Official: Oye! Raise Your Voice

Epic Selfie

iRan by Twist To Break Seal

These bunch of regular day jobbers call themselves Twist To Break Seal. Like those awesome instructions written on bottles, they want you to let go of the nonsense that you've been bogged down with, loosen up a little and hell yeah, Twist and Break your Seal. Do whatever you want to... make your own music... throw a party.

Their first single 'iRan' speaks of a man who is always upto some kinda nonsense....which is the reason why he is totally non-confrontational (like every other guy out there). He's always running away from the problem, but doesn't realise that he, himself is the problem.

Listen to this track, coz they ran for their life for it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L791oWn2eGg

Good Stuff

http://8tracks.com/evntlive/north-coast-music-festival-2013

iPhone cases

https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10153292427505608&set=a.305974240607.329350.713650607&type=1&theater&notif_t=like

If you’re here, leave a comment.

Try it! It’s not like it takes more than a second to scroll down and say hi. Don’t worry, I won’t judge you for your excellent taste on the internet and everything that comes with it. You landed here, so graffiti the place up. It’ll be nice to know if you have a keyboard too (i’m assuming you already have a mouse, to begin with)

Start a conversation. One that’s outside Facebook.
Or, are you too cool for Facebook too? Coz, i have a theory on this.

When it all started, people who were too ‘cool’ HAD to be on facebook. Now, those who are too cool have given up their accounts.

That’s my new yardstick to knowing you. If you too cool for Facebook, i’ve judged you. Multiple times over.

So, how ‘cool’ are you?

Ka-Ching

Turned on 'Monetize' on the two youtube channels i have.


http://www.youtube.com/austinalbertdsouza

and
http://www.youtube.com/twisttobreakseal


Let's see where this goes.

The Last Day… or is it?

For the past few weeks, I’ve been driving my friends on Facebook and Twitter up the wall. Just for a vote. I’ve pestered, pleaded, stalked, spammed, shamelessly spoken and respoken about it to everyone.

And still we’re No. 2.

But that won’t stop us from going further. No matter how many people vote, till the last second, I know all my friends wish me and the band well. And that’s all that counts.

Just for the record, voting ends today 11the Feb 2013.
And this is the link. http://tinyurl.com/twistedvotes

Trend-3

Technology that once built voids between generations will now bridge the gap between them. @WPPStream #wppstream

Gone are the days when sons and daughters were on the computer and dads and moms were on the television. The modern day parents are not only technology savvy, they even go beyond just texting and tweeting. Be in Instagram uploads, Facebook likes or chatting with long lost friends from school, there’s on it. And between all this behavior, they have managed to somewhat connect to the lives their children live, getting them closer than they ever were. Whoever thought that your uncles from out of town would skype with you on your birthday? 

Trend-2

“More companies will employ subliminal, sonic and in-film/in-program branding to reach out to a wider audience than traditional media. @WPPStream #wppstream ”

A housewife’s watching a cooking show and she sees a certain brand of mixer-grinders being used to prepare the mix for the dish. A few days later she’s at a store pressed for choice between two mixer-grinders at the store. It’s anyone’s guess which one she’s going to pick up, given the equality of price.

I get out of the theater and I hear the coca-cola jingle playing in the background. Enough said.

Trend-1

“News channels will be overridden by real time new updates via real people, through twitter and facebook apps. @WPPStream #wppstream ”

I’ve been there before and we’ll see it more so in the days to come. Trains not working, and we search for details on it via twitter. Something happens to major political figure and facebook is a buzz with excitement. Everyone wants to be a reporter, and soon citizen journalism will override traditional news channels. They will either have to incorporate tweets by the general public or get citizen reporters instead of their own journalists. 

My Other Blog

http://www.music2infinity.blogspot.in/ 

Whatever i listen to, i'll be putting it out here.
Basically.

It's the same ol' feeling - TWIST TO BREAK SEAL

Twist

I’m always confronted with ‘what kind of music do you play in your band’.
And I really don’t know what to say.

It’s like asking me what has influenced me to write a particular sentence or a paragraph. I can’t pinpoint anything in specific. Coz it’s all coming out from my head.

I’m sure the music I create, somewhere or the other, appeals to something I’ve heard in the past.

