words come in millions
welding into chains of thought
that grow tighter around
a boxful of wishes
that were never to be found

a seeker of silence
once tiptoed into the noise
she had only thrice betrayed
her mind's scrubbed voice
that sounds accost sanity
that one trips over light
she learned on her way back
by the shadows of a calling night

watching your back
time tussled with your ties
to your listed priorities
then it bade heavy goodbyes

I was there all the while.

come build a fence
come rouse a rage
the home can wait
the regrets so late

there are no shores
just islands few

…and in those dreams
the inhabitants of limbo
touched the wisps of thought
as they formed and dissolved

the sounds of children merged
with raging sirens
as tokens of life
or reminders of impending ends

…now beyond those dreams
a voice calls back to reality
for the inhabitants of limbo
to be awakened now

dust may collect on daring dreams

and doors may hang heavy under dead locks

but you are the life that flows in shiny streams

beyond dear days and timely clocks

The mirror was where our eyes first met that morning. Half a sight of mine was enough to catch your conspiring gaze. The lines I was drawing to dress my eyes went awry as I saw you, languorous and longing, stepping out of bed to make your way to me. Your sleepy eyes took in all of me - the shining eyes, wet hair, suppressed glee and all things that only a lover can perceive. You hinted that undoing has a beauty of its own and I looked to see if the mirror agreed. My pleats followed one another into a silken heap and you then wrapped me in your arms...

The mirror was where our eyes met later that morning. Half a sight of mine was enough to catch your spent gaze. The lines I was drawing to dress my eyes...

a wavering will
is the hardest thing
shivers through shadows
and the self stands still

the bits of being bounced off
your futile hands
they now lie tumbled and troubled
on the staircase
you built to take you nowhere

A friend of many years left the city today to start his program at IMA. He is probably one of the very few from my batch who went the Army way. Calls for admiration, respect and cheers to the times together.

take that frame
right off the wall
the departing illusions
just asked me to stall

May I never hurt more than I can heal.

this journey
one among many
and many among some more
let's look for a shore
let's look for a shore

i am so vague
that i can hardly take
a collage for a mind
with no more glue to bind
the stray squares of thoughts
like random bits of paper they
fly by
waiting to be held together
firmly onto the grey sheets
to patch the spilling psyche
to cage the captive birds
to string the floating words

i can
face an ocean
but not that door
it opens into life
you know

i can
see that door
bit excess of ajar
little short of inviting
it bangs all night
against the walls of my mind
you know

i can
sense its dusty eyes
its warm musty breath
like a lover starved
awaiting my sorry steps
you know

i can
like a novice dancer
learn the steps to take
or so wonderfully fake
this stupid life-ly dance
you know

stories

pen running on paper
or lip wrestling lip
hands waving in the air
or a long lost grip

Love in the air and everywhere!

A lot of love is in the air suddenly and quite a few friends have recently dived into the committed category. Smiles are floating like CET-coaching flyers outside MCC gates and it's a good thing to sit back and watch. Hair care and words like "understanding" have become neighbours in almost all the messages I get. Nicknames are created, refined and used dearly. Conversations now include detailed descriptions of what was done, said and left unsaid for ocular communication perhaps. Words are dissected finely and garnished with sights glazed with the love drug. The first more-than-friendly hug is shared like a freshly developed picture from nineties and later, framed for the best room in the mind. Priorities have suddenly been rehashed with academics and work plunging like the BSE on a bad business day and phone calls (and this we owe to the telecom boom, Dayanidhi Maran could be the modern day avataar of Cupid) are having to stretch themselves like my Mum's patience. Reality testing especially with regard to time has taken a backseat so far behind that it's out of the car itself and minutes, hours, days and months have merged into one mass with the only point of reference being the someone special.

Jokes apart, and yes those were digs; I say this because you guys are way too much in love to even realize perhaps that the jokes were on you, I wish all the new lovebirds a lot of lovely lovebirding. Keep at it :)

oh forsaken merman
in your mind's cave
i still see remains
your sandy saintly grave

your grey eyes
almost always belied
the desperation
the dementia
and the drowning
of your greyer strands
of your ever shaky hands

dear dadu, the calendar says it's been over three years, but then that's just the calendar...

spread across
the pages cream
scrawny little
letters scream

that one night

there shine
like silvery stars
in the darkest night
of my kohl lined eyes
the joy let loose
by your smiling
distant eyes

silly chirps
a maroon phone
to my ears
you only drone
petty prescriptions
come by easy
oh so free
i begin to wonder
what bird could
at once be
a nightingale
and a nasty crow

hues
strokes
tears
and jokes

Ramya

Because the word conversation gains new meaning when it comes to Ramya

Because Ramya says the cutest “ayyo” after having forgotten behind something that she was sure she had brought along

Because Ramya comes with a force that doesn’t show itself off but doesn’t disguise itself either

Because Ramya walks like Xena, the warrior princess

Because Ramya reminds me of striving and strength that can be created every single day

Because Ramya flips her hair like she’s on camera all the while and I like that even more than her fab hair

Because very rarely is there a day when Ramya cannot leave you feeling better about yourself

Because Ramya carries with her a fund of golden guts, a bagful of quirks and a small wrapped pack of dreams that she will make real

Because talking about Ramya lends a light to the eyes of her Mom that nobody can miss

Because with Ramya can one share, justify, validate everything they ever went through in one Saturday afternoon

Because Ramya always gets my unmentionable jokes

Because it isn’t too often that you comes across a Ramya, and when you do, it changes your life somewhere.

