There ain't much to write about in Chittaranjan, so let me recount a tiny anecdote. And since this is the first time I'm using the word 'anecdote', woohoo!
The other day, I'm having my usual trash talk contest with the Castelino sisters; Kiran and Laura. That's right, for the firt time, I'm taking them both on at the same time. And it's easy, frankly. The first one's a fatass who's really too sweet to know what to say in a verbal showdown, and the other's a Bouvier, post-marriage (She tries to use a Kennedy connection, until I showed her the Simpsons connection. That one was one BIG point to me.) Law's trying really hard to push dirt in my face, and I'm fighting back, when I notice Kiran's unusually quiet.
But I'm too engrossed in trying to make fun of the other FattyFattyBombalaty (and considering the little alien Kang festering inside of her, it's child's play, I say) when Kiran pips up. To the best of my knowledge, this is how the conversation went-
Kiran: Stop bothering my sister.
Sunil: Ha! Yeah, right. She's a better trashtalker than you.
[A period means thinking, or delay tactics, or silent acknowledgement; something like that.]
Sunil: Cat got your tongue, wench?
Kiran: Don't make me sing to you.
Sunil: Uh, what?
Kiran: I will, you know.
Sunil: Whatever dude.
Kiran: You asked for it...
[And then, horror of horrors, she started. This following is verbatim. I'd saved it, and like the necronomicon, it causes madness to whoever reads it.]
Kiran:sugar plum, honey bun, umpey ympey umpkins
you're my sweeetieeee pieeee
you're my cuppy cake, gum dwops
snuggums, snuggums yourrrrrrr
the apple of my eyeee
[WHITE FLAG, WHITE FLAG!!!]
I gave up. Also issued apologies to both sisters. Really, how does one fight something like this?
Beware the Castelinos, they practice black magic.
January 30, 2006
There ain't much to write about in Chittaranjan, so let me recount a tiny anecdote. And since this is the first time I'm using the word 'anecdote', woohoo!
Really, I never cease to amaze myself(!) with observations made in the most mundane of places. Take the B'lore airport, for example. You'd think that it's simple case of checkin, fly, checkout, right? Not really (Else, this would be the shortest post ever.) To paraphrase Chuck Palhuniuk, your life comes in single servings after a point of time. Single serving breafast, single serving lunch, hold the ICantBeliveItsButter, single serving friends, single serving ImInLoveWithThisStewardess...
The loss of infinity
Is only felt
When you fall asleep and dream
To abandon the borders of reality
This is how I met Pyler Durden :D
Phase1: Wanting to go to the loo on the plane is the WORST ever. The entire universe conspires to make sure it has the best laughs, watching a doofus trying hard to clench farts and not embarrass himself.
Too late. This ship just blew. Peeyoo. Remind me to act like it's not my fault (It isn't!)
Phase2: Hahahaha. I don't believe it. I'm not the only one farting-it-up! There are now 4 (plus myself) in the queue. And everybody's wondering why I want to take my laptop to the loo. Hilarious. (For the record, I'm ditching Layla only at the last minute.)
Phase3: (6 minutes later)
Auuuughhhh!!! Plane toilets use paper, not water! Suddenly feeling extremely very MASSIVELY i.c.k.y. Auuuuuughhhhh.
Ironic that I'm flying to one of the dirtiest cities in the world. I have a running start, y'all. Atleast the office has released me of a burden, Mr. Durden.
Let it be known, to whomsoever it may concern, the three best songs to play on a plane when nothing's going your way, and yet is par for a boring existence, are -
1. Be yourself (Audioslave)
2. Just feel better (Santana feat. Steven Tyler)
3. BC-Sutta (Zeest)
Disclaimer - this list is subject to the condition that you're a moron and forgot to copy off more music from the HDD before takeoff.
There's a sign on in this plane that says "All trays must be kept upright during taxi, takeoff, turbulence and landing." Funny how that series of four sounds exactly like every one of my past relationships. Though it doesn't explain the CrashAndBurn each time (despite my "tray" being "upright"). Damn.
Thus ends the worst post ever.
January 29, 2006
January 28, 2006
I didn't realize AON was serious. Turns out there WAS a terrible bug that made everything after the flickr badge look HUGE assed. Couldn't fix it, but strangely just removing the badge makes it better (somewhat). My AntiMS grudge has perked up again, thanks to this. IE still doesn't show the whole banner, and chops off a bit from the side. And the spacing between the sidebar headers and content is wonked out. Whatever.
