Friday, December 31, 2010


An anthology of small crimes,
lost and found in bits of rhyme.
From pitch to throw,
a little desperation, a bit of woe.

So thinly spreads,
irony or dread,
and brutal allay,
on easy prey.

This Day's Blurb.

Providential Direction.

(Sign pointing to Mecca)
Spotted, on a hotel room ceiling in Malaysia.

*No offense intended. I find the concept quite beautiful. Millions of men and women all over the world, united by the same faith, facing the same direction, doing exactly the same thing, at exactly the same point in time. Poetic, in so many ways.

Saturday, December 11, 2010

Midnight musings and other exotic fruits.

It's almost horrifying how good I am at keeping secrets. Interrogate, investigate, poke or pry. Move mountains and oceans, shoot bullets through the sky. Yet I can lie, with not a blink of the eye. However, there is a catch. Aware as I am of its utility, I am finding my capacity for furtiveness to be more than a little disconcerting. Reason being, that I am the one person I know, least equipped to use it. Given to inflated (almost flatulent) concepts of righteousness and honestly, I have no use for this particular talent. Nevermind, I digress. The doubts that I've been tossing around in my head are about something else. What if the secret in consideration is not yours to tell? Does morality follow the law of association? Transitive dependency?

On a related note, I make a great addition to any kind and sort of reunion. Owing to the aforesaid capacity for secrecy, I am made the confidante in more personal/semi-personal equations than one could hope to count. I always have the dirt on everyone's deep, dark secrets. And I get to be the one to spill them when the time is right. Scandals makes an evening, if not life, far more interesting.

In other news, I have begun to attribute the unfortunate state of my social life to reading too much Freud. One can only go so far, classifying people as anally retentive/anally expulsive, and launching into immediate conjecture. The perils of over-educating yourself with things that have nothing to do with your line of misery work.

Also, I was recently discouraged against using any italics in formatting my minor project dissertation. Apparently, it is probable cause  to ascertain that the matter is plagiarized or lifted off an external source. *proceeds to bang head into nearest available wall/desk/mallet.*  Because I enjoy mallets.

The second of my natural talents is also getting me into trouble these days. By virtue of being the most sarcastic person around, I stand the risk of having everything I say be lost in translation. Have lost count of the times I ended up offending people by paying them a genuine, heartfelt compliment. C'est la vie, I suppose.

There is no dearth of things that I hate with the very core of my black, black heart. But there are few things that I hate more than winter. And winter is baring its fangs most viciously these days. Sadly, the second most important examinations of my life are just around the corner, and hibernation is not an option. Neither is active vandalism, it seems. Well, at least something has changed in 3 years. At this point, the only things keeping me sane are hot chocolate, my love of overcoats and badass leather boots, and the faint possibility of a post-exam holiday in a tropical country. Yes, more tropical than India.

If there is one difference that I had to point out in teenaged-me and 21-year-old-me, it would most certainly be that I am no longer angry. Anger is a strange thing. Though it often consumes, it also gives you a certain drive that is irreplaceable. When there's too much of it, it begins to define the person it proliferates in. But when the anger has dissipated, it isn't quite rebirth as much as rediscovery. A lot of things in life take courage, I reckon. It also takes a fair deal to see yourself stripped down to bones, and learn to accept and appreciate what's left. The line between what you will always be and all that you can become, is a thin one. Perhaps that's a good thing, but it is well to know exactly where it lies. The innate capacity to out-reason ourselves into believing anything we want, is and always will be a double-edged sword.

Monday, December 6, 2010

Book Review: Never Let Me Go

Author : Kazuo Ishiguro
Genre : Dystopian Fiction
Rating : 7.5/10
"I keep thinking about this river somewhere, with the water moving really fast. And these two people in the water, trying to hold on to each other, holding on as fast as they can, but in the end it’s just too much. The current’s too strong. They’ve got to let go, drift apart. That’s how I think it is with us. It’s a shame, because we’ve loved each other all our lives. But in the end, we can’t stay together forever." 

When you pick up a book that's been called one of the best of the decade, loved by critics and readers alike, and been praised to high heavens, there are only two ways to go about it. You either read it with a detached sense of skepticism, or with the uncritical acceptance that seeks only to experience, and not to judge. Whichever be the case, Ishiguro does not disappoint.

Based in mid-90's England, Never Let Me Go is the story of three students studying at a sheltered boarding school called Hailsham. Narrated by one of them, the novel describes their lives right from their childhood, to the fate that they came to meet eventually, as adults. Most of the story is bound through a series of flashbacks, chronologically depicting specific incidents in the said timeline. The narrative meticulously details the lives of Kathy, Ruth and Tommy at Hailsham, during their formative years, as teenagers, and thereon.

Given my fascination for all things dystopian, I had some very good reasons to give this one a try. However, by the time I read through half of it, I found countless more. Ishiguro is exactly the kind of literary talent that leaves you with a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, for days to come. The narrative unfolds bit by bit, layer by layer... gradually uncovering the horrifying truth that lies beneath. The subtle, understated manner of writing is almost conspicuous in its simplicity. The tone of it is actually more disconcerting than the content itself. 

Reading through the book, I found myself continually drawing parallels with Murakami's Norwegian Wood. Considering the ethnic background both authors share, I don't know if it's entirely coincidental that I found them to have a similar style of writing. The same understated elegance, simplicity that is noticeable only by virtue of its severity, and even the manner of character-development. Most of all, I was struck by how both books leave you with an overpowering sense of helplessness. It's like the story winds itself around you, pulling you in so deep that you become a part of it. Then, through its equally subtle twists and turns, leaves you positively devastated. And somewhere between the disturbing truth and the false hopes, the reader just might chance upon what the book truly is about - the realization of everything that is not what it could have been. 

Saturday, December 4, 2010

What You Want / What You Need

Assuming that they're two different things, you can have both. Just not at the same time.Though that's usually beside the point, isn't it? 

The gradual depersonalization of this blog has been on for quite some time. Not because I have writer's block, or thinker's block, or any other unimpressive spin I could put on it, but because things changed. Things changed, circumstances changed, and most importantly, I changed. Life pulled Le Olde Switcheroo on me, and it takes time to get a strong foothold back. Reinvention and transmogrification come to signify my checkpoints in life. This year has marked a very pivotal one, and I am glad for that fact. But I'm not the same person I used to be. I'm not the person who started this blog, and have decided not to be the one to finish it. So this is me, back to doing what I love most, in the way that I can do it best. 

A farewell to those who have left, and smile and nod of appreciation to those who have stayed, and a warm welcome to those who are new.

Thursday, December 2, 2010

Why Amanda Palmer is Brilliant - Part 2

You MUST watch the video through to "The End".

