I'm not dead. Yet. Woops.

Watched Guzaarish today, and I am in awe of Sanjay Leela Bhansali. The man is a genius, and his mind intrigues me. The movie's soundtrack is haunting, melodic, and it also uses a very interesting version of Lux Aeterna. There is something very belief-suspending about the landscape, the use of colours and the simplicity of his characters. Which is not to say that the story or performances lack layering.
The plot is relatively simple, incorporating in itself, among other themes, the Indian judiciary's stance on euthanasia. The cast is wonderfully ensemble - Hrithik Roshan is stunning. The man is a Greek God. Maniacal laughter, and those EYES. The way he walks when he dances - he oozes confidence while being helpless, commands your utmost respect while being a vegetable of a man. And the guy who played Omar (Aditya Roy Kapur, Iloveyouuu) is both cute AND hot. I don't know how he did it but I want him, I just do.

Interestingly I've also been appointed Health Minister in my room, or so it seems, because I'm in charge of confiscating junk food from Bed-against-the-wall, and making Third-from-the-Top take a walk everyday and drag her away from her books and stuff. Our a/c has been spewing chunks of ice into the room at random intervals. While we're aware that this needs to be addressed, no one can do the heart-breaking job of asking for it to be fixed, I mean, it SNOWS in the room (okay sure, you might have your eye put out, but that's a small price to pay for a white Christmas.)

Had lunch at a rooftop restaurant today, overlooking misty hills and trees. It started raining midway through the meal and stopped and rained again. It would have been romantic, were we not surrounded by fat balding men eating egg biryani. That, and the fact that the four other people at the table were my roommates, the ex-roommate, and the girl from the second floor.

Braces have made me incapable of biting my nails. Third-from-the-top is delighted and paints them in different colours. It doesn't take much to make people happy sometimes.

Watched far too many movies this week. Social Network (awesomeness), Dabangg (a totally different kind of awesomeness), Easy A (more awesomeness), and very little of Kynodontas (I need to grow a pair and watch this till the end, but ohmygod, I can't, I really can't.) House Season 7, which is disappointing, must finish off Weeds tomorrow and finally get down to studying something.
On the bright side, I'm going to watch Break ke Baad with the Zionist tomorrow to lech at the leads. Happytimes.

Some were born to sing the blues.

For sometimes there are times when you have no more things to have your imagination run wild with. The trouble with having all your expectations met is that your creativity takes a back seat, and you forget what it’s like to really want something, to want something to a point where you confuse it with a need.

Most people appreciate reason. All questions have answers, but there are some questions that you haven’t figured out the answer to yet. Why I do what I do is something I’m in the process of discovering. Because reason is overrated, and if we knew why everything happened then we’d be left with no sense of wonder.

Sometimes I don’t know why I do the things I do.

And I am filled with wonder. Tomorrow will not explain to me my motives, but I don’t need any, not for now.


I was very drunk,I almost got abandoned on a street, I almost got arrested on the beach for indecent exposure. I ate too many potatoes and dessert, got in trouble with management, and I have too much gravel in my hair for anyone's good.

You are not Prince Charming, you stopped being him when I forgot to leave a shoe behind. But you'll do, despite the rats on the street, overpriced vehicular transport, and clothes you wear for three days, you'll do very nicely. :)

Just because it does not make sense does not mean it was not fun. Oh no.

That Girl.

"Dude, don't be mean about her, she's got progeria okay? - Dhatt, she's just a petridish. Moving on."

"Kalmuhi. Karamjali. Kulakshini. RANNNNDDDIIIIIII. Whatte bad girl she is."

"They broke up? Awwwwww. - No they didn't. It's a plan to get friends. - Ugh, bitch. Fuckface. Asshole. I take my sympathy back."

"So you're FRIENDS with her now? Get out of my room."

"OHMYGOD WILL YOU JUST LEAVE ALREADY?"

I finally love this town?

In Vellore. 
Back to too many people in one room at odd timings, food, and so much of it, people you know, people you DON'T know, people you wish knew you better, people you wish you didn't know at all, Bengali movies with chanachur, apparently there is a carrom board, to hastily written letters, and plans, ohsomany plans.

The post title is from a song by Tired Pony. 

The Magical World of Disney

I finally got my room mates to watch Mulan with me last night. I love that movie and they love that movie and I think I like them a little more now. 

we're having a house warming party tonight.

pictures soon.

