60 billion problems. Then add three more.

I have a lot of problems in my life. Enough for me to drown myself in Whiskey everyday.

For instance, my new phone brings me agonizing pain. Before I pour out my wrath and then you read it and say to yourself "yea, weird girl." I acknowledge that very fact. Thank you very much.

So my phone is not stone age and I am in the stone age phase right now and I am unlikely to ever bring myself in terms with that QWERTY keypad. My fingertips are too huge for the puny keys. I don't know why it's the prevailing fashion. Next, I couldn't find a drafts folder so where the hell am I going to save the sms-es that I wish to send to God? This whole issue upsets me so much that I just leave that damned electronic object inside my drawer refusing to receive calls. Finally, I WANT MY STONE AGE DEVICES BACK.

Then I turn on MTV and just my luck- Splitsvilla is on. Those sappy little bastards that never stop quarrelling. And I want to shout at the top pf my voice "Just teach those godforsaken loonies some elementary Grammar and kindergarten sentence formation teachnique! And then banish them from my sight." I weep because humans aren't supposed to be sorely preposterous. They exude infinite stupidity and that is intercepted by other human brains yea and now you know how it's a disease.

Thirdly, I am back home and I want to devour all the television programmes specially Travel and Living shows and they dubbed everything in Hindi. Why? I hate to see those people speak in cartoon-voices and crack cartoon-jokes and sometimes speak English words in heavily accentuated cartoon-pronunciations. When I was a kid Cartoon Network and Anime got dubbed in Hindi and the attack will never be terminated.

A lot of problems. Because I'm just so fucking brilliant that mediocre doesn't satiate my soul.


P.S.- When I refreshed the blog page I just realized that New Year is this close. Yet another spoiler. I had to edit the post. I had to add this bit. 2011 is going to be worse that 2010 because all my best friends are in 3rd year. Well not all. The ones I hang out with in the evening, the one who know how to start fun, who go backpacking, who quarrel incessantly and forget instantly, who(most importantly) get on my nerves less than the others do, who are cool (in the actual sense of it), who share troubles, pain and food, who are not misers, who bear my excruciating presence (thank you!). My true Bohemian partners, they will be gone and I will be a goner. I dedicate this post to the Lonely 2011 and best friends. Cheers!

A Megaloath post for the megaabhorred. (Hate is cliched)

Grand Finale of Masterchef India(or whatever) and who is the guest judge? Katrina Kaif who does what she's best at- looking good. And what do we see? People dancing to the painfully pathetic songs (which is a big hit by the way) that make my ears bleed. The contestants also swoon over her repeatedly and apparently it is a dream coming true for them. A music competition and we always have actors (sorry?) to judge. An athletic championship, dance show, just name it the actors always grab the limelight and actors with no acting skills whatsoever. Just let the wannabe actors do their job? I mean "look good" and say " I have lots of offers coming to me but I just want to focus on this one movie right now?"
What movie?
"Road mein ghayal." Or "Chastity- kahani ek auraat ki". Hold on, "Oolta love story".
And what's the peppy song?
"Ghashiram ka mucch"( if Sheila has jawani, Ghashi can have his own song, can't he?)
No, it's a tie actually between "Sanjana ke baal" (yea it sounded different in my head) and "Ghashiram ke mucch". Almost anything goes huh? So long the famished and highly imbecilic Indian population can afford a ticket to Sangam theatre. (Note: For cheap movies try Sangam instead of PVR, rickshaw wala population but it's better than shredding your money in a fit, correct?)
And then one fine day I'll come back, very beat, will want to drop dead in my bed but what do I see? My roommate swinging her legs and humming "Sheila ki jawani" NO, DON'T SING THAT SONG NOT EVEN FOR FUN! I don't care if your beanpole of a scraggy face shrivels up even more.

My point is, why are the actors and cricketers so important in India? Nobody cares about anybody else. And the actors in question are those that prance about naked and act like dummies and engage into several altercations with other actors or join a political party when they have nothing else to do. The good actors are hardly a part of the showbiz and why? Because they don't dance to item numbers or have the pretty face. How many of us think Rahul Bose or Rajat Kapoor are good? *raises her hand* and SRK? 50 million hands, like I did not see that one coming so I'll feign a surprised look and hold the "du'h" sign. All he does is bleat like a goat (yea his hackneyed style with special effects, tell me about it)in most movies minus two. Why would we have Amitabh Bacchan to host a brain game? I am not saying that he's a doofus( I don't know if he is) but why not Neil O'Brian or Arindam Bose? For the cook shows why not Aditya Baal? For the music show why can't only the musicians judge the freaking show? It's not as if the famous actors we are talking about act the Richard-Gere-style or Jim-Carrey-style(for comedians). It's not like the funny movies give you the hangover, Hangover style.
Good hair? Check.
Good face? Check.
Can dance? Check.
Can't act? Check.
Controversies? Check.
And we have the ingredients of a famous Bollywood actor.

