Crash

Today, after I came back home after the exam, I saw Crash. I forget, when was the last time I felt so moved by a film. Bids, please go and see it...if there's anyone who'd really know what this film is saying, it would be you. I mean, so would others, but I really think you should see it. I practically stole it from Tanaji. I'm so glad I did.

I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm sleeping all the time. I mean atleast 15 hours a day. And when I'm awake, all I do is think about my next siesta. It's the only way to combat boredom. Ma doesn't get it, when I say I want to get out. She told me "oi toh, shedini gele bondhur barite".
Bondhur Barite is not where I want to go. I just want to take a train, plane, bus, gari, trailer, ship, boat, ANYTHING and GET OUT. Anywhere, but here.
Calcutta grows on you. You learn to live with the eclectic and emotional. You don't particularly like everything that goes on around you, but this is a place you like to miss...a place you like to keep coming back to. We Bangalis are crazy. Especially we, the post-independence, post 70s, aimless Bangalis. When it pleases us, we call the state stagnant, overltly Marxist, a state full of ideologies and nothing more. And again, depending on the weather, and our day at work, we call it consumerist, corrupt, moving towards oposhongshkriti. All over a steaming cuppa tea and telebhaja. I wonder when we'll stop pointing from the stands...with a cycnical smile and disapproving click and nod of the head... I wonder.
I'll be honest. I am an escapist. Very rarely do I debate, argue or interfere. It just pleases me to know that, some people can make a difference... some people have the guts, not just to point, but get down there and DO things. Keep motivating us, 'cause God knows this city of cynical intellectuals needs it. I need it.
But I need to get out now. Really really. "Tomra ki jano. Kokhono line diye ticket ketecho? Shobi toh baba-kakar khatnite beche acho. Tomra ki jano....eii...kichu mone korle na toh?"
Yeah...I need to get away from that for a little while.

I got bored. And I deleted what I wrote before. Aah. Mood Swings.

Between the Lines

The Green Benchers

Ask the dream catchers, if they heard what we were thinking. Ask the authorities if it was legal before 3 in the afternoon for us to dream so much. Ask them, if our identities were embedded in our identity cards. Ask yourself where you belong in this little microcosm of poets, actors, musicians, babes, bikers, scholars and miscellaneous others. Ask your friends whether it'll be Arun da, Michael's, Delight's, See See Dee or Classic stores today. Ask churon da whether he has amshotto today. Ask your friends again whether it'll be metro, bus, auto or Sukdev da today. Ask yourself how many classes you've bunked today. Ask out that girl sitting next to you. What the heck, just ask anything okay?

Dashboarded

Hmm. So I went for a blog-makeover. Erebus is its chief architect. There are still a few things that need to be fixed...but that's for later. He's like everybody's blog handyman :)

Hmm...could use a bit of a make-over myself... I look like an old carpet.
Marathon exams today... practically 6 continuous hours. But surprisingly, not so tired. Only, when I sleep, I dream of writing pages and pages of non-sense. Which what I kind of did today.
I could write more, but I don't feel like. Not exactly batting a hundred today.

Man...I feel like having chicken reshmi kebab now.

I say too many things on my blog. Everyone knows everything that's happening in my life. I know, that's kind of the whole point of it...but I don't like people telling me "yeah I know, I read it on your blog", whenever I have something to say! I think I should go and get myself a life now.

I've been reading very poignant literature and listening to very mellow music of late.
I'm happy because I feel something at last. I like exams. They make you insightful. I mean, I hate the grind...but I like what it does to my mind.
I know, I know...I am frightfully boring. But I don't particularly care.

Goodbye DB-20

Today they are going to break down a place where I've had the most wonderful moments of my life. I can never show anyone where I grew up as a kid. My Ash on an Old Man's Sleeve house.
















And him, of the rosewood card box and doctor smell

"Amar shudhu akta naam...Faltu"
Bugged Sudu throughout the car journey with it. Hahahaha. I can't stop saying it. Faltu. Faltu.

I smell sex and can-dy

Not really. But I've been listening to it all day. It reminds me of Dee. Polly wanna cracker?
If you're reading babe, listen to Something in the Way.
I have finally read Edward II. It's not as bad as I thought it would be. But goodness, so much left. So much. So much. So much.
Dee, listen to Novocaine for the soul as well. I used to listen to this and No Rain all the time chotobala. It's by this group called the Eels. It's our kinda thing.
I'm bored now.

