studiobaki

A bitter walk in the afternoon sun

2008-09-07T13:49:00.001+05:30

There lies perhaps another reason
Another symbolic gesture of will.
Finitely surreal qualities of such
Are butchered and carelessly flung astir.

Take heed she says,
But does she smile?

And in a very short matter of time
Cataloged and placed in little boxes,
All named and completely understood.
A catalog? Of sorts, for the lack of other nouns.

She laughs, this time out aloud.
Funny she says, but does she lie?

And yet fragments stay ineptly dissected
Not everything aligns as was hoped.
Under a tattered shroud of unease,
I even plead to things unknown.

Come here sweetness, rest awhile.
Does she really sing me a lullaby?

Perhaps I missed out on those notions,
I still cant find any out of place.
Again I look up to unknown niches
No one calls, an empty sky.

My poor little snuggles, its really sunny.
Wear your hat, does she actually make me?

And yet i know that i am close
And certain that i eventually will win.
No matter how convoluted i may go
I'm sure to find what i want to behold.

So sweet he looks, cranky and irksome.
All asleep and thoughtful, I'm here now, aren't I?

Words strong, profound, its no wonder
How he manages to be so distraught
A perfect little Nietzsche, oh so thrilling,
All dark and broody, gaunt and proud

So now you know, well be it may
Be brave now princess, but does she care?

Boxes all piled up, alphabetically aligned,
A madman's store yard, how truly divine.
And the question in question, was it really that sinister,
He could have merely asked me instead.

Careful there now, say no further.
I'm a light sleeper, so now he threatens me?

Disassembling things that do not exist.
Failing at that, and stealthily pleading
To God knows what, nomenclatured unknown.
Impressive, I now stand truly humbled.

Be not that witty, my sweet one, my angel
Be gentle and kind, does he really dare?

And this was that that kept him cloudy,
Pray don't laugh, he's a sensitive one.
The meaning of, pardon my laughter,
the meaning of Love, forever and more.

I shall speak no more, and he holds his word.
Such an adorable infant, how long will he sulk?

She did reduce me to a sheep no?
A helpless haggard formless form,
But rest assured, for i no more slumber
In the cold heat of the afternoon sun.

Big eyed baby, do not stir or stumble.
Go back to sleepy, doesn't she ever get weary?

If she were right, and i was wrong,
And what i profess does not exist,
Then why such a motherly feast
All matroned out with all its lust.

Yes i saw her eyebrows rise,
No, its really sunny, does she so easily lie?

So its a stalemate, what i have here.
A socialist idea of equality.
Sincerely the sun is getting quirky,
Wearied I'll sleep now in a while.

Again he dozed off, what a fool.
Romantic afternoon stroll my foot, I need a shower.

So lovelorn boy here thinks I'm his mother,
See, he is a Stephen, completely Dedalus.
Awake, and if not, hear now me well
The matronly tirade is merely practice.

No, you lie, please don't say that.
I liked being mothered, did he really whimper?

A stalemate cannot be vouched for singly
Whoever calls it annuls it by.
An understanding surely is all that we have,
I'm tired now, shall I awaken you then?

Yes you may, and the sun still beams.
Lets walk us back home, shall we now?

slimbus

2008-08-13T14:23:00.004+05:30

motorcycle

2008-03-12T12:03:00.002+05:30

the one behind the kawasaki is mine. its a yezdi deluxe. brilliant motorcycle.

blub

2008-02-22T23:34:00.002+05:30

ok. read the garden of eden, hemmingway. typical hemmingway. good food, good booze, women, two of them infact, and, not to forget, the the customary hunting thing as well. after this i really got fucked. picked up critique of pure reason, kant. thought that since im so brilliant , this book should be a breeze. and it totally fucked me. havent been able to read past the first fifteen pages of the introduction. so i started reading up essays on it. did make a bit of headway there. he talks sense tho. but he writes it like shit. its basically a different level. as in it is so bloody convoluted, without seeming to be so tho, as in it lacks any of the usual pomo crap, that it takes major effort to keep track in each of his statements. a completely silent hall, preferably completely clad in white, would be the best place to attempt to read it, and not, definitely not while commuting on the metro. shall try reading it while in bed, but the problem is that i usually use books to fall asleep there, and so a heavy reading sort of fucks up the entire thing. i think i need to pick up another book, this time a nice and happy one. like hemmingway. the man is a dude. fucker knew what happiness is all about. ok. i really need to think about this other side book that i need to read. sis has sent me some three books tho. critical essays. on what i have no idea. surprise she said. lets hope for the best. yep. i think ill keep it like this only. as in i wont pick out another book. ill merely wait for the said surprise critical essays to arrive.

new book

2008-02-11T14:57:00.000+05:30

ok. first i need to make a list of sorts. mesuletahs children, heinlein. six characters in search of an author, so it is if you think so, henry IV, pirandello. rainbow, laurence. collection of essays by some stupid critic on modern english novels, primarily the essays on lawrence, huxley, hemmingway, and some more on influences such as psychology, pessimism, nihilism. mcnallys puzzle, saunders, a funny cute little murder mystery. good fun. rich comic playboy who loves food and clothes. and some trashy christian doctrine conspiracy book. forgot the name. super trashy.
ok. the deal is that i need to find a book that i can print out and finally get down to reading. and i really cannot figure out which one to. as in i dont want to read any more heinlein, kundera, huxley, shaw. i wouldnt mind some plays by sartre. but the only problem is that i cant locate any on the net. maybe if i look harder. but i dont want to either. so no to sartre as well. and definitely no camus. that fucker is like the most witless blockhead when it comes to his characters. and no more philosophical essays. so no nietzshce or kant or any of their sort. i want shaw i guess. wish i hadnt read back to mesuletah. would like something of that sorts right now. maybe i should try huxly. but i dont feel that much inclined towards him at this moment. wouldnt mind a kafka, except he becomes stupid to read once you get the underlying gist of his writings. sartres men without shadows, this book shall always remain one of the coolest for me. and the pissing off part is that i couldnt get kiddo to read it. this is quite pissing off. arrey. thats it. i could read some of steinbecks stuff. he seemed quite nice. i think that will do.

milan photos

2008-01-10T02:12:00.000+05:30

first ones duomo. next is castella. will post more photos every other day. keep checking.

blip

2007-04-10T21:43:00.000+05:30

blub

2007-04-06T02:43:00.000+05:30

Tree

2007-04-02T19:17:00.000+05:30

Tree was painted red and white
Some steps away from me it grew
Already engulfed by the coming night
Flowers white that danced with rue

Was it aware of the comic pleasure
Of men strolling on with public leisure
Bestowed upon for none to measure
Besides us two, if you would treasure

How its willful fall to force and will
Of man who colored it white and red
(Cheers! I won! What joy, what thrill!)
If only he knew, would rather be dead

Such is victory, a feeble token
Of self worth deep, truly well spoken
I am superior. You are broken
Said he in words old and oaken

Yet mute it stood, and still it stands
Enslaved, vanquished, branded and dyed
Man had left, with color on his hands
Tree just laughed, “Kids!” it sighed

30^th march, 2007, Ahmedabad

individualism

2007-03-07T02:24:00.000+05:30

Ok. I was asked to write an article for this voice box thing some time back. So naturally, I was quite elated at the prospect that I would get to see my writing on a magazine. In fact, my ego level was on an unusually massive high. So, as you can probably guess, I immediately got into that “I am A individual” phase. And before I could realize it, I had actually forwarded individuality as the subject for this article. Sadly, I was told to go ahead with it (how I hate aditya for this). As soon as I had bounced back to reality, the true implications of this action started coming to light. So, to cut a long story short (aditya can definitely vouch for the long part), I decided not to write a self help book. Instead, I decided to write on individuality as a subject of scientific curiosity, and not as a moral or ethical issue. And subsequently, rob all its chances of causing any kind of hubbub (basically, I wanted to play safe). Ok. I think I should begin now.