Now even the beauty pageants are filling up the fissures. I mean beauty pageants are beauty pageants so just sit there, wear your crown, wave your hand and look pretty. Don't start acting please? And models? Just keep walking the damned fashion ramp and when the going gets tough, keep going. I have this one nerve left, don't bludgeon it to death.

And now five hoots for Masterchef Australia. Go go go Adam!

Bitch+sonofabitch= is what you're looking for.

I shut my book and I watch him sleep. He quivers. Moves. Turns. Flops. Occassionally opens up an eye, stares at me (probably smiles) and goes off to sleep. He stretches, sighs and curls up into a ball at which point I have to pull the blanket back on him. I watch every movement intently. He looks so flawless that he possibly belongs to a different universe. It takes a lot to love without expectations and it's different when you know that love is coming back like a boomerang. That is the feeling of security and sometimes you can't explain that very feeling. Of course you love me but what more? The more part is the extensive quantity and this other inexplicable feeling that I wish I could show but I can't show because no language has that immutable feeling and no human speaks that feeling and its very absense everywhere makes me feel it more. What's the word that I'm looking for?


P.S.- I bet none of you rhyming fools can fit that big word in any poem. And the person who's typing this is my compassionate self and I have no control over her whatsoever.

More Music!

How about you see a head disappear in the crowd and you follow him but you never end up seeing his face? But the head fascinates you because a chill ran down your nerves the moment you saw the man toss his curly head, you know that he was smiling but you still haven't seen his face. Does he have brown eyes? No, grey? Finally you lose him and you look all around you frantically but he's melted in the crowd.
You know you're connected- you and him and you're somehow meant to connect.
(Disclaimer: The 'you' in concern may not be me.)

Today I realized that Death Metal scares me-the voice, the costumes, the bass guitar, everythying as much as a weresnake scares me(I'm saving that story for some other day). This particular band that I'm talking about is "Funeral in Heaven". You may check their picture here. But of course that's a really old picture. Do a little task in your head or use paint if you went through a recent traumatic brain surgery. Shave the first man and the last man's hair, paint their faces with shoes polish, then make the third and fourth boys(from left) look like the second boy which includes the hairdo too and add beards and white paint on their faces. Well that's how they looked today. They go beneath the C level of ugliness.(and please don't sue me for this)
When a rock band (Traffic Jam) from Maldives performed this is roughly what the language sounded to me:
yashi huku yahaa, say again hooo fari ji yuki haka hoooo nadari juri wakaa.*massive head movements* For that matter, I never saw their faces only a mass of slick hair in constant up-down head banging motion and fari yuhu gashi kiri. Traffic jam, I realized sounds a lot like them. :/
Shorbori doesn't joke around when she's blogging.

And finally a suave dreamy performance by The East India Company. They will release their albums soon and you must listen to them.

I must prove my superiority.

You flick on their head and the hollowness within it echoes back.
They sleep when you want the lights on and they listen to music loudly when you want it off.
They leave their hair all over the place.
They think YOU are an alien when they're too base for even alien camps to let them in.
They talk. They never stop and that shrill voice rings through your ears till your brain hurts.
And when they shriek while talking on phone(ohh, by the way they're always on phone) the blob in your head that the doctors have diagnosed to be a cancerous tumour bursts and you get cured miraculously.
They're insecure. VERY insecure and they must tell the person on the other end of the phone the colour of their nail paint and occasionally they quip in "Haye Teddy, I love you baby!"

Then they face my judgemental eyes the ones that produce loathsome-laser beams and then they say "Haye shits this girl is a lonely bitch!"

Who are they? Hint: Starts with R ends with E and has OOMAT in between.

Disclaimer: The descriptions may not be right in several cases. In fact, it may be the other way round in your case

Outright Creepy.

You know you've stalked way too much when you see some faces in certain places and you keep wondering how you know them and then do you really know them? Not sure. Maybe I do.
Ohh crap. Facebook. She's not even my friend, or my friend's friend. Hold on how did you even start stalking?
Now you're confirmed that you're a pretty, little fucked up dork. Why do I have pending work again? Never mind.

