resurrected roaches

There is a new companion in my life.

Two days ago, I stepped on a cockroach in my bathroom. She gave a flat kind of crack and yellow-green paste came out of the sides of her abdomen. After a few minutes, she started twitching feebly, so I left her and got on with my life.
The next day, in the morning, she was gone. I though nothing of it until I found her in the corner, on her back, legs curled up. She sensed me looking at her, and twitched her legs and waved her antennae. I ignored her again.
Tonight, she was still on her back... but, now on the other side of the room. When I switched on the light, there were some smaller 'roaches around her, and they scurried off. What did you think... they were giving her get-well-soon cards? The intestinal loops and solidifying paste she had been dragging around the last 48 hours were gone. They had been eating her alive, in the dark.

A cockroach lives 2 years, a human seventy. A human will die without water in three days. This is around 0.0117% of his life. By that logic, a cockroach should die in 2.06 hours without water. This one has been twitching happily for close to 72 hours now.

Great. The assorted ecology of my apartment can now be expanded to include an undead cockroach.

I shall call her Mallika.

scents and sensibility

it's incredible what a vivid - and emotionally powerful - trigger, a smell is.
Every time my roommate lights a cigarette, it's not that first sting just in your nose that goes up into your sinuses in a warm rush... it reminds me so much of being a child.
Summer evenings in a dark verandah in a series of huge, rambling colonial bungalows all over UP. Purple sky, stars just coming out. Breeze. Peace. Security. No worries.
These used to be the times when my dad would usually be back and be sitting outside with the evening chai... and usually this would be the first time in the day I'd smell it. This was before the job, before hostels, before college, before tutions, before even a bicycle-equipped friend circle. Most of the time between when I was old enough to walk and old enough to be allowed out of the house on my own - this was a defining smell, a scent that said my dad's home... later we'd sit and chat. And I'm always going to remember this smell with him, and my wanting to be like him.
I don't get this memory when I actually take the first drag, or even when I light up myself - that has a whole other set of associations. Teens. Adventure and guilt. Breaking rules. It happens only when someone else around me lights up - especially with a wood match.

I can quit smoking. I can't quit wanting to smoke. Right uptil when I actually do.

camo

I stood up today and as usual, someone tried to cut my head off.
What is it about being good at something that automatically makes people assume you're trying to be better and go after you with a chainsaw? Yaar, I'm being me. I'm not interested in being faster / smarter / stronger than you. I don't give a rat's ass about you. But somehow not being treated to rodent posteriors makes people all excitable and competitive.
These days, I tend to zone out at work... I don't know if it's the result of my vascular system finally getting back on line, or the awla snacks, or the weather, or incipient nervous breakdowns, or what; Life has become a videogame again, and I'm on a winning streak. Have started losing all sense of time... it's nice. Last I felt like this was during my 12th boards, when tunnel vision made life so much less complicated.
As long as I know where I'm going, that is.
2 days ago, I crossed a break point. I just stood back and thought, there really isn't much point struggling with this; I'm going to get jacked by something out of my list of 127 things to do before 9 PM, so might as well let it be #1. Since then, I've been surfing along the catastrophe curve and nothing's happening. Unless I stick my neck out, like today morning. Nah. It's more fun this way.

I

quitting

I'm on another health trip again. It's been close to 60 hours now, and I've slipped back only once.

Everything they say is true. The world is sharper. Louder. Brighter. Tastes better, smells... more, this being Bombay. But I have this undercurrent of restless manic jittery energy all the time... any more and it'll be twitchy.

I'm walking everywhere, and it doesn't matter how hot it gets. I arrive in office every morning dripping sweat. I arrive home every evening bathed in it. I'm sleeping earlier. The dreams haven't started yet, but it's a matter of time. In a couple of days my bodyclock will readjust and I can throw away the alarm clock.

Although I say this every time, this might actually be it. I've found something stronger. 12 years' conditioning for responding to feelings of satiety, stress, pleasure, relaxation, boredom, intoxication with a cigarette is being beat.

And sorry, I'm not saying what it is... you have to find your angels yourself.

The post-food periods are the worst, though. I actaully progress to twitchiness for a quarter-hour around then.

is an extramarital affair a sin?

