just enough pathos

2012-02-11T03:39:00.001-08:00

Love Song

Head under water
And they tell me to breathe easy for a while
The breathing gets harder, even I know that
Made room for me but it's too soon to see
If I'm happy in your hands

I'm unusually hard to hold on to
Blank stares at blank pages
No easy way to say this
You mean well, but you make this hard on me
I'm not gonna write you a love song
'cause you asked for it
'cause you need one, you see

I'm not gonna write you a love song
'cause you tell me it's
Make or break in this
If you're on your way
I'm not gonna write you to stay
If all you have is leaving I'm gonna need a better
Reason to write you a love song today

I learned the hard way
That they all say things you want to hear
And my heavy heart sinks deep down under you and
Your twisted words,
Your help just hurts
You are not what I thought you were
Hello to high and dry
Convinced me to please you
Made me think that I need this too
I'm trying to let you hear me as I am

I'm not gonna write you a love song
'cause you asked for it
'cause you need one, you see
I'm not gonna write you a love song
'cause you tell me it's
Make or break in this
If you're on your way
I'm not gonna write you to stay
If all you have is leaving I'm gonna need a better
Reason to write you a love song today

Promise me that you'll leave the light on
To help me see with daylight, my guide, gone
'cause I believe there's a way you can love me
Because I say
I won't write you a love song
'cause you asked for it
'cause you need one, you see

I'm not gonna write you a love song
'cause you tell me it's make or break in this
Is that why you wanted a love song
'cause you asked for it
'cause you need one, you see
I'm not gonna write you a love song
'cause you tell me it's make or break in this
If you're on your way
I'm not gonna write you to stay
If your heart is nowhere in it
I don't want it for a minute
Babe, I'll walk the seven seas when I believe that
There's a reason to
Write you a love song today

morning song

2012-01-27T05:00:00.000-08:00

Dark room, no sharp slice of sun. I extricate my sleep laden face from your chest, a little irritated. Light a cigarette, relishing the quick rush of morning nicotine. I fold and refold a paper, analysing the newly formed crease. You sleep steadily, mouth slightly open. I admire your beautiful cheekbones. You stir, stretch out your hand, reaching for me. I nestle like a cat. You suddenly remember something grave from the previous night. Frowning, you start rolling a joint. I sulk, argue. You retort. We play this for thirty minutes and suddenly, stoned, I pun. Instant exchange of mirth and consequent displacement of anger.
We stretch, talk, watch some television. We eat. You, meticulously with your knife and spoon, I clumsily with my hands. I touch your funny hair. You stare at me, call me affectionately. An invader walks in. I yawn, move downstairs and read for a bit. My mind creates a gigantic web and starts weaving patterns on it. I turn grey. Occasionally, crimson. I am grim. I can hear your laughter. Dusk sets in slowly, spreading its beautiful red face across the sky. We prepare for the night.

2012-01-25T05:02:00.000-08:00

I know you are alone. Crazily getting sucked inside that vortex. It's almost the state when you wake up after a turbulent dream. You fight cobwebs or a giant tree, and the insistent alarm clock tells you something has gone awry.
I know you are tempted sometimes, tempted to turn it around, sit inside the coupe of your stolen ship and not budge an inch.

The box

2012-01-24T16:17:00.000-08:00

There was a tiny boy. He had very white teeth and he liked grinning a lot. When he grinned, his eyes crinkled, and sparkled at the same time. It was quite marvellous. He was kind of scrawny and had crazy hair which he continuously brushed away from his forehead. He liked playing with the craziest of toys. And he found buttons in strange shops and stored them in a very special box. He met a little girl, even tinier than him, playing in the meadow one day and decided to give her the box. The girl looked at him suspiciously with big brown eyes and refused with a firm tilt of her determined chin. The tiny boy was stubborn. He really really wanted the little girl to take his box and make it her own. He was quite a nice boy, you see. The box was beautiful, with little stars on it.
The boy then told the girl, "If you take this box from me, you'll be happy." The girl scoffed a little bit. She was happy all right. She had Garcon, the big frog, Strawberry, her pet bunny, and the meadow. She needed nothing else.
The boy was unhappy. He did not want his box anymore. When he went home, his mom saw that his mouth had drooped a little bit. She drew him to her arms and said, "What stole the smile, my precious?" The boy told his mom the story of the girl in the meadow. His mom made him some cocoa, and told him, "I think the box is meant to be yours for now. The box does not need a little girl, it needs you. Fill it up with joy..your toys, your wooden buttons, your drawings, badges, pebbles and anything else you treasure.When you think it's filled to the brim, keep it tucked away safely. Someday, you'll need it again." The boy gave his mom a big kiss and carried the box safely upstairs.
Years passed. The boy was all grown up. He had mentioned the box to no one ever.
He was heartbroken, this boy. He wanted someone to take his box from him, and explode with happiness.
He walked over to the meadow, sat under his favourite tree, and took out the box carefully from his coat pocket. The stars still merrily glinted. He missed his mother. He looked up at the sky and kept staring for the longest time.
"Hello." He looked back, startled. There was a girl standing behind him, with the prettiest brown eyes and a very familiar chin. "Hey, you scared me." The girl smiled. "Sorry. Can I sit? You kind of stole my favourite reading spot, so." They sat side by side, in comfortable silence, admiring the beauty of the meadow in spring.
The boy looked at her. He hesitated for a second, before picking up the box and handing it to her.
The girl twinkled at him and slowly opened it.

2011-12-30T23:57:00.000-08:00

Ageing is a difficult process and I didn't even know when it slowly crept up my neck and entered my brain cells.
This year has been crazy. I still can't believe it's over. I still can't believe things were so different last year.
Like a storm everything turned upside down, then there was calm, then I saw the light.
Little T is dead, he sailed away with the water. I know he's around, smoking one of his fat doobies. It's just an illusion that he went up in flames. I know you're around. I'm sorry I was rude the last time I met you, but you know.
I'm glad I still have people around me who matter. Then there are some who don't anymore.
I am glad that me and you are awesome friends. I'm glad we know each other inside out. I'm glad you have found someone to be insane with. You are one of the best people ever. And don't change too much.
And I found you, in this strange place, strangely, fit into you like I should have maybe. I promise to be your strength, as you are mine. I promise not to let the world come between us. It's our sky.
I feel closer to the parents than ever before. I think they are the best people on earth. It's not that I don't get annoyed, but still they are rock solid quirky people who brought me up. That must have been quite a lot of effort!
It's been a long trip. Let's see where it all goes from here.
Be good people, and make those resolutions, whether you keep them or not.

2011-12-08T06:11:00.000-08:00

"Once upon a time, there was Candy and Dan. Things were very hot that year. All the wax was melting in the trees. He would climb balconies, climb everywhere, do anything for her, oh Danny boy. Thousands of birds, the tiniest birds, adorned her hair. Everything was gold. One night the bed caught fire. He was handsome and a very good criminal. We lived on sunlight and chocolate bars. It was the afternoon of extravagant delight. Danny the daredevil. Candy went missing. The days last rays of sunshine cruise like sharks. I want to try it your way this time. You came into my life really fast and I liked it. We squelched in the mud of our joy. I was wet-thighed with surrender. Then there was a gap in things and the whole earth tilted. This is the business. This, is what we're after. With you inside me comes the hatch of death. And perhaps I'll simply never sleep again. The monster in the pool. We are a proper family now with cats and chickens and runner beans. Everywhere I looked. And sometimes I hate you. Friday -- I didn't mean that, mother of the blueness. Angel of the storm. Remember me in my opaqueness. You pointed at the sky, that one called Sirius or dog star, but on here on earth. Fly away sun. Ha ha fucking ha you are so funny Dan. A vase of flowers by the bed. My bare blue knees at dawn. These ruffled sheets and you are gone and I am going too. I broke your head on the back of the bed but the baby he died in the morning. I gave him a name. His name was Thomas. Poor little god. His heart pounds like a voodoo drum."

(smaw + me, candy, december night)

I will remember, because something changed. We intensified over the last few days. You drank from my cup of madness, I melted with you, I cried into you. And it seemed you were completely mine, it seemed like you wrote something grave inside me.

2011-11-24T08:11:00.000-08:00

Yet there's no one to beat you no one to defeat you except the thoughts of yourself feeling bad

Only one teaspoon of sugar

2011-11-24T04:23:00.001-08:00

You were sitting idle, staring at the computer screen intently. I sat near your leg with a newspaper, pretending to read. Something was bothering you. Your eyes were distant, little beads of sweat formed on your nose.

She sauntered in, tall, quite big, a gentle smile playing around her lips. We looked up, startled. I refused to acknowledge her presence. I excused myself and went out for a walk. Bought my favourite coffee, smoked a cigarette. Humming a tune, I stepped on the sidewalk, crushing a few dry leaves under my feet.

I wondered what you two were talking about. Maybe you were looking at her, admiring the curve of her cheek. Maybe your fingers brushed against hers as you served her tea. Maybe you were dissecting current world politics.

She looks at you lovingly, holding your gaze. You brush aside your meandering thoughts. You are determined to be in love with me.

