Wednesday, September 01, 2010

Rant of the Month - Ep.1

I've decided to have a rant of the month, mostly because I love to rant and also because I love to poke fun at people. This is an idea that I've had for a while (taken from here) that I discussed with Sharmila as well; hopefully, we can rant about something together for the next one.

So, this one's for September.

THE AMERICAN PEOPLE

As with most offensive things, it's a good idea to start with a caveat or two.

I don't have a problem with all Americans. And when I say Americans, I mean citizens of the United States of America, not all those belonging to the American continents (North or South). If you're friends of mine, if you view this blog (or are seeing this on Facebook and are on my friends list) you're probably not the people I'm ranting about. Probably.

Also, if you can't take this as constructive and funny criticism, fuck off.

The United States of America and its creation (like they'll ever let anyone forget) was a milestone in world history. It spawned the creation of what is today a superpower that straddles the Earth and covers it not only politically, but culturally as well - you'll find some aspect of Americana in nearly every nation of this world. They have come to symbolise a fuck-load of shiite, and most of it is negative.

To be fair, the American ideology is something that does inspire. Everyone, come to America and be an American citizen. Live the good life, be accepted and work hard, and all will be well. Your rights are important to us, we believe in free speech, expression, liberty and the right to work, and all that jazz.

Unless you're, today -
a) A muslim - we care if your President is Muslim so much that we create gargantuan amounts of buzz about it.
b) A homosexual - yeah, we're not going to let you marry. We don't like you. Parts of our country are slowly taking away rights and freedoms you used to have.
c) A mexican/asian/puerto rican/whatever - stop taking away our jobs, you lazy people who work way harder than us! Off with you. Sure, our country was built on your asses. Sure, we're probably immigrants from another generation. But we're America. So fuck off.
d) A European - you're probably a crazy sex fiend. Or worse, a pinko liberal.
e) Anything not Christian - you're free to choose your religion, as long as you pick Jesus - so help me, God.
f) Pro-environment - don't you lecture us on that. We love our SUVs, and we love burning shiite up. The great American outdoors was built so that we could make a mess of it and the preservation of wildlife.

And what is accepted as American? The idea of consumerism - rampant and destructive. The idea that Reality TV and mind-numbing nonsense that gets broadcast to you every day and every second is your only source of entertainment. The concept that the lives of celebrities and their latest scandals are the coolest things around.

What is really horrendously annoying to me, of course, is that the USA can take perfectly hard-working and healthy people from a continent, and through the traumatic process of making them slaves and then fighting a war to free them, you've turned the lot into crazy people who go around calling people 'hos and spelling their names in ludicrous (pertinent example here would be Ludacris) fashions, and consider blowing caps in people's asses (trust American culture to be so messed up that masculinity and being dominating on screen has homoerotic references).

Then, there is what Americans have done to sport. No one, anywhere, can conceivably understand why they should call running around with an oblong in your hands while attempting to run over people as they try to bash your brains out counts as 'football'. What in the world does it have to do with your foot?!

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But let's be serious for a bit, now. Perhaps the greatest problem that America faces is in the way it conceives of itself against the world, and how it pictures its own identity. What Americans can certainly be lauded for is their strong lip-service to the American identity, and what it means to them. The fact that people today desire American citizenship so fervently can be seen as a tribute to that idea and what it means to people. But that being said, you can't define yourselves unless you know something about yourselves and the rest of the world.

Education
The American education system at the graduate and post-graduate level continues to set standards for excellence in education, and institutions such as Harvard, Columbia, Stanford, Yale and the like are beacons and trademarks of a quality of education that has not yet been successfully seen elsewhere. The sort of academic rigour, coupled with vast amounts of academic freedom have led to American University education being incredibly sought after - mostly by non-Americans. This is because at the primary and secondary levels, education in the USA continues to suffer from a strange amount of ... well, for lack of a better word, shiite.

American schools are currently identified and portrayed across the board as centres wherein children are obsessed with all the wrong things, where classes and children are often out of control and out of their depths in a strange combination of pop-culture and education that has vandalised a system that had much to offer as a role model in terms of letting children teach themselves while being guided. If this wasn't enough, educators have also decided that making strange demands of the education system (such as teaching Intelligent Design) are ways of teaching children in a manner that will 'subscribe to American values', but fail to spot the obvious problem of it-is-all-bullshit.

Healthcare
Healthcare in America is a touchy issue, and rightly so. Costs for the average American have increased, both in terms of medicines as well as the cost of testing and surgeries. The old safety net of health insurance has often failed due to unreasonable policies used by insurers, including those which rule out certain procedures which might save the lives of patients. Insurers and hospitals often have linkages, leading to patients in dire straits being forced to move at the moment of being stable to another hospital. All patently ridiculous.

