Friday, February 27, 2009

I pray you, remember the blogger

I have MANY ideas in my head, each of which are hating me for locking them up. Nevertheless, I get very involved with my ideas, and when I'm in the flow of writing, nothing stops me.


Hence, there is to be no flow. Not yet.

But there will be, immediately after the ISCs.

For now, I am on my way to the 'everlasting bonfire', and I'm definitely not taking the 'primrose path.' Yes, I have been studying Macbeth.

If you laugh at me for it, and if you are fair complexioned, then I will say what I have been wanting to say to someone for ages-

THE DEVIL DAMN THEE BLACK, THOU CREAM-FACED LOON.

Tata.

Sunday, February 15, 2009

It happened a month back

I was playing badminton with my brother. Neither of us is very good at it. Every winter, we see the dust accumulating on our badminton racquets and are overwhelmed by pity. So we extract them from their covers, whip them about and circulate the air around our house for an hour. This is a daily procedure. By the end of winter, we improve. By the start of next winter, we resume our ventilating activities.

 On this particular occasion, Piku was getting very easily distracted, and I had to holler at him throughout the game. There came the point when I got so annoyed that I was about to walk off. When I was stopped by the sight of something. For the first time, I noticed my neighbour’s house.

 There were creepers growing all over the front wall. Creepers retain their disregard for order, no matter how you plant them, and how much you prune. These were no exception. But even in their wildness they were delicate. Flecked by small white flowers, they looked like the hair on the head of a jungle princess.  

 Flitting in an out of the creepers were sparrows. There were so many of them that the whole mass of leaves, tendrils and stem shook and rustled. The petals of the flowers floated to the ground, slowly, lazily, drifting this way and that with the breeze.

 The whole air was alive with the chirping of the sparrows- so similar to their flight- a flurry of quick little arrows, taut with the force of life.

 Damn nature. You can’t act all cold and dignified around her.

Friday, February 13, 2009


Today is the death anniversary of P.G Wodehouse.

I wish I knew an Hon. Galahad Threepwood.  
Lord Galahand, The Joker, Shrek's Donkey, and Calvin. Together, we could take over the world.

And if we got a bit distracted (which is more than likely), then The Bride from Kill Bill might prove useful.

I have GOT to make this happen. I'm telling you, you'd better join us now that there's still time.

ADDITIONS TO THE ARMY:

King Julian (Madagascar)- Thank you Spriha, for the suggestion.

Taz. He is more self-actualised than Gandhi could ever have hoped to be. The look of pure, unintelligent bliss on his face says it all.

James J. Braddock- After watching 'Cinderella Man', I've realised that one can actually talk to a boxer. And get a verbal response.

Mark Zuckerberg. AKA the precocious-young-man-who-invented-Facebook-and-destroyed-all chances-I-ever-had-of-a-respectable-career. I will have him 'removed' once we reach our goal.

Roxy Hart, from Chicago- Sassy, zany, funny.

Fred and George Weasley. 2 of the few characters Rowling decided not to destroy. She has GOT to realise that breaking people's hearts and adding a 'realistic touch' are not the same thing. At all.

YODA from Star Wars! To our great mission, most instrumental, he will prove. Agree with me, do you not?

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Don't ask me why. I don't know.

Pablo Neruda wrote-

'I want to do with you
What spring does with the cherry trees.'

I want to do with you
What spring does with the cherry trees.
I want to do with you 
What coffee does with cream.

I want to do to you 
What storms do to the sky.
I want to do to you
What bubbles do to vision.

I want to do with you
What darkness does with darkness.
I want to do with you
What a baby does with crayons.

I want to do to you
What stripes do to a tiger.
I want to do to you
What scratches do to blood.

Monday, February 9, 2009

Helium Overdose

I had a conversation with someone recently, which reminded me of this HILARIOUS thing. When I was in class 8, seven of us wanted to form a band. It really didn't matter if we could sing. Well, most of us could. What I mean is, it really didn't matter if I could sing. And as for instruments, why did good vocalists NEED all that kind of fancy back-up? Look at Enrique. Look at the Backstreet Boys. Look at Blue. Who noticed the instrumentals in THEIR songs?


If you don't hate us already, then prepare for worse. We had to find ourselves a name. The suggestions themselves were highly suggestive.

Bluebell.

Glitz.

Untitled: We thought this was really cool. We imagined confusing the audience about whether we were NAMED untitled, or were just plain untitled.

The age old concept of initials. In this case, the only feasible combination available was BAASSSP. Yeah, we rejected it. But that doesn't really redeem us.

We finally decided upon........
*drumroll, flourish and every conceivable dramatic device for presenting entrances*
.....THE SHADOWCATS.

And no, we weren't going to be any old cover band. We were going to be a hundred percent original. This is the song we came up with-

'In the shadows of the night,
When you can't see far...
Out there, there's a light-
And it's upto you to find it.'

Now here, I wanted to introduce 'In the shadows of the night' as a mysterious, haunting refrain. But I was overruled. They thought I was taking the title too seriously. Hmphh. I still maintain that it wasn't a bad idea, WITHIN the parameters of our deadly agenda.

At this point, my friends started a new stanza. 
'Let the thought of your love
Make you strong.'
I am glad to say that I fought like an angry cat against this. Despite being a self-conscious, retarded adolescent, I had some sense in me. And I am also glad to say that I have moved on since then.

