If you know me in the 'real-world'... Keep it to yourself.

Do NOT tell my friends and family about this blog!

This blog is a work in progress. Eventually, when it grows up, it wants to look pretty. Or maybe dark and dangerous.

Hmm... well come back later and see for yourself...

If you want to contact me but are a) too chicken to leave a public comment and
b) too lazy to look up my email address from my profile
use the form below.

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Tuesday, November 28, 2006

This makes me laugh each time I read it...

If you've read everything on this page before, go read the post titled 'Made In India' (Posted Nov.27th).

Sunday, November 26, 2006

Happiness Is A Warm Gun.

Suspect has finally put up his version of a story I wrote a few posts back. Go read it here.

But it hurts so bad I can't take it any longer...

When you cry until you can cry no more.
When you feel like you'll never be clean.
When you lie awake in the dark wishing you knew if you are healed.
When you face is puffy and your eyes are red and you feel like you'll never feel good about yourself again.
When you wonder if you'll ever be worth the effort.
When you wonder how long you can depend on the mercies of relative strangers.
When you want to feel physical pain just so you stop thinking.
When you'd give anything for a hug.
When you listen to the same two sappy 'girlie' songs again and again just because they help you cry.
When you'd give anything for a shoulder to lean on.
When you're needy, whiny and desperate.
When you're least attractive.
When you are not worthy of being loved by someone good.

That's when you need love the most.


And when there's no one around, that's when you turn to God.

I prayed for love and got peace. That ain't such a bad deal...

Saturday, November 25, 2006

Moi = IFFI delegate

I am officially a delegate for IFFI. That's the International Film Festival of India. Me. A delegate. I wonder who accepted my application. I wonder why they accepted it. I'd applied for myself and my dad at the last minute on a whim. Dad's application has been turned down. Again I wonder why.

Oh well, now I'm faced with bigger problems. The delegates can go watch movies for free. All well and good, unfortunately no one I know is a delegate this year. And as those who know me will vouch, I've never gone for a movie alone. At the same time there's no way I'm going to let that delegate pass go to waste, so guess this is going to be another first.


-> Stand in line with strangers.
-> Mournfully note that all the cute guys are accompanied by girls.
-> Ignore perverts who try and brush past unnecessarily close.
-> Glare at those who try to do more than brush past.
-> March into the theatre with the glare fixed to my face so that people don't think they can walk over me.
-> Search for spot between some women.
-> If I can't find a spot like that look for kids or guys my age or younger. They're easy to handle.
-> Avoid old men like the plague. You can never be sure what they're up to.
-> At the end of the movie wait for the crowd to thin out before leaving so as to avoid pinches and pokes.
-> Congratulate myself on having seen a movie alone.


Yeah... the benefits of being single...

Wednesday, November 22, 2006

moving away...

Warning: This contains a lot of whining. You might prefer to skip to the end of the post.

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I got my appointment letter today. Yet another part of my life is over, another begins. I don't know exactly when I'll have to join work. Hopefully I'll be able to spend Christmas and New Year here in Goa. Everybody spends Christmas and New Year in Goa. I wouldn't have been worried but apparently there's some training I have to go for first. I guess they'd love to get a head start by finishing our training in December itself so that we could start work in January. Anyway I guess it'll sort itself out.

As long as I can remember I've been glad to leave home. Every college tour I went for, I used to be miserable at the thought of coming back home. When I moved to Bangalore I never really felt home sick. I enjoyed my life in Bangalore. I enjoyed the freedom I had and the knowledge that I could do exactly as I pleased. And yet, I'm not the kind of person who's happy in any one place for long. After little more than a year I was bored of Bangalore and when my mom fell sick I was glad to come back home to help out.

This time... I haven't even left home and I'm already feeling guilty. Feeling guilty cos I hate the thought of deserting my parents. I know it's normal for children to move away and though this isn't the first time I'm doing it, somehow as I grow older the guilt increases. I suppose it's because I'm conscious of the fact that my parents are also older this time around. They deserve to have someone at home to look after them. They deserve to rest after all their hard work all these years. But I can't live at home any longer. It's stifling me. The ideal situation would be to live in Goa but separately. That's not going to happen. Even if I found a good job here (impossible task) the concept of someone living in his/her own apartment when there's a 'family residence' is something that hasn't caught on here. Both sons and daughters are expected to live at home and travel to work atleast until they get married. Well I have no plans to marry anytime soon and I can't stand the idea of moving right from one family to the next without some free time.