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Okay, I'm tiring out now. More later.

PS - Heck, yeah. I know. India's probably worse off. Most countries are worse off. But that does not take away from me my ability to complain and point out crap. Not to mention, Americans were doing better before - but are not doing so well now, so this might be construed to be a critique based on relativism.

Friday, July 16, 2010

And Here I Dreamt I was an Architect - The Decemberists

And here I dreamt I was a soldier
And I marched the streets of Birkenau
And I recall in spring
The perfume that the air would bring
To the indolent town
Where the barkers call the moon down
The carnival was ringing loudly now
And just to lay with you
There's nothing that I wouldn't do
Save lay my rifle down

And try one, and try two
Guess it always comes down to
All right, it's okay, guess it's better to turn this way

And I am nothing of a builder
But here I dreamt I was an architect
And I built this balustrade
To keep you home, to keep you safe
From the outside world
But the angles and the corners
Even though my work is unparalleled
They never seemed to meet
This structure fell about our feet
And we were free to go

And try one, and try two
Guess it always comes down to
All right, okay, guess it's better to turn this way

And here in Spain I am a Spaniard
I will be buried with my marionettes
Countess and courtesan
Have fallen 'neath my tender hand
When their husbands were not around
But you, my soiled teenage girlfriend
And how you are furrowed like a lioness
And we are vagabonds
We travel without seatbelts on
We live this close to death

And try one, and try two
Guess it always comes down to
All right, okay, guess it's better to turn this
But I won, so you lose
Guess it always comes down to
Alright, it's okay, guess it's better to turn this way.

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

The Beautiful Game

I was barely 11 years old when I got my first taste of football. My father made a wager on the German team at the 1998 World Cup in France. I remember I got a t-shirt which had Footix (the mascot) on it. It was quite an experience, sitting up and watching the tournament with my family. I remember worshipping Jurgen Klinsmann, being overawed by Davor Suker, and falling in love with Ariel Ortega. I remember flashes of Baggio's play, Zidane's magic, and Peter Schmeichel. To put it simply, I fell in love with the game.


Since then, I've always tried to be clued into all that's happening with international football. And my father's earlier faith in Germany is something that has carried through. My love for Del Piero and Roberto Baggio encouraged my support for Italy. Inspite of my absolute admiration for players such as Rivaldo, Ronaldinho, Edmilson and the like, I've never been able to make myself like Brazil. They play the 'beautiful game', but I like supporting underdogs. They're usually not the underdogs, in any World Cup they enter.

This year, however, I'm a bit disconnected. I feel like it might not be happening at all. What's most worrying, of course, is that I'm apparently not missing much. All the plays seem to be defensive, the big teams are disappointing, and while Germany is being Germany and destroying the opposition in their first game itself, I think we're all aware that Germany has a tendency to not win World Cups - at least, it hasn't in my lifetime.

I shall be done with examinations soon, and I shall be free to watch this game that is the closest thing to a sporting passion I have. That being said - I hope the bloody tournament shapes up before then. Because if it doesn't, I'm going to find the closest thing I can to something to blame, and shove a vuvuzela or a Venezuela or whatever those crazy things are so far down someone's throat that if I blow it, it'll seem like they're breaking wind.

Tuesday, May 25, 2010

The sound of the empty blank night,
Hides not the sins that make our lives.
For it cannot be lost, the pleasure
Innate to us, our buried treasure -
Lost amongst shades of morality;
Sweet conundrum that fucks reality.
For we cannot escape who we are,
Though the Lord above who sees far,
Demands from us this sacrifice -
Your freedom for faith and strive,
For lack of self and more of the divine -
But nothing seems to bridge the divide
Between desire and permissions
From this world's intercessions
And from the heart's omissions.

Yet, we strive to maintain this evil balance,
Between our urges and our conscience -
For no good reason that really does exist,
Save that we've been told we cannot permit,
To consider how our lives are betwixt
As the impulses awaken our craving.

Sunday, April 25, 2010

Intangible.

What a world it would be,
If only we could see -
All those things intangible,
Would it make it more manageable?
I'd see the stormy clouds of your mood,
The lightning of your thoughts as you brood
What you consider to be my indiscretions,
That come across to you as condescension
Of the time we spend together, across the paths
Laid out by wires and not really through art.
Or the bleeding red of my heart.
Or perhaps we should speak
Of the things that are indiscreet -
The empty plots of the lack of words -
The vacuous silence of moments awkward,
Following which you unleash
The moods that make me beseech,
All the forces that be -
That I could actually deal
With the distance that holds us apart -
Which only seems to make us spar
On matters which ought not to matter,
Like the idiotic words that patter
Out of mouths best left broken,
Given the hate they awaken.

