it's that time of the year then. that time when one relishes those festive fetishes spirits ones been waiting for all this year. and as for me that's a feeling one feels when putting an end to a year long tedious wait to see a massive 'yes' plastered on that weird website. oh the suspense is killing. I suspect it might all be a subliminal viral marketing ploy for an upcoming movie, hell I've even subscribed to it's RSS feed to make sure it isn't. that sheer, raw joy of seeing it shout yes after a year long abnormally monotonic tone surpasses all known interwebs geekery. more next year, then. happy holidays.

Update:

aaaaaahh.

for want of a lion and a better zoom lens

visit to the zoo after years of not having been to one seemed to have brought out the wild side. a bit too much I'd say, after it reminded me of that one time when I managed chased off about half a score monkeys sitting on my backyard wall merely by the power of my high quality imitation dog bark (true story). not exactly something I'd brag about on parties, but there you go. you could say I've had a disturbed an adventurous childhood, those were the days.



didn't get to see it burying it's head, never thought meeting my role model would be a major dissapointment.













turns out Girish the mutant dog-worm might actually be a zebra derivative.












I still can't remember what these were called.




moments after a few human hand hunts.






couldn't get it to break the glass and pop out though.


so near, yet so far.

untitled

je ne sais quoi, both literally and metaphorically.

in layman's language

here it lies this land called blog,
lacking all liveliness and lustre
leaving lumps of loose leftovers lasting forever;
leaking from locked lids and limitless lairs,
are lonely laureates limping across for miles
covered in leaves the colour of oblivion.
longing to be lifted from low realms of laziness.*

as the ever pulsing virtual whiteness splattered with nonsensical statement anomalies lay dormant, lifeless, I confess to drastic unblogging yet again. I had two dreams yesterday, one of which was a date. nothing too fascinating, the only thing I remember of her is being asked who my favourite author was and then slapping me and walking away after I blurted out enid blyton for no apparent reason. I just hope I haven't dreamt my immediate foreseeable future itself, knowing how likely that specific scenario actually is. congratulations, the future seems fucked. in current news, a lady sitting next to me is cleaning the computer screen with a tissue, and banging the keyboard upside down against the desk precisely thrice as we speak. ever had a nightmare come alive like that? I suspect she is either mental or studying bacteria with a vengeance. and it's the second time I dared to write what I just wrote, as the first was erased, completely destroyed at the speed of light when I thought it was being stared at from the corner of her eye, reading with contempt every little virulent word against her at microscopic detail and was about to hit me. to make things even less liking, new store manager is apparently a lesbian and rumoured to be dominating fairly strict. I may well have been scarred for life with violent women. "but look at the bright side," screamed a mental incarnation of this blog. "at least they don't turn chinese every now and again."

with potentially threatening issues like those ogling at my precious mind every passing second, events leading the train of thought crashing to a complete halt in lectures begin to rise, as concentration brownie points decrease dramatically. which, incidentally, seems to complement the presence of random lines on pages which were originally meant to be scattered with dull genetic jargon. and that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I met Girish the mutant dog-worm.



and a redhead red indian an onion-head alien


In other news, WALL-E, the famed character who saw a huge success with his film early this year, went into chronic depression yesterday about a month after the release of new computer animated film Madagascar 2, a sequel to its popular prequel Madagascar. WALL-E was rumoured to be under 'heavy drug usage', an assumption sparked off by leaked internet footage on a forum last night clearly showing the robot under the influence of questionable substances.

*Bad poetry courtesy of extraneous boredom hallucinations. Could've been worse, but that's a different story. Conditions apply.

