The Bissi Tapes

Self coined lyrics(just a night before, because of stupid street play practice) played on the freshers night.
Played at the Chemical Freshers Night; really grateful to Rahul The Mota for recording it.

By the way most of you will not understand it. It is about the guy who took our Chemistry classes(but did not teach us anything apart sermons ofthe '-5degree problem'. affectionately called Anna..




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This was shot by next door fella Nikunj (who has the genorisity to be just the director thereby not being there in the video...) during the exam season.... The other guy is Mridul, my previous roomie...
no theme was there we just did some arbit haggas and were off in five minutes...

The Bissi Sketches

Pl. see the slideshow on the left...

click on the pics to enlarge them,,,,

and leave your comments here!!

I Love You

And then she came near me and reassuringly said I love you

But my love is not like them

For my love is pure

For I do not mix it with lust

For I do not concoct it with ifs and buts

I simply love you as you

Because you were once me

And even now though detached

You are my own

I love you my son, I love you. 

How Vulgar is my Vogue??

Fashion is that form of ugliness which if used ‘properly’ can act as a shield for more important ugliness. What is ugliness for you may not be garbage for me and vive versa. Notice the use of the word ‘proper’ in the first sentence. That proper does not have a universal definition and is very much restricted to your own domains. Although in some cases the domain may extend from covering just a single element to many members. Examples of this include as is obvious many cultures, regions, religions and other of our man made divisions.

When it comes to choosing what fashion to adopt, it is the same as saying what religion to adopt. The crucial difference being that a large segment of us do not actually chose our own religion but are loaded upon with its burden  even before we have travelled through the entire birth canal.

And halfway in the course of the canal, our fashion is being thought, designed and criticized. Naked, the child is born, and very soon ‘gifted’ with something he would associate with for at least the first fifteen years of his life. Of course this fifteen is a variable, some are rebels and some are lambs.

With globalization we are moving towards a monotonic fashion consisting of the run of the mill shirt-pant generation. And end up as bricks in a continuous grey wall. You won’t be attracted to any ordinary brick in the wall for they are all red , but will be towards one that is say discolored, multicolored, inscribed, disfigured, broken or the alike, in simple words one that’s different. These bricks are our clothes and how the world looks at us.

For we as humans tend to look at ‘first glance beauty’ and I don’t deny that beauty is skin deep. For you won’t have an ugly woman giving an advertisement of a soap bar. Or that of an automobile. Or in fact anything!

I have believed that fashion should not be something that restricts the freedom of the wearer. After all we are doing each and everything for our satisfaction not for that of the tourists visiting the wall. Some are not bothered to be faces in the wall, after all mediocrity and anonymity, as someone said, are the two safest paths in the world.

By restricting the freedom of an individual I mean that fashion should clearly be differentiated beforehand for being a tool of covering yourself OR of attempting to look ‘good’. We start always with the initial and our in most cases are led to the second. However few choose to keep the first path on with great endeavor- consider Gandhi- and now khaki is in itself a distinct fashion genre.

Still by attempting to look unique or different, one may be looked down upon with contempt, with many considering his fashion as a sign of poverty or of lack of dressing skills. Although an extreme contrast may take place too-with your viewer actually being impressed with your simplicity. Simplicity should not be confused with cheap dressing. Wearing knickers, without sleeved shirts and other extreme forms of informal clothes are considered by some as cheap and inappropriate. For some it is a way of living. After all your legs should also be allowed to breathe. Didn’t Brooke Burke say that nothing came in between her and her Calvins?

Thus knickers, shorts, capris, which for the information of those who consider them unworthy are equally priced compared with full length jeans, are also an essential part of your personality. America, which is argued to be the most free land , has people roaming about in clothes which we in the East consider as night clothes, simply because they are freeing themselves of the chains of clothes and clothes which bind us confined. Clothes with the primary aim of covering what is required to be covered are thus merged with designs to lead them into fashionable streams. Lee, Levis, Calvin Klein all have good proportions of their incomes coming in from non-full length clothes.