Anyway, also put a new banner. Nice?
PS- I'm off to the Armpit of India, Chittaranjan, again. See you guys in a week. Will post if I can, but don't count on it.
January 26, 2006
Hahahahaha. You guys just have to read this. I still haven’t stopped laughing.
So here's the promised new look, in Beta. Still planning a lot of changes, but I figured I'd put it out there and gauge a general reaction, and see if you guys can find any flaws, errors, or whatever. Tell me whatya think. Check out the commenting feature and all. Thanks to this dude.
Update: I've already realized that you're not going to figure out that "psst!" is the commenting section. Also will add dividers between posts, and remove the white borders around photos (or should I leave them be?)
January 25, 2006
The goat calls me at eight in the morning. And he starts screaming into my ear "Bitch, you thank me for putting you into Mr. Saarang! Thank me now, Bitch!". Just as I was about to start abusing the shithead, he pulls an absolute rabbit outta the Nike cap by informing me that my photo's come in TheWeek.
Yeah, that's right, I can hear the WTFs you're gasping.
Part of the Saarang publicity has dribbled onto the pages of the week. And accompanying this article is a collage of photos which has half-me giving a mock-bath to this MCC woman on stage during the Mr. And Ms. Saarang event. (don't ask, the goat came up with the most embarassing rounds for the event).
So I'm in print. w00t! Now THIS better kick up my RealEstate value in the dating game.
(Dude, you're not even a player.)
(Er, and that's just half your face in the pic. Hell, it's barely recognizable.)
Oh shut up, willya?
(Besides, it's kinda corny. Besides, I'm thinking the focus is the woman; she IS going around with another IITian anyway.)
Fuck you. I hate a conscience that only rains on my parade.
(Man, I'm good. Bruhahaha :D )
Kini, before I forget, thanks.
The newsletter (Day1) is now available on the Saarang website as a pdf. I'm page 3, baby! And despite what Muk says, I still think it's a nice piece to read in a culfest newsletter.
Also, my Saarang post last year.
SisterPinky messaged me and said "What're you doing with that girl by the way? Is that what they call cultural fests nowadays? I told your mom you were crowning the new Miss Saarang, but there was no crown to be seen of course, so I told her it was a symbolic crowning, you know how these cultural scenes are."
Hmph. She didn't even win. M(r)s. Saarang was an 50-something English teacher from CMS Jain, B'lore. I kid you not.
Anyway, here's the article.
I hate it here
I hate this fest. I can’t help it. I’ve been here twice and I couldn’t stand it. And let me tell you why.
There’s no time to sleep. There’s no period of time when you can sneak out for a couple of hours to bond with that cute MCCite over a drink. Nope, you’ll have to do that over the wails of extremely loud guitars and the roar of 10000 people in an OAT that’s flooded with bizarre lights and sounds that bring back nonexistent memories of Woodstock. And I don’t even know the words, so to hear everybody chanting along in a chorus that brings shivers to my already sleepy self is very ego-shattering. The participation is crazy, so that means I’ll have to gasp every time a group dance entry finishes to applause that sounds like white noise on full volume, and the whistles of a thousand banshees echoing off the walls. This stress kills me, the feeling of competition that’s not one-sided, and quality performances only make want to curl up into a little ball moaning “It’s so beautiful, I can’t hold it all in” I’m telling you, stressful.
There’re too many people here, have you noticed? I hate making so many friends in so little time, and my phonebook runs out of space, as does my inbox. I’m a reclusive kinda guy, so meeting people who make me never want to leave is waaaay too much stress. And I’m not such a big fan of feeling wanted either, especially when these are smart, educated, and really FUN people. Really, the feeling of depression that one gets on Day5 during final curtain calls is something no man/woman/whatever should be subjected to.
And the women. OMG, the women. Somebody get me a RedBull.
The organizers, dammit, suck so hard. I do not like it when the organizers think of everything and make sure we’re “cared” for. Hell, I want to get back to my college and b**ch to friends about how the accommodation was bad, the loos stank, the food was below par, the events were shoddily conducted, the hosts were rude, and so on; these idiots aren’t ever going to give me the opportunity to. Hell, these guys even remember to flush. Aargh.
I’d like this fest to end. It is simply not fair for the IITians to conduct an event; no, a bloody carnival that leads to repercussions that will never be foreseen; concepts like extreme nostalgia and flashbacks for years to come. It just ain’t fair, I tellya, to indulge the world into mindbending euphoria for 5 straight days, and then say goodbye with only a promise that it’ll easily be better the following year. Haven’t you engineers ever heard of promises being made to be broken?
