i have seen this happening to other people. best friends. family. lovers. split and separated by diametrically opposite geography and situations, are wedged apart by circustances and slowly the tiniest mundanities of everyday life slip in the gap left between them while the drift apart. and ties are irredeemable loosed. i keep telling myself it wont happen to us, sister of my soul?

but maybe i should not panic so much. what is broken can be rebuilt. who knows that better than us? they say blood is rather thick. besides however much you value your people and relationships and permanency and completeness, there is only so much you can work you can put into them. sometimes you just have to accept and play along. and hold on to the faith, love and hope package. and tell the voice in your head saying i told you so to shut up and go away. and anyway, what choice do you have?

you are at a new beginning. i am at huge ending. you are at high noon. i am at midnight. orbiting in our cycles, we have come at cross points. remmber, you were born in the morning, and and i at midnight. in all your sunshine, will you lose patience with my darkness, or will you understand (the rolling stones wont be interested in this one)? in all my gloom, running out of light to share, will i run out of things to say to you, wisdom to share, life lessons to teach, patience to hear with, strength to silently bear with. or even, heaven forbid, miss a baobab sapling of bitterness one morning?

i am at the mouth of a tunnel. it's long and dark. my courage is a tattered dirty war-worn security blanket slipping off my shoulders and dragging behind me. my heart is weak and old with centuries of battle, and my determination to not quit is a nagging, complaining horse throbbing under me. but madcap is at the other end.

my madcap. i had seen you glistening in your broken tainted glory, shimmering in the distance. fatally alluring. before the thought of warning formed, i knew the thunderbolt had fallen. maybe it was destiny. it takes mere seconds, for the songbird to spot it's thorn. i slipped away in the dark of the night, leaving all that was known and safe, to set off towards you. are you to be attained? are you even for real, or just a shape in my head? a glorious figment of my imagination? the road ahead is so dark, and so long, and so unknown. do i dare? do i even have a choice? i like to maintain the pretense of deliberating and weighing decisions, standing here, at the mouth of the tunnel, but i am choice-bereft. i cannot not turn away now.

the first stretch was easy. relatively. one bridge crossed. foolishly, i have squandered all my courage and strength, almost, on that first stretch. that bridge has been crossed. but the shore is yet to come into sight. my ship stalls and awaits admission at the shore. will i be let in?

and in all my exuberance, i had not thought beyond that first bridge. it is only now, that i realise, the journey has just begun.

i was curious about the colour of pain
mine is like a mother-of-pearl shell

it glistens and winks in the afternoon light
and darkens with the fast falling night

floating in the flowing wind
it changes shape and weight

not for the first time, i am illogically afraid
but it helps if i dont think, but just wait.

in a way, it's just 'keeping some kind of record'
to mark these days as an end of some sort

home and away

It's a strange feeling.

All my worldy goods are packed and put away
in store rooms
in houses
across five cities in three continents.

In the last seven years I have moved house,
and life, about five times.

I am tired.
I feel like going home.

I miss the plain placid peace of those days at "home",
a city, a house, a room, and some people, I havent lived at,
or with, for more than a few months at stretch for the last decade or more
or ever, for the people.

I've scratched my seven year itch,
and I'm done.

I want to go back to the mindless job, the

i was never crazy on my own ...

i was never crazy on my own ...

you're the kaleidescope maker
you're the juggler
you're the sweetest thing
you're the best i've ever seen

it's a thrill
it's a wonderfull feeling
it's not because of you
it's because of how you make me feel

it's sweet ...
but i'm diabetic

i still dont like a tease
and i still am to lazy to pretend

you make me short of breath,
and i have still miles to run ...

summer's setting
it's autumn's dusk

evening's sober
get out the little black masks

take away evil thrills, though they might enchant
i have greater worlds to win. tonight's my time to dance


sometimes, the more you feel, the less you can say
maybe feelings are like silt just below your throat?

for all my acclaimed integrity and scorn of the impure and lesser,
i am damn thrilled with the tokens :D Thank you!

I will pretend to myself they are real be enjoy the warmth of the thrill for a while
As long as there are no misconceptions, I dont mind pretences, as long as we both know we're just playing

mera naam joker

there were so many things i had hated about the movie, but there is so much i have forgotten now. i really want to see it again. and hunchback of notre dame. can you really potray, for a uninvolved bystander, in words, or verse or pictures, the agony of the fool, the pain behind the frozen smile of the joker. or the howling anguish of the steppenwolf. well, atleast that one i can re-read, because I always have that with me.

there is something i have been wondering about. dreams. stories (in any form). empathy. what is the relation between them and the real experience. specially dreams. or virtual reality. how would that tie in with the arguments of consciousness and reductivity.

but then, as i almost failed my theories of mind paper, i guess i better keep shut about philosphy. but i wonder.

there are so many things that we wonder about, have theories about, think about. there's no way of knowing is there, who really is right?

