Mulshi

River Babies





The Wet Crow Look


Disclaimer: No we weren't drunk...yet!

Yo no le adoro como

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

~Pablo Neruda

One Art

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster,

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three beloved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

-- Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) a disaster.


-Elizabeth Bishop

I wish...

Comic courtesy: www.comicspage.com

Ummm...

Benny took the free ColorQuiz.com personality test! "Wants to make a favorable impression and be reward..." Click here to read the rest of the results.

An Eye on England, Sitaphal and Love

I used to love the custard-apple as a child. In Bengal, it is known as the aata. It is one of the ugliest fruits in appearance, with scaly black-green skin and hard, black seeds inside. One must cut it in half and scoop out of the pale flesh of the fruit around the seeds. Usually, we just spoon everything into our mouth and spit the seeds out.
I lost patience with this tedious fruit. You couldn't make a milkshake out of it and pour it down quickly. It is a sit-down-Sunday-breakfast fruit, requiring spoon and plate and time.

Dadu sent me some aatas yesterday. All the way from Kolkata.
Dadu is 77 now, and forgets a lot of things. For instance, that this is not the season for aata. I imagine him out for a walk, passing the fragrant fruit-stalls at Jadubabu's Bajar, seeing the aatas, and simply remembering that I used to love them. That, for him was enough reason to buy them.
When I called this morning to tell him I had eaten one of the aatas for breakfast, he read me an article on rising crime among college-age people in England. 'This happens mainly in industrial towns,'he said soberly, implying his disapproval of my applying to universities in such towns.

S once said to me, 'Grandparents always have a lot of affection for their grandchildren.'

I thought this too simple to integrate into my life. Where I am, family and blood is not always the same thing.
But thinking about it last night, thinking of the three aatas curled up in the fruit-bowl, I figured that maybe S had a point.
Always having affection isn't simple. Not at all.

Teary

Mostly, in my life, writing has blotted out tears,
sometimes even taken their place

Sometimes there are pieces of my life too sharp to let out
even through writing

That's when i cry.

Say Hello to Mother Goose

Why isn't there a Chicken Soup for the Big Sister's Soul?
Lord knows I could use one.

They never told me siblinghood was so difficult. I wasn't to know it would be so close to the bones of motherhood. So fraught with love that I would sit myself down every time I yelled at him and think I was terrible.
That if he didn't eat, I'd worry he was sickening for something.

Oh and the self-blame.

I screamed at him today and daid he was slow...it's all my fault if he gets a complex.

Why didn't I make him sleep in the afternoon, no wonder if he was sleepy and hardly ate dinner!

Every meal, all I tell him is eat! eat! eat! When he grows up, what will he remember...a sister who fed him all five food-groups or one who heard him out and talked back?

Nutrients or good conversation
Discipline~ a little, a lot, too damn much???
Let him get out there and figure things out for himself while I stop breathing till he's home safe...or just let go.

Yes, it's funny. I'm twenty-two and I'm raising a child. He isn't orphaned or neglected...I just do it because anything less is too little. I berate myself for not doing it right by him. For screaming too much. Saying too little. Not answering his endless questions.
I make funny faces sometimes. Go to pick up his report card and talk back to his teacher. Fall asleep and wake up too late to get his homework done.
What's really amazing is...that he never questions it..

Palm Line

Where are we, the two of us? Between us is
no blood, no named ties
a storied past and

quiet places on our bodies we visited as us.

I watch you unfold
wave by wave, finger by finger
place by place

I don't understand if we have come back
Or if you have

Have I come where it must be you and no other?

I give my love like the sky
And then
I give my love for you
Like secret red flowers
Set afloat on grey waters and
Those grey waters alone

Where we are now will be lost
These words will change and
our bodies rise and fall

I'll leave a little of my hands
In the dust around you
In the place you feel safe

Any place you are
I am
we are
I can love you

Central Park, NYC

Photographs courtesy: Eeshaan Singh Basu, age 7.

Know what's really annoying!

When people expect you to be an adult, and then treat you like a child.

Tentative exam dates have been harassed out of HOD. Mid-october till the 30th. Which means....I GET TO SEE MUM IN TIME FOR HER 50TH BIRTHDAY!!!!!!!!
Now I have to think of the present...

The Oddball née the Router turned 18 yesterday. Twas worth sitting on the floor at Landmark going, 'ok, so what reminds us of him?', compromising my reputation in Dorabjee, having to buy painkillers, planning road-blocks, and risking my life on an eight-minute bike-ride I shall never forget. Worth every bit to hear him say it was a good birthday. And seeing him dance!
I'm sure Weed will agree :/
Oh but it was fun primping and having discussions with Weed and RS on blue clothes, face masks and make-up. And dancing hilariously and getting high on blue soda!
I hope he finds his present(s) useful. GRIN!

M's birthday on Sunday. We've got a big day planned. I'm hoping it all works out ok. Fingers crossed.
J is coming next month to play at the RockPub fest. Looking forward to seeing him. Also, E will be playing his first piano concert soon! That will bring back memories :)
The Gestapo is coming at the end of the month, but I have PLANS of...handling her! MWAHAHAHAHAH!
See yall!

Days and seconds

I've been thinking about this post. Things have been...strange, amazing, scary, full of love...I was wondering how to pull it all into a post..

Applications for university are beginning. I have essays to write and re-write, dozens of enquiries to send, recommendations to wrangle out of people...

Dad will be shifting to The Sweet Homeland in a couple of months. I shall miss the guy. I mean,I'm the only Equal he has. Sigh. This whole International Parents thing is really really tough at times.
But it's made me love them a lot more...cos we're all really lovable in small doses. Living with each other on a regular basis doesn't work for any of us.

I attended a wonderfully stimulating writing workshop last month. A million thanks to Jamie, Jenny and Sameer. I have to send essays to them as well so...I'm writing properly after a long time.

College is killing me! I do not understand Linguistics. I do not want to learn Phonetics or Speech Acts! I have to write a paper on all of this in two months time...and I AM DYING!

S came over and cooked for us. Yummy fried rice and chicken. He stayed half the night. We talked, fought, listened to music, I cried, he lingered...
This is our forever.

The Little Scientist

My seven-year-old brother made these :) couldn't resist putting them up.

sigh(hahaha)sigh

Some days I don't know
why I was born.
Not since I've seen you!
The birds settle down in the field
to eat seeds in fall.
But I cant settle, there's no soft white
petal under my wind,
(Not since I've seen you!)

Pero da Ponte

Discovered on Maddie's blog :)

Thank you, you beautiful person.