Zombie

I feel good. Puro James Brown types good. No exam tomorrow :)
Zombie status confirmed. Tried to light filter end of Marlborough Light after exam and wondered for a good 5 minutes what was wrong. 4 hours sleep in 44 hours. And marathon murdering of English literature at room no.15 responible for current state.

Sunken Eyed Balckbird-er moto gelam ar ki je likhe ashlam, jani na. I look like I have mumps, because my eyes are so not there right now, and the cheeks are like these...uff...basically my face looks my ass right now. Anyway, not too bothered about that now.

Anindya da got a hair cut and does not look like a seal anymore. He looks puro puri transformed. His personality however, ahem, still remains the same. Arf arf.

TDG made these really choto chotas for his exams. And I think they are just out of the world. The font is so tiny that, he can put in like zillions of answers in a little chit. I'm probably the worst cheater on earth. I get all heart-attackish, and noodle brained. Sudu can confirm that. Kichui korte parlam na. And it's got nothing to do with having scrupolous morals or anything!

Johnny's coloured his hair, and none of us could understand a word of what he said to us today. And I don't think it had anything to do with him being a smartass. I think he was also Zombied.

Tina porikkha dicche na. She's immigrating to the US, come March 8th. Oh no, loona lovegood... it was so wonderful knowing you. Bye bye.

Ma-Baba finally saw RDB. Baba thought Kunal Kapoor looked like a horse. " Na na bhaloi...khali ektu ghorar moto dekhte".

Uninspiring stuff I know...
That's it. That's how bland I let my curry get for the time being.
Erebus, shotti wine khawabe?

Gawd I feel fucked. Four hours of ass numbing and mind numbing bullshit. I screwed history big time. And I look scary as hell. No sleep, and no coherence.
I got chocolate from Porjo today. I'm still trying to figure out the true motive for it. Don't buy the Valentine's Day jazz for one bit. Hehe. Na, na, thank you. Very nice. I had it in the car only.

Ah kal ze famous BLAKE. Ar akta fucked paper. I just KNOW it. *sob*.

Soul Curried

Back after a sabbatical of one day. Not publicity stunt, I swear. Blame it on ever-swinging mood.
Anyway. I did a lot of soul searching the other day, overdosed on Victorian Drama and a dash of Bacardi Limon and here I am. Ms. Jones no more.
I don't know if you've seen this : it's this Melissa Etheridge song, called 'come to my window'... it's got this crazy video, with Juliette Lewis. Jeez...I felt like her all day. And I downloaded videos of No Rain, Jeremy, Smells Like Teen Spirit...and almost Runaway Train. And I felt like such a goddamn cliche...the disturbed teen syndrome (yes, yes, I know...I'm old). It was like this blast from the past.
God, I think if you can get through adolosence, you can get through anything. I know, I'm sounding completely like a bad episode of Oprah, but yeah...thissit. Oh I also saw the video of Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds. Was I born in the wrong era or what? I'd be hopelessly hippie. Speaking of which. I was seriously contemplating shaving off my hair and getting my eyebrow pierced yesterday.Yeah, I know, I've said it many times, but never done it...but now, I'm really really considering it. What the hell, I'm discriminated for my fat ass anyway, so might as well go all the way, huh? Heh. Anyway. Exams tomorrow. Had a dream that I was late for it, and discovered it was a Chemistry paper or something. It was incredibly real.

Today, today, today, after torturing myself with history and other things, I have decided to give up on a few things in life. Blogging for one, because for some reason, the minute I see my blog, I'm overwhelmed with horrid feelings. I don't like the blogger-me anymore.
I'm going to give up on friends, who are not exactly friends. You know...we all have them.
I'm going to give up chatting on Msn, because I don't like the msn-me either.
And, I dunno, what else...
I really feel like going to SPE and zoning out. And getting really really drunk. And I dunno... making out with random people. So you know, when I'm sober again, I'll be like, well...there's one wild stupid thing off the list. And I wanna you know...throw a glass of water on somebody's face...anybody...you know, if he or she's really pissed me off. And, what else, get in a fight. Proper. Not bitching-witching. Just jaw-breaking, shin fracturing fighting. God, somebody give me a reason. I feel like being a punk.
Anyway. So long then. I'm whimsical, so I maybe back. But for the time being, I'm sick of it. So, bye.

