Unrequited love. How deliciously tragic.

As I sat there watching the waves crash on to the shore, I could still hear her waiting on the receiver. I wanted to tell her that it was over now and that this was the only way things could be. I to die, and she to live. And that she would eventually see the light of my argument. I could feel a faint shift in a faraway place. A flood of unexplained consequences was on its way, moving towards me like a juggernaut of fate.

Well that was a lie, its been 3 months since I saw her, 2 months since we had a cordial conversation, a month since I heard her. And things haven't changed in the slightest.

I wish there was some way to go back and undo the past. But there isn't. So I stay silent on the grounds that I have no answers to her questions. I am reduced to telepathically trying to communicate how sorry I am about what happened. I think of all the grief and suffering in the world that has gravitated towards me, and it makes me want to escape. I wish with all my heart we could just leave this world behind. Rise like two angels into the night and magically disappear.

All that I am left with is this messy brain after the breakup.

What have I done? I am such an idiot. She was the perfect girl. She really was the perfect girl, which makes her even more perfect because she also happens to like bourbon. She was kind and thoughtful, she was funny and beautiful, she was in shape. She was good at her job, had good friends, a good life. She loves her family, really respected people and she was romantic. I remember that time she got me the best gift ever. She knew how to take care of herself, a rare quality in women. She was well-groomed. Of course she made mistakes but they were all pretty honest. So why am I doing this?

Am I making a mistake? Why couldn't it have just worked out? What if we had continued to live in the same city? Maybe I'm just scared because she is too perfect for me, too close to the ideal. Why don't I know what I want? Why am I so damned fickle? BLEH.

Time will tell. Time will tell. Repeating hasn't made too much difference. To just be patient and let her go and see what happens after some time passes. It will get better. I will be fine. Calm down. Ugh why do you sap me so much? Why am I even focusing on this? My life being back home is awesome, and I am finally trying to do exactly what I moved to this city to do. I have have great friends, a nice place to live finally, a supportive family, festivities on the horizon and even some savings. I have everything I could ever want at age 27. So why can't I just shut up and focus on something else. Writing. Blogging. Focusing on new ventures.

That is it. Maybe I am just completely focused on the wrong things. Who cares about women and being in love and relationships? It's not like I went to school for 16 years so that I could start a career in being a good boyfriend. Why do people even want to be in relationships? What's the point? You should just be pouring all your energy into making the life for yourself that you always wanted. I should make myself a writer, an editor, an architect even. Read some good books. Meet a lot of new people. Yeah, I'll be fine. I don't need anyone. Nothing is missing.

But her crooked smile. Her eyes. The way she talked with her hands. Her voice. Her laugh.

She thinks missing me is hard; She has no idea what it is to miss her.

Flint to your Long John

The king and his men
stole the queen from her bed
and bound her in her Bones.
The seas be ours
and by the powers
where we will we'll roam.

---

Some men have died
and some are alive
and others sail on the sea
– with the keys to the cage...
and the Devil to pay
we lay to Fiddler's Green!

---

The bell has been raised
from it's watery grave...
Do you hear it's sepulchral tone?
We are a call to all,
pay head the squall
and turn your sail toward home!

---

Yo, ho, haul together,
hoist the colors high.
Heave ho, thieves and beggars,
never shall we die.

Horny ladies

I have no idea, but I wonder if the punchline is actually as funny as I think it is.

"If females must compete, evolution will furnish them with weapons to do so"

Mar 4th 2010 | From The Economist print edition

WHEN a species evolves traits that seem to have little to do with individual survival—bright colours, say, or oversize horns, it is typically the male alone who sports these excesses. Observing this, Charles Darwin proposed the idea of “selection in relation to sex” as a follow-up to his theory of natural selection. He defined it as the struggle between members of one sex, “generally male”, to possess the other. The plumage of peacocks attracts peahens. The stag’s antlers are there to fight off other stags. And so on.

But females, it turns out, have some tricks of their own. Nicola Watson and Leigh Simmons of the University of Western Australia have published a paper this week in the Proceedings of the Royal Society about Onthophagus sagittarius, a species of dung beetle in which not only do both sexes sport horns, but those of the females are larger than those of the males. They set out to discover whether female competition accounted for these impressive armaments, and whether there was a trade-off between horns and fecundity.

There are around 2,000 species of dung beetle. All, though, live their lives around faeces. In the case of O. sagittarius, each female constructs a tunnel after she has mated and then packs it with the stuff in the form of a brooding ball, on which she lays her eggs. Her mate guards the entrance, fighting other males to stop them entering the tunnel and cuckolding him. Tunnels are often so close together, however, that other females may break in to their neighbours’ underground, to try to steal dung. Females, therefore, are constantly in conflict with other females, which is why they need horns.

In their laboratory in Perth, Ms Watson and Dr Simmons divided their female beetles into three groups, according to body size. Some of each group were allowed to mate with fertile male beetles. The others mated with beetles rendered sterile by irradiation. This ensured that all female beetles would become pregnant, but those who mated with irradiated males were impregnated by damaged sperm, and would not lay viable eggs. The researchers could thus put three females into a burrow and allow them to compete yet, by ensuring that only one of those females had mated with a fertile male, they could be sure that all the grubs in a burrow were hers.

By comparing all possible combinations of females in this way (mating two of the three sizes with sterile males), and also looking at the success of females who were able to lay their eggs without competition, Ms Watson and Dr Simmons showed that the bigger a female is, the more reproductively successful she is. No surprises there.

The next stage, though, was to do the same experiment, but match females who were the same size except for their horns, in order to see if a bigger horn results in more offspring. The reason to ponder that it might not—and the presumed reason why females of most species do not go in for sexually selected accoutrements—is that such things are costly to grow and maintain. The resources a female spends doing so are therefore unavailable for turning into eggs.

In fact, Ms Watson and Dr Simmons found, horn size was even more important than body size for determining reproductive success. Fending off females who have designs on your dung-ball is evidently more important than laying extra eggs.

If the evolutionary circumstances demand it, then, females can be just as aggressive as males. But they are being aggressive to a different end. This is no struggle to possess the opposite sex, so does it qualify as sexual selection?

That is a matter of definition, but it does go to the heart of the difference between the sexes. Males compete because the more females they inseminate, the more genes they will leave behind. Females mainly let the males get on with this, and pick the winners. They increase their genetic contribution not by promiscuity but by nurturing. If that requires violence, so be it. As to whether there are any human parallels, Ms Watson herself would not be drawn. She did, however, observe that “somebody suggested stilettos.”

"The unexamined life is not worth living."

I am going to erase some things out of my life. I had so many plans for so many things, but of late I think I have grown wise to the idea that I will not have enough time for many of these things. I am not sure if I have complained about this before, but my life has been completely scheduled. If my life was a restaurant and you came in my maître d’ would tilt his nose into the air and say that I am full.

From one Monday to the next, every week, I am booked. I never used to be this way. I used to have more free time than I deemed necessary. People would call me up out of the blue to invite me for a night out, and I would gladly accept. Now my nights out are planned two, three, sometimes four weeks in advance. I have people consecutively booking me at the same time every week. One of these, my kid brother I look forward to and enjoy immensely. However I loath that he just won’t give me the controller as he sits on my bed and plays Halo wrong.

