There were cars all around. And not half as many people.
Those were mostly, only beings that occupied the vehicles.
There was an mushroomishly old couple in one maruti 800. They made me happy.
There was a middle aged couple in a sedan. Irritated and listless and silent. They made me angry.
A man in formals in an s.u.v, an office returnee with empty eyes. Sad and very.very.cold.
And then as it zoomed past, in the back seat of a taxi was a big bespectacled dad putting his arms around his tiny bespectacled son.
And I could explode with pride.
And the night was the soft, squishy inside of a goose down quilt again.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Part I
If you opened Facebook today, all you would see are people complaining about the weather, the incessant drizzle, the dampness and overall depression….
I love it. It makes me conscious of the coziness inside.
About how the tree lit up in front of Hotel Gardenia’s being not a fir but a neem does not make the spirit less Christmassy. The city will be decked with lights very soon. Stars and bells. And merry, cheery well dressed people who I wont be here to see.
Even the red light of the endless traffic meant warmth that night and not the usual rage. And the hum of the engine, and steamed up windows were making me oddly nostalgic.
I love it. It makes me conscious of the coziness inside.
About how the tree lit up in front of Hotel Gardenia’s being not a fir but a neem does not make the spirit less Christmassy. The city will be decked with lights very soon. Stars and bells. And merry, cheery well dressed people who I wont be here to see.
Even the red light of the endless traffic meant warmth that night and not the usual rage. And the hum of the engine, and steamed up windows were making me oddly nostalgic.
Friday, December 3, 2010
*sigh* (picturesquely)
I do not like war movies.
That would be putting it delicately.
I have seen movies opening on an airport runway. With an airplane up in flames and resting tilted on its charred, broken wings. Villains that are heroes walking towards me, smug faced and never looking back at the screams that can not be heard over the roar of the fire.
Scarred men, scarred in body and mind shooting other men in artistic Parisian apartments. Spattering the floral wallpapers and staining the beautiful parquet floors with faux blood.
Why would I resort to cinema to see death, and blood, and even more poverty?
What are newspapers for? What are our own polluted lives for?
Weird sort of masochism, this!
I wish all cinemas could begin with lush hills of bamboo groves and the melancholy Chinese flute.
They could begin with weary fisherman hauling their boats back to the shore at dawn. And a little girl peeking at them from behind fishing nets. From the darkness around the single oil lamp.
What a pity that the don’t and they wont. Because maybe they can’t.
I recently saw something I liked.
A ‘Once upon a time’ beginning in a French countryside. The morning mist rising over the river Tyne. And a church bell tolling over the village square.
The men were flawed. But artistically so. And a treat to the eye.
Oui, je parle de Chocolat!
And P.S:- long live Juliette Binoche.
That would be putting it delicately.
I have seen movies opening on an airport runway. With an airplane up in flames and resting tilted on its charred, broken wings. Villains that are heroes walking towards me, smug faced and never looking back at the screams that can not be heard over the roar of the fire.
Scarred men, scarred in body and mind shooting other men in artistic Parisian apartments. Spattering the floral wallpapers and staining the beautiful parquet floors with faux blood.
Why would I resort to cinema to see death, and blood, and even more poverty?
What are newspapers for? What are our own polluted lives for?
Weird sort of masochism, this!
I wish all cinemas could begin with lush hills of bamboo groves and the melancholy Chinese flute.
They could begin with weary fisherman hauling their boats back to the shore at dawn. And a little girl peeking at them from behind fishing nets. From the darkness around the single oil lamp.
What a pity that the don’t and they wont. Because maybe they can’t.
I recently saw something I liked.
A ‘Once upon a time’ beginning in a French countryside. The morning mist rising over the river Tyne. And a church bell tolling over the village square.
The men were flawed. But artistically so. And a treat to the eye.
Oui, je parle de Chocolat!
And P.S:- long live Juliette Binoche.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Coal dust on angel wings :|
Have you ever noticed that when you draw and the first line goes astray and you have to erase it…?
You become sure that the painting is going to be a fiasco.
It is that moment when the painting becomes a fiasco and not when it is complete. Because most paintings never are complete anyway.
I hate AutoCAD right now. Its color palette has too few shades. And none can match my mood.
I want to wear a forest green kurti with matching onion-colored beads and a single silver anklet.
And feel orange. Brighter than summer. Softer than the setting sun.
The manager at Ajanta had given mum a porcupine quill. “Keeps away the evil” he had said.
I think it attracts guardian angels.
Sheer happiness.
You become sure that the painting is going to be a fiasco.
It is that moment when the painting becomes a fiasco and not when it is complete. Because most paintings never are complete anyway.
I hate AutoCAD right now. Its color palette has too few shades. And none can match my mood.
I want to wear a forest green kurti with matching onion-colored beads and a single silver anklet.
And feel orange. Brighter than summer. Softer than the setting sun.
The manager at Ajanta had given mum a porcupine quill. “Keeps away the evil” he had said.
I think it attracts guardian angels.
Sheer happiness.
jlt#6
and no 8B pencil will have the same size again.
and the same bite marks on it's just-escaped-being-sharpened tail.
and it has taken with it my sketches.
and the amateurish kingfisher with its seven fat babies.
and the same bite marks on it's just-escaped-being-sharpened tail.
and it has taken with it my sketches.
and the amateurish kingfisher with its seven fat babies.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Like Zuckerberg and Erica.
Even on the very verge of a break up, they stay a couple.
Even on the ver(y ge) of break up they stay a couple.
And spend 6 wonderful hours together.
Being nerdy in Crossword. (Or is it Starmark?) And solving GRE math. And English.
Fighting over temerity and trepidation.
Krispiness of Crispy chicken.Extra cheese and large Pepsi.
Validation of the boycott.
Agreeing for once when it came to PDA.
And I kindof sortof like them.
They Stay.
Even on the ver(y ge) of break up they stay a couple.
And spend 6 wonderful hours together.
Being nerdy in Crossword. (Or is it Starmark?) And solving GRE math. And English.
Fighting over temerity and trepidation.
Krispiness of Crispy chicken.Extra cheese and large Pepsi.
Validation of the boycott.
Agreeing for once when it came to PDA.
And I kindof sortof like them.
They Stay.
"Toto, I've got a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore."
Semesters, I have observed, are the best medicines to writers’ block. Any kind or prospect of work in my low energy life pushes me to write. Escapism. Yes.
And now they have the boycott. And life is lucidly summery again.
I like being worried. I like to have to think. Now I can’t.
It’s unfair how men are allowed to have muses. Beautiful women it appears are irresistible inspiring.
Since I am very straight I stay blocked.
Men are not inspiring. They are mostly, majorly, 99.99 percent of the type, let’s say always, revolting.
They betray their wives and make sloppy movies out of the sorrow that had followed after the divorce. The innumerable chicks that they slept with/made love to/had sex with (OMG I SO BADLY WANT TO SAY B@#^ed) do not get a mention. Dual betrayal.
And then bouquets and bows and flashlights. And Kate Hudson screaming ‘Cinema Italiano’ and shimmying down the catwalk holding his hand. Very Broadway.
Creativity can bail you out of being an animal.
Hence the hype.
This is what trying to watch inspiring cinema does to me.
They depress me. Sicken me. And if they are good, they discourage me.
I hate Bernardo Bertolucci and all of his nine academy awards. Would have appreciated him if he had had the guts to send his movies in to the porn Oscars instead.
I like classifying stuff. Into adjectives.
I classify myself as snobbish.
Souvik Da is conservative.
Mum is depressed. Dada is detached. Dad is lonely.
Mashi talented. Titli Didi powerful.
Dadu is old. Dida is strange.
Sudeshna hyper. Sulagna smart. Sreya brave.
Debjani loyal.
Meanwhile 6’ o clock lunches at Dadu’s keeps me going. Burberry checks are my latest obsession. Social Networking is my latest disappointment.
Wikipedia and pedicure are my 2 best friends. And moisturizing. And photoshop.
And now they have the boycott. And life is lucidly summery again.
I like being worried. I like to have to think. Now I can’t.
It’s unfair how men are allowed to have muses. Beautiful women it appears are irresistible inspiring.
Since I am very straight I stay blocked.
Men are not inspiring. They are mostly, majorly, 99.99 percent of the type, let’s say always, revolting.
They betray their wives and make sloppy movies out of the sorrow that had followed after the divorce. The innumerable chicks that they slept with/made love to/had sex with (OMG I SO BADLY WANT TO SAY B@#^ed) do not get a mention. Dual betrayal.