Individualism refers to an intellectual standpoint that lays the highest precedence to the ideals of human independence, self-reliance and liberty, and eschews freedom of choice, want and ambition to seek one’s own happiness. Individualists are people who tend to oppose any form of external interferences such as societal, cultural, and religious norms and dogmas. However, this particular statement is quite paradoxical, because individualism promotes absolute freedom, which basically means that the individualist has every right to observe these very norms and dogmas, if they so desire.

Egoism, on the other hand, is a more distinct subset of individuality. Herein, the individual being takes absolute precedent over the collective. Selfishness is looked upon as an unconditional virtue, and the need to question all forms of external doctrine is of paramount importance. Needless to say, this standpoint is often publicly denounced as harmful to society, and most of us are preconditioned to accept this as the ground rule. Ok. To keep this article as neutral as possible, I should also mention that this view is not completely unfounded, as egoism has historically led to the excessive exploitation of man by man.

Man’s desire to subordinate has for long been a subject for much contemplation. Nietzsche once famously propounded that human existence is based on his will to power. Man is something which ought to be overcome. He goes on to postulate the coming of the ubermensch; the superhuman being who has surpassed man. The means of achieving this is either through negation and direct oppression, or through creative assimilation of the self, or in plain words, improving the self. For instance, fascism and asceticism could be considered the two extremes. Basically, all this boils down to the desire to evolve into, or simply become something better, and more suited to the environment. Or, more pointedly, it is the individual desire to better itself from the others that fuels biological evolution. The Darwinian logic, if you may.

Collectivist thought, on the other hand, eventually arrives at the superorganism state. Like a colony of ants, where collective welfare is given far more significance than individual freedom. We are actually living in Huxley’s dystopic Brave new world, sans the elaborate gene based caste systems; but even that is not far behind. Ever since the birth of human civilization, man has moved closer to the ants. An interesting point to note here is that ants, along with more or less all the other super social animals, have remained virtually unchanged genetically. And they are one of the most successful life forms on this planet. So, rather ironically, success begets stagnation. Homo sapiens though a relative newcomer has infact managed to change his environment to quite a large extent; and although it is too early to predict, his tendency to biologically evolve does not seem all that feasible. Why change, when we can change the world around us.

So, what I am trying to extrapolate here is the conflict between stagnation and evolution; between the superorganism and the individual; and how we have been caught in the crossfire. Utopias only promise ants and uniformity, whereas the race for the mythical superman promises extreme asceticism or Armageddon on the other hand.

Civilization, at present, is hovering between these two states. Equality, the much desired prerequisite for happiness, as elaborated by the communists, is a state of being that has failed to withstand the throes of reality. Even theoretically, it can be argued that equality shall never breed happiness, because happiness itself is relative. One can only feel happiness if one also experiences and subsequently understands sadness. However, free or uncontrolled inequality leads to oppression. This directly stimulates compassion. Like a pendulum, we the people oscillate between our two opposing emotions of self induced happiness and empathy derived compassion. One side is being pulled by the forces of evolution, the other by the superorganism. Thus the individual verses the state dilemma continues.

So I call forth your attention to this absurdist reality. Like a surrealistic painting, life unfolds its paradoxes in strange ways. And yet, we remain forever in the dark. Individuality is but the veritable tip of the iceberg. And I think I may have wandered away from that tip. Terribly sorry. At least I didn’t end up writing a self help book.

flup three. the issue of plagerism.

2007-02-16T16:41:00.000+05:30

ok. i had to do this. this is something thats been bothering me for some time now. see. theres this chap called maddox on the internet. infact i have listed his website on my links list. the one called the best page in the universe. check it out. its quite cool. he gives more galis than me. and is 20 million times ruder than i am. however, the thing that impressed me was his innate ability to logically screw peoples cases. he is brilliant at that. however, he takes up issues that are too popular according to me (hehehe. check out the snob part of me). stuff like how he hates cameroon diaz. which is perfectly cool. its brilliant to go thru. but just not in my highly intllectual league (hohoho. there i go again). okok. ill cut the crap. i happen to write in a similar way. as in i am honest about what i type down. which is what i feel mister maddox also does. so therefore it boils down to the fact that people who have seen his website feel that i have copied his way of writing. which is inconsequential. i shall merely state that i am majorly influenced by whatever is considered cool by my generation. which includes stupid things like wearing ure pants really low. and using swear words in every sentence. i cant help it. im just 25. i am supposed to do things like that. yes ill admit it. i agree i am quite shallow. the swear words in every sentence bit has totally translated into the way i think. as in the language that i use while thinking. its unfortunate that we, here in urban india think for some vague reason that the americans are cool. therefore we start apeing them. this is a result of globalization and postmodernity. infact what im doing right now is simple postmoderney. as in the admiting of apeing the west, and quoting their influence. even the sheer honesty. that way postmodernism is quite cool in the way it eschews the truth. where it sucks is the almost complete absence of a future plan. maybe thats a good thing here. see the modernists were all futurists, coming up with their utopias. the postmodernists are like looking back and forth and here and there and not worrying about any future. they are, how shall i say, totally synched into the present. the now. hail pomo.

ramble on dhyani.

flup. utopia and management studies.

2007-02-16T10:15:00.000+05:30

oi this one is for minu. so i shall refrain my rather immature and coarse sense of humor (ok. im only doing this cos shes cute). the thing is what you (minu) said about the utopia thing is something (check this out. three things. im a genius) that i have thought about before. as in utopic literature and management studies. there is like a major connection here. see, most of these books deal with the creation, sustainance, and subsequent demise (im most cases) of these utopias. so ive decided to compile a little list of some of the useful books on this subject. ok im like no scholar on this subject, so dont sue me if i fuck up. ok. im not supposed to say that. sorry (hehehehe. i love doing this. its so much fun. yippee. i own this place. herein i am god).

ok. ill start off with aldous huxley. he is god. he is brilliant. i have a crush on him. he is like an amazing chap. ok. he has written loads of books, ranging from super cool fiction, to stuff on drugs and the entire tripping scene, and on the object of utopia. brave new world was his first on this subject, and is a fictional (obvious) and futuristic world of genetic manipulation, soma and some other stuff. basically his utopia is based on the negation of the individual. its quite communist in nature, apart from the creation of the genetic castes. basically the place sucks. its crappy. ok everyone there is happy, cos they are always content. with whtever they have. and otherwise, they have the superdrug called soma. ok. after some years he wrote this thing called brave new world revisited, which is basically a series of essays regarding utopia. its a brilliant read. much better than brave new world. ok the story telling part of brave new world sucks. hes used all the cliches that u can think possible. so u can always guess wots up in the next few pages. i thought that huxly definitely sucks as a story teller. but then i read his point counterpoint. and i fell in love with him. he is god. the man is sheer genius (ok. im really not gay. just realised some cute chic might actually be reading this. so the clarification is extremly important). okok. he wrote another one called island, which basically talks about a utopic island called pali. it uses a lot of egalitarian buddhist and indian mumbo jumbo, and is about a peace loving and oil rich nation. which gets fucked up in the end. its nice tho. uses a lot of indian names and stuff.