Yet always there is hope -
That we'll find a way to cope.
And in that hope life remains -
As our constant efforts drain
From us our bits of joy -
As you, darling, remain coy.
Such if life, and so it'll be -
But one day I know we'll be free,
Of all that's wrong and breeds
Through our unhappiness.

Saturday, April 03, 2010

A Rhyming Bed Time Story, sent via SMS.

There once was a man who was heartbroken,
Sad and tired, his will completely taken -
He looked out the window on a new day,
And found nothing in it for him to stay.

Upset and bewildered, he walked out that day -
He wondered if there was ever going to be a way,
For him to get a proper lay.

He ran into Candy, the neighbourhood ho',
She was hot, but everyone'd been there before,
She made her usual offer, but he chose to convey -
His recalcitrance over having to pay
For something meant to be a mutual pleasure;
She laughed and said "Hon, you're a treasure",
"If you can keep me satisfied and groovy,
Maybe I'll throw you a freebie."

So he felt he had little to lose -
And went ahead, ready to cruise,
They went to his place and made crazy love;
Sometimes from below, sometimes from above -
And at the end she was breathless -
Through her noises, he could see he
Had achieved some success!
Smiling, he let her make her exit,
Only to discover that his wallet
Had been lifted!
It was there, but it was empty -
With nothing there, not even a twenty.

But just as he was about to lose faith,
He saw a note lodged within -
He picked it up and opened the crease,
In it he saw written -
You were good Hon, but it's a lot of money -
And in case, I like you too much, honey;
If you want it, you'll have to earn it slowly.
Come back tomorrow, same time if you're willing,
And we'll see if we can still keep it swingin'.

So in the end, the moral remains -
You never really never know what you want,
And you may never really get it;
But if you try sometimes, you'll find what you need -
And often, that's what you get when you do the deed.

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This is an original piece, slightly modified from the original version sent to Surabhi in a series of texts when asked for a bedtime story. Her first observation was that I'd have traumatized children - and I must agree. :-)

Friday, March 19, 2010

Waiting.

It's 2.15 AM. And I am, as usual, having trouble sleeping. I'm thinking of things that I shouldn't be, and worrying about other things that are beyond my control. I'm wondering about the future, and contemplating what it holds for me - and for the people I hold dear. I'm hoping that things will take a turn away from the dreary, and that by some miracle, circumstances will fall into place. I laugh at myself, silently, when I realise how silly I sound in my own head - and how, as I watch myself, I am constantly striving to amuse myself by belittling me.

But most of all, I'm waiting for the future. Waiting to see what it holds, and to respond to it. I'm not, by most measures, a very impulsive person. I like to see things happen, and then react to them and have my ends and means crystallise. People who plan, organise, and try to bend the world to their will don't appeal to me and neither does their perspective of the world. The world's a funny, crummy, and jaded kind of place - but it has a terrible and stupefying inertia that will not be outdone by the mere jottings on paper of a few, in their intellectual ivory towers. Gandhi said that one should be the change that one is trying to see in the world, and I fully believe in that. But no plan, no one take on anything, is going to change the world.

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Terry Pratchett and his universe never cease to stupefy me in their variety, their humour, their good natured mischief, and what I suspect to be one of the most astute sociological deconstructions of human society. Pratchett's take on deductive reasoning (such as that exercised by Sherlock Holmes in fiction) amused me to no end - he said that the sort of person who looks a man up and down and concludes by calluses on the hand, clothing, etc. that an individual performs a certain function in society, has a certain career, and so on is completely belittling of the depth and variety that the human experience or understanding provides us - because for every deduction that one makes, one misses out a plethora of possible explanations for that set of circumstances which, while highly improbable, still manage to happen quite often merely due to the size and complexity of the globe we live in.

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Friday, February 05, 2010


I happened to wish an acquaintance on their 23rd birthday today - participating in that Facebook ritual that has become the norm. Go to the Home page, look to the right, click the links, type out a hasty "Happy Birthday! Have a good one!" and then move onto the next person on the list until you're done. Quite uncomplicated, and it saves me the usual trouble I have because I can't remember birthdays to save my life.

But a post on his wall reminded me of something all of a sudden that I felt a near physical blow. Nearly 4 years ago (about 20 days short) I was sitting in front of a computer, and I was talking to my brother online. He hooked me onto a song called 23 by Jimmy Eat World. And told me it was how he felt, because that's the age he'd just turned. A song about regrets and a love life - he told me, cheerfully, to ignore the latter. The song stuck a chord in me then, but most good music does. I listened to it for a couple of months, made other people listen to it once in a while, and then it slowly faded away.

But it's been 4 years. And I suddenly know what he meant. How many people can I say, confidently, will be there with me at the end of my days? How many things have I accomplished that I shall look back at in the future with a smile and some pride? Where did those four years go?

