Present In Absentia

Divinorum

2011-06-29T20:28:00.003+05:30

Music in my head: Kaneda- Forgive me first father (our blood shall free the earth)

Today's weather: Cold and Sunny.

It’s been entirely too long. My days are melting into each other, the cycle repeats, and repeats, and repeats. And then all of a sudden, just for ten little minutes, it stops.

I was sucked into an alternate reality by an unstoppable force, and that force was me. I watched myself walk through a tropical jungle in my living room. Sunlight trickled down to the forest bed through the branches of colossal white sheet metal trees. Three giant faces spanned my sky, illuminated by the soft light, the faces of the gods. I cowered in worship. I spoke to them in a strange tongue, and I understood everything I said. They did not, and they laughed. Man’s glossolalia, God’s gibberish.

I walked into a temple through the sheet metal trees. As I strolled in, an ancient device whirred to life. It broke the absolute silence that preceded, and commanded my complete attention. It was a conveyer belt made of stone, and it went round and round and round. As if guided by voices, I climbed on it, sat down, and waited in eager anticipation.

Sitting on the living room floor, I saw myself move forward on the conveyer belt. I sat frozen to the floor when I saw my body being cleaved in two. I felt my insides being split apart, but when I looked at myself, I was whole. But I knew I was not. I was on the conveyer belt, split longitudinally, joined at the top of my head. Sunlight entered me, and energized by the millions of photons that hit my insides, I started spinning. I was like the hands of a clock in fast forward, conjoined at my head. I went round and round for seconds, minutes, hours. The belt inched forward, and I was on it, spinning like a CD.

I did not know how much time had passed. Gradually, I stopped spinning. I had reached the end of the conveyer belt. And in the most intense moment of my life, my body was rejoined. I walked out of the temple. The forest was fading away. I walked into the living room and sat down next to myself. I looked at me, and acknowledged my presence for a fleeting second. And then I was gone, only I remained.

The gods had descended from the heavens, they were merely human now. A faint afterglow lit up the place. The only remnants of my sojourn in the jungle were cold sweat that had completely drenched me, and a feeling of euphoria, mixed with slight bewilderment, mellowed down by drowsiness. The dream had passed, but reality was still a haze.

My sweat evaporated as I lay under the draft from an over-enthusiastic Air Conditioner, and soon, I was cold. I wrapped myself up in a blanket and curled up again.

Now, the cycle repeats, and repeats, and repeats.

We lost the sky

2011-02-18T06:38:00.002+05:30

Music in my head: Iron& Wine - The Trapeze Swinger
Today's weather: Warm and fuzzy

Thick sheets of yellow light

Once fell to the ground

Through thick sheets of glistening air.

A painted sky on a starry night

Now lost, then found.

Cold was not death, cold was not despair.

The storm winds that once roared

Into wrapped woollen ears

Is now but a whisper, but a sigh.

We sing for her a solemn ode

And tread on her tears.

We have the sun, we lost the sky.

Midterm Crisis

2010-11-03T07:26:00.003+05:30

Music in my head: Ef - Två
Today's weather: Snow predicted on Friday.

I'm freezing. I'm studying. I'm chopping vegetables. I'm scanning books. I'm sleeping. I'm eating cheap pizza. I'm bitching about life. I'm counting costs. The preceding is the basis for the vector space that my life has now become. Everything I do is a linear combination of all these things.

Grad school has thus made me a nerd. However, I am told (by many reliable sources) that a nerd who plays the guitar is chick fodder. So to keep my spirits up, I still play the guitar occasionally and try to conjure up a smoking hot audience in my head. But when I close my eyes, all I can think of is Orthogonal vectors and Canonical forms. I have been infected.

But this infection is good for me. I have a midterm tomorrow, and I hope that this one, like the one last week, goes well. So I'm trying to do everything I did the night before the last midterm tonight. And that was when I wrote the previous post.

But I was not blessed by the Flying Spaghetti Monster with a brilliant inspiration today. I tried to come up with some nice riffs, but nothing sounded good. Maybe I'm not supposed to do well tomorrow. Or maybe I'm supposed to do even better than I did last time. Only FSM knows.

But I'll be damned if I give up without a fight. I had a bunch of recordings of stuff from happier, better days in Trichy, a place that seems almost idyllic in my head. Shame on me. So I took those recordings, cleaned them up on audacity and uploaded them. Here they are.

If I don't do well in the midterm tomorrow, the first thing I'll do is come back and delete this post. The second thing I'll do is shake my fist (Homer Simpson style) at humanity.

Four Stages edit by krishnac

Valley of Flowers by krishnac

Sleep project by krishnac

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Grad School Therapy

2010-10-26T09:30:00.003+05:30

Music in my head: Steven Wilson - Home in Negative
Today's weather: Getting colder

It's been a long time. Why? Grad life sucks.
I've been doing homework after homework, and after a point, it just seems an exercise in futility. What's the point? So I decided to mix things up a little. It had been a long, long time since I really did something with my guitar, so I decided to record some shit, to relax, maybe reduce the rate of brain cell death.
And I found that just closing your eyes and playing whatever comes to your mind is extremely relaxing, therapeutic even. I accidentally played this riff with a nice ring to it, and decided to set one of my old poems to tune over it. What do you know, it actually sounded half decent. Then I decide to become really pretentious, so I add a little slide guitar bit in, using a small bottle of mouth-freshener as my slide. Add some echo on audacity, and voila. Here it is. Listen to it, ignore the crappiness of the recording, and tell me how it is. You'll be contributing to my therapy!

Moondust by krishnac

Inception Inspection : Nolan's dirty secret

2010-07-20T06:45:00.005+05:30

Music in my head: Balmorhea - Settler
Today's weather: Barsaat.

This post is to set the record straight with the entire world (its not another 1 Night in Paris, as the title may suggest to some of you pervs). It is to claim the recognition that we truly deserve. You talk about the awesomeness of Inception, and I agree with that. But when you heap praises on Chris Nolan for the concept, you automatically incur the collective wrath of the makers of revolutionary (short) movie 'Voyage35'.

The brains behind the film, a couple of my friends and me, had a series of discussions- ranging from spiritual to gastronomic - on all matters related to dreams, especially exploring lucid dreaming and astral projection. And we actually downloaded this pdf, which gives you pointers on how to induce lucid dreaming. We worked on those pointers for a while, and one fateful day, locked ourselves in a room, ate a modified Haldiram's Bhel Puri (our sedative. Eat your hat, Yusuf), and fell asleep to Riceboy Sleeps by Jonsi and Alex, the most sleep-inducing album we could find. And then, we shared a dream, the likes of which would've turned Martin Luther King pink. Our kick was the 2 pm power-cut. No elaborate 'kick'ing mechanism involved (that's the difference between the movies and real life, isn't it?).

Although we don't remember what the dream was (except that it involved induction motors, Tricia Helfer and Bovonto), what's important here, is that we shared a dream before even before Cobb was in his frigging limbo, claiming to have built the city (who's he trying to fool, by the way? You're stuck in a dream for eternity with your wife, who is called 'Mal' for God's sake, and you expect us to believe that you're building a city with her). I could point out a hundred other loopholes in the plot, but who has the time?

I realise, at this point, most of you will have, in your heart of hearts, developed such a feeling of ill-will towards Nolan, that if Facebook pages had 'dislike' buttons, you would've clicked the hell out of it through your own account and ten other proxy accounts. But we are classy people. We urge you to desist. Come on, give the man credit for directing the movie. He's carried the idea satisfactorily enough. We admit that although we came up with the concept, if you watch our movie and then watch Inception, you'll notice that Inception has better camera angles at certain times, and better sets. That's the big bucks doing their work.

Now, a plea to Mr. Nolan. We won't go all Chetan Bhagat on you and demand that you give us all your money and put our names on the credits. We want only some of your money, a million each for the three of us would be nice. A small mention somewhere in the credits wouldn't hurt either, but you could replace the honourable mention with half a mil. No one reads the credits anyway. We know that you, like us, are a classy guy, and will do the right thing. Just comment on this post and we'll tell you how to send us the money. You should know that the money would go into paying for my Masters' Degree, and buying books. After all, education is the most important thing in the world (next to 'building cities', that is).

P.S: Inception was brilliant beyond words. I'm watching it again today.
P.P.S: The next post will deal with how the Wachowski brothers stole our idea for the original Matrix movie, and then wrote the sequels themselves.

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Et tu, Karaoke?

2010-06-09T17:05:00.004+05:30

Music in my head: Anathema - Hindsight
Today's weather: Back to normal, after two anomalous, pleasant days.

For a guy who has nothing to do, I've been doing quite a lot lately. I went to another party, at an Asian themed restaurant- complete with Karaoke, except that they'd hired two people to Karaoke for the guests. There has been talk of hiring super-sophisticated French-Italian-Gourmet trained 'Eaters' for guests. It's all hush-hush now, but the little birds say that the illustrious wait-list includes such rich and famous people as Lalit Modi who're looking to spend their shady money in every way possible.

So I sat there listening to an insipid version of 'I want to break free', sipping on a glass of beer, watching my dad shoot nervous glances at his now 'grown-up' son, and all of a sudden, I was treated to a dire spectacle. I had seen an old lady sitting at a table across the restaurant. Now, it is not my habit to notice old ladies, but this particular woman was about a hundred feet around the equator (I'm allowed to crack fat jokes, because I'm fat). I had dismissed her as a venerable old cat. But, lo and behold! There she was, pumping her fists and gyrating to the Karaoke, the quintessential cheesy-comedy-restaurant-fat-lady-dancing scene. Thus, the emasculating Karaoke came with a groovy fist-pump in the nuts of your eyes (forgive the crude metaphor).

The food wasn't particularly good, but then buffets rarely are. I don't eat fish, and half the table was sushi. I drank my beer, ate some chicken and tried to picture my safe place in my head- a lush meadow with cows grazing beside an arena where thousands of metalheads are banging their heads to such demi-gods as Dethklok, Opeth and Meshuggah. It didn't work, of course.

Result: No more pseudo-karaoke parties.

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Party Poop

2010-06-03T16:09:00.004+05:30

Music in my head: Simon and Garfunkel - Scarborough Fair Canticle
Today's weather: Dustbowl

Yesterday, I had to go to a party. Not the cool kind, like the once we used to have back in the day. Yeah, I can use the expression 'back in the day' now. I just got my final CGPA. But I digress. I had to go to a party, with my folks, at an Army mess, dressed up in ironed clothes and polished shoes. The bane of the existence of every self-respecting Army brat. Yes, you get as many (soft) drinks as you want, and you can eat as many pieces of Chicken-65 as you want, but that's not the end of the story.

