DON'T take a bus!

13. If you've finally gotten a seat after making your way through baskets of smelly fish, stinky armpits, unwashed & sweaty hands and hard-wood elbows, do not attempt to get up the moment you sight a feeble old man somewhere on the bus. Wait for someone else to do so. In case however, if the old man walks up to your seat and stands there giving you a forlorn, tired look, curse him all you want under your breath, but make sure you give him your seat.

14. While you are among the mighty chosen ones who've gotten seats, just keep in mind that sometimes, people who are standing, need use of both their arms to balance on the bus and hence will drop whatever they carry in your arms. As personal experience suggests, if you ever do chance upon a college student's notebook, just skip randomly through the pages. You are bound to come across;
- Very shoddy and gay sounding tamil poetry that might just make headway as lyrics someday.
- Caricatures and artist's impressions of the nude female form. To figure out what the student likes best in a woman's body, just glance at which part has been drawn to exaggerated and 'detailed' specification.
- Silly games like 'Flames' among many others in between notes of zoology, computer science, advanced robotics and world history all crammed in one book.

15. In case you feel mild tremors, the ground starts rattling beneath your feet, the rod you are clutching starts vibrating and you're doing the tap dance with your teeth, just note that the driver has finally pushed the bus to a record breaking speed of 50 kmph. Don't fret though, as driver knows best. The worst that has happened while I was there was the rod falling off and in another incident, the axle connecting the wheels underneath the bus giving way. Just play safe and feign a twisted ankle or broken foot to avoid stepping out in the hot sun to aid the other men pushing the bus. In fact, in this time you could easily steal someone's seat.

16. The attitude of the driver, the age of the bus and it's running condition can all easily be estimated by just taking a good look at the bus. However, only by sitting lost somewhere in the back of the bus and smelling the acrid smoke billowing through the twisted exhaust pipe alongside the bus can you predict whether the bus has passed the 1975 emission tests or not.

17. If the person sitting next to you wishes to drift off (which is near impossible) and pretty soon plants his face on your shoulder, just jerk that shoulder all of a sudden even if it means breaking his jaw bone. You could always blame it on the bumpy ride or maniacal bus driver. In case you believe this is way too harsh, please feel free to sing him a lullaby and roam around for the rest of the day unmindful of that dried up drool stain on your shirt. You'd rather request him to bring a pillow the next time he chooses public transport.

Just make sure overall, that your bus journey doesn't seem anything like;

THIS

I have so much more information to delve out to you just to make sure your travel in Chennai is but a little more fun. But alas, I think I've run short of space...

So, that pretty much summarizes the interesting travel tips you should take into consideration when you choose to travel by a public bus in Chennai... Or NOT TO!

You'd rather just walk...
Or take an auto...

And please do drop by some other time to read through my 'Guide to travelling by autos in Chennai and why you should rather walk the distance...'

Cheers!!

2006-08-05T00:42:00.000+05:30

The picture was taken by me (Thank you very much.. :P)...
While a couple of my friends were sharing a special bonding session whereupon I chanced upon an opportunity to maybe bribe them later for rights to owning the photo..
But now thats its online, Nobody is really gonna bother... :P

Moreover, something about the picture just sparked this poet in me to jot down some lines (:D)...

& DO NOT ask me bout the two of them... Coz I have absolutely no freakin idea what's going on between them.. ;)
So, I ask you not to base an opinion after reading the poem.. The poem is purely inspired just by the photograph...

Untitled Poem:

Tiny waves broke upon the shore,
Guided by the restless wind,
That brought along tales of lore,
Secrets of so many, sinned...

They sat together, yet alone,
Listening to the sounds abound,
As still as turned to stone,
Trying to look into the far beyond...

Two hearts furrowed with worry,
Their inner battles waged forever,
The moment eluded this fury,
As the overbearing peace took over...

He envied the breeze,
That chose to caress her cheek,
Brush past her hair,
Oh! Hair that was so sleek...

He wanted to hold her,
Ever so gently touch her,
Profess his undying love for her,
All that he could offer...