One of you, dear readers, will have already read this... please excuse

virtue.
abstinence.
self-denial to oneself the pleasures of life, whether food, or mood-altering substances, or the pleasures of the flesh.

equatable?
how do you define virtue?
something you do for the good of all society around you, that develops into a set of societal norms. Cleanliness was a virtue because your fleas couldn't spread the Black Death. Fidelity is a virtue because you can't spread HIV.
But substance abuse? A virtue because you don't rob and murder to finance your habit? A slight stretch... so many other things that you can do the same to finance... but playing the stockmarket isn't a sin. Nor is choosing Gleddenfich over Mera No. 1.
Or having an affair. Whether you hurt others (or even just one person) is not a given. But do you by extension, by example, hurt society? Only according to the accepted norms... and how relevant are they? If you encourage by example everyone to sleep around, are you also indirectly leading to the demise of the human race via STD epidemics?

telelaughs

Telecaller: Sir aap postpaid use karte ho ya prepaid?
Me: Madam aap postpaid hain ya prepaid?
Telecaller: Sir aap jo chaho ge... agar aap chaho prepaid to hum prepaid bhi hain, aur agar postpaid chahte hain to postpaid bhi hain.
Me: hmmm...

wonder what she was selling...

Dalhi

So here I am in Dalhi. chaos reigns.

What am doing in Dalhi, you ask? You may well do so. And in the immortal words of Archana, if I find out, I will definitely let you know.
Friday night I was happily playing dumb charades with A___'s CEO and VP and my own GM.
Then I was 10 drinks down and changing a car tyre at 3 AM.
Then I was 16 drinks down and at the airport, but my body refuses to move. Does alcohol metamorphose into a muscular neurotoxin when it crosses 1,000 ml in the human body?
Then I was in the Starcom conference room, being trained in Starcom Processes (kinky!)
Then I was in Andheri, packing.

Night passed.

Then I was in Dalhi introducing Gaurav T to the Joy of Oracle. The thrills of the MAFs and the highs of the SOWs. The deep serenity of the SOLAR and the outright hilarity of the ARS. topped up with with the near-orgasmic levels of pleasure of the Global Flowchart.
Then I was roaming Centerstage in tow of my hosts in search of large bright paper flowers.
Then I was gorging on the best mutton curry I have had since I last visited my grandparents, nearly ten years ago.
Then I was back in Okhla with Oracle.

Now I blog. So whassup, doc?

bonguly

Calling all Bongs!

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what's the weather like up there?

You Are Lightning

Beautiful yet dangerous. People will stop and watch you when you appear. Even though you're capable of random violence, you're best known for your power. Your dominant state: performing

What Type of Weather Are You?

Lightning

Obviously. What else were you expecting?

It's getting dark, and there's an electric feeling in the air. Something is readying itself, and you don't know where, or what, you can sense it coming.
A wind rises, a wall of hot, dry dust sweeping with it like a desert god's arm clearing his arena of the debris of the fun and games past.

A moment of silence.

Then ten gigawatts of raw energy leaps from heaven to earth, flickering through kilometers of air, foliage, and creatures between.
Air boils, flashes to plasma and slams outwards in terror.
The ground blackens, melts, sand fuses to glass before it understands what happened.
The wavefront rolls across the plain in a tsunamic crackle that fades to a deeper bass that you feel in your bones miles away.

And there's silence again, shocked, hushed.

The moment passes. And then the rain comes.

Cool.

Don't panic, people... I was just trying out some image-rich writing. The results were highly pretentious and wannabe; will be using imagery only when quietly slipped in the middle of other cynical sarcasm like an oyster in a shell. (Like so!)

rebirths

Compared 2 photos of my living room. One was taken before I moved out, and the second was taken around 2 weeks after I moved into my new place... and it's disturbing. Either I have an extraordinarily high tolerance for mess, or I'm schizoid.

Seriously.


In NSP, the percentage of visible floor was in single digits. There were newspapers, magazines, books, sand, CDs, officially banned plastic, stationery, footwear, beer cans, ash, clothes, bottles, cartons, the hookah, bills, and god knows what else everywhere. The other room was so messy it was unlivable, we just used it to dump the less usable mess. The kitchen sink had it's own ecosystem. The loo floor had newspapers permanently rotted onto the tiles. There were bags, boxes, and packets everywhere. The balcony door wouldn't open behind the weight of the junk piled up behind it. Must have sold off over 20 kilos of scrap when we moved.

And in AA - even one newspaper lying waving in the breeze causes spiritual torment. The floor has nothing except the mattresses. The books and CDs are arranged by size. The bottles are lined up in the kitchen and the packets are in a closed carton in a corner. Sheets are washed, floor swept. Everyday, rubbish is thrown out.

It's creepy.

I feel like an ex-concentration camp director, a Nazi now teaching elementary English to children in a village in Peru.
Life does more than just change; every move is a rebirth.
There are, of course, repeating patterns - once messy, always messy - but I guess the sheer effort that's being made to stay clean means that deep down, I'd rather not live in a sty.
Let's see... another month should tell.

