I like the orange coloured Nissan that one of her friend’s in Ahmedabad has. The colour isn’t orange really. It is the colour of an orange when the orange has rotten somewhat, and yet hasn’t turned black completely. And it’s metallic. That car stands out. Wherever you park it. Whenever you park it. And may be that’s why I like the orange coloured Nissan that one of her friend’s in Ahmedabad has.

I also like the bright yellow coloured Nano. Irrespective of the colour, she hates Nanos in general. I think I will at least test drive a Nano. Some day. Even if I get to ride it for a nano kilometer. Ok, bad one. Nano karte pyaar tumhi se kar baithe. LOL, bad one again.

A bright yellow coloured Nano and the kind of metallic orange colour that I described coloured Nissan where once talking to each other. I overheard.

Nano to Nissan – Jai Jawaan, Jai Nissan.

Nissan to Nano – Fuck you.

Nano to Nissan – every body want’s to fuck me.

Nissan to Nano – Fuck everybody.

Nano to Nissan – Fuck Jawaan. Fuck Nissan.

Nissan to Nano – Fuck you Mumbai meri jaan.

Nano to Nissan – why drag Mumbai between you me and Jawaan?

Nissan to Nano – you got something better to drag between the three of us?

Nano to Nissan – everything’s better than Mumbai.

Nissan to Nano – fuck everything.

Nano to Nissan – is fuck the only verb you ever use?

Nissan to Nano – never gave a fuck to it.

Nano to Nissan – I love your colour. The colour of rotten orange. On metal. And before you say anything, fuck orange.

Nissan to Nano – fuck orange.

Orange to Nano and Nissan – fuck you both.

Nano to orange – now where did you come from?

Orange to Nano – from where everything else comes.

Nissan to Orange – and where does everything else come from?

Orange to Nissan – from nowhere.

Nissan to Orange – fuck nowhere.

Nano to Nissan – fuck everywhere.

Orange to Nano and Nissan – fuck somewhere.

Nano and Nissan rolled to somewhere. Orange rolled down to somewhere else. Got more rotten. Then completely rotten. Turned black. And was thrown into a dustbin. A fucking dustbin.

As the dustbin waited for folks contracted out by municipal corporation to clear its content, it saw a bright yellow coloured Nano come park itself next to a rotting orange colour in metallic texture Nissan. And they started conversing with each other.

It’s been six long years! Fuck man. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I love words. I can’t remember them. I thought I would buy a car. I wouldn’t buy one. I told her I wanted to stay single. We talk daily like couples. I don’t watch TV. The TV watches me. If deadlines were on a cricket-pitch I would have been a popular no-bowler (not the best though). I love preaching anger management. I get angry. The past is dead and buried. It haunts me on lonely nights. Bites like a snake. Non-venomous – for I am alive.

The dust that is there. Everywhere. Grey. White. Misty. Choking. Polluting. Eye-hurting. Irritating. I have a hanky. I have made triangles out of them and covered my nose and my mouth. I have big goggles. I have put them over my eyes. The dust does little harm now. But I hear the flying, wafting, humming particles laugh at me sometimes. They know the cloth is going to go away. And so are the shades. But I pretend I don”t hear them laugh. May be I don’t. I pretend my eyes never get moist. May be they don’t. I know I am alive. May be I am not.

There is this feeling of floating. Floating in air. The air is mostly humid. Flesh wet. Occasionally it gets hot. Occasionally, air turns into water. Liquid. Cold. Warm. Boiling. Gravity is mostly weak. The difference between closed eyes and open eyes is marginal. I talk and yet I am silent. I smile and yet I am lost. I work and yet I am asleep. I might be floating, but a particular direction of flow, there is none. Bubbles surround me. Some burst the moment they are sighted. Some grow in size, and then burst. Sometimes I am floating alone – everything else left glowing white by sun’s glare. At other times, it is dark. In the moon-light, I can see bodies other than mine. Some stink. Some smell of jasmine. They all float. Once in a while, a drifting body gently collides with my own flesh. Liquid turns to solid. Everything freezes. The limbs, the eyes. The entire body. And yet breathes the soul. The soul whispers something sweet. I smile. I chuckle. I am a kid who is floating no more. I am running. I am running with a grin on my face and a spring in my legs. I am running with a glow in my chin and a shining shin. I am running over water and running over air. I run, and then I trot, and then I stride and then I slow down and then I fall and then I drown. I go deep inside till I touch the bottom. And then I feel something. There is this feeling of floating.

Tamboo was a good boy. I don’t know why they killed him for such a petty offense. Was it even an offense? I don’t even know why Tamboo didn’t run away. I think Tamboo was crazy. It’s good that he is dead. We don’t need too many good people around.

Hailo – there is no one called Tamboo! I just thought it would be nice to start off this post with something random. I don’t know about Tamboo but I am crazy for sure. 😛

Bhubaneswar is growing upon me – sometimes I feel that I have lived in this small city all my life. Sometimes I even feel that my ancestors, forefathers, eightfathers and all kinds of other possible fathers – all of them always lived in Bhubaneswar. The only fact that easily dissolves this illusion every time it creeps into the head is the fact that I can’t speak Oriya. One needs to be a retard to be unable to speak Oriya if one has lived here all his life. But these days, I am very tempted – I want to learn speaking in the local dialect. Learning Oriya is not that difficult either. It’s not like Tamil or Telugu. I actually understand quite a bit of Oriya – much more than Tamil or Telugu. Asila, jathila, dakchi, jaaochi, aaochi, gote, koti, etc. etc – so many Oriya words waft around my existence everyday. That’s all I need – the language. That would turn me to an authentic Orissa-man. Bhubaneswar really is growing upon me.

