Mesmerised

I'm quite speechless. The best I've ever seen. Worth the zillion mosquito bites.

I love Beck. And Kailash Kher. And Joan Osborne's "One of us".

Was watching the news the other day...and I have to say, The Youth for Equality brigade is an inspiring bunch. I really don't know what the hell is wrong with the Government of India! I mean there's this entire issue of the Narmada Bachao Andolan, where they are openly pulling a fast one on the people and then this. It's positively disgusting! I mean why should we take it lying down? We work our asses off to get into a good college, and then someone, just because he has a reserved seat, gets in smoothly...and then what?? Does he have enough merit in him to cope up with that level of studies? If he does, then kudos, well done. bravo and all that jazz. But is it seriously fair to us? And another thing. I may be wrong here, but do 49.5% of the Indian population consist of OBCs? If not ( and I don't know about this), how can it possibly be fair? What was the HRD Ministry thinking? If it was a political move, then how can they make such a blunder, when they know that more than 51% of the Nation is below the age of 25! It's all about the youth, people! Keep them happy you morons!

I was reading Freaky's take on it. I couldn't have put it better.

So anyone game for a Nationwide protest??

By the way...how many voters for today? I have to admit (and it's terrible of me really)...don't have a voter's id yet. Next year, promise...sunscreen, tupi pore beriye porbo.

Ooh! Ooh! We have goldfish! Four little fish in a little fishbowl :D
They are - Martin Luther King or Marty ('cause he's black)
Bertie (as in Rooster) (he's the biggest)
Jeeves (who's the medium sized one)
and Pip (who's the tiniest)

I'll put up pictures in the morning. I think I already made them a teensy bit neurotic with the flash. So none of that. Oh JOY!

Erm...missed out Chip (as in Fish &...) (also..Pip's friend Chip).
So five fish really. They had dried worms for breakfast today.

My mp3 player has conked. And I feel bad, because I get very attached to non-living things. I mean not in a materialistic way...you know...it's like you getting attached to a pet or something...it's weird, but anyway. This player... nothing like these snazzy i-pods or whatever they have these days...is this bulky ol' fellow, and I'm crazy about it...because it reminds me of all kinds of things. Like New York and the Smallie Mix. Like Euro Rail and Maggi blonde guy who sat with his feet up. Like Dhriti, Kanti and Avril Lavigne and United States of Whatever. Of the intricate topography sheets I had to do and Angie and Paint it Black. Like liking Something by the Beatles in Bhutan for the first time while going up a hill. Like Indian Summer with Dee in Kalimpong. Like Times they are a Changing in that bathroom in that cruiseboat in Egypt. Like Let it Be when I'm really really sad, and want no-one to know about it. Like staring at my reflection in it's silver controls while studying Marketing Economies. God, I need to get it repaired. I'm such a sentimental fool.

Day Trippin' and lots more

Blurry Spiritual Men on the Wicked Little Streets of Macleod Ganj

So here we were, a comic bunch, hurtling down the bumpy road in a claustrophobic bus. And I looked out of the window, amazed at the clichés that I dipped my head into. The wind in my face, the dazzling moon up above, the blurs of forests and stray people and dogs, the eclectic smells that wafted in and out of my nostrils….et cetera et cetera. We were on a vacation.
The place had a name, but we called it something else. It was like a billion other places we had been to, with our families and friends, but it was different because we wanted it to be. And the hippie lot of us weaved in and out of this little crystal maze of a town and let ourselves romanticize and dream and feel wonderful. We fancied ourselves as a bunch of hedonistic wildflowers….or something like that, when deep inside, we all knew what we really were…wallflowers, but of course.
But why scrape of the good stuff from the top? We felt good, and never mind the deep, dark, clawing feeling in our stomachs later on, further on, in a lonely room and all that and all that. We were, for the time being, in love with all things good and free and fun-loving. And the winds, inevitably, cried Mary.

Grrrr. I feel like being cruel to cruel people.
I am going away to Delhi tomorrow. Bye bye.
I have realised, there is nothing more wonderful than a leather-bound diary. It's feels good not to be judged and to be completely honest.

Savvy?

I tell you, I saw Bertie all the time. Uber cool Bertie. This is Bertie giving out the papers "Crap...Savvy?" Oh and I'd like the Quirky Depp special, waiter, if you're listening, seasoned with a leetle Wonka sauce. Thank you.

I feel TERRIBLE. I feel like a terrible stand up comic. I feel like the foot refuses to be wrenched out of the mouth. Somebody shoot me.

Tasted pure poetry today. Shit I'm going straight to hell. Shit I'm still highhhh.

The sun is SHINING

Loony not well. Heat has finally taken its toll. Brain fried. Heart threatening to attack. Body like butter on hot pavement. Fat people, I say, hate this damn weather the most. Loony yearns for Llapland with dubbul L. AC (godbless godbless) is working to please.
Loony saw cowboy lovers and thought how wonderful to have people love each other, no matter what. Loving is so much better than killing seals, or putting pants on fire, or unwanted female circumcision, or Abu Ghraib.
Loony has been thrown out of room. Loony misses. Loony wanted to put up picture of room in shambles, but battery of digital dead out of over-use.
Loony met a lot of dogs today.
I am exaggerating about weather but. It wassokay really. Loony juss misses Waganuk. Donn ask me who he iss.

I saw Amelie again. What a nice film. I didn't know Nino was the same fellow who made bombs in Munich. Now I know.
I was forced to see Malamal Weekly yesterday. I lived. And I actually enjoyed bits of it. Gosh, I am such a snob.

I live on the 19th floor, with windows which have no grills. And through little gaps, the wind comes swooping in, sounding like a banshee in a horror movie. "Voooooooooooh!" morning, noon and night it complains. And then there's this cheel. Who loves our flat and sits outside the window and sings to its heart's content. Only, it's worse than my bathroom singing (which, incidentally, is very good *ahem*...so no, not that comparison). It's just irritating, like missed calls or something.
I love George Bernard Shaw. I read a marvellous little short story by him. It's called The Miraculous Revenge. I read it while having pounds and pounds of powdery chocolate Horlicks (I was hoping the Horlicks Lite thing would have a chocolate flavour, but noooo).

Dee and I were fooling around at my place the other day. We have this smiley faced stress ball, which is mouldable and everything, and really really cool and addictive. So we were taking funny videos, and I decided to bite that thing (I like biting things), and phusss, the rubber sheathing around the ball tore, and I ended up with a puff of white powdery stuff in my mouth. And I actually caught this Bridget Jones moment on camera. Besh funny. Then we ended up making sand castles and stuff with the powder, which feels very nice. Like talc, but more bindable. It looked exactly like coke. We even made fine parallel lines, you know khata-khat-khat like Uma Therman and all, and decided to pretend-snort. But we didn't, because, we might have really ended up doing it. We are really dorky kids.
I was made to try on sari blouses first thing in the morning, when I opened my eyes. Otherwise, the dorji would go away and I'd still have strange fitting blouses. I have a strange body. My left side is fatter than my right side. It's a wonder how I walk straight.
I have a dull life. Someone come swimming with me. And teach me how to play tennis. I need exercise.

Nothing happens.