TWENTY SOMETHING- JAMIE CULUM (lyrics)

After years of expensive education,
a car full of books and anticipation,
I’m an expert on Shakespeare and that’s a hell of a lot
but the world don't need scholars as much as I thought.
Maybe I'll go travelling for a year,
finding myself or start a career.
I could work for the poor though I’m hungry for fame
we all seem so different but we're just the same.
Maybe I'll go to the gym, so I don't get fat,
aren't things more easy with a tight six pack?
Who knows the answers? Who do you trust?
I can't even separate love from lust.
Maybe I’ll move back home and pay off my loans,
working nine to five answering phones.
Don't make me live for my friday nights,
drinking eight pints and getting in fights.
I don't want to get up, just let me lie in,
leave me alone, I'm a twenty something.
Maybe I'll just fall in love that could solve it all,
philosophers say that that’s enough,
there surely must be more. Ooooh
Love ain’t the answer nor is work,
the truth eludes me so much it hurts.
But I’m still having fun and I guess that's the key,
I'm a twenty something and I'll keep being me.
doh dah duh dah, do duh dah dah dah
doh dah duh dah, do duh dah dah dah
doh dah duh dah, do duh dah dah dah
doh dah duh dah, do duh dah dah dah
I’m a twenty something.
Let me lie in, Leave me alone.
I’m a twenty something.
doh dah duh dah, do duh dah dah dah
doh dah duh dah, do duh dah dah dah
doh dah duh dah, do duh dah dah dah
doh dah duh dah, do duh dah dah dah

THAT 403 SHOW

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403

It’s a mad mad house.

It’s a beautiful house too. It’s a penthouse duplex (yep! reading correctly) with a beauty view that I have seen so many times that its scorched in my mind forever.

But most beautiful thing about it for me has always been the people who live in (yes, me included :D)

Carrie Bradshaw, you remind me in so many ways of this girl I used to live with… :P


This girl is so very strong and so very gentle. Someone once told me that you were one of those people who makes us feel one thing instantly- when we first meet you and even as we get to know you- we constantly feel like taking care of you. It’s strange, but true. Because my very second thought has always been fascination at how strong you are.

These are the rest of the words that come to my head when I think of you:

Fabulous. Sex and the cITI, shoes. long flowly skirts. Small clothes. BOOKS. Lots of them. All kinds of them. Food. Red pumps. Coffee day. Pasta. Dal chawal. Teachers (the alcohol, thanks much). Films. Daddy long legs. Serendipity. Omlettes. Really tiny spaghettis. Lots of boxes. Chandelier earrings. Fringe. Etc etc.

She did 403 proud for a year and half. She is missed as much as she misses.

___________________________________________________________________

‘"Hey my friend is also joining -Shes damn nice ok" - bloody nonsense! this is what someone told me abt madam arena and when she came and I tried being nice to her and she gave me so much attitude no-one tight slap!’

She’s a porky. She’s a tea drinker. She’s the permanent bar counter fixture. She’s the biggest fan of all the Khan Men. She’s the taboo rani. She’s the tissue in my hand. She’s the shoulder under my head. She’s the hand that holds the thermometer in my mouth. She’s the girl with ladle. She’s seen most often at Mummy and Me (although she’s not the Mummy or the Me). She’s a talli girl. She’s the dancer. She’s the bollywood night star. She’s the Karaoke night star. She’s empathetic, sympathetic. She’s loved and loves muchos. She’s a daddy’s girl. She’d be the ideal bahu. She’s the fab corporate woman. She’s the eye opening mentor or manager. She’s the fabulous fight. She is the determined strength. She’s the tv watching partner. She’s the foodie. She’s all about ther aerobix, the yoga, the kick boxing, the gym (!).

She’s the beauty. Of all the lives she touches.

My baby. Um.Moo.

I cannot say enough about what she means to me. I actually can’t say anything at all here. Because if I did, I’d gag all over the place even before anyone else did upon reading this.

All I do want to say though is that 30months in that house is too little. And by default of us being the longest occupants, as of today that house is You and Me. We love the house and I’m sure the house would cry and hug us right now if it could.

_____________________________________________________________________________

Enter …

Drumbeats please…

A BOY!!!

Huh?

Yep. 2008 early February, a temporary guest entered our girlie household. What happened? He almost become a She :P (seriously, he dint want to drink beers with his buddies anymore. He wanted to watch Nach Baliye with us).

He’s my first Konkani friend and the sixth person to live in the house. He came in transit and decided to stay in the place of transit because the X chromosomed atmosphere was just too good.

Before4andafter3 has been the technology bearer to the house.

Other than that intital spurt of display of male hormone, he has done nothing masculine. We killed it and we trained him. We love him. And we always will. We will marry him. Except we all have our own boyfriends.

If it wasn’t for this boy, 2008 would have been empty.

