Always sleep with the lights on,
The demons will soon be here.
Slaves unto death of the Satan's son,
They feel neither remorse nor fear.
They do what they are wrought to do,
Carnage in their wake they leave.
And then all one can do is rue
One's fate: and at the loss of lives grieve.
See that distante dark cloud of dust?
It's them coming, run away fast.
They can not be killed, they rise again,
They have what has to be the curse of life.
Full of power, yet they know not how to be vain,
They recognise only the language of the knife.
See that approaching deadly cloud of dust?
Run if you value your life, run away fast.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Friday, November 12, 2010
MY FAVOURITE PROVERBS
1. May his sole rest in piss.
2. All that is colourless is not vodka.
3. A little dope is a wonderful thing.
4. A tandoori chicken in the stomach is worth two in the tandoor.
5. A peg of whisky is a joy forever.
6. A bore and his girlfriend are soon parted.
7. Two pegs a day keeps the cardiologist away.
8. What you eat is what you puke.
9. A drunk man will clutch at anything.
10. A joint in time saves wine.
2. All that is colourless is not vodka.
3. A little dope is a wonderful thing.
4. A tandoori chicken in the stomach is worth two in the tandoor.
5. A peg of whisky is a joy forever.
6. A bore and his girlfriend are soon parted.
7. Two pegs a day keeps the cardiologist away.
8. What you eat is what you puke.
9. A drunk man will clutch at anything.
10. A joint in time saves wine.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
SPIRIT
Well, here I am, this is me. But, unlike Bryan bhai, there IS somewhere else on Earth I would rather be. Some place where I am absolutely alone. Sometimes it's better to be a coward and run away than stand and fight. Fight with disease that is. It's okay to fight if the person is really sick; and not giving stupid complaints like 'ghabrahat' (what the fuck ever that is), 'stopped talking from the last 10 minutes' (must have nothing substantial to say, eh?), 'headche following trauma about 3 years back' (pretty long lucid interval, one would say) etc. etc. They then ask for an 'Ex-array' or ultrasound. Everyone loves a free lunch.
And most of these patients are females in the range of 15 to 45 years of age. I feel like tearing the hair out. Their, not mine. I would have given them a treatment regime of my invention if I had my way. The OTS regime I call it, One Tight Slap. It's not just that they 'sit on my head', they also draw away the doctor from patients who really need care by their screaming, shouting, and rambling. Their lemon-sucking hysterics. How I hate that.
That's why I wish i was some other place. A secluded beach. The golden sand, clear blue skies, the green sea. A decanter of chilled iced tea by my side. The cry of the gulls. Bliss. Maybe a camera to click some pics? If wishes were horses. It's aight and I am stuck here, mate. Listening to stupid, attention-seeking idiots whinning their shit out.
Weeeell, changing ones mind is a female pregorative. But I would grab it now. I don't want to go anywhere else. I want to listen to their rambling and absurd complaints. Their requests for 'Ex-array' and other investigations. The numerous requests to be admitted as their 'cundishun' is serious. I would miss them. And, hell, whom would I shout at if I were sitting alone at a beach? Here I am, this is me, there's nowhere else on Earth I would rather be!
And most of these patients are females in the range of 15 to 45 years of age. I feel like tearing the hair out. Their, not mine. I would have given them a treatment regime of my invention if I had my way. The OTS regime I call it, One Tight Slap. It's not just that they 'sit on my head', they also draw away the doctor from patients who really need care by their screaming, shouting, and rambling. Their lemon-sucking hysterics. How I hate that.
That's why I wish i was some other place. A secluded beach. The golden sand, clear blue skies, the green sea. A decanter of chilled iced tea by my side. The cry of the gulls. Bliss. Maybe a camera to click some pics? If wishes were horses. It's aight and I am stuck here, mate. Listening to stupid, attention-seeking idiots whinning their shit out.
Weeeell, changing ones mind is a female pregorative. But I would grab it now. I don't want to go anywhere else. I want to listen to their rambling and absurd complaints. Their requests for 'Ex-array' and other investigations. The numerous requests to be admitted as their 'cundishun' is serious. I would miss them. And, hell, whom would I shout at if I were sitting alone at a beach? Here I am, this is me, there's nowhere else on Earth I would rather be!
Sunday, September 5, 2010
NONE FOR ME
“Do you want to read? Do you want to listen to the radio?” I asked myself.
