This one was truly made for Preeta Mallick. I think she will find Heaven here.

The story behind this picture....

Is rather funny. No, no, don't worry. It's got nothing to do with Ronan Keating or a rekindled love for *ugh* boybands (there can wunly be wunn!) - but something to do with a crazy, crazy uh - occurance. This may seem a little exclusive - but for the benefit of those who know the occurance - the resemblance that this picture bears to the circumstances in question - is uncanny. Shite. The tease.

When all the casualties of love have packed their bags and left, and all you see is an empty home and an unmade bed, don’t look back in anger – or in pity or in pain.

It's a funny thing. When you think of all the things you could have done or should have done, but never did. When sometimes, your unwavering optimism...wavers, and you feel like the best years of your life have gone by chasing phantoms and shiny disco balls. I just wish they meant a little bit more, that's all. I don't regret giving you up, or giving up on you. Peace to the dream.

Sud in the City

Haha - see - now that's more like you :)

I think I need gun therapy.

I have Tarot cards! And also some books I've been wanting forever! I went to Starmark today - and boy, do they have a good collection. I have vowed to spend more time there as of now. Going back to the cards - I've done a couple of readings - out of curiosity at first - and then, because I felt totally connected with them. They told me a million times NOT to ask them about the match though. Sheesh. I won't. I won't.
I was supposed to kickstart my studies today, but didn't happen. Aargh. Whattodo. Trick is I guess, is to think poe-sitively. Heh. The Poe jokes haven't happened in a while no?

This on top is Pushtmashkin's Cellar. When the time is right, he will be formally introduced.
Now I want to whine. Which is why 90% of the people I know blog anyway. See, the funny stories just don't happen, the hormone shattering social life is non-existent (when was the last time I had a proper night out?), the daily events cannot be scripted to sound fantastic - some people can do it - like the eM sorts - but she's too cool for school anyway, so forget her, aaand - I think I used to make an attempt of sorts to make myself presentable - and even pussyfoot (nono, ignore puns) around the prospect of flirting - before, but now I just don't give a fuck. Will the frumpy-dowdy bag lady with the love handles please stand up? It's all very terrible, with Ma looking all panic stricken for a moment when I casually mentioned I'm not really into the boyfriend or marriage thing, and I'll think about it when I'm 30-odd. Heh. It sounds very - oh nonchallant - phoo, I don't need a guy-ish - eesh. Oh my god, I've become of those desperate fat woman friends, trying to conceal the horny humper within. You know - the ones that look longingly at a couple - and then be all "I don't need a guy. I have my books, music and blah blah boring - Go feminists! Go singles!"...y'know? Yikes.
But no. I mean, it is great to be single (although I'm not much of a feminist) and all that - but it's definitely fun to have a mate - especially one that comes without a whole lot of emotionial baggage. But it's just SUCH an effort! Right from combing your hair, to losing weight(oh but fat girls do have boyfriends, just so that you know) and being all conversational and funny(I could do that bit really well when I was younger - talk about the things they wanted hear - and talk about it really well) - but even repartee is such a bother - too much brainwork. It just seems so much easier to smile and stare vacantly. It always works for the pretty ones. But the ones with the "nice personalities" just have to have something to offer right? Sheesh. I'd rather be single than go through all that. And besides, it's all about the hormonal vibes anyway. So if my body isn't giving off the right signals, I'm always going to be chomu fat woman, who smiles too much (have you seen my bloody orkut album? Sheesh) and is that "nice" friend in the lives of every fuckwit boy.
Man, whatever happened to instant chemistry?

