"'Truth is strange," you know, "stranger than fiction' - besides being more to the point" - Edgar Allan Poe

December 30, 2005


From Hindustantimes.com

Suicide bombers threatened in letters sent to local media that they would target a top politician and launch attacks against New Year's revellers in the city of Bangalore, police said on Friday.
A letter from a previously unknown group outlining the threatened attacks in Bangalore was faxed to several newspapers late on Thursday, the director-general of police, BS Sial, said.
"It will be the most coordinated attack the country has ever seen," television channel CNN-IBN quoted the letter, written in English, as saying.
Six attackers will trigger explosions including, "two human bombs to target the state chief minister," Moin-ud-Din of the Al-Jehadi group said, according to the report.
"Newspapers have received the letter late last night, and we are trying to find out if it is a hoax. But we will not take any chances," said Sial, without giving further details.
The letters were sent a day after gunmen opened fire on Wednesday outside a prestigious science institute in Bangalore, killing a retired professor and wounding four others.
Police set up barricades, patrolled streets and continued to search cars at checkpoints on Friday across the city, hunting for the attackers, Sial said.
Police suspect LeT terrorists to be behind Wednesday's attack, but no group has claimed responsibility.

Ok, now I’m just scared shitless. I’m staying away from all 5 star hotels, politicians and teacher/professors.

It’s a good thing I always do :)

She's here!

Who’s the happiest one of them all? (Pee eye, Pee eye…)
Who’s the one with the widest smile? (Pee eye, Pee eye…)
Whose chest is out and eyes abright (Pee eye, Pee eye…)
Now will you all shut up and listen close (Pee eye, oh ,er, ok, sure.)

Sweety’s here! And the loot, OMG, the loot!

This, (read this review by beatzo) and this.

Bruhahahahahahaha! The digital world is now mine to carry around in my backpack!

Go back to the chanting now, y’all.


Well, go on, I say!

(Audience waves finger wildly at “Pee eye”)

And if I promise to share?


December 29, 2005

A techie PJ

Define stereotypecasting
give up?

char x;

//yada yada

y = (int) x (int);

Currently tripping on...

The Eclipse IDE (Thanks for the reco, Ra!)
Answers.com (which basically means EVERYTHING)
The one hour wait every day before Citrus comes online.
Ass smileys - (_x_)
The 6 and a half hour wait before Sweety shoes up.
The taste of pineapple jam, and the vapours that flood my nose in the process.
A whole lot of new sites I've discovered that I'll only list on Jan 1st, hangover notwithstanding. Please check my blog then, and I promise you I'll give you guys links to atleast a couple of hours worth of excellent reading.

December 28, 2005

Mahabharat Redux

I take back the whole anus thing. This is easily the funniest. Ever. I've still not stopped laughing.

Proof that Pi is Irrational

Toldya so.

Last reflections

As we all assume (and what I now know) it always takes a bit to get back into the "groove" when you've not been writing anything for a couple of months. I look at the half-finished draft of the book, the blog that stopped abruptly, and the short story collection, and they're gathering digital dust, aching for new words, feelings and expressions that'll take them forward and into newer vistas (note to self: never use the word 'vista' again. Too icky.) I looked through a bunch of abandoned stuff on Layla and found these -

(This one was on the blog I surreptiously started when Pispeak had "shut down". That effort, I'm sorry to say, went CrashAndBurn bigtime)

Plink. Plunk. CMajor. StrumStrumStrumMuteStrum (but it's not plugged in, so you could be thumbing it like SRK, and nobody'd care). Plug into tuner. ebgdaE. Seems good. Repeat with the rest of the group. The bass is wuzzing a bit on the lower notes, but we're sure no one will care. Touch the strings with both hands and mumble an incoherent prayer. Regards to Hendrix, Berry, and the Prophet Satch. Bump knuckles with the rest of the band. Realize that there are five minutes left, so light up a doobie and watch the lights spread across the world (!). The vocals' are still mugging up the lyrics to the new song, and you think FuckIHopeTheyDon'tScrewUp and WhoLetTheseChicksIntoTheBandAnywayOhWaitWeDidDamn. You empty your pockets and leave only the three picks, including the stubby 'lucky' one. Laces tight, and the rip at the knee has finally decided to fray like it's authentic. Banter about the song order and argue about the inclusion of the chick song... one last time. Hell, atleast they can hold a damn pitch, and we've never been pelted before. (And they be fine, so why not?) The drummer's twirling his sticks, and even though it looks mighty impressive, you and I know damn well he's a nervous wreck. His woman's in the crowd, after all. The crowd is getting restless, and in that blank noise, the only (apparent) audible thing is the restless enthusiasm of a hundred stoned teenagers waiting for their buds to appear. ManIt'sStickyHere. And the strings aren't gliding so well. WipeWipeWipe. And again. Better. 15b17\15p13p12h13p12h13p12 and then a descending Emin run with a few stunts on the whammy. Again, not plugged. And nobody's watching. Oh well, on stage should be better. Hopefully X's looking out for you today. You KNOW you want to 'do' stuff to her, eh? Hell, after today, (the weed's hitting now)

You're gonna go far,
You're gonna fly high,
You're never gonna die,
You're gonna make it if you try;
They're gonna love you.
Well I've always had a deep respect,
And I mean that most sincerly.
The band is just fantastic,
that is really what I think.
Oh by the way, which one's Pi? (koff)
And did we tell you the name of the game, boy,
We call it Riding the Gravy Train.

It's our first show after all.

(This one's also from that same failed attempt of a blog, and just goes to show how one can be unintentionally, yet horribly and obviously pretentious. Oh well, humanity.)

Somewhere in the universe it's raining lke there's no end. And with every drop that falls on the ground, a new story is born. Each story is worth a million emotions, and each a myriad array of thoughts. Every story only waits for it's essence to be spread across the minds of humanity, and be felt for it was to tell. In this world of rain, there's no distinction between a good yarn spinner and a sorry hack; no boundaries between profundity and the lack of any meaning at all. Every drop simply falls down, no distinct from the rest of the downpour, only to live as a memory in the earth-mind that will swallow it.

And every drop lives only for an instant, and every instant outlasts the memory of a thousand downpours.

That part of the universe is my mind. And those drops are but the passings of a neutered imagination, that's waited to long to exercise it's only habit - to think.


(I notice a lot of people who use this approach. Obfuscate with mental imagery, and then claim that their/ my own simplicity lies in their/my being to accept it. Usually elicits a lot of "wow" level comments. Ugh. Didn't like this post too much. And while we're at it, I might as well mention that posts that argue right vs wrong should be banned to hell. Anyway, this part followed it, and I liked it better-)

What is it with fantasy books anyway? Why the hell does everybody speak like they're playing a role on stage or something? I mean, when Nietzche said "Gaze into the abyss, and the abyss gazes back into you", I'm guessing he might have thought about it over a friendly beer with a few friends (possibly Wagner pre-Bayreuth) and he was wondering about why the preppy 'haute' woman in the corner was giving him an insolent eye. Just a thought. It's not like the man had a fake stage in his backyard, where he'd point one hand to the stars and say "And Zarathustra passed by me". I'm rather thinking it'd be four in the morn, and a splitting headache and a parched throat would produce the same remark (invective included).

(Hehe. In my head. a pharoah-ically bearded hungover FN goes "Oy daam, that [censored] Zaruthashtra, he pazz by me".)
(Then there's this. It's the last part of what was supposed to be my best story ever, but never reached completion. Was meant to be a story for Db_, but went all over the place nonetheless. Really liked writing it. Forget about what the story was, I felt warm and fuzzy for about 5 minutes after typing it out. Buy me a beer and I'll narrate the whole tale to you.)

Irony - epilogue
We could be over Burundi, for all I know. Not important. The flight attendant's cleared the tray and my ears pop, so I figure I'll walk down the aisle; stretch my feet, that sort of thing. Or not. I drift off again...
...The women are stepping in, and I'm thinking which one is my date for the night. Could it possibly be...?
Yeah, it's her.
She's sitting next to me, and riffling through her purse for something, out comes a light pink lipstick that's applied quite sexily and she checks herself one last time, and looks at me. I melt.
"Hey you."
Hey gorgeous.
"Missed me?"
Oh yeah. Like mad.
(One hand of her reaches for my forehead, and pushes an errant strand of hair to the right.)
"And Pi..."
Yeah, what?
"Don't leave me. Ever"
Never would, babe. Not for all the money in the world.

(Man, I'm such a sap sometimes.)
(I've always wanted to post this next bit up, yet hesitant. Does it betray a little too much? Or is it some of that "frustrated artist" crap that Mike Noonan would've endorsed? I dunno.)

Maybe we don’t want to live in a world
Where innocence is so short
- SilverChair, Anthem for the year 2000

Happy new year, y'all. Please don't drink and drive.

December 27, 2005


Sunday morning. It's Christmas, y'all! And I'm sitting in Mojo's with the babe Layla, waiting for another to show up (babe, that is). If I_ doesn't show up in the next 3 minutes, I've told her that she's going to have to jump up and down thrice and scream loudly "I'm a flea, I'm a flea!"; this should be fun, what?)

Update: She was half an hour late. And she did the flea routine. Loudly. Hilarious.
Update 2: Have decided against the whole NeedForWeed idea. Suddenly remembered why I quit in the first place.