ok. enough about huxley. now we get down to orwell. ok im gonna be a bit brisk now, cos i think i gotta go and meet up with the reflective journal people in like five minutes. its already 1040am. george orwell. 1984. animal farm. thats about it. erewhon by samuel butler. its like a messed up land where the sick are treated like criminals and vica versa. walden. henry david thoreau. its fucked up. the guy is a moron. treats himself like shit for a year and calls it an experiment in living. walden two. B F skinner. this is the book to watch out for. its sheer brilliance. inspired by thoreaus bullcrap, walden two is a study on how utopia can exist simultaneously in the present context. has this really cool thing about labour credits replacing currency. also, skinners used this really cool way of narrating the entire thing also. he fucks up in the end tho. see what happens is that there are two strong characters. one is pro walden two. as in that guy is like the mastermind behind the entire experimental community called walden two. the other chap is a staunch critic. skinner uses these two people as tools in explaining the working structure of walden two. the arguments and counter argument thing is like super cool man. bucket loads of wit thrown in as well. anyway, where he fucks up is that in the end, the skeptic suddenly looses his cool, and gives up. really good book to read tho (o god. now i sound like a teenage book review chap. this sucks).

ok. there is this short story called the man who sold the moon. its not exatcly on utopias, but u managemet people should definitely read it. robert a heinlein. sheer genius. he talks about the selfishly individualistic. alludes to capitalist utopias. trickier than mass happiness anyday. the moon is a harsh mistress. same chap. talks about a colony of people living on the moon. again capitalist utopia. quite cool this one. this heinlein chap has a thing for the moon i guess. then theres three penny novel. bertolt brecht (have talked about brecht very briefly earlier).

ok cant come up with anything else now. will keep updating this as and when i can. take care. shit. gotta go for that reflectve journal class. i have a feeling im gonna get shouted at.

blurp two. post showing the blog to poonam event.

2007-02-15T17:25:00.000+05:30

yippee. these morons actually bought it. what dumbasses. ok they have not gone thru the posts so far. but atleast i dont have to stay in hiding. ok for the last two days i was bunking the course meetings cos well i didnt wanna show them the blog. okok. cut the crap. theres some work left for me. i gotta get u dumbasses to fill up my blog with comments. there are so far only 4 comments. stupid fucks. please write some comments. its not that big a deal u morons. okok. ill pay for every comment. 10 bucks. cmon morons.

okok. the comment bit of the thing is important cos i need to know what reactions i elucidate with my ponderings. i know what my reactions are. i need to know what lesser mortals like u feel about my posts. ok im in god mode now cos i just managed to convince poonam that my blog idea is cool. dumb woman. ok, shes not really dumb. quite sweet she is. (hehehe i just realised that she might be reading this, so a bit of buttering should definitely help) ok fuck all that. the point is that i need u dumbasses to write comments. tomorrows the display day. so i really need those comments.

ok. i started doing this at the begining of this reflective journal thing. as a doodle. basically its like a blueprint of a city. and im putting this up cos poonams like after me to put more sketches. so here goes.

blub five. the past two weeks.

2007-02-14T18:19:00.000+05:30

ok. i have to do this. see, basically what has happened is that i had opted for this elective called "reflective journal" which started two weeks back. the entire outcome of this course is meant to increase our sensitivity. to things beyond the realm of our respective discipline. the course started off with poonam as the faculty. she takes some classes with the animation people. damn sweet lady she is. six of us had opted for this course. three women from strategic design management, one chic from gandhinagar and this other chap, also from gandhinagar.

in the first metting that we all had, i got the feeling that none of the women had really wanted to take part in this elective. they had to get in because they somehow didnt have any other option. the naman chap always stays shut, so i really have no clue about his feelings. for me, this was perfect. as in the elective, not the disenthusiasm amongst the other people. two weeks of pondering over things. brilliant. what more can a chap ask for. yup. these were my exact words that i had used. anyway, poonam sort of got the drift that the bacha log arent really that enthusiastic, so she must have gotten quite pissed off. anyway, the first day we were asked to pick up books and read them. i was somewhere in the middle of this brecht book, so i just continued doing so. the list that she had made for the reading material was quite dull, so i had totally skipped them. some books on leonardo da vinci, satyajit ray, and that newish bestseller writer dude. forgot his name. had somehow managed to read one of his bestsellers, and had gotten so disgusted with it that i got a bit put off by the fact that the same dude was actually in poonams list. well, that day was meant for reading, so i skipped along. read a bit. then whiled away. slept also. heheheh.

next day we were supposed to do some internet research on any person we felt like. i looked up on the ern malley case. ern malley is this fictional australian poet, whose identity was cooked up by two traditionalist poets who wanted to screw around with this modernist magazines editor. these two buggers concocted up a collection of poems in one afternoon by just randomly juxtaposing words and phrases from various places like the dictionary and book of quotations. and they cooked up this malley chap, who had apparently died and had left his work with his sister. the sister mails these poems to the editor of that magazine, angry penguins, who falls badly. and publishes them. basically, it was a huge hoax.

ok. next day, wednesday i think, we were supposed to go to teen darwaza. in the old city. its like a market place. teeming with life. i reached late so these guys went ahead without me. i decided to be the good boy and reached that place. albeit a bit late. and then i just walked around. and got bored pretty soon. so i came back. quite uneventful iguess. bought some stuff tho. for ten bucks. a lock. anyway, this is where i majorly differ with poonam. as in see, according to me the course should have consisted of doing anything and everything one feels like. not something that is dictated by the faculty. ok suggestions are cool, but a schedule is an absolute no no in my book. apart from this, the elective was like super cool. o wait, another horrible thing is that i have to actually show this blog. to everyone in the class. no that is where things get fucked up. see, iv been a bit how shall i say, liberal with my views and words. the words bit is like really worrying me now. cos i dont want to change anything, but i also dont think showing it unaltered is a good idea. fuckit. think ill just go ahead with this shit. oi i hope ure not getting offended by what you are reading. even if u are, atleast u know that im like being super honest and stuff. and whats the point of being a hypocrite. hypocrisy is what makes everything so fucked up. if everyone had the balls to say what they want to say and do exactly what they want to do, things would have definitely been much better. hehehehe. got into preacher mode na. i think i should write a self help book some day. ive even thought up of a name. toilet paper. see, the entire book will be about absolute crap. and ill keep giving gaalis to the reader, and keep reminding him that i am a better person. heheheh. should be fun. ill advocate complete honesty as a means of attaining nirvana. of becoming a god. o my god. what shit i write. well, u really havent seen the end. wait till i get toilet paper published. that should be fun.

okok. i was supposed to sum up the past two weeks activities na. ok ill confess ive been keeping a diary of sorts. which i have filled up with some shit. not much. but some thing is there. so i think ill skip the part about the two weeks activities and get onto something more interesting. a couple of days back i managed to help out this ug chic. this kid had a crush on jaiswaal. it all started when jaiswaal and this woman had had a bit of a booze party. anyway, they got a bit frisky. now jaiswaal was just fooling around. he has a chic back home. he is a bit of an asshole. as in he fools around a lot. anyway, the chic fell for him. and quite badly too. something about older men i guess. and jaiswaal like an asshole led her on and on. now, meanwhile i managed to get myself into this. see, what happened is that this chic would keep yapping about jaiswaal all the time. so i knew something must be up. jaiswaal hadn't spoken to me about it tho. anyway, offhandedly i had remarked whether shes in love with him or not. cos she keeps gushing on about him. and thats how i became the how shall i say the shoulder of support or some crap like that. i went along cos i wanted to have fun. would get to screw jaiswaals happiness. see, i hate jaiswaal. i hate him like mad. so this was a good opportunity. and then i wheedled out info frm him. see, he was stuck, cos he had drunkedly gotten itnto it. and didnt wanna hurt her. its the typical cliche. anyway, he didnt have the balls to tell her off, so i had to do that for him. what a loser na. so i made this chic scream at him and give him gaalis and stuff. basically i had fun. it was amazing man. on top of that, i think i must have managed to get some sense into the chic. gave her a huge lecture on how u should retaliate if someone does u wrong. and not remain a doormat. dude i even got away by actualling calling her a pathetic doormat on her face. nice na. hahahahah. while this woman was like super miserable, i was having the ime of my life. hahaha. was too funny. okok. gotta stop now.

chal im tired now. take care.

blub four. beckett and balls.

