A friend in need's a friend indeed, a friend with weed is better

My phrand, Puri's in town and he's leaving soon so we're planning to meet/will meet soon whatever. This guy was my buddy, you know you have those guy friends who are totally and completely just your friend and nothing else? Yup, he was mine, and he had this horrid girlfriend who made his entire school life miserable but he's still stuck on her and these days he hangs around her (all girl) college like one of those road side lafangas - eesh.

He used to sit in front of me and his best friend -Nathan, we shall call him on my left and me next to the window, and I had this tiny crush on Nathan, ok not tiny, but fot the tiniest while. We'd do stupid stupid things like play f.l.a.m.e.s. and other really mature stuff. All the teachers secretly liked Nathan and flirted with him and Puri would constantly get thrown out of class with his "But no M'am why?" and just be a total pain for them and full entertainment for the class.

At any given time I'm the store house for polo/wrigleys/centerfresh etc and in the fifth period before break they'd turn around and say - el, polo? because you know, break time is kissing time and the two of them would go off to their slut(if you're talking to a girl)/hot(if you're talking to a boy)/ girlfriends and I'd sit and read, think I was reading Suitable Boy those days, hang out with Lata and the Chatterjees for awhile. Sometimes, he'd go into the girls loo, yea don't ask, and I had to sit outside and keep guard, and I'd get a clear view of Nathan and his girlfriend mollycodling under the stairs.

O and when he sang Colorful by The Verve Pipe for her, who had to listen to it ten thousand times over the phone the day before? Later after we were all friended up, we realised our mummies were friends and our grandmummies were posted together in some shanty town while their husbands went off to war.

Anyway, around 11th or so they all discovered marlboro and bacardi and what not, and he'd call at random hours saying - oh man, I'm so stoonnnnnned, or I'm so higggggghhh, wasuppppp.. and I really didn't want to talk to him then so yea, maybe I was nerdy that way. We kinda drifted apart, ok that would be wrong, we couldn't stand each other for awhile, but that phase passed and it all got sorted.

But we're all grown up now, and these days we chat once in awhile and since he's in Pune he has crazy stories about taking a bus and going to goa unplanned in 3000 bucks and just smoking weed the whole time and "dude el, man I looked at the sea and there was no water, I swear. "

ho hum, so it goes my friend, so it goes.

Because El feels like writing

How do I put words to this gossamer thing within, permanently stationed and cautiously building; to call it intelligence would be wildly inaccurate though in a boomerang way not off the mark. How can I tell you the rush of life that I feel when a book can sing for you, teach you, inspire writing of its own, how constricting is a novel? How many permutations exist to be able to write on? What will mine be like? How will it read?

I’ll dispense with filial references for the time being, will refrain from stringing together millennia of me in the making, of genes that swam down, of wars that tore them apart, of whatever little of destiny that brought them here and by whatever chance I was born. How can I explain to you my vagina skipping a beat by a stimulated scene, by something that’s not actually happening, that didn’t ever happen but is simply one persons imagining. There’s a cycle, an unhealthy repetition of taking winter clothes out and putting them back in, again and again, and in the night, it’s simple why I lie awake, because it’s alone time, there’s the whoosh, of distant planes landing, of retreating truck horns and I try to think of the driver, what he must be thinking of and I fail miserably exposing my pathetic bourgeois-ness, my lack of adventure, of all creature comforts that have surrounded me and danced along all the way. I try to imagine my own novel, my writerly life and my fame, but what will that get me? Do we become famous when we appear on t-shirts? Will there ever be a night, a time when I won’t have to watch late night television with low volume or tip toe around, will I ever be able to make as much noise as I want? Women who wear sleeveless on a cold new year night, or any other for that matter, what must they be thinking and why do they do that? What are they trying to attract? How do they summon the courage, the attractiveness to spell out their charms? It’s something I couldn’t ever do. I find cold a tawdry partner, an unworthy opponent, it’s best to be tackled with a fireplace or a slightly more modern and utterly unromantic heater. I want nothing to do with writing really, I wish it would get lost.

Crossing continents and two men swing tennis racquets, hitting, hitting, fighting, fighting. What shall I do? Do I need to be there? Do I need to go check? See that those monuments, those castles are for real? Not really. I believe you, and my senses have been humbled, numbed even. I think of another woman, so benign, so banal so toxically boring, but saying it doesn’t mean anything, you have to meet her.

I tread another path in my virgin shoes, talking to boys at night and the intimacy that creates, the possibilities it lays out. We’re all in it for the experience right? In an ‘anything can happen’ mood? Looking for stories to tell and that’s at the back of my mind which has a lot to do with my lack of inhibition. But I keep my eyes firmly on the exit gates - simply because, but I’ve changed though, and I’ve noticed the hysterical edge is off my voice when I talk to him. So it goes I suppose..

