Is Anybody Home?!?!?!

The Departed won the Oscar for Best Picture. Seriously, WHAT THE F?!?!?! No words can express my anger right now. Just ridiculous.

Black Holes and Revelations

So I finally caught up with my friends from my previous post. They never got a chance to go back and it's too late now, obvs, but that's ok because karma is a bitch. Or, as Justin Timberlake would say, (No, not "I'm bringing sexy back." In fact, I wasn't even aware that it ever left!) "what goes around comes around."

Speaking of music...
If your life had a soundtrack, which songs would be on it? (Stole this from a friend's blog. What can I say, I'm a procrastinator.)

This would be mine~

Opening credits: Sleeping Lessons - The Shins
Waking up: Sleeping Lessons cont'd
Falling in love: Rebel Rebel - Seu Jorge / Samba de Bencao - Bebel Gilberto
Driving/roadtrip: All The Dark Horses - Trashcan Sinatras
Life's okay: Chicago - Sufjan Stevens
Regretting: These Days - Nico
Death scene: Unicornio - Cecilia Noel
Closing credits: Comforting Sounds - Mew / Shirt - Menomena

Who Da Man?

Hillary or Obama? With all the mudslinging, methinks, neither. Besides, I don't think the US is ready for a woman or a black president. So who do we have left? Giuliani? McCain?

Speaking of men, here's saying Happy Birthday, to President Robert Mugabe. May his inflation be with him. He is the man! What do you do when you want to spend $65,ooo on a birthday party when there's 1600% inflation and the country is on the verge of civil war? Simple, you make inflation illegal and you go on state-controlled TV and ask to be relected for another 6 year term to add to the glorious past 27 years. It works.

Who's excited about Britney's hair?

Meteors Becoming Crash Into Earth

So we become dinosaurs in 2036, eh? It's far away... we have better things to worry about right now... like Keynes said, "Who cares about the long run? In the long run, we're all dead."

The more news I read these days, the more I realise how little I actually know about what's going on in the Asian subcontinent, forget the world. These days I read the news with mixed feelings, I mean, it's depressing when a firebomb on a train is required to bring two governments at war to a working solution. And Mynamar extremists infiltrating the border at Kashmir... that's quite a long hike isn't it, just to get caught by border security forces?

Then when I'm about to lose all hope, you find that there is still good on earth... in Gupta's words "genuine" people - like the Prince of Bhutan.
I'm neither a Nepali citizen, nor do I believe that Nepal is a part of India, lest some people take it the wrong way. I am not an enemy of democracy. I am not an extremist. But to see the "suspended" king of Nepal defend his coup was perhaps the most shining example of "sticking to my beliefs" I have seen in recent time - a time when resolve is easily dissolved in a cup of warm milk. I don't care if the students and the "seven party democracy" believe the king was out of line... after all, people, in general, are stupid; and each day my excuse for the irrationalities in the world is strengthened.

Fighting in a sack

As you may know, Hamilton is in the middle of bumblefuck New York. And in places such as this, as a minority, you have to prepare yourself for certain things, from the stares to the much much worse. I'm not sure what could have prepared me for what happened to me and three of my friends last night, however.

Last night, me, C, K, and T (Chinese, Chinese, White, South African - this is important) were out and about, having a fun night that included dinner, engaging in "girl talk," and etc, etc. Before going back to campus, C had to get some alcohol so we went to Hannaford, this local supermarket. Now, we get the alcohol (and some other random stuff like ice cream) and head to a checkout line. By then it was around 8-9pm and there were maybe 2-3 other customers in the entire store. We place the stuff on the conveyor belt and, not surprisingly, she asks all us of for our IDs. We hand them over, no problem. The cashier waves this other lady over, who takes the IDs and then whips out a book full of pictures of various state IDs (never knew there was such a thing).

She goes through C's first, then gets to mine. She examines my ID so hard, I thought she would burn a hole in it with her damn eyes. She flips it over and over and then finally asks me how old I am. I respond, "22." Then, with some bitchy tone, she says, "Is this real?" I'm like, yeah, it's an old Jersey license. She proceeds to check my ID against the book's NJ license. From where I'm standing, I could CLEARLY see that my ID looked exactly like the picture. Granted, my license didn't have the fancy holograms and barcode like C's, but if it looks EXACTLY like the picture, what's the damn problem? After flipping it over a few more times, she finally proceeds to T's. She had a NY state license so that passed on rather smoothly. The lady hands those three back to the cashier. At this point, we're just like, FINALLY. It must have been over 5 minutes.