Happy birthday, bum!

Love you :)

Mamma,

I want to tell you that you are wonderful.

I want to tell you that you have been wonderful every single day that I've known you. And you're someone I've known the longest and so, how much having you around means to me is something that only I know. I also believe that we've something amazing going on between the two of us. Everything - the tea times together, the ranting, the reminiscing, the days (and nights) we've been through wondering how we would pull through things to come, the regrets, the little joys, the laughs laced with stress at Min's jokes and Astro's idiosyncrasies and the insatiable need for mishti – all of it makes my life today what it is. When people tell me I look, act, sound like you, I want to tell them that there is no bigger compliment that they could ever give me. And you are like wine, you'll just get better and better with age. So a big cheers to everything you say and do, happy birthday, Ma.

Love you.

just a few
gingerly seconds away
from my fingertips

Tuesdays with Winni

I've been asking people I know well to come up with ten or more adjectives that describe who they feel I am - an offshoot of an activity from my classes on Personality. Responses have mostly been predictable, consistent and a little indulgent perhaps. But that's not what this post is about. I'm looking for my backbone. I'm sure I was born with one but it began crumbling by the time I was 4 and by the look of things now, it will completely cease to exist by the time I get to 24. Of course, I say this in the metaphorical sense. My body is fine but when it comes to my mind, I think I have doubts and very reasonable ones at that.

My counselor often talks to me of scripts - our conceptions and beliefs about our life and life in general that guide how we perceive and respond to all that happens. A script, from my understanding of what he tells me, is rooted almost completely in one's childhood and once developed, this script remains unchanged and holds the key to all kinds of success. Or failure. My own script is something I haven't really been able to apply much thought to. Maybe I don't want to even as I fear my script translates into the life of two decades bygone and the lifetime to come absolutely and starkly empty. Sounds like a dramatic statement to make, I know and I'm guessing that is the issue with soul-searching in prose - what sounds true to the mind always sounds silly in sight and sunlight.

Talking of the adjectives activity, the ten adjectives my Dad listed out were profoundly positive. Things that sound profoundly positive don't really exist. Think of hope (the paradise for fools), eternity (who has ever seen eternity?), meaning, beauty, perfection and on and on. Similarly, my Dad's profoundly positive perception of me doesn't really exist. It may exist in parts, in masks, in habits and simply because in my life so far, I've had no way to walk but for his way. Stepping out of his way incurs immense wrath and I'm not one for facing conflict. I'd rather bend my head than bare my mind. And I like peace, at almost any price. The problems arise because I don't like his way. And I'm beginning to become pretty certain that he wouldn't like me any other way. The daughter he loves doesn't completely exist. I fear the day he faces more than the usual amount of disagreement from me, he'd disown me in his rather verbal and noisy fashion.

My Dad and me. We never went the close-and-later-grew-apart way. Instead it took me 18 years to freely even get down to speaking to him. Today he proudly talks of how we're akin to friends, we eat out together, shop together, rant together. In a way childhood with my Dad's just begun for me. He's never raised his hand against me, never denied me of something he could provide, given me the options that were inconceivable in his life. He trusts me implicitly. All of those count to me beyond measure but things that aren't as simple as agreeing on a shopping list or a place to eat exist. There's talk of curbs when there should be freedom, there will in the future be talk of marriage that him and me won't see eye to eye on surely and there will obviously, be a decline in obedience - the most worthy aspect of me in his eyes. It will hurt him. I don't want to inflict this rude awakening sort of situation upon him and knowing my sub-zero levels of guts, this may never happen but things have been wrong a long way, awareness must come in no matter how late in his life (and mine) and consequences have to be borne.

For now, I'm still doing this stretching between what he wants and what I want. And it's starting to hurt. It's taking a toll on me that might's always right in the place I call home. It's taking a toll on me that the freedom he wants to give me involves letting me drive a car, stand up to the demands that are made of me and always be able to see his perspective but I'm worried that the freedom to seek my life and speak for myself will probably never be mine. That's too big a price to pay for peace and too small a price to reclaim a backbone that will last this time around. This tug and shove situation, the hopes, the disappointments and the absolute disillusionment are getting me down in a big way. Sometimes, everything I've done so far - all the experiences, learning, joy, pain seem null and void because I feel as though I'm nobody, as though I've no say, no way and just no worth.

Feelings like that don't knock before they come. They just come. And I'm yet to regain equilibrium from things that have happened, from days that I have seen and there are things that happen day in and day out that don't really help one move ahead. It isn't as though I'm trying to say others have it easy. I know people dealing with harsher realities and doing it exceedingly well. I'm coming to terms with the fact that maybe I don't hold up as well. I know it takes me time, I know it's never complete, I know that somewhere I'm still not as easy with things as I'd like to be. Obviously, I'm looking for a way out of this, I'm on the way and it's taken me to some breathtaking moments, some wonderful people and little steps of building faith that I need so bad.