The day before the minor project presentation, two of my team-mates simultaneously join a facebook community called "Chal yaar, jo hoga dekha jayega!".

Should I be worried, or amused?

Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Why Amanda Palmer is Brilliant - Part 1

My Alcoholic Friends - The Dresden Dolls

Sunday, November 28, 2010

You know life is unnecessarily complicated when.. need Venn diagrams to sort out your facebook privacy settings.

Early-Morning Epiphany.

Someone to love,
and something to loathe.

The twin pillars of an urban-dweller's fulfilled life.

Friday, November 19, 2010

The Decision.

Religion is a utilitarian concept.
In reality, we always forge our gods and demons out of ourselves.


'Tis not rare, for the past to flash right back to your mind. As commendable as the human race is for its capacity to persuade itself of, and argue itself into virtually anything, it comes with the natural disposition of tracing it's path back in the most inopportune and unfortunate of times. A forgotten memory can be much like an epiphany, capable of inducing anything from from a preposterously wide spectrum of emotions. Alas! What does one do, when it comes to haunt in the form of a certain Katy Perry song? 

Thus went discretion, right down the rabbit hole. 
The present is never static.
It moves with time itself.

It must, after all
hold on to today
for the fear of tomorrow.

Sunday, November 7, 2010

As hard as it gets to see
the little flaws in redemption,
That brittle prudence can be,
not entirely unlike gumption.

Sunday, October 31, 2010

I think your bruise was understated.

As unlikely as I am to listen to a band that calls itself Death Cab for Cutie(or anything in the immediate vicinity), this song just stirs me up in a way that doesn't happen often enough these days. Not that I'm one of the classic rock/metal elitists, but this particular band usually sounds more than a little pansy-ish to me. And there are a lot of questionable things I may be into, but my tolerance for all-things-emo is far too low to be convenient.

This piece however, is different. It's the opening notes, I think, that brew-up the piping hot nostalgia.

"But you’re so farsighted that you can’t place trust
In what or who you recognize."

Yep, Nostalgia is always a dish best served hot.

Monday, October 25, 2010

Don't Whiz on a 'Lectric Fence.

From the author of "When I am an Old Coot".

An anthology of such gems of wisdom as:


Indeed, inanity is BACK.

Friday, October 22, 2010

Under The Table and Dreaming.

It’s the persistent din that keeps bringing it back. The sound of too many voices speaking too many languages at exactly the same time. Usually, they have the same thing to say. Often, not one of them matter. But it is exactly that, and the silent humming sound coming from the front that is to be blamed for distorted nostalgia. It comes in waves, more often than not. One treads upon the others' heel. Washing ashore a fair number of lost and abandoned  things, leaving behind the odd shell or two, and taking down a few sand castles along the way. The city that calls itself the heart of the country, beats at its own pace. It’s the only thing it has to call its own. After all, there is nothing about Delhi that isn’t borrowed. Not even the weather.

But sometimes I get lucky and it’s night. I’m on a bus, it’s raining and it’s a dark night. Except for the gaudy light bulbs that keep shady little shacks in business. I can’t see the lights though, because all I see are the raindrops on the windowpane. And through the raindrops, all I see are a zillion hexagonal orange disks of light, floating over the busy streets, and people who are nothing if not that. But then the bus starts to move, and things whir past. Faster in the mind than on the road.

Three months later, I’m on the same bus, en route to the same destination - home. Only it’s evening, and the sky is a lighter shade of blue. There are no lights, but the din seems louder. It gets louder by the second. Part of me wishes it would grow loud enough to drown out the crackling radio and the horrid music it blares out to the benefit of no one in particular, and especially to my annoyance, but that could just as well be because of how crowded it is in here. There are three times as many people as there should be, and my limbs are contorted to fill up the little space they have to negotiate with. I’m bent at unnatural angles and feel like a broken doll, in more ways than one. But that’s just half an hour of the day spent avoiding stepping on people’s toes or having yours trampled on and cursing quietly under your breath, which is a small victory by any estimate. And once you’re walking home from the bus stop, you’ll forget. Early autumn evenings do that to you. The slight chill in the wind is a subtle reminder of the months behind you, and heralds those to come. But to me, nothing quite spells autumn in the city like the scent of cardamom. Every year, October brings life into my neighborhood, as the dozens of trees that line the pavements burst forth to present a spectacular olfactory marvel. The almost unbelievably sweet scent of fresh cardamom, from trees that have nothing to do with cardamom. Not even the rank smell of pre-Diwali firecracker smoke can overpower it. So I walk along the road, letting the chilly breeze toss my already-tangled hair around and the scent flood my senses.

A year later, I’m looking out the same window. But something has changed. Every song on the radio sounds like another I’ve heard before. Every new person I meet, reminds me of someone I used to know. I’m still heading home, but don’t think I’ll be calling it that for very long. It has all happened before, and I think back upon the times in my life when I’ve let go of "what is", with no knowledge of "what will be". The times one must let go of the ledge, without knowing what greets you down below, hoping for something to break your fall. Thrusting myself into the unknown has always been an adventure. Always looked forward to, and I always spent nights, days, months and seasons in anticipation of. But things have changed.

Today, I am here. Sitting in my room, painted red and in several shades of gray, now being flooded with wave after wave of the same cardamom scent, and I know that I’ve grown old. Because now when I look out glass windows, I no longer see. I only remember. And dread that one of these days, to remember just wouldn’t be enough.

Sunday, October 10, 2010

The Accidentally Explanatory Afternote.

There is an online community on Facebook, called "I was alive on 10/10/10 10:10:10". 
I will allow that to settle in.
Some more.
This is ridiculous even by standards that do the nose-dive ever so often. 
Thus, the aforementioned chafing of patience. Which, may I add, is still a valued, perishable and exhaustible resource.

Update: 6 hours later, there is now another one called " Today is 10/10/10, won't happen again for another 1000 years so you might as well like it ♥".


Saturday, October 9, 2010

Thus began the *isms.

Social networking chafes my patience, despite being my only recourse in times of distress and isolation.
A green dot next to my name, is always a clear sign of desperation.

Thursday, October 7, 2010

Further Discourse on Happiness.

Reading through The Picture of Dorian Gray, I chanced upon a realization that had been toying with my head for years. Indeed, it is true that maleficence and the years corrupt the body. But is it also true that knowledge corrupts the mind?

