The Yellow Dictionary

Why

2011-10-06T04:40:00.003+09:00

“The world is a terrible place.” She said taking a severe gulp off the clear green beer bottle dangling loosely off her hands and moving side to side between her knees.
His fingers still deeply engrossed in rubbing that delicate bit of paper filled with preciousness in the center, he looked up half way and smiled.

She assumed an offbeat crawl and went over to him. Her dark curls fell wildly over her face and she was clad in the most masculine t-shirts that revealed a sensitive shade of pink underneath, when she crawled.
“Nobody understands you.” She lit a cigarette dramatically.
He licked the rim of the paper and rolled it to ultimate perfection. The fragrant joint glowed between his lips and a vast mist of smoke covered his vision of her face. He took the cigarette from her hand and placed the joint within the soft horizon of her mouth.
“Nobody understands you.” She nestled into his strong strong chest and he wrapped his arms around her.
“But you do right?” He looked down at her face, so low that it almost looked like his eyes were closed.
“Nope!” The joint switched hands. He shook his head and let out a smile.

They swayed from side to side as the music became more pronounced in her world.
“Why is she singing so loud?” She said twitching her face to a strange contortion and putting her hands over her ears childishly.
“Who?”
She raised her eye-brows in response.
“Who?” He screamed.
“She. You know how I love her. Her voice is like silk." She paused. “Or used to be.”
“I am sure but I don’t hear her.”
She laughed wildly, throwing her head back. He traced his fingers over the smooth contours of her neck.
“Wow! I love your neck. It is so beautiful.”

She smiled, took his hand and got up from the floor. She swayed to the music and walked over to the low redwood table. She stood up on it and called him towards her. She started dancing. He walked over to her, pulled her towards him and rested his head under her heart. She held him so close. There was not a pore, not a molecule of air between them.
“Do you wanna dance?”
He had never danced on a table before. She could have, but this was her first too.

There was a haze of an earthy intoxicating scent around them. Yes, it was still glowing and taking turns between their lips.
He drew her close to him and they moved in the most lyrical dance ever.
“Do you hear the music?” She asked.
“No.”
“Do you know why you love me.
“No.”
“Do you know why I love you?
“Why?”
She leaned in and whispered into his ears, “Because…”

2011-09-05T05:08:00.002+09:00

These days I get depressed just waking up in the morning and things get better by night. Right now I feel I will never be able to like NYC or life here. I feel stupid. I feel lonely. I miss my life in India.

2011-08-26T04:52:00.004+09:00

She's got no music on her ipod. No money in her jeans. Just a bag full of memories and a lover she cannot see. She is not a hippie. She is not a tramp. She is not any ordinary girl. She has a hole in her sandal 'cause she likes to taste the earth beneath. She's probably worth a million bucks that she ain't ever seen.

It's another thing that she will not speak, she's got a spindle for a steering wheel. If you look behind her speedy wagon, you will see her stories billowing in the wind. She has no religion, just legends lingering down her long hair.

No road maps, just gut. No blinkers, just the mind. No whisper, no sweet sigh, just grunts of struggle. Swift, determined, masculine rhythm of the feet. Ain't she the most beautiful things? Mud covered and fiery with fervour.

The Post-coital Cigarette

2011-06-07T19:19:00.003+09:00

There is nothing like a post-coital cigarette. Nothing envelops you in a more comforting embrace, not even the man next to you. And, it eases your journey back to earth in its charming haze. So it doesn’t matter whether he lights up first or you do, it is most essential to save it from the other set of greedy eyes and dedicate every drag to your very own solo cigarette. The sharing must not extend beyond the laboured love-juices. That's a rule. Because every cigarette speaks to you and the post-coital ones, specifically, have a mind of their own and are demanding when it comes to individual attention. So it can assume the role of the faceless agony aunt, a friend, the knock-some-sense-into-your-head sister, a potential lover or in short it possibly is the best virgin whore you’d ever come across. This makes me wonder if the post-coital cigarette is at all the “post-coital cigarette” or is it coitus itself. You may lose yourself with it or maybe just find yourself. But the post-coital cigarette truly lends itself beyond a concept or a cliché. It is the one guaranteed good thing, whether after a total downer or a complete jackpot. My vote goes for the post-coital cigarette and its dynamism.

From what I was to what I will be

2011-05-29T14:17:00.002+09:00

The anticipation of change has engulfed me in its rough-uncertain clutches. From what I'll leave behind to what lies ahead - a big gorge lying before my feet. Right now, I am just kicking stones from the edge and engaging in an eccentric metaphoric calculations of the worst. I must take the big leap. Only in hope of something better. And let me tell you, change is always better, irrespective of its final outcome. And it is hard for someone like me, who in the deepest darkest corners of the mind shits bricks just thinking of change. But like they say, once you've done it, it never really seems like such a big deal. It's like a video game where I've just got through level one and I know not what level two holds for me. So why try to anticipate what lies ahead? It's a futile exercise that broadly has two ways to go - Either I get to level three or I don't. Worst case we can all start over again. After all, it's all but a game.

Truth and dreams

2011-03-13T18:25:00.004+09:00

She stood there by the window, looking out at the little school children walking back home with their mothers. This scene had never moved her as much as it did then. She was unaware of these feelings, until that day. She felt a tug, a lump in her throat and doubt clouded her mind. She remembered the day they made love. It was not tender. It was psychedelic and passionate. They had smoked hash all morning and remained in a state of constant daze. They smoked the same joint but reveled in their own private spaces. Until the time she and him couldn't sit apart, couldn't be untangled from an embrace. What followed was a wild orgy of feelings, a mad rush, a splatter of vivid colours and the attainment of that corner of darkness that shines like light.

But once the daze wore off, once they both hit life's relentless treadmill again, she and him never believed in the truth of that night. She never believed she could have an out-of-body experience. She never believed it was possible for souls to connect in such a deep fashion. She never believed something could be so purely good. They, never believed it happened.

She blinked as she was woken from her thoughts by the ringing noise of the phone. She looked away from the little girls holding their mother's hands. She paused before the telephone and then she answered in one quick move. She said, "Hello doctor. Yes, I shall be there to terminate the pregnancy." She hung up.

You are searching

2011-02-22T05:27:00.004+09:00

The more and more I grow up, the more the futility strikes me.
While sometimes I am basking in the glory of life, sometimes it all just falls flat.
I don't need much, but a purpose and love. But then again, is that enough?
I have memories of my childhood and memories otherwise. Traveling through the few years, I am who I am. It is so funny that it is history that fills us up with meaning, and then it is history that makes us so empty. I can be no other, nothing better. Nothing worse.
And then sometimes I think we're all lost. We're all wandering aimlessly with the false notion of an elevated existence. Our life is only about an interaction with the fellowmen. Guilty of desiring more, we are doomed collectively.
I know sometimes this feeling grows more intense and I start questioning my existence. It is a matter of minutes to choose to fall on the other side of the wall. But what grips my feet to this ground, is the fear. The immense fear of the unknown. Is that such a good thing after all?
It won't be quite untrue if I said it never struck me that this could all be a dream and our real lives lie beyond this point. It shakes me up completely. It is like that feeling when you look in the mirror and for a second, yes for second on the clock, you can separate your body from your
soul.
So then why is it that we run so hard towards God-knows-what? What makes us any better than the penniless wanderer down in the streets? What are we really? Where are we at? Dead or alive? We don't know.

Page

2011-01-28T22:56:00.002+09:00

It lies blank before my eyes.
And then I see a shade of green.
Quite like the colour of rot, absolute decay.
Then it turns blue, like the veins peeping through my skin.
And in a minute it is red.
Dark and patchy, patterns of blotched blood.
Iridescent now, psychedelically spread.
Then again it turns blank.
Is it there? I no not.
What is real? I no not.
The colours or the page.

Apologies to everyone

2011-01-28T03:11:00.005+09:00

Apologies to everyone that I exist.
Apologies, I dare to breathe off key.
Apologies that I lambaste rational and flout logic.
I didn't choose to muse the virgin passion hiding within emotions.
In denial, guilty of blasphemy - I know in a clandestine moment
my creators have questioned my being.

I got the balance all wrong.
I didn't understand the equation,
I am sorry I didn't choose to be like this.
I don't know who to blame or who to thank for a springtime mishap.
It spreads across my forehead,
in words more than it can hold.
Rubbish, rag, unfit, evil and demonic to a large extent.
I am not a fish out of water, I am just the fish who tried the fly.

I am guilty of existing, of being inadequate to rhyme.
The constant tussle between Me and how Me should be,
has left me battered.
The easy road is the one that leads to redemption
and the tough one leaves me back here.
It is a matter of seven days and I'd crawl back to my dungeon.
Yes, the same one where legends remain along with the corpse
of the past.
I am nobody's friend, nobody's daughter, nobody's sister
and nobody's lover.
I am a monster in a human jacket and the show will be off soon.

When shall we meet

2010-10-04T02:20:00.009+09:00

There they lay your reading glasses, right over the scribbles of your unfinished love song.
There, the silent embers of your post-lunch smoke.
The car seat adjusted precisely to nestle you back in.
The warmth of the covers of our chatty nights, perfectly intact.

Remember the red ketchup blotch on the lace table cloth that was blushing like a bride, on the day you accidentally smeared it? You know today it is so dull with displeasure, it shies away from the burning eyes of the world.
My toothbrush now, once a twin of yours, resembles a hag frenzied by the years.
While yours, stands still in the pavilion waiting, never to bat again.
And you know, I swear, sometimes when I am not trying too hard, I can smell your perfume right around me. Feels like if i close my eyes you will come and kiss me.
Your voice is still so fresh in my mind that I am often deluded beyond control.
"Oh! Baby come with me", sometimes I say it out aloud after you. Then a deep sense of pain runs across my heart because I don't sound like you and you would never say it again.
But will you believe if I told you, that now I never cry. The gush of feelings that once charged through my veins at the drop of a hat, now remains unshaken by the greatest of the thunders.

And amidst all this (that I find very little) there is some of me still left. I know I am just waiting for you to call my name. I am in a hurry to join you and that's my prayer every night.
"Oh! Baby come with me", are all my ears desire.

The Queen of the Crescent Bed

2010-08-22T18:44:00.020+09:00

In the darkness of the night it was all shimmering and shiny.
There was a crescent shaped bed with gold silk covers and embroidered throws.
It was queenly, the ambience and the moonlight. The bed gyrated slowly almost in a drunken delight. And as soon as his footsteps fell upon the tinker of the bling, a thousand glowing lamps suspended their heads from the hook of the sky.

He cleared his throat and loosened his tie. Like a goddess she appeared from behind the flowing drapes. Dressed in her famous crimson robe that had gold thread work, embroidering the story of her life to the minutest detail. Rosey cheeks, full red lips and dark cascading hair. Her beauty was captivating. Her charm inescapable. He stood there watching her as the music began to fill up the place. And as he smiled, she took it as a sign. Dropped her robe to reveal her black lace garter and the scarlet corset. Jazz music was her favourite and it always brought out her best moves. She moved like a diva, she shimmered like a star. She took his hand and made him climb the fourteen stairs to the Crescent Bed and then began her act, in the blanket of the balmy night.
With the bed gyrating in mid-air, they moved rhythmically to all that jazz. The gold of her eye-shadow sparkled around, her powdery blush sprinkled down. It was like magic bursting out.

Then the glowing lamps turned into fire crackers, magnificent upon the sky. They made love till the moonlight was shy. Her heavenly aura fused with his masculine cologne and it smelled like love all around. So while she lay within his tender embrace, catching time in the net of her lashes, she sang softly ta-da-la-la-ta-da-da-da. But there it was, her crimson robe upon the invisible soil, the dark floor. She noticed the curse was awake. Just around the corner of her breast pocket the gold thread worked upon a new tale. That was her story. Colour, in the dull of monotony. A tramp by profession, an angel by desire.

Just, by the way.

2010-08-11T03:57:00.006+09:00

Girl: Okay, so what if I was an old woman. 88, wrinkled, very very sick, scanty gray hair and even fewer teeth?
Boy: (Thinking)
Girl: What if I was a man? Potbellied and content.
Boy: (Sniffles)
Girl: Maybe a hooker in a vibrant attire, with big full lips?
Boy: (Shrugs)
Girl: A young girl who could be so much but is nothing more than lonely?
Boy: (Knits eyebrows)
Girl: A killjoy. Just a very very bitter man?
Boy: (Shifts in his place)
Girl: What if, I was a stranger?
(Bit of a pause)
Boy: (Sighs and smiles.) You are but what you are now, and all of this in a lifetime. If this was a puzzle, I would never solve it. It is in our nature to be impregnated by multiplicity. It is, who is in the lead at a given point of time, that matters. The stranger, the hooker, the old lady or the killjoy, your essence is permeable. Dynamic like a kaleidoscope.
Your essence must be felt and rejoiced. Not killed in a grotesque attempt to capture it. Tic-toc, tic-toc and its time for another lead.

So when was it really?

2010-07-26T15:17:00.005+09:00

Sometimes things lie right before you and you fail to recognize them. Feelings, most often are the biggest scams of 'em all. I have a memory of a memory. Memories that unveiled the truth before me.

That night when we were sitting on the floor with a half empty bottle of wine, when right above our heads the roof turned into the sky. When talk fused into a shimmering song and we got consumed by its magic. Right at that moment I remember, I fled back to the day we were on the big blue bus. When we were listening to Jesus the Mexican boy. When my hair was falling over my face and you blew it gently away to look into my eyes. A moment of nothingness turned around and looked straight into my face.

Then I came back to where we were and had an unconscious smile spread over my face. Now, when I think of it, I know it's that moment when I fell in love with you. Yes, it was then that I lived a lifetime in a moment without even knowing I did. It was then that I fell in love with you.

Notun Bou II

2010-06-29T12:42:00.008+09:00

Two continuous days of relentless downpour and a house arrest is what perfectly describes our first two days in Calcutta. Top that with a sudden disruption in the normal digestive functions leading to a ban on eating any of the mouthwatering delicacies that were being whipped up morning noon and night, and you have a real bummer. No it wasn't Paris, it was me who was betrayed by my solid Indian digestive system, right after a gluttonous attack on the shingaras presented before us on the very first eve of our arrival.

Yes, right after the major drama over the Grand Old Man's coughing fit both Paris and I were taken away from the scene. I don't know if we were being protected from the wrath of the Old Man or he from the sinners. Whatever it was, he soon recovered after seeing the family doctor who adequately assured him that he was not going to die in the next hundred years. By late afternoon he went back to believing that Paris was English. He said she reminds him of Queen Victoria and smiled a toothless smile. Yeah right! None of us wanted to mess with the Old Man so we nodded and smiled.

At that moment the overcast sky climaxed violently in a deafening roar and let down heavy rain showers. What a relief from the sultry weather. Hot and crispy shingaras were ordered from the corner tea stall. "Dekhe baba dekhe." (Go easy honey!) Warned Jethima as I pounced on the Shingaras, greedy for the sweet crunchy peanuts that surprise your taste buds in every alternate bite. The greed paid off.