I'm so fantastically bored right now. Pakistan is bludgeoning India. I have lost all my Paradise Lost notes ( too many different notebooks dammit). I'm still smarting from being royally ignored. And I haven't had a fun conversation since ages. I have realised, in order to do so, I either have to be on the phone, or be a teensy bit high, or be in the bathroom. And that isn't very encouraging. Cribbing way too much....ami akta sad lonely meye. :-(

Dunnit look nice? Well maybe not that much...but I think I'm starting to like it a lot.

Erm Erm Erm. I think I'm jealous.
Something totally disconnected, yet perhaps more incredulous are these...

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

Some pretty girl killed herself today. Someone old died lonely. And our lives just got enriched with trivia. I feel hopelessly angry at nothing right at this present moment.

I know this is pretty late in the day, but I'm in that 'I wanna boast' mood. This is my stash from the book fair:

Short Stories by every Tom Dick And Harry...oh the good ones
Creepy Stories - it was really cheap, and I like mindless horror
Women in Love - I like D.H. Lawrence...he's not too preachy
On the Road - Jack Kerouac
The Passion of Martin Fissel-Brandt - Christian Gailly
I'm Gone - Jean Echenoz (these two would fall under the 'quirky French translations' category)
Tears of the Giraffe + 44 Scotland Street - Alexander McCall Smith
Great Stories by Nobel Prize Winners - I just had to
3 Archie comics
2 study books (Criticism of American Lit and Puritanism to Postmodernism) - yawn
1 sketch book
And other things that Ma bought for herself and my father/brother.
I'm quite happy about it, and tempted to finish them all, but keeping them for later. Despite all this I spent all morning reading The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar (for the millionth time?) and well...a teensy bit of Macbeth :D

I think I want Tarot Cards. And Tintin in Congo.

Aaj ami besh khepe gechi. It's probably not fair, my khepe jawa, but it's what silly infactuated people tend to do. It's so boka boka, but I have to get it out of my system.
We had these extra classes with Partho today, and he's all nice about it and everything... teaching us stuff we didn't understand or did not pay attention to. And then suddenely, some people are like, we didn't get Blake. And I totally lost it, 'cause Blake is Bertie's paper, and I think he did a great job of teaching it. But I didn't say anything. Then Partho gives an utterly different explaination of it, and there I am sitting in the first row (!!), sulking and wondering in dismay, ki sacriledge hocche eta. And Partho was also reluctant I could see, and I'm glad he didn't dwell on Blake and made some excuse about a meeting and went away. That's a lots of "ands" in one sentence, but anyway. Akhono bhable ektu rag hoy at those stupid girls.
But I have nothing against Partho. He always does a damn good job of whatever he teaches, and poetry is after all, entirely subjective. But no tresspassing on Bertie's territory, kay? Grrrr.

Anyway, now that it's out of my system, I think I should better go nose dive into my books again. *sigh*. P & S, how's it going?

I'm halfway through Macbeth and wanted to give myself a break. But I'm not bored or anything. The more I read of Shakespeare, the more I like it. I know, Hamlet is a far more superior play and all that, but the way were taught Macbeth, I think anyone would fall in love with it. (not Bertie, Partho :D for once)

I'm such a TV addict. Most people I know, are not too fond of TV. But I can spend hours just flicking channels, and I can see just about anything. I think you find the greatest of ideas in the smallest of things. I love books, but TV is my security blanket.
I felt kinda bad for Monali today. I mean, she's not exactly my friend or anything, but you know, I used to see her and stuff, and I know she's really talented...so I was like, ema...beriye galo? I wonder if she'll come back to college.

I saw an Affair to Remember today. It was the typical soppy 50's fare...but it had Cary Grant in it, so it didn't matter. It was actually quite feel-good. I love classics. I love gentlemen and neat suits and coffee after an elaborate dinner. I cringe a little when they say "oh daah-ling" too many times, but I'm mostly in love with these prim and propah folk.
But then again, I love 'em ragamuffins too. You know, Jack Nicholson, torn jeans and flower power fare.

Anyway, I'm rambling. And this is a pointless post. But I just felt like khut-khutting on the keyboard. It's therapeutic. For me.

A random picture for a random post, found at a random blog. But it's nice innit?