I'm thousands of miles away from yesterday's attacks, lost for words and disturbed. Rains, bombs, and now all this. Mom is in India, and thankfully nowhere near Mumbai. Hearing first hand accounts give me the chills. A cousin chose not to go Oberoi last night as she was too tired to get ready, didn't go to Taj for the very same reason even though she had discount coupons and ended up going somewhere else. Almost all my relatives are scattered around South Mumbai. And thankfully everyone is safe. Was up all night stalking IBN / BBC live streams and twitter search. It was heart wrenching to watch the Taj burning away all night long, hearing shots and blasts with reports of brave cops and people dying every hour. Questions and more questions keep haunting, like toxins with no answerable cure. I'm very peeved off with the BBC right now and I'm not alone, and don't even get me started on Barkha Dutt and Adwani. More views from Pakistan here. There's so much on my mind right now, I don't think I can continue. Stay alert, stay safe.

More over here.

Update: More live twitter coverage all on one page here.

back in the blogger bhajan front

think deadlines. deadly, gory deadlines. deadlines of all sorts, lines of miles of it. wires of winding workload. deadlines with destructive definitions. with dire dilemmas. it's astonishing really, how my mind still flat out fails to comprehend the heaving veracity of deadlines. unless you're a poacher or a telecom engineer, the d-word has had a reputation of giving the very best of punctual personalities a scare. call it "adrenalin anesthesia" if you may, it's one thing walking away with a smiley on your face after a timely submission often accompanied with an unwanted feeling of "that complete student", and quite another living up to the last-minute-action-go plan. and then everything goes boom boom boom, like it did early this week foiling your rather intricate couldn't-be-more-perfect plan. getting hit by the darned viral flu for the second time in the same month wasn't exactly something I had included in the "could go wrong" list. although there's one thing that's always worth every cough—you get do a sinatra without actually sounding too far away from the low notes. tonsil travesty ensues. and happy delayed belated diwali wishes, although happy here seems more like an overstatement blissfully inaccurate that too. that's right, diwali was nothing less than a potentially fluky deadly deadline date and not to mention the swadeshi diwali deprivation underwent since like a decade (slight habitual hyperbole there, but who doesn't like eggs generation) although a salty suprise the very next morning kinda made up for it. anywhoosh me thinks I shouldeth stopathy, now that quoting real life perils in a desperate bid to cover up procrastinatory practices isn't much of a smart idea afterall. so stay tuned.

ps- too much tags left undone, bedone soon. If only they'd been them security ones, I'd be in lock up by now.

who says there's no electricity in heaven

start

be it in plastic or in person, it's never inough.

speaking of which,
there's thunder in the clouds
so go back to your house.

the mind sings Procrastination's national anthem;
“other stuff” gets 2 week visa for Attentionation.

be back soon.

hello yes? we still here then? oh, right. the Large Hairy Coriander monster thingy didn't eat us up after all. although to be fair, they've just beamed the stuff clockwise. the other opposing beam is still 2 months away. and the final results? all that excitement about finding new particles? that's right, they're just a year away. a year. there I was all excited about discovering new dimensions and everything and suddenly it's all gone quiet. it's almost as if we've secretly time travelled a year back into the past when they turned it on, and the results still seem a year away. but if that really was the case, wouldn't we then get stuck in an endless, infinite time continuum as the result would set us back a year every time we reached it? told you my mind was messed up.

you see, I have high hopes for this experiment. no I really do. why? because lets face it, mankind is dumbing down. political correctness and human rights prevail over simple common sense. want a glimpse into far future? go see that movie documentary Idiocracy and see something that's essentially inevitable seeing how things running are these days. besides, now that swearing in an exam essay would earn me easy marks, my ever-so-awesome spam folder would probably get me a master's degree. physics, literature, everything it has. you name it.

