ENTROPY - Design of Decadence: December 2003

Sunday, December 28, 2003

The Boatman.

poroshe kaar aador mekhe
bheshe elaam shagor theke
baalir tote notun disha
aadhar theke aaloye mesha
baataash bhora bhalobasha
ke kandaari
baayichho tori aadal theke

at whose touch have I, smeared with love
floated in from the sea
a new direction on the sandy banks
from darkness merged with light
breeze filled with love

who is the boatman?
you row the boat from a place I cannot see.

Thank you for the trans-creation Megha.

Bring on 2004, Boatman.

posted by n.g. at 21:08 (0) Peg(s) of Whisky

Thursday, December 25, 2003

We live in a world whose terms have been laid down by society. Society is supposed to be stronger than the government, more powerful than the law, above everything and everyone. First and second generation Indians have unquestioningly obeyed society’s rules – rules that have dictated their existence - and more and more third generation Indians are following suit. Society dictates that a young barely legal girl gets married to a dim twenty-something boy, who is only adept at wagging his tail as he follows his father to ‘office’ and back. Society dictates that young men are supposed to follow their fathers’ line of work, and wag their tails nicely whenever asked to. Society dictates that these unprepared couples have children, who are raised to be unconfident, afraid of everything, embarrassed at their existence, and who grow up to be followers and slaves to the system. And even as they’re growing up, society dictates that such households have constant fights, when the young girl finally grows up and realises that she doesn’t deserve this shit, and the young man realises that his life is an apocalypse, thanks to his father who never gave him any responsibility, instead ruled his life like he would a paid servant’s. And as all hell breaks loose in the household, the little child sobs silently behind a closed door, wondering why everyone is fighting. Occasionally, he is grabbed by the hand, hair, head, whatever and pulled into the melee; he is beaten black and blue as everyone vents their anger out on him, even as he fearfully cries his eyes out, not even knowing what wrong he’s done. Because he’s young and frail and helpless and unsure and malleable and these so called social norms can be drilled into his unassuming little head and guilt can be manifested into him, our fourth generation will ten years later be doing the rounds of drug dens in the city, looking for one hit, just one more hit, just one last hit to help them escape the scars of a traumatic childhood. When on his 7th birthday his father beat his mother up and alongwith his grandfolks and darling aunt, left him and his mother alone and crying in her room, his birthday forgotten. He wanted to wear colourful clothes to school, he wanted to distribute little gifts wrapped in colourful transparent paper to his friends, but it wasn’t meant to be. And when his young heart wouldn’t be appeased, seeing the other little kids’ birthdays at school, and he couldn’t bring himself to forget his own little landmark in life, he came home to his mum and in a shaky voice told her that it was his birthday and it would be nice if he could maybe cut a cake if it wasn’t too much trouble. His mum cried over her child’s helplessness and took him to a pastry shop, oblivious to his father who wouldn’t give half a damn anyway, where she bought her little one a little cake, and he blew out the candle and looked happily at his mum as he bit into his portion of the cake joyfully, his tearful eyes lighting up satisfied with the humble celebration. And when with all his heart, his mum and he bought him a Santa outfit, cap et al for Christmas which he so badly wanted to wear, but thanks to the fucked up circumstances at home, all he could do is sit with the unopened plastic bag of his outfit in his lap and cry quietly. It breaks my heart to think of that little child, to picture him cry at his lost opportunity of being Santa, to think of the time he celebrated his birthday with just his mother for company despite having a huge family who aught to really have made him feel like a million bucks on his special day, to make him smile, to make him laugh coz he’s got such an incredibly beautiful, uninhibited laugh … but instead, they did all they could to make him feel like crap.

I have two words for this chutiya society. Fuck you. And I have three words for all the gutless, worthless wastes of flesh, blood and bone madarchods who are content with being slaves to society. Fuck you too.

posted by n.g. at 22:32 (0) Peg(s) of Whisky

Monday, December 22, 2003

My Top 10 Albums of 2003.

