Ayan' YOLO" Mukerji

Coming of age has been a popular and central theme to most commercial cinema aimed at the generic teenager. People like John Hughes made an entire career making mediocre shit like Ferris Buehhler that made every teenager perceive non existent depth to the plot line. Rob Thompson, a leading Pop Culture expert in the United States defines it as the "teensploitation" genre and has been ranting to me about how John Hughes was a market driven douchebag and everything he made was turd.A bit much is what i would say but as does happen with most instances of cultural osmosis between the Cinema in the US of A and India, thirty years later was born the celebrated Bengali Ayan Mukerji.

Wake up Sid was the first that came along that turned every third guy in the hostel dormitory and street corner into a "creative bwoy". Honestly speaking, that year had seen Lakshya, a far more mature attempt at the "Coming of Age" cinema(With a slightly KMG hungover Hrithik though ofcourse). What Ayan did with his film though, was provide a massive boost to the sales of Canon and Nikon as every guy now was not only swiping his Daddys card at Emporio, but was also clicking pictures with puke like 'Sepia" filters and watermarking them . This isn't to put down the industry of photographers at all, but even they within themselves know that a majority of people picking it up was part of a Multiplex sham that was fed to them through the eyes of a likeable but brutish spoilt brat. This is what every 3rd year college undergrad was dreaming of. I mean, the Bangkok made printed Tees he wore were to been seen everywhere on ripped boys in Delhi University who had started to look so much like Ranbeer Kapoor it was worrisome. But time passed, and people didn't really give too much of a shit about Hauz Khas and the DSLR's started to gather dust. I can only imagine a dark rainy night when the MD of Sales at the camera firm probably called him saying a boost was needed. Ayan of course had grown up by now and evolved into someone who surprisingly was even more pretentious .

This was the pits. The semblance of realism that existed in his first was now pissed upon with some really good songs. Perhaps its the crowd at film school talking, but i clearly remember way too many people walking out of that movie saying 'that guy is me'. This film became the ultimate excuse for people suffering from the 'very real' quarter life crisis to quickly make a trip to Spain and party for month, of course filming evry now and then. To travel, you need some money. And to make that money, the least favourable route you could adopt is to be a guy who is clicking pictures of a mythical goat that craps flowers once a decade in Spiti Valley. Coming back to 'Teensploitation", its twisted because making hard personal calls and seeking to live a non traditional lifestyle usually get you satisfaction, but that happens when youre a few years in and can look at yourself not as an emotional or financial liability on your parents,your partner or society. It definitely doesn't happen in the first rain of the season. And also,'Kabira' isnt playing in the background.

Hindi. One Word. Not very old.

I never thought I’d wake up next to Sheila. I mean all of last night was a charade to get into Ramans room. Well, a waste it was perhaps. Well hello there, my name is Robin, you may refer to me Robin da, Robin bhaiyya or Robbie. Jhunku and Tin-Tin are names only my mother and my maashi can refer to me as so I’d rather you refrain. SO let me tell you about where it all began. Last evening was a delightful blend of socializing and indulgence. All of us friends decided to celebrate the 1000TH edition of our magazine by going over to Raman and Sheilas house for dinner. And before there Is even a hint of confusion, let me make clear that I have had the hugest crush on Raman since I joined. You see im the only single one in office,the only one on the good side of 32. Im thiry one basically,single and gay. So Raman and I were playing dumbcharades and we had a bit of a soulmate moment. You know when a friend does something that makes you realize that there is way more here than you could have ever imagined. So he was acting and I was guessing and he started enacting an English movie with the steps to Shahrukh Khans Chaiyya Chaiyya. My mind took me Moulin Rouge. Then Moulin Rouge in Calcutta, Rekha dancing at Moulin Rouge in Calcutta and finally Parineeta. Parineeta. In less than thirty seconds. Raman jumped on to me and said he loved me and gave me the biggest kiss on my cheek. My dark skin sometimes really helps the situation and boy did it help hide the twelve year old blush I had going. SO I decided that time is to get smashed and started pouring appletinis out to everybody. By 3’o clock, I had no idea where I was and what I was doing except feeling someone coming on to me ever so slightly, so I assumed that maybe this is Raman who in some post-‘Onircinema’ condescending way has to decided to explore bisexuality. So I went ahead and received whatever favours I was receiving. Maybe I should have noticed the long hair, or the bindi, or maybe the constant warning of ‘ssshhh,what if Raman wakes up’. I never thought I’d wake up next to Sheila.

