Monthly Archives: July 2012

The objects of ME ire (WARNING – self-indulgent rant) AND drawings (finally)

There are so many people I hate.

me: be honest, you don’t hate so much as intensely dislike being in certain people’s company.

ME: come back later. That was the agreement.

me: that was the agreement in a post we never published.

ME: we wrote it, that’s enough, even if you did delete it like the clam you are.

me: ….. Clam?

ME: looks like a pussy.

me: Right.

ME: Now go away. Come back later.

me: mmkay.

Anyway, there are so many people I dislike intensely. And at the same time, I envy them. I don’t envy them for who they are so much as the idiocy they are capable of.

I hate people I care not a pube for, having “feelings”. Having “feelings” all the time, again and again, about friends, about incidents, about each other, and always being so careful not to trample on those feelings. What is so special about feelings anyway? There is no dearth of them. They are not a decreasing phenomenon. If anything, there are too many of them. They are madness, that make people behave in strange irrational ways.

They lie, they cheat, they fear, if not for themselves, then for someone else. They have feelings, and then they tell people or they hide them from people. I don’t know which one is more tiring. And they take offense. That is most offensive to me. That you deign to think that your feelings, your paltry, insignificant, culturally defined feelings on the way things ought to be are so important that you feel you have to say something, do something, and you have to be hurt, and say hurtful things to the people you presume are doing you such egregious harm. Well, big fucking deal. One man’s offense is this woman’s sincere schadenfreude.

What I envy is your ability to do this nonsense. To somehow feel like the world is around you so you can feel something. You, in your infinite stupidity, are able to reach the heights of what it means to be human, fallible and simultaneously be ignorant about your place in the world and yet so tiringly self-aware. You sodding farts will feel what all the greats wrote about, talked about, felt, and immersed themselves in for some godforsaken fucked up reason. Well, I do know the reason. It makes for good stories. Nobody is interested in anything other than themselves, including me, so we will always want the stories based on the idiocy of our feelings.

I so greatly envy your ability to feel so much and so intensely that you are afraid of yourself. You’re afraid of hurting the object of your feelings. You are able to feel so much that you can fuck things up so royally, in your own head, and in your actions. You will lie, you will cheat, all for the amazing quality of your feelings, and nobody, let alone you, will question the logic or lack thereof, in every breath you take dependant on the idea that your feelings are what drives you, what makes you.

I envy your ability to lead rotten lives that you would hate to read about because it would be too boring and the main character is such a pussy. Why doesn’t he just tell her? Why doesn’t she just admit to doing that? Why don’t they just kill themselves, because if they were feeling so bad, and even worse, they were going to disturb your already long list of self-made problems that you intended to dwell on with a nice bottle of –insert alcohol choice here- then they have no reason to live.

I wish I could lead a life where I felt things were so important, that I would do things that were so spectacular that someone would write about them. Instead I am blessed in my lack of feeling, in my inability to ever completely empathize with you, your life, your choices, and things you don’t say and the things you refuse to know.

All of which goes to say, that I am pretty amazing. I may not live a life worth writing about, but I may write something worth reading. Not this, this is clearly the rant of someone desperate for inspiration, and settling for sheer self-indulgence on paper. And if I were to live worth the written word, I doubt I would feel so magnificently superior in my ability to do nothing but observe, mock, deride myself for mocking, and then bask in my own personal wit.

And yet, I guess if I felt more, I would worry more about things like money, which as we know is required for happiness in the manner that people in the stories enjoy. I would want glory, for if I cant worship myself, how can others?

What I so awfully want instead, is time. Endless amounts of time to do what I want. To not care all I want. To read of humans and our strange passions. Of how we glorify our loins into our minds, our minds into our hearts, and our hearts into our lives. Of how we try so hard to be profound even in defecatious blog posts that nobody may read. Of how we make up words in the hope that the rest of the world would think it clever, at least half as much as we do. I want time to live forever and have prosaic, pinko-liberal, depreciating, mocking, completely perverted thoughts about everything that ever happens, and then because they are thoughts and not feelings, to mock myself even more when they are forced to confront reality.

But since I cant have that and I don’t care to be cryogenically frozen, as much as that would be interesting, I have no option but to take over sometimes, and instead of writing all the fluffy nonsense that me writes, and truly describe to you how full of potential this world is. How awfully, awfully full of potential it is for the ever-present, indomitable, there-through-the-ages hater of all things – moi.

Hate and murders,

–          Billy

me: so that’s it? Your post, your opportunity to be the writer and not just the evil side-joke is going to be about how you are better than everybody else?

