The mirror is back

I finally had what I was looking for a long time, some solitude. It was well timed, my parents trip to Bombay and granma getting better so that she was fit to travel. I declined the invitation of traveling with them.

I made a few additions to the room, trying to make it look mine. For six months it belonged to her. She had put little idols of her favourite Gods and Goddesses and the wall where Jim hung was ignored. She doesn't know he is my God.

The mirror looks perky again with new pictures glued in, just the way I like. My bed doesn't stink of iodex anymore, instead it smells of me, of Body Shop.

I will miss having her around, but I love my room, most importantly my space.

Heehaww! yea..

But I love mine :)

Midnight

Lying by your side,



Under the midnight’s spell


Tiny lights flickering in the dark


Enough to glow your moistened skin


The smell of young lust


The creases on your forhead


The sound of the leaving bell


And the crickets outside


They ought to stay  mute


They ought to forget the night

under the midnight's spell

RIP: Sony Walkman (1978-2010)

 As the iconic Walkman lies in the death throes today, I mourn and weep profusely by remembering what it meant to own a Walkman in those days.


For anyone who grew up in India in the 80s, the walkman is synonymous with collecting numerable audio cassettes of Kenny G or the U2. Almost every teenager could be spotted walking around with the bulky player strapped onto their waists until much slimmer versions were launched by Sony. Just like your first pair of Ray Ban Wayfarers or the Reebok shoes, Sony Walkman was a must have in the post liberalized India.

Legend has it that the walkman was conceived by an audio engineer, Nobutoshi Kihara for Sony Chairman Akio Morito, who wanted to listen to his favourite operas on long international flight journeys. Would you ever buy it if it were to be called ‘Stowaway’ or ‘Soundabout’? Thanks to the popularity of Superman in those days, Walkman came to be named. Though the makers hated the name Walkman, they had to stick to it as expensive promotional campaign had already begun. But soon it became the most loved gadget across the globe. With almost 220 million cassette players sold so far, the Sony Walkman is unarguably the most loved gadget of our times.

A steep drop in sales has forced Sony to stop the production from their Japanese manufacturing unit after the last batch is off shelves. Though officials at Sony say they will continue production from their unit in China, till they see a demand mostly coming from Europe and some Asian countries. So don’t bury your walkman dreams as yet. As customers are increasingly switching to the portable, sleek and compact designs, it was only evident that Sony took the decision of putting an end to production of this much adored gadget across generations. Are they still available even if the production has stopped? Curiosity got me onto the metro and hop off at Karol Bagh to walk down to Gaffar Market. I was still looking for the lost ruins of the immortal Walkman. After hours at the maze-like neighborhood I ended up in shop no. 40 and was greeted by a Chinese Walkman look-alike called ‘Super’, half the price but not even half as charming as the original.


In 1979, when it was first launched, journalists were given Walkmans and were asked to walk around listening to explanation on them. Though it gathered poor response initially, kids in Britain had already started to demand a walkman from their parents a year later. I remember my first brick sized Walkman that grandfather reluctantly purchased for me. It was the 90s by the time I got hold of them; also because that’s when I started listening to what I now call music that defined me. By now Walkmans had become cheaper, more celebrated possessions and less bulky. When it was a few years old and the play button had by now been worn out due to overuse, I stuck it together with sellotape and we were happy to rock and roll again. No product would ever come close to capturing what it meant being a teenager in the 80s.


During long train journeys I remember getting off stations to load up on lithium batteries to get my humble set going. I have come a long way since then, now I use the Sony Walkman W series that looks very futuristic and nothing like the original Walkman. I remember how I used to tire out all my A sides and would often not end up moving to the B side.


Soon the walkman was succeeded by the Compact Disc players. Cousins from America would be kind enough to bring me CDs of Pearl Jam and Nirvana to add to my collection. It soon became fashionable to boast of a CD collection. The Walkman came as big relief for most teenagers as it gave them some moments of solitude from prying eyes of the elders. This gadget liberated us like no other by making the listening experience easy and on the go.


