Sunday, August 30, 2009
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Travesty
It was just another day in life of Makhrand; get up at 7am sharp, clean yourself, rush and run, catch the 8.15am local train to work, reach the station, wait for the bus, push, shove, ticket, “Sir, make yourself comfortable. I do not mind standing”, get down, daily chai and a smoke, lift to the fifth floor, swipe swipe, “Hello, Meena”, lights on, computer power-on, run to washroom, fresh water on face, get back to the seat, type the password, open the browser and we are working in five, four, three, two, one...
It doesn't bother him that a certain politician was killed today, right outside his building. It isn't going to change his life in anyway, well, particularly. The fact that his neighbour is going to get a few thousand rupees to keep shut about the killing doesn't bring about a change in his lifestyle. He works on.
His job matters, the twenty-thousand rupees getting deposited by the end of the month matter, everything else is God's business. Family matters, giving away twelve thousand rupees to his father at the end of the month, so he can run away to his village and waste away his son's hard-earned money in alcohol and gambling habits - matters, a new lady co-worker joining the work place matters, “I am still unmarried” matters, getting employee-of-the-year award matters, getting shouted at for not completing the day's tasks matters, sitting for fourteen hours without proper food matters, having a smoke after a tiring day at work matters, catching the 11.30 pm train to home matters.
******
Alpesh wasn't the fittest of people in the world now, with his thrombocytopenia. A good looking, smart kid, with fifty-million friends to choose from, jazzy shades, rich boots and leather jackets, he is what movie-stars are made of. But what has that got to do with being rich? What has anything got to do with being son of a doting, powerful father, who only had cars and parties to offer to his two children? Seema was happy with her husband in the UK, while the much younger sibling, Alpesh was working his way in a corporate.
Ring, ring! Alarm clock. Get up at 9. Welcome sunshine, juice, wash, breakfast, “Bye, mum”, car, cruise, honk-honk, park, lift, swipe swipe, “Morning, Meena”, “Hey” and “Hi”, “Hey Makhrand”, password, log-in, mail, chat, phone, “Reached work, mum”, work, eat, break, work, break, work, 6.30pm, swipe-swipe, lift, car, girlfriend, muah-muah, car, home, eat, friends, beer, home, sleep is life.
Reaching work doesn't matter, the twenty-six thousand five hundred, that get deposited in the bank by the month end, don't matter, a pretty lady colleague at work, well, matters, “I have a girlfriend” matters, flamboyant lifestyle matters, Makhrand is my best bud at work, matters, Makhrand is over-worked, doesn't matter, Makhrand is my boss and yet highly underpaid, doesn't matter, finishing my day's tasks matters, a politician was killed outside Makhrand's place, doesn't matter. Life is a day's worth of living, everyone else thinking otherwise is an idiot.
It doesn't bother him that a certain politician was killed today, right outside his building. It isn't going to change his life in anyway, well, particularly. The fact that his neighbour is going to get a few thousand rupees to keep shut about the killing doesn't bring about a change in his lifestyle. He works on.
His job matters, the twenty-thousand rupees getting deposited by the end of the month matter, everything else is God's business. Family matters, giving away twelve thousand rupees to his father at the end of the month, so he can run away to his village and waste away his son's hard-earned money in alcohol and gambling habits - matters, a new lady co-worker joining the work place matters, “I am still unmarried” matters, getting employee-of-the-year award matters, getting shouted at for not completing the day's tasks matters, sitting for fourteen hours without proper food matters, having a smoke after a tiring day at work matters, catching the 11.30 pm train to home matters.
******
Alpesh wasn't the fittest of people in the world now, with his thrombocytopenia. A good looking, smart kid, with fifty-million friends to choose from, jazzy shades, rich boots and leather jackets, he is what movie-stars are made of. But what has that got to do with being rich? What has anything got to do with being son of a doting, powerful father, who only had cars and parties to offer to his two children? Seema was happy with her husband in the UK, while the much younger sibling, Alpesh was working his way in a corporate.
Ring, ring! Alarm clock. Get up at 9. Welcome sunshine, juice, wash, breakfast, “Bye, mum”, car, cruise, honk-honk, park, lift, swipe swipe, “Morning, Meena”, “Hey” and “Hi”, “Hey Makhrand”, password, log-in, mail, chat, phone, “Reached work, mum”, work, eat, break, work, break, work, 6.30pm, swipe-swipe, lift, car, girlfriend, muah-muah, car, home, eat, friends, beer, home, sleep is life.
Reaching work doesn't matter, the twenty-six thousand five hundred, that get deposited in the bank by the month end, don't matter, a pretty lady colleague at work, well, matters, “I have a girlfriend” matters, flamboyant lifestyle matters, Makhrand is my best bud at work, matters, Makhrand is over-worked, doesn't matter, Makhrand is my boss and yet highly underpaid, doesn't matter, finishing my day's tasks matters, a politician was killed outside Makhrand's place, doesn't matter. Life is a day's worth of living, everyone else thinking otherwise is an idiot.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
An Ode To Beer
Last night I was up till three am
Headbanging in my room to In Flames
I banged my sleepless eye against my knee
There was blood everywhere
I need my beer to fall asleep
Oh beer
Don't you leave me alone.
