2007.......

Come a long way
Brawling, crawling
Singing song
Trudging along
Suckinng thumbs
Licking chalks
Inflating gums
Ignoring life
Ignoring pain
Splashing mudholes
Dancing to rain
Wiping tears
Fighting fears
Monsters under bed
Monsters inside head
Squakking crows
The peaceful dove
Friends and foes
Sodden toes
Secrets and locks
Bunny socks
Laughter and cries
Those inumerous tries
Courage and will
Life so still
Climbing trees
Bleeding knees
Summer trouble
Winter school
Homework fear
Swimming pools
First love
First heartbreak
Melting ice
Burning spice
Life long vows
Stupid tv shows
Passion desire
Crazy for love
Anger jealousy and
Hate for love
Urges and wishes
Soft tender kisses
Questions of life
All give and take
Come long way
Singing that song
Look up to him
And keep trudging along!

Ambitious plans soar high in the sky.....
And i already see those carefully laid out plans falling apart....
What do i do when stakes are really high?
Do i dare gamble and mess it all up
Or shud i play it safe and later repent at leisure?

Been away from blogging for quite sometime....
My writing skills have all gone rusty...

They scream out in vain for a mortal earth
to remember that they lived and died;

Yet it's the souls of the departed and forgotten
for whom God cries.

In the broken mirror I see myself fractured.

I've fallen into one of those moods again. It's addictive—this narcotic of sadness and discontent that swims in the endless cups of espresso that keep me hovering between wakefulness and inertia. This melancholy, punctuated by shots of caffeine that have long lost their significance, adds a glow to this deceptively ordinary night. a night like the last that resembled the one before it.

I'm living a page from my journal, which, I hadn't realized until now, had too many torn-out pages. I wonder where my days have gone. And suddenly, I feel like I'm wearing my emotions too close to my skin again. So that a soft touch cuts. A gentle word slashes. A look, a breath, a whisper of air, a notion exchanged between two people who've met yet haven't, who've loved, yet......

All of them beautiful and pure and painful.

As the wait prolongs itself.....stretching itself yawningly across the storm tossed oceans of time...I realize I can wait as long as I want....a golden glint of hope can keep me alive for as long as I want to remain stubbornly stuck to my madness...the piano shall have stopped playing, the curtains will have dropped elegantly on the stage, lovers shall have quarreled, kissed and made up for it and somewhere caught in the throes of waiting for you....as the venom of your love spreads through my body tantalizingly....reminding me of a certain searing encounter of lips where poison left one body and entered another...just about a miniscule drop ...enough to paralyze my heart and force it to stop flutteringly and it is then that I shall have quit waiting…just to renew my wait again...for aint I entitled to seven more lifetimes?

There are two kinds of people --- the kind that slosh around with puddles with a song on their lips and the kind that pull their hair at the hint of rain. I belong to the second lot. A friend once told me that people like me are called the rain - dysfunctionals.
My romance with the rain starts and stops with the first drizzle; when the earth smells like a million dollars and I want to bottle up the fragrance but don’t know how. Well, that itself is frustrating and I somehow feel that it’s merely nature’s clever trick to anesthetize people by this smell and lure them into believing that monsoons are romantic.
Now don’t get me wrong. I do appreciate the rains for what they are. I know that if it weren’t for the rain I would not be sitting here in my room, all wrapped up in my blanket, having pakora and chai and writing this piece etc. etc. But then I also hope that it would rain for an hour or two and allow the clothes to dry for the rest of the day. It’s welcome to weep into our catchment areas and it’s welcome to exhaust itself on our paddy fields and turn them into emerald. And if it promises to behave then it’s welcome to stay all year long and like a good gardener keep the city green.


But rain here in the city is a non story altogether. It’s about umbrellas that won’t open when you hit the road and won’t close when you get into a car. It’s about puddles that seem to rise towards you even when you are on higher grounds. It’s about all those yucky things that wrap themselves around your ankles like filmi heroines. It’s about putting your best foot forward in a gurgling stream only to realize that there’s an open manhole waiting to drag you in.It’s about leaky cabs, flooded buses and trapped commuters. And grouchy me who could not enjoy the monsoon to the fullest because of the rain!!
And now faced with a wet day I took out my long list of things to do on a rainy day”. A list I have only added to year after year. Well one look at the last serial number tells me that I might as well have to live to be 200 to do all these rainy day things. I also learned a lot about myself. I realize that I am trivia crazy (sort out dead batteries from live cells), that I am schizophrenic (arrange old cards in order and burn them in a heap), that I have illusions of grandeur (practice the royal wave). God did I really write that? Enough of self knowledge and I take a deep breadth and tear up the list.


And then I sit down to prepare a whole new list. It goes:
1. Read {still not decided which book}(gulp!) cover to cover. Without moving my lips.
2. Do yoga and pranayam. Might as well shred a few inches. (Oops!! did I just write that?)
3. Take a geology class (Dad says it helps to live amicably with fossils!)
4. Try out that 30 size jeans which has been in the closet for more than ten months (now here I go again! Illusions!! )
5. Research the ill will of thongs. (Hooonh! now that’s interesting)
Uh! Oh! It seems this rain is getting on my nerves. Now, do you get the drift why I don’t like rainy days???

One breadth of his hair,
one kiss of his mouth,
one touch of his hand......
is worth the eternity of pain..

He asked darkness for light and the sun winked at the moon...
He bound time to eternity and the child in him died young...
He looked hatred in the eye and love shied away...
He held his thoughts in his mind yet stories came out of the blue...
He gave silence a tongue and it spoke nothing...

I can't give solutions to all of life's problems, doubts,
or fears. But I can listen to you, and together we will
search for answers.

I can't change your past with all its heartache and pain,
or the future with its untold stories.
But I can be there now when you need me to care.

I can't keep your feet from stumbling.
I can only offer my hand that you may grasp it and not fall.

Your joys, triumphs, successes, and happiness are not mine;
Yet I can share in your laughter.

Your decisions in life are not mine to make, or to judge;
I can only support you, encourage you,
and help you when you ask.

I can't prevent you from falling away from friendship,
from your values, from me.
I can only pray for you, and talk to you.
I can't give you boundaries, which I have determined for you,
But I can give you the room to change, room to grow,
room to be yourself.

I can't keep your heart from breaking and hurting,
But I can cry with you and help you pick up the pieces
and put them back in place.

I can't tell you who you are.
I can only love you and be your friend.

Almost a decade back....all the fun...all the pranks, all the tricks that we played...i've started missing it all so bad already sis,....what would happen to me when I am an old toothless hag, forty or so years down the line? Would I miss the times we spent together, even more?
I don’t think we'd ever get to stay together...u'd go ur own way...i'd go my own...our childhood can stay captured in the photo album...but that's the most that can remain of sisterhood.
I wonder how mom & dad cope with the empty rooms that were once our den of vice!....specially my room where your posters of cute puppies nudged my fav. posters out of sight....or why on earth does mom still dust the board games that we used to play...would we ever get to stay under the same roof long enough to play those games or for that matter cuddle those innumerable soft toys that still makes my room look occupied...and no,it is not your room... it is my room, you have your own room though you seem to have taken mine for granted.

Does it pain dad to glance at the two study tables placed diametrically opposite in that room....one shaped like a huge piano where my scattered mess of books always threatened to turn into a nice hideout for cockroaches and looked like a complete eyesore and the other dazzlingly blue study table that had all the books piled neatly...the epitome of tidyness....and yet the ants were always happier paying you a visit than me...much later, did we realize that the exotic chocolate wrappers of your fav brand of chocolate brought all the way from Belgium were stacked in one of the drawers of the table long after you stealthily finished eating them without even offering me & when I did ask for the goodies....manipulatively innocent that you've always been....all you had to say was-"Come on sis' look at your waist,do you wanna ruin it?"& I would back off immediately....and what a magpie you turned out to be!collection of choco wrappers for the past seven years!Whoa!!...
And...
Poor dad,he was always compelled to buy two of everything....we'd even demanded two seperate pet dogs for ourselves....I still haven't found anything that we have in common....man!even our blood groups are different!

