More arbit rambling

Hi

2011-04-25T04:33:00.000+09:00

I've been meaning for a triumphant return. A post that would justify the length of absence and the indulgent self pitying I've wallowed in since. The curtains would part, the lights dimmed, and the symphony below would strike up something majestic.

Only there's nothing to say. Nothing new, I mean. The requisite glass is at my side, I'm writing at an hour that I should be sleeping at, and I've just realised that life hasnt changed one damn tootle since 2007.

I dont know whether that calms me or terrifies me. This time should be the epoch of reckoning, when I figure out the self, the woman, the career, the city...even the next playlist. When the alter ego finally mans up and grabs you by the collar, and shakes you awake.

There isnt such a guy. It's you, and how your world knows or perceives you. And how you want to wake up each morning and deal with that. You're not going to be a footballer and part time super spy, with a Ferrari and a Playboy centerfold.
You're going to be the guy who you've always inwardly denied being. It's now a question of whether you're at peace with him and where he is headed presently, or whether you're going to do anything about him.

Never mind. Lets go chug that pitcher.

Currently listening : I feel fine, Darker my love

Soliloquy

2010-10-20T09:15:00.000+09:00

Every once in a while, the random guy perched precariously on the barstool next to you would lean / lurch over and say something in the nature of advice completely unsolicited. It would apply exclusively to his life and how he’s muddled it up. It would take a couple of iterations of his increasingly vehement slurring for you to glean its gist. And it would take the most beatific patience to not smirk or roll your eyes.

Then again, he’s been quiet for disquietingly too long, even by his standards… so indulge the man his rant. Or fuckoffplisthx.

What I’m trying to say, basically, is that you better be prepared for the realization that you’re the same chomu you always were….even before you changed cities. That shifting the job setting, pub setting and life setting, cant really help you with the quintessential fuckups of your life that you wreak on yourselves. Your life experiences (pfft!) are going to be as abysmally non starter as ever, you’re going to get the same appraisal feedback from your new boss, your folks are going to sound just as exasperated over the phone and your love life would still be a cruel joke.

What just might pull you through is the gradual realization, albeit belated, of the above. You may even pledge to learn the lesson this time.

Or get another mug. Even if it’s bloody Fosters now.

Currently listening : 15 Step, Radiohead

Reimagined

2010-05-24T05:42:00.009+09:00

The mailman awoke with faint puzzlement, wondering why the slumber was so quiet and unbroken. There was none of the blanket tugging Olympics tonight, and he looked across the bed to see if she was okay. But she wasn’t there, and her side of the bed looked unslept in.

He called her name out and waited, but only the howling blizzard outside seemed inclined to reply. The first instinct was to assume she’d sneaked down for a midnight snack, and dive back into the covers…but something seemed wrong. He scanned the room and finally saw the emptied cupboards, and his clothes heaped in a pile at the bottom.

Only they looked piled up after being cut through. With a pair of very effective scissors, and the vengeance of a seamstress scorned.

This seemed now like waking from one of his hangover nights gone wrong, except he hadn’t done those in a long time now. He called out her name more frantically, but with rapidly fading hope. Her clothes and shoes were missing from the wardrobe, as were the suitcases. His clothes were strewn around the room in an assortment of little pieces and colors, like a macabre playpen.

He raced downstairs, hitting every light switch in every room, trying to will her presence somewhere in the house. Everything else still seemed in picture perfect order…with a sense of purpose and placement that unnerved him most times. Which is probably why he stopped to stare at the overcoat she’d now left draped over his chair. With a one word note perched on top. Goodbye.

He’d bought it as a joke. They’d been exchanging lovely and yet useful gifts for a score of seasons now, and he’d gotten weary of racking his head about this yet again. And he’d seen this coat beckon from the toy shop window everytime he’d pass it on his mail rounds. Well, it belonged to nowhere but a toy shop….a ridiculous fat suit draped in bright red velvet and complete with poofy tassels and a dunce cap. One that never failed to make him chuckle. So today, our man had a drink too many, chuckled again, thought to himself; ‘Fuck it’…walked in and bought the coat. Cap and all. Then hopped along home, kissed his lovely wife, and handed this over. It was a bit early for the gift giving, but she’d sneak a peek and get him something stupid too….he hoped.

They hadn’t acted stupid for too long a while.

She’d been thrilled. Or her version of thrilled. The husband was never one to get anything done on time, let alone in advance. And yes, he smelt of rum…but his cheerfulness was infectious, the affection genuine. The fewer these moments of spontaneity, the more welcome each were. He knew she’d sneak back to try the coat out once he was asleep. He knew she’d come charging back in mock indignation and hit him with a pillow. Or douse him in water. Or laugh. Loud and clear and like the girl he’d once fallen in love with.

Not this. What the fuck was this about?

He peered out the window, and blinked at the blizzard. She couldn’t have gone far…not in this weather, and not with all that luggage. Maybe to the neighbors, or her bridge club friends. Better sense would prevail the next morning…he’d profusely apologise…they’d burn the coat together, and they’d gift each other books or something. He checked the house for any of his clothes that were unshredded, but the woman never did miss much. And he now found himself dolefully staring back at the coat. Joke’s on me.

He fixed himself a drink, and then put the coat on. Surprisingly warm and comfy…but gay as hell. And it came with a pair of pants, for which he was much relieved. The prospect of walking into town, in only a gay fatsuit, in the middle of the night & in a blizzard to find and pacify his irate wife sounded a tad more agreeable if one had pants unexpectedly coming alongwith the fatsuit. So he slipped the pants on, and stepped to the mirror .

He could see why she might be miffed. The sight may have seemed hilarious to anyone but the wearer, but the wearer himself was now flinching. He should have bought this in a more sober moment. It was a badly made piece…the padding was scrunched up towards the bottom, and there was just too much of it. He looked more pregnant than obese.

And that dawning comprehension turned his veins to ice.

They’d been trying to conceive for years, until the doctors told them she never could. It seemed to bring her life crumpling down, but she wouldn’t let them adopt, and she wouldn’t let her pain show. Her unshakeable belief in God’s will seemed reinforced , instead of being questioned. He held her close, and he let her come to terms with this in her way…but they suffered in silence.

And he then spent his life protecting her in that silence. Shielding her from pity and unsolicited advice and innocent questions and religious doctrine and sympathy. It was a fragile bubble that could be burst by anyone…a clucking relative, an inquisitive stranger, an idiot child.

Or a fool ass drunken husband.

He turned heel swiftly, and ran outside. The blizzard struck him with a pent up, frozen fury, punishing him for the cozy warmth he’d been mulling in at home. Five uncertain steps…and then he realized that he had forgotten his boots.

He knew he wouldn’t step out again, if he went back home for them. And that she hadn’t flinched in this same storm. It slowed her, maybe…but her resolve was always monumental. She’d be walking now to the train station, to the last train of the night. Footwear, weather, home, town and husband be damned. It was the way of her rage.

He swore at himself and trudged on. The storm now seemed to bristle at his defiance, and the wind grew sharper…the snow nearly blinding him. He ducked into the shed for respite, and then remembered his mail van.

The van was loaded with the season’s mails. And coaxing it out into this beast of a snowstorm would be a hellish task. And he hated the way it handled, even on a sober day. But she was currently disappearing into the night, with no intent of coming back. He sobbed at his despair, the cold, her fate… and charged the van blind into the blizzard.

A blizzard that already had many a youngster awake and staring through their windows in awestruck wonder. Now add in a gaily dressed & comically obese man, sobbing away in a mailvan that lurched unsteadily into the storm…and they should all be fishing frantically for their cellphones…racing to turn this into the next viral video sensation.

Except that this particular scene played out a thousand years too early for cellphones.This was back in the times when mail vans in Scandinavia were reindeer drawn sleds. And the youngsters would have to make do with drawing on postcards, the slightly embellished versions of what they saw, and mailing their hapless relatives and friends the world over.

Currently playing :

Kings of Convenience - Riot on an empty street

heh

2009-08-22T05:06:00.003+09:00

This pal of mine was once in a bike accident...where he and his friend had a few more drinks than warranted for the road, then clambered onto the Bullet enroute to point B. Only to be speedily unclambered because they hit something...he still doesnt remember what...and to find each other chuckling at the side of the road. Chuckling while the bike was still somersaulting to a rude halt by random compound wall.

I've heard better stories. I've unwittingly been part of some of them. But if I were to thoda detach oneself from one's life since college ended, the bike would be my plans, or even my expectations of the suburban life I'd chalked out. And I'm the one chuckling in the dust.

I wont go into the details of how things went awry...or even if they went awry. It's been somewhere between getting what you wished for...and being careful about what you wished for. One beautifully delivered curveball..this life as yet. Sometime soon...I may stop alleging in allegories and actually tell you what the fuck did happen...but not in a blog. Life's good times are just too precious to be poured out here and left to a hyperlink footnote. I'm thinking...a maxed out tape, a glass of the cold stuff, a plate of the hot stuff and a very superb bartender.

There is no point here. I'm okay. I've learnt to chuckle. Quite drily, too.

Currently listening : Paint it black , The Rolling Stones

Dancing in the dark

2008-09-02T05:12:00.002+09:00

It's probably the beer. Or the prolonged lack of sleep. Maybe the solitude, or the emotional stasis. I may not especially be wanting to be in time for work tomorrow. Could even be the rush of belated epiphanies, that have hit me again, as ever, on a non descript little pub lane in Pali Hill. Or the fact that I just spent about 3 minutes alone staring at a kaleidoscopic dance of blinking lights on my street...my city preparing for Ganesh Chaturthi...at 2 am.

Maybe it's that epiphany that this wasnt supposed to be a space to impress you. Or to believe that the ladies would be flinging their panties at me any moment now. This is not the venue for a processed catharsis of everything I cant say in real life, it's not what I have to do when I'm sloshed and alone, and it's not an essay competition. I'm not telling you all this. I have to make sure I read it myself.

And I dont know how many other posts I've attributed to beer from the first line. Or how many blog posts about the blog you've already suffered. I do know how to shrug, though.

Yeah well. Cheers.

Currently listening : Beck - Chemtrails

Yonder

2008-01-13T16:35:00.000+09:00

He finished combing his hair, let himself share a slight half-smile with the mirror, and smoothened his sweater rather unnecessarily.

The silence in the room was overwhelming. There was an expectant air about his reflection that he’d change his mind, or wait for tomorrow’s game show episode, or that he’d want to wait for his grand daughter’s next call. He let his mind dwell on these thoughts almost indulgently, and he snuffed them out in patience.

