This weekend a bunch of guys and me, we simply packed our bags and took for a weekend to lots of sun, sandy beaches and bikini clad babes. We got all of that and some brilliant pics that I shall put online soon and I saw my first topless woman. Funnily enough, that and all the scantily clad women, who were absolute bombshells, did not even make the least difference to me.
Gah…guess I am a goner!
Oh..by the way, visit Om beach in Gokarna if you can!
Incident, our annual cul-fest starts today, but strangely I am not looking forward to it.
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
Lost in Time
When you suddenly find that you are missing time, then something is really weird or something somewhere has gone terribly wrong. Consider this…
I distinctly remember looking at my watch, which read about 3:20pm, when I left the lab and walked about a hundred and fifty meters to the little shack. Allowing for five minutes to dawdle and the average walking speed of humans being about 4kmph I must have reached the shack at approximately in about 167 seconds or about 2.7 minutes. Again, I shall approximate it to 5 minutes. Which means I reached the shack at 3:30pm, when I lit a cigarette and smoked it.
Krishna gave me the cup of coffee as I stubbed out the cigarette. The time should now read about 3:35pm, because I know for a fact that I take about five minutes on the average to smoke a fag.
I glance at my watch which read 4:00pm now!!!!! I simply have no recollection about 25 minutes except a dull pain around my temple. I haven’t blacked out or fallen because then I would have woken up in a hospital or with water on my face. Which wasn’t the case. I don’t know what happened, but I just lost twenty-five minutes of my life and I have no clue.
I know this must sound like a blurb out of some sci-fi movies about aliens, but I swear all this is 100% true. I checked out all the times with my friends. Am I going crazy?
“I just cant help myself, I’m feeling like I’m going out of my head. Uncanny strange déjà vu, but I don’t mind. I hope to find the truth…”
Strange déjà vu, Scenes from a Memory - Dream Theater.
I distinctly remember looking at my watch, which read about 3:20pm, when I left the lab and walked about a hundred and fifty meters to the little shack. Allowing for five minutes to dawdle and the average walking speed of humans being about 4kmph I must have reached the shack at approximately in about 167 seconds or about 2.7 minutes. Again, I shall approximate it to 5 minutes. Which means I reached the shack at 3:30pm, when I lit a cigarette and smoked it.
Krishna gave me the cup of coffee as I stubbed out the cigarette. The time should now read about 3:35pm, because I know for a fact that I take about five minutes on the average to smoke a fag.
I glance at my watch which read 4:00pm now!!!!! I simply have no recollection about 25 minutes except a dull pain around my temple. I haven’t blacked out or fallen because then I would have woken up in a hospital or with water on my face. Which wasn’t the case. I don’t know what happened, but I just lost twenty-five minutes of my life and I have no clue.
I know this must sound like a blurb out of some sci-fi movies about aliens, but I swear all this is 100% true. I checked out all the times with my friends. Am I going crazy?
“I just cant help myself, I’m feeling like I’m going out of my head. Uncanny strange déjà vu, but I don’t mind. I hope to find the truth…”
Strange déjà vu, Scenes from a Memory - Dream Theater.
Thursday, February 16, 2006
Monday, February 06, 2006
Asshole's Fables
A little boy woke up on a bright Sunday morning feeling all happy and healthy. Then he proceeded to learn more about his country and about its glorious past. In the after noon he ate cold and refreshing butterscotch ice-cream.
In the evening he went with his friend to a pub and drank himself senseless. He stared at a hot lady in a white dress who was smoking and drinking coffee in the pub. He did not stare because he had carnal thoughts on his mind, but simply because he was drunk like a dead cockroach and was unable to move his head. She happened to be in the line of his vision.
On his way back he felt very bad about having eaten so much of calories and for having consumed so much of alcohol. It would make his tummy that was flattening of late into a junkyard of fat. So, he came back and asked a fat friend to stand on his foot as he did a hundred and fifty stomach crunches. He then felt a little better. Then, some one called him on his battered cell phone and he spoke for forty minutes. It was someone he hadn’t spoken to in a long time. Some one he missed.
He continued his workout with thirty leg lifts and thirty push ups at the end of which he was competing with his unwashed sweaty socks. Out of concern for his room mate, he bathed.
He slept that night at four, thinking while waiting to fall asleep.
He woke up the next day at seven in the morning and attended eleven straight hours of class. People asked him all day long whether he had returned from Ethiopia. He slept early and the next day he wrote this story.
Moral of the story
One pinacolada, one kamikaze, two fire shooters and a thirty-shot of Romanov and exercise don’t go together. Not if you want to feel like a chewing gum that has been chewed for sixteen hours.
But they make for good timepass writing…
Drink responsibly. Don’t puke in the pub.
In the evening he went with his friend to a pub and drank himself senseless. He stared at a hot lady in a white dress who was smoking and drinking coffee in the pub. He did not stare because he had carnal thoughts on his mind, but simply because he was drunk like a dead cockroach and was unable to move his head. She happened to be in the line of his vision.