It is ironic that some consider wearing capris to be humorous or indecent or anti-indian. Let me clarify them all one by one.

Humorous-you say such clothes are humorous because they are different from what you wear. But that does not mean that you can observe them with a mocking tone. Even the clothes of a joker are not humorous. It is his acts which make him laughable. And so is it ours. We have always laughed at that which is not common- be it minority religion groups, racially different people, people with nasal voices, or having different walking styles, despite knowing that the different is the one who has the power to change the world…

Indecent- indecent because maybe they are exposing some skin. But then didn’t our female ancestors of the land of Kama sutra wear bandeaus smaller than Kareena’s in Asoka (and I doubt if they actually wore anything)?  the real reason is that we tend to perceive, now, because of being ruled by white men) who are somehow always right because they have white skin) that what they wear is better. And thus dhoti became a sign of antiquity and the so called formal suit became a routinely office wear. Now, had we been ruled by some chance by Americans we would have looked with the same disgust at the British corsets worn by the white skinned beauties in the Elizabethan movie. And the bustled-skirts and long heavy frocks. I have always wondered how difficult it would be for them to change their dresses! All because of we having predefined notions about everything catalyzed by views of our parents and teachers.

 

Anti-Indian….now that was a strange term someone remarked a few days ago. Why? Perhaps because you don’t see an ordinary man wearing capris or faded jeans? Or perhaps because they don’t seem right to your subconscious mind and you get some Freudian feelings swimming in your head? If these clothes are anti-Indian then let them be anti-Indian for we are also doing to go and work outside India, and your patriotism is not shown by the brand name of your clothes, and half of us, of whom I am a part, shop them because they have a “Not Made in India “ tag on them.

Sophia Loren once remarked that a women’s dress should be like a barbed wire fence, serving its purpose yet not obstructing the view. Read that again to understand how precisely she has explained that.

So let me ape Led Zeppelin because I adore them, let me have my hair done up in a style that appeases to me because you don’t have it and you are shy to make it. Allow my legs to breathe when they demand. And let me wear the tightest, the most faded, shabby, torn jeans because I feel better in them.

 We are born with the aim of dying not as the same grey brick which is pushed out-of-the-way with someone’s dirty shoe but to change our color over time. So that when we fall from the wall, the men bother to pick us up and say,” Wow, nice shade”.

 

 

 

 

Aap Jaisa Koi...

"So if you haav to caalcoolate the vaaloom aal you need is to use integral aaf π2 dy.", the professor continued. I glanced around. Today very few were sleeping. Usually math classes were not the places to sleep.

I reached the classroom early today. When you reach the classroom on time you have the privilege of sitting near a bandi. All bandas do wish to sit with a bandi but being the initial stages of our college life most of us don’t have the courage. Maybe the bandis also feel a bit shy at this early stage though I am yet to see a bandi walking past without a banda next to her.


So, because I reached the class on time today, I got a seat with two bandis nearby. They were good. (By IIT standards you learn to appreciate any girl provided she doesn’t have a moustache!).The bandi next to me had a terrific message on her bag, something like –I have an attitude problem –dunno, don’t remember correctly (but now she knows she’s the one targeted here!) ….. kept on reading it…but she didn’t look at me even once!
There was pin drop silence today too. Math classes are usually exceptionally quiet. Only the professor’s fast talk kept us alive and actively involved. Until in the midst of the funeral like silence, a shriek in the midst of a night…..


Nazia Hassan’s "Aap jaisa koi meri zindagi mein aaye, toh baat ban jaye" erupted.

I knew it was my phone. No one else has the nerve to put on this ringtone. I broke into "Shit, Oh shit"while the bandis began laughter. The phone was silenced. But not the amusement. They continued the laughter and the "once more". A few went to the extent of phoning me again and again, but only to be disappointed by the silent mode. The comments made me feel important. The laughter of the bandis made me smile. But me head was hung in between my hands. I did not like the disrespect I showed to the old professor, the only one not amused by the song.


