You know what better than mindless first-person-shooter gore?

Mindless first-person-shooter gore with Thrash Metal in the background.

Welcome to the world of Machinehead+Quake. A world of double bass pounding rockets with plasma gun riffs.



A world I effing live in.



P.S: Shhhh! Don’t tell anyone, I’m supposed to be writing CAT tests on the comp.

It come when least expected,

or desired,

a naive eye that dwells upon a curve for a second too many,

or the meandering wind,

that throws strands of hair on a reminiscent cheek,

or an invading scent breeding familiarity,

first they trickle, glimpses, flashing little light bulbs,

playfully instigating the memories,

first comes the heat, the sweat, the entangled limbs,

then,

then a definite breach, a crumbling dam,

gushing through with vengeance,

a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,

rapid, but not violent, not oppressive,

the debt of pain,

the insult of gauche,

all victim to pleasure,

surrender to intimacy,

only to find liberation in defeat,

moist palms, beaded temples,

and a smile etched in granite,

then suddenly,

the flood recedes,

the breach goes from saviour to sinner,

the mind wanders, desperatly searching for inspiration,

the eyes dart, all efforts thwarted by the dam,

now tall and strong, cunning and elusive,

the heart broods, begging for a few moments more,

of breathless pleasure, drowning,

no more touch,

or warm breath,

only a shadow on the mist,

of a smile etched on granite.

And as the sun settles,

the shadow will die,

slowly,

unless we peek over the edge,

and realize the sun never goes away.

In my quest for employment I chanced upon 14 prospective employers who innocently rejected me in the written test.

But there are very few souls as lucky as yours truly. There are people who have been through multiple long, torturous and most unfortunately failed interviews. That, and my interviews, cumulatively prove just one thing, interviewers depend a LOT on the gut feeling.



It is tough to accept the fact that humans, in the form of interviewers or any other, may like or dislike WITHOUT reason. Sometimes you just can’t form a good impression of something. Like potato chips in a box. I find that really stupid. Who eats potato chips out of a box? and why? You need to be either extremely dumb or American. But look around now, everyone loves potato chips in a box, and no one knows why.



Interviewers think very similarly, being evolved mammals like us. Of course the inevitable question is- Why? Why was XYZ rejected?



And for a period of time, the length depends on the IQ of the interviewer or how much his company pays him, he is puzzled. He finds no reason, and of course he can tell the man who heads our placement operations that he just disliked the candidate. and thence continues the long, winding and recursive process of interview, lies and fabrication.



First our college lies to them.

Then they give us a presentation full of deceit, including efforts by one of the world’s leading electronic chip manufacturers to prove that their “Dosti Cell” helps cure loneliness.

Then we tell them a truck load of bullshit in the interviews and make American Universities seem as stupid as American Presidents. We also stop short of declaring a fatwa on the GRE.

Then they lie to the college about why they rejected so many.



These of course form the main layers of deceit. Their sublayer, processes and sub-processes have been avoided to conserve the lucidity of the text.



Of course there are some really creative employers and in their excuses we find some traits in their personality exposed.



Here are some REAL excuses.



1. He salivated from his left side.

Everybody knows that salivating from your right side is standard business protocol. Although salivators are generally avoided since most of the world leaders have salivaphobia. Also salivators dirty keyboards and microphones.



2. The Middle Earth was unhappy.

Nothing left to say. Tolkien fan I presume.



3. He doesn’t even know that a Bangalore Electrical Engineering firm has a branch office in the Breeze Hotel on the ground floor.

My favourite because the interviewer pointed his finger at me and said it as if branding me a heretic. I don’t think winking and sticking my tongue helped, but the HR panel found it funny.



4. He wore a black tie.

What a fool! All IT companies have 2 standard advisors, the how to save Income Tax money people and Linda Goodman. And black ties are thrice as unlucky as two black cats walking anti parallely across the street. Stupid Engineer.



5. I don’t think you are suitable for this profile(NOT the other way round).

Firstly, I sat for the company because I want the profile.

Secondly, why the fuck did you shortlist my CV?



There are so many more still to be documented that I could make another blog out of it.

Anyway, bottom line is placements more often then not are lotteries. You can do anything without luck, apart from trip of course.

For once I will let something remotely related to Paris Hilton enter my blog. But it stops at remotely of course.



A few weeks back I chanced upon an offer to eat a butter biscuit. I’m not really saying that its a big thing, but a lot like the butteryfly (no pun intended) effect, it caused extreme chaos.

Now circumstances were such that my wish to take another biscuit from the kind offer-er would be cruel. So I set up on a Frodo-like quest to find the original butter biscuits.



As soon as I got back from work on that fateful day I walked into the closest bakery I found. Adyar it was. About 7 PM. This place had a decently young and seemingly active crowd (blame it on the IT). And as soon as I entered this place a whiff of virgin, just born biscuits absolutely permeated my senses. Its like the smell of someone you love, and how you’d identify it. I really never thought I love butter biscuits, till that day of course.

An average American gets married so many times that they made a reality show out of it. And in spite of my best efforts to avoid it, I ended up watching one. Its that mystical attraction that the disgusting has. Like how a few of my friends love “Nothing In the World” just because its a Paris Hilton song and listen to it only to criticize her vocal abilities.



Anyway, the show is called “For Better or for Worse”. Quite a rhetoric, any American show about marriage has to be for worse.