The sheets were in place…the wardrobe arranged…the last book placed by the bedside lamp, bookmark et al. There was even an After Eight kept under the pillow. If she ever could return, she’d be home.

He walked with solemn purpose upto the various cabinets in the house, picking up the things he wanted. The family picture from happier times. The jokebook he’d read out to his kids. The chewing gum he’d kept secret from his doc. The money. The letters. And the medals.

Medals he’d won for long distance running many years ago. They no longer shone, and the inscriptions seemed like hieroglyphics now…but they were a testament, all the same.
They’d all been forgotten until a month back, when he was desperately rustling the cupboards for every memory she’d have left him. Those races now seemed to be so many lifetimes ago.

Those races were starting again. Tonight.

He slipped them into his pockets, rapped the wooden table twice, necessarily, and strode out. Mumbled what was supposed to be a prayer at the foot of his door, wiped the nameplate clean, and stepped gingerly onto the stairs….

The plan was to drop the letters and the cellphone at the post box, and to catch a cup of chai at the station. The plan was to walk to Panvel, steadily and yet at his pace, and to avoid the noisy roads enroute. If and when he did reach…the plan was to catch his breath, have another cup of chai, and check the schedule board for the first train out of the city.

The plan was chai in clay cups and the fourth seat in the sleeper berth. The plan was
to sit in the luggage room and wait for another train to another direction, if he did not like the people or the place he was with. The plan was to send postcards every week to the Sewree cemetery in Mumbai, where a dear old friend would quietly direct them to the correct address.

Beyond that, he was incapable of planning. He may just step out of the station and visit a town or a dozen. He may just take up a job at a Wheeler book store in some quaint Dom Moraes town. And he may just get beaten or robbed or sent to some home.

But he’d reached a point where nothing truly mattered. He’d lived a full life. He’d live again.

Now listening – Wanderlust, Mark Knopfler

Wonderland

2007-10-14T06:13:00.000+09:00

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

Most nights it was a little niggle. Something that drowned easily in beer, that got outshouted by the playlist of the night, or that gave up and watched Leno with him.

There had been others like this one. They usually lived under the surface for a couple of months, peaked feverishly on a random, ranting trip to Hangoverland, and petered out quietly after. Status quo. So it goes.

The one haunting him today seemed to be of a deadly new strain. One that had sneaked past his usual daily antibiotics; and had waited till the lights in the house were out. And had chosen a sober night to attack. And attack it did....with a vengeance for all it's deceased earlier versions that had been thwarted.

The hapless author tossed and turned in his sleep for a while, and realised he'd been wide awake all along. Staring at the ceiling was not the answer now. Forced yawning or counting sheep were never the answer. He'd usually switch on something soothing on his walkman at this stage, but no song seemed to have the answer.

Dude rose wearily to wash his face. This is to be one of those nights. Denial was not the answer.

He switched on the low yellow bulb in the washroom, splashed his face measuredly a couple of times, and straightened up slowly to stare back at his reflection.It seemed a routine he'd been practising for a while now. Like say, a decade.

Work was so not the answer. This was something he'd figured out at the time of switching career interests (again, abt a decade back)...so the failure of this hypothesis wasnt breaking his heart especially now.

Workaholism wasnt the answer. Shirking work wasnt. Having a job description that sounded awesome wasnt. Cribbing wasnt. And comparing paychecks threw up more questions that the act alone would answer. And it didnt. Workmates werent the answer. Areas of interest werent. Certifications werent. Prospects elsewhere werent.

Music promised to be the answer for a good while. The act of listening, not playing. Both werent. There were some guitar riffs around that could make him orgasm involuntarily, but they'd been playing for a good while now, and the dude's niggles continued to bubble. And there were lyrics he'd probably copy paste into his wedding vows, or his "birds and bees" talk to his kids. But nope, guitar riffs and lyrics werent the answer.

Books werent the answer. He'd been reading them a million a year once, but more to avoid having to talk to people, than anything else. And he liked reading books for what they had to offer, and not for what he'd been trying to wrangle out of them. Fiction, thankfully, never pretended to be the answer. Non fiction usually fell into Paulo Coelho, self help, spirituality or textbooks. And all 4 categories could sincerely fuck off.

Religion promised way too many answers. He'd been born way too cynical to actually believe anybody or anything. Especially when they all insist that the really good stuff gets you sent straight to hell. It's almost as if he'd rather stay ignorant of this answer, than put away his beer.

Sex wasnt the answer. Not that he actually knew this one. But there was something incongrous about the idea that a mutually assisted emission of body fluids by 2 sweaty, frantic characters hopping about manically under the covers, would answer his usual questions. He'd love to be personally proved wrong by a rather fetching member of the opposite gender...but part of him knows that he'd find himself staring again at some unfortunate mirror that night. Before rushing back to his senses and the bed.

Love...tough one this. He'd been convinced this was the Holy Grail....so it takes a while to let this one pass. But he probably wouldnt fall into this unless it's with some1 who's asking the same questions. Some like minded one who'd rather ask the questions, than get them answered. That puts two peas in a pod. That does not necessarily solve or silence the question. Then again...I wouldnt know. Never have been in a relationship. Abortive or otherwise. Wouldnt mind being proved wrong at this one either.

Football probably was the answer during boyhood...but those days are done. Hobbies are more like distractions away from the questions, rather than a path to the answer and I'd prefer keeping it that way. So that saves beer from ever getting questioned.

Travel may just be. Cooking may. Biking may. But I have friends who are champs at all 3, and they've got questions plaguing them as well. And there are a zillion things I could pick up and mull over in this way, but they just wouldnt be the answer. Or there was no way of knowing if they would.

The guy's reflection now looked like he'd forgotten his wallet someplace.
Usually he wore this quiet, demanding, searching look that wouldnt waver or blink....but would stare right back at the dude, until the latter turned away with a muttered FU. Not today. Today he looked like the prosecutor, who'd been struck with amnesia. The dude had no clue about the question.

Which was what started this fucked up niggle in the first place. This wasn't a case of Dennis not going where he promised himself he would. The dude didnt know where to go from here.

The 'Now What?' syndrome, ladies and gentlemen, has finally landed.

Currently listening : White Rabbit - Jefferson Airplane

Writer’s block.

2007-09-12T03:43:00.000+09:00

I swear.

It’s like some fucked up mental thing. Blog posts pop into my head at random hours and totally unbloggable times….and they keep gnawing away, nagging to be written. Then when the broadband finally arrives…I’m left staring at a blank screen, wondering why the fuck…?

Recommends : The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid – Bill Bryson.

Current music : On every street – Dire Straits.

Oh well.What the hell

2007-08-05T04:47:00.000+09:00

There are now two of us writing this post.

The first guy keeps wondering about just what part of his 6 day week, Sundays-are-for-church existence would be worth blog space. He’s quasi resigned himself to a lame ass dialup connection, to keeping the music low at home, to a TV that hiccups every 5 minutes and to the fucking rains. Way too much sober time, too many roll-your-eyes-&-sigh quietly moments, just frigging too much of what yours’ and my parents happily subject themselves to.

The second guy is the absolute bastard. The absolute, absolute bastard.

He’s barely 2 years old now. Was born during some merry confluence between Bacchus and Knopfler in the ethereally slothful and filthy confines of Room 452, one of several identically fashioned and inhabited rooms on campus. Rocked his house for two glorious years, and took an inordinate amount of glee in clucking sympathy for seniors and friends who moaned about how sucky life is outside college.

And he’s been watching his own descent into an ordinary life with this sideways, knowing, infuriating smile…and he hums some sardonic Dylan or Cobain to this new schmuck in the mirror. Bugger watches me agonize over lost gym hours and tax planning and how sober I look before I ring the doorbell, and he’s always humming something in the background.

To be true, there are times when he gets to get back to form. Those “Roll up your sleeves boys, we’re getting haaappy” times. Difference being…those times are now suddenly affordable…but they need to be scheduled. Both for day of week and time of day.And you can never really have them twice in the same week.

Currently listening : Things have changed – Bob Dylan.

The aah fuck moment

2007-06-10T04:57:00.001+09:00

“Strange memories on this nervous night in Las Vegas. Has it been five years? Six? It seems like a lifetime, the kind of peak that never comes again. San Francisco in the middle sixties was a very special time and place to be a part of. But no explanation, no mix of words or music or memories can touch that sense of knowing that you were there and alive in that corner of time and the world. Whatever it meant ”

- Johnny Depp, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

These posts are always the most fucked up ones to write.

The ones where you want to pen down your feelings. When you need to choose between letting yourself loose and being unapologetic about it, and between the usual analyzing, postulating and self counseling crap you’re wont to find here. When you realize that writing about it doesn’t help you deal with the shit…it just dilutes whatever precious little you do feel about anything anymore.

I’ve packed the rest of my stuff from the room…and will be handing in the keys tomorrow. There were visions of being the last rebel here…blaring the music louder than ever, breaking the rest of the champagne glass set, stocking up on booze and cigarettes and pot and movies and porn…just for that one last frigging day. It’s a cliché I can’t bear to recreate anymore.

This be the moment where one wishes he hadn’t forgotten how to cry. The booze could do the trick…but 2 hours later, he’d wake up and feel the same way abt stuff. So all he’s left with is a half filled Word doc, and the mess in his head.

Currently listening : Time to take her home - The stone temple pilots.

2007-06-10T04:57:00.000+09:00

If heaven spoke

2007-05-19T16:08:00.000+09:00

“The question here is not of whether you are drunk or not. The question is…are you drunk enough?”

“Test msg. Plz do not reply”

“The quality of the students has been going down every year…but yours is the worst I have ever seen.”

“Dude.Beer.”
“Dude.Krishna Bar”
“Dude. Happy hours”
“Dude. Tunga buffet”
“Dude… “Fuck off, I’m broke”

“Rush to the audi now..whatshisface company has come and there’s nobody present. Pundir is taking attendance”

“Football in the bbal court at 6.30”

“Susie, if you say another word, I’m going to drop this bottle out of the rickshaw”
“Dude…”
* The agonizing scream of a broken beer bottle. And a very panicked rickshaw driver *

“CR / Acad secy please help”
“Lol”

“Okaaay. Shikha and..?”

“Kuch BIG karma hai yaar”

“I’ll climb into her room through the window. Do you know where the plumbing pipes are?”

“Doooood!! You spilled vodka on the floor”
10 seconds later…
“Hey, you think this will burn?”

