Jai Maharashtra

So Pratibha Patil is the President!! That is just brilliant because now we can finally claim to be better than the Yankees as we've managed to grab the trophy for a better democracy. A better 'accepting' democracy. And now we can just forget about women being killed and raped and smothered at birth...because we have a woman as the fucking President you see, so the path to progressive development has already started. What is all this bullshit? Obviously journalists are paid to write crap but this recent thing of building a lot out of nothing pisses me off. The most fitting tribute all these retards could give to Kalam was to relay the ten different ways by which he made the Mughal Gardens look better. And how he loved kids. And how was so tech savvy that he pioneered Powerpoint presentations in Rashtrapati Bhawan. If the past workfolio is so 'extensive', then why the hell is everyone jumping about their seats over this Election. They can't even vote for this one for fuck's sake!
Evidently a lot of people are getting fooled into thinking that it is indeed a pretty big deal. So I've been forced to have 'female empowerment' flashing on my face from newspapers every day. And on the television everyday. And from people everyday.
There are national messages from Rina in Bhilai who thinks that 'now finally we women feel that we can do something for the country.' Fuck. If THIS was going to make you feel empowered, then we ought to have done this long back!
Anyone can see this Election and proclaim how easy it was to have a woman as the President of our country. That is because gender discrimination is not an issue for a hardened Marathi politician who has the right amount of subservience for Sonia Gandhi. But it's hilarious that people in this country will not send their girls to school and discriminate against women all their life... but a rubber stamp political post will make them empathize with a woman's right to 'do anything she wants.'And I shudder to imagine the sheer bedlam unleashed upon these 'gender sensitive' souls if Najma becomes the Vice President( which will probably never happen). Then we can have women on both positions and be the most advanced fucking country.
There is no point in ruminating on how dirty politics has become. But I still think of how fucked up Maharashtra politico is. In Delhi, I never gave a damn about this part of the picture and I could recall a time when the Shiv Sena didn't exist for me. But now I have no choice but to acquaint myself about where I stay. There was endless stress on the qualifications of Madam President. Of course she was the Governor of Rajasthan and had brothers committing criminal frauds. That is okay because politicians as a community do not take these charges seriously as everyone is doing it anyway so it's better to save her ass now so that you can save yours later. Wowie. These unspoken rules. So Godfather-like.
Her biggest qualification is that she's a Marathi. That in itself was enough to have 2 supposed rivals come together and support her candidature in political First Class. If some North Indian woman would have stood for this post, Bal Thackeray would have a billion issues with her 'character' but a Marathi woman can do no harm and hypocrisy is a way of life so....
And Sharad Pawar is laying base. He's currently killing farmers by dumping their produce in the Indian Ocean, something more ambitious will follow once there are enough of his brethren at the Centre.
She probably won't keep the garden that pretty. She'll be too busy paying back.


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

Clubs here have a dead line of 11 30. That's really the tops because usually I'm done with my shower by 9 30. So I'm there by 10 something and I get my drink and the waiter is already walking towards me and smiling apologetically. Now I can't claim to be a tech type who works really hard all day and needs to go out at night, but it won't do me too bad if I can reinstate my right to wobble home early morning. Apparently people go to such places and make out and have booze and are largely 'immoral.' So protectors of Maharashtrian morality drop in at 11 30... make a couple of calls, pick up a lot of booze and a lot of money from owners, pick up some kids .. anyone they fancy really, to be let off in the morning, for charges of 'disturbance.'
Then they go park their cars outside the Railway Station or something equally fitting, drink merrily, trade stories about the kind of women at these parties, wearing skirts and what not and they all must be sluts no. After that they eve tease any woman passing on the streets or alternatively sit on the pavements screaming in abandon or zipping through the city in their cars at top speed. Then they go home and fuck their wives.
Really. We ought to learn from them. They can teach me so much. I'm going to stop wearing skirts.
But I don't really mind if I can't go out because it's not as if I'm warming myself in Ibiza or anything, but it would be good if I can manage to get food at night. These bastards roam around the city at night and are shutting hotel coffee shops. And everything else. So too many nights are trailing off with empty cigarette packets and endless fridge checking if something has miraculously turned up. Crap.
So we are just waiting for these good fellas to be paid off sufficiently by the various clubs in the city. And that the alcohol revenue increases by 20%...which is why this revolution against Western morality is happening in the first place. So that I can still wear skirts and watch midnight happen.

Glory box

I’m heading off to days of unending penury, play lists that don’t change for weeks, bhindi for lunch and big goofy smile, never letting the curtains sway an inch and then step out after a week cursing the rain….but forced to tolerate nature because I have to buy pot yes, or rather force my male friends while I tap my feet like a prized brat, parties with dress codes of halter and jeans where I know everyone and everyone knows me, and we all mingle with enemies and past lovers as if nothing ever happened and we are so gloriously over it, butter chicken at 4 in the morning, and screaming out loud for the hundredth time because he misplaced the bob marley cd AGAIN! And cribbing everytime I have to get out because I’ll be dripping wet when I’m back, muddy feet, stupid people, pepperoni a million fucking times, people refusing to let me put jazz, and when I do, a faint Radio Mirchi hits my ears, should I kill them or not? Should I go to Pondicherry? Can I afford Dupleix right now? Are Chennai cabs safe?

So I’m confused. There’s not too much time left for me to be denied this option altogether so I’m good. Not too much mind numbing psycho sessions on this time. I’m going to be calm and bring it ON. And I’m going to meet my dog… happiness! That’s the only bright light right now, of course, perfectly ignoring the possibility of him refusing to recognize me at all, which is when I kill myself and drive out of this purposeless existence. Hee hee. Never going to happen. He loves me. I think. No, he does. Yes, definitely. But I’ve changed my perfume! You retard, that doesn’t matter! Oh.

