Just blog it !

Blog.
A four-letter word we all like to do.
"Do?"
Yeah man, I did say do.
"OK!"

Blog.
It's where you dump.
All that you want to pump.
U better get off and jump.
Else all you'll do is grump.

Blog.
It's where you can pour.
All that's happy and sore.
Well, sometimes you really can bore.
If you actually talk about the yore.

Blog.
Just get up and write.
Or dude just at least try it.
When you're so full of fright.
Blog, whether it's day or night.

Blog.
It's your secret silent corner.
Where you can just garner.
Memories of even a foreigner.
Or that old haggard prisoner.

Blog.
Blog.
Blog.

Bundz...

The Incredible.
Sivaji.
Thevar Magan.
Hulk.
Bulk.
Thunder Thighs.
Hi-Fives.
Anbe Sivam.
Swades.
Charmee.
Navel.
Sada.
Rajnikanth.
Rajni sometimes Can (courtesy: Bundu).
Roja.
Roti Ghar.
Appu Ghar.
Shreya Ghoshal.
Black see-through Shades.
AR Rehman.
Illayaraja.
Odinain, Odinain.
Indiaglitz.com.
Idlebrain.com.
Nobrain.com.
Sometimesbrain.com.
Srinagar Colony.
Stuntmen.
Revlon (ask him about the connection).
Big Wigs.
Over-sized Wigs.
Chellam’s.
Pillam’s.
White Shirts.
Red Chillies.
Black Jeans.
Blue Shoes.
Beltings.
Tie-ups.
Aha aahaha Aaaanh.
Item Numbers.
More Items.
Five Stars.

Bundu, described in One Word.

Name.

What’s in a Name?

There’s a lot actually.
There’s the First Name. The Middle name. The Last Name. The Family Name. Dad’s Name. Mom’s Name. The Granddad’s Name. His Dad’s Name. And His His Dad’s Name (in some cases).

And then there’s more.
There’s Influence. There’s the Discount. There are Freebies. There are ‘Buy One Get Five Free’ deals. There’s Quantity. There’s Quality. There’s More. There’s Some More. There are ‘Reserved Tables’. There are ‘now available’ Theatre Tickets. There’s Extra Security. There’s the Red Carpet. There are Exclusive Enclosures. There are Instant Home Deliveries. There are apartments that come at Rs.20 less per sft. There are Complimentary Takeaways. There are Supplementary Vouchers. There are more Gifts. There are invites to Premier Shows. There are invites to VIP weddings.

And then there’s nothing.
There’s Defame. There’s Notoriety. There’s Bankruptcy. There’s a Sob Story. There’s actually a lot in a name.

So what’s in a Name
There are precisely 145 words. 3 paragraphs. And plenty of intelligent gibberish.

Addiction... Add... Add... Addic.

Slot it as an unsung cousin and an offshoot of ESP (Extra Sensory Perception), addiction happens in different forms, to objects and probably in different intensities.

It’s time to get the brasstacks of it now, with a few examples .

Addiction to Fragrance: Here’s for some talcum talk. It probably begins with the talc. For starters, let’s make it Gokul. (Sincere apologies to those who’ve never ever heard of it. I actually happened to spot one at a kirana store). You run down to the kirana store next door. And again, you ask for another Gokul. If that’s not addiction, then what is.

Addiction to Coke: Pour it in a translucent glass. It’s black. Blacker than a black crow’s cover. But you still want to run it down your esophagus. You don’t find it yuck. That’s addiction. Pure addiction.

Addiction to Nothing: This is addiction again. You’re not addicted to anything. Not food. Nor smell. Not driving. Nor gutkas. Not home. Not burgers. Nothing. Even this, is another kind of addiction.

That’s addiction. Just addiction.

And its addiction to boredom. If you’re actually reading this.

One night under the sun…

One night under the sun.
There wasn’t really anything.
When it was all meteors and stars.
Limelight was then hogged by Ferrari cars.

One night under the sun.
The poet and poetess got verse and verse.
No commas, no pauses, no apostrophes.
Trust me, it was a night of only catastrophes.

One night under the sun.
The grass just kept getting greener.
Thought the dude, he would do the dope.
Shit, it was just only a futile high hope.

