Serious Classy Bloggers and How To Know Them

This blog should be odd coming from me. Which is to say, I’m nobody. How the frack would I know the signs of a serious blogger. But having become a member of the internets in ways that my 14 year old self would not have approved of, and now that I have a blog, there is nothing stopping me from spewing out my opinions in a forceful and irritating manner. And its really ok, my 14 year old self also liked to sing Blue (the boy band) songs out loud with her friends. I would have hated her.

Also, in a beautifully puke-inducing you-are-here-and-reading-my-blog-while-I’m-writing-it manner (is there a word or phrase for that? I’m sure there is) I should warn you that by the time I finish writing this, I may or may not have the energy in me to edit it so that all the random crap I say is in some understandable order. I’m also streaming/watching Gangs of Wasseypur 2 again so… take from that what you will.

So the first sign of a serious blogger, to the outsider is the fact that they will very rarely make their personal lives the subject of the blog. Incidents from their lives, maybe – if they make for a funny story or even better, a profound one that will get them likes. So they may write about meeting that crazy relative and what she said but they will not write about the fact that in a terrible twist of fate, the crazy relative ended up holding the camera in the bizarre BDSM sex scene between the blogger, her flogger and two Persian gigolos. And yes, that is the working title for my screenplay. I may or may not change it to Men And Women: Are The Gender Fucking Roles Blurred?

The next sign of a serious blogger is that that they will try to talk about the current issues as much as they can. This will ensure, on the assumption that they RSS feed or whatever their posts, that when people search Google to help them in their conversations with presumably smarter people in parties, one of the opinions that would be pronounced verbatim would be theirs. This will further ensure that if and when the blogger becomes famous for a Booker Award For Fucks, the worthless rubes who read his/her blog can say in parties – “Oh yes, him. He’s alright. Quite entertaining. All seems kind of derivative from his earlier blog posts. Which really weren’t that good to begin with.”

Further, the serious blogger will never think of writing less than 1000 words per post, minimum. This will ensure that the average person who visits the blog is not under the impression that it’s merely a twitter account masquerading as a blog. This happens more often than one would suspect. Often, the not so super important serious classy blogger is blatantly obvious for what they are when they combine personal life blogs with the tweet size blog on a regular basis without long breaks off the internet. Then it is to be understood that the blogger in question is merely mind masturbating in public in manifestation of the sick fetish they hide behind phrases like “OMG Sheila said he’s getting me flowerrsss!!”

Also, the serious blogger will use pictures liberally in between the paragraphs. This image in one way or the other will be related to what they are saying. If the connection is not obvious it will become obvious by the caption under the post. An example of this can be taken from the following gif posted by a random blogger –

 

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

 

While entertaining, this gif will have no place in an ordinary post. And by mentioning that, the blogger is attempting to deflect from that fact with the post modern distraction called hipster irony. It doesn’t work too often. Its like a professor coming up to your lunch table with his food, and seating himself while you look on, trying not to seem disgusted, saying, “I know eating food with a boring professor is not really cool…” Yeah, no shit. And the fact that you said it doesn’t make you less boring or the situation any more cool.

Speaking of the gif, a great number of pop culture references will ensure that like minded people on the internets (which lets face it, is full of pop culture fanatics) will like your blog merely for validation of their love of Benedict Cumberbatch and Abed. On the same note, nude and nearly nude pictures are also something that the serious classy blogger will use intermittently to draw attention and adoration. It may not always work, and the secret photographs of all the boys in your batch, showering, that you posted in your secret blog (something along the lines of notsohotindianboysshoweringandtouchingtheirweewees.worpress.com) may end up offending the mothers who google their son’s name and accidently run into pictures of them with their penile piercings. No big deal, you will persevere because it’s a catch-22 for everyone concerned.

That being said, there are also ways in which you can recognize yourself as an aspiring serious classy blogger. One of the major habits of the blogger is to visit one’s own blog almost every day. This may be to increase the viewership generally, or it may be to read and re-read every day if the last post you wrote is as cool and awesome today as it was the day before.

Another tell is when you note that there are no comments or likes or anything of the sort despite the fact that the people you meet often tell you how much they like what you wrote about “ERHMGHERD THAT GUY IS SOOO HOT!” and disregarding the fact that you loathe pushing any “like” buttons or commenting on anything in places like Facebook, you keep wanting to say things like “why didn’t you like it then” in a whine. But you don’t. Cause that wouldn’t be cool.

Yet another habit you have if you’re a serious classy blogger is that every time you post something, you check out the posts (if any) of all the people who are on your blogroll despite the  fact that it’s a very outdated list of blogs. You should update that, but you don’t. You’re a serious classy blogger. You don’t have time for that shit.