What goes through his mind when he sees two different toothpastes lying unfinished, two different cupboards filled with equally different kind of discarded clothes, two different genre of music CDs sitting idly somewhere, two different sets of collection of books...the only thing we never did want seperate was the study table....it gave us time to talk...which was anyway, better than studying. All we did at the study table was talk....no wonder,mom made sure she got a seperate table for you and made us sit with our backs turned to each other...but it never did stop us from turning around & talking,did it?
But life does strange things....now we do have our backs facing each other but hey! there's no way we can turn & talk to each other as often as we would want....even though mom's intimidating figure doesn’t come hurrying from the kitchen to wag an admonishing finger & warn us not to waste our precious study hour by chatting up a storm......


I miss you....Happy birth day sis

Clearing up

Today this heavy fog finally evacuated my mind and I was feeling more like “myself” than I have in some time....Could it be my brain is back? Hallelujah! We won’t speak of my current physical condition, except to say that it’s a slow and steady healing and adjusting process.

Where Love took me...into the dungeons of Claustrophobia…..

Nail yourself to my pain and bleed the tears I cannot cry....

zilch

Why is there a full-stop at the end of every assertion?

boo

I'm scared of Pressure Cookers. There it's out! I'm bloody scared of them - I think they are wierd temperamental things that erupt and let out a hot, frothing, scalding emission at who-so-ever dares to go against them. They are scary....

And no, you're not allowed to consult Freud's manual and psycho-analyse me on this declaration of mine!

A Balancing Act to stay in Love?A tight rope walk to keep the relationship work?On tenterhooks all the time?Is there no respite?

A brief Union..where ur words enmesh into mine

Am i forgetting to live? It somehow feels like i'm waiting for something to happen. As if this moment does not matter.

A new day always brought a sense of elation and anticipation along with it.
But now its different. Now the elation is....coz another day has passed.

Not sure were I am rushing to. Not sure whats in store, wats waiting around the corner. But there's this intolerable longing. For that something that's around the corner. And I feel like rushing for it. Can't wait. It all sounds kinda crazy, but somehow makes perfect sense to me.

Like its all gonna be ok. Once i turn the corner...
But the wait is painful. It hurts... Like a day without love.

Hazaaron Khwahishain aisee...
ke har khwahish pe dam nikle
bohot nikle mere armaan...
lekin phir bhee kam nikle

Here's my take at trying to put down some random facts about myself that would, maybe define me to a certain extent.

I am my Daddy's girl….here's blowing u a kiss daddy!
Then I am mamma’s angel too…..a kiss for u too mum!
But the best thing to happen to me...sis!!





If I were to live my life again, I wud choose to be an albatross -spread my wings and fly over the ocean. It's the only one in the Kingdom of Animals that mates for life. Invests in a romantic 7 years of courtship and settles down with its mate. Their love is for keeps. They are not used to the concept of multiple partners. Incase, an albatross dies….its mate doesn't survive long.





I’m lucky to have friends like the rock of Gibraltor, who have always stood by me…thru thick and thin. (Though it makes me wonder how men can really be such good friends) .…



A movie I can watch over & over again->Vanilla Sky, very close to my heart.
Maybe coz David(Tom) is unable to win his true love…. or maybe it is the way, guilt haunts him all his life for the shabby way he treated the other girl in his life, Julie(Cameron Diaz) who was truly in love with him.
But the best part of the movie…is the last 15 mins when the dreams end and reality takes over, when the surreal-abrupts burst into ur face and u step out of the twilight zone.... once the psychologist played by Kurt Russell starts analyzing David…there are metaphors sprinkled all over...in the movie…its a thinking man’s movie…it makes u brood…it makes u think & it makes ur heart ache for David when he realizes that the moments spent with Sophia were all an illusion…..that she was never his and yet in the end when she says ‘ You were missed’….it makes u wonder, did she harbour any feelings for him, after all?.But the line that I remember most is where the other girl realizes he’s in luv with someone else and says something to the effect of ‘we’ll meet in our next lifetime, as cats’….



I love the sea…I hate the mountains. The way the sea tosses its mighty head arrogantly, rushes into the inviting arms of the beaches and retreats reluctantly to the call of the mermaids that want it back home. I love the way the sea makes love to the beaches, those rumbling sounds of love making when the sea caresses the beaches, fondling it with a mischievous glint in its eye…..
In contrast, the mountains frown at me, rooted at a spot for centuries...with secrets embedded in its bowels and give me an intimidating look everytime my folks drag me to the mountains!!



I can die for Chocolates …umm,there was a time when I was crazy about it….dunno if I am still that way…but then, back then, I was mad about a lot of things…


Lines that I would love to hear someday….’Grow old with me, the best is yet to be’…


Being kissed on the forehead ….thats the most endearing expression of love...



Luv the star splashed nite sky….can spend hours laying on my back on the terrace, gazing at the shimmering dots sprinkled lavishly across the thick blanket of the midnight blue sky. My imagination runs wild on such star gazing nights and beautiful thoughts run through my mind….millions of beautiful snapshots….fragments of poetry that form in my mind….wish I cud replace the backdrop of the terrace with a gorgeous beach.


Since childhood, I’ve had this crazy thing about writing looong letters to God, telling him all about my life….and when I feel stronger, I tear those letters and leave behind no traces of the secret correspondence between us...



There was a time when I wanted to become a jet-setting travel writer. I’ve always fantasized about exploring the exotic places, tasting their cuisine and as a travel writer,I wudnt even have had to pay for it!Like a carefree bubble...i cud have drifted from one end of the sky to another,from shore to shore,jungle to jungle

But such a nomadic existence cudnt have brought me any stability in my already chaotic life...



Never realized why a Brahmin considers himself better than a Dalit, I’v always loathed the caste system, never understood why ‘we’ have so many festivals throughout the year, never connected with the ‘richness’ of ‘our’ religion,never understood why we need pandits to solemnize marriage ceremonies or why in case of important events we need to communicate with God via these people who are blessed to be born in a privileged caste.



I’ve always wanted to apologize to my parents for not being able to match up to them. Dad is a brilliant engineer and if we wouldn’t have t held her back, today, mom could have been a top notch CEO ruling the corporate world, what with her sharp analytical mind & amazing leadership skills. While I’v always been lousy in maths & science & yeah have none of mom’s smashing talents. They say the next generation catches up fast & moves 3 steps ahead….i underwent regression….forget, leaping 3 steps ahead, I’ve not even been able to catch up with ‘em. Sorry mom, sorry dad.



Want to leave behind footfprints on the hearts of those whose paths crossed mine…I want people to remember me even after my last performance….long after I have bowed out of the stage….

Caught in a windstorm or a maelstrom?

Dark clouds had gathered on the horizon even as she looked from her balcony. The ominous clouds without any caution, had stormed the cloudless, blue sky, without as much as offering it an opportunity to take guard or shelter its pristine body. She quietly watched the dark swirling, the rampant outrage.


He put his hand on her back that faced him. She felt the familiar touch, the stirring, and smiled to herself, as she turned. Was he supposed to come back tonight, wondered she as her eyes caught the elfish look in his eyes.

“Heyy,” she muttered, playfully running her fingers through his hair. “Your hair’s grown, honey. You so need a haircut.”

“Hah, who cares?” He mumbled thickly as he drew her to him.

She slid closer, her lips on his, softly yet firmly, as she heard, rather felt the lightning kiss the clouds again, in the illimitable skies.

Awaiting as I wither away....gradually

Then:
The darkness cloaked her as she peeled off her second skin, exposing heart and flesh. The mirror blinked, taken aback. Her fingers fluttered around the scarred skin of her stomach. She looked carefully, leaning forward into the mirror staring into it; time had woven a web around her eyes. The room clouded up as desperation trickled down in a black streak from the corner of her kohl-lined eye. She blinked back and stretched and then curled like a rag doll on the bed as she sought relief. Monochromatic memories un-spooled in a scratchy film and sweat poured as she rose and fell buffeted around by waves of pain and pleasure. Eyes squeezed shut and hands balled into fists as she flashed-back to an endless parting.
Brutal loss.

