a note to self... to me HEART

youmuststopfeelingsomuchyoumuststopfeelingsomuchyoumuststopfeelingsomuch
youmuststopfeelingsomuchyoumuststopfeelingsomuchyoumuststopfeelingsomuch
youmuststopfeelingsomuchyoumuststopfeelingsomuchyoumuststopfeelingsomuch
youmuststopfeelingsomuchyoumuststopfeelingsomuchyoumuststopfeelingsomuch
youmuststopfeelingsomuchyoumuststopfeelingsomuchyoumuststopfeelingsomuch
youmuststopfeelingsomuchyoumuststopfeelingsomuchyoumuststopfeelingsomuch
youmuststopfeelingsomuchyoumuststopfeelingsomuchyoumuststopfeelingsomuch
youmuststopfeelingsomuchyoumuststopfeelingsomuchyoumuststopfeelingsomuch

"iT was a MisTake".............. damn me!!!!!!!!

i'm really disgusted by meself that i still care

groove in E minor

some days you're the statue. and some days you're the pigeon.

that's why i think life is all about magic moments.

soMe kind of moNster

how long has it been since i misspelled words and blamed alcohol?

quite long. so here it is droogies, your narrator makes lots of clever references and stupid mistakes and blames it all on his very good friend, Mr Ethyl Alcohol. "pateince, m'dear", poodi says.

"remember, what we say shall be discovered by archaeologists (if is spelled this word right, its purely thanks to chance) in 2350 AD who shall read our blog and come to dramatic concl;usions about the human race".

example - "human beings are like giant tectonic plates. they rub against each other for a while, get really testy and then post really angry writeups about how they are right. about everything".

no, giant tectonic plates do not do that. they rub against each other and release giant killer waves that fuck everyones' happinesss and their vacations. pardon the poor taste in humor.

so how long has it been since i stumbled out of Mukambika Paradise "the family garden restaurnat"? (i'll be damned if i get my family into this dump).

how long has it been since i joined the groin-scratching, nose digging yokels of khatta land?

how long since i wrote something "personal" and "tangled up"?

since i read e-books and wished i could write like their authors?

how long since i stopped working on "Magic's Farm"?

some Pritchett wisdom : do you feel like you have the life expectancy of a glass cymbal? (if you didn't laugh for five minutes at this with much wiping of streaming tears and cramping of stomach, consider yourself to have a sense of humor (or lack of) rivalled only by Herr Hitler). well, if you do, (life expectancy of glass cymbal, remember? it would have been so easy to have passed this off as my own but plesase give me lots of points for quoting my sources), please start up on your blog.

and write now.

tally ho folks, i should indulge in more "creative writing". (every time i hear that phrase my balls shrivel up). or maybe i shouldn't. Hic!!!

'He's A Jolly Good Fellow' on infinite repeat.

broken hearts are for the ass holes

those of us that studied sanskrit in school or college know about the two lines in Abhijnana Shakuntalam that are hastily passed over by the teacher with a 'don't worry, these won't be asked in the exam'.

most sanskrit teachers are showoffs. they insist on translating every word into English and breaking it down into its root words, telling us all about the sandhis, samaasaas and lakaaras. so why were these two lines ignored? god bless the writers of the guides that we used to refer.

shakuntala says : please loosen my garment, anasooya, priyamvada has tied it too tight.

priyamvada retorts with a : don't blame me, blame your youth that has given you such uh, such (ok, here we go, baby) ample breasts. there! i said it, alright?

pontificate no more. if Kalidasa can say it, so can i. and to continue in a similar vein....the censor board can go fuck itself.

an affair ... RSVP

i’m writing this slightly drugged and fully conflicted. a state like this isn’t good for much except maybe the purge that follows. i am nothing if not a purger of the highest order.

for the moment, i’m parked in front of my computer. it’s a shade before midnight at the five star hotel of the neighborhood. i’ve just come from a cocktail party full of people who wouldn’t understand Martin Goodman’s work or what i love so much about an ordinary grilled cheese. this flag waving for experimental eating—i still declined every offer of an appetizer, mainly because i had no idea of what any of it was. i guess some allergies are more permanent than others.

