Mti kills it on the axe

So there was this online competetion of sorts, among indian indie guitarists. There was a PRS on stake. You were supposed to upload a solo on a backing track that was provided to all through a free download.
Here's an entry i fell in love with. Been listening to it more than about 5 times a day since a week now.
The guy's called Mti. He's from Nagaland. God knows where the fuck he's been hiding all this while.
respect

today

I was driving down home from Delhi in my zen, when i hit a traffic jam in Faridabad. But i wasn't complaining, because it was the opposite side of the two way road that was locked.
I wasn't complaining, till a huge Toyota SUV with a red beacon light broke away from the jam and sped into my lane, head on. I came to a screeching halt, so did the Toyota. And almost instantly the driver rolled down his opaque, black tinted window. He signaled me to back up.
And back up all the way till the end of the lane.
I could have, there was no one behind me. But why the fuck? You mister Toyota, are in the wrong fucking lane. Surely, you're not in an emergency. Besides what sort of an emergency could you possibly be in. Because, SUVs with flashing beacon lights aren't really known for responding to calamities.
So I didn't budge.
Soon enough, the traffic on his side started to move and he forced his way back onto his side.He stopped right next to me and barked, "teri akar ne thikaane lagaa dunga. kaun hai tu behenchod?"
I pondered the question as his beacon flashed in my face. I had no answer.

the first rant this year.

i hate to admit it. But life is slowing the fuck down. And what's scary is that im only 25 years old.

It was about 5 years back when i was dabbling between 2 bands, college, music school , a girlfriend, animatics AND a mass media course all at the same time.
People'd christened me "mad scientist" back then. But i fucking loved being all over the city. Studying, jamming, learning, romancing. I loved not having time to spare.

today,i work in what they'd call the best ad agency around.
I have a girlfriend who i know im going to settle down with
Im committed to a band that's doing well in the circuit as well.

But it just doesn't seem enough. I mean if i were to sit down and run the past month back in my head, not one instance would wow me. Where is the sensationalism?

fine i recorded an album with the guys. But now what? i sit on my ass for another few months for it to be produced and released.

Also, I never thought id ever get used to the unpredictability of advertising to the extent that i'd start finding it predictable. And by that, Ive hit a new low, boss.

I think imma to shake things up a bit.
Be a little stupid, and do things the wrong way.

The rant ends. The riot begins.

Metro Blues

So ive been traveling in the delhi metro for quite some time now. Was never a regular, but ever since i shifted base from gurgaon to delhi, the metro's been a saviour of sorts, especially through the summers.

One cant help but notice the mix of people that travels in the lines, unlike other public transport. You come across quite some characters, and for people in creative businesses, its not difficult to find a muse even!
I found mine for this post!
I think im going to print some stickers with these lines on em. And then slyly post them on metro property. Sure it's vandalism, but it'll give the bored commuter a good laugh.

Dear guy sleeping on the seat meant for the old and physically challenged, everyone knows that you’re not really sleeping.

Dear stud with the Bluetooth earphone. You look like a total retard talking to yourself.

Dear man with the straight face. You might have not realised, but you winced when you gassed us.

Dear auntie with the veggie bag. Your pointy bra hurts us more than your elbows.

The mind of an active mind

So she sat high and mighty at her candlelit dinner table. Forking through sea-weed, nicely set in a grey plastic dish, as her obese cat purred around, often brushing against her bare legs. Raptula was a good cat, unlike many other rowdy ones adopted from the street. He practised much patience, like his mistress.

She had had a bad day at work. Much too similar to yesterday. Or the day before. Like every single day life had shown her. Life, since she started earning a living for herself. What good could selling pebbles at the shore bring anyway? Other than a few obnoxious gestures from some creeps adorning man boobs.

You’d enjoy those gestures if you were a nympho. But Sigret. She wasn’t one. In fact she couldn’t even spell ‘nympho’. Or ‘sex’ for that matter. She was just 6.

Living alone in an abandoned beach house with a patient cat has its own charm though. Especially if you’re an imaginative 6 year old. You get to christen your name, your cat's name. You control its existence. Or your own for that matter.

ConflictO

Just realised that my last post was the first this year.
Twenty ten. That's what they're calling it.
Fucking mass of bourgeoisie intellect.

And yes, Happy New Year.
Quit frowning.
Bring that smile on.
Here's a hug.

मार ही डालोगे (You're totally gonna kill me)

A line just popped - stunning all else that was going on in my mind.
Like a mushroom finding life in a meadow calm.

"A fossilized smile is all that remains of you. And it's the most beautiful memory i have"

Blech!!!

Dang!

Man at times I just don’t get situations. And people more often.

But it’s all so funny, so I don’t mind

Tripstars

This post is a lie. We dont even like the mentioned brand. But advertising often forces deals down your throats.

After a week long camping trip you’d usually expect to come back feeling fresh and all charged up. But the three of us felt rather drained on our arrival in the city. It was probably because of all the walking we did. And once we stepped into our pad, all but one of us wanted to do, was to crash.