Most of the happiest people I have ever known are also some of the most ignorant ones. Most of the intellectually gifted people I know are deeply troubled, in one way or the other. And it’s the existentialists that seem to be the most perturbed of the lot. Why is it that self-awareness (or any form of awareness at all) unleashes a nagging discontent upon those who may seek it? Most of us may live our lives in the pursuit of happiness, but to what end? If it is a state of mind, then do the aforementioned facts not point to the delusional nature of all human desires and their satisfaction? If yes, then the integrity of rationale and accurate perception is dearly compromised, and life is lived on a background tinted with contrition. If not, then the value of happiness itself is a grotesque overestimation. It is somewhere between these arguments that I hope to find the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. I do, however, lean towards the latter.

I have always believed that happiness is an over-rated concept. When we have the entire spectrum of human emotions available to us, to paint our world in just one color would take a serious lack of imagination. Existence wouldn’t have much meaning, if we didn’t taste all the flavors it has to offer. Wrath, Despair, and Fear are just as crucial human experiences, if not more. After all, they are far more intense, and intensity begets exhilaration. If we were to miss out on that, then it would be a life only half-lived.

An Observation.

Rajinikanth is the new Chuck Norris. 
Edit all references accordingly.

Thursday, September 30, 2010

Petronas Towers - Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia
March 2010

The Ironies of Life #972

"Jilted admirer/cause of a major one-sided frenemy catfight" and "back-and-forth awkward-history  nasty-exit guy" land up as colleagues in a distant land, and have a full-fledged bromance going on. Quite visibly, and all over Facebook. Gallons of beer must have borne witness to my defamation.


Thursday, September 23, 2010

There's a certain thing called being lovestruck, and then there's being run over by a bulldozer called love. Everywhere I look, I see far too little of the former and far too much of the latter.

Indeed, the plight of an age so grossly carnal in its pleasures and so grossly common in its aims.
Touché Wilde. You win.
Every bloody time.

Friday, September 10, 2010

Sunday, August 29, 2010

This Day's Blurb.

The Mundanity of Transgression.
"Through all he said, even through his appalling sentimentality, I was reminded of something—an elusive rhythm, a fragment of lost words, that I had heard somewhere a long time ago. For a moment a phrase tried to take shape in my mouth and my lips parted like a dumb man's, as though there was more struggling upon them than a wisp of startled air. But they made no sound, and what I had almost remembered was uncommunicable forever."

-F. Scott Fitzgerald
(The Great Gatsby)

Flatliners and more.

Read Norwegian Wood, The Great Gatsby and The Book of Illusions. Read halfway through Don Quixote, Sophie's World and To The Lighthouse. Saw Before Sunrise, and hated it. Saw Salt and hated it more.

College is driving me crazy. I'm being bulldozed into the impending debacle of a job-hunt. Prematurely, at that. I'm pissed off because it's TOO DARN EARLY for this shit. I feel like digging my claws in the dirt, vehemently refusing to budge. That's one shining piece of wisdom I got from my dog. Aside from - "If you stare at someone long enough, eventually you'll get what you want." Salivating may, or may not help your case. Though, it does make you look creepy. 

When you're unsettled and disturbed, it often takes a sudden burst of chaos to knock you right in place. When you're stumbling along, often it's a violent spell of turbulence that makes you regain your footing. When you're looking for peace of mind, a menagerie might actually work better. Though often, family suffices.  

"When the hopelessness is hurting you, it's the fixtures and fittings that finish you off.", said the woman who, very strangely, I am awed by.

Sunday, August 22, 2010

Ladies and Gentlemen!


Go ahead, folks. Show the pretty guys some LURRRV! --> Here
Yes. Even the one who looks constipated. He will assure you, he is not.
Also, he's very available

And I WILL accept cash, card or cheque to advertise.

Friday, August 20, 2010

Two Sharp Edges.

Ahh... Hope!

So easy to lose,
just that hard to abdicate.

Saturday, August 14, 2010

This Day's Blurb.

Velvet-lined red plastic handcuffs. Spotted, at your friendly neighborhood Archies Gallery.

Friday, August 13, 2010

I have no time for idle cares
Through gazing on the unquiet sky.
And when an hour with calmer wings
Its down upon my spirit flings-
That little time with lyre and rhyme
To while away- forbidden things!
My heart would feel to be a crime
Unless it trembled with the strings.

                                               -Edgar Allan Poe

A Point Made?

The Funniest.
Randall Munroe, is still my hero.

Saturday, August 7, 2010

Crash Course in Brain Surgery.

Ahh well, it's been Metallica all day.

“This award is bestowed upon a fellow blogger whose blog’s content or design is, in the giver’s opinion, brilliant.”

To say the least, I'm flattered. More so, because each one of the fine individuals who bestowed the tag upon me, are people who I have admired and envied intensely for their remarkable talent for penmanship.  I continue to do so.  Thank you.

Some rules of the Game:
a) Show off your honesty by thanking the person who gave you the award and link to their post.
b) List 10 honest things about yourself.
c) Select 7 other bloggers you think deserve this award and pass it on to them.
d) Notify said bloggers about the award and invite them to be the honest ones next.


1. I talk to myself. All the time. Complete with flourishes and gestures and drum-rolls and trumpets. It's just how I function (and successfully manage to creep people out, in the process). Talk about added perks.

2. I have exactly two unreasonable phobias - cockroaches, and beauty salons. Episodes from my life concerning both make for excellent spine-chillers. I have a theory stating that when disturbed, any cockroach in a 10 meter radius will automatically fly/leap towards my head, defying all laws of gravity, physics, and common sense. It has been proved to many a person-of-doubt, more times than I would like.   

3. When encountered with double entendre (intentional or not), my brain ALWAYS processes the second meaning first, and stops right there. It is with great difficulty that I coax it into proceeding further, to a more appropriate conclusion.
Corollary: I create the most elegant euphemisms out of thin air.

4. I suck at bowling. My scorecard, without fail, only reads of either perfect strikes or gutters. Same goes for a lot of sports, and most of life.

5. Most of my life as a card-carrying, living, breathing entity, have been a bunch of Chandler-moments strung together. No stranger to making jokes and having to explain the punchline 20 seconds post-deployment-and-blank-silence, I live through life elucidating upon pop-culture references that no one gets.

6. I am obsessed with candles, old books, letters, chocolates, non-colours, pan-asian food, knives and Hamlet. 

7. I have an unusual set of morals and ethics, but the ones I choose to adhere to, I do so with a staunchness that can easily be equated to fanaticism. Same goes for my philosophical, political and religious views, or the lack of them.

8. More often than not, I dislike receiving compliments, and prefer criticism greatly. I usually find the former to be hollow, while the latter almost always gives me things to think about. Conversely, I place great value in the opinions of a very selected set of people. They are the people I admire most.
9. Among all the things I should have learnt and never did (riding a bicycle, general empathy, using a straightening iron), my inability to smile irks me the most. Not that I would use the talent much, even if I did.

