Muddled Musings: Spring Cleaning 2oo!

I love the way she writes :)

Muddled Musings: Spring Cleaning 2oo!: "I’m doing this cos I have nothing else to do plus this is a sort of clearing up weekend like any other. I clean my room. I clear my mind. I ..."

Resurrection

I'm not going to say I didn't have the time. Because I did.

The blog dog has died yet again and on the happy occasion of its second resurrection, I have decided to vow never to let it starve so anymore. I mean some would call it art, but myeh, nope its just cruel.

Hmm. I haven't thought much about the past seven(six?) months until, well, now actually. They've been a good seven months (eight?). Seems my life is like (hold your breath, deep analogy approaching) a rising demand-supply graph (yes, i went there). Its like a perfect balance and the only outcome is steady, growing happiness/accomplishment. (aich!)

Now that that's done with, I can talk about the recent past, because, frankly, that's about as far as my memory goes.
Work: Copy-editing. Sigh. I can't decide if I love it to bits or if its just a bit of flotsam I'm clinging to in the vast ocean of publishing. I couldn't believe there could be so many people like me in one room. It's weird, dude.

Home: I never thought being in the same city as my parents could be so strange/surreal. I mean, I can just get on my bike and go see them. Just. Like. That. Its weird, dude. Next you'll be telling me that the stuff on television doesn't stop existing the minute I switch the TV off.

Stuff: You know that feeling when you hear a song that you really like. Like you're gonna just bust at the seams? Well, I have it all the time. Its like some kind of renewed self-belief that's trying to claw its way out into the open through the mass of internal goop, like those creatures from Alien, except good 'uns. (Uh huh, another analogy)

Oh, and I wrote a song, that Dubba and I perfected. It's a first. It's brilliant.

That's all.

My excuse for a hundreth post.

"Put anything in quotations and suddenly you feel like someone important said it."

-Sharanya Nair

A 100 posts!

Can i get a woot woot!?

The Creative Conundrum and Daft Buyers

I thought it was about time i went back to having pretentious titles thankyouverymuch. (The alliteration adds that extra touch of lilpinkyup attitude.)

It sure is a conundrum-this being creative business. I mean its not just sitting in a corner pouring your tortured heart out onto a piece of bark anymore, it is now business-not to mention risky (note lame reference to movieofsamename). Its trade plus industry plus however tiny and idiotic an idea that has the potential to become a global business.

Obviously this rant is keeping in mind the boom of the internet. I love the internet and all but sometimes it just pisses me the hell off. I mean, you can't think of anything without going online, googling it and finding out that some kid in war-torn Iraq or upscale New York has already done it, made millions and had a few babies since then. Can you compete with that(would you dare?) Its already a heaving BS-spewing conglomerate-the original guy probably isn't even in charge and the bunch of suits it keeps close to its heart of stone will sue you to within an inch of your life if you attempt to say 'feck it!' and go ahead with 'your' idea (with a different name of course). Its conglomerate-eat-small-fry out there. Trust me. But also be ballsy enough to have a go at it anyway. So what if there's a Calvin and Hobbes out there. Go ahead with that comic strip about the little boy and his tiger. So what if there's a Miley Cyrus out there!? Go ahead and sing and make vlogs and.....waitasec. We don't want any of that. Stuff it.

Also, recently I have come to the conclusion that people will literally sell anything out there. What's crazier is that people buy that shit! Its like this insane need to not conform by making daft retail choices. Or maybe its just a hook for conversation! Coz lets face it with the internet we have the option of thinking awhile and then speaking which is impossible not to mention absent) in real life. People don't have time to just sit around waiting for your perilous/pearls of wisdom. If you're not witty you're screwed my friend.

Like recently I saw a T-shirt with the words "Wonder drug - fuckitol" on it. I mean its not like I find the thought of taking drugs to numb the 'pain' fascinating or even want to literally follow the charming advice (because its impossible as well as 'risky business' :D with all those nasty stds). I jus thought it would be hilarious. I even went so far to imagine Widegrin or Dubba looking at it and cracking up. Ah! Saved from at least five and a half minutes of staring and 'dragging'.

Being the black sheep is cool and all but you don't wanna be the pink sheep with the bohemian hairdo and wooden clogs that says "bLaaahhh" alot. The line is fine, but its there people!
And i realize that my rant on the death of the creative turned into a rant on people who buy crap.
-runs to add to title-

Sabbatical ends

A day after April Fool's day (that passed by unrecognized by me) and more than a month since i last blogged. Anyway, here i is.

