Saw Sita sings the blues today. Superb. Simply superb. And its not the animation alone which is brilliant but the narration as well. Little snippets of satire inserted here and there.
The guards at the American Centre have eased up on the asshole quotient a bit. Although there was one perky motherfuker who wanted to verify that the metallic object around my stomach was, in fact, a belt. Feely-feely little bastard.
Had a pig out session at KFC but it just was not the same. Make no mistake, the bucket was ravaged but that special “kick” was just missing. You know the one where you are so stuffed that the world just seems like a happier place to be in? Just not there.
Anyway did me good deed of the day by feeding the bones to a dog. Was bloody hard to locate a canine near CP today. Freaky. Watched the critter crunch through the bones. Nice.
Also saw a man sitting down and pissing on the side of the road. Said incident resulted in long discussion over merits/demerits of pissing in sitting position. Technical terms such as “frothing”, “piss bouncing” and “last pee” entered into the discussion. For those not in the know, “last pee” consists of those final drops.
Directionless little droplets of urine, those LP bastards. No inertia and hence quite likely to fall on shoes, pants, chappals etc. I should start my own wikipedia.
Nathu’s is one of the more well known chaat-sweet joints in Delhi. Located in a fancy part of town. Not bad. The first time I came to Delhi, someone took me there. Winter time and chaat in a big plate. Sweet and spicy and tangy and all yummy.
My area has a suprisingly high population of Kashmiris and Afghanis. Which is a good thing coz:
a) Kashmiri/Afghani women are rather pretty; and
b) I can buy Afghani naan for lunch or dinner.
Right outside the home. They have a proper tandoor to cook it in and all. Thick naan with those fork-like marks on them.
So, Porky once more thinks that I am the funniest, most well mannered guggu this side of the Ocean. Bloody pleased me was at hearing that.
Sam Cooke has sung this song called Wonderful World. I like it.
It is nearly impossible to NOT convert fake laughter into real laughter. I mean, sure there is the whole “oh how clever” polite type laughter which are reserved for social gatherings with fuktards and the like. But I was talking more about the evil hooo haa hhaa type laughter.
If you do it long enough, then sooner rather than later, you shall be laughing your guts out.
Something I have learnt quite often at the most incorrect of places.
I wonder if you can learn the same thing more than once. Or is it not “learning” then?
Something so exciting about learning no? A new journey, a new path. Something that you did not know before. So before you learn you pack your rucksack and make sure you have enough money and the toothbrush and then you are OFF!
Said the ganja addict Moral Science teacher to the sugar-deprived ten year olds.
There is nothing more satisfying than finishing something that has been your dream forever. Or so I have been told.
So what would happen if my true love was stolen away by someone called Joe? Whose surname was Leen?
I could sing Jolene, Jolene. And mean it.
Beautiful song that one. Like the slightly unharmonious twang in it.
There’s this chap down the road who sells hot milk. You know, the kind which has been heated for a few hours in that gigantic kadhai. A decently thick layer of malai. And then he scoops out the milk and adds the sugar and does the mixing thing. So you have a nice hot glass of doodh in your hands. And it is bloody cold so it feels nice when the warm milk flows down your throat. Yummy.
When I think about it, its bloody clear that humans are slow evolvers. I mean think about the ball-guard. You know that all-important, oxygen-masked shaped thing which protects your future generations? Why don’t men have one of those inbuilt? Like a proper, hard flap which protects the softies? So when you wanted to pee or whatever, you just have to raise the flap. And no more crotch-guards required!
It would be even cooler if that flap was a muscle on its own. So when puberty kicks in, you would have all these guys covering their shorts all the time. Fukin flap raising itself at the worst of moments. In my mind, I have the image of a thick, rhino-like skin covering the jewels. Proper, hard stuff.
But nope. Nothing. Nothing to prevent that awful pain. No defence against short kids and their hard-as-platinum skulls. Nothing.
Guess we will just have to wait for evolution to kick in.
Sometimes I feel like writing as if I am talking to you. I can clearly imagine your reactions. The slight tilt of the head and the running of hand through hair. Almost unconscious. And then turning to one side to get hold of your thoughts. Hmmmm.