This is what usually happens at such an occasion- I enter the Drawing room with my folks. Everyone exchanges pleasantries. They ask me which class I was in. I smile a big fake smile and explain to them that I have, in fact, completed my B.Tech. They proceed to explain to me how I don't look my age, and sometimes add an anecdote which proves that looks can be deceptive. This is all acceptable. Yes, I have a very high tolerance level for extremely irritating, mind-numbingly boring conversation.

Next, they beam at me and tell me- "Accha, bete, bacche log TV room mein baithe hain. Tum vahi jaake baith jao. Hum pepsi udhar bhijwa denge. (Ok son, the kids are in the TV room. You can go join them. We'll send you some pepsi.)" I look at them with a quizzical expression. I just told you that I am twenty one years old, you age-ist old person. Isn't that clever? That's like discrimination based on age, like racist is discrimination based on race. In that awkward silence, I think up clever things like that. And then, of course, the big grown ups get their grown-up drinks and form their little grown up conversation circles. And that's freedom.

The window of opportunity to escape from the Drawing Room without having to be escorted to the TV room is very small. So I usually just get the hell out at the first chance. I go hang around at the garden or something. This time, when I walked out, I saw a metallic staircase. It was as if a spotlight from heaven had lit it up. I walked up these stairs, very slowly, immersing myself in the anticipation. It led up to the roof. There was some construction work in progress. I had found my spot.

It was magic. I was transported back to Trichy. There was this ugly structure coming up right in front of the main gate. For months we couldn't even figure out what it was. Then we realised that it was a flyover. We figured out a way to get on top of it. And then after braving a mercilessly sweltering Trichy day, we would go up there at night. We would sit there, listen to music and watch the headlamps of the cars, buses and trucks flicker as they passed by in the distance. And we would talk about the EPL, the sucky Profs, how the Project was a pain in the rear, how the lights look like they're dancing to the music that's playing, of cabbages and kings. And the cool breeze would refresh us, and the guards would give us suspicious looks. But at that moment we hadn't a care in the world.

And two months later and two thousand kilometers away, I felt like I was back. I felt the buzz of passing traffic. I played the music in my head. Headlamps of speeding cars danced in the distance. I narrowed my eyes to slits until the lights were a blur. I could hear stuff in the background- "Dude, Torres is God", "Dude that Prof can't even spell redundant", "Dude I've left my lip-marks on my Prof's rear. I hope I get an A", "Dude Steven Wilson is genius".

Then suddenly, I felt a tap on my shoulder. As my eyes came back into focus, I half expected myself to be greeted by the Guard anna. "Bhaiyya, khana lag gaya", he said. I was back from my sojourn in time. I went to the dining room, picked up some dinner, pretended to be interested in the dinner conversation. They could've been talking about cabbages and kings, for all I care.

The next time I'm caught in a tedious conversation, I'll just excuse myself, find the roof and sit there, looking at traffic, in my happy place, with my friends.

"Did you ever imagine the last thing you'd hear as you're fading out was a song?....
... Arriving somewhere, not here..."

Kashmir

2010-06-01T15:07:00.013+05:30

Music in my head: Sigur Rós - Glósóli
Today's weather: The damp after the storm.

Round and round the rugged rocks the ragged rascal ran. As for us, we spiralled our way up from the barren valley that is Leh, through precarious roads and endless hairpin bends to Fotula pass, before we wound our way back down to Kargil.

It was an eight hour ride, and by the time we reached Kargil, I was full of dust, pins-and-needles and insightful thoughts resulting partially from multiple power-naps and a few conversations. I am not going to describe how picturesque the scenery was, I just don't have the words for it. I'm just putting up a few thousand below, just so you get an idea.

I'll put up the rest of the pictures on picasa soon. For now, I'll share some of the more interesting thoughts, perhaps epiphanies, I had during the eight hour road trip.

The common Kashmiri man is a closed box. He is cut off from the rest of the world by about ten hours in time and 400 kilometers in space. He gets yesterday's newspaper, and all he reads is the bollywood section. He survives without cable TV, heck, without power, twelve hours a day. But he is hard as a rock (not what you're thinking, you perv). He can brave icy winds in spite of just one layer of clothing, as opposed to the four or five layers we have on our backs. Hence, one can safely summarise that he is a strong, ignorant brute. I made these inferences from the two drivers in our little convoy. The clincher was the following conversation I had with one of them:

Driver: Bahut thand hai na? (It's really cold, isn't it?)
Me: Haan Bhaiya, Bahut Thand hai. (Yes, it is really cold)
Driver: Toh, tum kaha rehte ho? (So, where do you live?)
Me: Hum log Dilli mein rehte hai. (We live in Delhi)
Driver: Accha. Par proper gaon kaha hai? (Ok, but where is your hometown?)
Me: Voh to Kerala mein hain. (That's in Kerala)
Driver: Accha. Kerala kaha hain? (Ok. But where's Kerala?)
Me: Voh to kaafi neeche hai, kaafi south mein hai. (It's way down south.)
Driver: Oh, accha accha, Jammu side mein hain kya? (Oh right, it's near Jammu, is it?)
Me: (with a startled smile) Nahin, nahin bhaiya, bahut south mein hai. Samundar ke paas. (No no, its really way down south, near the sea.)
Driver: Accha, accha.
Me: (To break the awkard silence) Toh aap kahan ke ho? (So, where are you from?)
Driver: Kya, karein. Kargil mein janam ho gaya. To vahin pe rehna pada. (What can I do? I was born in Kargil. So I have to live my life there.)

My dad later told me that he's met a teacher in Kargil who couldn't name the President, didn't know how many states there were in India and couldn't even name five of them. I can't change anything. I'm just listing the facts.
Hence proved.
Now, coming to the women. Leh is predominantly a Tibetan community, so the women there are like the women you see in Darjeeling- dressed in the latest fashion, sporting shades and weird hairdos- the works. But in Kargil, you couldn't spot a single woman who wasn't wearing a hijab (a scarf that covers the head and the neck). And they're all really fair and well proportioned to boot. So, initially I cursed the Gods for denying me the enormous amount of eye candy that Kargil has hidden away under layers of wool.

But as time passed, and I started observing more carefully, I remembered a discussion I had with a friend back in college. The conclusion was that if a woman wears skimpy clothes, revealing all she has- her cards are on the table. That's it. Take it or leave it. But when a woman is hidden away under a burkha or a hijab, you can let your imagination run wild. You don't know what she's holding. Could be a pair, two pairs, maybe a straight, maybe a full-house, maybe even a flush. Whatever she bets, you'll call. As you get used to it, you can conjure up a straight flush every time you see a wrapped up woman. So ever since I had that awakening, my whole stay at Kargil just filled up with light.

So that's all about the men and women of Kashmir. I might continue my travelogue later, or I might not. Delhi's humid and I'm lazy. So in case the Universe doesn't conspire to create another such creative moment for me, I leave you with my sum-up of Kashmir- it's like being in the music video of a soaring post-rock song. Look up the song that I've been looping for a while now- Glósóli by Sigur Rós. Close your eyes. Turn on the Air-conditioner. You're in pseudo-Kashmir now. Enjoy your stay.

Randomness in Rhyme

2010-05-19T09:04:00.001+05:30

Music in my head: Agalloch - Not Unlike the Waves
Today's weather: Dilli ki Garmi.

In this sweltering, sweaty, summer season,
Delhi's deadly dry.
A chicken stranded on Chandni Chowk
Turns into chicken fry.

You'd think that tricksy tripsy Trichy
Had a trident up your rear.
But damned Delhi, apart from being smelly,
Has the trident trembling in fear.

I'm stuck in a small little stupidity rut,
Chewing chicken from Chandni Chowk,
To muscle up and move what's on my head-
A great big writers' block.

P.S. I promise that the forthcoming entries will make more sense. I just had to get the ball rolling somehow.

Voyage 35

2010-03-23T11:20:00.005+05:30

Music in my head: Bear McCreary- A Good Lighter
Today's weather: Meltdown.

When your eyes close and your mind dreams, you are taken to wonderland and your every desire is played out. But sometimes, reality can become more than just an illusion. It can fool you into trusting it, and when it calls, you just might not be ready for it.
Voyage35 is the story of a dreamer, who can do amazing things in his fantastic visions. Call it what you will- Lucid dreaming, Astral Projection, these dreams become his solace from mundane, sometimes unpleasant reality, so much that he starts believing in them. The dreams turn into his reality and reality becomes a fickle illusion, until he is pulled back down to earth by a harsh reality check.
The movie revolves around the protagonist Laxman Sivaramadasan, your archetypal nerd, who in his dreams turns into LSD, a comic superhero. His purpose is to bring down his arch nemesis Baldix, who is a persistent bully in reality. Does he succeed? Watch the movie to find out.

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I Live on the Moon

2010-01-08T17:21:00.005+05:30

Music in my head: Kwoon- I lived on the Moon
Today's weather: Hell frozen over.

Yesterday, an age ago,
We left the earth way down below.
Lost in deep watery space,
We floated in a state of grace.
Ethereal music filling our heads,
We flew onward on astral threads.
Everything we touched was gold,
Sounds distinct, letters bold.
The lights that flashed before our eyes-
A ménage of joy and surprise,
A stitched on smile upon our face,
Beady eyes, distant gaze.
Moondust blurs our mortal vision,
Moondust bestows ambition.
Once we were all full of sorrow,
But now, like there’s no tomorrow,
We roll around in a dusty glen,
We shape curious sand snowmen.
Lo, Behold the burning snow!
We remember now, an age ago
We burnt all that’s green and good,
A little stub is all that stood
In a blue apparition, far away-
Nothing’s left of it today
‘cept memories that won’t fade away soon.
For now, though, we live on the moon.

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Constant Change

2010-01-04T23:32:00.002+05:30

Music in my head: The Necks- The Boys I
Today's weather: Pretty cool for hell.

