Its like... II

Its like wiping off the dust settled on the vase. Its like nodding your head even if you dont want to. Its like making faces in the mirror. Its like running to the teevee to catch that song. Its like cleaning your old sneakers. Its like the first day of your college. Its like eating packed food alone at home. Its like missing someone to share a stoopid joke. Its like turning pages of the newspaper without reading it. Its like feeling horny over calls. Its like listening to rains from your bed. Its like ironing your special shirt. Its like eating maggi for dinner. Its like switching your cellphone off. Its like waiting for the weekend to come a little earlier. Its like peeing on national highways. Its like wearing steel cuff-links for that special party. Its like changing tv channels when you have flavoured-condom ads while your dad is around. Its like adding lemon to tandoori. Its like when people ask you if Orissa was in Assam. Its like your lappie screaming "Low Battery!". Its like tucking the shirt in the right way, with some of the belt showing. Its like catching a quick glance of the bikini-girl on the roadside hoarding. Its like waiting complements for your new tee. Its like Rakhi Sawant doing a swayamvar. Its like solving crossword puzzles. Its like buying pirated copies of your favorite authors. Its like being surrounded by circuit breakers. Its like doing your intership in an swanky office, wearing formals, black shoes & a bespectacled clean-shaven face hidden among files. Its like the sound of popcorn in multiplexes. Its like drying your beer soaked cellphone. Its like meeting the same bunch of people on my 7.06 AM local train everyday. Its like wanting to write even if you feel sleepy. Its like listening to random songs. Its like watching lizards on the walls. Its like watching teachers teach, every single day. Its like finding the right tie for your shirt. Its like...

Its like. . . wishing Vands a very H-A-P-P-Y B-I-R-T-H-D-A-Y :)

Yours and Mine

Vands- She is someone who taught me to spell t-h-a-n-c-h-e-w. She is happily-crazy, intelligent and attends dance sessions with this dude named Zooly.

More than all this, what we share in common is PIA. Yes, Pia! So, this guest post is her version of our fixation with Pia.

She loved cuddling up in her mink blanket on lukewarm mornings. She closed her eyes shut and tossed to one side when the smell of vanilla wafted in her room and diffused with the existent strawberry to produce a heady cake mix. That was her Mum's shampooed hair mixed with her favorite strawberry shortcake doll. Mummy always used to be fresh from the bath when she came to kiss her princess awake, just the way she loved it.
"Pia..., sweetheart time to wake up..."
"Hmmumm *sniff* *smile* goo molnin mumma"
"Good morning Pia"
"Mumma I wanna have bleakfasht wi my pink shpoon in my pulple bol"
"*smile* *kiss* okay!"
With the smile still lingering on her lips and the smell still floating around her nose, she climbed down from her bed and stepped into her slippers. She crinkled her nose and blinked at herself in the bathroom mirror, happy at having remembered that there was chocolate cake left in the refrigerator. :)

That's my Pia. And I guess I share her with Deb. Our Pias have a lot in common, mine's prolly gonna grow up to be just like his. :)

When Deb had asked me to do a guest post for him, I was honored and confused at the same time. Honored coz it felt great that he wanted me to write on his blog and confused coz I had no idea what to write about. I always maintain that writing is best when you don't think about it and just let it flow.
Everyone here has wondered at some point or the other whether Pia is fact or fiction, so have I. And I'm sure everyone here loves Pia, just as much as I do.

Deb's Pia is someone who's incredibly full of life, takes pride in having her own understanding of it, is quirky and unconventional, is sweet and sexy at the same time, is witty and silly together, is practical and romantic, is crazy and beautiful and has a penchant for simplifying complex emotions such as love. She is someone you voluntarily want to pamper, someone you can't help fall in love with. And that's exactly why she means the world to him.

My Pia on the other hand is someone I nurture dreams about, someone who hasn't even been born yet but I know is goin to be an adorable kid. She is goin to be loved a lot by me and all of my friends. Who is she goin to be? I don't really know that right now. What is she goin to be? The apple of my eye. Alright I know I sound tipsy but I'm not, you see my Pia is goin to be a baby girl that I adopt six-seven years from now. I can almost picture her goin to play school in her new dress and shoes. *sigh*

It's Deb's birthday today so I wanna wish him a wonderful year ahead and here's a lil something from me.
Haaaappppy Birthday Deb :) *Hug*

like Moving Still ?

She closed her eyes, her hands were on her temples clutching her face tightly. Her face crumpled, while her vanity was still loosely hanging by her folded elbow. She was barely there at the corner, sagged in the metal chair. She was too blank to even notice that she had smeared her eye-shadow while rubbing her eyes. She couldn't tap her feet to the DJ's beats anymore. She did not feel the p-a-r-t-y anymore.

She was passing out, and she knew that.

But the world moved on and the party did too. Where PYT's with halter tops intentionally dropped Amartya Sen paperbacks to catch attention, while guys made sure their shirts were unbuttoned properly for good cleavage view. The meat balls went well with Bacardi and everything was smooth.

But for her, she couldn't figure out much. She couldn't love the rains outside. She couldn't make her hips move like you. She couldn't talk about the fish pedicure that she read in Femina. She just couldn't.

She clenched her teeth, tried opening her eyes slowly making sure her lens don't fall off. The metal chair felt cold when she gripped it and then she made her way to the loo. After a little touch up, one pill and some quick-fix face powder she pulled her lips to make them look like a smile. The sudden rush of dead emotions, didn't matter much to her. The headache didn't let her think much.

It's like when you start living with a mild-ache in your head. It's always there, while you laugh at jokes, flirt with people or even when you kiss. The dizzy that keeps hitting you, that wants you to retire, that wants you to go blank.

But tonight, she fought. And won too.

She was out again with a drink in hand, trying to fit in. But the world moved on and the party too.Yet again.

Happy Anni....!!!

A certain someone stood there. Ofcourse, rather than the natural wavy curls it was blow-dried hair that day. The tee hugged her well, at all the right places. And the thing about skirts is that, no matter how much polished-descent-good you are, atleast on the pretext of complimenting her legs you can have a good look. Her skirt, was not as short as he perceived but who is complaining anyways.

Infact, if you exclude the bored wry smile off her lips, she looked pretty.

After approximately five minutes of sizing up each other, and some two minutes of blushing, the convo began.

As usual, the she broke the ice. "You know, I googled and found this 7-steps to blow-dry your hair.",running her hand through those ultra straight hair.

He nodded, as if he had any other option to respond.

She again, "Lets make it like a date nah. I know its been a year, but atleast lets give it a try. I mean, its not going to be that difficult if we just behave ourselves, not go beyond 4 shots, not abuse people and not start solving crosswords and sudoku puzzles. "

"Oh...like that.hmmm... But your legs are looking quite nice yea" He quipped.

"Stop staring stooopid, and Happy Anni...!",

and for a change, she blushed.

Stiletto stories.

When Pia is not jogging, or writing crazy stuff in her diaries or furiously typing theories about 'Life', she likes to put up her feet in those polkas dotted pajamas. Her hands firmly clutching the pillow, with fingers tapping it. She spent the next 10 minutes gaping at the box on her bed.

 

There was one thing she was very clear now. Window-shopping with loads of money can be dangerous. In fact, very dangerous.

 

The culprit, sat neatly packed in polished jute bag on her bed. Purple stilettos. The 3500-buck sexy monster had shown serious repercussions on their dating budget. Pizza's had to be trimmed from large to medium ones. Slumdog had to be seen from economy seats with ordinary salted pop-corns. Frappe's were replaced by lemon-iced-teas.

 

But of course, stilettos are stilettos. What Pia, felt being four and half inches above the heels is like the ecstasy of warm chocolates melting. She had never felt more feminine than this. Everything had a hint of pink & purple. She loved it all. Those humble posterior swings, and the way her body responded to those stilettos. She found herself moving so gracefully and watching her casual pony tail turn into wavy curls. Sport tees, started giving way to laced-puffed-sleeves and halter-tops.

 

Then Pia had one last look at her old sneakers. They looked so ugly, exactly like unwanted reference books in her university library.

 

She typed this sms to him, while still looking at the mirror.

"Rmbr to shave & put on your formal shoes.

I don't want you to look shorter :) "

P.I.A ~ Pia-in-Action I

"Tell me, have you ever seen the other side of life? I don’t mean the aspiring-filmmaker -art-documentary types. But the other side, which pops-up when life demands a plan-B.

It’s when you see deeper, deeper into the ice through the green apple vodka in your glass. It’s like glass on glass. Then only my boy, you see it. Look into my glass here, can you see Life’s WYSIWYG Editor through the vodka…or should we add some more ice?

 And you know what; you seem more intelligent than you actually are. Because for a guy, who can appreciate literature only on cough-syrup bottles, you appear quite geeky and smart. Anyways, you don’t worry. You have got enough boy-friend material inside you, to keep us going. But sometimes, you just fail to notice the finer things in life. No, it’s not the  embroidery on my Fabindia kurta that you ogle at the right/wrong places. But take for example this ice floating here in the vodka. You see, how the ice-cubes cling to each other. Just like dogs in heat. You fail to notice these finer things of life, except for the embroidery of course.   

 My Life’s WYSIWYG Editor says, ‘I need to sleep’. Goodnight D!

I’m saying Guuuudnaaaaight…are you listening to me…don’t doze off..stooopid!"

Of garlic breads

 

When at times, you make that extra effort to notice the how pretty the cheese looks on the top of the garlic bread, they look just like frozen waves. Like totally naked devoid of any ketchup. But the garlic bread still looked good with cheese dripping from all four sides.

 

Both of them took a really deep breath staring at the platter. Knife for the left hand, fork in right. Etiquette is something that is best left for family dinners, not for a place like this. When emotions and beer (‘Fosters’ to be precise) all run high, it’s always advisable to let your hands-n-lips do all the eating (and talking).  Her eyes twitched, and hence began the 3 course Italian dinner.

 

The red pepper sauce tweaked as if it screamed “Righto!” 

She was smiling at the way she responded to the whole ambiance. She was pleasantly surprised to notice how smoothly her hands moved, caressing the pizza toppings. Never did the fork and knife cling or strike the plate to make silly sounds. The cheese too behaved itself, respecting her gloss and lips. It did not stick all around her nose unlike tandooris and ice-creams.

 

 

It all ended with two sigh’s and one  un-apologetic long burp.

 

P.S :Her mom’s had her own version to define pizzas, which is “Just another crusty, stuffed overweight roti.”

Acting-Directing-Producing! see, I was busy :P

If u r scratching your head, see... this is a ad-film for a news channel called Nation Today.

Well, this is the Ad-film that we shot (my Team-Neollectuals) and we ended up winning the 3rd prize in our college fest, YAAAY!

We had a super time, shooting it. Scripting-casting-shootings-locations :P

And u know, I suddenly feel like a film-maker!

:P

I don't know.

 I don’t know. At times I really don’t know. For more than a dozen times, I have been told by them that ‘You don’t run things around here.’

