tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-332093432024-03-07T20:29:35.267-08:00MyristylationI used to think that the world revolves around me until i met you.freudian sliphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03467510686904246757noreply@blogger.comBlogger45125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33209343.post-66121127315469483342018-02-04T08:39:00.000-08:002018-07-20T13:21:10.014-07:00The bearded Eunuch- A lyrical rant about a pui (fart) freudian sliphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03467510686904246757noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33209343.post-71881710974652399052018-01-29T11:52:00.000-08:002018-01-29T11:52:28.243-08:00I am back.
I know no-one is visiting this place.But here I am.
I will be posting weekly.
So long freudian sliphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03467510686904246757noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33209343.post-79804622744654475582010-10-13T10:03:00.002-07:002010-10-13T22:54:02.137-07:00And then it happened..<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZSKNG6R50e9uRV_Z5xZDboygXFZL_0hHnsIxTeQUgzvqeSDGIKu0JFr6gugS5TZ7tCwxz_tvKWwovtUV5RVFtdLZZ8fEzsH9azheWj54yv5LbHjoxAREF71U0oN-ir-o5dQGG/s1600/irrfan-khan-life-of-pi.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 227px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZSKNG6R50e9uRV_Z5xZDboygXFZL_0hHnsIxTeQUgzvqeSDGIKu0JFr6gugS5TZ7tCwxz_tvKWwovtUV5RVFtdLZZ8fEzsH9azheWj54yv5LbHjoxAREF71U0oN-ir-o5dQGG/s320/irrfan-khan-life-of-pi.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5527582349488638722" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />It was the end of higher secondary. The days were long and life was empty. On a lazy Sunday afternoon, she sat in her bedroom watching the movie ‘Haasil’. She finished watching it. She couldn’t get him out of her head. Somebody told her about ‘Maqbool’. She couldn’t get him or the movie out of her head after watching it. She went online and saw that there was ‘Charas’ another Tigmanshu Dhulia production. After a lot of searching, she found it in one of the video libraries. She watched it and then it happened...<br /><br />His name was Irrfan. In the days that followed she was going to watch every movie of his that was ever made, and she did. Warrior, Chehraa, Rog and even the star bestseller episodes like ‘Ek sham ki Mulaqaat’. Then came ‘Saade saath phere’, ‘Chocolate’ and the daily ‘Mano ya na mano’. She followed his moves obsessively. Everytime he came on the TV in a promo, her heart skipped a beat. Was this love? What was this crazy obsession about a man who everyone thought was ugly? What drew her to him? Was it his screen presence or those intense eyes? Slowly her internet hours were consumed in browsing for his pictures, interviews, movie clips, anything that featured him. She chanced upon his phone number on his official website. And she thought to herself “this is it! A msg never hurt anyone”’<br /> “Dear Mr. Irrfan,<br />My name is Apoorva. I have been following you.. (sounds like stalking)<br />Love your movies. They rock! (Dumb, childish.)<br />I discovered your movies recently and I must say you are brilliant, to say the least. I wish you all the best and hope that the world opens its eyes to your talent”. <br />- Apoorva<br /> (SEND)<br /><br />Within two minutes my phone pinged. “ONE NEW MESSAGE”. I jumped from my seat. It said “thank you very much, but how did u get my num”?<br />I screamed in joy and said I found it on his website and asked if I could call him. That night I called and we spoke for exactly 4 and a half minutes. I told him how I felt about his movies and how much it had changed my perception about actors. He was very gracious and hung up after saying I could msg or call him anytime I liked. I was elated. <br /><br />As a fan, I find words less to describe how much I adore this man as an actor. Needless to say the next one year was spent in watching his movies and msging him about them and believe me, I got replies for every one of my msgs. He even msged telling me to watch ‘Saadhe saath phere’ in the theatre. We had the ideal fan- celeb relationship. My parents called him their celebrity son- in- law.<br /><br />His movies were my religion. Magazines heralded him ‘The thinking woman’s sex symbol’. I agreed more also because it made me a ‘thinking woman’. I loved his eyes, his dry dialogue delivery, his lean body, his mean persona. I loved the way the camera could just rest on his face, caressing the lines on it. I watched his movies as soon as they came. Through him I discovered vishal bharadwaj movies, pankaj kapur, kay kay menon, even tabu and mira nair movies. Vodafone hired him. ‘A mighty heart’ happened and he remained stoic unlike other ‘bollywood’ stars who make a big fuss about going ‘hollywood’. <br /><br />Well, the world is a small place. My grandfather being an actor, was offered a movie to be directed by an English man which also featured Irrfan. I waited very long to meet this man, but the movie got shelved. My heart broke.<br /> <br />My craze has abated a bit over the years. I watch his movies now too. But I have realized that no matter how many years pass, he will always remain my favourite actor.freudian sliphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03467510686904246757noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33209343.post-62757372783572208492010-09-25T09:49:00.000-07:002010-09-25T09:53:20.859-07:00You know you are in OBGyn when..<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG8UHeFlTG0CnD0nc4vsUQpH3MIxTQvGleckWCVGYLKtqDwBYldhirule_84fYsa8w4JmTrLIaTimHwzAn0_tK8h7EvcMiLCMNjBU2GhgQDuzwoTs-5rSm0uxM2n0aGZsKhTJ6/s1600/2630699251_3d71a06feb_o.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 250px; height: 262px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG8UHeFlTG0CnD0nc4vsUQpH3MIxTQvGleckWCVGYLKtqDwBYldhirule_84fYsa8w4JmTrLIaTimHwzAn0_tK8h7EvcMiLCMNjBU2GhgQDuzwoTs-5rSm0uxM2n0aGZsKhTJ6/s320/2630699251_3d71a06feb_o.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5520894974777999666" /></a><br /><br /><br />-you can work for 36 hours straight.<br />-you can arrange for one pint of whole blood anywhere, anytime.<br />-you are immune to death screams.<br />-you can survive on just coffee for hours and hours.<br />-you don't want to have a baby. EVER. / you dont want your wife to go through THAT.<br />-you are immune to jabs, being told off, screamed at etc by professors.<br />-you can eat in the labour room cubicle( yes, novices, try it on your first day, you wouldn't)<br />-your apron has blood, meconium, urine and amniotic fluid on it.<br />-you write @ the speed of light.<br />-you are so tired, you just want to curl up and sleep all the time.<br />-you dread NSTs and their outcome for problem patients because that means you have to scrub at 3 am.<br />-you suck up to nurses<br />-you wonder how anyone could ever take this specialty by choice.