tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86639076842408778432024-03-19T08:50:16.942+05:30the files of agent green glassagent green glasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07300665297563493646noreply@blogger.comBlogger231125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8663907684240877843.post-27582704178201949652018-03-21T21:00:00.002+05:302018-03-21T21:00:22.704+05:30I moved this blog to <a href="https://thefilesofagentgreenglass.wordpress.com/">https://thefilesofagentgreenglass.wordpress.com/</a><br />
And I hope to see some of you there.<br />
<br />
<br />agent green glasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07300665297563493646noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8663907684240877843.post-13180115146568472832018-03-19T14:51:00.004+05:302018-03-19T14:51:55.941+05:30Agentgreenglass grew up. And grew a lump.
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<!--StartFragment-->
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
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<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJZHG9CIT2Fe6vqZE_E_ZcVFwmsYrfrBZ1lpcL9L5Zf93UARsnbF87OoPfLelOifDdfWKOk5357-XVcQf0uAw85Ce3-heTMWfVYcad83_1OI0h7LGZbujtwsOeMcqbmR7n0JKslVzmj-c/s1600/unnamed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJZHG9CIT2Fe6vqZE_E_ZcVFwmsYrfrBZ1lpcL9L5Zf93UARsnbF87OoPfLelOifDdfWKOk5357-XVcQf0uAw85Ce3-heTMWfVYcad83_1OI0h7LGZbujtwsOeMcqbmR7n0JKslVzmj-c/s320/unnamed.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 13.5pt;">This blog started because I was going through a
phase of not knowing what I wanted to do with my life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 13.5pt;">And
somewhere, along the way, as the blog grew, I fell in love with writing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 13.5pt;">The blog
helped me find my voice. And what I wanted to do next.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 13.5pt;">Unfortunately,
as I found my purpose, I slacked off on the writing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 13.5pt;">And the blog
went into cold storage.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 13.5pt;">Today, it's
time to bring it back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 13.5pt;">Because this
time I've just been told I have breast cancer. And I'm lost. I'm fine, but
lost.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 13.5pt;">I don't know
if I could be blissfully ignorant or read everything.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 13.5pt;">If I should
be as chill as I feel or does that mean I'm in denial.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 13.5pt;">I don't know
a lot of things. Including what stage this cancer is in.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 13.5pt;">So till then,
I'll do what I like the most. Write.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 13.5pt;">And
hopefully, this blog will help me find answers, yet again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 13.5pt;">So if any of
my old friends are still around, say hello to the older and not necessarily
wiser Agentgreenglass.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
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<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 13.5pt;">And if you're
new here, then wear your seatbelt. We have minor turbulence in the forecast.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment--><br />agent green glasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07300665297563493646noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8663907684240877843.post-71616882341433940172011-06-13T14:45:00.000+05:302011-06-13T14:47:13.334+05:30nuff already<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6cghULilv-p64jJmTdL3HA6UFgb7sByfibeqq4iZO3EF9evZTvcMNqNEqyK2R1L-R2wmtKyiFo7iV0Tgp-briHLuQTSYzkVmNsYVQ6Cz_s0_w-sQgGCbRZWrwDZ8FaopmYYJUjFmobHo/s1600/enuff.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 302px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6cghULilv-p64jJmTdL3HA6UFgb7sByfibeqq4iZO3EF9evZTvcMNqNEqyK2R1L-R2wmtKyiFo7iV0Tgp-briHLuQTSYzkVmNsYVQ6Cz_s0_w-sQgGCbRZWrwDZ8FaopmYYJUjFmobHo/s400/enuff.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617630804646632402" /></a><br /><div><p class="MsoNormal">Fuck, fuck, fuck. All I can think about is why didn’t I buy the Husain sketch?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">It was going for a lakh five years back. Not a particularly pretty sketch. Just a small charcoal squiggly thing which I think one of his grandkids did at school and he signed for a lark.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I should have broken the bank and bought it.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">But as usual, my middle class desire to watch my Post Office account grow at the speed of a snail shitting, dashed all my dreams. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Things could have been so different now. I could have been racing up and down the streets yelling, “he’s dead, he’s dead.” <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I could have been rolling in money, stuffing it into my mattress, stitching it into my shower curtains. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Sigh.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Then there’s the wonderful Baba Ramdev. What the fuck dude. This is embarrassing for those who do yoga and believe in it. The man wilted faster than the cabbage in the McDonalds burger. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Just about seven days and he’s in ICU. Hello, what happened to the million kapalbhathis? And years of tapasya? Gone in a wink i guess.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And finally, I prefer my news from a channel that is crisp and to the point. Which is why I would recommend catching India TV’s latest offering: <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Osama Sex Machine Tha. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Very informative.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p></div>agent green glasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07300665297563493646noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8663907684240877843.post-6606066920102706972011-06-08T17:54:00.002+05:302011-06-08T17:58:02.041+05:30freak<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXvM4aei0qxU0VPvwWyDitmxrBerfuOD3R2QnW6drdr1pvYF3WFK0lkhGFozk8sTtn2UGLFQ2sGvXQE60L8VQL_TT1pd1UcvNTyXowe-FmgBtzCcIQOVIN3m8zATdL57wpTNfJvGQ7lx4/s1600/ladies.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 310px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXvM4aei0qxU0VPvwWyDitmxrBerfuOD3R2QnW6drdr1pvYF3WFK0lkhGFozk8sTtn2UGLFQ2sGvXQE60L8VQL_TT1pd1UcvNTyXowe-FmgBtzCcIQOVIN3m8zATdL57wpTNfJvGQ7lx4/s400/ladies.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615823899218800850" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">Seriously, after spending most of my adult life wondering how to wear eye-shadow, i’m now clearly becoming a pro at it.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">It’s scaring me.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Will I start to crave Louis Vuitton bags?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Will I go to Jamuna Pai for little jabs to restore my wrinkles? </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Will the Kareena yoga lady be on my speed dial.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Will I only eat stir fry and shitake and teppanyaki?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Will I go for opening nites and nibble on cheese?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Will I be a dahling? Or a luv? Or a simbo?</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>agent green glasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07300665297563493646noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8663907684240877843.post-10249483005022647492011-06-07T15:10:00.007+05:302011-06-07T15:41:54.548+05:30tripping on videokaaran<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuIMj4cpfI1HUOO02K8gxIKVStclNAj5SNqw8a92iFgM8y9wqsHKkbcFUNcadg0gQRkGEtereKFVw1PVrI7XjqwWygwAxJ9udD3lvLBELm3mOj2rITFAov7QVhOm_hYfTaFjZloy80pg0/s1600/188147_208693722497777_1889615_n.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 263px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuIMj4cpfI1HUOO02K8gxIKVStclNAj5SNqw8a92iFgM8y9wqsHKkbcFUNcadg0gQRkGEtereKFVw1PVrI7XjqwWygwAxJ9udD3lvLBELm3mOj2rITFAov7QVhOm_hYfTaFjZloy80pg0/s400/188147_208693722497777_1889615_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615410576987556146" /></a><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; line-height:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black;mso-fareast-language: EN-IN">“We’re screening a movie.”</span><span style="font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman","serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language:EN-IN"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><span class="Apple-style-span"> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black;mso-fareast-language: EN-IN">“It’s a guerrilla style docu, about a die-hard rajni fan.”</span><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-fareast-language:EN-IN"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black;mso-fareast-language: EN-IN">“We’re screening it at the BMC pipeline.”</span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language:EN-IN"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black;mso-fareast-language: EN-IN">“Meet me at PikNik hotel, Saki Naka.</span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language:EN-IN"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black;mso-fareast-language: EN-IN">Dude, I don’t know about you. But that was it. I mean the only thing missing was the smugglers and the on-off lights.