Oh beer
How I love to carry you home.
After working out in gym for three hours
I felt like testing my superman powers
I put on some porn and enjoyed two hours
But without a beer I'm up till wee hours
Oh beer
You accept me as I am
Oh beer
Never try to turn me into another man
You never ask me with whom I've been
Was it a bottle of vodka, or just some feminine gin
You're the only cure to all my aches, yeah!
One beer a day will keep the doc away!
Oh beer
My unconditional love
Oh beer
It's only you I think of
Oh beer
My love so true
Oh beer
Don't you love me too
Oh beer
Headbanging in my room to In Flames
I banged my sleepless eye against my knee
There was blood everywhere
I need my beer to fall asleep
Oh beer
Don't you leave me alone.
Oh beer
How I love to carry you home.
After working out in gym for three hours
I felt like testing my superman powers
I put on some porn and enjoyed two hours
But without a beer I'm up till wee hours
Oh beer
You accept me as I am
Oh beer
Never try to turn me into another man
You never ask me with whom I've been
Was it a bottle of vodka, or just some feminine gin
You're the only cure to all my aches, yeah!
One beer a day will keep the doc away!
Oh beer
My unconditional love
Oh beer
It's only you I think of
Oh beer
My love so true
Oh beer
Don't you love me too
Oh beer
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Sunday, August 09, 2009
Sunday, Lazy Sunday
Inspired by Ms. Divya, I decided to paint my wall. I clicked the picture and mailed it to a few people. Then posted it on facebook, DA, everywhere. Hell, I was so proud of it. Here, I post it again.
Now, Anarchy and Punk, both the philosophies are pretty much anti-perfection and anti-order, anti-discipline, anti-shit, anti-shat. But I admire them nonetheless. Well, I also thought I represented both these cultures to quite an extent, until, on close inspection of the photograph, I realised there were a few mistakes in the Anarchy symbol. So I went ahead to perfect the symbol of imperfection.
After everything seemed decently complete, I, somehow had the urge to dip the brush in the colours again and paint a few random strokes around the symbol. Realising my stupidity, I should've stopped there. But I went on to add to this by committing a wall-breaking act. I added some water, just for kicks, to the paint brush and I moved the brush over wet paint. I have no clue what I was thinking, or if I was at all thinking. It wasn't long before I crashed to the floor holding my head in my hands in dismay. The paint had started flowing down the wall and the symbol was now looking like a spit on the wall. I calmed myself down for two minutes, and I really should've waited more but impatience is my best friend. I started correcting the spoilt areas with some white paint. The exisitng paint being still wet, the white paint started flowing along with the water, while it also mixed with the existing red paint, bringing out a bright pink. About two years back, I would've killed myself over this. But sanity restored somehow and I waited for the paint to dry now before doing any further damage to the wall or myself. Finally, I altered the anarchy smybol a bit and applied white paint over the dried drips. The output now looks alright but I still do not have the courage to take a second look at the wall.
Moral of the story: Stop aiming for perfection. Accept nothing is and nothing can ever be perfect. Stop trying to correct things. You'll only end up making them worse.
Of other stories, I think it's my duty to impart some wisdom to the young idiots out there: Do not go to a movie drunk on beer. You tend to fall asleep and your angry friends slap you awake as you disturb them with your loud snoring in the middle of a steamy scene on the screen.
That's it for now. Till next time, adios motherfuckers!
Updated pic:
Now, Anarchy and Punk, both the philosophies are pretty much anti-perfection and anti-order, anti-discipline, anti-shit, anti-shat. But I admire them nonetheless. Well, I also thought I represented both these cultures to quite an extent, until, on close inspection of the photograph, I realised there were a few mistakes in the Anarchy symbol. So I went ahead to perfect the symbol of imperfection.After everything seemed decently complete, I, somehow had the urge to dip the brush in the colours again and paint a few random strokes around the symbol. Realising my stupidity, I should've stopped there. But I went on to add to this by committing a wall-breaking act. I added some water, just for kicks, to the paint brush and I moved the brush over wet paint. I have no clue what I was thinking, or if I was at all thinking. It wasn't long before I crashed to the floor holding my head in my hands in dismay. The paint had started flowing down the wall and the symbol was now looking like a spit on the wall. I calmed myself down for two minutes, and I really should've waited more but impatience is my best friend. I started correcting the spoilt areas with some white paint. The exisitng paint being still wet, the white paint started flowing along with the water, while it also mixed with the existing red paint, bringing out a bright pink. About two years back, I would've killed myself over this. But sanity restored somehow and I waited for the paint to dry now before doing any further damage to the wall or myself. Finally, I altered the anarchy smybol a bit and applied white paint over the dried drips. The output now looks alright but I still do not have the courage to take a second look at the wall.
Moral of the story: Stop aiming for perfection. Accept nothing is and nothing can ever be perfect. Stop trying to correct things. You'll only end up making them worse.
Of other stories, I think it's my duty to impart some wisdom to the young idiots out there: Do not go to a movie drunk on beer. You tend to fall asleep and your angry friends slap you awake as you disturb them with your loud snoring in the middle of a steamy scene on the screen.
That's it for now. Till next time, adios motherfuckers!
Updated pic:
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