Manual of the Warrior of Light

Ok, so one-third of the Examathon is done. I wrote a paper on Applied Ethics in Philosophy today and I discovered several things.
1. I swear a lot when I'm stressed (read having a panic attack) I said 'fuck' about twenty times before the paper.

2. I have a fairly good memory. I can skate over a few pages and remember names like Lars O' Ericsson and Hadley Arkes.

3. I get bored writing papers unless it's Literature. After I had completed 30 marks worth of questions, I didn't want to write anymore.

4. I shared a plate of fries and a few words with a guy we call the Chopper because he once announced in class that instead of capital punishment, they should just chop the guy's limbs off and let him go. He said this with a perfectly serious face. I've never hung out with him and this was nice.

5. Having a decent vocabulary really helps. At least your answers read like you know stuff.

So there you go. Discoveries that had nothing to do with Applied Ethics, but are very pertinent.

I like hanging out with new people. There's so much to observe in everyone. I'm not much of a talker...unless I'm high...but it's lovely knowing there's so much newness around.
Not to mention that people you already know can still surprise you. Somebody, out of the blue, told me the other day that I was highly honest with emotions, and he liked that about me.
Isn't that a great thing to be told? And tis extra special because..well..I was beginning to think he was all matte finish. But now..I've glimpsed a tiny sparkle..and it makes me happy. Tis nice to have people who matter, and nice to discover little sparks of light in them :)

Marc Sabatella

My current wallpaper. An afterthought of 'You've Got Mail.'

The Hug

I like this :)
Thanks Jen.

Yay!

I am now a part of Mahima's Travelling Journal project. I'm to build an art-shrine for Michelle, and Linda is making one for me. Each person in the group will have a shrine dedicated to them in the journal. It's taking off from Nepal and will tour India, the US and Canada :)
Excited!

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.

Tired

Heat, blood-loss,looking at sad photographs...all dragging at my energy. I'm sad about S. I'm sad about leaving tnt. I want to sit on my hill at dusk without my cell-phone.
I miss you S. I wish I could tell you but I'm afraid you're past caring. Time doesn't matter yet. It hasn't increased or decreased my thoughts of you. They are there.

Evening Talks

People ask me about you. Sometimes I tell them, sometimes I tell them even when they haven't asked. I can see more clearly now that you are only a distant body clothed in charcoal, talking so deliberately into a phone. I see you on crumpled sheets, your smile the only smoothness. The colours of you...the almost-whites and the cream-browns....the teeth-marks on your shoulder. To taste your blood and your roots and all that runs through and under your skin. To know what your name means in every language. In you I am soft and sharp, questing and at complete acceptance, holding, letting fall, never holding back, affectionate and hungry...

lists

Things I am fierce about
Privacy
Independence
Mum

Little Learnings
I cried while watching E sleep
Bittersweetness
I have realized that I hate people leaving my bedroom door open after them
Ditto people who try to talk to me when I'm having a bath
I have more attitude than I ever thought
I react badly to authority

Of Circles and Green Aprons

I know I know,I have been Very Lazy Blogger. Apologies to one who is a cherished reader and has been bugging me to be more regular.

It's been a combination of reasons, really. A load of work, a terrible cold, laziness, the computer conking off, many glamorous love affairs....

I have got my US visa finally. Raju and I went to Bombay, spent 3 hours waiting outside the Consulate and concluded the interview in about two minutes. My consular officer was rather attractive, but 3 hours of standing in Bombay heat had sapped me of all energy, let alone charm. Anyway, tis all done, and there are Big Plans of celebrating a certain close relative's birthday in London on the way back. Mum is hopefully flying in as well, so Heigh-Ho.
Before all this jollity, however, I have to confront that terrible persecutor of students,EGGJAMS(exams you dolts). And my life in tnt as I know it is coming to an end. I shall post a highly mournful epitaph on that later.
My Taker-Over has joined tnt. He is rather nice, seems very Yin and interesting. And quiet compared to the rest of us Gigglers. Methinks he will mesh well with tnt. Tis also the svet fact that he was our very first customer. Sigh. I do love circles :)

I am also writing and designing our Green Apron Book. A concepted initiated by Starbucks, tis basically an index of customer-care rules, specific to the organization. If anyone has suggestions on what we at tnt do best, please do write in.

My friend Roger.