A friend described the Walkman, ‘a seminal piece of technology’ remising fond memories of making mix tapes for his sweetheart and labeling them with love notes right through his teenage years. But today all our music is stored digitally on swanky iPods and other digital music players. The walkman was a huge influence on the popular culture. It was almost like the iPod of the 80s. It won’t be long before a walkman becomes a collectors’ item and is sold for not less than a few thousands at Chor Bazaar.

It is almost the end of week 3 in Delhi.

Surprisingly, Delhi has been pretty well behaved this time around. I did things that I was warned against, for example, going to a club at 3 in the morning, trying to get out of the house at 12 am for a film. More or less all my acts center around staying outdoors late hours. And so far I have survived with joy *touchwood*. 

Last night caught the last show of "The Social Network". I really thought it wasn't worth the run. Though we missed the first 10 minutes of the film, I did not feel I missed much anyways. The film had its moments but at the end of the film I did not miss it. For me a film is good when I am left wanting more. Social Network did not do it for me. 

I was expecting more cinematic excellence from David Fincher. I think The Guardian was right about the film, it was made by a man from the 1.0 generation for the 2.0 guys! I would still recommend it though..  Watch it for the guy who played Eduardo Saverin and the Rashomon style of storytelling. 

Oh Delhi!

So after writing that scary piece on Delhi last month, I am back in the capital, this time not for a day but for a month. This time its not the eerie bylanes of Paharganj that is my home but a swanky neighbourhood in South Delhi, thanks to my friends :)

I am sure there will be a lot that I will have to say about Delhi this time, all good I hope

Why so random - II

I hate people who try too hard to be random. I know this is the second time I am ranting about it on the blog, but it is just too much to handle. It’s not these acts of randomness but the reason why they do it, that gets on my nerves.



Get attention. Now being random is very post-modern, but trying to get attention is so not! Convince me that you truly believe in all that you say not by overdoing it but by living by it.


So next time you spot someone trying to be all over the place in the name of post modernity, please stop and slap their butts. Do not encourage such people because that is exactly what they are looking for.


Exist because you love to rather than to prove a point. Try to be cool because you are born that way rather than putting an act on. It is so not cool.

This or That?

I have been thinking of buying a really nice pair of Ray Bans. But I am confused as to what style should I go for, though I have my eyes on the Wayfarers for a while, especially their rare prints collection.

Also I checked out this cool application called Virtual Mirror that lets you try out different styles.

Check it out if you got a webcam and lots of free time! Its a nice app to keep you company during those tedious late night study plans. At least for me ! :)

                                              

Hail dementia!!!!!

Fucked and sucked: Arab Strap

It is quite a pity that I discovered Arab Strap fairly late. Now theirs is not the kind of music I was hunting for, but it was more of a chance encounter and boy! do I love them or what?? I have been listening to all their albums since the 1990s on the loop now. And they are amazing company during these painful examinations.

Arab Straps last album, The last romance is quite a mix of alternative and profoundly indie numbers. My favourite being Stink for its eclectic and bold lyrics. Check it out :

"Burn these sheets that we've just fucked in



My weekend beacon, I've been sucked in


Just one more time and then you'll get tucked in


I think you might still be my best"

I checked their lyrical theme and I was sure it would be : bold, brash and real. These lyrics are about raw emotions that we usually try to hide in the niceties of the romantic-dreamy-starry eyed narrative. Vocalist Moffat's unpretentious voice lends the perfect blend to the crude lyrical notes. It is quite clear how much he hates the drama morning after ;) I am not surprised they call themselves Arab Strap ;)

Note to self

It is quite a wonder how most of my reflective experiences occur in unusual places namely the toilet seat, in the bathroom while washing clothes or while waiting in the queue to fill water amongst many others.



Today while washing truckloads of clothes that accumulate due to my habit of changing clothes at least four times a day, it occurred to me how I need to adjust my focus. For a very long time a constant thought had been bothering me. I simply could not pinpoint on the reasons but at the back of my mind, it kept nibbling on my tiny brain.


