Thursday, May 31, 2012

One blowjob, please

"hi. one blowjob, please"
"very well, sir, please follow me this way. it will be 200"
"200! i've only got 50"
"i'm sorry sir, 50 won't do... well, i'm easy game. 100 would be alright"
"lady, you push me hard for a bargain there, but that's okay with me, too."
"this way, please."
"how about something for entree? Say, foreplay?"
"im sorry, sir, foreplay is only included in the long-term-relationship course that will cost you much more"

12.9174214, 77.6389647

Tuesday, May 29, 2012

The chase

They make a run for their lives. After patiently watching the cat and mouse chase that seemed to be on the losing side for our cat, a well built young andhra guy who sadly found himself at the receiving end of some drunken foolery when a couple of youth smashed his car windscreen with their bottle of poison but who courageously decided to teach them a lesson (with a big L), I decide to give chase just for the kicks. I've never been in a chase before.without populating my head with any fears - like the unknown terrain of the unlit deserted dirt track ahead in this unknown town (quick fact: it had been under 24 hours of me in this city of hyderabad), or the sandals I was to be running in, or that I had no idea about what these two miscreants could turn out to be, or if they were carrying any weapons to surprise moi - my engine of legs powered by the fuel from my lungs picked steam, making ugly clapping noises on the track, thanks to the sandals. In the space of next few seconds I passed the great bulk of Parth, then our cat who despite the looks, build, and aggression of the usual hero had failed to take those miraculous 10ft strides to catch up with the bad guys and had now been trying to compensate for his speed by the tactic of screaming "chor... pakdo... chor...", one that was futile on this deserted stretch, then I crossed a guard peering from his guest house gates startled awake from his sleep by the commotion, then finally the prized head of my target - guy 2.

Guy 2 was a fool to not stop at my warnings. He had it coming. We both were at a challenge while our feet pumped out 100 kmph. My first attempt was blocked out, and I saw my phone with the flashlight on hit the ground. Still running, I took him down with my second challenge. Being drunk one can't act to smart but neither have the capacity to realize that. I threw him against the wall, he ended up on the ground. I simply held him pinned to the ground, violence isn't my forte. As soon as our cat made it there, we swapped possession of #2 and I ran for #1, against a background score of Andhra cussing and thuds and punches. Second guy had taken left from the crossroads another 80m ahead and disappeared. easiest guess was that he entered this vacant plot. I directed the policeman (cyberabad police) to this detail. Soon he walked out with guy #1 who had merely taken refuge behind an outhouse in the shrubs. The police van had been wise to have been coming from the opposite dir.

With the job done and the fun over, I walked back to our car to find the A eagerly waiting. "a jolly good show, my good sir," I exclaimed.


Second long day on the road in three. But in contrast to the day before, today was a challenge and a discovery. Been through the states, and I must say, down south its a lot more fun to travel by the road. The major highways invite superlatives, and the lesser ones are bad but not as bad. Weather made it seem nowhere close to the middle of summer that we had imagined. It was almost a near death call seeing the A asleep on the wheel and slowly veering of the road, but to luck he didn't, and to luck there was nothing incoming. Down south its funny - the signs keep you puzzled and then you feel a relief that you don't need to bother with every village's affair; the people don't get you but you soon learn to get only the relevant specifics; the scenes across these parts are a varied as the language they speak. I only wonder why the cows remain an ever constant when the people aren't.

Thursday, May 24, 2012

Cindy, KFC and Obama

Note: with this post, you have downloaded a 124kb sprite (follows), and a used-without-permission copyrighted image (below).

Taste the whip, in love not given lightly.
Cindy will not leave my head. Her torment is historic. (this is a recondite topic, so people outside the net culture don't need be curious here) Her story is the longest sadist trajectory I've ever seen human imagination take in modern times. I am reminded of the waitress at Lah last evening, a sober-yet-unsettling female with tattoos on her arm and a band-aid on her right shoulder; wonder what all she could go through, in my head where chapters intersect.

I didn't know that KFC has been shitting us with their paper ethics. Average chicken for consumption at the cost of rain-forests, and more importantly, Sumatran tigers and Orangutans, is no deal for me. Greenpeace has come up with an engaging website against this ethically base decision by KFC, and I already have my signature added ("Congratulations you’ve started a revolt to stop KFC turning rainforests into products like packaging"). Sumatran tigers, btw, are totally rad cousins of our Bengal Tigers (and might I even contend, more hardy).

In the meantime, also stumbled into something on Facebook rooting for "Impeach Barry Saotoro aka Barack Obama NOW". And it turns out that Obama's roots are still a conspiracy theory. (There's even a Wikipedia page) Evidence denies that Hawaii was his birthplace, and instead suggest that he might've been born in Kenya or in Indonesia, which are grounds enough for termination of his Presidentship (natural-born citizenship is a must).
Somehow, there are the most moronic cretins behind such campaigns - one of whom was Candice Schwager. This whole trail of mine, in fact, started with an article on some unanticipated buffoonery a photographer encountered while protecting copyright to one of his images, and thereon I was led to the aforementioned idiot's Marketing Firm's page that "like"-d this conspiracy.
In a moment of personal whim, I'm breaking the copyright myself and using the image for this blogpost. I could try passing this image off as Delhi to con foreign clients.

