Its a week later. And I'll tell you where I am supposed to be right now. Out with friends I haven't met for over a year but I've been clamoring to for so bloody long. I was always skeptical about this reunion not living upto the expectations I had set up for it so carefully and impulsively. Today seems to be the lucky day to prove my nagging suspicions right.

So I shall watch Chink-bubblegum now.

Maybe it will get rid of this inexplicable ache in the realms of bodymind.

Maybe it will help to curb the urge to light up.

For the moment, Im just tired of being the happy one.

In 15 minutes I shall be in my last teen.

18 was good. Yet somehow not enough. Not even close.

I need vodka NOW.

I need nice prem. As in ami ekta prem korbo nice prem.

I also have college tomorrow.

Barf. Fuck. Barf. Fuck.Barfuck. Fuckbarf.

K for...

I have an overwhelming obsession of late with Korean films. Korean rom coms actually. They make sense to me in some inexplicable convoluted way. Like the clumsy heroine who's too cutesy sometimes---u know in the korean-cell-phones-karaoke-and-numerous-other-Jap-gadgetsy sort of way. She ALWAYS falls for a very hot chink who she cant get her hands on and the movies don't always end happily. There's an element of reality, a simplicity(not in the storylines, mind you..) and simultaneously an edgy-ness, a Raat-Ki-Rani type freshness that sets them apart from a archetypal Hollywood romance. The leads are imperfect--never gorgeous enough that you can stare at them and ignore their trashy acting(which is the case with most Hollywood films of late) and endings never show disregard for logic and common sense. Watch My Little Bride and 200 Pound Beauty. They're classics.

In other news, Rain like Never Before Rain is pounding on my beloved college. So much so that Term Ends are getting postponed. There are rumours of a cyclone and a tsunami, by the way. If either of them happens, I'm throwing a party...arrangements will be made for it in the afterlife if I get swept away (by chance) in this one.

Tonight: Kate and Leopold. Not in Korean.

Also: Bombay...fuck you maderchods.

THIS must end now.

I aint want egg-jam no more. Please. Please. Im getting fat,pimpled and not to mention old. I can see crinkly wrinkly crow's feet. And other exaggerated forms of uglyness. Henry DeTamble is helping, but even there's only so much a time-traveler can do. Lenovo Technologies Ltd. dont you dare give up on me. I will steadily curl up and die.

Organic Chem next. Shei aarki.

O Maa.

I haven't written in quite a while now. I often wonder that if I just stop writing for a while, like quite a while, whether I'd have it within me to start all over again. You put a little bit of yourself into everything you write na... even if it is seemingly unrelated to anything that you have known or experienced. Maybe you don't even want to. But at some gandu-type subconscious level you do. Its not a measure of whether you're a terrifically bad writer or even a terribly good one. I can hear this huge booming Morgan-Freeman-type-voice in my head going, "One of the great Unsolved Mysteries of the Universe" as I write this down. Gandu voice kothakar. When you write anything, even DDMP, its like a tiny little fracture crystallised in time forever. The next attempt at writing is nothing more than adding a faded layer of cement to the fracture. Which is why when you abruptly stop you're scared whether you shall ever find it again. I'm listening to Golden Floor obsessively. Gary Lightbody just sounds like an orgasm sometimes. One you'd like to experience again and again. Definitely not a Tiny Little Fracture.

Tell me that you want to dance
I want to feel your pulse on mine
Just treat me like a stolen glance
To yourself
A dark shape on a golden floor
A sleeping planet with a molten core
From above we'd cut a slow eight shape
And much more
I'm a peasant in your princess arms
Penniless with only charm
As we're leveled by the low, hot lights
And disarmed

I'm not afraid of anything even time
It'll eke away at everything but we'll be fine

I'm folded in the bread you made
You're cold until my body bathes
You in the heat I kept aside
All these days

I'm not afraid of anything even time
It'll eke away at everything but we'll be fine

You. Dont you dare say anything about this one. Majhe Majhe hoye jaye.

Erao???

Things not to do when stoned.

• Stare at creepy lemon paintings.
• Stare at creepier paintings of girls-with-creepy-amber/green-eyes
• Stay over at Ms. Nayar's place
• Talk about German Nat Geo books.
• Finish more than a generous dose of Old Monk.
• Talk about people/places as randomly as possible.
• Listen to Radiohead on loop.
• Give relationship advice.

Things to do when stoned.

Repeat all of the above.

Overdue.3.

This shall be the end? Awww. I shall miss three-blogposts-a-day days.

Coorg is six hours away from Bangalore in distance. Definitely not six hours away in terms of the environment, way of living, people and places. It started with the twelve of us in a 22 seater bus. Eyes widened in wonder when I spotted CCD enroute. Gorged on some good old Choc-a-Vloc and remembered fondly how Choc-a-Vloc used to be like bhaat-ruti at one point of time. Eyes widened further in wonder when bill came. Almost equivalent to my fortnightly expenses in VIT. Kintu mum was paying. So all was right with the Universe.
Went through Nagarhole where Babai pointed at random cows and called them Indian Bisons just to see our heads moving like excited pendulums going, "Where, Where?". Listened to baaje remix gaan which even Mummy found appalling. Didi meanwhile acted like pucca Angrez Mem. Everytime sun made an attempt to touch Didis skin she covered herself to protect her Kidman-ness. Finally reached at 6.
Sexy weather. Sexy house. Correction. Very Very Very Sexy house. No hint of civilisation for miles.
Dinner made me climax almost. Amajing Coorgi pork, mutton, chicken. Even pudding. *licks fingers satisfactorily*
Called up Ms. Nayar. Promised her a post in the event of net connection. Event never came. Made J watch Shutter alone in that sunsaan house. Tarpor Mummy, Babai, Mesho, Dada, Boudi, Didi and I had interesting ghost-movies conversation over Smirnoff and RC. It was overcast. Lightning intervened at the right times in the adda of sorts...just when Exorcist was being discussed or I praised Emily Rose.
Visited the usual suspects. Leched shamelessly at hot monk doing his lessons at the Golden Temple monastery. Bought coffee and homemade chocolates. Then bought Caladryl for spider-bite. And Tic-Tacs for the sound. Came back on Saturday.
Saturday at Bangalore was so lazy that we showed up for dinner at posh restaurant in track suits. Thank god the place was candle-lit. Had sexed up Mangalorean food. Neer Dosa to be specific.
Por din Deforestation followed by farewell and endless Bhalo Thekos. Last minute instructions from Mummy. Looked for Sannu in the train. And found her. Phew!

Home and Back Again.