Summer

*sigh*...winter's gone already. But summer's had a couple of wonderful memories too. It is my least favourite season, oh yes, but... May. I like May oddly. And I like mangoes. And Kalboishakhis. When we were kids, there used to be a lot of loadshedding. I was told, it was all Jyoti Babu's doing. So everytime there was a loadshedding, I used to imagine doing perverse things to Jyoti Babu - like sticking him with pins and throwing him off a cliff. I'd run about in my underwear, semi-neurotically, from one room to another, shouting "kokhon light ashbeeee? kokhon light ashbeee?" And the lights would not come back till late into the night, like 3 or something, by which, we would have fallen asleep, in Dada's room, because we got the southern breeze there the best - and of course, Ma hath-pakha'd diligently. Ma always had very strong hands - the way she haath pakha'ed, beat eggs, coffee, cake batter. And there would be stories. Because I was afraid of the dark. Baba's stories. About some young man on a train going to Bardhaman or something from Kolkata, and his adventures - which never ended - because either we'd fall asleep or Baba. But the stories were all very excellent. You'd have to hear them, to believe how good they were. "Buddhi khola golpo" he called it.
Another summer thing was cycling. Although, that happened all year 'round. But summer, was the best time, because we didn't have badminton, sports day or the rains to distract us. We raced all over the para, doing crazy stunts, sweating like maniacs, staying out till 7 - and sometimes if we were plucky, 8. And there were those long, long walks - and calling out to the stars. No, no - I'm not being word-pretty - I really shouted at stars - at the top of my lungs. I embarrassed my friends a great deal sometimes.
Then there was chaan. Cold water showers with some lemony soap. Especially after coming back home from all that playing. Sometimes I'd bathe 3-4 times in one day - conducting some T.V. show or something under the shower. And singing. There was this great bathroom hit - "Sajani" something, which I made up. It was brilliant. Very classical, and Raaahul-pani-khatam-ho-jayega types (remember the Le Sancy ad?).
School was the worst during summer. Especially when our water got over. We'd sweat like pigs and wipe it on our shirt sleeves - which would inevitably turn black. Then suddenly, while sitting in a stuffy classroom, waiting for the bell to ring, we'd smell a storm and stare out of the windows. And everything would become more tolerable.
So, even today, when there's AC, and all the comforts imaginable, I grumble about summer, I stop and think about the N9 days - and the happiness that the cruel season could bring.

Oh my. Mr. Jack Nicholson, is undoubtedly one of the sexiest men alive. I could wolf him down on any given day (If you haven't understood, blame it on Preeta and your limited knowlege of useless trivia).
Well, the insomnia rages on adamantly. Books haven't been touched. Letters haven't been received. Weight is status quo despite neurotic evening walks. Haven't stepped out of home (and the surrounding 2 km) since the past week or more. Isn't life just lah-dee-dah.
But...I could live unsocially for the rest of my life, I think. And be happy. Life is spent doodling, watching TV, listening to music, pottering about in the garden, looking out from the window/terrace, walking. I don't read. I don't write. I don't do anything that requires too much of mental labour. And it's not too bad, really.

And P.S. Orkut. That's it. No facebooks, boxes, baggages whatever. It's too much work! And it's the same people anyway. Stick to one. You won't be considered unfashionable. Promise.

I cannot for the life of me, hook my bra from the back. How do people do it? How how how? It's crazy! This is going to be my second survey, I have decided, after the entire other "shamne theke/pechon theke" issue is solved. It's not as perverted as it sounds. Believe me.

Now Hush, 'cause you don't matter

Yes. It is a bandh, yet again. And we all know why. This time, however, the mood is different. My brother, who works in an IT firm, tells me very few people turned up this time around. The 24 hour bandh last time had 80% turning up. But today, it was eerily different. Is this a bandh, we finally, believe in?

Yes, but of course. Putting a halt to our daily activities will solve all issues at hand. Do the math - the lesser the pollution, the clearer our thoughts. Sit at home and meditate. Sit at home and contemplate. Turn on the tube and cringe at the violence that is shaking a little village in East Midnapur. What more can you do anyway? Shut your idealistic traps and watch. Because we are mere spectators in our state. Don't file complaints. Don't rave and rant. It will lead to nothing. Just watch, as the big daddies and didis of West Bengal battle it out, fist for fist, eye for eye. Keep your towels and umbrellas handy though. For there will be blood. Loads of it. Surely, you wouldn't want to be drenched in it?
So while public sympathies are towards the villagers, and against the ruling Left, let's take a look at some facts.
The Nandigram plot of land was acquired, as we know, to create a Special Economic Zone by the Salim Group of Industries. The land aquisition notice that was passed however, was proved illegal. The villagers were therefore, automatically hostile towards any kind of outside interference and had isolated themselves from the rest of the state, not allowing any form of governance. Nandigram was cut off (voluntarily) for the last 2 and a half months, and there was no access to the outside world and vice versa. Which meant, there was no quality medical help, farm produce (Nandigram is provides a large chunk of the state's supply of fishes, vegetables and poultry) could not be reached to the markets, children could not go to school - in short, the common people were highly inconvenienced.
Thus, it became necessary for the Government to intervene, to reinstate State control. What they probably did not realise was the extent of resistance that awaited them. Along with the police were some of the 2000-2500 CPM supporters who were thrown out from their village after the SEZ fiasco, trying to make their way back into their homes. What followed, is there for everyone to see.
Could the blood bath be avoided? Probably. But what do we really know? We know, for one, this clash, wasn't about the farmer vs industry debate. It was more of a fallout of bureaucratic/political actions. And it is no secret that Midnapur has definite Maoist connections, so their involvement cannot be ruled out entirely. But these are all calculated guesses, as to why things went wrong, why people got killed, why this miscommunication occured in the first place.
And now the opposition has enough fodder to milk the Left's reputation for all its worth.
But it's a funny little thing. Balancing lives and reputations. In the meantime, solutions anyone? What is your P.O.A, Government? Opposition?

