Wednesday, November 22, 2006


photo: Raajesh Kashyap

Monday, November 20, 2006


Stranger on the shore....what's playing in my head right now...

This weekend past was a crazy ride through concerts, rooftop birthday bumps, bleary-eyed Xbox360, wine, cheese, clams and vintage Astons 'n' Ferraris.
Went by Meg's on Saturday to bum a toke, ended up going for the Indian Ocean gig at The Garden of Five Senses with her friends and her.

All the while Shaggy's getting hectic over at the rooftop Thai joint where he'd called a some buds to celebrate his 22nd. Landed up close to the witching hour in time for several Kamikazes and what seemed like an endless rum 'n' coke.
I love winters in Delhi, especially with the view from that place...
The distant silhoutte of the Qutab Minar rising above misty tendrils while esoteric lullabic melodies and firewater warm you from the occassional whispers of wind that weave through your hair.

There's nothing better than an open-air fiesta on Sunday afternoon. Especially when there's some pretty damn good Italian food and free wine available.
Besides, this was at the local vintage car museum and self, like most normal men, almost-orgasms at the mere sight of alloy wheels and red paint!

The Ferrari there, not one of Maranello's more voluptuos offerings was treated to a triad of Italian tots who clambered in with a plate of pasta, dropping it on the floor, stepping in the mess, jumping into the backseat, accidentally popping open the boot and blowing the horn.
That the car was parked right next to the buffet where the crowds were, made it even more bizarre! I wouldn't leave me Ferrari unlocked when psychotic people can spill pasta!!

A vintage afternoon


For me? Really?

Flower Power by Vidita Singh

BSA beating


Supa 8

Chromium fins


F&L in LV!!!!

Thursday, November 16, 2006

Missing Mary and the Elephant Tree

This city is getting to me. Usually there's Mary around to clear my head, or cloud it, but the recent herbal drought has gotten many of her companions jittery.
Stretch called on the weekend, voice twanging with nervous apprehension and anticipation.
"Doooood! I was in the neighbourhood and was wondering if it was possible to maybe, y'know, bum a joint offa you", much dismayed to learn off the lack of supply.
It's really living in the city that's getting to me.
After living out in PV with the ball court nearby, the chlorine-infested splasher next to it, eye candy for free, Mary down the road and around the corner....aaahh.
When self and the Sister moved out of there, dusted the rug on my floor round which many chillums were boomed and countless spliffs rolled and enough Mary rolled out for me to squeeze together half a tola!

Desperate for a toke, rambled by Meg's last weekend to bum a toke and ended up going home with half a T and a bottle of feni that Meg got back from the homeland.
Apple was there too, come by to pick up her bottle of port so we sat at the back and toked one before leaving. The back being a lane overlooking a disused Muslim graveyard.
We're sitting and smoking and Meg's waxing eloquent about beach bumming when a low moan from beyond the chicken-wire fence interrupts her ecstactic spiel and sends us scurrying for streetlights.

Back in PV, with just a five-foot hedge separating the basketball court from the local cremation
ground, weird shit was everyday. The court had orange lights on and we used to play at night in the winter.
The Beast, possibly the most fuckall ball player alive, chucked the ball at the backboard after missing possibly 300 straight shots and Mr Spalding flies past the fibreglass and into the darkness beyond the hedge. As per court rules, the chucker was also the retriever, so mumbling some Garwahli mantra under his breath, The Beast strode through the hedge to get the ball, picks it up and is backing out so as to not have his rear facing the silent mounds of ash and leftover bone, when he trips and lands flat into a fresh one. Sped out through the hedge with ash flying off his t-shirt, hair and shorts, jumped the wall, onto his mountain bike and we didn't see him for a week after.
This other time, we're all playing ball in the eveningtime when a group of white-clad villagers wend their way into the cremation ground with a newly-dead person on their shoulders and I tell you the smell of burning flesh wafting up your nose as you go up for a rebound isn't the most pleasant thing around.
We had a substantial number of canine pile-ons back then and my dad used to let them all out at night for a run around. We stayed pretty much down the lane and left from the cremation ground. Whenever someone was on their way to meet their maker, the pooches would come back with bits of toe, fingers, teeth and once two of them came home fighting over a head!
Well.. a skull really.
Took it to the biology teacher in the school next door and that's where it is still...preserved as a perfect speciemen!