At each point of my life when I was drowning, I've been very lucky to have people who've seen the best in me, who've shook me and deafened me till I heard and believed in the things they valued in me. A lot of people have held up the me without the backbone and I really do think it has translated into some of the backbone you see in me today. And in the smile that I sport ever so often. I wish others were as lucky. I wish luck could be shared because acceptance can feel truly wonderful, especially when I know that I come as a complete package of rent-free accommodation to fears, a bland sense of reality that can ruin all fun and shell that I'm trying to whittle away very hard for very long. I can be a difficult person and so for everyone who put up with all that and eventually learnt to love me despite the dark, I owe you a lot more than the biggest thank you.

PS: A lot of really good and really bad things happened in the year that went by. One of the really good things are the sessions with my counselor. Tuesday evenings have been redefined and we start sessions from next tuesday after a month's break. We would've had one today but he isn't keeping well. Get well soon, Winni and a big thank you.

measure after measure
and day after day
losing the only treasure
and emptying it on your way

at the doorstep
that you can't always see
unpolished, rough and uncertain
that's where she may just be

once housed, then homed amply
behind every blink and every tear
the awareness now duels fears calmly
across pages turned back by many a year
and i find myself holding up pictures
do the frames smell of ugly dark fear
have the falls written in destined scriptures
entrapped the awareness i hold so dear

Yes, I don't have all the answers. To make matters worse, I also fall terribly short when it comes to guts, dreams and faith. In fact, the only things I excel at are to carry on, to care and to listen. And there isn't much gold to be found from digging deep among these either.

in your claims
a trifle too early
i reclaimed myself
but a little too late

in your dreams
a trifle too bare
i began to fill in hues
but with a shaky hand

in your games
a trifle too startling
i learnt to play
but i'm still struggling


I owe you :) and here's my down payment :)

it's not so green around here
and the seasons need never turn
it's never too late they say
when we're born only to burn

Apparently, we are adults.

say something nice

the sour tamarind
the wispy little wind
sent into my eye
a twig so sweetly sly
that's when i found that right here
lay the blessing of my dusty tear

we
who are let loose
by the facts that fell short
by the figments that aren't unreal
and the selves that never spoke
will we never learn?

to get that water first
for she had sensed his thirst
a little bowl in her dry hand
she crossed all that land, but
the water that emerged in that bowl
would never quench his parched soul
it seeped away from the bowl so worn
from the years of scrubbing that it had borne

dear december

a very different december
at the doorsteps of my mind
it peels away silly solace
hiding colours for me to find

straight picture syndrome

a tilted frame
now inclined towards you
pretends to kiss
the walls of our minds
one corner off
two others chipped
we begin to balance
on the sole corner
dying to be left behind
a straight picture syndrome
among the sights set free
a straight picture syndrome
don't you ever see?

a little lived life
went really far away
and when it came back
the bones began to play
half un-lived this life
and half began to sway
life took strange pause
and went off on his way

watered not much
not much sun shined
and yet that stray sapling
among the rest, survived.

For the three best things that happened to November.

i have a bunch of wishes
the kind that come true
among the million hitches
if you only knew

a story to tell

letters linger
and words sigh
spread across your
bright blue sky

images flutter
and gaze belies
emerging from your
stark naked eyes

words border
and the page flies
telling the story
in a few lovely lies

that it's not the icecream but the laughter when it melts as we have it...
that it's not the new clothes but the eyes that like to dress you in joy...
that it's not the destination but the long rewarding ride together...
that it's not the sleeping on time but the sleeping with a smile...
that it's not the things that need to be in place but the priorities...
that it's not the nostalgia but the new budding moment...
that it's not the pages read but the sense made...
that it's not the distance but the desire to bridge it...
that it's not the meal but the making it together...
that it's not the advice that anyone seeks but the inspiration...
that it's not the things to-do but the hands that write those lists out...
that it's not the tiles but the paws that go pitter-patter on them...
that it's not the lips but the long lingering course towards them...
that it's not the happiness but the ability to truly find it...

1. I want to read my brand new copy of Gone with the Wind with Astro tucked into bed around my feet.

2. I want to bake pizzas and listen to my parents repeat their a-pizza-is-no-dinner lecture.

3. I want to listen to Mamma hum some old Bangla song while cooking in the kitchen.

4. I want to watch silently as my friends talk, hit, tease, swear and just generally be themselves.

5. I want to open my closet and read the letter that Pooja gave me on the last day of college.

6. I want to buy chunky, daring and bright earrings for my sister and watch her show them off to me proudly and say "you'd never carry something like this off anyway."

7. I want to trick Dad into saying September which he lisps and pronounces as "Sectemper."

8. I want to tease my Nani about how pretty she gets with age and watch her blush.

9. I want a call from a cousin.

10.I want to go to Blossoms to browse, Java City to chat, K C Das to gorge on desserts, Ulsoor lake to unwind my mind, Calcutta for a holiday...on on and on.