</span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language:EN-IN"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black;mso-fareast-language: EN-IN">This had all the promise of an adventure.</span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language:EN-IN"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black;mso-fareast-language: EN-IN">So Z and I hoofed it all the way from Parel to Santacruz and then while pleading with our auto driver to cut lanes and lights, to Saki Naka. We were late. By about an hour. </span><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-fareast-language: EN-IN"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black;mso-fareast-language: EN-IN">But P kept saying, “It’s cool. We haven’t yet started. People are still finding their way.”</span><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-fareast-language:EN-IN"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black;mso-fareast-language: EN-IN">Finally we reach Saki Naka. And yeah, never have I so looked forward to Saki Naka. Ten minutes of getting lost, asking for directions and we make it to PikNik.</span><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-fareast-language:EN-IN"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black;mso-fareast-language: EN-IN">P emerges from what looks like an interesting beer bar, and leads the way. Around the corner, a really short walk, a sudden turn, a short flight of steps. And now I know why they haven’t started as yet. It’ll take a guide to get here.</span><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-fareast-language:EN-IN"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black;mso-fareast-language: EN-IN">And thank god. Because it’s amazing. What looks like movie-set caught in a time-warp. A single track unused railway line. Silent tin and brick shanties on one side. Neat and tidy, with plastic buckets and folded clothes hung over doorways.</span><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-fareast-language:EN-IN"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black;mso-fareast-language: EN-IN">We stand on a brick platform, the railway line running alongside. The road is above us. In the distance we hear traffic, a car goes by. Here, the only light is from the single bulb of a tea stall. A woman pours strong, sweet tea. People talk, some laughter, cigarettes are lit, introductions made. And Z looks at me with a big grin. The evening is turning out far better than we ever imaged it to. </span><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-fareast-language:EN-IN"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black;mso-fareast-language: EN-IN">Then, we start to walk. Under a bridge, water dripping down the stone walls. Bright colours on walls. We walk past houses, women making rotis, kids hunched in front of computers in the community centre, men just returned from work, washing their feet. We walk on the living, breathing track. </span><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-fareast-language:EN-IN"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black;mso-fareast-language: EN-IN">And I start to think how appropriate all this is. The docu, on an eccentric, wildly intelligent, unconventional hero. Sagai. Part owner of a tamil video parlour in the shanties of Chembur. Film lover, rajni devotee, astute and devious in his observations of the cops, the ‘system’, with mad opinions on blue films, reading women and slasher films.</span><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-fareast-language:EN-IN"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black;mso-fareast-language: EN-IN">And his story, his love for films set here. </span><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-fareast-language:EN-IN"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black;mso-fareast-language: EN-IN">We reach the BMC playground. Chairs, a projector and a white screen. We all settle down. Some on the floor, some on chairs. The barbed wire of the playground reflects on the screen, and then the docu starts.</span><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-fareast-language:EN-IN"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black;mso-fareast-language: EN-IN">I’m hooked. It doesn’t just bring alive Sagai, it brings out everything that pushes me to understand that he’s probably so much better versed in his understanding of films, because of his love of the medium. He leaves critics, the world movie buffs, the hindi movie retro tripping yuppies far far behind This is rare because it is so genuine.</span><span style="font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman","serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language:EN-IN"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black;mso-fareast-language: EN-IN">And I laugh at all his radical ideas, his friends, their trippy conversations. Their reading, their interpretations. And I feel sad. For the video parlours that are closing. For folks who love the movies, but find it increasingly difficult to afford them. And finally, like Sagai, I’m left hopeful.</span><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-fareast-language:EN-IN"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black;mso-fareast-language: EN-IN">And somewhere through the docu, Z turns to me and says, “this is the most perfect evening.”</span><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";mso-fareast-language:EN-IN"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black;mso-fareast-language: EN-IN">And I realise yep, it is. </span><span style="font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman","serif";mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language:EN-IN"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; line-height:normal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";color:black;mso-fareast-language: EN-IN">Thank you Projector Friday. Thank you Jagan. And yeah, thank you Sagai.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; line-height:normal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; ">(PS: The movie is so worth your while. Call jagan the director, beg, borrow, steal a copy or a screening. And watch the trailer <a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/VideokaaranDocumentary-film/124542984282488"><span class="Apple-style-span"><b>here</b></span></a>.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; line-height:normal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; ">Also if you live in Mumbai, catch the awesome Projector Fridays for the most fun, the most out-of-the box stuff. You can check them out <b><a href="http://projectorfriday.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span">here</span></a><i>.</i></b>)</span><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif";mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";mso-fareast-language:EN-IN"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-top-alt:auto;mso-margin-bottom-alt:auto; line-height:normal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; "><br /></span></p></span><p></p>agent green glasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07300665297563493646noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8663907684240877843.post-80180252345952786152011-04-07T00:09:00.000+05:302011-04-07T00:10:02.487+05:30no men were harmed in the making of this post<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQyVmlMb-FRVQvqWirNo4E4LjX7TVJgF_c0b5ehMx7qpOHkXPN8K6h2avkjdrPLIhYfeOSg_NsWFmCnDKH5dq_JV585xm7_MTyZscsJyj0VxvfFcUN1t2-87eC4qzUNeEoeK2gGywVI68/s1600/family_jewels.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 290px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQyVmlMb-FRVQvqWirNo4E4LjX7TVJgF_c0b5ehMx7qpOHkXPN8K6h2avkjdrPLIhYfeOSg_NsWFmCnDKH5dq_JV585xm7_MTyZscsJyj0VxvfFcUN1t2-87eC4qzUNeEoeK2gGywVI68/s400/family_jewels.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592542061891315026" /></a><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Okay, I’m back.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And thank you anon, for your concern. But no I’m not dead.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">So on to more interesting matters. Like my morbid attachment to reality shows. In fact the worse they are, the more I’m addicted to them.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And my deep insightful research has thrown up some interesting things. Like how, at the moment, they all seem rather preoccupied with the male genitals. No, make that preoccupied with causing damage to the male genitals.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Take vela boys. Where they have three guys, in their early twenties dressed in school uniforms. They each stand facing a line of giggling school boys of around six. When the anchor hysterically blows his whistle, a giggling school boy flies at one of the boys and kicks him hard in the groin. The guy lets out a muffled “oiteri”, jumps two feet in the air, doubles up in pain and then stands manfully, awaiting the next kick.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">This continues till it looks like their eyes will pop and they will most certainly need the services of an ambulance if not undertaker.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Of course the little kids are slowing warming up to the task and throwing themselves into it with well aimed kicks and little shrieks of joy. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Oddly entertaining it is.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Then there is Roadies. Where they subjected the boys to a Brazilian wax. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Worse, the Brazilian wax was performed on them while they were standing. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Imagine, legs apart, can’t see shit because your head is sticking out of a little wooden hole. And suddenly you feel a knife with hot wax start to slide around your inner thigh.