Glass.

2012-02-07T07:09:00.000-08:00

Inspired by what a friend said. Although I cannot rhyme to save my life, inexplicably, I still try.

I bumped into a poem today

His hair was askew and his beard was grey,

And when I asked him if he’d stay

He politely refused.

But I pursued him down the street

To the place where muses go

The place where metres always meet

And rhythms freely flow.

And as he turned I saw his face

With lines that ran a thousand miles

And eyes that were full of song

And fire in his smile.

And as I walked I heard him speak

In a voice that tripped with rhyme

But his feet were sore and cracked and weak

From always keeping time.

As I watched, he stooped and picked

The dust and grime from garbage heaps

And carved them into perfect words

That lay like diamonds, fast asleep

In his palm, and with his stroke

All at once, they all awoke

And flew like a thousand butterflies

Into the city smoke.

2011-08-13T22:04:00.000-07:00

There's so much left unsaid that I know I can never begin.
So, I gather in the words and clip their wings and lock them away in an old tin box so they never escape.

2011-07-26T09:48:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I think there's nothing lonelier than an old car left out in the rain on a wet, deserted afternoon.

2011-07-20T00:16:00.000-07:00

If this was a diary I'd tear up all the pages into tiny little bits of whitepaper fluff and throw them out of the window and watch them float down onto the street like tired confetti after a long, hard party.
And start all over again.
Somehow deleting a blog doesn't have the same effect.

2011-06-25T21:52:00.001-07:00

People shed like leaves all around, till I'm left alone, bare-branched, in winter.

2011-05-17T08:14:00.000-07:00

The moon is ridiculously beautiful tonight.
From the balcony, I'm on the edge of a Frank Sinatra song.
All I need is a little push in.

2011-03-21T09:44:00.000-07:00

And just when I think you're gone, you raise your head again from the corner of an empty song, like a bad penny that turns up in a thousand pockets. You peep through the faded rhymes of lonely old poems and lurk behind Spring when she knocks on my door. And you hide in the mirror when I wake up in the morning and pull me down,down, down to a bottomless blue sea.

2011-02-16T18:58:00.000-08:00

There's that smell in the air again. That crisp, bright smell that sits heavily on your shoulders but passes through your hands like sunshine. That pricks your eyes if you breathe it in.

Something tells me it's Spring.

2011-02-12T06:02:00.000-08:00

I need a vacation. To a lonely, lonely place.

2010-11-02T06:32:00.000-07:00

And the stars that lit up winter evenings
have all fallen one by one
and broken into a thousand pieces on the way.
Stardust in my hair.

2010-09-20T09:10:00.000-07:00

Somewhere in that pile of memories mouldy with nostalgia, is a little core of something real.
A tiny beating heart that lies underneath all that is old, all that is dead.
And when the mess is cleared away, you can hold it in your hand and see it thumping against your palm; and you take it away in your pocket and put it in an old carved box, to bring out on lonely Sunday mornings when you take stock of all that you've done.

At least, that's what I'd like to believe.

2010-09-02T09:55:00.000-07:00

All good things in life are completely useless.
And more often than not, incidental.
Like suddenly stumbling upon a bunch of fireflies, blinking unsteadily in the dark.
A fistful of tiny stars carelessly scattered on the fringes of a dirty, everyday road.

2010-08-18T07:48:00.000-07:00

Decisions. Maddashes around your head that never end.
Running around in circles. Regrets. What-ifs and could-have-beens. Wish-you-were-heres.
Ghosts of lives never lived. Alternate realities that end up in large brown packing boxes, to be labelled and moved elsewhere. Never to be opened.

2010-08-09T08:58:00.000-07:00

And then there are bits that are broken.That crumble at the slightest touch and lie in a pile of old dust.
Still, there is room now to build new things.

2010-07-08T07:41:00.000-07:00

I want the world to come back into focus.
Someone stop this goddamn merry-go-round.

2010-07-07T08:24:00.000-07:00

There are some days for quiet contemplation. For riding on old songs and hovering at the very edge of conversations. For peeling images off your head onto scraps of leftover paper and for silent rain-watching.
Days of being alone. If only in your head.

2010-07-05T07:58:00.000-07:00

"She was like a child sleepwalking along a roof-ledge ten storeys up. He was afraid to call out in warning, in case she should wake, and fall."
-Wilderness Tips.

2010-06-21T22:32:00.000-07:00

Places are like living things. They change ever so slightly every day, till one day you wake up to find yourself in a foreign land. A stranger in your own bed.

2010-06-04T07:43:00.000-07:00

There are so many different kinds of leaving.
I only wish I was part of any one.

2010-05-09T20:59:00.000-07:00

"The time will come
when, with elation,
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror,
and each will smile at the other's welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself,to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life."

-Derek Walcott.

2010-05-03T21:04:00.000-07:00

I wish I could write you a poem.
A mad little poem that dances through the night, carrying with it the sound of the seas, the smell of rain. That bursts into old hidden corners and finds forgotten springs, and makes the soul open up like wings, unfurling.
But all I have is prose.

2010-04-18T22:56:00.000-07:00

There are times when I need to run away. To a tiny attic in the back of my head, lined with dusty old trunks full of old clothes, broken toys and stray scraps of dreams closeted away from the sunlight; all grey and faded, like aging wallpaper. To a forgotten hole-in-the-wall, with a broken door, where no one remembers to look. Or a lonely little alley, squeezed between two fat slices of the world, abandoned by its neighbours.
I need to run away, to turn off, to shut down, for a while.

2010-04-12T21:28:00.000-07:00

And the world bursts into fairylights,
like fireworks in the night
every time we meet.

2010-03-13T05:20:00.000-08:00

Friends made and friends unmade. With narrow strips of politesmiling in the middle. Love and hate and in-betweens tangled up all together in messy piles in stupid corners. Loose threads that are forgotten. Or cut too abruptly.

Or maybe it's just me.

Everyone else seems to stumble along just fine.

I insist on craving for irretrievable things. They make life so much more miserable.

Observation.

2010-02-16T08:37:00.000-08:00

Paintings, like people, are best viewed from a distance.
Because as soon as you come closer, you begin noticing the raw paint showing up the scratches on the canvas.

Bad day.

2010-02-04T07:04:00.000-08:00

Get up. Sit down. Call. Answer. Save. Spend. Decide. Undecide. Love. Hate. Get up. Sit down. Call. Answer. Save. Spend. Decide. Undecide. Love.Hate. Get up. Sit Down.

The world on loop.Like a giant deja vu.

