The Radio play...

The play starts with the sounds of cars whizzing by in the hustle and bustle of a city street. Suddenly, there is a screech of rubber on tarmac and the voice of a

Woman 1: Oh my God, somebody call an ambulance!

Over the continuing sounds of traffic, sounds of a number being dialed and Woman 2 (speaking crisply) : Please, an ambulance quickly! To [aside] oh, goddamit, what’s this place called?

Man 1 (urgent voice): This is dark horse road.

Woman 2: You got that? Dark horse road? Quick, as quick as possible!

In the background, voices of general sympathy and hushed tones. In a few seconds, the sounds of an ambulance siren wailing over the traffic comes closer. Sounds of activity and tersely issued orders amongst atleast five men, on the lines of:.

Joshi: “Rane, do we have a pulse?”

Rane: “Sir he’s not too bad…he just looks gruesome…he’s got a damaged lung and a few broken bones…he’s on the ventilator.”

Joshi: “Well, in that case, take your time…our ambulance is broken down…the replacement won’t be here for a few minutes.

A heavy voice comes on.

Anil: Are you Mr. Joshi? Sir! (In a higher voice) Can you tell me what’s goin’ on here? I’m Anil Phatak…that’s my colleague, Mahesh.

In somewhat fake cheery voice, Joshi responds. He’s got a cocksure voice, a sort of energy and youthfulness that is difficult to describe.

Joshi: Oh, good to see someone who knows him here. Well, we’re pretty sure he’ll make it sir. The paramedic team was here within a few minutes, you see. A young woman watched the entire episode and called us immediately…he’s fine sir, really…he’s got a couple of broken bones and all, but nothing mother nature can’t cure with time on her side, eh sir? There is some damage to the right lung too, but men have had perfectly healthy lives even after injuries like that, right sir?

Rane: Guys, what’s happening? Why have all the systems switched off? What’s goin on? Hey Joshi! [Shouts] We’ve got a complete systems failure here!

Joshi: [taken by surprise] What the…

Another voice, slightly meek, but trying to regain a possible former authority and confidence, is heard.

Man 1: Sir, er…that was me…I went into the back of the van for something and yanked out the power supply by mistake…

Joshi: Well, my good man, what the hell are you waiting for? Plug the systems back in!

Man 1: I did, sir…the systems take a few seconds to come back on…[optimistic] they must be on by now.

Rane: Its too late sir…the ventilator shut off too…we lost him.

Joshi: You can’t be serious!

Rane: I am sir…checked his pulse…the systems also tell me the same thing…

Joshi: [whistles] Oh Boy! Just when I thought! This can’t be good! He’s got a wife and two kids, they’ll be devastated! The face which always brought a smile to her face will now bring only a tear…the guffaw which made his kids jump over him like a jungle gym will never be heard again! Who knows what this man might have done, had he lived? He could have invented a cure for AIDS, or won the Booker prize, who knows? Maybe he was the man God sent to us to knock some sense into the heads of our bloody politicians! Oh, what might he have done? The mind truly boggles…but now, he is reduced to, in the words of Mark Antony, a “bleeding piece of earth”…he has left us for the Kingdom of Heaven, and this eulogy is all that remains of him…I bow my head

Cut off by Anil Pathak He seems to be seething with anger, like he’s been restraining himself from speaking but he can’t stop himself anymore.

Pathak: Stop it, Mr. Joshi, stop it right now! No one writes lines of fake poetry for dead people in real life, sir…[takes a deep breath] no eulogies for dead people in real life…

[Finis]

Please (don't) watch...

I seem to be doomed to watching low grade crap even after going out of my way to watch it…the last four films I watched, (one in a theatre, the rest were rented) were all uniformly crap, or atleast definitely avoidable.

Film No. 1: ‘Dor’, from dir. of ‘Iqbal’, ‘Hyderbad Blues’, and ‘Bollywood Calling’, Nagesh Kukunoor. Actually not bad, but I walked into the theater with high expectations, and was, needless to say, let down. The film tells the story of a Kashmiri woman whose husband faces the death penalty in anarchic Saudi Arabia, and must secure the signature of a young Rajasthani girl on a letter of forgiveness to save her life. Sadly for her, her husband faces the death penalty for allegedly killing the husband of the Rajasthani girl. Also, after losing her husband, the Rajasthani kid lives the life of a typical Indian widow, one who is blamed, and therefore punished, for the death of her husband. The story follows the predictable lines of women’s emancipation, as the girl from ‘kahin to upar’ show the Rajasthani girl how to live her life. Both the ladies are stunning actors, played by Gul Panag and Ayesha Takia. Last but definitely not the least, Shreyas Talpade (lead role in ‘Iqbal’) plays the friendly swindler who is instrumental in uniting the two women and provides much needed comic relief.

Film No.2 a.k.a Disaster No.1: ‘The Devil wears Prada’ is again the story of two women who are so fake that I puked out all the food I’ve ever eaten in my life. Andy Something (Anne Hathaway from the ‘Princess Diaries’) becomes the assistant of fashion magnate Miranda Something Else (Meryl Streep, Oscar winner) hoping to make some quick money and then return to a career in journalism. The typical girl-next-door, Andy keeps getting snubbed in the face for her dress sense, or the lack of it. Incase any of you were worried that our heroine will live a life of abject derision and criticism, don’t. Coz our leading lady soon becomes a Sellout of the worst kind: a converted Sellout. She not only starts wearing clothes wearing obscenely large sums of money, she also starts believing in the philosophy. After earning the respect of her impossible boss (who, by the way, decides to throw away jackets worth three million dollars on a whim) she loses her friends and her boyfriend, both of whom don’t like the all-new, grotesque, looking-like-a-god, fake Andy, to whom she says, “screw you all, I don’t need you.” Does Andy get back to her senses and start living a normal life? Or does she continue living in the fake, superficial world of “fashion”? Don’t watch the movie, because I’ll tell you anyways…she mends her fake ways, and gets a job as a journo in The Boston Times. And she remains the chocolaty-sweet girl, gets back with her guy (after sleeping with some fashion idiot in Paris, by the way) and is still nice to her boss and the boss’s other assistant (another fake character, just in case you were hoping for a faint ray of hope). Hurray for Andy, anyone?

Film No. 3 a.k.a Disaster No.2: ‘Sleepy Hollow’ is supposed to be Johnny Depp’s best acting performance to date. It is not. It is a disgusting B-grade horror flick from the king of this genre, Tim Burton. I shouldn’t have gone near this one with a bargepole, but I did…and sorely regretted it…

Film No. 4 a.k.a Disaster No.3: Tell me something…are adult comedies supposed to be strictly non-funny? ‘Sideways’ (Oscar nominee for Best Film, Best director and three other nominations) is exactly that. It follows the adventures of two thirty-somethings, Jack and Miles. Jack is a crass, sickening bastard, who is also scheduled to get married in five days. He wants to celebrate his last few days of freedom by getting all the humoing, pumping action he can possible get, in the lead-up to his wedding (to another woman, incase you weren’t paying attention. Who he loves, or something). He takes along divorcee-for-two-years, rejected author and wine taster all rolled into one, Miles, who doesn’t approve of his best buddy’s way of celebration, but is forced to hang on to the ride. Actually, this movie is actually watchable, but a warning is necessary here: this movie has scenes of complete nudity…so don’t say I didn’t warn you. That’s why I didn’t ruin the ending for this one…though its not difficult to predict…you’ll see.