The Lament

So this is a tale of a sect. A sect of people who hoped. People who revered and venerated a virtue. Not iconoclasts, but people who simply believed that if anything made them survive, it was happiness. It was a challenge everyday, while the creatures that made them shiver every night came and preyed viciously so as to make sure that a dark thought or two would permeate their mind. But all their ventures were in vain as the people of this town were dogged and never stepped out of line. It wasn’t a question of moral fiber as some of the older lot liked to believe. It was the fact that every locust that swarmed in was greeted with a smile and left untouched. Eventually, they reached a stage where the farmers were left with no option but to sense a bitter strain towards the locust. Then came a silence about the town. Ardor and strawberries that existed endlessly earlier were not to be seen really. The kind of a depression the killing of a locust would bring about surprised the vagabonds who noticed the people of the town while smoking their opium and ideating or perhaps just stopped at the well so to see men drink water in a setting so somber that every drop could be heard find its way down their throat. So the breezy young one broke the silence and said “we killed a locust”. “We killed seventy five, that mustn’t take away from our happiness”. She followed it with a dance where she showed her buttocks to the crowd at the well and said “there,you have an adolescent buttock, that apart from rather fine structure only wreaks of desperation to break her people out of a grim”. They stared, smiled and walked away. The next year was hard as the realization had dawned upon the people that they needed to remain upbeat through hard times, that’s how the concept of the Hillers came about. The Happy killers as they were known were the brave men entrusted with the responsibility of the killing of the locusts and the other not so appealing odd jobs that the fancy happy men refused to do. They went about their job with a proficency that was disconcerting as it was amusing. ‘Smile and stab’ was the emblem they carved on the barn they used for their afternoon siestas and the entertainment of the womenfolk. Passionate lovers, they had a stream of women ‘visit’ them . The hillers continued to do so till the drift of the winds shifted with years passing by and the locusts weren’t seen for a few years. They continued to feast,orgasm and grew obese. Suddenly, they were liabilities, once nominated and revered by the ‘happyfolk’ who never got their hands dirty. These creatures of filth were lowlifes who had killed locusts and that oddball man who tried to force himself on the chiefs daughter. The hillers now were barely either of the two,killers or happy. So, they walked out and decided it was time to smoke the leaves that the old men in neighbouring villages smoked to feel profound. Silently smoking for a month, they dawned upon the same realization,that there was a possibility of pigs impregnating the villagers’ wives and daughters but their job was one that would never go. Happy people need hillers. No sadistic obscure reasoning existed, none required. They walked back to the barn and left a message outside for the happy folk. ‘We wont leave , burn us down if you care. But wait ,youre happy folk Not youre scene or would you dare To leave your uptight bubbles, And your idea of happiness, To look at yourselves like us, And perhaps one day grow a pair’ Screw you.

Lunar Eclipse

All in a line.
Contiguous hands,
trembling.
Shy as fuck,
the moon is obscure.
A conversation,
a song, and some moves.
Some days are lived,
others observed,
the rest,
are evanescent.
Failed attempts, tears shed,
and the popcorn crushing heard on the head.
Living and observing,
a stage is reached.
Where special things happen to me.
Meanwhile,
Shy as fuck,
the moon is obscure.

Child Abuse

Where is the little boy? He came up to me.
He must be hiding. Running away from what he fears.
Never did we decide to hold him so tight.
Never did the child know he could put up a fight.
The agony cause by a prick.
The dolor in his eyes.
Set him right, he said.
When he will speak, he will forget.
The Pensieve grows shallow with age,
with time, a handful of memories remain.
They evince happiness and pride,
subtle anguish and vain.
But he knew the child would grow up to love and hate,
just like the others, he would run.
From fear and from villains.
From darkness and from rain.
But droplets of water will make him see,
someday, a past he lived to see.
A past with an older man.
A past that he thought would set him free.
But life's a bitch, it keeps you uptight.
Full of yourself, yet lacking belief.
In cows and bells, some find relief.
Others find humour, go overboard.
Crack others up, and continue to run.