Anyone who's ever had a heart, wouldn't turn around and break it

These are before-after shots of The View.











Pehle we lived in this lovely house and this <- was what we could see from the huge terrace. And aforementioned Pi used to live right across and we'd walk and talk and talk. We also had a Gilmore Girls marathon, and she taught me to to make a cinnamon brown cake - the idea of a cake without choclate was preposterous to me but ah, the fragrance of cinnamon filling up the house made me feel like a real baker. We've disposed the old Murphy Richards oven while moving and now no oven, no baking(microwaves don't count) and all this summer rain has really made me ache to get the egg beater and vanilla essence and tin of cocoa out.











Around two-three months back we shifted house and now we live in this densely popluated, not not-nice colony, and this is the view from the stairwell, no terrace here:(

Yes, people stared when I took it the picture.

But my room's a lot nicer now. There's no seepage and whitewash flaking off the wall for one. Then again, there's no M.E.S. to speed dial if the water/electricity/furniture/anything is broken/not working. First time we're living in a civilian colony(said with disdain) and not in a cantonment. Before moving was given dire warnings to keep head low and stay inconspicious etc etc. ha, it's me we're talking about - I'm the queen of working undercover, of being Harriet the Spy-esque.

None of that though, it's utterly unromantic.

The 3 mistakes of my life

Wokay, The 3 Mistakes of my Life happened to be lying around and I picked it up to read/flip through. Little did I know that it would give me so, so much joy.

Right, so this dude (Bhagat) is the most loved, most read, best selling vagera vagera author of this country, but what’s more and here I quote from the blurb - “Seen more as voice of a generation than just an author, this IIT/IIM-A graduate is making India read like never before.”

Whew, that’s pretty huge for one guy no?

And this time, Bhagat’s writing about sex yo! No kidding.

An excerpt: ~

************************************************************************************
We slid under the water tank and sat on the floor. She had brought six pink cushions and a rug. ‘I brought them from my room, so we can have a little party here,’ she said and passed a couple to me. Under the cushions, she had a stereo.

‘Music?’ she said, her face pretty as a song.
I nodded.
‘I’ll put on Boyzone, my favourite,’ she said.
I took out the packet of eighteen candles that came with the cake.
‘Let’s light all of them,’ she said.
I wanted to go switch on the terrace light as it had become dark.
‘Let it be,’ she said and pulled my hand as she lit the eighteenth candle.
‘What if someone comes?’
‘Both my parents have bad knees. They never climb up to the terrace. And Ish well there is a match on.’...

A song called ‘No Matter What’ started to play. Like with all romantic songs, the lyrics seemed tailor-made for us.

No matter what they tell us
No matter what they do
No matter what they teach us
What we believe is true

She kissed me like she never had before...her hands came to my shoulders and under my shirt.

I can’t deny what I believe
I can’t be what I’m not
I know this love’s forever
That’s all that matters now

...the music didn’t stop and neither did we.


************************************************************************************

And these two go on to lose their virginity.

Hang on, no I mean hold up, stop the traffic people, boy freaking zone??? Are you kidding me? And this is set in November 2001. 2001 for crying out loud, if it was Slim Shady or Hybrid Theory or even that horrible J. Lo it would be understandable. 2001 is so backstreet boys, even westlife, even Ronan Keating! Because if I remember correctly, Boyzone were broken up then and Ronan was going all I love it when we do what we do blah blah.

But nobody, I mean nobody was listening to Boyzone in 2001, 1995 maybe but NOT 2001.

Diversion, remember watching MTV Select at 4, then Nikhil still looked slightly human and immediately after, MTV Most Wanted in which Shenaz would very sweetly read out those big fancy letters. LAME. But I used to watch both religiously and there was a lot of talk among the bsb(backstreetboys) legions in my class to make a big card and send it to her and but ofcourse request Quit Playing Games, like it didn't play every freaking hour anyway.

Anyway, dude(Chetan), say and write what you want, but a book published in 2008, playing up on the youth factor simple cannot have 2 ‘young’ people having sex to a boyzone song. That’s all I’m saying.

It's been such a lovely holiday, there's nothing funny left to say

~Life is a highway, I wanna ride it, all night long~

Everyone knows, a holiday is all about the road, driving through is the best part and stopping for chai on the highway every hour or so.

