Milan's Daily (well, almost)

The Ladder

2010-04-13T20:46:00.007+05:45

'Milan, go down and open the door. Baa has returned.'
'Milan!'
A hundred things wander in my mind. I will not go, it takes an effort. No, I will not go because I cannot.
I have to, though. I'll get a scold serving otherwise.
But I simply cannot. How can I? I have to get downstairs first...
(the ladder)
...I do not want to go downstairs. I hate it. I hate the ladder. Let mother think I did not hear her.
I scratch the wooden railing on my window aimlessly.
But mother knows I heard her. She's just in the other room. How can I not hear her?
I will make some noise. That way, she might think she was not heard. I will scratch this railing harder. No, I'll open this steel cupboard, its doors yawn loudly everytime I try to open it. Ok. Mom, I hope you're listening to this. You see, this noise is too loud, you might have been saying something, but it easily would have been drowned by this groaning door.
'Milan....E-Milannn!'
No, this is a stupid idea. What is there that can be done? Baa is outside, yes. He has to come in, and he does not want to be left there for a long time. But no, the ladder. The ladder, I can't. I simply can't. But Mom. She wants me to. And she knows. I am obligated now.
It's so complicated. Why don't they understand? It's because of the ladder. I can't go downstairs. But Baa will wring my ears later. There will always be later. It's inevitable. I have to go.
It's always like this. There are so many things I have to consider while doing anything. My face is getting hot and sweaty. I simply cannot tell anybody, because I will not be able to explain.
I'll just simply not go. I'll deal with the consequences later. Now is the problem, I wish I was in the past, or that this present has already happened.
Why can't she go herself? Why do I have to go every time? Why don't they realize my problem in going downstairs. Opening the door is not a problem. Getting downstairs is...
Footsteps approaching the room. The sound of the hasp being turned and squeaked. The crack as the doorflaps are unlocked. The creak of the opening flaps and an angry foot stepping across the threshold.
Ok, panic now. Panic Now! Run.
I shelf all my problems and leap through the narrow space between my mom and the right side of the doorway...
(a whiff of coriander. Tomato chutney for dinner)
Mumbling 'I am going, I am going ni...'
I bound down the narrow ladder to the groundfloor below, three rungs at a time. Rushing mind. The thing. The thing under the darkness of the ladder. I can nearly feel its cold grasp through the gaps between the rungs where the wooden boardings have come apart. Yes, it has been busy prying and tearing the boardings open. On my next step, it'll grab my left ankle. I don't know, it'll probably pull my whole body into its dark realm, and that is simply terrorizing. It does not make any sound- after all, it's just a shadow. I hate it, I hate it from my core. Why doesn't Mua realize this? Why can't she tend to a matter as simple as this?
My left ankle nearly missing the last rung and the leg bowing violently. The knee buckling crazily, but somewhat holding me in place, my left turning out like a bent ruler.
I then jump on my right foot onto the ground so fast my body didnt get a chance to put all its weight on my left leg.
(weepy relief)
(thundering heart)
Control slowly coming back to my mind, I reach the door handle...Baa. He's been there all the time, what will he think? Why I took so long a time to reach here, he won't understand...
I hurriedly open the door, straining my eyes beyond the towering figure of Baa towards the sunny sky and welcoming its rays to come inside and devour the thing under the ladder. I hardly register Baa ruffling my hair (his clothes as old as him and belonging to him like a second skin, and his unrelenting love showing through his creased face). My mind is soaked with the problem lurking in the depths of the dark. I hate uncle. I hate him for not listening to my plaintive cries for fixing the boardings, because it's getting stronger everyday and is feeding on my fear because why else do I feel its presence grow exponentially when I am uncertain and fearing, like a dog growling deeper once it senses the other entity beginning to cringe in fear and cower. Why won't uncle fix it, when it is eating on my heart. Pretty soon it'll be fearful enough to take his notice and then it might be too late and it might start to feed on his fear too who will save us then?
(alone)
I whirl around, and just in time see the last leg of Baa vanish into the first floor's landing...
Alone again, and now even worse- the thing is now awake and alert and it waits for me.
'Baaaa!!!'
Heart quailing and turning into butter, I cry and run up the rungs again, tears flying from my face like drops out of a squeezed lemon, my face and legs numb and heavy with fear. My little nape hairs rising and the skin on my arms and back crawling...
No. No. Gasp, no... the thing... the ladder thing...

The Forbidden Kingdom

2008-05-18T23:46:00.000+05:45

if only the actors were nimble with English as they were with their limbs!

All I can say is... It felt like I suddenly stumbled upon the children's section of a library. I would have been better off watching Prince Caspian in Narnia.
The villian, I wasnt surprised, was the english-bumbling Seraph from The Matrix Reloaded, whose dialogues, I remember, I had to rewind a number of times to decipher.
All through the movie, I encountered a single actor who spoke english fluently- spoke it as a first language.
Another thought, monkey king was probably alluded from Ramayana. The king shares quite a lot of qualities, virtues of Hanuman, the original, primeval, pre-ancient, prototypical superhero. Am I right?

Train of Thoughts

2007-10-29T19:56:00.000+05:45

I love traveling in the Second Class- there’s so much air in the compartments…

So once I was on a train (The Tangential Express) to Rajasthan, and I was being exhilarated by the fact that I was standing on a doorway that had no door to contain me, a block of air traversing through my body. I thought- what an opportunity to aerate my cranial hollow, and stuck out so much so that only my palms and feet-fingers were actually inside the massive, hurling lumber of steel; Imagine a horizontally aligned miniature human parachute holding the train in its course.

Air blasted through my left ear, and swept off all of my grievances and misgivings out of my right. My top floor felt aerated. If I stuck both of my pinkies to partially block the left earhole, I could even manage a whistle loud enough to contest with the train’s.

Suddenly, from the corner of my eye, up on a gentle bend, I espied a huge shaft of metal gate on the tracks, which allowed only a few inches of space for the train to shoot through. Wait a minute, I thought- Rajasthan is a hot place- look at all the sand; metals tend to expand, right? The train must be swollen with all the heat; can it really fit through the gate? So I rubbernecked (wincingly) to get a better look…

The train snaked lazily towards the gate, and amazingly shot through the gate. Hurray, I mentally shouted, causing an echo, which was quickly drained out with the air tunnel phenomenon going on inside my head. A classic Doppler effect.

If I hadn’t surfed along this tangent, my amazing experience would have ended right here. For I would have had time to withdraw my chute to the compartment. From where I was, I could see the solid gate hurl towards me in a frightening momentum, and although I managed to get inside up to my neck, I felt more than saw a big thump on my left temple…

My left eye jumped out, but the optic nerve yo-yo’ed it back into my optic hollow- but the pupil was facing inside, noting the amorphous brain sitting sagely inside- I noted a sense of Deja-vu. A loop of optic nerve was now hanging out from my left eye-hole, sort of like a telephone cord holding the receiver in its rightful place…

Staggering with the experience, I propped my body against the wall of the compartment, and hung my left arm limply over the optic loop, and tried to regain the composure. I had shifted my whole weight onto my right leg, which was shaking crazily, threatening to buck. Everybody in the train had a gaped look in their faces. A few passengers started to vomit on each other, and triggered a chain of induced throw-ups all over the compartment. After a while, walls were dripping off dull-colored viscous fluids- I could make out that this lady had chicken sandwich for lunch, while that man had tequila shots the night before. It’s hard not to get the picture…

I looked back at the innocent doorless doorway that had started all this. The air that was now coming in now felt chilly. I felt naked in the audience of annoyed passengers. I pretended that there were some sand grains in my right eye, and rubbed it vigorously with the sides of my forefinger; and during the charade, as surreptitiously as I could (given the situation), I grabbed my left optic nerve and pulled out the eye. I carelessly stuffed the nerve back into my skull and plopped the eye back into its place.

Love's Context:

2007-08-11T15:49:00.000+05:45

Love is a jumble of wor(l)ds.

I know an eye, whose girl is so pretty,
My shatters like glass a heart.

Ev'rytime I feel at her, I look pain,
And pain in life is sometimes good;

That is how my reason hearts out.

Accident Prone / Off the Tone

2007-06-19T14:12:00.000+05:45

I remember running between computers…

Sometimes you’re doing a task in your computer. Then suddenly you have to use another comp u.r.g.e.n.t.l.y. You find an empty cubicle, turn on the comp, and realize that you had left your fingers at the keyboard of your own comp. You hurry back, collect the digits, go to the other comp, realize your eyes are dribbling on the floor, and that somebody just tripped on your optic cord (talk about somebody being on your nerve).

All the while, your brain’s dizzy with the frantic, bouncy pictures registered by the retina. You hurriedly pick off the staple pins from your cornea, re-wet your contact lens, and pop the orbs back in… before realizing that you put them in wrong holes. You then ask somebody to pat the back of your head to pop them out, and although you deftly catch them in your palms and put them in their respective holes, your left eye is put the wrong way round so that you momentarily glimpse the puffy brain sitting amorphously inside your head. You rearrange the left eye, and, as an extra measure, you staple your eyelids to your forehead (thereby recycling the collected pins) and paste a generous length of cello tape over your eyes to keep them in place, but taking care not to run the tape over your eyebrows (coz it hurts when you take it off).

You finally sit in front of the other computer. Then you realize you need to go to your computer i.n.s.t.a.n.t.l.y. You rush to your desk... and you realize that you had left your digits at the keyboard of the other computer. Plus, the tape has already started peeling off coz your eyes are now watery. And when you get to the other computer, the person is already back in his seat, and you see your fingers deposited in his pen stand… But you see the person also has a cello tape put across his eyes, but his left eye is put the wrong way, so that the iris is facing the inside of his head… you begin to smile, solaced by the confused look on his face… it’s not only you after all.

You start to laugh uncontrollably…

You skinned my heart

2007-05-04T16:41:00.000+05:45

A bone in your brain
Surge in your eyes
Fury in your tongue,
and a hairy tail.
What are you?
He asks.

Invoking an eye storm,
She begins reverently:
My tongue lashes in its will,
The bone steers my thoughts.
This orb here is my observatory,
And the tail doubles as a belt.

Cheque please, he thunders quietly,
You ditched me for caffeine.
You skinned my heart.
I'm hopping on to another boat.

You are my heart glove, she mists him.
I have not yet seen sunrise,
But I'll let you hold my tail when it's dark.
I can pacify your fist.

No difference, he hides his eyes
I'm hypnotic now, but wont be
Your words are effervescent
Palms warm now, sweaty later.

Turmoiled, He combs anxiety.
She stirs her brain and chews her tail.
Pulls her shoelaces. Tugs hiphairs.
Envelopes him in her Litchi eyes.

Inside the fluffy hurricane,
He is squeezed gently,
He belches out an affection.
And she vows to make him her caffeine.

Tie Me

2007-04-29T18:40:00.000+05:45

I noticed at the sun-up,
The unraveling silk strands
In my embroidered tie.

Fingers stuck to the thought.
Mind speculated in panic.
Eyes gaped.

Me lighted a match,
‘N hovered it gently,
Near the problem.

Tie whooped into flames.
‘N ash only remained.
Shitfully shit. My tie!

I blink off my reverie, ‘n glance
At the affectionable cloth, lounging
On its back, on my visitor couch.

Uhh! Still reassuringly there. Still sexy.

I’ll probably use a mosquito coil instead.

A Slice of Memory

2007-04-11T19:41:00.000+05:45

TYO HUV MYTA HUWOX OXTVUY...

It is funny how we prioritize memory. We sift through logically important pictures and retain apparently random ones. We are librarians of odd collections. Unalphabetized, unordered. Asynchronous, non-chronological.

I cannot forget these letters. A list of black letters on a white board in our school clinic. A simple eye test. For me it is much more- the image pressbuttons me through a flipbook of school memories.

The first thing I gather during my memory retrodrive is that I was about twelve when I first came across that board. And the second thing is the doctor.

The doctor. We believed that he shared his face with the English teacher and a contract worker at our school. He visited our school every month for mass checkups. During such events, among regular doctoric antics ('show your tonsils', 'breathe this way and that', 'let me tickle your chest'), he would choose his subject with indifferent randomness and deftly hook his forefinger onto the waistband of our P.E. Shorts. To our consternation, he would pull it to glance inside, and before the elastic snapped back to the waistskin, his hand would already be busy on a health report. Fury! He just peeked at our crotch and our vocabulary did not contain an appropriate opinion. What would we have said? “Doctor! But why the watchy-watchy below the tomachi?”

But his face would remain motionless. A dead face. Formidable. Definitely not somebody who welcomed a humor pill. No sir. He’s in his suit and tie, ‘scope, briefcase, and a full-grown moustache. A person too important for a jokey poke.

How is that possible though? We were in our adolescent primes. We were a wealth of variation, ranging from huge to tiny, fat to skinny, and clean to odious and filthy. All hell were breaking loose in our body- hairy patches everywhere, intermittent squeaks in our speech. Didn't Deadface see anything there that did not fit the body’s rest of geography?

So I gave him a feared reverence.

TYO... HUV... MYTA... HUWOX… OXTVUY. It had not taken me long to realize that all the letters were laterally invertible. Hardly waiting for Deadface’s cue, I would scoot over to where I could see the letters on the mirror on the opposite wall. I would read it dutifully, once for each eye. It was of no use because I could say it all with my eyes closed. My smartass mind would be whispering the answers: TYO… HUV… MYTA… HUWOX…

If only I could somehow peer into his face closelyand start chanting "TYO... HUV... MYTA HUWOX... OXTVUY". A friendly invitation to laugh indulgently. He would probably slip into a smile and bellow from his tummy.No more deadface charade, you know?

Valentine's Day

2007-04-11T12:54:00.000+05:45

Juliet says, hey it’s Romeo.
You nearly gave me a heart attack.
He’s underneath the window,
She’s saying hey la my boyfriend’s back.
You shouldn’t come around here,
Singing up at people like that.
Anyway, what are you going to do about it…
-Romeo and Juliet, Dire Straits

This post was written on Feb 14th, 2007. I just had not blogged it. Here it is now- it's better late than an empty plate:

Dear all,

First of all, wish you a very pink (but non-commercial) and love-filled HAPPY VALENTINES. I do not see the point myself in wishing, but my internal rule is, wishing a love-filled day is not bad, as long as I do not buy something pink or heart-shaped. Also, I think I am going to shock Atul by wishing him- oh wait, he just sent me an HappyValentines email. Hmm. Is this poetic surprise?

The day is so gloomy and dark that when my alarm went off (no, I think I had received a call), I could not believe it was already 8:30am. The day in any case should have been spent staying under Sirak, sipping hot milk tea and watching non-romantic movies in HBO. I always see problems in timing of the moods, I wonder how. But as if to dispel my horror of realization that the day is going on too normally, Falguni, our cook, served coffee instead of tea- we never get coffee here. I mean, at least our heart will flutter with caffeine, isn't it?

Here's a philosophical question (strictly for musing only): why do you think mythologies denote love with arrows (Kaam dev, Cupid- I guess there are others). I mean, why arrows? Was love always irrational and painsweet?

Cosy Catastrophe

2007-04-06T17:45:00.000+05:45

I was using Wikipedia to learn more about the movie, Children of Men, among other things, and here are two things I have learned:

Michael Caine based his performance on John Lennon.

A "cosy catastrophe" is typically one in which civilisation as we know it comes to an end and everyone is killed except for a handful of survivors, who then set about rebuilding their version of civilisation.

Some notable Movies/Books with a cosy catastrophe theme:

1. Children of Men
2. Independence Day
3. The Chrysalids (I think)
4. War of the worlds
5. Signs
6. Outbreak
7. The Day After Tomorrrow
8. Armageddon
9. The Impact

Any movies to add on the list?

I hate forwards

2007-03-27T17:04:00.000+05:45

Please grab my phones,
And my tittering Ringtones,
Coz my body yawningly owns,
That I have bad, bad Lethargic Bones.
-Excerpted from “The Taital of my Poyum is Lethargic Bones” by Milan Pradhan

Why do I hate forwards so much? After a cursory analysis from my de-reined mind, I have listed my major reasons below. I hate it when:

- The forward adds no value to my life or the immediate sender adds no value and just forwards the mail received from elsebody.

- Bound by superstition, the sender forwards the email to complete the quota of having fwd’ed to 10 unfortunates to clear his/her conscience. On top of that, he/she writes “sorry, but I HAVE TO forward this for my sake”. I am running out of compassion.

- The email manufactures appeals for humanistic emotions by showing pictures of a partially burnt baby or a desperate parent trying to save a cancer-struck son. Do people believe that there’s some humane organization who donates two rupees to each forwarded person? And a genetically defect apple (VAGUELY resembling Ganesh’s trunk-nose) is NOT Feng Shui!

Therefore, whenever I get a forward, I choose not to believe in that crap. And I save time, electricity, and inbox space of my beloveds when I do not.

So why don’t you forward this (paradoxically) to 10 people that you love/like and spread the word. I wont put an ‘or-else’ clause here, so you’re safe!

News news

2007-02-07T18:49:00.000+05:45

I'm officially a fan of YouTube now.

Ria and Riva

2007-01-30T16:01:00.000+05:45

I found out the other day that everybody is unicellular for about an half hour in their life.