A list of ordinary happiness.

sometimes she
takes an endless year
to take down things
that were built so dear

sometimes she
puts on your lack of fear
and spends the long night
with a devil so near

sometimes she
rings up a random tear
and you think she's met her
perpetually darkened seer

sometimes she...

a puppet and a doll
into our worlds
took a stroll
and when the doll
danced her dark teary eyes
and the puppet
leaped to the stringy ties
nobody laughed
and everyone cried
that we were the same
none of us denied
the puppet puzzled
the doll lost all delight
back to the realm of toys
the only place for them right

a fractured hand
deep inside piles of the past
a divide in its grip
it perpetually needs a cast

a fractured hand raiding
a dump of death and dark
the fingertips just touch
the sliver of hope the spark

a fractured hand deftly
takes the Bible apart
and rises uncertainly to feel
the faith in human heart

a fractured hand but
is no steel clasp
like sand salt or the raging raindrops
it eludes every closed grasp

there is this complete silence
and with one hand behind
your unseen ear
you seek
songs
you insist
like a mother
that a deaf child finds
songs in this complete silence

i was in a hurry
when on my way to august
i bumped into time
she was standing amond debris
of jetplanes, dear days and desiccated roses

i was in a hurry
when on my way to august
i bumped into time
and questioned her neat smirk
about the jetplanes, dear days and desiccated roses

i was in a hurry
when on my way to august
i bumped into time
and she said she'd never taken another step
oh she'd never run towards racing days after
the jetplanes, dear days and desiccated roses

in the unequal measures
and a stranger's stolen smile
in dementia's locked treasures
and the sunset that sons defiled
lies the unreturnedness they call life

It's amazing what an evening spent at an old age home can do to kick some perspective back into one's life.

Someone immeasurably dear turns thirty today. The thirty years say next to nothing about him (except for slightly hinting at his little paunch that I feel compelled to make a dig at whenever I sniff out even half a chance) and I find it rather difficult to define, compare or write about him. But, I try still…

you are

like one warm weary old sweater

that we always find place for in any cupboard we own

that we always seek out when we are cold

that we always treasure despite the areas torn

that we always get into after the show of gold

Happy Birthday, Da! You know I could think of enough and more instances that make each line true. And that is just so heartening.

the shine of the diamond
you were
cannot be stifled in the dead air
of the box
that closed oh so suddenly

for someone i never knew and think of almost everyday...

the turned page asks
for laws to be unwritten
for laughter to always be free
and the memories forever framed

staring at you
from the card
the black eyes of
the joker peer
your fingers
swift and sound
prioritize

the joker cries
as luck lies
you are just
a house of cards

A peering pair of brown irises.
I wonder. I wonder what you seek.
And so intently try to read.

losing grip

come may
come what may
the grime
under the nails
the lines of our palms
now changed
the cuts
the scratches
the bruises
and little rivers
of running blood

the wrist in its grip
has life
and all our
lost strength
come may
come what may

for six feet of resilience.
and the size four feet that drag me along anyway...

i looked intently
for signs of life
in life
in the green of the leaves
in the sparkle of the water
in the smiles you gifted
in the tears you didn't shed
in the dreams we never rode
into reality
i looked intently
for signs of life
in life

and life
let the quest sway
she turned away
i lied and i lived on...
i lived on


for a friend of a friend...for inspiring :)
thank you, you two :)

Cal Calling...

I want to go to a place where sunlight literally chases me out of bed at five. It swarms in through the windows and I can't help but wake up and welcome the morning.

I want to go to a place where I can wake up to my granny's warm and slighty sweetened light tea which is served in the most adorable looking china and veiled in a tea cosy that was made by hand for her by her cousin many many years back.

I want to go to a place where I can walk to the riverside early in the morning when the city's just waking up, sit there awhile...maybe buy jalebis packed in leaves and tied with string on my way back home.

I want to go to a place where I can see the past making it's way to the present...not like a thorn in the eye of "modernity" but as a part of the past which has been allowed to seep into the present and still elicits longing smiles. I love the way the house that belonged to Girish Ghosh is preserved in a way that the traffic moves for him and not the other way round. And the old homes you come across in the little lanes...a lot of brown bricks and spurts of green. Achingly beautiful.

I want to go to a place where the attention of the whole household surrounds me for the few days that I'm there...where cousins get back from work and make impromptu plans and everyone gets into the car and rushes to the nearest mishti store where you get the loveliest sandesh and radha ballobis.

I want to go to a place where beds are made impeccably. Maybe it's the bed-specific brooms or something they use but the beds are made the best in Cal. White or light bedcovers, stretched and taut and clean and nice with little side pillows and frilled pillowcases...makes you want to just leap onto the bed and lie there.

I want to go to a place where the windowsills project inwards into the rooms like railway berths upon which one can sit...sit and be a part of and apart from the ongoing conversation...where one can feel the wind coming from outside, gaze at the mango tree in the bagaan, touch the light crochet curtains some aunt would've made years back and occasionally have a say in the noisy Bong conversations where everyone's saying all they have to say at the same time.

I want to go to a place where the yummy smell of potol posto and shukto emanate from kitchen...where meals are cooked amidst stories of weddings that took place in the 1940s...who made a tail and attached it to the groom's kurta...who ate 27 rossogollas at one wedding...whose dhoti came loose...whose benarasi was woven with real gold... I could spend hours soaking all that in.