<br />-you cross off the days left for it to end.<br /> ....freudian sliphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03467510686904246757noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33209343.post-19188620758213819872010-02-13T11:50:00.000-08:002010-02-13T11:54:16.340-08:00Valentine!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX2iiPyhOKuT8mmrDcNCjynP0EF-cUMzrmL38d90n-c8HFftlbBlsxkWXw1mhQjDcmbWEqeY2IMg_iib0Gjb0PhdR9R66ydeavq_wXvyBoooxuZcE6X6_3S8OiBQECkonPcl2n/s1600-h/2219235903_97bc752a0d.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX2iiPyhOKuT8mmrDcNCjynP0EF-cUMzrmL38d90n-c8HFftlbBlsxkWXw1mhQjDcmbWEqeY2IMg_iib0Gjb0PhdR9R66ydeavq_wXvyBoooxuZcE6X6_3S8OiBQECkonPcl2n/s320/2219235903_97bc752a0d.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5437818689276966754" /></a><br />Yeah so it’s Valentine’s Day and I am thinking to myself, “lucky people in love”. I find it really cute that people think of telling their loved ones on this day about how they really feel. Valentine’s Day brings to mind the images of pink stuff, be it kittens, flowers, cards, balloons, letters written on pink paper and condoms maybe? I don’t know, I just ran out of things to list. <br /><br />Well anyway, this V day too, considering no one is going to tell me how they feel, I am single. I have never had my fairy tale romance. No man/ woman/ man- pretending –to- be-a- woman/ woman- pretending to- be-a- man has ever told me that they will love me till the end of the world. I have got the odd rose or an odd letter or an odd ‘I love you’ from a couple of young men gallant enough to fleetingly love me. <br /><br />How much do we experience real love? With our parents, our siblings, our grandparents, our close friends, our pets, I mean with these people its a pure, unadulterated feeling of togetherness. I think we should take time out to genuinely appreciate and cherish that more.<br /><br />Real love can also be towards our profession, the work we do, the hobbies we nurture, really anything that we dive into and become one with. <br /><br />Coming to the mushy sweetheart love, if u get that, great. But if you don’t, there may be someone out there who may really love you in secret. Think if the one person who is there with you in the hardest of times, who listens to you no matter how busy he/she is, who goes out of the way to make life easier for you. If there is such a person, make V day about them. Love them back. Nobody will appreciate it more than they will. Its worth loving such a person. <br /><br />If there is no such person either, doesn’t matter. The whole object of V day is to love, whether you get love back in return or not. Most importantly, never lose hope, because love is all around! You just have to be gracious enough to acknowledge its presence. <br /><br />Wishing you luck and a great day! Cheers.freudian sliphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03467510686904246757noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33209343.post-2048943838227164852010-01-16T10:31:00.000-08:002010-01-16T10:33:00.653-08:00SuicideA blank white screen stares back at me. My mood flits between heart wrenching sadness, cynicism and wry smiles in a matter of milliseconds. My face is a myriad of emotions. All showing themselves at the same time converting my face into a pseudo tranquil expression. <br /><br />You know the reason for this is you. You are on my mind. It hasn’t been any different since years. You are the reason I took to so many things. Yes I could feel my life revolve around you like an insignificant asteroid around a huge planet. I pretended you don’t matter but I can’t pretend. Never could. I only have to look past the focal point of my vision and there you are. Like a continuous tape never tired of playing itself. I hoped the tape would eventually burn itself out but it hasn’t. It’s still going strong. Oh please stop. Please. <br /><br />I want to break down and cry like a defeated and wounded man. But tears evade me. They just won’t come. There is a lump in the throat that I am not able to swallow. Its choking me. <br /><br />You haunt my dreams. Even my dreams are filled with images that leave my heart hungry for more. My dreams were supposed to be fulfilling. But they too are on your side, constantly reminding me of my unrequited love. <br /><br />I am fucking tired Rhea. Why don’t you just die?<br /><br />I want to.freudian sliphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03467510686904246757noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33209343.post-68412028498503336242009-09-21T04:41:00.000-07:002009-09-25T10:25:02.957-07:00Evil Geppetto"Lets break her spirit", <br />The manipulator whispered to himself,<br />Lull her into a delusional sense;<br />Let her fall hard,<br />Again, and again, and again.<br /><br />Limerance, let her experience,<br />Let dreams haunt her even in wakefulness;<br />Let her despair show in every moment,<br />Let her neglect, her body and mind.<br /><br />Now gloating at his marionette, the manipulator looked at her,<br />She sits in a corner, staring into space.<br />Plucking out her crown hair one by one, <br />Picking her nose, hearing voices.<br />Her ragged clothes cling to her body, <br />She hasn’t looked at herself, delusions.. nihilistic.. haha<br /><br /><br />***<br /><br />Poor puppeteer, poor manipulator, He pities you.<br />She sits there alone, unkempt.<br />But you only think you have her spirit.<br />But another puppeteer, He made sure,<br />Her spirit is hers alone.freudian sliphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03467510686904246757noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33209343.post-37271008174030353662009-09-06T11:23:00.001-07:002009-09-20T01:23:31.185-07:00Ashes<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPMM9cZwUXosA2EQj5xuyUErcDv_phVo9OGZX8pcm_wXKYk5fxbYGBjcDcTfSR5Z6DjvOth8JFGlXUC0PElV5lcYObZ4X098EcfxgD0P7vzAog0Am_tMQ5xD6TSeaMEHz10YxF/s1600-h/end_friendship2-300x336.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 286px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPMM9cZwUXosA2EQj5xuyUErcDv_phVo9OGZX8pcm_wXKYk5fxbYGBjcDcTfSR5Z6DjvOth8JFGlXUC0PElV5lcYObZ4X098EcfxgD0P7vzAog0Am_tMQ5xD6TSeaMEHz10YxF/s320/end_friendship2-300x336.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378422528103922002" /></a><br /><br />As I danced around the fire, a flying cinder burned my toe; I bent down to tend to it.<br />I looked up, gasped, shocked by the throng of figures, around the fire. Evil faces, full of hate. Squinting at the burning mass, I thought I saw my face on the effigy’s.freudian sliphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03467510686904246757noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33209343.post-89455370054648485922009-07-15T11:20:00.000-07:002009-07-15T11:38:05.877-07:00PainLong ago, I remember my first encounter with Harrison’s principles of internal medicine. I was in 2nd year, it was a wintry December evening and I was in the library. I opened this textbook for the first time and started reading symptomatology. I was so absorbed by the book in no time. The first chapter I read was ‘pain’. “What a beginning”! I remember thinking. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR5yWwVLgtAuf9btp-iMzIoM_2gdqv-iDrBFj0O8Ci72dd-X_YdEBbLa305IqeE7bDV0fLTxaBdKEKlcr6sZmUt3Ab59sWvSpdgDKZcY2Eq0_HAmDzTYuuAQrqiUAE4PW9L95j/s1600-h/Harrison's+Principles+of+Internal+Medicine,+17th.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 249px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR5yWwVLgtAuf9btp-iMzIoM_2gdqv-iDrBFj0O8Ci72dd-X_YdEBbLa305IqeE7bDV0fLTxaBdKEKlcr6sZmUt3Ab59sWvSpdgDKZcY2Eq0_HAmDzTYuuAQrqiUAE4PW9L95j/s320/Harrison's+Principles+of+Internal+Medicine,+17th.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358753818261936770" /></a><br /><br />I was intrigued by pain thanks to Harrison. <br /><br />A large part of pain is psychological as most of us know. Just the suggestion of pain and attention to the pain-causing stimulus adds to the agony. Come on, didn’t the dull stinging in your heel turn into a full- blown, tantrum- throwing, howling when you SAW the thorn in your heel? Yes you poor baby, I know you were in pain, but your pain increased when you paid attention to what caused it.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJQ6VUnpSAaQTJ1-v0Au01tVuCeaz0yufXC6xGFan-bwfFp6ey41Vl9IRX0X28Vg6UN7hgCg1ChCV_Cx-IC3BKqTm6FI9b-eMXov1xYDx322AaVTDVj9FJlhLovBP6P17iCyaC/s1600-h/crying%2520girl.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 291px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJQ6VUnpSAaQTJ1-v0Au01tVuCeaz0yufXC6xGFan-bwfFp6ey41Vl9IRX0X28Vg6UN7hgCg1ChCV_Cx-IC3BKqTm6FI9b-eMXov1xYDx322AaVTDVj9FJlhLovBP6P17iCyaC/s320/crying%2520girl.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358757562066266146" /></a><br /><br /><br />The concept of fear of pain was what caught my fancy the most. Sample this,MOST of the neuronal projections carrying the sensation of pain project to the areas in your brain that sub serve unpleasant emotions like suffering, crying, and the sheer dread/ fear of pain. To explain better the fear of pain- consider the Chinese water torture where the victim dreads the next drop of water falling on his forehead or worse still, the small of his back. Drops of water fall in undetermined although frequent intervals on the small of his back or his forehead. The part becomes stiff and frozen after some time. The victim is in constant fear of the next drop falling on that painful, stiff area and the drops do not fall in regular intervals. The next drop could be seconds later or minutes later or the steady dripping may resume hours later. YEAARRGH! Frustration, pain, lord! Enough to drive anyone to insanity.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwkEgIEfe745gpSk8eIYiI6RbXZK5pI3Rar8N0g_0hYVANEcsaZRZNsZ9ZvDR4rYIo7kRJYaXjJ2RWOY0qiDBOQKa231K8FOyB77Ocbqb5gX_9wt-JilMpqw_AtyzM1SMHba83/s1600-h/Copyrighted_Image_Reuse_Prohibited_50496.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 245px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwkEgIEfe745gpSk8eIYiI6RbXZK5pI3Rar8N0g_0hYVANEcsaZRZNsZ9ZvDR4rYIo7kRJYaXjJ2RWOY0qiDBOQKa231K8FOyB77Ocbqb5gX_9wt-JilMpqw_AtyzM1SMHba83/s320/Copyrighted_Image_Reuse_Prohibited_50496.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358754835585708866" /></a><br /><br /> <br /><br />Pain modulation- soldiers don’t feel pain even when they suffer major fractures, thanks to their adrenaline charged states. Remember Rudy Youngblood a.k.a.’ jaguar paw’ running miles and miles to escape being caught by his captors even after being stabbed through and through in his abdomen? On the other hand, normally, you’d grimace even before the needle pricks your precious bum. Thanks to pain modulation, it’s theoretically possible to induce pain without any external stimulus. Think voodoo! I mean just expecting pain does weird things with your brain and you appreciate the pain more. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-dIv0mCCmwHsS6veFgK5kdLaqBQYQbKL5a0ofEWVmBEt6V302xbTXjtin7lmB9_ZBP0LDcFcOvMocyG7cFF3oG-TyvuX_bBJdTUqQMJSD2Qs2bjQKF0d1mqlQDDR3Q1qKSZSg/s1600-h/061207_MOV_apocalyptoEX.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 288px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-dIv0mCCmwHsS6veFgK5kdLaqBQYQbKL5a0ofEWVmBEt6V302xbTXjtin7lmB9_ZBP0LDcFcOvMocyG7cFF3oG-TyvuX_bBJdTUqQMJSD2Qs2bjQKF0d1mqlQDDR3Q1qKSZSg/s320/061207_MOV_apocalyptoEX.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358754987969825970" /></a><br /> <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7udoypKwEDmOXfGtmiUBTtqAX0G2Wz6mvnQr5DWySijry1JXSr638UxQDTBTAmFaZ-J5hA7YQZ1joAgm5eVfAXnT7TRJi9_ryjT3xoKcZqrUAmKpv4t7XDCDsCaW0IUOrwMQX/s1600-h/1028759613_e24f2a59a0.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7udoypKwEDmOXfGtmiUBTtqAX0G2Wz6mvnQr5DWySijry1JXSr638UxQDTBTAmFaZ-J5hA7YQZ1joAgm5eVfAXnT7TRJi9_ryjT3xoKcZqrUAmKpv4t7XDCDsCaW0IUOrwMQX/s320/1028759613_e24f2a59a0.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358755098497486242" /></a><br /><br />Pain tolerance is fascinating. Some women howl and howl in labour from the very beginning, while some clench their teeth and fists and get it over with without a single cry escaping them. <br />What’s a mild stinging for someone is a chest crushing tractor for someone else. <br /> <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS8klvJgZ0dImEbCl02-IMKNq04BmC35yqbgMTxtaCOXGSGYkyCHwkekElUQPekGPHwr5mGf_8CruEUhfng_5xmqncjyKgKaPnvZZ5i47_5vyg0snNtSds663BA5fSt2ib7bhS/s1600-h/061213sghi_6.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 309px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS8klvJgZ0dImEbCl02-IMKNq04BmC35yqbgMTxtaCOXGSGYkyCHwkekElUQPekGPHwr5mGf_8CruEUhfng_5xmqncjyKgKaPnvZZ5i47_5vyg0snNtSds663BA5fSt2ib7bhS/s320/061213sghi_6.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358755267991009218" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimzA6pSIDZnYKyGGoAlSCD6mXYIlVPCu1K3nKouWz9yzn9EIMZfJ0hl2BRWF9HjItKz8SWeRXdzoDtDVtf-u62VBVPpWMByTu_ktvZrQ76i89vEm-5bdF7F82JtQ1qQtwWL66W/s1600-h/angelina_tattoo.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 318px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimzA6pSIDZnYKyGGoAlSCD6mXYIlVPCu1K3nKouWz9yzn9EIMZfJ0hl2BRWF9HjItKz8SWeRXdzoDtDVtf-u62VBVPpWMByTu_ktvZrQ76i89vEm-5bdF7F82JtQ1qQtwWL66W/s320/angelina_tattoo.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358755448043467538" /></a><br /><br /><br /> <br />Pain is also addictive, think of those getting multiple tattoos or even self- mutilating ‘cutters’. Beyond a point, nothing is painful enough for that high they get after self harm. Scary! Fact is, the body’s defense mechanism is to release endorphins after sometime of suffering pain which alleviate it a little. People strive for that endorphin rush. Endorphin is an opioid after all. Err... Like morphine and heroine.