10. THE MATRIX RELOADED Soundtrack.
Crap Film, brilliant soundtrack. Best track - Sleeping Awake/POD.

9. You gotta go there to come back / STEREOPHONICS.
Raw vocals and screeching guitars. Brit Rock rules. Best track - Help me (she's out of her mind)

8. Get rich or die trying / 50 CENT.
Not your typical American Rapper. Eminem protege, apparently took bullets to his chest and survived to cut this CD. Best track - In da club.

7. St. Anger / METALLICA.
This CD isn't their best - nowhere near. But it isn't as bad as what Metallica thrashers have made it out to be. They've returned to their roots with this one, and how. Best track - Frantic.

6. Meteora / LINKIN PARK.
The follow up to Hybrid Theory takes awhile to grow on you. Best Track - Nobody's listening.

5. Enemy of the enemy/ ASIAN DUB FOUNDATION.
The best ADF CD since RAFI's Revenge. The music is progressive, positive and angry at times; with the title track questioning the reason, motive and untold truths about 9/11. Best Track - Power to the small massive.

4. Fallen / EVANESCENCE.
The most brilliant debut album in a long long time. Amy Lee's overpowering vocals over brilliantly paced guitar riffs. Best Track - The bittersweet My Immortal.

3. Life on Rent / DIDO.
A worthy follow up to No Angel. Even better, methinks. And she's so incredibly cute. Best Track - White Flag.

2. Hail to the thief / RADIOHEAD.
"These guys are so good, it's scary." Thats what Michael Stipe once said. Just when you thought they could never better Amnesiac and The Bends, they go right ahead and do exactly that. Best Track - Where I end and you begin.

AND THE NO. 1 CD OF 2003 IS ....

1. In the Zone / BRITNEY SPEARS.

HAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAH UMMMMM.

AND THE NO. 1 CD OF 2003 REALLY IS ....

1. Human / NITIN SAWHNEY.

Son of Bengali parents who migrated to the UK, NS has created a niche for himself when it comes to Asian music, though he's annoyed by such tags. 'A record store should have artists listed by alphabet, not genres. It's all ... music.' says he. Human, his follow up to 2001's Prophesy is introspective and powerful. The entire album seems like a journey with each track taking you through it. (Almost like a Radiohead album) Undoubtedly the Best Track, and my favourite track of the year ... Promise.

Retrace your steps in the snow to find your friend
Coz childhood melts so fast
Big dreams, the future you taste on summer's tongue
Having it just won't last

Right here, we've all got the answers in our hearts,
If we could just let that go
Lifetimes, beautiful sunday church bell girls
And junkies upon the floor

So we hurry go faster and faster to find that we've ran our whole lives
Foregoing the sweetest view
We could argue forever and ever - be clear
The promise that love's still here.

posted by n.g. at 22:49 (0) Peg(s) of Whisky

Thursday, December 18, 2003

Beeeeeeyaaaaaatch!

When I joined my now ex-job in Singapore, the office was this boring, staid, stiff-upper lip place, worse than a government office in Satara. Coming from mad cool workplaces in Bombay where one could play music on one’s desktop and play gully cricket in the corridors, it was initially a nightmare for me.

Then, Herman joined. And fatefully, sat right next to me. We share more than the same birthday. We share insanity. Suddenly, our corner became infamous. Music started blaring from our desktops, I introduced him to cricket, he introduced me to Jay Chou's music and we swapped expletives. (For eg, Kaninabey chhao cheebye in Hokkein means ‘Fuck your mother’s smelly pussy’. Nice eh?) We’d walk around the office, chatting up quiet little administrative assistants, pissing off the management and generally raising hell.

