Life is full of shit..

-Life altering pseudo-wisdom gained during a frenzied bout of dysentery



From the moment you’re born, till the moment you die, life will shit on you. Not just measly hand-brushable bird droppings, but often even huge rhino-sized lumpy dumps, sometimes just for the heck of it. Regardless of where you yourself shit, be it on the biting cold railway tracks or the marble floored pots and pans, life shits on us all, equally and generously. In fact sometimes this world seems like nothing more than a globular chamber pot for the One Above . Anyways, when one does feel that one is being shat upon, there are various things that one can do-

1) Keep on Stinkin’ – Keep wallowing in self-pity and shout out into your pillows how it’s all unfair that you keep getting drenched in God’s poop, until you slowly get used to the stink. Eventually you transform into the stink itself. Little little waxy gooey turds of ‘kismat’ that sit on the lines of your hands while you look around for the beast that you were excreted from for help.

2) Wipe if off – Like a good little nun, you wipe it off and move on, flushing the soaked toilet paper forever and thanking the lord god for…for whatever reason that seems appropriate at that particular moment (might vary from person to person).

3) Reason it out– You watch yourself listening to your brain tell you that shit is just processed food, conversion of energy, that sort of crap. You’re going to become fodder for the worms someday anyway, so it’s a good thing you’re getting a little practice beforehand in dealing with ammonia rich products. All this while your train of thought gradually shifts to the winds that will carry your awful scent to the millions of blinking eye like stars that adorn the huge black spider that you think the sky is. Then you fall, eyes unfocussed and saliva drooling off the edge of your hideously curved lower lip. Over- analysis # fail.

4) Understand the food chain – You go to the nearest Mc. Donald’s that you can lay your hands on. Order 2 Maharaja Macs, 3 Mc grills, 1 Mc puff and a Veg Surprise. Eat. Then you order an extra large coke and dump a whole packet of IsabGol laxatives that you bought on your way, into the coke and drink. Drink like you would an oasis in a scorching mustard desert. And then you wait. Feel the semi-solids mining their way through the lengths of your foodpipe into your stomach. Feel it wriggle and gurgle inside you. You wait for exactly 6 hours, the incubation period for a nice good humungous pile of crap. Feel the creation of life within you. The last two hours of the six will be the hardest. The labour pain. Endure. Wait for your child to come avenge you against all those who shat on you. In the last half hour, slowly make your way towards whatever shat on you or better still you may go find a new receiver to dump it on, carrying the food chain forward. As Michael Buffer would say, “Let’s get ready to ruuuuuuuummble.” In the last few seconds, they say you start dreaming of pearly white toilet seats, golden jets of sprinkling warm water and a heaviness in the bowels that only mothers in childbirth are said to experience. When that happens, you shit. The very moment you do it, you experience natural nirvana, a lightness that only angels with wings are supposed to feel. The dumping process is complete. You’re free.

Conclusion? – No matter what you do, life is still full of shit.

400

No, this is not a lame attempt at scripting a sequel to the Spartan epic- 300. Four hundred bucks is also not the amount of money I'm being paid to write this article. Ha! Far from it. 400 is merely an attempt to fit into the socially accepted norm of writing four hundred words in order to become a magazine’s column writer, as was told to me quite clearly by my editor when I submitted several articles ranging between the horrendously evil and despicable word limit of 600-1000 words.

Now I might have read accounts of many hot-looking women in the adult film industry talking about how 'size matters', but no, that is not the reason why I choose to write slightly longish and 'sizable' articles. It is merely because once you start writing from the heart (sorry for the cliche') you just don't think about word limits!

Imagine someone pointing towards his wrist-watch and snobbishly shaking his head in disagreement while Jimmy Page was playing the long yet heavenly ending to his 'Stairway to Heaven' solo. Now, of course I am in no way comparing my humanly skills to Page's Godly stature. Hell no! But I guess the fact that you are still reading this article, proves that you are smart enough to get the allegory.

The whole idea behind creative space is that, well, its creative! It should let you stretch your wings of imagination without you having to worry about ruffled feathers from walls closing in on you. Commercialization however dictates that the creative spaces be trimmed neatly, powdered greatly and packaged finally with little pink ribbons tied on top. Oo la la!