~ you want it, you got it forever~

People say - mountains or sea? I say anywhere where the waters at. The river is what makes it all happen but I gotta tell ya, the Beas is one tenth of what it used to be. This was the river of my childhood, the first time I saw fast furious water so massive that it was crazy daunting. Now it's a tiny trickle.

~Oh how I long to be, Homeward Bound, Home - where my music's playing~

Man, it is so good to be back home. To know that ok if I put the geyser on for 10 minutes the water will be exactly this hot. To know what your rajma is going to taste like. To have my twice a day glass of milk, which I don't think I'll ever give up no matter how old I get. My homepage and sites signed into, and ofcourse, Buddy who went a bit spastic.

Anyway as far as photography goes, this trip was fail, but since digis make photogos of us all, here's some pics. They're all mostly male, mostly single(hehe) but I swear it wasn't intentional.

Read The Buddha Of Suburbia by Hanif Kureishi, jeez watay fantastic book. The cover put me off initially, becasue it's so freaking obvious, black hand, white orchid flower, gah - metaphor or what I dunno. Anyway, its published in 1990 which is ages back and I thought I wouldn't get the humour and references, but it's set in the 70s so in a way it's topical forever. Karim is an awesome person to hang out with, he's funny and very I-am-what-I-am, a drifter and the worst of the lot and everything that happens to him is utterly belivable, you're actually simply travelling with him.


Also finished the famous Bioscope Man..hmm:thoughtful: Didn't really get that one though, have for now put in my must-read-again pile, becasue I'm sure there's something in there..

Tomorrow's Flys birthday so hafta go wrap her gift, plus I'm writing her a story(don't ask) and have been writing this post for ages..and limewire's almost done with a grey's anatomy episode.

Damn, it's good to be back.

The Bioscope Man

Nope, not a song title - tis a book title for a change.

GuesswhatGuesswhatGuesswhat? Generally the other day (Thursday)I was reading the paper, and Indrajit Hazra had reviewed Jack Johnson's new(ish) album and it wasn't a very favourable one. Now I'm not that into the guy(Jack), but as it happens when you have the whole day infront of you and you read the paper first thing in the morning, I got all charged up and wrote him an email.

Now I've been following this guy(Hazra) for years and I always thought he was just so damn cool - and when it came to music, his reviews were actually worth reading. He's funny and wry and also very intelligent. As for his column Red Herring, the tone and languge is totally free falling, I mean you ask anyone about him - they'll be like oh yeah, he's having a ball writing what he wants. Mostly I like his column, occasionally I don't but that's ok. Karan Thapar is aiye aiye aiye - pretentious to the hilt. What with his 'Pertie' and 'Did I start the Rahul Gandhi as PM controversy?' That way Jug Suraiya has no hangups - he's very no-water-in-gurgaon, stray-dogs-folowing-me, Dear ol Bunny etc. etc.

Anyway, he emailed back!!!

Jeez, I was SO excited because you know when you're sitting around and chatting with friends and unexpectedly the conversation goes on to life affirming turf and you talk about really huge stuff like life and what you want and the kind of person you like etc etc - he's exactly the kind of person I would fall for. He was super nice and chatty, replied back the very same day and even recommended a song! AND, he told me his book was out tomorrow(that is yesterday, friday.)

So - so, just because he , himself had told me, I went and bought it - first day first show or something like that. I mean how many times do you get to read a book, that the author himself has told ya to go read it.

As far as the book itself goes, this is going to sound mean, but it's not a bad as I thought it would be. Yes it is very bengali but it's about silent cinema which is pretty specific - so you really need to know what you're talking about. I'm not too far into it right now. He's just laying the ground with the family and pre partition, and taking on an era which already has so much fantastic literature to chronicle it must be a bit unnerving but till now, he's managed quite well.

Also, I like his last acknowledgement - "And everything boils down to Diya. I'm still trying to impress her." Which Diya person?! I thought he was notoriously single? Anyway, that was kinda sweet, and don't see no reason why this lady shouldn't be impressed.

Onto other stuff, I'll be off tomorrow and I'm actually pulling out Jackets and woollens muhahahaha, what was that? 45 degrees in Delhi did you say? I'll maybe write a post from some internet shack in the mountains just for the novelty sake, otherwise I'll see ya all in 1974. Oh we're not on tour with Stillwater? Next week then!

*Hope you never Love in vain and in my heart you'll remain, Forever Young.

Is someone getting thebestthebestthebestthebest of you?

