This is straight off the notebook, usual bland documentation of things I do on holiday.
3Jan
Sitting by the pool in Riviera. Came from 5 degree Dilli to a place where breeze is welcome where it doesn't chill your bones. Lights, stars and christmas decorations. Have to get over this not being able to write phase.
FOSLA radio show (I think it's called Yaadon ka idiot box) where a very Lakhnavi sounding man with a soothing voice read out letters by dejected lovers. Our driver dude seemed to be feeling their pain. 'Frustration', 'college ke din' and 'main tumhe chahta tha par hamari relationship kabhi nahi thi' are common themes.
5Jan
Haven't felt like writing for a long time. On this holiday I've felt like the sober kid at the party. In fact I've realized what a mummy I'm turning into. On NYE I was hand feeding my drunkstoned brother (who was all the while trying to hide from me and smoke while I was trying to hide from him and smoke, which the other guests at the party found hilarious) because he was wasted and would have probably hurt himself trying to pull off Prabhu Deva moves that he was attempting. When did I become the mother of a 33 year old?
On this weird holiday with the hippy mother, the brother attempting to relive his college days and looking like someone named Pedro who would be an extra in Easy Rider (movember mustache and my headband) and the Most Difficult Man in the World, I kind of feel like Debbie from the Wild Thornberries even though I was always the Eliza. I retreat into my headphones in the face of conflict.
When not part of the single celled organism called Team B I'm back to self conscious alien mode and start to feel like a 15 year old no matter where you put me. I know this sounds like bullshit so much that I cringe writing it down on paper but I feel like an outsider in all these places. How one can feel like an alien at the saturday night market in Arpora is bizarre since you see some of the biggest ajoobas, fine intergalactic specimens. Trashy fairies, Russian polar bear sized half naked gents, smiliar looking hairy burnouts of unspecific ethnicity (one whom looked suspiciously like someone I have met in the world of Delhi college kids and also gave recognizing type looks. Hint to those in the know: Ishq Bector) And maybe this would have all been totally appealing if I was stoned like everyone else or I wasn't trying to guide my hobbling mother through a crowd with me while my dad was yelling directions on the phone or if those damn Trainspotting/Pi/Iggy Pop shirts weren't so damn expensive or if those fairy hippies weren't trying to sell me what were essentially cholis for char hazaar rupay (the masala seller found this statement very funny) . I just got into 'I will kill you all get out of my way NOW' metro warrior mode. The thing is though that it's a great place to be. And I really missed my friends while I was there. Even though I was cynical/self conscious 15 year old on trip with parents. It's a huge market where all sorts of people come and chill and shop and listen to music and dance and eat till early into the morning. There were matajis and aunty uncles, desi and phirangi tourists, locals etc. I spotted one Midival Pundit, Tashi from Kaminey (on two separate occasions) and Prashant Prakash (who I think is attractive in a actual normal person who may be smart way).
I bought a bunch of stuff today though - Dali earrings, Warhol pendant, a hairband with a peacock type bird on it, a print of an old photograph of a behrupiya dressed as a merman(?), some sketches from a cute shy smiling boy (who I promptly fell in 2minutelove with for this trip even though I don't think we even looked directly at each other in the buying and selling of sketches). Most of the people I saw this time look like lobsters (read:sunburnt) or leatherface (old and sunburnt) or have rat tails (local boiz. Oh god I just want to cut the rat tails off) or seem like douchés (stag boiz)
There were some Russian types playing gypsy-ish music which was kind of fun.And one of them was a hot girl. My mum claimed she was hotboxed with all the kashish floating all around (Earlier that day the brother and I were followed on our bike by a man saying "Kashish, Kashish". We thought he was asking us the way to a place called (Hotel?) Kashish... then he slowed down and we stopped and he asked us if we wanted some hashish, but the brother shooed him away) and I think my dad went over to some of his Russian tovarisch-es (he kind of looks and speaks Russian) and took a hit of some spaceman spliffs because they were all in woodstock mood, groovin'. Ma is wearing a gajra as a headband.
(stopped putting dates)
All we've been doing is swimming in the pool and the sea. I'm having weird dreams about deaths and wars, my (very much male) friend being pregnant, and me being Liz Lemon. The brother and I have been watching Bollywood gold on Zee Cinema. Suhaag (Did anyone else remember the scene with a seriously hairy Akshay Kumar dancing around in the bath and post bath to Dr. Alban's It's My Life? Because we did not. And we were not anticipating it either, it was scarring), Baazigar (which also, if you remember features a scene with It's My Life?). Salaakhen. Gupt. Shehenshah. Ajnabee. There was also a film called Hum Paanch with Naseeruddin Shah, Mithun, Gulshan Grover, Raj Babbar Shabana Azmi, Deepti Naval and Amrish Puri (it's some sort of a Mahabharat adaptation) which was pretty decent. All goodactor types.