Oh wow. A string of events that have/will change my life and perception of people forever. In a good way.

And even better news! Dougies BACK! And he's brought a friend. He appears to have been on recon in my room and has found it satisfactory and hence has begun to "bring in the men" so to speak. I tried to snap a few quick shots but the wily coyote skidaddled to neverland before i could switch my camera on.

I say "thank yew!!" to my guiser (geyser? geezer?) everyday as i leave the loo. Why? (you ask stupid question) because the geyser (guiser? geezer?) plug displays the words 'Attisundar'(very pretty) on it. And i am a stronger person for having the blessings of my geezer (geyser? guiser?)

I download a trillion movies a day. Literally a trillion. I watch them compulsively also. Recently my bloodthirst has been slaked by Resident Evil 1 2 and 3. 1 is seriously a movie I can watch over and over and over again. And not only because Mila Jovovich is hotness and i enjoy watching mechelle rodriguez die, but because its an amazing movie! And obviousy i have to watch shawn of the dead again now because it just kicks ass.

I learn and (thereafter immediately forget) to play songs on the guitar I need not say more yes?

Morning Runner- Burning Benches.....on repeat
Let us make amends, we’re not overly good friends, but its not Heaven without you. You can have it all, we’ll see Mountains fall, but it’s not Heaven without you.
It’s the symphony distorting, when were not talking, but its not Heaven, without you.
There’s just something different, With the air about you, The signs, the shapes, the numbers, none of them give me a clue You can have it all
and im not Burning Benches cos the ash would make me choke It was me who always spluttered every time we spoke, you can have it all

Apupa's gone. And ever since that black Valentine's, I've been wondering how to proceed on this blog. I couldn't write about him at all for a while and I couldn't write anything else on this blog without paying him a tribute. So here it is. A tribute of sorts. I've mashed together stories i heard about him, stuff i remember. Feelings distributed themselves evenly among everyone he knew. Good feelings. Warm fuzzy ones. Respectful ones.

Too little, too late.
I wish I'd hugged him more.
I wish I'd sat with him a while or been around more.
But even enough of it all, now i know and believe,
wouldn't've been enough to console me
and make me not 'wish' anymore.

My earliest story about him that i used to tell people with exasperated affection was when we would be far off in a different state and living our important lives and we'd spare a few minutes on the phone for him. His conversation on the phone would be punctuated with millions of questions about things that i thought were silly. My favourite was "Have you remembered to turn off the gas?"
My most recent is him pestering my grandmum to within an inch of her life with the same repeated question said with varying levels of emotion-accusatory, casual inquiry, in-passing, in all seriousness etc. "Are you taking care of Sharu?" usually followed by "Have you fed her?"
When we lived in Bangalore he'd suddenly turn up at home in the morning after we'd left for school or office and my mum was alone at home. Just to check on her under the pretext of having breakfast and then he'd rush back home because all he'd said there was "I'll be back in a bit". Everyone knew of course.

I'm told he was a very soft-spoken man so much so that when ever he raised his voice, even to call out to someone, people thought he was angry. He once gave a speech at a HUGE family gathering, a powerful mic under his nose, and not one person beyond the second row heard a word of it.
He was the only man i knew who literally carried a walking stick. Not once did it touch the floor while he walked. It's like he had it along for the ride.
Once for my mum's birthday he brought home a mini-amusement park.
You knew he was in an affectionate mood when he pinched his bottomlip between his teeth, smiled and patted you on the shoulder.
If he was ever in Charlie's chocolate factory he'd run them outta business. He had the biggest sweet tooth you could never imagine. He'd have dessert before lunch.
He'd blush furiously and giggle or swat at us if we kissed him on the cheek.
He never failed to say 'mind your head' when i walked past the stairs.
Everyday for twenty years he locked the three foot high harmless front gate. Every day.

How can you stay dry while writing an obituary for such a man. I didn't. But i sucked it up. Like I do everytime i leave the house. I feel guilty for wanting this feeling to pass but nevertheless it will. Life goes on after death. It always does.

Did she, I wonder?

Story mentioned in She's Gonna Break

Paying it Forward

*desperately looks for something else to hyperlink. Fails to find anything. Leaves*

Frankie! Wahayyy!

"Startlingly offensive" at times.

Ad libbing. At. Its. Best.

Frankie Boyle on Mock The Week.

She's Gonna Break

(A very apt title from one of Less Than Jake's songs.)

