yesterday rolls past

why is it that some people irritate me so much that i will go to any lengths out of my way just to avoid them. in the process i even end up hurting those i do care about. why cant i accept people the way they are. why does everything have to be all the way or nothing. why cant i make casual friends. why does it have to be people ud give ur life for or nothing at all.

why are there so many distances, so many walls between people in todays days and age. why must we feel so ashmamed because we care about someone. we gaurd every feeling, we regulate each instinct and whatever filtered little bit escapes, we couch in a million disclaimers.

such a tiny handful of people in this world who we really can call friends in the true sense. that we can care for. those who make us happy. those who we cant banish and punish and be angry with. or stay angry with. and that those few too we keep chasing away. playing games with. why?

i miss u like crazy today. i need to talk to you. i wish i cud talk to you. both of you. together. but time and life had pulled us so far apart. we dance behind masks.

lately its been hitting me like never before. yesterday is over. a chapter of our lives, an era is over. if this was a book, this would be where the would put in a pretty design and write a big curly lettered BOOK 2 ...

at the back of my mind theres a roll of snap shots that come to mind. walking home from school in the rain. the hymnbooks. atmodya bhavan. suji playing before assembly, rimli playing the marchpast drums. the enclosures. the nursery park. kavita pavamani. making fun of people without saying a word. JT ... the graveryard. the nightouts. sauces old house. the tea shop in lake mkt where we called sauce for the first time after we heard about uncle ... how i was playing tricks - saying i didnt have money. patrick swayze at the grand. goose. anin, bhattu. the whole day trip to nrityagram. sauce in the bus gaali-ng those women ... sebs shouting. u as usual bitching about me ... its always motts whose fault it all is. slapping sauce that night ... and now Zachary George Simon. one day he will be a full complete human being. can you imagine? wud you have thought we cud do such things sitting somewhere in the tree in nursery patk? we've come such a long way ... made suicides, children, bad affairs, marraiges.

the end of the affair

read the end of the affair on flight. what skill. what mastery. i dont remember when i was last so impressed. the closest was probably when i read 'meyera jemon hoye' somoresh mojumdar. what are these men made of who can speak about their fellow humans so well?

'virues which are merciful nor weave snares for the failing'

again its about expectation. i thought it wud be nothing great. it was such a pleasure to find i had been so wrong.

its one of those books which humble you. as anyone who has ever dreamed of being a writer. of anyone who has had ambitions in the field being human, living, thinking, understanding life.

on the lighter sight ... the very cute flight attendant. whom i had first mistaken for the pilot. there are so few truly good looking men :)


its a art. when my mom is there the house magically takes a home like look. its beautiful. comfortable. try as we might we cant keep it that way.

i listen to him on the phone with the plant. dedication. razor sharp. always solving.

i had heard a story of when a brilliant scientist received a proposal from a beautiful actress ... what is we have children with my charm and your brains. my dear, what if we have a child with my charm and your mind.

one of each. both paths from the fork, illustrated. theres nothing as acid as failure. old wisdom learned from dad: one man comes first. all the rest are failures. old lessons are hard to unlearn.

marraige. family. human affection. human passions. human frailities. humanity ... who needed the atom bomb ...

the tombsmen

why do i feel so sad? its quiet. i can feel their voices in the tomb like silence. they are life. they are alive. the ma's and the munal's of this world. they are love. they are life. they are home and family. we? battle our theories and intellectual thoughts. talk of work, books we read. movies we saw. share the additions to our scrapbooks on life since we last met. pregnant with the things we dont know how to say. we look at eachother like you look at your reflection while you brush your teeth. to siamese for comfort. there: thats how that wrinkle will form, then. yes: thats the passion i once felt for a name. what will you say to ur self from thirty years before? lookout? watchout? beware? what will you say to your self from tomorrow? is this all? this is where it leads? life is such an anticlimax ...

we are shadows. ghosts. missing some element of the human. gsaping for some genuineness you feel so easily. there. thats it. you feel. do we ever feel? we only watch. standing in a corner of our frozen hearts, our cold mind watches ...


for one and all
big or small

death awaits
at unknown gates

so let us walk out
at our own command

meet the foul foe
down below

now. here. at will
by our own way. by our own time

let us lay down to to die.

The Elevator Story

found this amongst some of my old stuff. couldnt resist sharing it ...

Having her hair done at a Dallas beauty parlor, a Woman told a cautionary tale about racial prejudice. The story deserves a wider audience.

On a recent weekend in Las Vegas, the woman related, she won a bucketful of quarters at a slot machine. She took a break from the slots for dinner with her husband in the hotel dining room. But first she wanted to stash the quarters in her room.

