the lord of small fundas

Ouagadougou

2012-01-07T20:22:00.000-08:00

"Whats the capital of Burkino Faso?"

- "bul bul bul bulo bul"

"Wrong. What is the capital of Ukraine?"

- "bula bugh bula"

"Nope. What is the capital of Mongolia?"

- "boool bula bool bool bul"

"No. You lose"

- "bul bul bul...bloooo...blum"

Lord its tough to play quiz with morons who think they are cute.

On Pushing it...

2010-12-24T00:04:00.000-08:00

“If you always put limit on everything you do, physical or anything else. It will spread into your work and into your life. There are no limits. There are only plateaus, and you must not stay there, you must go beyond them.”

- Bruce Lee (died young doing something stupid)

Some of his saner contemporaries live on. With little left to die though.

The last real post in this space had me panicking on growing old and ranting about strangers empathizing. I've grown a year and half older since then and all the while I've been relentlessly pursuing happiness and a way to escape the whirling thread of instant karma. And I've been a little late in putting my plan into words, though the plan to stay young dawned on me a few months back. I was in California, and well aware of the fact that some people have plans, some don't, and even those people with plans don't outlast more than a hundred years. May be it was not California, now that I seem to recall, it was in Lake Atitlan, in one of those multiple volcanoes rising into the sky and drawing a circle in those Guatemalan highlands. And there I was climbing this vertical outcrop with a ex-US marine and a professional backpacker who both had seven lungs between them, and lo quarter way up and I fell down and died. Not really but I literally showed them the universal sign of total defeat.

Now that I remember, it was two days before that, and fifteen of us were climbing a live volcano, and three of us injured ourselves pretty bad, I burned my finger making bread toast using flowing lava, and two days later the rest twelve had opted out of another climb. Them pussies. But that wasn't it. It was perhaps ten years before that, and one rainy day in summer, must be eleven o'clock in the equatorial afternoon, and I was lazily lying around in bed reading Nehru. Now Nehru talked about this out of the world experience he had walking through a ledge in the upper Himalayas at cold dead temperatures in a treacherous terrain, and then he said - that's when he figured it out.

Now that I am a sucker for figuring it out, that my idea of figuring it out is closely linked with walking treacherous slopes in the upper Himalayas some time in my life, and before I set out out to hike the Indian Nose in Guatemala that fine morning I stood a better chance at figuring out things compared to the twelve little pussies who quit, but there I was quarter way up the steep slope, almost dead, showing the universal sign of total defeat, and it passed my mind, and I suddenly felt the paralyzing white fear that I would never make it to the treacherous slopes of upper Himalayas if I quit, and that I would go six feet under like most of the boys I played cricket with who will never figure it out.

We compete with different people at different times. I used to compare myself with the boys I used to play cricket with, and it is very amusing to realize that I do not care about where they are any more. Not in a competitive sense. I was very sad for a couple of days when one of those boys died in an accident. And we do not compete with dead people. Mostly.

But these comparisons were mostly, till a few years back, linear. Academics, chicks, jobs, salary, chicks, city, mobile phone, expendable income, chicks, car, bike, chicks - mostly. Those comparisons made sense, but most of us have stopped competing in the linear. Because some of us have things to settle in life and have no clue how things are gonna work out, or how things are gonna be a year or two from now. Uncertainty nibbles on our little toes when we go to bed, and the dinosaur is still there when we wake up. Because some of us have given up the possibilities that uncertainty throws up, and settled for some spectacular cuddly certainties. And now gaping at those certainties think 'is this it' when we go to bed, and that thing is snoring next to us when we awake.

Back to my plan to remain young forever, now that it is clear that we are not competing anymore, and that the terms in which many of us think of reality are different. I figured that the only way to do that is to keep pushing the limits. Now there is no place to push your limits like sunny California, and I decided to run long distance. The fact that I was able to make it to the top of the steep climb at Lake Atitlan, though like a dead man walking, which helped me understand the freedom total death brings, but that's another story, gave me the little confidence I needed to push from half to a six mile improvement in pushing the frontier.

After that I tried it on a couple of other hikes and I realized that I was growing young after each of these experiments. And in Tahoe, near the Nevada border, one of my fellow hikers pointed to a steep slope of decaying wood and claimed it was infested with rattle snakes. I don't remember if it was my disliking for the guy, or my frontier strategy which made me run down that hundred feet slope with a long piece of wood in my hand shouting like a mad man. Another fellow hiker followed suit, but then he was a mad man, and our collective battle cry much annoyed the squirrels who were intensely collecting whatever they collect for winter. But then, my strategy wasn't so much different from the squirrels.

Living is no laughing matter:
you must live with great seriousness
like a squirrel, for example-
I mean without looking for something beyond and above living,
I mean living must be your whole occupation.

Now the day, you stop pushing yourself, you start growing old. You are out of Shangrila. The day you say you can't make new friends, you have to get eight hours of sleep, you cannot miss breakfast, you cannot run ten kilometers, you cannot stone a cat, you cannot help a beggar, you cannot lie to someone, you cannot be politically incorrect, you will not try a cigarette, you will not pray, you do not find all women hot - you grow old. Because young people do all this. And my pal back in Cali was my first convert. So we went up the highest waterfall in north America, and spat on the rest of the world from top of it minutes before lying in the upstream river and secretly urinating while pretending I wasn't, using the part of my body visible above water. All I want to tell the hundreds of pussies who were bathing couple of thousand feet below us is that the water that day was not so clean as they thought.

We pushed it a little further when this dude and I set out on a five thousand kilometer road trip coast to coast on a twelve year old car, driving through the night at enormous speeds, and in the middle of the Nevada desert, the red light on the dash went off saying 'break failure'. The next day I was musing, driving through the desolate salt lakes of Utah, with the break light going off again - 'I wonder why we are doing this'. And he replied casually without a tinge of sarcasm 'We have to keep pushing it, because, the day we stop pushing it, we grow old'.

And I listened and nodded as if I was hearing it for the first time, though I had invented it. As always, like most of the things I know. I invented it.

The Best Cigarette

2010-08-19T22:21:00.000-07:00

And “Ten Days of Spring Rain Have Kept Me Indoors”

is a servant who shows me into the room

where a poet with a thin beard

is sitting on a mat with a jug of wine

whispering something about clouds and cold wind,

about sickness and the loss of friends.

This post was my 350th on Talkies, but I did feel what I am trying to say fit well into the little private conversations here in Diaries, so duplicate. Now, I’ve been a fan of this American poet laureate for a while , one of my favorites was the slow death of brain cells he portrayed beautifully. I came across this poem at a time when I realized I was forgetting names and places one by one, while the feelings those names and places created remained etched. A poem or for that matter any work of art reveals it’s true depth when the reader or the boy in the audience is prepared for it. If I’d read ‘One Hundred Years of Solitude’ now, it would have left a better revelation in my psyche. Reading about Macondo as a teenager, while impressive, was in hindsight a not-so-optimum idea.

So when Shashi Tharoor says he read 365 books in a year, I am impressed. It shows his intellectual horsepower or at least his reading speed, which again is an important thing (because even at that speed, as per google, it will take one person 355,794 years to read all books ever written). But when you read a book or treat yourself to any form of art, for which you are not emotionally or intellectually prepared, through experiences in life and through learning, you would end up reading the lines without reading much between the lines.

This has been my personal experience, and I acknowledge the fact that I have many friends who read through ‘Amsterdam’ and ‘Love in the times of Cholera’ without getting emotionally swayed. Again, at a personal level books like ‘Sputnik Sweetheart’, ‘Love in the time of Cholera’, or Kundera’s ‘Unbearable..” left a deep impression on me, affecting my deliberations for weeks, and I doubt if those revelations would have come to me for good or bad if I’d immersed myself in those books before I’d experience some subtle, sensitive, and at times tiring strains in relationships. I mean, my ability to appreciate tragedy was not inborn, though it gets better over the years. It’s like they say about Frank Sinatra’s voice -- he had a voice which developed over one too many heartbreaks.

Smoking used to be sexy, it used to be a sign of that creative energy symbolized by Albert Camus and Hemingway and Picasso and Guru Dutt and MT Vasudevan Nair and a thousand other literary geniuses. Smoking isn’t sexy anymore. Cigarette smokers are outcasts in almost all walks of life. Outcasts in office buildings which ask cigarette smokers to keep twenty five feet from the other office workers who are gonna live a thousand years, outcasts in rental applications which make you lie that you do not smoke so that you have a place to stay, outcasts in the Starbucks of the world which sell that pink colored cake with two icings of cream on it, outcasts in the trains and airplanes where people would rather sleep for fourteen hours than smoke a cigarette, stay awake and do something productive for the world -- because one cigarette shortens your life by seven hours. But the outcasts still light their cigarettes over freshly brewed cups of coffee, stare at the evening skylines, and make those final decisions which can only be made in silent rooms.

Billy Collin’s poem “The Best Cigarette” speaks only to those outcasts, listing out those moments of calm, induced by nicotine, before they make those brilliant decisions. Then he reveals his favorite moment. I could have put this in a more simple way, that’s what the second poem speaks about. As I understand more, I guess I will simplify more. For now, two poems from Billy Collins.

The Best Cigarette by Billy Collins

There are many that I miss

having sent my last one out a car window

sparking along the road one night, years ago.

The heralded one, of course:

after sex, the two glowing tips

now the lights of a single ship;

at the end of a long dinner

with more wine to come

and a smoke ring coasting into the chandelier;

or on a white beach,

holding one with fingers still wet from a swim.

How bittersweet these punctuations

of flame and gesture;

but the best were on those mornings

when I would have a little something going

in the typewriter,

the sun bright in the windows,

maybe some Berlioz on in the background.

I would go into the kitchen for coffee

and on the way back to the page,

curled in its roller,

I would light one up and feel

its dry rush mix with the dark taste of coffee.

Then I would be my own locomotive,

trailing behind me as I returned to work

little puffs of smoke,

indicators of progress,

signs of industry and thought,

the signal that told the nineteenth century

it was moving forward.

That was the best cigarette,

when I would steam into the study

full of vaporous hope

and stand there,

the big headlamp of my face

pointed down at all the words in parallel lines.

Reading An Anthology Of Chinese Poems Of The Sung Dynasty, I Pause To Admire The Length And Clarity Of Their Titles -- By Billy Collins

It seems these poets have nothing

up their ample sleeves

they turn over so many cards so early,

telling us before the first line

whether it is wet or dry,

night or day, the season the man is standing in,

even how much he has had to drink.

Maybe it is autumn and he is looking at a sparrow.

Maybe it is snowing on a town with a beautiful name.

“Viewing Peonies at the Temple of Good Fortune

on a Cloudy Afternoon” is one of Sun Tung Po’s.

“Dipping Water from the River and Simmering Tea”

is another one, or just

“On a Boat, Awake at Night.”

And Lu Yu takes the simple rice cake with

“In a Boat on a Summer Evening

I Heard the Cry of a Waterbird.

It Was Very Sad and Seemed To Be Saying

My Woman Is Cruel--Moved, I Wrote This Poem.”

There is no iron turnstile to push against here

as with headings like “Vortex on a String,”

“The Horn of Neurosis,” or whatever.

No confusingly inscribed welcome mat to puzzle over.

Instead, “I Walk Out on a Summer Morning

to the Sound of Birds and a Waterfall”

is a beaded curtain brushing over my shoulders.

And “Ten Days of Spring Rain Have Kept Me Indoors”

is a servant who shows me into the room

where a poet with a thin beard

is sitting on a mat with a jug of wine

whispering something about clouds and cold wind,

about sickness and the loss of friends.

How easy he has made it for me to enter here,

to sit down in a corner,

cross my legs like his, and listen.

Skyping :)

2010-06-16T18:04:00.001-07:00

The misfits

2010-06-16T13:29:00.004-07:00

I don't know who wrote this, and I do not know which part of this weirdness I belong to. It's a nice poem btw, and it appeals to some idiosyncrasies, if not all. Worthy read.

We lost ourselves the day we were born

Since then the search began

To find those of our family

We were confused

For we were given a family of birth

We had friends from our situation

In this funny place called “society”

We travelled

And felt the semblance of the primeval sensation of life

We wondered why we felt at home on the road

We were made to believe we were a little strange

For how many stay away from “home” for so long?

How many become the rebels we did?

We wandered on empty streets in the night

Feeling the wind of the sea, the river, the mountains of wherever we lived…

We had so many questions and no answers we found

We searches, always searched

We searched even for ourselves…

We delved in unfathomable depths of the being

We rowed for months in strange alien seas

We searched for friends of the soul

Somehow no friends we had, ever

Seemed like friends enough…

How could we explain what “friends” meant to us?

Friends were beings so akin to us

They could read our minds

Walk in step with us on those roads of life

Friends were those who travelled with us

Climbed mountains, forged rivers, conquered seas…

Friends were one life breath, strangely

Such few “friends” we ever found in this world

We stayed aloof…from so much

The norms, the religions, thought processes of the world

We risked our lives, our positions, our family relations for our beliefs

We did the things we believed in

Worked for none but ourselves

We were called selfish for we cared

About our own well being…

We fought, we battled,

We ran like mad from so many, so much

We hid, we absconded, we hibernated

Some of us found our soulmates

Some of us didn’t

Some of us had homes, children, love

Some of us lived lonely in far away homes

Some of us were fulfilled having found the love

The understanding we seeked, the minds akin to ours

Some of us…after a long time stopped searching having understood that in some lifetimes we were meant to be alone

Our soulmates parted from us, living another life…

May be in another world, probably another time zone…

We, the seekers, the thinkers, the rebels

We ache to get together for nowhere seems like home

We long for company of similar minds, sensibilities

We hurt, we bleed, we pain, we die…

But we live completely, every moment of our lives

Live the good and bad as same

Give all of ourselves to the world…

To nature… to art…

For there is no other way to live we know

We seek answers all the time

We question all the time

We are probably the only ones who know how deep pain carves its being into us

And how full happiness makes us feel…

We are comfortable with extremes

We are comfortable with tears, with abandonment, with aloneness…

We, the unknown ones

We, the misfits

We, the seekers, the thinkers, the rebels.

At this point in time

2009-07-07T11:16:00.003-07:00

Warning: Rambling. All Ages.

At this point in time, it is fifteen minutes past seven on India's eastern seaboard, which doesn't make a difference time zone or any wise, the train has just left Jolarpettai station, I'm in the gap between the 2nd and 3rd AC compartments trying to dispose off a three quaters consumed dosa-vada combo which I had bought with some relishingly primitive instinct of hunger that I possibly generated after all those drinks in a bar in Mylapore but arguably let me down with the hard texture of the dry dosa, in the gap there are three other people including a middle aged man on the phone on one of the doors, my brother texting with one hand and clutching the other door and the ticket examiner wasting space checking his long long printouts in dot matrix paper right in the middle of all this. And the moment struck me as I had this powerful surge of sneeze that generated somewhere in my sinuses and then moved down into those still unnamed areas around the nose and plunged and crashed onto my nasal passage, but with four of us in that small space in the middle of two bogeys I suppressed the sneeze, and suddenly tears welled up in my just awaken eyes and through the corner of my eye, I noticed that the sky was deep red with a brownish tint and all of tamil's land was dark. Like another good bye.

At this point in time, I know I am aging, that which I knew when I started having grey hairs about two years back, but now I'm dead set that I am aged as I've started showing the most sinister sign of aging - a deep irritability to the ways of the next generation. The main bone is my bro's texting. He texts while he sleeps, while he clutches to a superfast train's door (though I do the phone on the train door as a habit and often leaning into the tracks at about sixty degrees to the horizontal to get the waft of Indian rail's smelly air on to my waving hair, I get a bit concerned when he is there. And then I understand dad), while we were carrying fragile and heavy china that we gifted to our tamil cousins, while watching Naked Gun, and even while I am not getting sleep. Yet another sign of aging is looking at birth dates of colleagues with horror - now this is totally new. Because in the team I work it's always been the other way around. We used to make fun of people born in the late seventies, like one of mine - '...three days after Sashi was born, Jinnah called for a Direct Action day'. And that me recruited two more guys to the team yesterday, and one of them was born in 1987. See 1985 or 1986 is fine - I don't do 1987. Thats beyond the generation gap.

And today, while waiting at the consulate, there was this fair chimp sitting next to me -

"Where you going', asks Chimp

"USA",says I

"Oh that I know", he beams, "I'm going to University of PHILORIDA"

"Oh great" says I "You meant Florida right? nice place. Been there couple of years"

"So where'd you study?" says I again

"PBHITS PHILANI" he beams

"Oh cool man" says I "great college"

"Why did you come back from PHILORIDA, you could have stayed there right" asks the Chimp

I mumble something about I wanted to, all the places I've worked, my whole career in one place.

"OH", says Chimp, and a pretty big oh at that "Cool! You have so many years of experience! so many years"

He is talking age, another 1987 bugger. He seems happy he does not have so many years of cool experience. I know this because I do this, I do this trick with army guys I meet on the Guwahati-Trivandrum superfast. "Oh you served in Kutch! cool. In Dras sector! cooler. In Siachen! coolio". Siachen man! freezing balls andfrozen dal. Thats frickin uncool, and that too in the army where you should be ready to die but still salute other people.

"Yeah man" So with the chimp I'm like,"I'm like your dads...forget it...lets keep it at dad"

I didn't say this. No my parents never brought me up this way.

The Visa was done in a breeze, "Michigan is cold, so take a coat" said the lady at the counter.

At this point in time, I know which side of the age divide I'm in. My airline refused to give me the extra baggage offer, as I'm overaged for a student. For Gods sake! that's how bad things are. And I know the risks attached here, and I know that in a few more years that dreaded number three will fall in place at the ten's digit and I'll have to answer things like what have you done? I have decided not to answer any of those questions.

Rather I asked Ladoo which is the best bar next to the consulate, but my auto guy didn't know the location well. So I asked him to take me to his favorite bar, and so he drove all the way to Mylapore and gave me all the details to catch my train on time. (he said "you have to leave koncham early, as after drinks you'll most probably take half an hour to locate the plaform in Central"). And there we are, bro and I (which if my bro leaks to Mom in the coming weeks, I'll have to give him another round of pep talk about how men conduct themselves and also rethink my plan to buy him a new mobile) in a cool lounge bar with vegetarian food. Oh yeah, bar with vegeatarian food. Sometimes I feel like kicking Madras on its veg-fucci-eaterian ass. Btw, on the way there was a boutique called FCUK(and had some weird full form as if the owners where apologetic), and I thought that was cool. Like hey we just went to FCUK this afternoon, and everyone will think we went to get involved in the act of sex while actually we did not. That sounds cool! And then they call from office.

"Hey about the new guys..whats the plan for scaling and upgradation" says Dilbert's boss

"Hey! Hey! Hey!" says I

"Drunk?" asks DB

"No, but where'd you learn these new words?" asks I

"PCQuest magazine" says DB

"Yeah! Hey I'm not sure if we can use the same terminology on human beings" says I

"What's that?" asks DB

"You mean the terminology?" asks I

"No....Human being" says DB

"Oh...sorry dude...I'm a little drunk...I'll give you a detailed report on curvability and bentability by tomorrow"

"Works for me" says DB, and then it closes all applications and shuts down. And then it flies away. I'm drunk.

At this point in time, I know I'm leaving a lot of things I've got so accustomed to - like my team for six years with all its mirth and stupidity, like these long train journeys with books and movies (and stupid compartments with no good looking girls, like where are the chicks gone?), like the Indian summer and the goodness of our people which only a constant traveler will know.

You know I'm bored on this train now. My bro bought two tamil movie dvds and I bought six theatre plays of Shakespeare in one DVD. After that I gave him a two minute talk on how intellectual I am, and I extolled him to emulate me. Now that Shakespeare is such a, such a bore, bro refuses to share his dvds with me. And I'm entertaining myself with a notepad. Oh a scholar's lasting struggle. It's a rambling diary entry, and added to that this train is shaky so I'm not able to collect my thoughts and write a coherent post. A post in diaries was long overdue, and I thought that I'd let you know that I'm on the move again. But right now I'm moving into the train's western style lavotary to smoke a cigarette to my heart's content. Yeah, I'm the guy who does that, now go sent a text message complaint to Indian Railways you frickin text generation.

Late in translation

2009-02-17T12:59:00.004-08:00

As anyone in this pseudo-metro would admit, I do anything humanly possible to be late for office. In another attempt to do item time-pass till early dawn (after Youtube server crashed and Wikipedia said 'Now you know everything a human being needs to know'), I decided to translate one of Sachy baby's toughest poems. Sachy baby in the sense, (no way related to Blossom Babykutty), for non-mallus and waste-mallus, is a towering literary figure in India's post modernist full-of-nonsense writers. Tough in the sense, that I did not understand what this poem is about, nor usages like love is in the feverish soul of Galgothiya. So there was some look up needed to figure out that Galgothiya is the old usage for Calvary Hills. (where dude was crucified).

A few excerpts from the poem 'Pani' (Fever\Temperature) are below, full read in Talkies.

"Why isn't our poetry black
like the the exploding eyeballs
Why doesn't our poetry sing victorious-
songs from the depths of the forest-
like the irrepressible Niagara
Why doesn't our poetry gush
with a red swollen face-
like the Amazon in the season of rain"

Do not stop the Prince who leaves the palace.
Unless disease, poverty and death
leads him to a peepul tree.

In the peepul's trunk cavity,
keep a poisoned arrow:
Even if he cannot bring down suffering with that arrow
he can atleast bring himself down and
save the world from shaving its head.

Sitting beside my little daughter's fever sick bed
facing each other
You reminded me of the old times.

Home, kids.
Elusive murmur of those old dreams.
I then said "Stop the old story of love,
now is a time of distress and weapons"

"You are stubborn, you grew horns in cruelty,
you burn fire in your eyes, and
you write undecipherable verse"

-Yeah! You are the best judge
My children will hate me.
See the people who pretend they know, are
the ones who know only how to pretend.

See, love is not any of these things.
It is somewhere near the pointed end of the spear
that a hunter readies for the wild boar.
Somewhere in the feverish soul of may be Fujiyama,
may be Alps, may be Everest, or
let it be the Calvary hills.

Two more poems by Sachy Tao Temple and Mad Men

Occupation

2009-01-22T11:18:00.004-08:00

Living is no laughing matter:
you must live with great seriousness
like a squirrel, for example-
I mean without looking for something beyond and above living,
I mean living must be your whole occupation.

- Nazim Hikmet

I mean when someone asks what your occupation is, why can't it be 'living'? I think I need to seriously consider 'living' as a career choice.

Office Space: Life in times of Upward Mobility

2009-01-18T10:27:00.006-08:00

Stuck

This one word summarizes my attempts at going to higher places in office in the last two years. I do not have such existential issues with respect to this blog because from day one I have tried to be pettier and even more petty with the topics I write about. The guiding principle being,

Stay in the pettiest of places
do not even try
to move to higher places

Not the same in office space, unless I reach several levels above the ground I cannot even enter my office.