I want to go to Calcutta. If you haven't already guessed. I've been there just twice in my twenty years and the eighteen years that I didn't get to go there are starting to seem a little wasted to me now.

P.S.

And the words that I began to italicise halfway through the post are not just italicised because they're too Bong for some of you to figure out but also because they have to serve as a reminder to a certain someone of his much needed aid when I'm attempting something like this with my limited knowledge of Bangla converted to English spellings. Hmpf! Always missing :( I know you're having pav bhajis with extra buttered extra pavs which will all add to ahem a certain roundness somewhere.
Jokes apart, I hope you will read this. Hugs :)

your ideals lie glistening
priceless
mine lie in a beggar's bent bowl
small change
your gods bask in glory that's
illimitable
and mine walk around for they're
my people
you have just one life to
live
i could disappear i could die
many times over
but for luck someone wise says all lies
in the minds
then why must your ideals cost me
my ordinary happiness

somewhere between the ivory of the moon and the rust of the earth lies a world the shade of the purest coal...therein lies purpose, sadness, comfort and a strong smile that takes in all...today's sunset or an occasional eclipse...sometimes the earth misjudges the distance...and the moon denies its silken light...the earth trudges ahead and in the world the shade of the purest coal, she finds her light...

red doesn't need to be told
to be red
to continue to be red

red does sometimes merge with blue
to be purple
to continue to be purple

fingers of porcelain
pretty, painted and perfect
and cold

I can laugh all you want. I just can't find my smile.

the mirrors that count
lie within

You don't need to own the moon to love to it.

the branch lies broken
being in itself a token
of what its been through
do you have a clue?

i walk over and crush it
and so do you
unable to fathom
how close it is to you

a car drives over it
and it winces in pain
so does another
and its hurt again

i gaze at the branch
and i hope you will too
only to realize that
in a way its you

hordes of scores
does your sight see
against the green shores
the raging troubled sea?

diseased. i may
bleed to death. or
the many trees
my sight sees
will blur, my head
colliding against one.
the rush in leaving must
compete with the vitality
of the lived lengthy days,
of the seconds,
all of which were
much too short. like
the last leap before
taking the beats
away from throbbing.
throbbing warm
blood will flow from
where the words went in
and my hands will no
longer hold. and
the mind i minted
with great care
will meet a befitting
closure. Peace.


I owe this post to Ekom. Thank you:)

Easier said than done.

Someone dear asked me to blog about five things each that I like and dislike about myself. After many false starts and many months I got back to it. My attempt...

1. I fear. A lot of my time and abilities are consumed in the process of dealing with fears.

2. I rage. And I take immense effort to keep my temper under control. It’s like having to hold your head still to stop it from throbbing.

3. I miss people to a degree where my mind is paralyzed or frozen with that emotion.

4. I care. I can’t say no. It’s absurd. And it tires me.

5. I feel I’m somewhat…mildly…averse to everyone in some corner of my mind. It disturbs me.

On the other side…

1. The things mentioned above never mess with me to the extent that I’m left grappling visibly. I love my ability to compartmentalize and function. And I think it’s something that gets better the more you do it.

2. I’m committed. For people, who make me want to be there for them, I’ve unending reserves and limitless energy.

3. I love the way my mind synchronizes words, ideas and images in a matter of seconds for those rare lines. It’s hard to discern what goes on and it gives me the best of highs.

4. I care. It’s the one of the most rewarding parts of my life.

5. I laugh. And people laugh with me.

Easier said than done.

dear december

i tilt the tins of my mind

i scour the shelfs it contains

i turn out its pockets

i wish for whatever remains

oh stupidity!

when you speak
and I stir
sugar dissolves
and I seek
crystals still

a black dot
on a bright sun
renewed smiles

the Sisyphus in me has surrendered
his last breath rankling with realizations
his legacy a lone island

stretch
to give birth
stretch
to make love
stretch
to bridge the schism
stretch
to curb your rage
stretch
to reach out
stretch
to be patient
stretch
to prevent chaos
stretch
for nobody else will
stretch
all onus lies on you

for the predictable returns
and the unguarded gaze
for the endless eyebrows
for letting me in through the maze

for the cue behind the smile
and the dreams that race
for the amusing queries
and the full moon on my face

for the only rounded corner
and the bond well-browned
for the first waking moment
and the last moonlit sound

no thank you :)

Agony waters his roots
And yet, passion for fruits?

Leaves covered in dreary dust
And yet, shine, you must?

In the debris – dark and old
And yet, you found seeds of gold?

Wry nightly winds come fighting
And yet, you stand tall?

May you never stall


For a friend of mine who lends new meaning to every adjective I use for him.

with the circumference of a million thoughts
a circle with a moving centre
touching and touched by many others
but no other circle fits her

pulling the chords between hearts longer
or yanking that arc to a smile
watch the constant radius shorten
at the end of the endless mile

when the circle becomes a mangle
filling in the square of strife
what do you have on your sheets
perhaps it's the diagram of life

What I learnt on the Hyd trip…

1. The only thing that is sillier than an airhead is a tiara on an airhead.

2. A fool-proof method of ensuring your rival hotel’s bankruptcy is to take Archana to their buffet.

3. Sneha needs four hats to cover that head of hers; her hair, of course, beats the Amazon.

4. Huge junk food meals may cause *ahem* pants *ahem* to tear.

5. Ramya behaves like a baby in bed. Spring mattresses are Disney World for this twenty-two year old.

6. I rock at that game where you play act movie names.

7. We’re the only people who plan to gossip and then gossip and repeat the same bit of gossip for the bum who missed it all because of the ages she spent in the bathroom. By the way, this piece of gossip was 4 semesters old.