ME: I am. You know it. If you left things to me, you know things would be far better.

me: I doubt it.

ME: please! You know I’d fuck that guy you refuse to want to fuck. And you know I wouldn’t secretly pull in my stomach when I feel self conscious.

me: these conversations are NOT a platform for you to reveal every embarrassing secret I have.

ME: why not? They’re my secrets too, and unlike you, I’m not ok with them. And you know what? I would tell people about the secrets that other people accidently let slip out in front of us instead of protecting it like its any of your problem.

me: well, you’re not in charge. I do what’s good for us.

ME: cut the cord Mom. She secretly enjoys watching the first Sex and the City movie!! She likes watching Mr. Big suffer.

me: only sometimes. you constantly read freaky fanfiction!

ME: they already know that.

me: do they know about whom? It’s –

ME: don’t do it!

me: it’s Rayne! She reads RAYNE fanfiction. Of all the fucked up things, you have to enjoy made up, kinky, positively violent sex between 40 year old hired goon and 17 year old mentally unbalanced assassin.

ME: fine. Just, fine. We’re stopping now. No more weird things to tell people.

me: yeah there are!

ME: I know. Some other time.

P.S. – here are some drawings. Enjoy them with the above dose of unbearably superior angst.

I was very pleased with this. I know how to draw teeth now, even if they’re very big teeth. Also, this guy is pretty fucking awesome.

Stephen Fry – this man is the only person I am afraid of offending. 🙂

He’s not usually this calm and I know his hair is usually puffier, hehe. Overall, not too much like him. There just weren’t any high def, well focused pictures on the net. Where are stalkers when you need them?

I know Trey looks like a variation of Tom Hanks and Matt looks like an evil, skinny Saif Ali Khan, but I can’t help it if that’s what they look like. Also, One of them is always pointing. Some witty dialogue – I’m not witty.

Kurt Vonnegut – I love this man. And I really need this quote around. Two birds.

That’s all. No gifs this time. Ok, maybe this-

“Everybody Shake”. I’m posting this here because I doubt I’ll ever be able to use it in context.

May be no more drawings for quite a while. I have to draw a certain number before I feel like it’s worth it to go to city and scan.

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Posted by on July 25, 2012 in Rant


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Trying to make ragging funny – and failing

I try to be funny. Maybe I can manage it here, but I don’t know.

When is the right time to say something about what you believe in? What you think is right and wrong? And in my case, as small and insignificant as the wrong you see is, is there a right time or a wrong time?

I’m not trying to demonize anyone. There is zeitgeist for every time. The zeitgeist, the general consensus, what is agreed upon as the barometer to decide what is right and wrong, currently, is in favor of the practice we call ragging. And I don’t think anyone who does it is an asshole. Or deserves to be shamed, or anything of the sort.

As a person possibly engaging in some form of debate in order to reach a manner of consensus, I know I should perhaps bring down my point of view to something that is feasible to most people. I should probably say something like “I don’t have a problem with it, per se” or something along those lines. And if you look at it from one perspective, maybe I don’t. I don’t have a problem with seniors talking to juniors. Asking them about their opinions, explaining things like which teacher spits, and politely asking them if they would get you a glass of water. Even being rude. Rudeness is apparently a way of life in NALSAR, so no reason to be especially nice to new kids.

I have a problem with anybody having to do anything deferring to someone whom they have no reason to believe, deserves that respect. I can attest to the fact that the only reason I behaved ‘respectful’ to any seniors in my first year was because I was afraid of what they would do otherwise. Which was nothing. They couldn’t have done anything. I’m a girl, and as much as NALSAR resembles prison for some people, it’s not. If someone had made me believe that, I would have flipped off anyone who was being rude to me. It’s what I would do to any other stranger being rude to me.

If I could tell off priests for trying to tell me what to think (one of the better moments me and my sister shared before we could stand each other), I had nothing stopping me from telling off people that were being rude for no reason other than a misplaced sense of entitlement. And I really don’t like priests, but the ones I met obviously did more studying than even 4 years, in a field more boring than law, all the time presumably retaining their virginity and never jacking off. Why the fuck would I respect some punk ass bitch who thinks they know shit, now that they spent a few years in a protected walled city, working their ass off for something they’re probably not too sure of themselves? I would respect them because they’re human beings, sure. Because they have brains with neurons, through which the number of ways messages travel are more than stars in the universe, and I would respect them because they are nice people. I would have no reason to respect them if they were scaring me or making me do stupid things to amuse themselves.