So to get my space I have to move to another city.

And yet I feel guilty. I know I don't do as much as I could about the house but even the little I do will be missed. I wonder who'll keep the peace when I'm not around. I wonder who'll help mom cook. I wonder who'll help dad with the chores. I wonder who'll help my sister with her projects. I wonder if my dog will be alive much longer. I hate the thought of missing his last years. I wonder who will fuss over the cat everytime he cries. These past few months he's gotten used to sitting outside my bedroom and crying till I let him in. Will he continue to sit outside my empty room? Whenever there's a computer problem I won't be around to help. Whenever my folks have some silly queries about their mobiles I won't be around to answer. Whenever my mom needs someone to listen or dad needs someone to talk to, I'll be almost 500 kms (300 miles) away.

But in the end what I feel doesn't matter. Thoughts may lead to actions but if they don't, they won't mean anything to anyone besides yourself.

Either way who gives a shit.

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Suspect has written an adaptation of the story below and it's really good. He's trying to convince me to put it up here but I think it belongs on his own blog. If I succeed in convincing him, it'll be up on his blog on Sunday. Otherwise it'll eventually come up here.

Suspect has rewritten it with the focus on what fascinates him the most. No prizes for guessing what that is.

Woozie if you want to rewrite it with guns, go ahead.

If anyone else feels like producing another version, feel free to do so. If it's not too long and if you want me to, I'll put it up or link to it or something.

Sunday, November 19, 2006

The simpler choice...

I'm finding it tough to write posts these days without getting too personal, so I thought I'd write a bit of fiction to keep the cobwebs away from my blog. Enjoy. Or not.

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Mary woke up and scrambled out of bed. It was Ryan's 8th birthday and she wanted to be the first to wish him. She was almost 6 years older than him and loved him almost as a mother would. His real mom was a pale shadow in their lives. When her dad had first introduced her to them, she'd been 9. Terrified that her papa would love the little boy more. Terrified that she'd have no one left to love her. Looking back from her vantage point she wanted to laugh at herself. Her father wasn't capable of loving anyone. But Ryan had turned out to be the most precious thing in her life. Smart, funny and loving, he'd turned to her almost from the start. His mother had seemed totally apathetic about it. As if it didn't bother her that her only child was more interested in spending time with his new step-sister than his own mother. She was a tiny woman. Mary was already taller than her and twice as strong. Things had worked out. They usually did.

Mary had taken charge over Ryan the way she would one of her dolls. She learnt to feed him, bathe him and put him to bed every night with a new story she would make up just for him. His mother had receded into the role of cook, house keeper and babysitter for the time Mary had to spend in school. Her father was a vague presence about the house. They were quiet when he was around. Life was simpler that way. When they crossed paths he seemed to feel polite conversation was a must. He'd ask Mary about school and pretend to be interested in her answers. Mary was polite to him. Things were simpler that way.

But today was different. She woke up Ryan with a kiss and helped him dress. Today was a very important day. She'd heard Them talking almost a week ago. His mom. Her dad. Talking about how maybe they should live apart for some time. How they shouldn't rush the divorce. Then she heard Her say, "I won't move out until after Ryan's birthday. Let's pretend everything is ok till then". Mary had gone to bed that night wondering what she could do to stop them. Not that she cared about the divorce of course. But she would not leave Ryan. Maybe she and her dad could keep Ryan, or maybe she could go with him and his mom.
The next day when her dad was at work she asked Her about it. The only reply she got was a lecture about listening at doors. Then suddenly She'd said, "I'm sorry Mary. What you're suggesting isn't possible dear. But don't worry, you'll see Ryan very often. We won't be moving far away."

