Killer sardar and Delhi roundup

First up, there's an excellent photo exhibition starting in Delhi. The exhibition is titled 'Juvinilia Juxtaposed' and features some really good photographers like Udit Kulshrestha, Sephi Bergerson and Bandeep Singh. For details about the exhibition, mail galleryragini@gmail.com or for those in Delhi, call 011-29522077.


For all those who have not heard of the revolution... here goes to this song and to mera Bharat mahaan. Pass on to all those who would appreciate it.

Blood, beats and the rhythm of rage

Some coincidences in life are funny.

On Monday night, while watching Media Watch, host Jonathan Holmes made me re-think my reaction to SRS (henceforth You-Know-Who). He was blasting off an Australian journalist for her ‘opinion’ column where she suggests beating up members of a political party because she didn’t agree with their opinions. Holmes’ exact quote, “That’s not opinion…that’s hate mongering.” It was pretty much what I had written in the gadha post. It made me re-think my reaction. Even though we are justified in our anger towards You-Know-Who, violence-against-violence is NOT the answer. What then is the answer to fear, frustration, anger and a sense of persecution?

The answer came through a series of coincidences…

Partner was out for an official dinner last night – read, bingeing with the blokes – and I was sitting at home with a massive headache. After losing the throne of Therebor and being beaten by the hordes of Mordor for the eighth time (Xbox 360, The Battle for Middle Earth II), I took my hurt ego and hurting fingers to watching some TV. Now Special Broadcasting Service (SBS) is one of the best channels here. It shows really good documentaries and it’s the only channel that gives equal representation to the multicultural Australia… Australians, Indians, Koreans, Indigenous; it has ‘mixed’ reporters/news readers. So last evening, I came across a documentary on Rio de Janeiro; rather the favelas – shanty towns aka slums – of Rio. It was the drums and music along with the images of dancing, bedraggled children that made me sit up.

It was like looking at Mumbai’s Dharavi again… plastic and human refuse, thatched huts that look like an ugly, mismatched mosaic in aerial shots, dogs and children generally lying around, poverty… and corrupt, corrupt police. While Rio creates images of exotic holidays for most – ignorant me included – there is a prevalent drug culture there. A drug-gang culture. To combat the drug-gangs, Rio has the military police, which can even put Delhi/Mumbai police to shame with its corruption and ruthlessness. If we hear about fake ‘encounter killings’ in Mumbai, the Polícia Militar (literally, military police) – under the garb of flushing out drug-gangsters – is also known to shoot innocent people at “point blank range”… often wrongfully. Or perhaps intentionally, no one can stop them.

The documentary was called ‘Favela Rising’ and was about the Grupo Cultural AfroReggae. Who are AfroReggae?

“…a Brazilian cultural group from Rio de Janeiro. Forged out of the police massacre of 21 people in their local community in 1993, they have gone on to establish an international profile for their pioneering work in taking young people out of the drug/gang culture of Rio de Janeiro’s favelas (shantytowns).”

It’s a cultural group that takes on the police and the drug gangs through… Music. Their songs talk of politics, murder, police, drugs and they dance their desire for life. AfroReggae strongly believes that “hatred breeds violence”. It was stuff out of movies, only this was not fiction: The sheer will power of one man – Anderson Sá, former drug dealer and the man who started AfroReggae in 1995 in the favela, Vigário Geral – to move people, to make a difference. As Anderson’s fiancé says in the documentary, “He is so determined to save the world, he does not think about himself.”

Because, like us, Anderson was and is, pissed off.

21 people assassinated by the police
Our people killed by luck of draw
Hatred breeds violence, I’ve had enough
Yet my pride still resides in Vigario
I love my community
But I’m pissed off.

From the song, I’m Pissed Off, AfroReggae

The people in the favela don’t blame anyone. As one old man said, “We don’t blame the government anymore. We realise that the society, people, the police, religion, us….we all have to do something if we want things to change.” Much like blaming LK Advani, Sonia Gandhi, the gaping economic chasm, Hindiusm and Islam or the billion-plus population of India will not help.

It’s like taking a crap: if you don’t wash your bum, no one else will wash it for you. Or wipe it (Australia, toilet papers here!)

Whether it is media-mongering thugs like You-Know-Who or roadside eve teasers. Blank Noise Project does it’s own peaceful thing for handling eve-teasers… Bangalore-based rock band Thermal And A Quarter (TAAQ) are doing their bit for tackling You-Know-Who and other similar death eaters. The newsletter from TAAQ was the other coincidence. I was sitting and watching videos of AfroReggae on YouTube when G-talk announced a new mail.

“…it’s time to unlock our chords, vocal and all. For nearly a month, Bangalore has been rocked by a big protest against the self-appointed moral police. While mostly everybody was throwing hate back at the hate-mongers, we came up with our strongest response: One Small Love. This unusual protest song is about making a difference through random acts of love – to unexpected people, in unexpected places, in unexpected ways…”
You can hear One Small Love here and can download it here. Check out AfroReggae’s MySpace page as well…it doesn’t matter if you don’t understand the language. Dance along.

CNN-IBN journalist DP Satish wrote on his blog that the best way to deal with You-Know-Who is to not give them publicity. While it is a good idea to not give them any hype, it will be silly to not discuss the issue. We will not make such issues or such people go away by not discussing them. The idea is to KNOW, so that we know how to react. While the media and bloggers did provide You-Know-Who with a global platform, they also informed people. Perhaps the next time those at the receiving end will be better prepared. Perhaps instead of just one man speaking out against You-Know-Who and other death eaters, more will stand up and refuse to let them have their way.

So many people making themselves heard and reacting is a good sign. Perhaps eventually, we will not need help wiping/washing our bums. And if what it takes is singing and dancing to the rhythm of rage, so be it.

Disclaimer: This blog/post does not in any way seek to infringe any copyright of JK Rowling or the Harry Potter trademark. Just in case her lawyers decide to sue the blog owner, the use of You-Know-Who and ‘death eaters’ is duly attributed to JK Rowling. Thank-you for a phrase that describes evil so well, even though there is nothing magical about these evils. As a gesture of good will, the blog owner will soon be buying Tales of Beedle the Bard as well.

PS 1: Thank-you for the comments on the previous post....despite the numbers who end up reading this blog, not many react or interact. That is fine! Even if you choose not to comment, it would be nice if you pass on the One Small Love link to friends and people. Tks!

PS 2 : Check this out as well….LOVE the music.
See the AfroReggae in action, click on the video.

Just like that.

<-- Ideal day: baking gingerbread men and assorted cookies. They happily contribute to me piling the pounds as Partner is not too fond of sweets. I am eating too many, faaaar too many sweet things. It starts with two-and-a-half-teaspoons sugar in my coffee. In winter was drinking at least four cuppas a day...you do the math. AND to think diabetes is in my blood. Hmmm.


A perfect Sunday: at Torquay, riding down to the beach. We bought bicycles and have been riding around a bit. Melbourne has an interesting cycling culture and no, unlike India, where usually the 'underpriviledged' cycle to work etc, here it's a fitness thing. Most roads and localities have well-paved bicycle tracks and everyone rides with helmets. Implementing something like this in Delhi would SO help with the pollution. Two weeks back, cycled 30 kilometres from home to the St. Kilda beach and back. Have NOT exercised my legs that much in recent history! Felt bloody good. Yes, the guy with the book is Partner.

<--- An evening out: watching the Black Keys perform at the Palais theatre. Audi acoustics sucked, the Keys were bloody great. Melbourne is something of a music capital here and has frequent gigs by biggies. This was my first one with established artistes and saw Gomez and Black Keys perform. Missed out on Prodigy who performed for the Big Day Out music fest. There WILL be a next time...

Recent shopping: during a random drive, a garden gnome from a Heidelberg nursery and 'sticky' frogs; and a cactus pot that says, "I'm a prick." --->

<--- Recent excitement: watching potted green capsicum turn red in my 'garden'. And very soon, I swear I shall murder. Mynahs from India -- the birds we see and go two-for-joy etc -- are killing my saplings. Hate the shits.