10. Through my years of a Bachelor's Degree in Information Technology, I honestly believe that the one thing I learnt that I am truly proud of, is the use of an arc welding machine. The drill and chainsaws come to a close second.

To further cater to narcissism: 
11. I judge people. Based on the way they look, write, speak, dress and most importantly, think. I meet them, I study them, I file them under the appropriate category, and the dossier is rarely, if ever, re-filed. Also, I am biased against good-looking people, and tend to put them through more intense and rigorous testing-and-filing.With practice, I've gotten better at it, and have taken it all to the level of profiling. Makes for some interesting Metro train rides to-and-from college.

12. In the 21 years of my life, I have donned pretty much every role in the social setup that it is possible to play. From social-leprosy to blinding popularity, from being the mousy, bespectacled, stammering, clumsy fat geek to teetering on 5-inch heels, apple-martini in hand at swish parties, to nihilistic goth-rock fanatic, true blue leather-and-metal rebel, to jaded cynical bookworm with a taste for undulated sarcasm, political conspiracy theories, obscure art movies and Johann Sebastian Bach. Even made friends with the podium and stage mic, along the way. And what I've discovered from all of it, is that it's all a masquerade. Petty, in the greater order of things. It's the things that you retain through these roles, that define your capabilities and your limitations. It's only the things that are constant, that matter at all. 


Moving on, I am very very late with this, so most of the people I would have listed here, have already been tagged. So I will now tag the people whose blogs I love and stalk on a regular basis, and who may or may not have a clue about it. 

I think that you all are brilliant at what you do, and I would urge at least 4 of you to write more often!

P.S. I also hate mathematics.

Jolted out of LimboLand.

I'm back. Internship complete. Final year of college. Things to hang on to, things to preserve, and things to let go of. I have the post-its in place. Besides, yesterday was pretty much the kind of day that happens, and then you try to live with and in it, for the rest of your life.

To those who left the uplifting comments in the last post, thank you. To those who have waited, I'm glad. And to those who will drop in, welcome. I hope to get to know all of you better.

Let's roll!

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

Some updates and more of things I don't have to say.

Allow me to exaggerate. The spirited, lively river of what one may have once approximated to the merest equivalent of creativity, has dried to a slow, muddy trickle. Not only am I unable to write, I am also unable to think. Contact with the human specie is so limited these days, that I'm almost glad for bank loan promotional calls. Long winding conversations with myself are no longer even marginally engrossing. The last 3 years have disappointed me, and now I disappoint myself. In my world, that's the lowest low of the rockiest rock-bottom. Occasional periods of acquiring a vegetative state are not uncommon, but this is a whole new level of under-performance. I have a million pressing matters to address, and all I'm doing is shutting myself in a room 24x7 and not thinking. In fact, I'm dedicatedly and assiduously not-doing a whole lot of things. Also, I expect my 6th semester results to be announced anytime between last week and next month. That mere fact has turned me into a bawling, jumpy ball of nerves. I do not exaggerate when I say that my life and sanity depend on it. I want to apologize to all the people whose calls I have not answered, comments, mails and messages I have not replied to, not wished on birthdays and anniversaries, not called back, offered flimsy excuses to avoid meeting, and in general, been very very awful to. I can't. Not at the moment. But one of those people who have been nice enough to surprise me with her calls and concern(and will read this, I'm sure), is the one I owe a major apology to. I will make things right. Please know that I mean to.

Tuesday, June 29, 2010

Of Punctuation and Deathblows.

What if someday you come down to being just a punctuation mark? Say, for instance, a | between the !s, or a . between the ,s or the : between the ;s, which is all a fanciful way of saying the same thing really. What if you don't, and instead settle for the snug little place between the first and the third guess? What if you stop thinking in terms of pedestals and podiums, and bring it to a black piece of mistaken sentiment on a crisp white sheet of paper?

Yet, it would mean the exact same thing. What a difference a well-placed, and well-timed mark makes. Or a coup de grâce, for that  matter.

Monday, June 21, 2010

Sunday, June 20, 2010


Internship. HCL. Noctivagance.

For one with Darth Vader-ish ambitions, I should, at the very least, be allowed to rewrite the dictionary as I please! Take note, blog URL.


Misuse psychosomatic inclinations to induce spontaneous yawning in whoever reads this post.

I started out fine, I would like to believe.

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

A Grave Concern.

All through the years spent living, breathing, observing and thinking, an individual creates a vast memory and knowledge warehouse of facts, figures, words, thoughts, inferences and deductions. I, like every other person with a similar disposition, treasure that figurative cerebral repository more than most things I have ever had the capability or fortune to possess. It falls to reason that if what we are is defined purely and in entirety by what we think, what we believe, and what we know, is it not a cause for concern that essentially, all it would take is amnesia to wipe out a person's existence?

Saturday, June 5, 2010

This Day's Blurb.

Suburban passive aggression.

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

Of Wormy Apples.

This week, Apple overtook Microsoft to become the most valuable firm in the tech rat-race. The Wall Street marks it as the end of an era, where the most significant technological product of our age no longer sits on a desk. Instead, it dangles from belt clips on low-waist jeans. To put it succinctly, I am not happy.

I am convinced that if there is any one cause worthy of a third World War, it has to be the PC vs. Mac debate. Seriously speaking, Archduke was a joke in comparison. Poke any random Apple fanboy in the slightest of ways, and they burst into a spectacular fire-and-lights display of livid rage and righteous indignation. Sure, it comes in neat packaging. Sure, it has its pros. Sure, it is a snazzy and expensive version of Shiny Computing Box for Dummies. But from where I look at it, the cons easily outnumber the pros. In fact, they punch them into a pulp, dribble them, and throw them right out the window and into the trash.

Why I hate Apple:

