Selfish fish of the gutter wants to express.

I'm unable to breath. Choking on my own breath. It doesn't feel right anymore. Polluted, bruised, abused. I feel like a fish trapped inside a bowl. Being denied the expanse of independence and teased by the apparent expanse of the other world. To make matters shittier, its a bowl of stinking and dirty sewer wastage. The fish in me feeds on the excreta so disgusting, that it may very well have been shat by shit itself. And, its a bowl in a poor house. It isn't a fancy aquarium. So there's no changing the water regularly or a Triple Sunday made of artificial Dog-meat every evening.

Oh, but I'm a fish with a cock and a bunch of balls. And I need to fuck. Problem! Solution!!

(I swear to the fucking god, HOW much do I crib!)

DO DOONI CHAAR :-)

I am a Delhite, and I live in Bombay. To some, it is a sign of progress ; to the rest, a definite path to self destruction. I am glad I spent my formative years in Delhi, Badarpur to be precise. The archaic-almost cruel- neighborhood taught me the real definition of being alive including the most intricate details that are often ignored over the mere essential ones. Good is good and Bad is bad, came naturally to me. What it actually taught me- There ain't no good and THAT is not bad. I am a Delhite, and I am proud of it.

Do Dooni Chaar- a surprisingly sweet film about a lower middle class family(much like mine..) in the neglected by lanes of East Delhi, was as much a nostalgic orgasm for me as it was a reminder that the choices I made in life, are not so bad after all. The film borrows vignettes from a very real middle class Indian life and forms a delight of a screenplay. The almost cynical attention to details, especially in the Art Direction and Characterization, puts forth a mirror image of a distant past from your life onto the screen and you are left with an ear-to-ear smile throughout! The film follows no strict rule or formula if not for the preachy climax, but beautifully manages to recognize the pulchritude of a city, its people and their lives. Its definitely not an "Oye Lucky Lucky Oye" but every moment replete with sincerity and matured thought, makes the film very reminiscent of Hrishikesh Mukherjee style of Film Making.

First timer Habib Faisal, a Delhite himself, brings to the theaters(Sadly to very few, though...) a heart warming simple story in the wake of the shame that the Common Wealth Games have brought to Delhi and almost makes you say- its not so bad after all.

Mosquito, smiling man and other such events.

I am so ridiculously restless. Its a nightmare to constantly stare at the blank wall and listen to the motherfucker crow rant about god knows what. And seriously, its quite bizarre that the crow knows every time I am mindfucked to come and, "Koww" at my window. Maybe its saying-Dude, but you are upset and we are of the sadists!

And the fucking mosquito- If it isn't busy giving me Malaria or someshit, it comes right INTO my ear and makes that fucked up noise. Now I WANT THAT DIVINE SUPERFUCKING POWER TOO, to figure other species out. How can it know its my ear and not my nose, or my finger, or my penis or anything else? But it just knows! Oh, the poor little shit is going poop in the head, lets fuck him in the ear.

Relenting to the law of survival I put on my clothes, looking as shabby as any other day I head out the door. I can't take a cab-I have no money. That is all right though, I am quite used to it. I get into the bus. Nothing interesting (or uninteresting for that matter! )happens in the bus.

I get off the bus and get into an Auto rickshaw. I politely ask the driver if he is going to take the left or go straight. Now, I was only polite and straight faced about an irrelevant piece of information. I did not have boobs popping out of my body, but apparently it was raining boobs. It started with a grin, but the fucker never stopped. I acknowledged once- maybe unknowingly I cracked a joke that was unbelievably funny. But he never stopped grinning. Whatever the fuck it was, he was creepy.

There are times in my life when I want to just shut my eyes, bury my face right into a big bowl of rice and stay like that till I become rice. I am waiting for the day I move on from this strange sort of rice fascination because that will be the day I will also stop being so fucking restless. Basically, I hate being restless. It annoys me. And the worst part about hating being restless is that you can't do anything about it. What do you do, you can't chuck it out the window and go rest since that exactly is the issue. So you think of becoming rice, or poop, or steel or whatever else. Or bump into forever smiling men or listen to animals(insects, whatever) vocalize in your ear and drain sanity out of you.