Motherhood: growing my first cherry tomatoes!!! Woohoo! (can you see them? li'l green things) -->

<--- Melbourne: looks golden and majestic when the sun sets...this is a noon shot. Despite the fact that Victoria (the state Melbourne's in) is having something of a freak summer, i.e. it's cold instead of a blistering 40-plus; I am enjoying my time here.

That apart, I'm quite excited about Barak Obama signing in as the US president and would be up bright and early -- 6.30 am Australia time -- to watch him being sworn in. I have never had great faith (or any at all) in politicians but Obama... he inspires. And he makes me think: Will we ever have anyone remotely like him in India? Recently, read an interesting news bit on Ibnlive.com that corporate India -- Mittal and Ambani -- find Narendra Modi as the most viable candidate for PM. At least it's not Mayawati. Yet, I don't if that's something to rejoice about.

Politics aside and on the personal front, all girls I know from my school days have a baby. Or are pregnant. Or are planning babies. Or are getting married and will soon plan babies. All I know is I turn 30 in May. Sigh. Met up with Partner's cousin-wife-and-two-kids yesterday. Such gorgeous little girls! Had a brilliant hour playing with the girls in the park, catching them as they slithered down slides and didn't complain about the heat as I pushed 4-year-old Bridget on the swing. A very simple thing, but it's just a very happy feeling as you push a kid on the swing and the kid turns her head around, looks at you and gives you a grin of sheer pleasure. SIGH.


Attended a wedding on Saturday (17 Jan) and had a hard time not bawling as the bride and groom took their vows. When you see tv serials and movies that are based more and more on adultery, threesomes, single life and divorces... It's heartening to have people still want to commit to each other. I will have to invest in a waterproof mascara as there are three more weddings in the near future and I don't want to make an idiot of myself crying there.


AND. Grrrr. Went for a facial after six months -- in Delhi it was once a month -- and the bloody salon woman suggested I use anti-wrinkle, anti-ageing under-eye cream. :( Not to mention that sales girls in lingerie stores now suggest holding-up bras and waist-clinchers for "maturing" women. It's a cruel world I tell you...


Have a writers' workshop -- uni mates -- this afternoon but haven't written anything worthwhile to show them. Hopefully though, they should inspire me...
What's up with everyone else?

Smack my bitch up. Please.

Or, Chaos, serendipity and reflection

Pondering: What’s the longest that pubic hair can grow to? Can’t Google-it in the library, dont want the admin to think I am surfing porn. Sad.

Learnt: Too much reflection will never get the work done. I reflect all the time. It’s inversely proportional to word count dished out.

Felt patriotic when: One, Shashi Tharoor was being interviewed on an Aussie news channel and despite never having any particular fondness for him, felt an immense sense of pleasure seeing him up there. However, he didn’t sound too convincing when explaining why India is not a willing party to cutting her carbon emission rates in ways that would make the US and Australian governments happy. And the world a better place. Presumably, since no one wants to guarantee that.

Two, on discovering a Karsh Kale track when uploading Windows Vista on new laptop. The tabla is divine! Three, when teaching how to say “up your mother’s” in Hindi to two Sri Lankan chicks. One of them should soon be saying “thik hai” too.


Inspired: By Aussie lad-mag called Vice, had a picture of a 35-something mother, holding a rifle with a 6-year-old boy suckling on her right nipple. Also some pictures of bums, the photographer felt that since everyone shoots face-pictures, he needed to do something about it. Poorly executed idea, nice bums though. Guess no one minds the execution then. I am going to shoot bums too.

Realised: Relationships can be a pain in the arse. You are forever doing something wrong. Or forever looking for something wrong. Perhaps some of us like some pain in the arse. Or are plain stupid. Have you ever had the feeling that if there is nothing wrong (or nothing going wrong) in your life, it could mean there’s something really sinister happening somewhere? And that it will hit you in the face when you least expect it to?

Confession: I am really angtsy today, have been so all day. I could be missing the Delhi chaos. Maybe. The daily fights with autorickshaw drivers for one. Here everything is mechanical. Punch preference, put money in, get on with it. No humans. Most things are very efficient, so much so they can be boring. Like all my glassware is intact. No maid to rush through washing dishes who would break them. Funny that the song playing on the laptop right now – of the five songs I could download before the Internet died at home – is Ironic (Alanis Morisette).

There are fond memories associated with the song.

First year of college, N and me going to participate in the intracollege annual festival at the Indian Institute of Technology (IIT) Delhi. The fest is called Rendezvous. She participating in the western music competition and me in the on-the-spot story writing one. She sang an acoustic version of Ironic. I wrote “I am a bitch but I didn’t want it to end this way”. It won the first prize. Shrug. College did not publish it in the college mag, they wanted stories on feminism, not psychopathic killers. N never made it to the western music society and I pulled out of the creative writing one.

That was also the time both of us would while away time at the bus stop outside college concocting imaginary stories about what-would-life-be-when-we-grow-up. I was only 19 then, ten bloody years AGO. Where? When? How? What the fuck happened? She was the only one who said that of the 22 girls in class, I would be the first to get married but it would end in a divorce. I had scoffed at being the first to marry. (Smiles) She is married today, I am not. Fortunately or not so, I’ve always been quick at undoing mistakes. Or running from them.

Right now, thanks to all the author names that people throw around, sitting amongst other “writers” seems like a BIG mistake. “Have you read Umberto Eco?” Er, yes, but put down Focault’s Pendulum after page-four because it made no sense to me. My best friend though has read most of his work... but she is into management now. Ironic?

I also want to fight, kick, scream, lunge, lash, hit out. Writing requires sitting in one place. And reflecting. I can do that, perhaps. But what about action? There’s no chaos here. I miss chaos.

I miss home.

PS: Dont think Golu would like it here, he wouldn’t be able to run around freely.

PS2: I think I saw Tinkuji in the market today...

Don't you wish your girlfriend was hot like me?

Ever wondered...
How if you think no one's watching and scratch your bum in public, somebody IS watching?

How you don’t realize how someone has snuggled into your daily routine till they go out of town and you suddenly don’t know what to do with your time? And you miss them sorely and everything you routinely do suddenly seems very weary?

How TV channels have ALL boring shows on weekends? One would think that with more people sitting home with time on their hands to watch the tele, they would put out better shows. But they don’t. Stupid channels.

How all "sexy" women are supposed to sound husky? And of course there's the breathlessness of Marilyn Monroe's voice.

How when you have a “sexy” song playing at a disc/pub, most women start doing a “sexy” dance? Like perfectly normal women – who have hitherto been dancing quite modestly – suddenly start gyrating and thrusting their butts out and making all those grrrrowl-I-will-bite-you-expressions the moment ‘Don’t you wish your girlfriend was hot like me’ (Pussycat Dolls) starts playing? Even to the faces of their own boyfriends?!

Or how every woman – even if she has a hip fracture – will start shaking her bum to Shakira’s Hips don’t lie? (Raises hand, have done it too. Bwahaha, if I were perfect, I'd be such a pain, no?)

How women will s-l-o-w-l-y bite and then proceed to lick their fingers doing the “saxy thang” and make "mmmm" noises when eating fleshy fruits and finger foods; particularly when there are good-looking men around?

How men will laugh at the stupidest thing a woman says if she is really beautiful or very hot? Or if said man wants to bed said woman?

How most women who run beauty salons – at least in India – are usually ghastly to look at? I mean Shahnaz Husain has a whole line of beauty products for crying out loud.

How people start using phrases that make no sense and that they have no clue about just because everyone else is using it? Like, “My bad” or the oft used, “That’s a bummer”. What, pray, is a bummer? A fart? Is there a non-bummer fart too?

How when you are nibbling a pizza carefully – or anything with a topping – to save the meatiest bit for the last, most satisfying bite… it falls down? (This one could be just me)

How when you want to look your best on a certain night, the girl who you hate looks better than you? (This could just be me, and no it’s not insecurity, I just want to look better than her, okay? No discussion. Grin)

Or when you are planning on wearing a really skin-hugging outfit and need your tummy to look flat… the shit thing bloats? (Maybe, just maybe I could be a fashion disaster)

How you will ALWAYS stain your whitest outfit/ shirt/ trousers no matter how hard you try not to? The harder you try to keep it clean, the tougher the stuff you will stain it with.

