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.