Edge Close To

Did I say that today was a good day did I what do I know fucking maadhar lund fucked up day but knew it would be so put a good face on it thank God was with friends and not sitting akele kamre pe we were supposed to go New Friends but went Atta Market Noida pe what a fucking name but coolish place drank beer ate good chicken I don’t really like beer not really a few sips maybe but rum and coke any day whiskey even smoked 18 cigarettes 8 during day 8 while drinking 2 baad mein playing Wii great fun boxing tough fucking tough I’m such a wuss why do I work out I’d get hammered in boxing match why bother why bother brother all so fucking pointless squandered opportunities not good enough insecurities we’re all just skeletons and chemicals in brain still one day I’m sure divorce hoga drown sorrows still be smoking 18 fags I hate it hate it hate it kyun kyun kyun only time ever truly happy 12th grade Bible reading nightly John 3:16 Romans 3:23 why God did you make me smart enough to doubt I can’t believe I just can’t believe I want to really wish I could but can’t simply can’t God God Why Have You Forsaken Me miss my friends miss them so much where are they now Madras Bombay London Dubai Vellore Bangalore marrying Kerala Stephanians remember first day of college like yesterday standing Rud North door watching Dad leave thinking homesick crying when JC ragged crying like a fucking baby couldn’t stop myself poor sweet GB dude it’s okay man if you’re homesick this is perfectly normal JC leave him alone IDG chucked out fucking choots I was a choot yes but you bigger choots for victimising lesser person stings to this day went Mess with her today Wilsonji other gyps notice on the table Eco Soc seminar Why are you so happy I’m not happy I’m smiling because sad I miss this place I miss it

110 kmph 3:30 am Delhi roads not good baDAM ohmigod red light screw it who cares fucking cops sleep after 2 so would I poor chaps aaah they caught him they caught him ohmyGod breathalyser no money license taken jail God knows reverse back to red light pretend kuch nahin hua worked thank God he was there in front of me

I’ve had enough I’ve really had enough I can’t take this happening again no more vices means no more fags no more weed no more booze no more women no more relationships that start and end with sex anyway dilli ki sab ladkiyon khatam ho gaye abhi na chee how cheap but point is long months ahead winter months suited for romance she with him gorgeous breasts under sweatshirt riding showing gasping what the fuck always look ahead no longer behind Tom Hanks gay fellow can act but Castaway I remember it often Wilson Mr Wilson Dennis Menace back to Castaway We might just make it Did that thought ever cross your brain Well regardless I would rather take my chance out there on the ocean, than to stay here and die on this shithole island spending the rest of my life talking to a goddamn VOLLEYBALL You know me And the weight of the log snapped the limb of the tree so I-I -  I couldn’t even kill myself the way I wanted to I had power over *nothing* And that’s when this feeling came over me like a warm blanket I knew somehow that I had to stay alive Somehow I had to keep breathing Even though there was no reason to hope And all my logic said that I would never see this place again So that’s what I did I stayed alive I kept breathing And one day my logic was proven all wrong because the tide came in and gave me a sail And now here I am I’m back In Memphis talking to you I have ice in my glass And I’ve lost her all over again I’m so sad that I don’t have Kelly But I’m so grateful that she was with me on that island And I know what I have to do now I gotta keep breathing Because tomorrow the sun will rise Who knows what the tide could bring? 
 
I’ve had enough I’ve really had enough I can’t take this happening again

Appeal to you all the worst part is coming home to empty room even now look blog post khatam finally aajkal writing for myself not for comments not for readership 25,000 visitors ho gaya who would think 25 thousand times have people come to see what I have to say no this blog post is for me I promise you coping mechanism ya so as I was saying Castaway thoughts all well and good but finally I must click Publish check Hotmail Facebook Reader Groups then what lie on bed not going to get any sleep Jesus it’s 5:30 I’ve been home since 4 how can I sleep what can I do?

