Wednesday, November 12, 2008
And there you are. I've lost it.
Getting lost in a romance novel is so gratifying. I would love to be a part of taking people on that journey to far away lands where mysterious and intriguing people are engaged in well, mystery and intrigue. It is so frustrating to me that I just can't write one. Part of my problem is that I have traveled a bit in my life and I am not exactly a young impressionable guy anymore... believe it or not I had more than 8 true love experiences till now... The fact is when we do find true love as all characters seem to do at the end of a good romance novel, or everyone dies, we realize that every little thing is romantic, every word, every sight and sound. The passion is tamed and the places are forgettable. All you can see is the one you love.
If I were to write a romance novel this is how it would go:
"The wind swept across the soft green grass blowing over the beer bottles that they had left on the lawn the night before. He woke up scratching his balls to realize although angel till he was awake last but she has taken all his share of blanket to leave his skin red and swollen from mosquito bites. The sun was shining brightly through the trees and birds sang their morning song... and he thought of waking her up with his melodic fart to get some coffee made... but then again if she woke up first she will capture the bathroom for next one hour. So he let his angel sleep while he left the bed.”
You see, my experiences have clouded my ability to conjure up the fantastic and left me with the mundane. They don't make for a good romance novel but they make for a promising life. Of course I haven't given up completely on the idea. Perhaps I should practice by doing some role-playing. I wonder how she will look dressed as a witch...
Monday, November 10, 2008
Seeing this crow flying around with one limping leg had given rise to many legends and myths in the neighborhood. The children who played in the street openly talked about these legends. According to some, the crow lost his leg while rescuing his female from the clutches of a hungry ‘cheel’ (a kind of an eagle)... some said he lost his leg after falling from his nest while asleep, some said he lost his leg while trying to walk ‘huNs ki chaal’ (an Urdu idiom- if a crow tries to walk like a crane, he loses his own place)
I was also part of this legend mongering crowd which believed in so many stories about this crow. Whoever in the street used to spot this crow, they used to shout aloud for the benefit of others:woh dekho, langRa kawwa !! (Look, one-legged crow is here) This made every one in the street stop their work and look for the crow. Drivers used to hang their necks out of car windows to look for it, street cricket batsmen used to tell approaching bowlers: “ek minute yaar, woh... kawwa... oopar?” (Just a minute friend that crow, look up) Within days, this crow, backed by all kinds of legends and myths, grew so much in popularity that he became a household name in the locality.
We saw the crow’s limping flight for few months but the rot had set in. After few months the crow lost his popularity. Thereafter, he just became part of the area landscape and nobody paid much attention to his flight. One eyed black cat... brown striped street dog became more popular. Apparently, the crow didn’t like this fall from fame hood. So one sunny evening, the crow came down on an un-suspecting passer-by and pecked the passer by’s head with his beak and flew away to the nearby tree. The passer-by started screaming, pointing towards the tree and people started gathering around him in sympathy. Very soon somebody in the infringing crowd said what everybody was thinking. That somebody said: “langra kawwa pagal ho gaya hai”(the one-legged crow has gone mad).
From that day onwards the popularity graph of the crow climbed up steeply. Overnight he was declared as ‘one-legged-half-brained’ crow. His status changed from a celebrity hero to that of a devil-may-care villain. The new status also gave rise to new legends and myths about how and why the crow lost his mind. Some said that it is because the crow society made one-legged crow an outcast so he lost his mind, some said it is because rest all the female crows refused to marry him and some again said that it is because he again fell out of his nest while asleep.
The crow on the other hand was becoming more and more carnivorous by the day. Now he started pecking anyone who passed under the street-tree he used to live on. There were a couple of people who were his famous victim. One was a boy who worked in a neighborhood. The crow had some ‘zaati dushmani’ (personal enmity) against this boy. As soon as the boy entered the street, the crow would start screaming ‘kaaeN kaaeN’ and followed the boy home while diving and pecking on his head repeatedly like an air-force jet diving to make a kill. In the end this boy had to become bald and wear dark-glasses in order to fool the crow into believing that he was somebody else. This trick worked and the crow stopped harassing this boy.
Another famous victim was my own aunt. She has come to our place for a vacation and was out on her evening walk and this crow made the mistake of pecking her head. To this she became so infuriated that she started scolding aloud in the middle of the road: “kam-bakht, jhaaroo peetay, kal-moonhe, ek dafa haath aa gaya to tera soup pi jaaon gi?”(You unfortunate, broom-hitted, face-looser, if I catch you once, I’ll drink the soup made from you)Apparently the crow really got scared of such grammatically correct Urdu scolding and I don’t remember if he ever crossed her path again for next two months.
After a while the situation became so worse that the cabinet meeting of street boys was called again. I also had the honors of attending it. In the meeting there were two groups. One was a humane group which asked for mercy for the crow while other insisted on mercy for the people by giving crow a mercy-killing. Luckily the mercy for the crow group was in majority. It was then decided that the crow be caught, taken to some other neighborhood and let free. Some suggested that we should let it free in next neighborhood because they had bigger playing areas than ours but good sense prevailed and we transferred the crow to an unpopulated place. I am not sure how the crow was caught and transferred because I was not part of the ‘action committee’ which was formed to carry out this humane operation.
This happened in early nineties... almost 18 years and lot of water under the bridge has passed since then. I don’t know how long a crow lives. Hopefully he is still alive and peckin!!!
Love your alcoholic...
Nobody understands this better than Neha. She married one. The extent of her love goes beyond all reason or common sense for me. It's a bloody mystical kind of love in a weird way. It's a love that knows no limits of endurance... He can beat her... cheat her... humiliate her. He can set her up and frame her and then knowingly wrongly accuse her. He can imprison her lock her up I store room bathroom... lie to her... scam her... manipulate her. He can give her a venereal disease he picked up from women he sleeps with. He can turn her children against her, spy on her; ridicule...rubbish and mock her in public. He can threaten to steal her children and run away to another country with them and tell her she will never see them again. He can abuse her in front of those same children. All these things he can do and still she endures. She loves him.
Neha's love is a certain kind of horror isn't it? What I can’t decide is if the horror is him or her or just an overall combination of the two. Maybe the horror really isn't him the narcissistic, diseased, cruel, weak, mentally deranged, pathetic alcoholic; maybe the horror is her. She gets down before him on her hands and knees and submissively says, "Kick me." So he does, he kicks her. That sort of thing appeals to his nature after all. Then she gets up and tells everyone how bad she has it; how he kicked her. You poor thing! How can you take that? Why don't you leave?
"I don't know... Its for my kids... for my family... in hope of better future...I don't know..," she shakes her head incredulously, "How do I put up with it?" and as she says this she mentaly prepare herself to get down again so he can kick her for the hundredth time that day.
He got a notice from his office again, her alcoholic. He is again sent to a rehab. Not because he wanted to be there, but because he was mandated to be there. She is confident that when her alcoholic returns he will be a changed man. He has been registered manier times before also, but she has never felt as hopeful as she does this time. This time he is going away to be cured. She feels freer now, her dark mood lifts and she starts to make plans for herself and her children. Life will be better now. She is positive of this and as the weeks pass she builds her strength in mind, spirit and body.
Neha is thinking more clearly now that he isn't around clouding her thinking and she resolves that if her alcoholic returns an unchanged man that she will take her kids and leave him. She does not deserve this treatment and neither do her children. She is a good mother and a good person. These sentiments are reinforced by her friends who continuously tell her she doesn't deserve it and that she is a good person.
All Neha has ever done is love her alcoholic. She has lied for him, cleaned him up and done what he's told her to do no matter how irrational, absurd, painful, repulsive or morally wrong, . She loves him so much that she willingly casts her own soul aside to join her soulless soul mate on his journey to perdition.
But when he is away from her and his influence over her is weakened (although never completely gone because of the excessive phone calls) she begins to see that the price of loving her alcoholic is too high. It isn't worth sacrificing her soul and the souls of her children. She makes practical plans to get out just in case he comes back the same man. Neha isn't a stupid woman, just a woman inculcated with loyalty for her alcoholic abusive husband.