So listen up folks. Before you get fired up and flood the media with badly spelt SMSes and make them lots of money, take a good look at your foolish, emotional, ineffective existence. Sound and fury signifying nothing? You bet. Do something? But what? What do we do now? Where do we go from here? I sure as hell don't know. Read a book and watch a movie I suppose. Oh, the World Cup's there of course. Come, let's watch that and stop pretending to care so much.

Okay, stoppit, no more whiny goodbye posts. Promise.
I've started a fantastic new life, which includes someone called Julio (pronounced Hoo-lio) and a pair of trackpants and loads of music and merryment. I'm packing off the Aunties for a pretty little picnic for a bit and letting Jane Fonda (we share the same birthday) take over. So Jane and Julio are totally working it and it's for the best.
I have also been appointed the official cleaning lady of the house. I am so bizziarely good with menial work it's not even funny. I can cook, clean and wash and I'm seriously considering it as a career option. There's so much peace in housework sometimes. Just you, your music and a mop. There is one part I hate though. Folding. I hate folding clothes and keeping them in their place. It's just no fun.
I climbed fourteen floors today - and funnily, wasn't as breathless as I thought I would be. Also discovered a little terrace like extention on the 16th floor landing, which no-one uses, and could be 'put to use' so to speak, if I wished.
I feel a bit like Zorba the Greek at the moment.

But every junkie's like a settin' sun

Is Neil Young hot or what. I miss the guitar days. The Needle and the Damage Done. That was the song. The first quote for the class of 2007. Or 4. You know. That, and the word "philistine". Barely audible. But more honest. Back in the day, it was all more believable. And it wasn't about glorification. It was just a sad, sad, sad echo - hollow and disillusioned.
Also back in the day, when life wasn't ruled by cigarettes and paper moons, and I still loved playing guitar and believed in bands, I remember feeling pure happiness. Sitting out in the terrace, under a red kalboishakhi sky, with good people, munching shingaras or something and just talking. Random stuff. It was all so effortless. With cool dusty wind blowing around us and someone strumming tunelessly and someone not. Good days.
Well, this silly, big ol' girl (I'm like a Bertha or a Cassie, no?) has finally started packing her bags. Reserving her lipless grin for others (I feel like The Rock - talking about myself in the third person and everything, jeez).
I'll miss it all.

Mast ekdum

Ok ok back. Home sweet home. "Crazy" is suddenely my favourite word - it's quite dull, but I find myself saying it a lot. It's hot in Cal. I didn't need the fan at a very high speed when I left, but now I do.
NOW, it's back to serious work. *sigh*. But I'm kinda sorta glad. I'm going to squeeze literature for all its worth - because I don't know when I'll get to study it again. But that's another story.
Bombay trip was a lot of fun - truly. I was with people I really liked, being myself, having fun. The fact that I was at my fattest best in three years didn't bother me much. Which is saying a lot.
I have discovered two new personalities within myself. The Punjabi Aunty ("arre chaddo yaar, kuch beer-sheer peete hai *guffaw guffaw guffaw*") and the Goan- Mrs. Billimoria ("What men, Albert, stop drinking so much men, or else I'll bugger you men"). They are both obnoxious, loud, fat, alcoholics, with extremely weird clothes-sense. I semi-love them, semi-hate them. They're fun to be around, if you like that kind of loud ha-ha-hee-heeing. God help them, they are not smart. I was mostly these two throughout my Bombay trip. In Pune I was more reserved and Bong. But chaddo yaar, men.
I was also a part hippie called London, but clean and sexually inactive.
I also really like Edward Scissor Hands (which means, I'm not entirely devoid of being hormonal)...(wait, I think I am entirely hormonal)....(well anyway).
I'm a little disappointed about not travelling by local train though. I did all of it - and everywhere - but not the locals. Fick.
Anyway - it was mast ekdum. Being with Dee, meeting Chamki and His Highness, fulfilling the fat-joint fantasy, being close to family (S and mine), vada pao, chaats, jhari mara, little-wittle shopping, laughing, beaches, beer - crazy. Or should I say, 'killer'?