2010-01-13T07:18:00.000-08:00

Some days make me sing in my head. Rainsongs on old guitars.
And on those days, I miss you. Like a child missing a broken toy.
A tiny little knot of has-been in a roomful of has.

2009-12-17T20:00:00.000-08:00

And the world we know is slowly and inevitably dying around us, leaving in its wake a trail of coffee-stained evenings.
Nostalgia curling up comfortably over old,half-forgotten memories.
Endings are so scattered and abrupt, like blown-out paper bags suddenly bursting into pieces. Leaving scraps of torn paper for the ragpicker to collect.

Twelfth hour.

2009-12-07T06:19:00.000-08:00

Jaha chai taha bhool kore chai, jaha pai taha chai na...

Winterpost.

2009-11-28T08:32:00.000-08:00

Winter is here. With its familiar smell of old sweaters and new years. I always get cold feet this time of the year: remembering long-forgotten resolutions and dreading making them all over again. Fearing the passing away of yet another year, which began only yesterday. Unsure about new beginnings, new tales that will be told, no matter what.
But, curiously enough, I can't wait to start afresh. One more time.

I'll miss you, of course, but I'm glad you're gone.

November rain.

2009-11-16T07:06:00.000-08:00

Open windows and unexpected showers.A halo of steam rising from a bright blue mug.Rain shadows climbing your skin in the twilight.
It's coffee-and-Cohen weather outside...

2009-11-15T18:05:00.000-08:00

"Baby,baby, let me take you back where you belong, back to your lovely, lazy island where the jewelled parrot rocks on the enamel tree and you can crunch sugar-cane between you strong, white teeth like you did when you were little,baby. When we get there,among the lilting palm trees, under the purple flowers, I'll love you to death. We'll go back and live together in a thatched house with a veranda overgrown with flowering vine and a little girl in short white frock with a yellow satin bow in her kinky pigtail will wave a huge feather fan over us, stirring the languishing air as we sway in our hammock,this way and that way...the ship, the ship is waiting in the harbour,baby."

-Black Venus, Angela Carter.

Here comes the Sun.

2009-11-14T05:33:00.000-08:00

Chocolate and coffee. Long-forgotten violins and moonlit verandahs. Memories tucked away in dusty cellars, like old wine. Dark red and mellow. With the lingering smell of old summers in them. The scent of warm skin on old notebooks.New books waiting to be read. Winter.

For the past few months my blog has been incredibly morbid.But autumn makes me remember oldfamiliar things. I'm at peace with the world.

2009-10-16T22:01:00.000-07:00

There are times when I feel trapped inside an enormous snow-globe: a carefully-constructed, fragile, see-through world, where everything is still, waiting eternally for someone to shake them around.
And the only way out is by shattering your sky, your world.

Song in my head.

2009-10-09T21:14:00.001-07:00

I saw you this morning.

You were moving so fast.

Can't seem to loosen my grip.

On the Past.
And I miss you so much.
There's no one in sight.
And we're still making love
In my secret life.
In my secret life.
I smile when I'm angry
I cheat and I lie.
I do what I have to do
To get by.
But I know what's wrong
And I know what is right.
And I'd die for the truth
In my secret life.
In my secret life.

-Cohen.

2009-10-02T06:35:00.000-07:00

A place where there are no cramped spaces, no stifled lives crammed hurriedly into tiny cubicles. A place where there is no time. Only beginnings, fresh and raw.
An ancient, prehistoric place, before the emergence of this everyday, mundane world: a different world of majestic splendour and echoing loneliness.
And then, in the heart of this desolation, this vastness, appears like an insane little anomaly, the tiny town of Leh.
"Surreal, but nice."

Peace.

2009-09-08T20:53:00.000-07:00

When everything is over, we'll go home. Back where we came from.
So what does it matter now if we are a little late, a little unsteady on our feet: stumbling and clutching, falling and tripping? In the end, we'll pick ourselves up and lightly brush away the memories of hurt.
Like dust off a favourite coat.

2009-08-31T20:42:00.000-07:00

I need to laugh and when the sun is out

I've got something to laugh about...

Monsoon.

2009-07-20T07:06:00.001-07:00

I love the way the city feels under my skin, warm with the scent of wet earth and rain.
The way it presses against me, overwhelming me with its nakedness.
We belong together, the city and I. We know each other by touch.

Storm.

2009-05-29T20:41:00.000-07:00

This past week, I've seen so many dead trees. On every road, round every bend.
The majestic badam tree next door clung valiantly on to the earth for a day, leaning precariously over the street below, before it was felled yesterday.
And now the crows have nowhere to go.
They sit at the corner of my window, in the pouring rain, with their heads firmly tucked into their feathers, waiting for the storm to die down.
There must be so many more like them.

Yearning.

2009-05-05T20:28:00.000-07:00

Summer has taken over the city.
It has seeped into its very core, through the city walls, past layers of sweat, grime and memories. Its soul breathes summer now. And longs for rain.
The air is heavy with an overpowering languor which carries at its heart a tiny flicker of restlessness.
And I dream.
Of sitting on a suitcase, on a top of a bus racing through open roads. Wind in my hair, an old song playing in my head.
Of quiet cafe corners in old, walled cities and warm afternoons littered with pens and notebooks.
Of tiny, unexpected alleys laden with smells: of spices, of incense and of the river.
Of a cabin on a mountain, crafted from mist, fern and rain.

And I yearn.

Inspire.

2009-04-25T20:23:00.000-07:00

Lovesong

Sometimes, a single photograph makes my day.
And a perfectly disgusting day at that.

Tomorrow.

2009-04-16T21:47:00.001-07:00

Tomorrow I will pick up and leave.
In a split second of freedom, of epiphany, of love.
Tomorrow the elevator will loosen and fly away with me in it. And the doors will turn to glass.
Tomorrow I will touch the mirror and it will be liquid, and I will pass through it. Like water.
Into Dream.
Tomorrow the concrete will open out into the green which will lead into the woods.
Tomorrow I will cross that violet hill in my head. I will jump over the cliff into the void.
But there will be a magic carpet. Waiting. Spread against the painted sky.
Tomorrow I will cease to exist.
Tomorrow I will pick up and leave.

View from a bridge.

2009-04-02T08:27:00.000-07:00

Standing on the bridge, looking down, I see the city flow below me in an endless stream of blurred neon.
The red traffic lights melt into each other, forming intangible patterns.
The wind here smells of people. Of life cramped into tiny cubicles of light.
I look down at the city from above with a sense of unutterable happiness. Mixed with inexplicable longing.
A longing for something I cannot reach.