But you know, some things in people never change. I have always been rather unlucky regarding the people I like. They are usually above 40, or dead, or chauvinistic pricks. And yes, a lot of them indulge in serious substance abuse.
A few days back, I was watching American Idol, and I was struck by a certain 26-yr old. He is moderately cute, but REALLY charming, and it was mainly his voice, that planted the seeds of a mini-crush in me. 
Guess what? He's gay. Apparently. Knowing my luck, it's a certainty. I think this foreshadows what my Valentine's Day is going to be like.  Would you believe that I have NEVER had an interesting Valentine's Day? Now that I've developed into a most dreadful snob, it doesn't matter. I can discard the whole business as commercial and pretentious. But what I wouldn't mind, is a greeting from a man who

a)looks like Farhan Akhtar

b)IS like Obama

c)writes like Ted Hughes/Roald Dahl/O.Henry/Maugham/Ogden Nash/Oscar Wilde 

d)speaks like Jim Morrison/Russell Crowe/Simon Cowell

(I DO leave a lot of options open. This proves it.)

Thursday, February 5, 2009

Toast- NOTHING TO DO WITH ME.

Since people never read the title, I guess I should give some sort of introduction.
This is from the point of view of a slice of bread which gets toasted and then eaten for breakfast.

I watch them getting chosen-
Slowly, one by one.
I wait eagerly for my chance.
I am tired of being like the average:
Pale, anaemic, really;
And clammy to the touch.
To top it all, 
Our horrible posture-
Limp, flip-flopping, toppling over
With unenviable ease.

We share a house.
Like most things today,
It is flashy packaging
And no substance.
We can see right through it, 
Literally so.
I don't enjoy a permanent view of our neighbours.
Some are bad eggs,
Some, sour grapes.
As for the sweet ones,
They're not the same these days.
The effect of too much dieting, you know.

Anyway, it is finally my turn
To get out of here!
How exciting!
A draught signalls the arrival of
Master.
He takes me to the machine,
And I occupy my alloted seat.

It is lovely and warm.
Already I can see the transformation
Taking place.
A delightful brown spreads evenly
Over my body.
I stand straighter, and straighter, and straighter still.
My curves grow more well-defined.

It is now a bit too hot.
But beauty comes at a price.

There, I am ready.
No wait,
Some kind of gel is being applied 
All over me.
It feels nice and cool.
Master is so thougtful.

Where will I go now?
Where do they go, 
The chosen ones?
Why do they never return 
To the sorority?
I suppose I shall soon find out.

Hey!
Looks like a tunnel.
But there are SPIKES on the celing.
And the floor.
This is scary.
Hang on. NO NOT IN THERE!!!
NOOOOOOOOOOOOO.....
OW! OWW! OW!

*CRUNCH*









Monday, February 2, 2009

Family Time o.0

I don't know what kind of post-dinner conversation is considered normal, but I wonder if this is:


Me: There's a joke which goes like- 
Epitaph on a dentist- 'Stranger tread this spot with gravity/ Dentist Brown is filling his last cavity.'

Ma: *chuckles*

Me: You know what? If I end up getting buried, I want my tombstone to say something as cool as that.

Ma: Stop talking such bullshit.

Me: What's your problem? Is it talk of death that upsets you, or have I offended your Religious Sentiments?

Ma: Do you know that Jerry Garcia of the Grateful Dead...

Me: ...Wanted to get burnt, yes. Big deal.

Ma: BURNT?

Me: Yeah yeah, cremated. Same difference. Oh but then people are incinerated now, aren't they? I don't like that. There's something grand about flames. Not about electric, a sizzle, and some ashes.

Ma: But it's much better for the environment.

Me: That's a different issue. Besides, I like the concept of returning to the earth.

Ma: Our body is supposed to be composed of 5 elements. Earth is just ONE of them. Why should it be given preference?

Me: Well, there's air and water trapped in the soil. 

Ma: And SKY? Haha, gotcha!

Me: Once my body gets decomposed, carbon and stuff will be released into the SKY. There, so that's that.

Ma: Okay, I've had enough of this.

Me: You don't need to worry, I'm not picky about these things. If you want me to be cremated,  that's fine by me.

Ma: WANT you to be cremated??? I don't know what gets into you sometimes!!!

Me: Grrr, this is just a hypothetical situation. What I'm saying is, IF I had a tombstone- IF and ONLY IF- I would like it to say something funky. I'd like to go down in a glamorous way.

Ma: Why 'go down', what's so glamorous down there?

Me: MA. I cannot BELIEVE you said that. By going DOWN, I meant going down in people's MEMORIES, not DOWN INTO THE EARTH!!!!

Ma: Well I never know when you're being literal and when you're being figurative. Either way, you're just trying to make a statement.

Me: And YOU, are a pseudophobe. Anything off the beaten track, and you shrink from it, going- 'Oh my god. How sham, how hollow. How thankful I am that my spirit is not tainted by such superficiality. *rolls eyes*

Ma: Alright, alright. Maybe you have a point there. Now go take your medicine, it's time.

Me: I don't give a damn. Pseudophobe, pseudophobe, PSEUDOPHOBE. 

*I stomp off*