In New York, Try And Help & Get Called A Queer Homeless Bum

Bimbo tourist #1: Anyway, so when he pulled it out of me it made this farting noise, and I know it wasn't a fart because it didn't smell, and... It was just really embarrassing.
Bimbo tourist #2: Quip.
Bimbo tourist #1: What?
Bimbo tourist #2: A quip. The farting noise, it's called a 'quip.'
Bimbo tourist #1: Oh, they have a name for it? Wow.
Bimbo tourist #2: Oh, totally. It happens to a lot of people.
Stranger: Um, that's not right.
Bimbo tourist #2: Excuse me, sir?
Stranger: No, it's 'queef.'
Bimbo tourist #2: Wait, what?
Bimbo tourist #1: I think he's saying his name is 'Queef' or something.
Bimbo tourist #2: Oh, sorry. Excuse me, Queef?
Stranger: No... Oh, lord. The sound, it's 'queef.'
Bimbo tourist #2: Who's a 'queef?' What's going on?
Bimbo tourist #1: I think he's one of those crazy subway guys you hear about. I think he's telling us he's gay.
Stranger: I can hear you, and I'm not... What? That's 'queer,' you ingrate!
Bimbo tourist #1: Here's some money for you, sir. Buy your boyfriend a nice grocery cart or something.
Stranger: What?! Does it look like I'm homeless to you? I'm wearing fucking YSL over here... I ain't queer and I ain't homeless. You ignorant, you skinny, Paris Hilton-wannabe whores. All I was saying to you was that when your sleazy-ass friend over here pulled her boyfriend's dick out of her STD-ridden pussy, the word...
Bimbo tourist #1: I'm not following... Is he speaking Cockney or something?
Bimbo tourist #2: I don't know. Are you allowed to mace crazy hobos?
Stranger: ...I'm not fucking crazy!
Bimbo tourist #2: Of course you aren't, sir.
Passenger: Oh, shut your mouth, both of ya, or I'm gonna whoop both your scrawny asses, you hear?
Stranger: Thank you. All I was saying was...
Old lady: Ah, hell no! Can't you see this conversation has gone past anyone in this damn subway's comprehension? Know when to drop it, brother. Know when to drop it.
Bimbo tourist #2: [Mouthing] Oh my god.
Bimbo tourist #1: I know. That was intense.
Stranger, muttering to himself: ... Last time I ever take a subway... Unbelievable shit I put up with... Fucking Civics... Unreliable fuckers...

--L train

Two for Tuesday

I am a zombie. No, seriously. So last night around 1am Bobo and Bouncy come home...okay Bouncy does first rather drunk and rattled. Anywho, I am faffing around waiting for a polite moment to hatch my escape. Bobo comes in rather drunk her self, slurring and rather belligerent. So while those two bicker, I roll for Bobo who proceeds to generously imbibe. Now what’s odd is that was my first roll (yes I know, hanging head in shame and all that, let it go, accept it, I have) so anyway, today she has no recollection of it at all and asks why there is half a MJ in the ashtray. Yeesh, women. So I take it al the praise I got for doing such a fine job well, doesn’t hold claim because after all, does a falling tree make a sound if there is no one around to hear it.
Bouncy retires to *my* bed, Bobo hops in leaving me little space. I have to sleep on my side, something I can never do but try again. Now suffice to say, I have had 2-3 hours sleep and am thus a zombie…not the brain-eating variety.
Also, to give myself to shake my head about and say oh what a kid I will mention that I got a Xbox 360 waiting for me in NY along with FEAR (spooky game, I likes!), Need For Speed Carbon Black & Gears of War. I wonder at what age I will stop playing these games…but then see, I never had a consol growing up s well, am making up for it now.
Also, am supposed to go to Benaras for a one-on-one (no gay jokes) dinner with the boss. Fuck. So here I am surreptitiously having Redbull with Coke to avoid telling my boss I didn’t sleep much because I had two very loud girls in bed with me, loud because they SNORE as softly as Mac Trucks….useless
I feel sick…and light headed….(groan) and I didn’t even drink…oh dear

A Whole Lotta Nothing

(amble in)
(look around)
(settle in to my favourite chair)

(content sigh)

Yeah, i‘ve been working like a dog and I’ve been sick…fun ain’t it…and the forecast reads the same everyday: rain. Even the temperate is the same – 13 Celsius.

Anyway the way I see it, it’s a downhill rollercoaster ride now. So first there’s the move back to NY and seeing the Ladies again. No, none of them hook ups or anything, are the ladies: Ash, SB and Guppy. Ash is up to her usual tricks when asked about boys – some old, some new as she put it …so I am sure that calls for a wine dinner. And SB sucks at keeping in touch so never mind that. Guppy I know is excited to have me back which is awfully nice.