And I'm back to Trichy, for the last time. It seems like I (and my friend, who wishes to remain anonymous) was almost beaten up by the 'creative' tenth only yesterday(for those who don't get it, e-mail me- I've another six months left to spend ensconced within these walls). A lot of crazy stuff has happened to me over the years, and Mr. Bhagat, you don't get any credit for it. What had remained constant, though, was this beast that is NITT- swallowing up scared, often fat, newbies and spitting out uncouth bags of bones. Of course, our high-flying, smooth-talking, hotshot director has made a lot of cosmetic changes to our campus, none of it seems to affect the nature of the beast. He tried, he failed. Some of his latest attempts that catch one's attention are listed as follows:

1. Generators installed in Garnet hostel. They work only in the presence of external power supply.
2. The Second Gate (the one near Thuvakudi) is now a brick wall. This is to ensure that Opal can be attacked only from the inside.
3. The main gate is inaccessible by car, bus, truck, auto or foot, because of a humongous concrete structure that has been placed in front of it. Some say it will become a fly-over, others argue that it is a monument in honour of the director, yet others think that it's the Stairway to Heaven.
4. The new gate had an ominous sign in front of it that read "No Entry for Way Out". Now, "No Entry" has been scratched out. It reads "#### Way Out".

Other, equally notable, changes:

1. Motal Bambos (more commonly known as The Dhaba) now sells Chiken Role, Egg Role and Veg Role. They now serve their delicacies in fancy pink and blue plates, as opposed to leaves earlier.
2. Good Old 'Azzez Briyani' has now become "Selvam Multi-Hussain Restaurant". They sell Pappey Corn soup and Grab Masala.

I'll keep updating the list as more changes come our way.
It is, after all, the only constant (apart from crap at the mess).

What I'm doing now

2009-12-29T17:26:00.004+05:30

Music in my head: Fovea Hex- Neither Speak Nor Remain Silent
Today's weather: Artificially warmed.

This is where things stand, at the moment.
I'm going to rewatch Avatar tomorrow morning. I didn't have enough the first time. When I go back to college, I'm sure someone will have downloaded the BluRay Rip (Internet Cops, it wasn't me) and I'll watch it over and over again.
I'm listening to Steven Wilson's top 50 albums, on a euphoric post PT high (click here for the list) and there's a lot of interesting stuff in there- and I'm particularly enjoying the brand of minimalist music- drone, doom etc. that he's recommended. Thanks SW.
I watched 3 Idiots a couple of days back, and enjoyed it. It's almost nothing like 5 point someone, but I liked it all the same. I could point out a million inconsistencies, but I am not a cynic, so all of you go and watch the movie (I'll be waiting for my cheque, Mr. Chopra).
And I am wrapped up in bed as I am every winter, watching Battlestar Galactica, Monty Python's Flying Circus, The Simpsons, and whatever is on TV. I'm also reading a lot- the low point being Dan Brown's new book, which was stereotypical conspiracy theory, with the worst anti-climax yet, and that includes the ending to Angels and Demons. I read a few Robin Cook books- average, and re-read Shantaram, enjoyable as always.
End of transmission.

2012

2009-12-28T16:18:00.004+05:30

Music in my head: Camel- Chord Change
Today's weather: Uber-cool.

2012, we all fall down. Prophesies of everything from worldwide tidal waves and mass genocide to the earth flipping over and Santa in shorts indicate 2012 as a turning point in the history of mankind. Whatever they’re calling it, Apocalypse, Armageddon, Judgment Day, Rapture, it’s about as probable as the proverbial squeezing of toothpaste back into its tube. For the anti-skeptics who steadfastly hold on to the pearls of wisdom from the Mayans, Sumerians and 1930s Sci-fi authors (it is ridiculous that I have to even write this) there is irrefutable historical and scientific proof to the contrary.
Theories supporting the 2012 apocalypse are six of one and half a dozen, and they are based on several old-school Greco-roman prophesies and pseudo-scientific speculation on endless internet forums. A simple google search will show that the most talked about of these theories are the Mayan doomsday calendar and the Sumerian Planet-X or Nibiru. Internet folklore has it that the Mayan Calendar will complete its 5125 year long cycle on 21st December, 2012 bringing the world to an end. How? Well, this is answered by the Sumerian prophecy of a mysterious Planet-X, or Nibiru, that either collides with earth or passes close enough to cause calamitous gravitational effects such as tidal waves and earthquakes. Apocalypse was predicted to be as early as 1792, revised subsequently to 1844, 1918, 1925, 1941, 1975, 1984, 1988, 1994, 2000, 2003, 2005 and now 2012 by persons and groups ranging from Nostradamus to the Seventh Day Adventists. All the forums are, of course, silent as to where they got this information from- simply because they are all made up. A group of internet junkies are probably guzzling beer this very moment, marveling their own ingenuity at having created the latest internet fad.
The Mayans and the Sunmerians have given a lot to modern humanity- the Sumer pioneered agriculture and irrigation, but their knowledge of astronomy was limited to predicting sunrise and sunset. But people continue to discuss it at forums that make millions, and make movies that, surprise surprise, make millions. The quintessential human appetite for conspiracy theories, a fear of the great unknown, cosmophobia, today’s internet boom, and a chance to escape from the banality of everyday life are what fuel this fire. If you are reading this, especially all the people who have packed their bags and waiting to get vaporized in 2012, I regret to inform you that a black cat will cross your path in three hours and four minutes, and your car will breakdown during rush hour, which will result in deafness by honking horns. Let’s see if they start a forum for that.

The Porcupine Tree Experience

2009-12-23T16:23:00.007+05:30

Music in my head: The Porcupine Tree Setlist @ Mood-i
Today's weather: Chilly.

We were there.
We booked our tickets online for a pittance.
We waited in queue for two hours listening to a group of dumb-girl-stereotypes going "Oh my Gaawwd! I can't believe she's not into P-Tree". We tried not to think of the obvious phallic reference.
We waited. We got hair-gel samples from Gatsby. We watched people play human snakes and ladders for Durex jeans.
We listened to the MoneyBrother soundcheck.
And then, we heard him for the first time- a lone, unaccompanied voice, a-capella-ing "Way out of here". We didn't believe at first that it could be him. We thought it was probably some IIT pricks goofing around. Until we heard the first of the riffs from "Blind House".
We got carried by our feet and ours ears to the source of the sound. We found barricades, we strained to look over, under and through them. We climbed up to the top of the Swimming Pool wall.
We finally saw them. Steven Wilson on an acoustic guitar, singing "Time Flies". We craned our necks to absorb the whole scene. The other musicians waited for their cue. "...and the best thing that you can do, is take whatever comes to you, 'cause time flies...".
We cheered on throughout the song. We saw Gavin Harrison thumping away purposefully on his enormous drum-set. We saw Richard Barbieri hiding behind his shades as always, working five sets of keys. We saw John Wesley and heard his crooning voice as he backed up Stevie W. We saw Colin Edwin, playing effortlessly, with his usual spaced-out smile.
And then, they played "Open Car".
The small crowd atop the swimming pool erupted, threatening to bring down the wall. We sang along, we banged our heads, and we finally stopped. It was over.
The instruments were covered with black cloth. Soundchek was over.
We returned, for a while to Burgers and Dew and Gatsby, and then walked over just as the queue for entry to the OAT was being formed. We were lucky. In ten minutes, we looked behind us and saw the longest queue we had ever seen in our lives.
We waited- one hour, then two, and finally we the line started crawling forward ever so slowly. We watched as a group of people trying to jump the queue being met with a thick bamboo in the rear from a security guard.
People with iPods were thrown out of the line, somewhat appropriately, what with Steven Wilson's iPod breaking campaign. We moved forward, and half an hour behind schedule, we were finally in.
We listened, very superficially, to the last of the Semi-Pro finalists. Then Parikrama, the opening act, came on stage. They were average, and full of themselves. They sang two lame-ass songs which they claimed was inspired by Lord of the Rings. Peter Jackson would've murdered them. Their violinist was holding the act together, and their egos were badly hurt when they were bc-mc-ed in between songs. Their response was weak and baseless, with some crap about psychology. Their final song seemed never-ending, and the crowd erupted in a cheer of relief when they left the stage. They must've assumed that we liked them. If you're reading this, Parikrama, you're a good band, but you sucked yeterday.
Finally, the stage was prepared for Porcupine Tree by their technicians. Some annoying ads were played on the big screen as this was being done, which met with curses from the crowd, much like the Nokia incident during the Opeth concert at Chennai. (click here and here for more info)
And then, the wait was over.
Steven Wilson and co. exploded into the powerful riff of "Occam's Razor" and continued on to "Blind house". We expected them to play the whole of "The Incident", but we were in for a surprise as a hearty "Namaste India!" from SW was followed by, would you believe it, "Sound of Muzak". It was executed flawlessly, with the crowd joining in for the chorus. If that wasn't good enough, "Hatesong" followed, and it was amazing, right from the baseline to SW's weird solo, to the little drum innovations from Harrison. We then re-heard "Open Car". It was better than before. We were delirious.
And if this was delirium, what followed was, I don't know, madness, perhaps. Arguably their most popular song, "Lazarus" brought even those dumasses who had their asses parked for the first two songs to their feet. We waved our back-lit cellphones in appreciation. And six minutes later, we started banging our heads to the explosive intro to "Blackest Eyes".
Masterpieces followed one after the other, with "The Start of Something Beautiful", the first half of "Russia on Ice" and the second half of "Anesthetize".
This was followed by "Time Flies". It started as perfectly as the rest of the gig so far, but in the middle, the unthinkable happened. The drums and keys lost power for a few seconds, and the visuals went blank. But the true professionals that they were, they recovered in less than a couple of seconds to end in style. A couple of more songs from the incident followed with "Octane Twisted", "The Seance", and "Circle of Manias".
What followed was probably the high point of the concert. "Way Out of Here" combined perfect vocals, guitars, drums, bass- the usual, with visuals that can't be adequately described with the word stunning.
They bowed out after this, and some of the aforementioned dumasses started to walk out, thinking the concert was over. Sure as hell, they were left feeling stupid as the band returned for an encore, and what an encore it was.
It started with "Trains". It was brilliant. The solo, the clapping, it was the stuff of dreams.
And then the finale. The best for the last.
"You can be right like me, with God in a hole, you're a righteous soul,
I've got a Halo 'round me, I've got a Halo 'round me...
'Cause I've got a Halo 'round my head.
Thank you India!"
And then, they were gone.
Now, we say, suffused with pride and joy and disbelief, that, yes, we were there, on the night of the 21st of December 2009, a night which we will remember as (as quoted by the Parikrama frontman, one of the few things he said that actually made sense) Porcupine Tree Night for the rest of our lives.
Bully for the dumasses who weren't there.

Frak!

2009-12-14T20:36:00.003+05:30

Music in my head: Änglagård- Jordrok
Today's weather: Dilli ki sardi.

Hunted by intelligent cybernetic life forms,
Season after season, we frak, we run.
You look at us, you think we’re sweet,
Hear you me, it’s not much fun.