In another circle, celebrations on attracting attention. "Mine ordbilder er en applikasjon som hjelper deg med å øke lesehastigheten. Du vil lære deg å kjenne igjen hele ord, fremfor å måtte avkode ordene bokstav for bokstav."

frequent discharge

Found myself a mess last evening. The Y could read it on my face. The day had been bland, nothing tragic, but sometimes even the small things that push the bland deeper towards inclusion into the church of bland-hood manage to make a dent. In a way, retrospecting about a featureless day is a causal effect that itself breaks the chain of nothings. I was understandably upset, for a myriad reasons - my sleep was of yet incomplete, the G had canceled his nightover, there was still no London Dairy ice-cream that the Y had promised, the upcoming roadtrip seemed in jeopardy, I still qualified as a homeless, I was flirting with the prospect of near-future unemployment, and there was a state of unhealth brewing back home that seeded some confused expectations. The worst part is, I still could not find the energy to escape it all.

To escape for a brief while, though, we drove out to HKV, to try out this resto, Lah, on Kapil's recommendation. This would make it my second visit to HKV, the first one was in August of last yr to introduce everybody before our Hamta Pass trek - sadly, only three of us had turned up. Regardless of the times one has visited, HKV is noteworthy, which makes me wonder why my circles have never thought of exploring this part of Delhi; or maybe I was never invited. Old monuments, dime-a-dozen-eateries, narrow alleyways, short skirts, butch lesbians, spunky foreigners, some unexpected decor, is what this un-villagey village came across as. After a confused dinner at Lah (the lamb and pork in the noodle bowl both tasted like chicken, and it was first time I had Paranthas with a Malay gravy dish), we returned, with no idling about (on the pretext of digestion).
We did take a detour looking for the elusive London Dairy, that was still on the Y's promise list, at 11PM in the night. Along the route, seeing long lines at the petrol stations, we could tell a price hike was in effect the next day; it also makes me ask myself WHY my darling bike is gathering dust upstairs, pedal power surely FTW.

This wisdom from Jackal, the antagonist of *Far Cry 2* buzzes in the head: "A living being seeks above all else to discharge its strength. Life itself is will to power. Nothing else matters." Maybe I will find my ways, before the ceaseless time or the dope society get the better of me.

"The target's presence in the state continues to be a distabalising influence. He is largely responsible for the recent influx of weapons in the country, in clear violation of the Joint Signatory Framework. His reputation as a dangerous arms dealer... is well deserved." *points gun at himself* "Orders are to terminate." Well that didn't work out the way they planned- I'm still breathing and you're the one with malaria. You can tell them you tried. But that means fuck-all, doesn't it? You're fired, you know it and so do I. You had your shot but now it's over. And since men like you only work for money, you're no longer my problem. You'll have to find something else to do with yourself now. What your old clients don't seem to understand is that they can't kill me. Do you understand what I'm saying? Nobody kills me. NOBODY. *embeds machete into the wall next to the players head* I'm the one who decides who lives and who dies, me! You know, there's a book I read a long time ago. I still think about it every day. It helps me understand life out here. The book talks about men- what motivates them. It's simple, really. "A living being seeks above all else to discharge its strength. Life itself is will to power. Nothing else matters." *tosses the gun onto the table* So long.

Wednesday, May 23, 2012

Deep sleep faraway

Sleep has been my pseudo state ever since I woke up from my sleep.

Sleepy, I was at the tennis courts with yogi. Sleepy, I managed the nonsense at home around a breakfast that was more like a dinner meal - dal and burnt sabzi complemented with experimental dessert of curd topped with rhododendron extract. Sleepy, I set of for work. Sleepy, I found myself having actually made it to the workplace. Sleepy, I topped up on coffee. Sleepy, I realized the futility of the previous activity. Sleepy, I daydreamed of a satisfying sleep soon as I returned home. Sleepy, I finished trying out a google doodle. Sleepy, I engaged in distracted conversations with the people in charge.
Sleepy, I blog.

It all comes to the late nighter, spent much in celebration of setting up my desktop at yogi's place, split between Far Cry 2, a Bengali film Gandu, and the art house cinema of Pradeep Kishen's Massey Babu. though exciting things were in anticipation of this night, I soon found lacking an accomplice, as all my tasteful selections were not digested well by the Y, whose sleep talking by the fifth chapter of M.B. reminded me to never imagine a carnivalesque atmosphere around outside the mainstream stuff i.e. the big bang theory or angry birds. But yet, alone, I dived deep into the night's existence, until the Y started to complain about the discomfort my viewing was causing him. Then I tuned myself out of the euphoria of cinema, sat in silence for a while, then resigned to sleep.

