Friday, December 23, 2011

Tragic Ambitions

The "storehouse of snow" beckons me on yet another weekend. Disguised as Rishikesh-yet-again, I will be up to (pun intended) more exciting stuff than your mothers can imagine. Now, don't start imagining yourself, since I doubt if you've ever exercised those faculties - metaphorically speaking, you're imagination fits a 30B. Admittedly, I won't be deflowering freshly fallen snow beneath my feet, or any snow for that matter, but there is a disciplinary shift involved here. Additionally, I shall be a witness to all those towering deities - that present a panoramic delight - whose names Ghoru throws into conversations as casually as the Indian (cricket) team lineup.
My return from this risque Himalayan circuit coincides with Boukreev's 14th death anniversary, which also coincides when I will start with reading his narration of the epic 1996 Everest (mis-)adventure.

On other fronts, things are holistically fucked-up.

Thursday, December 22, 2011

Nothing in life recedes

To, Nothing in life recedes, but the stereotypes.

Isolation, Hr 4:
This guy is back from a long session of 'looking about'. Biting the cold. Straining his eyes to cut through the dense fog.
Subterranean roads - populated with hawkers returning home and cab drivers, - random streets, loops, the left-turn stratagem (in US it translates to the right instead of the left), the traveling salesman's problem. The prospects of learning fluid dynamics lie in ruin - however that doesn't hamper his ambitious postgraduate plans. The realisation of this recently-concluded pointless activity (one that also puts a guilt of ~10km of fuel consumption) sends him into a loony crackling laughter.

Some tea for comfort.

Now that the snakes have been silenced, the madman on the streets no longer troubles him, the girls don't demand his attention for their dirty politics, and no Kareena Kapoor prances around, he can compensate for a lot of inaction over the weekend. He shudders thinking of the forthcoming weekend, where he's clearly going mental one way or the other - he shudders thinking about himself the way he is thinking; but he also shudders thinking about others the way he sees them, as he shudders seeing himself in that similar image.

Monday, December 19, 2011

thistle bee ace

what the fuck do i do
what the fuck do i do
my head

my anger doesnt subside
i am trapped in my body with these feelings
it affects my whole life
it affects how i approach love

makes me want to react
to feel
to yell
to get mad
am i crazy? should i be locked up?
what do i do? i am dying out here.

and now i am back
i have remnants left
and i dont care
- i mean i say i dont
but i probably will

i don't know what i will do.
i just feel so unloved right now
which is weird, right?
everytime i have opened up
i end up on the ground
worse. i end up messed up.
i end up alone.
i am spent
i have nothing to give to anyone
life seems like an effort
i can't take it anymore. dont you get it?

Someone told me: "There is truth in everything, even in error."
That's true. France didn't see it in the seventeenth century. They thought one could avoid error; and what's more, that one could live directly in the truth; It isn't possible; Hence Kant, Hegel, German philosophy: to bring us back to life; and make us see that we must pass through error to arrive at the truth.

What do you think about love?
The body had to come into it. Leibnitz introduced the contingent. Contingent truths and necessary truths make up life. German philosophy showed us that; in life, one thinks with the servitudes and errors of life; One must manage with that, that's true.

Shouldn't love be the only truth?
- For that, love would always have to be true

Do you know anyone who knows at once what he loves?
No. When you're twenty you don't know. All you know are bits and pieces, you make arbitrary choices. Your "I love" is an impure affair. But to be completely at one with what you love, you need maturity. That means searching. This is the truth of life. That's why love is a solution, on condition that it is true.

Wednesday, December 14, 2011

Overwhelmingly close to nothingness

I find myself into another prosaic venture, all coz I need to rid my mind of JS right now.

Sometimes i feel overwhelmingly close to nothingness, renunciation - look up the definition in Merriam Webster for a better aligning with my thoughts here; so much that I blast music into my ears to escape this foreseeable fantasy, just like i do to escape my flights of grandeur, of fighting the big battle, of sticking out in story of our civilization (but, alas, history is much like fiction). Ending up nowhere would be superbest, since that leaves me out of any factory-made mould (there, history "uncomplicates", so even our purposes are opposite). I seem a candidate for a dream, fleeting. From my construction of fantasies I become one myself - Howzzat!
I will awkwardly slip in and out; will end anstartywhere, will anywhere.
My circles fluctuate, more like recede, though I'd like them to be displaced. [My gut/core wants to use the word 'spin' and 'vortex' here, but I find it hard to make them 'fit in']

Oh, another aspect to muse ponder upon (I've been checking use of 'muse' since learning about its roots as a more potent reference to goddesses from Greek mythology ref. Scott Berkoun's (sic) "The Myths of Innovation" - it feels embarrassing to use the word 'muse' recklessly. 'ponder' is more apt, since it means merely to 'weigh' or 'appraise', which doesn't hint of a mental or creative leap) is the cyclical nature of things. Ignatius' Wheel of Fortuna. The Yin and the Yang. I don't understand nature that well, but our champions have often come a full circle (even Gandhi, as I learnt today, from a racist, fornicating, enema-delivering personality to what we know him as). Can either imagine it as a transition (as with the Shadow Warrior logo), or as being buoyed back into greatness from the depths of some samundar-roopi situation.
Human slingshot, I fancy one now.