**

I have recently met someone very special. In fact, he’s so special that he makes me suspicious. Because I have come to realize that I’ve had way too many ‘special’ men in my life. BUT, we are not going to fuck up things this time with my commitment phobia issues, I mean, surely they are always going to be there … I think he understands all that I mumble. And he is a rock star. What more do I need? Um, let’s see. Him in the same city. But this is good too; I like the freedom of having and yet not having. And how I’m the only one who knows. So I will be the only one when it falls apart. Or alternately, when it gets better
**

Why do people hate dogs? And why is there no Hitler-like character to do away with such chuts? I imagine this huge SS army convoys who do secret round-ups in cities and night, ‘so, you think your neighbor hates dogs?’ ‘Do you have proof?’ ‘What? He doesn’t aww like an imbecile at that hutch ad?’
Ok, off they go. To fuck their happiness. So much more barbaric than killing Jews no? but this is good barbaric, and I’m all for it. This stupid woman keeps on calling me up to whine about me having a dog at my place. I don’t want to show her the picture like it is or anything but she’s pushing me to it. Considering she’s a ‘friend’ and he’s my ‘everything’ for the last 3 years, no Ford Ikon for guessing who I’m going to opt for. Do I tell her to throw her Ipod in a bin when it starts playing Shakira and polluting the environment of my house? Or do I tell her to stop buying everything I buy.. perfume, lingerie, freakin’ lamp-shades! So she’ll have to live with it, he’s so NOT going into my room when she’s around. She can just order her pizza and get fatter and get over her phobia already. Mmmmm. Possessiveness brings out the best in me.

**
Yesterday I met Jat boy. Why I call him Jat boy belies understanding because he’s not a Jat and quite cute looking, but I find it amusing that he makes it a point to explain his entire ancestry everytime I call him that. Ha ha. Cheap thrills.
I don’t pity him. No. He’s much more stronger than that. But I feel so goddamn spoilt and useless whenever I meet him. Where do people get their strength from? And still be so nice, and still be the way men were actually supposed to be. I know Jat boy likes me since forever. But there’s always been someone or the other barring his way. But it was nice that he didn’t try this time. And how he never tries because he knows that never works with me. Just talked about how we hate ‘kids’ and how THIS is going to decide the next ten years of my life. I love the fact that he asks, “ how are things at home” in such an uncharacteristic and non-pitying manner. And when I smile and get vague, he bangs on Led Zep as if nothing happened. Yes, I need more simple people around me. And not “ guess WHATTTTTT!! Dad is buying me a Fiesta. Ab toh full on party!”
Errr, okay!

**
I’ve never written about him. Too much bitterness for a long time now. But it’s over. And now it feels good. Now I can see all that he did. And all those times when I drove him mad, knowing that I’m too difficult for him. And too neurotic, but he tried a lot. Really tried a lot. While I gave up ages ago. I just wish he never gets to know that. He saw something different and it broke my heart. Because we were never there. I taught him too many things he didn’t need to know. He wouldn’t need all this.. because I’ll never let him be with a woman like me. Ha. Even he needs someone simple.
I’m not trying to take myself too seriously here…I just saw the other side of things and was running away from it for almost an year.
Now that I've reached a 'new chapter' as Jat boy puts it, there are too many songs for him… and a box full of paints

I need to get out of this shit-hole fast. Like on the double pronto run with all you got kind of fast.I should probably have a separate blog just about my parents. Hmmm.I have really thought about it.. there's enough crap to last upwards of about 1000 posts per month. Anyways so mom is again having one of her shitty days and there's no one else around other than her dumb daughter so let's screw up her week right about now. Now I've been unwell for a week and as it is don't bother about her much. That's what the scene at 'home' is like.. we try to stay out of each other's way. Because none of us can communicate on a seemingly affectionate or even civil level to each other anymore, so we just ponder on stuff like UP elections or something more crucial. It's so much better to talk to my dad, he's much better at this superficial stuff. And he always shuts up when I start shouting. So it never gets out of hand. It's just go-fuck-yourself-first silence. But he's not around during the summer so I'm stuck with this bullshit alone.
Like every summer I thought I'll work, socialise, crash late and basically fuck out of this blasted city before too much damage takes place. But nooooooo sirreee....that never happens. So I'm the only one who gets calls from people screaming because they are effing bored. And they want you around so that they can hit you like they did in school. And you come back thinking maybe it'll have cooled down by now.. but there she is, waiting for me. Waiting to fuck my head with all the crap she's been thinking of all day. And interestingly, absolutely nothing she'll say is going to be about 'her'. It's going to be about me. About how I should just get out of her life and stop siding with 'him' and that she's had it with people scheming against her happiness. This drivel used to scare the wits out of me in school. I used to cry and think oh I'm such a bad person, My mother hates me and this doesn't happen to any of my gifting-cards-on-Mother's-Day friends. But this is like a joke now. So obviously I walk out on her and put on my music. While she bangs on it for half an hour and then calls him to abuse him. He doesn't pick up.
And we are so fucking normal. Tomorrow I'll go and research on torture in Uzbekistan. While she's have a bloody kitty party in Gk and talk about some new variety of curtains all the way from Bali. And I'm writing this with Jack Johnson asking some girl to eat his banana pancakes and to pretend that it's the weekend. WTF???!!
It was so much easier when you blamed yourself for all this. When all they say defines your opinion about yourself. But I've grown up now and see myself in seclusion from nights such as these. No I'm not a whore because I was watching a transexual documentary on Discovery. But now it just sucks. But now we know this and it's too much anger. Too much anger at having to tolerate situations because you still want to help people who are too chickenshit to ask for help with love. So I'm in my room trembling because I'm angry enough to kill a dog. And she's crying in her room wishing she was in 1984. And jack johnson is still playing....

I'm just feeling so stupid. And not even that kind of stupid where I feel like rambling politics just so that I feel as if I'm thinking.Doing something.
Aaaaaaarrrghhh.I started another one of these crappy things today. God. My new office is in some godforsaken part of Safdurjung. It was so unbelievable, I just kept on staring at the car which just kept on going on and on and on in small clustered alleys. I was so pissed!
And I entered to see the place swarming with firangs. Where was I? Some Goan beach shack full of Russians? Err...Australians apparently. This chut who sits very close to me and still talks in such a whispery tones as if all of them are drafting the fucking Constitution of Africa. So I just felt so dumb going like..Errr what? What?
And what's with these firangs and heat tolerance? I would have expected them to rip their hair out and run like banshees. But these guys were so effing ridiculous...just kept on typing furiously while I'm holding my head in my hands, cursing myself for wearing anything at all! Why couldn't I just come here in a bloody sack like the female sitting next to me? She's working with such concentration, as if the AC not working doesn't affect her at all. I could just imagine those fat lawyers in Supreme Court ordering yet another samosa and cribbing about the heat while the AC is blasting in his face like a bloody cooler.
Anyways, I'm just annoyed and have nothing to say. I just want people to serve alcohol in Greek restaurants and do away with people who don't switch on the fucking AC when it's right on top of your head!