<br /> <br /><br /><br /><br />No, I am not a masochist, thrilled and turned on by the idea of pain. I just happen to have a certain innocent fascination for it.freudian sliphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03467510686904246757noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33209343.post-18881639183258869812009-07-09T10:21:00.000-07:002009-07-09T10:39:59.639-07:00Remember the time<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim7IXfbZxPQhqj8aFMVA05goIxurayh9UKv134nJK0CsaBO7wzKEQOna7Lg3ANBVzTST61nvISpk7iiSH-loutUOjhie3sEddys8Cg714embAzD7mP8YtrMqVciuQJ5U3lQD_C/s1600-h/childhood_picture_Michael+Jackson.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 163px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim7IXfbZxPQhqj8aFMVA05goIxurayh9UKv134nJK0CsaBO7wzKEQOna7Lg3ANBVzTST61nvISpk7iiSH-loutUOjhie3sEddys8Cg714embAzD7mP8YtrMqVciuQJ5U3lQD_C/s320/childhood_picture_Michael+Jackson.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356516508525888338" /></a><br /><br />He is god. God picked him and imbued him with His essence and sent him on earth to live among ordinary mortals. This great man was born to a father who beat him, terrorized him, teased him about his looks, and gave him nightmares about kidnap by turning up in his room with a scary mask in the dead of the night. The father also hung him upside down and beat him repeatedly. The boy would feel nauseous with fear and start to regurgitate just at the sight of his father entering his room. He wasn’t allowed to play like the other kids. He was forced to work for hours at end and he would cry alone. He would cry silently even when the other people, the outside world clamoured for him. <br /><br />He suffered because he had a talent. No. talent is too small a word. He suffered because he was blessed with a divine power. <br /><br />He was five when he started singing and showcasing his talent. He sang ‘baby baby baby’ and the world listened enthralled at this prodigy.<br /><br />He grew up and was destined to suffer for all his internal demons. But when he danced, he created a tumult in everyone’s hearts. He made kids of maybe every nationality break dance and moon walk in their rooms in front of their mirrors. He made women gasp and men envious of his dancer’s body which was sexy to say the least. Many can ‘pop and lock’ but when you watched him, you knew he was inimitable, untouchable. It seemed like god resided in his every move. It was god when he isolated parts of his body, as if they didn’t belong there, but yet all of his body was in perfect harmony with his mind and the music to which his body flowed easily like water. <br /><br />He was too perfect. He delivered hit after hit, each different from the last. His videos were other- worldly, born in the mind of someone alarmingly creative and shrewd. Through his songs and videos he talked of women stalkers, old love, the occult, criminal gangs, racism and world peace in the same catchy, feet tapping, mind boggling vein, enough to drive both young and old into a frenzied love for him. <br /><br />Along came the time when he began to change, for all the raging conflicts so common to all creative geniuses. The conflicts in him burst forth in the form of chimps for pets and body dysmorphic disorder, forcing him to make the plastic surgeon his constant companion. He could never look into the mirror without being disgusted by his face, thanks to his father calling him ugly repeatedly when he was growing up. He would cover his face and quail at the sight of his own face. He changed from being a handsome young man to something gruesome in the following years. People associated his name with the height of weirdness. They mocked him, ridiculed him. They reviled him when he was discovered to be a pedophile. <br /><br />He took it all. He continued giving us music. There is no way divine talent can be curbed. He continued his music, his charity, his amusement park and all that he stood for. <br /><br />People reviled him to no end. He was the butt of all jokes about weirdness. They stopped thinking of all his genius, his works of amazing creativity. His stage presence, his entertaining capabilities were all forgotten. All they saw was a bleached man with a face falling to pieces and a reputation that no miracle could revive.<br /><br />But all he wanted from life probably was to be loved. But the world abused him just like his father had. It was nobody’s business how he wanted to look or live. And yet, voyeuristic mortals that we all are, we wanted the dirty details to satisfy our curiosity. <br /><br />He could take it no more. God had sent him to uplift the world’s knowledge of what can be pure, unadulterated talent. But we chose to look at his other side. And so, he was taken back because even god was saddened by our treatment of him. <br />When he died, the world has truly realized what a symbol of greatness it had truly lost. <br /><br />Love you MJ. <br /><br />MJ forever. Our grief only deepens as the days pass. Hope you are in a much better place. We will always remember the time you were here and enriched our lives.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV38yaHwsxe29NziMRoMR31RMnjXKbKLt8BMFr48p5va44lT7A2C9CjQiNSDIE4fMTLaSXtkkfmbWC5jOfDPhtzsOTYYgQL7ge91F4AAUqwzJFjjSIHoEs3ubK3wCLSkeDwJfd/s1600-h/mj.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 262px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV38yaHwsxe29NziMRoMR31RMnjXKbKLt8BMFr48p5va44lT7A2C9CjQiNSDIE4fMTLaSXtkkfmbWC5jOfDPhtzsOTYYgQL7ge91F4AAUqwzJFjjSIHoEs3ubK3wCLSkeDwJfd/s320/mj.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356512620358024338" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_ZMa5O90R5wR_vzIlYcSLySOkkboTzx0Hp1RPa8gQu18aMUFiMfwLodoYpVi0mt1T7CEwl9qaAJCQLwSDbCncvmi78tAxaTUUS939Mf0v-KvA3WBe7cIcxa4JsyqWe6JdP7kO/s1600-h/n19691681472_248511_5675.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 290px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_ZMa5O90R5wR_vzIlYcSLySOkkboTzx0Hp1RPa8gQu18aMUFiMfwLodoYpVi0mt1T7CEwl9qaAJCQLwSDbCncvmi78tAxaTUUS939Mf0v-KvA3WBe7cIcxa4JsyqWe6JdP7kO/s320/n19691681472_248511_5675.