The New House

April 6, 2010

So I moved into a new house.

My previous roommate, a nice enough fellow who used to switch off the fridge at night to ‘conserve electricity,’ decided to move on to better things despite being paid more than me for approximately 1/10 of the work (If you’re reading this, S – you know I’m right)

After fighting back nightmarish flashbacks of my house hunt last year, where Delhi’s real estate options for the financially challenged seemed to consist of

  1. 1.    Bat-infested caves with an attached toilet.
  2. 2.    A 1BHK+T setup where the individual rooms were on separate floors or, in one horrible case, in separate buildings. (I kid you not. A broker actually showed me a flat in Saket where the bedroom was on the second floor, the bathroom in the basement and the kitchen ACROSS THE ROAD in another building)

…I managed to find a nice house in a posh locality that I could afford.

Except things can never work out normally, can they?

So a week before I move in, person of Low Moral Fibre breaks into the place via the back, ignores the roommate’s laptops, cash and sundry valuables, and escapes ONLY with the washbasin, the toilet commode and six taps.

So the day I move in, the only way to get water was to bring a wrench to a stubby little knob in the bathroom and twist clockwise, which would make a stream of water fall from a hole in the wall.

So I go to meet the landlord, who looks and speaks like this chap:


He asks me where I’m from. ‘Madras,’ I say.

He stares at me, as if I were some spectral manifestation of a madrasi rather than a flesh-and-blood variant. “You don’t look like a Madrasi,” he says finally.

“…But I am!” I offer weakly.

My guess is that the landlord has since made a mental note that I’m not somehow normal, because he seems to react to everything I say with the glee of an alien ethno-biologist discovering that this strange creature is, indeed, a bit like the rest of us.

The man also believes that everyone in Tamil Nadu grinds dosa batter to pass the time.

Still Alive

July 28, 2009

So, I’m back in Delhi.

It’s a long, only moderately funny story. Still not sure if I want to subject you lot to it here…maybe I’ll draw a comic or two.

After my brief hiatus in Chennai, which was mostly like this:

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I’m back with a sort-of job, a new apartment (close to the railway station!) and great pictures that I can’t get out of my phone because I’ve lost the data cable somewhere.

Soon. Promise.

Things I’m leaving behind:

The historical marker and ever-vigilant Spiderman

The historical marker and ever-vigilant Spiderman

My wall of Chacha Chaudhary posters

My wall of Chacha Chaudhary posters

Towels (They're a bit of a health hazard)

Towels (They're a bit of a health hazard)

En Route

May 6, 2009

So, yeah.

Anger is pretty rare for me, and even in the unlikely confluence of events that leads to its manifestation, my facial muscles tend to confuse ‘latent rage’ with ‘wave of nausea’. What they should be doing, cheeky little bastards, is putting on convincing public displays of affectation that agrees with the boiling fury inside: you know, clenched mouth, heavy breathing, fist thumping and the likes.

Instead, my dubiously  confident friends conjure a combination of facial twitches better suited for attempting to keep your lunch inside. People usually ask me if I’m feeling okay when they should be cowering in fear, or reaching for their defensive apparatii. This tends to confuse my anger a bit, and it usually retreats to under the metaphorical mental dining table, where all my other mental states (who are all mental haha) sit around eating ice cream and talking disjointedly about….i dunno, balloons or something.

So, why am I angry?

Well. I’ve been working this job, you see, for the last few months, and I’ve been really enjoying the work in itself….it’s exposed me to a fascinating set of viewpoints and opinions that have not so much affected my wordview as firebombed it. repeatedly. (Why I’m making this sound like radiation, i will never know).

But shit has happened, as it always does, and things are a bit difficult right now. I know the blog has suffered for it, I’ve hardly had time (and place) to draw, or think, or play. I promise a larger, and more straightforward update soon: but let me sum it up in one sentence. I’m broke, unemployed, homeless and shifting cities.

Right then. Enough of that. Have some comics, internet peoples!

filmfest

summer

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weekend

Room-mate Blues

April 27, 2009

My room-mate left for home today.

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Sigh.

I’m really going to miss this guy. =(

The Quiz, Part 3

April 21, 2009

comic3

No Weekend Adventures

March 30, 2009

This weekend, I was at work. Phooey.

..but I did manage to finish this:

bus1

First Post

December 25, 2008

Hello! (and Merry Christmas!)

Normally, in first postses, you’d talk about the current day…but nothing interesting has happened yet today (unless you count the routine monkey visitation in the morning, and the drudgery at work) so I’m going to talk instead about a few weeks back.

I’d gone to Daryaganj (Delhi’s streetside Sunday book market), which never ceases to amaze me. I’ve started to get a sense of the geography of the place…identifying individual shopkeepers (like the fellow who sells strange self-help books right in the centre of the street), where to look for for what (Scholastic books on the left, Asimovs and classic Sci-fi on the right), even a source of steampunky gadgety goodness, and rare video games (I kid you not, I actually saw a retail copy of the excellent Jagged Alliance 2 once. =O )

Anyways, its almost a regular ritual of sorts to go there atleast once a month – usually with A, for whom it never ceases to amaze more than it never ceases to amaze me.

I was  looking for this:
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And hopefully, this and this as well:roald-dahl-the-bfg224eeb6709a0e83b154a0110l

…because it’d been ages since I read them and they were enormously influential for me growing up. Swami, of course, I was hoping to find the edition with the classic, hand drawn cover (Google can’t seem to find this – a gap that must be addressed)

I got off to a decent start – finding a copy of James and the Giant Peach amidst a pile of Artemis Fowls.

Then I got distracted. A new shop, one I had not seen before, had quite a healthy crowd around it – a paper sign saying ‘Import Books’ above a large pile of bizareness, with a blanket price of Rs. 20 per book. I spent nearly half an hour here, finding, among other things:

The undoubtedly stellar but excruciatingly niche:

It had separate chapters for different kinds of seculars.

It had separate chapters for different kinds of seculars.

The intriguing but excluded because of demographic mismatch:

The quote in the bottom-right nails it.

The quote in the bottom-right nails it.

…and the downright bizarre.

The book on the left is apparently quite good. Can't say about the one on the right though - Google denies its existence

The book on the left is apparently a DIY classic. Can't say about the one on the right, though it claims to be a NYT bestseller

But nothing would prepare me for what I found next:

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Is it just me, or is Ultimate Warrior's hand a bit painfully positioned?

Now, those of you who grew up faithfully colouring in the strangely surreal pictures in the Saturday Hindu Young World (this one is from 6 years back) – we should probably restart that tradition, especially now that the Hindu’s choice of picture has been steadily going downhill, and the colouring book industry has apparently moved on from timid fantasy creatures to muscled men and women pretending to beat each other to a pulp.

So starting this week, a weekly picture, from the above ‘WWF Big Book’, will be uploaded for colouring fun! This week, enjoy this stunning depiction of someone who looks vaguely like Hulk Hogan (Im guessing from the hair and moustache) and err…[wait, who is the other one?] kcking a potbellied, rather somnolent Earthquake (or is it Typhoon?) in the face.

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Have fun. Feel free to colour outside the lines, but no adding gratituous blood spurts. Remember it’s all pretend.