Now:
She sits still. Like the glass lake she is watching. A blanket of contentment, still fragile but slowly growing, cocoons her. She nurtures it zealously, no passion winds are going to blow it away anymore, no carnivorous cravings are going to claw it away. She is determined. She glances up at the sky, a formation of geese is flying towards the horizon, slowly dissolving into oblivion. She gets up from the bench walking away; the squirrels are still racing after her for peanuts, but she shows them the empty bag and its almost as if they understand. Sombre fir trees stand in the prayerful solitude of church spires against the wintry sky. She looks up at a lone solitary star and smiles at its fragile brightness.
Her eyes are bright uncut diamonds and the mirror smiles back, a full silhouette of satisfaction. A discovering of simple comfortable uncomplicated love lighting up lives.
A blessing.

What determines our worth?

Always in love

Or was it something else I felt over and over again?


I can’t remember a time when I was’t head over heels in love with someone. My first crush was on Star Trek’s Mr. Spock at the tender age of seven, and even then I was driven to inadvisable acts in the name of love. One day I scrawled “I love spock!” in bloodred crayon on the wall of my playroom and was soundly spanked for my efforts. In standard 4, I loved Sammy. I loved him because he swore and played the trumpet (in that order), and also because he was olderand all these qualities made him a perfect allround bad boy. When I discovered that his real name wasn’t Sammy, I teased him night and day, even though he usually beat the pulp out of anyone who dared call him by his real name, to his face. The fact that he never pounded me, I took as a sign of his pure, undying love.
I’ve had so many crushes it’s difficult to keep track. from third rate hockey players to dead opera stars to all the members of a band (at the same time), I’ve lusted for them. My crushes have ranged from faint interest to pure gibbering insanity.
Crushes can derail your life. Like some sort of emotional typhus, there is the initial contact with the infectious agent, a period of fertering and fevered delirium, followed by a long period of recovery.
Even science is of little ues in combating the craziness. We humans are biologically engineered to be addicted to love. The “crush” is actually a cocktail of hormones triggered by something as simple as a glance. One minute you’re calmly walking down the street, the next moment you’re dumb struck by the unearthly beauty of the guy stacking bottles at the supermarket. You don’t get to pick. In perfect inverse proportion – the stupider you get, the better it seems.
Here’s the final twist: Just when you feel you understand the forces at work, sopmething comes along to wreck all your theories.
Which leads me to the last and perhaps biggest crush of my life. I would walk by his house twice a day every day, even though it was more than a kilometerb out of my way. Heading up his street, I’d grow faint and my heart would pound, all from sheer possibility of actually seeing him
I was giddy, I was gaga, I was completely out of my mind. I drove my whole family insane with endless recitations of “he likes me”, “he likes me not”, “do you think he loves me?”. If you think this is juvenile, you’re right, but that’s what crushes do: they reduce us to total imbeciles.
And what happened to the last big crush, you ask?
Hehe…

'Hunger'....

Dust swirled & pirouetted in a mad frenzy…..I coughed it out .Blinding heat…on a april noon. The auto threaded in & out of the narrow lanes as deftly as a needle completing a running stitch along the hem of a cloth. Ensconced in the womb of the auto, I was sitting …lost in thought…the view outside a blurred haze.
So deep was my reverie that it took me a while before i realized someone was talking to me... .I turned my anesthetized eyes to the auto driver but his back was towards me & then I saw a wobbly hand extend itself in.
Ummm...it was a red light crossing & I wasn’t sure how long the auto had been standing still & then it struck me - Beggars!
I looked straight ahead of me, averting my gaze.....the way most of us pretend to turn blind whenever such miserable unfortunate people approach us with an empty hand but a heart full of hope.But wait a minute, this man had something in his hand-incense sticks...but I simply shook my head.
I explained to him...no incense sticks required.
The more insistent he grew, the more adamant my refusal became.

At the crossing, the light turned envious....at that instant he blurted out-‘Please buy it, I haven’t eaten for two days’....I looked into a pair of hunger ridden eyes & could almost feel my hunger hit me with a vengeance like a punch delivered by a wrestler on his punching bag.
Maybe, his words wouldn’t have had such an effect on me, had he met me ...say, a year back.
A year back, I didnt know what hunger was, I didn’t know how difficult it is to sleep the night away on an empty stomach....I didn’t know that the only way to stop the burning sensation in the stomach, is to keep drinking water every twenty minutes & stop it from growling...from groaning in protest...I didn’t know that your insides churn in agonizing pain & make you want to throw up when you haven’t eaten for one & a half day….your head spins,u feel dizzy & it becomes difficult to walk….maybe it sounds like an exaggeration…maybe my system over-reacts when I miss all my three square meals coz of tremendous workload in the Pshycho Lab & somehow I never have the money to buy something from a canteen etc.
Maybe I was so used to being a spoilt kid back home where food was always taken for granted by me that remaining hungry for a whole day was not my forte.
But I am learning….picking up the art of fooling my hungry stomach by drinking water.

How on Earth,did this old man manage to stand on his two feet & sell his ware the whole day long? Had I been in his place…I would have collapsed coz I become so weak that I can barely walk, my knees turn to water & my hands shake a wee bit.

It was the last twenty rupee I had in my purse apart from the thirty that I was supposed to pay the auto driver,luckily I had coins that added up to another ten...it meant, I would have to walk a long distance at eight thirty in the night…a scary proposition.
I saw myself handing over the money to him & regretted that I didn’t have more to give to him….
I could see drivers screaming at us, we were blocking their way…stuck at the crossing…pampering some woebegone old man selling something trivial.
But did they know how hungry he was? Hunger…that kills you slowly by inches…hunger that makes us impotent…hunger that gnaws at our insides…hunger that constantly draws attention to its presence inside us with it’s devious pin prick stabs….hunger that makes even thin arrowroot biscuits taste as heavenly as chocolate pastries….hunger that makes u look askance at people eating good food….hunger that makes you want to march into the eating joint with those delectable names that make ur mouth water….hunger that makes treacherous noises in ur stomach & gives your game away when you lie to ur friend & say you are not hungry….hunger that turns u weak & makes u want to compromise on ur principles & borrow money from others & somehow u battle with ur morals & stick to an empty stomach than an empty conscience....

Life comes a Full Circle

Boarding schools, midnight feasts, stealing bull’s eye peppermints from tuck boxes of sworn enemies, pyjama parties, Halloween treats, bullying juniors, making friends smuggle love letters to those ‘cute’ boys, using mirrors to communicate with the boys, filling up slam books, exchanging photographs, packing the trunks, boarding the train & finally off…to an Adult world waiting to be discovered.

And that is when you realize your wings have been clipped even before you could spread them & take off on your maiden flight. You realize you have to get married to someone, handpicked by your family & before you know it…you are a domesticated hen taking care of your brood.
All those sonnet cramming days & Shakespeare’s Othello filled evenings seem to get lost in a new rhythm of changing diapers.
Skills picked up in making neat section cuts of roots & stems in Botany classes are made use of, in cutting vegetables.
All your prize books become the scribbling grounds of the little ones.
All the medals you won in relay races, javelin throws seem to turn into rattles overnight.
All your merit certificates won through sheer hard work become breeding grounds for spiders & mites.
All your ambitions of a career get swamped by wifely duties that leave u breathless.

Days melt into months & months into years & finally it is time for your little ones to fly the nest. After years of keeping them snugly close to your heart, it tears you apart when you let go & yet when they call up & narrate their days in the hostel- smuggling goodies from the Mess & into their rooms, playing pranks on April Fools’ Day, camping on the hostel grounds on winter nights…
Déjà vu….
Its like Life is making you rewind a black & white classic movie in which you are cast & you watch it in slow motion.
There you are-Tip toeing across the dormitory & trying to climb the wrought iron gate of the Hostel on a moonless night, to make it for a long drive along with Him but alas! Your cell phone starts ringing & that’s the end of your escapade for a night…but Wait, yours was not an Era of cell phones… & the realization transports u back to your kitchen, where you are listening to your little one relate how she got caught by the guard.

