: In-Quest of Sweet Mortality

1/7

2012-01-29T01:27:00.002-08:00

Photo Courtesy: Sahil Jagasia

Lone Car
She's loving the space
Unhurried, Greeting the sleepers
As she passes
Happy on a Sunday!

Its Sunday afternoon
So stalls lazing too
Just them, their stuff, light snoring
Hagglers can wait on tomorrow

All banter is housed today
Between excessive cooking and television
But doubt the homes mind
Not everyday they feel so necessary

Evening they shall have their time
When the outside lights up
To sell the Insiders
Imagination, Satisfaction
Everything's discounted on a Sunday

Like the mid-evening breeze
So crazy
She'll let you do just about anything
For Tonight,
Tomorrow is separate

2012-01-24T01:29:00.000-08:00

Randy

2012-01-11T02:26:00.001-08:00

Rarely, do I get so horny. Doesn't fucking matter if it’s provoked by some damnable sluts and their holy orgasms, I couldn't care less because I fucking love it.
The gravity, the things it does to my body mind, that uncontrollable movement of someone’s hands, scraping of the face against the nearest surface, kicking feet and every part else ticking.
I have noticed my watering mouth and how it wants to bite. The realization that the dick Does have a mind of its own!
I roll over and over, even make noises, hurl my favorite tunes, tense every muscle, all in a bid to intensify… make it last.
But soon, memory and all it knows takes over and the visual disappears. The soul still sexed up but everything else returning to silence. Leaving behind only the dream, and traces of buried resonance that it can be fulfilled…
‘If only I could fuck Excellence in my life’

Pop goes the Artist.

2012-01-08T23:13:00.000-08:00

Two Fat Men
On a motor bike
Deduced, Unconcerned
Looking funny, obviously!

They stop on the side
Get off and leave.

Midnight Train Writings

2011-11-02T11:28:00.000-07:00

These days
Pieces me
When I am alone
Because when I am with me
I am with you
.............................................................................

To the song that makes me cry,
I want to say I appreciate your sorrow

Seep into my soul
But do not possess me
To haunt
The one you sing for
I wont
Love in me is strong

And only my joy goes out to
The one you sing of

Nice of you to play though
For your melody is where i conserve the one you sing to
Sweet song!
..........................................................................

To my mother,
You are my child.
..........................................................................

I am happier not reaching somewhere
I am happy just travelling
..........................................................................

Travel song: long nights by Eddie Vedder from 'Into the Wild'

Long nights allow me
To feel I'm falling
The lights go out
Makes me feel I'm falling
Safely to
The ground

That! (Genre: pop)

2011-10-11T07:41:00.001-07:00

Oh Athena!
I better man
Until met me
Left damned

My sweet Athy
Don’t understand
Say ‘sex baby’
As she think another man

Darl Athena
Why leave note
Call me baby
On number wrong

Take other name
I ask who
You say you new nick
Make fool

I sick Athena
I go
You cry pry
Say love me so

Evening next
Bring another man
Say I say I go
Why stay back

I kitchen
With knife
You him upstairs
All night

Morning coffee
I say I leave
Say hurt you
Cry bucket deep

Night when you home
I kitchen knife
First you
Then my life

Happy Athena
I hope
I so
Never been before

My Mommy My Inspiration. Mother. Friend. Businesswoman. Fashioner.

2011-09-14T23:07:00.000-07:00

love

2011-05-07T02:54:00.000-07:00

Ask me today and I have forgotten the feeling.
I have known it.
But to love again, I must redefine my concept of it.
Maybe that’s why there is no One definition. Otherwise one could fall in love only once.
Looking for love? Not me...
Let me look 'at' it first. Differently.

Us!

2011-04-30T04:47:00.000-07:00

Dear He-Man,
Pappa always says never tell others about what happens ‘in’ the house. I think I know why… He has a clue that Mumma is a little… how do I say… odd. And since he married her, he too must be!
I ‘know’ they both are.
And I love them for that.
• Cos when Rahul’s mother is busy watching family sagas… I get to see Mumma do, or rather try to get through, Zumba… a dance program she tortured Pappa into gifting.
• And I love it every morning when her Singing Guruji comes over and they do Riyaaz. It’s been 1 year and she still doesn’t know he is deaf. Pappa and I do, but we never tell her.
• And then there is Pappa! He is the best father; we have our little secrets. And he loves Mumma to an extent where he is almost afraid of her. But the one thing that terrifies him and gets him hysteric is watching someone cut vegetables. He fears the person will end up chopping their fingers without realizing. Childhood memory. So Mumma can often be seen chasing him with a knife and an onion… It’s like Tom and Jerry.
• Sunita aunty is like the Queen of the house. Even Mumma is scared of her. She is our Bai, but I often hear Mumma saying she is her true life companion. Then who’s my daddy!
• Did I forget Amma, Pappa’s mother, my grand Mother who I have a feeling doesn’t like my mother… I am still looking for proofs.
I think I’ll stop here. But such is my family. Always active, always up to something, always making me laugh… Are we normal?
When I ask Pappa he says we are. Mumma takes the question as an offense so I have stopped asking her. You decide.
Sonu (I am 10 but turn 11 in 23 days. Big Boy)
Good Night He-Man.

Essay on: Profession I look upon as Noble.

2011-04-16T03:18:00.000-07:00

Its early morning. The routine alarm tone wakes Sara. Margeret is asleep beside her. 'How beautiful you look'. whispers Sara planting a nimble kiss on Margerets forehead.

Tring Tring

A call from her Mrs. Donna catapults her back in time.

"Hows Denise doing? Did you feed her on time?''

"Yes, Mrs Donna. She's playing with the new doll you bought her for christmas", sighs Sara.

"Very well then, Sam and I will be a little late. Make sure she sleeps on time. Happy New years", as her voice fades to static.

Denise is inside her cradle fiddling with a skimpily clothed doll.

"Happy New Years my love", Sara calls into thin air.

...

It takes a mighty heart to do what Sara does every morning. Leave her two month daughter Margeret at her neighbours as she works all day, bringing up someone else's child, working as a Nanny.

Its beautiful and inspiring, her strength and love. Not because she does her job, but because she actually manages to fall in love with the child thats keeping her away from hers.

Which I believe is not something every one has the heart to do. So I look upon ethical care takers with so much respect.

'A Mother to many'. What can be more noble than being this person.

Designer diaries

2011-04-16T03:12:00.000-07:00

The after-after-after party is a norm, so I bring home a new rabbit. Fresh into the jungle, just like I like! I am Tahir Kesu.
But why am I talking like we are in a lion king movie... because there is little humanity involved in what I am about to do. The thought used to bother me before but now it is like- when in jungle, be junglee!
Turns to look at me, he sees my adoring eyes... lets out an audible shiver. This is a crucial moment for a perceptive guy like me; because I can hear his angels talk to him... give it their last shot and I will drown their voices before they can penetrate into him, for I can’t lose him at this hour even at the cost of him losing self forever. Anyways he should have thought this through before putting himself on the shelf. So, ‘a glass filled with the best wine he has ever had’, I tell him where the wine has come from and how much it costs- For it’s this knowledge that will intoxicate him. Chugs, angels damned, he got himself served!
My turn now, 4 glasses and some pot, I am ready to eat.
..............................................................................................
He waits for me to get up, mind blank... or too full. Gathers his belongings, never looking at the mirror, tangled hair, wet face, mind, heart (How else can he be, I feel for him. Really), leaves before I can see him see himself like that.
..............................................................................................
Some more pot for me, fuck why do I have to be such a nice person. And it’s not like he isn’t sympathising enough with himself. Anyways...
I check my mail.
‘Hello Sir, My name is Shivam. I am 19 years old, aspiring model. Have attached along some pictures (They are home clicked sans make up)...
I have followed your collections and your next interests me especially, I feel I can model that very well.
My contact details are attached along too. Take care’
Hmmmm... Interesting!
...........................................................................................
My head aches, especially too. I need some fresh air. So I go to the balcony (Haven’t done that in a while). Wow! It feels so different, the rays of the sun without sunscreen on my face. Like they’re passing through me! I close my eyes.
Open them to see Rahul, my hot neighbour; he is an artist, spread out his canvas on the floor. He is into this crazy form of oil painting, its mad! I tell you... the way he works on the canvas! Walking over it pouring weirdly colours that seem to know where to fall and what shade to take. His brushes move like wands, I mean with such simple strokes he creates such brilliant shapes. (I think he knows who I am, and also that I try to include elements from his design and technique into my clothes.) Looks to me, I wave in admiration, both for his work and face!
‘Morning brother’
‘Morning Sir, Late night?’
‘Yeah... I was working on some designs’, I lie.
‘Oh good’, he smiles.
The rays of the sun are acting on me; something tells me it’s my lucky day. So I want to make the most of it... I ask,
‘Buddy, you have to tell me the secret behind how you do this stuff. You know maybe we could come up with a clothesline based on your designs. It will be sensational... and outrageously rewarding’, I try to tempt.
He smiles, his dashing youthful smile, and says. ‘It’s no secret, I am sure you can create the same designs, even better on your own.’
What he doesn’t know is that I HAVE tried to ‘re’-create his designs but even when they look the same, they are never as impactful. Like there is some colour or something missing. It’s bloody frustrating.
The irritation fills me.
I want to tell him this, when I see...
On his knees, Rahul bows to kiss his canvas.
And the moment he does, it sort of lights up! The secret.
....................................................................
Tears run down my eyes, and I can’t stand anymore.
Flashes of my mother praying before the pile of sarees every day before she sat to stitch them tower on me!
The secret.
The secret.
The secret.
An artist’s GOD, his CANVAS.
And all I have done is abused mine.
..........................................................................
*One of talent industries’ grass root enemy: Casting Couch must be done with!
Artists: Don’t abuse your canvas. Don’t abuse your God.

My concept for a TV show...

2011-03-13T05:03:00.000-07:00

The country of song and dance, and not one show on television to tap into the interest.
I give you Indias first musical drama 'Nayaa Daur', the story of a 20 year old girl who has resovled to bring back love into her mothers life after the father abandones them for another woman.
A fresh concept, its a revolution... multi faceted exploring relationships between single parents and children, the new line of thinking where the daughter believes her mother has the right to find love again, a woman in her late thirties dealing with life alone, the relationship between the new man and the daughter, meanwhile her college life... and more, beautified with popular hindi songs and sequences. Art, entertainment, drama, a new social movement.
Its a new era for Indian television, Nayaa Daur!

* well i put this up here cos I m reading this out to someone, if anyone tries to make this without crediting me... then at least I have some proof ;-)

I have been thinking...

2011-03-10T05:17:00.000-08:00

The theory I am about to pose is based on the following postulates:
- The mind has capabilities infinite
- The universe is not infinite*
- The MANY WORLDS theory by Everett (Who interestingly is again from Princeton, like John Nash who has inspired my theory) Read about 'Many worlds theory' on http://science.howstuffworks.com/science-vs-myth/everyday-myths/quantum-suicide3.htm
- That schizophrenia is a disease 'in' the mind, and the structure of a schizophrenics brain diffres from an ordinary person.
- Dimension travel is a concept I propose.
- I'd also like to acknowledge the movie 'A Beautiful mind' which inspired my thought.

Here it goes...

A schizophrinic sees a different reality, different from ordinary people, nonetheless real to him.
So real, that he feels for it!
The many worlds theory says, there are parellel universes staging all possible outcomes of ones action and reaction. The catch being, that one is just not 'aware' of the happening.
What if some people are...

What if a schizophrenics brain percieves parellel reality.
John Nash's friends must exist, in some 'other' universe right. Just that people on Earth dont see them. He DOES.

