Tandoori Nights

After long hours of battle within conscious, the axial dendrites seem to lose charge, the reflexes are quite lazy to guide through the blog, however being at this old friend is always a laudable endeavor apart from certain changes with the vocab levels being held up at a new high (thnx to Q), it was sweet to say the least for the coded comprehension to be tabled.
I certainly affirm that you'll have better times being here.

Apart from the constant rants happening in life, i grew over a new fascination this weekend, to explore and galore through an Anglo - Persian (i dunno if i put that right) term 'tandoor'.

A Tandoor (Armenian: Թոնիր) is a cylindrical clay oven used in cooking and baking. The stuff kept inside is cooked under intense temperatures, with the outcome being quite remarkable in terms of flavor. (Refer: Tandoori Chicken, Chicken Tikka etc..)

Going through the status updates at facebook, struck me at a one liner, which apprehended that a roasted (Tandoori) piece of meat actually is more worth than in its lively state.

Having said that, and browsing through all the possible usage of the term i wonder which sane lyricist came up with "Tandoori Nights"(a Bollywood song). Well the tune is quite mesmerizing when all your senses have had over loading shares of disgust, disbelief, dis honored, dis stressed experience, with even the oxygen choking through the bronchi-oles the nasal melody breathes in a new brand in flavor.

In a state of mind which is being appreciative of the rare archives of the glorious Indian music industry I no longer deem to analyze any of its further consequences, something at the back of the mind propelled this urge to take a dig at some situations happening around. It seems that all of them have their own bite of sugar and spices.Well interesting !!

With soaring temperatures over Moscow, the smog over the city have brought about the worst economic and health crisis in the country and with more and more women shedding if their coverings Mr. Putin is certainly having an awesome period of Tandoori Nights.
The BP oil spill off the gulf of Mexico gave the Obama administration and the CEO of the enterprise, its own peculiar flavor of Tandoori Nights.

Tandoori nights may not necessarily be the lighted up festive experience as it is incomplete without the flames that engulf through the molecules of the dead meat, so it may vary in experiences within its allowable limits. It might be a painful, uncomfortable experience or maybe one of the hottest nights !! Anyways after failing once again in all aspects of professional and personal life, created a greater void to accommodate all the random adverbs, plurals and vibes to hide through the incompetency levels and avoid emotions linked with the ultimate failure.

So once again getting into the taste of Mr. Reshammiyya's (from the nasal - the creator and mentor of the most enterprising tune) tune the current organizers of the Common Wealth Games 2010 (CWG - '10) are having a Tandoori Night with regard to the completion of the infrastructure to host a successful event.

The Greek financial are grueling through their worst ever economic slum burst as the whole nation brinks on the verge of bankruptcy voila.. "tadoorious nightious !" (trying to sound along the lines of Zeus and Hephaestus !!)
Touring over France and Deutschland the law makers are quite affirmative that an obnoxious secret flavor (may be a Tandoori ) emerges behind the black veil (and so they have to implement a ban) as Mr. Sarkozy dares to imagine a plastered Carla Bruni which would certainly obstruct the sleazy Tandoori Nights that both of them share amidst the glare of some vanilla candles. It wouldn't be long that we have a TV advertisement promoting "kozyforce" contraceptives (instead of Manforce®™).

Well I just realized the 15th of the month just got away, as it certainly carries numerous significances apart from being illustrative that half the month is gone and their still another half to be live upon.

Coming to the 15th, the Indians celebrated their 63rd Independence Day as the Blue turbanator flew atop the historic Red Fort(well the color combination was absolutely gay to watch !!).
Independence certainly have different meanings for different people in the country. Most of the bureaucrats and top leaders believe in independently accumulating enormous amounts of so called "public wealth" and actually make the ordinary countrymen in-dependent.
Tandoori Nights - poor countrymen..

Moving on, I would certainly lent honest wishes for all those whom the 15th matters !
Well so much about the country reminded me of the meanings of Independence from the eyes of scholars i.e. a freedom (independence) of speech and expression. I take this grand opportunity to openly express my views and reviews on different aspects and people.. ( independent to use the names !!)

The little bug inside my cerebrum suggests me that I'm free to criticize the Obama's, punch remarks on the French, concern over Iran, help Pakistan flood victims, voice concerns over military siege in Uganda, monitor the growing relations between Mr. Chavez and Cuba, wonder when does the next Rio festival begin, or simply think and express my feelings on Tandoori Nights !

Coming along, approximately 15 days before the actual 15th a little molecule of salt water gasped its final moments on the edge of the semi organic cliffs of a sparsely haired semi - manly chest, as Ms. Anuja dissolved herself into the solvent of her hubbies love.
Come 15th the reds went on reds as the lips locked in the rear of a speeding German engineered automotive on an Arabian highway, smudging into an air of eternity and divinity a sparkling drop of fluid emerged of the french kiss bearing a new gene (A^A !!).

I wonder about the share of Tandoori Nights that the molecules of air and water went through !