I walk back slowly, impatiently pushing truant strands of hair away from my forehead.

You smile at me. “Where were you? I was waiting for you.” I look around the room, sniffing discreetly for a whiff of her fragrance. You look at me strangely, “Are you okay?”, you ask, touching my chin.

I move away, a little ashamed, a little surprised.

Where is my mind

2011-11-21T03:59:00.000-08:00

November, starkly different from the previous year, but December is almost here. The slightest hint of winter is disconcerting. Want more, want more.
No angst, so no rant. So zen i surprise and scare myself. Zen is an antagonist. I can never be zen.
Nightime collagemaking is the best thing in the world, post refrigerator raid.
Watched Dick Tracy yesterday. Such magnificent sets. Strange, nice.
Oh, and I love sparring with you. I feel alive, sparkly.

I wish I could write more, but no.

Ta.

2011-11-14T08:09:00.000-08:00

What to believe, what ideas to discard? Too much meat to create one big fat lie and difficult to give up on your own fiction.
A few songs, a few movies, a few adored names, a few hastily read lines, and you were created.
Presently, you refuse to leave, presently wisps of your character collides violently with my well-loved, well-comforted, well-nourished soul.
Poor you, unaware, in your own little world.

Letter

2011-11-03T10:17:00.000-07:00

Last winter, you and I were loafing around a cinema. We were warily glaring at cops and I remember you said something nice. We drank awful milky coffee and bumped into people we knew.
Last winter I met you for the first time. Liked you instantly. You reminded me of someone I adored, one of mine, who does not belong anymore, someone who decided not to belong. Decided I was too inconsistent to be her friend.
You and your schizophrenic conversations. Your tears, your drama. Your constant need to discard, to be merciless. I liked being with you however. I liked how lazy moments spun new thoughts, I liked eating out of boxes, I liked falling asleep suddenly. I liked our strange friendship, till you decided to push too hard.
And you, something about you I loved to love. I liked our conversations, I liked your room floor. But you moved away with time and a precious piece of me.
I miss you, our pointlessness, our intense friendship, the blankets, the laughter. I'm grateful you're still around.
You, who I kissed one drunken night, without a thought, a care, and then cried guilty and heartsick. You don't exist.
Your grin disarms me even now. I dream of it sometimes, and wake up, alarmed. Then, as familiar noises fill my ears, I lie back with a sigh.
I miss you too, my brother, my own. And you little funny clown, with a golden heart.
You, young boy, you are wonderful, with your curly mop and songs and dreams, so similar to ours, old like the scattered us, stretched over these years.
You are special, you were perhaps meant to be mine. You who walked in like a storm on a still day - and I exploded. I need you, I want to be around you, to look at you, touch your nose, feel your gentle breathing against my skin, hold you as you thrash around in your sleep. I need to be your story, the most significant one.

2011-10-12T08:22:00.000-07:00

I wish I gave myself a chance. To see, explore, rise above my mind. I never listen. I don't really know what's in store.

2011-09-16T00:55:00.000-07:00

Acrid, sweet September. Strange, almost prophetic weather. Destroying cells, biting asses.

As expected, I'm okay. Lying on my back, inhaling love. Chasing fictitious mice, leisurely chewing on cloth.

2011-08-26T14:46:00.000-07:00

so what do you think
i know your brain's buzzing
with stories old and new
strangely it's like a riddle

what happened to the times i thought i knew
everything about everything

my blood honeys
i turn into a monkey
keyed into you, fitting
like glove, aftertaste of cinnamon

travelling with love
i leaped and jumped and found

2011-08-19T01:30:00.000-07:00

our synchronised breathing, like the wheels of a caravan.

2011-08-17T10:08:00.000-07:00

I took a leap of faith.

I think of you occasionally. I miss your laughter.

I like my hair blowing around my face, and settling down slowly.

I feel crazy, as the world changes around me.

It's nice, our eulogies are the same.

We can connect the dots and move across the universe.

2011-08-10T01:06:00.000-07:00

How to?
How to?

2011-08-07T22:45:00.000-07:00

You come and go as you please, elusive night star

And I sway with you, your whims

I had a ball, I must say, with new love on my branch,

Friends, laughter, music and a fast, fast life.

I will remember and cherish every glorious morning and night

Every moment of camaraderie, every note of music, every doodle

And yes, my selfish love

Stands out like shiny green ink on a fresh new page.

I am not scared of losing this game anymore.

Humour will stand me in good stead.

Lonely nights, I won’t dread,

Will welcome them instead, with their dark cloaks and messy hair.

I wish my throat could swallow the hurt.

I wish I had the brains to analyse complex situations,

I wish you were ok, I wish you were here,

I wish you wouldn’t love me this madly.

I am just trouble.

afraid to break some bones?

2011-08-02T00:39:00.000-07:00

Am I right in the things I am thinking, should I be even allowed to dream a little dream, sing a little song, hop skip jump fly taste?

I have a sun in my heart, shining crazily but I don't know what to do with it.
I have a friendly green monster to tame in my soul.

I think of you, your heart-shaped scar, but I let you fly away in bits.
I lie next to you, hearts beating in unison, dreams in focus, a whole lot of love.

Nowadays, I keep breaking into little pieces, as my best friends sail away. I feel rootless. I feel like scampering away to nowhere, where nothing can hurt.

Come with me

2011-07-06T10:17:00.001-07:00

Baby, are you running away, slowly, surely, peeling off skin and more skin?

Dusting off gathered dust, wiping the grime off my brow?

Bare boned beauty, I didn’t want this. I didn’t see your storm, the potential, the immense danger.

Yesterday, I cried over lost love, cried over a faraway soul sister.

Special places slowly fade, special places glow in the dark,

Like a million fireflies clustered together, dying together.

I would like to be your little darling; I would like to be my own too.

I don’t need my head to spin faster than this.

What do you think of me now, destroyed?

Do you want to be a pretty boy in my pretty, picturesque life?

I needed to mourn, needed to alter slightly, but we started walking.

And wave after wave crashed on the shore.

I swung back, feeling tiny, elated, sad.

I embrace the new, the wonderful

My heart warms inside

But I can’t stop these images inside my head.

Blurry, technicolour,

Like three years zooming past in super quick motion

But I am okay, I have to untwist.

I want to fall more, let myself go slowly,

I want to know you, your stories,

I want to memorise you,

I want to walk with you, take trains with you, read with you,

Feed cats with you, talk for hours with you.

Baby, don’t run away.

Stumble

2011-07-04T09:16:00.003-07:00

I don’t know what to make of you.

So new, so alien, yet beautiful

I was falling, swaying with the wind,

I was walking backwards, compelled

To rethink, rearrange, walk into a wall

I wasn’t prepared, in all honesty.

Naked to the bones,

I held my head and moulded it constantly.

I don’t know what happened when

We started running,

Like strange children on a rainy day,

Splashing on puddles, holding hands,

Lisping stories, making faces

I am glad. I am learning to read your face.

Learning something new, something delicious everyday

I pinch myself every morning.

Trace my footsteps back, looking in vain at empty corners

I don’t know what to do about that either.

So much love I float

So much love I laugh

So much love I wonder

How did we stumble upon each other?

Gone sugar

2011-06-10T09:47:00.000-07:00

I would write a hate song if I could, hiss like an angry teapot and weave a tale of decay.

But I really don’t know how to deal with this mess.

I don’t know how to handle this headache, this constant flitting between fury and despair.

You may think its okay, shrug nonchalantly, smile indulgently, or maybe you are an adolescent, a miserable one.

I don’t know. I am not used to heartbreaks.

I miss you, your familiarity, your smell, your stupidity. I miss talking to you, fighting with you.

I knew I could come back home to you, you were a constant in this turbulence.

Now, I swallow gum accidentally, worry about dying from it and I don’t know whom to share it with.

How did it all come apart?

All arguments in my head come undone piece by piece. There’s so much to think of, so many wounds to lick, I don’t know where to begin.

I am trying to run away, savouring the anger, strangers, incessant revelry, and conversations with heart sick sisters.

Once alone, there’s only an acid aftertaste, and an acute sense of abandonment.

2011-05-21T09:29:00.000-07:00

I deleted the last post, because inevitably everything's pointless. I don't know if this too shall pass, and i don't know if I can ever be a ball of happiness radiating positive energy.
All I know is that something has broken. Something major has changed. Turned its back.
It's not that i am enjoying this. But I don't know what to do about it.
I wish to be patient, I wish to start liking myself and others around me.
I wish to talk, mystify, have a ball.
I wish to be brave.

