Snow-Covered Dreams

It's December. But is it my December? Is it indeed my time of the year? Is it all so clear?
Because I don't see a snow covered home.
But I do stop to feel the chilly winds blow.
And I do see myself alone.
Because I don't feel something was missed.
And I still don't know where the void comes from.
Because I see my snow-covered dreams.
Freeze up, yet yearning for life.
But I would give it all away just to have somewhere to go to.
Yet, not let someone come home to.
Do I see a hand? A cold December hand? Or is it the world pretending?
Or may be I am just being Holden. His constant wrath against the middle-class version of "love", twisted definitions of success & feeling of a misfit.For me though,abundance fuels cynicism, unlike inadequacy.
It's indeed the Anti-Hero in me. And how I love him, always!!

P.S: Some parts are from a fitting song, but a not-so-fave-band of mine. Tribute to Holden Caulfield is a regular on any of my blog in some form or the other. He is my magician. My Harry Potter.

Concert

This is regarding the "Ahmadi Music Group" Christmas Concert that is to be held on 5th December, British School Of Kuwait.

For tickets and further details, all you readers from Kuwait, can mail me @ mookharjee@gmail.com.

Alternatively you visit www.ahmadimusicgroup.com and contact the concerned authorities.
Hope you have a date with us on 5th December.

Cheers!

C-R-A-P

The C(omplete)-R(elentless)-A(sinine)-P(ricks) manifest in many forms. The forms might be living creatures.The forms might be people you might be associated with. Primarily the animate objects, if I could objectify them . If I could, I actually would, ofcourse of the lifeless types.
The one with questionable allegiance.With barefaced sheepish smiles. With besmirched shrewdness. The one who belong to the ill-spirited cabal, celebrated atop devil hills in North Carolina.The one with the condescending veteran tones of their oh-so-holy bitchiness. The ones who highly assume the imbecility of the other party and who themselves underestimate the predictablity of stupidity. The ones that try real hard to deprive you of propellers in their own ways depicting all the above characters.
So the Animate Object reminds me of the basic assumption that people are b@stard coated b@stards with a b@stard filling. And the taste is well, y-u-c-k-y-e-w-w.
Now this category belongs to the people who have been assumed as b@stards from the day you catch up with them, you see them grow and then you realize that the b@stard in them has acquired new dimensions over time and space and well, change of coordinates.
Change is an insidious creature. What if the creature that is changing is insidious in itself. B@stard filling coated with b@stards, eh?
So what could be the trait that separates these employees of B@stards & B@s-Turds Inc. from B@-Studs LLC.?
There could be many, for me though the all time favorite is being selfish. Yes, that is the simplest way I could put it. So I am not saying that I am an academic from the school of altruism with golden credits in Samaritan courses. But I certainly did not excel in the egoistical subjects that are offered in the B(itch)-School!
The issue lies in the fact that I had been forewarned of the consequences of walking alongside with pricks and landing into a pretty bad rut. And having been in a land devoid of humidity, dust and duds like these, it is quite difficult to change.
So what is the magical solution. Subject them to indifference. Care lesser than you want to. Find your own way out being the mean little b@stard you never have been.
May be a combination of all these. Amen!

W ; T!!

One of the things I love about Jason Steele is his idea of humor and the sense/sans of it. And it's not even one of those cheesy lines that sound so ph-oo-king dumb. It's a very well demonstrated construction of intelligent ideas and concoction of wacky characters in it.A bunch of unicorns, a leopluredon which actually is a Liopleurodon( an aquatic dinosaur), a fugu fish, the Banana King, the candy mountains,
the eventual temple of doom with marxist symbols. I mean that is perhaps one of the most random selection of unworldly objects from the galaxy and the older versions of it.And having selected that lot,it is easy to identify the lyrics for a song that competes with the story line for being disgustingly funny:

Charlie, you look quite down.
With your big fat eyes, and your big fat frown.
The world doesn’t have to be so grey!

Charlie, when you’re life’s a mess,
When you’re feeling blue, always in distress,
I know what can wash that sad away.
All you have to do is;

Put a banana in you’re ear!
(A banana in my ear?)
Put a ripe banana right into your favourite ear.
It’s true (says who?) So true.
Once it’s in your gloom will disappear.
The bad in the world is hard to hear,
When in your ear a banana cheers,
So go and put a banana in your ear!

Put a banana in your ear!
(I’d rather keep my ear clear.)
You will never be happy if you live your life in fear.
It’s true (says you.) so true,
When it’s in the skies are bright and clear.
Oh every day of every year,
The sun shines bright on this big blue sphere,
So go and put a banana in your ear!

