Totally tired. Went to Bansdrani to see Debika. Talked about marriage and women and responsibility and companionship. I don't get radical with her, but it's a sane, sweet thing to have discussions with her. It's like talking to Vidushi. People who believe in God and duty and that love is essentially 'good.' I don't belong to either side neither am I a neutral. I can choose to look at both sides academically. I'm passionate about people...I'd pray for certain people even if i didn't believe in God, but God in the abstract is again a matter of choice. When I did belive, it was because I liked thinking that I had a Higher Power to listen to my whining, and to yell at when things went wrong. I'm using capital 'G's' for God. Not sure what that means.
Just spoke to Mom. She's trying to think of a covertly sexual way to describe breast of chicken in puffed pastry.
Any suggestions? I want to see her so badly. I need comfort. god's not there any more.

Lack of appetite and constant feeling of nausea is getting on my nerves. While I look at emotional sickness as a test of endurance, physical sickness irks me and makes me feel weak.

Had first meeting of Umbra today. Not much to say except it was far more comfortable than I expected. We've yet to decide on the terms and conditions. We'll be doing our first production in July. I'm probably not here, but it's nice being a part of it. I'll be in touch with theatre and with the group.
I'm having sudden, horrible urges to squelch somebody.

Blood warmly staining pure whiteness. Who says white is pure anyway?
Sniffle sniffle cough blow sniffle cough cough...that's my language today. I can be anything I want. It's choice. It's need.
What if I never get bored? What if I don't need constant physical motion? What if I'm always vague and 'crabbity' as Jivraj used to say? Mmmm...used to say. USED to.
If I write a bestseller real quick and get rich I know just where to invest.
The sight of food is making me nauseous. Everything else is making me irritable.
I've been asked to drink plenty of warm fluids. So naturally I went out and bought an ice-cold pepsi and poured it down my throat at one go. Big deal. I've drunk baygon spray.
The fan's whirring. It's too close. The modem's watching me with red, slit-like eyes.

I just said 'no' to applying for a BBA and MBA blah blah from IIPM. dadu looked very disappointed but I can't humour him right now. I hate business stuff..why don't people get that? I think I shall re-name my blog Pain Pamper. Or Whine...something.
Exactly where is all this getting me? Ok, a lot of writing material but at the cost of? I choose my reactions right? I've never believed people who think themselves to be helpless in the wave of their emotions or whatever. But choosing pain is getting to be a habit. I thought I could handle anything. I've pushed my endurance limits, daring my system to let me down. And it crashed.
Let's forget what people have said or might say. I care very deeply. And this is important to me. There is huge regret. I hate regrets. A yearning to get close, warmth, affection. To be allowed to know him again. To hear him mimic Yogi Bear once more. It's scary at times. Or used to be. Now I accept it casually. I'm in the role of giver. I cast myself in it. I'm not a martyr and I don't aspire to be one. It's the only way I can be linked. And I've made a conscious choice to be linked somehow. I'm not sure if I believe in a Higher Power, but I'll pray for him.

DAMMIT!..I will not make myself vulnerable. Out of all the people I know all the people who matter all the people to whom I have given power ONE PERSON has this much of a hold on me. One person makes me lonely and makes me afraid of it. I destroyed nearly all the tangible evidence. But visions can't be destroyed. Links which have nothing to do with me hurt me terribly.
So many times I think I'v adapted so well to being alone. But I have one unfinished intimacy. Was it even there? If it wasnt, what is it that hurts me? And makes me want to be tender? Everytime I feel far away from you I hurt terribly.
You're a stranger I used to know. I haven't given you all I want..

PHEW!!....history and sociology over. 7 hours in Rotary Sadan, even my blisters went red with cold. Doesn't seem so bad now that it's over. I've missed blogging. And now I can look forward to reading and music and Pune. YEE-HA!!

In the words of Truman Capote I have a major case of the mean reds. An impending sense of terror. Claustrophobhia. A certainty that I'm being closed in on. Drumbeats. Louder, deeper. Visions that cause strings in my chest to vibrate. Lumpy heaviness...
Learning is rushing past me.