a few days ago you asked if i thought that maybe our lives were part of a bigger movie and that maybe the actors should unmask and let us in on the gig. well, i’ll tell you something—i think every goddamn b-movie star that ever aspired attended this evening’s festivities.

this place is the most fully functioning ghost town i’ve ever seen if you want to know the truth. you open up your mouth for one goddamn yawn and every horseback rider, brilliant scientist, and influential writer you’ve never read jumps right down your throat. how is a guy supposed to catch his breath around here?

back to this party—i wish i was making this stuff up, but i’m not. my fashionably attired host explained that the neighborhood used to be the stomping grounds for whores and punks, but now a condo like his cost two zillion of rupees. the more time i spent at the party, the more i came to this stunning realization—the whores must have gotten keys to the building. the place was full of ‘em.

after an hour or so, i started to feel like a whore, too. i excused myself with a handshake before there was any actual exchange of cash. then again, to be honest, i don’t remember an offer being made.

as is the custom, i walked for a bit, hoping to get lost. maybe get mugged. but it was not to be. so instead i called the first 32 people in my address book not named you hoping that at the very least, somebody might be able to pull off a convincing (but unknowing) imitation of you. i’ve never heard so many outgoing messages.

now, if you’ll excuse me, my stash of funny business is kicking in and i need to dig my sweet dreams hat out of my suitcase before i fall asleep with a naked scalp. i’m liable to catch a cold in this town.

i already feel sick.

thE lasT punK in the 'hooD

am baCk

that luminous pigment returned back to my skin
the self esteem fairy must have beat me in my sleep.
cuz when i woke up that morning i felt brand new...
and it wasn't the brand new you feel when you turn over and realize what you did the night before!
it was that feeling of relief when you truly realize there is always tomorrow.
even though it is never promised, it is always the possibility to rewind, reflect and retrace.
so i am back..officially starting over...
the right way.
on my terms.
on my own accord.
and i tell you,
it feels great.

strangers to lovers and to......

you looked at me and i looked at you. we smiled at each other and you held my hand tight, whispering into my ears that i am your hero. i giggled and called you my sun and you said i was everything.

you look at me and i look at you. we turn away, afraid to look at each other. you walk really fast and pass me. i watch you from the back, knowing you quietly screamed into my ears "we're strangers now.". i nod and reply into the thin air, " yes. i know we are nothing to each other now."

Criminal..... who me?????

have been shamelessly contributing to music and movie piracy for such a long time that it doesn’t even feel unlawful or wrong. I have nearly 3000 songs on my hard disk but only have a fledgling original cd collection. If you stop to think about it, I’m nothing more than a thief or a freeloader who abuses technology. The same thing goes for movies. I’ve lost count of the number of films I’ve seen without paying the price of an admission ticket. There is one cyber crime I was innocent of until some time back - reading e-books. Somehow an e-book seemed too impersonal, too cold and too unfriendly compared to the real thing. I don’t think anything can compare with the feel of yellowing pages or that lovely smell that old books have. What a joy it is to curl up in bed with a book for company as you sail away to that distant place that any good book should take you to. That beats the shit out of staring at a screen, and scrolling down surely can’t hold a candle to actually turning pages; that oddly satisfying sensation of accomplishment as you finish a book is sorely lacking in the electronic version.

There are so many things money can buy. But when there is the internet, why bother?

soMeThiNG to sHarE

Maya Angelou said this:
(I thot it was worth a read)

"I've learned that no matter what happens, or how bad it seems today, life does go on, and it will be better tomorrow."

"I've learned that you can tell a lot about a person by the way he/she handles these three things: a rainy day, lost luggage, and tangled Christmas tree lights."

"I've learned that regardless of your relationship with your parents, you'll miss them when they're far from you."

"I've learned that making a "living" is not the same thing as "making a life."

"I've learned that life sometimes gives you a second chance."

"I've learned that whenever I decide something with an open heart, I usually make the right decision."

"I've learned that even when I have pains, I don't have to be one."