Life's suddenly all good. Nice.

December 25, 2005

I have a theory that if you remove your blog from search engine listings, blogsearch, etc, you won't need word verification anymore. Of course, this means you can't publicize, and people who click on your name can't find your blog, unless you tell them.

I wonder. Oh well, removed word verification, let's see what happens.

Wikipedia rules. John Seigenthaler Sr. is such a crybaby.
Support free speech.

It's NOT amazing how little people know about anything.
What's amazing is that they're all ok about it.

This one's for each of the most terrible blogs I've read by friends, dumbasses, juniors, seniors, unknowns, populars, and whoever's learnt that taking a neutral stand on a topic is an easy way to look Psood-O (sic). If you (that's right, you, singular) just felt guilty, then I was probably referring to you anyway. As for the rest, ah, why don't you just smell my skinny ass.

"'Philaxophy' is defined as the process of describing the process of how we think the way we doo-doo. And if the puns are too much to take, you might as well get off the buzz."
Merry Festivus And a fuckall new year.

Azhar, Ganja, Mukka - Please abandon me now. I need help. Losing my mind, one cigarette at a time.

I'm considering getting back into weed bigtime, and here's why.
I used to smoke a lot of the shit, and the frequency/amount/concentration increased exponentially over the later 3 years in college. After the BE, it stopped abruptly, and it was obvious that the rumours were true... it's quite simple to kick the leaf. And I feel no side effects antmore, my sleep rhythms have come back to normal, all healthy and all that, no loss of any sense of drive, lungs all clear, cigarette smoking is quite stagnant at betwen 5-8 a day, weekend booze only... that sort of thing.
But I miss it bad. So I ask you this - presented with undeniable proof (that is, myself) that the weed ain't bad, well, why don't I start up again?
1. The buzz. Pretty self-explanatory.
2. It's cheap.
3. Tobacco consumption goes further down. As does the alcohol intake.
4. Doesn't smell, usually no traces of usage (except for the bloodshot eyes, which get fixed with AntiTears soln. in about a minute and a half, and the munchies, which nobody notices anyway)
5. The memoryloss thing is overrated. Of course my short term memory gets busted for a while... that was kind of the point now, wasn't it?
6. Mental Masturbation that doesn't leave a sore shoulder (!!!)

1. The effort. This includes the scoring, the crushing, rolling, finding a place to blaze, that sort of thing.
2. Sleep too much; slept too little. As in, 12 hours sleep is worth only 4 hours of it.
3. "Society" looks down on a potential junkie.
4. Other assorted nonsense. What I'm saying is that the cons are acceptable. The workarounds are aplenty.

And it's not like college anymore now, is it? I can afford it, the control is infinitely easier, God knows I've spent enough time with it to understand it, there's no peer pressure bullshit anymore (though I would like to meet up with We-Jayeth once in a while. Excellent Weed company, Pi-certified) and most importantly, I'll be in my own bachelor pad soon.

So I ask you- Why not? Shitty BlogPost or note, I challenge you to answer me. And hell, I'll have an open debate on this in that miasma we know as the comments section.


Have I ever told you that most of the women I've known in my life (and many more I've never blogged on) are the most beautiful in the world? How lucky I must be to know them. A lifetime worth of memories I've recieved in bantering with them. Pity they'll never know why. Many thanks for saving me, Chicas Inc.

December 23, 2005

BoingBoing had avoided going here for the longest of times. I finally reached there last night, and was up till 3 in the morning reading a lot of their posts. Fabulous site. And links to a million other cool sites, so expect hours and hours of giggly material.

Also suffering from a horrid writer's block, so don't expect any posts for a while. Still trying to get a grip on the reality that is.

December 19, 2005

So you're telling me that it takes hours and hours to come up with a hilarious post, or an insightful one, or one that makes people go "Oooh! descriptive! Let's comment on this and filth it up!"

Bullshit. Here's the funniest thing I've read on the net for a long long time. Warning : Very Gross.

PS- Hello all. Life's been good? I hope so.

November 10, 2005

Got a new flickr badge put in the side bar. If you want to see all the photos, click on "what is this" and then click on "Saturday Night Takeout". Have fun!

November 09, 2005

He is not a large hairy monkey! (Part 2)

Anonymous, maybe he's this?

November 06, 2005

The WorkShop

This is where they make trains.
10 seconds after I took the pic I got caught by the RailwayPoliceForce and was marched to the RPF station for illegally smuggling in a camera. Then they got all confused when they realized there was no film in it. (I love digital cameras. :D ) So I tried fooling them by saying that it's a 'practice camera'. They fell for it... for about 5 minutes. Got pushed around for a bit, until I produced my trump card... that I'm a close personal friend of their boss. Produced some flimsy proof, a 100 rupee note, and that was that.

Couldn't take any more 'practice photos' though. Damn.

He is not a large hairy monkey! (Part 1)


November 05, 2005

Still stuck here. But feeling better, now that the festival season is past. And will hopefully be back by Monday-Tuesday... if all goes as planned.

Then again, nothing does.

October 31, 2005

Dinner at the secretary's house. Yup, I took the photo :) Ghar ka khana, bengali sweets and good company. Felt like home. Thank you Mr. M_ sir.

October 30, 2005

I'm still bored, so I thought I'll put up another picture. Only Indians would appreciate the joke, though. I'll put up high res versions of these on the photo blog later.

October 28, 2005

A quick word to whoever still comes here.

I'm going mad. Bloody insane, that's what. I need contact from the world.
Please write to me. My email id is up there. Just write a mail which says "hello" in more than ten words. I will be eternally grateful to you if you do.

Notes - Reading about a book a day, sometimes 2.
Back in touch with my best friend in the world.
Got stoned. Didn't enjoy.
Starting a photoblog. Loads of shit to upload.
Shampoo lather is pure heaven.
Chittaranjan is not.

October 26, 2005

Huh? Holy shit!

I had to put this up. Sorry it's blurred, but you can zoom in check out how training is given in "Yoga, Pranayam, Self Defense, Kata, Kumite weapons". Can't argue with that, eh?

GangFu. Snicker.

Either it's my way, or...

Got a shitload worth of blogs to upload soon, as soon as I get out of Chittaranjan. Hope you're all doing ok, comrades.

October 19, 2005

Wired News: Pedals From the Past: "Taking a spin on an old bike, with old parts, reminds you that it's not about the bike, but about the ride."

October 18, 2005

Back again. This sucks.

September 14, 2005

Part 1 - Speed Reading 101

The idea is this- to read two lines of text at a time. I’m not sure a lot of people believe me when I say I can do so. Here’s an attempt at trying to explain how.

Consider the following text-

This bunch, it seems, is still hung up, on how to act like losers,
"Relax", I say, "the bear and I, we're quite brilliant abusers!
The bangys and the bitches, you just keep up the good work,
And we shall see how each of you is worse than the average jerk!"

What I do, is start reading off the first line normally, for about 1-2 words. Then I let my gaze open up to include two lines of text and leave a ‘lazy eye’, if you’ll pardon the expression, to absorb whatever text is available on both lines. By the localization of data theory, I’m able to mildly comprehend what’s happening on both lines without totally understanding either. Thus, after about a second, I’m reading –

This bunch, it seems, is still hung up, on &^%^&*^(
"Relax", I say, "the bear &^((&%*)

Now continue ‘reading’ so until you reach the end of the line at which point all the words are in your head, albeit in the ancient gobblydegook script. While turning your head back to reach the beginning of the 3rd line, again ‘lazy eye’ the first two lines, and the full meaning of the lines shoud hit you smack in the face, thus giving a decent transition into the next line.

Estimated increase in reading speed – 75%

Cool, eh? Works for me.

I’ve tried to do 3 lines at a time, but that’s just not happening. Strangely though, I can do a variation of this to do 4 at a time, but not too much increase in speed. Besides, some of the beauty of the text disappears that way.

9 more to go.

The last ten - Part 0

Ok, news. Following this post, I’ll post only ten more in pispeak; after which I’m off the blogsphere in this format. Not that it’ll matter much. I am starting another blog though, and if you ask nicely I might even give you the address.


www.ryanlobo.net - WoweeZowee.

One of the last

Finally I find a book that makes me feel good.

We can never know what to want, because, living only one life, we can neither compare it with our previous lives nor perfect it in our lives to come.

Einmal ist keinmal, says Tomas to himself. What happens but once, says the German adage, might as well not have happened at all. If we have only one life to live,we might as well not have lived at all.

If a love is to be unforgettable, fortuities must immediately start fluttering down to it like birds to Francis of Assisi's shoulders.

(Kundera, Milan - The Unbearable Lightness Of Being)

And this one's for Ammani -

He tossed the paper aside. 'Taxation, gentlemen, is very much like dairy farming. The task is to extract the maximum amount of milk with the minimum of moo. And I am afraid to say that these days all I get is moo.'

(Terry Pratchett - Jingo)

And yeah, this blog shuts down this weekend. That’s right, the end.

September 12, 2005

The egghead's conundrum

Little man of little man, waits for himself, does not swallow
Little man of little man, by degrees of stuttering madwomen
Anal two that knots bears, anal two that leads
Strike from a louse small volume any watchman with a girdle

[See the wikipedia entry on humpty dumpty for an explanation. No links, punk!]