I had to place our old antique easy-chair close to the washroom and settle there with my laptop. Paris was sitting on the bed and enjoying sinfully aromatic topshe maach bhaaja. She had acquired a taste for the quintessentially Bengali food cooked in our house rather quickly.
"Let me sign into facebook. Please!"
"Let me eat the maach bhaaja. Please." I snapped.
"Look I'd give it to you but I don't think Ma would appreciate it." She spoke in a devilishly sweet manner.
I was supremely annoyed and decided to take my mind off the fish. I lit a cigarette and chose to concentrate on my dull e-mails from work.
"Oh my God! This is revenge right? You are doing it deliberately, aren't you?" Suddenly Paris lost her calm.
"What? What did I do?"
"You are smoking."
"So?"
"So, I want a drag." She said in a sulky voice.
"Look I'd give it to you but I don't think Ma would appreciate it." And that was the end of it. Paris got up and left along with the plate full of maach bhaaja. I was certain that I had guaranteed myself a couple of sleepless nights on the floor. But what does a man with a super rapid bowel movement really do when he has exotic home food all around him and silly family members running around to feed all of it to his wife. But then I had to concentrate on how to make it up to Paris. I had a plan. Only a cigarette could make up for the rising smoke of anguish. I knew that the bado chaat (big terrace) had a spot where no one usually ventured and that could be easily assigned to her as her official smoking hideout. The only problem was that I would have to get up from my strategic position and show her the place. At that time I just couldn't trust my gut!

Redemption was necessary for survival. So I said a small prayer and left my chair. Viola, I made it through the courtyard, two side passages and a climb of sixty six steps to the bado chaat with only a slight feeling of uneasiness. I had Ghontopotol, our ancient household help Raghu da's recently adolescent son, usher Paris to the chaat. I was hoping Ghonto would act quickly but I don't think he understood my urgency. I was leaning against the rickety wooden door and running my fingers through the marks of its age, the fractures running down its body, as I waited.
I heard footsteps. Two pairs to be precise. Paris appeared from the darkness of the staircase to the sunlight impregnated porch. I was just about to whisk her off to the backside of the thakur ghar (little temple in the house) where we piled up relics of our lives but she stopped.

"What's up?" I asked her.
Breathless from the exercise, she looked into my eyes with a sense of alien intensity and said, "Who's Dola?"

Scribbles

2010-06-24T20:01:00.004+09:00

June 24th
Just before leaving for office, as I chew on my solitary jam sandwich.

Thought attack!

Dear Wife

It's that time of the year again. (Do not fear my opening line.)
Let us go just you and I to some solitary place where love resides!
Pack your bags and we shall be off to any place of your choice. (Do not fear the dreadful rhyme.)
If you do not like the mountains, I shall be pleased to understand your love for the sea.
Wake up my dahlin and make up your mind.
Let us travel. Let us explore. Again.

Yours

In a new shade

2010-06-24T19:29:00.003+09:00

Changed the old template of my blog.
Though I really liked the previous look, this one's not too bad either.
I love the colours.
So maybe this new look will inspire me to write more, write better.
Here's to a new start...of life in a new shade!

Notun Bou

2010-06-19T23:29:00.009+09:00

Notun Bou, a term typically used in any bengali family for the new bride in the house. From in-laws, distant relatives to her very own husband, anybody can call her Notun Bou. It's a generic term really but sometimes when the Notun Bou happens to be the last one of the family (as in married to the youngest son after whom no other boy from that generation is to be married) she maybe christened as that for a lifetime. As far as my traditional bengali family is concerned, I know that each notun bou in our family is carefully scrutinized like each and every chingri (prawn) that comes home for lunch. I can say that because I have witnessed two of my uncle's marriages while I was young. Once married, then quite like the chingri the notun bou too is brought out like a priced dish before the members of the family, who then (depending on whether she caters to their taste or not) pass a judgment about the selection. In short, she must appeal to a whole host of people before being accepted as a member worthwhile of our great Bengali brahmin family. I always wondered what made them so proud, so superior that a large section of the society was considered as unworthy association.

Anyway, here I was sitting in a yellow Ambassador Taxi after seven whole years with my Notun bou by my side to meet my family. I was nervous, I was jittery, I felt I should have never flown down or even told them about my white skinned American wife Paris. For starters it took me a couple of hundred dollars to call home and explain that Paris was her name and not where she belonged. My father had maintained a strict silence policy on the topic of my marriage with a Non-Bengali, Non-Brahmin, Non-Indian girl. It was however my grandfather who for some freak reason believed that his great associations with the British must continue in the form of an English Notun Bou. (Give me a break, I sent six e-mails saying that Paris is American not English.) However, the man was ninety-three already and pretty senile to say the least. Though it did work in my favour or should I say in favour of my blasphemous marriage. According to my parents, their handsome scientist son had been robbed off from them by a strange colonial force. Paris had laughed when she heard this. All I could say is, "you have no idea."

Enter home, freshly painted in a coat of pale ocher yellow. Dark green windows studded on the walls and a gigantic iron gate with intricate art, right in front of us. They had no idea we were coming home. I had deliberately not informed them of the correct date of our arrival. Maybe I was just trying to delay the great rendezvous. Even if by an hours journey from airport to home.

Before my family could find out, our neighbours had already collected in their balconies and were quite shamelessly ogling at my Paris. Paris remained unshaken like a pillar. She even made eye contact with them and smiled. Soon my entire family swarmed the gate to welcome us. More like they came to check out the great foreign specimen brought back by their very own son.

"Eta-e ki Paris?" (Is this Paris?) Asked my Jethima (Father's elder brother's wife).
I wondered what they were expecting, the Eiffel Tower? Before I could answer Paris dived in for her feet hiding between the pleats of her traditionally draped, off-white cotton sari and perfectly executed a pronam. (Plus five for spontaneity.) Inside in the huge courtyard remained the unenthusiastic members of the family like my father, Jethu (father's elder brother), and Naroo Thakuma (Grandfather's unmarried younger sister who was famous for making naroos or coconut laddoos). We were presented before them like convicts before the court of law.
"Meye na chele?"(Is she a girl or a boy?) reacted toothless Naroo Thakuma. I don't blame her as Paris had short cropped blonde hair, an athletic body because of her tennis obsession, she was almost 6 feet tall like me and wore pants. Quite radical for the 1920's generation. Paris smiled on. I almost felt criminal for inflicting this torture over my darling wife. So many hours in that flight and still standing before the jury...I mean my family.

"Shotti biye kore phelli?" (So you really got married?) Said my mom in a strange tone of disbelief.
"Ta biye korli to bou ke ekta sari poriye aante parli na?" (But atleast you should have brought home the new bride in a sari.) Interjected Naroo Thakuma.
"Sari ta porato ke? Aami?" (And who would have draped the sari for her? me?) Well spontaneous-me was never good news for my family. The younger bunch giggled while the elders just cringed further. My father cleared his throat in a rather frightening way and instructed the ladies to take us to the Grand Old Man of India. Paris did great at holding that smile amidst the overflow of Bangla and sublime hostility.

When we reached inside we saw the Grand Old Man resting on his bed. He had shed so much weight that I almost couldn't recognize him at first. But that majestic demeanor would certainly take nine lives to shed. So, the Grand Old Man was far far away from being the poor old man!
"Welcome to India young lady." He cried out from the bed. Finally someone spoke her language.
"Thank you. How are you sir?"
"Very well. I see the English are back."
(Honey just smile and nod. Just smile and nod!)
"But now you are married to an Indian boy. It is all because of my good relationship with the British officers posted here. But when I was in England my friends used to tell me that I would marry a mem sahib. I was very handsome, you see. But marriage is a matter of fate so never mind what happened after that."
Paris and I were both dying to laugh but the seriousness of his tone made us hold back.
"So I hear you are from Paris?"
"Actually my name is Paris. I am not English. Or French."
"You are not English?" Grand Old Man sounded furious. Like he has been cheated.
"I am American."
"American?" He said with a strange sense of disgust, made his eyes small, shook his head and started coughing violently. It got worse and turned into a mad coughing fit. I had no idea what was happening. Everyone came rushing and surrounded him like the paramedics. Paris was now officially kicked off from her "hold that smile" mode and I was just plain puzzled.

to be continued...

Musing

2010-05-13T15:03:00.003+09:00

Where are we? What are we doing?
It's time we stopped asking these questions.
Because no matter how hard we try, no matter what, there will be no answers.
It all starts with a "want", a desire. And there is a pattern to it.
Haphazard maybe, but everything has a pattern.
So, we never love what we have and always want what we can never get.
This is a strange power equation that chance or destiny exercises on us.
In order for chance or destiny to exist there has to be this gap between, "wanting" and "having."
It is the crux of its existence.
But what is being minced in the middle is the existence of a form that is termed, "human."
We have all these words that express the presence of so many things. Words like "table" or "hand" or "love", but the truth is that words can never establish their being. Words produce sounds and sounds may differ even every time you say it. So is it a table or is it a thable or thaible? Is that four legged thing lying around in the house any of this? Or is it all of this?
So does this thing really exist? Does it exist only because it is there in front of you in physical form? Then what about love, pain, anger, angst? Do they not exist because they are intangible, because they don't exist in physical form? So if we question the existence of any one, we are questioning existence itself.

"Your life is what you make." (Waking Life)
But life is like the time spent on a treadmill. You can walk, you can run, you can speed but you ain't getting anywhere. We all choose our pace and some choose to go against the direction (So much more effort needed) and that is probably the capacity to which we can design/make our life. The problem is that whoever the hell put you on that treadmill, now you've got to run. You give up, you end the show. So what are we crying over, what are we searching for so frantically? In reality we are what is the junky sitting around the trashcan, the gypsy on her next bus, the stock broker in his glass cabin, the mother of impossible children, the senile old man, the infant, the brave, the broken, the righteous, the sinner, the saint. We are the owner of infinite futility and It, my dear friends, is called life.

One of many

2010-04-12T18:21:00.018+09:00

It was a simple plan. There was nothing extraordinary about it. It wasn't meant to be either.
So she reached his place at 6'o clock, a little blank and a little filled with anticipation. Her plain sky blue dress brushed against her knees. She tugged at her dark chocolate coloured belt before she pressed her fingers upon the doorbell. There was something very simple yet rich about her attire. Though her hair, as always, lay scattered in random curls, wildly over her shoulders.

This was the first time she was going over to his house. Until that day, she had only imagined him walking past a couch, a pillar, a kitchen counter, while he spoke to her over the phone. Then, in just about ten seconds, her train of thought found a completely new track. She was in his house. His house. So unlike how she had imagined. It wasn't that amorphous space that she had always thought it to be. Or was it just her thoughts that were amorphous? This house, his house was more of a place that she as a little girl had always wanted to be in. There were beautiful paintings over the walls. Photographs, not brilliant, just honest, hung along with them. A splatter of colours, and warm ones that too, built up the mood of the place. Plants with big blossoms and plants green faced sat here and there. She was too shocked, yes shocked, to even notice his smile.
His house smelt of lavender blossoms and freshly squeezed grapefruit juice. Ah! She loved it.

She never realized when she let a concealed smile slip away. She looked almost childlike, when he caught her twitch her lips. She felt airy, ethereal almost, in that house. He was talking to her. She had no idea what he was saying. Then she suddenly shifted gears and went afloat to Vatican with him. Oh! That's what he was talking about. How lovely his world was. How beautiful she felt there. She stood up on her toes, with her hands behind her back and looked around from side to side like a curious little child. Then he took her to that side, from where one could see the entire world. But she didn't care what lay on the other side of the glass wall. Her gaze had settled elsewhere. She couldn't believe what she saw there. It was a Gustav Klimt. Der Kuss or The Kiss, her favourite painting of all times, hung large and lovely over the wall. She couldn't believe she never mentioned, never spoke about her favourite and yet they thought in one breath.

They sat there on the couch, right before Der Kuss, drinking all that vodka and grapefruit juice. She was sipping carefully and consciously, as he kept talking to her. She had downed seven drinks, each with equal precision and care. She was always scared of things getting stuck in her throat and this time she was sure there was a chance. Seven down and the eighth drained to the last drop, she found it hard to hold her ground. No there was nothing there for her to fear. Nothing got stuck in her throat. There was nothing in the glass. Nothing at all. She no longer felt airy or ethereal. Just numb and truly blank.

Before she knew they were on the mahogany table, dancing with her shoes kicked off.
Then there was just music. Of what? She never knew. Hands on hands, skin on skin, breath entangled, perfume infused timeless time. It felt like another universe, yet another track for her train of thought. And then when she felt the axis tilting, the sky rotating and the moment penetrating into her soul, it all came to a sudden standstill. She was BLANK. Tabula Rasa, as Locke would put it.

She woke up breathing heavily. She almost jolted out of it. She was in a silent room curled up against a floral sheet. She walked over to the Der Kuss wall. Thank God, it was still there. Just expressionless she felt, like a corpse hanging off a nail. There were no empty vodka glasses, no perfume of lavender and grapefruit. There was nothing and no one around. Where was he? She thought. Lost and searching, she looked behind every door. Engulfed in nothingness, teary eyed, she stood before the mahogany table. Yes, there it is. Her footprints from last night. A sense of familiarity filled her up when she frantically searched for another pair. Footprints there were, footprints of just her. There was nothing. There was no one. Only emptiness in every corner of her heart. And then suddenly she felt something. Something stuck in her throat.

Splatter

2010-03-04T17:25:00.002+09:00

You killed it before we walked.
You never gave our quivering feet a chance.
Splatter. It's dead.

It'll be over before you know

2010-03-03T19:40:00.005+09:00

It'll be over before you know.
The night will crawl away and the feelings too.
Will you be able to match eyes with the light?
Will you ever be the same?

What are you searching for?
Your ground will disown you.
Your heart will feel borrowed.
Let us put the pieces together.
Will you cherish the inevitable distortion?

Come along, let us go back again.
Set foot on this journey,
where familiar turns unfamiliar with each day.
Let us be resolute.
Let us start once again.

Who made me unlearn it?
Who made you forget?
Will we ever be the same?
How did we believe in the unending orgasm?
Believe. It'll be over before you know.

Penetration

2010-03-01T00:09:00.012+09:00

Practise doesn't make it easy or any less awful.
Experience only sedates you to the extent that it doesn't feel like you're dying. Anymore.
I still feel shy, peeling off the garb of honour and stripping myself in front of absolute strangers. Standing naked. Stark naked.
It's like letting strangers walk into your home and have them go through your pictures, try on your clothes, raid your fridge or read your letters. And while they are busy encroaching every single square inch of "your" sanctuary, all you can do is pass that photo album to them.
Deep inside it is tearing you down. Ripping each part of your body, one by one in a gruesome fashion.
It doesn't work like the movies. No one ever falls in love with us. No one finds us beautiful longer than the hours paid for. Nobody acknowledges us, nobody spares a stare.
We are living, breathing machines who are everything but human in the view of the world. There is no room for our feelings, our dignity. There is no room for us.
More often than not the make-up on my skin is less meant to attract you and more meant for me to hide. Hide under layers and layers of powder and glitter. It eases the pain, really.
But why should my profession create a crater on my character? I didn't compose the music of my life. I didn't realise when i slipped a word or jumped a note. I don't know what made my song a cacophony. Honestly I really don't remember what happened.
But you must know that everyday I am wishing, hoping to be that girl in your home. The one who went to school, the one who argued for permissions, the one who had friends come over, the one who is allowed to fall in love, the one who still gets scolded, the one who is loved.
I don't need your sympathy, just a bit of accommodation. Some room for people like me who exist for real. Who are not machines, who are not dirty, who are not evil, who are not always confident, not born to be a seductress, who are not meant to feel odd or guilty for existing. You cannot shut your eyes and shy away from the truth.
Make room, make room for me. For whoever has made me like this it doesn't matter, as long as you can move away from the bed and make some room for me in your mind.