And then bouquets and bows and flashlights. And Kate Hudson screaming ‘Cinema Italiano’ and shimmying down the catwalk holding his hand. Very Broadway.
Creativity can bail you out of being an animal.
Hence the hype.
This is what trying to watch inspiring cinema does to me.
They depress me. Sicken me. And if they are good, they discourage me.
I hate Bernardo Bertolucci and all of his nine academy awards. Would have appreciated him if he had had the guts to send his movies in to the porn Oscars instead.
I like classifying stuff. Into adjectives.
I classify myself as snobbish.
Souvik Da is conservative.
Mum is depressed. Dada is detached. Dad is lonely.
Mashi talented. Titli Didi powerful.
Dadu is old. Dida is strange.
Sudeshna hyper. Sulagna smart. Sreya brave.
Debjani loyal.
Meanwhile 6’ o clock lunches at Dadu’s keeps me going. Burberry checks are my latest obsession. Social Networking is my latest disappointment.
Wikipedia and pedicure are my 2 best friends. And moisturizing. And photoshop.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
broken story
He focussed on her earring.
But she did not turn to pose for him with her intense, kohl- lined glare this time. She had forgotten.
The person next to her was making her laugh and narrow her eyes in concentrated conversation, alternatingly.
He pointed the lens to the darkness outside the window with a sigh. But could not focus on anything.
The train was speeding that night.
And the only light came from the flashing rails underneath.
But she did not turn to pose for him with her intense, kohl- lined glare this time. She had forgotten.
The person next to her was making her laugh and narrow her eyes in concentrated conversation, alternatingly.
He pointed the lens to the darkness outside the window with a sigh. But could not focus on anything.
The train was speeding that night.
And the only light came from the flashing rails underneath.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
departure
Nothing changes in the bamboo and thatch huts here.
The pea plantations remain sprightly and green and speckled with lavender flowers. Always.
There is a hammer tapping away and somebody repairing the rundown cottage in the creaking gloom.Forever.
Only things that is temporary here are the current addresses of the younger starry eyed crowd. Small road names of bigger cities.
And the permanent addresses dilapidate farther with every rain...ironic in their naming...
Letting in of the forest. Paltriness of this thing we call a civilisation.
The pea plantations remain sprightly and green and speckled with lavender flowers. Always.
There is a hammer tapping away and somebody repairing the rundown cottage in the creaking gloom.Forever.
Only things that is temporary here are the current addresses of the younger starry eyed crowd. Small road names of bigger cities.
And the permanent addresses dilapidate farther with every rain...ironic in their naming...
Letting in of the forest. Paltriness of this thing we call a civilisation.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
arrival
The fly stuck between the glass sheets was set free. But it left its buzz behind.
It melted into the hum of the engine and before i knew i had fallen asleep, i was waking up from a golden dream.
Typically afternoony and of happy nothing.
That rare flat piece of land, barely surpassing the turning radius of an s.u.v, that they called a bus-stop. That smelled of loneliness.
The green railings overlooking the cliff gave a vague impression of temporary lovers.
Might as well have been vagabonds suggested the retired sheepdog with a grin. The sheep had moved to the big city.
The jeep that was to be there was not, very understandably.
The road lying ahead of us had 17 steep kilometres of rumoured pug marks.
And we witnessed only the startled wood grouse.
It melted into the hum of the engine and before i knew i had fallen asleep, i was waking up from a golden dream.
Typically afternoony and of happy nothing.
That rare flat piece of land, barely surpassing the turning radius of an s.u.v, that they called a bus-stop. That smelled of loneliness.
The green railings overlooking the cliff gave a vague impression of temporary lovers.
Might as well have been vagabonds suggested the retired sheepdog with a grin. The sheep had moved to the big city.
The jeep that was to be there was not, very understandably.
The road lying ahead of us had 17 steep kilometres of rumoured pug marks.
And we witnessed only the startled wood grouse.
Monday, August 9, 2010
jlt#5
There is nothing sissy about appreciating the finer things in life. Nothing pretentious... in gaping at a beam of sunlight on the building behind Repose. An acute angled quadrilateral of gold framed against grey, Kolkata clouds.
I wish people would just let others be and not look for similarities.
And I wish saying this didn’t make me a hypocrite.
I wish people would just let others be and not look for similarities.
And I wish saying this didn’t make me a hypocrite.
review
‘‘In three years’ time you will all be my colleagues… and I, I will only be sorry for you..!!’’
We are uninspired and disappointing people. We lack imagination and motivation. We understand neither situations nor human psychology.We are overtly gullible, backboneless people who care less enough for their designs to not stand up for it in a review.
Yes Mr Mitra. The pleasure was entirely ours. It was an honour to have met you.
Let our faults be our own to bear. Give the credits to our professors please.
Sitting in the field till late into the night helps. Bitching helps. Impromptu parties help.
Celebrating the eventfulness and the experience and the fuck up helps.
Talking would have helped.
Life would have been good.
Unfortunately, it may be black cats with some people… with me...it has to be bumping into my current’s ex in the lift…early early in the morning….
Gnash gnash.
We are uninspired and disappointing people. We lack imagination and motivation. We understand neither situations nor human psychology.We are overtly gullible, backboneless people who care less enough for their designs to not stand up for it in a review.
Yes Mr Mitra. The pleasure was entirely ours. It was an honour to have met you.
Let our faults be our own to bear. Give the credits to our professors please.
Sitting in the field till late into the night helps. Bitching helps. Impromptu parties help.
Celebrating the eventfulness and the experience and the fuck up helps.
Talking would have helped.
Life would have been good.
Unfortunately, it may be black cats with some people… with me...it has to be bumping into my current’s ex in the lift…early early in the morning….
Gnash gnash.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
jlt#4
There is something wonderful about writing pages about your misery. And then deleting all of it just before you wanted to click on the publish button.
Misery is not to be shared. There is enough in the world without my added tuppence, no?
Its strange how I haven’t taken my life for granted yet…
18 Bangladeshi students paid us a visit on Wednesday.
It was supposed to be an idea exchange program about cyclone shelters. There were presentations and design displays. Apprehension, pride and mostly relief. And M.R and Arpan Da actually believed that 40 twenty something students were discussing ramp heights in that huddle. Lol.
We were expecting them to be very alien and vindictive and snobbish… Goodness knows why!! They proved us wrong and made us happy.
They were one of us. In design preferences, proff mimicry, clothes, gadgets and Facebook fetish. Exactly like us. The guys shy and the girls desperate to buy saris for their mums and call their boyfriends when they got back to their hotel rooms. And there language sounded so familiarly sweet.
They were a happy, bubbly lot. All praises for our city, studio, phuchka, Gariahat, traffic control. We gloated like we had created all of those ourselves.
The warmth was incredible. And no matter how cliché it may sound, it did feel like we were meeting old friends.
It is strange how I was meant to be one of them. How I was supposed to know Comilla, Shylet, Dhaka, Rajshahi, Jessore better than just in political maps. But am not and I don’t.
I’ve been thinking. And I’m still not sure how I feel about it.
Thankful? Regretful?
Plain nostalgic, I think, about my country that I never got to know.
Misery is not to be shared. There is enough in the world without my added tuppence, no?
Its strange how I haven’t taken my life for granted yet…
18 Bangladeshi students paid us a visit on Wednesday.
It was supposed to be an idea exchange program about cyclone shelters. There were presentations and design displays. Apprehension, pride and mostly relief. And M.R and Arpan Da actually believed that 40 twenty something students were discussing ramp heights in that huddle. Lol.
We were expecting them to be very alien and vindictive and snobbish… Goodness knows why!! They proved us wrong and made us happy.
They were one of us. In design preferences, proff mimicry, clothes, gadgets and Facebook fetish. Exactly like us. The guys shy and the girls desperate to buy saris for their mums and call their boyfriends when they got back to their hotel rooms. And there language sounded so familiarly sweet.
They were a happy, bubbly lot. All praises for our city, studio, phuchka, Gariahat, traffic control. We gloated like we had created all of those ourselves.
The warmth was incredible. And no matter how cliché it may sound, it did feel like we were meeting old friends.
It is strange how I was meant to be one of them. How I was supposed to know Comilla, Shylet, Dhaka, Rajshahi, Jessore better than just in political maps. But am not and I don’t.
I’ve been thinking. And I’m still not sure how I feel about it.
Thankful? Regretful?