....And I've loved him all through.

shut-eye talk

So sleeeeepeeeee. I bought myself red-black-gold anklet today from Either Or. That's 'a story not a store', and one I love almost as much as tnt. They gave me my anklet in a tiny little paper bag with red thread strung through for carrying.
I just had some awesome solkadhi which Cook Maushi made. I'm being very careful with names, as you see.Solkadhi or soul curry, for those of you who don't know, is part of the Malvani cuisine, popular along the Konkan coast. Made of coconut milk and kokam, tis very filling and very very tasty. I'm dying to try it with a smoke.

With a little help from R & C, and S.

I shamelessly invade your privacy, blow a thousand prayers towards your home. I argue mercilessly with myself about your space, wonder when to pull back when to surge forward. I visit bookstores with music in them, wonder how you would like them.
I never expect your replies, I am complete.
You mean you're supposed to love less than this?

My Visual DNA

Read my VisualDNA™ Get your own VisualDNA™

Marc Chagall

Had forgotten how much I like him....the dreaminess, the harmony. Thanks @d, for the reminder.

Rants of a Political Ignoramus

Have been running hither and thither for my new passport. It is very exhausting, firstly because my energy reserve is naturally low, and secondly because the whole system is geared to make you feel powerless. A grinning idiot in the hands of the bureaucracy. I have made several new 'uncles' and my politeness level has gone up tremendously. Such are the uses of this system we inhabit, imbibe and trash regularly.
Tis election day here, and I am at a loss. My name is on the list, but I know so little of any of the candidates....
It's lethargy, I know. I always have been happily unaware of politics. Well, not so much politics as the politicians. I recently reviewed a book on the life of Nani Palkhivala, written by M.V. Kamath who was his contemporary. All I know of Palkhivala is that he was passionate about the Constitution and that his oratory skills were superlative. He fought against Parliament's right to make amendments to the Constitution.
The Director has heard him speak. She says he was truly inspirational. I have never heard a political speaker. And certainly not one who inspired me. The closest I got to politics was my International Relations class in the A Level course. I don't like too many names and dates, but I liked the concepts.
To me politics is symbolizes ultimate power and a heap of murkiness. We take it for granted that people will do anything for power and money, and as long as our work gets done, we are willing to pay. Politics make it impossible for me to travel without a stack of papers which take months to prepare. Politics, now criminally mixed up with organised religion creates imaginary lines all across the globe. Stepping across could mean death. Or at least detainment. Even language has become a political tool. Should English be the 'universal tongue' or should we stick to our native languages? Certain countries refuse to speak English even if they know how. The resentment underlining this is old. Politics is defined as 'the social relations between groups'. Politicians have made it into the sharp delineation of differences between people. Differences which they use to further their power. East-West. India-Pakistan. Hindu-Muslim. Shia-Sunni. Agriculture-Industry.
I'm sure it's not easy for them. But what I am I voting for?

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.

Letter

Dear 2006.
During your tenure, I have learnt to honour all that is different from me. I have become a lover, and remain one. I have had good conversations and pleasant sleep.
Thank you very much.
I believe you know your way out.

prayer

i should not be writing this not even thinking that's what they tell me they who love me and know that pounding my head is the only way to get through but i do see flashes of silver and i turn my head thinking of you in black and grey and a straight head every message could be from you you could be the next person to walk into the shop oh and we don't have the umbrellas now so you wouldn't have to bend ever so slightly and i turn around sometimes and my eyes widen and drop as though it's you but it isn't and they would tell me to work on getting over it and i must i must but i look long and longingly at the parking-spot wanting the bike to be there to walk into my room and find you and see you and see you just to see if i can and i hear old songs why i do like them the green and the dark the quiet and the grand pages pages of this of you burning black waves and your bones blood and trembling nerves the unbuttoning and taking apart all of you i saw the smell of icy orange breath and so cold my pillow i would have you on it nightly without fear sleep is overdone sleep and sleep tiring sleep touch and taste lick and bite dry loose skin yours and at this time only yours gleaming nipples and rough hair and my teeth now all weapons or maybe not i heard the fall building up again

I was composing this post on my way home, and now I've blanked out. Door chhai!!
Things have been plentifully abnormal as always.
My father watched 'Khosla ka Ghosla' and loved it. I've been seeing bikes where there aren't any.
My Christmas lunch was sans alcohol and almost sans meat.
I'm blaming it all on unrequited-love-induced-stupor.