So Mary had retired that night once again wrestling with the problem. She even prayed to her dead mother asking her for help. And when she woke up she knew it hadn't been in vain. Now she knew what she had to do. Now all she had to decide was which one she should kill. Her dad? Or Ryan's mom? There were points loaded in favour of both of them. His mom had been the one to suggest waiting until Ryan's birthday was over. That gave her one point. It had been surprisingly thoughtful of her. But then She didn't work. So if she killed her dad they'd have to find an alternate source of income. Score one point for dad as the bread winner. Well She did cook, clean and watch Ryan when she wasn't around. That would have been a point for her but dad could easily pay someone to do those things. The score remained tied. But then She would be easier to fool than dad. Score one for Her again.

And so Mary went on, giving a point first to one, then to the other. Until today. Today they were still even and her time was running out. It had to be tonight. She had to decide fast. In desperation she asked Ryan, "Ryan, who do you love more? Dad or mom?" Ryan was busy trying to tie his shoelaces and didn't answer immediately. She wanted to shake him. This was life and death! Finally he turned and said, "well, dad said he'd buy me a new bicycle for my birthday, so if he has, I guess I love him more today".

Mary relaxed. She'd seen the bike. Had helped hide it behind the sofa. Now she knew who it had to be. She'd even decided how to do it. After dinner dad would drop some of Ryan's friends off. Ryan's mom would be a bit 'high' and very affectionate the way she always was after a party. It would be a simple matter to lure her into the balcony. To show her the spot where the railing had come loose. To get underneath her n tip her over. She was such a tiny thing. She'd just have to see that she kept Her glass well stocked all night. That way if she passed out there would be no need to play act. Yeah, it would be simpler that way.

Her dad would tell the cops about the divorce. She would tell the cops she'd seen Her crying secretly. The cops would have to decide whether it was an accident or suicide. Mary sincerely hoped it would be declared an accident. She didn't want Ryan to grow up believing his mom had committed suicide. That wouldn't be good for him.

Oh well, things would work out. They usually did.

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Read Suspect's version here.

Really... go read it now.

Thursday, November 16, 2006

Life is a series of blog posts...

Recently I noticed that my life seems to have turned into a series of blog posts. Unwritten ones of course...

It starts when I read the newspaper over breakfast. The news is no longer just 'news'. It's fodder for this blog. I read some shocking news. I angrily compose some posts and then rewrite them in my head. Unfortunately when I shut the paper all those drafts are deleted automatically.

Somebody rings the bell. A salesman. I drive him off, composing a post on the dangers posed by such wandering salesmen. I end with absurd advise on driving them away. Yup, a real nice post. Pity it won't last till I get on the comp.

I've got an errand to run in town. I struggle to kick start my bike and compose another post on how unsafe those damn kick-start thingies are. It whips back so fast my leg gets hurt and while I'm swearing the post becomes unprintable.

I'm riding to town. Another post gets drafted in my head. All about how lovely and unspoiled Goa is. It gets canned for being too sentimental.

A cop stops me and asks for my licence. I thrash the entire police department in my head. I use blistering language and load the post heavily with sarcasm. It's so much fun but I know the actual thing will never live up to it, so I regretfully consign it to the black hole of unwritten posts.

I haggle with someone and draft a triumphant post on my bargaining skills. Then I remind myself that this blog isn't fictional and I save the idea for use when I become better at bargaining.

There's a sudden shower as I ride back home, so I plan a post on my love-hate relationship with the rain. I'm drenched by the time I get home and I've forgotten why I love the rain. Another post has to be postponed.

I have to make dinner. I write posts in my head about all my favourite dishes. Unfortunately I burn the dishes I'm supposed to be watching and I lose all interest in anything to do with food.

I sit in front of the computer before going to bed and I can't think of a single thing to write about. I think about all the posts I drafted and discarded in my head all day. I mourn their loss. I decide to immortalise them with a fitting memorial.

Hence this post.

Monday, November 13, 2006

Don't live each day like it's your last.

I've heard people saying that everyone should live each day like it's their last. That's a load of crap. The world would grind to a halt if everyone did that. Who would go to work on their last day on Earth? Not me. That's for sure!