Which brings me to my next point.
If these 'parellel' actions are taking place in 'another' universe... then how can they be percieved in ours.

Like i mentioned, what if the universe is NOT infinite, in terms of size*.
What I am saying is there could be INFINITE DIMENSIONS*.
SO 'parellel' actions arent actually taking place in 'another space', but OURS! Just that they are at a different 'dimension', thus the ordinary dont see it... BUT A SCHIZOPHRENIC DOES.

Thats it!

PS: I am not worthy enough to theorise my concept of 'dimension travel', or define it.
I have no basis of attributing such capabilities to schizophrenics.

Gods Best Work... Now mine!

2011-01-06T08:33:00.001-08:00

Diss-Dimension

2011-01-03T00:25:00.001-08:00

Out of Service

2011-01-03T00:24:00.002-08:00

Another

2011-01-03T00:24:00.001-08:00

Black Bag Pack (Self Portait)

2011-01-03T00:22:00.000-08:00

Exodus

2011-01-03T00:21:00.000-08:00

Excused

2011-01-03T00:18:00.000-08:00

Who has the time to stop and see!

Un-desaturated (Self Portrait)

2011-01-03T00:16:00.000-08:00

Circle

2010-08-05T07:06:00.000-07:00

Thought, be Cool

Much loved, Not much lover

And then I meet you

Earth goes round

I hear my songs

Play my games. We play

I am thinking

I manipulate

But it is said!

It had to be

Weather turns

And it gets hot

I like hot

Heat melts

And it is believed!

Belief breathes

And it is tattooed

Fuck

I love the design

I show off

I put lemon on it

You go away

To lalaland

Get fantastic

Only pretty people allowed

So I can’t come

We talk on the phone

You never tell

Even when you’re back

Never take off your shirt

I don’t put my hand inside

By now I am nudist

The guy who parades naked for all to see

You give me some songs

I give you me

Weather turns

Pours acid

Eyjafjallajokull bars visibility

Logistics clash

But I put lemon on it

You don’t

Just stand in the rain

Despite me distressing

The tattoo will wear off

You look beautiful

I still whine

Cling

Become a girl

Even that doesn’t do it

So I listen to your songs

Hoping

Even you don’t wanna miss a thing

It turns out

You just wanna let it be

Serves me right

Quest.

2009-09-28T14:14:00.000-07:00

Its 2 am precise on the Tuesday 2 days short from the last quarter of the ninth year post 2000 years After Christ. And it just struck me what flavour the people of my new world thrive on.
I can’t recollect or identify when it began, damn my obsession with self or short existence. But tonight I know what I, like the rest of my kind, will spend my most probably numbered days doing.
Going ahead, progressing.
Doesn’t sound maniacal enough to be the subject to cross my mind an hour before evil is most alive, eh?
It’s the next level of terror. See... progress here too!
Progress Progress everywhere- Not a place you can spot that evades it- This damned progress.
An apt rule for life, is it as apt for ‘living’?
Let’s think together on that.
The purpose... Just assessment of thoughts. Not taking them anywhere! There can be meaning without progress too.
Say what?

'Yellow' (Final Version)

2009-09-09T06:40:00.000-07:00

Yellow

They say the curse still lingers... That silent afternoons carry his noise, pedalling roughly through the villages’ desolate paths. That he looks around. That he waits. Not like he had much to do ever!
Jayadols’ remaining few inhabitants now only walk to get to their destination... or it is rumoured they will fall.
When asked about this, she only laughs... her coarse laughter, wet yet. Never hinting. Though everyone knows she knows. It was her curse after all.
And she sings diligently every afternoon. To the silence they believe is him. Maybe just to keep them believing... Who knows?
........................................................................................................................................................
“Sheetaala Bauuaa sheetaala... chau gangya paari kheti meri, eeju kheti meri... Sheetaala bauuaa sheetaala...” (Sleep my baby sleep... I am to cross four rivers to reach my farm... so sleep)
As sand engulfs all in its piercing blanket. Suffocating within, everything that happens. Sharp heat pours, flooding the desert drowning that stands amidst: A forgotten piece of thatch, within it... forgotten people.
The lady of the hut, in her later thirties, sings. Her voice, coarse, like her face, coarse though not old, brushing against the walls of the home to return to her son’s ears, smooth, as he stares into her with emotion, drowsy and confused.
A door-long boy in small khakis, small... like him, for his age. Built of a villager, tanned face dripping with oil his mother has just put on his forehead, which she does thrice a day and chants along. He is shining, but remains quiet.
She is patting his face with pressure to make him sleep. While he looks at her through the gaps between her fingers, fiddling with her naval and spitting each time she pats. To show that he is awake! Mischievous he has always been.
After some time, the fiddling stops and spit remains.
Hariya waits for him to fall into deep sleep; her eyes are shut too... when the vision comes back.
The black of that night, its sounds catapulting her back... his small face distorted, yet vivid in its expression. Like he knew why he was being bathed in milk.
The devil must be drowned. The clattering of the steel tub against its lid, of milk being poured into it; Hariya’s hysteria, the thud of her feet against the wooden staircase when she had to be dragged up, while the men headed for the sacrifice, of chants and prayers, of screams of the pundit, Hariya’s escaping fall through the window, the crushing of the winter leaves underneath her feet as she limps to the river, of cold, of fire logs carried by men, of fire, of that piece of burning log she put upon the pundit, her rescuing Hari, the chase, the British officer who protected her and let them stay with her for the next few months leaving them at this small hut outside the village after he had satisfied all his motives, ensuring protecting though... All this against the noise of the boy of two who just looked on!
Who is looking at her now... she couldn’t let him see. Has he?
She snaps back, to find Hari sleeping. The vision has left her tired, and she is sweating profusely.
She comes out of the hut, to find other women who work with her already far ahead. She must hurry as she has to walk the distance unlike them. Quickly she puts a roti in her steel tiffin and sets out.
Hari gets up the moment she leaves. However, it is not the playful getting up of a child after his mother goes away; his expression is rather grave, as he looks out of the hole adjacent to the chaarpayi.
The sight of his mother. Walking unsteadily with her steel tiffin. Flickering in the loo. Around her, more women with more steel tiffins, but they aren’t walking. They are being ridden on bicycles by door-long shadows, like his.
A twitch runs his body. He frowns to distract himself. Then takes out a slate and chalk from underneath the chaarpayi and starts to draw.
Two little kids (About eight years old or so... his only friends from the nearby hut) hiss from the door, “Ber todhne aa riya hai??” They did this every day once their mother left for work.
“Na. Hat”, but he shoos them away.
And continues to draw. Cracked ground. Above it a bicycle. Huge sun. He colours it yellow.
Hari made a new drawing every day while Hariya was at work and he made sure he completed it by the time she came back. Then they would talk about why he drew what he did because usually Hariya couldn’t understand what Hari made. It was Hari’s favourite most part of the day.
He looks at what he has just made. Then looks outside. It’s not the excellence in his drawing but something else about the picture that is pulling him. He holds it next to the hole and is now staring at the view and his imitation of it.
Drawing comparisons. Comparing intentions...
He must true to his drawing. He must pursue it. After all, he too is door long like the other boys.
Quietly so, he gets up and goes to the back yard of the hut, where he keeps his secret friend. Itthu. Itthu is a matka on which he has painted a face and made holes according to his eyes. Summons him. They talk via heat waves. Itthu looks on as Hari explains to him his desires. Both have their eyes peering into each other, their hearts upfront, as judging and contemplation takes place. Some more speculation and a deal is struck!
So Hari puts him on and sets out.
Towards the village. Where he and his mother are unwelcome, but what does he know... little devil!
........................................................................................................................................................
The village is still, stirred only by sounds of the Radio from selective few houses, along with the continuous din of the loo.
Itthu and Hari walk slowly marvelling at the built of the houses, majestic and calling.
Outside one such house, parked is a bicycle like the one he drew! It stands consciously like it is being judged. It is!
By a brown matka, heavy on a slender body, with long legs covered in small khaki. And a 20 year old boy underneath. Their eyes maliciously set on the bicycle. The bicycle maliciously set on their eyes.
Two smiles and two nods!
And the cycle follows them outside the verandah. Gleaming like a gladiator. Dust rising over their trail, in rebellion, in tribute. As they march through the village road, ignoring the developing protests of the path and the mighty houses that stand on its side.
As they go further the noises begin to grow heavier. It is making Hari uneasy but he keeps his mind on the reward and keeps striding forward. Itthu is also shaken by them. Both trying very hard to endure.
They are voices and they seem to be prompting something which Hari can’t figure out... some sort of a discovery... some sort of a connection... that is making him feel very familiar and unknown at the same time.
Steps begin to pace.
He is near the end of the village, a few more houses and he will be through.
‘I can. I can. I can. I can. I can... Itthus we can’
They have approached the very last lane of houses when Hari just stops.
In front is this house with enormous red gates, a verandah with blue walls around to fence. There is no one outside the house but he can see that the main door is ajar. What has struck Hari most is a sealed window directly above the main door. Hari seems to remember the window somehow... maybe from his dreams but he can’t place it anywhere.
He looks back to the cycle. Itthu also seems to have withdrawn. Ditcher!
And he looks back at the house to find... it has turned into night.
He is inside the house. Being bathed in milk!
The devil must be drowned. The clattering of the steel tub against its lid, of milk being poured into it; His mothers cry, the thud of her feet against the wooden staircase as she is being dragged upstairs... Locked in the room directly above the main door. It has a window, while the men are headed for the sacrifice along with him, sounds of chants, and prayers, of screams of the pundit, Her mother shouting and finally jumping out of the window...
He wants to run and hold her but he can’t.
‘Maa...... Maa..... ‘ Hari is now shouting trying to get himself to run to her and save her. Hariya falls.
‘Maa..... ’ He is shouting mad in the want to run to her but he can’t.
‘No... No... No...’ He is crying and shaking his head vigorously.
It is in this movement that Itthu looses balance and falls off Hari’s head, falling off and breaking into pieces, dying instantly. It’s this noise of the shattering that breaks Hari’s experience.
And he finds himself back... in the daytime, in front of the same house.
Only this time, when he turns back... he is not alone. But surrounded by his murderers.
His yells cautioned them and they came outside.
To complete what they couldn’t eighteen years back. He just smiles at them... looks on!
She watches him, the cycle, as Hari is assaulted by his captors. They are blaming him for their misfortunes as they beat the life out of him. Why... he still can’t understand...
........................................................................................................................................................
One only feels pain when one knows the reason behind it. So Hari never felt anything when he was being thrashed.
Nonetheless he knows what is to come. After all, he had always had the shine!
He can smell that he is in his house... yes it is his home. Its dark and he can see his mothers’ silhouette near the chulha... Hariya, His mother. He calls out to her.
At once she is beside him, caressing his wound with a hot rag.
He looks at her tenderly and she kisses him back. Hariya was a strong woman.
‘I know why Maa... ‘
And she bursts out putting her head on his chest.
‘Your oil finally worked...’ he says almost laughing. It brings a smile to Hariya’s face.
‘Why did you go there... why?’ she can’t resist asking. Hari looks on.
He put his hand under the chaarpayi and takes out his slate.
.........................................................................................................................................................
Not until what seems hours does Hariya even move from beside him. She just lays there her head on his chest. Eyes shut, for from today no visions will ever haunt her. Then slowly she picks up the slate and brings it near the stove.
Light falls on it making it glow. It is Hari’s last drawing.
Flat ground. Above it a bicycle. Huge sun. All yellow.
And a lady with a steel tiffin box behind. Being ridden.
By a door-long Khaki wearing fellow.
.........................................................................................................................................................
Hari’s last desire.
And she falls on to her knees and cries out...
........................................................................................................................................................
The red gate house in Jayadol stands forsaken. All the family members succumbed to the plague that hit the village just two years after Hari’s death...
Some people claim to have heard Hariya from within her cot yelling a curse to the family and the village.
If it’s the truth, only she knows!
As for Hari... he is too busy riding to give a shit about anything. Occasionally, one also finds exquisite drawings on random walls in the village... people just leave them alone. The little devil that he is :-)
...........................................................................................................................................................