2011-05-08T00:41:00.000-07:00

The inside loves drama, the outside detests.
I liked Gigantic for a bit, because of the difference.
Tomorrow is your birthday. I can only sing. As I grow older, your offer so much solace. As i tiptoe over my fears, as i wake up startled from a dream, as i fight existence:

তোমায়     নতুন করেই পাব বলে হারাই ক্ষণে ক্ষণ
ও মোর      ভালোবাসার ধন।
          দেখা দেবে বলে তুমি হও যে অদর্শন,
ও মোর      ভালোবাসার ধন॥
ওগো       তুমি আমার নও আড়ালের,  তুমি আমার চিরকালের--
          ক্ষণকালের লীলার স্রোতে হও যে নিমগন,
ও মোর      ভালোবাসার ধন॥
আমি        তোমায় যখন খুঁজে ফিরি ভয়ে কাঁপে মন--
          প্রেমে আমার ঢেউ লাগে তখন।
তোমার     শেষ নাহি, তাই শূন্য সেজে  শেষ করে দাও আপনাকে যে,
          ওই হাসিরে দেয় ধুয়ে মোর বিরহের রোদন,
ও মোর     ভালোবাসার ধন॥

2011-05-02T08:35:00.000-07:00

I was staring at scars some day last week. The woman caught me staring and shot me a glare. I looked away, ashamed.
This new found oldness is comforting, it lulls me to sleep every night. Long before dawn, insects gather at my feet, shadows dance on walls, and unaware, they don't frighten me.
Sometimes, I break the routine, listen to a new song, keep my desk cluttered. Sometimes, I smell your hair differently.

here all the bombs fade away

2011-03-26T01:10:00.000-07:00

Sitting around a candle, trying to form a complete sentence. Or, a headache at 5 in the morning, and we wonder aloud.

I really want to go a-travellin. Thinking how to go about it.
few weeks of bumming around, a routine is alluring right n-ow.

bad trip. bad trip. as the bathroom floor swirled around, and giant droplets hallucinated rainbows.

trying to be okay since then.

if you think i am dissociating, it's true.

When we arrive
Sons and daughters
We'll make our homes on the water
We'll build our walls aluminum
We'll fill our mouths with cinnamon now

2011-03-22T05:49:00.000-07:00

Norwegian Wood gnawed on my insides. It was a beautiful gnawing, i must say. It was worth the sweet wait.

2011-03-17T09:33:00.000-07:00

Roaming the streets at hours beyond sleep, sun high in the sky. Hungry and feeling slightly askew. My summer fringe is shorter, i like it ahaa-n. Would you like a cup of tea, mister?

Today the lane seemed narrower than ever, and i tried talking to a beautiful grey cat, only to be stared at with great disdain. Floated across the asphalt, then, thinking of a heartbreak.

full

2011-03-15T01:38:00.000-07:00

Train rides are an essential aspect of travelling- staring into the vivid sky and across the green, always a blur of darker green.
Revelry often involves an adamant frog and music which throbs steadily into the tremble of the night. Outside, incessant insect-music and tree-conversations. A bohemian man drinks up the beer, staring at stoned young strangers across the thatched bamboo mat, and insists on talking eloquently. Before the fire crackles and shoots tiny star shaped sparkles into the darkness, something slithers behind the circle making my wretched city-heart shiver.
I smile as we stare into faces, half-known, cosy in our familiarity. Quaint wooden uncomfortable bunk beds filled with the scatter of the temporary, the busy. All our dreams mingle in the ritual mess.
Dusk, we sit on a tractor, filled with sand, jiggling chests, shrieks and thick, still, swirls of smoke from the chillum.
A slow trail of rickshaws, almost a caravan, snakes its way through crumbly red lanes into the heart of a closed market. Fireflies, like stars, pulsate everywhere, lighting up dark trees, and the violet sky dances nimbly, slowly, taking its time like a caress.
Bauls sing known songs, and we stare at the half-moon between two branches, startled as someone unknown, faceless lights a cigarette and his contours slowly become visible.
I sleep happily, in another room, and run through the jungle in the middle of the night. We meet a bunch of snarling langurs sitting close together, and a small one on a tree. I think of a languid hour spent in a circular red room, staring at kindred trees, head resting on my bag, and fold the image carefully away for keepsake.
:)

One, two, three. four

2011-02-26T00:26:00.000-08:00

If I have been too presumptuous, I sincerely apologise. Last night was special as I realised how love and hate coexist in different vestibules. I am really sorry if I have hurt you. To put it simply, I think i am finally over this entire mess. but I also want to tell you that once upon a time, ancient as it seems now, I really liked you and considered you to be a friend, and for me, that bond was more special than anything else. (I think the photographs are wonderfully warm, by the way)

Memories are strange, you know, even though you think you have deleted particular depressing blue moments, they suddenly creep up on you and then you can only gasp for breath.

Right now, what we are doing is more important to me than anything else, and God knows we are working our collective asses off. Yes there are times when we feel that it's not going to happen, we won't be able to do anything, and there'll be no revival whatsoever, but then there are euphoric moments, there are moments after a hard day's work when we sit under our tree, and that huge chunk of hope and happiness engulfs us as we feel, no fuck everyone, this is going to work out, we ARE going to make this happen. And it's so beautiful to see every corner of the country responding to us, and getting ecstatic! I can only feel grateful, cross my fingers and hope not to jinx it.

As brainscrewed as i am, it felt nice to confess.

"Sweetheart bitterheart now I can't tell you apart
Cosy and cold, put the horse before the cart

Those teenage hopes who have tears in their eyes
Too scared to own up to one little lie

Oh, you're changing your heart
Oh, you know who you are"

....................................................................

as a friend said that day: tooo much dramatixx! :D

2011-02-24T08:31:00.000-08:00

hey hey hey hey.

To much drama happening! haha. but i stand my ground firmly. Anyone can justify anything, like I can say er, that I can talk to people without an actual conversation happening,. like ourminds are speaking over tens and thousands of currents, or suchlike. I can't be vicious after a certain point, extremely stoned right now. And, well, what i have understood is that some people never change, and well, they are not meant to! Such sincere hatred for noone else in this world. you coward, hope an annoying orange nibbles your brain into tiny pieces.

okay, this is going nowhere
love

2011-02-09T09:50:00.000-08:00

Every spring reminds me of the time in school when the tree outside my window started sprouting scarlet flowers, and it was examtime, and always always a bunch of new books from the book fair lying around tempting me to run to the bathroom, sit on the pot for ages and read, read. Or that time when the chhaad in Bijoygarh was ideal for daydreaming, and the cuckoos used to go crazy singing to the tunes inside our heads.
And then stolen hojmi and kaancha aam from Shreo's neighbour, and staying at her house for weeks, and giggling at night over a crush on a class six senior.
Now, there are only memories, and a tremendous sadness tugs at my throat, and I know the world's all fucked up, it's all strange.

2011-01-11T08:39:00.000-08:00

Call this shameless publicity, but i would still love you people if you would read my scribbles here: http://www.ujaanfestival.org/blog/ Support this cause, and gear up for the festival- with lots of sun, great music, beautiful people, and fresh local seafood! Also, I promise to give you candy if you start commenting on that blog, and like my daily updates. Do leave your feedback, and make me a happy girl?

2011-01-05T01:28:00.000-08:00

a singularly strange week, as one year leaped to strangle a new one. I might lack coherence, and mutely observe. Forlorn, slightly stoned, mad colours behind my eyes. But, never expected such strength from myself. An almost dying best friend on my lap, speech-slurred, eyes rolled backwards, tiny hands holding my bosom, and the tragic stench of vomit. Surreal night, and you seemed so solid. Hospital action, sick heroic dad, endless caffeine, people people, mad rush of people, dying youth in the nightmarish, very sanitized lift. Blue is the colour of sleep. Blue is the colour of my new found self.

2010-12-23T22:43:00.000-08:00

There's a lump in my throat. I can't help it. I'll miss you so much this festive season, and new year's eve won't be the same without kissing you at midnight and you laughing at the drunk me. Cheesy, but true. :(

"Gray, quiet and tired and mean
Picking at a worried seam
Itry to make you mad at me over the phone.
Red eyes and fire and signs
I'm taken by a nursery rhyme
I want to make a ray of sunshine and never leave home

No amount of coffee, no amount of crying
No amount of whiskey, no amount of wine
No, nothing else will do
I've gotta have you, I've gotta have you.

The road gets cold, there's no spring in the middle this year
I'm the new chicken clucking open hearts and ears
Oh, such a prima donna, sorry for myself
But green, it is also summer
And I won't be warm till I'm lying in your arms

I see it all through a telescope: guitar, suitcase, and a warm coat
Lying in the back of the blue boat, humming a tune... "

2010-12-21T03:52:00.000-08:00

A small/gigantic part of me is quite mad. But then, you already knew that, didn't you?

My nose is perpetually cold now, but i am loving this season. It's cold, my blanket is super soft, and the city looks prettier somehow.

Dad is okay and quite nervous I think. He's being super cool, but that night, at around 3 am i caught him fiddling around the kitchen with a saucepan and a pair of scissors. When he saw me standing there, bleary-eyed and astonished, he sheepishly told me: " ei saucepan-er handle ta loose hoye geche" ( the handle of this saucepan is loose and hence the saucepan wobbles). So i asked him: " er, but why are you trying to fix that now? Do you want to make something?" then he grinned at me, said, " No, no, just like that" and went back to sleep. That should explain it!

