his eyes started to glisten. "tell me a story," he said.
"i don't know any stories," i said.
"just tell me something then."
"ok. there was a boy once, a prince, and every day he felt like he was dying of a broken heart."
"a broken heart?"
"yes, a broken heart. see, his chest hurt every day, right where his heart is. the doctors could find no reason for it. but he knew the reason. and he knew, it was just breaking - over and over. and his breaking heart won't heal until he finds the cure. but searching for that seemed to hurt him even more."
"what's the cure?" he asked.
"he hasn't found it yet. there's no guarantee he'll ever find a cure. he just goes on like everything is fine, his life is ok, and he's not suffering from the pain in his chest. he goes on like his heart isn't breaking."
"oh," he whispered, a tear trickling down his cheek, "that's awful."
i turned the light off and walked away from my mirror. "yes, it is."
Thursday, April 24, 2008
a story
loyal backstabbers
but it's so difficult to want to "unisolate."
i used to have friends. i used to have a life. i used to have love.
somewhere along the way, i turned my back...and when i turned around, it was all gone.
i hate this isolation.
as a mate told me "women - you can't live with them and can't fit 2 of them in the boot of the car!!!"
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
So fucking WHAT!!!!!
So what!!!!! We all fuck up, so I did it again. Remember I told you “am the king of all the fuck up’s”
Bruce Wills is still yelling at me straight out from Die Hard 2 – “How can the same shyte can happen to the same guy twice”. Yeah am dumb stuck meself.
I pray for all of you … and yes I mean all of you happy trails ….
Yeah we live in mudderfuckin’ crazy world man….
So here we are again “doing that thing we do”, ganja man. “hey Ian much appreciated help mate”.
“Culture and Conflict” is what Sigmund froyd might would want to tell me.
And hey why the fuck this Bacardi that ramu just got me is in a bottle of some whisky …. Well that is for me to find out and for him to answer… but hang one WTF………..this also tastes like black currant vodka as well……man we are doomed for the nite, there should be some better tunes to play tonite…….aaaaarrrrrrrrggggggghhhhhhhhh can’t take this any more today
FACT: The apocalypse has come. All are dead. You never should've asked her out.
Shit, rejected again. You are The Last Man on Earth.
Sorry, but most women would rather see the human species wither to an end--and therefore deny the most fundamental instinct that living creatures have--than sleep with you.
We've learned the following: you don't think things through. You're haphazard. You're dangerous. You're somewhat inexperienced. It's totally obvious that you're a horny bugger, as well. Everybody knows that and steers clear.
To top things off, when you do find your way into a relationship, you tend to be a dick somewhere down the line and fuck it all up.
How could I know any better? I didn't even feel my dependence grow.
they say i'm wasted
cause i don't agree
with the elders, see i don't do the 9 to 5
but they can't face it
so they say that i'm the rebellious one trying to destroy
your so called Indian way of life
i'm not a victim of you're social constipation
you people don't need a god, you need a laxative
to reach you to your salvation
i'm a rock 'n' roll renegade
and i've abandoned the norm for the music
i hope i never get tired, you know i don't wanna lose it.
rolledintosomeoldfuckerwhowasactuallysha
To borrow from my creator ( and hence God) : Fuck you, cumrag! Thank, FUCK!!!!
missing links
if you ask me people just need a reason to have sex, it's as simple as that.
a little common sense tells me its a bad idea.
sometimes, life is like a book. you can get so desperate to to reach the end of the story that you conveniently skip a couple of chapters. however when you go to the end, you're left with the icky restless feeling, and you know you need to go back to those missing chapters before you can close the book.
wonder where my readers are lost! 'here's to us', ...........glasses cling.....
Lament
He was gone.
Sheila walked in a daze amongst the bare, white walls. Nothing had been left behind. The only evidence that anyone, let alone that almost bald headed jester called "Him", had ever been here was the red wine stain that roughly resembled Janis Joplin on the white carpet.
He was gone.
There was no note saying goodbye or telling his friends where he was going but Sheila hadn’t expected there would be. He was the type of guy that figured anyone they might want to see again would know where to find him. God knew he had talked about it enough. Maybe Sheila would get a call from him in about six months or so inviting her to some concert or other. Then again maybe not. He wasn’t a person that lived in the past and, as much as it hurt Sheila to admit, that’s exactly what she was, to a greater extent.
"Him", her friend, was gone.