2010-02-28T03:25:00.004+09:00

Tell me darling don't you think of me even once before you go to sleep?
Don't you ever see a glimpse of me when you are really really busy or absolutely free.
Can you hear me whisper in your dreams?
Can you hear me hum and sing?
Don't you laugh at random, thinking about some funny thing i did.
Don't you worry, don't you feel?
Tell me darling do you love me? Even for a second, even if a lie?

2010-01-28T16:11:00.009+09:00

'Believe' is a commonly used word. A word full of meaning.
Sometimes I think it drives our lives, keeps us alive.
And sometimes I feel the problem is - we believe.
Believing is an act of escapism. Believing quite conveniently and naturally
transposes all responsibilities on another entity.
It is when we believe that action is held in abeyance.
Belief is a delusion.
It is an act of shying away by leaving things to an indescribable force.
So even when you believe in yourself, you 'other' yourself from the essence of you.

Believing rests upon the dark cloud of doubt.
It is not assertion but consolation.
So if we free our mind from belief, what should really remain?
I don't think it will be lethal. I don't think we'd die.
We have been trained to believe. And trying to unlearn that, is a prospect full of uncertainty.
It is an untraveled territory where the fear of the unknown creeps in.
But belief makes us gullible, it fools us more often than not.
We should try to step off the track and explore life minus belief.
I don't find the thought as blasphemous as it may sound.
We internalize certain things most naturally but what are we humans for if we don't explore beyond what's given to us.
Man without the ability to believe won't make a race of hollow men. It'll make us different.
I borrow this from a feminist critic - It'll not make us 'other' (from what we are now) but 'another'.

Lovers, friends, nobody

2009-12-09T15:01:00.008+09:00

24 December 2009
(Another Christmas Eve)

HE: Sitting across the same teak table that smelled so new just a year ago. It still smelled of the forest, not akin really, just old.
Another Christmas eve at Tarash's. And a completely new one altogether.
She was there, right there before my eyes, yet I needed to blink and make myself believe she really was.

She was going through their newest photo album. A dark purple book with a bluish tinge (like the colour of hurt) that had pictures of Baby, Tarash and Dina's newborn girl. I was just fiddling with my cell phone, pretending to attend an important business issue.

He had his arm around her and their fingers caressed the breadth of the photo album together. Last year, that arm was mine and Baby was inside Dina's belly. The excitement was something else last time. It was excitement for the last time.

Wait. She smiled. Wow! Last year that smile was mine.

She caught me looking at her. 'Look away', I told myself. Look away, I couldn't.
'Dude! Do you realize, it feels like WHAM wrote that song for you." Tarash whispered in my ears. His sweet little trivia didn't matter, didn't help, didn't change a single little thing.
The doorbell rang, Niha came in. I think I was waiting for her. Her blonde ringlets brushed against her steady collar bones. She was so gorgeous but why wasn't she looking it then.
(Born to german hippies who still preferred Mcleodganj for their abode, Niha lived and worked as a public relations executive in New Delhi. She spoke and abused fluently in hindi while she also made the lead of Haf Daugs, an amateur rock band. Niha got me a lot of attention and envy. She was so perfect, Niha, my girlfriend.)

She pressed her lips against my cheek bones. I put aside my cell phone and smiled.
No she did not look.

'Hi! Kite how've you been? Hey Shivie!' She turned to them.
Hi, there was no room for that hi last year. There was no Niha, no Shivie last year.

(Shivie was Kite's Collegue. The young talented editor of their paper. He was just a mention during the evening drives, a joke while we had dinner, an incident over the phone call, her boyfriend this Christmas eve. He sat there, right across the table, right across the tip of that natural crack running down the spine of Tarash and Dina's teak dinning table.)

Dinner was served, presents opened, good wine drowned, songs were sung and I looked at her. Her fingers brushed off the bits of hair like Christmas tree leaves that rested on his navy pull over. I looked at her. She noticed.
'Look away' I thought. Look away I couldn't.

She was Kite, wonderful Kite, vivacious Kite, KT for many, little Kittie for me and then she was Kite, just Kite, this Christmas eve. She had the same fragrance but I didn't know it anymore. The same girl, not mine anymore. Enough.
I looked at the giant grandfather clock resting around the corner. It was late. Very late.
'Time to go', I told myself.
'Coming?' I asked, looking at Niha. She was distracted from her play with Baby. She paused and came over to me. She smiled comfortingly as her slender arm slipped right through mine.
'Bye', Everyone said. And then another 'bye' followed alone. There was a familiar ring in that word. This one I knew. I turned around to look.
'Look away', I said to myself.
'Bye. Merry Christmas.' Look away I did.

Hot Doug fantasy

2009-07-14T17:51:00.006+09:00

Times are such that one leaves for work early in the day and returns late in the evening. That makes 6-7 hours of sleep and just about 2 or maximum three hours for reading or television. Not to mention the quick dinner or whatever you may call it in the middle.

Well, I aint no banker, engineer or some serious analyst but my work, mainly concerned with my frugal writing skills, keeps me at work for a considerable amount of time. When I return home, I watch a little bit of television while I eat. Last night I managed to catch a fairly interesting show on Travel & Living. It was a special show on, Hot Dogs sold across America.

So we stop at "Hot Doug's", an eatery in Chicago that subheads its rather connotative restaurant name with, "Sausage Superstore." Now this guy has been in business for God knows how years and there was all that history-geography of Doug's being rambled on for sometime. However what caught my notice was the menu. A wide variety of Hot Dogs, fresh-cut french fries and fountain soda feature the list. What is interesting though is that Mr. Doug likes to name his Hot Dogs after his favourite celebrities. So there is, The Elvis: Polish sausage - smoked and savoury just like the king at 2.50$, Keira Knighty (Formerly Jennifer Garner and Britney Spears): Fire dog - Mighty hot! at the same and Salma Hayek (formerly the Madonna, Raquel Welch and Ann Margaret): Andouille sausage - mighty, mighty, mighty hot! at a whopping 4$
Wow! What would you say to that? Well, our man Doug says, "He adores these lovely ladies."

Just imagine if Kiera Knightly was ever to visit Hot Doug's what would she say.
"I'd like a Keira Knightly, mighty hot or wait a minute.....(chew her lips, make tiny eyes) I think I'll have Salma Hayek - mighty, mighty, mighty hot. Er, excuse me does it come along with her delicious accent and luscious breasts?"

What if Madonna threw her leather clad legs up on the table, tilted her sombrero, pointed the 6 inch pencil heels at the menu and said, "Hey Doug, bring me Elvis' wiener, real hot and smoky! And throw some extra chilli will ya." Yikes!

Then Ann Margaret walks in, looks straight into Doug's eyes and says, "Don't go by the years sonny boy. Bring me the hottest. A Salma Hayek. Whopsie, that still would have been me had you ever learnt to spell c.l.a.s.s.i.c."

Ah well catching Mr. Doug's expression at that moment would be priceless.

In India, sausages are still commonly seen as firangi food and the only variety we get here is, "Madam, isspicy or plain?" But I strongly believe we too should have a sausage superstore like Doug's. With or without the celebrity names it don't matter. Though with the celebrity names it would be a lot more interesting.

Imagine a perfect Sunday afternoon in the spring time, just before summer kicks in, you walk in to our desi sausage superstore and ask for, ummm, lets say, "The Shahrukh - pure ham and cooked to perfection."
Or "The Bipasha Basu (Formerly Zeenat Aman and Rekha) - Mighty, mighty, mighty maal!
Or "The Kareena Kapoor for the novice dieters - Low fat, plain shit.
Or The BIG B - to satisfy your tall desires. (If at all you go by the paradigm - tall man, big feet, big...)
I swear to God I shall spend all weekends right there, ordering every Bipasha Basu that leaves the kitchen and amuse myself with the never-really-big-enough Big Bs.

At the end of the day, I give full credit to Mr. Doug for romanticising the oddly shaped things called sausages the way he has. I truly believe him when he says, "People find it hard to chose between children. I say that's easy but choosing between hot dogs...I don't know." I can see the glint of conviction in his eyes, just like the shine of pork fat on the fried sausages.

Well the celebrities may sure be used to fragrances, orchids and clothing lines being named after them but I don't know how kiera knightly, Salma Hayek, Kareena Kapoor or Shahrukh Khan would react to having their names immortalized by hot dogs at some eatery. Though had it been me in their place, I would certainly be overjoyed, thrilled and felt many notches cooler, with the honour bestowed upon me. I would go over to Doug's all the time, flash my brightest smile and say, "Hey Doug! Gimme a Sushmita: a lot too hot with a chilled bottle of beer."

Stollen stuff, merely for the lack of anthing better to do...

2009-07-06T17:02:00.004+09:00

Ok so this is something I stole from another friend's blog. It's a series of rapid fire questions and they seem fun enough. Plus I have nothing better to do. So, here goes...

1. Last beverage? A bottle of Coke

2. Last phone call? Arnab Sen, 10 am, we fought over his facebook status msg :)

3. Last text message? Was last night, to Arnab Sen, about life and stuff.

4. Last song you listened to? Mr. Bojangles by Dylan

5. Last time you cried? Friday, secretly, because I made my first copy error and the Ad was up
on TOI.

HAVE YOU EVER:

6. Dated someone twice ? Nope

7. Been cheated on? Nope

8. Kissed someone & regretted it? Why, really? No.

9. Been depressed? Ummm...mildly yes.

10. Been drunk? Haha...totally. Last in Mcleodganj and it was all good.

11. LIST THREE FAVORITE COLORS: Green, Black and Red

THIS PAST YEAR HAVE YOU:

12. Made new friends ? Sure

13. Fallen out of love? No

14. Laughed until you cried? Never

15. Met someone who changed you? Well, everyone important in my life tends to have some contribution to who I am. No one specific though.

16. Found out who your true friends were? Well as long as there's Arnab... :)

17. Found out someone was talking about you? Totally. So many times. Unavoidable isn't it.

18. Kissed a friend? Sure. All the time.

TRUTH:

19. How many kids do you want to have? Wow! I think one is good.

20. Do you have any pets ? Yes, fishes - 2 Black tetras called Telemachus, Telemachus
2 Sharpe tetra called Mirinda, Mirinda and 1 Buenos aires tetra called Achilles
They are gorgeous and I love 'em.

21. Do you want to change your name? Not at all. I love my name.

22. What did you do for your last birthday? I had chicken pox so I sulked and suffered but my awesome friends came over and made my day. Thanks Hakuhodo II and Arnab.

23. What time did you wake up today? 7:30 am to get ready for office. Urgh!

24. What were you doing at midnight last night? I was playing Galaxy Balls on my phone :)

25. Name something you CANNOT wait for ? A holiday with Sen.

26. What is one thing you wish you could change about your life? Nothing really...I am thankful for what I have.

27. What are you listening to right now ? Chan Chan - Buena Vista Social Club

28. Have you ever talked to a person named Tom ? If you consider vocal involvement during a Tom and Jerry show as talking to a Tom then yes.

29. What's getting on your nerves right now? The intern guy next to me who is sitting annoyingly in a sixty degree angle and intruding into my work station.

30. Whats your real name ? Sushmita

31. Hair color ? Screwed up black....thank you Noida water!

32. Long or short ? Longish

33. Height ? 5''2 1/2 Hahaha...the half is funny but I insist on having it mentioned.

34. Do you have a crush on someone? Right now? No

35. What do you like about yourself? I have an innate connect with dreams and i love it. I am also a little scared of it.

36. Piercings? Ears and nose

37. Tattoos? None as of now, though I think I'd like one.

38. Righty or lefty? Aw-righty baby!

FIRSTS :

39. First surgery? If ripping out precious ivory is surgery then I had mine when I was very little. 6-7 I guess.

40. First piercing? Ears, when I was 6 from a parlour called Bluemax in Calcutta

41. First best friend? Best friend...has to be Arijit aka Guddu...my partner in crime :)

42. First sport you joined? Roller Skating

43. First pet? My fishes...on my 23rd birthday, by Chintu Dahlin ;)

44. First vacation? To Calcutta at my Grandmother's place. It was a yearly ritual.

45. First concert? Was in school...I think I was in 12th. It was a rock concert by bands from various schools in Delhi.

46. First crush? Yikes! Ummm...never mind.

47. First alcohol drink? As bizarre as it may sound, it was a tequila shot on Kriti's 18th B'day.

RIGHT NOW:

48. Eating: Right now, longing for the finished Mc Vitties.

49. Drinking: Water

50. I'm about to: Get onto some real work.

51. Listening to? Supriya is playing Twist and I am almost breaking into a naagin dance.

52. Waiting for? The eve, to get together with Arnab.

YOUR FUTURE :

53. Want kids? Sure

54. Want to get married? Yes

55. Careers in mind? Advertising/Writing/ Film making

WHICH IS BETTER WITH THE SEX OF YOUR CHOOSING?

56. Lips or eyes? Eyes primarily, but lips follow.

57. Hugs or kisses? Kisses and hugs...Both

58. Shorter or taller? Totally taller

59. Older or Younger? Either way it doesn't matter.

60. Romantic or spontaneous? Spontaneous.

74. Nice stomach or nice arms? Ummm...Nice stomach, totally.

61. Tattoos or piercings? Tattoos.

62. Sensitive or loud? Whatever. Too much of both is annoying.

63. Hook-up or relationship? Depends really on many things.

64. Trouble maker or hesitant? Trouble maker...haha!

HAVE YOU EVER :

65. Kissed a stranger? No.

66. Drank hard liquor? Sure.

67. Lost glasses/contacts? I have perfect eyesight :)

68. Sex on first date? No.

69. Broken someone's heart? Yes. Which is not fun but sometimes you have to do what you need to do.

70. Had your own heart broken? Haha...ridiculous but yes.

71. Been arrested? Oh Gawd! NO.

72. Turned someone down? Many times.

73. Liked a friend that is a girl? Yes and most people know about it.

DO YOU BELIEVE IN:

74. Yourself? Completely. Otherwise I would never get ahead in life. I trust me :)

75. Miracles? Happen. I believe...

76. Love at first sight? No. Attraction, yes.

77. Heaven? In the hardcore sense? Still confused actually. But somewhere I've been hegemonized to believe in it.

78. Santa Claus? Somewhere :)

79. Kissing on the first date? Depends...no big deal actually.

80. Angels? Haha...umm maybe.

ANSWER TRUTHFULLY:

81. Is there one person you want to be with right now? Yes.

82. Had more than one boyfriend/girlfriend at one time? No.

83. Do you believe its possible to remain faithful forever? It's all in the mind. So if you are truly determined on making a relationship work then yes.

84. What's the one thing you cannot live without? My parents. I love them to bits.

85. Who's the most awesome kid ever? My niece, gorgeous miss Nayantara.

2009-04-28T12:51:00.004+09:00

"For heaven sake, stop wearing those navel flaunting clothes of yours." Barked Faima.
"Mom, this is the last thing I need before I leave home. Don't push me to get back at you. For all you know, this time around I may not come home at all."
That was enough for Faima to snap right back and for a few seconds she believed she didn't care.
"Get out! Right now. Out! and never show me your face again."
She didn't realize, she was the one who was getting pushed against the wall and made to do something she least desired.
Maneca stormed out, part happy, part astonished.

