Adventures in daytripping

14 x 9 inches

2011-06-21T14:26:00.003+05:30

air lama

sick prick
beggarcroc
Delhi police
mall rat

hitch-hiking crab with a tumour

16 x11 inches

2011-06-21T14:12:00.007+05:30

bitch

palash

socket

tahrir square

everybody's got a monkey

arushi

suck

pc sorcar

welcome to India

piper bee

hot talk

phoenix

sluginfest

exhale

government

21 x 14 inches

2011-06-21T14:01:00.006+05:30

sphanx

to smoke or to fly

roadside romeo

advice

alter ego
schizophrenia

gorilla peacock

he who turns on future,
holds onto balls

Trademarked Power

2010-01-27T16:12:00.002+05:30

Public Service Announcement from MUSLI POWER X-TRA!

Viva Santiago.. bouquets and brickbats

2009-01-21T18:00:00.005+05:30

What's Hot - Times of India

Time Out

Sunday Tribune

Sahara Times

New Indian Express

Jetlite

India Today

Hindustan Times

First City

Femina

Daily News & Analysis

Deccan Herald

Book's out!

2008-06-10T17:14:00.000+05:30

Buy it now!

Musical Mountaining

2008-02-04T12:25:00.001+05:30

HT Mumbai, Jan 18/08

Three Deadly Sins

2007-12-14T18:40:00.000+05:30

Greed.

Some two weeks ago was by folks' restaurant and self-appointed family friend stops by with paper charts and glazed look. Blabbers on and on about having discovered the secret to fantastic wealth. Spreads hand-drawn charts out on the floor and proceeds to give Sister and self the low down. The deal: You pay a token amount and then have to buy something worth 32grand (diamond watch, gold coin etc). Step 2: You get two more people to do the same. "Uhuh, like Amway," says Sister.
The glaze shifts into a fanatical gleam as he leaps to defend his new faith. Says daughters are married and settled abroad yet feels the need for more and more money so that his future generations are taken care of. Like it would even last that long.
What got me is his constant insistence that "God told me to do this.."

Sloth.

Vocal, who sucks mike for the Pausing Men, came by last weekend what with Brit Chick landing up in town after a long while. Hungover the next morning, he's combing the terrace for leftover ganja. None to be found.
Man Friday (we have a new and improved version) is summoned and set to searching as well. With no result. Later Man Friday reveals that his previous employer, also a fan of the bong, would beat him if former did not have ganja ready to roll in the house always!
Most unlike most fans.
Which probably explained Man Friday's petrified personality the first few weeks. Till he realised all we beat is ourselves. Especially nowadays with the scarcity of sex.

Lust.

Give any regular guy a decent enough camera and he'll always use it like a secondary penis.
"Hey baby, you look really nice in this light.. mind if i take your picture?"
And don't the women just love it. Even the ones who give the cold "No thank you," and walk away. Later with the girlies, it'll be, "Yeah, he even wanted to take my picture!" Thoughtful-finger-on-chin, "You think he's any good though?"
Models are bad enough...stick a camera in front of them. Any camera. Even the one on your phone and watch facial tissue contort like it's running on CGI.
People think lad mag writers get laid all the time....? Naah It's the photographers. All we get is to scroll down with "Oooh... is that a nipple?"

to be continued...

Tripping with Tolkien

2007-10-18T23:51:00.000+05:30

Published HT Mumbai, 10/11/2007

My version..

It's always nice to be off the beaten Himalayan path; away from the horns, the tourists and constant cellphones. But how often do you feel you've stumbled into strangely familiar country even though this is the first time you've laid eyes on anything?
Some 7 hours drive north of Delhi, 2 hours from Dehradun, and you're in Middleearth. Say hello to small, secretive Chakrata high up in Uttarakhand.
Essentially a cantonment, there really isn't much to see or do in town. And since this area is off limits to foreigners, please leave the white girlfriend home.
Chakrata has no tourist attractions to speak of save for the roaring Tiger Falls some 40km away. Jog down a concrete path staying wary of slippery moss, slush through a stream and you're there. Surging foam cascades down 350ft out of the rock, the force of the fall such that it pushes you away the closer you get. The walk back up the concrete path is arduous till freewheeling silent vultures make us pick up the pace.
You could stay in town or you could, like us, bunk in at the Great Indian Outdoors' campsite. Unlike other tarp affairs, they have showers and electricity here. The tents are massive affairs big enough for four bedding in, complete with attached loos and ceramic thrones. If you get your office guys to go along with you, get them to do some of the 'games' camp counsellor Jagat Rathore has lined up. Build some spine in the process. The weather here changes constantly. It could be bright clear blue one second, you turn away and back; and the valley is filled with cloud that creeps up on you. Slithers under your collar, into your shoes, with a constant pitter-patter on the roof to remind you this isn't fog. Our tent at the Room on the Roof campsite, some minutes before town, was set up as base. The drudgery of driving through dark cloud, fog, rain and landslides on the way up disappears with morning laying the mountains at your feet. Perched precariously high up the mountainside, you can't help feeling like The Fellowship bunking down on Caradhras.
Revived by tea, we hit the road to Viraatkhai 2 km away, where the locals said was an easy hike up to abandoned ruins. Remains of the palace of King Viraat where the Pandavs apparently stopped over for a bit back during the famous family feud. A solitary blocked-up well is the only evidence left of human habitation up here. The 'walk' up gives you the shivers and not just because of the crisply whipping air. Behold Rohan, once mighty stronghold of the Horselords! You half expect Gandalf to come galloping past you. The view from here, at the top of the mountain, is a 360degree panorama of snowclad mountains and cloud covered plains. Definitely worth the huffing and puffing half kilometre up if you don't have Shadowfax.
Far off in the distant east, black mountains loom ominously, bringing Mordor sharply into focus. With China not too far off, it's not hard to see the real Red Eye of Sauron.
Later in the evening, our hosts get us up to speed on the local lore. The extremely off-limits army base in Chakrata is home to the Special Frontier Force, Tibetan soldiers trained by us folks, is why foreigners aren't allowed around here. No one knows how many there are at any given time, even the local chaps. Dunedain anyone? The hidden rangers of the northern forests, the men whose lands were taken away?
The camp guys had a Cathay crew come in for team-building so we decided to play journalist for a day, following them around in ostentatious effort of 'covering' the campsite. Sorry Jagat.
First stop was an abandoned English traveller's way stop where the mems and the saabs stopped for tea and picnic. Weathertop Hill all over again. This time with character building exercises instead of the Nine Riders. An hour of watching check-in agents humiliate themselves, we followed them down to the river to photo them take off rafting. The Yamuna runs a brisk 13 km stretch of pumping white water about 20km from campsite and this is where we were headed. Chappie with me picks up a strange piece of twisted driftwood off the beach. "This is my two-headed snake walking stick and she shall be called the Staff of Wisdom!" he declares. Strange events are afoot, we think to ourselves, especially when he espies the eerily moulded Club of Mayhem a few rocks away.
Launchpad shoot done, we drove down to embarkment point and ran right into the dwarf mines of Moria. A half-hidden, cave-like entrance; the hillside neatly pockmarked with above it and a dark echoing hole on the other bank. Later found out it was actually an abandoned project to dam the river. But what do we city people know. We tried getting up to the cave but sheer walls and beer on the way made this slightly impossible. The only dwarves we met, however, were inquisitive bug-eyed gypsy children determined to introduce us to their snot.
Our last night at camp we spent in introspection and intoxication; the latter leading to great deals of the former. Was all that we saw the effect of substance abuse at high altitude? We'll let you decide.

An evening with Sri Sri

2007-10-13T13:03:00.000+05:30

So Talli took me to see the guru hold audience rock star style in jam packed Sai Auditorium last week. Quite an interesting man...
Most of what he says makes a lot of sense.. simple truths that anyone can realise by themselves, they just need someone else to tell them... or they don't want to accept it themselves..
The man himself is humorously articulate; except when someone asked him why he charges for his brand of spirituality... he left that to his minions...

Then there was that question on retaliation and turning the cheek... and SS says go ahead and strike back.. but with love.. what? Wrong thing to tell a road-raged, parking-afflicted Delhi...
And sure enough, when we left there was some shouting reversing happening outside.
When people hang on your every word, one should be really careful of what they're saying.. is all

Made me think about why people who live up in the mountains or by the sea are friendlier.. maybe being landlocked and having a sewer for a river has something to do with it..

Also something else some guy at the lectern said about the big man having an aura. Up close, without the photoshop, he's a middle aged hippie who likes to pick his nose. Not all the time of course. But he walks into a sardine can of dancing, singing and praise shouting. There's nothing cultish about it, there's very little order, everything's just played by ear...

oh well to each his own

starry starry nights!

2007-09-11T14:57:00.000+05:30

Bliss!

2007-09-02T15:19:00.000+05:30

Right now, parrots are chasing dragonflies outside the window. It's rained in the jungle behind the house and the peacocks are doing their bowing 'n' scraping. Moving here has changed my life, for the better i think.
Every month, have tendency to look back and ruminate... it's been a good year methinks.. friends have been the most important part... its funny.. living with Sister was less family that it is now..
After six years odd, it feels nice to live with dogs again. Apna hi Great Indian Mongrels, to come home to crazy conversation, to have beer home delivered without living in Mumbai, to wake up every morning to nature going nuts, to go to work and look forward to it, to finally find people around me who play basketball.....

Why is it so difficult to write these days? Maybe have nothing left to say.... hmm

tuesdays at antoine's

2007-08-29T14:43:00.000+05:30

Nizamuddin at night

Gyspy king warbling

We counted 11 of them in there!

Portraits

2007-08-27T17:45:00.000+05:30

Adit (and Shireen)

Akash

Anjali

Aparna

Bulbul

Dhruv

Gaurav

Iona

Kabir

Navkirat

Rohan

Sarab

Shradha

Sumit

Udita

Miss Maxim 2007 is here!

2007-08-03T11:01:00.000+05:30

http://www.zapak.com/missmaxim.zpk

Do you have it in you ladies?

Retro Rishikesh

2007-07-30T11:28:00.000+05:30

recording sessions

2007-07-12T17:55:00.000+05:30

console-ing

ooooh dials!!

Jimmyji ki jai ho!

tuning up

idling

sunday night tripping

2007-07-09T14:00:00.001+05:30

minty morning

2007-07-05T11:43:00.000+05:30

tangled up in green

dancing in the park

unclear clearing

leaf ladder

did i mention the terrace?

JB and the Curtain

2007-07-04T18:28:00.001+05:30

home on the range

2007-07-04T18:10:00.000+05:30

after the first rains...

Pickles the pensioner

Dogs of war

shifted finally!

2007-07-03T11:51:00.000+05:30

jungle view!

morning

crazy times are here

2007-06-13T18:43:00.000+05:30

Looking back over the past few weeks. Speechless for a second. Can't beleive all that shit really went down. And went down well!

The end of last month, the office crew (really just the Mallu Boys and self) with Penne and Uglisha (the 'model') headed uphill past Mussourie and the ghost towns to the magic that is Mori. No, I'm not gushing.
The drive up, initially expected to be a nine-hour jaunt, turned into a thirteen-hour arse-number till we climbed out at campsite and pulled out the whiskey.
Rafting was pretty mundane except for the part where Penne and the Fat Boys decided to make fun of the river and its rapids, switching places in mid-stream so Penne was up front. Without St Nick up front holding down the raft, we hit Stick Sandra and she got us good and proper. Four out of the boat with Uglisha laughing hysterical on her way back and under.
Guide goes nuts yelling at Boss up front to grab the 120-kilo Hairy, so he grabs his lifejacket and holds him to the raft. Unfortunately we're still in the rapid so Hairy gets squashed and mangled against rocks till Guide flops across and heaves him in with superhuman paranoid strength, keeping me paddling the raft forward and out
Everyone had a good laugh, but only when we were all back on board, limbs and spines intact. Ego left behind in the rocks and puddles.
The next day we went trekking across the road from camp, following the stream up the gorge, skipping past buffalo crap and butterflies till we came to the POOL! Not just one...three, one after the orger with a waterfall at the end of it.
Kinda like the place you want to put underwater lighting a fence around and tell everyone else to fuck off.
Of course the California Sunshine working its way through our bloodstream aided this covetousness!

Back from Mori and self gets sent to Bangalore to cover Aerosmith. So what if they're old and we'd rather fancy Steven's daughter than him. Hitched a ride with MissedKaul and ended up staying at her boy's place way out in the north of the city.
Did manage to get out teh first night and landed up at the bar of the restaurant where the band was chowing down. At least Joe Perry and Tom Hamilton were. Not that I knew Tom Hamilton was Tom Hamilton till we checked flyers. Standing in the aisle smoking plain nicotine and Joe P walks by and asks if its a joint. Too tongue tied to say anything, uhhudd till guy who was bumming drags stauck his hand out. Pressed flesh and then continued with the gaping till he left 5 seconds later. Oh well.
Gig was awesome. The sound was fucked. As was the dumbass air guitar opening act.
Flew back the next day and was following rain clouds from the sky when I saw my first real rain circle..not a bow, but a full fucking circle. Feel particularly blessed after that.