And that winds up my list of movies you should not see this weekend…or actually, ever…

its been a long time

im sorry its been a really long time since i blogged, and im happy that my last article has recieved some comments atleast...all you severely self-obsessed pricks saw te same damn article enough times for you all to atleast feel like commenting...anyways, aditi, i have no clue who you are...and varun, tell me something...dont you ever wanna get off your prissy little ass ever in your life? not just you, buddy...anybody, for that matter...there'll probaby come a time in your life when you'll feel like doin summat...till then, keep reading this blog...
well, my life's been puctuated, (like everyone else's) with ups and downs...more downs than ups, but anyways....
dude, varun...do i know u personally? coz if u do, i'd liketo tell u summat...maybe next time...
and shraddha...the hell with me not goin online for the next few months...not worth it...you know?

A Warped World

What sort of a lop-sided development is this? On one hand, we’ve got the Sensex booming, touching never dreamed of figures, across just a year, while on the other hand, we have six thousand-odd farmer suicides in just one region of Maharashtra, over a period of 5 years, and nobody gives a goddamn shit!

Let me guess…you had no clue of this happening until a few days ago, when the Prime Minister, Dr. Manmohan Singh, visited a (unknown to you) region of Maharashtra called Vidarbha…or even worse…you still have no clue that the Dr. PM visited Vidarbha, and is, at the moment, addressing farmers across the region…or (we’re talking extreme case here) you had no clue that the PM of India was Dr. Manmohan Singh…whatever be your knowledge about the present situation, I am pretty sure you have no idea of the plight of those driven-to-suicide farmers, or the state of their surviving families…

Yep, I heard you. You’re saying, “Why should I care? I have my own problems to deal with. I managed to run up a bill of a cool seven thousand bucks on my last Saturday shopping binge, I’ve promised a treat to my colleagues on my birthday this week, and those bastards drink only tequila. And besides, you think money for the EMI’s on the Sony Home theatre, my Ford Fiesta and the cellphone bill’s gonna grow on trees? Why should I bother about stupid farmers growing cotton in parts of India I’ve never heard of? Let me watch the Lakme India Fashion Week in peace, will ya?”. Now you listen to me. Shut up about your own problems, and read on.

Vidarbha has been a cotton-growing region for long. As you probably (don’t) remember, the Deccan Plateau, with its black soil, is very useful for growing cotton. After putting this little titbit of information in their textbooks, the (successive) governments have coolly forgotten about the farmers in the hinterland, leaving them to fend for themselves. The result? These poor souls have had repeated failed/ unpredictable monsoons, throwing their crops into total disarray. The government unobtrusively gets out of the cotton-buying department, sensing greater money (read bribes) elsewhere, and leave it to middlemen. The middlemen have no scruples whatsoever, and happily fleece the farmers. Across the Vidarbha region, there are people who have debts to the tune of sixty thousand rupees, to local moneylenders. Oh! I forgot to mention…the co-operative banks refuse to give these chaps a loan, leaving them at the mercy of moneylenders, who are always looking to make a quick buck. At the same time, sons and daughters need to be married off, to a show of pomp and splendour…driven to the edge, these farmers have done only what is normal in those circumstances: committed suicide. These chaps had no new-or-old-fangled notions of fasting at the Jantar Mantar…they simply did what came naturally to humans at such times of distress.

In these times of poverty, farmers put themselves in hellishly weird situations. There have been umpteen cases of marriages and funerals being clubbed together (Marry one, Bury one Free??) to save money. A marriage to remember, eh little girl? Picture yourself performing your wedding rites, (knowing that the house you are about to enter is no better off that you are) while your father’s last rites (who just committed suicide, by the way) are being performed a discreet distance away? Want some more? Add your father’s elder brother to the funeral pyre, a brother’s wedding to yours, and remember to remove all signs of happiness or normalcy from your surroundings, and you have a perfect wedding, don’t you?

Villages have come together to help families having weddings and funerals by pitching in, and contributing, in cash or kind, in whatever meager way they can. Remember, the good Samaritans were no better off themselves, but I think this is what would be called the Saving Grace of Humanity.

Coming back to your “I-have-so-many-troubles-on-my-Allen Solly-clad-shoulders” life…a contradiction you never realized…the fabric on those models in your goddamn Lakme India Fashion Week is the result of the very same people you’re trying desparately to ignore. An observation of one Mr. P. Sainath, through whose writings in The Hindu, I have gone from being just a passive reader of the newspaper, to a passionate critic of the happenings around me.
P. Sainath, Regional Affairs Editor, The Hindu, has traveled extensively in the Vidarbha, and his writings on the subject are well researched, and are a must read. Read P. Sainath's writings in The Hindu here, here, and here.

What to do?

What to do, people, I am not getting time to blog only? Oh, the last post was written in a semi-conscious state...though it does have some amount of sense in it...though a lot of background is required to figure it out...see if you can guage the mood, neways...give it a nice and slow read, and then let me know if you could make any sense of it...
I wrote a radio play, and I'll put it up here soon, just give me a couple of days. In other news, my life has just reached the deepest levels of frustration, or summat of that sort...basically, I just cant wait to get out of this piece of shit college, where there are more rules than there are people...oh wait a minute, thats a bad simile...considering there are only a hundred and fifty odd people...a vast majority of whom only remotely resemble humans, while the rest seem more like creations of a man drunk on bad beer...
moving on, I am in the process of converting the world into diehard Catcher in the Rye fans...after Shraddha and Prashant, its your turn now...ill write more about it in a little while...till then...
adios amigos

When the rust fills your fingers, you ain’t gonna write no more…

Sitting on the banks of a misfortunous lager beer, wondering if the next one will come to pass. Wondering if the next junction box, can hold up my bladder, filled to the brim that it is, upto the point of no return. I'm counting down to extinction, jumping at the first chance to say goodbye, to all the leaves of the forest, shivering in the slightest wind. It ain’t nice to see them shiver, it depresses me just a bit…it must be easy to leave the band, but that’s coz I play bass…and while you’re at it, remember to really stink up the vocals, coz when the rust fills your fingers, you ain’t gonna write no more…and do remember to wipe the crap behind you, coz here at the university, we believe in cleaning up after ourselves. It ain’t gonna be easy to jump off the moving train. To stop the train, pull the chain, and a hefty fine awaits those do it for fun. Speaking of fun, have you heard of the Messiah? He needs to tighten his purse strings a little bit, or before he knows it, POOF! He’ll turn into a duck, and that’ll be all that’s left of him. Complete annihilation is the keyword, and jumping off the cliff is the first step. Or maybe its just Dolce Vita, which gives you the chance to land in a pitful of quicksand, while you grapple with the slimy enemy, you just keep sinking lower and lower until there is no more of you, him, her, it, or anything.

Tin Fish

Author- Sudeep Chakravarti

Publ. Penguin India, 2005

Price Rs. 250

The first line of this at-once funny, touching, thought-provoking, and gripping story is, “So, there we were, Fish, Porridge, PT Shoe, and I, Brandy. We were brothers without barriers, friends until death.” Tin Fish follows the lives of four buggers in a boarding school, The Ajmer College. (A disclaimer: this is not a boarding school story on the lines of Enid Blyton, and is not to be confused with her books…old Enid never wrote about confused adolescents, gora chicks (to say nothing of their boobs), and the political situation in her times…) Sudeep Chakravarti is a good sculptor of characters (note: there is no heaps of praise for his character sculpting, just a passing mention), cloaking each one of them with enough idiosyncrasies to write a film with Paresh Rawal playing ten roles. His style appeals to me a lot, ‘coz he continuously digresses from one incident to another. To quote Holden Caulfield, (‘Catcher in the Rye’, by J.D.Salinger…pretty much my all-time favourite book), “Oh sure! I like somebody to stick to the point and all. But I don’t like them to stick too much to the point. I don’t know…” One moment, Barun, a.k.a. Brandy, is telling you of the journey from Calcutta railway station to home, and suddenly takes a disorienting jump to a narration of the trek to Kashi he went with, with his friends. Another disorienting jump later, Brandy’s telling you about the Prime Minister of India, who believed that drinking his own “purified liquid” (read piss) was the way to a healthy life.