As a blogger, you will also check your comments about every two days. When you do get comments and general viewership you will immediately want to check out the blogs of the people who do. Which you may find amusing or may not understand at all.

You also know you are a serious blogger when you start receiving comments which go directly to your spam mail. And when you check them out, they say things like “Warning! STOP whatever you are making right now! Blogging will never make you serous money, watch this video BUZZBOOZ.COM The good part starts somewhere around the 2 minute mark.”

Really? Well, I never! I was under the impression that blogging will make me money. I never knew I could be so utterly, utterly wrong about anything. My my, I am rubbish at knowing things. I will immediately stop making things now that you have given me this gold mine of information, young Theo Elizando, the abused yet brave child from Ecuador (he is of Greek and Spanish descent) who made that comment! You are wise beyond your years spent working as the footstool of the local drug lord who would often try to touch you on your neck to strangle you, but you bit off his fingers every time he tried.

Also, you get spam comments along the lines of “you NEED on page SEO/RSS/ other random thing that I have no idea what they are to increase your visibility”. And it suddenly strikes you as you read it – Wow! The internet has a Cosmo! It tells you how unknown, non-trend-setting and pathetic you are, and then gives you solutions that you may have to shell out some cash for, that may or may not work. Ma peeps – if you have any advice to give me, I beg of you, please don’t give me the erotic thrill of hope when I see that the number of comments I have has grown before putting a chastity belt on my high when I see it was you and not a real person. Grrrrrrr. Wherefore will go me sessual frustration now?

There are also specific blogs meant for things other than writing. These are just fun. Since I don’t do that I’m not a connoisseur, the way I clearly am with the written ones. Oh yes, I know what I’m talking about.

That’s all I had to say. Now here are some pictures. Cause I’m a serious classy blogger.

Oh! *Sigh This is what I feel like after a nice, big, long juicy post. *nods

 

I know its all over the fucking web, but I really like this gif from NASA cam. 🙂

 

Found this on tumblr. 🙂 Last Beer Pong.

 

I know this wasn’t 2000 words. But I’m legitimately rescinding that part of the promise because I realized I would be spewing more bullshit than otherwise if I tried to fill a word limit.

– Billy

ME: *rolls eyes*

Sarcastic Clap.

 

me:

 

Yeah, that is Peter Dinklage.

 

 

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: NO! BYE EVERYONE, BYE!!! THIS IS THE END OF THE BLOG. NOTHIN’ TO SEE HERE. BYE.

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]

 

 

hehe.

Bye.

 

Some Stuff

I don’t have much to say, but apparently it’s been a month, so to those few who read/ follow this, I say – your apparent need for me to put useless self-immolating, and narcissistic thoughts on this thing is sad yet exhilarating.

So here is stuff I’d like to point out:-

• From what I have seen of it, Tumblr and 9gag is way cooler than facebook could ever hope to be. I will refrain from commenting on Twitter seeing as I have only been there a few times to see what Stephen Fry is up to.
• My friends have taken to drugging me as the solution to my apathy. Not complaining. Just a fact.
• Kurt Vonnegut feels like he is taking incoherent thoughts from my head and placing them in trite, dark and comic sentences in stories I am very fond of.
• A good/bad cold can get rid of a quarter of the amount of tissues you have (depending on how many you had to begin with) as well as any self-respect and confidence you had in your body and its functioning.
• I have heard of The Hunger Games and have yet to watch it. I want to, but am not sure if I’m looking forward to it.
• Dogs are amazing things put on this earth by only the best of evolutionary processes.
• This is what I would like to enunciate about rape, which before this, I have never been able to say in less than two sentences – “People talk about sexual assault like it’s a bad habit that men have.” Thank you again, man I love.
• I can draw rather well now – apparently all it takes is practice. If I had known that worked with drawing I would have done it a lot more at 16.
• Seinfeld is awesome.
• If they cancel Community I will feel less sad if and when America fails as a country. On the same note, I love Abed.
• I want Pizza.
• My passport picture looks like a mug shot. I was waiting for two hours before I sat for it, and studying for 5 subjects while waiting. However, I do look like a juvie.
• If I do get the Visa, I’m going to see the fuck out of Second City.
• These are some of the books I have read recently – The Hitchhiker’s Guide, Gods Without Men, Team Of Rivals, The Player Piano, Monstrous Regiment, The Help, Shadows Of Forgotten Ancestors, Mother Night, Earth – a Visitor’s Guide to The Human Race, The End Of Wall Street, White Tiger, and am currently reading Palm Sunday. I also got The Cider House Rules (for 100 bucks) and The Liar.
• The Artist is one of the few Oscar winning movies I actually love watching.