2007-02-14T14:09:00.000+05:30

oi i read some of samuel beckett's plays recently. waiting for godot, act without words I and II, and happy days. that buggers got balls man. some serious balls. all these plays are actually crap. as in in the traditional way. nothing happens. nothing. and in godot nothing happens. twice. im quoting some lameass critic here. also similar in happy days. this image is the chic from happy days. got it out of wikipedia. wikipedia is kickass man. anyway, this chic, winnie is shown as some wierdo who is super optimistic, and is half buried in mud. and her husband is like some loser who hardly talks. and in the two acts, this woman keeps yapping about absolutely nothing worthwhile. it wasnt even funny. the cool part about this play is that mister beckett has brilliantly portrayed what eliot does in his love song. as in the absolute meaninglessness of existence. quite a pessimist he is i guess. beckett. also eliot i guess. anyway, the play was crap. i still maintain my stand. its what happens after uve been thru the script of the play thats really cool here. as in it makes u think. and think hard about what ure doing. and get superdepressed about it i guess. cos what are we actually living for. we simply have to pass on our genetic material to the next generation. we live to be the fertilizer for our children, who in turn live to do the same for theirs. im sort of quoting rand here. dont worry. im not that brilliant. i just happened to recollect a part out of that fuckall fountainhead book, where the old chap, the dude who runs the newspaper (forgot his name) tells roark that whatever he has built up is merely the fertilizer for roarks greatness (in this case some stupid skyscraper. aaaaagh. how i pity that rand woman. she is so fuckin dimwitted. doesent she realise that what roark is doing with his brilliant skyscraper is just as insignificant as the newspaper guys newspaper business. bloody dumb bimbo that woman is. hate her. bitch believes that capitalism is better than communism. what bullshit. both are equally messed up. tho, her entire take on the selfish bit is something that i follow personally. however, i do have that crappy compassion also in me. which sucks bigtime. ok, too much narcissism. back to work).

ok where were we. yup. the waiting for godot is supposed to be a tragicomedy. its a bloody waste of time. nothing happens. twice. (hehehehe. see i also did something similar. i said the nothing thing twice. hehehe.) the entire play is like a time warp in which these two morons wait for a character called godot, who never appears. and we dont know who godot is, or what he does, and what he is capable of. godot is pronounced godo. the chap in the center is called pozzo. pozzo is this lameass bigshot dude who is probably the owner of the land. the two dudes waiting for godot are these tramps called vladimir and estragon. there is this slave type chap called lucky, who is treated like a pig by pozzo. pozzos servant i guess. all the four names are basically french, russian, italian and english. beckett was in the war na. dunno why godot isnt german. the non existence of a german name is like a sore thumb in this scheme. anyway, this play also can be interpreted in wierd ways. godot can be likened to the mythical saviour for the masses. a jesus christ if u may. someone who voluntarily gives up everything for the sufferings of the masses. bloody bullshit. its all crap. doesnt happen. even jesus was a cunning bastard. social engineering is one of those things which gives u maximum ego boost. anyway, godot can be likened to someone like that. but he never comes. so it basically tells us how optimistic our mister beckett is. hehehehe. he is a dude. knows a lot. smart chap.

ok, the two other plays, the act without words I and II, these are sheer genius. mime plays, sans words. ok, i was being interrupted right now by some chic, who had just gone thru some of my earlier posts. shes sitting right now next to me. asked her to go thru the story that i had written before. she wanted me to be more innovative and creative in my way of writing. stupid bimbo. heheheh. ok fuck all that. was talking about the mime plays. ok in the second one, there are two guys, a and b, and b is much faster and brisker than a. there is this pole like thing that beckett calls the goad. that pole keeps prodding these two losers to go about their work. i think that the goad is the godot that didi and gogo were waiting for. no, not because of the similarities in the pronunciation, but because the goad is nothing but a thing that commands the two fools in act without words II. and now, both a and b, who we can liken to vladimir and estragon (didi and gogo). so, i think i might have stumbled upon becketts sequel to waiting for godot. now, beckett seems to be a proper motherfucker. see he didnt want to tell who or what godot is in waiting for godot, and im sure he must have passed a many sleepless nights on the same subject himself. so probably what he does is that he creates the sequel to quench his creative thirst (creative thirst. omygod what bullcrap. please kill me. please). however, his ego prevents him from publically going back on his entire shit about the abruptness of waiting for godot. so he camouflages the sequel into a mime play the act without words II. and he intentionally inteprets it as some shitty greek myth of sisyphus, who had to take some rock up a hill, but it kept falling back. as in the never ending crap. these greeks were dumb man. now, check this out. beckett never gave out his interpretation for godot, so if he had done the same, as in the not giving any interpretation for the act without words II, it would have led some wise ass to straight away connect this to godot and say that its the sequel. which, i believe, beckett didnt want to happen. reasons can be ego, principles, and also the kick u get out of keeping people in the wake, u know, the entire thing about secrecies and stuff. if this is true, then it gives beckett a really really high position in my list of dudes. also, it gives me a huge ego boost. if not, then what the fuck. no way to prove me wrong either.
ok. enough crap. gotta go now. one sec. the last image is this shit i just uploaded. its the sisyphus chap. its for the act without words II.

blub three. recent work.

2007-02-14T00:22:00.000+05:30

ok. this is some shitty coupe ive come up with. looks quite cool according to me. i generally have a tendency to come up with cars that have incredibly tiny front overhangs, with an overall front sloping stance. nothing new, but looks quite nice.

ok, this is this motorcycle that ive been working on. as in the bike will be a 750 inline triple. its fully faired, and will sport the italian tricolore scheme, with an overall pearl white body, a green belly, and a thin red stripe running along the top. check out the chassis. chezhians done the frame. steel pipes. welded. the rest of the bike, as in the bodyworks mine. nancy and lalit are supposed to do the wheels. i lost the swing arm. had initially made a trellis one, but it looked crappy. single sided it was. the next one was a conventional single sided banana type affair. except that i lost it.

blub two. utopia?

2007-02-13T23:50:00.000+05:30

oi. didnt do this for the last two days. i am a lazy bastard. anyway, i gotta show some shit for tomorrow (thats today, mind you). apparently, ill just be displaying this blog as my work for the reflective journal. bad na. i have a feeling im gonna get screwed. ok, these are like some sketches i had done. the black one is this place called surkhej, near ahmedabad. the other one is more interesting. its basically how i managed to go thru some boring autodesk presentation that i had to sit thru some days back. i hope to have a house like that someday, maybe on the floodplains of the yamuna, in noida. yup, i like my home. as in my present place. its a suburb, and is quite fucked up, but its still home.

ok, i finally finished that brecht book i was reading. three penny novel. kickass. the sdm people should read it. its basically about how organisations are formed. as in business ones. should definitely read it. starts off with this old war hero dude who is missing a leg. he takes to begging on the streets. comes across this dude called peachum whos the beggar king. he organises begging. his "employees" use state of the art strategies to increase their effeciencies. really nice . then there this other character who runs a chain of el cheapo stores. b shops. ok, just realised i really dont have to write a summary. or a review for that matter. the cool parts in the book is about how u have to be smart. in the end theres this really kickass stylization of capitalism vs communism thing. the old crippled army dude dreams that hes a judge, and is passing judgement on some father type chap who used some "every chap gets a pound from the lord. its upto him what he makes of it" sermon on the occasion of the deaths of like shitloads of sailors.in the end neither wins. as in the survival of the fittest vs survival of the masses question still remains unanswered. i somehow believe in the rights of those who are stronger. see, for someone to be successful, someone else has to suffer na. as in the entire shit is relative. happiness is relative. for happiness to exist, there must be sadness. therefore, utopia with its universal happiness aim is not possible, because of this relative thing. therefore the definition of utopia is perfect. as in its purely hypothetical. i somehow am quite happy with the way things are right now. i like the squallor that surrounds me. there is a certain beauty in the disordes and discontent. its mindlessly beautiful.
ok. enough shit for now. dont worry. ill be back. gotta put in lots more for the reflective journal thing.