In Bombay tonight. Left Goa in fog reminiscent of what awaits us at home. Mist. Sleepy eyed children trudging to school and me fading in an out of consciousness in the back of the cab.
Brother has abandoned ship to go chill with his friend and we are left to have dinner with Ma's excruciatingly boring colleague and her son who insisted on making dinner for us. We're totally ungrateful even though she got us a place to stay for the night. Her son is a corp lawyer who wants to be an actor. Dude had shaped eyebrows, regularly facialled skin, a demure feminine screen test voice and typical beefed up too fast body but zero personality. We ate and left. Had no sheets in our room so Ma stuck her legs in her jacket sleeves. I woke up covered in a towel and a sweater for some reason. I wished I had time to spend in Bombay, the breeze and the roads begged to be wandered around in for a while but there was no time. In the cab in the morning I realized that I remember my way around pretty decently at least in the places I've been to.
Fat hypertense asshole in the train who was not willing to change seats so we could sit together, snapped at my mother and was being rude. My Dad was livid, gave him a dose but we stopped him from really giving it to him. Everyone was pissed off but quiet, we decided to boycott the dude and ignore his presence. We all kind of wanted to give him the red rose/black rose treatment (cf: Dabangg 2) but refrained.
I keep thinking there are not too many things I like about myself in terms of personality traits. I wonder why I'm not assertive, confrontational, I start to dislike that part of myself but slowly I feel like I am right not to be. Ma and the brother were again trying to tell me I'm not a big nothing and I should learn to sing or write a novel or some shit but I'm not trying to be modest, I just don't have any faith in myself, when I say I can't I genuinely mean I cannot foresee myself doing any of these things in the real world. Like I did decently well in my exams, same as last sem and I was very surprised although happy that I didn't get Cs like I expected. But I am still genuinely surprised and don't at all think I deserved those grade. I don't feel like I've learned anything, or am smarter than any of the other kids. I feel like this floating through life thing is going to end somewhere soon.
We've been in trains for the past 2 days. Right now been at this lonely station somewhere in MP (Nagda) for at least half an hour listening to Bechet on repeat. Lying on my stomach now watching the occasional train go by. Finally moving. There's a special kind of sexual tension between you and anyone your age when you're on a trip with your parents. Like Alex the bihari waiter at pink chili who my dad almost wanted to adopt (he loved the place because he thought it was 'reasonable'). There's a sense of embarrassment and awkwardness under the parental gaze. Alex wasn't even the kind of rare Bihari hot that I tend to go for sometimes, but he was there and he was wearing a kurta (the sort of pathani kind that Imran Khan is wearing in Matru ki Bijli ka Mandola, which is a good movie btw, totally absurd and kind of flawed but I liked it) and spoke biharily. I think Desi men look their best in kurtas (of course none of this bit about Biharis and kurtas appears to apply to any of my classmates)
Read John Peel's autobiography. He was a very shy person but he was a great friend and great at what he did despite his anxiety and constant self doubt. New years resolutions are dumb, but I really hope that this year I allow myself to really feel. And I don't mean for a person or that bullshit necessarily, I mean really feel for something, I hope I don't waste this year just being numb and floating along but actually engage in something, anything, try to learn something real, to stop writing people and things off in an instant, try to work at something. To stop stopping myself. All this is 'I hope' because it seems I have no real control over these things.
Lying in the dark, arching my back and trying to see as much of the sky through the tinted window as I can. Seeing stars I've never seen and parts of the country I've never seen and shadows or trees passing by.
3Jan
Sitting by the pool in Riviera. Came from 5 degree Dilli to a place where breeze is welcome where it doesn't chill your bones. Lights, stars and christmas decorations. Have to get over this not being able to write phase.
FOSLA radio show (I think it's called Yaadon ka idiot box) where a very Lakhnavi sounding man with a soothing voice read out letters by dejected lovers. Our driver dude seemed to be feeling their pain. 'Frustration', 'college ke din' and 'main tumhe chahta tha par hamari relationship kabhi nahi thi' are common themes.