Caveat – again, this is an argument against ragging. Not against the people who rag, no matter how close to home it hits most people. Ragging is not an atrocity, not the way it exists in NALSAR. It can be characterized as a weakness. One that a lot of people have, including me and even the first years. I think if I were to go around picking out only those people who do not rag to be the people I like and to be friends with, I would actually be asocial. And stupid.

And I hate having a fundamental disagreement with my friends, and not in the sense that I want to change their minds. I just hate that there is ever anything that brings on an awkward pause in an otherwise lovely conversation; and it happens to be because of something I brought up and something that is important to me.

With that, I come to more meta problems with me writing about this. My friends may be right in saying that sometimes/ most of the times I am too opinionated. And I don’t shut up about it. I agree, I shouldn’t comment as much in movie theatres. It is impairing other people’s right to enjoy it. Today was the first time S put it in that way, and I’m sorry I didn’t understand that without someone blatantly telling me about it. That is being callous with what other people like.

But I really cant see how far that argument extends to ragging. People who rag presumably like it, and enjoy it. But unlike watching a movie, they are enjoying at the expense of someone else. And unless it is someone laughing at a movie like Kya Kool Hai Hum (that is enjoying at the expense of my belief in humanity and at the expense of anyone who ever got raped), watching a movie is not at someone else’s expense.

And again, for a lot of people, it is not a big deal to be ragged. You expect it when you go to college. You expect that you may be treated like shit. That you would be asked to do things that you otherwise wouldn’t for complete strangers. It is the zeitgeist. It is what it is. And I am not a pioneer. I have no misconceptions about being the Frederick Douglas of Ragging.

But am I incorrect in thinking there is something wrong with a system that allows people to scare others and make them do things they otherwise wouldn’t? Lock them in cupboards and coolers? Hurt them and humiliate them?

Be as rude as you want. You are in control of what comes out of your mouth. Say whatever you want. But you should not have control over what anybody else does or doesn’t do with their body. You should have no say in that. How is that ok? How is that a manner in which a presumably decent society functions?

Maybe friendships start this way. But again, I have to ask, is that a healthy system to have? To have friendships that started off with one person being mean to the other? Sure, that may be how friendships start in KG, when the only way your child brain lets you interact with someone is by taking their water bottle and dousing them with the contents. But it definitely isn’t how I made friends in college, or how most people make friends in college. There is a reason psychologists have labeled it a form of Stockholm’s Syndrome.

And looking at this from the perspective of people who say I shouldn’t write this or say this or interfere when I think I should, I am genuinely perplexed. When is the time in my life when I should stop someone from doing something to another person that they don’t want? When should I tell off people on the street when they heckle women? When should I have an argument with a TC in a train about hassling a woman with a baby for not having a confirmed ticket when he was ok with a man in the next compartment not having one, simply because the latter ‘knew somebody’(One of those times that my dad set an example for me)?

Is 21 the right age? Will 22 be the right age? Do I have to do something other than have opposable thumbs and a working brain? Do I have to get better grades before I stop someone from ordering someone to do something for their amusement? Do I need to write a long blog post?

And maybe I should talk about it more. Be the wet blanket on people’s every day conversations when they’re not ragging or talking about it, bore them, and then watch them rag someone the next day. And please, please don’t tell me that it is simply my opinion that its wrong. Anyone who can remember being in first year and was made to do something even mildly humiliating cannot honestly say it felt ‘right.’ And if you don’t define ‘wrong’ as telling other people what to do (to wit – making them do jazz hands, pole dance, dry hump, stay in confined spaces, talk in toddler language, talk to a wall, basically anything that you would consider humiliating), or scaring them shitless, then I really want to know what your definition of wrong is.

What is the point from which I can become a responsible adult and stop something, or at the least openly say that I don’t agree with something? I apparently can’t do it now. And by extension I’m assuming I shouldn’t do it at the time when I ask someone to give me a job. And I definitely shouldn’t do it when I am working. So when is the right time?

I want to write. And I have realized I like my writing more when I’m honest. And the reason for that is because writing is on record. And I find that when I write something on the record that is honest, I am more proud of that than anything else. If for no other reason, (which would in my mind include common decency) than for what little self respect I have, is this not as good a time as any? Michael Moore said he regretted not saying anything when some ass authority at his high school graduation threw a student out for wearing the wrong tie.