"I've learned that every day you should reach out and touch someone.People love a warm hug, or just a friendly pat on the back."

"I've learned that I still have a lot to learn."

"I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel."

not again!!!! ppppllllzzzzzzzzzzzzz

someone played it today at work and whenever i listen to it, it makes want to pick up a mallet and go after its composer (a certain Preetam, FYI) yelling, ‘come out and take your medicine, you little shit’ ala Jack Torrance in The Shining.

Dhoom machale dhoom machale DHOOM!

Dhoom machale dhoom machale DHOOM!

just when you’ve been reduced to a nervous wreck by the fiftieth repetition of that utterly inane chorus, redemption appears in sight –

do you want more? a voice asks.

HELLAFUCKING NO!!! i scream inwardly.

are you sure? , it insists.

‘COURSE I AM, YOU STUPID BITCH!!

oK!! , the voice says cheerfully. One..Two…Three..Four

Dhoom machale dhoom machale DHOOM!

Dhoom machale dhoom machale DHOOM!

the chorus drives on and on, gathering a limpet-like grip on all the pain centers in my brain. the damnedest thing about it is that long after it stops playing, the chorus lingers in your head and throws your thought process off kilter. (the Beatles with their “i am the walrus, goo-goo-joob” or Oasis with ‘Digsy’s Diner’ have the same effect, but in a good way. ‘dhoom machale’ is more like a splinter that gets into your fingers and refuses to come out no matter how much you poke at it, and just as painful).where DHOOM MACHALE are we DHOOM MACHALE going? DHOOM!!

Uh, what DHOOM was i about to DHOOM say?

there are two kinds of bad songs. there are the songs that make you laugh like Sean Paul’s ‘Get Busy’ or Shaggy’s ‘It Wasn’t Me’,(‘we were both butt naked banging on the bathroom door, how could i forgot that I had given her a spare key?’).

and there are others that inspire homicidal tendencies in the sanest of people.

serial killers aren’t born that way, you know. somewhere along the way some radio station played one of the following songs one time too many. a blood vessel bursts. and the rest is history, but with a lot of dead bodies in it

.

“Hello” – Lionel Richie – the fact that Mr. Richie has these shifty eyes that belong to people who dress up as plumbers and then do bad things to housewives doesn’t bother me. that bothers me is this song ‘Hello’. “Hello…is it me you’re looking for?” he asks in a hopeful voice. no, i’m looking for my remote.

“Red red wine” – UB40 – the UB40 version of this song should actually have been titled ‘Red red whine’. the vocalist sounds like Elmer Fudd parodying Bob Marley, and the result is as noxious as it sounds.

anything by Kumar Sanu – The Great Nose of India. if there’s anything that instantly elevates my blood to boiling point, it’s that ‘hey-hey-ah-ha-ha’ trademark wail of Kumar Sanu.

some song that goes ‘That’s the waaaay…maahi ve!’ words that should no longer be part of any song – ‘soni’, ‘kudi’, ‘munda’, ‘maahi’. the host of that famous talk show ‘Koming out of the Kloset with Karan’ should realize that while non-resident punjabis might love watching elaborate weddings, we, the people who actually live in india, do not live in endless wheat fields and don’t wear fifteen layers of clothing. why, then, is this song so popular? *disgusted shake of the head*

‘Last Resort’ – Papa Roach – ‘my IQ is more than forty/so i can’t dig this song/you lazy duds should try a little harder/and not simply rip Maiden off’. Bah!

obvious choices like Britney Spears or Backstreet Boys are not included because i think it would look amateurish and not in keeping with the image i’m trying to build for myself – a knowledgeable music lover who can suggest two different alternatives to any band you’ve come across (obviously, i pretend to like Radiohead, even though i secretly wish their songs got to the point quicker).

an interview with CROSSIFIXXIO

1. what is your idea of perfect happiness?
drinking without having to worry about a hangover.

2. what is your greatest fear?
that old age and virginity will gang up on me.

3. which living person do you most admire and why?
i'm going to do a priyanka chopra and say "mother teresa"!