In the beginning, debutante Sudeep Chakravarti seems to be trying hard to find his groove, which continuously avoids him, atleast through the first hundred-odd pages. This leaves the reader with the feeling of I-think-this-is-going-somewhere-but-right-now-I-am-as-clueless-as-the-author-himself. Luckily for both author and reader, the missing groove is found sufficiently early on in the book, and then its all cool-breeze, ya?

Chakravarti takes you through all the characters’ feelings through the eyes of Brandy…be it Tin Fish’s relationship with his father, a gay chap smooching Porridge, their hopes and aspirations for the future, or Brandy’s love…Chakravarti creates a lovely space, albeit with its faults…but then, what is perfect? Inspite of is faults, Tin Fish definitely deserves a read…maybe two?

obelix says it all

OBELIX
Originally uploaded by completebhejafry.

Jupiter Cafe

Here’s something which was published in The Hindu a few days ago, which made me feel very good…I dunno about how you would feel…
According to a study done by the United Kingdom Rail Union, Aslef, more and more professionals are quitting their professions to become…hold your breaths… train drivers! These professionals, from fields like teaching, journalism, science, and so on, earn their living by driving trains. No, they did not suck at their jobs…when asked, they’ll probably mumble something about the pay being really good, and that they don’t have to worry about their job once their shift is over. But what seems to be the actual reason behind this migration, is a completion of, what is for many, a childhood ambition…to be an engine driver. A dream which seems to be ingrained in British kids from the time I knew them, which is the first time I picked up an Enid Blyton book…

Oh, how I would love to return to a life, uncomplicated and uncluttered! No Portals of Hell to blast my brains out, no cheap bastards to scramble ‘em, and no desires to run away with my girl to garnish my scrambled brains with Betel juice and fenugreek…

After much deliberation, (read as, “after being beaten up by a number of people”) I have come to the conclusion that my attempts at writing poetry (to read the only resemblance to poetry on this blog, click here…and maybe here) SUCK, so now I rely on other people’s poetry to bring out my thoughts. Presenting the lyrics of Jupiter Café, by Thermal and a Quarter, a Bangalore based band.
To take you back to another time…a time where reality was overwritten by a make believe world.

Must have heard the story,
Of Jack and the Beanstalk
Seeds of his destiny,
In exchange of livestock.

We climbed it up,
Yes everyday,
With the treasure ran away.
And we never left
Jupiter Café

It was more than just a ginger bread house
You could go away, but never leave
Reality crumbled like a cookie,
Left its pieces at the door
We flew to Betelgeuse everyday
Not bothered about the hell to pay
And we never left
Jupiter Café

Flying around the solar system
Spinnin’ moons just roll on by
Not for the world
We would miss them
After all, it just the mind’s eye

Would you come in with me today
Can’t promise more than what I say
You may never want to leave,
Jupiter Cafe

A couple of songs

And for today, a few songs I've spoken about, on this space
John Lennon - Imagine
Thats the song whose lyrics that appear at the head of the page

Bob Dylan - All i really wanna do
See here for the post...and I'm sorry, I couldn't find a free link to download this song...can anybody help me?

Aerosmith - Dream on
Click here for the post

By the way, let me know if any of the links don't work...i have a dialup connection, and could'nt check any of the links...and to download the song, right-click the link, and click "Save target as".
yours truly
bheja fry

Welcome to the Jungle....
next time you come to this space of maddeningly irritating sense of humour, be sure to check out my graffiti wall...its on the side bar, right after the archives and previous posts thingy...

The scariest thing

Just heard the scariest thing I’ve heard in a long time: the scream of a woman being beaten up by her drunken husband. The scream was chilling to the bones, for chrissakes…I dare not wonder what was going on behind those closed doors, but I'm pretty sure it couldn’t have been very pretty. The very thought of the scream still sends a shiver down my spine…the scream was so scary that I actually broke off the conversation, and ran away from the place…people out there, tell me I can help them. Though (obviously) they don’t admit it, I'm sure the family would gladly take any sort of remedial action against the crazy husband…is it within my rights to approach an NGO and ask them to intervene?

this is the end

Mr. Bheja Fry

Mr Bheja Fry
died yesterday, of natural causes.

His death was attributed to a lifetime of wierd humour, and bheja frying.

May his soul rest in peace.

Something like Bheja Fry

And today, time for some classic bheja fry…

To be in an igloo, with a monkey who keeps all his money in the ground, is the biggest ambition of my life. Screw the IIT training.

To want a giraffe, for whom I have to build a really tall room, is an idea which strikes me as really fun…maybe not for the giraffe, though…be kinda difficult for him to get out…oh, wait a minute, I forgot to build a door. Screw the IIT training.

And for a final third…anyone waking up to the sounds of Mowgli (of Jungle Book) singing “the Bear Necessities” along with Baloo the bear, come to the jungles of my mind.

Of this and that

A few thoughts on a couple of things…both topping the news channels about a week
ago.
First off, I have heard and read enough about Dr. Rajkumar’s death. For those not in the know, Rajkumar is Kannada cinema’s best-loved actor, got a honorary doctorate, got himself a free vacation at the expense of infamous sandalwood smuggler Veerappan, and played a 26 year old in a film when he himself was a 70-year old grandfather. And did I mention, was elevated to a status of demi-god by his fans?
From the looks of it, Bangalore (to make a generalization) cannot accept the basic processes of nature: lifa and death…after news of Rajkumar’s death spread, thousands of (supposed) fans took to the streets and burned down busses, beat up cops (who were in no position to even tackle, let alone handle, the situation). The city went crazy for a couple of days…I was watching the footage on the news channels closely for the expressions on the mob’s faces…one bugger, who managed to climb onto the ambulance carrying his mortal remains, had this expression: LOOK AT ME! I GOT ON TO RAJUMKAR’S HEARSE VAN! AM I A PRIZE IDIOT OR WHAT?
Or maybe, as NDTV’s Nupur Basu had to say, that this anger was against the system…it was just waiting for an outlet. Rajkumar’s death provided that spark, which caused all the mob fury…coz when you think about it, what was the fury against?

And for Numero two…

Ms. Medha Patkar, I salute you. For twenty days, you fasted for 3500 families in the most godforsaken parts of the country, with no personal gain, except maybe a sense of satisfaction…for twenty (or more) years, you have supported the cause of the Narmada Bachao Andolan, for what? For the noble notions of helping the poor, and making a difference to the society…for giving a voice to those unlettered masses, whose sole way of making a living for themselves is tilling their fields, and who know not any other way of life…for people whose familiarity with a Big Mac ranks alongside my familiarity of the methods of growing rice…
After Gandhi, its taken a long time for someone to go on a hunger strike for a cause (and no, I do not include Narendra Modi’s a-few-minutes-fast…)…I hope that your efforts for the people of the Narmada valley are not in vain…and I leave you with this…
SATYAMEVA JAYATE

LET TRUTH PREVAIL

Who said Indians were quirky, and that the country is run by a bunch of doddering old fools whose only interests are to have stupid power tussles amongst themselves? Click here for more.

