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…
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
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
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
Monday, February 20, 2006
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
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
Thursday, February 16, 2006
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
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
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
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
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
Monday, February 13, 2006
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
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
Saturday, February 11, 2006
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
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
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
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,
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,
Friday, February 03, 2006
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…
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…
Monday, January 30, 2006
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
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.
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.
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
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?
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?
Sunday, January 15, 2006
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
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
Sunday, January 08, 2006
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
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
Thursday, December 29, 2005
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