One day at a time all very good for alcoholics among which I may count myself but alcoholics have sponsors support groups AA automobiles alcohol just me isn’t it I can’t do one day at a time not alone not for 9 more months one week at a time this weekend kaam hain uske baad will meet blog friend for company again drive home alone sleep in same bed why bother then?

If no parents no brother no close friends I wouldn’t one day perhaps may as well smoke no kill myself slowly instead of fast

NO fuck you Devil get thee hence to endless night Chris de Burgh I said kal se no cigarettes no booze no weed no women if I fail I swear either I cut myself with Swiss army knife like I did as kid or I take down Saale Bhehnkilund.

For the sun will rise tomorrow I see it already in fact who knows what the tide may bring.

I don’t expect my love affairs to last for long,
Never fool myself that my dreams will come true,
Being used to trouble I anticipate it,
But all the same I hate it, wouldn’t you?

So what happens now?
You’ll get by, you always have before
Where am I going to?

Time and time again I’ve said that I don’t care,
That I’m immune to gloom, that I’m hard through and through,
But every time it matters all my words desert me,
So anyone can hurt me,
And they do.

Call in three months’ time and I’ll be fine, I know,
Well, maybe not that fine, but I’ll survive anyhow,
I won’t recall the names and places of each sad occasion,
But that’s no consolation, here and now.

Don’t ask anymore.

Cheer Up, Cheer Up!

It’s a beautiful day! :D

I wish I could muster this happiness at will. I think it has to do with a friend of mine from Bombay being in town. I shall meet him tonight and we shall all screw our livers some more. I’m so happee! :D And glad to be stuck in a moment I don’t want to get out of.

I need a haircut. A trim. I’m also tired of being cleanshaven. I haven’t had facial hair since February. I have to be formally dressed for a moot court at the Habitat Centre this weekend, but after that I’m going to grow me some fuzz.

I love talking about myself! I love whining on this blog. I love whining, in general. I love U2. My favourite album is easily ‘All That You Can’t Leave Behind’. ‘All that you fashion, all that you make, all that you build, and all that you break.’ Of course, I like their Joshua Tree-era stuff too. And I’ll ride their wild horses anytime.

I LOVE my car. I’m eternally thankful for having such generous parents. I love driving cars even more than I love riding bikes. There’s air-conditioning and music. I’ve been taking the car to college every day for the last week because filling petrol in the bike would require me to withdraw money, whereas the car was tanked up a while ago. I really don’t need a car and a bike. I’m hanging on to the bike because it’s such fun riding a bike in winter, I can’t tell you. Night rides (e.g. to watch a movie) are bone-chilling and exhilarating. It’s my pet adventure sport.

Have I shown you pictures of my darling Zen, by the way? Let me:

That was taken during my internship in July. It had for company a red Accent, a black Sonata Gold, a silver Mercedes C-Class, a blue BMW 5-Series, a black WagonR, a green Innova, and a silver Indica. (And the house had sufficient parking for all these and more.) But I loved seeing it there, nonetheless. Note the TN registration and the blue-tinted headlights that make their beam white, not yellow. Mmmmuuuaahh!

This I took back in May, just after it arrived. That’s my cemented colony road. In March this year an MCD bulldozer arrived and knocked down all the houses’ encroachments– the bricks on the side show you how much extra space was gained!

Let me show you more pictures. I don’t usually do pictures– who does? But staying with the car-and friends-theme, this was taken in October 2007 on the ECR:

… on our way from Madras to:

… actually you may not be able to read that. It says Pondicherry in English and Tamil (but not French!). That’s my dad’s Qualis above, which he very kindly lent us for the trip. which my mom is now using. Our family loves the Qualis– it’s boxy to look at but a joy, a real joy, to drive. If we’re going to sell it, it has to be within the next year, or the depreciation won’t make sense. I suspect we’re going to hang on to it, though, because with the roof carrier it comes in useful to haul extended family around Coorg, Bangalore, Madras, and Madurai.

