Another of my Blah Blahs

Life is moving on without much of a change. Same old routine. The word 'old' is relative. When i said old, i didn't mean it to date back to 1993 when i started going to school, or even 2005 when i started going to college. Or for that matter, not even 2009, when i joined somewhere to get a payslip every month. It just dates back to 2010 Mar 18, when i placed my feet on Bangalore. The garden city. Well, garden city might be what it is known as, but frankly, I've never been to any gardens in Bangalore in the last one year of toiling. Perhaps, if you could count on a visit to Lal Bhagh 11 years back, then yeah, i will endorse the complement.

So, Mar 18 is the day. The day when we celebrate the first anniversary of our live-in. Bangalore and Me. I love that city pretty much. Not for the normal reasons, of partying, of pubs, of shoppers' shops, of restaurants.. I just love it. Unqualified love. Is that a right usage? I'm unsure. Unqualified love transcends tangible reasoning. Or so is what romantic poets have long succeeded in propagating.

"I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close."

- Pablo Neruda

They left open one of the most profitable of all the markets. The anytime reliable theme for movies. Songs. Poems. Stories. Novels. For greeting cards. For Archies. Love is in the air. Like a hydrogen balloon. Sometimes in different flavors too ;)

The higher the balloon rose, the better were the chances of bursting. And by the time the girl is 23 or 24, the Break Up would be in the airs.

Well, I'm about to be 23(of course, the girlish fetish of not admitting that i'm growing old exists in my repertoire too :-D ). But I'm definitely not the protagonist. These are all general observations. Break ups. Deceptions. Heart Breaks. They are all fighting for a little space in the air, to rise higher than 'love balloon' ever was. Girls are all getting married back to back. Guys are all abandoning saloons, to uphold the age-old concept of an unshaven face on heart breaks.

Well, life is so funny. Had Shakespeare been alive, he could have written a Romeo and Juliet part II, by altering the climax of Part I slightly, with both the protagonists marrying someone of their family's choice, there by writing off the frail chance of uniting the feuding families. And in part II, they both take up the familial feud themselves.

Anyway, it was just a random post. Just to keep myself going.
"Every writer has to find a way of going on, of not drying up, of overcoming limitations. "
-A writer's people, Naipaul.

Jobless people may try Maher Zain. Amazing Arab music.

PS: Honorable readers of my shitty post are reprimanded from asking me the intention of this post. Instead, people are requested to look at my magnanimity, which forced me to write a bad post so that we are in a better position to appreciate the better works of others ;). If not for the night, how will we appreciate the day?

PPS : Can someone come up with a replacement for 'Blah Blah' ?
Khuda Hafiz

~Gayathri~

Filler!

I was desperately thinking of what to post. A week after 'The Comeback' post, i was still stuck in the red ribbons of a real come back, for, i found the grey cells sucked dry to deliver anything readable at all. I typed a long political post, wherein i was bitching about the shitty condition we were in. With Andimuthu Raja and Ashok Chavan and Yeddyurappa and Kalmadi and the many other s.o.bs taking us on a ride.With so much fodder to chew,it shouldnt have been difficult to spit at least a paragraph. But i found it disgusting. Later I started a long diatribe on how i ended up being anti-congress with its agenda of dynastic succession from Nehru to Indira to Rajiv to Sonia to Rahul. Of how once again,the agenda seemed flawed with the king-in-making hand-picking the most efficient of all of his ministers,Ashok Chavan,Shashi Tharoor and Omar Abdullah.That post appeared trash too. Exhausted with all my failed attempts, i was like a couple who had to drop off without reaching orgasm. I was desperate to spot a write-able topic.I even thought of putting up a lot of thoughts.The passing clouds.

And then,one day, my dear dad wakes me up to say-"Your language is bad. You play with words. You concentrate on conveying message. But not on the structure of the sentences. Not on the basic grammar. Hence you end up having literature and not language. Work on it." .
And I wonder-Do i have to write anything more at all ;)!!
The best critic and critique ever!!

Khuda Hafiz
~Gayathri~

And Here I Come!!

01/17/2011, 23:30

I was thinking.. My blogosphere has been empty for a long time. I open my page one day to see that i've shitted 87 times till date. And wonder what has become of my digestive system. I decide to try shitting again. To dump all that was rotting inside my tummy.. As a first step,i opened the loo. And kept staring at the closet for some time. The poor one which had complacently received all my droppings without a word back and still pampered me with silence whenever i wanted to shit more. Sometimes even twice or thrice a day. It did stink. Still it made me clean by holding whatever i had to shed.
My happiness.
My sorrow.
The frustration.
The bitching.
The flaunt of GK.
The empathy.
And of course, the cliche and trivia.

