Goals of a 23-year-old idiot:

• Be mature enough to have a semblance of a ‘medicine cabinet.’ Every time I get sick I just roll down to my roommates door and moan Cetrizine at them until they shove it under the door so I can shut up. I also get a lot of papercuts and do nothing but scream FUCK at them. It’d be nice to have access to some bandaids and little medicines and be a functioning human being who is prepared for some small disasters.
• Maybe not be on Facebook so much. Not in that smug way people who have ‘gotten off Facebook’ tell you when you meet them at a party and they announce to the whole party ‘well I’ve just DELETED my facebook I don’t NEED THAT CLUTTER IN MY LIFE’ and then stare at everybody with a fucking grin on their face like they deserve a medal. Just maybe I shouldn’t slowly drool onto the keyboard as I click through some random profile pictures for the 90,000 time.
• Be vaguely aware of the things I am piling into my mouth like I am a bulldozer on a construction site. 
• Be vaguely aware of the money I am throwing into a fiery garbage can of coke and rent and orange juice.
• Gain some wine knowledge. Whenever I go to a slightly nice restaurant (okay, with my parents or that ONE FRIEND who has a real job) and they go ‘would you like to see the wine menu’ I stare at the wine menu and go ‘well, which one will get me the DRUNKEST at the fastest pace?’ No, no. I need to start knowing what oaky backwash or plum notes or whatever the fuck I’m supposed to know about wine, and at least decide what kind of wine is the best (and not shiraz because it’s usually 13.5%). And then I need to be able to order that before  I decide "fuck this shit ,I need to get high."
• And in the spirit of wine, maybe I will only drink wine out of wine glasses from now on.
• Fuck that, only in PUBLIC.
• Start doing adult things before I go to bed at night like not having pre-dinner and post-dinner.
• Start doing adult things in the morning like getting up early and eating breakfast while reading the paper. Even if the breakfast is old cornflakes that was lying around and I’m reading the paper online, I swear I will be one of those people that is so caught up on current events, nobody wants to play Jeopardy with me.
• Maybe I’m making my goals too big. I was going to say ‘keep a plant alive’ but I know that’s impossible, that plant is as good as fucking dead. How about cleaning my bed sheets once a month or at least doing laundry. How about I just start DOING MY LAUNDRY?  I’m going to start doing more laundry or just buying more underwear. 
• Organize my computer. Wait, your desktop is filled with ridiculous amounts of pictures and documents too, right? And your gmail is like, 7,000 emails in? Please tell me I am not the only idiot who forgets to erase all his e-mails in case I really DID care who posted what to me and when.
• No more purchases of: random T-shirts and other shit I never use. Oh, you bet your ASS I will keep the ones I have, but maybe I should invest in purchasing some clothing item that doesn’t cost a few thousand bucks and continues to make me look like a fourteen-year-old. Not that it doesn’t work for Brad Pitt, but I bought so many clothes last year I couldn’t afford the one cool pair of shoes I really want. And I didn’t even get the TagHuer in the end. 
• Lose only one ATM card this year, keep my vehicle insurance card with me, and stop stepping on my headphones.
• Stop wiping my hands on my pants.
• Instead of staring at foodgawker all the time, perhaps now is the time to actually cook in my kitchen. Like, go to the store and buy fresh vegetables and make something other than stir fry or ‘roast thing with garlic powder’ or stick to boiled eggs. And try to do that more than once a month. More importantly, ask my mom how to make all my childhood recipes I loved as a kid so I can make them for somebody else, one day, too.
• Ask somebody on a date.
• Go on a date.
• Eat pizza for breakfast. Never done it, and this tortures me.
• Continue to not hear my selfish streak whine.
• Do something that takes some courage. Man up. Not because I’m getting older, but because I guess now I need to have cool stories to tell people when I’m old someday. This is not a ‘I should travel thing’ even though I want to travel. I just refuse to still be the guy who says ‘I’m going to travel’ as a way of saying ‘no I haven’t fucking travelled" this does not make me a PHILISTINE THIS MAKES ME POOR.’
• Start doing that whole 'save money in my savings account thing’ HAHHAHA MAYBE IF THE WORLD SOLD EVERYTHING FOR FREE! okay maybe just 10000 RUPEES in my savings. In case I lose an eye or something!
• Stop complaining so much, stop "DON'T GIVE A FUCKING DAMN" so much, stop rolling my eyes, stop watching so much television, and just generally have a good fucking time.
• Never stop drinking coffee, watching Disney Movies, getting excited on weekend mornings, having crushes, and every other thing that isn’t just for kids any more because its ME AS AN ADULT.
• Maybe find out what being responsible is. MAYBE.

To sound like the spam that rained exactly 7 days ago from today on your e-mails and sms, Happy New Year. To be honest, writing has been reduced from an activity that I did approximately every lecture hour/day/week during boring college hours to something that I hope to do now-a-days. Maybe it's because now-a-days, I'm inclined to think before I write anything (which is a complete rarity by itself, I never think before I do anything. I usually do something and then think about why, but even that doesn't help because half way through the thinking, the sky just turned a shade blue darker and my head is whizzing away right there, among the clouds. Only thunderclaps around.) and blogging has gone from being enjoyable to something like writing an exam, mostly. Now-a-days, every time I have an itch to write, a huge placard pops out of nowhere saying "Warning! This is going to get seriously boring/depressing". Contrary to popular opinion, Life AIN'T a bitch. Sweet, sour, absurd, pointless, lessons, mistakes, love, hate, bliss, depression, but never a bitch. Guess life is something that happens between "before you were" and "after you ceased to be". Sometimes, I'm amazed how smart I am. Like my 12th std zoology teacher loved shouting at me, "Eeeeeediot fellow only you, nitthin!". With that very zingy south indian accent fully thrown in. I hate admitting it, but I loved listening to that. Making somebody shout out stuff that sounded thoroughly funny, in-spite of the content, is a very full-filling feeling, atleast in 11th and 12th grade school. And yes, I have reached the point where there's a buzz in my head screaming at 200+ decibels, "boring/depressing". I need a pill that'll help me totally blur out my school days. That way, I won't flood my blog with useless musings about it. But considering how much useful content this blog has ever produced, DUH!

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!!!