Now, as the lady is checking K's license, the cashier looks at C's license, then mine and then she has the AUDACITY to say something along the lines of, "Who's who? You two look the same." Then she backtracks and says, "Oh, wait, I can tell by your faces." And then she also proceeds to hand C my and T's licenses as she says to C, "Give these to the nice girl behind you." I'm close enough to reach for them (and do) but why would she say that? Was she implying C was being a bitch? If anything, I was the only bitchy one at this point because I will admit that I responded to the other lady in quite the bitchy tone.

Meanwhile, the other lady is STILL checking K's license. Then suddenly, she says, "I'm sorry, but we cannot accept this. It says under 21 on it." By this point, we're pretty damn annoyed. K walks over and says she is 21 and although it says "under 21," the birth date clearly shows that she's of age. The lady counters and says, "But it says under 21." (Seriously, does this bitch know simple math?) This goes back and forth until the lady finally makes this bullshit answer up and says that the store policy says that if the license says under 21, they can't sell it. K, surprisingly calmly, asks for the manager. The lady says she doesn't know who the manager is and that it's only the night manager. The cashier picks up the phone and calls for the manager. After a few minutes, he comes over in some ratty ass shirt, Hannaford cap, and a tiny ass nametag on said shirt was the only indicator of his position. He comes over and immediately, the lady says, "Hi, Bobby." (Don't know the manager my ass, bitch!) So K, the lady, and the manager are conferring over this damn situation. Slowly, the talking gets louder and K continues to defend her position, even going so far as to request to see this so-called store policy in writing. The manager has no fucking clue and continues to say that whatever the lady said is final and right. As K continues, both bitches are smirking at us. Not only that, but the cashier had the nerve to say in a bitchy tone, "Why don't you go to Price Chopper (another grocery store)." We continue to hassle but after being at this fucking checkout line for at least 30 minutes, we're just like fuck it, there is no point in arguing with the ignorant and dumb. In the end, we just left all the shit on the conveyor belt and left.

NEVER have I been subjected to such bullshit. I have dealt with miniscule moments of racism in my life but last night took the fucking cake. Seriously?? If you're gonna be racist, at least have the balls to deny selling us shit because three of us are minorities instead of pulling out some lame ass rule to hide behind against the white girl with a legit license!

K and T planned to go back there today at a different time to talk to a REAL manager. I haven't talked to them yet today but we'll see.

What Kind of an Indian Name is Jasmine?

Have to listen to this... why do people do this to themselves?

Huppy Budday Maggie

Here's wishing Fong-Wai Chan a wonderful birthday... May you spy hard.

For The Mother's Pride

It seems like I am the only remnant active member of this blog, but no matter, I shall continue to spew my genius on this site, albeit seldom. This sudden surge was sparked off by certain events: the new Hritik Roshan ad "Cock uthale, dhoom machale", sequel to the disastrous "Find me with cock", in the early 00s; the death of one of the legends of the animation industry, Joseph Barbera; the entire Mamta Banderjee-Singur-Tata episode etcetra etcetra. Not to mention India's first man and lady, the cute couple of Laloo and Rabri are off the hook after swindling the government of $2.8m. And what's the buzz about these days? Abhishek Bacchan angry about Hritik kissing Ash in Dhoom 2, now ain't that fitting. It seems like India has finally realized that sex sells. By the way, the new Motorolla flip phone ad has to be one of the best ads I've seen in recent times.

Well on a brighter note at least the Jessica Lall murder case is over with... yeah take that Ram Jethmalani! The Indian cricket team cruise to a 123 run win over the Proteus claiming our first win in South Africa... I didn't really care, watching Sreesanth dancing after hitting Nel for a six was worth my time. And the dada is back, silencing his critics with a gritty half century. Of course as one bong rises, another must fall, so we bid adieu to Jagmohan Dalmia. Of course, things haven't been so peachy for the Indian Hockey Team failing miserably at the Asian Games in Doha this year, looks like Gagan Ajeet Singh's two cell phone strategy wasn't so bright after all. By the way, anyone seen the video of "One Love" from the movie "Rakht" with Little B and Bips, good god, I don't know what to make of it - "...for the mother's pride"?. Brilliant like Guinness!