How almost ALL women when drunk HAVE to declare they are drunk? They will laugh loudly, do stupid things all the while crying out loud, “Oh I am so drunk.” Everyone can see it, why say it?

How ALL women forget to carry tampons/napkins etc when they are close to their period dates? And just when you ask around, no one else has it either?

How as you grow older, your hairstyle gets messier, sportier, sharper, crisper, more with-the-times… because you are either trying to hide thinning hair, a bald patch or want to feel young? (I go with the uncombed wild look. Dude, I am turning 30. THIRTY?!!! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa…)

How you write random things because there is something else on your mind and you want to write it but you don’t want to write it at the same time? Sigh.

I want a massage, lying in the sun with the waves crashing near by and no stares.
I want to eat a really tasty meal. And be able to burp without getting self-conscious.
I want to dance and dance and dance… without bothering if someone is staring down my cleavage or who is laughing at me. Actually no, I want people to stare at my cleavage and have a hidden, camouflaged squirting gun device that tracks starers and squirts them with unwashable ink smack in their faces. Yeah.
I want to laugh with my head thrown back, where my stomach hurts and I have tears in my eyes and not bother if I look ugly or there’s too much teeth. Just laugh. The Partner says my smile lights him up, I have seen his eyes shine brighter too. But some words take time to rid from your subconscious. I will get there. I don’t have an "ugly pirate laugh".
I want to stop my friends from getting hurt. Just take the hurt away from all those I care about and find them love and happiness and satisfaction and no fear and security.
I wish I could stop people cheating on each other and have everyone fall in love and remain in love. I can be so stupid.
I want to be able to sing. At least one song. Perfectly.
I want to have REAL friends. It’s been so long, this changing, adapting, molding myself. Now I just wish I had more friends on my phone book than taxi drivers and help-lines.
Self-sufficiency has its price.

Eight, mate or ate?

This is a tag from Point Blank. As this could get rather wordy, other than the ‘passion’ section, keeping the other bits short.

Spinning, laughing, dancing to
Her favorite song
A little girl with nothing wrong
Is all alone

Eight things I am passionate about:
1. Words: Reading them, writing them and getting people to react to them. If it weren’t for words, there would be no me. Started reading at one-and-a-half-years and was writing gobbledeegook by age 4. First ever diary entry was at age 11, first published words at 17.

2. Winning: Realised long time back that I have something called the competitive spirit and that usually I like having my way. No, I dont always win but I bloody well insist on losing as little as possible

3. Ego: Considered calling this one ‘self-esteem’, but let’s be honest here, it’s not always that. I do have a big ego (for better or worse) and I usually like to keep it intact. Means I can get defensive, offensive or pensive when my ego suffers in any way.

4. Flattery: I don’t do it and I simply cannot stand it. People/women who have a need to instantly start flattering when they meet another person/woman they meet, instantly piss me off. My cardinal rule for knowing/ analyzing/understanding people in the first instant: If they flatter you instantly, watch your back. Then there are compliments: Have always had a hard time believing them. Perhaps because 90 % of the time I can tell when they’re fake.

5. My home: Is my sanctuary where I can roam around naked. Or not bathe for two days. Love changing room settings and redoing interiors on whims. Protect it zealously and preserve it as if my life depended on it. And it does too… Not the sort to constantly have people over, perhaps because I find it tough to really make friends. Or maybe because others find it tougher befriending me. Shrug. Would say my space defines me.

6. Vengeance: I cannot forget and I don’t forgive, took me time to realize that about myself. With passing years I am learning how to wait. Am not very good at ‘plotting’ revenge etc; perhaps because I lack the patience, or the brains or both. But am good at recognizing opportunity: If I have been fucked-over and I get the chance to get back, I will. Strangely, life seems to place the opportunities on a platter for me. Might take 10 years but then I do have a sordid memory.

7. Family: And those adopted into it. Don’t touch them, don’t criticize them, don’t even think of harming them. Refer to point no. 6 of what happens if… As I am aware of my fallacies, so am aware of the fallacies of the ones who love me as well. But I love them. Tenderly, fiercely.

8. Honesty: Prefer to take a harsh truth on the face than be stabbed in the back or lied to. The downside? Inability to keep my mouth shut in some situations and the complete lack of ‘social skills’ like talking to people I don’t like. If I don’t like, it shows. Also translates into a complete apathy for anything fake, particular those who ‘pretend’ to be friends. Not a good way to live, the world is made of social networking after all. Hmm.

Eight things I want to do before I die:
1. Bungee jump: to combat fear of heights. Once I do that, perhaps sky diving too.
2. Own a personalized Chopper, my size, my height, evil wheels and power to kill.
3. Have a baby: No confusion there. I know I want to be a mother and despite the fears, think I will make a helluva mom.
4. Go on a global backpacking trip: To places unknown, where I live with the people, get to know their ways of life, click pictures…
5. Open a restaurant or a café or something to do with food: Could have been on the ‘passions’ list, love to cook and the more to feed, the more I enjoy it.
6. Work for myself: And stop taking orders, create something, make it a success and of course make money from it. Probably something to do with food…
7. Marry… and make it work and not have doubts and be loved without reasons or clauses or me changing myself or me wanting to change the other. Marry and not feel the threat or the fear that I will die lonely…
8. Do something that will make my parents truly happy: Perhaps I have let them down, lord knows I am not the model daughter. They aren’t the traveling sort else would have sent them on a world trip… perhaps will figure out finally what can make them happy. I still don’t know and sometimes feel that perhaps I don’t make them happy or happy enough. (Lose that doubt too)

Eight things I say often:
1. Fuckin’ a!
2. Are you getting what I am saying?
3. Get them by the balls and their hearts and minds will follow.
4. You shithead.
5. Fuck off.
6. “Right. My arse.”
7. I swear if I have to…
8. Bloody hell

Eight books I’ve read recently:
1. Sun Tzu Was A Sissy (Stanley Bing)
2. A Dog’s Life (Peter Mayle)
3. Hotel Pastis (Peter Mayle)
4. Non-Fiction (Chuck Palahniuk)
5. The Unwaba Revelations (Samit Basu)
6. The Ice Man: Confessions of a Contract Killer (reading, Philip Carlo)
7. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (re-read, JK Rowling)
8. The Vampire Lestat (re-rehoad, Anne Rice)

Eight songs I could listen to, over and over:
1. Pal, pal dil ke paas tum rahti ho: Kishore Kumar
2. With a little help from friends: Joe Cocker
3. Isn’t it ironic: Alanis Morisette
4. Ali: Midival Punditz
5. Na tum humein jaano: Hemant Kumar
6. I’m Your Man: Leonard Cohen
7. Man who sold the world: Nirvana
8. Seven Years: Norah Jones

Eight things that attracts me to my best friends:
1. They don’t get embarrassed by who I am or the things I keep doing and don't mince words telling me when I am behaving like a shit-head.
2. They are all highly intelligent and know it (know how to use it too)... and ambitious.
3. They understand my need to be vicious at times and understand/enjoy a good dose of sarcasm.
4. They laugh at my sarcasm but can put me in my place when I get too nasty; and usually have a mean sense of humour themselves.
5. They let me cry in peace and don’t do the you-poor-thing thing; they aren't shy of tears.
6. They know when I need to be held when I am crying; and usually believe in physical demonstrations of affection.
7. They leave me alone when I am angry. They know I’ll come back. Most of them are patient though
8. They REALLY do love me and know I will never betray them.

Eight people I think should do this tag (some might not be bloggers):
1. DJ*
2. Maxine
3. Serendipity
4. Pirate of the Arabian
5. Crimson Feet
6. Espera
7. The Unapologetic Bloke
8. Lopa*

Rebel Warrior

by The Asian Dub Foundation (lyrics)

Ami Bidrohi!
I the Rebel Warrior
I have risen alone with my head held high
I will only rest
When the cries of the oppressed
No longer reach the sky
When the sound of the sword of the oppressor
No longer rings in battle

HEAR MY WAR CRY!