Watch this space.

life is surreal

Moving really puts life into perspective, man. makes you really understand that all you believe, all you take for granted, is just so much loose change.

9 AM
when you begin with a terrified wakeup gasp when you realize that the movers will arrive in 2 hours and half your stuff - not the big things like fridges and TVs, but the little things like the stuff in the fridge and kitchen stuff (I never realized what the fuck I am doing with 3 bottles of oil, a bottle of acid, 2 large sauce bottles, a disinfectant, rice, atta, 2 packs of salt, lime cordial, orange juice, potatoes, onions, and a giant bag of coal. (Like I said, don't ask me what it's doing there, how it got there, or what possible thought went through my head while getting it)
All this will already destroy not only each other but any container we put it in.
Add 5 more bottles - Old Monk, Smirnoff, Absolut, Royal Stag, and RC. All with exactly a half-inch of liquor left. I have two choices.
I can either carry in those bottles clinking like a boozehound or I can finish them off and do the shift roaring drunk.
12 AM
Shift negotiated successfully. We celebrate with a peaceful relaxed lunch.
3 PM
slightly too relaxed, I guess. The 3rd beer was a mistake.
6 PM
woke up. let's see... I need to pay the broker, clear out the junk from the old place, call the contractor to repair the windows etc in the new place, get it swept out... and oh yeah, almost forgot, unpack my worldly possesions from 25 indistinguishable cardboard cartons.
7 PM
sold all rubbish in old home after losing one kabadi walla and locating second. Still amazing amounts of crap lying around.
8 PM
paid off broker after abortive trip to ATM and realizing I forgot my wallet (with ATM card) at home.
9 PM
rescheduled dabba. contractor to repair windows is missing in action. called him and he was drunk. tipping him for the shift was a mistake.
10 PM
cable installed. Yes! we have entertainment! This guy puts porn on the cable channel late night. I am happy.
10:30 PM
collecting deposit from old landlord (cheap terrified bastard)
CTB - "I have been giving houses on rent for twenty-seven years and I have never seen a disgusting mess like this in my life! You should have cleaned it before leaving! It was your duty! You should return things in the condition they are given to you!"
Me - "Duh. Uh-huh. Mm. Gimme the damn check!"
So the CTB gives me the deposit back in 3 separate checks, no Idea why.
11:30 PM
Realize there's no drinking water. tramp out again, search and find shop and buy bisleri. Also order in a chicken biryani. aaahhhh...
midnight
End of exhausting day... and my life is still wrapped in cardboard cartons.
1 AM
find clothes for next day
2 AM
find soap and toothbrush
2:05 AM
shower, brush, and go to sleep on pile of cardboard, thermocol, plastic, clothes, and what in the morning is discovered to be the DVD player.
Next day
Deluged with work. Just when I plan to relax, I discover my new landlord's dead. No reason given why or how.

So technically, we're illegal squatters and can be evicted at any time. Now I can truly sleep in peace...

Chicken attack

Yaar these days my favourite food has turned into a celebrity-monster along the lines of Salman Khan. yesterday they occupied 80% of page 1 and ALL of page 2. not to mention assorted guest appearances elsewhere... I'm waiting for the day when it hits page 3 as well. Chicken rocks the night with Kishen Mulchandani and friends.

It's paranoia. My neighbour would be horrified at the fact I am stuffing my face with poultry products daily but she continues to feed homicidal pigeons that then break and enter into my room. Life is not good when the first thing you see when you wake up is a beady-eyed ferociously gurgling creature shedding feathers and crap.

Long live tandoori chicken.

working...

Found an article from the new york times that described how an office worker had been sitting dead in his office for 5 days.
Apparently he had a coronary on monday, and sat in his chair till saturday when the cleaning staff asked him why he was working on the weekend. His boss said - "George was always the first guy in and the last one out, so no one found it unusual that he was in the same position all that time and didn't say anything. He was always absorbed in his work and kept much to himself."
Moral of the story: don't work too hard. Nobody notices anyway.

This is now printed and occupies pride of place on my pinup board.

with this happy thought, let me carry on home...

I'm sick.

My nose is runny, my head hurts, I'm dripping thick yellow gunk out of my nose, anything I eat or drink tastes like ground glass, and I'm heading off to one of the state prettier resorts where I'm expected to be bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, sparkling and sharp for 3 days while listening to presentations and drinking ice-cold beverages like an entire school of fish. Let me crawl away somewhere and die quietly... please?

analysing my soul

You Are a Peacemaker Soul

You strive to please others and compromise anyway you can.War or conflict bothers you, and you would do anything to keep the peace. You are a good mediator and a true negotiator. Sometimes you do too much, trying so hard to make people happy. While you keep the peace, you tend to be secretly judgmental. You lose respect for people who don't like to both give and take. On the flip side, you've got a great sense of humor and wit. You're always diplomatic and able to give good advice. Souls you are most compatible with: Warrior Soul, Hunter Soul and Visionary Soul

What Kind of Soul Are You?

