Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Dreams from my Lesbian Self

 It was an ancient room. So ancient that it reeked of decomposed wood and mildew. But there was a grandeur that was hard to ignore. I stepped inside and eased off the backpack to one of those ancient chairs. I wanted my matchet. Furrowed on one side and smoothly blunt on the other. The ogre that bathed me in blood. 

And I couldn’t find it in the backpack. All that was there was a tiny swiss knife. This was wrong. Very very wrong. I needed the matchet for I knew I wouldn’t survive a minute without it. I could use my power of imagination to find that matchet buried deep inside the backpack. But something revolted against the idea. I was slipping out of the dream and I fought against it. A few seconds of intense focussing found the matchet. From its rough leather sheath, I took the gleaming metal out and quaveringly admired its sheer power to decimate for a while.

The holster held the sheath close to my heart and the savage was ready for carnage. My folks were waiting outside. There were horses or something. I didn’t care. Hormones screaming for butchery, I rode into the woods.
And they came. A white guy with a sword. The matchet quivered inside the sheath. Before I knew, it came to life in my hands. A flash, it chopped his hands and severed it from his body. Leaving behind the bloody hand still clinging to the sword, I rode on fiercely, slicing the thick silence with an ear-splitting scream. 

Then came a black guy with a spear. There were no horses anymore. It was a clearing, just him and me on foot. The sinister forest watched in a grim stillness. Matchet was becoming restless in the hands, aching to discerp him to a thousand bloody shapeless masses. In an oddly swift move, I was on him, the edge of my matchet closing in to his eyes, ready to gauge it out. And he suddenly started laughing hysterically. He was enjoying me over him. Looked like he was gay. As I stepped back wincing, there was a brilliant flash and dazzling brightness all around.

I was back in the ancient room with a slender tall girl clad in glaring white. She said, “shree, there is too much violence inside you”. She took my hands in hers and it was soft as quill. I couldn’t look into her eyes which seemed to pierce into the darkest depths of my mind. “Come with me and I shall lead to your bliss”, she said.

And suddenly, I was in Bombay, sitting inside a cosy metro train, watching slums speeding past me. After whizzing through myriad landscapes and a hundred thousand lives, it came to a halt near an ocean and there she stood, in a casual black attire that contrasted her blinding white skin. I followed her to a group of stand-up comedians chuckling stupidly amongst themselves. Smiling enigmatically, she said “this is your bliss”.

The crazy landlord was rapping on the door, its despicable sound resembling the irritating hammering on a construction site. “bhaiyya, aaj Office nahi ja rahe hei kya? Do baj gay...”
Hell, no. I thought. No office today. I’ll read interpretation of dreams instead.

Too many action and fantasy movies. And too much involvement in fubar’s blog. I’m getting sick of it.

The fake Freud in me identified Apocalypse Now, Lord of the Rings, The Last Samurai and Inception. And by the way, the title was to mislead porn hunting imbeciles. Sorry to disappoint. You can try 3gpking, mikesapartment or naughtyamerica.

Phantasms from the Fog

“Damn, I think we’ve run out of petrol” he finally let the awkward truth out and looked uneasily at her. It was partly her fault because the scooterette without a fuel gauge was hers and all he did was ride it with her. The evening was getting chillier and a mild fog was settling, blurring their sight to some extent. They had been standing there since the last ten fifteen minutes with him diagnosing why the scooterette had conked out all of a sudden.
She watched him leaning down, squinting at the engine and desperately groping the wires. It was very irritating. “What’s the use, you idiot? Just find some petrol from somewhere” she yelled. He stepped back ruefully and mumbled “D...Do you have a can or bottle or something?” Silently she handed over an empty mineral water bottle from the bag. He took it with visible relief and said, “Y..you just wait here and I’ll get it. The pump is just two minutes walk away. You can even see it... Look, there... Put that cap on, O.K? And... I’ll be back in five minutes. Umm... by the way, don’t call me when I’m at the gas station, O.K? It’s dangerous. My phone’s an old one. ESD spark from the phone may... You know, ESD...Electrosta...” “JUST GO, ASSHOLE” she screamed before he could finish.
How did I end up with this kind of a loser, she thought while watching him with disdain, nervously hobbling towards the gas station.
A filthy cur which came limping observed him and the bottle with interest. It sniffed around the scooterette for a while and nestled in a pit beside the road.
Having nothing else to do, she started texting and suddenly realised that she’d run out of balance too. All she could do on the roadside in this wintry evening was watch a stupid dog nuzzling in a pit or talk to him which would frustrate her more. She pondered over the irony; there was no balance to call people whom she liked to talk with but some stupid plan would let her hear his nervous harping for hours if she wanted.
A good fifteen minutes passed and he was nowhere in sight. Her frustration was mounting alarmingly. “Curse this life, why do I have to bear this jerk who can’t even get a bottle of petrol from pump at a walking distance?” She swore aloud.
She flipped the phone open and called him. It rang thrice and suddenly his nervous stammer came through “G... Good heavens... dear, didn’t I tell you not to...” and then everything happened like a scene from a movie. As the call got disconnected, a deafening explosion made her swivel towards the direction of the petrol pump and a crimson ball of fire slowly went up from there, the dog fled past her with shrill yelps.
It was all silent once again. The orange flames were prominent now and clearly visible to her.
She collapsed on the road sobbing and muttering “Bastard, how could you mess up that one simple job???”

Moral of the story: Nothing. Don't read random blog posts out of boredom.
The title has a creepy note, na? I was thinking about continuing with the fog thickening, wolves howling, the girl panicking, the burnt dead nerd chasing her with a splinter of his phone and all, but then I got bored. 

