Scribbles from Seattle VI

Memories, they inhabit the best of minds and the worst. They keep you going, or distract you from another math homework assignment.

" 'Remember when', is the lowest form of conversation"

Tony Soprano

Now, Tony had his issues.But this was one of the most random yet interesting things he ever said. Why? You decide. Why? I am too lazy and I just had to make a Soprano reference in one of the entries ( has it been already 3 years since the damn show ended, ridiculous!).

But honestly growing up sucks, as the innocence of youth is a thing of the past and the scary realisation about the fact that you are more like your dad than you ever thought was possible. All these sort of accumulate and you feel as if you are the boyfriend of one the broads that Tiger Woods slept with (proud, as TIGER WOODS slept with your woman. But at the same time devastated, as Tiger Woods SLEPT with your woman!)

The reason I write about these things is because as I look back to my sophomore year, I feel a tingling sensation. Its the kind of sensation that you feel when you look back to maybe your 18th birthday or your high school graduation (which, funnily enough was on the same day for me). And the only thing in my mind at that point is the cold fact that "I am Fuckin old". Sweet god! I haven't even graduated from college and its already quarter life crisis time. Its like(bear with me and my poor attempts to add weak-ass humour to this piece) the people who buy iphones. You buy the 3GS version in 2009 and then with a year the iphone 4 comes out. Balderdash! One moment you are the shit and such a technocrat, but then June 2010 comes along and you are just shit.

At this point I am going to take a step back and reminisce about that crazy, convoluted, ridiculous, contradictory,superstitious,cow-loving,sex scandals starved and not to mention happy, nation of mine that I call home. Now, India is a weird country and you might wonder what does that have to do with anything that I have written before this. Well that just means that you are not reading closely enough!

Much like my native land my writing is chaotic. Its full of innuendos, its also somewhat narcissist, its always down for celebrities involved in sex scandals, its all about loving lactating animals( i have a strange affinity towards goats)and more than anything it has a long way to go before it can achieve any sort legitimacy in the big scheme of things.

But jokes aside (i know) one of my biggest realisations in recent years is how lucky I have been in being part of a generation that grew up(well some of us atleast) in a modern 21st century India. An India post 1991 reforms, an India in which traveling to another part on the world is no longer a once in a lifetime opportunity, an India in which our possibilities are so much more than our parents, an India with TATA back in its prime, an India with folks like Dr. Manmohan Singh, Montek Alhuwalia, APJ Abdul Kalam, Yashwant Sinha and Arun Shourie calling the shots, an India which saw Rahul Dravid's prime, an India that handled the recession like Manny Pacquiao after a bout- unaffected and singing, India which gave the confidence to idiots like me to go 8000 miles away and think that they know the world, yet gave them the values to realise that they don't even know their own country, an India that taught me to dream and an India that is so much more and more to be.Yes, all of that in one sentence!

And now I feel like completely slating India, but I wouldn't.Why? Thats just the Indian in me, always positive. 400 million people under the poverty line, but still smiling. Villages full of untouchables and metropolis full of Brahmins, but still looking forward to going back home more than ever. Ridiculous amount of corruption,a bureaucracy less useful than English centre backs against Germany, lesser civil obedience than both my drunk roommates combined( those who know can smile) and more than anything a general lack of ability to self analyse constructively. 2 steps back and one step forward, thats our way. But god damned! I am more proud and optimistic to be Indian than ever.

I am not a patriotic kind of person, but I am definitely nostalgic. I would join the Indian armed forces( and I might if shit doesn't pick up at college, god damn this math homework) just because I get teary eyed and fiery about watching JP Dutta's Border when I was a kid.

Well enough of these inane ramblings.The big question that everyone in world (who matters atleast) right now is pondering over is whether the Dutch will win the world cup or not. Man! What a stupid question.Of Course they will, the real question is how many beers will I be down when that happens. And just for that growing up is good, because I can actually figure that one out legally. Five pints in, quarter-life crisis my ass!

scribbles from seattle V

This world we live in is a funny place; in fact an extraordinarily hilarious one.Every moment is a riot and I am not talking about the ones where a few somewhat angry gents decide to practice their throwing and pyro skills.Honestly, there are times when I am just walking down the street, minding my own business, ogling at the stunning Seattle ladies,listening to some obscure(and obscene) 80's glam rock group (its def leppard) and I just crack up for no good reason. And no I am not sane, but thats not the point.