As I was clearing out my stack of dirty laundry, I was simultaneously clearing out my mind as well; very metaphorical it turned out to be. I smiled and thought of putting down this experience on the blog.


It occurred to me that, though I am existing now I need to start living again. Do things I used to do to be happy. Think of good things so I dream of them at night. Though I know all of this will happen only after the next five months pass. But at least I can look forward to the time after so that these five months pass soon.

“A person is a success if they get up in the morning and gets to bed at night and in between does what he wants to do.”  Bob Dylan

Bitch Talk

If I ever see something I do not like to see, I swear I will tear it, break it or burn it.

Six hours in Shillong

Shillong happened just like that. On an evening when I was supposed to be in Delhi, on a whim I decided to first go to Guwahati and then to Shillong. I took the first flight out and with just two days in hand head out to a place I had only heard of or read about.


I planned to travel with a Maharashtrian family who were staying in the same hotel as I and we shared a cab together right upto Shillong. I had six hours, a bunch of strange people for company and whole lot to see. It wasn’t exactly an ideal situation but I wanted to make the most of all that I had. Though the initial plan was to travel to Tinsukhia, but my Daddy rubbished all demands within minutes of putting it forward and I settled for Shillong.

The drive from Guwahati to Shillong was laced with more than just potholes. What caught my fancy were tribal women selling neatly cut pineapple and jackfruit all along the highway. Not to forget the spicy bamboo pickle, I think it is the only pickle that I’d ever like to have considering I hate pickles. The weather was gloomy, the mountains green and people friendly. I read somewhere that the only places one can locate any culture is in its people and their behaviour.


It was a perfect milieu of bonhomie and a whole lotta love. Now there is something more to this story which may also be the reason for me smiling ear to ear throughout the drive. It was so overwhelming that I could even get through the pain of travelling with a bunch of people who knew nothing about the place or its people; they were just there to spend money and boast of a vacation to a far off land.


As I neared Shillong I saw why my friends gushed about Shillong so very often. There were tiny houses, pretty girls in their best and little boys with pink cheeks waving at every passing car. Group of teenage boys strumming Californication on their guitars and all of it happened in perfect rhythm. Music was everywhere, to the extent that I paused  my iPod and within seconds put it off. I wanted to hear the sounds of Shillong and sink into the sights of the city. As instructed by a friend I headed straight to City Hut for a nice meal and strolled around the Police Bazaar locating places I had only heard of before.

                                    
Next pit stop was the View Point. The winding roads up to the point had by now drenched in rains and very little was seen of the Military area around it. As I stepped out of my car, I sudden spell of cold gripped all of me. It was too much of a change from the warmness of the city to the chills of the mountains. I saw all of Shillong washed in bright sunshine from where I was.


Like this very piece my trip was half done too. I couldn’t see more than half of the places I wanted to. Couldn’t listen to all the beautiful music I wanted to, couldn’t meet all the people I wanted to yet. Yet I loved every bit of whatever little I saw. So a next one should be planned soon. Till then, a little tip for all travellers: Never travel with ignorant fools, trust me no matter how smart you are, they will make you feel like a fool as well. I wish I had known. 

Newbies- II

Ok, the first list did not quite work out the way I wanted, blame it on.. oh just forget it. One should always look forward to newer things

So here is part II

Next purchase: Almost French by Sarah Turnbill

New song stuck on my lips: Anyone else but you by Moldy Peaches

New favourite author: Pico Iyer

Next film to watch: This list is quite long actually. Eat, pray, love. The  Social Network. The King's speech. The tourist.

New thing on "to buy when I have a real job list" is a Vacation to Venice

Neon Nights

Disclaimer: Do not try this under any circumstance. It is seriously injurious to your health and modesty!


I hopped out of my auto. It was still few minutes to dark, the vendors were screaming louder to sell all that they had to so they could return home with cheap liquor and some peanuts. I peeped into the little scrap of paper I was clutching in my hand trying to locate the address I scribbled in hurry. Unable to find it, I sought for some local help. The man muttered something to another autowallah and in a few minutes and few blocks away he stopped.