I wrote something in class today that I am half disturbed by and half deliriously joyful about.

It was gory and bloody and so unlike what i stick to. I'm usually subtle about violence-depicting the aftermath or events preceding it. This is because i know that nothing make-up and write can rival a person's imagination. So i take the more effective (yet easy) way out.

Point in fact- its not my style to write something that includes the words 'bloody stumps'. Apparently now it is. I feel like its a barrier I've broken. And it feels good.

But of course, as some sort of unconscious response to what I thought was non-existent societal pressure, immediately after the disturbing piece I wrote a 'normal' one. (Well, for me anyway)

A dent in my momentous 'toeing the line' incident.

Eh, I'll live with it.

Ol post

The following is something I posted ages ago(March 29, 2008) on my Minglebox blog. I read it and in the vain ways of myself found it hilarious. And it also reminded me of that dreadful time in college when it happened. Coincidental that the 'friend' I mention is Yakub. The boy always seems to be laughing his arse off at me.

Here eet ees!

Kind sir, can i have a plate of embarassment please?

Hmph, street urchin! Embarassment is dessert not a main course!

Oh, then can i have some anxiety-induced memory loss and then the embarassment?

All right. Coming right up!

The psychology practicals were bad. They were really really bad. I mean, not the I'm-saying-this-coz-actually-i-SCORED bad. The actual BAD.

I haven't had a chance to let in sink in for the long term. We had only two things to do. Conduct an experiment. Do a stats sum. Not difficult eh? Well, leave it to me to screw it up as royally as i can. I FORGOT, yes forgot, to do the stats sum. i was so relieved that I had done away with the experiment that I gave my paper a cursory look, got up, deposited it with a smirk at the teacher's table and then left the room confidently.

I found out later from a laughing friend that the teacher held up my paper, laughed at it (a few students joined in), and asked who the brilliant person was. Every single person in the room now knows my name. cheers!!

Thank god there's a few days break before i have to go back. But no matter, I'm sure they're laughing at the next idiot already. (i hope. I desperately, hope)

Interesting thing i saw yesterday.

On the back of a cute little green Medicine Van: "Khuda Hafiz"

Here's your medicine, see you on the other side!

Updates

Can SOMEONE please write in my guest book? Its a sad cold world out there.

____________________________________________________

I was in an auto on my way to college and I happen to see a boy on a bike-complete with helmet and gloves. Except one of his hands was halfway inside his helmet trying to stuff his cellphone up there. You know, into that little hollow round your ears. Stupid child. I laughed quite a bit actually. Early morning laughter does not require too great a reason apparently.

____________________________________________________

"10 Rs extra!"

I wanted to kill him. Instead I got into the auto while muttering "Painful you'll are."

"What?" he said.

I froze like salami in a freezer. And then in an act of brave stupidity or stupid bravado- (whichever) I repeated my cuss.

Luckily he repeated "What?" so i got away with that one.

Phew!

*Ticks 'staring death in the face' off her list of things to do*

____________________________________________________

Yakub and I were in the bookshop. I was pestering bookshopuncle for change when Yakub suggests i buy one of those greasy sweets that bookshopuncle often stuffs per force into our hands. I ignore.
Meanwhile girl next to me asks for greasy handful.
Here Yakub feels the need to ask "You don't eat all this or wat?"
I look, pause and then say, "NO!" so vehemently and with such disgust that bookshopuncle and girl turn to me, hands awkwardly frozen in the moment. (The greasy perpetrators staring me in the face.)
I cower in embarassment while Yakub tip-toes backwards and laughs his gut out.
I sneak out a little "sorry!" to the girl but i am met with a cold withering glare that gives me shivers to this minute.
But we laughed at that one for a while too.
___________________________________________________

Endana indeed.

I was youtubing (as usual) and I came across a song by The Fray called Vienna (didn’t care much for it). I scrolled down to the comments and read a particular one that made me think. “My future funeral song.” it said jovially. Morbid much? Well, I didn’t think so. And you probably don't think so either. Its common-place for us. (The only reason I have not chosen one for myself is that I have decision making problems when it comes to choosing one out of a trillion possibilities.)

My grandmother on the other hand, happened to read it over my shoulder and said (after a shocked exclamation) in Malayalam “But why would someone say something like that?” She was very concerned about the person’s well-being and also went so far as to delicately ask if they already knew that they were dying.(!)