Then, Jaynt joined. And all hell broke loose. There’s a picture of the three of us in the ‘paranoid android’ link. The management put him in our corner, methinks in an attempt to save the rest of the office from the madness. Where everyone else was communicating via email, we’d shout “Yo motherfucker, what’s up with this chutiya meeting man?”. The management, of course, wasn’t too happy with this outrageous behaviour. Once, the two bastards even made me go up to the HR manager to ask her what ‘tete’ meant. After being offended, she said, in her best kindergarten teacher manner “It means a woman’s breasts”. A lot of people called us ‘slackers’, ‘jerk-offs’ etc, but to our credit, we actually brought some people out of their shells – some very witty, funny people who had put on this quiet angel front because of the way the office was. An example of typical interaction between Herman, Jaynt and me …

Jaynt (screaming) : Yo Nish!!!
Me (snapping) : What?
Jaynt (matter-of-factly) : I just thought I’d tell you that you’re a choot.
Herman (cutting in) : YOU’RE a choot.
Jaynt (loudly) : You stay out of it, cheebye (choot in Hokkein)
Me (cutting in) : Don’t say anything to my bitch, you sindhi-arse butt licking whore!
Herman (flaring up) : Don’t call him a whore you choot!
Jaynt (heartbroken) : But I WANNA be a whore …

The three of us would constantly fight over which of our sexy (sic) colleagues we would sleep with on that particular night – not behind their backs mind you, in front of them. Initially they’d be alarmed, but gradually gave up on our balltalk. Once, a colleague, embarrassed at all the attention, told Jaynt in her best schoolgirl voice “Don’t say such things or I’ll complain to HR”. We didn’t stop laughing for a week. After which, it was “Jaynt, turn down your music or I’ll complain to HR!” “Nish, come with me for lunch or I’ll complain to HR!” “Herman, you’re a worthless prick and I’ll complain to HR!”

It didn’t stop at the office. See, Singapore can be quite antiseptic and boring. But when we’d go out for lunch, it was a different story. A woman at a jewellery store once tried to give Herman a leaflet as we passed by. He pointed to me and said ‘Give it to my boyfriend’. Herman would letch at every girl he saw. And would say out loud “Helloooooo, hellooo. How are you doing babe?” Singapore being Singapore, no girl ever bothered to react and if anyone ever did, it was a look of complete horror as if Herman was gonna take her into the nearest janitor’s closet and rape her. Herman loved all of it, of course. He’d often drag us all the way to Novena Square for lunch just to check out the women. He once accepted some award at a company D&D, and the picture shows him sticking his tongue out at the Vice President even as they’re shaking hands.

Last new year’s eve, Jaynt got drunk even before we reached the party at Singapore Expo, this huge indoor place where there were four different DJs spinning different kinds of music. So he went up to this cop, and did a Star Wars on him, “May the force be with you”. We had to drag him away before the dumb cop even realized what he just said. And he once told a senior that the security guard downstairs could do a better job than him.

Obviously, we had our share of haters. And we took great pleasure in pissing them off. So when Jaynt just called and we bitched about some of the schmucks, I missed my two bitches like hell. Ninaabey.

In a place where people wouldn’t even laugh, it was great to be with two people who could laugh at themselves.

posted by n.g. at 23:42 (0) Peg(s) of Whisky

Wednesday, December 17, 2003

An incident that I suddenly recalled.

It was around 11 on a Saturday night. The guys from Gloria's Jeans Coffee at the One Fullerton in Singapore started folding up the tables set outside, near the waterfront. We didn't want to go to Centro and we didn't want to go home, so we sat down there itself, on the cold ground. We spoke, we listened, we kept quiet, we shared, we laughed. It was perfect.

She suddenly stammered, "I ... gotta go home now."

I looked at my watch for the first time in hours. "Gosh ... it's 5 in the morning! Yes, you must get home ... it's really late."

"Its not that," she smiled. "My lenses have gone dry and my eyes are starting to hurt."

posted by n.g. at 00:21 (0) Peg(s) of Whisky

Sunday, December 14, 2003

The week ends, the week begins.