Look what I'm reading right now:

1.Books and Islands in Ojibwe Country by Louise Erdrich
2. Women who Run with Wolves: Myths and Stories of the Wild Woman Archetype by Clarissa Pinkola Estes
3.The Lost Father by Marina Warner
4.The World and Other Places by Jeanette Winterson
5.Several Perceptions by Angela Carter
6.Nothing to Wear, Nothing to Hide by Fay Weldon
7.The Complete Lord of the Rings series
8.The Tao of Relationships by Ray Grigg
9.In Favour of the Sensitive Man: Essays by Anais Nin

......and there's more pending
Joy.

That's all folks!

Woman, strapped

sixpence
and I'll be a man
on his way to london
flowering fields
strewn with straw bodies
all on my road

sixpence
and i'd be a belly-dancer
loving my body moves
delighting my blood
in over my head
all on my road

woudn't you give me a sixpence
buy a dream off me
so I could go
get off this stranger's road
see the yellow bricks of the sun
follow the stem of my breath
All on my own road.

For all my loves

I hope you never lose your sense of wonder,
You get your fill to eat but always keep that hunger,
May you never take one single breath for granted,
God forbid love ever leave you empty handed,

I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean,
Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens,
Promise me that youll give faith a fighting chance,
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance.

I hope you dance....i hope you dance.

I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance,
Never settle for the path of least resistance
Livin might mean takin chances but theyre worth takin,
Lovin might be a mistake but its worth makin,
Dont let some hell bent heart leave you bitter,
When you come close to sellin out reconsider,
Give the heavens above more than just a passing glance,
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance.

I hope you dance....I hope you dance.I hope you dance....

I hope you dance.(time is a wheel in constant motion always rolling us along,
Tell me who wants to look back on their years and wonder where those years have gone.)

Lee Ann Womack

frenzy

should I stop?
listen to the horns, the fierce whispers
those who scream blood

can I describe
slowly and with
complete
deliberation
the smoothness of the back of your neck
the scar on your chin
where you fell

I see you
reduce you to skin and muscle
hair and bone
the colour of your mouth
reduce is not the word dearest
I see your beauty
I see it madly

in these words
on blank pages
I possess you
I writhe
lest I be gagged with what I say
I can capture you to capture me
forever
but these words
this I
must break and squeeze and ache
and never still.

I've come a long way. I would never have changed an exclamation-mark in my writing before, on someone else's request. I am fierce about my creations.
If you're reading this, I didn't do it for you. I did it so I could keep up the hope that somehow....we could be close again. At least work on it. Twasn't a sacrifice, and you still don't control what I write. I've changed in the hope that this terrible, needless hurting that we're giving each other will stop. The worst of it is, I'm beginning to stop expecting kindness from you.

A 'Singh' among men.

Read this. And this.

TnT annual sale has begun. The last week has been exhilarating....50 boxes of books to be unpacked, coded and displayed. In my case, 50 boxes of books to be pawed through, cooed over and desired! We're having a Midnight Sale on the 16th with plenty of food going.
Lots of hard work and lots of joy in getting it done.

I haven't written about my Calcutta trip yet. I did everything I had set out for and ended up wishing I could stay longer. At the same time, I wanted to return to Pune. I have a complete life in Pune and a complete life in Calcutta. So while there are tugs and pulls each time I return and turn back, I'm happy looking forward.
Twas rushed, my trip. Time with Ma was good. She's got a complete life in Nerja too. The Cousin is fast-growing, and as delightful as ever. With all the giddiness of her fourteen years, she's got an intelligence and a sense of humour that makes me love her. Not to mention an amazing wardrobe which I raided (yes we wear the same size). The Gestapo...haven't changed. I got them a cell-phone this time. The mere idea was greeted with shrieks and protests. Then when I finally bought it, twas the wrong model, the keys were set too close together, the tone wasn't loud enough......
I watched the first cut of Shampi Mashi's movie. Anuronon, it's called. Starring Rahul Bose, Rituparna, Raima Sen and Rajat Kapoor. Will be releasing sometime early 2007.