Dear IIT-M, I ask you, who gave you the right to do this? Who told you to have an allnight quiz that promises more than the average trivia challenge, each and every time? Who gave you the right to give hundreds and thousands of young people the opportunity to prove to the world how good they are, in whatever field of ‘talent’ that can be imagined? Why provide such unlimited hilarity to our already troubled generation; to give them the chance to ‘break loose’ and revel in the glory of being the hope for tomorrow, to kick back and fall in love? It ain’t fair, I tellya.
Man, I hate it here.
PS- Anybody know where I can get a free ticket to Led Zepplica? No? Dammit.
(Sunil Pai is 22, works (somewhat) in B'lore, and thinks the Mr. Saarang title is overrated, even though he won it. Go figure. He can be contacted at email@example.com)
Do you guys approve?
January 24, 2006
Are these not the most trippy-hippie plates you've ever seen?
The usual problems that I have when I want to meet my friends after sundown, is that they live halfway across the world. All of them. So when I finally got back in touch with this friend who lives like a hopskiphalfajump away, the self-induced vision of a Pi-faced cinderella (or is that a cinderella-faced Pi? Um.) running off at the stroke of midnight just faded away. And it was good. Bonding in the colony club, bloody cheap food (and good too!) and banter about what's been 'up'. It was nice.
But the plates, wowzah hippie. And the experience of trying to eat biryani on those is quite sublime.
It was turning out to be an interesting weekend after all. A whole afternoon-evening on saturday in Mojo's with Duh-Boyz (snark), tricking the DJ into playing Roobaroo (In Mojo's?! Man, he got pissed.) and heading for BTM with MukGanj; getting together with the bangy-party after so long (and dear lord, I can actually tolerate them now. Hell, I actually even like them. Times, they change.) Also put a whole late night ride through B'lore after a really long time. Chicken at Imperial, Tea at Savera, and a bunch of photos that are quite surreal (Yes yes, mukka, will upload. Don't get your knickers in such a twist.)
Funny thing though. These boys are still 15. And how do I know this? Consider- they're not drunk, and yet they'll take out the Basic Instinct DVD and FF straight to the, er, tit-ilating scenes. This would be enjoyable, sure, if it only wasn't for the fact that there were eight sexually frustrated software engineers lying down on three matresses. Ugh. Mixed mental images that Shiv/Power didn't help with his damn running commentary.
Anyway, suffered a sardine-sleep, and headed back home early in the AM, where our adventure begins. The aunt was cleaning out the house. This, as we all know, is deadly dangerous, since some memories of childhood are best left forgotten. Let's see what got hauled out-
-Plastic vampire teeth
-Dr. Wack-o, my all time favourite toy in the whole world. Wanted to write a whole blog on it, but decided all I'd do would be to talk on and on about the mad scientist figure. You see for yourself.
-Assorted handmade greeting cards made by the ohtheyrecute kids of the house.
-The "If I was a dog" poem, scribbled 50 times on crumbling paper by a 12 year old delinquent (Er, me)
-Oil crayons, still in pristine condition. Considering what could be done with them. Any ideas?
-A recorded tape which had, amongst others, "Where do you go" by some gay boyband trio, "It's my life" NOT the JBJ version, and "Dr. Jones", Aqua. Double Ugh.
And yeah, then met up with Sriram, as mentioned. Thanks to him, now have seven seasons of SouthPark, and movies I've never heard about. Goood life. Now if only I get time for the hajaar things I've planned this week. I foresee self-imposed insomnia on the horizon.
The Saarang PR loved the article I gave them, if Kini’s to be believed. So now I’m dying for them to publish it, so that a copy’ll go up here on Pispeak. The goat’s also promised to keep a softcopy for me, as well as a printed version too. Hopefully it won’t get shafted to some corner of the Day0 issue; nobody reads that. What I’m hoping though, is that when I walk into IITM on Saturday, some woman walks up to me and says “Hey, you’re the guy who wrote that really neat article right? It so blew my mind!”
C’mon, I can hope, can’t I?
Back to work.
PS- For good measure, I’ve even put my email address into the article. Man, I’m such a stinker.
January 23, 2006
...it would be a life of subdued adventure. We'd wake up to the sounds of a million sea birds twittering in the mango trees. Our 2BHK would be home to the sounds of Floyd, Vai, Satch, Morrisette, and hundreds of other voices that would reverberate off the walls, eclipsed only by the silence that would overtake it with the blackness of the night. This house on the backwaters of an unknown village in Kerala is connected by one lazy road that's surrounded by the greenest trees in the world. Paradise that welcomes all, yet invites none.