Last weekend, hopped on board a junket heading to God's own country and the beautiful backwaters. First houseboat ride, first toddy and tapioca outing, first time to me mum's home town.
Been a memorable few weeks and just got better.
How so?

Remember the book?
I found a publisher!
Finally!

third weekend trip in a row!

2007-06-11T10:24:00.000+05:30

The Radisson Plaza, Kumarakom

manic monsoon!

vella on Vembanad Lake

oooooh lights!

lake side pool villas!

too much to take?

toddy, tapioca and fried fish!

damn that's a big 'un!

houseboating 2

houseboating 3

erm..

meditation island

Leavin.. on a speedboat...

mandatory fishing net visit

bangalore blues

2007-06-05T12:48:00.000+05:30

Mushroom cloud anyone?

What you get to do if you don't cough up dough

Bangalore night

Electric Garden City

Moonlit Mahima

Crazy custom cruiser

Leaving town...

Rain circle!!

Trippy fucking shit

Magical Mori

2007-05-31T11:34:00.000+05:30

not-so-empty Kempty

Simba's profile?

forest fire!

Maxim man: with lollypop and life jacket

wasted again, naturally

fireside stoning

friendly insects

pre breakfast chilling

Flipper!

gearing up

al fresco dining

home

taking ass

giant log asswise up

dead deer? broken branch?

California sunshine!!!

the hidden waterfall

need I say more?

into the cold green wrinkler

following the stream

Weekend at Sandy's

2007-05-21T12:49:00.000+05:30

Goregaon or Gurgaon

Snowbell and Man Friday

Self portrait

Really bad joke

Even worse one

rant rant

2007-04-30T17:21:00.000+05:30

What’s the deal with al these PILs nowadays? Can’t people finally accept that no one has yet invented anything to turn back time, that the world is getting smaller…that east and west no longer exist?
How many stories do we hear about the number of Indians (some very influential) in the States and the UK? How many about foreigners in India?
Is anyone taking a look at all the white trash that’s washing up on our shores of late though?
Why can’t our morally upright citizens understand that when women like Mallika Sherawat, Mandira Bedi, Aishwarya Rai and so on, do that thing, wear that bling… they’re consenting adults. Of course, in Mandira’s case, just more time to tie a sari.
In the words of a good friend of mine, “Bhai tere gaand mein kya keeda hai?
Of course, it’s also quite likely that the actual complainant was probably the litigant’s fat-ass ugly wife, with a personal grouse against everything beautiful.
We wouldn’t be having these issues if people in this country weren’t so resilient to change. Women are coming out more every day. You don’t need me to tell you this.
Are we the Taliban or have we acquired the Iranian police’s prudish urges?
How many times do these illiterate rabble-rousers have to be reminded of our heritage, the one they keep wanting to save?
The same heritage that assimiliated Mughlai chicken, left-hand drive and now McDonald’s, with nary a dent in the dharma.
And they’re worried about someone showing a boob on screen? So?
If your children were educated a little better, especially on matters sexual, you wouldn’t have so many horny, repressed bastards cruising for bruisings.
Why do you think big-screen booby shaking is still popular in Bollywood. Our country is built on aspirations, dreams. Which means Bollywood owes its bucks to poverty.
That’s the issue these so-upright-they-have-a-stick-up-their-arse people should be championing. Enact new laws that protect Indians from racism in their own country, so that chuts who run restaurants and clubs, the ones who fawn after blonde hair and accents, learn who comes first.

The Pong song

2007-04-23T18:59:00.000+05:30

Published: 19/4/2007. Hindustan Times, Mumbai

prepping for the Pakis

2007-04-13T12:03:00.000+05:30

After taking on SouthbySouthWest in Austin, Texas last month, Menwhopause hit the long road to Pakistan this weekend for a gig in Lahore. Gand maar ke aana bhaiyo!

Maxim does the mascots

2007-04-11T18:10:00.000+05:30

Aaaho Bhaiyo.... gand marao!

The death of Dumbo

aaja mere lode par baith ja!

Giving Dumbo the diddles

Shush little birdie, don't you cry

Sir, sir, sir, sir, sir, pleeaseee put me down!

Tourist impersonator!

Lost in translation... pahadi style

2007-04-09T15:08:00.000+05:30

Can just imagine Sirdie asking, "Haan bhai paaji...koi cold-shold beer hai?
Don't miss the ode to the ages by the side....

And here we thought it was the flailers and kickers that drowned....

Oh well.....

Pong Lake with pictures- four days of fishing

2007-04-09T14:50:00.000+05:30

first glimpse

Rajkumar: "Ab vapas chale sir.. roti khani hai..."

The Angler's Lodge broods in the gloom

sunrise over the Dhauladhars

Bringing in the bait fish

Playing it out in a purple Pong

Face saver catch

Tits 'n' ass

Buffalo Bum Cody

Dahlias and Dung

Seriously now?

Well, this is Ludhiana!

RIP SB

2007-04-02T14:14:00.000+05:30

You'd usually see her through the haze of bong smoke....

goodbye Shakti... you will be missed

takes a while to get used to change...
The first person to be truly interested in my "book".. now consigned to limbo in the hands of unmentioned publishers.. she'd ask every time we'd meet about it, much before it was actually written.
Will always remember J&S's ultra chic pad in Def Col, with the jumble on the fridge and the peeling yellow plaster...the random conversation and eccentric music..

most of all, a would-be mentor and door-keeper...
Last SMS exchanged was that Saturday afternoon.. Had sent urgent SOS asking how much she'd read and she'd said she'd gone through half and had found it engrossing with minor details in structure.. Said she'd email me a detailed list by Monday, being busy with the other book Bracket were doing...
Went to sleep somewhat eased and then H calls and gives the news...

back

2007-03-16T11:28:00.000+05:30

The book's ready... anyone know any publishers?

finally

2007-02-27T11:34:00.000+05:30

BritChick loaned me her laptop... the book's begun.. See you'all in a bit!

Ahhh--sole! gesundheit...

2007-02-20T17:51:00.000+05:30

Some things noticed on the trip down, in the train and elsewhere, was how newish parents are always so kicked when they're brat says something clever. "Aah, how sweet!" at stuff like "you don't know what you're talking about"
In five years, the "how sweet" will be "I wish she was never born!"
One item on the train back to Delhi, mater, munna and mater's pa, were one such.
The child would squeal for absolutely no reason. Obviously having learnt that squealing gets him shit. EVERY SINGLE time a knick-knack man walked past, he'd squeal for some random shit for his granda to get him. So he ended up with a toy cellphone, a squawking Pokemon, a black rattling ball that he flung at a passing cop later that night, six plates of samosas that remained half-eaten, cola every few minutes, paper soap, a shoelace, pakoras, milk... the inevitable happened as it does with all these imps and he emptied his constant gorging on his mother's shawl with a smelly liquid spew.
Henceforth, both mater and granda had to hold the damn shawl out the window to dry it. Sick. Pity the fool that sat behind them.

The other was confirmation of a long held theory that ALL Bong men are never completely severed from the umbilical cord. It's also what probaby acts as an instant plug-in to the Discovery Channel. A Bong man will almost never have done something for experience, he'll have read it in a book or more likely seen it on Travel & Living. What is with this insatiable desire to burden others with useless bits of information?
To the contrary, all Punju men, another breed that is permanently connected to their mama's womb, use their cord to get price quotes on the schmansiest doodad, hot wheels or fuck pad around. They needn't necesarily have the requisite moolah to buy said object of desire, but they definitely know how much it costs and what it does.
Hooray for Discovery!

still Rogered!

2007-02-20T12:43:00.000+05:30

Roger Waters looks a fuck-lot like Richard Gere!

First proper concert and got to go see a fourth of Floyd light up Mumbai this past Sunday.
Haven't slept in four days, been a total of 48 hours in second class sleeper, still wired from leftovers of Dr Hoffman's speciality product. But all fucking worth it!

Friday night was drinking with bits of the Jungpura Junta when Apple calls to say a freind's maternal has an upfront pass and a train ticket to spare. Didn't take a lot of deciding to hop on the choo-choo with them the next evening and 24 hours later was lugging sweater and satchel up to cousin Popo's place in balmy Bandra.
Didn't get to sleep on the way, partly because was hopping with excitement, partly because had to share berth with random strange people but mostly because was freezing-ass cold and self forgot necessary blanket.
Some trademark BombayBlack later, headed off with Popo and the Missus. Had a tiny tab of Dr H's goods courtesy Baba earlier last month and that, with ample Mary, the explosive opening to the Pig over Pali Hill, the up-and-down floor and the flashy freaks of Film City... indescribable!
Even though much of the singing was faked, the smoke and mirrors, the on-sreen psychedelia, the surround sound, the flying pig, the explosions...well, you had to be there...
Gig over, headed to tony five-star oriental joint for dinner with well-heeled friends of cousin. Don't ever have wasabi sauce when you're tripping. Felt like someone gonged me right up the sniffer! And sushi is for sick Jap suckers.
Was heading back to the flat and just ahead, a biker gets whacked by a car, flies across the windscreen and lands face-down, hard, in the road. Doesn't get up. Is picked up almost instantly by passers-by though and shoved into a passing auto. Shook us up a bit, considering we would have been on that road if we hadn't been delayed a few seconds later.
Back at the flat, Lucy's still dancing colourful circles in my cranium and I begin to finally notice the change in weather from Delhi to Mumbai. Fever sets in as the fan starts to hypnotise and purple pigs with yellow bows play hopscotch with orange cows across the fluctuating green walls.
Check the time... it's half past five in the morning. Train leaves at 11.30. Need sleep. Close my eyes.
Wake with a start. It's 7.30. The fever's gone, the walls are silent, the steady whomp-whomp-whomp of the ceiling fan remains.
Say goodbyes and apologise for landing up on cousins' unexpectedly, grab an auto, head to the station. Met Guy from GE with girlfriend in tow, also taking the same train back.
Hop on, grab my berth, settle in for the ride. Sleep still escapes.
An annoying spoilt two-year-old in the vicinity ensures no one within earshot manages 40 winks. The night is freezing cold again. At least I have the berth to myself. Wrap up in thin sweater and trenchcoat, but it's not enough.
Now so drowsy, don't know if I'm awake or still sleeping. Dawn comes with the chai-wallah peddling tea down the aisle.
You can buy fucking anything on a train nowadays! Apart from regular train meals, shit-shat inducing snacks, ice-cream, coconut milk, and loads more gastric grub. There's toys, books, beggars, eunuchs, warped floor cleaners, 'diamond and gold jewellery' peddlers, paper soap guys, shoe polishing dudes, fruity people,... anyway
Munchies and caffeine requirement take care of, sit and wait till the train pulls into town. Gets to the local station first, so hop off, head home, shower after a week and head to work, which is where I am now...

Need Sleep!

drink me a river, smoke me a song

2007-01-29T18:42:00.000+05:30

Long over due for one, Thursday past was the crazy night out on town. The Denizens of the Dungeon, the folks who work with me, gathered at the erotic pub with the naked statues for a round of beer and 'team building'.
Half a pre-ingested munakka followed by all that beer, no food and distinctly remember tequila shots too before saying nighty-night to the OnesfromtheOrifice and heading off to Jack's Library for Sketchman's booklaunch.
No personal recollection exists after leaving the erotic pub. Everything else was filled in later by the accompanying Satriani and DJChick.
The swaying began righ about when the munakka kicked in, a good hour later than usual. What's absolutely potent about this shit, especially when you add beer, tequila and now whiskey to the equation is that you lose complete control of your tongue and your legs.
Satriana says he had to grab the collar to stop self from launching into available laps.
Didn't finish my drink, so walked out half-conscious with the glass in my hand, finished it in the car on the way to the Norse gig at the Garden Inn.
Walked in with the glass stuck in the inner jacket pocket, fell on a few more people, met Ma Cherie, whacked my head on the door coming out the loo and walked out again.
We were leaving and DJChick's hiding her unfinished stem of vino under her shawl.
We step past the breaking wall of bouncers and in her drunk, Aussie twang says, "I hope no one catches me with this glass!"
A hand reaches out from the wall of black shirts and collars me, "We need to check you sir!" "Why me? She's the one with the big mouth and the glass!"
They feel me up and down anyway and find the whiskey holder from the previous place.
"Oh ho," steps in Satriani, "This is our glass, we got itt from home.."
There's a ripple of confusion on the black shirt wall now, as one of them steps back to call the F&B chappie, who takes one look at the cause of concern and shakes his head, "That's not our glass, " he says!
We head back to the car, they remain, cast out of granite.