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Oh yeah, pardon me while I throw up my dinner. And faint in front of the TV now.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>agent green glasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07300665297563493646noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8663907684240877843.post-14889976517046424432011-02-03T19:16:00.003+05:302011-02-03T19:31:24.425+05:30a chance to work in your chaddis<div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0wiGRHVikjX7DBimXak1_fmBp49JwCxhMJS75SVIgkJNjftdhBz_nFVVAX2o3zj4ebIv-oJLj_6TFb2gGRDAu_qGqDA3DtIg9YJ0ea__z-6httVcpAGWpKNM63q2e-j_W3IVo1Qgnotc/s1600/underwear.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 293px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0wiGRHVikjX7DBimXak1_fmBp49JwCxhMJS75SVIgkJNjftdhBz_nFVVAX2o3zj4ebIv-oJLj_6TFb2gGRDAu_qGqDA3DtIg9YJ0ea__z-6httVcpAGWpKNM63q2e-j_W3IVo1Qgnotc/s400/underwear.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5569460704498452962" /></a><br /><div>hola.</div><div><br /></div><div>i'm so fucked at work.</div><div><br /></div><div>and you can help me.</div><div><br /></div><div>i'm looking for someone to manage a facebook page. the person needs to know how to use social media, and more importantly facebook. so how do you create tabs, tags, engagement, involvement. and keep the page fresh and zingy.</div><div><br /></div><div>you can work full time at rickshaw.</div><div><br /></div><div>or you can freelance for us. and thereby work in your chaddis.</div><div><br /></div><div>get in touch with me at agentgreenglass@gmail.com. and we'll take it from there.</div><div><br /></div><div>till then i'm going back to slowly dying, under a mountain of work.</div><div><br /></div><div>bye.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>agent green glasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07300665297563493646noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8663907684240877843.post-48946333823934522192011-01-24T22:51:00.002+05:302011-01-24T23:04:41.594+05:30modern talking<div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmnJBdtdv7yKOUGllzX43mCvqmRvZTD6AW1K7f6vcMF7LBiya3xllQyKyoV2N54HAHcThhAbM7Y6ZGAVkjiBZHCB1P7_xJpnEs8nHZIEu8xAgf3-THaGpg_5yBgG85zDBnwqJP7lMyjnE/s1600/Eavesdropping.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmnJBdtdv7yKOUGllzX43mCvqmRvZTD6AW1K7f6vcMF7LBiya3xllQyKyoV2N54HAHcThhAbM7Y6ZGAVkjiBZHCB1P7_xJpnEs8nHZIEu8xAgf3-THaGpg_5yBgG85zDBnwqJP7lMyjnE/s400/Eavesdropping.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5565804117788686674" /></a><div><p class="MsoNormal">1.</p><p class="MsoNormal">Preschool in a grumpy lady’s living room. Which overlooks my office kitchen window.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>Eh Tanay?</i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>New bag men?</i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>What your mother is getting too rich or what?</i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> 2.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Clothes store. Two accented women.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>What?</i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>Buy it.</i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>But my arms look fat?</i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>No...ya...maybe...</i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>Yes or no?</i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>Yes.</i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>Shit, I really like it.</i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>Then buy it.</i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>But I look fat.</i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>No, no, you don’t.</i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>You sure?</i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>Totally.</i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><i> </i></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">3</p> <p class="MsoNormal">La Senza Trial Room, girl on phone.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>Giggle. Idiot. Giggle.</i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>What will you tell your mother, why am I there?</i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>Giggle. </i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>Oh god. Then she’s going to kn</i><img src="http://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif" alt="Add Image" border="0" class="gl_photo" /><i>ow for sure what we’re up to.</i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>Giggle. Idiot. Giggle.</i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">And by the way, does anyone apart from me remember modern talking. okay, i do. because i thought they were really cool. i obviously had very little knowledge in the cool department, because i spent a lot of time singing cheri cheri lady and brother louie. and actually thought you're my heart, you're my soul was the coolest song anyone could ever put on a mix tape for me. </p><p class="MsoNormal">i was a cool, cool girl.</p></div>agent green glasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07300665297563493646noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8663907684240877843.post-37127133479203508462011-01-15T14:56:00.001+05:302011-01-16T10:25:55.925+05:30alpha calling beta<div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTVYDfnwun_viYepMQYInApX01wDbL7iWXc6Q2jf8bkZ0Bf-xHFRcmPfxRSyAiYIBmNBbNzby64qIgD56k197OdqhCy7BAJomlLHaiGpHUqlMMskBZWNI6iEcHVlvuC90hZHqxiU9eocg/s1600/brawny.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 293px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTVYDfnwun_viYepMQYInApX01wDbL7iWXc6Q2jf8bkZ0Bf-xHFRcmPfxRSyAiYIBmNBbNzby64qIgD56k197OdqhCy7BAJomlLHaiGpHUqlMMskBZWNI6iEcHVlvuC90hZHqxiU9eocg/s400/brawny.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5562341891538056802" /></a><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">“ We’re moving to Hasimara.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And in twenty days the house was boxed up. The carpets were rolled and wrapped in sack cloth and tied. Dad stencilled our name and destination over the large wooden crates, including the one that held our prized possession, the fridge.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I said bye to all my friends. And the trees in our backyard. Jamun, Guava, Ber, Imli, Mango, Lemon. Specially the guava tree with its white smooth limbs, and roomy perches between branches. I sat on it every day through my summer holidays, pretending it was a tree house.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I even went to the corner of the garden, the spot we always avoided. It contained a huge mound with a number of holes under the banyan tree. The cobra family lived there.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">They were pretty peacefull, apart from having bitten and killed the poor tailor who had been cycling home at night. But then his cycle tyre ran over one of them. And after he got bitten, his relatives took him away to the village outside, where they made him lie in a mud pit and poured milk and ghee over him. Obviously not very effective in treating cobra bites.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Sometimes I would see a cobra slithering away towards the dense bougainvillea hedge we had around the house. Sometimes they would sun themselves on the steps behind our bathroom door. And since my mom insisted that after a bath, we must open the back door to dry out the bathroom, it was always a bit of an adventure.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I usually unbolted the latch with a noise loud enough to wake up the dead, and then stamped around for a good five minutes, before flinging open the door and running in the opposite direction.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The cobras must have laughed their heads off.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">My friends, three boys who lived in my lane, decided that they’ll give me a farewell gift. Four of us were the Mystery Solvers of Kalaikunda. Yeah, that’s what we called ourselves. And we wore raincoats as disguises, and constantly chewed on blades of grass while we discussed what new mystery we could solve. And we spent our time shadowing unsuspecting people on our cycles. Which was always a bit of a letdown because sooner or later they would realise four kids on cycles, wearing mismatched raincoats in peak summer, were trailing them. Also, the shadowing invariably ended on a rather sad note, at the puncture repair shop. I don’t know if it was the roads of Kalaikunda or our second hand cycles.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Anyway, so my goodbye gift was a grand old British bunker. Actually it was an abandoned old British bunker which had been discovered by one of the boys while cycling back from school. It was on one end of a huge parade ground. And covered with mud, stones and thorny bushes growing inside and outside it. And now that I think about it, probably many cobra families as well.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">So on my last day, we cycled to the abandoned bunker and I was allowed to enter it first. We spent a happy hour fighting our way through the thorns and undergrowth to go into a dark, damp bunker that smelled strangely like the entrance to the kalaikunda sewage. After reassuring ourselves that nobody had stashed dead bodies in there, and there was no foul play, just a foul smell, we emerged, donned our raincoats and trailed a lady with a kid in the pram. We were sure it was a chopped body she was carrying in the pram.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">When she turned around and waved to us, and asked if we’d like to see the baby, we fled in disgust. It was the best farewell I ever had.