You smile at Life for trying hard to return back your youthful days that it had robbed you of.
Life seems to come a full circle for you, coz u let your little ones fly with unclipped wings into the azure sky…. unhindered, uninhibited …they soar high above the rest, in pursuit of your unfulfilled dreams that still wait for you to catch on.
It’s like a merry go round ride you got into –long back…and it got stuck halfway up to the sky & took years for you to complete the ride.

PS- This one is for you, mum.....

...in Perfect Harmony.

Perishing in Solace

Prolouge:

The wind hazzened the distant horizon. It blew around her head like a halo. Like a galaxy of dirt orbiting a sunken star. She felt like a ghost. A ghost that haunted the deep dark hollows of night. And this night, all she had to offer was a confusion of thoughts and a skerry of emotions that rose out of the distant frame of flirtatious nods and winks. A dangerous game. A game of lust and longing and make believe. Pretend.


Somewhere below a car changed gear and a green light ambered.


Her hands trembled as she touched the passionless glass of the window pane that held her to this world. Beneath her the traffic rumbled ironically reminding her of life. A clarion call from the romance of suicide.

She thought again of moist love…. of fingers and tongues and the rumour of his loins. But a rumour seldom is a reality and remote lust rides chill vectors.

Her thoughts drifted. A paper cup that floated upon the sewage of failed sensibilities or even an ocean of lingering thoughts.

And suddenly gravity beckoned. Gravity, which was a sullen mistress. Gravity, whose call was as remorsless and inevitable as the seasons. She felt icy fingers clutch at her ankles and her wrists.

The wind hazzened the distant horizon. It flew around her like a halo and the dust of her dreams followed her down like a trail of tears….even as her hands excited the window pains ever more vehemently.

----------

I sit beside a swollen old raven, whose beak has cracked more shells and skinned more bones, than time has time to tell.
His eyes are so crystal that they reflect my own reflection.
Within his eyes exist another universe with galaxies and constellations, all of its own, where the daily doings of any intelligent life form are observed by a bird.
A bird as black as famine.

I wonder whether there is a parallel universe existing in each raven’s eyes that live and breathe. And when the bird dies, as every bird must, does the universe that spins its unique existence, within that black environment, die along with the bird? Or does it go on spinning in an independent life cycle? Spinning and turning and burning its own bright stars and suns?

Who knows?

The evening drags a charcoal blanket across my sky. A blanket, blanketing the distant glitter of time-blessed stars. Stars that speak in silent flickers of ancient days. Days of triumphant dreams..
Stars....Fallen heroes or forgotten angels?

Who knows?
Maybe just lights hung within the dreamtime in the wilderness of eternity.

I look at the raven and the raven, with head crooked at one side, looks back at me. We know where we sit and who we are. We know our places in this world and we know how the fates confide, not in the doings of man, but in the ways of birds and beasts and insects.

Below us the traffic grumbles a discordant sound, the sound of brakes being applied and horns being punched. Life is a blur of taillights that fade into a rapidly moving wide-angle screen.

Above us a murder of crows move down like a dark stormy cloud. The coming together of the carrion fowl. They gaze at my raven with eyes of ostracism. There is sardony even in their flight.

A sudden wind blows a halo of dust that converges above our heads and spirals down below us, where a woman sits with sunken eyes and talon fingers that cling in quiet desperation to a glass pane. A glass pane singing its swan song.

The raven shakes his heavy wings and with a practiced ease takes flight.

Worlds spin in the eyes of crows and the days of men are numbered but still…. a single life matters.
Dust swirls into a nebulae of infinite possibilities that froth and fail in the winds’ currents, as the raven plummets like the dead.
Head thrust forward, wings pinned back, a black missile with a singular focus in its beady black eyes.

The ramshackle congregations of crows await the inevitability even as the old raven plummets.

The song ends. The woman falls, like blood spilling from an open wound, surprised to note that time slows.... as if to make the moment of freefall last....
Punishment perhaps or a time for belated reflection.
She sees the earth spin and rush to greet her whilst her own body falls in slow motion. She sees the crow.... beside her.
Wings, now open with wingtip feathers, held out like a clawed hand. She sees in his eyes, wisdom beyond reckoning, and briefly she smiles, as heaven gazes into her and lights her pallid face.... and blood spills on the concrete, drenching the pavement with droplets of rouge.

The heavens turn black as the wings flutter.

Later, when the raven has settled back down beside me, droplets of blood on its wings, and I have finished shaking from the shock of it all, he turns to me and smirks…

“No one should perish in solace”.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This post is definitely not mine alone...
From the title to the words to the arrangement of the whole story (which was nothing but a cluster of random thoughts before)it has been beautifully put together by a wonderful writer. a bigi bigi thanx to u neel

Words

His had been a lifelong struggle with words. Like dried blood, words lay in clotted clumps on his tongue-for he could never express himself in front of people.Beautiful thoughts flitted through his mind but whenever he tried to pen them down,words refused to flow out, for his mind worked faster than the rate at which he wrote or talked.His mind, which was so different from the rest, a mind where a hundred or so thoughts created chaos and he envied the mind of others that was so simple,so uncluttered.He who saw the World differently...

In school he was the boy who raised his hand but could never answer his teacher-the words were all there, rolling deliciously in his mouth but they failed to budge from their hiding place.And now he is a man brimming with amazing ideas & yet when his boss looks around for suggestions,he ends up agreeing to the mundane ideas offered by others coz he can’t express himself, he can’t make himself be heard. Caught in an empty world devoid of words, exists a brilliant man not understood by the world-the past thirty years has been a lonely walk.


They said she was like that from her childhood, that she would play with words when girls her age played with dolls,that you could give her three unrelated words & have her compose poetry out of it in a minute.When she spoke, she could weave magic with the way she used her words alluringly. When she wanted, she could use those very words like a whiplash & leave raw gashes on people who hurt her.


She lived in a world full of vibrant words……He lived in a dark World that craved for the warmth of words to stream in like sunshine.One day God answered his prayers.

He met her, the goddess of words….

He was browsing through the names listed in sify messenger under the alias gypsy_cloud & there she was as azure_sky & somehow he liked the match.He wanted to float like a cloud across the blue sky & explore it.Initially She was reluctant to chat with him,who was but a stranger but finally she relented. All he saw were words on his messenger, words of such colossal magnitude that it shook him, words of such beauty & naïve innocence that his heart melted and he could not help but fall violently in Love with the enigma that had almost mastered the art of making words come alive.
He was in awe of the power of her imagination, the vivid descriptions of her words that burnt itself in his psyche.
She was all that he was not….
She was the one who could complete his incompleteness…

He tried hard to meet her in person,to unmask the anonymous young writer who drove him crazy with her words.Like a cloud that’s hard to pin down, she eluded him but not for long…..
Like a whiff of spring air she drifted into his life & he felt satiated. But he kept his battle with words under wraps.Oblivious to his struggle against such demons, she felt hurt when her words elicited no response from him. She felt angry for he never reciprocated –unaware that he wanted to express his love for her but the dark forces held him tongue tied, held his speech paralysed…
His silence infuriated her & over the months a stage came when she could bear it no more. It was then that he spelt out the dark secret.

‘Autism’…He whispered…

She was advised to leave him… but how could she? Did the advisors know what love was? She hoped not. She was free once, now she realized that she is been pulled down to a shell, along with him. A shell she knew she would never be able to come out of. It was like an invited constrained, a constriction that would bind her to him. He would be incurable, he would be wordless, but he would be there. She had enough words for the both of them she thought, and his shell was strong enough to let them in, forever. So what he lived in darkness, her words had made him crazy once, he saw light in her every syllable. She hoped she would replace her words someday. She hoped her words were strong enough to win the battle, that they would make his clouds pour, and then may be, one day he would look beyond her words, one day, he would look at her. Just may be.

She could live with autism, she realized, but she couldn’t live without love.