One night under the sun.
She stepped out in her dungarees.
Then people cared no two hoots.
And she got so many boots!

One night under the sun.
It was so mundane, and Monday.
When it started pouring.
Just then, a tiger came roaring.

One night under the sun.
There was this footballer.
And next to him was a big bucket.
Got up, and he quickly kicked the bucket.

One night under the sun.
I was looking for the moon.
It was dark, darker and darkest.
Suddenly I realized,
it was actually One night under the sun.

Sniff sniff.

The Quick Fragrance Guide.
A Perfumer’s Parlance and More.

Sniff sniff. Sniff sniff.

The Hierarchy
Top Notes.
Middle Notes.
Base Notes.

The Highs.
Seduction.
Conduction.
Induction.

The Big Names.
Issey Miyake.
Yves Saint Laurent.
Ralph Lauren.

The Sub-names.
Romance.
Envy.
Pleasures.

The Pulse Points.
The Nape (for men).
The Cleavage (for women).
The Wrists (For both.)

NB: For extra sniffness, recollect your fetishes.

The Lows.
Alcohol.
Exorbitance.
Allergies.

And now, choosing a good fragrance.

1) Spray the fragrance on a blotter strip, or ideally on your wrist (if it’s not already adulterated).
2) Wait for a few minutes (about 3 to 4) for the top notes to fade away.
3) Bring your wrist / strip closer to your nose.
4) Sniff. Sniff. Urrgh. / Sniff. Sniff. Aaah.
5) Now decide.

Inference: If it provokes you, then that’s the one for you. If doesn’t, try taming your sweat glands.

Sniff. Sniff.

The Sun. The Screen.

Probably, one of the most intelligent ingenious inventions is the Sunscreen. Never mind if it alters the dermatological DNA of the face, but its got to be around. On the shelf. Or in the wardrobe.

Mostly found in the tote bags of oh-my-skin-will-get-tanned ladies, it’s more of a facial issue for them. Probably, this is what they consider this: the modern day substitute for a gold ol’ umbrella. Ladies beware, “it’s not!”

I wonder, and even pity sometimes, that after traveling for eight god-dammed minutes to hit the ground, Mr. Sun Rays are promptly sent back by this man-made layer of chemicals and not-so-chemical compositions. Cursing it must be, though.

Found in different forms, predominantly as SPF 15 and 30, it’s meant to tame the ultraviolet. But does it, really?

Anyways. It’s the Sunscreen. ‘Applicable’ under the sun.

Bambino Gulab Jamun Mix

K-Serials. Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaawnnnnnnnn.

Circa 1998.

Uncle.
Aunty.
Their first son: Married with 2 kids.
Their second son: Single, but still mingling.
Their first daughter: Married. Divorced. Semi-married.
Their second daughter: College-going seedhi-saaddhi item.
Their third daughter: Just fifteen, but behaves like fifty.

Circa 2008.
Uncle + 8 years.
Aunty + 8 years.

Their first son: Married with 2 kids. But has had co-marital affairs with 3 women, who’re dead and gone by now. Found their place in another K-serial (courtesy: Balaji Telefilms)! Fortunately, the era still believes in rebirth. And then, you never know what or who’s going to ‘come up next’.

Their second son: Single, but has had multiple affairs (just like multiple fractures – broken and disjointed). Doesn’t like to compromise when it comes 'positions’. Ask Kashish, Karishma, Kavita, Kanishka, Kanaka, K… (amnesi, it’s a boon sometimes).

Their first daughter: Married and divorced. Once. Twice. Thrice. And you never know how many more times.

Their second daughter: College-going seedhi-saadhi item. With a kitty of 5 boyfriends. And one husband.

Their third daughter: Twenty-five by now. Still the same.

And then…

Plus Tears. Drama. Melodrama. Punches. Action Plays. Reaction Replays.

The K-Serials. Life of ndia.
From 2 pm to 5 pm. And 8 pm to 11 pm.
Everyday.

Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaawwwwwwwwwwn!

Bird Phooooop!

Bird Poop. To those my-English-is-poorer-than-yours, this phrase actually was a bit of a surprise. And surely you can count me one among them. Well… I then looked through the good ol’ dictionary. And there I was, saying “Shit!”.