</p>agent green glasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07300665297563493646noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8663907684240877843.post-32538913742463645932011-01-13T12:16:00.003+05:302011-01-13T12:20:09.116+05:30some days i'm a hipster<div>i should have been a milliner. </div><div><br /></div><div>some people loves shoes. some love make up. me, i love headgear.</div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNvElhshqHTYz01R7GM023WE0bHKQCFTOU9kSoYMl8luAza2VouJ-u4p2FwufTNoLB-6vUE7WmZPx7BTZXaxj8vOKk2iejV6sHHYSVzrnSoaglJHbsZLnaK1saaTzjMyvtn2gy_DdoXYk/s1600/026.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 375px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNvElhshqHTYz01R7GM023WE0bHKQCFTOU9kSoYMl8luAza2VouJ-u4p2FwufTNoLB-6vUE7WmZPx7BTZXaxj8vOKk2iejV6sHHYSVzrnSoaglJHbsZLnaK1saaTzjMyvtn2gy_DdoXYk/s400/026.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561558459333751906" /></a>agent green glasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07300665297563493646noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8663907684240877843.post-11855486000106045862011-01-07T18:13:00.002+05:302011-01-07T18:21:46.855+05:30read the signs shyamalam<div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJykOpCl7ge1NGsSEDAfrAed-Lk-2owf4zpFW-YDBENnu_Ms4Fyi7EPqzis-EGaXg9Lx0vdwZ5AJ6V4kiKz4LEgyhmqMcKNBPRdOJKL_Hrgf1-Xf02kOffcIkFe0OIiCZuiBauMmoIWvE/s1600/strange.gif"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 292px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJykOpCl7ge1NGsSEDAfrAed-Lk-2owf4zpFW-YDBENnu_Ms4Fyi7EPqzis-EGaXg9Lx0vdwZ5AJ6V4kiKz4LEgyhmqMcKNBPRdOJKL_Hrgf1-Xf02kOffcIkFe0OIiCZuiBauMmoIWvE/s400/strange.gif" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559424964521549122" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">The year holds promise.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Seven days have gone by.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And on third day as I sat at Salt Water Cafe waiting for someone, a kindly waiter gave me my tea and croissants. Then he gave him his kitchen order pad and asked for my number. I thought it was for Wi-Fi security measures. Then he said, “Please your name also.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Something about the way he said it made me ask him why. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Because I want to make friandship with you. You are very pretty.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">On the fifth day I discovered a marvellous invention by Gmail labs. In case you are kind who loves to mail when drunk, it is the perfect application for you. It makes you to solve math problems before you can hit the send button.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Of course for someone like me, that might mean never being able to send a single mail. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Now if only someone would do the same for drunk messaging.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">On the seventh day, I opened the Mumbai Times. And I saw a profile shot of Amitabh Bachchan in swimming trunks and a life jacket. I stared at his spindly wrinkly legs and white saggy bottom.</p><p class="MsoNormal">Some poor guy at TOI is in so much shit. Maybe he’ll follow it up with a bald picture.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I’m telling you it’s going to be a great year. Happy new year all you guys.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>agent green glasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07300665297563493646noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8663907684240877843.post-55231261564616542352010-12-27T17:18:00.004+05:302010-12-27T17:27:56.569+05:30cool is a scary thing<div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjITpby4E_ux0bHAYyS3LmPK3rhTI7a9SkrApYcfwumg2EQpjdLP4xXWj9Hg5bul4ZUTHiP1QPLrakOYweT1qZVf9xkm06U6IPoaBXDJWVpuMJNPBO1JwzCR4pdSp2XpSr_XSh6knTbpxg/s1600/panic1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjITpby4E_ux0bHAYyS3LmPK3rhTI7a9SkrApYcfwumg2EQpjdLP4xXWj9Hg5bul4ZUTHiP1QPLrakOYweT1qZVf9xkm06U6IPoaBXDJWVpuMJNPBO1JwzCR4pdSp2XpSr_XSh6knTbpxg/s400/panic1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5555328317237415266" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzVa8q4p0yRH8P2yoZoGIb6mQOAKiU7ivtSOWL9o7GK5NjpbB57dN9454luiJUKrX2Yu9OZ0KyT_hZVOjOkuyU4ZBEOPmg4tT4_b73HTU1O8lGC9SJdp4qT_H3BbwhwDq-RfwsjgO_eCA/s1600/panic2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzVa8q4p0yRH8P2yoZoGIb6mQOAKiU7ivtSOWL9o7GK5NjpbB57dN9454luiJUKrX2Yu9OZ0KyT_hZVOjOkuyU4ZBEOPmg4tT4_b73HTU1O8lGC9SJdp4qT_H3BbwhwDq-RfwsjgO_eCA/s400/panic2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5555327988931467010" /></a><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">It’s that time of the year again.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">When my bloody jeans get so tight that they could pass off as jeggings or heggings or whatever ugly name they’ve given stretch jeans.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Anyway, the highpoint of Christmas was to discover that we are such a liberalised society. Yes, dahling, will you please light my menthol while I let my mind get as broad as my ass.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">It started with Vidya Balan and Rani Mukherjee in what was supposed to look like a hot kiss, on the front page of Mumbai Times.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dude, really, why?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">First, they don’t have the guts to do an actual lip lock. This is a cheat faces at an angle kiss.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Second, even if they did, would we want most of the population throwing up their breakfast. I mean it’s as bad as seeing Nirupa Roy smooch Reema Lagoo. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Really, who wants to watch jaded auntie’s kissing. And that too while publicising a movie based on the Jessica Lal murder? What’s the connection? It’s not Thelma and Louise ladies; it’s a true story of how a girl was murdered.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Wake up, and get your publicity right. And oh by the way, I read they did the same “mock lip lock” at the IIT Mumbai Festival. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Even Savita Bhabi has better taste.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The next revelation came on Christmas Day. Yeah, it did. At a tea party. Where I was introduced to R, and told she’s D’s partner.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Now partner is such a loose word. It could mean they work together, they are a couple-but don’t want to say they are a couple, they have had children together but now have other partners...etc etc.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The possibilities are endless. The girl sensed my confusion and said, “We are business partners. That’s it. We started our company together.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I smiled and nodded. Okay, point noted. Partnership details duly registered.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Till an hour later, when I popped into the balcony to say bye, and she was lounging in her partners lap.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Uuuf.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">This is so confusing. Is lounging on the lap the new air kissing? business meeting? conference calling?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">How will I ever be up to date? Gotta go look for a shop that sells menthols.</p>agent green glasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07300665297563493646noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8663907684240877843.post-46868696571709801712010-12-14T17:53:00.006+05:302010-12-14T20:16:40.333+05:30stay off the ta-ta's<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpB0KzP-gRPtqkyvYXBt1R8K2EWXr46uxUBAX2YBmH5L92tCGFv0Jbdc5AW3bzRNadqFLo5pamuN3hSIHU59UzgjBXWPOWvGnUtDClCZkpMvGqebzL1ijO2WhhMP_Pg-uNwLUtlvsIWF0/s1600/7.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpB0KzP-gRPtqkyvYXBt1R8K2EWXr46uxUBAX2YBmH5L92tCGFv0Jbdc5AW3bzRNadqFLo5pamuN3hSIHU59UzgjBXWPOWvGnUtDClCZkpMvGqebzL1ijO2WhhMP_Pg-uNwLUtlvsIWF0/s400/7.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550513686809621442" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG8VRjgrErnvJ9yYp10vynxl3jVlHzv6vw0Y4OX0-Twy5_8udjraajzjGmIyvUrnDlNHFzvsNZYTvgOh2UalVhcg6lSJW6oFWkD2wAxqPgo7gdt2bX7c1aE0VCUzkwSiUspKYzbjPc5bo/s1600/5.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG8VRjgrErnvJ9yYp10vynxl3jVlHzv6vw0Y4OX0-Twy5_8udjraajzjGmIyvUrnDlNHFzvsNZYTvgOh2UalVhcg6lSJW6oFWkD2wAxqPgo7gdt2bX7c1aE0VCUzkwSiUspKYzbjPc5bo/s400/5.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550513586981221538" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0jJ9qC92th7zDLg_dKqvENm-j_jP6jeESh0e7HjCgHjNPjOl3fJJPwU7NJ8Ycj1i8VXtVcgcVCzAUgSssPkfzjcr7QUicwArUUYyuO3IK-EQ7dcmbK_cmRE2xGBwSxMhdigCpgnJbdz4/s1600/8.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0jJ9qC92th7zDLg_dKqvENm-j_jP6jeESh0e7HjCgHjNPjOl3fJJPwU7NJ8Ycj1i8VXtVcgcVCzAUgSssPkfzjcr7QUicwArUUYyuO3IK-EQ7dcmbK_cmRE2xGBwSxMhdigCpgnJbdz4/s400/8.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550513435801873922" /></a><br /><div>I love pictures taken in this light. Reminds me of Sofia Coppola's <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0159097/"><i>Virgin Suicides</i></a>. The opening sequence.<br /><p class="MsoNormal">And, I’m just going to stop hugging women.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">It’s just gross. Especially when they are really close friends, and the break the unsaid “hug from the side rule.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Eeeew.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">For the sake of those who might ever meet me, here are a set of hugs we can indulge in and one we can’t.