Had it not been for the untimely sleep on June 9,2008, I wouldn't have discovered a solace for all the digestive issues. Yet I ignored it for a long time. I blamed it on my work. I blamed it on my inaccessibility to net. I blamed it on my mundane life. I blamed it on anything but me. As much as i blame the mirror for it's crack at my reflection, i blamed my circumstances for the negligence i showed to my shit pit. I realize that i was rotting myself as much as it cried for one more bit of crap from me. And i try shitting desperately, only to realize that i've forgotten the art of excretion. The harder i try, the more constipated i felt. And finally it all comes out as a dysentry.. Shoooooo!! :P Hence lies this post. As dirty as it could be. To symbolically announce a comeback!! :)

01/18/2011, 00:36.


Khuda Hafiz
~Gayathri~

The Reality

It was around 19.15. And the bus was screeching to halt near the Mysore bank. My train was at 21.40,that was if IST meant Indian Standard Time and not Indian Stretchable Time.

Gone were the days when I could cover 50km in an hour. Gone were the days of 5th gear and 60kmph. And a safe margin of 2hrs had to be ensured if you were to be prompt somewhere. Vehicles in Bangalore were meant to be driven in 1st or 2nd gear,rest of them were all state of the art fantasies never to be used in real life. There would be a traffic signal in every furlong and if you are lucky enough,the signal turns red just as you approach the junction. You anticipate all that, and you start the journey well in advance only to find all the lucky stars shining in favor of you to turn everything green. Go Green,be that's to save earth or to see heaven! Hence you reach your destination well in advance only to find that you have the time to attend a 10km Marathon and still make it to your train.

This was one such day.And i looked at myself and told,"How lucky you are,now that you can sit and count the stars for the 2.5hrs".

If not for the Rava Dosa at Adigas,which I so ardently crave for the entire week,I may not get down at Mysore Bank and walk upto 2km to the railway station. But yes, the Dosa is worth the hassle.

The way upto the railway station is interesting. I should not perhaps call it interesting if i should be anything but a sadist,but you get the whiff of the real world.The real real world. The prostitutes,who line up near the posts en-route Majestic, under the bridge, in the subway, in the bus stand,wherever you turn to,in the kind of attire that imposes the fancy line,'one cleavage two tits', with their care-taker pimps taking care of which XY talks to them. The street vendors who sell anything ranging from cheap watches to local perfumes. The handicapped beggars who were forcibly handicapped to be marketed for sympathy. The porters who carry more than what they can only to trip every now and then. Kids who wipe the dirt off the hotel rooms at an age when they have to be dirtying their uniforms in the school.The local food stalls which remind you that 'it's the money that inculcates the sense of hygiene'.The people who sleep anywhere on the streets, the platforms,with the stray dogs.The Hijaras who come begging and robbing.

It all reminds me of the blessings i'm bestowed upon.The warm embrace of the family. The luxurious affection of friends. The cron job that refills my account every month end. The hot running water. The 3 meals a day. The books. What not. What more can i ask Him after seeing all these people,who go to any extent to make their ends meet? I may not be loving my job, but i love the fact that i have a job which keeps me away from begging or robbing or stripping to make a living.

Khuda Hafiz
~Gayathri~

Weirdo!!

Play me Tribes of Babel as Baiju does..

Write me erotica with politics and history and sarcasm as Tejpal does..

Sing me Uyire as Hariharan does..

Narrate the winter as, "It came down in little white fluffs; you felt that a gigantic hand had punched a gigantic cotton wool sack open, letting down flurries of cotton shreds.
The streets were not covered,but the tops of the naked branches were white with it- a white that showed more beautiful because the limbs of the trees were in comparison stark black."- Naipaul..

Speak eloquently as Anand Mahindra does..

Talk endlessly about anything,
about anything under the sun including the sun,
about VVV-Veda Vatsyayana Voltaire,
about Freud and Pamuk,
about Balamurali and Niladri Kumar,
about Sainath and Kiran Bedi,
about the Brits and the Mughals..

Do any of these..and gimme the orgasmic pleasure..the goosebumps..

Others - are just ordinary!!

Khuda Hafiz
~Gayathri~