Discontinuing in a different vein…
There are some things which even the best of the philosophers and the best of the books outta there fail to understand… no I ain’t gonna talk about the tried and tested topic of love…its getting pretty boring…well there’s too much in this world other than the old topics of love and betrayal…hell man…we have got nagging tenants…bad cricket pitches…slippery basketball courts…bad taxi-drivers…bribe taking government officials…good music directors going overboard with movies by giving their own selves a nu-look and of course…we also have our own dear politicians…one fighting for a tall chair and the other for keeping it…one has rubbish in their head and the other rubbish in their mouth…and why the hell am I going to so damn far…if I dare take a look in my own neighborhood it won’t be a lot of time fore I find a Sircar or a younger daughter-in-law of the Aggarwal’s (dig through to the post b4 last for more reference)… there also will be more than a handful of kids who right at this moment are being given a nice lick for getting less than 80% I their last exam……Ummmm!!!....ya man…. That’s something different to talk about…
I can rap and whine the whole day about that topic in fact…might go on and create another Square Dance…but this time around its gonna be a bit different…why don’t ya all say something about your parents…Not the stuff about how much they love and all those things…but about the things which made you feel bad somewhere down the line…something your mum n dad said…a chocolate your dad didn’t buy for u or the channel your mum changed or the time when you were forced to do something…which you never really wanted to do….Spit it out right…would love to hear it from posts of the bloggers of the nation…
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Ummm.....wat 'bout a girlfrnd....
I wonder what to blurt out today…well talking about girls will be quite interesting I believe…. Actually today me n my dear sissy were having a talk about the right kind of girl for… so in fact I think it will be quite a bit of fun to ponder about the kind of girl I want in my life…n quite tragically I don’t think in my entire life which amounts to nothing but a grain of sand in a beach I will have any chance of finding an oyster which will quite make me look quite like a pearl…
Either way I can assure you my dear reader that I am not that kind of a guy who will like his wife to be understanding to the point that if she will wait by me more like a waitress than a girlfriend…
Well here we go…….
I would really like a tall girl…coz am 6 ft. so would like someone who would be at least near my shoulder…damn it… kissing girls too short than you is quite a nightmare…so I have been told…
As far as complexion is concerned I won’t have a problem unless and until she is of a complete “African” complexion… ;)
She has got be a bit “nottee”…even naughtiness to the extent of a bit of wickedness can be tolerated…
She has got to know how to speak her mind…
She has got to love my laptop… hell man…. I probably love my lappie more than I can ever love her :o
Either cute (not to be confused with C.U.T.E) or a beauty… Cuties preferred as beauty generally comes with brawns…”GENERALLY”…
Have to have a good memory… coz half of the time mine is left inside my lappie…
Have to remind me to wear socks of the same pair
Have to remind me to put on my deo before I go out….
Have got to have a good set of principles in life… (my dad always have liked the kind…says that they take firm decisions…n as such will be a lot easier on me to convince him about her….hehehe)
Have to be focused in life…
Got to understand that I can’t give up watching Naruto ,DragonBallZ, Tom and Jerry and Cartoon Movies…Coz I simply love them…
Should not be disturbing me when my ears are plugged and my face screwed up in concentration and inches from the computer monitor… it means that there is some stuff I can’t understand and that it’s floating around my head…
Has to accept the fact that I am a “Boneless chicken”-“Egg”-a-tarian…n thus not a complete vegetarian neither a complete non-vegetarian
Has to understand that I hate mobiles
Should not ever disturb me when I am watching a movie or reading a good book….
And last but as usual….never to be the least…. Has to understand that I can never ever cry cause the ducts have already dried up….
Well….. I know the list is long but you only fall in love once n I don’t really want to drown in it…
Either way I can assure you my dear reader that I am not that kind of a guy who will like his wife to be understanding to the point that if she will wait by me more like a waitress than a girlfriend…
Well here we go…….
I would really like a tall girl…coz am 6 ft. so would like someone who would be at least near my shoulder…damn it… kissing girls too short than you is quite a nightmare…so I have been told…
As far as complexion is concerned I won’t have a problem unless and until she is of a complete “African” complexion… ;)
She has got be a bit “nottee”…even naughtiness to the extent of a bit of wickedness can be tolerated…
She has got to know how to speak her mind…
She has got to love my laptop… hell man…. I probably love my lappie more than I can ever love her :o
Either cute (not to be confused with C.U.T.E) or a beauty… Cuties preferred as beauty generally comes with brawns…”GENERALLY”…
Have to have a good memory… coz half of the time mine is left inside my lappie…
Have to remind me to wear socks of the same pair
Have to remind me to put on my deo before I go out….
