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

December 3, 2010 § 3 Comments

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 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.


In which I (re)discover I have a blog

August 20, 2009 § 1 Comment

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.

Life in bullets

February 21, 2009 § 4 Comments

  • 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.

The one where I ‘write’ write

October 24, 2008 § 2 Comments

I know. I’ve been a total ass these days. I realize that this space is not a Twitter substitute (OK OK. That’s the last thing about technology in this post!), nor is it the place to read your morning headlines. It’s a blog for fuck’s sake. Let me try to help this page regain some lost glory and attention.

If you are one to read news and breaking news online, not necessarily about dozen times a day like me, I suppose you do erroneously surf the Times of India’s website at times. And so if you have a keen eye, you would have noticed this minor addition to the tabs in the top right snippet corner, the section titled ‘HotKlix’. It demands nothing of your imagination and intelligence with respect to what the links could contain. The primary objective is to cater to the lecherous amongst us, very many by that classification and thus the revenue model is perfectly in place, so to barely preclude an anxious parent’s lawsuit against the obtrusive immorality being served on these pages, the smart guys throw in lots of popular and very relevant news items as well. It is anybody’s guess that once you actually land up on the website, Nicolas Sarkozy is nobody and Wall Street is nowhere while Kim Kardashian with the same size bust and butt is the person of the moment and the next moment. Right now, two of their four top headlines are about a $5 million bra (wonder by Jove!) and a sizzling hot desi model on the ramp.

I have also lately taken a fancy to reading quotes of all kinds from all sites. I wouldn’t hold back how I feel about it. I think it’s a very intelligent habit. I just have to try and remember some of them. Although I wonder if the authors just happened to say them in the middle of a conversation with a person nobody remembers or did they actually thought hard for hours or months about what to say when and to whom about what, with a singularity of purpose before sending a bunch to add to an ongoing compilation. If it was Shakespeare or Einstein then I’d understand: for one it was a job and the other had more brains than thousands of me combined. How they did it, doesn’t matter. It’s the other comparatively insignificant lot but significant in number I’m worried about. Basically, a thing I once said in passing that really made sense to one of you or cracked you up so nicely that you wished you had more holes in your body, could it ever graduate to a celebrated quote? Probably I’m all desperate to get famous, and clearly not in the right way(s).

I came home yesterday to find my sister reading ‘You are here’ by Meenakshi Reddy Madhavan. Yes. Her. eM. The Compulsive Confessor. The girl with a blog that continues to raise eyes, among other things, you know. I mean who gets a tattoo marginally above her hip and puts a tantalizing digital display of that seductive art up on the web! With this tiny hint, I think it’s easier to understand why some publisher scrambled at her feet to put together a book with content right off her wildly famous blog. I must actually tell you how she once replied, yes, responded one-on-one to a comment I’d left on one of her posts. This was about the time when I’d just started my own blog and was heavily into randomizing on the Internet in search of people to blogroll and hence comment. I can also tell you how for that entire day I was aroused in a non-sexual sort of way. Such was/is the spell of the sorceress. Anyway, back then I was yet to meet any of the girls who would soon be my girlfriends, and Meenakshi was just too fascinating. Later however her bubble burst. I found her on an NDTV show, and what I saw would strongly tell me her life couldn’t possibly be as explosive as it sounds in print. I hope she finds me out someday and takes me for a reality check ride to Turquoise Cottage. I shall introduce the new Wills Classic Verve to her if she hasn’t smoked it already while she gulps her shots down and in her half-intelligent situation I would finally tell her how I think she’s outrageously overpriced.

Next week post Diwali I have a couple of my (still rich) investment banker pals from London and Hong Kong visiting. Yes I do have friends in all the right places. I see lots of good food and drinks in my immediate future. Plus lots of talking and talking of subprime and American accent and IIT and common friends and Chinese skin and living costs in England and girlfriends that are and that were and that could have been and that should have been and that could never be and that could still be.

Where is everybody!

August 22, 2008 § 3 Comments

I have been noticing this not-so brief calm in the blogosphere lately. All the good people who used to write good things and left me feeling good after I read them seem to be feeling not good and rosy about populating their spaces these recessional days. Of course I’m not entitled to sulk and holler and complain, as I’m proudly one of your own. Anyhow, let’s not be fault-finding right away.

It’s not that I really have anything to say you know. Just that this morning the Uncle I’m staying with (Noida. Mother’s sister’s place. Etc.) observed I don’t wear undershirts. I think this began since that one time I discovered I’d been wiping dust off my shoes and table and chair and mirror and monitor with a white vest Maa had so affectionately picked for me while I was getting ready to enter college. It’s sometimes funny how our parents can delusion themselves into believing the kids would appear changed only in terms of how much engineering and science and technology they know at the end of four years. While their good-natured counsel about fruits and green vegetables and sleep-on-time and study and no girls and no liquor continued forever, I was sinfully doing things my folks couldn’t by Toutatis believe even existed! There are times I cut a sorry picture even today thinking how much they don’t know about their children. And how their hearts would skip beats worth a few generations if ever they were narrated in the span of a few minutes the long story of our strange unmotivated evolution. The entire unpleasant tale of how decadency seeped in our lives. How we have germinated into a revolutionary new genus altogether. I fear they’d not understand. Ever.

Anyway, I never much liked the idea of something noticeably visible under the other nifty thing that we spend hundreds-thousands on. And it’s not even like we men have anything to hide there either right. OK I know there’s perspiration and all that logical stuff that I can never refute. But come on, a Sunny Deol special Lux Cozi or a Macho Man! It makes me feel so third-worldly!

And the other day I was watching Salman ask Katrina on his talk show to guess how many Indian women wear their husband’s underwear! Our well-kept ancient tradition is not guarded anymore. I thought we were a (cough) horny bunch who did a whole lot of crazy things and never talked about them. Apparently not. Even the London lass now commands knowledge about something my explorative perverted mind had never dared to imagine.

{Tea comes in. To be served while I type sitting on a chair and feet on the bed and lap in my lap. So royal for a feeling}

So, no wonder Katrina has left him. He’s fucking dying a bachelor if not a virgin!

Totally unrelated, but I have also been thinking about how we discover our real selves in a relationship. How, if you can escape one before you’re old enough to marry a passport-size photograph and an A4-size bio-data, you’ll never face your fears and dislikes and insecurities. You’ll go on living assuming you’re perfect in every sense and whatever comes along will by default have to confirm to your ways. But that, unfortunately is not so. At least not the right way of living. You are naturally good as you are, because by the time you’re twenty-plus the world has accepted you. But you refuse the possibility of getting better by not confronting your shortcomings, and some of us might have plenty of those. It takes a lot of strength to bear someone telling you about your character deficiencies. And it takes a lot more to work on them. And perhaps you can never get it all right. But the chase for perfection is always fun and rewarding. For someone else if not you.

Either way, this is naturally a slanted opinion arising mostly off my own ripened affairs. And I’m just talking anyway.

I’m about to turn twenty-four soon. And for a little-known fact, the last three haven’t been too great for me in terms I could explain and you’d understand but let’s not go that far. The next four-five months carry the fearful burden of acting decisively on the impending life. The fate of the blog and the blogger hang precariously somewhere. I have been telling myself the worst is about to get over.

This birthday, that is all I’ll pray for.

Uncle doesn’t know I ain’t much fond of belts and goggles either. Hah.

Playing Hands Down – Dashboard Confessional…

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