Also seen recently is an advertisement about American Green Cards and how the country hands over 50,000 green cards in a drive to increase average IQ levels of the country.The approximate transcript says something like “Now, even you can Live,Work and Study in the USA and live the Great American Dream!!”



Great American Dream eh? They should call it GAD. There’s already a band called Gatsby’s American Dream that’s called GAD.



Not so surprisingly, medical fraternities would squirm at GAD. It stands for Generalized Anxiety Disorder. Which of course means that you worry about absolutely everything and believe the world is snapping at your arse ready to snatch you state of peaceful existence drown you into cauldrons of misery. Not so surprisingly, one of the main sources of GAD could be WMD in Iraq.



Other versions of the Great American Dream include a startling discovery by a female American Senator, made popular by a youtube video, that claims “..we have seen societies being destroyed by homosexuality, which is more dangerous than terrorism..” . There you go. Generalized Anxiety Disorder again. Really? Can two men making out cause the fall of towers? or the absolute annihilation of countries?



I would love to change my impression about the world’s foremost superpower and believe me I’m trying. Maybe I’m not smart enough.

She found us late on Friday night,

This furry ball of black and white,

Beady eyes and a rolling head,

Someone stop her from peeing on my friggin’ bed,



Her name was Whisky



We stole all her milk and buried her bones,

Taped her mouth and stopped those groans,

Tied her up and put her in a sack,

But that stupid dog kept coming back!



Her name was Whisky.



So we gave her some beer and fed her some weed,

But that little bitch was from a different breed,

She lapped’em up like never before,

And by the end of the night she wanted more!



Her name was Whisky.

Do you know this man? I wont be surprised if you don’t.



His name is “Dimebag Darrell” Abbott. He was one of the brothers who founded Pantera. The first time I heard Pantera, the ex-glam now thrash band seemed more trash than thrash. First it was a wannabe-Van Halen and later a wannabe-Metallica (or deth).But they were instrumental in forming the Groove Metal genre and for that they deserve full credit. Unable to completely embrace thrash but, still carrying a very heavy sound with their ex-glam rhythm really helped them.



Dimebag was shot dead on stage by an ex-US Marine in late 2004,along with three other people on the stage. This was during a concert, this bloke stepped on stage fired more than a dozen rounds and also killed a 23 year old fan who tried to deliver CPR to Dimebag. He even had the nerve to stop, reload his firearm and continue shooting. He was stopped when an officer killed him with a shotgun.



In an article by William Grim called Aesthetics of Hate:RIP Dimebag and Good Riddance, he sides with the shooter commending him for his efforts. Grim is called an orthodox culture maven. The expert. He in fact writes for magazines that have wide distribution networks. He adds that Dimebag was killed by a culture that he created.



A former (elite) serviceman killing 4 people and then having his life end in the most disgraceful fashion, shot by a member of a sub-ordinate law enforcement agency. And then an intellectual praising him. Brilliant, and the United States continues to look for elements that egg high school shooters on under pillows and chairs.



A firefox music add-on yesterday just marqueed the text “Dedicated to Dimebag” when Machine Head’s Asthetics of Hate was playing on my computer. I was shocked. I did not know that the man had died, not that I was a fan. But he was good, that’s true. In fact the song is supposed to be a big FU to William Grim.



This reminds me of a certain degree of grief people feel(atleast I do) when a childhood hero has lost something.

Like when Hansie Cronje died. Or more recently McGrath’s wife. Or the Chris Benoit tragedy, even if he was a make-believe business’ mascot.

Anyway, RIP Dimebag.

I could see the end so clearly, before the beginning. Lonely again with my heavy olive rucksack and a broken spirit, staring at the airport doors. Just like it was beginning. I stared blankly at the permuting arrival lounge information board. The green lights next to every flight lit up, except one. People in ties, suits, shorts stormed out of the glass doors. All looking for a familiar face.



In a time when anyone would have a thumping heart and moist palms, I was morose. And as if the overwhelming sense of precognition that showed me the end wasn’t enough, my iPod began a song I otherwise loved.

I could see everything. How we’d walk in through the same gate, through the same half built bridge, and dump our bags in front of the cafe. Sit together, have a sip. And before I could blink it would be time to go.



Through the glass doors again, past the burly guards. And I peered through the glass, slowly the sorrow dawning. The misty glass blurring my last glimpses. A lump in my throat, no crying of course, grown men don’t cry. What if she turned back to see me?

Is it just me or does this place look good? LOL

I hope peoples like it nad drop in a couple of kind of words of exreme appreciation. :D

In flight Bhel puri.

Himesh Reshammiya ringtones.

Reliance phones.

A Ba on my side.

More reliance phones.

Business talk.

Pilot bashing.

Tea enquiries.

More Himesh Reshammiya ringtones.

One million Bhai/Ben per second.

More Tea enquiries.

70 year-old men in flaming red shirts.

70 year old women in shorts.

Still more Himesh Reshammiya.

Bharuch Peanuts.

Wannabe vegetarians.

Alcoholic fantasies.

Lots more Himesh Reshammiya.

Reliance petrol.

Reliance cornershops.

Reliance contraceptives.

Reliance lingerie.

Fat people.

Very fat people.

Fat people walking to the park.

Rich fat people driving to Talwalkars.

Parrots.

Torrents.

My window.

My bathroom.

My friggin TV.

Guess who’s home, baby. Guess who’s home.