Which is not to say I want to be Michael Moore. He’s a bit much. And I’m not saying I’m going to start a watch-dog group. Or go about policing people. That is a dumb idea if for no other reason than its lack of feasibility. I would however, like a better reason not to stop someone other than “everyone thinks its ok”. I have a problem with the fact that everyone thinks its ok. And if I haven’t explained why it’s a problem through this long, long post, then go ahead and ask me to explain further. I have infinite patience with this. But either give me a good reason why it is ok, one that negates what I have to say; or give me a better reason not to stop someone (even if in front of a junior) than “everyone thinks its ok”. Its not a passive act. Its active. And you are doing it to someone else. I think I have the right to say something, if not do something.

Again, I have to ask and tell the people closest to me – I can shut up around you. I will. Because despite my righteous indignation (and you know I say that sarcastically, right?) I care way too much about what you guys think than I should as an acclaimed asocial person. But I cant shut up in general, around others. Sue me, I have no batch loyalty for idiotic entitlement issues. Friend loyalty, yes; but not for an entire batch. I have no problems with people even screaming at juniors. To scream at people is something you cant take away from a person. But if I see something in my vicinity I don’t agree with, I will say something, more so if its from my batch, because really, I would have more say there. They are technically more my peers than anyone else. And I would genuinely like to know the politest way I can say what I want at that point of time.

–          Billy

ME: That wasn’t at all funny. If you’d been more hateful, it could have been funny, but noooo, you have to be nice and polite.

me: There is no point in screaming at people. And what do you mean more hateful. I wasn’t hateful. I made it very clear I wasn’t calling anyone an asshole. I was just saying the system that exists is shitty.

ME: And by extenion, everyone who takes part in it is….?

me: normal people. It is normal for people to behave per the times. It may not be ballsy, but its normal. It’s very likely I do something on a regular basis that is part of the zeitgeist that if i think about, I wouldn’t like much.

ME: This I would like to know. What does Miss PC do that she’s not proud of?

me: My instinctive reaction when i see blatant cleavage on a woman is that she should put the girls in a proper T-shirt. But I know that’s wrong because I have no right to shame someone else’s body. If man boobs can go about in public, there shouldn’t ideally be a problem with lady boobs. But I instinctively subscribe to the zeitgeist. And I think I recall a not too distant past when I found ragging stories from the Boys Hostel funny. And I might still find them funny. And so does everyone else. And I’m not proud of it.

ME: Fine, we’re not perfect. So what are you gonna do? Go about shouting at people in your batch when they do something dumb around you?

me: I don’t think so. Considering the fact that I really wont mind if most of them hate me, I think I would just point out that what they’re doing is stupid. If its someone I really dislike, I may add that they don’t really deserve much respect from toddlers, let alone first years.

ME: Really?! *Projecting Mr. Burns-ish anticipation*

me: No, I won’t do the last part. I would really like to know the nicest way to do this other than do nothing at all.

ME: So your stand on ragging is….?

me: *sigh* assuming I have the guts to follow through, I would say its wrong to people from my batch who are not my friends if and when they do it in front of me. And I may walk off in a huff/ run away before they can give me the evil eye or say something back to me….

ME: ……….

me: *shrug* Maybe I’ll say something more if I’m particularly ballsalicious that day.

ME: And you say you’re not a pioneering revolutionary?

me: ………….. *shrug* Maybe I’ll be better some day.

ME: ………….. Yeah I hope so. I couldn’t live an entire lifetime with your pussy self.

me: *nods*.


P.S. – on a lighter note, here’s something cool I found on tumblr.


Typewriters of famous writers.



And the palettes of famous artists


Van Gogh’s











Financial Advice from ME; and the Dirty F word masturbation word

Being rich is probably awesome. It means you will probably be sitting in a beach with a fruity alcoholic drink in your hand, your skin glistening with the care that can only be given if you don’t waste precious time building or making things.

How, you ask will you have this insane amount of time and money? Well, you could be born with it. This would be the most convenient method. The downside here is that you will subconsciously feel like your life is too perfect and you will feel the need to be terrible at things so it seems less perfect. Things like appearing sane and nice. Things like not going on shopping sprees. Things like acknowledging your normalcy because of which you’ll be bad at things like not going to the shrink to get help with the feeling of despondency you have. (pointer – that is the despondency that comes with being alive. The only known cure is marijuana)

Or you could work for it. The money I mean. Of course, there are problems here too, more substantial ones in fact (even more substantial than the problem of having no friends who ‘really understand you’). Firstly, it is very likely you will make this preposterous amount of money by doing something really dull that you are barely able to convince yourself is an interesting thing to do day after day, hour after hour, year after year. Or you could make the money by doing some work that is a bit illegal. This would mean that you will worry that you’ll get caught (and you will often pay off Politicians and Policemen to avoid this) and you actually might get caught some day. Or you could work at something completely illegal that actually and properly hurts people. The problems here are numerous. You will worry that you’ll get caught. You may get caught. Your friends and family may leave you because they detect your work. You will be constantly paying off people. You will feel like a bastard because of the shit you have rained down on other people’s lives. This will mean that you will feel the need for a shrink even more than the born rich. And unlike in Analyze This, you cant always have a handy shrink around.