1. Proprietary software taken to the extreme. License upon license, copyright upon copyright.
I run three different photo-editing programs, each with a diverse set of features as per requirement. Same goes for all media applications. How does one break out of the stifling bounds of the iLife package?
2. Zero room for customization.
3. Restricted access to OS kernel.
Every Windows user worth his salt loves DOS. Any Linux user's life depends on it. An apple user, is left to his own devices.
4. Zero flexibility in tweaking and programming.
5. Extremely limited software portability.
6. Zero-portability of software developed on the system itself.
7. Annoyingly long list of incompatible hardware and peripherals.
8. Coming to iTunes. Now, can someone please explain to me why I would want to use a software that insists on copying my music files into an entirely new non-virtual library of its own? Memory is a precious thing. Considering that I store about 60 GB of music on my system, there is no way I'd choke it up with double copies. Also, the iTunes library is not organized in any coherent fashion, so the original folders on disk cannot be done without either. Add to it the misery of its bland, pasty interface and no thematic customization options available. Not to mention, having to download an wide array of additional software to deal with the fact that it does not support wma audio and to convert all video to mp4. Compare with Windows or Linux, where all you need is an internet connection to download easily available codecs and plugins, apart from the fairly comprehensive range of supported formats.
9. By far, the only reason iTunes even exists is so that the world's iPods can be put to use. Of course Apple has every reason to try and make sure that it doesn't work with anything else. Throw in those $30 pieces of scrap wool they call iPod socks and every other over-priced accessory Apple markets just because the iPod does, and always will, sell. The things they get away with shock me. Really.
10. The continual updates and releases of fairly useless thingamajigs like Safari. Not to mention the massive download sizes. Nothing eats up computer memory faster than Quicktime, iTunes and Safari put together. The 3 harbingers of a processor's doom.
11. Simply said, a Mac dumbs you down. If someday they took over the world, a major part of the joy of using a computer would be lost. In order to use a system to its full potential, one has to dig deep and explore its innards.
12. The marketing, the pretentiousness of the "Mac lifestyle", the brand tag, the overwhelming smarminess of the Mac vs. PC advertisements(which, by the way, are so erroneous that I don't even know where to start). 

I haven't even gotten into the technicalities. But there's this to compensate.
Truth be told, if a Mac is a smarmy college punk, and Windows is a rotund bespectacled geek, Linux is the tattooed biker on a mean set of wheels.

So upon coming upon this little piece of news, I exhibited some major distress symptoms. Within 2 days, it was time for extreme measures. Since then, I have downloaded and installed Ubuntu on my laptop and my desktop, and gotten rid of iTunes altogether. I chose Ubuntu, because it works on a philosophy that is essentially the polar opposite of everything Apple stands for. And 3 days on, I am waaaaaaay beyond satisfied with it. The thrill of working in an entirely new environment, and learning to work hardcore on a system is thoroughly refreshing. It is completely customizable, is very "hands-on", offers an exhausting number of options with open-source software, and yet remains surprisingly intuitive. Not to mention, its media players synchronize perfectly with iPods and have far more features than anything Apple could come up with. The only limitation I see so far is that internet connectivity is crucial to its functioning. Aside from that, the GUI interface through Compiz is to die for. One even begins to love the overzealous autoconfig after a while. Much love to open source.

P.S. The reason why Apple is :"virus-free" and "spyware-free" is because the most virulent of malware are designed to attack the Windows OS, owning to the popularity of windows. It is relatively "bug-free" because it only works with a limited set of hardware components. Unlike Windows, with which you pretty much throw it all in and make it work Needless to say, I wait eagerly for the tables to turn. Something tells me, it won't be long.

Monday, May 31, 2010

Thursday, May 27, 2010

To Quote.

"I don't know whether or not we will meet again. I could, with an effort, look into the future, but the time is too short. I'd like you to know this: separation contains as much of a mystery as a meeting. In both cases a door opens. In meeting, it opens on the future, in separation on the past. It is the same door."

-Elie Wiesel

Sunday, May 23, 2010

For fiction is obliged to stick to possibilities.

White wisps wafted towards the sky. Transparent and weightless, spiraling out through the sunroof. Through the mist you could see a faint glimmer. Or miniaturized apocalypse. It's all about perspective, they always said. With a careful flick of his hand, he dusted the ash off. And wished. There was time, after all. Almost enough.

Silently, she looked out the glass at the street ahead. And wished. If only there were more things he handled as delicately as his cigarettes.

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

To say what needs to be said...

Exams have drained the life out of me. Will be back shortly, when I have gained some semblance of it back.

Saturday, May 1, 2010

A Writer's Diary.

 May 26, 1924

"If we didn't live venturously, plucking the wild goat by the beard, and trembling over precipices, we should never be depressed, I've no doubt; but already should be faded, fatalistic and aged."

-Virginia Woolf (1882-1941)
Exams. Of course.

Just so we all remember...

There are only two kinds of people in this world : The ones who become what life makes out of them, and the ones who are what they made out of their lives.

The highest value that a man can hold is his own ability. Consequently, the greatest sin is the failure to recognize it. And the most profound form of depravity to exist, is his refusal to acknowledge it.

Thus begins my lecture on the necessity of an internal locus of control.

P.S. I'm so stuck in the wrong profession.

Friday, April 30, 2010

So, today would forever be remembered as the day I referred to an onion as being an albino.

Thursday, April 22, 2010

Universally Speaking.

People never change. Ever.
Circumstances only cause them to highlight, sharpen, and play out certain aspects of their being more than the others, at different points in time. If you take to observing people closely enough, they'll never surprise you.

Life, on the other hand, is far more complex than that.

Sunday, April 18, 2010

Ambitions à la Nostradamus.

Tonight, I want to be the toad in a wishing well, right out of a lesser-known, obscure little fairytale. One that would have entire pretentious kingdoms, their doltish gold-haired pretentious Rapunzels and dorky-looking, velvet-clad pretentious Prince Charmings tip a coin in and bare their shallow little souls out. Then, with an overbearing air of pomposity, I would raucously clear my throat and croak out cryptic, one-line prophecies... in effect, messing with their buoyant little heads. Only then will I ever be able to justify my existence congruently in an alternate dimension.

That, or I could make a positively vapid fortune-cookie.

"You proceed from a false assumption: I have no ego to bruise."
- Spock,
Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan

"The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it."
- Oscar Wilde 

A Leaf out of the Book I have no use for Anymore.

November 7, 2009
2230 Hours (I will use military time, to build atmosphere)

ran·cour  (rngkr)
n. Chiefly British
rancour USrancor [ˈræŋkə]
Spite. Spite. Spite.
-Royally Irked.

I might break a few things now. Either I underestimate my paranoia, or that's exactly what it is. And I don't remember being this angry in a considerable amount of time. Enough to radiate in all directions and turn me into a giant black hole. If there's one thing I've learnt in life, it is to deal with things in absolutes. Out of respect for all that matters, and that which possibly couldn't. That being the only true moral code I adhere to. Pushing things too far? Maybe. But I don't have benchmarks to gauge against. Mine flout normalcy with unbridled aplomb. I don't even feel the need to feign propriety. That's the good part. It is indeed, all about feigning. That's the bad. I'm not going to regret this. That just might be slightly ugly.

Presently came along a wolf, and knocked at the door, and said:'Little pig, little pig, let me come in.'
To which the pig answered: 'No, no, by the hair of my chiny chin chin.'
The wolf then answered to that:'Then I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow your house in.'
So he huffed, and he puffed, and he blew the house in.

 Guess what happened next.

And that, little kids, is how you spell PASSIVE AGGRESSION.

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

Indulgence in the Witching Hour.