Whenever I am not stuck at work, I’m being either pushed to the gym or being pulled to play tennis (because my kid sister is getting married and she will not have me at the festivities till I can fit in to that damned kurta she got). Because of this four evenings a week are taken up (the other three being occupied by the Internet and my latest online muse of the week) which means I can’t go to the beach and stare at waves and I can’t get drunk on boys' night out and I can’t go scrounging around for that new really nice, really cheap place to eat.

I have also been travelling, reading and catching up on my sleep. Everything else is taken up by everyone else. So I am going to delete some from my life. Deletion. Simple catharsis. The joys of chopping away at weeds as they strive to enter mainstream essence. But what can I delete?

Friends.
Films.
Reading.
Writing.
Work.
That startup that refuses to budge.
Tennis.
Recent History.
Internet.
Music.
Television.
Useless talents.
Family Drama.
Musical Instrument Learning.

Internet would be a good start, but I don’t actually spend much time on here. I read blogs, read comics, download videos and that’s really it. Occasionally, once in a blue moon, I gorge myself on wikipedia or the entire archives of certain webcomics. This takes up a lot of time but I have an addictive personality. But, it is still the reason I stay up to 3am most days.

The telly is a negligable item; I am too fresh for mainstream programming to a point that I barely watch it and when i do it’s mostly films or the box.

Family Drama can be cut. Easily. When my sister moves to the US, my parents should realise how much easier it is bringing up one kid. Sons! They are the future of everything. Atleast, they ought to be.

I refuse to give up reading and writing things. They are too much fun. Have I told you about Hari Kunzru's Revolutions I am reading? Well, I should.

Work has been cut down, to an extent. I used to work 10 hours a day spread over 6 days a week till about a couple of months ago. But, as of now, I have managed to stave off work to a minimal few hours every day. I still have to stay in office the required 8 hours. If I am able to redirect all the energies to a venture on my own is a different question altogether.

Musical instrument learning has be deleted for now. One day I will learn that precious guitar.

Useless talents? I can name some but I will refreain. Gone.

Music and Movies? I’ll cut down, but never ever will I give them up. No matter what the expense. I love my unpaid escapism.

Delete .

And now I am left an empty shell of someone. Hooray for the brother that won’t give me the controller and won’t play Halo properly.

The Long Stark Tea-Time of the Soul

Unlike my previous record for not ever returning to places that have served as short term havens, I actually went back to a Delhi for a few days. There is probably a reason why I don't go back ever so often. Mixed feelings of anguish, doubt, memories and relief dont really make for my cup of tea.

In any case, it was worth the effort this time around.

Long live corporate travel policies.

How do I do it?

Without it I’m failing
My heart waits in the wings alone
The stages I go through
Keep coming time and time and time again
Do you wonder how I stay
So complacent
It’s like waiting for the ocean
To save you from the waves
When you’re so far under
Silent
Never moving
You’ve taken your timing
So flawless executing me
So fearless and hopeful
Can you imagine such a scene?

- Finger Eleven

Who died and left me boss? Isaac Asimov.

Look into your heart. Your answer to this question tells you a lot about yourself.

Shaken and slightly stirred

I do not know why I have dreamt about this so many times over, in spite of knowing in the back of my head that I could never actually do it, because this remarkable value of responsibility instilled in me by my parents pulses through me too prominently.

This pulse bugs me.

I have always wanted to be one of those people. One of those that would drop everything for art and love and beauty. One that would take risks in the name of creation. The one that you would find crouched on the floor over scraps of paper, with hair that was long and messy, or maybe short and messy, surrounded by abstract models and word doodles, with my two best friends on either side talking about our next great idea just as dawn gave way to blazing skies.

I emblazoned this image on to the back of my eyelids, labeling it "desire,". But I still couldn't stop with my normal, responsible adult life. But even this credit-worthy side of me can not make me stop wanting it.

And once I want something, that's usually just it. I just don't forget things I desperately want. I don't even think I can.

This is all very well, but I had specifically asked for the Nobel!

I have the best idea ever.

But I am still too darned lazy to do anything about it. Also, if you have noticed, different people tend to have the same great idea around roughly the same time period. Which is why you have this debate over who actually invented or discovered what.

Anyway, the best idea ever is to write a Wolverine-Aliens crossover widescreen graphic novel.

Why would that make such a great idea - you might ask.

Well, with Wolverine's accelerated healing, you can pencil some really awesome scenes where a chestburster blasts right through him and he heals back up. W could even make him stab himself in an effort to kill it while it's in him, only the acid blood melts through him. However, because Aliens assume the characteristics of their hosts, these ones have awesome healing too.

So there they are, both slicing away at each other and melting and regenerating. Then who should we have come in? Weapon X! Alien gets captured by them and it too is grafted an adamantium skeleton, okay in their case an adamantium exoskeleton.

I will make no money at all from my great idea. But remember you saw it first here.

Nighttime Daydreamer

This is how I have spent my nights.

Stripped of all context. A singular screen with moving images that twist to the whims of my fingers. That is the singular ability true to all video games - Amplification of Input, the translation of a simple input into complex output: I press one button and a whole new range of options become available to me; I pull this trigger and that car explodes. The idea is not to exactly replicate the input required to achieve the desired output; the chain of causality from action to consequence is often long and complicated, one single action rarely leads to a complex output without a myriad other factors.

The base aim of all games is the codification and abstraction of complex life-like ideas and situations into ones over which it’s easier to obtain competence in, and eventually the mastery of.

Through mastery comes insight, understanding, and an appreciation of the complexity of the original situation. In order to achieve this insight, this appreciation, the simplification and abstraction of the original situation must be achieved in such a manner that the simplified version is easier to master but that the lessons learned from this simplified form are still applicable to the original.

The closer games move to complete 1:1 replication of input to output, the smaller this amplification effect becomes until the gap between the skills required for a video game version of Golf and an actual game of Golf start to disappear.

Is this really a problem? Well I did not turn on Burnout Paradise in order to crash my car at 180 mph, I did so in order to play a video game representation of some rash driving.

The appeal of the representation is different to the appeal of the reality. When will everyone get it.

The Good, the Bad and the fault with everything

I know...I didn't stick at it to the end. I guess I feel like I've heard you say all those things before...all the reasons why things are so difficult now.

Trust me, I know them. I also know that the course we took was probably...maybe..not the best one to take at the time, but I'm still not sure. I still know I'd do it all differently if I had it over again, but you know that, too.

I've been thinking about you a lot lately; this past weekend I couldn't think of much else, and I had to stop myself & shake myself back into reality a couple of times. I'm not saying that to scare you & I hope it doesn't, but I guess it just says a lot...how difficult it is to stop you from occupying my thoughts.

The last time I saw you...I really, really tried to take it all as some kind of sign...that I was going to be ok & that life goes on. After all, I kind of ensure that I still was there till the terminal at 6 in the morning... I remember hearing your voice while I was out in the cold, and knowing you were holding back tears every time you turned to look around.... And I remember exactly what you looked like, and how I stood there with my hands in my pockets trying sheepishly to cover where I'd sloshed a little juice on the side but I didn't want to wipe it up & I hoped you wouldn't notice. I remember you seemed like you were disappointed in me for what we spoke the previous night, and how much it still stung me to know that I was somehow making you unhappy with yet another of my actions. And I remember leaving that day & telling myself that it was some sort of final test that the universe was putting me through, to see if I was man enough to go do what I needed to do to follow my dreams....until I remembered later that I don't believe in that kind of stuff. or maybe I do... I no longer know.