If I could, I would rename all good books as “You”. I think those are the best in the entire frikkin world. The ones which kick everyone else and leaves just you and the words.
It was so fukin cold this morning that I actually woke up. Boom. just like that. Woke up and asked meself : who the fuk turned down the heat over here. Worst thing is that the floor becomes kinda cold so you have to ballet-dance around the house. Full on the toes and shit like that.
In a perfect world, we would never have to leave home without a hug.
Said the ghost of Michael Jackson as it made its way towards the house of that boy who was in that movie Sixth Sense.
Get a frikkin goal you lil sissy. Said enchanting lassie to me. Well not in so many words but that was the gist of the matter.
And so I have.
In other news Scoobs and me had our first home-cooked meal the other day. Fantastic. Menu : Steamed rice infused with taters and Capscicum reduced, tangy Dal fry. The tanginess came from an over enthusiastic use of ketchup but overall it tasted bloody amazing.
From today onwards, I shall once again want what I like and get what I want.
Hope springs eternal and all that.
Enough of fukin moping and drowning in the spit of self pity no?
lalallalallalallalala
I sometimes wonder if you read. This. I think you do but I am not really sure about it. Must get super duper spy ware installed on this soon.
Oh and just in case you havent felt like puking in a while:
Part of the reason why I love reading newspapers is because I am convinced that there is someone there (inside the newspaper printing chappies) who inserts these hidden jokes into the paper. Subtle and craftily designed, these jokes demand a high intellect and a keen eye. Both of which I possess. Especially the keen eye bit.
Spotted in the morning paper (in a health warning)
Remember to wash your hands every time you:
….
* After meeting sick people
…………
No. Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo. Awahhahahahahahahahahahhahah. Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeehhhhhhheeeeeeeee.
Right.
I wish I could speak. Talk.
All I seem to be able to do is ignore.
So there you go. Pun of the day. lbw. Out.
Whatever.
The materialistic side of me is growing bigger by the day. Which makes me sad since I always figured I could live on very little.
Nothing worse than realising why people smile and slowly shake their heads. Point to that idealistic fool and smile once again.
One of the reasons why I really wanted to see Bad Santa was cause the idea was just so appealing. Santa Claus doing all sorts of bad shit. That is also why I liked both Hell Boy 2 and Pan’s Labyrinth. Tooth-fairies who devour teeth and a giant insect shaping itself into the traditional figure of a fairy.
Scoobs says that the only way to deal with people in this city is to buy a gun.
There are times when the words run away from me and I sit here and stare at the screen and think of all sorts of shit.
I wonder what you would taste like.
I wonder what birds think of when they are flying. I wonder if they have their own, distinct personalities. There would be those naughty, teenagerish bastards, making sure they poop on people. Sit on a wire at the end of the day and compare number of headshits.
You think there are neurotic birds? Just before landing, they clench their buttocks and mutter “Oh Im gonna die, gonna die gonna die”
I wonder what a bird thinks about when it completes its first flight. You think they would be slightly surprised by it? “Dude wtf. I just flew!!!!”
I wonder what kind of trash talk is exchanged at those places where all the younglings gather to learn flying. The elder kids looking all smug and shit : “20 feet high?? Been there son”. I am sure there would be some piss-in-the-pant type birds as well. The ones who have to be pushed over the edge.
And then the ones with over protective [Indian?] mothers. So you would have this full grown pigeon trying to keep it’s ass in the nest. Waiting for mommy to come back so that he can feed. And papa is doting as well. Probably building another nest for Chottu and his bride. Eating into the pension but who cares, after all humara Chottu hai.
I have often wondered what makes parental love so strong. It must be something in the genes no? How can you possibly love someone who poops and cries and is a generall piss-off most of the time. And not like things get rosier once the pooper grows up. In fac that is when the shit [giving finger to gravity] really hits the cooling mechanism.
Whatever.
Most nights I think about your cold eyes,
And I wish that they would not stare into me.
I think about your wishes and your lies,
And I wish that they would let me be.
