ENTROPY - Design of Decadence: January 2004

Sunday, January 18, 2004

Net friendship turns nasty.

The victim Nish first met the accused in the blogworld two months ago. But the accused didn’t show her true colours until this Friday, when the victim accompanied her and her two partners in crime to the Nitin Sawhney set at the popular suburban discotheque Enigma. Throughout the drive, the accused and her comrades tortured the innocent victim with the worst fuck-all jokes on the planet, jokes that would make even Cyrus Broacha and Jack Black cringe. When they finally reached the club, the victim tried to give a fuck-all joke back to them, when he saw a notice announcing a certain Palak’s wedding to a certain Pinkesh, and suggested their kids will be called Radish (the shaken victim explained the background of the joke to our special correspondent - Palak – Spinach – Radish … ‘Pink’esh – ‘Red’dish). At this, he was repeatedly and mercilessly hit on the side of his left arm by the accused, and informed that this was a very lax punishment. When he dared to inquire what a serious punishment would be, the accused proceeded to hit him on the very same spot of the very same arm again, with the same intensity. And as if this torture wasn’t enough, the accused resorted to the third degree when she pulled out her scarf, and draped it around the victim’s neck like a girl-guide, and then proceeded to cover his head with the scarf ala Little-Red-Riding-Hood.

However, the victim’s woes didn’t end there. He obviously hasn’t heard of the phrase ‘once-bitten-twice-shy’. On Saturday Night, he went to the Great Indian Rock with another of his blogworld friends, Jo. And she too had saved her best for that evening. For 5 hours, the victim was made to stand smack in front of a speaker the size of Aishwarya Rai's ego blasting out strange noises, and made to bob his head in a demonic movement which the correspondent later learnt is called ‘headbanging’. The visibly shaken victim later told our special correspondent that the accused in this case had threatened to make him stand upside down on his head and sing Britney Spears’ ‘Oops I did it again’ … again, if he didn’t obey her orders. The victim was so shaken by the weekend’s mishaps that on Saturday Night he told his friend that they should go watch, and we quote, ‘The Last Emperor … no no … The Seven Samurai … no no … The Last Boy Scout … arrey yaarrrr …’ Reliable sources say that the victim seemed to be under the influence of intoxicating liquids that night, understandably to ease the traumas of the weekend, but was seen coming out of Starcity cinema after watching ‘The Last Samurai’ on Sunday.

The victim is suffering from a sore left arm, a sore back, a stiff neck and an extended hangover, and is currently recuperating at home.

posted by n.g. at 21:48 (0) Peg(s) of Whisky

Thursday, January 15, 2004

I wonder if some people even think before they speak. What if they could hear themselves talk? Do they even realise the damage their ignorance causes other people’s lives? Can they live and let live? Do they know how to live? Do they even know what they’re doing wrong? Can they admit to their mistakes? Do they even realise that they’ve made mistakes, or is living by fault the norm for them? Do they care that other people have to suffer for their screw-ups? Have they been good human beings? Good children? Good parents? Good husbands? Good wives? Or just good social slaves? Do they know how to be happy? Do they know how to love and be loved? Can they even understand the concept of LOVE? Do they have the common sense to know that it’s all about happiness and love, or are they too wrapped up in their socially-assessed, semi-real existence to realise that?

We’re crops drowned in flood and parched by drought. We’re strays that rummage in garbage for food. We’re streetkids who thrust palms through car windows, and cuss when we don’t get money. We’re what happens behind distinguished doors. We’re unassuming girls who rich sons rape and kill for fun. We’re dirty money their fathers pay to get their heirs off and buy the matter out of the media. We’re prostitutes pimping their pussies for survival and call centre college kids working their arses off to buy new shoes and clothes every month. We’re several kids who yearn for opportunity that gets squandered by the undeserving. We’re twice worn outfits for socialites and shivers of street dwellers. We’re a pile of hazardous toxic waste. That’s what we really are. And we’re hoping that hell is where it’s at, coz most of us are headed there.

posted by n.g. at 23:19 (0) Peg(s) of Whisky

Monday, January 12, 2004

The Best of Pearl Jam.

This was a tough one.