She calls it love, but it seems more like mind control. When she is away from his influence she is a transformed woman, but the moment she hears his voice she becomes virtually helpless and devoid of original thought. Consequently, the competence she demonstrates as she devises a plan for her big escape is an unexpected surprise. It turns out Neha has a strong family support system out there and isn't one of those isolated, beaten down, codependent wives. It turns out she could easily get a decent paying job and does just that. It turns out she can pay her own bills and make her own decisions. It turns out that she does look beautiful and she is sociable and interesting to talk to. It turns out she can assert herself and articulate her words well. It turns out that not only do her kids survive without their father around, but they thrive without his brooding, chaotic presence.
Neha feels strong and exhilarated with new hope for her future. She thinks, "Forget your alcoholic and love yourself."
Neha’s husband is on his way back home from the rehab centre. He is sitting in a sleazy bar downing his fifth Rum peg. He calls her up while he is waiting for his sixth. He scolds her for not picking the phone up right away and immediately accuses her of cheating on him with the neighbor. He tells her that the house better be spotless and there will be some big changes when he gets home. He is sick of Neha not doing what she is told. Neha automatically apologizes without even considering why she is apologizing or for what. All that renewed hope and excitement she felt for her life and all that resolve to leave her husband if he returned an unchanged man abandons her the moment she hears his voice. Her unexpected competence and strength is replaced by that old familiar mantra:
“Love your alcoholic...”
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Chillum Phod Baba a.k.a Smoke-pipe Exploding Baba was a psychic seer who lived in India between 1981 and 2004 before disappearing into concrete desert. He recorded his visions in a cryptic code on bathroom walls of his many abode. I have painstakingly endeavored here to decode and translate his surviving predictions.
Some say CP Baba was the greatest seer since Nostradamus. Some believe he was even greater than his European counterpart. Some say he was a highly evolved bicycle. Some doesn’t say anything...
I say intercourse it! Let Chillum Phod Baba be CP Baba. His work speaks for itself.
1. “When the crow shits at high noon, and the brown corn will harvest, then shall the honking enforcer come and any which way he can swim the dead wagging pool.”
Translation: CP Baba is foretelling the population explosion in India and extinction of street dogs due to road kill.
2. “When Pisces jives through the ides of March, and uterus rises at the thirteenth zodiac sign, then will the concrete bitch scream through the hairy pajama wearers.”
Translation: CP Baba is predicting the fall of United States when they offend the gods by actually electing a woman President.
He may be predicting the rape of the Statue of Liberty by King Kong.
3. “When the lion in gold rivals the sun and the three brothers turn from rock to Mujra(Indian exotic dance to entertain truck drivers and losers), then shall the screaming eagle lay an egg on her maiden flight and it shall fall on the head that has already been shit upon.”
Translation: CP Baba foresees that George W Bush will have his butts shaved by St. Ashraf and paraded through the wall street chained to Osama Bin Laden.
4. “When the moon is in the seventh sky and Jupiter aligns with Mars, then the bookworm of scriptures will have its intercourse with hookah smoking caterpillar”
Translation: CP Baba prophecies Junkies and dopers will have a long healthy life and science will confirm that codeine and cocaine are actually good for healthy happy living!!! Ya ya Hippi Hippi
5. “When the snake slides back into its hole and the river flows back to the spring, then shall woman show their back at bazaar and peace be back in hand.”
Translation: CP Baba is just having a bad night.
6. “When penises grow in potted plants and vaginas are available in disposable 6-packs, then shall people have sex by email and virus will born in brothels.”
Translation: CP Baba is trying to say that with the second coming of Christ, the message of the kingdom of heaven shall be: Why prey, when you can Pink Slip?
CP Baba is predicting the revival of global market.
CP Baba is just being sarcastic and saying bloody hell keep on dreaming...
7. “A man shall rise from the ruins of Olympus and run madly through the streets waving his penis at screaming woman.”
Translation: CP Baba foresees the inclusion of nude marathon in Olympics.
8. “When sun reaches its orgasm and earth sleeps naked, then man shall drink her urine clean with adultery.”
Translation: CP Baba foresees global warming and end of all natural resources.
9. “"Kada hram djevičanskih boginja orgija koje savitljivo drže hram bude opijen komarcima, tada će slatke pite biti rezane i služiti za pse ludila."
English translation: “When the temple of the virgin goddess of orgy who holds a limp stick is stung by drunken mosquito, then shall all cutie-pies be sliced and served to mad dogs without mustard.”
Translation: CP Baba predicts HIV+ would be named a new blood group
CP Baba is trying to woo a Croatian witch
Translation: Most probably CP Baba is having a bad hangover.
CP Baba is caught scribbling in the loo....
CP Baba’s Chalk got over
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
I don't quite know how her voice sounds, neither do I have much idea about her likes, preferences, what makes her happy or what get those eyes red...But sometimes, in this mad world with a crazy life, one needs to imagine something perfect on a long, lonely day. And in my mind... that's what she'll always be - perfect.
Monday, October 20, 2008
During school days, when nobody thinks of their career in terms of amount of money or salary they are gonna to earn, I had done all my calculations. Based on the average height of my nuclear and extended family I had mentally calculated how tall I would grow and how big a garland made of ten rupee notes I can wear. Add to that the money filled envelopes I will get for 'salaami' I would be raking in hell lot of moolah while my classmates would be making pittance as doctors, engineers, analysts....etc. However, as I grew older and became more mature, I realized that with inflation as it was, this strategy might not work. I would have to wear a garland made at least of fifty rupee or hundred rupee notes...
But by the time I finished my school, three things changed. One- I became more mature. Two- Inflation increased. I calculated that at current rate, I had to do the Islam allowed four marriages with five-hundred rupee note garlands to maintain the lifestyle. Three- A bloody change that shattered my dream, rupee note garlands became out fashioned in our society... I was bloody devastated.
I might have gone into depression had I known what depression was. Because of naiveté, and not knowing what else to do, I picked the broken pieces of my dream. As sailors focus on distant objects when sailing to keep from feeling sea-sick, I decided to focus on a (superficial) career like everyone else, while turning the pieces into a flame and burying it deep inside my heart where reality can never extinguish it. Even dead bodies don't remain below the sea for long and here dream was broken... yet alive... time and again, the dream would break to the surface.
The current generation of young men has mapped objectives as milestones in their life such as complete higher education, find a job, make a career, earn some money and then get married. Being a non conformist since childhood I had no such road map. My top priority was to get married at the first opportunity whereas other objectives were secondary in no order or priority. Fate had been cruel during my childhood hindering and rebuking my dreams through rising inflation, changing fashions etc... now it had declared open war.
First year college crush... coming years multiple crushes... job crushes... neighborhood crush... flight/train/bus journey crush... monthly crush...daily crush... wannabe crush... I never looked at any girl for friendship or companionship... it was always an honest and pure intention of marriage. Needless to say my mature and sensible thoughts were not reciprocated in the same way by this crazy world. Rejections were plenty... battles were lost within hours.
The nearest I reached my goal was with this magical dame who found me outdated, not so fashionable and hard to adjust with my conservative leanings, beside she wanted space and creative freedom which she felt my lifestyle cant provide. Reasons a plenty for a absolute rejection its a different story that she got married in a joint family big enough to have their own zip code straight out of Suraj Barjatya’s movies....
Few days back I met this elderly person during my daily evening walk. After some small talk, he asked me “Are you married?” At first I was taken aback by this personal question coming from a stranger. I said “No”. He sighed, “I don’t get why this new generation delays getting married. I have a friend who married late. Its not that he didn’t want to get married, but belonging to traditional family where marriages are arranged, he was waiting for his mother and sisters to find him a suitable bride. His mother was old and sisters were married off so no one was there to do the bride hunting. The progress was very slow. To cut the long story short, when he finally got married, his bride was WAY PAST HER PRIME!” (With special emphasis on last four words). Since then I am missing my mother and sisters who were never born...and till the issue is resolved I am taking a different route for my walks....
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Many times people do not really comprehend what it means when you tell them you do not eat meat, and respond with, “So have chicken, at least.” Eggs I can still understand but chicken??? My befuddled expression is met with eye-rolling, sneers and all sorts of judging. Some look down on you from their meat-eating position of superiority, while others resent you for being snobbish, elitist or just plain weird. Mr. Ashraf’s younger son doesn’t eat meat... what kind of Muslim he is?
