what if life was self designed
what if life was like that moment in the pub in vanilla sky ... where he realises that anything he wants will happen all around him?
where would you be and how would you be,
if you could be, everything, anything you wanted to be, with no comebacks?

just for today? id be in the kothrud flat, with the rain crashing just like this, and all my music and my byron, and adit and chatts. and id rain. like its raining today

ive been listening to this song on repeat for the last few days whenever Im home

Nobody feels any pain
Tonight as i stand inside the rain
Everybody knows
That baby's got new clothes
But lately i see her ribbons an' her bows
Have fallen from her curls.
She takes just like a woman, yes she does
She makes love just like a woman, yes she does
An' she aches just like a woman
But she breaks like a little girl.

when night falls
and the clowns retire
theres noone in the chairs to see
white paint broken by 2 brown lines
rivers, hiccups of fear & pain
when everyone in the show has gone home again
the clowns rain


and old poem I found on my site - i dont remember when i wrote it or why ...

"somehow it all went astray,
but whats another dream broken?
in a life turned night of nightmares
this was just an infant still
this star that briefly appeared
on the horizon dark dismal
went up in splendrous bright sparks
in a shower fallen
to a puddle on the floor
and dried,
like a sticky trail of tears on ur face
invisible to everyone
but you who can feel the stickines still"

today turned arond
bumped into yesterday

couldnt look her in the eye
and still keep straight face

marathon spring cleaning over the weekend. my favourite kind of cozy 'tucked into my room' type weekend. gallons of old old old letters, diaries, cards, concert tickets, KY mem'lia and what not!

its so hard to believe we wrote and said all those things ... it was sweet, funny, cute, touching. i was laughing and crying all at once.

so many lists ... a HHPB checklist - wont write what that is - but it was very funny. no wonder it was never met! dogs, kids and bungee jumping .... crossed with brecht and archer ... kk and floyd and ravi-shankar and hemanta ... and then ghalib too ... too much! guess i have a us & them problem. I cant trust us and i cant get along with them.

a friend, a very dear friend, is getting engaged. mixed feelings. how many married friends do you have. not that aquaintance friends - but real friend. not people u hang out with, but real friends. people change after they pair up ... Juls, Sauce ... ??? anyway - its for the best. Im happy. Im really happy.

song in my head - a blast from the past ... heard it in the car next to me - stuck in jam while driving to work this morning

"i know all the games u play,
cz I play them too.
need some time off from that emotion ... "

cz friends will be friends

what do you do when

someone u barely knew a few months back, thinks about you, believes in you, tells you u might break through, and fair blows ur mind with the realisation that suddenly, out of the stark, bleak midnight blue some stranger, another new aquaintance is knocking on the threshold of becoming a Friend.

when someone u trusted and honoured in the world inside you, someone you loved and cared for, relied on ... someone you called Friend, just fades away into the black oblivion of those who faded away.

when someone you have begun to care for loses someone they care for? there are no words that will not sound superficial, there is nothing that will not sound superfluous ... theres nothing you can do that can be done ... you can just wait and watch and feel bad for her feeling bad and wish you could divert some of it away.

Anyway - another weekend is here. I will live. Recharge. And Sleep blissful Sleep!!!

its a brand new day

in life, everything rolls around
everything finishes and starts again
and we live, in segments
in some ways, the way I was yesterday ... 10 years ago, 10 days ago, 10 mins ago ... seems so different from here and now; and in some ways, so similar!

i still carry the same fears, weaknesses, the same impossible dreams and schemes, and the same stubborn determination in all too rare streaks and fits

im stuck. im stuck inhere and now. and i need to get out. soon.

this wont work. it cant. its another impossible jump into empty space. i dont have the stuff you need to make things like this work.

someone used to tell me im like a turtle ... you have to spend ages coaxing me out, and then theres one small false move, and i rush back in .... some shells protect the outside. theres acid inside

i came to work late today. very late. wanted to wish a friend after he woke up. and there was no other way. why is it so hard to say everything u want to say

drove to work. it took me 40 mins to cross 2 blocks - my house to gariahat! packed traffic! gotto stay till late. anyway - i cant drive in the regular office time traffic -so i would have waited for it to cool anyway ...

