Maximus--Init

It's the first that I settle to write in this year(circa commemoraties) but it seems like it's time. I don't know if there's such a thing as the perfect time but this feels right. Like it has to be done. Like it will tear me apart if I don't bang out cheap serialised letters on a polyplasticine quicksand...

Another year, another promise, another disappointment. A lot of them...years, promises, disappointments. I was accused of wallowing in self-pity so I won't do that. Not so anyone can see at any rate. It's not a virtue that's very highly prized. That said, I'm not sure I know of any that are. The world hast changed from 1823 Monsignor Nash, I'm afraid the farm was sold years ago. Would you like to sit down for a bit?Not really Pedro, I'll be moving along soon...will you put me up till I'm around though?I promise I'll behave. Until I won't...I understand Pedro, this isn't home anymore. I won't make a fuss when I leave...

I think I love Bombay. And I hate it with the same measure. I hate what it does to people. What it will. Or is it all globalisation? That's the easy bakra. I see it every day. The wheedling, the buckling, the crumbling. The lack of choice. Is there any? Or the pretense of a lack thereof. The city. The city of dreams. Can't fault it. Or them. Staccato emotion. Phut. Phut. Phut. Phut. Phut. Phut.Or lack thereof. I see the greys in my spectrum. Do you see UV?Lucky bastard...what does it look like?Is it pretty?My grey is...she's so pretty in her cordite-tasting romp. Enough. If you don't see them it's not your fault. And it's not mine. Perhaps they don't exist. Perhaps it's the wrong exposure. Underexposure. Underdevelopment. Non-development. Structure. Stricture. I want to be free, set myself free...I know it's in all my mind. How did it get so fucked up? The debate is whether it is worth the freeing...will it sing again?Well, it's not a debate...I see no argument brooked by anyone. Why isn't there any?

So I will brook it myself...and Jeeves...for 52 weeks at a run. The spiral begins it's turn...how much will it eat this time?Will it stop?Should it?It's not a question that I care to answer right now...because I don't care.But I hope I will...I really do.

I against I,
Flesh of my flesh,
And mind of my mind,
Two of a kind but one won't survive,
My images reflect in the enemies eye,
And his images reflect in in mine the same time

Of no consequence...

It's not my idea but it's a damn good one nonetheless...what would I do if I knew there'd be no consequences to my actions?

Dear sir, please find attached the captioned contents. Please feel free to revert with questions or comments if any...

1. Oh oh!!I wanna climb the Al Gibberish hotel in Dubai. The sail shaped one!!It'd be such a super-fragilistically-cool climb!!!I can just see the lust of the curve bending towards the sky...as I turn to look over my shoulder, I see an azure sea. Applauding politely. Small pleasures of man.
   
2. Buy some reaaaaaaalllllly fancy lenses for Chiara....she deserves them!!She's....so pretty!!She waits for me to come home and tell her what I learnt during the day about bokeh and aperture..;-P
3. Ride a bike like I used to in Road Rash!!!All the way to Bangalore baby....a nice- ass Norton!And then have money left over to put up at the Taj and eat at India Coffee house with my ilk(the much-intended writer). See, now I could still do that but I'd be broke. And debt-ridden.... ;-P Where's that cheque book now?
   
4. I want to turn back time and live in the times of WW1.It sounds insane but the desperation of those times really does haunt me every time I see a picture or read an article. The simplicity of survival. Reverse Darwinism if you will...you see, they lived for each other. Call me a romantic if you will. Call me a fool. I'd give it all up to see wizened ladies thank me silently as I pull sons out of the line of fire. As I lie about my occupation and take a family out of Dachau. As I stand facing a firing squad looking down at tar-blackened boots. Is Natalia hidden..? Phut. I lied...send me back there anyways. Consequences be blown.
   
5. I'm NOT an exhibitionist but I would like to strip and walk around my place nude. No biggie but the curtains wouldn't be drawn. Give the moralities of the middle class a good shake-up. I can see the women coming to hang their washing in their balconies....stopping, realising. Running back in!!!Ag bai, tula mahit ahe ka, tya opposite bazuchya mulaga na...Cut to mater familias getting wind of son's eccentricities and getting a coronary.
   