• I finally figured out I can insert gifs and how – check it bitches!

This is what I feel when I see this. What is that called? The image version of onomatopoeia?

• My hair is growing at a pace that is starting to irritate me.
• Apparently it is not pathetic to keep asking your friends what they’re talking about – I shall generously employ this tactic from now on.
• Apparently we are always looking at our noses, even while me look at other things, and our brains just ignore it.
• The Monty Pythons are awesome.
• I drew these. There is one of the younger Colbert but I had to make some changes in that after the scanning so I’m going to wait to put that up.

please note - this is not House, it is Hugh Laurie. That is why there is no stubble.

 

I think this looks like any old guy in the world, and thus I judiciously pulled fast one with the Title thing. But I have been told that it apparently looks like the guy. So that's that.

 

That’s all.

– Billy

 

We All Suck Equally

I have not read the Satanic Verses. It’s not because I would technically be breaking the law. It was because I started and I quickly realized that I did not care for the style of writing. I’m not saying that I cannot see what people may like in it, but it’s not for me personally; the same way that I recently re-established my lack of enthusiasm for stream of consciousness writing unless it is funny and lasts 10 pages at the most.

I had thought that perhaps not all of Rushdie’s work – of which I have read the first 3 pages of Satanic Verses, and the same of The Moor’s Last Sigh – is not in the same style, but I am assured by people who have read it that indeed it is so. Of course, this was all many years ago. I attempted to read The Moor’s Last Sigh at 12 and failed; The Satanic Verses at 18 and failed. I should probably give them a try again – after Khushwant Singh’s Autobiography, all the Discworlds I can get my hands on, Kurt Vonnegut… Either way, Ipso Facto, Habeas Corpus, I admit my sad lack of knowledge in all things related to the guy’s work.

I do remember a passing acquaintance reading it and telling me that she was a little afraid of Muslims after that. When asked why she said something about a phrase mentioned which was misinterpreted by people somewhere to mean that clitorises have evil in them, and should be cut off. Apparently there was mention of a tribe or a cult or a group of housewives who did that. That last bit was a joke, for those who don’t get me. Anyway, I have searched high and nigh for this. My Google searches have not resulted in much. There have been a few pages that opened up, but largely I got Bupkis. Yes, I shall convert to Judaism linguistically. Only for you, o beautiful, beautiful, blue eyed man who makes Banking funny.

I recall thinking that if stupid people reading the book get the impression that all Muslim girls have no bean on account of creepy bearded fucks, then maybe banning it is not such a bad idea. On reflection, I have concluded that was an utterly stupid thought I had. A silly thing really (Monty Python). Taking the spirit of what John Oliver said – all religions shouldn’t have to be responsible for its biggest arseholes.

Of course, all of this is unnecessary BS if in fact, in reality, as the lack of Google results would indicate, there is no mention of female circumcision in the book. Someone please tell me, is there??

From what I have found out about the whole fatwa thing, I may sound like a hillbilly, but I don’t know what’s so particularly offensive. Mention of a few gods/god-like beings with vaginas. Personification of God. Indicating that the Messenger ever spoke the words of the Sith Lord and not the Force. Correct me if I’m wrong, but all of these, including and all slightly based on the idea that the one true god is the one you believe in, is constantly tarnished and beaten to the ground by every other person in the world who believes in some other shitty god.

Apparently, the Jews said there was something wrong with the Christian Messenger even before he died, let alone waiting for 1500 years to pass. I heard that’s what eventually killed him. He was suffering from malnutrition due to years spent in the desert without food, and in his weak state, he couldn’t take such criticism. Really killed him from the inside. By the time the nail came down, reports say he was too delirious and depressed to care. He was all, “Oh Lord, just let me die! I don’t wanna live ‘nymore!” And he was crying like a little gay pussy.

The Hindu Gods, amongst others, are in fact the vehicles of Satan if I am to believe the Old Testament. Eating the cow, whose DNA is apparently powered by these Gods, would be doing a disservice to my food canal, from the esophagus to the anal tract, and my holy self. I would literally be letting Satan come inside me. Reminiscent of Rosemary – and she had it coming, I saw what she was wearing.

Another interesting piece of information – If I were a Christian, I would be very offended at all this murder happening in the world. I think Thou Shalt Not Kill is pretty clear cut. It means you, meaning you; shalt not, meaning shall not; kill, meaning in any way, shape or form take part in an activity that leads to the death of another human. Human in this case would include those with circumcisions – really all you need are opposable thumbs and excess hair on the tops of heads, under the arms and in the pubic area as compared to the rest of your body. Yet all these people who were supposed to be born Christian don’t seem to know what they’re doing wrong.