I was very upset yesterday. i couldn't handle the stress, the uncertainty of everything around me. I know i have to deal with so many things that is being taken care of at the moment, and i know i am an adult now, capable of taking decisions, making plans, executing them and being the support-system of my near and dear ones, but i am a sissy. And i needed one of the two important men in my life to be around me to take care of me when the other one would be at the hospital. but, yeah, things never happen like that. So, i have to bear with the voices inside my head, put on a brave and happy front and be a big girl.

Good news is i am super excited about this. Ideas are buzzing around my head and i can't wait to be a part of The Office. Also, check our twitter page here. Follow us, send in your ideas, be a part of this! =)

2010-12-15T06:06:00.000-08:00

made up my mind. yess. nice new experiences should always be welcomed with a giant hug.

Things at home are tense, because Baba is going in for a major surgery, and this Christmas i plan to be with him, maybe watch a movie together like we used to. Nothing beats the warmth you receive from your parents, and my daddy is STRONGEST, so am sure he'll be healthy and happy and beat me at sudoku again. The month he'll be home, i plan to cook and read and get cosy. sounds nice, no?

=)

2010-12-11T07:55:00.001-08:00

When I went out to look for my head, it was a dangerous experience.

So that happens on a day you make a life-altering decision and a bad cup of tea.
It's like someone is scraping my insides with a very sharp, pointed object. Rubbishing all that is good, or apparently so.

2010-12-09T01:43:00.000-08:00

I understand nothing about anything anymore. Reading Calvino this strange, damp winter morning something inside me broke.

"What do you mean? Everything's in its place. All is as it should be. Everything is a result of something else. Everything fits in with everything else. We can't see anything absurd or wrong!"

And yes, i am still standing here, quite lost. different people at different parts of the day, at different parts of the city, in different groups.

I can scream myself hoarse but if I don't comprehend the state of the mind, I can't blame you. Maybe I am self-absorbed, but aren't we all, aren't you? I apologize for making it miserable and I don't. You'll say it's from too much pot. No, i can dissociate. I should let you go, because we are too young to do this. Or maybe, not equipped enough.

Maybe the inside of my head is not peaceful. Maybe people are fighting battles over trivial things like a statement. The world's gone wrong, so can we can we can we?

from where i stand now, things look tilted, things look oddly misplaced.

I haven't been nice this year. Or so a voice tells me. And you, I have wanted to delve inside your twisted little head- you're so hard to figure, y'know?

2010-12-06T09:41:00.000-08:00

It drizzled today. Groggily crossing the street, almost slipped .
Nothing falls into place anymore. it's cold now, and as i wrapped the scarf around me tightly, I felt strangely out of focus. i know i might snap. i will snap, probably. I can take the blame, but well, that's inevitable.

2010-11-30T02:00:00.000-08:00

Dean Moriarty: The New “Hero” of the Road.

On the Road (1957), known as the “Bible of the Beat Generation” is most definitely Kerouac’s most popular novel. Characterised by rapid pace, this book vividly portrays 1950’s underground America. Kerouac, the “King of the Beats”, had heard the term ‘beat’, on the streets. According to Kerouac, it meant “weariness with all the forms”, - weariness with militarism, its conformity, distrust of spontaneity and nature, and excess faith in human reason and technological process. The Beats championed all forms of liberation- sexual and spiritual and they glorified and celebrated candour, individuality, risk and were completely opposed to materialism and the mass media. What seemed to set the Beats apart from their peers was a deep, disturbing alienation that transcended their identities as artists and extended to personal idiosyncrasy and a self-destructive bent. Such tendencies were captured in an intellectual fascination perhaps even an identification with outcasts and criminals. The Beat agenda attempted to reveal in the most intimate detail, the world of the outcast. America, to the Beats, had morphed into a ‘spiritual wasteland’, a land of intolerable repression and conformity, and extreme measures were needed to overcome the restrictions placed on the individual. They sought liberation through hedonistic self-indulgence and found companionship and spiritual kinship with those on the margins of the society- addicts, thieves and dropouts. ‘On the Road’, like Ginsberg’s ‘Howl’ and the novels of Burroughs, chronicles the life of the new hero- the marginal individual, who leads a dangerous life and who attacks every notion of normality embraced by the bland guardians of middle class existence. Kerouac explores through Dean Moriarty the nature of the ‘anti-hero’, the ‘hipster’, the ‘non-conformist street punk’ and the rebel outcast.

Dean Moriarty- “the holy con man with the shining mind” is the subject of the novel. He is variously described as “A holy primitive”, a “mad man” “a youth tremendously excited with life” Dean stands for Neal Cassady, Kerouac’s friend and someone who stood for the values which according to Kerouac constituted the word ‘beat’. Dean/Neal had spent their childhood in Denver slums, and had been a part of reform schools and jails. He is a social outcast- yet he is exuberant, spontaneous and in him can be located a tremendous optimism which in a way transcends the existential uncertainty of the era. Sal Paradise is the narrator of ‘On the Road’- someone who identifies with the ‘hero on action’, but is himself not at the centre of activity. He is inspired to a great extent by Dean and attempts to bring about a change in his own life. Through the continental road trips, Dean and Sal are looking for means to partake in the American experience and to discover “IT”- “a transcendental moment in which the complete essence of something is understood”.

The structure of ‘On the Road’ is neatly arranged and the order of events roughly corresponds to similar events in Kerouac’s life. The narrative begins when Sal Paradise (Kerouac) meets Dean Moriarty (Neal Cassady) for the first time around 1946 in New York City and ends shortly after Sal gets back to New York after a devastating trip to Mexico City with Dean in October, 1950. Sal first met Dean after he got divorced and he describes how, with the arrival of Dean “began the part of my life you could call my life on the road” The novel is centred only on this life. The coming of Dean is a major turning point in the narrator’s life, and as the novel ends four years later with Sal’s separation from Dean, another major turning point takes place. However, there is no hint of what happens in the future.

The narrator Sal is essentially different from the excitable Dean. Dean Moriarty is almost manically energetic, and he embodies a kind of freedom that can never be achieved by Sal. Sal Paradise’s character in the novel is important- he is deliberately presented sketchily so as to set off the two. He is presented as a follower, the “innocent neophyte”, someone who “shambles” after people who interest him- the “mad” people- “ the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles..” And needless to say, Dean is one of the “mad ones” and Sal is overwhelmed with a sense of wonder at Dean’s holy primitiveness. Though he cannot himself experience fully what Dean is experiencing, he is tempted to, he is keen to observe and identify with someone who is an archetype of the naturally transformed new man. Through Dean, Sal is shown the folly of rationalistic and materialistic impulses that reflect the dominant culture in favour of a more instinctive spiritual orientation. It is only but natural that Sal admires Dean as the latter possesses the “special knowledge”, and Sal is almost envious of this knowledge. Dean is the hipster who is free from and far away from conventions and he has been able to preserve the spontaneity, the vital primitive response and he has the courage to embrace life on the edge and yet survive. Like Sal, Dean doesn’t reflect on experience and record it, and unlike him, he doesn’t at any point in the novel, face any kind of spiritual impasse. Sal, at the point of achieving near transcendence, falls sick and Dean deserts his friend in search of more life. When Sal recovers, he realises “what a rat” Dean had been, yet he does not discredit Dean’s heroic status. The negative qualities of Dean are alluded to from time to time in the novel but they are usually dismissed in favour of a positive portrayal. What is clear from this is that Kerouac’s attempt to present Dean as the “religious prophet”, “an avatar of pure being”, and a new kind of anti hero obscured Dean’s demonic side and resulted in the narrator’s unwillingness to gauge his “megalomania”. It is evident in the novel that Dean is manipulative, yet Sal defends him as being misunderstood, or accuses others as being envious of him. The connection between Sal Paradise and Dean Moriarty has often been interpreted in homosexual terms, but Sal emphasises throughout the novel his quest for a figure of a brother, rather than a lover. Later in the novel Sal explains matter-of-factly to two college boys terrified by Dean’s wild driving- “He’s mad...and yes, he’s my brother.”

Dean Moriarty is someone who is fully possessed by the idea of reaching the zenith of physical and emotional delight. He is someone who seduces- one feels almost tempted to follow in his footsteps. Sal is hypnotized by Dean and lured by the idea of experiencing a “new world”, but he gradually begins to understand that he is inherently different from Dean. After each road-trip, each marvellous adventure, Sal retires to a protected environment- living at home, being cared for by an aunt, and working on a novel. Sal has been on the road, but he has never really been of the road, like Dean.

It is important to mention that it is during Kerouac’s fateful trip to the Mexico City with Cassady that he discovered Cassady’s nature fully- Cassady for Kerouac had then become “more than an embodiment of beat”- he had become the “embodiment of the spiritual forces of creation and destruction”. Cassady fascinated Kerouac, as Dean fascinates Sal Paradise. Dean is presented as a glorified figure in the novel and his “hipster amorality” which was the source of Holmes’s and Brossard’s uneasiness with the “hipster” figure, is overlooked. Sal, in Part 3 of “On the Road” assumes responsibility for Dean’s eccentric behavior and herein occurs the climax of their relationship.