Have got to have a good set of principles in life… (my dad always have liked the kind…says that they take firm decisions…n as such will be a lot easier on me to convince him about her….hehehe)
Have to be focused in life…
Got to understand that I can’t give up watching Naruto ,DragonBallZ, Tom and Jerry and Cartoon Movies…Coz I simply love them…
Should not be disturbing me when my ears are plugged and my face screwed up in concentration and inches from the computer monitor… it means that there is some stuff I can’t understand and that it’s floating around my head…
Has to accept the fact that I am a “Boneless chicken”-“Egg”-a-tarian…n thus not a complete vegetarian neither a complete non-vegetarian
Has to understand that I hate mobiles
Should not ever disturb me when I am watching a movie or reading a good book….
And last but as usual….never to be the least…. Has to understand that I can never ever cry cause the ducts have already dried up….
Well….. I know the list is long but you only fall in love once n I don’t really want to drown in it…
GuesS WhoS BacK
Every other day you talk to yourself and try to find out all the mistakes you did and.. You try to find the reason of quite a few things…to begin with…”why am I alone?”…well that is my first question.. and sometimes when I trigger up my adrenaline pumps and travel back with the exhilaration of a Little baby girl who has just found her long lost baby doll under a pile of rubbish her mummy has left alone as garbage to be thrown the next day.. to find that the answer of the past is the reason of state of the present…
Today was one such day… sitting in front of my lappie on the wide terrace of our house…at approx. 20:52hrs I was staring at the blogsite of a certain “Roshni” when I dunno why I jus put down the lid of my lappie and started jus gazing at the moonless-starless-cloudless (?) night and asked myself one of all such questions…the same which cud make u face the exhilaration of the baby girl… “Why am I alone?”
And yes I did find the answer…
The weird heady cocktail of a dry vodka martini on the rocks gives a strange feeling of disillusion and illusion of the same time… quite very much the reason why I was stretching my hands out... atop a 100ft high tank..and taking a grab at the moon…trying to reach it like the mangoes in the Biswas’ house which had grown ripe over the summer… well… didn’t quite get it… and for quite a moment I felt as if the stars high above was mocking at my failed attempts at the moon… would have fisted them out if they were close enough…the garden of Eden was wearing off in my head…I climbed down from the perch… yonder across the leaden sky …somewhere along the parched land… somewhere hidden away from the eyes of the preying hunter…away from the sombre whisper of a lover… away from the soothing chime of time was a heart grieving the wound of timeless pain… the wound of a torn heart and a bleeding eye… the tears had already dried up… so he could not cry water and quench her thirst…. The illusion of joy is a strange thing … cause it makes you believe you are happy even when you taste the salty taste of tears… it gives you the illusion of life even when you are staring at the dark tunnel of death… it makes you believe that at the end of the day death is just a long holiday for all the broken souls with a coin underneath their tongue… it makes you believe that tomorrow is just a better day… that dipping your lips in the oily river of sorrow will extract all the leftovers of pain you have left in the trenches of the horrible heart lying in the wasteland… under a rock named “PAIN”… But…disillusion…
I climbed over the railing and looked over to a funnel of darkness …at the end there was a light… but…no… wait…what ….. is that her….a familiar silhouette…. I stretched my hand…to reach out…out to her….
The ground was too close…I closed my eyes…
“Why am I alone?”
Because I never knew what was to be loved…and when it came I was busy mixing up my illusions to thread my dreams…….
The Little girl found her baby doll…she gave a wide smile…her big brown eyes with a small cut just above the right brow… somewhere in the abyss of her heart she asked a question to her mom… “Why did she want to throw her baby doll?”
P.S :: Sorry guys for updating after such a long time…was just busy over stuff.. ”bad xcuse” sorry…eithr way…will try to be regular…
Today was one such day… sitting in front of my lappie on the wide terrace of our house…at approx. 20:52hrs I was staring at the blogsite of a certain “Roshni” when I dunno why I jus put down the lid of my lappie and started jus gazing at the moonless-starless-cloudless (?) night and asked myself one of all such questions…the same which cud make u face the exhilaration of the baby girl… “Why am I alone?”