“NFS hosted on 10.4.4.3…join up in 5 minutes”

“Hey dude…do you ever sleep? It’s the middle of the day out here”

“Haan, you can take how much ever from his room. The funda is that, you have to replace the bottles tomorrow”

“Knopfler is God. He’s just..he’s just…God, man”

“You brought nothing from Goa?”
“He he he. Lock the door, dude…and get 3 glasses”

And this is probably my last weekend on campus.
Listening to : Brand new day - Sting

Who am I kidding?

Atticus

2007-04-25T00:01:00.000+09:00

How should a guy react to digging out his only baby rattle from the family archives of junk, lovingly dumped into some random box under a supersized table?

I live at home now…home being a matchbox sized 1BHK, with a miraculous balcony. A home currently occupied by 5 people, so space needs to be fought for. And I’d waged a war against the balcony…throwing away everything we didn’t need…and dumping into more boxes, the stuff we apparently did.

And we happen to be a family of hopeless stashers, so the aforementioned task…is a huge one. Boxes and cabinets and cupboards are brimming with the arcane and the useless….relics of the 3 generations that called it home. Stuff from work, school, the children, the grandparents, the Gulf, the malluland, the weddings and the funerals. Just stuff, man….Monica would have an orgasm just listing the categories they could be organized into.

My dad has this thing for restoring ancient electronics. He’d bring stuff from the office that’s probably been discarded after 3 lifetimes of use, and tinker away until it got running again. It used to drive Mom mad at times….we’d have the most massive of audio systems (one entire cake sized box for the radio, another such box for the tape recorder, and even another for the amplifier). Stuff with dials for indicators…and knobs for everything else. Crackly sound and horrible reception too, but those things never were the point. And this museum also had sections for the ancient wood paneled TVs, the 286s PCs, and dinky air heaters with exposed red hot copper coiling.

Some of those have made their way here. Add to that a cornucopia of nursing manuals (Mom), draughtsman’s instruments (Uncle), banking newsletters, Old Spice shaving kits and ornate lighters (Grandpa,), an assortment of textbooks used and handed over by the grandkids here, and the (Tom & Jerry / wildlife/wrestling) cassettes, and discarded / recycled toys left here by the dozen odd grandkids…and it’s a bewildering personal museum…that balcony.

And it’s here that I’ve now dug up my beloved rattle, my swaddling cloth, the earliest family photos (Dad must have been 14 in some), the sexy little gold lighters, my grandmother’s wedding sari…and a plastic pouch containing too many openers to belong to a family of teetotalers. And there’s still a ton to sift through. My new daily habit.

It started off as a dumping drive…so that I could fit in a hammock, a bitching PC, some very phancy speakers, a book rack a lamp & a bed. Nothing too ambitious. Now I’ve got frigging sentimentality tooth marks all over my heiney.

Current music: Window in the skies, U2.

nothing much yet

2007-04-14T14:52:00.000+09:00

I was hoping to post the next one from a spanking new broadband connection at home. Buggers have taken my money, and havent installed anything yet...so am resorting back to free campus Net.

It's this stupid feeling swimming around...when you know you've got posts swimming around in your head waiting to be typed down, but you feel too guilty to spend an hour or two indulging your blog instincts. And these blokes have been swimming for about a fortnight now.

The damn CFA. Applied too soon, and when in a frame of mind when I wanted a break from the books. Need to grit my teeth and finish it off now.

Random incident from 3 days back :

I'm lounging in front of the TV with my folks when this celebrity lookalike gets on the screen and does his thing. He's short, with gray hair, stupid french beard, and an emphasised slur.

Mom : "It's Amitabh Bacchan"

Bro : "Nope, it's Chandrababu Naidu"

Sis : "No wait, it's Rajnikanth"

An appropriate silence. then yours truly pipes up "It's Ron Jeremy".
Bro wrinkles his brow trying to figure if (where?) he'd heard that name before. Sis and Mom nod thoughtfully at the screen.

Lets thank the good Lord for not giving parents the "Let's google it" impulse.

Listening to : The wheels are turning - Springsteen

apologies and all

2007-04-01T06:08:00.000+09:00

It's a conundrum, mate. One spends 5 days at office and home, swearing at the dialup, waiting for his turn on the computer, and generally being too frustrated to do anything beyond playing some music and some Counterstrike. One tells himself he'd get out of that neurotic mess come the weekend.

And he does succeed at that. A bit too well. I know I've blogged unsober in the past, but c'mon...in these hard times...between a pint and an empty Word doc staring back at you...what would you do for 2 days?

But umm, I did want to blog some announcements today. There's a will to take writing a bit more seriously now. I'll try and pimp this space with some eye candy too. And I'd try and go anonymous...allow myself some serious bloodletting, both creatively and personally.
I cant decide yet on whether to start another url now, a la lifebeyondnitie.com, or to archive the older stuff in a password protected section on the site, or just leave the shit the way it is. Opinions pliss

I've been spending too much time here. I've also been spending too much time in the bar, but I'd vehemently protest (hic), that's it more to do with the former.

Song in my head : Roadtripping, RHCP

And then there were three

2006-12-21T07:07:00.000+09:00

One comes up with the most arcane mental exercises for the sake of reminiscing, when that is the last frigging thing that one should be preoccupied with. Me and a pal counted up all the school and college held exams ( discounting the class tests / surprise tests / preliminary exams / quizzes / and test series that you went and signed yourself up for (cos well...one was a hapless sheep herded into the ratrace)) and you would have 419 papers that an engineer plus MBA would have written from KG - 1 upto his last trimester here.

Lets ignore a certain paper that a certain dude hotfooted from in 15 minutes during his first Sem in the days of yore...and he may proceed with his calculations too.

I have 1 paper coming up in 5 hours...and another 2 on Friday. There will be beer, there will be merrymaking to the much...but I will never again get the guilty thrill of writing a blog and watching sitcoms when I should be recharging my sleep batteries in order to be in wholesome mental state for the exam. Or atleast opening the damn book and reading something.

A total of 419 bumboos. Almost makes one want to flunk one of them papers here, reappear in it and reach the magic figure. Or maybe that was the ulterior motive behind opening this window up now.

Currently listening

Fade to black - Metallica

Stepping out to Angellucci's

2006-11-10T17:12:00.000+09:00

709 visitors.

Old friends. Classmates. People who click on your blog when it flashes for half a second on blogger.com after you’ve updated it. People who click on the link from your Orkut profile. Guys who’ve stumbled onto the blog from links embedded in other’s blogs. About 7 to 9 of them a day. I used to try and track each visitor to his location and IP address….for fear that it might be some relative who still thinks I’m the clueless idiot innocent nerd of 10 years back.

Well….he’s got the clueless idiot part still right. But if there’s family checking in here already, I must commend you guys for the restraint you’ve shown in not disowning me yet. Or maybe you have blogs that I’ve got no clue about.

But I digress. There have been 709 visits to this page since I installed the first counter. It took just 1 of them to turn a rather humbug life upside down, in the best way I’ve known yet. 1 teeny tiny visitor, out on her browsing rounds, starts off with the 1 blog she knew at that time, and went through a chain of 4 before landing up on idlipaav.

It did start off as something totally innocent. Even the most ardent blogger and bachelor knows that there’s no previous record of meeting a girl through this portal, so I kept the roving instincts firmly in check the first time. Given the crap I’ve posted before…well, you’d know why they were so firmly in check.

More than a month has passed. There are times when I look skyward and wonder why the dude’s being so good to me. It could be a way of reaffirming the faith amongst his prodigal sons…I can’t remember the last time I’ve had so much to pray about. Or fight about. Or sing about.

Fingers crossed.
Fervent prayers on lips.
And maybe a song or two as well.

Song of the moment

Steady as we go – Dave Mathews Band

Of boys and men

2006-10-27T08:51:00.000+09:00

This post has been swirling in my head for some time now…and it’s Ashish’s baby. I’ve been wanting to pen it down, but for the thought that it might reveal too much. But it seems every son’s going through the same thoughts these days…and I don’t know if I’ll ever have them again. So this again seems to be destined as a post for posterity…something my blockhead son can go through when he makes a list of how he won’t be like his Dad.

And the list does exist. We guys probably started scrawling into them from the first time we were denied the 5 Star chocolates and the Police cars with flashing lights and sidey alarms…and we still jot down stuff when they go ballistic over the latest love marriage in the family, or the expense accounts, or the latest mark sheets. The whole list of ‘this-is-how-we-wont-act-with-our-kids’. And you may be 1 of those folks who claim your Dad is your true hero and your role model and what not….but dude…the minute he whooped your ass for something…I know what you did. It’s time to own up now. Just take comfort in the fact that, well…it’s a fact of life. A common folly.

And it’s been going on for a while, I suspect. My grand dad and my dad are polar opposites, so I’m guessing Pops too came up with a list in his time and stuck to it. And I’ve been sticking to mine so well that there were comparisons that the baton’s gone full circle….that I resemble my grand dad in not a few respects.

Then again…my younger brother has turned out pretty different from my dad. And from me. Do younger siblings have more than 1 list? I haven’t been able to gather enough intelligence on this…but would love to know. Davis does think I’m a blooming idiot…but then, so do most. Is the influence really strong enough to want to make him consciously change?

And why can I talk of this now? Cause well, it just hit me that the list is immaterial. That you do invent your own flaws, even if u think you’ve taken care of those of the previous prototype. Cause the father and son in this family finally seemed to have made their peace with each other. He (and you too, I guess) would opine that I’ve reached a long delayed adulthood. I’d rebut that he reached his too only now.

Dad isn’t the verbose, emotional type…and neither am I in real life…so there’s no chance of any overt changes in what happens between us. And given that this is probably the last vacation we spend together before the family moves to the US,…it’s happened just in time. We’d probably still be at each other’s throats at the end of these 40 days…but it’s cool in the long run. Buddy types now.

Bro too turned into a mini man somewhere in the last year when I was in the hostel…the dude's changed from a dumb cretin who did nothing to a dumb cretin who is an IT whiz and plays the guitar. He’s in between the stage where I could wrestle him, and where I can…wrestle him. Any brighter ideas abt what to do with a younger brother…do drop them in at the comments section.

I think we’d prefer going back to the stage where we would fight over first batting and over police cars with flashing lights and broken alarms. With Dad around the corner with a fresh can of whoop ass.

This adulthood business throws up wayy too many questions. How the teetotalers survive it is beyond me. And I’m in no hurry to find out.

Currently listening

Night swimming - REM

We be pimping

2006-10-17T00:34:00.000+09:00

The latest post is on another pet project, y'all.....well..not as much as a pet project, than a "vaada raha" statement by 2 sozzled idiots, but here you go anyway.