I'm not even sure what I'm trying to say now, I guess I'm just trying to put everything in your perspective. I don't have any idea what your day-to-day life is like or how you're getting along with it, but I'm hard-pressed to argue with anything that's made it easier for us to talk to each other

In any case, I'm just really glad that I've been able to communicate with you again. I have no idea what the future holds, but I'd like the present to hold the promise of us at least letting some of our guard down & accepting the fact that we are still important to each other....to say the least. I don't care how it sounds, but there's always a hole in my life when you're not in it. I've tried to get used to it before, but it's always there...unless you're here. I could write & write to you all night, but I think I'll stop now....I'm getting better at quitting while I'm ahead.

Like explaining heaven to sheep

I have never been successful in love. Why is it that I cannot distinguish between what I want and what is actually good for me. My romantic escapades have always been a build-up to the same moment - I’m sitting alone in a corner of my room, staring at my knees, scribbling on pieces of paper, wondering how I went wrong, replaying conversations and songs on loop.

This isn't my first adult relationship but I would have died a happy man if it had been my last. It changed me for sure. It challenged me to stray away from the spiral I had created for myself. What I have wasn't trivial, not fleeting, not something I can replace easily. It wasn’t the kind I read in novels, more the kind that probably won’t ever fade away, even if we were to never meet again.

Sometimes you have this unnatural premonition that something awful was about to happen, that it was gonna hurt real bad, and that you want nothing more than to stop it - if you knew what to stop. But, somehow, events just keep happening around you - swirling you around, the unstoppable tide, like an ant on your sink - you can try hanging on to the ceramic with all your strength but there is just too much water and flows are just so divergent enough for you to not account for them all.

You feel yourself go in.

At first it hurts a lot, the stifling forces stuffing the air out of your lungs, the currents jostling you against the walls as they hurry along, then the pent-up adrenaline kicks in and you feel nothing. Then, after all that wears off, the pain returns, except it's worse than it was before, deeper, more complicated, shredding you from the inside out. You look down and realize this shit has happened to you, and it's irreversible, and you will have a scar forever, and you just scream and scream, but the maelstrom will win.

The crowning part is that I have to smile through my days.

Of failed epics and absentee heroes

On the other side of pain is a new place. The past wakes up with a vividness and you feel conversations are useless and the pain you have caused is something you fear will happen again. You feel misunderstood and want to provide clarity, give responses that will clear her head and stop the pain. You want, need the other person to understand that you hurt so much but the more you try to give an explanation, the more strained it gets, till the point where you feel like giving up.

The doomsday clocks have all run down.

The prophecies have all been proven false.

My wishes drown at the well's bottom.

The forecast calls for perpetual rain.

Yyyyeeooowwwwww !

Brom Wilderhart, snarling barbarian of the northern wastelands, clad only in a loincloth lurches forth from a battlefield haphazardly strewn with the corpses of his enemies.

That's just how they strew their enemies in the northern wastes. Haphazardly.

As he wipes the blood and entails of his enemies from his wicked blade, Brom wonders idly about how they do things in other wastes. Frankly, the northern wastes are really cold and Brom's loincloth isn't really doing the trick.

Perhaps, Brom considers, his mighty brow furrowing, there might be some temperate wastes he could relocate to. Or perhaps, even an equatorial waste on a nice island somewhere, with a gentle offshore breeze. And poolside beverage service.

Brom could really strew some corpses in an environment like that.

~ I really shouldn't be left to my own devices...... edgar allen poe i am not.

All the Secrets and No One to tell

A little death

Without mourning

No call

And no warning

Baby.... A dangerous idea

That almost makes sense

- - Bono

Having died, and blossomed ... and died, and blossomed ...

I am sorry, mostly to myself.

I have never meant to sound bitter or cold or cruel, but I am, so that's how it turns out. I have turned so cynical, so angry, so caustic, and so inured. Every thing seems too good to be true.

My reaction to every nicety is fast becoming, ‘how could it happen to me? Something must be wrong.’

Why did I become this insipid, cheerless version of myself?

Sitting upon a barren webpage, meting out unjust rules

I like public admission of misdeeds. That’s why I write. And tell personal stuff when I do.

I fancied myself as a Bolshevik. Then I went to business school. I became more analytical, less skilled, abandoned the labor theory of value, lost my commitment, and became someone who no longer identified with either political economy. I can’t say that I’m reformed now. But this morning I was reading "Toward a Rational Society" and began to think along those lines again.

During a recent chat the flatmate said to me, “I think what we need is class warfare.” I can’t say I vehemently disagreed. We have been close to this before.

I've seen loiterers and beggars picked up off the streets of Poes Garden for simply wandering in there. The sweepers do a better job in the newer parts of the city than the old. Roads being laid, people being evicted to create space for a mall, restaurants with separate dining areas for the nannies of little children, traffic tickers being waived for cars with fancy number plates. The oligopoly is definitely in control. If it's not, then it's well on it's way becoming the new normal, not necessarily the greatest good for the greatest number.

Now I’m not saying I am done with my list of places to bring my handy box of matches to (I’d have to through my office pretty early on in the revolution). But I have gotten down to writing about it. And, that's a start.

That’s what the economy has done to me. What’s it done to you?

Momentary Relapse of Reason

We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful what we pretend to be.

~Kurt Vonnegut

So... They call you the bard.

**** Adapted up from random blogs ****

The Big Read reckons that the average adult has only read 6 of the top 100 books they've printed. This is what they'd have me do.

"Look at the list and bold those you have read.

Mark in blue those you intend to read.

Mark in RED the books you LOVE.

Reprint this list in your own blog.

Having seen the movie/cartoon/TV series is not the same as having read the book.

This is my list."

** My own categories

Green - books started, never finished.