“I wish he were passionate– about anything.” I read that earlier this year. It’s stuck with me. One does have to be passionate, non? Otherwise you’re just bleh, and indifference is far worse than dislike. I’m passionate– or I used to be– about two things: drumming and basketball. I do neither any more. All I do is go to college and come back and whine about living alone and not having water in my taps (today’s the fourth day!). I could have bought me a drum kit this year, but I’ve chosen to spend that money on the Formula 1 race and the beaches of Thailand (and the various duty-frees I shall encounter along the way– who wants tequila, vodka, or cartons of Marlboro?), so it’s not happening for a while. But basketball I can still play. So what if I don’t know the people who play these days? When my September money comes in I’ll buy myself a ball and go shoot by myself on the days that I don’t gym. I don’t even use the treadmill at the gym anymore, so the aerobic exercise will be good for me.

I love shorts! They’re soooo much cooler (literally) than pants. I don’t like dancing, because I feel like a spaz, but I love dance music. Ha-Ha! Well now, we call this the act of mating. But there are several other very important differences between human beings and animals that you should know about. Sweat, baby, sweat, baby, sex is a Texas drought; me and you do the kind of stuff that only Prince would sing about. So put your hands down my pants, and I’ll bet you’ll feel nuts. Yes I’m Siskel, yes I’m Ebert and you’re getting two [three?!] thumbs up!

This is such a screwed-up post! I’m sorry if it bored you, darlings. But it was fun for meee!

Now I must get down to my Banking Law assignment. Saale bhehn…

Woww

The Latin alphabet, used for English, was originally written scripta continua, without any word separators. Later interpuncts, centred dots, were added to make reading easier, and replaced with spaces after 600–800 AD. In typesetting, spaces have historically been of multiple lengths with particular space-lengths being used for specific typographic purposes, such as separating words or separating sentences or separating punctuation from words. Following the invention of the typewriter and the subsequent overlap of designer style-preferences and computer-technology limitations, much of this reader-centric variation has been lost in normal use.

Does anyone else find that (about Latin) fantastically interesting? No-one tells me these things! I’ve often wondered what Tamil (and Hindi) did for punctuation before English came along and introduced the period, comma, and the rest to them.

Although, I would feel better if there was a citation for the AD 600-800 date. (I believe the proper convention is to write AD 2008, not 2008 AD.)

Today is the third straight day without water in my taps, so I am to a friend’s place to bathe before class. His building has a borewell, although they’re banned in Delhi. What would I do without him…

And Here’s My Chance To Give You A Third One

I thought this sentence was good enough to save for posterity:

Halfway through a life I don’t know that it’s possible to see anyone without obstruction from a ghostly ringed halo of the past, even though I don’t always want to.  Even though I try not to.

(From this post.)

Thank Yew

Overheard on The OC:

Summer: D’you remember when the guys made us watch that movie about the gay guys on the mountain?

Marissa: Lord of the Rings?  

Summer: Yeah.

:D

In other news, it seems the Saale can has an award:

Hurrah! I think ‘brilliante’ may be overstepping it a bit, but, SB, ya knows I loves you, and it’s always nice to be appreciated.

(The award goes to Mr Bhehnchod, by the way, not me.)

I’m supposed to pass it on to 7 others. Hmm. Criterion: Smart and brilliant in their content and design. Hmm hmm. It’s all a bit too self-congratulatory for my liking. Shall we just let it die here? The people I would nominate are all secure enough to not mind, anyway. But yes, thank yew kindly, good NC– you can has cheezburger.

Mar Gaya, Saala

In these days of changing ways–so called ‘liberated days’– a story comes to mind, of a friend of mine. Georgie boy was gay, I guess– nothing more and nothing less: the kindest guy I ever knew. His mother’s tears fell in vain the afternoon George tried to explain that he needed love like all the rest. Pa said, “There must be a mistake! How can my son not be straight, after all I’ve said and done for him?”

Leaving home on a Greyhound bus, cast out by the ones he loved (a victim of these ‘gay days’ it seems), Georgie went to New York town where he quickly settled down, and soon became the toast of the great white way. Accepted by Manhattan’s elite in all the places that were chic, no party was complete without George!