Faima was left crying, howling, but no one heard her. Not even her son. Her very own Maahid, the apple of her eye, the true reflection of her noble dead husband. The only one she had to love and to live with. He too was barely present, especially after the new wife.

Maahid and Faima were very close. Their hearts were connected to each other. They thought in one breath and lived under the same light. Maahid was different. He was much nicer once. Faima thought to herself. Those were the days when he loved that girl, that girl who always talked so sweetly and listened so alertly. That girl who took Faima as the center of the universe, Maahid, her moon and she was a celestial nymph. Oh! How wonderful it would have been, had Maahid married her. But she, she never spoke her mind and got packed off to neverland. And Maahid never proposed because Faima thought it was too soon. Faima remembered those days when Maahid was nursing a broken heart with whisky and marijuana. In no time did he find Pia. Pia, the girl who took over Maahid like he was possessed. Pia, who was like a Goddess, like fire, like magic. The woman who had lost her eyesight in a tragic accident when she was four and since then her other senses were hightened like nobody can imagine. So Maahid completely believed that sex with a blind woman would be like a dream and he must have gotten there very soon because ever since they got married, they hardly ever left the bed. The moaning and the panting was agonizing for Faima. They just wouldn't stop. Maneca was gone and it had been three whole days Maahid hadn't said a single word to his mother.

The most remarkable people

2009-03-24T17:33:00.005+09:00

I have never written about the people in my life. Only metaphorically maybe.
There are some people that come into our lives and change/affect it forever. And i mean it in a good way. So here are a few of those remarkable people who hold a significant post in my journey so far.

I must begin with the most interesting one of course. She is my friend from college a real eccentric creative, she is Tanvi Srivastava. Medusa like hair (but very gorgeous if you look closely) and the most endearing smile ever. We didn't start out as friends, she always seemed someone who was too uncaring at first. There was a mega drama about her becoming close friends with my closest friend that time. But it all worked out for the best. I can't recall when Tanvi and I became good friends but when it comes to her I love love love her completely. She is so full of ideas and best of all she is always out there executing them. Exceptionally creative, enthusiastic, massively intelligent, bizarre and fun! There are a ton of things that I'd like to write/say about "Tanno d" but just for the heck of keeping it short let me sum it up by saying that if I have a daughter I'd most definitely like her to grow up to be like Tanvi. I love u tanno d, you're awesome.....:)

Arijit Sengupta - My first real boss ever. It all started out with sitting on his seat and staring at his picture for a good long week, being judgemental and then finally meeting the "boss". I would say, may God bless every trainee with such a wonderful boss. He is a tough taskmaster sometimes but the ocean of talent and creativity in him is always awe inspiring. They say that if you think you are rich then look around and you'll know there is someone richer. Well when it comes to Arijit aka Furry I'd say just the same. If you think you are smart, hello...meet Arjit! In terms of creativity he is nonpareil and his work is seriously motivational. Not just that, he is an exceptionally nice guy and I think there is so much to learn from him. I miss you Furry, in office but I am super glad we became friends and I treasure you immensely.

How can I forget you Mr. Arjun k Puri, my bestest friend from school and probably the only bestest friend i ever had. Hmmm....our amusing story stands aside all of this, but the truth still remains that you have left a mark in my life and I fondly hold you close to me as the nicest person I've known, brilliant writer, determined and the most amazing friend ever. You deserve your fancy HSBC job, i am super proud. Love ya lots.

Mayank Gupta, for proving it that if you chase your dreams with great conviction you can make 'em come true. I hold you as my role model and completely hail before the great one. You know you are awesome!

Ms. HI or Hepzibah Israel....you probably don't even remember/know me but your lectures on Jane Eyre/Mill on the Floss/Orientalism has much more to do than just that. You are an emblem of a strong modern Indian woman. You were scary and bitchy at times but still....you are quite unforgettable.

Ha...finally! Last but completely top most in my life, Arnab Sen, my partner in crime, my soul mate. You were the college Casanova, the Bitch, the crazy competitive one but I always knew that the antithesis of all this is your significant other. When I think "Buddy", there's no one other than you I can really think of. We fight over smokes, we talk like there is a "topic diarrea", we sing like we are insane and bitch like there's no tomorrow. We are like two pirates (where i am the cool one). You are a great guy, very rare specimen of niceness still existing on earth. You make me hopeful. I think you are a promising journalist and a true intellectual. You are talented, determined, passionate, strong and supremely goofy! But best of all there's no one who can care about not just me but all their loved ones the way you do. Strange thing to say, but I love your complexion, makes you very ummm...haha..hot! Yeah I know there are a ton of women swooning over you and I think it's great cause those women have made one helluva choice! You know i love you like crazy. Stay mad always :)

Coming Home

2009-01-28T12:56:00.004+09:00

Long years make memories dizzy. But they still exit.
Living in a completely different world and then coming back to where you started.
Not much of a big deal actually, people do it all the time (Without realizing the finer nuances).
Anticipation is what kills you. Anticipation not just about others, but about yourself.

Let my shoulders bear the weight of those two boys again. A feeling quite forgotten, just images remain. I can try and take myself back to that very moment, but just images remain.
The warmth of her fingers against my neck when we embrace in a thoughtless moment. The sweet taste of her mouth, that zing of the celestial currents bestowed on her lips. That very moment, that exact second, the very point when she bats her luscious lashes, and the anticipation of living it again.

All this and the fear of having lost it all. Coming home is hard, similar to your first sexual intercourse, but certainly harder. The good thing is, in "real life" the slow mo option has been already unchecked and before you know, you've arrived.

2008-10-21T14:23:00.001+09:00

Shadows of violet,
silhouette of a dream.
Her hair was like fire,
like a flowing whiskey stream.

2008-09-23T23:29:00.003+09:00

Be alive while you are alive.
Don't mourn your death before you've died.
Love will come and love will go,
don't kill it through its drive.
Be alive while you are alive.
Every breath is a treat
every whimper, worth another try.
When you are cold or even if a hundred years old,
Thank god that you still thrive.
One eared, one legged or even if heartbroken,
be alive while you are alive.
Don't mourn your death before you've died.

2008-07-17T16:29:00.003+09:00

Yearning for a touch,
a sweet kiss on the forehead.
For deeply engrossed entangled fingers,
kiss of warm breath,
for silences of sounds.
Longing for a whisper, a smile or just a sign.
But for now and the empty silences,
theres is just a whimper and a long wait.

(to Sumbul and Yasser...)

2008-07-07T15:24:00.003+09:00

Rising alone, in a lonely morning of a crowded world.
Who is with who? It don't matter any more.
I am with who i chose to be with. Me.
She is all I've got.
I am not being tough on myself. Time is.
Uncreased, unspoilt, the crisp white sheet beside, lies gaping at me.
I have no answers and I've stopped asking questions.
Sleeping in a bed that forever feels cold.
Living in a world that forever feels numb.
Angry with myself but anger betrays me.
Anger coagulated, refuses to surge through my veins.
Trying hard but I feel I've never tried enough.
Its good to love yourself.
But the day you are left with your reflections, your shadows, your echoes and just that,
you know that solipsism is a punishment.
I laugh.
After all love and hate are the two sides of the same coin.

Deconstruction of love, if i dare say it.

2008-05-29T18:52:00.004+09:00

When you are in love there's is no ego, no pain, no hassle.
When you know you have someone, all you care bout is his love.
You pretend, you lie, you deny.
You may even try to complicate things.
But no matter how hard you try and how God damn badly you may wish,
the complications are all made up.
Love is not complicated. Its simple, its easy.
But its we who make it so difficult, so freaky, so awfully dreadful.
Its a human trait, a generic flaw in each human cell to never see things straight.
Love is when you doubt it, when you are never sure if, 'this is it'.
Love is not imposing, its just there when its there.
You can never force it to exist or force it to leave.
All it wants is for you to realize, in few of those sweet moments that its there.
It never asks for more but its misunderstood largely to have done that.
It never complains of rejection or celebrates conjunction.
That is basically done by people like you and me, not love.
But it is a little selfish i must say, because though it is mostly believed to be for someone else it actually is for you.
Love is a gift that is meant for you and you alone.
It is an experience meant entirely for you,
even though you may share it and celebrate it with fellow winners.
Of all accusations if i may agree, I would agree to just one thing...
Love tends to proliferate tremendous foolishness.
And I say, what the heck, there is no harm being a fool amidst a race of millions dying to be smart.

2008-04-02T17:34:00.002+09:00

A blazing flame,
a stirring whisper.
Behold; art thou an omen
or just a mere sign?
Buried within
the heart of seven deep oceans,
a secret untold;
malice of the greatest sinner.
The roar of the deadly beast,
and the dark tales unfold.
Frenzied, we search the light.
Art thou going to rid us,
redeem us of all crime?
Where is that divine glory,
when is the resurrection?

2008-03-17T01:35:00.003+09:00

We gain some and we lose some.
Sometimes, time runs out.
And sometimes we throw it aside and stride.
Let go, when we want to.
Hold her in the arms and cry.
He has resolved to always win,
been through the slack and survived.
Survived, has he?
Not survived.
He lives...

The adventures of Harriet, Debra and Alexis

2008-01-07T04:33:00.000+09:00

Harriet, Debra and Alexis had gone drinking with their friends the night before and when they returned home the sun was almost about to crack through the sky.
Debra collapsed and gave into the subtle seduction of sweet slumber, while Harriet and Alexis shamelessly exploited the web world. Not for long though, coz when they woke up it was way past midday. While the world was trickling into their dinning halls for luncheon, these girls fired sausages for the holy ceremony of breakfast!
Hours flew by and three corners of the room remained occupied by three bodies, heads dug deep into man's miracle - the laptop!
The silver shiny moon glistened in the sky, it was 11pm and it was time for the girls to venture out of their respective cosy corners for some dinner.
"Oh gawd we've been sitting at the same spot all day" said Debra.
"Not just that we've been on our laptops ever since then" added Alexis.
"Oh come on guys we did not budge from our spots because we were busy" said Harriet.
They really don't give a fuck about Delhi's late night orgy of patriarchy as they dare to step out at the oddest of hours in best of spirits.
Uncaring they walk the dark streets, get followed by a car, spot lecherous men, get into an auto, reach JNU, buy bidis and eat parathas cause that's just about what they can really afford.
As the bidis are lit up, the night is filled with faint aromas of fresh burning leaves. Highly natural, yet Debra couldn't resist to say that, "Aaah i can smell it. Feels like i am sitting with a bunch of rickshaw walas!"

They pride themselves over their courage to face the chilly winter nights of the capital city(that too in an auto) which actually is highly commendable and awfully insane. Get onto another and back again. This time, all awake, fingers clanking and heads dug deep into same ol laptop screens. One chatted, one socialized with random people, one wrote a blog post, made a sweet memory in her heart.

Yawn...

2007-12-25T20:03:00.000+09:00

I have never blogged in pointers....however i think it kinda helps at times when you are too lazy to put down a holistic little creative piece. Bullshit to that! Sometimes you just wanna talk, and talk shit, talk in pointers and thank your dear buddy Anurag Kotoky for clearing your pointer inhibition!
Post August pandemonium....
1. Lost track of day and night.
2. Work is an obligation that must be finished before you surrender yourself to lord Bacchus.
3. Classes are meant to be walked out of after you've got attendance.
4. It is compulsory to then make a toast over some adrak wali chai.
5. Inevitable to find your friends from certain radio and television department to already be present there.
6. You may not have money for lunch but you must have money for cigarettes. In anycase murali might have written "udhar nahi chalega" but he doesnt really mean that, does he?
7. Great heated discussions over burning smokes on how someones gonna die because of their smoking habits and then wonder deep down inside that it could be you.
8. Get another smoke.
9. Plan to go out in the night, vaguely.
10. Clueless at 5:00 pm, chatting away to glory.
11. Lying on the grass, staring at the sky, listening to music, smoking more, smoking up if you get lucky.
12. 7:00 pm someone pulls you out and sends you off to the hostel, only to pack your things and leave.
13. Collect money, empty each little pocket with every little bit of chillar and get booze.
14. Still stuck with bluemoon....alas!
15. Drinking, drinking.....sloshed? maybe not.
16. Walk to JNU half alive, half dead but still craving butter chicken.
17. Eat, smoke, eat, have coffee, eat, smoke.
18. Walk......(maybe sing, at times when you really feel like/care to)
19. Reach base camp and crash with your fellow refugees...
20. Wake up.....of course you are late for first class. Might as well sleep more.
21. Balls to attendance.....(ummm....but we still do hope we make a 70%)
22. Reach college post lunch, hung over, wearing same old clothes, unbrushed, unkempt.
23. Hit tea point.....chai, sutta, more loans, more smokes, more talk.
It goes on....

A Tribute

2007-11-10T02:51:00.000+09:00

Faceless. Amorphous.
But i know you still exist.
To be or not be is the question.
To be, I say, you chose.
The horror the horror of going down the drain.
Little boy i know you still remain.
Nameless. Innocent. Sacred.
Today i name thee;
Son of God, you are called Christ.
You are the sufferer, the silent victim of time.
Wrath filled your heart maybe,
but little boy remember, that thy mother had dearly loved thee.

And i know one day you shall return.....

(To Christ....with love)

The Hallucinations of the bong mind

2007-10-24T18:43:00.000+09:00

This was probably the most wasted Pujo of my life. A complete shift of paradigm (Sam would say). I made two trips to CR park, which were strictly okay. The good thing about it is the fact that i did that probably after a decades time. The funny bit of this pujo was Gunjeet and Anush getting overly excited and then thoroughly bored. Prateek of course was oblivious to all of it.
I had fun because i had sunshine in my pocket all three days. Like I've always hated non-sunny days.....now i love sunny days even better.
My pujo was colourful....like Eastman coloured Hindi movies. Okay probably a lot more subtle, but then they percolated into each other to create the most psychedelic shades witnessed in the history of mankind.
I could also call the straw ride the best part of the pujo but i am tempted to say that my bloated gut amazed me beyond limits. And that, my friend is the best part of this pujo. There is of course much more to it but it is pretty pointless noting the pointless points. So the hallucinations of the bong mind pronounces this pujo to be......the most overwhelmingly random pujo of her life.

Does your tea smell like sex?

2007-07-06T23:36:00.000+09:00

We aren't all tea drinkers in this world. Some say, "chai piyo mast jiyo", while for some it just ain't the taste that gets them going! Vir Sanghvi thinks that the mikaibari darjeeling tea smells like sex but I think that ain't where it stops! If your tea liquor resembles the sight of a sun kissed early morning sky then it sure has got all the thrills of sex! Even the mere thought of dry tea leaves simmering under hot water, arouses all our senses. The tantalizing aroma of a bubbling hot pot of tea is absolutely irresistible. The British gave it to us but i think we do the tea better than anyone. In India, tea can be found in its various avatars. While some like the sugary sweet, milky dhaba tea some would just reject it as sheer blasphemy! But I think each has its unique characteristics, and ruling it out simply on such grounds is unfair. One must be open to the various interpretations of the tea! After all we can't blatantly ignore the famous yak milk tea of Ladakh! Sources tell me that its salty and pretty disgusting to taste. Well i guess that's where the sex turns into a nightmare! But I am sure its got its fans too.

