letter

Dear People Who Want What's Best For me.
I am a Drifter.
Deal with it.

With very genuine regards
Me.

I raise my glass

To one of the most exasperating people I know. She's almost through college and has landed herself TWO great jobs. She's making her way through a steady romance, and has grown so, so much. Very proud me is.

What I Have

Do you see? There is a scratch above my mouth, a curving scar deep in the warmth of my left thigh. My knees are folds of flesh, their shape indifferent.
I may not be featured on glossy pages, so they say.
You know.
How much I love my body.
The shuuders of it, the sharp hair and every fall it took for me. How much I love it when it moves. When it is quiet, when
it screams.
You know.
My belly, with its round, soft richness. The perfection of my navel.
The bones of my hip, when I stand before you, leaning slightly.
I love to dance. My body wriggles and shapes itself like no other. My legs awaken, my pixie shoulders scream for attention. My body with all the scent of the sea where my thighs part. The power of the eagle's eye where my spine begins. The soul of my flesh and bone between my eyes.
This, this is what sinks into your image. Here is what I love, the utmost I want to give.
Did you know?

Would the MADhatter dine with you?

The MADhatter would love to dine with you! He immediately senses that you are an excitable eccentric mess who is in desperate need of some direct madness! The evening runs smothley and you eat crazy dishes from the very corners of Wonderland. After dining you do a several tribal dances and twirl and shout war cries. After all this you paint yourself with multicoloured paints and celebrate the end of the evening by shooting colourful streamers at bunny rabbits. He then lulls you into a deep sleep and sends you home flying a beautiful bird. Take this quiz!

Yaba Daba Do (you) ;)

Your Pickup Line Is

I may not be Fred Flintstone but I can make your bed rock

The Magical Pick Up Line Generator

And so...goodbye

Cords snap, entire hard-spun webs crumble....
And nothing must stop.

This holding on has stretched and diminished
me
Your eyes have grown dimmer
As though you have tired of the insistence
Of this love

As though my every word, every step
I took towards touching you
again...
was a question asked of you
Asked..
Over and over again.
It is easier, and safer to love a memory
But the spinning cannot stop.
The dreams, the colour, the bodies we shall know
The threads and patterns on our spindle
Will go on.

You, whole,in fragments
silent in your joy and your sleep
so beautiful

I can gather up my own pieces quietly
I will not thrust my breakage on you

Honestly

I love you.
It's as simple, as complicated as that

Very sleepy and blah. Sat down to re-write and polish something I scribbled in class this morning, but.....just too tired. Pigwidgeon left a sweet goodnight msg on my bed last night. Thank you again.

Throwing Punches!

Some idiot tried to force their way into the Store today. Our glass door with its beautiful etchings is now in half.
Whoever you are, you're a major creep. A Major Creep! And I solemnly swear to kill you in the cold-bloodest possible way if I ever find out who you are. Or, at least render you incapable of ever having kids.
My colleague and I were left alone in the Store only for about 15 minutes. I spent the entire time standing just outside the doorway with my arms folded, narrowing my eyes at anyone I deemed suspicious.
And I did something I've never done before. After pulling down the shutter, I pressed my hand to the faithful metal, then touched my forehead and my chest....

Land

I want to navigate you with as much care as possible. What if I miss out? Would you let me start again? Will you?

Nostalgia isn't what it used to be...

Monday evenings are Me-Time. I snarl at intruders.
I love evening. Tis is a pity that most people are either at work or swearing at the traffic at this time. I walk to work these days, and I try to leave early so as not to run.Pune roads are too harsh for evening.

I just walked on our lawn. I removed my slippers and walked on the grass. I hate that all the apartments look out onto the lawn. With a little hidden-ness, I could have lain down on the grass. We used to do it school. During the sports season. I'm no sportsperson, but I loved being outdoors all day. I would read, counsel all those who were running and scream my lungs out cheering for my friends. I had the grass, wide spaces and the winter sun.
Lying down on grass is supremely sensual. And extremely private. You feel it rough at first, prickling in your skin. Then, gradually....it yields. Or maybe your skin yields. And suddenly, shoes seem a burden.
I miss our playground. They should make playgrounds for adults. Swings and slides and lots of space to dance around and spin with joy. Should be compulsory in all corporates.
I love to swing. Both the heavy, gentle jhoola and the childlike dolna are happy seats. In school, my legs would fly up to meet the wind, my hair falling out of its Puritan Plait. I was far more inhibited back then and didn't often indulge in the swing.
My home consists of a big library with wood-panelling and a floor-to-ceiling ladder. Hammocks, both to sit in and to sleep in, a bay window, a jhoola and a dolna. All on my very own lawn where no other balconies peep to watch me and my very own grass.

Ode to an Oliphaunt Memory

Just got back from the House of Jo-Tie. Ate, played Pictionary, hung out with the Angel and listened to some nostalgia.
I heard 'Mera Saaya' after a long time. S played it to me one night over the phone. Our house had painters and strange carpenters at the time so we were staying with friends. I came home to call him. Because I said I would. And he played beautiful old songs.

I would die without memories, and without making them.

I give smiles to my memories now. I keep them in a lavender-black tinted corner and dust them and re-fragrance them. They make me unsure, leave me laughing, crying and shove me forward. My memories don't always want me, but they've assured me that they're there even when I'm not looking.