He spoke to us on a rainy day,
with the droplets of rain on his specs.
Devoid of regret, we greeted him,
he smiled, and hugged us, the cocky bastard.
Said he erased a lot of what he knew,
rewrote his past, marshmallows ,angels and little houses with trees that he drew.

He pecked his wife goodnight,
tucked in his son,
and googled Sodomy.

Pataka

A flurry of lights,
A bowl of sweets.

A light in the sky,
The old man looks at.

The moment or two it lives,
and dies in haste.

He stared full of envy,
and looks down at his veins.

A short life,
full of purpose,
is something he would wish for.

A grand child with a pataka,
He has for himself.

He stares with envy,
and looks down at a vein.

The flurry of lights,
a box of sweets,
and a lifetime of pain.

Never Have I Ever

Never have I ever,
stopped.
Never have I ever,
looked.
Never have I ever,
thought.

I walk past them everyday,
hard up and frail.
My affluent ass is at ease.

The comfort of a cushion,
The warmth of a quilt.
Sitting silently,
eating.

Never have I ever,
worked.
Never have i ever,
starved.
Never have I ever,
thought.

I smile at them everyday,
So hard up and frail,
My affluent ass is at ease.

Bobby Deol

I write, i stop, i smoke.
Of Love and Bobby deol.

Its funny how it started,
an accident , fate if you may.
But there and then,
He brushed his hair,
and i fell into my pocket.

Its different,
a game of tennis,
followed by a phone call,
of a complete stranger,
who wants to know,
what you know,
of Love and Bobby Deol.

I would have asked at first,
about delinquency, about you,
about love,and yes, about him too.

So brush your hair,
and call me up,
and talk to me,
About Love and Bobby Deol.

Chai

Seated on a folding chair,
Sipping chai.

The classicist adjusts his crotch,
Takes his chashma off,
and finshes the Sunday crossword.

Its time to do a task,
Something planned.
Something that doesnt deserve a second thought,
let alone meticulous preparation.

So its taken on,
Deft and Rigid as ever,
He finishes it.

Gets back to his chai,
Seated on a folding chair.
Flimsy as ever, the chair screeches as he settles down.

Another sip of the chai,
A new task .

Kutte Ki maut

Its a dogs life they say,
rambling away to glory.
not bothered by the rising dust,
and the market .

On the slope i sat and thought,
if my life as it was,
would be to renounce my carriage.

To slide down and stare up,
while my ass hurt and i ripped my jeans.

Where would we all be,
if it wasn't for the slide.
The slide i loved as a child.
That grew enormous and so did i.

The dog stared at me from the top,
looking rather wistful.

Thats when it struck me,
that a truck will set that dog free.
For he didnt slide down with me.
He stood his ground and remained insolent.
That truck did need to teach him that lesson.

Its a dogs life they say,
rambling away to glory.
not bothered by the rising dust,
and the market .

God Man. Baba "Black Sheep"

GOD-MAN
I am aware of the infinite ways to exist happily in this world.
I am in absolute control of the energy and spirits that surround me.
I have always been fond of the behinds of young boys.
I am THE GOD-Man.
Pay me money for I know how to make you breathe.
Not that you don’t do that anyway, I just make the experience better.
Yes, I do accept cheques.
I make money for I am a GOD-Man. My ilk is rather rare.
My bogus magic tricks seem to have a lot of flair.
Why do I tell you the secrets of life?
Why do you think I lech at your wife?
Why do I bother to concoct bogus lessons for you to master?
Why do I not let it seem like I’m the same as you?
Some time from now, one day, ill be recognized for who I truly am. The man who loves to feel young boys,girls and some toys.
The man who needs to speak from a pedestal to make his point heard.
The God-Man who needs to pray to God to be revered.

United States of America.