For Love is Color Blind...

Pebble in my shoe! Daddy help

Miss those days when you would take me out skating,
& watch patiently when I fell every two minutes
while the others smoothly whizzed by.

Miss those days when you came back from work,
tired & haggard and yet trained me in neighborhood parks,
At the middle of nights,
for upcoming Shot Put championships and Relay Races.

Miss those days when I saw you happier than me,
When I brought home medals.

Miss those days when you bought me Chocolate Truffles
To celebrate those little ups and downs in Life.

Miss those days when you would call me up from work sheepishly
And say you didn’t mean to scold me so harshly

Miss those days when I would look starry eyed at you,
while you told me that I can achieve anything I want,
Even own a pretty Island of my own.

Miss those days when you would teach me maths
Even miss your characteristic tearing off my books &..
throwing it in the dustbin when I failed to solve the nasty sums.

Miss those days when you would bring fish every morning
And sweet talk the cook into serving it for breakfast!

Miss those days when you would be scandalized by my dresses
Yet tolerate it good humouredly.

Miss those days when you would offer to take me out for a movie,
to cheer me up,though you hated those 'unrealistic','silly' movies.

Miss those days when you and me, would conjure up stormy fights
While neighbors promptly closed their windows.

Miss those days when you would snatch and lock away my favourite novels
And I would hate you for a week.

Miss those severe looks that you would give me,
If I came home late in the night.

Miss those worried looks that worried me
When you felt I wasn’t studying.

Miss that Big fight when you felt I was too young...
to have a mobile phone.

Miss those days when you would keep a sharp eye on my friends
Advise me on my selection of friends
And we would both end up at each others throats.


Miss those days when I threw a tantrum and wanted a pet dog
And saw the look of horror on your face

Miss those days when you overcame your dislike for wet doggie noses
And learnt to love‘Fluff’coz you saw me kiss her doggie nose everyday.
Miss you Daddy....

Don't you think a fake smile is the saddest thing?

what remains free:
stories you wove in the cold breeze
as we sped down congested roads, a patchwork
strung together by laughter, commas and silence.

what stands firm:
stone temples, white churches, chapels
and flowers wired to pews and altars, as broken thoughts flew
and formed wordless prayers for strength.

what remains trapped:
A face in candlelight,
A touch that broke through my dark dream,
...

tears that fell on the road i wished i'd picked up
but feared i had no right to,
unspoken words
that translated into refrains of songs,
fear,
time.

and what do i do now?
sever etched pathways,
run through the desert, for the arrows
are beyond me, within me,
and wait for Orion
to open his portal and let loose
the angel of death?

For nothing remains...

“...how many ears must one man have
Before he can hear people cry?
'n' how many deaths will it take till he knows
That too many people have died?”
it's the same old drama, same old scene
the nightmare never stops,no matter how hard we scream



a grand total of 37, 508, 686 died during world war one.


in the muds of some distant plain, man kills man, again and again


There were 55,014,000 casualties during world war two.


and even in peace the same hideous scenes keep flashing across our global screens

Then there was Afghanistan.

And then there was Iraq.

And next?

Iran?

Korea?

We are capable of composing music to make angels weep, of writing plays to make audiences laugh, poetry to steal the breath from our lungs and still man's madness continues.....



...with an alarming regularity, the brutal nature of man surfaces with a violence that is both random and terrifying and ultimately depressing. how can any priest, cleric or holy man explain away this utter and total blasphemy?

one life.

one heart.

one kind.

one world.

You Know It's Summer When.....

- You start seeing piles of dark-green watermelons piled up by the side of the road, the vendor displaying one cut-up to reveal the juicy red fruit within.
- You want to take a refreshing cold shower after a dusty morning, but the water that bursts out of the tap is anything but cold!
- The tempers start soaring with the temperatures and your own temper is perpetually flaring beyond control
- The coolers start getting cleaned up and serviced for the coming season and you start wishing you had an air-conditioner, knowing very well that those damn machines are one of the reasons why we are experiencing an increase of 2.5-5 degrees Celsius in summers!
- All your clothes with high-necks and full-sleeves get buried under other clothes in your cupboard and those delightfully light, summery cottons with barely any sleeves get pulled out to the top.
- You can smell the frustration in the air; there is a restlessness in your spirit that makes you want to run-away, but yet lethargy seeps into your bones and apathy greets you at every step you take...
- At every quarter, you're greeted with a stall of nimbu-pani and gola, or better yet, ganne ka ras.
- You're dying to wear the sleeveless top you picked up from Westside, but two things stop you - the damn sun burns your arms if you do and the damn top is too damn transparent for buses! Grrrr!
- You stop seeking the sun for it's glorious warmth and start seeking the shade, hiding from the burning heat of the sun!
- You reach for the bottle of chilled Pepsi or Apple Juice in your refrigerator, instead of brewing yourself a cup of refreshing lemon tea, even though you know your tonsils are painfully enlarged and need the latter rather than the former!
- Your bedroom floor feels wonderfully good against your bare-skin and you wonder why you must get into your pajamas at all!
- You start drinking water by the gallons, which is a real shock to your mom 'coz she has to often remind you to drink your first glass of water at the end of the day!

Yes people, like it or not, the verdict came in this afternoon loud and clear...
We've just entered March and summer's already here (or as we now know, in Kolkata, at least) - and here to stay for a good long time!

Just in the past 24 hours, I came across more than a few incidents to make me wonder, whether we should celebrate women’s day or not…..


The number of rapes reported in the Indian capital in 2005 alone - a wopping 640 .


A 24 year old woman was molested inside Delhi secretariat - the capital's head quarters.


A Bangalore software engineer was arrested for killing his wife seeking dowry...

I got suckered into a philosophical discussion about the meaning of life. I say "suckered" because this is one of those many topics I choose to avoid…
When it comes to "what people believe", different people believe different things for all kinds of different reasons. And since, as I believe, there are no absolute truths -- at least not at our level of human perception -- there are as many different realities as there are people ...granted, many people share similar, if not the same reality. They believe what they've been told is so; and unless they have reason to challenge it, they continue to believe what their parents / family / friends believe. And since they believe what they believe to be absolute, any discussion of alternative truths is bound to be, at the very least, confrontational. Which is why I avoid this type of discussion.

Human beings are [for the most part] social animals, and have a tribal mentality. Even in our global community, many, if not most, people belong to and identify with one or more groups, the nature of those groups being (among other things) ethnic, religious, economical, geographical, sexual, intellectual, or gender.

The benefit of membership in such a group is the support of the group and all its members, however, the group as an entity imposes its own specific boundaries. It dictates what its members are to think and how they are to behave. Violating these protocols means running the risk of incurring the wrath of the group if not outright ostracization. And for many people -- most people -- being "alone" is the greatest of all fears ...being alone and having to make decisions for yourself, being responsible for your own happiness, defining your own reality, and creating your own purpose. So they (the possible dissidents) squelch their queries and suppress their oppositions in order to retain the security of group membership.
Well it does make me wonder as to how much this restraint affects our individuallity…….
And why, very few of them dare to free themselves of such norms and restrictions……

The "total" individual is usually anti-social, a loner, a social outcast, or a sociopath, not something anyone really aspires to be, or a label one chooses to wear, but these individuals are not constricted by social norms or group dynamics and are free to "think outside the box". Most of us, despite our group affiliations, do have aspects of individuality, where our thoughts are unique and different from the accepted "norm". The extent to which we embrace these differences is the measure of our individuality.

So many of the great discoveries have come, not from pursuing conventional beliefs, but from abandoning those beliefs and embarking on a completely different path. At the time these new concepts, (the earth revolving around the sun ... the world being spherical ... unseen microbes being the cause of infection), were considered crazy, obscene, and even blasphemous, and were met with much opposition and persecution. But these "different" thinkers had the convictions of [and held true to] their beliefs.