The fact of the matter ladies and gents is that we all are 'hella' corny!

Just like the girl with the Mark Knopfler underwear, who sits behind me in class( about time I talked to her, I love the Dire Straights) or the dodgy barista, who offered to put extra whip cream in my morning americano, with remnants of shaving cream on his face and ears.

But enough with these dismal attempts at humour. What with Sachin Tendulkar's orgasmic innings, Craig Ferguson's twitters, Ferderer's constant endeavours to become something more than the greatest legend ever, Tiger Wood's sex drive( am I the only who is more jealous than outraged by the whole issue), the British economy(talk about being funny),George Clinton and the Funkadelic crowd (still making booties shake like no one else does), the IPL (Lalit Modi= 100 Kerry Packers + so much more) and America's love for sports that simply baffle me and thus, cannot be cited in this opening crescendo that so typifies the drivel that I constantly subject my extremely limited readership(Tiger probably has slept with more women) to. Lackadaisical E. is back, much more delayed but with a bigger bang (insert a Tiger joke in this space).

Now I know in the previous version of the entries ( I can't believe I am actually assuming somebody read it and more over remembers it) I talked about writing more frequently and what not. But there is a reason why these entries are called Lackadaisical (common, i even spelt my blog's url wrong) and its my job to stick to the theme.

But enough with the narcissist scribbles. The real bones of contention are my erroneous sleeping habits (its 3 am as I type this). But more seriously, terrorism. Now one of the highlights of this quarter is that during spring break I will be on a short and sweet (10 days, thank you quarter system and your daft short breaks) trip back to India. Ofcourse the other highlight was my 21st birthday, but due to a lack of memory of that fateful Friday, thats all I can possibly share. In fact ,if on the 15th of January 2010, you saw a funny looking and a very drunk Indian walking around the U District, please contact the writer and share your account.

But coming back to the point about terrorism and my prospective journey back to the motherland. It really bothers me that because of the inane and insane behaviour of a few zealots cunts(the terrorists and their cretin leaders), folks I call my countrymen cannot enjoy even the smallest pleasures of life like sports or music.

Lets talk about the IPL, the glitzy and quite amazing domestic cricket league that dominates headlines in all cricket playing nations. Its a festival like no other in sports, for about 45 days India comes to a standstill. People go to the gym and just stare at screens; lifting up their expectations instead of weights,discussions in various corporate offices tend to vary between De Villier's last innings or the length of the Bangalore Royal's cheerleaders skirts, even the debates in the Parliament tend to get heated up if the team from the capital city loses and more than anything, it makes India believe in itself and its possibilities. An event of this magnitude and quality is a first for this overpopulated and still largely impoverished nation. And to host it, indigenously, is a matter of pride for millions of people.Lalit Modi, you are a self obsessed and a over confident megalomaniac, but take a bow sir. This cricket fanatic salutes you! But terrorism strikes again and security concerns after threats from many of the aforementioned cunts, has meant that the event is under a cloud. The same goes for the Commonwealth Games and our prospective Olympic bid for 2016.

I would not like to go into details about terrorism and its threats, but its an issue that is personal for every Indian (or for that matter everyone who has suffered from it). But the need of the hour is the belief and the desire to go on with the plans as scheduled. To give up would be a victory the for the cunt- side.

As the vivacious and brilliant Harsha Bhogle wrote is his column:

'In spite of it all, sport needs to exist, to flourish because it is one of the few things that brings a smile through honest efforts; whether it is football in Africa, or cricket in Afghanistan.'