I think of tea as a must have for rainy days, along with hot boiled corn glazed with melted butter. I think of tea, as an indispensable companion of every Sunday evening get-together. I think of tea with a hint of fresh lemon grass when I am blue. I think of tea along with fragrant lime, mint leaves and crushed ice when its hot. I think of tea as the best part of every heated discussion. I think of tea to go along with warm cakes. I think of tea and roots of ginger as therapeutic on damp winter days. I think of tea, strongly made with generous quantities of milk and sugar when i am stressed. I think of tea in a large ceramic mug, warming my hands when i am contemplating. I think of tea accompanying a warm glowing cigarette pressed between my fingers. Its almost orgiastic! I think of tea as the scintillating mistress of the moon lit evenings. I think of tea, the very first thing every morning :)

One morning

2007-07-05T02:15:00.000+09:00

Distances. It is only when the psychological one gets wider than the physical, that they bite! But then they say we are all just six degrees apart. She had just sat on that bench to catch her breath when she found herself sitting next to a tall gentleman, dark glasses, stern face. One could call him good looking if they please but she had seen better. It was a call from God she felt. After all she wasn't meant to die today. She slided herself towards him, and pretended to read out the newspaper lying next to him, while a couple of agitated ladies came by, glanced at them and moved on. Phew! There was a sigh of relief. She pulled it off after all, and all thanks to the lovely gentleman who played along, without budging even a limb in protest.
"Thanks sir!" She said in a haste and got up to leave when he grabbed her wrist and said, "Not so fast lady!"
Oh ow! That smelled trouble. He knew it all along, he was one of them. Yikes! She was so busted, she thought.
"Look sir, it is not my fault, i have not done anythin and you cannot touch me like that!" In one short breath she popped out the entire sentence. When she did that, she was always nervous. And when she got nervous, she always wrinkled her nose. And when her nose wrinkled, her eyes automatically shut themselves. But anyway, this guy won't let go.
"Hmmm thats interesting, i knew there was something wrong here. Otherwiseee...why would anyone suddenly read out the newspaper to me, when its not even mine?"
"Dumb logic. I like to read out aloud, especially newpapers. You've gotta problem with that, deal with it yourself." She was just about to shrug off when the brigade of agitated ladies returned on their course. She rushed back to the newspaper and the man.
"Please, just for a little while, stay shut." And she began her newspaper recital yet again.
Thankfully, soon enough the ladies trickled back into their homes like little rats and the newspaper recital, (by God's grace) was called off.
"So what is this all about?" asked the helpful bench man.
"Nothing, nothing really. Nothing that concerns you." She sounded stern. She tried hard to.
"Sure, all i gotta do is yell and you'll need to recourse your concern lady!"
Yup she was in trouble either way, so she'd rather tell her tale than not live another day to narrate it again.
"ummmm.....well." she began.
"Yeah i got that part."
"Hey! Would you first stop oggling at the sun. And its not even all that sunny as yet, I dunno why people think shades make them look cool."
"Unrelated," he sang out, "the story lady??"
She could kill herself. Who was she stuck with. Lord, why do you do this to me...she wondered!

"Okay, ummm...yeah i know u got that part. Ummm...yeah so as u can see I am obviously a...a...a......"
"Girl?"
"Yeah, that too but....ummm...nevermind that. So i was in that house. That one down the road...the red one."
"Aha...."
"And....a...a..i was sorta not supposed to be there. And this is not my first time there. Somehow his wife sorta found out about it and she kept a tab on him. And she was supposed to be outta town but i dunno from where she suddenly popped up, with all these women and baseball bats and saucepans, that i just opened my eyes and ran for my life." she paused, "yeahhh...thats pretty much it!
"Aha...so wife caught u in bed with husband and you ran for your life? Shouldn't the guy do that instead???"
"Yeahhhh......you could say that, but you know they could obviously call the cops. And that would just be disasterous for me. God knows for how long i'd have to be off job then."
"The worlds getting more and more bizzare each day!"
"Gosh, how old are you, hundred and eight?? Anyway, i am off now." She walked a few steps and paused. "But what is bizzare you know, is that you talking to me the entire time without looking at me, especially when you can see what...what i am. I don't know whether its a good thing or bad, coz it definitely says that you've got some kinda prob!"
"Firstly, I am not hundred and eight, just thirty two, three and two. And these glasses, they have nothing but hollow years behind them. I see you, I surely do. But all i know is, that to me, if you ask me, you look nice."
She felt her feet had suddenly frozen. But she decided to fade away. And before she did that, she turned around and said, "Nice. Thats a beautiful sound for these ears!"

The nicest sounds of the past....

2007-07-01T19:38:00.001+09:00

The sounds of the past have an archaic shimmer in them. Its the shimmer of silver deposits that time besets upon it. And just like antiques their value only grows with every strike of the clock.While teaching Yeats, my proffessor once said that the best time for each of us to sit back and contemplate is at the time of the sunset. This is more or less a natural process and very often we unknowingly find ourselves doing the same. And it is during these dimly lit evenings, when the pink sky yawns over my head that I like to savour the best things in life. They could be thoughts, they could be memories, or probably just a simple cup of tea. But what i love most is humming those tunes of yester years that still glow in all our hearts with a fresh brightness. I am talking about the classics of Hindi Cinema, the undying sounds of the past.

I think my favourite songs as a child was waqt ne kiya. Of course its only later that i realised its deeper engravings. Another of my favourites would be aayega aane wala from mahal. This song is hair-raising. The whole enigmatic feel to it is beautiful, though its more because of the visuals than the songs.
Kishore Kumar and Madhubala's Haal kaisa hai janab ka, is one adorable song. Along with this, there is Acha ji main hari chalo. Similar themes, classic happy songs. The song I love love love is bhanwra bada nada aye. Its got a perky feel to it which is adorable. And the sexiest song ever is na jao sainya. I think i am yet to come across a better seductive song. Its simply beautiful. Chalte Chalte yunhi koi mil gaya tha, from Pakiza is again very close to me. It has a reverberative quality which is unusually good. Ek ladki bheegi bhagi si is a great playful song and kishore kumar makes it all the more wonderful. And that one song which is always fun to sing no matter what is...sar jo tera chakraye...ya dil dooba jaye...hehe! It is also very difficult to not mention songs like hum hai rahin pyar ke hum se kuch na boliye.....and hai apna dil to aawara naa jane kis pe aayega!
Moving on, theres one song that i really like.....tumne mujhe dekha..from teesri manzil. I have no idea why i like this song but i just do. With this i've got to mention oh mere sona re and aa ja piya tohe pyar du, pyar deewana hota hai, aayiye mehrban, aa janeja. Aayiye mehrban is another of those great tantalizing songs. My favourite song as a child.....raat akeli hai....a very cute song indeed. It has a lot of life in it. It has a feel of hot bubbling water, full of vigour! Bahon mein chale aao and roop tera mastana are almost everyone's all time favourites. These are irreplacale romantic songs! My list is going to be a long one i feel. There are so many more to go. Jhumka gira re, mera naam chin chin chu, hawa ke saath saath are some of the really fun songs! Hawa ke saath saath especially is a very fun song to sing along with someone who enjoys the song just as much! And the best song to sing while blowing out smoke rings is main zindagi ka saath nibha ta chala gaya...har fikr ko dhue me udata chala gaya! The song definitely has the cool factor goin along with it. Singing it while smoking always makes u a wee bit cooler and gives you a good psychological boost!Coming to my most favourite romantic song ever....i've gotta mention pal pal dil ke pas. It is such a fragrant song. It has an effect very close to what a bag of freshly crushed lavender would have. It makes you fall in love with the song itself! A little later there were songs like ek main aur ek tu...which were to die for. Outta the more recent old songs theres neela aasma from silsila, katra katra from ijaazat, khali haath sham aayi hai....i think gulzar makes the last to stand out even more. Well i guess thats about it but i'd mention my best loved song now, its mera kuch saman. The song tells a story and i just love it. There are many more, and i'll make an account of them later. For now..these are a few of my favourite sounds!!!

Loving Calcutta

2007-06-29T00:09:00.000+09:00

The quirky city which has forever been my vacationing spot, has suddenly occupied a new place in my heart. I hold Calcutta responsible for not having toured the hill stations, the sea beaches or the forests of India. While every kid would narrate grand tales about their visit to simla or Jim Corbet or the backwaters, i would just listen to them and take a quick virtual tour to these places in my mind. This is all because, come summer and we would pack our bags to Calcutta. Its like a ritual that I've been performing for twenty odd years. I always liked Calcutta, after all it was where my grandparents and cousins lived. But i always liked it like a vacationing spot. I liked it because every time i went there my grandfather brought home bags and bags of Bajar and my grandmother prepared treats for us. It was where i was allowed to loaf around the house all day and night without being interrogated. Being in Kolkatta was like being in a festival. Everything happened in a grand scale and royal style. And pretty much like a festival, it ended in a short time as well. Yet, no matter how terrible i felt going back home, i always loved "home" better than Calcutta. I could never imagine living in Calcutta, I grew up to pride myself over my cosmopolitan coolness and looked down upon the general crowd. It was too dirty, to sultry for my everyday living. It was a city i liked because i was treated well and made to have fun by the conscious efforts of my grandparents and cousins.

Now, Calcutta has changed quite a bit. It has definitely come up in terms of infrastructure and is climbing the steep steps of the cool-o meter! But irrespective of this face lift, the heart of the city still remains untainted. The spirit of the city is unshakable. This time when i went to Calcutta( I just got back yesterday!) i saw a different side of it. This time the city gave me a brand new perspective. Although the motive of the visit was an unhappy one, i would say this was probably my best visit. For starters, I got to spend a lot of time with my brother which made me realise how strongly we bond. I met members of the family, of whose existence i had no knowledge of. And this time i got to meet some really good people. My brother and i have a common friend and because of these two i got to meet their other friends. I had very stringent notions about the kids in Calcutta and they mostly weren't good. I exclude my cousins from this categorization, coz after all i have my own biased opinion working here. I had always heard of all these friends of my brothers but honestly, i weighed them very low on my opinion metre. I don't know why i did that, i had no reason to, but somehow by the virtual appearance of the matter and by the workings of my general hang ups i thought them nothing great. But now I've learnt not to judge a book by its cover. I think i had the best time with these people. Things went beyond my expectations and i found myself liking all of them. The very things that i disliked earlier were the things i thoroughly enjoyed and fell in love with. I never expected myself to be amidst a bunch of Calcutta kids and like them and wish being a part of them. It is still pretty surprising to me! I liked the way they talked, their lingo and the way they were. They are so different from what i have around me, and i liked this difference. They are such good people.

All of this started as a joke when i said that id like to shift to Calcutta for the food. I never meant it. And then i saw the Ganges. All my life I've been to this city with the river trickling through it and never did i interact with the river this closely. Strangely thought but my grandfather made way for this to happen. Having the Ganges in front of me and experiencing its grand beauty and the the local flavour was to die for. This was particularly very good, but also otherwise i was shocked to find myself liking things that i hated, was embarrassed of. For example i detested how bongs were always so loud, they screamed at the bus driver if he drove slow, they spoke bangla almost everywhere and they spoke weirdly too. But in Delhi if u scream at the driver he could bash you up and actually its only good that there the people are so vocal. After all a bus should be on time. I liked that. I liked that we went out for dinner and i could talk to the Stewart in bangla. I liked that i could call shopkeeper kaku and not bhaiyya/uncle, friend's parents were kaku kakima instead of uncle aunty, the kaku-kakima's were like real parents and not parents who were replica's of the "cool" twentieth century mothers on television. For the first time i lived with a pet, a big golden Labrador who is a complete brat. Sheroo who's presence in the house was a big point of apprehension for me turned out to be my bed buddy! The guy would invariably climb onto the bed once everyone was asleep and place his royal ass right at my feet coz everyone else has the gift of good height but me! So sleeping at my feet meant more space for mister spoilt! Not just that, Sheroo would very innocently place his face on my lap during every meal in the hope of making a share of my food. And God alone knows why, but for the first time i did something with him that I'd never do with anyone else. I shared my prawns. Prawns, the most precious thing on any one's dinner plate went into the guys big belly! Ah well i must say i couldn't bear to have him stare at me with hopeful eyes for that long. But now that I am back there is no dog to come home to, who would sniff and jump at you, wag his tail and follow you around.

By the end of it all i felt that I whose is so averse to change had taken a big leap! Yes, i fell in love. I fell in love with everything about that city. I know all of Calcutta is not Salt Lake but I still like it. All my life i tried to stand apart from the people of the city and all my life I lived with a myth, a myth of a fake sense of superiority. These people that were so hospitable to me, were mocked by me and then i realised that in my desperate attempt to hold myself different i was not being Me. I was trying to be someone else, i was trying to be other people who were not Me, who i thought were cool and to whom i wanted to belong. All this and all was a fake notion because in my Delhi bubble world i never realised that in my desperation of detaching myself from those Calcutta people i never realised that i was actually one of them. And now i wouldn't be lying if i said i want to shift to Calcutta. A part of me wishes i was there and a part of me craves to be there. But now i am back to my cold urban apartment, with its cold walls, cold bed, cold closet and heavy silences. I miss the warmth of the city, the voices and sounds of the house and the strange cycle rickshaw horns.
I am never as comfortably as I am in Calcutta. It seems like, my place. This is not just because of my Mashi and family who make every trip of mine every so good, or the city centre or Khadi, but Calcutta makes me happy. With all its quirkiness, abandoned tram tracks, monginis, CPM graffiti, cotton saris, palm trees, potholes, rolls and taxis; I have fallen in love with Calcutta.

Absence

2007-06-24T18:17:00.000+09:00

Absence means to have a mark on the attendance register, that manages to keep all the DU students on their toes! Absence means a note in the almanac and a flu faking kid! Or does absence mean something more?
Only a couple of days back i was standing at the silt kissed banks of the Ganges participating in a job highly despised. Honestly, it was a beautiful morning with the locals splashing around, the massive straw roofed boats and the silhouette of the Howrah bridge. Memories of The Namesake and the Hungry Tide were flooding my mind. But amidst such pleasing sights, there i was with my brother throwing my grandmothers shakha, paula and shidur into the water. Shaka is a shell bangle and paula is a red coloured glossy bangle that are symbolic of a married woman and they are usually worn by Bengali women. Shidur is of of course the vermilion worn by almost all Hindu married women in India.
My grandmother had packed her things well. There were those old rusty tin boxes where she stored her things and i was thinking that there must be so many memories attached with them. She was married off when she was all of fourteen and its since then that she and my grandfather were companions. My grandfather was handsome; he and his other three brothers, all exceptionally good looking men. Men of honour, men of great knowledge, compassion. But when people leave, some material belongings have to go as well. So we threw those ancient tin boxes, one of which once had a coat of yellow paint on it and the head of the queen of England embossed over it. We threw those belongings of my grandmother that were her friends from over fifty years, just like my grandfather.
Its a job i suggest one should avoid doing till the very possible point. Trust me, that was a moment that i probably can't forget for the rest of my life.
The things floated and after a while they were no longer visible.
It was like the closing of a transaction, the end of a chapter and the beginning of absence.
Not being there physically is equal to absence; but doesn't absence also have a certain presence embedded in it?

Why are we running after white skin?