 

Actually there are these two silly-looking great people whom I know. One of them is called EGO and the other is called MIND. Like all other genuine and good people, these two people believe they ‘run’ me.

They run me like an institution and make me do things. I scream, bitch, love, puke and sneeze.

 

EGO is more or less a good guy. He happily talks about himself. Likes to be inflated all the time. Thinks straight and pretends to be chilled-out. Mostly compatible to the MIND.

 

MIND is a little more complex than EGO. He’s the one who does all the thinking. He likes to analyze the ‘vice-versa’ way.

 

So, when EGO & MIND have a good time, I go berserk. Its all sounds so simple. I love my EGO which in turn loves my MIND. So, we have an entire Love-Cycle going on here.

 

My EGO doesn’t care about me, nor does my MIND. But, perhaps the good thing is that they are happy, happy with each other.

 

At the end of it, I still don’t know. I’ve had enough brainstorming sessions. Sometimes its better to leave EGO & MIND do their business of running 'me' and just sit back.

But yeah, at times it does feel real nice to say, “I don’t know.”

Line-marofying PROTOCOLs.

Line-marofying ..  

okhay, If we just try and figure out the shades of the word, we get something like Socializing which described with a little optimism would be "flirting" or negatively as "line-marofying”.

 Googling it gave me a very interesting meaning. Its says Line-marofying is a FUDGE word. Which I guess, refers to soft, creamy and candy-like. So, finally we have a word, that light-hearted with a loads of froth.

 Another one which I feel is correct, at least technically is

“…used to describe the action or inaction of a man who is as a man deemed to be the responsible party, to mean an inappropriately close communication or socialization between a man and a woman.”

 

A little digging into ex-files of your friend’s friends tells you that things generally (not necessarily) start off with a…

 

 1. LAME smile. Not a loud one, just stretch your lips a little, making sure all your teeth are hidden and gradually reveal a hesitant sparkle in your eye.

 

2. Pretend to POP your neck, humming a self-composed song. Make your first registered eye     contact. Start by glancing at the crowd. Pause at the person for exactly 3 seconds. 1..tick..tick..2..tick..tick..3 and then instantly de-focus from the subject.

 

3.  Stop! No, don’t crack your fingers next. The key now is patience. Just act busy.

 Now turn. FIRM is the word. Make your next registered eye-contact with a better smile.

 

 

and BINGO! You have done it. Walk towards the subject, start talking polite rubbish (as long as your talking its fine).

 

Have a Good time!

It's LIKE..

It’s like the Rat-race which bores you. It’s like when you find that old song lurking in you Music folder, which tells you a story. All over again. It’s like rubbing your stubble with a grin on a weekend. Its like tapping your feet when you want to pretend that you are bored. It’s like the extra cheese that sticks to your lips from the pizza. It’s like the pile of empty shampoo bottles on your loo-shelf. It’s like that smile that escapes your lips when Microsoft-Word underlines your spell errors. Its like, zebra crossings that look sexy on pitch black roads. It’s like the first sip of café frappe while looking at nail-paint on fingers clutching the pale coffee mug. It’s like the movies which make you cry. It’s like the nude lip-gloss which turns-you-on. It’s like, electric poles which you find ugly. It’s like crumpled papers in classrooms. It’s like fresh manicured hands feeding you chocolate pastries. It’s like the silence you hear, in-between honking of cars. It’s like the pimple that disappears without letting you know. It’s like the smell of damp roses to  you take time to love.

 

 

Oh…. I made you read this.

I’m so sorry ya.

:) 

Veggie-Shopping DATE

 

When wine, dine and candles at French Restaurants makes you feel like been-there  done-that. Try this. Let me introduce you to the Big-Picture of Retail Therapy-cum-Dating. Veggie-shopping although a slightly off-beat clause of Retail-Therapy, can still work wonders for you.

 

Go easy for the Dress-Code with pajamas, comfy tees and Boy! then watch those words flow. Lazy mornings while sipping those green-coconuts while looking into each other’s eyes will actually enhance your previously non-existent spiritual side. Holding hands in that cabbage-n-potatoes smelling-air lifts your spirits to that aroma, which even Cappuccino’s fail to do in coffee bars.

 

It’ll really amaze you to watch your Love grow while you choose fresh-red shapely tomatoes.  Prefer to buy broccoli's, chillies and Ginger for the little adventurous types. And cucumber, leafy spinach and melons for the soft at heart. Initially play safe by not buying garlic. The safest of course would remain great looking tomatoes.

No waiters or tipping, just Veggies and Love.

 

The golden rule for buying veggies is that, the best looking vegetable is always the best one of the lot. The more green and fresh the Brinjal looks, the better it is. Totally unlike choosing people.  

 

And that final soft peck on the cheek, while the bag full of vegetables looks on, is something you’ll remember.

 

Happy Veggie-Shopping!

And spread the Love too :)

LOO Tales.

How 'manly' can you expect a Guy to feel when he’s waiting for his girlfriend, holding a shimmering polished huge leather vanity bag, that too in front of a Ladies-Toilet. Yeah, those vanity-bags with truck loads of BLING and whose straps are hard-red complementing the textured gold leather.

 

This scene was not something that the guy was prepared for, nor was this something his Daddy had ever told him. He stood like a confused warrior at the entrance of the Loo, waiting for his girl to finish her business. And trying his best to avoid any potential eye contact with other Aunties and white laced pree-teen girls who too had certain business in the Ladies Loo.  

 

He checked his watch thrice. Fiddled with his cell-phone, re-read and typed dummy messages. He even had to bear the brunt of all the fairer-rosy-cheeks-species who raised eyebrows at him(single-alien-male-species) at their very own small protected territory, which was the Ladies Loo.

 

 After enduring eight-stressed minutes and 3-sigh’s, finally his girlfriend emerged from the loo, with a strange confidence which even he failed to understand. His face gaining slight dignity in her presence, he looked around at the Aunties with a  little smile. And then he and his girl, walked off. 

the Almost Romantic!

D: Can we atleast try sometimes to behave normally. Yeah, I do pity those 

auburn-haired bimbos but we can atleast pretend sometimes to be 

conventionally romantic. Atleast on Sundays and other public-holidays.

 

Pia: Gawd! I guess the Green-Apple-Vodka has finally hit you. Its damn 

smooth, nah.! And everytime you begin with your ‘romantic’ ideas, I almost

 choke while suppressing my yawn-cum-laughs.

 

D: Stoopid! Today even 5-year olds have pink-hair-clips to go with their Pink-

polka-dotted skirts. Maybe w\e can start taking a few tips from them. Why 

don’t you start with a compliment for my new tee…? Anyways, the vodka-accent

 strangley makes your voice more feminine.

 

 Pia: Oh! Really..wow… Yeah, I agree yaa. Window-panes too sometimes make

 more sense than skies. Your idea of playing the Contemporary-Romantics is 

actually not that hopeless.I think, we would need Swiss Chocolates for that. 

Little heart-shaped ones wrapped in golden foils placed in hand-crafted silver

 caskets with personalized initials like P.I.A.Sounds romantic na?

And what about white lilies and pink orchids flown in from Amazon or may be

 we can try Gerberas, carnations and roses too. And for the champagne hmmmm….  

Blanc de Blancs I think would be perfect for the evening because I have heard that

 the white Chardonnay grapes bring out the best from even idiotic-spoony-intellectuals 

like us. There’s also a brand new collection of green-apple scented candles at the mall.

 

D: Sigh.. sounds almost exciting. But I never knew playing Contemporary-Romantics could 

be so much  work and so so heavy on our parent’s credit-cards.

 

P: Okhay! Here’s Plan-B. Why can’t we just have loads of Butter-Chicken and then Kiss?

   See, that’s why I told you yawn-cum-laughs are difficult. Now please don’t smile, it’ll

 look vulgar.

 

D: Sigh!  Plan-B approved. I think, Miss. Congeniality suits you better than being 

a romantic.

 

Cosmetic-Boyfriend & other Accesories

 

Pia, squatting on the park bench. The sweat on her temples adding to that glistening look of her face. The wind-cheaters and jackets on the joggers of the park told Pia, that the winter has finally arrived. But, she was yet to feel the chill.

 

Folding her legs and sipping the herbal-tea from a recycled-paper cup… Pia chuckled at the fact that, the commercial viability of Herbal-tea exceeds tremendously over its over-estimated health benefits. And add to that, the brightly coloured eco-friendly recycled-paper cups!

She almost winked, thinking that “Yeah, people do care about Global-Warming. Congrats Planet! ”  

 

She remembered every single line that her so-called-friends had taught her last afternoon about how-to-hook-a-Guy. And the list was something like this…

 

# To tone down her ‘loudness’ to a more girlish-conventional level.

# To work on her current naughty-outside~thinking-inside image to more desirable                            shy-pink-skirts avatar.

# To avoid screaming at corridors and punching guys.

# To sit alone and smile at guys during lunch-breaks and put up a more approachable face.

 

And how can Pia forget the punch line, “Better the lip-gloss… longer the kiss. And trust me Pia, you’ll never be alone on DJ-nights.”

 

There are days when she laughs. But then there are days when Pia laughs. Maybe her friends will never understand. Maybe she’ll never ever care to clarify. Then he walked to her. She didn’t have to look at him to smile. She said, “You know what! My friends want me a get a Boy-friend…Sounds fun nah!”

 

“Oh really..! Stooopid, what‘ll happen to me then?” he replied, with the mildness still in his voice.

“No yaa….that would be a cosmetic-Boyfriend naah”

“Pia…Someday I’ll really kill you.”

“I love you too!”

“When did I say…I love you?”

 

Pia winked and said, “Is the conversation over? Can we kiss now?”

He was still saying, “Pia, I want to get this cleared now…right now…” when he suddenly started smiling and looked at her rhetorically-comical pout. 

 

 

the Pilot who used to Draw..

I do remember when every kid around me, wanted to become a Pilot. I too was one among them. Totally starry-eyed. When my school-uniforms would be more often than not stained with chutneys and ketchup. I too wanted to become a Pilot. When Uncleji’s at your place ask you, “Beta, what is your AIM in your life?” with that grin while sipping my maid made tea…. I would say “Piloootttt”.

And my expression would be like  totally unperturbed, flying and feeling the cockpit around me… as being a Pilot was as obvious as chicken in chicken curry.

 

 I too was a self-proclaimed Master-Artist. Sitting for hours… losing myself. Intentionally staining my hands, legs and tee’s with the paints and crayons to get that Painter-look.

 

How much of my creativity actually got down to the drawing sheet is quite  questionable :P

But yeah, I was an Artist exactly as I was a Pilot. Flying and drawing. Every kid was always an Artist, with no-exceptions. I know this may sound cheesy, But I honestly used to think that Drawing-Rooms are meant for drawing!

 

And then you Grow-Up. Grow-up old enough to choose your own brand of instant-noodles and to notice that the Pilot has gone missing. He no longer flies. And the Painter…Now he holds pencils only to draw circuit-diagrams, that too because his teacher insists  that they have to drawn by pencils only.