It could be something that I like listening to. Or something that must have played as a background score on some serial that I happened to glace at, while I furiously flipped to the next channel.

Why is it so important for anyone to know ‘What kind of music does your band reflect’?

To me it reflects ambiguous things.  A feeling sometimes. A joke at others. A thought. A scenario. A riff that lends itself to words. Words that lend themselves to a melody.

I don’t care where it comes from, or what it represents.

So long as it’s fun to experience.

The band: https://www.facebook.com/TWISTTOBREAKSEAL

Mumbaikars are daft.

There you go. I've said it. And I don't see any other logical explanation for it.

Rent for the tiniest places cost lot more than the cheapest diamonds.

Every other city in india is 'naturally' blessed with awesome roads.
What are we, the somalia of cities?

You arrest the wrong people. And praise the wrongest of the lot.

Our rickshaw guys take us for a ride instead of riding us to the right place.

We'll complain about how dirty the city is but will not stop and retaliate if we see someone spitting out of a train or littering the street after they have stuffed their face with potato chips.

Our airports smell like 'Bombay' and our films smell like Hollywood.

Helplessly we rant on blogs (like I am doing right now),
but seem to be doing nothing to change the way we are.

We're happy actually.
Where we are. Where we live.
Where we wanna be. Where we wanna live.

We get scared of the very people who are supposed to make us feel at ease.
The cops. Why?

We teach out kids to save paper, water and god knows what other shit...
But do we ourselves follow what we were taught?
Open a kids textbook one of these days. Try it.

The Marathis will call the Gujjus loud. The Gujjus will call the Catholics alcoholics. The Catholics will call the Muslims filthy. The Muslims will call the..... Same old story.

I watched 'Jaane Bhi Do Yaroon' recently. And it's surprising to see the exact same things happen even after years. People in power still misuse it. People still get manipulated by people who know how to say the right things. Money still talks. Cops still take the innocent for a ride. People still try to do something to change the system.

Should we really jaane bhi do yaroon? Seriously.

SMSme

There’s facebook, gtalk, whatsapp and regular sms.
And between all of that, there’s work, there’s music, there’s life. 

So ,how much more can a man type, to communicate?

I’ve been accused of being a violent SMSer.
Someone who can’t keep his hands off his phone.
And one who NEEDS a reply to everything.
But I like keeping in touch. If not physically then at least via a communication device.

Is that such a bad thing?

I am guilty of picking out my phone in the middle of a conversation.
In the middle of a movie.
In the middle of a joke.
But a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.

It’s like being batman and not replying to the bat signal.
(ok maybe not… but you got what i’m trying to say)

We all say shit things like ‘opportunity knocks only once’.
What if opportunity decided to sms me instead and I was busy ‘not’ looking at my phone?

Opportunity: “Sms me your address, RIGHT NOW in the next 7 seconds.  I wanna come visit.”
Me: ~currently unavilable coz I’m busy walking on the road and not looking at my phone~

WTF: A SHORT STORY IS THIS

He’s in bed.

Awake.

Staring at the partially cracked ceiling.

It’s time to wake up and get out. As usual. A normal day, like any given Monday. He does that thing
that guys do when they wake up. Pretends to slip into imaginary blue slippers and walks towards the
bathroom. The room’s a mess.

A typical guy he is.

Unopened cans of sardines lying expired besides half opened cans of cat food. A broom that once was
unused, still stares at him in the foot. Spoons laden with jam-like moss. Cheese crackers being feasted
on by jerrys all around. Tom is nowhere to be seen. Don’t think missing posters were even made for him.

Jake sleepwalks by. The sink leaks, much to no one’s surprise. Jake isn’t going to let it bother his morning
business.

He pretends to pick up a bush.
He pretends to pick up the paste.
He pretends to use them on each other.
And then he looks blankly into the mirror and moves his empty hands around his face.

To the world, it seems absurd. To him, it’s pretty much a daily routine. He stands at the overtly messy
kitchen table. Pretends to make himself some cornflakes.With milk, honey, imaginary red strawberries
and gestures with his hand, like he’s made the perfect morning meal.