Woke the next day with a cut and a cigarette burn on my forhead, a bleeding gash on my shin, bruised knees, a throbbing head with a lump at the back and absolutely no idea where my glasses were.
Searched the house, got the maid and the Sister to do the same. No luck. No debris, nothing.
Checked with Satriani who unloaded me home and he said they were hanging onto my face last he saw.
Oh well.
Went by the optician near the Dungeon (the Dungeon and the Orifice are the same place, if you're wondering) to check out contact lenses.
Spent the better part of two hours with some strange-smelling man pulling my eyelids apart and trying to stick his fingernail in my eye before figuring out I couldn't do this to myself everyday. So it's back to spectacles of the blinker variety.
At least they'll help me focus!

here and about

2007-01-18T17:40:00.000+05:30

Love the mace!

wordjugglers' getogether

DVDs with Drish

edit meeting!

personal road

backbreaker

PAN the Pied Piper

2007-01-12T19:29:00.000+05:30

What is it with bizarre behaviour and why does it follow me around?

Self doesn't exist according to the Indian government. No PAN number, no passport, no driver's license, no voter's I-card. Nothing to prove who I am. Ha!
All this was forced to change recently.
A few months ago, the accounts guys here insisted on a PAN number since they have to provide it to some chap at the income tax or so they say. So began the long procedure of getting a PAN. (Going to the site, opening the relevant page, getting a phone call and instantly forgetting everything PAN-related, right till when salary day came around and Mr Accounts Man would send reminder email to everyone above me in the food chain including self.
The problem with getting or even applying for the PAN, was that I needed a 'proof of identity' to hand in with the form. And since I didn't have one...
Finally in December, they stopped my salary till at least a receipt of application was provided. So self clung around to colleagues with connections who called people, suspicious chartered accountants, who said a company's identity card would hold.
Two weeks later, emails me back saying I sent him the wrong bank statement as proof of address and needed to send a current statement.
Another week passes and no sign of him or PAN number.
Self took the last week of the year off and strolled into the Dungeon on the 2nd with the accounts guy holding on the extension-line.
"Do you mind coming upstairs?" he asks.
"Why whassamatter?"
"What's your father's name?"
"Whaaa..?"
"What's your father's name?"
"Whaaa..? Whoo..?"
"What's your father's name?"
"Aah.." I give it.. There's a long pause and then he asks again, "Do you mind coming upstairs?"

Trudge up to the second floor and he waves a printout in my face.
"Do you know what this is?"
"Umm .. my PAN number?"
"Do you know you've had a PAN number for three and a half years?"

Well, I didn't actually.
So all that time I thought no one knew who the hell I was, they did! Dammit!!

the bizarreness never ends

2007-01-12T18:54:00.000+05:30

Ever since New Year's eve, self can feel the new year! It's not the weather, the cold or the snot sticking to your face in the auto.

Were bored in office the other day so fucked off to NehruStadium with Satriani, AD and the Kids for a spot of bungee jumping. Initial excitement wore off when faced with neck-straining height, sudden stoppage of bungee due to disappearance of some 'wire' and standing with crotch strapped into testicle-squeezing harness for fifteen minutes.
My first time, unlike sex, scuttled back before diving off.

Highly recommended! Inspite of that initial gut reaction that tells you you're going to flatten your face on the concrete sidewalk some 30 metres below.
Random EmceePerson, the chick who's always dressed up at events like this, strutted up to bungee too, tight top, pencil heels notwithstanding.
Took about a half hour to work up the courage to leave the security of the cage and promptly popped a boob out on the first jerk down. Ensured the bungee spot had maximum viewership for the next few dangling minutes!

The magazine's spoofing metrosexuality and self signed up for the pampering (and pain). So woke one bright morning (yesterday) and rickshawed to the Aigner store to pick up spiffy threads. Felt real nice to wander in, ripped jeans, mud-caked soles, unshaven and tattered sweater to pick up that shit. Walked out the same way hopped in another auto and headed off to the Shangri-la for an afternoon of shampoo, facial, pedicure, manicure, shave and trimming. Just the manicure didn't seem to work too well, still have claws for thumbs, but all else gets a thumbs up...including new straightened (ironed) hair.
Makes me look like a chick though. Two of them followed a bathrobed self into the gents changing room, giggling imbecilicly when they saw the beard. No snake thank God!

Back at the Dungeon, changed into spiffy new threads and did our final shots, before changing back and heading off to MolarMan for a biter-check. Half-an-hour's worth of electric whining, some pain and blood and lots of open mouth, self has new tooth where disgusting black fang used to be. MolarMan's a pretty cool dentist for ... well.. a dentist. He's getting us clip-on fangs made for free and if that isn't cool what is?!

Mary's wended her way back into my life, we have cable at home, I got paid on time and all's well with the world!

the madness of the family fernandes

2007-01-02T14:44:00.000+05:30

In retrospect, this was the different Christmas break. Not as expected though.

Went back to folks' for Yuletide. Woke 24th morn to the old man losing his lid at the electricity guys. Latter had arrived to disconnect the electricity, claiming power theft as reason.
Folks had shifted the meter to a different part of the boundary wall the previous evening as it was shorting out and these johnnies landed up, conveniently on a Sunday, to make some noise and get their Xmas 'gift'.

One enterprising dickhead tried to force his way through the main gate, supposedly to check power usage within the house and was promptly relieved of his right nut by a rampaging OdiousOdie. The blood on the mud pretty much got them out, but they took the electriciy with them forcing folks to shell out close to 40 grand just to get them back.

A lot happened on the 24th... went by PV to toke up with Puffy and SadGirl. Hammar and Farha, also in town after a while came by for a spot of Fifa on Xbox.
Midnight mass was surreal as always.
Apart from the M family (and ours of course), everyone else seemed mutated from Toad of Toad Hall. Bug-eyed, shawl-wrapped, round-faced and scowling visages crucifying what self has always considered angelic melodies. Imagine Silent Night being sung by the muppets on speed.
Or maybe that was just the beer and smoke before Church.

Day of Christ was at folks' place with the Junpura Junta landing up armed with gifts and Breezers and bread. Astraman and BrotherBear lost their way, within sight of the farm, of course.

Much of the past week was spent dragging self out of bed by noon, crawling down and across to the theka for 3 lagers. Come back, pull out the new giant orange beanbag (Thank you Meg!), rolling bowl, Mary and malt. Balmy winter sunshine and a ton of new books for entertainment.

The 29th rolled around and self's initial euphoria over road trip to UdiGirl's place high up in the Garhwal mountains over New Year's was nixed thanks to lazy people and oceans of fog.
New Year's eve was an anti-social affair, ending up at home with a burning table for company.
The best part?
Embedding a nail halfway into finger, right on the bony part, while trying to rip apart table with bare hands.
Note to self: Never attempt to rip apart anything with bare hands unless it's fried chicken.
Dropped sliding contraption that holds keyboard on ankle.
Sat on and dismembered spectacles at least three times...
and joy of joy! am plumb out of Mary!
Bah!
Need a vacation from the vacation.

practice at the jungle pad

2007-01-02T14:34:00.000+05:30

---------------------------------------

Scarlet celebrations for the Lizard

2006-12-08T18:38:00.000+05:30

The Pausing Men

Bass following Lead

Tasha, Sammy 'n' Meg

Ahahahahahahahahahahahahahah

2006-12-07T11:20:00.000+05:30

the band takes a break

2006-12-04T18:28:00.000+05:30

The boys night out...

...or so we thought!

Family gatherings and flames in the night

2006-12-04T17:26:00.000+05:30

Cake!!

Stoned, sleepy and ready for bed

Orange midnight

Tifosi!!

2006-11-22T15:20:00.000+05:30

photo: Raajesh Kashyap

Hecti-city

2006-11-20T18:14:00.000+05:30

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

2006-11-20T12:49:00.000+05:30

uhhhhhh!!

For me? Really?

Flower Power by Vidita Singh

BSA beating

'stanggg!!

Supa 8

Chromium fins

Steel

F&L in LV!!!!

Missing Mary and the Elephant Tree

2006-11-16T17:23:00.000+05:30

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.

What is reality, Papa?

2006-11-14T18:08:00.000+05:30

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.

Boo!

2006-11-13T17:24:00.001+05:30

Firestarter!

Hehehehehehe

Office halloween!

The sunny side of life

2006-11-06T19:46:00.000+05:30

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!!?

Doggy style

2006-11-02T14:46:00.000+05:30

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

2006-11-02T14:19:00.000+05:30

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

Still under siege

2006-10-28T14:40:00.001+05:30

The chaos on the terrace has still not exited and will be around till Sunday!!
For fuck's sake!
Sitting home yesterday and the whole brood came up to have dinner outside.
Took advantage of the lack of music outside to freak them out a bit.
Didn't have any porn at home, so put in Kill Bill 2, the part where she's just about to be buried alive, turned the volume on full and kept replaying it till faint grumbles of "aaj ke bacche" meant the party had begun moving downward.
Heh!

Back for a bit

2006-10-27T17:50:00.000+05:30

Another Friday night's here. Finally
Work's been an absolute bitch the past few weeks. We kicked out November last week because marketing had a bee up their arse about getting it out before Diwali and Eid.

Tripped my mind out on Diwali for a bit before Bongshell & Co arrived and we headed down and back to the BritChick's. The Pausers were getting together there instead of at The Warrior's owing to earlier trashing of latter's fuckpad.
DeGun, pretty much BritChick's househusband, was already there whipping up pasta and The Pausers were busy getting plastered in the kitchen.
Satriani's chika Pen's parents were there too. Satriani plays lead for The Band and her folks are sort of uncomfortable with pot smoke. Why this is important comes later.
After staggering around there for a bit, decided to go check out KBeer's place where the big-ass cards session was happening.
Staggered up, staggered in, stumbled down. Looked around.. and all the lights are on, they're ALL completely sober, having just begun their scene.
Wasn't about to sit around and wait for them to relate to me, so did all that staggering in reverse back to the BritChick's.
Not a good idea to go walking around hazy drunk and mind-popping stoned when you have sudden explosions go off two feet from you with no warning
Back at The BritChick's everything was pretty much as is.
Except for the usual foot-in-mouth disease that strikes DeGun without warning.
We're smoking a spliff in the kitchen. We being Bongshell, The Pausers and self and Pen's mum walks in with BritChick to replenish munchies on the table.
So obviously, we exit to the lounge without.
A completely alcoholised DeGun walks in gingerly, walks to the kitchen door, looks in, looks out at all of us in the next room and says, "Oh, so all the guys gotta get out the kitchen when the bitches be doing all the work?!", turns around and strolls in to pick up kebabs from Pen's mum's platter.
A little later, Pen is over heard explaining to her mum that "bitch" in India means "idiot". Apparently foot-in-mouth disease struck Howler (who sings for The Pausers)earlier in the week when he told Pen she was a bitch approximately 658 times at lunch with her parents.

Speaking of bitches, went by the folks' Sunday night where all the damn dogs were in heat. The folks can't handle an extended canine population, so all them mutts are separated. The volatile ones at any rate.
Brilliant weather out at folks' place Sunday night.
When you could it notice it below the racket of all of them howling, door-scratching, barking, yelping and fighting not to mention my dad yelling at them to "SHADAFAKUP".

Came back to town, came back up, and my space has been invaded!

The first-floor people's daughter getting married, so hooked up our terrace without even bothering to tell us. Ok fine, the terrace isn't in our lease, but we do live on it more than the rest of the occupants of the building.
At least they aren't getting their DJ up, but they do have a frigging tent, tables, cooks sleeping over, muck, stoves, more muck, excess vegetables.
Fuck, I hate this! Hope they're gone by tonight.

There's some psy gig tonight at Nasha with some supposedly hot Belgian chicky DJ, Skinny Alley's playing at The Mezz and Jalabee Cartel are mixing at Laidbackwaters.
Not a bad Friday night tonight

Weekending

2006-10-24T18:40:00.001+05:30

Diwali night

Bang!

TGISunday!

ChooChoo charges the gate while Pickles does a self-testy check

Not-so-wild Wild Child

Apertured!

2006-10-14T16:57:00.000+05:30

Do you really need a bank like that?

SecondFloorFridge

Office stressbusters

Tripping in the city

2006-10-13T19:47:00.001+05:30

Coloured out

Losing money

Family portrait

Hitting the deck

The ice candy man

Tribal tattoos

Ha!

My head is a construction site

2006-10-13T15:58:00.000+05:30

Hangovers are reality checks we can do without ... just like Delhi cops.
Was Wild Child's birthday yesterday and her best friend, The WeatherGirl, threw a surprise shindig at former's place. Got her a battery-operated crawling hand that her folks loved more than she did..so parted with precious 8inch blueberry blunt as well.

Went by ShutterBug's some time ago and discovered left over mushrooms. The magic kind. Generous helpings of latter on salami toast and self and SB left for MiniBongLand.
This the first time self has experimented with mushies.
Word of advice: Try not to do anything too hectic after. Fries your brain in ways you can't imagine. Like making too many plans with too many people all over the damn city and sitting without the fan on.