Veggie is a high suspect, terrorist -like; even though most terrorist I know ask for beef kebabs first thing after completing their training (Bloody hell just kidding #$#%#$%! half the people I know cant kill a mosquito in one clap). Yet in our minds vegetarian = weak. The popular thinking is that meat gives us an edge over grass-eaters.
Carnivores are stronger and taller; even light-complexioned than herbivores. Isn’t that so? It has to be!!! The ultimate argument is of course that healthy children, growing bones and intelligent minds need loads of animal protein and animal fat.
There is no way you can pass the “Why are you vegetarian?” test. When God has declared it okay to eat certain animals, how dare you refuse goats feet, cows butt and buffaloes brain? All your spiel about animal rights, health consciousness, environment-friendly practices, greed versus need, cost-benefit analysis, simplicity, self-restraint, feelings of guilt, blood, anger and shame over economic disparities. All your arguments will meet with the ultimate roadblock: “How can you?? It tastes so good!”
I guess my folks never learnt to love their vegetables. Greens are usually seen to be a curse, a last-resort, an enemy. Khichri (rice and daal mixture) for example is only for when you have an upset stomach. Karelas are for the diabetic grandparents. Children are fed concoctions of peas, carrots and potatoes with methi leaves thrown in throughout winter because those are the only vegetables in season. Of course vegetables are not worth mom’s creative innovation in the kitchen.
The fact is if you are vegetarian, you are pretty much a social outcast. So you may as well throw away those wedding invitations, name giving ceremony...anniversaries and stop going to any dinner parties. You’re just going to be a source of annoyance to your hosts. Even staples like rice and bread are usually meat-nourished – Keemay Wala Naan and a dozen varieties of biryani and pulaos.
I am a carnivore now... guess I started eating flesh because I can’t stand those irritating bleats and moos love alone their shitting etiquettes... I hate animals which can be eaten and are still not cooked... this one goes for my friend who usually takes sabbatical leave for months together from eating meat..
Behold the mighty Englishman
He ruled the Indian small.
And cause he was a meat eater,
He was six cubit tall.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Suhail Miyan was a tailor from Chowk – (market area near our hostel). Quiet often villagers were sent from the MGIMS medical college to our hostel asking us to donate blood. Blood is cheap in boys’ hostel especially in engineering hostel. Muslims usually came asking for a Muslim student thinking same religion might compel one to donate blood or get it arranged. Being the only Muslim student in my batch and entire hostel at that time they all ended up with me.
Suhail Miyan’s daughter in law was having pregnancy complication and 2 unit of blood was urgently required. “Bhaijaan Allah ke vaste madad kar dijye” – Brother help me in the name of God... now that’s something which is hard to refuse on a cold Sunday morning. I had to think... I needed one more guy whom I can pull from his cozy bed... make him dress quickly and rush to hospital to give a bottle of blood.
Half the guys sleep at wee hours of morning and won’t open their doors till its lunch time... most of them even if they do open it accidently would say they have doped or got drunk last night and if you know my hostel you will know most of them are actually not lying.
Dharmendar Kumar a.k.a Dharmu Da – I call him DD is my batch mate and branch mate. A simple down to earth honest guy from Patna Bihar... I love him as my brother... I guess because he acts like one and also because he was lot different in character and nature than the rest of the Bihari crowd of our hostel.
He is also a person who can be emotionally blackmailed...
I asked Suhail Miyan to put a lid on his Muslim Muslim bhai bhai rants and went to wake DD... Five minutes later we were walking towards MGIMS...
Questions which came in my mind while coming to the hospital were answered as soon as I reached there... there were around dozen of concerned faces waiting for us...around 8 men and rest females. Men came forward and introduced themselves with their respective names and relation with the woman who needed blood.
How serious it is? How many bottles are needed???
It’s very serious but doctor said only two bottles will do.
Why have you not given your blood? I asked looking at the husband and Suhail Miyan...
Varied answer came from all the guys present...
I am too weak...
I cant I have very less blood in my body...
I used to drink a lot...
I can do anything but I can’t give blood...
I will skip penning down the anger... the talk we had... I told them I am going back and warned Suhail Miyan from coming to our hostel again...
DD won’t budge
“DD you don’t understand he brought me here under the pretext of Muslim brotherhood”
“I didn’t come here for that”
“You came because I asked you... they are the girls relative they have not given why should we do that?”
Why should the girl die because her relatives don’t care enough? Why should the unborn child suffer?
“DD... I am going, my blood is not that cheap and definitely not for such people”
“Fine, I will give both the bottles then but I still say you’re making a mistake”
DD is a good person... a brother... but at times he is like a cactus plant in the ass... he can be stubborn and defy you in public...
We gave the two bottles needed... skipped the complimentary tea... ate the biscuits though and walked back before it was time for hostel to wake up.
DD is in Australia now... People call him Khhumaar there and we meet almost everyday online to talk about the latest pirated movies available on the web. The Girl gave birth to a baby boy with DD’s blood in him I am sure he will do good in life... but he got my blood as well... who knows...
This verse Of Allama Iqbal always comes in my mind whenever the name of Ibn-e-Insha is mentioned. A poet, columnist, humorist, and travelogue writer loved for past five decades by Urdu language readers around the globe.
I still remember the first time I got introduced to Ibn Insha’s witty writings. Twelve or thirteen years back while going through my sister’s Urdu text book, I came across a passage taken from a strangely named book “Urdu Ki Aakhri Kitab”- (last book in Urdu Language). The name of book was catchy enough for me; I read the whole lesson and longed to read the book. From then on, there was no stopping to the admiration nurtured within me for this unique writer. Being a writer from Pakistan and all his books were published there and its hard to find a copy in India. He is a great influence in my attempts to present satire through simplicity. Few of his acclaimed works are Awara Gard ki Diary, Duniya Gol Hay, Ibn e Batuta kay Taa’qub May, Chaltay ho to Cheen ko Chaliyay and Nagri Nagri Phira Musafir.
He wrote for masses to make them understand to bestow them with a unique class.
Interestingly, I find his prose and poetry starkly opposite to each other. The poet of famous ghazals as “Insha Ji utho Abb kooch karo” and “Kal chaudhween ki raat thi, shab bhar raha charcha tera” kept the gloom and dark side of life in his poetry ... filled with unexpected turns of life, flavors of love added in: A roller-coaster ride of emotions. A poet of unique placement in Urdu Literature but when you open the prose, you will find yourself in an altogether different world. He touched common topics from our lives, left us to laugh for few minutes and ponder for hours.
In Nagri Nagri Phira Musafir, Ibn-e-Insha’s last of the books, his letter to the readers is also included. Khalid Hasan, one of his friends and renowned Urdu columnist, shares it like this: “The other day, we had barely had that tube they have stuck in our nostrils taken out, when in walked Faiz sahib who is in London. If there was to be some certainty that Faiz sahib will come to look you up, that is reason enough to undergo an operation … There is nothing to surgery these days. Even if you don’t need it, doctors perform it out of a sense of fun. There was this gentleman with a cough who went to pick up a linctus. The doctor operated his calf instead. And while it is true that the pain in his calf became a permanent feature thereafter, the cough disappeared completely … There is an array of buttons at the bottom of our bed about whose precise use we remain in the dark. Whenever we have attempted to push one of them, the result has invariably been contrary to what we intended. Often, by mistake when we press something, a machine comes to life. Result? The head gets lowered while our feet point skywards. This is a veritable devil’s workshop. In our hospitals at home, all they have is a simple winding mechanism. Even more surefire is the method whereby a couple of bricks are placed under the feet of the end that needs to be raised. In the event that no bricks are at hand, books can do nicely. Under one foot of the bed you have ‘Behishti Zaiwar’ and under the other ‘Alipur ka Aili’. Obviously books have their uses.”
It’s utter hard for anyone to do justice with his poetry and prose in one post. His humor with a unique flavor of satire, undoubtedly, moves your heart in a strange way. Richness of his thoughts and sheer simplicity to reflect them makes Insha what he was and what he became. Following is a snippet taken from one of his passage, I thank my senior and friend Daver Ali Bhai for sharing it with me.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
"For sale. Baby shoes. Never worn."
