282!!

I’m usually more wistful than this at year-end. Just another date, yes, would be meaningless if the origin were placed elsewhere– but from the time ‘92 became ‘93, when I was in Ms Day’s 2nd grade in the cabin with the rolling canvas greenboard (man, she had big boobs), at this time of year I usually find myself ruminating over the year that past, the year that is, and the year that will be, blah. Not so much, this time, despite 2008 being a good year, overall. (The CAR!)

Perhaps that’s what happens when you’ve been living for 282 months. You get used to the date change– I’m perfectly ready to write /09 in my class notes; writing ‘02 instead of ‘03 on cheques is unlikely to cause the same problems it once did.

Anyway, since I do believe one should always go for the party instead of staying at home, because you don’t know when the next party with those friends will be (fuck– a metaphor!), here’s my homage to 2008 Gregorian. An idea borrowed from the chubby, nitpicking, reasonably lovable Osbasso, who I won’t link to because I’ve not said nice things here, have I? But I read his Montana ramblings with interest.

So it’s supposed to be the first line of the first post in every calendar month of the year, but since it’s so much easier to find the first line of the last post in every month, that’s what’s up.

January:

For the second time in eleven months, the band that I loved more than any other from around 9th grade to 12th grade (and even into the first year of college) are going to rock my world.

February:

Parrots are generally monogamous forming strong pair bonds which in some cases last for life.

 March:

Well, it’s happened. I’ve chalked out my study schedule, and it’s put the fear of the God I don’t believe in in me.

April:

So I’m coming home.

May:

…World No Tobacco Day (or something) today.

June:

For the last week, I haven’t brushed my teeth before sleeping at night.

July:

… or, at any rate, another Eddie Vedder (Pearl Jam) song can be found here.

August:

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

(whew!) 

September:

I leave in less than 11 hours, and I still haven’t packed.

October:

I found this mildly fascinating.

November:

That really taught us to check the price of chips before buying them!

December: (first post)

Yeah, I know, right?

____________________

Hmm. I’m really not so strong on the opening arguments, am I? Good thing I’m not training to be a lawyer.

Anyway, good wishes to you all; I hope all of you are in good health, and don’t have a loved one you’re worrying about. My inimitable advice to you for 00:01 your local time tomorrow is taken from Asterix, who in turn took it from the classical Latin: always remember, Sol lucet omnibus; the sun shines for everyone, so love your enemy. And don’t wear sneakers with shirts tucked into jeans. Pip pip.

Is Being Able To Quote Friends More Likely To Get You Laid or Put Paid To?

When I do, which is not very often, I usually think of myself as Ross. You know– loving, loyal, quirky. Even tall, handsome, and smart, ha ha. But usually I’m likened far more to Joey. And for the goofiness, not the sex.

(I was fiddling around with my brother’s new laptop and discovered Season 9 sitting in his video collection, along with the animated Jungle Book (1967). I wanna be a man, man cub, no more monkeying around…)

Be What You Want To Be, Taking Things…

“You had no business touching my alcohol,” she said before storming out of the house (and back to work after lunch).

Not the sort of thing you hear from your mother a lot. Or perhaps it is, I don’t know. I didn’t think it was a big deal– it was just a bottle of Bacardi to prolong our party for a couple of hours: I left the Grey Goose, Bombay Sapphire, and scotch well alone. I was planning to replace it when I go to Bangalore later this week. But it turns out mum was saving it for her New Year party, and she wasn’t at all pleased. “Five of you guys drank TWO bottles of booze in one night? There was no need! That’s a heck of a lot.” Seeing as I need more than a quarter- and less than a half-bottle to get me drunk, it doesn’t really seem like all that much… but perhaps I should listen to the doctor and spare my liver next time.

No drunken driving last night, but, hurrah! Not with me behind the wheel, at any rate.

Anyway, deciding to be a dutiful son, I made a couple of phone calls and we’re returning the bottle, with interest, tomorrow. (It’s just a bottle of Bacardi!)

The extra booze really sharpened my photography skills. Do check out these photos of last night’s beautiful starry sky as seen through the clear air of a small town:

 

Xmas Present

Cheeeers!

Mannppill

Is it just me, or are all of you asked for a username and password for some site server called ‘mannpill’ when you visit Saale B? I get it using different browsers on different computers, so presumably you do too.

How embarrassing. I feel like I’ve caught an STD or something. I’ll make a quick trip to my ob-gyn after Christmas.

Always

No matter how much in advance I begin to get ready for something (in this case leaving for south Delhi / the airport), I’m rushed, hurried, and late in the end. No time for so many things I wanted to do online.

But still… Tamil Nadu!

Note To Nokia Techs

If you were to include the words fuck, piss, shit, and their present participles (-ing) and past perfect forms (-ed) in your T9 predictive text input dictionaries, or at the very least allow me to store them in mine,  THE WORLD WOULD NOT STOP TURNING.