blurp

2007-02-10T02:42:00.000+05:30

and im back again. scored today. after a long time. bharat bhai. hes a wierd fellow. whenever im with aki, hes like super indifferent. doesn't like chinkis too much i guess. racist i guess. otherwise hes like damn sweet and smokes with me and stuff. aki is the chinki chap. hes like a dude. one of the few smart chaps around here. ok i played today. as in the guitar. in front of these people and stuff. with this brijesh chap. he was on the tablas. turned out quite bad. as in no coordination between us.
ok i just realised that this is going really really bad. as in terrible. why am i writing about the entire day. this is shitty. probably cos im like slightly stoned i guess. ok i was trying to come up with an excuse. bullcrap. im perfectly cool now. its just that i cant come up with anything to write today. think ill end it here. but i have to write some shit. ok. this exactly is what im like super bad at. whenever there is a compulsion to do something, i suddenly turn really shitty. see, if im doing anything on my own accord, im cool. moment i get a feeling that im being forced, i turn into the biggest loser in the world. so which means a. i try get over this problem in absolute measures, as in i become indifferent to the word compulsion, or b. i somehow trick myself into thinking that the compulsion factor is actually not a compulsion at all, as in its of my own accord instead that im doing what im doing. ok, both a and b appear to be the same thing na. just articulated differently. so how do we solve this issue. the beforementioned solution obviously requires one to be ignorant of certain things. as in i will have to conciously overlook certain things. but doing that is essentially impossible na. so what are the other options. does hatred have any links with this. as in can i somehow focus hatred on the thing that creates the state of compulsion and use that (the hatred) as a driving force for me to keep doing what i was supposed to do. ok, maybe i should analyze the normal state, as in the free state when these brilliant things happen. as in the big bang theory. not the cosmic one dumbass. in these situations, i am completely devoid of any compulsions. hence, any desire to do as well. therefore, i am at leisure. it is at these situations that brilliance strikes. cos the intellect can i guess totally focus on whatever it chooses to focus on and deliver. and deliver hard. a second state does exist. wherein there are compulsions, but these are more like constraints. i work pretty well under these situations as well. its the third scenario that i suck at. when i am conciously opposed to what i am supposed to do. or maybe to any form of authority. which basically makes me a bad future employee to any concern. which basically means that i really really have to start off something on my own. which is like a lot of work. this sucks na.

bloop. reflective journal.

2007-02-09T00:57:00.000+05:30

oi. am back again. ok this sucks. i am writing blogs on a daily basis now. fuck im like a loser dude. this has to stop. how did i end up like this. terrible. ok fuck the melodrama. im doing this cos well i got myself into this elective called "reflective journal". its basically this really gay thing which carries on for two weeks. all u have to do is keep a journal or something. i took it up for two reasons. a. i knew it was gonna involve hardly any work and im like super lazy. and b. i had figured that all the bookie chics would flock to it. i have a thing for bookie chics. sadly, none of the two turned out to be true. i still have to get up in the morning and meet up in college and sit and discuss whatever we are supposed to do. and the women are like the wierd types. not that cute. women should only be cute or pretty. whats the point of being ugly. i hate ugly women. okok. these women arent really ugly. ok fuckit. they suck. and they arent the bookie types either. which really really sucks for me. hehehehe.
anyway, today we met this old chap called dipak bhai. chilled out chap. yaps too much. like all the old fucks. about how their times were better. stupid dumbfucks. dont they realise that their earlier generation also did the same with them and we will also probably do the same with our kids. or maybe its a tradition that must carry on. bloody irritating it is. ok the dipak bhai dude isnt really a dumbfuck. hes one of those really nice people that u come across. talkative yes, but good fun. was yapping about this oxberry camera setup. the oxberry is like a dinasaur. as in its massive, fills up an entire room. it was used by those animation assholes. these animation people are like mad. so much work they have to pull off. respect. now its outdated tho. everythings turning digital these days. did u perceive the hint of scorn that i bestowed upon the word digital. see its already started. the tradition thing. as in about the old fucks saying that their times were simpler and better. im probably one of those guys who take immense pleasure in downcasting the digital media. already. im like a fuckin granddad man at times. but its so stupid the entire thing. see even if u use pencils or u use the digital media, both are tools. so thereby both of them are not directly linked to the mind. differences maybe crop up if we get into the subtleties, but still, both are tools. ok stupid point im trying to raise here. probably doing it cos i dont have anything better to write on. ok i got something. saw a movie today. some animated film. about some west african folk story. forgot the name tho. it was damn chilled out. its about this newborn kid who starts talking before hes even born and goes around playing the hero. super effeciently too. really a nice film. the cooler part about it was the fact that all the women didnt wear anything on top. so u could see boobs. ok it was animation, but it was nice. hehehehe. boobs of all kinds too. one woman had like these wierd tubular thingies that just hung there somehow. hahahaha. hilarious. kickass fun i had.
ok, this is some motorcycle i drew a long long time back. got a nice looking tubular section trellis frame. hehehehe. yes i remembered this after the weird boobs thing. have decided to put up my work along side this blog thing incase mister tamburini happens to read it and sees my motorcycles and calls me to join him at crc. ok tamburini is like the god of motorcycle design. ducati 916, mv agusta f4, brutale. all his. ok i know he is never gonna read this cos, well, hes italian. i merely put this up cos i believe in show off. its good fun. and wots the harm. plus it makes this entire drab blog thing slightly prettier. what crap na. anything i write na. okok. shalini called today. twice. well, i had sort of engineered her call. as in, see the story goes that she owes me some cash. and so i mailed her my bank account number. without telling her what bank the account belongs to. so she had to call. im like a jerk na. asshole i am. hehehehe. and she called again sometime back. yippee. fuck im like a chic na. bloody pissing off this is. as in this entire fixation on one single woman. and its like a serious problem. cannot get out of it. its seriously bugging at times. dont get me wrong. im not the hopeless lovey dovey asshole who runs after only one chic. i fool around here and there as well. but shes like been the only constant ive had till now. see this is how i work. women hit on me at times. sometimes one of them catches my fancy somehow. usually i go for the tall thin types. ok bullcrap. i fall for almost any cute chic that shows even a slight interest towards me. yup. im a loser. i know that. anyway, none of these things ever work out. in most cases its a case of picking up the wrong vibes, if u know what i mean. ok, i just realised im like really demeaning myself. im like not that pathetic. screw that. im not pathetic at all. ok maybe a little. anyway the point im trying to make is that i never never go back to that particular chic again. as in i have not so far. and there have been many. hehehehe. im like really a loser man. this really sucks. why am i writing this shit. ok, back to the point. i never hit on the same chic twice. infact i either avoid them. or they become like really really good friends. except shalini. this woman has somehow managed to be the only chic on whom i shamelessly hit on. again and again and again. terrible na. should write a song on this. ok i have this vague habit of writing songs and stuff. not that great at it. but yes i wont deny it. i wouldnt mind becoming a celebrated poet or something. would be like kickass na. then all the bookie chics would hit on me. yup. the bookie chic thing is like really strong in my head. they exude this strange aura. the actual bookie chics i mean. not the psuedo posers who read books in public. hate that. what are libraries or rooms meant for. ok, wouldnt mind the psuedos if theyre like really cute. heheheh.
ok ive typed shit loads today. gotta go now. tata.
oi i just remembered. the animation film was called kiriku or something.

blub. regarding the previous posts.