The root cause lies in the way my company picks up its office space. We are like the middle children of office spaces, whatever that means. No I am not talking about the ubiquitous mediocrity which pervades our generation, but renting out middle floors of buildings as a rule.

The mammoth that my company is, we could move into one sky scraper (tall, fat building) completely. Instead we rent out the middle floors in some three hundred buildings around the city. Now if you say, you live next to my office in a city, its as good as saying you live next to a Shanti Sagar in Bangalore.

This, let me tell you, seriously hampers my upward mobility to reach office. And I have been living this nightmarisque scenario for almost two years now. It was so good at the client side in Florida where, right next to a lake, we had this cute single storey building, which was easily accessible for the employees, contractors, security guys, pizza guys and also the tortoises, snakes, ducks, and alligators from the lake. We even had an anaconda that slipped in and devoured one mainframe programmer – atleast that’s what we told the clients when we missed the deadline.

Now if you think I could take the lift as in the elevator, that’s another story in itself.

Our lift is from KONE. Everytime I board it, I get the feeling of conflicting interests when ‘koni’ builds a lift. That’s a strictly deep-south musing. Whenever I get into the lift, the lady starts talking ‘Please allow the door to close’ and then I drag (I’m good at dragging my feet) my right leg into the cavity of the lift, curse the lady twice and push the button which looks like the thoracic region of two women talking across a wall. These days I have a feeling that the button pushes back, because my finger hurts. The lady doesn’t stop talking even when the lift moves, she goes yak yak yak with instructions and which floor the lift has reached, and I am like ‘lady I do not care which floor this stupid box is in, just take me to my frickin floor!’.

And once the lift reaches my floor, it doesn’t open. It doesn’t frickin open! The lady gives the full history of KONE –

‘This lift is from KONE. Thank you for using KONE lifts. The temperature outside is 28 degree Celsius. I hope you have a pleasant stay in this floor. This lift uses electrical power. Paris Hilton is hot. I am not an automated voice but the ghost of a girl who died in this lift. Now I will eat you Ha ha ha!”

One of my leaders regularly talks to this voice in the lift. He goes on like ‘I have to attend this urgent conference call with Cairo, you can surely have me for dinner. Can I have your contact in case?” and I’m like “are you crazy! She’s a ghost”, for which he once said “Enthayalum pennalede (anyways it’s a woman)” (rest of the times he cut my salary).

The ghost isn’t anything compared to the morons in the lower floors. There will be a long queue of people who want to go to the first floor. They wait for like five minutes for the lift to move their irrelevant selves up to the first frickin level where God knows what mission critical systems they are screwing up. Haven’t they heard of the physical act where you can lift your leg onto the first step and drag your frickin centre of gravity which resides in your fat ass on to the step and then the next leg and continue that process around twenty times till they reach their first frickin floor. No I guess.

And there will be the much dreaded call centre crowd of the next levels who take the lift from second floor to the third, and keeps yaking about the bulliest shittiest things in the world that sometimes I cant hear the threats of the ghost chick. Once or twice the chick shrieked ‘sullu’, accepted defeat and became a slave of the call centre crowd.

The pain doesn’t end there. From eight in the morning people from all the top floors would be going for lunch outside and you have to book a lift three days in advance to get to your floor. On top of it, the aunty public in the top floor carries so many bags and most of them filled with food items, that you end up in office smelling like sambhar vada dipped in fish curry.

Now one might say, why not take the stairs.

I am a smoker (Ramadosser – in contemporary India) and a long distance swimmer. Long distance not like Michael Phelps who swam back to USA from China with all his gold (he is a merman), I swim like a hundred metres after which the life guards draw out my corpse from the national games pool. I had quit swimming recently because I cannot quit the other bad habit. Like mom asks, when you can walk, why do you swim? And now you want me to climb the flight of stairs.

But because the lift had become intolerable, I started using the stairs after reducing my Ramadossage by half. (Further reduction was not feasible because the number of cigarettes had reached an odd number and I couldn’t reduce it in half anymore. Though theoretically it is possible because a Kings Ramadoss of Gold Flake has 22 puffs in it and I could stop at the 11th puff and throw the rest, but I refrained from doing so because it would be an injustice towards the poor tobacco farmers in the arid lands of Orissa and an insult to the powerful tobacco lobby in Andhra).

The first day I took the stairs, I crawled into the office and the deep-south blonde who wears matching footwear, Imelda Marcos, asked if I was playing ‘Caterpillar! Caterpillar!’. I said I was playing ‘Crocodile! Crocodile!’ and all the sweat I was drenched in was actually water as I’d just come to the surface of the river. Imelda promised to join me after she completed her daily quota of doing stupid things.

Things improved in the following days except during the brief periods when the call centre shift changes and half the item crowd comes sweeping down the stairs and the other half is in upward mobility. The curious aspect of the call centre crowd is the way they speak. If you watch five of them, all five will be speaking continuously and you wonder who’s listening – correct answer is no one (may be that’s the way they are trained, may be they were normal homo sapiens before, may be). Because of this constant chatter at loud ‘pitching a sale’ decibels, when the call centre shift changes, there is a loud roar which can be heard in a five kilometer radius. The local population, pre-dominantly muslim, who used to divide their day based on the muezzin’s soothing call has now shifted to this loud roar for time keeping. Hence the local tea shop has evening tea at two in the morning.

If by chance you end up in the stairs during the change of shifts, like I did once, the end results will be tragic. I went through five minutes of severe disorientation, which felt like an immense brain hemorrhage while subjected to negative gravity in the close confines of a gigantic turbojet engine. Now you can imagine. I ended up walking into their call centre in the third floor and got on a call with an imbecile customer from South London. My name for the call was Elizabeth and I guess I did my role perfectly, because in the end the customer was addressing me as ‘Your Majesty’. And after he was unable to locate the start button on his computer, I was able to persuade him to put one of his tiny little fingers up his and wait for further instructions to be send by snail mail.

Unlike few of my colleagues who travel 40 miles south for lunch because they serve nice prawns dry fry over there, I have my lunch at the roof top restaurant in office. My colleagues say that it is the best prawns fry in Kochi; I don’t know that, all I know is that 40 miles south is Allepey. (Which is in another district for the uninitiated)

Now the downward mobility issues creep in while I return after lunch. The dreaded aunty public will be taking the stairs and covering like ten steps every half-hour and we, the middle children of office spaces will be creeping behind them, them who smell like sambhar vada dipped in fish curry.

The aunty log who earn like gazillion rupees a month, take the stairs down, after lunching for three straight hours. They, they the three of they, balance themselves and the five huge pots they carry food in by clasping hands with one another, and walking like tiny Godzillas with their legs wide apart and taking one gigantic step at a time like pregnant woman do.

‘Why do they walk like this?’, me

‘Who? Aunty public .Like what? Like pregnant woman’, colleague

‘Socrates, why do you always talk in this question answer format?’
‘Why do you call me Socrates? You want to show off your knowledge’

‘No Plato, tell me, when was this woman pregnant last?’

‘Who? The woman on the left? Four years before I guess’

‘Then why does she still walk like this? I mean all of them! And block our way!’

‘Why are you so inquisitive? May be its some style statement’

‘Style statement what? That even I used to have sex in the good old days?’

‘How do I know? I guess they get pregnant to walk like this. Its fun, come on lets try’

So we try walking like them for some time and then give up, and continue to crawl behind the big time slowly traveling churidars till they reach their floors.

That’s my sad little story. The deep challenges I face in upward and downward mobility at work, make the current state of my life describable by just one word.

Stuck!

P.S: At 1800 words, this must be the 2nd longest post in diaries. While I am not open to constructive criticism, I would surely love appreciations, though I’ll call you a phony in the long run. While you share my feeling that this post is excruciatingly, painfully long and irrelevant, I hope you would appreciate the effort that has gone into typing in 1800 words (many of them more than five alphabets long).

Where do you wanna go this year?

2009-01-15T12:09:00.003-08:00

Trust me
It's Paradise
This is where the hungry come to feed
For mine is a generation that circles the globe
in search of something we haven't tried before
so never refuse an invitation
never resist the unfamiliar
never fail to be polite
and never outstay your welcome

just keep your mind open
and suck in the experience
and if it hurts
you know what... it's probably worth it

you hope, and you dream
but you never believe that something is going to happen for you
not like it does in the movies
and when it actually does
you expect it to feel different
more visceral
more real

i was waiting for it to hit me
i still believe in paradise
but now at least i know it's not some place you can look for
cause it's not where you go
it's how you feel for a moment in your life
and if you find that moment
it lasts forever

- from Danny Boyle's The Beach

Office Space - Fun at Work

2008-07-06T14:49:00.004-07:00

And they make you play these games...

Long before Cable TV, this must be ancient history, a cousin of mine and I used to be forcibly sent to a local aunty to learn Hindi. Local aunty – I do not sense a tinge of perversion in that usage; if the reader does – it’s plainly because the reader is drenched in it.

Now, Hindi is our national language. My kind request to the reader is that if you are still thinking of nice nice things about the local mallu aunty, then please filter those thoughts out and concentrate on what I have to say. The request is only applicable to perverts, bisexuals, Lesbos, creeps, lowlifes, software engineers and accountants. If you are not one of those then chances are that you wouldn’t have thought of nice nice things. Good then.

This Hindi learning place came with its baggage of twelve girls. And these twelve girls wanted to have fun after learning Hindi with the two of us – my cousin and me; everyday. I think I put it in the wrong way. Same kind request again. The girls wanted to have fun, and the local aunty was all for “fun @ Hindi learning centre”, so the two of us had to take part in those “fun” games after class.
I hated it. I’d already spend time in school, spend two hours learning one godforsaken language saturated in gender bias and I had three hours left before my dictatorial parents switched off the lights and put me to bed. I didn’t want to spend any more time having someone else’s idea of fun. I meant like fucking leave me alone; let me have my own time than another collective structured game with an outcome presupposed to be “fun”.

But common dude, the girls are doing so much for your fun, you can’t just walk out. And so I played those games despite the fact that the girls never wanted to win, neither did it matter how good the game was nor who won. The point was to giggle and scream, because we were having fun and the more the girls screamed the happier the local aunty.

Then one day my lid came off. We were playing this brilliant game where one person decides a colour, say “red” and the girls scream and run to catch hold of something that was red in colour. If you didn’t get hold of something “red”, then the “catcher” who decided the colour can catch you and you are fucking “out” or something like that.

In the first round when I guessed “magenta”, I had, including the aunty, thirteen pairs of you know what staring at me scornfully as if I was there to destroy their game. If I was I would have said “cyan”, I didn’t because of sheer pity for them.

And in the second round – can you believe this bloody game had rounds and all, I guessed “ivory” and all hell broke loose. The girls started puking and fainting as if I’d done something sinfully wrong to them. There wasn’t much related violence because the mallu aunty stepped in to face off with me.

“There is no colour called ivory” she said
“There is” said I

Because unlike the “fun” folks I did have a dad and he had bought “The Monster Book of Questions and Answers” for me - which said there were colours like ivory and burgundy.

“No! Ivory is the tusk of the elephant”, the mallu aunty said

“I agree! But that would have a colour right?” I asked

“That colour is white”, she said

She said the colour was white. But what she meant was – You bring unwanted complexity into things. You think you understand complicated formulas and you are full of ideas, but in reality you are nothing. Not a match for our simple way of life, our denial of things we don’t understand and our collective orgy of mediocrity.

I was eight years old then. Still their idea of “fun” insulted my intelligence. Yeah, I had intelligence back then, and I quit learning Hindi that day.

We have fun games @ work these days and they make you play these games.

I have changed since I was eight. For oft when on my couch I lie in wakened or in pensive mood, those games flash up on my inward eye and I realize that I miss playing those nice nice games with the aunty crowd. But I was too hot headed back then to appreciate these games and I am plain thankful to the people at work who are organizing these games and giving me a second chance.

They come every Friday and say “turn around folks; this is “Fun” time!”

And it’s so nice to know, like going for a Govinda movie that it is “fun” that I am going to have in the next ten minutes than wasting time trying to figure out what the fuck is going on.

These “fun” people have so many nice nice games, oh the games people play, but I was waiting for something like the one I described before.

And lo and behold! Last Friday they had a very similar game and I was almost ejecting off my seat with excitement, about to join the game, when this chick, yeah the funniest I know called me on phone cracking some lousy lousy jokes about her underwear or something. I’m so given to the dictatorship of the pretty that I grabbed my cappuccino, walked out of the office and listened to all her so called new jokes.

I might have missed the fun games this week, but I am looking forward to Fridays now to have Fun @ Work

I love having fun @ work. Because you ought to have fun rather than work like a machine. Because it’s so nice to have people scream and shout around you at work – its makes the work environment so nice and lively. Because it comes announced saying you are having “Fun”. Because when I was eight years old this idea of fun insulted my intelligence.

Yeah I had intelligence back then.

Buy, Buy me out

2008-06-21T22:50:00.004-07:00

Long time folks! Nalla Namaskaram!

Where was I? Well on a pseudo note, its the time of the year when we have these year end settlements; and inflation, GoodGod!, (my roomie says there is NoGod) is at a decades high. Needless to say, as one who foresees a bright political future for himself, I did my level best to make sure that 'wage inflation' was caught by its horns and thrust into a damned dark corner. Oh c'mon money is not the only good thing in life. Saudi Arabia has all the money in the world, but can all that money buy them a piece of this beautiful monsoon outside.

Oh yeah, thats the second thing that kept me busy. I'd planned a post on 30th May, lest month of May go without a post. But then a bus conductor called me from 60 Km south complaining about the lashing rain, telling me he was running an hour late. I made fun of him, cracking jokes to Merc and meself. Half an hour later I was drenched as I took the bus.

It was magical that night, I traveled up north with the monsoons, going with it, sometimes missing it and then chasing it to get all wet. The lashing rain running down the tall glass windows of the Volvo bus, some of it sparkling in the intermittent street light. Last year I'd planned to follow the monsoon, this year it so happened one night. The rains kept me busy since then, reminding, soothing, waking up and most of all putting me to sleep. I'm clocking twelve solid hours these days. My roomie too, but he says he's an atheist like there is no God, so I don't want to write more about him and invite the wrath of rain Gods on this blog.

And this week, the rains have totally betrayed us. Its 66% short in the city, and as if it wasn't enough - I get this email. Someone wants to buy by blog for $50! Yeah thanks. Let me complete - reason is that it hasn't been active for too long.

No I don't have a problem with the idea of selling it off, but I do feel like YAHOO. The price isn't fair enough guys, atleast my expectations were a little higher. You may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm refusing the offer. Think I'll be more regular here, maybe that will raise the price and like so many happy faces I meet each day, one day I too can sell out and finally be at peace.

30 Questions Tag

2008-04-19T12:45:00.003-07:00

Mathew and Jiby tagged me on this.... its a fast tag,

1. LAST MOVIE YOU SAW IN A THEATER: Innathe Chinthavishayam. review here. & Vantage Point (Run Lola Run it is)

2. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING?

Train book - Rebel by Albert Camus
Bathroom book - Bombardiers by Po Brosnan
Bed book - Competing for the Future by CK

3. FAVORITE BOARD GAME? Water Boarding. Grow up guys, games are for children, for adults its politics.

4. FAVORITE MAGAZINE? Time, Mathrubhumi Weekly, Playboy

5. FAVORITE SMELLS? There is a mystic smell near the lower left corner of the neck, just below the plateau where neckline meets the shoulder line. Yeah vulnerable point! and guess you can't smell yours.

Have you smelt "Chempakam" in the beginning of spring? thats mystic too

6. FAVORITE SOUND? Hysteric laughter echoing with rain on glass panes. Have you heard the theme song yet?

7. WORST FEELING IN THE WORLD? Not learning from mistakes, again and again and again

8. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU THINK OF WHEN YOU WAKE? Ooops I'm late again

9. FAVORITE FAST FOOD PLACE? Thattukada for sure, in Bangalore Udipis, in US Waffle House

10. FUTURE CHILD'S NAME? We'll do it together

11. FINISH THIS STATEMENT. "IF I HAD A LOT OF MONEY I'D...? Buy all the land I could and then build that farm house, buy that fishing boat

12. DO YOU DRIVE FAST? I do. But feel guilty soon after.

13. DO YOU SLEEP WITH A STUFFED ANIMAL? No. lousy question, just like this tag

14. STORMS-COOL OR SCARY? Cool. Thunderstorms, fire light and dancing shadows - thats when I plot the coup.

15. WHAT WAS YOUR FIRST CAR? Corolla. Black. Yeah thats what opened the night light for me.

16. FAVORITE DRINK? Tea and Coffee. I think I like Coffee more 'cause its got that definitely male feel. No not gay.

17. FINISH THIS STATEMENT, "IF I HAD THE TIME I WOULD ..... clean up my desktop, shave.

18. DO YOU EAT THE STEMS ON BROCCOLI? Yes. I'm not cruel enough to separate leaves and stems, they should stay together.

19. IF YOU COULD DYE YOUR HAIR ANY COLOR, WHAT WOULD BE YOUR CHOICE? "The day will come for all of us. And you and I will say Black." - Jiby

20. NAME ALL THE DIFFERENT CITIES/TOWNS YOU HAVE LIVED IN. Trivandrum, Bangalore, Miami, Kochi. Home, Brigade Road as in jazz, Hope as in possibility, Lakes as in stagnation.

21. FAVORITE SPORTS TO WATCH? Football as in Soccer. Dont follow the leagues with passion, WC and Euro YES.

22. ONE NICE THING ABOUT THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS TO YOU. Its Mathew and Jiby, thats two btw

23. WHAT'S UNDER YOUR BED? Is there anybody there????!!! GODZILLA?

24. WOULD YOU LIKE TO BE BORN AS YOURSELF AGAIN? Yes. A little less secretive, a little less obscure, a little less self indulgent.

25. MORNING PERSON, OR NIGHT OWL? Night. Nights are kind, it obscures a lot of ugliness. But I want to be a morning person someday.

26. OVER EASY, OR SUNNY SIDE UP? Sunny Side Up. Its fragile and vulnerable.

27. FAVORITE PLACE TO RELAX? Balconies with a water front, ducks, tortoises, cold mocha , cigarettes

28. FAVORITE PIE? Never had anything other than Apple Pie. I didn't like that chick in American Pie.

29. FAVORITE ICE CREAM FLAVOR? Dont remember the name, Yati used to get it. I used to add cut mango or cut kela to reduce the guilt.

30. OF ALL THE PEOPLE YOU TAGGED THIS TO, WHO'S MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND FIRST? Dont know. Maybe Alakananda, BD , Ajay and Rover.

Withering Heights

2008-03-31T12:15:00.007-07:00

Whom do you like in Wuthering Heights?

like in the sense...?

I like Edgar Linton

well I...see I go by the idea...not really by the characters...its like...

[silence]

I too like Edgar Linton...yeah Edgar Linton it is...

then the Edgar Lintons made love all through the afternoon. Late in the evening they woke up beside themselves, dragged two chairs onto the verandah, kept their legs on the small table with gothic carvings, and dipped biscuits in the elachi tea before having them. As they stretched their legs on the table coat, looking into the dusk gathering in the valley below and the darkness carpeting on the near side of the deccan hills, it seemed perfectly fine that their feet kept a decent distance - like loving while still breathing. Silence engulfed the valley facing hill top, broken occasionally by a defeated 'heath' dog wailing at the moon rising over the 'cat terrains' of the 'cliff' from the wastelands of the valley below. The moon also rises.

P.S: Diaries, is 2 Years Old. Here's to Obscurity,Space,Life.

Lady in the British library

2008-02-22T08:54:00.009-08:00

River in the valley

A month back, I was standing by the tea shop, the one
by the river, which flows through the valley where
I drink tea, enjoy the rain and pretend to work

There were ambal flowers in the river, and I wondered
how ambal grows in the river because
I've heard ambal grows in stagnant water.

If ambal was growing in the river, then
will the river no more be a river, or
ambal no more be the flower - it used to be

Then I thought, it wouldn't be nice of me
to call the river and the flower,names, because
someone lied to me sometime

Car in the valley

And then the unknown man came over and parked his car,
bought a cigarette and lit a fire, smoking, because
he didn't have a care - maybe he did. He is unknown.

His car was dusty, and he
had parked it nearby, so
that I could see his car was very dusty

I did to his parked car what everybody does
to the wooden desk in school.
I drew a name on the dusty wind shield.

It is always the name that first comes to mind.
I wrote 'Angela' because,
its the first name that always comes to mind.

Yesterday, I was standing by the tea shop, which is
by the river, which flows through the valley for
no particular reason.

And then the unknown man came over and parked his car,
bought a cigarette and lit a fire, smoking, because
he didn't have a care - maybe he did. The same guy.

And I felt that definite surge of relief and
quirky emotions, like when in a party, you-
feel that brotherhood of the unknown man

'Angela' looked at me from the windshield, thats-
my man, he hadn't washed
his car for now a month.

Lady in the house

Then mom washed my car in the weekend,
though she was supposed to take rest
after her illness

She told me the three lazy beasts in house,
that is excluding her,
were not half as good as donkeys

I wondered what I did to deserve this,
then I smiled at the poor guy who
married her to get this.

Now that the car was clean, said she,
over the weekend,
I should be visiting relatives

I told her I had no time, I had to watch -
"There will be Blood", "Then,
There will be Blood", she said.

"You come home to watch movies",she said
"What kind of social animal are you?"
"weren't you ashamed when the car was all dusty?"

"Whats shame?" I quoted and I quote
"Have you thought of any real freedoms like-
freedom from the opinion of others?"

"I live in this world and you dont","I just-
wish the girl who comes in", hopes she
"would teach you a lesson"

Looks at Dad "You all!"
Looks at me "Now where you going"
"Why don't you go meet uncle"

I told her that the British library in the city was closing on the twenty ninth. As if to remind us that it was a leap year and I had to go collect my refund cheque.

Else like always they'll fine me for being late. Mom is also sad, like everyone else in the city, that the library is closing down. For no obvious reason; she's never been inside there.

I thought it was like the way I felt when mom said it was the last episode of some soap opera.

Dad says its because her family sided with the British during the Quit India movement. He said she has a colonial hangover.

Mom remained silent for a minute, she doesn't reply to big and complex phrases. Dad scored. Then she started again.

"Atleast get that cheque, because reading those
big books is not doing you any good", looks at Dad
"You both!" Smiles.

Lady in the British library

Swanky library next to YMCA , cackling
College girls crowd the YMCA steps, like when
chicks get hep, they join the men's club

Air conditioning, British prescript, books-
stay in racks, ergonomic seats, is there
anything else I hate about the place

Only metal detector in the city, I'm no
suicide bomber, but it feels so nice
to get certified

Over the years I've seen the-
Lady in the British library gracefully
preside over her stately place

Across the table, under her watch,
I fill in the refund form, plain and simple,
return to innocence

There was nothing to cry for, never-
liked the place despite being a regular
the last British hangout will rest in state

Only place in the city, where you-
have to speak in British, hate it,
love it, let it go!