Or make you blog about it.

If it was a moment of laughter
I would let it go
If it was about only putting on a smile
I would let it go
If it was the sound of that breath , or its smell
I would still let it go
But here I am writing you a poem
How can I let it go.

Hero of my day.

In all the sense, it is what you say through your ass that gets me to understand you, you really must be quite a thing!

This is really frightening. To the world out there I am nice. Nice! What the fuck is nice? Nice could mean OK. OK? OK to do what? to say? OK is-no you are piece of crap and go get a fucking life-only a little less grossly offensive. OK! I never sent out pamphlets declaring my beautiful heart and its fabulous lineage. Nice. OK. !!!!! And then you make such utter disgusting music. Did you NOT know it'll sound shit. I mean your farts must sound better, they only smell shit. Such ear-threatening powder in the name of music. Nice. OK.

Moving on. Nice. OK. I am sleep deprived, intoxicated almost. I am home sick. Terribly. Nice. OK.

Growing up finally seems like a good thing. As each step thuds upon the floor of creation, I breathe in a sense of pride. It swells up my heart with subtle exuberance. I welcome the anonymous with an improved sense of understanding. I feel. I touch. I know. It has its beauty. I realize. I respect. Now, I do not fear.

To me, breathing in only importunate. The real thing is to breathe out. Completion.
Nice. OK.

Daud

Two boys. Running frantically, almost parallel to each other calling each other names in turns-depending on which one of the two lags behind the other. They run, caring not about the scorching heat and neither about the difficulty to breath. Only one of them knew what exactly were they running for, the one who did not-decided to stop, breath and, be left behind for the moment. The one who knew, did not stop running.

Keep reading, one day I WILL catch up!

Jai H......

The Story.

Story gayi BH*&^()E mein. Gotey moonh mein hain. This is real fucking deal we're talking about here. Whatever happens from here-you got to know about it first,right here!


Jai Hanuman Gyan.........

Uncertain-TY

Uncertainty is towering over my head like its gonna piss the worst of my fears right down. I am an enervated shadow of what I really should be, yet there is a hope that I'll get some. To speak the truth, in a rotten day replete with-basically nonsense-brings out virgin characters of the very you that is so much full of shit. But then again, ramming OR rambling essentially mean the same so I much rather get the fuck on with it.
GO
Do

OK, apparently being judgemental is the new world order. So there you go.
P.S: Ya you, it ain't to do with you. I am only rambling for the lack of good sense of humour.

Red suite. White shirt, blood stains that are a couple of days old. Black pants that somehow do not look awkward on the skinny legs. Unpolished brown shoes signifying the length they have walked in the last few days. Face-blood red with tear stains adding to the extravagant gloom.

What the fuck does it matter? Why the sudden deluge of fervor about the otherwise ignored tribulation. I'm a piece of blood and bones and I fucking breathe too. I'm a partner and I suffer too. Lets assume for the moment that I remain supercilious for the life of god but I'm also as close to being normal as the next person. I'm free, I'm happy and I'm relentless. And yes, in the event that all fails-I'm a little intelligent too.

Destiny is only as much a concept as maybe physics- it is there as the most real fact in the world but half the world doesn't give a shit. So I'm neither trying to prove its fabrication nor am I advocating in its favour. I'm only more interested in regular things like good food, good films, good sex, good books, good colour, good music-absolutely fucking necessarily in the same order as mentioned. Destiny, well I respect it, I do not want to ignore it but I'm just amicable about its existence.

Newer times

In the strange times, I would like to believe in the concept of righteousness much against will and wish. The real deal almost always brings a demonic aura perpetually stuck in the midst of the free gushing river of emotions. You either need to face it or you can try avoiding. Neither helps, strangely!

Reach you will but arrive, you may or may not. In the line of fire is just that and more. Its the fucking ass on fire. And that, even if only limited to being forced into-refers to the idea of being in merry making self obsession. It is the new world order not because we think it is but because we do not think obsessives are fanatics. Fanaticism is the real attire of the funny and, strange as it may sound, the only times I tried I found that, much to my bemusement it is the fucking real deal.

