glassy romance

Meet my 3d glasses with spunk. Rowdy fellow

so when that didn't work out, he went for my Fabulous brown ones.

Well, they are fcuk glasses.

holidaymorning

Do vampire dogs go voof?

Nokia should use the fact that everyone thinks their phones are unbreakable - in their ads - to their advantage.

I wish my landlord would let me drill nails on my wall.

He’s got such a weird face.

I’m sure someone out there has made an entire dress out of tape.

What am I going to accomplish by getting out of bed now anyway. Nothing.

Maybe I should have food and go to five gardens.

Alone?

Why didn’t more people like Alice by Burton. Fools

If 3d movies are so cool, why are the glasses so dorky. (Mental note: Never go for 3d movies with boys I like, or let them watch me eat a burger. Ever.)

Have a nice Saturday guys.

Wherefore art thou, red typewriter

I have wanted a red typewriter for quite a few years now. I have wanted a typewriter since I can remember. My uncle, a lawyer in Chennai, used to have a number of typewriters in his house/office. My cousin, the said uncle’s son, never let me touch them.

Subsequently, said uncle, got a number of computers and chucked all but one typewriter. It was now my cousin’s turn to not let me touch any of the computers, but ah, now I could finally clickety away at the typewriter. This was a large, grey and ancient typewriter. The pages would invariably jam after every five lines. I loved it. I loved the font and I loved the feel. They got rid of the typewriter as well. Or was it that we just stopped visiting them.

In any case, I’m certain its gone now.

***

So sometime mid-way through college I realised that I still wanted a typewriter. Of course, to mark my newly acquired ‘taste’, I now specifically wanted a shiny red typewriter. Not that I would complain, (well I would complain, but very silently and guiltily) if I got a typewriter of another colour. Why a red one?

Look here, I've placed a photo of the thing right up at the beginning. It’s a beauty that’s why.

So I decided I wanted one quite badly. Then, you might wonder, is it really that difficult to get ones hands on a nice shiny red typewriter? Well, I would not know. I don’t suppose anything would be too difficult once you set your mind to it.

Next question, um, so why have you not gone and bought yourself one if you want it so bad?

Well, I have preserved it for romance. I have kept it there allowing an opportunity for romance. If you don’t understand, here – I am waiting for someone special to buy it for me, and when that happens it would be the most romantic gift ever. Now that that’s stuck in my head, even if I did find the thing somewhere, I would probably pretend I didn’t see it.

That is where the Disney princess syndrome kicks in. I expect everyone who loves me to treat me like I am f.ing Jasmine from Aladdin. What I fail to note is that none of these Disney girls ever seem to have to demand romance, it is given to them freely and selflessly. For they are more beautiful than the lone shining star in the deep limitless night. When they smile, the world stops turning. Her laughter is like the gurgling hoo ha dee dah bazoonka. Well not quite, but you get the drift.

Alright, let’s say mine is not a world-stopper smile. It is relatively photogenic yes, but possibly prettiest when fake. I am not the lone shining star of anything. I get cranky, angry, scream, swear, trip, drop food on myself and can’t sing. If I do sing, no birds come flitting my way. In any case, I don’t like birds coming too close to me. They freak me out. (They have claws and are fluttery. shudder). So having established I’m not princess Jasmine, or any of the others, does it automatically mean I cannot be the supremely most important thing in someones life?

Ok I have digressed. End point, I love gifts. If you love me, you buy me gifts. Gifts that I love.

Wherefore art thou, red typewriter. Where, romance. Come here soon, do not make me come get you, you will not like it.

DISCLAIMER: (For I am a lawyer, and we must do this) [This is not me asking everyone who reads my blog to buy me stuff. Remember, you do not love me. This is not me saying my boy sitting there somewhere does not buy me stuff. He does, and they’re super. This is just me explaining why I have not bought my typewriter yet.]

please to see

This is an email I received from a complete stranger. Made my day. You cannot make this stuff up. I have copy-pasted the email here - word-by-word original stuff my friends.

GP Sharma t o pssreekanth, me

pl note the cell no. of L.Ganesan S/o Lakshmana sastrigal of malkaji giri who is son-in-law of my friend Ramachadra is working in good position in computer company near india councilate bldg. you can meet him with my introduction. if he can help you anyway he may do it. his cell 00971504524004 at Dubai

2. another one friend Mr. Pavan of hyderabad is running a industry at Dubai. he can also help you for contact him with my introduction as told by kannan. or request Krishna od Chigago whise email is tk@iyka.com

these are for your information.

affly chitta

Life does have its moments of pure unadulterated genius. Pure unadulterated (possibly) unintentional genius. I jumped up and down a bit, then forwarded this to a couple of friends who immediately proclaimed their undying love for me. It made their day too.

Enjoy Nagamani.

Photo(s) of the (Wednes)day

Here are some photos I got out of my cousin's wedding which I like enough to put up here. I am the very sentimental type, and it does show in a lot of stuff I write, photograph or draw. These are the less mushy more anonymous ones of the nine hundred photos I took at the wedding.