September 10, 2005


So Chetan Bhagat's releasing his second book next month. And he's got this routine where he's forwarding a 'password' to all his friends and wellwishers. Which neatly pops you to the homepage for the book. With an excerpt, through another link. Tell you what, I'll save you a lot of tension by just giving you the link.


The password on www.chetanbhagat.com/mail.htm is 463.

September 01, 2005


The author of k-pax has this to say-


In his new book, Faster than the Speed of Light, Dr. Joao Magueijo suggests that his variable speed of light (VSL) theory explains many of the mysteries of the Big Bang universe in much the same way as does Alan Guth’s inflation (variable expansion rate of the universe) theory. I suggest that both are variations on the same theme, namely, that the speed of light is a direct function of the expansion of the universe. That is, the speed of light in the early universe varied because of inflation and, furthermore, it varies today in intimate proportion to the present expansion rate. To put it another way, light travels because the universe is expanding.

The principal ramification of this hypothesis is that photons do not travel through space-time—they are dragged along with it. According to this proposal, the speed of light (and other electromagnetic radiation) through space is an illusion; it is, in fact, 0 km/sec. It is the universe which is expanding at the present rate of 300 km/sec., and taking these massless wave/particles with it.

I suggest further that objects with mass are not pulled along by the expansion. Indeed, such objects resist this “force,” and therefore tend to slow down the universe’s expansion rate. This can be observed, for example, in the effect of celestial objects on the path of photons in space-time and, in particular, the gravitational effect of black holes. Thus, the latter do not prevent light from escaping them; they prevent space-time itself from expanding around them.

It follows also from this proposal that if the expansion rate of the universe is increasing, we will eventually be able to see objects that we cannot now see and, conversely, if the universe is slowing down, that such objects will twinkle out. If the expansion rate becomes zero, and therefore photons stop moving with space-time, we will be able to see nothing at all. This concept is in direct opposition to predictions currently associated with the rate of expansion of the universe. The correct interpretation is experimentally verifiable by currently available methods.

Gene Brewer
March 9, 2003

August 31, 2005


Temple of the Dog.

Sounds terrible as a bandname, eh?

Surely, on first glance, it's obvious that a bunch of prepubescent boys who knew how to play 3 power chords (in dropped-d, that too) and wanted to impress those gothic chicks in class, decided to use the family pull in the music business and record an album.

But 'temple of the dog'? Man, that sucks.

Hell, I'm expecting screeching guitars and vocals that'll go "ooooh, baaaybeeee, we're so kool and let's touch the sky, bye, bye, bye..."

Look at the song names, wouldya?

"All night thing."

"Call me a dog." (And then erect a temple maybe?)

"Reach down." (Where's a parental advisory sticker when you need one?)

And Mukka/Ganja actually listen to this? Hell, let's give it a shot.

(twenty minutes later)


August 30, 2005

New shit


Mulholland Drive - Dir: David Lynch. Stellar performances all round, with a surprisingly brilliant histrionic display by Naomi Watts. Totally trippy, and requires about 3 to 4 'watches' to actually comprehend what happens in the movie. (PS- Keep your eyes open for the lesbian lovescene. Yum :) )

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas - Johnny Depp becomes a madman. All round funny.

This is Spinal Tap - A spoof rockumentary. PissInPants funny. Listen to the lyrics of 'Big bottom'. (Yes, the song is about a big bottom. Velvety cheeks, and all that.)

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind -Title off an A.Pope poem (Sorry Mukka). Highly recommended. Jim Carrey and Kate Winslet show some brilliant on screen chemistry. I can finally forgive her for the Titanic debacle (while Leo was already granted a place in 'the forgiven' because of The Beach)

Annie Hall - Overrated as a cult/bestever comedy flick. I'm afraid a lot of 'normal junta' just won't get the Allen-ish brand of humour ("I refuse to be a member of a club that'll have me as a member"- Ok, that's Marx, but still.) However, still an excellent watch, and Diane Keaton is gorgeous as ever.

BeforeSunrise/BeforeSunset - Marry me, Julie! Richard Linklater and Co. at their scriptwriting best.

SouthPark - Bigger, Longer, Uncut - if you can figure out the pun in the title itself, you can get an idea what the movie's about, atleast the type of humour propounded. Get a few guys over, a lot of beer, and laugh your ass off.


Planetary - Ganja forced me to read this, and turned out to be quite nice after all. Story flies all over the place, giving another twist to quantum multiverses (hey, I'm a nerd, and love this sort of thing). Somewhat gimmicky(like the Batman special), but easily forgiven.

From Hell - Alan Moore's 600 page masterpiece. Hell yeah! Look out for all the freemason trivia. Not for the weak of heart.

TopTen/SMax - Again, Alan Moore. Funy, clever, typical Moore (atleast, what I think is 'typical'). Pro-AlternativeOrientation references. A brilliant social commetary for the late 20th century lifestyle.

V for Vendetta - Moore. Very 1984/BNW-ish. Asks the question, "Would you support anarchy, despite a morbid choice of method?" Excellent for personal introspection, or so I thought.

The killing joke - Moore's Batman masterpiece. The joker's roots revealed. Felt such a nicotine need after I finished. Like good sex, eh? (Wish I knew, but that's another story altogether.)

Batman - YearOne, DK1, DK2 - All Frank Miller. And it shows. I love stories which make one go "OhFuck, I never saw that coming!" DK1 recommended for all Batfreaks. Hell, recommended to all who love a good yarn.

Spidey/Wolverine/Xmen issues - about a hundred, and then I lost count. Spidey's got the best quips in the business, and Wolverine is surely the kind of guy we'd like to share a beer with. Highlight- Ultimate Spidey #67 by Brian Bendis, where Spidey and W exchange bodies. Hell, I don't remember laughing so much for a comic. (Actually I do, but I'm not sure psychedelic Champak stories count. )

SinCity - I'll let you borrow it, if you promise to wipe the drool off when you return it. How does FM do this?


Hell, where do I even start? Tell you what, the next post will be a complete music review. It takes a while to go through 10 gigs of new music.

Mukka, Ganja, Kini - (Sashtanga Namaskara). Thank you.

In other updates-

-Finally putting some work together for the RJ demo tape.
-Madras is truly the most bizarre city I've ever been to. And not in a nice way. Thank god for friends.
-I_, is it almost time to say goodbye? Just maybe. Do let me know if this is what you're feeling.

And now, back to the grind.

August 25, 2005

Sony/Toshiba abandon efforts to standardise DVD formats. It's VHS vs Betamax all over again. Looks like Sony has the edge here.

Google finally enters the telecom arena with GoogleTalk - free internet telephony, IM, the works. Available now only for US based Gmail users. Also, they're planning a 3.28 billion dollar public offering soon. Is it my imagination or are these guys slowly becoming evil? Something doesn't fit.

Oh yeah, recommended picks-

WaiterRant - Funny shit.

Wired news - Cool. Very cool.

And that's that. Goodnight.

August 22, 2005

Oh yeah!

FreedomJam2k5 dates announced.

Ps- Still busy.

August 18, 2005

Tired. Very tired.

Sorry for the delay. No time for a full fledged blog, so just an update on life.

Currently tripping on-

Freakonomics – Very cool.

The google blog – The life and tales of the coolest nerds on the planet

Ritchie Blackmore’s Rainbow

Frank Herbert’s ‘Dune’ (The office is swamping me and hence I'm plodding along at some 20 odd pages a day. Shameful.)

Konfabulator – Widget heaven!

Blogger for Word (Now make MSWord a blogging client!)

Thus Spake I updated

August 13, 2005

Wotrashi -2 update

S_R_ gave the speech I wrote for him. And he called me later to tell me that it went well. Really well. So good that he actually won a ribbon for 'best speaker'. And his speech was considered 'innovative, fresh and funny'.

I'm glad I made the man happy. Looks like it's a good thing to do stuff for friends and letting them take the credit for it. Made me feel really good. Anytime, S_. As long as you buy me a smoke later, eh?

A ribbon. Giggle.

(Exploder- Audioslave)

I met a man locked away
for things he hadn't done
innocence on a ball and chain
he'll never feel the sun
again on his face
roses in his hands
but when he smiled at me
i could understand

if you're free you'll never see the walls
if you're head is clear you'll never freefall
if you're right you never fear the wrong
if you're head is high you never fear at all

there was a daughter of a man
who took his life too young
she swore she'd never do those things
then did just what he'd done
and a boy whose gone insane
heard voices in his head
no one knows what they say
now his mothers dead

if you're free you'll never see the walls
if you're head is clear you'll never freefall
if you're right you never fear the wrong
if you're head is high you never fear at all

there was a man who had a face
it looked a lot like me
i saw him in the mirror and i followed him in the street
then when he turned away i shot him in the head
then i came to realize i had killed myself

if you're free you'll never see the walls
if you're head is clear you'll never freefall
if you're right you never fear the wrong
if you're head is high you never fear

[Nothing like listing to audioslave during office hours :) ]

Wotrashi -3

(This one's for I_)

The cloud had finally decided to leave the city of Bangalore to itself, for just one night. And the stars poured out their liquid brilliance, as if an era had passed without it's presence, and in an effort to make up for this absence, these lighted dots opened up a celestial portal to the sky, and offered a million people company in the still of the night.