Monday, December 12, 2011

Funny Indian Company Names

Some interesting (officially registered) Indian company names


That reminds me, must register ROFL SOFTWARE before anybody else does.

Pics over the week

@paharganj: kids waiting for the school bus. i remember being lucky - our school delayed timings in winters.
NB this was on the dinosaur qwantz mission morning.

@noida: the jugaad

@NDLS. i didnt know berghaus were making jute bags for the common man... CPI-M would like that

@paharganj. evading the ticket inspector at the station, i stepped out into paharganj, to find some procession blocking the entire street. dhol-baaje, blaring loudspeakers, sheep-women chanting "Jai Shri Ram" and keeping an eye on the sweetmeats being distributed, and madamji-women who were instructing the sheep-women and restraining them when they forget their lord and start rioting for sweetmeats. women liberation right there.
the restaurant receptionist at one Hotel Hari Piorko described to me (assuming I was a foreigner, whoo!) "It is for a very important Indian God" (and more importantly in the name of that ashram guruji i guess).


Madan still refers to the lower castes in his Garhwal village as 'Dom'.
In the Middle East, the gypsies, called 'Dom', are Muslims.
In the Shina valley of Pakistan-controlled Gilgit-Baltistan region, the musician and blacksmith population is called 'Bericho', or 'Dom'.
It was nice to find an overlapping history of these people, originally lower caste outcastes from India, who migrated like they had wings, and came to be more commonly known as the gypsies.
Where do gypsies come from?
Gypsies — the dalits of European continent

Sunday, December 11, 2011

slow saturday

Switching between dimensions is HELL difficult. [what better occasion to use 'hell' than today, when I have just been back from those dungeons] Risking overlapping dimensions, however, is even more difficult - no wonder people are often undervalued or misunderstood. One is simple. Two is confusing, yet welcome . Three is a lot of questions to answer. Anywhere beyond, and you are inviting trouble and condescension, unless you can be Batman, Javier Bardem, Jeremy Irons, and Amar Singh, all at the same time.
This opinion from a teatime chitchat, featuring Monsieur Paranoid, against a setting of bar bells, cafe mocha, and an assortment of southie sweets. Monologues and dialogues. Metaphysics and porn. Confucius and Priya Rai. Stoicism and solipsism. Morality, perverse gods, hollow ideals. [I believe much of this has been the staple of all smalltalk since the past century - there needs be some research to confirm that. Though I wonder why, even after centuries of evolution, silence isn't yet in vogue; feels like the cowboys had something going right] Anything to pry open the metaphoric "shell".

Sleep has been the other detail in this day worth a mention. I slept. Yes, just that.

I was ditched in my proposed adventure by somebody, which started things on a dull note for the day, and kept it that way through it. Zipping through the 8AM cold. Ambiguous identification. Staring, scribbling, being nice. Overcooked noodles.
Life inside a video game.

Saturday, December 10, 2011

Like I like

On an overdose of vitamin D. D for ... Dude
Yeah, the above line was plain sad.
But really, I am stuffed on 7667% of daily requirement of the vitamin today, thanks to the Shiitake (learn to pronounce it correct) served in my Teppan cuisine choices (of Prawns and Chicken) from the menu at Crazy Noodles over at TGIP. I'm high on Umami, too. The visit to the GIP itself was upon Shiv's insistence; he gives a classy touch to my regular decay. Well, my love for 'shrooms connects me to decay in a way. (But nothing connects me better to decay than plain mad love for decay itself)
During the course of our meal, the great mall was thrice submerged in second-long darkness - it was uneventful, except that the combined effect of the darkness, and lit decoration candles on each of the tables, left someone with a romantic yearning (that could not be fulfilled).

Speaking of sad, Mission Impossible Ghost Protocol poster looked a bit sad - this guy, all by himself, suctioning to a glass pane for his life. That's not so larger-than-life, as much as it is dude-seems-i-fucked-up.

For a while between the Prawns and the Chopsuey, the floor was filled with paced footsteps, anxious expressions, unidirectional human bulk. Parents waddling behind kids holding a packet of chips (and miscellenia). Matriarchy leading their "healthy" Sardarji patriarchy. It was sort of a time prediction device, for I could guess that the 2245 Matinee show was on at BIG Cinemas next door; some horrible new-release about the sexual exploits of one Ricky Behal, the lead played by another of those random faces in the industry that you stop seeing after exactly 2 years, or 5 movies. As per the 13 ratings on IMDB, it ranks 9.8, which must make it the greatest movie on this planet - for those 13 viewers... I guess 4chan could rape IMDB next by up-voting one of H. Reshamiya movies, so that the future generation of watchers will speak of Tera Suroor alongside The Shawshank Redemption.

I see the aforementioned romantic yearning being fulfilled now. Tits! Honour!

Thursday, December 08, 2011

Sea Squirts!