What I’m saying is, directly or indirectly, everyone but the people in your religion, and even the people in your religion, are in almost every breath they take, insulting your religion. It’s not even about Rushdie being a Muslim and doing it. Technically speaking, all moderates offend the sensibilities of the crazies in their religion; all atheists that were brought up in a religion, even more so. What’s so special about Islam that renders it necessary to ban some stupid book which most people wouldn’t bother to read anyway? Nobody banned The Da Vinci Code – and that had some bad info and blasphemy. Nobody bans me from writing, “Really? Your ancestors were in that cow? Well I guess they’re literally kissing the inside, yes inside, of my ass right now.” So why the Satanic Verses? That’s rhetorical, before anyone starts giving me lessons in Indian politics, prejudice and vote banks.

All religions have been blasphemed to feces by now in one way or the other, under one holy writ or the other. And if you’re picking and choosing what part of your holy text you’re going to take seriously, you may as well not pick the rather inconvenient part that is leading to so much discussion and time consumption, when wouldn’t you rather watch The Office? Or whatever your version of awesome is?

My point is that it is one thing for religious people to say, “You know what, I don’t want to kill you, but I’m not comfortable with that cow you’re eating, that crucifix you have upside down, that drawing of my non-anthropomorphic god, that Swastika Armband and matching toothbrush moustache you sport, that part of your penis that you cut off, that hair you decided to get rid of….”; but quite another for so-called liberals to say, “We should take care not to offend people’s religious sentiments”.

Honestly, my sentiments are sorely ripe since I came to law school and saw how far the human conscience and spirit can be raped into non-existence, without any physical violence or base primal need for it, which would at least leave physical evidence or minor biological justification for such an impingement on virtue. No, all of it is based on unbelievable human greed and cunning. Evidently, these sentiments of mine are not as important as the ones based on imaginary gods. I should really start a church – “The Faith Based Faith Of Not Being An Asshole”.

–          Billy

P.S. – R.I.P. Vepa. He was one of the few men I knew who would have loved a dirty joke at his funeral, and for that and so much more, he was Awesome.

P.P.S. – I have discovered I can scan stuff here. More sketches shall come up soon. 🙂

P.P.P.S. – And this is my dog! 🙂

 

Golly fuck

Have spent the entire day looking over newspaper clippings and clippings and clippings about the bloody Lokpal bullshit from the last 2 months. I may be displaying my ignorance and simple-mindedness when I say that at this point, I don’t see what the fuss is about. Then again, I may just be brain dead right now.

Why would I write in this state? Because if I don’t do it now, I wont do it later. I’m very poignant at this moment, eh?

Seriously, whenever I see something that catches the attention of the media for this long, I eventually reach this point. There doesn’t seem to be a point. I mean I’m all for anti-corruption and what not, but I have lived in Delhi for 18 years, 7 of them with a passable brain, and while I appreciate the effort here, I really don’t think one law is going to do the job.

I have never seen a single law ever having any phenomenal effect, especially if it’s a law governing the government, especially the Executive. All this aam-aadmi stuff is nice PR but seriously, how much of it is going to make a difference to the aam-aadmi. Don’t tell me people are going to start complaining to the authorities under the Act, if it’s ever passed, as soon as some off-white shirt wearing government official seems to be reluctant about getting off the old gluteus maximus unless there is sufficient reward.

I don’t know what Anna wants in life, maybe by some weird twist of the space time continuum he is someone who’s on TV and not an asshole at the same time, (though I highly doubt it – anyone who gets misty eyed over the ‘atmosphere’ or ‘energy’ of some place with sufficient numbers of the press around to record that fact is at least a bit suspect) but I happen to agree with Celine here. The only people who actually make a difference to people’s lives are those who do something small but utterly meaningful and helpful without the attention of the media or the internet. Anyone who actually gives two shits, enough to want to do something, would hardly ever have the ego or the ambition to want power or even influence as is the case with this guy.

Don’t get me wrong, I get the point of a gay pride parade or a rally about providing contraception, or healthcare, or education. That is likely to effect the lives of people in a substantial manner, at least more so than this. But such a huge circus about a law regarding the functioning of a body of the government…. I appreciate the effort, I do, but if I had the time, I wouldn’t devote it to this. In my very amateur, pretentious, probably-not-worth-a-jhaat opinion, if I really wanted to help someone, I could get a B.Ed. of some sort, go to a village somewhere and talk myself hoarse till I get parents to send their kids to my class where I’d teach them the Rs and disillusion them about the BS of the universe. But I won’t because I’ll admit that I don’t care that much, and I don’t like kids.