Times...

Its quite ridiculous that maturity is not relative. To move on is simple, yes- but I might not move because I might not choose to do so. I might want to remember and I might even want to be bitter about it. I do not think what is clearly understood is really understood. The predicament of being irrelevant is just criminal wastage of irrelevance and it may often lead to a conflicting composite of impromptu bullshit. There is a specific way of life but being considerably against it, doesn't always lead to fucking up of the most disoriented illusions.But it leads to fucking up anyway.

Fucking Up: Literally, fucking up.

Maturity: Either grow the fuck up or just, fuck up.

Relevance: Irrelevant

Bullshit: Relevant

Me: Ridiculous.

If it were so!

In the event, that feelings seem to obscure the fitting solution to the predicament, one should do the complete opposite of the obvious. But questioning such an understanding is also not very often a well thought out phenomenon. So what exactly should one do-commit suicide OR not commit suicide? Such events are regular in nature and have the strange innate tendency to really get into the inevitable possibilities that one is actually meaning to avoid.
So what do I do? I, the person, is far from finding out the definite resolution. But I do know. I do because it calls out and if I wont it'll ruin me to bits. I believe because it seems befitting and it does not frequent if I believe enough. I may be wrong, but that is so out of will which means there could be a better world out there. I do not love to be on the wrong side but I do not repent it by even the least bit. Come and go!

2:58am

Strange that I am awake, rambling for the sake of piece of mind for its an escapist son of a broad, endlessly stuck in a time zone of cyclic undue use of exaggeration. For a little, you get fucking bundles and for the far greater your ass is smashed all over the paradise withholding the aches, only to bombast later in the forced existence of the very core. It is personal, and so it is all the time I have learnt. But what I learn is subjective to my limitations on surviving mediocrity in the real sense of the unreal way of existence. It becomes prudent at times to just let go but can I ever really let go. Can anyone ever let go? Well, some do and scale acute angled roads and some rot in hell for that moment. Sometimes we are a little less energetic only to feel the reality staring at us in the eye. A lot could be good and a lot could be far worse. Only if i knew!

Fight

Green T, doesn't go. Black, never went. Semi brown, may be. White, whatever now.
Shoes, slippers, shoes, slippers, shoes, shoes, shoes, shoes, slippers, slippers, slippers.
Shoes, no slippers. Slippers, Period.
Bag ( That has the intellectual ingredients for the essential well being of an aspiring creative fart.) NEEDS to be taken, but it is bloody huge and servants, just serve.
Walk, run, jump, stairs, lift, GO.
Left ear, right ear, play. "He is VOODOO- VOODOO COWBOY.Now he could dance the barn dance Like nobody before him But no woman would take him Cos his eyes were rather strange In them you could see the emptiness of the desert Yellow like a scarecrow Black like a snake He was a voodoo cowboy And he had never found a girl to call his own......"
3rd Floor- Addidas. Impossible is nothing. A little nod of the head and an acknowledgement.
2nd Floor-Hey, not seen you around in this lift. You new here? Aa, ya I guess since I don't socialize much especially in an elevator and anyway relax with the abundance of excitement.
1st Floor- Dude, seriously look at your ever expanding self You should consider walking down that one floor and you know, even if you think of yourself as fit you should still walk down!
Out.
Believe me, I am indifferent not out of purpose I am so, out of nature.
P.S: Oh Oh Oh, ...........not any more!

Rancho's baby is here.

Humko toh rahein thi bulati par woh apni raah banata........

I'll explain :-

Its only extremely rare for me to actively involve myself into things that bring along commitment as a requisite because I am well, a truly lazy person. But this new born father I am gonna talk a bit about, is far from this general apathy towards life and its ingredients, in a generic sense. This person is a real life Rancho ( @3 Idiots) breathing oxygen, making friends, faltering in love ( In the most magnanimous fashion!), spreading love and glee in bundles and being just way too surreal to be taken seriously. I may call him Munnabhai too, considering the parallelism in being unbelievably nice and magical but the cosmopolitan attire of Rancho and the 360 degree joy machine nature makes Rancho more apt as a parallel. (And anyway, Rancho is in!). Every time you begin to foresee a fuck up, he pulls it off with just genuine honesty and love as amun, driving you nuts yet making you say a prayer, wishing him the ultimate.