Saturday, February 19, 2011

Pulp Friction

It was just another day. Winter on the deathbed. Stray monkeys squeaked menacingly and ran around. Nothing could make a difference. Bored, he got out of the office and walked towards the ATM machine across the road. His life was messed up beyond recovery. Unpaid bills, pending work, laundry that had been piling up since two weeks, calls he never attended... Immersed in thoughts about the whole meaninglessness of his existence and the need for more isolation, he never saw the speeding truck. All he heard was the deafening noise made by the friction between its tyres and the road. That was it. A passerby murmured "this is the end, beautiful friend, the end" and walked away. Monkeys stopped squeaking and a frozen silence prevailed.

This is the story of how a person was transformed into a pulp due to friction.


All credits go to Dragon Naturally SpeakingTM trained to 100% accuracy. The nonsense above was randomly dictated to it. It's a damn interesting software, you know?

Saturday, February 12, 2011

Another Monologue

Today, it is going to be my College.

It took me 7 Years to complete a five year law course. You, my hopelessly bored reader would be expecting me to follow this up with an short justification. Na. I’d rather not do that. I’d , as usual give a comprehensive commentary making fun of the college, me and those seven years that felt like 17 or 27...

It was different from the way the N school kids did law. We were a community of blissfully happy kids insulated inside a cosy setting without a hint of what went on outside the college. We used to wonder why those kids who occasionally came down for attending our piteous moot court competitions from other colleges looked so stressed out. In the vacations, we sat at home watching movies or playing cricket or something. College for us, was just a level up from school. After college hours, I played “Return to Castle Wolfenstien” in the newly acquired AMD Desktop. During the vacations, I finished Max Payne-I and II.

There were never many classes. Most of the time, the college was kept closed due to some reason or the other.

The whole concept of placement was so alien to the campus that it was considered a disgrace to accept a job in a company or a firm. Not that it ever happened. Sure, there were stories about kids who had left for Bangalore or Delhi looking for jobs in Law Firms. But, even that was narrated with such contempt as if they had gone to become prostitutes/gigolos.

There were a couple of forlorn kids who sensed that something was terribly wrong somewhere and felt out of place. But everyone inevitably had that tired look in their eyes when someone spoke of a job in the Metros.

So what did the kids do after graduation? Well, they all either quit law or practiced law in the lower courts.

It was a very chilled out campus. I often feel that had some N school kid accidently stepped inside, he’d have probably thought that it was a regular government office or an Art School. The student community was the weirdest. Most of the guys were well above thirties. Most of the gals were ‘Married/to be married soon/desperate due to not getting married’ types. And a substantial number of them came Burkha clad. So it was tough to classify them by looking at just their eyes. Some were dropped at the college by their hefty thick moustached husbands with contemptuous expressions as if whatever we were doing was a criminal waste of time.

There was an All India Moot Court Competition every year. A handful of teams with flashy chicks and laptops would come down with the hopes of leaving with an easy win. This was the time of their lives for the couple of wannabe and perverts in the college. They’d sit on the wall, ogle at these kids and murmur amongst themselves. The wannabes would appear wearing Linkin Park Ts and smoked jeans, ready for service. The courts were the funniest. Two teams, two court officers and two or three judges. That’s all. An incamera proceeding. In the final round, for which the organisers would have struggled days and nights to get hold of some HC Judges to preside, the hall will be adequately packed with people whom no one would ever see after the function.

The wannabes would spend the next few months cyber stalking the chicks who had come down (in ORKUT). The perverts would entertain each other with made up stories of how close he was to hooking up with one of those chicks.

And everything would return to normalcy. Quiet gloomy corridors. Deserted classrooms.

All the hell would break loose during the exam days. Strange faces would appear and there would be introductions. “Hey dude this guy is our classmate.” If its asked why no one has seen him all these years, a bizzare explanation would follow. “You know, I am having a shrimp farm in the Tamilnadu border. I was looking after that” “I went to Dubai looking for a job. Was lucky to make back alive”. I have to say that most of these stories would be raw and amusing. Like how he was promised an office job and was dumped in the midst of desert to be a slave to an Arab looking after the camels. How he managed to escape and all. Sadly, most of the stories would be true.

Another chaos would be unleashed during the election time. Those days would be eventful. Fiery campaigning. We had almost every of those student political parties. SFI, KSU, MSF, ABVP, AIDSO to name a few. There would be occasional clashes. And then the college will be shut indefinitely. We’d return homes cheerful and pleased, for the closure meant more movies, games and TV. Every morning with fervent prayers we’d open the newspaper to see if there is anything on the reopening. After a month or so of more unperturbed life at home, which would have become monotonous by that time, the classes would resume. Unknown to us, those leisure days were added to and not subtracted from our academic years.

Some kids would go out for moots occasionally. And would come back with an attitude. It would take a while for them to become ‘normal’ again. Then for days, they’d be seen outside the Principal’s room, accounts section, dean’s room trying to get a refund for the expenses incurred in vain.

I can say that till the day I left the college, (even) a laptop attracted lot of attention. God knows if it’s the same or the attitude has changed.

I was just one of those kids. There was a strange naivety about those people. They were all sincere folks who are content with their lives, however miserable it is reckoned by others.

That “was” doesn’t mean I’ve evolved into something great. But at least, I don’t stare at girls smoking now. Some improvement.

Wednesday, February 9, 2011


I really think Danny Boyle is a Faecal Fetishist. Lucky for him, there was enough of them amongst the members of AAMPAS too. He’s a lousy moviemaker as well. Or I was too busy throwing up to judge his movie.

Why not rate his movies ‘FF’ so that he and his like minded buddies can appreciate them alone.

Won’t repeat the mistake. I’d rather stare into an unflushed toilet than watch his movies.