Wangdi, being on a metro sexual trip these days, was rather pepped up. His pep had something to do with an apparent detox that his body had gone through. Because of all the sweating we indulged in while we trekked in the past week, wangdi had his “skin glowing with radiance”. Very gay.

So after stepping into our messy heaven, we threw our rucksacks where they least belonged and collapsed. A few minutes of lazing on the floor – in a room as hot as an oven is when thirst struck. The kind of a thirst that knows what it needs to quench itself. A thirst with a very specific antidote. We were all probably thinking about it in these many words when we passed a smile amongst each other. Wangdi being the prince of gaydom, popped up and offered to strut to the safe.

“Safe?” you might wonder. See, with beer this Godly, its imperative to have a separate refrigeration facility for it. So our very own Paris Hilton (as we’d recently started calling him)catwalked and got us our favorite golden bubbly. On the count of 4 and not 3, we chewed our retro looking botts open.

Budwieser is something that goes back quite some time, when it comes to the collective lives of the three of us. Back to our days of glory – barely a year and a half back as the “quite some time” may be. The many University matches that we not only were witness to, but part of, under its happy influence. The many classes that we attended, while our backpacks clanged with empty botts of Bud.

So we took our first sip, spared a moment of nostalgia, that hardly qualified as being called it; and carried out our ritual of sprinkling the second sip onto the framed Katrina Kaif poster. We’d only commenced with our trash talk about the failures of the National Highways Authority of India, when Wangdi snapped back to reality and screamed “Aaah… fuck detox. Im gonna guzzle”

We walked/crawled/writhed to our huge balcony that overlooks an all women’s gym and enjoyed what we realized we had been missing for a whole week. And after an hour of cleavage gazing and mathematical calculations that had a lot to do with mass and its relation to gravity, our discussion got to a point when we just couldn’t understand what it was that made us do the “get away” in the first place. The city is where us buds belonged! The city is where the life is! The budlife!

Macabre Zindabad

Worth a browze, these two.

http://ops.tamu.edu/x075bb/poems/gorey/

http://www.myfirstdictionary.blogspot.com/

Nigambodh gets it on.

ok so we went to IIT Kanpur for a lark. All we had on our minds was to gain some momentum in the circuit, let people know that we existed.

Registered ourselves at the fest for a whopping 650 each, had ourselves dumped with the rest of the bands at a shoddy dorm and smoked ourselves retarded for a good 4 days.

Manish scored well with a cutie from delhi and finally got himself some action.

Also, we won 2nd place at the rock fest. We were judged by these firangi rock n rollers who call themselves "Jaded Sun". The win came despite San facing massive technical fuck ups and missing out on his awesome solos while we continued to play on.

Also, also we won 3rd place in the fusion event. Plus we managed to bag the best bassy and best vox awards as well.

The fest left the band richer by around 30k in cash, a spanking new Epiphone les paul bass, a cannon digicam and hordes of people who call themselves our fans.

Yes! we have fans! haha!

Good trip.

Who me?

Been long since i wrote anything in here.

Not much that I'd want you to know has happened since.

So chill.

Not Artois Enough

Something that got bombed at the agency today. But i love it.

9 steps to a perfect first date

1) Sport a slight stubble. Shaven to the skin, is well, just gay!

2) Before picking her up. Make sure you’ve left no trace of gum residue on the windscreen, while you peeled off that “rent a car” sticker from your Bentley.

3) Needless to mention, wear your best attire. If she was the kind who didn’t care, you wouldn’t have needed that Bentley.

4) You don’t want to scare her with your love for BDSM on the first date. Your hold must be gentle when you greet her.

5) The first three pages on “greatoneliners.com” have been abused to death. Arm yourself with jokes, the 4^th page onwards.

6) You don’t want her to know that your familiarity to Italian Cuisine is limited to just pizzas. Take her out to a Lebanese restaurant – she’d be equally clueless.

7) Never order cola. You know you can’t hold that burp in.

8) No matter how big and mushy, talk to her not them.

9)Save this ad for future reference.

Ode to Tenzine

my shite.
Hot and mellow, almost yellow,
In thine eyes i see.

For a reason not known to man,
you continue in continu-um
and try. In vain.
To reach the divine shite
with your waggy tongue.

my shite.
Eat it.Bitch!

When trance is psy

The nuclei collapse into balls of light, giving birth to a plethora of colours. Photons shoot out of a vacationed fissionary school. The tribe shakes its ends in the air, trying to catch them brights. Sounds of intermittent bass lines surround and then fade into clicks. And then silence.
Human Choirs try in vain to emulate sounds of the ocean.
Engulfed by flashes of light, white light. The tribe waves at the pepper haired man on a podium. He responds by throwing a sphere of sound at them. They die. Instantaneously.

This being my favorite psy night of all time. till date.
Raja ram came down to gurgaon. killed it.