i need a break. i need a weekend. and behold a weekend is here :)

i need someone to talk to. not SOMEONE ... but chatts or ad or barb ... no else will do. i need an old old friend. new friends are great to love and care for a laugh with. but to talk - u need the ones who know ... the ones who have held ur quivering, shivering soul in a gentle curving palm cup ... when u were falling, breaking, cracking up, when ur soul is shrivelled to a pinpoint in the dark ... so many times before.

lifes like that

she pulls me down
she makes me cry

she laughs at me
she makes me laugh with her

she holds my hand
as she makes me tumble

she keeps me moving
even when i cant get up, anymore

she is stands by my bed while i toss and turn
through the darkest storms of the night

she hides surprises
at every corner

she pulls me out, maddeningly
of my crazy races that i crazily run ...
with myself
she pulls me aside and while my heart still races
she talks to my mind,
and she teaches me some more
always more

sometimes i hate her. cant wait for it to be over
sometimes I love her. cant get enough.

lifes like that you see.

and another fear
more secret, moregaurded
at 9, i thought you the coolest, most grownup, suavest, bond' in the world
at 29, i suspect that you, underneath ur cool, smooth exterior, are perhaps as soft as i can sometimes be

and it seems that ive loved u a lifetime ...

that you wont , actually, run away when i cry
that i wont have to keep laughing always - even when i hate to
and the fear is finding out im wrong ...

i laugh. i clown about. i make people laugh
but i cry too. i cry a lot. and its usually scary for people to watch
cz there no way they can reach me - i have withdrawn and the shutters have fallen
boom crash bang ... shut tight in place
with a vacant look in front
or a shallow smile
which does who know never trust
i cry sometimes for no reason
like i laugh sometimes, for no reason
or i cry bcz a sunrise is so beautiful
or a moment so sweet
or a feeling so immense
or life is splendrous

i wanted to cry that night
in ur eyes
when u smiled and said
why u looking so intense

i wanted to cry bcz i saw the end of the moment approaching
and i wanted it to last
for a lifetime

because i have come so gfar
because i am so tired

because i love you so much

i may have never loved very well
been very good at loving

my cold, hard, seeking, searching, eagles heart ... to fixed on the horizon
to glued to the road - to stop, to be soft, to listen

but in that moment i loved you

enough for an eternity


im working in shifts now. 7AM to 2PM. Killer. Because as usual me the insomniac cant sleep early enough. Then I have this quirk ... I cant just get up and come to work. I need some all-by-myself time in the morning. ill read, and laze and listen to music and be grouchy in peace and have my first 3 of the day then I get up and start to get ready to leave.

last night i had a strange dream ... i was flying. it was dark. and cold. and silver ...
and the ocean moved below
and i flew through the air
above the seas,
and the sleeping, twinkling towns
and the gaurding mountains tall
i flew

listening to Queen after a long time

You say you love me
And I hardly know your name
And if I say I love you in the candlelight
There's no one but myself to blame
But there's something inside
That's turning my mind away
Oh how I could love you
If I could let you stay

It's late - but I'm bleeding deep inside
It's late - is it just my sickly pride?
Too late - even now the feeling seems to steal away
So late - though I'm crying I can't help but hear you say
It's late it's late it's late
But not too late

following rahuls analogy, if you are terrified ofdriving, but darent admit it - would you,
subconsciously or consciously, always buy cars which you know you wont be able to drive easily?
isnt that terrible - a waste of the car (s)?

if someone gifts u a car which is just right for you,
would you panic and cut off ur arms?

does everyone have to drive? what if ur fear is real? what if u really dont have it in u to drive?
what if u saw ur whole family die - on the spot - in a car crash ...
would you ever overcome your fear of driving?