Point being, then its going to Delhi where the only thing I am excited about is um, the new house and the lap of luxury considering the pains my Dad has taken…
Mum: the steam room was fitted in today
Me: ah okay (barely containing glee)
Mum: no girls over
Me: so I can’t have any friends over
Mum: no, you can have friends over, just no girls
Me: so no friends?
Mum: oh fine but no single girls
Me: so no friends?
Mum: fine, do whatever you want
Me: thank you Ma

Conversation 2:
Mum: no girls upstairs though
Me: oh fine, but tell me, how many people can fit into the steam room
Mum: what do you mean
Me: well, in case I want to have a private party…
Mum: (mot amused)


And then off to Bombay which well, I refrain from commenting on, am miffed about it for reasons you needn’t know

But I am mentally vegetating, I can feel the funk o n the brain. Everything is in molasses now, all gooey and barely moving. Yeah, nothing of importance here but either ways, will have something to say end of the year, one way or another. Oh, Hard Candy, the movie, sucks balls, James Bond is a decent action movie…okay, fuck it, I didn’t like it…and I want to see Happy Feet so judge away heathens…I think I have a foot/shoe fetish, have to understand that more…when I was boomed last, I opened up wikipedia entries about stuff I wanted to read about: metacognition, cocaine, marijuana, Janice Dickenson, List of Asterix Comics, Ethnogeny, Richard Belzer, Sexual Fetishes….(look at the list)
(wonder what on earth is going on in his head)
(mutters) oh dear….

Draw Your Own Conclusions

Effing thing won't show up...but click on that white box, trust me

In The Shadows, Gone Before You Turn

-written over the duration of this song-
-it may seem incongruous, but either somehow it fits, or the damned thing was just playing-

It’s this awful angst like feeling that keeps me breathing in sharp, shallow breaths, all the muscles down my back tense not to mention my shoulders, the kind that makes you want to rip out of your own skin chest first or fall into the Abyss.

It’s everything. It’s work and not understanding as much as you want to, realizing you may just be in over y our head, wanting to be with people you want to be with but can’t, folks calling dibs on the time you want to kick back and lie in a drunken stupor to forget this year, this general dissatisfaction that you can not bear to accept causing this unbearable frustration that literally bends your back in two, the desire to run away and disappear and not have anything at all, a sure shot way to avoid any demands on you from anyone other than yourself, knowing what you demand from yourself is enough angst….

Its this feeling that manifests itself in the most horrible ways in your dreams or when you are boombed, mentally flagellating yourself, self deprecation and loathing being understatements.

And the worst part of it all is I don’t know what is causing it. Its like this itch but you don’t know where, like a word on the tip of your tongue, except scalding and you can’t find it…its this niggling need to fix something, you don’t know what so you make attempts at being constructive cleaning the house or tidying up hoping that while those fall into piece, so will the unknowns in your own head. You can light up a cigarette and watch the smoke curl and get lost in it, in yourself trying to find the source of this feeling, finding you can read people so very easily, everyone except within, knowing you cant bear to be alone, your own thoughts consuming you, a cancerous kind you don’t even know about…its that itch that makes itself obvious when alone and so you pick up the guitar, ineffectually play something upbeat only to get lost in your head once again, find forgetfulness by any means available just to have the thoughts manifest in the shadows, gone as you turn your head.

I don’t know what it is. But I don’t like it.

Fucking Brat

Its been at least a year since I lost my temper. Now the Ex was one thing, that was anger born out of pain. So I discount that. And I don't want to talk about that.

I know someone with absolutely (you already know who it is don't you) no sense of discipline and a sense of over indulgence that makes me sick.

Oh who am I kidding, I can trace back every single fuck up to one simple attribute...or the lack of it.

I have an infinite capacity to work my ass off. I know that because I have.

I have an infinite capacity to want to do things for the Faceless one but I don't because of it.

Or for instance, even the smallest of things like eating right or sleeping to get 7 hours sleep (which I havent in a month)...is it that hard to get yourself to do things you know have no down side?

I can apply the same to everything, flings, booze binges, self pity, Mr. Brightside thoughts...or even losing self-respect.

Spare the rod, spoil the child. And this brat needs a whipping. I know its not mid-year so it can't be a resolution. But fuck that, I don't need a date to start behaving better now do I?

If this werent me I were talking about, I can list off a long line of here's what you should do...heaven knows I have done that...right...so, I won't put up a list here. I will make one, and in 3 mos, 6 mos and 12 mos time, look at it and see what I stuck to and what I fucked up.

That's Right, Help Yourself

Early morning post but I opened up the HT online to read China claims all of Arunachal.

(double take)

what?

Look, I don't know much about politics (finance yes, art etc sure, politics no for the simple reason that I get rather discombobulated when I read it and it clashes against my sense of fair play...that and I don't get much time to read up on politics which I must remedy)

But I don't understand how anyone can make any argument for claiming any part of the country...

Yeesh...

Voyeurism, Mirrors, The Wide-Eyed Optimist

I read some rather diverse blogs, not just the ones on the right there (read them enough to link them so there!) But there are a few which remain anonymous for my own sake, I don't know why, I haven't quite figured out why I keep them anonymous, I just know I do. Why's take more time to discover.

I'm listening to Flamenco Sketches right now (and if anyone out there knows the song and can suggest more of the same mood, let me know, will be indebted to you and will buy you beer or something). And I have this image in my head, black and white, trench coat, the annoying rain and looking in to a window there beside the fire escape stairs). I see in and see the lives of people...no, I see lives I won't live: the prostitute, the crack addict, the rape victim who writes about her sexual misadventures, the frat boy who drinks incessantly, the social butterfly...the list is endless. I guess it's more than voyeurism. It's vicariousness of going over the edge of the Abyss. It's not a feeling of seeing someone braver than I doing something heroic I wouldn't have the balls to do, there is no judgment except fascination at other lives. Some of them resonate, others just throw my own into sharp relief.