Last night I had a marathon conversation with my friends. We went on asking inane questions to each other till 3 in the morning. It was fun. I dreamt all night that, I was having messenger conversations and assassinating people. I think I made a very good assassin. I have that air of non-descriptness (is there a word like that?) about me.
Exams are a week away. I'm not panicking, not studying, not doing anything. I bit my tongue, and it hurts a little. Yeah... That's the only eventful thing that has happened to me all week.

I'm listening to "a little less conversation" and thinking about "a little more action". And so are all my friends. What is it with these damn study breaks?
Damn damn damn. This is no fun. I wanna go some-bloody-where.
Now I'm listening to "are you lonesome tonight"...the funny version...so issokay. Aww, Elvis ki cutely hashe.
Doobeedoobeedoo. Strangers in the Night shunchi akhon. Doobeedoobeedoo.

I lowe lowe Dirrty. Sudu and Preeta hate him. Hate is such a strong word. I think I enjoy being his bitch :D
Fuck. I really should be studying. But I won't. I'll call Dee and get jealous, 'cause she went to the Bryan Adams concert. And to think we almost ran off to Bangalore for it 2 years ago!
Okbye.

5 o' clock magic

It’s called 5 o’clock magic. Just before all the lights are switched on. And smokey dusk fills the empty living room, slowly waking up from its quiet afternoon siesta. There’s a steaming cuppa and the whistling of a train. I stand, with my sweat stained shirt, college dust jeans, khol smudged eyes and watch the great gig in the sky.

I don't like this. My posts got deleted. My comments got deleted. My blog roll did not get modified. It's raining technical errors in blogspot. I will not post anything further, until things get fixed.

I saw Mary Poppins with my 10 year old cousin today and I'll give it to him for watching most of it without getting distracted or anything (he fiddled with my bhanga cell phone for a bit, during the bank scene). I was on the other hand totally engrossed, and trying to remember bits and pieces of it from the last time I saw it (I was 5, and I can't believe it when I say that, it was 15 years ago!) . Oh but now, I kind of like it more, because I know what all the words mean, and its not just the special effects and songs! And why didn't anyone ever tell me that Dick Van Dyke is so bloody adorable?

Any-way. The fun is over. The excuses dwindling. I just HAVE to study now. I mean not NOW now. But first thing in the morning. *sigh*. I think.

I'm going *Chim-chim-eny Chim-chim-eny* in my head right now.

I just help ma set up Saraswati-r ashon. I like these traditions. Like giving alpona always or singing the saraswati vandana I learnt at school. I'm not at all religious. But I like talking to the murtis once in a while. Sometimes they talk back. I'm sad about the other murti leaving. She's looking at me rather wistfully now. Just the other day she told me, "Well atleast bochore akbar toh porte dekhlam".

I was told by a friend to look for poetry in everyday things....like a pair of slippers, a kitchen, a desk, my grandmother's wheezing. I find it hard and think that poetry isn't for everybody. Sometimes, you want to be honest, but no-one wants to hear you. So you honey coat it, get abstract and protect your sanity...and also get labled as a pseudo-intellectual. But truth is truth. As long as they know it, other's needn't.
I find it very difficult to play it cool. It's inevitable that I learn through my mistakes. No amount of warning helps. Like the time I almost lost my passport or fell into a water-hyacinth pond despite grave warnings.
It's hard to make yourself heard in this world. Everyone is in love with their own voices, their own achievements. Then there's that complaint...you say too little...oh you're so quiet...why don't you say something? Or...will you shut up now...I think you've said enough....oh you were still saying?
I'm a rambler. I am, I know. And I do things purely by impulse. Like give away my favourite bracelet, to a friend, who would never know the significance of it. And would never do something like that for me. I do not have a heart of gold. I regret that act of sudden generosity. Terribly.

Anyway. Like I said, it's hard to get through people through simple talk. This has no gimmicks, or pictures or that weird Benglish language we have concocted over the years. It has no names of people, and no flattery or controversy. This post has grim chances of survival.

I do the most wonderful things when I'm on the phone. Like doodle or strike poses. I love this red phone. It's my security blanket. Speaking of which, these days I sleep with the bed-side lamp on.


And this is my Ostra Aros Coffee cup. It's slightly chipped, but I'm happy only when I drink from this.



This is my favourite green marker. These are random scratchings, during a phone conversation.

I didn't know I had become a person of habit. I didn't know I could get so used to things. I didn't know I had the ability to get so attached to people or places. I am a sentimental fool, and today, since it's February and everything, I'll admit it.