what if u really like the car - its a very good car - and u screw it up?
what if u bump into someone and kill them?
what if u start out by car but then its wonderful weather and you want to stop, or walk ...
why cant we use cabs all the time? expensive? ownership? or just face-ur-fears training?
why do you feel compelled to peer into ur deepest fears and see what they are made out of?
why does all the analysis and the realisation fly out of the window when the moment comes?

stormy monday blues

it rained all night
and i couldnt sleep
i sat on the terrace
in the driving rain
getting drenched
reliving the evening, the past week, the past month, the the past year, the past life ... random fragments ...

i finished reading "Mrs Dalloway"
again - it hits me as strange and amazing
that these books, these thoughts, these philosophies
come to me when I am thinking, feeling as I do

clarrissa analysing the septimus's suicide
as i stand at the bars and I feel the wet coldness of the wrought iron table behind me. strange

the book still had me in its grip. im still stuck there. i read a lot of reviews online. One of them said ...

"Like Septimus, Clarissa has the potential to be overwhelmed by life. Hearing of Septimus' suicide, she withdraws to consider her party's deeper meaning for her. She imaginatively recreates Smith's suicide and recalls that "she had thrown a shilling into the Serpentine, never anything more. But he had flung it away" (241). It is clear that Clarissa shares Spetimus' suicidal impulses as she went on imagine "But this young man who had killed himself - had he plunged holding his treasure? 'If it were now to die, 'twere now to be most happy, she had said to herself once."(242). However, Clarissa only needs to die in imagination by identifying herself with Septimus. Clarissa survived from her suicidal instinct as she acknowledges that her subsistence depends on the death of Septimus, the darker sides of her nature, so she sacrifices it gladly. "

this is the part that haunted me most. but what hit me most was wondering how much of it was autobiographical? idshe feel like septimus did. if she did then was it because she was, really, going crazy or does everyone, at times?

"Death was defiance. Death was an attempt to communicate, people feeling the impossibility of reaching the centre which, mystically, evaded them; closeness drew apart; rapture faded; one was alone. There was an embrace in death.
But this young man who had killed himself-had he plunged holding his treasure ? "If I were to die now, 'tweve now to be most happy," she had said to herself once, coming down, in white.
Or there were the poets and thinkers. Suppose he had had that passion, and had gone to Sir William Bradshaw, a great doctor, yet to her obscurely evil, without sex or lust, extremely polite to women, but capable of some indescribable outrage-forcing your soul, that was it-if this young man had gone to him, and Sir William had impressed him, like that, with his power, might he not then have said (indeed she felt it now), Life is made intolerable; they make life intolerable, men like that ?
Then (she had felt it only this morning) there was the terror; the overwhelming incapacity, one's parents giving it into one's hands, this life, to be lived to the end, to be walked with serenely; there was in the depths of her heart an awful fear. Even now, quite often if Richard had not been there reading the Times, so that she could crouch like a bird and gradually revive, send roaring up that incommensurable delight, rubbing stick to stick, one thing with another, she must have perished. She had escaped. But that young man had killed himself."

sister of my soul. what is family? what are fraternal feelings in a family? is it any different from friendship? how? sister of my soul, bonded by heart-blood, same bricks, same mortar, so different, yet just the same. in time displaced. upgraded. what is family. how do people who live together in families all their lives feel? think? act? sister of my soul, bonded by heart-blood, blood so weak, thinner than water. we above it, we below it. running away. running to it everyday. with eyes shut tight. shouting out in terrified, unending, wails echoing, silently, twice over, 184 months apart. i dont know you. i dont want to see you. u only exist in the slices i choose.

song in my head

i used to belive that when a song suddenly pops into ur head its a like little messege from ur subC. Often I found myself thinking about them and actually finding clues about what I was thinking without even realising it! And then Id realise it was true. Dunno if it works with anyone else. Song in my head ...

