Friday, June 29, 2012

One Up on Farewells

Farewell, my valleys, soft and rolling,
And you, steep hills that I've known, exploring!
And you, ravines of Nainital, aye!
Farewell, my lovely azure sky,
Farewell, o Nature, gay and gentle!
Your quiet world I soon shall trade
For Delhi's noise, the vain parade...
Farewell, my freedom elemental!
What future am I heading for?
What secrets holds my fate in store?

All this emotion, just after a week's stay. Damn, this guy needs some sort of detachment therapy.

Thursday, June 28, 2012

I saw a deer today

PS: No Portal involved here.

My foes, who see me as a corrupting influence on their daily routines, should be in light of the fact that this guy - in his isolated abandon - was out by 04:45, breathing in the scent of pine, and introducing to nature - alongside the morning raucous of merry avian voices - the shuffle of his feet across the soggy slopes and the hard tarmac. Only witness, perhaps, to his resolute run - yes, it wasn't a coincidental affair that he randomly started out on a run just coz he "felt like it" - were the transient truck drivers stationed along the road for the night.

Life Update

I'm revisiting/reliving the past. Consecutive all-nighters. Coffee, code, pr0n, nature, music, disregard for the post-sunrise commitments, memes, cricket, football, paranthas, daily bath, my own room... back to the start of the crazy loop. I'm afraid I might even become productive in some time. But, tomorrow might change things, as I shift bases again, and reappear in the NCR, where the present buzz revolves around political muscle display, which reminds of the lost battle for progress, and also reminds of women (whom I have come to see as political entities that calculatedly sabotage honest intents).

Tuesday, June 26, 2012

A Feminist's Outrage

Just woke up from a dream where this girl applies black lipstick and proceeds into crude biological acts with me. My debauched ways - but that is okay, people are stranger.

But meanwhile, in the feminist circles, the lipstick is now giving way to a surge of [negative] opinions. Bloods are boiling after the European Commission came out with a 'breathtakingly sexist' science video, in their campaign to encourage girls to do science. In the ad, the apparition of a lipstick is replaced by a test tube, and then those paid models start dancing suggestively.
Like me, you'd also go "WTF - what does this have to do with science? Is EU sponsored by Revlon or L'Oreal?"

I think, that next, EC's gonna come up with quick Q&As of the following type
Q: What did the test tube say to the burette?
A: Fill me with your love fluids tonight

They could've simply used Amy Farrah Fowler for their campaign; she is much closer to what a science girl looks like - and guess what... its still fun! Is it so hard for a transnational organization to notice the social trends? Prof. Farnsworth, do I hear you fuming?

Google Adsense Incest

The Borat-like "This is my little sister!" feel of this ad is eye catching... incest is all over the internet - in fact, "in"cest and "in"ternet have a Levenshtein distance of 4.

Clicking on the "Google Pays Me $173 An Hour!" ad takes to the page pimping some 'single mom' who must have a sad life before Adsense (and way to abuse it) came along. SEO shit.

Sunday, June 24, 2012

Dying With Wings

There's a fleet of single purpose sexual missiles, briefly converting the 107.507 square inches of my laptop screen into something akin to both, a warship - crashing, landing, docking, - and also as a mating platform. In some time, a few of these sexual missiles will accomplish - in a process of quick and violent mating - the task that genetic code has entrusted them with. The prize of their victory will be death; the failures will die too - there's no escaping the law.

Saturday, June 23, 2012

Boys Don't Cry

२४ तारिख एक घंटे भर की दूरी पर है | २४ को मैं २७ का हो जाऊँगा | अपने मित्र-समूह में शायद - सबसे बड़ा होने के एकलौते कारण से - सबसे पहला हूँगा जो कि '२७-फिर-भी-डब्बा' श्रेणी में प्रवेश लूँगा | हम सब आलसी प्रकार के रहे हैं | अभी तक बावरे बैठे हैं, ज़िन्दगी के कई पहलुओं से असहमत, दूरदर्शिता कि कमी के कारण परेशानियों में घिरे | हमें या तो अपने पैर तले धरती तक पर संपूर्ण यकीन नहीं, या फिर उस यकीन पर कोई मानवीय गर्व नहीं |
"Boys Don't Complain" and "Boys Don't Cry" - जैसा कहते हैं | अपने दर्द से इतना वाकिफ हैं कि बाहर पूरे संसार का दर्द छुपा रह जाता है | हमारी नज़र शीशे में अपनी परछाई पर ही टिकी ठहरी है, चाहे उसके पीछे एक पूरी जंग चल रही हो या तड़प-पुकारें हमें बुला रही हों |