2007-06-19T13:48:00.000+09:00

Hum kyon gore twacha ke taraf bhag rahein hai? This is a literal translation of the title, though i think it only unveils the secret of my poor hindi than the sentiments behind it. But anyway, a couple of days back i saw this ad on television which had a swarm of gora men n women dancing around on screen and most importantly they looked very happy. Now, now.....is being gora directly related to being happy or beautiful? The product was called ponds white skin beauty or whteva the hell it was......it was pissin off. The heroine of the act had a pale white face with pink radiance to die for(whteva!!!) and the silly(equally white) hero was oggling at her like a white snow owl. Even the fuckin mother was paper white. I don't think i saw a single coloured person in that ad.
Well...whr exactly are we going with all this shit? How can rubbing some creme on your face(tht makes u gora) make life picture perfect? Ronald Barthes would be able to provide substantial criticism and i wish he would do that. Its a perfectly smart strategy on the ad makers part coz he has successfully lured us with the pictures of the make belief after effects of using the product. So, what the ad says is that use our creme, become fuckin pink and hey maybe an equally pink boy will oggle at you! Thats tempting enough for the majority of the population to go purchase the creme. But i have certain doubts regarding the product. Now, what if u r not naturally gora n instead blessed with some colour; what happens then? I mean, imagine a dark chic with pink cheeks....yikes!
Anyway God bless the grand creators of these products and God bless the brigade of naive people who actually believe it will work.
Well in my opinion if you want to become gora there is only one sure shot solution - Call michael jackson.

Party Fragrances

2007-06-05T17:07:00.000+09:00

There are so many different kinds of parties but every party has a distinct fragrance of its own.
Parties in the summer always smell of the fresh air of the air-conditioner. Have you noticed that a room smells different when it is air-conditioned for a long time? That's the smell i am talking about.
There ought be a wild concoction of everyones perfumes tingling together like a wicked mist in the air, and untill you sit close to someone you never know whos wearing what. And then amidst all this are the other fragrances that are desparately trying to make their presence felt.
Mr. Jonny Walker neednt work that hard on it, and nor Mr. Benson or Hedges! They have had a long alliance with our nasal chambers, we know. Somewhere around the corner is also miss Apple Cider clothed in her shimering green attire. So what if she is non-alcoholic, she still does makes up a great deal with her ever sweet taste! And how can we forget the lingering fragrance of the freshly cut up melons and mint, goin along side kebabs and cocktails?
You can pick up an ice-cube and look through it while sipping on your Forster, but the fragrances around will not change the picture through the ice.
The warm glowing lamp, the candles floating on the monuental terracotta bowl, or the pink and white hibiscus flowers floating along the light; they all have their own fragrances. But best of all are the fragrances of conversations, of warmth, and of joy. I recognise seasons by fragrances and hold memories through the very same aromas that once concretized in my mind can refresh fond moments anytime with its slightest touch.

5 Best Romantic Movies

2007-06-01T20:27:00.000+09:00

So i just finished watchin When Harry met Sally and thought it would be quite interesting to put down a list of five best romantic movies. Of course this list is mine and my prejudices ought to be at work here! hehe! Well i have quite a few of my favorites to mention here but it is hard to put them in any order of sorts, so i am just gonna bring em up without rating them.
Starting with Dirty Dancing - yes it has been a favorite of mine since quite some time and i have seen it again and again, almost everyday thanks to zee studio. I dunno why i like this movie, i can't express it in words but i sure do know that by the time we reach the ending i am taken over by this triumphant feeling that actually goes beyond the ordinary sense of "triumphant feeling"!
Love love love the last dance. It totally takes my breath away! Gosh i can't believe i wrote so badly and inadequately about one of my most favorite movies. My feelings for this movie cannot be tapped in words, its just that i like it a lot. Why, I dunno myself.

Now, moving on to my latest favorite, Love Actually - One of the primary factors that makes this movie so beautiful is the British accent....hahahha..so awfully silly, but that's what makes me crazy about Notting Hill....Hugh Grant kick starting the film with his breathtaking soliloquy in his extremely sexy British accent! haha! Getting back to Love Actually, ummm....yes apart from that, the background score is an absolute winner...its different, its rare and its just the way i like it! It becomes even better because of Colin Firth who is just phenomenal in the film, especially after playing Mr. Darcy, seeing him do Jamie was so cool. And I guess I have made it quite evident that I have quite a huge crush on him! Aurelia and Jamie were the cutest couple, with their little language issue going on. Colin Firth's language school scenes were so funny! Hugh Grant's dance was a killer concoction of "sexy-sweet" and undoubtedly got me into splits. Keira Knightly's track was one of the best, she looked gorgeous. The little kid's part was also one of my favorites. Claudia Schiffer bit was just hilarious! The last scene is the cherry on the cake.

Ok now is the turn of When Harry met Sally. I know why i like this movie. I like it because of Billy Crystal and Meg Ryan. Billy Crystal more...no Meg Ryan more...urghhh can't decide. Actually this movie is so wonderful because of both Harry and Sally, and the way they are. Billy Crystal and Meg Ryan just pulled it off really really well.

And now i am in a fix between Notting Hill and Pretty Woman. Pretty Woman was like my introduction to romantic movies so its quite special. Besides it is pretty damn good! We all love Pretty Woman, it is such a feel good movie and so is Notting Hill. Both have the "wish fulfillment" motif built in and its a formula that is highly appealing to all human beings so one can't go wrong there. The fantastic element of the films make em so popular because we all love fairytales. But i would still say that i hold Pretty Woman at a much higher place than Notting Hill.

Ah now to my summer holidays special! I saw While you were sleeping one summer and fell in love with it. It is such a sweet movie. Its a simple story but well told. It doesn't have fancy costumes or locations or anything but it still is so cute. Its a very special film for me. It makes me very happy!

But, Love Actually has the most effective feel good factor; for me at least.
So these were a couple of my favorite romantic movies. Everyone need not agree with it or may find it a perfect replica of their list but these are still very popular movies that i have spoken about, there are some movies that i love which people haven't even heard of!

About Red III

2007-05-24T15:40:00.000+09:00

He walked through the garden, right into the house. Burt Bacharach singing raindrops falling in my head straight into his ears through the ipod dangling around his waist. He imagined birds chirping around in the greens as the sweet breeze travelled over the wild flower hedges, acquiring the characteristic lightly scented attribute from the woody stems and the delicate yet brightly coloured petals.
The kitchen door swung open and he found his uncles and father steadily engrossed in their respective newspapers. The dog frantically jumped around him as he noticed her sitting on the corner chair looking over her large glass of milk straight into his eyes. He knew she won't talk to him. What was the matter, he never knew. He never knew why she was in such a rotten mood, that too in the summer holidays. He was still in conversation with Burt Bacharach and they decided to carry on, but outside of the kitchen. He felt so triumphant about his great ability to remain untainted by a certain person's ill temper that he rejoiced within. However this triumphant feeling was shortly overtaken by its evil cousin guilt and he could not bear to get along with her.
He contemplated as he crushed the handful of lavender that he had grabbed from his grandma's kitchen garden, over his creme bed spread. "Will she come and tell me or not?"
He lay there silently for several passing moments and finally stormed out in a bout of rage.

With the evening sky and the soaring moon he traced his steps back like the home bound birds. But what was all the hullabaloo about? He heard his grandma talking on the phone, "What does the doctor say? Breathing trouble due to severe allergy caused by......lavender?

2007-05-12T23:33:00.000+09:00

To let go is so important, we propably don't realise.
To let go of every pent up feeling, to set them free and to breathe easy.
Because if we don't let go how will we move on.
And remember, that if we work hard and work with all our heart and soul,
there will be results.
Its that plunge that you need to take. Like how the water is always chilly when you first plunge into the pool. But that doesn't mean you miss out on all the fun aspects of a swim!
Its a commitment. A commitment to your work. Let go of all inhibitions, and just do it.
Release yourself from eveyrthing that pulls you down.
You can do it you know. Then why not?
I asked myself this question. It only has two answers.
So here I am ready for my plunge...

The sound of words

2007-05-09T18:58:00.000+09:00

She carefully tore the sides of the dull white coloured envelope which was tainted by numerous stamps. She anticipated a heavy amount of words from the external appearance of the cover, but she was wrong.
When she slided out the material, she saw six sheets and four lines.
No, she did not know what this meant, this had never happened before. Partly shocked, partly curious she first glanced through the umblemished empty pages stapled together twice, thrice and once more. Then she got back to the first page which was addressed to her. Four lines in malformed cursive letters in jet black ink. But never had he (in all these years) written a letter to her. Never.
Bringing her eyes close together and slipping her glasses a few centimeters lower she began to read. She was utterly confused and could not make sense of those words. She lifted the papers to her nose and recognized the familiar fragrances. Yes, it smelled of a concoction of various medicines, naphthalene balls and his old mouldy mattress where he probably rested them. But this time the fragrance was unusually strong.
Something suddenly struck her, and she quickly went through it again. She looked pale, breathless and in a moment she was perfectly still.
She placed herself on her chair and threw her head back. Lit a cigerette and flicked it. The virgin ash poured over like fireworks onto a brass plate saying PUBLISHER in perfectly symetrical block letters.

Dear Janet

I may have never heard the echo of my own voice if it wasn't for you.
If you hadn't recognized that i too could speak.
If u hadn't the insight, you too would have rendered me mute.
You are my true renaissance.

yours
Bard

Ray

2007-05-05T15:34:00.000+09:00

Being Bengali has its perks! Its not just about the delicious food but also about the Ray factor. Well the Ray factor functions this way that the day you seem smart enough to make logic outta moving pictures, you are pushed into the world of Satyajit Ray. And thank God for that! I can't even recall how old i was when i first watched his movies cause it seems like forever. It was all because of one lady called Madhuri Poddar, who happens to be my grandmother that i had the opportunity of experiencing the magical world of cinema, created by Ray. I remember in those days she had a VCR, of which she made good use. She'd record each of those movies and meticulously list them in her black diary. The VCR was her domain, she completely monopolised it.

So every summer vacation when I'd visit her in Calcutta she hand me the diary and ask me to pick a movie. I started out with Goopy gyne bagha byne i think. Oh what a phenomenal film. What exceptional use of fantasy. Those lights around Bhooter raja's face, those giant size sweets and of course the three amusing wishes! (I can recite them in the voice of the bhooter raja!) Ah those were the days! It was only recently that i realised while watching the movie again that how he wrote the dialogues in couplets. I couldn't believe it. I was awe struck. Undoubtedly Goopy Bagha and Hirok rajar deshe were my childhood favourites.

And which kid could watch Felu Da and not fall in love with it. The patent felu da theme music....ta ta tara ta ta tara ta ta tara ta ta ta ta! hehe! Jotayu saying "oot jodi tar logboge theng diye lathi mare!" I have lost count of how many times i have watched Jai baba Felu nath. My favourite. Soumitra's perfectly sharp looks suited phelu da so perfectly that every remake was rendered tasteless after that. Captain Felu and his assistant Topshe along with Jotayu, and their adventures. Captain Phelu and his secret weapon, mogojastro! The entire Felu da series is brilliant.

Then i watched Aguntuk and loved it. The bohemian intellectual Uncle whose intriguing character leaves everyone flabbergasted. His movies have a language of their own which convey much more than the apparent. Aguntuk is one of the movies where you find yourself totally taken in by the film. I loved the kid, yes he was the only one who had his innocent ways to expressing complex realities. The last scene is a complete killer!
I remember having to watch Charulata when i was young and i didn't like it one bit. However later in life i had a deeper understanding of what the film was trying to convey and loved it. I think that movie has a couple of scenes that i can never forget. One would be Soumita's literally storming entry, and the scene where charulata is making shoes for her husband and soumitra says...."Dadar ki shoubhaggo!" And she says, "tomaro hobe."
"ki jooto?"
"Na bou."
That was really funny. However my favourite scene from that movie would be the scene where charulata is searching for a book and goes close to the bookshelf singing "bonkim bonkim...", eventually then she looks through the spaces between the window panels with opera glasses, while we hear the noises of the monkey man(i mean madari!).
I think teen konnar shomapti is one of his cutest movies. Liked it.

Unfortunately i haven't seen pather panchali but i was seen the other two movies from his Apu trilogy. Thats his first movie and i hate not having seen that. Aparajito is rather depressing, i am not much of a fan of that film. Though i think Apur Sansar is one film that i am extremely fond of. I love the symbolism in the film, love the little little details that builds up the narrative and its so entertaining. Can't help but say that Soumitro looks like a complete Hunk in it and makes me love apu even more than id like him otherwise. Apu the poet, Apu the idealist, Apu the cigerette smoker, apu's flute, apu's reflexes, apu's madness....i love it all all all. I am absolutely in love with apu and it almost borders obsession.

So Ray, the man who made these movies that have been such a big part of my growing up years. Always something to learn from, so deep and so entertaining. I was watching a documentary on Satyajit Ray, where he was being interviewed by Shyam Benegal. That man used to illustrate his scripts. isn't that phenomenal? He was such a hugely talented man and such a great vision. Ah how unfortunate he had to die so early. But thank you, thank you so much Mr. Ray for making these wonderful movies that leaves an everlasting impression in every man's mind. Those movies are timeless, and I am glad i realised soon enough what a treasure my grandmother possesses(i am eyeing them!). Even though i have given up on grammar and syntax in this post, i am happy to have written about something so close to me. And boy am i glad to be Bengali.....movies are never half as fun with subtitles!

Benson and Dilip

2007-04-27T00:45:00.000+09:00

I find myself in a most baffling situation. The task that has befallen me is full of challenges and yet i cannot steer clear of it. What has to be performed must be performed. The intriguing play of fate has lost all charms in my eyes. But now that i have learnt that my sister desired to have me responsible for her baby if something were to happen to her, then so be it.

Last week has been the toughest i have ever had to go through. My first reaction was to give up everything and run away, far far away. However the freaks around me had a sudden brush with sanity and somehow talked me into it. I felt like we were living "three men and a baby", except that there are two and not three here. Though i think we should change her name and call her something cooler like Ashley or Ema. But guess who's vehemently against the idea? Mr. Dilip who else. I wonder if it is the uncanny resemblance between their names that got the guy so frenzied about the idea. Yeah, okay her mother named her and we shouldn't mess with that but what kind of people say stuff like babies can sense their names?

The funniest part is, that if Dilip's parents find out about the baby they'll absolutely and completely freak out. That makes me want to laugh! I have a good mind of dropping in a letter far east. Evil i say...hehe!

But would it be strange for Della to find out one day that her mother and father have been replaced by man and man! Especially with one white man and another Asian.

Thankfully Dilip is a natural with babies.

There reigned the Queen of Ice

2007-04-19T20:43:00.000+09:00

I had not felt the weight of the frost this way before.
Weight that dulls all sound around you.
Pounds the throbbing heart inside of you.
Breathe...
even the air has turned blue.
Blood cogulating, turning veins icy blue.
Have you ever felt the weight of the frost that numbs all vision?
In the darkness of the snow
you hope that somebody hears you;
and sing the happy notes of, "Oh! Tabby! Tabby! My. Dear. Cat. Where. are. you...",
until silence enwraps you.
And no longer you can hear the voice that sang, "Oh! Tabby! Tabby!...Where. Are. you?"