I've been burning paper.
I lit a pink peony candle and held pages to the flame.
Sometimes the burning paper took on a greenish tinge.
The flame reached my fingers once.
The middle finger and the thumb of my left hand.
I saved one page.
I got nauseous and dizzy.
I cut up and crumpled the rest of the pages.
I gloried in destroying wholeness.
I was a voyeur today and I relished destroying intimacy.
I did it for attention.
I'm writing it here for attention.
For drama.
I got torn between hysterics and histrionics.
There's a skeleton inside me.
It's not my own.

Just enjoyed a leisurely lunch with Dadu, listening to stories of the Freedom Movement. It's moments like these that make me feel that perhaps the last four years haven't been a complete waste. I mean, hearing about my Great-grandfather who disguised himself as a sanyasi and helped a young boy who had shot one of the District Magistrates to escape and Colonel Maitra who shot an ailing Japanese officer and saw his image in a photograph of himself and a friend that was taken some months later...there's enrichment in that.

I took up paintbrush and palette yesterday after years and made a birthday card for Dad. Quite enjoyed it. Maybe I'll take up the piano again too.
The only thing that soothes me these days is drumbeats.

My oldest and patient-est friend and i have decided that when we finally melt with the heat, we are going to flow all the way to the Niagara or Angel Falls and join them. And we'll chat on our way down :)
I do NOT understand the stock market. And if the expression on my grandmother's face everytime she watches the market news is anything to go by, I'm better off not knowing.

Arrgh!!! I'm doing it again!! Wanting to be like a certain person. I'm re-reading everything I've written to see if that person would approve. Goodbye.

Today's studying consisted of staring at my books and debating whether or not to open them. I'm not too worried about history. There's no conflict between what we've been taught and what CIE expects. Sociology...that's another story. When Dr. Nandan looks at sociology, he sees infinite possibility, knowledge, understanding. When CIE looks at it, they see...their textbook which is meant to be studied at Montessori level!!

It's easier..and safer to love a memory. To be devoted to it. I don't want fear to be the only thing standing between me and a new experience. I'm cutting myself off before I say too much.....

Ok, there's the USA and the USSR. Both are screaming 'Yea baby look at me..I got more weapons to blow up the world..more ICBM's and MIRV's to screw people's lives.' And THAT made history!!?! A whole 11 pages of history according to Vadney. YEESH!!
I finished 'Ignorance' today. Actually, I never really 'finish' Kundera on the first read. That would be gross disrespect:p Seriously, the only reason I read him is that he stretches me.

I'd like to give a little to a certain person. But that someone can't accept it. And the non-acceptance of that someone has flowed into me in the form of sadness and an alarming resignation.

I need to be held. Just feel. Feel connection, touch...feel wanted. I'm not sure if this is platonic need. I need softness and quiet talk.

I am in mushy, silly and slightly whiny mood. Sitting with a Cheshire Cat grin and rocking to and fro and nodding my head. Three guesses why!?!
Went to Landmark today. God I could swallow that place whole. One really can't be unhappy or bored for long when there are such things as books and bookshops in the world. The only thing I'm really single-minded about is my writing. Everything else I do, a tiny part of me separates itself to analyse. I criticise and analyse what I write, but I give myself to it wholly and naturally. Theatre comes close. It's such a kick-ass feeling getting into someone else's skin.

It's weird how a nice word or term of endearment from certain people affect me :)
oops Gestapo on the prowl.

Highly annoying day. What with the heat and the Gestapo going into hyper-action...PHEW!! I cried a little. Not nice dissolving that way. But holding back doesn't make me stronger. This is very hurried..anytime now the Gestapo might gas me. I can't be completely frank dammit. I want people to read my blog. So..there's stuff i can't publish. Sad sad sad. I think I'll throw stuff out the window and then go hire me a matador van and driver and go for a ride! I've kept looking at my cell expecting..no HOPING for a call or message. I think I'll pretend I never wrote that last line. never thought of it. That's my doppelganger who wrote it. Who's in such a rotten mood. Let's pretend this is a conversation. I wish..oh nothing..just..forget it. No tell me. It's nothing really. Did you know I'm mad at you and you make me cry? Silence. Must we bring it up? Yes we must. There's no other bond. Whatever. Get over it. What? You know there's a cure. The cure is...sort of taken. Anyway.........