Sal Paradise’s major illumination in the novel is his ability to recognize “IT”. Dean illustrates this concept by referring to the jazz musicians they had seen one night- “Now, man, that alto man last night had IT- he held it once he found it, I’ve never seen a guy who could hold it so long.” The quest for “IT” continues in Part 4 of the novel and eventually Sal realises the true nature of “IT”. “IT” is ecstasy which eventually leads to death and loss. This idea of immense joy and purity which consequently leads to a great sense of loss, disillusionment and dismay reminds one of Nick Carroway’s final attitude towards Gatsby’s dream in ‘The Great Gatsby’.

It is quite clear that “On the Road” finally is a defeatist and even an “elegiac” novel- it is truly “enormously sad”. Despite the tremendous excitement which characterizes the novel, it promises nothing but disillusionment. Sal Paradise, at the end of the road, has discovered his hero and the dreams this hero represented and he is back to the world he belonged to. Kerouac’s ‘spontaneous prose style’ is completely new, but the novel remains a traditional tale of youth’s disillusionment. However, what stands out is how this disenchantment is transferred here to the ‘hobo’- the bohemian living on the margins of the society, embodied through Dean Moriarty. Through Dean, Kerouac not only celebrates the figure of the outcast, but also upholds the ‘spontaneous American personality’, and the effort of that personality to express himself through “confessional conversations, cars, sex, marijuana and jazz.” ‘On the Road’ turned Dean into a human image of the “vast wild continent which is his playground”. This celebration of life by Dean is irresistible and consequently, ‘On the Road’ continues to inspire the young to follow in Dean’s footsteps and to feel, as they are doing so, that they are taking part in some unwritten ritual of the American experience.

my favourite term paper. reminiscing. hence. might delete soon. but wanted you people to read. =) appreciation or brickbats welcome, but please don't steal.

2010-11-25T01:03:00.000-08:00

not cold November morning. the mutant crows outside my window are cawing about some conspiracy they have recently identified in us.

i am in a dilemma. which is making me impatient.

2010-11-24T02:21:00.000-08:00

Was calmly walking down the stairs (scared of the lift, alone) when suddenly the sky peeked out from the window. For some reason, Joyce is inside my head today and consequently epiphany epiphany hanging from the rear of a car. People are starting to freak me out, they are disintegrating into tiny lumps and i can only observe, for once putting away my Miss fixit image. (me and U had a funny conversation regarding fixit during lunchtime today, but we talk in hoardings). Chasing deadlines with a dead pan expression on my face, often breaking into laughter or glum, bratty fury. Then, of course, walking down seedy streets stoned beyond belief, pausing mid-sentence and hysterics with a big plate of horrible crispy fried chicken. Bonds in every form, quite precious.

edit: haha, was stealthily reading a funny book about Advertising and every word in it about the Copywriter is uncannily true which includes finding Grass in the drawer and MAD magazines and writing a Brochure for ages and going blind while Proof-checking. lifeissadarkabyss anyone?

2010-11-22T05:00:00.000-08:00

My last post scandalized a stranger, though it was innocent enough. Mere herbs, nothing more than that. But it was quite amusing.

I don't know what to look forward to. I have saved no money at all.

Well, that is my life in a nutshell. Observe from outer space, and die of ennui.

I feel like this:

which reminds me. Check out Maheshwari Janarthanan's awesome work at: paperplanes
Isn't she like a chocolate cupcake? :)

2010-11-20T13:13:00.000-08:00

there is a girl, who is yippeee at the moment. the day has passed, and she has licked and rolled to perfection her way to happiness. delicious sleep came after that and sugared cereal before.

trip toss turn

2010-11-08T03:46:00.000-08:00

check check check. sigh. grumble. write. bite pencil. download shaa'ir and func new album. bop head to love love love hyperbole sexy scam shine. brilliant.

The child in me wants bright new erasers, the ones which used to smell so good. the adult in me wants my place back, the place i've made my own, rightfully so. things won't work out your way, love, things won't. they never do. Wanderlust, give me a ride.

good diwali. three-day-weekend. a cold cruel smoky city endless spliffs smoked tequila drunk people on the floor scaring the eyes in neon light.

half conversations, half-delirium. happiness is a difficult chore.

fullstops are tiring me out, people are tiring me out.

edit: Mister Blacko might leave town. Happy for him, sad for me. i'll miss you endlessly. don't go away aaannn.

and now, aa-bb ugly pome for old hag.

there was an old bitch

who was very very rich

wanted to kick her ass

wouldnt care if it was crass

oh Lucy!

2010-11-04T03:52:00.000-07:00

so many things to do but everyday is kicking everyday and i am being jerked forward. motion is missing, winter is arriving( calcutta winter, which is hardly winter, yes Srin but it's still nice and dreamy. ) Places i want to visit include Henry's Island, The Sunderbans, North Sikkim, Rajasthan, Dharamsala, Amsterdam (which might happen late next year, toes crossed) and butofcourse, Santiniketan( Prantik, with the quaint beautiful houses and powercuts and storms).

A meadow, lush and big, rolling around, lying back and watching the sky, walking along narrow roads, butterfly-watching, squatting on the ground rolling a spliff, scribbling in diary, talking less, befriending dogs and cats and monkeys.

A place to call my own- two tiny rooms, one tiny kitchen, books everywhere, yellow lights, plants, bedspreads on the floor and a fat cat sleeping on my tummy, scrambled eggs with cheese for dinner. Come?

Hair- long again, with a fringe.

(Image Credit: http://blog.freepeople.com/2010/08/vintage/)

ah.

2010-11-03T04:00:00.000-07:00

Shy boy.

You are like a tiny poem

Delicate ears, delicate hands

Eyes full of sorrow.

So far away from knowledge

From songs of the mind, sudden stories

and

Encounters.

2010-10-29T03:16:00.000-07:00

wretches of mine, dears and not-so-dears,

i like my pathos, but i like moving around. please travel with me here. it's a pansy-fancy place, it's sissy, it's strange and i thought it would be mine and only mine, but i would love to share.
so, indulge, and laugh at me.

If this were played upon a stage now, I could condemn it as an improbable fiction.

bisous

choipoi

p.s: i keep coming back to this, thus, perch here too.

2010-09-22T06:02:00.001-07:00

you know what, i don't have to pretend. I am really not fond of too many people. I used to be this happy, loving- everyone, grinning hippie but what the heck, college is over, i am just not that person anymore. I miss my best friends, i miss being the lovely person i used to be. I still care, but not too much. Too much cynicism has settled in. What i really want is to travel, is to just throw all my clothes into a bag, take off from work and routine and leave, and alone. no, i don't need you. I want the tingling sharp air and the trees and the clear,clear sky and only my head. I thought i could, but i can't. I can't do this.

2010-09-21T05:17:00.001-07:00

Our new office is situated on a bustling street, right behind a mosque and beside a dhaba and every afternoon we let go of work as the overpowering fragrance of kebabs grabs us by our nostrils and drags us away. Sometimes I just want to stay back late into the night, reading, scribbling, ideating and going completely blind. Work is nice because I am usually very engrossed, very busy or very bored. When bored I delve into a book and as I hardly have the leisure to do so anymore, I forget the troubles of the real and let the letters wash over me. I quenched my rum thirst yesterday, it felt so good. But I woke up with a sore mouth and to a sleeping-like-a-baby O and a disgruntled self. Clockwork Orange bathroom, and consequently rushing through traffic like a suicidal mad person .

Happiness is also meeting the mad people in my life, spending Saturdays with the boyfriend, eating a Subway sandwich, sudden midnight cab rides, laughing uncontrollably while watching uncensored footage, reminiscing about college, taking Blacko’s trip and, of course the chic UCB jacket for free free free!

2010-09-08T03:04:00.000-07:00

A strange empty hollow has been created, a very pompous, smug, forlorn hollow.

It has been 12 days. A long cigarette dangling from my lips after lunch is a fancy now, a fancy I am trying to throw into the bin along with the potty cigarette, the post-sex cigarette, the ughh you pissed me off cigarette, the drunk/high cigarette, the bored cigarette, the stressed out between work cigarette, the tea/ adda cigarette, the sitting in a circle-lighting a cigarette cigarette.

I have a solid, well-defined reason to be cranky now.

2010-08-31T06:22:00.000-07:00

I have a new little place, full of post-its, full of pansy-fancies, full of tiny little dots.
I like it.
On a different note:
She's not a girl who misses much
Do do do do do do, oh, yeah

She's well acquainted
With the touch of the velvet hand
Like a lizard on a window pane
The man in the crowd with the
Multicolored mirrors on his hobnail boots

Lying with his eyes
While his hands are busy working overtime
A soap impression of his wife
Which he ate and donated to the National Trust

I need a fix ?cause I'm going down
Down to the bits that I left uptown
I need a fix ?cause I'm going down

Mother Superior jump the gun
Mother Superior jump the gun
Mother Superior jump the gun
Mother Superior jump the gun
Mother Superior jump the gun
Mother Superior jump the gun

Happiness is a warm gun
(Bang bang, shoot shoot)
Happiness is a warm gun mama
(Bang bang, shoot shoot)
When I hold you in my arms
(Oh yeah)
And I feel my finger on your trigger
(Ooo, oh yeah)
I know nobody can do me no harm
(Ooo, oh yeah)

2010-08-28T22:44:00.001-07:00

So, i'll let you go, and my world will cease to exist, but I have to.