A Childrens short film! watch with headphones... let me know how you'll like it!!!!

2009-05-14T03:38:00.000-07:00

How I met your father

2009-04-27T04:08:00.000-07:00

:-)
The bright morning of yesterday, while you were in bed...
Fast asleep in your hospital ward.
Me beside, holding your plaster hand... deep in love. Me and your hand!
With your girlfriend staring greedily from the opposite end of the room.

:-|
HE ENTERED.
A rugged man of the 50s soared above me.
Eagle Eyes. Laser-like.
And I knew the time had come!
But while my face prepared itself for the upcoming strike, my wit took body control
Forcing my hand to reach the pen in my pocket then quickly to her hand.
“Get Well Soon”- From ALL your college friends
Ha!
I smiled at the eagle. 1-0 Sir!
I win.

:-(
But by the time I could absorb in my victory
The door opened again. Unveiling white fairies. Stethoscope equipped.
“So Shivam... I see you are very happy that she is recovering. But stick to her. She panics when you are not around.”

(No face left to depict how I felt)
The quickness of it was the most savage part. The eagle tightened its wings.
The mere force of it blew me over. Nobody saw. Nobody noticed. Where I flew...
So now you know why.

PS: Please give Moushi Rs. 100 for giving this letter to you.
I can’t tell you where I am because the letter might be intercepted.
Sorry for having you face this alone.
But it’s not worth being together. If that means we have to be in adjacent hospital wards.

I still love you!

‘5 must have agendas for the party I vote for list’

2009-04-18T03:27:00.000-07:00

One thing we have to honour. Our Indian Politicos have balls like no other! I mean theirs have to be bigger than the ‘just’ nuts to come up stuff like ‘English abolition’ and crap like that in times so pressing as todays.
When the world is on the verge of bankruptcy, every country is struck by terror... Heath Ledger is dead! But NO... these dumb‘d’ucks are just NOT RECEPTIVE towards these issues.
I mean if I Ever Were to Use a ‘downmarket’ word like ghonchu, it would be to address these fools!
But Naah... I am not just going to sit and whine, like you do, but come forward and present my ‘5 must have agendas for the party I vote for list’ !!!

Point 1-
Better medical facilities: We had to fly my Amma from her village to Bombay... Oh MuMbAi sorry... after she complained of back ache and the doctor there suggested a Kidney operation. A KIDNEY operation for god’s sake! When it turned out to be a spine related problem. And I swear on my pink polka dotted pants, I Am Not Even Kidding! I mean medics is simple in most part of our country- Chest pain: Heart Problem. Lower back pain: Kidney transplant. Head ache: Crop the damn head!

Point 2-
Stronger defence: Oh... c’mon. None of the forsaken parties have highlighted this clause in their agendas. Recently, I was travelling by train to Churchgate and there was this bag lying near the door. Our ‘fist class’ compartment did pay heed... everyone came and joked, even from the other end... but we had no one to complain to. NONE of the stations had any official; no telephone number for help... in the end one flower print, velvet shirted man just picked it up and put it down on the platform when Bandra came. He said, “Kam se kam yahan koi police wala toh aayega... aur hum toh bach gaye naa!”

Pint 3-
Gay rights: The world has embraced them, and it’s time we do too. And I am not just talking about legal acceptance but initiative for social awareness and schemes to promote gay recognition in our society. How about having ‘Gay ministers’ for a start! Indian Harvey Milk!

Point 4-
Better Infrastructure: For living, education, business... I am talking about a MEGA PLAN to bring about that desired change! As for the required finances, proper utilization and channelling of public money should do the trick. Disruption of corruption! is the key. Tell me you will do this and only then I will vote for you.

Point 5-
Efficient Legislature: Please. Please. Please. Some party please tell me they are looking at improving the legislative procedures in our country. We have a wonderful constitution, pay due respects! All social evils can be cured with proper laws and implementation.

So I am hoping some political worker, while surfing porn or something (I will accordingly use keywords!) stumbles upon this article and READS it more importantly.
As for you’ll tell me what more do we expect from our coming government... Lets see if e can get our voice through... Deaf Ears!

The story for my next short film!!!!!!!

2009-04-14T15:23:00.000-07:00

Yellow

A burnt hutment on the outskirts of a forsaken village. Sand infested gusts casting an ironic golden shadow on the sad land. Sharp heat dripping flooding the desert, drowning that stands amidst: A forgotten piece of thatch, within it... forgotten people.
“Sheetaala Bauua sheetaala... chau gangya paari kheti meri, eeju kheti meri... Sheetaala bauua sheetaala...” (Sleep my baby sleep... I am to cross four rivers to reach my farm... so sleep)
The old lady of the hut, in her mid-thirties, sings. Her voice, coarse, like her face, coarse and not cruel, brushes against the walls of the hut to return to her son’s ears, smooth, as he stares into her, with love, drowsy and confused.
A door-long boy in small khakis, small... like him, for his age. He is fiddling with his mothers naval with one hand while picking his nose with the other while she pats his face to make him sleep. He looks through the gaps between her fingers, spitting each time she stops patting. To show that he is awake. After some time, the fiddling stops and spit remains.
She sits head down for another while, trying to recollect what she is thinking, before jerking herself off sleep. Briskly picks up her steel tiffin box that is hanging on the wall above the stove and sets out. Into vulnerability. Into fire. Of false hopes.
For survival.
The boy gets up the moment his mother leaves. However, it is not the mischievous getting up of a child; his expression is rather grave as he looks out of the hole adjacent to the chaarpayi. At the sight of his mother. Walking unsteadily, flickering in the loo. Around her, more women with more steel tiffins, but they aren’t walking. They are being ridden on bicycles by door-long shadows, like his.
A twitch runs his body. He frowns to distract himself. Then takes out a slate and chalk from underneath the chaarpayi and starts to draw.
Two little kids (Way too little for his age... his friends) hiss from the door, “Ber todhne aa riya hai??”
“Na. Hat”, he shoos them away.
And continues to draw. Flat ground. Above it a bicycle. Huge sun. All yellow.
He stares at the drawing. Then looks out. And looks at it again. Drawing comparisons. Comparing intentions.
Quietly then, he gets up and goes to the back yard of the hut, to his favourite matka (He painted a face on and made holes according to his eyes). Summons him. They talk via heat waves, his hollow eyes fixed on him, both their hearts upfront. And a deal is struck!
So he puts him on his head and sets out.
Towards the village. Where he and his mother are unwelcome, but what does he know... silly boy!
........................................................................................................................................................
The village is silent, stirred only by sounds of DD television from selective few houses. Outside one such house, parked is a bicycle like the one he drew! It stands consciously like it is being judged. It is.
By a brown matka, heavy on a weak body, with finger legs covered in small khaki. And, underneath it, a 20 year old boy. Their eyes maliciously set on the bicycle. The bicycle maliciously set on their eyes.
Two smiles and two nods!
The cycle follows them outside the verandah. Like a prisoner. Dust rising over their trail, in rebellion, in tribute. As they march through the village road, ignoring the noises reverberating along the path. ‘Pagal. Pagal. Pagal.’
They grow heavier.
The boy is running now. Faster with each step. “Go slow” the matka warns! “No” he runs faster, the cycle beside. Shaking. “Go slow.” ‘Pagal. Pagal. Pagal.’ He is sprinting now “No.”
More noises, and as he shuts his eyes to shout... he trips over a stone... hitting the ground. The matka shatters, dead instantly, quick and easy. While the bicycle, in its final attempt to escape rolls over and knocks on a nearby house gate. Sounds flood in from the houses.
The boy is still on the ground. As doors open and people are scrambling out of their houses.
But, just before they can catch him, he collects, both his self and dreams, and runs. While the cycle looks on, panting in one corner. Mockingly!
They follow him till the village wall, hurling stones and sticks. And then dismiss their pursuit.
‘Pagal. Pagal. Pagal. Pahaadin ka Pagal’
But he runs fast right till the house.
.....................................................................................................................................................
He is happy to return to the unease of his house. Its dead smell fills his senses bringing them to life again, as he relishes the heat and hunger and despair. Not that they make any sense to him.
The vision comes back to him. And he gets back to his drawing.
......................................................................................................................................................
The sun has almost dried when his mother comes back. And so has she. She finds her son sitting in one corner near the hole. He is holding a cloth against his knee wound, which is heart red. But she can’t see that.
She squats near him, eyes shut. The stench of her sweat makes him dizzy. He puts his head on her feet and caresses them. Her hard feet. Then takes out his slate from behind and puts it in front of her.
Initially she doesn’t notice, she caresses back his hand, that’s when her hands touch his knees.
Immediately, she lights the stove and brings it near too see.
Light falls on his knees.
She looks at him, he looks at her.
Then he brings the slate near the stove. Light falls on it making it glow.
Flat ground. Above it a bicycle. Huge sun. All yellow.
A door-long boy in short khakhis riding a cycle. And a lady with a steel tiffin box behind. Being ridden.
All yellow.
........................................................................................................................................................

The First Kiss!

2009-04-14T15:16:00.000-07:00

7 things that may help

I still remember mine. Always will.
The dingy insides of my room had never smelt so sweet. Like the flowers on the bed sheet had come alive (To rescue me just in case I farted). We lay there waiting. And waiting some more. Both first timers gathering pictures from the movies, words from songs... anything at all that could help! Guide.
Cursing random questions that popped involuntarily: Tilted or straight, Do noses clash, What if I miss, Is it really possible to! Oh...
And then it happened. Within moments time had been sealed. Doubts swallowed. Because I did miss! Slightly. Yet it was such a joy.
The moment still lingers in the insides of my lips, just one thought away. Half actually! Such is its magic.
And therefore it is important that we make it unforgettable.
I was lucky to not have screwed mine and I want you to make the best of yours. So here is some stuff you can use:-
• Time it perfectly: Unless you are the wham-bam-thank you ma’am kind of person, try and wait for a significant day. Like the monthly anniversary, or Valentines or New Years... Some date you can remember. Forever (without having to note it down on your ‘The people I have kissed’ spreadsheet.) Or if you have the balls, it could also be immediately after you propose. That’s very special (Caution- But beware of where you do it. Love isn’t in the air everywhere)

• Be yourself: You don’t have to be Leonardo Di Caprio and suck the life out of your partner. Though French ones are no big deal, but even a simple press on the lips is just as special and provocative. Whats important is that you be yourself. Let your first kiss represent the person that you are. Share yourself with your partner and get to know him/her too. Trust me ‘Lips don’t lie’! The first time.

• Its Okay! to laugh: Or miss, or shiver, or freeze... Embarrassments make sweet memories. (However don’t share them publically unless you are being paid to do so!)

• Pre-play: You know you are going to do it, and its better when you are already in the love mood. So talk right, bring it on by remembering your best of moments, funny romantic stuff that you have shared together ... get the flow and then let it lead you.

• Don’t miss ‘that’ moment: Sometimes comes a situation that despite being against all rules, amidst all odds just feels right. So when that happens and you will know when it foes, don’t let it go! Get someone else’s balls if you have to but just GO FOR IT.

