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.

Overdue.2.

Journey to Bengaluru.
It even has Bengal in its name now. Haha. Waited for 1 and 1/2 hours for the train. Lalbagh. Some more Haha. Met two collegemates. Look bhery cute together. Its cute how the guy cares about her. R&R they are. Boshe Om Shanti Om dekhlam. Laughed hysterically at naughty pussy scene. Tarpor didn't feel like saroing in the AC so came out for a bit. Bhery cute couple were standing outside. Felt like massive haddi in Kakori Kebab. Then again I am the original datebreaker, arent I? We spoke about the dead. And I told them about Ms. Nayar's "nabhi collector" theory. The theory that after incarceration only your bellybutton(=naabhi) survives. So there must be a collector to collect them. Fuck world peace tai na?? Naabhi collectors are infinitely more important.
Saw tiny little stations go by. Gumnaam,anjaan,badnaam stations with names that belie their status. With people sitting on the platform waiting perhaps for the day that someone will get off there. Someone, anyone. That kind of loneliness is probably the worst. Apart from the loneliness that only few have the privilege to encounter. The loneliness of a City. A big one. With skyscrapers galore, phone lines far too many, internet cafes aplenty, acquaintances like bees. But
where
"You're a porcelain doll that sits in a window
You hold your breath when people walk by
Safely kept behind rose-colored glass
Neatly tucked beneath the spotlight

Waiting for someone to love..."

Did I just become...ahem...profound? Something to think about. Definitely.

Overdue. 1.

Its pretty natural that I missed Pujo like a madperson this pujo. I can't call it October or confine it within a particular week because its not five days...its a millenia of moja with capital M. So when Bangali Classmate came up to me and informed me of pujo in Vellore I was more than thankful/shock-ed out of my socket/pleasantly stunned by this announcement as it came from a place I had come to expect notmuch from.
We escaped from under the Bitch's eye in Physics lab, rode in an autorickshaw which costed us 80 bucks(yes, mother, this is how I fruitfully spend my monthly allowance) and we reached a hall with an entirely too big name to remember. The myriad fruits being offered to the goddess made me realise thatI was majorly hungry on account of missing breakfast. This proved to be a blessing in disguise because apparently you can't give anjali with food in your belly. So Me got divided into Me and HungryMe.
Me: Ashtami te anjali! Hope my good run continues to the term ends.
HungryMe: The gendaphool looks tasty. Will anyone notice if I have it instead of doing anjali?
Me: Bangali classmate will notice you dolt! Plus this is supposed to be punnyo. Isn't the doing-well-in-the-term-ends of any importance to you at all? Concentrate. The mantra is starting. Close your eyes. Now!
HungryMe(with eyes closed): Hunan Chicken. Chilli pork. Haleem. Chilli Chicken. Gendaphool? Hmmm....
Me: Again??? Do you also see boro boro roshogollas??
HungryMe: Yuck! I hate roshogollas. I'm thinking more on the lines of amarti, jalebis...
Me: Well better start liking them. Because that is what you're going to be straddled with in Term-Ends!
(Pujo Ends)
Bangali Classmate: Lets go get something to eat. I'm starving.
HungryMe(to Me): Loser! I hate to tell you... but I told you so. *does nanananana*
Me(to Maa Durga): I prayed honestly. With an H. Can I please go eat now?

The pandal had the usual suspects. The Mamunis and Tukuns and overdressed women and gregarious men. But it was a whiff of Cal. Which sufficed for the time being. Atleast till the 24th anyway.

Overdue. An intro

The fact that I havent been able to blog for the past week has been keeling me. Jaast keeling me. Part of it is due to my negligence but part of it is also due to well, network issues. Now I musht make up. Here it comes.