The true nature of reality is so much more than our limited concepts of time and space. Thought, sentience, and consciousness are so much more than just electrical impulses traversing synapses. Reality [is] perception, however, the true nature of reality is imperceptible at our current state of evolution. But some sort of perception is necessary. Although that perception is constantly changing as we evolve and acquire more information, we have to, at any given point in time, arrive at some momentary construct in order to maintain sanity.

I'm missing them already…. they have just buggered off and left me here. No, no, not in the "oh my god I can't live without them" sort of way.. It's more that I miss their humour, I miss spending a whole day, doing nothing with them, all those senseless, weird talks, the dives in the swimming pool or those impromtu getaways. These few days…..I have shared every minute, every second with them…. God only knows, when I would get to meet you guys again…..

I guess, it’s just that I had become so used to spending time with you people……
At the moment, the person I see the most is my grandma, and we've never gotten along all that well. Not really. I never realised how much I needed my friends to give me a break from her, a break from being at home and just being in a bad mood constantly. The part, that sort of scares me, is that, I don't think any damned thing will change that.
I got back that old taste of being a happy-go-lucky person in these few days and I loved it. I loved…. not having to deal with my granma's constant complaining about things that don't really concern me, or her accusing me of things I didn't do. If only she would leave me alone….let me survive on my own, without her, and for some reason I thought that she would have changed in these twenty days. I guess, I'm just disappointed that she didn't.
Well this whole thing is making no sense. It seems the wisky has already started getting on my nerves….hah!!

Am writing to complain about these words
you have given me,
That I carry in my bag...

They must be made of lead,
I haul them everywhere...
I've cricked my neck,
I'm bent with the weight of them

And when I get them out and put them on the table
they tick like bombs,
And overpower my own sweet tasting, vulnerable words...

I've been leaving them, crumpled up in pedal bins,
where they fester and complain...
And then you say
Where are your words my friend?
What have you done with your words?
Or worse, you give me that dewy look..
Poor friend has lost all her words...
So I was wondering,
dear friend,
If I could have a locker,
my own locker,
with a key...
I could collect them
One at a time,
And lay them,
Safe and sheltered,
With a garnish of
Honey and sugar.

Either this little rascal is rubbish at archery, or he is deliberately avoiding me...

It is that simple. I am as much as an authority as anyone else on negative circumstance, but perseverance is a mindset; you accept it and you move forward. We can spend all this time analyzing why things went the wrong way and how horrible it was, or we can spend all this time focusing on what will come next.......

Melt me... Like the sun melts snow.
Take so much something and turn it into nothing....
Only we will ever have to know.
If I couldn't tell you.... then, I guess I’ll never be able to let myself speak those words... Because then I’d have to admit that I actually did. Then I’d have to let it hurt that much again. I won't do that anymore.
I never told you that I did. Not with any of the breaths that I shared with you. I had my reasons. I guess you did too.
Fill me full of silence....
It’s just the playground that this loneliness adores. It swings and screams and kicks like a child. It teases and taunts the less fortunate.
Throw me pennies... Throw your penny thoughts into me like a fountain. Listen for the moment when they break the surface. And float down into. Little discs of a dying friendship sinking down into the depths of who I am. Make a wish. Maybe, just maybe it will be granted. Wish upon a star. Or wish upon a broken heart. What’s the difference? They’ve both fallen. They’re both something small and bright that wasn't wanted.

After ages, I set out to clear out my room. And doing that meant pulling my childhood out of my cupboards…
It meant retrieving the paperwork of a lifetime from the clutches of dust and silverfish. It meant renewing my acquaintance with the playthings and possessions of life this far. Medals, certificates, textbooks, old cards, even the occasional letters…
I found the walkie-talkie doll that used to scare the daylights out of my sister when she was a toddler…and which sparked of my writing abilities at the age of 14. I shed a few tears over the little purple and cream pullover I used to wear as a kid, which my mother has kept lovingly over the year… as a memory of my childhood. The maid who was helping me clean the stuff, could not hold back her laughter when along with my pram were also found my feeding bottles and bibs, too assorted, too old, to be of any use….
Yet, I was not really surprised that my parents had stashed them away up there. I find it difficult to give things away too. This morning, I tried to steel myself to throw away one of my std x school uniforms autographed by all my classmates….and couldn’t.
But then old can never be completely erased…..it can only be reworked with the new. Isn’t it what each of us do each new year?…..build for the future on the foundation of the past. A past from which we take some aspects, discard others….
I still remember….crying like a baby….while leaving for Nagpur for the first time to join junior college….Sad – that a chapter so familiar and secure was drawing to a close…Happy – that I was on the threshold of a new aspect of life…

What is it with these people? I mean what is wrong with these guys.

Mom and dad are not at home… have been drinking since 8…the three of us….me and these two jungleez. Though it seems I don’t exist out here…..they are too busy throwing abuses at each other…omigosh! Its almost ten…ask them to go and they again respond with a slurry of expletives. God, I think I can deal with aids better than these barbarics…..hey hey don't get me wrong...ilove them...but sometimes i really feel like putting them on the table and dissecting them to see what's in there.... some decency guys….some civility!!

I feel so restless, in the middle of the night,
that I take refuge within my words to express my feelings, hopes, frustrations, my ups and downs, my fears….
That perhaps I am not coping, understanding's not quite clear.
Of what is needed from me, to help you through this time…




When you told me what was wrong, I wished it were a lie…
Diagnosed with ""cancer"" were the hardest words received….
But what I witnessed that night was harder for me to take in… To see your world come crashing down as you kept on repeating, “why her and not me, the girl who is nice, good, sweet, the one who would honour, forgive and forget
Why her and not me, she is such a delight…. her suffering and pain, her fear and her doubts…Why her and not me, she doesn't deserve pain................why?"
I heard you…. I wanted to cry.
My heart fell to my stomach.
With a snap of a picture I could see your whole life being turned around.
The word cancer had taken over…A look at you threw my heart to the ground…




I know, I will never understand how it feels to stare death and pain
right in the face.... when suddenly, life threatens to slam the door...
Maybe that is the reason why I hopelessly tried to convince you out of this relationship. I knew I was being selfish. But at that moment nothing seemed to matter other than persuading my best friend out of a relationship, which would leave his heart and soul torn at the seams… which would leave his dreams fractured...




Though you manage to be your old self and put up a smile... I know I have hurt you in this process.
But I love you so very much.... No one really knows what kind of bond we share. And even if I told them, they probably wouldn't care. You are precious to me...So no matter what; I’ll stand by you through this roller coaster ride of pain and tears....till the end....

I woke to a heavy rain today.
You passed over me and left your heavy love
where you knew the soil could take its shape,
where I wouldn't wish for anything
and wouldn't ask a thing.
You walked on the tired soil
which was desirous of a form more beautiful
even if only for a few moments more.
When the rain poured over the shutters
and the balcony and the soil,
you'd passed already,
but the form of your love still lay on me,
fragrant
not as sweet as before,
but almost....

I had just begun to believe the world no longer had the power to break my heart and then I saw your face again out of nowhere. Something beautiful that I have lost, your smile and everything we shared, it has all come back to me suddenly and its more real than the sun and it hurts in the way that only dreams and lost things can.

It will be long before I care about someone else...
I won't give my heart away so easily again...
For I know that getting close really hurts.

I hate people.....who were born on the seventeenth of february.

Daylight floods the garden,
climbs the wall and warms the window-box
Flowers blink open, their colour exposed;
sunlight spills over the sill, on to that
faded patch of carpet
moving onwards, ascending the bed,
washing the sheet
Drawn considerately over your face…
A barrier, incase the sun,
like a midwife,
smacks your eyes.

Silence…

Which was nothing but worthlessly stinking carrion for the vultures of hatred to pillage.

Which deplorably castrated every ounce of handsome energy into the gallows of extinction…

Silence…

Which led neither to the past or present or immediate optimistic future.

Which was solely wholesomely and wretchedly circumscribed by the very last breath of emollient life...

Tell me.....
How it feels .. to burst out like a rose?

I wish that I, like skeletal insects
Could spin across the waters….
My reflections mirrored

I wish I could twirl in the moonlight
with pearl dust on my wings….
veined, fragile and transparent

I wish
I wish
I wish.....