The bath, the attached lavatory, the front door. All are accustomed to this behavior. It’s the people
outside his world who are still coming to terms with it.

The elevator: Uncomfortable.

Jake stands by the elevator, waiting for someone or something. Irrespective of his urgency to get out of
the building, he waits. Concealing his angst for the time that he is about to lose.

Someone presses the button. He sighs in relief. The elevator door opens. He gets in. Everyone’s like
everyone. Except the dog, who somehow takes a liking to Jake. Barking his arse off.

Jake jumps aside. He really didn’t need to, but he did. Guess it’s just a very human reflex that one can
never get rid of, even if one wanted to. The dog however is relentless. Disobeying his higher authority.
Till the elevator doors part, and then meet again. Jake steps out.

The road: Unimaginable

Bankers calculating the number of steps from point A to X, Y and Z pass by musicians pretending to
make a living out of art. Hotdog vendors devouring their own spoils as mercilessly as the butchers who

once helped in preparing the very same meal that’s now partly wrapped in butter-paper. Petite hookers
in their daytime clothes hailing cabs to daytime jobs. One’s a mother, one’s a lover, one’s furious while
another’s just being nonchalant about life and the troubles that come with it. Workers on the street dig
holes into the ground, not knowing what to find. Bicycles zip by human poles that walk by zombies in
the other direction. Traffic signals disco. Subways graze. Busses trail other mechanical apparatus, both
front and back. Jake is all but a part of the commotion.

He walks past an unshaved beggar with a sign that reads ‘Will kill Justin Bieber. Need money for gun.’
Jake stops in his tracks and retraces his steps, looks at his hand as if he’s counting change and picks
up the nothingness that seems to amuse the beggar in his hand, and places it in the bowl. It makes no
sound. But the beggar does. He screams ‘May you rot in hell’ and throws unheard of curses towards
Jake. Jake is attacked by an empty evian bottle which almost nicks him in the ear… almost.

A phone booth approaches. Jakes eyes light up in excitement. It’s been a while since he’d called home,
or anyone for that matter. He reaches the receiver and then pretends to place his hands over it and
put the imaginary receiver on his longing ears. First timers on the street see a deranged young man,
others just smile and turn away as Jake pretends to punch in numbers and have an intensely animated
conversation with someone who could either be his mother or the laundry maid who’s not shown up
to work in a long time. Either way, the call was short not sweet. He slams the imaginary phone to the
ground. Stomps his foot over the receiver with the intensity of a jilted lover on valentine’s day. And
looks around, hoping to go unnoticed, in vain.

Anger makes people do wondrous things. Eat chocolate bagels topped with ice-cream and chocolate
sauce, just after dessert. Pick up a cigarette after the first one’s extinguished, and then another. Break
a vase. Break a heart. Break a religion. Life’s like that for most of the times. And at times, it’s nothing
at all. Make a big deal out of a small one. Dance in the middle of meeting. Or as jake, in the middle of a
crowded street.

Call dropped and imaginary pieces of the phone booth behind him, jake stands beside the road.
Patiently waiting for the magical words to appear on the electronic pole that reads ‘walk’. A minute
passes by and then another. Everyone seems too anxious to wait. Jake looks around to find a familiar
face. He spots a couple of them, who look away quite instantly. It seems to be jake, but it’s actually the
mob in the distance that everyone’s looking at. The huddle seems nothing less than an assembly of well
trained rugby players before a crucial game.

The signal turns green. Walk.

But jake moves towards the mob. Anxious to know the what’s where’s how’s and million other trivial
questions that will only be asked and never acted upon. It’s an accident. And a fatal one at that.

The accident: Repercussive

Kate. Her fake id says twenty five, much like her face. Cheap beige pants, that have now turned partly
crimson. A black logo-less spaghetti top with a small cigarette ash shaped hole in it. And sunglasses that

lie in the sun on the hot pavement. Kate didn’t envision herself to be lying face first on it, when she
left home. But fate had plans for her that she clearly wasn’t ready for. Jake walks closer, careful not to
disturb the people around him and looks at kate’s motionless body.

He smiles.

He looks around. Searching eyes grate every visible surface of nearby buildings as the paramedics
declare the inevitable.

