Friday, October 23, 2009

Om Darbadar - T3H ORIGINAL Brass Band Song



This gem from Om Dar-ba-dar (1988), that made for inspiration to Anurag Kashyap for our beloved "Emosanal Attyachaar" in Dev D. Why it hasn't gone viral amazes me.
(try to decipher it by yourself on the first go)

A. A. A.
मोहब्बत हमसफ़र हो जा |
B. B. B.
मोहब्बत हमसफ़र हो जा |
A. A. A.
मोहब्बत हमसफ़र हो जा |

मेरी जान AaaaaaaAaaaaaaAaaaaaaAaaaaaaAaaaaaaAaaaaaaAaaaaaa
मेरी जान BbbbbbbBbbbbbbBbbbbbbBbbbbbbBbbbbbbBbbbbbbBbbbbbb
मेरी जान BbbbbbbBbbbbbbBbbbbbbBbbbbbbBbbbbbbBbbbbbbBbbbbbb
मेरी जान CCCCCCCcccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccc

प्रीतम आ सितम्बर सबसे हसीं मोहब्बत का महीना |
प्रीतम आ सितम्बर सबसे हसीं मोहब्बत का महीना |
प्रीतम आ गले लग जा
गले लग जा..
गले लग जा......

दिल टूट रहा है,
जाँ जल रही है |
दिल टूट रहा है,
जाँ जल रही है |
Ice age, baby
Ice age, baby
Oh my bride/fried (??)
Oh my fraud (??)
प प प प प पौं

Its like a sea, baby
Its like a market, lady.
Its like a sea, baby
Its like a market, lady.

मिथ्या है संसार,
माया है संसार |
मिथ्या है संसार,
माया है संसार|

Its like a sea, baby
Its like a market, lady.
Its like a sea, baby
Its like a market, lady.

मुंह पे लगाया पाउडर,
बालों में scent डाला,
होटल में रात काटी,
Theatre में दिन गुज़ारा |

मुंह पे लगाया पाउडर,
बालों में scent डाला,
होटल में रात काटी,
Theatre में दिन गुज़ारा |

नये fashion से,
नयी position से,
नये fashion से,
नयी position से,
बोलो फ़कीर/फंसी (??)
दिल में क्या फंसी/पटी (??)
फिर भी मैं !
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Monday, October 19, 2009

laptop disc drive woes

Dell laptops - the one I have - come with a slot-loading drive. They are convenient and trendy. But as it is, once it goes kaput, it stays so; once you lose a disc in there, there's no way of having it out other than having it disassembled. You can guess where I'm getting to...having one of my discs stuck inside one such slot-loading drive.
Luckily, a few parts on our computer systems are still mechanical - the DVD drive, for instance. And the best way to handle a hopeless mechanical fault is to leave all logic behind, and try beating the crap out of it...we've been doing the same with our TVs, radios, walkmans, and lots of other possessions. Remember our elder brothers/sisters giving a swift smack to appliances, like it were a professional art? When we grew up we were nervous if our smacks would stand upto their quality, but as we found - they just work, regardless of your palm size or geolocation.
You can guess where I'm getting to...my rogue DVD drive now ejects those discs after the methodical abuse. But this one is an irritating and insulting process: firstly, because it works with the help of gravity; second, because it depends on a narrow probability that the tap/smack and the moment of ejection of the disc are in perfect sync. The first of the reasons makes for some really awkward positions to hold the laptop in. The second gives a sore hand, a lot of amused attention from others around you, and a good chance of having everything other than the disc itself thrown out.
When the moment finally arrives, its an ecstatic feeling - like having a baby delivered right into your lap.
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HAPPY DIWALI

Happy Diwali (by uhbiv)

Following up on what I had written an year back, on this same occasion. The kitsch would always remain a constant.
I'M LOVING IT
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Wednesday, October 14, 2009

Go & Watch

  • Amores Perros
  • Babel
  • Mar Adentro
  • Forrest Gump
  • Gehrayee
NOW!

And don't bother about 'The Last King of Scotland' and 'Y Tu Mama Tambien'
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Tuesday, October 13, 2009

Talk to the head

Thought has no physical boundaries. That keeps me going much through the day and through the days. Thoughts, characters and places from the past - a past that is a cased painting, by some third person, some other me in some other time. I can only critique on it, but can't paint over the gaudy details. A landscape living inside a really tiny head, much like ten billion others.
Recently most of what I've been dumping on the blog has been the ejaculate of the imagination. Ejaculate would be just right for it, since it has only become a leisure activity; no solutions. On another hand, that might be my perception only because I'm locked into a job now. There's no higher purpose thats possible - not inside the contract with my company, for sure.

For a thought, thoughts just makes things inside us more complex so that more complex things outside us seem easier.

Realising the hegemony of the head is scary. By my deduction, it leads to the exact character that I feel disgusted at, much of what litters our country. So now I can close my day with an awkward pause, and think about a shift. "Think", yes, back to the head; that was completely involuntary, damn.
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Their

Fragility. Don't ride on it.
Honesty. Don't derive from it.
Desire. Don't stem your greed from it.
Need. Don't plot a strategem on it.
Concern. Don't blow up a balloon.
Dreams. Don't isolate yourself this soon.
Expectations. Don't chain your head.
Too late, you philosphy fuck, now go to bed.
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Sunday, October 11, 2009

psychedelia

Psychedelia relates to altered perception. Its odd why people find that repulsive, scary; it, after all, has given us copious amounts of art and ideas, things caged inside us. (we've learnt) It takes a hit of lsd to get there fast, and other smaller drugs to have a half probability of getting there. Fortunately and Unfortunately, to me, those vivid sensory experiences seem to come often, naturally - unfortunate part is the impotency to recall them in entirety, or build from them. Its brings nostalgia, a romance, then bewilderment, then escape from memory. Real lofty, colorful, magical things, getting lost with the gain of complete consciousness; sometimes makes wonder if life should relate to the daily grind, or to the very tangible world that we transition into. "How's life" should ideally be replied with an evaluation of the fertile nature of our minds outside our robot character and biological processes.

And no, its not a fractured thread of thought, like something that online translation returns to the first couple of lines of lyrics to this song
मैं तुम्हारे दिल के अधिकारी करेंगे
तुम मेरे साथ कुछ समय बिताना होगा

Escape into a moonlit night, walking through pine forests, through open glades, bright mooon filtering through the fine pine needles, scattering into millions of diamonds upon striking the now-settling dewdrops on the bed of grass.
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Friday, October 02, 2009

Blood bond

Tearing through the cardboard and plastics protecting it, I formed a deeper bond than imagined. So it happened that in the haste, I had brought out my pocket knife, and sliced through my right index finger shortly thereafter. The cut was deep, as the involuntary jerk had presaged, and in a matter of seconds I had the blood oozing out.
But I was careless enough to not be deterred. In another few seconds I was on the road towards GF, heading back home after a final deal and a financial day. All through, repeatedly, I had the blood spreading over the surface of my index finger, and then dripping onto the asphalt of Western Express Highway. My spontaneous solution was to suck it all up, like a lollipop, but that wasn't a very efficient process, evidently. So in unequal portions, my precious was distributed between: the road, the handlebars, back into the body (though not the same thing).

At Home, staring into the mirror, my lips were as if coated with glossy black lipstick - dried up blood. It would've been funny had I stopped somewhere for sundries. But my contract with the road and my new bike should mean more, now that its written in blood.
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