Keeping a track of the air around, the yellow walls of the 8th villa down street bore down the temperatures of lifetime as Mr. Rashid closed down with his breath on a mobile device, the person on the other side being open for guesses. The entire scene was as though he could feel the presence of the anonymous on the slippery walls.

I wonder why do I wonder about the Tandoori Nights of the molecules ! Poor wall !

Clinging on with the same creature Mr. Rashid envied as Mr. Advait hugged on with Ms. Miti at some black background (http://www.facebook.com/home.php?#!/photo.php?pid=14344008&id=653235726&ref=fbx_album), but I always thought Mr. Rashid wanted his Tandoori Nights with a special "Ms. **..", well you never know the scenarios seem to be complementing the names along !
Anyway it was a cute picture to say the least.. apart from the Tandoori Nights !!

Let me remind all .. I feel quite Independent today !!

Holding along with my beloved molecules Ms Zakiya prays to lord each day that the tattered over bridge connecting her village with the hubbies vicinity don't get damaged in the rains or floods else Mr Shadab would be stranded with his procession midway ... aaah !! only wondering for the Tandoori Nights to come ..

So having almost touched up every possible link of mine and exploring the entire possibilities and probabilities of tandoori nights I wish to share a link and request every one to lend some time and jingle through !! the jinga lala !! Tandoori Nights !!!

signing off..
mE 'n mA lonE souL

Disclaimer: Any resemblance to any one living or dead in the article is purely coincidental.
I duly respect the existence and rights of all the chickens and its related Animals.

The Link: http://dc165.4shared.com/img/60703979/a1690148/dlink__2Fdownload_2FZuK5eGua_3Ftsid_3D20100805-002913-555058db/preview.mp3

Miasma of Memoirs

0207 hrs. 08/13/2010

The following piece of script or should I say hodgepodge is collaged on exceptional request of a certain LonE soUL & the necessity of a junior essayist.

Not acquainted with responsibilities and prowess of my predecessor, I take up the position of a skilled writer that is not to be misinterpreted as a plot of dethroning controversy from my behalf.

This recounting is written as to my best remembrance. All personal realities, relations and emotions comparable to this describing are absolutely a concurrence. All is put in writing by a nonsensical novice and is not criticized or directed at any person intentionally of for kicks.


A day waiting to end in front of an empty diary, asked if it were ‘private’ by someone close to me. Private it was, but it’d been longing to be penned into for seven years. Set aside carefully before I was parting my cherished friends for something I thought was more valuable to me, ‘Education’. Balls if I’d known better, was 14 then; that leaving them behind wouldn’t be as uncomplicated & painless as portrayed. Attempted to delay things, even stopped for ice-cream in effort to miss my flight that would depart to the longest two years of my life. Didn’t work, couldn’t have, I was travelling to India after all; the flight had to be delayed on technical grounds. Left a country that I used to call ‘home’, to a new house, that would now forcibly be called my new home. Left to a weeping voice of “Don’t Go!”. Wouldn’t have if I’d have continued for a few more seconds of that call.

Got upgraded to business class for leaving my home country that didn’t give a shit ‘bout what or who you are.

Luggaged with a heavy heart and my life in the suitcase, I travelled with the sobbing conversations echoing in my ears & heavily watering eyes to a new ‘house’. That foul city smell didn’t suit me, that uncooked food didn’t suit me, nor did that contaminated water. I still tried to make an effort. Travelling to colleges and soliciting for admissions where eyes trailed me and focused on each step, uttering a word wasn’t any easier than making eye-contact. Colossal helping got me pushed into a college that students can just fantasize about. By the time I started, about two weeks into college, making friends wasn’t effortless either.

Don’t know if it’s the right time, but I’m gonna say it nonetheless, coz this part is from my heart. I’m gonna take this space out for myself as this is a delicate matter, and no fractions here are falsely fabricated, I’ll add. I’m grateful. No, I’m honoured to be a part of the life I’ve shared with my friends. Wouldn’t have, couldn’t have done it not including them, or in an improved manner. I just realized how difficult it is to truthfully say ‘Thank You’. For being there, for staying by me, for listening to me, for putting up with me, for doing stuff with me that I couldn’t have done unaccompanied, for being by me when I couldn’t have been by myself, for being silent when I’m pissed, for being pissed when I’m silent, for consenting me for being alone when I had to be, for confiding in me, for trusting in me, for keeping my trust, for the joys, for the sorrows, for the laughter, for the tears, for the cheers, for the depression, for making me happy, for making me miserable, for making me who I am. Thank You. :')

Enough tears for now, following up to my work.