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Side hug: my right arm across your shoulder, your left arm across mine. Very good.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Lean-to hug: push your face forward, lightly drape arms around extended neck, kiss cheek. Wonderful.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Hello darling hug: body at an angle, sides touch, one arm sort of around back, kiss cheek. All good.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And finally:</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Full frontal hug: aka boob to boob hug. No. Never. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I don’t want your lady lumps touching mine. Not at any cost. It feels strange. Like jelly meeting jelly. And it reminds me of being terribly sea sick.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And while we’re on the topic of women, here are two I’ve been meaning to write about.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Ma Baker. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Who bakes the most awesome cakes ever. I’ve licked crumbs, hidden the last piece, lied about it being over and would want it to be the last thing I ever eat.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Check out my friend <a href="http://finelychopped-k.blogspot.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span"><i>f</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><i>inely chopped’s</i></span></a> post on her. And if you want to eat some sinful stuff this Christmas call her at 9967023174 or mail her at gia.fernandes<span class="Apple-style-span">@gmail.com</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And finally <span class="Apple-style-span"><i><a href="http://www.jaisivananda.blogspot.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span">Yoga N</span></a>ut</i></span>. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Dude, if you like yoga, you are gonna love Shameem. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Stand on your head, become a crow, from the shoulder stand jump down and then back up, turn upside down in a wheel and walk like a crab. Most mornings for an hour I go back to feeling as happy and free and crazy as I was as a kid. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p></div>agent green glasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07300665297563493646noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8663907684240877843.post-5044074648371641912010-12-07T02:01:00.002+05:302010-12-07T02:22:43.045+05:30ping to the pong<div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiia_b4lRhKuwyDAiDEBLTJbtUCffgdAsPglaX102N6jfjjJKGWXdmM0f_zYOFvzpTrrLOa3a6MxMc7x19qB1ieA5FlesIgTTiuFlW1-mDNjQBBh4bLoaeq5re8eWz-Ts01pJqlRP1JOaI/s1600/harami.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 279px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiia_b4lRhKuwyDAiDEBLTJbtUCffgdAsPglaX102N6jfjjJKGWXdmM0f_zYOFvzpTrrLOa3a6MxMc7x19qB1ieA5FlesIgTTiuFlW1-mDNjQBBh4bLoaeq5re8eWz-Ts01pJqlRP1JOaI/s400/harami.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5547669674903684322" /></a><br /><div>harami has such a nice ring to it.</div><div><br /></div><div>sorta like salami.</div><div><br /></div><div>which i think i'm obsessing over. since i hate getting food cooked only for myself, and have been eating poha with salami all of yesterday and today.</div><div><br /></div><div>anyway, back to harami. which has a lovely feminine equivalent. not in terms of meaning. but in spirit.</div><div><br /></div><div>sort of the ying to the harami yang.</div><div><br /></div><div>i present to you *drumroll* kameeni.</div><div><br /></div>agent green glasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07300665297563493646noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8663907684240877843.post-276734111397535112010-12-04T09:03:00.001+05:302010-12-04T09:04:39.455+05:30broodstock - part 2<div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN6EbdLTnVU1P2a4LS4bnYqdaQWsLAWx4EolQ_4Q4WFyEuvkJiXYtr4x7l7dsHsQO-mt_BLIEYcoeNgn1q1Tht4fIml_DFzuCeY18m6dh3CUezxV1x1PsAK9MVvf5gqukCnIXnTKDNgCU/s1600/wedding.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN6EbdLTnVU1P2a4LS4bnYqdaQWsLAWx4EolQ_4Q4WFyEuvkJiXYtr4x7l7dsHsQO-mt_BLIEYcoeNgn1q1Tht4fIml_DFzuCeY18m6dh3CUezxV1x1PsAK9MVvf5gqukCnIXnTKDNgCU/s400/wedding.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5546665119358570994" /></a><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">The wedding of the season got called off.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">DDLJ, the cousin thanks to whom I was being forced to squish myself into fishtail ghagras and gota shoes, decided to call off her wedding last minute.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Actually the calling off was pretty filmi. Her parents are going to give cards and sweets to the boy’s house. Apparently that’s tradition. The first set goes to them. When the phone rings, and DDLJ tells them, “Turn around, I’m calling it off.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The reason cited was ‘he was too laidback.’</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Well, whatever.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The sad part was that it left many of my aunts with wardrobes that threatened to burst. First DDLJ was to marry in summer, so everyone had bought chiffons saris. In keeping with yash chopra tradition. Then the to-be bride and groom had an accident while coming back from a weekend trip. Which in itself caused a lot of raised eyebrows, “Accha, they had gone for the weekend to Jaipur? Bhaiya, no one tells us all this. We thought she was working that weekend!”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Yeah, she should have just sent engraved postcards to all the relatives. “Dear Masi, just to inform that that since we both stay with our parents, and it’s really difficult to have sex in peace, we’re off to Jaipur for a debauched weekend. See you when I get back. PS: let me know if you want anything from there.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Anyway, so after the accident, the wedding got pushed to winter. And the aunts took the blow on the chin. They packed away their new chiffons and like industrious ants got down to buying silks. Of course new saris meant new shoes, new bags and even in some cases new jewellery.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The phone lines went crazy. As did the shopkeepers of karol bagh. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">But finally they were ready for D-Day.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And then this. Cancel, kaput, nada.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Till the Big Boy came down. The reason Big Boy and his whole gaggle came down was because they were tired of postponing tickets and cancelling them. And in the bargain losing money. So they decided to hell with it, even if there’s no wedding, let’s just go have a family reunion. I was duly informed, and pretty thrilled. No wedding pressure, no fishtail ghagra, just fun with the yash chopra cast and crew.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">So Big boy and gang arrive. I call them. I can hear the whole family at the back with much shrieking and laughter and “how much ice in your drink”.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I tell Big Boy I’m arriving on so and so day, and why is everyone behaving like they’ve gone crazy.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">He says, “Because I’m getting married. In India. In February.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Oh bugger. Fishtail again.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>agent green glasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07300665297563493646noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8663907684240877843.post-74575041374533797252010-11-30T15:54:00.004+05:302010-11-30T16:06:06.180+05:30tuesday bitch<div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii2rybzSeu2ICaKGI-AIEYU7YoO9XcyBS20TvAfb9i5vs7Ph_yJq_WHpYH8-IMOuy7IeTud0PI9eDVyiQPXSZh0PvFJuUCeUCjqHzZDsJh3Hen5dbkRmg6ygzu-kajGnGXszYCXSxmFlI/s1600/bitch.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 283px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii2rybzSeu2ICaKGI-AIEYU7YoO9XcyBS20TvAfb9i5vs7Ph_yJq_WHpYH8-IMOuy7IeTud0PI9eDVyiQPXSZh0PvFJuUCeUCjqHzZDsJh3Hen5dbkRmg6ygzu-kajGnGXszYCXSxmFlI/s400/bitch.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5545288735873295266" /></a><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Gosh. Rishi kapoor is so upset at how sonam and deepika behaved on coffee with karan.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Who the fuck is rishi kapoor? Some chubby actor who wore sweaters till he was 50.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Why is he upset?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Coz the girls said his son needed a stylist. And was not really sexy. And broadly hinted at him being a cheating boyfriend.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">So, daddy dear is mad. The girls have insulted the kapoor khandaan.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Well, daddy o, i suggest you let your son fight his own battles. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>If he can fight villains, and woo chicks in flicks, why the fuck can’t he stand up for himself in real life?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And kapoor khandaan? What is that? The first family of some filmy folks who ate a lot of ghee and shoved all their generations into films. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Which also reminds me, that I have not had butter in two months. And jam as well. Both are part of project ‘no junk in the trunk’. Which mean mc booty cannot fill up my jeans any more than it already does.