Aieyaieyaie, the ides of May are here and didn't even notice, it's not been a very good week for the world has it, what with the cyclone in Burma killing more people than my head can understand to count, and the Jaipur thing, and the earthquake in China. Mostly this stuff doesn't affect one, like keep the TV off for a couple of days and don't read the paper, you wouldn't even know. And even if you do know, it's just a shake of the head and tsk tsk, but it's been prickling me, maybe I have too much time on my hands and I'm thinking of all the things I should've done and how at the end of the day - I don't have a shred of integrity left - my internet usage being a direct example.

Anyway, onto happier stuff, Two Caravans was excellent, a book I'd dare to recommend, makes light of really serious heartbreaking stuff and you're laughing all the way till you realise - dude this is no laughing matter. It's also a little bit of a love story, which is very well written and has plenty of awww moments.

Found The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, which I had been looking for everywhere. I'd heard so-so much about it and I'd keep asking for it and they'd go Oscar Wilde?, no no Wao, as in Wow. But the thing is, I don't like it that much and I'm well into it by now. The TIME review says it's an immigrant family saga for people who don't read immigrant-family sagas, know what? I'm a person who does like to read family sags, infact that was my favourite genre from 2003-06. So, it's language is very street, piece of ass and nigger and all that, sure there's art in there, just missing it, reminded me of Londonstani - that book which was written in sms language by that punju dude - Gautam Malkani, kiddah bro and what not. Also there's these side notes which are quite funny and super detailed about stuff that went on unger Trujillo's rule in the Dominican Republic which are insightful but so bloody long that you lose the thread of the nararative.

Edit - Just kept reading and before I knew it the book was finished and every single character had won me over, so guess they were right after all. Though I must point out that throughout the book you're wondering why Oscar dies, because of A. the title, 'brief' life but also B. there are plenty of referneces in the book, like Oscar did this in his last few days, after Oscar died etc etc.

So there's a suicide attempt, which is written in real time so you think this is it, but no, he survives. Then there's a bashing my the love of his life's boyfriend and you think, THIS is it - he dies for love, but no, and then it sort of dwindles into predictability that last bit, because he comes back for the love he couldn't have and quite literally walks to his death because he knows and we know, the boyfriend's going to knock him out anytime and he does just that. But, he gets what he wanted, to be loved by a woman and ofcuorse, the sex for the first and last time in his life.

Ha, that was the only thing that I wasn't fully convinced about, but other than that, glad I read it. For starters I knew jack nothing about the DR, except for its capital. Didn't even know there was a dictator called Trujillo.

Anyway, enough book talk, today I have just been going from one Vet to another, because Buddy's due for his deworming injections etc etc. Plus, we're all off to Manali next week and we need to figure out where he's going to stay. Usually my grandparents oblige, but this time they're being a bit fussy. So tomorrow we're going to their place to try and patao them.

Wish me luck.

I want to ride my bicycle, I want to ride it now

I was a ninja on a bike. I was the kid with bruised knees who'd be jumping ditches and crashing, who'd race you and block your way if happened to be driving by in a car.

Oh how much I cycled on my yellow and purple Wild Cat bike. It was bought for me by my lovely grandaddy on the day my sister was born - you know, to encourage sisterly affection and all that. But I loved my BSA trailblazer the best, oh the trails I blazed on that one(hehe). O and the fun we made of Ladybird, I'd forgotten only about that.

In Poona, we lived in this rectanglish kinda colony and the gradient of the land was such that to do one chakkar you had to go downslope once and come back up panting. I used to happily whizz down one way and painfully trudge up the other side. On one random day I was so knocked out that I got off and walked up with my cycle and this sweet gentleman type uncle passing by asked me most kindly, whats the matter? are you hurt etc etc and I was like oh no, just dont feel like cycling uphill and immediately the smile wiped off his face and I got a diatribe for being lazy, so young and so lazy! Sheesh. Still remember it so must've got stored somehwere in there. <3

I loved that bike. Cycling down to the open air theatre to read the blackboard outside which would have the now-playing movie scribbled on(mostly sidey Bobby Deol ones like Soldier which was one of the better ones.) Then, we actually played holi and didn't sit holed up at home. We'd play Xena(YES, the warrior princess) and bike all over fending off demons and protecting our territory. And I'd ferry my dolls from the hammock in the backyard to the front gate because for some strange reason we made them all orphans in an orphangage who needed an outing and ofcourse everyone wanted a ride on my trailblazer. We'd play the best games; there were three of us, Sunethra, Diya and me. Last I heard of Sunethra, she could be found drunk and throwing up outside rpm at 3:30 in the afternoon (tsk, tsk) and Diya I used to bump into sometimes at the parlour and she had more to say to the lady who did her eyebrows than to me. Ah well, childhood stuff is best left alone.