The park provides endless hours of recreation to kids. I'm just one of those random kids you see playing in the evening. I call friends an hour in advance, make them reach on time, convince those who claim they have assignments to hand in or unit tests to flunk. Im Soham, Class XI C, studying science in a popular south delhi school. As of now , im in jail, dont ask me why, because i intend to tell you nonetheless.
While i narrate it to you, forgive me as i experiment with an elementary rhyme scheme styled narrative.
"I called my friends everyday,
a grown up boy has got to play,
We went and bought a cosco ball.
Six overs a side, baby overs too,
Chasing sixty five,
We only manage Thirty two.

Uncle came calling ,
told us to about his days,
said we were eunuchs to play with a felt ball,
i think he referred to us as "gays".
He gave me a leather ball,
said a man who plays the sport,
better learn to play standing vain and tall.

It hurt me every now and then,
till one day,
i timed to perfection.
there was no looking back from there,
about windows and flower pots,
i did not care.

Uncle came back the other day,
with a policeman.
i felt like i had done something wrong,
looking at the policeman.
i got jailed,
by the policeman.
Uncle , youre a bastard.

RAJ THACKERAY

He wasn't one to be smitten by fame, by the glitz and glamour that on so many occasions engulfed people and would mercilessly continue to do so.
He wanted to bat, and score as many runs as he could, oblivious to the needs of the team.
It wasn't a question of setting up milestones, or signing more lucrative endorsements,
the poor guy genuinely believed he possessed the ability to score runs in a way that was far more visually appealing than the others.
Perhaps, a while back he would have managed to encounter a range of cricketers who would have supported this misconception of his, as of now, he was JOKE.
He went on to score a lot of runs all fashioned in a predictable and redundant batting style that needed to be changed if he wanted to emerge victorious against the newer lot of pacers who seemed to nurse a fondness for old timers like him.
The only people who seemed to be fascinated by his batting abilities and in awe of his rather rustic morality were those who were blinded by the statistics that seemingly denoted the greatness of his cricketing abilities.
Somehow, all these people forgot to see the result of the match.
Raj Thackeray, the worst batsman in India, had lost us the match again.
Peace.
You know who

Valentines Day:LOVE and URBAN MELODRAMA

Weeks,months in fact of delay have resulted in the availability of the first impression being pushed to the fourteenth of February,
Valentines Day.
so go get a copy.
also,
this is to thank one person in particular,
nikhil michigan for woking endlessly in tandem with the printers,
i couldnt talk to those freaks even a bit,
hes the man!!

Broken News:

This particular title belongs to a lady named Amrita Tripathi, the author of a book i went through a couple of days back, i couldnt mange to finish reading it though.
The media is one crazy manifestation of clowns, a variety of them mind you, those who are just outright clowns, some who are pseudo intellectual snooty clowns, and others who well, look the part.
The reason why im writing after this long hiatus i would be allowed to explain within a few weeks.
So, the clowns of late are convinced of the fact that Prince wont fall into the well again(for the third time, kill the damned child) and the earth shattering theory that the "The World WONT come to an end in 2012".
This bitter peace comes out of sheer disrespect for the idiots who spend lakhs of rupees to broadcast repeats of IPL matches as NEWS.
A revolution of sorts is needed in terms of stabilizing News makers in terms of their demarcating money making schemes from broadcasting what the common man needs to know.
Brothels is what they have become in the process of ensuring maximun viewership.
the only difference is that the pimps here are clad in three piece suits and have immaculate understandin of cliched economic concepts as well as twists and turns adorning daily soaps.
I mean for Gods sake man, News is made by the untimely death of a character on a teleserial.
God Bless Us.