She cared not, was forlorn,
At heart she was furious,
Because she cruised alone,
Unguided... And curious...

She envied the birds that brushed past,
Battling the breeze to newer lands,
An ephemeral solution at last,
To pry open her tight fisted hands...

Their breaths beat a constant rhythm,
In sync with the babbling river,
The wind sang a strange sad hymn,
The ensemble resplendant, like a choir...

He wanted desperately to tell her,
But she cared none the less,
They looked beyond each other,
Back at the vast horizon, endless...

- Arvind (04/08/2006)

************************************************************************************

Short Story.... Part - III

2006-08-01T01:52:00.000+05:30

If you haven't read the other parts, don't be stupid and read this first & challenge my pitiful writing style.. :P

Scroll down and read the other two parts if you already haven't...

************************************************************************************

We met at one more of those innumerous Coffee Day's scattered strategically all around the city. And there was plain pandemonium with everyone talking at the same time...

Tanya was silent throughout though...
She didn't look one bit English and she barely spoke with a British accent... In fact, she hardly spoke at all. I tried to include the poor thing in our conversations but frankly it looked like nobody other than me really cared. Pretty soon, I'd forgotten bout the 'firangi' too as we caught up with good ol' times...

Limp arrived fashionably late (as he called it)...
Like it makes a difference when you're meeting friends!

He made his way over, seated himself comfortably on the ample cushioning provided, took his own sweet time to light up his fag & said,

"Man! I could hear you guys all the way from the road. Keep it down..."
"And who might this lovely lady be?" As he leaned over and offered his hand.

And I blinked... Twice...

Collective gasps from all us guys as Tanya slowly extended her hand and shook his gingerly as Virgin made the introductions.

And we all broke into peals of laughter even before Limp finished his exaggerated 'Whaaatt?!!'

'Limp' was gay!

Or atleast that's what we'd all thought till we graduated from the same university a few years back...
And the morning after a very drunken graduation party shocked us all.
Limp got laid... Way before any of us. And hence, he'd earned this new respect from everyone. I don't think anybody had ever thought him gay after that...

But apart from that one night, Limp had pretty much no reputation at all among women. In fact, he rarely spoke to them. Nor did he ever join us on comments about the nicest ass we'd ever seen, etc...

And yet here he sat, chatting amiably with Tanya like they'd known each other for eons.

I hadn't even wiped that smirk of my face watching the two when I heard Virgin bellow out loud...
"Hey guys! Check out that incredible bod on that chick in the red dress!"

And right on cue, not one... Not two... Atleast 50 heads turned one direction to scout for the crimcon clad beauty. And at this very moment, the very annoying theme of the 'Lady In Red' chose to run through my head...

And true to his description, she was stunning...
And blushing...
And obviously embarrassed...
And I felt this sudden urge to clout him hard on the head.

I probably would have if I hadn't noticed a familiar face hidden partially from view... However, that tiny little glimpse was enough to get my blood boiling... And I devotedly focussed all my attention to ripping the tissue paper in front of me to shreds just as BB announced...
"Hey... That's 'J' over there. Isn't it? I'm not sure..."

I looked up again... It was definitely her. But she'd done something with her hair...
And her face...
And her... Chest??

I suddenly became aware that I was standing halfway up from the chair now and everyone at our table was following suit... But I didn't really care.

My first thoughts were 'What the f**k was she thinking!?', which almost instantly changed to 'My God! She looks grotesque!'
I was pretty sure the same thought was running through everybody's mind...

Everybody... Except Virgin who not even for a second take his eyes off her new assets.
I silently chuckled to myself wondering whether I should let him know the authenticity of that enormous cleavage...
And I decided against it. I didn't like Virgin too much. I possibly couldn't care much about that dumb bitch either...

I went back to sipping my espresso even as Virgin walked over to their table and introduced himself in the faint hope she'd remember him.

But I knew her by now.
Her approach was tactful. She'd pretend like she hadn't the slightest idea who the person might be and all of a sudden she'd act like a wave of memory just washed by her... This late reaction spurns joy from the other person... Come on! Everybody loves to be remembered...