Check out 18tillidye.blogspot.com. And pheedback is the bhaery bhelcum.

hola

2006-10-14T04:48:00.000+09:00

Campus has split into two kinds of people over the last few weeks….those who have taken placements very seriously, and are slogging their asses through paper presentations, certifications and competitions…and talking about stuff that I still have no idea about.

And there are those who’ve cocked a snoot to it all…..those of us who’ve vowed to get sloshed thrice a week, finances be damned. Those of us who truly live like it’s the last 2 months of our lives, not just the last 2 months in college. All that bull crap I wrote about us waiting for placements day turned out to be that….bull crap. It seems we wouldn’t mind another Thursday morning where one wakes up, switches on the music, hollers across people through IM multicasts, grabs a massive bag of crisps and grins at the fact that you wouldn’t have to move your ass an inch all day.

And then again, there are those of us in the middle. Too way past being the guy who worked his butt off for his 10th Grade, and not yet the bohemian with a stash of 100 plus beer cans in his room. There’s the music for company, and there’s sycorax, (God bless the girl), but the rest of the day’s this constant question mark about what I should do.
The worst part is, others have found their answers…there’s a group of 25 year olds playing Monopoly everyday. And another bunch who’ve huffed and puffed through every rat fart school’s annual day fests, winning whatever they can. The people with the “do everything to the very max” credo…

Moi?

Thoda reading, thoda beering, mostly lazing around in a way that cannot be adequately explained. To each, his own method of madness. And happiness.
I shall meet new people. I shall pretend to be interested in GD topics. Maybe I will find whatever it is I am really searching for. But these days, joy comes packed in the shape of a laptop screen, a 2.1 Creative speaker system and a pint of Mallya’s finest.

To give you a clearer idea, I’m posting the contents of the Post It’s I’ve written on my desktop (nifty software, but only if you actually plan to do anything on the list)

To read:
Damodaran – (Investment Valuation) – By month end.
Wiley – (Modern Banking) – By month end
Hull – (Options, Futures and a WHOLE BUNCH OF MINDNUMBING CRAP) - 1st 10 chapters – by 20th
Chopra Meindl – Supply Chain Management- Mid Nov.

Learn Excel, SAS and Powerpoint.
Enter atleast 1 BSchool competition. Present 1 paper in your shameless life.
Exercise. Footballing once in 10 days does not count.
Spend weekend getting the time of your life. Alcohol is optional, but is found to help.
Write that Knopfler post again.
Get phone display fixed.
Spend weekend with family before they pack up and leave again.
Start reading fiction again.
Enroll for bike learning license

I think I’ve written this more for myself…so that I can look back at this post 8, 10, 20 years later and smile.

Currently listening

Lithium - Nirvana

how u doing?

2006-09-10T09:05:00.000+09:00

Am upto my neck in crap you wouldnt want to hear about...so cant really write anything. But I just had to post this within 5 minutes of finding it online. It's a rant, it's a pickup line, it's a personals ad, its...genius.
............................................
YOU: GIRL BY YOUR POOL IN MANHATTAN BEACH. I WAS ON THE 747 THAT FLEW OVER - m4w

I was on the 747 that flew over your house today around 3:30pm. You probably didn't notice me in particular, but you might have remembered the plane...a big United 747. You did look up for a minute, but then turned over and gave me a view of what I can only describe as a very perfect, nicely-rounded, well-toned posterior. When you looked up- if you did happen to see me I was the white guy with sunglasses on right in front of the left wing. i kind of raised my eyebrows in a gesture that I instantly regretted as pretty sleazy, but hopefully you didn't notice. You had on a blue shiny swimsuit. We should hang out. I wanted to make contact with you, but it was basically impossible from my seat in the plane. I think you live in Manhattan Beach or something, but it was really hard to tell exactly what "city" we were over. You have brown shoulder-length hair. and it looked like you were reading one of those celebrity magazines, because it had lots of colors like pink on the cover and I think I saw Brad Pitt on there but can't be entirely sure. Obviously I'm not going on personality here, because for all I know you could be kind of bitchy, full of issues, only partially sane, or like one of those girls who only wants me because I produce a TV show, drive a brand-new fully-loaded BMW convertible, and have nearly perfect teeth. Or at least they will be nearly perfect after I finally get this one crown finished this week. It has been a real pain... I had to get a root canal that lasted 4 hours just because I can't catch a damn baseball when the sun's in my eye. So yeah- you might have a terrible personality, or a really annoying nasal laugh, or a psychotic ex-boyfriend. But I'm willing to overlook all that to possibly have a "date" with you. Maybe you can wear that swimsuit on our date? Of course, if you are only 17 or something please do not respond. I am only interested in women over 18 years old, thank you very much. But, say you are like 17 years and 6 months old? Then save this and send me an email right after you turn 18. We can go out for drinks. (non-alcoholic for you of course) Also- since it was hard to tell from the plane--- if you are OVER say 35 then maybe we shouldn't do this. But if it's any consolation you have a very nicely toned body for someone over 35. You obviously must work out. And apparently you don't eat like many of the women I know in their mid-30's, who just CANNOT seem to keep their faces out of a pint of Haagen Daz or a bag of oreos EVERY night. Also please don't expect this to be more than just a one or two-time sexual encounter. If you are incrediblly needy or carry excessive baggage then please just try to keep the drama to a minimum during our "dates" together. I won't mention my overbearing mother or my dog's apparent inability to understand that the appropriate time & place to do his business is NOT right when we are walking by a beautiful woman at the beach. Not right next to her towel. He absolutely HAS to stop doing this. Does he do this to spite me? I won't tell you these type of horror stories if you can keep your drama to a minimum. Also if you are really into numerology, astrology, yoga, veganism, raw foods, or any of those other california lifestyle choices... please just keep it to yourself. I eat meat, smoke, drink too much, smoke pot (not much any more though, as recently it has made me somewhat paranoid. It's much stronger these days than the crappy Mexican stuff we smoked in college. It's like doing acid now. I mean, one puff and you are basically on a different planet) and don't like when self-righteous California do-gooders try to change my life. I don't need the frustration. For my part if the smoking bothers you I will only do it outside, after sex or a satisfying meal. If you are unbearably releigious, like Catholic or born-again Christian or something then PLEASE keep all of that to yourself. I will still be happy to please you sexually, but I don't want to hear about how Jesus has changed your life. I will give you a MUCH more religious experience than your church ever can. If you are Catholic: My experience with Catholic girls is that they ARE incredibly fun in bed once you can convince them to have a few drinks, so if you are Catholic and have repressed sexual desires then I am your guy. But please realize that religion is something made up to control the minds of the weak... and that it is also truly the root of all evil. More people have been killed in the name of Jesus than just about any other cause, so PLEASE get off your horse on this whole thing. And that goes for devout Jews and Muslims too. Your bullshit "god" is not better or bigger than theirs, and you will NOT end up in paradise with a bunch of virgins if you choose to blow yourself up in a mall. Also if you are incredibly conservative and think that George Bush is a great guy then you should definitely keep that to yourself because I will without a doubt have to give you a verbal lashing that will make you regret you ever even heard of Crawford, Texas... A place where this moron we call a president takes month-long vacations and gets into mountain bike accidents while our countrymen die in a poorly-planned and poorly-executed war that has helped plunge the nation into a record national debt of over $500 billion. (And that was a budget SURPLUS of over $250 Billion when Bill Clinton left office!) And don't get me started on gas. You would think there would be at least ONE benefit to having a President who sucks at the teats of the Oil Industry: Cheap Gas! So why the fuck is gas so expensive when Bush has so many cronies in Big Oil and Saudi Arabia? Please, don't get me started. So that's about it. if you are that girl who I flew over in United Flight 120 from New York then please let me know. this is in or around los angeles .
...................................

Current favorite
On every street - Dire Straits

Doh

2006-09-02T08:22:00.000+09:00

I used to think all my problems stem from a healthy mix of cynicism, laziness and a well nurtured inferiority complex. But then I had 1 of these epiphanic moments the dude gets when the dude’s locked in his room with a ton load of work that he has no plans of starting on, and I thought I should put this one down.

The reason for my life being filled with sheepish moments (some1 commented that I use the word sheepish too many times in the blog. Hmm) has to do with an acute lack of being able to do 4 different things with 4 different limbs at a time. I mean, mentally juggling half a dozen thought streams in parallel, no issues…but asking me to pay attention to what my left hand AND my right hand are to do at the same time…that’s a bit too much.

My engg friends have no problems recounting the absolute cluelessness of my being during those carpentry workshop days when I’d be asked to turn a block of wood into some not so random shape. You were expected to keep a foot on the pedal to regulate the machine speed, you were to keep both hands on the chisel to dig into the wood, now turning at speeds of bout 100 rpm, and you were to keep an eye out for the emergency stop button. Also dodge incidental wood chips. Keep in mind that you don’t cut too much or too little. Ignore the carpentry prof sneering at his new village idiot.

Got worse during 2nd year, when we had full blown 8 hour slog sessions on the lathe. The lathe is a high precision machine used for turning raw steel blocks into cylindrical components of exacting dimensions. They come in the average size of a small car, and they’ve got a zillion things to align and tighten and rotate and control with both hands while the steel’s being ripped into by sharp cutting tools, at speeds of bout 400 rpm. Steel chips are hot and sharp and they fly off without warning. The liquid coolant has to be fed constantly and in the right amount. There’s a set of wheels for moving the tool into the steel, and another for moving it along the steel. Both have to be co-ordinated manually and continuously, to get the cut you would want. All this while you’re wearing heavy protective overalls in a place that is muggy at the best of times.

Of course, once you get the hang of it, people need to physically hoist you off the machine to get you to stop and go home. But until that happened…it was hell. There were guys (and well…girls too) who worked as if they were born to do that machine. I was the uncoordinated Yeti who’d get a good ear twist from the supervisor every 5 minutes. There’s always something I forget to do, or something I could do in isolation, but not alongwith another 7 things.

This pattern resurfaces when trying to learn the bike too. Gears, clutch, front and rear brakes, accelerator, indicator lights, other idiot motorists, idiot pedestrians, traffic lights…too much to look out for. I know…you smug folks have done it already. My co-ordination levels just aren’t upto it. Notice I play football, not cricket. Combining footwork with balance, ball length, pace, swing, spin and field positions….please. Give me random running and thumping the football any day.

The Yeti does see a new spatio-kinetic problem appearing on the distant horizon. All his life he’s been hoping it wouldn’t be as distant as it were, but he could use the time now to sort this out.