But then, it got stolen, haaw, yes. From right outside our house, haaw, I know. Wept buckets and my Lone Ranger never quite made up for it, though I liked the name if nothing else. The best cycle story of all time though is that time I cycled on an airstrip. No kidding, I swear, a proper national AAI authorised one that too. We were in Jorhat and the Airforce/Military and Civilian airport is the same, as in there's just one airstrip which both of them used. Twas a stones throw from our place and I'd always cycle past one the many hidden side entrances eyeing it temptingly. One fine day I just turned in and tried my luck. I dunno if the guard was stoned or sleepy or just lost it for those few moments but he waved me in and oh my god, the thrill, the tarmac, the road, open wide wide beautiful road and I cycled away furiously like the film heroine of every fabulous movie ever made. But the gaurd(not a fancy FBI type, just a dude with a lathi on a chair) relaised withing 10 minutes and sort of tracked me down and escorted me off and NO one at home believed me, but you do right? And now it's on the record forever.

So there.

pearls and swines bereft of me

Am in a mega cheesed off mood today. There is only one thing and one thing alone that has the power to make me this miserable - Nero, and ofcourse the harddrive crashing. That happened to me thrice the past year, so I got a nice fancy HDD(External Hard Drive) and then like the genius I am encryted the files just aisai to save space and when the computer crashed again, inspite of having backups I locked myself out of ALL the pictures and movies and music.

Sean(were in the same school but became friends only in college) jokes that the HDD is my boyfriend and he'll tell this story to anyone who'll listen about how I apparently said that I felt as though someone had broken up with me when the computer crashed. haha. Not funny :shakes head:

Basically, I know a little bit about computer stuff, I mean I can dsimantle the jumbo of wires and plug them all back in(not much of an accomplishment, just saying), I know about seeds and peers and torrents(which most people do) and I do stupid things with pictures(which every blogger does) and sometimes while surfing I like to believe that I've caught glimpses of some of the darkest corners of the internet(no not porn you nimrod, something along the lines of what Artemis Fowl did while looking for fairy gold.) But Nero? Makes me want to pull my hair out.

See I don't even use CDs, just keep stuff on the HDD but, in those rare moments when you want to watch something with someone, there arises the need to share. /philosophical, not.

Tomorrow, two of my school friends Kai and Fly are coming over, and we've planned to have a movie marathon(Operation Dinner Out) and I went and bought a stack of blank CDS and a whole bunch of junk food (side note - remember fryums? those bobby type things, which you'd put on your fingers and eat at birthday parties? found em!) Anyway, thought I'd burn the movies onto discs so that we could watch them on the wide wide screen of the TV but oh no, no no, fucking Nero has other plans for me, like saying, due to patent registration issues, mpeg4 decoding is not possible, ARGH, which is just a random arbitary excuse because I've installed most of the codecs for all those fundoo video files and no program has ever created such a god awful fuss before. Done everything I could think of - trawled message boards, uninstalled and reinstalled, tried using it from the laptop but nada.

Oh, Perfidy.

I said be careful his bowtie is really a camera

So el has a cold. Sigh, and you know what's worse than a cold? A summer cold and there's nothing worse than that except an advent-of-summer cold. A cold is pointless because:

1. head is heavy
2. nose is humungous (arbitary thought - rhymes with mundungus fletcher)
3. body has shut down

but you can't lie down and be sick and almost dying, you must get kicked out of the house for whatever reason. For all practical purposes, it's not a real thing.

So I went out and stocked up before the worst came on:

1. Pringle chips (barbecue flavour - decent, not my favourite which I am yet to decide)
2. Stick Jaws(the chocalate ones, not vanilla)
3. Fruitella(heart the chewiness and strawberry and grape flavour)
4. Sugar doughnuts(2)
5. Polo(duh)

Also invested in Two Caravans by Marina Lewycka. I enjoyed her first book and this one takes a while to kick off with the initial humour kind of flat but right now its rollicking. I like knowing authors from the beginning, from their first book. Sure I like Maragaret Atwood and Vikram Seth who've written a whole load of great novels but I don't know know them. So many people have read them, that the book isn't really yours as such. I like picking up a book that's relatively obscure and very good and just for recognising the familiar name and design(since they stick to their publishers) the second time around, I get excited and want to read it. I like her and Paul Torday too whose second novel I shall read next.

I downloaded,

1. Leatherheads(that George Clooney movie about football in the 30s, which is a camera print and absolutely awful so didn't watch it)
2. High Fidelity(which though I've seen several times on HBO, I felt like watching) and the book was good. I like Nick Hornby even though his books get made into jokey movies with Hugh Grant in them(About a Boy.) That dude(Nick not Hugh) is funny and knows what he's talking about.
3. Simon and Garfunkel - Greatest Hits - since no one owns tape players anymore and what good is a hard plastic covered cassette without a player except in the car?