“Don't get lost in her eyes because of small dimensions. Huge dimension gives increased force. You are just in step of being Caesar of in bed activity. Short and thin provoke female derision. Your insatiable chick will be full of pleasure. Upsize your pecker with no hassle. This night your bedroom will be jungles and you wild tiger after you have upgraded your wang with us. Your IT department has been paid to allow us to send you these mails. Check out the results.”

now this is freaky. I swear on my blog's sidebar I was halfway watching this video and my neighbour's cat with shining eyes peeps through the transparent catflap on backyard door. at midnight. coincidences are great, you know. I don't deny that. I mean, you want to throw some ayesha takias at me while I watch her film, you um go ahead and do that. but certainly not this.

and what's with all the hoohaa with that sour pale in? yes, that little intelligent woman I'm talking about. there he was, that white haired dude failing miserably not so long ago, with no hope whatsoever. and along comes mrs. oh-look-at-sexy-me with a too-busy-to-do-hair-looking-$1000-hairdo-with-glasses and soon enough, the whole nation goes crazy.

In other news, BBC told me I was a man (phew) last night.
and cat moss's kate has got flees.

pounds of procrastination

(click to enlarge)

22.07.08
“I was woken up today by a godlike divine intervention
other related searches for god made me feel lucky.”

possibly last post

say (atheists read 'smirk at') your prayers tonight. the world might implode into a microscopic blackhole apparently. that weird little experiment takes place on wednesday. you know, the one smashing sub-atomic particles and all that. just the perfect something to look forward to on a dull wednesday afternoon.

after all the staring vigilant observation during boring bus waits everyday, I think my eyes are wearing off. and as if that wasn't depressing enough, I might have managed to hit the height of absent mindedness. when mother is away, apart from doritos with salsa dip staple diet often includes red leicester sandwiches off greggs. not being a huge fan of waiting in queues, I jumped at the chance of fetching a sandwich off the shelves slightly faster than normal pace and running to the till before anyone could come even close to heaving my hunger for another 2 minutes of eternity. It wasn't until I dug into it halfway ♠ that I realised it wasn't the familiar red leicester fatale. turns out the label which said "chicken & bacon" was white font on a red background and considering that I started chanting the red mantra even before I left work, the ol' brainer read no red but saw some instead.

actually, it might well be running in the genes for all I know.
"where's the plus button?!" complained a rather baffled mother holding a black cordless receiver. or the time when I copyrighted the "homeopathic facewash" idea after she mistook a medicine bottle full of little balls for her eye drops. too bad the "come first in college" gene is still nowhere to be found.

In other news, a bunch of whiny pedants took a break from spotting grammatical errors on supermarket displays and decided to write them in to the BBC instead. I can only pray for them and hope that they don't stumble across an orkut crapbook. and what's the large number of dots people put in at the end of everything these days.. even pacman would commit suicide.

♠ exact moment when laptop was thrown violently seeing a spider the size of an onion crawl across the keyboard. fucking spiders.

Viking 2 made it to Mars, The Queen quit Qatar, eBay got spammed. notable events on this day that more or less shaped history, to name a few.

and then more importantly of course, I came along.
merry happy joyeux birth anniversaire day three to myself.

sometime back in WW2 on this very day, Italy came under attack. despite the wrath of limited artillery and more than half a century later, I've finally conquered the Roman Lasagna Legionnaires.

It was a tough run though; my passion for not cooking hasn't gone unnoticed. cooking you see, is like sleeping. you get insomniacs like me and the ones who can daydream for miles. I tried to give it a go anyway. and for some bizarre reason mother seemed to think approximate measures = accurate. and even more annoying how she manages to get them just right every single time.

"how much salt in this?"
"take an approximate"
"sugar?"
"approximate"
the amount of times I was bombarded with aerosol approximates,
I'd bomb build a castle with 'em.

"sauté that"
"what did you just call me?"
and I was expected to know cooking jargons.

after that surreal experience, it did turn out tery tery tasty. and to top it all off, the whole thing was surprisingly easy. in layman's my terms, it's just adding some stuff, then a layer of cheese, and then some more stuff, shove it in the magic box, and voilà! couldn't get any more easier than that. be afraid olive oil, be very afraid.

and writing, using the term loosely, has hit an all time low lately. blame the prime minister. why? I don't know. it feels weird not to. net stopped working? gordon brown. bad weather? you guessed it.

it's not everyday one
imagines an
inadvertently
inverted
invader
in an
involuntary
indian rope trick
involvement;
it's not everyday one gets to see that either.

favourite heroine

crack that coke can
recycling into trance;
prices go high again.