You sit there on your frakking rear,
You glut, you sleep, you glut again.
All this while we run and run,
In sunshine and in frakking rain.

Sometimes we fight, sometimes we die,
Sometimes we love, hope, betray, fall.
And you losers think we’re real,
Dumasses you are, so say we all.

An hour a day you stare at us,
As we fly and shoot and frak around.
We’re in your soapy fantasies,
Succulent, nubile, pinned to the ground.

Frak! You morons, open your eyes.
The world’s not twenty inches wide.
Breathe some unconditioned air,
Or just stick a knife in your side.

P.S. : The above is based on a true story.
P.P.S. : I love Battlestar Galactica. It's the best show ever, so say we all.

God is an Astronaut

2009-10-24T14:15:00.003+05:30

Music in my head: Opeth - A Fair Judgement
Today's weather: In the armpit of the world.

I had lost all contact with humanity. The Mass Effect Drives had approximately one chance in a million of malfunctioning, and evidently, I was the lucky winner. I was drifting through uncharted space. I had put my crew in Stasis, almost zero metabolism, in the hope that we might stretch our resources until, well until a fool’s wildest dream triumphs over the tenets of Rationalism. The powerful Navigation Systems on board The Normandy had been engaged on full power for as long as I could remember, in vain. The SOS beacon atop the hull had been lit, and walked around my ship one last time.
I had been sitting with my eyes closed, contemplating the gravity of the situation, when the shrill Alarm of the NavSys broke my reverie. It had homed in on a foreign object within communication range. I ran to the deck, where the first images of this object were being rendered on the Comm. Panel. And then everything went black.
When I opened my eyes, I was blinded at first by sharp white light. After my eyes got accustomed to the light, the staggering sight paralyzed me for a moment. Inanimate bodies stretched as far as the eye could see. I would have mistaken them for dead had I not accidentally noticed the almost imperceptible breathing- characteristic of Stasis. I began to notice that they were waking up from Stasis one by one. As my eyes grew more and more accustomed to the ambience, the sight that greeted me made me jump out of my skin. These were not people- they had no hair on the head, no eyebrows, no ears. And then I looked at my own hands. I almost passed out from shock. I was as hairless as an 18th century portrayal of an angel. I felt my face- no eyebrows, no cranial hair, and no ears. I saw that the rest of the people who had awoken mirrored my feelings, with some actually dropping to the floor, unconscious from such a humungous surprise.
Then, as if guided by a voice, I started walking, along with the rest of the multitude, now awake from hibernation. I do not know for how long we walked, and I do not know how much distance we covered. All I could see were these, these humanoids in all directions, stretching to the horizons. Slowly, the crowd began to thin. I could see that I was walking on a green pasture, with holes leading underground, and people disappearing into them one by one. I walked on, led by this omnipresent yet invisible Force.
Just then, I had the strongest urge to look up towards the sky. With great strength of will, I forced myself to look heavenwards. There it was- our magnificent Sun, and a blue sky, and birds, and clouds. All around us were the same trees, herds of antelope, butterflies and bees. We were on Earth. But Earth was not the same, and neither were we. All our traces of humanity ever having existed were wiped off the surface of the planet, and humanity was replaced by us- rid of all its vestiges and inefficiencies. We were the next step in evolution, except that evolution turned out to be a hoax.
As I walked into my hole, I realized that all those religious fanatics were right. God exists, but He is not a Flying Spaghetti Monster, He is an astronaut.

G-Man is coming to get you raa!

2009-10-16T18:21:00.003+05:30

Music in my head: Mono - Pure as Snow(Trails of the Winter Storm)
Today's weather: Morose

He can see you.
Guzzling gunpowder, glowing amidst the gory remains of gall-less gladiators, in all the glory of his gigantic yet glamourous, geisha-esque glutes, gay as springtime, he gauges your every move.
He can see you. The question is, can you see him?

G-Man.

In all major cinemas this November with subtitles in 14 major languages, including klingon, elvish and calculus.

Check out the Promo Videos with the G-Man OST, both the happy version and the sad version.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jP9IrU6qvDA
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k6y3d7Wn9mI

Lyrics:

G-Man OST - Performed by Why Saar?

Is there a crisis?
Here's G-Man.
Filled up with faeces?
Here's G-Man.
Endangered Species?
Here's G-Man.
Destraay yuar Englees?
Here's G-Man.

G-G-G-G-G-Man!
Fighting Crime Like only he can!

Geeeeeee-Man, Man, Man....

Buzz Off

2009-08-24T19:05:00.002+05:30

Music in my head: Harmonium - Vert
Today's weather: Like the vicinity of yesterday's sambar in a dumpster.

They buzz around, the flying fiends,
And, oh! But you can’t hear them.
They stalk you now, as you read,
Even as you condemn them.
They probe and sense and size you up,
Mandibles they slowly unsheathe,
And wide-mouthed and starry-eyed,
Into your neck, they sink their teeth.
You feel the sting, you see the thing
Chewing up your sensitive skin.
You swat away, you flail away,
You squish the life right out of him.
But, oh! His work’s already done,
A little red spot- his prize.
And the next morning you open your eyes,
Look in the mirror- surprise, surprise!
A little world map burnt into your side,
Ah! Look, here’s good old Trichy.
The Doc tells you- “It’s insect pee,
You’ve sensitive skin? That’s a pity.”
Now every time you turn your head,
There’s searing pain, and one thought,
That little David felled the giant
With nothing more than a slingshot.

Nursery Cryme

2009-08-09T16:31:00.004+05:30

Music in my head: Opeth - The Grand Conjuration
Today's weather: Sweatbox day.

Little beads of perspiration;
Going drip drip drip.
When there's no water all around
That I could sip sip sip.
And there's no electricity so that
The fan could spin spin spin.
And I'd be burned to ash outside
So I stay in in in.
A special Sunday with seven hours
Of power cut cut cut.
Take your sadistic smile and shove it
Up your butt butt butt.
Write a cheque for at least a grand
Send it to me me me.
A battery-inverter set from
The visions I see see see...
Would finally spring to vigorous life
And end this triplicate refrain.
And all the King's horses and all the King's men
Would never ever be the same again.

But Brutus is an honourable man

2009-07-29T19:11:00.008+05:30

Music in my head: The Mayfield Four - Eden
Today's weather: Slushy

My friend next door became an Indian Oil Baabu yesterday. A year from now he'll chewing paan and pushing papers, just like the esteemed administration at our own institute.
Although, of course, I'm very happy for my friend (whose butt in about twice its original size from a veritable artillery barrage of myriad shoe sizes), my lack of a really firmly fixed future leaves me, like the rest of us, a hardened cynic. Thus, now, I will bitch about our administration and their impressive inefficiency.
Starting with the Academic Department. I wanted to have my transcript and grade cards printed out. I went to bear man.
1 pm, July 23, Bear Man: Come at 2:30.
2:30 pm, July 23, Bear Man : Come at 4:30.
4:30 pm, July 23, Bear Man : Come tomorrow.
9 am, July 24, Bear Man : What, you did not inform me yesterday. Come at 2:30.
Pattern of July 23 repeats.
Pattern of July 23 repeats again on July 26.
I get my grade cards at 4:30 on July 26.
Pattern of July 23 repeats again on July 27, for the transcript.
In my frustration, I decided not go go again for two days. I'll go tomorrow, and you can guess what's going to happen.

Moving on to the computer support group. I was trying to access the Xilinx website, and I got a huge red flashing warning which informed me that I was being a naughty boy and trying to watch download pornography. I half expected a hand to magically spring out of the computer and spank me.
Au Contraire, the following was proudly splashed along with other notices at the most happening place in college, the juice shop (go ahead, laugh at us).
That is, of course, 'educational', but Brutus is an honourable man.

And while I was stranded at the juice stall, in the pouring rain, this is what I saw.
A T-shirt that says 'Hard and Dirty, Extremely Furny'. Furny brownies to anyone who can tell me what it means. A walking testament of the lack of real pornography, and the abundance of 'hot mallu aunties in red sari' on youtube, which, of course, is again a testament to our Brutus' honour.

Another furny guy lost his pen drive. This is how he appeals to the masses for help.
And one more year to go. It is certainly not 'a great pleasure to me'.
But then again...

Desert Haiku

2009-07-21T00:41:00.004+05:30

Music in my head: Sigur Rós - Milanó
Today's weather: Dusty, Windy, Trichy

(This is a set of Haikus. Notice that the syllable count is 3-5-3 in the first one, 5-7-5 in the second one and 7-9-7 in the third one, all just for fun. I call it a progressive haiku.)

Matted hair,
Dust winds are blowing,
Dandruff born.

My back is sweaty,
Sunshine burning my skin up,
As I walk around.

Was caught in sticky red tape,
When I tried to pay the fees today,
I look beautiful waxed.

My dusty wasteland

2009-07-13T12:32:00.001+05:30

Music in my head: The Mars Volta - Eriatarka
Today's weather: Dusty, windy, guess where?

If you book a prepaid taxi
To go to the railway station,
Cater for some extra change,
For rest and relaxation.
A man grabbed the ticket
Right out of my clenched fist,
Then he rolled my trolley on
Towards a man with a list
Of taxis that were idling,
Waiting for someone
To get onto the rickety machine
So they could have some fun.
I gave the trolley pusher
Twenty Indian Rupees.
I felt like Shantaram then,
He beamed and pocketed his fees.
Onto the taxi ride then,
It's lucky I didn't end up dead,
As the driver pulled a Rajini
With his hands behind his head.
High speed turns he negotiated
With a sudden flick of his hand.
I was beyond relieved when he
Pulled into the Station's taxi stand.
"Driver tip", he asked audaciously,
I pulled out ten rupees this time.
He stared at the tenner for a while,
Then at me, with contempt, the slime.
I just walked towards the platform,
My train for Trichy was at ten.
It was just eight o'clock,
I didn't know what to do till then.,
Until I found a waiting room,
Which had a power supply, hurray!
So I powered on my computer,
And replied to e-mails I received today,
Then fooled around on Facebook,
Until the train came around.
I got my ticket checked an then
In the thambi rhythm, I was drowned.

Heima, at last.

2009-07-09T23:23:00.006+05:30

Music in my head: Porcupine Tree- Halo
Today's weather: Sweaty, and I'm loving it!

Home at last.

The journey lasted 24 hours, including all the waits in between different modes of transportation, starting with:
1. Bus from my hostel to train station.
2. TGV to Paris.
3. Air India to New Delhi.

