Rant, Trip, Defecate!

"Today, our editor plans the menu of murder, rape, arson, and assault on the front page of the day’s newspaper"___Chuck Palahniuk (Haunted)

I happened to read the newspaper after a long time today. Same old realization – why did I even bother? Same old depressing skeletons parading in fresh flesh – The Big Bandh Brouhaha, Congress says it’s evil, BJP says it’s our right – just another bout of the same old fight; fuck them! Then the usual murders, scams, rapes, and fuckin’ giant vapid advertisements. Oh and yes, Dhoni got married, the whole nation whacks off in celebration; and wait, now Mandira Bedi also writes a column on football – fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!

But apart from that, things are not all that bad on the microcosmic front. I’m killing my days and nights in blissful languor despite the heat. I find myself gorging on peaches and pepperoni pizzas almost every day (yes, my mother seems to be quite happy for some incomprehensible reason). And yes, this evening, I finally laid my hands on a guitar after a long time – chilling on my friend’s terrace, watching the first monsoon clouds glide across the grey sky with a reddish-golden tinge, smoking a weed chillum (again, after what seemed like ages), in the first few showers of the season – yes, all we needed was a basket of mangoes to complete the scene; or maybe not. Maybe there were mangoes? It’s immaterial anyhow.

And yes, mirror trip revisited! I guess I can’t call it an acid flashback anymore, for when in times of extreme THC influence, I can actually steer myself in and out of the trip, locked safe within a lighted bathroom with a mirror. It’s fascinating, what influence can do – I watched my features melt and float, I watched different faces replace mine, I watched my own face go blank as a fresh canvas (yes, I know what the likes of Picasso were tripping on), but yeah, all of it is routine by now. No more does it invite the shock and wickedly enticing fear as it did, the first time when I happened to look into the mirror during my first lysergic experience – it’s still fresh, or so it seems.

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Fuck you who swore by Kaka, Ronaldo or Messi; fuck you all! It’s oranje! And yes, the commendable young Aryans too. Yes, I’m a passive supporter but now I can gloat. And no, I don’t support the Dutch merely because of their eccentric and delightful laws, I like them for the splendid football they play and of course, Arjen Robben (no matter how great a diver you might call him)!

And no, I don’t support Germany! But I’m not averse to them either, for that matter, I’m not averse to anyone. Not even Portugal, and I know Ronaldo’s a really good player but I just don’t like his face.

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Khushwant Singh’s Delhi – A Novel, I couldn’t have picked a better book to read at such a time. A time when the searing heat constantly makes me rue my return to this city; at such a time, the dirty old man has helped me readjust to its sights and sounds. He has helped me fall in love with it all over again, and in a completely novel way. It has filled me with the desire to explore the same ruins and locales, which he describes. Some where I have already been, and some that are still unknown to me; but once more I shall tread along those hallowed paths of Delhi history, and this time with all the due interest and intoxication.

The novel itself, the tattered hardback in my possession, was picked up on the streets of Daryaganj – and yes, that’s the Delhi I wish to see now, that’s the Delhi which Khushwant Singh, among many others, saw and loved. Rediscover Mehrauli – Auliya Masjid, Shamsi Talab, Kamali’s tomb; and then those of Nizammudin and Khusrau. Lodhi Gardens, Tughlaqabad, Purana Qila, Hauz Khas...and above all, I want to visit the Red Fort again. I want to stand at the Diwan-i-khaas once more and lose myself in the same fit of poesy, which took hold of Zafar when he realized that his sordid reign was all but over. The riots, the plundering of Iranians and Afghans, this mutually adopted city of mine; if only I could gain even a grain of the experience it possesses.

Coming back to the book, the narrative, the story, structure, and assimilation of the past, present and the juxtaposition of the same through interlinked chapters is just amazing; the historical perspectives on Nadir Shah, Aurangzeb and Zafar, all in first-person – perfect blend of romance and history, right from the time when the city struck puberty till the time it finally blossomed during the Lutyens’ era – the crazy surd at his best; and yes, take it from him, there’s a lot of seminal fluid in the story.