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And since I’m all filmy today, have any of you guys seen Saif Ali in the Taj Mahal tea ad. Dude, that face is crumbing faster than the poor monument. The cheekbones are out, the cheeks are swallowed up and the huge big nose is all I see. Any more surgery, he and his nose can team up for a double role.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Surgery always reminds me of that Ambani lady. And the monster house they’ve built. I told Z, ‘the top of the house looks like a giant open mouth, that can be seen from any part of the city.’</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Z turned around and said, ‘yeah, let me gobble up all your money, and yours, and yours.’</p> <p class="MsoNormal">So true.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Oh. And I heard they’ve put a mc donald’s in their mansion. See, that’s the problem with being a third world billionaire. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">It all boils down to an alu tikki.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>agent green glasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07300665297563493646noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8663907684240877843.post-60094907489616871162010-11-26T21:10:00.002+05:302010-11-26T21:14:30.717+05:30oooh see how hip and cool we are<div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRLOcleYT7clIvQOI_tJ6eUw67G7YLqUyGW3EhrSkE5yelAbKV_vOQxCTQ38n0BP3b70JAi8l2Ep2gp9nDqR9hNxyNyk9-YLaZhL2ThD48RnzrD6QI4vnWe3CJxCicFEqZiM_7GZ69CtM/s1600/dumb.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 390px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRLOcleYT7clIvQOI_tJ6eUw67G7YLqUyGW3EhrSkE5yelAbKV_vOQxCTQ38n0BP3b70JAi8l2Ep2gp9nDqR9hNxyNyk9-YLaZhL2ThD48RnzrD6QI4vnWe3CJxCicFEqZiM_7GZ69CtM/s400/dumb.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543883867240519170" /></a><br /><div><p class="MsoNormal">There are times when you look at something, and you think, what the fuck is wrong with these people.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Happened to me. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I’m driving past carter road, when i see a shiny bright kiosk all the way down the stretch. It’s for a vodka named after the general secretary of the communist party of the soviet union. The same guy who made bird shit birthmarks cool. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Anyway, back to the point. So this brightly lit kiosk has a woman pole dancing. While some bored looking corporate dudes in striped shirts and ties watch her.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And the line says: Pole dancer by night, mother by day.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Waaaaaat?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And more importantly why?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I can just see a bunch of people sitting around a conference table and saying, liberated women + yummy mummy = pole dancer. But modern + traditional = new mother.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Voila, put the two the two together and you have a brainwave.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I’m waiting for the rest. Eventually they’ll probably get to my favourite Gigolo by night, Grandfather by day.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Fools who wrote it + idiot who bought it = dumbasses by night, freaking idiots by day.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p></div>agent green glasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07300665297563493646noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8663907684240877843.post-4401124733180532072010-11-15T16:42:00.004+05:302010-11-15T16:52:24.981+05:30big wheel keep on turnin'<div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOZUEdD5JaHU9e8KabQYvBw_fIHJ1tuKRrzB6RrsUI8Vdma-sNXHAaGxWgRUJ50HnDYHDwy-6j9nTSMngBgvIqdzd54MKcwX_p9Uf_TwaAuqqDSZIq9M_XJFPyrasytX8KF5whAjs_cfQ/s1600/skateboard1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOZUEdD5JaHU9e8KabQYvBw_fIHJ1tuKRrzB6RrsUI8Vdma-sNXHAaGxWgRUJ50HnDYHDwy-6j9nTSMngBgvIqdzd54MKcwX_p9Uf_TwaAuqqDSZIq9M_XJFPyrasytX8KF5whAjs_cfQ/s400/skateboard1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5539732851575331538" /></a><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">My first boss was a huge guy who was scared of his boss.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And pretty much everything else. The boss’s secretary. The chief peon. The heads of the other departments. The women who ran the library like it was her dowry we borrowed every Friday evening. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Actually being scared of her I can understand. She never smiled. And Hitler looked like a jolly little man in front of her. You were allowed only two foreign magazines, and one Indian one. And if it didn’t come back on Monday, you were doomed. Salary cut. Letter to your boss. Memo’s to the super boss. No further library rights. Dirty looks that burnt through your back. And eventually little voodoo dolls that resembled you.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">But back to the boss. And the skateboard.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Which came as a prop for a shoot. And then stayed on. Till one day at lunch we decided to use it. By we, I mean mostly D and I. D is a tall, skinny sardar, and I’m well, I’m none of those.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">So D and I would get on to the damn thing and try and get it move like all those cool guys we saw in magazines (this is before youtube okay). And then after a couple of days of throwing our arms around like excitable windmills and going into doors and falling off, we finally learnt to stay on.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">After that, whenever we got bored of working, we’d pull out the skateboard and try it all around the office. Till the boss saw us.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And freaked. He waved his hands like an excitable windmill that was having a panic attack. And lectured us. In front of everyone. On how to behave in an office. On how to maintain decorum. On how this is a professional workplace, and not a college. On how this is just not done. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Then we got called to his cabin, where he lectured us all over again.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The red skateboard went under our desk and stayed there.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Till an important prospective client came to visit our office. We were told to tidy our desk, the cleaners were going hysterical with the Colin spray, and everyone had come in their best clothes.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The client and his three cronies came walking around, nodding at everyone, till they reached our part of the office. Our boss came rushing out of his cabin to show them around, gushing and waving his hands. The client politely nodded at everyone. And then he came to our desk, where we sat huddled pretending to be brainstorming and working. We stood up to be introduced, and D tripped on his legs, and the chair fell over. Revealing a bright red skateboard.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The client, suddenly, came to life. He grinned a huge grin, and looked at us, his eyes wide and awestruck as he said, “wow... so do you guys skateboard?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Both of us had horrified expressions on our face. D was starting to turn purple and I was just about finding my voice to say NOOOOOOO, NEVER!!! PLEASE DON’T KILL US KIND SIR.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">But before I could the boss turns to the client, while simultaneously patting us on the back and with a jolly laugh says, “All the time. They keep skateboarding all over the office.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The client and his cronies look like they’ll have an orgasm. As they coo, “How cool. Wonderful. Very creative I can see....”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">D and I are rooted to the spot like rabbits, staring at the boss. Who thumps us on the back now and says, “Yes, that’s them. Very creative. And of course we encourage it.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The client vigorously shakes our hand. We try to rearrange our frozen expressions into suitable cool faces. Maybe add a sneer or something.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And the boss and the client leave.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Five minutes later, the boss comes back and says “well done guys” to us.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And a day later, we get a new client.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And the red skateboard comes out whenever it wants. Mostly so we can demonstrate the whole incident to all our friends at work, and laugh our heads off.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">But, here’s the thing, when we started our own thing, one of my partners could never understand how we could play loud music, or allow movie downloads, or people to come in shorts. But apart from the fact that you are your work, and not your clothes or your music, it still works.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And clients still walk in and look at the large Sex, Drugs and Helvetica Bold written on the wall and go, “How cool. Wonderful. Very creative I can see....”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And I still think of my boss and start to grin.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">As for my partner, she’s a convert after I told her this story. Last time a client was about to walk in, she started yelling at us to turn the music up. I had to calm her down, saying its okay, they’ll still find us creative, even if we don’t burst their eardrums.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Whew. These born again's.