It's been a long time since I rocknrolla.
It's been a long time since coca cola.
Been a long time, been a long time,
yea lonely lonely lonely lonely taaaaaaaiiiiiiime.
Anyway, hey guys. What's up and all. I'm losing my mind. There have been a series of lemony snippets in the recent past that have left a deep ever lasting impression on my impressionable mind. I shall try and chronicle the events.
On the 25th of October, which also happens to be Pablo Picasso's birthday, apart from being mine, I woke up as usual. I brushed as usual. I drank my coffee as usual. And then it happened. Presuming that you are above the legal age and privy to the habits of grown men who smoke cigarettes in the bathroom during their rich, undisturbed and very private conversations with themselves, I shall let you in to the fact that I, was a member of this club. So when I lit the cigarette and read the headlines, as is my custom, I had a strange nauseating feeling, which was so strong in nature that I just spit the cigarette out. And that was it. I have been clean since then, and to top it, am now allergic to second hand cigarette smoke. You might think nothing of it, but I take it as a huge let down to a glorious association of fifteen years. No good- byes, no 'this is my last cigarette'. Just one moment of extreme revolt.
The next event happened recently, around the fifth of November. I was at a friend's place, duly invited to entertain a select gathering with my most awesome guitar skill, which has won me accolades and almost one female fan, but that is another story. Anyway, there I was, drinking beer, conversing, listening to conversations, eating chips, letting out a subsonic fart, behaving generally well, you know. And then it happened again. Never in my life, my friends, and I mean NEVER IN MY LIFE, have I got high on a bottle of beer. I did that night. I don't remember anything after a certain point where I had started a sentence with "Actually, the thing is basically......" and drifted away. Recollections by reliable sources who were not under the influence of alcohol or any other substance revealed a high strung, unending guitar lesson, a motorcycle ride at maximum speed, and some other nonsense, which are usually not the attributes of a respected gentleman with fine tastes such as myself.
This is not the end. The said friend's place is one that I frequent and have, many times in the past, slept over when the alcohol content was too much in the system. Suffice to say that I am very comfortable and at home with the place. To continue the story, the first thing that I woke up with was the thought that I had been kidnapped was now in Poland. This lead to a frantic search for my passport, which evidently, was not there. I was sweating. I was planning the best strategy to escape. A note here - I was still lying down on the bed. All the action was happening with my eyes half open, but I was fully conscious. And then, a girl I knew in Kindergarten, whose name I do not remember now, walked in through the front door wearing the red checkered uniform from that era calling out my name. I have never run faster in my life. I just picked up my two guitars, the car keys, and whatever I remembered as mine, got into the car, and drove off.
Presently, I had traveled for about a kilometer when I had this feeling, nay, belief, that one of the tires was running a puncture. I stopped, got out, checked the whole assembly, got back in, and repeated the same exercise around 5 times till I got home. Once I reached home, the feeling that my mind was trying to get out of my mind became even more intense. I had asked my mother for some tea, and when she served, I got very suspicious that it was laced with poison. My mother being my mother, gladly accepted the refusal and drank the tea herself. I walked into my room, washed my face again and promptly fell asleep, only to wake up at nine in the night. I was later told that (during my sleep) I had a very meaningful conversation with someone about investments, someone else about the latest blue ray players, and someone else about books. I have no recollection whatsoever of these events.
And yesterday, for the first time in my life, I accepted an alleged attempt to modernize me. My barber, who thinks he is the Bruce Lee of hair cutting, suggested that I get blackheads removed. Blockheads, according to him. He then went on to give a sermon on how removal of these 'blockheads' ensures long life, high return on investments, reduction in the global carbon emissions, and the general good of mankind. He went on to do a procedure known as the 'facial'. I must say that though I enjoyed the massage while it lasted, I felt thoroughly guilty like I had committed a heinous crime. Also, a contemporary haiku to commemorate the event -
When I am forty,
with the right amount of multani mitti,
I shall look thirty,
Like a certain Silpa settty.
Thank you, thank you. Anyway, I have been metro sexualised. Also, women with impish boy brats who refuse to let their hair cut unless in the presence of their mothers, choose a better time to visit. In other words, it's very embarrassing for a man who is convinced that he was tricked into the facial thingy to have a mom in the background. The facial includes applying a 'Multani Mitti' pack, a stupid paste which solidifies and pulls your face. When this was happening, the brat in the next seat was going, "What has uncle put on his face?", "Why does he need it? My mom puts the same thing. It's only for ladies, no?". Bah.
Anyway, coming back to the narrative, I couldn't sleep last night. Just when I was about to drift off into la la land, I heard a voice, calling out my name in a whisper. It was not a man's voice nor a woman's. There it was, every time I was technically falling asleep, a soft call, right next to my ears.
I think I am officially going mad. Anyway, the good side to all this, is that my servant maid, after long negotiations about her pay, has returned.
