Currylingus

she's a-comin', MIA's a-comin' to see me...on wednesday too, take THAT american idol!

here is a wicked clip (courtesy turbanhead), of the 80s at their best. but as you watch parveen sashay you must also count "ONE two three four, ONE two three four...". it's really fun, i promise...

Jawani Jaaneman

my first taste of the "bad-girl" (why " "? read 1/17 post) lifestyle were movies. funny thing that, t.v. was a no go in my house but my mummydaddy sure did love their 'phil-ims'. and so i stumbled upon the devilmaycare stylings of bolly starlet, parveen babi:



drink in one hand, fag in the other, new york life in the 80s, men, narcotics, and general all-out debauchery. she became mentally ill, went m.i.a., and returned only to succumb to seclusion. her body was found, dead, on the 22nd in her juhu flat. no food in her stomach and no one to claim her body.

my father apparently spent the day watching Amar Akbar Anthony and saying "wat a sad one, that, no, neha?". yes indeed, we love ya p.bibi, you'll be tugging these heartstrings for all of time.

once in a while a site comes along that's so easy on the eyes, your lower lip starts to quiver involuntarily. tonight i give you the collapse of physical and digital space. bibs a-hoy and behold the magic (fine, it's just flash) of tronic studio.

besharam = 'shameless'. that's me, right there, one word has summed it up. total thanks to ultra-desi memsahib i met on the bus. {yes, i ride the bus, i like to think of it as enviro-friendly, you may think it scrub-stylee}

"the following takes place between 6 pm and 7 pm"...
i'm riding along and i hear someone calling, "neha-ben, vay don't you come jaain us re?", it's my desi bus pal, rajeev. the "us" is made up of one confused desi (trying hard to be the darkest shade of brown around), his father the double desi (trying even harder to make my white colleague disappear), and ultra-desi (moral saviour of all clueless buffoons, like myself). so u.d. strikes up a monologue with me, she's from bangalore, moved to dubai for 7 years, then moved to t.o. with her family and has been here 3 years. she used to worry about her young daughter, the choices she may have made in a public high school here. she worried so much that she sent her kids back to india.

i tell her a little about myself, how i moved here when i was her child's age, how i moved back to dubai. how i was glad because i was happy in school and did not have the ususal north american distractions (sex, drugs, that devil's music and so on). u.d. kept nodding so vigorously i began envisioning a hemorrhage. i also began thinking she might have been missing her daughter because she kept patting my back (!). she said i came back here at the right time, all grown up, fulled with the values my parents imparted. this part is very true. then...

she say: are you schooling? you must be lonely?
i say: i'm actually working, i get homesick sometimes but not really lonely.
now, she begins to look a little less agreeable and a tad bit more confused...
she say: oh, i see, do you live alone? what do you do for fun?
i say: i live with my boyfriend, i hang out downtown with my uni friends for fun.

she say...no, she don't say...she spit..."boyfriend? you live with a boy?" a complete change of expression from mothering to blathering, followed by an exaggerated swalloing of bile. D'OH! i should have just said "i'm a prostitute and really dig a bit of crack on the weekend". oi yoy yoy, did she ever feel good about her child-rearing ability. now she begins to think i'm a slag and starts questioning my parents feelings (read 'abilities'). at this point i take my leave, muttering all crazy-like to myself.

how is it that such routine items of my daily existence are able to draw definite judgement calls from complete strangers? how is it that ultra-desi mem in 2005 is able to make up her mind with such precision? chop chop, this part of mind that identifies with me is gone for good, HAI-YA! this part of mind that knows change is bad, gets promoted.

tomorrow, i will ask after her daughter. she's all alone you know? lonely, like me, living in a city infamous with the college crowd. nothing but her values to keep her company in the very city i actually made my very first excursion to a disco (ever!), many many years ago. poor dear, just wait till she finishes school, she'll be begging a wedding.

over & out.

here's the excuse: i was training people all week and my life became a script and my jokes became rehearsed and so i spared everyone the read...stop rolling your eyes fools! i mean, 'phools', dear readers, much obliged, 'thankyou come again'.

now lets get down to bidness...

i'm watching khal nayak on the tube, i now know what's behind madhuri dixit's choli. sorry maddie, those mammary sponges are unreal (not as in 'off the hook' but as in 'not real'). this was THE look in 1993, i say this with authori-tay, having been a vicitm myself of mirrored choli with absorbant upper torso. all is fair in the name of choreographed dance. anyhoo, i'm watching the sexational 'choli ke peeche' {behind the blouse} dance segment. just reminiscing about how this tune's 'double meaning' (tta ttas vs. heart) had caused such a controversy. i mean, the woman may be singing about padding but there is no dearth of textile on her body. she's swimming in the red stuff like paris hilton in hair extentions (off with the horse hair, paris!). yet the twisted lyrics were such a scandal, 'how can we let the children hear such things, how i say!?'. so they turned their tellys off and hungrily mobbed the cinemas to watch this sad piece of bollywood history. go figure...

here's a piece to follow for those in search of sonic salvation, this girley is griming her way into my 'sponges', MIA (...miamiabobeeya). her dad's a tamil tiger, he could kick your ass...in fact, she could probably kick your ass. k.i.l.l.e.r. high priority download. i think she's playing in new york this weekend, stupid new york. well, hilary duff did t.o. last night, so there...*cue weeping*

as for my weekend, i'm heading downtown for a quiet night out. at the ol' victory pub, it's not poetry night tonight thank jeebus. no, it's just sitting around with some g & t and a hint of frostbite night. okay, TA TA!