Amber - book names that I was better off not converting to Bold

1. The Lord of the Rings, JRR Tolkien

2. Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen

3. His Dark Materials, Philip Pullman

4. The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Douglas Adams

5. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, JK Rowling

6. To Kill a Mockingbird, Harper Lee

7. Winnie the Pooh, AA Milne

8. Nineteen Eighty-Four, George Orwell

9. The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, CS Lewis

10. Jane Eyre, Charlotte Brontë

11. Catch-22, Joseph Heller

12. Wuthering Heights, Emily Brontë

13. Birdsong, Sebastian Faulks

14. Rebecca, Daphne du Maurier

15. The Catcher in the Rye, JD Salinger

16. The Wind in the Willows, Kenneth Grahame

17. Great Expectations, Charles Dickens

18. Little Women, Louisa May Alcott

19. Captain Corelli's Mandolin, Louis de Bernieres

20. War and Peace, Leo Tolstoy

21. Gone with the Wind, Margaret Mitchell

22. Harry Potter And The Philosopher's Stone, JK Rowling

23. Harry Potter And The Chamber Of Secrets, JK Rowling

24. Harry Potter And The Prisoner Of Azkaban, JK Rowling

25. The Hobbit, JRR Tolkien

26. Tess Of The D'Urbervilles, Thomas Hardy

27. Middlemarch, George Eliot

28. Prayer For Owen Meany, John Irving

29. The Grapes Of Wrath, John Steinbeck

30. Alice's Adventures In Wonderland, Lewis Carroll

31. The Story Of Tracy Beaker, Jacqueline Wilson

32. One Hundred Years Of Solitude, Gabriel García Márquez

33. The Pillars Of The Earth, Ken Follett

34. David Copperfield, Charles Dickens

35. Charlie And The Chocolate Factory, Roald Dahl

36. Treasure Island, Robert Louis Stevenson

37. Town Like Alice, Nevil Shute

38. Persuasion, Jane Austen

39. Dune, Frank Herbert

40. Emma, Jane Austen

41. Anne Of Green Gables, LM Montgomery

42. Watership Down, Richard Adams

43. The Great Gatsby, F Scott Fitzgerald

44. The Count Of Monte Cristo, Alexandre Dumas

45. Brideshead Revisited, Evelyn Waugh

46. Animal Farm, George Orwell

47. Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens

48. Far From The Madding Crowd, Thomas Hardy

49. Goodnight Mister Tom, Michelle Magorian

50. The Shell Seekers, Rosamunde Pilcher

51. The Secret Garden, Frances Hodgson Burnett

52. Of Mice And Men, John Steinbeck

53. The Stand, Stephen King

54. Anna Karenina, Leo Tolstoy

55. Suitable Boy, Vikram Seth

56. The BFG, Roald Dahl

57. Swallows And Amazons, Arthur Ransome

58. Black Beauty, Anna Sewell

59. Artemis Fowl, Eoin Colfer

60. Crime And Punishment, Fyodor Dostoyevsky

61. Noughts And Crosses, Malorie Blackman

62. Memoirs Of A Geisha, Arthur Golden

63. Tale Of Two Cities, Charles Dickens

64. The Thorn Birds, Colleen McCollough

65. Mort, Terry Pratchett

66. The Magic Faraway Tree, Enid Blyton

67. The Magus, John Fowles

68. Good Omens, Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman

69. Guards! Guards!, Terry Pratchett

70. Lord Of The Flies, William Golding

71. Perfume, Patrick Süskind

72. The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists, Robert Tressell

73. Night Watch, Terry Pratchett

74. Matilda, Roald Dahl

75. Bridget Jones's Diary, Helen Fielding

76. The Secret History, Donna Tartt

77. The Woman In White, Wilkie Collins

78. Ulysses, James Joyce

79. Bleak House, Charles Dickens

80. Double Act, Jacqueline Wilson

81. The Twits, Roald Dahl

82. Capture The Castle, Dodie Smith

83. Holes, Louis Sachar

84. Gormenghast, Mervyn Peake

85. The God Of Small Things, Arundhati Roy

86. Vicky Angel, Jacqueline Wilson

87. Brave New World, Aldous Huxley

88. Cold Comfort Farm, Stella Gibbons

89. Magician, Raymond E Feist

90. On The Road, Jack Kerouac

91. The Godfather, Mario Puzo

92. The Clan Of The Cave Bear, Jean M Auel

93. The Colour Of Magic, Terry Pratchett

94. The Alchemist, Paulo Coelho

95. Katherine, Anya Seton

96. Kane And Abel, Jeffrey Archer

97. Love In The Time Of Cholera, Gabriel García Márquez

98. Girls In Love, Jacqueline Wilson

99. The Princess Diaries, Meg Cabot

100. Midnight's Children, Salman Rushdie

Yeah, I suck big time. But I'm better than the average adult..... That's new.

The blunder Down Under

Love ain't enough.

Hehe... Most certainly not.

Roads to Safe Places

"Perhaps the greatest faculty our minds possess is the ability to cope with pain. Classic thinking teaches us of the four doors of the mind, which everyone moves through according to their need.

First is the door of sleep. Sleep offers us a retreat from the world and all its pain. Sleep marks passing time, giving us distance from the things that have hurt us. When a person is wounded they will often fall unconscious. Similarly, someone who hears traumatic news will often swoon or faint. This is the mind's way of protecting itself from pain by stepping through the first door.

Second is the door of forgetting. Some wounds are too deep to heal, or too deep to heal quickly. In addition, many memories are simply painful, and there is no healing to be done. The saying 'time heals all wounds' is false. Time heals most wounds. The rest are hidden behind this door.

Third is the door of madness. There are times when the mind is dealt such a blow it hides itself in insanity. While this may not seem beneficial, it is. There are times when reality is nothing but pain, and to escape that pain the mind must leave reality behind.

Last is the door of death. The final resort. Nothing can hurt us after we are dead, or so we have been told."

— Patrick Rothfuss (The Name of the Wind)

Why

I feel like this old notepad with a single scribbled page torn out of it.

I remember tearing it out, but I cant seem to figure out why it had to be done.

Mission accomplished I guess.

There and Back Again

The last week was mostly spent being spontaneously and getting together and with friends making plans so vague its unbelievable, and still pulling off some of the best nights we've had in a long time. Its been a great shift from my normal self as my mates laid back enough it took a load of pressure off for some reason I'm no sure i can explain properly.

In the last few days I've been in a 6 am party, a quiz show, the queer parade and the front row of the smallest movie theater for nights out. Granted, some of that was just because the damned Delhi government decides to load shed from 9-11 every night around where I live, but that's besides the point.

Anyways, here's to a more laid back tomorrow!!

Writing a new Homeland

Why does everyone keep telling me that time heals all wounds. I cannot agree.

The wounds will remain. All the defects and gaps that the mind has are like the bruises on the body. After all imaginable care has been taken, a scar would still be left behind.

In time, the mind protecting its sanity covers them with scar tissue, and the pain lessens.

But it is never gone.

The first day of the rest of my life.

As we grow older, we acquire the desire to be taken seriously. Happens around the age of 25. Almost certainly at the age of 25 every starlet wants to do a character role, every theater artist wants to do a comedy, and every long haired punk wants to cut his hair and get a job. That's the way we are built. So as I see my birthday approaching on the horizon, I am thinking - maybe, I should do something important in my life. Start my company, see the world, make some money.

Aha. Except on my 25th birthday I get to know that I am being promoted and sent to a new city heading a set of people, lots of responsibility, yadda yadda yadda. So my new job takes me all the way from Madras, TN to Hyderabad, AP where I am to fight the last battle for a completely decimated soft drinks company. And I thought to myself - fuck it ! This is brilliant. I can have fun doing this. And I carried on for another year of my life. And then the 26th birthday loomed ahead - It hit me like a train. I thought to myself, I am a grown-up now. An adult even. I want to get serious. I want to start a company. And since the only companies that seem to get started around me have things to do with computers, I thought, I should start by changing my job.

So I rang up my friends and apprised them of this epic decision. These friends however, were not bright. They took me seriously. They immediately set up these meetings for me. They rang me back a week later telling me, warning me, lauding me for the plunge I hadn't yet taken.

Somewhere along the line my dad's friend S gets in to the fray too. S works for a Staffing company, one of the largest in South Asia or so. S set me up for a meeting with R who was some hotshot head hunter for a software company H. That man again was not very bright. He also took the idea of me changing industries seriously.

So I am in a meeting with R and S, both having taken the idea of me being responsible seriously. In some weird way, it appealed to me. I was going to be 26. I wanted to be taken seriously. It was good. And R who was quite old yet quite sprightly, looks at me in that "I understand exactly how difficult it is to be doing what you are" as he shakes my hand.

And that's when R tells me the magic words. "X, this is very hard work. It is just you, your imagination and a computer. Are you really sure you can put the hours in?". And I gush eloquence. I was going to be 26 after all. And as my eyes bored in to R's cherubic little face, he crumbled. He made me an offer. And at that point of time I didn't even think it was a bad one.