This week was short-stories reading week. Roald Dahl. He was a tall Brit dude who died ten or twenty years ago but wrote enough entertaining stuff before he passed away. Pretty kickass writer. The awesome collection that I bought last weekend has many many stories – I have read only half of them and liked most of them. Most stories are full of black humor and Indu if you are reading this post, this explains the theme of some of the latest Shitoons. 😛 But Dahl’s style of humor is class apart. Most of his last moment twists simply give you an adorable high!

This week was also full of running and work-outs. If I continue, I would be in a pretty good shape by this month end. I don’t yet know what I am going to do with the good shape though. I wish I could ask Tamboo. Tamboo was a good boy.

Sometimes I have a lot of inside me and I am very sure that something should be written about it. Sometimes on such occasions I suddenly go blank and don’t know where to start from. Let me start from nowhere.

In the last two days, I have talked to so many people over the phone, chatted with so many of them on Gtalk, read so much of philosophy and watched a movie as intense as Gualal that now as I write all of this, I feel the nerves in the forehead bulged up to their limits. As I write this, the bulge is slowly going down.

I was telling Leela over chat today that suddenly the world seems to be contriving to get me married. I feel like Yossarian suddenly – he feared death, I fear marriage. My parents are living in their own world and I don’t know how to show them mine. Do I have a world to show them? My life is full of questions and myself. Amrutash is flying me to Bangalore this coming weekend so that I can assist him by my creative inputs. I still think its a waste of money – he thinks otherwise. Vishnupriya asked me to send a Shitoon to NDTV – I think she is biased towards Shitoons because I make them. I don’t know what good she found in me in just one real meeting. Do I create a lot of hype about myself? I think I do. What I do and I create become larger than what I am. What I am, I don’t know. I am still recovering from the losses I suffered. Have you seen Gulal? You saw how Dilip started acting so stupid because he fell in love? Love has killed me. How can I marry? How can I marry when I don’t want to love any individual? And yet they all think living lonely won’t work. Sujata from Muscat thinks so. My chachi in Bangalore thinks so. My parents keep meeting folks who then ask their sons to get in touch with me so that they can have a look at me  and decide if I am good for their sister. What has happened to the world suddenly?

I told my cousin I am coming to Bangalore on Friday so he should meet me. I told Leela the same and then Gaya. I will also meet that brother who wants to see how good I am for his sis. He sounded like a nice friendly person on phone, so I will enjoy meeting him, but as a friend. I called up dad yesterday and scolded him for doing this to me. I told him I would leave job and go back to college, if possible to IIM to run away from this agony. I wanted to finish off this book called ‘A Journey in Ladakh’ by Andrew Harvey. The travelogue soon turned so philosophical that I started feeling heavy. And  then G (my colleague) in the guest house asked me if I wanted to see Gulal. He had put that on, on the projector in the hall. So the book is unfinished and the mind feels heavier now. Do watch the movie if you haven’t. I bow to Anurag Kashyap – shear genius he is. This is for you Sujata – you were calling me a genius, but look at Anurag Kashyap. What am I compared to him? Will I ever be able to bring that kind of intensity in any of my creations? I was telling Nita today that I will write a book only when I have worked much more on my English. But when I am satisfied with my English writing skills, will I be able to produce something as good as anything worthy that has been written before me? I know the answer is yes. Intensity – impact: who doesn’t want to make that on the world?

Oh I feel so lost in my own words. Nothing is calming me down. I met some new folks at Oxford book-store yesterday. When I saw them talking like everyone else talked in Chennai, in campus, in hostels, I somehow was determined to introduce myself to them. It has been too long with no one to reach out to in Bhubaneswar. I am an introvert when it comes to breaking ice with strangers. But yesterday, I had to. I couldn’t let the opportunity go away just because I had always been uncomfortable in saying that first hi. I should learn something from Prachi. From a hi on my bog to one of my best friends now – she has done so much for me. I am glad I would be seeing her on Saturday (when I reach Chennai from Bang). I succeeded yesterday in barging in. So now they check my blog and comment. One of them blogs herself and she blogs well too. So do things come your way when you wait? Or they almost come and then you have to take that final step? I had almost given up on finding bloggers in Bhubaneswar and then suddenly someone popped up. It feels so nice.

Other nice things are happening. Finally I am speaking like a normal person to Raji – she too. Suddenly it’s like nothing ever went wrong between us. And what caused this – working for an NGO! One thing leads to another. I was working on this NGO’s website development and suddenly I thought of her because she could add so much of value.

Then there is my short-time ex-gf from IIT, even she chats with me once in a while. When I was moving on, I really didn’t like to speak to her. Now it’s changing. May be I have moved on so much that now none of that matters. I feel like a monk  sometimes and then none of that matters. I feel like talking to everyone. I feel like smiling, traveling, jumping and being good. And most importantly – to open myself to everyone. It’s a rejuvenating feeling – when you start liking to be alone and yet talking to everyone without complaints in your heart. It’s a liberating feeling.

All I want to do now is close my eyes and sleep like a baby. I feel light and blessed, so what if for a short while. Good night everyone. Keep me alive. I am funny and all that but it’s good to be not so funny at times. Good night.