Links 2,3,4

And for today, a few links which are worth reading...

From today's Hindu Magazine:
Ramchandra Guha charts the course of India's national game, hockey, in his own inimitable style

Sevanti Ninan's weekly column, Media Matters, takes a look at the illegal radio station in Bihar

http://seulementme.blogspot.com/2006/03/humour-ripped-and-burned.html
check out the quotes, especially the woody allen ones
http://buggydoo.blogspot.com/2006/03/letter-to-alex-and-chris-twelve-years.html
an interesting blog, with an interesting theme...the idea behind it is that the writer is writing all this for her kids, presently aged 3 and 5 (or thereabouts) some 12 years down the line
Rock Street Journal
if u didnt know that there exists a very good and competitive indian rock-and-metal scene, check out this site
also try www.freedomjam.net if you want to attend monthly concerts in bangalore
Hoarse Whisperer
brilliant nonsecical poem...though the blog itself is very personal...i'd suggest not bothering about it...
KYOU Radio
it is what is called an open-source radio...u can listen to the radio, as well as listen to yourself on the radio...for more details, try out the link.


thats all for today,
bheja fry
R.I.P.

I'm on the other side

Well, I have taken a while to come back on the blogging circuit, excuse me for that…my holiday in the Konkan went off just great, thank you very much. I had a great plan to come back home and start a travel blog ( I even had a name planned: Quo Vadis. Its Latin for “whither goest thou”) but I just don’t have the time to do all that…I gotta scan pics before I can actually do a good job on that…what’s a travel blog without good pictures?
By the way, the title is a referance to Korn's new album, See you on the other side. Anybody care to gift it to me? Nah, just kidding...
Anyways, the portals of hell are back in full swing…luckily, they’re about to get a fresh batch of people out of whose lives they can take the fun out of, so they’ve pretty much forgotten about us for the time being. Which is good, in many ways…
Like I was saying, the portals of hell are getting a whole new lot…this year, center about which my life revolves, is taking in ninety-odd new buggers, each one of whom looks nerdier that the previous one…hopefully, my words will be proved wrong in times to come…if these little bastards don’t put up a good, if not better, I-cube (see glossary) than ours, I swear to God, they will be in for some serious ass-kicking.
Among other things, my life is pretty boring…especially after a lovely holiday in the Western Ghats, things tend to take a very drab exterior. If you ever do go to the Konkan, make sure you try out this drink called kokam (I think blueberry, but don’t bet your life on it) sherbet…made from fresh kokams, this is the best drink to keep the heat away…take my advise, and don’t listen to the Times of India…they’ve probably been paid by the Tropicana guys to advertise their drinks…
Well, till next time, then,
Yours truly,
bhejafry



Was just watching an hour-long interview of Rahul Dravid on CNN-IBN. As far as I have seen him, this was the first time the chap has been so eloquent in front of a camera. Dravid spoke on myriad number of issues, like his debut (he’s been an international cricketer for 10 years), cricket today, cricket tomorrow, his family, the whole nine yards…the funny thing was, Dravid showed a whole different side of him today. He was trying to remove all the various misconceptions about him. He also knew that, say what he might, people are gonna stick to their misguided notions about him. For example, he spoke of his much-praised batting technique. To those not in the know, Dravid has, always, had praises heaped on him for his flawless technique. Dravid’s words on the topic were, “I don’t think I have a great technique”. Some people, who are paid to do what I am doing, have assumed that Dravid watches tapes of his batting after each match, analyzing each and every move that went wrong. The truth is far from it…the man hardly ever watches the tapes, let alone scrutinize them. And funnily, this nation, which dotes on cricket and cricketers, probably had similar ideas of him…funnily, coz we can be so wrong in judging people at times…
Though I don’t think we can punish ourselves for commiting that kind of error…I'm pretty sure that lots of people, myself included, have misjudged other people right next to them…guess misjudging someone we haven’t even met is really quite simple.



Some people I meet around…drive me effing crazy!
Like this bunch of people I met yesterday…it was a birthday treat from this girl I haven’t met, or spoken to, for exactly 4 years, and who suddenly chooses to call me for her birthday treat…and she’s part of a bunch of louts, guys and girls, sporting branded tees and camera phones…and you know what was the crazy part of it all? They acted like it was all from their own earnings…like they worked their butts off to get where they were…though actually they haven’t budged off their dirty backsides all this while…they were sitting in this café, being all cool and smart and stuff, but the only thing they managed to do was to be very very phony (read “The Catcher in the Rye” by J.D.Salinger for more on phonies)…and in the middle of it all, I am asked the most sick question in the history of shallow minds, “So, tell me about XYZ, I hear she’s your girlfriend”…correct me if I'm wrong here, but that question can be easily reframed to something like, “so, you have a girlfriend for kissing, or for sex?” or something equally brazen…what I share with my girl is a deep, meaningful relationship…something which a lot of people haven’t heard about? Or maybe just the people I met, on that fateful day of March, fall into that category…
What I'm hoping for, here, is a way to get around these kind of people. These lunatics, these effing pain-in-the-backsides, who jump out of every nook and cranny, just when I'm least expecting it, and send me on a goddam trip to the place where the only people around are the people I like.
But then, these guys are SO GOOD at providing me with some comic relief…Mr. Fry, you sure you wanna take that away from them? Tell me, Mr. Fry, who will have you in splits of laughter and have you spiting in anger at the same time, if not for these guys?
Tell me, Mr. Fry, I’d really like to know.

Of This And That

Presenting a few thoughts and observations [all my own work]

Like yesterday, I witnessed a truly fun match between South Africa and Austrslia. Australia, batting first, scored some 430-odd runs, and pretty much looked like they sealed South Africa’s fate. But the Africans weren’t done yet. After a stunning innings by Gibbs (170 odd, off 110-odd balls), they made it a real nail-biter…in the end, they clinched the match by the skin of their teeth. With nearly 900 runs being scored in the entire day, I sure as heck wouldn’t want to be a bowler on either side…

Like I really hoped that the last post on the chewing gum would actually have comments put up there…me and my silly, stupid dreams…something me and my girl do: WMD…George Bush, if you’re listening, our WMD has nothing to do with mass-destruction (which, incidentally, you cause, under the pretence of hunting out the same crap)…in our world, WMD expands to We Manufacture Dreams…

Like I am finally going on a long, hard-earned holiday…tomorrow night I am off to Ratnagiri, Maharashtra…for a ten day vacation in the Western Ghats. Wish it didn’t have to come at the cost of not being able to talk to my girl…more on that when I return…

To all the F1 fans, the season has finally started…hope its more fun than the last one, which was plagued by the FIA doing weird stuff like going on a tyre conservation drive, among other things. Pity Karthikeyan’s not racing this season, though…he seems to be a nice guy (unlike the other rookie last year, Sania Mirza, who bugged me with her obviously apparent bitchiness) Here’s wishing him good luck in his racing career.

And for a final observation: there are some great blogs out there (India Uncut, Gaurav Sabnis) and there are some crappy blogs out there (just hit random blog…chances are, you’ll meet something crappy)…after going through a fair bit of them with an thoroughly objective (read comparing) eye, I am happy to say that mine is on the better side (although, is this what they call blowing my own trumpet??)