"so why you closing down" I asked,
"no good reason, council's decision"
Her voice founders her majesty's last defense

Because this time, she speaks to me in malayalam. There are certain times when you speak in your mother's language, like when you speak directly to the heart.

Neither can I change that, nor
can you reverse that.
Because malayalam is a palindrome.

"Why? is this place not viable?"

"No, the revenues are up a hundred percent, thats no reason, no"

Her voice hushes and breaks while she talks, like complaining to a long time friend.

"Just like that?"

"Yes, the council wants to cut down on the number of centers, some decision"

"And the books, are you selling them?", I was sure I wouldn't buy a single book

"The Chief Minister wants the library to continue, so the state government may take the books"

See everybody wants the British Library in Trivandrum to continue - the lady, the Chief Minister, my mother. Everybody except the council and perhaps me. I'm undecided like why.

"So are you all getting transferred to other British libraries?"

"No", She said, looked down. Last word.

Isn't that where it comes crashing down, like stock markets, and we finally return to innocence. That working for the British don't make you British, even if you feel so in the good times.

And when in a turn of pitch and toss,
they leave you on the road,
you grab that handful of salt and
refuse to talk their lore.

The refund cheque said rupees three hundred and thrity two. The library closes down finally on February 29th.

For the uninitiated - its a Leap year.

The Shining

2008-02-17T07:18:00.004-08:00

Some places are like people: some shine and some don't. - Stanley Kubrick's The Shining

And the saddest part of the sentence is that full stop after the don't. I could wish all day and all night for a comma or a semi-colon or a haywire to hang on. But at this point of time, the author regrets that I couldn't be included. Thats it. Some shine and some don't. Call it anything you want, like ding, like somebody hung up without even talking.

Some people shine and some don't. Yeah.

Curious. I work in a valley surrounded by green hills, hills green with coconut palms in the day and dark and threatening during the night. That night, one hour past midnight, I was driving home. Do not ask me what I do till then, nobody knows, neither do I. At the circle where bike accidents occur every other day, I saw something crossing the road. A little black object crawling slowly across the road. I'm not afraid during night times as much as I am during day. So I slowed the bike, removed my helmet and welcomed the visitor.

The circle is a spectacle to begin with, five neon lamps wash the place with their heady glow, the place including the road is orange in color. Literally. The black tortoise finally stopped a few feet from me. I park the bike and stare at this new intrusion into my life. A new messenger. Otherwise of everything in this world a black tortoise! and it appears before me in an orange junction. I know I have to read symbols if I ever need to be an alchemist, I didn't want this mother of all omens to pass. I wanted the universe to conspire to get things done for me.

"What are you doing here?", I wanted to know, there was no one around to be embarrassed.

My upbringing is so conservative that, if the tortoise replied, my life would have been destroyed then. I can't handle shocks without self-destruction. I'm a masochist in certain ways. The tortoise didn't reply, helpfully.

I looked at my destiny's point person for a few minutes. Once in a while when it withdrew its head like a coward into its black shell, my optimism tinted with white horror in the realization that this could be just another mortal tortoise. Then the head came out and I was hopeful again, there was some message waiting for me there, finally my confusions were about to get cleared. I'm the second most optimistic person in the world, you, who expect something worthwhile from this curious incident of a tortoise in the night time can take the cake.

Black tortoise, dark moonless night and a place that shines with orange light. What was the message? The place shined, but my eyes got accustomed, ennui set in, the message remained elusive. Of everything, a black tortoise. Black tortoise, dark moonless night and a place that shines with orange light. What could it mean. It meant go. I started the bike tired of the pointlessness, leaving the cornered tortoise to its own confusions on where to go.

I needed a purpose in life, and this was my chance. All I asked for was some order, some meaning to all that was happening and not happening, and what I get is a dark, blank, indifferent silence of the Universe. I did have faith. I believed. I even consciously disregarded the fact that there was a stream flowing quarter mile from where I found the tortoise. I denied my logic to have faith in a tortoise story, because I needed a myth to move on.

The sad part is we need myths to move on. Like that man up in the dusty Deccan mountain, with a cave full of pamphlets - one for each of us with our destiny written on it. Or else settle down with that Almanac which tells you why you are special, why the moon, Neptune and Saturn were wherever they were when you were born. Or sleep on the terrace to spot that shooting star. Or wait for the red mail van to come around the corner. Or keep searching on google till you find your niche.

I'm sorry I couldn't do to you what Coelho did to people who shine, they anyway would have. Like faith did to my class topper, he anyway would have topped the class. And we are left praying in front of sanctums, asking for boons which no one can give. Rather asking for boons which we are never sure of. There is no destiny because there isn't one. Perhaps we could ask for a little humility, to understand that there is no script already written, to stop searching for it and come to terms with the truth that some people shine, some don't. The earlier, the better.

And dear Freud, you would be analyzing the state of my dreams by now. Lack of direction and self-esteem compounded by a false sense of superiority and misplaced aspirations in an underlying mosaic of negativism, lack of talent and sheer escapism. Maybe, maybe not, maybe why don't you go fuck yourself. No hey, I'm sorry. I'm all yours to analyze my self-help guides of good living, but right now I'm not free. The truth will set me free. But right now, I'm getting fucked by the truth from all sides. Maybe the truth will set me free, some day.

You Are Great in Love

2008-02-10T13:07:00.000-08:00

You are great in love.
You are bold.
My every step is timid.
I'll do nothing bad to you,
but can hardly do you any good.

It seems you are leading me
off the beaten path through a forest.
Now we're up to our waist in wildflowers.
I don't even know what flowers they are.
Past experience is of no help here.

I don't know what to do or how.
You're tired.
You ask to be carried in my arms.
Already you're in my arms.

"Do you see how blue the sky is?
Do you hear what birds are in the forest?
Well, what are you waiting for?
Well? Carry me then!"
And where shall I carry you?...

Poetry of Yevgeny Yevtushenko

To Mercedes, of course

2008-01-23T04:15:00.000-08:00

“The words I am about to express; They now have their own crowned goddess.”

"so that is your dedication...hmm...nice"

She runs her hand over my chest, "let me feel your heart beat"
"hey its not beating"

Eyes makes a subtle to and fro, the classic confused look according to her

"can you check the other side", Me

she smiles, the night is throbbing outside the glass window. Trains are destined to go slower, what could be the problem with this one, I wonder.

"will you feel my pulse then, please" , now my voice is tense

i feel the bony fingers on that vulnerable point of my wrist "yes, you have pulse"

Leaving a sigh of relief, I settle in, her revolting curls block my view of the neon night. Raven hair.

"oh my poor intellectual, seems Marquez has already taken your dedication", smiles, "say something exclusive"

long silence, comfortable silences.

I sit up "you mean my passions are a quote"

"yes" ,matter of fact

what do I tell you then; that I need to climb on these big sentences to catch a glimpse of what you are, to make some sense of you, or easier I could dive into your tresses and forget me forever.

or just, that i need you to tell me that i exist, my heart still beats

"i think we are about to enter the Palghat pass"

"how do you know" she asks, opening the train door. She knows all about trains.

"because we are about to enter the Palghat pass" the kind winds of the cool night wrap us in the narrow corridor

"hmm"

"you are an idiot", I’m feeling free

the Palghat pass stretches like a conduit, this is where the monsoon with all its spice laden air enters the arid lands of the living. i look to the right, knowing its foolish, for the city lights.

"I don't think I'm an idiot"

"what if i agree that i am an idiot", there was no Coimbatore anywhere around. Tamil wilderness receding.

"I'm not an idiot" she thought for a minute before confirming. She thinks before she speaks.

"where are we now; can you read those station names", at the train door her hair is blowing in the cool wind

I said "think we are somewhere in between", I stretch out into the night my hands gripping the door handles

I'm there. The balcony of night, hope's threshold. She too. The night pregnant with a day, boy or girl? A day that will remind us that we can't, a day that will evaporate every holding mist of love. However hard I grip her, however hard I sleep the day returns, the night's kindness recedes. Immense kindness of the night, a reminding world that sleeps. I do not know which station we left behind, which one we are nearing. I think we are somewhere between essence and existence, between freedom and necessity. Essence, existence, freedom, necessity, ha nice names for stations.

"Feeling cold?"

"No" I remove my jacket, wrap her around that

"Oh you are Nirvana, who doesn't feel anything", smiles

"Is it too cold? we'll get coffee at the next stop" I shut the train door, moves across to the wash basin

"It doesn't matter", looks at me "Nothing else matters", only she can say that

I wash my face, looks at myself. Girl, I'm not the Buddha I used to be. If I am the Buddha, like the poet said yesterday, I am one of those broken buddhas of Gandhari's country, I am one of those poor Tibetan buddhas in the cold Delhi winter of refugees, one of those helpless buddhas of Lanka who stand witness to bloodbaths, I'm a torn Buddha in love. See I know about so many places, I even learnt about the capital of Burkina Faso to reach you.

One deep kiss, entwined. Nothing else mattered, there were no Gods worth worrying about.

"Nothing else matters..or has a name, the world is made of air that waits...waits", I improvised

Silence, why is he saying all this.

"I like it when you are quiet...like...", I'm improvising again.

"my sweet, I often wonder why there are not many women who write about love, as much as men have….why there are no women who could help me articulate in words so beautiful…"

"i think a man needs words to dance around...the woman sits in the middle with all that warmth, as the meaning..."

"You...you and you only", she said, my moment in time

entwined in one anguished knot, eyes closed, complete

I think a man needs words to dance around when he finally lights that fire, like he danced around offering flowers and coconuts in one ancient rhythm after an other, and you woman sit in the core, with all that humility knowing well that you are the meaning. Because I have only words to offer now. My words that rise from your direction, which limit their existence to your extremes, where fire and nectar and air all mean you. You know that some loner said this before me, but from where I stand, this is all I have now and I am parting with that. Smile.

Black Holes and Revelations, Whatever

2008-01-15T04:17:00.000-08:00

Going three months without a post was not intentional, didn't get a chance to breathe leave alone pen my heart and soul to reach you. Hehe, thats George Jones for you, I'm glad you liked it. I have been doing a lot of searching outside google, short term and long term goals, personal and professional goals, leadership experiences, avantammede ethics and yeah some pieces of my mind. Found some pits with long tunnels, at the bottom of which had midnight coffee with my self confidence. There were no earthquakes, but tectonic shifts. I realize I have tied one large snake to a mountain, and now it is churning, its the churning man. As the story goes the potion of life will come out at the end, but this intermittent poison is killing. I know it is the churning, the lost souls will be more beautiful in the end, wish I last till the end.

So where do we start this year, yeah! Amrita's tag. Amrita thanks for tagging me, I owe you one (tag)

Another Greek Tragedy? Naah! Perhaps the best year of em all, I've lived offline, met some very beautiful people, some very beautiful people with some very broken hearts. Archer, let me tell you the secret of all secrets, I know you are sad because uncertainty is killing you, even this will pass, once your path is set you'll be sad about belonging, or not belonging, the truth is this world is full of cloudy turbulence, but there are those tiny moments when it shows you a little sky and a little more light, that nectar within the posion, that sunbeam in the pond, that little sunshine on the rugged moon. Cling on to it, thats all that will remain, when the world remains and you pass.

It my blog man, my diary, I can write whatever I want.

courtesy: Dirty old man
"We're all going to die, all of us, what a circus!
That alone should make us love each other but it doesn't.
We are terrorized and flattened by trivialities, we are eaten up by nothing"

Amrita's tag: Ten things I'd like to do before I cross 35 & Ten things I miss about my life right now.

Ten things I'd like to do before I'm 25, when I was 15 would sound so other-worldish now, what did I want then? my God! fifteen was the age when I got confused. I wanted to join politics, or so I remember, be Prime Minister or something like that - important people who get fast cars and black cats. But then I didn't want to move to Delhi, bad food I guess, no didn't want to stay a night away from the land of the monsoon - I was so home, rooted. Maybe that defines the last decade for me - I was in transition. So,

1. I want to be home. Sonic my ex-roomie used to tell clients "I'll take the call from my room", we used to correct this holy leftover from hostel days saying "Soni its home". But then he was right, I've been living in rooms for a long time now. When I'm 35 I need to be home, and smell the incense sticks in the morning from under a warm quilt. Coffee in the kettle, dog destroying the newspaper.

2. She asked "But what about us?", He said " We'll always have Paris.". It is an enchantment with two cities, have coffee in Paris at night and listen to the other, try kissing someone. Walk through Prague, smell the air and listen if someone is shouting "Dubcek! Dubcek!", hold tightly on to my copy of Kundera, with Vijayan's Eternity of Grace in my metrosexual bag. Hope life is not so unbearably light then.

3. Tom Cruise's body stretching under the rock in MI, what a relief man. Do something like that every week. Yesterday I did my 100m in the pool after a long time, finally they had to drain the pool to find my body. Want to do that every week, long walks, quick sprints, stretch, oxygen. When I'm 35, it should be a habit.

4. Nights by the beach, without alcohol (or say 3 pegs max). Camping, stars, waves and me. Are you with me.

5. Vote.

6. If Wajahatullah Wasti finds one plus one is two, I'll count upto infinity with that. I did twice. Something original man, something original. Some relief from this pseudo-intellectual hell.

7. Amrita said "Find a job that will let me travel around Africa", mine would be "Find a job that will not have me travel around Africa". At least get some certainty around a few things like this. C'mon man, of everything Africa. Don't they eat people around there. You know what I'm talking about, "those close minded" people who have no confusions, so clear. A little bit of that, say no to some things twice.

8. First time I was to visit Silent Valley, someone said 7th standard is a very important year to waste time on travelling. Missed so many things in life because of this. Now I realize that 7th standard is important, so I plan to show the middle finger and just GO. You are in right? Before 35, some silent valleys. I'll post the pics.

9. See some people happy, accomplished, without sadness. See them home. Never felt so before, actually I grew up last year, hope it reigns.

10. Give that Epic effort. Let it go to hell, but write that world classic, shoot that cult-movie, paint that master piece, run that marathon. Just for the heck of it man. Try. Give. Get Lost in it.

Ten things I miss about my life right now,

1. Bandwidth. I'm cluttered, messy, sleepy and always cribbing about spectrum licensing. Got to use my bandwidth better.

2. I miss Bangalore, Miami and Weston. Every light of these cities, I don't want to be there right now, its just that I miss Bangalore even when I'm there. We had a good time in Weston, on Miami, the best of times perhaps.

3. Hey life is good man, don't think I'll make it past five.

4. When my mobile breaks down at night crying"I can't take this any more" and there is silence at the other end. I miss teleportation.

5. Where are you, btw, upto you

6. This tag should be five things I miss about my life right now. Wish Amrita had the sense to change it. I play by rules.

7. Depth man, depth. I'm so superficial, fuckin shallow. And some people are so deep, they burn. I smoke.

8. Where is my RBSR? Fresher moron is talking about AJAX, I'm five years into this shit and haven't even heard of it. I need to shoot it at him and duck, where is it? I so miss you my Rubber Band Super Rocket.

9. I thought I was a poet till a few years back, now I don't think so. I miss being the world's greatest romantic.

10. Blogging man. I miss blogging. Then blogging shows you the possibilities like poetry does, I went through one of those doors.

Will be right back. Please please don't go away.

And let me tag equally confused Rover and the intrepid Divs

Tony pandara kalipila...

2007-10-31T11:38:00.001-07:00

Been busy guys, but can't let October slip by without a post. So post.

Too many things happening, pruning new skills in office, there is a lot to write about, right now I'll only say "I can see dead aliens" all around in office - double whammy huh! (I even have a cyborg in my next cubicle). Will write in detail later. After so much running around, was awarded "Extragalactic Man of Mystery Award" last night. Kudos! special thanks to all alien monsters who keep watch at night!

Yet another skill developed exclusively for office is putting espresso stories in mspaint. Take a look at this one. Its post modern grunge with a lil bit of bohemian, greenwichian and cubism scattered around.

Because this is a new form of art, I'll explain the rules -
1. Must be in office (don't have a job? Well get one then)
2. You select an espresso story and finish the drawing in 15 mins
3. Give respect to me

Btw, does all of your office machines lock down when you try to install Photoshop? sucks man!

Oh yeah, this drawing, its my third masterpiece, its called "When he woke up, the dinosaur was still there"

Gotta go! busy...and hey happy Halloween...wtf....gotta go..

National Highway III

2007-09-26T10:42:00.000-07:00

A man traveling across a field encountered a tiger. He fled, the tiger after him. Coming to a precipice, he caught hold of the root of a wild vine and swung himself down over the edge. The tiger sniffed at him from above. Trembling, the man looked down to where, far below, another tiger was waiting to eat him. Only the vine sustained him.

Two mice, one white and one black, little by little started to gnaw away the vine. The man saw a luscious strawberry near him. Grasping the vine with one hand, he plucked the strawberry with the other. How sweet it tasted!

Idiot's guide to Zen living? At least I'm not reading Coelho. No don't gimme that :) [I mean Coelho]

Before daybreak, the brothers and me set out east, towards the mountains on the National Highway. En route, as the climb begins and the 'definitely male' vehicle shifts to a lower gear, daybreaks. The baby Sun is right on my face, the mountain air is clear, so is every thought.You don't have to do anything, the sun rises. It is a silent spectacle. The climb ahead is tough with the highway rising and falling, but for the moment, I decide, let the sun beat down upon my face. Thoughts clear, empty minds filled with light.

It was raining heavily in the valley where I work, the dark highway stretched ahead. The weather was plain sexy, light drizzle. There are two things which set us free on the highway, speed and music. I fed the engine and we roared up the road. Jim Morrison started singing,

"You know that it would be untrue
You know that I would be a liar
If I was to say to you
Girl, we couldn't get much higher"

I shouted back,
"Come on baby, light my fire
Come on baby, light my fire"

The world seemed so unimportant inside the helmet. The bike's powerful light stream lit the road around. Jim Morrison on Vocals, me too on Vocals. Another biker was coming down the road, he seemed so unimportant in the overall scheme of things. He was a few hundred metres away, when I dimmed my lamp. He kept on coming towards me with a dizzying headlight, uncertain what to do - maybe no one has done this to him in the National Highway. A little distance up the road, he too dimmed his lamp and as he passed, nodded towards me. I returned the gesture. I felt good, guess he too felt the same. There are a few things they teach you at home, sometimes its really nice to play around with those. Be good, do good. Life on the highway comes without choosing, how you live it, is definitely a choice.

Every road ends in the capital city, we put our collective heads outside the car and smelt the air. The rain was on leave for days then. By the Napier museum corner, we smelt the blooming spring, the smell of fried peanuts.

"Yeah, I know this smell"
"Onam?"
"hmm..."

Now that the rains were gone, we made an elaborate plan to go up the mountains in September, pitch a tent by the valley where cicadas never cry. They say the "end of all our elaborate plans", the rains came back with thunder. It seems the state got its highest fall in seventeen years. Forget the mountains, going to the junction was difficult. We sat around in the rain, around the futility of building towers, drinking black tea, around the futility of making plans.
"It is the rain, enjoy it" someone said. When you are not waiting for it to get over, every rain is fun. Zen.

This is where it ends. In our side of the country, we have a train that runs parallel to the National Highway. It travels along the most beautiful places in the world. Hmm, the most beautiful places in the world. And there we are, after a long long time. Little Miss sunshine sits smiling, wondering. I am curious, making noises, wondering in the night. We know where the train is headed, not where we are. I miss it all, the lakes and lagoons that come and go, the sunset, the trains lights, the neon ambiance of the way side stations. It was only us and the immense kindness of the night. Warmth. Our moment in life had just begun.

The night's kindness, somebody plays a flute somewhere, National highway and us.

National Highway II

2007-08-25T20:20:00.000-07:00

"...a bit player in someone Else's nightmare"
- Stephen King, Insomnia

Cityscape and slums, dangerous traffic and trafficking, the national highway cuts into the narrow city streets. Every highway is a tributary for the pulsating city. When life in country roads gush into the gaping black hole, the city is caught unaware, the arterial streets get clogged, the traffic is jammed. Flyovers and subways are open heart surgeries on the city, they move the fat a little further but the the terrible sounds, vast ugliness and the sickening air remains. The smell of gasoline and smoke in the traffic blocks, vehicles going slow, the dust - traffic snarls pisses us off more than anything. We feel we don't deserve this. We asked for a trip on the national highway at super speeds, here we are wasting time in a traffic muddle. Irony. The time of the day when traffic moves the slowest, rush hour.

Then it's the mad rush to get our vehicle off the traffic block. Maneuvering, twisting the wheel, expletives like flying kisses. We shout - what that lady in the blue car is thinking she is doing in the traffic block; what are we doing? We wriggle out somehow and take a deep breath as if one helluva constipation is all over. The sad part of the bargain is that we come to the same place, the very next day and race around in a bloody maze.

Ha ! but the lure of the city, despite its cruel hand. There once was an army man who loved the smell of napalm in those humid Vietnam mornings, he used to wonder how he will survive after the war gets over. I cannot survive a day without the city, today I was bumper to bumper for two long hours. Ironically the road is called 'the Bypass'. Tomorrow I'm going again - with dreary eyes, with nowhere else to go, like a loser, like a bit player in someone Else's nightmare.

That tree said
I don't like that white car under me,
it smells gasoline
That other tree next to it said
O you're always complaining
you're a neurotic
you can see by the way you're bent over.

Allen Ginsberg

The Volvo journey from Bangalore to Trivandrum is something I really enjoy on the national highway, especially the movie they play in the bus. I get to hear the audience react to each scene and dialogue. I note down the stuff I would need to avoid when I make a movie (not now, but after selling all my dad's property). The other day,(after several rounds of offerings in the local temple), its a girl (my lord) sitting next to me. *How stuff works : Girl in the next seat-start conversation-bus falls into ravine-LOST (second season)- DHKMN - found - final scene - you, baggy jeans,100 cc bike,Pooja Bhatt*. So I start the conversation in T minus three seconds.

She : "blah blah"
Me : "I started the conversation, so i should talk more"
She :"blah blah.....you ought to do an MBA, otherwise you are a worm"
Me : "see..can I talk for the next five minutes?"
She : "blah blah....MBA should be in finance man"
Me : "Its 5:20 now, can I start talking at 5:30 at least?"
She : "Investment banking sucks man..they think girls are dumb...blah blah"
Me : "If you had so much to talk then you should've started the chat"
She : "...its not quant...its different....stats man stats...."
Me : "I'm deaf in both ears, I understand the words that come out of your mouth - not"
[after being mercilessly defeated in the conversation game, I say "bluha bluha" to myself so that I don't hear what she is saying]
By the time the movie started I knew everything about her except how she got that cute scar on her right elbow *Maybe fell off a cycle or something, wish it was a cliff or something*

It was a Dilip starrer movie, *He's ok - just* but I made all kinds of noise *like everybody else* when the hero was introduced. And then she said,

She : "I hate malayalam movies"
I felt like the Volvo bus just ran over me.
Me : "hey but Dilip movies are fun" *I'll never marry you now. Not only that - I'll definitely kill you*
She : "but these are not my kinda movies...blah blah"
Me : "Its my kinda movies, I'm gonna watch now"

I sat there planning the murder, then I felt I was missing something. I knew I was being irrationally prejudiced, I could look foolish with such a wild guess, but I had to ask her that question.

