Seriously. They were.

Met a few incredibly interesting people over the last twenty four hours. Bit of a shocker really coz I was beginning to (once again) believe that most humans are complete assholes.

Anyway there was this one lass who is teaching Shakespeare to college kids in Thiruvanthapuram! She is from Lester. Has lived in Germany, Spain and Malta. Knows five languages. Has a lilting accent which vaguely reminded me of the noise which waves make in the sea. Slightly dazed atmosphere around her. Gentle, brown eyes which seem rather shy.

Another was this terribly peaceful woman who lives far away. Carries a small packet of elaichi with her at all time. Says it is the perfect mouth freshner. Also makes her smell like a spice market. She speaks in calm, measured tones and reminds me of someone who would be bloody useful during the whole Titanic fiasco.

A third was an aggressive, young thing with playful eyes and carefree laughter. I absolutely adore people who don’t give a hoot when they burst into the “haha heee hees”. A loyal friend who cares with an open heart. Nice.

A highly rushed meal with a bunch of guggus meant that we could barely launch into the super-long bitching sessions which cements our relationship. They say that love is the binding force behind all relationships but hate works pretty well too.

People like being described I suppose. Everyone likes the feeling of being admired and written about. In a pleasant manner.

Words, like most gifts, cannot be taken back.
I hate that.

*The Beginning*

Less than twenty four hours ago, I watched two beautiful people love each other. Proper, “this is it” type loving going on.

I have always believed that the most powerful moments in a person’s life are almost always the most loneliest. It is only when man is alone does he experience the greatest of joys or the most painful of sorrows.

They proved me wrong though, those two basterdos. They laughed and they hugged and they shared their secret smiles.

And as her head rested on his shoulders and I could see the happiness in the clear, night sky I realised that some times it is ok to be wrong.

*The End*

There is a V-Max in a house next door. Covered with a plastic sheet. The basterd who owns it probably does not take it out too often. Which makes me pretty pissed off. I think the next time I pass it, I am going to urinate on it.

I like the way dogs piss on car tyres. I wonder whether that would ever be socially acceptable behaviour for human beings as well. People walking around in their business suits on city roads. Suddenly breaking into the pissy thing on the cars.

CTR has a spanking new sign at the entrance. They have now started serving their benne masala in plastic plates with pre-designed divisons. Like a fukin fast food court. The cieling has a couple of horrendous chandeliers and the fans and lights are all fancy and shit. Not cool. Not cool at all.

Have decided that some people are simply not worth wasting my precious time on. So I won’t.

Parties are good fun. I am really liking the whole karoke thing. I like holding the mike stand and doing my very own impersonation of Joe Cocker in ‘69. Rocking and rolling in front of an audience which tends to consist of one impatient basterd wondering when the hell am I gonna shut the fuk up and give him a chance at the stage. I show him the finger most of the times.

I think I would have a super awesome on-stage persona. Like the coolest rock star ever. A mix between Joe Cocker and Ben Harper. Maybe a little bit of Joplin as well.

I wonder who was the first person to do the whole jumping into the crowd thing. You know, where the audience carries you around as you float on your back. Wonder whether it took a while for the audience to catch onto the entire procedure. You think they wondered “dude wtf” when the lead singer just randomly jumped towards them? Each one moving out of the way and the lead singer kissing the floor? Am sure it was a pre-coordinated effort. “Ok so at 3:55 when I leap onto you, A will carry my arm and B will take my leg”.

Perhaps.

I love “south india”.

Really. It may be the incessant head shaking or the filter kaapi or the fact that no one uses “behen chod” as a vowel. Or maybe it is because if you scan the classfieds, you will inevitably come across a decent offer for a marutHi 800. They tend to use the “h” a fair bit around here.

The people of Hyderabad (the few I have encountered) are incredibly friendly. And slightly mental. And they love their food. Which means I lub them. Midnight biryani at Shadaab and interesting chutney at Chutneys and sitting in the Old city digging our spoons into the incredibly cheap Mashoor ice cream wala. Or sipping Irani chai near the Charminar and watching this city breathe. Superb.