Maybe it's just the heat.

Kaalboishakhi.

2009-03-31T07:02:00.000-07:00

Silent trees silhouetted against a dark lake;a red-tinted background of sky.
The smell of storm in the breeze, the rustle of leaves.
The dusk beginning to lift itself from the tired road into a dancing whirlwind of dust.
My favourite kind of weather.
It makes me long for the rain.

Masquerade.

2009-03-13T07:50:00.000-07:00

Conventionality grounds me sometimes.
Tangible,stolid,unchanging.Not something in my head.

Mostly, it annoys.Even disgusts.
Especially when it is disguised in that quirky, patchworked cloak of unconventionality.

Just because everyone else is doing it.

Afterthought.

2009-02-23T20:20:00.000-08:00

Has it ever occurred to you that you are living Someone Else's dream?
Somewhere somebody wanted a computer.
A car.
A job.
Education.
Love.
Life.
Time.
Somewhere somebody wanted a dream.

P.S.My blog grows more morbid and more meaningless each day.

I grow old. I grow old.

I think my blog is dying.

Mind your head.

2009-01-31T21:16:00.001-08:00

Is there such a thing as mad?

Those who are dead are not dead
They're just living in my head.
And since I fell for that spell
I am living there as well, oh...
(Coldplay)

I wonder.

Wishful thinking.

2009-01-28T06:41:00.000-08:00

The weather is so painfully perfect.
It smells of spring.
Of remembered loves.
Of oldforgotten hedonism.
With just a hint of a lingering restlessness.

How I wish I could fly!

Resolve.

2009-01-03T20:00:00.000-08:00

It's that time of the year again.
That inter-year period, when the last, remaining embers of the old year are slowly dying out, but the new ones have not yet been lit. This is a time of peace. And of silence.
The last year was not a year I'm particularly planning to remember in the long run. It was depressing, in many little (and indeed, sometimes huge) ways. Encounters with Death and all his friends. Personal losses and not-too-pleasant revelations.
Artifice.
But all that is dying out in the wee hours of this new dawn.I'm looking forward to changes, both personal and public ones.
I'm looking forward to action, I feel strangely restless this year.
To shaking off this sense of ennui, of claustrophobia.

Yes, it's that time of the year again.

People and places.

2008-12-12T20:08:00.000-08:00

This is the beginning of the end.
Somewhere else, new things are stirring. And the old, familiar ones are beginning to rust, beginning to mould themselves into immovable patterns set in time.
Like nostalgia.
Places begin to fix themselves too, piecing together scraps of memory to form an identity.
People are made of places.
Places that seep into you like rain, leaving behind faint irremovable marks.

There are places I’ll remember
All my life though some have changed
Some forever not for better
Some have gone and some remain
All these places have their moments
With lovers and friends I still can recall
Some are dead and some are living
In my life I’ve loved them all.

Light and Shade.

2008-11-14T20:06:00.000-08:00

Dawn:-

Dusk:-

Gold.

2008-10-28T22:05:00.000-07:00

In the middle of utter darkness, the city glows like a firefly.
Lights everywhere. In strings. In dollops. In sprinkles.
Even in the most reclusive of streets, the most unkempt of thresholds, the most atheist of households, there is a tiny light around somewhere, tying the city up in this gold ribbon of festivity.

A little bit of light in everyone.
Everywhere.

Blue-sy.

2008-10-16T20:55:00.000-07:00

Coming back to the city was tinged with a little bit of disappointment.
Like coming back to a house where there had been a party last night. And to find it spotlessly clean.
No tiny lights tucked away in unexpected corners.No discarded bottles on the floor. No faint background rhythms drowned in conversation.
And no smell of fresh memories being made.

Night time Festivities.

2008-10-08T00:03:00.000-07:00

Lights.Thousands of glittery strands in the sky. sparkle. blur.sparkle. twinkling eyes. laughter. push. jostle. glass palaces. dhuno. swirling flames in clockwork motion. rhythms. dhaak. dancing feet. the smell of kebabs. sweat. candy floss. soap bubbles tinged with gold. gold everywhere. brocade. jewelery. brand new clothes. shiny faces.sequin.snatches of popular songs. shyamapoka.red.green. reflecting off glasses. faces. a pair of flaming kohl-lined eyes seen a thin veil of smoke.

In the Beginning...

2008-10-07T22:20:00.000-07:00

Too good to last?

2008-09-26T20:23:00.000-07:00

Can't we just put away the roadblocks for another day? Another world?

And the Sunday Sunshine's down on San Francisco Bay,
And you realize you can't make it anyway
You have to wash the car,
Take the kiddies to the park...

Its been a long time already.

Skip this.

2008-09-16T20:50:00.000-07:00

Decisions. Decisions. Who needs 'em?

Everybody, apparently.

It's disconcerting to come face-to-face with yourself. Realizing that there are certain things you no longer need. Like the morning 'kiddy' drink before breakfast.You've graduated to caffeine.

Questions. Everywhere. Nothing's for granted any more, not even you, yourself.You're afraid you're not making the right choices, you're screwing up, falling into the trap that you looked condescendingly at, from above.

Who defines things, anyway?Who decides which race to run?

And,when do you know it's time?
To question.To move on.To grow up.

Day one.

2008-09-01T18:26:00.000-07:00

Some days are easy.Some days are positively exhausting.I hope I never reach the point when they are simply days.With no tags attached.

Strings. Strings.

It's strange how certain tastes are not yours.They are the collective taste of a society or a group,put into your head for keeps.How you're expected to like certain things.And dislike others.

Tracks.Well-beaten tracks.

I need time to know.To look around.To decide for myself.

Run!

What is.

2008-08-31T18:37:00.000-07:00

He’s a real nowhere man,
Sitting in his nowhere land,
Making all his nowhere plans
For nobody.
Doesn’t have a point of view,
Knows not where he’s going to,
Isn’t he a bit like you and me?
...
He’s as blind as he can be,
Just sees what he wants to see,
Nowhere man can you see me at all?
Doesn’t have a point of view,
Knows not where he’s going to,
Isn’t he a bit like you and me?

_The Beatles
(Who else?)

Musings.