2007-02-04T22:50:00.000+05:30

oi. this is abhishek here. abhishek biswas. i also go by the names of baki, pinky, donkey, fuggie, shakey bum, biswas, bissu, bakwas, bisolet, geogolito ahmedeed halid, runta. yup, thats about it i guess. currently, pinky and baki are competiting for honours for the name of choice. am turning 25 this month.

posted a couple of poems and stuff that i had written earlier today. so i have decided to briefly talk about them in this post thingie (crap. this instantaneous writing shit isnt working. i have no idea what to type now. this sucks. i dont want to get out of these parenthesis. feel a lot safer here. and i paused again. this time i stopped typing for atleast 20 sec. shit. i really have nothing to write about. ok fuck it. i think ill go ahead with the "briefly talking about the poems" and stuff. what crap i come up with na. ok here goes. im gonna end the bracket talk right now. three two one.) the thing called short story one is basically based on reality. as in the characters and places all exist. this happened in 2004 i think. in spa. im the dude called baki in it. and sap is like one of my closest chums. ive made sap the narrator of the episode. ok the plot of the story is completely mine. i started writing it after getting lightly sozzeled one night during 4th year seminar time. our seminar went off quite well. it was some shit on conservation or something. fuck i forgot what it was. dude im like growing old man. all i remember was that it had something to do with the old and the new. sap will kill me if he reads this i guess. anyway, the story has shit loads of gaalis. and all the people talk in the same way. which is basically my biggest letdown in the entire thing i guess. also, the funny part is that i didnt complete it in first go. i left it at the part where jaiswaals phone gets disconnected. after that, i finished it finally in 2006, after two years. yup. im quite a lazy asshole. also i have this insecurity about finishing things. cos quite often i fuck up really bad at the end and hence i get super depressed at myself. im what u may call the initial spark guy. ok that sounded super corny. oi this part was supposed to be in brackets na. ok. what i was talking about before i got distracted by those brackets (god i love these. see im back in them again. ok screw this. i really suck at writing na). ok im the initial spark guy. and i need people to resolve these initial ideas, or rather the germs of ideas. this is where sap used to fit in really well. hes like really good at it, plus hes like the logically reasoning guy. so we would end up coming up with brilliant solutions using logically backed debates. both our egos would creep in, but again we would use logic as our medium. its a pity i didnt stick around in architecture. tho i have a feeling ill head back to it some day, tho i dont see me going even remotely in the direction where sap is. hes doing coservation. buggers turned into a chic. ok, fuck all this. jaiswaal, the actual jaiswaal used this story in one of his assignments. asshole changed it slightly and gave it a really fucked up ending. much worse than the shit i came up with. anyway, his using my story as a means of getting good grades really pissed me off. dont get me wrong. i wasnt pissed off at jaiswaal. i was super pissed off at myself. for not finishing it. so i wrote the rest of the story. completely sober. didnt smoke a single joint that day. so there is a rather sudden change in which the story goes.

i even came up with a lameass justification for this change. what i said is that in the first half, language plays an important role in creating a really detailed atmosphere. the reader is drawn into this really well worked out scenario, and is basically spoon fed images. the next half, after jaiswaals phone dies out, the entire narrative becomes sparse and suggestive. the reader has to use his own head to link up the different threads to finish the mental image that i want to conjure up. thereby, he is immersed more and more into the story by actually becoming a part in the storytelling process. hence , the after effects of the story become more intense. ok, i just managed to type out a lot of crap na. but even i have to agree that this does make some sense.

ok enough about the story. ill talk about the poems now. the one about me and my sister is complete crap. i hate it. its horrible. dunno how i can come up with shit like that. the one called wood cutting lady is basically a good bye song to some chic. kiddo chic. the woodcutting lady symbolically represents kiddo, and metaphorically, the thing that kiddo chic and i had. as in the fling, affair, whatever u may call it. its not that bad tho. kiddo liked it a lot. cool way to part naa. heheheh. and the other poem on the bench is also quite nice. basically its about individuality. fuck. i just remembered that i have to write an article for the college magazine. mr. aditya has been after me for a month now. poor chap. problem with me is that i just cannot start unless something comes up. im what you may call the "big bangers". ok ive written a lot for now. dude u really have a lot of patience going thru shit like this. respect. yes im talking to u only. u refers to the present reader. (sorry folks, but some people are really really dumb. so am clarifying). anyway, have fun. take care.

short story 01

2007-02-04T19:32:00.000+05:30

oi. this is sap here. today I am going to tell you all about these two friends I had when I was in college. there was this chap called baki and then there was this chut called jaiswaal. it was in the fall of oh-five when people from our college were falling out (dying, expiring….. you know what shit I am talking about). first to go was this chut called shameek das…. who hung himself (exactly like baki’s dad I guess), then there was this stoopid fuck p.g. whose name I forgot, and then, finally, good old sheroo, who got blipped out by a bike (he was our ex head of the department). I think this is good enough for our basic info. ok, almost forgot…. this was also the time when I, baki, yum and jaiswaal were together in this urban design team in final year at our fuck all architectural school. we were just about growing up I guess. baki was the bugger who would always somehow manage to catch hold of these stoopid but usefull ideas, I was generally the one who would rationalize or de-vague these ideas and jaiswaal was the amazing manager / work horse / jugaadoo chap. yum, poor chap, was stuck somewhere in the midst of the three of us. anyway, I think we should get back to our little story.

One fine day, I think in the month of October, dear old friend jaiswaal apparently went missing. it was kinda funny in the beginning, but turned out even better later on. first day nobody noticed cos it was during the durga puja / dusshera vacations and very few people were anyway in the hostel. however, on monday, meenakshi (the cute chic from my seminar group) had to contact jaiswaal cos she was planning on interviewing some dude (seminar work), and also do a case study of chanakya cinema (about to be demolished and re-built as a fuck all multiplex). anyway, she called him in the morning and found that his cell was switched off. mustave been quite pissing off for her I guess. she kept calling throughout the afternoon. probably damn ticked off, she got jaiswaal’s girl’s number from baki and called her up. jaiswaal’s girl apparently did not know where he was, and said something to the effect that she did not give a flying fuck about his whereabouts anymore. women.....

getting really pissed off, meenakshi decided to call baki and instead take him along. now baki and meenakshi had had a bit of a history between them….. it was kindove funny actually. baki fell for meenakshi, meenakshi did not mind his attentions initially, meenakshi subsequently got tired of baki’s stoopid oh shit I don’t know what I am doing ways, and finally, they decided that this was actually not going that well at all. on the whole a pretty amusing affair if you know what I mean. anyway, they went and talked to whosoever she had decided to talk to, did a rushed up case study visit of chanakya and decided to call it a day at eatopia, IHC (a restaurant at India habitat center, new delhi). fairly pleased with the day’s proceedings, baki returned home, really looking forward to that last remaining joint which he had rolled on Sunday night.

post dinner and post mum going to sleep event, baki went out on a stroll with his pet mutt dontgo and the last joint.

amazing stuff apparently……. anyway, he got the first call at one oh five. it was jaiswaal.

baki: wassaap yo bitch…… where have ya been all day man…..??? meenakshi is damn pissed off at you dude…. seriously man……. she’s really really ticked off.

jaiswaal: man is this baki……??? dude I’m screwed…… I’m like really really screwed……. fuck man I’m scared…. oye baki I’m scared shitless right now man….

baki: hehhehhehheh…… nice voice…… you got the scared part really right on dude. now tell me, what the fuck were you upto today? how many times should I tell you…. no running away….. haahaahaahaa…. anyway, we have quite a lot of work tomorrow…… sorry, today actually.

jaiswaal: (sobbing sounds)

baki: yo shut the fuck up man……… you are irritating the shit out of me now….. cut it out dude….

jaiswaal: (some more sobbing sounds, sounding a bit more sincere this time)

baki: abbey chutiye…. don’t you have something better to do……. fuck off man…. lemme enjoy my joint dude….