Plain nostalgic, I think, about my country that I never got to know.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
For Ami, Tui, Dadabhai, Titlididi…Plus..
At this very moment…
Dadu is taking dida’s dinner things to the kitchen sink. With one ear tuned to the radio for the nine o clock news.
Dida has had her Nitrosan tablet. Half.And wants somebody to let the mosquito nets down.
I think before they go to sleep…they will think of back home…bangladesh…school...siblings…partition…struggle…mum…mashi….the 4 of us…tomorrow…and each other…
Right now…
Mashi is working in the dining table. Very lonely. Lost in a crowd of birds.
Mesho is driving home.
Tiltli didi.I’m not good with time zones. But I know whatever be the time. You are proving everybody wrong. Who would have thought delicate you had such a fiery leo inside?! Am so proud of you!!
Dadabhai. That’s way too much to ask for, I know, with even mashi not knowing your whereabouts most of the time.
And right now…
Dad is in the emergency room. Doing what he does best.
Mum is thinking about dad. Justifying him inside her head. Tearing up. Holding back. Being hopeful, uncomplaining, dutiful...
Wonder woman.
Dada has a Harrison in front of him. Miu sleeping on it.Which is why he can’t turn the pages. That he has a sketch pad hidden under his pillow is a different issue though!
Now…
Sulagna, sudeshna and sreya are waiting for calls, ims, texts..in that order..
He must still be in campus… talking non-stop… texting me… and smoking away to glory…
I want to hug you all right now. Very tightly. And all together. And not tell you how grateful I am to all of you.
How you make every day sunny...every yesterday special...every tomorrow worth anticipating.
I don’t care how average you think I am…
I will always be overtly self-satisfied…will feel smugly special…will always find myself extraordinary….
You see..
I am loved.
And we don’t care if it is time that is passing by…or if it is you and i…
Oui we. So don't!
And the rest can be Luciferdom.
Dadu is taking dida’s dinner things to the kitchen sink. With one ear tuned to the radio for the nine o clock news.
Dida has had her Nitrosan tablet. Half.And wants somebody to let the mosquito nets down.
I think before they go to sleep…they will think of back home…bangladesh…school...siblings…partition…struggle…mum…mashi….the 4 of us…tomorrow…and each other…
Right now…
Mashi is working in the dining table. Very lonely. Lost in a crowd of birds.
Mesho is driving home.
Tiltli didi.I’m not good with time zones. But I know whatever be the time. You are proving everybody wrong. Who would have thought delicate you had such a fiery leo inside?! Am so proud of you!!
Dadabhai. That’s way too much to ask for, I know, with even mashi not knowing your whereabouts most of the time.
And right now…
Dad is in the emergency room. Doing what he does best.
Mum is thinking about dad. Justifying him inside her head. Tearing up. Holding back. Being hopeful, uncomplaining, dutiful...
Wonder woman.
Dada has a Harrison in front of him. Miu sleeping on it.Which is why he can’t turn the pages. That he has a sketch pad hidden under his pillow is a different issue though!
Now…
Sulagna, sudeshna and sreya are waiting for calls, ims, texts..in that order..
He must still be in campus… talking non-stop… texting me… and smoking away to glory…
I want to hug you all right now. Very tightly. And all together. And not tell you how grateful I am to all of you.
How you make every day sunny...every yesterday special...every tomorrow worth anticipating.
I don’t care how average you think I am…
I will always be overtly self-satisfied…will feel smugly special…will always find myself extraordinary….
You see..
I am loved.
And we don’t care if it is time that is passing by…or if it is you and i…
Oui we. So don't!
And the rest can be Luciferdom.
Perhaps
You don’t fall in love…you choose it…
It is less providence..more intelligence…
Of knowing what is good for you…
Or maybe…barely eliminating all that is bad…selfishly mutual.
An infatuation that you are too afraid to let go of…
Like a lama in red walking across scorching Nubra sands
To quaint, hidden monasteries that still cling to the idea of peace.
A movie that I made would surely end up a slideshow…
Bleary eyes. Coffee mugs. Propped pillows and cropped images.
Self-pity. Nostalgia.
A solitary puppy sitting like a samosa on a cold night at Kalka platform.
Rustling of starch and the smell of marker pens.
Blank sheaves of paper. And minds scribbled upon…
And it’s ending today would leave no scope for regrets.
It is less providence..more intelligence…
Of knowing what is good for you…
Or maybe…barely eliminating all that is bad…selfishly mutual.
An infatuation that you are too afraid to let go of…
Like a lama in red walking across scorching Nubra sands
To quaint, hidden monasteries that still cling to the idea of peace.
A movie that I made would surely end up a slideshow…
Bleary eyes. Coffee mugs. Propped pillows and cropped images.
Self-pity. Nostalgia.
A solitary puppy sitting like a samosa on a cold night at Kalka platform.
Rustling of starch and the smell of marker pens.
Blank sheaves of paper. And minds scribbled upon…
And it’s ending today would leave no scope for regrets.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
-
I love the nights in this city…the narrow overcrowded pavements…humdrum…umbrellas jostling each other…and the possibility that one of those rods will poke you in the eye any moment now...:|
I loved last night.
The wet streets reflecting the yellow lights…the cool air...the speeding cab..
The solitude…and the togetherness…
It is all gone now…the way you held me and told me you’d be there forever….it all is a distant memory…
Like one of those dreams that make you wake up smiling and you don’t know why…
I hate sunday afternoons…gloomy and lethargic... with the promise of a monday...
Or maybe because they are family times everywhere…and I dread them…
The family has been reduced to three now…all subconsciously blaming each other for the loss/gain…
Families scare me…with their scope of breaking up…
People scare me….with their chances of changing…
Relationships scare me most…because they inevitably hurt…
I should stop caring about loads of things…because nobody else cares about them either..
And this will help hurt less when… later, but surely…my world falls apart…
Stop caring about being judgemental…apprehensive…pessimistic…misunderstood...
How can one even expect understanding?? I mean, why somebody out there would even bother to understand stumps me…!!
People have separate lives…separate ambitions…
And they are forced to make separate choices…
Their not being me doesn’t make them any less wonderful..
I am scared of these thoughts as well… and i’m tired of wanting you to ward them off…and tired of wanting to stay wrapped up in your arms forever...i’m tired of being dependant on you for every little thing……
I’m scared that one day…you will be too…
I always thought Bollywood made this huge deal about how magnificently screwed children of broken families can be… i’m getting there… LOL..
I am forever weak…and unreasonable…and insecure...and needy…
Thanks for bearing with me.
I loved last night.
The wet streets reflecting the yellow lights…the cool air...the speeding cab..
The solitude…and the togetherness…
It is all gone now…the way you held me and told me you’d be there forever….it all is a distant memory…
Like one of those dreams that make you wake up smiling and you don’t know why…
I hate sunday afternoons…gloomy and lethargic... with the promise of a monday...
Or maybe because they are family times everywhere…and I dread them…
The family has been reduced to three now…all subconsciously blaming each other for the loss/gain…
Families scare me…with their scope of breaking up…
People scare me….with their chances of changing…
Relationships scare me most…because they inevitably hurt…
I should stop caring about loads of things…because nobody else cares about them either..
And this will help hurt less when… later, but surely…my world falls apart…
Stop caring about being judgemental…apprehensive…pessimistic…misunderstood...
How can one even expect understanding?? I mean, why somebody out there would even bother to understand stumps me…!!
People have separate lives…separate ambitions…
And they are forced to make separate choices…
Their not being me doesn’t make them any less wonderful..
I am scared of these thoughts as well… and i’m tired of wanting you to ward them off…and tired of wanting to stay wrapped up in your arms forever...i’m tired of being dependant on you for every little thing……
I’m scared that one day…you will be too…
I always thought Bollywood made this huge deal about how magnificently screwed children of broken families can be… i’m getting there… LOL..
I am forever weak…and unreasonable…and insecure...and needy…
Thanks for bearing with me.
Friday, July 2, 2010
jlt#3
I love the feeling of standing in other people’s shoes. Literally.
I love the clatter of the scrabble letters...especially when somebody brings the game to an unmade bed.
I love sniffing unlit gold flake cigarettes. Even from outside the box.
I love musty smelling armwars...and knowing which leg of it is broken.
I love playing with the tassel of cut glass perfume cases.
I love familiarity.
I love mashi’s overcrowded kitchen top.
I love it when mum mumbles a bit in her sleep...and falls deeply asleep again once
I've covered her with a blanket. I can leave ps and gtalk combined to do that….smiley sigh...