As an example of brevity this is unsurpassed, but is it actually a story? Does it fulfill all the rules of drama which one tends to harp on about?
There is no plot, no structure, no protagonist or antagonist, but this is a story because it evokes an emotional response in the reader, and that is the prime aim in creative writing.
What Hemingway does, and in a masterful way, is leave out everything apart from those words which are going to trigger emotions and leave the reader to fill in the story. Master of Con at his brilliant best. His story doesn't answer questions, it poses them, and the main one screams “What happened to the baby?”
What happened to this baby for whom shoes were bought but which are not now required? Why would a baby no longer require shoes? The responses all seem tragic, death, illness, kidnapping, every one a parent's nightmare. The parents then, or those who placed the advertisement, are the protagonists. The antagonist is unknown, the question of what took the baby. By the time we get to the story it is over and we are left to use our own imaginations to fill in the pieces. We must create, in our own heads, the beginning, middle and probably tragic end.
But is this the only conclusion one can draw? I tried to think up alternatives and they are admittedly weak. A drug addict parent buys the shoes, but then sells them when his craving becomes too much. Possible, but the gap between advertising the shoes and getting any money for them to buy the drugs would seem too great. Another option is if the shoes were bought as some kind of practical joke.. a size too small or a size too big and, having fulfilled that purpose, are no longer required. This could be plausible but stretches credibility, because the poignancy of those six words is lost. Hemingway didn't make them baby' shoes for no reason, beside the last thing you want to do is kill the antagonist. I would go for a tragic accident...Where parents lost all their worldly possession and the kid lost both his legs... but that would be too hard to swallow...
Each word here is carefully chosen, and especially the last two. Hardly' worn doesn't do it, and neither does unworn' though it would have served to reduce the story to five words. That word never' is the key, because it is like a lament for what will never' be.
Like the competent director of a horror movie, Hemingway does not show us his monster, he leaves it to our imaginations, and there is a lesson for us all here. Less is, indeed, more. Finding the balance between what exposition to give the reader and how much to conceal places the writer in as precarious a position as any tightrope walker.
I know someone who’s less outweighs my more... but that’s another story for another time...
Edgar Rice Burroughs creation Tarzan, is white man born in Africa and raised by apes but the truth is that white men born and bred in Africa tended to die of dengue fever, not swing through the trees on vines. A country filled with blacks...deep in the African jungles Viola he ends up with Jane a white woman... Tarzan might not have been such a superhuman if he was in the Sherwood Forest where antics of Robin hood still misguide the righteous.
Robin hood - a bandit... a robber; he is not a superhero because he worked hard and gave his money to poor... no my friends, he is hero because he stole from rich what was not his and gave a fraction to the poor just enough to keep them cribbing and not find work... rest he and his merry men spent on late night jungle parties.
The written word abounds with similar outrageous verisimilitude. There was no Flash Gordon and Fantastic Four where snobbish socialites. James Bond - man with license to kill slept with all the woman he came across and used his license at will. Hercule Poirot never solved a crossword puzzle and never caught the criminal before the crime was committed. Clark Kent a.k.a Superman... Peter parker or Bruce Wayne of Gotham city...they patrolled the city where the common man was a non entity... citizens were crippled morons defenceless against anything and everything. To give them their superhuman image city and its citizens were stripped of their human persona.
King Arthur never pulled a sword from a stone, Cinderella didn't have dainty feet and Mrs Robinson loathed younger men. There is no monolith on the moon; time didn't forget any land and nothing happened in a galaxy far far away. Count Dracula was a drunkard who didn’t give damn about wine or blood in his goblet.
I like Sherlock Holmes though, the master detective. Pipe smoker, cocaine user, a violinist who never married but got fooled by a woman once and couldn’t solve the crime of the Century –“Jack the Ripper”. No wonder he had such a human touch that people kept sending mails to 221B Baker Street even after a decade his character stopped appearing on book stands.
What was wrong with our authors that they had to tell such lies? Was there something lacking in their lives, that they felt such a need to pervert the truth? What went wrong with us? Why we never stopped our kids from reading Tarzan or Spider man comics???
Monday, September 22, 2008
Ladies, I guess you know what I am talking about. Lately I was reading life of Casanova... and apart from female flocking around him... I felt his life was dull. What surprises me is majority of female population still dig on his charm than any other dude riding his glory...
I wonder do we really know what it takes to be Casanova, the man who defined sexy male before we wobbled into the pudding like band of chattering monkeys high on Viagra? Are we truly savvy with the female population? And most importantly... do we really know the secret of winning a of better half’s heart for lifetime...?
Well I took the liberty of doing a quick survey with unfortunate female population who still stick with me... to find an answer that best reflects their personal view on this issue and read a collective WOMEN’S commentary on it, along with their not so humble judgment.
What is the key to getting woman heart?
A. Sex appeal
C. A large one that fits her lock (size of the key does matter. Ain't no chochweeet little key gonna open great Indian woman’s padlock.)
D. Give her a big house and all the space the feminist bitch within her wants
E. Kindness and sincerity
H. Chocolates/ roses/ gifts as frequent surprises
I. “How should I know”/ “You tell me” in other words lead kindly light always
J. Bloody mixture of all and more
Over all it turned out instead of Rock star like us SHE wants a fragile lost retard to baby sit.... Classic miscommunication... Before I go further just a quick sincere advice never ask any female what’s a perfect guy according to them... they bloody have the potential of making God feel inferior once they really start rolling their tongues on that.
Now If back to the list: Casanova scale (out of a perfect 10):
A. Sex appeal
Well, straightforward and true to some extent especially in global terms I got good 7 point coming from Warsaw on this. I guess it becomes shaky on its flight to India; bloody nothing less than everything is accepted here and to make it worse most of we Indian guys do NOT have that inherent ability to exude the aura of Don Juan on a whim. In fact, most of us do not have the inherent ability to exude anything but a lethal case of body odor.
Global Casanova Scale: 6.8
Indian Casanova Scale: 4
Best put by my friend from Boston
“...now I ain't sayin’ im a gold digger, but i ain’t hangin' with no broke nigga...”
Global Casanova Scale: 5
Indian Casanova Scale: 4
That’s a relief you really don’t have to from a royal family...
C. A large one that fits her lock (size of the key does matter. Ain't no chochweeet little key gonna open great female padlock.)
This is a bad one if you are an emotional male and sensitive male like me you can skip this one...Females overall find it disturbing and at times annoying about how much we jiggle our keys around in our pockets... mmm its something like “No, turn it the other way... the other way, now jiggle it to the left, no that’s not right, now push, come on, argh forget it— I'll open it myself
Global Casanova Scale: 3
Indian Casanova Scale: 2
Anyway it’s an eye opener... it takes more than a set of balls to make things work
D. Give her a big house and all the space the feminist bitch within her wants
This time the are filthy bloody lying all of them...globally.... ask any married man and he will tell you what it’s “LIE of the CENTURY”
Global Casanova Scale: 2
Indian Casanova Scale: 2
Remember the twelfth commandment here “Thou should never trust someone who bleeds every month”
E. Kindness and sincerity
When a female tells you good men are either dead or they are Gay... they actually men it my friend... They love Homosexuals traits towards life... alas they don’t see even gays fancy us...the word kindness and sincerity in their dictionary if you compare with your own thesaurus it means... impossible... look at the score they gave
Global Casanova Scale: 10
Indian Casanova Scale: 10
Here we stand at a cross road... you have an option to celebrate celibacy all your remaining life or turn Gay... if you still want to hump your brains carry on...
This one is good believe it or not either they didn’t understand the word persistence like the way we define or they really love stalker and perverts... Can you believe the actually like the guy who refuses to understand that they have already blocked him on AIM, yahoo, MSN and still persistently IMs her with his 34958795476 different screen names. This is the guy who leaves her messages on phone four times a day. They have high regards for him... so if u cant achieve impossible stated above take a camera.. a knife and start stalking your girl... chances are she will like you
Global Casanova Scale: 6.5
Indian Casanova Scale: 7
Here is a learning mate...if you play this dumb with you girl... they feel your evolution is not complete PERIOD
Global Casanova Scale: 1
Indian Casanova Scale: 1
I guess they didn’t give negative because its not an option
H. Chocolates/ roses/ gifts as frequent surprises
World finally meets here... we all know it
Global Casanova Scale: 8
Indian Casanova Scale: 9
I. “How should I know”/ “You tell me” in other words lead kindly light always
This is much better option than being UUNNHHHHH.... This says you know where you stand on the scale of understanding women (you actually don't stand near the scale.... you just observes from a distance with an extremely confused expression on your face). “You tell me” makes you half Casanova my friend.