5Jan
Haven't felt like writing for a long time. On this holiday I've felt like the sober kid at the party. In fact I've realized what a mummy I'm turning into. On NYE I was hand feeding my drunkstoned brother (who was all the while trying to hide from me and smoke while I was trying to hide from him and smoke, which the other guests at the party found hilarious) because he was wasted and would have probably hurt himself trying to pull off Prabhu Deva moves that he was attempting. When did I become the mother of a 33 year old?
On this weird holiday with the hippy mother, the brother attempting to relive his college days and looking like someone named Pedro who would be an extra in Easy Rider (movember mustache and my headband) and the Most Difficult Man in the World, I kind of feel like Debbie from the Wild Thornberries even though I was always the Eliza. I retreat into my headphones in the face of conflict.
When not part of the single celled organism called Team B I'm back to self conscious alien mode and start to feel like a 15 year old no matter where you put me. I know this sounds like bullshit so much that I cringe writing it down on paper but I feel like an outsider in all these places. How one can feel like an alien at the saturday night market in Arpora is bizarre since you see some of the biggest ajoobas, fine intergalactic specimens. Trashy fairies, Russian polar bear sized half naked gents, smiliar looking hairy burnouts of unspecific ethnicity (one whom looked suspiciously like someone I have met in the world of Delhi college kids and also gave recognizing type looks. Hint to those in the know: Ishq Bector) And maybe this would have all been totally appealing if I was stoned like everyone else or I wasn't trying to guide my hobbling mother through a crowd with me while my dad was yelling directions on the phone or if those damn Trainspotting/Pi/Iggy Pop shirts weren't so damn expensive or if those fairy hippies weren't trying to sell me what were essentially cholis for char hazaar rupay (the masala seller found this statement very funny) . I just got into 'I will kill you all get out of my way NOW' metro warrior mode. The thing is though that it's a great place to be. And I really missed my friends while I was there. Even though I was cynical/self conscious 15 year old on trip with parents. It's a huge market where all sorts of people come and chill and shop and listen to music and dance and eat till early into the morning. There were matajis and aunty uncles, desi and phirangi tourists, locals etc. I spotted one Midival Pundit, Tashi from Kaminey (on two separate occasions) and Prashant Prakash (who I think is attractive in a actual normal person who may be smart way).
I bought a bunch of stuff today though - Dali earrings, Warhol pendant, a hairband with a peacock type bird on it, a print of an old photograph of a behrupiya dressed as a merman(?), some sketches from a cute shy smiling boy (who I promptly fell in 2minutelove with for this trip even though I don't think we even looked directly at each other in the buying and selling of sketches). Most of the people I saw this time look like lobsters (read:sunburnt) or leatherface (old and sunburnt) or have rat tails (local boiz. Oh god I just want to cut the rat tails off) or seem like douchés (stag boiz)
There were some Russian types playing gypsy-ish music which was kind of fun.And one of them was a hot girl. My mum claimed she was hotboxed with all the kashish floating all around (Earlier that day the brother and I were followed on our bike by a man saying "Kashish, Kashish". We thought he was asking us the way to a place called (Hotel?) Kashish... then he slowed down and we stopped and he asked us if we wanted some hashish, but the brother shooed him away) and I think my dad went over to some of his Russian tovarisch-es (he kind of looks and speaks Russian) and took a hit of some spaceman spliffs because they were all in woodstock mood, groovin'. Ma is wearing a gajra as a headband.
(stopped putting dates)
All we've been doing is swimming in the pool and the sea. I'm having weird dreams about deaths and wars, my (very much male) friend being pregnant, and me being Liz Lemon. The brother and I have been watching Bollywood gold on Zee Cinema. Suhaag (Did anyone else remember the scene with a seriously hairy Akshay Kumar dancing around in the bath and post bath to Dr. Alban's It's My Life? Because we did not. And we were not anticipating it either, it was scarring), Baazigar (which also, if you remember features a scene with It's My Life?). Salaakhen. Gupt. Shehenshah. Ajnabee. There was also a film called Hum Paanch with Naseeruddin Shah, Mithun, Gulshan Grover, Raj Babbar Shabana Azmi, Deepti Naval and Amrish Puri (it's some sort of a Mahabharat adaptation) which was pretty decent. All goodactor types.
In Bombay tonight. Left Goa in fog reminiscent of what awaits us at home. Mist. Sleepy eyed children trudging to school and me fading in an out of consciousness in the back of the cab.