Why the fuck are you not wearing leotards?

As I sit in the green room sipping Darjeeling tea(Yuck!) and nursing my legs that have really reached another place today, I'm thinking of the one thing that I'll never do again. Not the way it used to be anyways. I keep myself busy with the law thing and travel and cook( ya righhht!)and meeting people and loads of other superficial stuff. Maybe it was the car ride in the rain at 8 in the evening... or another one of those rotating times. Back to remind you that you ought to stop faking it for a bit and cry out loud once more.
Some time back I met this girl who was off to Columbia to study dance. My fangs were starting to show before my friend detected trouble and diverted the topic. But whose fault is it? The fact that she could fight against her folks and I could not? And that now I think I'm stronger than steel but in reality, am fucked up because of the classiest of the issues..parent screwing up your 'dream'. I never dreamt to be a dancer because I just knew there was nothing else I COULD do that well. And if you get trained in it 5 years short of your actual life span, then it just seems like the natural thing to do. Even today, there's never a moment when I've felt happier. And more in my element than when I'm dancing.
But if you're weak once about asserting yourself then it doesn't come back to ask you if you're ready now. Am I ready now? Ha. I'm probably not even as good as I used to be. And it's too late now to pick it professionally again. So I'll just be yet another girl who cries in a corner after the lights are put away..

But today is Sunday and depressing posts are reserved for the rest of the week so I'm heading on to the most worthless realm ever..The only list that'll ever matter.
Muzak for the perfect night..

1. Becoming Insane,Juice,Deepy Disturbed,Out of Space - I'm not going to write about these songs because it's pointless. When he starts to go insane..insane...va va vrroooom!

2. Ghost song - Everyone finds it weird that I start hooting when this track starts. I just love the beat, it's perfect for the hip roll.

3.I miss you, Bjork - Fuck. I swear I'll marry the DJ who plays this song. Ever. Even if he's a Paki or something. It makes you feel like a diva.

4.Bossa Per Due ( Nicola Conte) - I heard this album in Amsterdam just at the right time. The sort of joint where no one goes to 'parteeeee' their balls off. It's the kind of stuff people ordinarily wouldn't imagine dancing to, but the same people dance to Salaam E Ishq so.. Bossa Nova is my favorite style right now, it's beautiful.

5. Haute Couture(Paris) - Awesome stuff. Like house infused bossa nova. And the bass...Jesus!

Earlier, I only used to love dancing to rock and roll but there's way too much of that to write here. Rock is like my comfort music, even though now I'm too experimental and am branching out in so many places, if I ever have another break-up, I'll still see it off dancing to Born to be Wild. Just like last time with my homies. Hee hee.

***


I do realize that I'm a bit late to get the drift. It's was so expected to see all these Mushroom fans to go like' Where's the psy man?' But the best artists are the ones who don't shy away from moving on from their genre, even at the cost of their money-yielding audience who just want them to roll out collected hits every year so that they die happy. But Infected Mushrooms have really done it with this. Rap..way too much guitar. Down with closet minds. It's fuckin beautiful.

Kremlin Masala

One of the most wonderful things in life is to have something fitting into your expectations as if it was truly made for them. Most of us love to proclaim our no-expectation stance in life quite often, but I've always considered that to be absolute drivel. The reason people can't stand each other, quit jobs, fuck behind each other's backs is because you expect. Make up these stories in your head of what you think you deserve. And conveniently forget that nothing happens if you simply park your ass over it. And that's why Russia's been swimming in my head all day.
That is the only country I've been to which conforms to your expectations to the hilt. Yes, you expect the chain-smoking, not-talking, doubtful-if-even-breathing taxi driver to take you somewhere in a forest full of snow and bury you in the ground after a painless death. Just like that.
Or expect to get picked up and taken onto red velvet embossed secret rooms of the Kremlin. To pour out your secrets. And then promptly be shot in the head. Surrounded by men smoking cigars and drinking vodka, looking flushed pink against the weirdest chairs you've ever seen in your life. The streets are big enough for a war to be fought there. And absolutely nothing is small. It's all fucking big baby. The perfect embodiment of a fucked up Socialist Union.
It's beauty lies in it's unpretentiousness. I mean, hell, we are stressed out so we'll drink from 9 in the morning out of the bottle. And if by some freaky chance we invite you to our home,where you dared to refuse alcohol, then you're thrown out. And we'll smoke too and won't talk to dumb frikkin tourists calling them mate and all that jack, asking them the weather. These people are real.And so is their country.

Most Russian politics is thread-bare. They've hated and liked the same people. They don't love anyone and that's brilliant.Lol. We'll make the weapons, kill dissenters, get public money accumulated and hire the craziest architects to make every structure look wonderfully bizarre. And we'll screw our own people because that's what every country does anyways so please let's not be two-faced about it.

Although it's very sad that Litvinenko got killed. But his death interests me more.It's exactly like those crime novels you used to read as a kid, except that no one died from radioactive isotopes back then. Although it's perfectly cool to crib about something like the KGB after you've joined it, and talk about how you were ordered to kill influential Russians. It's also a bit funny because the world knows that already. This information is as ground-breaking as the fact that Bush can't place Iraq on a map. Which he can't, he just bombs it, with no mistake.
What really got me amused was Russia refusing extradition rights to the British Government for Andrei Lugovoi, the man who's apparently behind the murder.
Ok, first, he's way too hot to kill someone. Or, at least to let people know he did it. And also, Britain with it's policy of giving asylum to anyone and everyone who screws around in any country. Pakistanis, German,Indian,American and British corporate and political offenders are wrapped up like babies in the UK.
And only the Russians had the gall to tell these hypocrites to go fuck themselves good.
What's truly classic is the statement that murder proceedings on Andrei are a 'possibility.' Har har.

How do they say kickass in Russian??

