To the lost one

I was lost in the water
I went to the edge of the sea
you were the North I was chasing
wish you had believed in me.

I was going around in circles
and you were never in view
for a lot more days in that year
I wanted to be with you.

We were hanging to the thread of love
I was not afraid it would give in
I said I will always live for this feeling
the baiting touch of your cold skin.

Sometimes I need to put gross on my blog..

When I look into your eyes
I can see a nun restrained
Remember when I told you
There’s a beast in you untamed.

Cause fidelity doesn’t last forever
As we both know what happened to Assange
It’s impossible to withhold the cable
When in Afghanistan missiles rain.

We’ve not been together for a long long time
Just trying to tell you about the relationship strain
Lovers come and lovers go
But you will be remembered for the sweetest crotch pain.

So if you want to love me
Then darling don’t refrain
Or I’ll just end up believing
It’s the same old menstrual pain.

I know it’s hard to really read my heart
When with all your friends I have a history
But I swear it to the just concluded fart
It was your BFF who gave me the acne

So never mind the darkness
Some electricity bills I am yet to pay
This wouldn’t be so forever
Since Dad’s car is now up on eBay.

Frust

Your eyes are lovely, dark and deep
But I have promises with two others to keep
And a third to kiss before with you I sleep.

Richard Marx redux

Two drinks, day after day
and my tongue goes profane
those twenty odd sticks today
didn’t alleviate the lingering chest pain

If I lay you next to never
how can we stay attracted forever

Wherever you go
whoever you do
I will be right here boning someone but you
however many drinks it takes
or having to take a lot of work breaks
I won’t be anywhere waiting for you

I won’t remember all the times
You managed to come and cry both somehow
my post coital cigarette, your choke and tears
driven me so far away from you, and how

Oh how couldn’t you see it baby
we were meant to be, but some other life may be

I don’t remember

What this place used to be like
and those people I met
warm, fuzzy and nice
together we sketched a fine vignette.

That subscribing to feeds
or hitting refresh
hoping to see a new post
from friends of the online flesh.

Miss those long conversations
about the subtle implications that were never expressed
that waiting for the co-blogger to come online
when real life as a concept was as good as dead.

The tiny moments of bursting joy
after a new comment
the time I wasted day dreaming
wondering if the next composition be advent or lament.

Where are you lost
friends bonded over a bunch of words
your spaces exist in vain
unless your excuse is lost passwords.

In which I (re)discover I have a blog – 2

I am down with sinus. Again. It is one of those things one just can’t get used to. Almost like marriage (or differently sized testicles for that matter). You know it’s going to stay with you forever, and will be a pain in your ass time and again and make you feel all flustered and disabled, but you still gotta live with it. It’s another story that I feel like an outcast whenever I step out of the house, with all the protective layers on me trying to keep the cold out and I run into an off-shoulder garment wearing non-stick non-touchable hot girl with hands in the pockets of her shorts and Egyptian sandals. I am one of those men who accept that we are formed by the women around us.

But I have nothing against marriage in principle. In real life I am all for it. In fact just the other day I was riding next to a bus full of pretty and young things from Lady Hardinge Medical College. A flash from the past kinda thing happened as I remembered how I always had a thing for doctors. Basically anything remotely doctorish and female. I used to have these discussions with Maa when I was barely 12 about how I am going be this hot shot Computer Engineer and will land a charming and nice and warm and pretty doctor girl. I have grown out of it after dating a physiotherapist and a PhD (see ..both doctors), but the idea seems to have evolved with Maa whose only purpose in life before she retires from the active house managing life is to hunt for THAT girl. While her zeal for the project kind of scares me some times (because the prospective girl will have to live up to Maa’s expectations before mine), I also have a defense mechanism to ward off possible successful conquests – my Twitter stream. No girl in her mind would want to meet me for prospective matrimonial alliance after reading my tweets. Unless I have got women figured all wrong here.

So I have been watching Californication these days. I would say it is creepy how you can connect so deeply to a character in a TV show, but then one must always remember you are not the only asshole and definitely not one of a kind on the planet. Needless to say I’m all hooked to the series, given there is a naked breast popping out of nowhere every fifteen-odd minutes in every episode.