Today. Excellent batting by Laxman and Dravid. A bit disappointing to see Dravid not taking those three easy singles, trying to stay on strike, maybe looking for a big shot to bring up his double hundred. If he’d taken them, he’d probably be on 202 now. Anyway, I’m sure he’ll make the mark on Monday.

Yesterday. LC called to check on me, the sweetie that she is. And she made my lazy Saturday afternoon.

Then Apoorva called, out of the blue. The man was entirely responsible for me making the grade in my final year tax papers. He’s studying in Leeds and is down on vacation. When he came over, he told me some horror stories about the banking sector in the UK, and some not-so-scary stories about Welsh women. He sowed a seed of financial doubt in my investment-unsavvy mind, which was immediately dispelled by a distress call to LC. Have I ever told you guys that she’s a complete sweetie?

Then, just as I was getting ready to turn in after taking an antibiotic that induces drowsiness, the dudes called. Insisted we ‘hang’. I insisted I needed to sleep, having just gotten out of the fever and all. They … well … insisted harder. So, we hung at Worli Sea Face with each other and alcohol for company with me in my semi-drowsy state. Dude 1's female fan following arrived from nowhere and Dude 2 dragged me off to buy more alcohol. After the atomic kittens left, we went off to Bhavan’s for some mind blowing Pizza (been having a lot of that lately). And came back home to occupy the same bench in the garden, and did our thang all over again. But this time, there was no audience.

I think it’s time we went international.

posted by n.g. at 23:27 (0) Peg(s) of Whisky

Thursday, December 11, 2003

Wednesday.

7:00 am. Wake up with a fever. Bah.

9:00 am. Listen to Aicha by ‘Outlandish’. Works like magic on the fever.

11:00 am. Final root canal session. Doc puts in a nice new porcelain tooth, and takes away all the money I put aside for a car stereo.

1:30 pm. Complete the assignment that’s kept me awake for the past three weeks. Printed, presented, registered, back slaps.

3:00 pm. DG re-introduces me to Rabri – the best I’ve had in years. Oh my God. If I wasn’t in Irla, I would’ve thought I'd died and gone to heaven.

4:00 pm. DG and me check out this amazing store tucked away in one Irla corner. They happen to be distributors for phoren brands, and have a chain of stores for all their excess stock. Armani Exchange shirts for 350 bucks. Old Navy Cargoes for 450 bucks. Nike and FCUK tees for 300 bucks. ‘Does this Condom look fat on me? FCUK.’

5:30 pm. We have dahi puri and bhel near Fame Adlabs. DG asks him ‘Kya achha banata hai?’ ‘Sab kuchh achha hai.’ I tell DG, ‘Yaar, he’s not gonna say my bhel puri is fuck-all, don’t eat it.’

6:00 pm. Lack of sleep catches up with me as I crash on the bus back home. Head tilted up, mouth wide open. One of those times when one knows the mouth is wide open, but one can’t be fucked to do something about it. Wake up after Bandra to see cute girlie looking at me all bemused.

7:00pm. Home. Nip in, nip out. Meet friend for a chat.

8:00 pm. Get busted for drunk driving at Worli Sea Face. Which was bizarre, coz I wasn’t drunk and I wasn’t driving.

9:00 pm. Friend expertly manaos the cop and we clear off. Then, we decide to get drunk. Buy alcohol and go back to WSF, and drink.

Midnight. After Pizza at Pizzeria and paan at Bhavan’s college, we drive home singing sad Dev Anand songs of lost love. ‘Din dhal jaaye hai … raat na jaaye … tu toh na aaye … teri yaad sataye …’

12:30 am. Reach home just in time for all the whisky to kick in. Sit in the garden, sing more sad songs, and voila! An audience! A watchman observes discreetly from a corner, some stray cats who are bolder than him come right up to us.

So gayi thi saari manzilein … so gaya tha rasta.

posted by n.g. at 11:28 (0) Peg(s) of Whisky

Sunday, December 07, 2003

Hole-hearted.