Global Casanova Scale: 8
Indian Casanova Scale: 8
This is the take away point!!!
J. Bloody mixture of all and more
Close your eyes and shoot anywhere and you will still hit the bull’s eye here
Global Casanova Scale: 10
Indian Casanova Scale: 10
Yes, there are additions as well...things unheard of... qualities unknown to male-kind... and if I start putting them down here... it would surpass Google database... so lets forget it.
Thanks to all you females who took part in this survey... may you rot in hell for being such uptight...demanding... unpredictable..@#@$$%%^%$&%*^&*&(mailto:%5E&#@$!@@!
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Cuckoo is a bird that is the most acclaimed in the bird community as well human beings. almost all the poets of nature are "affected" and" afflicted" by it. Its voice lures them and they are lost in world of fantasy. Some call it dream bird others call it a mystery. It reminds them of their childhood as well as their love. They wish to sing and enjoy with the zeal and zest of the cuckoo. Some even want to become this very bird to get the same fame and liberty which this breed relishes. And if you don’t know it comes under endangered list and protected in many country.
On the other hand crow is notorious bird... always wandering in search of anything eatable. It is always on the way to snatch piece of food from any creature of the world. Disregarded and displaced from every where in the world, it’s considered as the ugliest of all birds. Many writers of great fame have rejected the crow and have symbolized it as the crook and cunning world. They have condemned its very voice. They have shown a great loathing for the bird. No one gives a damn if you kill one or hundred they are nuisance alrite.
The people who applaud the cuckoo might be a tad ignorant just like those who defame the crow might be wrong. There are rare arguments...
STORY OF THE BIRDS
Cuckoos and crows are enemies of each other. The animosity began due to the jealousy. Crow was the first bird that appeared on earth. He thought that he was the first bird who obliged the humankind. He was not wrong because he told the human being the way of burying the dead if you know the story of Kane and Abel. Crow was a resourceful bird alrite maybe the wisest of all. He was respected and obeyed by all the birds. His rule continued for a long time. That made him haughty and vain... I guess that’s the point where he started cawing and started insulting other birds.
Then came cuckoo on the scene who was a singing bird .He was assigned the task to entertain the birds and humans by its songs. He was performing the duties well when one day the crow cawed and insulted him. Cuckoo was well aware of the manners of the courts as well as the courtiers. The bird devised a plan to take revenge from the crow. Such a cunning revenge was taken that lasted forever. The cuckoo started eating the eggs of the crow and laid her eggs at their place. The crow unaware of the fact had been hatching the eggs of the cuckoo. When offspring came out the cuckoo sang sweet songs and brought the offspring away with her. In spite of a lot of struggle the crow could not save himself from the bad clutches of the cuckoo.
Whenever a common crow tried to present his case before the masters of the world, the Cuckoo started singing and lured the king. The king could not hear the case. The cuckoos are affluent and resourceful those have access to the authorities or themselves are authorities. The cawing and cry of the crow is not heard in the noise of sweet songs of cuckoo of the sweetness, wealth and authority.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
At this point people with Shakespearian mind will guide you to a personality which is a mixture of Romeo cum Juliet...in other words a split personality who can screw himself and also the entire galaxy... while Stevensonist would portray something nearer to a psychopathic Jekyll-Hyde, but the truth my friend is that every single person exists in two bipolar states which confound half the people around him on a regular basis and seemingly entertain the other half.
Very recently I came in contact with a girl online who can confound me with her virtual presence and also entertain me with her online company.
You think that’s a split personality... well, that’s what you think
I met her on a typically idyllic morning in true Robert-Browning fashion which hill stations offer. Started with Hi... whats up... but before could reach ASL or are u single... she took me in a different direction... now facebook is something which is used by upper polished crust of Indians and you can hope for some excitement... journey till now was great... it was like the feeling you have when you are closing your system on Friday with one hand and lighting a joint with another to welcome the weekend!!! You got the idea right...
My Weekend didn’t arrive....
I think, I tried some bottom slapping or she saw the voyeur in me... she retorted like an abused female Mamba... before I could realize what I actually did... I saw an angered Goddess Kaali in front of me doing her jig with those kinds of weapon female actually uses against bachelors like us.
I guess I said sorry or something of that sort... and here the real split personality of female shoots in...
I have been flirting with her since...
There is also the other case of a certain lady who deals with her schizophrenic eccentricity with commendable flair balancing the conflicting roles of Empathizer-in-Chief and I’m-on-Switch-Off-Mode with equal ease. And then there this good friend of mine who’d come back to me break-up-shattered-scarred-veteran and swear over a bottle that he is finally done with losing his heart to a dame only to fall for the next thing going past him in skirts lending further revolutions to that vicious habitual cycle of his... Come to think of it, all the people I really know are having a split personality with exceptions of few who don’t have any known personality I can think of...
Anyway the point, however, is that this world cannot sustain the monotony of one-track simple non- convoluted people and with the foot that I consistently sport in my mouth, I’m not doing too bad a job either of falling in line with the rest of them!!!
If I’m lying, I’m dying.
Go ahead; ask any of us who is caring. I guarantee you; everyone has given a name to his thingy if not accepted the name given by their partner.
Let me tell you, they are not ordinary names, NO not at all. Our little pride would never be called Raj or Rahul...This small, goofy looking piece of flesh, sitting in front of two overly sensitive orbs, always, and I do mean always, merits some sort of large or action packed name... people who fancy reptiles give them the best of the breed name like Ajgar( Python), Cobra you will never hear anyone calling it his earthworm or Rat snake no never... Family oriented folks usually name it Chotta Bhai( Younger Brother) or Chotta Pappu( Younger Pappu)... other common names Soldier Knights, Redwood Tree, My Lil Banyan...Grinding machine...Big Jim and the Twins( That’s a family guy alrite)...
Yes, these are all different name of the same thingy that retreats at the merest suggestion of cold water. The same insolent thing, which will embarrass you showing its all strength in a public place, when u really want it to sleep. Same thing which will make all men go nuts do the craziest thing for the sake of its happiness.
If I tell the deprived females that owning a penis is a tremendously daunting proposition, the maintenance alone is overwhelming... they might not agree... but it’s true for all the men. The poor owner has to continually drain the main vein, and pull back its turtleneck to properly wash and...... just agree it’s a daunting task.
Not only is maintenance a problem bad penile behavior runs rampant. We are forever involved in the necessary task of rebuking the wayward organ; by what you call spanking the monkey or choking the chicken.
Coming back to the thingy names, these appellations, slightly threatening in tone, have no relation to the actual size of the organ. Even the tiniest matchstick, to its owner, warrants big and dangerous names like “The Thrill Drill”, or my personal favorite, Vlad the Impaler!!!
Vlad the Impaler... because I am game for a European any time and thy name portrays some rudimentary knowledge of European history.
If you don’t understand the threatening part of these names then my friend you don’t understand women and you are better off without naming it.
One will argue people like me are brutal... violent and if one really wants to attract a woman which woman would like to be drilled or impaled... woman prefers massage, soothing touch, good gentle talks. The name should go something like “ Bobby Ayurvedic... I won’t hurt... coochikoo....COOCHIKOO???
Well I know it comes from what your mother taught you, that you catch more flies with honey, than vinegar... it true mommas are great teacher... but its true only if your catching flies mommas boy...
For girls... well they have those traps which patiently wait till they are called for action and they don’t give it any pet names like... Miss Abyss...
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
My Mother was the 7th of 9 children and my Dad was the 4nd of 11 and me the defenseless younger of the two sons to deal with whatever you call it. If you count it only Ashrafs are more than 67 in number across the globe unless few more have born or died which I am not aware of and each one of these mighty individual is worthy of driving the world insane. Now don’t start imagining the catastrophe it brings during family gathering...not yet...