In a desperate search for some artifact of "His" existence, Sheila found herself searching every crevice of the small apartment. Eventually she found what she was looking for. A snapshot of the five of them kneeling around. Five of them? Hadn’t there been six? Sheila studied the picture and counted them off as she took inventory of her friends. There was Rick, the lanky, tow headed, surfer boy who, Sheila was pretty sure had never seen the ocean. There was Bill kneeling on the carpet, heavy lidded, looking about ready to fall over. Sheila gave her own image a curious glance and wondered why her arm was out the way it was, almost as if it were draped around the shoulders of an invisible friend. Just then it struck her who was missing. He never missed a chance to ham it up in front of the camera.
But now, he was gone.
“He must have been the one taking the picture” Sheila told herself, not believing it. The night came flooding back to her. Sheila and "Him" had been arguing about something trivial and for some reason he had lost his temper and thrown his glass of wine to the floor before storming out, only to return five minutes later with a sheepish grin on his face to apologize. Sheila knew that he had been in the picture because they had put their arms around each other’s shoulders not only to show friendship but to keep each other from falling. Besides, why was Sheila’s arm out as if she were hugging a ghost?
Sheila didn’t begrudge "Him" anything, in fact she was glad that he had gotten out while he could. She thought back to the conversation that they had just a week before. He had been talking about going to
confessions...... gross enuf
- white rum, cigarettes, more white rum, more cigarettes. repeat until you retch.
- 'wine is fine but whiskey's quicker, suicide is slow with liquor'. i have a very hazy recollection of what happened
- a motley half-pack of cigarettes. one bottle 8 PM. a lonely house in a strange town. the radio's playing songs from the 'golden age'. high and depressed at the same time.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
3 decades ..... Unsure
insomnia lurks under my bed waiting to creep up:
missing the mattress and the multi-hundred threads of my sheets and covers, it takes to rest, burrowing and twining it's tentacles together with the fibers of my head. a heightened sense of anecdotal alchemy lifts me from the bed and to my notebook, as i commence with my thoughts to the blog. choice words and thoughts choose me, unlike before when i chose them. they seep to the surface of the darkness in my head, much so as the early morning light through my shades. i struggle with vocabulary a bit as i toss my thoughts down, but much less than normal today as my dreams, perhaps, have enlightened me.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
hung over
I want to call you up and SCREAM at you, I want to beat you up, I want to hang up on you and slap you in the face and cry all over you and hug you and kiss you, just cry and cry and cry until everything is finally ok, and we wake up the next day with some sort of oddly decorated house and a crazy pet Iguana. I don't care about anything, you can even name the iguana. I feel everyday like Scarlett O' Hara throwing herself down the stairs just wanting you to come pick me up.
sToP it !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Friday, April 18, 2008
Spiced Pork and Ham
I like Monty Phyton! Some people say it's stupid and silly and I think, they're completely right. But it's better to have some fun with stupidity than to have no fun at all. Nuff said, let's go on to this one:
The Spam Sketch
from the second series of "Monty Python's Flying Circus" and "Monty Python's Previous Record"
SPAM= Spiced Pork And Ham, a sort of cheap luncheon meat)
| | Scene: | A cafe. One table is occupied by a group of Vikings with horned helmets on. |
| A man and his wife enter. | ||
| MAN: | You sit here, dear. | |
| WIFE: | All right. | |
| MAN (to waitress): | Morning! | |
| WAITRESS: | Morning! | |
| MAN: | Well, what've you got? | |
| WAITRESS: | Well, there's egg and bacon; egg sausage and bacon; egg and spam; egg bacon and spam; egg bacon sausage and spam; spam bacon sausage and spam; spam egg spam spam bacon and spam; spam sausage spam spam bacon spam tomato and spam | |
| VIKINGS (starting to chant): | Spam spam spam spam... | |
| WAITRESS: | ...spam spam spam egg and spam; spam spam spam spam spam spam baked beans spam spam spam... | |
| VIKINGS (singing): | Spam! Lovely spam! Lovely spam! | |
| | WAITRESS: | ...or Lobster Thermidor a Crevette with a mornay sauce served in a Provencale manner with shallots and aubergines garnished with truffle pate, brandy and with a fried egg on top and spam. |
| WIFE: | Have you got anything without spam? | |
| WAITRESS: | Well, there's spam egg sausage and spam, that's not got much spam in it. | |
