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....