Oh, for the non-believers (read: Jae and Pragyan), the Kolkata Tornadoes were kicking ass in the IFA Shield till they were beaten by some second rate Chinese Club called Shenzen in a freak match... well sometimes the best can falter. The Deep Purple performance in Bangalore was great, but these guys look so old, none of that old spark that rock bands of the 70s had. I was afraid someone was going to have a heart attack on stage. These guys looked so fragile.

And the Buddhist chanting fad, wonder how long that will last? Yoga shoga, even pilates was fine, but Buddhist chanting, really? We only pick that up once the west has huh, just like everything else. Seriously, it's high-time we got over our inferiority complex and our post-colonial hangover.

This evening I went shopping in my local market. Apparently the police is going to demolish the entire joint and is moving everyone to a newly made concrete fish market. While I understand that this is probably a good thing in terms of hygiene and all those things we care about, I'm really going to miss tip-toeing my way through the various vendors, dodging the odd cart and coolie carrying a jhori of chicken. Who knows, in a few years this is probably going to be replaced by a Wal-Mart and Tesco - they've already started making cracks in the Indian grocery market scene. Woe the day when even in Kolkata, full blooded bongs will have to buy packaged fish. Heresy I say.

And then there was the trip to Amsterdam. The Last Samurai and other friends with Nepal and bright Northern Lights. For those who want to know, Absinth tastes like Pastis, not cool at all. Before I leave, I have to recount a rather interesting story. Another little adventure that took place on the eve of my departure from London.

A couple of nights before I left for Kolkata, I went to watch "The Woman in Black" with Elena. The play was excellent, although there were a bunch of school girls in the theater screaming at random moments... bimbos. Anyway, after the play I went to Elena's place and chilled over some wine and cheese. By the time I left it was rather late and the tube was no longer running. I asked Elena for directions and tried to navigate my way back to my part of town but got hopelessly lost. I asked a rickshaw-walla for directions but he just pointed me in the wrong direction... diplodocus. For a while I was worried, then I said, oh fuck it and just walked around...

So I was wandering about the streets of north London (Grover St. et al) when I met this really drunk girl at a bus station who claimed she knew the way to Kingsway and since she was in a good mood, she would show me the way. At first I insisted she just show me the way but she would not be swayed, so we went walking, singing (nah we didn't sing) and enjoying the night air although I was aware I'm supposed to talk to strangers. I wasn't even sure we were walking in the right direction. I don't think she knew which direction we were walking in at all.

Suddenly she says that she needs to pee. At my wits end I say ok there's a phone booth, use that I'll keep watch. She does that but then as she walks out of the booth she passes out. Now I don't know her name or where she lives. I only gather she's from UCL from her chic hat. so I try to slap her awake. Hey, wakey, wakey. A brown guy slapping a white woman in the middle of the night in a deserted street...something's gotta give.

Along comes a cop car. I shuddered. It was "thank you god" moment along with "I hope they don't shoot me" kind. Lucky for me they understood what was going on. Apparently there are a lot of drunk students scattered about London on a given Thursday night. They checked her creds and mine and gave us both a ride to our respective dorms. An interesting turn of events. A normal 40 minute walk turned into a 3 hour odyssey. I ended up reaching home at 4:30 or thereabouts.

Hope this keeps you all occupied for a while.

My Old School Prayer

Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high;
Where knowledge is free;
Where the world has not been broken up by narrow walls;
Where words come out from the depth of truth;
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection;
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way in the dreary desert sand of dead habit;
Where the mind is led forward by thee into ever-widening thought and action
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.


Rabindranath Tagore.
(For some reason this has been making rounds on the internet with the wrong words...)