Normally, two things happen after this;

1... She'd get up, hug the person and kiss the vacant air brushing past each cheek.
2... She'd flash a very large fake smile. (Which I couldn't stand the sight of, by the way.)

True to memory, she still followed the same routine. Virgin only grew ecstatic as he joined their table for a brief moment...

It had been almost 20 whole minutes when Virgin got back to our table...
While Limp was still exchanging coy, flirtatious words with Tanya who was responding pretty well...
And BB sat talking business on the phone...
And I sat there playing some silly game on my mobile. I got stuck on that same bloody level every single time!!

"I got her number!!"
Virgin sounded like Santa Claus on Prozac... Memory still fails me as to how euphoric a person could get.

We left shortly after that...
I had to drop Limp off at work and we exchanged a few words on the way...

"Tanya is hot isn't she?"
"Yeah... She's pretty no doubt! Okay, I guess"
"Just okay? That's not what I saw back there all this while..."
"Alright! So, we were talking..."
"And ?"
"And Nothing!"
"Hmmm... If you say so."

We drove in silence till we got to the commercial tower where he worked...
"You know dude... You can always tell me."

He put one foot out the door and told me,
"Alright... So, I think I might just like her."

And I smiled to myself as I made my way home...

************************************************************************************

"Hey dude! We're all going for this party tonight! You HAVE to come... The organisers are flying in DJs from London man... I've heard them... They ROCK!"

Hearing Virgin's voice first thing in the morning told me it wasn't going to be a good day at all... I loathed him!

"And don't worry about the entry man. I've got it all covered. I've got these passes from J."
Okay... So now, I just loathed him from that endless abyss in my stomach...

"I don't know if I can make it dude... I'll tell you later today."
And I hung up...

I made my mind up that very instant... I wasn't going to go.
I'd prefer grabbing a beer on the way back home from work and watch a movie rather than dance to the tunes of 'DJ's from London' along with Virgin...
And J...
And BB...
Limp was the only one I could decently tolerate. At times, I even envied him for being able to get along with both BB and Virgin so well.

I called Virgin up later and told him about this really important board meeting I had to attend, the outcome of which my future depends upon.
"Chill... It's alright... I'll have a couple of beers for you..."

I didn't have an ounce of work that day...
And I just drove almost everybody insane asking them if they needed a hand at anything...
I paced up and down my cabin far more times than I'd like to keep count...
I drank water like a horse would...

The clock struck 12 and I was still at office in feverish restlessness. The climate control seemed to make absolutely no difference to the beads of sweat that'd form on my forehead every 5 minutes...

I heard a faint beep as I stepped in and out of my office for the 'n'th time that night...
It was a message...

"**New Message - Virgin**" - flashed on my mobile screen...

"Guys... I know how you've always been there to back me up although you've taken my trip countless number of times. I know how good our friendship has been through these years although we faced rough tides, we kept going... Tonight, I ask none of you to come in the way of what I just did. Nobody is to back me up or try to get me out of trouble, for what I did, I chose to do..."

'"**New Message - Virgin**" - flashed yet another time on the screen...

"I've killed J tonight... Cold blooded murder. I slaughtered her in bed while we made love... You probably wonder why. I'll tell you why. She betrayed my family once upon a time... She married my brother five years back. She sucked the life out of him and my parents... She embezzled all our bank accounts while my brother took his life three years back coz of this she-devil. I just wanted to let you all know, I'm probably not justified for what I've done and I don't wish to suffer punishment for what I did... Hence, this message wishing you all a good future while I say goodbye... & Hey! Atleast I won't die a virgin... :)"

I exhaled... And wiped the fresh beads of sweat off my forehead...
I switched my mobile off...
I went to the restroom and splashed some water on my face...
And I looked up at the mirror...

I was smiling... A devilish grin...
And I wanted to punch the guy looking at me through the mirror...

I made my way to the car...
I took the longest route back home possible...
I kept thinking back on all the good times we all shared... The times with the guys, the times with J, the times that were good while they lasted...
The times... When I was genuinely happy and needed no artificial additive to lighten my mood...