Women. Them and their seven erogenous zones. You see, what triggered this epiphany was the Friends scene where Monica does the whole female body mapping scene for Chandler on how to get Joey’s ex gf (the short haired brunette girl) all pleasured up…the scene where she goes a 3, a 4 and a 6,a 3 and a 1 , a 5 and a 2….all the way upto 7! 7!! 7!!!.

My money says the girl’s going to give me the village idiot sneer before 10 minutes.

Current favorite :

Carry on my wayward son
Kansas

The drumroll’s begun.

2006-08-30T00:10:00.000+09:00

It’s not too loud or insistent….but we’ve been waiting for this beat since the day we heard about the obscene salaries those wholly undeserving and ordinary people got when they landed a good college through the CAT (course, I wasn’t in yet). It’s been getting stronger with each stage…the preparation, the application, the initial rejection, the IIMs rejection…and we’re on the last lap now.

Especially since yesterday, when 4 guys from the ISEM (Industrial Safety and Environment)course were the 1st bunch to formally accept job offers from the 2007 batch. Me not mentioning the company…but the offer’s been hiked to 9 L..a cool 1L jump from last year by the same folks. These heroes now get to smirk at us as we run around pondering about the pending marks…the stuff to prepare for…the resumes that need to be refined...the whole ant running deal right up to Jan 07.

It also marks the end of my Peter Pan phase on campus. The last 12 months were a seriously awesome time…for all the moaning I did about the lack of girls in my batch ( 5 of them..against 83 guys. 4 of those 5 are committed.)…it did release a whole Lord of the Flies world…one where I’ve played, read, slept, watched movies, discovered music and lazed around to a degree of which Calvin would approve. This, after 4 years of poking around full imperial drawing sheets and lathe machines. After 6 subsequent months of hell at work. And there’s really no adequate way in which a Mumbaikar who’s been fighting for breathing space in the local trains for the past 7 years would be able to describe 65 acres of green campus (with all it’s rats and snakes, yes) half an hour from his flat.

But yeah…Neverland’s drawing to a close. The stakes are high. The competition is really smart..and already far more accomplished. Even us junta who want to chill get psyched looking at previous drinking buddies suiting up and planning careers. My only regret through it all has been that I wasn’t a full fledged reckless fool…nor a fully sober serious types. I’ve been sitting on the fence and smiling wryly at both sides. Typical.

This sobering up to a schedule business of mine prolly goes the same way as my previous studying to a schedule attempts. I now make the standard disclaimers about self being a useless bugger with no regard for his own word. But the dude’s got to get serious…this is what it’s all about, after all.

Havent had beer in 2 weeks though.

Song of the moment

Thick as a brick
Jethro Tull

random

2006-08-20T16:03:00.000+09:00

Thinking's supposed to clear stuff up in your head, not muddy them further. I've lost faith in my thought processes recently.

I'm in the process of shifting rooms. I've had the keys to another room for a month now...this one has better access to sunlight, but the bathroom's shabbier looking. Plus the accoustics of the place are somehow better.

I've wasted ALL of the time since my last post about how much work I had. With a vengeance. Self administered studies on self indicate that I'm a wee bit more productive when the room door's left wide open. I'm guessing it's about maintaining some appearance of responsibility or respectability.

Here's what :

I’ve got nothing on my mind: nothing to remember,
Nothing to forget. and I’ve got nothing to regret,
But I’m all tied up on the inside,
No one knows quite what I’ve got;
And I know that on the outside
What I used to be, I’m not anymore.

You know I’ve heard about people like me,
But I never made the connection.
They walk one road to set them free
And find they’ve gone the wrong direction.

But there’s no need for turning back
`cause all roads lead to where I stand.
And I believe I’ll walk them all
No matter what I may have planned.

Crossroads - Don McLean

Insomnia briefly reawakened...

2006-08-17T09:05:00.000+09:00

The rat smell is still on the mattress. It's been raining non stop thru that damn week, and the fan wasnt switched on once thru it all...so the rat smell's very much on the mattress and pillow. And given the way I always have to sleep (on my stomach, hands wedged under pillow, to bury 1 side of face and nose into it...), it was inevitable that I chuck sleep attempts.

It's still frigging raining. Not drizzling, mind you, but pouring away through the day. I'm tired and sleepy, but the damn mattress...its moments like this that make 1 wish for a bike and a spare set of house keys.

There's suddenly a terrifying amount of work to do here in campus. Most of it's piled over from earlier, overdue committments, but still...wayy too much :

A weekend project for a leading national insurer. Boring, crappy work..but decent brand name. Plus the only finance weekend on sight yet.

Preparing the ARTH (college's mutual fund) website. It's mostly done...but the last 10% is always the hardest for me to get through. I also have to get thru the last 10% for their monthly newsletter.

Preparing a case for a Prerana (our annual fest) event. I cant talk about it yet, due to fears of the idea being filched by competing B Schools..but it's stuff that hasnt been done here before. What compounds the problem here is..the last 95 % is left, and thats kinda hard too.

Regular classwork assignments that should be relegated to the last minute. Not that my work ethic's suddenly changed (*snort) , it's just that the last minute's arrived.

The laptop is belting out the song "Donegan's Gone" by Mark Knopfler. It's not even on my favourites...just this singular moment of irony.

And the vacillating $#^%#$@ classmates here have gone ape on finance...those who were earlier perfectly happy with whatever happened to them on placements day. All these chowderheads have enrolled for highfalutin certification courses during my absence. Now..my resume screams finance..by pure chance...but more on that later. Now it will have to jostle with about a dozen CFAs and an orgy of other certifications, for a clutch of banks.
This means I have to read up on finance now.Catch up is more the word. Ebooks. Online reports. Xeroxed notes and library books. Newspapers & magazines. Maybe even stay awake in class.

Blech. Yes, reading this was pretty blech for you too...but now that damn mattress suddenly looks very inviting to me. So I'll stop assaulting your senses and hit the sack.

Attack of the lover rats

2006-08-17T04:15:00.000+09:00

There's no feeling ickier than that when opening your cupboard after a week and finding your stuff covered in pellets of rat dung.

I'd gone to Bangalore through the previous week, so the room was unused in that timeframe. Then there was this totally useless side window in my room, which had it's netting pecked out by a family of stupid songbirds foraging around (when I had gone for summers). Now add a bamboo lattice kept tied close enough to the window, so that worker dudes could get the hostel plastered in time before the rains.

You will land up with Papa and Mama Rat making their way through whichever godforsaken...rathole they emerged from, climbing up the lattice, and walking in through the non existent netting. And then they go about their family making business RIGHT IN MY FUCKING CUPBOARD!!!. They even had the gall to snuggle up inside a very cosy blanket through it all. (Evidence Exhibit A : Shit infested blanket from cupboard)

And then i hear the tale of how a snake climbed up the same lattice to the room above mine, and peeked in enquiringly at the window. Mayur had to blink twice, and poke at in a friendly manner, before being rapidly convinced it was a snake. A snake. On the window of a bloody 4th floor hostel room.

No1 here is sleeping too comfortably with the fact that we've got entire food chains crawling up bamboo lattices and making our rooms their rain retreats. Not that my hostel's too big on sleeping anyway.

But the next time some fool sends out college promotional literature waxing lyrical about the pristine forests we coexist with, and how we are becoming one with nature here....the dude is in for some really scathing words.
Or maybe a glowering look
Or maybe a glowering look and some scathing words at what he wrote, rather than him himself.

Chucking the compass

2006-08-15T09:06:00.000+09:00

This blog has had issues with direction for a while. I suspect every blogger goes through this at some point, this stage where he hasnt the foggiest why people would want to read what he's written, or what they would want to read when they come over, and what I would want to write about regardless. Loftier authors may have legitimized refuge behind writers block...but we humble souls can only shrug and smile sheepishly, and resort to typing in this space out of buzzed happiness or sheer boredom.

Cues from other blogs say I could talk about stuff that happens around me, at a global / impersonal level. I could devote it to musings about one or more hobbies, should I chose to develop any. Take up a 3 sentence incident and weave a hopefully funny story around it. Reveal more about the state of affairs of my head and my heart. Espouse my own philosophy, or bitch about other people. Rant and moan. Put up videos and pics.

What I've looked for when I go blog hopping has been good arresting writing, irrespective of its theme. But all of them have had some theme. Some road map by which the blogger's decided - ki dudes..this is what you should usually find here. This probably gives him / her the trigger to blog when he does, and leaves him with an established body of work from which he can model what he's currently writing.

My issue with this is that I'd hate having idlipaav typecast. I'm not trying to make it masala fare either. As stupid as this sounds, whats stopped many a nascent post from taking final shape has been the wonderment about whether its too jointed or too disjointed wrt the previous one.

It is symptomatic though, to be stuck in this position. Trust me to be the cretin who breaks down every little imagined problem into compartmentalized, sequential ones that would take weeks of chewing over. Be it about asking a girl out, or learning the bike, or making an omelette.
Writing was supposed to be something I'm decent at...but my personality caught up with that too.

The redeeming part about the whole affair is, there are solutions at hand. Atleast half a dozen posts waiting to be written...in no particular direction. I'll just assume that you too are simply looking for decent writing yourself. The drunken posts will be there, all unscheduled ones...but I'm not totally leaning on them anymore. Then again, I'll qualify that. I'm still a lazy bastard.

Cheers

Currently listening :
Rudiger - Mark Knopfler

:)

2006-08-06T08:29:00.000+09:00

Moderately buzzed now. With a combination of stf=uff most of you would wag your heads disaaprovingly. Or atleast I hoped you wouldnt.

5 am here, Sat morning, back in Bangalore, this time for the placements pitch. In a place I am going to call home for several years atleast, regardless of whether I actually get to stay there or not. We're a team of 4, hoping to pitch to a good number of comapnies so that they come down to campus and hire our class at the end of the year. WE'll be here for the week.

I am buzzed, and high. Well, buzzed enough during the last 4 posts too, but high for the very 1st time. this ppost has all that to say in the gist of its subject line.

And, btw, my Orkut account hasnt been deleted. I can swear that I clicked thru the motions and got myself booted out in good measure.But I went thru that stuff buzzed too...and I tyupe this when buzzed too. You are at the horns of a logical dilemma.
And if you truly are so, welcome, my man. How could I miss you in Bacchus land?

I am going to get this off my chest too. Bacchus is the name of the Roman/Greek/European god of wine. As is Dionysus in some greek/Romean/Europran mythology. Dennis is a derivative of Dionysus. So if I could type a coherent blog even when well buzzed, its because I am the God of this rum bottle.