This last year has seen me living in a sort-of-stable structure. At least where the Home is concerned.
The Home has many, many spots which suck you in, simply because you're living in it. The funny thing is, I'm learning to like these spots.
Like having having domestic help, and then not having them. Like being almost completely responsible for E. Like realizing the kind of pressure WS gets under and not placating her, instead just making sure that my end of responsibility is help up. I have college, I work part-time. It's true that my Bookshop is no less than Home. And I manage to convey that to my Boss.
Both the Home and TnT are like demanding little kids. Ignore one and it goes to its room and slams the door in your face.
I'm 21 years old. I want to travel and envision Home-spots in beautiful places. I want to know that there is a steady Home-spot to fall into should I want it. I might even be able to make one myself...

Intellectuals/aatels/non-droolers please step aside.

M and I watched Dhoom-II yesterday. There are about 20 shows going in E-Square, which is the multiplex closest to home. All the shows were sold out. Well, except for the neck-craning seats. Without a second's dilly-dallying, we jumped into a rick and sped to Inox. This is the snazzier multiplex in town. The theatres are decorated a la Moulin Rouge and tickets sell at 130 bucks for a morning show. We didn't care.

Now, the movie is not as tight as Dhoom. It gets soppy towards the end, and there are issues of redemption and 'thief-turned-lover.' But Hrithik.....oh my God! He is lithe like he's never been, hot like he's never been....and THE GUY CAN KISS! Well, visually at least. His eyes change colour in a certain sizzle-scene. I am not a Drooler by nature. No, really. But.....he is utterly Droolable. And Sighable. And Crushable (er). And he's pulled off marvellous stunts and his body (gulp).
Audience sympathy lay almost totally with him. Judging by the shouts of 'Abhishek you're a loser' and 'Hrithik, kick his ass', at least. The ladies in the movie look good. That's it. Aishwarya is, like, ok in her duh, good-hearted bimbette role. Bipasha, in a seriously slapstick double-role does fair justice to Bengali beauty. Rimi puts in a pregnant appearance.
Among the lesser men, Abhishek is pretty good. His role seems to have been given a few negative subtleties, but at the end, he emerges as this benevolent-God-like guy.
Uday retains his lovable-ness....this being the only role I like him in.
The music is danceable, though the songs have been timed at rather unnecessary moments. The thief is softer, more humane with a girl whom he trusts. The cop has loosened up and shrugged off his wife a little.
In all, Hrithik stands out for sheer presence.

Maybe....

If our every meeting could be like that of strangers, full of anticipation and openness. We would know that we might never meet again, therefore we had nothing to fear. Would we make every meeting complete? Be strangers who are kind?
The previous meetings wouldn't matter. Because we would know that we're not the same people we were then. All would be forgiven, no turning inward to pout and demand or hope for apology.

Each encounter...complete and intense. And beautifully isolated and free of expectation.

just glimpsed

green sky and i walking
cover-light
so soft

Yay

Ok so it's all over. And it ended rather well. Am quite happy with S2 (English Special Paper 2). Wrote a highly enjoyable essay on Marvell's unconventional approach in 'To His Coy Mistress.'
M and I celebrated the end of exams by...well eating basically. Lemon cake and mausambi juice at the German Bakery and then on to Mocha for cherry-flavoured hookah. Majhkhane I had stopped smoking, and started again. Have realized that I don't enjoy it anymore so will stop...again.

Am leaving for Calcutta on Saturday(million yays). Mum is coming down on the 15th(triple million yays). Can't wait. I'm going to visit Landmark and Oxford and ride the Metro and buses and rickshas and walk on Park Street and meet so many beautiful people. J's concert is up on the 16th at Princeton Club so more yays.

E has started piano lessons. He's practising on my old Yamaha...tis fiercely mine!! I'm thinking of re-starting in March once TnT ends for me. And dance classes too.

Had talk with M about The Situation. Very comforting as always. The best thing about The Situation is that I'm completely clear and comfortable about my feelings. It felt wonderful to talk about it. I didn't realize how much I needed to. So thank you M, once again.

oscillation

time
long, short, buried
and filled
under the arch of your eyes

breathing
twirling hair
pull out
sometimes i think i know
and then....

no

I stare at your name
remove
bring back
dark-green light
for giving

all

and more

so much impatience
trying to go
returning
listening

silence

swelling silence
quiet flesh
quiet body
quietly dying

i touched you and remembered

sachets of remembering
the place of a scent
the slow opening of eyes
curve of brow
draping, tasting, weighing down
knowing this giving

this powerful giving


I move, that's true
I see you all round
the lines of you, the are's and the might-be's
I live with sand under my skin
endless sand

and the sea retreats....