Best drug till date has been ecstacy. Been aquainted a few times but the best ride's been in Goa at the end of the millennium (where else).
Baba, The Dog, Bounce, Stubble, Psyche and self, after much vacillation decided to spend New Year's at Disco Valley, which for those who haven't been is a cliff on the beach with the DJs sitting in the cliff on a ledge with the party below stretching to the sea.
Several tambourine men and their whispered spiels accosted us the minute we climbed off our hired, and very dented, scooters. Some pressing, smelling and tip-of-tongue tasting later we descend from the parking lot, pockets bulging with party ammo.
Psyche and Stubble, both friends of The Dog from the Pune days disappeared into the crowd so we picked our way to a vacant spot near a convenient chai/coffee/biscuit/ stall and pulled out the good shit.
Following Baba's advice, tongued the crystals and settled down to wait.
When it hit, half an hour later, it hit nice..
Began like a small warm liquid explosion in my stomach with the warm liquid sticking to the insides of my gut before moving up, threatening to spew itself out.
"Hold your nose, and put your head back" came wavering advice from a passing freak.
Did this and the warm liquid began slowly, like tar, moving back down to my stomach, from where it went, considerably faster along my arms and legs to the tips of my fingers and toes.
This feeling of incredible lightness began tingling through, so thought jumping would be a good idea, what with the mind-bending dark psychedelic being pumped out.
That one hop was more like a adrenalin-charged, vertigo-inducing doiiiiiing!!! Could feel the wind rushing through my hair, along my arms as I soared above the palm trees, way above the crowd, almost face-to-face with dreadlocked DJ hunkered over the dimly lit console before the plunge in my stomach caught and feet headed back to sand. Landed lightly and took off again, this time turning around to check out the ships in the distance, twinkling in the blackness.
Incredible feeling...flight.. kept bouncing all night till exhaustion struck and passed out.
Woke next day somewhere around mid-morning and feet had orange blisters from jumping for 6-odd hours straight barefoot in the sand.
Couldn't walk for the rest for the vacation but what the hell.

Colour tripping

2006-10-10T13:31:00.000+05:30

Sunday morning, woke bright and late to see landlady puttering around on the terrace with platoon of painters in tow.
Best part of the free whitewash is that landlady allowed us to choose colours. So the living room is now green, the bedroom is what Sister calls 'earthy mud' but is really shit and the bathroom's blue. Can't wait to get the brushmen out so we can put the place back together.

Was sitting on the terrace yesterday evening, watching them swab the doors and saw this bright orange flaming streak in the sky. No wasn't smoking just then, and definitely wasn't tripping. Sister saw it too, along with her office mates down in Gurgaon.
Wasn't fast enough to be a meteor. Was just this long trail of flame that eventually disappeared somewhere over the horizon beyond the CGO complex.

Ahh well..

Autumn Sunday

2006-10-09T12:47:00.000+05:30

Cool zephyrs meander gently through sun-dappled treetops
With a rush that brings alive the ocean on the rocks
Carrying the distant frantic melodrama of televised Bollywood violin
And also the nostalgic scents of varied luncheons steaming

The recycle-men bicycle aimlessly without
Venting their hauntingly melodic spiel out loud
As faraway kites freewheel over distant garbage
And neighbourhood brats come face to face with road rage

The hops have begun to settle now
Mary and self are watching the show
As the abode is readied for the New Year
And preparations move into high gear

Nights of luminance are around the corner
Bacchanalian fiestas of food, drink and gambling
As the nights get longer and the conversations crazier
There’ll be this plunge before the partying to remember

poster boy?

2006-09-28T15:02:00.000+05:30

Ha! I don't get the vandalism bit though.. retarded advertising people no doubt

Stoner story 10: The awkward adieu

2006-09-27T15:23:00.000+05:30

We've always had a lot of dogs...well not always but for a fucking long time anyway and I think the extended exposure has made us quite animal friendly. Can't remember the last time a dog bit me or a cat scratched me. (also maybe because I dont have a cat and I smoke too much to remember yesterday)

Back in the GE days, ChowChow, the refugee from the land of the Nizams had rented out a tiny ass flat above a garage in Gurgaon's Sector 14. On one stoned trip to Old Delhi for nostalgia food, he came back with a pair of parrots. One looked sick as fuck and died soon after. Chadha wanted to tandoori it, but instantly forgot about it after a bird flu reminder.
The remaining bird seemed quite at home in a room that was almost constantly hot-boxed. ChowChow called it Chutiya and taught it to scream, "Kaun hai bhen ke lode" in an imitation Amitabh Bachchan baritone every time the doorbell rang. Damn bird wouldn't stop till you fed it something or put a cloth over the cage.
The last night ChowChow was in Gurgaon, he threw an impromptu smoke-out and called the usual suspects: Chadha, Dr Abbey, BaldMan, Baba and sundry others. ChowChow's chika landed up a little later after work so we hit it till quite late into the night.
ChowChow conveniently forgets to tell us that his folks were landing up the next morning from Hyderabad. He also failed to mention exactly how orthodox they were.

Woke up earlier than the rest the next day and squeezed into the kitchenette to make coffee. Inside the one room, everybody had passed out all over the place with ChowChow and his chika sprawled over each other, his hand up her shorts. Chadha must have passed out last because he was sleeping on bare floor in his lungi with his shlong hanging out. Took the broom and positioned a spare blanket over the snake and carried on with the coffee.
Some few minutes later, the doorbell rings and the parrot gets into high gear with his spiel. The door opens with ChowChow's folks standing, staring in disbelief. Less at their son and the 'whore' and more at Chadha who's lungi was now around his waist thanks to outside breeze.
All the while the parrot is going to town with the one rehearsed line...right into ChowChow's mum's ear.
Craziest farewell party ever!

Random again

2006-09-27T14:06:00.000+05:30

Apple again

Sandyman takes a seat

Homeless in Jungpura

The neighbour's laundry

Chaos central

2006-09-26T17:28:00.000+05:30

Work is madness
There are four of us in the edit team...a deputy editor, a fashion editor, a features editor and a staff writer. And one design guy. For 150 pages. On a budget of less than Rs 200,00.
The US edition which we aim at, has a team of 35 in edit, 10 in design and a budget of US$350,000

We've yet to finish the issue...closing date was last Friday.
The problem?
Our design dude is getting it on with the managing editor editor who's come down from the US. She came down to get us started on the US production schedule, but has instead, quite her job back in the States and found work in Mumbai.
What's pissing the fuck out of everybody is that we have just ONE design guy to do all our pages and plainly put, if he don't come, we fucked. Right up the arse.

Rant rant rant

First he behaves like he's doing us all a massive favour by landing up and when he does, he'll waste at least a few hours patting himself on the back.
Work goddamit!
Fucking Bongs.
What is it with Bong men and this unfounded superiority complex? All of them are brought up by mummy to be little Gods. They can do no wrong. Not just because they're Bong, but because they're mummy said so.
Fucking pissing off.
Now we have very little shit to get done with. Most of it has been delayed by a week because our man's got his dick between former ME's pants. They've started behaving like a fucking married couple. Landing up at work together, at least 2 hours late, 2 hour lunch breaks, 2 hour coffee breaks.
You can guess how much work is being done. And this is crunch time people.
It's just that this one of those guys who actually enjoys pissing off people.
Of all the office lunches we've been on, not once has he been polite to a waiter. Actually yells at them to get the menu when we've just sat down and then proceeds to crticise everything in sight.
Makes me sick.

Last night, for example, ME's grandma popped it back in the States. Not funny I know and neither was what happened later. She leaves for the airport in a hurry to catch her 7pm flight, forgetting her tickets in the office (or at his house). Lands up at the airport and calls him telling him to pick up the tickets.
He leaves work right when we're warming up to wrap the issue and disappears till close to midnight. They both end up coming back to office because she missed the flight.
Unfortunate for her.
But we're here sitting with our thumbs up our collective asses waiting for his Highness to get back and start on the pages.
Arrgh!!!!

Candid Apple

2006-09-25T22:56:00.000+05:30

Kicking it

2006-09-22T21:34:00.000+05:30

Ha
Do you know what it feels like when you finally realise your life is starting to take off? That whole 'prime-of-my-life' deal?
Feel it coming on... feels nice...very nice..

At work right now. We're doing a review of high-end whiskies and guess who's doing the review? Since there are so many whiskies and such little time, I have to drink in the office. Heh
We've gotten a bigass 50inch Hitachi plasma TV to review and since it's too big for anyone to take home, we've hooked it up in the office with VH1 stuck on channel search.

Last night was pretty crazy. Mundu and ShutterSpeed came by with beer and we toked a fuckload..finished the sweet motherfucking blueberry blunts Dee brought back with her. Was about to pass out and Tinkerbell says she's had a fight with the boyfriend, takes a cab and lands up at somewhere near 2am.
One drink leads to another, one packed spliff leads to another and before I knew exactly what the fuck was happening, we're naked on the terrace. Orange clouds, purple sky and Tinkerbell grinding in rhythm with the constant breeze.

Woke up this morning and credit card debt I'd skipped out on some years ago caught up with me with LongArmLaw banging on the door. Initial paranoia over arrest warrants and bail melted after sweet talk and hush money exchanged ears and hands.

Maybe it's the rye, maybe it's the sex, maybe it's the adrenaline...

This past weekend was the partying-with-nausea type.
Went by the Dada music thingy on Friday night...entry charges instead of by invitation only meant half of the city's chutiyas landed up jostling each other at the bar...
Headed off across the river with Bossman to pick up latter's chika and ended up smoking some more and drinking some more there before heading back with them to swig some vodka before calling it at 4 in the am.
Woke with a churning stomach and AC/DC ripping it in my head.
Sirdie and Wild Child came by in the evening as did Ladoo and we boomed a few till Sister came home.
Sister threw a shindig for her office mates in the evening. She usually kicks me out of the house when she has these things because I usually end up saying the wrong thing to the wrong person. Usually her boss. This time around, her boss turns out to be a chiller too. The only one in the flock of seagulls that dropped by.
Woke to an awkwardly numb Sunday.
Stayed home till Apple came by to get herself shot. Brought a shitload of clothes with her too like I'm some big shot fashion photographer. Shots came out nice though, but mostly because Apple's extremely photogenic.
Methinks this is some thing I can feasibly branch into. Need a better cam though. Preferably a manual. Anyone feel philanthropic enough to gift me one?

Gig attack with Menwhopause...

2006-09-19T13:56:00.000+05:30

Can't stop this groovin feeling

2006-09-18T17:26:00.000+05:30

She's coming.
You can feel it...early in the mornings as a red sun firebolts its way to 30 degrees and the slightest of slight chills as the autorickshaw rattles its way down Lodhi Road.
One more month.. and the pullovers will be out of the box beds...

Astraman, Kbeer and self hit the local pub sometime last week and there was this group of four 'dude' behind us. They came in a little later than us...and their first conversation was about how someone's daddy had bought a watch worth a lakh. This went something like this:
"My dad's got this Rado for a lakh"
"That's nothing, my dad got a Cartier for two lakhs"
"What are you saying man... my dad got a custom-made Bvlgari for just 16 lakhs"

They then moved to the latest cars out, the coolest places to holiday, shoes, clothes...etc.
What self couldn't figure out is why their conversation revolved only around the object and its price. None of them seemed to know what it was good for and what all it could do..
"Arre yaar, lets go to Prague for New Year's. Its cheaper than Bangkok" Really? No shit..If there's anything more irritating than a poser...it's an ignorant poser...
Like the types who will ask you if you're smoking Malani cream or the types who will sneer at you and say, "Hash? Yuk! I only smoke weed"
The stupidest posers are those who'll say shit like.."Don't worry man..I know the owner..entry's not an issue"
So that when you get to the party, not only do you NOT get to get insde, you're also humiliated by the bouncers, the organisers and anybody who happens to be standing outside.

Went by the folks' restaurant this past Sunday for lunch with the Laul and Megs. The new place seems bigger than the earlier place and they've been doing roaring business thanks to the much better location. Folks had organised some animal activist gathering after lunch hours and a troupe of them came by with a video of a dilapidated monkey shelter. Complete with bloodied chimps, fractured cages and piles of leftover trash.
Dad's old friend, Mr Allan, is just like him. Puts his foot in his mouth more often than not.
Walks up to where the laptop's playing out the video with the animal activists huddled around staring seriously and asks, "Aah, so this where you get your meat from?" This is after my father spent 15 minutes describing the various flavours of an enema to a very stoned Laul and Megs.

New toys to play with this week include a Sony Vaio (which was sent back because the spacebar, tab key and O key refused to work. Also didn't have Microsoft Office, so useless to me) and a Wespro 10MGP video camera. Nice looking piece of shit. Light too.

