siiiighh

I'm restless today. There's a storm brewing outside, I love storms. Tis been a humid day and I napped in the afternoon without the air-conditioner. I preferred the heavy, moist air and my fan.
I'm very bleh and I don't like it. I need some major re-energizing, and to get out of the house. I need rain and laughter and nonsense and bad jokes. And attention!

Had a long chat with Neha last night. We used to have them twice a day at one point of time. Neha and Shakun are my Happily Ever After relationships :)
I miss them!!!!
I like people whose worlds I can enter and exit at will. And then pick up the threads again. I chase any kind of learning about people who matter.

Tagged

by Oliver
Hi there :)


1. Pick out a scar you have, and explain how you got it:
Burn-mark on my chest. Diwali about 6 or 7 years back. On the terrace. My cousin waving a sparkler, a spark went down my neckline...grin.

2. What is on the walls in your room?
There are 4 sketches of Calcutta, a mirror with stickers and letters, a mask which looks like a fork and my sticky-board which has concert passes, cards and such-like.

3. What does your phone look like?
a flat hunk of steel with fancy buttons and a screen.


4. What music do you listen to?
recently....it's been Pink Floyd, Dhoom-2,Carnatic classical and this one song by Patrick Park :)

5. What is your current desktop picture?
aaaahh...tis that one of the moon over a volcano.

6. What do you want more than anything right now?
a good book with my name as the author,a lot of money,a lover, exams to get over


7. Do you believe in gay marriage?
Believe as in do I believe you can be gay and married or can such a marriage last or what? Sheesh! I'm not a big fan of marriage, but heck if you want to, why should it matter if you're gay?

8. What time were you born?
4:17 pm.

9. Are your parents still together?
No.

10. What are you listening to?
my fan whirring and the beeps from my computer.

12. The last person to make you cry?
is gone.

13. What is your favourite perfume/cologne?
212 by Carolina Herrera and Spiced Green Tea by Elizabeth Arden

14. What kind of hair/eye colour do you like on the opposite sex?
the eyes need to be able to look me straight, hair should smell good and be ungelled.

15. Do you like pain killers?
dude, i'm a masochist ok!

16. Are you too shy to ask someone out?
Dunno. If I like someone, I make it obvious, but have never actually said 'will you go out with me?'

17. Fave pizza topping?
Pepperoni and extra cheese.

18. If you could eat anything right now, what would it be?
Lays Magic Masala, Coke, and I'd like a smoke please.


19. Who was the last person you made mad?
I'll call him the Router. Ever since I've known him, he's been the last person I made mad :)

20. Is anyone in love with you?
Nah, they prefer being fascinated from a distance.

I tag Debs, Jahnavi and the Insane Rambler
and Prachi

Ok, so I'm halfway through my papers, and so far none have been disasters. I've a massive pile of reading to do for my philosophy paper and then there are my two Honours papers.
With all this Papering about, my stomach has become unhappy and is on the run. My circadian clock seems to have adjusted itself to US time already, refuses to sleep till 5 am. Oh and I sing Beatles songs to my router to make it work.
Ah the Great Intoxication of Examinations.

I do wish people from the family would quit asking me about exams. Yes I know you all worry and you hope that I shall get into a great university and all that but....YOU JUST DON'T GET IT! OK? Unless you're my batchmate or at least college-going yourself, you really have no clue what it is in this exam, this time. So please PLEASE don't ask me about notes and how it went and am I studying ok? Cos no matter how supremely educated you are, you really have no clue about S.Y.B.A 2007 in my college.
(Let it stay that way)

Real Beauty

This is part of the Dove Real Beauty Campaign. Have a look and tell me what you think. A big thank you to the Insane Rambler.

Here's the video.

w/e

No interest in stupid psych syllabus. Dad will probably have to mortgage the house twice over and auction off his music collection to send me to university. My net connection is so screwed that this probably won't get published.
Why don't I just place an ad in a matrimonial website in the bargain?

Postcards from a Promenade

A production by the students of Wolverhampton University undergoing training in dance-drama.
As a novice in this field of theatre, what I notice most is the deliberation of the body. Even in stillness, there is no carelessness in movement or in touch. Beautiful awareness of the body, and pride in it.
Thanks Royona di, for sharing.