Things that grab my attention.

My mind is still in the process of debating through a certain confusion: Should I make a photoblog or not? I don't decide for myself ,my head does but then invariably I end up doing it, anyway what I want to say is that my head is in a state of unrest. I often imagine my head to be a Federal constitution, makes me feel important when I'm standing beside a particular suited somebody in an elevator who has a very important briefcase in his grip(well for that matter, the briefcase might have a muffler and tissue papers). "He ain't got no country in his head." That's my imaginative self and I have too many myselves, and they constantly argue with each other. No I'm not diseased, you'll realize that you're in fact more diseased than I can ever be. Well that's my argumentative self. It carries a sword, it kills. I'm shamelessly, consciously narcissistic. There's no remedy for it(thankfully, may I add?)
Anyway, while my brain racks to come to a final decision,I'll slowly turn this one into a photoblog.

I saw it up on the stage, gleaming and glistening. If you're a man, you probably will love it more than I can ever because I cannot ride a Harley Davison with my flimsy legs. Yes, I saw a Harley Davison. And the best photo I could manage to click are these. Now gloat over them.

And the other thing you should do is face some menopause Menwhopause music because they are really awesome. At a point of time my legs gave up on me but I had to perch up my heels to get a glimpse of them. Good music is the primary point, the secondary point could be their lead vocalist. Not a sign of distress and he sings like he's singing in his bathroom and I think all of us sing the best when we're inside our bathrooms. He paces about the stage like he's shamelessly forgotten the swaying crowd and he's singing to himself in his living room. And occasionally, he pauses to look at the crowd and mumbles some introductory note about a song reluctantly. Is that why they're the men who pause? Three songs by Menwhopause that you must listen to are > Fly Away, Free and Sweet Despair, that is, if you trust my iPod playlist. If that's noise for you, maybe you're growing too old for it and you need your dentures ASAP! :)

And a picture of them.



Sorry about the tip of the heads. Nobody wants to stoop.

P.S: I was reading random blog posts while typing my post. Did I read blasphemous comments about Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows-Part 1? Well maybe all of you twits need a rocking chair and an eternal rest. You've got to be a century old...old enough to hate Harry Potter(I mean the character and not the actor). Or maybe you had so dysfunctional a childhood that you never developed the imaginative skills to believe in supernatural activity. My commiserations. Well for one thing, magic shows thrilled me when I was a kid, not so much now, watched P.C. Sorcar enough to be able to recite his tricks now and in their specific order but I still vehemently believe that Hogwarts is going to post me a letter soon. No wait, I'm just taking it for granted that you are a layman reader and you cannot read between the lines of the text. There again we know about how you spent your time in middle school developing the sentience towards Quantum Physics that will baffle other forms of complexities but we all know that you accidentally peed a little in your pants when you were too old to do that, you aren't cool enough. But of course you have a 5 digit figure of friends in your facebook profile and you get 51 comments in each of your pseudo poetic blog post, the title I'm looking for is, let me see, hmm, Nomadically No Mad? No, you're still not cool enough. You're a pompous little wannabe. Add yourself to the 5284739 things I hate about the world. A wannabe. And go far away, no farther away, yet a little farther, wait place yourself 23 light years away me and my blog.

So much for hating Harry Potter. Maybe it's the chillies in my curry.

Things that fail to grab my attention.

Okay I seriously cannot keep pace with technology anymore. I'll tell you about the funnier facts.

20 years back when you would fight with your best friends you'd give them the cold look, nonchalant shrugs, then maybe as you grew older you showed the finger. Now, you delete them off your facebook friendlist. Whatever has happened to the display of emotions? I mean do you really expect me to scroll down my friendlist to check if you're still there or not? And then maybe if you're not do you expect me to sms you asking why because you're too much of a chicken to talk to me face to face? Wrong thought. High expectations. Everybody is not Mark.



And a doodle.

A story to tell.