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; "><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; "><i>title credit: the one and only CCR. check out Proud Mary <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0ROalKnVZfU"><i>here</i></a>.</i></span></p>agent green glasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07300665297563493646noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8663907684240877843.post-67555111775709600192010-11-10T13:59:00.001+05:302010-11-10T14:01:30.610+05:30idiots in the box<div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1-lNQag80byphPjehZESQUlTY4yPcK8mhTtFiJlwZtLemaLVdjTW7G6LQzsm23pZX1okDM92y6h6Q2dPV16zWesffnEeKfLjPqgMO2kEI-mfclXMO2skMwfLd62l6SprQRA1N_xTC8FI/s1600/idiot+box.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 374px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1-lNQag80byphPjehZESQUlTY4yPcK8mhTtFiJlwZtLemaLVdjTW7G6LQzsm23pZX1okDM92y6h6Q2dPV16zWesffnEeKfLjPqgMO2kEI-mfclXMO2skMwfLd62l6SprQRA1N_xTC8FI/s400/idiot+box.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537835488360027522" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">Times Now. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Excitable anchors discussing Obama’s visit to St Xaviers.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Woman 1: And the President came prepared, knowing the P word would come up.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Lead male anchor: Yes, you are absolutely right. They knew some student would say the P word, and that’s exactly what happened.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">P word? What the f word happened to us saying Pakistan on TV?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And are they going to continue this in the future.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Good evening. And now for the top headlines.<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">The T word have said they’ll bomb some more towers in the US.<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">The K word just got sacked on corruption charges.<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">The Big B word’s wig flew off while he was dancing with the studio audience.<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal">What can I say? I’ve run out of words.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>agent green glasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07300665297563493646noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8663907684240877843.post-91239846138248419802010-10-29T18:54:00.006+05:302010-10-30T12:48:20.836+05:30glare bitch project<div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk_1kWXXpMYUyoZ46XLt-8myf2D6f39rz85Qt155uVw2hCkqUIRQGqF5wevidocCN_fKlJIN5qHk3yomwIl9VqUEno78CSda74_m4T3-Y3Uq7MRK3qqhozcfkUnZbCQv7PDattiBsBiyg/s1600/Snobbish.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 359px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk_1kWXXpMYUyoZ46XLt-8myf2D6f39rz85Qt155uVw2hCkqUIRQGqF5wevidocCN_fKlJIN5qHk3yomwIl9VqUEno78CSda74_m4T3-Y3Uq7MRK3qqhozcfkUnZbCQv7PDattiBsBiyg/s400/Snobbish.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533458571764157234" /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal"></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><p class="MsoNormal">So i went for a birthday party the other night. Very <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>la li lah. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">As opposed to la di dah.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And yeah, there is a difference. La di dah is where you’re wondering if your underwear is showing through your dress because everyone looks so fucking condescending all the time.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">La li lahs are like la di dahs, in that they are rich and influential, but they are also pretty fun. With or without the drugs.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Anyway so the la li lahs were all gathered in this flavour of the season khar pub. Again, that’s the difference la di dahs would die if they had to go to a place called WTF for a birthday party. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">“my gawd dahling, how vulgar!”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">So I decided to put my social graces into practise. Which largely consist of being extremely fake and sweet. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">It is great fun, and mostly involves telling everyone you meet, “wow, how did you lose so much weight.” Of course if they are barely making it through the double door, I would skip saying that, but otherwise I say it to everyone.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Anyway, the highlight of the evening was the la di dah who had slipped into the party. She used to work at my previous office, and knows a lot of common colleagues. So someone introduces her, and I turn, all bright and happy, ready with my hello and losing weight line, when she looks at me.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And I felt like bloody Harry Potter when he was facing Voldemort. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">She looked at me for a microsecond, and I knew my dress was all wrong, my underwear was showing, my hair looked liked from the 80’s, my nailpolish was the wrong colour, and so on and so forth. It just all flashed from her eyes to mine.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Brrrr. I had been la di dead!</p><p class="MsoNormal">Then she half nodded, while her lip curled in distaste, like i was a wilted piece of cabbage trying to pass myself off as fresh lettuce. And in slow motion, she turned to the person who had introduced us, broke into a huge smile and gushed "hello darling."</p><p class="MsoNormal">While i stared down at my glass, and muttered to my whisky, "wow, how did you lose so much weight?"</p><p class="MsoNormal">Instead, I should have whipped out my wand and said:</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Bitch. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">With unflattering balloon dress.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And fat calves.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Trantallegra you la di dah!</p><p class="MsoNormal">*sigh*</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p></p><p></p>agent green glasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07300665297563493646noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8663907684240877843.post-37061419710199274302010-10-20T18:05:00.001+05:302010-10-20T18:08:49.132+05:30101.2<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd0QUSaVB5AMZosppsOwREhlhg1UQHAkL0KORiNh76AZ4xxCwKaNDMNT-xMyBYjn7s_cSU7DVRtdPj-scGuvFL_1TPhyMGYnkws5vM8Dh4XfTfAxaaUjfpHkbCHpLzXZpgGrZLMVncaa8/s1600/thunder.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 331px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd0QUSaVB5AMZosppsOwREhlhg1UQHAkL0KORiNh76AZ4xxCwKaNDMNT-xMyBYjn7s_cSU7DVRtdPj-scGuvFL_1TPhyMGYnkws5vM8Dh4XfTfAxaaUjfpHkbCHpLzXZpgGrZLMVncaa8/s400/thunder.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5530106020533578066" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">She heard that awful sound. And she begged her father not to go.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“no...you can’t go...please.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">He stood there. Torn between the tears that were streaming down his thirteen year old daughter’s face and the siren that cut through the air.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">She continued to sob and yell hysterically as she held on to him. “Close the door Ma. Don’t let him go.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Her mother stood there helpless. She had been through a war before.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Her father gently pulled away from her. She clung to his waist. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">The sirens continued to pierce through the evening gloom. Yet the streets were silent. All windows covered with black paper. No electricity. Still, humid October heat. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Like the world had come to an end.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">He kissed her on her head. “Baby, I promise I’ll be back. You look after your mother okay.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And before she could tighten her grip, he was gone. Out of the door.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">That awful sound grew louder in her ears. Planes, lots of them, low and loud. Not the comforting ones she heard every morning and evening. These were angry and low. Very low. And then the sound of bombs. Exploding. Fire. Deafening.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">She woke up. Drenched in a feverish sweat. The bed was burning.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Outside, there was a storm brewing. Clothes flapped hysterically on the line. Loud claps of thunder echoed across her room.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">That’s when she popped a crocin and danced around the room. It was only a bloody dream.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>agent green glasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07300665297563493646noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8663907684240877843.post-90689370750453073062010-10-19T11:29:00.003+05:302010-10-19T11:45:19.420+05:30the sound of mucous<div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgZY5Ipg6yRgXObkmXaNS7OftZ_0tL0zMTygtVt6GDETlD70QLnilBuHizIKssc0WNXxZOMKdCXS0_Hu_O6QTBk2NaIvlnge93uhm8V-VyNJ5WVTYwMClSyeH1MzCFvrpTYr1EWw5tlIA/s1600/more+snot.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 333px; height: 334px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgZY5Ipg6yRgXObkmXaNS7OftZ_0tL0zMTygtVt6GDETlD70QLnilBuHizIKssc0WNXxZOMKdCXS0_Hu_O6QTBk2NaIvlnge93uhm8V-VyNJ5WVTYwMClSyeH1MzCFvrpTYr1EWw5tlIA/s400/more+snot.