Free-doom Jam:
A mega slugfest of Pseudo Musical Souls in blue loose-fit jeans and black t-shirts.
It indeed brings me a PMS-like depression to come to terms with the fact that I went along with the dress code.

I'm also right now crawling through the untold misery of being in bad Maggi-making form.

So if I come across as some kind of a maladjusted, socially isolated, sad jerk atrribute it to male-menopause and slimy Chinese food.

But there's a good chance that all this might be compensated for.
Uh huh, I'm into big-scale socializing of late. Socializing is ofcourse a convenient word for "going to pubs and getting drunk with girls".
No, but seriously, it is a nice feeling to see your pal-list bloating. It really is.

Random PJ:
I have the hots for some girl called Meghna...ridiculously monikered by her pals as Maggi.
So I hope to be in good Maggi-doing form if not in good Maggi-making form!

thoo, go yaa....bad one.

Glimpses Of Shangri-la

So it turns out that my favourite hang-out place in town is not J-cubez, the pub.
It is infact a place thats the definitive antithesis of a pub!
The Indian Institute Of World Culture.
Funny how I've been there in the past and failed to bask in its magic.

I visited the place one fine lazy afternoon last week, when I suddenly felt like delving into some of Killinger's Existentialist Philosophy stuff. Out of the blue. Off the cuff. Do not ask me why.
Its an ancient rambling library-cum-auditorium kind of a place. The kind thats smells deliciously of old books and is peopled by genteel well-read old men and women with particular taste for The Economic Times. The building itself is very inconspicuous which makes it every bit of a misanthrope's dream. Oh and there's a Jethro Tull fan in the neighborhood who plays Acres Wild exactly mellow enough to make reading bliss too!
One old gent even exclaimed, "Magical!". Such a neat crowd!

But you should know they say a lot of "Krishnaa" or "Venkatramana" each time they sneeze, and loudly.

So I was looking around and the first book I found had to be yet another Douglas Adams masterpiece!
Yes I found The Salmon Of Doubt!
And I allowed myself the luxury of rendering the Manu version of one of his ideas.
Just a fun thing. Here goes:

Dream Film Cast:
Kevin Spacey as a rock musician and now a fugitive, Jack Nicholson his loudmouthed manager and Minnie Driver a love interest in a movie loosely based in post-war Britain circa '70.

Dream rock band:
Eddie Vedder on vocals, Pete Townshend on rythm, Joe Satriani on lead, Robby Krieger on keyboards, Lars Ulrich on drums, Geddy Lee on bass and backup vocals, Vikku Vinayakram on percussions, Ustad Ali Akbar Khan on Sarod and Pandit Hariprasad Churaisiya on flute. A band that knows no musical limits!

Dream project:
Given unlimited financial support, I would fund a research to study feasibility of life on one of Jupiter's moons. A mass teleport vehicle would then take me there along with the Indian cricket team, Manchester United and some hot pit babes.

Dream Lover:
Monica Belucci, with due respect to Tyra Banks and Rakhi Sawant.

Dream cuisine:
Indian, without a shadow of a doubt.

Dream holiday:
Wake up to the sweet chirping of birds in Galapagos, shower at The Bath, have breakfast by a brook in the Danube Delta, scuba-dive from the Grand Canyon, lie on the grassy plains of Northern Australia overlooking the Ayers Rock, catch the sunset at Venice and drop by Hong Kong for dinner on the way home.

I have the Mach 8-Squillion Pan Galactic Jetblaster; geography can hence kiss my ass.

Dream alternative careers:
Train Driver
Shepherd
Wine Critic
Music Journo
CEO, Google.

Dream home:
A cosy little place by a yellow desert stream in Eastern Kashmir with a good view of the Leh hills, a fast broadband connection and a plush white sofa.

Its a good life, fellow dreamers. A good life.

Ah, that guy from 'Manudo' again!

Its the busiest I've been in a long time. The only time I've been busier should be the time when the intricate art of making ice-cream soda had me confounded.
Oh, I've picked up a penchant for unclever digressions. One friend is so vexed at this development that he calls me the VD (Vexing Digressor). I apparently seem so anally retentive that the abbreviation is apt too.

So, Pondy (sic) was fun. Pondicherry too.
After trips to Ramanagaram, Gulbarga, Tumkur and Nandi Hills this past semester, traveling has now well and truly become a passion. I've begun swearing on the Holy Window Seat these days!
The only issue I have with long journeys is instant coffee. Why the fuck do they make it so fuckin' sweet goddamit??