A special person turned 18 today.Our relationship is somewhat uncategorized. Traditionally speaking, we should circle each other like suspicious vultures. We're linked by blogs, sms,theatre,one conversation that took place on January 12th,her present and my past...

She grabbed my mind when she defined love as 'economic independence coupled with compromise'. Then again when she spoke of 'The Silk Route'. When she said that maturity didn't mean control. I think of her as a frenzy. She draws stick-figures in the margins of her exercise books. She drew one of me.
I often felt insignificant around her. When all I knew of her were sharp edges and dazzling light. She's an arrogant realist who gets hyper because she knows her history syllabus and is taking it in calmly. And she feels she probably shouldn't be. She's easy with her body and her biggest addiction is learning.
She needs to touch people and to know she has.
I still wonder if I've touched her. Really touched her.
She's a link to another special person. Is that why I'm so protective of her? She says 'true' and 'that's true'a lot when we're on the phone.
Her constant demand for attention wearies me. I know I'd trust her with all my vulnerability and rawness.
She matters...
Happy Birthday Mrin.

I was asked if i would ever smoke up and when I replied in the negative, I was asked why.
Why?
I don't care much for public opinion. It's not about morality.
It's not something I could tell Mum.
I'm addicted to addictions.

I have a sudden wish to blush and drop my lids again. I've given up that feeling. Why?
I've wanted to be like Someone. A confident, humorous, rebellious Someone who is passionate and full of contradictions.
I want to sink deep into Nat King Cole and Jim Reeves and Alanis Morrissette.
Why the conflict?
I need to be torn apart and comforted.
Originality is a comparision. If I wiped out everyone from my life, would I be original?
There's a dividing line between what I can write and what others can read. The quotient, once again is conflict..

I went to Landmark today. Idon't feel that way about any other bookshop. I love just walking around, enjoying the space, the music and the shelves of books. I was restless today and wanted something hard-hitting and disjointed. It wasn't one book I wanted, but dips and flashes of as many as possible.

Being a role model is tough. My whole life I've been seen as the sober, steady older sister who could take anything in her stride. It's another reason I strive to crash softly. Dr Nandan said that it's not the act that matters, it's the reactions of others. He was referring to crime and labelling but..I think it goes for everything.

I'm tired of barriers. There are lines I CANNOT cross with people I genuinely care about. Either I'm invading their private space, or there's been too much between us or.......something. Touch is evading me. I slept with a familiar scent the night before last. I'm completely out of touch with who I was a little over a year ago. She wasn't so restless. She could look into people's eyes and feel. She was virulently anti-smoking. She wasn't sarcastic or cynical...nor did she try to be. She didn't know a lot of things, but was pretty clear about the things she did know. She was mushy and everything mattered and it showed. I think she's still around. She's watching me with pensive, wondering eyes. She doesn't judge me, but she's hoping I don't forget her. Me too...

I bought the OST of 'Mr Holland's Opus' today. I love the movie and identify completely with Richard Dreyfuss's character(kerrecter)!
Everytime I write in here, I panic. People will read this...they'll judge me..oh my god let me sound a little more mature..yeesh no one will understand THAT...
I wish I didn't get so lonely whenever a certain person's name comes up. Images of black and white linoleum..the squeak of sandals...someone waiting at the bottom of a staircase with outstretched arms, the hands beckoning..

Funny how one dot symbolizes stop and more than that symbolize incompleteness and the possibility of continuity.

High

My room wore nothing but darkness. The occasional flash of lightning cut through. I didn't have to think about the heavy shapes or what they entailed. There are words hidden in there. Books,old letters and notes,song-lyrics,diaries...
Tonight there's a black bag. It has words too, but they aren't important. It's the scent.
It smells of comfort and confusion. Of eye-contact and touch.
Of ruthless hands.