A cheerful old bear at the zoo
Could always find something to do.
When it bored him to walk to and fro
He reversed it, and walked fro and to.

I look up at the satin velvet sky
The stars shining
Like a million diamonds scattered,
So precious, so high…
I'm lying on the cold floor,
A scarf of pain keeps me warm
I watch a silver tear escape.
My weakness…. it yells.
I watch it slip onto the floor
to join its fellow traitors….
A silver pool, on a silver night.
A silver pool of tears....

It is pure bliss…
To hold an infant close to the heart…
To hear it gurgle, soothe it when it cries…
Watch its rosy palms clutch onto shoulders for security when it sleeps…
To feel little dimpled baby hands, grasping the fingers tightly…
To feel the contentment that comes from loving…

Imagine a sight
That of a dying man...
fighting for his last breath before he succumbs to finality..
The last sight...
of one in a car-wreck
or a cancer patient
or someone who’s just had enough and holds a gun to his temple...
Imagine hands...
not that of a poet or artist..
but hands that are wanting, praying and hoping.
Wanting answers but receiving nothing.....

Laugh like a lady

Laugh like a lady….
Every girl’s college has its favourite disciplinarian. In my college, the focus of our lives was the quick-tempered Mrs. Quazi. She had a beautiful singing voice, a warm sense of humour and a nose like the prow of a ship.
One day, she called the 11th class students aside for a special impromptu lecture. “Girls!” she said, “I’ve been listening to some of you laughing and I’m sorry to say, you sound like…” she paused to choose a suitable example, “…hyenas!” When she wanted to make a point, her voice rose high enough to loosen the fillings in teeth.
We snuffled and snorted in response, whereupon she exclaimed, “That’s just what I mean!” She followed up with a highly exaggerated instant replay of the sounds we had made. There was the explosive “HAH!”, the hearty ‘haw-haw-haw!’, the nasal ‘snee-snee-snee!’, the machine-gun ‘heh-eh-eh-eh!’ and the utterly ungainly ‘gurk!gurk!gurk!’, sometimes accompanied by a loud, guttural grunting at the end, ‘gnaaaarhhh!’ It just wouldn’t do, she told us. In order to grow into proper ladies, we must learn to laugh with greater decorum. A couple of us protested immediately. “Wouldn’t that be false, Mam?” we asked. “And unnatural?”
“You can be perfectly natural and still have an attractive laugh,” she insisted. “It should be sweet and pretty, like the tinkling of little silver bell heard in the distance: A-hahahaha-uhh!” she demonstrated. A slight intake of breadth, a mild whinnying, followed by a final delicate gasp. “Don’t throw your head back, don’t open your mouth wide – you’re not visiting a dentist – and most of all, don’t break the sound barrier!” She got us to practise a few times and even though we were gargling much more than we were tinkling, the lesson got through: There is a right and wrong way even for something as spontaneous as laughter.
Do respectable young men get similar lessons, I wonder? I didn’t ask myself this question at that time and anyway, my own laugh being of the hearty machine-gun brand, it was clear then that I would never gain membership to the Lady’s Circle when I grew up. But I often thought back upon that little lecture. It was hilarious, at the time, but the point of it was that we needed control, modify and suppress the freedoms we had known as young girls, so as to remain acceptable to our social class. Laughter is supposedly involuntary, a response to a remark or situation that is absurd enough to cause us to make an audible sound. Most people look forward to laughter, and I’m one of them. It is said that humour is good for the nervous system; even an artificial smile causes beneficial relaxation to trickle through the mysterious wiring of our brain. Yet for a girl to become a woman, she needs to rein in her behaviour, lower her emotional profile and appear to be the model of quite restraint.
As our mam said, “an open, laughing mouth brings up associations with the Other Orifice”. This may be why we’re encouraged to cover our mouths while laughing, yawning, or doing anything else which requires us to open our mouth wide. Perhaps the sight of a woman laughing uninhibitedly creates the impression of uninhibited sexuality – and we certainly know that’s taboo – so as a fail-safe, nicely brought up girls are told to avoid extreme hilarity altogether.
Like I said, however I didn’t expect to become a lady – and I haven’t. I kept right on laughing raucously regardless of Mrs. Q’s advice. My repertoire has expanded to include the explosive rattle (‘HAH-huhuhuh!’), the nasal gurk (‘snurk-snurk’), and the helpless rattling giggle (‘hah!hah!hah!’). I’ve been at it all till now and haven’t suffered too much for my excesses.
You know how they tell you that you must not laugh to much or else you’ll cry? It isn’t true. I’ve certainly cried a number of times in my life, but I’ve definitely laughed a lot more.
Aha! As for the respectable young men, I have no idea whether or not they’re taught hoe to laugh. Frankly, I wouldn’t mind it if some of them showed a little restraint now and then. It would be nice, for instance, if they covered their mouths while eating and sat with the ankles nicely crossed with none of that rhythmic foot-jittering and knee-flapping we get to see in waiting rooms. A little less burping, farting and crotch-scratching too, would be much appreciated too!
Snurk!snurk!snurk!

I have a bad habit of putting off work until the last minute. And it has gotten even worse than it was in the past. There are times though when how hard you try, circumstances don't allow getting things done early. Today I stayed up a bit late to do a homework assignment that is due at 10 tommorow morning. At 2:30 the sound of my cell phone startled me. I was in the process of printing out the work I'd done. Today I spent all day having a hard time formulating thoughts, but it wasn't too bad. And now at 4:30 in the night as I sit down to write, every single soul I know is asleep. I laugh at the irony that they are the ones to fall asleep.

My sweet and painful muse have abandoned me..
oppressed by the obliterating nothingness
that encapsulates...
I manage to scribble something
but ugh! it is horrendous!

My thoughts just go in all different directions.
Some are good... Some are not the wisest thoughts I've had.
They flicker in my mind...
like faint stars.
They glint like a drop of dew...
in the morning sun...
and vanish.

I have decided that these will be my last words on this matter, for everything that needs to be said has already been said a thousand times and the angst I have, now leaves me only bitter because of the happy life I have led. I think it's completely unfair...for once I had the world wrapped around my finger, but now I'm just so scared. The anger, sadness, and bitterness within have caged me and I somehow cannot break free on my own...or may be I am hoping someone would set me free.
I wonder where tomorrow or the day after will carry me...for I've become so tired, that I might as well end the whole thing. But notes of memories are ringing in my head..… ………And I cannot forget.
And even if I do let go, I would only lament later. I make a futile effort to grasp my little piece of heaven, filled with contentment, love, peace and trust, which has been ripped off my grip. I know that what I hope and long for will never come back. So I am thankful for those past happy days, even if they were few. Indeed, those were the sweetest days of my life. As I write, these words are what I have the strength and energy to think. Sometimes I feel may be if I stop the torrential outpour of words, I might as well change the way things are. My words seem to be few, yet there is so much to say. So for now I lay down my pen, and I close this sad chapter. And I'll continue to say I am all right, and dance and laugh across this liar’s stage, till I get over this phase.

It's so easy to forget that you exist...
It's so easy as if I just made a wish..
And poof you vanished...
It's so easy to move on..
It's so easy...
It's so right...
It's so easy.

My yearning to smile gets lost everyday but I keep trying...
My need to speak fades for no words can express what I feel..
My longing to laugh dies as the heart weeps...
I wish to sing but melodies remind me of the past..
I crave to feel but the soul is so numb...
I try to breathe but the air gets thicker..
I pine to touch but the very thought makes me recoil...
I need to stop but the tears don’t stop..
I want to think but my brain just won't work...
I try to cope but the will is not there.

to you my friend

Many loved him as a refined and clever, interesting man………
and were horrified and disappointed when they came upon the wolf in him.
And they had to because he wished, as every sentient being does,
to be loved as a whole and therefore it was just with those whose love he
most valued that he could least of all conceal and deny the wolf……….
"Where do you get your ideas from?” I ask him.
"I live in the dark…and peek only now and again into this world gone pale, cold, and claiming to be real……Maybe you want to glimpse too?”
He smiles.