Farewell

A sight that would be impossible to forget for ones entire lifetime, the entire skyline of the city was visible from this remote hilltop getaway of our’s. A year had passed since we’d met, three complete strangers searching for acceptance and kind of clueless about what we'd do next.”Hey, Ron, watchout man, you’ll fall, it’s a long way down you bastard “screamed Gaurav,who was still unable to find his specs and thus couldn’t make out that Ron was doing all right.” When I was back in school, we had the same kind of place where we ended up on weekends. It leaves you with a nice feeling, relieves you of daily frustrations or perhaps leaves you with heightened sensibilities.” I knew how heightened they’d get and also knew how long they lasted, probably a day or two at most. A day of life probably makes it wear and to it’s defense ,perhaps it should.It was 2 in the morning and i was beginning to doubt the sense in this exercise of ours.Thats the point when i realized that the two idiots next to me had an exam the next day and this wasn't helping them.They were on top of a hill , six hours away from a test that would affect their grade point severely and they picked this.Dynamics between guys always amazed me.Girls have the liberty of speaking their hearts out whenever they feel like,guys on the other hand have the burden of expressing themselves while keeping in mind the fact that they're guys.Why...i wondered, no longer is man barbaric and going out hunting to come back and feed his family. The redundance of the very concept is a feeding ground for a bulk of jokes directed towards the "macho,retrosexual" kinds who like their silence and bodies to do the talking.Not that there is anything wrong with being that way but we all know that it's a fading race.Im not advocating metrosexuality but thats what seems to be dominating tribe of late(now doing lux advertisements though is just pushing it), the men who are soft spoken, respect their women and are pseudo-sensitive..(that's the most they can get).I've always felt the need to tell people what i've felt irrespective of what others might feel.If i had a buck for everytime I've been referred to as a homosexual, I'd be a millionaire by now.But then, why feel something and not express it,how many aspects and dimensions of one's life can be affected by the society's perspective on it.That night was the night before i left college and these two guys are friends of mine who decided we'd go on a midnight trek to bid farewell on a high!!I know,probably sounds very stupid,but it wasn't, Im someone who is dubbed thankless and ungrateful from time to time....that night i will never forget.And about being thankless,it's been six months since that day and everytime i think about it, i still feel the need to call either of them and tell them how "@#$%ing awesome" that was.Everyone has moments like these where gestures made by people make you feel important and special,I felt like writing this a long time back,it's just that I didn't know how to.The most therapeutic thing one can do when feeling low is reliving mments like these(I dont have too many), the sadness seems to vanish within minutes.That night ended with us getting bruised abdly as we had make our way down a rather steep hill at 4 in the morning.The best part was how we sat at bottom motionless after walking for hours at a stretch when we were metres away from habitation just because one of my friends was afraid of stray dogs.Spiders,gashes from rocks,thorns in our backs,broken slippers(yeah i know..we did it in slippers,the trek you perverts) and a stray pup held us up.I know there'd be alot more occasions in life where i'd probaly feel the same way or even better,but this was just the best farewell anyone perhaps could have widhed for.
Peace
Im straight
You know who

Fraandships

"Fraandships",i know its kind of cliched now to make fun of the fraandships lot but this isn't doing that.There are extroverts,introverts,people who drool in public and those who are socially autistic.Mild deviations from these broad catagories and we've pretty much got everyone covered .Most of the people i can associate with including myself fit into the last of the four(well,not entirely but somewhat there).I read a book a while back by this Brit stand up artiste named Will Smith, it was called "How To be cool".Well, for starters , if you stop writing books that claim to know the secret to being socially accepted ,that is the first baby step towards being there.The rest I'm clueless about and would claim to be always cause it would put me in the same boat as the wannabe "Guru(stretched u, mind you)" Will bhaiya. India is a densely populated country comprising people from various backgrounds with varying education standards,why pick on those who aren't as fortunate by mocking their language skills.What's worse is the kinds who derive pleasure from mocking people's language skills are one's who at most can be said to have glossy (*read superficial,rather shiny*) english . Unless one's Amitava Ghosh or a Vikram Seth, what purpose does a language serve,communication right.So there are people who will say fraandships and others who woudln't know better and will do fraandships with them,and they'll be happy.(Its about time we let them be and started feeling the same)
(I have nothing against those who i discuss below,and even if i did,they would never know because a true member of the below dicussed league would never consider himself to be there..small advice,stop picking on people,if picking means so much,try something else,like your nose or a Wren and Martin textbook)
*Instances of shiny/superficial speaking ishtuds*
1. Excessive use of dude,like,the works...
2. heavily accented hindi thrown in out of context.
3. "Seriously bro,I watch only English movies"(I jokingly watch only hindi movies!!seriously!!)
Life is a race,you have to outrun the others.Do it guys , by all means,no stopping you, the least you could though would be turn around and give the person behind you a smile. : ).It's not that tough.
Race Away
Peace
You know who

getting away from ish for a bit...