I love the fact that I can stomp to dada’s room whenever I’m feeling frustrated and just sit and sulk and be grumpy in companionable silence. Nowadays with the cat watching…condescendingly.
N I miss dad. And the elaborate chow that the two of us used to cook every Sunday morning.
I’m sorry I never wanted to be your partner when we played 29. But you did suck at it!!
I love you and I miss you.
And the worst part is that I know you love me. And that you miss me. Possibly more than I do.
I love the clatter of the scrabble letters...especially when somebody brings the game to an unmade bed.
I love sniffing unlit gold flake cigarettes. Even from outside the box.
I love musty smelling armwars...and knowing which leg of it is broken.
I love playing with the tassel of cut glass perfume cases.
I love familiarity.
I love mashi’s overcrowded kitchen top.
I love it when mum mumbles a bit in her sleep...and falls deeply asleep again once
I've covered her with a blanket. I can leave ps and gtalk combined to do that….smiley sigh...
I love the fact that I can stomp to dada’s room whenever I’m feeling frustrated and just sit and sulk and be grumpy in companionable silence. Nowadays with the cat watching…condescendingly.
N I miss dad. And the elaborate chow that the two of us used to cook every Sunday morning.
I’m sorry I never wanted to be your partner when we played 29. But you did suck at it!!
I love you and I miss you.
And the worst part is that I know you love me. And that you miss me. Possibly more than I do.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Back Home Blues
Feels good to be back…!!
The swaying of the train hasn’t left me yet…and my eyelids can not resist the gravity anymore…i have a zillion tabs open in chrome…and ps cs3 (havto get 4)…and word...and nero all at once…
Time must have flown for my poor old pc with a 1 GB RAM…just a few more days, love...only till i get my shiny pink dell…AGAIN…shiny PINK dell…heehaw!
The kaajer mashis aren’t here yet…
The world around is stretching and yawning…synchronized with the green, humid weather!!...waiting for mum and her characteristic T-rex shriek that’d jerk them back to bright white wakedom…
Welcome home me… :)
With some godawful paneer and chicken…
Behind food that sucks even after u have survived the Maharashtrian, oniony, super spiced, thick, mucky, yucky, gravy thing that they serve with everything for 8 days..there is a cook who needs to be fired...
Dada peers into my purple sun burnt face…
‘Have you lost weight?’…*soaring heart*… ‘Naah’ and he walks away..
Crumbled. Grumbled.
Piles of laundry everywhere…the place looks like Howrah station at rush hour…the rooms could have inspired the Rat-a-tat-tat illustrations…
Dogs…fishing rods…turnips…red and white striped socks ….stray toads…watering cans..a blue letter box with a boot tacked on it…spades..fire crackers and porridge cauldrons...
I’m pretty sure that they are all in there….somewhere..
4 days to go before college starts… too much to do…too little time…
Mera Bharat Bandh Mahan btw!!
.
.
.
.
The peacocks must have started their evening-calling ritual by now in the marsh… the red-black earth must be radiating a soft sunset warmth…
I know exactly what the forest smells like right now…
And how the swing in the porch is moving imperceptibly with story book creaks…
And how waaaayy up into the mountains the caves are growing darker..till the paintings vanish into the rocks…and go to sleep with the melancholia of three thousand long years…
And the flutter of the saffron robes...and chants echo through the cliffs…
.
.
.
.
And it still feels good to be back.
The swaying of the train hasn’t left me yet…and my eyelids can not resist the gravity anymore…i have a zillion tabs open in chrome…and ps cs3 (havto get 4)…and word...and nero all at once…
Time must have flown for my poor old pc with a 1 GB RAM…just a few more days, love...only till i get my shiny pink dell…AGAIN…shiny PINK dell…heehaw!
The kaajer mashis aren’t here yet…
The world around is stretching and yawning…synchronized with the green, humid weather!!...waiting for mum and her characteristic T-rex shriek that’d jerk them back to bright white wakedom…
Welcome home me… :)
With some godawful paneer and chicken…
Behind food that sucks even after u have survived the Maharashtrian, oniony, super spiced, thick, mucky, yucky, gravy thing that they serve with everything for 8 days..there is a cook who needs to be fired...
Dada peers into my purple sun burnt face…
‘Have you lost weight?’…*soaring heart*… ‘Naah’ and he walks away..
Crumbled. Grumbled.
Piles of laundry everywhere…the place looks like Howrah station at rush hour…the rooms could have inspired the Rat-a-tat-tat illustrations…
Dogs…fishing rods…turnips…red and white striped socks ….stray toads…watering cans..a blue letter box with a boot tacked on it…spades..fire crackers and porridge cauldrons...
I’m pretty sure that they are all in there….somewhere..
4 days to go before college starts… too much to do…too little time…
Mera Bharat Bandh Mahan btw!!
.
.
.
.
The peacocks must have started their evening-calling ritual by now in the marsh… the red-black earth must be radiating a soft sunset warmth…
I know exactly what the forest smells like right now…
And how the swing in the porch is moving imperceptibly with story book creaks…
And how waaaayy up into the mountains the caves are growing darker..till the paintings vanish into the rocks…and go to sleep with the melancholia of three thousand long years…
And the flutter of the saffron robes...and chants echo through the cliffs…
.
.
.
.
And it still feels good to be back.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
jlt post#2
I know I live there.
Doesn't make wanting to go home any less reasonable.
I want to go home every evening.
And hug my mum and feel warm and guilty and happy for all the days wretchedness that she is so blind to. Drop my horns and fix the halo for a nanosecond.
I love it when people are biased. They are why I want to be good.
Even if that is for the tiniest fluttering and even though I know that ultimately I am not going to do anything about it. Anything at all.
Doesn't make wanting to go home any less reasonable.
I want to go home every evening.
And hug my mum and feel warm and guilty and happy for all the days wretchedness that she is so blind to. Drop my horns and fix the halo for a nanosecond.
I love it when people are biased. They are why I want to be good.
Even if that is for the tiniest fluttering and even though I know that ultimately I am not going to do anything about it. Anything at all.
Irrelevance All Over
The only thing nice about now is in realizing how difficult it is to type with one hand. Because my left is busy playing 'I Am Goin To Eat You' with Miu.
The rest is milk chocolate depression.
I hate whimpering, simpering, niminy-piminy chits.
I hate mamma’s kids who run to their mommies and twiddle with their apron strings with a pouty face when they hit the blues. Once every four minutes.
I hate emos too.
I hate their hairstyling.Like what do you do when your fringe starts to grow and looks like a misshapen 7-pointed stubby star..or closer to an amputated octopus? Not all of us have the luxury (read, grossness) of going to beauty school!!
(And I hate the fact that ‘7-pointed’ reminds me of my last semester s.g.p.a…eff it!)
I hate the overdone eyes. I hate the fact that people try to do it here in the tropics, the humid heat making it runny and smudged and you end up looking like a raccoon.
It’s okay when I do it though. My name is Meeko. (yeah... Go Wiki!)
(YAAAYYY!! Love u shishta… mwahs)
And getting back to hatred, I hate that I am being absolutely all of them right now.
I hate ranting. But then what else can I write about when the blogbug hits me???
I have not been brought up by a stepfather in the valleys of Dehra. I am no vagabond from the streets of New York. I am not dying of some unpronounceable disease. I am not a tomboyish Alabama chick in a conservative, black-hating society. I have never lived in Corfu with a baby donkey and a scops owl as pets.
*screams at mum*
I am just an impossibly average almost-twenty year old.
With a somewhat ordinary, satisfactory life. With nothing to do but wish I was this and wish you were that.
I wish I spoke French and Spanish and German and Urdu and Russian and Swahili like a native.
I wish I smelled less of concrete and more of pine needles and the Himalayan freshness. Or of the lazy, olive-colored noon siesta.
I wish I was pretty enough to not ever need a mirror. Except when I’m wearing my contacts, of course. I wish I looked liked Jasmine or Pocahontas. Anything Disney really. Hell, even their Captain Hook has élan.
I wish I wasnt allergic to seafood. I want to eat clam and squid.(Miu is affecting my thought process way too much now.)
Ugh!!
Whines. Running. End Task.
And hmmm. FYI. (Chetan Bhagat way)
And please don’t give me the oh-you-poor-literature-pariah eyebrow!! I’ll eat cabbages over the weekend if you haven’t gone voraciously through all of them. Hypocrite!
I quite like the guy. He’s intelligent. He’s cute. He’s funny. And I guess he has made a huge mistake of drawing too many references to his wife and children.