Many apologies in advance, my awakeness is ant-size

Barely 3 hours of sleep last night. No, I wasn't having jaw-breaking sex or whatever its called these days nor writing some scintillatingly creative piece of brilliance. The Dynamo finally gave into EST (examination standard time) and stayed up studying Communication, Leadership and other such totally irrelevant topics of her Social Psychology course.

did you know that 75% of the English language used in communicating is redundant? Do you suppose the Japanese are more economical when they speak their own language? Africans while speaking Swahili or Afrikanse or Portuguese....sorry just showing off there.
So anyway, paper twasn't half bad....meaning I didn't write nearly as much nonsense as I had hoped. Tch tch....must be losing my touch. Philosophy tomorrow which means another late night. And my two beautiful Honours papers on the 7th and the 8th. I better go catch up on sleep.
Wish me luck.....OR ELSE!

Rain....rain

Twas an evening of sharp showers. I was walking home with a fat bundle of papers and it started pouring. Home was a 5 minute walk, but I couldn't risk getting my papers wet. So I ran to a small cigarette-shop just at the mouth of my lane and stood there. I was the only girl there. Only girl, soaked and clutching a bundle of paper. I felt perfectly safe.
The rain wouldn't stop. After about ten minutes, I decided.....and started up my lane. People were running back and forth with bottles and laughing. I didn't run. I was aware that my enjoyment must be veiled. I couldn't show that I was loving the strands of hair on my wet cheeks, the way my clothes clung to me, the drops littering my lips. I wish I didn't have to move. But there is a demand that you shield yourself from rain. Movies invariably show rain as romantic and subtly sensual. And the heroine torn between shiedling herself and shyly ducking the hero's advances.

You know what? I came home and loved myself in the mirror. I danced around in my wetness just to see myself. I did not want to hide. I was completely, deeply in my body and watching it with pleasure. Tis true I wanted one particular witness....and I wouldn't have hidden even then.

howdy neighbour

I went down to my local xerox-shop last evening. Never been there before, it's always closed during our Cafe-Coffee-Day afternoon trips. Exams and lust for the philosophy professor drove me down there. I dumped my huge pile of borrowed notes on the counter and looked around.

A small shop, scantily-lit, slightly broken-down. A petite woman with a resigned, determined face started copying my notes. A child of about a year was playing just outside the shop. The woman kept a sharp eye on her. When she started crying, the woman gave her a rupee and told her to get a banana from the 'bhajjiwala uncle next door.' And she did. As she wandered in and out of the shop, she occasionally brushed against my leg. Very soft and fragile.

Everyone knows the shop. People kept coming and asking for 'Ram.' The woman demurely replied that he wasn't there. There was something about her, about her neatly worn sari and matching blouse, the simple parting in the middle of her hair. She couldn't and didn't want to be any other way. People....men came and were familiar with her. Asking for pens and printing-paper. Some neighbourhood kids playing nearby came running and scooped up the child, making her chuckle. My xerox was a long process. I watched. There is something connected and sure about the place. Mothers xeroxing certificates for a daughter's college application, drivers coming in long, smooth cars and holding out 500 rupee notes to be changed, elderly women out for evening walks in salwar-kameezes and sneakers....and no matter how developed Pune gets, tis heartening to know these little pockets of raw simplicity exist. Maybe the shop will never expand, maybe it will be demolished and be replaced by some grand mall or office-building, but for now....it's there.

i need to get away. Tisn't healthy to run to your comp and check gmail every 15 mins. TISN'T I TELL YOU!!!

Think i'm sleeping in the wrong posture or somethng. Bloody head and neck hurting. GRRRRRRRR.....

Tumble

I have become lazy in my prose-writing. Cutting conjunctions, inserting Irish/Scottish tones where I please....I love doing that, though.

Days are floating by. Exams hold little or no importance. Since I have four English papers, however, my long-ingrained habit of being the best is helping.