2008-08-22T22:37:00.000-07:00

If I were [add appropriate article]:

beginning, I would be: It was a dark and stormy night.
month, I would be: February.
day of the week, I would be: Friday, with coffee and friends.
time of day, I would be: Twilight.
planet, I would be: Pluto?
season, I would be: Fall.
sea animal, I would be: A sea-horse.
direction, I would be: Not the one you'd follow.
piece of furniture, I would be: An easy-chair with long wooden arms.
sin, I would be: Sloth.
liquid, I would be: Volatile.
fraud/scare, I would be: Funny.
gem, I would be: Rare.
tree, I would be: Prolly cut down.
tool, I would be: A pen.
kind of weather, I would be: A kaalboishakhi.
musical instrument, I would be: Out of tune.
animal, I would be: Not a very good pet.
emotion, I would be: Sarcasm.
vegetable, I would be: Peas.
sound, I would be: A jangle.
element, I would be: Earth.
car, I would be: Fast.
song, I would be: Something made up on the spot.
food, I would be: A morsel.
place, I would be: Not fond of visitors.
material, I would be: Cotton.
taste, I would be: A mellow aftertaste.
scent, I would be: The smell of freshly ground coffee.
religion, I would be: Mystical.
sentence, I would be: Crisp.
facial expression, I would be: A grimace.
subject in college, I would be: Not something people opt for.
shape, I would be: A diamond.
quantity, I would be: A pinch.
colour, I would be:White.
thing, I would be: A broken door.
landmass, I would be:A valley.
book, I would be: Liked by a few.
monument, I would be: Immortalized.
artist, I would be: Struggling.
collection of poems, I would be: Private.
watch, I would be:Chic.
god, I would be:Confused.
vowel, I would be: O.
consonant, I would be: P.
formula, I would be:Easy to remember.
Science, I would be:Non-existent.
theory, I would be: Fallacious.
famous person, I would be: Hiring somebody else to do long tags.
electronic equipment, I would be: Pricey.
sport, I would be: Unpopular.
movie, I would be: In a foreign language.
cartoon, I would be: Garfield.
explorer, I would be: Lost, believed to be dead.
scientist, I would be: Mad.
relation, I would be: The eccentric.
river, I would be: Prone to floods.
intoxication, I would be: impossible to quit.
alone, I would be: Solitary.
question, then I would be: Inane.
hobby, I would be:Bordering on obsession.
habit, I would be: Harmless.
end, I would be: Open.

Wants.

2008-08-22T22:15:00.001-07:00

I need a dip in the pool.
No, not a dip...a splash.In verycold water.
To rid myself of the ennui.
And to feel myself shiver.

Sigh.

2008-08-01T21:48:00.000-07:00

"To love is to suffer. To avoid suffering one must not love. But then one suffers from not loving. Therefore to love is to suffer, not to love is to suffer. To suffer is to suffer. To be happy is to love. To be happy then is to suffer. But suffering makes one unhappy. Therefore, to be unhappy one must love, or love to suffer, or suffer from too much happiness. I hope you're getting this down."

-Woody Allen

Words.

2008-08-01T21:35:00.000-07:00

I see that my last post had been over a month ago.And I thought I had so much to talk about.
It's not that the words come less often nowadays.But they aren't the same any more. they don't tumble out one after the other in an endless effervescent stream as they used to. Instead they squabble and jostle for space and end up tumbling down all together in a warped mess. Like houses made of playing cards.

Wanderings.

2008-06-28T21:57:00.000-07:00

"The night wind whirls in the sky and sings..."
-Neruda.

I'm so used to looking up and seeing a piece of the night-time sky from the bed in my room that I feel strangely stifled if all I can see is brick.

Glimpse.

2008-06-17T20:40:00.000-07:00

Caught up in the evening traffic the other day,I looked outside my window to see a roadside rollwallah setting up shop.
He meticulously lit up two tiny incense sticks, bowed in front of the grimy cut-out of the deity cellotaped to a corner,tried catching the thin trail of smoke rings from the incense and distributing them throughout his tiny cubicle of a shop,touched all his utensils in turn and murmured a little prayer half to himself.
It certainly wasn't an unusual sight.
Hundreds of other rollwallahs opened shop in exactly similar ways every evening while the city returned home.But there was something about the way he carried on his simple worship that was endearing.
It wasn't religion.It was faith.

There's a tramp I see every morning on the road.He lives on an old mattress covered with scraps of paper,rags and other odds and ends at the quieter side of the street.He has a thing for numbers.
I've seen the same fervour on his face when he writes down numbers in ink on the streets as that look of absolute faith on the rollwallah's face.

It's wonderful what belief can do.

No words this time.

2008-06-06T06:19:00.000-07:00

Train.

2008-05-31T06:24:00.000-07:00

It was great to be back on a train again. Trains have that great sense of solidarity.Of homecoming.But essentially without all the material strings that tend to tie you down in a 'home'.
It gives you that thrilling sense of notbelonging, which is, in a way, a very liberating sensation.I love the way you make a tiny cubicle your 'home' for a moment and then walk out again the next day without turning back.
Like a saint. Or a hippie.
Trains also have that sense of fluid identity.Like water. Or a new notebook to scribble in. You are a stranger.The people you meet are strangers. And you can be anything you want. The Walrus or the Carpenter.
Even an Oyster.
Incidentally my three fellow travellers looked like villians right off a trashy film-----the brilliant mastermind with the bottlebrush moustache, the corrupt banker(or lawyer or doctor) and the poor henchman who gets beaten up in the end. Mind you, for all I know, they may be devastatingly nice.And as we all know, looks are deceptive.I,for one, have been told that I look quite intelligent.

Stage.

2008-05-04T20:30:00.000-07:00

The storm entered suddenly and furiously like a mad little thing whirring away at top speed, promptly turning a few hastily-opened umbrellas upside-down.
From the balcony,the wind rushed in, bringing with it little sparks of water.The street lights grew blurry and melted into the storm, colouring up the rain in yellow patches here and there.The rain was no longer visible, you could only sense its presence from its familiar sound and the little dusts of mist that rose up from the street below.Like ice on a hot surface.
Two men walked by, soaking wet, laughing like schoolgirls caught by unexpected showers.
The storm showered its customary thunderclaps and lightning, took a few mad twirls round the swaying trees and ended as abruptly as it had started.
From the balcony seat, the whole performance was spectacular.And exhilarating.

What is it about storms that makes one feel delighted?

2008-04-16T20:37:00.000-07:00

There are times when I miss being old.
I miss old faces,old stories,old skirts. I miss being a part of a whole, instead of a whole alone.

There is a fear that overpowers me...the fear that all of it will dissolve one day into a mind-numbing blur of nostalgia, the intricate patterns will wear out to leave a faded white generalisation.

I'm afraid that they will know we no longer exist, you and I.