"muJhe tum nazar se gira to rahe ho
muJhe tum kabhi bhi bhula na sakoge
na jaane muJhe kyoon yakiN ho chala hai
mere pyaar ko tum mitaa na sakoge

meri yaad hogi jidhar jaaoge tum
kabhi nagma banke kabhi banke aansoo
kabhi nagma banke kabhi banke aansoo
tadapta muJhe har taraf paaoge tum
shama jo jalaayi hai meri wafa ne
bujhaana bhi chaaho bujha na sakoge

kabhi naam baatoN meiN aaya jo mera
to bechain ho hoke dil thaam loge
to bechain ho hoke dil thaam loge
nigahon mein chaayega gham ka andhera
kisi ne jo poocha sabab-a-subooN ka
bataana bhi chaaho bata na sakoge"

in the pouring rain

for many nights have I dreamed this dream
for many days have I cried for this
for many years have I waited for this ...

its raining. in cal. and im home. alone. i know it will pass. but while it lasts ... its madeinheaven (it was all meant to be).

its been a while. so it feels strange. im happy. like he said, im trying to live for myself. &^%# the world. when u try to keep people happy - it never really works. they are never happy ... tehy are happy with you only as long as u listen to them. the min u do one single thing that they dont like - u become a villain forever ... and they forget everything u have ever done for them. they never stop towonder about or try to understand why u do things. they just see what you do.

to keep calm and to forget. thats the key. its morning. the night is over. let it go. its raining. again. and i'm home.

home is being with everything thats comfortable. home is no more worrying, translating, censoring, pretending. home is what u have grown up to. home is farenheit. home is being able to vocalise ... any crap - just for fun, or just to make a point - and secure in the knowledge that if u say something u dont mean then the walls on which r words fall know u well enough to know ur talking crap.

on the road again

its time to go again
its time to cry again

this is the worst ... everyone you love
in one place. those rare times
and you walk away


"Real poetry doesn't say anything, it just ticks off the possibilities, opens all doors. You can walk through any one that suits you. If my poetry aims to achieve anything, it's to deliver people from the limited ways in which they see and feel." James Douglas Morrison

and two old poems I rediscovered
while spring-cleaning
tucked away
some dusty corner of my cyberspace


To go like I came
Unburdened an clean
A full circle
All things contained

You rode down from the skies
On a deep dark restless night
On the wings of a silver moon
I was wandering alone
Wanted to be far from the madding crowd
I wanted to be on my own for awhile
Suddenly there was sound
And I looked around
And there you were, an angel, an imp, a friend ...
standing right beside me
You caught me unawares
I wasnt looking out for you
Was just so nice to be by your side
I guess my doors were open wide
Didnt notice when you crept quietly in
And made ur self at home
In some quiet corner of my heart
And now it feels so right
Everything is alright
Dont go away
Please, wont you stay
Forever ...
In some quite corner
of my heart.


dreaming again

been wanting to write about someone for a long time. a girl i know. my moms friends kid ... but it will be so long ... and so much effort. feeling lazy! im amazed at how much i can sleep! i will. someday. soon ...

feeling a bit lost ...
for the last 7 to 8 odd years my studies and my work has been the only life ive had. i mean ive had major happennings happening in my personal life - obviously ... but my work was all i really gave a shit about

for 5 years i was outside looking in. i loved T with a passion i have never felt for anything or anyone else. for the last 3 yrs - from inside - T was the be all and end all of my existence

now suddenly I feel a 7 yr itch. i feel a strange feeling ... of dissatisfaction. of wanting other things ... of dreaming of other things. all blame to mamta and anirban ... the brat pack ... they set me dreaming impossible dreamz

but it would'nt work and its too late. im not like that. im a mechanic. a mistri type ... gaonwalla type ... i cant do art and literature. best left to ping and pong dreaming grassy dreamz on the chhatta. and im better off where I am ... if im not careful ... ill be the star of the revival of the bird in hand bird in bush story ... nowhere ...