 

I’m still flying. But the Pilot is passé. I would rather prefer being a Seagull now...at sexy looking beaches and because Seagull sounds like W.o.W !!!

Richard Bach.. than’Q !

And my note copies, they contain classy expressions of my enhanced-Artistic-expertise, thanks to Engineering.

 

I’m not going to grow up that fast!

:D

 

\m/

 

 

 P.S: I would read all of Ur blogs and reply to coments soon.

      I'm trying to study since last week for my Sems. (plz note: Trying)

Love ka Tag!

As Broca says, this tag is all bout love! So, Doc, here are the answers. I have jus changed 2 questions... Hope u'll figure them out. 

1.If your lover betrayed you, what will your reaction be?

 I'll jus standup n say that last wala 'Good-Bye!' with a smile. No matter, How much it'll hurt.

Then I'll move on.

2. if you can have a dream come true, what would it be?

One Private beach !

3.Why does the guy always has to propose?

 Bcoz, he is the  guy :D

and, Love is not blind, when it comes to these conventions. Sex-Ratio has also to be considered (the faster...the better). 

4. Why do you blog?

 So that I can scream and bitch politely. And even find people to listen to me.

 

5. Will you fall in love with your best friend?

Well, I would  NOT like to LABEL people as lovers, best-friends and

U just love them.

6. Which is more blessed: loving someone or being loved by someone?

Loving someone. How 'll  someone love you, when you don't love them. (In case you are not Tom Cruise). Its the reciprocate thingy!

7. How long do you intend to wait for someone you love?

5 minutes. Then I call her from the coffee shop. "Stoooopid,I'm waiting... where are YOU??"

8. If the person you secretly like is attached, what will you do?

I'll try my best, not to get in a situation like this.

9. What will you do when you see your loved one cry?

We'll kiss first. And then if time permits  may talk also.

10. What takes you down the fastest?

hunger (as in food), hot weather, dirty politics.

11. What resurrects you the fastest? 

Breezy weather, butter chicken, some good sleep.

12. What’s your fear?

Forgetting my passwords, Getting bald,losing people.

13. What kind of person do you think the person who tagged you is?

Broca has something cooking in his head, which his blog does not show. 

14. What does Love mean to me?

Loads of real Conversations..... may not always be with words.

 

15. What’s the first thing you do when you wake up?

I look at my phone.

16. If you fall in love with two people simultaneously who will you pick?

I don't think, that's possible. Love is not like pastries, that you want both the flavours.

17. Would you give all in a relationship?

No. I don't think so. Relationships don't demand anything. (I hope)

18. Would you forgive and forget someone no matter how horrible a thing he has done?

I'll forgive, but may not forget.

19. Do you prefer being single or in a relationship?

The later one.

20. Tag  someone :D

Noelia

The GOATEE Saga

If you leave aside all the unmentionable’s and better still the un-unmentionable’s  there is something worth mentioning. Okhay, hold your breath… okay okhay Easy…easy..

 

I just realized I’m almost close to growing a full-fledged Goatee. I mean, its like when observe little carefully (so that I don’t get embarrassed) below my lower-lip… Bingo!!! You find that patiently-fully trimmed triangle like Goatee proudly standing. (although some ppl like me clean-chocolate)

 

A healthy Goatee is actually is the symbol of ‘coming-of-age’, its more like the... last of the facial-hair that comes. Something like Manhood-understated.

 

Goatee’s acts like a pseudo-confidence-booster, and interestingly the gaze shifts during conversations from to your eyes to your goatee. They make as excellent conversation starters and also work as props for pick-up lines! Just ask me, or even that guy…Johnny Depp ;)

 

 

By any chance if you have a very good memory, earlier I had said here that

 

Bald Men Uncles-(BMU’s) actually grow a beard to compensate for their hair on the scalp or simply to divert the attention from their shiny heads. Most BMU’s are seen to grow beards in different styles (read :goatees, french-cuts, full-beards etc).

 

So people, may be the hair on your scalp will leave you in your late-thirties.

But, the faithful goatee will always be there, close to your lips :P

 

                    For men may come and men may go,

                    The Goatee goes on for ever..

LIFE in Diaries

 

This festive vacation, Pia’s family had planned it all. 2 Family outings, Ladoo packets, family lunches, Gold jewelry and Pure silk sarees.

All planned exactly like a regular Bollywood Flick. 1-item number, 13 smooches, 2 action sequences, 1-Marriage song and 4 bed scenes.

 

 

Pia narrowed her sleepy eyes a little; open enough to see the mild morning Sun. And then from the green balcony she saw the Night-Watchman sharing a smoke with the weary-eyed Call Center employee. Both survivors of the graveyard shift.

 

She smiled, the way she smiles at those Fairness-Cream models. Cold, hollow and just beautiful enough to be called ‘Pretty’. 

Pia back again, to her Diary which has been crying for her attention since long. She writes… rather screams politely on her all-time favorite topic… LIFE!

 

 October 6th

 LIFE    part #xxx

Life’s like a Bean-Bag. It fits you perfectly with no surprises. All dyed in electric-purple. Live the way Life asks you to. Everything in its place. All robotic and smooth exactly like an Auto-Pilot. Don’t fight back, No rebellions. Right, the best way to live is By-Default. Just come, and play your part.

Finally everything becomes an Irony. Sometimes laughable.

The biggest fraud that exists is emotions. It’s like wet-paint. Touch, feel and forget. When people like me, the ‘Self-proclaimed-Thinkers’ scribble their expensive fountain pens on funky diaries… as if they’re doing a favor to this world… is also Fraud.

 

And when botox-enhanced Aunty’s dressed in ill-fitting Designer gowns on huge Vinyl hoardings say ‘Diamonds are forever…’ then it must be true. Because all that matter in an All-Frills-Life, is the Frills attached. It’s the Frills that make people live. If you have the frills, you have a Life. If not, then you can atleast have my sympathies.

 

La..laa..lalala…

The soft-rock numbers playing at the back of my head is what Long-haired Base Guitarist’s proclaim as Love!

 

 

 She smiled again, the way she smiles at those Self-Help book shelf’s in book-stores.

The microwave beeped. The smell of flavored cornflakes in milk…fills the air. Pia whispers “Cornflakes again!…uuuffff …How Un-romantic! ”

FRIENDS DE-coded

"People come to your life for a reason, a season or a lifetime. When you know which one it is, you know what to do for that person. When someone is in your life for a REASON, it is usually to meet a need you have expressed. And when people come into your life for a SEASON, they bring you an experience, but only for a season.

 

Then without any wrong doing on your part or at an inconvenient time, this person will say or do something to bring the relationship to an end. Sometimes they die. Sometimes they walk away."

 

I believe in this. Rather, I would like to believe in this. It makes everything less complicated. If I try to put this in a little more crude way, it means that everyone including milk-cartons come stamped with expiry-dates.

 

My contemporary Friend-List is something like this,…

 

 Class-mates, Ciggy-friends, Basketball-friends, Booze-friends, Blog-friends, Room-mates, Biker-friends, Snooker-friends, Hi-Bye-friends, Traveling-friends, Gym-friends, Academic-friends, Dandiya-friends, Friend’s-friends and Annual-friends who genuinely wish you Happy-New-Year…

 

So, don’t get me wrong, I’m not looking for a FRIEND to use all those old friendship-plastic-bands, rather I’m looking for a definition of ‘Friend’.

When almost everything in ‘ME’ is going smoothly and I redefined all the poetic emotions to custom-fit my life, suddenly I realized that I still need to define what ‘Friend’ means.

 

Currently, the SEASON-REASON theory is handy and works well. It sounds all very simple and perfect. And I think, YOU agree…or maybe you don’t!

 

 

 

 

of CHICKEN & others..

 

There are days when more often than not, Food gets classified as either Chicken or the anonymous Veggie. The former scores higher than the anonymous Veggie. Although quite debatable, Chicken is a strict No-No on Tuesday’s and Thursday’s because that has to do something with mythology and Mom’s.

The Green-shaped-sympathy-loaded-mysterious-looking Vegetables are always pitiful. Those little ones called Papayas and Brinjals sometimes also taste better than Artificial Flowers on my vase. Okhay, lets not compare the poor Veggie and our Chicken, because the Veggie’s chickening out!

 

 

 Then we have the much celebrated Butter-Chicken. The tch-tch it makes while rolling your tongue on that gravy laden meat quietly sitting inside your rolled roti is what Spiritual Guru’s call Life. It’s as important as Chicken in Chicken curry. Inside Burgers and momos, on pizzas and drowned in Biriyanis or in glossy KFC’s… all that matter’s is the Chicken in it. Every Beer-Belly worth his salt knows what ghee-coated-Chicken kababs are, and what it does to promote love and brotherhood while sharing the mint-chutneys.

 

 

And people its actually the pizza-topping that makes the Pizza, so whether you use the fork or lick the ketchup from your finger… all that counts is the chicken.

So, whether its family lunches or Dates, you finally know what to choose from the slick Menu cards.

 

 

No offence to  Dear Veggie’s ;)

D’Author is yet to discover Bliss in the Green Veggie Jungles.

SOPHOMORE rants

D’Author turns SOPHOMORE !!! 

An excerpt from D’Author ‘s Speech for the Welcome Party  for the 1^st Year-Freshies to be held on this 19^th , where he talks about the Ideal-Freshman, where he expects confused looking juniors to stare at him ;)  D’Author speaks on, as the freshers fight it out for the “Mr & Miss Electrique .08 "

 

“…  with just a few moments from now, you would be fighting for space on the Dance-Floor. Kicking asses… grasping eye-balls.. you keep dancing. Some dance with a little help from Fosters and Bacardi, some in love and some just dance for the sake of dancing. Dancing, drenched in sweat with the rains, dancing till you are dead, when your legs don’t hurt anymore. Till you are numb and happy, confused and happy, happy and happy.

 

Yeah, these are the same people who discuss Electrical Power systems and Transformers by the day, who give such legendary pelvic thrusts that would give even the Mithun’s and Michael Jackson’s a run for their money.

 

The Rain-Dance leaves you with your waterproof-mascara. You are there, deep, lost in the crowd…catching up with your breath. Checking your smudged lip-gloss with those moving hands… with the music ripping and pumping your soul.

You are still there in the crowd, with yourself. So, what we are looking for is a F.A.C.E that still holds herself among people, among the crowd. We are not looking for a super-model who can launch a hundred brands.

 

We are looking for someone who is simply ‘Happy’. We don’t want you to play the Guitar or be a squash-champion, we don’t want long blonde hair with curls , we even don’t want Academic-Hero’s… we want true , genuine people who know themselves. Who love themselves. The ideal Freshie should have the guts to scream out and say, ‘I have not regrets in my Life’. Someone who inspires you to love, not just the obvious sexual one.

 

Some one who can identify a Green Apple Vodka from a Single-malt.  We want people who can bitch about Britney Spears and argue about Sashi Tharoor  with the same intensity. Its not about how prejudiced you are, Its about what you make yourself, out of the years of gathered perceptions, prejudices and selective-grooming.