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356512488734219650" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/raVYPJqUfxI&hl=en&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/raVYPJqUfxI&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>freudian sliphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03467510686904246757noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33209343.post-74718452252170000542009-07-09T03:58:00.000-07:002009-07-09T09:22:18.347-07:00Fair and lovely, bikini babesThe bored in bikinis hotties. I love this stuff. I think that shitty show called G talk in M TV with those bimbettes, shambhavi and anmol was based on this, although they weren’t wearing bikinis of course. <br /><br /> Theses air-brained bikini models have nothing for brains but make up for it with their amazingly toned, white face and bodies. It’s crazy how obsessed we are with looks and outward appearances. When I ask my male friends how they want their women to be, its maddening to hear “oh well, she should be hot of course, must be wearing a little black/red dress with her cleavage showing, her hair should be straight and shiny, she must be capable of holding a conversation, if not, she should just be ultra feminine, well- groomed, beautiful blah blah blah” Basically everyone wants to date a bikini model. And of course it doesn’t matter that the men in question are sloppy, either over-weight or stick thin, awkward- around -women and oh are they well groomed?. Yeah, right. They are not. <br /><br />So when I watch these videos, I lament at the standards our society has created which everyone is expected to follow. It has come down to make-up, being size-zero and wearing skimpy clothes. Deny it all you want, but I do not think that it’s the age of the woman. It has in fact regressed more. In the name of surging ahead, the demure, sari- clad women who get picked by men as wives have been replaced by size zero models that prance. . I say it’s regressed because it has gone from describing women as ‘weddable’ to’ beddable‘. All women are expected to be perfect with no flaw in sight. A little extra fat is blasphemous and girls with pimples or any other skin affliction are just written off. I recently read a blog where this guy stated coolly that he was eyeing a hottie and didn’t realize until later that there was another girl with her. It seems he and his friends thought she was a ‘dark cloud’ but later realized that she was a girl. And oh don’t even get me started on the age-old ‘fair and lovely’ image. *barfs at the word ‘fair’*<br /><br />I have often been called a staunch feminist who can never ever call anyone ugly even if she is actually ‘a cow’... Seriously, I cringe at such derogatory terms used for women. I strongly believe that every woman is beautiful. If you don’t care enough to spot her beauty, you probably haven’t matured enough. <br /> <br />Enough idealistic talk. Enjoy the video and laugh at the supposed joke ‘we girls needn’t have brains, only a good figure is enough’.<br /><br />You are right. I do not love this stuff although I said I do in the first line. <br /><br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/-2bPi0uCW5s&hl=en&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/-2bPi0uCW5s&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>freudian sliphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03467510686904246757noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33209343.post-5321466087454833592009-07-08T06:07:00.000-07:002009-07-08T06:18:01.176-07:00The dynamics of my vacations<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3vBnPFkaoDBqJnSwd-GGc3ayWV5vdQz1qYKT4tPtPpaihMriBDhwu24Ipj6T8gRQyN62lgaIF05sIo6ichmDPMxW97f18fijV9hSJGj7G5HxN6aVnpBjS8F45zBoeoNF82QR7/s1600-h/Image011.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3vBnPFkaoDBqJnSwd-GGc3ayWV5vdQz1qYKT4tPtPpaihMriBDhwu24Ipj6T8gRQyN62lgaIF05sIo6ichmDPMxW97f18fijV9hSJGj7G5HxN6aVnpBjS8F45zBoeoNF82QR7/s320/Image011.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356075956478214546" /></a><br /><br />I study, study and study some more when my exams are nearing. I solemnly swear to myself that I’ll never study this last minute and swear once more that I’ll spend my holidays diligently poring over my books. I curse myself for wasting even a minute fooling around with my friends rather than coining mnemonics for the eye signs in primary thyrotoxicosis. I curse my obscene weight- gain, thanks to long hours spent cramming and not lifting my butt off the chair for fifteen hours or more a day, think to myself that I look 5 months pregnant. The deal is that basically curse all my ‘enviable’ time management skills which led to the pathetic state of affairs a month or two before exams which leads to a downhill course of my health, (I get this hacking, tuberculosis patient cough from too much tension that does not let me sleep) appearance (I told you about the weight gain) and my high strung, will- start-hearing- voices- anytime-now-from- cracking-up state of mind. <br /><br />So the exams get over, I think I’ve done pretty well, I come home. Then it starts all over again, I slack off again completely. All my plans to start reading for my next exam, go right out of the window. I study for like four hours a day, think to myself that I have studied so much when I am supposed to be enjoying my vacations and slack off some more, reducing the time to three hours the next day. I withdraw into a shell, brood over my life’s innumerable mistakes, obsess over my friendships, family, relationships and would-have-been relationships and pick out one day of my vacation to continuously text a certain someone and bore him with my still not- so- extinguished feelings. If the vacay is short, the rest of it is over brooding over it some more. I also cut off contact with my friends for a few days till they frantically come banging on my door, threatening to break it down. Even then, I refuse to open up. I sleep at 2 in the night watching movies, get up at 12 or 11 (if I am lucky), read some book, eat, gain some more weight, i check my email a few hundred times a day and log in to facebook not less than thirty thousand times a day. But beneath all the laziness, my aggressive type- A personality which formerly used to consider any minute not spent studying as a minute wasted, howls in agony. For that side of me, holidays are the pits. I wonder why on earth our college has to give procrastinating people like me more time to procrastinate. <br /><br />So there, that’s my holidays, in a nutshell. But since these holidays have begun, I’ve noticed some change in the godforsaken pattern. I find myself being proactive for a change. Why, yesterday I went to the government hospital to see a few cases, I am studying a bit and today I actually went running when it was raining! Talk about being motivated! But it’s been only 4 days really, since the holidays have begun and it’s definitely too early to comment on how the days ahead are going to take shape. Also, there is the fact that I have cut off contact with friends to be a recluse. So there are signs of this too turning into a stereotype vacay. There are good signs and bad. Let’s see how it turns out. <br /><br />*fingers crossed*. Please pray that I do something productive.freudian sliphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03467510686904246757noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33209343.post-90276010021664343912008-05-16T10:01:00.000-07:002008-05-18T00:52:20.103-07:00White noise<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZnQ7-uHksgrB6nseQgUz077Uh34ZK6SlS-jFk1jikUeNWGgjHt1DbNkMr-fx5tPfYzn01qaxf6xIN1prZHaxj11q5ULJVB7pw4_CpveE789LImAysSMZT65zfXpUXYruNKRxr/s1600-h/whitenoise.