Anyways or maybe it was a mistake to be enjoyed. Aap jaisa koi became a hit soon after this firework and the oppositely cornered sleeping guys were also wakened. After the class my Bluetooth was constantly sending the same too many new fans of Nazia Hassan. Fans who never knew who Nazia Hassan was, who never knew how old the song was. Yet we learn to appreciate, don’t we? And they started appreciating with "Yaar Bismark mazaa aa gaya". I enjoyed the momentary lapse of common sense with full ecstasy.


It’s rightly said how accidental rudeness can be terribly exciting.

ACCIDENTS ARE NEVER INTENTIONAL. THEYARE ACCIDENTS.

There was Lipstick

“Now next time all of you should be wearing shoes-no sandals, no Capris”. I stared at my black-yellow sandals. And my Wrangler capri-the capri which has become famous in our hostel, because of the torn lowers and hanging fibre.
“You know why we do not have stools in our lab?” continued the professor. My partner whispered in my ear “Another form of torture-4hrs standing in a suffocating lab room of the Indian Institute of Tortures aka IIT”. But the professor thought differently, “Because in the case of an explosion it will be easier to flee.”

Contrary to my expectation in the next class we did not manufacture TNT.

“Suck through the pipette, make sure you do not drink the alcohol.” I wondered whether it was desi or some firangi brand. But realization dawned quickly – if the IIT s made alcohol available it has to be denatured else the dopers will always be found doing Chemistry practicals. Only my well formed theory was crushed by the professor’s next remark “Take care the alcohol is not denatured.”

I tried to suck the alcohol. But instead threw it back. There was lipstick. There was lipstick on the top of the pipette. Some bandi must have used it before. And used it very well, for it was pretty clear-two solid magenta lines (now turned magenta, rather-my wild guess- lovely, large, red lips!)

Imagining the burette to be a pair of lovely red lips I started drawing ethanol from it……


We were walking barefoot. No one was around. Not even any senior to whom I have to give my introduction again and again in all possible languages. No professors to take my viva voce. We, two, were alone.
Hand in hand, we looked at each other. She was beautiful, dark brown eyes, wonderful hair just like the one in the Garnier ads, teeth like those in the Colgate ads, eyelashes like those in Revlon ads and lips like (no not as in Lakme!) the one I had imagined.

Without a word we turned towards each other. She stared directly into my eyes. I saw my face in those wonderful eyes of hers (I had not combed my hair again!) We moved closer. Now we were really close. I knew she had used Orbit just a while before. Her toenails brushed against mine. And she moved closer, closer…closest…and we were about to…

“SON, YOU HAVE SPILLED ALL YOUR ETHANOL!,”

Lecture 2

A glossary of the ‘proper nouns’is provided…
Sunita Bhardwaj: the culprit(name edited , but love still unedited)
Bismark: the victim
Hetfield:lead singer of Metallica
Johnian: student of the best boys school St. Johns
Carmelite: student of the best girls school Carmel
THIS ONE WAS WRITTEN IN NOVEMBER 2006


Here goes Lecture 2

If I can call it a lecture….
But I guess the comparison is an apt one because both teach us nothing neither do lectures nor my stories. Yet we are forced to read them, whether because of attendance or because a friend will feel sad if it is not read.