DeGun and Satriani have moved in with the DJs-from-DownUnder, Pen and Sarah into a totally funky four-bedroom pad that overlooks the jungle in GK1. Went by there yesterday for the signing-of-lease-so-lets-get-drunk scene. Housewarming will probably happen later.
Shaggy's birthday today so the office is flooded with beer.... ahhhh high again naturally.

Tuesday, November 14, 2006

What is reality, Papa?

The TravellingTaneja donated a comic book by the same name written and illustrated by the same guys who did Asterix and Obelix. Far-out graphics and even more spaced-out plot line.

Was watching the news on the telly yesterday and the Chinese ambassador grinning into the camera claiming Arunachal Pradesh as Chinese territory.
Those dumbass kids who mowed down those pavement-bedders came on next, and of course the little kidnapped brat. Latter of course seems very fishy.
Isn't it bad news sense to broadcast news of a kidnapping, unless of course CNN-IBN had a slow news day and wanted to do something special for Children's Day.
The dad didn't seem too concerned that his one and only offspring had disappeared. Probably because he knew former was chilling in Rajdeep Sardesai's house watching Cartoon Network and digging into Kellogs.

Second conspiracy theory of late over the MCD sealing drive seems to make more sense.
When self was with the national magazine, was given these real estate guides to do, both commercial and residential for all major cities in India. The sheer number of malls expected by 2010 was enough to convince you that all Indians do is shop.
Around the same time, several papers ran stories on how the malls were getting fucked on sales, because although truckloads would come for the air-conditioned jaunt and masala corn, few came to buy anything of real worth.
And now this move to push all traders into commercial spaces. Hmmm!

Some years ago when self was with the travel magazine, several of us were invited by the Maharaja of Bikaner to check out his new Lake Palace-turned into heritage hotel, way out in the boondocks of Gajner.
We were assigned rooms all over the place and mine was in a corner. Trippy as fuck room, complete with wooden carving on the ceiling supplementing the frescoes, king-sized bed with canopy and what looked suspiciously like an original Picasso. There was also a door that looked like a cupboard, locked fast with a table against it. Didn't pay much attention initially.
Since this was the desert, it got bloody quiet, bloody quick. So quiet you could hear your brain slowly humming into sleep mode while your breath typhooned across the room.
The first night was quite blasted since the Maharaja had hosted a dinner-n-shit with expensive booze and local ganja (which Fire, the enterprising Express photographer managed to wangle from the camel-men).
Staggered back up the countless stairs and past countless spooky portraits to my room in the corner and afore-mentioned situation occurred.
A faint noise woke me a while later. A faint creeaak, tap-tap-tap. Sat up to try listen carefully through the haze and there it was again. The creeaak, tap-tap-tap.
In no mood to call room service for what may very well have been imagined noises, switched the air-conditioner on and the ensuing roar drowned out the creaking and tapping.
The next day, informed the other journo guys - Fire, Heron and SinghSaab and they came up to my room after dinner to see for themselves.
One DVD and several pegs of on-the-house-Scotch later, no sound of any sort.
We were packing up for the night, switched off the TV and stood in the doorway to see them out and a moment of silence was enough to bring out the CREAAK-TAP-TAP-TAP! Somehow seemed louder than the previous night. Loud enough to get these guys running back in with cameras at the ready. Just in case.
We followed the sound but it ended inside the closet. Heron put a ear to the closet and yeled, "Dude it's coming from here!" His voice echoed into the closet! We huddled for a closer look inside and a draught of stale cold air whispered into the room.
That pretty much sealed it for self who spent the night on an extra mattress in Fire's room down the hall.
The next morning, one of the valets explained.
The room where self was bedding down was the room the Maharaja (in previous eras) would go to bang any one or several of his many wives. The 'closet' was actually a door to a hidden corridor that led to the Zenana Mahal (Women's Quarters) some 5oo metres away. The knocking, according to the valet, was commonplace legend. Apparantly when the British invaded the palace, the women were locked in the Zenana Mahal and despite repeated attempts at breaking down the connecting door, several persished in the siege.