Love

For the young who want to
by Marge Piercy

Talent is what they say
you have after the novel
is published and favorably
reviewed. Beforehand what
you have is a tedious
delusion, a hobby like knitting.

Work is what you have done
after the play is produced
and the audience claps.
Before that friends keep asking
when you are planning to go
out and get a job.

Genius is what they know you
had after the third volume
of remarkable poems. Earlier
they accuse you of withdrawing,
ask why you don't have a baby,
call you a bum.

The reason people want M.F.A.'s,
take workshops with fancy names
when all you can really
learn is a few techniques,
typing instructions and some-
body else's mannerisms

is that every artist lacks
a license to hang on the wall
like your optician, your vet
proving you may be a clumsy sadist
whose fillings fall into the stew
but you're certified a dentist.

The real writer is one
who really writes. Talent
is an invention like phlogiston
after the fact of fire.
Work is its own cure. You have to
like it better than being loved.

from The Moon Is Always Female, 1980

Found on cdeliascarpitti. Thank you, and thank you mahima for the link.

Tragic Heroine



Ishtyle!

Right on Wendy!

I found this on Sunayana's blog.
Readers are requested to have either a not-easily-freaked-out mind or a great sense of humour or a uterus.
Enjoy.


AN OPEN LETTER TO
MR. JAMES THATCHER,
BRAND MANAGER,
PROCTER & GAMBLE.

February 6, 2007

Dear Mr. Thatcher,

I have been a loyal user of your Always maxi pads for over 20 years, and I appreciate many of their features. Why, without the LeakGuard Core™ or Dri-Weave™ absorbency, I'd probably never go horseback riding or salsa dancing, and I'd certainly steer clear of running up and down the beach in tight, white shorts. But my favorite feature has to be your revolutionary Flexi-Wings. Kudos on being the only company smart enough to realize how crucial it is that maxi pads be aerodynamic. I can't tell you how safe and secure I feel each month knowing there's a little F-16 in my pants.

Have you ever had a menstrual period, Mr. Thatcher? Ever suffered from "the curse"? I'm guessing you haven't. Well, my "time of the month" is starting right now. As I type, I can already feel hormonal forces violently surging through my body. Just a few minutes from now, my body will adjust and I'll be transformed into what my husband likes to call "an inbred hillbilly with knife skills." Isn't the human body amazing?

As brand manager in the feminine-hygiene division, you've no doubt seen quite a bit of research on what exactly happens during your customers' monthly visits from Aunt Flo. Therefore, you must know about the bloating, puffiness, and cramping we endure, and about our intense mood swings, crying jags, and out-of-control behavior. You surely realize it's a tough time for most women. In fact, only last week, my friend Jennifer fought the violent urge to shove her boyfriend's testicles into a George Foreman Grill just because he told her he thought Grey's Anatomy was written by drunken chimps. Crazy!

The point is, sir, you of all people must realize that America is just crawling with homicidal maniacs in capri pants. Which brings me to the reason for my letter.

Last month, while in the throes of cramping so painful I wanted to reach inside my body and yank out my uterus, I opened an Always maxi pad, and there, printed on the adhesive backing, were these words: "Have a Happy Period."

Are you kidding me?

What I mean is, does any part of your tiny middle-manager brain really think happiness—actual smiling, laughing happiness—is possible during a menstrual period? Did anything mentioned above sound the least bit pleasurable? Well, did it, James? FYI, unless you're some kind of sick S&M freak girl, there will never be anything "happy" about a day in which you have to jack yourself up on Motrin and Kahlúa and lock yourself in your house just so you don't march down to the local Walgreens armed with a hunting rifle and a sketchy plan to end your life in a blaze of glory. For the love of God, pull your head out, man. If you just have to slap a moronic message on a maxi pad, wouldn't it make more sense to say something that's actually pertinent, like "Put Down the Hammer" or "Vehicular Manslaughter Is Wrong"? Or are you just picking on us?

Sir, please inform your accounting department that, effective immediately, there will be an $8 drop in monthly profits, for I have chosen to take my maxi-pad business elsewhere. And though I will certainly miss your Flexi-Wings, I will not for one minute miss your brand of condescending bullshit. And that's a promise I will keep. Always.