One night was spent in a tiny village about 60 km from the main city. Think old, rustic house with a smallish courtyard where we all sat and drank and laughed and tasted the sweet leaf. Think clear skies where the moon shines so bright and you can see the stars and you lie down and stare at the sky and wonder a little dream.

The bon fire and the flames waring your hands and your feet in the cold night air. If you stare long enough you will understand why some think Fire to be a living being. Beautiful.

Apologies are always a little hard for me. Making them that is. But I did and it went fine and I have found a little bit of the friend I had so cruelly cut away. There is only so much you can put away for another day. That rhymes.

Basvangudi is another interesting part of bangalore. This is where the smell of freshly ground coffee fills the air and you can taste the best dosa in the world. Or you can dig into the massive rava idlis at Adigas or just sit by the side of the road and watch the old ladies decorate their hair with the flowers. It reminds me of a slower, easier more relaxed place. Like Deewars.

Something reminded me of you today.
I wonder what it could have been.
Such are the things which not to be said,
Nor touched, nor felt nor seen.

I just had to. The “ear” is ending geddit geddit?

There is a delightful place in Hyderabad which goes by the name of “Montys”. This is a wonderfully old (historic site) Hotel and Bar which has got to be one of the oldest drinking holes in the country. Started in 1890 or something like that. Think gigantic white building with beautiful windows and this massive courtyard right in the centre. Open-air with the moon and the cool breeze to keep you company. Where the booze is sold by the bottle and you have to pay in advance. ummmazing. Zimbly.

So much to say and so little time.

There is no greater sadness than that which hides within hope. Or something like that. I guess what I am trying to say is that within the magical world of hope and imagination, the worst can happen. Except it does not really happen, but in your head it does. Okay, that made a frikkin hell lot of sense in my head.

The fine people of Mocha (they of sad ass coffee and food-chain cloniness) serve a dish called Lava Lava. Try it out. With vanilla ice cream and not chocolate. Bloody good.

Some where out there, there is a lobster sitting at the bottom of the ocean and wondering when his next meal is going to come from. A slightly depressed lobster. Bored too. Sitting and watching the waves above him. Thinking about rubik’s cube and what would be the shortest time it takes to solve it.

I think lobsters would make amazing rubik-cube-solvers. Something about the way they hold their pincers or whatever.

You think God made all creatures with a certain purpose in mind? Like lobsters were made to solve rubiks cube. Goats were made so that they could stare the bejesus out of people. Seriously. Have you ever looked at the eyes of a goat. Fuckin devil creatures I swear.

Bears were created so that they could appear in valentine cards and become teddy bears. Make millions for the card companies and the soft toys manufacturers. Am sure if the manufacturers were indian, theirs would be a bear-god. Every morning doing the aarti in front of a picture of a bear holding a shiny, divine weapon or whatever. Brass frame and all that.

I have tried to record my thoughts as I write and find it terribly scary. Some of the shit that comes out should be filed somewhere. In the cabinet of a shrink. Head of Department. Hospital for the mentally fukd up or whatever.

She looks at me and I wish the world would take a break and stop rotating. Just let me have this moment. Just a moment. And the flowers bloom but just for a blink.

…while climbing the stairs to home on a cold winter night, I imagine you waiting at the door for me.

…….I wonder whether “What I want from life” is a grammatically incorrect question. There just seems something wrong with it.

….I want the world to be a giant blackboard and in my hand rests the duster.

….I wonder if Superman was/is ticklish.

…..I dig dirt out of me bellybutton and smell it.

……I can hear a smile.

……I obsess about songs such as Brown’s “Its a man’s world”

…..check the Inbox twenty times an hour. Just in case I missed the latest msg.

…..I feel like painting on a giant, giant white sheet of cloth.

Yup. Woke up with the distinct feeling that I was not sure how I felt. Ever have days like that? Where you review the previous 24 hours and try and decide if you were happy with them or not?
Strange.
So then I took a short afternoon walk trying to decide whether I was feeling good or not. Reviewing the various reasons in me head and all that.

The DJ at TLRC was a complete asshole. I remember contemplating introducing his head to my beer bottle.

It is amazing how little it takes to get sloshed nowadays. Like proper plastered.