Did you too?

2010-08-13T02:42:00.000-07:00

When I feel like running around the streets screaming stupid stupid like a little brat with no social tightening and when I feel like saying aah no that’s Mister Crow my stomach tells me not to and my brain emits various signals so what am I to do?

A spin is a spin is a spin but did I really?
Gorgeous Belgian chocolates shaped like sea shells and delicious creamy tangy cheese.
Momentarily I forget.
So I snarl and bitch and snarl some more and curve myself around the work grind and escalating hours.
Twenty two years of existing.
Tonight the lights will bounce off my hair, and I’ll submerge.

2010-08-06T02:05:00.001-07:00

yee haw yee haw yee haw. not a donkey. just ridiculously loony. I am happy again! All my conflicts have been resolved and I can settle down like a complacent plump bird, and blink at the world in peace.

and, Boblusbug, i love you gallons xx

2010-08-05T00:59:00.001-07:00

The alarm tone which wakes me up every morning is a frivolous unknown rather weird song and then it continues to buzz around my head insistently. So my whole day circles around that very moment of waking up and I think that I need to change it soon. I’d prefer Cold Hard Bitch. Yesterday I slept like a baby stoned and happy. Client meeting in an hour, birthday in two days, Gravy show tonight. I grow old, I grow old. The red dot on my forehead comforts me. Maybe I’ll get used to it.
The orange fishie looks gleeful today. I think I’ll call it George.
Reading funny intimacy stories, Oatmeal, hark a vagrant, Hyperbole and a Half.
Little bored. Send me nice links. =)

2010-08-04T02:48:00.000-07:00

Right now my head’s a spinning top, as alone as that fish in a bowl at my workplace. I am swimming in circles and hitting my head against the glass occasionally. It’s not easy to transform and it’s tragic that I am even trying. Midnights are special again but I am perpetually sleep-deprived, perpetually crabby/weepy/angry. My brain is swinging to and fro and ideating is much more difficult than I thought it would be. You are my root, and my nook. And you are a feeling which is unfathomable, often brushed aside. I don’t know if it will rain this autumn, but you will be gone, and maybe there won’t be a tempest anymore, or maybe the idea will be lost.

2010-08-03T02:27:00.003-07:00

you are not mine you came waltzing in carefree your curls around your face and I lost my steady foothold I lost my firmly entrenched warmly built earth so now deliver your paper deliver your poetry as i relinquish my scruples bit by bit into an infinity of stardust tainted thoughts

Shooting the moon.

2010-07-27T06:14:00.000-07:00

Last week has been a blur- a beautiful big shiny blur. If I try describing it, I’ll probably fail and my brain will try analyzing facts and situations and fantasies and pictures. I’ll probably start moving and shaking and overthinking. So, I refrain and instead revel in the grandeur of transforming reality for a few days. I catch hold of a few shimmering strands curled around my ears and tuck them back safely because I am alive and happy and happier and now I see things differently. My yellow glasses are off and I am unbearably warm.

2010-07-26T09:44:00.000-07:00

so fake, so fucken fake. And, yeah, i had to be stupidly stupidly ignorant. Sometimes this overwhelming stupidity of the self is just too much to handle. And you, you SUCK. Your FACE sucks.

2010-07-22T10:20:00.000-07:00

for now there's this intense strange ache and for now i can only pretend to laugh

2010-07-21T03:05:00.000-07:00

I can only stare at your tousled head and choke back idiotic tears because they shouldn't exist and i can only humour myself, i can only flee.

WHY

2010-07-06T01:52:00.000-07:00

If i were in love with a stranger, I
Would dream of roller coaster rides with him, and
train rides across lonely landscapes where
no words would be spoken and only fingers would brush lightly.
I would lie on the terrace, drawing patterns, waiting for his letters.
Years would pass, and we would meet suddenly in some rusty city..
dirty, thirsty and make love. We would scream out our names in the
dark waking up lonely, tired vagabonds.
And, suddenly, surprisingly, you came in one delicious summerday and
my heart stopped.
Everything halted, not turning to poetry and visions melted into this startlingly bright reality
and I fell. As I unravel you, my searingly beautiful stranger, I never stop.

One Friday in October.

2010-06-26T01:16:00.000-07:00

That rainy evening as you poured your heart out there was nothing but awe and a little chill which crept up my spine nimbly. Every illusion shattered quietly as I wondered what the small silent man holds inside- you, or his enourmous bag of stories. I want to believe that there is love, I want to believe that the both of you fit snugly, as I have always wanted to believe in his music which emanates such strength. I envisioned a new being, a different being and as the rain washed city blurred, I fumbled in my bag for change.

Antithesis of thin and social.

2010-06-16T09:32:00.000-07:00

So, I gobble down dinner, wipe my nose and hear a distant rumble indicating that the store downstairs is closing down.

“ MA, is the store CLOSING ALREADY??!!”

“Yes, it’s ten o clock.”

Rush to room, grab purse, and rush downstairs ignoring protests ensuing from full stomach.

Pant Pant. Phew!

“Thank Goodness, I thought you were closing.”

The shopkeeper twins don't really look amused.

There is a pregnant pause.

“Er, I want chocolate?”

“Small or big? Oh wait, small is not available right no-"

“BIG! BIG!(almost screaming in excitement). How much?”

Climb stairs slowly. Purse heavy with the weight of chocolate. Plus, I am out of breath. However, that’s life nowadays. Thank God for television shows and cocoa beans.

2010-06-05T11:29:00.000-07:00

i do not believe in myself anymore. It's merely a jumble of alphabets stuck together with glue. so, it's funny that i am feeling sad, as that is not even an option. my face will scream, but for now everything is inert, and even the wind refuses to blow. so yeah that way you can call me defeated, because i am tired of my own beliefs. Don't impose anything on me, let me flow, let me breathe, as it's tres difficile to carve out an identity. Self destructive yes, and stay away from vindictive bitch yes.

2010-05-21T02:04:00.000-07:00

I miss Old Mister Curls. I miss his mind blowing peace providing beautiful lectures. I miss college in a strange, stomach turning way. The big bad wolf of a world at my doorstep, and i refuse to come out, refuse to accept. It's a strange time. Strange bewildering time.

2010-04-14T09:54:00.000-07:00

. But give me a few days/evenings like this. Sigh. With white rabbits running down the hole, and two noses sniffing and joy guru and everything else in between, because spicy fried chicken has never tasted so good, and my room never felt any better, and the shock/kink/surprise and even a bandaged leg makes me look hot. all nice. i give up. I am shamelessly in love

2010-04-09T03:48:00.000-07:00

Out of Focus. I am learning.

Talk.

2010-04-03T08:57:00.000-07:00

It's all fiction, compactly stacked together, or lying scattered. And, accordingly, I sing. Or pretend to listen. Maybe it's all pretense- the way I think, understand. It's all on the same plate, randomly fried, or served without lettuce. On another level, I am like a twig, swaying to the beats inside my brain as they tick tock away on several notes. So I board the bus, tear the ticket to pieces, and notice the sky for the first time. The atmosphere behind changes- is ever changing. Colors hold hands and walk past me and I finish my daily ritual. I have faith, I fear a lot of things, and i wonder if everything connects like a fast moving graphic novel. Love belonged to a different era and tomorrow the light in your eyes will not gleam and focus on a brown door or the toilet seat.
So yeah sometimes my senses mingle and burst so then i open my mouth to find my grin transfixed stupidly and my jaws hurt or I do not open my mouth at all. I think dirty and imagine you wiping your nose on my sleeve and I am strangely familiar to you. Or i concentrate on one line and it stands out voluptuously till the lights go off and then there's nothing but a table and a new fluorescent green highlighter and my senses explode again.

2010-03-28T10:01:00.000-07:00

I want to change the header. It will take time. It might be the picture of my red usb drive.
After fighting for days, we have scrambled back to each other, and if our PDA sickens you, please look the other way. Exams in a week, and I am not bothered and I donnowhy. Marie biscuits drizzled with thick chocolate sauce. Light up my life. I have made good use of the wonderful maal, thanks to the immense generosity of the boss.

Two more days of college, two more days left of abusing St. Xaviers', yesofcourse. Yet strangely enough, as i was trooping down the old, old staircase this Friday, something about Room number ten sneaked inside and consequently i teared up. And, as old Mister Curls finished teaching Preludes, I teared up. Ran to the bathroom, half-ashamed, and finished crying.

And, as Park Street recuperates something in my heart quietly dies.

2010-03-17T10:33:00.000-07:00

It’s March, and there’s no smell of Spring anywhere. The sun is recklessly shining down, and I cannot help but crib, complain, fight. Reality is indeedly distressing, and I bolt from it as often as I can. Today, classes were on as usual, and I set my teeth and encountered them, albeit sleepily. After ten minutes I was in Willow Farm, swinging recklessly on the ladder, and feasting on plump glossy tangy apples. Quick Cut. Same ladder, topmost rung, and I am sitting, eyes half-closed, toes curled, with a gigantic multi colored apple in hand. And I have a fringe.