The best part of the entire deal was that these people at H gave me money upfront. And I was like wow, this won't get me working. The bright lights in my head are now doing a musical. These people were willing to pay me money for doing something I have no idea about even before I had done any of the doing of it. The best I have ever been able to come up with to explain that was:

R wasn't very bright. Or that S was very good.

So two months later, I was in yet another new city, stars in my eyes, money in the bank and in front of a computer trying to figure it all out. And man, it was hard work. I had no idea.

I have never been the most motivated man in the world. Whenever, there has been work at hand to do, all the things I have to do in life seem so much more important. Its all very distracting. But this time around it was far worse. It was supposed to be just me, myself and the computer. But that was not strictly speaking true. My computer is attached to the Internet. And the Internet contains everything in the whole wide world ever. And I have always found everything in the whole wide a tad distracting.

This is where I probably tell you that I didn't get much work done that day, or the next, or the next after that.

Thrice-Removed from Reality: Blogging ... With the XBox

360voice.gamerdna.com is the portal that sets up a blog based on your XBox GamerTag - and posts a daily blog as the voice of your Xbox 360. You don't have to do anything other than register your tag, but the results are really really good.

Every night, 360voice would check your GamerTag for new achievements or games played, and write a little post from its perspective. Let me tell you why this beats sliced bread... Other Xboxes would leave comments on your posts, ridiculing you, praising you, loving you, hating you. So there is this whole ecosystem of computers talking about you - and you don't even have to worry about spellings anymore... Yaayy.

The funniest part was that right after I registered, about two weeks ago -- I couldn't play for several days. So, every day that I was gone, my Xbox whined and moaned that nobody played any games. If you want a short geeky laugh, check it out. And your Xbox is not alone. Other machines are blogging too.

So, if you have an Xbox 360 (and why wouldn't you?) -- you should register your tag, and let the chuckles begin.

---------------------- Excerpts from some chap called Fshguy ----------------------

(Yeah, like I am going to ever give my nick away. )

Fshguy's Xbox - Jun 1 2009

Fshguy decided to game yesterday and we rocked out like the three musketeers, except there were only two of us... 131,011 points of total gamerscore and counting... That is a boost of 100 points over last time! Welcome to 131,000!! He played Burnout Paradise acquiring 3 achievements, Madagascar 2, FIFA 09, and I thought Fshguy injured himself in the process... but I was wrong... he lives to fight another day!

Oh BTW, did you know that Fshguy is competing in a gamerscore challenge? Follow every up and down over here. There are 202 other people rocking out on this thing which keeps it fun. Currently Fshguy is hanging on to the number 83 spot. But, there are still 4 long days left! We need to keep heading for the top!

Fshguy's Weekly Recap - May 25 2009

Ok, here it is... your weekly recap of gaming: Not two, not five, but SEVEN days of gaming in a row! Last week was as solid as it gets when it comes to Fshguy throwing down with the games. We added 525 points of gamerscore. Good stuff! Who knew 26 achievements could be worth that much? Ok I knew that...

I could go on and on with the stats, but that is enough.

Fshguy's Xbox - May 23 2009

Fshguy needed a friend like me yesterday... I could see it in his eyes. I am there for you brother. Remember that. Gamer score is 130,671. That is an increase of 20 points over last time! He rocked out to Prince of Persia winning 1 achievement, Burnout Paradise, and that was that.

Fshguy's Xbox - May 18 2009

You would think I had died and gone to heaven when Fshguy showed up to play. Another day, another barrier shattered. The 130,000 mark has been crossed! He opened up Disney Sing It HSM3 finishing 4 achievements to finish the game, NFS Undercover finishing an amazing 14 achievements, and I thought Fshguy injured himself in the process... but I was wrong... he lives to fight another day! Also of note, Fshguy and I have now played 240 days in a row! Are we rock stars or what? No one feels more loved than me right now... no one!

---------------------- ************************************ ----------------------

Xbox360's of the world, you now have a voice !!!

My work here is done.

How do you creep under my skin so easily?

I was tired to the bone. After some barefooted squash. That was a day earlier and I still could hardly keep my eyes open. But I listened and laughed anyway... Hell, she could have been reading the telephone directory aloud and I would have been enthralled. Looking. Trying to keep up. Eventually, she laid down and fell asleep, and I just laid there and stared for a while.

She has this tiny little scar on her face and a light frown as she lay there, and I remember her sleeping all curled up with her head resting on her shoulder and her hand nuzzled under her. I just sat there as quiet as I could be while she slept.

After about two hours, she woke up, and opened her eyes and asked me something about the world we live in, along the lines of what I learnt sometime in geography 7th grade. She did impulsive things like that all the time... She made me want to run out and learn all the secrets of the universe just so I could come back and answer all her questions. I however ended up sputtering my way through "I don't know, but I guess something blah blah ummm ... blah.". Then I remember she looked up at the ceiling for a minute, like she was thinking about something, then she turned back to me again, smiled, and said "Do you want to kiss me?".

Do I ?

I couldn't manage to say a "yes", but I think I was able to manage a nod, then I reached over & pulled her to me and I kissed her. It was amazing;

Then, all of a sudden, she stopped. She looked up at me and amidst this torrent of thoughts running in my head, one stood out.

"I have a girlfriend".

Close Encounters of the Mundane Kind

I hate cleaning you house.

Why the hell do you get so dirty? And more so, damn you kitchen. I hardly cook in there, I simply store food, thaw food, break the occasional egg. What is that stain on the bottom shelf? Do the little creatures have parties in here when I'm sleeping or something? Nasty little critters. And, for some reason, I feel really, really vulnerable when I'm bent over, scrubbing your gross shelves. Don't know why. So thank you for keeping my beer cold, but damn you for making a mess of it.

Damn you, paying bills. Every god damned month? I barely even watched TV this month, I still gotta shell out all that cash? And, while I'm at it phone companies - damn your pathetic little late fees. They're small enough for me to easily ignore them but they add up over time. So thank you for the electricity, credit and Internet, but fuck you for your constant demands.

Damn you, light bulbs. It's 2009. I was irritated when I wasn't issued my jetpack in 2000 (where's my bloody raygun ?!? ), but I figured by now technology would've at least advanced to the point where I don't have to stand on my wobbly chair and deal with this. Bonus damn yous for scaring the crap out of me when I walk into a darkened room, innocently flick the switch and get momentarily blinded by that huge flash and terrifying pop! Also, for somehow convincing your light bulb brethren to join you, causing a chain reaction that means I'm filled with fear whenever I turn on a light. Smash! Smash! Smash! What, did you all join in a suicide pact? Bastards.

Damn you, washing dishes. Yes, I know, you smell funny, and I know the longer I wait, the slimy stuff is just gonna get weirder as they accumulate on you. That's why I've pretty much switched to just eating off the dishes and eating with my hands. I'm a caveman in an apartment.

Maybe I should just get off trying to work and watch mindless television. Life goes on.

Daughters of Hades

The swampy, marshy southernmost regions of The Ncr are year-round breeding grounds for these damned mosquitoes.

There might be a few weeks of sweet reprieve from the vicious, bloodsucking pests in December or January, when temperatures occasionally dip low enough to kill off the state bird of Uttar Pradesh. Other than that, you've got no choice but to cover up every patch of skin before stepping outside and invest in SC Johnson products by the dozens when you're hosting a gathering at home. Fending off mosquito attacks is a part of daily life.