“Bhenchod aayiii-zhavadeya where the fuck are you man?”. Driving. “Then fuckin’ drive like you’d drive in college and get here in the next three minutes … and get some vodka … we’re running out, and some Coke, and some chakna, and get something for yourself also.” He hasn’t changed, I think to myself.

I was wrong. He still cracks the most terrible of PJs that make you wince, and every third word is still a vulgarity. But the man, who in college days could be classified as completely insane, has sobered up and how.

I give him a hug. He cribs about the fact that everyone, even me, has seen Kal Ho Na Ho, and he has no company left. He adores Preity Zinta; convinces me to go again for the film, and he’ll even buy my ticket. “It’s been awhile, how’s everything?” I ask him. “Sab set hai.” “Fucker, we’re the only single ones left from college man … all the others are married!”, I joke. That touches a chord. “Arrey bhenchod, you didn’t get cigarettes? I just have one I’m not giving it to you! Chal leke aate hain.”

He told me all when we stepped out to buy smokes. They met at a common friend’s wedding, and from the beginning, were poles apart. No one thought they would get together. But they did. For the first time in his life, he felt that he was going out with ‘the one’. Everything was going great. She’d come home and cook, he’d drink with her father. His family loved her and hers loved him. And, get this, SHE proposed.

He told her about his business problems. “I didn’t want to hide anything from her, yaar. It was only fair that she be told what she was getting into.” And he told her what was going on. Told her that things might get better, might not. But, it was her right to know and decision to take.

She never called him back.

“I fucked up man. Even my mum says I fucked up. Yeh sab business mein toh hota hi rehta hai. She didn’t have to know. I shouldn’t have told her. If I hadn’t told her, we’d still be together.” But did he try to convince her? “Sure I did. She doesn’t want anything to do with me. It’s been a year and she’s seeing someone else. Main Un-Lucky Ali ban gaya bhenchod hahahahahahaha” he laughs. He gets emotional. “I’ve tried going out with other girls. But it’s not the same. And you know, all those madarchod psychoanalysts who tell you that ‘the best way to forget someone is to jump into bed with someone else’ should all go fuck themselves. Coz everytime I’m with a girl, I see HER. And I just can’t go on.”

He takes out his wallet … stops. Looks at me and says “Fucker, no one … absolutely no one … knows that I still have her picture in my wallet. If you tell ANYONE that I carry it around and I showed it to you, I’ll kill you.” And here I am putting this on the internet. “She's cute, na?” he says. “Bhenchod, aise ghoor mat … teri hone waali bhabhi … thi.” And I realize why he adores Preity Zinta.

His ex has the cutest dimple.

"Oh well. I guess i'll have to settle for Preity." he says with a smile.

posted by n.g. at 12:45 (0) Peg(s) of Whisky

Friday, December 05, 2003

Q & A.

Responses to inane questions.

1. Checkout attendant at Fairprice supermarket in Singapore.
Q. Member?
A. I ain’t showing it to you.

2. Vada pau vaala below my apartment block, if he’s unsure whether you want to eat there or get it packed to take away.
Q. Khaane ka hai kya?
A. Nahin ghar le jaa ke showcase mein rakhunga.

3. Common question when I call someone.
Q. Nishant!! Kahan se bol raha hai?
A. Mu se bol raha hoon!

4. My father, when I get back home.
Q. Nishant!! Tu aa gaya??!!
A. Nahin main uska judwaa bhai hoon jo bees saal pehle kumbh ke mele mein bichhad gaya tha.

5. Bump into an acquaintance at the movies.
Q. Nishant!!! What are you doing here?
A. Swimming lessons.

6. The rare occasion I order Pizza.
Q. Good afternoon Sir thank you for calling Domino’s pizza Prabhadevi this is Vijayprakash here would you like to try out this week’s special cheese blah blah whatchamacallit?
A. Come again?

7. A friend's father, having dropped in to the paanwaala's for his fix of gutkha, sees me smoking.
Q. So you’re a smoker eh?
A. Not at all uncle! I empty out all the tobacco and fill the cigarette with ganja.