• Place: May or may not be important. Depending upon the kind of person you are. Like if you get intimidated by people around, go for private places. The moment is about the two of you and nobody has to get a piece of it.

• And Lastly: The key lies not in creating magic but in discovering it, inside each other and within (Sure you understand!)

Go! Kiss the world. (‘World’ translates into ‘the person who will mean everything to you’)
Sick Bastards :-)

He ha ha ha ha ha ha!

2009-04-14T15:11:00.000-07:00

She told me she vomited last night… and the night before we had been together!

She called me at 8:00 in the morning to tell me ‘I had the most ridiculous sperms ever… to have penetrated through her barriers. And mine’.

I laughed for some time… and then some more before saying ‘What the kcuf!’

What followed next was a hodgepodge of Google researches, remembrances of when and where and how and why, cold arguments…

And the decision was made!!! A preggers test would be taken (At my house. By her)

Although we chose to ignore (Or rather she threatened me to!) the fact that:

‘NNNothing had even happened… everything had been in the ‘fore’ because by the time the ‘play’ could come, my watchman called to tell me dad’s car was back”

But before I could elaborate more on that thought, she was standing on my doorstep. Holding her bag with two hands, smiling with two lips. It was the first time I noticed she had disfigured lips! And before I could notice more, she stormed to my kitchen. She was drinking cold water.

And she drank with vengeance,

Like the drunkard in the bar!

Her armpits wet with sweat…

I could smell from far.

Her bag was my item of interest though. Which did disappoint me when it unveiled an iPhone big and Cadbury thin (While I was expecting an enormous apparatus!), medicine-like sachet, pink in color… and I thought: Pink or White?

I took a picture!

And was almost confident about the process after I read the instructions 5 times.

While 5 is the amount of minutes it took to decide our fate.

The quietness still looms in my head… of the day when I took my first pregnancy test! With her.

Confessions of a fucked up mind!

2009-04-14T15:07:00.000-07:00

Well... Hello to begin with!
And I am taking back my watch that I gave you, because it’s a harbinger of bad times!
Well never before in life have I been so embarrassed and probably never will... of course. This is the worst things can get.
So you think you can keep a secret?
It’s NOT a dark one...I promise... just one of the things that are best unsaid and unknown to everyone. To dads too but...it’s like this one was written years ago... some years ago!... Now I know History repeats itself, and that we never learn
I am just trying to be funny. I am so not. It’s just not the time. And you know that.
So how do you want to do this... talk it out or shut it in?
Oh! By the way, ignoring the humour... I am sorry!
I could have never meant it more earnestly. Of course.
I don’t know if this is the best way to do this... but I am not the kinds who can pretend and let go. I appreciate that you did.
This is about my dignity, and everyone else’s in this house and of a person outside. Primarily yours... and mine and of the person outside. And all are very important. Very.
So... let me know...

Your teenage asshole!
Hit me hard.

LOLZZZ...

2009-03-19T05:33:00.000-07:00

My first time and my Mom found out... and how?

My damned phone beeped the very moment Latika left. (Now when I think about it, I almost thank god, because considering the odds of that day it bloody well could have beeped before)

It was a message. An untimely call of a timely person with intentions!

Just my luck, I chose not to bother. How could I? I was still ‘up’ there... floating, in reverence of what had happened minutes before.

Us... together!

Me below her. She above. We beside each other. She under and me over. Over and over, on and on, beneath and above, rocking rhythmically, in tune with sounds of our own breaths and moans (Which by the way were loud enough to overpower the din of the sofa springs and everything else we had cracked in the process :-)

Then it beeped again, my damned phone, and I found myself on the sofa, ‘hands’ sticky and resting. I flipped it open.

‘And don’t forget to put adrak’

From: Maa 2:35 pm
---------------------------------------- .

What?

The phone slipped through my hands and squelched over the puddle of slime on the floor. I glanced through the mess of the hall. Hair in all shapes, sizes strewn across, sofa’s glistening in sweat. My clothes receded in one corner, letting the objects of love take centre stage: Two tired pieces of rubber.

But what the kcuf do I put adrak into? The question seemed to have established its presence. Rather cautioning one! So I bend down (for the hundredth time :-) and picked up my phone.

Of course! There had been another message. Wait a minute.

‘I am downstairs... Make some tea please. I am coming’

From: Maa 2:27 pm
--------------------------------------- .

It waited for few centuries, numb and naked... life... before storming back and shoving time along into me. Then I moved.

Moved like a goddamn supersonic shit! Within seconds, clearing all the mess... vacuuming hair, wiping sofas, opening all windows for fresh air, dumping clothes in the bathroom... making sure all traces had been attended to!

Remained now were the two condoms (Which had to be wrapped in a black plastic, scented, and put underneath the books in the bag to be disposed later behind the college wall... like Jignesh- My love guru prescribed)

However, I could only empty the eggs in a tray for the plastic when the bell rang.

I took time to wet myself in the shower, find a towel, and open the door. There she was, my dearest mother (Who had almost beeped the life out of me), wearing an unsuspecting smile. She was on the phone, in a hurry. And rushed into her room. Not noticing much. So all cool!

Me had my shower, scrapping off white specks of black sin, reliving them as I rubbed on each.

Outside, the December air had filled the house, condensing its freshly vaporised secrets. The snow had jammed the bathroom door! My mother was at the basin washing something, while tea boiled angrily in the kitchen.

I could only step out when it hit me...

Tear dripped my right face. It was My pen on the floor, lying and dirty. How could she...?

Mum was washing her hands. I looked towards her, not at her but close. And she looked back looking down, her hands moving, vigorously over the overflowing basin.

Over and over, on and on, beneath and above, her two hands... I was one. The left one. The shit hand. The one that stinks. Always. No matter.

Another spurt, this time from my left eye.

But shock dripped along with tears as I slid into my room, shutting its door. Trying so hard to not believe. Trying harder to!

How come Jignesh, who knew everything, not guess that mothers in unorganised houses might not find a pen in their room and would look for it in their child’s college bag? Underneath the books which is a place for pens and not dark plastics. Kept striking me. Rather vengefully.

An hour passed in thought. The tap was on, hands still in washing. I could feel their water on my skin, ice cold and burning. Tearing. Wait... or was it my mother?

My mother... In ice and fire. Torn.

That’s it. That’s all it took. And like it was the simplest thing to do. Ever. I opened the door...

‘I am sorry mother. I let it happen in the house. I never meant to...’

Her hands stopped before I could complete.

The tap shut! After.

I AM HERE NOW

2009-03-01T12:23:00.000-08:00

As I unshut my eyes today, ears,
Rolled, in a troubled noise
And Reels and reels on unfamiliarity
Began to play in a wilted voice
Sounded like you!

How could I have been so long gone
That while has changed its measure
When is that I missed
Where we went away forever
Was it my sweet quest?

In abuse, drips your picture,
Of substance, of defeats you faced alone
Why gather vicious shreds but?
When a new canvas, I can afford
Let me get two!

Dry, in white, will take too much wait
For red promises gently spread
Was my bother too, until
This scheme struck my head
Mine for yours and yours for mine
Thats how it has to be!
I search myself in you
And you find yourself in me

Can we... father?

Song from the dog who left his master's house to stray in Mumbai!!! (Use stereo ear phones... It is mixed with digital drug track... takes you High)

2009-02-22T12:09:00.000-08:00

Song from the heart.... to another (Mean to me)... if only i had the money to have instruments also! And the video is a mock one... he he

2009-02-22T07:52:00.000-08:00

Go! Take the guns... A Poetry recital (Use ear phones for better sound)

2009-02-22T07:32:00.000-08:00

Equations 1- ( A new series of posts on the ifs, buts, hows, of teenage double life!!!)

2009-02-08T14:46:00.001-08:00

To be or not to be, I am only 18...

Me:

I am just a boy
Who thinks he’s got love!
Was willing, now is unsure
Whether he wants it forever?

Didn’t I begin to complete
With permissions from you, my heart
Then why put forth this treachery
This new question altogether?

You flicker with un-promise
Un-descriptive, in-assure
You know what that makes me?
“It’s called a traitor”

That’s not what we wanted
Isn’t that why we waited so long
And now with the gift in hand
You whisper unsteadily, about holding on?

I am scared too, you know
By the expanse, the expense
What is it for you?
Just to let you know
Everything begin nascent.

Tell me...
...........................................................
Heart:

We might not reach high notes
That is not my bother
What keeps me is how you are
Reluctant to reorder

For I know you will sing forever
Even the wrong song
Am I not right?
That you will want me to whine along

Of that, I am un-sure
In-descriptive, un-promising
Of that, I am flickering
Unwilling, in calculus

It scares me
When you refer to possibilities as treachery
I know your love
How it corrupts!
How it erupts...

Your expanse, its expense
All you unsee
All I have to foresee
I was with you last time you are in love.... huh
How you still are.

Another of my concern, you never cease to love
You love from love, and not through me
So I can never behold.
You love to cry
Your love, it bleeds
And I can’t stand to bleed forever
More than I already have to.
Please.

Mercy
I am only 18
Don’t put me under
Such intense responsibilities
Righteousness is for old age
And I will not deny then
For now, let me frolic
Rejoice the unsteadiness.
..........................................
Me:

You make me happy
You reflect a felt voice
Thanks for letting me know
The implications of choice

I will try to comprehend
Will try to recreate
But how do I convince myself
For what I think is trait

This play, the delay
The love that beholds
To be or not to be
How it need not be told

But you know what
Maybe you are right!
If it makes me happy
I don’t have to foresight
To Be,
And can be retold
After all
I am just 18!
Not old.

(Will only make sense if you have read my story in the post below which he hopes you do)

2009-01-31T06:59:00.000-08:00

The unseen diaries made visible! (Will only make sense if you have read my story in the post below which he hopes you do)

Look, I am no sage no scholar... just a wandering gay man! That’s why I thought it would be inappropriate for me to tell you’ll what I have inferred from my story... however, since I have not been able to convey what I have been entrusted to, because you were unable to see what, I believe, I did, and I wanted you to... I now have to share with you my gift in words otherwise it makes it unworthy for you to know all that I have told you. (4 long pages- really appreciated!)
For which I will have to go back to what happened in the lift, after it shut the life out of me. The idea is that I didn’t just imagine what I saw. I can say that because, and you have to agree with me, that sometimes... you know when the surreal is real. And I know what it was! It’s not every day that a blind atheist sees a presence so powering that makes him go down on his knees... that his lost senses awaken.
I knew that very then I wasn’t going to die, I swear I did. And I know everything about that moment and everything else from then on. How?- is what I am meant to let you know.
This was after I touched HIM for the first time. When I let his tear into me... it rinsed the grime in me. I was a free man, and I could reach every part of me because of that. Here lied the key!
He had blessed me. And he told me his purpose. I don’t write accounts of my life on daily basis otherwise. He had chosen me to tell you his story.
(How depressing though that he believed it would take a blind man to see him and recognise! He didn’t even care about the fact that I never believed in him, that I was gay like mother says. How helpless could he have been?)
Anyways where were we... yes he had blessed me, and in return he had asked me to test his blessing, which I did as I passed it on to the guy with small hands and a big gun... that is what i did... I blessed every part of his body as I touched him. As I did that, I saw a man emerge from behind a dark silhouette. He was human. Didn’t he act like one? And now you know why?
THAT was the lesson... his purpose that I was chosen to disperse. That, ‘We humans are born with tremendous power. Power to share his blessing of humanity! Too bad we don’t realize, but here lies to answer for all plague. It lies within us. Discover that and you can discover all the good in the world. Cure the mightiest diseases- even that of hostility! All you have got to do is unearth, from within and together, that might... All we have got to do is stop unseeing his Light.’
It’s that simple. And that my friend is how I look at it. That is how I feel... not generous towards sin and those who fall prey to it, but empowered enough to beat it out even from the places where there is no hope!
Wish this makes it a little more worthwhile for you to know what you do. ALL THE BEST... he says!