And yes I did find the answer…
The weird heady cocktail of a dry vodka martini on the rocks gives a strange feeling of disillusion and illusion of the same time… quite very much the reason why I was stretching my hands out... atop a 100ft high tank..and taking a grab at the moon…trying to reach it like the mangoes in the Biswas’ house which had grown ripe over the summer… well… didn’t quite get it… and for quite a moment I felt as if the stars high above was mocking at my failed attempts at the moon… would have fisted them out if they were close enough…the garden of Eden was wearing off in my head…I climbed down from the perch… yonder across the leaden sky …somewhere along the parched land… somewhere hidden away from the eyes of the preying hunter…away from the sombre whisper of a lover… away from the soothing chime of time was a heart grieving the wound of timeless pain… the wound of a torn heart and a bleeding eye… the tears had already dried up… so he could not cry water and quench her thirst…. The illusion of joy is a strange thing … cause it makes you believe you are happy even when you taste the salty taste of tears… it gives you the illusion of life even when you are staring at the dark tunnel of death… it makes you believe that at the end of the day death is just a long holiday for all the broken souls with a coin underneath their tongue… it makes you believe that tomorrow is just a better day… that dipping your lips in the oily river of sorrow will extract all the leftovers of pain you have left in the trenches of the horrible heart lying in the wasteland… under a rock named “PAIN”… But…disillusion…
I climbed over the railing and looked over to a funnel of darkness …at the end there was a light… but…no… wait…what ….. is that her….a familiar silhouette…. I stretched my hand…to reach out…out to her….
The ground was too close…I closed my eyes…
“Why am I alone?”
Because I never knew what was to be loved…and when it came I was busy mixing up my illusions to thread my dreams…….
The Little girl found her baby doll…she gave a wide smile…her big brown eyes with a small cut just above the right brow… somewhere in the abyss of her heart she asked a question to her mom… “Why did she want to throw her baby doll?”
P.S :: Sorry guys for updating after such a long time…was just busy over stuff.. ”bad xcuse” sorry…eithr way…will try to be regular…
The Freedom calld Life
The rain was beating down the window for the past 36 hours…the roads of the area were already water-logged…”Bhutto” – the pariah dog was having a bath probably after a few months…the few people who had gathered underneath the peepal tree had already lit their small hookahs with the local variety of “ganja” and “hashish”… in the other corner of the dim-lit park were a group of four were cheering to the sound of the local variety of liquor bought at 5/- a liter…the boys at the club were not to be heard today…only the sound of the wooden coins striking against each other were heard…the kids at the Aggarwal’s were silent…their teacher had come… a tall lanky fellow… the local gossip was that the chap had an illicit relationship with the younger daughter-in-law of the house… truth be said she was a nice woman… but also not the kind you generally familiarize yourself with an illicit relationship… The old Granny of the Sircar’s died today evening…her death was more like a welcome relief in the family already ravaged by her ear splitting and vociferous screams every morning… But the other Granny’s in the area were sure to miss their favorite gossip maker…
Atin was sitting on the window-sill… his leg stretched over the small table… a white canvas was waiting by his right while the rain and the romanticism veiled through the cigarette smoke waited on his left… he has been smoking all day… there was no one to nag him till he stopped… he lived here alone…with all his paintings and a cloth covered tall mirror… in a one room apartment with a small kitchen and a even smaller wash-room… the room was covered with green moisture from the ceiling… a patent of all the 800/- rent rooms in Kolkata… and the mixture of paint, damp moisture, and cigarette smoke gave the room the aura of a true studio…
The paintings of Atin was strange… they all had a kind of similarity in them… as if the same blood was running in the veins of all the portraits…and it seemed that you could have touched them if not for the smokescreen that veiled all his portraits…
But Atin was yet to draw his masterpiece… he was waiting for it… like a Little girl waiting for her daddy to come home with her new baby doll…
Today Atin was happy…quite strange though… his parents passed away a year ago… his Nandan evenings a few months ago… and his days at the gallery a month ago… and sometimes when Atin looked at his frail but long hands he felt surprised that life has not left him yet… he dipped a 10no. brush in small puddle of red paint and let it flow from the top of the canvas…the blob made its way down the canvas and through it…
And then a few brush-strokes here and there… he could see the form it was taking…the same familiar form all his paintings take…
He finished it in a matter of minutes … A strong gust of wind moved the cloth from the mirror… Atin groaned…he had to get up again to put it straight…Atin did not like moving from his cozy chair through the evening unless absolutely needed…and this needed his immediate attention…’cause he simply did not like staring down at his reflection as it made him feel that the person staring back at him was the same person but at the same time a stranger…
He got up and went in front of the mirror…and clutching the cloth he…
He could not help but stare at his reflection…the portraits around the room were the same and looked just like his reflection… A skull with a fabric of skin pulled over it… Atin stretched out his hands and reached for the reflection as if trying to dissolve it in a puddle of colors and veil it through a veil of smokescreen….