My life is nothing like that of the stripper or of the mother who is bringing up her child, it's my life. For better or for worse, it's mine without the judgment.

-------------

You step in to the changing room with mirrors on either side, you stretching in to an infinity. How would you react if one of those images stretched its arm out?

-------------

I would like to think that everyone goes through the desire to change the world or their own country in some way for the better. Of those dreams, how many materialize? Wouldn't the country be better run if instead of schmucks who have nothing better to do stopped entering politics and the idealists did?
Anyway, my dream job would be to be an independent contractor advising the government on projects. I have no idea if such a job exists. I would like to be paid to oversee projects like the railways or how to improve airports in India or .... or just take a gun and without reprisal with regards murder, shoot some of the bastards that seem to hold so much power.
I hate politics. The power/intellect balance which should be present seems non existent. Let's go back to the idea of philosopher kings Plato, everything else seems to be falling apart (and leave the eugenics out of it!)
I really wish I could...I never thought of myself as patriotic but when you call a place home, you want to keep it clean. So, I wish I could work for the government but in a job where I could say, look, this is my job, i will take care of it and i will do it well, beyond that, let me be please.

(sigh)

I'm jaded, cynical and loathing, but somewhere inside there's the optimist. But then again, we all need something to keep us going. And I hope he never disappears.

Brraaaaains! (Say It 'Night of the Living Dead' Style)

Right, so Jerry said something that got me thinking. Great, one sentence into this post and I already have irony playing out – I wanted to write about thinking.

It is the most fascinating thing imaginable. Lets take it from a physiological point of view – you have a system of atoms to form molecules. You give them an ugly grey color and inject them with the capacity to conduct electricity. Some where in the process, consciousness is created, self-awareness. I can imagine by brain sitting in a bell jar, hooked up to something very Roald Dahl story like and the fact that I can imagine my brain, my b rain can imagine itself is scary. I can deconstruct my brain as I did at the start of this sentence. It is after all a mushy ugly whirly thing.

But what is scary is everything it is capable of. No, not my brain which is rather preoccupied with itself and the 5’11” it controls (that’s another post very I Am Joe’s Body). But just the brain itself. It creates things it finds attractive and tries to reach out to the real world and make it to suit itself. Talk about getting bigger than your boots. You have great works of art and music to appease the brain itself. It engages in pursuits to stimulate itself. Is it bored? Or does it feel that the main pursuit, main aim in life is to stimulate itself. You can lock a person away and they will go insane because there is nothing in outside world to stimulate or to change. So perhaps the brain is deficient. Or that is a cynical approach and perhaps its wired to be stimulated by the world.

Now I wont be presumptuous and speak on others’, mine will do. (Rather amusing to see my brain talk about itself, but then isn’t that just ego, except in this case on a more…micro level…I would presume the Ego is more appropriately used for the Personality than the brain…or we could take off on this string and wonder where personality and the brain are disconnected, if they are even)

So, what does my brain like – music and the electrical impulses that seem to scratch that itch in an unknown way but the end result of pleasure is identifiable. Or art where the electrical signals go down the optic nerves, somewhere un-inverting the image and making me smile or feel fear. Of course, again, the why is ignored but the end result studied.

Then there is the emotional part that has a far reaching physiological impact. For instance, while speaking with the person of interest, the conversation gets the itch so beautifully that other impulses don’t matter. Or for instance kissing someone in the early stages or just flirting, that rush that causes adrenaline to be released. Or the moment of orgasm when pupils dilate and endorphins hop around willy-nilly.

Now comes the point when I deliberately shut out all external stimuli. Rather clinical I know but to give it a human approach, when I become the loner no matter who is around. Inevitably at the end of a long work day, I let my b rain catch its breath and pretty much noodle about on the guitar. I guess muscle memory is allowing me to not thing and just repeating the action is a kind of meditation, no seriously. My brain isn’t disciplined enough to shut down (fuck, enough times I wake up after a long night’s sleep with red eyes and all haggard but whatever was bothering me night before, I have the solution in the morning, takes its toll tho). But yeah, there are all kinds of thoughts.

It’s a bad habit that I have stopped now after much pain – thinking about how I see my life in the future. Enough times random events or flaws have pulled the rug from below me leaving me stumbling, the brain jarred. Though I must confess, I do that even now for a few seconds before stopping myself…and unfortunately a lot of these thoughts are romantically inclined, one area that is prolific in kicking my butt.

Thoughts are wonderful and I love knowing that I think. After all Aristotle said that the wasted life was the unexamined life. Fuck, I’ve said it once and I will say it again, if there was money to be made studying philosophy, I would be the first to sign up but unfortunately, everyone’s got a mortgage to pay (plagiarised words I know).

Thoughts can be corrosive, like those in the recent past, the Mr. Brightside (do a lyrics search) kind or the one’s that make me wonder if I will end up lonely with just this brain of mine.