The World’s Worst Job

Playing an unnamed goon in a John Woo Hong Kong action flick has to be the worst job in the world. You have to wear a suit to work, the pay is terrible, no health benefits, and no pension plan - otherwise, I Bankers would be running to John Woo for a job, those blood suckers will do anything for a quick buck (and a chance to wear a suit). And things are not made any easier when Chow Yun-Fat never has to reload his gun and can use a 12 guage shotgun with surgical precision. I guess the only upside is that laundry costs are not too high since goons die off one shot to any part of the body.

Sometimes I wonder what would happen if Rajnikanth, Chuck Norris, and Chow Yun-Fat faced off – end of the world? Do goons have nightmares about these people? Do they check for Van Damme under the bed when they go to bed at night? Questions such as these have kept me up since I watched The Killer, Hard Boiled, God of Gamblers, and the A Better Tomorrow trilogies.

Moreover, how does one become a goon? Do you just walk into a Triad office and hand in your resume? Do you need job experience or a degree from MSG [1]? After all for most of these goons, it looks like this is the first time they have held a gun/driven a motorbike/car/helicopter/tricycle/auto etc. Seriously, I cannot think of anything worse than being a goon in a John Woo movie, except for maybe lawyers (no offence Nisha).

[1] MSG: Ming School of Goons, Hong Kong – the main bad guys usually graduates of this place.

Sweet?

It is funny how people in London are used to spending two thirds of their day in super-congested compartments that they called ‘The Tube’. Cases of people falling ill during their ride on the train are not rare in existence. Some common explanations are the lack of ventilation and/or the person being sick before entering the train. Data and almost every single passenger would choose the former. After a long day of learning about countries from all around the globe at the World Travel Market organized in ExCel London (eastern end of London), I was heading back taking the usual, the Tube. Tiredness was what I could see in other passengers’ faces. All of them looked dead. The only means of entertainment were the sight of people making futile attempts to stay awake and the banging of the heads on the side glass by the seats. My journey was supposed to last for approximately 2 hours. Peak hour exacerbated this journey of mine by allowing a dozen 6.5 feet tall guys in the already full compartment in which I was struggling for some fresh oxygen. I was pushed to the side and could barely move. Few more people got on at the next station, among which there were two girls (17/18 yrs, normal looking, probably college girls). One of them was pushed to the pole I was hanging on to. After about a couple of minutes, I realized that her body was pressing against my hand. I felt awkward but couldn’t do much due to congestion. She was also holding on to the same pole. Soon after that, I felt someone trying to play with my fingers. It was her. I felt very uneasy and quickly withdrew my hand into my pocket. I was confused about how I should react. She then looked at me, smiled and then ended it with a polite ‘sorry’. No reaction from me again. The only thing that came into my mind was ‘Wow! That was unexpected’. Then things went back to the way it was supposed to be in a train chamber. I got lost thinking about nothing, looking outside the window. Slowly, the share of oxygen per passenger in each chamber started going up, after halts at several stations. More and more people started getting off the train. I was still standing by the door. Then it reached the station before the one I was supposed to get off at. The doors opened. Suddenly, I felt something warm on my chest. I quickly came back to senses to realize that it was somebody’s hand. It was the same girl. She looked at me, gave the same smile, said, ‘You are too sweet!’ and walked out. No reaction from me this time as well. To make the matter a little bit more interesting, I had my cousin sister sitting not very far away from me on the train witness the whole scene and later interrogate me about my intentions and thoughts. Again, no reaction from me.

I guess interesting things can happen in some of the most boring places as well.

If you were me, tell me how you would have reacted.

My Motto

White Socks

I hate it when trains are late. It is universal. All over the world, trains are always late. I do not like trains, but I like train stations. There is something surreal about train stations – a microcosm of modern society if you will. I enjoy sitting on a platform bench observing the world go past, entranced by the multitude of cacophonous sounds that echo around the high ceilings. Yes, I like train stations; trains are a different matter altogether.