I cycled really early in the morning. It wasn't too cold - I believe the likes of Ponds, Vaseline, and Boroplus will be annoyed at that fact, and presently forming some covert coalition to make the air dry. The traffic was an iota more in volume, and an iota less in discipline than I expected, but nonetheless manageable (as in i-can-listen-and-sway-to-velvet-underground-while-admiring-the-sunrise manageable).

I was on a self-appointed mission today.
Its conception goes back 4 days to the Sunday, when I, in the company of my really sexy girlfriends (yes, plurii), enroute to a friend's sis' wedding - one whose monologues once orbited only two words: 'vibhu' and 'love' - laid eyes upon this screaming cultural artifact amidst the bustle of Paharganj, and decided to return some day to fully absorb it. [Well, most of it is true, besides the girlfriend(s) part, and the hyphenated digression. But do you really need to pick on things when I'm on a mission here?! ... jeez... so...] My escape from the luxuriant trapping of the mink blanket had got me delayed (a 0635 departure, while the idealist inside me wanted 0615) which meant that my window of return shifted beyond the dreaded 8AM frame, but despite that, I was prepared to go all the way, and take the primitive Delhi traffic, consumed with the fear (and thereafter the guilt) of missing out on the spectacle that I just had to keep for a memory. I was lazy on Monday, unwilling on Tuesday, and lazy again on Wednesday; so today had to be it.

Got to Paharganj by 0730. Much to my relief, the aforementioned cultural artifact was still there, erect, menacingly surveying the sleepy junta of Old Delhi, threatening to stomp their tiny existence.

Seems like T-Rex was visiting India and decided to do a little modeling. Ryan North would be so, uh, proud?

This hoarding here is awesome, ironic, and hilarious.

Awesome for the obvious reasons. Planet Qwantz would love it.

Ironic because it speaks against the foreign investments in India that will, likely, unjustly crush the traders, and about going Anti-Walmart. Yet Mr. Designer here decided to use an artwork of a Canadian artist, lifted off the internet for free (who cares about copyright, right?). Way to be just. Or maybe he just loved the tee to obsession.

Hilarious, because those goony men showing teeth look more menacing on the hoarding than our favorite T-Rex here. I wish Utahraptor could join in.

Saturday, December 03, 2011

Sleeping Beauty

Saw a movie with some parallel to the parable of Sleeping Beauty... that is, the original text, "Sole, Luna, e Talia" (by Giambattista Basile, in 1634), not to the sugarcoated Disney version (that itself comes from the original sugarcoated adaptation of Mr. Basile's version, in 1697). Actually, the original text isn't too off from what we know. If we ignore the minor edits to make it more accessible, and the fact that the original "prince charming" raped the princess during her sleep to conceive two bastard children, one of whom sucked on her finger - confusing it with her nipple - to wake the princess up, who then almost gets her children cooked and served alongside shredded lamb on the dinner table, its pretty much the same thing - they lived happily 'ever after'. Ah, fairy tales fill me with such intense excitement! In the movie I saw, though, the protagonist (or the antagonist?) - the prince charming - is jailed for the rape, and later kills himself by overdosing on Chyawanprash and Valium; it was a beautiful movie, though.

That also makes me wonder about Kill Bill: if Tarantino had allowed Uma Thurman to be finished by Buck (who was there to fuck).
"T3H Bride, fighting her assassins and an unwanted pregnancy." Having her water break in the last fight, and all...

Friday, December 02, 2011


Rollergirl is in India! She hasn't got a clue about Shahrukh Khan.

Will the I&B ever find something better to do than their agenda against smokers?! "‘smoking is injurious to health’ warning on cinema screens every time the hero puffs for character impact." Outrageous to see them sweat over this idealistic pursuit, that will seem foolish in retrospect. What about all the conclusive proofs of detrimental effects of alcohol, high cholesterol foods, and life in general? - should we ban everything?

Turns out that my little Mangalican piggy has nothing to do with the Indian astrological Mangalik; though I'm still unaware of the roots of the former.

German: death = mort; Arabic: death = maut... connect?

Radical garbage

She wasn't really my type, a hard-looking but untalented reporter from the local cat box liner, but the first second that the third-rate representative of the fourth estate cracked open a new fifth of old Scotch, my sixth sense said seventh heaven was as close as an eighth note from Beethoven's Ninth Symphony, so, nervous as a tenth grader drowning in eleventh-hour cramming for a physics exam, I swept her into my longing arms, and, humming "The Twelfth of Never," I got lucky on Friday the thirteenth.
You cannot forget more of these.

This content is contemporarily unavailable.
Apt for the reasons in the context as
below: beilow, willow,
bilow - my son, hold breath, fetch water, fire neurons...
fetch water dammit.
under pressure, outa controle,
on the pyreneees,
selling solada, drinking colada - pina, ina, capolina.
porto rico, rico enrico;
eiro, zero, dero, dero;
daper, colonel dapper, dapper drake.
womb, wombman, wombicite, ilicite, illict;
sandra bubbock, loock dar barren, barren munchhausen;
haus of the dead, deaed rising, deadmau5.