Riva is 18 months. Her present priority is to learn as many things as she can (mainly to speak and to write).
She refers to a toothbrush as a ‘Brush Your Teeth’, and calls me in baby tongue, ‘Milan-Paju’.
She's also a natural born lefty. Wait, aren't lefties born lefties?
She distances herself from ominous looking things as inherent surviving instinct. Especially me. She calls me 'Milan Paju' only when her mom's next to her, and that too, very gingerly.

Ria is about 8 years. When I met her at Nidhi's wedding, I found her so cute that I instinctively winked at her. She just broke into a shy grin and turned her heels to disappear behind the door curtain.
Later, I found out that she had created a healthy ruckus among her generation. Nidhi's youngest sister caught me winking at Ria again later on, and exclaimed "So Ria WAS telling the truth!!".
I let out a guilty smile.
Just then I espied Ria espying and me, and SHE winked at me! Quite disarming!

My initial days in Biratnagar

2007-01-28T21:22:00.000+05:45

Strange things happening which, strangely, isnt sounding strange anymore...

There isn’t much to do in Biratnagar. Here, there is only one street (Main Road) that shows activity, and all the places are reachable by foot. The only restaurant you can take your family for dinner is named 'Valentine Restaurant'. There is a rickshaw syndicate at the airport which charges exorbitant amounts to unsuspecting first-timers (I got lucky). Biratnagar proper downtown is just a stretch of straiiiiight road where 'everything' lies.

The Departmental Store concept hasn’t quite hit this place. I wanted to buy a deodorant the other day, and I had to ask a Sahuji 'Oo, tyo chahi dinus ta... and after a while, 'Arko fragrance ma chhaina?' (then Sahuji subsequently telling his assistant 'Jara woh wala lana toh').

There are many high-profile, family-run businesses; most of the prominent marwari business family (Chaudhary, Golchha, Murarka, Todi, etc.) are all based here. But all the bigshots currently reside elsewhere. But still, you can see the business acumen in the very culture of Biratnagar itself. Almost all banks in Nepal have a branch in Main Road and are so close together that a businessman can venture out in a bicycle and learn the rates offered by all the banks within half an hour- plus, he has the culturally acquired business acumen to employ Game Theory and trigger off a mini cutthroat drive where the banks end up lowering their rates against each other and competing blindly. Here, only the customer has eyes.

Samson and Delilah

2006-12-28T20:55:00.000+05:45

Delilah: If you crush the life out of me, I'll kiss you with my dying breath.
Samson: Your kiss has the sting of death.

2006-12-03T22:59:00.000+05:45

Comments to my earlier post: Deusi Story

Anonymous said...
"u rowdy kanjoooooooooooos. YUCK!"

Anonymous said...
can u still wake up and look into the mirror and see in to your own eyes without feeling disgusted....

Bravo... u proved again, depravity of humans is kept alive by rotted souls like u... in case u think u want to continue writing, spare yourself the wrath of souls who have apathy and get affected..
----

He he... rowdy kanjoos... what does that mean exactly?

Doesn't it prove that i have become effective enough to incite feelings from my readers? just to set the records straight, i didnt do it. if you want to blame, blame my imagination. it normally runs wild. and i revere it because of that. I quote from Aqua "Imagination: Life is your creation".

But (my imagination takes over) is it really a good example (hence bad) of an act of 'depravity of humans'. Is it so bad that i have to check myself in the mirror and consider feeling disgust? If I had done it, what was so wrong in it?

I will continue writing, undoubtedly:)

I do Tagore!

2006-11-06T22:14:00.000+05:45

Put lime in your rhyme to make sour your power. Pick your dime in time, and not cower in last hour.

When things start to bore,
and days begin to sore,
I make myself adore,
Mr. R N Tagore!

When I tend to abhor,
detest from my inner core,
To stop from hating more,
I try Tagore!

Lives damsels tore,
Envious beings of poor,
Fresh are his lore,
Salving Tagore!

It's now nearly o'er,
This work of lore,
So I read on slo'er,
The book of Tagore.

Say Deusi with me, O Brothers...

2006-10-25T00:58:00.000+05:45

It was a decent, cold night. Not with a chilly wind, because I remember the candles that I placed on the terrace walls were not even flickering. I was half-soused in wine and Tong’s Garden sugar-coated green peas.

At some point, I began to hear a Deusi band in our neighborhood. They were borrowing visions of red mud on slippery roads to sing of gaping open hearts of the men of the house and their palatial abodes, and gently prodding the members to come out with trifles and gifts so that they can progress ahead on the tiring slippery red road and reach many other houses they have to reach by tonight.

The singers were of different age, gender and timbre. The leader was a benevolent man on a merry red waistcoat and a Nepali cap, and he had the knack of harnessing each individual’s vocal tides and weaving out a melody that seemed poignant yet cheerful and upbeat. He let a rebellious teen boy (lets call him ‘T’) to deviate from the group and sing out cheeky lines, but still kept him on a moderate leash. He even ensured that a small girl (‘G’, with a crude set of cymbals) was not assigned to an unimportant task, and let her contribute appreciably to their concerto. Also on correct moments, he would leap forward and dance into dizzying circles, his hands tracing out intricate patterns in air. It was overall a cohesive happy-snappy band.

T had a cylindrical twig-like device out of which came out basal rhythms that gave a sort of thumping characteristic to their songs. He also had a Madal harnessed tightly around his hip to which he resorted according to the demands of the singings, although he clearly preferred Twig because of its more commanding presence.

Women ceremoniously came out of the house with baskets of sweetbreads, and men with broad smiles and fat wallets. The singers were ushered into the premises, where sometimes there were makeshift stages made for their purpose. Girls shyly watched and giggled to T’s insinuations, while men laughingly slapped hundred notes in the leader’s palms and gave small chocolate sacks to children. As the gifts approached them, or when they had to softly prod the house members to hurry up, the boy would ease up the tempo of Twig and nobody would notice the change in pace until suddenly the song will have reached a crescendo and the house members will have by now felt compelled to give in.

Amused, I drained my glass and stepped out into my narrow balcony. The band was finishing up their rounds on Whitehouse across the road from mine. G kept looking back at me, sometimes failing altogether in her aim to clash the cymbals. I would smile and give a tiny wave. Hurriedly, she would turn back forward and try to concentrate on her part of the merry symphony. However, curiosity and consciousness both would compel her to take tiny, cute glances at me, which I attended to with similar pleasantries.

Meanwhile, the song reached the climax, and the house members hurriedly came forth to distribute sweets and money. The man of the house exclaimed that it was even better than last years’ and had promises made to return next year with an even better show.

The group finally turned towards our compound, and approached my house pleasantly, smiling. I decided to play them a joke. And it is important for you to know that I had not thought of this idea before this particular moment.

So I did not open the gates, and instead sat smiling nicely to the singers. Confused, and with some odd conscious smiles, the band proceeded to sing from outside of the compound, looking at me two storey up. They first played their routine song- Merrycoat crooning: ‘Tell me, O Brothers and Sisters! Sing with me in sync so that I can ask this gentleman to bestow us with what he wishes to bestow us with, so that it is merry and we can progress on our long journey up the red, slippery road; And we have much, much to go before we get to our bed‘. G timidly clashed her cymbals, stealing upward glances. And I just sat there, looking entertained. I decided not to even say a word.

After a while, Merrycoat started another song, a folk tune this time, and T took a backseat, while a middle-aged woman (‘M’) followed along in a dialogue-style duet. People from nearby houses climbed to upper storeys to catch a glimpse or witty phrases the duo threw elegantly at each other, and I joined the applause when that song ended.

T now stepped forward and started thumping out Madal an upbeat rhythm in a not-so-rebellious fashion- and Merrycoat jumped forward and pulled M along, and they both started dancing in swirls, tracing out individual circles, but this time leaning towards each other. It was all cute and delightful, especially towards the end when it became more and more difficult to keep up to the increasing speed, and Merrycoat and M did keep up to the speed. Suddenly, Merrycoat stepped on a loose stone and, tottering, smashed his head on the metal gate with a loud clang. Audible gasps were easily heard, and I could just about hear Merrycoat laugh apologetically and say ‘It’s nothing. It’s nothing. Come, let’s enjoy…’ and began another song, to which others slowly followed, but quickly came to cue and mingled with each other.

The first one to show signs of cracking was T. His appearance did not change, but he was staring somewhere on the ground on his right, and his thumpings now sounded loud enough to stand out from the rest. G followed, fixing her anxious gaze fixed at T, and starting to miss out some spots in her cues. M (who had started looking sternly up at me) stopped her chorus inputs in a mid-word. I now can see that Merrycoat was bleeding from his temple, and sweating on his face, but he did not seem to notice. His grin, first easy, grew tighter, and began to deceptively look like a scowl and it now seemed more tiring to look upwards at me with smiles.

This also had effect on my neighbors. I could discern the woman in Whitehouse from her Verandah visibly glare at my direction and, upon meeting my eyes, go inside. Some baffled men stopped at whatever they were doing to look at the sight (one was climbing the steps on his porch; the other was folding the plastic bag which probably held some goodies earlier). Still, I kept a pleasant face, offering no words or goodies. I still waved at G whenever she managed to look up, but at one point M reached for her said something, and they both looked up with a strange look in their face. After that, G did not look up at all.

After a while, T’s thumping stopped, and an uneasy silence followed. Some members wanted to leave, but Merrycoat shuffled about, obviously still feeling it would be too rude to walk away. He however had by now totally avoided looking up. Finally he declared that they ought to do one last song before leaving, and launched off in a line beseeching his fellow members to ask this house owner if he would benevolently give something, some object, as an undeserved reward to the group. T totally refused to join in, and the rest of the team, after a few reluctant chorus lines, trailed off.

After a moment passed, Merrycoat gave up, gave his last look upwards at me, and joined his hand above his head in a gesture of Namaskar, to which I promptly replied with a flippant salute and a perky nod. I got some glimpse of his face darkening as he quickly looked back to his now seething companions and made some gestures to get going. As they walked away, T, in his desperate attempt to level with me, pounded a few off-key beats in his Madal. As they were about to disappear around a bend, I gave off a small wave, pretending that they saw it, and with a final look at the team that amused me, I stepped inside with a quiet smile on my face.

Random Thoughts, Freestyle

2006-10-07T16:53:00.000+05:45

You know, it's like swimming around the pool in circles...

Here I am, sipping caffeine, sugar and hetch-two-ough, and random sparks begin to shoot around my cranial hollow. Is moustache really dead, I wonder... I mean, you do not see younger people nowadays indulging in that hair manicure - although, i might disclaim right-away, one does see a couple of moustache-beard combo, which, I must categorically state, is different from a pure moustache. Lets see... can we baselessly assume that in the next generation one does not hear somebody utter "Khane mukh lai Junga le Chhekdaina"?

Amidst carpeted quietitude in my office floor, I surf along a different tangent- what makes a heart flutter more- Caffeine or love? Is the flutter desirable in its own, or it is desirable because it signifies something desirable? Coz if it's the former, why not just have caffeine; and if your heart doesnt flutter enough, multiply your dose. In either case, I do not like this phenomenon- my heart feels like a ruptured balloon bounding against my ribcage.

Pretty soon, I begin recalling last night's brief moment of consciousness before I succumbed to eyeclosing. I could hear many dogbarks. I realize I do not hear them like this during the day! I also get a deja-vu that I had thought this particular thought SOME time before, but that's another tangential fray I do not wish to align to. So yeah, dogs. There is a scientific explanation that sounds are heard more distinctly during nights than during days... But I wonder, is that the only thing that's making you hear the dogs? Could it not be that dogs are CONDITIONED to bark at nights, and therefore we realize how many dogs are there in our neighborhoods?

Two houseflies were bothering me a while ago. Not at the same time, thankfully. Sort of like the way Jackie Chan is gang-struck; one at a time. I did the Schnooks, successfully both times, and the Death Flings... and I start to wonder how their average days would be like. Mostly, they are in search for sweet things, they buzz a lot, have a very obvious name (they 'fly' around the 'houses'- I mean, what if you are named 'Milan's Fan', huh?), some of them have bright, bottlegreen color and hang around in shitty places (literally). And they fear Spiders. There's even a joke that goes like: Why did the 'fly 'fly? Because the Spider spied 'er.

Then I begin to notice the sighing airconditioner behind me, and notice my forearm hairs standing up. You know (beware, scientific rant:) the real reason behind it right? It's to fluff up to conserve body heat. Animals do it with their furs, and birds with feathers. For us, it is just a shitty deal offered by Nature because we are not t.h.a.t. hairy (well, thank god for that, or else we would look like detailed monkeys), and the sparse follicular density doesn't really do the trick.

And it is just a matter of time before I begin to realize who you are and what you look like AT THE TIME you are reading this very sentence. Is your mouth stupidly hanging open? Do you have a mused half-smile? Are you in your undies ( I mean, ONLY undies? In which case, are your hairs standing up?). Speaking of undies- RED undies, to be exacter, how did Superman look so great in it? Have you realised how difficult would it be for him if he wants to pee? I mean, he doesn't have a fly! I can almost hear you say: Oh, but he does FLY!! ; after which, I'll sagely say, lame joke, yaar, lame joke.

So how come you are still here? Do you also like to swim in circles? Are you still inspecting the hair in your left nostril? There's no prize there tonight, friend. Have you jerked your head so powerfully that your eyeballs dribbled on the floor? Neither have I, but I would like to see somebody get it done.

O Bed, where wert thou?!

2006-09-28T21:54:00.000+05:45

This side of the river I stand,
Peering into the night to see,
Loose temper,
Hurled anarchy,

Amorphous anger,

Senseless, Pathetic,
Wasted, Black,
Inane, Surfeit,
Self-defying
Rampage
All in 1 word: SHIT!

Cold Notice

2006-09-24T20:50:00.000+05:45

This blog is officially closed, but is unofficially open.

Now tell me, did it bring you joy or sadness or indifference? If so, was it the first statement, or the second?

you know... i once fell in love with my words... I even sat on a Blogasan while my fingers skitted across the keyboard. Now I search for those precious thought streams, and all the while my dashboard gapes open and empty...

"I used to go to school around this place. This used to be a big jungle- full of bamboo bushes. Once I was heading to my class, when suddenly I had this urge to empty my bowels. I rushed to a nearby secluded spot and sat down to do my job. Pretty soon, an old man comes by in a bicycle and mutters 'it's even more embarrassing to the observer'. I had no choice but to hide away my face. After i did my 'job', I tore off some sheets from my book to clean myself, and then sprinted to class."

NOW, WOULD YOU TELL A STORY LIKE THIS... ESPECIALLY IF YOU ARE 30+ ??? I heard it from somebody (he was sober and driving). And I heard it twice!!

Note: I am really sorry you had to hear it. he he he... Suddenly seriously(knitting my eyebrows and keeping a straight face): But i really am.

Morning

2006-09-12T23:00:00.000+05:45

Blink.
Stare. Stare. Stare.
Blink.
Splash.
Cough.
Spit.
Gobble.Gobble.
Gulp.
Shuffle.
Spray (left). Spray (right).
Shuffle.
Vroom.
Shuffle.
Sigh.
Blink.
Sip.
Blink.
Tap.Tap.
Sigh.
Stare.
Blink.
Blink.

Zoosome

2006-09-08T21:32:00.000+05:45

Tiger strolls over to Zebra's cage,
and gives a friendly pat-on-back.

Zeb: Hey, that was totally uncalled for.
Just 'cause you're on higher food chain,
doesn't give you the right to exercise your paw.

Nothing doing, Zeb slyly returns,
To cut off T's 'But but...' ,
And look, you're blushing.
Red-face tiger- that's a rare sight!

You know, T states sensitively,
To blush is to sign to withdraw
from a confrontation.

Herbie jeers, you're a miserable Cat,
you don't belong to the place you are in.
Your claws, they're worthless,
And so are your dagger teeth.

I definitely feel miserable, agrees T,
I better go elsewhere.
And strolls over to Lion.

What's up? He tries to collate information.
Same shit, Leo deigns to speak,
Different day.

You're lucky, T envies,
You don't have to prove yourself.
You're royal. Indisputably scary.
And monkeys poke me for fun.

Dont be too sure, Lion replies sagely.
Being scary isn't everything.
It gets lonely on the pyramid top.
You wont know until you are there.

Still unsure, he approaches the monkeys,
And the long-tailed beasts eye him
With much Wisdom and Compassion.

Come, White Beard beckons,
Do you know the power of wit and humor?
Do you know why levity sounds like levitate?
We grew tails long and funny,
To mock causation and logic,
We live by the hours and days.
All these sounds we make,
To defy harmony and order.
And why shouldn't we?
Why revere resonance?

Chaos and randomness, that's religion.
Why are your stripes ordered?
Why not make them circular and bendy?
That's freedom.
Don't give in to the imagined authority.

And Whitebeard waits for Tiger,
To deconstruct.

Mighty Bharata Vol 1 Chapter 2

2006-08-16T17:22:00.000+05:45

The Dhritta-litter grew and spread, fought and haggled over the land, and created an unfair, unhealthily competitive mood over the whole place...