So go put a banana in your ear!
Cheers

Of rain and imperfect acoustics

There’s this thing about rains and Dave Matthews Band.

Not that they have written tomes on rains. Or may be when Julia Roberts walks out of the washer as everyone’s dream girl in one of those teen videos, you sure want to follow the water drop down her spine.

Yea, DMB and rains lie in the complementary strands of my DNA may be. So when I was watching DM playing “Stone”, a song that with my limited guitar skills always wanted to play but never get closer to the level of perfection displayed by DM, I was as always swayed.

Getting back to the rains, and the nostalgia associated with it, rains in this part of the world are as rare as bringing Warren Buffet & Che Guevara on the same table with one offering Bush candy and the other Castro. So, it was a major revelation having been exposed to a phenomenon in desert land. The best part is that the rains come with the chill. The chill usually leaves you cold. Now with the rains, that make you nostalgic, the combination is fairly “nostalgicold”.

It’s a lot like memories. And this weighs on me, as heavy as stone and as blue as I go. It’s that time of the year again. Though the shelf life of the event here has been short as can much as it can be, it doesn’t seize to amaze me that the life of memories could be so much longer than you can expect. And currently it’s all scrambled.

I sometimes see a choir, with their brazen faces, singing swansong based on asinine pursuits and canards.

I sometimes hear an aria, from the solo singer above, telling me that the rigmarole isn’t worth it.

It has somehow come down to pens, papers and poison.

Any ways,

Go Obama! And I missed on a bumper sticker. But who cares! The “Brother” still rules!

Con-Slut-Ant!!!!

I am into a profession that a lot of you corporate friggin da-ba-doos may hate. The thespian with a million more melodramatic species from the planet of Ummo have been bitched about in one corporate lifetime or the other.

I tell you what you already know. And guess what, I charge every nasal inch, of the same nose through which you pay. So while I dart around the corridors of my hallowed portals, with that smug smile, I know that every mortal that I have served must have imploded his head with the same question “Why on Jupiter did he let his monetary reserves deflate”.

Yea, I am a consultant. I have no religion. I belong to the union of all those deified aliens who sermonize their heart out and make the corporate wheels rolling. Yeah right!! ;).

So when I landed in West Asia( and not the middle east as the yankees refer to it), I let the wheel rolling of many industries and sectors. And well, it was William Henry “Bill” Gates III who though born 55 years ago (He turns 56 this 28^th October: Happy Birthday Billy! J ), made the world a worse place, especially for tyros, just out of college.

And well, it is not about the skills you have. They jargonize it using those lame HR terms: Hard Skills & Soft Skills.

As a greenhorn into this world, it’s not the hard skills, soft skills; it’s the MICRO-Soft skills you require. And it’s got nothing to do with how oober super micro mini you can get in your attempt at softening you soft skills.

It’s how you deal with those sermons presented in MICRO-Soft copy. And you format them until the sermon and its (non) content plead mercy. And you format them until the genes of Linus Torvalds start untwining and Billy adds another million dollar to his inflated reserves and dethrone Warren Buffet, who is wobbling on the hill top already ;) .

And guess what, all these demi-gods, including me, hate it. It feels like your fucking bones have gone bad and sore. The blood is fucking intoxicated.

But well, I sing along with Paul Evans “ Ha Ha Happy Go Lucky Me”.

So it’s all nice and wonderful as it always has been. And I love my job. Absolutely do. And the people. And the place.So before some of you accuse me of being a part of the jittery crib fest, I am not. We all are, in some ways. But well, we all need to chin up, and worship Paul Evans :P .

Cheers to the last few months and the ones that lie ahead!

Adios

Blue Jays

It's about the jays. The blues and the beautiful blue jays.
The Jays are the Js I know. Joni Mitchell. Joan Baez. Janis Joplin. The female Js trio of the 70s. Haven't I adored each one of them. And its something about the blues and the jays. Not that it's sine waving off the human trail and fad. Neither is it the inkling of human life left in itself. It's something about them. It is probably because of Me and Bobby Scottish Mc Gee. Or the veteran sermon having seen love from both sides. It ain't me babe.
Some years ago,when I realized that the gush of hormones has slowed down in the body, this one song stuck in my playlist. This song has suddenly gotten back into the list again. And yesterday, it was my player that hung up on these last lines, as if it was some cosmos conspiracy to crop the lines out.

Now you're telling me
You're not nostalgic
Then give me another word for it
You who are so good with words
And at keeping things vague
Because I need some of that vagueness now
It's all come back too clearly
Yes I loved you dearly
And if you're offering me diamonds and rust
I've already paid.

Here is to the three ladies I absolutely love and adore.