I need to get a life. And soup. Soon. Maybe Lanba was right. Maybe I'm at times a  retard who's more concerned with caring about how random people would react to me shouting BURP at their faces than sorting out what I really need to do. The irony of the whole thing is Lanba never said it in the first place. He did tell me to get a life, but he's been doing that for years now. I hope his preserverence pays. At least for my sake. My own, freaking sake. Does that make selfish? I don't know. Retarded? Maybe. Right now , I need to finish making that video. I need ideas, and very clearly, I'm not helping myself. Until I do get a brainwave, which better be soon, "ahoy,( I sooo want to spell out "good bye" in Spanish, but I forgot.)''.

The south asian band festival.

Apparently there is a rock band in Nepal. And they can play too. Some music. But I still don't get the rock part. And the old grandpa singing is so unnerving. His moves are disturbing. And totally out of sync with any remote trace of music. i'm afraid he'll end up impaling his spine in his own rib cage. He keeps shreiking out "and the next number is?..."....I guess the demented old man is hallucinating that he is in line for a liver transplant. Very cold gig. And all the momo makers seem to love it. Pretty sure delhi is having a momo-drought tonight. I have a cold, dry cough and I still manage to shreik better than him. The guitar is good, but the old man is killing that too. Finally, after a little more eons of incomprehensible music that was aping bollywood in the worst possible way and tagging itself rock, the anchor decides that maybe its time the majority of the crowd got back to making momos. Finally, the grandpa's band were gone for food, sorry; good, Thermal and A Quarter (and KANDISA, kailash kher's band)waiting to get and stage and the smell of momos back in the delhi airspace. What an evening.

.

Momentary insomnia. Ironic I came up with that word in a book shop. Book shops have started to get depressing. Directly proportional to the size of the indian fiction shelf. If its fiction, why categorise it indian and if non-fiction, why rub into my face my own life!. Sadness. We Indians are weird. We talk about liberty and yet every minor moral scratch hurts our supermassive egos. We dictate claims of free speech and then put a moral cap on it. As if we don't notice the inherent absurdity, but very comfortable ignore it. For eg, a 21 year old, I repeat, a 21 year old mallu I knew, who started this amity mallu(read:malayalee) forum on facebook got offended when a bunch of people, in the chat room, started fooling around with humour that incedentally concerned the conversation with porn and sex. Now, when was the last time a sex joke got anybody pregnant? I haven't heard of any. And on moral grounds, assuming that it should be even considered a case on those grounds, what gives you the right to dictate the morality or immorality of an event that you weren't even a party in? Tradition, culture, stuff set in by people long dead. In a country that still boasts of the freakishly growing population count. Funny. Guess being down with sickness makes me too critical. Supercritical. Anyway, blahs and blahs and blahs. Back to the bookstore. A bunch of girls, probably 2nd year college, look at a shelf and comment : " I have read mostly all of these. Now I want something more fm them". Mills and Boons section. Something more? Hmmm. Porn? Guess thats why most guys go directly for porn without all those erotic litreary foreplay. We'll just have a pint of "more", neat, 3 ice cubes maybe. Hmmm. Sickness is so drastic. Especially when your nose has gone on a leave. The world moves a lot slower. Wondering how smell is responsible for that. Being fart immune slows down time. Maybe thats what E=mc2 actually meant.

I have a cold. And a grandiose temporal mis-approximation about all cerebral outrages. I have been wanting to write a full on non-sense line and I just did. Good for me. I love certain words for no reason. Like "capiche". But before I knew it as "capiche" was spelled c-a-p-i-c-h-e, I loved it in amar chitra katha, as "kapish". The long tail did freak me out. But then x-men came and then on, mutation was the in-thing. The cold is making me feel dry. dead dry. dry like the jokes that shwetank, julie(90%) and every other AITTM(Amity Institute of Telecom and Timepass Management) guy cracks. Mom says my hair looks weird and so I need to oil my hair once in a while, not because my hair needs it, but because south indians are supposed to do it. The last time Reliance found oil anywhere near my hair was before the winter of my 1st year college. One particular incident made me give up on it totally. Oil, freezes in winter. So one fine morning, my brain at its best possible wtf-ness, decided to exclude every other activity in the universe and singularly focus on the activity I was carrying out and catalog it the way 12th std chemistry labs are cataloged.