The eldest and most malicious, Duryodhana, developed an ominous looking moustache during his early pubescent days. In fact, it was more aptly referred to as Bushtache. And he reserved his laughter for his evil deeds. When he did, it was a thigh-slapping spectacle, head thrown back, so that only the top row of teeth and the twiggly tonsils at the black of his throat were visible.

They quarreled with Paandu gang, mostly about insane things. Like once, the Kauravas mixed something in Bhima's laddoos after which he had an upset stomach. It was an ugly sight at the men's room. Weeks after, people still came out of the room with their curled upper lips pasted over their nostrils...

Once, Duryodhana somehow bumped his nose in a glass door at Pandava's palace. Now to give him some credit, a glass or a mirror was a high-tech invention in those reflectionless days. Owning mirrors was an act of extravagance and fancy, not of need. It was normal to have somebody else shave your armpit or pick your teeth. Draupadi therefore laughs her ass off seeing hot and confused D holding up his nose. In a vow to take revenge, the Kauravas somehow make the Pandavas stake, and lose, Draupadi at their casino, and physically abuse Draupadi by trying to disrobe her in the eyes of everybody-well, technically not everybody: Dhritta-something and his wife could not see a damn thing. In any case, lucky for the Abusee, Krishna the fluted cowboy saves the day. He somehow manages to fashion a sari-supplying ropeline out of his lasso ('Janai'), and the Kauravas give up in the end.

Krishna is a strange character. For one, he was blueskinned. Almost all girls looked at him wondering why he was so blue all the time. He also had this knack of twirling a miniature frisbee ('Sudarshan Chakra') in his forefinger.

You can see, in the picture, bearded Bhishma frisbeeing with Krishna (Yep- earliest frisbees were made of wood), him saying 'come on, sissy. is that all you got?'. Arjuna begging at Krishna's feet: 'Come on, Kkrish, let me throw it this time.' The white lasso is quite visible around Krishna's torso, which had a role to play on the famous Draupadi Disgracing Drama. You can also see others lazing around leisurely on the picnic ground, although the turbulent skies show that it was not a good day for frolicking.

Bhishma was a warrior by nature, and was obsessed with promises. He was born with a white hair and a meter-long beard. As a child, he threw tantrums by making obsessive promises and taking wild oaths. At one time, he swore that he will die in a bed of roses, hence acquiring his name: (Bhishma: 'a person of the terrible oath'). It turns out later that he dies in a bed of arrows, which, according to him, wasn't a bad alternative, owing to accupressural reasons. After he dies, there is a lot of hue and cry about how he did not live (or did not die, in this case) by his oath; DoN, Department of Names, eventually rename him Wishma, because the notorious oath seemed to be downgraded to just a wish.

End of Chapter 2.

Glimpses of Chapter 3.
At some point in the story, Duryodhana befriends Karna, a fiercely loyal being. He was born in an armor suit (a la Achilles) when Kunti once stared at the Sun (don't ask me details). Kunti, to hide the embarrassing result, floats him down Ganges river (a la Moses). Surviving the rafting trip, Karna is brought up and trained at the Droner Academy, where Kauravas and Pandavas get their training.

Mighty Bharata Vol 1 Chapter 1

2006-08-13T21:00:00.000+05:45

Show me your earhole and I will tell you a story; story of brothers and cousins, of wives and saints, and of abundance and depravity... Keep quiet now, for I am about to begin...

There was once a blind king, Dhritta-something. He was blind from birth, so had absolutely no idea of what things looked like. Amidst spells of inferiority, he would try to join in on conversations: 'yeah, baby- you're soft', 'wow, look at this view, it's sooo... mmm... smelly'; or 'the best part in that movie was the soundtrack'... and the likes...

His annoyability could only be matched by his copycat wife, who would imitate things and actions to the point of impossibility. Let me prove my point by saying that she copied her husband's blindness by draping a piece of cloth over her eyes-mind you-throughout her life.

I guess people are right when they say blind people have heightened sensitivities to other senses- they must have had an amazing sex life. I mean, they had tons of sons- like a hundred thousands or something. They had to post signs everywhere for hiring nannies, and invent new languages (like french, latin) to name them.

Still, it wasn't enough, and many kids died. Which was lucky for Leonardanand Da Vinciswamy, an ascetic with a nocturnal habit of filching dead kids and performing all sorts of experiments. He came up with results like if you throw in two hands, two legs, a torso, a head, and a pair of legs together, you still are short of a spark to make a person alive.

Vinciswamy did have some positive contributions to humanity. He was the one who suggested splitting the chest to bare the heart and conduct a bypass. A novel stunt which was inspired from the most ancient superhero, Hanuman, when he ripped open his ribcage to reveal his dripping and throbbing insides to SitaRam.

Dhritta-something had an elder brother, Giant Pandu, who had blackened eyesockets and loved bamboo shoots and leaves. I mean, he liked to go to bars, order bamboo, shoot the bartender, and leave the place. Stories claim that he still has a living lineage, who are, though, on the endangered list and are under intense scrutiny by the Chinese authorities.

Pandu gave his wife Kunti five kids. Kunti might have been jealous of her sis-in-law's litter, had it not been for one of their sons, Vim, who would create everyday food shortage by gorging on edibles and near-edibles. Her eldest son would create almost-everyday embarrassment by telling horrible truths; 'Gauri, did you just fart?', or 'I do not know why, but I cannot lie. Once I tried to write 'blue' in red ink and ended up writing 'bllllllrrrrrrrrrreddddddd!!!'.

The second-eldest was Arjun. AJ always showed after his father in his violent tendencies. He thought a bow was mightier than a pen or a sword. At times he caused himself harm by kneeling on one knee, looking to the ground, and shooting an arrow vertically above. Ironically, it was only after he perfected this feat that the arrow in its perfect trajectory gravitated back to earth to pierce his own unfortunate skull. He was too dazed to realize that all the while he had defined his own head as the target. It was a mix of fury and embarrassment when friendly Eklavya shouted 'BULLSEYE!!' gleefully as a compliment. However, Arjun did not forget this incident and finally hatched a plot later to make Drona ask for Ekky's thumb as a Gurudakshina.

Nakul-Sahadev were identical twins. They always matched their actions to be virtually indistinguishable. They would, however, invariably let out their respective identities after Queen mother would irritably try to join in and imitate their actions to be the 'third twin'.

Pandu kept an outer facade of humbleness, but he ran an underground propaganda machine to make people gullibly gossip about how Pandu, despite his killing tendencies in bars, was a more deserving king than that the blind guy.

Words were abound that there was yet a third brother who had to distance himself from the royal business. But let's not talk about him, because he did not have a personality and I do not know too much about him.

end of chapter 1. To be continued ...

Glimpse of chapter 2:
The Dhritta-litter grew and spread, fought and haggled over the land, and created an unfair, unhealthily competitive mood over the whole place...

Some think-storms

2006-08-11T23:50:00.000+05:45

Have you realized that mice have no shoulders? You put a necklace on it and ... phwttt... it's a fucking belt!!
-George Carlin

Here are my says:
Sometimes do you think so much in circles that you start thOnking?
Sometimes do you think so hard that you start to thicknk?
Sometimes, have you ever thought so hard that you got a headache afterwards?

You know that when you are trying to think hard, you focus on the center of your forehead, right? Sometimes, have you ever thought so hard that you saw your brain inside the skull?

What is unthinkable? If it is unthinkable, wasn't it just thought out? And what really constitutes a think? Is it that only good thinking are 'thinks'? Can there be poor thinkings? Is it what creates a poorly thought out plan?

Yet another mercilessly beaten computer joke: I just realized the other day that we all possess the most advanced computers... in our skulls...... it's only that most of us do not run defragment or format our hard drives.

The impatience in him

2006-08-08T22:37:00.000+05:45

Know me, she says.

I can't. I'm too impatient, he quips back,
To go through all layers of your skin.

I just do not have time enough.
Or the finesse.
I just like what I see in you.
I do not want to go deep.

I may look pretty,
But I am beautiful inside, she says
Im not layery,
How can you see me?
Your eyes are off-focus.

But I cannot afford to see,
(he tries to make her see)
And I do not deserve your attention.
I am too shifty to your liking.

So how come I am attentive?
To you, as you are to me??

But that is not the issue. See... he begins,
and tells her his personal revelation.
How once an ice cream he was salivating for,
was not salivating for him in return.

Point well-noted of the note well-pointed,
she admits, when he finishes.
Not wishing to wish anymore,
Or say hopeful umms,
She makes her leave.

European

2006-07-10T22:11:00.000+05:45

Opposite Hanumanthan, just as one crosses the Bagmati bridge, one sees a metallic glare of bicycles rows in front of a bike shop on the left. There, few months back, I saw a peculiar sight.

As I was passing by the shop, I noticed a tall, faded European gesturing to buy an Indian Atlas bike. Apparently, he was struck by its unique feature- the hand grips are comfortably turned perpendicular to the handlebar, kind of like in a Harley D.

The European was emulating riding this particular bike, pumping his feet, fists grabbing the imaginary ergonomically bent grips. It struck a vague irony that a foreigner would hunt for a cheapest form of transport. It was also comical to guess whether the shopowner was trying to comprehend the model the guy was referring to or the reason why he would choose Atlas over any of the array of mountain bikes in front of him.

The event was on my mind for about another minute or so. After all, the guy did not really have a memorable face. He seemed one of those greys with whitish/faded outfit, a garden variety. Also, this was not an unusual event in itself. One sees a lot of foreigners in the middle of seemingly weird acts. I have seen a few of them pumping pedals to scale the upslope in Kupondole, presumably on way to work, some even sporting baby carriages made of bamboo or wickerwork.

The thing is this. I have seen the same guy many times after that. And, please take note, every time after the first sighting, I have seen him on his Atlas apparently eventually scored. And trust me, he always looked somewhere near ecstatic- like a kid who got his first bike. The last time I saw him was about a week back, and he was speeding through a fairly trafficked place. Perhaps I get amused because I saw somebody I knew before on the way. But this is much deep.

I have a feeling that I will see him again by this month. I might throw a hello.

Conditioned Airspace

2006-06-04T21:47:00.000+05:45

I gingerly enter the white box. It is heavily carpeted in the manner that voices didnt bounce off surfaces, and footsteps weren't heard. There is an ambient light and shadows do not become.

Everybody is chained to a caffeinated drink and is either talking animatedly or searching for an animated topic. Each possesses a placard ("let me serve you") among a few displayables in their unpapered desks.

An odd chain of varied rings from different telephones throughout the workspace create a sustaining urgent melody. Intermittently, unattended cell phones jukebox cliched tunes. Now and then, I can hear paper rustles, squeaks and groans from wheeled chairs, unintelligible telephonic conversations, and the sighing air conditioners.

I feel I do not belong in this box. No matter how hard I try, my tie is too bright to match the surroundings. I try to stifle oncoming grins and end up looking smirking at best. I try to take in affected smiles and indifferent gestures as professional etiquette. I feel a rush of blood in my face as I try to maintain my composure.

In one corner, diagonally opposite to where I entered, is an unassuming desk manned by an unassuming person. Behind his shoulders through the thick glass of a fixed window, I see a warm-yellow sunbathed outside. Ignoring the need to blurt a courtesy, I clamber over the desk, (the man unsurprised and smiling knowingly), paste my face to the window and drink the scenery.

It is a traffic joint. The fumes seem unchoking and weary faces do not show from this point.

Pretty soon, a kid notices me looking outside. He waves to get my attention, and makes an obscene gesture with his crotch... And I laugh.

My Own Private Drug

2006-05-31T15:49:00.000+05:45

If you sprinkle laughter,
All will come running after...
-Milan the Rhymestealer

(revised)
I assertively state the cliched, research-backed fact that humor, laughter, and positivities are all good for health and life. In fact, I grin at people indiscriminately for self-therapeutic motives.

This positive affliction has got a reason. When I get sad/rritated/frustrated, I get consumed. Hence, I try to leverage on happy moments. In fact, when I am happy, I get heartbuzzed, almost vengefully, and I even show it off on fateful times. What says you?

The Swim

2006-05-28T21:37:00.000+05:45

It is hard to tell which millenium it was now. All I can say is that the whole world was one narrow water channel that can hardly fit ten bodies side to side; and the whole human race was swimming on the troubled water. There was a strong mechanical smell in the air with the incessant sounds of tired pale arms breaking water with every stroke, and fatigued hiss followed by a sharp intake of precious air. There was hardly room for people to do anything else than trudge along with the mass of bodies.

My lungs were burning with lack of air, and I could feel my hands getting heavy and leaden. It was then that I had this strong urge to turn around. And I did.

Ignoring the angry slaps of arms on my face, I plowed through against the human current. I knew I had to turn back. And I did not even have to try to know why. The reason was there somewhere in my mind, and will show itself when I reach there.

I took a lungful of breath and ducked underneath the water to go deep enough to avoid the resistance. Once there, I jerked my thighs powerfully and propelled forward. It felt much better with muted sounds on my ears and the smoothness of flow. Once every while, powerful kicks on the surface sent waves of force that feebly tried to press me downward, but it just felt like futile grasps that I ducked out of.

Suddenly, I did not feel the need to go to the surface to breathe anymore. I was more urged to go forward than upward, and I had this pressing urgency that I am about to reach there.

Soon, the water started to seem pink. Then it did become pink, and even deepened in color, although the transparency remained. And about twenty arm's length in the front floated the reason...

She was delicately holding a flower that seemed to radiate a crimson color into the water. Once I got near enough to discern her jovial facial features, she mouthed "How did I know that you were coming?!"

B.A.U.

2006-05-21T15:36:00.000+05:45

Too bad there are limitations...

It's business as usual after the lurching rafting trip down the Trishuli river. The annoying sore throat and muscles stand present as if to keep reminding that it was not a dream.

The bus ride from and to Trishuli was not smooth enough to my liking. The bus stopped for break and breakfast, which turned out to be a extortively rated menu items listed thus:
__________________________________
HAMLET RESTAURANT

Today's Absolute Speshal:
Flimsy Toast ...............Rs. 50
Oily Chowmein ..............Rs. 60
Carbonated Coke.............Rs. 35
Wobbly Granite Table.......(Surcharged in on
individual items)
Lemon Slices................Free of cost!
Smelly Toilet Facilities....Free of cost!*

*Just follow your nose.
When you are inside, hold your breath, don't look down,
and for god's sake, don't slip & fall.
**VAT not included.

Enjoy our outdoor amenities while you eat.
p.s., please mind the droppings of birds and things.
_____________________________________________
The bus was not comfortable either.

However, the down-the-river experience was quite awesome. The guide allowed us to jump into the river, which I did numerous times, and even swam dangerously away from the boat. And I lost plastic-wrapped 2000 bucks which I had forgotten to take out of my pocket.

Had it not been for the famish and fatigue which set in after 2 hours, I would have wanted to go all the way to the Indian ocean.

Multitasking

2006-05-18T14:22:00.000+05:45

... and God turned him into a gleaming urinal...
From some joke...

On my trip to the urinal today, I heard some rustling of newspaper from one of the bathroom stalls. Curious, I involuntarily trained my ears and dropped a few more eaves.

Pretty soon, the mobile went off, buzzing a tune (the rainy song from Hum Tum). The tune was at first muted, but got louder as the cell was apparently fished out from a pocket. A conversation ensued.

At one point, I heard him say:

... I am in the toilet right now, sir. I will come in a few minutes...

A brash breach of toilet etiquette, isn't it? Wouldn't you have lied or said something like "sir, I am sitting for something at present. hmm? Trust me, sir... you will not want to be here right now. "

And btw, I wasn't staying back to listen... I was merely completing my job and was washing my hands.

Obnoxious Cousins

2006-04-24T19:36:00.000+05:45

Everybody's got at least one, right? And we are definitely not flattered with the fact, is it not?

There's always somebody who is loudmouthed and, by default, ONLY speaks wrong things at the wrong time. And he/she jabs your rib, puts an arm around you, brings their face right next to you, and gives a forced smile as if there is no other person as close.

Blood is the only connection. Like neighbors- lives forcefully juxtaposed. Sucks!!

It probably doesnt... I am just pissed off coz I had a bad episode with an O.C. in hte crowded public.

This blog doesnt necessarily have to be a worthless one. Here are two astoundingly good things you'll gain from reading this, which makes you... quite lucky!

1. Here's an addition to your vocabulary:
Kissing Cousins- A more or less distant relative who is familiar enough to be greeted with a kiss. In fact, another more general phrase- "Kissing Kin"
Actually, There's one movie with name "Kissing Cousins" starring Elvis the Pelvis.

2. Here is a small mathematical quiz... you're a genius if you get it right:

Take 1000 and add 40 to it. Now add another 1000. Now add 30. Add another 1000. Now add 20. Now add another 1000. Now add 10. What is the total?

Did you get 5000? The correct answer is 4100. Check it with a calculator. I got this in an email-and I couldnt believe I got it wrong :)

How to Slide a Chicken Under the Door

2006-04-23T13:56:00.000+05:45

The other day I was trying to find out a way to slide a chicken under a door; This conundrum proved tougher than the Da Vinci Code and no, I have not yet found out a viable, noncasualty way of doing so. However, you might be awed to hear the wealth of options that went through my head:

1. Chloroform it- pluck out the feathers- roll it flat by a rolling pin- make a roti shape- slide it through;
2. Saw off the bottom portion of the door, at least 2 feet high- tell the chicken to walk through the opening;
3. Write 'a chicken' on a piece of paper- alternatively DRAW a chicken- slide the paper through;
4. Take the chicken's beak- insert it through the slit, ignoring the wild sqawks- and just keep pushing until it emerges on the other side- you might have to clip its clawnails first though;
5. Take a razor sharp knife- slice the chicken into very thin layers- place all layers, one after the other, on a rolled out toilet paper ('spreadsheet')- tie a string on the front of the spreadsheet- pull it gently from the other side of the door.