Then there are the ones that are so rare – when I have been praised for my work, when she tells me something that makes the corners of my mouth turn up, when I think about the Dogs…inelegant in their complexity I know but oh so pleasurable.

Here’s the thing, thoughts are like any extension of the brain. They can with practice be made to follow a positive pattern and make you feel better. Left unchecked and if you have a natural inclination, can be corrosive and leave scars deeper than the ridges.

And unfortunately, they are the only things that hurt the brain (the brain is incapable of pain, it has no nerves that allow that)…ironic isn’t it, no nerves so no pain and yet enough to fill a life time if allowed unchecked…

A liquid diet and I am buzzed

Ever seen fingers play across the strings, the sound amplified
Fingers playing down the neck, the screaming of the instrument, almost like lovers who know each other and play each other, completing each others sentences.

You approach it unfamilar, your fingers touching, pushing the limit, getting callouses but piece by piece the notes thread together and you hear sounds put together, unyielding to the smallest mistaken note, but coming together so beautifully, harmony

I love the guitar. I can spend hours staring at fingers plying the threads, wondering how anyone could concieve basic sounds so beautiful.

I envy those with the natural ear and wonder where they began. But isn't that anything that reaches a zenith. It's like wine. You only see and appreciate the end, but never realize, no, not never, seldom realize everything that went behind it, picking the field, the seeds, watching over every vine, tending to it and hoping the winter wind doesnt crystallize it, praying the summer sun doesn't wither the grapes, plucking each one, tasting the earth it grew in. The same with any music. What went behind it, what was the story he thought about , was he lying back, letting his fingers drift across the strings when he heard the notes come together, not congeal but come out crips and fitting...and he sat up, and tentatively played them again, realizing that those notes had a hidden song before and after them and watching them all come together

Is life like that? Does it crystallize? Does each event piece together or is it a series of random events and you natually try and string them together to avoid a cacophany? If there's a story behind every perfect song and if life like a song, then would every event be a note...and if so, do we see the moments that we should be sitting up and taking heed of and realizing the hidden song before and after them...

I would like to believe that. Every event that makes me sit up, I try and listen intently and see the unrelevealed song.

We all get hit by the 'what if's, some more than others. And there can be a million notes interfering, but once in a while, we need to ignore those and see if we can find the perfect song.

What do I know, I'm 23 and have a life time to discover the perfect song...

Go listen to 'Most of the Time' by Dylan, maybe this post will make more sense (and no, I don't mean listen to the words, the words here are irrelevant, or okay, they were at the time this was written...its the guitars that do it)

Congratulations On The Nuptials

thank you! i missed you at the engagement. still navigating the family hurdles that get me to the guy...it kinda sux being an indian girl, seriously
i hope you find a wonderful girl and that your parents arent too "indian" for the love of your life :)

On Taking Shape

Sometimes it needs to be voiced out aloud. There have been enough of them where I wouldn’t say them out aloud and I would figuratively clamp my hands over my ears to avoid hearing them. I felt as though if they were said out aloud from the mouths of men, they would become real and would find existence and being.

So I never said them out aloud.

If someone else did, if they involved another person, I ran to escape the words reaching my ears…they always seemed to catch up.

Anyway, but yeah, it needs to be voiced out aloud for it take up form and find its place in your life and the universe. But other times, the only way to let it go is to let it fall and break and shatter into millions of pieces that over time, turn to dust and blow away. So for this to happen, you need to voice it out aloud.

It is spoken and in that act becomes real. Then, you let it slip away and break, watch it blow away

But these are the less painful ones.

There are certain ones which can not ever be said out aloud. They must exist broken. In other words, to elucidate, before they are said out aloud, they must be broken. Then, once they are, once they are shattered and cant hurt anymore, you say them out aloud. They find meaning and shape, already broken into pieces and incapable of hurting you.

That’s what the last post was about.

Is this unclear? Think of thoughts as china plates. Now does it make more sense?

Flash Fiction, But Real

An unsold dress. A broken heart

He pulled the coat off the rack and loved it. Then from the corner of his eye he saw a beautiful dress and while he had seen beautiful clothes for her in the past, for once he could buy them for her. He wanted to dress her up and wrap his arms around her and bring her into his world and take her away from a world they had known, one that was tearing them apart, like water seeping into cracks and freezing, prying them apart without realizing it.

He begged her to let him buy it for her,” I want do something nice for you! Please?”

“It’s too late, its loo late for everything”

And in an instant he realized what she meant. His knees went weak and everything swam around him, the blood throbbing in his head and some other place in his chest, somewhere but it hurt and he couldn’t quite place the source but he felt the pain washing over him, drenching him and his throat went dry. Ironic, considering he could barely keep the tears back. Suddenly he hated everything and everyone around him and he wanted to see it all go up in flames. He wanted everything inside to spew out and mar the walls, bright streaks of black.

They rode back in the subway in silence, she was standing so close to him. And even though he could hear her breath over the clamour of the subway, she was that close, he felt like a little pin prick in the face of the universe, completely insignificant and worthless.

It wasn’t the universe, it was her.

For she had been at the center of his.

------------------------------
10th November, 3:27am


Yes, i know, very melodramatic, very over the top and sticky writing, but it was 3:30 in the am so I am excused...besides, was the first time I remembered breaking up...oh well...

