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)