Here's another one... the net can analyze my soul. Why do I want to have my soul analyzed? Dunno. It's not like I've been hearing funny noises from it's engine, or seeing fungus grow from it, or getting a funny smell (ok, the smell maybe, but that might just be the Park Avenue I was gifted last month)...

Have you ever had your soul analyzed? Here's your chance. And tell me why you did it.

redecorating my desktop hurts

...was looking at a couple of pics I'd taken on one of my around-mumbai treks last monsoon, and dislocated my paradigm.

A span of several thousand square kilometers of greenery, mist, cloud and mountain cannot coexist with a taskbar and desktop icons superimposed on it. It's... like drawing a moustache on a masterpiece. The screen laughs at you every time.

"That was where you were, and this is where you are."

I'm not too sure where I'm going with this, but I can't use anything except abstract art as a wallpaper anymore.

Every time it's an adventure

The more I have my hair cut, the world becomes a slightly darker place, and it's not just because of the gigatons of dift and dandruff released into the atmosphere each time; I'm talking about the way each experience becomes something between an Urban Legend and Twilight Zone.

Back in Goa, I had a leisurely sunday morning haircut where I got so chilled between recovering from the hangover, the winter sun, and the music, that it was halfway over before I realised the guy's wearing a pair of post-cataract protective sunglasses.
In Kandivli, it was a teenager who had a tearful argument with the manager all the while pleading with him not to fire him. Not very inspiring, especially when there's a razor at my ear and the wielder's voice is shaking like the Elphinstone bridge flyover. I like my ears. They stick out like the handles of a World Cup Trophy, and I want to keep them both.
Yesterday, I walk in and find everybody sitting facing random directions and watching a Vinod Khanna movie in the mirrors. And as soon as the sheet is tucked into the collar and the scissors are out, an attempted rape scene comes up. I can't turn my head, any attempted movement meets an enthusiastic twist back into the dead straight position while this guy is riveted on screen. Over the slightly irregular snip-snip I can hear bloodcurdling screams, smashing windows, chargedup shouting, a fight involving, going by sound alone, windows, lots of furniture, screaming women, and a chicken. Followed up by weeping elderly women and sirens.

And the results are awe-inspiring. Some bits stick out. Some bits are gone altogether. Vinod Khanna, Amrish Puri and the chicken have been duking it out on my scalp.

Wonder what the next one will be like...

the easy option... not that easy

Saw Rang de Basanti last weekend, and came out a little disturbed. Didn't anyone else find anything wrong with the idea of a bunch of guys so scared of the real world they had cocooned themselves in a fantasy, a North Campus Neverland?

Idealism versus realism. Do you choose to follow what you believe is Right, even though you know it could end up destroying you...

or,

and this is scary

do you take the second option - of getting out of your fantasy world, getting into Life the way it is and fighting your way through.

Guess which is tougher.

Somewhere the stories have twisted inside out. Death and self sacrifice actually comes across as the simpler option, though this is probably nothing remotely near what Rakesh Mehra originally thought.

Look around us.

If we knew this is what we were going to be getting into, would we have gone ahead?

cute stuffed toys of nightmares

along the side of the road, this guy was selling stuffed toy dogs... usual, head-on-spring, beads-for-eyes... and suddenly I was confronted with a row of dozens of hideously grinning canine heads bobbing around, staring at me with blank white glittery eyes.
It was like meeting a clown at 3 a.m. in a deserted street in the middle of the business district.

what'll happen to any child who is given one of these monstrosities? he'll be screaming at the sight of a pup for years.

talking to myself, future tense

One unashamedly gross site is deathclock. I love it. the bit with the seconds counting down has me laughing for long periods at a stretch every time I see it (which might explain my last performance appraisal) but today I was going the final mile. These guys tell you when you're going to be dead; I was telling myself that I was dead.
I'm supposed to leave the world a better place on Jan 7th, 2020... And that's when I'm also going to receive a mail from myself today, telling me I'm dead. Wonder how I'll react.
It's not good being dead, but being told that in a spirit of extreme mirth by a healthy 26-year-old who's completely out of reach must be extremely irritating.

I shall share my timepass. I'm going to mail everyone I know to receive mails the day they die.

God Bless Google. With Gmail, they triggered an inbox war... and made an email address the true permanent address.