Thursday, January 24, 2008

The Game of Life

You think
You can make me cry
And my eyes twinkle.
You think
You can wave your hand
And make me blind.
But look down sometime
At your hands and at your feet
Can you see
The strings that lead to the unseen hand?
And you weep
When you want to laugh,
Don't you?
Do you know, now?
You are somebody's puppet too.


Back to basics. Back to bad poetry.

Thursday, January 17, 2008

Sex, lies and my life

This post is dedicated to the genius who decided that sex was a 'dirty' thing and that people below 18 should not be exposed to it. The forbidden fruit tastes the best. I'm sure that if Eve had been offered the apple on a golden plate and coaxed to take a bite of it, she would have refused it and continued with her innocent existence. God probably told her it was forbidden only to get her to go after it. Clever bastard.

I'm pretty sure the abovementioned genius, right after passing such laws and disseminating such ideologies, went into porn production. Anyways, I'd just like to thank him for making my viewing experiences all the more exciting. The switching off of the comp on hearing my dad's car pull into the garage, the cooling off of the monitor with a wet cloth, the hasty retreat to my study room and the impromptu innocent expression of a student who's been slogging his ass off for the past 5 hours- all these enhanced the experience. Where's the fun if sex was, in our world, just another thing which people did, like eating? Of course, the irony is, it actually is just another thing.

So, let's deny it its rightful innocence. Let's colour it with unwanted meaning. Let's over-hype it. Let's do whatever. Anything to make a good time better.

I love the times we live in. I love my life.

Monday, January 14, 2008

Short post

Exams should be treated with respect. No doubt. It's just that I've lost the ability to offer conventional respect to them. Activities such as studying diligently are no longer within my skill set. I study now like I eat in the mess. Choosing the less unappetizing of the items available, and eating just enough to survive.

Short, infrequent posts during exam-time are, therefore, my innovative way of showing respect. It's a matter of my academic career. Trivial things like blogs shouldn't be allowed to come in the way of greatness. I'm sure you understand.

I did promise a short post.

Tuesday, January 8, 2008

If I ever rant and rave, do not hesitate. Kill my ego then and there.

On Mistakes

Knowing what I know now, I would never have loved, but then I never would have known what I know now had I not loved.


I know. You're thinking, "Oh no, not another senti post!". Not to worry. I shall, in keeping with my general optimistic spirit which is so evident in this blog (which I’m with trepidation, and in the hope that you’ll agree with me, categorizing as something more than yet another collection of ‘rantings and ravings of a lawschoolite’ as so many of the blogs around seem to be; I mean, if I want to rave and rant, I would do it in a word document and save it in some corner of my computer, praying fervently that noone has the misfortune of coming across it. Blogs are meant to be read. By the blogger, agreed. But more importantly, by others. C’mon, we might as well admit it. Every raving and ranting lawschoolite wants others to see their angst, to sympathise and empathise and what not with them. My take: they don't need a blog, they need a peer counsellor if they're deluded enough to think that others are interested in being subjected to the tragedy that is their life). Damn, now I’ve spilt the intestines of the sentence all over the place, gutting it with a scythe forged in the fire of grammatical errors. I shall have to start all over again, I suppose.

As I was saying, or trying to say before a fancy took flight in my mind, this post shall be rife with hope. Hopefully. The reason, you ask? Bottoms-up Bimal is feeling quite low. And there’s no alcohol available at hand. I guess I shall have to be satisfied with being intoxicated by the distilled fumes of my literary abilities. Cool, no? Showcasing my drinking habits, and indirectly boasting about my liquor holding capacity.
Well, it is my blog. A space to be what I'm not.

5…4…3…2…1- The process of attempting to try to condition my mind to at least consider the possibility of thinking about making the effort required to put the glass in perspective so as to be able to view it as half-full when it is in fact almost empty, begins now. In less funkier a form, in a form which probably a person who had not read and been heavily influenced by the genius of Stephen Fry would put it, the process of pumping optimism into a weary mind begins now. And a very very short process it is. Not what you’d expect after a rave and a rant as voluminous as the one above. I apologise for any expectations I might have raised about profound content being unveiled forthwith. You are going to be disappointed, I assure you.

So. Mistakes. You think you made a mistake. But think about what you have learnt from that mistake. Don't be sad. Don't regret making the mistake. ‘Everyone makes their own mistakes. It’s their right.’ If I could, I would cite the source. But I can’t. Lady Memory has abandoned me for greener pastures, where her services are put to use more often. These women, I tell you. Fickle.

That's all. On mistakes, that is. I've got my high. Egoistic of me, I know, to get high on my own writing. And today, consequently, is done. Ended on a high note. As good academically oriented law schoolites, you’ll be aware that exams start soon. Even I am aware of that. You should be ashamed if you're not. Ergo, this will be the last post for quite some time. Note the latin word. God, I’m good.

So, I suggest you stop patronizing me. Your sympathy might be the death of you. Or, less dramatically, the academic ruin of you.

Of course, jobless person that I am, and knowing my notoriously low ability to keep promises, especially ones made to myself, I would hazard a guess that there’ll be a new post up tomorrow. But one can always hope that the English language and the Internet can rest easy for some days, while their abuser is busy building his career. And securing his future. So that one day he can buy a house. And marry. And have kids. And live happily ever after. Till he dies peacefully in his bed after taking an overdose of sleeping pills.