I'm afraid they will realize that the time has gone.That there is no 'we'.Only me and you.
I'm afraid that that they will know that the we has faded into being blurred, unrecognizable,happy faces of the Past, insted of the living thing that it was.Like echoes of ghostly feet dancing to silent music in an empty hall.

Diamonds.

2008-04-03T06:33:00.000-07:00

I know what marmalade skies mean now.

The sky, at twilight today, was foamy vanilla cream, with marmalade and honey spread all over it and perhaps just a hint of strawberry thrown in.

All I need now is a girl with kaleidoscope eyes.

storytellers

2008-03-25T19:32:00.000-07:00

Stories. So many of them,like a tangle of coloured strings, rising up behind every head like steam.Or mist in the air.
Stories.Like fingerprints on faces.Silent and invisible.
Stories. Long ones, short ones,small ones, great ones.

And then there are the storytellers.Who string them together like silent raindrops.

of raindrops and roses.

2008-03-23T20:45:00.000-07:00

One of those millions of tiny little things.
I'm glad I had my camera when I noticed it.

Roadtrip.

2008-03-23T20:34:00.000-07:00

And then there was that feeling of Epiphany.
Of things falling into place.
The warm,velvety twilight,the long winding road dotted with blobs of light from tiny 'generalstores' shacks, the wind rushing in through the open car-window,the old,romantic banglasongs in the background, and the dol-purnima moon: round, iridescent and dhudhe-alta red.
It was so ethereal, so perfect,that it was matter-of-fact.

Like old movie sets, where the car stood still and the landscape flitted by.

I haven't tried for a long time, but I think I can still fly.

Falling apart.

2008-03-04T07:20:00.000-08:00

Disillusionment is a weird thing.It makes you feel notblind anymore.That's a kind of empowerment, I guess.But,it also makes a little void somewhere in you. Something irreplacable that's lost.
Like a child's wonder at magic tricks.

There are so many pedestals to take down ... so many old heroes to dismantle... to put away in some hidden folds of nostalgia, away from the harsh,uncompromising glare of light.Of intellect?

All around me I see empty pedestals.That once housed my very own gods.
Perhaps in the end, nothing will be left...not even the altars of worship.

Disillusionment is very lonely.Isn't it?

nicpic.

2008-02-29T06:54:00.000-08:00

One of those days.
The green grass blue sky ones.

Sitting cross-legged in the sun...lying flat on the grass, face up, towards the sky...impromptu picnics with sun-baked cookies...chasing reflections in the water...watching time trickle slowly by.

Today had something of the Idyllic in it.
Like an accidental blot of colour on a black and white canvas.Or a sudden spring shower.Or unearthing old coins in an empty pocket.

Magic dust.Sprinkled lightly in the wind...

The wait.

2008-02-19T05:28:00.000-08:00

There's Spring in the air.I can feel it in my blood.
I can feel it in the rustling whispers of the trees as they plan to bloom together.

I can feel it in the wind.
It brings with it the sound of Spring, that soft, tinkling sound:like glass.
And the flavour. It brings with it that warm musky flavour ...

I feel it in Winter's lazy afternoon drawl---she's old.And stale.

I feel it in the rain. The first of the season. They smell fresh.Dewy.

There's Spring in the air.I can feel it in my blood.

"..And suddenly it's spring.
We’re young and free, and suddenly it’s spring. "

Paradise lost?

2008-02-03T05:41:00.000-08:00

Remember the time you went back to your old classrooms and decided that the chairs have grown smaller?
All the while knowing that it's you who have grown bigger...

Why must revisiting be almost inevitably tinged with the sense of the world shrinking around you?
Like a favourite fairyprincess dress you can no longer wear. But long to fit into.

Still I go back. Again and again. Trying to recapture something that isn't there.
Something that's too small for me...

And Tag!

2008-01-28T06:04:00.000-08:00

Tagged by The Rookie.Instructions:
Remove 1 question from below, and add in your personal question, make it a total of 20 questions, then tag 8 people in your list, list them out at the end of this post. Notify them in their chat box that he/she has been tagged.

1. Name three most valuable assets?
Creativity,Love and Self-respect.
2. If you have the chance, what would you probably say to your beloved one?
"This is where I belong..."
3. If you were to be stranded on a desert island, who are the 3 blog buddies you would take with you?
Cyber Monkey, Beyond the realms of a rational mind, and The Randomly Insane.
4. Where is the place that you want to go the most?
Egypt.
5. If you can have 1 dream come true, what would it be?
Only one? Hmmm....
6. Till now, what is the moment that you regret the most?
My regrets are merely in passing. They aren't really regrets in the long run.
7. What are you afraid to lose the most?
Trust.
8. Any philosophy you strictly follow?
'Do not all charms fly
At the mere touch of cold philosophy?'
9. If you meet someone that you love, would you confess to him/her?
Depends.
10. List out 3 good points of the person who tagged you...
Rukmini: Friendly, charming and responsible.
11. (My question) What is the most difficult thing you've done?
Accepting that people change with time.
12. Which type of person do you hate the most?
The dishonest backstabbing kind.
13. What is your ambition?
Ambition? What ambition? *lazy grin*
14. What is the thing that will make you think someone is a bad person?
Breach of trust, I guess.
15. Christmas is coming, who do you like to celebrate with?
Friends and family.
16. If you could do one thing different in life, what would it be?
I would probably have changed my Boards.
17. Are you a shopaholic or no?
Sometimes.Mostly, no.
18. What is your stress buster?
Reading, writing, cribbing.
19. What should be done to people who make such long tags..?
They should comment on every person's response.
20.Honestly speaking, are you happy?
Most of the time. It's kinda impossible to be happy all the time, innit?

I tag Abhijan, Reeti, Nilanjana, Mandy, Shreya, Mrinalini S., Rhea, Pujarini.

2008-01-18T06:04:00.000-08:00

There's something about you that makes me want to read Me in your eyes.
Something that lingers in your wake...
Like the fragrance of old, crumpled roses.
Or the bittersweet aftertaste of melting chocolate.

2008-01-18T05:31:00.000-08:00

In the silence of her room, the carefully built facade of maturity fell apart.Hung loose like an unwanted mask at the end of the fete.
She wanted to scream.Out loud. But the screams choked somewhere in her throat.And came out in warped sighs.She wanted to flop into bed and pour her heart out into the pillow.Like she'd done a million times before.

She tried it over and over in her head.But her body felt stiff. Stiff after long years of deliberate practice.Practising to forget.To control.To hold back.

It was especially difficult with the wings.
The wings felt heavy on her back. Stiff and heavy.Holding her down somehow.Instead of making her fly.
The wings had been the only thing she'd wished for.
But not now. Not today. Today they made it difficult for her to drop into bed. And let go.