Needless to say it took a while for me to get it through to her that the person was probably all right and that often people listen to songs and say such things to express the magnitude of the emotion they attach to it.( I did not mention I was one of them. Whatami crazy?) All my explanations were interspersed with the occasional “Endana?”(But, why?) that my grandmother said in wonderment to herself. She finally trundled off, unsatisfied by my explanations, while saying something that roughly translates as “This youth is so morbid”

We're morbid apparently. The youth of today.

Caution: All too long a postscript to follow.

PS

And after this entire sploosh (don’t ask and I won’t have to make something up) of a blog it just struck me: Am I still in the youth category at all? I mean, ever since I was fifteen I was shooed into this 'youth' and it’s a comforting yet uncomfortable place to be in.

At this point when people said things like 'the future is theirs' or 'change is up to them' I knew they meant us; my generation, as a collective. And obviously I gloated at our good fortune of being in the limelight for that millisecond. And I gloated; every time some kid in a vague corner of the world created a working model of the universe, or became the first 'youth' to take part in a world greenpeace seminar; or became a graduate summa cumme laude in business and management or even managed to become a star at 16 (for widely unknown reasons). I watched them all and gloated with a shared sense of victory. (“Any victory of theirs is surely a victory of mine?”)

And so obviously I've gotten comfortable with the category. There are throw rugs and comfy cushions of 'ambiguity' and 'confusion' and 'silly decisions' all over the place (don't forget the humongous mattress of 'lazyarse-ness' in the corner) and I'm not sure I want to leave. But then again I don't want to be the old maid who wandered in, refused to leave and started taking over the place with her vaguely formed ideas of responsibility and maturity. (and millions of cats to add to the confusion) And so....

it’s officially over for me. Prematurely, some might say but hey, when you feel it honey, you gotta deal with it. (Too forties film dialogue like? Eh, whatever. I’m all growed up. I’ll do whatever I wants to!)

*CLICK* II

Stalking is a strange thing. The term isn't as 'tightly' defined as you'd think. When i first think stalking, I think-the guy who killed Lennon (watch Chapter 24- the most boring, creepy movie that you'll ever watch) or the kind of people who are obsessed with movie stars. But that's so totally wrong. We're all a bit stalker-ish aren't we? And more often than not we end up thinking its pretty normal or even adventurous.

Facebook, for instance. It's a veritable stalker paradise. Especially if you're in the habit of adding people you don't know. I have often been pulled into a mad session of perusing through a friend's entire album simply because my right index finger attained a mind of its own and started clicking precisely every seven and a half seconds (the time it takes for a photo to load on my slow-ass computer). This one time i happened to turn my head to the right (to stretch out a kink) and caught my expression in one of the four mirrors in my room. (another time, another story). It was a mixture of vacuousness and extreme concentration. I reached up to touch the corner of my mouth actually, very seriously expecting drool to be there. After this horrendous revelatory moment in my young adult life I decided that I would keep my photo watching to a maximum of 5 per album and one album per day. And trust me, it helped.

When you photo watch you tend to commit wholly to the most fatal flaw of humankind. You COMPARE.

Drawing comparisons is like trying to run underwater. You're always up against a wall you can't climb over and its doubly tiring. There's always a better trip, a better idea, a better angle, a better party, a better set of friends or just a gosh darned better camera.

You end up feeling lousy most of the time and extend the validity on your period of feeling "sucky" (aren't i just the chirpiest bird in the bunch?!)

Though it does have its benefits, who're we kidding!? They're all bloody superficial!
And on that cheery note...I'm off to face...er study! ;)

Non Trebling news :D

Ohhh...haha...the cheesiness of the title! *wipes tear from eye*


Darling Tups has updated Treble Notes! Go see! :)

*Click*

A two syllable (three at the most) word that holds so much more importance than you would attribute it considering its meager phonetic roots. But no one I believe, dares undervalue a good (or bad) photograph these days.

Photos are everything. They’re proof, they’re nostalgia, they’re pride, they’re shame, they’re weapons, they’re embarrassment, they’re blackmail and more often than not they’re worth a thousand words.

I must say that up until a few years ago (a.k.a in Sharu’s world as two years. Max.) I would always end up making myself look like a total buffoon in any photographs that I accidentally happened to get caught in (sometimes voluntarily but mostly involuntarily). I have since learned a few tricks that have helped me become less conscious but sometimes I revert back to old Shar and I am once again nervous and sweaty and end up looking either constipated or murderous (surprisingly how similar these two emotions look on my face).