For a couple of weeks it was difficult to adjust to a race that I’d not envisioned to exist in, who wouldn’t. But then I heard a familiar voice. Someone I’d known all these years was in the same country as I was in, a nights travel away though but the sentiments of somebody being at a place where the solitary soul I thought to know was myself is unexplainable. Appreciating God and realizing again that He does not overlook His beings; I started to take pleasure in the tiny things that wouldn’t matter to you; the food that you wouldn’t want the aroma of, let alone consume; the people you wouldn’t want to meet, let alone chat to; the rooms you wouldn’t want to visit, let alone sleep in; the classes you wouldn’t want to attend, let alone study them; the vehicles you wouldn’t want to notice, let alone travel in; the neighbours you wouldn’t bear with, let alone befriending their pets that create a hullabaloo throughout each night.

Seconds passed into minutes. Minutes passed into hours. Hours passed into days. Days passed through the nights, passing into weeks. Weeks passed through the months. Each day replicating itself over and over again. Finally I got a chance to visit the country I was born in, a country I called home. Memories torrent through my head, reminiscence of weeping eyes I’d left behind.

And here you think it’s over,
For the only thing worse be death.
When at last you believe it’ll work out,
There’ll be no more troubles left;
There vaguely shall remain a Miasma of Memoirs.

So I left my now so-called ‘home’ to my real home for a tiny retreat from the stuff that I’d been frustrating from every single night.

Snap! The time passes and I’m back to where I didn’t want to be. The familiar voice helps me through day after day of my woes, the guidance from his lexis throughout the hours of darkness and the comfort from his expressions through every footstep of insomniac walks all throughout college days.

When one monotonous day, unanticipated by me, he announced his depart to connect the dots of his life together. The motionlessness of my verve commences, blamed on the towering expectations that I’d reserved on the personage. Each infinitesimal moment was counted and accounted for. Living through this outlandish life as a horrendous nightmare; at a snail's pace I acknowledged this nation as my new ‘home’. Deeming this environment as mine, the acquaintances as friends, the relatives as brothers, spending life as an aimless arrow, I got used to what I’d be compelled to call ‘life’.

Years passed & after the conclusion of college, future directionally to veto, I determined, I’d set off back to where I was thirsting and yearning to be – my birth country. Leaving my ‘home’ behind wasn’t straightforward as imagined again, as acquiring a partiality to this ‘life’ wasn’t in actuality a cakewalk.

Ironically, I got upgraded to business class for leaving my ‘home’ country that didn’t give a shit ‘bout what or who you are.

Makes me conjecture occasionally, where do you in fact belong? Is what you call ‘home’, in reality your home? The people you care for, do they care for you? What you’d for someone, would they do the same for you? What you feel for someone, do they feel the same for you? What you say to someone, do you mean it? Do they? Your love for someone, is it the same for you? When you say ‘I Love You’, do you mean it? Do they? What is love?

- Q

to whom do I belong ??

The sun shines brighter as the clock reads 14:41 with the rays fighting through the molecules of the curtain, faint along the air inside the room, to be bright enough and let the black ink roll along the pages legibly and lawfully.
I had a strange feeling this time around as I landed at the Dubai international airport. I wonder if I have been over that feeling.The brain still recoils on the decision that brought me here. Having taken that step it’s almost the end of my stay permit in this country, as it enters the countdown...

The local authorities make it clear that no visitor shall be allowed to exceed the stay period at any circumstance or expense.Well it remains a fact that this country actually bears a huge no. of blue passport holders inhabiting their land, so they have had enough...

In the race of securing a work permit, I crossed a personal landmark of triple hundred applications to different firms and corporate with another record of absolute zero replies.The beautiful new, fresh, shining gloss on my bachelor’s degree doesn’t seem to fascinate the Human Resource Managers.

In simple words of literature, all firms do not require any kinds of me. (I might not be sure about kinds but I’m sure about myself), so I have had the honor and pleasure to be on the block list of all enterprises.

The other day I suffered a serious stomach ache, having going along the pain I suddenly thought of returning to a place known as god's own country (apparently!).
Well there the prime minister himself wants people to die of hunger due to increasing price rise, so that the country gets rid of poverty ridden people (as alleged by the left - communists).
The party seated in the opposition of the legislature feels all personnel with any influence of "khan" in their existing/past history are terrorist, so should not be allowed to live in the country.
The recession free (self proclaimed) companies here do not even bother spatting at an unemployed beggar.

Back at home, my repeated jobless sights ticks the pressure meters every moment, siblings seem to have a problem with the way I live and the elders repent the decision they came to twenty two years ago. The air in and out of my system stinks the entire living room atmosphere as I being the major constituent of the slow poison being injected onto my Masters.

Having stepped out, I seem to be the common link among some of my peers experiencing mis happenings because of me. It was all right unless I entered into their lives (at least some of them).I might not bother elaborating, but the fact remains some where down the line.

Flowing through the uncontrolled emotion (for the countless time) I recalled my lord! Again, my religion asks me to pray at a frequency of five per day. Having failed to do so I do not even belong to that community.

Wondering at all the possible aspects of life and living, looking back at all the possibilities and probabilities of the happenings, kindling along all the positives and negatives I stick upon a simple question...

Whom do I belong to??


at 15:51
mE 'm mA lonE SouL