And I was supposed to give the IIM entrance this year. But I was conveniently in bed snoring my thundering sinus away waiting for the nymphomanical maid kid to come and make some tea. I guess everything happens for a reason. And I am happy not knowing the reason here until it presents itself sooner or later.

Which kind of throws me back in time a little. I remember myself as a very calculated person. You know the putting two and two together kind. While studying for IIT I used to derive the time I can invest to solve a problem after adding all the problems from the exercises across all the study material and dividing it by the minutes to the day of the exam. I was that freaky yes. Things changed a little after I came to IIT, I loosened up with respect to the ideal importance that should have been accorded to lectures and tests. And IIT Delhi was like the perfect place to delusion yourself. It made narcissists out of every Ram, Raheem and Harinder. There was some kind of pride associated with waiting in the bathroom queue behind an All India Rank 7. We went to lectures with some of the most unattractive girls of the nation put together and back in hostel we were exposed to a treasure cove of scripted porn with Casino grade assets women. IIT had the kind of girls you ended up respecting for all the wrong reasons – for writing fastest algorithms, for scoring an A while you bordered on flunking, for being able to talk to you and other men for years completely asexually etc. Anyhow, any more words and I am jeopardizing readership for the book that should be out soon in the next five years or so.

Right now the priority item on my list of to-dos is to get a full medical/dental check up done. I have been royally ignoring my health for a number of years now, despite having had gentle friendly warnings from people around me. I guess that Tata Safari Dicor ad can be blamed for ruining my good sense in this matter. I don’t think I’d like to remember working out in the corner of a shady gym, when I might very well be downing shots of expensive Mexican tequila in that fancy bar at TGIF. I mean comeon you health conscious people ..you are not going down in the annals of history with any more golden words than me.

Anyway, enough with all of that. This felt good. That is what sickness does. Makes you feel vulnerable and then something happens that just turns things around. Like a she friend going all ‘Awwwww’ and planting a more-than-friendly kiss somewhere on your face.

The point is ..I am happy to be writing again. Hank Moody, after all, seems to get all the girls with his words.

The morning after

I slept soon after writing that depressing post last night and intimating Disha (who had sweetly asked me to not be an ass and continue blogging) about the addition. Negativism characteristically dispirits me. Couldn’t bear to push my few readers through the same too.

So probably after a huge sense of guilt, I woke up at 4 in the morning. Partly also because I felt something brushing against my right hand which I think was royally twirled over my head beyond the bed post and almost touching the floor. Sudden panic is so not good at that hour in the morning, worse when you’re sick and in much-desired deep sleep. The sudden jerky motion that brought the top half of my body ninety degrees closer to the bottom could partially be regarded to the rat infestation in our house for the last few days. As much as I find these creatures cute for all visual purposes, I have no love to rear and nurture and feed the pests. We (hereafter referring to me [@nitinsgr] and my flat mate Nithin K D [@nithinkd]) had managed to catch four of the family with about a quarter of a Parle G in the space of one night. I had no clue about KD’s awesome creativity when it came to murder (too). He lit a smoky fire in an unused earthen pot, kept the catch in the cage over its face, and covered it all with a cloth. Painlessly asphyxiated with a little carbon monoxide. There are about half a dozen more to be caught and executed in similar or smarter fashion. Will keep you posted.

So this friend calls up very early in the morning, having just returned from a Sufi music night, and a shade too moved to sleep. Few minutes into the conversation and I figured (or she confessed) that she was a little horny after the experience and needed some incitement. Okay. I like this new job. Though I remember I conveniently killed her desires talking about my running nose and phlegm and grey cough. Sorry about that girl. Some other time may be.

Also met @ambikajoshi after a gap of two years. She’s grown fabulously hotter and prettier, except for the fact that her getup makes no bones about her being a mixed South Indian. I think somewhere along the long conversation I mentioned her coming across as partly lesbian. And I still think she has the coolest parents ever.

Mamta, my cook has been barging in and out while I’ve been trying to write cribbing about their being no aata in the house for paranthas. She’s the most unsentimental woman I’m likely to meet. None of my jokes work on her. The sneers she would welcome me with in the morning continue till she steps out of the apartment. I’m pretty sure she thinks I’m a nasty human being and if not for the money I pay her, she would cut my spleen out with her swordish hands and gaze.