The very idea of someone monitoring creativity is appalling. It is like putting a kid in a transparent glass box to watch the skies, making him yearn to reach them, but never really letting him actualize that dream by blocking his path with the glass barriers. The very space which should be liberating, is acting like a cage itself. I am that kid, sitting in the glass box, looking at the sky, bumping my head against the glass again and again as I try to reach out.

The fact that I have had to trim down this article on 'the hazards of limiting creative spaces' itself to 400 words in order to get it published, should make irony itself roll over and die laughing.

Maybe it is time we broke the glass barriers, to soar out, breathe free and fly. Hammers anyone?

Groovy, Trippy and Minty-fresh..

Close your eyes. Imagine a child building skyscrapers with his Lego toy blocks. Imagine his cute little pudgy hands as he plays with his toy cars, swooshing them all around the city. You’re sitting in one of those cars, driving through this urban setting with fresh green trees all around and a soft breeze ruffling through your hair.

Now open them. This is exactly what you feel while listening to Evergreen’s new single “City blocks”. It makes you feel like you are standing in the middle of Times Square in New York with the world moving in slow motion around you. Digitalized red, blue and green lights turn hazy and start fusing into each other... Groovy, Trippy and Minty-fresh.

Go ahead, see for yourself - Evergreen's New Single : City Blocks

Those Meandering Eyes...

those meandering eyes..
a window unto her world..
safe and auburn they seem..
yet they speak of a fire unquenched..
crackling away through the years..
softly hissing,whispering..

weary they seem..
to've become over the years..
but the skies within..
never dead..

composed and sophisticated she seems..
yet those eyes scream of a dragon untamed..
crackling away through the years..
softly hissing , whispering..

the black mascara, a veil..
hiding the sorrows and the tears ..
she shed over the years..
softly whimpering, whispering..

her eyes, dusty and husky..
shimmering in the stinging sun..
they speak of a summer solstice..
perhaps that's why she clings to her veil so tight..
that defensive azure gaze..
compels u to look deep within..

screaming,yelling,panting...
frantically waiting..
she yearns to rekindle her flame..

Black Swans and Wormhole Wizards

- an album View..





Yes,I prefer to view an album, instead of reviewing it. Reviewing makes it sound like a snobby old guy with large spectacles who hates everything in the world and still lives with his mom, trying to critique something. Well, I’m not. Get real. You don’t drink a nice strong glass of whiskey or take a hit from a good old sturdy bong only to start debating about its mechanical intricacies, now do you? You either enjoy it or u don’t, and then you go tell others about it. Simple. No snobbish critique crap. All right, so lets begin.


Hell yeah! The new Joe Satriani (a.k.a Satch) Album is finally here! How he manages to be so consistent in his work while most of his contemporaries are busy living off royalty is beyond me. All right, without any further bullshit, lets dive rite into the album! ….

The title – “Black swans and wormhole wizards” might make it seem like a drunk physicist’s random ramblings, but once u look at the album cover, you realize its none other than good ol’ Satch, himself.

Track#8: Two sides to every story – Now when u listen to this , you experience the same blissful feeling that an old retired guy, sitting at home in front of his window with the warm hazy sun shining in, would. Now this old guy is really aerially constipated. There’s a lot of gas in him, but it just won’t come out, so he’s really fvcked up. The first 12 seconds or so, of the song, tell you about his pain. And then you can literally feel him slowly lifting his right leg up and magically releasing all that toxic gas into the Earth’s atmosphere.

O man that moment of subtle silent pleasure when you have just been detoxified…Then Satch makes the guy groove to his song and the old man begins to transform into his young self! He grows back his long locks, his big ol’ pot belly shrivels in, his saggy draggy ol’ skin is tight again and you watch him start to emit waves of awesome rainbow colored radiation. You look into the guys eyes and you almost hear them say “ o yea baby, u see me!”. The blues are back mann!