Anyway, the city still struck me with that graceful charm where life is like a luxury of tranquil enjoyment. A peaceful, easy feeling. I think its got a quality that reminds you that you are on vacation. Yes, a quality.
A touch too warm maybe...and a little too smelly at places - but couched under a sky of marvellous purity. **Spoiler alert: paradox ahead**
And then there were the beaches, the bucketloads of bitter and the odd babe.
At this point, I kill the suspense (if any) in reflecting about the abject lack of the much-anticipated hawt someones.
Where're ya'll?!
A theater of such thoughts of innate frustration soon planted a seed that we'll regret nurturing for a long time. Yes, we decided to go to a dance bar. I wouldn't like to talk much about it except be thankful that I was sober enough to realize its absolute repugnance. I hope I never step into another one ever again. Faargh!

Anyway, everything after the above debacle was perfectly peaceful.
The boathouse, the churches, MG Road, the Auroville International Township et cetera.
The latter was splendid. An ashram in memory of the Mother with a neat boutique, orchards and magnicent such pleasure grounds.
Another nice thing about Pondi is how it is a village-cum-metropolis in ambiance.
General revelry is more fun here...in hangouts such as Rendezvous, Nilgiri, Italiano and Ajanta.
The scene is hip but defiantly non-commercial, the people informal but socially responsible.

I also shopped a bit. In an overwhelming sense of gratitude for friends and my aversion to Friendship Day notwithstanding, I brought back some Breezers (cranberry!) and a bunch of smart beads!

So all the carousal done with, we took an auto to get to the bus stand. We get there, I get out of the auto, the auto takes off and I realise its taken my backpack with it (Wildcraft at that). I run to the auto trotting behind and ask him to kindly chase the guy down.
The odds of the auto-men recognizing each other and then getting back to the bus stand to recognize me just to handover a bag of clothes, toileteries and a Breezer seemed plain impossible....considering I had a bus to catch in 10 minutes.
Sighing at the depressing anticlimax that was this outing and shrugging sadly at my luck, I get into the bus. Hardly having left the bus stand out into the road, guess who stops the bus!
Yes, my beloved auto-bro!
I have never paid an auto-guy more happily.
A salute to honesty!

One more trip to Mysore and a bitter-sweet campus interview later, I'm back to being jobless, as literally as figuratively.

Varmahalakshmi and the Upakarmam have seen to that I'm being well-fed.
This might just fuel more frequent blog posts. Give!

Sandy beaches and some beer.

Ok, for three days from now, I'll be romantically unsober with nature and possibly that hawt someone.

Off to Pondicherry,
be back in a bit,
Cheers.

Man On The Silver Mountain

Apart from a couple of pilgrimages to Mantralayam and Tirupati, I've never really been on a road-trip in a car. Despite such a lack of frame of reference, I firmly believe bike-rides are better forms of road-trips.
That I had terrific fun yesterday on a bike-ride to Nandi Hills is just more testimony to that belief. I think this was better than the trip to Chunchi falls that we did last sem round because the roads were a mile better (no pun) albeit less scenic.
Listening to Speedking, Turbo Lover and I Am The Highway five times each before leaving combined with 2 cups of coffee early morning had the desired effect.
We took only around 45 mins to cover 57 kms, the latter part of which was a winding ghat-section. This included a leak break and one snap-break too! Fairly quick, innit!
In the josh-froth, I think I might just've pushed my bike over the edge. Over heated engine coupled with imperfect petrol flow made her drag a bit towards the end.

The best part about hanging out with friends is that nothing ever becomes predictable despite each knowing the other inside-fuckin-out. I mean the inside jokes never become monotonous and still always crack you up. The comfort-zone is irreplacable. I guess its just too powerful to be put in words.
I'd like to take a second here to give the concept of Friendship Day the finger.
Everyday is Friendship Day for me....and is sure as hell worth the risk of sounding corny.

So, we were just walking along this pathway when I saw a couple of monkeys humping each other. I know it seems like a line straight out of Jim Carey's Book On Foolish Things to Make News Reporters Say but...well.
The funny thing about this Simian Sensualism was how the position they adopted for doing it was quite unsurreptitiously doggie-style.
Now I'm not so much of a pink movie fan (I'm not a fan of anything pink, if that speaks of my sexuality) but this was room for thought yaw!
Why then don't we call it 'monkey-style' rather than 'doggie-style'?
Monkeys took precedence over dogs in the Evolution Table too. Apart from being an insult to Darwin (sic), I think it is plain illogical. Maybe we need to ask people who employ the position if they feel more like dogs than monkeys while doing it. That'd be one fun research!

Anyway, a superb lunch and more soul-caging inside jokes later, we headed back home.
If you ever go to Nandi Hills on a two-wheeler, don't forget to switch off the engine on your way down. Extreme fun and a good way to save fuel.
A super trip which'd have been even better if Angie came through it better. Looks like she's in for a not-so-minor overhaul. This might just jeopardise the Chunchi trip guys, I'm sorry.
Well for once a trip whose essence was not so much the ride as the 'hanging out'.

Come down with fire
Lift my spirit higher
Someone's screaming my name
Come and make me holy again
I'm the man on the silver mountain