Now he’ll have a tough time convincing his new girl about how much he loves her. HA!
When he gets a divorce. If and when he gets a divorce.
Hey.. Is Bhagat an S.C or such??
The rest is milk chocolate depression.
I hate whimpering, simpering, niminy-piminy chits.
I hate mamma’s kids who run to their mommies and twiddle with their apron strings with a pouty face when they hit the blues. Once every four minutes.
I hate emos too.
I hate their hairstyling.Like what do you do when your fringe starts to grow and looks like a misshapen 7-pointed stubby star..or closer to an amputated octopus? Not all of us have the luxury (read, grossness) of going to beauty school!!
(And I hate the fact that ‘7-pointed’ reminds me of my last semester s.g.p.a…eff it!)
I hate the overdone eyes. I hate the fact that people try to do it here in the tropics, the humid heat making it runny and smudged and you end up looking like a raccoon.
It’s okay when I do it though. My name is Meeko. (yeah... Go Wiki!)
(YAAAYYY!! Love u shishta… mwahs)
And getting back to hatred, I hate that I am being absolutely all of them right now.
I hate ranting. But then what else can I write about when the blogbug hits me???
I have not been brought up by a stepfather in the valleys of Dehra. I am no vagabond from the streets of New York. I am not dying of some unpronounceable disease. I am not a tomboyish Alabama chick in a conservative, black-hating society. I have never lived in Corfu with a baby donkey and a scops owl as pets.
*screams at mum*
I am just an impossibly average almost-twenty year old.
With a somewhat ordinary, satisfactory life. With nothing to do but wish I was this and wish you were that.
I wish I spoke French and Spanish and German and Urdu and Russian and Swahili like a native.
I wish I smelled less of concrete and more of pine needles and the Himalayan freshness. Or of the lazy, olive-colored noon siesta.
I wish I was pretty enough to not ever need a mirror. Except when I’m wearing my contacts, of course. I wish I looked liked Jasmine or Pocahontas. Anything Disney really. Hell, even their Captain Hook has élan.
I wish I wasnt allergic to seafood. I want to eat clam and squid.(Miu is affecting my thought process way too much now.)
Ugh!!
Whines. Running. End Task.
And hmmm. FYI. (Chetan Bhagat way)
And please don’t give me the oh-you-poor-literature-pariah eyebrow!! I’ll eat cabbages over the weekend if you haven’t gone voraciously through all of them. Hypocrite!
I quite like the guy. He’s intelligent. He’s cute. He’s funny. And I guess he has made a huge mistake of drawing too many references to his wife and children.
Now he’ll have a tough time convincing his new girl about how much he loves her. HA!
When he gets a divorce. If and when he gets a divorce.
Hey.. Is Bhagat an S.C or such??
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
This Is Why I Now Hate My Blog Title
I just realized. I have less than a fortnight to go. How could I have forgotten????
It seems that I'm the only one in town who is not going completely berserk about Eclipse.(If you don't know what that is, I love you. If you do, my sympathies.)
No wait. I am. Now that I know that it is going to release.
Thank God for taking me out of town on the 23rd and not returning me before the 30th. I SO don't want to see the drool-fest in all the multiplexes!!
I will never know what people see in Robert Pattinson! Even more so when he chooses to sparkle and suck in general (and not just blood)!
This guy should be put into rehab...no, a jail...no actually,a theater where they are screening twilight.. :x
I mean..just how...HOW? can this bat call himself
a. the lion who fell for the sheep
b. a guy
c. I'm the world's most dangerous predator
what a chauv!! (*Slap Him Bella*)
anyway..on a massively desperate attempt to be positive (pun intended)..there is always Taylor Lautner!!
Choco fudge!!
Though I'm always afraid he'll run and disappear if cullen has the minimum sense to throw a stick and say 'fetch'.. :|
When is it going to be noon? And we can all wake up from this bad dream :(
Friday, June 11, 2010
10.75 Things That I Need To Come To Terms With.
The phone call I’ve been waiting for all day is not getting to me till I step into the shower.
Nothing is going to change with TMC being elected. They are all the same. Bleh!(But the worst part of it will be trying to pretend that I’m not excited about the riots and fire everywhere that people are predicting. Photogenic stuff. OMG!!)
No matter how many times I refresh my Fb page. There will be no new notifications this time of the night. Nobody is as jobless as me.
I'm never listening to her again! Sudeshna’s choice in men SUCKS. Ranbir Kapoor?? An egg looks more intelligent than him. Correction. *Than that*.
I can not expect to save enough to by a DSLR for nuts!! Unless the mommy swap thing comes to vogue and somebody actually wants mine!!
Mum is on one of her religious fasting things (selectively for all things sour). Better finish the chanachur today! And yes! I'm on diet!! HAHA!!
Nails look better unpainted.
Nobody reads my blog anyway. So I can safely state here that I fucked the VC last night behind the Canteen.
Kidding!!
Cats sleep anywhere. Annoyingly enough. And have this terrible habit of acting oh-so-hurt-and-cute if u dare to move them. Ugh!
I miss Swan Poetry from the house of Orient Longman. Or was it Madhuban Reader??? Or maybe just the host of awesome teachers from prep school. I want them to tell me to place my purple lunch-box on the desk, first. Go wash my hands, second. Spread out my napkin, third. Eat, fourth. SILENTLY, fifth. Damn I miss 'Tiffin Time'. And my water bottle that went so well with my uniform.
Never thought I'd be old enough to reminisce.
Err... Happiness..? For times when nostalgia was just a word??
This is what comes of wearing blue all day. :(
Should totally get back to my sunshine yellow, Digital Om T! Now!
And laziness. :|
Nothing is going to change with TMC being elected. They are all the same. Bleh!(But the worst part of it will be trying to pretend that I’m not excited about the riots and fire everywhere that people are predicting. Photogenic stuff. OMG!!)
No matter how many times I refresh my Fb page. There will be no new notifications this time of the night. Nobody is as jobless as me.
I'm never listening to her again! Sudeshna’s choice in men SUCKS. Ranbir Kapoor?? An egg looks more intelligent than him. Correction. *Than that*.
I can not expect to save enough to by a DSLR for nuts!! Unless the mommy swap thing comes to vogue and somebody actually wants mine!!
Mum is on one of her religious fasting things (selectively for all things sour). Better finish the chanachur today! And yes! I'm on diet!! HAHA!!
Nails look better unpainted.
Nobody reads my blog anyway. So I can safely state here that I fucked the VC last night behind the Canteen.
Kidding!!
Cats sleep anywhere. Annoyingly enough. And have this terrible habit of acting oh-so-hurt-and-cute if u dare to move them. Ugh!
I miss Swan Poetry from the house of Orient Longman. Or was it Madhuban Reader??? Or maybe just the host of awesome teachers from prep school. I want them to tell me to place my purple lunch-box on the desk, first. Go wash my hands, second. Spread out my napkin, third. Eat, fourth. SILENTLY, fifth. Damn I miss 'Tiffin Time'. And my water bottle that went so well with my uniform.
Never thought I'd be old enough to reminisce.
Err... Happiness..? For times when nostalgia was just a word??
This is what comes of wearing blue all day. :(
Should totally get back to my sunshine yellow, Digital Om T! Now!
And laziness. :|
Urban Weed
I have been ……
Doing the ‘NEXT BLOG’ thing for hours.
There is a Canadian lesbian. Her neighbors don’t say hi to her ever since they found out her orientation.
A lady with 3 infants. How to keep you head above the laundry.
An aspiring fashionista. With only 12 followers but extraordinary taste in shades. Much bling.
Eighty years old. The blog being basically about his obsessive gardening disorder. And his wife’s untimely death. A decade back.
Pages and pages of craft maniacs and sketch enthusiasts. They no longer inspire me. I just want to howl with frustration.
A blog being dedicated entirely to penny black cards. She can’t seem to make enough for her husband who has been away for 2 weeks. Some rehab.
Numerous food blogs. (By chicks who still manage to stay slim. *going green*)
I have been….
Wallowing in self pity.
I have been….
Reading Lolita for what seems like ever. With one eye on my phone.
I have been…
Lazing all day. Did not even bother to update my Facebook status about which team I support. Not Brazil. Not again!!!
Talking to S (again) about a weight loss program and how we are both going to look drop dead gorgeous in 2 weeks time. Munching on cookies as we talked.