8. One pesky fuck and me get talking about marriage.
Q. And what’s wrong with arranged marriages ???
A. Ask your wife.

9. Another pesky fuck I meet in the elevator.
Q. Why don’t you want to get married?
A. Because your daughter is more than happy with the pre-marital sex.

10. The same pesky fuck. (He's REAL pesky)
Q. But one day you will HAVE to get married, no?
A. Well, come to think of it, your daughter-in-law DOES say that extra marital sex is fun.

posted by n.g. at 00:37 (0) Peg(s) of Whisky

Tuesday, December 02, 2003

Tomorrow never comes.

In a matter of months, weeks, even days, a complete stranger could change your life forever. He could show you things about you that you never knew existed. He could change your rigid mindsets, make you laugh, make you cry, and after making an indelible mark on your life, suddenly go away. Leaving behind just a strange bittersweet memory.

Karan Johar probably gave this brief to Nikhil Advani. And boy, Nikhil sure did justice to it.

I’ve never been a great fan of Shah Rukh’s acting. I’ve always believed (and to a certain extent, still do) that he’s a run-of-the-mill actor helped by smart publicity. But this time around, he shows signs of brilliance. When, in a beautifully ironic scene, he makes up non-existent writings from Saif’s secret diary to convince Preity how much Saif loves her, when really, he and Preity both know it’s his own love talking. When he gets a call from Saif after the latter has proposed to Preity, telling him that she said ‘yes’, and as everyone in the room rejoice, hug him and cry tears of joy, he looks at his mother helplessly – only the two of them know what his tears really mean. And finally, when he falls silent on the hospital bed and an aghast Saif prods him, he opens his eyes and says “Not yet, Idiot.”

There is unnecessary cheese too, with several truly poignant moments to compensate for it. When Saif proposes to Preity, knowingly fully well that she doesn’t love him. Something to the effect of “I know you don’t love me … you probably never will. But trust me, I believe that my love for you is enough between the two of us to get us by.” When Preity, heartbroken, breaks down in front of her mother. “Why do I love him, ma?” When Shah Rukh on his deathbed asks little 6 yr old Gia the same question again, “Will you marry me?” and she tearfully shakes her head as always. “Please?” he pleads playfully … and she finally nods. But just one scene has ensured that I will buy the DVD when its out – when Saif asks Shah Rukh “What would you do if you were in my place?” And all Shah Rukh can say is, “I wish I was in your place”. Brilliant scriptwriting, this.

Sure, there’s lapses. To me the whole ‘Hide-from-the-audience-who Sonali-Bendre-REALLY-is’ doesn’t work at all. The gujju jokes and gay gags have been done for the B-centers. Nikhil Advani tries to make the film look ‘stylish’ but doesn’t quite succeed save for the opening titles and the ‘Pretty Woman’ track. And the climax turns into overpickled onions after a few minutes. But what he lacks in all this, he makes up for in slick and new (to Bollywood) editing. And the way he develops relationships between the characters. Because, an art director, a cinematographer, a production designer … any and all of the above can make a film look stylish. But only the director can really bring out the best in his characters.

And the characters – Shah Rukh hams throughout the film except for the few winners mentioned above. Preity, when she’s not crying, is incredibly cute. (Her lone dimple … sigh.) Saif is the scene-stealer, really. He’s so comfortable with his effortlessly-funny comedy and letting SRK ‘steal the thunder’, it just shows how accomplished an actor he is. Jaya Bachchan needs no critique. In her role as the traumatized daughter-in-law and worried mother, she portrays the same delicateness she once did years ago in ‘Guddi’.

Kal Ho Na Ho might not be a great film. But it’s got moments of great cinema. As Pradeepda would say, ‘Nikhil ne faad di, boss.’

You win, Yashu. I was wrong.

posted by n.g. at 22:05 (0) Peg(s) of Whisky

Name: n. g.

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