Half-light and stalled time,
fingertips in rhythm and rhyme.
Some of your truths,
turned to some of mine.

My EXCITEMENT knows no bounds!

India WON the KABADDI WORLD CUP!!! Woohooh! Streamers and party-horns and celebrations galore! TAKE THAT, IPL! And all of those people who have been flooding my Facebook homepage with regular, instantaneous updates about every single occurrence on and off the crease: IN YOUR FACE! Haha! 

Fact times three:
1. My heartiest congratulations to Sania Mirza and Shoaib Malik on their blessed holy wedlock. You two deserve every bit of having to spend the rest of your lives chained to each other.
2. My obsession with Kat Von D is getting waaaaay out of hand. I need help. Pronto. 
3. A WiFi-enabled home should henceforth be counted as one of the few simple pleasures in life. Also, Airtel IPTV is working very well towards eliminating my long-standing hatred for what the world calls "Television". Which goes to say, that it's turning me into a hopeless invalid who streams TLC and the History Channel all day.  

 This would be the first time in recorded history when I've punctuated a sentence with three exclamation marks, and threw in a few more on top.Darn it! I knew I should have saved some firecrackers from Diwali.

Sunday, April 11, 2010

The overwhelming lack of content in my blog posts(and the absence of them) of late, is starting to bother me.

Thought I should let you know.

That's all.

Friday, April 2, 2010


More from Singapore.
Underwater World - Sentosa

Note: I touched a Sting-ray! And I was inappropriately happy about it.

Notice the expression? Yes. That one. That is the exact look my 5th grade maths teacher wore on her face. Only, evil-er. Exponentially evil-er. Why, she even used blue eyeliner! No wonder I've always hated maths.

An upside-down jellyfish. One of the prettier things I've seen in life.

The Weedy-Seadragon
Where it gets hard to tell what's what. 


The chocolate syrup I brewed and distractedly left in the deep-freeze yesterday, has now turned into the richest chocolate-iest approximation of ice-cream that has ever come my way.

The point of this post being:
1. I have exams coming up. Hence, I want to do things like brew chocolate syrup, bake brownies, and conquer the world.
2. I've got Travis and Switchblade Symphony playing alternatively on iTunes. Both evoke polar opposite sentiments, in every single way possible.
3. For no particular reason at all, I dug-up an old mail-conversation yesterday. I'm glad I did. 
4. Good things always happen to me by accident. 

Sunday, March 28, 2010

The Fire-Eaters.

Night Safari, Singapore
March 2010

Pictures from Singapore.

Merlion Park, Singapore

Under the Bridge, Marina Bay

 Songs of the Sea, Sentosa Island

Singapore Flyer - Worm's Eye View


Sunday, March 21, 2010


i am writing this because i am suddenly craving for ennui. the kind of unsettling gut-wrench that comes with being completely wasted and having enough time and almost enough void to fill several parallel universes with. and then some. last night was the fifth in a row when i passed out fully dressed and woke up raccoon-eyed courtesy the kohl i've been too tired(disinterested) to wipe off. and then i question the need of slipping out and into something else, with some water in between that can't wash away, what i don't have to wash away, what i don't want to wash away and what i will not wash away. from the mind, the body, and that layer of fluid harmony that binds the two, once in an odd while... but the craving soon transforms into the one you wake up with after a night of having too vivid a dream. and then you see that reality finds itself misplaced in this splendidly skewed order of things. waking up from one dream into the next, halfway between the wistful and the endless, and a unfaltering disbelief in limits of any kind and sort.

pandora's box, or actuality down the rabbit hole... a spinning whorl of wants and haves and cans and coulds. no ifs, no maybes, no perhaps, and none of the gargantuan words that require too much space and way too much distance. sand, with no hourglass to hold it. lanes, with too many twists and not enough bends. night, and glowing wisps of smoke. and trains... waited for, and then not caught, with a heartbeat trapped in a second. or two.

Saturday, March 13, 2010

A Life Plan in Jest: Part 1

One day, I will be the proud owner of a staggeringly humongous canine. I'm talking Irish Wolf Hounds and Pitbulls here. A FEROCIOUS, mean, fear-inspiring beast. And I will name it something like Fluffy, or Snowflake, or Honey-puff pooch-muffin.


I have a decidedly cooky sense of humor. Also, I pull mean jokes on people.

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

You know you need to study when...

Further Reflections on Parsley.

Is gharsley.

            -Ogden Nash

Call me crazy, but I have found a disproportionate number of reasons to worship the man.


1. I'm back from a tour of Kuala Lumpur and Singapore. Yes, it was awesome

2. There's just too much about the whole affair to put together and make a coherent narrative out of, so I'll just let it sort itself out for now. In the curious little place that is my brain.

3. There are deadlines. Too many, racing each other, stepping on each others toes to beat the last to the punch. 

4. I need to study. It seems an alien concept at the moment. It's becoming a matter of necessity now. And this is very high up on the list of things one would never expect to hear me say. 

5. I'm absolutely certain that where I stand right now, is one of the best times and places to exist in. It's the kind of euphoria, the existence of which defies your imagination. My life has turned around completely. Everyday is something to look forward to. I'm still awestruck. I just gape in wonder.

Thursday, February 25, 2010

Days and Journeys.

Yesterday was about all that is perfect. About long walks, beautiful books and even more idyllic words. About the pertinence of not only sounds, but the quanta of silence that separates them. About how moments often encase perfection within them, much like hands clasp around a candle flame... to nurture it. It was also about the fragility of that very perfection, and what it takes to keep it inviolable. Close to the heart. 

Today, I'm packing my bags to fly to distant lands. To leave things to what they are for a little while. To let it simmer, and brew by itself. But I know that that is just me deluding myself. I am now tied to it in a multitude of ways, by the kind of cords one hopes to grow someday. Like convoluted roots that link a resplendent tree to the earth and all the beauty of the world. No matter how far I go and what I do, I leave a part of myself right here, waiting to be reclaimed and find itself with more reasons to spread its wings and take over my world, making it a better place to be in with every passing second. 

Tomorrow, I will be sitting about 2400 miles away, musing about time past and time present and time future and the non-redeemability of it all. And how the luxury of occasionally not being in control comes at a  hefty price, for the uneasy bearer of heavy crowns.  

Sunday, February 21, 2010

...and so, providence takes its cue from man.

Saturday, February 20, 2010

There comes a time...

...when life takes on a color you've never tasted. So complex, that it leaves you in awe. So perfect, that you can't believe your eyes. So complete, that it fills up a void, the vastness of which you had never even come close to estimating. All the bitterness of years and ages fades away, leaving not even a reminder of itself behind. Evaporates into thin air. That is when you know exactly what Neruda meant when he spoke of what spring does to cherry trees.