The bus and the train were, in keeping with French custom, exactly on time, and thus I had 3 hours to kill at CDG. I watched ‘This is Spinal Tap’. Awesome.

Check in was messy. Only 8 kg of cabin baggage is allowed, which resulted in my smelly underwear being exposed to public eyes and noses on their way from one bag into the other.
Window-shopped at the duty free shops, thinking up much better ways I could have spent the money some dumasses were shelling out for bottles of perfume and, of course, wine.
And then, the flight. Some salient features of the trip, which can be extended to most Air India flights:
1. Fact 1: Half an hour late, of course.
2. Fact 2: Cabin crew comprising three male and four female attendants.
3. Fact 3: The male cabin attendants had less facial hair than the female cabin attendants.
4. Fact 4: One of the male cabin attendants had no cranial hair either and had visible arthritis.
5. Star attraction 1: balding old man with almost immobile joints demonstrating safety instructions. I finally smiled after a very long time.
6. Star attraction 2: lead cabin attendant who looked just like this old mallu actress, honest to God.
7. Annoyance 1: Old chinki attendant 1 woke me up by poking me at 2 am to serve dinner.
8. Annoyance 2: Old chinki attendant 2 woke me up by poking me at 5 30 am to serve breakfast.
9. Annoyance 3: Waited one hour for stairs to arrive so we can deplane. Waited twenty more minutes for bus to arrive.

But Air India, I forgive you, for I am finally home. And its all about food, isn't it? I have eaten the following since reaching home:
1. Four Parathas.
2. A lot of Palak Paneer.
3. Half a Tandoori Chicken.
4. Couple of Roomali Rotis.
5. A chicken kathi roll.
6. About half a kg of mum’s cake.
Everyone else at home is asleep now. I am three and a half hours behind them.

The Real Louvre Top Ten (PG Advised)

2009-07-06T22:40:00.016+05:30

Music in my head: Estatic Fear - Chapter I
Today's weather: Mildly acidic rain.

When you hear Louvre, you think Mona Lisa, La Jaconde, as she is known here. But to a brutally logical and analytical engineering mind, she is unimpressive.
What made the whole three mile walk worthwhile was the abundance of perverted, and in some cases, outright sick paintings and sculptures. Go Old Masters! Here's my pick, the top ten in descending order.

Ten:A still from the 15th century slasher movie- Mummy's head IV.

Nine:

One for the feminists. The world's first six pack abs belonged to a woman.

Eight:Artifact from the collection room of a pre-christian sperm bank.

Seven:
Sunny Leone and entourage, back in the day.

Six:
The world's first orgy. Men, women, horses. Guy on the bed is probably thinking- "Why the hell didn't I think of this before?".

Five:
16th Century X-Rated spoof of 'Three Hundred'- 'Three hundred little Spartans'. Notice Leonidus in the centre grabbing attention with an erotic yogic stance.

Four:
One of the heads from 17th Century Futurama- known then as 'Futugabriel', as uttering the name of pagan gods was heresy.

Three:
Still from the prequel to "Meet your Meat"- the bovine messiah.

Two:
The first advertisement for milk- "Cobra bhi peeta hai".

And the winner is:
They pretty much speak for themselves.

So the next time you go to the Louvre, forget La Jaconde. And wear loose fitting pants.

Beedi Irukka?

2009-07-05T22:22:00.002+05:30

Music in my head: Steve Von Til- The Grave is a Grim Horse
Today's weather: Melancholy

It was, to say the least, a grim affair. A black armband would have been the final touch. A party, my prof had called it.

I have to explain to you a few things about my prof before I proceed. He is around 25, has long hair, wears ripped jeans, chain-smokes and listens to 70s prog. He would've been me except for the smoking, the hair colour and the missing love handles. That's why I was so taken with him right from first sight- don't mistake this for anything else, it was just pure macho guy love. I had to stay at his mum's place at Nantes overnight after missing the last train to Saint-Nazaire. In the midst of a long and awkward silence, which I am quite used to now that I've been here so long, in an attempt to make some conversation, I asked her if her son lives alone. I did this because I had to spend a night at his place as well- I was getting there on a public holiday. She answered, and I quote- "He live alone. He live with Francesca (name changed), but she go away. Now he sad."

He was, indeed, living alone when I got here. But somewhere down the line, I don't exactly know when, he met another girl. I had seen her once, when she came to pick him up from the lab. I, of course, said my bonjours and tres biens. And I was quite taken with her too. So when he mentioned the party to me, I secretly jumped for joy, all the while maintaining a nonchalantly cool demeanor. Party means eye candy, and at his house, it also means ear candy- he also has a record player and among others, an In the Court of the Crimson King 1983 reissue LP.

And then the slap across the face. I fond myself at a restaurant near his house, sitting at a table with an average diner age of about 60. Needless to say, only one person in ten, conforming to the ratio here in Saint-Nazaire, knew enough English to conduct a primitive conversation. Thankfully, I was seated between two such people, my prof and another old prof.

I went around shaking hands and saying bonjour for a while and retired to my chair. A couple of minutes later the old prof (OP) joins me. I smile my fake French smile and start thinking of things to say. He initiates the conversation.

OP: Salut! Comment ca va?
Me: Oui, tres bien. Ca va?
OP: Oui, Oui, bien. (beaming) You speak ze goot Francaise.
Me: (polite smile) That's all the French I know. Je parle pas francaise.
OP: Ha ha ha! You are from India?
Me: Yes.
(Some tedious conversation about where in India I am from, and how one of his friends found Delhi beautiful, hot and polluted.)
OP: You know ze beedi?
Me: Pardon?
OP: Ze beedi, you smoke, like so (mimes smoking).
Me: Ah! Yes, yes.
OP: Is very goot. My friend bring back beedi from India.
Me: Okay. I don't smoke, so I don't know.
OP: (Regards me curiously) Beedi is a very... ah... very... (defeated smile) goot.
Me: Okay.
OP: It is, how you say, illegal here.
Me: Oh!
OP: But my friend bring some, and it goot. You can buy in ze Nantes and Paris, but is ze expensive.
Me: Okay.
(The conversation switched to other mundane things.)

The food was not exactly my cup of tea. I hate seafood, Saint- Nazaire is primarily a fishing port. So I had the chicken salad and a weird Greek dish with a chicken leg wrapped in a leaf. The dessert was decent, chocolate mousse and lemon souffle. And the wine was, apparently, excellent. I had a glass, but I lack previous wine-tasting experience, and hence I am not a qualified judge.

Anyway, on the bus on my way back, I started pondering, as I usually do, about how the Europeans are so weird (OP might be pondering about how Indians are so weird at this very instant). Beedis are in high demand here. A single beedi costs more than a meal. And they buy it, just because it is illegal. I'm no expert here, but I always thought that beedis were bought for want of resources to buy cigarettes, and yet, this anomaly, this abomination.

I think I'll be glad to be rid of these little abnormalitites and finally return to our own desi idiosyncrasies.

Drilldoze

2009-07-03T22:22:00.004+05:30

Music in my head: The Who - Quadrophenia
Today's weather: Like Trichy in December.

I was having a very nice dream.
I had dozed off after eating two cheeseburgers. The time was around 6 pm as far as I can remember. And like I said, I was in the middle of a very nice dream, which, of course, I cannot recall now. I had been listening to Dark Side of the Moon in loop mode for the past two hours, and the music was still playing when I went off to sleep.
I can't be sure of this, but somewhere in the middle of my siesta, I thought I heard the intro to Time being played intermittently. And then thought I heard some really heavy beats. I must've assumed, all the while in a sub-conscious state, mind you, that the guys with Afros in the wing must be playing their annoying Bob Marley remixes.
The sounds must have grown louder and at some point I must have switched to conscious mode. I immediately heard a loud alarm (just like the intro of Time) and heavy fists banging desperately on my door. I could also hear running footsteps in the corridor. I jumped to my feet, ran to the door and opened it.
There stood a huge black woman, the prototypical hollywood black matriarch. She proceeds to grab me by the shoulders and give me thorough shake before going on into an angry monologue in rapid French. I can usually pick up random words here and there, but in this case I was totally lost.
The shaking had woken me up and I understood that it was a drill. Without a word, scared as a mouse, I put on my slippers and followed her out.
Once we were outside, I think my cute looks and just-out-of-bed hairstyle melted her heart of stone (no reference to the movie they used to show on CW, if anyone remembers the channel). She spoke, again in rapid French, but this time accompanied by a smile. I just said 'Je parle pas francaise' and 'I'm sorry!' and looked the other way, still slightly intimidated by both her bulk and her deep voice.
I don't know how long I stood out there. I was mostly staring at the floor. There were only a handful of people. Three black guys, a couple of chinese girls, a few Arab ladies and me. Everyone else had left for their respective homes, as the summer vacations here started on the 30th of June.
Then, as suddenly as it started, the ringing stopped.
I looked up for an instant, beamed at her, and almost ran to my room, never once looking back.

Prozac Wanted

2009-07-03T00:06:00.004+05:30

Music in my head: Tool - Schism
Today's weather: Cold on the outside, warm on the inside.

Five more days.
And its over.
Fifty days of Europe.
Fifty days of bearing the crushing weight of the collective expectations of disillusioned, perhaps deranged, yet naive fools who believe that Europe is Eurotrip.
Fifty days of gawking at anything that moved, and that includes swanky convertibles.
Fifty days of eating bland Euro trash, and putting mayonnaise on anything that resembled anything that was even remotely edible- literally, not, as the disillusioned and the deranged might impishly conceive, figuratively.
Fifty days of internet connections faster than the speed of thought.
Fifty days of breathing clean, cold air, that smells like fresh croissants in the morning, stinks like seafood in the afternoon, and has no particular odour in the evening.
Fifty days of smiling facades beaming at other smiling facades in a society that is itself a facade draped over a freakishly fragile, seemingly sophisticated porcelain dummy that is set precariously at the very edge of a mantelpiece in a little wooden villa bang on top of a fault in the Earth's crust.
Fifty days of larger than life gangster graffiti and smaller than peanut average intellect.
Fifty days of first feeling minuscule about who I was and where I was from, and slowly growing to eclipse the 'civilised' and 'cultured'.
Fifty days now, and who knows how many more, of feeling minuscule about the unaccomplished, the very same naive expectations that I naively derided.
Fifty days of forty days and ten nights.
And its over.
Five more days.
I'd love to finally leave, but I'd love to stay.
But I'd rather leave.

Renaissance

2009-07-01T00:17:00.003+05:30

Music in my head: King Crimson - Fallen Angel
Today's weather: Hot! As it has been for the past few days.