Not long enough for me

Is it not something
with jagged similarities

Of disjointed dreams
And foolish revelry

Of all that we thought
Would soon happen

Perhaps return back to brace
Your thoughts before

Or lather on to brothers
Of common stock

Not enough to waiver
Away from insistent latches

Distant for years now
From the maple breeze

Isn’t it time for another
Glorious mistake

So am I missing something here? Why would a man who likes John Lee Hooker reject Janis because she’s a woman with issues? Perhaps it’s not manly enough to like a woman crooning about depression or being left lonely by her man. Of course, I’m not the one who’s classifying her career into that one line, but apparently, a lot of people do exactly that.
I’ve met so many guys with a brilliant taste in music who just disregard female musicians with this weird bias. And this happens when no one is singing of menstruation, or child birth, or all those boring things men don’t identify with.
But the male artists never had their body of music dissected in such a ridiculous way. So Dylan can sing of disillusion and politics and have the world empathize with him. Maybe it’s the advertising or the hype, but I find it really hard to understand how every bloody person likes him. And Cohen… women like him because they wish the men in their lives thought like him. But Joni Mitchell with her relationship advice could never have this freedom. And nor did Janis, who’s best known by these chuts as a manic depressive woman who shrieked more than she sang. About women stuff.
I swear I have a point. But unfortunately, it’s only abusive right now.

****


I met this auto driver today who gave me economics of owning an auto in Delhi all on paper. Apparently it costs 5 lacs by the time it comes down to them through the red tape. And if they don’t buy one, they have to pay some money as rent everyday. So they earn roughly Rs 150 per day. And that too after haggling with people all day about how much they need to pay. If they follow the meter, then they wouldn’t even earn that. Hmmm.
I can’t believe that I would willingly convince myself as to why buying a bag worth 5 grand makes sense, and still tell this man how 50 bucks from South Ex to Gk is too much to pay. I feel sick. Why do we have such terrible double standards? Guess doesn’t need my bloody money, they have way too much of that anyway. All they do is manufacture clothing in air conditioned sweat shops. And this man has to tolerate people like me weighing the worth of him riding an auto in this ghastly heat for 15 hours a day. It’s just 50 bucks. While I get off to drink rum 5 times that price tag.
This is the real democracy of our country. The fact that he won't hate me for what I represent and still laugh with me. Equality is the most nonsensical idea ever, what matters is how the unequals let the gifted ones be.

Tagged

Brilliant. My first tag and the vaguest one at that..
5 truths about me:
1. I detest the whole idea of 'God'. My issues are more expansive than He's-never-done-anything-for-me stance. And as much as I try to keep an open mind towards ultra-religious people, more often than not, my look of disgust gives me away. Like how I recently fought with my flat mate over not keeping the goddamn Puja table in the hall or anywhere else in the house as it didn't go with my my envisioned 'look'. Of course he sat with head in his hands, muttering about my atheism and how I'll come around and how it's so sinful and blah blah blah. But I had just about had it with 'Saturdays are not good for haircut' kind of nonsense from these morons.

2. I'm extremely judgmental about everyone. I immediately slot people into categories they closely resemble once I meet them, and rarely have they broken out of it. I once read of how there are some 9 types of personalities in this world and everyone fits into one kind. I know it sucks to do this so I try not to admit it. But when I meet some girl who's just come to Delhi freed from 6 pm deadlines back home in Ludhiana pick up smoking within one week of arrival, I feel I'm getting somewhere with people in general.

3. If I'm quiet, that means I'm thinking more than what I could possibly say. I'm almost never blank and am constantly over - analyzing situations and people. This kind of nihilist thinking results in one taking long walks on busy roads, chain smoking, trying to devise ways to do something... about the beggar who's cut his daughter's legs to invoke sympathy, or the kids I teach, or anyone else I'm incapable of helping beyond one day. Then self does really dumb things like switching off the air conditioning for the whole day or cancel my shopping for a week, and later feel quite stupid over the pointlessness of it all.

4. I hate being in a relationship because they demand so much out of you, in every way conceivable. Ultimately, there are too many questions and so much insecurity and you hate yourself for being so helpless as to force one to be with people who are so wrong for you that can't breathe. Now, I'm too commitment phobic to bother with all this, and anyone encroaching into my space either unravels my rebel-without-a-cause persona or the plain nervous as hell one.

5. I can't tolerate stupidity of any color, sex, creed, shape or size. Stupid ignorant people, stupid books, stupid music. The kind of 'I have never read a newspaper in my life and I don't really know jackshit about this but I still want to give my gyaan to you because I heard someone say the exact same thing on tv' ..Or the sorts who say Dubai is in fucking Africa and think its perfectly okay not to kill yourself when other people KNOW that you actually said that...or people who read Da Vinci Code and treat it like the fucking Wasteland. Or when really dumb people hear you out and say the same thing to others, without giving you credit for it. I just feel there's no point in your existence if you don't even try to make yourself aware of all that is happening...and eternally keep on kidding yourself on the basis of your parents equally dumb opinion of your fictitious IQ level.

And this I can't resist... Why do people bother smoking Ultra Milds? I mean, if you're going to smoke that shyte that actually feels like breathing air in and out, then you might as well not insult smokers and quit your 'smoking' altogether. This is so 'I can't really take it in but I think smoking makes one look really cool so I'll still make a prized ass out of myself but smoke these gay cigarettes.'

Er...I just realized that 5 truths about me roughly translate into 5 things I hate. Maybe Monday, maybe everyday. Ha ha.

Our man Jasbeer

Suddenly Jasbeer got out of the car and started beating up the 'gantleman' in striped blue shirt with ball point pen tucked in the pocket. Self got quite excited thinking... Yeah! THIS is what I miss whenever I'm away from Delhi..people hitting each other on the roads, traffic on halt because of sheer bumbling rage, and everyone bathing in the sheer ordinariness of the ensuing event, some stopping to ruminate on the fight logic, especially if a woman is involved. Bang bang! ... While I merrily messaged my friend that the plan shall be delayed owing to unavoidable circumstances.

The scene went on for some time, that's when self started to ponder on the driving point. Everything happened in such a flash that self couldn't possibly inquire from our man Jasbeer. He finishes his business and sits back on the wheel in a huff.

Me:Tumhe itna paagal hone ki kya zaroorat thi?

j: Madam, Aap samajhti nahin hai. Voh aapko dekh raha tha. ( With noticeable discomfort) Buri tarah se.