Adios amigos, for a few days. I shall see you, the erstwhile seniors, at the Portals of Hell, when you guys write your boards…fellow blog-amigos (I know that sounds really cool, and all that, but seriously, there aren’t too many of them), I’ll be back with Ratnagiri in a few days…

And girl…I’ll miss you…

Santa is watching, so be good…
Yours truly

Stay away from Happydent white

Statuatory warning:
There is a brand of chewing gum out there called Happydent White. DO NOT eat it, at all possible times. This is especially valid just after meals. there is a reason behind this warning: they put quite a big amount of baking soda in it, supposedly to whiten your teeth. That stuff is the same stuff they put in cheap North Indian hotel preparations, to make the dough ferment quickly...in both places, baking soda has the effect of giving you small burps...not that much fun, just after a meal...NEVER BEFORE KISSING A GIRL...all from personal experiance, by the way...
This has been put up here under severe personal risk, coz if Perfetti Malle read this, they can sue me for defamation, or summat, I'm pretty sure. (picked up that from the innumerable Perry Masons I have read)
this was a public service announcement brought to you en tote by Bheja Fry
Any communication, (though why you would take that risk, is way beyond my intellectual capacity, which happens to be one measly cell...) may be had by means of the comment board.

testing my patience

An examination hall is always known to sap the creative juices…the following is born out of sheer boredom…out of the inability to walk out of this mind-numbingly boring craphole. Believe me, I'm ready to do anything, absolutely anything, to bail meself out of this feeling of intense ennui…watch soap operas, celeb gossip shows, golf…read business reports, a books on the JEE problems, my girl’s blog, which is never updated…anything to save me from this lousy state of mind…but I can’t…so I write…I write whatever comes to mind (which isn’t too much, considering I'm writing this…and besides, I'm excavatingly hungry, or so the void in my head informs me…which means I will excavate for food??)
I write of my girl, who is scared out of her wits that what little I do with her, the Boss will report to her mom, with enough embellishments to put a Navratan Korma to shame…and send her (my girl, not her mom, who is a weird sort to say the very least…but rest assured, I will not say anymore here…I don’t wash dirty linen in public, you see.) Like I was sayin’, send my girl on the highway to hell, ACDC style…
I write terrible poems, like this one…

The papers rustle around me,
Faces screwed up in concentration,
Trying to remember the forgotten fact,
The quick trick,
The elegant method.

As for me, I'm penning this…
A poem with no intention or rhyme,
None but spending time…

The papers rustle around me…
Like Jerry the mouse, or maybe rabbits,
Pens are sent scurrying across the sheets,
Guarded by two neat lines,
Always inside those lines,
Never dare to veer off the track,
Stick to their course, they do…
The papers still rustle around me…

power to the people!!!

A little about the title...a song written by John Lennon which wanted exactly what the title says...power to the people...and that is what this post is about...

Today, I wanted to write about two things which have interested me in the past couple of days. The first is the protest against George “Dubious intentions” Bush’s imminent arrival, and the second is the Jessica Lall case. But, this morning, The Hindu’s op-ed page had an extremely well-written and concise article, written by activist writer Arundhati Roy, which said all I wanted to say about this, and more, in her own fiery style. Just click on the link, or if that doesn’t work, copy-paste the link in the address bar.

Arundhati Roy in The Hindu

The other thing I wanted to write about was the Jessica Lall case. Through this medium, I have earlier presented my views, to anyone who cared to read, on Rang De Basanti… and the furore created by common people of this country over the case is extremely reminiscent of Rang De Basanti’s message to the country. But before I get into all that, a note to the uninformed about the Jessica Lall case.

Some time in late 1998, in a fashionable pub in New Delhi, called Tamarind House, a young woman was shot dead. She was a waitress in the pub, and was shot by an intoxicated youth. But, as in all Indian stories, this young man was not brought to book. Luckily for him, he was the son of a don-turned-influential politician, coz, some seven years after the murder, all nine accused were acquitted of all charges. The father, apparently, influenced the judicial system at all levels, managed to turn (read threatened) hostile witnesses into favourable ones, the whole nine yards. But, this is where this story stops resembling the numerous other similar stories in the Great Indian Bedtime Stories, and takes on a turn of its own. Across the country, vehement protests can be seen, asking for a retrial. Young people, tired of listening to their parents and grandparents commenting “hamare desh mein aisa hi hota hai”, “we are like this only” decide to change things. Other voices echoing across my mind include that of the cynical realist Ryan (read five point someone, by Chetan Bhagat, for more details) who says, “you try to change the system, and the system changes you.” These young men and women are trying, in their own way, to disprove Ryan’s theory, and may good luck prevail with them.

True, the media deserves its fair share of credit in this entire affair, without which this would have been just another headline in the few newspapers who actually report news, not fill their pages with advertisements and page 3 (the list definitely excludes the Times of India, to quell any thoughts of confusion.)

This entire affair puts me in mind of Rang De Basanti…the idea propagated by the film is suddenly being put in force across the country…the film spoke about normal, middle-class youth taking the affairs of this country into their own hands…(see the film, and my post on the film, for more) and hoping for a better world. We’ve had enough of taking things like these lying down, be it George Bush, or Child abuse, or the Narmada dam project, and its time we do something about it. Rang De’s version of “doing something” is sounds more extremist, going to the extent of actually killing the Defence Minister…but who knows, maybe there are a bunch of extremely motivated youth in some pocket of this country…perhaps friends of Jessica…who are preparing to take that drastic step towards change in this country…Imagine, the next time I write something, it could be lauding the efforts of those youth, who went and shot dead the father of the murderer, and…

one night @ the call center

After a second reading of Chetan Bhagat’s second book, one night @ the call center, presenting a few thoughts:

Like this is a brilliant follow-up to the madness of the IITs, through his first book, five point someone. One night…is a trip into the minds of the working youth of this country… men and women dealing, or at least trying to deal with, their own problems, in their own ways…

Like the character of Priyanka is an extremely interesting one. Priyanka’s life is directed by her mom, who has a problem with nearly everything she does. She’s got the good ole knife stuck in Priyanka’s back (a la Vernon God Little), which she twists every time she needs to…and makes her daughter squirm in her seat.

Like the narrator, Shyam, is an equally intricate fabrication…depressed, low on self-confidence, a perpetual feeling of being a loser, he is just perfect material for a narrator…credit also goes to the author at this stage, for not overdoing this character, a simple mistake to commit. A man who shies away from the truth, who happily lets people trample all over him, while blaming it on Fate, Destiny, and all those wonderful abstract creations of man, which let weak-minded noodles like Shyam exist.

Like, the character of the Military Uncle, (a bloke who fights with his son and daughter-in-law, over outdated issues like women working, and wearing showy clothing, etc. and gets thrown out of their home, and kept away from his grandson) is a lesson to all such similar people…the world around you keeps changing, my older friends, whether it be dressing sense, food habits, perception of the older generation, and so on…and you got one choice: whether to shape up, or ship out. But never make the mistake of trying to force someone to do something they don’t want to do, coz it will never work out…

Yours truly

about a lot of things

today, i shall talk on a lot of things...
by the way, people not personally acquainted with me would do well to skip right on to the next post...it wont make too much sense anyways...
first off, the farewell left me mainly with the thoughts which i have already written about in the last post...but it was fun putting up the entire show for the seniors.
the last three days have been spent in the company of my best buddy, and it was a completely enjoyable time...we talked a lot, played pool, went out for dinner with a couple of old friends, and generally had a good time.
though i can talk forever, ill leave it at the next one...it is wuite late, and i have college tomorrow....
though i am studying at the portals of hell, i is still better than the other places i could have gotten into...jain college, for example, is atrocious, to say the very least, ask my aforementioned friend for more details....or is it?
a couple of smaller things...prashant, dont you dare bring balle along, coz if you do, i swear to god all my thoughts from the past few days will just go flying down the nearest toilet, and i will tear you apart, from limb to limb...
and shraddha, as guns and roses would probably say, dont you cry tonight

a friend of mine...

