Walk, smile, stop, run.

Run for the life inside you, as fast as your heartbeats can take. Not the feet, not the road, not the mind, not the world which flashes by in the inside of your eyelid.

Run till your throat runs cold, Run till that spot on the left of your stomach just above your waist stops paining because it’s too used to pain. Run till you can hear your heartbeat pounding on the palm of your foot.

If the world doesn’t get you, don’t breeze past. Get the world instead. Look past the shiny billboards, into the black sky. Take all the traffic noise, the halogen lights, the smelly armpits, the office hours, the monsoon muck, the mother’s screams, the power cuts, the smashed cell phone, and run.

Till you can’t.

Then walk. Smoke a cigarette. Smile. Stop. And run.

Two thousand and ONE, mind you.

My good friend texted me on 31st morning, and it read,
"Happy new year,i am king lear,eating eating beer,2001 near."



Long live Dipankar Lahiri.

  

2010.

lataguri
lataguri
pune
bombay
pune
goa
thrissur
allepey
benaras
mussourie
sankarpur
gangtok
lachung
darjeeling

about 75 days in all.
about 29 long distance train/bus/car rides. ( 5 hours + )



this year will go down as the year i opened my eyes.

Hey Apple! ( try it with the exclamation mark! )

hi!

Yesterday, i carried out this experiment!
Of talking this way, you know! Like, everything you said! Would end with an exclamation mark!! (or two!! )

And i realised it was so cool! And so annoying!!

But mostly i figured that if everybody in the world spoke like this! This world would be so funny!!!!!
And SO annoying!!

So much, that there would be no wars! Because how could you take an order given like this seriously!
But you'd Definitely smash a few skulls! And while you were at it, you'd go, take this!

Haha!
Don't you think!

? ( !!! )

Cats are strange creatures, in a not so nice way. I like kittens, because they don't take themselves seriously. But cats usually have that air of bekaar ka bhao around them. It's happened Thrice now, a cat ( twice the same one, the third time was a different one ) has come and made my room its home, and given birth there. All of the three times, i have been immensely happy about it. The first time, it was till the li'l ones could start walking, the second was till they started eating on their own, and the third, i don't know, they hit fucking puberty or something, but Every time, once the cat thought that enough homely comfort had been gained, she's taken the li'l ones away into wilderness or wherever. When i went to sleep, there were kittens on my bed, hopping around and slapping each other.When i woke up, there was silence. And THEN she comes back again, purring and looking for food, acting like nothing just happened. And i feel like standing up and Applauding. However, somehow, they seem to gain my respect every now and then. I don't know why or how, but it is probably because they seem like they Really don't give a shit. My friend Sumeet had this theory that all dogs are male, and all cats are female. Give the dog some affection, some food, he's yours forever, but a cat, will eat all food, will pretend to ignore all affection, and will not let you even touch her.

Unconnected (or not), but I have been seeing this cat around my window for some time now. This picture is pretty old, but i've caught it in deep, whatseemslike really comfortable slumber in the Oddest of places. Like in the gap between grills of a window, or the corner of the electricity supply box amidst all the wires, or on the thin band of whatever coming out of the building you see above the pipe in the photograph.

i like this cat

( haha, the photo looks like it's out of the Daily Prophet or something, with the snow and all :D )

My Stoic Friend

It happened quite a few days ago, but exams and suchlike have been on my mind. The thing is, that during bakreid, Jannagar Road turns into a khataal. Last year, i remember posting a photograph of a camel which was parked for qurbani under my house ( i know, ive recently realised this blog is more than one year old and that doesn't happen very often with me so i Keep harping on the fact ), and there are gorus from Australia who come over at this part of the year, so really, if you get yourself a bakra, you might as well sacrifice it in your bathroom.