This one is very special!

2009-01-29T11:34:00.000-08:00

Unseen diaries- 26-11-2008

‘Last Christmas I gave you my heart... this year...’
The white buds in my ear, Mrs. Adeline walked me to my room. Which room? It is very important that I mention. I was staying at the Trident Hotel, Marine drive, 9th Floor 786 to be precise. I don’t like being so precise otherwise!
Mrs. Adeline said she would collect me in half an hour. Rizal was supposed to come at 10:15, we were going out for dinner, and pretty sure Adeline gave me 15 buffers... it must be 9:30 then. I tell you, I had never been happier. Never so much. Ever! For tonight, I Rahall Chopra was about to propose to the love of the second part of my life! My second marriage proposal! (Now who is the man, bitch)
And I made sure everything was perfect (Courtesy Adeline). On the bed was my brand new Armani suit, underwear on the top so I can find it easily (I had never liked the thought of Adeline choosing my inners... and now... not for long!), she would help me with the bow and in my shirt properly, Rizal’s Versace, our favourite brand, was gift wrapped on the side table... And there I was standing near the door... admiring the game of destiny.
I snapped myself out of it, found the bathroom door in the dark room and washed my face. ‘Rizal had never said no for anything!’ I splashed and splashed repeating this and ...then I did something I had not done for a long time. I stood in front of the bathroom mirror ‘naked’ running my hand over my entire body. I did that for some time. Then quickly put on my clothes to avoid embarrassing myself if Mrs. Adeline walked in (She had only seen me naked... never like this!) Then I sat on the bed, Rizal’s gift in my hand, smiling at wait.
The room was silent, like an empty theatre. I could hear the clock ticking. Or wait... was it my heart! I combed my hair again, which were harder than usual, and wiped my shoes with the bed sheet. I did a quick recheck of all the things I needed: The Tux- check: Credit cards-check: Car keys... where the duck were the car keys... oh with Mrs. Adeline- check. Done!
But where hell was Mrs. Adeline? The bitch was going to get some serious firing from me for this. (I wouldn’t do that for this was the lady... who had done everything for me, in the second part of my life) Still, she couldn’t be late now. Not tonight.
Wait a minute...What if this was another of mother’s schemes it struck me... I swear I wouldn’t take it this time. I almost dialled Mr. Enron’s number to book my tickets back, but then decided that I should not let anything bother me... at least for now.
But if Mum thought this would stop me from seeing Rizal, I was so going to prove her wrong. So I put my glasses on and walked outside the door. I knew the lift was to the left. There was a flower pot beside it, I remembered. I danced as I walked, to beats of my heart, which hummed its tune in a continuous din overpowering all other thoughts in my mind. Otherwise the hallway was very quiet. So much so that I could hear the sounds from the other rooms
My neighbour, a pretty French model, had her friends over who were singing an abusive song together ‘bhang... sutta’. Rizal once sang this song to me, I remembered. How sober the song sounded in his brit accent. Almost like a classic! And when I told him what it meant, how he had laughed, his hiccupping laughter! And then we had spent the entire evening on the promenade humming all such ridiculous songs, some I taught him, some abusive rap he sang. Ah...
I passed many such rooms. Sounds of television, arguments, love-making, guitars, and people, greeted me as I walked, like they were wishing me luck. I said my thank you‘s to them as I walked. And 23 steps later, my hand brushed against the plastic leaves of the flowerpot. The magic door had come that would take me to my beloved. I called for the chariot.
‘9th FLOOR’... Finally!
As I stepped in, a foul stench chocked my nose. I almost hit the corner in an effort to get out but the door shut. You can always count on electronics to make life miserable. They never helped me! It was a fart. Train... and lifts, two places where Indians can’t resist farting. Yuck, I spat.
Helpless, I found the ground level button, bottommost left. And I began to descend, trying to picture Rizal to divert my mind. I couldn’t.
I cursed the Adeline bitch. Where was she but?
I slid down. The stench persisted and I looked up at the damned exhaust and cursed again.
‘3rd FLOOR’
As soon as the lift opened, I fell outside sucking for air, holy air! Al Gore’s voice said to me ‘How long will you sustain’ and I immediately knew I had to stop using my Benz all the time and switch to a small car. I could buy one of those green cars. Rizal loves them.
Maybe I should take the stairs I thought. Oh! What the hell, I could be a philanthropist later. Right now what was important was that I was going to propose Rizal and I had to get to him as quickly as possible. Also I couldn’t take the smell anymore. What if it stuck to my clothes!
So I took out the mouth freshener from my pocket (Courtesy Adeline again!) and sprayed it in the lift. ‘That would do’ I smiled and I entered the lift again. It did do! Yes... ‘Screw you farter.’ I found the button again and the door shut.
I don’t know if it was the smell again or what, but I felt my heart sink as the lift began its second last descend. The last time I experienced similar unease was when Deepti took Sameer and Sareen away. ‘God protect Rizal’ ‘God protect Rizal’... Please...
Floors passed and the lift jerked once again, skid... and then stopped.
‘Ground Floor’
The sound of the door opening brought along other sounds. Sounds from the movies. ‘How long will you sustain’ Al looked down through the exhaust. I hung there... still.
And then the door shut. The rest of my body froze, except my hands which scrambled up some buttons and my coffin began to rise.
Was I dead?
But how could death be so painless and numb, I wondered almost ready to rejoice. And then Rizal appeared beside me. And everything came back to life again... came back to pain.
In his hand was a ring. My ring! I felt my pockets. The box had been there since morning. He was wearing his gift too! While the packet lay in the floor. We rose higher and higher. His face looked just as I imagined. High cheek bones, the pouted lips, his feminine brows... brit eyes dripping sweet water. I kissed his eyes, letting the water into my mouth; it seeped down cleansing my insides. I melted down on his feet.
I lay there relishing his taste, going through each moment that I had spent with him. The first flight, the promenade, the first hug, the stare, the first love, and the time he stood for me against the goons at Colaba, how he had cleant my wound... ‘Bhohenchoudh sottha... sottha nah milha...’
And the lift came to a halt. Was the journey over?
The door opened. I shield my eyes expecting bright light like I had seen years back in a movie... but it was dark up there too. I had to wait for my turn maybe, I thought.
And then... the door shut again.
The lift rook its last fall. Why would god send me down again? Had I been so bad that he didn’t even want to see me once? Or show up, at the least, blinded? My mother’s words stung my ears. Is it really a sin I asked Rizal. He looked calmly...
I fell further down. And then... the car that hit me 5 years back, hit me again. I was tossed on the floor. ‘It’s just the lift. You are not dead yet, but yes... falling towards it’
It was too late by the time I realized. ‘FIRST FLOOR’
And no sooner did the door open; I felt hot steel on my chest. I fell back again drilling myself to the back of the lift.
Then He pulled me out. The man with small hands and a big gun... and threw me on the floor. I felt Him pointing the gun at the lift and I cried ‘Not him... please. Kill ME. Kill ME.’
I clung to His feet not daring to look at the lift, dreading what I might see. And then He shot... a small round of bullets. The sound of steel against steel hit my ears and I put my head on His feet. My gaze fixed at the Otis board on the lift. He was gone.
Then I looked up... and through the darkness of my eyes, I saw a darker silhouette. He stood towering above me, confused about what He had just done. I knew Him. I had seen Him before. He was... He was... and I got up frisking Him from the bottom, for a sign, trying to see.
Then I felt His gun. It looked unfamiliar. And touched His neck, yes... the neck... and then the face...square... the high cheek bones, his parted lips, round... the scent of his perfume... I knew who He was.
But before I could see anymore, He held me in his arms, with a familiar force, tight yet comforting.
Then carried me, and then as if in sacrifice, he flung me into the cold air of the night. I flew.
Another brief moment of death, and then I crashed onto the bonnet of a car. The thud caused the windshield to shatter and shreds of glass flew everywhere. Penetrating once again, but this time without causing any harm, into my eyes, scratching the skin of my ribs, and hands, and feet... Leaving only His picture behind. Without his gun! Forever.
People closed in on me.
And then he came running to me from the crowd and held me in his arms... I could hear him shouting for help. His thick brit voice, I could distinguish in a million shouts...
Meanwhile, the gun shots continued.
...........................................................................................................................................................
30-11-2008
Rizal reads to me from the papers what happened after that. How they were all killed. He even asked a clay artist to emboss Kasabh’s , the most famous terrorist of them all’s, photo so I can feel him. It’s not him.
People call them terrorists and curse them. I say, He, who killed people, caused pain is, but, HE, who flung me is not. He is terrorised himself, I saw in His eyes. Rizal disagrees and gets damn mad at me for thinking so. He goes for all the prayer marches, takes me along. I pray for them all. Because no matter what people say... only I know ... for I have heard about one, felt... seen the other. They are two different people. He is human, his other is not!

The eyes that can see the most are the eys that cannot see!

Blogging is going through a slack allover... or is it just me!

2009-01-29T04:53:00.000-08:00

Oh! I am tired of crying over things that i have lost. And now another! Well I am talking about blogging... its not like it used to be anymore. Where have those days of 20-30 comments gone! Are people too busy... or you guys bored of my writing, let me know yaar atleast? so I stop making this effort... thinking all the time about things you'll might like and stuff.
What is it? And I dont think its just me actually because I read other blogs too and the activity has gone down everywhere. Cant let this happen... I wont!
And you guys, especially the blogging community, have to help me rescue this great gift google has given us... remember the times... all those discussions! share of knowledge! fun! CONNECTION!
Remember all that we have given ourselves, all that we have lent to each other through this network... oh! Atleast for the sake of all the laughs(or horrors) my pictures have given you'll... PLEASE. let this not go down! (I promise more skin if you'll are with me in this!!!)
And If there is anything you feel is lacking, from my side also, which it has been because of a lot of stuff, let me know? And I promise in the name of the bloggods, it shall be done! All that you demand.
But dont leave me guys, and each other, for there is a lot to be shared yet... lot to be told! We are just entering the most exciting part of our lives... and lets stick together like we have until now.
Wont you?

SO... Long live Bloggerworld!
What say???

Thats the first sabji I ever made.... yummy methi... all by myself!!!

2009-01-28T04:55:00.000-08:00

Rehab- By Rihanna and JT...

When we first met, I never felt something so strong
You were like my brother and my best friend
All wrapped into one with a ribbon on it

And all of a sudden you went and left
I didn't know how to follow
It's like a shock that spun me around
And now my heart's dead
I feel so empty and hollow

And I'll never give myself to another the way I gave it to ya (to ya)
Don't even recognize the ways you hurt me, do ya (do ya)?
It's gonna take a miracle to bring me back
And you are the one to blame
And now I feel like - ooh!

You're the reason why I'm thinking
I don't wanna smoke on these cigarettes no more
I guess that's what i get for wishful thinking
Should've never let you enter my door
Next time you wanna go on and leave
You should just go on and do it
'Cause its amusin' like I believe

It's like I checked in to rehab
And baby, you're my disease
It's like I checked in to rehab
And baby, you're my disease
I've gotta check in to rehab
'Cause baby you're my disease
I've gotta check in to rehab
'Cause baby you're my disease

Damn, ain't it crazy when you're loveswept
You'd do anything for the one you love
Cause anytime that you needed me, I'd be there
Its like you were my favorite drug
The only problem was that you was using me
In a different way than I was using you
But now that I know that it's not meant to be
You gotta go, I gotta wean myself off of you

And I'll never give myself to another the way I gave it to ya (to ya)
Don't even recognize the ways you hurt me, do ya?
It's gonna take a miracle to bring me back
And you are the one to blame
Cause now I feel like - ooh!