Night Out, Flash Fiction, On First Touch

Last night was RnR time and I stepped out with Bobo to Smith's to meet Guy-Bobo-Not-Like, Abe, Isabebe, Waffle, Vodka Boy at Smith's which is a giant hole in the wall while being classy at the same time. They have the Smith's Cream Soda (big fan of Cream Soda) which well, doesn't have any cream soda in it (Stoli Vanilla, sugar and lemonade) which was surprisingly very good without tasting potent. A few of those and i was good to goooo. Anyway, was fun chilling out and then we decided to head out, Bobo with big grin on face and Vodka boy on arm departed (oh me oh my). I of course wanted to eat and well, Abe, Isabebe and Not Like live together and wanted to go home but Isabebe was keen on waffles...either that or when was insistent on coming with me I was like, eh?? Anyway, hey, if a woman takes my arm and tells people she wants to hang out with me, a few drinks in me and I won't be averse to hanging out (no you pervs, am not euphamising or anything (reallllllly!) so anyway the happy foursome set off for Balans where I proceeded to entertain (how I don't recall).

But was up at 9am to take a call (contrary to popularly held belief) and decided to have a constructive day which comprised time alone which I don't like doing, don’t like doing much alone but its a necessary evil (confused you are? well, won't elaborate here but I know what I mean). So I first went to the vintage store and I love the rows upon rows of magazines all the way from the 1920's until the 90's. It's pop culture in a shelf, for every year, for every decade. I loved seeing the vintage Playboys, and no, you can't take them out of the sleeves but the covers pretty much tell the story of what was hot and well, , I mean really?! Cheryl Tiegs hair? The frizzy hair-spray do's? Oh well, there is just no accounting for taste in the past. I did come across the 1972 Time with Richard Bach on the cover though and bought it. It's fascinating that magazine...even the advertisements for TWA, cigarettes that aren't around, its a time capsule I tells ya! It's got stuff on the Libyan terrorists, the theaters that were running at the time, movie reviews and this is Time mind you! Oh well, more on that magazine when I read more of it, haven't event gotten to the cover story as yet.

I discovered the anti-Blues -- the Crash Test Dummies and I really like them. Fine ya, be a music snob and pooh pooh me for discovering them so late but I think there is such shitty music out there, am taking time to revisit bands I wish i had listened to in the past, anyway, since there is a lull in the quality of music, am doing just that so there! But it's impossible to let the day get you down while listening to them. And I ambled on to Regents Street. Way too crowded but something very satisfying of looking past all the faces until they become part of the background and are just there, the 40 something tired woman leaning against the lam-post smoking, the child stopped on the sidewalk to tie his shoelace outside Hameleighs, the biggest toy store in the world. There was the couple, arm in arm, window shopping. Once in a while, when its this crowded and I feel overwhelmed, i will let them fuzz up and will pay more attention to the buildings and the high-street, rows upon rows of shop windows, all empty.

And the fact that I tend to have soundtracks to a day just helps deconstruct the milling crowd until it is nothing but a painted picture that can’t touch me. So if you ever randomly see me in a crowded street and I seem to be oblivious, it’s because you are painted on. Sorry, it isn’t deliberate, it just is.

Anyway, made my way to Zara and actually found something worth buying, hm, that and ESPRIT were the only places that had anything fun. I did stop by Hamleighs for a few minutes but couldn’t take it any more. Felt over stimulated and overwhelmed by the soap bubbles, people that come up to my middle and women counting off their ward to make sure the flock was still there. I stepped in to the Lego section and felt deprived during my childhood (was obsessed with them as a kid....and still have them around)

Oh and one side of the street was warded off and they had a vintage car exhibition and I am in love with them. One of the cars had a front mounted seat, a car for one and the seat looked classier than the couch I have at home, deep green with the buttons, shiny leather, you could hear the pistons in the engine (heck was a 6 hp engine) and I just wanted to reach over and touch the hand crafted fender and the crank and blow the old-school horn. Anyway it was winding down and one by one the owners started their engines, one of them had a steam engine style smoke stack with black smoke billowing out, you could almost imagine it going down a wagon rutted road, disturbing gentry horses. Anyway, quite a few cars were from around 1900-1910, fucking A! And in gorgeous condition. I loved it.

I decided to throw the crudely drawn map I have and wander around the smaller alleys to get back to Old Compton. Oh and while walking around (god there is so much to blog about just walking around) I was wondering why this sudden spurt in interest to shop for clothes. no, i was the kind who would shop once a year. I could analyze this more than it should but i think its just a desire to change...change what though...it’s like the Leopard who wanted to change his spots I guess…another skin, can buy the vintage rock shirt and become a grungy teenager, can get the very GQ coat and become a yuppie, the corduroy black coat and the intellectual…of course all this is a farce since I am a bit of all of them…dress me up in loafers, jeans with frayed ends, an old old t shirt and a nice new coat, all bits of everyone and then some…

---------------------

Was thinking about it and while sex a sealed deal is fun and less work, I do miss everything leading up to it

For instance, you can go pick her up and you lean in to kiss her and get that whiff of perfume (and I always have to find out which one it is…all will fly except Cool Waters). Then there’s sitting in the car, an animated conversation that makes me almost miss the signal, walking arm in arm up the stairs to the restaurant.
It’s always interesting to see what someone picks out from the menu, how they order their food, if they are polite to the waiter.