Racing along the National Highway, you see these sad houses. They look dark from the highway, sad houses in the rain. Beautiful spaces covered by walls and filled by boredom. Husband is a wall, wife another, the son and daughter are walls, mother and father. They silently fight for defining the little space within; call it home. Our basic instinct is to break those walls and search for the sky, but when the lightness becomes too unbearable you want a confine, you need that comfort and warmth. Little houses by the national highway, each has a story.

Across dinner that night, I pop the question.

Me : "btw, you didn't tell me - which school?"
She : "Holy Angels Convent"

The two eggs in my curry became ducks and ran out saying "quack!quack!". I started laughing uncontrollably.

She : "what happened"
Me : "forget it...I get crazy on the national highway..hehe"

National Highway I

2007-07-21T15:21:00.000-07:00

"The road was a ribbon of moonlight, over the purple moor."

- Alfred Noyes

The road was a ribbon of moonlight, over the purple moor. Voices said, we all live in a global village.

But I knew there was no village, no stop. National Highway. We all live in the National Highway. Every moment is a chosen disturbance, in which we press the pedal on some Interstate, some Autobahn,some national highway.

Is there a promise at the end of the highway, we really don't know. We are highwaymen searching for hope,and yes, a little money for dope.

I've been on National Highway for a long time now. National Highway 7, the longest and 47, the shortest. Interstate 10, the murky one and Interstate 95, the speedway. The highway has grown on me over the years. Every week I see the spot opposite the fishing harbour where I first saw the sparkle in an eye, the spot where a truck ran over my friend from college, the spot where I first stayed away from home and we drank both day and night by the river, the spot where a colleague and his immediate family went under the wheels of a tourist bus. I see these places every week and am I expected to feel what I feel. It is a struggle to accept the highway without emotion. Perhaps, this,is life on the National Highway.

Everyone on the National Highway dreams of a final stop called 'Settling down'. It is more than an excuse for the sorry state of our affairs, it takes the load off. I am not responsible for anything around me; I don't belong here; No,this is just a pitch stop; I have great 'hidden' potential; If I want I can leave this place today; I won't live here for the rest of my life, so I don't need friends here; Give me two years, I will settle down somewhere by the sea in the mountains. Then Christmas comes, Easter, Happy Birthday comes, vishu, diwali comes. Year after year, all you see is the national highway, perhaps the geography changes, then one fine day, the cruel highway takes you, the way it killed my friend - out of the blue, like a clown does.

A little sky, a little more light

2007-06-30T22:55:00.000-07:00

Ever heard this story? does it reverberate with some ancient, forgotten song; like this rain outside.Like a wafting streak of a lullaby, forgotten rain. A damp piece of soil somewhere, maybe a little patch, perhaps a wasteland in the first summer rain. Like some evasive smell you cannot really place, is it the night flower or the night rain. A damp piece of soil somewhere, by the river, in the valley of the mountain. Like forgotten roots, uprooted lives, feeling lost. Like this rain outside.

"... Long before the lizards, before the dinosaurs, two spores set out on an incredible journey. They came to a valley bathed in the placid glow of sunset.

My elder sister, said the little spore to the bigger spore, let us see what lies beyond.
This valley is green, replied the bigger spore, I shall journey no farther.
I want to journey, said the little spore, I want to discover. She gazed in wonder at the path before her.

Will you forget your sister ? asked the bigger spore.
Never, said the little spore.
You will little one, for this is the loveless tale of karma; in it there is only parting and sorrow.

The little spore journeyed on. The bigger spore stayed back in the valley. Her root pierced the damp earth and sought the nutrients of death and memory. She sprouted over the earth, green and contended.

A girl with silver anklets and eyes prettied with surma came to Chetali's valley to gather flowers. The Chempaka tree stood alone- efflorescent, serene. The flower gatherer reached out and held down a soft twig to pluck the flowers.

As the twig broke the Chempaka said, My little sister you have forgotten me !"

the loveless tale of Karma. Two points, the prophet said, birth and the other death. And in between there is turbulence. Turbulence. Born with the worm of death, we walk the path of living, towards death. Life as a short gap between certain deaths. The brevity of it. Everyday we lose a few things, a daily death, did I ask for it. Ha the sound of aero planes, the morning rush, pounding horns, hot steel, the maze of the city. The speed is mind numbing, it must be a free fall, the geography changes often. If it is a free fall,we must have lost our wings. Lost our sky,our little light. While we grip tight on the railings to make something of our lives, a forlorn migratory wind from the east whispers a story "Long before the lizards, before the dinosaurs,....."

There once was this plant with a beautiful name,which grew near the well, what did we call it.One summer evening some time in the past has a cold bucket of water from a well pouring over my head, the smell of the evening, the huge tamarind tree, Cuticura powder, Chandrika soap. Nandyarvattom. My grandfather bathing me. Yes, Nandyarvattom, that was the name. If I tilt my head a little, I'll forget this name which eventually I will, its so hard to remember, easy to forget. I shall never pass on that name to anyone. Where is my grandfather now, is there a place where they all go. Where they sit around at night, just to see the Nishagandhi of the night bloom and smell its heavenly scent. Is that a nice place. I wish someone poured a bucket of cold water on my head, ha this forgetfulness.

There was a time, till a few years back, when men and women knew every tree and every plant that grew in their backyard. They knew what it meant if one of those trees flowered, the smell of each flower and when they would bloom the next day or the next year. They knew each of these plants by name. Why did they connect so much, why were they so much in love. Most of those men and women are gone, the last few are at the end of their times.

Our generation lost it. We can't connect. We didn't get a chance, nobody taught us, nobody told us. We had to move on. We are always moving on. It is not our mistake. Our free fall, the acceleration of our lives. For God's sake! it is not our mistake. It is not. But at the end of the day, when night approaches, we have lost it. We can't smell a flower, say a butterfly from a moth. We are far removed from certain things which we really don't remember. There isn't anything we have left to pass on to our kids other than what we learnt from our books. For us, we'll continue our trips to see beautiful nature, without realizing a thing, clouded in millions of years of forgetfulness. When was the last time my bare foot touched the morning grass, when I had dirty mud in my hands.

The kids,will they ever feel their soil, the cold damp soil tickling at their feet. Will they ever dig their fingers into the dirt and mud and get curious about the wriggling earthworm. Kids' fingers are their roots,aren't they? which they dig deep into the soil to catch that lonely earthworm. We would probably never let them do that,the book says it is unhygienic. The kids would probably go to sleep, never realizing that a skylark or a crow or a cuckoo can wake them up. Never realizing that millions of years before two sister spores stood in a magnificient valley.

Once,a long time back I left my elder sister. Tonight I do not know her name. I do not know how to talk to her. She stayed there, I moved on. She, the tree, the green grass and me, the animal, the human. Nature selected me or so I say. The pain of separation does not bother me anymore. But why do I feel incomplete when it rains, when I see those blue mountains. Is it that a shroud of forgetfulness clears. A sunbeam enters the stagnant pond. Loud music from the next room, another shroud, another night sets in.

Its been a while since we left our village. Tonight, I take my big roaring machines from the city to my village. Tonight the younger sister will break a twig off her older sister. She will forget everything. The city needs to grow, grow into the villages. Our machines will build highways over the villages, we need to reach places fast. The village was forgotten long back, we need to build our cities faster, we need growth and development. The path to progress, the poison smoke of the factories which build our vehicles and our air-conditioners will be located in the hearts of our villages. Our urban ugliness will be shared, like leprosy, to our elder sister. The loveless tale of Karma.

There was this paddy field near my home where we used play as kids. In summer, after the harvest in April, there was a festival for the Goddess in the field. During mango showers in May, the field would be slippery and that was the time we played football in it. We would get all wet and dirty after the close saves and fouls during the game. We would sit around till the sun went down, all of us smelling like dirt and soil. There was stream nearby which would abound with guppies after the mango showers, we used to fish in that. This time of the year, the field would look like a hopeless lake of muddy water after three weeks of monsoon. I passed by the place last week.

The field is not there any more. It was divided into some twenty plots and all except one had houses in them. The stream nearby was clogged at every point on its way, it was dead like an old man. All the plots were raised by a few feet by dumping red soil brought from somewhere. There were lorries in the left out plot. They were removing the grass and mud from what was once a narrow path through the paddy field. A lorry passed by carrying something from there, I knew what it was - my childhood. I started the bike and raised the throttle. The sound of the engine numbs every other sensation. I have to get ahead in life, need to move on from here. Because, some of us write to remember, some write to forget.

I'm not saying anything against Alexander

2007-06-13T06:25:00.000-07:00

Timur, I hear, took the trouble to conquer the earth.
I don't understand him.
With a bit of hard liquor you can forget the earth.

I'm not saying anything against Alexander,
Only I have seen people who were remarkable,
Highly deserving of your admiration
For the fact that they were alive at all.

Great men generate too much sweat.
In all of this I see just a proof that
They couldn't stand being on their own
And smoking and drinking and the like.
And they must be too mean-spirited to get
Contentment from sitting by a woman.

Bertolt Brecht

P.S : Its been only a week since I found Brecht. If you haven't read him, learn :)

Two of my favourites here and here.

Crazy kerala elephants, D'ya like elephants?

2007-06-10T05:24:00.000-07:00

There once, was this friend of mine who wanted to be a dog. In the same vein, I thought I wanted to be an elephant; but on an afterthought I realized that’s not exactly what I wanted, I wanted to be an elephant's friend. Its like you go and mess up with the local rowdies and just when they are about to beat you up - he comes.

Who comes? Yeah, the elephant, your friend! The mighty, strong and one of the biggest animals on the planet *provided Godzilla is a myth; Dinosaurs are extinct and Kavya Madhavan is not running for the prize*. I have lost count of the number of afternoons in school when I have dreamt of my elephant friend - see there were too many bullies in school. You could call it sadism, but don't be a sadist - call it the Giant Robot Complex.
Elephant Head

Elephants have always been a weakness for me. Their sheer elegance, self indulgence and the extreme confidence of the mammoth in every move of their body. Our river back home looks the most beautiful when the temple elephant is in it. Though it muddies the river, it prevents Sarojini, our local cigarette shop owner from getting into the river. One can't stand the sight of the river with Sarojini taking bath in it for more than say - two seconds. We need to rescue our rivers from Sarojinis.

Well, it is this love of elephants that landed me in Thrissur this summer. The Pooram festival is perhaps the biggest festival for elephants across the world, second only to maybe the Great Elephant March - which has been cancelled since a long time. Now Thrissur on Pooram day is as crazy as it is on any other day. In the local tea shop at Shaktan square, while waiting for my friend, I had people around me talking in some weird rhythm and they call each other "ettan" *elder brother* - everybody is an ettan there - Jose ettan, Bus conductor ettan, Police ettan. I raised the issue as soon as my friend *a local fundamentalist* came.

me : "what is this ettan funda"
he : "thats the way it is here"
me : "appo achanem ningalu ettannu vilikko"
he looks at me fiercely
me : "What kinda language is this?"
he : "pure malayalam"
me : "why do you have to talk in this rhythm? - cant you guys say in prose what you want to say?”
he : "Da...Thrissur is the Cultural Capital of Kerala"
me : "why???"
he : "Well....we have Guruvayoor and Vadakkumnathan" *name of temples for the un-initiated*
me : "Then it should be Trivandrum, we have Suresh Gopi,Jagathy,Priyadarshan and Shaji Kailas"
he : "We have Innocent and Mani"
me : "We have Mohanlal"
he : "We can work out a deal" *defeat, surrender*

Finally we agreed that Thrissur will be the Cultural Capital for half the year and Trivandrum for all the days I'm there, attending marriages, which will round off to around half a year considering the number of marriages this season. Don't people have any other work?

We went on the elephant trail, after a deluxe meal at the friend's place and a short visit to an ancient temple pond nearby to spot King Cobras - there were none. With two digital rebels and some very costly lenses,the two upcoming Cartier Bressons went right into the heart of Pooram in the Thrissur circle.

As the saying goes, there was a crowd as big as the crowd at Thrissur Pooram. I have never seen such a huge crowd before except maybe at Brigade on Bangalore, on new year's eve when the trippers, low lifes, Christ college crowd, drug traffikers, Java programmers, Mallu aunties,BMS college crowd, pimps, RajKumar fans, drunken drivers, Punjabi kudis and even Project Managers are out there pushing and grabbing each other. The difference at Thrissur pooram is, the crowd is not that bad and there are thirty elephants right in the heart of the crowd and around five to ten pachyderms on standby.

Thiruvambadi gets ready for the blast !

There being very little chance of getting near the adorned elephants, we checked out the "rested" elephants which were on standby. I gave my fundas about gauging an elephant's elegance to my friend, who waited patiently till I finished to start off with his - I closed my ears shouting "bluha!bluha!".

This guy in the photo below is Pumulli Keshavan, a rested elephant. This was the elephant rumoured to have an ancient rivalry with Koickal Ganapathy. The story revolves around this chick called Pumulli Bhavani, whom both the guys dated and finally went with Ganapathy to pull timber in one northern district. Someone said, Bhavani is in Bihar these days, but Keshavan has not forgiven Ganapathy for stealing Bhavani from him. My take is that, Keshavan should make it up with Ganapathy. It must be all Bhavani's fault. She doesn't care whether its Keshavan or Ganapathy or some other elephant from Bihar *lets call him Lalu Prasad Yadav; I dont know of any other Bihari names*, if anyone shows her an eye - she goes. So guys, lets not fight.

Keshavan

My friend was totally pissed,*let me call him Babu*

Babu : "Are we here to watch the pooram or this elephant"
Me : "I want to have that icecream"
Babu : "Its no good. Remember the way I got jaundice"
Me : "Ice cream"
Babu : "No lets not have it, lets go into the crowd"

I came up with the ingenious idea of attacking the crowd from the sides and creeping in from behind the elephant wall. Babu enthusiastically left through one end and I ran to the other end, jumped two bamboo fences, crawled under a hoarding and bought two icecreams. I had them both in the sweltering heat. Babu called me on my mobile after finding a spot where the procession was set to arrive in a few minutes. To our surprise there wasn't much of a crowd there. I congratulated Babu for all his efforts in making our Pooram watch a grand success. He must have felt good; I felt I was Prime Minster material.

Kerala Police moving at safe positions

Now if you ask me what is the most common animal found in all festivals in Kerala *looking at this picture some perverts might say Srividya*, I would say it is not the elephant, but Kerala Policemen. They are everywhere, helping people, managing chaos and keeping the republic straight, be it the elephants in Guruvayoor or the tamil ayyappans in Sabarimala or the lakhs of women in Attukal, KP is always there. Despite my chronic hate for military and police, this one I would give it to them.

Thiruvambadi at Vadakkumnathan

So we were at this place called 'SriMoolasthanam' and the procession kept coming towards us. Thats when I heard what I feared all the while. Few guys next to me, must be around thirteen or fourteen, the age when you feel Paris Hilton is goodlooking and all, started pointing at one of the elephant's.....well. Lets call it PeepeeDo. Every time I am near an elephant one of these anti-socials start yakking about the size of its peepeedo. Well they have it, so they flaunt it. Leave it at that. These guys dont, they have questions like What if..?

Now we were so close to the elephants that we could actually touch them,my friend did, I didn't. To surprise us again, the procession stopped just there in front of us. They would stay there for about an hour. The ambiance was nerve rattling. The Panchavadhyam (the five instrument beat; westerners call it Led Zeppelin) reached its pinnacle in sync with the venchamaram on top of the elephants and booming crackers on the sides. They say the best in the state perform at Vadakkumnathan on this day. The whole population was swaying to the beat. You have a thickly packed crowd with fifteen elephants in between, around thirty high decibel drums and a lot of gunpowder bursting into flames every second - at this point if each of them believe that nothing could go wrong there, you could call it faith. The magic of pooram is that it transforms the tens of thousands of strangers gathered around the elephants into one mind which sways to the beat.

Something did go wrong. The two of us had escaped from the crowd to catch some breath. It was so crowded inside the crowd. We walked down the road from the temple to a small group that was selling 'cool drinks'. We'd just finished our drinks when there was a huge cry from the side we had come. The gathering split like a wave and one of the elephants was running through the crowd,down the road - ofcourse, towards us. I pulled the friend and we ran like hell. By the time we reached a dead end, I was gripping my camera and gasping for breath. We turned around to see the elephant hardly some twenty metres from our side,but it had taken a new direction now. There were two guys on top of the elephant with no way to escape. Though I have no idea how to deal with such a thing, I can tell you one thing - this animal runs fast, very fast. We followed it for some distance, but again, in a flash it escaped into some side road after trying to overturn an auto rickshaw.

My heart was beating faster than perhaps it ever did before. Badly wanted a smoke, then decided against it. I called home.

Me : "dei,there was a small issue at pooram, one elephant got mad and started running around, it might come in news and all. Nothing to worry about OK"
Bro : "they are live telecasting it dude, there are two elephants which are running around - one is still within the temple circle"
Me : "Ya, I know. Thats fine, we are safe. Just tell Amma. Over"

I didn't have the slightest clue that five TV channels were telecasting the events live. There were two issues at hand. One, I would be a national disaster with Mom calling up everyone she knows and all of them watching this shit LIVE. Two, there was another elephant running around - somewhere around.

Groups of people were running in all directions shouting "Ana,Ana", we ran with some of those groups around the circle but finally realized that two elephants running in these many directions was logically impossible and decided to wait and watch. Crowds of people were running into each other shouting "Ana, Ana". There were ambulances skirting here and there with their apocalyptical sirens and policemen scolding people for running; their funda being if you don't run, the elephant wouldn't harm you. I hoped the elephant had also read the same book.

Estimates said there were one hundred thousand people in the circle that day. The commotion was as good as it could get. People were running out of buildings shouting "Ana, Ana" as if the elephant was inside the building. It was fun after the initial shock and hand shivering. We decided to go find the elephant once the 'department with guns' had arrived. We did find the elephant and took a few snaps too. The commotion ended in about two hours and the major festivities with all the thirty elephants resumed *the standby elephants replaced the two naughty ones*. We watched the Kudamattom *changing of umbrellas; Arguably the best part of the pooram when the two rival temples are at their creative bests* and the late night fireworks *they show you what a real atom bomb sounds like* before leaving. My first pooram, and if the Supreme Court does ban it as some people say it would, my last.

Paramekkavu at the South end

In between all this running around I lost my camera's lens cap. I calculated the dollar value I'd have to pay and was about to cry when some guy, from some where, came and gave it to me. He had seen it lying on the road near the temple. If it was Guruvayoor, my relatives would say it was Krishnan himself and we would start arguing. I didn't ask his name, just felt well.

Thekkotirakkam

( Thiruvambadi elephants come out of the South end of Vadakkumnathan for Kudamattom)

me : "Its nice to know that I am a recognizable face even in this crowd"
friend : "nah...its because this is Thrissur"
me : "Why is that so"
friend : "Because this place happens to be the Cultural Capital of Kerala"

Anyone?

Pooram !

Metro - life in a

2007-05-29T04:29:00.000-07:00

Bangalore baby ! She’s all the same. The city pesters you with the dust and heat through the day and at night the cool wind gods descend. The 'cafe day' and Barista on MG Road still cater to our "Brainstorming" needs - "namma Metro" is taking shape across the road. AC Volvos roam the streets, the ticket rates pretty cheap. The crowd is good, the wine formidable, Bangalore rocks round the clock!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The problem with company guest houses is that some guys think its their dad's property and get into big big trouble. I wish that guy wasn't me.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
There is this "bong" proprietor of the company guest house *which my dad seems to not own*, who knows no english language. He asks me where my "gaav" is. I wanted to say "gaav nahi, thirontharam carparation area". But then I didn't. We all belong to some village don't we, somewhere in the hills, near the sea.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The Sidekick and me enter the company's own guest house.
the Bong with wide grin "sir aaj aap JHOLDI aaya" *today you are early*
the Sidekick to me "JHOLDI avante amma" *his mother is fast*
me to the Sidekick "that was not needed"
the Sidekick to me "its JALDI not JHOLDI"
me to the Sidekick "how many words do you know in hindi?"
the Sidekick to me "who wants to know hindi"
Diamond jubilee huh !
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Its seems like the season of marriages. I gotta attend two this weekend and twenty three in the next two months. Ask anyone on the street where they are going, they'll say "I'm going to get married". Well fine ! I thought. Then there was this cool sparrow outside the translucent glass pane in that frickin guest house which the company alone owns. It was alone. I called out to him "thats the spirit dude, ottathadi paramasukham, humble, nimble and single". Two days back, he too has got someone and I'm like some greek tragedy gaping through the translucent glass at their shadows. I instantly took a picture with my mobile phone which has no other use as nobody calls. I've made it my mobile's wallpaper since then, just to remind me everytime I look at it of the great betrayal. Again to no use, as nobody calls. But I know his species now - the Great Betrayer Sparrow. And I've learned my lesson - never to trust sparrows in Bangalore.

Great B e t r a y al !

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Mallya annan's (Malayannan is another species) new airlane - they don’t serve beer - Delhi based bloggers kindly note. My old comrade sits across the aisle, never seen a more jovial guy before or after.
He : "Aliya nammude pazhaya charakkinte kalyanam kazhinju" *someone got married*
Me : "nammude pazhaya charakka ?" *who ?*
He : "alla ente pazhaya charakku" *my old flame*
Me : "ha I heard ! some guy from her school days huh"
He : "nammalu kore mandanmaru veruthe porake nadannu" *I never knew*
Me : "surprise hmm"
He : "Ya but I'm happy. It feels good to know these things are possible"
Me : "hehe..you mean love is still possible in this world...that still remains the party line"
He : "lal salaam thanne....charakku air hostess alle"
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Does anyone remember the fifty foot woman - Attack of the. Has anyone wondered how lonely she would be up there - poor thing. This cute new girl in office wants to change everything around here; she is our twentieth century fox. I often wonder how lonely she might be, no one seem to like change. I don't see anyone talking to her, does she go for lunch alone. Neways, one of these days I'll buy her a lollipop, she deserves something better than the leadership to suck up to - on. Oh fine! You guessed it; I too like her - Not.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Night shift construction workers on the high rise. Even by my nocturnal standards the hour is pretty late. The structure looks dangerous in the dim orange light with all that dust and protruding steel. I wonder what happens after the building is complete. These migrant workers will never be able to get inside our magnificant places; the security guy will stop them or some electronic identification device. The way things are going not even their future generations will make it into our high rises. Maybe their children would stand across the road, opposite our magnificent places and say his father built this building or his father slipped from the top floor and fell to his death at the place where they park the big cars. And I, with my insensitive stupidity would correct them saying it was Shahjahan who built the place to show his everlasting love towards his concubine. The constructor, his concubine and me - the pimp.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Re-energized after a short trip home, I query the "bong proprietor" on why he doesn't work in Calcutta. He sets up the DVD player and tells me that in Kolkata he would get just "Pandhra sou rupees", in Bangalore he gets at least double that. I was not quite sure whether it was three thousand or thirty thousand rupees. Must have been a hard day's night, the Alfred Hitchcock movie didn't make sense to me for some time. He got up and left - it didn't make any sense to him either I guess. After he walked away, I was pretty sure that the other half lives, though not quite on how side.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
May 27. After a seven hundred kilometer drive with the state's best drunkards, we are greeted at the city gates by flash floods on and off the National Highway. The Gods arrived an hour before us, not just any other rain - its the monsoon entering the sub-continent. Happy Monsoon footprints!

