Today facebook asked if I wanted to add Suddha Prasad Bagchi as my friend. I suspect facebook might just be a bit more weirder than this aforementioned person.
Oh, this same person was trying to ping me and make small talk with me on gtalk earlier today. I successfully blocked him. And I have absolutely no idea how he came into my gtalk list.
Last monday, around 2 in the afternoon I was sitting in a Manhattan bound F train and staring at the subway walls. Not trying to read the words of the prophets though. And I hear that the previous reference will be lost on students of Comp. Lit. in SUNY(courtesy Diviani). The duo should have written songs about Calcutta. Anyway, there I was sitting in a subway train and utterly bored. Then enter two African American women. They come and sit right on the seats on the other side of the aisle and start talking loudly. Now, I could have done without mentioning loudly. African American women talk a lot, and when they do they talk loudly. They don't perhaps know the art of whispering. They even scream a lot. When they are happy and not having sex and also when they are happy and having sex. And before you ask questions, my Italian roomie used to screw one such lady. What else they did, I do not know. But I could hear the moaning from two rooms away. Ohh, yes. The two women in the subway. Now, when I paid attention to them, they presented an interesting spectacle. They were quite peculiarly dressed. There was no question about the femininity of one, while the other quite looked like a man with breasts. But the US is a weird country. There are people with all kinds of gender here, some even unknown to imbeciles like me. Having such an enlightening reallization, I turned my head and resumed my staring at the walls. Suddenly something moved. And the next moment, the woman whose gender was quite perplexing, hit the floor of the train. And started rolling. She stopped at my feet and looked up at me. With the looks of a famished stray dog looking up at a tea-stall owner for a biscuit. I was even more perplexed. She was defnitely not a dog. A bitch, I wasn't sure. And I also had no biscuits with me. So I sat, looking back at her. She then got up on her knees and stumbled to her seat. Thus, relieving me of the shame of not offering her a biscuit or something similar. As I turned my head and fixed my gaze once again on the dark walls, I heard them bursting into fits of laughter and almost falling on the floor. Time and again. This went on for five minutes or so when my stop came and I sprang out with the agility of a drugged Ben Johnson. Before the doors closed, I looked at the woman who took my seat and prayed that she had some cookies to offer when the rolling lady came asking. Did I mention, the two of them were completely stoned? Rolling and stoned? Uh, I live in a mediocre world!
I went to Barnes & Nobles and while browsing through the books on films, I came across the above two. I am still a poor Graduate student and 40$ even poorer. But at least I have the books. I am HAPPY!!!!
"A woman was gossiping with her friend about a man whom they hardly knew - I know none of you have ever done this. That night, she had a dream: a great hand appeared over her and pointed down on her. She was immediately seized with an overwhelming sense of guilt. The next day she went to confession. She got the old parish priest, Father O' Rourke, and she told him the whole thing. 'Is gossiping a sin?' she asked the old man. 'Was that God All Mighty's hand pointing down at me? Should I ask for your absolution? Father, have I done something wrong?' 'Yes,' Father O' Rourke answered her. 'Yes, you ignorant, badly-brought-up female. You have blamed false witness on your neighbor. You played fast and loose with his reputation, and you should be heartily ashamed.' So, the woman said she was sorry, and asked for forgiveness. 'Not so fast,' says O' Rourke. 'I want you to go home, take a pillow upon your roof, cut it open with a knife, and return here to me.' So, the woman went home: took a pillow off her bed, a knife from the drawer, went up the fire escape to her roof, and stabbed the pillow. Then she went back to the old parish priest as instructed. 'Did you cut the pillow with a knife?' he says. 'Yes, Father.' 'And what were the results?' 'Feathers,' she said. 'Feathers?' he repeated. 'Feathers; everywhere, Father.' 'Now I want you to go back and gather up every last feather that flew out onto the wind,' 'Well,' she said, 'it can't be done. I don't know where they went. The wind took them all over.' 'And that,' said Father O' Rourke, 'is gossip!"
................ Father Brendan Flynn (Doubt, 2008)
1) I spent a whole day listening to Mohd.Rafi, Lata Mangeshkar and Manna Dey. I think I am getting old.
2) Being self-obsessed has its own merits. For one, you could be totally happy with your own cooking.
3) Its snowing again. Gah! I hate it when it snows for just a few hours and then stops. That way we don't get our classes off and the streets are all messy for the next couple of days. I would rather have a blizzard anyday.
4) Pintsize is the new benchmark in haramigiri. Go check him out here.
5) Never ever watch Hollywood made horror films. Ramgopal Verma ki Aag can be far more entertaining.