“I don’t wanna read. I think Rushdie sucks, I told myself.
“Oh, so you want some music?
“Nope.”
“What’s up then?”
“I dunno.”
“How about reading someone else?”
“Can I read with my eyes closed?”
“You can only dream with your eyes closed, asshole. And sleep. And yawn and sneeze.”
“I wanna write.”
“Then do it.”
“Okay, you win inner voice.”
Eyes wide open. I am what I call myself an ELR. English Loving Reader. Not the kind of crappy Indian English that ends up winning Booker Prizes. Good syntax, great grammar, and a dry humour is what I appreciate. All put forward in “english”. Not things like “Arre, yaar, I am here for you, na!” Things like “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times….”; “A small dusty man in a small dusty room”; “A squat gray building only thirty-four storeys high”; “It was love at first sight. The first time Yossarian saw the chaplain he fell madly in love with him”.
Sorry Messrs Dickens, MacLean, Huxley, and Heller. “Mischief managed”!!
So, I love english. Call me a non-resident firang. See, I am getting into Booker groove too. Attaboy. There’s more to come. Just hold on to your balls.
Today is supposed to be the birth anniversary of Lord Krishna, called Janmasthami. I say “supposed” as I have had read about Him only in mythology, not history. It was also the death day of one of my teeth. Upper right later incisor, maybe, to be precise. I am no daant-waala-daktar yaar . Anyways, I had tried to conquer a closed gate by climbing over it, slipped, and fell flat on my face. The dentist (daant-waala-daktar) said I had fractured the aforesaid tooth and it had to be removed. He then sawed, cut, bayoneted half my gums away before taking it out. In three unequal pieces. So much for informed consent. Then he prescribed some painkillers and advised cold, semi-solid diet for the day.
I came back to my room in a hand-pulled rickshaw, watched some television, had a semi-solid lunch ( bread with cold milk) and some painkillers (not outta fun, I assure you), and had some sleep. No adda, since the guys I share the accommodation with were on duty and I am on leave. They got back in the evening and I went out with one of them to get my jeans altered and my uniform pressed.
Now, my unit has Mandir program today in view of Janmasthami ehich my colleagues had to attend. And I am on leave, remember? So they had to miss dinner and I decided to forget about the “semi-solid” part of my diet. Rather, I thought about replacing “cold, semi-solid” with “cold, fluid”. So I went to the Officers’ Institute in the regiment to complete my day’s diet-chilled beer.
After three chilled (and fluid) beers, I was full and slightly inebriated, though happy, because I had listened to my dentist. I decide out of euphoria not to heed another of his advises and I lit a cigarette as I started to walk back to my quarters. By the way, he had not asked me not to walk.
Bollywood movies can be very crappy and I love them just because they are crappy. Such things don’t happen in real life, na? (I Hate Love Storys). But there was once this movie called Aur Pyaar Ho Gaaya (Booker calling) that had stolen the show at that time. Some newer movies can compete- a stammerer starrer, in which the stuttering hero catches up with a Scorpion (an SUV not the star sign) on a hand-pulled rickshaw. Aur Pyaar Ho Gaaya involved something much bigger- an airplane. The airplane carrying the female lead is on its final taxi and about to take off, when the long haired hero stops it riding a Jeep. Hey, now I see the connection- Mahindra Automobiles (Scorpio and Jeep). And they live happily ever after. No, I am not dishing out all this bullshit just to increase the length of my story. This has context. Back after a while though. Need some tea- Kashmiri tea that a friend has procured.
Okay, I was walking back to my quarters when I saw a brightly lit temple ahead of me, with music blaring out of it. “Celebrations,” I thought. But the some had a familiar ring. Then I recalled. Remember the crappy movie I was talking about, na? It had a Sufi number by the late Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan. Suprisingly that was the song playing in the temple-albeit with the lyrics changed to praise Lord Krishna. I laughed out loud. Sufi bhajan, eh? Then I thought whether it was ignorance or blasphemy. Or maybe it was unity in diversity- the beginning of the end of religious zealotry? Maybe someday “Om Jay Jagadish Hare” with lyrics praising Allah will be sung in mosques? Or maybe hymns wound be sung in Punjabi in Gurudwaras? Who knows- there’s this adage “It happens only in India”. Oops: “It happens in India only, na?”