Do you like homemade food? I hope so. We both know I'm lazy, but not when it comes to the kitchen. Lunch would be a menagerie of spices and fresh vegetables, all carefully cleaned and marinated with herbs from the garden I'm planning on having on the roof. The salad would be hand-tossed, and I'll even make sure you develop a taste for lettuce :) And I sure hope you like chocolate mousse. Then again, I've always wondered if you'd like Goan style pancakes, drenched in chocolate sauce; you can always ask for seconds. Then there's a special AuGratin that I've dreamed of baking for ages now. And on and on and on.
And then we'd make love.
Have you ever had coconut wine? It's got a heady aroma that brings back memories of walking through orchards in the middle of summer; an intoxicating aroma that makes you hesitate before swallowing, in the fear that once you step in, it'll be impossibe to climb back out. And the drunken stupor that can follow after a LOT of it is ingested can only be compared, in my opinion, to a thousand nights of raucous laughter. Combine that with the vision of low shaded lighting across the ceiling and conversation that should last a few hours, yeah, you'll find that the rest of the world is not worth tuppence after that.
You're so beautiful, any sacrifice would be worth it, just to have you to hold, to find your hand across my chest in the middle of the night.
There're these mountains a couple of miles away from the house, where you can stay for days on end without bumping into another living soul. And we'd camp there under the canvas of a million stars, tiny spotlights that're the only witness to our escapade. And I'd read aloud to you, every night, chapters from DiscWorld, Wuthering Heights, CatcherInTheRye, more from Keats, Poe, Saki (but not Rowling. Please not Rowling.)Have you read Kundera? He says "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." So let's make the best of it while we're at it. We'd watch movies up there, on a laptop that's quickly losing charge, movies like GreatExpectations, SimplyIrresistable and HomeDelivery(!). Yeah, the battery died. So what?
And the night passes on thus.
As will the days.
You think this will last a while? Because then we could grow old together, and watch the manadatory sunsets every day till we're ohsobored of them. After I've put together a little money, we'd travel the world for a while, maybe check out if there exists the legendary "The Beach" in Thailand. Walk down the Santa Monica boulevard, and ride the rollercoaster (ugh) at Disneyland. Scuba diving at the coral reef, you game? I've always been curious about the Louvre too. Maybe we can go there and act like pseudo intellectuals, spouting fake French and going "aaah..." at every random splotch of 'famous' art.
[Remains incomplete. Refuses to finish.]
Aaaaaaaaaaargh. I hate HATE HATE die-muthafucka-die HATE my Mondays!!!
A major blog overhaul is on the cards. Just waiting for a clean install of PhotoShop, and putting some last minute touches into a new template. Also hajaar busy with office work, an article for the Saarang PR, and something for the sister too.
January 19, 2006
NEVER use a flash. Only only only as a last resort (but not even then.)
ALWAYS try to use the timer, a tripod (or a substitute for it. I frequently use cardboard boxes) and feed off the reactions of the person in the frame.
Have people told you that you have a nice smile? Prove it. Don't fake smiles. EVER.
If the photo's in daylight, and there aren't too many interesting colours mixing up, go for black and white. You don't have to smile. If it's indoor at night, try to use incandescent instead of fluoroscent lighting. Please smile.
Compose the picture with one thing in mind- the subject. Screw the surroundings, if it's not the part of the topic. It's like what Poe says about writing - if it's not part of the story, then kill it.
If there're more than two people in the photo pleaseohplease make sure they're sitting close to each other. Be natural. Hell, don't look at the camera, if that helps.
Don't blame the camera. Most of my best shots were as a 6 year old in NZ with a use'n'throw camera that was so amazingly crappy. But the snaps, oh god, I'm so proud. I would've stood on BrigadeRd and distributed copies to hot single women given the chance, but I'm Mom refuses to let me have them. She, of course, plans on giving them to boring Konkani "homely" girls when bride hunting season comes around. W/e.
Learn to use a photo editing s/w. Else the whole advantage of having a digital camera is wasted. MustKnows- Despeckles, Level Adjustments (Sat, Hue, Exp, etc), cropping. All available in ACDSee's inbuilt editor. If you want to PhotoShop, learning to mix pictures gives bloody interesting results.
Take the same photo thrice. Atleast. You soon learn when the right one is, well, right.