 

We don’t care if you have 30,000 scraps on Orkut, 600 so-called Friends on Facebook or if You are a God-damn champion of Pillow-fights on anti-social networking sites. We don’t care if you own the entire DVD collection of Sex & the City series. We don’t care even if your iphone is Wi-Fi enabled. We also don’t care if you spent your entire life of 18 years on an Organic Diet, pumping every possible muscle on that stuffed body in air-conditioned gyms. We are also not interested in the Electric Guitar your dooor-ka-rishtey ka Uncle gifted you from France. Wannabe’s with D&G’s please stay away too.

 

What we are looking for are R.E.A.L People, who don’t talk of World-Peace and of their Fight against illiteracy and poverty. We need people who can feel and makes other’s feel. And someone whom you would love to have a conversation with even in the middle of an extremely interesting Thermodynamics’ Class…

 

So, its your time now, Stand-Up and show us that you deserve a lot more than your Daddy’s After-shave lotion.

All the best, Junnies!!!  …”

Coffee talks..

 

The arm-chair felt so indifferent today. Pia slouched with her legs crossed. Her slender fingers lightly curled up on the curvy handle of the coffee mug. The nail paint in a screaming red shade, against the purple Coffee mug, which read ‘The World’s Best-est Friend!’ in spoony italics. 

 

Her fingers still feeling the brim of the mug. The day’s newspaper was still fresh, untouched and virgin. Pia felt the faint flavour of the fluoride Toothpaste still tarrying around her teeth. The French windows of her room were huge, and amid all the faint-yellow curtains was the morning Sun. Pia took one small sip of coffee from the mug.

 

It’s been over a year since she was gifted the coffee mug. The occasion for the gift, well ‘Nothing!’ D, had simply smiled and placed the decently wrapped gift on her palms and had walked away that evening. Pia stood alone, pleasantly surprised and the gift still resting on her hands.

 

Pia, now Ultra-smiling, with the Coffee-mug which said ‘The World’s Best-est Friend!’.

It was always because of this coffee mug that she liked coffee, not the other way round.

This weekend, lazing with the Sun, she had memories. Memories of days, when the coffee had tasted much much better. Memories of sun-screen coated hands and Ray-Ban shades at the beach.

 

Last night she had zonked out, after yet another exhaustive day in her regular jogging-college-hanging~out life. But this morning she smiled at those vanishing dark circles, and  after a very long time she knew, what she was going to do.

 

She fished out her cell-phone from behind the wrinkled bedsheets and called him up,

 

“See you in 20 minutes. Bye”

 

She could hear him smile.

 

 

Mental ~ Masturbation

 

Okhay, you haven’t heard of this before…or may be you have. Chances of you having been through a milder version of Mental Masturbation are quite high, people politely call it ‘Mood Swings’.

 

But mind it, Mental Masturbation is a few notches higher. Its pro-God cum pro-Satan. The Mental Masturbation-Syndrome (MMS) has quite a few observable trends, like :P

 

# Firstly, you start pitying the world. A tinge of dry humour pops up everywhere. People around you, gradually become potential ‘subjects’ to be studied, analyzed and reviewed, often with your condolence coated eyes.

 

# Then, all humanly feelings are exaggeratingly under-estimated. You shut the world behind you. And yeah, there are just two people left. The world and you. The better person obviously is You. And rest everything is gory and mechanical.

 

# Slowly you realise that, you seem to the perfect example for 'Been there,done that'. You leave back all the Nuclear Weapons, Anti-ageing-creams, Disc-brakes, Valentine cards, Dogs and sarcasm. Everything moves on. You start feeling Saintly, which perhaps is the last recoverable stage.

 

Mental Masturbation is a deeply researched subject with tremendous amount of funding from several societies all round the world. For purely sake of convenience, members have been tagged as

 MMR’s (Mental Masturbation Rookies)

 MME’s (Mental Masturbation Experts)

 

Both MME’s and MMR’s have their Secret Clubs all over with millions of Anonymous members and still counting. Most MME's who graduate to become MMR's have found enormous employment opportunities and serve as MMS-prototypes in world renowned Medical Colleges. They also serve as Visiting-Faculties for Psychopathology schools. 

 

So, whether you are a MMR or an aspiring MME, the future is too Bright!

#for more on MMS see here.

 

On-the-rocks Ads

Seagram’s is all about Seagram’s mega music. Green Label and Fosters again only means packaged Mineral water. Chivas Regal means Art and Golf Accessories. Kingfisher and King Cobra strictly are soda brands. Red and White Bravery Awards are genuinely the true mark of Bravery. The Blender’s Pride Fashion Tour and Smirnoff International Fashion Awards recognize talents in the Fashion world. Royal Stag Music promotes only music.

Bagpiper, McDowells, Johnny Walker, Haywards, Derby, Royal Challenge and Kingfisher are brands which strictly promote only audiocassettes, CDs and perfumes to golf accessories and mineral water.

Yeah, you have heard me right. Smirnoff is all about fashion wear. Did I hear Vodka….sheesh..no.. Please ….this is India. We don’t talk all this. Booze… gawd !!! Its even dirtier than sex. Shut those Scotch-Whiskeys back into the closet.

There are these ugly-looking-dingy places with grill railings called F.L.O.S a.k.a Foreign Liquor Off Shop. And when a nervous-looking Bunty enters FLOS he checks the place twice. He doubles up his steps, quickly exchanges his crumpled 500 ka note for crate of Xingaro and rushes back into the car to his equally nervous friends.

Booze is dirty, because the Health Minister says so. Because Bollywood says so.
And anybody and everybody who drinks is an Alcoholic… and a certified drunkard. Because Bollywood says so. How many times have you seen the Hero getting drunk and walking down the lane… screaming, shouting.

The problem with Bollywood is that there are zillions of Devdas-type characters who hit the pub every single time they are heartbroken from the Heroine. (plz note : Bollywood does not have Actors, we only have Hero’s n Heroine’s) .I hate the way the entire thing is so so exaggerated, which is not real at all. Its not even surreal. It’s fake. The way Alcohol is portrayed in our Movies is very very derogatory. It seriously does not uphold the Spirit of Spirit.

Ban the Advertisements, the movies. Impose 90% taxes on Tequila’s. So, all we get is Chivas Regal Golf Accessories and Saif with the Guitar says “Its you life, Make it Large ~Royal Stag”. With the Booze, Surrogate advertising will live too.

Popcorn ~ P.A.I.N

Popcorn Pain. No its not D’Author’s stylized version of Dard-e-Disco. Its simply is Popcorn pain. Don’t scratch your head.

Pain ,I’ll tell you is longer P.A.I.N … But again its not just about ‘moving on’. Its just that you have learnt to laugh back at life. When everybody has got a role to play, the same ...the obvious , even monotonous is an understatement. Every one is as, they are expected to be. Still scorning, beating life in its own multiplayer-game called LIFE.

The pain was always there, hurting you…screaming at your face… being indifferent when

you wanted to feel the pain. Yeah, people still called it pain. It never showed up on your face, but it was there. It was there to remind you that you are, and you do exist.

It’s a satire on pain, when you cry. When your open eyes deceive you and you close those freshly made eyebrows trying to face the pain. The noises in your head also dies down… when pain itself feels the pain…and you end up smiling. Not because you won, not because it does not hurt anymore. Because you feel the pain just for the sake of feeling it.Feeling the pain, itself is an insult to 'pain'.

Then you cry again. Cry for the pain you are supposed to feel. Deep down you smile at the pain to which you are trying to respond. You hate the fact that you are crying because you wanted to cry. It was you who allowed yourself to feel the pain. And now in stupor, you wonder who actually won…. The ‘pain’ or ‘you’.

The ‘Pain’ Vs ‘You’ match is over. The tears came and left. Someone won the match,but you are too tired to find out ‘who’. You are glad its over.

The pain too came and left. Instant Popcorn like Instant Popcorn pain.

And yeah, it does not hurt much too.

P.S : This my Dear people is my 50^th post.… yeah I like the sound of the word…. Its like ‘fiiifffteeee’. .. THANK-U all for bearing me.

Mahabharat for Desperate-Housewives

Yeah, Independence is something that Ekta Kapoor has given to Indian Television. After that KkkkKKkkkkKK-series on every channel that your remote can reach, Ekta yet again creates a ‘water-proof Bench-mark in Indian Television History’.



So now, the not-so-Desperate-Housewives can watch the Mahabharat, that too happily with the cleavage baring steroid pumped bodies where six-packs are compulsory for all the Gods. So, being God 15 years back was much easier and less stressful at the air-conditioned gyms with posters of mammoths, mallika’s and goliaths.

Waxed-shaved bodies and ready with straightened coloured hair, light stubbles and shimmering bodies. No, no I’m not talking about the desi-Baywatch, its called Ekta’s ‘mythology.’ Everybody wears black, jus like Rock-stars.

So, even if the actors look like puffed-crumpled pajamas, people will watch it… (read : independence) which again will inspire another B-school filmmaker to attempt another epic, ekdum corporate style. So, the next time your neighborhood Auntiji is caught gaping on Bhim’s 6-packs or adoring his angular biceps… don’t get bang your head and call the moral police, Auntiji has all the right to have a ‘good’ time. And the girls too, are more than perfect. Size zero is the minimum qualification… and they look pretty . Just like pure cold-plastic beauties.

So, when all the Gym-instructors come together and put in some dialogues with the regular aerobics classes….BINGO you get Mahabharat !

the RIGHT person.

Scene-1

The conversation seems endless. From Kareena’s new found zero-figure to Obama’s campaign, Art movies, and Parliament affairs to college affairs…. Everything has been talked, abused and praised.

You look at the low table in front of you. And everything seems so low. Low-waist skirts, low-waists-jeans for lower waists, lower-backless-noodle-straps, low seating and a feeling-low-MOOD.

And then on the low-table, you find glasses. Martini glasses, tulip shaped ones… large beer mugs with weird handles…single malt glasses…stemmed… cute shot glasses. And then you find people around the glasses. Good, ugly, ugly and ugly. People with trimmed stubble's, geeky glasses, maroon striped skirts and ethnic organic wooden bracelets. And surprisingly you are one among them too. (Or not too surprisingly.)

You are in the middle of all the action, talking, voicing opinions, and agreeing-disagreeing-agreeing taking a sip from that tall glass of cocktail. And then, you pause. And you actually PAUSE. Things move like a slow lightning. Damn slow. Then the questions start popping up… hitting you hard.

" Am I really enjoying all this?
Is this really me? "

And then the fraction of the second gets over, and you get back to ‘chilling’ again. Where you are back to cracking jokes on Paris Hilton’s new hair-do and trying your friend’s new car.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - ~
If you ever felt that PAUSE, that moment that asks you, “Hey! Is this me?”
I think you are still waiting for that RIGHT person in your life.