Tuesday, May 22, 2012

This is where it starts

It takes no courage to start with something as natural as personal writing. But it takes a bag of other adjectives when one does start with it. For one, metaphors slowly start crowding around your mental space as you put your thoughts into bits that travel around the world through wires, or see your daily musings coagulate into words, or have your subconscious manifest on a wall in the cyberspace. Metaphors... you get what I mean.
And second, like how the barber starts with jacking up the headrest for his customer, one jacks up their imagination, as their personal life translates into public space in words they have complete control over. It also gives an understanding into the levels of personal access hardwired into that person's psyche. And the levels of forging one can subject their written account of life to. Extroverts and introverts are easy to catch here.

Now I wait to see how far this one person can one let the others into the labyrinth of their daily existence. The only start to the previous resolve for the same felt more of an end to it. Is this where it starts?

Monday, May 21, 2012

Eat this at the food court

Biting into an insult of a roll in the name of chicken malai tikka roll, complementing it with a sip from the most disappointing pineapple slush I've ever had, I'm left with the feeling of being in the wrong place. This has been slow, but ongoing and incoming.

Expectations from food transformed into 'plain bad food' with nothing to expect from (expect only an awkward realization of being conned) - gone the days when even boiled eggs and bantaa (suspect "Naale key Pani Wala") held a greater charm and were fastidiously tailored to the palette. Images around me have transformed from youth-savvy ones, to those of balding men and neurotic women posing content in union, supposedly having murdered all insecurities with their financial standing in this era of the tech boom. Stale content faces everyday of people you know are going nowhere. Uninspiring brief exchanges with people of little in common. Nobody to talk the talk, or walk the walk.

The suffering of my left leg falling asleep is more visible than that in my head.

Saturday, May 19, 2012

My like is girls with bloodtype C++

Here is a quck reminder of what to expect from me:

Type B
Best traits: Wild, active, doer, creative, passionate, strong
Worst traits: Selfish, irresponsible, unforgiving, unpredictable

Every culture seems to have a pseudoscience. Some idiots turn to linda goodman, some to bejan daruwala, some to nirmal baba. Even butt reading is a fledgling science now. The japs turn to their blood science, which is a counterpart to indian astrology. Only difference being that while astrology gets importance only in our personal sphere (how two faced of us), their pseudoscience participates across all spheres of life, personal and professional.
Burahara - blood harrassment -is what they call this discriminatin based on one's blood type.

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

Musings from the meadows

I find myself smitten by what i see and where i stand right now. If the 19 hrs of travel was a dampener - both of the spirits and the single change of clothes I brought to this trek - then this seems like a redemptory act by nature.
We did start to curse things a bit after breaking our butts on various transports between Delhi to Sari, but this last push to Deoria Tal has left us in greater understanding of the way these things go - that the first day is always annoying, that starts are always a mocking act (at ze greater act that you set out for), but that once the ball gets rolling (or feet get trolling) is where the fun starts.

Wednesday, May 02, 2012

Noida's Suspect X

The Aarushi case (aka Noida Double Murder case) is in the headlines again, unsolved (and unexplained) even after, like, 100 yrs of investigation (or mis-investigation, should I call it?). Dentists have never suffered back this much - Aarushi's parents, dentists (and the prime suspects in this murder primarily due to lack of any other viable theories), have already been strangled by the media, and are at the crest of infamous-ity. They have faced all kinds of allegation, as if they were held hostage in a Rakhi Sawant talk show. Talk of karma... route canals you give, route canals you get. But, humour aside, I'm startled at the reciprocity of this public to Aarushi's parents' suffering. To believe they/we sided against Manu Sharma. I'm proposing a theory that either we enter some mental arrest when things come coated in a shade of gray - the panicked pigeons that we are, or that we relegate our thought process to our darling media to such an extent that we are rendered incapable of independent thought.
To anybody who begins to look at me with a raised eyebrow must understand that the investigative process finished inconclusive, and the code of law doesn't judge based on public opinion.

What connect I could find with the aforementioned investigative boo boo, is a novel that I'd just finished reading: The Devotion of Suspect X by Keigo Higashino. Higashino, who's been dubbed "The Japanese Stieg Larsson" (right on the book's cover), turned in a good investigative fiction with this one. Its an easy read, albeit with a slightly convoluted ending that needs some dedicated attention span.

I have no intention of giving a full book review here. Where I want to arrive at is [a character in the book, a physics prof] Manubu Yukawa, sort of a Sherlock H, the genius that ultimately nails our Suspect X. There are chapters when he, despite evidence being overwhelmingly convincing, tread cautiously, often against the tide. See where his investigation comes from, and its a relief to know that somebody can put a coherent narrative around such an healthy process of deduction.

Seeing Aarushi's case unsolved makes me cringe. Seeing her parents being swallowed in the wide mouth of speculation makes me cringe even more. Seeing people that pretend to be blind to the underlying corruption that saw destruction of evidence and collusion of the law with the lawbreakers makes my biceps wither.

PS: wanna read the book? just ask.