jaiswaal: oye listen to me……. some really really weird shit has happened to me man…… I’m not kidding man…. someone is trying to kill me…. and I still don’t know who…..I’m a dead man dude….. I’m dead….. I’m seriously dead…. (sobbing sounds)

baki: what the fuck are you talking bout bitch…..??? slow down dude…… bataa….. what happened?

jaiswaal: I think I’m inside a box…. its like dark…… pitch dark man…… and its fuckin tight……. I’m like lying down on my back and can’t turn around….. I can’t even see my cell phone because there is no space….. I think it’s a coffin man…… a fuckin coffin…… coffin man!!!! coffin! (sobbing sounds)

baki: oye stop this crap……. talk properly…... ab bataa….. how did you manage to get yourself in this shit…..??? (snickering sounds)

jaiswaal: baki, I’m not fuckin around man….. I am fuckin serious. I think I’m in a coffin somehow. I don’t know how I’m here….. but dude….. baki….. I’m actually in a coffin….. an its fuckin locked cos I cant break free…… an it is fuckin quiet man….. fuckin quiet……. I think I’m buried man….. I’m in a fuckin graveyard man…… in a fuckin coffin……

baki: good one man….. haahaahaahaa….. really good one dude…… fuckin convincing too…… you have had me now….. fun’s over…. now I gotta go sleep man…. tomorrow we have a lot of seminar work piled up….. u have a lot of typing to do…..

jaiswaal: don’t hang up man…….

baki hung up at this point. enough shit for one night he decided. a cigarette right now wouldn’t be a bad idea he reckoned. pointless drama these buggers get into. should utilize their time and sleep instead he felt. we guys used to pick on baki pretty often those days cos, well, he was sorta stoopid with things like these. he would always fall for it. this wasn’t the first time jaiswaal was fuckin around with him. anyway, as was expected, he got a call from jaiswaal again.

jaiswaal: oye listen…… don’t hang up man….. even if you think I’m fuckin with your head don’t hang up…. I need some help from you dude…. just call up all the people you know who I’m generally around….. everyone…… no one will know where I am…… seriously…… I am not kidding this time man….. seriously….. just try calling people…… just call…. (sobbing sounds)

baki: bahein ka lauda….. stop fuckin around dude….

jaiswaal: just call man…… call……. please…. just call…..

baki hung up again. what an insistent jerk that freak show can be he thought. he really needs therapy. bloody waste of time and effort. hasn’t he gotten tired of this shit. someone should really kick his ass he decided. thats our typical baki. always telling what is to be done without actually doing it. useless asshole. anyway it was almost one thirty now. and pretty dark. even though the guard dude was sitting in front of his kiosk, baki did feel a bit scared. now baki is also our regular pint sized smart ass motherfucker. and the funniest part is that he is still scared of the supernatural. as in seriously shit scared. so his ass was taken on an almost daily basis. calling out for dontgo, baki decided to throw away the burning stub and head back inside. but he was still waiting for jaiswaal to call cos he knew jaiswaal would not give up so soon. anyway, after fifteen minutes, and post loss of patience, baki was nicely settled on his bed, tripping away to glory. that joint must have had some really good shit.

jaiswaal called again at two thirty.

baki: dude, cant you irritate sap just for this once…..

jaiswaal: dude, your number is the first on my address book man (baki's actual name was abhishek biswas)…. oye, you called them up……??? cos I cant get through to any one….. and I think I’m running out of battery….. (pause) oye you gotta believe me man….. some psycho knocked me out and then buried me somewhere…… you have got to believe me man………. would I fuck around for so long…… (in a composed voice) dude I also like sleeping….. I am seriously not fuckin around this time……. some fucker is trying to kill me…… the fucker probably has…… its just that I’m still alive right now…….

baki: oye….. don’t fuck with me jaiswaal…………. seriously man…. I will seriously slap you if you are fuckin around…… no…. ill fuckin bash your face in dude……. I’m fuckin pissed off now man……… really pissed off……

jaiswaal: I don’t know who this fucker is man….. last thing I remember is parking the car at naraina complex and stepping out. someone probably hit me on my head cos its sorta paining now….. what’s the time like right now dude…..???

baki: quarter to three…… in the morning……..

jaiswaal: dude I cant even see my cell phone……. man I think I’ve been out for more than twelve hours man…….. I had charged my phone yesterday night…… dunno how much charge left…….. shit……!!! forgot about the balance…… but I guess I have some left……. dude I’m gonna die man……. I don’t know where I am…… I could be buried anywhere……… even outside delhi…… I’ve tried shouting and kicking…… don’t think anyone can notice me man……. fuck baki…….. I think I’m gonna die man…….. I think I’m gonna die…..

baki: oye fuck you motherfucker…….. hang up….. ill call you….. but first ill call up sap okay……?? chill man…… we can track you down using your cell phone….. chill dude….. its not that bad…… the lame ass fucker forgot something called technology man…… just hang in there dude…….. and if you are fuckin around be prepared for a fight man….. cos ill be seriously pissed off then…….

this seems too far fetched to be true. I’m sure jaiswaal is still fuckin around. but the fact of the matter is that he was untraceable throughout the day. and this coupled to the fact that baki knew jaiswaal would never put in so much effort just for some kicks made him realize the apparent gravity of the situation. at three in the morning who in his / her right fuckin mind would believe this lame ass story and immediately agree to help. therefore calling the cops was like totally out of the picture. so he started calling me. like you might have guessed, I was then fast asleep. it was finally three thirty that I was talked out of my stupor and informed about this entire episode. this is definitely jaiswaal trying to fuck with you dude. I must have repeated this line atleast seven eight times then. however I did decide to call jaiswaal up and find out what was really happening. baki kind of sucked at retrieving info. plus I knew jaiswaal better than baki did. he would not fuck with me atleast. so as the story goes I did call up jaiswaal.

me: yo jaiswaal….. wassup man???? dude you have really managed to psyche out baki…. motherfucker just woke me up man…. said some shit about some coffin….. what the fuck is wrong with you man…….??? its like almost four am dude…….

jaiswaal: dude help me man……. I’m like fuckin screwed man….. I don’t know where I am….. and its fuckin dark and cold…… I cant move….. I’m like fuckin tired man…….. I don’t know for sure but I think I’m in a coffin…… I cant even roll over on my back…… its so fuckin tight in here……

me: dude its me sap here…. cut out this shit right now man…… and go to sleep…… don’t try this shit on me man…. I’m not baki dude….

jaiswaal: oye sap…. you know me man….. do you think I would try taking your ass this way….. dude I’m like really screwed man…. I think I’m gonna die man….. (sobbing sounds) dude I’m so scared I’m like fuckin crying man……. you know me man…… I’m not fuckin round now…… I’m dead serious man…… I’m trapped in a fuckin coffin……!!! (more sobbing sounds) sap I don’t wanna die man……….. I don’t wanna die this way……..

me: (getting slightly serious) acha bataa….. what happened…..??? baki said something about your cell’s battery….. how much left…..??? and I don’t think you are buried anywhere cos otherwise you wouldn’t have gotten any reception……. you are probably trapped in the trunk of some car…… can you feel anything around you…..???

jaiswaal: dude I thought about the reception……. fuck man all the time I’ve just been thinking dude……. my phone’s reception quality is decent plus the network is generally good……. I’ve been in basements before and have managed to attend calls as well…… didn’t face any problems before….. and dude I can feel this velvet like material all around…. dude this is not a trunk of any car…. it’s a fuckin well cushioned coffin man……. and I’m in it dude…. I don’t know what to do man…….. there is no room for me to even see my cell phone….. I am on handsfree dude….. I had switched it on some time back so I think the battery should last four five more hours….. but what happens after that man…….. fuck sap I’m like scared dude……. I’m too fuckin scared to think about what will happen after the cell dies out…..