Coherent , yes. Focussed, insightful, never mind

Came up with a pun for you too. This post hasnt got a point, because of all the pints imbibed by its author. Its not a pun, but you gotta read it aloud to appreciate its delight value. A few pints wud help u appreciate it better.

Monday I work. Monday I be studmuffin who got companies for placements abroad. Monday I enhance college brand, hone presentation skills in duel with sabre teethed HR dudes, appreciate the joy of a day spent intent on hard work and success.
Fopr now I watch you check yourself in the mirror for having read till here.

Currently listening

Clocks by Coldplay

So, well...

2006-07-27T11:08:00.000+09:00

If you would ever care to know what masochistic withdrawal symptoms would feel like...

1. Get yourself a high speed Internet connection.
2. Do this in an environment where mostly everyone locks themselves in their rooms with their high speed net connections.
3. Now go delete your Orkut account.

225 friends is a ridiculous number...I know there are studs with a lot more, but I'm too introverted to have 225 of them. Especially when I find myself browsing through their communities to figure out where we might have met. I wish it werent impolite to reject a friend request from some1 you dont remember anymore.

Knowing myself, I'd probably start the whole shebang again sometime. Issue sheepish apologies to all and sundry, and go gung ho over arbit communities that define me.
I wrote that I was happy, yes. Happiness and self cynicism can coexist.

And for fuck's sakes, dudes....get the damn blogpost sites back. What are you banning next, email lists? telephones? how about the bloody Morse Code?

Edit... Results of a perfectly sober morning. But I did wake up at 4 am and stare at the lappy ( & orkut) for abt 3 hours, before wanting to dismantle the whole joke...so just put this all down to a cranky body clock

Song of the moment
"Lord of the rings" cover of the "Requiem for a dream" theme

So there’s all of maybe six months.

2006-07-18T06:20:00.000+09:00

Discount those bumboo – up- large intestine days before the exam. Discount those days when you’ve to fill up application forms for placements, or when you’ve got to scrub up and return home before your folks take a bus and worriedly end up at your room.
There should be another set of stuff that should be factored into the above list of exceptions…but rite now me too buzzed to want to list them. Or pretend that they matter to me.

But there’s all of 6 months till I’ve got to wash up and act like some mgmt lackey sucking up to some other mgmt lackey who ended up there 3 years before I did. Till I wash up sober, clean shaved, deo & tie in place, meeting deadlines, aligning performance goals with company strategies, asking other people below me to act responsibly and in the interests of the company I only currently work for.

6 months to reclaim a boyhood I’ve never really let go of. To play football and LAN games.To pick up tennis and baddy. To read fiction without feeling guilty. To pacing the hostel corridor in shorts and little else, theorizing on life or the next blog post …while Knopfler strums away in the room. To rip into people with little thought of the consequences. To plunge into anything I find a liking to, inappropriate or not, useful or not, harmful or not.

6 months to reclaim a collegehood I never let myself have. To actually go chase a girl and to want to take it someplace emotionally significant. To not care about beer guts or hangovers. To pick up a bike and car driving license. To pick up the guitar. To go to Goa. To travel. With the girl I successfully hounded just now. To cement some friendships I’ve left ambiguous. To have more beer by the campus lake, by the seaside rocks outside my engg college, in a studio apartment in Mahm, or another flat in Lokhandwala.

6 months left now to prep myself for what’s next. To figure out the big picture about what I really want from my job, and the subsequent career line that might just give it to me. To trade off between academic interests, bloated salaries and 5 day weeks or onsite chances. To maybe work on something of noteworthy value that I can show for all these years of education. To figure out what I’m about…what she should be about…where life goes from here. Whether I’d want to keep coasting or settle down. To figure out my first big purchase. And stuff I’m not going to write about here.

I’ve always been this grandmaster at posing questions like these to myself. It’s what I do when pacing that corridor at 4 am. The only reassuring ring to the whole business is that there will be 6 months of beer. Cheers.

Song of the moment

Fortunate Son ; Credence Clearwater Revival

No more movies for me.

2006-07-16T20:51:00.000+09:00

I just watched the last great movie I’ve been hunting for…Trainspotting. And this is a week after Requiem for a Dream punches me in the face…(scarily intense flick). Both on drug addiction and recovery / the downward spiral…but Trainspotting’s somewhat more watchable. The dialogues are brilliant though…and I never imagined Ewan McGregor pulling off a lead like that.

Here are 2 gems I had to post…Ewan plays the role of Mark “Rent-Boy” Renton.

1. The opening lines of the movie.

Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: [narrating] Choose Life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol, and dental insurance. Choose fixed interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisurewear and matching luggage. Choose a three-piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked up brats you spawned to replace yourself. Choose your future. Choose life... But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life. I chose somethin' else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you've got heroin?

2. My favourite…made me wonder about my chances of ever hitting off with a girl in a bar. Diane’s just dispatched some previous bloke who offered her drinks, by chugging her glass, and then his…and then walking out of the pub. Renton follows her outside…mightily impressed.

Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: Excuse me, excuse me. I don't mean to harass you, but I was very impressed with the capable and stylish manner in which you dealt with that situation. And I was thinking to myself, now this girl's special.
Diane: Thanks.
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: What's your name?
Diane: Diane.
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: And where are you going, Diane?
Diane: I'm going home.
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: Well, where's that?
Diane: It's where I live.
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: Great.
Diane: What?
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: Well, I'll come back with you if you like, but like, I'm not promising anything, you know.

Diane: Do you find that this approach usually works? Or let me guess, you've never tried it before. In fact, you don't normally approach girls - am I right? The truth is that you're a quiet sensitive type but, if I'm prepared to take a chance, I might just get to know the inner you: witty, adventurous, passionate, loving, loyal. Taxi! A little bit crazy, a little bit bad. But hey - don't us girls just love that?
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: Eh?
Diane: Well, what's wrong boy - cat got your tongue?

She then walks off into the taxi...and leaves the cabdoor open for him. Looks like there's hope for my types after all.

Cobweb Inspection. Introspection

2006-07-14T07:01:00.000+09:00

It’s a bit late…I know. Even later than the date on which I was supposed to make the comeback post. Sometimes I get too hung up on how to begin…or on what apologies to provide for my procrastinating, or on how I should sum up the past two months.

And summing up it has to be….there’s so much to talk about. I may bring up incidents during subsequent posts…but there’s no 1 thing I can give justice to. The uptake of the entire episode is a very visible beer belly, a semi permanent grin and a new found faith in God for letting me end up with the bunch I did launch into the cheers with.

I mean, yeah, you do walk into an internship in a BPO and hope the superior girl - boy ratio would strike you lucky. You do hope to finally figure out the hoopla about Pecos, and Bangalore being the pub capital and all that. But you wouldn’t dream about finally scratching off stuff from the list of things that you’d moaned about not having done ever in your life (refer 1st post in this blog).

I’d list out the events some time later…for now am more hooked by the way life looks, once I’ve hit the Earth again. Looks like my days of manic, self centered depression are over…those nights when I’d stare balefully at a whisky glass and wonder about my emotional life, or the lack of it…they don’t haunt me anymore. The last shitty thing that happened to me was being denied the right to give that med entrance exam due to domicile issues…and in retrospect…the dude who decided that made the best career choice of my life for me.

I’ve been clinging to my unhappiness…there’s always been at least 1 reason that I’d happily give you, but I’d refuse to listen to your advice and solutions. Most often you wouldn’t get the chance to talk about what’s eating me…I’d just let you know that my life sucks beyond yours…and lets leave it at that.

It did produce some decent humour though….the best vitriolic one liners emerge only from the very best vitriol that’s been locked up and brewed carefully within you. The happiness and general contentment has been seeping in for a while now…(post those CAT results, mostly)…but summers turned out to be the final blow. I do catch myself humming songs…or grinning in the mirror, or talking to people I’d never be able to talk to 4 months back.

Dear reader…I’ve cheated you of merry tales of drinking and debauchery to let you know that I’m happy. It was my first post after 3 months…so do give me a break. Had plans to finally turn this blog public…guess it would have to wait for something better.

Song of the moment

Danny boy, don't be afraid, to shake that ass, and misbehave
Danny boy, I know you got time, but what are you waiting for,
Anyway the dust may just blow away, if you wait for a windy day

Sewn – by The Feeling.

Wendy Cope

2006-04-28T08:56:00.000+09:00

If you’ve met me….then you’d probably ring up the insane asylum on finding out that I’ve googled for poetry on the Internet. Heck…2 months ago, I’d have checked myself in.
But this babe called Wendy Cope, dude…oooh. I’d have checked her up on Orkut, and mailed her a thinly veiled “How you doing ?” already, if it weren’t for the sidebar which said that she’d published her work in 1945.

Watch out for a post on my renewed interest in the written word. For now, Granny Cope…here’s cheers to you.

I’ve mooched off 3 stanzas…these are from Strugnell’s Rubaiyat. The first one serves as the primer to the rest of the poem.

Awake! for Morning on the Pitch of Night
Has whistled and has put the Stars to Flight.
The incandescent football in the East
Has brought the splendour of Tulse Hill to Light.

The 2nd one’s for everyone in Gokhale, post farewell

Another Pint! Come, loosen up, have Fun!
Fling off your Hang-ups and enjoy the Sun:
Time's Spacecraft all too soon will carry you Away
- and Lo! the Countdown has begun

The 3rd for my favourite road tripping allies…this may seem like familiar ground to us, yes? :)

Here with a Bag of Crisps beneath the Bough,
A Can of Beer, a Radio - and Thou
Beside me half asleep in Brockwell Park
And Brockwell Park is Paradise now.

hum senti ho gaye

2006-04-25T06:01:00.000+09:00

I am slumped in my chair, headache and cold pounding away at my brain, and I cant get sleep. I know I need the sleep, but I’ve spent the last 40 mins tossing and turning in bed. Thing is, I’ve been sleeping from 4 to 9 pm today. And even yours truly cant manage to catch any shuteye after such a sleepathon.

I’m basically prepping you for the fact that this post would suck even more than the usual fare.

So why am I braving this fever alone on campus, instead of packing for home half an hour away? Coz there’s last minute work to do here, and it has to be done by tomm, coz day after, I’m headed to Bangalore for 2 solid months. Mom’s prolly playing that “I told you so” tape at home. She’d asked me to come home to decent food, a lovely pillow, some working Crocin, and some good old mothering. I’m now sitting in my room here, hungry, delirious and trying to fall asleep. So its your turn to get tortured too.

At least there were the movies here. Saw 2 brilliant films back to back…one being Rang De Basanti, and the other this gem called 21 grams. Aamir Khan and Sean Penn should do a movie together sometime. Uhh no wait..they shouldnt, if u think about it.