15. Love boat captain - Riot Act
14. Evenflow - Ten
13. Better man - Vitalogy
12. Given to fly - Yield
11. Last Kiss - No Boundaries
10. Thumbing my way - Riot Act
9. Alive - Ten
8. Wishlist - Yield
7. Why go - Ten
6. Daughter - Versus
5. Off he goes - No Code
4. Nothingman - Vitalogy
3. Elderly woman behind the counter in a small town - Versus
2. Jeremy - Ten
1. Black - Ten

What say Jo?

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

Sunday, January 11, 2004

Sunday Afternoon YM Conversation.

maddie: toinky kept pointing out the matunga magic
nish: what matunga magic
maddie: and i staunchly refused to see them
nish: ohhhhhhhhhhhhh
nish: the potty people
maddie: it was fun in the train though
nish: yeah everyone takes a sarvajanik dump on the tracks
nish: lubrication for the tracks
nish: keeps them smooth
maddie: GROSS !!
nish: however, when too many people do too much potty the track becomes slippery
nish: thats when trains derail
maddie: saala !!
nish: seriously! arrey, western railway did extensive reaesarch for 2 years on the subject and part of it was every employee, even the railway minister had to crap on the tracks every morning
maddie: HOWLLLLLLLLLL
maddie: chup bey !!
maddie: my tummy hurts now
nish: but i dont think we can believe the research because it was rigged, what with the railway dept paying off tons of hutment dwellers to crap twice their usual quantity, very much like how votes are counted and booths are captured. so you could see tons of people taking 5-6- even 10 dumps a day.
maddie: poda
nish: poda no, pada. thats what everyone used to do before they took their dumps.
maddie: i was low and this totally perked me up
nish: however, because central railway employees protested about the research being rigged, so the research is happening all over again. all western railways employees' vacations have been cancelled, and food intake has been doubled. this time, the railways are also installing hand pumps and jaguar taps (according to the designation of the employee) besides the tracks for their easy arse-washing.
maddie: NISH !!!
maddie: u shud write a script on this !!
nish: news just in, the american railway minister is so impressed by this research that he wants to contribute to it himself, so WR is now installing toilet-paper roll holders for the american delegation.
maddie: heeheeheehoohahahahahahahahaha
maddie: LMAOOOOOOOOO
nish: shee how dirty u are
nish: disgusting, maddie
maddie: LMAOOOOOOOOO

posted by n.g. at 15:43 (0) Peg(s) of Whisky

Friday, January 09, 2004

Today, after watching India getting walloped by the Ozzies, I needed to cheer myself up. And so I turned to the one film that always makes me smile by it's simplicity, it's beauty and general all round feel-good factor. So here I reproduce one of the several lovely songs on the film, rendered poignantly by two characters, Terrance and Philip.

Shut your fucking face uncle fucker
You're a cock sucking arse licking uncle fucker
You're an uncle fucker yes its true
Nobody fucks uncles quite like you

Shut your fucking face uncle fucker
You're a boner biting bastard uncle fucker
You don't eat or sleep or mow the lawn
You fuck your uncle all day long

Shut your fucking face uncle fucker
You're the one that fucked your uncle, uncle fucker
You're an uncle fucker I must say
You fucked your uncle yesterday

Uncle Fucker, it's U ... N ... C ... L ... E, fuck you
Uncle Fuckerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

Suck my balls.

- From 'South Park: Bigger, Longer and Uncut.'

posted by n.g. at 20:13 (0) Peg(s) of Whisky

Monday, January 05, 2004

Your whole life is leading up to this.

HBO’s Six Feet Under is the story of Fisher and Sons, a funeral home in the state of LA. The sons being David who’s gay and in denial, and Nate who split from home thanks to all the grief and sadness around when he was growing up. There’s a daughter too, Claire, who’s really a rebel without a cause because she can’t relate to her gay brother and Nate was never around, and her control freak mother Ruth (who incidentally, is having an affair) is a pain in the arse. The only person who understands her is her father Nathaniel. Who fatefully dies in the first episode, when the entire family is coming together for Christmas. And the funeral home has to bury one of their own.

‘Six Feet Under’ has completed three seasons in the US, and Zee English shows an edited version here in India. (For the unedited Season 1 DVDs, ask nicely.) It’s probably the most brilliantly written and produced TV show ever. Watch it if you enjoy watching humour in tragedy, solidarity in disparity and the all-round worthlessness and novelty of being human. However, if you enjoy ‘Kyonki …’ and ‘Kahani …’ and the like, I’d suggest you stop reading right now.