I'm not supposed to say a word. Hush. :D

Gymnastically yours :)

Chamki, Nonedone and Loony :)

I'm still hopping a little from all this excitement! Oh yay yay! Today was good fun - with good food and great company. My camera met its twin, (and here, I jump a little), somebody knows somebody I know, I saw Shahrukh and Salmaan's house, I bargained (with no avail), S - I realised cannot bargain either (kid, I counted on you so much!), I ate batatapuri(?) panipuri and sevpuri on Bandstand, got chased by rats(!), and got a tarot reading while waiting for my bus at the depot. Lalalalah. More latah!

Wow, am I being Bong or am I being Bong. I'm being helluva a lot more Bong-er than I am in Cal. I ate macher jhol bhat today and slept after that in the afternoon. Fish. I ate FISH. As in proper fish fish, not a pansy old baked/grilled bhetki. A fish with all em bones and JHOL. And...here's the deal... I liked it. Shh. Don't tell Ma though.
I've been doing a lot of new things since I got here. Take for instance in Pune, I was staying somewhere where there weren't any Western Loos. And I'll be plain. I hate the Indian ones. Hate, gut wrenchingly hate. But I also know that beggars can't be choosers. Especially at 8 in the morning, when you have just GOT to go, before an interview that too. So I went...*sigh*. But that's a part of the travelling on your own bit, right? I just like to sit, like proper sit-sit, and read a comic or a paper or two - with some kind of fan on, so there isn't too much, ahem, noise, and go about my business. Can't a woman have her dignity?! *sigh*
Anyway. I'm more tolerant of Indian loos now. Now that I've survived the entire ordeal.
So, now that you know, what a spoilt little child I am (fish+loo+I wanted the goddamn two night train journey to get over soon so that I could bathe in some hot water and shampoo my hair) - let me tell you, I usually get around to doing these things anyway. Sometimes grudgingly, sometimes quietly, sometimes with a certain amount of enthusiam (as with the fish). What can I say? I like my luxuries. But it's not beneath me to live in a way different from my own. In fact, it isn't even too difficult. What would you call that? Snobbery or conditioning? I dunno.
When we were kids, we lived in a small apartment, and there was a loo with an Indian thing, where I fell in once, so that could explain my hatred for it. I hate fish, because I was forced to eat it as a kid, and I don't like being forced to do anything. I like having a bath, because, well, I look a mess. And my hair looks limp and sparse and people laugh at it. And that kinda sorta bugs me.
Tell you what. I still like travel. Because I learn from it. I learn to adapt, learn to get over my quirks. Very soon, I'll stop minding people altogether. And then I can give up bathing. :)

Ah, the para life. I miss it like mad. Here, in this little society in suburban Bombay, I saw some real people. Around the Holika fire. Simple, Marathi families, having simple unpretentious fun. I feel rooted and good. :)

Woah. I miss...(here it comes)...The Man. Although, I never really call him that. Shit, I miss him like effin crazy. Allofasudden, far away from home. I want to sit in room 19 doing a Steinbeck class. Mulling over the "working marriage" bit. I think it was that Hipster community quote that set me off right now - "He was as blue as his shirt", wearing his dark blue shirt and looking like a mellow ol' fellow from a badly translated French short story. Jeez. Whatta a hormonal post.
I am in the suburbs now.

Barobar Bombay :)

Well, I'm here. And I'm also finally back to eating meat, now that it's March 1st. Came back from Pune last night (and I'm completely in love with the Bombay-Puna highway). Interviews are over and done with. So yay! Met up with J at Pune, and went for gazillion scooty rides (I swear I'm bow-legged now) and I discovered the wonderful German Bakery (hip-hip-hippie). Also met some random people, and decided I liked them. We went through the interviews together, and sneaked in food into the campus building and chatted a whole lot. So that was fun. Well, somewhat. Now back to bummbay, where I'm just gonna bum around and eat and sleep and take pictures. Came back a while ago from Carter road, after having devoured a cow, gelato and dollops of sea-breeze. And it feels so good to think there's no assignment to be completed, no essays to be written, no stupid files to be submitted. This is now officially a vacation! And no curfew ;) (well for now anyway). I lurve Bombay. Already have a belt and beer from Leo's in my belly. And of course, the funnnnest company :D

Oh, oh, oh. Had to say! I fell off from the 3rd bunk of the train. George of the jungle ishtyle. Crazy shit. :-S