Brother has abandoned ship to go chill with his friend and we are left to have dinner with Ma's excruciatingly boring colleague and her son who insisted on making dinner for us. We're totally ungrateful even though she got us a place to stay for the night. Her son is a corp lawyer who wants to be an actor. Dude had shaped eyebrows, regularly facialled skin, a demure feminine screen test voice and typical beefed up too fast body but zero personality. We ate and left. Had no sheets in our room so Ma stuck her legs in her jacket sleeves. I woke up covered in a towel and a sweater for some reason. I wished I had time to spend in Bombay, the breeze and the roads begged to be wandered around in for a while but there was no time. In the cab in the morning I realized that I remember my way around pretty decently at least in the places I've been to.
Fat hypertense asshole in the train who was not willing to change seats so we could sit together, snapped at my mother and was being rude. My Dad was livid, gave him a dose but we stopped him from really giving it to him. Everyone was pissed off but quiet, we decided to boycott the dude and ignore his presence. We all kind of wanted to give him the red rose/black rose treatment (cf: Dabangg 2) but refrained.
I keep thinking there are not too many things I like about myself in terms of personality traits. I wonder why I'm not assertive, confrontational, I start to dislike that part of myself but slowly I feel like I am right not to be. Ma and the brother were again trying to tell me I'm not a big nothing and I should learn to sing or write a novel or some shit but I'm not trying to be modest, I just don't have any faith in myself, when I say I can't I genuinely mean I cannot foresee myself doing any of these things in the real world. Like I did decently well in my exams, same as last sem and I was very surprised although happy that I didn't get Cs like I expected. But I am still genuinely surprised and don't at all think I deserved those grade. I don't feel like I've learned anything, or am smarter than any of the other kids. I feel like this floating through life thing is going to end somewhere soon.
We've been in trains for the past 2 days. Right now been at this lonely station somewhere in MP (Nagda) for at least half an hour listening to Bechet on repeat. Lying on my stomach now watching the occasional train go by. Finally moving. There's a special kind of sexual tension between you and anyone your age when you're on a trip with your parents. Like Alex the bihari waiter at pink chili who my dad almost wanted to adopt (he loved the place because he thought it was 'reasonable'). There's a sense of embarrassment and awkwardness under the parental gaze. Alex wasn't even the kind of rare Bihari hot that I tend to go for sometimes, but he was there and he was wearing a kurta (the sort of pathani kind that Imran Khan is wearing in Matru ki Bijli ka Mandola, which is a good movie btw, totally absurd and kind of flawed but I liked it) and spoke biharily. I think Desi men look their best in kurtas (of course none of this bit about Biharis and kurtas appears to apply to any of my classmates)
Read John Peel's autobiography. He was a very shy person but he was a great friend and great at what he did despite his anxiety and constant self doubt. New years resolutions are dumb, but I really hope that this year I allow myself to really feel. And I don't mean for a person or that bullshit necessarily, I mean really feel for something, I hope I don't waste this year just being numb and floating along but actually engage in something, anything, try to learn something real, to stop writing people and things off in an instant, try to work at something. To stop stopping myself. All this is 'I hope' because it seems I have no real control over these things.
Lying in the dark, arching my back and trying to see as much of the sky through the tinted window as I can. Seeing stars I've never seen and parts of the country I've never seen and shadows or trees passing by.
6 comments:
I missed you dude. I visited after so long, now i feel like giving you a great big hug, not the "oh my god, you are in pahar ganj, we HAVE to hang out soon, now I dont know what to say to you, because I have to get back home and Im mind fucking drunk". haha.okbyeya. :)
Young lady, I was going to message you just today saying that you need to come over to my fucking house some time since you work so close to me. Namits! It's JANUARY of the next year! This has got out of hand. (Now you're going to be really guilty and apologetic). I know you live really far and you probably want to rush out of work and go home, but I live so close we could just chill for a bit anytime you're free.
"the problem with the world is that the intelligent people are full of doubts while the stupid ones are full of confidence".
I think it's okay to be in doubt, it creates more space to rationalize ones' thoughts in.
Yet again, I'm in awe of your existence.
Chuck is the man. I've become very attached to the voice of my self doubt. Wouldn't be able to do anything without her, or with her it seems.
Awed by my existence? Anon I'm awed by your exceeding generosity in flattering me.
There is no reason for me to flatter you anonymously; is there? If my only intentions were to flatter you, I'd do it openly.
From where I stand, you look brave and beautiful- a dark slender silhouette. You only have to let the light pass through you and you'd be a bright burning star.
You would, I know.
Wow... thank you. It's just weird to find out that people I don't know think so highly of me, y'know with all the "self doubt" shit. God I always sound like such a whiny sad sack on the blog, hahaha.
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