I'm hear to teach you a lesson
I'm hear to torture your soul
I'm the itch in your side
That's got out of control

'Gonna prey on your conscience
You'll be praying for forgiveness
Seen all the evidence
No longer need a witness
So take my word man
Here's my sentence
One hundred thousand years of repentance.
Check my anger, it's real

Ain't no token
I'll be satisfied only when your back's been broken
It's my burning ambition to burn down your empire
Man I'll be building you a funeral pyre
The fire in my eyes
If looks coulda kill
I won't be satisfied until I've had my fill.
Check my anger, it's real
Ain't no token
I'll be satisfied only when your back's been broken

Ami Bidrohi!
I the Rebel Warrior
I have risen alone With my head held high
I will only rest
when the cries of the oppressed
no longer reach the sky
When the sound of the sword of the oppressor
no longer rings in battle

HEAR MY WAR CRY!

Repetitive beats beating against your skull
I'll be striking you down
To the sounds of the wardrum
The doum!
The doum of the dhol
taking its toll
Null and void is what you've become
An underground army with my brothers and sisters
Hand to hand fighting
building up a resistance
Repetitive beats beating against your skull
Null and void is what you've become
Ami Bidrohi!
I the Rebel Warrior
I have risen alone With my head held high
I will only rest
when the cries of the oppressed
no longer reach the sky
When the sound of the sword of the oppressor
no longer rings in battle
HEAR MY WAR CRY!

I read the commitments
Strange alliance
The siren and the flute in unison
'Cos it's a part of my mission
to break down division
Mental compartments
In political prisons.
I'll be sowing the seeds of community
Accommodating every colour every need

So listen to my message and heed my warning
I'm telling you know
How a new age is dawning
Ami Bidrohi!
I the Rebel Warrior
I have risen alone With my head held high
I will only rest
when the cries of the oppressed
no longer reach the sky
When the sound of the sword of the oppressor
no longer rings in battle
HEAR MY WAR CRY!

Ami Bidrohi! Ami Bidrohi!
Yes the unity of the Hindu and the Muslim
will end your tyranny
Ami Bidrohi! Ami Bidrohi!

Going where's the dance?

There are releases and then there are releases. Some do it through exercise, others meditate, more sleep and still other trip on acid. I dance. I dance at home, music on, doors shut, floors free and me just dancing my whatever away.

The last week, I was a little off... more worrying because I couldn't dance... not the way where I feel every bone creak later and every shred of energy taken out of me... It was not the music either... went and checked out both Ibn Batuta (Baci) and DJ Jayant (Smoke House Grill), gave Tabula a miss (nothing against DJ Iggy, bad timing!) And well, dunno... something, I didn't dance as much. I missed it.


Realised also that I have six pairs of footwear -- far lesser than most women I know. Two pair of flat slippers - red and white, three boots : one standard Army ones, another calf-high and spiked heels and yet another that are really comfortable, been wearing them for almost two years now. I love boots, unfortunately for the heat in India, they aren't really conducive the year round. And well, call it a fetish or whatever, but buying things that I like IS therapeutic for me. It does not have to be too much shopping as such... but say getting home a coffee mug I really like also helps. And clean feet....HOW I dig clean feet, mine have the strangest ability to get REALLY dirty, REALLY fast. Hmm, maybe because I like walking bare feet.

Golu Dawg, me thinks, is missing the old home, he hasnt eaten anything since yesterday. Except of course when I sit next to him or follow him around the house, trying to feed him. He can be SUCH a human, it's not even funny anymore. Like in this picture, after 20 minutes of trying to get him to sit and pose, he just sat, looked at me and gave me the shot. Nothing great, but then, Golu Dawg does NOT sit still! In the background, you see a Sikkimese prayer table that is a family heirloom of sorts. My 'heirlooms' go back to what my father has got for us... those are the only things I am ever taking from anyone. This table was carved from one tree trunk by a monk in Kalimpong, West Bengal. I love it. And of course, most of my house in bundles. I can pack in two hours flat, and it shows. ;)

And this is the first continuous night leading into the first morning! All bare essentials listed. So that's been that..will write soon. Once things and thoughts are a bit more settled.

:|

Actually.... I am not feeling brave or confrontational or anything. But I definitely feel like two people. One who surfs the net, goes out to parties, does her shopping, listens to music, paints her nails, plays with her dog.... does EVERYTHING alone and she is secure and safe and not hurting and becoming increasingly self-sufficient.

And there is the girl/woman who does everything alone and sees proof of how aberrant she is to all that is 'normal' and 'usual' around her.

Go to Facebook... most couples have am-so-in-love pics, most women will have theirs and their boyfriend pic up in their profiles. Go shopping and you will see couples or pairs or people TOGETHER... him holding the bags or the kids and she checking each window.

Go to a club and you dont know what to do on slow numbers when everyone around you grabs their partners and does the I-am-getting-into-you baby dance. There you are, hopping away by yourself.

It's funny when you go to the bar to order a drink - Red Bull or water in my case - you are not visible (I am also just 5 feet, barely reach ANY bar's height!)... and while other women stand on the side and wait for their drinks prettily, there you are getting elbowed or jostled and not being seen, because, of course, free, independent, ball-breaking woman that you, you are alone and therefore will get your drinks yourself.

It's weird when you are dancing by yourself and suddenly find that there are four huge, weird men standing around you, looking at you in a way that tells you they are doing you in their minds. Or some guy intentionally rubs past you...just BECAUSE he knows you are alone. There isn't anyone picking up that fight for me. But HELL, if THAT is going to stop me.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH.
I just want to fucking live my fucking life on my fucking terms. And. I Will.

Message to self = Won't.
Message to the piss-offers = Don't.

Let's talk balls baby

Sigh. I am 28. At times, I seriously feel that everyone is younger than I am. An entire generation that was in diapers just yesterday is now hip-hopping in boob tubes and chest-hugging tee shirts. And the men...boys...men...have GOOD bodies I tell you. Siiiiiiigh. I cannot even letch at a guy for fear that he would be WAY younger. And well, almost everyone is WAY younger.

They say that age doesn’t matter. Sure. It fucking matters when you get ‘looks’ from 24-year-old chicks. It sure gets funny when the moment you start talking to a guy, his girlfriend magically materializes within two seconds. And you are JUST talking to the guy. And dude, if you happen to bump into someone – say a guy and girl dancing together – while dancing and smile… you are done in. For the rest of the evening, the girl will give you looks that will make you doubt if you had merely smiled at the guy or had you perhaps fondled his crotch or something.

And what’s with women – smart, pretty, apparently with their own identities – declaring Who they are dating the moment they meet you? Or is it just me? "Hi, I am so-and-so and the guy you see there? He is my boyfriend.' Oh great, hope you put it up on wikipedia or something or how about wearing a He Is Mine tee shirt and putting your boyfriend's picture on it so that other chicks know WHO to avoid? The other night as well, sat down next to some girls and well, for some strange reason, one of them pointed out her boyfriend and her friend’s boyfriend as well. Erm… ??

Ladies, ladies. I am really not into ‘attached’ men. If they leave you and they interest me, sure, why not? But TILL any man is dating/married to/seeing Any woman, I won’t venture near. Even if say by any remote chance that man turns out to be my soul mate or something. I would leave him alone. Just don’t agree to the idea of taking another woman’s man, no matter how much of a bitch that woman is. But yes, if your guy happens to be an interesting PERSON – and piques my interest, well – I will talk, no matter how many daggers you send my way. You want to put embargoes on your guy, go ahead.

AND what’s with women bitching about you in stage whispers loud enough for you to hear? Really now. Think about it: If I am doing what I am doing, the way I am doing it, night after night, would I really bother about what you have to say? If I stay quiet, it’s out of a new-found respect for maintaining some basic level of politeness. I AM growing up, you know. So the Whispering Loudly Bitches always need another female to feel brave and bitch about you…Roll their eyes, look at each other with the oh-god-what-she’s-doing look and generally try and feel superior about themselves when they really have no reason to. Really.

