Where we tread carefully, softly tip toeing over the snoring ogre

Snoring giant ogre. His (her?) stomach rising and falling with every breath. And we are tip toeing across his stomach, waving our hands to maintain balance with every rise and every fall.

It would be pretty cool. I mean, when it was happening, I would be all worried and shit and trying not to laugh. For some reason, I am quite sure that is going to be my undoing. Uncontrolled laughter.

“Shhh. Jack the Ripper is around the corner. Keep quiet. He has very big ears.”

Big ears. Like if Mike Tyson wants to supersize his meal.

Khhaffffff. Hmmmmmphhhhh Bahahahahhahahahahahahahah

*Slice* I dead.

I guess one of the most wonderful things about having a bike is the sheer illogic of it all. It makes very little sense, having a bike. Very rarely is it the fastest way to anywhere, certainly NEVER the most comfortable or the safest or the most reliable. You can’t really carry much luggage, its not particularly good for your body and is fairly easy to steal.

And yet.

You search for the longer routes, you look for the hidden corners and the flowing turns and you wish and pray for just a little bit of open road. Just a little bit so you can stretch her out and let her run.

Illogical. So, so illogical.

Heard some very very nice music the other day. Some full one blues band made up of people who so did not look like each other (the word you are looking for is eclectic, dumass – Ed). It was super and there was this one song where the two of them sang and one was a guy and one was a laady and their voices just sort of mixed and then soared through the room if you know what I mean.

And I was reminded of that song, sung by those Bong chaps. Oh what were they called? Skinny Alley. This one was probably my favourite song of theirs. That one and that instrumental Chant piece. Actually maybe they were not all bong. I remember seeing/hearing them at Someplace Else (where else?) and they were amazing and so they will always be remembered as the band from Calcutta in my head.

Anyway this Bangalore band reminded me of them cause they were enjoying their jamming and they were smiling and laughing and their voices and instruments reflected the pure joy of doing what you want. It was beautiful to watch and warm to the ears and I realise that music is as much about the memories as anything else.


Then, then what else.

So Brutus is going to undergo another round of treatment and all I can do is pray and hope that this will be the last. Am bleeding money over here and this is pretty much going to be the final push. Shall go and pray.

I may have finally found someone willing to come along for Yamla Pagla Deewana (Part II  oye balle balle) and so have to figure that out. Apparently it is running very limited shows at very limited places (surprise surprise it seems).


World Pungi Day.

Where young kids, and immature men walk around cautiously all day. Hands covering their man titties, eyes shifting from one side to another, on the lookout for possible attacks, trying to avoid all possibilities of  getting a pungi.

If I could have a band attached to me, I would have this one guy on the drums. Doing the drum roll, every time I crack one of my witty, funny-as-fuck one liners.

Ta da dooom doom dishhhh!

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