Family Guy has got to be the funniest show ever.


Humour . Well , that for me is what saves people from snapping no matter what they possibly could be going through. I went back to my college for a week , it was a trip to unwind and as my sister keeps preaching (attain closure). I’ve yet to come across a person who in my opinion is not complicated. Why exist anyway with the most complicated and capable brain among other living beings and waste it by not letting thoughts and emotions flow. Not everyone though is confident enough to tap their thoughts and try to follow their impulse irrespective of views imposed on them. People who strive to make others laugh can only facilitate spreading some cheer here and there and it’s a highly respectable clan but the one’s I’m in awe of are the ones who strive to make themselves laugh . Not the person to their right or the person they secretly admire , just themselves. I hardly seem to know anyone except for this one person whose claim is that the point of humour is to make oneself happy. That forced me to think that how a person is ready to drive one’s thought process to keep oneself happy,only for some time mind you. Not that it’s a very noble trait but I’d trade noble for happy anyday , anyone would. I know how many times I’ve felt terrible and covered it up with an outburst of lame ,cheeky(usually perv) one liners. I’m also aware of the fact that there needs to be a degree of sensitivity to issues faced by those surrounding you , but why should a troubled person going through the ordeal of “spreading sunshine” when there’s a powercut at his place. Speaking of sunshine , a friend of mine was explaining to me how the solar eclipse that just occurred was lucky for her. Pause. Longer Pause. Pregnant pause(this phrase really amuses me, felt the need to throw it in).Now really , I doubt the moons orbit has anything to do with the desires and wishes of a little speck millions of kilometers away. If it did , family guy wouldn’t be the funniest show ever. There definitely needs to a be heightened sense of life to come up with the confidence to create an animation based cartoon that is full of taboo slurs , ridicules the nicest of people , the hottest of celebrities for the vaguest reasons. I know this has nothing to do with the moon’s orbit but well, watch Family guy. Getting back to what I love most , I saw this movie called Chance Pe Dance. The critics trashed it though I think the movie deserves a watch , multiple times if possible. Freaky Friday talks about the chance encounter I had with a lala director(chakki turned cinematography bracket, who predominate the scene I figure).


Freaky Friday



It’s Friday, what’s the first thing that strikes one’s mind, apart from the fact that the tiresome week has called it quits and given some respite to say the least. All that I can seem to associate Friday’s to are the rebellious director’s attempt to make a situational comedy or the rather amusing ‘saand’(buffalo for those who went to school outside India or for those who have never had any verbal contact with a red blooded Indian whose eyeing a fat boy) turned ‘stud’, son of a distributors ambitious debut. I love movies and I know you do, which kind is the question. In my opinion , every movie deserves a watch and find that I get along quite easily with those who share this view. The mutual understanding of catching up at the nearest PVR for the ‘dud’ movie trashed by all critics is admirable and somehow hope that this smoothness and efficiency runs into other departments of life. I had a dream sometime back, where I was talking to a loaded film director who was banking on his next venture starring the struggler whose considered divine looking but hated by critics(probably for not reciprocating after being hit on by them).This is what my conversation with him seemed like.Who are critics ? These high profile ex-filmmakers almost made breakthroughs in the crossover cinema bracket but found they’d go bankrupt and claimed they had no interest(read skill/talent/money) for making commercial cinema. So they either make up for these inadequacies by venting out frustration on all movies they review and occasionally throw in a good word or two(every single letter of it at a price, mind you) or by mocking tacky sets in their columns and talking about the affairs of the star more than his acting. I was woken up from my deep sleep only to realize that I had a definite perspective when it came to film reviews, and a certain man named Khalid Mohammed(Sir, it takes heaps of courage and talent to make a movie with Hrithik Roshan and an actress of Kirron Kher’s calibre flop , so why exactly are you an authority on film making again!!.) . I feel the rating system is toying with the integrity of the artiste whose made the movie. There is definitely a lot of effort going into putting together a sustained audio video compilation which has a certain coherence that could help it be termed as a movie. Movies are like buildings , the director being the architect and the actors being the civil engineers, from the brick layer to the silly actress crying because her exquisite pup doesn’t have air conditioning around it are involved head to toe in the project. But, as non seriously as I may take them, there is one thing for sure , their profession fits my description of what is the perfect kind of job. Who wouldn’t want a job where your boss would have moles planted around multiplexes and probably expect you to start signing in attendance near the popcorn vending machine.
Wish life was that easy.As the anticipation rises high as the week proceeds towards a Friday , I can’t wait to see my favourite actor whose back in action after quite some time.
Peace
you know who...