My weekend

I am so motivated to travel right now that i could just jump into my untrustworthy zen and drive fucking off. Anywhere. I'd love to be anywhere but fucking here man. Not that being here is killing me - it's just that off late, ive realised what a rush travelling is! A rush that stays with me for a while, even after Im back. The excitement makes me perform better. At work, at sex, on stage. I usually come back not only refreshed, but driven!

However, travel i'd like to - without any baggage. at my own will. The way I want to , where i want to. i want to take along just the self. "Into the wild". Its going to be my plan and its going to be my trip. and i think im going to do this around the 15th of this month. I'd probably head for the mountains up north. I'll end up broke in the middle of the month if i do this - i know. But What That Fuck. I'll do this. I'll fucking do this.

inlackofspace

thispostisntgoingtobetoolong.Butthecatchliesintheabseceofspacesbetweenwords.andthat'sthebeautyofitforyoucanreaditthewayyouwantto.Englishwillnotbindmydearfriends!thisisthepowerofperceptiontoitsmaximata

Twip Bubbleh

The sky rained itself demented outside, while he sat on his thinkpad - thinking. Directing his thoughts not towards what he was being paid for, but towards an escape. An escape from this trap that he had only recently realized he was in. “Fucking masochistic - this life, I tell you!” he thought to himself.

He was only a few minutes into his thought-pool, when his buds called out to him from across the white hallway. “Fucker! Wanna come out for a smoke?” As they both synchronized a peculiar hand gesture. A gesture, that would attract eager smiles from the like aged. A gesture, that involved rolling an imaginary sheet of paper between one’s index finger and the thumb.

Pat didn’t think twice before he switched his monitor off. (Something he intentionally did while leaving his desk. He did his bit towards environment protection). He nudged his chair back a couple of feet with his ass and paced out with the two of them.

The trio walked across the patio, to their car, parked barely 15 seconds away. 15 seconds in that downpour though, served enough to drench them to the skin. They jumped into their champagne coloured hatchback and slammed the doors behind them. They looked at each other in childish excitement, while the rain their hair had collected, flowed off their noses. Drop by ticklish drop.

After a moment of uncanny silence, Mark barked, “You wanna roll or what man?!” This exclamation of his attracted a frown from the other two, as they almost harmonically choired, “You have the stuff, don’t you?” The two gave each other a split second stare that screamed “WTF!”

They consciously chose not to voice the WTF. For they thought pointing out their lately common vocal synchronies would be rendered a corny observation by the other. With the massive egos they had, being assumed corny would be a disaster. But by the time Mark remembered that he did have some stuff on him and rolled it onto the dash, the moment had passed anyway.

So Mark prepared their appetizer as Pat drove. Rather inched! See, there was a massive snarl right outside their office complex because of the rain. Typical of Delhi traffic. A centimeter of rain; and there you have ‘em. Roads choked like a whores on dicks.

But our three motherfuck’eteers were anything but bothered. They were out to tap some bong. Not bong as in bangla-bong. But otherwise. Only they had no bongs to tap. Bangla AND otherwise. This though, was hardly an issue for them. For they smoked the DU way - Just lace your 5 buck cancer stick with some hashish grains. And presto.

So they smoked.

Mark got stoned in the first drag

Pat, after a couple of puffs, was as happy as a goat grazing on Swiss meadows.

And D assumed her usual “I’m so cool. I don’t get high on anything” character.

Only; she could never hold this facade for longer than 5 minutes. Wonder why she even tried. Her antics, after she got high always gave it away. Antics that she never even realized that she was at! Like this time, she gazed out the rain dotted windscreen, with her mouth wide open, flicking the buttons on the car stereo’s remote. Almost as if, she was expecting the channel to change.

Their nice little trip bubble popped as D’s phone buzzed into this obnoxiously nasty ring tone. The fucking rot of an agency had managed to scuttle in here as well. Mark had been absconding from his desk for all this while. Which is what triggered the commotion at office. His incompetent boss found himself lost in the chaos at work and had decided to pull his lifeboat in. The three were all, but too used to shit coming their way when they least expected it. So they didn’t really get cranky when this happened to happen.

What Pat didn’t realize though, was that he’d just managed to escape the trap he’d been stressing about some 30 minutes back.

bLoT

Rosebery creatures

they pop and go.

They talk not

of michaelangelo.

With them i glide

to lands of the trance,

where only voids suffice

and not matter.

Geometry was a monster at school.

But now there's none around.

Only fluid lines that stand

in incompetence.

Unable to bind within them,

the colours of neon.

BIG red S

The big red S has been at it again lately.

Staring at me in the eye.

Only now, its stares lying on its side. More comfortable.

It blinks a lot these days, rapidly so, mommentarily.

But i can fix that. Dont worry. master.

It's hypnotized me into believing that it wants to be stolen and lie on my desk at home.

It shall be done.Master.

Muhuahahahahaah!