Any way, this year, as has been the custom in the family for a few years now, came along a little khassi, as they call it. They come, they go. I am not really affected by it, i don't like fussing. There's no bond built, they usually know themselves that it's their last night before they get sacrificed. It's the way it happens, it's all a part of the food chain, the way the world works. But to be honest, this guy was a charming little fellow. I got him from khidderpore, he had black and white spots, and i knew he liked me from the moment i set my eyes on him. He never once moved left or right, never once shrieked, he happily trudged along wherever i took him, through fields and chaat walas, into the backseat of the car, and stayed there. He reached home, i left him in my room, and started watching tv. My mum commented on the fact that he Just does Not seem to have a vocal chord, and thus, bang on cue, to showcase to my mum what a lovely voice he had, the fellow started singing. So i came back into the room and asked him to chill it man, that she got it, and he obediently quietened down. And he stayed there, the entire night, sitting, and then getting up to get some exercise, eating leaves, letting out a yawn, or a sneeze and then going back to slouching. He was probably writing an autobiography in his head, it looked like that, but i couldn't be sure.

And then next morning happened, and i looked at him, and said, buddy, time up. He understood me perfectly, i could see it in his eyes. With no signs of any protest, he came along, quietly, let out a barrage of goat-potty Right at my front door, and then hopped down the stairs, i shit you not. The others were getting halaal-ed at that point of time, so i didn't let him see that, though i'm sure he would have braved it in his own unperturbed way, the hero. And so he came onto the playing field, and this is the part where people get violent. I couldn't bare to see it, of course, let alone chalao the knife across his throat, but they told me he didn't even twitch through it all, in a way that he was a convenient fellow, and had no 'badan mein phurti'.

Of Course, i thought. He didn't really belong to this world of gleeful violence, you see. Actually, to be honest, and i knew this all along, i really just thought that he was a bit of a stoner.

The shrinking penis disease.

So now, it's confirmed. It's true.

Three of Pathak's maids told him about a disease which is doing the rounds of the villages around calcutta where for the males the penis, and for the females the breasts are suddenly shrinking in size. I laughed it off, obviously, telling him that it's okay, everyone thinks it's bigger anyway, so one person thought that it Just happened, and hence everyone joined in to make themselves feel better. But then the next day i heard about the same disease from three friends in Entirely different friend circles, and all of them drew the line back to the maid at Their place.

Now google tells me that it's happened in Gurgaon too.

There are conflicting opinions, however, on what the cure is. While some believe you need to apply chuna on the ears and the neck, some believe you need to immerse yourself in a pond ( or any body of water) for a couple of hours.

Very often in life, i think that cricket is something i shouldn't have let go in the way i did. More so with these super-slow motion cameras. At a thousand frames a second, they make a cover drive look like chocolate syrup pouring on strawberry. I recently caught myself jumping on the sofa going Look At That Man when they showed Laxman playing an on drive through mid-wicket in super slow mo. It's something else, it's something else. And then i sit and get sucked into a world. Of how the 96 world cup would look different if there were these cameras on a certain gentleman called Jonathan Rhodes. Or a Warne feeling the seam of the leather ball on the tip of his fingers during his walk-up ( you Can't call that a run-up, can you?) before a delivery. Or, haha, Courtney Walsh trying not to break into laughter and then finally not being able to control himself and bursting out uncontrollably when he sees the electric blue colour on Funky Miller's head while taking guard first thing in the morning.

Okayokay, stopme stopme. I can see this turning into an old-friends-and-alcohol-talk. 

But then again, a Brian Lara backlift and pull shot, in super slow mo. There aren't too many things more breathtaking to watch in life.

I know some sensational people. I told Anuj Gupta that i was studying metaphysical poetry for some test tomorrow, and he said, "Arre, koi behnchod kuchh likha itna sau saal pehle, te log ko abhi bhi usmein unglee karna zaroori hai na. Go find some work to do man, earn some money na"

Well, sometimes it's really difficult to argue with such Fine logic.

And yes, i'm also realising i know too many people who offer me these quotable quotes.

So I got out of a comedy exam and bumped into Sion outside the union room. He had seen me before the exam too, and asked how it went, and i told him that i thought there was a Random-ass question.

"The first act is ingenious, the second is beautiful, and the third abominably clever." Comment on the plot structure of The Importance of Being Earnest with reference to the critic's views ( or something on the lines of that ). You know, What KIND of a question is that.

To which he replies saying, "Actually, i don't know about the plot structure, but i can definitely comment on the critic. He's homosexual."