On his way back he felt very bad about having eaten so much of calories and for having consumed so much of alcohol. It would make his tummy that was flattening of late into a junkyard of fat. So, he came back and asked a fat friend to stand on his foot as he did a hundred and fifty stomach crunches. He then felt a little better. Then, some one called him on his battered cell phone and he spoke for forty minutes. It was someone he hadn’t spoken to in a long time. Some one he missed.
He continued his workout with thirty leg lifts and thirty push ups at the end of which he was competing with his unwashed sweaty socks. Out of concern for his room mate, he bathed.
He slept that night at four, thinking while waiting to fall asleep.
He woke up the next day at seven in the morning and attended eleven straight hours of class. People asked him all day long whether he had returned from Ethiopia. He slept early and the next day he wrote this story.
Moral of the story
One pinacolada, one kamikaze, two fire shooters and a thirty-shot of Romanov and exercise don’t go together. Not if you want to feel like a chewing gum that has been chewed for sixteen hours.
But they make for good timepass writing…
Drink responsibly. Don’t puke in the pub.
Thursday, February 02, 2006
The babe wore red...
This is a story that I wrote for the college yearbook. Please tell me what you think about it people.
*************************
The bullets slammed into the wooden walls one after the other. Somewhere in the distance cannons boomed, the shells landing on households – the shrapnel shredding everything in its path, including human flesh – innocent or not.
The concept of innocence and guilty became skewed in the middle of an armed struggle. Brainwashed and disillusioned, young boys picked up guns when they should have been playing with toys and reading books. The heat of youth was what the ‘leaders’ counted on for a win. The reckless abandon that children enjoyed, they turned into a killing machine.
Ajay crouched with his wife, Anjali, and little Yatin in the corner. Anjali shielded Yatin with her body, lest he be hurt by flying debris. Ajay held the old rifle tightly, aware that if the militants stormed in, he had little chance of protecting his family. He was a man pulled into the fight against his will and wish. Neighbors with whom they had celebrated Id and Diwali, with the same joy were now mortal enemies.
Religion that had meant nothing more than simply a God to believe in, no matter what he was called, and to pray to in times of sorrow had split them apart. This wasn’t something that he or his neighbors had done. It was the result of dirty politics played in carpeted corridors and halls in the capital. It was the result of a few fanatical men who stopped at nothing to achieve what they believed in. No price was too high – not even a few thousand innocent deaths.
Yatin was barely a year old. The noise and Anjali’s tight grip made the baby scream at the top of his lungs. It was only a matter of time before they would be killed. Anjali fervently prayed, hoping for a miracle. The bullets continued to throw splinters over them. She wrapped her white shawl even more tightly around the baby. A drop of warm blood fell from a cut on her face on Yatin’s face and then slowly dissolved in the tears and flowed down his cheeks staining them crimson.
Kashmir that had once been paradise on earth had turned into a hell beyond imagination. The partition had created an irreversible situation. Strategically, the valley was important to both countries. Whoever controlled the mountains had the upper hand and neither side wanted to give that up.
Rashid ran from behind the low wall and took cover behind the shop on the corner. He had been hit by a stray bullet on the leg. He took a moment to recover his breath and planned his next move. He wasn’t going to last long. The bullet had severed several arteries and he was loosing blood fast. His end was near and he knew that. He just wanted to take as many as he could with him. He didn’t fear death as the others did. They had taught him that he would reach Heaven. He checked the safety on the AK-47 for the nth time.
Rashid was one of those who, by an unfortunate turn of events, had picked up the gun. It had happened quite sometime back. Eight months to be precise. He had returned home in the evening to find the front door open and a strange quietness that chilled his blood. He went in expecting the worst and found it. His family had been massacred –his mother, wife and three sisters. Their bodies riddled beyond recognition. He ran inside to see if the baby was still alive. The crib was empty. The rattle lay broken on the floor.
Rashid ignored the pain and fixed his sight on the house. It was a modest wooden structure – nondescript and plain like the hundred and thousand of houses in the valley. Between him and the front doors lay fifty yards of deserted road. He lifted his rifle and sprinted across the road. Bullets whined past and thumped harmlessly into the sidewalk. He burst in through the door, breaking it clean off its hinges with his sheer momentum. He began firing blindly.
Ajay and Anjali had been married three years and they were still childless. They had tried everything – medicines, treatment in the hospitals, quacks – but nothing seemed to work. Ajay taught history in the local school and Anjali sold flowers on the corner. Despite the circumstances, they were happy and in love with each other. She waited for him on the doorstep everyday in the evening. That day, he was late. Ajay walked past the house, when he heard the moans from inside. He walked inside to see a young girl in her finals moments of agony before dying. The bodies lay around bathed in blood. Then he heard the baby cry. He went inside and saw the little baby. He made his decision in an instant. He walked towards the baby and stepped on a rattle that lay there. He had picked the baby boy, wrapped in a shawl and taken it home. That was eight months ago.