And what of this 'still'? Well, the quiet spread through each bangy's body like a live current, and like we all know, the quiet of the night is much louder than the quiet of the day (EE) and gave company to a city deprived of good company for so, so long. And the music of the light played on, without rhyme or reason, and yet both.

And I walked up the stairs to the open terrace, and talked to all my good friends I'd missed- the gentle whisper of the wind, the subdued glow of a night that refuses to sleep, Mr. and Mrs Goosebump (and all of their extended family, playing my body like a Blind man's War and Peace), Joe Satriani doing "Starry night", and good ol Honeedyou Kings. And the music played on, in my head, with the leaves, in the shadows that the streetlights threw on passing strangers, be it man or animal, with brilliant backing vocals by the growls of a million more insects. It played on...

And while a minor allegro was building up in my head, I felt the urge to touch the sky, and taste all the liquid starlight on my palate. So I raised my arms and started moving... slowly at first, and my hips joined in, and soon I was running all around the terrace, like a kid in his makebelieve aeroplane ("Cleared for takeoff, junior. Get me back a souvenir from the Bahamas, wouldya?") and the rush of life that was overwhelming, nay, choking me to a point of confusion without parameter. And I'm dizzy, falling while standing, spinning while being very still indeed. Is it my imagination, or was I just saying "Wheeee..."?

And I look across the colony, and on the neighbour's roof, omigod, there's another guy with his hands reached out to the sky, and he's rushing about too, and I can hear the faint echo of him saying it too, the high pitched "Wheee...". And on another roof, and another, and another, and the whole city is up on their roofs, running about, and the silent crescendo is building up to a climax that'll come too soon, no matter when it comes. And we're all going "Wheee....". A great night to be alive!

So now I retire to bed, disregarding all worry and feeling great. Why? Because tonight I touched the sky. And if in your part of the world, if you hear what sounds like a little boy saying "Wheee..." in his sleep, that'll be me.


The sun rose. And life went back to normal, which we all know, is a total bitch.

August 11, 2005

"And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music."

-- Nietzsche

[Thanks to Dina Mehta]

August 10, 2005

Goofballs United

Sri, Myself And Mac- Koramangala, 6th August.
Good times. And the vodka was sweet.

(Yes, I'm skinnier than a stick.)

Dear Dad,

There is probably no more terrible instant of enlightenment than the one in
which you discover your father is a man--with human flesh.

-from "Collected Sayings of Muad'Dib" by the Princess Irulan

Dune, by Frank Herbert

Wotrashi -2

[This is a speech I helped a friend of mine write yesterday as part of his toastmaster's induction. The first speech, called an 'icebreaker' is basically an introduction of the speaker to the club; this is what we came up with.]

It has always been the prerogative of children and half-wits to point out that the Emperor has no clothes.
But the half-wit remains a half-wit, and the Emperor remains an Emperor.

Good Morning one and all,

Surely it’s not a virtue to procrastinate, yet this, I must admit is one of my vices. Don’t hold it against me, I thankfully keep my deadlines and manage to give a jolly good show when it is required. My ‘Icebreaker’ speech I now lay before the toastmaster’s club for your approval. I begin with a brief introduction of myself, so listen closely if you don’t want to miss the lurid details.

I was born in the mountain village of Ra ‘His Kal, a southern province of the Narniac range. I learnt the traditional sword fighting techniques from the Elder ones, and by the time I was 9 I slayed my first cow. In the cleansing that followed in the deceased cows blood for the next 7 days and nights, I was taught the scriptures of ancient wisdom as is passed down from generation to generation in the only allowed manner- as my father spoke the words of deep and profound meaning into my ear, I was welcomed into the brotherhood of men, and I was no longer a child from that day forth. My father was very proud indeed, for now his heir-apparent was privy to the sacred ritual of goat milking that our tribe was renowned for across the Great Desert. And when the 12th moon had passed after that, I was given nothing but a goat-skin canteen, bread, cheese and lady luck. And I set off on the dusty trail as every young man must, to seek my fortune and make my destiny. In the years to follow, I read many wise books and saw many a strange sight. In the nights, with but a stylus and many sheets of papyrus, I translated Dante’s Inferno into 3 separate languages, including Barrachan, the words of which must only be read and never spoken aloud, or so the elders say. I have scaled the walls of that structure called the lady of liberty in the disunited states of yonder, and must say the view from her crown is one to behold. I saved the lives of young tiger cubs in the harsh unforgiving Sahara, and fed them with my own bare hands while the desert storm raged around us. When I aged to be 15, I had figured out the solutions to end poverty, famine, disease, pollution, cancer and plague and had realized the answers to bring about world peace and prosperity… unfortunately, my sheets of papyrus were stolen by bandits in Ramgarh to be used to heat their rancid bowls of soup.

[10 second pause]

Of course I’m kidding, who’d you expect, Superman?

My name’s S_ R_. I’ve been born and brought up in Bangalore, and have lived a peaceful life forever. My primary, high school and pre-university education were in schools and colleges you’ve definitely heard about, and passed by without a second glance; yet to me they signify years of torture and punishment. I’ve played our national pastime cricket and become a master at the other national pastime, namely sledging. My daily routine for the past ten years include rigorous channel surfing, burping and trips to the fridge. I’ve troubled every boyfriend my sister brought home for parental approval, and hence have been extremely girlfriend-less forever. I didn’t mind it too much, I had time for other educational experiences, and I am of course talking about video games and the internet. If there’s anything I’ve learnt from my elders, it’s to leave wet towels on the floor and never leave a tip for a waiter. The books I’ve read are profound and deep, especially the ones where Jughead always gets the better of Reggie. Sidney Sheldon, John Grisham and Dan Brown have taught me the essential principles of life- that if you’ve got a half baked idea with the words ‘thriller’, ‘suspense’ and ‘murder’ in them, you can make a million dollars overnight by making a half baked story about it.

I like listening to all types of music – be it the stomach churning lyrics of Cradle of Filth, or the melodious tunes of Tchaikovsky. I also have influences ranging from Upendra’s “15 to 20 danger” to the street talk of Eminem and his profanities. I tried learning to play the drums for three months, but gave up when I realized I had no talent… besides, I needed an actual pair of drums, and the tablas I was playing with were wearing thin.

I’ve been an English Movie buff all my life. My all time favourite movies include Ben Hur, Schindler’s List, and Meet the Parents. We all have dreams, and one of my dreams is to see my name on the silver screen someday, as the director of a major movie, sold out to crowds across the world. The real dream? That this movie would be one in a series of cinematic adaptations of the Ramayan and MahaBharat. Far fetched? Maybe, but that’s the power of dreams, my friends; to take an imagination and make it reality.

My parents love me… which is why they take a one month trip to a European locale every year, just to get away from me. Don’t get me wrong, I love them too. They’ve always supported me all through my life, and shared my happiness and sorrow alike. They’ve always let me make my choices throughout my life, and though this might mean that I’m still confused about which path to choose, I’m atleast happy that I have the freedom to make my own choice of path… and truly I’m happy to say that I’m satisfied with these choices, and owe a lot of this freedom to Mom and Dad.

My sister’s a perpetual oddball, and this was always reflected in her colour of nailpolish. I love her too, because she’s always taught me to fight society and be whatever it was I wanted to be. Too bad she doesn’t know I want to become a gynecologist.

And that’s my story so far, Ladies and Gentlemen. I like the person I’ve become. And I’m unsure of the future, as many of you must be too. I have hopes and dreams, admire the past and the future, have tasted success and failure, justified the pros and cons of my life, been an optimist and pessimist, been a skeptic and a believer, and season my meat with salt and pepper.

But seriously, that’s all there is to me. I’m you’re average Joe, a guy on the street. I’d like to finish my speech with a story I recently heard…

[Some story meant to distract the audience]

I’m done for now. Over to the MC.

August 09, 2005

Rags to NikeRipoffs

Considering that this is a momentous occasion in my life, I believe that I'm 'expected' to write a blog on it. However, truth be said, I'm not certain I know what the bejeesus to say. So we'll start with the basics and work our way up. This unfortunately means I can't throw any surprise twists in the end, atleast 2 'hohums' will popup and that you'll remember some urgent work you had and leave me, when in reality all you want to do is go stare at your own bellybutton fluff wondering how it accumulates there.

Har. The word 'bellybutton' always cracks me up.

Anyway, the deal's this. I just got salary-ed.

On cue now, 1... 2... 3... Weehoo! Congrats! Fabulous! Party! No, none of that? Atleast a nice pat on the back? [Thunk] Ouch. Ok, guess I deserved that. Better than a GPL, surely. C'mon, the least you can do is act like my friend and expect me to spend some on you! No, not even that? Ah, suckers. Who needs your fake love anyway? Mutter mutter...

So now I've got money to spend. I will never again have to ask anybody else for cash again [Hopefully. Really really really hope so] And the gifts (read: family handouts) are already piling up. First there's Ajji who's making me make an offering to God to whom I should be thankful to and all that (Sheesh. What would God do with my money?) Then 'butofcourse' I've got to buy 'gifts' for the folks, and then there's the loan on the laptop that I've got to clear, and the treats promised to buddies, and the gift I'd promised V_ a long, long time ago, and I owe some cash to buddies I'd borrowed from back in college and...

