[Around 730 pm]
I'm drinking masala Thums up (Thums up+nimbu+kala namak+chaat masala+hari mirch) and watching a live cricket stream of India vs Ireland on espnstar.com. I'm supposed to be watching John Merriman talk about popular protest in Britain for my project on Tuesday. I also have a Meiji restoration assignment to give in on Tuesday. I have 10 tabs open 8 of which are papers or texts for my project.
I haven't written anything for quite a while because everything I've been writing this month has been things I'm supposed to write - projects, assignments, essays for college prizes. But my desire to write came from my "break" from starting my project. My mum wanted to go to BP so we went.
I was standing, leaning on the chemists shop wall, watching the match while Ma bought an anniversary present for someone. Here I am - unwashed, disheveled, braless, in my gray zebra print pajamas and 'Beers of the World' t-shirt, watching the match and the people walking by. Momo vapours rise seductively everytime my young momo bro lifts the lid. The post-sunset tinted blue sky darkened slowly. A boy gawks at the telly while his girlfriend with a rose in her hand drags him along. A child picks up a giant bag of diapers while his distracted grandpa checks the score "Thank you beta but you're a little old for those now". Another boy with a bagpack looks at the score, then 19-1 and mutters "satyanash ho" and gesticulates, the gesture is one that hardcore Dilliwallahs would interpret as "dur fitte muh". He gives me an embarrassed smile when he sees me notice. The chemist says "Mubarak ho, chaukka mara!" and we cheer.
There's one wicket when I go from one shop to the other and another when I walk home from the market. The next one comes when I go to the loo, yet another when I heat my momos. I can't move now.
The match and the lecture are now tiled windows. I'm eating Crax and slowly getting into the groove of writing my project. 69 needed off 96 balls and in Britain the artisans in factories now have to get used to a regimen of industrial discipline enforced by foremen.
[Now]
Bare feet on cool tile. 3 am smokes are always a mix of paranoia and serenity. The doors are always too creaky, my footsteps are always too loud, my lighter Marilyn is acting pricey again. But outside there's the sound of bats, the rustling of trees, the Dhoom Machale horns of trucks, cats skulking under parked cars, the slight crackling of the cigarette as I take a drag. This is the balcony where I come to clear my head. In the morning, with the sun, when your head is buzzing, you can't seem to get anything started, nothing you read makes sense, everything you seem to say everyday is the same, there's the sun and your notebook. At night you've wasted the day watching reality shows and cricket and you've given up work after tentative beginnings and the whole colony is asleep and you need to reassure yourself that in 6 hours you have to wake up and start again. While the cigarette burns down to the filter there's nothing to think and nothing to say but for just this while the lack of articulation is ok.
It's just a brief smile crossing your face/I'm running speed trials standing in place
I'm drinking masala Thums up (Thums up+nimbu+kala namak+chaat masala+hari mirch) and watching a live cricket stream of India vs Ireland on espnstar.com. I'm supposed to be watching John Merriman talk about popular protest in Britain for my project on Tuesday. I also have a Meiji restoration assignment to give in on Tuesday. I have 10 tabs open 8 of which are papers or texts for my project.
I haven't written anything for quite a while because everything I've been writing this month has been things I'm supposed to write - projects, assignments, essays for college prizes. But my desire to write came from my "break" from starting my project. My mum wanted to go to BP so we went.
I was standing, leaning on the chemists shop wall, watching the match while Ma bought an anniversary present for someone. Here I am - unwashed, disheveled, braless, in my gray zebra print pajamas and 'Beers of the World' t-shirt, watching the match and the people walking by. Momo vapours rise seductively everytime my young momo bro lifts the lid. The post-sunset tinted blue sky darkened slowly. A boy gawks at the telly while his girlfriend with a rose in her hand drags him along. A child picks up a giant bag of diapers while his distracted grandpa checks the score "Thank you beta but you're a little old for those now". Another boy with a bagpack looks at the score, then 19-1 and mutters "satyanash ho" and gesticulates, the gesture is one that hardcore Dilliwallahs would interpret as "dur fitte muh". He gives me an embarrassed smile when he sees me notice. The chemist says "Mubarak ho, chaukka mara!" and we cheer.