Night after night of drinking. Of damage controlling. Of dirty talking about Konkani food. Of talking about the lives of others and our own. Of dreaming about great futures and dealing with the present. Of singing obscene pop boy band songs with fist mics. Of being sappy. Of being emotionally drained. Of getting into serious trouble. Of watching TV. Of cooking (and him watching).

Of so many more things.

That 403 has been blessed. It’s been a soap opera. Two and half years and the stories of almost two dozen lives. There was

Drama

Comedy

Romance (and how many!)

Bitching

Tragedy

Backbiting

Domestic violence (read fighting with several maids)

Climaxes

Action (um on the very first housewarming party night.)

Drinking nights

Cleaning nights (after the drinking nights)

Oh the lives of 403. What a complete story.

20SOMETHING I've-had-a-bad-day-get-outta-my-face RAMBLE

Twenty three is a weird age to be. In fact all of the twenties are 10 weird ages of one’s life.

At twenty one you graduate. Into the bloody Twenties.

At twenty two, you’ve been working or just started working, so you’re getting you’re arse whooped at work.

At twenty three you’re juggling romance (if you’re lucky to have any) and multiple bosses who alternate between being MFs and barely tolerable. You’re arse is still being whooped.

At twenty four, you’re fairly settled at work, but barely getting up from being the chaiwaali. Arse whooping continues.

At twenty five, you’re wondering if you should screw the shit paying job and do a damn MBA because everyone is doing it. You’re not sure so your mental arse whoop worsens.

At twenty six, your friends are getting married and you’re barely in and out of relationships. Arse is still in being whooped position.

At twenty seven, hopefully your job situation is settled, but HEY, you’re still not married and your friends are having babies. Great, the boss stops, but your family and society continue the arse whooping.

Twenty eight- that eventful year when you’re supposed to have started the glory years at work and started a family. But there you are paying installments for your shitty car and your house in the bloody burbs. Economic arse whooping.

Twenty nine- Damn it, if this is the last of the damn torturous twenties, I will gladly turn my behind to have the damn arse whooping over with.

This to me, seems like the twenty something phase. It’s like age 1-4 all over again. You try to chew solid food and you choke. You try to walk and you fall. You fall twenty (that dreaded word) times over before anything eventful happens.

The twenties are like that. Re-learning everything again, sans parental support. No daddy to help with the homework. No mama to feed you your dinner after a shit day at work. You’re all alone- battling every thing the world has to offer- trying to find a damn place for yourself.

That fucking twenty-something phase. If it were not for the partying, I’d like to skip to the thirties please.

MY SONG

You are a part of my song,
The verse, the chorus,

The bridge,

And everything else in between.

You’re a part of my song.

It starts with a slight hum and becomes a tune.

Soon enough it’s a

Ten part harmony.

You’re a part of my song.

It sounds like the waves breaking

It sounds like the sun rising

It sounds like a breath of fresh air.

You’re a part of my song.

It’s about how you make me feel.

It rises and falls.

It pulsates fast and slow.

You’re a part of my song.

It begins with you

And ends with you.

UNTITLED

It's late when I pass it by.
The waste bin,
Smelling and overflowing with
The neighbors' collective rubbish.
Old, read newspapers,
Wasted food that mothers
Urged their children to eat
Before they junked it while she was arguing with the dhobhi,
Black polythene bags
That had been used to bring home
Sweets and bread from the iyyengar bakery
Among a whole lot of other rotting things.

He sat there in the midst of it all.
Looking, searching, sifting.
In his old, blue T-Shirt
And battered pants given to him
By a pitying housewife.

I watched him
As he picked up a coconut,
And shake it vigorously.

I watched him,
Watched his toothless grin
Grow wider as he realized
He could take it home with him.

I watched him get up and skip away with it.

I watched him
And I realized,
My trash
Was his fortune.

GROWING UP

Here I stand
I'm in the middle of a crossway
I think maybe it's just this once..
But I have a feeling I'll have one everyday



I know it won't always be hard
It might even be easy sometimes
I smile at the irony of the whole thing
When the familiar warning bell chimes



I've been here before
I've know what it's like
I know it's not fairytales and candy
This is real, this is Life



I want to go back in time
I want to be seven
I want my puppy, the old black and white telly,
Blue uniforms, lollypops, and dark chocolate heaven



I want the tooth fairy, the unicorns
I want my big old house, barnyard and cows
I want all my dreams back
What I don't want is Now



It felt like I was twelve when I was eight
Hell, maybe I was twenty when I was three
I molded into anything anyone wanted
When all I wanted was to be me.

FOR MY FIRST, MY ONE, AND MY ONLY MUSE.

A whispered word
A stolen glance
Hidden smiles
A midnight dance


A blush of pink
A hurried kiss
Dizzy spells
And an endless list


Of secret touches
Of holding hands
Of sensual baths
An endless romance


Of hungry eyes
Of needy mouths
Of searching fingers
And moans and shouts


All wrapped up
In that whispered word
That stolen glance
That hidden smile
And a midnight dance