"I'll be right back and we'll go to eat," she told her husband and she carried the coin laden bucket to the elevator. As she was about to walk into the elevator she noticed two men already aboard. Both were black.

One of them was big... very big... an intimidating figure. The woman froze.

Her first thought was: These two are going to rob me. Her next thought was: Don't be a bigot, they look like perfectly nice gentlemen. But racial stereotypes are powerful, and fear immobilized her. She stood and stared at the two men.

She felt anxious, flustered, ashamed. She hoped they didn't read her mind, but knew they surely did; her hesitation about joining them on the elevator was all too obvious. Her face was flushed. She couldn't just stand there, so with a mighty effort of will she picked up one foot and stepped forward and followed with the other foot and was on the elevator.

Avoiding eye contact, she turned around stiffly and faced the elevator doors as they closed. A second passed, and then another second, and then another. Her fear increased!

The elevator didn't move. Panic consumed her. My God, she thought, I'm trapped and about to be robbed! Her heart plummeted. Perspiration poured from every pore.

Then ... one of the men said, "Hit the floor." Instinct told her: Do what they tell you. The bucket of quarters flew upwards as she threw out her arms and collapsed on the elevator carpet. A shower of coins rained down on her. Take my money and spare me, she prayed. More seconds passed.

She heard one of the men say politely, "Ma'am, if you'll just tell us what floor you're going to, we'll push the button." The one who said it had a little trouble getting the words out. He was trying mightily to hold in a belly laugh.

She lifted her head and looked up at the two men. They reached down to help her up. Confused, she struggled to her feet. "When I told my man here to hit the floor," said the average sized one, "I meant that he should hit the elevator button for our floor. I didn't mean for you to hit the floor, ma'am." He spoke genially. He bit his lip. It was obvious he was having a hard time not laughing.

She thought: My God, what a spectacle I've made of myself. She was so humiliated to speak. She wanted to blurt out an apology, but words failed her. How do you apologize to two perfectly respectable gentlemen for behaving as though they were going to rob you? She didn't know what to say. The 3 of them gathered up the strewn quarters and refilled her bucket. When the elevator arrived at her floor, they insisted on walking her to her room. She seemed a little unsteady on her feet, and they were afraid she might not make it down the corridor. At her door they bid her a good evening.

As she slipped into her room she could hear them roaring with laughter while they walked back to the elevator. The woman brushed herself off. She pulled herself together and went downstairs for dinner with her husband.

The next morning flowers were delivered to her room - a dozen roses. Attached to EACH rose was a crisp one hundred dollar bill. The card said: "Thanks for the best laugh we've had in years."

It was signed,
Eddie Murphy and Bodyguard

words. her last before she died.


After whose stroke the wood rings,
And the echoes!
Echoes travelling
Off from the centre like horses. The sap
Wells like tears, like the
Water striving
To re-establish its mirror
Over the rock
That drops and turns,
A white skull,
Eaten by weedy greens.
Years later I
Encounter them on the road______
Words dry and riderless,
The indefatigable hoof-taps.
From the bottom of the pool, fixed stars
Govern a life.

Sylvia Plath.

for a dear child ...

Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.


because i couldnt say a word. because i never can. because words
dont come. because theres no one. because here never is. because i
turned so many ways, and each time faltered. because i reached out
so many times, but my hands shook. because i meant so many things
but i couldnt say them. because thats the way we are ...

theres nothing really to say, is there? just words. what good are
words now. words are tools. for smokescreens. for coverfire. to
build walls. between us and them. you are one of us. thats the way
we are

all day i talk. frenzied words. laughing words. wise words. funny
words. tumbling waterfalls of words. careful building blocks of
words. carefully aimed poison darts of words. gently soothing
palliatives of words. words to stop yourself thinking. words to
drown out the voices.

but then evening falls, words fall away. silence falls. and the
voices reign. the voices in your head that never fall quiet. voices
in your head that never forgive you.

and in the end thats all thats left you. the impotent thoughts that could not bear words. your stillborn cries. your impotent tears. the hiccups, hurriedly hidden. the tremors every night. in a ball in a corner of the floor. always there. i wonder why. the colds you pretended to have. face. you must save face. atleast. the wounds you dont dare to show. the friends you dont dare to make. anymore. all the blood that flowed out. when the knife turned. in your heart. the eyes that dried staring at the sun. the salt that was your soul

so, all this has happened. all this i have known. this too i have
borne. this too i have seen. and yet i live. i survive. because its
not mine to take. just because.