Home

Sometimes I rent little bits of myself out to the world. It gives me ideas, opinion, stretches me, moulds me into strange shapes. I give it Listening. I uncoil my elastic body and slip and slither around firmer forms, hearing, acknowledging, sometimes agreeing....
Sometimes I go too far and some invisible root pulls me back. I return....and sit quietly. There is a wholeness in this. And this is what I keep with me, no matter how great my despair.

The Orderly Life of a Silkworm

I'm re-reading 'The Lord of the Rings'. I like 'The Two Towers' better than 'The Fellowship of the Ring'. The first time I read the series, I sort of garbled through it, lost in the maze of names.
Now I delight in 'Galadriel', 'Eowyn', 'The Nameless Pass', 'Boromir', 'Aragorn, 'Lorelindorenan...' I love how the characters introduce themselves as 'son of whatever-grand-name'.
I've just finished 'The Two Towers' and am eagerly awaiting entrance into 'The Return of the King.' I desperately want 'Silmarillion' so any kind offers from my wise and fair readers will be greatly appreciated.

I've read 'Book of Rachel' twice now. Tis engaging in its simplicity. Makes me want to wear soft, cotton sharee and smell of earth and coconut and tamarind.

Yummy Churan (see prev post) has been licked clean. From fingers, bottle and the furniture where it spilled. Goodbye dearest friend! You may not be eminently replaceble for a few weeks yet.

Outside of books and my random snacking, things are slightly dragging. Twas the Director's birthday last Saturday. Our clan walked in fashionably late, balancing three cakes. There was this great drink called Alize which I had about 6 glasses of, and hence turned very effervescent. I recall saying something about sticking a swordfish up some woman's well-you-know. Am sure twas for entirely honourable reasons.
Tis nice going to parties where you know everyone and the venue is one where you're entirely comfortable.
TnT Annual Overnight Picnic coming up in a couple of weeks. We're probably going river-rafting, so much excitement there.
College is slow but am going regularly. M has gone home for a week and I'm glad. She needed the break.
Am still wallowing, and loving every minute. Tis less now, but not irregular.

Watching the Sleep of you
the Tension between your shoulders
and your Eyes
how your Smile
insisted on Hiding
Teeth

But you laugh sometimes
and the Smile forgets.....

Forgetfulness

The name of the author is the first to go followed obediently by the title, the plot,the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novelwhich suddenly becomes one you have never read, never even heard of,

as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain,
to a little fishing village where there are no phones.

Long ago you kissed the names of the nine Muses goodbye and watched the quadratic equation pack its bag,
and even now as you memorize the order of the planets,

something else is slipping away, a state flower perhaps,the address of an uncle, the capital of Paraguay.

Whatever it is you are struggling to remember,
it is not poised on the tip of your tongue,
not even lurking in some obscure corner of your spleen.

It has floated away down a dark mythological river
whose name begins with an L as far as you can recall,
well on your own way to oblivion where you will join
those who have even forgotten how to swim and how to ride a bicycle.

No wonder you rise in the middle of the night to look up the date of a famous battle in a book on war.No wonder the moon in the window seems to have driftedout of a love poem that you used to know by heart.

Billy Collins

Thanks Shibani, for sending this :)

happy littles

Am sittng and nibbling on yummy churan. I inflict torture on my bowels. Seriously. I can consume an alarming amount of chips, aachaar, hajmola, white tic-tac....
My mum loves fresh fruit and doodh-bhaat. Baba, on the other hand sometimes eats Haldirams's chana nuts for breakfast. And then is horrified when he sees me eating potassium-enriched sausages. Ki aar boli.

On an old, painful note....I'm over It. Tis a shame....there was much learning to be shared. But it's done. I'm well on my way to healing.

Time after time

Lying in my bed I hear the clock tick,
And think of you
Caught up in circles, confusion
Is nothing new
Flashback... warm nights
Almost left behind
Suitcases of memories,
Time after

Sometimes you picture me
I'm walking too far ahead
You're calling to me,
I can't hear
What you've said
Then you say go slow
I fall behind
The second hand unwinds

If you're lost you can look and you will find me
Time after time
If you fall I will catch you I'll be waiting
Time after time
If youre lost you can look and you will find me
Time after time
If you fall I will catch you I'll be waiting
Time after time

After my picture fades and darkness has
Turned to gray
Watching through windows youre wondering
If I'm ok
Secrets stolen from deep inside
The drum beats out of time

If you're lost you can look and you will find me
Time after time
If you fall I will catch you Ill be waiting
Time after time

You said go slow
I fall behind
The second hand unwinds

If you're lost you can look and you will find me
Time after time
If you fall I will catch you I'll be waiting
Time after time

Time after time
Time after time
Time after time

Cyndi Lauper

I know people who roll joints all day because they're bored. Then they light up, inhale deeply, gaze blankly at each other and go 'hmm yeah.' Some kind of Stoner Language which I only half comprehend, since I only smoke tobacco.
(scratches nose, shakes head and sighs)

I'm looking forward to this year. Expecting plenty of energy, swings in hammocks, lovemaking, and definite writing, plenty of beautiful books and a goodly amount of porashona. I will live deep inside some people and make lots of Tia-time. I will kick some misshapen butt.

All looks good.