You're the reason why I'm thinking
I don't wanna smoke on these cigarettes no more
I guess that's what i get for wishful thinking
Should've never let you enter my door
Next time you wanna go on and leave
I should just let you go on and do it
'Cause its not amusin' like I believe

It's like I checked in to rehab
And baby, you're my disease
It's like I checked in to rehab
And baby, you're my disease
I've gotta check in to rehab
'Cause baby you're my disease
I've gotta check in to rehab
'Cause baby you're my disease

PS: Rihanna n JT wrote this song on my request! I am not kiddin'... I was too tired to write one myself and i HAD to so...

And thats what you mean to me...

2009-01-26T06:26:00.000-08:00

You’re the question for all my answers
The reason I have them all...
For you I am who am I?
My mystery only you can solve
So lend me some of your love
For its you who makes me real
And that’s what you mean to me!

I know I have not been at best
And I know how you feel
But I promise it’s no disinterest
It’s my fate I can’t reveal
So I’m writing you this song
Saying you’re my destiny
And that’s what you mean to me!

For now I am asking for yours
It’s my heal, and not retreat
And that’s what you mean to me!

I am letting this song tell you!!
The answer I know you need
That you mean so much... to me

(I may not have the proofs as of now
I may not say it loud
But I know I have it in
Give it some time to sort out
I promise it will be worth it
Your wait and mine!
I promise it’s perfect
To last for all our lives...
All I need is your love
To nurture mine
To support me in my many battles
I have to fight.
For they are all for you
All ...that is mine
Like I said you are the reason
For me and my device
For us and our premise
All the magic that’s alive
For the love on which I thrive
For my promise
For my strive...
I dedicate to you this rhyme
Hoping this makes you realize
That you will mean the world to me
When the time is right!!!)

I promise I will tell you
Just how you want to hear!
What you mean to me...

Locked in Locks...

2009-01-06T07:28:00.000-08:00

My first movie ever...
Yepeee....
Guys please let me know how you'll like it!
Shot on 3rd and 4th of January 2009.

My Love! (And whatever you may say... I look way prettier!!!

2008-12-05T18:06:00.000-08:00

And thats how i want it!!!

2008-11-30T01:07:00.000-08:00

Sahil: Wassup
Shivam: My baby!
Sahil: bol
Shivam: My jaanam. I missed you sooh much!
Sahil: it hurts?
Shivam: LOLZ... So wat r u upto?
Sahil: nothing..tp... online... got up at 2 30..so online n paper n tv. Feel so useless. I wana c yuvvraaj n sory bhai. But i feel guilty to go watch a muvi at this stage
Shivam: I know. m just writin an article bt it... how people wont watch a muvi out of guilt... and the loss its causing to the industry
Sahil: oh..hmm..dude... now no new yr celebrations too... It l be too inhuman of us if we celebrate...
Shivam: Really... who told you that? I am going to celebrate new years... Even if I do that attending a prayer for the deceased... but I will!... and about you movie...I think you can watch a muvi...
Sahil: I will feel really bad yaar
Shivam: You don’t have to
Sahil: oh..hmm... y nt?
Shivam: because it doesn’t matter... doesnt make u a bad guy
Sahil: wen my city has suffered so much..n ppll hav died? Doesnt it? Maybe... but doesn’t feel right...ne kind of njoyment
Shivam: But you not enjoying wont benefit ne1... besides u r neways nt doin sumthin abt it...so u might as well help people recover loses
Sahil: I am waiting..fr things to settle down atleast 5 %
Shivam: now thats hypocrisy
Sahil: lol
Shivam: doesn’t benefit anyone... certainly not the people who have lost directly... its for the best the city helps them get on with their lives... not remind them of their tragedy with empty streets and no life and celebrations... of course the respects have to and will be offered but then don’t disguise them in sadness either... it is a display of hope... Isn’t it?
Sahil: wad you are saying makes sense. But still it doesnt feel right ya... i dunt kno..just
Shivam: i can understand... every1s feelin like that... but why not follow things that make sense yaar... all this loss... what is it but a result of non-sense
Sahil: but i feel stupid all the more..cuz after a few days,..i will start njoying neway... dunt kno how to run away from that... at least... i wont celebrate new yrs this yr
Shivam: Your least doesn’t benefit anyone even at the least man... not one bit. And as for you enjoyment after some days...you dont have tio run away from it... for thats how life is... it moves on!! Over everything...even the biggest losses...and thank life for that!... for the world wud b a sad place otherwise... always mourning
Sahil: i kno man... but shudnt start njoying already...like wen ppl r stil suffering
Shivam: mm ... all i m sayin is those who have been struck directly, their sufferin isnt endin too soon
Sahil: hmm?obviously
Shivam: and you aint gonna wait for that either... so where is the sense?
Sahil: i kno.
Shivam: like i said its just hypocrisy
Sahil: i told u it doesnt make sense...but it just feels better... this hypocrisy
Shivam: which by the way is totally justified at this point of time
Sahil: heart is senseless... especially during such times
Shivam: of course... and thank heart for that... for otherwise there wud be too much sense in the world... and too much sense is non sense again... much hazardous then when there is a lack of it
!!!
Sahil: LOL
Shivam: And i think this chat made a lot of sense...i l put it on my blog
Sahil: lol... thnx thnx
Shivam: LOLZ...i m not sayin u did.... m sayin I did in this chat!!!
Sahil: fu u then
fuk *
Shivam: i got that... without the foot note as well.tc man!!

As for you guys... Be THE CHANGE YOU WANT TO SEE... DON’T BE SAD ABOUT THINGS THAT HAVEN’T... The past few days have been stressful and distressful... But it’s over now... and you have to let go of it... of the remorse I am saying...
Go home... hug your loved ones... get together and wish and thank that this was not worse... for it clearly could have been...
Have some coffee... watch a movie... or your favourite soap... have a good night sleep... fearless and free...
And get back... GET BACK to life... with more enthusiasm and ambition and will (For some... Justifiable vengeance)... for you know there is a much work pending on this planet... take the responsibility... for the today that will come tomorrow!
And that my friend will make us a worthy human being!!!

Another way... MAY GOD BLESS US ALL!

2008-11-26T12:02:00.000-08:00

Another strike another blow
Just another freak show...
I am laughing at you
And you thought you will make me cry
Just few more droplets
And you will dry...
You have lost your charm
And you know it well
You swell in anger
Avenging death knell.
It rings upon you
And you can hear it too
So you deafen your ears
In your aimless shoots!
You barge... you bark
You stay in the dark
You look for a saviour
In our fearful remarks!
Your kill
Brings still, you thrive on this pain
Let me tell you this my brother
Your kill is now in vain
For you kill will be yours only
And never mine
I will not weep for the soul
You turn divine.
Let’s see then how far do you go
Let’s see how you take hunger for sorrow
Let’s see how then, some sense you make?
Let’s see how then, what path you take?
I will follow you
Wherever you go
I will follow you with a gun and a bow!
And then I will swallow you
For you will spare my life
Which you will my boy!
Once you realize what is like...
LIVING TO LIVE... and not living to die!

Dasvidanya: **1/2 ... Watch only if you absolutely have to!

2008-11-14T06:13:00.000-08:00

Cast: Vinay Pathak, Rajat Kapoor, Sarita Joshi, Neha Dhupia, Gaurav Gera, Saurabh Shukla

Duration: 100 minutes.

Production: One more thought, Lemontea productions.

Film: Dasvidanya-The Best Goodbye Ever.

It’s like watching 10 different short films woven around one character and his story. And that too, a story you have heard a million times? I was genuinely expecting better from Vinay and his team.

Yes- Like we guessed, Dasvidanya is 10 things to do before dying!

Bur why only the most obvious of thing? Let me just remind the makers that- Simplicity is one thing and monotony another.

Amar kaul (Vinay Pathak) is the ‘King of the sad’. A 36 year old accounts manager who lives with his part deaf eccentric mother; loveless and over worked, ‘looser’, his only status and boredom, his fodder.

One fine regular day, he is told that he has stomach cancer and has just 3 months left to him, (And this happens so early in the movie that you can’t even relate to his misery, simply because you don’t even know Amar. In fact, you just ponder what more can there be to the story that will hold you for another 90 minutes... Dasvidanya to all such hopes!) He wonders around the city mourning and complaining, and ends up at a bar. Here he meets Pratap(Ranbir Shorey) who tells him that the only way to battle death is to live life. Amar interprets the advice like he interprets other things and decides to move on with his life, which revolves around his daily chores to do list and office weight that his boss Dasgupta (A disgusting over eater Saurabh Shukla) thrusts upon him. But soon, his inner him (A Sanjubaba gone despo-like Amar) tells him how ridiculous he is to continue with his rusted cycle, when he should be spending his last days fulfilling his most cherished dreams.

That’s when Amar makes his bucket list.

Beginning from an everyman’s dream- He buys himself a car, Bosses over his ever-dominating boss, thus, quitting his job. Gets back to guitar lessons and finds his childhood heartthrob Neha (Dhupia-Her liveliness on screen well appreciated), only to tell her how he feels about her (Some good moments here because Neha is now married, yet he has to tell her that he loves her. It;s his last wish!) He then goes to Russia to meet his best friend Rajiv Julka (Rajat Kapoor). But Rajiv’s wife (Suchitra Pillai) assumes he is there to receive free treatment since both, she and Rajiv are famous doctors. Amar overhears their conversation. Hurt, he leaves the house in shame and once again wanders around the city. He is broken and disturbed, and attempts to jump off a bridge in despair. But, his luck! He is rescued... or rather forced and beaten to back off by a Russian prostitute, who takes him to her house. By the time the two fall in love, it’s time for Amar to go back. But this time, he doesn’t come back empty handed, for he has accomplished three of his dreams on the trip, his overseas fantasy, his friend, and... Love!

Comes back home, to make things right with his brother(Gaurav Gera), and also puts up with his mother’s tantric madness (Lame but funny!). But he has one more dream left- that is to have a picture of him on the front page of a newspaper! What happens to that dream... after he dies? Watch the movie.

For it bids a sweet goodbye, leaves you with a smile... and almost makes you forget how miserable the first half was.

But, what I really miss in the movie is the discovery aspect of a journey. Amar accomplishes his old dreams... but then stops dreaming. What about new wishes, the new learning’s, a bucket list never ends, does it?

Besides Shashant Shah’s direction just enhances the tedium and blandness of the script. He experiments in the beginning with some borrowed styles but doesn’t go on... which just maybe for good though, but shows that he is under confident.

Vinay Pathak hardly invents and passes of each scene in unexplained hesitance. There is nothing new, in his portrayal of emotions but he plays off fair, none the less. Sarita Joshi (Mumma) however amuses you throughout with her clumsy yet delightfully hyper act. Others, including Neha Dhupia, Surabh Shukla , Gaurav Gera, Rajat Kapoor also do their thing.

The background score is a charmer and so are all the songs. And there is a good blend of locations and colours on screen too!

But even then, Dasvidanya remains just another addition to our library, highly ignorable and not worth the big bucks in multiplexes. A DVD watch won’t do any harm though, but wait for the genuine ones to come out...

Every time!

2008-10-31T23:59:00.001-07:00

Every time, you call my name
It is gonna brighten up your day!
Every time, you think of me
I am gonna make you happy
No, you don’t need to hesitate
I am yours for always, and I’ll do what it takes
To see that smile on your face
You look beauty-ful...

