I didn’t in the least like Nick Hornby’s Hi-fidelity, ask Vasu how we both hated it! But there is some sense in one thing he said. That pop music can be blamed for some of our woes. Like the DTC-music I subject myself to on a daily basis. (That too with dialogues, main tumhain nahin chhodunga, main intazaar karunga, Meri Priya.) Not to forget the ring-tones now-a-days. One fella even had a bhojpuri song.. kinda the limit! I sincerely believe that is the worst thing you can do to a person, gift him a ringtone. Imagine your boss calling you to savan main lag gayee aag, or my electricians ringtone, which thanks to his obstinacy even I have memorized, sayinya been bajaye..
But there is still more merit in Hornby’s observation, pop-music can put you in a curious mood. You feel like calling on old friends, boyfriends. (Though I cant list the top five.) And then you get sappy and feel like a pedicure, watching a movie and eating pop-corn, skipping office the next day, o.k. that can be said for most days. Still, I think you would get the drift.
…I bought a ginger and honey mix, as goes for the green tea, this too will take long before I try it.
Here is a list of things I need:
- new key board
- htc ear phones
- a break
- a car
- 30 hrs to each day
- et al.
Please note I accept gifts with flair and grace. And Christmas is round the corner!
Also, some think me is a man-eater. Pleased. Extremely so. Thanks again.
Familiarity breeds contempt..
Days go by, crush bubbles burst… They are looking for something to look forward to.
At home yet not at home.
I know one more person who doesn’t like her.. yey.. na na na naana na na na naana..
I know. I know India is a secular country. I know that people of all religions ought to live in harmony especially when they share common service such as corridor lights and parking space. But, when after a weeks worth of sweating it out, you are woken up at 4 am by crackers burst on Chhat puja, god and goodness pretty much go down the drain. With or without my p.j.s I by 5 I was ready to gun down any one who even made crackers!! Out of bed, sheets off, chappals on, keys in hand doors flung open I was ready for a kill, when my mom interrupts, “we are also invited” ……………… uuugh!!
Met lots of college friends recently.. just didn’t feel like returning to home, returning to the old schedule. May be those were not the good old days, but were definitely the best days.
Some people think lawyers are boring, with boring jokes and boring lives. That it is interesting to start with, but the lust and luster wears off.. but then there are those who get turned on by consti law and anti-dumping.
I managed to secure successfully, by an avant-garde performance, the adjournment.
Gave a few books off, ones I like to circulate. They are to be returned shortly. I hope he remembers.
I went to watch wake up sid. I have 34 teeth.
Them Clones are just fantabulous. I didn’t know that My Life is there song, and I loved zaphyretta. It’s melody is so beautiful. And unlike all other Indian bands I have heard. But fuel is not great and orange juice is not worth 80 bucks!%/$$%
Trust me its tough to write a blog when digits 1 to 7 on the key board are not working (exclamations)
Frequently now I find my self strolling in Khan Market, where the hip find their happenings, the poor seek to increase their belongings (one asked for “just hundared pleeaz”), where there are corridors of just magazines, and mind you, you might find one in French, but definitely not in the Hindi or Marathi! This is Dilli for the Ameerzaadas, fresh from the tava parathas, old wine and beer at Chonas, Pastas and Paninis, glasses worth more than the milkshakes they serve!
There where I have no bearings, and my friend who is forever most spatially impaired (a lefty who always turn left when in doubt), we pass a while reminiscing the good old days. It still amuses me how we are capable of glorifying the past, we see it all across the country, and now also in me. Lemon Tea and Mojito, over stories across hostels. A few laughs and we are soon ready to leave behind the comfort of controlled weather conditions. Walking in to the blazing sun, the sordid sight of men peeing by day and by night!
In the midst of the distracting odor of greasy parathas and kababs, and euro perfumes, I found this shop, called “happily unmarried”. A small rectangular room which could barely fit 4 people at a time, was full of some classic drunkards jokes. Stereotypical and funny. If you go there you may still see the Chinnis on the mugs on the rack.
As I entered the gurudwara, after slipping off my shoes and ensuring that the dupatta covered my head ( I dread being forced into line publically, so I have had to learn to comply consciously), my mother suddenly stopped in front of me and turned saying, “Do you know what Diwali means to Us?”. Drawing from me a silence I knew she sought, she continued to explain. Her eyes that cry on cutting onions, and laugh at a Govinda movie, that hurl abuses at the younglings who make the evening an utter mess and disgrace in my muhalla, now were large with and I suspect wet with pious and faith, and success as she spoke, explaining yet again why it was named the Bandhi Chhod Diwas. I had known the story for long, but not its name. After all I have heard it every Diwali for 23 years now!
I usually evade the ritual and courtesy most wear on their sleeves, of going to temples and mosques. May be its because I am plain lazy, not to forget the black sheep of my family (there are too many tales about that! Something I do intend to put to paper soon) or simply because I find it a tad too boring. I hope to encapsulate why.
As we sat this Diwali in the Gurudwara, while the rest of Delhi burst crackers and did the lights, we heard a lady granthi sing a hymn. I should not comment upon the singing as I too only secure the kind audience of my self and the mirror if at all, I could hardly ignore the general fatigue that had burdened the mood there! To my misery, everyone was either singing along, or staring onwards with glassy eyes! It seemed more of a funeral than a communion with God. And in case one wanted just that, a communion, it was best to pursue it individually, not trouble others with norms, glares, and not to forget the chanting-cum-clamorous singing. And the little boy! Oh the little boy, firangi and all, was just a delight! Especially so as he was conducting his antics in the temple. Standing apart from the congregation he alone captured the purpose behind so many 1oos of us there. Dancing, trust me with his booty swinging to the beat! he was a joy! Why did we all laugh and smile at him, not cause he was cute, (after all no one was smiling at me!) but because he was having fun. He was being himself, lost for the moment in the music and no, not for attracting attention or anything! But not for long. The long gnarled hands of authority came out from nowhere and seated him next to his grandma. That’s when I left, there was really nothing left to see.
This is where shall be all the doodling in prose. 