It makes me nostalgic to think of all those times that I would run and assault anybody who had a camera and literally snatch it from them. Then I’d refuse to relinquish control while regretting every minute I spent behind my little pseudo-purdah. I didn’t realize until much later that “GOD it doesn’t matter”! Who gives a flying fuck how you look in a photograph as long as you’re there and it reminds you of something special. And trust me; people who take pleasure in pointing out your ‘retard’ moments caught on film are probably crumbling from the inside out owing to a string of insecurities. One point where I do draw the line is putting up ghastly photos on social networking sites. I mean, there’s a difference between not really caring and really bloody asking for it!

Nowadays I’d still prefer to be the one behind my camera but for totally different reasons. It’s because I have a certain affinity for candid shots of my subjects so that the instant I see it in the future it becomes a story of sorts within one single photograph. (“oh look, I’m angry here because you refused to smile just so” and “she’s running past because she’d just stolen his favourite undies” and “doesn’t he look like he wants to kill her?!” etc, etc.)

But that doesn’t stop me from wanting to be in a fair share of the photos either. Cheers to being a braver me than old me!! \m/

.....

I have been glued to the tv.

'War on mumbai' is a permanent fixture to the status bar on the right of the screen while the number of dead and injured keeps intermittently flashing accross the bottom. I've been watching since eleven last night and those numbers rose with every time they vanished and appeared again. 40 to 48 to 55 to 59 to 60 to 68 to 70 to 79 to the grand total that it is for now. 101 dead.

I'm praying for those poor people inside the hotels because i know they're twenty thousand times more scared than i am right now for them.
What is wrong with the people in this world.

Whowouldathunkit?

I recently found this. I liked it so much that i put it up here. The conversation was made totally in passing. Neither one of us was too dedicated to the thingumajig and (i'm sure) we'd forgotten about it three seconds after it ended. But i happened to see it now. And it made me smile.

Something totally inane and inconsequential made me smile today when i haven't (except out of necessity) in the past few days. Big surprise.

4:58 PM AKR: art thou fervently hoping for a time machine or a universal remote contorl?(in response to some sad status message of mine on gmail about being in the middle of exams)

4:59 PM me: hoping is sad. im building one.

AKR: really now?

me: the time machine. not the remote control

AKR: outta biscuit carton?

5:00 PM me: no..newspaper

AKR: kick ass

me: and a tv antenna

AKR: i suppose it involves complex time charts

for help you could test it out by dumping it in water and see if it comes out dry

5:02 PM me: i was thinking oil and checking if it floats...but i shall consider your idea..

what EVER does a time machine have to do with time charts?

AKR: of course it does

both deal with time

5:03 PM me: chocolate wrappers and pumpkin seeds. thats about all the extra material i need..

AKR: hmm no glue?

me: rice...its as sticky and definitely biodegradable

5:04 PM AKR: hmmm kick ass

6 minutes

5:10 PM me: yup. if only imagination got me marks.

AKR: yeah

Did it make you smile, i wonder? But then again, i know i'm completely strange so it doesn't matter. :)

The Slump of 08

Well, life's full of ups and downs they say. (I must find 'them' and have a chat with 'them')
And i'm in one of em 'downs' people.

Its a freaky place to be. But anyway, at least i'm getting some writing done. :) I have retreated into the literary world of late. And though depressing it is that i can only manage tp put together something literary when i'm depressed, it is the truth. I got out of the funk of writing about depressing things a long time ago, though. I now write what i want to write and not what i feel like. There's a difference, trust me.
Notebooks that i have hoarded like a pack rat and never used have to be dragged out of hidey-holes. And that is not something I'm familiar with. I'm actually thinking about publishing some and that's definitely new. Definitely.

Another world i'm retreating into is that of the cinema. I have watched a shitload of film(yes singular, not plural). Seriously. Five movies after which i truly thank the gods for their existence (the films, not the gods.) I've never given it enough credit. I think its an art; being able to sit motionless, in one place so engrossed in a fictional(well, mostly) character's sordid (or unsordid) life while holding your pee in long enough for you to consider that your kidneys could be failing any minute now. I made it to the loo. Just in case anyones wondering.

As a rebellious action 'gainst my literary inspirations, i'm going to leave all the 'i's from the 'I's and 'I'm's uncapitalized! So there! Depression, i ain't your bitch!
(seriously that was a huge step for me. i don't like spelling stupid words like 'douche bag' wrong. And i have the annoying habit of correcting people's english. Ah well, screw it. If its wrong, its wrong.)