I'm quite a Sion fan, i must say, and things like this just make me feel better about it.

stoned musings on a theatrical night

अरे मार देंगे, हिला देंगे, जला देंगे साली दुनिया |  यह जोश ही काफी है, दिखा देंगे दुनिया |

If there's no other way to get rich in this life, i will write a book documenting the situations my dad gets into, and his reactions to each of them. I remember writing a post about the omni getting sold off not too long ago. Now, water has flown under the bridge and a Santro has taken its place in the parking lot under the house. My mum is indifferent, i still prefer the khatara, but my dad, it must be said, has fallen head over heals for the new car. It's his dream machine. "A Grey Santro with a red doctor's sign looks like a car with standard," is his modest opinion. ( the 'modest' is sarcasm. Don't be fooled by words, you should see his expression when he says 'standard'.)

And Of Course, it had to happen.

The car had just been parked outside Mocambo, and my dad had just entered the restaurant when, apparently, a drunk young gentleman behind the wheel of a Tata Sumo smashed straight into the car. There was nothing of the front left headlight left ( left headlight left, haah) , nor most of the bonnet.

Also, my dad asked me to sleep in his room that night.

In reality, it really irks me, this weird Affection for this inanimate object. His obsession with the car is Unimaginable. Or not so unimaginable. But I also remembered something he had said the First time the omni got a scratch. He said, "You know, every time there's a scratch on the car, there is a dent in my heart"

The aww-fulness of the situation sometimes does get to me.
But i daresay, his heart must be Really deformed right now.

There’s a little bit of a craving somewhere. I don’t understand. I can hear the clicks of my fingers on the keyboard and the especially clicky sound of the space bar, and i can hear little girls go ring-a ring-a roses downstairs. I can also hear the blades of the fan, they make a sort of sound scape with the air around them. The faster the blades move, the more whirly the sound gets.  I think i can hear my stomach but i’m not sure. What i Do know for sure, is that I love the peace after madness. 


Maybe that’s why i love the madness so much, for this peace.

Fetched from the ruins.

Photos from about a year back, and it Just caught my eye. As you will soon realise, this could not have been co-ordinated. And Priyanka Kumar is talented in many, many ways. It's true.

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.

My father is a most interesting human being. He is one guy i've never been able to figure out. I can't say he's particularly smart, or dumb, or hard working, or principled, or anything. All i know is that he's a pretty terrible storyteller and a couple of people out there would definitely vouch for the fact that so am i ( you shall understand the significance of this statement a little later).

Haan, so I was just having a conversation with him, and he was trying to elucidate me on the significance of ramzan etc, and then the conversation somehow shifted to his beliefs, and His father's beliefs, to our ancestry, and then somehow to the significance of the little Syed before my name that i've always managed to shy away from. Now my father's faith in the concept of Genes is unshakable. It ranges from his defence of smoking (Apparently, how strong your lungs are has a lot to do with genes. Churchill lived till whenever, he cites, how do you explain that? Of course there's a little glint in my eye which he conveniently manages to not catch ), to the fact that he's an honest man (and he's convinced so am i ), to ( now wait for this one ) the inability of any of us to be decent at Math. I come from a family of doctors, my dad and two of his three brothers are doctors, and the only reason for that is because they supposedly all sucked at Math. Also, most of them are short-tempered, and so is my brother, here i guess i deviate a little bit.

Anyway, that's not the point.

The point is, i'm supposed to stand tall in the face of adversaries. Because Syeds are like that only. My forefathers fought against Akbar and told him to chooso his own because they thought Din-i-Ilahi was all shit. He wanted to prosecute them, so they ran off to Bareili, present-day Baro, which is apparently where i Originally hail from. So my puppa told me that i will make it big in life and rise and shine because i'm a Syed. At This moment, i failed to manage to put two and two together ( nobody in my door door ke rishtedaar has really managed to make it Big in life) and smiled and said No daddy, that's not because i am Syed, that's because i am Stud.

But then again, who was i talking to. My baap is the baap of bad jokes. His eternal favourite ( he's cracked it once a month for the last 15 years of my existence, i Clearly remember ), is that once the Indian contingent was sitting at the pool during the Barcelona Olympics when one of the officials came and asked one of our most esteemed athletes if he was relaxing. The athlete turned around and said, "No, i'm Milkha Singh."

Indeed, my father is a most interesting human being.