Is anybody concerned about the gravity of the situation? Last night, I called Kantipur Television to tell them of my developments, but after hearing 'Who is this guy?' in the background, I quickly hung up. I don't know, I got too scared...

Haa-Tshieu!

2006-04-21T10:40:00.000+05:45

Do you know you can't sneeze and piss at the same time? Your brain says 'STOP PISSING!!! WE'RE GOING TO SNEEZE NOW!!!!'...
Coz your brain knows... you might just blow your asshole out!
-George Carlin

Yuck, huh?!

Speaking of sneezes, though... it does offer us a momentary pleasure-peak; like some kind of a minor orgasm. (Indeed, studies have shown that individuals suspended at 'about to sneeze' state do show remarkable facial resemblance with those experiencing a sexual orgasm). A good, hearty sneeze gets our vigor renewed. And its a good after-feeling, like you just got purged of all the germs in your body, that too in a natural way.

A mediterranean folklore holds that sneezing is caused by a mischievous elf, Sninzodopolous, who would lurk in the noses and suddenly pull nasal hairs of unaware individuals.

I'm lying, of course. Sometimes, when the timing is right, it gives me an alignment of thoughts. I sometimes suddenly see clarity. I have had times where I would be staring at nothing, get a sneeze, and suddenly rush to my workdesk and flip out my Financial Management book. I have solved case studies and have 'snapped out of it' after a wholesome Haa-Tsschieu. There are even instances where I have suddenly retrieved a long-lost memory after the divine episode.

Some people have signaturesque sneezes. Like my neighbor- he literally shouts it out. My sister does it in a row of three. Hers goes like: HatshieuooooooHatshieuoooooooHatshieuoooo... Some jerk their torsos and flail their limbs during the process as if their body cannot contain the expelling force. And I have met some people in the states who do it like it was nothing but a pocket of breath stuck in the throat- a polite, half-sneeze, followed by a 'excusez moi'.

I too automatically excuse myself after I sneeze. Where did I get that habit from? And what is the apology for? Depositing more germs in the atmosphere? That's where I got the germs/dust from in the first place, no? Then?? Still, spray in the face is unpleasant to acquire.

Which reminds me. Anjani and I came across this joke in Ekta Bookstore:
Q. When is it not an offense to spit at a man's face?
A. When his moustache is on fire.

Ha ha ha!!

He/She

2006-04-19T20:30:00.000+05:45

He punches a code in his right kneecap,
And presses his belly button.
His right calf unzips open,
And three elastic balls dribble out.
Catching two with his hands
And the third with his mouth
He then turns to the girl.

Inserting the two inside her pockets,
And balancing the third on her nose ridge,
She vomits out a spoon,
And gently taps the ball with it.

The ball rolls upwards to the forehead.
Splits into two equal halves,
And begins spewing black spindles,
Which starts rooting into the skin
And become two bushy eyebrows.

Yuck, says he. I like the browless eye.
It's for me to decide, retorts she.
And besides, I also prefer a browless smile.
Huh? Asks he. What could that possibly mean.
The brow you have, jokes she,
Between your nose and your mouth.

Ahh, but this is a sign of virility, says he.
And besides, we shave them off if need be.

But that does not make any… she begins
But the balls in her jeans begin spewing spindles,
Tickling her and making her squirm laughingly.
And what in the name is that?
She says they are her bovine hiphairs.
Hiphairs I can comprehend, he says.
But why bovine? Then she says:
Well, they came out of your calf, didn't it?

Presently, he tugs at her hiphairs
Ouch, she squeals, why did you do that?
But before he can answer, her navel bulges out,
and she yelps laughingly in surprise.
Impossible, an eye! He says,
It's a digestive eye, she says,
It might come in handy during tummy aches

But logically, it should be something else
That reports. Not something that takes in stimuli.

Hmm, that's odd, she says, you're right.
So, she takes a deep breath, and keeps still
While the navel swallows the eye.
And as she violently breathes out,
He sees a belly button.

Ingenious Ideas!!

2006-04-18T20:20:00.000+05:45

The Nepalese are coming out with multitudinal ways of demonstrations (Julus). Here are some interesting ones:

Hatti Julus
Dohori Julus
Nangai Julus
Mundan Julus
Maun Julus
Masal Julus
Sanketik Julus

These are ingenious. Here are some that is guaranteed to offer additional values:

Water Julus (Demonstrators carrying water 'jerkins')
TV Julus (Carrying television sets)
Money Julus? mmm?
Acrobatic Julus (performing stunts like mobile human pyramids)
Relay Julus (Individuals passing logo-bearing batons to others in different strategic locations)
Crawl Julus
Mobile Julus (oh, wait... most already are)

Money Wandering

2006-04-18T19:49:00.000+05:45

The other day, I found a group of crisp, 500-denominated Nepali notes marching around the traffic island in front of Singadurbar, deftly sidestepping grabby human hands...

I have opened a quasi-discussion-topic in my previous blog about money laundering (no discussers yet). That was in India. Now let's talk about what is eventing in Nepal itself. This time, the focus is on Money Wandering. It will be prequelled later by another Blopic (Blog Topic), Money Squandering, which, incidentally, is a primal cause of the wandering phenomenon.

So?

what??!

Do you believe that money wanders in Nepal? Not so surprisingly, I do not have anything worthwhile to say to the matter, so don't ask me...

He he...

snort.

(I guess I should not even bother assessing my readership at this stage of die-out. But hope still lingers. There's got to be somebody who still want to be sillified...)

Money Laundering

2006-04-17T22:35:00.000+05:45

It suddenly got me thinking that there is potentially a huge, attractive haven for money laundering practices in India. They thrive on inefficient procedural and regulatory machine.

The corporatized mafia underworld is quite advanced and organized in India, as is evident in some recent movies (Satya, Company, James, 'D' Company, etc.). In one instance, I was mildly shaken when I saw Satya being offered a place to stay after he gets 'enrolled' into the mafia organization.

For these 'companies', funds are procured (honoring 'contracts'), costs are incurred (hiring gundas), and profits are generated.

To exist in the context of the Indian regulation, these companies must brainstorm on how to launder money that they have earned through their various perpetrations. And they must be quite innovative in this approach, dynamically looking for different ways. They must always stay ahead of the regulators and monitors who are always trying to recover the criminal earnings.

One obvious solution is to launder it in the Bollywood industry. Picture this- a mafia organization produces a 3rd-rate, flesh-oriented movie, which cost 10 crores indian rupees. However, the real cost of the movie is only 0.5 crores. The organization hides 9.5 crores as a cost in fictitious identities in payrolls and contracts and shows false invoices. Therefore, even if the sales from the production breaks even with the cost, the organization has created a cost-free platform where it can launder 10 crores of money. The cost can be curtailed even less if the script is copied from Hollywood, and the song tunes are copied from tapping into the music reserves of the neighboring countries, or into old hindi songs. Now, that's an impossible return on investment in the legal scenario!

Maybe that's why actors like Salman Khan and Sanjay Dutt have close ties with the Indian underworld.

Another industry money launderers can parasite into is the rapidly burgeoning Indian entertainment industry (music, television). I mean, even the sky poses no limit anymore.

Am I right? Any viewpoints?

Drunken Gazal

2006-04-16T22:08:00.000+05:45

Listening drunkenly to the lazed gazal tune, he turns a blind eye to the direct sun in his eyes. Even the fly perched majestically on the silk of his nodding tie could not get on his nerves. Sighing contentedly, he feels vibrated at harmony with the hum of the sensual female voice, and lets his hands float on the wafting wind.

When I am like this, he exclaims to himself, I feel as impulsive as a dog.

As if to prove himself, he suddenly breaks his momentum and sits down cross-legged in the middle of the road, his earphone still filled with sultry croonings. Not even to the whooshing truckload of policemen (that leaves his shirt and tie flapping crazily) does he decide to bother.

Gently, he realizes that he does not feel any necessity to reach his office today.

Arts

2006-03-31T23:10:00.000+05:45

You will create an art if you are committed enough...

This is what i realized. Art can take so many forms, and you realize it during so many different phases in your life cycle. And just because you are entitled to enjoy just one cycle of life as we all know it, you never know when you come across that phase, if at all... so dont even dare telling me that I am wasting my time with my sketches and doodles. I know I am enjoying it. Let me do it in peace.

A Wonderful Tale

2006-03-26T07:37:00.000+05:45

Not too long a time ago, there lived a benevolent king in a technocratic kingdom not too far away from here. He loved his country and his people, but also always checked whether his actions befitted the objects of his affection.

One night, he has a violent dream. He sees strong killing weak, rich looting poor, and youth despoiling the religious idols and revelling drunkenly. He wakes up with a sweaty chest and palms. He keeps wondering how good his citizens are, and could not go back to sleep.

During breakfast, he calls up Mahamantry and says that he wants to test people how good and honest they really are.

Mahamantry thinks for a bit and asks the King to leave it up to him. He proceeds to build a temple with a magnificient golden Gajur weighing a ton. Then he fits a Sony video camera with an amazing resolution, trained at Gajur, so that the thief will be captured on film.

The next day King awakens to a lot of hue and cry. The Gajur is gone!

Upon calling, Mahamantry takes a deep bow to King and says apologetically that it was done at night so the camera could not capture the perpretator. With deep remorse that people have indeed gone bad and that the idea did not quite work out, King orders that Mahamantry be beheaded.

With uncontrollable shakes, Mahamantry asks for a last chance. King says ok, but Mahamantry will have to buy another Gajur out of his pocket, and if he failed this time also, he will not be beheaded but Pickled. Not trying to dwell on the fix he is in, Mahamantry takes out all his life savings from the bank to buy and install the exact replica of another Gajur, and ruminates for the rest of the day.

That evening, he replaces the camera with equally powerful resolution, but this time with a clear night vision as well.

The next day, even before it morned, the King, in his underwear, runs to the temple... Gasping, he looks for the Gajur. With a stunning revelation, he sees that the not only the second Gajur was still intact, but also the original Gajur was brought back and placed next to the temple!

He orders for Mahamantry, who comes beaming all over and effusive that the citizens are not that bad at all. The King becomes so happy that he orders that a beautiful temple be made from the two ton of gold from the Gajurs at Mahamantry's residence.

All this while, nobody notices the Sony camera is gone...

Learning points:
1. Don't jump to conclusions
2. Now you know why there are so many temples in Nepal.
3. Some objects are worth more than gold.

Company Tree

2006-03-23T07:38:00.000+05:45

The other day, Binay and I were discussing how much we can borrow words and concepts from a decent tree to analogize with the customer survey we're currently purveying.

Here are a few excerpts, all those I can remember:

You know, the customer grievances, we have to see where these Stemmed from.
Is it because the employees like to Bark a lot?
We will have to find the Root of the problem
Could it be coz the staff at the Branches are frequently on Paid (Ped) Leaves?
It's best we dealt with these matters promptly, otherwise the company's reputation is going to get Soiled.

Apologies for writing a bad blog this time... I am pressed for time, and cant really put my mind to it this time.

Corporate Drudgery

2006-03-15T20:56:00.000+05:45

(corporate humor) Got nothing to do? Call up a meeting!!

I was relieved that I did not have vermillioned ears or throat, the aftermaths of Holi. Although, by the records, I have never really enjoyed the festival firsthand (I meant all those colors and drenchings look cool on TV).

Not that I had much time to indulge in reveries. Insurmountable loads of work, undefined by the office hours...

(suddenly) Why do we wear ties? Now that has got to be a vestigeal apparel. It's basically a strip of eyecatching silk pointing towards your groin but tied around your neck that suspiciously is a euphemistic representation of a hangman's noose. Coincidence? Well, lets venture to differ, shall we? Ties, Cufflinks, Suspenders, Pants... think of the literal meanings...

Actually, I like my work- but I tend to throw off from the mouth when I feel stressed.

I got an email from a reader!!

2006-03-14T11:36:00.000+05:45

Who says I cannot write more than one blog per day?

I just got an email from a Mr. Aalok. He says:

"Milan, let me take the liberty to assess your writing style. Your writing amuses me through and through. Also, you have cleverly put in clever puns in your sentences that normally passes the reader's first eye.

On the flip side, your writings are worthless in the sense that they are written without any apparent reason. So it will not serve any purpose. Like, I come across many Nepali blogs that inform, and many that entertain. I do not know where yours lie.

So basically, you suck. But in such a silly way that it entertains me."
---

Now, if you say "really?!", you know what my answer would be: "Of course not..."

Lying through your teeth

2006-03-14T10:49:00.000+05:45

You know a fly has farted when you see it flying in a straight line...
-George Carlin

The most achieved liars are the raconteurs of bedtime stories and fantasy, like C.S. Lewis (Alice in Wonderland, Narnia Chronicles), J. K. Rowling, and the fabricators of religion, cinderella story, red riding hood, etc.

Lying harmlessly can be used as an amusement tool, if you really think about it. I sometimes employ prevarications and fabrications to amuse myself. It is fun making up something that sounds too weird to be true. But the catch is that it should only be a bit weird. And you have to be specific about it. It is like you are creating an event that might as well have happened, but you need to sprinkle some odd facts to make the listeners prick their ears yourway.

Like, you can say:

1. "you know, those music bands that play those Hindi movie songs in weddings. They inherently have this intense competition. Normally, one guy from some band company will sit down and translate the catchy songs into the band's notation. That notation script is so valuable that he does not normally let others see it. Often, ugly scuffles break out when somebody from another band company is caught stealing/plagiarizing the original notation."

2. "Chhinnze Tongg Maah! means I want to be your scrumptious petal in Vietnamese."

3. Long time ago, there was this divine being who hooked up with a talking and flying monkey with a handy tail and some odd animals, who helped make a floating rocky bridge to win back his love of life from a dude with 10 heads who had a golden kingdom on an island.

I consider myself an accomplished liar (of harmless type). After my delivery, I invariably see the awed expression. And a statement "really?!", after which I promptly reply, "Of course not...".

Too Weird Lies
Although, I also make up absurd events, making the listener know for sure it's a straight lie as soon as I say it.
But with the aim being to watch how he/she takes in and tries to digest the fabricated morsel. I would say something like:

1. "you know, I have found out how to communicate with the dogs."

2. "Once, immediately after watching Harry Potter and the Philosopher's stone, I suddenly had this unexplained urge to concentrate on my room's door and run into it; the next thing i realized was that I was on the other side of it."

The listeners sometimes give me an 'you never change', or 'as if that can happen' look. But rarely, they find it laughing funny. Even more rarely, it backfires- the listener actually believes it. I think that was when I said "Once, I jumped from the roof of my house, and landed on the concrete completely intact." Tara you never know whether that (as in, somebody believing) actually happened!

;)

Dreams, Science, and Rationalizations

2006-03-13T13:43:00.000+05:45

I used to have a recurring dream where I would bite on a match, and it would explode, shattering my molars to smithreens and making a sound like crashing glass. It would be so vivid that i could almost smell sulphur. However, there would not be, of course, any pain.

Dreams are welcome in that sense. Anything can happen, but there would be no consequences (except for some psychic who would say you certainly peed on your bed if you dreamt a river). Much like movies, but better- since there is no possibility of previews or predictability- adding to suspense.

And dreams are in that mental realm where none of the physical laws make much sense. You could be coming out of your room and suddenly enter the class of your most dreaded teacher. Maybe they are relaxing in that sense.

To further sophize on Phil, I think I am going to say that dreams are created by uncertainties in the mental equations, that they are the wastes of some mental arithelogic, the entropy of mental events. Or it is most definitely an unconscious attempt by (mammals ?) to rationalize things in the environment. Religion is also another unconscious attempt at rationalization, which, to beat you with the Obvious stick, is markedly different in characteristics from a dream.

And even if you ask me the chicken-or-the-egg question "then why did they attempt to do so?", I still would have the answer, borrowing from some biological scientists (Darwin?). The universe is full of random occurrences, some of which, over the long long time, was 'chosen' by the nature to persist because they were fitter than the others that were less fit to persist. In the end, Earth is now full of objects that are, if you think, basically just highly ordered arrangement of atoms and molecules. It's all a question of probability. It's like saying a human being is much much less
probable order of molecules than, say, a lump of rock; but the human is also much much more adaptive to surroundings than the rock. Kapisce?

And speaking of scientists, why is it that the most famous have names that sound so cool, but would sound equally ridiculous if you have a friend with that name? Ever heard of the name Einstein Pradhan or Gallelio Shrestha? (I rest my case)

Bittersweet Espresso

2006-03-08T09:11:00.000+05:45

Well, friends. This e-scribe (he he) is feeling elevated and heartbuzzed, coz the espresso was one bitter and smacking tip of a coffee. I feel so 'lifted' that I sense I am graduating towards Enervana- it is a state of Nirvana where you feel enervated. In my case, espresso was the devil of the cause, but that's just one man's opinion, right?