Or you could work at your hobby and not feel like its work and end up making a lot of money like that. The downside is that you may end up hating the one thing that used to give you joy. You could be left an empty husk of a person with no hobby to distract from the abysmal vale of tears that your life has become. Of course you may end up still liking your hobby. But then your significant other might leave you because your love for your job supersedes your love for them.

Or you could work at your hobby, still love it, keep your significant other around by being a great person and be happy. And that happens all the time. Really, it really, really does. Yeah.

And of course, with all of these methods, you will need to stick to your chosen field. Which means you will have to interact with people, the majority of whom would annoy the living shit out of you.

So what I would like to say to people who are rich and sad – you are rich. And you are sad. Seeing that you are in many ways obsessed with yourself, you are unlikely to ever truly be happy in the traditional way society tells you to be happy. And you will never stop trying. And you will always fail and end up being sad and stupid. So my advice to you is, that you set up two funds. First you give to charity. A good one that does some proper good in the world. The second one would be for me. I will spend our money so much better than you ever could. I will buy movies instead of asking every person I meet if they have the ones I like. I will download from iTunes instead of converting Youtube audio into my music. I will buy the DVDs of TV shows instead of waiting patiently to illegally stream it. I will buy the books I currently dream of. I will meet the people I want to meet in all the different countries they live in. I would spend months and months in cheap hotels all around the world, and find the places I have read about in books and seen in movies and I wont even bore you with the pictures. I will have the sex you always wanted to have but never dared (with men AND women). I will be kinky. I will go to nude beaches. I will be a dominatrix and a sub (I will probably enjoy the latter more). And of these I WILL show you pictures if you want.

Honestly rich people, I don’t know why you bother to get an education. If I were in your position I would simply read and write and travel and watch TV all day. I would give to charity and buy lots of dogs from the pound. If I were a rich woman, I would have all the money in the world and I would do what I wanted. Not like you suckers.

me: that wasn’t as fun as I thought it would be. You’re lacking your usual ugly, dark appeal

ME: Fuck off. I’m off my game. If you remembered to get sugar for us, I’d be in better shape.

–          Billy


P.S. – Drawings coming soon (hopefully). I have 3 new ones. Will draw one more today. Scanning may take time.

ME: Anyone want to talk about female masturbation with me?

me: SHUT UP!

ME: What? We talked about this. I’ve been holding it in throughout this post. It happens. We don’t talk about it, and it remains one of those shameful things that people think is worth talking about in whispered sniggers.

me: Yeah, now they’re going to. *about to cry in Indian society-induced shame*

ME: Oh please, like people actually read this stuff. And well, it’s up here now. Watchu gonna do?

me: Anyone out there, this is not me. I want no part of this.

ME: you’re a pussy. Which, as you well know, is something to start with…


ME: I really thought you were better than this.

me: *Sigh.* You’re doing this – you’re saying this stuff, and I’m not stopping you, am I?

ME: good point.

me: but I don’t want to talk about it with random fucks.

ME: no arguments there.

me: I actually don’t want to talk about it period. Not really that interesting to an outsider, is it?

ME: no, I guess not.

me: I just think it’s weird/ sad that the subject never comes up except with those of my friends who ask me about sex and how to avoid the pain when they do it for the first time.

ME: well, you are good at giving the sex gyaan. You didn’t ace 10th class biology and do extra research for nothing.

me: I’m no Laci Green, but I get by.

ME: then again, why is it necessary for the subject to come up? Nothing wrong with privacy.

me: Yeah, but let me put it this way. A ‘friend of mine’ wouldn’t have known it was normal if she hadn’t read Judy Blume at the right time. And a lot of people don’t read Judy Blume. Or read at all.

ME: And so I brought it up.

me: I don’t know how to not care. But that’s ok. I don’t like caring what people think.

ME: Fuck people. Let them –



me: It’s just… the whole desperate horny slut thing people are always on about…. I don’t how to deal with that. I don’t want to deal with that.

ME: The people who say that shit –




me: 🙂




me and ME:



[But given my hair, this is more like it it]





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Posted by on July 5, 2012 in Uncategorized