If you are the abovementioned one(yes, right there- in bold letters, so you don't miss it), keep hoping.

No, I don't need a peer counsellor. I am my peer, and I usually counsel myself. So, bugger off.

Notes to self:
1)Have to come up with jokes on something other than peer counselling. Overkill.
2)Bugger off??? Have to stop watching British comedies. Don't want to be known as a cultural snob.

Saturday, January 5, 2008

My First Experience

Stop! Desist! Collect your luggage and bundle yourself out of that train. Of thought, that is. It’s the wrong one. Sheesh, how perverted can you get!

I am not talking about sex here. You dirty, dirty people.

What I am talking about is the first time I drank. Beer, it was. I started off with beer. When I say ‘started off’, do I give you the impression that now I drink heavily? Terribly sorry to disappoint you and all that, but I don’t. Unlike some people of my distant acquaintance who drink like the newspaper is delivered- everyday, that is to say- I restrict myself to getting drunk once a month. A measured existence.

But back to what I wanted to say. The day my liver lost its virginity.
Location: the ever-inviting Mojo’s with its warm, smoky, crowded atmosphere and music from the 70s.
Company: Two very interesting people.
Time: Long, long ago. No, I'm just trying to be cool. Two years ago, actually.

I’m watching them down mugs, acutely aware of being the odd one out, a freshwater fish in the sea. Astounded at the magnitude of it all. And also uncomfortable at those unseen glances which I’m sure were coming my way. What are you doing here, you non-drinker? Go back to your Coffee Days and Baristas!

I am fairly confident that the gist, in very short and concise sentences, of the thought process that goes through everyone’s mind the first time they drink is as follows: “What am I doing? Life is short. I need to experience it. As much as possible. Fuck society and its judgmental nature. Who are they to say that alcohol is bad? It’s all a matter of perspective. Plus, I’ve heard it’s a social lubricant. I might get lucky.” You know. Lucky!

So, I drank my first mug. And the second. And the third. And god knows how many more. I was later told that it was 8.

8 mugs! Bottoms up! Not bad, if I say so myself, for a first timer. And apparently, by the end of it, I was claiming, just before I staggered to the loo, that I was ‘all right’.

Ever since, when I start insisting that “I’m all right!”, my friends know that I’m drunk. Not a liability, let me make that clear. Just a drunk, happy man who should be offered more alcohol like Shankara should be offered longevity.

They call me Bottoms-up Bimal. And I've lived happily ever after.

Friday, January 4, 2008

I don't know what to say. I thought I did. But I don't.

There have been far too many opinions that my blog is too depressing. Of course, 'too many' is a very subjective usage. When there are 4 readers for your blog (that compilation of your beautiful thoughts which you realised is a crime to keep hidden away from the world because the world should not be deprived of such a genius), one opinion is one too many. In fact, I haven't asked for any of the others'.

Because I'm scared. For my ego. And my literary career. It can't take rejection before it's even begun to flower.

Anyway, the readership refrain seems to be along these lines: Our lives are already fucked up. We don't need to hear how fucked up your life is.

Well, there goes my ulterior motive of soliciting sympathy from souls unfortunate enough to be reading this blog. Damn!

I really am not someone who can make people laugh. I'm at my best when I've read Pablo Neruda and am inspired enough to write romantic shit.

But a performer is nothing if the audience is bored to the point of contemplating suicide (of course, in my case, the performer would then become the peer counsellor, but that's another story). So, here's something which hopefully will make you laugh. With me. Or at me, and my misguided attempt at humour.

I really couldn't care less. Ok, I'm lying. I care. A lot. It would mean the world to me if you like it.

The other day, I went somewhere. I had promised to meet some people I knew, though I wish I didn't know them. As long as we're on the subject of wishes, I also wish I was living in a penthouse apartment with 6 hot women in lingerie (obviously, to be taken off eventually) for company. A different 6 each day. One Russian, one Swede, one German, one Persian.... control, man, control!!! Deep breath. Ok. Now, what was I on about? Ah, yes! I went somewhere.

I was a bit late. And one of those pompous self-important acquaintances asks, "Oh, you're here?" Well, a talent for stating the obvious, have we? I wanted to say, "No, uncle, this is an elaborate mechanism to fool you into thinking I'm here. This is actually a projected 3D image of me that you are seeing. It's the next big thing in technology. Really." Unfortunately, the scalpel of social propriety cut away my witty retort and implanted a polite smile in its stead.

And I thought I had a flair for saying stupid things. Everyone should have acquaintances like these. The insufferable irritation which they bring into your lives is more than compensated by their unrivalled ability to make you feel intellectually superior.

There. I hope the ghost of a smile played across your lips. And that your day was all the merrier for it. As the song goes, “We hope you enjoyed your stay. It was good to have you with us, even if it’s just for a day”.

And a very good night to you too.

Tuesday, January 1, 2008

Happy New Year

A new page in the history of my life. Where the play runs according to script, without any hitches. Where every line is said, and every glance acted upon. And everyone lives happily ever after.

Alternatively, 365 days more of fucking up.

Any bets? If I were you, I'd go with the second.

Happy New Year to you. And to you. And you, and you, and you.
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