14/05/2011 (didn't publish because it's meaningless and badly written)

Thanks to Chunni I have become obsessed with this song that she posted on her blog a couple of days back in a way I didn't imagine I could. The Kominas are so fucking fearless you can't help but fall violently in love with them. Beautiful men singing so much sense in Punjabi is only pure perfection. I almost fail every exam because of finding a new band to stalk and dreaming about situations that involve me meeting them.

After abstaining from the alcohol for about two weeks and being rather proud about it  I went out to get drunk for about twelve hours post the first because of which I am now a little sick and in no mood to study Milton and Shakespeare and the irony of the position of women in the Elizabethan age I DO NOT GIVE A FLYING FUCK ANYMORE.

Delhi has turned into the burning hell that we all know and for some reason love. I have vowed to turn off my computer till the end of time because I get no work done like this.

But before that, check out Michelle Williams she's so cute. 

Today

It's the first time in two days I have had a moment alone and my head is swimming with the lack of noise in the background. On the 16th morning TWELVE people descended into miniscule home to live and thrive for a week. My family is awesome but loud and crazy so all I can remember from the past two days is blurs of cousins running around with my dog in tow. There's quiet girl cousin who is exceptionally sane and only talks on her phone or sleeps or makes chai for everyone. There's twelve year old geeky cousin who loves dragons, watches Jack White videos all day and observes 'reading hour' with me in which we lock ourselves up in a room distancing ourselves from our unintelligent kinspeople. There's oldest bad-boy cousin always scouring for skins in my drawer and playing trance music, coming into my room with a fully rolled joint when I'm trying to read boring shit and then twenty minutes later grinning madly and chanting 'I'm so smashed dude don't tell anyone'. There's a six year old who has just discovered Led Zeppelin and knows where babies come from. There is sixteen year old non-cousin but family friend adopted as cousin who wants to 'abbe yaar drive pe chalte hai' and shows me photos of girls on his Blackberry saying 'yeh achhi ya woh vaali' and dances to Punjabi music all day.

And there is my sister who I cannot live without so I am more than glad she is back from her holiday in the south so we can play 'Monty Jonty best bhais in the world' and look at pictures at shoes online and make lists and plans to rob my father.

My father has just discovered Eminem and my mother has decided she's what is according to her, 'hep'-hop. Her new rap song goes like this - 'Kya kar raha hai/chill kar raha hoon/kya karien?/Chill karte hai'. The inspiration for the song apparently comes from conversations I have with my friends and her hephop is clean as she is most disapproving of the genre's nonchalant,extensive use of 'motherfucker'. 'Paavam ava amma laan' (Their poor mothers).

(I just watched the GG finale and am losin' it. Wants brunch with the girlfriends so we can hyperventilate about CAN YOU BELIEVE CHUCK and torture Queerfish who is only too happy to be chilling with us and telling us to stop being such chicks.)

Bhenchot batti gayi phirse. MAAR HI DAALO!! 

I wish my exams would end so we can be rollin down the street smokin indo sippin on gin on juice, yo.

I should really go study for my exam because time wasted is always a source of future regret. 

'You ask me brothers why I flinch, 

Well I will tell you, inch by inch, 

Is it not proper cause for fright

That what is day will soon be night?

Evenings I flinch the selfsame way, 

For what is night will soon be day.

At five o clock it chills my gore, 

Simply to know it isn't four.'

Ogden Nash is always on to something.
I really need to get out of this lit fit cause I have started saying 'wondrous cool'. 
Time to get stoned with trance cousin fuckeverythingelse.

After many hours of staring at my dog  chase balloons and my fish pick up gravel and move it around (true story), I have finished studying the various debates in Christian theology. Not as boring as it sounds. But a little, yes. And this is not even technically part of my course. It's just to understand why some complex individuals from the 1700's wrote what they did.

The absolute irony of religion is that God did not create man, but man created God. But then of course, that only holds as true if you look at it from THIS point of view, the one that I'm looking at it from.
I actually pointedly capitalized my G's.

While I'm freaking about exams whose importance in my opinion is probably deluded, but as is (most definitely not probably) my opinion, SnoopDogg on twitter is 'eyes low, I'm blown, high like a mothafucka' on puffpasstuesdays.

Want to dance on sand dunes wearing yellow like Manisha Koirala and Bobby Deol in Gupt. If only life was all 90's Bollywood. Where love was boundless and yellow clothing acceptable. 