About Red II

2007-04-11T22:00:00.000+09:00

They all feared the heat of the sun and hid behind the concrete walls to combat it. We, however lay right in the way of the strong golden beams which profusely penetrated through the circular glass window of the attic room. As we lay gaping at the teak panels on the ceiling, the sun soaked, raddled wooden floor comforted our backs. So wonderful they looked, rows and rows of teak forming parallel lines, criss-crossing at ends. They all told a story. A chocolate brown sky that stretched right above our eyes, held a treasure of fragrances in its bossom. I could breathe the faint fragrance of the forest, fragrance of earth, of summer and fragrances of time.

Ah so wonderful it looked! I rolled over and peeped into the old cardboard shoe box which lay open on his chest. Its frail rickety frame held a haphazard collection of old photographs. My hand dived into it and pulled out a photograph of us. A sepia brown print which was evidently altered by the forces of time.
"Is this really us?" I asked him.
He lay there with his hands rested behind his head, as if meditating with his eyes open. He turned his gaze away from the ceiling and looked closely into it.
"Yes."
"Why isn't it coloured? Where's the original print?"
He carefully scrutinized it and said, "I don't know. " He paused and held it between his fingers.
"Do you remember this day?" He asked. A transient smile spread across his face.
"Its so unclear, i don't know. When was this?"

I rolled back and lay beside him as he unravelled the mystery.
"Do you remember this one time when we were about thirteen or so and there was a terrible earthquake?"
"You were still sleeping when the tremors were felt. They were pretty strong and we could feel the house swinging. Panic stricken we all hurried down to the garden. Your mom ran up and pulled you out of the bed and dragged you down."

He looked at me that moment but i did not. He turned away his gaze and said, "When you reached the garden you were half asleep, absolutely dazed, and dressed in something which looked like your dad's t-shirt. It was so outrageously big for you!
The earthquake had pacified by then but we all stood staring at the house in utter stillness as if it'll crumble down with the slightest movement."

"The brooding silence was wrecked by your profound question, 'What's happening?'
Then someone laughed uncontrollably which spread like forest fire. And amidst the roaring laughter echoed a sense of victory, a realisation of a renewed life.
Then from nowhere your dad brought out this camera and hysterically attempted at preserving the evidence of man's resilience. That's when this picture was clicked."
Our gaze locked in a triumphant aura. And then he suddenly added; "Like a fresh breeze blowing over silenced graves your father arbitrarily declared," He paused, and our voices echoed in perfect unison, "At least the tempest couldn't scare our lives!"

About Red (alternate)

2007-04-11T21:59:00.002+09:00

That hot summer afternoon we were all lounging together and watching Mary Poppins. He was not there because he had broken his leg and he was kept upstairs in his room. It was then that we heard this alarmingly loud noise. Clearly something had happened upstairs. Something, broke. Within minutes everyone rushed to his room. I followed. He was on the floor, prostrated, on a bed of broken glass. Blood formed patterns on the cold white stone floor. Panic stricken they all ran around mindlessly calling eachother, calling the doctor, the servant to clean the broken glass. He was silent. The room was silent. As if their voices formed a silhoute against our silence. I walked up to him and was just about to help him up when he said, "Don't touch me." I drew back. "You'll hurt yourself."I looked at him and watched him infuse pain in utter silence. Stillness enwrapped.

I moved up, hunkered down and held him by his arms and with all my strength I pulled him up.

About Red

2007-04-09T22:39:00.000+09:00

He was so ugly he didn't feel he was one of them. Their pristine white necks perched atop their titanium sholders, he said. He felt like a little swallow in the assembly of Swans. That is why he told me, he refused to cut his hair. His little eyes masquerading behind them watched to find a friend. Those glowing little eyes of his, toiled to open as large as theirs. But they laboured so hard even they betrayed him. They all, all, all betrayed him. Why did he have to be here when he was not meant to be. Why was he so ugly, so unlike them he asked.
And then he turned towards me and said..."you are one of them you know. But...at least you listen."

I told him, "Now i know how you feel. Because for the first time I feel ugly."

Mr. Hogarth told me

2007-04-03T21:59:00.000+09:00

Alone I walk the arid land
and alone I walk on.
Soaking the sun and eating sand,
the taste of solitude bitter-sweet.
No one for me and I for none,
alone i walk on.
Know not where i have to go
murming songs my dry lips,
hoping, hopeful.
Dwindling hope,
Happiness misconstrued.
I fall, face down
murmuring songs in a daze.
laying as i was forever now.
I cease....Alone.

Walking down COMMERCIAL lane

2007-04-03T00:21:00.000+09:00

Its a time to recall those commercials which keep popping up in my head every now and then and make me....
Kya aap closeup karte haiiii???
And remember this one Pepsi ad which had an animated macchar chillin in a glass of Pepsi singing.."kabhi maan mein nahi socha tha aisa bhi din aayega pani mein aag lagegi pathar bhi pighal jayega...jeekhoooo woohooo tum se aacha kaun hain!"

The master card ad..."Realising you are unzipped before anyone else does. PRICELESS!"

How can i forget the surf ad which got me into big trouble as a kid, becoz in my project of replicating the ad i threw surf all over the house..."Surf ki dhulai jagam-magai!" (Me wid a lisp)

The oldest ever pepsi ad with Aamir, Mahima Chowdhary and Aishwariya....the one in which Ash says.."Hi am Sanjana"..in the end and Aamir dives out of his nth floor window to bring the pretty lady a bottle of pepsi! aaah...yeh dil mange more!

Amul chocolates...which went like (as far as i think)..."I am too old for baloons and young for miss cartoon but i think u r just right for Amul chocolates!"

The Cadbury Dairy Milk Ad which the "ting ting ting ting ting ting ting ting" music and the cricketer hits a six...almost gets caught but not...n then his girl dances on the field!
Also the Cadbury's Rakhi ads.

The horlicks ad representing the kids of Gen X..."bal katenge beckham banenge...epang opang jhopang"

Oooh also one of those very annoying and whiney ads..."Ajanta toothbrush papa ka, mummy ka"....and it went on and on until it covered every possible member of d family.

One of the ads no one would no...it was a durgapuja special Coke ad in bengali which had this sweet lil love story acted out in it. (I remember the entire song...cnt blv myself)

The Bacardi rum ad...eeee..."be wht u wanna be...takin things the way they come...."

Nescafe ad..."papparapa parapa....Nescafe!"

The old Indica ad..."Baby i'd love you to want, the way that want u..."

Yes, of course the highly annoying..."i love you Rasna" ads!

The Nerolac paint ad.."Jab ghar ki raunak badhani hooo"

There was also some ad which am forgettin was for what brand but i think some suiting with Sunil Gavaskar in it n it was ancient.

Action ka light system wala shoes...it had kapil dev in it.

Amul ice cream..."sair to bas bahana hai papa ko kulfi jo khana hai!"

I used to love this very old pepsi(i think) ad with Sachin and Kambli..it had something bout them writing letters to their girlfriends. it was really cute.

Oh also....S Kumars...somethings bout some dadji and his birthday!"

The extremely vexing whisper ads which have changed drastically over the years and thank god for that! We still need a condom revolution...the ads are pretty disgusting and slimy most of the times(In their subtle attempts of course!)

My recent favorite....the new horlicks ad with the Chowmein obsessed kid!

K this is an endless list so i shall just finish with one of the most popular and my favorite...
"doodh doodh doodh doodh...wonderful doodh...garmi dalo doodh mein ice doosh ban gaya very nice"( wid the very funky glasses!)

p.s- surely am forgetting many more and some of my most favorites!

Mission Accomplished!

2007-03-28T16:21:00.000+09:00

We work so hard towards gaining the most transient things in life.
Try to hoard them desperately and pride ourselves over it.
I think it is in some of those rare moments when we realise that we take nothing along with us.
It a philosophical point of view we say, and repress it in those dark corners of the mind.
We Promise to never dig those graves again.
In this mode of things what happens is that the real riches lay unrecognised by our eyes.

Before we were dropped down on this earth, we were each given a chit saying - *Grab the riches-wen you return, the one with the greatest value of riches- Wins HAPPINESS FOREVER.
*And the treasure hunt begins NOW
We have no clues, we have no instructions but just a mission to accomplish.
So we blankly stare at each other and whoever at first seems to be getting at the semblance of the "right thing" to do, we imitate him.
And what follows is a Mass Hysteria.
Its an extremely infectious process!
This mass hysteria goes on and on and becomes the NORM. The ones who deviate-fall out, loose out, get laughed at-hysterically! Some manage to hold on and have faith in their ways while some fall apart like a pack of cards.
This goes on and then the mission gradually begins to encroach the unconscious along with the conscious. This is because now we have evolved to chase. We are designed to chase. To chase the riches for accomplishing THE mission. The Mass Hysteria becomes Robust and deafeningly Loud.

What we forget in this wild intoxication is that the mission only occupies a fragmentary part of our existence. We must return and have our accumulation evaluated. And when we return we see that we all fall out of the race because we did not understand the true nature of the mission. We could not perceive the right goal. There is no medium, no agent that can carry our material accumulations back.
The true riches infact need no physical mediums to be transported, or to be evaluated for that matter. It needs no stamp of value or a sanction of the Prize.
For a heart which is full of Memories knows that he has with it attained
HAPPINESS FOREVER.

And then some "deviant fool" from the mission turns around, looks at us, smiles and says-*I win!

Fevicol

2007-03-26T22:04:00.000+09:00

I took some fevicol and put it on my hand.
I wanted to do that thing we did in school or while doing craft.
Dunno what was so fun about peeling off dry fevicol!
Anyway, so i spread the fevicol into this fun circular shape and got busy with whatever i was doing.
I completely forgot about it, untill i saw my hand and freaked seeing it abnormally glossy and wrinkly.
"Oh ok....thats my fevicol! Wow its soo cool and dry!"
I was really happy that i could give it enought time to dry out well.
It was really fun peeling it off! It looked like a white, translucent ,circular, plasticy disk. Really cool!
Today i picked it up and unconsciously held it against the sunlight.
It was so beautiful. It actually had this very very intriguing criss-cross pattern going along its body. It was the design on my skin.
"Whoa...my skin has such cool designs." I never knew. Ok maybe i knew, but never payed much attention to it.
It was just so amazing, the pattern on my hand imprinted on dry fevicol.
I saw it so clearly. Every criss-cross was so strong, so defined, so gorgeously intertwined.
Damn there is so much to us that we blatantly ignore. We are so habituated to taking things for granted; for subduing voices that we never allow to fall over the membrane of our ears. We are so deaf, we are so blind. If i were not to be that brutal i could say, we have definite hearing problems and severe myopia! Beautiful surfaces are bound to be admired, but how many of us look deep inside?
Fevicol over my skin, and just a dash of clear sun rays made me see something so spectacular, that my blind mind had ignored for two whole decades and a year.
I saw a pattern, a very epiphanic pattern.

I ask

2007-03-26T03:12:00.000+09:00

When we are children and we are "naive",
we uphold certain ideas, certain notions.
We think like we think but we never think how we think the way we think.
But as we grow up and become more "discerning",
are we actually able to speculate on our follies?
Is growing up a matter of ever ascending numerals,
or is it but another ephemeral milestone which is but crossed the moment it is stamped.
Growing up does seem more robust in life's halucination.

I have blinked.
I have given it the heat of the sun and the feast of the clouds.
But growing up is something I am yet to reconcile with.

Scroll 21

2007-03-16T02:51:00.000+09:00

Two decades and a year!
And a few people to thank.
It would never have been this way if it were not for-
Ma and Baba who have been there through and through and I needn't enlist their endless contribution to my life.
Didi who makes up for her physical absence in Delhi by her telephonic madness. Who has contributed so significantly to my growing up.
Tanvi and Neha who made up for the absence of the other companions with there warmth and exuberance. A surprise none can dare to forget!
The missing bunch and the coll bunch as a whole, for unconsciously giving me so many lessons of life.
Arjun who'd always be extremely special to me!
Dhrubojyoti, Ananya, Indraneel my dearest cousins for being so affectionate all the time.
Darling grandparents who have always wished me well.
And ALL other friends who have been so kind as to extend their warm wishes towards me.
I know it does look like a rotten Oscar speech but i most deeply desire to present a token of appreciation through these words.

All of you have made this gift of life a much fuller experience by your presence. So thank you very much to all. I love you all dearly.
*Special mention for Tanvi and Neha again, because they gave me my first surprise! And for every little thing that they created so beautifully with their own hands, I shall cherish them forever and a day!

little wish

2007-03-15T16:45:00.000+09:00

A little wish.
She closed her eyes.
So tight, that her nose wrinkled.
Brought her hands together.
And hastily whispered.
A gush of fresh air.

She let out a sigh.
A moment of utter stillness.
Hands apart, eyes open, she looked up and smiled.
May the stars bring her some light tonight...

Speaking Silences

2007-03-11T02:19:00.000+09:00

What silences speak, no words can hold.
No language can overwhelm,
nor gestures arrogate.
In silences i have heard what no eloquence can say.
In silences i have felt, what no touch can convey.
Seemingly they are but, those little moments that unconsciously slide by.
But it is in those moments that we have had our silences of joy, our silences of compassion, our silences of pain.
And yet we all think that we talk, and we write elaborate poems.
We dont know that its a farce, and that one day it will all break away.

2007-03-11T02:09:00.000+09:00

How important is it to have somone hold your hand when you die? How important is it to watch those lips gently move to say goodbye? How important is it to feel the light warmth of a presence? How important is it, to not be lonely when we die?

The mad man's shadow over his cup of coffee

2007-02-04T02:12:00.000+09:00

In the night time they sat under the moon lit sky. The fire before them- almost about to die out.

Jeeva felt the warmth of the earth through the fine cracks she had been tracing with her eyes. She glanced upwards and saw the plump silver moon. It looked bloated, but smoother and definitely brighter. So beautiful, so calm and yet so lonely. Her mind etched out a quick parallel sketch. She shut her eyes firmly to let go of her thought. And it did go away as the sounds of the night over powered her senses. The cricket-calls, the burning fire, the wind over the lake and the sound of his breathing. Yes, of course how could she forget, he was sitting so close to her. So close that she could hear him breathe and yet she forgot that he was there. That's what she hated about him. Why was he so inert? *Roy the striving writer. What am I doing with him, what?*

He was gazing at the fire, thinking, how long; for it to turn grey? He recalled those days when he desired to hold fire in his hands. Determined, he furiously tried to grab a handful of fire but the heat harmed his hand instead. A handful of nothingness, a hand full of nothing. He unfixed his gaze and looked at Jeeva. *Look how tightly she has wrapped the shawl around her body. As if the wind will slit through her skin.* He shook his head disapprovingly.

Their eyes met accidentally as they smiled at each other. Roy started humming, *hey Mr. tambourine man.....* Jeeva slipped her hands through Roy's and joined him with some word-ly support!

**Fades out........

"I"

2006-12-28T03:46:00.000+09:00

I am a sun soaked body with my arms stretched out.

I am a pathetic writer, a super carrot eater.
No rain, no wind, no sun,
Nor summer, or winter or autumn or spring.
Is it what they called no man's land,
and am I here to stay?
I am but a membrane and stretched over the mouth of a drum.
I am not a butterfly rather a crow, most likely an ant.
I am not grammar but parole for sure.
I have a brain of cauliflower and pumpkin,
I have limbs of melted rexine.
I write poetry like Jimmy Porter,
but i think i replicate Wordsworth in his solitary reaper.
Not flesh and blood but thermocol and pastry,
I haven't painted my intestines yet but i have eaten my lunch.
I am not a question, no mystery no illusive nymph.
I am however that answer which leads to no end.
Two feet i have and i can see them through my finger nails,
those feet will walk the miles ahead and the miles that i am already at.
I am but a thought who likes to think she is a human being,
delirious amongst others who will one day realise that teddy bears make up the real world.