6. I'd like to give bull fighting a go....but in the intellectualised way. You make friends with the bull, understand where he's coming from, hear his angst. Then you take him out for a drink, hear why he hates being a bull and would rather be a cow, help him pick out appropriate sexy lingerie. You don't know where this is heading but you'll head to the drag strip and he starts singing I will survive by Gloria someone. He pulls you close and starts dancing with you and then...you realise why women are so much better to dance with. They don't smell foul, they rarely put their entire weight on you, and you're never reminded of jail shower time!!Bohemia anyone? ;-)
   
7. I'd swim the English Channel. Now, I could do that anyways but gurrgle gurglr will happen. Plus ass will freeze off and will have to be separated by hot butter knife. ;-P
   
8. Get into a knife fight...I know this sounds unnecessarily violent but it's beautiful. I've seen a couple of videos of it once. The moves are so amazingly quick and dexterous. Personal. Intimate. You have to step up close to get a cut in. Lean in and out. Flashing cold steel. The promise of blood. Warm. Slowly spreading across your thigh as you see another spray of blood lace the walls behind the church. His...
   
9. I'd grab the prettiest woman(necessarily Indian...so I'm a reverse-racist!) at a beach bar in Goa and dance with her. A slow waltz...minimal movement. Tendrils of her hair against my cheek hazing my vision. Gold-brown waves. Undulating. Soft blurring and a rapid heartbeat. And then I take her back to her seat...some pleasures should never be unduly advantaged.
   
10. I like this one the best...it's my contribution to scientific progress. Drop a cat from the top of the Twin towers at Prabhadevi. Dead cat bounce. See, the idea is the cat is gonna see Pearly Gates as soon as it hits the ground. Will it then bounce? I could drop an already dead cat but...no no. I know how perverse this sounds but we've all got a bloodlust within us. The vein throbs and we ache. An admixture of naivete and cowardice stops us from letting go...Enough. Free your mind...you are who you always were. 150 pounds of raging fury screaming across the Kalahari...you still see people through narrowed eye slits. The background dissipates to a single point as you pound towards them...the distance shredding. You feel their fear...seconds later, they can barely feel it.Barely...
    

Rang de basanti...

This is one of those times I'm glad I'm not an artist. Gladder still I'm not pretending to be one...

We live in a country of tolerances. Electrical and religious, cultural and alcoholic...it's a land etched with diversities and red banarasi stains. Blood stains too. Hey, it's a large population...it doesn't hurt to lose a few, right?

Depends on which few. No. I'm not getting into the debate of the valuation of human life. Past that. Give me an artist as opposed to a slum-lord. Easy choices. Blueberry cheesecake, tall women, and wine. Not in that order. But there is logic to it. Unfortunately, for a certain Baroda Univ arts grad there wasn't very much in the view taken of his final project. Sheesh!!And to think I griped about an hour long viva...

See, said scholar offended the sensibilities of certain minority communities by his interpretation of their deities. Correct me if I'm wrong, but don't most religions say that idolatry is not really what it's all about?Naturally, we can't possibly move away from clanging ghantas loudly and opening our eyes as wide as virgins as we renew our faith every Sunday. It's our Pharisian self-assurance. Our fig leaf.

The leaves rotted as they walked into the hall and assaulted the artist and the faculty. And the paintings weren't even on display. Which is besides the point. Who-the-fuck gave anyone the god-sworn responsibility of deciding that someone offended cultural sensibilities!!!And this in a Baroda...in a Gujarat. It's actually surprising the chaps forgot to carry pickaxes and a shovel. A dull thud is heard. The offended minorities drag protagonist to the sacrificial stone. Blood-rimmed eyes watch them as they do so...whispered curses and prayers go up. There are still those who choke on blood spilt...

The oddity is...we actually believe that we have the right to moral policing. A people who gave the world the Kamasutra and the I'm-so-horny-let's-get-it-on-now-now-now friezes of Khajuraho. Strange how our absurdist sentimentalities kick into play when we can't get a rise out of them. Pun totally intended. I mean, we obviously aren't about to let an interpretation rend mythology. It's the etymology of the word that gets me each time....it stems from Greek....storytelling. Opinion. Interpretation. Id. Superego. Please abide the writers' guffawing..We stymied free will because we chose to silence ours eons ago. Stop, eject. Change side. The bastardisation of a now-jingoistic Nehruvian dream.

And we, the intelligentsia(supposedly) will prostitute the ideologies for all Jehangir Art Gallery is worth...for you see, the artist comm, being the delicate intellectuals that they are, went forth and held a morcha in true Stalinist mode. Names were taken and oaths sworn. People wore kurtas and drooped their heads like a dog that's been humping a light pole all day. I would have painted another deity in the nude to show solidarity....but that's just me being me. I think I would have saved money on handing out radios and hired a woohoo-kickass lawyer instead....but that's just the investment banker talking now.

Perhaps I should start pretending...