Me: ( Shocked beyond belief) Kya??? Abe, Yeh Dilli hai. Yahan sab dekhte hai. Police aa jaati toh?

j: Toh dekh lete madam. In Bihariyon ki maa ki. Aap meri behen jaisi hai.

Me: Waah! Issi baat par tumhe Milds ka pura packet free. Ab gaadi bhagao.

Aw. I'm so touched. How is it that most men in my life would not have risen to such daredevilry? That makes self despair if self has indeed dated wussies on a priority basis. Apparently yes.
All I ever got was those intellectual types who just want to make lurrve and discuss Neruda in al fresco restaurants. They talk of a woman's right to enjoy sex and how she ought to be given all the pleasure. Self lets this sink in and wonders how sexual equality is the single most freedom these metro types seem to understand. And then it's 4 in the morning and we are at Bandstand where a group of men are evidently, feasting on my legs.

Dumbfuck:Let's go from here baby. I would clobber these motherfuckers to death but there are cops here right now.

This classic excuse from poetic man does not surprise me at all. Its, in fact, expected. And then self thanks Delhi for making her acquainted
with the best-of-swears-North-India has to offer from an early age, and proceeds to handle the situation in a characteristically unladylike manner. The persistence of eve teasers being what it is, they dissipated in an instant to look out for alternate objects to peruse.

Dumbfuck:Why did you have to do that baby? There's no point in messing with these creeps.

Me:I absolutely had to sweetheart. Because your mommy didn't feed you any Farex.

Dumbfuck:What??

Me:Nothing.Go Fuck yourself.


So Jasbeer is special for being my knight for today.
Some people think that I say all this because a woman need protection from a man and can't look out for herself. No, my dearies, we don't need any of that bullcrap.
But I, for one, could do without having to deal with so much hypocrisy.

My father's eyes

It’s my parent’s anniversary today. Some unbelievable number of years. So far, my mother has surprised me by taking the liberty to drown my room in sunshine at some ungodly hour .. just to drink tea together. The sheer sentimentality of the request did not sit too well with me, and as I proceeded to let her know AGAIN of the crazy hours I’m keeping these days and how I never get any sleep and haven’t I told her a million times already about how I detest sunlight on my damned face, she told me. Hmmmmm. So since my mother doesn’t drink, I can’t even take her out to a bar, and kiss the evening goodbye with the choicest of single woman epithets ranging from …’fuck him, who needs a man anyway,we have girl power’, or something equally cathartic.
But my mother is not 25 so we need something drastic to make her think that life indeed rocks. But she’s making it incredibly difficult by crying all day and asking me repeatedly of where exactly she went wrong. And relaying the events of all that happened in our assorted households over the past years. Again and again and again.
The best part of having parents who hate each other is not about being a witness to the ground-breaking events unfolding in front you which put you off the concept of ‘any’ 2 people living together in any circumstance. No sirrreee. What really tops it up is the continuous reminder of those same events for the rest of your adult life, the fact that you’ve been trying to block out images of people being dragged out in the living room with your younger brother’s horrified eyes transfixed on the scene be damned.
I stopped screaming at my mother 2 years back, because I realized that she can’t help but be herself. And that she repeats it so that she can come to terms with it. And that her life is not enough for things to sink in for her, let alone be concerned about me. So even though we last agreed on something ages back, we still stay together and live through days such as these.
My father just called me up to fix up some ‘family dinner’ today. I think this whole compassion quality is certifiably taking over me. I didn’t say what I so badly wanted to say.

I have 412 contacts on my phone, and not a single person I can call right now. I just wish I was somehere. And think something else, but it's not happening. It's turning out to be a Joni Mitchell day...How long can this go on?

Muzak

So…I haven’t been doing anything productive for quite some time now. It’s that time of the year again when the internet becomes my best buddy. Which is the case, um, all through the year.
I’ve heard such great stuff lately, and self just realized self has never blogged about music…
First I’ll set away all the I’m-going-to-kill-this-year-but-have-in-acuality-fucked-up-bigtime-records. I’ll be honest about my expectations with Tiesto’s new release (Just be) this year. There were none. But I couldn’t resist the temptation to listen to it only to bitch about it later when a friend dropped in the cd. It sucks. It’s repetitive and sometimes he’s really going too soft. Looks like the end of the legacy erm?
Bon Sinclar Sound of Freedom has too many people going orgasmic this summer. Somehow, this Sean Paul + Carrribean flavour in Sounds of Freedom single is not really my thing. Needless to say, all consoles from Goa to Bangalore are going to play this song to death and eventually, force many to love it. Like that cheesy Children of the Sky. But do I see myself dancing when ‘give a lil’ love’ is playing in the house? Hell yes.
And I truly love the cover art. So Joplin.






And now over to the Gunners. The 2 best albums so far this year – Sound of Silver and From here we go Sublime. I‘ve never really believed that techno is dead, and artists like Alex Willner prove me right. Everything about this album is perfecto. Every song is taking out a new sound. And it doesn’t veer towards the boring image ambient music is increasingly being accused of, it’ll really make your head spin.
I won’t say anything about Sounds of Silver. It’s hasn't got off the hook on my player since 4 days soo….


And Chromophobia is another superb album. Electronica is going mad!





I love Pocket Symphony. No matter what anyone says about Air, I’m always going to check out their releases and faithfully load it onto my machine. Too many people call it boring, and I find it so ridiculous to classify music like this because NOT everything can be played in a club for you to dance to, and with that dumb logic, I can’t deviate from half of the best music the world has to offer.

Someone put me on to Kings of Leon. I love the whole sound, weirdly; it reminds me of Frank Zappa. The whole brazen vocals, the crazy riffs. ‘Charmer’ is my new drunk song!





And the most bizarrely beautiful female of all times has finally shut them up after the lull. You say it Bjork!



Yet to hear Cassadaga and Neon Bible. They comprise my future week agenda.





I love the heat! It truly gives me wonderful excuses to hibernate.