The diet involves eating (?) 3 litres of mineral water on the first day divided into 6 portions. A piece of raw fish on the second day. So on…
I have been…
Wishing Miu would jump on my lap and tickle me with her whiskers till I feel better.
The fact that all she does is eat, sleep, clean herself is NOT helping somehow.
And I am INSANELY jealous of her tail.
I have been…
So typically worthless. And knowing it changes NOTHING.
*……..BANG HEAD HERE…….*
Doing the ‘NEXT BLOG’ thing for hours.
There is a Canadian lesbian. Her neighbors don’t say hi to her ever since they found out her orientation.
A lady with 3 infants. How to keep you head above the laundry.
An aspiring fashionista. With only 12 followers but extraordinary taste in shades. Much bling.
Eighty years old. The blog being basically about his obsessive gardening disorder. And his wife’s untimely death. A decade back.
Pages and pages of craft maniacs and sketch enthusiasts. They no longer inspire me. I just want to howl with frustration.
A blog being dedicated entirely to penny black cards. She can’t seem to make enough for her husband who has been away for 2 weeks. Some rehab.
Numerous food blogs. (By chicks who still manage to stay slim. *going green*)
I have been….
Wallowing in self pity.
I have been….
Reading Lolita for what seems like ever. With one eye on my phone.
I have been…
Lazing all day. Did not even bother to update my Facebook status about which team I support. Not Brazil. Not again!!!
Talking to S (again) about a weight loss program and how we are both going to look drop dead gorgeous in 2 weeks time. Munching on cookies as we talked.
The diet involves eating (?) 3 litres of mineral water on the first day divided into 6 portions. A piece of raw fish on the second day. So on…
I have been…
Wishing Miu would jump on my lap and tickle me with her whiskers till I feel better.
The fact that all she does is eat, sleep, clean herself is NOT helping somehow.
And I am INSANELY jealous of her tail.
I have been…
So typically worthless. And knowing it changes NOTHING.
*……..BANG HEAD HERE…….*
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Litres of Sap
Roof top. Cloudy sky.
An occasional airplane flying overhead. Christmas lights come early.
Three men and a little lady. And a lot of intelligent conversation.
We cover everything from g.b.s to hash cakes.
And caffeine. Glug. Glug.
And all the while, I have this feeling inside of me. This is what a sparrow feels like I guess. Before it jumps off into flight from the cornice.
The phone in my pocket is uncanny with its stillness.
7.38:- One message received.
TD-Beauty. Tells me how you get 150 rupees off on the purchase of two Lakme lipsticks if you exchange your used lipstick.
I wonder what conditions apply to this gross deal.
8.11:- Another message received.
Aneek . A joke about some guy and how the last thing he wants to do before being executed is update his Fb status message.
I miss the punch line.
8.42:- One more message.
Sabby. Oye B@*$*!
Pretty direct. Appreciation.
I am positively sinking as I pocket my phone. The lights are far away. The bye-pass din is dim.
10.49:- Message again.
Sounak. Too much love will kill you/ Just as sure as none at all/ It’ll drain the power that’s in you/ Make you plead and scream and crawl/ And pain will make yo*some text missing*
This is where you smirk and say. BSNL! Ha!!
I am inclined to agree with sounak. It is sheer terror at times.
Like an additional limb. And you are being frightfully aware of the fact that it is joined to you not by muscles and tendons.
Something much more fragile. And exquisite. Gossamer.
But try as I might nothing can change the fact that you are the bulk of my inbox. My outbox. My draft folder. Saved items.
In both my cellphone. And gmail account.
External and internal memory.
That they make me smile to myself like a fool.
That you invade my 3’o clock nap, even when it is 42 degrees and we have Mars bars together.
That half of the things I say/want to say these days begin with ‘X says…’
That I have to tell you every tiny details of every irrelevant incidence.
That whispering ‘I love you’ at 4.00 in the night seems the most obvious thing to do.
That I am not I these days but vary somewhere between you and us.
That mostly, more than being happy, I want to be your happiness.
And this i NEED you to understand. Cos only you can understand.
23.15:- THE message.
You say HI.*smiley face*
And peace will reign again I figure.
X crossed fingers X
....both hands... :P
An occasional airplane flying overhead. Christmas lights come early.
Three men and a little lady. And a lot of intelligent conversation.
We cover everything from g.b.s to hash cakes.
And caffeine. Glug. Glug.
And all the while, I have this feeling inside of me. This is what a sparrow feels like I guess. Before it jumps off into flight from the cornice.
The phone in my pocket is uncanny with its stillness.
7.38:- One message received.
TD-Beauty. Tells me how you get 150 rupees off on the purchase of two Lakme lipsticks if you exchange your used lipstick.
I wonder what conditions apply to this gross deal.
8.11:- Another message received.
Aneek . A joke about some guy and how the last thing he wants to do before being executed is update his Fb status message.
I miss the punch line.
8.42:- One more message.
Sabby. Oye B@*$*!
Pretty direct. Appreciation.
I am positively sinking as I pocket my phone. The lights are far away. The bye-pass din is dim.
10.49:- Message again.
Sounak. Too much love will kill you/ Just as sure as none at all/ It’ll drain the power that’s in you/ Make you plead and scream and crawl/ And pain will make yo*some text missing*
This is where you smirk and say. BSNL! Ha!!
I am inclined to agree with sounak. It is sheer terror at times.
Like an additional limb. And you are being frightfully aware of the fact that it is joined to you not by muscles and tendons.
Something much more fragile. And exquisite. Gossamer.
But try as I might nothing can change the fact that you are the bulk of my inbox. My outbox. My draft folder. Saved items.
In both my cellphone. And gmail account.
External and internal memory.
That they make me smile to myself like a fool.
That you invade my 3’o clock nap, even when it is 42 degrees and we have Mars bars together.
That half of the things I say/want to say these days begin with ‘X says…’
That I have to tell you every tiny details of every irrelevant incidence.
That whispering ‘I love you’ at 4.00 in the night seems the most obvious thing to do.
That I am not I these days but vary somewhere between you and us.
That mostly, more than being happy, I want to be your happiness.
And this i NEED you to understand. Cos only you can understand.
23.15:- THE message.
You say HI.*smiley face*
And peace will reign again I figure.
X crossed fingers X
....both hands... :P
Saturday, June 5, 2010
jlt post #1
how sick does a blog sound?
blog? blog! blog.
a frog jumping into a murky pond.
a bubble in the thick lava after the volcano erupted.
the suctiony sound when the plug in the sink is being pulled out.
food for thought. serve hot with a cuppa.
(anyone prefers a mugga when it comes to coffee?? i do!)
blog? blog! blog.
a frog jumping into a murky pond.
a bubble in the thick lava after the volcano erupted.
the suctiony sound when the plug in the sink is being pulled out.
food for thought. serve hot with a cuppa.
(anyone prefers a mugga when it comes to coffee?? i do!)
Thursday, June 3, 2010
I am Cross. X
An alcohol virgin. Got her vodka with an apple twist. On a day when her parents weren’t home.
Don’t hate me later for this. And take my example when you tell your kids about how blatantly irresponsible ‘friends’ can be. Please. Please please.
Now she can’t dilute it with grape juice also.
Vodka on the rocks. Burn your breath. Like the Night Fury.
But do YOU know how to train your dragon?
And what a sick combination. Fermenting potatoes and green apples. Eeeeeech!!!
Barrels and barrels of it in a cold underground cellar. With the spiders scuttling towards the darkest corners when the door creaks open and the heavy boots are semi visible in the triangle of orange light.
Gorbatschow.
From some place near Verkhoyansk perhaps??
Where the baker calls himself Yevgeny Pavlovitch.
The ground above is a cobbled street under a crunchy layer of snow and slippery ice. Bits of hay and streaks of mud left from the last carriage that passed.
Memories of impatient horses that have stomped their feet in the chill.
Yes. I obsess about them. (Though Kremlin did always seem a tad bit overdone)
There is this Korean guy who often comes to J.U. Ming. To convert us…!!
No energy left for the lol here.
He gave me fluorescent green mobile charm in the shape of a Roman cross.
It stares at me in the darkness from under my pillow. Makes me fidget. And I barely have it in me to strip my phone off it before I crash.
Don’t hate me later for this. And take my example when you tell your kids about how blatantly irresponsible ‘friends’ can be. Please. Please please.
Now she can’t dilute it with grape juice also.
Vodka on the rocks. Burn your breath. Like the Night Fury.
But do YOU know how to train your dragon?
And what a sick combination. Fermenting potatoes and green apples. Eeeeeech!!!