The chinese spam stopped! Woo hoo! Something I randomly sms-ed a friend for lack of creativity. Yes. I'm lousy.
It was a dark night. Windy. A dimly lit sky with only a few tiny twinkling stars. Heavy silence. The street dogs howled from some shelter that she could not locate in the darkness. The windows of the houses in the neighbourhood rattled madly as if possessed by some supernatural power. A chill ran through her nerves breaking into convulsions. It was eerie. She walked alone and the loud footsteps walked behind her. She gulped her saliva. Her mouth was dry. She cried to herself inwardly," Nonsense! Nonsense!" while at that very moment she could feel the threat of life's insecurity. The feet behind her shuffled. The brutal force in the atmosphere stirred. Whatever it was,it hated her. She knew this. Should she turn back and face it? Should she run with whatever energy was left in her? Her legs became heavy,she could not move. The footsteps were coming closer. Her heart was thumping loudly against her body that it could drown the noise of the wind. She turned. Gasped. Let out a stifled cry. The figure blurred,her head went dizzy.
She woke up amidst strangers panting for breath. Look around and shrivelled up seeing so many faces. Who are you? They asked. How did you come here? They demanded to know. What have you done to deserve this? They were curious.
Only one thought ran across her mind. What was the face? What was it? It was bony,wrinkled,the eyes were bloodshot,the corners of the mouth had phlegm . How could it resemble her?
It was getting hotter and lot more people surrounded her now. The cacophony around her was getting harsher for her ears. Then she noticed the people. They were different! Was she in heaven or in hell?

Take me home.

It's so cloudy today. Some would say gloomy. But it's cold and cloudy and that is what I have learnt to connect happiness with. You won't understand what I want to express. And there's no particular word in English language to represent it and its emptiness makes me feel it more.
I listen to the band performances here,saunter about the huge malls,get happy. Only momentarily.
I recline against a bean bag and look outside the window through the glass while it rains and when I finally decide to open the window,the clouds rush in,the inconvenience seems trivial then.
She has got so much less of everything to offer and so much more to give than I could ever ask for. But she makes me happy with her green hills and her incessant rains and her pine trees that no human could ever provide for me. That's all I ask for. Where else can I walk amidst clouds?
That is where I and Ruskin Bond connect. He feels the same way for Mussorie as I do for Shillong.
Thank you Mr. Bond for writing.

(and a cheesy line: Shillong come to me,if I can't come to thee. That's the best I can ever rhyme.)

Too jobless.

(Just why do I get spammed by the Chinese? I mean,Indian haters,accepted. But Chinese? I haven't even been mean to them yet!)



Rain in Delhi is amusing. It's like the clouds going through an adolescent phase;throwing tantrums, "Now I want to rain,I will rain bad!"
"Now I don't feel like and now I do! Just leave me alone!"
But I do not quite understand the people when they crave for rain when its sunny and vice versa because>>just-stop-complaining-and-shut-the-fuck-up-human!
It's not a very optimistic situation when Delhi starts stinking and my poor father rings me from miles away asking me to stay indoors because Yamuna has crossed it's danger level. My father's paranoia-moment(s) is hilarious maybe because I am convinced that my amazing life line won't let me die. Not in the floods. Not yet. That is not a graceful way of dying.

They will decorate Delhi for the Commonwealth games but how do they control the stink when it rains? Droopy faces,disappointment and excuses-a lot of it!
But do you not like the dirty slime on your legs? In his legs and her legs when they spread their hands and run before you? Wind and rain. And you walk behind them slowly. You smile. I can hear you smile even if I cannot see you.
*If you did not notice the new template,slap yourself thrice and jump off a cliff.

(Photo credits: Abhilasha Sachan)

Give me *raises eyes*

"Give her! Give her! Okay take mine and give her!"

"Will you just talk?"

"Just give her!"

"See? She went away. I told you!"

Yes,I'm coming to the point. I get nervous around beggars. I shake fervently and try to surrender all I have because here they know "fuck you" and "bastard" and many more.

We're back!

In my last post,I totally forgot to mention that when we went backpacking,we didn't brush our teeth for a whole day and night.You still love me a lot,right?You can make it sparkly clean in the morning but the colour is going to transmute back to yellow anyway.Uhh,I brush my teeth(generally speaking).
A'right so,today is Sexy Na?'s(Radhika Saxena) interludial day which comes back every 365 days,(read:Budday!Budday!) which reminds me,that I don't even have one.It's like those beauty products-got a manufacturing date and an expiry date.Nobody used this date to celebrate the presense of an unearthly person.I mean it's such a dormant date,nobody cares.It's only so much useful to me as a dead fish is to the sea.Why is it only a bunch of lucky homo sapien's prerogative to blow candles over a cake?This is insane!This is bigotry!

Let me see,when was the last time I really had a birthday?Ohh,I have seen photos of it,I look only a foot long,dazed,because I wasn't aware that it's a celebration.My mother used to at least bake cakes for me seven years back,but now,she'll be like "Ohh,you're so old,you don't need one."And my dork friends will say,"Ohh shit,can we shift it tomorrow?I really gotta meet my boy friend today(who is the dad of our generation)."