The speedo on the car rose steadily and rapidly...
I still remembered how everything had changed...
Virgin meeting me and asking me to stay away from J...
When he requested me to treat her like shit and whereupon I followed and beat her up mercilessly every single night...
When she had every right to walk away from me...
When we arranged everything right from J's meeting in the café to Virgin's casual introduction...

It was all planned...

.....
But this wasn't...

I hurtled at 150 kilometres per hour onto the oncoming bright lights and quietly whispered...
"I'm coming..."

Short Story.... Part - II

2006-07-27T16:48:00.000+05:30

The picture has nothing whatsoever to do with the story... :)

It was just one early morning at Kabini, where I chanced upon a Teacher's premium Whisky bottle left over from last night & the river slowly flooding in towards the land was just so captivating that I HAD to just capture it on film..
& Voila! Arvind's first few attempts at photography...

I LOVE this picture personally, because it's something I've always dreamt of...
Drinking by the riverside, wetting your feet in the cool river water and feel the chilly breeze brush against your face and a vast expanse of horizon to look upon... And contemplate... Life...

Now, on with the second part of the story... I PROMISE to finish it in the next part.. :P

************************************************************************************

"You think he would've done it?"

"Virgin? Not a chance! With his 'hand's on' approach, I'm sure he'll repel women for miles around."

Virgin had some reputation as a groper. He couldn't keep his hands off his date. Partly due to the fact that he was horny 24x7 and no amount of porn made him even a little bit submissive.

"Good he's coming though... It's been such a long time since I tripped on anyone".

"You remember the last time he got sloshed? He tried making out with 'J'. Haha! She kicked him in the nuts..."

A brief silence... And BB, very slowly turned towards me & said "I'm sorry dude... I forgot."

Even though I'd told them a gazillion times I was over it, they refused to believe me...
Maybe it was because I'd condemned myself to a life of celibacy...
Maybe it was because I'd cut my hand just to see how much I bled...
Maybe it was because I'd moved on from weed to hardcore drugs like X & Acid...
Maybe it was because I'd suddenly started smoking & the fag count rose steadily day by day...

Maybe...
I should've given up a long time back...

But there really was nothing I could do. She chose to move on & left me in the lurch to fend for my pitiful self...
And although I told them I had moved on, I really hadn't... And every time her name came up, I felt my stomach knot up. A feeling of good memories burnt to a crisp and it never did stop burning.

I gave a shrug & walked out of the hospital to light up. I could hear their whispers even as I took just 4 steps towards the exit. I cursed myself for the umpteenth time as I'd forgotten to refill my lighter. Luckily, a tea shop doing brisk early morning business was in the vicinity & I trudged slowly in that direction...

'J' and I had been together ever since I can remember life worth remembering. How we'd met, was a story that fascinated everybody.

We were both stranded in the same dingy elevator in the same crummy apartment building I used to live in and until that moment, we loathed each other... But having nothing to do for atleast 4 more hours, (because our very alert security guard was asleep through the night) we got to talking and the fact that we were both in an inebriated state after partying all night helped us get along... And before we knew it, one thing led to another. The only thing I remember from that night was the look on the watchman's face as he opened the elevator doors the next morning.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This being a short story, I shall not delve into the ordeal that the narrator & J went through all night. In case your dirty mind requires erotica to 'understand' the story better, contact me personally and I shall dish out the 'details'...
Now, as we were...

There was no looking back ever since. We did everything as a couple. And I mean everything! I was in seventh heaven, whereas 'J'...

'J' had quite a reputation.
A lot of people I knew advised me to stay away from her because she was, to put it very abruptly, a slut. And just the fact that so many of them told me this disturbing piece of news raised my doubts. I lost a great deal of friends while I fought viciously to defend my girl. The one I loved...
Yes... I was in 'love'. Or so I thought...

For that one night she blew it all up would cause me hundreds of sleepless nights wondering where I could've possibly gone wrong... Or just plain, keep me awake thinking about all the things we did and how different it could... Should have been...