| WIFE: | I don't want ANY spam! | |
| MAN: | Why can't she have egg bacon spam and sausage? | |
| WIFE: | THAT'S got spam in it! | |
| MAN: | Hasn't got as much spam in it as spam egg sausage and spam, has it? | |
| VIKINGS: | Spam spam spam spam (crescendo through next few lines) | |
| WIFE: | Could you do the egg bacon spam and sausage without the spam then? | |
| WAITRESS: | Urgghh! | |
| WIFE: | What do you mean 'Urgghh'? I don't like spam! | |
| | VIKINGS: | Lovely spam! Wonderful spam! |
| WAITRESS: | Shut up! | |
| VIKINGS: | Lovely spam! Wonderful spam! | |
| WAITRESS: | Shut up! (Vikings stop) Bloody Vikings! You can't have egg bacon spam and sausage without the spam. | |
| WIFE (shrieks): | I don't like spam! | |
| MAN: | Sshh, dear, don't cause a fuss. I'll have your spam. I love it. I'm having spam spam spam spam spam spam spam beaked beans spam spam spam and spam! | |
| VIKINGS (singing): | Spam spam spam spam. Lovely spam! Wonderful spam! | |
| WAITRESS: | Shut up!! Baked beans are off. | |
| MAN: | Well could I have her spam instead of the baked beans then? | |
| WAITRESS: | You mean spam spam spam spam spam spam... (but it is too late and the Vikings drown her words) | |
| VIKINGS (singing elaborately): | Spam spam spam spam. Lovely spam! Wonderful spam! Spam spa-a-a-a-a-am spam spa-a-a-a-a-am spam. Lovely spam! Lovely spam! Lovely spam! Lovely spam! Lovely spam! Spam spam spam spam! | |
Thursday, April 17, 2008
things i do.. do i???? don't know
my eight commandments of writing –
write often.
write for yourself.
you’ll never like what you write. don’t let that stop you.
write Now.
ditto.
see above.
- " -
ref (4).
in his memoirs entitled ‘on writing’, stephen king provides a fascinating, behind-the-scenes look at his craft. with millions of books sold (not to forget countless b-movie adaptations), king is assuredly an expert on writing. one published piece and a blogging account that is 12 months old (and has less than half a dozen readers) hardly qualify me to run my mouth off on writing. therefore, the views espoused here are to be taken with a large block of salt and a generous helping of indulgence. my personal belief is that with writing you ‘use it or lose it’. ever since i started blogging, i have stuck to this maxim – i write frequently and post monster-sized blogs. amateur writer’s block is almost always caused by one of the following – a) lack of privacy. b) lack of access to a word processor.
won’t you dance with me?
and we found love
"bright are the stars that shine.....Dark is the sky.
i know this love of mine.....will never die"
-'and i love her'-The Beatles.
i found love. it was always on the cards i suppose,
ofcourse i was drunk when it happened, how else can a guy like me even come close to finding love?.
she sang to me in the most beautiful,flowing clear voice that i've ever heard. i stared at her face in profile, her delicate features mesmerised me. i listened spellbound for an hour or so. the exact moment when i knew i was in love with her was when she sang the chorus to Dylan's classic 'Forever young'- 'May you stay forever young'…. i will.
love of my life, every time i listen to you sing that line i forget all my worries. this is what the poets wrote about, this is what men have died for. she also sang lennon's 'imagine' - 'you may say i'm a dreamer but i'm not the only one'. yes, love, i hope some day to join you, for what a pity it is that we should have been born two generations apart. Joan C. Baez......will there ever be another woman like you?
excerpted from 'Diamonds and Rust' by Joan Baez:
well you burst on the scene
already a legend
the unwashed phenomenon
the original vagabond
you strayed into my arms
and there you stayed
temporarily lost at sea
the Madonna was yours for free
yes the girl on the half-shell
would keep you unharmed
a note to non-existent female readers: i can never love any woman stronger than i love Joan Baez, with the possible exception of Uma Thurman in 'Kill Bill'.
let it grow
on the morning of
"gurgle gurgle".("'night folks. drive safe" in babyspeak).
why am i on this mother of all nostalgia trips anyway?
ans: in one week’s time, EY turns one!!(they grow up so fast!!!)
from the first halting blog entitled "adaptation and survival", it's going to be a year since EY took his baby steps in the world of blogging
of all the things that have caught my fancy, not one has held it like blogging has. i'll go ahead and say it : i love my blogs. i love blogging. not because i think i'm the next hemingway. i love them because i went through a lot of them today and felt pretty kicked. i wasn't even reading them. just read a snatch or two, here and there. but what struck me was this: all this is mine. here's the one that's thick as snot with emotion. here's the one that i almost didn't post. here's the one i wrote in that cyber cafe. here they all are, can you believe it? Little pieces of me.