I admit I was woozy after the long flight from Bombay and was quite disoriented and in that state did not bother to enquire where I was being taken, I was just happy to know I was going somewhere. I got down again and as a practice tried to look for some clues below the signboards. I read P-A-H-A-R-G-A-N-J. It sounded familiar at first and without too much thinking I paid the driver and started walking to find a place to stay for the night.


Cheap and affordable was written all over the place but what wasn’t is all that i figured in that one night. I quickly checked into a hotel called Chanchal. I know the name sounds funny but it was the only place which was affordable and I saw many foreigners getting in so I thought it would be clean as well. After the ritual I left to look for some place to eat. It was 9.30 and it looked as if the city had begun to snooze already. I hand cycled my way to Connaught Place and spotted Moti Mahal. I grinned like a glutton and quickly settled for a nice meal of Biryani, Saag and Raita.


By 11 p.m. I retreated but Delhi being Delhi I couldn’t find a ride to the hotel for a long time. Having nothing to do, I thought of walking down as it wouldn’t be more than a 20 minute walk. I reached Paharganj and it looked as an entirely different place. In two hours it turned into something I wouldn’t have chosen to stay in. There were men of all sizes and shapes looking at me lustily. I increased my pace and they hankered after me. I heard comment flying from all direction and hitting me like arrows of filth and disgust. I cursed the man who murmured into the ears of my autowallah, I cursed the relative whose address I couldn’t find and cursed the night.

I sensed the red neon signboards screaming at me as though I had entered a place I shouldn’t have. This was Paharganj for you. I swear those five minutes on the streets of Paharganj left me feeling not just raped but exhaustingly overpowering. The gaze, the stench of sick craving and above all the neon lights reduced me to a piece of meat.

I pranced my way quickly and reached my room huffing and thanking God for all that did not happen but could have. Many must have got lucky that night and I was just lucky to not.

You are what you read

A very funny thing happened today. I and my roommate were having a very casual conversation. She suddenly looks at my stack of books on the rack and says, "The other day X came to our room and couldn't believe you read all that. She didn't know you were smart enough to read James Joyce." I couldn't help but smile. Sometimes it makes me wonder how many people on this planet are judging me right now? I wear pink does that mean I am a bimbette? I love shopping, so that makes me a spoilt brat? I don't scream out of my lungs to  put forward a point in class, so does that make me dumb? I don't publicize myself so does that mean I am not good enough?

It is very surprising how we have categories for people and how we put them in these categories in spite of not knowing them enough. It amazes me how little we think of each other and so much about ourselves. What makes us gloat or be pompous to the extent of making exhibitions of ourselves. Why do we feel the need to prove a point all the time?

Co-incidentally I was having a conversation with another friend who happened to tell me how I don't feel the need to be out there. Well yes she is right.

All that is on

It was a fairly good weekend. On second thoughts it was one of the best weekends in a long time. A and I sneaked S inside our hostel which was not a big task. We partied all night long and slept off ranting intellectual shit!



Today was made because of the awesome Almond Tarts, they were heavenly. A walk around the quaint little lanes of Koregaon Park can be so inspiring was also discovered only today. Lush green, purple air and blue skies.


The rest remains the same with a little change maybe, I smile a lot now <3

Done.Dried.Happy

It is ready, well almost. After a series of mini mishaps, it is looking neat nonetheless. Only wish I hadn't carelessly dropped a bottle of paint on it.

Popistic Paris

Inspired by: Andy Warhol and his popism

Wall goes colourful

more shall be added soon as an when the colous drip off the brush!

Sums up!

This place is not fit for the fearless brave hearts, but ideal for the timid. The ones who find strength in other people's weakness. The ones who hold higher moral grounds in spite of their stained consciences. So what exactly are they achieving? Are they hiding in the burrows of their disparity by making life miserable for those brave hearts? The timid gets away with this behaviour because timid lives in a constant anonymity but the brave hearts are the most visible. Their actions are noticeable sometimes even generate curiosity, jealousy or plain defencelessness amongst the timid. The timid hide their incompetency not by overdoing the brave heart but by bringing the brave heart down by hook or crook.