Dinner was fun though. Got me a christmas gift which I thought was very sweet of the lady concerned. I like most of the experience of getting a gift. The part I do not like is the acknowledgement that now you will have to gift one in return.

I think there is still some alcohol flowing through the veins. That would explain why I am finding it slightly difficult to avoid running into the walls and other sundry trouble with the whole standing still thing.

That is how I would like to imagine my imagination to look like. A tubby young bugger who does not really believe in wearing clothes. Also, one with an affinity for ice creams. Ice creams which must be eaten in cones and not cups.

I really do think that is true: the bit about the cones. Wonder who the hell thought about the whole cups thing. Half the point about having ice cream is that you can walk around with the cone and feel the thin tissue paper wrapped around it. And stare at it and watch it melt and make sure none of it drips down your hands.

“I convinced her by promising her instant sexual gratification”. Just once I want to use that without lying me bum off. Wonder whether I would be happy when I do end up using it. Anyways..

Had a super-duper breakast today, thanks to the evil genius that Scooby is. Think toasted cheese on bread, fried eggs and lightly grilled pork sausages.

Also realised that the words “metamorphosis” and “metaphorically” can cause a little bit of confusion in the minds of some. For example, “I am the biggest dick in the world. Metamorphically too” said Bozo to me.

Which made me wonder what kind of metamorphosis transforms you into a penis. And then tried acting it out. And then (of course) talk turned to school and how my class had this glass enclosure thing for butterflies and how they would metamorph into butterflies someday. And the horror with which the penis-metamorph would have been viewed with in class.

My class really did have one of those things. Some sort of glass box for ‘em caterpillars. I remember the first butterfly got its wings clipped by the fan blades. Bugger probably died as well. Don’t think it affected any one of us.

She makes me laugh.

The Delhi metro is colour coded. So each Line is clearly identifiable. However, no one in the entire frikkin city of Delhi is aware of it. Sample conversation:

KS: Uncleji yeh Shahdara red line pe hain na?
Uncleji: Red line? Yeh kya hai beta?
KS: Arrey lal colour ki line.
Uncleji: Acha? Aisi bhi line hai?

Fuktards. Really.

Yup. So I am broke once again. Well not broke broke, but “next paycheque whaaaaar?” type broke. Which is just fine by me for the time being. If anyone knows of any way to make some money without putting in any effort whatsoever please do let me know.

Got meself an upset tummy the other day. After much thinking and pondering and looking all wise, I realised that it could have been due to any of the following:

1. Half litre spoilt milk (which did not smell spoilt so wtf)

2. Uncooked egg

3. Uncooked egg eaten with spoilt dal.

I felt a bit like Ms. Maple. Or as if I was playing Cluedo. I never really got into that game for some reason. I mean, fine, you are going to solve a frikkin mystery and all that but you never really got the Poirot feel to it.

Woke up this morning with a French accent. Love it when that happens. So I have mind blowingly brilliant conversations with myself. Pretend to be a slightly disgruntled French chap who is bitching about the general stupidity of people around him. Fun.( Theeez pppl. Dey doo nut under shtand weee weee”). For the longest time I thought that by putting “wee wee” into every sentence, you could convince people you were French. Which sounds disgusting when you read the sentence again.

There are some people who are simply terrible at accents. They either switch from one accent to another or create a completely unique nationality of their own.

I have decided that I am going to launch a state-agitation of my own. But it won’t be a fast to death. The exact opposite. This is a gorge-to-death movement. I think it will be waaaay more effective. So you have tons of people just sitting on tables with mountains of food in front of them. Just belting it down. And they will continue stuffing face until their demands are met. Am sure it would work.

Oh and if you ever get the chance, you should look out for tv clippings where everyone is laughing their bums off and then press the “mute” button. Hilarious.

Joy_13: awhahahahahahahahahahahahahahahhahahahahahahahahahahhahahahahahah

Sg37: bahahahahhahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahah

Jat_911: heeeheheheheheheheheheheheheheheheheheheheh

Pass the word around.

I find it extremely disturbing that, nine times out of ten, women are insanely more beautiful when angry.

Also I stopped using “I’m just trying to find myself” to impress the laadies. Apparently, that is often misconstrued as code for “I may be gay”.

Goddemit.