Barrels and barrels of it in a cold underground cellar. With the spiders scuttling towards the darkest corners when the door creaks open and the heavy boots are semi visible in the triangle of orange light.
Gorbatschow.
From some place near Verkhoyansk perhaps??
Where the baker calls himself Yevgeny Pavlovitch.
The ground above is a cobbled street under a crunchy layer of snow and slippery ice. Bits of hay and streaks of mud left from the last carriage that passed.
Memories of impatient horses that have stomped their feet in the chill.
Yes. I obsess about them. (Though Kremlin did always seem a tad bit overdone)
There is this Korean guy who often comes to J.U. Ming. To convert us…!!
No energy left for the lol here.
He gave me fluorescent green mobile charm in the shape of a Roman cross.
It stares at me in the darkness from under my pillow. Makes me fidget. And I barely have it in me to strip my phone off it before I crash.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
I for Idiot
I’m happy... I’m satisfied… I’m safe inside this vacuum… My rainbow bubble that hasn’t gone blip.. Yet!!
And a smirk and a bleh to you if you feel jealous!!
It is like walking into the street with your shades on and headphones plugged well in!
You can ogle incredulously at what people are doing (Reading...no... positively gawking at the Calcutta Times chicks with his 40 years old colleague on the last seat of an s9…wtf dude??…err…wtf uncle?, telling your date that you are 10 minutes away from Hiland Park when you haven’t crossed Science City yet… we can hear you!!cudnt you like at least lie in a lower tone??, wearing 3 fuck-bands…girl do you even know what they mean???)… And no one catches you staring … At least they can never be sure…
You can curse everybody in your mind.... And they can’t read it in your crinkled gaze…
You can have a crush on this random guy and flutter your eyelashes rapidly... Involuntarily... And not make it apparent …
What’s better... They can stare… They can hate… They can love… But they can never get to have you know!!
Your information being your choice!!
And I have pigs flying outside of my window!!
Utopia.
The pigs too. Then there would be KFP…And their hot wings would be HUGE!!
And yes! I’m positively psyched up right now….
Did you really need me to tell you that? No!!!
Cos I’m remembering those brightly illustrated ‘Once there was a Hedgehog’ books that mum used to get me from Vostok on days when I’d finished one whole chapter of K.C.Nag by myself! *shivers* Life revolved around Raduga Publishers.Moscow… I’m in love with Russian literature I had decided….
What was I thinking???????
Russian literature is so much more about War and Peace...
No wait… That one was easy…
It’s more about Anna Karenina… And Resurrection…!!
And the idea that there are people who have finished and understood them respectively…
Hell!! It’s about the people who had the gumption to write these books!!!
And did a day really have24 hours back then? Are you sure?
And presently... It’s about The Idiot…
Ages ago Facebook had told me that it was this book that describes my life in one of those quizzes that you take when you are fresh into it… And I had not published the result because of the very predictable comments it demanded…
Im a complex person.
Had I known back then... Id have been pleased with myself… Very pleased after all!!
*faints*
And a smirk and a bleh to you if you feel jealous!!
It is like walking into the street with your shades on and headphones plugged well in!
You can ogle incredulously at what people are doing (Reading...no... positively gawking at the Calcutta Times chicks with his 40 years old colleague on the last seat of an s9…wtf dude??…err…wtf uncle?, telling your date that you are 10 minutes away from Hiland Park when you haven’t crossed Science City yet… we can hear you!!cudnt you like at least lie in a lower tone??, wearing 3 fuck-bands…girl do you even know what they mean???)… And no one catches you staring … At least they can never be sure…
You can curse everybody in your mind.... And they can’t read it in your crinkled gaze…
You can have a crush on this random guy and flutter your eyelashes rapidly... Involuntarily... And not make it apparent …
What’s better... They can stare… They can hate… They can love… But they can never get to have you know!!
Your information being your choice!!
And I have pigs flying outside of my window!!
Utopia.
The pigs too. Then there would be KFP…And their hot wings would be HUGE!!
And yes! I’m positively psyched up right now….
Did you really need me to tell you that? No!!!
Cos I’m remembering those brightly illustrated ‘Once there was a Hedgehog’ books that mum used to get me from Vostok on days when I’d finished one whole chapter of K.C.Nag by myself! *shivers* Life revolved around Raduga Publishers.Moscow… I’m in love with Russian literature I had decided….
What was I thinking???????
Russian literature is so much more about War and Peace...
No wait… That one was easy…
It’s more about Anna Karenina… And Resurrection…!!
And the idea that there are people who have finished and understood them respectively…
Hell!! It’s about the people who had the gumption to write these books!!!
And did a day really have24 hours back then? Are you sure?
And presently... It’s about The Idiot…
Ages ago Facebook had told me that it was this book that describes my life in one of those quizzes that you take when you are fresh into it… And I had not published the result because of the very predictable comments it demanded…
Im a complex person.
Had I known back then... Id have been pleased with myself… Very pleased after all!!
*faints*
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Achromatic
Late one night...through the dark, damp smog,
Amidst it's particulate, articulate soft-nothing fingers,
I will return with the eventlessness of another demented day....
To where I live. Not my home.
To a dying fire and the clatter of steel garbage drums....
Of a bony cat jumping for a bony fish. Maybe a fishy bone.
Intoxicated laughter and intoxicated love...
I will paint the vacuum of my life.
...nudes, grays and ashen black.
And perhaps a touch of a corrupted white...
But before I wet my brush with smoky nostalgia,
Before I forget..
I will paint this glorious sunshine of today.
And you.
You can be my vermilion hue.
Amidst it's particulate, articulate soft-nothing fingers,
I will return with the eventlessness of another demented day....
To where I live. Not my home.
To a dying fire and the clatter of steel garbage drums....
Of a bony cat jumping for a bony fish. Maybe a fishy bone.
Intoxicated laughter and intoxicated love...
I will paint the vacuum of my life.
...nudes, grays and ashen black.
And perhaps a touch of a corrupted white...
But before I wet my brush with smoky nostalgia,
Before I forget..
I will paint this glorious sunshine of today.
And you.
You can be my vermilion hue.
Flight
On the gossamer mazes…and off wet pavements….
The blotted stars and the muted moon reflected their fragile gold...
Idle insects socialized around the chrome mist of the streetlight…in dizzying circles...
And from the intense darkness beneath came a chorus of invisible cicadas...
A muffled blast from the stereo next door made a white mass come to life on a slippery window sill…
Saucer eyes scanned all 360 degrees and took off in soundless flight…
The silhouetted figure that had been standing in a stupor against the wall had come back to life...
And was stumbling in into the pool of gloom that had accumulated in the alley...
Through the night’s unending rain…
With halting, faltering steps he was closing in…
Kicking a can out of the way, loudly breaking the atmosphere with shards of aluminium tyranny…
The spongy wooden boards of the stairs strained under his heavy booted feet…
There was a click at the door
And abruptly the music died…
The stillness that ensued was interrupted hours later…
With a shrill cry… stifled as soon as it left her mouth…
And then the owl returned to its perch again...
And kept watch over the clogged canal for movement…
Until dawn.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Wishing Well
Once upon a time in a faraway land, beyond the thrice ninth stardom, the thrice tenth realm, in a country of the coldest winds and the sallowest sun, lived a mighty tsar. His wife...the Tsarina was the most gorgeous creature that ever was seen with a wardrobe full of the most gorgeous Chanel dresses, Hermes scarves and Manolo Blahniks. The Tsarevich was a bit spoilt, like all princes are and spent his time lazing around. But he wasn’t too bad either. And there was also a Princess.
The last wasn’t very special. She spent most of her time Orkutting. So there shouldn’t be much to write about her anyway. But because I’m the one who’s writing this, I’ll write about her only and if you think that’s stupid…feel free to fuck off.
So they were all living lives there way when one fine day, riding up to the castle door comes a
handsome Prince. He wasn’t really a Prince but was bright and charming and swept the whole family quite off their feet. But most swept away was the Princess herself. It was love at first sight.
It made roses bloom and nightingales sing. It made the sun shine and the crop grow. The Princess loved him with all her heart and the feeling, she thought, was mutual.
Then one fine morning, the Prince was gone. The Princess was sure he had gone to bring her the wedding wreath of Golden Orchids from the neighboring kingdom …a flower that bloomed in Tsar Sergeii’s gardens. It was a flower so rare that only Tsar Sergeii’s daughter was allowed to pick it. And a nine headed dragon guarded the garden relentlessly. The princess was worried-but only just a bit-cause she was sure he’d slay the dragon. Princes always do. Duuh!