And all jokes aside. I know that somethings going to happen. I'm teetering on the precipice. Waiting for that feather-touch to send me over the edge. Its not a bad thing. Its just.....imminent. And i'm ready for it.

A'nagar-Home away from Home

The vehery long blog silence has been due to my sheer laziness. One would think its because I am on vacation somewhere in the wilderness of Maharashtra but no, in fact, i am in the warm and safe confines of a beautiful house complete with computer, tata sky and access to the internet. But Dubba was over here with me for a long time and my family is a hand and armful as it is so even looking at the computer to think about writing a blog seemed like a monstrous task. I have dragged myself over here after quite an eventful few days. Today is the day before the last day here and i am feeling it :( (in me very bones Cap'n!)

Ah...what a time it has been! It was sedentary yet eventful, uneventful but peaceful and a whole lot of fun! The gazebo in the garden must have an overwhelming urge to uproot itself and leave just in case we come over again to sit for hours and have loooonng family chats that could appeal to noone but us. The corridor will be mighty empty without me rushing up and down it to get something or the other from my mess-of-a-room. And the dining table won't be groaning with the weight of food that i inhale within minutes of it being placed there.

My parents have changed a lot of houses these past three years but it doesn't matter one tiny bit as long as i get to see the things that have been around me for the past twenty years. You may know what i'm talking about but you also know thats not going to stop me from illustrating with an example. When i see the little wooden bar i feel all warm inside and and not even because of the anticipation of drinking (I don't drink much)! The same goes for the strange coconut ashtray, the twenty thousand magnets on the fridge, the pillow cases i've slept on throughout my childhood, the carpet that still has scuff marks from whenever i was overexcited and so much more. Sigh. There's no place like home. :)

The Fly Dutchmen and more important stuff

Hey ya'll!

Its Dutch men this time. I have a new band whose music i adore. I shall introduce them on treble notes when my turn eventually comes so please please check them out! Yeh!

I have had an eventful time these past two weeks! :)

The biggest news being that things finally fell into place perfectly and i got my tattoo! Its a phoenix and I'm glad that i waited till now. The munches (MMmunch and osh) were present, cringing as i did, holding my hand(without me asking) and laughing graciously at all the jokes that came as a nervous tic to me in anticipation of the awesome pain that was tattooing (I kid. It didn't hurt all that much. Pretty overrated methinks. But the jokes, i admit, were killer. ) 

One thing irks me about the whole shebazzle(thats a made-up word but you get the idea. If you don't, leave now). The minute people find out i have a tattoo, one of the FAQS is "How much?" whilst eagerly nodding waiting for a ridiculously cheap amount to pop out of my mouth (Twelve rupees!). Well, they do hear a ridiculous amount but one thats at the other end of the spectrum.

In Sharuland, i would nod authoritatively at these people while saying "the tattoo was priceless" but in the real world, i have to admit, it did set me back a bit. But regret doesn't figure in my current mindset. I feel safe and secure in the fact that it will not get infected and i will not in fact get aids (something the oldies in my family never failed to mention while shaking their heads dolefuly when i mentioned getting a tattoo) or some other disease that has nothing whatsoever to do with the needle (did i hear someone say herpes?). I'm happy that i don't have to worry that if it did happen i would have someone to blame and thereafter sue the pants off (pun intended).

Quality counts right!?

In other news(in newscaster-y voice),

• Today was Widegrin's sister's birthday and i had an utter and total BLAST! The chocolate 'non sponge' cake, the chinese food, the ghost story i told that freaked me out more than anyone else, the chain of ghost stories that followed, lorita's 'ghost story' that made me make my throat soar, the phantom knocks on wood, the hysterical laughter and photo session to top it all before the cloud on the way back home. And noone let me forget the boobage! I loved it all! Thank you WG! :)
  

• I'm leaving for Ahmadnagar tomorrow to meet the old man and woman and have a blast! :) Dubba is accompanying me and it should be a fun bus-trip. I am taking my guitar and so my co-passengers shall be well entertained. Whether they like it or not. But the guitar is to be left on the bus. My father has misplaced pride in my guitaring skills and insists on making elaborate plans that all feature me playing in front of an audience. This i do not like. And hence i shall be leaving the guitar on the bus when i reach. Why take it in the first place, you ask? Need you ask when it concerns moi?
  

It is now 2:34 a.m and i am well out of things to do online since this post is now over. 

Ciao!