Along the boulevards he’d cruise, and all the old queens blew a fuse… Everybody loved Georgie boy!

The last time I saw George alive was in the summer of ‘75. He said he was in love. I said, “I’m pleased!”

George attended the opening night of another Broadway hype but split before the final curtain fell. Deciding to take a short cut home, arm in arm, they meant no wrong. A gentle breeze blew down Fifth Avenue. Out of a darkened side street came a New Jersey gang with just one aim: to roll some innocent passer-by. There ensued a fearful fight, screams rang out in the night. Georgie’s head hit a sidewalk cornerstone. A leather kid, a switchblade knife… He did not intend to take his life. He just pushed his luck a little too far that night.

The sight of blood dispersed the gang. A crowd gathered, the police came. An ambulance screamed to a halt on Fifty-Third and Third.

Georgie’s life ended there, but I ask, “Who really cares?” George once said to me, and I quote:

He said, “Never wait or hesitate. Get in kid, before it’s too late– you may never get another chance. ‘Cos youth’s a mask, but it don’t last… live it long and live it fast.”

Georgie was a friend of mine.

Oh Georgie, stay, don’t go away.
Georgie please stay, you take our breath away.

Rod Stewart – The Killing of Georgie

Who, Me? Yes, You. Could It Be? Then Who?*

Isn’t it great how choosing the right album to play can cheer up your Saturday morning no end? =)

What a great album this is, too. My American uncle picked it out for me as a visiting-from-the-States present when I was in 10th grade or so, along with Fleetwood Mac’s Greatest Hits. (Other choices of his were Hootie and The Blowfish’s Cracked Rear View, with the radio hit ‘Hold My Hand’; and 10,000 Maniacs’ MTV Unplugged.)

Crooning along to Baba O’ Riley, air-drumming to Bargain, swaying happily to Love Ain’t For Keeping… recording quality that trumps the average Indian-produced album, great singing, fantastic synthesizer use, a solid bassline, and of course one of the greatest drummers ever; even the cover art was voted #2 best of all time by VH1 in 2006.

 

* Who put their hand in the cook-iee jar?

BangCock in ThighLand

So I’m going on a phoren trip later this year. Singapore, to see the Formula 1 race (tickets are a lot cheaper than you might think, if like us you’re willing to forego a grandstand seat); Bangkok and Pattaya, to chill; and Adelaide, to visit my dad, who’s there for a year (as a result of which I was lucky enough to have my mom’s car sent to me from home. She’s whacked his, of course.) More on all that closer to the date, viz. end-September.

My folks agreed to Singapore readily enough, because we have family there; but the Thailand leg was planned later on. When I told my mom about it, she thought for a minute and asked me, “Do I need to talk you about ‘viral diseases’ there?” :D

No no, you don’t, I told her. We have a “don’t ask don’t tell” understanding regarding my sex life {and, (ew!), hers}, although the ”Do you have a girlfriend?” question is asked almost every time we meet.

Nevertheless, this morning she sent me a link to this BBC video. It’s part of their ‘campaign to normalise condom use in India’, apparently. Let me just quote from the page:

In this clip – a scene, played out at a wedding: a mobile ringtone buzzes with a loud refrain “condom! condom!”. Embarrassing for the person holding the mobile phone? Not a bit of it – the reaction of those around the red-faced man is to see him as smart and responsible. The message: “smart men use condoms” (55secs)

I pretend to waffle both ways about it, but if push comes to hard push, I doubt I’ll ever pay for sex. So the mother ship needn’t worry, really. (The chances of meeting a nice Thai girl who wants to sleep with me for free are, shall we say, slim.)

What reply do I send her, though?!

Would It Be So Bad?

Do you know the question I’m asked more than any, in everyday life?

(No, it’s not, “Hey stud, what’re you doing tonight?” But thanks!)