The Krist Jyoti Chronicles

2006-09-12T16:21:00.000+05:30

When cousins moved out of South Delhi and bought a place in faraway Pitampura, henceforth referred to as the Boondocks, never knew how much time we'd be spending in KJ.
KJ was the name of the apartment complex where Aunt Purple bought a flat, so called because the place was packed to the gills with Bible thumpers. Still is too.
Early memories are of warped incidents revolving around hide-n-seek, pithoo and of course the annual Christmas play.
Christmas plays on the Nativity scene were 'fun-filled' affairs with all the kids painting on eyeliner moustaches and ripping out mummy's sari to make robes.
The Saint had this fantastic ability to attract attention. Usually when he needed it least. One year, The Saint, The Bassist and self were dressed as the Three Magi, coming down the church aisle to deliver exotic gifts to the plastic Infant. Since we'd had minor chaos getting ready back at the apartment, no one had had dinner.
The Saint stuffed some Christmas cookies, salted pork and rum raisins in the box he had to present so he could munch on his way down.
A particular cookie slipped his fingers just as he was climbing the steps up to the stage and in the hurry to retreive it, stepped on a nail in the wooden stair, ripping off his sari and leaving him in his torn long johns before a confused congregation.

Drugs and booze were never around then, but we still managed to do the most fucked up things.
CharlieBoy's bedroom balcony overlooked the neighbouring apartment complex and one electricity-less night, sticks a candle in a saucer, slips a sheet over his head and balancing the saucer on his head, starts pacing up and down the balcony. Initial plan was to scare the kids playing cricket in the lawn beyond the fence. Unfortunately CharlieBoy forgot to make eye-holes and getting excited over the initial adolescent screaming, throws his head back to laugh the scary laugh.
Candle flies back through his open bedroom door, lands on his bed, sets fire to it, doesnt realise it because he's still standing with a sheet over his head and laughing his ass off on the balcony.

Playing pithoo in the A-block park. For those not familiar with pithoo, you have two teams of any number of players with a pile of seven stones. The object of the game is for one team to knock all the stones down with a tennis ball and then run around a pre-determined area to avoid being hit by the ball (that's picked up by the other team) and put the stones back up together. If you knocked the pile clean off, you won the game, or if you put the stones together without a single team member getting hit by the ball. After three whacks at the pile, The Bassist missed every single pile and FatSonia couldn't resist a jibe and a laugh...which continued the length of the evening, till The Bassist picked up a rock from the pile and lobbed it at her. Aimed to miss but FatSonia, being FatSonia, ran right into the trajectory.

Playing hide-n-seek when the lights blew once and the RedBird's hiding behind the ornamental bushes behind D-Block. The Bassist's the 'den' and comes walking that way. Since he couldn't see anyone hiding anywhere, decides to release bladder pressure at approximately the same place the RedBird's under.
Latter doesn't say a word. Just waits for The Bassist to zip up and carry on. When everyone's been found, the RedBird's still missing, till someone spots him creeping behind a parked car. The Bassist sidles up behind him and grabs him by the collar, drags him out and immediately releases him when the wind plays the stench around the park.

Halloween was one really stupid time of the year, essentially because very few people then really understood the concept. One year, HugleTheBugle covers his head and hair in talcum powder, cuts a hole in a white sheet, sticks his head through it and goes down to scare the gate-keeper. He's coming down the stairs, the gate-keeper's standing with his back to him a few feet from the bottom-most stair. So HugleTheBugle launches himself from the third step with a loud "Aaarrrhghhhh", trips over the sheet and lands heavily, face down on the concrete parking lot, missing the gate-keeper completely.

The Saint and The Grandmother are our closest cousins with latter two years older, former three months younger than me. Sister is two years younger than self.
Picking on The Grandmother was a favourite pastime, especially when the Americans came down for their once-in-two-year visit. She's been subject to being locked in the bathroom for a day, then pelted with shoes, hair pulling, skirt pulling, tale-tattling and a variety of other childhood crime. When we were growing up, she was the tallest. Till we hit the 10th grade and everybody, including Sister overtook her. She's a big-shot manager at a bank now, and plays financial advisor to the family. Role reversal of sorts.

One (real) night at the call centre

2006-09-12T15:20:00.000+05:30

Haven't read Chetan Bhagat's version, but this is mine...

If you had an evening shift, you'd get to work by 5pm in the office bus...usually smoking a spliff on the way in the back seat with Scarface and Fencydryl, his roomie. Meander through Gurgaon picking up the usual suspects before punching through the main gate with a half-hour to go before log in.
Self used to be a debt collector and since this is India, we got to handle late-stage collections...folks who hadn't paid in at least three months. Credit being such a big deal in the States, this was one fucked up job. Ninety percent of the people we called were either going through chemo, had just lost a child or parent, had just been fired, house burnt down, etc etc etc..
Not easy to get money out of them, especially since we were harassing them for dumb-ass bills from various store credit cards.
There was a nice lawn in front with a tree in the corner, complete with a bench. The first group would start around 5pm...stoning under the tree with another coming along just as the first wound up to spark another spliff. With the sheer numbers in the call centre and with various departments logging and breaking at different times, there was always a joint going under the tree.
The ten-minute break before dinner was the "appetiser round" so we could eat more free airline-catered food with the second ten-minute break being the "digestive round" before the final spliff at logoff at 2am.
Night shifts were fucked.
You had to come in at 1.30am to log in by 2 but in winters with your balls sending the chills up your spine, smoking a spliff under the tree was fucking crazy.
Been smoking under that tree so long, that for a while after, just the sound of truck traffic (the call centre being on the highway) would get me mellow.
Never smoked a lot on the night shift...maybe just at logoff at 9am.
The craziest "weekend parties" were when we had night shifts on Friday..staying bleary throughout, then heading to nearby houses (like Chadha's or the Madari Baba's) for a wake-n-bake chillum and warm Zingaro beer.
Nothing like the taste of glycerine-loaded beer at 10 in the morning, sitting by the highway, watching regular folk go to work.

By the time I was a year in the call centre, the gigantic stoner circle had been well-established with pot smokers from Calcutta, Hyderabad, Mysore, Dehradun, Solan, Chandigarh, Shimla, Guwahati, Lucknow, Delhi, Bangalore, Chennai, Mauritius, Asansol, Patna and more I can't remember.
You had to be present at meal times (or rather dinner and breakfast) to see exactly what cross-culturalism is all about. Walking between tables in the cafeteria and you were surrounded by a sea of Bengali, Marathi, Tamil, Malayalam, English, Hindi and North eastern gossip.

Had just finished a year in the organisation and had planned a two-week vacation in Goa. Some time in November, higher ups decide to issue a memo stating 31st December a working day. After most had booked resorts, holidays, whatever as the initial holiday list had the 31st (and 1st) as official holidays.
Self had already booked tickets and leave had been approved, but with the general frustration being voiced by all and sundry, made out a letter on my last day before my vacation. Printed out one copy, left in on my desk and fucked off.
Letter basically said that 90% of the workforce is between 22 and 30 and although partying isn't the be-all and end-all of our lives, pulling a cheap trick like this was only going to affect employee satisfaction and attrition rates. Went on for a bit about the blood, sweat and tears, put in a bit on rising revenues of the parent company that had been attributed to the India operations and filled the letter with frustration against the unfairness.
Came back from vacation and first day at work, The BaldMan comes up and slaps me on the back..."Fucker...do you know what your letter did?" he asks.
Goes on to tell me that someone read the letter on my desk, photocopied it and passed it around, more photocopies led to more photocopies till the CEO got wind of it and held a hurried all-employee meeting in the cafeteria.
Here, he put the letter on a projector, read out every line and proceeded to explain how all of it was against company policy. The BaldMan said that after he'd finished, EVERYBODY stood up and clapped!
Which is when they decided to make the 31st halfday, with log off at 10.30pm instead of 2am.
Got a yelling from my AVP...told me the company lost some $35million because of my stunt...

But balls to all that now.

Vacationing without travelling

2006-09-12T14:00:00.000+05:30

Ok
so the road trip didn't work out. Instead, we threw a beach themed shindig on the terrace. Even with Bul2 in charge of conceptualising and general commotion, we managed to get the place to look somewhat like Anjuna.. The bar was nice with a sand topped table, candles in rum bottles and shells.
Sister bought palm trees and a three-person wading pool to add to the effect. Also got most people to wear beach wear.
Met Bongshell over the net and she came by with friend as did Baba with The Whore. The Whore's real name... is really Fawad with last name Zahore..Israeli-Canadian who came to India chasing a chick, who subsequently screwed him over and left taking his passport, money and visa. So he's been here for the past 2 years, riding his Bullet and working the call centre.

Lessons from the party:
Wearing a sarong with boxers beneath doesn't mean you can hide a boner.
There is no such thing as "too wet".
There is no such thing as "too drunk" and
Rum and beer really don't go together.

Woke Monday morning with the battle of Troy somewhere between my back molar and lower jaw. Went by the enamel-man and he says its 12 grand to fix the three cavities in the back molar, besides sundry other damage in other areas of the chompers. Including the dented incisor courtesy drunk Chottu trying out ballet.

Bongshell came by in the evening with The Warrior and Bam.. smoked a few in the car, drank some and went by this grilled chicken joint called Chengezi (probably after Genghis' pet cock) for some Muslim food. Floated back home in the back seat of The Warrior's black Scorpio, bloated with oil and Monk.
Hungover again today and the damn molar's still got a hissy fit.

The Satya Niketan scene

2006-09-08T19:45:00.000+05:30

Most memories of the call centre are coloured by this brown haze of hash smoke.
Sorta like a sepia-tinted home movie..

Baba's affinity for the high life, especially after the first dungeon he moved into after packing out of his folks' place, meant that the next two houses he lived in Satya Niketan were way up on the roof.
View was nothing fantastic...just more houses, with more refugees, mostly frigging hot North East chicks... So actually the view was pretty good, but only if you were looking at the right place at the right time.
Once, doing a double shift at the call centre, Baba wandered into one of the unattended conference rooms and wandered out with the projector in his rucksack.
Cables and all. Unknown to all.
Till Malik, Chadha, One-Eyed Jack and self dropped by one weekend to watch Pulp Fiction and Baba had set up the projector on his terrace with a home theatre system as supporting cast.
Remember walking in just as Mia Wallace said, "Ketchup" and looking around to see practically every eye level neighbour also on their roofs, all equipped with refreshments and easy chairs, also watching the movie.

This was the second highrise Baba moved to.
The first highrise over looked the Ring Road, with a second, higher terrace with a dangerously low railing. Remember once Taru and self, after a long night's work, were on the higher level, smoking a relaxed spliff and waiting for Baba to get the rum up.
There was this tree with branches that came right up to the top floor.
The conversation veered towards earthquakes (I think the Latur quake had just happened) and Taru asks, "Dude, how do we get down from here if an earthquake strikes right now?"
And asnwering his own question, looks down at the tree and points.
Taru: "Hey, we could jump to that branch, then that branch, then that branch, then that one, and we're on the ground!"
Me: "Yeah whatever man"
Taru "Let's try it!" passes the spliff to me and drops a leg over the railing.
We're six floors off the ground so this sudden development took me a bit by surprise.
Before I could say or do anything, Taru's standing with his bum to the railing, facing the tree, getting ready to jump.
Baba came up the ladder in the nick of time to grab him by his collar and pulled him back over.

This other time, Baba, Taru, Taru's three roomies, The Dog and self were booming and chugging at Baba's. The smoke ran out, so we decided to troop down to Taru's who then lived three lanes down to pick up some weed.
We walk through the door and climb up single file to their floor. There's a faint smell of smoke in the stairwell, but we ignore it and keep climbing.
The smoke's getting thicker and thicker till when we get to Taru's flat, this fat cloud of grey smoke is pulsing through from under the door.
Taru opens the door as soon as his pot-fried fingers can and we burst in to see all four mattresses in flame! The fire's fucking trippy to look at, with orange tongues licking the ceiling and proceeding toward the wooden doors.
Taru looks at his roomies, they look at him and at each other and as of one accord say, "Fuck it man, pick up the weed, we'll come back when it goes out,"
Luckily The Dog wasn't as stoned as the rest of us, so he ran into the loo and threw a bucket of water on the mattresses.
The fire goes oout, one of Taru's roomie's looks accusingly at The Dog and says, "Fucker, you just wet my bed!"

Blissful boredom

2006-09-07T17:36:00.000+05:30

Work's settling into a groove now..so I can sort of breathe and write some.
Things are mostly on track...what isn't...dekha jayega

There's been no Mary in my life for the past week and the boredom of an evening devoid of pot has been getting to me. Don't feel like talking to anyone, don't feel like going anywhere, don't feel like doing anything. Just go back home, pour a Monk and Coke and stare glassy-eyed at random crap on the telly.

Sister's birthday's this weekend and following tradition, the Jungpura Junta is hitting the highway south of the border. No long road trip this time. Just to some place called Shiva Oasis (hmmmm time to boom the shankar) some way down the Delhi-Jaipur highway.
Wanted to head up north to the hills, but hill driving isn't this lots' cup of tea.
I don't care really.
Just need to GET OUT! Plus there's a pool there so shouldn' be all sidey.