It's overwhelming. In ways beyond anything that the mind can comprehend. Beyond anything that can be approximated in the most delicate of words. Beyond time, beyond space, beyond all that is real and all that is not. It's not just a moment. Because time simply decides to halt, sometimes. Because a thousand wishes choose to come together and culminate in a magnum opus. Symphonies and chords that the world seems to dance to. It's sheer thrill. It's exhilaration. It's breathlessness. It's beauty itself. 

Because sometimes, when you really want something... the universe really does conspire to give it to you. 
And this, indeed, is euphoria.

Friday, February 12, 2010

Valentine Bish-Bash.

It's THAT time of the year again. Every teenaged punk in my neighbourhood is blaring sappy love-songs out of their respective mega-horsepower surround sound stereo systems. I am being visually assaulted by all the heart-shaped balloons and balloon-shaped hearts. I'm in bang-center of a major FML-phase, and it is definitely not a "valentine thing" that's causing it. 

(After a thoroughly satisfying session of Valentine-bashing, bitchy punning, and collective puke-hurling at the pink, mushy, coochie-coo plague.)

ENTER The Eternal Optimist.

TEO: Blah blah blah blah!!!... From deep inside, we all know that we need someone!

Me: Yes. A psychiatrist. 
       But we also make do with bartenders sometimes.  

I suppose that sums up my approach to all matters of the heart. Or it did, at least. Once upon a time, I believed that love and happiness came together. Then I was convinced that happiness(the non-delusional variety) doesn't exist at all. Never thought I would see a day when I would have to choose between the two. Or an abstraction of one of the two. I don't believe that either fades away, but sometimes both are capable of turning into something barely recognizable. Behold, a tiny slice of the FML-scenario! 

Incidentally, this was last year's post. Strange patterns I'm charting out here.

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

Bottled Thrills.

Clicked in my college's canteen by a fellow student, and sent on Gtalk. 

Yes, this be my new claim to fame. I shall be the local brand ambassador. Monuments will be erected in my honor. Line up for autographs, s'il vous plait! I come in "cola", "lime", "crazy", "crazier", and "OMFG!!!". 

Also, I contain no fruit juice or pulp. Thank you for your time.

A Crucial Matter.

There was a time when I seriously considered snitching potassium cyanide from the school chemistry lab, and feeding it to someone.A little over 3 years later, I might be meeting that person over cosmopolitans soon. 

The above statement might implicate me in a murder trial someday. Or, it might implicate her, in case she decides to poison me or drive a chainsaw through me in a dark alley or worse. 

P.S. You've got to love encounters with ex-arch enemies. Puts "living deliberately" on a whole different level.
P.P.S. I've had an unusually dramatic life. Contrary to probable assumptions, I haven't always been overly "dramatizing" it. It's true. 
P.P.P.S. I wish this was entirely a joke. Guess what? It isn't.

Sunday, February 7, 2010

Time and Wagers.

Suppose I was a stranger in a strange land. Standing atop a sand dune, watching all that exists bathed in the molten gold that a setting sun spews onto the world. I would walk endlessly on the roasted sand, singeing my painted toes just a little... just enough. I would walk against the harsh wind, feeling it whip my hair around in a tangled mess(like I always preferred it), sting my skin just a little, and whisper sweet nothings to me in a painfully familiar voice. Have it hurt just enough to be comfortable, in exact measures and slow degrees. Because one always needs more of it, after a while. I would look above and see the birds. Not quite the sort you would want to wish upon, but one doesn't expect miracles anyway. So I would murmur those lines I  leave scribbled on a piece of paper, in library books for a stranger to see. And I would walk calmly, taking in the beauty of constant motion doomed to be frozen in time. There was a time when they had a word for that, I think. But time decays. Itself and all that is around or in it. Memory is all that is cursed with immortality. Curses, after all, also come in masquerade. 

I would then turn and look at my imprints in the sand, and think about things that will never be spoken and probably wouldn't be heard. And I would go on walking on feet that are now numb, except for a violent shudder that runs up the spine every now and then. I would see iridescent streaks of color emanating from a distant ball of fire on the horizon, and laugh exactly the way I did about fairy-tales and the tall tower that no one could get to. I would remember something and bend down to scoop a handful of gold dust, and let it slip out from my fingers like liquid silk. Then, I would start walking again.

And right there, I would have lost another of our little wagers because I would still be going exactly where the wind takes me, like you once said I would. But I would still have a lot to gain, you see. It's taking me a little further from you. 

Wednesday, February 3, 2010


Tuesday, February 2, 2010

Cast ye bottle into the sea.

Oh, dear world of borrowed opinions... I have lost my patience for you. Imaginations made of colourful paper-cutouts and convictions straight out of the late-night special. I'm done. I quit. I shall no longer try to rationalize with you. Ridicule be the new policy of choice.

To re-quote the guy my lecturer for Organizational Behavior likes to quote-"Never argue with an idiot, for they bring you down to their level and then beat you with experience." Right.

Monday, February 1, 2010

Orange Clouds Raining in My Head.

I'm often asked why I'm so in awe of Tori Amos, after all these years. Well, here's why:

Silent all These Years

My scream got lost in a paper cup.
You think there's a heaven where
some screams have gone?
I got 25 bucks and a cracker
do you think it's enough to get us there?

'Cause what if I'm a mermaid?
in these jeans of his with her name still on it.
Hey, but I don't care
'Cause sometimes
I said sometimes I hear my voice
And it's been here
Silent all these...

I'm pretty sure this is one of the most powerful songs I've ever come across. An intense story embedded in each stanza. How could it possibly not inspire awe? 11 years hence, it still does.

Confession #4.

No matter how insanely masochistic it may be, sometimes you find yourself digging up fragments of the past. Little pieces of the puzzle you never noticed, an odd little message buried somewhere in time, and some that weren't meant for you... that you were never supposed to see. But no matter how much it aggravates you, you don't want to stop. And you keep clawing through the thorns. Deeper...and deeper.

Sappy 91% waning gibbous night. 
Internet archives be damned.

Tuesday, January 26, 2010


Way too much to do. Not nearly enough time. A long long list of deadlines to chase down.

6th Semester has BEGUN, and look what all it dragged in! College fest slated to happen soon, and I'm on the core organizing team. Every day is a flurry of activity. Meetings, sponsorships, brochures, presentations, management, more meetings, lists, events, responsibilities, delegations, more lists, budgets, venues, deliberation, decisions, more meetings, more lists, pages, dossiers, emails, prints, dirty business, cross-references, more meetings, more lists, horse-trading, negotiations, approvals, authorizations, more meetings, more lists, money money money...Classes, assignments, files, projects, more assignments, more files. Phew!