The thought of leaving scares me. I’ve been too used to this city, the people, the net here, my home close by…. And my Gokhale buddies have gone through this really emotional farewell party. Whenever I needed a break, or a reason to celebrate, or any other excuse to take off to Ashish and his pals…I’d catch the first bus and head over to Pune to meet them…now when I come back from the project, they’d all have left.

Parting ways with some1 who’s a real buddy isn’t as much of a bitch to me as it should be. I blame my NRI parents, waltzing in and out of India, for a month a year, for 16 years now. After a while, you just learn to say your goodbyes at the airport and take a cab home. Of course…this only works on the premise that they’d be back next year…and the phone calls every week continue.

But this business of looking for a job, going where your company takes you, looking for a US degree…its something else. When neither of you know when you’d meet next…when places like the school canteen, or the ledges & last benches in my junior college, the 7th floor balcony overlooking the Arabian Sea in Fr. Agnels, or even the pondside and the mess ataria in NITIE turn from here and now to “aaah…those days”.

I’ve gone through these “Ok, it’s moving day now” moments way too many times. And the fucked up part is, its not going to stop. 6 months from now…I’ll be in some arbit company in some arbit city. Family has plans to move to the States. People are going to fall in love with their new cities / jobs…or even fall in love, get married and buy a house there.

The beauty of this all is that it never really makes a difference. I’d walked out of school in Muscat, convinced that I’ll never see my buddies again. Email and yahoo would only be a waste of time…wtf is the point if u cant ever meet the dude again. We’re going to grow, change, and the less we think about the memories we’ve shared, the less it hurts when we revisit them.

Well…school buddies did meet up. Lots of times, amongst themselves….they then came over in December to Mumbai, and I was assigned the job of arranging for their 4 day stay here.
7 blooming years, since we last saw each other…and not a thing’s changed. They’ve grown thinner / taller / fatter…but still…it’s like we’d met half an hour ago at PT class.
It happened again, 2 weeks later, when Anish hit town. The 3 of us indulged in that patented indolence, with a speed like we’d been practicing all of last month

That realization has made life a lot easier to live…the fact that ur dudes remain the same…and that you get to meet new ones too. Maybe you could be lucky to get them to meet up someplacesomewhere, but yup....absence does make the heart grow fonder.

No I aint gay. Thank you. This post is probably going to come back and haunt me.

Currently listening

It’s probably me - Sting & Eric Clapton. Scary song...it inspired this post.

7th April 2006

2006-04-07T12:15:00.000+09:00

So here's how stuff stands at this moment, and the run up to it.

I am one of those dolts who'd live but not learn. This applies to every aspect of my life...girls, sports, resolutions i've made for myself.... but especially runs true during exam time. It's a ritual I go thru every year for the past 7 years of my education...to vow that I'd do better during the next sem, to take note of the 1 month mark before exams and make the study schedule..

Then another schedule 2 weeks before exam, that factors in all my unfinished submissions, and the unstarted studies.
Then the schedule making stops, while the scram for submissions go on. A little breather after submissions...and its then the weekend before exams. Bada boom...another one hits the dust.

Hence...this time too...exams went strictly okay. The last few exams are the electives, and I finished mine off yesterday evening. There are a few of my classmates writing their electives right now, and some who're preparing for theirs later today. But I am done.

The sweet joys of being the dude who gets to decide the exam schedule for his batch. I've been getting hate mail from some quarters for this, but yeah...balls to u. You got an extra day to study, na.

* me sooo evil.

Came back to the laptop at 6 pm...watched this movie called Jarhead (fucking brilliant one) and then the tiredness finally catches up. Hit the bed at 8 pm (never happened before), slept through dinner, midnight snack and whisky parties in assorted rooms, and woke up now...9 am. 13 hours of sleep.

I woke up mostly because of the rumbling in my stomach, and then found several song requests on IP...the instant messenger software we use on campus. People had finished their whisky, but they were still high....and wanted to keep rocking, never mind the incident sunlight. I oblige as many requests as I can, then pay heed to my own whisky cravings....

But the bastards finished the booze. So here I am...Friday morning, convincng people that it's not illegal / sinful / wrong or even wierd to go whisky hunting at 9 am. I even offer the incentive of using my 6 champagne glass set. Balls to breakfast, or the hateful glares of my classmates still studying for their last papers today.

Sigh. Tonight we party. Ashish, dudo...get urself here asap.

Currently listening

Led Zeppelin - Black Dog (Acoustic Version)

Da dum dadum dadum dadayee

2006-04-01T07:41:00.000+09:00

Found this on a dude's gmail messagebox.

Sex isnt the answer. Sex is the question.... Yes is the answer.

Amen brother.

This might have happened to you...this situation where u're upto your neck in studies / work / whatever...u still havent gotten anywhere...and ur time ends in 2 days....aka exams from monday, and not a single subject done.

I mean sure...one fights it out...has cups of coffee, goes thru past papers looking for patterns, struggles thru problems and ppts, discusses problems and theories and what not...we engineers are nerds of habit. But there reaches this point when stuff gets so hopelessly loaded, people go mad. I mean, mad...:)

A friend of mine googles for speeches by Luther King and Churchill throughout the day, for no real reason. Another proposes methods to screw the happiness of our profs through civic unrest on campus...and studiously backs them up with reasons like greater interests of the batch and bla bla. We hunt for little video clips that amuse and offend. Today's raging favorite being one on football bloopers, with the song "Always look at the bright side of life" voiced over.

NGC should do a feature on campus now....young male adults spotted walking around with telephone poles up their butt...grinning in despair and sleep deprivation. They could title it "Bumboo lag gaya" since this is how the resident species define this recurring condition of theirs.

I actually boogied tonight to this Kannada song from the 70's...when that dude who was kidnapped by Veerapan was in the prime of his youth and belting out songs & pseudo dancing on a sheer mirrored floor. Priceless video..i shall carry it wherever i go.

Come the 7th of April....that's me in the pic.

the week before exams..

2006-03-29T07:14:00.000+09:00

It's been a while since the last post...and it seems like ages. The past week has been one of those that refuse to get over if u hate work (u shudnt be reading this if u dont)...and then whooshes by when u've realised it's too late to get any studies done.

There's been some stuff that's kept me awake thru the night for 5 successive days the past week. One includes some craaazy binge drinking and why u shouldnt do it in a shady bar with thug types at the next table, another night was all about this girl the other side of the world...:) , another was all about Knopfler and back to back movies. It's over now...sigh

I have 7 papers hitting me in 4 days, from next Monday. Most of this running week went in making this proposed course structure (syllabus, courses, electives..bla bla) for the future batches...in order to make this college more in tune with the times. Also assignments and tests that these profs keep just for the last week, so that they cud go home and get off to whatever they find amusing about it. Now its the inertia that hits a terminal slacker when he realises that he's got to study, but doesnt have it in his system to put in the 15 hour day he hoped he could.

Then there's the summer project after the exams. Two more months of blech in some arbit company in an arbit city. There would be more girls there...(* looks heavenward for hope).

But there is also this sweet lazy weekend in Pune between exams and project. So few hours..so much of lazing to do...aaaargh. Ashish shud finish off his thesis too by then...so we've got some maajor future steam to blow. That Barman's Pitcher at Apache's can only stay away this long.

Dunno when I'd be posting next...or where from. Nor do I now get the point of this current post. What the hell...I want beer.

Girls I Dig – 2

2006-03-21T07:03:00.000+09:00

It took this massive fight against my work ethic to get this post going…I’m supposed to be working on this moronic group assignment for this megamoronic prof, and I kept telling myself I cannot blog till it’s done. I am yet to start work. Who am I fooling.

I cant believe I actually like blogging now…it was supposed to be this vent for all the negative shit in my head...like some dark mental cave I visit when I need to unload and all. Turns out there isn’t that much shit to trip about. This has suddenly turned into this place where I put up my reactions to life or thought processes and study what I wrote….this morbid fascination for watching myself cope with whatever.

Arbit bile at 3.45 am. I should shut down and hit the sack.

It takes me a little while to admit this, but I like Norah Jones. It’s the photo on her album cover. It’s that voice. It’s those dark captivating eyes and that Audrey Hepburn feminity she exudes. She doesn’t need the come hither pout, or the nipple slippages. I mean sure…I’m in the market for those too, but u can’t fall in love with them. You wouldn’t take ur guitar to their balconies and belt out some corny number for them. You wouldn’t care to agonise over what to gift them. You wouldn’t think of restarting your habit of bad poetry, or exercising, or…God, the list is endless.

I cant quite explain this….u’d have to go through it yourself.

Have a long day. At the fag end, when u’re done with your quota of waking hours. Done with college, the TV, the book u were reading, the assignment u never did, the blog u just posted, the intermittent depression…all of it. You’re slumped in your chair, staring at the laptop, thinking of nothing. Make sure u have a beauty of a speaker system. Then play “Come away with me” by N. Jones.

There’s always this mental pic of her slipping into my covers and crooning this song in my ear. It’s nothing sexual….but God, does the chest start aching.

P.S I've been trying to load her pic since the past half hour...either I'm dimwitted, or the google techies are. Drop me a line if u want it. It's a 2.7 Mb pic, though.

Currently listening

Duh. Go read the post again.

Girls i dig -1

2006-03-18T14:31:00.000+09:00

The net’s down. So are all network applications hosted by the server upstairs, so all we’ve got is IPMsg, this little chat software that is the lifeblood of the campus. But Hostel 3 & 4 are cut off from Hostels 1,2 and 5 on the network, (and in many ways…real life too); so it’s just the 40 (approx) of us having to do with each other’s company. I’m writing this post in Word now on Saturday, March 18. Hope to post it when I can.

I’ve fallen in love with Elizabeth Bennett of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. Atleast Keira Knightley’s portrayal of her. An exceptional movie, amazing music, some really good dialogue and some breathtaking visual imagery. Maybe it’s her wit…maybe her firebrand pride, or it might be her loneliness in the 2nd half of the movie . Her looks helped too.

Or maybe it’s Mr Darcy….there are so many bloody parallels I could draw between him and me, I just had to fall in love with his girl. We’re both socially awkward with strangers, we’d prefer not to dance if given the choice, we both act insufferably sophisticated and stoic (only difference there being that he’s rich enough to be genuinely sophisticated….I’m just this broke, pompous little fart). There’s this scene where he bursts into her room at her cousins cottage…and has no idea what to say. So they stand across each other…his panicky attempts to not screw up causing him to fumble even more, while her bewilderment rises with each sec. Until he rushes back out

Yeah, my man….been there, done that. Way too many times.