I miss him. All the time. I haven't done my usual act of getting drunk and calling him. What's strange is that I'm not crying and writing pages about it. I did that with J. Months and months of pleading and analysing on paper.
I am disconnecting from his body while building happy bridges with the rest of his world.
I realize that I am uncomfortable in structured relationships. The label of 'girlfriend' makes me squirm. Why must we name a relationship at all? I like 'partner', 'lover'....and that's it. With all others, I find myself struggling to stay true to the label.
I believe that complete understanding, great chemistry and a single-minded promise to work at it is all the definition a relationship needs.

throw my voice
my every written word given
given and clouded
sound so broken

broken
just so

i like my body

i like my body when it is with yourbody.
it is quite new a thing.
muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body.
i like what it does,i like its hows.
i like to feel the spineof your body and its bones, and the trembling-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss,
i like kissing this and that of you,i like,
slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh....And eyes big love-crumbs,
and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you so quite new

e.e cummings

Love

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor,
have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

William Butler Yeats

DON-ning the makeover.

I haven't seen the original, so no comparisions to draw on. Visually, it's sharp and breathless. No lush landscapes or floating chiffon. There's not much to listen to, no witticisms or carefully honed dialogue. The music is ultra-modern, an attempt to capture the grandiosity of the Don. What struck me was the clean, technical look. Nothing is raw or ragged. Costume, setting, lighting....all conditioned. There is one song in the village where Vijay lives and just about a scene. The rest is chic, minimalistic Urbania.

The absolute arrogance of the Don sits naturally on Shah Rukh. He is a flat character in that sense but mesmerising enough. Boman Irani does a good job and springs, or rather, dutifully hands over, a few surprises.

The plot has enough twists. There is no moral centre. Nobody is given a second chance and no character hangs around reforming itself. There is one winner, one boss and all the elements, evry murder, every secret uncovered ultimately ensure his victory. This isn't the battle of good and evil. It is the quick, the smooth, the ruthlessly determined who stay ahead throughout. The film doesn't acknowledge any others.

Gave an extremely screwed English paper yesterday. But I shall be brilliant in the Specials, make no mistake all ye who smirk!

Went over to Samar's yesterday. He's learning Tarot. Sat me down for a reading. According to the cards, I shall be rich, have a happy home. As of now, I am frustrated and held back and need to break free. Roll eyes.

It was comfortable, quiet. I was sad. And irritated because it was so comfortable. Grin. We're still a little unsure about each others bodies and the physical distance. We're being as kind as we can. Forgiving at almost every step.
He turns 19 today...

The Basu Hilbillies

Ok, so we're sitting at the table, eating dinner. Dadu suddenly goes, 'achha Tia, tomar rong-ta erokom kalo lagchhe keno?'
Thammi: 'O to bora-bor-ee....
Dadu: Na, kintu aachke chokhe porchhe jeno.

Object of scrutiny (totally deadpan): Baba, biye hobe na.
Baba: Good, poisha bachbe.
OoS: I was going to elope anyway.
Baba: Promise?
Oos: Promise.

Curtain .

Man, I luuuurve my dad!

Dilute
this red, red longing
into word-play

Sometimes the words don't come

The struggle begins
In memories
which are not happening now

But if they did,
with what would I decorate
the chapped edges of my sadness

For that would remain
Even if I could
this moment see
your skin
gleaming with my wetness

Even if
I etched my kisses
on your eyelids

I would still cry

This bridge
my love
holds both our bodies
We will brush, touch, enter
Know
So many more

We

are looking away
to either side

creating different
we's
and I's

breaking into the tiniest pieces
our 'we'

Just one

How perfectly normal it seems to miss your body more than anything else....

Chameleon

Blood stopping in watery spaces
Flooding slow scars
Worn deep


Scent trapped in my fingertips
Blue-green, magenta and black
Unbuttoned, stuttering memories
Play touch-and-go
Through arches of muscle and sinew

Sometimes...

This absolute tired shell
Others,
You
Friend of mine
Who I constructed
With the greatest importance
And softly
softly
Tried to steal

You
Who rarely recognizes grey
I, in my sea-depth
And complete

Utter
Redness

Could we have melded in tie-and-dye richness...
Did we give up a miracle?

Completely exhausted. Today was our US visa interview....basically a 15 hour process, from waking up at 5 am to coming home joyriding in the Corolla at 9 pm. The stupid visa officer with the fake accent has kept mine pending because of a one-mm tear in a page of my passport. Oh, and the fire-alarm rang twice. The first time, they evacuated everybody, only to bring us all back in 5 minutes. The second time, no one even looked up.
Anyway, this officer must have been the headmistress of an all-girls school where the students wore bloomers under their skirts till they were 18. That is her category of bitchiness.