Today, I shall write about a person who came into my life some time ago…though I never noticed him.

The English language is woefully inadequate to describe this chap…words like friendly, perverted, loyal, and all those sort of words describe only stereotypes, but not my friend…so, I’ll skip the adjective part, and move on to the next part…the flashback.

Never liked this chap in the beginning…he seemed to be too shallow, too cheap, to be befriended…I remember, on my first day with my girl, you passed us, and I said to her…”I never liked this guy…he seems to weird for comfort”, and she agreed with me…maybe you were in a depression at the time…maybe it was that you couldn’t be bothered to shave everyday, and that you don’t look good with a stubble…whatever the reason, but I still didn’t like you…

But then, my girl got to know you better…after all, you had a common piece of history: DPS, your previous school, which started a friendship…a comment someone else made about how my girl puts her arm over you even when in front of me made her say, “he is like a brother to me”…and today, I will join her in saying that…though lets make one thing very clear, my brother…you are not running off with my girl...we’re gonna run off some time in the (near or distant, one of the two) future, and maybe you could join us…but dare you take her away from me, coz I love her.

You words to me in the bus were, “kuttiya ka khayal rakhna”…are, tu bilkul phikar mat kar, uska main bahut accha khayal rakhoonga…tu apna khayal rakhna, mere dost, aur kabhi hamare ghar aana…kya kehta hai?

Tumhara bhai,

anees

things i will never say

And today, I shall write about things which I will never say, for various reasons…

Like say, to vice-principal and Mrs. Sick Grape-who-went-thru-a-food-processor-and-completely-bitched-up-her-brain (note the initials, fellow Portals-of-hellites) at the Portals of Hell, the things which I am about to say:

Scene: sitting in bus in close proximity to Mrs Sick Grape…happily shooting crap with a friend of mine, about whether, a few minutes ago, my sentence “Chandy, what are you eating?”, could be misheard as “Sandy, what are you eating?”, and the effects on the ecosystem if such a grave error is commited…and watching the general reaction of mindless fun on Hellised Brains: mainly half grins, and a couple of threatening glares, which are to be smiled away.

Mrs Sick Grape…: [turns around, delivers dialogue in one single breath] Why don’t you stop everyone’s life? [and goes back to pretending to be in deep conversation with the lab assistant]

What yours truly would like to say to Mrs. Sick Grape…: why, do you have a problem? Well, if you do, why don’t you sit somewhere else? Right now, you’re sitting on my head, and its giving me a bastard of a headache. And I’m pretty sure the little fucker will go away if you do get off my head, and take away all the crap you’ve brought with you too.

What yours truly does say, or rather do, is stare like a goldfish who just lost his marbles, at the back of Mrs. Sick Grape’s head, completely taken by surprise by the sudden guerilla warfare. Turns around, gives a look of utter perplexity to fellow mates, and goes on as usual…

Like say to my juniors next year, in the assembly, when they start off with I-cube (note to the unknowing: I-cube is our college fest, which I, with a bunch of fellow Hellites, organized)

Good morning, to all the people present here. Yesterday, I'm told, you guys were initiated into I-cube, told about it for the first time and all that. Last year, a bunch of us…about twenty in all, poured our hearts and soul into this fest. One of them was me. But after the dream was over, the others forgot about her. I couldn’t, and still cant. She is still my baby, the baby who I nurtured, helped grow…the dream which I wanted to go on forever…before I turn her over to you, a few things…she is still an infant, who needs to have very good care taken of her. She is still very young, and can’t take care of herself…she needs to be bottle fed, her bottom wiped clean every time she feels fine…she needs to wrapped in a blanket whenever she’s taken out in the cold, and don’t forget to rub some sunscreen on her face and arms, when you take her out to the beach. I am like a mother, who can’t bear to give her baby to some strangers…please handle her with care, she is extremely fragile…and take very good care of her…oh when she says “ghai”, it means that she wants her back to be rubbed…and she feels fine atleast seventeen times a day, so be well prepared with change of clothes. And, don’t buy that powder for her, she develops a rash immediately. Please, take very good care of her [I break down]. [recovering] she means a lot to me…she was my girlfriend for a while, my regular one being put on the backburner (sorry ‘bout that, my girl)…she meant a lot to me…
All the best.

And a last conversation, or rather, the millions of conversations, I’ve had with my girl (a real live one, not something abstract) in my head…conversations where I'm spontaneously witty, humourous, insightful, intelligent, caring, and a lot more…but when I'm with her, I don’t need all those conversations…when I'm with her, I forget all those things I said to her inside my head…coz I don’t need to say them…and just let myself go…I go away with her, riding on a magic carpet, far away from the Portals, far from the weird (yet fascinating) creatures that inhabit it, from scary mom-figures, from material wants, from everything…

Oh stranger, take me away,
Take me away from this land,
From this land to a strange one.

A land where there is no right or wrong,
A land where there is no rich or poor,
A land where there is only you and me.

Oh stranger, let’s go away,
Go away from this land,
From this land to a strange one.

A world that is for us to create,
A world that is for us to mould,
A world that is for us.

Oh stranger, I do trust you so,
Even though we met just a while ago,
Let’s go away from this land,
From this land to a strange one.


Yours truly

Rang de basanti

for those, who are as yet uninitiated into rang de basanti, here is a quick epilogue...
rang de basanti is a film about the youth of india...it follows a group of 5 middle-class friends who, inspired by the stories of the bravery and sacrifice of Bhagat Singh and Co., and jolted by the death of a close friend, choose to kill the defence minister indirectly responsible for the friend's death, and also stand by their decision to kill this person...
presenting a few views on rang de basanti, penned just after watching the film...

Before watching Rang De Basanti, I heard many issues being picked up with the film…”is Aamir Khan too old to play the role of a college student?” “They shouldn’t have killed them all at the end, should they?”…and so on…at a national level, the Indian Air Force requested for a special screening to make sure that the film didn’t have anything derogatory about themselves, and the killing of the Defence Minister opened its own can of worms…

But these are merely people who are finding such issues with Rang De..., only because they are cowards…too cowardly to even ask themselves the question asked by the film: Can you repeat the deeds of Bhagat Singh (Microsoft is just too much…they have the audacity to tell me that I have misspelled Bhagat, and that its probably Hagar, of Hagar the Horrible fame, or, even worse, Braggart…oh my god, is all I have to say) and Co. and kill yourself for your country?

Rang De... made me ponder over only one thing: can my generation be inspired enough to stand up and say, “no more tyranny of George “Dubious” Bush,” and shoot him down? Can my generation be awakened to say, “we’ve had enough of your petty politics, and we’re taking over”, to (more or less) all the politicians in this country, and do just that? Can we be motivated so strongly by just a simple idea, that giving up your life seems like a small price to pay for the realization of that dream?

Can I, the chap who’s been told that he has leadership abilities, the chap who holds his own in a gathering of people, who is a connoisseur of the arts, and can effortlessly hold forth on them, and a number of things besides…can yours truly pick up a gun and shoot down a minister for a crime for which he cannot, or will not, be brought to book?