Best,

Wendi Hardy
Austin, TX

Album

I'm looking at pictures. The ones you made inside me. The teacups arranged on a shelf in the Inner Kitchen...is it the second shelf, or the third? Your desk piled high with two towers of books. All of them have your name written inside(all except that last one I borrowed. I forget the name)

The bed with the flat pillow where I would sit and read while you slept.(Oh and the days you would walk into my room carrying your own speakers. Sometimes it would rain, and we would stand together in the balcony, hands barely touching, your music breathing in my air.)Here is one of my feet just as I heard the phone ring,the ringtone I had for you.(I'm sorry it is blurred, I was in such a hurry to answer.)
Here you are wearing bright yellow and not looking at me. You had bought me a book for no reason other than remembering that I wanted it. You hurried up the steps, handed it to me, looked away and hurried back.

These are my shoulders, the first time you touched me by yourself. I was wearing the burnt-orange kurta...you were sitting on a jhoola...you looked at me, I turned away...you came up behind me and rested your hands on my shoulders...

This is one of me, today as our car turned into your lane. Look, you can see my muscles tightening, my eyes almost hopeful...but then we turned another way...

I'd love to hold onto you forever, I doubt that's the best I can do. I'll just keep a few of these...the one I took of the scar on your chin, this one of you trying to manually restart the bike...oh and please can I keep the one of you making my bed for me when I was sick?

I love taking baths. Tis a ritual for me, and I detest people interuupting. I have atleast three kinds of shower gels, two soaps, two face-washes and a foot-scrub in my bathroom at any given time. I am a sucker for all those fancy ingredients they claim to put into shower-gels. Pearl-protein, ylang-ylang, elderflower...you should see me in the supermarket. I open each bottle, smell it and then I read the back. You know, where they write about the calming effects of lavender and how rose-hips will awaken your senses.

I don't like using moisturiser after a bath usually. The clean feel of just having had water all over you is exhilarating. But then you do get lotions fragranced with sweet-pea and cucumber and honey. Water is therapeutic for me. I cannot sleep at night without having splashed my face and washed my hands and feet. I like seeing my fingertips wrinkled after a hot shower in winter. If I ever can, I'd like a home by the sea. A little driftwood house. With an old, wooden tub in the bathroom. Somewhere I could run barefoot and taste of salt and let my hair be tangled...

Growl

At severe loss and unbelievably pissed of!

Pagan Poetry

Pedalling through
The dark currents
I find
An accurate copy
A blueprint
Of the pleasure
In me

Swirling black lilies totally ripe
A secret code carved
Swirling black lilies totally ripe
A secret code carved

He offers
A handshake
Crooked
Five fingers
They form a pattern
Yet to be matched

On the surface simplicity
But the darkest pit in me
It's pagan poetry
Pagan poetry

Morsecoding signals (signals)
They pulsate (wake me up) and wake me up
(pulsate) from my hibernating

On the surface simplicity
Swirling black lilies totally ripe
But the darkest pit in me
It's pagan poetry
Swirling black lilies totally ripe
Pagan poetry

Swirling black lilies totally ripe

I love him, I love him
I love him, I love him
I love him, I love him
I love him, I love him
She loves him, she loves him

This time
She loves him, she loves him
I'm gonna keep it to myself
She loves him, she loves him
She loves him, she loves him
This time
I'm gonna keep me all to myself
She loves him, she loves him
And he makes me want to hurt myself again
She loves him, she loves him
She loves him, she loves him
And he makes my want to hand myself over

-Bjork

Here's the video.

Little Pinpoints of Light

I rather like my current nightly schedule. Heavy doses of studying, random glasses of Tang cigarettes and blogging at 2:30 am.

I really like how tiny things bring such a lot of happiness. Prachi getting a job at Seagull, me getting a lot of love from J....and one unexpected twinkle of joy...and exchange of surnames... from the Crazy Diamond.
A hug to each of you!

Yes I have a psych paper next week, and four more after that, yes I am hurting somewhat still and yes I am getting a double chin.

But as L.M. Montgomery writes, 'there is sweetness in my cup of life.'

I send out a prayer for my little girl in Kolkata, and her guy.
Love you.