The train I was on was scheduled to leave Napoli half an hour ago but it was still gleefully idling at the station like a fat boy in a Mark Twain novel. I was not pleased. I was stuck in a small compartment with Hann for company and the air conditioner was not running. I tried to make small talk with Hann but he seemed engrossed in the colorful complimentary magazines in the seat pocket. I don’t know what he was reading – it was in Italian, and neither of us spoke the language. I looked outside the graffiti stained window to wile my time and a glum silence filled the compartment…

Leaning my head against the wall, I was about to fall asleep when the sliding compartment door was violently pushed apart and a dirty little man with a large mustache and a navy blue knapsack walked in. He looked at us with leery eyes and snorted, and with a magical sleight of hand produced two packets and tossed one to each one of us. I caught the packet on my lap. It was a set of white socks. Bewildered, I looked up and caught Hann’s equally confused eyes looking at me. People usually don’t hand out sets of white socks.

“Socks.” The man said as if he had answered the question to life, universe, and everything else. We looked up at him.

He scratched his rough chin and sighed. “Ummm… twenty Euros.”

I look at Hann and he's busy inspecting the goods. I look down at my packet, not sure what to do, so I look at the stubby Italian expecting some sort of an explanation...

"For you only twenty Euros..."

I look at Hann. His ears were turning red. Suddenly Hann throws the packet of socks at the Italian and with a Fonz expression says, "Aieaaa, these are made in China man, my family probably made them, and you're trying to sell it to me?..."

The stubby Italian snatched the packet out of my hand and walked out with a solemn face. Once again the compartment lapsed into silence. I resumed my vigil on the platform, waiting to get to Rome.

Half Step Down

I just finished watching The Departed and I'm very disappointed. Leonardo DiCaprio was actually pretty good here but otherwise, the movie was lacking without even comparing it to Infernal Affairs, the original Hong Kong movie which is the basis for The Departed. There were plot holes left and right and Jack Nicholson and Matt Damon's characters were too one-dimensional. Not to mention some of the unncessary gore and sex. Do all American movies have to include such crap all the damn time? It didn't add anything to the freakin plot.

And don't even get me started on the ending. Ridiculous. I will not ruin the movie for those who haven't seen it and want to. Instead, I will rant more (with spoilers) in my own blog at some point. I haven't written there in forever.

Overall, I'm just sad that a lot of people will have no idea that The Departed is a remake. And even if they do, they will write off Infernal Affairs because it doesn't have a "happy" ending like The Departed and almost every other American movie even though it is such a better movie.

Procrastinate... just do it!

procrastinate...just do it!!!

Pictures of Scaffolding

I feel a faithless lover returning to my faithless love. It has been a long time since I've written anything on this blog. This sphere is slowly turning into a shallow grave. It appears that the spunk driving the intense blogging in its early stages have now given way to sporadic notes like these. Honestly though, can you really blame me?

Initially I was quite gung-ho about recording my Odyssey through Europe in these pages, but now I'm not so sure. But I'll start anyway and see how far it goes...

My journey seemed to be star-crossed from the beginning, what with Pragyan breaking his leg a few weeks before our plans finalised and my failure to obtain a British visa early enough to drop my bags off in London. Plus there was the theft of my wallet in NYC (I have a feeling the pickpocket responsible was a graduate of LSP...). Not to mention that I was now going to be travelling on my own... I was a little apprehensive.

However, one morning I called Hann, a recent Hamilton grad and asked, "Hey, I'm going to Europe, want to tag along?" Fortunately, and rather surprisingly Hann said, "yeah, sure why not." The rest they say is history, but I shall spell it out for you anyway...

This series is going to be broken into 21 parts, one for each city, I think.

Welcome to the Jungle!

So, it’s been 10 days in London and I can already see what my next 10 months are going to be like. As soon as I entered London (this is my first time, not counting the 24 hours I spent during the Red Alert season), the first impression I had of the place was ‘Man, this place is a killer…it is just too expensive’. Looking at the price tags, Maity and I cherish those days when we said ‘Man, New York is a killer…it is just too expensive’. Of course, we come from a place where we can have one of the best and filling meals for less than a dollar. The world runs on money. Maity and I have so much time now that we get into grave discussions wherever we sit. Our last lunch at an LSE restaurant had money as the big topic. The conclusion was obvious – money is great. Sometimes, I think about and laugh at how I used to react when I had to use the subway in NYC. ‘2 dollars???’ Hah, we now pay 3 full pounds for a ride.