Office is particularly bad today. Some not-quite-bright support staff must have left a window open. The place is teeming with hordes of vermin. Stepping outside into the muggy air this morning, I lit my cigarette and joined a small group of fellow workers congregating in the designated area. A guy who reminds me of Silvio Berlusconi used his to motion toward a mammoth mosquito hovering near me. That's a big one. A big male. Won't bite you. The males don't bite. That's his statement.

Another guy, one of the young and bright from Solutions, chimed in. But it has a stinger. So it still bites, right? Otherwise, it wouldn't have it. His know-it-all grin drips with rhetoric.

The smoke-wielding Berlusconi again said that only female mosquitoes suck blood, using it to nourish their eggs.

I exhaled, crushed my cigarette out on the filthy bin, and nodded farewell to my smoking buddies.

Age before beauty, isn't that how the saying goes? Berlusconi, even surrounded by his cheap smelling smoke, was right.

From Wiki:

Both male and female mosquitoes are nectar feeders, but the females of many species are also capable of hematophagy (drinking blood). Females do not require blood for their own survival, but they do need supplemental substances such as protein and iron to develop eggs. Mosquitoes are crepuscular (dawn or dusk) feeders. During the heat of the day most mosquitoes rest in a cool place and wait for the evenings. They may still bite if disturbed. Mosquitoes are adept at infiltration and have been known to find their way into residences via deactivated air conditioning units.

And...

Males live for about a week, feeding on nectar and other sources of sugar. Females will also feed on sugar sources for energy but usually require a blood meal for the development of eggs. After obtaining a full blood meal, the female will rest for a few days while the blood is digested and eggs are developed. This process depends on the temperature but usually takes 2–3 days in tropical conditions. Once the eggs are fully developed, the female lays them and resumes host seeking.

Damnation! All those times I was covered from head to toe with the small, misshapen welts from the devil mosquito - Every single one of them was from a female ?

Those bloodsucking, traitorous bitches.

Currently Listening to - Fuel - Hemmorhage (In my hands)

How many roads must a man walk down, before you call him a man?

Four.

Currently Listening to - Naah... you already know now.

Jazz is Gay

Overheard at last week's party. I was waiting in line for refilling my drink, clutching neon coloured cups, and discussing setting one up of our friends up with someone else. And the following conversation ensued.

Slightly drunk guy: Why don't we set him up with Jazz?

Pretty-but-smashed Girl: JAZZ IS GAY!

SDG: Oh right

Irate Guy Who Just Heard the Tail End of Conversation: How dare you say that? Everyone can appreciate jazz. Not just gay people and for you to say that jazz is gay is so small minded. What is your problem.

PBSUG: We meant our friend NAMED Jazz is gay.

IGWJHTTEOC: Oh.....

In any case while Jazz is gay, our friend's sexuality remains to be seen though.

Currently Listening to - Black Sabbath - N.I.B. (Hence all the acronyming)

Acting my age, not my shoe size

Why are these the only thoughts going through my head as I sit through what ought to be a busy day at work.

1. Should I work with chemicals and hot liquids so much that i could be like that guy from the once popular video game Thief (who is a thief, gosh, surprise!)

2. Shouldn't I sleep on my arm so it goes numb and then upon awakening, i can pretend that someone else is holding me, as it lies dead across my chest.

3. Yesterday i learnt to balance an egg on its tip. One of those life skills that you need to know.

4. That's one damn ugly mirror I'm looking at. Not been a good week for sleep.

5. Think carefully for something impulsive to do.

6. If Androids someday do decide to dream of Electric Sheep, don't forget to declare SheepCount as a LongInt. (XKCD - I hate you for putting that in my head)

7. How do I clone yesterday and call it tomorrow.

8. On a lazy drive to work, why do the clouds mock the way of a perfect view to a perfect day.

9. I could be a millionaire, if i could only stream my consciousness.

10. Where did i put my keys.

I'd have to be acting between almost 26 instead of in between of a ten and eleven...... that's probably where my mentality and my feet sizes are right now. Well, not right now. I don't know what just happened, but i feel my age. Everyone worries about ageing..... About leaving the teen years behind them, then apparently life started at 21. And the variations of the same that come to pass.

I read this somewhere once.

When your young you don't care what the world thinks of you. Then you grow up and start to worry a bit what it thinks. Finally you realise that in fact, it just doesn't think about you.

It was probably more eloquently written originally, and my bastardisation has watered it down.

Currently Listening to - M.I.A - Paper Planes (should probably explain the entropy above)

I broke the Set, There are now only Singles

Either I got too tired, had a presentation to make or I just wasn't doing the right things and so these will never develop. Abstract modern literature or a chance to organise my writings. These may never be anything so I thought I'd give some of them a little hope by putting them up here.

The night was mildly pleasant and the waves crashing on to the stones were vaguely calming. She didn't think too much as she sat down on the bench next to him. The man, who had been staring at the ground willing the grass to grow, turned to see if he knew her. He met her quizzical eyes halfway and held her gaze. They had stared too long now, to not say anything.

“Hi” she starts.

“Hey”

She leaned forward and further scrutinized him. He was quite visibly unnerved.

“Your eyes. They're are watering” she pointed out. She really didnt want to say that.

“Its warm” he replied as he turned away.

“It’s December”. She said it before she could stop herself.

“Yeah well, global warming and all that.”

She laughed quite pleasantly surprised. “Well, as long as you’re okay”

He nodded and gives her a thin wan smile, before promptly returning to his staring contest with the intangible.

Fair enough, she thought.

Presently a jogger came by, illuminated intermittently as he passed each streetlight. He paused when he saw her. He walked up to the bench and spoke. “Hey D, hows it going?” he said, breathing heavily.

“I’m pretty good K, thanks. You?”

“Good, good. But look, I’m sorry, I have to keep on track with my regime. I’ll speak to you in a while. Ok?” he turned and walked off.

“I haven't finsihed reading your book yet” she called to his retreating back. K waved back with a chuckle.

She turned and saw the man who had been watching this exchange. “Jealous?” she asked

“Envious actually. That was one fit chap.”

“Did you see his chiselled jaw?”

“I was too busy noticing the sweat that he spilt on the pavement, but he is certainly quite the Adonis.”

“I could introduce you two…”

“I’m a poor swimmer. I’d drown in those eyes of his”

They paused in their verbal jousting to assess the situation. Two people carefully weighing the other up. A pause, poignantly pregnant enough to demand it be cut short. It was him that spoke first.

“So, D is it?”

“It is. Plain old D”

“So, what brings you out to this corner of the beach, plain old D?”

“Well, the fact that it is a fine day for one thing” she said airily. Then she gave him a serious look “And I think I can guess why you’re here”

“Ummm.”

You’re dressed smartly wearing all black, even a coat, with your eyes watering”

“From the heat”

“I think it a safe bet that it might have bee a wedding you were at. Were you close?”

“We…were”. He fumbled.

She launched in with admonishment brandishing from her lips. “It’s always hard to lose somebody close to you. Ummm, I have. And felt… broken, for a long, long time. There’s no real advice to give or words to help. Just try and distract yourself with your favourite things”

He gave her an incredibly wry look “Unfortunately my favourite thing involves a woman”. His attempt to cut her off.

She returned his look non-plussed “And dare I ask the specifics.”

“It has a stupid name that does it no justice at all. The only way you could understand is if I show you.” He wanted her to stop. Why wouldn't she just let him be.

“Does it involve your hands, or mouth or ... midsection?”

“No, no and no.” He couldn't help but smile.