I'm standing on a stage
Of fear and self-doubt
It's a hollow play
But they'll clap anyway 

Based on my bleak glimpses of a future, my desire for bizarre locations and coordinated dancing might actually be a possibility. In one of those Hindi films that has fake sets and Tushar Kapoor and pretends like it's completely normal.
I shall take thy leave now cause I need to send over some Aata to humsabkifavourite...saamne vaali Jain aunty!! 'Woh kya hai na beta, uncle ko subah-subah garam-garam rotiyan pasand hai', she tells me with a generous smile like I was the one being fed. 'Garam-garam rotiyan' is spoken with special emphasis and vigor like it always is. Anyone who's been blest with the offer of them shall know what I mean.

At six fifteen every morning, I sneak up near ma's room every morning so I can jump at her as she stumbles sleepily out of her room and shouts 'Pishaash Kutti!!!' at me (meaning 'ghost child' in Tamil), my mother's chosen language at vulnerable situations. Mine of course is Hindi. In times of extreme happiness and sadness I cannot articulate in any other. I do feel like a pishaash kutti though. It's going to be eight in the morning and I'm in a familiar situation. In bed trying to sleep but imagining myself on the Conan O'Brien show instead saying meaningful things and thanking my friends and then leaving to drink beer with The Strokes like in this song. 

Maybe this is a prophecy to an impending future of glory or....not.  

I like Conan way more than Jay Leno though. 
Fabrizio moretti is so yummy dude.

I have spent the last some hours jumping around to an Incubus concert in my room while trying to read Shakespeare.
Also, the 'usne bola kemchhe kemchhe kemchhe' song has been playing in my head ALL FREAKIN WEEK. "Neend nahin aati hai raaton mein!". There's problems even Govinda can't solve. 


I need to get some damn sleep because my life is not written by Chuck Palahniuk.

And if these pigeons don't stop doing it in my AC I will shoot them through their non- existent brains.

Inane insomnia

The amount of things you can do on the internet when not logged into Facebook is just amazing. I deactivated my account (probably temporarily), even after I was given the heartbreaking news that a few people will 'miss me', and after sending in another abusive message on the reasons section which will only be ignored by Zuckerberg and his entourage of devils. I have finally got at least two hours of studying today after days of dirty lounging in my round chair watching gossip girl-unable to get over Chuck's insanity and Nate's stupidity. 

Thank god for Yale's free online lectures so lesser mortals like me can be provided with a little Ivy league hospitality. 

Paradise Lost is the only part of my course I have studied yet mostly because I love it and it is so beautiful and frustrating at the same time. 
Studying the arts gives you the impression that you have learnt something mind altering,  that most people cannot comprehend or understand, even if you try and explain it to them. We go on with this incentive and vague idea of supremacy. What is also absurd and inviting about theory is that there is no definitiveness, no measurement, no right or wrong, no solidity, nothing that is wholly, real. 

Idle youth 

Enslaved to everything, 
By being too sensitive 
I have wasted my life. 
-Arthur Rimbaud

I want to go to Paris. I want to read in the winter sun. I want to study in a fancy school one day with ancient buildings and hot professors, the kind that know a million languages and tell you things in a lecture that make you go 'Oh man why didn't I think of that!!'. I want to dance at a shaadi. I want to go to the Metallica concert in Delhi in October with my friends and be all "Make room for St Anger MOTHERFUCKAAAAS" just to be thirteen years old again. I want new clothes and shoes. And maybe a bag. And a hat. I want to drink neat whiskey really slowly. I also want to cycle in the mountains and drink beer in the sea. I want to sing old hindi songs loudly in a car. Unfortunately, I also want to do well in my exams so I guess I must get back to reading or googling 'related' things. 

I feel like I use way too many commas. 

Charles Bukowski is hopelessly cool.

This song and it's akward dancing is making me grin like an idiot. Also because skinny, bespectacled Erlend Øye reminds me too much of Queerfish whom I now miss terribly. Get well soon bhai. Tera dard mera dard.

Kings of Convenience are nice.  

If Katy Perry posts one more tweet like "Fuck yeah America always here to save the dayyy!!" she's going to have a plane flying right into her teenage dream sending it up in flames. A little more tact please, US of A. We still don't like you. 

It is six fucking fifty one the morning and I still can't sleep. Fifty three now. Fifty five as I'm thinking if there's something else to say but there isn't.