Experiment. No point in reading loser-pi's blogs and not trying to challenge even this amateur's assumptions.
Oh yeah. One last tip. Keep going through Flickr random photostreams. A lot to learn there.
And here's my submission to today's topic. No flash, +0.3 V exposure, covered bulbs for lighting, a 10 second timer, and one dirty joke about 3 seconds before the camera clicked. NOT digitally touched up. But still just right. Also, see the b/w version of it (which I think is just fabulous)
Now you tell me, what's wrong with the pic?
I'll digress here for the rest of the post. Look, the pic seems to be all nice and all, but still, something's off. I mean, I NEVER look this good in pics (Ask the toothpick brigade), and, oh lord, I actually look not-thin (If you excuse the toothpick hand on the left).
Oh great, the toothpick hand. That's one flaw. And it can't be excused.
And, wait a second, am I seeing right? That's... that's... that's Pi doing a Van Gogh! Just one ear! Holy FreakShowWeirdo Cow!
Baggy circles under the eyes. A definite no-no.
And that beard! Really, why grow it, when it refuses to grow? Scraggly.
And, godsaveme, he has a reeeeealy thin "Rajkumar from the 70's" moustache. Embarassing.
And [pleasekillmenow], if you notice carefully, right at the centre of Pi's hairline, there's a MadhuriDixit curl/perm/whatever.
Great, I look like a jerk. While my cousin looks great as ever.
But we're holding hands. And loving each other's company. What a chica.
PS- Sweety's leaving today. :( Thank god for digital memories. Seeya 'round, sister. Too bad we couldn't spend more time together.
January 18, 2006
I'm going public. So sue me. And if you don't, recommend this blog to other people. I'd just like to have the feel of a tangible audience for a bit.
You're growing up, kid. You're young (yes, I still say that) and you have so much of the world ahead of you. And it's been a great 20 years so far, eh? Really, stop looking at all the things that've gone wrong and consider the pedestal that's been built for you. You wanted to be a stud- wish fulfilled. You wanted to be different- wish fulfilled. You wanted to be never lacking, whenever the opportunity arose- wish fulfilled. You have the mind, body and soul of a man who's aching to find out what the world can give him. And you will. I only hope you're not disappointed when you realize it's not that great. There're always going to be people who're idiots, and they'll always have the same rights to live that you and I do. They'll breathe the same air, and will always be around to give you a bugger of a time when things can't get worse.
Worse, you'll realize that you're no different.
None of us are, you realize. And give that a thought- it really would be no fun any other way. Kabirdas says we must keep our enemies closest, since they're going to be the first people to remind us of our own descrepancies, our own fuckups, what's wrong with us in general. Which is why we shouldn't complain of their existence. Sure, bitch about them, but understand that a major chunk of your personality would have been 'them' were it not for... aaah, you get the message.
The tough part though, is the women.
What can I say that's not been said before? Just because we're born with a divining rod that refuses to shut itself off (ever!), we're made slaves to it 24/7. And there's that tiny part in our head that looks for 'the perfect woman' everywhere. Sure, she might exist, but I'm sure she's tired of rejecting every no-good loser who asks her if she wants to "dance baby, dance". Yeah. she's a hermit(-ess?) in some mountain someplace. Sure she's bored, but she's safe. I wonder if Google Earth has marked her out? Anyway, the point is, we can't afford to give up. And that's that. All further analysis is only speculation.
So you're 20 now. Good. Don't fuck up, kiddo. Sure, I'll lookout for you. But sooner or later you'll realize that it's only you who's in charge of whatever shit's being thrown at you. As you're also responsible for it being there in the first place.
Yeah, I'm sure you're fully capable of handling it. Now go, shout "Aye Saala!" really loudly and listen to Roobaroo. Twice. And I'll give you your 'gift' when we meet in Chennai.
January 17, 2006
January 16, 2006
Remember the days of free verse? Yeah, I’m back there. With actual pen-and-paper, no less (Thanks, I_!)
(Pounce, the PingPong)
Opinion... it's faster than the speed of thought,
A weapon? Maybe.
But my humanity allows for nothing more
... And nothing less.
FarSide, DarkSide, A moon without a name,
Don't hold my hand in fear; I fear too,
save your soul, and while you're at it,
Turn the lights wouldya? Haha.
Excuse me, and when I say I'm sorry,
It means I remorse, not that I care,
Pass the salt, & let me die,
Too much, your life, that I asked you to share
(It's you I'm trying to fool)
Yet another, yeah, he bit the dust,
Kissed the sky, took a trip,
Met the maker, talked to MJ,
To what avail? None.