But despite all these slight discrepancies, I am really excited about going back home. Spending Christmas, Diwali,New years and my birthday( pre bar hopping at least) wondering about whats being cooked back home or my dad's next bad pun, makes it momentarily that tinier bit harder (and the next thing you know you wake up with a terrible hangover, in some random girl's bed, smelling like a bottle of jagermeister). But home!

The last winter break of the last decade taught me many things. A few select realisations included that Manhattan is much better explored after 5-6 pints(I get lost there sober, so why not?); for exploring Brooklyn, 7-8 pints( and Grimaldi's pizza, highly recommended); when alone on Christmas eve in NYC with a bottle of wine and left over pizza, watch Lost in Translation; bums in the Bronx are far more fun than the bums in Seattle; when Seattle mistimes the new year fireworks, start a massive rendition of the Bohemian Rhapsody ( makes you less pissed off at the culprits); and well, that the dodgy looking barista at the cafe I have been frequenting for over a year, might be using shaving cream instead of whip cream in my morning americanos.

But all in all, as I look back to the past decade and look forward to the current, I laugh.And you might wonder why? Well that just means that you skipped the beginning of this piece, you cheeky bastards. If not, keep laughing.This corny yet hurting world could use more of that. This fucked up yet hilariously enumerating journey continues...

Dazzling Blues Dancing to Ancelotti's Tunes

Its been a while, but writing about Chelsea comes so natural for an obsessed fan, that I just could'nt help but post another piece on those posh West Londoners.

This season has been riveting from a blues perspective in so many ways.

Every goal, every pass,every tackle, even the errors(Villa game anybody!) are just perfect. Its a sonata that Carlos Ancelotti is conducting with pitch perfection. But by no means is old Carlos the only composer of this piece.

Ranieri,Mourinho,Grant,Hiddink,Scolari and even good ol'Stevie Clarke( his departure was the key to Scolari's decline at the Bridge) have had their parts to play in sketching this sonata. And trust me, metaphors and similes are just piling up in the right hand side of my brain and the reason is simple; this Chelsea side has been 6 years in the making and is now really starting to shine.

People have criticised the constant chopping and changing of managers.But my counterpoint is that except the timing of some of the departures, each one's exit was justified.

Ranieri made the right kind of signings, but lacked the tactical nous to win big.

Jose had the biggest effect.He changed the mentality and the tactical quality of the team. Made people like JT, Lampard, Drogba, Essien etc champions.But his policy of win above all, completely contradicted Mr. Abramovich's vision of sexy footy.There was always going to be only one winner in that battle.

Grant was walking the plank from day one. But if anything, all his contributions were positive. His docile and understated approach helped a segmented squad to integrate. People like Ballack and Anelka became better players for the club in his reign. No tactical genius, but no fool either.But was not the answer in the long term.

Scolari in his initial 4 months wowed us with great football unseen by the Shed End faithful since the late 90's. But Steve Clarke's departure and hollow tactics meant that a team used to winning, match in match out, were hopelessly struggling by the end of his reign. Echoes of his firing were felt this season, when Kenyon was given his marching orders for hiring for him.

Hiddink reconciled the team and spruced up the tactical make up of the squad. Almost mirroring Jose's reign in his style, the players were rejuvenated and his look alike successor Ancelotti had an easier job at hand, upon his arrival.

Carlos has definitely made us much more tactically flexible. There is a definite clockwork like approach to our gameplay.The defensive discipline of Jose's era is yet to be achieved. But an offensive understanding and creative glow has been seeped in. This team can defend, we know that from Nou Camp last season. The question was whether we could attack ? And boy! we are answering that emphatically.

I would like to point out at this juncture that by no means am I saying that we will win all and destroy everyone in our path this season. But looking at quality of the competition domestically and even continentally(except perhaps them wankers from Catalonia!), I will be extremely disappointed if we do'nt win this season. Things like luck do play a role, its a part and parcel of sports. But I would be ecstatic if we win the big cups come April/May '010.

And not only because I am a Chelsea fan, but more so because each one of these players who have been there as their sonata has been written, deserve it. These are best gents that have worn the blue shirt in our history and have played their parts with the effort, subtlety and quality of virtuosos.