And then he sees her. Standing besides the dumpster. Also motionless. Stunned as she sees them take
her body to the ambulance that cries away in the distance. She’s wipes a tear that shimmers as it ceases
to exist. Jake is now besides her, waving his hand.

Jake: ‘Hi’

Kate is speechless. She’s not too sure if she should respond. She points towards the road which
transported her body, right before her eyes.

Kate silently questioned.

Did I just see what I think I saw? Or was I hallucinating like I was the day before yesterday? Was I not
crossing the road just a second ago? Did I not just leave the bagel shop across the street? And why are
you smiling you incompetent asshole?

She hails a cab.

Jake: ‘No! Wait! Don’t do that it’s….’

But before you know it, the cab’s right besides Kate. The cabbie’s an Indian. Cliché’s aren’t new even in
this day and age. He looks at her intently. It’s a little too lecherous than she’d needed at the moment.
He stoops a little to now look at her face. She’s disgusted but proceeds to open the door.

Her hand goes right in. Through the door. She’s frightened. He’s frightened. He steps on the accelerator,
and in a cartoony cloud of smoke, he disappears, leaving her with even more questions that are waiting
to be answered.

Jake: “Fool! You’re out to ruin everything. For yourself. For others like you. And more importantly, for
me. You think I chose to be this way? To walk by with the fear of someone accidently passing through
me. To stand by the road and not be able to save someone from an accident. To not be able to even
open the lid off a Pringles box. To know that there’s nothing in this world that I can ever touch, feel,
cherish. It may seem absurd to the world, but I know just one way of somehow being immortal in this
world. And if you’re wise enough, you’d do the same.”

Jake walks away. Kate follows. She figures he’s her best bet at learning the ways of life. Answering the
what’s why’s how’s of life. The immortal life.

The End: Contempt.

The feeling.

It's a deep breath just before you pull the interview chair.
It's holding your head before saying 'It's ok, i'll take care'.

It's a nervous smile before she grabs your hand.
It's power stance before the stage lights hit your trembling hand.

It's a watering eye at the optician’s place.
It's a pounding heart before the first kiss and embrace.

It's a racing heart after you've just accomplished the impossible.
It's a blank stare when your boss just blamed you for something unfathomable.

It's death after you've had one too many slices of that apple pie.
It's emptiness as you lie awake and alone in bed, fried.

It's contempt when the day is going to blend.
It's madness when you know she's on the next bend.
It's insanity when you're on a weekend.
It's blocked when you near the end.

.

It’s tough to write a blog. I’m not being all philosophical here. It just is.

At any given point in time, there’s more than one thing in my head. So to really pinpoint something worthwhile to talk about is hard.

And then there are out-of-body factors. The constant keys being forced into submitting words, by the copywriter sitting behind me. Random videos fuelling random thoughts that play on the art director’s head and screen right next to him. A servicing guy who’s always talking/arguing/theorizing/pretending to socialize with life, in some other corner. A business head’s muffled words coming in through his glass cabin. People playing tt to get the balls off their head. And the general distraction of a video I’ve been successfully been trying to load since a long time.

I’m on a full stop again.

Breaks don’t help when I’m writing my blog. I get distracted easily.

.

Let’s get down about leaving the toilet seat up.

Yes I said it. Women all over the universe are complaining about leaving the toilet seat down. But in fact (I think) that’s the stupidest thing to do.

1. Women think guys are lazy fucks. And yes they are. So if they are lazy enough to not bother keeping the seat up/down whenever they start/finish their business, they wouldn’t care less for what deposits they leave on the seat. And if you be sharing the house with only one male member, then it gets even worse. Coz he doesn’t care if it’s his own deposit he’s sitting on when he’s giving a ‘deposit’. He’ll just toilet paper it and move on. (multiple male members in the family will change that equation…mind you)

2. Have you ever pondered about how many germs lay inside the bowl? And that these germs can fly onto the seat when it’s flushed. Think about it. (Seat up…good. Seat down…not so good!)

3. You want the seat down. We want it up. So you take it down when you want to and we’ll take it up when we want to. Simple. And if you don’t want point number 1 (pun was truly unintentional) to happen, then just leave the rule to ‘KEEP SEAT UP’


Problem solved. What say?