I want to ask her, Yes I do,
Who knew I couldn't? Not you (Or you)
And I might never, but still...
(Hope floats :) )
(Guitar solo) Hey hey, these words,
You've fought, As did I,
But my solace, and endless dreams,
taught me it mattered not! (So what?)
(Not so strange, eh?)
Entrenched, Entrapment, En-Da-House!
See me? I'm the guy in the corner
Trying to fit in, But a minute later...
Wowzah! (Yeah, I'm faking)
(I wanted you to stay back)
(So did I)
(Then why didn't you?)
(You never asked)
A room with no doors (Jimmy's lost?)
It's strange you bothered to ask,
About nothing, and I'm *almost* inclined to believe that you care.
There's this woman called Asia. And she says this- "Letters and letters and letters. Letters about a moment in time, our paths crossing, to a cute boy that passes on the street, or an old woman feeding the pigeons. Letters to old friends, "Remember that time...!" Letters to lovers, letters about fucking or falling in love for real, or love that can never work. Letters to people hurting, letters that are offers of help, fan letters. Letters to family (the hardest), letters to the people who make my day better in a hundred small ways every time I see them, crush letters, of course, big crush letters."
Frankly, I think this site says there's hope for the world after all. Check it out. Click on any of the squares. All worth the effort.
This one's for Citrus, she's the nuttiest of the lot,
Like lemon-flavoured madness, and a bonus tequila shot,
And now that she's a year closer to losing her mind,
Let's hope for the best, hey, and have a good time!
Happy B'day, chica!
Free comics online?! Holy Shit!
(I wanted you to stay back)
(So did I)
(Then why didn’t you?)
(You never asked)
Aargh. Monday Bloody Monday.
She wished, hoped, thought, and eventually believed that she was a bird. She would dress up in clothes that felt like wings on her back, and chirped a little twitter anytime the cute boy gave her a smile. In the night, she'd hide under the covers and wish the rest of the world to disappear away so that sleep would be hers unbecoming. And the sunrise would bring new life to her rested little hollow bones, and with another twitter she'd jump right out and into the new day. Few things had permanence, and fewer still held her interest for longer than mere moments. Life was just HAPPY and ECLECTIC, and all that she wondered about was whether she'd run out of things so wonderous.
Yeah, she was dying to be roadkill. Wish fulfilled.
January 13, 2006
Hope you’ve all had a good Friday the 13th. See you Monday maybe?
Posted by Saturday Night Takeout at 1/13/2006 06:12:00 PM
I turn the computer off, I am haunted by the fact that this space is still there existing in a mathematical probability, and the space that we live in now might not be all that different.
(Don’t forget to check out the galleries. Twisted mind, yes he is.)
I’m two pages into Vernor Vinge's "A Fire Upon The Deep", a cult scifi book (apparently) amongst the hackers of yesteryear. And to record for posterity's sake (No butt jokes here), I'd like to say (to myself, mostly) that I'm loving it. How much? Can't say. I think one sure sign is that I'm being forced to read each word, and have to abandon speedreading for this one. Maybe that just means it's difficult to absorb, but I'm hoping otherwise.
January 12, 2006
Pretty soon I'm going to have ask for help from somebody, and I'm wondering who it's going to be.
Not you. Or you. It sure ain't going to be you.
BAWL! I hate it here. (Yes yes, SJ, so what?)
(Goatshit, remember I said the world will end? Here's a brief explanation on why I think so.)
Let's start at the very beginning.
(A very good place to start)
The unexplainable has always held the interest of a lot of people; morbidly so, to some extent. 'The rules' always popped up the inevitable question; what is it that lies on the other side? If the rules show us all that can be seen *above* ground, is it wrong to wonder what lies beneath? Please sir, if we may, let us onanize your mental militia and let your demented, perverse 'imagination' create imagery that surprises even you, the creator.
Now 'the unexplainable' requires a little definition. I'm not just talking about stuff like the paranormal, the extranormal, or even the plain old ab-normal. Even the little deviancies like 'whatif's and 'ifonly's find a place in this non-verse that in all probability shouldn't exist... but does anyway. It's a curse of the human mind (and only the human mind) that we were granted with a weapon as powerful as The Question. The Question, in its uniquely mono-symbolic form, is so potent, that its ability to take over/ destroy the world can happen not only by its presence, but also by its absence. The Question has toppled achievements admired by mankind such as empires and monuments, as easily as it has crafted personal conundrums like love and depression. The Question lets a person reach either end of the bipolar spectrum; it gives him/her proverbial wings in an otherwise dreary existence, as it does murder the humanity of the unwed mother. It is the Question, I repeat, that wreaks the disorder which inevitably (and ironically) makes animals of us all.