"Like Don Revie's Leeds, with whom this Chelsea side share so much – from frightening physical and mental toughness to inexplicably frequent second-place finishes – their collective strength has the capacity to transcend everything else, be it context, opposition, or even tactics."

Rob Smyth in the Guardian

But win or lose, I am smitten by this team and the way they are playing this season. The unbridled joy of watching us play, despite losing 2-0 to Villa; well thats the kind of feeling every fan wishes for.

Up the chels..

Scribble from Seattle 3.9

The fall brings with it many things. A fresh beginning, bittersweet transition from summer to winter, rain(and a lot of it if you are in Seattle),pumpkin patches,the oncoming cricket season down under,the initial hiccups in Chelsea's season(but guess who is still on top!!), more jazz music,Barrack winning the Nobel within 9 months (too slow if you ask me!), the urge to constantly drink tea and absorb the warm hues that inhabit the foliage. The last bit is interesting to me, the fact that colours in this season are actually of the warm kind; its as if trees are holding on to the last bit of the warmth that summer bought to them before the winter sets in. But enough of my poor attempts at poetic jargon. Fact that matters is that Lackadaisical E. is back(i know. i was shocked too with that one)

Sitting in our new U District apartment's balcony, looking at a falling sun trying hard to match the colours of the fallen leaves, smoking the nth rolled up Gauloises, drinking n+1 th cup of Darjeeling and I wonder,what fuck do poets smoke?

People keep asking me why do I only write one blog a quarter(ok! only my ma asked) and so I decided to script a SFS 3.9. Why 3.9? As it will be the only time a 3.9 will be associated with anything I do while I am in college. 3.9 is also like a step back from 4, because it is one. Not because this blog sucks more than the last one (please!) but because it is a calmer and much more serene me writing, alright I am joking. I am just drunk!! But seriously the revelation that my dear ma reads excited me a lot, I officially have a readership of more than 1 (excluding those who I force read). Mum is the word people!

So fighting 20 hours worth of jet lag and general bad sleeping habits by drinking copious amount of ethanol, it hit me that sophomore year has actually started. And being the one who always introspects on such occasions and then immediately realises that its pointless doing so after 5 glasses of pinot noir, I decided its time to sober up and write. Now do'nt be dumbfounded, the writer of this piece is not going forgo the frequent states of inebriation that have so typified much of the subject matter.But instead its a case of recording many of the various brainwaves that I undergo during the moments in between those blurry periods.

This quarter with a full load of classes, stage managing a play called References to Salvador Dali Makes Me Hot( which is an awesome name, I mean why can't people make more names likes this; for example Dizzy Gillespe Dropped a Diamond or Andy Warhol Makes My Pudding.), making sure my roommates are sober, training for the Seattle half marathon, football,cooking,drinking those wines, attending them jazz concerts, hitting on that girl in the back of the cafe, sobering up from all those wines,hw and still having the emotional energy to call my grandad on his 75th birthday. And you know what its only in college you can do that with a negative bank balance and still plan that backpacking trip to Sydney for Christmas.

This fucked up yet enumerating journey continues...

Scribble from Seattle 4

You know that feeling. The feeling of utmost contentment on what has happen, yet a great degree of dissatisfaction at what is still left to be achieved. Well if you do, let me know. Hey! life is too short to linger over such philosophical undertones.

What with Barrack calling his citizens jackasses, Chelsea's deja vu season under Ancelotti(or is it still

Guss Hiddink?), the 2020 Champions League cricket(Go Mumbai Indians!!) about to explode on to your telly screens, my slow blogging, the next Wall Street film & the economic recovery(well if you believe them economists), the eternal glow on Craig Ferguson's face and me still wondering how wicked is Michael Holding's accent (commentate together we will, Mike. one day!!). Summer in Seattle is still glowing in my tan( yes we Indians tan too you cheeky racist basterds!) and what a blistering summer it was. Lackadaisical E. comes back, much delayed but with a bang (which will be at least better than the dross that was the Seattle firework display on 7/4).