That the baby is to come to life, I was informed in the foremost stages and strangely, I wanted to pile on as a sub-father to the baby from the word GO. I would do just anything from washing nappies( Do u wash them????), cleaning bum, being yelled at for clearly no logical reason and possibly whatever is asked of me. So with every baby step I would pretend the involvement (May be i WAS involved but I don't know....) and stamp myself upon it. But as i have mentioned earlier and is universal nonetheless, I am bloody lazy.
In between I ensured my presence, mostly passive, breaking a few promises and delaying a few to indefinite futures. Nevertheless, I extended the most I could possible within the realms of my ability. And, this fine day the baby was born!

I was with Rancho seeing the baby being delivered into his hands and I died with profound joy for him. And then it was completely his baby and I was happy being the close uncle to it.

43 1/2

And it is done, at last!

37

Now I know that I CAN stay awake for inhuman number of hours at a stretch and yet maintain a considerable bit of sanity to participate in intermittent rubbish, at the same time, be at work. I can hardly jettison the blurred images that form the crux of my brain right now but then the positives behind a negative are largely neglected and more often than not, lead to unfortunate bad timed idiocy.

Who cares what you are looking for, figure stuff out and let loose.

Fragility beginning to seep in, energy in all its forms fading away at accelerating speeds and yet I stand, vulnerable but, convinced.

Fear of the day:
1. When you are unsure, you can work hard.
2. When you are sceptical, you can work harder.
3. When you are confident, you are doubt full too.
4. When you are convinced, you are fucked.

32

Another couple to go, seeing it from the positive side of things. And hanging on to this trance like state, does not seem like the greatest deal on the mother earth. So, lets do this shit!

@Rohit: I have almost always wanted to thoughtlessely listen to you but being stupid is not upto me. Haha

28 1/2

I am 2Kilometers under water speaking to an apparent merger of a whale and a star fish (absurd!). Following is an excerpt from that conversation:

Me: Whats Up?
Fish like thing: Fuck you! Go to sleep you fucking moron!
Me/Fucking Moron: Get real, piece of shit!
Fish like thing: Fuck off!
Me/Fucking Moron: Whatever!

I am still at it!

25

Hah! More than a day at work, frenzied noises reverberating every square millimetre of my brain, m almost in Brazil as far as my mental state goes and completely zoomed out. This is what i asked for and this, it seems, is what i get. Bloody hell! Baal ki dukaan is staring at my testicles for a moment of extra terrestrial pleasure and pen drive can go fuck itself.

I need to sleep!

18

For the first time since as long as i can remember (really), I am close to completing 24 hours at work and well, it does not seem all that bad! But this includes pushing myself to the very limits of my sleepless timezones (I have this thing but it does not exactly fit into the interesting scheme of routine so lets not dwell.).

Learnings from the past few hours:
1. If it is to with creativity, its either good or pass it off as ART!
2. I am not exactly complete crap (I still have a lot of figuring out to catch up with.)

I have not seen a proper film (whole heartily) for a very long time which is leading to a mental breakdown. I am about to insert spoons full of acid up all the cracks/holes in my body and scream till my neighbour too suffers from a mental breakage. Then I am going to gradually peel off some skin off my right hand, fry it in butter, bake the stuff dry and then mash it into powder.
Or I might not do this and and squeeze out time to watch a proper film (whole heartily). Then I am going to meet a few friends, drink some milk, call up my family and peacefully go to sleep the coming night in order to save myself the trouble of inserting acid filled spoons up my ass (and the other holes) and the subsequent screaming, cooking and mashing the next day.

P.S:
"I have this thing but it does not exactly fit into the interesting scheme of routine so lets not dwell."
I refrain myself from thinking of a random humorous statement partially inspired from the above quoted sentence and so I expect a similar adult behaviour from others too.