Course there is the conversation and should she talk about something im passionate about (which is quite a few things I must admit) I tend to get animated and there’s that pause when I am out of breath and smiling and that flash of recognition/connection you feel with the other persona t the moment.

I like the flirtatious banter, nothing overt naturally because that just ruins the fun but hints at all kinds of things, the space between lines more filled with unspoken intent than the lines themselves which seem a front.

There’s the late night walk to get a coffee and lie back and unwind and be; be-ing for once that doesn’t have to have a point nor a deep meaningful conversation but be’ing that begets (don’t hate me for using those words!) comfort.

And inevitably there’s the fingers touching skin, the hesitation & subsequent confidence, testing the waters, the lines blurring, silence that bears down with question marks almost animate and funny to the passerby

The first kiss which is still hesitant and testing but builds up until it explodes.

Am I just romanticizing the experience? Or have flings done that?

Meh, who knows, its just me…writing

---------------------------------

Am obsessed with flash fiction!! I mean come on: "For sale. Baby shoes. Never worn."is just fan-fucking tastic! (Hemingway)

Go read and find some good ones…or point me to where I can read more, am hell bent on devouring them!

Nothing Songs

So fine ya, not all songs got to mean something, some are just plain fun...
Am in a happy dippy mood, several reasons which will get into later...but two nothing songs first!



And this is a favorite now!

...oh fuck, can't find it on YouTube but it's 'When I Step Out With Artists'...go get!

Post Due But Had To Throw This In!

Have a post half-worked sitting in in-box but since I have spent the weekend rediscovering the Crash Test Dummies, wanted to throw this song in...why? because I 'bumped' into the Ex online...interesting conversation which will replay out here later in the day



Running into you like this without warning
Is like catching a sniff of tequila in the morning
But I'll try, I'll try to keep my food down
That's quite an after-taste that you've left now that you're not around

You can just pretend we're not in the same room
Well, alright, I'll just mosey to the bathroom
You flew by like a summer vacation
And you left me with TV-movies and a messy kitchen

I think I'll disappear now, slip out sideways
Just for awhile - but until then I'll stay in and sleep late, excuse me

I'll buy a fast car, I'll drive fast from here
There's a beach I haven't seen since last year -
It's far, but I like night drives;
It just makes it nicer when I do arrive

Aren't you going to miss me?
Aren't you going to even say one thing to me anymore?

Well, you can bet that I'll forget how it was then:
All the drives to your farm for the weekend ...
But I've seen the swimsuit magazines
And I've smelled tequila the first thing in the morning

Mongrels & Roots

So my Mothers side:

Her dad comes from Sadabad…I think (oh dear, brow frumples)…wait yes. And he went to school thre as did his brothers and he learned to read and write with a chalk and a small slate. He then grew up to be the first of my clan to go abroad to study and set up the observatory…well, a few in India. He is very smart. But the point is, he is from UP.

My mum’s mum, is from Lahore. She has 9…had 9 siblings..

My Dad’s side:

His folks came from Gwalior. His dad was a forest ranger in Andaman & Nicobar islands and did have a lions skin in the living room with a bullet hole right between the eyes and I would, as a kid, be fascinated beyond all reason at the hole and its glassy eyes and lacquered tongue, mouth open in its last snarl. My dad’s mum had to changer her name when she got marred because that was custom – change the name so it fits the husbands, a ridiculous concept if I ever heard one. She didn’t have any grey hair until her 80’s

I was born in Austria, grew up in Saudi Arabia and then moved to Delhi. I was in the US for 5 years and London for the past couple of months. I speak English, Hindi (albeit very Dilli street) and German.

Now where the hell am I from? I know I’m Bhramin but have never had that whole head shaved thread dealy. So, I’m not from Delhi technically, I have no freaking idea where I’m from. I’m perfectly happy saying I’m Indian (oh but you speak English so well…no shit you dumb cunt, a lot of upper middle class people do and besides, Enlglish was the first language I learned…instead I say well, a lot of Indians do you know)

I’m a mongrel!

Oh well

-----------------------------

Fuckin’ A, there’s a Wiki on my last name:

So apparently, we are a clan of sages (yeah, the way some relatives behave, more like cess pool dwellers but still), who descended from a fire-priest called xxxxxx. They instituted the ritual of offering the juice of the Soma plant to the old Aryan deities (I knew partying ran in the family baby!!)

They were warriors in addition to being priests (hippocrites)

The xxxx were closely linked with the composition of the Atharva Veda (something redeeming)

Apparently the guy who started it all is also the one who stepped on the Big 3 (not GM, DCX or F but the Big Three Divinities) to see which of them was the greatest, presumptuous bastard wasn’t he?!

Soma: It is described as prepared by pressing juice from the stalks of a certain mountain plant, which has been variously hypothesized to be a psychedelic mushroom, cannabis, peganum harmala, or ephedra. In both Vedic and Zoroastrian tradition, the drink is identified with the plant, and also personified as a divinity, the three forming a religious or mythological unity.