I’ll also offer you my Reverse-Theory… which says,
There are times where you don’t have to actually pull your vocal-chords to make it vibrate…
If there is one person with whom everything is effortless, most importantly the conversation where words just flow, flow like nothing else …. And you don’t have to PAUSE to think “Hey! Is this me”

Then my Dear! Yeah exactly then, at that moment you have found the RIGHT person for you.

So till then keep ‘chilling’ or ‘waiting’.

Music credit: Sabse peeche hum khade~SilkRoute

untitled yet...

I’m still. The paperback firmly in my hands .I was trying hard to read on that not-so-perfect ride on the highway. Even at the 5th gear, the car seemed slow. The 2400cc engine was noisily working when the Driver pressed the gas-pedal. I was somewhere in the back seat. Looking through the translucent windows… taking a break after every single line, the paperback didn’t hold my attention for too long. Am I invisible to the world, or is the world invisible for me. Whichever way it is, the World and Me are both happy with each other. No hard feelings.

Do I need a journey like this to actually sit back and gather my thoughts… find all those little pieces of my life, complete the puzzle and amuse myself? I look through the window, smile…and Hey!!!.... where did these thoughts come into D’Author’s mind. I’m supposed to attend a party in a few hours, and who is this girl-in-the-rain living inside my puffed-hairstyle. No, no… don’t think about her.

"The rain drops took away the mascara from her eyes. Yeah, those ones which blinked every time she talked and which closed suddenly when she sneezed. There are days, when it rains…. And there are days when it rains too..

I had this thought that how would she look in a white chiffon sari as a Hindi-pickhar (picture) heroine. (plz note ‘Heroine’ not Actress) dancing in the rain. The way she brushed aside those wet strands of curly hair off her face, made her look cuter…

When her sandals make funny noises, and demand your attention. Those water flying off the puddles on the footpath… when she intentionally jumped on them and you still keep walking. Hands in hand… entwined like i-pod headphones, living every moment of the moment…”

Okhay…okay D’Author, I know… and we all know… The girl-in-the-rain...I’m not going anywhere. The parties, the DJ’s and the booze can wait. And they will wait.

Some times life is better than Fiction. Yeah, it is.

# Gimme a title...yaa plz

The Secret..

Before I say anything here, I need to give one big *smile* to Abhu. She was the person who first shared ‘The Secret’ with me. And from then, I attracted all those people whom I wanted in my life. Not because of a silly word called ‘coincidence’, it was because I wanted them.

For less advanced forms who want to know, what-the-hell-is-this … hold on. The Secret is more than what I can say. The Secret is ‘The Law of Attraction’, which rules everything under and above the Sun. And it has NO Exceptions. You don’t need to be 6-feet tall, have 6-packs or own the i-phone to be influenced by The Law of Attraction. It’s more like Law of Gravity, which makes you fall from the Eiffel Tower no matter how good or bad you are.


The Law of Attraction says, you can attract everything into your life you want. The entire Universe re-arranges itself so that you get what you wish. This Secret is not new; we have seen it all over and everywhere. May be you didn’t notice or may be you noticed but didn’t care.

You create your own universe as you go along. And trust me … Life should be absolutely phenomenal, it should be and it will be. It’s all about following your Bliss. We just cannot live on an Auto-Pilot or by-default. Life’s got more for you. It made me realise that I have been loving myself for 19 years. A few days back when I said to ‘someone’ (yeah, I guess… now it’s obvious) that ‘There is something beyond us. A Connection which is bigger than just You n Me… something whose magnitude surpasses everything.’

I cannot believe myself, what made me say that. But there is a invisible connection, more like Wi-Fi. It amazes me, how every single thing effortlessly pushes you to achieve what you conceive. When I re-read Illusions, perceived~perceptions and To-God.., I was amazed how I was smoothly heading towards …... . . ... with zero effort.


The video of The Secret was quietly sitting on my hard disk since days, until today when the Moon passed in between the Sun and Earth… (read: Solar Eclipse) and my college gave hard-working souls like D’Author a holiday. And I watched The Secret, because I wanted it. I had wished for it. Take a look at your hand, its not all blood nerves, flesh, bones… Its Pure energy.. which can attract all the Ferrari’s , dollars, apple-pies, porn-movies, triceps, or even your own personal Victoria Fall.

The Secret is not a self-help book or a educational documentary. Genuinely, just wish for it, and you’ll watch it or read it.
That’s the Law of Attraction. See this for more info.

….. Take it easy and have fun !

UPDATE : Read Deepika's 'The Secret'- PART II , here ;)

“Howz Life ??”

The Beer is smoothly slipping down your tongue, perfectly chilled the way you want it to be….the dim lighting is again perfect… And then suddenly a long-lost-not-so-friendly-neighborhood-Spiderman-friend drops from the ceiling with his angular eyebrows –cum- wicked smile… and asks you..

“Howz life ???”

And then the standard-company-fitted by-default answer…. “Yeah, I am fine.”

Are you serious? Are you actually FINE? What does Fine mean for you? I guess, that means you are neutral to every thing around you and are happy to drag your ‘so-called’ worthy existence on this planet for no particular reason.

If you think, that you are Fine, I’ll tell you How you are… You are so damn screwed up….that you never even bothered to see where you are heading to; you are biologically as close to Plastic and I totally agree that You are FINE.

‘Fine’…., is that the way you sum up your entire life…. The good, bad and the ugly times all stuffed into that one dead word. Fine as in blood pressure, cholesterol and diabetes, or Fine as in platinum jewelry or ketchup with French-fries. I have to sit back and may be think for a few days to answer how really my life is!

How-are-you and I-am-fine are like Tom and Jerry… always together, complementing each other. But did you ever make an effort to get out of the box and atleast be true to yourself. I’m not saying that you are sad and sick… but if you happy-alive-kicking get out and tell it to the world.

‘Wassup’ … although the compressed version of How-are-you, still has the same crap potential. How-are-you or How-am-I is something that we need to ask ourselves. Rather than just blurting out ‘Yeah, I-am-fine’… even in the middle of the Sahara Desert taking lessons on the French Dining Etiquette with camels.

If everybody is so FINE, then how does D’Author still has readers?
Stand up, scream and answer that not-so-friendly-neighborhood-Spiderman that you are a lot more than just Fine !!!

JOGGING DIARIES..

Pia’s morning alarm never annoyed her. She looked forward to this part of the day...where she could be just ‘Pia’… no image to portray, no conventions to be followed, no cliques to fit into. She loved it. She loved herself. The Sun as always was on perfect time every single day, unlike her long list of ex-boyfriends. Her love affair with the Faint-Gold Sun was not new.


How smoothly the Sun would come up to her room, quietly through the yellow curtains to say her "Hi!!!". When the still mild rays didn’t hurt her eyes... just warm enough to convey that..."Yeah, um there for you".

Pia’s first love will always be jogging. Her world, where she can leave back everybody else and be on her own. Streching herself for that extra mile. Running through empty roads, which would be packed with bumper to bumper traffic in a few hours. Empty traffic signals. This is the world she truly loved. She at the centre of her world.

But as always, she wanted today to be special… she patiently waited for the violins to play, the bells to ring… those imported Jasmines to fall from the sky and the magic to happen.

The ‘Right-Time will come’… yup, these were the words she repeated to herself.
Pia always believed in dressing right. She felt this way she could camouflage her deepest feeling. Her blue tracks and white tee, had already set the mood for the morning. You cannot exactly call her shy, but yeah… she finds it difficult to open up sometimes… Nothing gonna stop her today…


Every drop of sweat that slid down her temples left her with even more energy… to keep running. She never needed those head-phones plugged into her ears….

Running… for herself… Running for her love… for all those cute-guys in her life… running for her passion… for those feelings which newspaper’s call ‘undying-spirit’…. Running for all those things made of flesh and blood…. Running for the Sun..

music credit : Kaun Hoon main ~ mera pehla pehla pyaar

Flickr ka TAG !!!

Broca d Doc !! has tagged me. Well, its very simple... so dat even u people can understand ;)
Rules:-
1. Type your answer for each of the questions into Flickr search.
2. Using only the 1st page of the results, choose one random image.
3. Copy and paste the URLs of each of the images into Big Huge Lab's Mosaic Maker to create a mosaic of the chosen pictures.
The Billion~Dollar questions are...

What is your first name?
What is your favorite food right now?
Which high school did you attend?
Which is your favorite color?
Who is your celebrity crush?
What is your favorite drink?
What is your dream vacation?
What is your favorite dessert?
What do you want to be when you grow up?
What do you love most in life?
What is one word that describes you?
What is your user name?
And.. BINGO !! You get this

I dunno, if u can guess any answer's bcoz the pictures I got from Flickr were quite random, but I guess thats the fun of it.

And bout re-tagging... My blog-roll is loaded with lazyBones like D'Author himself. So, It would be fun to see Deepika's answers !

classic ~ Illusions

Perhaps it’s no coincidence that you’re reading this blog. Perhaps there is something… why you came here. I choose to think so. And I choose to think my messiah is perched out there on some other dimension, not fiction at all, watching us both, and laughing for the fun of happening just the way we planned it to be.

The little paperback which was innocently waiting beside the coffee mug... it had a strange name too, it read "Illusions- The Adventures of a Reluctant Messiah." I started the book and finished it too. (no duh's plz). I mean, what I went through between the front and back-cover is timeless... That's all I can say !

Please don’t even think that this is a Book-Review. I feel too small to even attempt appreciating the book. A few things in the world are to be just to be felt. I mean, it’s beyond words. Someone had rightly told me that, “It’s too great a book to be discussed.”

And I stick to that. I cannot even capture of an iota of what I felt. I don’t know if the book had a climax, but at one point of time… I went numb. Yeah…I totally blacked out. I just could not talk for minutes.

I’ll try to give you an idea of the plot. There was a messiah (as in Son of God)… who resigned from the job of a messiah, which makes him kind of a ‘Reluctant Messiah’.



A little later, I even thought that “Have I become so sensitive or is it Richard Bach’s spell?” Whatever be the answer to that… I was just satisfied when someone told me that, “Its fine to be confused and happy at the same time.”
The book has got more than enough potential to transform you into a maniac. (but mind it… u'll end up being a very intelligent Maniac.)

A few lines, which made me re-think about a lot of things are…

“Well, Richard we are magnets, are not we? Not magnets. We’re iron, wrapped in copper wire and whenever we want to magnetize ourselves we can. Pour our inner voltage through the wire, we can attract whatever we want to attract. A magnet is not anxious about how it works. It is itself, and by its nature it draws some things and leaves others untouched.”

How about I allow the world to live as it chooses, and I allow me to live as I choose.

If you practice being fictional for a while, you will understand that fictional characters are sometimes more real than people with bodies and heart beats.

Dying is like diving into a deep lake on a hot day. There’s the shock of that sharp cold change, the pain of it for a second, and then accepting is a swim in reality. But after so many times, even the shock wears off.

We don’t even have to answer to ourselves, if we don’t feel like it… there’s nothing wrong with being irresponsible. But most of us find it more interesting to know why we act as we do, why we make our choices just so-whether we choose to watch a bird or step on an ant or work for money at something we’d rather not be doing.