And The Question is that which gave rise to The Story.
(Before you start going “Eh?” do me a favor and keep reading. I only expect the “Eh?”s at the end of a monologue. The middled-“Eh?”s only throw me off balance.)
The Story’s usually about one person, sometimes two. And there's the initial burst of sympathy that's expected from the reader/viewer towards the protagonist(s) and their role(s) before the actual narrative starts. Sometimes a clue or two is hidden somewhere there that's only explained waaay in the end, and it's usually the type (if it's well written) that makes you go wow/ohshit/thatwasgood/ummm and so on. And every story starts off in that nice whimsical Everything'sAlright kinda way, a calm before the storm, so to speak (which in itself is ironical, since this is what creates the meta-storm). This story then builds up in a hurried manner, where every next scene is more urgent than the last, and everything climaxes in the orgasmic rush that is called the 'conclusion'. There may be side stories, back angles, flashbacks, comic relief, and all the other bells and whistles and cows and connivances that make you settle into the usual groove, the genre, the 'style'; so to speak. The purpose of this whole drama is to involve the reader/listener/watcher into The Details. And that, dear friend, becomes his own undoing. The art of misdirection is always present in some manner or the other (indeed, it becomes vital to the suspension of disbelief, and hence becomes key to the creation of The Question) The Details are pre-imposed to be the core, and let us into a whole new world that requires no more reliability on actual fact; it lets us into that part we’ve wanted for so long; it’s that ultimate ticket to the unexplained.
Please sir, you do not be confusing ThaStoree with ThaDreem . They are being two verry verry diffarent things.
Ahem. Enough has been said about The Dream(75 issues and more specials, if Gaiman is thought of as the authoritative source), and though it might venture to be part of the unexplained (despite what the dumbass Freud had to say) it still isn't. Why not? To that I say, Why should it? Friggin' dreams seem more real and personal to me than repeated visions of fantasy, that's why; surely you can agree with me on this.
Anyway, so The Story began to be used for everything; The Story is that which the information revolution thrived on, and that which the internet milieu feeds upon. And The Story is that which will end the world, for the lack of enough people asking The Question, and thus plunging across the layer that keeps the unexplained away from The Truth. Which Question, you ask? Why, that's simple. Say it together with me now, people...
"What The Fuck?"
Hehe. Man, I love this shit.
January 11, 2006
Also, if you haven’t figured it out, I can’t stop blogging here. Fingers get cramped. Depression be damned.
Chuck Norris Facts: "Crop circles are Chuck Norris' way of telling the world that sometimes corn needs to lie the fuck down."
"I was walking along a path with two friends – the sun was setting – suddenly the sky turned blood red – I paused, feeling exhausted, and leaned on the fence – there was blood and tongues of fire above the blue-black fjord and the city – my friends walked on, and I stood there trembling with anxiety – and I sensed an infinite scream passing through nature."
Click to read it in detail. The Hindu, Business Line, Jan 9.
January 09, 2006
I give up. Take the worst possible start to a new year, and multiply it by a 1000, and you have the year ahead of Pi.
Five minutes ago, most of my active world just tore apart. I was in the midst of writing a blog that would explain stuff that was happening to me (as usual), and got the most devastating call from Dad. The call’s irrelevant (to you all, ie), but the official story is… I give up.
Thanks for sticking around, but this is as far as it goes. Don’t expect a lot of activity on pispeak for a while.
Fuck. To think things were looking up a week ago.
Police whack giant snow wee-wee - Bloody hilarious (Note: NSFW)
"Immediately, I recognized it as the same experience I had had as a child," he said. "I didn't know what caused it, but I knew that it was important."
-Albert Hoffman, inventor (discoverer?) of LSD.
“I cannot put my finger on it now; the child is gone, the dream is gone”
-Pink Floyd, Comfortably Numb
January 07, 2006
I wake up, and immediately the battle is upon me.
And the irony is that it's a beast that'll never die; a misery that will never end.