I need a new song for my age. In retrospect, 24 was the perfect age - I had Neil Yong's "Old Man" to lift me ("24, and there's so much more"). Through 25, I dragged it on, just in assurance that the 'so much more' is right at the corner and coming (a perfect Bokononist untruth). For 26, I had a developing sense of gloom over memories that the song brought, and the promises that were just gas (I would see that as my injustice to this rock anthem).I could see a ship, no, a dinghy floating by a pier, with a festive snapshot of me in a state of [deluded] certainty over my promises. That dinghy, too, seems sunk now. There needs be a reminder that life ain't as dead as it seems to be, an age-appropriate one, hence why I need a song. I hope I don't settle with Pink's "Comfortably Numb".

PS: this?

NDTV's Save Our Tigers Uncampaign

NDTV's Save Our Tiger Campaign seems in line with the 'sarkari' fluff that has kept our crusade to keep this biological legacy a superficial effort. I highly doubt the efficacy of their formula, which is now a cliche - bring in glamour, dedicate air time, beg for a pledge, WIN. Really?

Wednesday, June 20, 2012

Torrent sites

Came to realize that I've lost my Demonoid account. A sad realization, indeed, as Demonoid was once my favorite discovery route to a lot of good creations - I could splash into the sea and find a lot that I didn't know about. Back then, - not - was in existence.
After spending the past 10 minutes trying various combinations of usernames/passwords and hunting down anything Demonoid in my mailbox, I have given up on my search. That Demonoid is not open to new registrations is why it hurts all the more. Somebody out there with an invite, pls?

My rummaging through search terms in my mailbox also came to remind me of Lokitorrent, the smart fucker who ran away with it all (purportedly). It is quite genius to pool £40000 in the name of anti-establishmentarianism and then vanish without a trace - DB Cooper would so hate this guy for having it this easy. Funny, that despite such stories, crowdfunding sites [1, 2]have gathered roots in the internet world.

At the end of the day, TBP survives. Living through 'un jur sur terre' - a day on earth - shall still be possible, with such hell-raisers around.

Monday, June 18, 2012

Cinema, lately

Buffalo '66, Aranyam Kaandam, The Names of Love, Massey Sahib, Shame, Gandu, Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia, Harakiri, Kikujiro, This Must Be the Place, Falling Down, Festen, Dawn of the Dead, Boy, The Graduate, On Any Sunday, The Man Who Skied Down Everest, 50/50, American History X, Ip Man, The Conversation

Walkabout, The Year My Voice Broke, Machete, Cet obscur objet du désir, Good Will Hunting, My Left Foot, Wag the Dog, The Departed, Hanna, Warhorse, Reality Bites, Choke, The Man From Nowhere, Dogtooth

Friday, June 15, 2012

Don't You Food Me

the author feigning to eat a
clam in its entirety
Food features primarily on our itinerary for the next couple of days. There's this French place, this Italian place, this south Indian place, this Vietnamese place, this bakery, this cafe, this soup place, this lobster place, this fish place... First inquiry the PP makes upon waking up - in his first conscious moments into the day - being, "Where are we going for lunch?"

It feels like I've been held hostage to a bunch of bandits armed with an arsenal of food. Food is social, but alas, its turning into social torture for me. I'm picking calories in excess, which is not even compensated with any sort of outdoors or (mis)adventure. If that is nothing to bother about (really, I don't), my stomach has been nuked with multicultural cuisine - under the umbrella of south Indian food, that has included a lot more than the limited southie fare that one gets in North India, I have already been subjected to considerable strain. Knowing that I will be invaded by myriad international cuisines in the narrow space of two days only makes it a bigger affair to fear and lament later.

To mitigate some of that 'bubbling' fear, I started this day with a more familiar toast, peanut butter, marmalade; not that it makes my situation any better, since my fiber intake is still zero.

There is also the unfamiliar experience of "trying out" the freakishly expensive places, which is basically turning into places to damage the stomach lining at a premium cost, which is no good news for either my health or my pocket. the only worthwhile place was the one we visited last night with an equal split between the items I had liked and that I didn't. a thorough "Oye, solid thaa, yaar" experience seems impossible.

Wednesday, June 13, 2012

CM Number

Everyone knows the Erdos Number

How about a
CM number: the blood distance from the Chief Minister of the current state you find yourself threatened.

"Oye chhod de mujhe, chutiye, mera CM number 3 hai."
"ओये छोड़ दे मुझे, चूतिये, मेरा CM नंबर ३ है |"
("Oye chestnutass, leave me facken alone, my numbar is the 3")

  • In the Dilli-UP territory, everybody claims a CM number of 4 or less, though they are rarely speaking the truth.
  • In Andhra Pradesh and Karnataka, marital union is legalised by plastering on the banners, next to a photo of the couple, a creature of CM number <= 4, in a pope-pose i.e. "let these two children fornicate with my consent".