2006-03-14T18:09:00.000+09:00

Haan, so that thing about me spending too much time on the Net....let's not tell ourselves it's a bad thing. Not when we find stuff like this

You Are Heineken

You appreciate a good beer, but you're not a snob about it.You like your beer mild and easy to drink, so you can concentrate on being drunk.Overall, you're a friendly drunk who's likely to buy a whole round for your friends... many times.Sometimes you can be a bit boring when you drink. You may be prone to go on about topics no one cares about.

What's" Your Beer Personality?

Currently listening
It's Ok - Pearl Jam

Missable

2006-03-13T22:57:00.000+09:00

Have been struggling of late with the insipidity that my life is….once this routine of too much time, too few people and too less work sets in, it gets hard to find newer kicks. I watch a movie a day, listen to music for bout 10 hours, browse the net wayy too much, play something outdoors when the mood sets in and have about 2 gb of unread ebooks.

Yet I find myself sleeping a lot more than I previously did, and a heck of a lot more bored.

I still haven’t found something interesting enough to study further and take up a job in. There hasn’t been any captivating extra curricular activity that I’ve immersed myself into. I still haven’t been infatuated by anyone. Ok, fine…I have, but I know I’m not interested enough to take it beyond the hi-bye stage. (In Dennis’ world….that is a relationship stage)

There was a time when I wanted this. When I consciously shirked away from anything or anyone I could get attached to…it was my way of dealing with some pretty abrupt loneliness and heartbreak during SYJC, Ruparel. The logic was, if u didn’t really like it / her...u wouldn’t care. I may not be the happiest in the world…but atleast I won’t jump off some terrace.

It’s been 7 years of this crappy life since…and yes, I know I was wrong.

But dude, how do u change a guy? A guy who has been hollowing himself out all this time…and then suddenly realizes he’s Frankenstein’s monster, and wants to turn human again. I’ve been hoping against hope, that there’d be some paradigm shift…that some angel wud come and find me and that I’d learn to love her. That I’d be knocked on placement day by an overpaying job I’m interested in doing. That I’d wake up some day and want to live my life.

Self pity isn’t too therapeutic either. Sonuvabitch

I did ask this girl out…about 3 weeks back. Realised since that the rejection was well on it’s way…I’d hardly known her. I still hardly do. What really bites is the fact that I wouldn’t have cared about the outcome, one way or the other.

Currently listening

By my side – INXS.

Leopold and the pitcher

2006-03-09T17:37:00.000+09:00

Hit Leopolds last night after what look like ages now….Damn I missed that place. Pal of mine at the bank was taking up another job at Eserve…and I had yet to fulfill my promise of giving him the NITIE treat. So what if it’s a year late.

So I land up back at the bank…late again by an hour, and the whole place’s changed. They’ve outfitted video cameras, installed cabins…the employees have got prettier…sigh. Talked to my friends for a while before taking a cab with this dude and his gf…(one of my favoritest ppl in that place)

We order the pitcher and a Breezer, swap stories bout how stuff’s been, how life is at college, how uselessly single I am and all. And about 3 quarters into the pitcher…they break the news of their pending marriage to me.

(* Note to self : U grin a lo-ot when u hear good news after downing a pitcher. It’s this scary, goofy grin that halts conversation if the poor converser happened to look directly at ur sexy face. You also talk a lot more than u should. Actually…just stick to the goofy grinning.)

I get the whole lowdown…when he started chasing her, how she 1st shot him down…then how he clawed his way back, how he finally proposed….phew. It’s this rummy feeling one gets when 2 great people go head over heels about each other.

Dang. Wanted to hit on her when I’d gone to the bank. Inaction can pay off sometimes, see..

lost and found

2006-03-07T00:03:00.000+09:00

I'd found this post about a month ago on a forum i keep frequenting. Took the words right out of my head...and put them down on paper in a way i never would be able to. I am posting this here for my archiving purposes than for ur reading pleasure...but be my guest and read on.
It's written by the guy who hosts the forum.

As some of you may know and some of you may not, for the past few months I've been comtemplating voluntarily ending my stint on earth. Here's why. And here's why I have not done it yet.

Why:

They say when you're at the bottom the world is wide open. That's the optimist's version. What they don't say is when you're in a hole, with the opening only a pinpoint above you, the world is no longer wide open but inexorably beyond reach.

When the future seems only a maze of deadends, when all seems futile, when one has nothing to look forward to, what is the point of living any longer?

I will be turning thirty three in two days, and I have to ask myself what I have learned in the thirty three years I've been alive. I've learned many things, but the most important things I've learned are these:

--Life is not unfair. It is plenty fair--as fair as it can be. There are some things which we have power over, and some things which we do not. What life is is uncaring. Life is apathetic. Life does not care what happens to you. Life is not concerned with your well-being. Life is disinterested. Life just is. Our existence is of no concern to life. How can it get any more fair?

--We are all born naked. We learn to hide behind clothing. Then we learn to hide behind lies. Then we learn to hide behind the accomplishments of others. Finally we learn to hide behind our convictions. Then we die alone.

--Most people would rather argue than be productive. People like to talk. They like to say things. They like to let everyone else know what they're thinking. But most talk is empty. Most talk is insincere and disingenuous. Most talk is bullshit. Actions, however, accomplish something--something tangible. Actions, as they say, speak louder than words. The only way to truly know people are through their actions, not their talk.

--Sartre said hell is other people. He was half right. Both heaven and hell are other people. I say life is other people. Life is people, period. There is no life outside other people. Therefore, I say a life without other people is no life at all. Obvious, you say? Think about life without people and you're just beginning to get a hint of a notion of a semblence of a taste of the abyss that is death. (NB: Those of you who would like to argue that hermits live alone, you all can read the previous paragraph; then you can sincerely go fuck yourselves.)

--Hold onto the beautiful things.

Why I have yet to do it:

I'm scared.

I'm tired--tired of hiding, tired of arguing, tired of people--but I want to hold onto the beautiful things. I want to hear the Chopin Ballades. I want to smell the baking cookies. I want to feel the soft caress of another. I want to see freshly fallen snow. I want to laugh. I want to learn. I want to live...but not like this.

"Convictions are more dangerous enemies of truth than lies."—Nietzsche

He's still alive...very much so.

Currently listening

By the way - RHCP

bliss is

2006-03-05T18:42:00.000+09:00

Sunday morning..

sat on the laptop thru breakfast and lunch...if u remind me of those posts where i said i shud get off my ass...the door's that way. I'll deign to point u in it's general direction, but thats it.

chicken soup? double serving!!

2006-03-05T06:36:00.000+09:00

It's 3 am...and it's been a helluva day. I've been so focussed on my own crap, had forgotten what's been happening to the rest of the world....now am just done with bout 4 different chats thru the night...and have to report them all

No names...the people concerned dont want that. Being a confidant is a pain...that way. Hope this is allowed

One of my best buddies landed a kickass job in a kickass firm. He's slogged his ass thru bloody snowy Buffalo, gone thru hell emotionally n with the weather, washed dishes, ate his own cooking and suffered 2 years of self doubt and loneliness. Now..he rules the world.
Dudo u rock.

Another longtime pal announced his engagement plans to me over the net....he's had his share of ladies...but unlike yours truly (who hasnt had any share), the dude kept rejecting them all in search of that one. And he found her about 2 years back. Then gave up drinking for her, fought his way thru more temptation, went thru 2 years of long distance relationship and some ups, some downs...and finally snagged her for good. Now landed himself a cushy consultancy job...and is the first to make marriage plans amongst all us loser prod engineer dudes. Meeting him tomorrow...i dont care if he stopped drinking...he owes me a pitcher.

Here's another buddy, even closer. Chased dozens of chicks in Agnels...with no success. But didnt stop trying. Found what looked like a crush in his MBA college...then 3 months later found himself with her on a Goa beach, talking.Thru the night. thru morning...break for shower n lunch...and then the walk n talk deal thru the evening. Kissed her sometime in between…and a little more.. the twosome have been walking on tiptoes ever since. It’s no crush, btw…
Want an easy giggle??...watch a previously self pronounced womanizer buddy of yours go moony-eyed while thinking about her. Count the number of smileys he puts in his yahoo chats….and listen to him trying to worm out of beer times u set up over the weekend.

The stories aren’t all happy ones, though

There’s that dude who’s having his heart kicked around by forces way beyond comprehension…the image that hits my head is that of this rugby ball being kicked far into the field...it lands hard, skids a bit…then skips sideways randomly, as decided by the grass, the wind, the ballspin…whatever. It’s still on the field…and as soon as it thinks it’s settled in a good spot, some 1 gives it another good whack.
It’s like Cupid poking at some poor bird in some cage when the bastard comes home drunk..Cupid, not the bird.

Then there’s the masses here. Thoreau’s quote on them leading lives of quiet desperation cant have a truer ring to it than those of us in campus here who’ve been lead my the marks we get, the girls our parents would choose, the jobs our college would land us in, the places our companies wud take us, the lifespan our bodies wud allow. Junta’s pretty cool abt this stuff…dunno why my panties get bunched up when dwelling on it. Knowing my head…they’d be bunched up even when I retire and am done with all of it.

But there’s hope…there are dudes who’ve got their lives going…who’ve fought it…they’re winning now, they may lose…they may win again. The rest of us who’re watching from the sidelines should learn to stop reading / writing shitty ass blogs and make a move in life.

Will ask another girl out. This time with a little more groundwork.

It's 5 am. What the fuck am i doing

Currently listening

Rape Me - Nirvana

not fresh ground..

2006-03-04T14:55:00.000+09:00

Nope...this isnt the 1st post on this blog...I'd started on this bout 2 months back..as some means of outletting( ? ) whatever comes to my head.
Then realised that my head's filled with senti crap u shudnt be made to read thru....seriously, if u meet those silent, sardonic types and u want them to open up...be bloody sure u dont really want them to.

I'll start off reaffirming stuff...my name's Dennis, 23 years old, i live in bombay, waddle thru life befuddled and frustrated, get easily drunk, (eagerly too)....and shud have already done a lot of things i havent moved a finger towards starting with. I've never had a girl, not been to goa, cant ride a bike, cant dance for nuts and I cant see beyond two feet

No idea bout what to write..none. Shud get off my ass n step out
If u thought this was going to be an extension of my lively, vivacious self...u poor bastard

Currently listening to
Needle in the hay by Elliott Smith (Good Will Hunting soundtrack)
nice...apt one