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529636082083143538" /></a><br /><div><p class="MsoNormal">Thick yellow snot </p> <p class="MsoNormal">You are so heavenly</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I feel purged and satisfied</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Like a job well done</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I stare at you</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Alternating between dull green</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And bright yellow</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And i think</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Isn’t that just pretty</p> <p class="MsoNormal">You make my cold and fever so worth it</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Like a drying scab after chicken pox</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Like sticky eyes after conjunctivitis</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Like blood mixed with dirt after a fall</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Thick yellow snot</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I like you a lot</p><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div>agent green glasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07300665297563493646noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8663907684240877843.post-89903584700477158592010-10-17T02:48:00.003+05:302010-10-17T02:53:07.842+05:30nostalgia. after all it is the season dude.<div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7Pw1b0G8DE3cG7SXPdOGMbh3ti2JK95NNB9tHupUu8QnO8pAETp2nA7M4VZqSLMagNOONLKMpoKVcObG1WS43lS3qBLTVt9rkXB31cv1Z4Nm4fq8BsUEckGmIzjZQAWNF6_MrcvCGP_0/s1600/rickshaw.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7Pw1b0G8DE3cG7SXPdOGMbh3ti2JK95NNB9tHupUu8QnO8pAETp2nA7M4VZqSLMagNOONLKMpoKVcObG1WS43lS3qBLTVt9rkXB31cv1Z4Nm4fq8BsUEckGmIzjZQAWNF6_MrcvCGP_0/s400/rickshaw.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5528756513745158882" /></a><br /><div><p class="MsoNormal">I was eighteen when I landed in Calcutta. Actually landed is a fancy word. I took an army truck from Kharagpur to Calcutta. Most of my journey was spent sitting on my black trunk with my name stencilled on the side.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I knew no one. Not even the aunt I was supposed to stay with. I had been to Calcutta once before that. For a day, and totally hated it.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I have no idea why I wasn’t scared. Or even worried. I had been thrown out of the house. My sweet loving father was pissed as hell with me, because I refused to go back to architecture college in Bombay.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I had no idea what I was going to do. Or study. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I ended up staying for years.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>My dad’s family turned out to be mad. And sweet. I met cousins I never even knew existed. They got me admission forms, stood in line with me, showed me the city.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Then I made friends. K and P. One who smoked incessantly, the other who popped painkillers for recreation purposes. Classmates, benchmates. Guides through unfamiliar lanes, languages, dadas, didis, college politics, bus routes. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">And then S. Love. College fests. Cards. Band rehearsals. Hanging out. Studying together. Walking around. Smoking up. Love letters. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Then I started working. More friends. Another PG. And then A.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">HM Road. Bondel Road. Ballygunge Circular Road. Him and me. Walking. Talking. Drinking. Dancing. And the trips. Lots of them. To the sea. To anywhere.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And before you knew it, the city became mine. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">And this time of the year, even if I’m miles away from Cal, I get all excited. Not because it’s Pujas. But because the smells and sounds of the city that gave me so much, will get transported to a little pandal five minutes from my house.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And I’ll stand there. And wonder how, without a clue of where and what I was doing, Calcutta just took my hand and planned my life out for me.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">picture credit @ </span></i></span></o:p><a href="http://www.pbase.com/prantik/image/58319389"><span class="Apple-style-span"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">http://www.pbase.com/prantik</span></i></span></a></p></div>agent green glasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07300665297563493646noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8663907684240877843.post-25325915876944873242010-10-12T08:57:00.001+05:302010-10-12T09:00:52.872+05:30please please would you throw an oil well my way<div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKxht96MpQ3FYNMcrOXul9LIL2db37RMzFt3szr8eOr1z7bCpsp-M_NEPAwSr4kgUe341zlgydj61HWTBQNvpEIUL1Gf-KvseBjoXiDuACuJpOLGf1XYsF5C0VkDsiPW7nugV_9FPwdq0/s1600/Princess.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 280px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKxht96MpQ3FYNMcrOXul9LIL2db37RMzFt3szr8eOr1z7bCpsp-M_NEPAwSr4kgUe341zlgydj61HWTBQNvpEIUL1Gf-KvseBjoXiDuACuJpOLGf1XYsF5C0VkDsiPW7nugV_9FPwdq0/s400/Princess.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5526996071544741762" /></a><div> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">“Hey, I have a strange request. Don’t know if you’d be interested, but my friend needs help...”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Me: Yelling into my phone over the Andheri traffic, “ Tell me...”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Okay, so there’s this Saudi princess who’s getting married.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Me: Still yelling, “WHAT BUSINESS????? “</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“SAUDI PRINCESS who’s getting married.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Me: “Bhaiya, taxi roko.” (Dude, I would have stopped a plane to hear this.)</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“And she wants a four minute music video for her mehendi ceremony. An original Arabic bollywood song.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Me: “And...?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“And she’s bollywood crazy, and wants 12 top stars to feature in it.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Me: making gurgling sounds</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Of course, for a substantial fee they have all agreed. Now my friend wants to know if you can write the song and the video.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Me: jumping up and down in the taxi, still making gurgling sounds.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“ She wants them all to be dressed in Tarun Tahilianai. And Shahrukh said he can say a few lines, but he doesn’t have time to do a whole acting piece...hello...hello...</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Me, almost hugging the taxi driver: Yes, yes, I accept...I accept...mujhe kubul hai...</p> <p class="MsoNormal">On a serious note: If this blog suddenly vanishes, either she’s bought over blogger. Or I have been beheaded.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><br /></span></p></div>agent green glasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07300665297563493646noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8663907684240877843.post-81047491638690748962010-10-06T14:30:00.003+05:302010-10-06T14:37:12.460+05:30first you dish the dirt, then you diss the dirt<div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrJ2ga_ZApB0AjQVKJGgnd8JHAr2JExLdrFi2ykBIdfQ1pr11jUu9VvwLppmuoh7FrWcVSAGyw10z3iyKTV7CaBwJaSg68c3Wq5G7hZAwQzICefWf1Nkn0r-54ShHVNL88fWWNNDRvBYs/s1600/gossip.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 268px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrJ2ga_ZApB0AjQVKJGgnd8JHAr2JExLdrFi2ykBIdfQ1pr11jUu9VvwLppmuoh7FrWcVSAGyw10z3iyKTV7CaBwJaSg68c3Wq5G7hZAwQzICefWf1Nkn0r-54ShHVNL88fWWNNDRvBYs/s400/gossip.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5524855535041083058" /></a><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">I studied in Kendriya Vidyalaya’s all my life.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And obviously they’ve had a deep rooted impact on me.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Because the four words that still get me every time are, “Pata hai kya hua?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">These can be punctuated with a Haw before or after the sentence for extra drama. As in Haw, pata hai kya hua? G came to work wearing V’s shirt!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Of course the Haw that follows must be backed by an interesting fact, like a return gift for the gossip. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>“ Haw Really? She is such a slut eh? ”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">There is the more sophi <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>(old Calcutta slang for sophisticated) version of <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Pata hai kya hua which is Fuck, you’d never guess.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Also four words. Also explosive.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Guess I’ve grown up.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><i>PS: all pix unless otherwise mentioned are from deviantart.</i></span></p>agent green glasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07300665297563493646noreply@blogger.com19