Everything in this book may be wrong.

Isn’t it strange how much we know if only we ask ourselves instead of somebody else?

If you ever wish to read "Illusions"... just wish. Yeah, and u'll get it !

College CALLING !

The idea of a 90 day vacation for 19 year old sounds crazy and even gets crazier if it gets extended to something like 105 days. With still about full 4 days left… I just want to sit back and think… how I have managed to get away doing absolutely nothing, every single hour…every single day at a stretch for more than 100 days.

Do you think I feel apologetic or guilty, NO WAY… Trust me, this was perhaps the last vacation for me. I mean… thanks to my college, I am not going to feel unemployed again… for the summer trainings that are being lined up from next year onwards. So practically, my next break is going to come when my wife delivers a baby…. which is something like a maternity leave. (Or paternity… um not sure)

So as it is, I have to change diapers and make milk-supplements in the next vacation… I am not totally wrong by not doing anything constructive this time.

I’ll tell you, what’s life all about?

“You are born, you study, get married, make babies and insurance policies... and die.”

That’s it.
Later don’t regret that you never got time to laze around, exactly and specifically do nothing for 100 days.

This vacation was a complete Bollywood masala movie, there was a hero (aka D’Author), a heroine (plz stop smiling) and the villain (my physics back paper)… I really had a blast. Unfortunately for you, most of the things don’t fall under the ‘mentionable’ category. You see, I love the word ‘mentionable’. It manages to say so much with out saying anything. It’s like Jennifer Aniston wearing a skimpy black dress. She is looking amazingly sexy, but there is still a lot left for the imagination.
I mean, if I tell you every thing what’s left for you to imagine. There were a lot of fun things to do. Anyways, smart-thinkers and over-smart-thinkers please spank yourself…dirty minds!!

All good things like ice-creams, scotch-whiskeys and vacations come to an end. 4 days more and D’Author has to get up at 6 in the morning… shower, shave and reach college in his brand new kolhapuri chappals. (ethnic-style u see !)



music credit: Aaj main upar~Khamoshi

Last Cigarette.

If there was one thing in the world that defined and re-defined the word ‘FEEL’ for me, it was my cigarette. No-nonsense, no crap talks… just one word ‘feel’. That dizzy that it sends to your head & your soul which leaves you feeling blank. No, genuinely words here are a confinement. Especially when you dope at the centre of no-where and the world floats around you. Everything becomes so damn slow… you feel like jumping and catching the clouds up there.

All those DUNHILL packets carefully stacked in the small zip pouch of the bag along with notebooks… The right way of lighting it, with the Zippo…the falling of the ash… the tapping on the ash-trays… That quick smoke’s during the lunch breaks, where the ‘feel’ still lingers in our body long after, that helps you endure through any lecture or lab no matter what your day or mood is.

I can never forget those night-outs where in the dead of the night… on lonely highways… amid total darkness, all you can see is the bright orange tips of glowing cigarettes. Or smoking in those closed cars… within thick white clouds. Or sharing that last cigarette of the pack with someone, saying “chalo yaar.. Counter maar lete hain…” (Let’s share it). Those quiet beaches, of course with the fag with the salty wind hitting you. Or may be when faint stains of lip-stick cum lip-gloss on the filter lying on the ash tray, puts you in a tizzy and turns you on. Or when the Insignia was still lightly resting between my fingers.
How effortlessly, the smoke would disappear, leaving behind those fine ashes on your jeans. How amazing they were.. the Ash-Games, Trafficking.

How can I ever 'regret' that I used to smoke? Doesn’t these things mean anything to me, Why can’t these memories belong to me?

This BonJovi number (Last Cigarette)… was like Bliss for me. My Last Cigarette, yeah… I had decided which and where my last cigarette would be. I wanted my last fag to be a smooth-timeless-classic one… whose memory could be with me for ever. I relished every single puff… that directly went to my soul. I was not sad about quitting, but I wanted to LIVE that moment to the fullest. And tell people all through my life, how that last cigarette was. The last puff of the last cigarette ended… I pressed the butt on the ash-tray and the flame died. It died out of my life. And, then started another smoke-free BRAND NEW day.



P.S:
1.No matter how glamorous or exciting this post sounds, “Smoking Kills.”
D’Author has been a non-smoker since the last 7 months.

Music credit: Last Cigarette~Bon Jovi ,
Image Credit: Deviantart

…missing~BLUES

He was there. Somewhere in between the crumpled white bed-sheet and pillows. Just laying still, letting his mind or rather heart do all the work. His head still buried deep into the pillow. He wasn’t ‘Moody’, but he couldn’t find a better word to describe the evening. Most of the mentionable things in his life were perfect. Still, there was this itch in his mind. To find that one thing that was still not in its right place. How long can he lie to himself… in the back of his mind, he knew exactly what he was missing.

Still from under the pillow through the corner of his eye he checked his phone for the 23rd time in the last 10 minutes. No sms-es, no calls. It was not because of the rains that he was indoors. He didn’t feel like hanging out with his gang, it was different today.

Running his hands through his already messed up hair and feeling the rain through his bedroom’s window, he was lost in his world again. The world which was his… his own. It was raining, and all the cats and dogs of the world were falling, raining real hard… as if the rain drops had something to tell him. He looked at the coffee mug, which was piping hot a few hours ago, which also cunningly tried to tell him something… He thought, “Isn’t it so obvious what he’s missing…”

He was still fumbling with his i-pod headphones entwined with his cell-phone charger which seemed as if they were knotted forever… made for each other. Got tired from un-tangling and re-tangling those wires, checked his phone again and drowned himself behind those huge white pillows.

Slowly getting lost in the artificial fragrance of the detergent from the bed-sheet… he was happily disturbed by a beep-beep sound from his phone. It said, “1 text message Received.”

He sprang back to life. You should have seen the 100, 0000-MegaWatt sparkle in his eyes, enough to light up an entire World-Cup Football field.


Music credit: Dooba Dooba- SilkRoute

Professor n his Pussy-Cat-Dolls

Other than the occasional pretentious coughs, the rattling of pens, and the crinkling of crisp papers, there was only person talking loud and clear in the classroom. That’s Prof. Desai. Every word that left his mouth with copious amounts of pan-masala and spit were crystal clear. After 15 minutes of electrical circuits and 6 long pages ‘valuable’of notes, Prof. Desai briskly walked through the neatly lined up benches. Carefully analyzing each pimpled face which immediately bowed to avoid any potential eye-contact with him.

Don’t cha… wish your Girlfriend was hot like me…..
Don’t cha… wish your Girlfriend was freak like me…

Don't cha...

The Pussy-Cat-Doll number blared from the second row. In an instant, all attention of the class shifted from electrical circuits to the ‘Girl in Pink’, who by now was standing.

Pia’s heart skipped a beat. How could she forget to switch-off her cell-phone or at least put it on ‘silent’, that too in Prof. Desai’s class. She felt temporarily paralysed.

Don’t cha wish your Girlfriend was hot like me..
Was still playing. Pia regained her senses, fumbled with her purple bag designed with beads. Finally reached for her cell-phone and switched it off. The silence that followed this, was killing her. It’s the same silence she felt, when she had proposed her ‘guy’. But this was different and freaky too.

Ironically, there was a hint of invisible happiness on every other student’s face, because there class was over. All they had to do was, ‘sit and watch the magic’ of the ‘Prof and Pia’ episode. Unfortunately for Pia it was a BAD day. Prof.Desai broke the uneasy silence, which was followed by a 30-minute long lecture on ‘Mobile Ethics & Manners’.
Pia had no choice but to enrich her knowledge, by the preaching.

The Prof began, “In my 35 years of teaching the brightest minds of the country, never had a single cell-phone ring disturbed me in my class.”
Pia thought, that there was no cell-phones, 35 years back… but anyways, who cares.

Prof, next discussed how the cell-phone was invented, used, misused, abused. The entire Tele-Communication Engineering was part was also covered. Pia wondered, how Prof. Desai could talk about such irrelevant things, which had absolutely nothing to do with her. Her legs were aching by now, standing with head bowed down on her 3 inches heels.
For the next 10 minutes, Prof was still discussing on the vaccination of female Giraffes in Kenya which were obviously related to cell-phone manners. Pia carefully looked at her watch…. Still 20 minutes to go. She knew that even interrupting Prof, with an apologetic ‘sorry’, would mean another PhD lecture on the customs, rituals of Thailand-Tribal on ‘how to say Sorry’.

“Miss. Pia please do not repeat this highly irresponsible and careless behavior of yours.”
“Yes, Sir. Sorry…Sir.”
The long long class ended, Pia slung her purple bag on her shoulders, and ran out of the class into the corridor, switched on her phone and called him up, “Hey! You know… I screwed up Prof. Desai’s class today. Anyways…just wait... I am coming right now!”

to GOD, with lotsa love...

Dear God…

I really wanted to say ‘thank you’. I know, you are sitting up there, wearing linen-satin robes on that plush velvety couch. Your spotless white hair, just like snow. I know you are there. Watching me. Thank you, for my LIFE. I am so in love with it. I am not saying that I don’t have my share of problems in my life. It’s just from today, that I am enjoying this. Standing up and telling them, I don’t care. It doesn’t hurt anymore, no more pissed-off-evenings. I don’t care anymore if my ash-tray is crying for my attention in the dustbin.

I really loved you, when you just gave me those little little things when I am just not expecting them. That day, when she first talked to me or when I danced at the coffee shop just to win that silly game of ‘Dare n Truth’ or when you send your cute girls to give me compliments. Thank you for those friends, to laugh at my jokes. The confidence you gave me, when I can scream and say “I got no regrets in my life”.

I know God reads blogs too.


I am not gonna sleep today, coz I know I learnt to LIVE today. And, Yeah… I got a ‘Back’ problem. I mean I flunked in the Physics paper of this semester. Its just that, my kind college prefers to call them ‘Back’ papers. Another 3 days and I’ll clear that too. But God, I am telling you… don’t give me so much confidence. Or else, I keep on doing on crazy things like I have been doing all my life.
Thank you for the playing perfect songs from my playlist whenever I need it the most. Now, I want to you to stop smiling and look into other people’s lives also.
B'coz, I have learnt to LIVE today.

Thanks…. You’re a SPORT. Truly!
Have Fun…Ciao!

D’Author

perceived ~ Perceptions

***WARNING: Extremely philosophical. Don’t try ‘this’ on real people. D'Author or the title has no intentions to confuse u.***

"What’s wrong or what’s right!" ...How do you decide?
You see… what’s right or what’s wrong totally depends on how you see it. Which means your perception towards something actually decides how you feel about it.

So perception after perception, eventually your thoughts, opinions get biased and prejudiced… without even you realizing it. But still, you strongly believe in them. And when a herd of wise looking people have more or less the same perceptions, which gradually become beliefs, these ‘intelligent-looking’ people form something called a ‘society’. This is the place, My Dear! , is where we live.