8. Ramya’s torch is always at it;)

9. Ramya’s toothbrush missed the Hyd trip because she packed with too much care to take it along.

10. Pooja spends her first waking moments giving people repeated detailed accounts of how well she slept. She’s too sleepy to notice whether you respond or not.

11. I don’t let people sleep. The man with his head between his hands because he was stuck with the noisy bunch of girls was my biggest success to date.

12. Journeys are as much fun as we can make them.

13. Archana lends new meaning to the round-the-clock concept.

14. Archana’s hot halter leads to a lot of Charchana.

15. Discs leave Sneha delirious. With her hair loose, the overall effect is quite dramatic.

16. Never order desserts in Paradise.

Part 2 of this post if I remember some more things at some point of time…

I’d the best of days… Thank you, you guys:)

light a flame
come build a fire
make a choice
don't light a pyre

plant a seed
watch it grow green
make a choice
don't suck a leaf lean

add new colours
finish the stroke
make a choice
don't let the canvas choke

Hmmm. I'm writing a post about colds...catching a cold, to be more specific. This, of course, sounds crazy to you. Assume that my mind's full of phlegm. Now I don't like this cold. I don't like coughing my guts out.I don't like my strawberry-nose. I don't like my voice sounding like my grandpa's. But I do like the endless cups of coffee and tea and dals and soups that I down with my Mum because of this cold. I do like the conversations that stem from these times. I like where they take me. Yeah. A lot of can happen over coffee. And colds.

a grasp to match your grasp
a finger to tease your touch
a faith carefully rubbed and polished
a friend i am such

i go there often
an ever changing place
where walls melt into mirrors
and i see your face

i go there often
where happiness plays her cards
to know what smoothness is
first i learn to feel the shards

i go there often
knowing you're not quite there
after everything i see hear and despair
when back in bed
i feel us in the night air
i feel you in my hair

i go there often
in your presence and absence
within the ends lies some truth
and it just never makes sense

The only thing to be given is "a damn." The only thing.

I wonder what it feels like to be a football

Black and white
Inanimate
Being kicked around
And not wanted beyond those "kicks"

Come as you are
As you were
As I’ve known you to be…

I was listening to it numbly and then it made sense and then I wrote…

The youngest of boys are my best buddies. And the fanatic zeal about the upcoming Durga Pooja means I get to meet my 2-4-6-8 year old buddies every weekend on account of the eating-meetings that go on. `One of them is particularly special - an eight year old almost visibly grappling with his parents’ abrupt untidy divorce. I’m not judging the parents; I know them to be nice people but watching this child breaks you for those few hours. A few years back he was one of those kids who’d just walk onto the stage while a speech was on, buy as many balloons as the people around were willing to give him and talked incessantly. The toning down that has happened in him is immense. The custody settlements allow him to come over just on alternate weekends and even among forty people he was so popular with then, he seems so unsure of everything. Unsure because of many reasons I guess. Kids know when they’re being talked about, kids know when people pat them out of love or otherwise, kids just know. Since I often feel equally out of place at these gatherings for reasons of my own, we’ve reasons to bond. Those reasons also include making crazy rhymes, drawing crazy figures on the computer and talking about his crazy girl benchmate in class who is “not nice” because “she’s a girl and she brings idlis for lunch – everyday!.” Hehe.

Why I was writing about him is hard to figure out for me even. So, it’s my birthday. When I was a baby I’m sure I wondered what the extra fuss was about on my birthdays. Till around four, I always slept with the firmest possible grip on my mum’s hair-like everything else was uncertain. I remember being unsure of whether the yelling I got at the end of my eight birthday was a part of the ritual. It wasn’t. I remember being so sure that the mike will crash on me or I will stumble on my tenth birthday when all I’d do was say thank you onstage. Nothing like that happened. I remember worrying if all the toffees will get over before I managed to offer them to everyone (despite knowing I’d lots extra) in seventh grade.They didn't. I remember worrying if my friends will turn up for my birthday treat in ninth. They did. I remember sensing that the people around me weren’t really around me on a later birthday. Maybe these were normal concerns at the respective stages or maybe I am a nervous person. I rarely am at ease completely. But this night, good or bad, right or wrong, I see myself less prone to evaluate myself in terms of what people around me say or do. Attachment, entrapment, co-dependence - all get quite ugly beyond a point. I no longer look for people to fill the space. I build the space and gaze at what’s around.

And to what, rather to those who are around, I feel like saying thank you.

