I hang up on people arbitrarily. I stop replying to their messages. I have more unread messages and unchecked Facebook notifications. I have no complaints. I like the wind blowing through my hair. I like the tiny dots of light on the hills. I am at peace. I smile. I am at peace. So much dope in my blood. So much happiness within me. So much calmness in my heart. So much regurgitation. So much dope. Wind blowing my blowing. So romantic.

Peace.

Jaipur is crazy. Crazily amazing. A maniacal traffic to begin with. Camels, elephants, horses, motorcycles, cycles, bus, cars- everything is a part of the traffic. And for the first time in my life I saw semi-permeable traffic. "Only small vehicles please, big vehicles and animals need to wait longer." So at a point of time I frustratingly ask the auto if we are ever going to reach Diggi Palace and then when he says "kya karu?" I insist, "Traffic police ke upar se chala lo?" Then we travel through the narrowest impenetrable dingy lanes of Jaipur. Quaint red-sandstone houses with a lot of urine and the nauseating stench. The auto went right between two cows that had been fondly licking each other. The best part about the layout of the city is that there are rectangular blocks, so technically every lane is connected to the main road. So you may have to travel through heaps of dung or hay or tear two animal lovers apart but you reach the destination anyway. It's not my first time in Jaipur and is definitely not going to be the last but it's rather the only time that I have used the cheapest ways of commuting ever.

All the foreign tourists probably turn hysterical to find animals and vehicles together in a traffic jam but the other people found it perfectly normal to find an animal hault at a red light and then stomp about when the red signal turns green. But I'm not complaining. I like the traffic there, it's bizarre, it's colourful and then we have shabby buildings on either side-building built according to the Mughal architecture or Rajput and sometimes a combination of both. Colourful doors and walls and really small windows for the women of the zenana. I tried looking through one such tiny window through which the queens used to watch the procession. I found it less grand to be trapped in quarters with black screen and small windows, dressing up only to have nobody to tell you how beautiful you look. A queen ought to stomp around the city flamboyantly, wearing the best silk and the prettiest jewellery, not be tucked inside a room where only a king or her eunuch friends should see her.

After dinner, I strolled about in the lawn absorbed in utmost satisfaction, and from there I could see the still lake around the Jal Mahal, glimmering with the silver rays of the moon- such an enticing sight. I have seen lakes and moons before, and I felt the romance running up my body but this was a royal-romance-this particular lake and moon. That is the charm about Jaipur that the most normal structures, activities, scenes somehow turn royal. That being said, I'm half in mind to go there again next month.

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