Friend. Ah the word friend .How I longed for the word to be on my vocabulary forever. What the fuck is a friend? How could she be so rude, so heartless man? Nothing is worse than the pain of rejection the dejection caused by rejection is remarkable for all reasons-It gives you so much to learn from the past failure and also repulsion. The question Am I not worth it is caused by nothing but pure rejection. And she did reject me in the plainest of words. Was I never ever even her friend? Why did she sms me then? Maybe I was just a use and throw polythene(the thermosetting ones if they are the ones which don’t decay)And the bitch used me every time the exams were near and then with her crooked smiles used to persuade me I'm yours, At times even speak against that asshole... But yaar something tells me she wasn’t a slut. Maybe she was just a bit shy. But ,damn the world, she should not have used the damn "you are not my kind" thing. I remained absolutely sad, dejected, and hopeless for a few days until my friend(name withheld) and I got together for my brains betterment. And maybe we did succeed.
No.We surely succeeded.
But what did we succeed?
Did we succeed in making a better Sunita Bhardwaj?No.. Did we make her change her habit of talking to every to every male ass of the college? No, she still talks to everyone except one (me!).Then what the hell we did succeed in?
We succeeded in the plain thing that my dignity is far more important than my love. I would have willingly forgone my proud Johnian nature for pure love. Mind you I use my adjectives (pure) very carefully.

But today I felt weak. I went to her workshop. Rather had to (man I was in no mood of bending in front of one who doesn’t give a damn for me).And as usual I spoke to the professor in my usual vivid freestyle ant it was just she who had excited me. And I had to sit behind her in the exam. Had to. And then the ass calling her on her cell.Damn the ass(her suppossed new bf) now he's got his foot broken who knows what all she'll be feelin for him. They ve been together (though accompanied by more asses and bitches) for a movie. And God knows what chemistry they share. Or biology?? Ha! Ha!

If ever their was a girl who could make me do anything it was her. Loved her like anything. Maybe we love only once. No but what'll I do these best years of my life if that sayings true? So I guess that it is just another of those sayings which are proved to be wrong later by someone who wins a Nobel. But there’s no Nobel I 'll get or want. I wanted her only and that also only for me .Why the hell is the bloody Carmelite so foolish to think I m happy. I wish to cry in front of her. And she comes to console me. With her locks falling from behind her ears and she pushes them behind with her two fingers and thumb. The thumb which can bend in a reflex angle and has the most beautiful pink nails I've ever seen.
She opens her mouth with those lovely braces(which makes me look at every girl who wears braces!).,her feet bend making me see that she s wearing the same sandals which I think were new as she wore on her birthday. And she says....

Fuckit you reader fill this one yourself. For here is where my controversy: The two sides of bismark the lover and the Johnian (the self respecting and jealous ass I mean here).So it’s your free will do whatever.
But what the two sides do admit on together is that the I loved her dearly . I loved her dearly . Loved the way she 'll move her sandal clad foot in SHM. You know a girl’s beauty can be judged from her feet. And she had the perfect feet-nails pink proportionate feet and white clear feet.

I miss the intentional coughs on her phone calls I miss the " Maine yeh poochna tha", which took place instead of hi on the phone call. I miss the way she ll open her hair band and I ll watch it dazzled that she s so beautiful.
I m no lecher yaar all of who are reading this. I never ever, I swear to it looked from my eyes to another girl howsoever beautiful these two years. And my love for her was not lust. We know that. Rather I know that.
I miss everything in her man. There’s so much to write yet so little time and so less will in me.

Anyways as all tragedies end in the same last para I too conclude with a similar note-I look forward I’ll move forward I’ll try my best to forget one who never liked me who probably was never mine, who didn’t give a damn, who ll probably not give a damn if I die bleeding but as Hetfield puts it” I m diggin my way to somethin better". All this time I m findin ways to bleed lesser . but Maybe a lot has flown by now. and we need a blood donation by now!

So who is there World who ll be here to donate blood for a B+ who s not exactly a B+ who’s not exactly a simple B+? The complex bimolecule which is complex not just in chemistry?? Is there anyone who ll be willing to donate for this ass? Whosoever does so will be remembered my dear friends and honoured, but mind you this B+ doesnt accept a B+ so easily as the doctors do man. He needs one who ll be suitable to him fully . NO imperfections tolerated .NO mistakes. Nothin short of utopia. Nothing short of Sunita Bhardwaj....