Rakehell's Diaries

If you had fuller tits and ass,
Or if I could imagine you as that,
Then on any future exhibition,
You will find me missin,
Into the cavernous halls;
Dashing through a cold room,
Filled up with a hot bloom,
A jump, and now past the walls.
I will be there in your virgin forests.

Monday, June 11, 2012

Nainital, presently

A couple of splashes at some distance draw my ear, and a glimpse of the jagged, wet silhouettes that made those draw me complete into the moment. My anxieties over standing here at this secluded, dark part of the lake called 'Phaansi Gadhera' (translates to 'Suicide Creek') at the base of Ayarpata Hill are pushed back, as a greater primal emotion takes its place - one that makes me fearlessly (and yet noiselessly) climb onto one of the boats tied to the shore and sit down in my peace. I don't care about either the boatmen demanding my evacuation, or if the passerbys see me as some teenager loading up on vodka ("Its Frooti, Sir, not Finlandia," I could shout back), or if the odd pair of youth loitering about - who predate me in veneration of secret spot - bother me. The night breeze rocks the boats gently, thin waves draw concave lines across the surface of the lake, and I find myself a part of a dance that I hadn't asked for. Another splash in some distance, another fish catching another insect.

Not long ago, I had been staring into the modern dystopian Nainital from my seat on the hill opposite. The whole scene lay much like a panoramic panel in front of me. Being this far, the lights are actually appealing; being this far from the noise and the human commotion, its a more comforting experience. A power cut is all it took to transform the modern lakefront of this lake town into something from the lost past - the entire hill suddenly falls into darkness. The chain of hotels, with their power backup, make for a garland of lights running along the base of the hill. In the upper reaches, only a few scattered streetlights, and moving lights of a handful of cars, assert the human presence. The way this place grew - like all mountain destinations do - was settlements starting at the base, then creeping higher into the upper reaches. What that powercut did was to restrict the human line to represent the place as it'd have been 20 years back, much lesser tourist-crazy. Don't we all wish - in our ignorance - that everything stayed same way as in the past?

Saturday, June 09, 2012

My Incompetence at French

Being a French colony, and a very French one at that, Pondicherry still carries a lot in French. My first encounter with the French connection came after a farcical delay for half an hour at Rue de Francois Martin, which we'd been circling in the Green Coffin - moniker for Anu's maruti - to find Saumitro's home, but to no success. It turned out that we were to be "on" and not "at" a 'Rue', which is 'street' in French - we had been circling a single address all this time, you see, thinking that out address was inside it, like a Gujrati chawl. After some inelegant guidance over the phone, we grouped in front of Saumitro's home and learnt the aforementioned fact.

My second encounter, one that made me recollect of all the French I knew, was on stroll along the Promenade, as we went past a dinner named 'La Soleil'. I knew, for once, what it meant - the sun, or 'sunshine', as I tied it to, as per my demands. This word had an emotional string tied to my heart, one my heart would find strumming on each day in times gone by. It was my christened nickname, to a girl I once knew, for her sunny disposition and general optimism. That word would one day lead me into learning another French word - 'ritournelle' or 'return'. She never did return.

I tried hard to think of some other French in my reality. Well, I found another, sort of, if one counts dreams as some part of reality reflected in our heads. When a naked, pert-bosomed French chick was piggybacking me in a cafe, suggestively pushing towards sex, going "Oui, oui" and "Non, non" to my unrelated inquiries. Yes, this, in a dream. By the end of it, I had interrogated the psyche of this mongrel Madonna well enough, to link her actions to her spiritually curative aim of destroying herself in the image of Shiva. Needless to say, no act of sex commenced. But even if it had, it would've been pretty sordid, nothing to boast of.

So, with a working knowledge of 4 French words I entered the town of Pondicherry, and left with 2 more - 'Rue', as had been explained, and 'poisson', which I learnt from the fish dishes on resto menus. Needless to say, I carried myself through zero French. Had I trusted a friend's account of Indians (figuratively) being driven away with a baton in Pondicherry, and skipped this location in antagonism, I'd have been lamenting now.

Thursday, June 07, 2012

First Time in 'chery

Food-wise, our excursion following our arrival was a drub. We all decided to walk to this south Indian place nearby that turned out to be closed for lunch, and ended up walking thrice the distance in the sun, to a resto memorable for two things - its overall unmemorable food, and a south aunty with the restless legs syndrome that made her white-and-purple sari dance about obscenely around the crotch, just about the time the S was briefing us on the avoidable female temptation in this region (oh so true).

