Poetry, sweet Poetry.

Yahaan bhi hoga, wahaan bhi hoga.

Ab toh saare jahaan mein hoga.
Kya?

Tera hi jalwa.

Alright, to the rhythm and the beats so high

Tera jalwa jalwa hai right

To the rock and roll from mine.

Say hi to Johnny

I think dreams are just some kind of a mean joke played on humanity by god. And that little moment, when you've woken up, but you're still half-dreaming, so you're still believing those things in your head when you can see the ceiling fan, that's the part when god starts rolling on the floor.

I had a dream where i was Johnny Bravo. With green round glasses instead of black. And my twelve inch biceps. Saying "Whoa momma." And it seemed perfectly logical, everything. In honour of the dream, i have decided that Johnny shall now be an integral part of this page.

I'm telling you.

Auto Rickshaws in Calcutta often throw up masterpieces on their backsides. From "my name is Khan", to "Road Romeo", to poetic urdu couplets to "buri *insert drawing of an eye* wale tera *insert drawing of a pair of luscious lips* kala".

But today i encountered a rather earnest piece of advice from the auto message board. It simply said, "Avoid girl.bright future.have safe life"

Over and above everything, it just felt so Sincere. I have a feeling he Must have had a heartbreak.

Today's a bandh and i'm writing a bloody blogpost.

The older we get, the more our priorities shift from important things in life. Today's a bandh. And i just caught myself lamenting on how i was supposed to get to place a from place b. Rewind five years, actually even three, and i would have found myself having the best morning i would have had had in a long long time ( notice the oh-so-cool use of two two hads and two two longs and damn i just overdid it, i know).

Bandhs were the Shit in school. Like rainy days, when school gave off and that too at the last moment, so you couldn't possibly prepare for it. But rainy days were still okay, because you had to sit at home and eat garam garam alu paratha, which is perfectly fantastic but just that the worth for those moments is less when you're a kid. Bandhs, on the other hand, meant you could get onto the streets and have a day-long tournament of para-cricket, and Everybody from the uncles who were champion cricketers in their good ol' days, to the Serious cricketers who played Serious cricket and didn't like playing with tennis balls in paras, to the maaru kids with their servants ( i Hate using that word, i really do) and their expensive bats and caps (who were shown their Real place on this day, haah, fucken brats), to the guy you never knew Existed in your para, they all came. And the mummies and aunties looked at the kid/husband/whoever abusing the hell out of one another on the streets from their windows and smiled and giggled.

I could never understand the hoo-haa about bandhs in life, everyone just seemed so perfectly happy that day. And ya, i know how nothing will ever happen to Calcutta if it keeps happening, and the amount of money the world loses, and how daily wagers have to survive another day with nothing, and i completely understand. I actually do.

Also how also it's all a big joke, really.

But this city's a little Like that, i say.

RIP

Every person in the world who clicks photographs has a photo like this.

But, this be first photograph taken with the camera which is no more. Tried focussing on the focussing ring inside the mirror but didn't quite work out. Also, i'm a pretty self-obsessed guy, i know, it shows.

Either way, here's to rudolph.