That’s about all.

BTW, what is it with men and odor? Sometimes I walk to the men’s compartment in the Metro because the doors are closer to the stairs in the station, and there is ALWAYS a bad BO smell there. It couldn’t be a poor people thing. Poor women travel in the metro too, and the ladies compartment doesn’t smell like that unless its packed like cattle carts. So men, if you think nobody will notice when you’re not bathing, just remember – drops in the ocean.

And this guy is fuck funny. He’s Australian –

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XXfmjMlPEic

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mcdtVD8X1-A

That’s all

–          Billy

 

Mooresque? Prithy!

On this day, the narrator decided to take a different route to work. This decision was based on this day being one of the few when the imposing boss-man is not in town and also, that this route afforded the narrator more time in which she could watch stuff on the laptop while in the Metro, since she has recently found herself in the unprecedented and astounding position where she is too tired after work, and is falling behind on her TV. While the first part of the Metro ride was indeed satisfying in that the latter mission was successful; due to increased population, and the terrible time that is 8 o clock to 10 o clock in the morning, the latter part of the narrator’s journey in the city’s widely successful Metro was not conducive to seating or laptop… placing on lap and watching funny stuff. However, reading of The World According To Garp was caught up on by our pioneering, adventurous and brave narrator during this time, which is not time wasted, if it pleaseth thee.

However, if bravery be a state of mind, then upon embarking from the comfort of the foremost cabin of the illustrious Metro, onto the exterior of the Kalkaji Mandir Station, our narrator was lacking in bravery since her endless learning had not prepared her to know which path to take in order to arrive at the Main Road; from whence she would journey on in one of the latest Buses that the City provided upon which the denizens of Delhi have endeavored mightily to leave their marks through modern art in many forms – arrangement of crushed peanut shells, patterned dried heavings of the Delhi belly, as well as through the post modern olfactory formulations of increased, compounded Odors By The Masses. Another reason for this uncharacteristic dearth in valor was one that that is the subject of the day’s musings.

On emerging from the Station, the wrong path was erroneously chosen by the narrator, leading her not to the destination she was seeking, but to the wide gates of the Temple for which the Station was named. In light of the musical haven provided by Willie Nelson singing “The Little Dealer Boy”, which our narrator was grinning upon, it is not unpardonable that this mistake was not corrected at a sooner stage. Upon beholding the sight of the temple gates, through which, it was indeed a sight to hark upon – young men garbed in the Delhi fashion of bright, chintz-esque-ness removing their footwear to enter upon them hallowed grounds. Our narrator felt fear take hold of her heart in a vice-like grip for a split second. She had unknowingly wandered upon a sight wherein just the past morrow, there had been conducted rituals of a pandering and ‘spiritual’ nature, that is to say, if it pleaseth thee, a conclave of ‘spiritual’ leaders of the pagan culture or religion of ‘Hinduism’ had gathered and had been bestowed much attention and admiration by their ardent followers. Our narrator was not certain as to why such fear gripped her, even for a second, but adhering to the urges her flight-flight-don’t-even-think-about-staying-let-alone-fighting response was making on her person, she turned tail, and with all the dignified speed becoming such an experienced and graceful personage as our narrator, glided away.

She walked down the road, away from where her valiance and spirit had faced such challenges and soon realized that mistakes in taking the correct path had been committed yet again. Opportunities were presented to her to seek counsel from various men who were also travelling along the same path; however, for some reason, a reason she was slowly beginning to comprehend, she desisted to ask them, most particularly a man garbed in Denims and a sweater that was near the color of the sky at sun-down. Upon admitting the nature of her predicament, she sought the counsel of a wizened, elderly man seated upon a mat by the road, upon whose features it was written clearly that his humble abode consisted of that very mat. The kind gentleman assisted our regaling narrator by pointing his wise finger towards the direction and path which would lead her to her destination. Grateful beyond compare, our narrator thanked the man and went along the path that was directed to her, which the future has confirmed, was the right path.

As our narrator forged along the path, she was quick to note with her lightning sharp mind that firstly, the path towards the Bus-Stop was of a greater length than what she had anticipated; and further that the thrift shops selling religious artifacts that sprung around the grounds upon which she had just previously chanced upon, were present in great numbers. But it was upon noting that there were some men ambling alongside the road which she took, who had the red marks upon their foreheads characteristic of pilgrims and followers of the Hindu gods, that our narrator stumbled metaphorically upon the knowledge which perplexed and saddened her greatly.