Now think ladies – or this particular lady who has now tried to act smarter than her fucking pants on two different occasions where I had done nothing to her – you might need a friend to do your nasty-talk thing. I have been going solo and doing what I am doing for 9 years now and can QUITE stand up for myself. So baby girl, sweet possum, honey bun… if I decide to strip you of your dignity in public, I wouldn’t need any company. I am quite capable of raping your mind verbally, right then and there, just you and me. Everyone has insecurities, but it does not mean that you assuage your lack of confidence by saying nasty things about me.

People say one should not “let things bother” you and “let things slide” and not be vindictive. But tell me something, isn’t there a limit to everything? WHY should I – when I pay for my own taxi, my own cigarettes and my own drinks – let You get away with spoiling my evening? No. Because you are not worth it. And since you are not worth it, you will NOT say trash about me.
First, develop the balls or the ovaries or Fallopian tubes or whatever. WHY I am REALLY pissed is because these bitchy, fucking, pseudo women in the city will FIRST bitch about you, then suddenly come and hug you and go, “Oh what a nice ear ring”, “What a sexy top” etc. Cut the crap woman. Go clutch your boyfriend and get paranoid that he’d run away. I wont do a thing about your men or your friend circle you hold so dear… but are you so sure about your guy? Hah.

Post Scrap: Global Underground came down to India for the first time and brought ‘Mashtronic’ to the Ministry of Sound in Delhi. The night rockkkkked.

Reality, realisation, renaissance

A good night is when things happen just the way you would have planned them. Like the other night at Tabula Rasa where Jalebee Cartel burned the floor. And surprise of surprises, they would change track in between their set to play Becoming Insane (Infected Mushroom). Now that song’s been on my mind and on my myspace page for like a month so what are the chances that when am out one Thursday night, doing my usual dance-by-self, my current fav number should be played?! Yea baby, loved it all right. And THEN, the weekend was made fab by a surprise 30-minute spin by DJ Jayant at Baci on Friday night. It was also the night to see/hear an old friend get back to spinning tunes (and me) on the dance floor, Karan aka Balam DJ made a return…and I was hearing him after 5 years. Pluto days, don’t know how many Delhi people will remember that. Also heard DJ Steve (regulars at Soho)…hmmm… and the dude has a rather somber expression while playing. And does have a stern way of looking at you suddenly. Maine kya kiya? But anyway, with Becoming Insane and then Jayant doing his surprise thingy, had a musically satisfying week(end). Meanwhile, the mind was all this while on its usual self-analytical spin…

How many of you say or believe in "I don't care what people say about me?" There are more often than not times when I do say that and perhaps I can manage it too (not being bothered)… but there are times, when what people say to me, about me, gets to me. It's not as much WHAT they say that bothers me, but it's the WHY they said it. Hmm. Have been getting some pretty nasty, though-masked-in-sweetness stuff from fucking all over, and when I don't watch it, there are times it gets to me. And as I write my blog, some things are clearing themselves and others are getting further muddled, hopefully to clear out on some other occasion. Realisations about people and their possible motives; of course everything believed with the belief that I might just be paranoid. And these realizations are as much for me as much for those who read.

Realisation 1: People read. Even if it's two repeat visits by the same IP, people read; and while I don't know how much sense I make (to others), I will try and control the tyops. Typos I mean. :)

Realisation 2: When you are an open/candid person, people will analyse. Wrongly. And if you write openly, people don't just read what you write. They read between the lines. They READ you, i.e. Me. People analyse you and given half the chance, will tell you what is wrong with you. Interesting: Yes, please notice that whenever someone will have something to say about you, it is never a good thing. It's always about what you do wrong etc How people love to say things – HARSHLY analytical things, things that are meant to hurt and provoke and get a reaction out of you. They will say that, pretending to be friends, on your face, and will watch to see if it got to you. Umm, all those who have been coming up with interesting character analysis – please feel free to leave your feedback on the blog, with your names. Come out dahlings, come out and give me the crap you try to load on to me in person. And then I will analyse you. And I promise, I will do a fucking good job of it.

Realisation 3: People will ALWAYS project their weaknesses on to you. The moment someone tells you there is something WRONG with you, don't let it get to you. My first reaction when a negative feedback comes from a stranger is to bite their heads off. Yes, yes, I am a little porcupine. And when negative feedback comes from friends or 'pretend-friends'… it hurts. Somehow, I have realized, that when my friends (real ones) tell me something wrong or not-so-right about me, it does NOT hurt. Because you know what? Real friends and real well-wishers ALWAYS know how to put things across. It's the fucking fakes who pretend to be wishing you well and say nasty things to hurt you in the garb of good things. So you think that BECAUSE I write as much as I do, I don’t think about what I write? How about a different thought? How about thinking that perhaps I assimilate and process my thoughts faster than you, that maybe I write as much because I can think faster and write faster than you? And perhaps because I have things to say?

Realisation 4: You can never think too much. No matter who says what. Because the ones who say you think too much will never think for you. “You think too much Eve*, you should think less.”No thank you, my brain functions, things make me think and I want to write about them. It’s funny, the same people who say you “think too much” also declare that you “don’t think much before you write”. Decide baba, does Eve* think too much or too little.

Realisation 5: Everyone has rejection issues; if anyone tells you that it is only you, they are trying to mask their own rejection issues.“You have rejection issues and sadly, you might get rejected because of your rejection issues.” Yes, I have rejection issues – having two men who were VERY important to me repeatedly push me away, I do have rejection issues. I don’t want to be pushed away when I hug my man. I don’t want to be told that I am an 8.8/10 and the Ex is a 9.9/10. Or be told how you would behave differently around me IF you were in love with me. Enough, dude. Frankly, I don’t even know too many people who WANT to be rejected, so I am not much different. So perhaps I am more paranoid than most about rejection to the extent that if I feel even the SLIGHTEST chance that I might not be accepted for who/what/how I am will have me either getting defensive or hitching my skirt and running. What to do?!

Realisation 6: Feeling bad about yourself and crying are perfectly natural. And no matter how many times you are told that you should not feel bad about yourself or not to cry or not feel angry – do not listen to people. Cry: weep loudly, sit on the floor or sprawl and bawl your eyes out. Scream out, break things even. Do WHAT it takes to take the shit pain out of your system. Remember to get up and wash your face afterwards, blow your nose and put some eye drops or rose water if your eyes turn red (mine look as if I have smoked eight joints in a row). But please, FEEL your pain, your hurt, your loss, your whatever. It IS the first step. Trying to be strong all the time will get to you. It gets to me for sure. And I really want to sock people who go, “Weak people cry,” etc. NO. People who FEEL, hurt and therefore cry. There is a reason why when in shock or trauma, even medically, tears are supposed to be a release. Feel ANGER that someone has wronged you. Remember it and DON’T let it happen again. And next time someone tells you life is beautiful and rosy, give them one hard laat (kick) and tell them to fuck off. It’s better to know life can be fucked up and be prepared than get a nasty surprise.
And oh, for men, on crying: This might get me the kicks from you guys, BUT if a man cries as frequently as a woman, this woman gets seriously freaked out. I develop an identity crisis of sorts…because if He cries as much, who gives me the shoulder when I am crying? You are the man, so feel and cry, but don’t be me. Good things happen sporadically, enjoy them. And be prepared for the shit to hit the fan. It will.

Realisation 7: People never fight fair. If you are a friend, don’t stand in my way. Be there, so that if and when I do fall in the ditch you are there with a ready helping hand. I don’t understand friends who chain you to protect you. Similarly, friends who say mean things to “share their insight” with you are no friends. DON’T get into psychological war with me. Like this chick I know – and this is the first time I am getting personal on this blog and the last – who has been pretending to be a friend and doling out one funda after another about who I am and what I should be. I have heard you so far and it has bothered me – BECAUSE had you been a stranger, I would have laughed it off. But you pretended to be a friend. No more. No mind games and don’t cross my path. You are no match for me.
Meanwhile, all those pretending to be Good-Girls-With-secret-sex-lives, boys with dominating father issues, alcohol issues, past girlfriend issues – DO NOT analyse me. I have issues and I might be fucked up, but guess what? I KNOW that. And that is my strength. Which you will never have.

