"I Quote. I Ramble..."

You don't understand! I could have had class. I could have been a contender but that would require courage. I could've been somebody, instead of being a troubled man who questions himself everyday. That is who I am. I've got a feeling I'm not in my delusional la-la-land anymore. So, here's looking at me, kids. Fasten your seatbelts. It's going to be a bumpy night in the freak show that is my life.

What we have here is failure to communicate. Now that we see these signs, perhaps help is at hand and we can sit back and enjoy the smell of a defrosted napalm in the post apocalyptic morning. I'm definitely not going to say, Made it, Ma! Top of the world! Hah! They call me Mister Witty - and I'm as mad as hell, ain't going to take this anymore! I can't handle the truth. I want to be alone. After all, tomorrow is another day. Mom always said life was like a box of chocolates. You never know what you're gonna get. A boy's best friend is truly, his mother. And life is a banquet, its just that most poor suckers are starving to death!

La-dee-da, la-dee-da.

Page 3

Okay, let me start by apologizing to all the people I force to read my random ramblings. I realize that I have put the ‘pro’ in procrastinate and haven’t really gotten on to updating the blog I so dedicatedly penned to begin with. Sorry! I’m lazy. I know that I need to find a way to destroy the dawdling demon that lies within. Okay, now on to more serious issues. I just walked in from an awards function and its after party. I enjoyed myself thoroughly – guilty pleasure, perhaps. I mean I’m not one to go absolutely goo-goo-ga-ga over stars (SRK excluded) and their soppy shenanigans and even more sloppy speeches – since I already have my acceptance speech, a classy one at that, down pat. I just had fun criticizing the overly dressed up tartlets and continued giggling like a schoolgirl at the effeminate alpha males. Yes, I see the irony too. Now you’ll have to excuse me while I take a minute to trounce my classist moment.

Done!

Anyway, while all of the above doesn’t make sense and since Red Bull clearly cannot get me high I want to pen down a few thoughts in all my commonsensical consciousness. Exclusive clothes, air-kisses, Evian, polite conversation, bitchy-bytes, designer shoes, fancy cars, 5 Star Venues, imported caviar, expensive wine and artificial hair-shine is the stuff that my custom made career will become heir to. I’ve always wondered if I could master the art of fake conversation and compliment my worst enemy. I’m no Derek Zoolander but I do occasionally seek worldly advice from a puddle in a pothole. I don’t know my Hussain from horse-shit but I know that the going rate is a million bucks. Don’t judge me – we all know how it works.

Now here’s the scary part. As I gradually climb the social ladder and go from the SMS invite to a handcrafted courier, I’ve begun to become conscious of the arch lights that reflect from the flippantly larger-than-life Prada handbags and I, in point of fact, fit right in. I must say that I enjoy the concept of power-lunches and high-tea. I don’t mind paying the extra ten grand for a label that reeks of a fashion know-it-all. I take pleasure in holding my wine glass just right even as I enjoy name-dropping and reveling in the luxury of fake scandal. They say that talk is cheap but my mouths full of imported Sushi.

…I absolutely hate it.

Choose

Choose Death. Choose to Live. Choose a Line of business. Choose happiness. Choose Joy. Choose Sadness. Choose a big HD television; choose surround sound, fancy cars, ready to eat microwavable meals. Choose new words. Choose bad health, fat and cholesterol. Choose KFC. Choose a lifetime gym membership you will never use. Choose a Playstation. Choose to travel through short-cuts. Choose to Abuse when a track rams into you from the opposite direction. Choose a book. Choose not to read it. Choose your friends. Choose Underwear. Choose a Country. Choose Sex. Choose to question Yourself. Choose your identity. Choose to marry marijuana. Choose to marry a millionaire. Choose to wonder who the Fuck you are. Choose Reality Television. Choose to have a love marriage. Choose your future. Choose a Wife. Choose to Kill. Choose to back out. But why would I want to do a thing like that? I'm not supposed to be choosy.

Dhoondein...

Abhijeet Sawant (yes of the Down Market Indian Idol Fame) is out with a new album. I downloaded it to fill up the blank space for my new car MP3 CD. I had just about enough empty space for one more Album and knowing my anal penchant from being, well, anal - I downloaded the album since it was amongst the new releases of the week. I popped it into my car and cruised along waiting for the much awaited Saawariya and Sanjay Leela Bhansali to tease my senses with eclectic sounds. Ugh, barring the title track, the music is a Dud. If I wanted to hear Devdas repackaged, I would pop it into my Sound Editing Software and do the needful. Om Shanti Om, was just Groan, Groan Groan (sorry SRK). Out of sheer desperation, engine idling and watching sweaty people alight from trains at the choc-a-block Andheri station - I hit "Next"

“Yeh Mere Dil Mein Kaisa Junoon, Mann Ko Kyun Na Mile Ab Sukoon”

Junoon, Junoon, Junoon, my four super Amplified speakers reveled with liberation. Suddenly, it was as if I, like Hiro Nakamura bent the space-time continuum, made time stand still and drowned out all sights and sounds. The music was fabulous. I couldn't believe that this was the unappealing Mahim boy whom I'd shot with 6 months ago, not wanting to ever speak to again, because he was so, err, Boring. But, looks and talent can be so deceiving. His new album, blew me away to say the least. I could not even believe he was the singer.