She took a deep breath and said “Fine, at the risk of disappointing feminists everywhere.... Show me.”

He reached over. Moved a step closer. He slowly and carefully lowered his head to hers and rested it against her forehead. The bridges of their noses touched and formed a link between them and their eyes, inches apart, stared long and deep. His watering but never quite tearing. Hers staring steadfast. Then he lowered his head still further so it rested on her short hair and their cheeks met. She felt him breath slow and steady and hot into her ear.

And just like that he pulled away, fresh stubble scratching her face in the retreat.

“Sorry.”

“That’s ok,” she said presently.

“I was thinking about K’s bulging abs at the time”

She smiled “That would explain the other bulge then” she said, pointing down.

He looked confused but then his eyes went wide as he realised the implication. “Hey, that’s just Paranoid Android” he said hurriedly.

She gave him a stern look. In response he tried to pull it out. Her look turned sterner. But he persevered and held before her eyes an old clunky IPod.

“Paranoid Android” he said.

“You named your IPod Paranoid Android?”

“Yup”

“Why?”

“Well, I guess I could make some techie crack about apple designers, but mainly because like the track it helps me stop the noise from the voices in my head when I'm trying to get some rest.”

“Ahhhh” Another look followed. A much warmer one.

She stooped to pick something from her bag and turned to the side for discretion. Then she turned back to him and presented it to him. It was a used ticket. Perplexed he went to take it, but she closed her hand into a fist “You know my name, only fair if I learn yours” she said.

“J”

“Like the actor J*?”

“Like him” he said, putting P.Android away.

“Well J like the actor J*, I’m afraid I have to be somewhere right now, but I will take a chance here and give you this” she handed him the ticket. Then she got up and said “Goodbye”.

“Bye”.

She walked away. Didn't look back.

J opened his hand and examined the bus ticket. It had her number on it. He looked at it for a long time. Then he held his palm open in the air and let the sea wind take it from him. He went back to staring at the grass. It hadn't changed a lot.

A long time later J arrived back at his friends flat, four streets away. The walk home had done nothing to disprove his theory that P.Android had achieved sentience. On shuffle it had played RHCP's Under the Bridge, Incubus' I miss you and Radiohead’s How to Disappear Completely. He fumbled at the door, patted his pants and the coat for his keys when something small blew up against the door. It looked like a ticket. In fact it was a ticket, with a phone number on it.

He was cynical enough to assume it could be anyone’s, but still you did not argue with shit like this. He pulled out his phone and saved the number. When saw that he had also received a text. "J, why aren't you at the wedding anymore???” It said.

And just like that, P.A. started with Tal Bachman's She's so High.

It’s a nice day. Maybe there is hope.

A 100 random things about me.... Thats four times 25... Ha!

Enough people have asked me to make mine. So here it is - Four times the vengeance. Half the fun.

1. I share my birthday with Monica Bellucci, Pope Nicholas IV and The International Translation Day.

2. One day I would like to be next to a glacier on my birthday.

3. I have no dogs and cats tend to creep me out.

4. I have darling sisters though.

5. I am the oldest.

6. Two of my great grandmothers lived to 90.

7. I am right-handed. I have so wished otherwise.

8. I hate being tickled - it’s torture.

9. My favourite colours are silver & blue.

10. I once wrote a screenplay.

11. It was, of course, semi-autographical.

12. I used to write for a magazine before there were blogs.

13. I have black hair and eyes.

14. I watch far too many TV shows on the computer.

15. I have created the empirically proven mathematical formula:

me + distracted = bad

16. I wore glasses since I was 6.

17. I will not give up my anime or my comics.

18. The much larger percentage of what I write is never read by anyone else.

19. I have a hard time admitting when I’m wrong, especially to those that matter.

20. My energy level is never very predictable. I never know how productive I’m going to be. I work in very efficient spurts, but then I’m quite disproportionately fatigued.

21. The first thing I notice about people’s faces is the angle that they keep their heads.

22. My favorite drink, besides chocolate drinks (especially Boost) is American Bourbon - Jim Beam Black Label, if you insist.

23. While in Hyd, a friend owned this classy restaurant, which appeared in some movie starring Kangana Ranaut (I was there when they filmed it.) This was also the friend who used to be a systems analyst for a stock broker at the World Trade Center, on one of the upper floors. He had called in sick on September 11, 2001.

24. Surprisingly I won a handwriting competition in the 3rd grade.

25. My favorite color is green, though I don’t wear anything that color.

26. I am a ray of sunshine (to some people)

27. I can recite one poem.

28. I have one tattoo. Long story.

29. I wounded a cat with a bow and arrow once (mostly the arrow). Was quite unintentional.

30. I have never been to a strip club.

31. I have been invited to a gay party. Short story.

32. I hate wearing jewelry, now i am forced to wear a chain.

33. My first job was to teach innocent kids, to get them to pass a test.

34. My last year of high school I wanted to be a researcher or an architect.

35. I am neither. Am getting there.

36. I have been arrested.

37. I was born with my tongue stuck to my lower palette. Yup, I had surgery for that when I was two. I can't help but still slur sometimes.

38. I have always wanted a photographic memory.

39. As a child I played with matches and burnt most of somebody's garden.

40. I have always loved British parodies and I don’t know why.

41. I seem to get younger as I get older. I was a little old as a child.

42. When I was in kindergarten, I had this huge crush on a girl. She loved the attention, but her best friend at the time took a dislike to me, and kicked me in the balls during recess once. (Talk about a “crush”)

43. I love it when I am able to play different roles with different people to finally make things fall in place.

44. I was a Scout for a short time. The NCC never was actually for me.

45. I used to love climbing trees. I once fell from a tree about 20 feet high when I was seven years old. Was largely unhurt. The mangoes that we had piled below broke the fall.

46. Alcohol is the answer for most other problems (thank you Homer Simpson)

47. I fired several people when I was a manager.

48. I once hitched a ride in the back of a milk truck.

49. I love things that glow in the dark.

50. I have a certified black belt in Karate. Been fractured twice. Returned the favour five times. At least.

51. I am half pure tam, other half pseudo tam-mal. I still wont touch seafood.

52. I own land of my own. All by myself. Ha.

53. I love to be bored.

54. I have played in real, natural snow only twice.

55. The first real concert I ever saw was Diana King, and I had won the tickets from a quiz on the All India Radio. A neighbor took me for the show.

56. My seventh-grade Hindi teacher taught me that if there was anyone who has a direct pipeline to hell, it’s her.

57. I have known my closest friend since I was 11.

58. When they disagree, I tend to side with my mom, but I actually think my dad is right most of the time.

59. I have never had a stay in the hospital or broken a bone in the last 14 years.

60. I have not had any body parts removed, except for wisdom teeth. Ow!

61. I was very disappointed with the x-ray glasses I sent for from the back of a comic book.

62. I tend to listen to male singers.

63. I talk to myself.

64. I don’t do well talking about myself.

65. I was a damned good student till school.

66. I am the king at constructing scenarios.

67. I'm still dreaming of writing my own book where I can inspire, touch and influence lives,

68. I sometimes wonder if the world will ever get my weird set of ethics.

69. I’m obsessive-compulsive about the useless little things, but completely clueless about really big things. Think it's some coping mechanism.

70. A former babysitter of mine got a bit of a crush on me when I came of age, but I was still living at in my old home with my parents in a flat. She'd throw pebbles at my bedroom window so I'd meet her outside. It didn't really work.