Suddenly, I'm not feeling so great about the money anymore :(
After all the above is done, I'm left with nothing to spend on myself. Bawl!

Sniff. Damn this software engineering nonsense. Somebody pass me a beer. And yeah, I'll pay you for it next month; once the salary comes in.

You know how it sucks when we write stuff about how our day went and what nail polish we wore and yada yada yada...? Well, here's someone who does it well.


And while we're at it, check out a blog that she recommends-


And yeah, don't read the comments.

Wotrashi -1

[Part of this 'poem' came after a session with Vij'n'Bhush in April.
Played in Em, G, C, D. Mild prog on the starred (*) lines.]

I'm just spelling a joke that ain't funny anymore
I can't help it
I might be just paranoid
*Or something else

And when I saw you laughing
I wondered who was funny
Not me, couldn't be, so what'd you see
Or were you just laughing back at me?

Was it a clown
Who'd amuse himself and laugh back at the world,
Who're not sure what the story was anyway
*Which would be the clown staring back at them, oh the irony (the irony, the irony)

Because nothing's as it seems,
And this nothing is all I've got to show to you
You lousy rat, but hey, I'd rather you call my bluff
Than be a patronizing fool

I won't call yours
I won't even question why it was so
I'll fall in line, because, you see...
* (Em run.) Everything's a 'nothing'

I'm just spelling a joke that ain't funny anymore
And the irony of it all
Is that I'll have the last laugh
Comprende, ~Senor?

[Solo to fadeout]

PS- If you're curious, 'Wotrashi' is konkani for 'A mixture of things unrelated, in chaotic order, and which don't even have a specific reason for existing'. I don't know if there's an English word/phrase for it]

August 08, 2005

Happy Birthday, Laura Castelino!

Exactly a year and three days ago, Laura Castelino posted what has become one of my alltime favourite posts. And today's her birthday. Weehoo! Everyone head over to the The Agony Aunt's blog, and wish her a happy birthday, wouldya?

Happy Birthday, Law. Fatty fatty bombalaty, or whatever's the appropriate greeting in your tribe :D

August 07, 2005

Wow. Yesterday turned out to be a brilliant day after all.

Met S_ after many months, and loved it. Almost felt like a kid again, bringing alive memories of a grubby little second year in his room knocking glasses and toasting the Gods that made a friendship like ours. (And yeah, a smoke or two :) )

Strange how meeting him is making me miss him all the more.

I feel a little weepy when he left. I wish the best for you buddy, and hopefully you'll pay for the booze next time. Happy friendship day, you fat bastard.

"What shall we use to fill the empty
Spaces where we used to talk
How shall I fill the final places
How shall I complete the wall"

Pink Floyd

USA Hai, Hai... Hi there?

In big, capital letters, on a wall next to Mekhri Circle are the words "DOWN WITH USA". And my 15 year old cousin who's come down from the US, he looks at it, and he says "Man, that's cool" (This is inclusive of the horrid caucasian accent he's picked up thanks to years of listening to the 'Boston sound') My puzzled look makes him point at the sign and this conversation followed-

Me- Why's that cool?
Him- Because it's cool, that, like, y'know, people here are like, into the American lifestyle and what it's all about, right.
Me- Uh huh. So you're sympathetic to the Indian perspective against 'THE' capitalistic view about a unipolar world and so on?
Him- No no, it ain't like that. It's about how our lives are finally getting together, like, and how everyone's finally going to boogey together.
Me- Huh?
Him- Yeah man, like how those guys who painted that, are like, everybody should get down with the USA, man. Getting down and dirty with it man, that's cool.
Me- Er...
Him- Yeah man, like a global party, or something like that; getting down with it!
Me- Um, K_, I don't think that's what it means. It's not "Get down with USA", it's just "Down with USA".
Him- Yeah, you eendians need more time to get used to the slang, but that's cool man, it's all good. Sooner or later. Hey, you think we can pick up some soda somewhere? Thirsty throat happening, and caffeine helps.

I wonder if he's right. About the change, not the caffeine.

It has always been the prerogative of children and half-wits to point out that the Emperor has no clothes.
But the half-wit remains a half-wit, and the Emperor remains an Emperor.

Neil Gaiman

Maybe I'll adopt the Sandman series as my own holy book(s) (yeah, definitely easier to read). And everytime I read it, I seem to find a quote that's quite apt with something going on in my life, and how to deal with it. Like how NG, when asked to describe the whole series in one line, replies- "The Lord of Dreams learns that one must change or die, and makes his decision." That's a 'Hmmm' moment for you right there.

Must I change or die? Neither. Not yet, atleast.

Weekly log:

Reading- The "Dune" series by Frank Herbert. Have also been promised the 'movie beyond your imagination' adaptation of the book. These Hugo/Nebula winners haven't disappointed yet.
Listening- Assorted Emo-Rock, thanks to the cousin's iPod. Not bad. Also "In loving memory"- Alter Bridge a million times. I crack up like mad everytime the vocalist, during "shed my skin", sounds like Marc Anthony in "You sang to me". Which happens a lot, the poor guy :) (When you saaang to meeee... whnusng2me) Ok, irrelevant info, sorry.
Watching- SinCity, for the gazillionth time. An attempt to pick up JackieBoy's accent.
Photographing- a Black'n'White series of people around the colony. And a confused cow that runs away now everytime I approach it.
Wishlist addition- The complete Farside, after Beatzo's review. Yes, I read the comments there :p
Looking forward to- buying a vehicle. A car or a bike... any suggestions?
Cooking- Pudina Chicken on Saturday. Finger-lickin' Olle!
Thinking of- Getting out of the job. But will wait a little longer for that.

Mememememe... ego explodes. Hell, if I don't, who will?

August 06, 2005

My favourite person in the whole world!

Cousin Sweety... Nice new haircut 'n' all.

August 04, 2005


You made lunch yourself? Not bad. This tastes delicious, what is it? Kinda like chicken, but a hint of, I don't know, turkey? Tell me quick, what is it? I'm curious.

"There's more than one way", she said," to skin a cat, but only one way to save it from curiosity."

And that would be?

"Why, to skin it, kill it, cook it, boil it, eat it, whatever. Because the cat can't stop being a cat, can it?"

And what's your point, madame?

"Um, no point actually. I just wanted to put the image of a skinned, boiled, half eaten cat in your head. Now, quick, finish lunch, and we'll head for the movie."


A 30 second movie

The set- A sheet of water, depth unknown. Extends on all sides until the horizon drops off. An empty sky, save the colour blue, and an unseen sun as a light source, no shadows are thrown anywhere. The actor(s)- Just one woman, falling through the 'sky'; in slow motion, however. A look of fear on the woman's face, which means eyes wide open and arms on both sides. One (female voice) narrator.

Narrator: I Hope I'm Dreaming I Really Hope I'm Dreaming Though I Remember A Plane And The Plane In The Sky And There Were Other People But I'm So Alone Now And Have I Always Been Alone But The Plane Is Gone And There's Nothing Else Nobody Else And I'm Dying I Don't Want To Die But I'm Dying And There's A Rush And I'm Sorry So Sorry Why Don't You Hear Me And I'm Looking Down And It's Rushing Up And I Wish I Could Wake Up And If This Is A Dream I Could Wake But Why Am I Not But I Miss The Kids And S_ And This Isn't Fair So Unfair Why Me God Why Me Unfair And I What Did I Do To Deserve This I...

[5 second pause. This is, of course, in slow motion time, and would probably be a fraction of an instant in reality]

Narrator: But That's Not Fair And I Remember That I Begged Forgiveness And I Made Good On My Promises And Why Me Why Me And I'm Scared So Scared Scared Of Dying And Please Somebody Tell Me This Is A Dream And WAKE UP And I'm Not Waking Up And I Know It's Not a Dream But Still And I Wish I Wouldn't Die And I Want To Live Forever And...
[Frame Freezes. The voice stops. The Woman is barely inches away from the water. And in suspended animation. Forever. Her wish is fulfilled. Scene fades out to the RequiemForADream OST]


"DO...... the stuff... that buys me beer...
RAY..... the guy that sells me beer...
ME...... the guy... who drinks the beer,
FA..... a long way to get beer...
SO...... I'll have another beer...
LA...... I'll have another beer...
TEA..... no thanks, I'm drinking beer...
That will bring us back to... "

(Looks into an empty glass)


Homer Simpson


August 02, 2005

The Maze

I don't know if reading the Sandman has affected my real life, or if it's the other way around. Hmmm, that's silly, I don't know if my real life could affect the way I read.

Or could it?

Anyway, what I'd like to say is, last night I had a dream. Not exactly a dream, more like a memory being brought to life in the realm of dreams, like so many other imaginations do. And I remembered when I was 10, and I'm walking back with a friend, whose voice I've forgotten ages ago, and truly he belongs to that age I've left. Anyway, so we're scribbling things on paper, like little kids would with pencil, and it doesn't bother us that that paper's been recently trampled upon, hell, we're already drawing patterns around the neat footprint that's been left on the paper. And my friend, he decides to draw a maze. One with turns and twists and traps and tricks, one that'll be both fun and frustrating for all who try. So he grabs the paper away, goes to the back of the class, and is furiously working to finish it before class gets over.