‘Tis truly a subliminal existence to live the way I do; the way we do; us who subsist in the shadows and yet live in a cosmos that seems to be exclusive from the rest of the waking world. To wake in the setting twilight and watch the populace head back to families and houses and domains that they have the right to call their own. Me, Us, and Ours; we head towards enclosures, and promptly are reduced to pseudo-Caucasian voices on the other side of a crackling phone line; from Sunaina to Sally, Ramesh to Roy, and Chandru to, well, Dominic. And every night we ask ourselves questions nobody dare speak aloud – Is a loss of identity acceptable just for 3 square meals and the excess of alcohol to numb out the rest of the world? (And their words, oh god, pleasestopthewordsfromtheirmouths)
It wasn’t always like this, y’know. We were young, full of spunk, and like the ad said “didn’t want to take over the world, just didn’t give a f**k as to who did either”. We were the boys and girls of a new India, a place which was only waiting for the youth to take it over. Faith was lost when the EyeTee revolution simply fizzled out, and Mother India had a frown that everybody bore on their own faces. Morale was in the proverbial dump, and it seemed like the only thing we had to offer the world was flash-in-the-pan cricketing brilliance, half naked bimbettes who ruined it when they opened their mouths in public, and porcine fraudulent politicians who were out to make the quick buck while the going was good.
And then we arrived.
“Boss, you gimme less than the white racist fool in the YouEssOffAye, and I promise to work twice as hard as him. I’ll sacrifice my natural sleep cycle just to counter the anti-nocturnal privileges the white massa requests, change my name, sell my soul. Tell you what, you make sure I be allowed to smoke my ganja on the rooftop when no-one’s looking, and I’ll convert millions of my countrymen to the same cause. What say? The women need the money to be on the party trail onna weekends, the men need to prove to their folks that they ain’t worthless naalayaks like they’ve been told. C’mon, my massa, throw us a bone wouldya?”
But of course.
Today is like every other. The sunlight is long gone, and before it’s back out I should be tucked into my 1BHK in a hovel on the other side of the city, where the double locked doors keep out the weirdos. But that’s later. For now, I lay down my backpack next to my desk, empty my pockets onto the table, touch the Balaji picture beside the monitor (head, heart, sky… protect me), don the headset that symbolizes freedom for so many across the nation (Ironic, wouldn’t you say? Considering I’m now chained to a desk by means of my neck.) And the phone buzzes, the red light flashes. No longer am I M_, I am now Martin. In my head, I picture myself as a yuppie 20-something metrosexual who’s always ready to help out the customer on the other side (Who’s always right, as we’ve been conditioned to believe). WhatcanIdoforyouSirandormadam?HaveyoupressedCtrlAltDelperhapsyoushouldupgrade…
Look, it’s not like I complain. The money’s good, no doubt. I meet the most interesting of people there too. And the weekends pass by in a flurry of lights and alcohol hazes that leave me aching for an Alka-Seltzer at 3 in the morn, and the conversations are beyond brilliant. I mean, where else would I get this kind of money for my no good degree from a deadbeat college? You say Prathibha? Aargh, let’s not even go there. If all they need is English and technical competence, hell, I’ll give them that and more! And I don’t need to be stuck in metro traffic for hours on end, and it’s always a good feeling to never having to borrow from the parents again. I wear clichéd ‘snazzy’ clothes, I bump and grind with women I wouldn’t dream of meeting otherwise, the iPod rat-a-tat-tat-tattles it’s sounds into my head, and pity, yes pity I feel for the graduates who’re just stuck in the masses of queues still waiting for a job with ‘a future’. Who needs a future when I’m happy with my present?
Sounds perfect? Sure is! (Wide obvious grin on face) I feel useful now. And special. And independent. And urbanite. And aaaaalll that jazz… (Grin slowly disappears)
So what if I still feel alone in a sea of faces?
"And yet I find
Repeating in my head
If I can’t be my own
I’d feel better dead"
(Alice in chains – Nutshell)
There are times when I feel that Tracy Chapman is the nicest song one can listen to, sitting on a terrace with the last remains of a camp fire warming my feet. Four completely different people talking about their lives at three in the morning \. Pi looking quite funny wearing a borrowed rep cap and fanning the fire furiously and giving me instructions to save his laptop battery and the next song to play. Rajib , surprisingly quite listening intently and giving inputs to the relatively inexperienced three. Saurabh personifies the ‘chill out – no hassle guy’ who repeatedly and emphatically says
Yaar aisa karna chaiyiye’ . Tonight reminds me of college, just sitting under the stars and talking of inconsequential things. Seems so long since that happened.
January 06, 2006
Amazing. Truly a wonderful adventure.