He picks up his guitar and runs out to go “rocking in the free world”. Emitting laser powered notes he sends out hypnotic waves throughout the galaxy. Yes, you got it right. He’s the alien and you are surfing with him. Smoothly riding his galactic surfboard in the sky, as if cruising on a Hawaii wave, he shows you blackholes and ‘worm’ ones too, he seems to be saying ‘there u go son, that’s what you needed to see, now relax and let go’ and you simply glide endlessly with your eyes closed and your erectile organs straightened like an iron rod, guiding you like an antennae, into the beautiful land of the age old blues smiley bluesy blues blues blues blues ..

As Satch tells you, there are always two sides to every story, you just heard mine. What’s yours?


Track# 3:Pyrrhic Victoria is the heroic story of the crazy robot that you saw two years in “I just wanna rock” in “Professor Satchafunkilus and the Musterion of Rock”. While last year’s song told us of his victory in a brutal robo-battle, this song seems to be telling us of his adventures thereafter. To me, it seems like hes finally found a lady friend, a she-robot if you will, and oh boy! Does he like her wormhole or what…At 0.11 minutes, he seems to be asking her ‘Dance with me, wont you dance with me? Dance with me..”. He repeats this part many times in this song so we do get to know that the she-robot isn’t really easy come, easy go. He tries again n again n again but the skank just wouldn’t budge! So yes, he ends up burning her in flames and laughing maniacally towards the end, enjoying his little pyrrhic Victoria..


Next is the Track# 2:Dream song, which is sort of a letdown. I don’t really like it to tell you the truth. It makes me think of a really old grandma type lady rocking droningly in her armchair waiting to die, which is not a pretty picture. Sorry Satch, gotta be honest.

Track # 11 : God is crying . Yes that’s the message that all earthlings seem to have received. Mayhem! Anarchy! Chaos! All of us rush our asses up to heaven to check what’s up with him. Knock Knock. The big ass golden doors open creakingly …you nervously tip your head inside, scared of what you may see…and…

Ola! It’s all right! God is having a crazy angelic party up at his place! It was all a hoax. He just wanted all of us over for his party, hence the urgent melodramatic invite. God comes upto us and says, “Yes my children, the keg’s in the kitchen. Rejoice..”

And oh by the way, if you still haven’t realized this yet, let me give you a head’s up, ….Satch is God!

The next one, Track#10: Wind in the trees is such a trippy song! Even after 13 albums, Joe continues to innovate like crazy. Who needs grass, when there’s such, out of the world, mind numbing music around..

Tracks #1: Premonition and #6: Littleworth Lane (specially Littleworth Lane) simply make you feel good about yourself. Yes, even if you are a mass murderer out on the loose killing innocent babies. I cannot describe it better. Period.
One day when you travel to a deserted beach somewhere far off on the coast of Panama, and its sunset, you are lying there, naked, covered in sand, with your arms cushioning your head. When those hazy sunlit rays will shimmer through the sea, into your bones and will make you ‘think’, that is the exact same feeling you will have while listening to Track#5 Solitude.

Next, you are aboard the Starship Enterprise. They press the button for supersonic travel and swoooosh you enter a galaxy far far away, or as Satch puts it, Track#4: Light years away. Enjoy classic Satch with warm fuzzy tones and twisting , turning tapping licks.

Then comes Track#7: Golden room which is the story of an Indian bride sitting in her wedding dress, meditating inside a… well, a golden room.
Ancient war lords from far off lands are battling it out with each other to get inside the room, to win her heart and marry her. A war ensues and blood spills like crazy everywhere, while the bride remains oblivious of the proceedings outside, totally engrossed in her meditation of Lord Satch. Finally, when the battle ends, the champion opens the door to the golden room, only to realize that there is no bride inside. She has already left, to go ‘Surfing with the alien’!

You cannot imagine the immense surprise and joy that an Indian (me) feels on listening to a tabla/pakhavaj sound (Indian percussion instruments) on a Joe Satriani album. Give it up for outsourcing baby!

I save the best for last – Track#9: Wormhole wizards. The bass line will undoubtedly make you want to (pardon, me for the lack of language here) shake your booty! The guitaring is characteristically Satch-like. The whole feel of the song is so nice! You feel like a secret agent in the disco era during the 80ies running around on little retro missions! Oo that is perhaps why he has named the song wormhole wizards, because wormholes are basically shortcuts through space and time. Call them time machines, portals, cosmic bridges whatever. Satch takes you back in time to the 80ies baby!