Some years ago, my dad told me I'd die at 40 if I didn't improve my lifestyle. He denies it now but it's sunk in pretty deep. Though I laughed at the time, I think ever since then Ever since then I've lived my life as if I were going to die at 40. Every year I count down to the day.

Believing something like that makes me want to spend more time with everyone I love. It makes me renew bonds that might grow weak with time and it makes me appreciate those that maintain themselves.

It makes me read whatever I want to, whenever I want to, no matter how much work is piled up.

It makes me do things most people would label 'useless' just because they make me happy. I've danced on the street with a friend once just cos he said we'd never danced together.

It makes me avoid people who might prove a drain on my emotions. They might be wonderful people and sometimes I regret it, but in the end I just don't think it's worth wasting time on people with issues and hang-ups.

It makes me squeeze a laugh out of everything around me. I put on my sober face when required but I find it much too easy to laugh these days.


But one thing it does not do, is make me want to go out and work hard just so I can earn a fortune by the time I'm 35 or 40. What would be the point?

Most people work hard and slog their butts off so that they can relax when they get old.

Since I'm not sure I'll ever have the privilege of dying 'an old crone, lying in my bed' I think I had subconsciously decided to live the other way around. Relax now and work hard later.

Does that seem like a good thing?

Nah. That's not so good.

Particularly if I don't die at 40.

I now have 15 years to go. And I find myself thinking of all the times my dad has been wrong.

Damn!


Friday, November 10, 2006

Yeah, yeah, whatever.

I've put the red button there on the right cos I've always liked it. It'll be there for a week or so. I strongly advise against pushing it.

[Edit: Now it's at the bottom of the page cos though a week is up, I like knowing it's around just in case I feel like playing with it now n then...]

Suspect
The blogger formerly known as Suspect has changed his blog template a bit. It made me feel like kicking my heels up too. I don't want to hear any critical comments about it. As someone remarked recently it's my blog and I can do whatever I want with it. If you don't like it, go suck eggs. If you absolutely hate it, email me.

Edit: I've removed most of the changes for now cos P says they screw up the page in Firefox. I'll check in out on Firefox as soon as possible and redo it if I can. Unfortunately I'm learning how to do it as I'm doing it so expect some hilarious mistakes!

Wednesday, November 08, 2006

Packing...

I love packing. There's something magical about packing. A promise of things to come. Of a journey somewhere. Of people I'll meet and places I'll see.

Packing isn't essential before a trip of course. You can always go along 'on the fly' so to speak. But packing prepares you for what is to come. It forces you to think about what lies ahead. It may slow you down at the start, but your trip will be much smoother if you pack well. No stops to shop on the way. You have everything you need and can focus on the destination.

Aaah, the destination. For many people the destination is the whole point of the journey. I disagree. If you approach the journey in the right frame of mind you'll find that every moment on the way has its own charm. Every wayside stall you stop at, every porter you haggle with, every cup of coffee that scalds your tongue, everything blends together in a wild rush of images and sounds.

Not that I have anything against reaching my destination. The excitement, the rush and then the feeling of utter relaxation. The contentment of knowing you've reached safe harbour.

Until it's time to pack again.

Monday, November 06, 2006

5 reasons why this ain't a soft porn blog.

Another day, another post.

Suspect has suggested I start a soft porn blog. Here are 5 reasons why I don't think that's such a hot idea.

1. I don't think there's anything hot about genitalia. And Wikipedia says that's what soft porn is. As for the rest of the porn family... I get bored watching people have sex unless there's some kind of story. And I've been told if it has a story, it's not porn.

2. I'd like to have a variety of readers. Not a pack of sex-starved 15 and 16 year old guys. [Actually when it comes to porn I believe most guys fall under this category.] [Yes I'm biased.]

3. I don't approve of people who download free porn. Porn is an industry. I support industry. Pay for your porn. Somewhere else.

4. I'll be very rich someday which usually means interviews and fame. Hence I'd rather not provide fodder for future interviewers.

5. I'd much rather have a torture blog. Unfortunately suspect seems to have that up and running already.

Saturday, November 04, 2006

Giant Pubis

I got the following in the mail and was fascinated. Real life is really weirder than fiction. It's easily found on google so I have no qualms about putting it up.