Musings of a Wannabe Terminator

Is there really such a thing as giving too much? I find it difficult to cut off from people I haven't explored fully. As though I'm afraid I'll have missed out on some amazing part of them.
It bites at me when people refuse to care. S, for instance. Sometimes I resent whatever stupid reason he may have for not communicating. Then I remember all the times he's been unabashedly honest with me. The incredible potential he has shown to be clear and open. It hurts when we are distant. I'm not accusing, tis a fact. And tis a hurt I accept.
And Him. He bites at me too. Oh, the constant bickering and fruitless doses of 'I don't care so sue me!' These are people I would like to have comfortable silences with. I'm terrible at pretending so both of them get generous doses of love from me. And they find it a leetle hard to digest.
What to do?
I refuse to edit myself.
S, I suppose is afraid I will try to slip back into my old role. I wish there was some coherent way of telling you S, that intimacy need not be stuffed into neat little Relationship Boxes.
And Him! So terrified of trusting that every bit of softness and openness we share must be overbalanced by some kind of clash.
You know what? They've a right to be scared, edgy, uncomfortable etc. And I've a right to be intense, hyper-sensitive and shamelessly honest. I'm no martyr, whatever I give is freely given, by choice. And I'm secure enough not to worry that I'm giving away more than is good for me. Or maybe naive enough. Right now I'm mad at both of them. I'm mad at a world where everything is over-casual.

Yikes!

Your Deadly Sins

Pride: 40% Greed: 20% Lust: 20% Wrath: 20% Envy: 0% Gluttony: 0% Sloth: 0% Chance You'll Go to Hell: 14% You will die from faulty botox injection.

How Sinful Are You?

Yes indeedy

Your Quirk Factor: 80%

You're so quirky, it's hard for you to tell the difference between quirky and normal. No doubt about it, there's little about you that's "normal" or "average."

How Quirky Are You?

On Nurturing

Read this.

Thanks Shankar, for complete, unabashed honesty.

Magnificent Obsession

The most beautiful 'old classic' I have read. Will put up a review soon. S, you have to read this!

Clouds and construction

More..

At Mocha




Zombied in a techno-world

Mi Madre

My funky mother with her jhakra-chool hairdo.

Touched, soft and completely in love.

Scribble from old rains

Tossing between thirsty sheets
There is rain
Fighting
Rain
Prickling in my skin
Out there
Roams a little girl
I once saw
Hidden in cloth
Carrying an axe
Rain-smell in her hair
She
Navigates
Wide gashes
Bleeding, gathering

Rain

She trips on
A broken brick
I come awake
Breathe
The salt from
The cut near her brow

And

Rain

Will befriend her blood
That
Mingling
They may explore her face
And bring it to my fingers.

1414 steals in...

Today is Poila Boishakh. The Bengali New Year. Tradition says we must wear new clothes, give sweets and generally make merry. And eat of course. We did it all the years we were in Kolkata. Calling people to wish them. Receiving calls from relatives we hardly knew. The rich lunch...hot, white rice, two kinds of maach, spicy mutton curry, posto, shukto...oh it went on. Sweets aplenty afterwards, ice-cream for the children. The gossip that would come while the women stretched out in the darkened guest-room. No regard for the new saris. What kind of Bengali sits upright after lunch??
As evening came to Kolkata, it would be time for cha. With biscuits and home-made cake and more sweets. The men would be awakened. The gossip would continue. The squeals, the laughter went on until atleast 7 pm. Very few of our guests owned cars. They would get up reluctantly, they must catch the 208 bus, or a taxi.
I don't like fish or sweets much. I don't profess much affection for the people who came. But today...in another city, another state, on the other side of the country...I miss it. All of it.
Shubho nobo borsho to all. May 1414 bring joy.

Harum-Scarum

Hurrying! Party in house. Strangely tense for some reason. I do so hate 'entertaining people.' I always get stuck organizing drinks....which is better than making conversation of course :)
Slight paranoia in study-land. Not exam-phobia, more like 'what the hell am I doing?' paranoia.
I'm happy about the Crazy Diamond. Just happy. I hope all works out.
Much love, and a kiss on the forehead for S.
Bye.