Last trip, we hit the Chirmi Palace in Jaipur, which was really a trumped up early 20th century haveli than a palace. But there was no body else except us and there was a small algae-covered pool that Bul2 invaded sometime after she drank rum with Axe deodorant. (The deo was courtesy Astraman who wanted to snog her and was trying to get her blasted).
After the initial few hours, the endless beer and joints on the way over, besides the endless rum and a special fattie at the "Palace" and self crashed out well before the others.
Woke in the morning, groped around to find my phone, discovered it missing and headed to the room where we'd been partying.
Burst in with a "Rise and Shine" to see Astraman cuddling Bul2 on one bed, both stark naked with Raka grinning sheepishly on the other as Charisma wriggled back under the sheets.

Don't think I can handle the trip without Mary though. She's been my travelling companion for ages now. The only thing that keeps me from getting pissed at asinine drivers and moronic conversation.
Why can't people shut up, drive and enjoy the view?
Why is it always necessary to keep up inane banter?

Dee's back from the UK. Have been chatting with her for some months now. First chick I met off the Internet. Nice kid. Someone I'd want to get to know a lot better.
More later

Swamped!!

2006-09-01T18:10:00.000+05:30

New mag's got me by the round and curlies.

Pages have been bumped up to 150, one dude feels like resigning, some body else's fucked off to the mountans, and we have two weeks to get October out of the way.
BigShot ed from the States is over to help us streamline our production procedures.
Hahahahaha
It isn't that the help isn't appreciated..it's just that this is India... and nothing is ever organised in India.
Chaos is a way to deal with things here probably because we're used to the commotion and unneccesary hyper paranoia.
Besides, the new deadlines in place, for everything, will take some getting used to for people used to being on NET (non-existent time).

Almost every single newspaper and magazine I've worked with here run on panic mode with everything coming in at the last minute.

If we pull this off, we'll probably be the most professionally-run outfit in town.
But for the first day of the schedule in place, things are going to plan...

Hmm... there just might be something in this method.

Humour me

2006-08-26T16:37:00.000+05:30

A little blind girl goes up to her mum and says, "Mummy, mummy, when will I be able to see?"
Her mum replies "I'll tell you what, I'll take you to the chemist and get you some special cream for your eyes and you will be able to see in the morning."
So off they went to the chemist, got the cream, and went home, all the while the little girl was getting more and more excited at the prospect of being able to see again. Once they got home, the mother put the cream on the little girls eyes, wrapped a bandage around her head, and took her to bed.
The following morning the little girl stumbled into her mums bedroom and excitedly shouted "Quick mummy, take off the bandage so that I will be able to see again."
So the mother slowly took of all the bandages, taking her time, and all the while the little girl was getting more and more excited. Once they were off the little girl said "But mummy, I still can't see."
To which the mother replied, "April fool!"
---

These three guys die in a car wreck and they all go to Hell. When they arrive the Devil asks each of the men what their sin was.
The first guy says, "It's gotta be the booze. I'm always drunk." The Devil decides to lock him in a room with nothing but shelves of every kind of alcohol imaginable. The guy's thinking, "Fuck yeah! Look at all this alcohol!" and runs into the room.
The second guy says, "It's the women, i could never stay faithful to my wife." The devil opens up the second door and inside is nothing but the finest looking naked women as far as the eye can see. The guy was to be locked in for 100 years. He couldn't believe it and his dick got instantly hard and he went running into the room as the Devil locked the door behind him.
The third dude says, "It's gotta be the bud. I'm always tokin' up." The Devil opens the third door to reveal nothing but fields of 10ft tall icky, sticky, take-a-toke, make-ya-choke, chronic, green, death bud. The stoner can't believe it. he goes in and takes a seat Indian style with his back to the door and the Devil shuts and locks the door.
One hundred years pass and the Devil returns to check on the three men. He opens the first door and the man comes crawling out. He's got an empty bottle in one hand, he's completely naked, hasn't shaved or showered in years, and is covered in his own puke, shit, and piss. "i'll never drink again!" he says. The devil says it's good he learned something and decides to give him a second shot at life. The devil then opens the second door and the man comes running out twice as fast as when he went in. "I'm fucking gay!" he screams. The devil figures he's learned not to cheat on his wife and decides to give him a second chance too.
The devil then comes to the third door. he opens it and sees nothing has changed. the stoner is still sitting there in the same position that he was 100 years ago. The Devil asks him if he's learned anything. The stoner turns around as a tear rolls down his cheek, "You gotta light, man?"
---

"Hello, is this the FBI?"
"Yes, what do you want?"
"I'm calling to report my neighbor Billy Bob Smith! He is hiding marijuana inside his firewood."
"Thank you very much for the call, sir."
The next day, the FBI agents descend on Billy Bob's house. They search the shed where the firewood is kept. Using axes, they bust open every piece of wood, but find no marijuana. They swore at Billy Bob and left.
The phone rings at Billy Bob's house.
Hey, Billy Bob! Did the FBI come?"
"Yeah!"
"Did they chop your firewood?"
"Yep."
"Happy Birthday, Buddy!"

The Pied Pipers of Prawn Balchao

2006-08-19T02:28:00.000+05:30

The folks have moved the restaurant again!!
This is the fourth place Bernardo's has moved to.
Probably a new record as far as hopping restaurants go. Though I don't know if any exist. At least not in this city..

The first joint was this pigeon hole above a tentwallah in the Mehar Chand market where the roof would leak in the rain and guests were encouraged to bring umbrellas.
They came anyway.
Lasted about six-odd months there before upping skirt and stove to BongLand.
This time around we got a bigger place with an air-conditioner and a loo. The only fuck-up being that the place was in a residential colony and hence illegal.
So cops and random obnoxious neighbours who didn't like the smell of frying fish (in BongLand of all places!!!) would harass the old man and woman.
Third stop was a nice place, if a little out-of-the-way in a deserted complex in Gurgaon. Palm trees, a backyard and shit added to the Goa feel.
The new place is in DLF Galleria, a first-floor, duplex joint that looks sorta like a ship's cabin complete with portholes and lemon yellow coloured walls.
(They've gotten bamboo matting for the reception)

The menu's being expanded and folks want us (Sister and self) to start taking active interest.
Which means self has started cooking lessons... self taught of course..

I got too much time on my hands

2006-08-18T23:08:00.000+05:30

Last blowout we had on the terrace, folks really appreciated the view of the sky. Living in the city, a view is something you don't really consider when you're looking for a place to shift too.
But we've tried our best.
The GK house sucked. It faced out into a lane and the terrace wasn't high enough for a proper view. All we got to see were black Sintex tanks, old woman bras drying and an electric Medusa.
The first Gurgaon house isn't even worth mentioning. Ground floor with no voltage stabiliser. So we had disco lights in the kitchen and had to use a candle to crap. Almost like the outhouse on the island.
The second PV house was pretty close to perfect. The front balcony overlooked the lane in front of the house, beyond which was a small park sort of thing, the Delhi-Jaipur railway line and then fields that dispersed into hazy forest.
Fucking trippy in the winters when the Palace on Wheels loco would come steaming through the morning mist with mustard fields running alongside. Not to mention trainspotting after dark and random air-rifle practice at milkmen perched on top of the local trains.

The JP house, however, is in a league of its own. Ok fine, there's no endless fields and forest, but there is a panoramic view of the city, which on a nice night can make this town seem to be a really nice place to live.
The thing is .. it's never really night in the city.
The night sky over is always this dark purple with (nowadays) orange puffs.
Sporadic trains from nearby Nizamuddin will announce their arrival, planes will drone dutifully overhead toward Palam and IGI and annoying neighbours will race their un-muffled Enfields up and down the road outside your house.

Nothing new I know.. but a night spent at the folks outside Gurgaon, just an hour or so away and the inky black sky is packed with starlight. The only sound apart from the dogs wheezing and whining is the faraway sound of a tractor being worked while the stilted melody of some really shady Hindi song rides the constant zephyrs blowing your way.

The only time I remember being in the real wilderness in India, with literally not a soul in sight, was when we were heading to Goa for New Year's in 2004.
The Goa Express was passing through Karnataka and stopped in the ghats for a bit sometime around 2 in the am.
Most passengers were asleep, but remember being too wired for shut eye.
So SoapSuds and self hopped out to stretch our legs and our voices were the only sound we could hear.
Looked up and the sky was bright with star light. The first time I'd ever seen anything like that. We shut up for a bit and the absolute peace was oddly calming and nerve-wracking at the same time.
Which is when we got the idea to light one of the 100-laddi firecrackers we had with us (for New Year's Eve) and chuck it in the bushes beyond the track.
Of course SoapSuds had to shout "Veerapan, Veerapan" at the top of his nasal voice before clambering back up, giggling uncontrollably.

Good times

Still around

2006-08-17T20:48:00.000+05:30

Been fucking swamped with work this past two weeks. The mag's been on a buzzing deadline besides all the random out-of-the-blue partying that's been happening in town recently.
We (Kbeer and self) threw a combo celebratory shindig because we both moved to new visiting cards within days of each other. Now he's on the straight flight to Vienna.

Party was all right. Not the numbers I was expecting but then again... the bar's been wet since. All our scenes are BYOB.. so..

Smoked a spliff the next day and went shopping by myself. Hate going with other people, especially if I have to stop, stand and wait while someone checks out something they're really not going to buy.
Got a good deal on a digi-cam too.

Working here is pretty chiller.
There are six guys, five of whom have been introduced to the magic dragon.
And there's the BritChick who handles fashion.
Small outfit. Well equipped. And with a work ethic that requires one to be really on-the-ball.

Anyhoo..
The Confessor had her little pre-Independance Day get together on I-Day eve and though folks took their time getting there, went for a bit before strangers outnumbered the regulars.

There's another boozer binge tonight.. another birthday. Another housewarming this Saturday...

Ahh my liver..where art thou?

It's a small ass world

2006-08-07T15:28:00.000+05:30

After all the hullabaloo last week (read post below) self has been settling into the new place gradually..

Some coincidences:
* The deputy editor and self have common friends in the Warrior and the Monkey
* The intern and the Dionysian are chaddi buddies
* The graphic designer here is the younger brother of the graphic designer at the earlier magazine I used to be with
* A school friend contributes illustrations to the magazine
* Another friend works with another magazine in the same group in the same building as does a designer who used to be at the paper.
* Chicklet who used to work with self at the travel magazine is also here, working on this other travel magazine.
* The fashion editor lives literally right behind my house.
* Also, when I showed my offer letter to the folks, turns out the president of the company is a family friend!!

Went to the farm this past Saturday night..folks have five more dogs including three prancing gay fuckers that some Russian ballerina left them.
Bambi's death has made FatBastard mellower.. he sleeps in her spot, eats from her bowl and doesn't try to dry hump everythng in sight anymore.
The Napoleanic aggression of Junior has also faded away with newer dogs and lesser attention going around. He stays away from the house near the bamboo grove..
Pickles the half Doberman-Rottweiler doesnt do much .. sits in a hole he dug in the shade of his private condo and woofs lazily at passing clouds and village children..
The farm's value has rocketed up into the big bucks what with a super expressway being planned nearby. So the one-and-a-half-acre the folks bought four years ago (in the then back of beyond) is now pushing the multi-crore envelope..much to everyone's surprise and delight.
The trees are coming up too.. Folks ave stopped trying to exercise their horticultural skills and have decided on shady fruit trees instead of fricking onions and carrots and brocolli.
Been trying to convince folks to put in a pool.. at least a 3-ft wading pool..
but they say the dogs will just use it as a giant lavatory anyway..

It's always nice to go home once in a while (once-in-a-while being the operative phrase).. even with the 3am yowling and occasional canine slobber finding its way into your ear when you least expect it..

Scapegoat politics and the fairness of life

2006-08-01T20:42:00.000+05:30

Came in late to work on Sunday because I had to run to Gurgaon on family emergency.

As a consequence, didn't pay much attention to the page and Barkha Dutt went as CNBC managing editor (where she is actually NDTV's managing editor.. for those who don't know or care who Barkha Dutt is).
Stupid mistake on my part... but the mistake ran even though the page was read by a senior editor before release.
Something else I didn't know till today was that Anand Sharma (some vague minister) went as Sajjan Kumar (an equally vague politician).

Now, as Barkha D is bumchums with everybody down from ol' Viru, I was getting serious flack.
Viru'd been yelling at my ed to suspend or fire me pretty much all day..

All this over a caption??? It isn't like I said Barkha Dutt was a scheming little newswhore, or a dwarf she-male or an amputated penis ... I just got her place of work wrong ...

Did anyone read the HT on Saturday? The 'riveting' story on some divorced Thai princess who wants a crack at the Jaipur millions? Did anyone notice the bit with the fucked up dates?
That's a MAIN paper goof up... but of course.. the Thai princess is nobody's friend. So even though the Resident Editor read that story, I doubt they're gonna find a scapegoat there to crucify.

What is getting my goat is that everywhere else, it is the person doing the final checking that is at fault if a mistake goes. I ain't saying none of it was my fault, but not all of it is either.