Scribbling through the summer the different section of this blog, I could not help but wonder about the year that has gone by(and thereby completely contradicting my first few lines.ah well!!). Its been full of laughter, unscrupulous amount of alcohol, blurry sojourns to different cities(well atleast those that I remember. Somewhat!), untimely passes on girls, musical discoveries,rookie & immature moments aplenty and what not. In short, freshmen year.

It struck me during one of my numerous night time walks from Downtown Seattle back to the U, that this city is just the pinnacle of the modern world. A city manifested through the best that the 21st century has to offer tangibly and ,considering how steeped it is in its citizen's intellectual beliefs that each one of them is so proud of, intangibly. You add the magnificent natural beauty that engulfs it and you wonder if this is good as it gets. I maybe very well wrong, but it would not surprise me either if thats absolutely true. The point is that its very easy to be Seattled( I just made that up) i.e. reach such a comfort level within this city that the world just seems to begin and end from the Puget Sound to Lake Washington, except the occasional drunk trip to Vancouver BC . And its scary, as it maybe great for some NY big shot retired lawyer to spend his final days eating sea food in Bell Town. But for some impressionable 20 year old, its just seems limiting.But damn me if I let that limit my fun time is this city.

I am writing this sitting at my desk at home in Delhi (for once at a decent hour, its just 2 am) and at the end of a serene trip.And its been fantastic to say the least. And not just because of my annual pilgrimage to Bombay(The Worli Sea Link people!!) .But also due to level and the speed of change that is taking place around these parts. Little things like technology, the economy(depression. what depression!), the media, the cricket team and just everything has evolved so much. It has astonished me by how much I was taken aback by the changes that I have witnessed (considering I grew up here). Maybe its a transitional shock felt by all those who travel from a country in a state of recession to a country undergoing accelerated development. Yes, there are still droughts and families not getting even a meal a day.From Force India to the cattle class. Even a month experiencing such contradictions is an unbelievable learning and enriching experience. But Bombay people, Bombay!! (just had to say that)

Sophomore year starts soon and it cannot start sooner. And who knows with me being a year wiser and smarter, these blogs might be a lesser waste of your precious time. This fucked up yet enumerating journey continues .....

Scribble from Seattle 3

Sitting in the backyard of my new summer residence, its 4am, with a bottle of a Columbia Fume Blanc and a left over Monti Cristo (from last weeks crazy end of freshman year celebrations, but thats another story), I type. Summer has started in the Northwest and though for most people around here that means unlimited sunbathing and equally limited clothing, for me its just perfect. The breeze, 9 pm sunset, flip flops and v necks all day long; only a person used to the searing Delhi summer can truly appreciate the pleasure of a summer like this.

A constant theme that has been omnipresent this past school year has been 'change'. Change of country, change of culture, change in the alcohol that you drink or the cigarette that you smoke(or anything that you smoke for that matter), change in music , change in change being the key word in your resident country's most important elections in recent years.... and it goes on, which is a change on its own.

Though somethings remain constant, me typing this piece at odd hours, a bit tipsy, procrastinating(a word bit overused in college) over math(always math when i blog) homework as usual and on a school night, with a 8:30 am class awaiting at that.

I will be honest, a lot of what has happen in the last few months is very blurry to me.
You can reach your own conclusions as to why that is the case, but I will say this much that one thing that remains lucid and constant is my attachment to this wonderfully eclectic town by the Puget Sound called Seattle.

Seattle folks are some of the most paradoxical mountain men and women you can expect to meet anywhere. Seattle, the place that I call home now days, hosts more overeducated baristas and philosophising bums than any other city on the planet, I would guess. We wear gortex and ride fancy road bikes, all the while priding ourselves on our claim of a simple and organic lifestyle.

'All the lonely people
Where do they all come from ?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong ?'

