Rahul... naam toh suna hi hoga?

So I took the parents to watch a Malkit Singh concert at the Lincoln Center after work, being the good son that I am. We get there, I help them find seats and then go outside to get them drinks. And who do I see? Arooj Aftab! I couldn't believe my eyes for the first 10 minutes and just stared, trying hard not to let her notice. So I've seen celebrities before, and not made much of a big deal about it. I mean this is New York after all. I once saw Ritesh Deshmukh walking towards me on Park Avenue and gave him a dirty look suggesting he was in my way. But not since I was 19 when I met Salman Ahmed have I been this excited. Of course, this is much before his disastrous 'Infiniti' days, when all there was in the subcontinent was Junoon, Indian Ocean, and Indus Creed. Coming back to the point - Arooj Aftab (looking much shorter than I imagined her to be) was standing 4 feet away from me, and I was ready to shriek like a little girl. Let's face it, she's not a real celebrity yet, but the woman has serious talent. She's performed with Anoushka Shankar!

So I went back inside, asked mom for a pen and paper. She didn't have paper, so I had to make do with the ATM receipt in my pocket. Noooooo!! No way! Yes, yes way. I went and asked her for an autograph. I mustered all the courage I could and walked up to her and asked, "Excuse me, are you Arooj Aftab?" She said, "Yes." Yaar, meri toh death hi ho gayi thi by god ki kasam se. So I'm like, "Can I have an autograph?" And she said, "Sure". Then this girl standing next to her, dressed all LSR/SRCC says, "How sweet" and continues to inquire about how I know of her music, and how there's some gig coming up that they're doing, but I couldn't be less bothered what she was saying - I'm standing in front of Arooj Aftab for God's sake! So then Arooj (yes, we're on a first name basis now) asks me, "What's your name?" and I say, "Rahul." a long pause follows in which all my accumulated wit is stolen from me temporarily and the only thing I can think of to follow that up with is, "Naam toh suna hi hoga". Thankfully she only smiled and didn't burst out laughing at my stupidity.

The rest of the evening of course, got even better. After the first band played, which involved an hour of listening to mom's comments, "Aye bada tapda peya hai, guitar wala bhai". "Oh kudi vekh kiven nachdi peyi hai", it was time for the main attraction - Malkit Singh. Guess who comes and sits right next to us. Go on. Guess. Needless to say, Malkit Singh didn't have my undivided attention. Alas, it was 9:40ish in the p.m. and Dad was sleepy, so we had to head back home. On the way we got dinner at this Italian place and throughout dinner I kept showing mom my autographed ATM receipt.

Dr. D. A. Dill was a cardiologist.
Dr. D. A. Jigger was a gastroenterologist.
They went to a bar. Again.
Cheese for mice, peas for men.
Personally speaking,.
Given a choice.
Yada yada hi dharmasya.
Yada yada yada.
Pink is also a color.
Btw.
You lie.
You lie group.
You p-adic lie group.

Remember that sadistic math question about a fly traveling back and forth between two trains headed towards each other, that they use to illustrate how to compute the sum of a convergent geometric series? What happens to the fly? What happens to the passengers? That's what I really need to know right now, not the stupid sum of a stupid series. What happens when today approaches tomorrow head-on as my mind goes back and forth like the fly between fear of what will go wrong tomorrow and regret for how I've wasted today?

I blame laziness. If you're too lazy to assess, to decide, to plan, to act (not for some stupid long-term goal which is going to change anyway, but even for your temporary satisfaction) and hope to apply the same blanket strategy that you've developed using faulty logic applied to a non-representative life sample and called it 'values' or 'personality' or 'mood' or 'belief' or whatever else to every day for the rest of your life , then as in operating systems, so also in life, you get what you pay for. Yes, Ubuntu, I'm talking about you.

The problem with weekends is that they're too long and too short.  Too long when you plan to work, too short when you realize you had to work. Saturday you spend thinking about the rational numbers, measures, and infinity playing pretend like a child. Saturnight you need something mindless to distract you from your pathetic aimless passionless self-pitying existence. Sunday you surrender early and stare aimlessly at walls all day. Sunnight you wait for Monday to strike and continue the infinitely engaging activity of staring at walls in constant fear. Monday you paint your face defeated and walk in shamefully late, predictably sleepy.

Very soon, another year goes by. And nothing changes. It's amazing. With all of life's unpredictabilities, still, nothing changes. What force of nature can move you if not the knowledge that the precious resource of time is not being well spent? This obsession with appearances is so addictive.

Kahan se aaya yeh? Kabh? No rigorous proof or even semi-rigorous proof has been presented for the argument that appearance is everything. What's so bad about mediocrity? What's wrong with being just a guy? I think nudists have a point, somewhere. This whole human obsession with appearance stems entirely from the fact that things can be hidden. Penis size, bank balance, so-called virtues. And that's where the need arises to hint at these things, sometimes to deceive other times for marketing. Which is actually the equivalent of saying always to deceive. If something is important or relevant to people they will notice it automatically at the right time, marketing is lying about how important or relevant something is or cheating by speeding up the time it takes for people to become aware of something.

I'm tired. g/n/s/d/t/c

Without Kittens

There really is no country for old men, is there? Men too old to go bar hopping every night and too young to curl up and die. In which country do they still have ears for their ramblings? Where are they not creepy because they forgot to grow up as they grew old? What do they call home when it's been too long since they were kicked out of their nests? Which mirror can they see their dignity in? Where isn't there a new generation of hope to outshine their pessimistic wisdom? Where are they accepted as the astronauts they wanted to be when they were young, despite evidence to the contrary? Most of all, where are the kittens their female stereotype-counterparts get?

Andhe Betichod.

Acha abh mujhe dekho.
Maine aaj yeh kiya.
Taaki tum kal mujhe dekho.
Phir mujhe dekhna.
Jabh main woh kar dikhaoon.
Phir yeh mat kehna.
Ki maine sirf khud ko dekha.
Tumne dekha toh kaise.
Maine sabh kiya.
Tumhe dikhaane ke liye.

Saddhe pind...

....ambaran te chann vi ni chadeya... ni vekh ke tera mooh ni...