With literally everyone I know of banging on about how good it was, I finally contributed to the many millions it's been making.
I must say though a little part of me died the very instant of watching the shiny new Lamborghini crash and the batmobile self-destruct, but I guess the truck scene kind of made up for it.

Books have been alien to me since eternity; my readashionship with them hasn't been particularly page turning, blame it on the internets. The ones I have managed to get my hands on by fluke are hairy puter does pot—the series minus last one, vinci da code, bhagat poiints at someone, and the likes. I say by fluke, as they were either gifted or found in a hotel room. and to this day, the thought of sitting through a storm of well stringed words seems rather tiring. A cousin from the states recently left this behind, and I can't wait to see how that goes down with a bookworm pesticide equivalent.

Oh and BTW, meet GTD. Getting Things Done is all about, well, getting things done. and after streaming through countless GTD posts on lifehacker, I can't help but laugh considering that I haven't actually got around to doing anything other than just reading on and on about it. And with that, it may come as no surprise that Google Reader screams this at the top of its voice.



I think I have too much free time on my hands; but newly assigned part-time presence at a popular clothing retailer might just end up proving to be more healthier than I thought. I couldn't be more accurate in defining silent, killer boredom at work, If I happened to say that I've managed to master the exact sequence of the songs on the massive playlist solely due to the lack of any remotely entertaining activity taking place. and earworms like these playing now and again combined with inability to google the lyrics on-the-spot, its like torture trying to guess them track titles. Although to be fair, its not everywhere you get ladies in their thirties coming out of the fitting rooms saying, "I need a fairy with a magic wand to shrink my bum."

In other news, wayne ugly fat potatohead douchebag rooney has been made an ambassador for Mercedes. why-o-why I ask WHY! calling it a total cartastrophe, is putting it lightly.

green

It's quite dreary when pre-movie real estate gets plastered with miles of boring text ads. but seeing my phone company come up with such gems instead, is super stuff.

Welcome to mon la première, noveau travelogue;
went Bath sometime last week, got punfully
painfully drenched in the dreary rain.
what follows this, is a selection picked off thy faithful
photomachine. more flickr drooling when the darned
uploadr starts to show any signs of working with vista.

inborn annoyance with chinese homosapea isn't new
"what, chinese tourists? at the Great Roman Baths?
surely they mean no harm."



see what I mean? and no, I definitely wasn't to blame.
there I was focusing all I had to that one perfect shot, and
phataak! the shanghai forehead unleashes itself in all its fury.
was it tying her shoelaces, or just randomly deciding to pop up like a ninja the very next instant; I don't know.
although the latter does seem more likely.
you can imagine the things going on in her head at that moment-
"SHIN CHAO QUA ... PHOTU NON TEKAA OOUUUIIAAA!"







legend of the disappearing forehead.




A certain Mr. Gorgon and his excavated fore head




A 1.6 metres deep cold plunge bath




with a camera in hand and all pumped up, it wasn't long before
The Sartorialist wannabeism kicked in.




river Avon, from bus window of the dumb travel company who thought an hour on a rainy day was enough to walk about exploring.








Stonehenge : a group of stoned stones.
and pardon the different angles. nothing more entertaining than pretending to be a professional photographer among clueless tourists. sad, I know.

















sigh. writing a travelogue, it seems, clearly isn't my forte.

writer's block is a myth

only when you end up getting something that involves frolicking around randomly fiddling with faintly farcical first page results of a fairly fruitful search on flickr for these:

first name, favourite food right now, high school,
favourite colour.

celebrity crush, favourite drink, dream vacation,
favourite dessert.

like to be when you grow up, love most in life,
one word that (possibly) describes you, username.

and picking an image from the results on the first page.
and using Big Huge Labs Mosaic Maker to create a mosaic.
and then getting drunk



that was fun. and it appears many have done this by now.
in case you haven't but feel like, do go ahead and drop a line.