I am generally thought of as a harmless perpetator who, whenever with an oversupply of caffeine in the system becomes this person who babbles incessantly and incoherently, becomes persistently bubbly and flippant, or employs the naughty twist of the mind. But an abjectly harmless one who has a profound respect of the law and a prompt tendency to avoid unpleasant and embarrassing situations.

Sometimes I feel I cannot handle caffeine; to put into other words, my body cannot contain the drug. But frailty is not the issue here. I am generally bubbly and frivolous, and a small dose of caffeine takes me up a long way. What I am saying then is that my body possesses a lot of Leverage with regards to the drug. Another synonym-phrase would be 'I am too sensitive to the drug'.

But that having said, don't think I am weak or incapable. I do not possess those karate belts, but I was in the gymnastics club once, and I can bend my body whichever way. That comes in handy during combat situations. So you watch out!!!

Blogging from Pokhara

2006-03-07T17:55:00.000+05:45

Wish I could carry pocketfuls of air from here to keep a lifelong air supply...

It's weird when I'm staying right in the Lakeside without even enjoying any of the touristy amenities that are situated right there... I haven't even had a chance to go boating in the lake for whoever's sake! And I'm flying back tomorrow, isn't that a shame?

But it's a refreshing change- my lungs are thankful with fresh air and open spaces. I was heard commenting somewhere (not publicly, of course) that Pokhara is much much luckier than KTM in the sense that it was not as populated as the capital when modern concepts like town planning and supportive infrastructures are put into place. I was amazed at the WIDE roads with so low volume of traffic, and these roads take you virtually anywhere. I am afraid this will all be a sad memory when I am back in the city and am stuck at the traffic jam at various places :(

Oh, well! (sigh)

Why Bollywood copies so blatantly from Hollywood

2006-03-03T22:46:00.000+05:45

Chai se jaada Kittli garam hai...

I used to scoff at the bolly figures about how they make movies whose storylines are directly lifted from Hollywood blockbusters.

I still do, of course. But now I understand why this is the case. It is obvious to all that the indian mass, the target audience for most bolly 'hit' movies, is not sophisticated enough to be watching english movies. So it is a bleedingly obvious business choice to not spend any money on script developments, and instead focus the resources on things that add value to the mass audience... frills like sleazy dances, sexy models and outfits, and pushy promotions.

But still, I have lost my cine-reverence to many supposedly stars, including Amitabh (he has regained my reverence for different reasons), Dimple, Rekha, etc. Take this for an example; Not too long after 'The Others' got its acclaim, I came across a hindi movie promo that showed Dimple enacting some scenes that were soo similar to The Others that I knew it for sure of the plagiarism. And guess what Dimple said: "I have not played such a movie before in my life. It's clearly the best movie I have ever played." Not only did she lose her credibility to people like me, but also she seriously deprecated her movie career by saying something as stupid as that. She had played some really really important roles, many pro-feminine, and was acclaimed for them. And now she is vouching for an original copy that is not even worth vouching for...

This phenomenon has been seen much in Hollywood too... So many remakes are being done... some I remember off the top of my head are: The Ladykillers (Tom Hanks), Godzilla, The Red Dragon (From 'Manhunt' in the 80s), etc. But these retain originalilty in the sense that they still have an innovative perspective at the old version, or a creative adaptation of the old script. It's not like through and through copy/paste job.

Anyway, i know u're gonna say... I know all this, I dont need to be reading this- it's nothing new. You're right. But let me at least write it out, coz things run a bit slow in my head. There are a lot of speed bumps up there.

Qualms about our Palms

2006-03-01T23:04:00.000+05:45

Daffy: Do you want your palms read?
Elmer: Well, yes!!
And Daffy smears Elmer's palms with red paint...

Do you believe in palmistry? Myself, I do not know what to make of it. It definitely is a farfetched correlation between the creases in your hands and the events in your life. But the thing is, I have heard many earnest-sounding testimonials.

Not only that- Somebody told me a girl could read hands. I showed it to her, and she told me a few past events that were not only true, but amazingly specific and accurate! For instance, she told me that I had studied abroad, which I had. That only jolted my attention awake to listen to her telling me what had life in store for me! I could not help not believing that.

Oh- My mother liked to tell me that when I was a kid, near a temple or something, a jyotishi guy offered my mother to 'see' me. He told her never to slap me! But when I asked her, she said she had to slap me many-a-times, because I was a menace. But then, looking from a perspective, maybe the Jyotishi foresaw that I would be a menace and that my mother will be losing a lot of patience, and he was telling her to 'be easy on her kid'. Makes sense??

So, yeah. I still cannot see how it is possible that our past and future are coded into those lines in our palms. And what intuition, what revelation prompted these Jyotishis to start interpreting them. If this all is really true, are we not wasting a lot of life in oblivion- revering science and reality as we see it? You find it out and let me know!

Small Girls Are Cute

2006-02-28T21:40:00.000+05:45

There is nothing cuter than a tiny girl with a hiccup.

I was walking back to my home, through an alley when I saw, ahead, a schoolgirl of around 4-5 class walking home a Nursery/Kindergarten kid. The elder girl was teasing that the little one, Parvati, is not quite catching up, and Parvati was retorting with her tiny, cutesy voice that she definitely is. You know... in that imperfect kidsy twang.

As I neared them, it became apparent that the little girl was hiccuping. She couldnt even get one statement straight in her plaintive attempts. And believe me, it was the cutest sound one ever hears! It is probably just because they have got the best accoustic make-up!

I wanted to slow down my pace so that I could hear their conversation further, but I reluctantly overtook them. Soon, they fell behind my earshot...

Experiment Une: At Peace with Peas

2006-02-14T19:37:00.000+05:45

In the course of a brainstorming session today, Shristy had brought some roasted chickpeas and peas. After my mind got too dazed to continue (it was so full that it felt like the content of this blog), I started to let it wander. Then I came up with this ingenious idea of contributing negatively to the group's performance by conjuring up an experiment which will directly deter the attention of the group members.

Anjani had deliberately sat farthest from the roasties, so as to not let her hands reach them; she asserted that she couldn't stop putting one after the other peas in her mouth- and too much peas would give her stomach pains. So I suddenly got hit by Curiosity- I wondered what if I tested her claim; or more accurately, I wanted to find out whether the distance would really affect her desire to consume those peas?

So I started putting individual peas on the desk (one at a time) at strategic points, each at different distances from her. As and when required, I would try to garner her attention to the lone peas by shifting their positions slightly, so that her eyes would register the change in the surroundings as a stimulus.

Observation and Findings
She would involuntarily grab the pea and put it in her mouth whenever the pea was placed at a distance less than or equal to her arm's length.

Even if she acknowledged the presence of the lone peas placed at distances greater than the arm's length, she would choose not to reach out and grab them.

Conclusion
The hypothesis, as stated by Anjani, is proved empirically true from this exercise. Anjani does indeed desire to pop the peas in her mouth if they are placed at a distance of or less than, an arm's length from her.

The Hawthorne Effect *
In my experiment, the Hawthorne Effect set in after Anjani registered my sniggers as jokes directed her way, after which, she was unable to dedicate full attention and concentration on the brainstormings and designing of the questionnare.

* Elton Mayo had demonstrated in a research project in around 1930s that individual behaviors may be altered when they know they are being studied, at the Hawthorne Plant of the Western Electric Company in Illinois.

Other Side Effects
Anjani had an upset stomach.

Further Research
The next step is to repeat the experiment replacing Peas, as logical steps, with Cues, and then with Ares.

To further delve into her psychological makeup, a series of experiments should be carried out, with the experimental settings all identical except for the fact that the peas should be made harder to get. For instance, the peas should be implanted with a miniscule motor and a touch sensor. The idea is to make the peas shoot away, as her hands try to reach them, to a new position that is just out of reach.

Kung Fu Hustle

2006-02-12T17:54:00.000+05:45

Kung Fu is one ultimate Chinese flick that has got a bit of everything. This guy Stephen Chow, actor/director is a genius. He is the one directing/acting Shaolin Soccer. And he has the flair of presenting everything in much style.

The movie is an innumerable show of amazing fight sequences, ultimate humorous situations and expressions, and a complicated story with lots of well-defined characters. I would strongly suggest you watch it.

It is hard to describe the humorous situations, because it has got to do with visual expressions. One character is a funny looking teenage boy with adolescent facial hairs and half his ass showing all the time.

Another is an amazing fighter who is very effeminate (gets called a 'fairy') and wears fluorescent red undies that shows through his lower bodywear. His fight style is wearing the curtain rings around his wrist (so looking like a series of bangles) that double as effective shielding and hammering weapon.

Just get ahold of the movie and watch it. It's like a great soup- got a bit of everything.

2006-02-07T22:20:00.000+05:45

Have you ever thought of solving a problem by trying to think of a new way? After you come up with a viable solution, you then realize somebody almost every time had already come up with the same solution.

This is really frustrating. It's like I know that I am creative, since I did come up with the new method/solution/way. But it also means that I am not fast enough to prove that I did indeed think of it first, since I could easily have consulted the solver of the particular problem! So it's tantalizingly infuriating. You agree?

If you answered yes: You are like me, creative, and... well, your ideas sound ridiculous to others. But don't worry, you will some day surpass the whole humankind and come with a fresh idea first. Then the next step is to market the idea/thought/solution. Then only you will prove your worth.

But you are the pioneering sort. Your whole purpose in life is to test drive: to find new directions for the whole mankind to trod towards. Your basic competitive edge lies on your ability on thinking viable alternatives of a particular solution, and choosing the best option.

However, there is a pitfall; you are equally bound to come up with original ideas that do not serve any purpose. In fact, some ideas serve their own purpose- of originality. For instance, I recently thought of creating a blank blog post While nobody has (most likely) thought of doing so, I hold myself proud of having done so in the first place and also proved my originality.

If you answered no: You are unoriginal, and are more of a traditional person. You like to follow what others do, and maybe even good at it. Your competitive edge lies on the fact that you do well defined tasks effectively and up to the set par. You are suggested to hone your ability of what you do best and stick to it. You work best on well-defined environments and workplaces with well-established rules. Like in a zoo.

Good. You did well. This blog was nondescripittal disguise of a personality test.

A Blank Blog Post

2006-02-07T22:12:00.000+05:45

Rocking Retrospections

2006-02-06T18:55:00.000+05:45

(Heard in the House) Muma: "Stop drumming your fingers like a Tabla and help me with the bowls"
--
My MBA program is unofficially over- in the sense that I have completed all my classes, gotten all the credits and passing grades, but haven't received a transcript and my diploma is not due till ... mmm... a long time from now. We haven't gotten our farewell party yet... in which, may I add, I will stumble, fumble, and mumble some incoherent phrases on the microphone as a farewell speech, but that is all too far in the future to care... mmm... well, maybe I will "do the starts with armpit farts"... but actually I'm too uptight to do anything of that sort. I might just stick to the plain old blushing and gushing routine.

I remember our welcome party. We had to go through this supposedly ragging ritual... a sort of acculturation process, maybe. It was held at Verge Inn (opposite Soaltee Hotel), which, I ruefully mused, was probably chosen for the name (sounds like virgin :s). Anyway, a few girls could not stand the ragging, and one stomped home and I didn't blame her. A few others sneaked out, and I didn't blame them either.

I also remember that I had to do a stupid catwalk and a short dance in a makeshift aisle... (roar like a lion, people urged- I actually got Mr. Lion and got a stuffed lion, a feat that I am quite proud of). And on stage, I was asked by a panel of 'judges', comprised of seniors whose sole motives were to unnerve the cowering man/woman on the moon by asking stupidly double-meaning riddles. I had to perform 5 different kisses. And I mumbled something like, let me use my hand to demonstrate, and some people were sniggering in the crowd. Then it dawned to me that it was a dangerous analogy to masturbation... but well, most were silent; I guess most people weren't bent that way...

A year and a half later, a girl was supposed to ask the person onstage something related to pubic hair, and she thought it was public hair; and again, only a few people noticed... and I again guessed most people weren't bent that way...

But, oh well, it is always fun. Some people crack up, some manage to retain their pride, some even gain the audience's favor, and sometimes the Questioner cracks up... Quite a variation.

Oh, so where was I? Oh, actually I did not have any point to make; if I were made to utter one, I would say, the point is to just point you away from making it "boring to the point of snoring". Ahh, I notice the yawns on the fawns... I better put a stop on my rhyming crop; make an end with my poetic bend; say enough to the bardy stuff; and finish the tingles with my jingles. So Ciao, I'll stop niao!

Literally Speaking

2006-01-11T22:12:00.000+05:45

My definition of an optimist: The guy who feels shitty only when he misses his bathroom time...

Pakistan removes a Bush-favoring poem

2006-01-10T22:10:00.000+05:45

The Packy government is all set to delete the poem titled 'The Leader' from all of the textbooks because the first letters of each line spells George W. Bush!!

Check it out; I got this article from BBC's site:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/south_asia/4501132.stm

Quirky News

2006-01-07T13:51:00.000+05:45

abababaaabbbbbaabbbbaaabbbbbbbbbb ...
-means, long time, no 'C'

How many of you guys have had grudges with the urinals? And how many of you know that there are some art galleries that display urinals? :D Read this article:
http://news.scotsman.com/topics.cfm?tid=609&id=27002006

Thinking of which, urinals probably are the only creations that like to be heard, "That one looks just the right place to pee on."

Bun, Tea, aur Bubbly

2006-01-06T14:13:00.000+05:45

-pic courtesy of some genius- i didnt take the pic :)

I was watching Bunty Aur Babli. And I noticed some off-focus things that kept me awake. Here they are:

In that 'Dhadak, dhadak. Dhadak, dhadak. Dhuwan udaye re...' song... whenever the 'dhadak, dhadak...' chorus comes, there will be a train somewhere in the terrain.

When Bunty and Babli scams that bald 'phirangee' by selling Taj Mahal to him, they throw him a wedding bash. The name of the band that played in the procession is called Milan Band.

In the Taj Mahal scam, Bunty proposes the fake news (that Taj Mahal is for sale) to be printed in Agra Times, whereas the bald guy is shown later to be reading the news from The Times of India.

Bunty carries a cricket bat in his shoulderbag, but does not even talk of cricket during the whole movie. Much like SRK draping those monochromatic sweaters of different hues around his shoulder and not wear it even once in that rash-breaking Mohabbatein movie.

After Babli makes a call from her mobile to the airport control tower to give a bomb scare, and when Dasrath calls back on the cell, Babli does not know how to switch it off. Wouldn't you have dumped the cell as soon as you made the call, or kept it on silent or vibra mode?

With Dasrath hot in their pursuit, Bunty manages to take laboring Babli to the hospital, have the baby delivered, and abscond from the hospital with them, all before Dasrath even manages to reach the hospital.

After the capture, during train ride with Dasrath, Bunty monologues and says that he does not want to be a train ticket collector like his father... judging by absurd, bollywoody scripts and the serendipitous turn of events, I was fully expecting his father to open the door and ask for their tickets.

After Dasrath decides to let them go and the duo step off at a platform, the movie pans from a tea stall with a board 'Jungle Mein Mangal' with a painting of Amir Khan in his Mangal Pandey look. (Mangal Pandey had not been released then... Coincidence?)

And in Babli's arms is a too-huge-to-be-only-a-few-days-old baby who is not bunldled and is naked to the chest.

After B&B settle down in Fursatganj, Bunty's hometown- one morning, Babli lovingly lathers Bunty's jowls with a shaving cream while he talks to their kid. After the kid leaves, Bunty wipes off the cream without shaving.

What We Wear to Express

2006-01-03T20:23:00.000+05:45

I wanna be your underwear.
-Bryan Adams (did he really think this through?)

During a micro-ride today, I happened to 'have to' listen to a pathetically interesting FM program. There were two anchors, a guy and a girl. The program had a call-in feature, and they were discussing with a caller the present fashion trend in Nepal.

The woman was saying- There are two types of people. One kind adopts fashion to feel good, and do it basically for themselves. The other kind is more concerned about wearing skimpy clothes (in her words 'angapradarshan garne lugaharu') to attract attention from others.

And she was openly against the second type of people. She was asserting that people should be doing this way and behaving that. Why should she be making such 'ought-to' judgments? Self-expression in whatever way is a right. What I mean is, if I feel uncomfortable with somebody's clothes (for instance, if I happen to sit across a hairy person wearing a newspaper), I hold myself to blame for feeling such discomfort, not him/her. And while I am not going to stare at the man's crotch even if the news there says 'Gold Mine Discovered in Kupondol Heights-Govt. Says Come Take It For Free', I will not tell the man that he is polluting my eyesight.

That having said, please do not come IN banana peels the next time you come to see me. But you can visit me WITH bananas. But again, dont bother visiting if the purpose of your visit was to hit me with those bananas.

My personal guideline is 'dont let them stare at your wear'.

