Everytime I get onto a bus the blasted love of public transport flows in and settles till I'm going Arre wah wah wah waaaah in the very same way as in the song, even the grin in my head is like Kishore Kumar, which is a little scary but that isn't the point. I got pickpocketed today. Or my pocket was picked, whichever sounds right. It isn't fair that this should happen on the very weekend I have to buy birthday presents and have more money in my wallet than necessary, but does the weary world lift a wrinkled eyelid if I have to live on ten rupees a day for the next three weeks? Of course it doesn't. Does the bleeding pickpocket care that I was stranded for half a bleeding hour outside Zeeshan on a hungry stomach with no bleeding money for a bleeding roll? Of course he doesn't. Does anybody care that I had to be snubbed by the snooty people at SBI for wanting to cancel my card? Fathers in taxis will vouch for the opposite but right now it's all my fault, neh? Feel free to kick me if I go around saying it was a learning experience and I'm wiser now, because at the end of the day I'll still go wah wah wah waaaah at public transport, even the fact that it comes with pickpockets gives it that edge over, ah, kickboxing.

Problem is, pickpockets are all I have till outer space exploration comes calling. Or the next train ticket, whichever gets precedence in the bigger plan of things. Phaaaaaah. Maybe I should just drop acid and tell everyone I had a cosmic experience or something.

Some-times
When I am really pissed
Like the times I'm not really pissed, but want to sit where I am and not open my mouth
Till I decide I want to again,
and someone decides to ma-aake me
Ta-aaalk
When I'd much rather liss-tun to the myoo-sic behind me
And not, and not and not
Ta-aaalk,
I decide to sound smart.

So I screw up my eyes and I say something incorrigible
so I'll be told to shut up
And then I can be quiet because I have the
per-mission
But I never suc-seed
Because
Beeee-cause
at the end of the day we all taaalk caaaaaack.


This is sing-in-the-shower song. I sang it in the shower. Then I came out and drew this. I call it Happy Panic, or, Nahiiiiiiin.


Hreehahaha. I am Getting Creative. Mujhe koi nahin rok sakta.

The times are nightfall, look, their light grows less;
The times are winter, watch, a world undone:
They waste, they wither worse; they as they run
Or bring more or more blazon man’s distress.
And I not help. Nor word now of success:    
All is from wreck, here, there, to rescue one—
Work which to see scarce so much as begun
Makes welcome death, does dear forgetfulness.

Or what is else? There is your world within.
There rid the dragons, root out there the sin.
Your will is law in that small commonweal…

- Gerard Manley Hopkins.

It's horrible that I can no longer read as fast or as prolongedly as I used to. Fuck you, prolongedly is a word. I very badly want to reread all of Sherlock Holmes because something tells me it will change the complete lack of purpose in my life right now, I'm just one decision short of becoming a hotshot scholar researching crime fiction, but I just don't have the time. There are other things to read. Ever since reading became what I do during the time I'm getting educated, all I feel like doing after getting back home is doing other things. Like colouring. With crayons.

I miss Mister Clean crayons. They had these silver and gold crayons that were pretty useless because they looked horrible on white paper, so every time a box finished I'd have a barely-used silver and gold crayon left. I kept them because they smelt nice. By class five I had maybe twenty each of silver and gold crayons in a box made expressly for silver and gold crayons, I'm sure it's around somewhere. It doesn't really matter if a silver-and-gold crayon drawing hinders my potential research scholar dreams, does it?

I'm ashamed I asked.

December the 24th was the best day of last year. I think it was the day I truly got out of school-mode. There is this certain way of telling time and space and relationships in general that fourteen years of time-tables gives you. Or maybe it was just me, others seem to do fine without it. Anyway, there was this range of reactions to the world that this timetable had set down for me, and because I was usually sitting by myself watching the world go by for the better part, I always knew what they'd be, come any situation. But here I was, sick to my stomach and unable to lift my head and feeling like crap on Christmas Eve, and I knew school had ended by the way I felt good about everything that had happened from July till then. Because all of it had been a vast, vast lunch period, with me in the playground thinking I was part of a game, chain chain or Magnet or whatever, and it didn't matter. The people would always be there, and so would the rules, and so would the game, only I didn't have to be the fat kid panting along trying to keep up anymore.

Things have been the same since then, only I think I've changed a little. I no longer care if people had the wrong idea all along. Chances are it was always like that. My Hindi teacher, for example, always assumed I hated Hindi, and my Math teacher thought I was doing sums in my register.

People are always wrong about other people.

It happens everytime I attend a classical music recital or concert. I sit in my seat and find myself lulled to a point where I think I'm about to fall asleep, but then some stray note hits me and I sit up and wonder why I don't delve into things like this more, listen to the flute, listen to the sitar, listen to whatever it is, and then I feel incredibly tiny and incredibly ignorant, but so much at peace with myself that I can feel the difference in tone when I open my mouth to speak next. It is always the same. For a long time after, everything is shaant. Just that. There isn't a good enough equivalent in English to describe this.

Oh my god I love mud. I LOVE MUD dye hear? When I have a house of my own I shall incorporate a special multipurpose mud pit into it.

This post sounds like that Dirrrty video now. Eww.

I want to beapartofit and make a brand newstartofit, dum dum de dum.

You can't fight against the world very much if you're a que sera sera kind of person. I mean, everything is disgusting nonsense and sometimes it climbs one rung higher and becomes depressing nonsense, but what can you do? What can I do? There will always be little things to make me happy till I realise, once I get back home, that I was supposed to have been in the depressing nonsense mode all along.

On the downside today was the coconut gelato, but even that was followed by good food. On the A+ double star side I'd put the film studies department's hidden staircase, all kinds of mud, the belated birthday present and all the Happydent White I bought today. Also an epic win for departmental football, but then you'll see me grinning stupidly every time anyone does anything in the department. Looks like I'm not bad at being clannish at all; I think I could fight for honour, or at least cheer for it, either way I get that feeling of having accomplished something. So give or take a plastic yellow fork buried somewhere on a patch of ground covered with pawprints, I'm happy for the earth and for the sky and someday I shall turn all of this into a story, what else is there?

Give or take a couple of differing viewpoints, we outdo others at useless things. Bootless things. Everything. Spot on, eh?

नो वन रीड्स दिस ब्लाग :D

Everything is disgusting nonsense. Sab kucch.

Eventually I will, I know this to be true, I will infect JU's entire water supply system with some incredibly rare toxin so that everyone who uses the loo will be stuck with an embarrassing rash. I shall sit in the middle of Worldview with sixty people around me scratching their bums and feel like I'm a Batman villain. It will happen, just you wait. One doesn't get into Mojo Jojo mode for nothing.