4. what is the trait you most deplore in yourself?
not being careful enough with my possesssions.'the mammoth Book of Vampires' gave me sleepless nights for over a week. because it had somehow gotten underneath the mattress.

5. what is the trait you most deplore in others?
i hate it when people can't laugh at themselves.

6. what is your greatest extravagance?
using auto rickshaws to get around bangalore. i wish i could say something cool like original art or fine wines but right now i'm spending too much money on ricks.

7. what is your most treasured possession?
can't pick one. Bob Dylan – theme time radio hour would be on top of the pile.

8. where would you like to live?
magazines?? it's not where, O ignorant One, but with who(m?) that's important.*oooooh*

9. what makes you depressed?
sickness.

10. what is your favourite word?
"bitch-slap"! imagine Elektra and wonder woman singing this to the tune of "love trap":
Elektra: Get rea-deee....for a bee-eetch slap (background vocals: bitch-slap! bitch-slap!)
wonder woman : aaaaaah!

11. what is your favourite book?
it used to be "chcha choudhry" by pran. i need to re-read it to find out if it still is.

12. what is your fancy dress costume of choice?
turtle-suit!

13. cat or dog?
neither. bats.

14. is it better to give or to receive?
to give. gimme, gimme, gimme as the song goes.

15. what is your guiltiest pleasure?
i have reached a stage of depravity where i no longer feel guilty about any of my pleasures.

16. what or who is the greatest love of your life?
female vocalists.

17. Have you ever said "i love you" without meaning it?
eh?

18. which words or phrases do you most overuse?
bastard! many references to genitalia, male and female, in English and the vernacular. and i keep saying "who's your daddy now?!' to myself. which is a nicer way of saying bastard!, i guess.

19. what is your greatest regret?
i deleted 4 GB of music to make space for games that never ran. i miss it like mad.

20. when and where were you happiest?
goa, all the trips and the trips.

21. when did you last cry, and why?

Suspended animation always.

22. how do you relax?
i don't.

23. what single thing would improve the quality of your life?
an external hard drive would do nicely. .

24. what keeps you awake at night?

fear.Of.the.....dark, eh heh heh heh.

25. what song would you like played at your funeral?
’face of love’ from 'dead man walkng'. nusrat and vedder can bring back the dead.

26. what is the most important lesson life has taught you?
the importance of being patient. your aRsE.

DC-Marvel-Image-Wildstrom-Vertigo-Apparat

which comic book writer is plotting your life?

that's right. i take apart real life conversations and try to fit them in the *here it comes, baby!* comic book medium. it's not at all as stupid as it sounds. if you've never stopped a conversation and yelled, "fuck! that was such a mIRaClE moment!" you haven't lived. there's nothing like shouting "stop going all morrison on me, man!" to let the other person know you have no idea what he is talking about but find it really cool all the same. (You should be saying "stop going morrison on me, man!" right about now. or you could say "Byrne in hell, bastard!". that would mean i'm being both incomprehensible and annoying. how many John Byrne comics have i read? too few to be making a comment on his writing style but i couldn't resist). like every boy who become a man drinking, i once wondered about the meaning of life. questions about free will and existentialism that i could never find a convincing answer to. if only i'd known then what i know now..... life is a comic book. and even if you have out-of-his-mind Warren Ellis writing your story it's worth it as long as the women look like they've been drawn by frank quitely. aren't all our fantasies of sleeping with Jill Thompson merely Elseworld stories? don't we wish certain epsiodes in our life could be retconed out of continuity? [i hear a whining voice, embarrassingly like my own, complain that this is not what a ret-con is about. there are kids dying of hunger and you want to debate ret-cons? prick!]

back to the quiz. which comic book writer is writing the story of your life?

do you live in a place where the guns go "BRaKaBRaKaBRaK"? or even "POKitaPOKitaPOK"?

frank miller's got you by the balls in sin city! You will soon have sex with a hot babe, find out she's a hooker and die a gruesome death. ah, at least the sex was good, eh? also, in your universe schlock is not a word. it's a sound effect.

my own life seems to be scripted by a certain foul-mouthed demented Irishman.