Hands up if you think you are gorgeous you delusional mofas!

Took a walk through Lodhi Gardens today. Wonderful little place.

To get there, I had to hop, skip and jump through Golf Links. Blew my mind. It was as if I was walking through a really, really really well off american suburb or a small German town or something. Massive houses and huge lawns and gates with the latest hi-tech security and super-expensive cars and gleaming name-plates and manicured streets with signs telling you about the house numbers.

I often wonder what it would be like to live in a different country. The longest I have spent out of india is just about a month and a half  and even then, it was not like I actually lived lived if you know what I mean. I always knew that I would be returning back soon enough.

There are so many things which make this city blow my mind. The gorgeously smooth roads with no speed limits and the parks and the hidden monuments and the dirt and the dust and the mind-wrenching poverty and the paan stains and the babus with their hairy legs taking a walk outside their gigantic bungalows.

I think I should become a DJ. Then I could secretly spread my teachings and develop this total cult around me. Like whisper in lines such as “you will worship me” and “you are all my slaves” while the booties are being shaken.

Of course, knowing my luck, I would probably end up whispering those lines during the time when the song breaks into a silence.

And then the crowd would give me a strange look and the bouncer who I had given the finger to would walk towards me, the sweet taste of revenge on his mind.

Oh well, perhaps I should not become a DJ.

An RJ then.

Ooooo that would be cool. Like I could make all sorts of pranks calls and get paid for it. “Good afternoon, I am calling from Durex. Can I ask you a few questions……” or “Good evening Ma’am, this is Ramshankar Dwarkanath from PETA. What do you feel about the new law preventing dogs from masturbating in public.”

….or something like that.

And another dream-career gets shot down by that most dangerous thing: public morals.

Scooby, in his ultra simple manner, said something the other day which really made me think. We were just generally fuckin around, calling each other ugly bitches when he looks at me and says “Dude, we got jobs.”. And I looked at him and the realisation kinda hit me and I was silent for a few moments.

Fukin hell.

Scoobs also asked me why there is no booze served on Gandhi’s bday and  then he also told me that if Gandhi was alive, he would ask him “Dude, wtf?” or something like that.

I don’t like (ok I hate) the fact that I am controlled by dead people. There is absolutely nothing you can do about it. I mean if the dude is alive then at least you can think dirty thoughts as you pass by his house but if the dude’s dead and his ashes are scattered wherever, then there is precious little to do.

When I become uber famous, I am going to make sure that my birthday is celebrated with silence. Every single person would not be allowed to speak for the entire day. Oooo, the number of people I would manage to piss off! Awesome.

The brilliance of maintaining an “such an asshole” image is that when you eventually turn into an asshole, people are not surprised.

Greatness might lie in the details but mediocrity does not make too many demands.

I am going to be having sushi for dinner tonight. Yeah baby! I love knowing people with deep pockets!

To be honest though, the idea of sushi (and then sashmi) did kinda disgust me initially. But then I tried it out and felt the soft flesh on me tongue and the bite of the wasabi in my nostrils and I realised how good it really is. This one place serves this sashmi thing on a giant bed of ice so the meat is cold and just looks so gorgeous. I like how tender the meat is and how simple it appears to the eye.

I do want to go to Japan but am wondering when/how that is going to happen. There is something supremely mysterious about that country but its not like I will be able to afford the air fare any time soon. Goddamit.

Growing up can be quite dramatic. In the sense that there you are, one hand in the pocket and whistling nonsense and then boom you are a little wiser and a little more jaded and you kinda wonder when all that shit happened.

I would compare it to what I imagine a sleepy tree would feel on spotting some fruits on its branches. “Ok…so I took a nap two years ago….when the fuck did these things come up?”

Ohhh it would be super awesome if trees could cuss. “Aye kro, stop shitting all over my motherfuckin branches” or “Abbey gaandus, I don’t want your names scrawled on my skin. How the fuck would you like if it if I tattoed ‘mango heart apple’ on your hairy asses huh?”

Oh dude. Inter-species marriage. Imagine the shit that would raise. This council of elders, debating and arguing. “Arrey how can an apple even think of looking at our wonderful mango?!! This cannot be allowed to happen. Call the Minister. Ask him to ‘develop’ this area at once”

I like to think that trees are capable of eloping. Branches reaching out and touching in an immoral and titillating manner.

I also imagine trees as possessing the souls of grandparents. Old, willowy with wrinkled skin and arms which will always welcome you.

Enough said.

I see the people of the windy city are hooked on to this blog.

Oye balle de balle my desi homies! Chak de india. Brownies Rule!

Fuck! That’s what they would refer to my Rule in the future. That epic, golden age where I become emperor of all. “During the Brownie era….”

essssshtud!

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