She feared the fellowship that was the religious peoples who followed the Hindu gods. She did not fear individuals following the faith. Not even groups. She merely feared collectives of such people, whom she was not acquainted with personally, around their Temple of worship. Being of only one and twenty years, in which she had not seen not felt the brutality waged upon reason by the armies of fear and stereotype, the knowledge of such a deadly force existing within her person was startling to the narrator. There was no reason, no thought, no basis for this fear that choked her of her common-sense. She did not fear the gods, she did not fear the people, yet she feared them when they were one, even if it was only for a moment.

With the self-awareness that years of adolescent and post-adolescent watching of television had bestowed upon her, she noted that she was unafraid and unconscious of the few ladies amongst this collective. This too was curious. She did not fear the men for her virtue, no; she feared for nothing that could be described. She feared. Such pure and unadulterated, although not paralyzing fear, that any reason or subject would only weaken the mix. And thus, our narrator, who being of young years, and having been raised in a tradition of unawareness of such ideas, for the first time faced the creature called prejudice. It gave the deluge of benignity, but our narrator was not fooled. It walked alongside her in the few moments before which reason collected itself.

On realizing the nature of her predicament, the narrator was ashamed, at the same time, could only be comforted at the thought that at the least she had experienced the creature with regard to a group that could defend itself mightily under the majesty of its prominence in the country. For some moments, she fancied herself Michael Moore, who in his testaments in Dude Where’s My Country? had remarked merrily upon his fear of the Caucasian race as they passed him by in the streets. However, upon this day, the narrator vows to attempt to rid herself of her fears of men on their way out of temples.

Verrily Much.

😛

–          Billy

 

Stuff I sketch – from the past two years

I love this guy

He does have a face made for sketching.

Nice

I loved this show.

It's supposed to be Upamanyu Chatterjee. I know it doesn't look like him, but it's sort of cute.

The only imaginative work I ever did. Narcissism? Maybe.

I loved JD. And Garden State.

And this guy! Stephen Colbert - The only catholic in the world I would willingly bang, were he free to do so. Which he isn't.

BTW I see what I missed. I’m too lazy to scan the added version without having other stuff to scan

I love the pranks.

That’s all for now.

– Billy

 

I got too much stuff to say!

Read title. I’m going to try and make the infinite number of segues here sort of blend in. Bear with me.

First, I just finished reading Richard Dawkins’ “The God Delusion”. I can’t really say I’m a staunch atheist in the way most people say it. Let me put it this way – I don’t think it is at all true that God exists, but I like to think about one as if it exists. But that aside, the book surpasses the high expectations I had of it. The sheer logic with which the guy takes away any and all of our assumptions about the guy in the sky is pretty awesome. It would take a special kind of pig-headedness for someone to read it and not have to think about some of the stuff they’ve believed. I’m not saying lose faith, but at least have doubts.

Belief is crap, but thinking is good. ‘Dogma’ (underrated Affleck-Damon flick) got that one right, (although there was some unbelievable stuff about the Christian god being fair) – Don’t believe, just have a good idea about stuff. Then you won’t feel the need to take lives, cut off clitorises, stone people, ‘convert’ homosexuals, set fire to widows….

And speaking of books (anyone noticing the smooth segue? And yes, I did just find out how to spell that word), I went to Daryaganj this Sunday. Found “The World According To Garp” for TWENTY BUCKS. That’s right. Twenty bucks. And its turning out to be really good. Also, one of the reasons I love it when people appreciate the places in Delhi I take them to – I get to see how awesome the city can be all over again. I know, you can wax eloquent about how a lot of delhiites are dumb, blah blah; but speaking as someone who just spent a night out with a group of Punjabi and Assamese people (yes, together), I defy you to find people elsewhere who are so accepting of fun at such gargantuan proportions, while still being smart.  And despite such fun, this city has history coming out of its buttocks (Word refused to accept ‘butt’ – but here, weirdly, it does…) if you look for it, and places to hang out other than South Delhi, like Hauz Khas Fort. I have been telling people about that place since 1^st year, but it is only now, at the behest of others, that its awesomeness has been acknowledged. In the spirit of Khushwant Singh, this city isn’t appealing at first, but the moment it spots your weakness, it makes you its bitch and never lets you go.

So I’m reading Irving now, but before that I finished Thud! By Terry Pratchett who is an unsung genius. I know, people know him enough, but I really think he’s underrated. And I bring up Thud! because it’s a City Watch book and there was a very interesting scene where they stop a riot from happening between two cultural groups by getting them both drunk. It’s weird how there’s always a cycle going on from things you read or saw in TV to things that actually happened and back on to things you read or watch. I’ve seen a lot of the coverage on the Occupy Wall Street Movement and also have been reading about the Ramdev incident from last summer – the latter for the internship (BTW – yeah, that case is fuck interesting – I like going to the Supreme Court for the first time). Got me thinking about Gandhi.