Atleast ‘hypothetically’, it’s impossible and unreal to have a perfectly rational perception. And this thought… although sounds hypothetical, is nonetheless true.

Because we are humans (don’t tell duh! ... it really NOT that obvious) So whether we want or not, directly or indirectly out thoughts are shaped by people we love or hate, the pizza topping we prefer, books we read, the cocktail we like, the brand of jeans we put on, the songs we hum… blah blah…

So you see, even the brand of shaving cream I use, innocently and quietly influences me.
I repeat, “Because we are humans”, we are bound to be influenced.

Its like, if A thinks boozing at a Pub is a taboo, at the same time B thinks that scoring 98.7% in a semester is a sin.
Or when X says, “There is nothing like a bad song or a bad painting”. We may disagree because we may not be ‘groomed’ (or say prejudiced) enough to appreciate that song or painting.

Now tell me, is it worthy enough to get opinions, views, criticisms, comments, compliments from other people who are undoubtedly biased or influenced in some way or the other and have their own inclined perceptions.

Coming back to square-one, there’s absolutely NOBODY (atleast on this planet) who can offer you a ‘rational’ explanation on ‘What’s wrong or what’s right!’
Not even YOU!!

neyways..u can leave ur ‘biased’ comments on this ‘influenced’ post…below…

d 'Pretty Woman' in my LIFE !

She radiates grace… like no one else. I cannot find words. The 1st time I saw Simran (I hope, I can call her that) was on the NDTV-GOODTIMES show called ‘One life to Love’. Not exactly, ‘love at first sight’, but episode after episode the charisma with which she candidly talks about relationships, life, love and life-styles left me immensely impressed.

I felt an intellectual-attraction towards her. No, its not about getting attracted to older women. Rather the beauty of her mind… fascinated me. I would not like to call this a crush, because it’s a lot more than just a silly-teenage-crush. People like Simran make me wonder… “Why was I not born a few years back ??” Sometime back, I even thought that "How would it feel to have a cup of coffee and some great conversation with her.... .. .. .. "

Okhay... her name is SIMRAN BHARGAVA ...

Well.... she has been a writer and editor with the India Today group for several years, has also been the editor of Cosmopolitan for four years. She wrote a column called “Simran on Saturday” for Financial Express, which became one of the most popular columns in the newspaper. She is deeply interested in, and has spent many years, researching issues of personal well-being. Simran has a post here, where I guess... you can have an idea of what her thoughts are.

I managed to find some old copies of her column “Simran on Saturday” on the net… Trust me…they still feel so fresh and clear.

Earlier this ‘slot’ of my life was reserved for Shobha De. But I think her ‘more than required’ Page3 presence is totally unwanted and uncalled for. This very fact somewhat removes the ‘no-nonsense and un-prejudiced’ tag that I used to associate with her.

Read my previous crush on Jennifer here (No.. um not Blushing !)

G-Talk FILES

rockin.Dude : Heeyaaa !!!

sweety.19f : Does that mean ‘Hi’ ? ….
.... .. .. .neways…

rockin.Dude : So, Bayyeebee ! howz ur mood today?

sweety.19f : Oh.. puhleezz…don’t call me ‘Baby’. Um fyn..

rockin.Dude : K….I’ll tell u a joke, and cheer u up!

sweety.19f : hmm…go on..

rockin.Dude : Tell me, “Why is 6 afraid of 7 ?”

sweety.19f : What ??? Dis is the joke ??

rockin.Dude : C’mon ya ! Jus anwer my question… “Why is 6 afraid of 7 ?”

sweety.19f : duh !! .. hmm… dunno

rockin.Dude : Okay.. I’ll tell u..
bcoz, “7 ....ate ... .. 9”
u see, “7 .. .. 8(ate).. .. 9”

sweety.19f : oh..

rockin.Dude : lol… its so FUNNY nah ! dats why 6 is afraid of 7 !

sweety.19f : yup

rockin.Dude : :)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 7 minutes

rockin.Dude : Don’t u like talking to me ?
Are you busy ?

sweety.19f : Oh No .. .! its really nice talking to you.
So tell me… wassup ?

rockin.Dude : You know, Dad is planning to buy a new bike for me. It’s a Honda X-172with 600cc of pure power. Interestingly it has a Oil-cooled Engine, rather than the conventional Water-cooled one. It can go 0-100 in flat 5.9 seconds. Exciting nah !

sweety.19f : yup

rockin.Dude : Should I go for the Green colour one with tiger-prints and customized black stickering on the Bike …. OR … Red-Yellow hot combo with Goldy-silver streaks across the fuel tank and The tail-lamp ?
Which colour do you prefer for the Bike?

sweety.19f : well…the Green one sounds fun..

rockin.Dude : Even I thought so... See we even think alike ;)

sweety.19f : This ‘Rockin Dude’ is BORING me like HELL !! He’s such a MORON-DUMB-ASS.
Gawd!!! He cracking PJ’s and talking BIKES… can u imagine?
I’ll block that monkey, right away!

sweety.19f : Omg!!! .... I copy-pasted the message to the wrong person.
Hey … ‘rockin.Dude’….. I seriously didn’t mean to hurt you..Um genuinely sorry !
Honestly… I didn’t mean all that I said … . .. .. …


rockin.Dude is OFFLINE now. Messages you send will be delivered when rockin.Dude comes online.

Dated xx June '08

a MALE Prototype

There are certain quirks which are wired into our DNA’s. Something which is an 'in-built' feature of the ‘boyish’-circuit.. And makes us act in a more stereotyped way.

Raymond suits or Marlboro cigarettes don’t make a ‘complete man’, but surely these quirks do. Because these are natural traits (mind it… not prejudices) unlike ‘the complete man’ brand strategies.

Lets take all Husbands/Sons/Boy-frens/Brothers in one bracket: the Stereotype Male (say SM). Every guy ‘by-default’ is a SM or at least a semi-SM.

Whenever you see a SM walking into a jewelry showroom, he feels like an Green-Alien in a Gold-yellow-planet. Even a 5 year old SM feels bored here. Primarily because he doesn’t understand them. (Unless he’s a Jewelry-Designer) He feels lost...

SM’s are the sole reasons, why you find couches and comfy-cushioned seating at jewelry shops, where they can sit and wait till their female counter-parts can do the shopping. Ironically, you can also observe SM-SM bonding at these places. Like the Prisoners-of-War at Timbuktu-Central-Jail, SM’s gel with other SM fellows, because they precisely understand each other.

No SM can differentiate between a bangle and a bracelet.. Nor do they know the different designs and types of saris. A SM’s knowledge is still primitive here where saris are very long piece clothes and Gold is an over-priced metal. This does not mean that we SM’s cannot appreciate beauty or creativity. Rather I would say that we totally lack in this feminine-shopping department..

So, the next time you see a SM smiling and enjoying while jewelry/sari shopping, you know he’s faking it.

SM prototypes may slightly differ in their behavior due to external factors.

**(conditions apply )

image: deviantart

misc-thots-dunno-whatelz

That precise moment. For that one nano-second of your life where you really want to let yourself free. Without thinking a word on whats coming next. To hell with the consequences. For once, I’ll do what I want to do. No more protocols, no rules. No more people to impress.

No more lip-stick stained cigarette butts on my ash-tray.
No more single malts and skinny jeans.

I may be wrong. But every decision may not be rational, logical or justified in any sort of way. I’ll never regret this…whatsoever. It’s my game and I’ll play it my way. All those opinions and critics can go to hell.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 20 mins later

I love Madonna’s ‘La Isla Bonita’ like the first time I heard it.
Not feeling hungry, angry or any other popular emotions that my fellow beings feel. I am being rational, logical…my foot. Sulk…sulk.
Mirrors don’t lie to you. Yeah… I had read that some where. I stare at myself. Stare. Stare some more. I quietly sneak into the balcony. Flickering street lights. Tried looking at the stars…15 minutes later…still no respite…If you thought counting 1-to-100 makes you feel better, then the joke is on you Dear ! (read : meditation, yoga, whatever n wtf)
God.. what’s happened to me? This is not new to me. I have my own reasons. This what I exactly wanted sometime back. But sometime back… was sometime back. Half-kilo of ice-cream can’t make you happy. I am missing my fag now. No.. I am not missing it…2 dates in 8 hours.. Have I become a maniac? This is as close I can get to a nervous-breakdown. But, the other person keeps smiling. A cold wax-coated smile, which means nothing to me. No…that’s not true..


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 30 mins later

What I want, may not necessarily be what I ‘really want’….

P.S : By any chance, if you end up here…which means u almost read the entire post and cud nt make ‘much sense’, then its perfectly fine. I cud nt either. You absolutely shud nt doubt ur wits here. Just an abstract post, which clearly justifies my blog-url ‘Dmindless’

of cOOls and keWls !

If one makes a list of the world’s extremely over-used and wrongly-used words, whether they are used ‘in context’ or ‘not in context’ … Then I think ‘COOL’ will surely make it to the Top #3. May be lots of dumb people believe that using this lingo raises their stud-quotient or whatever. If this is what these ‘some’ people think then let me tell them, that you are ‘totally’ wrong.

Sometime back when IM’s were not there and public-chat-rooms were a craze, ‘cool’ was considered as the most fashionable compliment. But… despo’s being despo’s have still struck like chewing-gums to their ‘cool’ lingo. Actually these people belong to a very elite class, something like ‘The Virtual Despo’s United.’(VDU)
For a stereotype VDUite everything from Sachin’s boundaries, Barack Obama’s hairstyle to Angelina’s skirts are ‘cool’. My extensive research on the topic proves that VDU’s are a sub-community of the ‘wannabe’ clan.

A definition of cool that fits here is,
COOL : “A word to use when you don't know what else to say, or when you are not that interested in the conversation. Sometimes, it can be used when you do not have any knowledge of the subject, yet you want to act as if you know-it-all.”

Some ‘cool’ related FAQ’s and duh-full answers.

“Howz life?”
“Cool”

“Hey ! See my new phone?”
“Cool”

“Temme howz Simi’s new boyfriend?”
“Cool”

“What do you think about Quantum Mechanics?”
“Cool”

Okhay… gimmee a break. I know that sometimes our vocab goes empty, but that doesn’t mean that we use ‘cool’ and ‘sexy’ to describe every thing. One more thing… Mail-id’s. A lot of people don’t realise but at times, their mail id’s speak a lot about themselves. I’ll share a few of them… like

cool.guy.me@hotMALE.com
rockin_stud @hooho.com
69_coolchick@ fe-mail.com
hotguy_4u @ hohoo.com

What does this mean? You are so so cool that your entire body has gone numb and is dying of influenza with common cold.
To all these above very very HOT n COOL chicks/studs, I have nothing personal against you. Its just that you sound pathetically FAKE and lika despo.

Guest Blogin n me ? wow !

Hey !

'Saint Baba' has been kind enough to ask 'D Author' to guest-blog. Okhay... cut the formalities.... Here's a date between Sonali n Rahul... click here !!!