I’d been pretty uncertain about my writing for a good while till people came up and told me consistently that they felt that I could write stuff that could be read. I needed it immensely at that point and since what I do with words is a vital part of my well-being, Ramya, Vinod and HP, you guys make me very happy:)

To Pooja, Archana and Sneha for all the showtime that Sho gets. I love the attention:P

To the seven friends who turned up on that birthday treat and still would (no treats happening though). Varun will get one just for spreading the laughs:) And Vivek and Jassi can accost some first grade kid on his birthday for toffees:P:)

To my sister, who’s been burning with her “secret” birthday present for me. She’s practically told me everything about it. And my Dad, who’s willing to take me to the Moon if there were good restaurants there. What a pity that his daughter asks only for dosas and apple juice. And my Gran; she’s also “secretly” making kheer for me when I know she does this every single year. It’s not sweet because of the sugar:)

To my Mum, for transmitting some of herself to me in the genes…if it’s showing by the time I’m twenty, things will only get better.

To Atto, who’s currently getting bugged and giving me the why-can’t-you-shut-the-damn-thing-down-and-sleep-bum looks. I’m as human as he can make me want to be:)

To my three first second third cousin(s), for the pink cards I get every year. Maybe they look for girlie-sisterly-pamperly cards for me:)

To Neeraj, for the stable normal warm buddyhood we have. To Zulfiqaar, my doc, for the daily rants that keep my mind alive. To Anupam, because he’ll come alive from a missing persons list to call on my birthday. To Sampad, because we’ve come a long way.

To Chhavi, for guarding my dreams with fragile hands. I do understand. Love you:)

And to my eight year old buddy, I benefit from talking to him more than he does from the constant company he seeks and gets from me in those two hours of forced socializing. I hope someday he begins to feel at home with himself.

Verbatim is a fun word. Here’s why.


Prof in RVCE…

Wait here for one minute, I’ll be back in two minutes.

I want to marry my daughter and study my son.

You maad baaays, why’re you upping down the stairs?

He will take the jig-jag blade and rub it erotically. (erratically)

With one hand you write the answer, with another mouth you give the attendance.

Imagine a ship flying in the Arabian sea.

I will throw you out of the window.



Saving the best for last…

Put yours inside, if I see yours again I will scratch it. (This is to do with some guy writing his record in class)



My math teacher in middle school…

You children are all behaving like rakshasas.

Children, that sum is wrong. (This she said practically each time she couldn’t work a sum)



And this takes the cake and the bloody bakery, bakers, confectioners everything…

Why children, why are you telling kos-chun 17 kos-chun 17 when this yex-ercise has only 10 kos-chuns?



And in dear old MCC…

Girls you can’t have half half men can you? (This was while explaining why the sample size sort of thing couldn’t be 22.5 and was 225)

I can’t say like that no…If I say doing Rostow is enough and Nurkse comes… (This was when someone asked her what theories could be skipped)

And my favourite…

Girls don’t worry we will have more interesting fathers in the next sessions. (This is regarding an excruciatingly boring Bible Scriptures class two dear and unfortunate friends of mine attended…the first class was held by a “boring father” so to speak)


And so, verbatim is a fun word. ROTFL! This post is near completely compiled by Varun:) Also, inputs from Pooja-Archana:)

PS: The comments on this post continue to get better...

Not so long ago, a door I didn't know of opened. I drew the curtains aside and light flooded in. As it rains and storms I hold on tighter to the light-present but suffering. But light can't be held...light is loved but free, the fruit and the tree.

And the moon doesn't knock on one's door twice.

Everyday, every single day, I pack my bag and go to a hybrid between an amusement-park and a circus. And I tell you with immense conviction that it is not amusing – not at all. The circus begins with a prayer which I haven’t been able to mug in four years here. We’re forced to mug enough in college anyway, for instance, in our industrial psychology classes.

These classes operate on certain assumptions. These are –
a) all students are dumb; as dumb as the professors secretly know they themselves are (shhh! It’s a well-kept secret)
b) all students have appalling English skills and need to be told how to spell words like “progressive” and “aind” (and of course, nobody in class knows how to spell aind because only Her Highness pronounces and as “aind”)
c) all students need to be taught like they’re a quarter of a step ahead of third grade i.e. all notes must be dictated by Her Highness and copied down by us, the scribes-in-training. Holding a pen unless you are using it to write the holy words of Her Holiness is pretence and deemed punishable. Thus, do not hold a pen (pun intended). Her Holiness is also hornophobic and while hunger, as a drive, justified a whole semester of “teaching” by her, sex drive was done in an hour of mumbles, blushes aind a real quick quickie.
d) all students must reproduce the material given in class in the test much like animals performing tricks in a circus.
e) all students must leave their minds outside the classroom.
f) all students must always quote our prof’s daughter’s doings as examples wherever possible. Whether it makes sense or not is of no consequence because it’s a circus yaar, if you want sense why come to college?

The way this works-

You show up at the performance i.e. you come to college and get five marks for being bodily present and mentally absent. You learn your tricks i.e. you copy all your notes and perform i.e. regurgitate all that you learn in the test.

You graduate and do not study psychology because apparently, there’s no money in it and come back with a token hubby and your firstborn and then you are the ideal student. I cannot find an analogy for this from the circus-world even and maybe that is because this isn’t even expected out of those animals.