To be an armchair critic is very simple…first, loose all your balls (forgive me for being so politically incorrect)…then, get hold of a faultfinding tongue, and for a finale, get whole of a sufficiently cynical tongue, to pass judgement on all things around you, without discrimination, or reason…is this how we wanna live our lives?

Or was this just a fantasy? A wild imagination linking up an episode in India’s coloured history and a group of college students, to form entertainment, Bollywood, ishtyle, complete with songs, dance, jokes, tears, and for the icing on the cake, a hot firang babe? Scope for Aamir Khan to experiment with his hairstyle, and nothing else? Chance for unknown director with ambiguous ‘y’ floating around in his name to make a laudable (debut??) film, and nothing else? A film which had no intention of waking up the armchair critics?

No, I don’t think so…

Rang De... was not just a film…it is a film blessed with some perfect casting, great acting, lovely songs, interesting cinematography, tight editing, and all that…but most important of all, a message. A message to the youth of India, to my generation, to me…telling us to not take things lying down, but to fight…

Rang De... deserves applause for an extremely good storytelling device, which oscillates back and forth in time. It shows the young men and women portrayed in the film grow from giving two hoots about their country, its rich history, and completely prepared to skip the country once their education is complete, into being modern day Bhagat Singhs, Rajgurus, and all the rest of them. Their slow, but sure transformation, into a mirror of the freedom fighters who lived some eighty odd years ago, and echo their words, the effect of which had taken the country, and the world, by storm. The back-and-forth story telling is proof of the famous adage, “History repeats itself”.

Before signing off, I’ll just say one more thing: Rang De… isn’t just your watch-once-and-promptly-forget-about-it film…it has more things to ponder over than the ending, Aamir Khan’s hairstyle…it deserves time to be pondered over, to ruminate (in the words of a friend of my dad)… it deserves another dekko, for those to whom the message wasn’t clear enough the first time…

Yours truly

a few random thoughts

A few random thoughts, ideas, observations (all my own work):

Like realizing that sitting in the same room as Swati and Sandeep (the other couple at The Portals of Hell, apart from yours truly, and my girl) involves shutting down all aural senses, forgetting all civically- and socially-minded leanings, and hearing lines on the general idea of “Don’t touch me, you freak” with complete nonchalance.

Like realizing that two and two doesn’t always make four, atleast not always in my world…instead, it makes anything you want it to make…the idea behind that thought I shall not be idiot enough to spell out, and end up losing all the charm.

Like having the feeling that your just an actor in a film, which has no editor, director, producer, or even screenplay writer (viewers of Hindi films will also add this) or a music director…it’s a strange movie your acting in…one where there are sudden inversion of roles, change in star cast, locale, budget, and whatever else…but it’s a film you’ll act all your life in, with no interval for a leak and a bag of popcorn. A movie with no fast forward button, and no decided ending…I LOVE THIS MOVIE!!!

Like Sachin has the tag of “weirdest film acted in by cricketer, where (invisible) critics mushroom up at the slightest hint of a drought in runs, and mushroom down (hope no-one criticizes me for that invented phrase) on his mushrooming up with a century.

Like having the feeling that god’s on vacation…he’s tired after making all the fucken wierdos of the world…the exhibitionists, the masochists, the male chauvinist pigs, the perverts, the whole nine yards… and after all that, he made me, to see how long I can take it in their midst, and went off for an all expenses paid trip to sunny Hawaii for two weeks…which would have ended, had he been human, but since he isn’t, he can happily brag about making the world in seven days…have you ever noticed the tiny asterisk next to the line “God made the World in seven Days”? And the tinier “Conditions Apply” at the bottom of the page? Yep, the Bible is where the ad-guys learnt it all…

And for a final thought: for some brilliant fiction, look no further than the short stories of Roald Dahl…an inimitable style, which defies all theories of story-telling, including the one about having something close to a believable story…for starters, take “Lamb to the Slaughter”…an simply told story of the devoted wife, who is suddenly shocked by her police detective husband telling her that he is going to leave her for another woman…the wife surprises herself, and the husband too, by smashing a frozen leg of lamb on his head, and kills him… I wont say more, so go and read the story…

Yours truly

all i really want to do

Presenting a song by bob Dylan, a singer of the yesrteryears…look beyond the ready rhyming, it isn’t just the words, but the meaning too…it isn’t just what he says, its how he says it too…

ALL I REALLY WANT TO DO

I ain’t lookin’ to compete with you,
Beat or cheat or mistreat you,
Simplify you, classify you,
Deny, defy, or crucify you.
All I really want to do
Is, baby, be friends with you.

I don’t want to fake you out,
Take or shake or forsake you out,
I ain’t lookin’ for you to feel like me,
See like me or be like me.
All I really want to do
Is, baby, be friends with you.

Hope you liked it…
Yours truly,

conversations with my shower

Conversations with my shower

Have any of you ever had conversations with your shower? Ever? Ever wondered how boring it would be to see the same four walls, all your life, and have a commode, a geyser, a bucket, and a basin for company, with a bathtub once in a while? Ever wondered what it would be like to only perform one piece of useful work for the people around you, namely sprinkle a few drops of water on them every morning, as they get ready for work, school, housewifing (is there even a word like that? Well, Microsoft’s ms-word seems not to like it, so screw them!), and their otherwise somewhat purposeful lives, while your purpose seems so useless?

My shower was telling me all of this a couple of days ago…we’ve been having a lot of conversations in the past couple of days (yes, that’s why I’m so clean for the past few days…before that, never bothered about baths really, except once a week)…I first noticed him (don’t look at me like that, how many of YOU have even NOTICED your shower, or your bucket, or whatever? At least I took that first step, so screw you!) the day after I spoke to my girl at like 11 in the night. The shower chap, who’s called Emraan Hashmi (yep, I pity him about his name, too), by the way, punished me like the sick people up in the Alps, who shove a couple of marshmallows up your nose, and then have a great time trying to shove a watermelon up the other place, with no concern of your natural incapability of anything larger than a ____ up there (feel free to fill up the blank, coz I have no clue of the exact identity of the largest (unfortunate) thing that can make a journey up there)…only Emraan Hashmi decided that I will feel the “pleasant weather” of the Antarctic, and the Sahara Desert, within 10 seconds of one another, when the outside temperature is on the wrong side of twenty degrees, and your immediate concern is to go through all the motions of dressing all your body parts in the right order, and not becoming one of them superhero characters, with their under garments not deserving the tag of “under”, any more…all this beacuse i talk to my girl at round midnight, the guy becomes green with envy, effing bastard...