And no, I am NOT manic-depressive. But if I don’t make my imagined bipolarity work for me, I will change my name. :) Currently, I am hurting and confused (it’s all clearing up though), but maybe tomorrow, I will be fine. And no, by that I don’t mean Love. I want nothing to do with that word. Tell me you hate me. Hate me too. But please, please NEVER tell me you love me. You lie. And I cannot forgive lies.

Lazy me, crazy me

The problem with being in love...especially if it's a new kinda feeling... is that you keep imagining something is going wrong. Or has gone wrong. Or will go wrong. Or maybe it's just pessimistic me. Uffff.

Ah. Then there is writer's block and there is a blocked writer. Feedback is like a one-way street, once you start getting it and listening to it...you will either carry on doing as is or stop to consider. As far as I am concerned, feedback is confusing me. Everyone - wellwishers and those who wish me in a well - have something to say about what I write and even how I write. From "Why do you always write on relationships" to suggestions to NOT write as and when thoughts strike me but wait it out till the next day, people have come up with all sorts of suggestions. Result? A very confused me. In any case there are a thousand thoughts in the head and to top that if people start telling me what to do... Well...I cannot write.

So I have decided, TILL the time someone does not decide to publish me - Hahahahaha - I am not listening to feedback. I will write as and how and whatever, and well, those who dont want to read it.... Dont. :) It's so easy. This IS my space. Consequently, here is ALL that has been going on in my head... make what you guys want to make of it....ALL sorts of thoughts...ALL over the place... Sigh. Cant get a grip on a single thought....

Thankfully though, as far as people are concerned, my ENTIRE focus is on ONE guy. Yes my dearies, this Clit is currently mentally engaged, very engaged. There are knocks, persistent ones on the heart - he is forever and everyday doing something or the other rather adorable!!! - but Eve* is scared. And it's a funny kinda feeling....nice even.

Oh oh oh oh... here is my current state of mind. Three different posts, none completed or not the way I was originally planning. So I stopped planning and stopped exactly where the thinking got painful... so kinda disjointed thoughts, though i think (think!) they make sense. (erm) Brickbats welcome, dont expect me to react to them though. Irritate me, eh! :D
Inconclusively Yours,
C.C aka Eve* aka "OO"

12th May 2007: Post 1
Consciousness, awareness, education are perhaps the most underrated players in the Fucking Up of the Human race. The moment of awareness or awakening might as well be the beginning of the end and other similar cliches. As long as you walk around unaware, incognizant of what's around you, you will be absolutely fine - the You, being the collective of your ego, conscience and subsconcious. The moment you open your eyes and your mind, consciousness begins to make itself felt. As long as you are unaware, you can live in your idyllic coccoon and feel protected, safe and maybe even laugh at those who mope around you.
"Why do you cry?" you say, "The world is beautiful and whatever bad is there, is there for others. Here! Have an icecream and come let's chill together."
And then, one fine or not so fine day, you (suddenly) realise that everything is really not that beautiful. You become Conscious: of inadequacies in you, the incompetency of the other and the general lackadaisacalness of life around you. And the moment you are conscious, Happiness and staying aloof become a laboured attempt.

Like you realise you could just be another "has been" or "was" in a matter of minutes. A heart attack at 30. A sudden choking. Car accident at 24. You become Aware that Life will always have the upper hand over you. No matter how much you plan and decide and chalk out; it could all go kaput in a matter of seconds. And you feel scared. Consciousness and cognizance bring vulnerability with them.

And awareness by itself is a double-edged rapier. For awareness comes with responsiblity as an attachment. And that's always a pain in the arse. Once you become aware, sitting on your arse becomes a constant pain. And for those who don't feel the responsibility, perhaps you aren't aware yet. And it's not just awareness about the latest headlines in the papers, or the problems of the world (which are unique for every, single individual and consequently there are a hell of a lot of problems) or what George Bush or the latest political darling, Mayawati, are up to.

Awareness could also be about yourself. Maybe you finally are aware that you cannot be loved. That it is so, so tough for people to love you for WHAT you are that you would perhaps be blogging for the rest of your life as those who read your first read it alone, then with their partners, and then if you are still around and blogging, will pass on the link to their children and say, "See, this is what happens when you cannot be loved: you blog the same thing since 2007."
Maybe you become aware that you are the weakest link. And that you don't know what to do. That no matter how much you try, there's always someone smarter than you out there. And let's not even talk about beautiful women. I have realised - become aware - that men will do ANYTHING for a beautiful woman. And well, I am pretty, pretty attractive, but I am under no delusions of being "beautiful". Therefore, no hopes of having some guy going crazy moving the world for me. Nah. And if, IF at all, there is someone for whom perhaps I might be very 'beautiful'...well, I have not met him yet. My earlier boyfriend's mother constantly told me how much her son loved the PREVIOUS girlfriend because she was very beautiful. And she looked at me rather pitifully. Well, THAT girl was ALSO a schizo. Hmmm. But such things stay...no matter how confident you are, some barbs...they haunt. Anyway... You see, at least till the time you are not aware of all this, you can at least HOPE to be loved...
And education? Well,the more educated you are, the more you will be underpaid. Or so is the case with me. Thankgod I did not go in for a post-grad.

12th May 2007: Post 2: All over-the-fucking-place
At times, there is just SO much love to give and to share and to lavish upon... that it all starts bottling up inside and begins to push, push, push...push the organs down through my body, begins to squeeze the heart within the rib cage and threatens to flood the lungs with its own fluid. And then at times I wish I could just puke it all out so that there won't be anything more to feel.

Much as I try today, to control my thoughts and string then together into one sentence and eventually a paragraph, I cannot as my mind refuses to be tamed by my pen today. It's all over the place. Under normal circumstances, I would not write. But I need to write...as neither the circumstances nor me, are normal. And since the mind is all over the place, so is the post. Possible excuse for a bad, disjointed post? Perhaps. Shrug. Sue me, hang me, whatever!

"Why do you use so much 'fuck' in what you write? I read 8 posts and found 18 fuck references in it. Any explaination?" Erm, yes... you read 8 posts...to find fucks? Hah. But did you get the fucking point? The word does a fucking good job in helping me put my point across. It helps cut through the fucking chase and get to the point. Now I coudl say the word does a "bloody"good job for instance, but it's not the same thing as a "fucking good job". Like when someone really pisses you off, nothing, no reprimand works as well as a "Fuck You" or a "Fuck Off". Of course it IS rude. But then, why would you want to be polite when you are asking someone to Fuck Off?

12th May 2007: Post 3: "Wake me up before I change again", Infected Mushroom
"I think you are impulsive and impermanent." But what if I love you?
Repulsive: "Your pirate laugh is ugly."
Impertinent
Adventurous
Egotistic
garrulous: "Dont talk in class, go and stand outside!"
deathly silence: "Are you alright? Why are you so silent today? It's not normal. Are you alright?"
words
constant thoughts: "Will anyone miss me if I die? How long will they miss me?"
networking: if i vanish, who will run my communities on Orkut?
And Golu Dawg?!
kadhai chicken and soggy rice
Cold Coffee and mango squash
Club Pasha, Ministry of Sound Dance Nation 2006
my Prince
Georgie porgy pudding and pie
jhoom barabar jhoom sharabi
Classic Milds and Sriniwaspuri
Portnoy's Complaint in High Fidelity
Rads: you are ugly inside, ugly like me
The Last Song Of Dusk
DJ.....I LOVE you
Motor Mouth :)
"There is no shame in asking your parents for money, no ego." : Mamma.
"Don't forget, I am STILL your father." : Papa
"Why are you SO stupid, woman?: Bro
"Your intentions are right, but between your intentions and output, something happens." : Boss
lifestyle
no life, faff style
murder in Kolkata
Accident at Mica
Arrest in new delhi
heart attack, crushed to death, over dose
Adopt A Stray
"He rapes me every night when my daughter is away...anally": Maid, age, 50 years.