An update as its eight minutes past eight on the eighth of august in the year two followed by two zeroes and an eight, after I ate roasted chili flavoured tortilla crisps with some hummus which was great and I want to mate

conundrum chinesse

So I've had this theory since long that If every other awesome girl is detected along a man within her personal space area, a 'brotherly-sisterly' relationship can be safely assumed while being blithely oblivious to what the bitter truth might be. Told you positive thinking works. It kind of comforts by giving some hope and sort of showers you with endless supplies of 'maybe's cushioning you on a safety net.

Sadly though, like with all good theories come the mandatory drawbacks. It all seemed to work pretty well, until a few months back. No they didn't turn around and throw dagger looks, nor were they long-haired male rock fans mistaken for girls if at all you thought that was the worse it could get to.

Get this—everywhere I looked around uni, 80 to 90% of innocent girls fell prey to appearing chinese almost instantaneously;
no literally, everyone.

Although when I say Chinese, they might well have been Koreander or Japhacheese cakes or the likes;
I couldn't possibly differentiate the taste.

It wasn't like I had stumbled upon a barrage of randomly prepositioned young chinese tourists, they were just there.
Or maybe I was doing it all wrong according to, oh I don't know, some bizarre set of Feng Shui body language rules. Their confused expressions as I looked at each one of them in sheer disbelief disturbed me even more.

It felt like something went terribly wrong somewhere in thy DNA. My innocent sight was either accidentally bestowed upon with mysterious 'racial mutation powers' of you know Huu Huangdi or the Chinese Kitchen God was frying fucking with me real bad.

You know there are times that make you think
"maybe I had too many noodles last night."
Something tells me this could easily be one of them.
and, that I need more of brazilian cuisine
sigh; talk about being beaten with a chopstick.

In other news, a mentally ill lunatic proves he is one rightly so by confusing the moon for my car.

cookless karma

Some say cooking is an art. I agree;
as long as someone does it for me, that is.

There was a certain time, when I was about to embark upon lets just say an unusual journey, where relying on my own abilities was to be of utmost importance. I had managed to learn the ancient art of creating nearly edible common indian staple food including rotis with imperfect circumference and messed up salt ratios.

Surely being 'the male' I'd be easily exempted from it?
turns out it somehow boosts your metrosexuality, apparently.

Anyway, three years went by and not practicing enough led me to forget it. The time had come for me to to add some garam masala to my unused competencies yet again.

"Sanjeev Kapoor will worship me by christmas," I bragged on for a month. Unfortunately for me, like the government's promises, it um didn't quite happen. It wasn't long before hunger led desperation started to kick in. By then, I knew how to make a half-decent sandwich. and an omelette. and maggi
Getting bored of the same old crushing white balls and playing around with bread, I started going out. Met new people, made new friends—meet Mr. Food. Junk Food. Mrs. Frozen said hi.

Immediate ancestors have had a history of blending the symphony of spices just right; Mother says I should have it in my blood. But then, she was a topper unlike the relatively average scorer yours truly is.

Some have suggested I should try and combine my passions.
Or maybe I should blog about it.. you know, with pictures and all.

As for now, lets just put it this way—cooking to me is what a good hairstyle to Himesh Reshammiya is.

Update: Man I love coincidences. The DailyMail reported yesterday a rise of the 'gastrosexual' as more men are taking up cooking to seduce women.

As much as I'd love to seduce her with my spices, being branded a 'gastrosexual' (ugh) is just wrong on so many levels.

la gujaretté

Sometimes, small things give you kicks.

I did level 1 french 4 years ago, easy peasy.