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZnQ7-uHksgrB6nseQgUz077Uh34ZK6SlS-jFk1jikUeNWGgjHt1DbNkMr-fx5tPfYzn01qaxf6xIN1prZHaxj11q5ULJVB7pw4_CpveE789LImAysSMZT65zfXpUXYruNKRxr/s320/whitenoise.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5201023518029981106" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Grains on the T V<br />Un- tuned radio<br />Plane taking off<br />Disturbed sleep, vivid imagery.<br />Pain… and more pain<br />Ugliness<br />Dirt<br />Heavy metal<br />Aaoge jab tum, bheegi bheegi, afterglow, apologize<br />Beauty<br />Clean, lovable feet<br />Freshness<br />Sweat<br />Work- outs, till you see black spots<br />Bailey and Love<br />Gregory house<br />A black contraption with a ‘w’<br />Allison Cameron<br />5:50 in the morning<br />writing <br />Music at 11:00 in the night<br />Rudeness<br />Free speech<br /><br />If someone betrays you once, it is their fault;If someone betrays you twice, it is your fault ....<br /><br /><br />"I see music" <br />- greg housefreudian sliphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03467510686904246757noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33209343.post-75716655618887297772008-05-11T13:36:00.000-07:002008-05-11T13:37:54.323-07:00DistraughtMe: A mistake? How could this happen? <br /><br /><br />None in particular: Welcome to the real world!freudian sliphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03467510686904246757noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33209343.post-82931024067310137942008-04-23T06:40:00.000-07:002008-04-23T06:49:57.303-07:00Read the post below first...<br /><br />DAY TWO:<br />Dancer and cine- star Shobhana. Right.. i sound like our anchor now. She is beautiful... (say it with the right inflections maga).. She is beautiful.. again with the inflection i would assume when i'd describe an apsara. Priya, Rachana and I were five feet away from the stage. Could swear she smiled at us a couple of times. :) She was amazing, so were her students. Dashavatara, Ma Kali avatar's birth, spring, A R Rahman's 'warriors' theme... some things she depicted. An experience.. nothing short of it. <br /><br /><br />Repeat performance of chouu dance. People had not seen it the earlier day because of the delays.freudian sliphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03467510686904246757noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33209343.post-74708164484076064882008-04-05T23:28:00.000-07:002008-04-05T23:30:42.786-07:00The reasonOne event merged with the other only to conclude. Three exhilarating days, three days that swept me off my feet and landed me in another galaxy. The galaxy had brilliant stars that secretly told anyone who would listen, their story. If you listened carefully enough, you’d find something truly precious. <br /> Yes! SDM Utsav lasted three days. The name of the event was enough for anyone’s head in Hubli- Dharwad to go tizzy. The three days with its manifold attractions. The entrance, mukha mantapa, food court, the stage, oh- yes the stage ten feet high and huge, and the people on the stage! All this amidst the sprawling 40-acre land of our S.D.M (Shri Dharmasthala Manjunatheshwara) College of Medical sciences and Hospital, decorated like a palace for a modernist Rajah. <br /> I do not know how they must have planned all this. The management has spent every penny so meticulously that you can actually see each penny reaping its full value. This is only because they have let the money flow, the people’s entertainment being their topmost priority, at the same time not compromising on their own values. Never could you see in the entire three days, people unnecessarily throwing things on the grounds or anywhere in the campus. This is actually quite a feat for the hubli- dharwad region, famous for its untidy and dirty ways. This is just one small thing. At large, it seemed as though; anyone who attended the utsav was infused with the S.D.M spirit. <br /> After many days of waiting for april 2nd, (the wait was long, exciting. I wanted to help with the smallest of jobs, my friends and I even contemplated helping with the constructions, laying brick by brick) anyway, the day finally arrived. Priya and I along with ten other classmates and juniors were entrance and mukha- mantapa volunteers. We were hyper excited and took up the challenge of welcoming thirty- thousand people (priya and I must have welcomed ten thousand, that being our duration at the entrance). The mukha mantapa was also the place of the performance of various regional dancers. We saw dollu kunita, kavadiattam, theyyam at the entrance. <br /> <br /><em></em>Day one: <em></em><br /><br />Our own performance was on this first day of the utsav. So we were student artistes for the day and were naturally allowed backstage. Artistes for the day were Praveen Godkhindi (flute) and hariharan. It all began with the object of the whole utsav, the Samarpana Samarambha. It was something dreamlike. Dr. Veerendra Heggade with his wife Hemavathi Heggade came up on stage with Shrinidhi Bhat bearing a royal umbrella. Words cannot describe the majesty of the elaborate ritual that followed. There were yellow- dhoti clad boys chanting mantras in the background. There was a massive photo frame of Sri Manjunatheshwara, to which the Heggade couple paid obeisance. Rev. Heggade then addressed the audience. The cultural programmes began. <br /> Praveen Godkhindi came up on stage. The wind was blowing in his long curls; he was extremely handsome. He told us he passed out from S.D.M engineering college only some years back. He said he was honoured to play in front of the 25,000- odd audience and on the same day as Padmashri Hariharanji. All this time, I was about fifteen feet away from the stage watching and waiting for him to start. I am now talking about the time before his performance and realize yet again that it was one of the most significant things that has happened in my life and there is a pre- godkhindi period of appreciation of music and post- godkhindi period of the same. <br /> Well, he started with the raag marwa and everything stopped still for me. I was enthralled and stood rooted to the spot. There was nothing other than him and his flute. I was not aware of my body; the music was playing inside my heart. He then started playing “Krishna”. He asked the audience to say ‘Krishna” at the end of his taan. The collective cry of “krishna’ rent the air. It was too much. His drummer played a solo extraordinarily. Godkhindi then concluded with a slightly westernized recital. There were tears in my eyes at this point. After this, my friends and I were backstage for our performance and lo and behold, Godkindi was coming out of the stage at the time. He was probably a foot or two away and I wished to open my mouth, jump out and touch his feet, cry or scream.. But I realized I was paralyzed. I was badly disappointed at my lack of expression. Our vande mataram performance was next and we got an amazing response. Neha as bharat mata was superb. <br />We went backstage. There godkhindi was standing, people were making a pathway for hariharan to occupy the stage now and he after meeting him in his green room had come out and was standing at the sides too. I asked Dr. alur if I could speak to him. He said ‘of course!’ I could have a picture too. I ran at it head- on, I literally ran to Godkhindi and the conversation was thus:<br /><br />Me: that concert was beyond words sir, I am learning music and I can’t tell you in words how much I loved it. <br />PG (smiling graciously): thank you very much. <br />Me: It was simply amazing sir, can I, please, touch your feet? <br />PG (with an expression of ‘what can I say?’)<br />Me (not waiting for his answer actually, bends down and touches his feet)<br />PG: god bless you (and hugs me)<br />Dr. Alur shouts for me to turn to the camera and the moment is recorded. <br /><br />That extremely brief conversation was enough. <br />I went out after this, and was at the side of the stage again. Dr. S.K. Joshi our vice dean, hospital side, called me aside and asked me my name and year. I told him. He said he was watching my dance. I, thinking, he was referring to vande mataram just smiled and said thank you. He told me that he thought I seem to really love music a lot. He told me he saw me dancing to godkhindi’s flute and he saw me lose myself. I thanked Sarawati devi for giving me the mind to appreciate his music whatever little I might have appreciated. <br /><br /><br />Next was Hariharan’s performance. He was like god for his fans. Sang song after song with ease, grace and aplomb. His rich voice, immersed in classical music was showing through his variations of each line of his songs. He sang with remarkable ease. I had attended Shankar mahadevan’s concert very recently and found myself comparing the two. Both are equally talented. But Shankar is better as a performer and is more unassuming and grounded. Hariharan is a slightly arrogant performer but ofcourse it is a very “artist trait”. He involved the audience in many places. Here too, about ten of us were at the side of the stage and he directed his attention towards us a lot of times and even sang the songs we asked him to sing. Soul- India was his theme and he wore saffron, white and green coats.<br /> Among the best were well, everything. But I loved his variations of the song ‘tu hi re’ from Bombay. Ay Hairathe was extraordinary. So were Krishna nee begane baro, nahi saamne and chappa chappa. At one point, he lost his temper at the audience because they asked him to sing another song when he had started something else. He sang ‘kaalavannu tadeyoru’ and ‘gallada chukki’ to meet with generalized crowd madness. My classmate sreen kannan (a very good singer himself) went mad at his idol’s charisma. He touched his idol’s feet, kissed his idol’s hand, kept his idol’s luggage in his car and finally had to be restrained by force from doing anything else. Sreen kannan reportedly could not sleep in the night. He woke up everyone to tell what all he did to Hariharan.<br /><br /><br /><br />Then was the Chouu dance by a team headed by Sitalpur Ganesh from west Bengal. It was 11 in the night and most of the crowd had gone home. The team depicted Mahishasura Mardhini’s killing of Mahisha. It was beautiful. Skill, talent and passion culminated into one electrifying performance lasting twenty minutes. Their somersaults and a common movement of squatting, getting up, taking a leap and turning in the air were mind blowing. Two people in the garb of a lion and two more in the garb of a buffalo and a peacock were amazing to say the least. The lion roared, sat on its hind legs, pranced about, walked majestically and scratched its face and underbelly. The buffalo and the lion warred with each other, which was another sight. I was happiest because I saw the chouu dance and the college introduced us to a rich slice of bengal culture. I can go and on about the chouu dance. Many people were not there to see it and that was the lamentable part of it. Anyway, they demanded for an earlier slot the next day and everybody did get to see it all over again. It was brilliant. <br /><br />Next was a Punjabi dance by us student artistes of medical college. We danced very well. Everyone loved it. Not many saw it but it is recorded to posterity on tape so it’s ok. (Smiles)<br /><br />**End of day one**freudian sliphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03467510686904246757noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33209343.post-43191723801225196732007-08-31T08:40:00.000-07:002007-08-31T08:46:42.061-07:00WRITER’S BLOCK(<em>Confessions of a bonafide hypochondriac</em>)<br /><br />I make mistakes. Words don’t come to my head. For some reason, there is a jumble causing a disconnect between my brain and mouth (in this case, my pen). I am making errors, causing me irritation like a prolonged episode of jamais vu. Words I used to play with before, twist around, manipulate and then gloat in glee when they meekly obeyed me, now seem like a dream. Yeah, just like when I get up and the dream, when asleep, seemed so vivid, slips away, like nameless, formless randomness that progressively turns to absurdity! My words, my friends... are threatening to forsake me like those dreams that slip away. They assume a misshapen form in my head, in stark contrast to the time when they used to have a concrete structure, perfect in every detail, like a stone statue in belur.<br /> These flawed misshapen words come out of me in a writing that has lost its previous sharpness. Even the writing! The letters are somehow shoddy and appear blunted like my thoughts. For some weird reason, the word ‘neologisms’ has been flitting across my mind since I started writing. Neologisms- new words coined by a schizophrenic, which have absolutely no meaning, which he uses in his writing and speech. Thoughts of neologisms and my inability to write as easily as before have started giving me ideas. I don’t know what is coming over me. <br /><br /> *************<br /><br />I go to the psychiatry section of the library, pick up a standard book and look under speech and writing in schizophrenics. “Barrage indecent in the incubus and succubus, I strongly think war alcohol practically comments on both sexes should participate freely repeated lord besmirched and sharp concrete structure sons and daughters…” I shut the book and walk back. I smile in spite of myself. It is a long road to madness.freudian sliphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03467510686904246757noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33209343.post-63868290836402725462007-08-22T01:15:00.000-07:002007-08-22T01:16:58.244-07:00I dont write only in vacations. I write in my busy schedule too. OK?!freudian sliphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03467510686904246757noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33209343.post-85243354263182952422007-08-01T08:42:00.000-07:002007-08-01T08:44:02.613-07:00You:What makes you happy?