Memories of Calcutta...November 2006

Plump n Pink Shoie...the closest I have to a sister
At Cinnamon
Mum...pensive
The Reverend Spooner

who are you you managers and parents and well-wishers who profess to want what's best fme? did i ask you? more importantly did you ask me? Please..leave your managerhood behind when you talk to me please knock when you enter my room if you are drunk do not speak to me at all. don't you know how far back this goes. but how would you know what did you see? I hide it all bury it do deep that it only poisons me occasionally. I like my shape thank you it doesn't need licking. I may not be doing what you expected but i disregard your disapproval. this goes far far back to another smaller bedroom, a girl of five scared so terribly scared. things happened there didn't they do you remember? she had forgotten i had forgotten and then when i was living in as a burden it came back to me all of it. along with the fear. terrible fear unnamed unsharable for who would i tell? don't you see all of you well-wisger people....as long as you pay for any part of my life, i am bound to you. oh don't look so shocked, i have affections for you the bond is dependence. i cannot ask you to shut up because it would be ugly. i am bad with ugliness. oh i can stand it i can stand anything. that's what you all like to hear? give it to her, she will stand it. i will not fall well-wishers of my blood. blood has no meaning for me you know. whoever's relative i am please know that. if i have any liking for you, you earned it as i expect to earn mine. this goes back...tears at every meal, unable to eat the constant constant noise how very worthless, lazy, burdensome that i was....dumb,ugly,dishonest, shameless...i liked shameless. never will i apologize for any of it. you numbed me you Woman of Tastebuds. oh your hands create culinary wonders, but you couldn't create me. what to do with this silent, hyper-sensitive child who reeks of strange insolence? and i let the fear crawl back in. it rejoiced in your mental rapes of me, it devoured my words. oh but i lived. and shall live. i have cracked but i can live with cracks. more seeps in that way. i wasn't allowed to break, i lived above that. i can live with breakage now. i can be wholly joyful, and i don't do it to spite you. this goes back to the stench of that room i wrecked havoc on. that is not a happy room, well-wishers, it is haunted. four years of complete misery, so complete. four years of being stripped of all humanness, oh you rejoiced in my helplessness. this goes far back, and it caught up with me tonight. i fly with my joy, and it will pursue. tis too much a part of me. your drunkeness in that small room, your drunkeness tonight...why must i keep saying i'm fine. i am not allowed to break. if i break, all of you will go. i know myself the best, the most honestly...do not believe it is you. do not try to manage me or categorize me. who do i see when i am desperately afraid? it has always been, my words...in writing.
And i pay for my own tears and messes, my best friends haven't seen me cry. Walls watch me, corners, windows, and my words. they're ok with me you see. they trust me no matter what. and they go further back than all of you.

I am actually enjoying working on exams two weeks before they begin. Tis going steady, though I did have nightmares of Aristotle's theory of friendship last night. Twas this huge,ugly blob going 'FRRRIEENDS MUUUSSST WIIISSH EEACCH OOTHER WEEELL.'

I heard disturbing story today.

There was a girl who liked a boy. He was of a different caste and she knew parents would not approve, so she kept it a secret. When they found out, they beat her heavily, in public. Then they took her away to a distant place. On the way, she committed suicide. The parents are relieved. At least their caste is safe.

I've read several such stories, watched dozens of movies telling them...but, this is real. Told to me by an aquaintaince of the girl's. I raged. Asked why??! how? Who the hell are these 'parents?' And how helpless must the girl have felt to have actually taken the step. I've come close. I have.

Thanks Mum and Dad for being so you. You guys matter more than I realize. Such stories remind me of that...

Just

There are little pockets of joy. Long talk with Neha and Rahul, studying Andrew Marvell, partying at your old workplace, rediscovering your shorts persona, getting back to communication with S...

Happy.

I laughed last, SO??!!

This is what happens when your psychology guide-book states that pre-marital sex is a criminal activity!




1.Breaking Up

If you don't know how to break up with someone, if you're really bad at moving on, what kind of spiritual course would help you?


The Art of Leaving.


2.Batman

If you don't give a flying fuck AND a rat's ass, does that mean you don't give a flying rat's fucking ass?


Does that mean you don't give a sodomising bat?

....you start sending such things to people you love, simply because you them to know you're screwed up and you need their love desperately.

Jokes courtesy:www.nofunnyjokes.blogspot.com

Cranky

So completely sick of everything, I'd like to blow everything and everybody I know into one huge balloon and then BURST IT!!!!!!!!!!!

Dave McKean

The Black Orchid

Messages

To S..Much happiness in touching base with you. Love always.

To The Crazy Diamond...I am sorry. Please trust me again.