Also, look what I found! WWE playing cards!It's all coming back to me, the hours and hours playing this pointless game which required absolutely no skill, because by the end of it we'd memorised the stats of the wrestlers and the art of peeking. So if you saw the opponents card you knew exactly what to call. I used to own this game, and shutup you - I didn't cheat, atleast not as much as you.

And remember - Trish Startus, ha, we used to get this kick every single time by calling out Breast - 41 inches. Though these days Khali is all the rage. Headlines Today dedicates half an hour to him at 10:30 I think when a WWE 'expert', which is a guy wearing a stone cold tshirt talks about the Great Khali and the anchor in all seriousness will ask - so will Khali win his next match? And the resident 'expert' goes, well, gaurav(insert forgettable name here) it's hard to say, he's been winning matches, performing well but there's a lot at stake here so we'll see what he can come up with under pressure, etc. etc.

IT'S ALL RIGGED DOOFUS. Though if they(Htoday) have Grandstand in the 9 pm slot, atleast they've come out of the closet about their entertainment/utter rubbsih status. I'll remember them fondly though because when they were a proper news channel, I happened to be watching when they announced the board results were out. R.I.P. Htoday.

*yes i discovered the 1-2-3 button today

Hysteria, when you're near

Hello world, been busy-busy and rather enjoying the flurry of activity amidst the nothingness, Me? I'm happiest when they're lots of things to be done. One of which is something like this. I figure as bloggers you're writers and it's all for fun so you absolutely must check it out and send in an entry just for laughs. Book coupons if ya win! Besides it's just 250 words or less which is less than a blogpost so do send in an entry.

Finished On Chesil Beach and I'm a bit disconcerted to be honest. *disclaimer - spoiler ahead*

I thought it would be painful to read because cmon, two virgins on their wedding night, pretty specific no? It read ok and it's slim so you can finish it in one go but I honestly didn't see the end coming. They, as in the couple, split up and simply don't talk to each other after that night, I mean wtf? I was almost convinced when I read the last page, that yea, maybe doing nothing, not saying something can change your whole life, the entire course of your marriage but, after I'd thought about it for awhile my conviction wore off. It's hard to believe that two people who loved each other all that much never once, in their whole life didn't even try to talk to the other again.

Or maybe I'm missing something here.

By the way, Van is a big fan of Ian McEwan and he loved Atonement(the movie) which I didn't and he didn't like Pride and Prejudice(the movie) which I loved. (Both of them were directed by Joe Wright, very British and ~ladila~)

me:No! how can you not like that movie?
he: oh they butchered the book
have you even read it?
Studied it. (ICSE or some such) You know that part when Darcy first confesses his love to Elizabeth, he says something like I love you. Most ardently.
nod head, uh huh
They ruined it and made it a bollowood filmy sequence in the rain with the clinging clothes and dramabaazi and what not.

Huh, I'd never thought of it that way and I came home, dug out the book, reread that part - and if I was on the edge about him before, I well and truly crossed it then.

Yea I sound dweeby and all but it's my blog shog after all.

I could never do that, someone would see through that

What would be your Dream Jobs?

Here are mine; I've combined a couple of them(as is evident.)

1. Rock Journalist (1968-1972) - for the Rolling Stone or Cream a.k.a. Willaim Miller, get to review Led Zeppelin IV and Morrison Hotel and listen to Stairway when it FIRST comes out, meet CCR, Jethro Tull, Iggy, Bread and Frank Zappa and apparently you got loadsa free records. Be permanently on tour and then settle down somewhere, have tonnes of records and as time passes, they get more valuable and all of sudden I'm rich. I'll have old friends from the tour over all the time and some new ones, like Joe Elliot, have a free unlimited supply of booze, so my underground room gets converted into a pub place kinda thing, of which I chuck out all people who listen to crap and die happily because of all the experimental drugs pumped in my body before the internet kicks in and our souls get scattered all across it.

2. Professional Tennis Player(1990 - 2002) - Win wimbeldon three times in a row(but not make want people want to tear their hair out like Federer), stay long enough to rake in the big bucks and then quit and start a slightly fancy bar/restrauant and when it gets super successful have a string of them all over the world and since I'll be all sporty anyway, take to surfing at a later stage(in my 30s) and do loads of moonlight dancing on the beach.