"Isko to khade khade chuswana chahiye" - Senior colleague ... LITERAL translation: "She should be made to stand and suck". You, BASTARD.

Post scrap: Over.

Thinking younger men....

It's amazing how women can find almost any reason for self-pity. Or maybe it's women like me. Maybe it's just me (alarmed).

Spent all of Sunday SP-ing (self-pitying) about no electricity, the ugly, big blue bruise on my right thigh, having to cook for myself and the fact that each time my heart breaks, someone else seems to be happily walking into the sunset, hand in hand with someone else and I am left to bloody click pictures. And there I am left, pitying myself for either being too fat, too loud, too opinionated, too moody, too brash, having different interests, not having long legs, more hair falling, drinking less water, etc etc. Now I have even managed to pity myself for losing 27 kgs. Why did I lose so much weight — what if my boobs sag? A lot of us women cannot be happy till the time we don't have something to pity ourselves for.

When I dated an older man I pitied myself because inadvertently they wouldnt want to shimmy to Hips dont lie or whichever was the most popular number. When dating somewhat-younger men, the pity would be that they dont appreciate Leonard Cohen enough (or dont know of him!). Now I want to date rather-young men, who look real dishes and don't talk too much. I'll know more than them and they'd have enough energy to keep me interested for long(er). Mental connect I shall save for other people.

Yup, that makes me feel much better...except ..What's the age of consent? From what I remember, the debate about what's-the-right-age-for-a-lot-of-things was still left unresolved at 18 or 25. Hmm. Cool, will date those in between.

Wanting, wanting, bad, bad!

In another 9 dyas... some more choices, irrevocably made in a matter of another 365 days. There are people who carry their baggage around, and there are those like me who have it scribbled in notebook margins, phonebooks converted into impromptu journals, on the preface page in books, as wish lists written in coffee bars on dilapidating scraps of tissue paper.

Was going through a series of sporadic wishlists - some written over months and years, others with additions made to them the next day -- lovingly preserved. I was rather surprised to find that over the years, my wishlist has not varied much. While I have added items and experiences here and there, the overall want has remained constant. Which means what? That either I have not changed at all or I have not grown at all? Hmm, I would rather believe that I am consistent...even in the mistakes.

Review time: sharing some random stuff on the list and realising that wishes are not always about 'things' and materials. The usual, the mundane, the instant-gratifications and the lazy satisfactions:

1. Two more tattoos
2. Learn how to fix electrical appliances, sick of calling electricians who don't turn up.
3. Know how to 'make' my own stuff: like call bells, table lamps, own speakers and woofer...
4. Install a solar panel on 'my' house
5. Own a custom-made Chopper: my size, with Clit Chatting inscribed on the number plate.
6. My collection of every possible pair of boots from across the globe: love boots!
7. And weird shaped earthen jars and unusual wooden things...
8. Own a robot or a cyborg (if those happen that is)
9. Get regular medical check ups
10. I love music, but my soul is that of a dancer: have a room just to dance

11. Dance, completely free, to my kind of music amidst high, high sand dunes, the cold sand curling under my toes and the dessert chill making goose bumps on my bare midrif. Dance, maybe to Flirting shadows (Hasan Cihat Orter) or Shanghai Street (DJ Jayant) or Mojave Mix (Afro Celt) or Rain Song (Karmic Labs) or Becoming Insane (Chemical Brothers) or Istanbul (REG Project) ... I go nuts when I fall for the music. And my way of loving the music is to give in. Fuck steps-shteps, I just let go. My mom says I was born with jhatkas. She means it as a rebuke. I love it. :)

12. Shoot my own game, perhaps skin it too...
13. Learn parkour. Practice, basically. Just that I mark very easiliy and walking around with blue-black marks as a chick is not that good an idea. But we shall see.
14. Have an entire collection of crystal animals and birds, every single one of them, I love them.
15. Make a complete bar for dad.
16. Every single animated and childrens' movie, definitely the ones I like.
17.. Have a room full of books, from one wall to another...or perhaps a hall way just lined with books...and huge cushions and rugs strewn around that you can pull anywhere. Pot-pourri, choice of music around, some munchies and a small fridge so that I dont have to walk to the kitchen when I am rapt in a book. Wont mind a body massage chair in here either. Heh.
18. Shoot nudes: men and women.
19. Have a room full of nudes. In pictures. :)
20. Start Adopt A Stray.
21. Physical violence against women: work on that.
22. Learn make-up: from smokey eyes to nude look or whatever: whether i do it or not., I should know how to.
23. Have flat-soled slippers in every possible colour. :) And sarongs!
24. Have a personal masseuse. Hmm. A really hot woman. Or make that a absolutely gorgeous bodied, tanned, biteable, man as my masseur. Sigh.
25. have a talking parrot.
26. Act in a movie...and win an Oscar. :)
27. Dance on stage: as in a performance. Had one at 13, before the then-vice president of the country, solo Bharatnatyam...was a dance drama. Sigh. Funny, how had it been possible for me to join a dance class... would probably have been a Indian classical dancer. Shrug.
28. Start my kitchen idea... holiday cooking, my menu, my venue, you eat.
29. Have a baby. Perhaps. Maybe. Will I? (and stop freaking out at the idea)
30. Bungee jump: i am paranoid of heights. Particularly straight flight of steps...
31. Travel the world: and by that, I mean be able to live with like the locals and THEN say that I have been to a place
32. Meet and kiss Julian Rhind-Tutt. nothing else, just close my eyes, throw my arms around his neck and KISS him. I have SUCH a huge crush on him. THAT smile, it is so wicked. Siiiiiiiigh. AND he rides a Ducati 1000DS Motorcycle. Naked on the show. LOVE it. bitey-bitey-bite-bite.

33. Pay someone to develop technology where whatever I am thinking will type itself out as a blog. This is tiring...
more later....looking at some pictures of Julian. God that hair. I want to further mess it up. Grrr.

Going keep your mouth shut OR your pants on!

Infidelity, sleeping around, cheating on your partner, promiscuity, multifucking... if you were to analyse or scrape beyond the obvious and the accepted, all definitions absolutely differ according to individual perspectives. Some might say adultery is the end of marriage others might say that adultery perhaps saves a lot of marriages. For you it's cheating if your partner sleeps around; for your partner it's keeping the spark alive. Shrug. The thought's there, am not being able to put it into words properly, so will come back to it someday, if the thought comes back to me that is...!

(Listening to Talvin Singh on his official space while have tapes of him at home: heard him live again the other night at Tabula Rasa. And was very happy that T played one of my personal favourite's, Dubla (from his album Ha). Sigh, nothing like a good night of music.)

People say that women do not know how to keep things quiet or do not know how to keep a secret. Dude, at least women know how to keep their mouth shut about certain crucial things unlike men who want to open their mouths even before they have put their pants back on. Rather pointedly, if men were to keep their 'score' unto themselves - rather than advertising it to all his beer buddies when watching F1 - everybody would get laid more. And there are two
reasons why a woman might not want you to discuss her with your friends - WHEN you have
slept with her. One, she wants to sleep with one (or all) of your buddies and two, she knows
that most men cannot handle the entity called a Well-Experienced Woman. And of course let's not forget the entire She Be A Slut thing, but that's hackneyed. Shrug. Maybe men don't prefer an experienced woman due to performance anxiety. Women would sleep around - casually, promiscuously, without asking men to marry them - if they knew the men they were sleeping with would not go around discussing their G-spot or dishing out user manuals to Others. Of course, women discuss thing with their friends; but I am still to come across any woman who walks into a bar and announces to all in general that she is doing a guy.