Just saw another one of those abominable fairness cream ads on tv. HELL. It had this girl who wants to make her theatre group work but has no audience. So she puts the solution-of-all-measly-female-problems(FAIR & LOVELY) and becomes Ayesha Takia pretty... becomes an actress. and lo behold! everyone wants to see heroine material doing her drama thingy now.
What the fuck? Who believes this shiite anyways? So if someone is not an actress and is then consequently not pretty, What is she supposed to do? Go die? And is this what the measure of success really is? To strut your crotch out to the world and do the shimmy?
I remember once they had another one of these freak-show ads where this young girl is getting married to a man who looks about 60, because she's dark skinned. and then she gets fair and hooks up with some 24 yr old computer engineer.Wowie.
I wanna know how many of these retards who churn out this crap in the name of advertising are actually fair skinned themselves? Or their daughters even?
If they are all fair, then there's no problem because then they are obviously superior human beings so the matters's closed.
But if they are dark, do they recognize their immense dickhead potential? And do they feel the burden of the trauma they make millions of such gullible consumers go through.. Who truly believe that putting some dumb lotion on your face will turn your life around.

Why is it that a man can choose not to shave,live like a slob, have a house with a refrigerator...beer..and music, and still be cool?
And a woman can be smart, witty, well read, and a dozen other things, and still have all these godforsaken typecasts falling on her from all directions?

My dear friend M has to hear constant jabs from her ugly stupid and dumb boyfriend N... only because she's put on 2 kilos.. so she, inspite of looking as great as she always does, is now having paranoia attacks over stepping out in public in a pair of shorts.
Why is everyone so busy with fucking up each other's peace of mind? All these dumb men who go to UASSS to study, come back and tell me their exploits and their own version of life-and-times-of-a-west-coast-hustler..Bah!
But these morons will still get married to a fair,tall, beautiful,homely,cultured,can cook girl ..their mamas will choose for them.
They are too mentally stunted to be capable of accepting and fathoming women of any other category. And even though they can't count the number of continents or remember dating any good looking girl in school... they still want some model-type in bed.
And society is pandering to their right to feel justified over thinking such drivel? By making women some sort of clone tube where you keep on feeding some new data that she just sooo badly needs to aquire into her personality to be palatable to men so that they can be induced to fuck her..and marry her, for those good girls who don't dream of sex.
Now every Indian girl after 21 realizes that you don't need to do jackshit to get a man in this country. But noo. We are not going to limit your role to just that missy.
You need to be beautiful because there is no other way. And after we define beautiful, if you try to exceed your defintions of that.. we'll just term you a slut if you're unavailable.

Whatever. .Like I give a damn. Last I heard someone filed a PIL against these parasites.Wonder what happened to that.

*****

Yesterday I finally went for City of Djiins. Well, I didn't expect anything great from the play considering the book was such a caricatured outlay of Delhi's history...I'm pleasantly surprised. The production was beautiful. It feels really good to see the theatre scene in Delhi coming up so well that it's finanancially viable to put up something this grand.
The only part when I felt sad about watching it in Delhi was when most people sitting around me started smirking uncomfortably when the eunuch depiction came up.
I've never been able to comprehend the ostracization of eunuchs. Their lives do not get documented and no one really gives two hoots about them here. And I see this scenario only in India, as most of the South Asian countries have transgenders and asexuals dictating their laws regarding property,marriages and employment. And having legalised sex change operations.

Maybe because as of now, we can't even admit that Indians do actually fuck. So to reach the point to enable open-mindedness about people who have sexual aberrations will surely take a long time.

****

Bjork's coming out with Volta on May 8. Dum dee dum dum.

India

An 8 year old girl has been watering our garden since the last 3 years. Her mother irons clothes near our building and doesn’t want to send her to school. The girl’s name is Geeta. She runs around all day doing menial work wearing clothes I wore once. She plays with my toys and can buy chocolates for herself. She always gets bright eyed whenever she sees me coming from the airport. And I see those eyes and the pony tail once more when I’m leaving. Just four times a year.

But her family can’t afford anything for her. No food, no education, no life. She’ll never wear Aldo shoes and discover the wonders of mascara. She’ll never contemplate on the emotional security a man can give you. Sex without condoms for her will never be risqué. She’ll never drink cognac. She’ll never travel out of the country to see the world.

These things have become so important to me that I find lives without them so… unimaginably dull. And bereft of any kind of pleasure?

But there are millions who go and fetch water from a public tanker 3 km from their tin huts every morning, precisely at the time I get up and think of waffles. And there are countless who are suffering malnutrition worse than Africa in my country, at the time I refuse to eat food made at home which is enough for 4 simply because I want to eat dumplings. There are too many instances that make me feel like a prize capitalist slave who doesn’t have two minutes of compassion time in their life other than to buy a flower off a traffic signal.

I never cared about these things 2 years ago. There was too much to think about. Also, modern times have given people like me the luxury to entertain depression and just think about our past until we get over it. But someone is not thinking even after 4 pregnancies and 3 miscarriages simply because the man refuses to stop.

I’ve been reading a lot of stuff on the blogosphere for quite some time now. There’s been so much that feel like déjà vu. And much reminds you of thoughts you once indulged in and then put them away. But recently I’ve read some bloggers declaring their preference for continuance of British rule in India. And how the country is basically one big shit-hole and nothing can be done to change that.

Such juvenile crap burns me up so much that I can’t even write about it. I guess currently, it’s much in vogue to be pro-India after movies like Rang de Basanti and such making such an impression on the popular mind, for better or for worse. So I don’t really talk about this.

How did I suddenly get so patriotic? I can’t think of a better word, although it seems so darn serious, but patriotic it is. It’s there is every thought. Even when I heard about the Virginia shoot-out, all I though about was how terrible it would be to die abroad. I know how delighted I used to be if I came across a sardar in London. It really used to make my day.

And it seemed so surreal, because I never respected anything about my identity when I left. I can’t say that I was a victim to racism but I surely saw it happen and never did anything about it. Gradually, it occurred to me that my cultural identity is perhaps weak?

And it’s considered low-brow by most societies. It really wasn’t such a big deal to be an Indian. And I used to be so happy on the numerous occasions I was mistaken for some other nationality. Who wants to belong to that ‘brown’ country anyways…

I didn’t end up living that farce for too long. And felt this intense need to protect my country. The name, culture, past, freedom struggle. As I grew up to be more individualistic, it became a more defined part of me. And just as I won’t tolerate someone mocking my family, I would certainly fight for my nation.