Michael, Julia and few others

2007-05-23T06:05:00.000-07:00

River's once wrote she and her friend had a crush on Vikram Seth. So I caught the first bus to find out why and put it to use. But now I'm left wondering if I have a crush on him.

"I dont want to see you again, Michael",says Virginie, her voice veering between tears and anger. "I never wanted to see you again. Not as a teacher or anything. I'm young, and i'm going to have a good time. You'll see and you'll regret it. You'll regret everything. I hope she makes you miserable. So that you cant't sleep or eat or anything. You always took me lightly because I loved you"

Vikram Seth, An Equal Music

Tinkerbells...so thats your tag !

P.S : For dear readers from Kusumagiri P.O. - Vikram Seth is the author's name. Yeah I know I'm coming back.

Doggy Ishtyle !

2007-05-03T23:06:00.000-07:00

Dogs can retain smells in their nasal memory cavity for three dog years which is approximately one human year, after which the dog will stop recognizing the smell. Now if we are talking about bullshit, the previous line is so full of it. But it happens! Sometimes I get some crazy funda from somewhere and cling on to it with all the conviction I have and spread it amongst my close circle where I have some authority. The sad part is, in approximately three months time, this same funda will come back to me dressed up like a fact, which I have to believe at that time.

So there I was, coming home after six dog years, full of fear and high anxiety about the rendezvous with the canine at home. Imagine the embarrassment – “Oh yeah, he came home yesterday, then the dog bit him here and there, now he’s in hospital”. That was just one of the possibilities.

Dad: “You mean you defaulted on the insurance premium for two years ?”
Me: “ there was no LIC over there…hehe”
Dad: “You told me six months back you’d scheduled online payment”
Me: “Ooops did I ?”
Dad: “You gave me some knowledge on advantages of internet too”
Me: “I did that?” [Shame! shame!]

Mom : “Wish I had two girls instead !” [Lady of the house is really really pissed]
Me : “ Why don’t you adopt?”
Mom : “So you two won't change”
Me : “I left two short shirts when I went, I cant find any now”
Mom : "Ha...I gave it to my adopted child"

Bro : “Whats the difference here ? What is SLR ? How do you eliminate the red eye?”
Me: “ Dei vittu pidi, vittu pidi” [slowly , slowly]
Bro : “You don’t know anything about this camera”
Me : “You see that steel button infront…click there…you’ll get photo”
“You’ll get what? …photooo….thats it ! don’t ask too many questions…give some respect OK !”

Pal : “ Dei 6:00 sharp, Maya bar in Pankaj hotel”
Me : “Do we need to drink every day ? I don’t quite like this”
Pal : “OK 6:30 Pankaj hotel”

Barber : “Why are you supporting Mammooty”
Me : “I’m just saying his Vishu release is better than our dude’s”
Barber : “You’ve changed a lot ! I can’t believe you are supporting Mammooty”
Me : “I’m not supporting anyone, please don’t mess up the side”

Passerby1 : “I don’t like George Bush”
Me : “I’m really terribly sorry !! I'll never repeat that again”

Passerby2 : “Do you know one Anil in New Jersey, he’s my nephews brother-in-law”
Me : “One with black hair ?”
Passerby2 : “Uh…yeah”
Me : “Ha…my best friend ever”

Dog : “Wow ! Bow” [wags the tail, sniffs my socks, playfully tries to eat my left leg]
He’s always done that, he continues to do that. Atleast he's the same.

Well friends, my dog did recognize me in the first instance. Dude didn’t even bark once, he snuggled close, sniffed my socks and then licked my hand – and then tried to eat my left leg like he always does. I couldn’t think of a better welcome home. My socks are full of his hair now, in that way he is a true son of a bitch, then again he can’t possibly take offense there.

He reminds me of certain things that really don’t change. Every morning in the past two weeks he stays by my bed for like two dog hours – whatever that maybe, till I wake up. He still rampages the ‘Hindu’ newspaper leaving the Malayalam daily Matrubhumi intact. If he was a dog in Tamil Nadu, his name would be ‘Vaiko’. He still urinates on all of my mother’s six hibiscus plants, each of a different colour. Mom would probably say if it was a dogini [female dog] all issues would be solved.

I don’t have to explain to him why I come home so late. He picks up some old rag and starts some stupid game. I don’t have teeth like him and I’m hygienic too – so obviously I lose. I don’t need to chew two “Center Fresh” gums before I meet him at night. I don’t need to tell him where I’m going when I’m going out, but every time I come back home, he jumps around with all the joy a body can express. Sometimes I doubt whether I’m good enough to be so happy about. And the way he sleeps in the afternoon sun, with no cares and no worries – sometimes I want to be a dog. There is nothing like a dog that can remind you – you are home. Being a dog and having a dog is so cool. Even Neruda said it.

Its been quite a break from blogging, then again I entered this sleeping beauty contest against our local cat. That cat sleeps like some lazy queen, but one day our dog will eat her or so I hope and then I'll win the contest. But anyone would sleep in this climate, its raining in the afternoon,

its raining in the evening *what a sexy blurrr*

and its raining in the night.

Thanks for the watch and everything else !

2007-04-09T18:33:00.000-07:00

"Today was my last working day in Florida . I'll be back in offshore after a short vacation.You people have fun as always, and thanks for the watch (it fits pretty well) and everything else."

mail part is done, cake is done, tickets done....but still so much stuff pending, feel like I'm the laziest bastard in town. No thats Visionary.

so its JFK to Trivandrum via Dubai.....can a mallu ask for more....flying to motherland via holy land :-)

Visionary wants me to update this space whenever I can log in, me too like the idea of saying stuff like "this is BVN logged in from Burj Al Arab in Dubai....just missed my connection *i hope not*" 6-8 pm

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

Its 2 PM on East coast, a bright and sunny day in Florida. One hour left for flight to JFK, where as CNN says its frickin snowing. I hate cold climate, but it comes third in my hate list. First is "packing". Packing sucks big time. I had to do away with so much of my cool stuff. I left the spiderman cup full of pennies,my Chomsky reader,some of my super cool clothes *mainly due to gaping holes in the texture* - but man its super cool. Abrupt says he'll wipe the toilet floor with my clothes once I leave - thats my worst nightmare - you know shadow kill. Maybe I can put him at number four in the hate list. Naah. Visionary,Abrupt and me had perhaps my last coffee n smoke in continental US outside the airport, cause if its cold in NY, I wont smoke. I hate cold climate. I was selected for special screening by security guys. I was about to invoke Huntington but then they send another white guy as well to the special screening room.Good. Florida has been a great place througout, why to leave with a bad taste. Then again, the screening was pretty cool, the guy kinda massaged me and was pretty courteous too. I've maintained throughout that its the society that makes people gay. But its not these tags people give but how comfortable you are with your sexuality - as Shoba De ammayi says. Enough guys, catch you later. I'm logging off from Fort Lauderdale International and you are reading bvndiaries, the most trusted name in blogam *I love the CNN punch line*

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

NYC. Reached a bit early, guess the pilot took some shortcut. Oh the same old distance displacement joke. Papa bear says temperatures have cooled down in Tvm, its like 29-31 aroundish, which is really nice. This wi fi thing is pretty cool, I just checked out the Vishu releases - Chota Mumbai and Big B. Hope Chota Mumbai blasts through the box office. There was this guy sitting next to me in the flight reading "Alternatives to Sex" by Stephen McCauley. I dont get it - why would a tall,handsome Anglo-Saxon hunk look for alternatives to sex. Loser. Then you wouldn't believe it, this lady - some executive - on my right was sewing throughout the flight. Frickin sewin man ! WHY ? I mean WHY? I got pissed big time, ate my peanuts and slept. Btw what is this fuss about NRN for President ? Gotta go guys, its 9:30 PM on the eastern sea board. btw Companion book is Madam secretary's Mighty and Almighty *such a lousy book, such a lousy book* - I've crawled through some twenty pages, if you get a chance don't read it. I'll touch that book again only if Emirates shows some Mammooty movie - Gotta go. Dubai, I'm coming. Subhanallah !

************************************
Its raining here.
Heavily. Occasional thunder. Plain sexy.
I'm closing the window and going back to sleep.
Home :-)

Why do I blog ?

2007-03-24T15:00:00.000-07:00

Warning: If you are reading this then this warning is for you. Every word you read of this useless fine print is another second off your life. Don't you have other things to do? Is your life so empty that you honestly can't think of a better way to spend these moments? Or are you so impressed with authority that you give respect and credence to all that claim it? Do you read everything you're supposed to read? Do you think every thing you're supposed to think? Buy what you're told to want? Get out of your apartment. Meet a member of the opposite sex. Stop the excessive shopping and masturbation. Quit your job. Start a fight. Prove you're alive. If you don't claim your humanity you will become a statistic. You have been warned (Fight Club)

Why does Travis Bickle try to kill Charles Palantine everytime I watch the Taxidriver? Why does the caged bird sing ? Why do I blog ?

The "Why" questions, I guess are the toughest to answer, perhaps the blog is a place where you ask questions and find answers to them - like say, a duck does not feel cold because of oil glands in its body and a feet without nerve endings. But then, we ask questions where we have a hint about the answer or at least we know the question. I don't have much time to stop and think about this, so I thought I'll jot down whatever comes to mind. If you don't belong to any of these categories, I can't help it, its just that I belong to all these categories.

the Kublai Khan Blogger

I can be a hypocrite here like always, but let me take a chance. What sits in the core of my blogging and everything else I do is the burning desire to churn out the whirling thread of Karma, to propagate, sustain and strengthen my DNA strain, to hoot at the top of my voice to other nocturnals inviting them to my nest, to get laid, to sustain my species. I got to admit with deep regret that this blog has failed me terribly in that regard. I am carefully considering other options to push my sex agenda like being a super-spy or a movie star or rather invade a country like Kublai Khan and George Bush did. There are several other sub-headings below but this the mother of all categories.

the Diary Blogger (Adult)

I used to have diary for like three four years. I have entries like "we took the other route while coming back from tuition, that was fun", I've kept the crime and the names secret and now when I realize my brain cells are dying I wish I'd just jotted that down. At that time I was a little unnerved by the prospect of someone finding things out, blog is about addressing that fear. Its about telling the society, this is what I am and I really don't care if you know.

the St Thomas- Loyola Blogger

The St Thomas - Loyola rivalry means a lot to me, but I cannot write a book on that, there will be very few readers for that. But when Kattakayam writes "We won the St. Thomas trophy that year and the next but were trounced for the loyola cup in 96..the only one that mattered for our boys." - blogs become our publishers and the search engines our distributor. Our tiny stories may not be important for the world, but it means a world to a lot of us. Thank goodness we live in the twenty first century and we have the tools. We may not be as important as Model and Rajput but we too have stories. My St Thomas, Jiby's Loyola and 'our' chicks from Holy Angels. I don't like to profile a person on my blogroll, if I hate anything its the 'collablog' but what Jiby writes is without exaggerations 'Genuine' - far deadlier than my esoteric ambiance.

the funny bone collector

"Doctors at MAIMS have conducted an autopsy on Mota's body. An FIR has been lodged against him and his body was questioned for over four hours." Its not only that dead bodies are funny with all the powder and stuff, I was jolted out of my extreme prejudice that chicks can't balance humor when I read Silver's post. She continues to own humor with a weird consistency.

It is important to laugh at ourselves, the society and George Bush and some of us are doing a heck of a job there.

the Hidden secret blogger - the beautiful one

Folklore has it that if you have a secret, it makes you more beautiful. Blogs are a second home for us. When the manager says "your performance this quarter on the new business generation front is below par", we say *Mr Manager, I'm plotting in my blog to overthrow everything you hold sacred , tonight I'm musing on what happened four minutes after the creation of the universe and you the loser, is sitting here talking to me about new business which you and I know is bullshit. I know you can't write a line like me. I know your wife beats you. I feel pity for your sheer insignificance on a cosmic scale. I own the cosmos, I have a blog and I'm beautiful*

the Humpty-Dumpty blogger

When this new kid is better than you at work and gets all the attention, you think I have a blog, I have a life. When you see a better blogger, you think I have a better job, I have a life. You are a lonely person, you want to scream out and be admired. You are fed up of the world and want to hide from fake admirers. Everyday you think of deleting it all and starting afresh. You are confused and bitter on not accomplishing anything anywhere. But instead of blogging tonight like a lonely man, you go to a party, you are again the lonely animal there. You are God's lonely man, the chosen one and you bleed.

the Apocalypse blogger

You are the Oliver Stone of blogging. You want to write "FUCK" on your blog as many times as possible because its indecent. You refuse to live in a world which refuses to think. The world would rather that you have a blog than a gun.

the Ambiance blogger

You like the way you concentrate when you blog, like a conversation with your self. Its not the output, but the sheer ambiance. The juice, the lake, the chain of smoke, the music. Its like watching television, its you and your blog, everything else is foreign.

the Creator - the all powerful

River's wrote once (in her blog)

See, I can see
things. The lust
in the toad’s eyes, the pretty
holes in the scarf, the strange shift
of the right eyebrow. I am the word-twister,
the shape-shark, witness to love and age and death
and any other cliché you can think of. I can make trivial
things seem momentous, historic, vital, meaningful. I can make
you shed a tear
for a toad’s love
for an old woman.

A writer (Mohanlal) said to his main character(Sreenivasan),

"I decide things here. Today I can make that beautiful girl fall in love with you, tomorrow I can kill your character with dysentery"

I got this email for a post of mine,

"Have you ever considered any real freedoms? Freedoms from the opinion of others... even the opinions of yourself? - was reading tht in ur blog..is there a real freedom?.. from the moment you are conceived.. u r tied..first by the umbilical cord, then..by countless promises and expectations, then more promises, more expectations.. U r not supposed to be free.. for the day you are free..you become the creator..because only a creator is free of freedom..he is above tht..beyond tht.."

There are many of us who think about that, some see the light and painful responsibility of that. Its scary and not to be attempted without a strong smell of cocaine.

Let me keep it simple, its simple if you think, I have a strong sense that this is why I blog,

"I'll tell you why. I think you're a lonely person. I drive by this place a lot and I see you here. I see a lot of people around you. And I see all these phones and all this stuff on your desk. It means nothing. Then when I came inside and I met you, I saw in your eyes and I saw the way you carried yourself that you're not a happy person. And I think you need something. And if you want to call it a friend, you can call it a friend."

One year in Blogam

2007-03-22T15:38:00.000-07:00

It was an year back, almost. I was rummaging through orkut profiles making fun of people and cracking jokes to myself when I came across a web link on my friend's profile (you know we studied together for sixteen years, so she was as webliterate as I was). Curious and jobless I clicked on it and lo I'm in this new kinda webpage - it did not ask for credit card information anywhere. Her post was on Neruda and maybe thats what set the ball rolling. I realized I had a lot of things to say, a little bit on Neruda, a lot about overthrowing governments and plenty of time at hand too. March being the best month in a software developer's life cycle with all new initiatives in a sham called 'Analysis'.

Through further analysis *my mallu ego - as the morons at home accuse - did not allow me to ask my friend directly* I found the blogger site, entered the initial bull, wrote this post and pressed publish. There was a scramble to see what happened where, but the page looked cute. I liked the post too, I was my first publisher and reader. And that was empowering.

The last time I felt so powerful was in an internet cafe near DPI, that was ages back. My friend xyz (not his real name) showed me this thingy called email. He taught me to create a yahoo id with which I could chat to any girl anywhere in the world. He said I could use this id to send 'letters' to other people, he also said its free. I did not believe him. So I typed something and send it to my fat friend's id *he had internet connection at home; his father was a smuggler* and immediately called him and checked. He could actually see the words that I typed in a few minutes back and read it out to me - to confirm, that was awesome and really cool. From the world of floppy disks, here we are - in the world of iphones, without a cure for cancer; and everyone has a blog. I have had one for an year now, and having a blog is cool.

Bird Photography

2007-03-13T22:21:00.000-07:00

As far as I can remember, I always wanted to be a bird photographer. Not really. Just an overdose of Scorsese.

Few days back I came across this beautiful poem at quitsmoke Mokashi's blog, and got inspired

Dark.. almost sunrise
geese call as they fly over rooftops-
to spring home with Artic view.
when do I fly to see you?

[you need to pause here and read it again]

Life after all is a recursive loop. I'm such a loser that even after two years in the heart of Everglades, I've never been to the park and now I'm not going. Whenever I wanted to go on a bird trail, I get bad company. The first guy I remember is my fishing friend. He took me fishing, promising that he'll catch a parrot for me. I used to dig out earthworms for him, clean his net and even keep his dragging on beedi a secret - all that for getting hold of a parrot and maybe killing it or something, I don't remember. Then one fine day this dude told me that there are no parrots left in Kerala and I started my famous moaning - I do that all the time. Then he said with a wry smile that all the good birds come to temple in the evening and he'll catch one for me there. I trusted him again. I was eight then, he was fifteen and an idiot.

About photography, I've always said,

"To photograph is to hold one's breath, when all faculties converge to capture fleeting reality. It's at that precise moment that mastering an image becomes a great physical and intellectual joy."

It does not surprise me a bit that Cartier Bresson has also said the same. Without trails or trips, some birds were lucky enough to fall into focus of my unique photographic eye. And here are some snaps, you could clik on the images to see the bigger picture- its that easy.

This classic shot inside the amazon rainforest in Galveston covers the entire group of parrots including cockatoos, amazons, macaws, conures, lovebirds, parakeets, cockatiels and budgerigars and of course parrots. Parrots eat flowers which give them their colour and are good at conversations. I had a two hour chat with the blue one in the picture.

Morning shot of a Weston white stork. Usual habitat is in the intersection of fair lake and Indian Trace. These migratory birds face extinction. This one in front of our house doesn't migrate nor gets extinct. Such a pain.

Gloomy day shot of Black-kiwi-looking brids. Total population is 13, as I counted correctly - which means one of them is very lonely. Afraid of - ME. See how they fled.

Shivering hand shot of a stubborn Greywhite beach bird at Dania beach. Greywhite beach birds eat fish and have an overarching tendency to commit suicide. The photo says it all. They are found near beaches.

High speed chase shot of Orange-peak-beach birds. Someone said they are albatross, I'm not sure. The camera was set to the maximum of fourteen frames per second. If you look closely you can see a Greywhite beach bird sitting there refusing to fly.

Potrait shot of my favourite, Duck. Usual habitats are right below my window, Thai restaurants and cricket grounds where Bangladesh plays. Its a two legged bird, with webbed feet. Eats Lays potato chips, pizza waste. Does not eat cigarette butts, but you can try. Attacks mobile phones, small kids, storks, me.

Note : Ducks CAN fly, this particular duck is lazy.

Post-lunch telephoto shot of Ahinga. Ahinga is also called Snake bird. Its main occupation is drying its wings in the sun. It lacks the oil glands which keeps other birds dry. If you don't have proper gear, why do you go into water ? - hence classified as a moronic bird. Usual habitat is in front of my office. Female of Ahinga is called Ahingari.

High focus low light shot of Brewer's blackbird, I called it mynah initially - both could be wrong. This is so painful. This black bird does nothing significant, it keeps staring at the Ahinga making some sarcastic sounds, well aware of the fact that it will never be a white stork even if it dips in water. Sarcasm after all is a loser's last resort. Loser bird.

Rear end shot of a two-legged-Shell walker bird. It walks on shells. Eats nothing significant, else it wouldn't be this small.

Wide angle shot of Pelican at Boca Raton. Main occupation is watching boats and counting waves. Points to note are the second most famous hollywood flick on a bird is Pelican Brief (first is Cuckoos Nest) and I don't like Julia Roberts and this post is really painful.

Close up shot of some frickin bird. Who cares.

In memory of my fishing friend who is still alive and his idea of birds. A Wide Eyed shot of American Blonde in Universal Studios. They have the largest brains among birds if its not clear from the picture. In case you are a blonde scroll down --->

<--- scroll up

This will keep you busy for sometime. This was my most painful post and I'm bored to death, hope you guys meet the same fate.

P.S : All photos are mine and if you copy them, I'm not sure about the exact legal term, but something very bad, they say, will happen.

Nauseous and Shaking

2007-02-27T18:57:00.000-08:00

There was a time when life used to be simple. There were these lists; friends, friend, best friend, friend's friend, second best friend, enemy, enemy's best friend, my friend who talks to the enemy; happy lists that kept changing, point being good or bad, you had real people. You slept daily and eleven thirty was really late night. You woke up with the sun even though you moaned and snuggled in bed for a few minutes. You were not aware of a lot of things but thoughts were clear and you never loved the grey rainy sky or the damp air around - life was sunny blue. Then one fine day, you grew up and your list of freedoms became a little too big. You could travel alone to any place you wanted, make friends with any one you wanted. Your life became friends and the clocks corrected to twenty four hour time. Keeping friends became you and you had all the time in the world for that. The lists of friends kept growing and the lists made sense no more, everyone was a friend and all were here to stay.

Life comes at you at neck-breaking speeds and you realize how unaware you are. There comes a time ; and it comes again and again, when you feel the world and all that's in it conspires to prove you wrong. You become unsure of yourself and assumes your life is a mess. At this point in weakness, your skin becomes thin and every criticism gives you some burns; maybe for the first time you ask your friends for loyalty. Loyalty is a very dangerous word indeed, it is in our best interests to reserve that for the canine kind and not for men. We are but people put by chance in pathetic huddles, with names that do not mean a thing and faces that keep changing. In such crude transitory huddles, the last thing one should search for is loyalty. And at the verge of your self doubt, the lists come back and you are your only judge of people, the blacklist of friends grows as big as the misunderstandings between us and after that as big the our over inflated egos and feelings of self importance.