WOW.... the number of blogs belies the fact that blogging is now very much a full-time activity. that's because i have something like a five to one conversion ratio. that's one blog per five ideas. "ok, shut the fuck up for a while", i tell my mind.
here comes the concluding para, the part where i usually sigh and shake my head in disbelief. two minutes to "update blog". run final scan for errors: in spelling, grammar or facts. shrug shoulders. log on to the net. type in the URL. update blog. my blog has been updated successfully. peace of mind. i feel sated. that's the best part about posting a blog. for once, the voices have been silenced. they'll stay that way for a few hours. and then they'll start all over again. what about your trip to bandipur? What about nietzsche? And spinoza? literary criticism- hetfield- uma thurman- religion- art- work- video games.........before i know it, index finger is poking into eye socket. my thinking cap is on. let me find my dancing shoes.
Monday, April 14, 2008
here i bleed
of all the beautiful things in life such as –
- the feel of clean and recently dried underwear on your skin
- the way orion hangs in the surathkal night sky.
- the wind blowing over the back of your neck just after you take a hair-cut
- the way the earth smells when the air holds a promise of rain.
- discovering one last coffin nail in a packet that you thought was empty
- free alcohol, cheap alcohol, expensive alcohol, old alcohol in a new bottle, new alcohol in an old bottle, hell, any alcohol except the denatured kind.
- julie delpy singing you a waltz, out of nowhere, out of her thoughts.
- a terrace with a view, as in 24th cross.
- the first lungful of air that you draw in as you resurface after touching the bottom of the pool.
- continuous water supply, clothes that seem to wash themselves, a cool music system and lots of love and care, as in #543, paschim vihar.
- uma thurman dressing up in yellow and putting a whole lotta japs to the sword.
- dVd rips, 17-inch monitors and Local area networks.
- is there anything better than a soulful, bleeding, heartfelt guitar solo? thanks to steve morse (“sometimes I feel Like screaming”), slash (“november Rain”) and dozens of other players who’ve made their guitars gently weep over the years for letting me know the answer to that one.
Friday, April 4, 2008
stupid
A friend pinged me
He: i would prefer to be a rhino
me: Python is eat and sleep and hence preferable
He: rhino is eat and stand/sleep and no stupid discovery channel host would dare disturb u...(unlike python and crocs)
Right on the spot.
why
anything that brings spiritual, mental, or physical weakness, touch it not with the toes of your feet.
this happened some time back: girl sat next to me on the cab.
nO, that's not all, fuckers.
so she sat for fifteen minutes throwing nervous glances while i tried to immerse myself in a Jeff Noon short story collection. but for radio city there would even have been an uncomfortable/pregnant silence. finally, she cleared her throat and said:
"excuse me, is this company y's cab?"
"yes", i said and cracked what i thought was a comforting grin.
"shit! i thought this was company Z's cab!", she said and fled. i shook my head and had deep thoughts about the indian outsourcing industry for the rest of the journey.
so it goes, so it goes......
i know it sounds right out of reader's digest but it really happened
as a team-building exercise, we were taken to amoeba(the home of unicellular delights). maybe it's because half my childhood was over before the economy was liberalized but i just can't stand these archie-inspired lifestyle choices. i spent my formative years in parks and playgrounds where bowling meant running in as quick as you could and trying to kill the guy facing you. bowling is shane warne pitching it outside leg and hitting the top of off. bowling is not a bunch of corporate mudderfucks re-enacting the tribal custom of hurling elephant testicles at giraffe ding-dongs(or afridi trying a faster one. that's a throw). pah! death to the infidels!! the evil influence of western culture on our youth - what's a self-righteous and sexually repressed guy to do?
i admit, i'd never even thought of touching it with my toes, swamiji.
boring day
Kurt Vonnegut in Deadeye Dick--
To be is to do -- Socrates.
To do is to be -- Jean-Paul Sartre.
Do Be Do Be Do -- Frank Sinatra.
Me -
thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over -- Psalm 23:5, The Holy Bible, King James Version.
thou implantest my breasts with silicone; my cups runneth over -- Pamela Anderson.
"Get a grip on yourself!", did I hear someone shout?
What do you think I've been doing all my life? (ok, blame Jim Morrison for this one)
Will he wank off in a chocolate factory? How am I supposed to know?
