Just another pretty face

Today I used an excuse to start a conversation with a girl I think is super hot. We had a normal, slightly fake chat about this and that.
Today I used a Facebook chat as an excuse to make a new blog entry.

She was really hot, though. *sigh*

Dear Mr. President

In the last few days many reporters have sounded very disappointed when I told them that I didn't particularly want to ask Barrack Obama a question. Well, gun to my head:


In a pre-dominantly post modern world where perspectives, priorities, psychology and other words with 'p' are different among people, and constantly changing within them, how does a state decide that the barometer it's using is appropriate, without taking the easiest route of majority opinion?


I know, right? FML.

The Mass Media

"Pervez Musharraf's government failed to provide adequate security cover to Benazir Bhutto."
                                                                          - The Dawn, Pakistani newspaper.


How did she die again? Oh right, she was assassinated in a public square.
Idiots.

Just Do It

   What makes life worth living? Now I know this has been done, and redone. I'm also aware of the whole we're here to make a difference and we're here for no reason at all. "Why does it matter?" doesn't faze me either. Well no one's listening, so I might as well rant.

   Routine annoys me. So does non-productivity and a lot of other jazz. However, there are a lot of people out there. Consequently, there are tons of things to do. Too many. Far out. Okay.

   So, I'm not happy. For some reason. Any reason. Normal to average to bizarre to nothing. There will always be someone who feels the same way. Out of eight billion people? For damn sure. Now all I need to do, is find that person. Perhaps even plural. And then do something about it.

No one likes to go it alone. WE will make it happen.

Yeh dosti hum nahin todenge

Advertisement I saw on Facebook:

Provoke your friends with a virtual slap in the face, then beat them up and take their money on the new StreetRivals.

Why would I do this to my 'friend', again?

Speak now, or forever hold your peace

The tag line for on online marriage site:

We clicked, we married.

No, really. How do these things work?

Quote unquote

"Hell is other people."
                                - Jean Paul Sartre.

Well said sir, well said.

Far Away

Far away is a term much overused, much abused. It implies many things, spaces of distances, time, circumstance and people. Here it implies none of the aforesaid things. It possesses only a single meaning at this juncture, that hopefully will be apparent by the end of this book. The protagonist of this story was far away, in a world of her own. It was cold in that world, where only darkness reigned. It was bitter in that world, where there were no shades of grey. It was forbidding in that world, where the silence was heavy. It was the only thing that could be heard for miles, and it was permanent. The only thing that could be discerned from the shadows, were the gnarled, knotty trunks of old trees, trees that worked as pillars for the lord of the skies. As far as the girl could see, there were trees, and further, there were more trees still, mingled amongst the last vestiges of sight. From what could be glimpsed of the ground below her, it was enveloped by a murky mist, one that came with neither sound nor source, but chilled her with an icy feeling that none other could bring. The girl looked up, and saw the darkness of Erebus. She looked down, and saw the swaying, alluring and harsh twist of fate. She looked forward, and saw hope. She took it.

The End

It’s cold here, where no one believes in you. It’s lonely here, where there is nothing to hope for. It’s dark here, where the silence is your saviour, and your tormentor. It’s scary here, where your worst nightmare, is you.
The rain starts to fall, and for a moment, the weather seems to shed my tears, before the blinding lightening unleashes the insane cackle of thunder. The light died a long time back, and I slump huddled against the trees, trying to coagulate the last vestiges of warmth. As the forked white tongue of the serpent of the sky flickers in the distance, I glimpse my fate in these haunted eyes. Lucifer is coming, and God has forsaken me. He has run away to his sheltered abode, and left me for dead. When my destiny sounds its arrival, rustling through the grass, I can no longer feel the temperature. I stand to meet it, I stand to meet him. I am thinking of you. He does not smile, he does not gloat. He raises his hand, and ends the torture. I wearily rise above my abode for the past 18 years, silently, without despair, not a backward glance. Bliss does not await me, but it promises more than what I left behind.

Tashan

Memories we don't bring up huh? I remember. I remember every time he says your name, and you say his. I remember every time you ask me about who's new, and I introduce you. I remember every time I hear that song. I remember every time you touch me, every time I hug you. I remember when we go to your house, and I remember when we're alone. I remember every time you say that word. I remember, and I wish I could forget. Because not only does the memory hurt, but no one will ever come close to what we didn't have.
All for the best isn't it? Must be dude...

Cloy death

Sound was the first sense to hit her. The continuous pounding, the rhythm of nature and time, flowing together. The sense of peace the sound brought, it was like everything slowed down. Thats why it took her so much time to notice the smell. Distinctive to the surroundings, she smelled the stench of guano that lay compressed under her feet, and the aroma of general greenness that overrode it. She could have taken in that odour forever if it hadn't been for her sense of touch to be stimulated by the sudden spray. After being rustled by tender grass and caressed by nurturing wind, the fine mist finally caused her to open her sense of vision. She looked across and below, at the lovely horizon, at the breathtaking cliff that made this world so majestic and wonderful and inspired awe in so many. It made her sick.
She jumped.

All lies

"Be happy with what you have." they tell us.

Lets say that I am. What next?

Bloody religious and moral indoctrination. Nobody knows anything.

In other news...

A few days ago I read an article in the TOI that talked about a rehabilitation scheme for a slum which would involve use of technology, unorthodox occupation and the like.
The article ended with 'However, there are fears that this will erode the prevalent slum culture.'

Slum culture? You have got to be kidding me. I will tolerate celebrating diversity, discuss the sons-of-the-soil argument, remain sceptical about the need for Telangana but when the most widely read English daily in the world expresses sorrow for the loss of 'slum culture' I put my foot down.

Progress; or its uglier facet, globalisation, is going to eventually wipe out all traces of diversity. We will become homogeneous, something that will be necessary for our species' survival when the culmination of millennia spent desecrating nature descends upon us.

The sooner we accept this, the better.

On an unrelated topic, the Times of India washes its cars on the road in clear violation of the BMC law. Bastards.

Modern Mythology

Get ready Ted, because I'm about to drop some knowledge. You ready?

For boys, "friends who are girls" don't exist.