The dorm we live in and Dunham at Hamilton must have had the same architect…coz they resemble each other perfectly – those long hallways with identical doors on both sides that make you go cuckoo every time you come in. Even the residents seem to behave in the same way. I hardly see anybody on the hallway whenever I go out of my room. The only difference between the two buildings is that this one is much bigger. It can accommodate up to 650 students.

This dorm is situated in the heart of the financial district of London. The very first time I walked out of the building I realized that it is not a good news for us at all. Every little thing is twice as expensive as what it costs in other parts of London. On top of that, there isn’t a single proper restaurant or even a convenience store nearby. Our last trip to a grocery store took 40 min of walking. Worse for me because I have been in bed for three full months and my foot is still not ready. I am not even in a state to walk for 15 straight minutes. The 25 min walk to LSE everyday is already a torture for me.

Nevertheless, London is a beautiful city and very diverse (less Latinos and more Indians and East Asians). Met Jin and Cindy yesterday and they seem to enjoy the calm sub-urban life of London with occasional visits to Central London. Neither Maity nor I know where the hell Priya is. We have seen her twice until now, and that’s it. Whenever I message her when she comes online, she says ‘be right back in 10 or 15’ and she disappears totally after that. All of them seem to be in a chilled-out mood in their own ways. I guess, so are we. I hope it will be the same until we leave this place.

Is It Any Wonder

So it seems we are facing a dip in posts for now. Maity is too busy enjoying his trip in Europe while Pragyan is too busy procrastinating or playing video games. I shouldn't talk, though, because I've been busy working/procrastinating as well. More importantly, I have no idea what to write. I'm in a funk, a dry spell and I can't get out of it. I cannot seem to write well for my classes either, which is never good. I'm like a superhero without any powers. My powers of writing and bullshitting are gone...whatever shall I do?

Any suggestions of what I should/could write about will be appreciated.

For now, I'll just leave you with a few random thoughts:

1. Snakes on a Plane didn't exactly match up to the hype. Figures. Too much expectation only results in disappointment.

2. The freshmen here are worse every year. Get off your damn high horses. You're freshmen, the bottom of the damn food chain. Deal with it. And if you hate it here, ok, that's fine, join the club. I was there. Hell, a shitload of us were. It may or may not get better but in the meantime, suck it up and shut the fuck up.

3. Facebook is going down the drain right now. If it really does open to all, I will consider closing my account. Seriously.

4. Grey's Anatomy premiere this coming Thursday. Who's excited?? I sure am. (I'm a loser, I know.)

Yippee-ki-yay, motherf*cker.

Amazing. Just watch.

Hamilton Summer: The Ballad of Pragyan Pradhan

This is to welcome Pragyan Pradhan (formerly known as The God of Small Things) of Jae and Silent Pradhan fame to enter the world of blogging; adding yet another eclectic voice to "Listening to the Weather". Pragyan is presently pursuing an undergraduate degree in Economics and Mathematics at Hamilton College. When not studying, wasting time, or fighting for civil rights issues in Nepal, Pragyan enjoys fighting crime under the guise of Proverbman. We look forward to a glimpse of his never ending river of wisdom...

On another note, I am dead tired. Thinking is taxing. I should stop.

I did not do any work the whole summer. Maybe read a couple of books: Aldous Huxley's "Brave New World", Kawabata's "Master of Go" and Bill Bryson's "A Brief History of Everything" among others. Watched a lot of movies, some useless, some brilliant, like Kubrick's "The Shining" on HD... finally eh? Played a lot of games, learnt how to mix a mojito and the fact that Miami cops can afford Ferraris... one could say that all summer was one lazy sunday.

This weekend I did more work than the whole summer. Pragyan and I have our research presentation due at 6 pm this evening. We started working on our research paper 2pm on Saturday afternoon. Needless to say the next 48 hours were spent bent over three laptops, thousands of loose sheets of research papers and raw data and a bottle of Johnny Walker Gold Label.

I'm still trying to recover from the onslaught. Twenty eight pages of, quite frankly, bullshit. Albeit it's not spectacular, I'm proud of it. I just hope my boss feels the same way.

(Edit: The dinner-presentation went off great! I think...)

"I'll procrastinate tomorrow..." ~ Pragyan Pradhan