Note To Self

You’re happy. You’re not judgmental. You don’t bitch, you don’t judge. You sit down and judge people. You strip them down. You think hard. This, that, what. Your thoughts become a documentary. You give them names. A is a pessimist. B is a sycophant. There is something fishy about C. D irritates you. E is an ignorant selfish fool. Hey! Rewind! I owe E. Thoughts cross the mind. Mind crosses the thoughts. E is an ignorant selfish fool. Hah! F is awesome. Forward! Why did F do that? I hate F. F is awesome. It’s all indolent. Black ink. The ink was the expectation? I look awesome. Hey, you look weird! Shoo! I look awesome (Shit, I look weird?). That chick there is hot. I’m not staring at the hot chick. Dude, see that chick? Oh, that one? She’s OK. I hate when people call me. Why is nobody calling me? I carry my phone everywhere. Sorry, my phone was in the other room. Shit, am I busy? I have nothing to do. I don’t have the time. What do I do with this time? I’m funny. God, he’s funny! Don’t laugh. I’m funny. How can you wear that? (Oh. Now that’s comfortable) How can you wear that? (Shit, it looks OK) How can you wear that? I don’t remember your name, (). I don’t have your number. I have it.

Fool? Whatever. He’s OK. Irritating? Whatever. She’s OK. He’s awesome. Is he? Whatever. I look awesome. Hey, you look weird! Whatever. That chick there is hot! Dude, that chick there is hot! And that one? Whatever. Hello? Kinda busy. Whatever. I’m doing stuff. There is much. There can be more. Whatever. Haha, that’s funny! Here, have this. Whatever. How can you wear that? (Oh. Now that’s pretty good). I’ll never wear that. Whatever. Hey, , remember me? Whatever. I have your number. I have it. Whatever.

Stop expecting perfection.

Insanely Asslol Post ... NOT!

Dulhe ki saaliyon, o hare dupatte vaaliyon...

Yo people, wassup? People? Helloooo-elloo-elo-lo-lo-o (Textual echo effect). Textual sounds so much like sexual. Ooh. Sexual echo is an interesting phrase. Someone needs to come up with a meaning for that. Well, I guess I don't have many readers left. I just hope I have more than Rannvijay's (Runvijay? Ranvijay?) HT City articles. I mean, all the guy speaks about is "How to get the guy / girl you want?" or his college days. He can so set up an agony aunt business (AAB). I bet none of you guys in Australia can actually correctly pronounce that. No I'm not going to speak about the racism. Enough already. It's about how you just can't pronounce an "a" as in an "a" from "A-pple" or the way Peter Andre says "Namast-A". What's with always wanting to stick your tongues out?

Okay, before I go any further, an apology is due. A huge apology, for forgetting my kid's birthday. Sorry, dude. I'm gonna make up for it soon. Very soon. Mon soon.

Ahem. Yeah.

So how many of you were intelligent enough to miss the Wimbledon final to watch Rajesh Khanna's man breasts at the IIFA Awards? It always makes me wonder if man breasts are a prerequisite for lifetime achievement awards. First Rishi Kapoor, then Om Puri, and then him. There is a certain weirdness about man breasts. They always make you visualize the subject running along a sea shore in small trunks. And inevitably, with a hairy chest. Yellow trunks. Speaking about hairy, isn't Neil Nitin Mukesh one hairy little lad? Although, in New York, he looked a lot better in scenes where he's clean shaven. Ah. New York. Disappointing movie. A stupid ending always kills the fun of the whole movie. Okay, yeah, Katrina was hot and John showed us more than 2 expressions, but the ending killed it all. Bleh.

It's so much fun to write. Seriously. After the hellish month I've had. Travelling 60 Kms a day just for a corporate training, and in this shitty heat, is an insanely asslol experience. It did give me a lot of time to think, though. And yeah, the training was fun. But the travel, OMG. Thankfully, my office was air-conditioned. I just wish they would take my suggestion of employing belly dancers for the trainee section by the time next year is around. There was a legend about the HR department. Sadly, I hardly got a chance to visit what they called the "abode of the ladies". But the probationers at the Danceworx (Ashley Lobo) class are more than making up for it. First class was like OMG. Standing in the last line does have its benefits after all.

So yeah. The training did make me realize how less time I had to indulge in my type of leisure before I became a routine engineer. So, for now, I'm trying to get as many things on my plate as possible. Horse-riding starts this week. Dance has already started. A trial class for kick-boxing is up next. And then there is the acting workshop and the play audition. German starts from January. I'm so gonna make the most of every single second of this year.