Some people say that the teenage years are the worst - adolescents in adult bodies learning how to move and interact in this world of ours. But these years are probably tougher - learning how to BECOME a part of this world. To find our place. Not one of those identity crisis, riddled with angst that we feel when we're 16 and frustrated. But an emptier, more questioning feeling which comes accompanied with a greater knowledge of our capabilities, a bankruptcy of our dreams and hopes, and a rather harsh crash into reality.

Come a few months, I'll be 23. As the song says, I won't always live with these regrets. There will come a time, I'm certain, where I'll be content. But that thought scares me as much - are my sights set too low? Am I really doing all that I can to be all that I might be? Am I really doing justice to who I am? I guess we'll never know. No one will.

But it's all about what we're hoping for. For making those moments count. To rededicate yourself to make your life better, and the lives of those around you better. I'm living with a memory that's playing tricks on me, in an institution that seems to destroy optimism and hope, and yet there are many who emerge from it better people. One of those people will be me, come the passing of a year and three months. And these years will be of value to me. And I hope to use what I learn, and more importantly, what I have become, to gain a place on this world that fills me with purpose.

Saturday, January 16, 2010



There is something inherently trippy about listening to the Nine Inch Nails. Listen to the strains of Just Like You Imagined as they remind you of something grand, something abstract, the sort of feeling bittersweet dreams of longing are made of. The pain that's so great that it's almost sweet as it stirs you and rips out your heart.

Listen to The Perfect Drug to feel that obsession course through your blood. To feel it under your skin. Insidious, and inescapable. The feeling of being dirty, being compelled, and still completely hating yourself for being that what you are, but loving the sensation of being exactly that, loving the feeling of self loathing and giving in to addiction.

Listen to Closer to feel that animal lust course through you, feel it take you over. Rip out every shred of your humanity. Feel the lust envelop you, as your eyes close involuntarily and you squirm to the beat and the absolutely divine feeling of being sinful. You can feel yourself yearn for the friction as the heat of the images burning on the inside of your eyelid overwhelm you.

Listen to Hurt to feel real pain. Real exhaustion. The absolute musical embodiment of pathos and loneliness and lack of dignity in being completely devoid of hope and brimming with the tragedy of loss of your self, loss of those who were dear, and the loss of youth, opportunity and aspiration.
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I really cannot fathom a life without music - a song in my head, a tune on my lips. A beat coursing through the paths in my head, moving my legs, keeping me going. Marching to the beat not of any known drummer, but thinking of a 4 x 4 all the while. The lyrics, as I imagine then, rather unlike the entire reality, as they echo in my head, spouting rhyming little bits of flotsam some of which strike a chord, and others which just cause me to be lost in an entirely new universe. I love music.
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Just struck some Metallica on Grooveshark. None of their new fucking crap. And right now I'm singing along with Low Man's Lyric at the top of my voice. I can't believe how much this hits me every time, every single time I listen to it. It's absurd. Scary. Just irrational. But I can't bring myself to care. His voice in the song is so raw, so full of feeling - harsh, abrasive, it rubs you the wrong and the right way all at once. And the words - they make poetry. They really do. This is hyperbole we've all heard before, but I mean it. It's performing art, not commercial rock music. But that's a Metallica from before.

And of course, the Unforgiven II. Now, I've heard over and over again how the second Unforgiven is inferior to the first. I don't care. I love it. The song has true feeling attached to it. I know I'm running out of adjectives, but I sometimes feel Unforgiven II is actually a kind of musical symphony. It isn't complex, but that guitar lick gets imprinted on my brain, and then the music never leaves.

Then, AC/DC. Bikes on a highway, people in leather, screechy guitars, screechier vocals, and that drumbeat and that guitar - guaranteed to put a spring in your step, and to make you want to feel tough, make you want to look good, look retro. You keep trying to sing, keep trying to sound that hoarse like in Back in Black - it sounds just so fucking cool. Damn.

"I'm out for what I can get -
If you know what I mean;
Women to the left of me,
Women to the right -
And got no gun,
And got no knife;
Don't you start no fight.

'Coz I'm TNT - I'm dynamite
And I'll win the fight ... "

Definitely not the most intelligent words out there. But guaranteed to make you smile. And guaranteed to make you wish for some aviators, and the wide open roads. The true spirit of Rock n' Roll. Here's to hoping it'll never die.

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So, what's on my music menu? I got myself some of the musical complexity and the epic storytelling of Iron Maiden, the trippy and absolutely adorable Pixies in 'Hey', the anthem Born to be Wild by Steppenwolf, and Wolfmother. I'm going to have me a good couple of hours.

It's good to have you back, boys. Let's make some noise.