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.