23 or 32

I have preponderance for over-thinking. And it’s just in the recent past that it worked in my favour (that’s another story) but I was walking to get lunch today and was thinking over work and growing up.

I interned with several places while I was in college – Pricewaterhouse Coopers, Ernst and Young, a startup investment boutique (say it with me please boo-ti-cue) and all these were in India. I hated them. They were the most revolting waste of time imaginable. Fucking A, I don’t even remember PwC and that’s just unforgivable. Oh yeah, the office was near ISBT…I forget what I did there, hang on, let me check my resume…ah yes, understanding the Electricity Act of 2003 – 150 pages of pure legalese to be condensed by yours truly because dome dumb fuck up there couldn’t be bothered to understand it himself. Really now! What. The. Fuck?

And it was some horrible, hot office where I had to wear a white shirt and tie. Now lets not ponder over this internship since to be fair, I don’t remember it. Really.

There was EY and turns outi was under my cousins friend, the same one who had seen me as a five year old when he came to visit my cousin. The guy was a real bunghole if you will pardon my French. He had won some amateur poetry competition in college and felt that had to translate into life, said was the best fast-bowler on the EY team, just a shmuck with a Napoleon complex. And his junior was semi-boss of me. I saw in another room because there was no space near him and I had to work on the EY manual series ‘Doing Business in India’ and had to do with the Oil & Gas Industry. Apparently it was an effort started two years prior and no one had gone through with – for good reason. It was so very boring. Of course, the dude put m off on the first day itself. I had landed in Delhi three days prior and British Airways had, of course, lost my bags (for three weeks believe it or not). And I walk in in loafers, jeans and a white shirt and he looks me over and goes, ‘you had better start dressing differently’. Of course, the fact that even a perfunctory greeting is in rder was lost on him. And me, that was the time I was still a bumbling idiot (a few years in the US changed that and I am one loud motherpucker now) And the buzz word was ‘gyaan’. The lameness made me want to bang my head (here read this and get some major gyaan or listen to him, he has a lot of gyaan). Fuck off please?

So I would turn up at 8am, pretty much be ignored, sit until 5:30pm wondering why I hadn’t snuck out at 4pm. And it was the most exhausting thing ever. The thing is, I can do all-nighters if the work I do keeps me riveted (albeit stomach-ulcer giving at times) but its even more exhausting keeping me entertained when there is jack shit to do. I am a five year old like that and will break into tears if I have to long long stretches of nothingness. Which is why limbo can never exist for me, if it does, then its hell (or perhaps hell is limbo…but by the corollary isn’t limbo hell…oh dear, metaphysical discussion beginnings I fear). And it took me two weeks of asking before his royal bungholiness deigned to check my work. What a load of bullcrap.

I have imaginations of karmic redemption and the last time was at my cousin (this guy’s friends) wedding and saw him and I was itching for him to ask me what I was doing the schmuck (yeah, am proud of what I do but not to the point where I pull out my business card at a club, shoot me if I ever ever do that ever).

The boutique was a shade better though I am sorry to say, everyone was crap at explaining what I had to do. Anyway, it was the only real experience I had looking at companies (barring what I taught myself).

Anyway but here’s the common denominator – I wasn’t taken seriously. And what infuriates me to do this day was when I would tell my dad, he would always say but you gott to ask them for more work or you got to get after them to see what you have done. No dice dad, it took the fucker two weeks after I asked him each day to see what I had done. I hated *hated* not being taken seriously because I was younger. Look, just because you have had more time around doesn’t mean I am full of it right. Or because at 19 if you were a sack of crap doesn’t mean others are.

Now I compare it with the US office. It was unnerving because everyone takes your opinion like you are their age. Seriously, I felt like yelling im 23, I’m a moron, helppppp!

Argh, I feel stupid now because I seem to be flip-flopping on the issue (curse the US media for inventing such a stupid turn of words). But if I had to choose between not being taken seriously and feeling elevated, would rather be taken seriously. Of course, it makes for a tougher time and has its whole host of issues but atleast I don’t feel like a waste of flesh/space in the office right?

But right now there’s a dichotomy being 23 between being growed up and a kid. 7am, eyes snap open, jump out of bed (after checking email), hop in the shower and think about what work needs to be done through the day…use fast NY walk to push through Brit suits to get to work, scan emails before butt hits chair.

Get home and make inane jokes with Bobo, get drunk on weekend and wonder why Suge Knight’s first name is ‘shuug’ instead of ‘soo-jee’ like the halwa.

Yeah okay, I’m an idiot.

Point is, when I’m 40 and with friends, will I still act like an idiot? God I hope so

(every time I told the Ex I didn’t want to grow up, she would argue with me and get really pissed off…but the thing is I don’t think she ever got the fact that I knew I was growing up, still am and that I accepted the fact that I had more responsibilities and just to feel better, I would say I wasn’t growing up. Well, she’s with someone who is 27 now and good luck if he is as growed up as I feel

(blow raspberries)

Adios muchachos!

(mumbles) where did the year go??

Ahhhh

Its 6pm, I’m alone in the office, a little Audioslave on the computer and I found a little peace in the otherwise stressful place. Work tends to move in spurts and not just during the months of the year but during the day. There are days when I can faff about, have monkey work to do and others where I barely find time to unclench my jaw…or butt for that matter. Oh well, it’s a trade off for pay day I guess.