The my inebriated brain stopped taking the pressure and I puffed my way to my room, not much unlike a steam engine.
So, I may go back to reading now or may go to sleep. But I think it’s better to sleep. Then I can dream about winning some great literary prize. I think I have incorporated enough Indianisms in the story. See?
“I don’t wanna read. I think Rushdie sucks, I told myself.
“Oh, so you want some music?
“Nope.”
“What’s up then?”
“I dunno.”
“How about reading someone else?”
“Can I read with my eyes closed?”
“You can only dream with your eyes closed, asshole. And sleep. And yawn and sneeze.”
“I wanna write.”
“Then do it.”
“Okay, you win inner voice.”
Eyes wide open. I am what I call myself an ELR. English Loving Reader. Not the kind of crappy Indian English that ends up winning Booker Prizes. Good syntax, great grammar, and a dry humour is what I appreciate. All put forward in “english”. Not things like “Arre, yaar, I am here for you, na!” Things like “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times….”; “A small dusty man in a small dusty room”; “A squat gray building only thirty-four storeys high”; “It was love at first sight. The first time Yossarian saw the chaplain he fell madly in love with him”.
Sorry Messrs Dickens, MacLean, Huxley, and Heller. “Mischief managed”!!
So, I love english. Call me a non-resident firang. See, I am getting into Booker groove too. Attaboy. There’s more to come. Just hold on to your balls.
Today is supposed to be the birth anniversary of Lord Krishna, called Janmasthami. I say “supposed” as I have had read about Him only in mythology, not history. It was also the death day of one of my teeth. Upper right later incisor, maybe, to be precise. I am no daant-waala-daktar yaar . Anyways, I had tried to conquer a closed gate by climbing over it, slipped, and fell flat on my face. The dentist (daant-waala-daktar) said I had fractured the aforesaid tooth and it had to be removed. He then sawed, cut, bayoneted half my gums away before taking it out. In three unequal pieces. So much for informed consent. Then he prescribed some painkillers and advised cold, semi-solid diet for the day.
I came back to my room in a hand-pulled rickshaw, watched some television, had a semi-solid lunch ( bread with cold milk) and some painkillers (not outta fun, I assure you), and had some sleep. No adda, since the guys I share the accommodation with were on duty and I am on leave. They got back in the evening and I went out with one of them to get my jeans altered and my uniform pressed.
Now, my unit has Mandir program today in view of Janmasthami ehich my colleagues had to attend. And I am on leave, remember? So they had to miss dinner and I decided to forget about the “semi-solid” part of my diet. Rather, I thought about replacing “cold, semi-solid” with “cold, fluid”. So I went to the Officers’ Institute in the regiment to complete my day’s diet-chilled beer.
After three chilled (and fluid) beers, I was full and slightly inebriated, though happy, because I had listened to my dentist. I decide out of euphoria not to heed another of his advises and I lit a cigarette as I started to walk back to my quarters. By the way, he had not asked me not to walk.
Bollywood movies can be very crappy and I love them just because they are crappy. Such things don’t happen in real life, na? (I Hate Love Storys). But there was once this movie called Aur Pyaar Ho Gaaya (Booker calling) that had stolen the show at that time. Some newer movies can compete- a stammerer starrer, in which the stuttering hero catches up with a Scorpion (an SUV not the star sign) on a hand-pulled rickshaw. Aur Pyaar Ho Gaaya involved something much bigger- an airplane. The airplane carrying the female lead is on its final taxi and about to take off, when the long haired hero stops it riding a Jeep. Hey, now I see the connection- Mahindra Automobiles (Scorpio and Jeep). And they live happily ever after. No, I am not dishing out all this bullshit just to increase the length of my story. This has context. Back after a while though. Need some tea- Kashmiri tea that a friend has procured.
Okay, I was walking back to my quarters when I saw a brightly lit temple ahead of me, with music blaring out of it. “Celebrations,” I thought. But the some had a familiar ring. Then I recalled. Remember the crappy movie I was talking about, na? It had a Sufi number by the late Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan. Suprisingly that was the song playing in the temple-albeit with the lyrics changed to praise Lord Krishna. I laughed out loud. Sufi bhajan, eh? Then I thought whether it was ignorance or blasphemy. Or maybe it was unity in diversity- the beginning of the end of religious zealotry? Maybe someday “Om Jay Jagadish Hare” with lyrics praising Allah will be sung in mosques? Or maybe hymns wound be sung in Punjabi in Gurudwaras? Who knows- there’s this adage “It happens only in India”. Oops: “It happens in India only, na?”