3. Writer kind of person (1945-1998), put out one incredibly bad book that nobody reads, be a profesor of English or History at a university maybe in New England, have my students adore me, share cigs with the drama club teacher and be Staff Supervisor to the best college magazine in the country. Marry a stunning up and coming artist who's genius is recognised after I've been the only person who faithfully believed in him for several years. Dabble in photography, freelance on the side, translate stuff from Czech and Polish, do a stint with Lonely Planet, and then, at 50 write one brilliant novel about my country and war and love and life and everything and spend the next couple of years basking in the glory, writing the next novel, giving talks here and there, traveling in style and die famously and suddenly at 53 with an uncompleted manuscript in my desk that'll be auctioned off and never published.

4. Be part of Alexander's Vanguard(something B.C.), and travel with him across Asia Minor to the Ends of the Earth and shout Alexandre! Alexandre! Alexandre! and be written in history forever and always.

5. Paintball Park Patron, I love paintball no matter how much it's supposed to hurt and maybe own a water park as well(not a lame excuse for one but one with the longest/fastest slides or something) somewhere on the highway between Bangalore and Coorg.

6. Inherit an Estate, maybe in Costwalds or near Pondicherry or the east near Tawang but somewhere not too cold. Have a lovely cottage with wooden panneling and a fireplace and miles and miles or farm land with a wood enclosed as well. I'd have horses and ride them around in the morning to check on everything and a whole bunch of dogs, Buddy too, though a meaner tougher version of him and a meaner tougher version of me. Also lots of other animals like on willow farm and in Thornbirds. And I'd have a jignormous library which a hundred years down the line will be something of a mecca, not a tourist place with tickets but an open place where you could come and live there and spend your days reading or writing or both.

7. Park Ranger/Jungle Guide and be one of those people clamping down the crocodiles as Steve Irwin talks into the camera and become this eccentric old lady with a fondness for liquor and an overused rifle who knows far too much about the jungle.

8. Doc - surprise entry here but it runs in the family and I really regret not even considering it seriously, I hate to say this but my decision was guided solely by, Look I've just given my 10th boards and I dont wanna join Akash tuitions or some such and take freaking PCM and bleeding B and just for that I said chuck it. Just like that.

9. Minister of Magic, and a famous Auror with legendary stealth ninja skills.

Oh I'm not going to ask for 10, nine's just fine for me.

I am the Eggman, I am the Walrus, goo goo gjoob

I borrowed just one book from him though we talked of hundred others.

There were lots of people standing in the balcony, some sitting on the railing, talking of this and that, it was an Ed Board meeting which turned into a Film Soc(iety) meeting. People were milling around, what to do now, lets go eat, where, here no there etc etc. He (who we shall call Van) said, I've been reading this book Travels with Herodotus by this Polish guy, Ryszard Kapuscinski (yea, don't even try pronouncing it) it's really good, you should read it. Everyone else is kinda quiet because well, they listen when he talks. It's this huge big circle but he's looking directly at me even though the conversation was a general one to begin with and me with shiny eyes, Sounds cool, can I borrow it sometime? Yup, then the rest of the adoring girls start off with the let's go, let's go and they walk off. But he got it for me the next day.

I thought it'd be really hard to read considering its a) Non Fiction and b) Translated - two of my complete no-nos. :shakes head: But it was surprisingly quite readable(relief.) It's split up into chapters according to the places he's been to so you can read them in any old order. Apparently he was this hands on journalist sorta dude who travels all over the world and is insightful in ways you least expect him to be. Herodotus ofcourse is an ancient greek who was one of the first infact the first traveller of the known world who chronicled his adventures. So basically Ryszard travels all over from Libya to Persia to Benaras and what not and he takes Herodotus with him and kinda sees the world thorugh the prism of his teachings.

Then, for my happy birthday he gave me Zorba the Greek, he'd told me about it earlier and how much he liked it, and written inside was - 'To the embarrassed Birthday Girl, hope you enjoy it as much as I did' this might seem like an innocent thing but it so. is. not. His coming was the reason I was really excited about the party and the reason I couldn't sleep that night, I was on such a high.

And I just know like Ryszard carried Herodotus with him everywhere, Zorba will be my Herodotus, It'll go wherever I go and I'll know it backwards and forwards. I have a feeling he(Van) and me will be great friends because we really are very alike and I can think of ten thousand things to say to him and counting.

If only there wasn't that other girl.

And if only I had some balls.

Sigh.

Don't let the days go by, glycerine

We went to Mocha on tuesday, Kasha's birthday treat but more importantly it's a Young People thing to do and that's why we as young people faithfully went and 'chilled at Mocha'. It's full of people like us who have hours and hours to kill on any given weekday, twas much fun. Today is Dino's birthday and everyone's majorly excited about the par-tay, infact most of them put off going home by a week to stay back for this.