She was all over him that night. And he to say, was reciprocating...
& the worst bit of it all, neither were complaining.
She called me later that night and demanded to know why I'd walked off & simply, just like that, I told her to F**k off and that it was over between the two of us...

She, obviously expecting this said something that I'd never forget.
"I know... Guess what... I just screwed him and he's still here... Right next to me... Asleep."
Ever so coolly, like someone just casually blew a smoke ring right in my face.

I slammed the phone down... Cursed... Broke down...
And repeated the process several times...

I've never been myself ever since...

************************************************************************************

I was here alone... Again... Early in the f**kin morning... Again...

We had picked lots & I was the unfortunate loser...

& Virgin's plane wasn't on time either!

I hummed as I finally heard the announcements on the P.A System. I went and stood by the arrival lounge and waited for him...
And I caught a glimpse of him...
And I didn't believe me eyes!

Who was the incredibly HOT babe walking alongside him??
The jokes we were cracking yesterday about him slowly came back to me as if to say 'Yeah! You're funny!'

I guess my face still held that incredulous look as he looked puzzled when we met.
"Hey dude! How've you been? And what's with the stupid look on your face?"

And what happened to him? He was talking... well... Well!!

"I'm good man... Who's this?"...
I smacked myself later for being so forthcoming and rude...

"Oh yeah... This is Tanya... Tanya, meet S", He said ushering her forward as we shook hands.

The rest of the trip in the car was pretty boring, as I was trying unsuccessfully to not fall asleep at the wheel while Virgin chattered animatedly about India and the likes...
I dropped them both off at his place and he said,

"I heard about BB... How is he now? I'll give you a call later today. We should all meet up man."

"Sure... Although, first, I'm gonna catch on some sleep... C ya!"

************************************************************************************

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I know there are a lot of dirty minds at work & questions relating to the level of fiction would obviously be raised. And also as to the existence of any real life characters that might've given me an inspiration. The answer is NO. Which is why I need to include a disclaimer...

The characters in this story are completely fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead or somewhere inbetween is purely co-incidental & MAYBE intentional...

& just for the people who know me, the narrator is NOT me... & the name 'J' has nothing to do with my past...

Cheers!!! Until later...

And please do leave your comments about the photograph and how you'd kill to be in a place like that.. :D

Short Story.... Part - I

2006-07-21T14:45:00.000+05:30

"Shi'ite!!"

It had happened yet again...

'BB' had for the fourth time crashed his car in the same month...

I jerked awake to a sit-upright position, the phone still glued to my ear.

"Stupid F**ker got drunk again! I'm on my way to the hospital. I'm tired of bailing this asshole. That too at 6 in the f**king morning! You get there pronto!"

Limp's voice came through indistinct against the breeze. He really was in a hurry!

"I'll be there. Don't drive too fast & land up in a bed next to him."

I lazily staggered to the bathroom and threw some cold water on my face.
Stupid bitch always chooses a bloody Sunday to ruin!

'BB'... Short for 'Buffalo Butt'...
The name came into existence shortly after a hazardous experience in Goa. BB, having had a little more than his usual quota of Whiskey, swaggered out in the open & mooned three exquisitely dressed women, who were exceedingly hot, I might add.
One whole night spent explaining to the cops & making calls to gather as much bribe money as we possibly could, it was a trip to remember!
Anyway, BB stands for Buffalo Butt, his butt being very big and black.

As I changed & headed out to the car park, the dampness in the air was surprisingly cool and refreshing...
I wasn't used to waking up early I guess, making a mental note to visit the gym atleast once that week.

As soon as I stepped into the lobby, I noticed Limp sitting in the visitors' lounge talking to a heavily bandaged BB...

"You really are an asshole BB. Arivu Illa? (Don't have any sense?). Anyway, how bad is it?"

"Nothing major. Hero here, dislocated his shoulder & a few scratches. Nothing apart from that."

BB looked dishevelled. I would've bet anything he was still under the influence of alcohol. A strip of gauze ran right across his chest & stomach, wound round and round making him look a lot fatter than he actually was.