Thank you.
It's been a long time since coca cola.
Been a long time, been a long time,
yea lonely lonely lonely lonely taaaaaaaiiiiiiime.
Anyway, hey guys. What's up and all. I'm losing my mind. There have been a series of lemony snippets in the recent past that have left a deep ever lasting impression on my impressionable mind. I shall try and chronicle the events.
On the 25th of October, which also happens to be Pablo Picasso's birthday, apart from being mine, I woke up as usual. I brushed as usual. I drank my coffee as usual. And then it happened. Presuming that you are above the legal age and privy to the habits of grown men who smoke cigarettes in the bathroom during their rich, undisturbed and very private conversations with themselves, I shall let you in to the fact that I, was a member of this club. So when I lit the cigarette and read the headlines, as is my custom, I had a strange nauseating feeling, which was so strong in nature that I just spit the cigarette out. And that was it. I have been clean since then, and to top it, am now allergic to second hand cigarette smoke. You might think nothing of it, but I take it as a huge let down to a glorious association of fifteen years. No good- byes, no 'this is my last cigarette'. Just one moment of extreme revolt.
The next event happened recently, around the fifth of November. I was at a friend's place, duly invited to entertain a select gathering with my most awesome guitar skill, which has won me accolades and almost one female fan, but that is another story. Anyway, there I was, drinking beer, conversing, listening to conversations, eating chips, letting out a subsonic fart, behaving generally well, you know. And then it happened again. Never in my life, my friends, and I mean NEVER IN MY LIFE, have I got high on a bottle of beer. I did that night. I don't remember anything after a certain point where I had started a sentence with "Actually, the thing is basically......" and drifted away. Recollections by reliable sources who were not under the influence of alcohol or any other substance revealed a high strung, unending guitar lesson, a motorcycle ride at maximum speed, and some other nonsense, which are usually not the attributes of a respected gentleman with fine tastes such as myself.
This is not the end. The said friend's place is one that I frequent and have, many times in the past, slept over when the alcohol content was too much in the system. Suffice to say that I am very comfortable and at home with the place. To continue the story, the first thing that I woke up with was the thought that I had been kidnapped was now in Poland. This lead to a frantic search for my passport, which evidently, was not there. I was sweating. I was planning the best strategy to escape. A note here - I was still lying down on the bed. All the action was happening with my eyes half open, but I was fully conscious. And then, a girl I knew in Kindergarten, whose name I do not remember now, walked in through the front door wearing the red checkered uniform from that era calling out my name. I have never run faster in my life. I just picked up my two guitars, the car keys, and whatever I remembered as mine, got into the car, and drove off.
Presently, I had traveled for about a kilometer when I had this feeling, nay, belief, that one of the tires was running a puncture. I stopped, got out, checked the whole assembly, got back in, and repeated the same exercise around 5 times till I got home. Once I reached home, the feeling that my mind was trying to get out of my mind became even more intense. I had asked my mother for some tea, and when she served, I got very suspicious that it was laced with poison. My mother being my mother, gladly accepted the refusal and drank the tea herself. I walked into my room, washed my face again and promptly fell asleep, only to wake up at nine in the night. I was later told that (during my sleep) I had a very meaningful conversation with someone about investments, someone else about the latest blue ray players, and someone else about books. I have no recollection whatsoever of these events.
And yesterday, for the first time in my life, I accepted an alleged attempt to modernize me. My barber, who thinks he is the Bruce Lee of hair cutting, suggested that I get blackheads removed. Blockheads, according to him. He then went on to give a sermon on how removal of these 'blockheads' ensures long life, high return on investments, reduction in the global carbon emissions, and the general good of mankind. He went on to do a procedure known as the 'facial'. I must say that though I enjoyed the massage while it lasted, I felt thoroughly guilty like I had committed a heinous crime. Also, a contemporary haiku to commemorate the event -
When I am forty,
with the right amount of multani mitti,
I shall look thirty,
Like a certain Silpa settty.
Thank you, thank you. Anyway, I have been metro sexualised. Also, women with impish boy brats who refuse to let their hair cut unless in the presence of their mothers, choose a better time to visit. In other words, it's very embarrassing for a man who is convinced that he was tricked into the facial thingy to have a mom in the background. The facial includes applying a 'Multani Mitti' pack, a stupid paste which solidifies and pulls your face. When this was happening, the brat in the next seat was going, "What has uncle put on his face?", "Why does he need it? My mom puts the same thing. It's only for ladies, no?". Bah.
Anyway, coming back to the narrative, I couldn't sleep last night. Just when I was about to drift off into la la land, I heard a voice, calling out my name in a whisper. It was not a man's voice nor a woman's. There it was, every time I was technically falling asleep, a soft call, right next to my ears.
I think I am officially going mad. Anyway, the good side to all this, is that my servant maid, after long negotiations about her pay, has returned.
Thank you.