You ducking cumus.

Mmm, Cutlets

Before I went on my drunken escapades last night, I invited myself to the Mad Momma’s house for dinner, again, piling on to the food she made for her actual guests. As the Delhi Times would say: “a fun time was had by all.”

I’m going to leave my car with them for the two weeks I’m going home. They could use an extra car, and I could use the extra security. Chowkidar or no, it’d be very easy to steal from outside my house. Plus their house is much closer to the airport than mine is, so the taxi rides both ways will be shorter and cheaper. And the other Guldasta Park residents will have two weeks to enjoy an extra parking space. It’s such a cunning plan!

Still, it’s my car, and I’m very anal about it. MM has called her hubby dearest (who’ll be driving it) one of the best drivers she knows, and I believe her, but I’m still writing a list of things to point out to him before I leave.

- Engine has significant trouble operating when cold. (This is simply unfixable: many many mechanics have tried and failed.) And the cold I’m talking of is Tamil Nadu cold: Delhi winters are a different ballgame. Hence, choke use / engine warmup is essential.

- Brakes are very poor.

- Clutch is in poor shape, and slotting gears is quite tough. 1st and reverse in particular are hard to get into.

- 24 psi tyre pressure, checked at least once a week. The air attendants always look aghast when I say chaubees, because to them anything below 30 simply isn’t done. 24 has to be enforced.

-  Air pressure checked only with cold tyres: the car has to have been stationary for at least three hours. Of course driving to the pump is unavoidable, but the lesser distance the better.

- Stepney pressure to be checked too.

- Ordinary grade unleaded is just fine.

- No turning the wheels with the car stationary!

Of course, the car being second-hand, it was driven for 30,000 kilometres on the same tyres by someone who may or may not have given two hoots about the tyre pressures. And when it first arrived in Delhi, the delivery man drove it from beyond Gurgaon to North Campus (about 40 kilometres) with a tyre pressure of only 19 psi. But, you know, I try.

Anyway, the point was, MM is not my momma, but I pigged as if it were my dining table at home. I put on many kilos when I’m at home, and I really have to avoid the temptation to eat more.

It’s the rice that kills me. I start off with a plate full of food: none of that North Indian “rice on the plate, dal in one katori, veggies in another katori”  crap for me. (A plate is a plate, and you’re supposed to dump the food on it, not place it in another vessel which you then keep on your plate anyway. Seriously.)

Then I run out of something, usually chicken. So I serve myself some more. Then my rice finishes, but I still have some chicken left. So I serve myself more rice to eat with the chicken. Then the chicken finishes, but I still have some rice left. So I serve myself more chicken to eat with the rice. Then the rice finishes…

The story always ends with me unable to breathe and waddling to my bed or the sofa in front of the tv. Except that I haven’t sat on that couch since we got Dumbo (our dog) and she dirtied it with her shed hair. So the rocking-chair, then.

And I’m going to my grandparents’ house for Christmas… *groan* she’ll make both mutton curry and pork curry for the same meal… double the overload.

I need to get married soon, so I can let myself become as fat as I like. (And grow an offspring, which I shall call MiniMe. I used to call something else MiniMe, but now he’s known as Junior. Which a friend once found hysterically funny, as if Junior is a name only small people have.)

Too Much

So you know those cartoons where the cartoon character has a hangover and every little sound is magnified? “Boil me and serve me to the lions, but please don’t shout, Asterix!”

I’ve never known what the fuss was about, until now. What a fucking racket!!!

*Groan* What a night. I vaguely remember being in some fields in the middle of nowhere… they must have been in Vasant Kunj, or Katwaria Sarai, or JNU. We were looking for some farmhouse party, I think.

I was drinking so responsibly! Slowly, steadily, within my limits. And then came the beer bottle filled with vodka and litchi juice that kept being poured down my throat. I had to drink it to avoid it spilling on my sweatshirt, don’t you know.

I need to get some coffee and buckle down for Monday’s exam. And I need to procure a firearm and shoot those fucking construction workers from two houses down. Aaaaah!

Drunken Driving

I almost died four times tonight.

I’m not kidding. This is not a joke, test, trial, or any other nonsense. I’m a fucking good driver, which is why I’m still alive to write this post. For the first time in my memory, the car wheels screeched tonight. They made a VERY loud noise, and I was actually scared when I momentarily lost control. I took too many chances. By rights, I should be dead, my corpse mangled among sheet metal and truck contents.

Four times, people, four times I cheated death.

If you want me to live through the decade, you’d I’d better pray sense overcomes me before it’s too late.

Oh, and I amazed myself with my parking skills tonight. None of you would be able to get the car into the space I managed to, I promise you that. I should have taken a picture, as always.

Help me, before it’s too late.

Sober edit: Sigh. I’m not proud of this, any of it. Can’t really say anything more.

And I once read that all men think they’re good drivers.