So we're heading home now, and there's a little drizzle, and I'm loving the way the water's trickling into my mouth and the way it's tasteless and sweet at the same time (I remember this because I felt it last night in the dream) and he pulls out the badly folded paper from his pocket and shows me the final maze. And it looks impressive, in my eyes atleast, and it's all looped around, with overlapping paths tha can only be traversed in one way, and there're really cool dragons in 2 corners which'll eat you (!) if you take the wrong turn. In my dream, I remember how the lines seemed to be moving, and the dragons were breathing cartoonstyle fire, but this I blame on the dream itself. And I can remember the sheet getting damp but shouting 'wow' again and again. Until it hit me... the maze had no solution.

Which isn't a normal thing, yes, but let's give the friend the benefit of the doubt, shall we? So I ask the boy "how do you win at this thing?" And he says "Win? There's no such thing as winning, Sunil. It's all about reaching an end. And never reaching what we all want to" Yes, I know that sounds a little too weird for a 10 year old to be talking like that, and I remember being quite confused at the time, but R_ was always like that, saying things I never really understood. Sometimes I even thought about whether he liked me because I was humouring him, or whether it was the other way around.

But the maze... so I start arguing with him, saying that it sould have a goal, and that nobody'd want to play it. So he says sure thing, let's give it a goal. Let's say that the point of the maze was to never let it end. To never reach a dead end, and never to stop. So I say, alright so you want to loop the whole thing.

Sure, sound simple. So under the shade of a tree right in front of his house, we sat down with the same chewed up pencil, and figured out a route in the maze that would go down all the paths in the maze, and then start repeating itself. And he said to me, "See? That's how it's done. That's the real challenge, to never let it stop." (Of course, later math discussions on hamiltonians and eulerians would reduce this to boring old numbers, but at the time it felt like pure magic, trust me)

So he went off inside, and I walked all the way back to my place, in the drizzling rain. I'd taken the long route, just to figure out what my friend was talking about. And that fifteen minutes I spent walking back slowly, unlike my usual rush to get back and play videogames. It seemed quite magical, the way he'd made a new game (on purpose? I dunno). And my dream's still going on, I'm seeing a lot of visions of how the guy was always trying to beat the smartasses in our class. And life accelerates in the dream, and I'm seeing the transition from navy blue shorts to khaki pants, and comics to pornmags. And we're sharing secrets in the hall, talking about the mighty fine woman in the Biology class, and cycling past the local temple, and slowly I feel reality flooding me, and I wake up to a sunrise outside my window (somewhat, because the Bangalore sky affords no sunrise anymore).

And I'm wondering if my real life affects my dreams, or if it's the other way around. If my dreams will guide my life, through all the turns it'll throw at me.

Dedicated to the memory of Rahul D., 1984-2003.

Ramble on (Yeah, getting the Led out)

"Y'know, Freud says that when we dream of flying, that we're actually thinking about sex"
"Then what does it mean when we're dreaming about sex?"
"Um... oh... er..."

Again, Gaiman.

43 down, 32 to go. And of course, 10 specials.

The best thing about the books I like is how thoroughly involved I get in it. How the heroes are always dark brooding characters who're usually right... and sometimes wrong. And I'll start noticing normal people on the streets and wonder if the twisted rules the author's created in his world apply to our meaningless lives. Right now I'll stare at the woman sitting beside me and I'll think about her real life, and the dreams she'll have, how Desire will rule her actions till the very end, and whether Delerium would do me a favour and stop bothering her so :)

Yeah, it's this one thing that I'd like to ask every fiction writer I meet.
"Now then, we all know that the best stories are ones that can be believed, that can be empathized with. And the question is simple... do you sometimes start believeing your own stories? That there's a niggling possibility in the back of your head that the yarns you're spinning might be true? And that all you're doing is recollecting/creating these worlds for real?
For example, Mr. Gaiman Sir, do you believe in the Sandman, and are the nightmares he creates real beings?
Mr. Poe, of course there's a raven on a bust of Pallas, causing eternal grief to a depressed old man. But what of Signora Xenophobia; do you believe there exist such demented minds that can fathom death and how it can strip the soul from the vessel of the body?
Yes yes, Mr. Pratchett, I know there must be a world where all the old myths are true, that there's a tired old tortoise who can't wait for a decent backrub. But if magic were true in this world, wouldn't it have fallen to pieces long before, say, episode 10?
C'mon Mr. Salinger, we all know that you tried to create a world as real as possible, and that little boy is simply an extension of your own hidden soul, but really, would the boy be so willing to narrate a story that meant nothing, especially to himself? Or do you believe that some stories just don't end?
Give it up, Mr. Sheldon, we've all read the conspiracies you've rattled off, and we've been enthralled, no doubt, at least the children who don't know any better. But what mind can dream that the world is so riddled with deception and murder?"


[Of course I expect a different answer from each writer. I hardly expect anybody to say "Yes" or "No", of course not. That would be too unpretentious of the writer's kiln now, wouldn't it?]

Freud, you're such a bastard. There were some secrets that were never meant to be spoken aloud. And you didn't even get them all right. Hence, we corrupt, And get corrupted. Sometimes the power of the written word is so underrated, it makes me angry. That the reponsibility that a writer must have to understand that opinions are simply taken seriously, and words are the weapons that can change the world.

It's like how I'm talking to TD the other day, and we're arguing over the concept(s?) of religion and god. And I tell him, look, 'God' was a great idea, and that holy scriptures were an ideal method to spread what are/were considered ideal guidelines to live our lives by. Yet, people seem to have taken them a little too literally and the story is now more important than the moral. And he says that I'm an idiot. It IS the story that was meant to be taken seriously, because belief in the story itself is what gives faith to people, and saves the lives of millions across the world. Which leaves me wondering... what if the man's right? What if there were Gods that walked the earth? What if there wer edays whn we all came under judgment for our sins and actions?

Not too bad, I guess. What bothers me most about the existence of God is that, in my heart I know, that if at all there was a God(s), then now... now he/she has simply given up on us. And freedom from authority was the worst curse God could give to a world full of sinners.

And that prayer is obsolete.

And this is why I don't believe in an allforgiving God.

Damn these books, they simply litter my mind with thoughts that matter to no one but me. In a sense I guess that's acceptable, but I still need a frame of reference to know an absolute truth. And that's that.

Wow, a rambling blog. Long time since that happened. Ciao, all :)

August 01, 2005


Pi wakes up, and looks around.

There's a cat without a grin, and a day without a name. There're seven little guys who're always ready to help, and a bunch of mice who can't help but bumping into people. A chick in glass slippers, and a caterpillar with an attitude. A giant egg who's gone to pieces, and a fox that's forced to eat crow. A poor little leprachaun, and a beggar with the riches of a smile. There's an arachnophobic girl who's putting on too much wheyt, and a sadistic bastard who loves traumatising the opposite sex.


Pi wakes up, looks around.

And she's staring into his face like she's shy, but damned if she's not allowed to make the first move. And her rich scent is overwhelming, so much that it's difficult to concentrate on reality and the dream at the same time. And she's got her hands on his chest, and her lips are dying to be kissed, and she's whispering words that don't make too much sense, but he'd die if she stopped. And he presses the small of her back to hear her moan and knows that it's going to climax...


Pi wakes up, but he refuses to open his eyes.

And he can hear a million words spoken with raspy hatred. And they're all saying the same thing... that he's a liar. That he's betrayed his own destiny by refusing to cooperate. And the abuses are flowing into his head, and he's not sure what they're saying is true, but he's not in a position to argue. But the hate is present, it's grinding his mind, and every attempt to fight it ends the same way... in bursts of laughter not his.


Pi wakes up, and the pain hits him like a bolt of lightning.

And it's red everywhere, and he knows he's in pain, and yet he can think clearly about every next action. And strangely, he seems to will his thoughts into action, and the world molds itself around these thoughts, yet hell is but a place where all that is good is forgotten, and suffering is only the first step of damnation. And it hurts so bad...


Pi wakes up... and wishes he didn't read the Sandman series before he went to sleep. Too much imagery. But what a ride!

Thank you, Mr. Gaiman sir.

July 30, 2005

Never been kissed

Her name was Anne, a nice ordinary name that'd bring a smile upon your face if you heard it. The fact that she was French just added to that mysterious glint in her eyes, and you could imagine her walking, maybe skipping down the cobblestone road in an alley that seemed to have too many butterflies. And we'd assume she was happy, and that her accent and soft pink lips were her greatest assets.

Yet she was sad. And no one knew why.

So one day she decided that eternal rest would end her misery, and like many before her (and many to come) she reached the bridge overlooking the Seine river. And looked down into the blue water, holding her breath in fear of what was to come. And in her mind, the question flashed, "Why do you want to die?" It seemed to be in an unknown voice, yet a voice she'd known all along. And she said, to the voice in her mind, "Because I've never known love, and it is a sin to live a life of hope, with no hope at all. Oh, to feel the lips of one that'd breathe life into one's body, to hold close my lover and never let go... that is why i must die, because I've never lived before."

And the voice in her mind replied in anger, "Child, you diasappoint me. You were only human, to give up. But you gave up too soon. Thus you will be granted your wish, and that boon will be a terrible curse indeed. You will be loved without love, and you will live without life." And the voice faded away, and Anne wondered if she had even heard it at all. She waited an instant longer and jumped into the river, and soon let out her breath, and died as many would in the same river.


