The End

I nearly pressed Delete against this page yesterday in my account, but couldn't. I'd thought this post was going to be about life here, but I am still reasoning it out.

I need to stop yawning, get a new page maybe, or be back after a while. I don't know. Junk Text is over for now, thank you all for reading.

We work hard, etc.

They say every day is a new day. Clearly, it is justified to work on a new idea every day as well. It is delightful to swirl in the universe of ambiguity, after all. For over a month.
I’ll shoot the next person who questions things like productivity in advertising. Now you know why.

I promise to stop cribbing once this fucking launch is done.

Death By Usage

"My girlfriend once bought me red boxer shorts."

"That's an insight. Right there."

You Know What You Were Back Then When...

...a 12 year old describes Eva Green like you would if you happen to be with those who are excited about everything else but their facial hair.

Hurts.

It's A Back In Town Thing*

Being back at work, fucked up thanks to Masakkali nearly thirty times in an hour, I’m certain that boredom was waiting to reclaim me. Of course, nothing is as fanfuckingtastic as lying wasted somewhere at a beach. (Only if Emmanuel Chiriqui was around.)

Diu seemed a natural extension to my Gandhinagar/Ahmedabad trip. After painful Indian Railways time thanks to a gentleman farting while talking to his wife Shanta, we crashed at a friend’s house in the greener part of Gandhinagar. With four unplanned days in front of me, I found the perfect chance to drink and laze around. Yes, it’s a dry state but godbepraised, guests have easy access.

Wide roads neatly cut at right angles, rusty red and blue buses, roundabouts, browns and greens, tiny but major shopping centres make Gandhinagar a quieter walk than civilisation (or Ahmedabad) which is a highway away. I was tempted to hit Lal Darwaza, east of Sabarmati River, for the on-paper fascinating heritage walk through a maze of crowded streets over four hours. Damn the time issues.

Getting to Diu is pleasantly cheap and quick. You are welcomed by a huge resort and two bars the moment you’re out of the dry state. It gets better. There’s the dream-like access to alcohol every ten minutes, there are fresh melt-in-your-mouth cookies in deserted narrow streets, there are colourful auto-rickshaws, there’s the oldest Portuguese church, and apart from a couple of tourist-y places to hit or ignore, there are the happiest, friendlist people. I don’t know what it is, but the people smile all over. Maybe it’s just the beer. 

Open roads run along the beaches everywhere - you can just hop over to one. Once I was done being a tourist myself, I walked down to a spotless white beach, with a clear sun over me, with barely a soul around. It’s as incredible as those beaches on Travel & Living. The only thing as blissful as the lunch staring at the horizon is walking along the shore with beer cans stuffed in your bag. God, don’t turn it into Goa.

I have also realised that travelling around your birthday, although a great idea, eventually the mobile bill kicks you where it hurts the most – the bank account. Fuck you, Vodafone.

* I love lame titles.

Good show, guys

I wonder if someone harassed them with metal or sent nasty messages as they’ve finally woken up to what I wrote about nearly a decade ago.* There have been repeated announcements requesting people to not play music in the trains. And, deargodhopethisstays, words like please seem to be working finally.

*Which makes it a glorious day. I’m so pleased today that I won’t even mention the long halts, annoying issues involving doors that close five times before they finally do, among other things, well, for now.

Missing

The fake-smoke chuckle, gulping more of the blissful filter coffee, walking to the bus stop through the early morning mist, the quivering 2am walk, the frozen hands, the Sunday afternoon chasing the sun with delightful oranges, the non-stop earsplitting Dilli ki sardi from the tea stall, the customary denial of the morning quilt comfort, the white plastic glasses scattered around the 750ml Old Monk bottle, the breeze leading some to call out for the big bright yellow ball in the sky for some warmth, the black jacket, the memorable 2 °C..

What the fuck happened to winter?

Then and Now

Till about two weeks ago, I entered a Delhi Metro station where all kinds of metal detectors and big black boxes to see through our bags had suddenly appeared. There were easily fifteen hundred policemen in and around the stations, at least the ones that attract more people every day. The world slowly but eventually got used to the idea, cooperating to the extent that many chose to reach the stations twenty minutes early. It had become a pain in the youknowwhat but I know of people who looked at this as a pleasant change. Even though it was a little too late, after a million Mumbai blasts reports recently.

Now I enter a station to see it back to the usual. The machines have been put away in a corner like some celebrated piece on display; as though some mysterious power told them the world is a safe and happy place again. It reminds me of the disgust with which we had all questioned way back in September when some threats had led to greater security checks specifically at the Delhi Metro stations. It had taken them a week to forget about the metal detectors then, too.