But... for those who found the Luis Royo picture 'sleazy' or inappropriate... please read no further!
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The police of Los Angeles had a lot of fun last year, when they were filling out papers to register a series of car accidents. As it turned out, drivers were losing control and running into other vehicles because of a giant picture of woman's pubis, which they could see displayed on the front part of an oncoming car.

The LA police started desperately looking for the unfortunate pubis and came upon the tracks of a young hairdresser named Nelly Node. Nelly's passion for arts made the young woman photograph her own crotch and put the zoomed picture on her Volkswagen Beetle. Nelly decided to use such a shameless method to prepare her college course work, in which she analyzed the art of design.

The witty student's idea worked for the college professors: she was proudly driving her "pubic beetle" until the police arrested the woman. The court ruled that Nelly's car was creating a dangerous situation on the roads: the girl had to paint over her car's hood. Here's a picture of her VW "before" she had to repaint it.









Thursday, November 02, 2006

Damn Drunk Tourists!


THE GOOD

The day started of great. Was chatting with a friend till 4 am and had to be up by 5.30 to go for morning mass. [All Souls Day] So decided it didn't make sense to sleep for just an hour an half. So when the electricity went at about 5 am I wasn't really bothered. I was glad it had happened on a day when I was awake. Figured it would be back by the time I got back, just in time for me to take a nap. I enjoyed riding my bike before sunrise to the chapel. Lovely cold breeze. Saw a small crowd on the way but didn't stop cos there were cops and I don't like cops.

THE BAD

Reached the chapel and things went downhill from there. Mass was slow, then had to make polite conversation with someone I don't like and when I got home, still no electricity. My dad went to check and found that some stupid damn tourists wrapped their vehicle around the electricity pole/transformer [whatever]. The transformer actually landed on their car. [So says dad] So no electricity the full day. Maybe more. No lights, no fans, no microwave, the food in the fridge starting to complain about the heat, and worst of all... no Internet!

THE FANTASY


Having been driven out of my home by some idiotic tourists who can't control their liquor here I sit checking my mail and whining about all the work I could have done if I were home.
And as I sit here I meditate on just how vindictive I want to be. I still don't know what happened to the tourists. The saints of Goa usually protect all drunk people here. [They don't protect the innocent souls the drunk drivers run into!] The tourists are probably starting to work out how they're going to recount their adventures once they're back home. But... I can always use my imagination. Apparently the trauma caused by the passage of electric current through the body (as from contact with high voltage lines or being struck by lightning) involves burns and abnormal heart rhythm and unconsciousness. Now that's a very satisfying thought!

Wednesday, November 01, 2006

9 weird things about me...

I've been tagged once again by suspect. So now I'm supposed to spill the beans about 9 weird things about me.

I can think of several things which can't be put on the list. Why? Cos you never know who'll be reading this. And yeah, I also want to keep suspects mind clean. It's a hard job but someones gotta do it!

1. I love staying up and sleeping after sunrise.

2. I can never throw out paper. I have old receipts and bills that are almost illegible stacked all about the place. I also have my old kindergarten books, every letter or note ever written to me, ... (you get the drift).

3. I once lay down in the middle of the road on a dare.

4. I can't spend new bank notes. And if they're in series I'm lost.

5. I get really bored shopping for clothes and shoes. I can picture people shaking their heads. Trust me, it counts. All the girls I know love shopping.

6. A guy once paid me to yell at his friend.

7. When I get really bored I sleep. Anywhere! I wiggle about, find the most comfortable position, blank out all the disapproving looks and sleep. I've done it on buses, in theatres, in church, at shopping malls (while friends shop - for clothes, aaaargh), ...

8. If I'm really sleepy I can sleep while standing too, as long as I've got something to rest against or to hold on to.

9. Some girls look at guys shoulders, some are fascinated by butts. Me, I have a thing for their hands. Arms too, but hands specially.

Ok, that's it for me. And out of a wholly justified desire to share the trouble I tag Glenn, Cecilia, and CrazyRhyme.