And the day I came back to Delhi airport. Saw tube lights. Ugly tube lights all over the airport. Ugly airport. Rude taxi drivers. Beggars. All the stuff that’s become classic India to most movies.

But it didn’t disgust me anymore. It just felt mine. I didn’t care. There was enough I’d read by now much to understand why we were at that economic or development phase. And why it would take us more time. And how congenitally, so many people and their civilizations are dissimilar to us. And how thankfully, we will never become an America.

As long as I’ll have it, I’ll give something towards the future

And it pisses me off to see people like Anil Ambani and Amitabh Bachhan donating 1.5 crore to Tirupati temple…wtf…What do I marvel at? The sheer stupidity.. or the bigotry.. the decadent superstition…

And I see nothing wrong in enforcing compulsory National Anthem because it’ll take a lot of time for Indians to love their country as much as the Americans to sing it without being asked. There’s nothing wrong with banning a bikini having the national flag… because we are different. Just like no one wants to be us, why are we dying to ape others?

All this is sounding so maudlin to me… hmm, especially since I have never devoted much space for beliefs in my life. And even though after this I’ll head out for a cigarette and really forget about it…

But it’ll hit back at me from any street in India. Because it never fails to remind me that it's mine. And that I have to do something for it.

The great Indian Clan

Lately I’ve been seeing so much of Rahul Gandhi on the news. Future of Uttar Pradesh.Finally (phew!), rahul baba is here to solve all our worries and struggles with this state, as glowingly reported by Congress workers.
It’s difficult for me to exactly corroborate the vastness of my issues with what he represents. It’s pathetic that even after being so educated, the money and power will make a seemingly decent chokhra boy like him to express pride over the dirty clan politics of his family like a blithering idiot. The impassioned ‘speech of the moment’ which would have been cunningly devised by some IAS who would know UP caste frictions all too well to capture the right pulse, while Rahul baba perfects his Hindi in an air-conditioned van. Just like his mother who memorizes her Hindi written in English.

So Ayodhya wouldn’t have happened if the great Gandhis were involved? It never dawned on him to think how his mother could have intervened at that time if she really gave a flying rat’s ass. And not surprisingly, ‘madam’ has picked up Cabinet Ministers who were in power the time Ayodhya happened to comprise her government presently. And the great Congress regime is not helping the farmers, youth, or the middle class, so why would they really bother with a mosque at that time? Or maybe they would, just like the Government didn’t have the money to fund education till 14 years for all children, and now has the finances to support Urdu and regular education for Muslim children across Uttar Pradesh and the rest of the country.
This is because the Congress wants Indian Muslims to believe that they indeed are really poor and downtrodden and need to be spoon fed in whatever they plan to do. We’ll fund your primary and secondary education. And get you seats in colleges you wouldn’t imagine in your wildest dreams on the basis of marks such as yours. Then give you scholarships for the additional years that you would obviously take to pass out of such colleges. And then assure you great jobs in the corporate sectors, for which General category has to kill for… don’t worry, we are working on it. Azim has a problem with that right now, but it’ll surely be taken care of. And then if you wish to do the Hajj, we’ll fund that as well.

Brilliant.

The actual statistics for illiteracy and unemployment amongst Muslims would be out in some time hopefully, giving a picture truer than the one projected by the Sachar panel. I do not have issues with providing help and economic benefits, but just as you want to be convinced that the beggar in Colaba is not going to shoot up heroine with the money you give her and will indeed feed herself, (ok, bad example), it's necessary to understand the various channels such benefits pass through.
If the statistics are different, which they would be, considering these figures are 15 years old , then we can probably concentrate on poverty- based benefits instead of the illogical caste- based ones. If the country is trying to grapple with the passage of casteism for so long, is there any point in harnessing that ghost all over again to continuously remind people of their origin? But what is truly classic is Congress's peeve with administrating such a Census. Apparently they don't want to divide the country on caste lines wherein ordinary citizens are questioned on the basis of their caste and economic conditions related to that..against secularism , Gandhi ideals yada yada yada. Ok. Secular point taken. But expectedly, they would not view reservations from the same prism. That is for betterment.

So now that I have gone completely off the topic.. Hmm, Rahul Gandhi should probably sit at home and read some coffee table books on the rural heartland of his country that was never exposed to him in his student days abroad. But it’s really so hopeless. He’s most likely to get illiterate votes as it often happens in India when a Gandhi scion calls himself the ‘son of the soil.’ Just like Sonia Gandhi is the ‘bahu’ of each and every home of Bharatland. Gawd.

And I don’t even see the foolish idealism of Rajiv Gandhi in him, so maybe he’ll make less fatal mistakes that won’t atleast cost him his life.

So I talk to this asshole after 4 fucking years and he waits till 5 in the morning to profess his carnal desires for me. I feel like such a slut. Why is it that I let creeps like him get the better of me every bloody time?
I mean, really, what is it with men? Did he forget the time he cried over his dog's death in front of me for 4 straight days. Or when he felt insecure about his writing career and broke that whole i'm-the-man-with-everything-going-for-me-glorious story. And everything else. How we reached a point beyond mindless conversation. How I could do the flamenco in front of him and feel more beauty than what my art could give.

But no. It's really true I guess, that people forget everything that you say and all that you do for them. All that remains is being horny within the sheets.
After 4 fucking years...he cannot even be bothered with maintaining the pretence of having a cup of coffee first. Nooo....I'm the red-blooded Indian male who will eternally conform to my expected levels of female commodification.
Fuck you bastard. I hope someone hangs you by the thumbs till you die. And then I'l make freakin' lampshades out of your sex-starved skin.

Consistent bad luck

Whenever I experience some passage of time in my life, I get complacent about its whole course. Probably this is the point where it'll fit in nicely. Will reach somewhere stable. But leaving that ridiculously maudlin illusion, it never fails to burst on my face in pieces .. in its prime ugliness.
And that is why I'm still grappling with the venom flung at me by people I shared my mascara with once. Shocked by all that people seem to know about me. Numb that the dreaded thought was repeated once more, this time in front of more people who will chuckle at my analysis over coffee.

So I have a 'black' spirit. I do not leave people without first breaking them apart from others. And no relationship can stay intact if my presence happens to steer close to it: people leave each other for me ( even though it seems too bloody juvenile to state things like this, I just have to go on and bitch), And women start choosing each other. All because of me. And someone has lately discovered this and is stating it with much delight.