The Beatles (Eleanor Rigby)

One of my favourite activities in any city I am in is to walk around the city with my ipod and a bottle of spring water (trust me the latter is as important as the former if not more). And I have done this in the sweltering heat in the middle of Old Delhi, walking around the narrow streets looking at the sheer magnitude of life that inhabits my hometown, or around my favourite city in the world, Bombay, walking from one end of Nariman Point to another, and honestly there is nothing as humbling as seeing the coexistence of people from such varying backgrounds and more than anything to see them thrive. Ask any poor or rich, sick or healthy,old or young, well or shabbily dressed, Davidoff smoking or India Kings smoking, Armani or fake Armani citizen of this dynamic city and one thing remains constant, their love for Bombay; and its always Bombay, never Mumbai. One Slumdog Millionaire is not enough for this city, Danny Boyle are you listening!!

Did the same thing in the classy and cobbled streets of Edinburgh, amongst the overwhelming sights of Lower Manhattan (the best dressed folks by far), Istanbul(oh! those Turkish women!!), good old London (feel a bit weird saying this, but immigrants everywhere!!) and most of the Northwest.

But nowhere did I have more fun doing this than Seattle. One reason for this is that usually I am not the only one doing it. Somewhere in Ballard, Downtown, Capitol Hill or even the U- District, I find someone wearing a crisp white shirt, with a pack of Gauloises , with a bottle of spring voda in hand and with the same glazed look on their face as me. There is always someone willing for a conversation on organic wines growing in the Columbia Valley and at same time about the new dumpster diving spots near UW. Blondes in leather jackets and baggy jeans and 6'5 black folks in skinny jeans, carrying their Chihuahuas; Seattle is 'hella' fun!!

Its been a wicked first year and the next 3-4 years will be interesting, especially living off campus and more ingrained into the city. Honestly I have been to San Fransisco, Portland, Vancouver(BC) and Seattle, covering most of the Northwest and its quite frankly a fucked up part of the world. And the best part is I love it. Jazz, Paul Simon, Newgrounds D&B or Marley(especially Bob!)...everything makes sense here.

But as with anyone with a soul, you crave home. A day locked in the room you grew up in, those soothing cream blinds, listening to same music you hear when you were 16, no more cigarettes or hangovers to worry about. Just you and home.
But thats still a few months away. Till then let this fucked up and endearing journey continues.....

The Magic of the Cup

As the blues from London overpowered and overwhelmed the blues from Liverpool, on a sunny Saturday in Wembley, I could not help shedding a tear. Seeing the scenes of pure ecstasy as JT and Frank lifted the trophy, seeing Guus Hiddink say a very emotional goodbye, seeing Michael Essien taking over the camera and click some memorable pictures of his mates and most of all for me, seeing Ray Wilkins lift the cup, just made me sob and laugh.

People like Ray Wilkins just make you happy. Chelsea through and through and a thoroughly likable character, he is someone every pensioner has time for. And to see him climb those steps and lift the cup (and he was reluctant, till Guus forced him). Loyalty and perseverance, thats what gets fans smitten to and Ray personifies it.

Its been a long, insufferable couple of seasons. It was a trophyless season last year. No Luck, they kept saying. But for me it was heartbreak and a perennial barrage of banter from my mates. But this cup means a lot, reawakens a lot of tired and quite frankly frustrated souls.

Bit more luck on the pitch and a whole lot of soul searching off it are the needs of the hour at our beloved club. Guus Hiddink may be gone, but its important to keep the momentum going and think long term. Most of the squad is in its prime and still has a couple of seasons left in it. People like Lampard and Anelka have played out of their skins and merit more accomplishment.

Carlos Ancelotti has just been appointed as the new man incharge. I have a lot to say about that, but I will just be an optimist and hope for the best.

The best thing about being a fan is that it does not take much to get our hopes high. A hard tackle, commitment, unity, loyalty..true fans notice these things and thrive on such virtues. Seeing pure ecstasy on everyones faces after a cup win is chief amongst them. And on Saturday, seeing a beaming Frank Lampard and an emotional Hiddink pose in front of cameraman Essien and point towards him, as if trying to say, what the fuck?..well its right up there in my Chelsea memories.

Up the Chels!!