I’ve taken another off from work today. Dad seems pretty convinced that I couldn’t possibly get swine flu, and so far it’s just a change of weather according to him that’s hit me. I agree with him due to lack of options. I would anyway hate to die after a cardiac arrest (learnt this morning that’s how people with H1N1 are going).

I’ve good reasons to start looking for the next job, as I approach the end of my one year in the present one. Plus a colleague at work did me a psychic reading and claimed my karma in India is almost done with. I was terrified in the way she conducted this session and so I don’t quite believe too much in her foretelling.

We used to have a lot of pretty girls coming in to Mr. Raghu Rai (my next door neighbor, and yes the acclaimed photographer)’s house all the time. I think they did not appreciate me in my expensive Levi’s denim shorts and just that as every morning I lay chase for them in the corridor with tea in an even more expensive Borosil glass. No footfalls any more.

My foot fetish has taken a beating off late. With winter round the corner, I hope the girls will cover up and all that would be left to see and admire will be the bottoms. And whatever has happened to these amazingly hot girls in Delhi! I mean where’s the factory that’s producing them in such huge numbers anyway! In fact I remember a bunch of eleventh grade students from a school for the excessively rich had come visiting us at work for I don’t know what academic reasons; and the girls there! I mean I did not notice when I switched from talking about software and IT to telling one of the girls how pretty her brown streaks looked! There are just not enough men to match up to these growing numbers of desirable women. Sigh.

Okay. Blogging is not a pain after all. I can be interesting. Right? RIGHT?

In which I (re)discover I have a blog

Thursday seems to be a pretty irregular day to write a blog. But let’s not get into that, considering there’s been no wordfall here in the last couple of months. I calculated I’ve been writing consistently at intervals of 75 days. But there’s definitely one truth I would like to share with you – I’m most honest (with words or wisdom) when I’m sick. Have you figured the rest of this post shall be equally menacingly headless meaningless?

So I’m down with major flu right now. Took an off from work and it got so incredibly bland and difficult to not do anything that I’m here.

One thing I’ve been telling almost everyone I meet these days is that our jobs make us sad people. That, when I’m one of the very few workers who love what they do. I’ve changed since I started working. Tremendously. And it has cost me dearly on a personal level, while I’ve only grown happier on the material level. I used to be a most sensitive friend, boyfriend, son, brother, kin and all the rest. It has taken a definite beating. When I saw I could be a perfectionist on the work front, I let go of the obsessive desire to keep every part of the rest of my life in good shape. It sounds terrible as I write it and read it and hear it in my ears. But truth must be told. Even to self.

I stay in what could easily be the most peaceful location for a room in an apartment in this city. I’ve spent endless hours in my balcony that stretches to give a panoramic view of about 180 degrees of South Delhi, with beer in one hand and uncertainty that I’ve tended to clutch in the other. A decent number of women have come and admired the view and collectively the person who it belongs to now. I can recount almost no weekends when there’s not been a friend or two to drink with. I look at it as some sort of a calming influence after six mad days at work. My social circle has by all means expanded like crazy once I got into the job, but the time I spent with no body by my side has grown inversely to that number. I’ve met a lot of interesting people in the last few months, but few who I’ve come to really respect. Somehow finding faults with people has only gotten easier. And so has accepting them as they are. The manner in which I understood humanity has turned itself on its head. I remember I was a fairly closed person earlier. I hope some friends have known this. These days while my perspective has undergone a sea change, and by virtue of that I should be able to judge more wisely, I don’t. I let things happen. To me. If there’s a concept of living every day, I practice it now. I’m not averse to change of any kind. I assumed I can always go back to being what I was. Unfortunately, that time has never come. I’m only sinking deep into the shit of life and its ways.

As long as you were in college, it was pretty straightforward to not worry about the future. There was a set timeline when you knew things would happen on their own. Once out of that routine, time loses its significance. You know every day that you’re not inching closer to any deadline. The maximum you would do is remember how soon the year is coming to and end, or how long since the time you kissed a girl. Everything else ceases to exist. You don’t worry if you’re getting old. Or if your parents are. Because you were just thrown onto a mechanical belt that shall henceforth carry you through different stages of a process you will never figure. You are expected to obey and just do things, not worrying about what and where and when.