I wake up to find myself in a very yellow classroom.

“The dream has begun- the dream that he has of apple picking has psychological basis in reality.”

Petite professor arches her famous eyebrows at me. I half grin sheepishly and resume unraveling Frost.

I prefer guavas. Power naps help. Otherwise, everything’s all right.

Magic Dragon.

2010-03-14T08:54:00.000-07:00

- I refuse to believe that they are going home. It is a place alien to you, where they strangle voices, inhale madness, and run around each other- shouting out names, places, addresses.

-Tell me we collide, everyday. Knowing you, nothing can be passive, when I don't want it to be. Look for blossoms, till you find the perfect one. Strange pictures vibrate ideally in my head, and I can't get rid of them as I don't want to get rid of them.

-Stopping for nothing except some noise. Leaving behind clumps of people. Warm people, happy people- walking inside, painting walls, emptying garbage cans, making love. Trying quite hard to invoke the light.

-You stop thinking affectionately. Your favourite people fade in their forms- long, short, wild, gay, humorous, insane, senseless.

-Jai Guru Deva Om.

Strange and Orange.

2010-03-11T08:30:00.000-08:00

Seeking you, not quite finding you, and whenever I do, something slips away unnoticed and I cry as I always do. It was different then, that bright March morning. I was observing a certain pair of eyes glinting and a certain pair of hands emoting. There was something there. Something was distinctly shimmering between us. Something which could have been real maybe for one rainy evening smelling of wood polish and musty books. Everything would stop outside, for a certain moment.

It's a strange fantasy and I can only watch the world move between your hair and eyebrows.

2010-01-01T23:15:00.000-08:00

A sore little spot happened and disappeared. Patience is not overrated. Profundity is.

The last year started off with sickness, phbbt, and my immune system executed a perfect back flip as a lot of other things went the other way. I was mostly angry, furious, to be precise, and I failed to live up to my own expectations. I grew miserable, dreaded each moment, heard voices, and was not patient in the least. The threatening, evil fury shook me up, and when it settled around me, I took a shower, ate, and left the house, often without a direction, or fell asleep. I was paranoid, and almost embraced my fury, as it stopped me from thinking. ST, I fought vehemently with you, and you put up with it all. You have no idea how much I love you.

I know for a fact, that each and everyone comes with one bag, one song, one story. This universality makes me feel like a whole person again, and compels me to touch my toes, sigh, read, eat a biscuit, bake fancy cakes, and long for things yet to blossom. This keeps me sane- all the surfaces.

2009-12-20T07:13:00.001-08:00

I want to be atop a bus, and feel the air whipping across my face, and look at the sky, and hug my knees.
I want a tattoo, and I want to bear the pain. I want SLEEP. I want to be THIN. I want nice hair. I am DEPRESSED. i fucken hate this post. I DON"T want this post. IT's typically emo and rant-y- and that is not even a word. I want Moll. I HATE so many people it's not funny. I hate that pesky neighbour staring at me every night as I smoke, I hate those hypocrites all over the world, i hate that woman because she is such a control freak, and i even hate YOUR mentality because damn you life is bizarre AND IT DOES NOT WORK OUT THE WAY IT DOES INSIDE YOUR STUPID STUPID HEAD. And yes, I smoke up! You have a problem you little sissy mama's girl?

-stamps feet-

tantrum over.

Book tag. lalala. (Stolen from Priyanka)

2009-12-17T23:40:00.000-08:00

Science Fiction, Fantasy or Horror?

Sci-fi - No.
Define " fantasy"
Horror, sometimes.

Hitchhiker or Discworld?
Discworld, haven't delved into yet. Hitchhiker i used to like.

Bookmark or Dog ear?
bookmark.

Asimov’s Science Fiction or Fantasy & Science Fiction?

Zilch.

Alphabetize by author, Alphabetize by title, or random?
Higgledy Piggledy. :D

Keep, Throw Away or Sell?
Keep. Keep all.

Keep, dust-jacket or toss it?
Keep.

Harry Potter or Lemony Snicket?
Harry Potter. :D :D

Stop reading when tired or at chapter breaks?

Depends entirely on the book.

"It was a dark and stormy night" or "Once upon a time"?

Both.

Buy or Borrow?

I buy every year, borrow every week. :P

Buying choice: Book Reviews, Recommendation or Browse?

Browsing plus own choice plus a few recommendations here and there.

Lewis or Tolkien?
Both.

Morning reading, Afternoon reading or Nighttime reading?
Mostly Nighttime, often afternoontime.

Standalone or Series?
Standalone.

Favorite book of which nobody else has heard? (dunno about the nobody though)
Curses in Ivory : Anjana Basu
The Worlds within her : Neil Bissoondath
(Bet Me : Jenny Crusie)

Top 5 favorite genres of all time?

No genre in particular. I like bits and pieces of everything. Except perhaps Science fiction.

Top 5 favorite genre books?
Bhallage na. Genre Genre korcche. A few random books I like:

My Family and Other Animals : Gerald Durrell
Alchemy of Desire : Tarun J Tejpal
Peter Pan : J.M Barrie
Short Stories: Marquez
After Dark : Murakami
Five Children and It : E. Nesbit
Danny the Champion of the World : Roald Dahl (plus others)
Ladies Coupe : Anita Nair
Adrian Mole : Sue Townsend
The Unbearable Lightness of Being : Milan Kundera
The Lord of the Rings : Tolkien
On the Road: Jack Kerouac
Short stories: Truman Capote
Numbers in the Dark : Italo Calvino
Mrs. Craddock : Somerset Maughm

( lots of Agatha Christie and Enid Blyton and Ruskin Bond.)

Currently Reading?

Hanif Kureishi : Midnight all Day
Milan Kundera : Farewell Waltz
J.D Salinger : Catcher in the Rye
(plus a "cheap thrill" romance. hee)

2009-12-16T09:53:00.000-08:00

I love tonight. Just the perfect blend of headiness. Wine, cake, an empty house, vintage jazz, lovely little moments with the self, and thoughts inside your head. How simple it is to be happy. I am warm, and sleepy and I can hear my toes purring..*happy sigh*

"Love me love me love me
Say you do
Let me fly away
with you
For my love is like
the wind
And wild is the wind

Give me more
than one caress
Satisfy this
hungriness
Let the wind
blow through your heart
For wild is the wind

You...
touch me...
I hear the sound
of mandolins
You...
kiss me...
With your kiss
my life begins
You're spring to me
All things
to me

Don't you know you're
life itself
Like a leaf clings
to a tree
Oh my darling,
cling to me
For we're creatures
of the wind
And wild is the wind
So wild is the wind

Wild is the wind
Wild is the wind "

2009-12-14T23:41:00.000-08:00

Things are absolutely crazy, and i should really not write anymore, because it is pointless, and extremely so.
Weddings are quite enjoyable, only if you don't have to spend an entire evening walking around in stilettos. And taking them off out of sheer frustration and then getting yourself pricked by random sharp things lying around. Also, wearing a blazer over a beeootiphool saree because it's freezing.

The lack of sensitivity bothers me a lot, and I should have known. I so should have known.

pause drama.

The Works.

2009-12-13T00:44:00.000-08:00

yes, another december. Exams are finally over, and i can make lots of plans. I don't think all of them will be executed, but the joy of random planning! I plan to-

> bake sinful chocolate cakes
> travel to the peace house again
> run away for a day
> finish reading around seven books lying untouched
> steal a friend's camera and take chhobis
> write a script with the ranabir
>spend alone time with the boyfraand if he has the time
> grow my own weed.

This is a tentative list, subject to alterations. Also, digression- IIM Joka fried Maggi is brilliant. =D

Epiphany.

2009-12-09T00:58:00.000-08:00

I have just realised the pleasures derived from a hot shower after relentless studying. The rich lather that covers every part of the self, the fragrances of soap and shampoo, the mirror, where you can draw with your fingers...aah! This, my friends, is nothing short of heavenly joy.

=D

Ideate.

2009-11-29T03:12:00.001-08:00

Do you like the fishes? =D You can name them you know. Post your name ideas pliss.

Cheers,

Choi.

2009-11-28T05:36:00.000-08:00

Soup and more soup. And a knot of anxiety inside your stomach. Films, in between, perfectly in harmony with a twisted head. Memories of a room, and the boundless excitement in the fragrance of your breath. I long, like a poet's dream, I long for you.

2009-11-27T08:50:00.000-08:00

I am very very ill. I cannot really think about exams because that'll not help. I am inside a box, and swirls of idonnowhat's are floating around my head, and I am being unable to express, extract, socialise, solidify. It is kind of miserable. youknow?

2009-11-25T10:04:00.000-08:00

You just wreaked havoc on my lovely lovely day. And i cannot even blame you.

2009-11-25T06:07:00.000-08:00

Dear God please help me concentrate. I keep reading things NOT a part of the syllabus. Please let me not be distracted.

Also, please cure nausea. And send me more "cheap thrills" and you know what that means.

Choi.

Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.