The first bullet caught Anjali in the chest and she was dead before she hit the floor. Ajay took two bullets in his left arm, but managed to get a shot off before the next bullet blew his head apart. The rifle was loaded with buck shot and Rashid caught it full in the face. Yatin screamed as blood drenched him. He continued to scream as the blood soaked the shawl red.
*************************
That's about it for now. I went to see Rang De Basanti last Sunday. This very very pretty girl half my year is dying to talk to came and talked to me. Yes...she came and asked me f I could buy extra tickets for her. I said I would try but in the end I couldnt manage. Oh...that look on her face. Damn..! Oh and she is at least a couple of years older and from what I have heard women don't dig younger men.
Sigh!
*************************
The bullets slammed into the wooden walls one after the other. Somewhere in the distance cannons boomed, the shells landing on households – the shrapnel shredding everything in its path, including human flesh – innocent or not.
The concept of innocence and guilty became skewed in the middle of an armed struggle. Brainwashed and disillusioned, young boys picked up guns when they should have been playing with toys and reading books. The heat of youth was what the ‘leaders’ counted on for a win. The reckless abandon that children enjoyed, they turned into a killing machine.
Ajay crouched with his wife, Anjali, and little Yatin in the corner. Anjali shielded Yatin with her body, lest he be hurt by flying debris. Ajay held the old rifle tightly, aware that if the militants stormed in, he had little chance of protecting his family. He was a man pulled into the fight against his will and wish. Neighbors with whom they had celebrated Id and Diwali, with the same joy were now mortal enemies.
Religion that had meant nothing more than simply a God to believe in, no matter what he was called, and to pray to in times of sorrow had split them apart. This wasn’t something that he or his neighbors had done. It was the result of dirty politics played in carpeted corridors and halls in the capital. It was the result of a few fanatical men who stopped at nothing to achieve what they believed in. No price was too high – not even a few thousand innocent deaths.
Yatin was barely a year old. The noise and Anjali’s tight grip made the baby scream at the top of his lungs. It was only a matter of time before they would be killed. Anjali fervently prayed, hoping for a miracle. The bullets continued to throw splinters over them. She wrapped her white shawl even more tightly around the baby. A drop of warm blood fell from a cut on her face on Yatin’s face and then slowly dissolved in the tears and flowed down his cheeks staining them crimson.
Kashmir that had once been paradise on earth had turned into a hell beyond imagination. The partition had created an irreversible situation. Strategically, the valley was important to both countries. Whoever controlled the mountains had the upper hand and neither side wanted to give that up.
Rashid ran from behind the low wall and took cover behind the shop on the corner. He had been hit by a stray bullet on the leg. He took a moment to recover his breath and planned his next move. He wasn’t going to last long. The bullet had severed several arteries and he was loosing blood fast. His end was near and he knew that. He just wanted to take as many as he could with him. He didn’t fear death as the others did. They had taught him that he would reach Heaven. He checked the safety on the AK-47 for the nth time.
Rashid was one of those who, by an unfortunate turn of events, had picked up the gun. It had happened quite sometime back. Eight months to be precise. He had returned home in the evening to find the front door open and a strange quietness that chilled his blood. He went in expecting the worst and found it. His family had been massacred –his mother, wife and three sisters. Their bodies riddled beyond recognition. He ran inside to see if the baby was still alive. The crib was empty. The rattle lay broken on the floor.
Rashid ignored the pain and fixed his sight on the house. It was a modest wooden structure – nondescript and plain like the hundred and thousand of houses in the valley. Between him and the front doors lay fifty yards of deserted road. He lifted his rifle and sprinted across the road. Bullets whined past and thumped harmlessly into the sidewalk. He burst in through the door, breaking it clean off its hinges with his sheer momentum. He began firing blindly.
Ajay and Anjali had been married three years and they were still childless. They had tried everything – medicines, treatment in the hospitals, quacks – but nothing seemed to work. Ajay taught history in the local school and Anjali sold flowers on the corner. Despite the circumstances, they were happy and in love with each other. She waited for him on the doorstep everyday in the evening. That day, he was late. Ajay walked past the house, when he heard the moans from inside. He walked inside to see a young girl in her finals moments of agony before dying. The bodies lay around bathed in blood. Then he heard the baby cry. He went inside and saw the little baby. He made his decision in an instant. He walked towards the baby and stepped on a rattle that lay there. He had picked the baby boy, wrapped in a shawl and taken it home. That was eight months ago.
The first bullet caught Anjali in the chest and she was dead before she hit the floor. Ajay took two bullets in his left arm, but managed to get a shot off before the next bullet blew his head apart. The rifle was loaded with buck shot and Rashid caught it full in the face. Yatin screamed as blood drenched him. He continued to scream as the blood soaked the shawl red.
*************************
That's about it for now. I went to see Rang De Basanti last Sunday. This very very pretty girl half my year is dying to talk to came and talked to me. Yes...she came and asked me f I could buy extra tickets for her. I said I would try but in the end I couldnt manage. Oh...that look on her face. Damn..! Oh and she is at least a couple of years older and from what I have heard women don't dig younger men.
Sigh!
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