And when her body was fished out, a cast was made of her face, and people were asked if they knew who she was and why she died. And everyone who saw the face were left feeling confused. It was the curve of her face, the weakened smile, and an inexplicable attraction towards this unknown woman that left them lightheaded. And the poets would write poems about her, the artists would conjure up images, and people would talk about the girl everyone knew, but no one knew at all. "Her name is Anne", they'd say as if she still lived amongst them, "and she's the stuff dreams are made of."

And then people learnt that one could revive a dead person by sharing air. That a person who's feared dead could be resuscitated by locking lips, and waking up the heart. And one realized that this must be taught to the world, and countless lives would be saved. And when a model was cast to practice on, the face was that... of Anne's. And CPR was born.

And now she's kissed by millions; and never kissed at all. And she gives the hope of life to millions; without ever having seen true life at all.

Hey, guess we were wrong about the accent.

(A true story)

July 29, 2005

I want to kill myself sometimes when I think that I'm the only person in the world and that part of me that feels that way is trapped inside this body, that only bumps into other bodies, without ever connecting to the only other person in the world trapped inside of them. We have to connect. We just have to.

Al Pacino in "Frankie And Johnny"

July 28, 2005

Alright, so I'm enabling comments again. Yes, I'm a jackass. Yes, I want to hear opinion from other people.

But I'm still saying "Don't read the comments".

Come to think of it, I never said commenting was bad. La dee da.


Ever clicked on the "Next Blog" button on the top right corner of every blogspot page? Everytime you do, you find a new blog there. And I found this-



Che Faro Senza Te?

(Right, so I know I posted this on OWM and LJ, but whatever. This one's for Citrus.)

Meera came home that night later than usual.

It was way beyond a decent hour before Meera actually reached the door of her double bedroom apartment, now badly in need of a new coat of paint. But that was later. Right now she was driving down the road at a comfortable pace, despite how late it was. She took the left bypass and noticed how empty the roads were. The dashboard clock showed 11:45 pm, and made her realize how late she actually was.

Idly she thought to herself, if I lived in a different time zone, life would be much better. Life sure had changed in the past for Meera and Krish. Krish had one of those ‘creative’ jobs in the marketing department of a cosmetics major, which basically meant he was being paid peanuts for sitting and designing ads for cheap shampoo and bad cologne. Meera advanced in the executive ranks through the textile industry though, and was getting to be quite the breadwinner for the home. Of course, this meant that she wasn’t home most of the days, and some of the nights. A case of want versus need.

Red light.
“I’m sorry, but the customer’s phone you’ve called has been switched off.”
Dammit. Krish never puts his phone off. I wonder what’s wrong.
Green light.

They used to be the favorite young couple in their social circle, but that was a long time ago. There is nothing to be said of their friends, plainly because there weren’t any. They hadn’t even gone out to dinner for a long time, now just living off delivery and ready-to-cook food. It wasn’t too difficult making the house up with pretty figurines and yuppie artifacts. Krish used to while away most of the night surfing the net, bored out of his skull. Once a week he would lovingly wash and polish his bike, then ride around for a half hour before coming back home and hitting the sack. He’d indulge in a book now and then, but of what use reading one, when there’d be no one to talk to about it? In short, not only had the romance in their life died, but they had also become total strangers to each other.

She even forgot his birthday that year.

Krish looked at his watch for the umpteenth time. That’s it, he thought. That’s as long as I’m going to wait for her. She hasn’t turned up, and that’s fine by me. But tonight he’d give her one last chance. Till midnight. He poured himself another shot of whisky and gulped it down. And waited.

The radio was playing one of those mundane Bollywood themes, but that didn’t bother Meera too much. She was thinking about the past, and not many things can distract a person from doing that. She remembered the long drives, the dinners, the marathon phone conversations… life had seemed quite perfect then. They’d been very much in love, and everyday had been a futile exercise in keeping their hands off each other. They didn’t realize that life was getting repetitive and the spark that had brought them together in the first place was long gone. By then it was too late; the full mouthed kisses soon became informal pecks on the cheek, and now they just gave each other an informal pat on the back every morning.

The clock beeped at midnight. She found herself feeling sorry for the sordid state of affairs. An involuntary tear rolled down her cheek which she absent-mindedly wiped away with her left hand. Maybe she could give some more time to her husband. He had been generous, kind and caring; she was obligated to atleast try and salvage the marriage. It might even happen that some buried love would come out of this attempt. Ironic, she thought, that such a boring end would have come of this relationship. None of the pomp and glamour associated with a Hindi movie breakup. She immediately shut the radio up and cursed it for trying to put sublime thoughts into her head. She missed him too much already. Tonight she’d talk to him, and try to get back to a life of a married couple, living the life of a husband and wife as they should. It seemed to be the right thing to do, and she spent the rest of the drive planning the conversation she would have with him, and the words she would use in it.
Soon the car passed through the gates of the residential complex, with little interference from security. The guard couldn’t help but notice the look of anxiety on Madam’s face, like she was nervous of confrontation. He looked up at their flat and observed that the lights were out, which probably meant that Krish Sahib was asleep. Back to work, he thought, and settled into his chair. Meera locked the door of the car, and walked hurriedly to the lift. The ‘out of order’ sign turned her towards the stairs, and in a few hops and jumps she was standing outside her apartment door.

The nameplate ‘Krishnan and Meera Iyer’ stared back at her, making her want to burst into tears that very moment. But no, she had to remain calm and composed. She wanted to talk to Krish in a proper manner, and not project herself as an emotional fool. Her key opened the door easily enough and she stepped inside, only to be disappointed to see that the lights were out. He’s asleep, she reasoned, so I guess this’ll have to wait till tomorrow. Almost relieved of a burden, she walked into the dimly-lit kitchen, looking around for leftovers. She found some curry and rice in the fridge, and decided on a bottle of fruit juice as well. She placed the meal on the table and noticed a clean white envelope on it. The words ‘I Love You’ were written in the center, and for a moment, Meera didn’t know what to do. She took the envelope and walked to the bedroom, meaning to ask Krish about it. After reaching the room, the sight of him sleeping quietly in the darkness changed her mind. She walked back to the dinner table and opened the envelope as she sat down. Inside were his wedding ring and a single sheet of paper. Hesitatingly, the paper came out and she saw a letter in his handwriting.

Dear Meera,
I love you. Ché faro senza té?
For many a lonely night, my heart has become sadder and heavier. The queen of my life has lost her love for me, and nothing I can do can get it back. Where have you been?
I miss you so much that it hurts. I ache inside when I remember the life we used to have, and the love that swept through it, consuming our every waking moment. Why did it go away? Was I mistaken when you said ‘forever’? How could someone I knew so intimately become a stranger in my own world?
I don’t want to hurt so much anymore, honey. You were the center of my life but now you’ve turned away. I apologize for the times I couldn’t make you happy, and for all the misguided attempts at doing so. I understand the life you live and the commitments you make; yet I cannot bear to be around in an empty house waiting every time for you. I know I can’t hope at us getting back together, and that thought saddens me even more. What more can I say?


The shock of the letter burned through her soul in an instant. He was going to walk out on her. After all the silence, he was leaving her. Ché faro senza té… where had she heard that before? She stood up and walked to the bedroom door, now determined to wake Krish up. She would beg and plead, try to get things worked out. Maybe it wasn’t too, late after all. Atleast now she knew that he still loved her. And she truly believed that she loved him too. She flicked on the switch and walked up to the bed, and casually looked at the bedside table. On it was a glass, a half-empty bottle of whisky, and strips of tablets. Sleeping tablets. Slowly, she turned Krish over and placed a hand on his chest, hoping to find a heartbeat. And that’s when she realized where she had heard the phrase. When Krish used to write poetry to her, this Italian piece was a recurrent line. The motionless chest seemed to scream out those very words to her now.

Ché faro senza té?
What would I do without you?


As I was walking up the stair
I met a man who wasn't there.
He wasn't there again today.
I wish, I wish he'd stay away


As I was sitting in my chair,
I knew the bottom wasn't there,
Nor legs nor back, but I just sat,
Ignoring little things like that.

Hughes Mearns

(Hil, that's the source of the poem. I remember you asking for it a while ago.)


If you're into philosophy and psychology, I suggest you visit-


Good stuff.

July 27, 2005

So the idea is simple. If you want to take over someone's world, you must either be feared, or loved.

Or both, which would make you a maternal uncle.

But there's a catch- you must never, EVER try to be 'cool'. You must always fart when it's least expected, be old (and act your age), play nothing more complicated than freecell, and complain like hell when the nephew plays music that requires six strings and a loud voice. The gray hair must never be dyed out, and walking into the bathroom once he's just left, must not be complained against (natural, what?). The mixing of underwear every thursday mst be tolerated, as must the blocking of the phone line. The latenight leftovers you used to snack on are no longer your property, neither is the exclusive love your mother (his grandma) used to shower on you. The crossword will be long done before you wake, and it's very possible you might get a migraine by hearing too many of the following words- Y'know, chill, cool, whassup, macha, jeez and more.