But what is reality anyway?
Every single one of us has a completely different perception of reality. Every one from your maid to the guy you almost bump into on the street, to your ancient friend from school to your mum's sister. Simple logic says conflict arises when realities clash. It isn't really the realities that clash, it's your perceptions that do.
You cannot even hope to understand the other person's reality. All you have to do is understand theirs might not be even close to yours.
Just that understanding is enough to divert armloads of paranoid misunderstandings.
I know this is a very simplistic way of looking at it, but then the world isn't that complicated.
Stoned once, said this to Angel who replied, "If you keep doing that, trying to understand other people, you'll end up with a lot of bottled rage because when an aggravating situation arises, understanding another person's reality doesn't always work."
Ah but then I don't believe there should be a reason for the rage. Sure, everyone gets angry, everyone loses their cool, it's a human emotion. But it doesn't take a super-human effort to not follow through with your natural instinct of shoving your boss's face through the wall.
Disassociation helps a great deal. Stepping back from the scene mentally, imagining you're someone else in the other room.
Solutions come easier when your mind isn't faced with the problem.

Monday, November 13, 2006




Office halloween!

Monday, November 06, 2006

The sunny side of life

The trippiest natural visual when listening to psychedelic music are butterflies.

Moondust didn't happen. Two nights of getting hammered and one day of glazed-eye DVD watching did.
Apple hit 23 and opened up her trippy terrace-with-a-well for mostly random people to trash.
Like most 'non-smoking' just-out-of-college parties, where the stoners are huddled in the corner near the parapet while a slightly bizarre selection of audio entertainment makes conversation among the sleeker-dressed lot, standing in the middle, loud and spitty.
Probably the first night of the new winter. You could see the cold. Feel it in your ears. Smell it every time you turned your head.
And of course, people were wearing sweaters.

Woke the next day, headed out and got myself some movies (Oh Brother where art thou, V for Vendetta, Spaceballs, Pink Panther and The DaVinci Code), headed back, stuck my feet up and watched them all till the sun disappeared behind CGO Complex.
There's nothing like one day of absolute, brain-numbing, zoning out. Munchies just a call and half an hour away, enough Mary to talk to and a comfortable chair to sink into.
Am now addicted, again, to the music of Oh Brother
Later that evening, picked myself out of the armchair to head to the SecondFloor.
Raka got kicked up the ladder so threw a cut-a-cake thingy and ensuing beer with Mary in the bracing(?) balcony meant it wasn't very long before the nostrils were clogged and dripping somewhat.
Not pleasant I agree.
Staggered home after they stuck the soundtrack of Don on for the fifty five gadzillionth time.

There's been a lot of getting monged happening these past few weeks. Which is usual anyway for this time of the year.
There was eM's Halloween kick-off, the very mellow gig at Lodi with that Norse chick, there's two birthdays this friday, something on Wednesday at Laidbackwaters and We might be giving Dee her homecoming on Saturday.
Ahhh Bacchus.. tu kab jaan chootega!!?

Thursday, November 02, 2006

Doggy style

Flashed!... Radha

Paranoid puppy... Odie

Wasted warrior... Junior

Senior citizen... Dara

Mutt of mange... Khujli

Backyard hounds... Sameera, Dipstick and Bandit

Shady bitches... Boora and Boori

Gay boys... Kim, Genghis, Bobby and Badmash

Accepting inevitabilities

Mum's eldest brother, The Quizmaster passed on today.
It's strange... not feeling anything about it. The mother is quite distraught obviously, but then he had been just about pulling along what with the Alzheimer's and she's thankful that at least the suffering has ended.
Unlike the last burial in the family, when mum's dad kicked it way back in 1993, I never knew the man.
Is it possible to grieve for someone you've never met, despite being related?
Public grief is different somehow... impersonal somewhat.

Aaah... fuck it