I personally have mixed feelings about the guy. I don’t like most of the personal morals he espoused. They’re too interfering. And basing any movement even a tiny bit on a religion, even if it started out with good intentions, is bound to go off track at some point. But what a lot of people forget was that he was a lawyer, and just to look at the whole idea of non-violent protest from a lawyers perspective, and even a political perspective – it is genius. And I don’t mean that in the fighting-is-bad-passivism-is-based-on-strength way.

Think about it, non-violent protest of the kind Gandhi organized got so much attention because of the fact that when two sides fight, eventually both of them will do something they will regret later. In a political/public arena as well as a Court of law, there would be too many doubts raised from both sides. And while you can win in Court, it will be by a margin, with criticisms; and you can definitely never win in the media circus. But if you appear to be as innocent as the pure driven snow, if you don’t raise a finger while people beat on you in a public arena, politically and legally, you have it made as soon as its on record. I mean, I’m supposed to be thinking from one perspective as far as the whole Ramdev thing is concerned, but because the guy decided to do weird stuff like get women to create a barricade around him instead of just being zen, you can’t defend him without taking valid considerations from the other side.

On the other hand, with footage of protests I’ve seen of the Occupy movement in the U.S., especially one where students are just sitting in rows and not making a move other than screaming with pain, while policemen bathe them in pepper spray, is it possible for you to take the police’s side without reasonably being accused of also eating babies? Which is why, I recommend passivism in social movements. Not because it’s the right thing to do and not because it’s the cowards way out, but because it is logically and legally, the best thing you can do towards garnering support, getting attention, and screwing over whatever authority you’re defying.

On another note, the reason I am finding the news interesting again is all thanks to Stephen Colbert and Jon Stewart. I discovered them in the middle of last semester, and I kept quiet about them because I had thought that like all of my fads, they would wither away, or disappoint me. Not yet. I remember the first time I watched the White House Correspondents Dinner with Colbert. I swear to god, I did not know what to think for a while. I have never seen anybody be so obviously rude to the leader of a nation, and I have never loved such blatant honesty before. This whole experience has given me a new appreciation for comedy – Tina Fey, Steve Carell, Russel Peters, the endless number of sitcoms I watch. How genius is it to be able to bring something to the table that would make people laugh. I agree with Colbert (the real one) on that – it is physiologically impossible to really laugh and be afraid at the same time. It’s not possible to be negative while you’re laughing.

And now that I have declared my love for Jon and Stephen in a forum where technically, anyone can read it, I will also say that if and when the dirt comes out on either of these people, I would be even more lost than I was when I finally found out that Muhammad Ali and John Lennon were not perfect people, and I was 13 and a lot more wet behind the ears when that happened. Although, with an optimistic bent of mind, I will say that comedians almost never have shit about them. If they did, they’d use it for jokes. Or survive it either way because they’re able to live unconventionally to the point of public discomfort. Like Woody Allen.

And last, but far from least, Nikkie died. I missed her a lot, especially when I got in the car after work every day and thought about getting through the door. I always started to think about her jumping all over me before remembering that she died. But now, we have Jane Doe, JD for short [And again, please nobody mention namesakes other than those played by Zach Braff] whom I adore utterly. Yes, I still miss Nikkie. Dogs are irreplaceable, but at the same time, the amazing thing about them is that almost every single one of them can inspire so much fuzziness of the heart.

So, that’s all the stuff.

Who’s still reading?

Munchma Quchi

–          Billy

 

Challenge

I’ve been in a particularly cynical state of mind for the past few days. More so even, than usual. I cant think of any precipitating factor for this. Maybe seeing too many couples just brings out the inner heinous cynical bitch in me, and heaven knows there are couples here. Lots of them.

Either way, in an ill-fated attempt to either feed this cynicism or banish it for some time if not for eternity, I have a challenge.

I dare anyone, anyone at all, to bring me a love story- a real life one. It has to have had lasted more than 5 years, and neither of the partners should have any response that is not an equivalent of “Awesome!” when asked how things are going generally. they’re allowed to have off days and stuff, but generally, they should be happy. Not even jubilant or ecstatic, just happy. NOT UNhappy is definitely necessary.

And please be honest.

Or let this lie for long enough and I’ll have another post about something other than cynicism *fingers crossed*

Muck and Love

– Billy

 

Normal – the Second

Very often, when I’m desperate to write, just to get out of the unfortunate, unforgettable mundane nature of life, I’m unable to write; ironically and so logically due to that very mundane-ness. There is nothing new, nothing that rocks my world.