Phew! What an album…

LonG nOsEs, EroTic PoSes..

ADOLF HITLER's journal…
21st January,2010..
10:34 p.m:

It’s a hard day’s night. I could be sleeping like a log. But I have promises to keep ,and miles to go before I sleep..

Today was another day, just like them all. Agonizing in self pity I woke up to the sound of the roosters in my farm .I have been working here since I …ehmm…“committed suicide” with Eva, my wife and Blondi, my dog. Oh wait…Shit... I wasn’t supposed to tell you that. Ah.. Who cares anyway?

I love this quite little cozy place that Churchill gave me. It’s got one of those cute mills that you see in Dutch postcards, with sprawling lawns, peaceful mountains and cute busty farm girls…mmmm…what else could an ex-dictator wish for…?

I love doing what I do, raising chicken, growing potatoes and corn, shepherding sheep and slaughtering pigs. The ‘Nazi Swastik poultry farm’ has been doing really well over the years and that’s the only thing that drives me on now.

Anyways, waking up was followed by my usual dose of coffee and cigarettes. Then breakfast followed, which off course was prepared by my lovely housekeeper – Kim Kardashian –bacon , eggs and my favorite orange jew’ce. She ridicules me for writing this diary, ironically calling me today’s Anne Frank. I don’t retaliate. Considering her intimately erotic body, I don’t think anybody would, yes not even the Fuhrer.

Walking through the lobby, I went into the den for some quite time to myself. A sad ripple of a giggle broke across my face as I saw some of the books that I had written over the years, in honor of my friends – The Jews. The widely read graphic novel ‘Long noses , Erotic poses’ , ‘Hannukah with Santa Klose’ and ‘Concentrate your Camps: Vol I and II’ brought back nostalgic memories filled with sunshine.

We , i.e. the Jews and me, had always shared such a warm and amiable diplomatic relationship but the Americans exploited it, just like they are exploiting the Indians and Pakistanis these days. They just can’t tolerate the idea of world peace now can they?
I initiated the world unification and brotherhood movement back in the 40ies ( later termed as “Flower Power”) and started the ‘concentration camps’ where racists and communists were sent to ‘concentrate’ and ‘meditate’ among aromatic flowers and scented candles to let go off their negative vibes but oh no! We, the mighty Americans can’t live in a world with any bad guys now can we? How do we become heroes with no bad guys around? So let’s just frame the visionary philanthropist Hitler and destroy all his humane work!… Arrogant morons…



Suddenly, I heard the sound of footsteps and saw Kim entering the den in a cute little nurse outfit with her playboy bunny hat. I immediately stood up (in more ways than I’d want, but she hardly noticed, damn you fake Dutch Viagra). She had come to give me my daily insulin injection to control my diabetes. I had learnt long ago that cheesy lines about how it was her sweetness that caused my diabetes wasn’t going to get us anywhere, so I dint even try this time. She unbuttoned my pants to reveal my round plumpy buttocks and administered the injection (So what?! It hurts less on the behind, don’t judge me). She then proceeded to laugh as usual, looking at my tramp stamp – the Swastika that I had got tattooed on my left buttock after a crazy night of partying back in college. Well, before you start shaking your head in dismal disapproval, I was a) drunk, b) in college. You can’t blame me.

After the encounter with Kim I started watching T.V. while she got busy preparing lunch. And that is when my blood started to boil. The son of a bitch Osama Bin Laden came on CNN , still gloating about his 9/11 escapade seven years ago. It was my freaking plan! I wanted to hijack planes and smash em into the ‘Staute of Liberty’ a lady whom I’ve always wanted to ‘bang’ and that stupid turbanator couldn’t even hit the planes on target after he stole the plans from me. That dude is so gay, I mean who ‘hits’ two ‘erect’ towers when there’s a perfectly beautiful lady (The Statue of Liberty) nearby…?!


The news and anything to do with the modern world just increases my blood pressure and so I try to avoid anything to do with it. That is one of the two reasons why I have made my refuge in this remote farmland, the other being Kim off course.