And I bet no matter how many baguettes he has for breakfast, Nicolas Sarkozy or any of la peoplé, ain't speakin no Gujarati even if they sat from now until christmas they won't.

Why would they want to? I don't know.
They probably couldn't care less.

But if they had to? hah! no way man. no freakin' way.

mathematical moronism

(note to self - deal with the likelihood of random lazinesia attacks before starting a blog)

Blogging? pah! just how hard could it be? write a couple o' words off the head, string a sentence off the hook and hit publish;
kisee ko pataa nahin chalega.

Not quite, it turns out.

Of course, not the first time the brain has done dhokha with thee.
Enter the early 90's. I was just another average student minding my own business. Exams coming up? no problemo.
Copied the timetable off the ol' blackboard and home I went.

Maths was second. Just a disorganised mess of distinctively shaped characters which made sense when added and multiplied together, was all what I thought of it. Father was quite good at teaching, helping me absorb the number junk into my ever-so-mathematically-incompatible-head. After nearly 16 hours of added effort, multiplied determination and undivided attention before the D-day, I was ready to conduct a numerical orchestra. "what could possibly go wrong?", I reassured myself.

Or so I thought.

D-day, 2 hours before exam, with friends.
"done with revision?" I flaunted.
"almost. just finishing off petroleum distillation"
"..."
"I hate bad jokes dude, specially before exams"
"can you see me smirking, dear?"

The world swept off beneath my feet faster than a bullet train and white walls appeared red. Maths, turns out, was a day after.
Thanks to life saving revision done before hand, I was fairly confident for science. Gave some more last minute kicks and it went okay.

"how did it go?"
"need to tell you something mom, just don't freak out"
*gulp*
[censored]

Fast-forward to result day.
60% leysun genlmen, 60% I managed. can you believe that?
One hell of a 'scientific discovery' that was.

primordial peculiarity

Never thought I'd end up punching black squares off the laptuter all for the sublime, unreciprocated love for blogging. But as it happens, it has. I've been bit by a bug. again. This time though, it appears to be one of those sublime but catchy ones which seems to spread across the nation by the day presumably faster than a kareena kapoor gossip. Thats right, the infamous blogger bug that is. One which even has some high profile celebrities caught up in its writey grasp. At first it all seemed normal. Then, they started appearing. Everywhere. Tiny little sinister looking spots blogspots all over my ignored thoughts, somewhat comical actions, and dry humour itching through every single minute in the day. Surely this might be short term enough for me to take any notice; or so I thought. The sidebar side effects started to slowly kick in. The symptoms were justified, and I'd already had enough. The condition was fairly popular and the outbreak seemed to have had grasped the country at a fast pace. I just had to blog.

Then, there were complications. Me attempting to try and conjure up a few lines of words was not only a rare event, but an unmissable act of sheer wannabe writer desperation fighting laziness. Writing a blog post, even, seemed almost comparable to reader's paranoia a paranormal phenomenon. It was as likely as two pilots falling asleep in mid air; now what are the chances of that happening, I hear you say.

well, didn't take long did it?

and so, I blog.

Although I'm known to be an introvert, I can be quite narcissistic sometimes in a subtle but obvious way. So much so, 90% of this space might just end up being that. In an even of such a horrible, boredom inducing disaster, do feel free to throw in some unflattering criticism.

Oh and pardon the excessive 'd' word usage in the sidebar.
No, its not the hidden pedantic in me dancing around shamelessly on the blog, just that I was sucked into the whole 'd for deewana' thing when I started.

Met blogger through a common friend back in may. Three months ladies and gentlemen, three months is what is took me to come up with this mumbo jumbo. Can you believe that? better late than never, eh?

watch this space for more!


FAQ

Are you an alien?
ofcourse no. well, maybe.
alien to this society and its frivolous ways.
but then, we all are anyway.

Whats with the obscure, mildly amusing blog name?
procrastination just called, he says hi. will explain later.