So she climbed her North Tower and awaited his return, her eyes on the road looking onto the horizon for the red cloud of dust that would signal the approach of the Prince’s steed and its handsome rider. A whole year passed by. And nobody came.
And then came the thirteen horsemen from Tsar Sergeii, begging the Tsar and his family to join him in his daughter’s wedding party.
It was the newest gossip in town. The Princess had gone to get her hair fixed when she caught it in the beautician’s.
The beautiful daughter of Tsar Sergeii had been picking flowers in her garden when a prince had come breaking in, slaying the dragon and demanding a golden wreath. i.e. till their eyes met. And it was love at first sight.
‘Yet again…’ thought the Princess, as she cried into her soggy pillow deep into the night. Night after night.
The wedding was to be a gala celebration. The Tsar wanted to go cause his favorite DJ Tiesto was going to play all evening. The Tsarina wanted to show off her newest thing from Prada. The Tsarevich wanted to go cause all princesses from neighboring kingdoms had been invited. The Princess didn’t want to go. She had a headache that no amount of Paracetamol could cure.
And as the Princess was the youngest of them all, and pretty spoilt, they just stayed at home and played poker with cookies.
It turned out to have been a blessing after all cause that night a storm started, the likes of which had never been seen before. The rain lashed against the tall minarets making the glass panes rattle and the lightning flashed across the sky and threatened to put the entire palace on fire. And this weather simply refused to pass! Seasons changed and the rain turned into snow. The sun took a permanent shelter under thick, steel-grey clouds. Not a bird sang. Not a flower blossomed. And nobody could leave their homes. It was like the entire kingdom was in mourning. An entire year passed like this.
Then one night when the storm had reached a crescendo there was a knock on the palace door. It was a travelling hermit seeking shelter. And obviously the kind old King let him in. He took the man to his library, warmed him by the blazing fire, gave him some hot chocolate and put him to bed in the fluffiest couch and read to him from the latest Harry Potter till he fell asleep.
The next morning they sat down to chat. The King told the hermit all his woes because the hermit was a wise man and the King hoped would be the one to help him out. The hermit told the King that peace would return to the kingdom when the princess’s inner peace was restored. And saying this, he walked away.
The King understood and was very pleased and smiled to himself. That is, he thought he understood and smiled to himself.
The next morning he called all his ministers and arranged for an archery competition where princes from all kingdoms near and far were invited. There was to be a rotating disc with a fish on it, fixed high above the archers’ heads, somewhere in the high vaulted ceiling. There was to be an urn of water placed directly below the fish. The archer had to see the reflection and shoot the arrow into the eye of the fish. The winner, it was guaranteed, would win not just the Princess’s hand but also half of the kingdom (of course the Tsarevich being rather foolish made no objections to this tomfoolery).
Princes came from all over the place. Princes with ruffs around their necks from the Pudding Island, princes with masked faces and billowing robes from Italy, princes wearing kilts from Scotland(they made the Princess giggle..she thought they looked gay!), princes on camels with exotic kohl lined eyes from the Asian deserts, princes with green complexion and antennae from Vernius planet of the Kapra system. There were also five princes of India, all rather good looking, of whom one won the contest.
But then the princess decided that the shoot-the-fish criteria had been sort of random. So she cancelled the whole project.
[The five brothers from India were very angry and planned a revenge on the Tsar all through their passage back home. But then they had another archery contest to attend with the same task as that of the tsar’s {spy systems were very developed back then} which they won, {all thanks to the previous practice}. They each won 1/5th of this really gorgeous princess which is why they not just forgave the tsar but also sent him an elephant as a gift.]
Back at the tsar’s kingdom, the tsar was having a tough time dealing with all the princes demanding a refund of the lottery and all. So he threatened to decrease the Princess’s pocket money if she did not choose one prince. Fast.
This worked.
And she selected the kohl eyed prince from Naishapur who she was pleased to find could not even hold a bow properly but was an awesome poet! The Princess had no intention of finally marrying him and had planned to make him flee by a show of her temper. But because of the tsar’s threat, she had to carry on with hanging around with this guy from Naishapur for some time first. She had thought this would kill her.
But Omar and she had a surprisingly good time. He gifted her intoxicating perfumes, exotic wines, and glorious silks from the East. He recited his poetry to her by the river at sunset and entertained her with stories of kings who wore diamond-studded turbans, queens who ruled over these kings and the mighty domed palaces where they resided.
The Princess had almost contemplated smiling.
That night at dinner, the king announced to his friends and subjects that he had great news.
The Princess was to be wed! On hearing this Prince of Naishapur threw a bachelor’s party. All the castle’s men got drunk and dropped like dead men on the floor and over the Persian rugs, intoxicated.
On hearing this The Princess clutched the arms of her chair so tightly that her knuckles went white, cheeks went red and eyes glittered like diamonds. Then she threw a bachelorette party and all the castle’s women got drunk and dropped off as well.
Next morning, the Princess was not to be found. ‘Kidnapped’ said the king.
‘Escaped’ said the Master of the Stables. Their fastest steed was also missing.
But the king was not to be bothered. He had been getting more than a little pissed off by the princess’s mood swings and antics. So he sighed. The reason being relief and Velocity (Velocity being the horse). He also sent Omar back to Naishapur…camels, poetry and all. He kept the wine to himself though.
Anyway.. The princess and her fleet steed… well they travelled far and they travelled wide when suddenly they saw a sign by the road.
‘Wishing Well’ it said.
‘How kind of you!’ said the Princess and was moving away when Velocity (he could talk, of course) explained to her its true meaning and took her to the well.
That Tiara from Tiffany’s….a box of Hershey’s…God! It was a difficult task, deciding.
And then, she thought of her Prince.
And the moment she thought of him the surface of the water started to churn and to glow. And when it grew still again she could see his clear reflection in the water. Smiling and handsome as ever. Beside him stood his rosy bride. And they cuddled their newborn child in their arms.
The princess’s vision became blurred and a tear plopped into the well. The moment it touched the water, the spirit of the well appeared and granted the princess one wish. She shook, and faltered.
And she knew what she wanted. ‘I wish him eternal happiness’ said she.
And the spirit disappeared. The images on the water faded. The sun had set. And the Princess sat in the darkness crying. She realized how selfish she had been. She regretted, repented and cried. And with each tear she shed, a new spirit appeared and hovered over the water waiting for her to make a wish.
When finally she stopped crying, she could see through a teary haze that a crowd had collected over the well. And the haloes around their heads had turned the night into day. She had to make wishes.
She wished her kingdom cheer. She wished that the people would be joyful once more. That there be crop in the bare fields, a sun in the overcast sky and song in the birds once more. She wished peace to her father, vanishing wrinkles for her mother and a girlfriend for her brother. She wished for success for Omar.
Finally there remained just one more wish left. And she wished for herself some happiness.
That very moment, she slipped and fell into the well.
The steed returned to the palace and told the king what had happened. There was a countrywide screening of Walt Disney Enchanted (2007). And the subjects rested in peace knowing that their Princess was somewhere in New York, alive and well and married to this handsome lawyer.
But no Princess ever climbed out of a manhole in the Times’ Square.
Because you see, the well did grant her wish. One smile as the overwhelming sense of nothingness swept over her and the silent, dark water hugged her tight.
A frog croaked somewhere in the darkness. She never lived happily ever after. But then again, all was well.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Leaving Death
The earth trembles under a sky so fair,
The ravens, they shriek a warning call,
Somewhere deep there..
Creeping out of the lair..
She goes to stain the autumn leaves.
Redder.
There is a smell in the Taiga,
Of crisp, fresh fear.
Providence denies as lives frenziedly implore.
The waterfront grows dark with death and reflects,
Magnitude of uncertainty, impossible to ignore.
A fluttering ceases with innocence unscathed.
Fragrant silence.
A dead artery whispers the triumph of life.
And autumn was never so bright before.
The ravens, they shriek a warning call,
Somewhere deep there..
Creeping out of the lair..
She goes to stain the autumn leaves.
Redder.
There is a smell in the Taiga,
Of crisp, fresh fear.
Providence denies as lives frenziedly implore.
The waterfront grows dark with death and reflects,
Magnitude of uncertainty, impossible to ignore.
A fluttering ceases with innocence unscathed.
Fragrant silence.
A dead artery whispers the triumph of life.
And autumn was never so bright before.
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