but vani once said - when we were still young and alive - that u cant become who you want to be by staying who you are ... she drew me a rainbow ... or she drew someone else a rainbow and sent it to me. vani. my only real friend of those 4 years ... she'd said she'll mail everyday ... but i knew she wont. and i also knew it wont matter ... because she is a friend. its a concept beyond geography & time and mails and calls and current news ... its a way of being ... and she is.

i remember the abandonded temple in the woods where we used to go to to sit and chat. someone asked me recently if i missed college. i thought of the temples. and a huge orange moon hung way down low ... one evening when i went to call you from ur pg's place. i dont miss college. but i have some very fond memories. for all of my yesterdays -thats true.


when you have a child, you feel like protecting her from everything. The first grown up tears you see in her eyes, the smoke, the grass, the ways of the world outside ... Each phase of her life she thinks unique,
you have lived through. Each conclusion she draws after nights of struggle, you have done too.

But you cant grow flowers in closed glass shells. You have to let your children be. You have to let them run wild and live. You have to let them explore and discover life on their own. And if they fall or hurt themselves, even irrepairably in the process, you have to shut up and not preach or have heart attacks. in the end its all ok. in the end it never matters. nothing matters. except for you. and what you make of ur 'You'.

All you can do is be around. And be a friend. Even that is sometimes too much for our frail human capacities. Even that we cant really always do ... and we think and dream of doing so much!

When you have a grown up, you expect so much from them. How many of us can really see our parents, or our parent-figures as real people. We see them just as our parents. Why is it such a big deal if u catch ur parents doing something you cant accept when you would think twice about it if it was just another friend. Why is it so hard to accept if our parents are bad people ... we desperately want, need, a parent figure ... we Need to have someone to love blindly, to love us blindly, to take for granted, to take us for granted.

I have heard 'taking people for granted' critised so much. but there is a huge comfort in it. we need that too. along with the hajaar other comforts we run after all our lives

unfinished words

i wanted to write about how it feels to hate her
i wanted to write about how it feels to be with all four members of the family after 4 years
i wanted to write about how it feels to be friends with her again
i wanted to write about how it feels to about how it tears me apart that he is gone
i wanted to write about how it feels to realise that i have grown old
that i will never love again ... never write mushy letters to someone ... never miss anyone again ... that im heartless now ...

but pong wants the comp ... so i gotto run and ill come back and finish this later.

from outside, looking in

i rarely go to anyones blog anymore. my net time is too limited. but i went to his yesterday. i wanted to show pong what he writes. its amazing how well he writes. his pictures, his poems, his words, his songs everything amazes me. i wonder how he is in real life.

thats something cool about this cyber life. you read what all these people write, everyday. and you have no clue, who they are, what they are like, what they like ... but you form this fixed image in your head ... mira's a momma angel, anu is my dearest forever-weary friend, diya reminds me of my kid sister, poly is a brat, jill is a darling, fgs is an angel ... but we really know nothing about them, do we? we just see one tiny aspect, one face of so many that each person has and like the blind men and the elephant, we draw our conclusions

but then, is real life any different? no. its just the same. i was talking to my dad about this just now. thats the best part about the dubai vacations. always. the early morning chats - all 4 of us - before falling asleep over our whiskey on the rocks and the room full of smoke ... we are such a madcap family. and i love it.

coming back, we never know. what people really are like. or we dont want to know. its like a library. when we join a very big library, we get hooked on to one section wherevere we find a few books we know and love. and we seldon bother the explore the whole library. thats why we often feel that have rediscovered someone we knew for ages ... but in our blindness we dont recognise this rediscovery for what it is. instead, we say they have changed, or we feel betrayed, or let down. but in all probabality, what we see is something that was always there. we just didnt chose to see it till now.

and does the same thing not apply to ourselves. are we not as blind and as blindly confident in our understanding of ourselves, as well as others. i, for one, dont know myself at all. everyday I discover something new about myself. its fascinating. when I was younger I too thought that I am changing, evolving everyday ... but now I feel, perhaps I am just on an everlasting journey of self discovery. and perhaps thats all Im here for. and perhaps its not such a bad thing, this self obsession.