A new year.

2008-01-04T05:27:00.000-08:00

Another Year has come and gone. Another year gone without Changing the World one bit.
It has been an eventful year though. A roller coaster ride.... Sometimes You need to hold on real hard. Sometimes you just let go and feel the wind lifting you up...you feel like you can fly.Almost.
This year has brought new horizons.New opportunities. New beginnings.A chance to explore uncharted territories. To move away from the pile of oldmonotony that was weighing me down.A chance to delve into a Me I never knew existed.
This year has brought getting in touch with Innate Wierdness.
Taught me to laugh at myself.With myself.
This Year ushered in longwanted freedom...freedom to be me. To be different without apologising for it.
This year also had a few hard truths driven home.About Lost security.About things that you fail to remember. And don't realise you've forgotten.
Life is all about flexibility...adapting to new situations. New faces.New Threads. New stories.Yet this year has taught me that all old stories aren't useless.
The old and the new thread themselves together to form a pattern.Bizarre. But Beautiful.
The beginning is always lovely. Time waiting to be painted with quick, colourful strokes.Like an empty,untarnished canvas.
Twelve months to create another masterpiece.

Untitled

2007-12-29T22:34:00.000-08:00

It comes like a shadow.
Whispering.
Tugging gently at you.
A part of you,
Yet different,
Separated by Light.
Without it,
There are no contours.
Only a flat rhythm
Without sound:
Harsh and shapeless;
A single blob of Light.
It pulls at you
Softly.
Running smooth dark fingers
Into your clothes.
Engulfing you...
It surrounds you.
It emulates you.
Until you become one
With the Dark.
You become the shadow
And
Light cannot touch you anymore.

Many sizes too big...

2007-12-25T19:13:00.000-08:00

There are too many Grinches around,I tell you.
I mean people actually laugh when I tell them I want to put up christmas stockings for Santa to fill.

*What?*

No one's too old for Santa.
Which is proved by the fact that at Nandan yesterday,Santa (thin and lanky and minus whitefluffymoustache but Santa nevertheless)gave me sweets...despite there being many many "kids" around.

So there.

December Posts

2007-12-17T21:08:00.000-08:00

It's that time of the year again. December. When there are spirits in the air...spirits of a fading year. Morning mists and evening frost bring back memories.Of plum cakes and old summer days...

1. What did you do in 2007 that you'd never done before?
Went to college.
Travelled alone.
Actually tried to be social.
Blogged.

2. Did you keep your new years resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
No. But yes.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
Yes.

4. Did anyone close to you die?
No. But there's been too many deaths in my circle this year.

5. What places did you visit?
Mountains. And more mountains.

6. What would you like to have in 2008 that you lacked in 2007?
Strength.

7. What date from 2007 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?
No particular dates, but events.So many of them.Like a kaleidoscope.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
Getting what I wanted. Most of the time.

9. What was your biggest failure?
Losing old threads.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
Not more than average.

11. What was the best thing you bought?
A fancy phone.

12. Whose behaviour merited celebration?
My own???(I can't remember)
and one of my friends. I admire her strength.

13. Whose behaviour made you appalled and/or depressed?
Not somebody's in particular. But people in general. I've had a few hard truths driven home.

14. Where did most of your money go?
On books.Outings.Auto-rides.And Caffeine...(both the drink and the place)

15. What did you get really excited about?
JUDE.(Well,if it can be called excitement. It was an apprehensive kind of excitement)

16. What song will always remind you of 2007?
Biri jalaile.
Yaaron Dosti...
Benny Lava.
Don't marry her.(Duh..!)

17. Compared to this time last year, are you happier or sadder?
Happier for many reasons. Sadder for more.
But more focused,I guess.

18. Thinner or fatter?
Fatter.(*sigh*)

19. What do you wish you'd done more of?
Reading.
Catching up.

20. What do you wish you'd done less of?
Procrastinating.

21. How will you be spending Christmas?
No clue.

22. Did you fall in love in 2007?
No. (*sulk*)

23. How many one night stands?
none.

24. What was your favourite TV programme?
The oldies.As usual.
also, Faking it and Cover Shot.

25. Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year?
No.Not hate.

26. What was the best book you read?
Night.
The Kite Runner.
Isle Negra.

27. What was your greatest musical discovery?
Many, Many, Many singles.

28. What did you want and get?
A lot of Freedom.
My own library.

29. What did you want and not get?
Old faces.
Bean bag.

30. What was your favourite film of this year?
Bicycle Thieves.

31. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
Went out with my family and friends.The exams,as usual,were around the corner.

32. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
An ipod nano.heh.

33. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2007?
White.Lots of it.

34. What kept you sane?
Hope.And friends.

35. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
???

36. What political issue stirred you the most?
The Rizwanur case.

37. Who did you miss?
SR., SD and A.

38. Who was the best new person you met?
It's too early to pick,really.But a few people I met.

39. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2007.
To let go.

40. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year.
"Like a bird on a wire
Like a drunk in some midnight choir
I've tried in my way to be free."

I tag anyone who reads this post. Those who want to do it...please go ahead. I'd love to read it, so let me know. And this tag is definitely for You.And You.Do it,you two.

2007-12-14T06:06:00.000-08:00

Random Insanity is good for me.
So is Pointless Laughter.
I'm just thankful I know people who share my interests.

Ruby Roy

2007-12-14T04:50:00.001-08:00

The radio at the quaint tea-shack next to the bus-stop was playing that old, old Burman classic again. It had been such a long time since i heard that song...

Ruby Roy...I had always mused about her. She is the most enigmatic, most elusive yet the most real persona in literature. She's not Bonolata Sen--that fragment of artistic muse which is unreal, intangible. She's everyone's next door neighbour. The woman everyone knows but nobody can decipher...
Every para has its Ruby Roy...women her age gossip about her, young girls are fascinated by her and adolescent boys wait impatiently for Six-o'Clock evenings when she returns home from work. You can see her alighting from the bus on hot summer days... the faint jingle of her nupur echo in the stillness of the afternoon sun.
She smells of crisp cotton sarees and Rain.
And a hint of Lavender perfume perhaps?
She's the quintessence of every woman:hovering like a will-o'the wisp on the edge of the Imagination...caught between the Ordinary and the Ethereal.
She's every boy's first Muse.The pervasive presence in all juvenile romantic poetry.

And She's every boy's first heartbreak...