Nate and his eventual girlfriend Brenda at the airport, after they’ve met for the first time.
Nate: Oh damn, my father’s supposed to pick me up and he isn’t here yet.
Brenda: I could give you a ride.
Nate: Oh he should be here soon.
Brenda: I wasn’t talking about that kinda ride.

Ruth to David when she gets the news of her husband’s death …
“Your father’s dead. Your father’s dead and my pot roast is ruined.”

Claire to boyfriend Gabe when she gets the news of her father’s death …
“My father’s dead and I’m here smoking crack.”
Gabe : “Crystal.”

Nathaniel’s spirit to Nate when he comes to identify his father’s body …
“Well well. The prodigal returns. This is what you’ve been running from your whole life buddy boy. You thought you could escape but guess what … nobody escapes.”

Nathaniel’s spirit to Claire at his funeral …
“Life is wasted on the living.”

Nate to David at his father’s wake …
“You can say what you want, do all this ritual stuff but the fact remains that the only father we’ll ever have is dead. And that sucks.”

Nate to Brenda during his father’s funeral …
“My father’s dead, my mother’s a whore, my brother’s gay and my sister’s on crack. I think I win.”

David’s boyfriend Keith at his father’s wake, when David tries to be discreet.
“We can fuck but I can’t be your shoulder to cry on?”

A speaker at the wake of a pornstar.
Speaker (in all seriousness): I can confidently say that she gave the best blowjobs in the business.

Another speaker at the same wake.
Speaker (tearfully): When I entered the business I was apprehensive about girl-girl action, but she taught me how to go down on a woman … (sobs inconsolably)

And the best of them all.

Claire & Nathaniel’s spirit as they share a joint at home.
“Why do people have to die?”
“To make life important.”

posted by n.g. at 21:48 (0) Peg(s) of Whisky

Sunday, January 04, 2004

There was nothing to fear, nothing to doubt.

You once believed in angels and heaven and Santa Claus and naughty little elves who could never do wrong.
You once believed that everything about this world is right in front of your eyes - pure, unadulterated, warm, complete in your own personal utopia.
You once believed that ‘bad things’ will never happen to you – they happen to ‘bad people’, and you were above them, living in confined contentment on your poseur clouds above, never willing to glance down at mortal life below.
Because, you never had any reason to believe otherwise.
Then, you started thinking for yourself.
There are four seasons in the year coz my social sciences book says so, but how come around me it’s always either raining or boiling hot?
Mahatma Gandhi is the father of our nation, but whatever happened to Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose and Sardar Vallabhai Patel?
Our parents snarl and curse Pakistanis when we mention the partition, but how different is the average Paki from the average Indian?
What happens when we die? You don’t talk about such things at your age.
How did I happen? How are babies born? What have they been teaching you at school?
Why should I learn complicated chemical formulas when I’m never gonna be a scientist?
Why should I cram about sedimentation and gravitational pull when I’m never gonna be a geologist?
What AM I gonna be? How can I know what I’m gonna be?
And you filter your lungs and touch taboo nectar and indulge in carnage just to know why it’s forbidden, because they only told you against, but never told you why.
And you lie in your bed at night and you shut your eyes and you dream of your utopia, where lovely fair angels with Saturn halos will waft across to you on fluffy white cotton and strum a lullaby on harps made of stars and caress your nervous hair with their hands of satin and smile at you with their crescent lips and all will be well.
And then you wake up.
And you cry at all that can be and all that is and how everything is falling apart around you and how your incomplete dreams seem like the fading light of sunset and how the angels never came and how the deafening silence of loneliness is making you cringe and how your faith lies writhing on the ground like a fallen star and how if only if only if only.

Sleep … pay penance to your dreams like the boat so close to the shore yet lost for want of one tiny stream of light from the lighthouse, but the ‘keeper has not come today, not today, not this week, not this month, not this year.

The ‘keeper was never there, but he kept you afloat by crying an ocean.

posted by n.g. at 01:54 (0) Peg(s) of Whisky

Name: n. g.

Home: Bombay, India

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