BTW, I recently realized how huge a Bollywood buff I am. I just can't get enough of the way Shahrukh Khan shows his tiny little (and, evidently, powerful) fists before beating the shit out of Parmeet Sethi in DDLJ, or the way everyone does a "chhuk chhuk, chhuk chhuk" after every line in "Waah Waah Ramji" from Hum Apke Hain Kaun. Awesome. Here, watch one of the awesomest songs ever:

P.S: Star Plus, you'll die an insanely painful death for skipping Hrithik's award winning speech at the IIFA. DIE!

P.S (2): What's so insanely FAIL with Opera + Blogger.Com?

The Rain Goddess is My Lady!

I was mad. I admit it. I couldn't stand another person singing about the rain. Tweeting, exclaiming or even uttering anything related to the "Hailstorm outside their houses" or the "Sweet droplets falling from the sky." It was mentally excruciating as I sat by the window and stared at the sky. There was a hollowness in my skull, and there was plea in my eyebrows. Yet, I couldn't help but snide, my fists clenched. I knew I was being a jealous boyfriend, but it was justified. It was justified especially given the preferential treatment ever since my birth. And after all the faithfulness I showed, I so deserved it. But my patience was of no consequence. Or so it seemed. Suddenly there was a whirlwind of dust and a singular drop fell on the window sill. It stayed there for a while, looking at me in the eye, as if we were involved in a stare war. As if it wanted to say "Did you really think I would abandon you? Did you really believe you would be the one I would choose to not to love?" I blinked.

And then it all started. It looked as if the wet dust finally rose up from the ground to open its arms and welcome the downpour. As if the small stones and the pollen seeds tried and tried to fly up and touch the clouds, and always fell back, only to try again. And then I ran in slow motion (for the funsies and the effects) towards the door. The chair tried to trip me, the wall tried to shove me, but today was my day. There was a small moment between my opening the door and my running out under the open sky when I paused, took a breath, looked up, and smiled, only wanting to say those three magical words every cloud wants to hear: "Sexy Wet Bitches!"

I stood still for a while, now out in the open, with arms spread. I could make out how, once again, all the neighbors could do was peek from behind their curtained hellholes. How they got amused watching the "Crazy Rain Kid". But, once again, as always, I didn't give a hairy snake's ass. Then I started walking. First, I walked against the storm. It was fun, horribly cold, but fun! My T-Shirt and shorts were almost a part of my skin, and my hair was as much mine as the air's. An occasional bit of mud got entangled in my eyelashes. My slippers had now become so heavy that walking through the puddles seemed tougher than pulling an elephant from your eyelids. But, today, nothing could stop me.

I walked against the storm, I walked along it. I could see a solitary cat hiding under a car, gazing at me with its careful eyes, while the swifty dipping mercury had made it bury it's claws into the road. I went and sat on the grass, then lay down on it. Something in my pocket vibrated, only to make me realize that my phone was now as drenched as me. I did not care. Today, nothing could go wrong. I got up and walked out of the main gate, onto the main road, as the three guards watched me, wondering why I was acting so foolishly and not chosing to sit inside my station all cosy and dry while even the Gods were partying. I started walking in the middle of the road. I could see two headlights piercing through the falling streams of water, but they were far away, far far away. Rain has this certain quality of invoking extreme emotions. You can feel cheerfulness and dreariness, something filling you up, something draining you out, everything at the same time. It was amazing to see the dudes up there at work. I did not mind the guy peeing on the wall next to the pavement as he was being supernaturally pwned, or, put subtly, his stuff was being virtually flushed.

You could see how the rain had affected each and everything around, be it the cargo-rikshaw-puller getting shouted at by his boss for getting the goods soaked, or the guy who had parked his bike on the roadside and lay on top of it smoking a cigarette, or the uncle standing under a single umbrella with his woman as she kept her head on his shoulder, or even the little street kids who were deliberately throwing stones in large puddles only to annoy the tarboozwaala (watermelon vendor) hiding under his shack, and get him wet. Even the DJ kid across the block couldn't help but put the Himesh tracks on a roll once again and come out of his house, despite the screams of his three dragonlike moms. As I listened to the faint sound of a guy crooning awkward lyrics from his famous nose, I wandered back to my earlier thoughts and could only laugh at my notions. How could I let myself believe I was the unwanted one for even a single moment? It was amazing to see how a mere twenty minutes turned everything around.

It was out. It was official. It was the writing on the clouds.

The Rain Goddess is My Lady!