Went through Barrons from A to P,
And the Foundation Trilogy
In a week, cut off from humanity
Toeing the line of insanity.

Thousands of pages had I read,
Including Pamuk's 'My Name is Red'.
And most of what Mr. Barron said
In printouts strewn all over my bed.

Until a learned friend next door
Told me I need fret no more;
A computer sale since day before-
They're selling computers and chargers galore.

So I ran out to said hallowed place,
With hope writ large upon my face,
And there at the end of the maze
Was my ticket back to time and space.

I reached out to grab it with both my hands,
The Universal Charger for multiple brands.
I was so happy that I could dance,
But no time for that, I had other plans.

I came back and plugged it in.
Yes! My comp's alive and kickin'.
What a horrid week it's been.
Finally, I'm awake, I'm livin'.

Charged Down

2009-06-25T16:56:00.004+05:30

Music in my head: The whirring of a high speed synchronous motor.
Today's weather: Surprisingly, hot.

I am probably going through one of my leanest periods- mental health and happiness-wise. I had read about it in magazines and other blogs, and laughed at it; but I am laughing no more. This is by far the most depressed I have ever been in my life.
My charger had been scarred by ill-use since over a year now. I had three layers of tape over it when I left India. Two weeks ago I was taken by surprise as my computer turned off bang in the middle of a Whose Line Episode. For three days, I managed by contorting the wire to a shape in which the laptop had power. On the fourth day I ran out of shapes. I took out all the tape and tied two random loose wires together and it sputtered to life again. It survived for four days, and then gave up. The loose wires were now two little strands. I tried to keep them in contact with a small wire I nicked from the lab, but to no avail. As a last resort, I brought it to the lab where I soldered a length of wire onto two strands of wire that I had newly salvaged by cutting off the plastic. The light blinked for five seconds, then it was gone. I tried all possible things for another hour, and finally gave up.
In a depressed frenzy that evening, I sucked all the life out of my senile battery with five straight episodes of Whose Line. It was only nine in the evening when it died on me, and I had nothing to do. I walked around outside for an hour, wallowing in self pity.
I came back in and started reading a book. I slept off in half an hour. The book was called 'Sun at midnight', and it was nothing more than a soap opera based in Antarctica. I plummeted into greater depths of depression each day as I continued to follow the story of a pregnant superwoman in Antarctica being hit on by a super hunk and a sensitive sissy.
Then one day, as I was walking down the corridor I noticed a Dell Inspiron in the room next to mine. I knew the guy from all the fake hellos I offered him on our past meetings, and asked him if I could have his charger every night before he went to sleep. He happily obliged and things came back to normal.
But only for four days.
Now he is at home with his charger and I am wallowing in self pity again. I printed out Asimov's 'Foundation' so that I, at least, have something decent to read. I spend more time working. I don't go back to the room for lunch any more. I drink five cups of coffee everyday. I count off days to the weekend.
The weekend is the release. Last weekend was lovely. I went to Disneyland Paris with my friend Duck and his family. To say the least, I felt like a little kid again. I went on all the roller coasters, it was my first 360 degree experience. I even posed for a picture with Captain Jack Sparrow. But the real highlight of the trip was the pukka desi khana that Duck's mum cooked for us. Basmati rice, dal, sabji and achar with some spicy mixture on the side, my tastebuds felt like they died and went to heaven, after 5 weeks of trying to differentiate between cheeses of different flavours and sampling mayonnaise mixed with varying quantities of pepper.
So here I am again, waiting out another day, thinking of that veritable orgasm for my mouth. Tomorrow, I am going to Paris again. I'll spend the night with Duck and Arya, they're in Amiens, an hour from Paris. We'll go to Versaille on the weekend. Frankly, I don't care where we go, as long as we go.
One more weekend to look forward to after this one, and then home sweet home baby!

Hope

2009-06-19T21:25:00.003+05:30

Music in my head: Anathema- Hope
Today's weather: A little sun, a little rain.

"I was not put here by anyone in fear.
I came alone as me,
Just an idea in a long chain of discovery,
Surrounded by the same you.

Sometimes your tide pulls me out to sea,
And I die in a thrashing curse.
Sometimes we are kind.
More often, I doze,
So far up the beach that those who try to reach are burnt alive in the searing
Heat of the desert of my dispassion.
So far removed, I never hear the water,
'Cept once or twice a month when I see a mirror.

And I refuse to believe in some of the things that are said to be here,
Let alone those that are not.
I'm trying to change my direction.
Ours is pathetic in my own humble estimation.

I love the planet,
The great benign she-wolf.
Benefactor.
Spinning gently on towards the red giant four aeons hence,
When all the rose gardens are consumed in the flash-fire of flying time
She'll leave alone to you."

- Anathema, Hope.

Fire Drill + Idle Mind

2009-06-19T00:01:00.003+05:30

Music in my head: This Will Destroy- A Three Legged Workhorse
Today's weather: A big puddle.

Noisy alarm goes out of control,
Scares us out of our wits.
We run out into the corridor,
"It's a fire drill, step to, you gits!",

Says the big man in overalls,
Who has a bulbous nose.
I don't know why I'm rhyming now,
I could've just used prose.

But every man's first fire drill
Must be etched in stone.
And as I stand and ponder this,
The big man seemed to've grown.

"Close the door and follow me,"
The ape, he says to me.
And terrified by his barrel chest
I silently agree.

Fluorescent markers light our way
To the nearest exit.
I make my way out the door,
Still dazed by all this shit.

And I see the Frenchies lined up there,
Laughing, flirting, yapping on.
A couple of chinks were eating out
Of a picnic basket they'd brought along.

Well, a fire drill is more than just
A cumbersome activity.
"A fire drill everyday," I thought,
As I joined in the festivity.

Much Haiku over Nothing

2009-06-16T21:55:00.004+05:30

Music in my head: Steven Wilson- Insurgentes
Today's weather: Hmmm...

Feeding a sandwich
On an overcast wednesday,
To empty stomach.

Some mayonnaise falls
Off the edge of this sandwich
Onto the white floor.

Now, mayo is white
So I decide to leave it
Sticking to the floor.

Son of a Beach

2009-06-15T01:05:00.002+05:30

Music in my head: Rush- YYZ
Today's weather: A real bitch.

Don't ever get your hopes up about a beach party. Especially if a Frenchman tells you that in broken English. Because
1. Frenchmen think that 'at the beach' and 'near the beach' are interchangeable phrases.
2. Frenchmen wear black ties to said beach parties.
3. Frenchmen love seafood and serve almost nothing but seafood.
4. Frenchmen talk only in French, leaving you feeling like you are the novelty fish on the wall.
5. Frenchmen hang novelty fish on their walls.
6. The above applies to Frenchwomen too.
7. You cannot converse with the other novelty fish, including the ones on the wall.

The only positive feeling that a novelty fish can have during the whole rotten experience is one of profound thankfulness. Profound thankfulness for French fries and for the fact that he did not turn up in boxers and flip flops like he had originally planned to.
Beach party, my novelty a**.

For You

2009-06-13T19:38:00.002+05:30

Music in my head: King Crimson- Prelude, Song of the Gulls
Today's weather: Soft Sunshine, Gentle Breeze.

A glistening sea, gentle waves,
Smooth as silk, caress the beach.
The wind is singing in my ear,
In perfect tune with seagulls' screech.
People pass by, as I sit and think,
Of time gone by, people I have known.
A ship sails by under the shadow of
A tribute to heroes carved in stone.
The gentle sun warms within,
And I think of home, of sunny days.
And as I close my eyes and smile,
All I see is your angelic face.
But clouds are gathering overhead,
A warning of a storm to come.
But still I keep my eyes shut tight,
For lost in you, helpless have I become.

-dedicated to the beautiful woman getting tanned beside me, on this lovely day at the beach in Saint-Nazaire.

French is not Sexy

2009-06-12T22:35:00.008+05:30

Music in my head: Porcupine Tree- Normal
Today's weather: Well...

I can't get used to French. I hate listening to people shoot out sentences at the rate of knots and be halfway through their monologue before they realise from my dumb expression that I have no clue about what's being said. My internship guide took me to meet with another professor so I could explain to him what I had done so far. What ensued was an hour of me shifting my frame of vision from one rapid outburst of Francaise to another, trying desperately not to look at my watch.

But after the meeting, my lack of knowledge of French combined with another intern's lack of knowledge of English resulted in quite an awkward situation.

So after said meeting, I was on my way back to my room when I noticed a girl I had never seen before in the room next to mine. With my newly acquired greeting skills, I walked over to her.

Me: "Bonjour! I'm Krishna."
Girl: "Bonjour! Anglais?"
Me: "Oui, oui, parle pas Francaise." (Yes, I don't speak French)
Girl: "D'accord, ok. Moi Christine."
Me: "Hi Christine. I work in the next room." (Aided by flailing arm signals).
Girl: "Ah D'accord, good, good."
Me: "Ok. See you later. Bye."
Girl: "Ok. Bye."

Now as it turned out, we both walked out of our respective rooms at about the same time. And as all students in the area lived in the same complex, we started walking back together. And on the way,

Me: "So, what are you working on?" (repeat x 3, plus sign language)
Christine: "High Accuracy current sensors for VSIs."(Translated from a set of signs and disjointed words)
Me: "Ok. I'm working on control of a high speed synchronous machine."
Christine: "Zat is ze... ze... difficult?"
Me: "No, no. It's really quite simple."

She suddenly stops short and looks at me with a strange expression.

Christine: "Pardon, what deed you say?"
Me: "It's not difficult, its quite simple, easy."
Christine: "Ze... ze... sempa?"
Me: "Yes, yes, oui."

She shrugged her shoulders in a curious sort of way. I was sort of surprised. All right, maybe it wasn't that simple, but no matter how difficult it was, it didn't warrant a reaction like that. Great, I thought. Now she thinks I'm a pretentious know-it-all who thinks he's better than her.

We remained incommunicado for the rest of the walk back, and exchanged a courteous, maybe a little too formal and uptight goodbye before we retreated to our different buildings (there are two residential buildings in the complex).

I switched on my computer as usual and was in the middle of checking my email when I suddenly had a brainwave. Maybe simple had a slightly different meaning in French. Maybe it was used as a superlative, that explained the reaction. So I open google translate and start punching in words one by one.

'Simple' translated to easy. Nothing wrong with that. Then I remember her repeating 'Sempa'. 'Simple' is pronounced something like 'Seempluh'. But 'sempa'- no translation. Simpa. Nothing. Simpah. Nope. Sempah. Still nothing. Then, bingo.