Life is on a roll. I feel alive. Every last bit of the puzzle is falling right into place. It's all so perfect, it's unreal.
I *must* be going crazy.

Theatre: Broken Images.

Director: Alyque Padamsee
Playwright: Girish Karnad

You know how they say that a book should never be judged by its cover? This would be another instance where what you see is something entirely different from what you walked in expecting. To put it succinctly, nothing you read about it will give you any idea of what the play actually is.With names like that of Mr. Padamsee, Mr. Karnad and Mrs. Shabana Azmi attached to it, one comes to expect brilliance. And the experience does not disappoint. However, it is all executed in a manner that can leave you either mildly confused, or pleasantly surprised.

Conceived as a psychological thriller, "Broken Images" is the story of Manjula Sharma- an unsuccessful Hindi writer who earns great fame, recognition, money and accolades by writing a best-seller novel in English. Having defended herself against public accusations of betraying her own language and identity, she is now haunted by her own "image". An awakened conscience perhaps? Or a Freudian alter ego. One is kept guessing till the very end. Mrs. Azmi being the only character, the play is essentially a one hour dialogue between her, and her own image on an LCD screen. With little or no room for improvisation, the timing had to be absolutely perfect. The elaborate portrayal of a multitude of emotions and delicate voice modulation had to come together like clockwork. And from beginning to end, it was flawlessly executed. The script makes several intriguing allusions along the way. With immense stress on intricacies embedded within the dialogue itself and minimal audio-visual clutter, this one does not seem to be made for the masses. Yet, there is much to be appreciated about exactly that fact.

Featured recently as part of the National School of Drama's Bharat Rang Mahotsav in Delhi, this would be one of the better cultural experiences I've had. Sadly, I could only make it to only one of the dozens of performances that were part of it. I suppose being able to meet the cast and crew backstage, does make up for it. All thanks to a certain friendly neighborhood scribe.

Wednesday, January 20, 2010


I met Shabana Azmi today. She's brilliant.
Also, she is disturbingly more beautiful in person.

Original(more vociferous) post later.

Sunday, January 17, 2010


The ego
and the cold,
cold night.

Collisions were never
known to be...

this hollow.

The Checkpoint.

Over the last one year, I have discovered a brand new world, in a manner of speaking. Venturing into the blogging sphere has changed my life to a considerable extent. Reaching out to a multitude of  the most interesting people I have ever come across, with such ease, being able to project thoughts, having the opportunity to share ideas, and getting to know people from all over the world has been an experience so wonderful(on so many levels), that I find words to be grossly inadequate in expressing it.

Through this practice, I have also learned what it is like to see your writing slowly evolve, right in front of you. From edgy, angst-laced soliloquies to quiet ruminations. From cryptic stances, to declarative inferences. And looking back at it all, you realize with a shock that it isn't just your writing. It's you, who has evolved into a different person. That, is the beauty of it all. At any rate, having an anthology of thoughts has done me a whole lot of good.

With all that behind me, I'm looking forward to what lies ahead. Something different, something new. Reinvention after all, is essential to life. Cheers to a year of  personal creative freedom, and the opportunity to practice it.

Saturday, January 16, 2010

And they even threw in some Baphomet.

So, the man who captivated me for ages and years, the one who haunted my imagination for the longest time, the one whose wit and charm I have been enamored by and obsessed with, the one who made history with the words "Elementary, my dear Watson", Sherlock Holmes-of the insurmountable talent for the art of deduction... now Sherlock Holmes-The Action Hero in Love. 

And this, is why I never watch movies based on the books I like. The world is supremely disappointing to my imagination.

Amusing Pop Culture Moment of the Month #2.

The fine young women who chose to post the color of their underwear as Facebook status messages, thereby confusing the other half of the world enough to elicit a substantial dent in Googleland. All for a cause, dearies, all for a cause. Spreading awareness about breast cancer was the exact idea inextricably weaved in the cause&effect / intent&result. Sure. This innocent bystander has been amused greatly by the ensuing comments and resulting claims of righteous indignation in emospeak, right under "leopard-print" and the likes.

On the day the word poppycock was redefined, we stood on and watched. In fact, all out of brimming and overflowing respect, a label has now been dedicated to it on this blog.

I feel that the internet explosion has changed the way the world functions, and the intricacies of changing social dynamics are far from being sorted out. Truth be told, I come across jarring instances of the same every other day. From every random pimply creep with a shirtless picture of John Abraham on the orkut homepage(now Facebook too), over-zealous half-acquaintances who pretend to be my new BFFs by the power vested in them by Mark Zuckerberg, the many times that I have introduced myself to a complete stranger only to find out that not only do they know who I am, they also know what music I listen to and where I was on Saturday night, to the fact that I never knew my neighbor of 7 years before she sent me an add request. But what really makes me spell M-U-R-D-E-R is the aforementioned emospeak, which has transcended the internet. eVRyTYm i wk up 2 c n sms tht reedz lyk ds im lyk sooooo pisd, i wnna pt a nyfe thru smthin! lyk, uknw wht i mean?!!! lyk criously!!! "lyk" deserves the most painful death possible. Ripped apart, limb by limb, in slow degrees.And then this one person says to me that my use of the language is "uncool". Stupid is the new cool. Yo! Excuse me while I asphyxiate on fluffy pink cotton candy.

Monday, January 11, 2010

The Faustian Barter.

Your ages traded
with demons and gods,
the debts remain
do bear in mind.

Even if you tread
the earth like you own it,
it's only leaden feet
you drag behind.

Wednesday, January 6, 2010

Joy to the world!

All of my world-weariness, jadedness, and other forms of general cynicism aside, eating condensed milk straight out of the tin is one of the few perfect pleasures left in life.

Pardon the title of the post. But I knew it. This being-happy-with-a-vengeance business is making me not just STRANGER, but CREEPIER. And I'm in one of those moods. So THIS is what I give to you :

This, right here, is the reason why my driving tutor quit his job and moved to a remote village. It is also the reason why the rickshaw-wallas in my locality shudder and go poof at sight. And what gave my mom diarrhea, the first and only time she sat in a car I was driving.
I'm drowning myself in The Cardigans, The Cranberries and Garbage. And they go wonderfully with condensed milk.

Tuesday, January 5, 2010

The Quest.

I'm scouting desperately for a piece of music that hypnotizes me. The sort that fills you up, makes the air seem heavy, has you imagining sparks bursting out of the windows and puts the whole world on fire. The supposed Richard Halley brand of music. The closest I've ever come to finding it, is this :

I've been in love with Rachmaninoff's Piano Concerto No. 2 since before I can remember. But, I seek more. 
Recommendations, anyone?