Then we left for a more upmarket cafe next door, which proved tolerable for the French open they had on tele - gasquet v zopp, which the G ultimately won 6-3 6-4 7-6 - that had me seated away from rest of the group sipping my chilled coffee glued to the tele, eavesdropping into conversation between an Indian couple and a Australian(?) guy; must add that the coffee was sad... I guess the S was introducing us to 'cherry with some transitional phase in his plans.

Then to supermarket further ahead to get Allout, one where I also zoned in on the stuff I'm to carry back to my northern plains... Red rice, finally, FTW.
We walked to the Promenade (about which I have compiled my thoughts separately) on or way back. Lot of colonial architecture to admire enroute. One guy even wished me "good evening" in gentle courtesy, not expecting any sort of money, totally unlike dilli-walas.

The S went into a rant on the challenged aesthetic sense of us  Indians, a topic which was to later see more elaborate discourse and fuming debating all through the night.

Stupid Promenade in 'chery

The Promenade, the mile long stretch of ocean-front in Pondicherry (now Puduchery) is impressive, but what it tries to highlight itself is a timid experience. I was captivated seeing the expanse of the ocean, and even went down the rocks to have wave after wave crash on me to leave me in a state of increased salinity, but the excitement soon veered away. That there is no coastline here might be the primary contributing factor to this lukewarm connect. Was told that the construction of the new pier - now a dilapidated and a disturbing non-feature itself - had accidentally submerged the beach that once was the icing on the cake of this nostalgic French colony; kudos to the planners for submerging history and and an inclusion of this place into the annals of eternity.

We revisited the Promenade at night, when out for dinner, and walked the entire length of it. The bland ocean looks worse at this time. Gentle tidal waves crash noiselessly into the scarred rocky shore. No air of celebration, or worth celebrating (the PP was soaked in sweat by the end our walk).
No fun to derive from, here, if you look to the nature for it. Nature just coldly, hazily states back at you. Families all around trying to make it fun whatever way they could - fathers chasing daughters in figure of eight, children rubbing their bottoms sore sliding down the cement archways radiating out from Gandhi statue, playing dumb charades, eating make believe French cuisine at eateries, and other nonsense that had no relation to the ocean that lay just next.

Pie in the Sky

On pie in the sky. Its no codeword, but just the wifi ssid here at the home of the S in 'chery.
After a drinks session with the zen cyclist the previous night, with a death to prematurely end it all in wee hours of the morn, and a late start for this place with a lingering hangover, it took us 8 hours on the road to get here. It was enerally good weather throughout. The lush, sea-feed surroundings of Karnataka, remind of the movie  Congo.

Had entered 'chery by 2 and spent a few minutes in confusion over locating the S house, which saw us circle the same complex of Rue de Francois Martin thrice, before learning that "rue" means street in French. This street is in  the posh French part, the "white" zone along the beach, and is an encouragement to the pedestrian who needs not be bothered about much traffic.

By the time I and the A unloaded our stuff, the Enfields reached too after their more demanding character of driving needing breaks for refreshments (and smoke). Me and the S got into a wrestle over my intention of trying his   vffs which made for an unorthodox welcome, S was slapped with his own shoe for the next five minutes. Glad to be in the company of his Mac here as each of us take turns to keep ourselves updated on the online front. Not long after I'd entered, found myself gawking at 100 years old furniture - old bookcases, study tables, almirahs, etc; I can see where the S gets his aesthetic inspiration from.

We all grab a beer - a sea of Tuborg so caringly stacked in the fridge - to mark our arrival. Soon me and the S are chugging down our fourth.

Tuesday, June 05, 2012

Finally heading back

"Chalo, shukar hai, iss baar to hua" is the general phrase used in my geography, when something reasonably simple has been unreasonably out of reach. Sadly I, too, have been affected by this reason of unreason - thanks to our rail booking system, I had been held captive in Hyd since the past few days. That I now sit with a confirmed ticket to Delhi in hand makes the general phrase a personal one. It has been a relief for twofold reasons: I screwed up in the first place, and got away cheap ("should a single mistake cost this much," I kept asking myself until this day); I held on stubbornly to my love for train travel, and got what I wanted without making this a total farce (note: "total").

I will return back with a feeling of having lost three days in Delhi. But I could take it as having ffffound three days of curtained seclusion in this unfamiliar land.
More to follow up soon.

PS: even though irctc site makes for a subject of poison and ridicule, the recent changes of blocking multiple logins (enter Captain Obvious) is FTW