You have a list of people lined up by your judgement, the list is so big that no one person is irreplaceable. When you cut off a name, you rely on another name. Then one day your puny wit assumes the latter as well is phony. One of these days, the list is not eight mile long anymore, there isn't anyone left. I have a job that pays well, I have a car that drives well and I do not need people. You have all the freedom in the world to keep yourself unhappy, you have cut off all your friends and there is no baggage from the past. These days you are in the comfort of strangers. You become the cat who cannot stand friendship or love because you've been burnt before, you become the cat that survives on admiration. Everything is fake, every smile, every interaction, every single thing is fake and everyone knows that, these pathetic huddles. You like to surprise people and that is your way of getting back at the world which you perceive is phony; and still you crave for admiration from the same phony world. You get a kick when someone hurts you, when another person proves he is phony, and you anxiously wonder why someone is taking time to let you down. There you are, at the verge of the abyss.

Life moves very fast ahead, taking you with it if you are lucky enough. You do not spend a moment to check back on where you started from or who all you met on the way, rather you prefer not to live in the past but in the present and it is of course a good thing to do. When you grip a name, you try real hard to place a face. When you have a face, you feel terrible that you don't remember those good times you had together - the ones you then thought you'd never forget. You have moved forward in life, but you can't collect your thoughts anymore. Memory is cluttered, vague, the brain cells are dying. You don't think anymore, you just live - with false perspectives, without anything to rely on and you call that independence; and then bleed. You thrive on not answering calls and then feeling bad about why no one calls you, defining islands for yourself and believing that super-conscious people do not need sleep. All you want is to be the ancient villager who breathed fresh air, ate sensible food and slept during the night; all you want is to collect your thoughts. At the height of externally induced sleeplessness, you finally cut yourself off from everything, every inch of you is awake, you see things clearly without emotion, without exaggeration you feel extra-terrestrial, you think its super consciousness, you smell like nicotine, feel you are Kurt Cobain. Perhaps the only thing you want is to be that ancient villager who after a good night's sleep and a nice breakfast is off to the paddy field, while the birds of morning sing. His happy dog following him to the paddy field -with all the loyalty only a dog can give, with all the patience which only a paddy field can give.

Oscars '07

2007-02-25T13:28:00.000-08:00

Academy can be funny at times and predicting the awards is a waste of human resources. Last year I'd seen all the major contenders and was quite sure about the winner - till Jack Nicholson pissed off us all. This time around I haven't seen many of these movies *then the Academy people also don't watch it all - like last time they didn't watch Brokeback* and hell - I like predicting !

So here's my take,

Best Picture : The Departed
Best Director : Martin Scorsese, The Departed
Best Actor : Peter O'Toole *perhaps*
Best Actress : Helen Mirren, Queen
Best Animated Film : Happy Feet
Best Documentary : An Inconvenient Truth
Best Visual Effects \ Art: Pirates of the Caribbean

Another three hours to go, then the Academy can be really funny,

My full list,

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

Update :

Not bad...

Best Picture : The Departed [Winner]
Best Director : Martin Scorsese, The Departed [Winner]
Best Actor : Peter O'Toole *perhaps*
Best Actress : Helen Mirren, Queen [Winner]
Best Animated Film : Happy Feet [Winner]
Best Documentary : An Inconvenient Truth [Winner]
Best Visual Effects \ Art: Pirates of the Caribbean [Winner]

the Awards went to,

The best thing other than me getting it right this time was to see Martin Scorsese ending his "Legendary" Oscar drought. See why,

THE AVIATOR (2004) -- Nominee, Directing
GANGS OF NEW YORK (2002) -- Nominee, Directing
THE AGE OF INNOCENCE (1993) -- Nominee, Writing (Adapted)
GOOD FELLAS (1990) -- Nominee, Directing
GOOD FELLAS (1990) -- Nominee, Writing (Adapted)
THE LAST TEMPTATION OF CHRIST (1988) -- Nominee, Directing
RAGING BULL (1980) -- Nominee, Directing

and never won !!

Marty winning the award for Best Director, presented to him by Francis Ford Coppola, George Lucas and Steven Spielberg together will go down as one of the finest moments in Academy history - and a moment to cherish for all who hold good cinema very close to their hearts. Wow ! what a night.

Faded Brinjal,Oppenheimer n other gems

2007-02-19T18:28:00.000-08:00

"Look at that colour man !"

"hmm....faded brinjal"

"What ?"

"faded brinjal colour"

"thats lavender man"

"c'mon ! only girls remember these colour-words"

"aha....so whats this colour?"

"hmm...jeans washed thousand times colour"

"this is crazy man...so what are your other colours...decayed rat and dried shit colour huh"

"fuck you"

"mind your language...'wise I'll do homosex with you"

"there is no word called homosex"

"Its there"

"Its not there"

"Fuck you"

"I said that first"

"so"

"so you do first"

"fine then ....cuttiff"

"aha...hogalo...cuttiff"

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

Your ancient friend is in town, but you are, from all sides GBCF (gangbanged clusterfucked) *NY lingua* at WORK and at the very verge of a nervous breakdown that all the time you have for him is six frickin hours. He is graceful enough to say that is fine and maybe its fine because, as Sander Kleinenberg said,

" This is not Jakarta
This is not LA
This is not Monaco
This is not Bombay

This is not Vienna
This is not Shanghai
This is not Las Vegas
This is not Dubai

This is not Athena
This is not Jombo
This is not Geneva
This is not Tokyo

This is not Kinshasa
This is not Paris
This is not Beirut
This is Miami"

such a lousy song, my two line song is better than this

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

Five of them in the garage, Duck

Shit strewn all over, Yuck !

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

This is the deciding week and its chilly outside, you know how bad it is when you don't have a fricking thing to cling on to and its chilly outside. I was shivering yesterday night, the blanket was not as cosy as I assumed and I'm lazy enough to get out of bed. Its just that I am fed up of it all and there is nothing to cling on to, then I will not crib. As one fellow blogger gracefully reminded in the morning I wish I could think like Oppenheimer, because if I remember correctly,

The Supreme Light said: I am time, the mighty destroyer of the world, out to destroy. Even without your participation all the warriors standing arrayed in the opposing armies shall cease to exist. Therefore, get up and attain glory. Conquer your enemies and enjoy a prosperous kingdom. All these warriors have already been destroyed by Me. You are only an instrument.

Maybe its time to brush up my basics. Enough of gibberish blogging.

Tag of three !

2007-02-06T17:46:00.000-08:00

Neihal has tagged me. Funda of the tag is, like there are three things, so what this tag does is given there are three things for example say if there are three things, you kinda do a tag of three. That was cool hehe, and here I go...

*! - Technical terms with no significant meaning*

Three things that scare me
1. My Landlord-ini
2. Product Launches!
3. Pressure cooker

Three people who make me laugh
1. Stephen Colbert
2. Appi,Laddu,Ammavan!
3. Moiself

Three things I love
1. Fridays
2. Travelling
3. The spanish chick who lives downstairs

Three things I hate
1. Writing E-mails, especially work related
2. Cold Climate
3. The spanish chick's dad who lives downstairs

Three things I don't understand
1. Difference between Churidar and Salwar Kameez
2. Do ducks feel cold, when its cold outside ?
3. Why every girl I know hates Aishwarya Rai

Three things on my desk
1. One pack Malboro Lights
2. My dog - Bolshoi!
3. Ipod

Three things I am doing right now
1. Searching under my desk
2. Searching in google
3. Still searching for the moron who coined this tag

Three things I want to do before I die
1. Live
2. Visit Pahad *Himalayas which Jiby wrote about*
3. Set up my animal farm

Three things I can do
1. I can say 23 jokes in two minutes
2. I can eat 10 chicken wings in two minutes
3. I can do fifty push-ups in two minutes

Three things you should listen to
1. The Doors
2. Mom - when she says 'quit smoking'
3. Silence - *some funda*

Three things you should never listen to
1. Colleagues who crib about work
2. "Moral science" teachers and their illegitimate sons
3. Death rock, especially just after waking up - screws your system

Three things I'd like to learn
1. How to Write Emails
2. How to say NO
3. How to find out where a Spanish chick works and then what to do about that

Three favourite books
1. Love in the time of Cholera
2. Legend of Khasak
3. Essential Neruda

Three favourite food
1. Dosa with Sambhar and Chutney
2. All American Breakfast - Denny's
3. Kappa with beef fry and a KF to drain down

Three beverages I drink regularly
1. Coffee - Tea *10-15 times a day*
2. Guava juice + Pineapple juice + mango juice cocktail *5 times minimum*
3. Soda lime - again personal cocktail, others will puke

Three TV shows/books I watched/read when I was kid
1. Three Investigators *Alfred Hitchcock presents*
2. Poompatta, Bobanum Moliyum
3. Giant Robot

Three people I like to tag.

Alakananda
Mathew
BD

Whooo!

Hollow Men

2007-01-29T20:03:00.000-08:00

If you are frustrated with options on the highway, you can take the exit. It lies a few miles south of the point where interstate roads converge and a hundred signboards appear, each road taking you to a different city, each road has its own speed limits. In case the options tire you or in case you have nowhere to go, you can take the exit. I took the exit. That’s where I found the restaurant.

I can’t tell you what places I saw on that exit, I don’t remember. Rather, I don’t pay attention to the fleeting sights outside the window, I was curious about those when I was a kid. But then I realized that those beautiful hills you see outside the window just whisper to you that you’ll never be in those places.

I had this habit of traveling to far off places hoping that I’ll unwind, hoping that I’ll workout solutions while silently looking out of the window but at the end of those trips the old worries and new sights would have gridlocked into some stale blankness. So nowadays I gaze at the bonnet of the vehicle.

The restaurant looked shabby from the outside, few cars in the parking lot were worn out and rusty; I didn’t have the patience to think what a restaurant was doing in this part of the country side – I just rushed in, anything was better than the event less stretch of the highway.

In the inside, the place turned out to be quite spacious. It was a hall with several outlets for food and drinks and a huge dome ceiling. There was no natural light, but sure the place was well lit. I sat at the first counter and asked the girl for a soda pop.

“Here’s your soda” said the girl at the counter “you want an apple pie?”

“Oh ! you should try that apple pie” Norman said while grabbing the girl by hand. Oh, Norman is the old junk I just met here, “her apple pie gets really mushy”

Norman must have been in his late sixties, his skin was all wrinkled, his clothes looked out of place but he had this interesting sparkle in his eyes. Oh and his hands were skillful, the way he cut the pie for me, the way he fished the hookers and the bar girls - adroit. The pie was addictive, we finished seven without budging and I wanted more.

“Don’t get stuck here kid, that’s all I’ve got to say”, he said

“How do you mean? How ‘bout another pie” I asked “and beer of course”

“Oh well, don’t get stuck with pie alone, try the shrimp with ale”

He ordered a bowl of shrimp and ale to go with.

“I have this allergy to shrimp” I said “I’ll have pie rather”

“All food is allergic at first boy, point is to have more. Do you know the human intestines have not till this day of today accustomed to cow’s milk? ”

“That some theory” I said,”but this is on you”

“Everything is on the house” Norman grinned.

He sat one of the bar girls on his lap, her face towards his. They both flirted like old lovers for sometime while I finished bowl after bowl of my new found love – shrimp. He nuzzled close to her breasts in one swift move letting her down, right on time. She left out a shriek and walked away laughing. I was impressed at the way he bent so close without touching – experienced hands, I thought.

“What do you call these girls in your country?” Norman asked

“Bar girls I guess” I said

“I think its saki, right? The empresses of the tavern”

“Uh-huh” said I “but man, that’s one nice move you’ve got there, I would have messed up Sir”

“Ha, the point is to be non-threatening you know, we have all the time in this world” Norman said “then some of these things are no fun once you hear it, touch it n all, just sustain anticipation, that’s hell funny”

“What now?” I asked “more shrimp? I’m hungry still”

“Why don’t you pick some sugar up?”

“Oh well…I’ll sustain anticipation for now” I said laughing

“Ha, you’ve grown clever with all that shrimp” he said “But wait till the lunch time, wait till the gala begins and all those girls come out”

Then the conches and trumpets blew and the lunch time gala erupted all around us. Food drinks and girls came from all sides. Norman was right. The world around looked like an explosion of bikinis and de parfum. I sustained anticipation even after the lunch time, anticipation of the next lunch time. Dinner was breathtaking when I compared it to lunch. The party went on and on. Dinner, fun, breakfast and lunch, it kept coming. In between we played snooker and some card games near the barbeque outlet. The restaurant spread far and wide, we moved from one counter to the other, from one gala to the next. It was like clockwork, the excitement and anticipation kept on building, every gala was better than the previous. Every drink was tastier than the other. Every show was new and full of surprises. Every girl was hot.

I was all pumped up when we entered the lobster kitchen; I had just fallen in love with sushi and saki.

“Pop, saki is this Japanese drink ok! You got it wrong old man”

“No, I was right. I have read about it in college, I’ve read a lot in college”, Norman said

“Whatever, I love this place, this gala n all. Look how easy it is for a macaca like me to pick up a chick here and I have all the food and drink I can have. You wouldn’t understand it man, how hard it is outside there. If this is not communism, then what is?”

Norman said, “This is not Communism. I have read about it in college, I’ve read about a lot of things in college. People who read more, by default end up here son”

“Whatever….why is the lobster taking so long, this is the first time we’ve had to wait”

“How dare you say ‘whatever’?” Norman shrieked “College was over, we had broken up and she’d gone to her parents’ in Alabama, I was on my way back home, all tired and sad, when I took this exit. It was seventy five years ago; I haven’t left here since then.

Now I realize, I was just three miles from home, just three miles”

I sat there aghast. For the first time I looked at the hair falling over my eyes. I pulled some out in horror, every hair was graying. I felt a cold nausea.

“Just three miles, just three miles from home, oh I could have…..maybe walked if I knew…maybe called someone” Norman kept repeating

Was anything wrong with the clockwork? was it slowing down? Is the anticipation wearing out, is it the end? I was blank with fear. We were two hollow men looking pitifully at each other.

The lobsters came in a flash and we pounced on it like children. The nightmare was over, we were awake again. I broke the shell of the lobster with growing anticipation.

Dear Diary

2007-01-22T12:08:00.000-08:00

Its been a very busy weekend. The skit script is trickling in slowly - but do we kill Muthaliar or not, thats the nerve wracking question, then the cricket finals - Builder's team won but Abrupt has claimed his place in Wisden glory, Ad Mad - oh ! everybody is mad, Dumb Charades - FYI there is a hindi movie called 'Baaz Bahadur' *WTF* we lost. Builder bought some twenty watches, fifty perfumes and one white gold ring hehe. Then, yeah Clevelander on the beach.

Jumbo shrimp 12 $
Garlic Fries 48$
Miami Vice 12$
Rum Runner 10$
Collada 12$
Mojitos 80$
Tequila Shots 60$
Cuban Cigar 18$

Five wide-eyed 'trippers' lost in Miami beach building sand castles at three in the morning, shaking hands underground when the tunnels meet - Priceless
Four drunk fuckers bidding farewell to the fifth drunk fucker - Poignant

Well,Builder is leaving. He'll be in his snowy village somewhere in the Himalayas sipping tea and muckraking with other Yatis (snow man according to me, Van manush or forest man according to Soni) and hunting down Yak in packs of twenty four. It will be fun. For the very few of us who are still here, coffee breaks will be a little odd , two years went so fast; and my room, guess will be half empty. The blogger will *atleast temporarily* escape the outrage hovering around the threat of Chinese invasion *btw Builder is Chinese though he says he's not* everytime a 'controversial' post comes here. And sure will miss Builder's occasional "what the fuck have you written".

thats enough for another page in the diary, so guess its Goodbye for now.

iPhonian fundas

2007-01-15T20:11:00.001-08:00

Apple unvieled their iPhone last week and I knew what I wanted to do for a living. It struck me, just like that,plain,simple,clinical. I'm not a geek ; but don't recommend going back to the villages either, I'm somewhere in between and Apple says somewhere in between is not the place to be. I was jumping around clapping and shouting "iPhone ki ..." after watching the keynote, much to the annoyance of my co-lazy-techies doing time-pass in office.

If someone asks me what I like about myself the most,I'll be overwhelmed with emotion 'cause I like me so much and would in most cases be silent with a smug face and a wide wide grin. But then one thing that excites me the most about myself will be my sudden reaction to genius, its like an internal combustion chamber filled with rocket fuel suddenly picking up a spark from somewhere. The feel good after that is unique,I feel thankful to myself for 'getting it' and settles down with that wide wide grin. Did anyone say 'nauseating megalomaniac'? Whoever said that STAND-UP DAMU !

Certain questions gnaw at us without our knowing after that first time we chance upon them. Otherwise why would I think of cell phones, why would I think of how to fix them and when somebody does it why would I shout "Oh the genius of it" and then go through the ubiquitous feeling of why I didn't get it first. All of us are pissed off with our mobile phones and thats a fact we live with. Dim lit screens, crazy menus,very less memory for songs and stuff, hell wrecking keypads and small small screens where browsing internet on the phone is unimaginable. Every time you make the screen bigger, the keypad is a pain for your fingers and vice versa. When you make both the keypad and the screen big or you make them slide, you carry a mobile as big as that grenade your grandfather used to throw at Pakistanis.

Apple took the keypad out and the 'big players' looked on like Watson. When you can touch the screen,why not have the keys on the screen. PDAs have done it before, but they were monstrous devices. Then Apple went on to merge their Ipod with the phone but the phone didn't grow thick. The menu, voicemail, conferencing and internet browser are all years ahead and you have an iPod inside your phone.Its extraordinarily cute, a brilliant device.

Will iPhone be successful away from its San Fransisco neighbourhood in places where people still have grease on their fingers. I don't know. But I know one thing "When you need to dial, it shows you a keypad; when you need other buttons, the screen serves them up. When you want to watch a video, the buttons disappear. Suddenly, the interface isn't fixed and rigid, it's fluid and molten. Software replaces hardware". iPhone is the Oedipus of phones, the one Jim Morrison warned you about and I'm happy with that and I'm happy with Steve Jobs for that.

We live in a world where the monopolist of Operating Systems simply refuses to innovate - sticking on to some format he stole from someone before I was born. But then he is a philanthropist now,the worlds biggest - lets give him a Nobel Prize. Though he shovels the crappiest kernels down our gullet, I'm just happy that my dollar money fights AIDS in the dark continent. But when my system hangs every three minutes, unknowingly I tell him "Do your job dude!"

We treat Cell Phones like some divine gift; we're just too thankful to existence that they are here for us. If you say Nokia's N series is sluggish, it becomes blasphemy. A dear friend of mine said "You talk like a Commie ! Just be thankful to GOD that IT industry is here for you". We were talking about trade unions in IT. My friend loathes coding and takes pride in the fact that he is Junior Management now.Guys like him breed and will be senior management someday and will lead our IT behemoths in times to come. They have disregard for new ideas *its just the new guy trying to impress the boss* and fear new technology *why to start at the bottom of some learning curve,when you have a penthouse on top of the old one* - so make merry, manage stagnation and celebrate mediocrity.

On a personal note, I regard lines of code as the foundation and motors of this industry and anyone who does not appreciate the beauty and genius of these lines of code have no place here, they are outsiders. Its been a long while since I got a chance to work with code as such, but I've loved it all the way. When I implement a few thousand lines of code and ten thousand call-centre operators around the world go home a few minutes earlier and less stressed out - thats about it, thats this industry, its rock. Rest all is auxiliary.

Our penny wise pound foolish IT behemoths are neck deep in hierarchy, they take no chances. So is our movies, its all in the family. You get the Khans any given day, Farhan, Hrithik and the Kapoors are your childhood friends, you call the Bachans uncle and aunty, you make soul-less bullshit and get blockbuster openings on star value alone and then you go on to call your movie "its all about loving your parents". Sit properly dude, any gay fucker can do that.

Then there are people like Steve Jobs and George Clooney and Mani Ratnam, who know their craft. Mani got his iPhone in "GURU",though nowhere near 'Iruvar' - I'm happy with the movie. Its a two hour fourty nine minute lesson for the Yashrajs and Rajashris.

Its the thread that runs through these individuals, the thread of genius and their commitment to that intelligence. Its the chances they take in the things that they do that makes them so special. And me so happy. Its Plato's call on Wines and bottles.

Guess thats enough for the two cents Apple paid me to write this piece !

Man of the year, Saddam and YOU !

2006-12-31T15:55:00.000-08:00

After almost twenty five years of indecision and stupid choices, TIME has finally decided to confer its Person of the Year title on me. Though it came a bit too late, I was overjoyed when the magazine finally reached my mail with the good news and a mirror stuck on the LCD screen as you see in the picture. I thank the Editorial board for the honour. In Public I'll continue to maintain "WHY ME ? there are so many other more talented people" while in Private I know "WHO ELSE !!". In case you are jealous by now, you can BURN, while Gandhi, Mandela, Bono, me and Bush will be partying at the winners ball at Miami tonight....hehe

Jokes apart, 2006 has been our year. Its the year of those people who after a days work, decided to skip a movie and write a blog, comment on a blog, upload a video, create a playlist on itunes, write a review on Amazon. Just for the heck of it, just like that !

Its a big thank you to all of you out there, who read my stuff and whose stuff I read and watch. I have learnt and experienced the most in 2006 than any other year. Its a humbling experience or so to say. As a token of my appreciation, I'm sharing the Person of the Year title with you guys, Love you all :-)

The changes we brought about are mind blowing, call it WEB 2.0 or something else, its a revolution in the making. Just imagine the amount of time we have spend on blogs and YouTube and GoogleVideos this year, with no billing and no money involved. Just imagine how much you have contributed to information and opinion in the world wide web, on Wicki, in Flickr, in Yahoo Answers, in the comments section of Ibn and Guardian Blogs. Nobody paid you or millions of others who contributed and collaborated. Assuming 99% of human beings are good people, its any body's guess how we are gonna change this world from now.

Saddam, the guy with that nice mustache was hanged yesterday and US death toll in Iraq reached 3000 today. Though the blogger is smug faced about the happenings in Iraq
* My Hero has warned that , if I oppose him, he'll "liberate" this blog and bring democracy here, like he did in Iraq* because I would rather save my dictatorship in this blog, the impact of an amateur video that came out yesterday in Google Videos is mind blowing. It showcases the new found power of YOUR media over mass media.

Find the video here, Saddam Hanging Video

Its been a great year and one that holds a lot of promise for years to come and its YOU who made all the difference. So guess its Goodbye with lots of love to 2006.

Current Track : Sometimes you can't make it on your own, U2

Have a great 2007 !