“Hai Aankho Mein Junoon, Hai Khwabon Mein Junoon”

Dhoondein followed Junoon and I just drifted. The song has the vocals, the beat, the rhythm, and the melody set to aural perfection. Even, as a critique, I could find nothing nasty to say about it - and that’s my job description to me in my head. Be Nasty! The music gave me a déjà vu of my new favorite composer, Mithoon and his fresh sound (Note: He and I will be the new age Mani Ratnam and AR Rahman – Remember, you read it here first Dahlings). I will not even begin to rant about Ek Shaqs even though it may be hell repetitive and almost a carbon copy of Beete Lamhe (which inspired a blog, previously) it still corrodes emotions buried deep inside. Back to Dhoondein.

“Yaadon Mein Hai Khoyi Hui Zindagaani, Kaisi Hai Yeh Uljhi Huyi Si Kahaani”

Suddenly, the people outside my window looked cheerful, the engine wasn’t idling, it just moved to the beat purring with a life of its own and wonder of wonders, the traffic cleared. I know, it sounds like the Pilot Episode of Super-Duper-Natural but then again, music like this – is simply, Magic. My apologies, Abhijeet.

Love Will Keep Us Alive

...goes the popular Eagles song. Still, I often wonder how true the statement really is? I mean what is life without the materialistic fast cars, flashy houses, gold-power weights, surround sound, HD enabled screens and slim, sexy Apple computers? Yup, the luxuries that the big greens can grab. The stuff that costs more than sweet nothings and soft murmurs into the pillow beside you. Sure, I'm no Hugh Grant and I don't much about Love, Actually, considering my limited encounters with the crazy emotion (twice) but for some weird reason, I believe the song. I believe, Love Can Keep Me Alive

The Darkness

I've been consumed by 'The Darkness.' Yes, most of you already knew that I was on the brink of insanity; just waiting to tip over to the dark side. It has happened. I recently started playing this awesome game on the Playstation 3 about one man who manifests the hate inside him to literally spawn the devil in a surreal, post apocalyptic bleak London.

Pretty cool, huh?

But, in the post game-glow phase the ugly truth dawned upon me. I've read that art imitates life and yada yada but the more I introspect about this futuristic darkly deadly game, the more I think how much it really applies to me. In short, like the protagonist says, "I'm f***** in the head, real bad."

I'm intrigued by Ted Bundy, Ed Gein is a case study I know by heart, Batman and V are my superheros and The Joker is a character I identify with. I like graphic novels full of blood and gore, I buy video games only when I see a violence warning and my favourite kind of movie is the one involving a chainsaw massacre.

But, its not the warped media that has embalmed sick shit onto my DNA.

The truth is that there are plenty of things bothering me deep inside. Stupid Movie Critiques, Dumb Help Desk Receptionists, Crappy Internet, Shitty Government, Hypocritical idiots, rules of restriction and the eternal struggle for independent thought and expression. This shit really pisses me off and echoes with a menacing laugh somewhere inside my head.

Fellow film-makers talk about Orson Welles & his 'Touch Of Evil.' I know Eli Roth and his torture porn flic, Hostel. And lets face it, I love it. The scum of hatred and venomous feelings are buried in there, somewhere. Sure, on the face of it, I'm Chandler Bing but inside, I know, lies a serial killer, waiting to spawn the devil himself. Deep inside, lies a closet gay, Shakespeare-soliloquy spurting blowhard (bard) with a creepy, but well-groomed, hairdo. Somewhere in there, 'The Darkness' feeds on my anger & hatred and I know not, when it will become me. But, I've realized one thing for sure, today. It won't be long before it embraces me into its dark arms, forever.

Return from Doomsday

I just realized today that I know the interiors of Holy Family hospital really well. Not really a great sign, is it? Well, my grand-mother died there, my Dad was admitted there and off late, I've been burning the family torch of Holy Family loyalty. It all started with my usual chronic cold and cough. Now, anyone that knows me for more than 48 hours will confirm that I live life on the edge and would top all worldly polls for 'Person Most Likely To Drop Dead Randomly'

..they will also confirm that I can digress time and space at the drop of a continuum.

Anyway, so after a specialist visit, I got worse. Quintessentail Me - I have this dying urge to be different from the world. So, I couldn't breathe and I had to tolerate Dhol for a review so life sucked until I went and changed my prescription today. Now, I feel good again. Really Good! I guess its a whole lot of positive thinking as well. So, to cut a long story short, I felt like writing this Blog. But, not after watching a new animated movie about Doomsday wiping out Superman, only to watch him return from the dead and kick his ass.

I feel the same way.