What happened when i learnt to blog

-T.S. Eliot’s ‘The Wasteland’ is far better than his grocery list

-There can be nobody called a ‘Physiological Author’ like there can be a poet, though both write

-That if you are an Author you cannot change sides, even if it maybe evolutionary

-That Authors die

Thank You Mr. Obvious.No really.

The smoking ban in PUB(lic place)S in India has inspired some very scary changes

Before : You were at a pub, you smell of smoke.

After: you were at a pub, you don’t smell of smoke.

Before : Kingfisher ashtray

After : Kingfisher Flower vase

Before : Bar counter and dining area

After : Smoking and non-smoking area (if you’re lucky)

Before : Posters on the walls

After : No-smoking Sign

Before : Oh, You’ve changed your brand to classic milds

After: oh, did you’re hair always smell this good?

1. 50 of his best quotes are followed by an online ad that says “ 5 tips to get a flat stomach”
2. The first, seventeenth and fortieth quote are the variations of the same
3. There is an option for you to vote on a scale of 1 to 5 your appreciation of the quote
4. The result of that poll so far borders around fair.
5. After visiting the webpage, you can visualize Kafka turning in his grave

Perhaps a literary revolution in theatrically uplifted circles, but around my house Kitchen Sink drama is a dramatic, episodic human-to-mice non-verbal sign communication. With our flying mops, poking brooms and regular shrieks at high volumes at the slightest sight of them, we hoped to make it very clear to the family of mice that took shelter behind our kitchen sink to kindly leave. With their constant rummaging through the things behind our sink, and knocking our spice bottles off the counter each night, it was understood by us that they were here to stay. And among the schemes discussed to boot these noisy occupants, were poisoning and bring in their commonly believed natural arch enemy – the easiest of them all felines, a cat. But these remained schemes for well over a week, as we waited for the weekend, misguiding them to assume that peace was declared from our end. On the seventh day, the lack of food in the kitchen (as now we kept our supplies in the dining space) sent the mice hungry. One among us pointed that out to us while the sounds from the kitchen grew louder as these rodents had to search more than usual for scraps of food. That was when a brave one among them decided that if his family went hungry, so will the others in whose house he had adamantly decided to raise and secure his family. Though scary, these sounds made us curious enough to open our kitchen door and switch the lights on. In retaliation, they stopped their common occupation of sound making. We needed time to plan our next move. They waited in patience ready for anything that was to come. After careful consideration, we decided to open all windows and bang on the walls around the sink to drive this now happy now hungry family out. That’s when our kitchen sink drama’s plot gained momentum. You see, the windows to our independence and their exodus lies behind the kitchen sink. And given the situation, it had to be approached not in the straight- walk-past-the-sink-way, but the jump-on-the-kitchen-counter-and-stretch-self-across-over-sink-way. And the lesser scared of the two, I equipped to slide open the window with a mop (the rod side front) jumped on the slab on the counter, inched my way around the slippery sink, and just about touched the pane with the rod end of my mop. That’s when they launched their ultimate weapon – their visibility to humans. They provided me with a complete sight of their self, while I balanced on my toes. My reflexes instigated action and I mop and all had a mighty fall from the slippery kitchen slab to the greasy kitchen floor, knees down, eyes open to see the floor nearing gravity did its best. With that for a temporary climax, I am now tending sore knees and planning a revenge, swearing. The bloody colonizers sound celebratory. Perhaps, now I cant judge the inventor of pesticides. Perhaps, its just another day at the office for every mouse in a human’s house.

The transition from an observant muse decoder to a male bashing juke box of frowns happened when an important person in my life contemplated divorce. The ‘he doesn’t call required number of times’, ‘would rather be at the club than home’ pace of living turned this cow like clam friend into a crying mess and then a jaded aloof. While indulgence brought about peace to some level, almost any visual stimulation would get us both connecting it to the recluse nature of men. My remembrances also added attributes to this and soon we decided to collectively hate men.
That’s when Life in a Metro gave us some perspective- not necessarily the required one. Life in a Metro is not our current reality check, which is a far cry from the dream of owning an island resort, but a movie of recent time. A confused state of quick but sometimes dreadfully dragging, anxiously anticipating god-knows-what, manic-depressive bi-polar mood swings, encounters and interactions with borderline retards, a progressive potential for the same or higher degree of retardation, momentary peace in an almost stable mad rush, a disbelief at something pleasant, a constant buzz intertwined with the afore mentioned anxious anticipation, a presently lapse of reason and logic, an open armed acceptance of the weird and above all an unsuccessful race against speeding time is what I would call my Life in a Metro. The happy ending, which lasted for 30 seconds, comprised 0.8% of the movie. But what remained with us is the content rambled along the movie’s length. The ease with which adultery slides into ordinary middle-class life. The ease with which it is accepted, as we accept a clumsy butter fingered coffee spiller at a table. Furthermore, one striking feature that makes me repeat ‘ease’ is reason for adultery, or rather the lack of it. The movie feels no need to harp on a reason for adultery, which other movies sell as a justifying point. Failed career, an injury, a feeling of neglect, a passing passion finding its vent, a desire to experiment, to avenge, to break free, to assert or to submit maybe reasons explored to depths in movies to justify adultery. This movie didn’t make a pick from the list. Though a combination of some of the above maybe traced. But it did raise one question.
Which of the two is worse? Casual sex adultery or falling in love adultery. And right enough my companion and I had a difference in opinion. And divorce the solution? While the movie advocated no such claims, it did make me give my friend a deadline. A month’s time, like a resignation notice one gives. Though there is nothing but insecurity I threaten her with. So while the movie has the greater bliss of wrapping up decade long sagas in a couple of hours, my dear friend has to undertake a life changing decision in a month’s time. Should she endure this hardship or should she break free? Is it ok to be in this mad rush without a husband and a marriage or it is only easier? Will the city care or is it too busy making or watching movies about life in a city?
With this making me a little more confused and disoriented than I already was, I could only think of one thing to say that I heard as a sound technician of a play – Life can be more like a movie than most movies.