The Sanctum

Welcome, traveller. This be the realm of Jay Niner, where everything be possible, and nothing ever happens. If, perchance, thou wisheth to tarry, then find thou a page from the Grimoire and read. For we are here in eternity, and we are in medias res.

30.7.11

Another Untitled

Most days I just get up and go through the day like some sort of zombie. Not the kind that tries to eat your brains, but the sort that just shambles on and on and on.
IDK why, but it's happening.
OK, dumb part over, what's there to be updated? England beat South Africa in a racist contest. By that I mean I was playing FIFA 11 with my roommate and I lost and the two of us were cussing like crazy.
I had grand plans for this weekend, you know. Most of them ended with my shambling home drunk as hell.. my Pune home, that is. But they've all been wrecked by something I like to call the morning torture session. Granted that it's my own fault for sleeping late in the mornings, but what can one do when there's so much work to be done? Comics to be read? Movies to be watched? Porn to be jerked off to?
Ok, cross the last. That habit gave out after the hostel wifi caught me sixteen times or so in the last week.

It's become so bad, that I don't even have anything to bloody write. Daft and damned.
The only redeeming feature of Chennai is that unlike roaming around in Bombay for a guy who keeps over a lakh's worth of smokables, I've found places to get some good cigars.
And man, after that last one.. be it 175 or 500, I'm gonna get another.
But no Davidoff.
And TASMAC's monopolies.
Blasted fascist state.
Still, damned if don't. Booze updates later- watch this space.

27.7.11

The New Town

Yes, I know. After 3 years of Media Studies, only a moron would want to take it up almost immediately. A PG Diploma Course, nonetheless; I failed IIMC, not that I was really aiming for it, anyway. EFL I got through, but what is the bloody point of getting through when you're already a month into the damned course at ACJ?
At any rate, pigs will fly.
The most one can hope for without a decent contact set in the industry is to get lucky and find a good place to start working. Most of that remained behind in Pune and Bombay, and sometimes I wish, so did I.
But no. Why start working at 20? Fuckall, man this is not the age to work.
Work is the curse of the drinking classes, after all, and milord, by the sainted squirrel on the maple tree, I have not boozed enough to start thinking of the future seriously yet.
Next year, I know I'll be looking for summat to do; work, writing, ki gha, as my marathi contemporaries are so fond of saying.
That's another thing.

I mean, the whole nation can sit through a screening of Transformers 3 in hindi. 
But Marathi? Man, that's just plain mean. I saw Transformers 2. And that was enough to take my mind off the whole franchise. The hindi dubs are just ridiculous, but marathi... what a nightmare.
The important thing, however, is that I digress.

"There has been a subtle paradigm shift in the chronology of our everyday, mundane existence that allows for a change in thinking that one seeks naught but epicureanism at the end of the continuum."

In other words, we get bored in the evenings. There is frigging nothing to do here. No gym. No bike. No net before 5/5.30 or if the rains destroy power lines then not at all.
Those were the days when we got tired of Viman Nagar. Now, Pune in its high heaven looks a paradise to the penitent sinner that I became here.
I mean, it wasn't even this bad when I shifted to Pune from home- it's not the language problem, but I'm sure it's the hostel.
As things remain, I try to think up ideas to rock this joint. I also know myself, and my lethargy to do anything that goes past the nearest cigarette stand.
But c'est la vie.

There I sit, unattended for a time,
Finding words to write and words to rhyme.
The air, full of footfalls and chatter,
And as I thought, mad as a hatter-

Empty eyes, after monotony emerge,
Only to sleep from their lids purge.

Yes, this is boredom; to tiredness ward, and sleep stave;
Into Morpheus's hold to give into, I crave-

Salvation, something ne'er at hand;
Time slipping through my fingers as sand.