Tc all, n Bbye

D Author ;)

An Idiot's Guide to kno me - II

Dr. Broca’s has tagged me.I don’t get excited a lot by tags but… yeah, I managed to finish this one.
These are the rules:

1. Link the person(s) who tagged you...hmm…dats Broca the Doc!
2. Mention the rules on your blog. (as if dis is the Olympics…huh !)
3. Tell about 6 unspectacular quirks of yours.
4. Tag 6 following bloggers by linking them.
5. Leave a comment on each of the tagged blogger’s blogs letting them know they’ve been tagged.
Okhay enough…. Here it goes.. “my 6 unspectacular quirks”

# I always read the editorial page in the newspaper. I kind of like politics too. Although its not very glamorous, but following elections and ‘Power-plays’ is interesting. But I need to thank Jeffery Archer for my interest in politics.

# I don’t like the so called ‘social-networking’ sites (read : orkut,hi5,facebook). This whole process of socializing, that too on the net, doesn’t go down well with me. A couple of years back, when I had got really pissed off with Orkut and deleted my account, I had an entire post about it. (incase ur interested, see here). And, yeah I have to tell you this. “Bloggers are nice people.” I can see you all smiling :).

# At some point of my life (after my corporate career :) ), I would like to teach in a B-school. I want to interact and groom the minds of people who have a potential to change their lives and in the process help the country too. I know, I am thinking a little too much… but I really want to teach.

# I want to thank the class of 8-B (2004), who were 2 years junior to me in school. I was the Prefect of their class, spending a few hours with the class everyday for an entire year has done wonders to me. All those 40 kids of the class, thank-you so much for the immense confidence that you have given me. Have fun kiddo’s!

# I am NOT crazy about cricket. Well, that’s unusual in India. Yeah… its true. The news bulletins tell me, more than enough about the game… which is fine for me. Although, T20 and Beer go well.... :P

# I want to kill those people who don’t believe me that I have quit smoking. Its like, “Oh.. Oh.. You have really quit smoking?”.
All I can manage here is to put a small smile on my face.

# I can COOK. Hmm.. you read it right. Not just a sandwich or omelet. Its like full-fledged… I can prepare a whole meal… that too all by myself. Rice, curry, fries, dal, salads… you name it baby !


I have 7 quirks here, one was complimentary because I want to break rules #4 and #5. This entire tagging and re-tagging is not my cup of tea. Sorry… ;)

a B'ful change...

Very few people change for the better. Its rare. I am not talking about people who put on weight and then hit a trendy hip-happening gym to change or who become mature and change to those silent-types. Or may be those for whom change is synonymous with girl/boy-friends. Let’s leave all these people aside for sometime.

Q…Yeah, lets name her Q for the post. Q is a very very good buddy. I can still recollect how she used bully me and get things done all through the school years. A complete PYT with skirts and ponytails. Q was a master-match-maker. On more than a few occasions, she would bring pretty girls to me and try to hook us up. It was damn embarrassing when Q catches me off guard strolling through the school corridors and would bring a nervous looking junior to me. Then Q in her trademark style would elbow the girl and tell her , “Arrey… Tell him nah!”
Although this match-making stuff was embarrassing like hell, but it was fun. So many times I pretended to be pissed off with Q, but I admit it today… it was a damn good time.
Eventually both of us grew up and had active social lives. Actually her’s was a little more active than mine. Okay, that’s it.

So, when we meet after 1 year of college… CHANGE. Yup! That’s the word.
Q, now doing her graduation in a Women’s College at a university. I mean… women’s college? After so many years from a co-ed…I felt strange. Straight from the ‘lip-gloss and stilettos’ girl she has evolved so much. Considering the fact that it’s a religious university…it should not be a surprise. But… I had never seen people develop so much.
Q has started praying, has become religious. Actually, more spiritual than religious. The way she talked about ‘Spirituality’…oh God… I was wondering, was this the same girl who used to copy my Practical records giggling some years back?
The clarity of her thoughts about God and Power, immensely moved me. She was the closest to God, than any of us. Trust me, I could feel those positive and happy vibes, even while talking to her. To see, one of your best-buddies to mature and grow up….intellectually and spiritually… was the best-est feeling ever.

I had never felt happier, that too for somebody else.
I had never felt nostalgic, about those good old day..till today.
Thank-you, Q… have loads of fun!

teQuila with lazybOnes

Sandy (previously SandeepKumar) laughed. For the first time during their conversation. His newly spawned beer-belly was laughing and shaking too. RG smiled, and looked at the painting adjacent to their favorite leather couch. It was never a dead painting. For, RG the semi-nude girl in the painting meant a lot to him. He prefers to call her ‘Sophie’ for some vague reason. He has spent countless hours sitting hours here, nurturing his drink, staring and talking to Sophie. He always felt the intellectual attraction to her …her aura , her mysterious silence. RG today has totally lost it . The noises of the pub… were not annoying for him anymore. Only, he and Sophie.
Suddenly, he felt a smooth hand on his shoulder… RG looked up and the waiter asked “Do you want to repeat your drink, sir?”
Startled to find his glass empty he blabbered, “Yeah. ..yeah..!”

“You think, Hamilton gonna win it this time..?” Sandy asked, trying to break the silence.
“hmm..its difficult to say, others are doing pretty well too.” RG said, still wondering about Sophie.
After, 2-3 minutes of loose talking, RG and Sandy were silent again. Sophie, as always was silent too. Just the sound puffs of the strawberry-flavoured-hookah. Sandy tried to listen to the techno beats, playing. But, he just could not concentrate. Something was just not right.
RG lazily got up and walked to the bartender, “ Hey…Jaffer.. make us a few tequila shots…I just need them now”. RG manages to add that personal touch. He never forgets to call bartenders by their name, so that people around will be aware of his BIG-SHOT, status.
2 Beers, 4 small pegs of white rum and 3 tequila shots LATER… (in that order )

Squatting on the couch, and banging the last tequila glass on the table… licking salt and tasting the slice of lemon…he finally caught up with his breath.
Running his hands through his carefully curled maggie noodles expensive auburn hair…RG said, “I am Alone…ya. Even after years of schooling and now in college…I don’t have a single person, whom I can call friend… I am a bloody loner.”
“No, RG… that’s not true” said Sandy, taking a break from the hookah and surprised to see RG open up.
“I know you are lying Dude… I am a fucking loner, and there’s nobody, whom I can talk to…” replied RG sounding even more lazier.

Sandy could not find any more words to console him…he looked into his eyes but could not figure out much. He thought that… “How could RG with 634 ‘friends’ in Orkut, 23,908 scraps, 214 ‘people’ on his Yahoo messenger and still counting…. be ALONE ” . A LONER… His mind went blank…totally blank.
20 minutes later, RG perhaps high from mixing his drinks, stood up.. and flashed his Dad’s Platinum credit card at the counter to the amused cashier…and then signed the slip. Sandy and RG finally walked towards the door, where the waiter with his best and the world’s most fake smile, opened the door for them and said “Good-Night Sir”.
RG looked at the small framed waiter and murmured something… and they left. The waiter could still hear RG talking in the parking lot, “You know, Sophie……….”. The door-closed.

post stats :96.46 % fiction.

3-okhay-okay-type-MISTAKEs !

‘Why-is-the-book-so-god-damn-popular??’.. After wondering for 3 days…I got the book. Towards the bottom of the cover page I saw… (I quote the The NY Times) “Chetan Bhagat : The biggest-selling English-language novelist in India’s history.”
Omg ! It was a LOL moment for me. Really..biggest-selling! Let me think, a recipe for a block-buster novel …write about the youth(read : target audience), superb marketing (read : MTV ads by witty-cum-IITian-cum-IIM grad), and price it at 95 bucks (the price of a cuppa coffee..that too exclusive of taxes..). Okhay..okay. ..I’ll stop being sarcastic for a while.

I will not tell you a lot about the story, incase you still want to read it ;) Three Gujju guys…life…religion…love…politics…business…aspirations…of course cricket. The climax…if I can call it that…is cheesy and dumb. I felt as if I bumped into a friend in a Movie-theater who asks me,.. “Hey… You have come to watch a movie ?”………Duh!!!

One of the few things I like about Mr.Bhagat is that, he makes a kinda guest appearance in his own book, which was nice. The fine way he addresses the relatively sensitive issue of politics and religion in Gujrat, with a very clear reference to a main-stream political party.The way he portrays Gujrat. Although I don’t know a lot about the state, I could relate a few parts to the movie Parzania.
Initially, the book was interesting, specially the ‘Prologue’. (incase ur interested, see here)

You surely remember the super-sucessful ‘Da Vinci Code’, by Dan Brown which was later made into a ugly and pathetic movie. But this is like a REVERSE-theory, where I hope to watch ‘3 mistakes of my life’ as a movie first rather than read it. I very strongly feel, that all his 3 books are great movie-scripts. No offence to Mr. Bhagat, but every time, I turn a page of his book, I admit that I feel his writings are way too filmy or ‘bollywoodish’. May be that’s why, I feel he can make a better film script writer than a main-stream author. No wonder, ‘One nite @ call center’ is now being made into a movie called ‘HELLO’…(see..see …I have done my research)

Enough, of Mr.Bhagat-bashing. I think, he is satisfied catering to his very loyal readers and intends to keep it that way. He is no literary genius in the real-world sense, and does not even aspire to become one. Mr. Bhagat has his own inhibitions and is quite happy in his own world and style of writing. Mr. Bhagat is India’s best COMMERCIAL writer ever, He exactly knows what people want to read and entertains them too. So he’s like the Shahrukh Khan of Indian writing. Another reason, why I am NOT crazy about him. That’s primarily because of my Erich-Segal-fixation, so any book, or any genre of writing I read, I inevitably end up comparing with him.

A lot of people, whose reading skills was limited to reading the covers of cigarette packs or at max… college notice boards are suddenly discussing…..Chetan Bhagat…who else. The stereotype ‘Indian student’, can connect to his very contemporary stories. The back-drop of 3 mistakes can fit any Indian city.
Finally, no-matter what I think ,or don’t think…The book will make it BIG. It’ll SELL. Congrats!!! Mr. Bhagat for pulling off another almost-entertaining, super-commercial book.

A few lines, that really caught my eye from the book…

A ‘very good friend’ is a dangerous category with Indian girls. From here either you can make very fast progress, or if u play it wrong, you go down to the lowest category invented women ever- rakhi brother.

Indian mothers have to two tasks- to tell their children to eat more or study more.

I looked at her face. My gaze lasted a quarter second more than necessary. There is an optimal time for looking at women, before it gets counted as stare.

Some say, Omi was born stupid. While some say, he became stupid after a cork ball hit him on the head on Class-VI

Vidya…her eyes the size of new one rupee coins.

That’s it. Read it.. if u like. Incase, Mr.Bhagat plans to sue me and file a defamation suit… “I think this is the best book I have ever read in my life”…heheheee… Mr.Bhagat is coming down to Bhubaneswar for the book-release, I think, we’ll surely have a talk…