Apart from this, we discovered Chembur, and I am in love. It reminds me so much of Calcutta. Scores of people walking on the roads and not a mall in sight. Little shops and shanty-restaurants like Gariahat or Lake Market. Thammi and Shuchita looked at saris. For the first time, I took an interest. It was slightly unsettling. My jeans felt constricting, I fidgeted against all the material holding me...I was sure right then that I looked unnatural and made-up.
My Oridental upbringing rears again! I refused to wear pants till I was nine. Then, between sixteen and twenty, I nurtured the Denim-Dream. Skirts have come into my life since last year. The sari is as yet a month-old foetus.
I am tired of having my legs draped. Subconsciously, I guess the idea of Western makeover of Indian body took me over. In fact, why blame it on the subconscious? I love my jeans. They're the longest love-affair I've had. But they cling too much. Retain too much. I'm finding saris much more free-flowing now.
I love the range of movement my body has. It's a total turn-on. I love how it lightens when it is touched deeply and physically. It reminds me that it is meant to be....

Random niceness-es

My step-mom and I go for a lot of late-night movies. We've watched totally duh ones and some nice ones and some wow ones. It's our hang-out time, our de-stress mode together. Very often, we drive along without speaking. There's tiredness in the car. And music. And an acceptance of simply being present. We'll watch the movie, share some junk-food and drive back home, again in silence. There's no hiding between us. So being quiet is ok.

Meerambika is my Significant Other. We take it for granted that we'll make that extra effort for each other. We also manage to appreciate it. There's the loveliest un-embarrassment in our relationship.

My mum calls me twice or thrice a day. Like most mums, she begins the conversation with 'where are you?' Unlike most mums, it's not because she wants me home PRONTO, rather she's curious because she sees me for three weeks in a year.

S and I sit like a couple. On his bike, my chin somehow ends up on his shoulder. Touch is imminent. And very private.

Dominatrix Woes

The Gestapo is here again. Alarming reminders of Embassy days. I find myself incapable of being nice for more than half-an-hour a day. And even that is to relieve Shuchita. They are here for a couple of months so I'd best put on my Niceness Cap and wear a smile...however pained. The trouble is that my irritation spills over into all other spheres of my life.
Adding to that is an irritable back which is grumbling at the roads of Pune and persistently aching. And I think my eyes have weakened further. Constant headaches blah blah.

It's been raining for the past 2 weeks now. Miserable, tired weather! And the roads are ravaged. Alisha and I make quite a spectacle on her bike when we come home from tnt. We sing 'Alice' and 'Hakuna Matata' while our bottoms bob at every pothole. When it's raining and there's no electricity, therefore no streetlights....every pothole is occasion for throaty moans. Sounds very raunchy. Dark road, rain, two figures on a bike moaning deeply....

Haven't seen S since Tuesday. Very grumpy.

Running over
The plains of flesh
The crevices
The courses
Of nerve-rivers
Warm with the heat
Of touched skin

The rain
Brings your face
To my fingers...

Essay written for raksha bandhan

A Step Up...

They said it’s tough being an only child. Then they said it’s difficult adjusting with siblings. I thankfully got left out of both categories.

I was 15 when Eeshaan was born. I remember going to the hospital a few hours after he arrived. A big bundle of possibility with a ready smile…even then. I looked at him solemnly and thought he was cute. And now I could use the phrase ‘my brother.’
That was our first meeting.

I never consciously thought about our relationship. We flowed into each others lives effortlessly. In 6 years, he’s never questioned why he and I have different mothers. Blood doesn’t play much of a role for us. I know I have a confidante, a fellow Disney and Mark Knopfler fan and all the cuddles I could ask for. He knows he has a die-hard admirer for life. We’ve been flat-mates for a year, and roommates for the last few weeks. He’s the only one who doesn’t roll his eyes when I whine about my boyfriend. I’m the only one who thinks he’s cute when he’s doing subtraction.

I’m not sure why it’s called ‘step’-siblinghood. The way I see it, it takes many extra steps on the part of both individuals to make it work. And it’s a ‘step-up’ in the lives of both if they manage it.
I’m 21 years old. Eeshaan just turned 6. We share half a blood-tie.
Everything else is whole…

:(

Miss him.