I like to assuage my feelings of despair and ennui with the thought that everyone’s life at the stage mine is in, is as uneventful, as frightfully complete in its incompleteness, but since I spend too much time thinking about myself, I’m the only one that notices. At that stage of unfeeling boredom, I’m even proud to admit a non-existent personality tick such as thinking too much about myself.

No, this is not to be a blog about the emptiness of my life, and how I wish to share my deep and profound boredom with everyone, contributing to the general boredom of said everyone’s life.

No, this is about those occasional and rare times that you actually have something to say. Something to wonder about, something that stays put in your head and surfaces every time you’re with yourself. And the strange part is, that despite being exceptionally good at realizing sub-conscious thought, about others as well as myself, I confess myself clueless at this situation.

Cutting to the chase- I saw “Secretary” a few days ago. For those who have seen the film, and who are substantially average in most ways, like I confess myself to be, the reason for my trouble should be fairly obvious. I am going through… perhaps not a complete change of attitude, but surprise at the fact that…. I don’t know, actually. Perhaps I’m surprised that there was a rung of liberalism, tempered with consent (trust me, I am strongly opposed to pedophilia), that I had not managed to climb. Perhaps I’m just … in a prolonged state of shock, though I highly doubt that. My best guess is as follows…

Ever so often during my first time watching the movie, and more so during subsequent viewings, I caught myself thinking thoughts such as “Men! Such idiots”, or “She’s gonna be so obvious? Wow, she really has no clue about men”  and “He’s such an idiot! He should just tell her he loves her.”

Now, in most films, especially of the romantic comedy variety, there is absolutely nothing new about thoughts such as these. They’re utterly cliché and natural. But in this particular movie, I never finished any of these thoughts. I’d stop in the middle, and get a supposed reality check and think, “What the fuck?! He’s a sadist and she’s a masochist. They’re… something! (as opposed to ‘weird’ or ‘sick’, words my politically correct mind forbid me from using) You can’t expect them to behave like normal people!!”

But the truth was, they were behaving like normal people- at least normal people in films. They were stupid, kind, caring, violent, imaginative, frustrated, confused, and uncertain. There’s nothing more human perhaps than these very emotions. They were like anybody in a relationship. Just a relationship that, if one bothered to peer through bedroom curtains (or in this case, office curtains), is not regular, not (and I hate to use this word) conventional.

My basic … confusion comes from that fact. Sadism or masochism doesn’t turn me on. From my very core, I detest the thought of having a relationship in which I’m hit. I never spared much thought for sadists or masochists, because at a certain level, I never considered them to be normal. I, like most people do I suppose, always imagined that these “urges” were a result of a violent childhood or another of the plethora of psychological terms used these days. Now that I think about it, I cant help but realize that the same reasons are often, too often in fact, unfairly given for homosexual feelings…

Watching something like this really questions stereotypical mindsets. And that, I believe, is what occasioned the confusion. I never thought I had any strong stereotypes left in my mind. Guess I had to be wrong about something.

Strangely, the most profound part of the film, for me at least, was the one after the two get married, living like any other normal couple. Of all the scenes, that one made me … tingly. There was something so… personal, profound, loving, about the kiss they shared, you end up feeling like you’re intruding.

Wikipedia categorizes the film as BDSM. The experience felt more like a romantic comedy, call me a romantic. And I liked it a lot. I find myself more open to the normality, or at least the happiness of two people in a sado-masochistic relationship. Not for me the various facets of such a relationship, but I can accept it better now than I would have after reading any number of books and essays, or listening to any number of speeches. The film didn’t talk about rights, it did not have a single activist or politic, it did not have violence committed against any of the characters (aside from the obvious kind). Yet, it was profound, because for me, it was a new idea.

I remember wondering out loud to someone (perhaps my cousin) why there is no film about homosexual love- not one that involves rights, violence, laws, soap boxes, but just a normal love story between two people who happen to be of the same sex. Whoever it was that I put the question to replied that the world didn’t seem to be ready for it, and it wasn’t the right time.

Perhaps there is no right time. Perhaps what the gay community really needs is a love story. A love story about sado-masochists worked for me, why not one with homosexuals?

I always admired John Lennon, but I’m never sure if I agree with “All You Need Is Love.” What I think as of right now is, that maybe all we need in order to be a little more accepting and embracing, especially of our differences, is in fact a love story. They never actually tell love as it is. They always display an idea of love. Maybe Lennon was right. Maybe All We really Need – is an Idea of Love.