The house is empty, like after a robbery. There’s some random, melancholy music playing on my laptop. I’m figuring out i-tunes finally.

I’m thinking about what a genius you were at 20, the same time I was 20, and not quite all there.

I guess I am a little jealous.

I am stuck here, with my borrowed wisdom and mediocre talents. And double fucking chin.

And you…you are not.

Calcutta is getting wintry. It’ll soon be time for Nivea and oranges. And more tea and cigarettes.

I am afraid of sticking to memories like cling film. And becoming fungusy and smelly. I am afraid of getting stuck. To people, to places, to a conversation, to a fantasy, to a deeply saddening thought, to the A minor chord.

What are you doing now? Do I pop up sometimes in your memories? Do I say hello? Do you remember my name?

I miss being funny. Maybe it’s the music I listen to now.

OH MY GOD, I am not filmy enough.

Halfway through the sangeet script I was thinking of character development and consistency. Furk.

But I have seen a LOT of Hindi movies in my time. And a whole lot of crappy ones as well. I mean, summer holidays duh. I should be able to do better right? Sigh.

I haven't had a cigarette since I landed in Cal (and those milds just don't count).

There's a really cheesy song I love listening to now - She's only happy in the sun. It's so pretty.

This beer bottle design is so perfect.

My god I am FAT. These clothes used to be so loose. Fuckfuckfuck. FUCK. I just don't say it enough. FUCK.

Don't Bogart that joint

Hendrix, Roger McGuinn, discovering new songs, long distance phone calls, clambering nephews, strange new light fixes, new mirrors, AC, kitchen smells, old test papers, internet for free.

I want to have a hot affair in Cal. I cannot have not loved in my own city, right?

I wish I had some company for the Film Fest.

Today I was in my brother’s room (in Cal) and I suddenly saw that the wall which had this poster of a 60s pin up babe leaning against a convertible, was bare. His computer, which seemed very state of the art three or four years ago, seemed a little lonely. Not a whole lot had changed in his room actually. Bits of him were still there. I imagined that boy in his Bermudas and faded T-shirts, watching football on TV and playing games on the comp, reading his crime thrillers and obsessing about cars. I really don’t think a whole lot has changed, but that missing poster – it bothered me for some reason. Like the time he walked in late for a World Cup match because his fiancé took too much time at a store buying grocery. I saw a side of him I never knew. He bit the bullet, he behaved extremely maturely. A part of me was happy for his new found grown upness, but for most part I was scared. I was losing my loopy, short tempered best friend to a girl who was nothing like us and my brother was losing all the things that made him, him.

He’s happy though, I think. And it’s just me, who’s somehow stuck at 16 - in awe of her older, much cooler brother - refusing to let go of an image of a person who’s just moved on, naturally. I’m losing my partner in crime, and it seems to be happening at a time, when all these little partnerships I have reveled in, are slowly, but surely crumbling or fading. Maybe they just morph into a different kind of partnership, a different kind of love. You probably never stop being close. But you also probably never get to be the same. And I miss that. I’m just sentimental I suppose.

I watched a wonderful episode of Glee today. I am a sucker for underdogs.

Khair Chhodo

So yesterday I had work and it was fine when I was working, not so fine when I wasn't. I have realized over time that I am not much of a lover of festivals. I mean, look at it - this Diwali thing - people making noise, people littering, people wasting energy - somehow, I'm not cool with it. I just don't like it. I don't like most of these celebrations, and I don't know, maybe I'm being a Scrooge or something, but if you think about it, you'll know what I mean.

Maybe it's a once in a year thing, but it's so wasteful and pointless! And I don't know. I think that attack on Ravan and the Lankans was kind of racially motivated. It's like America vs any small oil rich country.

Anyway. I was in a mood yesterday. I don't quite know why. I wish I could stay back at the studio all night instead of going back home.

My editor is a man-child-khoo-kid. Let me elaborate - and I'm sure you've seen this kind a lot:

30 something, unmarried.

Long hair, maybe a beard.

Wears quarter pants, expensive sneakers and rocker/black Tees.

Smokes a lot of pot

Listens to electronica

Collects toys

Talks a lot. About drugs, music, parties, gambling, women - all the things which make him cool.

Has an opinion on everything

Is friends with anyone who matters

Drops names

Loves the sound of his own voice

Sarcastic, talks down to his assistants

Says "fuck" and its derivatives a lot

Gives a rat ass about clients/agencies - people in positions of authority

Always has a party to go to

Probably loves comic books

Probably watches a lot of indie films

Does that Bappi Lahiri talk with friends on the phone

Was/is in a band

I can't help it. He's such a type. But he was generous with his stash, so I don't care. He's late though for his booking. Not that I have anywhere to go. Khair chhodo.

I love that phrase. "Khair chhodo". What does "khair" mean? Anyway? I am in love with it.

When P told me about Professor Lal, we both know what popped into our heads. That song. That silly little song we made up. How sadly ironic. Then I remembered this brilliant lecture on Ode to a Nightingale - which somehow stuck. I remember so little of the recent past. So it's nice. He left me with something nice to remember. Anyway, this isn't an eulogy or anything. It's just, I don't know - a mixture of regret and sadness. Rest in peace Professor.

Today it's Diwali here in Bombay, Kali Pujo back home. I lit fourteen diyas at home yesterday and did all the things Ma would have liked me to do. I bought some flowers and made a little alpona of sorts in front of the door. Then there was a terrific storm, but none of the diyas died, which was sort of miraculous. There was no-one at home, so I did all this mostly for myself. Then I smoked a j and watched Lie to Me. At 12.30 they called me in for some edit job, which I was relieved to go to, because I wanted to be alone. I like travelling through the empty streets at night. I quite like watching the night folk - homeless people, construction workers, prostitutes - I don't know why exactly though. I just enjoy the wind in my face, and thinking.

I think I'm slowly but surely morphing into a strange old city bird. Sometimes, when I wake up in the morning and see some booze lying around in the kitchen, I feel like having it with my oat bites. Sometimes I do. Okay, not with the oats, but just. In the evenings I like sitting with a smoke and some Coke Studio or How I Met Your Mother (depending on my mood and internet connectivity) and just being there in the dim lights and quiet space. I don't like talking anymore. I like listening sometimes, but mostly not. I'm a selfish and happy. Or sad. Either way, it's my thing.

Contradictory to whatever I am saying, this has been a long garrulous post. Okbye.

Meanwhile...

I have decided to recreate 2005/2007. I loved 19/21.

I also love David Bowie and The Rolling Stones all over again.

I have rejoined Postcrossing. Now I need stamps.

I wish Someplace Else wasn't an yuppie filled blechfest now, because if it's 2005, I need to go.

I want to go for a film festival and a live concert.

I want to go to Goa too.

I want to jam again. Did you know I rocked a mike at a karaoke bar recently? Honest to god. I was awesome.

I have a new antivirus one day before the old one expires. Tookul.

I need new jeans.

I am going to start dressing like a sexy plus sized woman. There's no use pretending being normal and dowdy anymore.

I wish I had more gay guy friends. They are generally great to hang with. I like all the ones I have.

I went to Toto's last night with a friend and had some lovely gin and tonic (can I buy a Schweppes factory?) and did some mutual eye flirting with some cute dude. I am not as old as I think I am sometimes.

Today I walked in half an hour late to work and they didn't tell me anything, because we've mutually decided not to give a fuck anymore. Woohoo.

Okay now I am hungry. Need coffee.