Calvin, Hobbes n Track Santa

2006-12-24T23:36:00.000-08:00

Yeah, I send you the same cartoon last year, Ok fine, the year before also. Somehow, I can't find anything better than this,its my Christmas tradition :-)

Btw NORAD ( North American Aerospace Defense Command ) has installed the craziest thing I've heard of. They are tracking Santa's movement across the Globe from the moment he lifts of from North Pole. This is how NORAD says they do it,

"The moment our radar tells us that Santa has lifted off, we use our second mode of detection, the same satellites that we use in providing warning of possible missile launches aimed at North America. These satellites are located in a geo-synchronous orbit (that's a cool phrase meaning that the satellite is always fixed over the same spot on the Earth) at 22,300 miles above the Earth. The satellites have infrared sensors, meaning they can detect heat. When a rocket or missile is launched, a tremendous amount of heat is produced - enough for the satellites to detect. Rudolph's nose gives off an infrared signature similar to a missile launch. The satellites can detect Rudolph's bright red nose with practically no problem. With so many years of experience, NORAD has become good at tracking aircraft entering North America, detecting worldwide missile launches and tracking the progress of Santa, thanks to Rudolph. "

This is probably the best gift anyone could possibly have this Christmas, so whats the wait ?

>>>> TRACK SANTA <<<<

merry X'mas to you all :)

P.S : I've been tracking this guy since morning . I sent a mail as well to dude. His id is

northpole@officialsantamail.com

and you know what, he responded, see the reply

Greetings From the North Pole! It's Christmas Eve & my sleigh is loaded and ready and we have prepared the final flight checks with NORAD for our trip around the world! All this running around is helping to keep us warm because we have had some very cold Arctic air come through here lately! My elves, Chuckles and Buckley, will make sure any last minute requests get sent via email to the sleigh. The reindeer are ready for their Magical flight and have been eating their Magical Corn! Do you remember what makes the corn magical? I am pleased to see that you are on the NICE list again this year and we are so proud of you! Have you guessed the secret ingredient in the reindeer?s magical corn? It is LOVE! The reindeer enjoy their magical corn, but it is the love of the children and Christmas that keeps them going! Stay happy and remember to share the magical love that comes from the heart!
Love, Santa Claus
p.s : BVN , Can you mention me in your very popular blog

Oh sure Santa, and here I post !!

DealsToBuy !

2006-12-15T23:38:00.000-08:00

Last week Boyz bought a new HP laptop but is not allowing Sonali to download porn, he says "my laptop is sacred" ; On hearing this Builder bangs his head twice on some Led Zepp song and goes in search of his new Ipod, but Steve Jobs has made it so small this Christmas that he needs a microscope to find it; There are media players, Ipod speakers and laptop bags strewn across the house and in office people run around with mail-in-rebate forms; At home we have bought so many thumb drives and external passport discs that the total storage capacity of our house is now 3 Terabytes - if this continues for a year, we'll be Google. In office, across coffee, in the breakrooms and even in rest-rooms Desi techies have a single question -"Is there a good deal ?"
Welcome to the time of the year between thanksgiving and Christmas, its the season of "DealstoBuy".

I bought a Canon Digital Rebel XT and pacified my last remaining desire in this world. As you all might know, the absolute truthiness is that this is the best camera man has ever laid his hands upon. I zoomed it on the cloudy night sky yesterday and look what I got.

Didn't get it ? MARTIANS baby MARTIANS!! Finally we know they dont have green mustaches. Can you believe it, this camera zooms till Mars...aweZooom.

Now I had to name my aweZoom camera and as per tradition I named it 'Lekshmikutty'. My old camera's name is lekshmikutty, my laptop's name is lekshmikutty, my motorola's name is lekshmikutty and even my stolen Samsung mobile's name was lekshmikutty. (whoever has stolen lekshmikutty, please return it, else I'm gonna screw you when I become Trivandrum commissioner). This naming logic might sound funky but its a built-in molecule in our family's stupidity stream. My ex-military (now I dont have to stress the 'aridity' of imagination) grand-father had three dogs and all were called 'Veeran'.

me : "Apooppa badminton"
ExMgpa : "umm hmm...we'll first name the new dog"
me : "can we call it Dingan or Maayavi ?"
ExMgpa : "no we'll call it Veeran"
me : "its a doberman...how can you call it Veeran"
ExMgpa : "you are as stupid as your grandmother"
me : "but Amoomma wont like this name"
ExMgpa : "yet another reason to call him Veeran !! Veera, go shit in Mathai's property"

[Veeran goes and shits in Tharakkandam Mathai's property]

Then every girl child in our family is called Srikutty.

Ammayi : "Srikutty, cheekuttiii...look she's smiling at you"
me : "don't tell me...her name is also Srikutty ?"
Ammayi : "ya why...ain't it cute"
me : "but this is the fourth Srikutty right?"
Ammayi : "well..."
me : "why can't we put some other name"
Ammayi : "like ?"
me : "like Paris Hilton or something"
Ammayi : "when you have a kid, call her Paris or Kochi or whatever you want...cheekuttiii"

Back to my excellent topic of discussion. Now, the desi techies in US have this inherent irritation to buy online. Its natural, Visionary spends all his savings at offshore to buy a MotoRazr, a year and half back and then comes onshore to US. Here he gets a MotoRazr at 1\40th of his monthly take home. Analyze that ! Isn't there a little irritation to buy something ?

Even I came to US for a very similar purpose [OMG now I've got a purpose for coming here, I love blogging]

@ the Port of Entry,
Immigration officer : "What is the purpose of your stay in US"
me : "I want to buy a Olympus 10x extra zoom camera with 4-5 mpx resolution and built-in image stabilization"
Immigration officer : " Welcome to America, go to dealstobuy"

I bought my camera in the first few weeks after days of deal searching online. Then the two days of package tracking online at the DHL site. Then two days of honeymoon with the camera. And that was it ! You know how a man feels when he's achieved his last goal in life ? I felt it those days.

Then a dear friend of mine advised me to buy a lap-top. He said coming to US and not buying a lap-top is like going to LA and not sleeping with Paris Hilton. This time I set the bar so high that I didn't get a good deal for months. Those were the glorious days of struggle, refresh dealstobuy, Dell,Sony,Thoshiba notebook sections every hour, keep watch, discuss the nitty-gritty of processing speed and bluetooth and double-layer memory. Then Christmas came, I got a deal and Lekshmikutty (the notebook) came through DHL with all irrational exuberance.

Lap-top is a great invention. Once you buy a lap-top, there are hundreds of accessories you need ranging from memory devices to laptop fan, laptop light, remote control et all. It kept me busy for months and only I knew how happy I was when I opened each package. All good things must come to an end, so did my desires. Builder and me would look at each other and say,

Builder : "What do we buy man?"
me : "I don't have anything dude"
Builder : "me too f***"
me : "what a shit life this is"

After the buying binge comes the period of glorious non-use or substance abuse. Lekshmikutty (the notebook) smells of guava juice and musk body spray with specks of egg scramble and chicken wings between the keys on the board. Then one day I found cigarette ash on the speakers,

me : "Who smoked here when I was in office"
Lekshmikutty : "Do I smoke ? so must be you"
me : "shut down!!....don't try to fool me"
[then I realized I had her with me when I smoked the night before]
me : "sorry about that Lekshmikutty,forgive me..will never suspect you. I promise"

I'm not sure if she's forgiven me, guess she complains to Builder's laptop "Chameli" when I sleep. Then, it was my mistake.

LK @ night

Now this mid-life buying crisis strikes only those few like Builder and me, who need a reason to buy something and dont really care about the price if we badly need it. The other type is funny,

Kadru : "I got a deal for Pig-Shit, just saved 20$..yippee"
Me : "what you gonna do with P-S ?"
Kadru : "Dude...if you buy outside, it will be 320$"
Me : "what you gonna do with P-S ?"
Kadru : "you are jealous"

It might be that our jobs are boring and there are no exams where we can score over the other guys. So dig out a deal, get PlayStation3 for free, flout it for sometime and be the cleverest boy in class till someone else gets a better deal.

Another Christmas weekend is coming and USA will be on its second biggest shopping spree after Thanksgiving. Last month there were shooting incidents outside the shopping malls between guys waiting in line for deals. For a nation that considers Wal-marts and BestBuys as their high-churches, the Christmas eve mass will be infront of those shops, in a mad rush for Wiis and Playstations . If we are in the mood, we'll drink that day and say cheers to the dude for making wine out of water and maybe ask him to chase off the desi-techies, who'll be sleeping overnight in front of Circuit Citys and Office Depots to grab the free deals as soon as they open - like he did at the temple. To all my desi-techie friends sleeping overnight in front of shops for deals, all I have to say is this quote from the strongest man ever.

"We might be trolley pullersssssssss
................But, we are not beggarssss" - Jayan (1944 -1980)

Five Days in Texas

2006-12-05T21:26:00.000-08:00

Day I

Evening flight, lousy airline and an orange level security alert. On board Continental to Houston, the airline sucks, it sucks like mammooty in 'Ezhupunna Tharakan' and all his other movies. Only aspect they score above other fleets is the ticket price, I got a 'deal' but still there were cracks in my jockey. The flight is as noisy as a pressure cooker and dude, they charge you for the headphone, now you know.

I got the window seat and was waiting for the 'inchi mittai' seller to come by when this scrawny little kid in the next seat showed off his new video game. I wanted to tell the chimp that its no X-Box and to just shut the fuck up, but then there was this mammal in the third seat - his mother. So I just said "Ok fine".

The thing I noticed was how mammals manipulate kids. She made the tiny thing to do so much of crap stuff, like saying 'thank you' to the air hostess. I never thank the air hostess, would anyone thank an auto-driver every time he takes a turn. C'mon, I dont think so.

I struck a pretty good conversation with the mother after she said she lived in Houston for twenty-three years as I was already suspicious of Houston being the lousiest place in the free world. She said she was a professional mid-wife. I said 'God Bless America'.

me : "whats interesting in Houston"

she : "well.....[five minutes of silence]...you have the space station here"

me : [wanted to tell her the space station was up in space] I know there is a NASA here but I've been to Canaveral launchpad...what else is there

she : "well..." [plane landed]

I stood outside the airport wondering why we choose lousy Houston for a five day vacation. If I were Jack Nicholson there was abs-fuckin-lutely nothing in the fourth largest city of US. Then the guys came.

Well, it all started with this email invitation which none of us could possibly resist,

From : Appi
To : me, laddu, ammavan and froz

Kazhuverikale...

Varumbol avananu venda saadhanangal kondu vannonam....

Bed sheet... pillow.... Jatti... thorthu... muthalaayava...pinne tharayil churundu koodi konam..... ONNUM IVIDE NINNU PRATHEEKSHIKANDA!!!

Pinne ...avanavante saadhanangal matrame ivide ninnu kondu pokaavoo....

Ithil ethelum karyathil ethirpullavar thamasathil hotel soukaryam erapaadu cheythekanam.... Ente veetil kaalu kuthanda..... souhrida vichedanathinu vare thayyaar!!!!

Thanks,
Appi

Translated as

[Hey Guys!!

We proudly host your Thanks giving BLAST ‘06 in wild wild TEXAS!!!
A warm welcome to you all!!!
We would try to make our first big gathering in US as memorable and joyous as possible!!!
So…. Guys!!!! BUCKLE UP AND GET READY FOR THE KILL!!!

Cheers,
Appi ]

At Appi's place, after he lost his way seventeen times in the traffic, it was a blast. Ammavan and he had beef curry in the stove and tandoori chicken in the grill. All my doubts about five days in Houston just vanished in a second. Beef curry man - holy cow curry - I knelt before the spicy smell and gave one elaborate mexx-salute. That was the best thing anybody did to me in US. The surprises did not end there, to go with the JohnnyWalker we had packs and packs of Goldflake Kings. Goldflake guys, pure, 'nadan' Goldflake in the US of A. If that is not sex, then what is sex.

I had this initial doubt that Froz maybe a mammooty or Dileep fan, but he turned out to be a big Mohanlal fan with utter contempt for everyone else. At six in the morning after 1750 ml of scotch, all venugopal and mohanlal hits, all possible bad words laddu could come up with [his life's motto is "enne paranja njanum parayum"] and a small skirmish over Jim Morrison's lyrics we went to sleep. No, we watched 'Summer in Bethlehem'.

Oh the way Froz trashes Dileep in every possible chance, Kavya Madhavan will commit suicide if she hears Froz. Oops ! its Manju Warrier , then I'm drunk. I don't believe Froz, there is nothing going on between Kavya and Dileep, they just make a good pair, then I'm drunk.

Day II

After gallons of orange juice I could stand. Appi suggested we checkout the mallu food joints and we set out for this lousy mallu joint with a lousier ammachi serving food. Laddu jumped on the mallu newspaper there and instictively went to the arson, elopement and rape columns but was pretty pissed off as there werent many. The place was bad, but food was mind blowing with sambhar and pulissery and beef and 'fish with kodampuli' and chicken. I nearly burst after the raid and couldn't move an inch. Went back home, watched "Lelam" and slept. Felt like heaven, literally.

Dhoom II - was that Ash's spinster party ? I slept five times and hell, there was no pop-corn to disturb others. I felt like crying "kalanjittu podi", then all sardars around were laughing at the chopra kid.

Late night joints are costly affairs, but laddu got this thanksgiving deal and made the most of it. Little said the better. I wanted to tell him that a women scorned is the worst thing I know of, but then we dont talk girls off late.

I was dozing off when Ammavan ran in and said Mullaperiyar dam might break any second. I waited for three seconds and dozed off again. Too tired.

Day III

Clueless to hilt on what to do and pretty pissed off with all tamils. It was time Nayanthara made it clear whom she stood with on the Mullaperiyar issue. I suggested we go to the museum of fine arts, Froz, the hypocrite agreed, Ammavan and Laddu were sleeping and had no opinion - not that they'll have any otherwise. Appi had this wry smile on his face, he said "oru podikku adangu chellaa" . So me, "the plan-man" came with the super idea of visiting the Zoo. Yeah ! fifth standard composition material. Guys literally jumped on it, it was almost a decade since we've been to zoo. The very idea of watching kurinchan, yana and singham [chimp, elephant and lion ] made us jump with joy.

On the way we posed in front of the most desired mallu celebrity's dance school. Ok, you guessed it right - Divya Unni's dance school. Dream come true.

If you get a chance, never take the toy train in Houston Zoo. Its so embarrassing. The five of us were by nature, shouting "kooi kooi" when the train went inside the tunnel and small kids were looking at us with sheer contempt. It was so embarrassing.

Then at the Downtown aquarium, the best I've been to, we were looking for ayala, chala, neymeen et all but couldn't find any.

I pointed at the stingray and said " this is the fish that killed Steve Irwin"
Ammavan : "who is Steve Irwin ?"
me : "hey that croc hunter"
Ammavan : " what hunter ?"
I kept all my guns and swords at his feet and surrendered [unconditionally]

Then he is from the Sainik school, proper Army material. Can't expect more. May be they could make him Brigadier or something.

Another four hours in downtown. Oh man, Houston Downtown sucks like watching a non-pirated mammooty movie.

Day IV

Enroute to Galveston we went to temple. Laddu's idea was to lynch Froz inside the temple saying he was muslim, but that didn't workout as many firangees were also there. There were many gods in the temple, few that I knew and a few new tamil and gult gods. Appi as usual was praying for good food. Something like "daivame rakshikane, innum nalla bhakshanam kittane, biriyaniyum chicken curryum kittane...yumm" .Dude was quite happy after they served food at the temple - vegetarian offcourse. I wonder when Hindus will stop being Jains.

After all the sins were washed away, we played the 20 questions game with mallu movie characters,

Froz thought of Murali's Shekaran from "Pathram"
I thought of Pavanai from "Naadodikattu"
Appi thought of Kasargod Kadarbhai
Ammavan thought of Ravuther from "Vietnam colony"

and I got mightily pissed off when Laddu thought of "Appoos" from "Pappayude swantham Appoos". What a deliberately stupid choice. I did "cuttis" and ended our friendship.

Galveston was fun with a supposedly horror movie in huge IMAX, and a nice cruise with margaritas and hotdogs. Appi and laddu went ice skating on the ring and fell down at every three feet , I've never laughed so much in recent years. Its great to see your enemies on slippery ice, its a riot - guaren-fuckin-teed according to Jack Nicholson.

Christmas had come early to Texas, the ambience was awesome with carols and the chilly wind with a smell of fresh pop-corn everywhere. We did what everyone does on chilly christmas nights - played chess on the big roadside board. Appi lost despite my support, even if Karpov helped him he would have lost.

Appi : "I'm moving the pawn"
me : "please move the horse dude"
Appi : "NO, I'm afraid of horses"
me : "ok then cuttis...lets end the frienship now"

It was fun when some mallu doctor came and asked Ammavan "Are are the kids studying ?"

appol Ammavan : " No we are working"
appol Mallu Doctor "Ooops, I was talking about the kids, you are one of them ?"

Jokes apart Ammavan is the most mature guy in our group with a great mush under his nose. He is as mature as Baby Shalini when she used to act with Mammooty and Seema. But he is the rock on which our clueless group is built, a rock-star in certain ways.

On the way back, Appi locked the car with the keys inside. Another itema number from Appi's stables. We were in the middle of some hostile texan highway on a chilly night with no clue what to do. Houston, we had a problem. Somehow, appollo came back home. Praise the lord, the owner of this blog!

Day V

Last day, nobody is talking much, we know its time to go. Five days went so fast and the guys are not the type that hug and cry, so its tough and humid. It was sad in the sense that we dont get to meet each other so often, I was meeting Laddu almost after two years, its even sadder 'cause this dude and me used to go out every single day to the temple to see the chicks and catch some fresh smoke. Now when we say "appo kanam", it really doesn't mean much.

Everybody has got different ways to cheer up, my grandmother used to read Ramayanam kilipattu, George Bush goes fishing and WE , watch our greatest feudal lord Mangalassery Neelakantan defeat Mundakkal Shekaran. So it was Mohanlal back to back on Devasuram and Ravanaprabhu.How I wish Mammooty played Shekaran.

Houston is a bird watchers paradise for bird watchers, for the other bird watchers - welcome to Miami Beach.

Shopping was a debacle and humiliating too. They need to have separate rooms for mens and ladies stuff, like rest-rooms. In US otherwise its tough. Van Heusen, are you listening ?

Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan. Not only do I reccomend the movie, I'm planning to remake it in malayalam, not now, after selling all my father's properties - like Tony Kurisinkal.

For those of you in US, go to Chili's and check out El Nino cocktail . Its tequila on orange juice, the drink rocks. There was this lady on the opposite table, drinking alone, fidgeting with her mobile and makeup kit. Sure women are more free in US, but they are still chained to fidgeting with the mobile . Hick!

Day VI

Appi's car wouldn't start, itema again ! Mad rush to George Bush International on a crappy cab. Hey, next to the airport is the holiest spot in Texas,no not Corpus Christi - office of Halliburton inc. I bent down, drew a cross and hailed anti-christ.

On the return flight there was this columbian girl, crying for food all the while

she : "dont they give any food in the plane"
me : "they gave you something right"
she : "just peanuts"
me : "didn't have dinner ?"
she : [silent]
me : "you're studying in miami"
she : "no i'm working"
me : "where ?"
she : "i'm working in miami"
me : ok [fine dont tell, everybody knows what columbians do - they sell cocaine]

if the girl doesn't talk, profile her race. oh Huntington...machaa.

she : "can you close the window shutter?"
me : "No, I have this vomiting tendency..hehe"
she : [blank look] please

c'mon she didn't get it, I wanted to tell her 77% of all columbians are dumb.then she would have told me she is in the other 12 %. She was so dumb. I fell asleep and dreamt of "Pothen Vava" flopping and Mammooty quitting acting. Dumbo woke me up in the middle, she wanted the window seat for taking photo while landing.

me : "but don't jump out"
she : "no I wont" and laughed

thank God ! she got it this time. The whole flight and three hundred dollars was worth the smile.

Overall an uneventful trip but worth it. Its just that you can travel to the lousiest places in the world with some very special people. Its not really about where or how far you go or what all you see, but about whom you travel with. Appi,Laddu, Ammavan and Froz just made it happen. By the way, let me introduce ourselves, we go back a long time, without exaggerations we are good friends. We imitate each other a lot in our daily lives,should I say more. Back in Florida, Abrupt and Visionary are still fighting over Visionary's controversial statement that Martians have green mustaches. That's another post.

Now in case you think the post was long and lousy, I can do "cuttis" and end the friendship right now.

Flood

2006-11-28T19:50:00.000-08:00

Its the flood. There is water everywhere,its the final deluge. Its just me in my cosy little room, floating, sinking and again floating like a ball in the water. There is no light anywhere except in my snug. Its just my room, everything else is flooded and gone in the cold dark water which came from everywhere.

The room is warm, a reading light pops from the wall.There are no phones left with voices in them,no mails,no television, no sparrows or hawks left to carry messages. The hunters and the prey, the sparrows and the eagle, threw themselves against cold hearted walls and died. The sea rose up and took all the walls, the ocean destroyed all the seas. The water is everywhere, engulfing, full.

Only my cosy little room remains with the reading light and its warmth. It is the cold,dark water outside.There is nowhere to go, there are no street signs left. All the signs and billboards, all suffixes and prefixes, all the names - both earned and thrust upon have evaporated. The cold,dark waters of the flood took the satellites and the gold bullions , the flood took the moon.

Only my cosy little room remains with the open big book on the red-wood desk. The book is as huge as a bear,but cute. Its the scrap book of the human race, with newspaper cuttings,photos, theories,poems,commandments,report cards,love letters, treaties, birth certificates and nude pictures of greed.There is no chair, so I have to stand and read.

The book is interesting, funny at times, every story brings a smile on my face. The human race never did anything wrong,this flood was inevitable, everything they did was for the flood to come. I just read the book, I don't judge. There is no judgement day to defeat us. Its cold and dark in the watery womb outside,inside the room its the warmth of intelligence. Its the flood; are you with me.

Of men, moon and walls...

2006-11-19T21:31:00.000-08:00

I was bored to hell playing rock,paper,scissors with my other hand when 'Cakes' blasted through the balcony door, all exhausted.

Cakes : "Man I think I'm in love !"
me : *confusion still lingering* "wha what ?"
Cakes : "I am like , I dont know, but I'm in love"
me : "tell me, cheppu ......details"

Cakes : " man, but she is married...should I tell her"
me : "I dont get it, whats the story here"
Cakes : " problem is she got married before I fell in love"
me : " unnecessary tension man, you'll make me light up again" *light up*

My roomie Cake's problem is that he is in love with a girl who used to take the same bus as him to work. He's never talked to this girl and she doesnt know him. Fun part is she got married three years back, he came to US two years back and 'fell in love' six months back with this girl. Now he is losing his sleep over it. I'm good, but the problem is Devdas will start singing all those 29 sad old hindi songs back to back at home. I will be sleeping in the morning and Devdas will blast out "Dosth Dosth Naaa Rahaa" or "...mere nasib me eh dosth" in the hall and that's a pretty lousy way to start a day.