me: dude don’t worry…. I’m waking apu up…… baki is I think calling up the cops right now…. don’t worry dude….. we can trace your cell down and dig you out….. just hang in there dude….. oye…. we have to do u.d. together…. who the fuck will make the model if you fuckin die man….. (nervous and sad laugh)

jaiswaal: thanks man……… thanks a lot dude….. you have no clue how fuckin scary this shit is man……. tell your dad to call the cops….. baki is a moron…… banchod doesn’t know how to talk to the thullas…. oye ill tell you all that happened before this shit man…….. I had had a bit of a fight with priyanka last night…… we had some issues…… so I decided to go to the war hero crematorium and have some booze there…… you remember that place naa….??? anyway, this was around seven in the morning…… I had already drunk like a couple of pegs of R.C. and had just run out of sticks…. so I wanted to stop over at naraina to buy like a pack….. last thing I remember is stopping my car by the side of the road and getting out….. I don’t remember seeing anyone around……. then I get hit on the back of my head and I probably fall or something…… anyway that’s all I remember……. next stop I’m in this shit coffin thing……. why me man……???? why did the psycho chut decide to pick me…..???? fuck man…. now I’m like getting a bit pissed off……!!! why me…….???

me: naraina as in the PVR naraina complex right…..??? lets see if we can trace your car from there…..

jaiswaal: fuck man if only I hadn’t stopped for the stoopid cigarettes none of this would have happened……. fuck man they were right…. smoking kills dude…….. smoking kills……. fuck wish I could smoke like one cigarette right now…….. hehehe…… dude I’m like feeling a lot better now….. I think…..

this is when the call got disconnected. feeling a bit panicky, I started calling him up again. this hutch phone is temporarily out of service. please call later. now this really scared the shit out of me. had his cell run out of charge? this was not looking very good for jaiswaal.

anyway, I did wake up apu and after explaining the situation to him properly, made him call up singh uncle. singh uncle was this old friend of my dad’s who lived in the same apartment block as ours. he was the deputy inspector general of delhi police, and as the sound of it suggests, was pretty much one of the top dogs in the force. anyway, singh uncle did not take too kindly to the early morning wake up call, but did promise to mobilize a team of detectives right away. things were looking slightly better for jaiswaal at that moment.

I decided to call up jaiswaal’s folks and get some info from them. I got through to uncle, who seemed to have no idea about anything that had happened. being a hostel person also entailed the sudden relapse of letting your parents know about your immediate whereabouts twenty four seven. not a bad situation, if you know what I mean. anyway, uncle did seem rather perturbed at the thought of his boy being buried in a coffin, and seemed to think it was some kind of a really really sick joke on somebody’s part. baki, he said, was apparently the only one who could pull off a stunt like this, and was of the opinion that a couple of whacks on his skinny face would solve this rather disturbing case once and for all. however, he did seem quite disturbed, as even he had not been able to get through to his son that entire day. anyway, as you can probably guess, uncle went straight down to the war crematorium, which was quite near his place.

meanwhile, baki called and said that he would be reaching my place asap. dont worry. i'm cool. ill reach in no time. singh uncle had by now come over to our place, and oddly found it the right moment to discuss the state of the garbage chute in our appartments with apu. bastard..... we got a call from his boys in about fifteen minutes. and they say delhi police sucks. anyway, they had traced down jaiswaal's number to someplace in east of kailash. heavily armed police dudes were already on their way there. these bitches are good na. things were moving like really fast, just like in those firang movies. we had called up uncle, who was frantically searching for freshly dug graves in the crematorium at this moment. east of kailash was where jaiswaal's stoopid friend dheeraj used to stay, he said.

they found jaiswaal finally. and man did he get a shock of his life. twenty odd thullas had stormed the room he was holed up in. the bastard was alone playing some computer game at that time. must have sucked for him tho, with all the explaining and shit. so conveiently, the chut decided to pass out. asshole.....

and now comes the really sucky part in this story. baki had crashed into a car. the bugger had one of those stoopid pansy bikes. pulsar i think. and had nicely bounced off the windshield and landed on one of those spiked road dividers. really ingenious these planners are. the spikes help to keep cows away from their precious greens. did a fine job with baki's ribcage too. he was so entangled that they had to get laser cutters to seperate him.

things were a bit serious now. apu, jaiswaal's dad and singh uncle were of the opinion that certain things needed to be hushed up. jaiswaal wasnt technically responsible for baki's fall.

so, quoting the next day's hindustan times front page story intoxicated youth meets with terrifying end. and they played up the issues of easily available drugs and the spiked road dividers in the followup stories. dunno what came of that tho. i dont get to see too much of the city these days. hehehehe. see i did something quite stupid after everything had quitened down. i killed jaiswaal. i mean i technically didnt kill him. i just knocked him out, rolled him up into a cocoon with masking tape, left him a breathing hole, and then further taped him to the column of this underground parking lot near baki's mum's office. and that too in the corner of the third basement level. oh yes i had done my research beforehand. nobody goes down there cos it was said to be haunted. and nobody did.

first week nobody cared, not even his dad. entire month went by and a search was finally launched. i was soon called in for questioning. and i told them that i had stabbed him and thrown his body into the river. and they just didnt buy it. stoopid assholes. they were partially right tho, cos he was probably still alive then. but his phone was definitely in the river. fucker had actually stored all the conversations. anyway i was acting a bit funny those days, and so it was never a surprise that they got me here.

apparently, an average human being can go without food and water for about a month and a half. they finally found jaiswaal some three months later. it seems that he had really fouled up the entire parking lot. fucker always used to fart a lot anyway.

these morons here think that writing down our thoughts in the form of a narrative is a good way to alleviate our psychological stresses. hahahaha. white collared dumbasses. its good fun tho. who knows. maybe ill turn into one of those trashy fiction writers.

my sister was nearly ten when I

2007-02-04T19:26:00.000+05:30

My sister was nearly ten when I
Was sent to sleep with a lullaby
And then when I was ten and five
She was married and still alive

At twenty five I stand quite tall
Middle age, she says, is not her call
Nine long years between us two
Had formerly placed me in a stew

Older sibling stance that she once hailed
Mellows down and now seems quailed
So now, a man of forty and more
Conveniently becomes quite a bore

The mystical miasma of old age
Is now reserved for the fifty on stage

ahmedabad, 24 november, 2006

wood cutting lady (a farewell song)

2007-02-04T19:10:00.000+05:30

Wood cutting lady just chopped away
She appeared so hazy, she looked so gray.
She wore a vest of white and blue
And red and yellow and looked like you.

She stood not close from where I write
And evening was here; there was no light.
Yet the cry of logs had felt so near
Had made me yearn; it made me fear.

How old was she? As old as you
Or did she have a child or two.
She looked so lonesome; she looked so bold
She looked so tired; was she getting cold.

Yet she stood there all alone
In the scattered wood chips the wind had blown.
Time grew softly; time grew still
Between her logs and my window cill.

Stars were out now, the moon was bright
She had faded into the night.

Diu, December 24, 2006

off white bench

2007-02-04T19:07:00.000+05:30

The road turned sharply to the left
Leaving behind the off white bench
The one that was at times I felt
Quite seemingly of not much use

It was I suppose to seat the few
Who desired the company of none
For it stood not near from where I came
The local tea store

Tables were there but not too many
And concrete benches lined the road
But the off white bench would always draw
Some glances from the crowd

Yet never did I see a seated soul
Rest awhile with cup in hand
And neither did I ever pursue and try
To sit on that bench myself

So as you see I came across
This wayward creature of late
And decided to write it a song
Celebrating it its permanence

Or rather how it stands alone
Aloof and ignorant of obvious shame
Persistent at its own mirth
The off white bench remains

Ahmedabad, 23 November 2006