I wonder what’s happening in other cities. I think we will experience the same around Republic Day all over the city and they’ll consider their job done instantly again. Just when I was beginning to be happy about it, seeing people willing to be patient on their way to work early in the morning.

Yawn

I was really bored at work.

Multitasking

The writer of this post quickly* wants to thank Indira Gandhi International Airport’s authorities as they gave him the opportunity to do all this around the 5^th baggage belt while waiting for his really big black bag yesterday:

• Count the number of black suitcases on the 4^th baggage belt
  
• Make a cartoon strip on the tissues he got along with a cup of something they called coffee and a really cold sandwich
  
• Translate the same in Hindi
  
• Recall the names of all the cities in our country
  
• Look for three cabs two kms away to eventually miss them
• Appreciate the insightful colour pattern of windows towards the exit
  
• Save 130 cellphone drafts of the first chapter of his first book
  
• Interchange his Converse shoelaces
  

* It’d be disgraceful if he doesn’t learn from this experience, as all of it took just over an hour and thirty minutes. He still took longer, perhaps. Appreciate the effort, if nothing else.

Erm.

After going through some really informative pages on the internet about an exciting new bank account I need to get in place, I realised this page needs a new post. Actually, after all the wonderful writing I do at work, I don’t feel like writing here. I have a lot of things to write about though – like how blessed are we to have supremely talented and intelligent people as servicing (jeez, they’re actually called Account Managers) guys in this agency – or the fantastic set of speakers this woman at work makes the most of – not forgetting the number of books I picked from the heavenly bookstore Fact & Fiction, Vasant Vihar, even though I was broke – this is a fucked-up and an obscenely long sentence.

Here’s the tag I picked up from Woodsmoke’s blog.

Name three most valuable assets.
My iPod, cellphone, PC.

One truth in your life that haunts you every day
I will perhaps reach a stage where I won’t smoke with an espresso. Really.

If you were to be stranded on a deserted island, who are the three blog buddies you would take alongside with you?
I am sure my blog buddies will understand, as much as I’d love to be with you guys there, looking out for some food and money among many other worldly things, could I please be there with Megan Fox?

Where is the place that you want to go the most?
Home, for now – I could do with some sleep.

If you can have one dream to come true, what would it be?
Play the guitar like Zakk Wylde.

What would you do if you found a briefcase full of money?
Make that a really big bag full of money, please.

If you meet someone that you love, would you confess to him/her?
I need to figure that darn-four-letter-word, first.

Which type of person do you dislike the most?
The attention-seeking kinds.

Ok, I am tired of this.

I must mention that my most recent fixation to check out Fact & Fiction every once in a month has left me in a tragic state where not paying My Beloved Mobile Service Provider on time has become the usual. That, of course, is alright if you find Hermann Hesse’s poetry. Not forgetting Jim Morrison’s The Lords and The New Creatures and Wilderness. And books by Terry Pratchett I never saw anywhere in this city. And Italo Calvino’s work.

This could go on.

The Sadistic Part of Us

It’s easy deleting text messages, removing pictures from various folders, throwing away things that came with the tag of a pointless present. But how does one get rid of that area in your brain, where the date and time stamped on a particular text message share a drink with the scenes of the evening one of the pictures was taken? Memory, not just the word, is unkind. It makes it all look meaningless for a bit, and immediately highlights the same with the sparkling importance it still enjoys. Just absurd.

Chasing

Sitting snug in a corner of your darkened room, you tremble with the fear of having certain memories haunt you. But you’re already trembling. With that one thought of having given up. The madness that could help beat the grasp of any challenge has taken you over. You need to cope up.

Sadly, you can’t. Your chosen poison doesn’t seem to work. You haven’t moved an inch. A dubious attempt at convincing your uneasy brain you’re safe within the confines of your fleeting territory follows. The truth is you can’t run away.

You’re still there. Disappointed of having underrated everything. Disappointed with yourself. With your poison. That refused to last. You lean at the same spot, effectively cold and catatonic, brooding over what you could have been feeling the same instant.

Updating my list of Gods

Zakk Wylde. The man is ridiculously talented. Has an exceptionally gripping voice and his solo albums are miraculously different from his work with Black Label Society (that'd be a heavy metal band for starters which he formed later, and strangely most disagree). The man's incredible with his guitar. Those who dig music across genres (needless to say I am excluding hip-hop and trance here) must check out his solo album Book of Shadows, if nothing else. It's mostly acoustic. The other album being Pride & Glory, a side project with Ozzy. If you don't fall in love with this stuff, I'd personally crash your playlist with stuff that'd bring you closer to life. And his words just stay with you. This man's a friggin' genius.