'and yet the order of
acts is schemed and planned

and nothing can avert
the final curtains fall

i stand alone, all else
is swamped by pharisism

to live live to the
end is not a childish task'

'Dr Zhivago' by Pasternek

to be continued

what is fear?
fear of death. fear of madness. fear of fear ...

what is the common denominator between plath / woolf / septimus ...

first you just feel it ... u r different
then u realise they feel it
then u feel their reaction to that feeling

and then fear creeps in, seeps in, from the edges, slowly

like a dark ink stain

growing, almost imperceptibly

till they got to a phase where they 'knew' they were different

that that different made them deficient somehow

that 'they' laughed at ... all sorts of things

they begin to grope in the darkness of the stain for a label for the difference

then slowly they realised the label is madness

something to be ashamed of


fall short

and all they want is escape

then the fear comes ...


dead pan
dont let it show
pain or laughter
anger, hurt
shame, disgust
dont let them know
dont let it show

you're all alone
dont ever forget
father or mother
brother, sister, friend
noones there all the way
dont let your gaurd down
dont trust anyone
dont forget, you're all you've got ...

dont feel so much
dont care so much
dont love at all
learn to fake it
it will kill you if you let it
be nice when you dont mean it
dont be too nice when you do mean it

So you love me?

still you insist on saying it
i love you dearest
i love only you
come hell or high water, ill love you
still you insist on living it
i love you dearest
i love only you
come hell or high water, ill love you
go run away sweetheart
run away sweetheart
monster from land of burning hells
pretty flowers with poison wells
we have hatred in every cell
we were at its feet when the pedestal fell
our thoughts as smoke
poison gas
we live to die
we laugh or cry
a little mad
a little wise
both beyond edge
go run away sweetheart
run away sweetheart

you are just a ordinary boy
with a ordinary heart
and a ordinary life
daddy is always there
mummy loves you more than pearls
dirt and politics
are for movies and imaginings
go run away sweetheart
run away sweetheart

i have lived more lives than you could imgine, dream, or know
i have lived more lies than you could imgine, dream, or know
im the fairy queen
i can be your wildest dream
fairies from hell
no soul left to sell
im the fruit of a gypsy tree
golden seeds,
acid filled
go run away sweetheart
run away sweetheart

much ado about nothing?

just finished reading alchemist. it took me all of two nights. not too bad on the put-down-able factor. but considering how much i had heard about it, it was a bit of a dissapointment. doesnt mean that i didnt like it, just that i thought it would be more ... profound? mature? original?

what do you expect from a book? that it will tell me something i didnt know? and something that i will be glad to know? AND / OR that it will do its telling in a manner that i enjoy?

my personal top five literary dissapointments:

1 - hitchhikers guide to the galaxy
2 - great gatsby
3 - catcher in the rye
4 - love in the times of cholera
5 - alchemist

(ZEN and the art of ... ? Immortality? Not sure for sure ... but they got close)

Disclaimer: Not putting these books down at all. Or even saying I didnt like them. Just that FOR ME they were 'different' from MY expectations.

Whats your top 5?


usually it just rains during the day. today we had a storm. hailstorm. it was cold and the lights went out. i tried to ignore it and work, but its hard to ignore a blizzard outside. the winds blew and blew till it felt like just standing up would be an effort ... but then it passed and it was great. cold. and dark. but with so many lights up this season - thats not so bad. u can pretend its not there :)

now i just want to go home and curlup in the warm and go to sleep. i wonder what happens to those who dont have a home. and watch friends. and eat my chocolate cookies :)

whats home? most of our lives, home is just where mommy is - isnt it? or our parents :) or family. or friends. what happens to those who dont have parents? or dont really have them. or the little kids who's parents are seperated and hate eachother. if marraige is not a contract but a feeling between two people, does it make them illegitimate? where do they go at christmas? or every night? or whenevr they are hurt. or when they fall down and hurt themselves. arent they His children too? probably not. who are we too judge. maybe they are lost souls who deserved it?

sauce is having a baby. im so excited. miss chatts. wish we cud all be there. i like children

My Love

i tell you im ready
to come away with you
to leave this world
yes - now ive had enough

they'll manage somehow
they're big boys and girls now

but i, i cant take this life any more

but i hold
back at the door
my hand trembles
as it holds the key

i held the key
in trembling hands

prepared to turn it but, just then i remembered, i couldnt leave them yet. mist on the mountain, rolling oceans, moonlight empty streets wont let me go

told you im ready
take me away now
but do i really ever wanna go
am i not scared of what the next stage will bring?