This is not the first time ; Cakes has fallen in love some 29 times in the past one year with animate and inanimate entities - but this time the intensity is very high. But on an afterthought I realized that each of us carry some stupid baggage from the past, some broken bangles, some old scraps or old pieces of paper with nots and crosses on it. We know its really ridiculous to carry them still, its clearly out of touch with reality and it hurts sometimes. Its a pain, but somehow we dont want to let it go,we want to relive the pain once in a while. Its as if the infliction fills some vacuum which otherwise would be hard to bear. And in horrible hours of sanity we realize the pain and insanity makes us more beautiful.

Then there are these jolts which chip in with their annoyance. Boyz and me usually find ourselves at the far end of the spectrum every time we engage in those curt conversations. I like his candour, though my idea of a conversation is beating around the apple tree. There is no wavelength match anywhere except when he offers to make elachi-tea for me.

Boyz counts every penny, sends his mail-in rebates on time and even knows how much tax he is paying. On the flick side is me,builder, abrupt and visionary who haven't settled our accounts for like a year and I really have no idea what I have in the wallet. We make fun of Boyz saving money and stuff without travelling around in the US and not partying at all. Our conversations usually go like this,

Boyz : "See I saved fifty dollars on the media player"
me : "hmm"
Boyz : "did you apply for the mail-in rebate?"
me : "No ! c'mon Boyz, why do you care so much, its just a few dollars"
Boyz : "man, life is not so easy, understand that, ok"
me : "Ok !! can you make tea"
Boyz : "Nowwaa ?"
me : "pls pls Boyz....I'm so tired"
Boyz : "Ok fine..but atleast next time you"

then the other day, Boyz was going on and on about saving money in India and all, and I cut him off.

me : "Boyz, see , why cant you just let go man, its just one life...hope you know that..why take this tension"

and then Boyz opened up, literally, in his unique Seemabiddu style

"see man, I dont have an 'own' house in India and my parents are quite old - so I have to build a house which will be minimum 15k monthly payment. I'll get married in like six months - you know the rent they have now in Bangalore another 8k gone there. I will have to send some money home right ? another 5k there. I'll have 2k left man. How can two people live in Bangalore with 2k man ?"

I changed the subject then and there, oh I'm good at that, but whatever little he said really hit somewhere. I've never been responsible to anyone but me, it was easy going all the while. These 'hard numbers' never held me back, building a house, providing for aged parents, household expenses. Its been a comfortable road till now, I just swipe my all powerful card which never gets rejected and thats the summary of my experience with money. I have never seen plenty of money and I have seen the lower middle class struggle to build a home and still make two ends meet with a single income, right at home. But that was all in third person, the burden was never mine - maybe I got my first bike a year or two late, but that was it. Boyz reminds me of the real struggle out there, maybe a lucky few of us will never face it, thanks to our parents or upward mobility but there are the unlucky ones - and its a thin red line. In my esoteric comfy world I have been worried about easy questions like the meaning of life, where my answers really didn't matter. I just wish life doesn't ask me the same questions it is asking Boyz - like how to live in Bangalore with 2000 rupees.

The other day, Thiagu and me were in our thirty-sixth hour of sleeplessness on some conference call, waiting for Brighton to come alive and fix some issue. Our relationship had shed the formalities of the project manager- tech lead cold war, after a few fire fighting months in the project.

"I have forwarded you something , check it out", he said over the phone

It was a mail from his wife and I found it quite funny he did that. The mail was really short, it just said, " attachment is for you :-)"

The attachment was a scanned picture card. Its had this house like small kids draw, with a triangle on top of a square, and five people in front of the house. The arrows read appa, amma, thatha, thathi, Nikhil.

"saw that ?"

"hmm", I said

"come out man, I badly need to light up"

This was something crazy we did during these night outs. Whenever any one of us wanted to smoke, we would both go out with coffee and still be on-call from mobile. So there I was in the wee hours of the morning, in the office lobby with my cup of cappuchino talking to another crazy guy somewhere in Arizona standing outside his office with his cup of coffee.

"Its two there ?"

"yup...btw nice picture", I said

"hmm...thanks"

"you know something ......its two years since I saw him"

"I know", I said

"man..I was just thinking....this little thing was in my balls some five years back..and now he sends me something like this...man, he is all me...its like...whatdya say...this one moment in life..when I opened that card"

His voice was breaking but he kept on mumbling.

"so Thiagu is a happy man...finally..", I said

"I've never been so happy in my life...well, you need to be a father to get it"

"hey hey...maybe I dont have kids, but I do have an old man...I can understand ok" , I said

"hmm...good one", he said

We are back from this Pink Floyd concert in the city. I didn't know many of the songs and spend most of my time staring at the lasers and stage lights - that was amazing. One thing I noticed was ,when you look at the stage , you don't really see what there is on the stage but what is shown to you with all those lob lights and lasers. Like someone basks in his sweet pain out of touch with reality, while someone is pulled down everyday by the same reality. Someone is stuck in life while someone basks in the little picture postcards life has to offer. Someone wonders why life talks in strange, cute ways. Maybe you'll be wondering what this whole thing is all about, even I have very similar questions.

Comments are Free

2006-11-13T00:19:00.000-08:00

Peace and Love,
Love and Peace,
I have a dog in both these hunts !

Posted by b v n at 12:27 AM

14 comments:

sthullan said...

Yippeeeeeeeeeeeee ! me first....i cant believe it...OMG!

2:57 AM,November 13, 2006

kunjan said...

loved the way you reversed the words...amazing ! peace and love....very very very beautiful

10:38 AM,November 13, 2006

Damu Aruli said...

WOW !!!!!
reminds me of my two cute spiders back home. Do you like spiders ?
chk out my latest post on spider-bite.

10:48 AM,November 13, 2006

ammini said...

you have two dogs....soooo chweet :-))))
very nice post...HUGZ !!

11:08 PM,November 14, 2006

kalli chellamma said...

Congragulations ! to redeem your free Maybach visit www.kallichellamma.com

9:18 AM ,November 23, 2006

Saroja said...

I cant agree with you on this one. Have you ever thought of how the dogs will feel. And you lost it comepletely when you reversed peace and love, peace will come only after love.

but i liked the font...its sooo amazing :-)

10:38 AM ,November 23, 2006

Sarala said...

TWO DOGS !! oh oh oh...i'm ROFLMAOTPQRSTUVM here....awesome post !

12:18 PM,November 24, 2006

Damu Aruli said...

Why didnt you chk out my post ? pls chk out my post

8:20 AM, November 25, 2006

pakki ithikkara said...

hey, I just got a free $500.00 Gift Card. you can redeem yours at Abercrombie & Fitch All you have to do to get yours is Click Here to get a $500 free gift card for your backtoschool wardrobe

10:38 AM, December 23, 2006

krushchev kunjachan said...

American imperialism will not allow peace and love. Nicaragua for example. long live the revolution !!

2:57 AM, January 2, 2007

Anonymous said...

switch off that machine and come down for dinner NOW!!

- ninte thantha

8:57 PM, April 20, 2007

komalan said...

peace and love, ha...so eloquent and well written..

6:57 AM, June 23, 2007

Damu Aruli said...

you wont chk out my post ? shall i delete all my comments you untrustworthy bastard ?

10:38 AM, July 2, 2007

b v n said...

Peace and love, thats all i ask for baby, Peace and love :)

3:25 AM, July 23, 2007

An Old Curiosity Stop

2006-11-02T15:28:00.000-08:00

Silverine has tagged me on her ingenious new idea. Its the Wonder Years Tag as she calls it. She says wonder years is from 1-12, though for me things were pretty clear then and the wonder years are now. But Silverine's property rights are Silverine's property rights and here I go.

"Anyway, I keep picturing all these little kids playing some game in this big field of rye and all. Thousands of little kids, and nobody's around - nobody big, I mean - except me. And I'm standing on the edge of some crazy cliff. What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff - I mean if they're running and they don't look where they're going I have to come out from somewhere and catch them. That's all I do all day. I'd just be the catcher in the rye and all. I know it's crazy, but that's the only thing I'd really like to be."

Badly wanted to put this out here for a long time. The tag continues,

Rules :

1. Write 8-10 things about childhood that you miss.
2. Write 8-10 things that you disliked about childhood.
3. Tag a few people.

"childhood is 1-12 years " - Silverine, proprietor.

What I miss about childhood

1. Our kids gang used to have these early afternoon fishing trips to the streams nearby. Never caught much fish , but it was fun and we had lot of bubble-gums.

2. Festivals at the local temples used to be our licence to stay out at night. It was fun with the open air movies, mimicry shows and all those big elephants. This was before cable TV.

3. Our gang had a hideout - an old house - where we stored all our illicit stuff like chewing gums, guns, hotwheels, trump cards, Debonair mags et al. My friends dad razed the place back in '95.

4. Those temple elephants. They ate like hell and bathed for hours,we used to sit and watch.

5. I dont know where I lost it, but I was a pretty good story teller. My friend and me used to fake hollywood movie stories which obviously the lesser mortals wouldnt have watched. All our stories had Babu Antony and Jackie Chan as heros.

6. At my Grandparent's, they had cows and hens and dogs and rabbits and lovebirds. It was like some zoo down there for the city dweller moi. Both of them are not there now. I miss them.

7. I miss the serenity of those late evenings when Amma used to switch off the lights, light the lamp and chant her prayers. The smell of fresh cinthol on me and sandalwood around. After running away from her all day long, finally I snuggle close to her.

8. I had all the time in this world. Gaze at those awesome pics in the pile of books dad used to buy every month, make all kinds of crazy elephants with clay, play football in the rain, play with my big crazy dog and still it would be just time for lunch.

9. My kid brother and me acted as if we were some two men mafia. Omerta n stuff - no secrets divulged to parents or anybody else. Ya, this is still the same.

10. The gang - the whole gang in temple road.We shifted when I was fourteen. I miss them all.

What I disliked about childhood

1. My friends sister - she used to 'report' all our stuff to our parents. We used be in lot of trouble because of her over the years. All of us hated her guts. We used call her 'Dakini' - the witch.

2. We had these gangs everywhere - sometimes it was crazy with leader, vice-leader n all. I missed out on a lot of would-have-been friends 'cause of this in school and at home.

3. Drinking milk . yuk !

4. Some stupid calvin stuff like the poster in our hideout "girls and dogs should not come inside the hideout" - it was just meant for my friends sister but overall we missed out on some very pretty girls 'cause of this attitude.

5. I hated it when Amma called me a daylight robber for small leaks from the grocery bill. How did she expect us to get those nets and hotwheels and guns. mallu blondes never get it.

6. School. Thank you for everything but not again.

7. Visiting relatives' houses. "Shalini ammayi is pregnant, I'm going there,dress up and come" Why should I go, it was so boring ! and why should I be punished for what Jayan uncle did ?

8. Our collection of fourty seven Hotwheels cars were stolen one day. I cried with all my anger. My friends sister was up there in her balcony. I yelled at her "you will die, surely die, edi kalli patti" . It wasn't that poor soul and I knew that. That day I got lynched by mom and surprisingly Dakini came with her mother and saved me. She said I didnt use any bad words. Once and for all we made peace with each other. Nowadays I call her chechi instead of Dakini. But I hate all that happened that day and I still dont have a clue where the cars went.

Now the cruel part, I tag -

1. Alex
2. Velu
3. Bombay Dosti
4. Alice
5. Starry
6. Neermathalam

Do it guys, its fun !!

Ofiice Space - Scorsians n Coppolans

2006-10-24T19:08:00.001-07:00

'Twas another humid night in Miami when visionary exploded,

[ To the yet uninitiated - "may be yes,may be no" stands for conversation and *may be fuck yourself * stands for soliloquy ]

"C'mon man we are in miami , isthaa city of Don Carlos, Don Capone, Scarface,all those caporegimes *itsa icky city Michael Corleone paid a visit in Godfather II* and we are doing this lousy reined in work here man. fuck ! we should be money laundering, arms trafficking, overthrowing governments - thats life man,thats life *and all we are doing is corporate procuring*"

I said " You hit a raw nerve bro - I always wanted to be a gangster - you know the type that smuggles biscuits of gold from Dubai - I always wanted to be a gangster man "

He said "whatever man,whatever"

On an afterthought I realized our office culture *oxymoron* is pretty much in line with the gangster's life we desire. We have no work hours, not even a thin line between day and night, we are on an overdose of caffeine and nicotine most of the time, we converse in Coppola and Scorecese, in caporegime and wisemen lingua -

Capo2 : "I'm flooded man, can you take up this one - for old times sake"
Capo1 : "Maybe, maybe not, maybe fuck yourself" *me too flooded bitch*

We talk about millions of dollars in virtual money, we have our own omerta and terminologies that itema public will never make sense of , like -

Drop - installing packages of non-narcotic substance *which cant be seen* in production

Production - its like ether - Gods and consumers reside in this realm

Sign-off - thin line between life and death *more friggin work*

And then we have all those strategies, hit-lists, payrolls, rival Murthy gangs, Newyork calls and Miami Heat. *eyeno the last one doesnt make any sense *. Our life kinda ticks around calls - for Desi junta its like what they say in Company movie - 'the mumbai underworld has a new weapon - the telephone'.

The whole deal opens when one of the blondes in NY with millions of dollars of someone else's money gets a new idea.

Blonde : "Howdy, kitcha kitcha koo koi"
Capo1 : "Hey longtime *so* I'm good, gua gua gua"
Blonde : "Can we have a co-brand card product with Kuttapan's teashop"
Capo1 : "Brilliant idea ! any more of teh same type"
Blonde : "Can we have a co-brand card product with all public restrooms in Texas..its a huge market you know"
Capo1 : "Technically its impossible, where will you swipe"
Blonde : "wipe ?"
Capo1 : " I meant swipe - its not possible yet"
Blonde : "Well then, let me talk to Don himself"
Capo1 : "Ok fine - I'll work on it"
Blonde : "gubboy ! I was a dallas cowboy cheerleader before - I'll take you there once"
Capo1 : Daanks *b* will love it

Due to such close interactions with empowered blondes from NY, in office space you see the caporegimes reciting the B word every 23 seconds and nowadays its become ubiquitous like the F word. The new entry, the C word is dangerously closing in.

Listen to the now famous Capo crib over coffee and cigarettes,

Capo1 : "I'm doin my job man ! and aunty wants me to lick her boots on top of it"
Capo2 : "WHAT !! she asked you ?"
Capo1 : "No I was just saying ,you know this licking boots thingy"
Capo2 : " Oh....boots...fine..go ahead"
Capo1 : "No what I'm thinking is she's mixing apples n mangoes here"
Capo2 : "think the usage is apples n oranges"
Capo1 : "What is english for maa behan ek kardi"
Capo2 : "Well..........................................gotta go"

Now its the tech stuff,

Some1 : "If Texas is the target, why do you need a separate database for location ?"
Capo1 : " In case you want the same for Alaskan toilets in the future- I mean reuse"

Some1 : "Why Alaskan restrooms - each database costs a thousand extra bucks!!"
Capo1 : *Why Texas toilets then* " its a two million initiative"

Some1 : "My name is Haans Christian and I'm against waste"
Capo1 : "Well thats the way we do it sir"

Some1 : "Who's WE ?"
Capo1 : *your mom and me* " i meant we at the tech side and sorry I dont see your name in the call invite"

Some1 : "Oooops I'm in the wrong call, sorry abt that"
Capo1 : "No problem" *bastard*
NY : "You have every one in the invite except my dentist..ha ha ha"
Capo1 : "ya" *blonde moment , life*

the Designs in place. the Global Crime cartels go live wire,

Blr2 : "It will take 20 years to build the software"
NY : " Can I have it next week ?"
Manilla1 : "Can I go" *soft spoken chinky chick talks in kee kee kee voice*

Capo2 : "lets work the timelines out - how bout two months"
Passerby : "Okei"
Capo2 : "Now we have a plan !!"

Bangalore1 : "the card looks ulti-lousy"
Vegas1 : "thats grunge art dumbo"

Blr1 : " that yellow line must be symbolic of the toilet"
Vegas1 : " No thats RFID dumbo"

Capo1 : "Can we get down to the tech stuff guys"
Manilla1 : "can I go ?" *again*
Capo1 : "just hang on *baby* I'll comeback to you"

Manilla1 : "there is a typhoon at the end of the street,please can I go now"
Capo1 : "*Mamma mia* what were you doing till now"
Manilla1 : " I asked you two times"
Capo1 : "scram *baby*, scram"

the next day,

Some1 : "kee kee kee"
Capo1 : "Is this Manilla ?"
Manilla1 : "kee...but now I'm somewhere in the middle of south China sea"
Capo1 : "Good good...welcome back"

And finally the big launch night,

Blr1 : "Oh, think I've messed up, our code is bombing -servers are too slow"
Capo2 : "Its not a code issue.*Tataglia is just a pimp man, its Barzini whos behind all this*"
Barzini : " You didnt tell me to reset the servers after the drop"
Capo1 : "Its a large package, do we need to specifically say that?"
Barzini : "who is this ?"
Capo1 : "I'm the guy who does my job, you must be the other guy"

At the end of it, there is peace in all Texas restrooms and in Miami. Caporegimes have defeated all the bad blood and brace themselves for another tryst with absurdity.

Much ado, about Nothing.

And All that jazz

2006-10-13T00:56:00.000-07:00

Folks, what can I tell you
about my next guest?

This cat allowed himself
to be adored, but not loved.

And his success in show business
was matched by failure in his personal-relationship bag.
Now that's where he really bombed.

And he came to believe that work,show business, love,
his whole life,even himself, and all that jazz, was bullshit.

He became numero uno game player, to the point where he didn't know
where the games ended and reality began.

Like, to this cat, the only reality...
is death, man.

All that work. All that glitter. All that pain.
All that love. All that crazy rhythm.
All that jazz.

Three days in the hot tropical sun and one night of outright madness in the beach - I was tired.I could feel fluids stagnating and clotting all over the upper body ; part awake after a long thirteen hour half-naked sleep. Cursed myself for not getting milk - it was t minus twenty to reach office - and I'd made the tea very strong. The air-conditioner seemed to be blowing ice, it was chilling. I took a few sips standing outside in the sun and then drowned the elachi and tea in one gulp - something tickled and I ran to the wash.

Anger

It all came out. Washed my face saying 'what the '. Then again it all came out - some of it colourless, some very colourful .Then again - and again. I could feel some great strain below the rib cage as if I was about to burst - the neck veins tightened. I was all anger - it was the other day builder and me prided on how healthy we were and here I am kneeling down there, my head in the basin ,arms clutching some support. It all cleared up in a while - as it always does.

Denial

I got out , lit a cigarette - time to run. I realized my hands were shaking uncontrollably, some emptiness and pain in the lower ab ,couldn't smoke - I let go the lights. The sun was all yellow - everything was yellow .I could smell some ancient pain balm in my breath or was it amrutanjan balm - it was years since I touched that - some ancient smell from across years - oh it was amrutanjan,I'm sure. This cant be me, I'm not the one supposed to be sitting in this sofa defeated and spreadeagled. All light and empty and falling...naah...not me.

Bargaining

The living room is reeling, everything inside is clogged, face down on the leather I closed my eyes. I cant die now,God ,I cant. What about that big project I'm doing, oh I know its not big but still. But my career and all those things I've planned to do, those good times we were planning to have . See my family, all my friends what will happen to them, Oh I know life goes on but still. God I'll change - I promise. I'll sleep on time, probably quit smoking - no I'll quit ,quit completely , I'll eat well God, I wont swear , I wont be sarcastic all the time - fuck, gimme one chance, just one - no I wont swear again - I promise. Please God, I pray.

Depression

Its all dark, its grey. I hear the air-conditioner rumble.I'm very uncomfortable and heavy ,its humid. I'm sad. I'm not talking anymore.

Acceptance

The darkness cleared, its some light. My breath is normal. I'm just floating.I'm not sad anymore, not happy either. I'm comfortably numb. I'm dead.

And in that sleep of death,what dreams may come !

I cant do anything right.Nothing deep enough.Nothing funny enough.I look at a sunset,its so perfect. I look at her and ask- How did you do it,why cant I do it God. If I were God and once in a while I think I am - there wont be death, no one will die. But rest of the time I live in fear of all this ending and that dreadful possibility of mediocrity - that I might be ordinary not special.

Let me explain the ambience of the post , its two hours past midnight, outside its autumn - inside its the freezing chill of the ac -I'm sick and I suspect I'm dead, 'jaanaki jaane' is repeating on the laptop - I'm too lazy to switch it off and I'm dead too. I'm reading something and watching tv too. Suddenly Fermina Daza with a mere wave of her arm ends all her enchantment with Florentino Ariza. I threw the book away. A movie is starting on tv . At the end of two long hours I'm rattled. I'm still confused why I havent seen 'All that jazz' before - this post is the movie itself.

In between all this jazz,
I have a small question for you - Does God exist ?
If you are one of those blondes who smile and say
God is about loving others,
get the hell outta here - others stay.
Now,If your answer is yes
have you tried talking to him at least once in the past few years ?
I'm not talking about meditating or imagining a face or crying out 'Holy dad'
when you see Jessica Alba on tv and ending the chat there.
I meant serious conversation
What language did you talk to God in ?

Ghost

2006-10-09T17:04:00.000-07:00

In the cold ramparts of the red brick apartment complex where the walls smell like yesterday's rain , stands the ghost. She lurks there suspended like a mystic cloud of detergent smelling moisture that hangs between the cloth lines on the patio. The dwellers, aware of something like her that exists talks about some girl who jumped to forgetfulness in their already cluttered memory.The ghost, with her innocuous and at times lazy self does not particularly take the white prada worn by her type - the last time I saw her teaching the weeping willow to cry, she was wearing blue jeans, tee and slippers.

She sleep-walks the stark clean aluminium balconies; giggling at some unshaven husband's travails as he tries to peep into the spinsters' ghetto, singing to some eight hour dead child who cries for the lullabies he missed and shaking the chempaka tree by my window side to wake me up from my confined sleep. No one hears her, no one hears a ghost.

She lives the cruel emptiness that spirits only know. She is unsure of herself and wants to be heard though she treasures the blue loneliness of being a ghost. It is with a lot of effort that she drops a miracle or two , just to let us know she needs some advice. The other day she bloomed a rosemarys night flower at the parsi lady's house at noon, but the old lady absorbed in the soap opera's curves did not take notice. She has been doing too much alone and wants a word with someone before the bleakness drives her mad. One day she finished homework for the little kid who feeds the ducks,but nobody notices anything in town. Even kids do not see fairies in town.

Nowadays she cries most of the time, without reason, without break. She weeps her innocence with a poor wrenched out heart in hand. In the cold ramparts of the red brick apartment complex where the walls smell like yesterday's rain she cries, she stands behind the pillars of the empty parking lot and cries. She cries. Then at times she gets so sick of crying, at times she thinks of dying. Then again, nobody will know. Then again she needs to catch the early bus to reach office in time. Its raining.