Sympa. Translates to nice, sexy or friendly. Pronounced 'se(n)mpa', that is, sempa with a nasal twang. Well, the perverted French girl. That the first thing that came to her mind when I said 'simple' in my simple Indian accent was 'sympa' and not 'simple' is simply disgraceful.

But come to think of it, its also kind of sympa that her mind works that way. That's something we have in common for sure. I have to clear it up with her on Monday.

Then maybe we'll go out for lunch afterwards.

Away

2009-06-12T00:10:00.002+05:30

Music in my head: Gentle Giant- On Reflection
Today's weather: Sunshine, finally.

Walking through mist on an overcast day,
Damp and cold, yet I plod away.
Away from warmth, from a sunny day,
Away from home I wander away.
"It's lovely, its fun, the flowers in May,"
As I walk away, I can hear them say.
It's lovely all right, but try as I may,
I'm chilled to the bone, whatever they say.
Many miles from home, almost light-years away,
The mist and the wind, they persist, they stay.
Always the summers are slipping away,
Find me a way for making it stay.

Hello World

2009-06-10T13:30:00.003+05:30

Music in my head: Sigur Ros- Avalon
Today's weather: Overcast, I'm damn tired of this incessant drizzle.

Bonjour swapping with total strangers
Is really not my style;
But when I see them walk by me
I have to stop and smile.

Old man waiting for a bus,
A lady with her son;
Hot girl trying to cross the road,
A couple having fun.

You have to stop and say hello
To every one of them;
'Cause if you don't, then my dear friend
You have a big problem.

You show them that you really are
A stinking social retard;
They look at you and think you had
A childhood that was scarred.

But you alone know the truth
You alone can say;
That engineering in Tamil Nadu
Is what made you this way.

A world without greeting strangers,
That would be sublime;
But I can't think of any other word
To make this sentence rhyme.

Made in, guess where.

2009-06-09T17:01:00.002+05:30

Music in my head: God is an Astronaut- New Year's End
Today's weather: Rain, as usual.

Ice cold winds and cloudy skies
May try to chill my core;
But made in China jacket keeps
Me from being sore.

Walking to the laboratory
Can be a real chore;
But made in China music player
Walks me to the door.

Sitting in the laboratory
Can really be a bore;
But made in China girl's here too
and I feel bored no more.

Now you may think that this Chink
I really do adore;
But her made in China jasmine tea
Is what I'm going for.

Her jasmine tea is very sweet,
I always want some more;
But made in China watch tells me
Its fifty minutes past four.

It's time for me to go back after
A hard day's work, for sure;
Under made in China blanket I sleep
For ten long hours or more.

Comic Relief

2009-06-08T13:35:00.001+05:30

Music in my head: Anathema- Transacoustic
Today's weather: Gloomy

I've been going through all time classic comedies the last few days like a hot knife through butter. It all started after I watched 'Angels and Demons', or rather 'Langdonji ke arbit funde'. I knew that I needed some comic relief, and I googled for half an hour, made a list of classic comedies and started downloading them one by one and watching them.

It started with 'Airplane!' (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0080339/). It's a brilliant comedy, sarcastic at times, slapstick at times, but classic all the way through. For all you kinky bastards out there, there are a couple of seconds of nudity, so have fun while you're laughing.

I went on to 'Monty Python and the Holy Grail' (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0071853/). Again, exceptionally humourous and way ahead of its time. It's a satire on how King Arthur his knights try to scour England on a shoestring, looking for the holy grail. The credits at the start of the movie are worth reading, so don't skip them.

Next came 'National Lampoon's Animal House' (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0077975/). Some people may argue that it shouldn't be included in a list of classics, but you have to agree that it was a pioneer in its category, inspiring hundreds and hundreds of teenage comic flicks in the future, including movies like American Pie and Van Wilder, which, despite what the so called 'cultured' people would find, perhaps, disgusting, are extremely good ways to kill time. There's quite a bit for the kinky bastards too, so have fun.

Moving on now to 'Some like it Hot' (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0053291/). The original gender-bender, on which so much of our modern day bollywood crap with Govinda and the like is probably based. The classic movie is on one hand typical of its time, and at the same time is light years ahead of it. With references to homosexuality, and of course cross-dressing, the movie is probably what put the wheels in motion for some of the brilliant movies of today which may not have been received so well in a more narrow minded world.

The last one, and probably the best one I saw was 'Dr Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb' (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0057012/). Surely one of the best movies I have ever seen. I watched some scenes up to three times and got three different meanings each time. It is packed with euphemisms and double entendres, and halfway through tongue in cheek quite well becomes tongue through cheek. Peter Sellers plays three roles in the movie, which is about a group of politicians trying to stop a mad general from enveloping the world in a nuclear holocaust. What I loved most about the movie, was the names of the characters. The mad general was named John D Ripper. The Russian premier is called Dimitry Kissoff (not sure about the spelling). But the award for the best name goes to one of the generals who is in the discussion with the politicians. General Buck Turgidson. Take out the 's' and you have a hard on, which is aptly illustrated by the fact that he is sleeping with his luscious secretary.

If you want to watch any of these movies and can't find links, tell me and I'll mail them to you. I don't want to post the links on the blog and make this and arbit links blog.

Afro-Asian Games

2009-06-06T23:40:00.002+05:30

Music in my head: Opeth- Deliverance
Today's weather: Don't know, don't care.

It’s five thirty in the evening. I’m not completely hungry yet, but on close examination I could hear my stomach rumble. I decide, what the heck, I’ll just make dinner before the chinks come and crowd the kitchen.
I grab my bread, cheese, salami, ketchup and mayo and reach the kitchen, and I literally take a step back. There was this huge black guy with an afro about half his height, wearing nothing but a tiny pair of boxer shorts. I try to hide the look of surprise, mixed with a hint of fear, as I place the ingredients for my sandwich on the counter, waiting for him to finish using the grill.
Then I make a big, big, mistake. I smile, nod and say “Bonjour!”
It is customary in France to greet complete strangers when you see them. Even out on the street. Although I find this custom very useful when I pass by the ladies, I’ve never been quite comfortable with it, after having spent the last three years of my life looking the other way when certain people pass by. That’s normal if you are Indian. I’m sure there are people who look the other way when I pass by. But here, you have to bring out you great big fake smile and say your Bonjour before you can pass. It’s like the password to any building or street in France.
So I give him the password and smile my big fake smile. He looks at me for a while, as if to check if it was safe to let me near him. He narrows his eyes for a moment and looks me right in the eye. Then suddenly, he lightens and up, smiles and says “Bonjour!” As far as I’m concerned, that should be the end of the conversation. I stand silently, looking out the window, making sure that I don’t make eye contact with him again.
I had noticed that his oven timer showed ten minutes, so I start listening to some music. After a while, I start nodding to the music, slightly, leaning against the wall, looking out the window. Then I hear him say “Hello!”.
I turn around and my face is inches from his hairless chest. Startled, I pull back a little, and mutter a lukewarm hello back. This is the conversation that ensued:

Afro: “You like it za music?”
Me: “Yeah.”
Afro: “I like it za music too. What do you listening to za now?”
Me: “Camel, yeah.”
Afro: “Is zat like a za fiffaty cent? I like za fiffaty cent. You call it a za Gangesata.”
Me: (Just about understanding him) “No. Not really.”

Afro gives me a big, weird smile, turns and looks out the window. He proceeds to move his right hand to the small of his back and thrust his pelvis backward, causing his rear end to stick out, barely covered by the thin fabric of the boxers. I stand there, aghast, speechless and disgusted. I start contemplating leaving the kitchen and coming back later, when:

Afro : “Ze wezzer is a za good today.”
Me: “Yeah, yeah.”
Afro: “How are you?”
Me: (Incredulous at the misplaced timing of the question) “I’m fine, thank you. How are you?”
Afro: “Se bien, bien. I good, like a za wezzer. I am a za shining like a za sun.”

I am horrified at this juncture. What with the ‘shining like the sun’, the lack of clothes, the arm placement and the butt projection, I’m getting really, really freaked out. “That’s it,” I decided. “I’m running out.”
And then, like a godsend, the oven starts to beep. The ten minutes were up. He was going to leave.
He takes his food out the oven. I don’t see what it is. I don’t even look at him. My gaze is fixed on a tiny stain on the floor. “Bye,” he says. I bid him farewell without looking at him, looking down at my phone, pretending that I’m going to make a call.
I hear him leave. I wait for a few seconds just to be certain. He was gone.
I make my sandwich, get the hell back to my room, eat it as quick as I could, and listen to Master’s Apprentices at full blast.
I still can’t get that friggin image out of my head.

One day...

2009-06-06T17:02:00.004+05:30

Music in my head: Parkway Drive- Romance is Dead
Today's weather: Rain

One day for power. One day for raw, untrammeled, uninhibited, unfettered, power.
One day for mesmerising brutality, for all-consuming hatred, for awe-inspiring evil.
One day for melting strings, for burning fretboards, for shattered keys, for broken drums.
One day for weak knees, for ruptured eardrums.
One day for banging heads.
One day for the rise of the machine, for the fall of civilisation as we know it.
One day in Mordor with the Nazgul of modern entertainment.
One day. Sunday, 21 June. Look for me on the DVDs.
One day in Hell.

Do naat do it, ji...

2009-06-03T19:34:00.000+05:30

Music in my head: Radiohead- Sulk
Today's weather: Getting Cloudy

Cars wait for you to cross the road, so you don't have to dart through the traffic praying furiously.
Trains arrive exactly on time, to the second, so you don't have to hurl curses at random politicians.
People respect FCFS, queues are maintained, so you don't have to stand so close to the fat lady in front of you that you have to rotate your pelvis slightly.
Girls in the prime of life show skin, a lot of skin, so you don't have to make up mental pictures.
Public displays of affection are fairly commonplace, so you don't have to look too far to feel infinitesimally small.
People love seafood, so you don't have to have a keen sense of smell to feel nauseous.
Food is expensive, so you don't have to eat like a glutton any more.
Hardly anyone understands English, so you don't have to talk too much.
You have to use so many hand signals for communication that your arms ache, so you don't have to do the curls any more.
You walk so much that there's a new boil under your foot everyday, so you don't have to jog every morning.
Internet speeds are out of this world, so you don't have to keep your computer on overnight any more.
The bases of the walls are not moist here, so you don't have to cover your nose near fences.
There's no cow dung on the streets, so you don't have to watch your step.
It's not terribly warm, so you don't have to shower everyday.
Finally, there are thambi restaurants here, so you don't have to feel homesick.