"Mone pore Ruby Roy kobit'ae tomake ekdin koto kore dekechi/Aj haye Ruby Roy deke bolo amake, tomake kothai jeno dekhechi...."

neon

2007-12-02T19:09:00.000-08:00

The city by night is a heady mix of sweat,the tang of coriander from the street-counters and Neon.
Sparkling,unblinking neon.
There are no more any dark alleyway half-lit in the pale glow of the street lamp. There are no half-whispered thoughts lingering furtively in the air.
I had thought Love needed solitude.Needed awkward glances stolen in Twilight. Needed that intoxicating mix of candlelight and Evening.Needed shy words and light touches in the soft privacy of the night.

I see Love screaming from hoardings, announcing herself from every possible corner.Brazenly adorning shop windows to be taken in by the highest bidder. Marketing herself shamelessly.
I see Love bathed in Neon. Harsh,glittering,unchanging neon.Dispelling (un)wanted darkness.
Lighting up the city every night.

new lamps for old

2007-11-20T20:24:00.000-08:00

"Things get broken
at home
like they were pushed
by an invisible, deliberate smasher.
It's not my hands
or yours
It wasn't the girls
with their hard fingernails
or the motion of the planet.
It wasn't anything or anybody...
So many useless things
which nobody broke
but which got broken anyway"
.

Broken Things that were once a part of life. And is now useless.At least, not irreplacable.

New people. New stories. New threads to be woven.
And the broken,old threads are inevitably swept away in a corner.By Invisible hands.

the eye of a storm...

2007-11-18T20:09:00.000-08:00

I can see it swirling all around me...screaming, wailing and shrieking. I can see it breaking down the flimsy ivory walls of my refuge. Breaking them into shards of shimmering white.Like glass.I lie fingering the broken pieces.The windchime dances wildly. In ecstatic frenzy.
I feel a strange sense of ennui. Despite the storm.
Does it even matter anymore? I wonder.

2007-11-15T22:30:00.000-08:00

There's something in the air today...that crisp chill in the wind perhaps, or the faded autumn leaves that triggers off memories.Memories tucked safely away in the pages of an adolescent diary, smelling of november mornings.
This was the time of School when everything fell into place: exams, Sports Day and Fete.I remember a blur of brick-red cardigans, arrays of paint, glitter and trailing ribbons... spreading oneself comfortably on the sun-soaked corridors preparing posters for the school fete. I remember sqabbles over which paint to use and absent-minded sqiggles with wet paint on the floor.I remember the frantic waving of arms during the sports day drill and the proud pinning of 'Volunteer' badges at the edge of my collar.I remember fresh laughter, soda pop and the occasional wild dancing on excursion trips. I remember linking arms and strolling on the playground with 'bestfriends' and whispering secrets under the staircase...
I remember the texture of those winter mornings... and the warmth that laced their ends.

There's something in the air today that triggers off old memories.
A snatch of an old song i heard playing somewhere...
"dancing bears, painted moons
things i almost remember
and a song someone sings
Once upon a December"

aftermath

2007-11-03T08:20:00.000-07:00

No. This blog is not dead.
I find many of my friends have been furiously blogging. I'm working on it too. So, I guess i'll be back to blogging soon.

The last few days were idyllic.Like a lazy summer afternoon when you have nothing to do but curl up with a good book. Or a good movie and a cup of steaming coffee on a crisp November evening. I have finished Ishiguro's 'An Artist of the Floating World',besides watching quite a few old classics.
'Floating world'...that describes the past few days of Festivities perfectly.They have been like that floating world of pleasure. Balanced precariously between the everyday and the exotic with that slightest tang of the unreal in it. And with the same transitory,elusive quality.
Like a fleeting mirage. A painting with rose-tinted brushes.

Days free from time...

And now, the clock rules over my world again. It takes time to get back into those well-established lines.The old familiar Routine... Back to tracks once more. Like the morning jogger in grey sweatpants who goes past our gate at 6.30 every morning.Punctual.Almost to a fault.

soliloquy.

2007-10-22T23:30:00.000-07:00

11.55.He was supposed to arrive at twelve.he'd be here any minute now.she had to put the flowers in the vase and place it by the window.he loved something fresh. he had told her that day at the park...it seemed years ago.how long had it been? four months? five? no, they met that day at the wedding, that was on the 30th. or was it the 1st? she remembered she had very little money on her...the blue vase ought to have been in this cupboard.she hated people putting things in the wrong place.that's why she didn't have maids. of course, there was the monetary side of it too. but then,she could always ask her aunt...perhaps Sheila had put it in the drawer the other day...she didn't like the way Sheila moved around her things:as if she owned the place.but then, she was company and it could get lonely here,not knowing anybody...not today though.
11.59. he'd be here any minute. he was probably climbing the stairs even now. "wouldn't it be loverly?" how did the next line go? she had to watch 'my fair lady' again sometime.where did she put her scissors? the flowers were...they would look lovely with the afternoon sun on them streaming through the window...the translucent curtains had been a good buy after all.she needed more of them, her mother had wanted some for their new house.how much were they? she couldn't remember...oh what a time for thinking about curtains!
12.03. it's past twelve.of course he couldn't have arrived right on twelve,could he? that would have been miraculous with all the traffic.And the way the pot-holes were shaping up.someone ought to call the municipality.but then...
12.06. the flowers look beautiful.the blue vase was just right.she ought to have called up her aunt for being so thoughtful.she would call her today and thank her for the vase...it must have been expensive.
12.09. should she give him a call?no, perhaps it was too early...he hated being pestered. after all, it was just ten minutes. he wasn't very punctual anyway.and he hated being called in the middle of a journey...she remembered that day she went out to dinner:when his cousin had called him twice.wasn't that on christmas day? or new year's perhaps? the day she tried croissants for the first time. real croissants.
12.16. now would be the right time. fifteen minutes past twelve. it could be reasonably supposed that she would be worried. but she was being silly. what was fifteen minutes anyway?by the way, wasn't that clock a few minutes fast?it was just because she was so desperate to meet him. but she wouldn't show that.no,that would never do. he hated girls who were always trying to cling on...space he called it. what if something happened? what could possibly have happened? he would have let her know if he had meant to cancel.wouldn't he? well, he wasn't very particular about these things...but she'd told him to. called him this morning. before she'd gone out for the flowers. were the flowers drooping a little? no, they were perfectly fine, she was being silly. she had read something about reviving drooping flowers the other day. in Reader's Digest perhaps.
12.25.perhaps he couldn't find her house.but it wasn't the first time he was coming...but then, he may have forgotten. perhaps he was trying to call...was the telephone working? yes, it was...she could hear the soft hum of the receiver...it was sunday today wasn't it?sunday the 18th?yes, it was. of course it was. she was being excessively silly. it might well be that he was caught up in the traffic.or was Unavoidably Detained.nice words,weren't they? they were cool and impersonal. yet somehow reassuring. yes, perhaps he was Unavoidably Detained.she ought to call. but wouldn't it look too forward? as if she was waiting for his visit. as if she had nothing else to do. she hadn't,of course.she wondered if Veera had gone for the movie. she had said she couldn't come. he was coming...the movie would be just starting now.did she have time to go? of course not. what if he turned up and found she was gone? that would make him really angry.
12.32 well then, she would wait. if she tried to think of other things perhaps.that sometimes helped...