Knew nothing about razor blades....... where did they come from? Like slivers of light cutting elegant patterns of red on pale skin………..what was their purpose?
Knew the value of their medicine and imagined that they cut death out of people………...

As you turn to go….. Forever…… all the reminiscences I hold within, the good and the bad, I start seeing them and feeling them, I want to turn back time and make every thing right…………to prevent the bad from happening, so that maybe we wouldn’t act the way we do now.
As you turn to go….. Forever…… I start hearing and seeing things, of me and you fighting and yelling
And I eventually walking away, sad and blue……….feeling cold by the night’s wind, tears running down the cheeks, as I wipe them away, thinking about the fight.

As you turn to go….. Forever…… I remember the promises you had made to me, that no matter what happens and where we end up and whatever life throws at us, we can handle it.………We promised never to let go and give up on each other.


As you turn to go….. Forever….. I let go of someone I love;
I ask you why, over and over again.
Did you ever feel cheated? Did you ever feel uncared for?
I suffer all these feelings in this one moment.


I stand here hoping you would turn just for once……to show that you care
Like I do for you and hoping that we can go back and change time
And make the promise real again…… and now I can see you no more……….and the promise remains broken.

I wait for love to drop by....some sign of life.....something to hold on to.... something to lift the day off its knees......I pace the floor....peer out of the window and wait.....This is unhealthy and it’s getting crazier and has become an addiction……………
But I am better now. Many days of disappointment have taught me not to bother and that you really do not want to bother.

I have my exams from the 31st of Jan………….that’s my mom n dad’s wedding anniversery and not to forget the birthday of a very dear friend. But before I can enjoy or fear any of them, I must complete my stupid asignments (not even half way through them) . Haven’t gone anywhere since returning from college (day before yesterday). It seems I have been sitting in front of the computer for ages. My back’s aching and so are my fingers. My chair seems to have sunk down by God knows how many inches and it’s making all sorts of creepy sounds when I move………………Are yaar!! this whole thing is damn frustrating…….. The most irritating part is to answer a question of 5 marks in 500 words. (what the hell???)
…………….especially when I am in a habbit of using as few words as possible when typing………. and 500 words for each question? God!! That’s worse than “Sazaaye Kalapani!”
Worse still……………………I’m a slow typist………I don’t know how to spell or even the meaning of half the words I am typing……..Everything I type sounds stupid to me ………………… So I have to reread it six to seven times………… But then I’m a slow reader………………..And I’m still not sure what I am typing, whether it’s actually right or am I so tired that I am just seeing it that way……..
Ya right………… then why am I wasting all these words on this blog? ( 340 words. That’s half an answer, by the way!)
Let me answer.
For a change I am typing what I feel like typing and not what the godforsaken questions in my book want me to. It is a kind of moral boost-up (for once I don’t feel like a slave!)
Its part of my self-destructive nature to do something which will put me behind the rest……..And………. I actually had something to blog or rather whine about!

The love of men who are not lovers. Resting my head against their chest, my fists folded under my chin, their arms, though slightly awkward, shielding me muffled, pulling me in.
The warmth of men who don’t go hot, their shoulders broad enough to bear my head and after the sobbing stops, who sit clasping my hand, in both of theirs to calm me down, not asking once what it was that had upset me, instead wondering, if their lovers had ever cried like this because of them.
A man who loves, but never like a lover, who asks for my opinion, who wants to talk, and perhaps best of all, who pulls out the boy in him and makes me laugh till I forget that I have cried.
With such a man I am a seven-year girl again, full of fun, full of colour and I feel as if I am a wide-open space under the heavens.
The love of men who are not lovers, because then I never have to say goodbye.

Men-analysis

Men are strange creatures. They will be in the throes of a passionate session of love making, and all of a sudden, for no apparent reason, they will say or do the stupidest thing possible. It's as if there’s some law that declares: “a man shall, at every possible moment during intimacy, put his foot in his mouth, by mentioning ex-girlfriends, models, mothers, unflattering body parts, food, sports, and sex, etc.”
Get the point? Men sometimes don’t know when to keep their mouths shut. And here are some of the darndest (grrrr!) things men say in bed! After all, what’s more amusing than men!!!
1. Hope you are as good looking when I’m sober.
2. Did you remember to take the pills?
3. But everybody looks funny naked!
4. Try breathing through your nose.
5. Can you please pass on the remote control?
6. When is it supposed to feel good?
7. How much did this nightie cost?
8. On second thoughts, let’s turn off the light.
9. Zzzzzzzzzzzz (snore) zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz (snore)
10. Sweetheart, you sure your dad’s out of town?
11. Perhaps you are just out of practice.
12. Did you come yet, dear?
13. So much for the fulfillment of sexual fantasies.
14. No really I do this part better myself!
15. You are almost as good as my ex.
16. You sweat more than a galloping horse.
17. Now I know why he dumped you.
18. Really! Foreplay is grossly overrated.
19. Have you ever considered liposuction?
20. Are those real or am I just behind the times?
21. Were you by any chance repressed as a child?
22. But I just brushed my teeth.
23. You could at least act like you are enjoying it!
24. Hic! I need another beer for this please.
25. How long do you plan to be almost there?

Cold now…..Close to the edge. …….Almost unbearable……….. Blurred vision in the gathering Fog …… Wind ripping through the bones……..Time seems to have frozen…….. The never-ending nippy nights………words coming out haltingly as syllables gel against the night air…….the abode as chilly as a coffin……and suddenly a new year card arriving belatedly is so soothingly warm.

a perfect fit

Sitting in a restaurant with my friends, earlier today, cracking jokes and laughing like a bunch of lunatics, a thought suddenly crossed my mind, "Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born." How true. (Though, as usual, I can not remember who had said these lines….)
I feel we define ourselves by the people we love...by our friends. After all, aren’t we judged by the company we keep?
When I was a kid I had a doll, and with her I shared all my secrets as if she where my best friend. But later, when she started acting terribly cutesy and helpless and wailed and whined, I dumped her.
I think this happens to most 10 year olds who suddenly wake up one morning and find, this raggedly thing needs to get life!
And so we get out and get friends, a breathing replica of our dolls, with whom we can talk for hours and talk about anything. We borrow money, clothes and tricks...(oh! and not to forget the bitching and assholing part!!)
A good pal covers-up for us when we are on thin ice, yells for falling in love twice with the same scum, has a shoulder ready for us to cry on. We fight, sneer, exasperate, switch on and switch off, swing from the frigid zone to the tropics and vice versa at the drop of a hat...And then go soapy all over again.
The best part about friends is that we get to choose them. Just give it a thought. From among billions of people in the world, we attach ourselves to just a few. It is after all, a choice we have made. We are constantly fine-slicing the thousands of people who cross our lives, sifting through their characters, matching our nature to theirs, (much as we match our accessories with our outfits) to arrive at that one perfect human being whom we choose to call a friend. To some this click happens rather rarely; to others often. We choose that this person, with a caustic sense of humour or a strong sense of discipline or one with a serene nature, appeals to us. Somewhere along, we see reflections of ourselves in this person. We share the same sentiments, have the same ambitions, love the same movies, dislike the same phobias...we may have opposing viewpoints on some things, but largely, we make a good fit. That’s what friends are. A good fit. We can count on them to be available whenever we need them. With them forgrantedness is not just another F-word; we treat them as an extension of ourselves.

After months of growing apart, the little insignificance have bit by bit accumulated into a wall and alienated us... And today when you are not with me, I am alone enough to count the nails piercing deep in my heart, studded like the door of a treasure house... And I arrange my silence in the vase of the lonely hours and try to balance the bouquet with memories of hands held, laughters reciprocated and the different colours of life shared...and as I sit within the swell of my heartbeat, I long for you...But it is too late…...…for I no longer get your touch...for your kisses are not mine anymore...for you are so far away from me...for you are not here any longer to tell me of our future that you have planned...for you are not here anymore to half-turn to go and yet stay back.