71. I’m better at expressing my true feelings and opinions in writing than in person.

72. I can talk a lot or not at all, depending on how interesting I find the company.

73. I used to have a sacred blanket.

74. For a long, long time my default ringtone was The Rolling Stones "Sympathy for the Devil".

75. I still own the silver pulsar. It sports alloy wheels, wider tyres and a two piece handle bar. I am never selling.

76. I hate people who are jealous or complain all the time.

77. I think the internet is a truly brillaint place to learn anything. I now know more on most topics that I ever thought existed. I dream of being self-sufficient.

78. I love to sing, but I wish I was any good at it, and I’d love to learn to play an instrument. A sax maybe. Yeah.

79. I am constantly writing lists.

80. My best friend in elementary school from the 2nd through the 5th grade moved away and I have never seen him since.

81. I still see my mom making dosas on the same pan after 25 years.

82. I feel the most comfortable in formal clothes.

83. I am against children having to study long hours so early in life.

84. I truly believe the world lost one of its greatest actors when Heath overdosed.

85. I am a little bit paranoid about who's looking at me right now.

86. I have driven cross country by myself. (1400 kms on a bike)

87. I have to return quite a few books.

88. Since the time I could remember, I did not fly on a commercial airline until after I graduated from college and had to go for a b school interview.

89. I love my xbox.

90. I like where I live.

91. I have very strange dreams.

92. I am working on my million dollar idea. I wish it'd work for me.

93. I have had more crushes than I can count.

94. I cannot mimic a soul. My impersonations of myself aren't quite convincing.

95. I think myself to be a good person but I haven’t always done what’s right.

96. I’m a ridiculous procrastinator. Instance, I actually meant to post this last week.

97. Bhaskar is to blame for setting me on this list.

98. It was so hard to think up all of these things about myself. I have managed to kill a sunday.

99. I have secrets that I'm not telling here.

100. Though there was a time I never thought it was going to be possible, I'm happy with my life.

Packing things away, Life should go on - Pt iii

Jan 31,2009

The Acoustics

Sometimes I swear I can hear you, in the wrinkles of clothes, in the hum of radios, in the mold slowly forming on unused t-shirts. I swear it. It’s there in my battered, torn shoes left to dry. It’s in my phone and my computer. It’s in the musty pages of old books and in empty deodorant cans. I hear you most when I climb into an unmade bed and feel the hairs on the sheets.

It’s there when I sort the clothes into the right position and in the soft, sagging folds I can hear “It’s wrong! It’s all wrong!” in that naturally cute voice of distress. It’s in the cigarettes over coffee and in the mirror where your grumpy face lingers in a shadow before realising your feelings and casting aside all maladies in a damp hug against the door.

It’s in the songs on the pod and in the sheets upon sheets of paper folded neatly in their envelopes hidden in my drawers. The chirrup of a phone. The pixels of an image. I hear it everywhere and nowhere. I can hear your voice in all these things but what I want is to hear your voice in my ear as I fall asleep and come home from work and sit hunched over this keyboard with fingers whirring at useless, random thoughts and in my bed telling me that it’s wrong, it’s all wrong until I make it right again and you fall asleep and grind your teeth at dreams to come.

January 17, 2009

The life and adventures of Bourbon

I was in a terrible place for a while. Lets not get into the details on that, lets just say that it was a low point. The past two months have been shaky to say the least, but they’re over. Now I am back. Hello.

I made a conscious decision on Tuesday. It happened when I woke up at six-thirty instead of eight and I had almost two hours to do nothing. I decided that I don’t really want to be doing the same anymore. It’s a good image I’ll admit; sitting in bars with friends having drink after drink and looking all the more haggard because you did the same the night before. And then the night before. But image isn’t everything. Last weekend I had so little sleep and so much alcohol that most of my memories of it are gone. I can pick bits and pieces, but they’re hazy at best. I felt like I was destroying myself a little bit.

Maybe I did, I don’t know, but I decided to stop.

And that’s what Tuesday was about. Tuesday was about setting things right, with everything. And it worked to an extent. Of course not everything was fixed and who knows maybe more problems have arisen, but things felt a hell of a lot better.

Anyway, I thought I’d break with the tradition of my usual veiled entries and just come out and say it; I am alright. I’m not overly ecstatic and I’m not down and out. I’m doing fine. This means that people can leave me alone in a room without showering me with protection, but it doesn’t mean you can abandon me or stifle me with affection. I am OK.

So there we go, lets resume regular programming.

Jan 11, 2009

Mancold Martyr

I’ve been sitting it out far too long at home sick as hell for the past few days so I thought I’d recount some of the titles I’ve watched. And other things.

First up is the much too short Afro Samurai which I will thrust down people throats. The only problem that I’d bring to figure would be the appalling lip-syncing. It’s as if Samuel Jackson looked at his characters and said “Fuck it, there shouldn't be no mother fuckin’ restrictions on my mother fuckin’ lines”. So there’s the occasional weird scene when the anime character is shouting and good old Samuel is whispering something. Other than that everything was seamless. I watched it over two days with the flatmate (God bless his soul for recommending it in the first place) and I really wished I could’ve watched it in one. The animation was seamless, the action perfect. And the teddy bear samurai- I liked him better when he didn’t take off his mask but he was yet brilliant.

Another on the anime list would be the Samurai Champloo series which I’ve laughed at so many times just because it’s slang for orgasm. It’s a classic series, made by the same people and (roughly) at the same time as Cowboy Bebop, and it’s occasionally quite ridiculous. The series is a cross-genre work of media, blending the action and samurai genres with elements of non-slapstick comedy. It is also a period piece, taking place during Japan's Edo period. The series is interwoven with revisionist historical facts and anachronistic elements of mise-en-scene, dialogue and soundtrack. The series' most frequent anachronism is its use of elements of hip hop culture, particularly rap and the music it has influenced, break dancing, turntablism, hip hop slang, and graffiti. The show also contains anachronistic elements from the punk subculture and modernism, but less prominently.

Took another run at Donnie Darko the other day. I forget how much I love that flick. I think it’s not just the amazing cast, but also the overall art nouveau style and noire-ish sentiment with whip cracking dialogue that makes it worthwhile.

January 4, 2009

Untitled

Lets take a second here. Just a second.

I had a good day yesterday (if you take away the sole reason which made it not a good day, but we won’t go into that)

December 30, 2008

A Long December

A long December, and there's reason to believe

Maybe this year will be better than the last

I can't remember the last thing that you said as you were leavin'

Now the days go by so fast

- Counting Crows

Dec 7, 2008

The Dopes of Haphhazzard

I’m gonna pull you in close,

Gonna wrap you up tight,

Gonna play with the tips

that you came in here with tonight.

I’m gonna light your face,

blow circles as things fall back in place.

I can’t remember the last time I got high. I just have this one memory of one fantastic time. I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe from laughing. I danced and the footage is still doing the rounds. I woke up with cotton mouth and a cut on my forehead.

Dec 6, 2008

Blot out the light and the world drops away

Morning. Slivers of light descry around the edges of the blinds and assault my eyelids. I roll away onto my right, away from the clock on the phone that digitally chips away at my remaining time. Probing fingers count the bruises on my legs, pressing each one gently until I wince. I find three new ones and one new dent where my leg had yielded against the jutting keys in the filing cabinet. Absently I pick the skin off my fingertips and count the hours to work.

I'm safe at three.