Little girl lost...

2007-10-17T20:00:00.000-07:00

The little child that loved paper horns and giggles.
Soap bubbles and candyfloss...
Who had not lost her soul in the humdrum,mundane existence of Everyday.
It was strange to stumble upon her,looking up with her unchanged,untouched eyes, one warm afternoon day in Nostalgia.
She brought with her the scent of a thousand old memories.Sweet,half-forgotten fragrances drenched in liquid sunshine ...like the smell of an old,dog-eared scrapbook.
She took me to old places,where Someday was just around the corner,and you met Lost Time,sauntering carelessly with his hands in his pockets...
She kindled thoughts;warm soft thoughts which wrapped themselves around me...like my old,pink,cashmere blanket with frayed edges and elephant patterns.

She showed me how to be free again.And look around with fresh eyes at the wonder and extravagance around me:unabashed,unquestioning.She charmed away the old cynic in me for a day.
just for a day.but nevertheless...

2007-10-12T22:12:00.000-07:00

Love lives like a song in the city...
a song of despair
which can't be forgotten.
Blood trickles down from the city's dark walls
red,like raw love...
Love lives like a flame in the city's heart
stamped over by millions of feet
everyday.
It quivers and struggles to live,
trying to light up a few dark corners...
Love lives like a perfect circle
etched in sand,
defaced each day by the fury of the waves
but leaving traces nevertheless.
Love lives like a half-forgotten scent
stifled by the stench of the city's sweat and grime...
Still Love lives
like a silent ghost leaving invisible footsteps,
like a faithful dog who trails the city
scavenging for a little hope in the pile of ashes.
And still Love lives
like a blue stain
in the little flames
of hundreds of candles lit in her name
by people who still have Faith.

2007-10-09T22:45:00.000-07:00

this is a bloglink.To an untitled post.
For the very few people who read my blog.who will have time for this.

grey

2007-10-06T04:56:00.001-07:00

I wonder when the grey set in...
There was a time when everything was black or white.Everything was defined.Neatly bordered off.No hazy horizons.No blurred lines.No irrevocable mixing of the black and the white so that recognizing them is impossible.And useless.

I see myself walking amongst thousands of nameless,faceless people on a crowded street.Grey coats.Grey skies.A light drizzle that wet the tops of thousands of black umbrellas.
Grey pavements.
I walk with the flow.Till i chance upon my friend in the crowd.I cry out.Grey coats block my vision.I fight through the ocean of people to reach out for him.I see his familiar face.But the eyes that peer out are those of strangers...I suddenly realize he is a stranger.I start and let go of his hand.In an instant he's lost in the grey.

I hear laughter.Fresh laughter.Laughter that awakens my senses,brings with it an old half-forgotten scent.I look around and struggle to find it's source.The voice is near me.I can feel it.It brushes against me.I clutch at it.But it's gone.I can't find it anymore.

And then again the grey.Numbing me,blurring the surroundings.Till boundaries cease to matter. And i no longer know where i am.

upside down...

2007-10-05T23:19:00.000-07:00

the creative spark is dying down.Like the embers of a dying fire:glowing,glowing,gone...
I want to go out.Project my mind outside.Travel to places i've never been before...i want to look out and see the starry night sretched out above me,instead of the usual window-bars.I want to feel the scent of autumn in the wind, I want to trace rainbows of sunshine in the mud-puddles again.I want to listen.I have had enough of speaking.I want to listen to the trees whispering again. I want to listen to the windchime sing to the tune of Fall.
I want time. To jumble up again my straightened thoughts.
I want to upset the routine.bring back the chaos again.
I want to feel the Romantic agony.
I'm becoming much too Victorian.

incoherent ramblings

2007-09-24T19:08:00.000-07:00

shorot is late this year.

the above line sounds like Wilde's 'The Selfish Giant.' Gi-ants...i'd forgotten the ring of those words.also 'fairies','elves','nymphs','gnomes' and the lot. i try rolling them in my mouth from time to time to feel their long-forgotten texture. they somehow fail to evoke the sense of solidarity they used to. perhaps I've forgotten to say them right.perhaps i don't believe in them any more.

i wonder if everyone isn't a little schizophrenic. if they all don't imagine voices in their heads from time to time...don't we? reminds me of Fanny and Alexander.Reality is merely what you believe in,if you believe in it hard enough that is. i mean,after all who's to determine what's real and what's not?

there are things known and things unknown,and between them lie the doors...

this was supposed to have been a post on the weather(the inanity of which is not to be remarked upon)but as usual i digress.
it's strange how the rains here are different from anywhere else in the world.the 'monsoons' here are an event...a celebration of Mother Nature,love and waterlogged streets...

i know this post is erratic.An idiotic(read: butIstillDoItAnyway)blogthings quiz said i blog like noone else is looking.
i feel lonely.like my blog.no,lonely isn't the word,Alone is more like it. i wonder how many people actually read this stuff...

this post is like those cutelittlesmiley stress relievers.But more constructive if you ask me.

T2 tidings...

2007-09-24T09:13:00.000-07:00

i never thought i'd write a post on cricket.
But this isn't really about cricket.It isn't about any game in particular either.
It's about a young middle-class boy in the heart of Ranchi growing up on adolescent dreams of becoming a sachin tendulkar...and having the strength to fight for it.
It's about two brothers growing up in an impoverished family in Baroda, rebelling against the conventional strictures of family and bent on traversing an untrodden path...and of finally joining shoulders in an international cricket-field thousands of miles away from home, leading their country into one of the most stupendous victories she's ever seen.
It's about new ideas, new hopes, fresh energy.
It's about proving a point, about determining your goals and reaching out for them,even if no one thinks you can do it.
It's about Believing.
So you see, this is not really a post on cricket.
It's the stuff bollywood movies are made of.
And this time,oddly enough, it's true!