All this thinking was tiring so I went to the bathroom to take a little shower and trim my goatee. The goatee is all I have now, since Charlie Chaplin, the irritating funny man started to imitate my exotic little mustache. I should have patented it while I still had the chance.

Dripping water all over the place, I went outside to sunbathe a little on my hammock wearing Kim’s bunny hat. The hazy sun, the shimmering pond and the lush green grass made me think. All that’s left now is pondering; lamenting and cynical thinking that governs my once lustrous and ambitious life. Times change, so do we ..but I wait…wait in silence..biding my time…my time will come…I shall rise once more to rule this minisucle Earth…whence all shall be my minions, cowering below my might to obey my commands..I shall be the supreme master of the entire universe..mwahahhahahahaahaha ……but in the meantime…goddammit....theres chickens to feed, potatoes to peel, ducks, goats, cows and sheep…miles to go before I sleep…

Lets gas ‘em all up!

(a memoir of the bhopal gas tragedy)





Hello. I am Fatima Bee. Lets travel back in time, you and i.

It was on a husky, hazy evening 26 years ago that I was cooking. Making a tangy kadi gravy with some boiled brown rice, the best we could afford mind you, Khan saab, my father-in-law might not have many teeth left but he is still very particular about food. The thick gravy boiled furiously, while the fire from the stove crackled, egging the gravy on, just like a master would, his slave. The tangy aroma swept through the room enticing all that came in its path.


Saleem and Nooyi, my 7 year old twins were busy swimming in the pond with their father, my husband Noor Ji, who had just returned from a tiring day’s work of pottery with his cousins. The whole village seemed to be splashing and squishing with the buffaloes there in the pond. It was quite difficult to tell the adults from the kids and the kids from the animals, if you ask me.

An uneventful dinner was followed by an even more uneventful night. Or so it seemed at the time…

Tucking the twins in and giving Khan saab a glass of hot milk I went back to my room and snuggled cozily next to my husband. Exhausted with the day’s activities we immediately dozed off, refraining to indulge into any more of our own.

The best part about dreams is that they seem real. I flew on through the mountains sniffing the aroma coming up from the boiling hot river of thick kadi gravy. “where are the brownnn riceeee” echoed one of the buffaloes in khan saab’s voice. Hurrying up, a little scared of being yelled at I swirled the river of gravy around faster and faster. It all seemed normal, the river, the buffalo , the gravy.

Yet my eyes started to water. There was a certain flavor of hot mirchi coming in through the gravy. I hope I haven’t put in too much or Khan saab would get angry, I thought. At first it seemed minuscule enough to be ignored but it soon gained volume and became unbearable. I clenched my throat as the mirchi seemed to have formed a coating inside me, making me vomit and scream unbearably. Horror descended the valley as the peaceful scenery soon turned into one that of pain and suffering.
The buffalo was running around madly while the river had transformed into a huge tide that was sweeping everything in its path. A thick mist of the mirchi was engulfing everything. I staggered on trying to see through the mist but everything started to shake violently. Just when it seemed like I could take no more of it ….I woke up.


The whole village was buzzing with excitement. Noor ji was shaking me and the kids awake. I was confused and sweating profusely. It seemed like I had woken up from the dream to land back into the dream itself. Anarchy reigned. Nobody knew what was happening. The only thing we could feel was the pain, the irritation and the unimaginable discomfort of the mirchi mist, a gas that had spread far and wide…
Begging for the dream to get over, I wept…


26 years later, the dream still refuses to get over.
I try to sleep it off, but it is quite difficult to sleep now. The gas has shriveled my intestines and glued my liver to them. It is very painful to lie down. I sleep sitting up, in an awkward position mostly. Noor ji and Kha Saab perished with the gas. Nooyi after her marriage gave birth to three disfigured premature fetuses, all of them died within a week of their birth. Saleem has ruptured lungs and often coughs up blood.

Anyways,I made some thick kadi gravy and brown rice again today. Here at jantar mantar, new delhi. We have been here for the past two months on the road protesting against the thick mirchi gas that screwed up all life back in our hometown of Bhopal. The government refuses to eat this tender meal with us. But you’re welcome to join..if you wish to....while we dream on ….