And if you think you didn't need to know, seriously, it's high time.
*quickly gets back to work*

Crawl
Try to move on
But I get pulled back
To the times long gone

Wishful Thinking

I’ll pick a fancy digital camera. I’ll reduce the number of cigarettes per day. I’ll travel and get to know my country. I’ll manage a raise this year. I’ll reduce the number of cigarettes per day. I’ll pick a Macbook. I’ll clean my room every weekend. I’ll forget about those two years and carry on. I’ll reduce the number of cigarettes per day. And coffee too. Trust me.

I hope you don’t care for Blogspot titles

There are times when you merrily ignore a tag. Then there are times when one of your favourite bloggers tag you. And even though I can clearly recall around 56372 tags waiting, I choose to do this right now. Holy, I am at work *shrugs* and... anyway, here is what I have to do:

Share six non-important things/habits/quirks about yourself. Tag six random people and let them know they've been tagged.

Here is the list. Yawn if you must. A request: Abuse over email. I don’t appreciate a comment space of that sort as much.

1. I like my music organised. By which I mean segregating artists under folders with albums (and the year they were released in) with respective album art. Composers are set right with every file, the order of tracks is right and if an EP exists by the same band, it goes to another folder under it.

2. I like my desktop blank. Mostly there are lines from bands I breathe – Doors, Metallica, Megadeth, Tool, the list is long. You might want to dig a music based tag for me.

3. I gulp down my espresso at once. People think they score high every time they compare it with a vodka shot. Brilliant sense of humour.

4. I gave trance a decent try once. The girl I was dating at that time was heavily into it. You get the picture. I was 18 then. (Just in case.)

5. I am crazy about Paper Mate pencils. (HB 2.) No one gets to touch them.

6. I followed every Channel V show hosted by Sarah Jane. Oh, and I don’t get to watch TV anymore.

I am tagging Jay, Amiya, SayanDi, Drenched, Aarbee and Mirage.
You’d better take up the tag or I’ll bombard your inbox with horrendous wallpapers of ugly women. Many people at work evidently like those. Consider yourself warned.

What Life Told Me at 1.40 AM

That one can always, always ignore the wonderful music being played while you’re trying to work. I mean that really incredible Punjabi meets Hip-hop variety, with the choicest of words that strangely rhyme (Main keya kudiyon, khul ke jhoomo) and it’s completely alright to realise you can’t charge your iPod. We've the whole night and there’s a lot to do. One’s got to let them test your patience. (Must try playing Slayer the next time.)

So I thought it isn’t entirely a bad idea to update my blog. I had been getting stinkers from a few people who read this useless page (please note I am trying to thank you guys here) but I have an argument for the same. There’s been a lot of work. I am not complaining – I totally love this madness, meeting deadlines, entries for awards and running for prints for the same, getting approvals, and then suddenly realising one of those inactive clients has a creative brief on their name.

But it’s been good. Last month was pretty eventful in terms of work. People bummed hard by telling me I have turned 21 – good try, guys. Hung out with friends, answered phone calls in the middle of the night while I was pitch drunk, had three cakes for me and the best part – got books. Only if I find time to read as much.

Which reminds me about this rewarding visit to the International Book Fair with Jay yesterday. I happily blew up all my money without having a plan in place to survive the rest of the month. But then, it’s books.

Abrupt ending to a post that doesn’t really say much, I know. Blah.

She had called after a long time.

“Hey. How’s it going?”
“Hey. Rather surprised to have you call.”

He wasn’t just surprised.

“Just crossed the Barista we met at the last time. Let’s catch up some time.”
“How about today?” he cursed himself under his breath just then.

“Sounds great. I’m here already.”
“Give me twenty minutes.”

He stepped out in his tracks. Missed a bus, screamed at several autos and finally begged a neighbour to drop him.

She sat there – in green, her favourite colour, and started wondering how it’d go. Would he like her new hairdo? She felt nervous and finally asked herself the question she was running away from.

Her answer was twenty minutes away.

He reached and looked around. Panting, reaching out for his cell phone. He pressed Call against her name. He didn’t know if he should smile. He disconnected. He saw her. At last. Green.

She looked up. He waved at her. She couldn’t figure what he said but she saw him walk the other way.

He went to place his order. An espresso.
“Make it a double shot.”

He smelt coffee – what do they call it? – she is in green – I have to look relaxed – is that the same table? –

They hugged.
“It’d have been our anniversary today.” he whispered.

Moments
That are lost
In a tiny hole
Of a long warm night

Words
That will remain
In the memory
A polluted space
With a shade of red