So call me, if things look bad
Call me when you feel lonely
You can call me anytime
Whenever you need me...
I am just a thought across
I am right inside you, feel me
Just place you hand on your heart
And flyyy....

To my place, where nothings a drag
No rush, your dreams in tact
You can rise
And go high
Achieve!
It’s still hard
Realize
Keep believe.

It’s my place, so good get’s you at last
Then you can take it, to your past
Like I said
Hold your heart
Just breathe
And you’ll be back
In your time
Relieved!

Every time you call my name
...
Don’t wait, just call my name
Call my name.

Every time, you call my name
The feeling you will get won’t be the same.
No, don’t hide from the blame
Let them claim.

Return to my place
We’ll sort it out
Together, in his name!
All you need, is all the same
What you have!

Your my place...

Sorry Priyanka!

2008-10-30T22:32:00.001-07:00

I know I am going a little over board here, apologising to Priyanka Chopra and all. Of course she doesn’t care what I write! But I am doing this because I feel I have wronged my work. My film review. Now, I cannot make any changes in the aol site where it is published but I thought the least I could do is tell you guys about it.
Well I have said in the review that Priyanka just does her thing, performing substantially well. I saw Fashion yesterday again. And Priyanka delivers a stellar performance! I don’t know why I over looked or couldn’t see the first time.(Probably I was too charmed by Kangana's madness and you guys sure know the reason for the affinity!) . Or probably, the lines on Pri’s neck and the paunch were too big a turn off for me. But again it is not fair for me to impose my obsessions on you guys. So I want to correct myself.
Well Priyanka's role was way more tougher in terms of performance than Kangana's and the lady has done it with utmost skill, confidence and most importantly she never went over the top in any of the scenes, let Kangana do her thing, even though she knew she was stealing it from her. Bravo girl. This just shows how mature is her approach towards filming and also that she is very confident about her capabilities. I hope the other actors learn something from her! She doesn’t blow you off in all the scenes, but when you look back at the movie, you realize how amazingly she has portrayed all the emotions. Very well.Finally she is back!
And one more thing, I forgot to mention this in the review but guys! The wardrobe malfunction scene where Kangana's boot strap snaps is one of the most wonderfully captured and amazingly performed scene in a lot of time. Fantastic!
Way to go girls!

Thats what I think about you....

2008-10-30T08:56:00.000-07:00

Springs In Your Head!

I just want to tell you that
I will wait...
Wait till the time you can know that I am worthy enough to know the other you!
The one you are closer to.
The one you are one with!
I have seen glimpses of her...
In your smiles sometimes
But you are careful enough to laugh at that very moment... to hide!
Why?
I wonder
Ponder...
Try to remember.
Then I realize
Of course, the most sacred of things are meant to be protected
But are you sure you are comfortable with being undetected?
Think about it...
I will know your answer, you don’t have to say
Just know this
Wherever you go, I will be with you on that way!
To pray
So you never go astray
For it’s not a bay
This channel of clandestine existence!
One can be really lost
Without being lost at all.
Such is its anonymity
This worldly animosity...
Your blessings
And mine
be with you for always. Amen.
And with this ‘you’ too, just in case you chose to retain her!
I like you both
And I will love you both
When the time is right
Then you can love me to!
Till then, let’s wait.

.....................................................................

The River.

Whenever you walk down that road
I think to myself where you’re gonna go
Are you going straight or you’ll turn right?
Or when I blink, you will be out of sight!

Let me know
Where I have to go
If I ever need to find...
Please tell me so
If I’ll ever know
Where is it that you reside!

Sometimes you turn, look back at me
And say somethings i don’t wanna see
But when you look again, and flash your smile
All doubts are washed off, takes just a while!

I am letting you know
So you can warn me now
If you feel you’ll need more time
To figure me out
To chalk out my course
To see if we both rhyme!

La la la la la la la la
To say that you are my friend!
La la la la la la la la
I will stay till you amend!
That I am now your friend!

Mazaa yeh Jalwa!!! ***1/2 Star Rating by the 5 Star reviewer!

2008-10-29T08:43:00.000-07:00

With his latest offering, Madhur Bhandarkar has proved that he has more than just facts to share, for Fashion, unlike his other movies, is not just a depiction of reality, but a story... a tale... and that too surprisingly a delightful one!
Keeping in mind Madhur’s delight quotient that is...
Kangana opens the show, continuing from where she left in ‘Woh Lamhe’. She plays a devious super model Shonali Gujral (Gets really angry when her abusive boyfriend, more like sex and coke buddy, calls her crazy!), who ends up losing her career to an upcoming model Meghna Mathur (Priyanka Chopra) and to the much hyped addiction. She is admitted to a rehab for until the end of the movie. We will talk more about her later. That’s for sure!
As for our heroine, who comes to Bombay... aah! Mumbai... Mumbai, who comes to Mumbai from Chandigarh to fulfil her (mind you, not just model) but her super model dream, Madhur makes it an easier than miraculous ride for her. She gets her first show too fast to quick (Spare the lingerie advertisement... that’s just for Sri Lanka and Bangladesh. Yes there are some funny moments here) and in no time, she becomes a top model! *Trust me girls, it is not that easy*. As for Meghna, she takes the other road, driving in the ‘employee with benefit’ lane with Arbaaz Khan, a fashion honcho, who escorts her till the top. (And keeps her there!)
But Fashion ka jalwa gets to our girl. She goes around insulting everyone (Reason is not justified though, apart from what she calls “attitude”) sparing not even her roommate cum part time boyfriend Manav (Arjan Bajwa, a newcomer to look forward to definitely). She rubs Arbaaz the wrong way and result- Her contract is terminated. And she has no friends for support either.
Her lifestyle changes drastically. She falls on alcohol and smoke, and takes to the junkie lifestyle. Drunk and high, she ends up sleeping with a black guy (*evil eye to the director*). That strikes her (The colour black) and she realizes the mess she has put herself into.
Upset, she goes back to her parents. A year goes by; she gets psychological help! But then her dad (Raj Babbar) figures out that her only cure is that she must back to Mumbai and start all over again. He advices her this, and she returns to Mumbai. Apologising to everybody in her contact list, she decides she will start afresh. She again gets an opportunity (She has the right friends!) but this time she messes that up.
She is broke in all means. It is here that Kangana resurfaces, on the roads of Mumbai (You know where this is taken from). Meghna takes up her responsibility, in repentance. She helps Shonali recover, and in the process finds her lost spirit.
Let me not reveal the climax. T hough it very predictable but still it holds you.
The same can be said about the entire film, very blatant in terms of story, but the director keeps you engaged never the less. So much so that despite the 170 minutes length, you still want the movie to not end (Though a major reason and credit for this goes to the look designers and choreographers. Voila! The girls look magnificent). It truly is fashion at its best.
Taking about the girls, Kangana Ranaut is unbeatable on the ramp. The lady burns it from the first step, making Priyanka look like a substandard replacement throughout. Way to go! Brilliant performance also as she justly personifies the madness of a supermodel, in the most relentless fashion, using her dysfunctional accent as an asset once again and steals all the sympathy form Priyanka. As for Piggy Chops, she does her thing, yes, but then that’s all she does. And I have to mention this, the lines on her neck are a turn off, make up malfunction once again, and also when you see the slim as a scale Kangana and Mugdha Godse (who looks pretty where she has to and has acted fairly), it is difficult to not notice her paunch. Buck up on that one sweety. You are a super model Nevertheless she has her oomph moments of course, and has delivered a substantially grounded performance.
As for the detailing in the movie (Madhur’s speciality), guess there is just too much to show, for he hardly covers all aspects of Fashion, maybe touching some, but all that hoopla about revelations about the industry, there are none, apart from the usual gay, promiscuous and couch shades! Technical’s fair well, however cinematography had a lot more scope. The music is really good however it is underutilized I feel.
But overall, damn the movie is must watch. Your eyes are going to love this and so is your heart. And genuinely, there is nothing really ‘adulty’ about the movie. So go enjoy it with your family. Yes I used the word enjoy. See for yourself!

TEEN ADDICTS!!!

2008-10-27T23:59:00.000-07:00

Here is something I had done for my Sociology project. It is a sociological analysis of a poem I had written. the analysis is a lso in the poetic format so... Read on...

Notes of a mad man!

When the world is laughing,

I hold back

Pitying their ignorance.

Doubting the fair

With a sense of pride

Loathing all innocence.

Drawing pleasure from the dark

Not rejoicing the light.

Searching only for the higher purpose

Leaving everything else behind.

Marching along the unknown

Hoping, sacrifice serves the reason

For its not with Them that I belong

Living the unlived season.

Thwarted by present

I am celebrating pain

Numbing the urge,

for only the future remains.

The path that I am walking

Opens only towards the end

which is a new beginning in itself

Let’s all the wounds mend

For sure, the blooded will have his victory

It’s in the nature

Resistencia will lead to discovery,

Tastier than all flavours.

And this shall be my story...

I’ll try my best to preach.

But mortality will never realize

For they believe only ‘luck’ is within their reach!

.........................................................................................................................................................

Everything is social

All thoughts, all actions, their reactions, their purposes...

Every creation, every work is relevant and a part of the sociological being of a person.

It is a reflection of ‘his’ sociology, his sociological imagination...

A canvas of his beliefs, of his morals,

Representing, where he stands in the sociological aspect of things!

‘Mutual’... everything is mutual, all losses all gains, the celebration as well as pains, all journeys... and all people... ALL beings, life and lifeless.

Having said this, I make it very clear that the mentioned piece of work is a part of ‘me’. And this is my effort to understand that part by using my knowledge in Sociology, imparted to me by Prof. Nandini Sardesai.

I am thankful to her.

Let us begin...

To understand an art, one must first understand its purpose...

He writes to clarify

He writes to strengthen

He writes to announce,

to himself and to others

His mind! His soul! His him.

His doubts, he calls for help, his shouts

All out

He wants to feel light.

The route... he wants a cohort.

Somebody to cling on to in the blackout

Where he resides, in his search for light.

He simply writes to feel strong headed... he is a cynic. A BEAUTIFUL cynic, if you can see.

Can you, he asks?

Now that we know why, lets figure out what.

Going stanza wise:-

When the... all innocence (Ethnocentrism)

He stands tall

Above all

So, he thinks.

He is anti-order

Burning all the fodder

provided to him,

In the incest of ethnocentrism.

He demeans others’ status.

Resists relativism.

He believes he is asociable. And he is loving it!

Drawing Pleasure... else behind (Culture)

His culture is asociable too.

Re-ordered to his sociology.

Limited to ‘black’ and ‘white’... his colours

His only colours.

Focused at the destination,

he invents, recreates, barring adaption, diffusion,

his way of breathing.

His language, only to himself

Meant to hide him.

To keep away norms, to keep away ‘their’ culture

Exclusivity to the reward, his goal!

Marching along... future remains (Social control, Interaction, Group)

Still, alone,

He rides to his throne.

Out grouping all

He lives beyond ‘control’

No interaction

Secluded satisfaction

Sensuous direction

Damned jurisdiction.

He owns his world!

Thwarted by... the future remains (Reality, Status, Definitions, Institution

His world, his reality

Time is his, and so is its duality.

Shaped by his perceptions

Rather the lack of it

Evaluating definitions

Re-meaning them. A new genesis!

His world is his master status

‘I’, the only resident.

‘I’, the only role.

‘I’, the only institution.

‘I’, the only descendent.

Where I lives on forever, but first it has to be created.