2009-11-22T08:45:00.000-08:00

Yet again, college has screwed me over. That is not new, but it'll be old very soon, i fucken promise!
I have this detestable urge to shop when all i should do is just save, save, save. Smoking is such a clandestine affair now that i am home at all conceivable times of the day. Obsessively eating garlic bread, and i want to be silim and tirim and be in a filim. not really. you know, am merely testing my typing speed! Also, People I love -a sudden list because i am sudden and it is exam time! Bug, HotShot, Waool, Bun, Itchi, Sleazyboy, Earth, Ching, OldnewTwin, the onefrom whom i never get separated, The Applegirl, Ar, also, AS, RD, JSB, UN, Brotha!, DrumSrum, Priest, Soberone( you guys are fucken family) ,hotelectrician, thechineseball, mads, prapa, and oneliitlegirlihaveadopted, fatonecuss. And many more. if your name is not here, it is inside one of my pockets in the HEART.

All you need is love, love, love...love is all you need. Yes, mister it is a true!

2009-11-15T09:59:00.000-08:00

It is infinitely depressing as to how things change and how they might change. I love the smell taste molecule hair smile. I love every little bit that composes you, makes you so special. I wonder how I am so selfish and unselfish at the same fucken time. It's confusing. Everything that is you, makes me want to want you more. I want you every moment, and I am a little lunatic that way.

2009-11-08T00:10:00.000-08:00

Nothing seems to matter as fury, firmly held in check, threatens to shatter the deceptive calm of your senses. It is only very very ordinary to feel guilty after ravaging any concerned person, or object.

The more I think about it, the more I do not want to leave, especially because I have this big huge lean mean bug of a reason, and it breaks my heart to even try and wonder about the consequences. I should be clever enough by now so as to completely not submit to nonsensical bullcrap but tragically enough I can never ever be that clever.

Met old friend after ages. Time flew out of the window, as bathed in the neon glow "sensual" (haha) light of her room, we reminisced about idiotic escapades, high school bitches, letters, fights and other such tyrannical things that are so eighteen. (Readers should know that I just stopped myself from scribbling a venomous sentence, ahem, deleted it) So, it was brilliant. Lots of cola float, lots of cigarettes, lots of food, lots of feeding cats happened in between. We have promised to meet soon, as the hiatus was too big the last time.

I end this post now.

2009-11-05T04:05:00.000-08:00

The Bun left for Bombay today. Bitch. Made me sob my heart out. I will miss you a lot, lot, lot. Who'll go to Sudder Street with me, buy those thirty rupee tees off the road, binge on lemon tarts? Also, who will make random noises and sing along with The Moldy Peaches, and giggle uncontrollably and make the weirdest of discoveries post one joint? Who'll organise and wash hands, and control freaks and what on earth will happen to Wallrush?? Also, idiotic fights and gossip. Come back you idiot, things will be okay, and we'll be on the road again. I love you my mad-bad, pineapple slut.

=''(

2009-11-03T04:44:00.000-08:00

Haha. I was PMS-ing like a bitch. Also, typing last bit of term-paper. Tummy still upside-down. Went and cribbed and sat around at ju today- not bad all in all. Now, in favourite boxers, looking forward to re-read Anne of Ingleside. The weasel-like prof apparently bitched about me in class today, not that I care as I was suffering from cramps and sitting at the poolish canteen, sipping lal chaa. Met favourite curly-headed prof. who warned me about the ill-effects of weather change and asked me not to smoke too much.

have to attend ALL classes from tomorrow. Shite.

2009-11-02T04:48:00.000-08:00

I want an insane amount of things and it's only human. Just realised after short, telephonic conversation with friend that term-paper can be submitted day after. Intense joy. Woke up at 3 A.M yesterday to puke, and spent whole day pining for chocopie as the area around my navel throbbed with pain. Tea without milk is blessed. Wallrush happened to be "bigger and badder" as quoted on social networking site by someone i don't know. Hoping Bun keeps her promise and I get to choose whatever I want.

Pining for carnal activity and a few hours with ST in solitude. Only the wretched wolf-like ugly grandma gets in the way. Mean, yes, and right now absolute refusal to be the proverbial "nice girl"

Went out in pitch darkness to buy cigarettes, and happily enough met no curious evening-walking neighbourly face. Only the light from borrowed cellphone, a little-eaten moon in the sky and the regular cries of crickets kept me company.

Time to light another cigarette and visit the loo.

The quintessential pre-winter post.

2009-10-28T03:01:00.000-07:00

It's almost wintertime again, and already I have started fantasising about new books to read, lying curled up inside my favourite quilt, in the tangy beautiful winter sun. And I am longing to walk around a lot, dreaming of things which will never happen, and spending afternoons at my favourite third floor, on a favourite pillow.

As I was walking rather languorously towards workplace today, I had a nice little reverie consisting of bits and pieces of childhood winters, sticky bowls of Horlicks, and other things which disappear like those waif-like strands of smoke from a post-lunch cigarette.

I love my city too much to even think of such lazy winters elsewhere, and yet there's a distant, very faraway voice( though am rather suspicious of it) which tells me moving out will be an adventure which is a necessity. This sparks off a series of arguments inside my head, so, I shall refrain from pondering.

I do not, absolutely not, have the world sussed out and my heart does not break over that.

It is the season's fault that I am compulsively dreamy, and dangerously susceptible to mood-swings and seriously scatty, so people, please warn me (if you are around) when am crossing the road, or reaching for the salt tub instead of the sugar tub(when cooking). Also, if you have been talking for over ten minutes, and my eyes glaze over, you know whom to blame. =)

Cheers.

sudden little trip.

2009-10-04T23:59:00.000-07:00

when lonesome, eat a lot, and drown in self-pity.

choose your corner, and read your book.

remember Anne, remember fairy-dells and sigh.

yet again, pretend to ignore the world, and suffer.

2009-10-01T10:17:00.000-07:00

it's cold in here because everything is unusually quiet and i miss you being far away . everything's a whirlwind and am tired of being everyone's sunny girl am tired of thinking and being anxious. i have crawled inside and now i refuse to budge but i need you come back to me fast it's weird because am not used to this and i need you fast fast.

All Time Dang!

2009-09-13T01:40:00.000-07:00

1. So much to know. So much so that I lose track and wander off.

2. I sincerely want everyone to come back. Come back people, and run in circles again.

3. Though I often mention that I am "sick of prioritizing my life keeping you in mind", I end up doing only that.

4. New songs trailing behind me.

5. The trip to the peace house was fabulous( no pictures, sorry, because everyone assumed that everyone was going to carry his or her own camera, and no one did, ofcourse!)

6. The city often overwhelms me.

7. Stranger, take me to Woodstock, please?

College is so despicable, that I thank my lucky stars every morning when I peek into the drab, drab mournful office and catch a glimpse of "the" curly mop.

Heavy.

2009-07-23T00:45:00.000-07:00

This is not a good time. All my defenses are falling apart. I am completely, obsessively letting my better senses fly out of the goddamned window. I do not feel like meeting new people. Am suspicious, paranoid, and upset. (i hate myself right now, as i am complaining) All the happiness i felt is just dissipating, all the memories I repressed, they are all coming back. Worst, i feel unwanted. (though it is not true, and please do not think that am a hardcore attention seeker, because am actually talking to myself)

I am giving everyone a hard time, and I am so so sorry.

But worst of all, I am giving myself such a hard time.

Everything will be okay again, right?

Toads, Toadesses, Colours.

2009-06-09T02:00:00.000-07:00

Ignore the title. This is because I couldn't think of anything else.

well, so, perfect happenings, ohsonice happenings.
Magic Wallrush2, full of beautiful people, explosive concepts, ooganess, booganess, lots of weed, and happiness. I dipped my palms in paint, and wandered. People fascinate me. all kinds.

Bought new books. And now, the hot afternoons are full of words. Haruki Murakami is just brilliant. I can't have enough of him. Also, The Dharma Bums, Peter Pan, my very own copy of On The Road and of course, Roald Dahl. =D

Gravy Theory got featured in FUCKEN ROLLING STONE MAGAZINE. OOh LA LA ! xD peopleses who love rock music and them who love GT, get your own copy! Am so proud of the boys. xDD And check www.myspace.com/gravytheory , if you don't know what the sound is like.

I love Park Street, and i always will. yes, of course, I digress.

thatisall.
Till then, eat your spinach. Peace.

Miracle of sorts.

2009-05-17T05:16:00.000-07:00

I long for last spring, and I know I can't have it. Maddeningly beautiful weather, this. I am trying to make a garland. Last monsoon, new stories cleaved to the rain. And every time I closed my eyes, I saw roads. This time, I long for the blues. It's a different season, but the songs still make me sigh. This time, I close my eyes, I see trains, I see you- slipping away, I see us- observing pointlessly. I sleep close to you- this close. .our noses touching. The leaves are a glittering green today, I would love a conversation on our usual gibberish. I long for that one corner of your mouth like last spring, and I long to stare unflinchingly at you and kiss you bravely, standing on my toes as the shocked pedestrians grumble. Last spring will always be a poem, and i'll always long for you and that special, enchanted time, like an intangible childhood vision.