Top 10 reasons why a newspaper is not a good clothing material:
1. You're in deep shit when it rains.
2. In cold winters such as this one, you will get a bonechill with numerous uncontrollable drafts through various cracks.
3. You will tend to get a lot of stares from the passers-by. And you wouldnt want to look stupid if you could help it.
4. You can hardly choose the clothing texture, pattern and design. The last one is an important tool for self-expression. You have to skim through many many newspapers to come up with a nice and appropriate picture in the entertainment section. Can you imagine an executive officer in a meeting wearing a scantily clad angelina jolie on his chest? What if his employees hate anjelina jolie?
5. Newspapers are treacherous when it's windy. They tend to crumple, flap, rip, and tear.
6. When you walk, they rustle. When you run... well, you can't run wearing a newspaper. Refer to #5, coz when you run, you gather wind.
7. It's highly probable that your undies will show. I hope they're not made of newspaper too.
8. Newspapers come in standard sizes. Especially since this size is too small, you have to conjoin many papers together. And newspapers are unstitchable with thread. What else would you use? Stapler?
9. Newspapers can become notoriously unmanageable when it comes to fasteners, like buttons, velcro (you know what's gonna tear first), zippers. So whatever your initial design may be, in the end you will just end up taping the papers to your body.
10. At best, they are good for one time use only.

MBA Pass

2006-01-03T04:14:00.000+05:45

Those of you who are psychokinetic, please raise my hands!!
-dont know who

Now that I have finished my MBA, I thought I could finally launch the art project that had been on my mind since my bachelors' days.

This installment is going to be displayed out into the open, with a 'take-it-to-the-audience' concept. I am proposing the location to be at the center of the Thapathali traffic junction.

It is a clay sculpture, roughly twice the size of the computer monitor, mounted on a potter's wheel that is 6 meters across. The sculpture is a tubular mass of clay dumped in such a way that it is arranged conically, like in an ice cream, with the top end of the tube sticking off like the end of an ice cream cone. The sculpture is going to be hollow with minute perforations on the areas facing upwards. A small vapor producing machine is to be installed underneath the wheel to conceal it from the view of the audiences. The produced vapor is channeled through the tube and out of the perforations to give the effect that the sculpture is giving off steam. Much like a pile of shit.

The title of the project: Sham Poo.

Yappy New Hear 2006!!

2006-01-01T21:42:00.000+05:45

What's the difference between me and you? About 5 bank accounts, 3 ounces, and two vehicles.
-Some Gangsta Rapper

Yappy New Ear? Happy Near You? You Nearly Happy? Appear Huey and Nappy? Wear New Yappies? Happening Yappies? Ears of Nappy Hens? Wearing Your Happy Ears? When Ears get Nappy? Pay to get your Ears Happy and New?

Ok ok... 2006 is here. So what? Yesterday's still yesterday, tomorrow's coming only tomorrow, and we're in today. What's going on with the booze and parties? Oh, I see it- it's basically a synchronized pretext of making merriment. Nothing bad about it. It's pretty cool. What's not cool is when people make lame jokes like:
Oh, I'll only see you next year then!
Oh, I had a HRD case submission due last year, and I (still) didnt do it!

Grunt! Actually, in fact, incidentally, and to maintain precision, I have to admit I gave in to the impulse to crack the joke myself. I think it was the first one. But still, it's uncool.

But I can see what the fuss is all about. The British Secret Service must really be looking forward for the 007 year next year, right? Speaking of which- earlier during the evening, Sid and I were conversing about whether there exists a superhuman in reality, and he ventured that there is Superman, but Batman is more real, and James Bond is a pure myth. Personally, I think Spiderman is just bogus, a huge Hollywood scam. If you look into the bowels of NYC, you will definitely find a fiber-making factory that supplies gossamer to Peter Parker. And Parker is most probably wearing contacts. About his build; well, I have not seen him personally, and I would like to venture that he is not that well-built. I mean, a 'fateful' bite from a spider, and you're suddenly a friendly, neighborhood spiderman? There's definitely something black in the lentils.

But I would like to think that superheros do exist, just in much nondescript way. An example, David Dunn, the very-real superhero. He acted in Unbreakable by M. Night Shyamalan. It does not matter whether he is for real. The movie just presents a case "Why should there NOT be a superhero in real?". Got any comments from your side?

I do not recall last new year that it was this cold. I mean, around here in Kupondol, we have to gently tap our fingertips so as to ensure the blood flow, and when I blow into the mirror, the mist does not stay- the breath just bounces right off. Ignore the last statement if you did not get it. But you are welcome to visit my frigid abode to witness a demonstration; with an appointment, of course- I am a bit busy exhibiting KTM people how the bouncing off is really working.

Wussup? I think Im starting to mint out more than one blogs per day!

Rodeos Riding Rocking Wild Bulls

2006-01-01T18:46:00.001+05:45

Have you ever watched those rodeo cowboys doing bullrides on TV? It's weird watching it without knowing any rules. While channel-flipping, I came across this game in Reality TV.

It just seems pointless... I did not see much skill or finesse at play. After a few seconds, the enraged bull, with its rear jumping more than 7 feet up in the air, invariably throws off the 'brute' from its back, and while still jumping, tries to gore the fallen guy.

The commentator, with a Southern drawl, exclaims: "Ow! That's stepp't on really hard right'un the back!" or "Tha wus a daiiirreckt hiyet (direct hit) raaitt aun hies ribs!"

Each one of them somehow manages to get up, runs to the nearest fence, and makes expressions (sometimes even shaking his head in disbelief) as if wondering how he got fallen off. If I had a chance, I would have told him with an unagreeing bull like that, he probably had less than half a percent probability that he would stay on the back- that too, with no guarantee that his spinal cord would not snap. Obviously. Seriously, he was not exactly riding a horse!

At this point, the commentator will be saying something like: "He's catching his breath niaou. He don't look too good!" or "Paramedics- theyrr all here. He's in good hands niaou!!"

I have decided that I would never ride a bull. I mean, with men flying in the air in weird angles and shapes, I am sure that I can find a more amenable competitive edge. I had tried the trampoline back when I was quite a kid and was in the mindbending (literally) Gymnastics Club, and I could not make myself enjoy the midair experiences and the consequent meeting with the ground (most preferably on feet).

I am famous!

2005-12-31T20:49:00.000+05:45

It's the name. They made a car: Mercury Milan. Its cool, huh?

What does Milan give you? More, of course. Quality, Distinctive Style. Options built on your preferences. Explore the smartest guy inside and out. Hmm... sounds like moi, does it not?

And Now Some News

2005-12-31T17:35:00.000+05:45

Here's a sober Blog for you:

More shooting. In a drunken revelry, Danny Carpio, an army private, while shooting in air to celebrate his return for the holidays, accidentally shot dead a Bangladeshi woman in her eye on the 5th floor (4th by our standards) in Queens, New York. Selina Akhtar was 28 and was looking out the window at that time. She was undiscovered for half hour until her husband got off the phone.

"What are you, fucking crazy?" an unidentified man had asked the shooter. He had replied, laughing: Yeah, we're crazy!"

This rings a familiar tone with the incident over at Nagarkot, doesn't it? To use the heavily cliched statement: Guns dont kill people! People kill people!
---

Deceptive Glass re.

A study done at Cornell University showed that you tend to pour less liquor into a tall, slender glass than you would into a short, fat glass. But your mind thinks that it's the other way around.

The study also demonstrated that even professional bartenders misjudge the amount wrong much of the time, although their assessments improve with experience.

So when you are drinking for the New Years', make sure you choose the glass along with the liquor type to make sure you get your objective (drink more than you think to get wet, or less than you think to be sober yet lightheaded)!

Milan Likes French

2005-12-31T10:45:00.000+05:45

Now that I can afford to be bored, I realize that I do not want to be bored.

You know, French is one sexy language. If I get to choose a bride, the one who speaks French is going to get a LOT of bias from my side. Those of you already stretching your arms to get ahold of a copy of 'French for Dummies', slow down, because I am not marrying soon. Besides, I am balding. And short. So... simmer down!!

Tara you know, I am thinking- I should take french. I can say a few. One-to-Ten goes: Une Deux, Trois, Quatre, Cinq, Six, Sept, Huit, Neuf, Dix. Apart from that, I can say:
Je t'aime - I love you
Je t'adore - I adore you
Je parle Francais. Un peu. - I speak French. A little.
Je m'appelle Milan Pradhan.

Voulez Vous Coucher avec moi ce soir? - Would you like to sleep with me tonight?
Ok, ok. That's a line from that Lady Marmalade song by Beyonce and those other felines.

I knew a lot more phrases, but that's all I have at the top of my mind as of now. Also, I can swear in French. Some of palatable ones are:
Merde! (pronounced mayrd) - meaning, "Oh, Shit!"
Tu délires!? - Are you crazy??
Casse-toi : Piss off!
Mon dieu! : My God!

However, I am not going to include French in my list of languages in my CV. And I know I shouldn't, despite the temptations to do so. My personal rule of thumb is I have to know 1000 high frequency words of a language by heart to say that I know it.

My feet are heated, but my knees are cold

2005-12-31T01:03:00.000+05:45

Ever since my laptop succumbed to death, I have been doomed to sit in front of a desktop in cold, kneecaps and digits frozen.

I had the privilege of watching the Coen brothers' "The Ladykillers". Despite the fact that the movie got an average rating at IMDB, I loved it.

The Coens never cease to amaze me with their comedy lineup. They create this offbeat humor, that unfortunately has a serious undertone.
Their movies that I love:
Raising Arizona- absolutely great one
Intolerable Cruelty
O Brother, Where Art Thou?
Fargo
The Man Who Wasnt There

Incidentally, here are a few other blood-related directors who made it big in Hollywood:
The Coen Brothers
The Farelly Brothers (Dumb and Dumber, Shallow Hal, Me, Myself and Irene, There's Something About Mary)
The Wachowski Brothers (Bound, Matrix series)
Francis Ford Coppola (Godfather Trilogy) and Sofia Coppola (Lost in Translation)

Some blood related actors (lets not venture into Bollywood for obvious reasons!):
Jake and Maggie Gyllenhaal (Donnie Darko)
John and Joan Cusack (Grosse Pointe Blank)
Michael and Kirk Douglas

Can u think of any more? I wouldnt call this a mindless exercise, coz I exercized my mind almost fully when I wrote this piece.

So appreciate it and support your local blogger!

The Sinatras

2005-12-28T19:51:00.000+05:45

I walked home from Mangalbazar today, listening to Nancy Sinatra. Frank and Nancy sing what I would like to call as mature love songs. Not literally though. Their songs are soused in kiddish romance and rhymey rhythms. What I mean is, it somehow seems the songs are targeted to mature people's ears to remind them that love, although foolish, is the way to go. Or that they know this as the divine truth, and those who disregard it are missing out a lot. Here is a piece from Frank Sinatra's "My Funny Valentine":

Your looks are laughable, unphotographable. Yet you're my favorite work of art.
Is your figure less than Greek, is your mouth a little weak, when you open it to speak, are you smart?

He he... it does not seem to make sense. But it does when it comes out of Frank's mouth.

Here are a few must-listen songs:
Frank: My Way, All the Way, My Funny Valentine, That Old Black Magic, Lets Fall in Love, Let It Snow, Mrs. Robinson, Yesterday, etc.
Nancy: Bang Bang, Fever, Sugar Town, These Boots are Made for Walking, The End, Hit The Road Jack, End of the World, Daytripper, As Tears Go By.
Duo: Something Stupid.

Good listening!

The LazBoy's back... or is he?

2005-12-16T15:02:00.000+05:45

Well, I have a perfect reason why I have not been blogging lately:
I got lazy.

Now that Vid and Anjani blogging like there is no tomorrow, I guess I am here giving it another shot, hoping that I am not yet past my prime (prime? I hear you say).

Well, I at least got something to share with you. Something human and warm so that you can survive this finger-dropping winter. Let me start, hai ta?
(ahem)
....

Where was I? Did I just break my own concentration? I guess I was a bit 'waked' ... check your vocabulary, or visit dictionary.com- this is a different meaning of the word- not 'a recently completed action that rendered an individual out from the somnolent state'... okkk. As I was saying, I was a bit waked (no, yaar! I didnt mean I got up from sleep, ok? Concentrate) with the task of reviving my blog's readership, let alone the blogsomeness (that was effusive enough that it would consume me for most part of any average day) or the admiring looks of blogworthiness on me that I happened to espy.

So yes, the waky feeling is still there. (or is it spelt wacky? hmm).
Anyhu, like some Khuskad said there is at least one significant event that marks any escalation or downfall of a personality, if I was lined up with the Usual Suspects and got interrogated which event marked my starry blogcareer, I guess I will say, 'Paradoxically, the day we got the 24 hours VSAT co-connection into the info superhighway'. I mean internet access is not a scarce commodity anymore. There are no conscious 'Internet Accession Points' like that cacophonic modem talk, and that small silent pop on the corner of the screen that verifies that I am indeed logged in.
So the point that I am trying to make is, I do not have the chance of preparing myself for the 'Blog Moment'. This is what happens: (The computer's turned on for most part of the time) I push on the monitor button, open up the Firefox browser, click on the 'BlogManage' button from the links bar, and as the page loads, I wait it out, and slowly start to panic that I do not have anything to write about. I go to other pages, guiltily realize that I was automatically logged onto Yahoo, and so go elsewhere. At the end of my tryst with internet do I realize that I still have a blank 'create blog' page staring at me sulkily. I quickly mumble a silent apology and close the window to g.....
Phoooofffffffffffffffffffffff!
Why am I saying all this? Do I even begin to comprehend the gravity of the situation that my readers might be bored... or that they arent even reading? ( in horror: :-O)

I recently finished the final paper for 'Strategic Management'... mmm... I think I'm gonna end here prematurely... that talk is the 'rollover topic' for the next blog. At least, please hope that I will write another blog. It gives me some vigor. It really does. So yeah.. the end. (although, I meant the end for this particular post only, not the whole blog. so check back later.)

My New Niece

2005-11-21T15:37:00.000+05:45

On your way down the bannister of life, may your ass collect a lot of splinters!
-Some Joker

Her name is Roja (pronounced Rojja). She was born with a shock of black hair that really did shock most of us. She inherited this feature from her mother, Indira.

I have been amazed by her taking so many different facial forms during the course of her life, sometimes resembling her father, Rabin, sometimes like her mother, and sometimes like their respective relatives. It was as if Rojja was trying out many different faces, so as to choose one that's fit for the rest of her life.

Another thing that is exceedingly cute about her is that she's a gazer. So far, that is. She's imbibing her surroundings like she's pumped up for it. As if it's her full-time job. She just peers around wide eyed, like her eyes are trying to adjust to seeing so many new things.

It is just a real cool time-pass just looking at her. It is such a shame that she will not remember any of this later on in her life. Well, I, for one, do not remember much during my early childhood days. My parents used to tell me that I was born at a very early age. And that I was soo pissed off that I didn't speak for almost two years.

Looney Tunes dialogs

2005-11-19T19:03:00.000+05:45

Daffy Duck:Just another parboiled minute!!!
...

Bugs: Duck Season!
Daffy: Rabbit Season!
Bugs: Duck Season!
Daffy: Rabbit Season!
... Bugs: Rabbit Season!
Daffy: Duck Season!
Elmer: (Bang)
Daffy: Yawwwwrrrr Dephfffffffffffff picable!

Personally, I like Daffy way more than Bugs. He is way more loony than Bugs. And Elmer is a bit too loony for me.

I'm Flu'ed!

2005-11-15T18:26:00.000+05:45

I was dreading it. I went to the Patan Durbar Square to watch this Kartik (nepali month) dance... it was so boring and unhappening, that I stayed in the car, awaiting my mom who seems fascinated by how Lord Vishnu took the shape of Narsimha to slay- eviscerate, to be precise- Hiranyakashipu, demon and father of Pralhad, who's incidentally a devout worshipper of Vishnu.
The car apparently wasnt warm enough, and the chill caught me, and now I'm wretched :(

I hate these chills. The head feels like a square peg in the round skull. And the eyes feel like they're being squeezed out from their places. And I'm digitally frozen.

So I beg of my leave. Dont come too close to the monitor, or the LCD panel. You might catch Miss Influenza. And I can feel a sneeze coming!

Good Days

2005-11-14T15:32:00.000+05:45

A rhetorical question- Why don't people on TV ever go to the bathroom?
I'll tell you the pharmula of a good day. You were supposed to have woken up early to study for the midterm, but when you open your eyes, it is already too late. Even then, your mind is strangely composed and it somehow feels like you can go through the exam without it.

You deftly evade your mom's Breakfast Calling and rush downstairs and meet Diben waiting for you on his bike. And he greets you a good morning pleasantly. During the ride to the college, the chilly morning just about only nips at your extremeties like a puppy and you are still warm.

The exams go smoothly- you only wish that you had some more time so that you could write some more of your fluid answers. And realize that oversleeping was a blessing. Although you did not do as well as you could have done, you are still gently satisfied.

You deliciously chat with your friends during the break, and do not feel the need to share your exam woes. All the while, you have this brimming desire to share this ebullience with somebody. And you compassionately do.

When Entrepreneurial Management class starts, you have this familiar and impatient tugging at your heart and know that you cannot be contained in the classroom. As if to bow down to your Supreme, Sacred Desire, sir decides to end the class in 15 minutes with the pretext that you could work on your projects.

Then you think that you somehow have this power to shape the day and make things happen. But you also revere the Day so that you decide not to use that power for now.

