September 26, 2010

So after five days of torment by a savage fever, last night at 11.15pm, I was zapped out of every will to move, talk, even to keep my eyes open. Every food tasted like chemical, every breath felt like fire. There was nobody at home, and I felt like dying. So, I randomly left my bed, and in a last bid to make myself feel good, switched the TV on. Channels 15 to 56. PURE TRASH! I felt like throwing up. Then on Sony Pix, PARIS JE T'AIME, and well, it has been 16 hours, and I've been well. No fever.

September 21, 2010

We Are A (Happy) Family

So once upon a time in this forest lived an elephant-ess that was elected the Mother Mary of the forest, and so in order to stay true to The Bible, she had to stay a virgin. This meant that no baby-elephants from Mommy Elephant. So, she decided to adopt two 'pink' children. One was a shy Pink Pig, the other was a boisterous Pink Pokemon called Clefairy.

One normal day in this family:

Clefairy: Hey Piggy, I've written a poem for you. Wanna listen?
Piggy: Yeah, sure.
Clefairy: (Opera-singer-esque sing-song voice)
Piggy on the railway, picking up stones
Down came an engine and broke Piggy's bones
Oh! said Piggy, "That's not fair!"
Ah! said the engine driver, "I don't care".
Piggy: *starts wailing* Mommy Mommy look, Clefairy is teasing me by reciting that old poem again.
Mommy Elephantess: Clefairy, you repeat that one more time, and you shall go to bed without supper.
Clefairy: You always take her side, Mom
Elpehantess: Tum dono hi mere aankhon ke sitaarein ho.
Main tum dono se ek jaisa pyaar karti hoon.

Moral of the story: This is a happy-family story. Rare, in today's world.

September 18, 2010

Right now I realized, some things are meant to be never grown out of. It is 5.40 am, and the sight of the rain and the dark-gray sky outside my window takes me back to the vision. I realize that the sight of it raining shall always take me back to the same vision. The vision of the hill outside my window. The heavy downpour, and the lush greenery. And me lying on my bed. Paradise within my hands' reach. Smell of the wet-hill, aroma of childhood. Forever, and ever.Always.

This isn't clinging on. This is identity.

September 14, 2010

Meow Meow.

My blood group is ‘O’, but of the negative rhesus. So, according to Indian films and television, in case I happen to be crushed under a speeding vehicle or be diagnosed with blood-cancer, even if I am rushed to “the hospital” pretty early into the emergency, I shall never find any donors, and only when I am at the lowest depth of the health-deterioration trench, shall there be a ‘miracle’, and I will have a long-lost blood-relative or a holier-than-thou secret well-wisher stepping in to rescue me. There is a very high probability again that nothing of that sort shall happen and I shall recede and recede lower into the trench until finally the messengers of Yamah come for me to row me across the Vaitarna.

I personally know some ‘celebrities’. Of limited talent and caliber, but with fan-bases larger than credible actors like Rebecca Hall or Churni Ganguly. Say, Mr. X is a ‘celebrity’ I know. Now, suppose he is really accomplished at his music, and has noteworthy potential in that field. Instead of honing his existing skills and becoming a master at his craft, Mr. X almost always chooses the path to easy popularity, partying around a lot, with good-looking Ms. Y’s and Ms. Z’s wanting-and-waiting to be flaunted as his arm-candies. Then Mr. X acts in neo-intellectual indie films, which no one understands, with full realization that these films could be his only chance at fulfilling the essential ‘philm-ka-hero’ dreams. And he also balances a lot else, small-time modeling, painting, penning B-grade and/or unoriginal literature. For a short while, he is everywhere. He is blinded by the dazzle of the momentary popularity, but he loses touch with his own craft. And pretty soon, he is banished to obscurity as, well, he has been ignoring his own craft and is an epitome of mediocrity at everything else he dabbles at. Thus occurs the Death of an Artist.

I have been singing myself to sleep of late. Sometimes celebratory songs, sometimes lachrymal-gland-stimulating ones, they vary according to my mood. It helps me to be at peace with myself. It might sound like a hilarious concept, but you should try it, especially if you are sad.

Okay, random banter of the day ends here. Will continue later.