Wooohooohahhahahahhaaa

2006-12-28T02:50:00.000+09:00

Did you see Izzie's face? Oh my God, that smile was inexplicable! hahahaa....Alex is the sweetest jerk ever. I love happy endings! Dunno why this made me happy, considering my hours of hard work on my pasta went down the drain because of the bad cheese, my sister sounded sad on phone but now i cant stop smiling even though Mr. Eric Clapton is brooding in the background.
Now I know why i am single....hahahaa...no one is ever good enough, no one can ever please me. hahaha. I guess I am the biggest narcissistic asshole....i should stop calling other people that. Hahhaa...this is really funny. I suddenly realise watching some arbit fictional people kiss, that i am meant to be single. I should stop obsessing over perfection. Why do people piss me off so easily? Why am i so intolerant? hahha...i don't know. And for the sake of every sane man's good health i am glad I a single..woooohoooo......yay! Cheers so single hood! hahaha...does it sound like sour grapes....a aaa....i think not, coz i so gotten over Utopia. I mean dude...Utopia is a book, by Thomas Moore.....its fiction. And anyway Sanjh and I both agree that if we were to do it we could sleep with women. Hahhaa....i cant believe me......from silly to sillier or maybe smarter who the hell knows....who the hell cares. Cheers to me....wooohooo.....Izzie...Alex i love u...hhahaa..so fun!
Cheers to epiphany!!!
Woooohoooo........nighty night!

Closure

2006-12-26T15:10:00.000+09:00

All of yesterday i tried to sign into blogspot but it was all in vain.
I finally managed to do it now.
So it was Christmas yesterday and i had my little party. I believe i ve never blogged like this on yellowdictionary before. Wow, it sort of freaks me!
I have done so much for this blog. I even changed its main source of identity...its name.
But that's not really its main source of identity.....this reminds me of Derrida.
Lord what a fucked up idiot, and he really knows how to fuck my happiness.
My lit theory paper was an absolute disaster....all that sense of superiority went down the drain!
Yeah, so i was saying that i changed the name of my blog, the address....but still the past seems to haunt me like anything.
More because of the blog entries. I mean the old one....the ones i posted when it was called ipegasus. I hate those old post, each and everyone from the bottom of my heart. So much, that i thought id delete this blog and start afresh. But am quite selfish i feel, i dun seem to be able let go of my work. And thats how am goin to treat them....as work.
I am the most horrid person in this world i know, and people might think me a bitch but i dunt care no more. And one thing; I hate to repent.....I never want to repent. I dont regret anything, ANYTHING at all. And i seriously think i needed to write this to get it out of my system.
For now i start afresh. I dont have anything to look back to....good, bad i dunt care...all i have is the present and the future. I dont want anyone to mess with me and i dont want anyone to even try and gimme any shit. Coz am not gonna take it, rather i'll break his face.
Seriously i am goin to be violent. Whoever tries to bring me any anxiety or the slightest cause of irritation i'll break the face of that person i swear. I have decided to not let any piece of shit bother me in any little way. So all you bastards who tried to pull me down, cause any sort of physical, psychological harm.....go burn in hell i dont care. You dont haunt me anymore. All those rotting souls who are sooo screwd up themselves that you try to screw up other people....u will face the music sometime. Am not a calvinist and i am highly religious. I believe you'll all pay for your sins. So all those who made me feel sick, tormented and diseased, let me tell you....you are outta my life...i have ripped off that part from my life. I know that i was stupid to let you rotten people affect me coz you are the most filthy people in this world and letting you affect me would succeed your mission. So i fail you now....you are out out outta my life. You try to mess with me again and i'll fuck your happiness.

This is the last time i am talking about this and henceforth this shall never be brought up in any way in my life...not even by me. Its over.

p.s- for all you overly emotional ppl who think they are the only burdened soul on this earth, dunt bother to strain ur already over strained senti-meter......this is not about you. N still outa habit if u wanna think that its bout u, feel sad, broken and all that u always tend to feel and fancy to feel, then go ahead feel more burdened and fucked.

I think i need to borrow Aro's "I hate everybody" socks!!!!

Grey

2006-11-30T02:35:00.000+09:00

How strangely affected it leaves me, every time something so dramatic happens. On one hand i think, poor Cristina this is really sad, on the other I feel like telling Meredith that dude Shepard is your guy. I liked it, liked it quite a bit. The endings especially, every time i wait for that. Words of wisdom from Ms. Grey! And after all Burke had to fall short, to none but himself. But Shepard was the worst hit, wonder what he'd do now. Poor Meredith and Cristina, oh how can i forget George! Alex is nice, he likes Izzie. Its quite cute.
Its silly but I like it, I don't know why but I like the whole alternative world it creates for me. And therefore am no more afraid of blogging about how TV affects me because I don't care, don't care of what people think. Cause to me the alternative world is as real as the "real" one. And just because no one can see that am living it, doesn't mean its any less important. I love it all. Meredith, Shepard, Cristina, are as much a part of my life as much as Me, my friends and my family.
And so this night I must say that am enveloped by thoughts and taken over by variety of feelings. All for good because when i feel, I exist.

No one likes poor Jimmy. Except...me!

2006-11-29T02:32:00.000+09:00

Its quite strange how of all the people i ended up liking Jimmy. Enough to even surprise me! Lord! This is blasphemous i know, but there is something about Jimmy that makes me like him unlike all. Maybe its because the uncanny resemblance between the two of us. But its not just Jimmy I think am also a little bit of Alison, bit of Cliff. But definitely not Helena. Maybe thats cause she is the villain in my head and hence i'd refrain from drawing parallels. No, but i genuinely think am not Helena.
I believe, we all are anything but uni-dimensional and everyone has just about a million "I"s to their self. Or maybe its just an attempt of mine to say that even though i see the link between Jimmy and me, I still have another side to me which will compunsate for this one. Maybe, dont know.
Something i could really relate to was the trivia in the play. Trivia works really well for us and yet we call it "trivia". How ironic is that? But at times I hate Jimmy, I hate him to the extent that i hate to accept that there is some part of me which is like him. Mr. Osborne has got this girl in quite a spot but i liked his play. For God sake am blogging about it, it obviously needs to hold some significance!
Somehow i feel i understand Jimmy, understand why he behaves the way he does; but then again somewhere he betrays that thought. But the angst he reflects is very real, i feel it is. And i think to myself that all the bastards who say they see angst in my writing, should be slapped but maybe am also all talk. After all if i really wanted i could just do the real job than write about it. I regret that and I hate regretting in general.
I feel I haven't been able to sum up my feelings on the subject of the parallelism between Jimmy and me. But this could be reflective of the sub-conscious taking over the conscious and making me avoid the undesirable to be exposed. Hahaha....the more i write the more confusing it gets. But I shan't just priviledge Jimmy, Alison and Cliff are in me as well.
Something i hate about Jimmy is that he makes pregnancy seem like a disease..."that bulge below her belly..." I find that grotesque. Also Unlike Jimmy, I think am more asexual than sexual like him....or maybe not and i just dont know of it. Wow! am amused at my self discoveries!
Alison and Jimmy make the perfectly hopeless couple and thats what i like about them. I really liked the play and i feel if i dont't stop this will go on. forever. and we'll get on to waiting for Godot!

Lost

2006-11-26T18:37:00.000+09:00

Once i wrote "Man and the concept of momentariness", dint think it'll happen to me.
For today i suddenly find that i cannot any more write.
Its quite devastating really and makes me feel utterly helpless.
I try to write, i try to draw but it all halts after a certain point.
Seems like slow sweet poison that has entered my veins and paralysed my senses.
Am turning blue, i know i am.
Every time i look into the mirror i see a numb face, i see a frozen smile, i see a painted blush but no matter how much i try the numbness never leaves, the face never cries.
I don't know if i am under some spell or is it just my mind.
All i know is that i cannot write, and that makes me dead.

I C now...............

2006-08-12T23:38:00.000+09:00

I saved every fallen leaf of the Tree of Life.
Some I left in the brown paper packet while some I used as bookmarks.
I liked them, I couldn’t part with them and so I still have them.
Days, months, spring, summer, decades n centuries…
They all went by and I kept hoarding each and every fallen leaf.

I had my favorites, I had my eye-sore.
Buried under the piles and piles of leaves,
I couldn’t see it then, what I can see now.
Once again, today I opened The Shadow Lines
And saw my favorite leaf in it.
The king of all, he was gorgeously green
And had the most marvelous contours…as imperfectly forming the human heart,
As the maddening Chris-cross of the veins running through!
I could bear with it falling off the tree but I couldn’t dare to part with it.
So I carefully placed it in The Shadow Lines and went into deep slumber.
I dreamt some one stole my dear leaf.
I was devastated, I stole it right back and tried to put it back on the tree.
Gum, tape, thread, clay nothing seemed to hold it there.
And there I was standing amidst the fiercest tempest like a mad woman
trying and trying and trying but to no effect.
Suddenly everything was synthetically calm and I took a breath of relief.
And as soon as I did that my leaf slipped out of my hands and flew away, far away from me.

I have woken from the light-year long, deep slumber and I opened my book today
just to ensure the presence of my prized possession.
I see it there but I see what I never saw before,
Dead, dry and rotten, infested
by a hundred million microbes.
A skeleton…...that talks to dead men.

Knowledge percolating to the floor

2006-07-26T01:27:00.000+09:00

There are somthings that you can never understand without experiencing them. And I too had an epiphany today. I realised that things that we take for granted, things which seem so awfully petty, may actually be somthing really really priceless. Its right there in front of you, waiting for you to realise what lies deeper beneath the skin.
Education is a weapon more fearsome than Hector's sword, it is an armour more solid that achilles's armour. I love knowledge, and so do we all....though some love consciously and some don't.
I had heard of the ancient methodology of teachings, the guru shishya relationship of the gurukul but all that has transformed into somethingelse now. Not that i curb either or propagate any, just that being in the 21st century it is very difficult for me to comprehend what it was like to study in the ancient times, the way they did.
What at first seems more like an orthodox and rather austere methodology, may not necessarily be so. I may not agree with each and every nitty-gritty of that system but there is omething about it, for it produced such great scholars for our country. But of course the world is changing and along with it evrything else needs to fashion itself accordingly too.
Well getting straight to the point, let me tell you, that today when I was sitting on the floor in the class to study, i was worrying about back support at first! But As the class progressed I started deriving this immense pleasure out of that physical positioning of mine. Its not an unusual thing, i know you are thinking of that and people quite often do sit on the floor; but i saw it differently. I suddenly felt like a child, a trivial entity looking up at the face of knowledge. I felt divinal powders falling on my head! I realised how small i was in front of knowledge and yet she was opening her arms to embrase me. I realised how poor i was in front of the person imparting knowledge and yet she was sprinkling her treasures over me.
I looked up in awe, admiration and enchantment......i was spell bound. For such a simple thing which i did unconsciously gave me my epihany. I saw knowledge percolating to the floor.

Life as it is............

2006-07-09T02:49:00.000+09:00

Have you ever felt the rush....
of sittin on a wooden sledge n sliding down a cold cold icey slope....at zillion kilometers per hour.
Close your eyes and open it to find yourself in a new world,
for that great rush that you felt for those fifteen seconds were more precious than any gold, or a wedding ring, or even the best score of your life.
No, its not fictional, I do at times like to talk about myself in first person.
Yeah i know that brings a grin on your face, and you know what it does the same to me.
When you are on that sledge your face is cold, your nose is frozen, red...goin to turn blue any moment, you know you might just fall, you know you might get hurt;
but then you take a deep breath and what the hell just go for it,
next thing you know your screaming out of ecstacy, and you just scream automatically, its not a conscious scream, no one really tells you to do it.
And then again those few seconds when you let lose and when you are just YOU, those few seconds make all of it worthwhile.
I have felt this rush, time and again i can just close my eyes and hear myself laughing and screaming with joy. You know who showed me the way to it, my friend Leonardo da vinci.
Leonardo taught me so many things, but he always makes me feel like the smarter one.
He isn't really the most rational person under the sun but he makes me so, if I may say much against his wishes...
He doesn't understand all the time, but i need to say that he makes life beautiful for me
and i like it every time he takes no credit for it. I smile.

So my dearest friend Leonardo da vinci let me tell you that i love you dearly and I would like to thank you for making me look at life the way i do now, thank you for making me love life the way i love it now, for teaching me to seek happiness out of the simplest things, thank you for teaching me the virtue of simplicity.

You know, its you who showed me that life is a clever seductress and i shouldn't let her wiles just go by.

July 5th 2006

2006-07-05T23:59:00.000+09:00

Have you ever seen bloodshed in your life Candace?
You don't know what it is to be me.
I don't choose solitude for my company
but there is one thing that i do know;
that am the cursed child of destiny and i was baptised with this solitariness.
She can never ever equal you,
but i have her so that i can protect you.
Protect you from the world
protect you from me.....

The Crooner Sisters

2006-07-05T01:41:00.000+09:00

Let me introduce you to the Crooner sisters.
There were three of them, and they were alone.
Madonna would be the eldest followed by Annabella and finally Jennifer.
Even though they were thirty, twenty one and nineteen respectively, they still lived together in their old town house.
Yes, their paternal great grandfather was indeed a crooner but their father, who everyone knew as old sailor Joe, didnt quite follow the same proffession.
The girls lost their mother back when they were in school and old sailor Joe once went fishing ten years hence and never came back.
These girls were quite famous in the town of Osborne...for some called them crazy while some pittied them hard.
Madonna was the compulsive big sister who was quite famously known as the animal hoarder. Annabella was the gorgeous blonde, and thats all she had to her, at least thats what she thought. Yes, she was once engaged to the heir of the Osborne family but that didn't last for long and no one knows why. Though no one questioned it.
Jennifer the little kid of the house was better known as "Woolah Jenn" by all and she was concerned bout just two things, her very private illustrated series and her marijuana.
It was quite phenominal how different these sisters were, but there was one point where they all seemed to converge.

No I will not give you all the details right away but very soon as you will come across the various little incidents of their lives you will know for yourself what it is and I will need no words to put it across.

With love, Candace.

2006-07-04T19:13:00.000+09:00

Dear Roy

Not speaking is the alternative of the escapist,
and it doesnt hurt anyone more than you.
Tragic realisation doesn't come so easily to man,
otherwise the wrath of achilles wouldn't have caused the trojan war.
No, no more big words, nor psychology,
all i am saying is that,
i saw you by the beach last night
and it made my heart ache
because i saw solitude by your side.

Preamble

2006-07-01T00:20:00.000+09:00

Lost in the maddening crowd of words,
Burried under narratives and travelogues.
Of all the epilogues that i did not read and every epic similie that smiles at me....
I know i have kinship with them
for it is these words that make me ME.....
Love hate is how they describe our relationship
but that is so ironic isn't it.....after all love and hate are fruits of the same tree!
These words that i spell are the words that i breathe
these are the words that help me break free.
Am at war with them constantly but in this battle field we are all victors.
And so this day i solemnly pledge...to never let go of this friend and fiend,
to never terminate our constant war,
to never let the burning wick die out.......
And henceforth i set foot on my Odessey,
to discover, reveal and revel!
Amen.