After some deliberation, you decide that in the evening you will hope for a conversation with a very beautiful girl, so as to put your power to the ultimate test.

Games I Play

2005-11-13T19:44:00.000+05:45

Talking about you and me, yeh...
and the games people play.
-some singer
I am physiologically unable to play 3D games. There's invariably a lag in your control of the character of that 3D world and the resultant motion. Ok, that u didnt get, coz I wasnt being effectively expressive. What I meant is, for example, you wanted to make the hero in the game turn left... you do it by using a mouse or a joystick. The lag comes when the game software running in your computer computes the input and then translates the information as showing the left side of the 3D world. The problem is, my brain detects the lag between the input and the motion. Hence, there is a problem in the virtual reality. My brain is confused that what is being projected as a simulated reality has got some problems sooo, the confusion unproductively amasses to nausea and dizziness. :D

You getting bored? Stay a minute more. I was saying... this is why I like simple, arcade-style games. Like 2D Nintendo games- Mario brothers, Donkey Kong etc. By the way, have you played Donkey Kong? It features King Kong. The reason for the game to be called Donkey Kong is so simple that it is hard to believe. The Japanese Nintendo people conceived of the game. King Kong was being translated as 'Monkey Kong', and someone wrote Donkey instead of Monkey. Hence the game. Nevertheless, the game is quite arresting.

In games, my ego comes in the way. I like games that make me feel like a hero. I hate Chess and Bagh Chaal (the one with tigers and goats), because I hate the feeling of getting beaten; and thus, I hate the idea that there's somebody who has a better mental makeup and composure than I do. I abhor (as in, worse than just hate) getting beaten by a younger person for this reason alone, but still you will not find me admitting this fallacy, although I am doing it now.

But then, some games I like passionately enough so that getting beaten is just a minor bump in my ego trip. I like playing scrabble regardless of my rival's capability. The games that find my passion tend to be word plays- crosswords, anagram-based games, Hangmen, etc. I'm even naturally gravitated towards people with puzzling or intriguing facades :) To sum it up, I think I can safely say that I love puzzles. Could it be that it gives a momentary sense of accomplising something in life? It could. All the same, I like puzzles. And I like getting puzzled. I mean, if my prison sentence were to be a choice between a normal prison cell, or a labyrinth of unknown dangers, I would most probably choose the latter. Better some Minotaur's dinner than a vegetable. Hmm, but actually let me reconsider that. On that puzzling assertion, allow me to conclude yet another delivery of silly rambles.

You want more? I got more!

Freakin' Chhath Parva!

2005-11-08T18:53:00.000+05:45

i support cultural diversity, but not this way.

U know this Chhathh festival? Well, I guess you have, if u read newspapers. But most of u's have not seen the ugly side of it. On the stinky bank of Bagmati river, beside poor Prasuti Griha (maternity hospital), and smack opposite of the river from our house, every year, they clear a portion of land and stick shreds of paper and cloths in angry reds, blues and whites, and gather for a cultural flocking-together. Anddd, the event is always marked with boisterous music (which is really an oxymoron, if we consider the phrase). I hate to repeat, tara these organizers clearly are harmonically raw. Imagine a hell where irritating, bleak songs are on auto play. And they are on repeat mode. All night long. Hmm? Now tell me, how annoying is that!

It is hard to imagine this, but there are worse segments in this seemingly 'entertainment' agenda. Open mic sessions are hosted where Bhang!ed individuals can grab the karoake mic and sing to Kishor Kumar songs. One particular number etched in my mind... 'Mere dil mein aaj kya hai...' (What is in my heart today...) If he was within my arm's length, I'd have clearly shown him Mere mutthi (fist) mein kya hai... Then I'd have stepped back to watch him totter and tumble around the stage with a black eye, visibly shocked at the unexpected reaction, amid awed gasps from the 'audience'. I'd gladly have volunteered to dip him in the chilled, brackish waters of Bagmati in that wee hours of the Lalitpur dawn.

Have you ever been slowly beaten with a heavy, dull weapon of some sort?
I did. Last night felt like it. Okay, the songs are not THAT bad. They're like those 70s and 80s songs. But the music goes on for the WHOLE FREAKING NIGHT. (sorry, didn't mean to raise my voice). And for now, lets forget those baseless prabachans/dissertations that are strategically put in the entertainment series as if for punctuating effects. Basically, the whole package was very unawesome. I'd hate to sound ethnocentric, but I'm compelled. Although they must be having a gala time chillin' with their own homies, I will not be able to relate to their enthusiasms.

This is not making me feel better... It seems there's no use explaining my vexisms. I am just stupid angry. ARRRRGHHH!!!

I have a Cold!

2005-11-06T23:01:00.000+05:45

Which is faster, hot or cold? Hot, coz you can catch cold.
That's an age-old joke. But to me, it seems like cold catches me before I can even contemplate on catching it.
Here's my grabber:
Some flu-alluding silly rhymes:
You sneeze to a breeze and you snivel and drivel.
You sniffle and snuffle, whiffle n' be tousled.
You blow to make it flow, till it makes you low and slow.
You keep honking at your nose, and hawking at your throat,
till they hate you for your blows, and for the germs that u tote.
as your nose gets a congestion,
you get into a sniveling session
to clear of the mess, 'n
as if to learn a lesson
you concede to the coldification.

Cold's the worst affliction ever. For one, it's soo enduring. It stays with you forever.
Second, it is contagious, and so there is that guilt factor. You dont want to sit too near anyone. And there is a high likelihood that someone invariably gets cold from you, or at least pretends that he or she recently did.

Also, also- I don't smell anything. All I sense is burning smell of boiled potatoes. Ok, this is what always happens. First I get an itchy throat. Then it worsens to become a sore throat (what I refer to onomatopoeically as 'ghanti khyappa'), a flank attack on my tonsils. After that, the 'infection' spreads upwards and morphs into the phlegmatic stage. Then I catch cold. That's when things start cruisin' up and loosen up, and the nose starts getting funny and runny. And, to borrow another phamose joke, when feet start getting smelly, you have an upside down man (nose running, feet smelling- get it?).

The 'situation' sometimes degenerates into flu or para-flu. Or it might further worsen to 'Phlegma II' where the irritation descends towards my larynges, and I have to resort to taking antibiotics. Hmm. Why do I always try to gross you out?

My taste buds also take a serious beating. They literally get boiled or burnt out by the hot water that I either drink or gargle. Which reminds me. During the 'itchy throat' phase a few days back, I was doing gargle gargle to launch an offensive against the alien particles. So it was like... glarggg! glarggggle!gurrrrglegurgle!! glurgle glurgle!! Then my mom says... "HMM??". She thought I was conversing with her! Ok, not too funny, right? But then you should have been there. I was literally in coughing spasms.

So here are my nose woes and throat wrotes. Hear, my dear. Hark, its no bark in the park. Feel, you eel, as I kneel, its no easy deal, and takes to heal.

Ok, ok. I'll tell Simon to stop with the rhymin'. :)

Nepali Ukhans

2005-11-04T10:42:00.000+05:45

Nachna najanne aaganai tedho - For the one who can't dance the floor is not even.
Bandar ko puchhar lauro na hatiyar - Monkey's tail: neither a stick, nor a weapon. (Doesnt apply to Hanuman, of course.)
Sikami chhen swani bhwatthaw - In the carpenter's house, rickety stairs.
Jahan garho, tehin sarho - Where rough, there tough
Nakhaun ta din bhari ko sikar. Kahu ta khancha bau ko anuhar - (monkey) You dont want to not eat it coz its the whole day's worth of hunting, but you dont want to eat it coz it resembles your uncle.
Jun goru ko singh chhaina, uskai naam Tikhe - The buffalo which is hornless gets named horny.
Haatti aayo haatti aayo fussa! - Elephant's coming! Elephant's coming.... Elephant's not coming!!
Haati chhiryo puchchar adkyo - Elephant slipped in, but tail got stuck.
Khane Mukh lai Jungale Chhekdaina - An eating mouth cannot be blocked by a moustache
Najane gaun ko batai nasodhnu - The way to the village that you're not going to- don't ask.
Jati jogi aye pani kanai chireko - No matter how many monks come to beg, all have split ears.
Jo hocho uskai mukhma ghocho - Small people get jabbed on their faces.
chokta khana gako budi jhol ma dubera maree. The old woman aiming for the meat pieces got drowned in the broth.
Aafai ta mahadev uttano par kasley dine bar - I am myself as broke as Mahadev, who'll give you a bride.
Raat bhari karayo dakshina harayo - (beggar) Shouted all night long and lost the collected alms.
Ghoda chadhe ladincha - If you mount a horse, you'll fall down.
Kaalo akshar, Bhainshi barabar - (To illiterate person) - Black letters are like buffaloes
Kam kuro eka tira, kumlo boki thimi tira - Work and things aside, gathered things to go to Thimi.
Ohrali lageko mriga lai bachho le khedchha - A descending deer gets chased at by even a calf.
Hune biruwa ko chillo paat - Fittest plants have shiny leaves.
Kukur ko puchhar bara barsa dhungro ma hale pani ghumrincha- A dog's tail will remain curled no matter how long you put it in a cylindrical pipe.
Jasle maha kadhyo, tyasle hath chatyo- One who fetches the honey gets to lick one's hands
Bhagya mani ko bhutai kamaro- To a fated person, even the ghost is his slave.
Nau taley gharma na jhyal na dhoka - In 9 storied building, not even a single door or window.
Barha barsa ramayan padayo, sita kaski joyi? Took 12 years to teach Ramayana, but still can't tell who is Sita a wife of.

By the Paan Stall

2005-11-02T13:33:00.000+05:45

What is the waiting procedure at the paan stall? I was politely waiting for the paan maker to finish making a set for a customer, when some guy came wearing a helmet and ordered some for himself, delivering a spit on the wall next to the stall. I involuntarily glanced at the mountain of spit stain on the wall (and voluntarily jerked my head elsewhere). If that is the process of ordering a paan, I would never buy any. I am not a spitter.

By the way, what's with the spitting near the paan stall? Is that where one practices? And how come there's a wall next to every paan stall designated for paan-spits? Or is it a communal effort to make an abstract mural?

Some people I see on the streets are experts at it. You know the criteria of expertise, don't you:
1. to expel an aerodynamic missile of ... umm... spit... from your mouth with minimal or zero noise (that is, spray)
2. to do so without wetting your lips, and
3. to land your spit where you want it.

You think this is yucky? What about seeing people wiping their recently spitted mouth with the back of their hands? What about the 'street hawkers'? No, I didn't mean peddlers. I meant the throat clearers. And you must have seen people in bikes, micros, and tempos, most often drivers, spitting out of the window. One wouldn't want to be behind that driver, would one? And lets only mention the public nose honkers.

So nod your head. And say it isn't so.

An event that followed made me forget the gross sighting though. As the paanmaker was flipping out small tins of bright, apparently edible things, and shaking them above the betel leaves, I saw a man walking his toddling daughter. There was a reddish heart shaped 'i love you' 'hydrogenated' balloon stringed to one of the 'laces' of her bhoto. She was ecstatically tugging at the string, unaware of her awkward walk, often bumping into her father's legs. She was absolutely delighted at the bobbing wonder tied to her bhoto.

The Festival of Lights

2005-11-01T15:49:00.000+05:45

Tihar is here already.

Kacophonic Kids are crying 'Bhailiram Bhailiram' downstairs. They're saying 'aakhum bakhum, sel-roti chakhum', but they want money. What should I do?

I was trying to fix those blinking lights on the balcony of our kitchen. But during the process, the blinks drove me crazy- brain's saying too much change in the environment! And I now am feeling nauseous. When I close my eyes, I can still feel the blinks.

I hate putting those oil lamps in our terrace. We get speedy winds from Bagmati river and there are no obstructions in front of our house. By the time I get to my third installment, the first one's light goes out. Like a candle in the wind... you know, it's way too frustrating.

My advice to you: be careful with those lights, you might burn your house down.

I have left the bathroom lights on too just in case goddess Laxmi needs a pee break during her rounds at our home. I'm that considerate. But when exactly does she pay the visit? Coz I might be inside the bathroom, and I dont want her to be crossing her legs in agony.

Woozy

2005-10-31T22:00:00.000+05:45

It is a feeling that u feel in your head. In fact, u dont feel anything else- even that feel that you're supposed to get of the beer mug in your hand.

I just lift my hands slightly as if I am an aeroplane airlifted effortlessly... I sway my body as if the aerodynamics is seriously at work. Also, I close my eyes to savor the buoyancy of the moment, and enjoy whatever is going through my body.

That, my friend, is what 'woozy' feels like.

A Simple Wish

2005-10-30T23:23:00.000+05:45

By default, i'd like to be in my bed, with my laptop, preferably with a hot cup of something. And a waarrrmmmmmm blanket.

Rhymes of Paradigms

2005-10-30T21:38:00.002+05:45

Skewed views. Oceans of notions. Wrecked aspects. Lots of thoughts. Steamy themes. Flimsy whimsies. Detrimental sentiments, and onions of opinions.

Here's another helping of my almost daily blog. I have no agenda whatsoever. Not that I used to... I am a compassionate soul, you know. I sense the disappointment when you type in my URL, and hit enter (or 'Go'), only to find the same old post that was posted a while ago. I empathize with you. That's why I came with this 'space filler'. But you know, idea and creativity are scarce to come by. And I know better than to flog my mind- it only works if I pat it.

Diben, Shalin, and moi were out having coffee. Coffee sucked, but the conversation didn't. I wonder whether Bakery Cafe, at least in some locations, has already become a has-been. There were only a few people, none of them of youth kind. and the waiters weren't that informed about the menu things. For example, Shalin ordered a 'Fresh Beans, Tall'. Then when Diben and I said 'Macchiato', the waiter asked 'That too tall?'. Then we hinted that macchiato comes in a universally standardized tiny cup, but the waiter gave no response. Also, to get someone's attention, we had to flail our arms about, the amount of effort put equaling that of calling a cab from opposite of a busy street.

But the visit was worthwhile. We solved some fundamental national problems. I naively predicted that the present political imbroglio cannot last for more than 5 years, coz the business community, which is getting more influential and more annoyed, is getting high inertia from the political interface. Also, the foreign bodies are increasingly getting 'interested' in Nepal's situation... so... blah-di-blah... there will be sooomeeeee change soon. There simply has got to be.

We also brainstormed, brooded over ideas, and came up with many-a-recommendation worthy of commendation. For instance, we all know that many national resources and conveniences of the mass are going down the drain simply because the public organizations do not coordinate activities. We came up with the idea to recommend HMG to conjure up a 'Bridger Act', which would give legal identity to Bridgers; bodies who coordinate, facilitate collaborations, and basically make our lives more live-able. To illustrate, allow me to state an example. Remember that time when the water supply guys were digging the road one day after the road department black-topped the place? Or, when NEA would declare a lights-out session when the water supply people turned on the taps to the valley, so that people could not use water pumps? Well, with a successful implementation of the Bridger Act, these will not happen.

Blech! Who am I kidding? Ok, end of story. I appreciated your visit to my blog. Good bye. I hope u come again and again. Bookmark it. Dogear it. And tell others about this silly site.

Oh, by the way, the title has nothing to do whatsoever about the content of this post. It just sounded interesting enough for a title.

Under the Blanket Covers

2005-10-28T21:27:00.000+05:45

Without going out of my door, I can know all things on Earth.
Without looking out of my window, I can know the ways of Heaven.
The further one travels, the less one knows. The less one really knows.
-The Inner Light, The Beatles

Lennon's malaise crooning can as well be my anthem. You know, now that the shivery season is here, we begin to appreciate the warmth in blankets. So if I have time, I just bask under the covers as long as I can. It is annoying when my mom opts to differ, saying it's a waste to sleep the whole morning off. She is right in many aspects, I give her that. But then, who can refute the pleasurable under-the-blanket experience?

Someone has said that you live your life by the moments, meaning that if you waste a moment, you're as good as dead then. Someone (my mom) also said that lazing under the blankets is wasting time. But I do not think so. I do not need to get out of bed to prove that I am alive. I can let my mind wonder and wander. I can at the gate of Dreamplace linger longer. I can stay at one place and be around the world at the same time. I can just blink an eye and realize that half an hour just sped past. I can enwrap myself in my realm and notice time whiz by and not affect me. I can feel cold try to discomfort me but just manage to deliciously chill my nose tip. And I can drown out my mom's becks and calls by turning to my other side. And I can drown out the light of the day by pulling the blanket to cover my eyes.

I like to test how long can I capture the warmth, the moist, the comfort, the dark, the womb. It is a domain where I forget my love unto others, my role in this world, my homeworks, my chores, my responsibilities, day's agenda, world peace. I will be in my world, and there will just be I, me, and moi.

King Kong

2005-10-25T17:20:00.000+05:45

The name King Kong reminds me of childhood days. We were unexposed to the hypes outside our locality, let alone outside of the country. However, a few cult icons slipped into our realm. Like Bruce Lee, Pele, Amitabh Bachchan, and the like. And King Kong. I mean, it would have been heretic to have referred to him as a monkey. It would be as sinful as referring to Godzilla as a lizard.