A couple of days ago, some random businessman was photographed with his hand on some chick's ass. The reporter who covered the party said the man was Onkar Singh (of Apollo Tyres) and the chick was Ruheen Jaiswal (some Mumbai-based socialite).
I had (and still have) no idea on what this Ruheen woman looks like so I obviously assumed his information to be correct and ran a caption that said "Watch your hand sonny".
Turns out the chick is actually his daughter.
Guess who gets stuck with complete blame?

Met Viru a couple of days ago and he says they want to chuck me out because of the captions.
Asked him if he could reconsider the decision.
He mumbles something that sounds like "I've made up my mind" so I shrug and leave.

Got back to my desk, made a few phone calls, fixed an interview for 6pm the same day, and am now features editor at the coolest lad mag around.. hint hint: MAXIMum exposure
In your face Barracuda Bitch and ViruS..

Folk from the earlier place had been calling to find out what happened. Most were in shock, but then with the megalomaniacs running that joint, you can't expect anything better..

Memories from the mountains

2006-07-31T15:45:00.000+05:30

This one's for the guys..

2006-07-30T21:37:00.000+05:30

One evening last week, my girlfriend and I were getting into bed.
Well, the passion starts to heat up, and she eventually says, "I don't feel like it, I just want you to hold me.
"I said, "WHAT??!! What was that?!"
So she says the words that every boyfriend on the planet dreads to hear..."You're just not in touch with my emotional needs as a woman enough for me to satisfy your physical needs as a man."
She responded to my puzzled look by saying, "Can't you just love me for who I am and not what I do for you in the bedroom?"
Realising that nothing was going to happen that night, I went to sleep.
The very next day I opted to take the day off of work to spend time with her. We went out to a nice lunch and then went shopping at a big, big unnamed department store. I walked around with her while she tried on several different very expensive outfits. She couldn't decide which one to take, so I told her we'd just buy them all.
She wanted new shoes to compliment her new clothes, so I said, "Lets get a pair for each outfit."We went on to the jewellery department where she picked out a pair of diamond earrings.
Let me tell you... she was so excited.
She must have thought I was one wave short of a shipwreck. I started to think she was testing me because she asked for a tennis bracelet when she doesn't even know how to play tennis.
I think I threw her for a loop when I said, "That's fine, honey."
She was almost nearing sexual satisfaction from all of the excitement. Smiling with excited anticipation, she finally said, "I think this is all dear, let's go to the cashier."

I could hardly contain myself when I blurted out, "No honey, I don't feel like it."Her face just went completely blank as her jaw dropped with a baffled, "WHAT?"I then said, "Honey! I just want you to HOLD this stuff for a while. You're just not in touch with my financial needs as a man enough for me to satisfy your shopping needs as a woman."
And just when she had this look like she was going to kill me, I added, "Why can't you just love me for who I am and not for the things I buy you?"

Monsooning

2006-07-26T14:02:00.000+05:30

The steady thwump-thwump-thwump of windscreen wipers on super fast,
the seamless drumming on the roof of the car,
the phisssssssshhhhhh of wet tires on slick city streets,
the constant fucking honking, yelling and smelly feet
the squelch-squelch-squelch of the dumbass who didn't see the puddle
Raggled birds of various feathers under awnings, air-conditioners and parapets huddled
Rivers of non-negotiable road, knee deep in black water
Sudden bursts of colour from gardens washed clean
Blasts of cool air followed by suffocating invisible ether
Deep rolls of thunder that make your testicles cringe in fear
Needles of raindrops dig holes in your face as you cling to the weaving bike's rear
Slippery slippers, mud in the bathroom, laundry drying in the bedroom, seepage behind the TV
Hot crisp pakoras with steaming cups of chai around a poker table in the balcony

I'll be glad when September comes around

My first main paper story

2006-07-24T19:39:00.000+05:30

Get high for a pittance

New Delhi, July 9

Everybody likes to get high, each in his own way. Some ‘do’ alcohol, marijuana, coke, heroine and other substances. But how many of you know about munakka? No not the round, soft dried fruit with the big seed, but the packaged Ayurvedic digestive you can pick from any paanwadi anywhere in the city.
What makes it potentially potent is the presence of 25 per cent cannabis, along with other various ingredients like pepper, actual munakka and other presumably Ayurvedic ingredients. This little bomb cannot be eaten by itself, as the taste is horribly bitter. It has to be washed down with something, preferably cold and carbonated.
But after one of these, one finally understands the concept of comfortably numb.
The effect of smoking cannabis is very different from eating cannabis. When smoking cannabis, quite a bit of the drug is burnt away and the smoke, although affecting the brain almost instantly, doesn’t last too long. When consumed however, in this manner, every bit of that 25 per cent is ingested, lengthening the high for some times as much as six hours.
Inquiries into the appearance and legal availability at the local paan shop yield a philosophical answer, "Kya jaane sir, aapko kitna chahiye". (Who know sir, how much do you want?)
Some "users" like Vivek Kaul and his friends are hooked to it because it gets them high, it costs Re 1, and they can pop around to the cigarette shop right by his house to buy it legally. Their house is littered with empty red and blue packets with strings of them ready and waiting. "Smoking is injurious to your health," says Kaul, "munakka isn’t. Can you think of a better way to get high and clear your bowels all at the same time?"

Smoke up your ass...

2006-07-24T17:33:00.000+05:30

Published in Hindustan Times, Sunday, July 23, Page 10..

Everyone’s got a blog nowadays. The barber who sits left of my house was asking about it. Says it’s much better than email because, “arre bhaiyya, sab kuch ka record rakhta hai.”
Didn’t have the heart to explain the purpose of the sent mail folder to him.
He logs on every evening at the cyber café right around the corner to post 2 lines on it in Bihari English. Then he’ll send an email to his brother in Mumbai telling him to check what he’s written. Well, to each his own.

Really started my own when inspiration hit on a flight back from Goa leading to the first draft of the beginnings of a book. The book is gathering dust on the backburner, but the blog is growing with 90 posts and counting over three-odd months.

Writing is something that comes naturally to me. Like bombing the ceramic throne or checking out women. So when the opportunity to spew nonsense, vitriol and garbled rhetoric at no one in particular comes along, you think I’d say no?
Why are blogs so popular? Well there’s never any shortage of people who think they have truck-loads of ability but actually don’t. It’s the same with writers.
Most desi bloggers love to pile on the prose like they were the illegitimate sons (and daughters) of Arundhati Roy. The bigger the word, the more grand one sounds.
Isn't the Internet supposed to be a medium to reach out to a lot of people? So most can't understand or get mind-numbingly bored at pseudo-intellectual nitpicking. There are others who like to cut-copy-paste other’s views to make them sound very know-it-all.

Sooner or later, if you have a blog, it turns into your alter-ego. An online persona that only others in the blogosphere recognise you by. It gets weird sometimes.
Blogger parties (and for the most part, writer parties) are exercises in semantics where everyone tries to pull a bigger word out of the much-abused dictionary. Mind games are something I leave to the girlfriend, even at parties.
When you get your blog, you have to learn how to posture. Blogging is essentially talking about yourself. And when you have no one to interrupt you or tell you you’re talking shit, the tendency to puff out one’s chest at half-imagined heroics leads to interesting reading.
Especially when the same blogger forgets crucial details a few posts down the line and goes off on a different tangent.

Blogs have been quite instrumental in churning out opinion in our immediate spectrum, especially of late. The Jessica Lal case is the first I remember, though there might have been more before, which gave the kids at home a voice to raise at the powers-that-be.
I've figured the blog to be a fantastic way to get your opinion across as effectively as possible with minimum bloodshed.
Whether it's telling off a colleague (who you know reads your blog), hooking up with a chick (who you know reads your blog) or patting yourself on the back (you definitely read your own blog).

Formerly former boss read bits and pieces and recommended self for a shot at features editor at a local rag. Didn’t take the job but that’s a different matter.
Getting your work noticed through your blog can be tricky though. Especially when posts on the blog detail suspicious behaviour. In this profession, however, it’s good to know it’s the writing that’s appreciated in the end. The hangover’s hardly noticed.

Grey, gloomy and going nowhere

2006-07-20T13:51:00.000+05:30

Why is there a space between Lyons and Tchakovsky?

Dialogue
Sticks in your head

It's drizzling outside.
Constant traffic noise, construction noise, random telephones ringing at no one, people walking from nowhere to somewhere, skipping dirty puddles and little mountains of squishy mud and black regurgitated sewer sludge.

The sky's opening up.. the sun's trying to free itself.. no... disappeared again ..
still drizzling..
Everything smells like damp detergent and mildewed feet.

Took a nice picture a couple of years ago at India Gate.. was on one of those Kodak KB10s and have lost the print somewhere.. This weather makes me want to dig out the negative, make a fresh print and scan the damn thing..
procrastinating really..

Was heading to Connaught Place in an auto and had stopped at the light that's right in front of India Gate. Light turned green, but traffic was moving really slowly. Some dumbass up front not sure of which way he wanted to go I guess.
We pass the long rectangular boating "lake" and there's these three cars: an S-class, a 5 series and a C class standing back-to-back. Inside the passengers were craning their necks skyward with expressions ranging from anxiety to disgust, while beyond them six naked street children leaped one after the other into the lake, whooping as they splash-landed.

On the trip to Manali, when we "hiked" to the river, Jas wanted to take some river stones home. Scrabbled around for a bit, almost fell in a few times, but didn't because she had me by the shirt tails and rooted out a few cool looking pebbles.
Dug a little deeper in the cold clear water and found MY ROCK, which is now my paperweight at work.
This black uneven hexagon is smooth in some areas, ridged in some and self has managed to pull a lot of leg in the office saying it's a rough diamond.
Some people will believe anything if you're convincing enough.
One chick's eyes go wide and she can't stop staring at it.. asks me, "Really? How much does it cost?"
"35 million!!"
Like it would make a difference if I said 20 million.

Jesus Christ and Mother Mary Jane

2006-07-16T18:19:00.000+05:30

Was Jesus a Stoner? is the mischievous title of an article about the use of cannabis in ancient Judaism in next month's High Times, a pro-cannabis magazine. Its author, Chris Bennett, likes to shock. He is the host of Burning Shiva, a show on Canada's Pot-TV, and an advocate for the medical use and decriminalisation of marijuana.

Bennett first looked at the use of drugs in religion two years ago in his book Sex, Drugs, Violence, and the Bible. He postulates that Jesus's ministry was fuelled by mind-altering substances, that he may have used cannabis-based oils to heal eye and skin diseases and that his very name - Christ - derives from being anointed with cannabis-enriched oil.

His politics and television career might make it tempting to dismiss him but what Bennett says makes perfect sense. Over the centuries drugs have been used by virtually all religions. Why not Christianity?
In ancient times cannabis was widely cultivated throughout the Middle East. It grows like a weed and provides nourishing seed, which is also a good source of fibre used to make rope.
People certainly knew of its pleasurable effects; it would have been impossible to harvest it without becoming ecstatic as the drug would be absorbed through the skin. And as long ago as 1935 a Slovakian linguist identified the plant known as "fragrant cane" in the English Bible as flowering cannabis, a link since accepted by some Jewish authorities.

Ancient people were fascinated by herbs and their healing powers and knew much more about them than we do; at least about mixing herbs to release their potency.
Ancient wines were always fortified, like the "strong wine" of the Old Testament, with herbal additives: opium, datura, belladonna, mandrake and henbane. Common incenses, such as myrrh, ambergris and frankincense are psychotropic; the easy availability and long tradition of cannabis use would have seen it included in the mixtures. Modern medicine has looked into using cannabis as a pain reliever and in treating multiple sclerosis. It may well be that ancient people knew, or believed, that cannabis had healing power.
Much of their knowledge, passed down through an oral tradition, has been lost and to some extent it is the modern prejudice against drugs that has stopped us looking for it. Revulsion against drugs and the hippie culture even led to the term "entheogen" being coined to describe a psychotropic substance used in religious rituals.

Entheogen comes from the Greek entheos (meaning "god-inspired within") and the word is now commonly employed in English and European languages to discuss sacramental foods used by shamans (mystic or visionary priests) to achieve spiritual ecstasy.
So what of the early Christians? At the time they were evolving, they had to compete with other religions of the Roman empire. The strongest of those was Mithraism, imported from Persia, which exists today as Zoroastrianism.
Its sacrament, Haoma, was virtually identical to what we know of soma, in Brahmanism. Worshipped as a god, soma was a strange plant without leaves or roots that needed little light and induced religious ecstasy. It was most likely amanita muscaria: a magic mushroom. In ancient Rome sharing the Haoma cemented the bond of brotherhood of emperors, bureaucrats and soldiers. Pagan Greek celebrations at the sanctuary of Eleusis, meanwhile, included a visionary experience for a crowd of 1,000 people, from drinking a potion made from a fungus that grows on wheat and produces an effect similar to LSD.