Even though it seems preposterous that ANYONE would bother to give me such importance and control over their lives, a part of it still fits a sound description of a 'witch' like character. And of course I've ideally ranted against such attempts before... I wonder if anyone knows of the nights I've spent holed up in my room with drawn curtains , making passing words spin around in my head.

The first time I ever heard this was from a man I was trying not to know too well. And of course it surprised me as it was my little secret. And now it is from a woman. For long I had convinced myself that groups break with my arrival because I end up exposing the farce and circles within them. But that conclusion sounds so self-involved that I've firmly rejected it by now.

One month has been spent predictably. Shaking imperceptibly when I heard it and now just going on with my work. All the time devising ways to cause her enough pain to understand my mind and the time that was. Why is there no dignity left after people exhaust each other's utility values? And then sleep dreamily envisioning many people apologizing to me , and then we all walk ahead towards something different.

I mean, hell, of course, I don't care about people and all that. But its a nice thought to get drunk over.
Obviously I'll get over all this just like things in the past. And then wait for another blast some other day.

Even though I've never felt the dire need to surround myself with voices, the dynamics amongst them really gets me thinking.

I see so many trying to be someone they are not. And too many doing such sick stuff. To their wives. Their daughters. Their 'best' friends. But we still exalt them to a better place. All in the name of what? culture...family.... Why is it that when you don't pretend, no one seems to understand you?
Maybe all personalities are already laid out in pretty boxes and there's no room for dissimilar ones. World is too busy with black and white. On the periphery.
And anyone eating alone in a restaurant is necessarily lonely. And anyone who thinks nothing of gender divide is necessarily a slut. And anyone who doesn't fit into our boxes is fucked up. Even the all-American Brietney Spears.
Maybe that is why I can be nothing else but 'black'.

..tis' the season to be merry eh?
Humph. I currently have no house and no Internet. all my stuff in suitcases .. so everyday self is running around like madwoman wondering which one has what. days are blissful. since i have no house, so i obviously cannot have Internet in this booming nation of ours. last night had awful nightmares of assorted landlords telling me to be a good girl or else i'l forever be homeless. Whatever that COULD mean.
It was crappy x mas.so drunk that told my friend 1 all that friend 2 bitched about her. so was lying on bed crying for sleep while 2 screaming girls implored for the truth. cannot find my red shoes and so am extremely nervous since they cost me as good shoes usually do, pretty sure someone has stolen them. last night counted 7 items of clothing missing. 2 of them quite precious so couldn't sleep for 2 hours.
homeless vagabonds like me have no option but to end up in goa. Um. of course i hate it during this time of the year so have firmly resolved to refrain from a ghastly holiday. but lots of friends are going and lately, every night ends with me stoned, having 3 people around me talking about the ten types of fun we'll have. so i give in and go to sleep. and next morning is hell when self decides to stick to dumb resolve and go back on word.
Am trying to convince dumb friends that we'll all die if we go there. but its sad that Indians have such a think-headed mentality to bombs. reminds of this family I knew in london, who simpered in their house for a good two weeks after the trains burst. but my brave friends are born to be wild.
and other than that, i have thought of wonderful new resolves.

will get a new house where the landlord loves me nd can speak good English.

will eat breakfast. NOT chocolate doughnut with coke.

will bitch less and do more.

shall not buy any more clothes. And shoes. And bags.

shall manage my money better.

will work out. regularly.

will buy more books.

Um. I cannot guffaw any longer so self shall stop.

Spoke to school friend today and am going to meet her tomorrow at my usual watering hole. We sighed and rallied on totally pointless details to each other .. and laughed ourselves quite silly. It's weird that most of the blasphemous 'incidents' I was involved seem in quite hazy to me .. lately, I've been experiencing this with loads of my friends. Tallbestfriend in Lancaster was in town in September and we started talking about my weird mood swings. He mentioned how when he saw he crying for first time in 4 years I told him to get out of my house in a crazy banshee-like manner. Now I would NEVER do that to a friend, and vehemently disagreed to such crap. So poor tallbestfriend was as it is so shook up by having to remember that incident, and then got pretty depressed that I didn't even remember that it happened in the first place. Hmm. My tact needs work most of the time. So anyways, recently me been having this nightmare that I'm sitting on an oak table surrounded by pretty italian light fixtures all around me... and I'm hunched up over the table while alphabets are coming out my head and ears ... in swirls .. and getting collected in bowls which lots of faceless people dressed in red clothing are drinking ...
It terrorizes me to think that one day I won't remember all that I've read and all that I went through ... like all of it escaping in swirls .. you're just like the other person .. only dumber .
My dad jokes about how our family doesn't pass around cancer or diabetes to each other, we just get plain loony. everyone as it is expects me to get schizophrenic pretty soon as my grandmom is going to die from it in no time now.
Its disturbing to meet her as she can't recall how to sit. So she lies around all day and screams at anyone whenever pieces in her head tell her that conversation's been lacking for quite some time now .. God, after trying to kill myself so many times, it'l be pretty ridiculous for me to get under something like that instead, so I'm just going to have a nice and peaceful suicide somewhere after 35..or sooner of course.

Anyways, so I'm meeting friend and am very excited about it. I dunno why I'm excited because I never liked school much. I don't even like college and I don't like anything else. But you've got to hang on to some useless details otherwise I'l pretty much lose it.
An ex once ended a heated fight by calling me a mongrel... someone who has no identity .. belongs no place. I always considered that guy naive so was quite shocked that he was making so much sense. Having lived in 4 cities so far and through 5 schools, it's not surprising that there's no nostalgia in my life. Delhi school was more about losing my brit accent in 2 weeks flat because people were labelling me a wannabe. I guess it never dawned on them that not everybody fakes it and there's nothing cool about having a different language anyways.
And then there were hardly any girls. I've always missed the whole thing of girl bonding you know .. the shopping, the make up yada yada yada. But I've always felt that it takes longer to have a decent girlfriend. And getting a guy to hang out with you is pretty easy, because everything starts and ends with sex. So whatever women I have in my life, they are important. And I talk to them over their idea of me once every 4 months and everyone is quite happy.