It was unfathomable as to how big this ape really was. We had not seen any video, picture, or any formal definition of his physique. I guess that heightened the formidability of the picture that we conjured up mentally.
Anyway, Peter Jackson is directing a King Kong movie... due this december. For those who dont know, he directed the Lord of the Rings trilogy. Just so you know.

What if King Kong were to have a showdown with Pawanputra Hanuman? I meant, one on one. Mano-e-mano. No divine interventions. I think Hanuman will win hands down. How? Well, let's see. Didn't Hanuman allegedly try to swallow the sun when he was a toddler? That automatically meant he can also fly, and... Hanuman is the oldest superhero... it was even before the Cape eras, so Superman, Batman... that all came much later. Although I would like to point out that his name is a misnomer. Yeah, he isn't a man, apparently.

So where were we? Oh yeah. So we see that he has some awesome supersimian powers. Just to recap- he can fly. He also has herculean powers. And, he has this really cool retractable, yet prehensile tail. It is a very handy tool, if you think about it. It can be used as a whip; In case you run out of ropes, you can lasso and tie up thugs; you can tarzan from one tree to another to move quickly and efficiently, even in the urban jungle (much like Spiderman); you can perform an endoscopy, organic style; you can light the bushy end of the tail to use it as a torch when you're hunting for criminals in Afghan caves; you can even swat at flies when you're idling about; if you're going to be flying frequently, the tail can also serve as a rudder so as to change directions; so you see, the caudal contraption is something of a multipurpose tool.

What does King Kong have? He's got an attention deficit disorder (remember that woman by the window?), raging hormones, unrequited love, and a mad temper. He is far from agile. In fact, he's quite clumsy, as he thumps about among the dwarved skyscrapers. It is hard not to imagine him slipping as he steps on trucks- much like our slipping as we step on rollerblades. Besides, if Hanuman is a force of nature, King Kong is a freak of nature. He escaped from some prehistoric island. He evidently hasn't caught up with evolution.

Well, there's no question. Now that I've proved it. But that does not mean that I will let the movie go unwatched. In fact, I am very willing to watch it :)

Dear Reader

2005-10-24T11:21:00.000+05:45

I must apologize for my infrequent posts these days. I have not been in the right frame of my mind as of late. But the last thing I need to lose my precious few readers, so please bear with me. I will definitely make it up to you :)

I am trying to at least run an economy print, though. I will post snippets from Annapurna Post. As you know, it is in Nepali. The hilarity part is the movies section, where the list of movies scheduled in HBO, Cinemax, and Star Movies are written in Nepali. Some of them are butchered to teh extent that they're barely recognizable. I hope you like this exercise. Although I am not too sure on where to display these snippets... I dont want to put it as a regular post. Your suggestions are most welcome. Yeti bhandai ma yehi dui-char sabda yehi tungyaunchhu.

Milan

The Local Barber

2005-10-20T18:57:00.000+05:45

I'll take you to the Barber shop
I'll letcha be slick and fop
Go 'head barber, dont you stop
Keep snipping 'til I make girls hop
-50 Cents

I like my trips to my barber shop. I usually go around 3-4 pm when the shop is usually empty, the 'off-peak hours'. This way, I get extra attention. He usually takes longer, does a more patient job, and also throws in extra 2-3 minutes of awesome head massage.

As I seat myself in the comfy chair, he flings the white cloth around me as if throwing a fisherman's net, and tightens the cloth around my neck up to a gentle squeeze. Then his busied hands scissor away, left hand repeatedly combing up waves of hair, so that the right hand can snip out wisps that are out of sync. his cool, scented fingers occasionally touching my nape. And the drone of traffic in Kupondol creates a drowsy effect through the flimsy curtains that hang on the doorway.

Once in a while, when the hair's extra dry, and the comb meets much resistance, the barber grabs the (champagne?) bottle that has a cork and a metal coil pipe through it, and he pumps out an aerosol of water, mistifying my head, which is especially pleasurable in summer days. I always feel like begging for extra sprays!

I never get bored sitting on the chair and tilting my head in directions that benefit the barber. The shop usually contains paraphernalia of items; scissors, combs that are tapered to one ends, posters of Asian models with outdated attire and hairdos, bollywood actresses, and mirrors that reflect each other infinitely. The mirrors also allow me to look at the back of my head. It's strange to look at your head's back, isn't it?

The barber recognizes me as a regular customer. He knows that I do not use razor to shave my nape. So without my cues, he whips out the electric shaver, which makes me feel quite special.

Although the shop is generally devoid of customers around late afternoon, there always are visitors. Most are friends and acquaintances of the barber himself. They usually converse in Maithili. It is also an interesting puzzle to work out what they're talking about. Usually they talk of movies, like 'Dus', and 'Salaam Namaste'... which stands out from their conversations, and I secretly get amused. The visitors usually end up using one of the items in the shop. In this particular visit, this one was fiddling around with one of the stainless steel snippers. He had an immaculate moustache and carefully combed long hair, and he was closely inspecting his face in the mirror as he was talking in a torrential Maithili.

I paid the fee, and as I went out, I happened to glance at Immaculate Hairji. He was using the scissors to ensure his eyebrows were of equal length. And I thought this guy must be obsessed with his face.

Blogster is back. Again

2005-10-20T17:11:00.000+05:45

The dialup internet account was finished, and I was networkless for a few days. It sucked. Also, I could not blog. So please don't disown me.
But here I am, hooked on to the net 24 hours a day! Yeah, baby. We got unlimited download internet connection. I dont know what it is called :) So it is a pun to say that I am hooked on to the net 24-7, technically.
I hope to post a blog tonight.
Cheers,
Milan

Braindead

2005-10-13T23:01:00.000+05:45

Dasain.

Right now, it spells surfeit, glut, excess, braindead, toomuch, kites, beer, marriage, late nights, upset stomach, overflowing refrigerators, chiura and chhwela, mutton, sagun eggs and dried fish, curds, cloying burfis and rasbaris, red tikas, tv, holy fires, conch shells, goddess Durga, excessive dasain offers, 'happy dasain' SMSes, strange people in streets, empty streets.

Too many orders from mom, forced early gettupings and cold shower, nothing good on tv, too many people in your abode, contacting siblings, friends not available, hanging out with relatives, trips to your original homes, hangouts in terraces, crisp vermilion-stained rupee notes, scorching sun and skinburns, chilly mornings and warm blankets, cross-legged stances and aching spines, strange body pains.

unsuspecting goats, buffaloes, their siblings, chicken, duck, decimation of their entire lineages...

And nothing else in your mind except for booze, feast, merriment, and 'good times'. It's almost you can make the name 'Dasain' to describe a dazed mind... "I've got a bad case of dasain..."; "Doooode! You look soo dasain today".

Phlogging for Mili @Bhaktapur

2005-10-10T10:06:00.000+05:45

(This blog was inspired by Sid's 'phlogging')

Bhaktapur is a great place to be. I especially love the narrow alleys and old houses there. Although, I do not hold the durbar square in much regard (too touristy and 'touched'), except for that temple in one of the corners... I forgot the name.
This is my sister, Mili. She is obsessed with video making... at least was, while she was visiting KTM. she's currently doing Masters in Fine Arts in State University of New York in Buffalo, USA. She has no remorse of videoing anything and anybody, and thinks privacy and personal space can go to hell. You see, she is quite a rebellious photographer/videographer. That having said, she usually strikes a chord with the photo/video subjects. Once in a while though, she gets cross eyes. But that doesnt usually deter her.

When she was visiting KTM, I accompanied her to Bhaktapur for one of her videotaping sessions.

Mili managing to gather a crowd. she's good at that. i guess its a photographer thing.

This is a very interesting house. You can see Mili in this pic too. An interesting facade to a house, don't you think? The small wooden structure on the top looks like a small room atop a cliff of bricks. the structure is precariously balanced by the column on the right hand corner, which already seems bent. you can also see that on the left hand side, a lump of bricks seems almost ready to fall out... it would seem that right after the picture was taken, the whole thing fell down. it didn't, and it is definitely a fragile but a very interesting house.

There is a small coffee shop facing this house. The shop was manned by a small kid who JUST knew how to make coffee. His parents were gone somewhere, so we had fun teasing and talking to the kid. We were talking to the kid in Newari. The Newari dialect of Bhaktapur is markedly different than that in Patan or Kathmandu, so it was fascinating just to listen to him.

the kids enjoying sucking off the flavored ice from a plastic tube... brings back so much childhood memories. all this would exactly seem like what Patan was when I was a kid. The coarse shawls of women, the cover for the bucket, the old gaudy clothes and shoes of the kids, ill-fitting trousers, simple treats, and a strong sense of security. Believe or not, I did not even venture more than 100 meters away from my mom's home (mamaghar) when I was a kid. I was too afraid, and life outside seemed too complicated!
Whenever I meet our old neighbors in Patan, the adults still pinch my cheeks, and hug me- which are extra embarrassing in parties. You know, I had a super large pair of cheeks that even distorted my mouth. It was so remarkable that my elder cousin Chhayan persistently had the 'frightening' dream of pulling my cheeks which stretched long like a chewing gum.

A dark narrow path leading into a sunny opening. The stone paved narrow-ways are a common sight in Bhaktapur. Most of them are half as narrow as this one, and so dark that not a beam of sunlight would ever pass through.

These narrow-ways are so quaint and natural that I wish I could spend a week there, and walk around the town till I know the ways around. There are so many small lanes that thread the town that you are bound to get lost if you do not have a good sense of direction. I do not, and Mili was too engrossed in her camera. But that allowed us to get to undiscovered places. It was just pure fun.

Sharing smiles.

Mili's Poem

2005-10-09T10:42:00.000+05:45

I took the liberty of copy-pasting
some parts of Mili's poem...
it was too good to not to.

Dare Me
Rapunzel! Rapunzel!
no prince’s coming up that tower.
Cut your hair and make a rope.
Climb down and elope.

Here's another line
Vanity Vanity, I ditch you for sanity.

A Samakoshi Resident abducts a Goat

2005-10-06T21:54:00.000+05:45

Stuti Basnyet, a resident of Samakoshi, was apparently shaken by the festival sacrifices that she decides to save the goat her family purchased by kidnapping the animal from Basnyet Niwas.

Basnyet was heading home from a get-together at one of her friend's. She saw the goat calmly masticating on some greens. Distraught, she unleashed the goat and tried to drag the goat away. However, the goat seemed to be too preoccupied eating the foliage, and irritated by change in its status quo. So Basnyet drugged it to sleep, and carried it outside her home, and paid someone to have it transported to the central zoo in Jawlakhel. The zoo had declined to give asylum to the goat, and no whereabouts of the goat can be found after that.

According to the statement given by miss Basnyet, she became attached to the goat since it wakes her up every day at five in the morning. She recalls a vivid childhood memory of seeing the severed head of a goat that she had befriended and named during a dasain festival.

The local authorities had contemplated on whether to term this heist a kidnapping, since although the subject was not a human being, the act was done against the will. However, Basnyet has gained much appreciation from the public by her act. She maintains a blog site, and she has recently written an article regarding this.
READ THE ARTICLE

Frantic Knives

2005-10-05T23:06:00.000+05:45

The Khukuris are getting more frantic by the day.

This is the time where tethered goats replace roosters to dutifully wake people up before it morns, make tiny heaps of neat brown pellets all over the place, and steep in (around the house) their distinct smell that even infuses in their cheeses.

Imagine being the fateful, consecrated knife. a stiff yourself, held by a pair of calloused hands. Imagine being raised in the air, held there momentarily. You would probably squeeze your eyes tightly shut and already dread that momentous arc your path will trace, through the nape of that hapless creature, who, by the way, is nowhere near guessing that it is nearing its biotic expiration.

Imagine that you hear the grunt of the beheader as he skillfully jumps off the ground, so as to put a full momentum onto your motion, and flings you down; feel the pain of the blow when you meet the neck bone; feel the the momentary darkness as you traverse through the body; and the crash onto the earth to break your motion.
You feel the thin trickle of blood running towards your tip, and you hear a soft thud of the beast's head somewhere nearby. You hear yourself say: one life spent, twenty people happy. I am tired. no more, please.

The first time I saw a beheading of a goat, I was watching from the terrace, and I had this experience that I was falling down to the ground. The other beheading that I saw was of a buffalo in the movie Apocalypse Now- worse still, it was done in a slow motion, and the movie cleverly showed a super sharp machete slicing off the beast's fat neck, the fleshy part of which shakes like a jelly. ugh!! And yes, I still have not, and never will, watch that video of beheading of the Nepali prisoners in Iraq.

What a dreadful way to revere a goddess, wouldn't you say? If it were people in place of beasts, and some religion did fully justify the sacrifices, would it still be tolerated? And where should we draw the line? Or should we just be purely logical about the whole process and claim the rights by our supreme position in the food pyramid?

Phil within me likes to sophize thus...

Marriage at Atul's

2005-10-03T23:12:00.000+05:45

I was talking about the card game. There were six of us. I lost about 100 bucks. Which is not THAT much. I was anticipating a loss like that. I just did not know I would be due that much so soon :) I lost every hand. In one, I managed to just break even. But that was all.

Which brings me to a hypothesis: around pros, you never get lucky.

But the game was interesting while 'it lasted'. it was fun to see speculations running wild, stratagems to fake the players, and the rival strategies at work.

Card makes fantastic games... it is an interesting tool to employ your mind. That's why there's such thing as addiction to gambling.
Let me illustrate: I believe that every great thing in life has addiction- gambling, alcohol, drugs. NOT because god doesnt want us to indulge, BUT because we havent evolved to that stage where our minds are strong enough. MAYBE drugs are going to be staple diets for the next supreme being after humans (they're coming- haven't you watched The Matrix?)

Kalcha II: Reloaded

2005-10-02T20:53:00.000+05:45

You know, Kale gets visitors. I almost envy his life. He gets visited by the guys from Mount Everest Kennel Club. And they're so particular about whether Kale's leading an enviably healthy life. None of my visitors ask that.

Kalcha has gone a-stray now. We respect his judgment, but I hate it when he decides to come home if he's hungry. A friend actually thought he has grown fatter! So I guess we don't have to worry about him now.

Q: Why don't you see dogs wearing watches?
A: Because they already got all the ticks.

This one I borrowed: Which side of Kale is hairier? The outside.

The Daily Bow-Wow

2005-10-01T21:05:00.000+05:45

Upon reaching home, I blew on the horn. The gates promptly swung in. Kale was on his hindlegs. He gave an smart but affectionate salute as I eased the Skoda in.

As I stepped out, I heard his claws tap behind me as he dashed up.

Mutt on, braw. K chha hero? I barked. Same old, same old. Kale replied, wagging, and thrusting his snout towards my face. As I bent down, I could feel his rough warmth as he liberally applied his tongue across my cheeks. Did you bring the anti-tick shampoo? He asked. I made a sheepish face.

Oh, dog! How many nights do I have to howl to get some attention around here? He walked away dejectedly.

KALCHA! I hollered. I just saw his mistress hiding behind the guava tree. What did I say last night? He trotted over, sat on his ass, and gazed at my face. His perpetually sad eyes and the overall imploring look quickly chased away my anger, as I used the last ounce of the emotion to show disgust. Make sure she is out by morning tomorrow, I said as I headed upstairs. And if I see any aftermath of a party, hell will be you.

---
The day was past evening, and was way into the nighting routine. As I booted off my laptop, I noticed that Kale had already started conversing with his neighbors. All I could do was just embarrassingly listen as he pitched in his woes in the communal barker multilogues.

I grabbed the concoction in the tumbler marked 'For Kale', opened the windows, aimed and threw at the direction of Kale's voice. I could hear his silent claw-taps as he apparently dodged the incoming splash. That shushed him for a while, though. As I peered down to inspect my score, I could see the reflector in his eyes beaming back the torch light at me. Are you in a barky mood today. I shouted. Keep it under thirty. And wipe off that smirk. You're really gonna get it if else.

Dogs. Do you own them, or do they own you?

Testing

2005-10-01T09:14:00.000+05:45

While the day was evening out, I cradled my glass and swayed my hips.

Senseless at Lajana

2005-10-01T00:38:00.001+05:45

It was (one of) the best party ever. The dj was operating in the terrace. And he was blissfully avoiding all the cliche songs (e.g., none of the 'Chandu ki chachi' or 'Just chill, just chill'). The alcohol was flowing comfortably. The Radisson logo in the background- I didnt even realize it for quite a while. Amit was there for Bhangra, although the DJ deigned to play only 'Tutak Tutak'... which was good enough for us to euphorically flail our limbs about.

The Aela was the ultimate. It was probably 70% spirit. A few drops landed on my wrists, which created cool spots by the quick evaporations. We could only have 2 shots of it- that also, only in sips. But we had countless bottles of beer, which made our night.

The dinner was tasty, but my taste buds could not grasp the phenomenon. Besides, we were with a few other Newars. We had a tummy-splitting bout of Newari vulgar/non-vulgar talks. That promptly digested my ingestions :)

Those of you who could have been at the party, but wasn't. Too bad. You missed one hell of a party. An equivalent of a minute of mourning for you.

I still feel the glow of Aela in my stomach. The visions of good things in the night are still fresh in my mind. The fact that I survived a test in the afternoon is only like a Deja Vu.