I have aunt who couldn't make a move without reading her etiquette book. Seriously she had everything thing indexed for weddings and funerals and you name it. She is a living encyclopedia of all kinds of ritual and customs in any kind of occasion.
Two of my aunts are so much into Saas Bahu(Mother-in-law Vs Daughter-in-law) TV serials that if you DARED walk into their homes during the show you had to keep your mouth shut and act dead while the serial is on, like you're going to disturb an actor on the TV screen?
I have a lot of cousins across the globe, one is still hung up on music of the fifties like nothing has happened since, one who lives like a recluse, a few who refuse to admit they were born into working class families and try to act like they are the ones going to fart in Buckingham Palace.
When grandmother was alive we used to have those annual family gatherings. Vacation dedicated to Blah Blah bickering and then few more Blah Blah and more bickering. It always amazed me then how, what people were talking about at the start of things was the topic we ended with, topics always ran a full circle. Then there is this issue of family history where we always ended up talking about things that happened ages ago and no one remembers all of it in the first place. Oh yes we used to dig up dirt not realizing that someday we will be buried under it.
Madness still remains our key forte but yes the great Ashraf gatherings definitely came to an end after my grand mother died.
Friday, August 22, 2008
First trip with Sharad and Jammu was lot better... we where all new to it ofcourse apart from Sharad and also because we smoked it confined in a room. It makes you feel lot better because you feel secured even if you pass out... and also we smoked only one joint rolled in a cigarette... but this time I was in the company of veterans... smoking like railway engines from an earthen chillum...
Smokin it up... take out the stone stopper wiping the damn hot Chillum clean with a wet piece of cloth...again putting the stone back... filling up the Chillum and.... BOOOM!!!
Baba was trying to scare me I could make it out… Madda was enjoying the show I could make out that too… why the heck I was getting scared…I told him I am partially deaf right from birth... I don’t know why I have to lie thought he would understand the multiple voices booming in my mind… maybe because I was scared of him… he was like a walking corpse... you can count all his ribs and he has not shaved or cut his hair for ages... he was a true blue Sadhu baba.
Baba said that my hearing would be cured if I do some yoga he went ahead and started demonstrating it also...he also said if I want an early cure I need to collect white goats’ sperm and .... lets say he said many things to me that night. Some were gross insults, such as that in his eyes I'm just an animal. He declared all of us are arseholes… yeah he started speaking in English… and Kali collapsed with laughter — in fact not even as good as arseholes. Baba said we are all fuck-ups, crazy, the dregs of our society. Madda was his true son and I was a bad fuck up who will be trampled by Yumraj’s buffalo. Kali suddenly was very interested in the topic of past life and rebirth. He started encouraging Baba in telling about my past life and rebirth. He told me that I was a lama in my previous life — a fucked-up lama, now that was enough to make everyone interested in the topic… Lo!! Lamas are being mentioned in place like Sewagram. The rest of Matthas lost interest it was just me, Kali and two more by this time Madda has left us after taking 50 bucks from me. He attacked the lamas, calling them everything — except for the Dalai Lama and some others he has met (Kalu … I don’t remember the names now) whom he respects. He said that I am screwed up and frustrated because of what the lamas have done to me — their fucking moralizing! He said that, apart from the shit that I have from the lamas, I'm a 'great soul' (mahatma), who wouldn't harm anyone. He scolded me all night for not sitting up straight —I was just not able to sit straight. He said that people who slouch can have no self-respect. (I guess he is atleast right about the importance of holding oneself erect.)He talked a lot about fucking — said it was what we (students…North Indians… engineers… I don’t know) thought about most of the time. He said that my understanding of shunyata (Zero... I guess) was that it was (something like) the vacuity of orgasm — only a thousand times more so. He asked me at one point what will become of all this (indicating the phenomenal world) when I die. He said something about waking from the illusion of its reality. Said that when we were in the womb, after consciousness had arisen in the embryo, there is no awareness of space and time (these are produced by the psyche after birth). There is no awareness of light in the womb, it's like being in a dark room — but there is a night light, and if you can remember that night light then you know who you were before you were born. He said and did many outrageous things, and I was completely stoned, having smoked from 7:30 pm to 3:30 am. That evening I found out that there's a level of being stoned which you can't exceed no matter how much more you smoke.
Though I may be as fucked-up as I ever was (and still retain it completely, yet those days it didn't look so bad. By telling me that in my last life I was a fucked-up lama, Great Ganja Baba of Sewagram has thrown much light on my present life.
Below is a song dedicated to Ganja Baba of Sevagram and the men from Cloud 9 (Kali Baba, Jammu, Sharad, Chandan, Bongo, Stanley, Sachin, Madda... the list goes on)
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Folks I am sure you gonna enjoy this... to make it more I pasting the Lyrics as well...
Sing along with the High Princess!!!
One pill makes you larger
And one makes you small
And the ones that mother gives you
Don't do anything at all
Go ask Alice
When she's ten feet tall
And if you go chasing rabbits
And you know you're going to fall
Tell 'em a hookah smoking caterpillar
Has given you the call
When she was just small
When men on the chessboard
Get up and tell you where to go
And you've just had some kind of mushroom
And your mind is moving low
Go ask Alice
I think she'll know
When logic and proportion
Have fallen sloppy dead
And the White Knight is talking backwards
And the Red Queen's "off with her head!"
Remember what the dormouse said:
"Feed your head
Feed your head
Feed your head"
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
“Why are men so creepy?” asked the dumbest of god’s creation I came to like once upon a time.
“kya?” (What) I was caught unawares. We were discussing the difference about Big Foot and Himalayan Yeti a moment ago (and she was looking interested as well)
“The ones that hound you online with their weird grammar!”
“Oh, those... I don’t know” great!!! She was not talking about me!!!
I have also come to the realization that this country is bursting with women who look like Aishwarya Rai, Preity Zinta, and of late, Deepika Padukone or Katrina as is evident from their online profiles. This surely augurs well for all the guys, and especially for the players of the Indian cricket team or ruling kings of bollywood who seem to have fallen for the same woman, totally oblivious to the existence of a 1000 other lookalikes in this country. Wonder why I never meet any of them on the road.
What disturbs me though is that there are some women who apparently look like John Abraham. Do they really look like him? Or are they doing this to attract gay men and deceptively put an end to homosexuality? Because that seriously is some sacrifice! Despite whatever they have to say about themselves on their profile, I can’t imagine a greater turn-off than to see a woman with rippling muscles and cropped hair showing off stubble. I am still not talking about folks who have pictures lions or flowers or coconut tree they are beyond the scope of my observation...i imagine yourself chatting with a coconut tree...
The other interesting development you see at an internet social networking site is the pseudo-matrimonial skin it assumes in the most subtle of fashions. Self-descriptions, usually, are as self-exalting as is permitted by the imagination and vocabulary of the person in question. I’m not one to judge here and maybe there actually are all that many good, ambitious men and attractive, lively women as the profiles claim. What does get me down is the flood of motherhood statements some of these profile-creators leave in their wake!
I don’t like to do different things! I like to do things differently!
Rest of the profile confirmed the first part since the person was neither a whale hunter, nor a neighborhood cannibal, nor did (s)he have any cross-dressing inclinations! However, the second part of the statement was open to question unless the shopping and coding bit mentioned on the profile were done walking backwards and standing on the head respectively.
I am unique! I am an oxymoron! I am a unique oxymoron!
That bloody well took the cake and didn’t even leave the cherry for anyone else... Every person in the world can genetically lay a claim on the first bit. As for the second, it’s all too easy to say you’re an oxymoron, but which one are you? Butt-head and “pretty ugly” are oxymorons too!
You can love me... you can hate me... but u can’t ignore me...
On one of those quiet evenings when you get hammered by such vague statements, I decided to mouth a silent protest against the self-exalting phenomenon on online profiles and altered my description to that effect on facebook...orkut...everywhere
“You sound pretty vague yourself”, a well meaning friend pointed out.
I nodded in agreement. “Everyone sounds like rot and when you’re sounding like rot, it’s better to appear rotten than to go around painting beautiful meaningless pictures of yourself.”