Saturdays have two extra shows like the three theory rides over the week aren’t enough. Yesterday saw us, the animals being locked in the cage of a classroom for we had deeply disappointed our Ringmistress by not copying down the squiggles on the transparencies while she was away. Yes, even that happens here.

Chains are yet to come. Maybe a week from now…

that star
lazy, dazy and absolutely crazy?
is winking his intent eyes at me
is winking his intent eyes at me

that star
shhh, sequestered and all shine?
among others but mine
among others but mine

that star
at the end of the dark miles?
the sustenance of my smiles
the sustenance of my smiles

six months since a sunset

a new sun in the sky

but what do you with a sun

when the night is nigh?

a smiling white cloud

you float by

gathering my grey

sending yellow blooms

my way

may those unmet steps

find you your pawn

may you re-do the walls

and find the beauty of the Bygone

may your 8 and 80

buy you hours of endless laughter

may you never cease to seek

the joy you daily slaughter

It’s been a year since my grandpa passed away. It’s taken me just as long to get myself to write about it. I miss him. I miss his grey eyes which watered incessantly. I miss the little towel that he insisted on keeping right beside his pillow to wipe those eyes. I miss the way he gulped his food down and dissolved all his medicines in his glass of water. I miss his black shoes. I miss watching him put on and remove his specs six times in two minutes. I miss watching him count the replays of goals as goals because he no longer understood the difference. I miss the way he wore his clothes on the reverse and refused to wear them the right way.

For someone who had deteriorated as much as he had physically and psychologically, death was a relief. I’m glad he went peacefully, was hospitalized for just five days, lived a long good life etc…but I miss the man who told me the the most amazingly funny stories over a decade back…I miss the man who proudly announced to every rare visitor that his grand daughter had come first in class…I miss the man who listened to me more than he listened to his wife…I miss my grandpa.

And while I’m at this unforced bit of subjective analysis (what in life is objective one may ask) some more bits of learning from the past year…

A year back I couldn’t stand being alone while now, I sort of consciously avoid company…the best days are spent alone, outside home, in six tidy bookstores between cups of coffee and a lasagne…but people count all the same.

I think the creator got tricked while making the woman I call my mother…she’s always been iron deficient but possesses the most steely spirit ever. Low on iron, high on steel. Kudos. I feel like saying mmmmmmmmmy momma:P:) Oddly enough, she describes my blog as "incomprehensible." *how rude* (the Stephanie way)

Someone saved my sanity in a way that only he and me know…to say “thank you” would be demeaning…to say “love you” would be insufficient…as usual, words fail me when I need them the most. Hmmm…ours is a bittersweet symphony. Perhaps. *hug* *muah*...also, *yawn* considering how sleepy I was when we last talked hehe:P

Over the last one year I’ve stashed away half a dozen cards. I bought them for some extremely nice people I barely knew and never mustered the courage to give them out. I know each card remaining will be a regret because getting to know someone is one of the nicest processes ever.

I discovered that I do have the brother I’ve always wanted…:):)*hug*

I’ve come to believe that courting, marriage, sex and parenting etc are things where the scales have always been and perhaps, will be tipped in favour of men no matter how liberal we think we are.

When I walk beside couples and see that my own sides are as empty as empty can get I experience waves of psychotic jealousy.

One of the nicest sensory experiences ever - getting the knuckle of my finger gnawed at by my Atto:)…when warned that it’s beginning to hurt he quickly converts the nips into a very very genuine yawn:)

Also too late and too early, Kannika, my saviour turned twenty yesterday and gave the warmest parties with the most mmm desserts and lovely beings (counting in Patches)…may Sweet Chariot personified add to the long list of long livers in her family:)…and Diya and her smiles which tumble along as naturally as babies in fresh diapers in bed…happy almost birthday:)

I wonder why giving up isn’t considered to be a power, an ability, an asset and perhaps, our only way to freedom from the fracas we choose to call life. The Existentialists weren’t out of their minds when they said living was the struggle. The Absurdists weren’t out of their minds either in saying that life is absurd (oh! what a surprise! What a surprise!). I remember being critical of those critical of suicide for years now. I don’t see why some of us need to sit in judgement of those who choose to end the chaotic cycle of highs-lows, positives-negatives, goods-bads and brand them cowards. Is it because the same some us despite being just as disillusioned with life lack the balls to choose an end or think it brave to carry on? The voice in my mind replies in the affirmative. And with that comes the realization that I am one of those on this side of the issue and I am just one more of those who are dragging their weight around. Cowardice does not lie in choosing death over life; it lies in not making any choice at all.

i do not seek a way...i do not seek solace...i seek an end...i seek finality
i seek the awareness of my penultimate breath...i seek closure

i set fire to sunday
with
laughter and smells of baking
but
the night it wouldnt burn
i
broke it to shards
and
twisted it a million times
but
there remained the black mass
of night
staring and irking
amidst
the pile of ashes
that
was sunday

four full curves
one warm smile
i'm turning back to see
that it's taken me a mile

speaker of silence
and the presence of a shadow
smiles all naughty
and sports a pink halo

ps::):)

why can't i touch the moon i cherish so?
and why are there no tickets to afterlife?
why do my packed bags have nowhere to go?
and why is there so much strife?