Yes, well.

flower massacre - just post wedding

Excursion

I did lower kindergarten to third standard in this school called Chinmaya Vidyalaya in Chennai, Tamil Nadu (for those fools who think all of South India is medras). Every year, for those five years, I was taken to Guindy Zoo for my class excursion. I suppose I liked Guindy Zoo enough, it was better than no excursion. Dirty bloody zoo.

So one of these excursions, I run off to go see the crocodiles. My friend and I are peeping over the top of the wall trying to spot the creature in the stinking mess. Then it moves, quite suddenly, right under us.

We shriek, run, promptly fall into a thorn bush and get poked. Well, she got a thorn rammed into her leg, I got some scrapes (they were stingy scrapes, but still nothing like getting a thorn rammed into my leg I suppose). So the teacher gives her a hug, yells at me and says she is disappointed in me (because I chose to run into a thorn bush) and drags me over to the bus.

I felt like a fool

Photo of the (Wednes)day

Don't think I forgot.

Forget that I almost did.

Here is my photo of the day for this Wednesday which will be done soon.

Bombay, have I told you lately that I love you?

Goodnight

allow me, pope

There is no such thing as eternal sunshine, falls well as there is no spotless mind.
Then why blame my spotty spotted thought, and all its simple spottered rhymes.
Then why blame me for spot filled actions, for pure white truth spattered with lies.
My tears are not a thing of beauty, don’t look at me with your spotless sight
We are not eternal yet, our love may still lose without a fight
Do not believe in eternal sunshine, but do keep faith in your spotted mind

bombay lesson #1

you have your headphones on, you're in a dingy taxi, there's a beautiful song playing.
you see the old and well adjusted buildings, homes of millions, streaming past you outside.
you roll down the window, the wind hits your face and races through your hair.
you are flying high.

DO NOT FORGET YOURSELF AND INHALE DEEPLY.

you do forget yourself, forget that you are in Bombay, and inhale deep in an attempt to take in all that the situation in its poetic moment has to offer.
you choke, roll up with window, tear off the headphones and ride the rest of the way in stony silence.

here we say - sights, sounds and distinctive smells of Bombay.

come on in

An integral part of my existence and component of my happiness is wrapped around day dreaming and creating imaginary worlds. I enjoy both immensely. In fact, my friend R and I became quite close over our common love for day dreaming and most of my other friends have been subject to my relationship with my imagination.

This post in the usual style of dark-or-sad that plagues most of my entries should ideally end with me saying, oh but I have lost the will to dream. Thankfully, I have not. Not in the least.

Growing up, and post, I have always had a sufficient number of friends. To talk to, play, gossip and laugh or cry with, as the situation commands. However, my closest friends have always been the imaginary ones (honestly, this could be because I hardly get along well with anyone who is not me). These guys have filled in every gap I have in the past found, and do presently find, in my life. They have been built by my mind to be true, faithful and discerning. They are careful to enter only when I need them terribly, so as to not have me label myself as someone in serious need of psychological help.

The day dreams are different. The imaginary folk never enter my day dreams, helping keep it real. They know well enough that I depend on these day dreams to get me through rocky or steadily boring phases and having them play a role would destroy hope. Hope is a necessary element for my day dreams, to believe they will come true one day. I find it impossible to dream of impossibles. I need basis, I have logic following through pillar to pillar as I carefully, and painstakingly, construct my day dreams.

There is your insight into my mind for the day. I shall end it with very good advice - yes I do say so myself - always have a few imaginary friends and do invest some of your time in day dreams. You must create meaning for your life, it will not present itself to you.

Photo of the (Wednes)day

It was time for a new look. I wish blogger let you do a bit more though. Actually maybe it does, I just don't know how to do a bit more. I have decided to put up some photos randomly taken from here and there on my blog from time to time. I'd like to say I'll make it a wednesday thing, but knowing me that would only ensure that it doesn't ever become a wednesday thing. So let's see.

Here is a photo. Have a great wednesday.

long live.

Mine is a doomed generation

Where words sound hollow and sex rules high

Guilt once stepped in so easily, into our minds,

Now it dare not enter our corrupt lives

We live guilt free, fault free, will free

Our minds, with minds of their own drive

Drive us into numb days and numb nights

We have achieved independence,

Not from fear, but from feelings

masochism

Run fast and hard, leave it all behind

There is more poetry in her hair, than there is in her lies

Run fast and hard, to be a willing sacrifice

You may never smile again,

Leave your laugh behind

You have been delivered your girl

Let her rule your life, mark your end and blow your mind.

the takeover code, in love

In life, in love, we need the takeover code, as much as we do in law.

Why?

You can have creeping acquisitions, but whenever your feelings for someone cross certain thresholds, it is best you make public announcements and where necessary, offers. Else, it might be construed as a hostile takeover attempt by the target who would then proceed to get you, and your foolish heart, into a lot of trouble.

While you suffer with the penalty, the target would get rescued by a white knight.

What can I say?

[apologies to those who have no idea what the takeover code is]