Found the beauty in the aftermath

I can and I will and you can't tell me not to.
The Young and the Clueless and the Stupid would be a good bandname, we would make indie sounds fresh from the garage, if you listen closely you could hear the garage owners asking us to get the fuck out of their garage.
My Electrical Engineering Teacher looks like someone compressed him in those machines you find at landfills. Like a little dabba, he is. And he gets so excited at the thought of circuits, it's actually sort of pathetic.
I wonder, I wonder wonder what would happen if someone stole my room mate's phone and she'd be forced to socialise instead of talk to Boyfriend 17 out of 24 hours. DON'T look at me I talk to other people too. Not just on the Internet.
I am a Social Butterfly.



Okay.
Social Moth.
One of these days I will write a song that sort of rhymes and not be ashamed of writing it.
Dinner in the mess is useless tonight. I don't know why I said that but it felt rather important to get that out in the open.

This is bat-shit crazy, man!

This is extremely funny at fucking 6.30 am in the fucking morning.
I'm obnoxious when I'm sleep-deprived.

"Take a Sad Song"

R2: "Death, among other things, results in lack of production of sperm. Or ova, depending on gender."

Now what logic in the world can possibly counteract that?

If you have me on Facebook, you would know by now that I've been OD-ing on the song Transatlanticism by Death Cab for Cutie. And if you're not on my Facebook, well you know now.
It's a depressing song. Morbid. Cold stone heart-types and everything.
Aha ki anondo.
Oh, and Venerable Senior Didi and Grand Poobah of All Things Unnecessary 's latest post made me think. If I was ever in a band, I think I'd want to make intimate music. The kind that exists in that airspace between your headphones and your eardrum when you curl up under a quilt trying to forget your day. I'd want my music to be what your subconscious sounds like, so that you'd be completely creeped out, in awe of of me. Oh, and I'd want to be part of a band. With one very unusual instrument. Like the kazoo, or a didgeridoo, or a shamisen.

And when we travel on tours, we shall tour to places that generally don't have shows. Like Calcutta. And we shall not tour in places which already have concerts. Like ANYWHERE IN AMERICA. Fack you betchez.

Also, we shall never contribute to the soundtrack of any of the Twilight series.

So basically we shall be rather cool.

"Love Lies Bleeding in My Hand"

So you know what? The idea of a boyfriend pisses me off a tad.
I mean seriously.
R2 has an ex she has not gotten over since forever, and even though he's made it quite clear that they're O-V-U-R (I refer of course, to Kath and Kim), she will not and is physically incapable of not talking about him.
R3 is going out with someone in her class. And they just started going out yesterday so she will not and is physically incapable of not being able to grin and hop and skip and re-enact scenes. It's dinner AND a show.
R4 is single. But she doesn't care. (No, I do not refer to myself as R4, R4 is an actual another person.)
R5 is practically married and R5 spends all her time on telecommunication devices. (This isn't me either, she's another person also.)

Me?
I'm a cynical bastard who is physically incapable of sneering at all romantic stereotypes.
I've never had an ex so I do not know what it's like to be hung up on someone, and frankly, I think I'm kind of over the waiting-and-wishing-for-Johnny-Depp-to-wake-up-and-notice me thing.
I'm not going out with someone in my class. Even if I had a lobotomy, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest style, I would not consider going out with any of those horny bastards. They're just too much fun to actually care about.
I am not single either, neither am I practically married. Rather, I am both, but then again, you know what? I'm neither also.
So that brings us down to the singular realisation that I, R1, am a cynical bastard.
I scoff at stories of roses delivered across seven seas.
I do not melt at songs that typically make a group pair up and sigh and dance.
But, but, but, don't label me heartless just yet, you know what, I do have a heart. (I'm going to not refer to anything for a while here).
I DO have a heart. I do *clap* I do.
The kind that makes me want to stalk Gary Lightbody.
The kind that makes me spend nothing on myself for two months so I can spend 800/- on Indiapost.
You know that thing that sometimes aches (only when I have a cold, but then I guess it's the phlegm and not the heart, but I'm not erasing this because it makes me poetic) and reminds me that I'm human. You know, because sometimes parents will not understand, and you just want a best friend you can kiss.
And this THING, this stupid black stone heart, it reminds me that one day I'm going to die.

Tell me you'll remember me.
Tell me you thought I was the awesomest person you ever knew. And I'll wave a little fire spark your way from Hell, which is where I'll be.