Today was a good day because we made some money on something that kept me tense for almost a month. So it feels good.

And its already November, when the fuck did that happen. Is it too early to take stock? I don’t know but come December 9^th, push from London to New York. Come 15^th December leave from New York for Delhi via London. Soon after, push off to Bombay and then back to Delhi and New York on the 4^th. So, the only quiet time I think I will get is when I am ‘cruising at an altitude of 35,000 feet and please make sure you wear your seatbelts when the sign is turned on’

But let me take the year in review, last New Year’s was at AB’s place with the Ex and Fat One and his amreki girl friend and MT. MT and AB were dating and the Ex wasn’t an alphabet but a real person. AB’s mum got tipsy at the party and danced with her own shadow. Fat One tried to cut in and was turned down. Oh dear

I loathed leaving the Ex for New York but still, struggled through the better part of spring. Ex pops along to NY and things fall apart. But I forget the time in between…was there any drama? Let me check

(flips back in time)

Oh dear, no entries. I guess not

Oh damn! I remember, February was LA Woman, enough sullen fights with the Ex.

London has been…surreal too…where the fuck has the time gone to? (searches high and low)

Well then, the year is yet to end and I have a feeling there is a little more drama left in it (not in the bad sense but touch wood, we shall see)

Last night Bobo and I ventured out (despite her groans of ‘duuuuuuude, I’m dying’) to the Masala Zone. Wah! North Indian food with enough spices to make your stomach do a triple axle and then some. And the waiter had the balls to suggest Bobo and I couldn’t finish a thali each along with Pao Bhaji…course, we showed him and followed it with dessert.

Fuckin’ A I missed that food.

And right now there are domestic issues at the Bobo/Zaphod household – the garbage disposal wont work and the internet suddenly decided to take a vacation.

When did I grow up? Have I grown up? I think the day you grow up grow up (forgive the repetition…reminds me of when my sis was a kid, would always want to play ‘Teacher Teacher’ or ‘Shop’peeper Shop’peeper’ which would mean her raiding my mum’s stock of imported soaps and using the Fisher Price cash register but anyway) when you have a kid.

Yikes, the idea makes my head do a triple.

Anyway, its too early for me to leave (that’s the sad part of the job, even if I am done, have to be around in case the boss who incidentally has gone to see La Boheme needs anything)

But now to find entertainment this weekend – Tate? Shopping? Movie…yeah but I hate doing that alone, never done a movie alone…perhaps this weekend…

Yeah this a long rambling post about nothing at all but had writer’s itch (which is nothing like jock itch which I have never had the pleasure of experiencing and never want to)

Oooo, did stumble on this today and loved it, how could you not, its Roald Dahl baby!!

http://www.newyorker.com/critics/atlarge/articles/050711crat_atlarge

And oh yeah, so Modi (woman friend, rather large given medical reasons) started a group on Facebook called ‘Large is Beautiful’ or something like that for whatever reason. So fine, I join, then Opinionated, her ex and well, this rather opinionated person (and I take it they never split amicably) started another group called ‘There is nothing beautiful about a heartattack’ attacking large people. Its really entertaining to see their email exchanges to which god knows how many poor people have been subjected but still, just reaffirms my Aquarian (?! Oh fine, I am a new age hippy now fug off) sentiment of lemme beeeeee! Shoo! Don’t involve me in this, lemme be a spectator, couldn’t be buggered to care right now.

Right now to faff around a bit more and play with a few charts on excel. I think this may be a slow month excitement wise…or the universe could just lull me into a false sense of stability…either ways, here we go!!

I Apologize, The Universe Does NOT Need Any Blue Pill....Ya Hear That Ya Great Big Vaccuum?!

So I think the Universe mis-read the title of my last post and thought I said it needed the little blue pill. To extract revenge, it has sent me a horrorscope involving I think my posterior. And Old Compton seems to be getting to me...or atleast making a bloody good attempt:

"Sweet Venus is being excited by your key planet Uranus."
(pull out ear horn) meh? what was that, whose sweet venus excited by my what dearie?

"Others will see you as more sociable and charming, and you can use this to your advantage. Unfortunately, someone may try to prevent you from having fun."
Uhhun (in mock belief as I try to get my befuddled mind over the past line)

"Acknowledge the resistance you perceive from others, but then go ahead with your unconventional activities anyway. The pleasure is worth the consequences"
(blink blink) im sorry but is Venus getting excited by my you know what worth the consequence? Let’s stay away from it please

Warning: I have decided to go crazy today. Bobo pointed out you can’t decide to go nuts, you just go nuts. But I argue in deciding to go nuts, I must be nuts to decide to go nuts and hence, I am nuts.
(poof!) his sense of rational thought disappears for a brief sojourn

Haven’t been writing as I wish I did but am still suffering from a cold and that makes me cranky. And Venus being excited by anything apart from the 'General' is just…not…cool


Oh also, my boss was irritate with me being sick on Monday and refused to accept i stayed in all weekend because I was *still* sick. Its Wednesday morning now. Its quarter to 10 in the AM and he isn't here... he just sent an email saying he is sick...am feeling smugness of karmic retribution