OR
They sat by the fire and watched the flame.
Each alone and each the same.
Sometimes a word would be forced out into the silence,
But mostly they sat.
Where a debate is thrown up in the air, like that bouquet which no one wants to actually catch
I never liked the word “bouquet”. Too fukin difficult to spell and always reminded me of banquets. Which is another word I do not particularly like. I am sure that there are some words which were just invented by snobs so that they could snigger at people. “Oh look, he said booket! Heee hee”. Bastards. And what the bloody hell is with the whole draft beer thing? Why the fuk don’t you just spell it as draft you dumb sonofabitches?
I mean can you imagine how embarassing it is to pop into a bar with a girl you are trying to impress and then ask for drot beer? I bet that one was invented by the Waiter’s Union. Fukers could smile and grin and make you feel like a shit head. Or so I imagine, not that something like that would happen to me. Of course fukin not.
I curse a little too much sometimes.
The good part of hiding behind a cloak of indifference is that you rarely get sucked into an idealogical debate. People slowly start assuming that you have no point of view and hence don’t really go out of their way to see their point of view. So, for instance, very rarely will someone come up to you and say some shit like, “Ya property rights and tribals. They should get them no?”. Or even if they do, it is generally my stance to look at them and put on a Just Lit a Joint face.
Oh and if you like acronyms and the associated stupidity, you should give In the Loop a try. Super movie. Unlike The Hangover which is the shittiest Dick Flik I have ever seen. Or atleast one of the worst DF I ever wasted me time on.
So went to the German Film Festival today. Or rather went to the place which hosted it. Wasn’t allowed to see the bloody movie though. “Laptops are strictly not allowed”. You see I got a fukin bomb in there. The keyboard actually hides tiny sachets of anthrax which will be released at a pre-decided time. And worst of all, if you have a laptop then the next time there is a fire and (resultant) stampede, you may use it to thwack people on the head and save your life. In other words a laptop is a complete fukin safety hazard.
It is just so dum. Not dumb. But duM. The “b” is not silent, it simply does not exist. Say it once: d-u-m. More emphatic no? It is almost like the “b” robs some of the sting out of it. Say it again, you know you want to: D-U-M. See?
Anyway, laptop led to a trip to commie-land or JNU as it is also known. Long, ambling discussion about relationships, Copenhagen and what it means to be “left of centre”. Strange place, this JNU. A little too utopian for me liking. Pretty though. And quiet and cold and green. Plus you get “fruit beer” for fifteen bucks. Which is a good thing. Especially when it is nearing midnight and there is a real campus buzz around the canteen and people are talking and staring and just being students. Nice change.
There are times when she looks like she is about to crumble and all I want to do is hold her hand.
I was going to write about matrimony and what it means to have faith in someone else and what it is to love someone for the rest of your life. But that cloak of indifference is just looking a little too exciting. Plus it is kinda cold.
No one tells you how to live your life do they? I mean really live your life. Sure they give the speeches and the moral gyan and all that shit but there is no fukin manual that you can refer to now and then. No yahoo group with a “Troubleshooting” column or some shit like that. A link to the FAQ section.
Nada.
No little sign which blinks up when the plane is about to land. No switch which tells you that it is now time to turn off all electronic devices. Half way through the journey, there is no one to tell you about the altitude and what you could see down below if the clouds were not in the fukin way. Or what the outside (and inside) temperature is.
Worst of all, there is no one to bring you those tiny spit-size bottles of water and put on the fakest smile in the world and ask you whether there is anything else they can get for you sir?
In life, you don’t really have to get up coz the aunty in the seat next to yours has to pee. Once again. Nor is there any obnoxious fuktard who pushes his seat right up to your chin, so that you have a nice, long view of all the specks of dirt on his head.
And then when you do land, there is no window through which you can see the familiar sights and the rushing trees and smile with the knowledge that you have reached the place you wanted to be.
You don’t really jolt out of your seat and then stand like a moron in the aisle. Wondering why everyone else is in such a hurry too.
Nope. Life sure is not like that. Is it?
The funny thing about both happiness and sadness is that often you think you are the only one who has it.