The my inebriated brain stopped taking the pressure and I puffed my way to my room, not much unlike a steam engine.
So, I may go back to reading now or may go to sleep. But I think it’s better to sleep. Then I can dream about winning some great literary prize. I think I have incorporated enough Indianisms in the story. See?
Monday, July 27, 2009
BY MARIO PUZO
Well, recently I read "The Godfather Papers and Other Confessions" by Mario Puzo. There was was piece that made of read it again and again. Though I could not understand some of it, I loved all of it. Hope you guys enjoy it too. Here its for you, with due respect to, and admiration for, Mario Puzo :
And man has to love someone and since love is not durable...and must did, it follows that a man has to love many times. I'm not talking about lust...or those phony playacting affairs that men act out with complacent women. I mean a desire to love, a willingness to accept pain and humiliation and if necessary to be damaged. Women are more important thu I thought. And that's a really funny line... But it makes of mad...what I always thought a weakness...is a weakness that a man must have to acquire or keep his strength.
And this is true of women as it is with men. It must be. And since they have even more pressure...how much more damaged must they be for not being allowed to love.
And so what."
And man has to love someone and since love is not durable...and must did, it follows that a man has to love many times. I'm not talking about lust...or those phony playacting affairs that men act out with complacent women. I mean a desire to love, a willingness to accept pain and humiliation and if necessary to be damaged. Women are more important thu I thought. And that's a really funny line... But it makes of mad...what I always thought a weakness...is a weakness that a man must have to acquire or keep his strength.
And this is true of women as it is with men. It must be. And since they have even more pressure...how much more damaged must they be for not being allowed to love.
And so what."
Sunday, July 26, 2009
EVERYTHING IN BETWEEN
Death, destruction. Decay and anger,
But to fidelity one is no stranger.
Hate, love. Psychosis and insanity,
Friendship? Start of an inane enmity.
Rotten, smelly. Odorous and fey,
Hell is Heaven, whatever one would say.
Dark, light. Noise and serenity
Idiocy is mostly the dearth of ingenuity.
Screams and shouts, a poor man raving
Where is the love? Is revenge forgiving?
A river of black blood to be drank,
Blood red grass dying on its bank.
A blue, blue sky right there to be killed.
An empty pitcher here, waiting to be filled.
Tomorrow is a hope, yesterday is stale,
Dance, smile, dance in the storm and hale.
A decaying body, a mind so horrendous,
Macabre; a venture of life so tremendous.
A pain, a rain, a licence to kill
Here and now, life and death, a test of will.
Seas of life, that are yet to be seen,
Heaven and Hell, and everything in between.
But to fidelity one is no stranger.
Hate, love. Psychosis and insanity,
Friendship? Start of an inane enmity.
Rotten, smelly. Odorous and fey,
Hell is Heaven, whatever one would say.
Dark, light. Noise and serenity
Idiocy is mostly the dearth of ingenuity.
Screams and shouts, a poor man raving
Where is the love? Is revenge forgiving?
A river of black blood to be drank,
Blood red grass dying on its bank.
A blue, blue sky right there to be killed.
An empty pitcher here, waiting to be filled.
Tomorrow is a hope, yesterday is stale,
Dance, smile, dance in the storm and hale.
A decaying body, a mind so horrendous,
Macabre; a venture of life so tremendous.
A pain, a rain, a licence to kill
Here and now, life and death, a test of will.
Seas of life, that are yet to be seen,
Heaven and Hell, and everything in between.
Monday, July 20, 2009
FORTIFIED MAN
Sleepless, i think of the times gone by,
Sober, a little sad, silent i lie.
A grey evening and a black dawn,
Bright stars and a shadow reborn.
Bleak under the shadow, the world is wan,
Strong and supple is the fortified man,
Because slain and bleeding though they lie,
They still live on and refuse to die!
Sober, a little sad, silent i lie.
A grey evening and a black dawn,
Bright stars and a shadow reborn.
Bleak under the shadow, the world is wan,
Strong and supple is the fortified man,
Because slain and bleeding though they lie,
They still live on and refuse to die!
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