The path... wounds mend. (Reference group, Anticipatory Socialization)

That him is his reference

So he must remake

Sociology be cursed

For his creation is at stake.

Endure the bruises now

For then’s sake

For then will only survive

With now’s loss intake!

For sure... all flavours (Resocialization)

He is created.

And he is dripping

Smiling at ‘wait’

Victory bells ticking.

For he will achieve his reference

Its done, its set

Its found, its on its way.

His role is coming

And its just the start.

Poor boy! All that he has resisted will greet him as he wins

For he will celebrate,

Laugh,

At that ‘now’ he never believed in!

This shall... Luck is within their reach.

Wow! It’s amazing to realize that, no matter how hard you try to run away, this world gets you finally. “Thank world for that!” we would say. But what about this boy who will one day realize that all he had left back during his journey is what he got at the end of it. Irony, at its killing best, isn’t it?

He achieved what he wanted to without anybody to his side, but in the end he had to come back to the people to share his reward, his story. Because a reward has no meaning if it’s not shared.

Some things are not meant to be exclusive. Life is not meant to be exclusive!

So...

Bow your heads

And let the trumpets blow

For the social order of things prevails.

Thank you for reading my work. I really appreciate it.

Rewind!

2008-10-14T04:49:00.000-07:00

Hey mister...

Why are you so silent...

Dont you get bored sitting here all alone all the time...

Oh! your verbally impaired, is it?

Do some sign language at least. Its not good manners, not responding to people...

My god! You are so stubborn...

I came all the way frm Bombay... Oh now Mumbai, of course... to see you. And look at you. So haughty...

All this gold makes you have this air, it seems...

But dont forget it is us who have given you all this...

Yah... My Dad is into donations and stuff so...

I dont believe in this, of course...

Giving away the hard earned money!

I' d rather watch a movie...

I can treat you there...

But clearly you seem so unintersested...

Man! you are such a bore...

Abd guess what?...

Blah!I am not going to bother anymore...

*Stands for sometime*

Chalo then! I am leaving. It was nice seeing you.

I am being sarcastic of course...

*Leaves*

*Quiet*

Hey. Who was that?
Psycho!
I kind of like him though...
He's cool
Didn't treat me like a Blah either...
Hey, guess what?
I have made my decision.
I am going after him!!!
Finally someone who treats me like i am alive. God!!!
Now where did he go????
Hey...cool boy...cool boy?

Its THAT simple! God...and life...and everything we assume isn't.

All we need to do is see what we see...

All that mankind needs is... to BE... just BE!

You see?

*High time, get a glasses if you don't... Ass*

ADIOS! Phir kabhie...

2008-10-11T09:12:00.000-07:00

Well I just want to say that I had a lot of fun making this Blog.... though I didn't write much for it! ... But I had fun publicizing it anyways!!! … Telling every person I knew, about it… literally harrowing people to check it… and bombarding the ones who didn’t comment… It was GREAT!
I will not be Blogging anymore!!! (Yeah… I can see you going Thank god!)
The reason… Read on one last time… Its highly unnecessary though… so only if you have no other work

When I started this Blog, I had two motives.
: In quest of sweet mortality - Which was about finding self-like creatures and establishing communication with them through this forum… sharing certain of my works, beliefs, thoughts, basically… an integral part of me. And second
: Was about some simple things that I went through and the idea was to let everyone know about those experiences so they may extract something from it!

And they did! A little too much though.
Yes I may have misrepresented myself… fat chance!
But still, let me for ones put the blame on others… not that it makes a difference… but I have been advised to… so anyways

Like I was saying… the over interpreters
Agreed, the writings were about me or related to me and were mostly true.
But they were just a PART of me! And let me come clear… A tiny teeny part.
But these enthusiastic bunch of ‘know it alls’ went ahead and chose to define my whole on their basis.
Not just that, they first redefined each meaning in the every work and its context, based on their interpretations and THEN they implied them on me!
Geniuses’ all of them.

So I became Devdas for everybody… and that too one without a Paro
Piteously pitiful!
LOL

Not to forget, the dark Knight… ahem light in which people already see me (For which I am solely responsible… sorry I subjected you through all that) and so THE IDEAL COMBINATION DID WHAT IT HAD TO : Made everyone, including me, weary about Shivam.

And genuinely I can’t deal with it anymore.
Eccentricity will never be granted casual acceptance in our society so I might as well contain it!
No, I am not saying I am eccentric… THEY ARE
And like I told you in the earlier post… what they say is what I am made to be, by them and by me, both.
So…

Besides, something I found out last night has just left me mystified
And amazed, for sure,
About the way people function! OR DISfunction… both equally self righteous so who cares?

So I’d rather concentrate on learning about PUBLIC behavior than myself
I am toh there forever
It’s these people that I have to retain
And to do so, I will have to be like them! (See I am learning finally)
This will, of course, require a lot of practice
And I am out of time already.

Wish me luck
I will keep on posting interesting things I come across anyways, so you can check once in a while.
But nothing really personal. (Not that you are really interested either!!!)

And maybe I will be back once things get sorted out
Maybe real quick
Just hope so please ‘coz trust me I will be missing this… AND YOU”LL!

Finally, a couple of acknowledgements!

Esha Rihal: Guys follow her blog http://www.perniciously.blogspot.com/ It’s Fantastic!
Pratik Bubna : My first and most generous reader.
Smaran ...PROFESSIONAL NAME STEADTLER... i can give you'll his number too : My favorite critic in the whole wide world! #%**"@

Poorva Agarwal : Can’t thank her enough. Her blog http://www.writingonthereel.blogspot.com/ is the most serene one I have come across. Serene and reflective… like her. Take the experience!
Viral Savla : Oh! My Poet Friend. My Pillar. My Inspiration. My source. One of the best poets I know. See for yourself on http://www.theselfishpoet.blogspot.com/
And all the people who fell for my enforcement and read the Blog Or even *drooled* at the pictures. It really means the world to me!!! I am not even kidding. It does…

Couldn’t have been possible without you guys… Honestly. Thank you.

……………………..........END OF SHOW…………………………………

Strange Beliefs...

2008-10-08T11:30:00.000-07:00

"All is for me, Me is all"

"Sex is just a small part of Sex"

"I suck at Romantics... I Do. Maybe thats why I believe I will make a submissive lover"

"A country's politics is the most appropriate representative for the kind of people that live in that country"

"Religion is a chunk of your heart and a peice of your mind... Or a peice of your heart and a chunk of your mind. Both ways, it is unbalanced!

"Love is exactly what it is not!"

"Don't shun the games darling... ever! 'Coz you never know if you are the chosen one"

It is funny I keep apologising to people I have lost!!! They ain't coming back anyways. What do you'll think... Should I continue?

2008-10-04T08:22:00.000-07:00

Michaami Dukhdam... I say

Look at me
Look at me again...

With the eyes you once had,

With that heart, I, hurt so bad.

Try and see...

People break

But it doesn’t mean that they are broken

For what you see is also what you don’t.

Scars do show

Yet the soul remains soulful

I swear, I promise, believe me, I won’t.

But now I am done with asking

My remains remain with you

Forever.
I don’t know why

But it is like a sweet melody, this pain.

It makes me smile, then I flood,

which drowns the ‘me’ in me

Like you always wanted to.

God bless my misery!

It’s not like I can’t

But I won’t emerge

The beauty is that the more it swells, the more I bow down to you.

They ring the bells!

To waver my guilt.

I resist.

Rescue me

Before I lose it all

Help me stay in pain!

For that’s the only way we can stay together...

Excerpts from the Goan Diary...

2008-10-03T22:50:00.000-07:00

It happened to me in a shady club in Goa. It always happens to me in a club. And this is one major reason why I don't prefer clubbing. It always feels like a temple, too pius and provoking and awakening...The music. They see me dancing but that's not Me. I am toh somewhere far away with those guys screwing me up. Where I am made to see things I want to ignore, things we usually run away from, things we fear, and things we know we can do nothing about! Its like meditation, where the hidden thoughts come alive. I may be sounding like a maniac depressive to you but I am sure everybody has a place like that, where you have no control, you lose your body... Its all in the air. Oh! anyways read on... and see what happens, how it happens, and how it leaves me... When I go CLUBBING>>

LOUNGE FLY...

Surrender my body
To the entangling beats of the night.
Marvelling... they mock my sway
But I swear it is not mine!

Then
Rescued by some beings next door,
My master sets himself free,
Taking me beyond 'us'
Away from sweet mortality.

I long to get back to ignorance
'coz this view of me churns my left resistance.
My emptiness left bare,
And vulnerability barring all filling vents.
Contradictions won't let anything repair,
As my war with me continues...

Swells up the enigma down there
And I am taken further away
A tear of mine drops on my material disguise,
as he flows to the tune, lifeless.

Up here...
It is dooms' light.
Gone, I am, in the glare

And as I close down.
Erupts from within a lava of my nothingness,
burning everything I am in no time
I bid my adieus
I surrender once again... Arrest me my Demons!
I wait.

Meanwhile, an escaped flicker of a lazy good doubt
wandering,
lights my within.
Then one last time, I peep inside the hollow cavern.
I am about to stare when
Hsss! I blind

It is the endlessness of my space.
The glamour of its unoccupied volume,
echoing 'what I am isn't what I'll be,
That I am just a beginning, with a choice to retain what I keep'.

They say my upgradation is complete
And just when I am about to ask if
... Once again, the noise of silence
My senses lost.

And I am catapulted back to time

Shivering, I open my eyes,
To find my people
Rejoicing on my opportunity
On this blessed lightness I can, now, enjoy.

But, only, till I am refilled with the unholy,
Again, longing to be taken.

And goes on the voluptuous morn.
My smile intact throughout,
as I converse with the music...
Gratified about my whereabout!!!

My love story with Life

2008-09-28T06:35:00.000-07:00

With every passing moment,
I think of you more than ever.
My friend, philosopher.
and that is how I want it to be,
For now, until ever.

Call me a hopeless lover
If you must.
and maybe I am that.
but pity is what he gets,
I...have had your time,
Your thoughts,
Some times your care.
Your weight too, I have felt.
Seen you as I see you
In me and beyond!
Nothing more you could give
Nothing more I would take?

Its funny, But I try to be you.
To make up for my irreplaceable need...
Eccentric they call!
But its a gift you have given me.
It is your zest for life that
fills me with fervor for my own.
If it wasn’t for your transparency, I would have blurred up long back
So I owe you
And I am sorry now I won’t pay back.
Remember...You didn’t let me!

So goes on and on, the list of your giving’s.
Makes me feel petty.
And I am that
Not that I mind… you know that, don’t you?
And you will not stop, would you?
But,
Petty is not pretty for a long time baby
I am losing it…

One more thing

Oh godforsaken love, fuck you!

Anyways

Will you... Can you... May I...

Hmmm

Let me stay with you,
Just, in that smallest part?
In that fade memory of casual acquaintance.

Too much... huh?
Answer me at least!
Please
Or even in this piece of paper,

With you,
Crumpled.
Wherever I am, I will be grateful
Like I always have.
Will always be.

That's the difference between you and me.

That's the reason why we can never be.

Of course, it is not like you want it

So where was I

Yup! pleading...

Stay no more.

I am crying already

Ah!
So with this hope, not less…
That you will hold this once again,
I lock, with my life,
this treasure chest of
my loveliest luck.

YOU.

The philosophy of choice… and failed rejoice… Just another reason to blame the lame old sacrifice.

2008-09-27T04:04:00.000-07:00

I had two choices only:

Either I could lose myself... to find others

Or just stay

And let others find me.

But others were very important for the 'I'

Yet 'I' wanted to live himself.

So I did what you would have done!

I did nothing.