There was severe voltage fluctuation in our house for the last few days which resulted in our computer, our washing machine and my DVD player blowing up all at once.
Shuchita and I are running the Oscar race. We've planned to watch all the movies nominated for Best Picture. So far I've only seen 'Brokeback Mountain.' Lush visuals and matter-of-fact homosexuality is what I've processed so far.
I had a beautiful Valentine's Day. I attended a Philosophy lecture on euthanasia, learnt that my French oral had got postponed, heard S and Prithvi sing, felt happy and warm, went to Apache and had gorgeous cheese sandwiches and this cocktail called Go 2 Hell, got vaguely high, cuddled with Varun and Prithvi, had a good sale at TnT, cuddled with S and Geeta and walked a bit with the moon.
7 years ago on Valentine's Day, I was in Lake Gardens...wearing a pink, satin Barbie nightie, my bed a nest of pillows so I was propped up enough to look out of my window and see the road lit weirdly with moonlight.
2 years ago, I was on a couch... a body I loved kissing and touching me with minimum fuss.
This year, I looked it in the eye, shrugged and celebrated.
I managed to whack S across the mouth with a book while trying to hug him. He pretended to bleed, but it didn't happen and he finally bought 'Where God was Born' for 417 bucks. S and I abuse each other a lot. I like talking about him and hearing about him. I like talking to him and listening to him (the latter happens more frequently). I hug him a lot and he's ok with the bodily contact. I like touching him and hearing him sing. I say a lot of sarcastic things about him with complete dishonesty. He's someone I know a little and would like to know a lot.
I've been thinking about him a lot lately and I wanted this no-frills polysection.

I'm reading Amit Chaudhuri. 'A Strange and Sublime Address' is beautiful. Calcutta leaps and runs screaming ahead of the reader leaving behind intense sensation. I've moved on to 'Afternoon Raag' now. Left is 'Freedom Song.'

Thanks to Geeta and S, I have started listening to classical musician Amir Khan. I never liked classical music. But Amir Khan gives me images. Leaves rolling in mud. Pleas for deliverance. Mirror images of two women at sunrise. It is poetry. Repetition adds to the intensity. These are people who don't need words in their music. Technical perfection is their medium of expression and it's a passion.

Good night.

I'd like to say I'm sorry. So so sorry. But it doesn't cover it. Nothing does.
A few weeks ago, the father of one of our regular customers died. I was shocked. I remember telling someone that death had 'never really touched me.' There is such a thing as fate. And I have gone too far in mocking it. I was disturbed, but briefly. It was a first for me.
Today, three members of my family are gone. Murdered. It's as though death is 'touching' me in degrees. I cried for the first time over a death. Felt so terrified. Helpless.
When I heard of the death of our customer's father, I was alarmed at my own reaction. I had never faced it before, and i was afraid that when someone close to me died, I would not be able to face it.
I was right.I don't want any more 'touching.' I am scared.

Today was 'Sari and Tie Day' in college. Some of the girls wore ties and looked truly beautiful. The rest of them wore saris and jingled and preened and squealed at each other. I like wearing saris, but only if I can run around barefoot in them. I detest high-heeled shoes, with the exception of my boots. Another disadvantage of a sari is that I love bike-rides and I can't sit sideways on a bike.
On the topic of shoes, you'll see me in my black, leather, ankle-length boots or in bright-red Oshos. I have a pair of purple, leather slip-ons with clunky, brass buckles which I love but hardly wear. I have one pair of formal stillettoes which cause my feet to scream in protest. I wear them for drunken dancing.
My father has 'the adult version of chicken-pox' and is under house-arrest for a week. He isn't a good patient, becomes deliberately pathetic. Unfortunately, none of us have had any version of chicken-pox so we're all experiencing psychological itching.
I had one of those evenings where my lips felt too dry to smile. Everytime I tried, it was just a horizontal crack across my face. My reviews are reading stale. Thank goodness for Geeta and Vernon who hugged it all away.