There's one wicket when I go from one shop to the other and another when I walk home from the market. The next one comes when I go to the loo, yet another when I heat my momos. I can't move now.
The match and the lecture are now tiled windows. I'm eating Crax and slowly getting into the groove of writing my project. 69 needed off 96 balls and in Britain the artisans in factories now have to get used to a regimen of industrial discipline enforced by foremen.
[Now]
Bare feet on cool tile. 3 am smokes are always a mix of paranoia and serenity. The doors are always too creaky, my footsteps are always too loud, my lighter Marilyn is acting pricey again. But outside there's the sound of bats, the rustling of trees, the Dhoom Machale horns of trucks, cats skulking under parked cars, the slight crackling of the cigarette as I take a drag. This is the balcony where I come to clear my head. In the morning, with the sun, when your head is buzzing, you can't seem to get anything started, nothing you read makes sense, everything you seem to say everyday is the same, there's the sun and your notebook. At night you've wasted the day watching reality shows and cricket and you've given up work after tentative beginnings and the whole colony is asleep and you need to reassure yourself that in 6 hours you have to wake up and start again. While the cigarette burns down to the filter there's nothing to think and nothing to say but for just this while the lack of articulation is ok.
It's just a brief smile crossing your face/I'm running speed trials standing in place
17 comments:
I feel ya bro.it's awesome.
Jotta chahiye yaara.
Hello friend! whats crackin? :) What schmancy college prize you writing an essay for?
When is anything from our college ever schmancy? Well it is, actually, but this is some Faculty prize thing that I didn't even know existed till someone else told me I was nominated. It was bullshit, they asked me Maths. I didn't know anything so I just ticked whatever without bothering. I quoted Ozzy Osbourne in my essay so, chances are slim, my friend. And also I talked about our angry friend from Lit Fest Mr. Surendran...hahaha, remember him? I can still see him wagging his finger at annoying aunties and yelling.
i was so on track to leave the first comment but a snow day and shitty internet conspired to keep me from doing it. the comment I was going to leave was 'the first segment, i.e around 730 pm is great. you should be doing this for money'.
Oho, itni tareef, maar hi daloge.
If I did this for money I would be like that poet in Before Sunrise (he's totally bhikari hot btw). A scruffy drunk who writes completely random shit for gullible strangers, playing to their soppy/romantic but "alternative" side and making enough money for my boozes.
existential fantasies are you ishpecialty bro. :D
ours,actually. HUM DONO and all.
"Hum hi hum hai toh kya hum hai tum hi tum ho toh kya tum ho" as Dicks would say... in fact he wouldn't say that, he gets it wrong every time.
Totally fucked btw bro. 3 hours of sleep and I have to study for my assignment for tomorrow as well. Then I have a project AND an assignment day after. Mindfux.
it was your birthday and you didn't tell me!! i only find out by creeping facebook and last.fm??? this is how i find out? for shame.
happy 20th foolio, hope it's an awesome one :)
Well I'm not Mayawati. So my birthday doesn't warrant public declerations (just public drunken buffoonery). But thank you, you may leave your noton ki mala or cash donations for the Behenkumari Vanvati Park, Noida with my secretary.
oh and what does the Behenkumari Vanvati Park do? I'm not committing anything unless I see an annual audit report because my folks didn't raise no fool. :D
As for your secret 20th birthday you can have an extra momo on my behalf.
It's totally high tech. A condom dispenser in every bush, a raised platform with binoculars for voyeurs and leches, poker and roulette tables for waiting drivers, government employees on "lunch break" and general vagrants.
a raised platform would kinda defeat the purpose of being a lech and a voyeur, no? wouldn't those people want to lech anonymously? unless you wish to attract attention for some perverse reason..?
In the future I envisage no one has to hide their desires. Pursuit of fappiness and such. You can make a t-shirt of that.
WHY THE FUCK AM I AWAKE AT 5 AM. WHY THE FUCK HAVE I JUST FINISHED MY PROJECT. WHY THE FUCK DO I HAVE TO BE AWAKE IN 2.5 HOURS?
awww..*hug* you'll be golden, don't worry :)
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