• EXPERIMENTAL SET-UP : a parachute bottle, a pair of hands, head with hair ( rest of the body, if possible)
• PROCEDURE: hold parachute bottle in one hand and shake, coax white stuff to come out.              
• INFERENCE: pervert!!!                                                                                                               

I wasn't a big fan of chemistry ever, so this was it. I love the irony though. I say I have a cold and at that, even the cold ones act concerned. act, but concerned. Nice. Nice(the nICE, actually) reminds me, family doctors crack the worst possible jokes. I say I have a cold and he says "well, that's good. Ask your mom to switch off the refrigerator, save electricity." Its easy for me to figure out which jokes are the worst ones. They all would probably sound like something an AITTM guy would say and keep repeating it until you fake a laughter. so, the sailor says
" ahoy, in the seas, a thousand bouys,
  alone, under vast seagull skies,
  a kiddo, writing horrible blogging lines,
  in the pangs of cold, he dreams of day the pain flies away."


N.B: DONOT try to make sense of the sailor's song. all sailor songs are cursed with a "you think you're too fu*king smart, try this" curse. call it a night. sleep sweet.



** is it a pair of hands...or a pair of hand......or is it just me?. hmmm....like a friend of mine would expertly say in the most philosophical tone, WHATEVER!

Train journeys are fun and interesting. In priyadarshan movies. Only. Period. And in reality, they rank 3rd in the list of crimes against man, number 1 being hitler, stalin, mao and the 2 world wars combined and number 2 being rakhi sawant. Rakhi sawant is god's way of telling man he needs to get his shit right real soon. Anyway, screw rakhi sawant. Train journeys can be a real pain. On a mathematical scale, the amount of distress could be quantified by:
Degree of shitness = [ { time of journey x no. of hours the same destination can be reached by an alternate faster means of transport} + { degree of crapiness of food on a scale of 1 to 10} + { sum of noisy neighboring passengers yapping in a language you do not understand* } + { crazy fucking bhopalis who alternate between shouting "aayi baiyya" and "ore, ravi kishen ki gaana chalayenge hum" every 5 minutes}]
* - irritating kids count.

And all of this shit is happening in 3rd AC. So going my the formula, my journey was at shitness level of 28 x 2.5 + 7 + 15 +2 = 94. If that was my graduation percentage, that would have been happy news. The grand freaking Indian Railway circus! And theres an actual place called "madira" in Andra Pradesh. Wonder what they sell there. Sounds like a holy place from the ring of it. Hope atleast the time I end up spending at chennai is good. That reminds me, when via train, there is a simple heuristics to determine if you have reached home when home sweet home is "singara chennai".: " Feels good. Smells bad. " And to add to it all, my watch strap snapped. Didn't think wrestling with myself in sleep would cause damage to property. What sadness! I feel kind of naked not wearing a watch. I know it sounds weird but screw you.

And as thiruvalluvar said 300 years ago ( give or take 2000, preferably take) :
"Because when I arrive I-I'll bring the fire
Make you come alive I can take you higher
What this is forgot? I must now remind you
Let it rock, let it rock, let it rock".
 If you are wondering where this came from, this was actually written by thiruvalluvar, but mostly all copies were burnt by the secret cult of the "lame guy with dark specs on a wheelchair , chief minister and evil overlord, for all eternity" because this was in english and not the only language the guy on wheelies understood!. good day, people! All hail the revolucion!

** im starting to think i am a dork because I logged in and re-dited this page just because it left out the outermost brackets in the formula up above, cause in the first draft, they didn't confirm to BODMAS rule!!!

Seagulls and afternoons.

Seagulls. Flapping calmly over never ending waves. Through the vastness of the skies above and the sea below, they fly on, so seemingly sure of their path. Instinct, faith; call it what you will, but as long as they reach their destination, nothing matters. Seagulls. I don't remember seeing one up and close. But I like the tone of the word. Strange. Maybe this is what dull weather can do to a person. Its a strange disconnect that fills you when 2.00 pm in the afternoon looks and feels like 8.00 pm in the night. It actually feels much worse, but 8 is a good approximation.

Chichingggg

Too long since I have written anything pointless. Been doing it all through long, but haven't written in a while. No. Read a very good series recently. The gameworld trilogy, the 1st two parts. Good writing in a long while, especially one that didn't throw in the whole Cambridge lingo to appear Indian. I too shall write. I shall call it the KTFC chronicles. Kill The Fool Chronicles. Can't divulge much details coz the talks are going on. With myself. So that's that. And. I love making up sentences that start with a full-stop and end with one. With only a preposition or conjunction in between them. Or a verb. Funny. That one. Or a phrase too. But writing is wonderful. Just when you think there's a lot off stuff going on in your head,you sit to write and realize your head is just a blank vacuum. Hmmm. Anyway. This post needs editing later. Lots of. I think I have made a mark. But something tells me 1/100 doesn't really count. Now that kills all the fun.