<br /><br />Me: PERFECTION!<br /><br />You: tell me the truth! <br /><br />Me: I swear!<br /><br />You: (laughs)<br /><br />Me: (laughs harder)freudian sliphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03467510686904246757noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33209343.post-18650816875041475322007-08-01T08:23:00.000-07:002009-07-13T09:34:04.705-07:00The oracleI cannot have done more, cannot have done less to get her. She is everything for me. The only girl I live and care for. She is so beautiful. Her smooth shiny skin, jet-black hair, those large black eyes, her incredible smile displaying her white evenly set teeth. Her lithe figure, the perfect figure, her skirt clinging to her waist and hips, she embodies all that which brings happiness to the heart thanking the heavens that there is perfection. <br /> I could look at her for days, struck by her face, I could listen to her speak forever, watching as she spoke each syllable, her tongue touching the roof of her mouth, the way she winked sometimes when she said something, her lips stained with the wild berries we ate together, the times I accidentally brushed her smooth hand. I was not in love with her. No. I was happy just to gaze at her, just to look at her and drink on her beauty. <br /> I could drink wine and not be intoxicated but I could look at Swathi and be so. Yes her name… Swa- thi… said separately in two breaths. The only two breaths that made life worth living. <br /> And yet when my doctor says she is a figment of my imagination, I want to kill him, but I will not do so, because Swathi went away because I killed so many others when they said she is a lie. I have not seen her since. Maybe if I control my temper she will come back. Nobody can call you a lie Swathi. You are the only truth. you are the only real thing in this fraudulence.<br /><br />Come back…freudian sliphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03467510686904246757noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33209343.post-14270513952540065632007-03-28T08:01:00.000-07:002007-03-28T08:02:24.139-07:00Sorry for the interruption..<br /><br />Only streamers and festoons from now on. I promise!freudian sliphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03467510686904246757noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33209343.post-19563366002286867212007-03-12T22:36:00.000-07:002007-03-12T22:51:34.966-07:00Incoherence you think?There is nothing I can do about the way I am. Absolutely nothing. My mistake in encouraging deranged behavior perhaps. Am I too late? If not, why am I so bothered? One thing in life, you can’t change an iota of anything. Other human beings are things too for an individual. They have become things now. Do I disgust you? Smirk. Look into yourself. Oh no… sorry. I forgot you think you are perfect. My apologies.<br /><br /><br />Q;You know what you strike with your ball in a bowling alley?<br />A:Pins. <br /><br />I still haven't got the answer.freudian sliphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03467510686904246757noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33209343.post-83466014580921443392007-03-12T22:33:00.001-07:002007-03-12T22:33:30.168-07:00LONELYLonely (Content though). My respect is gone. (Content) Considered foolish by so-called friends. (Can’t do anything about it). Have a mentally deranged ‘friend’ who is obsessed with the exact opposite (of me) kind of women. Makes me sad (content anyway) <br /> What should I do? Tell me please. Until then, pass me the drink. Give me my pen and paper. Go then.freudian sliphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03467510686904246757noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33209343.post-2317967159723852012006-12-29T03:56:00.001-08:002006-12-29T03:58:09.489-08:00The computer knows…The web has proved to be as omniscient as ever. Went to blogthings (fun things to put on your blog). Found these amazingly interesting little tests. Went through a myriad of tests, ranging from what I was in my past life to what kind of doughnut I am! What I got was really really interesting. Some results were so true that I opened my eyes wide and stared. (My characteristic surprised look!). Some results were pointed so smack at me that I just laughed out loud (for lack of a better response). Some tests spewed results, which I am too embarrassed to talk about. J<br /> Seems I was a happy- go- lucky Korean warrior who died on the battlefield in my past life. Sounds like me. Not serious about anything, yet die a hero! I know it’s presumptuous but that’s just a perception I have of my present life too, as of now! When I will get my ‘dukhi- aatma’ status back, I do not know. It’s coming over already as I speak. Yes! From frolicking to depression in a jiffy! I took the mood test too! Bang on! Extreme mood fluctuations. Tend to be very quiet or overtly talkative… said Mr. Blogthings.com. What kind of high school kid was I? What’s my element, how much of a lady am I, how do I lead my life, how is my blogging personality? Wont tell you. Just scroll down and find out for yourselves. You’ll find a link beneath each of my test results, click on them and take the tests yourselves. Answer the questions with utmost honesty and undergo the profound experience of having someone tell you exactly what you know already! Have fun!<br />Don't forget to leave your comments!freudian sliphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03467510686904246757noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33209343.post-34974642777622490942006-12-24T01:07:00.001-08:002006-12-24T01:07:25.343-08:00<table width=350 align=center border=0 cellspacing=0 cellpadding=2><tr><td bgcolor="#CCCCCC" align=center><font face="Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, serif" style='color:black; font-size: 14pt;'><b>Your Element Is Fire</b></font></td></tr><tr><td bgcolor="#DDDDDD"><center><img src="http://images.blogthings.com/whatsyourelementquiz/fire.jpg" height="100" width="100"></center><font color="#000000"><br />Your passion and emotion are as obvious as the brightest flame.<br />You make sparks fly, and your passion always has the potential to burst out.<br /><br />You are exciting and creative - and completely unpredictable.<br />You sometimes exercise control, and sometimes you let yourself go.<br /><br />Friends describe you as sensitive, spirited, and compulsive.<br />Bright and blazing with intensity, you seem mysterious and moody to many.</font></td></tr></table><div align="center"><a href="http://www.blogthings.com/whatsyourelementquiz/">What's Your Element?</a></div>freudian sliphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03467510686904246757noreply@blogger.com0