Somewhere in Atin’s past a guy sat by a window and made perfect rings of smoke…and as Atin stared down the rings he knew that these rings were perfect… So much so that even the painter Atin could not make such perfect rings…
The guys underneath the peepal was still smoking but have already turned the flip side of sombre…and so had the guys on the other side with the local liquor in their hands…The guys in the club still tried to hit the wooden coins into the pocket with their plastic striker… the younger wife of the Aggarwal’s was lying in the arms of the tuition teacher of her kids… her petticoat open and lying breathless… The Sircar’s had all gone to the Ganges… to remove the last remnant of the their Granny… and will then call it cremation… even the small kid who used to sit at the local garage would miss her more than the her eldest son…
Atin was still holding a half-burnt cigarette in his hand and staring down a reflection which he felt afraid to call his own…
~~FIN~~
P.S :: THIS IS PIECE IS INFLUENCED DEEPLY BY A PIECE READ IN A BLOG CALLED “Roshni’s Inner-World”..
Atin was sitting on the window-sill… his leg stretched over the small table… a white canvas was waiting by his right while the rain and the romanticism veiled through the cigarette smoke waited on his left… he has been smoking all day… there was no one to nag him till he stopped… he lived here alone…with all his paintings and a cloth covered tall mirror… in a one room apartment with a small kitchen and a even smaller wash-room… the room was covered with green moisture from the ceiling… a patent of all the 800/- rent rooms in Kolkata… and the mixture of paint, damp moisture, and cigarette smoke gave the room the aura of a true studio…
The paintings of Atin was strange… they all had a kind of similarity in them… as if the same blood was running in the veins of all the portraits…and it seemed that you could have touched them if not for the smokescreen that veiled all his portraits…
But Atin was yet to draw his masterpiece… he was waiting for it… like a Little girl waiting for her daddy to come home with her new baby doll…
Today Atin was happy…quite strange though… his parents passed away a year ago… his Nandan evenings a few months ago… and his days at the gallery a month ago… and sometimes when Atin looked at his frail but long hands he felt surprised that life has not left him yet… he dipped a 10no. brush in small puddle of red paint and let it flow from the top of the canvas…the blob made its way down the canvas and through it…
And then a few brush-strokes here and there… he could see the form it was taking…the same familiar form all his paintings take…
He finished it in a matter of minutes … A strong gust of wind moved the cloth from the mirror… Atin groaned…he had to get up again to put it straight…Atin did not like moving from his cozy chair through the evening unless absolutely needed…and this needed his immediate attention…’cause he simply did not like staring down at his reflection as it made him feel that the person staring back at him was the same person but at the same time a stranger…
He got up and went in front of the mirror…and clutching the cloth he…
He could not help but stare at his reflection…the portraits around the room were the same and looked just like his reflection… A skull with a fabric of skin pulled over it… Atin stretched out his hands and reached for the reflection as if trying to dissolve it in a puddle of colors and veil it through a veil of smokescreen….
Somewhere in Atin’s past a guy sat by a window and made perfect rings of smoke…and as Atin stared down the rings he knew that these rings were perfect… So much so that even the painter Atin could not make such perfect rings…
The guys underneath the peepal was still smoking but have already turned the flip side of sombre…and so had the guys on the other side with the local liquor in their hands…The guys in the club still tried to hit the wooden coins into the pocket with their plastic striker… the younger wife of the Aggarwal’s was lying in the arms of the tuition teacher of her kids… her petticoat open and lying breathless… The Sircar’s had all gone to the Ganges… to remove the last remnant of the their Granny… and will then call it cremation… even the small kid who used to sit at the local garage would miss her more than the her eldest son…
Atin was still holding a half-burnt cigarette in his hand and staring down a reflection which he felt afraid to call his own…
~~FIN~~
P.S :: THIS IS PIECE IS INFLUENCED DEEPLY BY A PIECE READ IN A BLOG CALLED “Roshni’s Inner-World”..
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