Soup

2009-06-03T16:45:00.000+05:30

Music in my head: Sigur Ros- Von
Today's weather: Sunny

It is not very entertaining to listen to a conversation in Chinese, contrary to what everyone might think. All I can hear is a nasal drone and the occasional really loud syllable. It's disturbing me from my work, which is all set to break a lot of ground. It's sad, really, considering that this is about as far away from China as it possibly gets (I'm in France. In your face.).

Now, lamenting gently about the dearth of Frenchmen in a small French town on the Atlantic Coast, my thoughts meander to a little trip I made to its even more Mongoloid dense centre, the pride of France, Paris. But this is not about the Mongoloids, not even about the Frenchmen. My thoughts go back to a quaint little bistro on a busy corner in the north of Paris. Cafe Foresta, they called it. It served Italian food and drink. And it was run by, wait for it, a thambi anna, forgive the oxymoron.

We did realise a strange familiarity about the waiter's face as soon as we entered. There was the weird French hairdo with lots of gel on, and the puffy French shirt and the pointy French shoes. But there was also the tropical complexion and an expression of what we thought was slight joy at seeing us that led us to believe that he was Indian. Of course, his perfect French belied our inferences, so we had to wait for a sign.

Oh yes, he did give us a sign. He wrote down our order, walked calmly over to the counter and shouted- " Anney, Oru Isabella, Oru Reims, Oru Vegitarienne, sighram!" We could just look at each other and smile. It's a small world.

The old tamil songs started playing and we were transported to a much warmer, more polluted place densely packed with sweaty people, although only the music was a common factor here. In that little instant, we went from Cafe Foresta to Motel Bamboos, and were back with a resounding crash when they brought our pizzas, and were slapped even harder right across the face with a sixteen euro per person cheque.

Sometimes home is the best place on earth.

Colour me

2009-04-12T08:30:00.000+05:30

Music in my head: King Crimson- In the Wake of Poseidon
Today's weather: Rainy

I sleep, dreaming of a macho me, when the pink walls of my room, covered, in vain, by posters of sporting heroes and heavy metal rockers slap me effeminately every time the power cut wakes me up. My vision is a multi-coloured blur for a while, before my eyes get accustomed to the blushing walls.
A dreary yellow walk through the brown of a small dust storm stirred up by a passing truck deodorizes my deodorant and coats me with faintest shade of beige. I enter a chaotic building painted a shade of green that can only be described as pungent. I sit among a horde of beige faces with colourless expressions, as we anticipate the arrival of Darkness.
A Black cloud enters the room, and all the beige is drained out of the faces. The words droning in the background bring back the multi-coloured haze. Colours slip in and out of focus. The green walls turn lighter, and lighter and lighter, until the cloud is finally lifted. The colours that were swirling around in front of our eyes return to our weary faces.
Now the skies seem less blue and the trees less green as I plod back wearily. Tomorrow is not a new day. A potpourri of pink, yellow, brown, beige, green and black is brewing up somewhere to take me through tomorrow, but all colours turn pale in the presence of the laminated light brown of Observation.
And as I write in blue ink, the skies turn darker and darker, a red moon rises and sets, and the light of the stars fail to penetrate my veil of discomfort, until I finally sleep.
I sleep, dreaming of a macho me, when the pink walls of my room, covered, in vain, by posters of sporting heroes and heavy metal rockers slap me effeminately every time the power cut wakes me up. My vision is a multi-coloured blur for a while, before my eyes get accustomed to the blushing walls…

Of a Pair of Pairs

2009-03-07T16:01:00.000+05:30

Music in my head: Garmarna- Herr Mannelig
Today's weather: Cool

Some people have the weirdest habit of socializing with complete strangers. It maybe commonplace in the 'west', but in India, you have to have a pair to go and make arbitrary small talk with a complete stranger.

My encounters with such 'paired' people had been few and far between, at least till today morning. Everything changed today morning.

Instance 1:

I board a bus to go to Chennai from Trichy, from where I'd catch a flight to Delhi. A strange man comes and sits next me, and is surprisingly warm right from the word go.

Man: (Nod of the head)
Me: (nod back)
Man: Hello paa! Madras going you?
Me: Yes anna.
Man: Madras good place. Trichy very haat.
Me: Yes anna.
Man: (Wide smile)
Me: (Smile back)
Man: (after a while) Small help paa.
Me: What anna?
Man: You have twenty rupees?
Me: (bewildered pause)
Man: Urgent need paa, bus ticket naat full money.
Me: (Mellowing a little) Ok anna, let the conductor come, I'll pay.
Man: No! Give money now. Me other bus, not this bus.
Me: Anna, I don't have change.
Man: How much you have?
Me: Only 500 anna.
Man: Give me 500, I bringing change.
Me: (totally bewildered) I cannot do that anna!
Man: Small help paa, only 50 rupees.
Me: You said 20 earlier.
Man: Ok 20, give.
Me: I can't give you anna, I'm a college student, going home, I have only little money.
Man: Please pa!
Me: No anna, please, I cannot.
Man: (Dirty look) Wokay, wokay, I going.

And then he was gone. What a pair on him, I imagine.

Instance 2:

I reach the airport, buy a cappuccino that cost 80 bucks, and sat down determined to enjoy it, when today's second pair walks towards me, smiles and assumes a seat next to me.

Man: Hello, you going where?
Me: Delhi.
Man: Good, good. Delhi very nice place. I been in Delhi once.
Me: Ok.
Man: You from delhi.
Me: Yes, I live there.
Man: Ok. What you doing here?
Me: I'm studying at Trichy.
Man: Engineeringaa?
Me: Yes.
Man: Wokay, wokay. College leave aa?
Me: Yes anna.
Man: How long paa?
Me: One week anna.
Man: Wokay, you going to see your fathers and mothers aa?
Me: (In my mind: What!!?)(Stifling laughter) Yes anna.
Man: (big smile)
Me: (Big smile) ok anna, my flight is about to depart.
Man: Wokay wokay.

I grab what's left of my coffee and get the hell out of the area. What a pair on that guy, I imagine.

I've got five more hours to wait at the airport and I don't need any crystal balls to tell me that I have to watch out for more pairs flung at me.

Jackass

2009-02-13T02:13:00.001+05:30

Music in my head: Fresh Maggots- Rosemary Hill
Today's weather: Drowsy

People talk out circumstances bringing animals that exist deep within each twisted psyche out into the open. Most times, this animal is a jackass.

Circumstance: A death metal God has been growling away for two hours, while shredding his guitar to pieces, and four other Demi-Gods have been doing their respective bits to keep the delicate balance of nature. Thousands of zealots have been writhing away as if an omnipotent TV evangelist was bringing a chicken back to life in each of their heads. And now everyone is taking a break.

And as the age-old saying goes, if a death metal God has been growling away for two hours, while shredding his guitar to pieces, four other Demi-Gods have been doing their respective bits to keep the delicate balance of nature, thousands of zealots have been writhing away as if an omnipotent TV evangelist was bringing a chicken back to life in each of their heads, and now everyone is taking a break, it brings out the jackass in Mr. Nokia.

Mr. Nokia: You want more of Opeth?
Crowd: Yeah!
Mr. Nokia: Then repeat after me: Touch Opeth, Play Opeth, Share Opeth!
Crowd: ??
Mr. Nokia: Come on! Say it after me: Touch Opeth...
Crowd: **** you!
Mr. Nokia: Play Opeth...
Crowd: **** you!
Mr. Nokia: Share Opeth!
Crowd: **** you!
Mr. Nokia: Thank you all! Now I have one more thing to say...

Circumstance: Mr. Nokia has one more thing to say, and there is, somehow, a brief silence in the crowd.

Now, as the age old saying goes, if Mr. Nokia has one more thing to say, and there is, somehow, a brief silence in the crowd, it brings out the jackass in the fat guy with specs, let's call him Sensei.

Sensei: I'm Gay!
Crowd: ??
Sensei: Umm... I meant it for Mr. Nokia...
Crowd: ??
Sensei: ??
Crowd immediately surrounding Sensei: **** you.

I meant no offense to the gay community here. In India people are still just walking out of their double padlocked closets.

So summing up, if a death metal God has been growling away for two hours, while shredding his guitar to pieces, four other Demi-Gods have been doing their respective bits to keep the delicate balance of nature, thousands of zealots have been writhing away as if an omnipotent TV evangelist was bringing a chicken back to life in each of their heads, and now everyone is taking a break, it brings out the jackass in Mr. Nokia, and if Mr. Nokia has one more thing to say, and there is, somehow, a brief silence in the crowd, the jackass in the fat guy with specs walks out of a double padlocked closet.

While(1>0)

2009-02-12T02:24:00.000+05:30

Music in my head: Porcupine Tree- Even Less
Today's weather: Sticky

Sometimes it feels like I'm walking into the same trap over and over and over again. If we were, indeed, in the matrix, I'd be in the middle of a colossal glitch.
Today's Smith was Bear-Man, first words that popped into my mind when I saw him.

Me: How much do I pay for a grade card?
Bear-Man:
Me: What's that again?
Bear-Man: Sissty
Me: Sixty?
Bear-Man: Sissty Paa!

Bear-Man had made his point. I plodded two kilometers to the bank, filled up a form, paid, and returned with a counterfoil that enables the dumass to retrieve what I had paid at the bank. Brief flashback, about a year back in time:

Me: How much do I pay for a grade card?
Shaved Bear-Man:
Me: What's that again?
Shaved Bear-Man: Yaighty
Me: Eighty?
Shaved Bear-Man: Yaighty Paa!
At this point I open my wallet to take out the eighty rupees for the grade card, when
Shaved Bear-Man: You cannaat pay me. You pay challan bank, I take counterfaail. Write also request letter pa!

Bear-Man had made his point. I plodded two kilometers to the bank, filled up a form, paid, and returned with a counterfoil that enables the dumass to retrieve what I had paid at the bank.

Present day:
I return with the counterfoil, he catches a glimpse of it when

Bear-Man: Write also request letter paa!

I scribble something on a piece of paper and give it to him. He takes one look and

Bear-Man: Who told you sissty paa? It is yaighty!
Me: No! I asked you! You told me it was sixty!
Bear-Man: Don't lie paa! Everyone knows it is yaighty! Go get it the twenty rupee challan more and come paa!

Bear-Man had made his point. I plodded two kilometers to the bank, filled up a form, paid, and returned with a counterfoil that enables the dumass to retrieve what I had paid at the bank...