I thought for a moment, why do I need to pass through the insanity of recollecting those bird poop ‘moments’. Yes, I prefer to call this a moment. ‘Cause a moment is something you either want to experience again, or just pray that it never comes. And yes, this one belongs to the latter.

Any way, this piece came up as a Mundane Monday Morning job – oh yeah, it was actually the weblog topic for Monday. (Call it coincidence or call it Monday Morning Shit, nevertheless, it means the same. More or less.)

Bird Poop. This again reminds me of Late Dr. Salim Ali, (referred to as the “Birdman of India”) India’s most celebrated – and probably one of world’s most celebrated Ornithologists. I wonder how he would have dealt with ‘shit’ like this.

With due respects to him, and the victims of ‘The Great Bird Poop Fall’, here’s just twowords: Shit happens! (as someone with unfathomable levels of Poopism, coined it.)

The Password

************.

Hello this is me. Password. And cussword sometimes. The best thing about my life is change. I change. And more often than you think. You’ll find me in various incarnations. Men remember me for their girlfriend, ex-girlfriend, wife, ex-wife, and whatever is easy for them to remember. And women, oh they’re different lot. A ‘numbered’ lot I should say. Primarily, they’re all about dates. And you know what I mean by dates, don’t you! Let me elucidate. The First Date. The First Anniversary. The First Night. The First Light. The First Cup. The First Hiccup. The First Coffee. The First Toffee. The First Encounter. The First Ticket Counter. The First Kiss. The First Miss. Period.

Surprisingly, you’ll never see. I’m encrypted. But still, I’m a star *

The 10-year itch.

It was exactly 10 years ago, that we moved to Hyderabad from Vijayawada. For me Hyderabad was a city that I used to visit during my summer vacations. Though by distance Hyderabad was just 6 hours away, it seemed like it was ahead by 16 years. Having done all my studies there, here I was, to explore life, and a place for my weekly dose of punugulu, mirpakai bajjis, and the you-will-never-forget Babaiah Hotel idlis.

The shift was sea-change, and the difference, huge. Perhaps, the only commonality being the everywhere-present MG Road. A Labbipet there was not even like a distant cousin to Lakdi-ka-pool here. Of course, like Hyderabad had its Birla Mandir on the Naubat Pahad, Vijayawada had the Kanakadurgamma gudi on the Indrakeeladri. From the land of bagunaara, to the land of baitho yaaron, it was a transition I had to get used to. Nevertheless, the thought of leading the rest of my life in Hyderabad was itself invigorating. Though (I must confess) from the inside, Vijayawada was still a manaooru, and that’s something I feel even to this day.

Ten years, countless biryanis and many parsons later, I’m almost a Hyderabadi. Need to tell you that back then, summers were just 38 degrees even at 2 ‘O’ clock in the afternoon. A plate of idli at Anand Bhavan on S.D. Road would cost just Rs.5 (would be almost like a freebie today!). While a typical family outing on a Sunday would be something like shopping at Cherma’s, dinner at the Taj Mahal, and the First Show at Sangeet. Though these places still exist today, what doesn’t exist is the charm to an evening of this kind. All thanks to the bustle that’s characteristic of Hyderabad today.

Life moved on, so did my serious hunt for that haunting ‘Meals Ready’ board, as I would go about scouring through the streets of Ameerpet for ‘Andhra meals’. My efforts did pay off. Slowly, I would come to know of places that would satiate my appetite for a plateful of punugulu, mirch-bajji – absolutely Vijayawada-style. Even today, on my way back from my workplace (located in Banjara Hills), a stop-over at a tiffin centre serving these snacks is a must. Must say I’m instantly transported to Vijayawada, not by a SVR Travels’ overnighter though!

Hyderabad’s progressed, and beyond limits. I agree ‘limits’ sounds a wee bit controversial, but then, that’s what it is. Though Hyderabad is home today, I do miss the next-door mamma garu, the pulihora, and the irresistible aavakai pachchadi. Summing up, in a way, Hyderabad is a home away from home now.

Aithe untanu, malla kaluddam andi!