Personally, no matter how much of a havoc my hormones create in my system, I wouldn't venture near a guy who has a tongue that wags eloquent about me rather than on me. 'Growing
up' or accepting the Laws of Sleeping Around, one realises that you EITHER don't fall for the person you are sleeping with; or don't get to sleep with the person you have fallen for or you realise that sex and orgasm don't necessarily go hand in hand, or maybe that sex with others wont give you that orgasm. The least you can expect in all these scenarios --- and no, banging sex is a must, you are not sleeping with another to appreciate the distribution of body hair, you are doing so to have banging sex -- so the least you can expect is respect for the person you are sharing your body with AND discretion.

Even when not announcing verbally,men have their ways of sending out signals that hint at more than an association between people, often, when its not there. Like a casual arm around your waist that stays there for 20 minutes as you are being introduced to the 20 other men in the room. Or casually asking, "Baby, are you hungry?" before everyone present and it leaves you wondering as to when exactly did the dude decide to 'baby' you instead of using your name. Or some men add a "Trust me, you don't know her, she always does this" -- when you're sharing an anecdote or some other personal detail -- when all you have known the guy for is three days. Or even announcing how the "two of us were at that party last night," with particular emphasis on the "us" when all you had done was request the dude for a ride (that too because your cabby wasn't around).

As a rule - unless am dating the guy or till am sure he isn't the wrong-signal sending sort -- I wouldn't 'go' anywhere with the guy, call a sab, hop onto three autorickshaws even hitch -- but won't arrive at a party with a dude. Again, if women look at a guy to be discreet, chicks also appreciate patience. And where looks, swagger and that swanky car will NOT get a girl, Patience can. When a woman hangs out with you, sends you SMSes, wants to meet you and shows every other sign on interest BUT sleeping with you -- HOLD ON. She will, sooner or later; and if a dude plays his cards right, it's sooner rather than later. It could be she's waiting to see, getting more comfortable or getting to know the guy better. Some women like to take their time: even when what they might be looking for is casual. Yes, women TOO look at associations casually instead of wanting to marry every other they meet! And if girls had their way - without being talked about, labelled, sluttified etc -- women would be much more promiscuous than men. Think about it: a guy has to do much more to lay a woman; a chick has just got to be willing. Yes, there is always a chance that the chick -- while a guy thinks she is considering sleeping with him -- is actually making a glorified, blue-balled fool out of the guy but hey, we all have gotta take our chances, right?

Patience has been one of the classifying factors in the Players I have met. Patience to wait for you, discretion about the others he might be sleeping with while he waits for you and finally respect and mutual pleasure when you two do get together. For whatever period of time, or even once. And a true Player does NOT break hearts. He does not like it messy. Currently, am marvelling at the extreme patience shown by someone, extremely irritated at another's proprietory attempts when I have not even kissed him, decidedly clear that I don't want anything with the third who thinks he is God's gift to women-kind (and if there's one woman who proves him wrong, it's gonna be me) and the fourth with whom there is every other connect except for the small, practical fact that we have NEVER met.

And well...there is Could-Be-Trouble, who no matter how much I ignore, he doesn't seem to be going out of the picture or my stupid head. AND he does such weird things. We don't meet any other time except for bumping into each other at random parties or some other event but... BUT FUCKING BUT... I will change my name, have plastic surgery and have a sex change if I am reading this wrong. I have NEVER been wrong in reading chemistry (have always misread love but never chemistry) and there IS something definitely up. He touches me suddenly...am passing him by and he would touch my back or my shoulder or oh-so-gently touch my waist...and GOD, I am SO aware. I have SEEN him looking at me across the terrace... have felt my skin prickle and turned and seen him quickly look away...always from in between people...

My gut says it is on and this entire post was to repeat my own 'gyan' to myself: PATIENCE woman. Remember girl, a true player waits. Hahaha, and I want to play.

Post scrap: The Princess could feel that He was different, yes, she could feel it right above her belly button. And she had a premonition, "Soon", she said to self and preened: she always liked a good game.

Woohoo!

And there she danced, the life of the party, the energy of the evening, watching the eyes on her, herself watching a certain pair of eyes that had been following her for a while. With a swirl of her locks, she jumped, twirled and swirled to the loops and the breakbeats and took the floor by storm. He looked on, directly, surreptitiously, came closer, danced with her even. Then she moved away and he was almost crestfallen; and even as she talked to a zillion others, she sought His eyes out. The music played on and bodies rocked on and in a quiet corner the two shared thoughts on this and that...

Chemistry at times, is undeniably visible.
And the She was not me ... and the He? That was Could-Be-Trouble who won't be trouble anymore. He likes someone else! Sigh. Shrug. C'est la vie!

Yes, yes, I can get moody and I write when am moody too. For those who wrote in, instant messaged, sms-ed and called, worried that Golu Dog and moi were about to conk it (the reference to suicide), here's the truth: both of us are NOT the suicidal type. Murderous, but not suicidal. And there's far too much spunk -- for my own good at times -- to snuff it out like that. And then of course, there's the theory I subscribe to -- if I am going down ..or have to... will take a few (and then some) down with me. It' s going to be spectacular. So that is that.

The home-scene is still dismal, the south part of my city does not want me and Golu Dog. So it's across the river that we shall shift and rule and yes when we have the housewarming, those around and interested...and of course those invited! ... are most welcome to come and drink, smoke up, eat the food I cook, piss out and pass out. Yes, that's a promise. A Clit.Chatting Night is on the agenda. There is news though for those who care: along with the house, might be changing a lot of other things too. :) Secret, secret, will reveal soon.

Last evening (tuesday) was a whole lot of fun and a little not-so-fun as well. Realised that Age has a strange way of making itself felt. Like a casual acquaintance you only meet at parties announcing that you have known each other for 10 years. TEN fucking years!!!! Or you realising that while earlier you were the one dancing right infront of the DJ console -- alone even and not bothering about who is watching and who's not -- there are suddenly Other People (read women!) doing that. And these women are 21-22 years old.... the last I was that was, le'see... 6 years back. And how your rhythm changes and the way you respond to music and the way you move changes as you 'grow'. Unless the music is hardcore energy and unless am on acid (or mdma), I really cannot do the hoppy-jumpy dancing anymore. I'd rather be the let-loose-and-groove mover than the lets-leap-across-the-dance-floor variety.

So I looked on and wondered how times change. And realised that 28 is fucking no different from 18. Back then too, one felt neither young enough to be in a certain group nor old enough to be in another...and hey! It's still the fucking same. Half the world is either married, with children and looking at either-or....while the rest of the world is made of 22-year-olds. And hell if I am going to compete with a 22-year-old nubile, young thing for attention. I know my limitations! :) The vagaries of old age I tell you.... ;) Oh heartbreak, heartbreak... better look elsewhere for who or what else could be trouble....
Heard some really kickarse music though, Shaa'ir and Funk and my all-time fav, rock-me-anytime-DJ Jayant.

Where's My Man?

If you want a lover,
I'll do anything you ask me to
And if you want another kind of love
I'll wear a mask for you
If you want a partner, Take my hand
Or if you want to strike me down in anger
Here I stand

I'm your man

If you want a boxer
I will step into the ring for you
And if you want a doctor
I'll examine every inch of you
If you want a driver
Climb inside
Or if you want to take me for a ride
You know you can

I'm your man

Ah, the moon's too bright
The chain's too tight
The beast won't go to sleep
I've been running through these promises to you
That I made and I could not keep

Ah but a man never got a woman back
Not by begging on his knees
Or I'd crawl to you baby
And I'd fall at your feet
And I'd howl at your beauty
Like a dog in heat

And I'd claw at your heart
And I'd tear at your sheet
I'd say please, please
I'm your man

And if you've got to sleep
A moment on the road
I will steer for you
And if you want to work the street alone
I'll disappear for you
If you want a father for your child
Or only want to walk with me a while
Across the sand
I'm your man

If you want a lover
I'll do anything you ask me to
And if you want another kind of love
I'll wear a mask for you

— Leonard Cohen, I'm Your Man

Post Scrap: learn this song dudes. even if you guys dont mean jack shit of it, singing it would score points. siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh. be my man.....