one more thing, paresh? 'clitty stiffy' is an awful term, please use 'clitoral erection' next time, you douche...ha!

lucien lucien luuuucccciiiiieeeennnnn, you give me shimmery slithery shivery feelings all ze time...
last year was a bless-ed year thanks to l-l-l-lucien's extraordinary frosh ablum Blind Behavior (full of accented whisperings, so 'euro', so 'ooooooooooh'). yes, he can do no wrong and he doesn't have to do no right, he just has to do do do more of what he did did did. these speakers o mine have never known such bliss. uf-oh! i'm having a hard time getting to the point...

ahem, let me gather myself, i seem to have become a puddle of my former self.

righto, this album was top of the tops for my 2k4 playlist countdown (which i never blogged bec. my brain couldn't stop flaking long enough to come up with #s 2,3,4, and 5). and the other day i was itchin and bitchin and needing to go to a wicked show that would blow my mind. the upcoming events just couldn't give me the fix i needed so (in true stalker style) i googled lucien-n-luciano, his darling recording name. i came across the officialy unfinished website and hungrily scoured the 'dates' section...only to find that for him, life does not exist on this side of the atlantic. how many times can you play zurich, geneva, chile, london before someone tells you about t.o. dammit?! ha!

so i made a beeline to the contact link in the hope that some webmaster somewhere would pass on my message, which went a little sumpin' like this:
"dear sir, the beaches and 'beeches' of europe may not compare to the grey urban landscape of toronto, canada. but get us in a room with sufficient heating and you ain't never seen such a grateful crowd. do come and play us a tune sometime. love, neha."

the next morning i find this in my inbox:
"If it s with a such a nice tone .... i come out running after it
kiss
L"

"KISS" = "SWOON"! hi, my name is neha, i'm a pop-tart...

the blogistan is afire with furiously typed comments deploring a certain philly morning radio show with "star & buc-wild" {insert small genetilia joke here}. ya, guy, i'm serious, that's them. what? you hate them already? good for you, now here's more fuel...star {with said tiny penis}, performed a facsinating little segment where he calls a toll free number from an infomercial and reaches the outsourced depths of the Indian call center world. our man then goes on to harass and...ooooo i'm getting that nervous twitch just writing this, so i'll stop and let you listen.

i don't care which colour your pigment makes you, this clip has got the power to slam jaws to the floor and slap hands to foreheads and pretty much induce any form of disbelief in existance.

o yea, there once was a 'star' who heard a certain j-lo say the n***** word and then proclaimed in true i'm-fighting-the-power style:

“Why is she using a word that’s derogatory to blacks?… If you’re a so-called role model, don’t spit in the face of African-Americans.”
[thanks sepia mutiny, quote made me feel waaay better about wanting to skin this man alive]

hypocrite, charlton, liar...see how i don't have to say BITCH over and over to make my point?

The best part is that this very radio station (owned by clear channel) has been on a "stop the violence/increase the peace" mission all year. HA.

it's a fucked up dynamo of a world but one thing never changes, there is always truth to jest. it is also true that to many (i hope most) this was not jest, it was plain aggression fulled by the idea that someone out there would laugh and keep the ratings steady. abusing honest sentiments brought on by the fruit of objective economic forces (in this case, outsourcing), this is the reality behind our man star's creative juices {impotent juices}. and so for aiding the creation of a bigass dome of ignorance over an already foresight-starved nation, you, power 99 ( station, jocks, yes-people) all be DIZ-AMMED TO HELL.

I would like to end this spew by quoting my good friend C. Pee Pee "I hate everyone equally", hey it's better than hating in ascending order.

currently on my playlist: the soft pink truth a.k.a. Drew Daniel, album 'do you party?'
also, currently inducing fits of giggles is his video from same album...MITHUN CHAKRABORTY IS IN THIS VIDEO! you read me right, the king of honest cop/bad mafia movies, the original blackbelt disco dancing champion of the universe, mithun...



so yea, give Daniel's video a shot. the fact some california boy had the taste to put choppy clips of the dada of faux-bling in his video makes my brain vibrate with glee!

alzheimer's could be overcome by eating turmeric and turmeric is an indian staple, second only to rice. now can we call a stop to indigestion-by-curry jokes? http://www.hindustantimes.com/news/181_1174709,0050.htm serious, there has to be a preventive componant at play and it's the best thing i've heard about my diet in ages. what with my preferance for all things spicy, i and my curry lovin' cousins thank you u.c.l.a. for spilling the goods.

now, i came of age in a post-women's lib world...i make, break, and shake my own, my hard-earned own...but once in a while, girly needs a sugardaddy...o daddy, where art thou, mamma needs a new pair of shoes! i need to touch any of these puppies before i die...

last but never least, if you've got that my-wife/life/cat/truck-left-me feeling, then why not send an equally pathetic and (by the state of that grisely stubble) suitably hideous 'no regrets' regret card to the one who drove you deep into this pit of self-loathing. so deep that the darn crying moon seems like the perfect sentiment. who knew what wonder the information age would uncover? i tried making a card for all the (two) readers out there but a 'sincere apology' apparently doesn't come for free. perhaps you could threaten to stop reading, i might spend a whole dollar to express my regrets. what i don't understand is, how could that waste of space have lead to this waste of space...sheesh!