amateurish

A’mateur’ish

1.Meet Ish

Ibn-e Batuta, wonder why I can’t stop humming the stupid song, thought Ish as he tried working on another game of solitaire. He’d almost reached to a stage where he had managed to convince himself that solitaire played a major role in sharpening ones mind and started setting silly unrealistic goals(like completing it within a minute)which to his astonishment,was a target he had almost achieved and was freaking himself out majorly.He looked around for a DVD he hadn’t seen twice already in the past week and would give up an arm to find one of that kind, Ish would repeat movies like reincarnation episodes of a hindi television soap(which basically means for those of you are reading this and are blissfully unaware of the happenings on these shows,that he lost count of the number of times he’d see one movie.). He would remember dialogues of movies people his age didn’t know existed. Ok then , Ish is basically someone whose preparing for an exam referred to as the IELTS, it’s required for those who plan to go to Oz land to pursue their academic goals. Well basically, he didn’t know much about Australia, all he seemed to know was that this test required you to speak for about five minutes and one could actually get into a Uni based on ones performance In the five minute interview. And not to mention , girls,he liked his girls. They fascinated him, for someone who was from a boy’s school where kids would be afraid of taking their sisters on award distribution days and investitures considering the constant hooting that would surround the sisters. Seep Boyz(As this girl he overheard eating samosas in Karol bagh put it).Well , he was a Seep Boy , but a smart one and he knew it. What irked him constantly was how desperate people were in order to prove themselves better than the others and how they claimed that one needs to be confident of ones abilities to outperform someone,well,if you’re so confident of your abilities,why do you have to work your behinds of to outdo people time and again(Contradicting bastards he’d think, “kaisa hai bhai”he’d say) . He passed out of a school in Delhi and studied Science in school. Now he intended to go and study Business Administration and Finance(Why!!Coz it took lesser time than other professional courses).

Demi Gods

Imran Khan claims that he enjoys the demi god status that actors who love their work and are proficient at it do.Good for him.I dont have much time to discuss him.In fact I dont have time to discuss anyone with minimal talent and influential uncles.They can continue making movies which involve bungee jumping and no scripts.Speaking of bungee jumping, a certain friend recently had an opportunity to do it and thats when I asked myself, that whats the point...??Very good,first,jumping of a bridge with a harness and free falling 150 metres down,what are you left with it at the end of the ordeal.Yes, a high pulse rate,my alternative to that is cheaper.Five years worth consumption of low density lipids and you'd have the same pulse rate walking up the stairs everyday.So for all you adventure sports freaks,crank up the calories and you'll have your share of fun till the day collapse on the stairs. Getting back to imran , his uncle though received an apology from a certain man named Mr. Bhagat.Why..I dont know .Maybe because the sales of his paperback version of the VVC produced superhit have got a second wind and because the fat cheque made him realise how is book is not even vaguely close to the aamir khan starrer.Small mercy he hasn't taken on Deepak Tijori for not mentioning him prominently in the credits of HELLO.Considering the script of that movie matched his book bit by bit, he should claim royalty for all the success the movie received(Or he could just file for Bankruptcy).People all over India are moaning the death of World Space Radio.The company had filed for bankruptcy and finally went off air in India a week back.Im moaning the fact that half our composers will now have to pull out their dust laden harmoniums and the fact that others will just start acting.
Aman Ki Asha guys,check it out.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dz6YylorUGM
Peace.
Shantanu Anam