i make excuses, name those i love
but what i cling to is really my fear.

rack and brimstone. oils r burning. dont even know if you really love me anymore.

online woes

its hard to live without a computer! i havent really posted in ages. the place where i use the computer is so noisy i cant think - forget post. work is from 'wakeup' to 'go to bed' time. cant afford a comp - so i just got to wait till santa delivers.

just a thought, as we go along life we discover strange facts about ourselves which often come as a surprise. i love listening to my music loud. yet anything else is noise. i cant bear it anymore. old age? as we get older our likes, more imp'ly our dislikes get more and more pronounced. something that i laughed at when in my teens. i got irritated with in my late teens and early twenties. i go to great lengths to actively avoid now. i walked out of two shops yesterday bcz they were playing loud rap or someone was laughing loudly. but what i am most intolerant of, is intolerance. paradox?

If I Could

if i could find the arms
i'd sweep away the world

if i could find fire enough
i'd burn everyone down
find a quiet place
and shoot myself down

the moments of hate
that go as they come

trail waves of hurt
that go as they come

dazed and confused

im dazed and confused
purple and perplexed

like a song in my head
like feet strapped with lead

like a ghost in a fort
like a foul smelling coat

got the dream in my soul
drilling a hole

like a fog in the morning
i can see the dream fading

like sand in my fist
i feel it but i cant hold it

knowing what you want
can be the longest hunt

its an itch you cant reach
im stuck like a leach

but there must be a

Rambling Words - Incomplete

when the written word is almost your only (non ephemereal) passion, thats the easiest analogy that comes to mind. As a natural fallout of being an incurable book reader / buyer / collector / keeper (in the mark twain sense), before long you find yourself owning an unmanagably large colume of books. Which is a double edged problem.

like () said, you never know how real the character in a book are, till you have lived in one urself. i have lived in books probably more years than in the outised world, since when i learnt to read my first (). when you read a lot or love what you read very much, for a long time, after a while the boundaries between the real world and your world of fiction dims and fades and then glimmers in the distance. Not just while you are reading but at all times. Thus might I wake one morning with a vague uneasiness of missing someone close and worry at it like a itch you cant reach to scratch, till it suddenly dawns upon me ... its pip & beth, or for some weird reason ... mini's dad, or jane, or wyanan, or mole (mole, i often miss)

1 - cant find the one u want 2 read
2 - cant keep / carry

3 not worth

have to part with

library // casual friends // come and go

read forget - keep always - keep at home
glad of having read but will never read again
will never buy but will read again and again
will buy but never read
love to talk about - will never discuss // dominiques statue

posted by Prerona at 11:08 PM 0 comments

top 5 songs you hate

last of the top five ...

top 5 songs that make you throw up ...

no offence to the songs themselves - but i am just SO sick of hearing them!

hotel california
blowing in the wind
last christmas
one the wings of a snow white dove

between friends

its just a phase. i hope. feeling lousy

silver and gold

last night was my first time out rowing at night. i wanted to write how the silver canal quivered under the boat, i wanted to write about how carelessly all those huge stars were strewn above us, i wanted to share how the sky glowed, translucently cerullean, but the words feel so inadequate compared to how exquisite it all felt ...

so instead, let me say how horrible i was! i knocked S in the back twice ... but ofcourse, it was the strong wind ... not me ;0)

today was our last class this year! i will miss the classes! we all need some stuffing for life ... ?

Death - Incomplete



impatiently waiting
outside the door

keeps peeping in
cant wait ...

be patient bit longer
give me some time

i cant concentrate within
while you pace restive outside

where will u take me
i guess we shall see

what now awaits
what dire faith

behind the wall

i am used to getting my leg pulled, by those who know me a bit behing my 'sweet' facade for my anti social traits. im grouchy, arrogant, very hot tempered, irrationally possesive, competetive, sarcastic, cold ... at times. most of the times and with most of the people its hid behind layers of control and politeness ... but thats the way it is ...

i dont get along with most people. i like very few people. though i am very polite with most people. i dont make friends easily. but when i do ... im meaner to them, i expect more from them, i keep running away from them and the more i like them the more hell i give them. its hard for me to make casual friends. its hard for me to be fake and controlled with people i love. i dunno why it is but thats the way it is ...

funny how i never end up writing whats actually on my mind. like i never say what i am really thinking. i dodge. i fake. i hide. i dissapear.

i dissapear when i feel scared. i dissapear when i hurt. i dissapear when i get very angry. i dissapear when i want to cry. i dissapear when the ghosts come back. i dissapear when i the voices in my haed start singing again. you might think im there. but im out of reach