After that disastrous ice-breaker (literally!), we began to get along better…he told me about his friend, Hind-fiend, the commode, who has a very weird fetish for people’s –how shall I say this- wind tunnel-and has happily transmitted that oddity to Emraan Hashmi …so they have weird conversations, extremely smutty and lewd, to say the very least, and we shall leave it at that. Though they do have some literary tastes, thanks to Yours Truly maintaining a mini-library in the loo…they’ve read Three men in a boat, Jonathan Livingston Seagull, Catcher in the Rye, Inscrutable Americans, and pretty much all the titles I’ve read in the loo…and to my delight, and a lot of other people’s disgust, they’ve invited me to come and spend time with them whenever I’m feelin’ blue…so, I plan to keep a small fridge with a decent collection of drinks (the overuse of which causes me to write stuff like this, and have the audacity to put it up on my blog), a small music system, a bookcase and a good beanbag…maybe in a while, I’ll shift my computer in there, so I can post blogs from my new hangout. Any of you who have bothered to read this useless article till this point are invited to meet my wonderful new friends, and have good time, generally.
So, till next time…oh, by the way, if you did actually bother to read this article till this point, coz you actually believe that I had some reason behind waxing eloquent about my shower, or coz you’re too weak minded to stop reading, or you don’t wanna be in a awkward position if I ask you about some particular part of the article, or you’re from a planet where you’d turn into a potato chip, if you stop reading people’s articles, or…whatever your reasons may be, this is where you can heave a huge sigh, coz this is the conclusion paragraph…yeah, shut up, you can scream with joy after these few words…yeah, so, like I was saying, till next time, when I come back with more unadulterated bheja fry, here’s completebhejafry wishing you a very good morning to you, completely regardless of the time when you’re reading this, and kicking my own backside to my loo, to meet my dear friend, Emraan Hashmi and Hind-fiend…

on writing

the post right below this one is my first use of my blog to realise one of my many dreams... this particular one is to be a miscellaneous writer...over the past year and a half, i have written numerous articles, on various subjects, ranging from my farewell party, to a sick bastard i once met at a cricket match, to deeksha, the list goes on...many of them never ever saw the light of day, while some were circulated among my close friends...this particular one will also be read out in the deeksha assembly on thursday morning...
so long
completebhejafry

Real Men do Cry

And today, its Roger Federer’s day.
Today, Roger Federer added one more trophy to his rack (I really dunno where they keep stuff like that…maybe a cupboard, or a chest…maybe in an old brown shoe, but he’ll need have to find a really big one…).
Though it is always been my wish that someone ousts Federer from every tournament…defeats him, beats him hollow…our hearts always beats for the underdog, don’t they? But to imagine a tournament without Federer, would be to imagine Black Sabbath without Ozzy, or Microsoft without Bill Gates, or India without its tricolour. No tournament will be complete without Federer, and it will be a sad day when he retires from tennis.
Throughout his matches, any slight display of emotion is met, always, with comments on how emotional he’s been throughout that match, tournament, career, life, previous lives, (okay, I’m taking it too far). Even the slightest “come on!”, sparks off discussions that seem to last for hours on end. And today, at the presentation ceremony of the Australian Open, he broke down completely. I believe his words were, “It’s all coming out now”. But somehow, something didn’t feel right. This wasn’t Federer, this was just some blubbering old fool, who was holding on to the Winner’s (extremely heavy) trophy, and wiping the tears from his eyes and tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, only to see it coming out of its resting place the very next instant. This wasn’t Federer, the champion, the World No. 1, the man remotely resembling a machine at times, and a Gujju at other times. But then I ask myself, why can’t Federer wear his heart on his wristband, as Shakespeare nearly said? Isn’t he a husband, son, brother, student, tutor, and all the other masks he might be wearing? Or is it just that my mind is infested with the tough boy words, “Real men don’t cry?”? Coz they do…real men do cry, its your artificially macho boys who pretend not to…coz Real men do cry.

its a violent pornography

It’s a violent pornography…choking chicks and sodomy…what kind of shit gets on your tv…
Im sorry, its just that system of a down is screaming, shouting and generally raising hell in the background… now theyre trying 2 tell me that “my cock is much bigger than yours”…one of the craziest bands ive heard, or seen, for that matter…their lead singer wears his beard in 2 long plaits!!!
Neways, my life has taken a turn for the better…I don’t have frequent bouts of depression…(that sentence could easily read “frequent bouts with depression”)…yesterday the Boss had a talk wit me dad…same ole crap bout me able 2 do better if I wanted 2…me pop is telling me that, n I’m thinking bout how I’m trying to get out of this place, carry my own weight, not get shouted at, and end the torture…finis these 2 years n get into ne place, far away from people who try to sell you the idea that knowing how the behaviour of some stupid metal under and above some other bloody temperature actually matters, or is s’posed to matter to you…
Neways, rounding off with a line bout the first line of this post…have you ever seen, in your (pointless??) walks on your television remote, a news reader making a fake concerned face, n telling you, “the following images are graphic in nature, we advise you to not look for blah…blah…blah…”, while the basic intention is to make you sit n bloody watch those violent images…and you will end up doing exactly that, coz of a thingy called curiosity…sick bastards…
It’s a violent pornography…choking chicks and Sodomy…what kind of shit gets on your tv…can you see brainwashing?

zero...zero...zero

Yeah, baby, im back…………..this is bcuming like my weekly reachout programme…..coz I hit my blog like once a week, tht2 on Sundays………..my B.E.A.Utiful college don’t lemme do tht kinda thing everyday……….neways, me been doin fine…..past few days been kinda boring, uneventful, if u know wht I mean…….in my version of the third rock frm the sun, there is always sum1 to curse or diss or fuck or shit on or generally be extremely pissed at…….when u start 2 ignore wht happens around you, if only to lead a slightly normal life, tht is wht happens……….
Ne1 out there wit the perfect way to ignore big shitheads, who also happen 2 be the grandsons of sad politicians, n due to tht, get to hobnob wit local, and semi-international celebrities, n cums back the next day, n boasts about it n fucken next day, n sends you on a trip………
As gnr wuld hv probably said………
welcome to the jungle
it get worse here everydayya
learn ta live like an animal
in the jungle where we play
if you got a hunger for what you see
you'll take it eventually
you can have anything you wantbut you better not take it from me
Btw, I got worldspace, coupla days back………gr8 fun, it continous music, good modrn rock………only problem, they don’t always announce the song theyre playing…so ure left listening to a song, n u dunno da band whose sung it……….
Yesterday I watched a play…….twas an agatha Christie adaptation………..4 those who haven’t hrd of her, she is widely (and wrongly) acclaimed to be the best crime fiction writer ever……….u know how the fucken media always is……..hypes up every single thing, like its jesus’s son, or the end of the universe, or hitler’s reincarnation……..u get the picure………neways, the play itself was quite good, it was an adaptaytion of witness for the prosecution, n dun quite well
Guess tht bout wraps up my week, so ill go now
Bhejafry to you

we live on!!!

finally this stupid blogspot lets me put up summat...........
ah!, wat bliss, the day after the exams...put up ur feet on the chair, in front of u.... take a sip of the good ole stuff....hit da net...talk to ur girl...life's good, isnt it?
to tell u the truth( the whole truth, n nuthin but the truth...) i actually njoied puxams....not very difficult, home at 1, get time to spend wit ppl, who hv becomea expendable commodity at the portals of hell...well, actually, theyve always been expendable commodities....v r for the teachers, dipshits like apoorva 4 ppl like me....though the ole wing cdr wud not liek the like word..." u are all unique n differet individuals" or sum crap on those lines...
n 2row, life returns bk 2 nrml at the madhouse...the portals of hell do a backflip, n go bk to classes, tests, papers, "ramya" chandra , n all the rest of it....but 2 day isnt all tht....njoi the moment while it lasts....
like the aerosmith song goes...sing with me, sing for the year, sing for the moment, sing for the tear....sing with me, just for today...maybe tomorrow, the good lord will take u away...
ill wait for the nonexistent "lord" to "take me away" while livin in this shithouse, institution, geeksha, call i wat u want, it still is the same....wit all da crap all around...
this one is for all u ppl, with our without deeksha:
take a look all round u...
why the hell are u here?
take a look all around you...
dont u see the fun?
theyre just preparin u for the big bad world...
a place where ppl die for lil bits of green paper...
paper wit a few zeroes here,
n an illegible scrawl of a signature there...
u need 2 live buddy,
u need to live...
celebrate life wit me, buddy,
celebrate life wit me

i hope u see