“You don’t want people who visit your profile to like you!” he asked.
“Well, definitely not on the basis of some obscure opinion of perfection I might have of myself!”
“And isn't the self-demeaning bit the other extreme?”
“I can’t bloody sound like an answer to all human sorrows when I’m not one!”
“You are over critical and suffer from inferiority complex”
He is a friend alrite...
Anyway, the online world has convinced me that there are no more geeks left in this world, nor are there any regular, homely women, the kind that my mother wants me to end up with! Everyone is just the perfect thing you've always dreamt of meeting! However, I am still waiting to meet the women who mention they are in my city and make it quite clear from their profile that they look like Cindy Crawford from the 80s. They sure never travel the streets I frequent...
Number 10, Samuel Butler:
"Man, unlike the animals, has never learned that the sole purpose of life is to enjoy it."
We fell into this existence almost like thieves. It was never promised or ordained for us. The evolutionary miracle of miracles that we got to exist at all! And we promptly set about inventing all manner of things to bring ourselves the most misery humanly possible. I don’t say we Indians lead from front but surely we are not far behind.
Number 9, David Russell:
"Everything is worth precisely as much as a belch, the difference being that a belch is more satisfying."
I like his films and then learnt he was an atheist...
Number 8, Mark Twain:
"In his private heart no man much respects himself."
And how could he? From the time he is sucking his right thumb he is told he is weak, low, sinning, dirty, offending, downright stinky, told this life is a mere dress rehearsal for something better, and in need of some kind of miraculous salvation. This is our noble way of ensuring excellence in humanity.
Number 7, Oscar Wilde:
"To love oneself is the beginning of a lifelong romance."
And Oscar awards were named after him!!!
Number 6, Ingmar Bergman:
"We live in a Newtonian world of Einsteinian psychics ruled by Frankenstein logic."
Got to read this one twice to understand it...maybe more I like it merely by the flow of words and poetic license it carries.
Number 5, James Branch Cabell:
"MUNDIS VULT DECIPI" (The world wants to be deceived)
And will pay handsomely for its deception. Prophets, poets, priests, politicians, psychics and gurus need I say more...
Number 4, William Shakespeare:
"Nothing is good or bad, but our thinking makes it so."
Truly, one of the most important concepts ever penned from one the great who held it. What the world believes at any given moment is simply the prevailing popular opinion subjected to change with the next tide.
Number 3, Francis Bacon:
"Man prefers to believe what he prefers true."
Pretty much similar to Shakespeare's sentiments, Bacon's statement is really the short history of the world. Evolving into scary environs, man set about inventing a swirling dust cloud of illusions to barricade himself from the harshness of life.
Number 2 Mark Twain:
"Such is the human race...often it does seem such a pity that Noah...didn't miss the boat."
Who can argue with that?
Number One Anonymous
“Shaani Gadhi do baar thukti hai” – A smart female donkey gets humped twice.
On serious note I think it also means we set ourselves up for lifelong disappointment and misery when we fail to live up to our fantasy life...
That’s my take it will be good to know your favorites as well.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
I am getting indications now, three day old cooked magi in the fridge doesn’t sound appealing... I face the mirror checking my lips after smoke... I wash my face with SOAP thrice a day now... I love spending time within the confines of my house but don’t hit the fridge too often as I sued to do earlier because I am... diet and weight conscious now.
I couldn’t write a post while the man in me was suppressed because every time I sat down in front of my laptop, I started cleaning it.
Woman around me talk about their personal issues...sometime personal personal issues and most of the time we just back bite about others. I also often end up discussing their dress and its design their purse or their shoes.
Yesterday was an eye opener, I went for SHOPPING... with 2 girls... I was window shopping for almost an hour ended up buying few grocery items which usually took hardly 5 minutes during early days. While coming back I almost muttered BLOODY LOAFERS because 2 guys were checking us out!!!
Once inside the house, I couldn’t relax till I had arranged the edibles inside the fridge and the other items in the kitchen cabinets. Around 9.30 p.m., I went to bed complaining of headache. Hey did I tell you we also ate phuchkas while coming back, I love them!!!
If you are a lady, you probably understand the symptoms better – can you tell me the truth…Am I turning into a woman? If yes...that’s sad...anyways ...what are your thoughts on same gender sex?
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
I say Freud didn't know what he was talking about. In my life, and in my line of work, hidden meaning flow as free as Ganga River. I guess you can say, I'm in the business of discovery.
No real job title to speak of, bloody I don't even really exist on the radar anyway. Yes, I am flesh and blood just like you all... but technically? I suppose I'm a ghost.
A mythical creature kind off... But, then again maybe I'm giving myself too much credit. In my kind of life you tend to get caught up in yourself... your own mind... your own way of thinking.
A bit about my life and my work... Well, I've been told I'm bit of a mystery, a code that is yet to be cracked. I just think of it as a bit of entertainment while I'm alive.
Finding meaning in the meaningless.... It's a line of work that can drive one a little crazy, at least from what I've found out.
Finding things at first was a pain and I hate all kinds of pain. Now I have found way out... I realized that a good way to go about things was... Well not to try at all. Be an observer to the grand scheme. Just be another pawn in the great game of life. After all we are merely pieces to the people who are tasked with finding the way to win.
Win what? Oh that is truly the grandest illusion of all my good readers. To win at this you must risk it all for nothing in return. That's right, you win nothing. It's more for the anticipation of the next move. The thrill that you have just backed it all into a brick wall...a dead end, with nowhere to run. That, my friend, is the only way to succeed.
Who are the players? You must be wondering, or at least a little curious. We all play the game every single day. Yet, most don't even know about it! How astonishing!! for a game to be played your entire life, and not even know if you might be in first or last, or stuck somewhere in the middle, let alone know you are even playing it! That's the beauty of it, and its mere design. By the time you figure out you are already 6 feet down or too crippled by fatigue to do anything.
I believe you must have, at some point of this blog, pondered the point of all of this. Point is NOTHING... There is no point, no logic, and no circumstance! Merely existence...
Yes, live and thou shall not receive. Give of thyself to get nothing back, save for some missing pieces of thee!
Amazing? Yes, I think so.
Think over it while I will be back at a later time, I hear my psychiatrist calling me... its time for my medication.
Of course! Why didn't I think of that? Yes, bloody I have chosen to feel like part of my head is missing. I want to have this sense of estrangement and isolation from my own family and acquaintance. Thank you so much for reminding me that I'm a failure as a human being because I haven't got the good sense to snap myself out of this indulgent state of misery.
Just a gentle reminder: Nobody wants to be depressed.
Depression is filthy and that's a technical term for something not very nice. If I was going to choose a mood to indulge in, I'd go with wildly confident or blatantly creative, hilarious super human kind of mood. I would do things to make myself and other people laugh because laughing makes me feel good and depression doesn't. Depression's badness goes all the way through. I can't eat, but I put on weight. I feel tired all the time but I can't sleep. I'm unbearably lonely but I can't talk to people. I'm lost and bit frightened and I want to know what's happening to me but I can't ask for much assistance because of the sagely people who surround me.
Nobody with half a brain would choose depression, and depressed people are usually the smart ones, so they obviously haven't chosen it.
The pain of depression is every bit as real as the pain of pounding your thumb with a hammer. Its pain on the inside, not something you can point to. Not something that's going to show up on an x-ray, but it's there and it's real.
Now the weird thing about depression is that you can laugh when you're depressed. You can make a joke or be with friends, but it's like being with those friends while you are 5 codeine shots down or on a bad overdose of Charas. Everything is little bit delayed in action every thing is dull. The air isn't quite clear and you can't quite touch people (or let them touch you) even when it looks as if your hands are together. For non-addicts I guess it's a bit like someone with brain tumor or cancer going out for a family dinner. Looks okay but the disease is still there.
There are many causes for depression. It could be caused by part or all of a cocktail of hormones and neurotransmitters (it’s a big word), the affects of disease or injury, or circumstances.
Depression is real and you can't ignore it by saying you refuse to believe in it. That's like standing on the edge of sky scrapper roof-top and announcing that you are about to fly because you don't believe in gravity. It's nice to be confident, but few things are just not going to work.