You know what I'm really glad about? (or glad for? where's that wren and martin) When you have just a couple of minutes to spare and you're hanging around, waiting in a crowded place and you want to dial a number and just talk for that little while? Well I have a number to dial, two in fact and I really do have friends who know me, who know know me and will call 50 times a day to talk if we feel like. It wasn't always like this, I went through a very long phase and having polite friends who I didn't get and who had no idea who I was and thats' more trying than anything, then nothing's better than something. So I'm glad.

The Meso has landed today.

The last time Meso (cuz sis) was here we went on this grand family holiday to Jim Corbett becasue shocker of all shockers none of us had been there yet. The park itself was a terrific disappointment almost like Sariska with only peacocks and deers, just a more puffed up version of the DGC or Subroto Park(haha) but the government type guest house cottage thing we stayed at had a lovely view of the lake and was simply delightful.

So many bloggers talk about the shaadi attack they get, and I sit back and chortle as my sis gets it. Her dad says, don't worry, yeh khud munda chun ke layegi what do we have to do? I know who she's got in mind. Her mum goes, she has NO ONE in mind very emphatically and vehemently as if that closes the matter. Though Meso says she can't marry someone who doesn't love Pearl Jam. Fair enough.

If you've ever watched a single episode of Sex and the City or read any American chick lit book, the ultimate cliche is "Marry an Investment banker" no? Bag yourself the big gun which is hilarious and now Meso's the hotshot, so it's like haha, tables turned and it makes me fiercely proud somehow.

I'd heard so much of IIM but when I went there to meet Meso it was just so different. Their rooms are tiny and it really is very hot. The first person I was introduced to was this guy from Tamil Nadu with this long long surname like Tiruchillapalli or something. He was quiet and dark with specs and smiled a lot. He was stoned throughout and because all the parents were descending the next day for their graduation ceremony or whatever, he was trying to sell the weed he had left, I swear, we'd cross people in those lovely brick corridor things they have and through some weird code he'd ask them if they wanted it and they'd say yes and he'd say ok meet me later. O then there was this bengali guy and they all have these wack nicknames like tiru and patpat and what not, didn't know who was who, but he smoked steadily with this small pringle box as his ashtray. One guy would come in and recall some incident that happened the night before, some dude who'd done something stupid with fair annise? or some hair removing thing and they'd all laugh, not just polite hahacoughhaha but big fat loud guffaws. Some other guy would come in and would say the same thing, heard about sattu? there's no hair on his head man or some such and they'd all start off again. It was so much cooler than I expected, they really were normal folks and not evil maths geniuses about to take over the world.

Maybe they were both.

I'll Back You Up

Have you ever hurt yourself really badly? As a kid or otherwise? Not the near fatal disease I'm going to - die write my will variety, more like a whack on the head or break a leg type?

I was learning how to ride my bike, could've been anywhere upwards of 5 and downwards of 7 years old and we stayed in this colony which had two blocks down and a massive uphill, easily at a 50 degree angle and the rest of the blocks in a circle above.

Now my side wheels were removed and there was this batman chappie who was jogging behind me. I made him swear to not let the seat go, and he kept reassuring me from behind, ya ya, I'm holding and I so knew he wasn't but I let it pass (because look, look I was riding without sidewheels!) Anyway after a very successful trip of cycling round and round, instead of taking another chakkar, I took the turn downslope to get home and I don't know if I forgot where the the brakes were or didn't know how to use them or what because I always had trouble starting and stopping (even when I learnt to drive a car, I could NEVER get it to start) and I'm cycling down steadily gaining speed and this guy is running madly behind me but I just couldn't help it and I went smack into a pillar of concrete infront of the garages. Ouch you say? Not really. I had to go get stitches on my head and chin and what not and had this huge scar on my left cheek but all that was ok, I don't remember it hurting as such.

What I do remember is that when we got back from the hospital, I was just lying in bed and I'm sure my dad must've used a few choice words on the bhaiya (because technically he wasn't suppsoed to let me go etc etc) and he was feeling so bad that he came and kneeled next to my bed and said 'gudiya mujhe maaf kar do' and I didn't really know what was going on but I wanted to give him a hug and say dude chill, it was totally my fault and he was feeling so terrible about it that my dad patted him on the back and told him to forget about it.

We were great friends he and I, I used to sit at the back of his cycle and he'd take me all over, and he'd push the swing higher and higher and higher for me.

I wonder where he is now? Rangaya his name was. And did he teach his kids to ride their bikes? And get a few hard knocks then as well?