Singular. And ready to mingular???????????????
right now.... into the blank
right now, i'm listening to A Design For Life by Manic Street Preachers.
right now, i'm wondering about my last friday as a free person.
right now, i'm wondering why i have to be extra clever
Just now, i cracked my knuckles. bring it on, blank page.
right now, i think Yvette is a really cool name.
right now, i want to make it clear that despite the odd touch of sentimentality, i'm a complete bastard.
right now, i desperately want to play a good racing game.
right now, i solemnly vow to read every thought Frank Miller and/or Alan Moore ever committed to print.
right now, i'm getting the fuck outta here.
eat this, family guy
q. if you aren't a go-getter in life, why'll you get fucked?
a. because then you become a 'come-taker'.
ha.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
momentary lapse......of reason???? aaaahheeeemm
fifteen minutes ago, i was just cleaning up my hard disk and came across an innocuous text file tucked away in a folder titled 'posts'. pleasantly surprised, i opened the file and set my eyes upon a list i had compiled on pretty much the day i left pune for good. as i sifted through the document, i became more and more depressed. my memory of a few of these names had slowly faded away and i found myself really freaked out until my mind performed a quickfire reboot operation before it retrieved a few sepia-tinted packets of information from an obscure corner that was until recently the hub of all my emotive activity. recognition slowly dawned and the brain started the numbing process of associating mental images with names. of course, it didn't help that i had watched 'eternal sunshine of the spotless mind' just a few days earlier. anyway, i wish i could write just a wee bit more and much more coherently, but the sandman has his own devious ways of catching up with you
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
uh oh
never made out in a drive-in, never got beaten up in gym class. wait, i didn't even have gym class. i had Pt periods(ouch). and it was a "sanatan dharm" that i went to, not a high school.
yup, there's not much i have in common with kevin arnold, the kid from the wonder years. i had always put my love for the show down to my interest in
like that monday when my dad handed me a classic milds.
my first reaction was that this was part of some coming of age ritual. of course. i would smoke it and then we would change in to our matching raymond suits and sip brandy and talk deep father-son things for the rest of night.
instinct told me to stick that cigarette in the corner of my mouth and pat my pockets for a matchbox.
reason told me otherwise.
reason reminded me my dad is a non-smoker, non-drinker.
reason told me to take a closer look at the damn thing. i did and observed that the cigarette was showing what our commentators describe as "signs of wear and tear". the slightly crumpled paper, the crooked shape - tell-tale signs of a cigarette that has spent 36 hours or more in the shirt pocket of an absent-minded youngster. (but i did take some pride in the fact that even though i had slept in the shirt, the cigarette was still eminently smokeable - not one tear, not yet bent completely out of shape. so kids, the moral of the story is -never keep suttas in your pant pocket. well, not a moral maybe but a friendly tip).
reason whispered in my ear - "dude. you are so FuCked".
anyhow here i was with a cigarette in hand looking at my parents who were smiling and looking back at me with a "we are sure you have a 100% rational and completely convincing explanation" expression on their faces. my brother was hovering in the background, smirking away to glory.
i smiled back a "you guys are never going to believe this" smile. i stood with a hammering heart, racing mind and rapidly emptying bladder and thought - What would kevin
kevin would shut the fuck up and let daniel stern (the voice of the grown-up kevin) do the talking. in a tight spot there's nothing like freezing time and letting a voiceover handle things.
[voiceover starts] at that moment, i knew i had a test of character coming up. this was finally an oppportunity to demosntrate some maturity. i could accept responsiblity for my actions. i could come clean. i could do the riGht thiNG and be a
"abhishek sood".
"what?"
"my friend. he smokes. it was his cigarette. i was just keeping it in my pocket". and i added cleverly (i thought it was clever then, but sounds lame now), "he was wearing a t-shirt".
"oh. he smokes,does he?"
"Like mad. you should see him. he's this thin".
parents: alright then.
brother: that's it???
self: you guys obviously don't believe me.
parents: of course we do.
self: right. dinner please.
and i ran away to the comp and listened to joe cocker version of "With a Little help From My Friends". i just had to.
ugly
can't there ever just be good news?
is it so bad to find out something good without a let down from the bad.
is it a ying~yang thing?
balance, shmalance.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
perfect day
today was a perfect day [i wish i could say]
i slept in [i'm late for work]
i had waffles for breakfast [with freezer burn]
i went to work and had a blast [getting yelled at]
i came home [to a locked door]
i took a nap [to escape my thoughts]
i went for a run [as far away as i could get]
then i went to bed [to review it all in my head]
as you can see [it's normal for me]
it was the perfect day. [in a messed up way.]