This is also the time when you derive a lot of useful information from things and people and events around you. Suddenly you will start to notice where your peers have reached on the ladder of life, and what struggles you must now do to keep up. The sheer magnitude of ways and means you could move ahead in life can drive you crazy. How many of us have been blessed with the vision to weigh and anticipate all options and choose the best?

Anyhow, the pills have worked on me undeniably. That’s the saddest I’ve been in like a long time! I shall write again soon. I promise. This time, I hope it’s not another 75 days.

Time for some adrak chai now.

Irresistible

Reproducing word for word an email I received this evening:

Dearest one,
I am a single girl searching for my soul mate, after reading a little about you whlie i was surfing the net, i became interested in you So please give me the chance to introduce myself to you.
My names are Rose Jasmine Awa i am 23 yrs old , i came from Liberia in Africa. I am the only daughter of Dr  Wilson Awa.  my late father was the director of ‘AWA INDUSTRIAL COMPANY LIMITED’ (AICL) before his death from the war going on in my country .It was on one early morning attack to my family killing both my parents on a cold blood as i am the only one left. i flew to a near by country Dakar Senegal where we are staying now as a refugee. I am doing my second year in nursing school before the incident occured.
Please kindly contact me with this my private email address so that i can send my pictures to you for further introductions. I will also want to know your likes and dislikes. I will tell you more about me in my next mail.
Awaiting to hear from you very soon, God bless you
yours faithfully,
Rose Jasmine.

Life in bullets

• I had a draft from last weekend discarded today thanks to lost relevance as the week happened. It was an astonishingly depressing read. I’m happy things change pretty quickly.
• I just had strawberries. For someone who is hippo lazy with eating, let alone buying fruits for his constant bi-dimensional self, this was a real treat.
• I’ve literally been living off beer and eggs for the last couple of weeks now.
• I’ve become very particular about reconnecting with old friends and making new ones lately. That front sees good progress.
• I’m much more of a geek now.
• My job is one of the most enjoyable things I’ve done in my conscious life. As it turns out, I’m surprisingly good at what I was hired for. Pray this lasts long.
• I got my ID done the day before. I’m so glad that I can avoid those distasteful grins from the lady at the reception who it seems finds it thoroughly satisfying for a day’s work on the job to open the doors for me. I know I’m generally smiling all the time but for the first time ever I feel this capacity is being taken undue advantage of.
• The official addressing phrase used for me in the office is ‘Sir’. Believe me, the recession hasn’t hit me.
• Tequila is good for even the seasoned ones. And I narrowly missed seeing someone cry yet again after a Thank God it Is Friday drinking last evening.
• Delhi 6 sucks. The drinking mentioned above was the natural effect of having hurt our feelings as we dragged through the monstrously disastrous storyline about raamleelas and kaale bandars and communalism and unmarried beautiful girls. High quality shit. Thanks to Sonam Kapoor’s well-aligned teeth and oh-so Simone Singh-y arms and the company of some very interesting people that I survived after a sleepless night the day before.
• I’m excited to move in to my apartment. I think it happens the coming weekend. Primarily I’m fantasizing about keeping a stockpile of beer cans in the refrigerator and hence lots of crazy parties. Someone suggested a housewarming. If you’re in Delhi, sign up in the comments section.
• I plan to keep a wish list. For all the bankers and consultants I have for friends and everyone else who loves me.
• I need to apply for a credit card. If you know any pesky callers, please forward my number. I realize I should have not registered on the DND registry everywhere.
• I’m tweeting since the last week @nitinsgr. If you are on Twitter, regardless of how interesting you are, kindly let me know how to find you. Facebook and this might actually kill my blog.
• I’ve loosened up a little on my financial strings. On the outset, I hope to drive most of it down the kitchens of some fine places to eat around the city.
• I’m looking forward to a lot of things/events this year. One of them being having more of my IIT friends joining me here in Delhi.
• eM has a boyfriend now. Regular.
• The bloggers I know have lost faith in writing.
• I was told a guy from our batch from a different hostel is a father now and looking for a job. IITians are a funny bunch.
• I need to salsa. Start by taking classes. Two things – partner and motivation.
• ISD must get cheaper now. Some people last a month in what it costs me a minute.
• New Friends Colony market is visited by some of the hottest (not pretty nor charming but plain hot) girls in Delhi.

It’s time to sleep.