"Nice thoppai (stomach) da. Haha... Did you tell your dad?" I asked.

"Yeah... He wasn't too happy though. Anyway, no issues now."

"You think he'd be happy with you crashing the fourth car this month?"

BB's dad was a favourite among us all.

Spoiling his only son wasn't particularly a very bright idea which I'm sure he's slowly figuring out.
BB's built a kind of immunity where he believes any trouble he gets into would be solved by people around him. In short, he acts like a fussy little girl when he needs to get things done.

BB's dad owns a very large consultancy firm and is on the board of directors for atleast 6 companies... I think...
A recent merger with an international export house made him one of the most talked about business leaders in the city.

"Hey guys! You'll never guess who called me yesterday!"
Limp suddenly boomed drawing forth stern glances from a couple of attendants.

He mouthed a 'sorry' & continued in a hushed tone...
"Virgin called man! He's coming back from UK tomorrow."

"Are you serious? Shit! "
"We better warn all the women in Chennai. Hahaha..."

Veer Singh a.k.a 'Virgin' was pathetic... To say in the least.
Once a regular source of entertainment for us all, his definition of the common woman stands in short, 'an object of desire'. Countless very bad attempts at flirting and hitting on, he had never quite figured out the universal fact. To seek within reach.

I however, must explain Virgin isn't exactly a Demi-God. He's pretty much a sight for sore eyes. And the fact that he stands an unimpressive height of 5'5" doesn't really help.
As desperate as he was celibate, we all assured ourselves he would remain single & a virgin for a long time to come...

I still remember the day he left for Liverpool to get his MBA... He was pumped about the fact that the chicks there would be all over him. Poor guy had actually done a lot of research to figure out their habits & what Brit women liked & disliked... I had found it highly amusing.

.................................................. TO BE CONTINUED

Deathly Silence

2006-07-11T13:01:00.000+05:30

A trickle of blood drips down,
On a picture torn apart.
Not together anymore, he's alone,
His time to depart...

Reminiscing last week,
When she lay her head upon him,
Her raven black hair brushing his cheek,
Unaware of his ephemeral whim...

He was lost & forlorn,
She knew not his desire,
Later she met someone,
Adding fuel to the fire...

He shed not a tear, joy bereft,
She cared not to seek the truth.
He broke down when she left
Men can cry too...

He sat alone with a tinge of despair,
Viscous red spread across the floor,
A bloody blade fell through the air,
The soul departed, He was no more...

Lesson learnt without a doubt,
A grim bearing looks upon us all,
Always speak your heart out,
Don't be afraid to take the fall...

***********************************************************************************

I have sucessfully migrated from http://spaces.msn.com/arvindramesh/

Cheers!!

The Weird Guy Whose Wit Went Incognito

Of Birds and Girls Alike

I had a dream. It was surreal. It was real.

It's a love hate thing

The end of all beginnings

Walking away

Rendezvous

Simplicity Swami

Road Trippin'

Trainspitting

First Impressions

Inter-Planetary Penitentiary

TAG!

Change... And the pointless quest to remain the same

Uncool & 2 Old 4 School

Andrew Drew The Line...

Poor Old Dmitri

The Grim Reefer - A Poem...

Dear Dark Lycan - A Poem

All that burns, dies...

T Wheeee!

The Lone Soldier (A poem)

Tag-along

To Die For.... (A Poem)

10 reasons why you shouldn't 'DO IT' in complete darkness

Where do we come from...

March!

May The Force Be With Me!

Once tagged, Twice? Never again!!

Untitled Poem II

All's Fair In Love... And Death??

Order Order Order!!!

Fly... Fly... *SWAT* (stupid bledy slapstick jokemaker)

I wish I were mad....

Untitled Poem

Bike No More... & a part of me dies...

Some alone time... & an accident...

Change...

23-C? 23-M? 29-K? WTF do I take?? - A guide to travelling by public buses in Chennai...

Short Story.... Part - III

Short Story.... Part - II

Short Story.... Part - I

Deathly Silence

Fly... Fly... SWAT (stupid bledy slapstick jokemaker)