Native North Indians know instantly I’m not from their part of the country. I don’t think it’s (only) my features or skin tone: I’ve seen Biharis who I swear could pass off as Tamilians without breaking a sweat. (I have nothing against Biharis, by the way– only North Indians seem to have that prejudice, and I see it more than I like to.) It is of course my accent. Native Hindi speakers know from the first sentence that I’m not comfortable in the language; although I think I speak it much better than I used to just a few years ago, and if I took lessons in reading, writing, and grammar, my Hindi would be passable. Of course I’ve been meaning to take lessons for years, but I’m sure you know the end to that story. Jean Dreze speaks better Hindi than me. True story.

Where are you from? Oh, Tamilnad? Chennai? No? Vell-loor? Kahan hai woh? Madras se teen ghante? Achha, achha. What are you doing in Delhi then? Oh you study here? Why would you come so far from home to study? Oh, Stephen’s! Good, good. Very good. And now what do you do? Studying law? That’s great. So when you’re finished, you’ll go back South to practise, right?

For 3 years now my answer has been, “No no– I want to work either in Delhi or Bombay.” And I do. (North) Delhi has been my home for 6 years and I’ve grown to love it. I subscribe to the Times of India over the more southerly Hindu partly because I think it has the best Delhi-centric coverage. Pages 2 and 3 are invariably dedicated to city-specific issues, mostly concerning traffic and the condition of roads, and I love reading them. I know the names of more Delhi roads than many a born-and-brought-up Delhiwalla, and I can find my way to any area of the city except the Yamuna-paar areas, where I always get lost on the way back. [And except for Safdarjung Enclave, which is definitely the most confusing colony I've ever encountered. Firstly in getting there-- trust me to turn off the Ring Road in the wrong direction every time, whether I'm coming from Dhaula Kuan or AIIMS. And secondly inside the colony itself-- once off the main road, EVERY lane and all the houses become British semidetacheds with the same colour scheme and no road names.]

I can’t honestly say I like Bombay, apart from its public transport. I’ve probably ranted about this before, but it’s a sweatier city than Madras ever is, and I just can’t understand why Bollywood chooses to live there. But the best corporate law work definitely resides there, and pay packets are substantially higher than most Delhi law firms’.

But I got an email the other day from a school friend who said that more and more, he wants to move back to the South. He’s been around– college in Madras, postgrad in Delhi, and work in Bombay. What he said surprised me into immediately replying to ask why? Why would anyone want to move back to the hinterland? Bangalore’s weather is all very well, and Madras has more than its share of attractive girls, but giving up the big cities for the small ones? I can’t imagine leaving Delhi and moving back South. Well, I can imagine it, but it’d be so hard! I’d have to sell my bike (which I plan to do in early 2009 anyway, so I guess that’s not an issue). I’d have to sell my cot, my almirah, my fridge, and my furniture. I’d have to transport the car back to its home State. I’d have to (oh, God, not again!) transport my 400-CD collection and all my law books. My music system. My winter clothes. My bloody regular clothes, too!

I’d have to shift all these if I moved to Bombay, too, and I suppose people do this all the time– that’s why we have packers and movers. But in my head Bombay represents a better life, one where I’m not a student, where I have money, where I have job satisfaction, and where a lot of my friends are. Going back to Madras (Bangalore isn’t an option, and neither are Coimbatore or any of the non-Tamil States!) seems like such a retrograde step.

Back in Club 1860, before I started blogging, before I had a laptop even, we had an inordinate number of guests and pile-ons. (It was great!) One such cautioned me against what he called the South Indian tendency to put down roots; to settle down wherever we find ourselves and not want to leave. (I’d say that’s more a Punjabi tendency, wouldn’t you?!)

I’ve definitely taken root in Delhi-O-Delhi. But for the first time today I shed a few leaves and decided to give some serious thought to Madras next year. Let it be an option. All these decisions are still months away, but there’s a new contender in town PerakathLand.

Neverending Being the Operative

You’ve got to hand it to life. It would whup Clay’s ass (or even Akhil Kumar’s) in the ring, wouldn’t it? Constant, neverending struggles. Worries, tensions, heartaches. Problems. Effects that affect for years and years after.

*sigh* bhehnchod, saale.

“Courage, Cohen.”