So, did Jesus use cannabis? I think so. The word Christ does mean "the anointed one" and Bennett contends that Christ was anointed with chrism, a cannabis-based oil, that caused his spiritual visions. The ancient recipe for this oil, recorded in Exodus, included over 9lb of flowering cannabis tops (known as kaneh-bosem in Hebrew), extracted into a hin (about 11 pints) of olive oil, with a variety of other herbs and spices. The mixture was used in anointing and fumigations that, significantly, allowed the priests and prophets to see and speak with Yahweh.
Residues of cannabis, moreover, have been detected in vessels from Judea and Egypt in a context indicating its medicinal, as well as visionary, use. Jesus is described by the apostle Mark as casting out demons and healing by the use of this holy chrism. Earlier, from the time of Moses until the later prophet Samuel, holy anointing oil was used by the shamanic Levite priesthood to receive the "revelations of the Lord". The chosen ones were drenched in this potent cannabis oil.
Early Christian documents found in Eygpt, thought to be a more accurate record than the New Testament, portray Jesus as an ecstatic rebel sage who preached enlightenment through rituals involving magical plants. Indeed, Bennett goes so far as to say that Jesus was probably not born the messiah but acquired the title when he was anointed with cannabis oil by John the Baptist. The baptism in the Jordan was probably to wash away the oil after it had done its work. The early Christians fought hard for followers in the ancient world, recognising the similarity of their own "foreign" god and his eucharistic meal to the Greek gods. Various sects and even the elite in what would eventually become the Roman Catholic church probably used the full range of available entheogens for baptism, ordination and the eucharistic meal.

What we now call the host might have been more than just bread. There are indications that early Christians shared magic mushrooms - and the spiritual visions and ecstasies they occasioned - as their eucharistic meal. A 4th-century mosaic discovered at a basilica in Aquileia in northern Italy depicts baskets of mushrooms. Why? This wasn't a restaurant. Could the "red mushrooms" have been the ritual meal?
Eating bread and sharing wine together was, and remains, at the heart of the Christian ritual. We'll never know exactly what Jesus and his disciples consumed at the Last Supper, but as they believed they were drinking the blood of Christ we must accept it was - if not actually hallucinatory - at least fortified by God.

Carl Ruck is professor of classics at Boston University

copied from www.cannabis.net

RIP Bambi

2006-07-16T18:02:00.000+05:30

Our oldest mutt kicked the bucket this morning.
Folks had been telling Sister and self for the past couple of weeks to come down to the farm to meet her before she left but with the trip to the mountains and other stuff, we'd been putting it off. Thought we'd go down this coming weekend but death waits for no one.

Bambi first came into our lives as a cowering puppy when we were living in the boondocks. This was way back in 1992, so she's probably out lived most of her litter.
She was the perky short-haired black and white bitch who mothered most of our current canines.
She's been the matriarch of the pack ever since Doogie the Devil died of distemper some time in the latter years of the previous century.
Age had really gotten to her.. cataracts, arthiritis, weak bladder, falling teeth, black hair fuzzed into white. Lots of dogs have died on us over the years, but she'll always be remembered.

Nothing personal

2006-07-16T16:35:00.000+05:30

The mountains always put things in perspective.
Post last Friday's office party, where certain events occured to change my mind about leaving, self sent this mail to boss at the paper I was supposed to join.

Hi xxxx
Apologies for the inconvenience.
Am currently in Manali and there's an issue with the roaming service here. I think a tower fell in the rain.

HR here did not get the copy of my increment letter in time for me to get it to Pallavi before I left.
However, since our meeting, other factors have made me realise that I am more a writer and a job at Xxxxx would leave me with very little time to explore that.
Advice from people I respect is that this is not the right time for me to move.
Additionally, over the weekend, I have gotten the opportunity to write for the main paper on issues and subjects that are of most interest to me.
Besides, I've been in this organisation only 10 months and if the questions Pallavi at HR was asking were anything to go by, I should stick around in one place for a little longer, rather than jumping ships every year.
I should have come by, met you and told you this, but then this trip happened.
Sincerest apologies for the inconvenience

He replies with this

all i can say is that you are an asshole. and i dont like being made a fool of, which you just did. which wasn't a smart thing to do.

If I am reconsidering a career decision, how does it involve making a "fool" of anyone?
Granted I accepted the offer, but there was nothing on paper, no offer letter, no resignation, nothing and I can't help it if avenues into the main paper here falling into place.
What is the need to take things so personally?
I am not interested in making a fool of anyone. Where would that get me?
I'm interested in what's best for me.

My dad always says, if it ain't broke, don't fix it. Working where I am right now is a chiller job.
And by shifting just for the money, I'll be trading in comfortable working hours and a work environment that's just right.
Can't say the reaction is unexpected considering almost 30 people left that paper citing his violent, abusive behaviour.

From the mountains to the mayhem

2006-07-16T16:03:00.000+05:30

Ahhh.. five days of bliss by the Beas later, self is back at humid, hot home.
This time up was eventful to say the least.
Chottu, Jas, Bony and self along with Driverman packed into an Indica after the Azzurri took home top honours. The first few hours were bedraggled and bum numbing as we fidgeted to find space in the cramped car. Chottu took the front passenger because he can't fit in a back seat with self squeezed between the "healthy bodies" of Jas and Bony (who is anything but).

Burst a tyre somewhere before Chandigarh, luckily right in front of a puncture repair dude. I run across the road to the fields beyond for an early morning dump, while Chottu organises tea. We then study the map and decide to take the "short cut" through Pinjore since it cut 10 kilometres off the Chandigarh-Ropar-Kiratpur Saheb-Swarghat-Bilaspur route.
Turned out to be three hours longer because the paved double lane road disintegrates into a narrow, undulating pothole between Pinjore and Swarghat.
Spectacular scenery though.
With Driverman starting to nod off, Chottu takes the wheel and promptly busts a gasket in the middle of nowhere while trying to take pictures of purple hills rolling into green meadows.
We limp into Swarghat where the mechanic says we are hallucinating and we carry on. Stopped for breakfast of alu-puri by the curb with the spectacular Govind Sagar lake for company.

Usually cops will stop and check you on your way back from Manali. This was the first time we were stopped three times on our way to the hills.
The first was obviously a narc checkpost but once they got a gander at the press cards, asked us whether we were going to do a story and if we were carrying any guns on us.
Everybody had a good laugh at that one. Even the cops.

The second was a free-for-all. A battery of khaki men was hauling down everybody on the road to check for license and registration. One senior looking chap says they do this on the 10th and 25th of each month.
Again, innocent display of the press cards and we're back on the road.
I don't like to flash the card too much, but here in what is mostly rural India, it saves you heaps of irritation.
The third checkpoint was really a toll booth where all cars that don't have Himachal registration have to cough up cash to get into Manali. Tourism chappies doing something right.

Finally crawl into Old Manali and The Dragon at half past five, dog tired but the view is fantastic ar as usual and hot showers later, we hit Moondance Cafe for dinner and eye candy.
Since self was clean out of maal, the first priority was to secure some.
Bumped into Mr Miyagi outside the German bakery and he says hello with hash in his hand. Not much, about 4 spliffs worth for 50 bucks
Picked up more from Biloo the next evening. Bumped into some of Delhi's raver crowd too. They'd come from Kasol for the party up abover Old Manali and like typical "im a hippie, im cool" behaviour, were booming chillums and rolling spliffs, sitting by the road.
These misguided folks don't know the C of chilling.

The party was delayed by a few days due to rain but it happened on Thursday night. Didn't sound very exciting, though clueless trippers seemed to enjoy it.
We have a very simple rule of thumb, you go to Goa to party, you go to Manali to chill..

It's nice to know somethings will never change here.
You can still roll out of your room, down the stairs and across the tiny lane for a ten-rupee coconut covered chocolate ball at 3 in the morning.
The lasagne at Il Forno and the Manali chicken curry thali at Johnson’s Café can still floor you. The view from the rooftop of the World Peace Café in Vashisht is still the unobstructed panoramic Kullu to Solang spread.
The forest between Old and New Manali is still an ethereal place to be as skyscraping pines and mossy foliage filter out the commotion so you can imagine you’re in Lord of the Rings or Van Helsing country.

You also, always always meet some really interesting people from all over the world here. Not just obnoxious Israeli backpackers.
Bita, Rachel and Jacob were sharing the room down the corridor from us and we got talking over Monk and coke. The three were Aussie film makers from Melbourne, travelling south east Asia making a documentary on female infanticide.
In conversation, we found out that Jacob was David Boone's (the Aussie cricketer with the handlebar moustache) nephew, Bita lives in six different cities and has no fixed address and Rachel, like Bita, is a Bahai and prefers Zambia to India.
Also met Martha and Frida from Finland. They'd been doing the adrenalin trip - rafting, cross country skiing, mountain climbing and more in Ladakh and were passing through Manali on the way to Rishikesh for 2 weeks of yoga and meditation.
At this, Chottu looks at them, looks at his paunch and sighs.

The only activity we got around to doing was the hike through the forest, down to the Manalsu to collect river rocks, take pictures and get stuck in the chicken wire fence.

The eyesores have increased here with increasing construction. Where you expect to see lush green forest waving down at you on the way up, you have Shah Rukh Khan telling you Airtel is with you here too while huge chunks of mountain have been eaten out by wayside motels and dhabas.

Some years ago, when we first did the climb in daylight on bikes, we spotted a bit of leftover paradise on the way up between Bilaspur and Mandi. It had been drizzling the whole day, but the sun had come out in the valley to the left and when we crossed this particular spot on the right, I think we all saw it at the same time and stopped with an “Ohhh!”
One giant orange flame of the forest tree dominated, surrounded by purple lavender trees and yellow-flowered trees (who’s name I don’t know) with a carpet of multicoloured wildflowers and a spirited waterfall gurgling through the scene.
A rent in the clouds saw the whole place lit with sunshine after the rains like a cosmic artist saying, “Eat your heart out Van Gogh”
We all got off, crossed the road and ran up the hill to take a closer look. No one brought out the cameras as we had packed them from the rain but it’s a sight I will be loath to forget.
This time around, the spot where I remember it to be has been hacked out of the hillside.
There’s a trucker’s garage there now.
They also sell spares.

The office party

2006-07-07T15:21:00.000+05:30

Probably the one time when all the stiff upper lips loosen up and get silly over company-paid booze.

The wildest office party I've been to was the Easter bash in my first year in GE.
Big bosses had hired out the lawns at the South City Club in Gurgaon and the five bars around the acre of green were like beehives swarming with buzzing drones.
In the great tradition of the American college party, each bar had a 10 gallon keg which attendants kept pouring bottles of Kingfisher into (along with quite a bit of ice).
One giant dance floor with all the latest 'hits' blasting out from a Sirdie DJ's mixer was hardly big enough for the teeming mass of sweaty bodies wanting to bump and grind with the hotties.
Don't remember most of it, just Baba offering me a spliff and then running around the lawn with my shirt open yelling, "Superman, Superman, mighty flighty Superman"
Also remember trying to force my way out of the crush on the floor to grab a beer, making it till the edge and some chick who looked vaguely familiar asking me if I want to dance.
Must have slurred something at her, because she grabbed my hand and pulled me back in.
I was still bouncing from the earlier track and hadn't realised they had switched it to that sick-as-shit Celine Dion number from Titanic.

Next thing I remember is waking up the next evening.
Get to work and the guys in my department are pointing and laughing. This vaguely familiar chick walks by, smiles and says "Hi, are you feeling better?"
I "huh" back at her and she looks shell-shocked
I ask what happened, and one helpful gent tells me that that woman and me had been climbing all over each other in the middle of the floor - right till they shut the music and told us all to fuck off home.
This is why I hate getting drunk.

Last office party we had was when the paper threw a shindig at QBA.
One anonymous gent passed out on a sofa, then rolled over and fell between the sofa and the table in front of it.
Two waiters came over to pull him out, one grabbing his head, the other his feet.
But the sozzled fucker had one arm stuck under the table and the more they pulled, the more danger there was of all the plates, bottles and glasses on the table crashing to the floor.
So they just left him there.

There's one more tonight.
QBA revisited. Should be worth a laugh

Goa fever

2006-07-07T14:22:00.000+05:30

Neon New Year's Eve 2004

Hahahahahaha.. just found this

2006-07-07T14:11:00.000+05:30

Look to the left behind the woman in white

Elevated!!

2006-07-07T14:03:00.000+05:30

First time in Elevate.. blasted out of my brain

Life is what happens to you while you're planning it

2006-07-06T13:08:00.000+05:30

I have to give two months notice here or two months' basic pay (which would rip my wallet to shreds)
The new paper wants me to join by the first of August.
Now, I can't tender me resignation here till I get my offer letter from there,
I can't get my offer letter from there till I give them a copy of increment letter from here
I can't give them a copy of my increment letter because I lost it.

So, I emailed (you always have to email these things somehow) the respective HR person for a copy, but I believe she is yet to check her mail...
When I get the copy, I have to fax it to respective HR person on the greener side, who will then send me my offer letter and only then can I resign formally.
From which date, my notice period starts.