Monday, August 11, 2008
My search and battle knows no limitations no boundaries and unfortunately, that increase the probability of me being hunted down. And then one day it did happen my dubious search for a lover finally came to a halt, this time by my own volition. I was been captivated by someone who is completely out of my league; someone who is so much into herself that it will be only by the grace of almighty she will ever give me the time of day. Why would I go for someone so egotistic you ask? I don't really understand it myself other than this person just does it for me. She has pulled me in the swamp, and I've already been cooked depends whether she will eat me or not. I mean can we really explain the complexities of the human heart, the hunger of a crocodile? Even if we could how can I ever explain my desire to be gobbled by this hungry monster. It's like saying "why is a rainbow good, why is the sky good, why is a new car good". It just is.
If you want to know what happened... well, the monster nibbled a bit on my body but then left it... guess she didn’t fancy the taste much. So many years later I am on move again but this time I'm starting a relationship with me, if I'll have me. I've never pursued someone so dangerous.
I fear I will be left standing alone with heart in hand.
Saturday, August 9, 2008
Few things in our existence can be more perplexing than trying to understand, or comprehend, the meaning of life.
Have you ever wrestled with the meaning of life in your mind...?
If so, did you ever come to a conclusion, or possible answer, or did you like so many others have done so before find it impossible to gain entry through the last few doors, and so left the topic, pending un answered...so to speak. If you thought about it, what did the thoughts and images in your mind conjure up?
Was it something religious, spiritual, a familiar locale of helping others, a time when you were sad and wished you could change it, or do something about it now? It's all too familiar, isn't it? I guess when we unable to open those last few doors of answer we adopt these common dictates maybe just to fill up the blank.
When pondering on this subject many things came to mind, and one by one they were discarded, for they simply did not seem to enlighten the subject. During the process, I came to the conclusion that the meaning of life meant many things, and all were unique in their own ways, and all identifiable with oneself. Therefore, a solution, and it may be a solution, is that the meaning of life, is nothing more than a series of perfect moments.
Perfect moments that when we look back in time makes us smile, makes us happy, makes us sad, moments that we will always remember and never forget. Great times, Bad Times, times when we just stood there struck with awe. Those magical moments when we found ourselves frozen and time flew by... Moments that should be lived and relived as often as possible, in order to learn from.
These to me are the true meanings of life, and they are many, and for as long as I dwell here, they shall continue to grow and flourish.
I am sure there are lot more interpretations of life which I am unaware of today. Hope to open few more doors and understand few more interpretations before my leave gets over.
Of course, everybody knows that anyway. It's a given. Parents are the first reason for your eternal unhappiness. They just don't seem to 'get it.' They never have 'got it.' Not once in the whole history of human kind have they really 'got it.' But that's a fundamental universal problem. Let's concentrate on bigger things. Like your current personal issues. I mean, what is not making you happy? Who is not making you happy? Every one of us has his own favorite list. What's on yours?
Go ahead. Spill it out.
Is it your next door neighbor who plays loud music or is it the one whose kitchen faces your room and he got the loudest cooker whistle you ever heard and he bloody cooks dry fishes everyday? Or is it your girlfriend who is hell bent on changing your entire being to one of her favorite movie stars? Don’t forget to include your colleague who never forgets to remind you every Monday how lavishly he has spent his week end. Fine let me just make a few educated guesses here and you can nod your head when you agree with me.
Is it the growing materialistic craze in the environment you inhabit? Or your slimy boss who took another dig at your 'brilliant' idea? Your company for offering peanuts for a paycheck? The government for everything right from inflation, evils of globalization to pollution and reservations to taxes? The cleaners, doctors, pedestrians, auto rickshaw drivers, speeding call centre cabs, beggars on the streets, cops on the street corner, crows’ in the morning, mosquitoes at night...
Whoever thought life was going to be like this? There you do nothing, absolutely nothing, to get in the way of trouble. But trouble finds you nonetheless. Just to make you unhappy. It comes in all shapes and sizes. An over-bearing father, a mother who doesn't understand, friends who are opportunists, an education system that numbs your mind, no money, work that dulls your spirit, weather that's dangerously similar to a baking oven, air that's only just a little less toxic than over flowing sewage that you have to walk by. Girls with no brains, boys with no directions, roads that resemble battle grounds, traffic that's good enough to give a heart attack, too many ugly people, too little time, cosmetic surgery that you cannot afford, night shifts, no over-time, peer pressure, violence, overcooked food, senseless flyovers... the list is long and winding.
You know it. I know it, but what's the point? Nobody seems to give a damn. They are just not willing to make things any better for you. Do anything to make you happy. “Get used to it” - is the order of the day.
The situation, as you can see, isn't very hopeful. This is added grief to your existing bag of woes.
But surely, somebody's got to do something. One has to and one must. And that ONE better realize it soon. After all, it's a question of YOUR happiness. Now the only question remains where to find that ONE...
Monday, July 7, 2008
Sometimes I feel it's eyes on me and sometimes I look back and yet other times I ignore it's stares and look away.
Sometimes though life never looks my way, it isn't interested in me at all and that's when I am most likely to stare in it's direction, but with no kind of compatibility it is hopeless to try and communicate.
I get caught up in life's hands most of the time, doing this and doing that…or doing nothing or waiting for something to be done it either gives me huge bear hug or shakes me to the bone and before I can reciprocate poof!!! Its gone!! That’s life for me… not giving any chance to reciprocate.
So many fragile humans and so many brave humans all wrapped up and ready to mingle with each other, these handshakes and hugs, these laughs and smiles, these cries and dispute. The moments of love and understanding make it very easy to forget about life. It’s always when you are alone either in crowd or in solitude you start thinking when was the last time life looked your way.
Life up in the big sky above...who, what, why, when bloody its been long… where are you?
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
First of all, you'll look cool. Honest. Nothing is more fashionable than yellow teeth, stained fingers and that one of a kind smoker's side-glance. Look at Client Eastwood chewing on his cigar or Travolta playing with his kings or Ajay Devgan about to change the climax. Anyone who tells you differently is trying to steal your thunder. Period.
After only a cigarette or two, your clothes and hair will also develop a very unique odor, recognizable not only to other smokers, but also health freaks. This smell has many benefits, not the least of which is the off-putting quality you can use to keep unwanted men or women from getting too close.
On the other hand, smoking can be a terrific icebreaker. That guy you're afraid to approach at a party? The girl you can't quite get up the nerve to ask out? If she's packing attitude, it's a safe bet she's got the habit too. Pull out your brand, and ask for a light. She'll appreciate not being the only pariah at the gathering. Let her know you feel her pain and get the ball rolling.
There are few problems smoking can't correct, like keeping track of loose change. Thanks to the inflated taxes targeting this product, tobacco puffers rarely have loose change. Bloody they rarely have any change at all. Cigarettes have become an expensive habit. Once you're really into it, you'll find yourself making a difficult choice-to eat, or to smoke. Speaking of which smoking can help you lose weight. Food doesn't come cheap, and as a longtime nicotine fan, I've often skipped meals to supply my addiction. Of course, after ten years, I'm fairly certain I'm carrying an extra few pounds of tar in my chest, but well, abs and six are just around the corner.
Smoking calms nerves. Yes, it supposedly raises heart rate and blood pressure, but the strongest ingredient-nicotine-has a calming psychological effect you'll find positively addictive. Trust me on this. I've used Wills Navy cut as my own, personal version of stress buster for years. It works wonders… all the time.
It also kills. I don't know if you're aware of this, but cigarettes cause cancer. Lots of us worry about our own demise. Some even obsess. Smoking can ease these fears. No longer will you wonder if a drunk driver, a mass murderer, global warming, or some freak accident will be the cause. By smoking, you'll have narrowed it down to only a few long, coughing choices.
Talking of coughs… bloody well enjoy the side effects. The new hoarseness to your voice, the wheeze in your lungs. Spitting brown cough gives you a raw manly look. Try imagining how many big hard historical decisions were taken when man was holding fire so close to his mouth. Its all together a different genre.
Smoking doesn’t quench your thirst nor it fills your hungry stomach… its something beyond the basic of animal life it defines you as human… a human with thinking brain…