YOU CANNOT SHIFT BIRTHDAYS OK?It is not only free food,it's an overflow of emotions.It's like my parents met,and on this day that had me.I bet they regret it secretly and sometimes loudly.

And you know that I'm mother nature but I cannot do anything about the depletion of tigers,a'right?Not now at least.

Project Tiger is almost as old as I am and still tigers manage to die illegally.Instead of text messaging me,let the forest officials know that you have noticed that their houses are made of teak,mahogany and that you have a feeling that they hid a tiger's head or say a rhinoceros' head in the locker,and that their oh-so-pretty-fucked-up-rotund-will-implode-any-moment wife carries an illegal crocodile skin bag.I know a few of them,fathers of my I-shall-not-call-them-friends.They think I shouldn't be alive within a range of 2km radius around their house.It's unholy!I can insult almost as comfortably as I can breathe.I don't blow my own trumpet because I don't have one.

What does it take to not wear a leopard skin dress?It's not like you're pretty,well if you should know,you're excruciatingly ugly and that crocodile skin bag you carry,hates your very baneful touch and that beaver fur around your neck,well it only makes me say that you look better as a beaver than the beaver itself does.

I and this particular senior were discussing Delhi females and we evolved a theory that works for most,not exactly evolved because it was always there,steady.If you see a girl,you need to ask yourself a few question to know if that girl had been manufactered and brought up in Delhi or not.

Straight hair?Check.
Fair?Check.
Girly clothes(REALLY GIRLY)?Check.
Painted nails?Check.
Never looks better or worse?Check.
Has only one expression on her face?Check.
Looks the splitsvilla kind?Check.
Hugs her girl friends 50 times a day?Check.
Congratulations!You found your Delhi girl of dreams!

*I have this syndrome of invective speech,sorry.In case,you're all that is mentioned above^^I don't exist,sorry.

Like what the senior said,you have two types of jeans in your wardrobe-one that fits you well and a baggy one.When you're happy,you wear the nicer one and when you're sad,you wear the baggy one,so you look different on different days,but Delhi girls have got the same kind of clothes,so they only look good,never better or worse.

This man,whatever his name maybe,he gave me an insight into the lives of men.Well all I can say is,if females are bitches,males are male-bitches.Equality.

Ohh,incase you're into reading translated stories,the translation of Manto's stories by Aatish Taseer is way better than
Khalid Hassan's or Harish Trivedi's translations.

Dictionary:Asphalt-Blame the donkey.
Byeeee!

I had to ransack my brain to guess my password because the last time I logged in here,was when I just began college,and
I'm on the verge of passing my first year now(I think).My college has a psuedo crowd,who likes you because you wore oh-so-
pretty a dress or because you've got oh-so-fake an accent,because you know a lot of people there who're like you,no matter
how dumb she/he maybe.Not cool.At all.They're all little barbie dolls.Secretly,I hate most.I DO NOT understand the way
cash spirals out of control.Now I have it,now I don't.The more I get to know humanity,the more I hate it.There's this
place,I call it Romantic because you have no idea,how it feels to be there alone at night,though I'm never alone there.
It's got a cheap burger selling restaurant on one side(it's my patent right to be there)and a railway track underneath.
The burger sellers know my face I think and have a strong feeling that I'm going to order a Don Burger.Funny name,yes.I
am a part of this music society,they're strong willed people,when they say practise,it means,practise till your throat
bleeds and your mind screams of boredom.I know my sentences are random but not that a serial post would matter much.
I went backpacking with a few people who have no sense of security whatsoever.But I liked it,it felt like I were a pauper.
Cold slices of leftover pizza for dinner.Unhealthy.The bus,utterly desolate,windows rattling like dentures of men who
are a century old,a rod in front you,which hits your head,the moment you fall asleep,free AC service even when unwanted...
pretty different from my luxurious trips with family.I have travelled alone for a quite a few times now and got immensely
bored all the time.Some unseen force seems to plan my trip with really retarded co-passengers.If it's a train,they'll be
old people,if it's a flight,they'll be sleepy foreigners.How much does it cost to just give a talkable handsome man?Ohh,
that reminds me that my room mate who's not exactly the brightest bulb around has a boy friend who texts her incessently.
Most of the time,she's in the next room in the Stupid Meet Of The Day(it's a very important meeting) and the SMS alert is
a whole song from God-knows-what movie.I think she's got a lop-sided face.My best friends are two dorks from a different
planet.A'right.Bye.