In exchange for this, the nephew will never touch the HondaCity, despite the drool that must be wiped off the floor everytime he sees it, will not come home drunk, will make no excessive financial demands (coff), act like he's fifteen, and pretend that 'sex' is the plural of 1/60th of a minute. He will make it a point to massage your head when you want it, and say things like "Favourite uncle" every 3 hours. He will make you taste some of the food he tries to cook, and some of it (double coff) will be good. He will sneak in dessert when your wife complains that you're putting on weight, and help you check your email without thinking of you as a troglodyte. He will laugh at all the bad jokes, and strangely look sincere while doing so. And yes, when he says he loves you, he'll probably mean it.

The office - 4

A few days ago, tension ripped thru' the office. The net connection was down. A summary of it's consequences.

-Productivity jumped up 300% (Not making this number up. Actually documented.)
-The OB walked around the office, and bad luck followed her wherever she went. Printers jammed, a cat walked into the MD's office, somebody forgot to flush a giant doodie, the tea was really bad (though they're blaming the peon for this), my laptop hung, the stud's bike refused to start, and so on. All this in a span of 6 minutes. I timed it.
-One person was actually observed reading a book. A book! An actual paper and bind book! (Unfortunately, it was 'The Da Vinci code', but still a vast improvement over 'GrandmaTitties')
-Lunch break was extended on either end by 1 hour. Which means 11 am to 3.30 pm.
-And yes, a whole lot of single females across B'lore wondered why their 'friends' had stopped messaging them.

Hmmm, ok maybe I did make up a bit of that. Which parts? You tell me :)

PS- Happy belated birthday wishes, Solitude's earnings.

July 26, 2005


It is a writer, with nothing left that he knows how to say
It is an artist, and fingers that will never catch the vision

Neil Gaiman

July 25, 2005

So it's really bugging me, this not reading comments thing, yet wanting to comment anyway. And I decide fine, I'll just look around the neighbourhood, and then revaluate my priorities. So I go check out what the usual fan following at OWM. And I see a familiar name... M. Last I knew about her, her orkut profile was about a mile long, and one of her passions was a Mexican Jedi AKA StaresTooMuch.

Fine. Distant enough to be a stranger, but close enough to relate to. Click.

And the number is staring me in the face - 43 comments. Bloody Hell.

Do I click? Do I not click?



Man, now I feel great about not reading comments. Or writing them (except for the occasional lapse, of course). But this takes the cake. I wonder why 'M' hasn't had a nervous breakdown of sorts.

This one's for you, M. Whoever you are. How I pity thee.

SatireWire | Feature: Interview with the Search Engine

SatireWire | Feature: Interview with the Search Engine: "INTERVIEW WITH THE SEARCH ENGINE"


It's enough to make a believer out of anybody, I tell you.

So I'm pondering over the book, right, and I've got this whole krackerjack ending set up. And a beautiful start to the book, and it's looking it's going to be a lovely 300 (atleast) page read, with shades of philosophy and just the right amount of ambiguity to let a reader sit back, sip some more hotbutteredrum and think about what was just said. Even moments where you just have to put the book down and say 'Fcuk! Not bad at all!'. And it's simple vocabulary, not because I choose to make it readable for all, but because I don't know the words :) I'm trying not to be profane, just mildly profound; not extra fundoo, just a little fun.

And I wonder if I'm selling my soul to the devil with this.

A lot has bothered me about the book. I still stand by my credo of not showing any work to anybody else until I'm absolutely done with it. Which means I've not even discussed the basic thoughts that've shaped the philosophy on the book. And the storyline that's holding it together is very VERY loosely based on things that've happened to me, and those around. Which I'm guessing isn't such a bad way to go about writing a book. I can honestly say that I've managed to stay away from topics that were really easy to get into and given that extra push to the book; which means I'm not writing about an engineer's life (screw you, cb), or an indian perspective on a boring life (which seems to sell like friggin' crazy now). Of course, I don't deny the inspiration from some brilliant books I've read (see post end) or the friends I've had (some might say...)

Back to what's bothering me then.
The problem with reading other blogs, especially ones of people you know, is that each blog affects you differently. And you start wondering about what public acceptance means. On the one hand, there're these really chutiya posts that attract a hive of nobodys who comment on things even more bizarre, and then there are the really good posts that don't.
Also, and I remember talking to TD about this, is that sometimes I take somethings personally that may or may not be meant for me. For example, you might have just read the previous problem about comments, immediately remembered a 30 comment post you had, and felt mildly offended that I just referred to you. But I didn't, I swear. Hell, I don't read comments anymore, remember? I can recollect getting very pissed a few months ago with a particular post a friend put up, and I was so sure the bastard was talking about me... in the end it turned out he wasn't. Strange how I can see my own flaws in another's words.
Then of course, there are times when I've been having major writer's block, but in that enthusiasm to put up something, dammit anything at all, I'll post something I'm certain isn't good at all (atallatallatall...) But then a friend will come up with a brilliant post on the poignancy of winter and feel me feeling like an inferior hack. Thankfully, at times like these, I read up on some of my old blogs, even remains from LJ days, and life seems better. I don't know how long this'll hold out though.

What's this got to do with the book? Well, I'm trying to write something here that won't let me betray my own morals, but will still be something people would want to read. I'm trying to be funny, without trying to conventionally jokify. I'm trying to be proud of what I write, without being egoistic. I'm trying to be original, but with every line I punch out, I can almost hear the echoes of another writer bouncing back the same words at me. AND I'M TRYING NOT TO BE CONTINUALLY INFLUENCED BY TUPPENY THOUGHTS THAT FLOUNDER THE NET, YET STICK TO YOU LIKE FLYPAPER. A lot of blogs piss me off nowadays, notably IITian holier-than-thou-my-opinion-is-the-word-of-god blogrings. I know, I know, I can simply get by with not reading them, but it's amazing how so many people look at these as relevant and true. Look thru' the bullshit people, and you'll see that under that shell is still a little boy/girl just aching to be heard. (CCCF: CB, yet again. Maybe even some seniors who refuse to give up.)

And I realize I could do the same thing, and still get away with it. Which bugs me the most.
Hypothetically, I could write about an Engineering graduate (coff) who's facing the real world head on in a metro, still unsure about the layers of people and learning to separate the good from the bad, with that indian touch of dalchawal (which 95% of Indian Actresses swear to as their favourite meal, the deprived freaks) and learning that family is important, while exploring the boundaries of sexuality, and how tough it is is to get laid, and yadayadayada... Man, that'd be a bestseller for sure!

But I refuse to. I cannot go back on my beliefs now. Honesty is honesty, let the world be damned.

Anyway, after all that inconsequential chatter about, well, nothing really, I'd like to tell you that I do hope it gets published. And that you, you and you read it. And tell me what you think. And if you'd like to read more like it. It ain't pissinyourpants funny, it's not a military thriller, nor a fantasy buildup to a battle so fearsome that the entire universe is at stake. It's about the simple things. And how we decide what matters. And yeah, maybe I'll throw in a lusty wench :)

Cheerio. Till next time then.

Caught the race yeaterday (Alonso won, yeehaw!) and I think this settling into a routine with TheOneWhoCallsMeEinstein is getting better each weekend. Won't give too much detail here, but the dude is slowly becoming the brother I always wish I had. Strange, how a mug of beer can bring up so much feeling (with the occasional burp). I think I'm going to enjoy B'lore after all. A nice routine, wasn't that was I was looking for?

On the other hand, I'm not certain about the job too much. The pay is good (great, actually, considering my lifestyle and expenses) but I'm still not doing 'WhatILove'. Should stop reading Readers Digest success stories, it'll be easier to deal with this sort of disappointment then.
There's I_. And then there's I_. Endearing.

With my first salary I'm going to buy Alok DK2. I'm putting it in writing here so that I make sure I do it.

Some books I just loved, yet am quite sure aren't 'big' books-
1."Raven" - Swiniarski - First introduction to Poe. Dude wakes up with amnesia, and realizes he's a vampire. The only thing he can remember is Poe's 'Conqueror worm'. The book just takes off from there. Some bitch borrowed it and never returned it. Bitch. Still ranks as one of my alltime favorite books, though.

2.The "Young Scientist" series. 20 hardbound books giving basic fundae on everything in the world. This was thanks to a salesman who threw a brilliant sales pitch to Mom, when Dad wasn't around. Drew me towards Science and how things work. All the better for it.

3.The Asterix series- Goscinny and Uderzo- Ok, definitely a big book, but I didn't know it at the time. A cousin moved to the states, so her mom gave the WHOLE series to me, and I managed to keep it for 6 months. During which I met the whole gallic bunch, and developed my first fictional crush (Panacea, yum). I loved spending extra time on each panel, looking for all the hidden details GnU used to draw. And Dogmatix was a personal favourite. T'was only when I walked into Engg that it hit me that it' quite a popular series, cult status even.

4.Tricks and Stunts to fool your friends- The cover showed a guy with a grim face, waving a hand at a circle drawn on the ground, with an X marked in it, presumably in chalk. Behind the kid is a bunch of adolescent kids with mouths agape. Yup, the marketing worked. The book has card tricks, number tricks, magic tricks, tricks, tricks, tricks... loved it. And I still read it on a rainy day. Maybe I've always wanted to be a hero like the cover boy.

Will continue this list later.

And for those who haven't been to www.vishalpatel.com yet... where have you been?