An article on empathy

words games

As the time rushes by
like wind in my face,
and sand through my hands,
childlike again,
i try to pluck out from it
a few words, to stay mine

but how do you catch something so fey?

Looking through this emptiness,
holding my throbbing pain pressed still in my hand to calm,
desperate for distraction,
holding on the the last pieces of the corpse I still carry,
or struggle to ... because it has grown intwined with my sanity

i wonder if time has come to let go the ghost

The wet winds and silver skies
Underlined thunder, and the promise of soft rain
Makes me miss something,
or someone,
Or maybe just makes me miss missing someone

But who? Could it be you? Wish I knew.

I wouldnt dare miss you ...
Not with my kind of longing
(having still not learned half measures)
Wanting you, would come at such a price
And everyone knows I am broke
(having nothing left to give, or break, anymore)

Well, anyway

So I hold the "missing" in the palm of my hand,
gently, like a snowflake
And wait for it to melt.
It will pass, wont it?
The scary intensity of this moment?
You will go away, wont you?
I will be free again, wont I?

Because you disarm me and make me feel uncomfortable powerless

Anyway, so I crack a joke and turn away
Such a coward? No I'm just a realist
Save face. Dont rock anything. walk away.
Close the door very gently, so the lock doesnt click
Oh, yes. I leave room for my indecision
Always play safe (atleast, for yourself)

Fleetingly, looking through the emptiness (desperately seeking distraction) becomes looking for you.

Startled, my heart contracts
with a frission of fear.
Who are you?
Who is that I thought I saw for a moment inside you?,
Who is that you hide?
He looks like me!
Or like someone I know so well, from so long ago,
That I'd get him mixed up with me.

Can you let him out to play? Can I take him away? Just for a while?

angry island

angry island

i found this really amusing, specially the closing. it's not really funny, but i always am amused by grown men fighting

natural selection

so go cry out your questions to the void,
and the void throw you your answers

I wonder how this works. Intuitively, it would make sense from a mating success perspective, but would it make sense if you extend it to other types of success? Why would 'other types of success' be needed? I always thought because you dont just need to achive mating success but you need to ensure the kids survive, etc. But then most animals would need much lower PI. In that case why would 'other types of success' be needed? You would have to survive yourself too. I can see why this would make sense, though it wouldnt always have to be the case, necessarily.

You could argue either way on this. Maybe thats why they says EP is just 'just so stories'

Talk it Over

I always thought talking it out loud helps, anyone with anything. this article also agrees

The God's of Google

I would normally get mad, but I keep getting distracted by how cool it is. I wrote a mail to someone with some bengali words in it and it comes up with a bangladeshi chat room ad. It's getting to a stage where I sit and think of email content I could write and then look at the ads that come up, try to think of how they would make the connection.

Incidentally, thinking of the thought powered wheel chair, and other such mind to machine interfaces that have come up since then, what would be the reverse of that interface? Scary ..., no?

I am trying to remember the name of this poet who was very disturbed by Darwin's theory and everything that followed. I always find myself on the otherside of the fence in these arguments, but truth be told, I feel sad about it myself.

Nothing? There must be something? Yet, I dont see how there could be!

And then, for a different kind of annoying-awesome conflict, check this out: the manners phone from eureka

Dolly - Part 8

people had been filtering out of the bar one by one. now he was left alone, in that corner table near the toilets, still not quite done. the thing was, his mind was a riot of thoughts, like the streets at 9AM on a busy city sidewalk. All the thoughts rushed and buzzed and zipped across his mind, looking terribly busy, but each was really without much of a goal or destination.

underneath all of them were ofcourse thoughts of dolly. he had woken up this morning in a sweat of panic. he felt like he was forgetting her. letting go of his grieving. but he didnt feel like he was ready for that yet. because he still didnt have anything in his life to replace her with, other than his mourning for her.

he closed his eyes and tried to recall the memories, like desperately revising an old memorised lesson. the weight of her in his arms as he picked her up screaming. the way she nestled into him. the way she suddenly screamed "DADDY!" and then burst into hysterical giggling. the way she tried to hide getting upset when he was too busy or too caught up to pay her attention. the way she lay pale and cold when he last saw her. wasted. half her laughing self.

he didnt want to forget. he didnt want to let go of his mourning, but he felt like it was slipping away from him, hard as he tried to hold on it. it was being pushed out of his mind by tiny ursuping stupid little attentions and affections. he didnt want that to happen.

in a moment of secret desperation, he called his wife. maybe talking to her would help. she sounded surprised and then strange. like she didnt know what to say anymore. there were long awkward pauses while they each tried to come up with something gay and funny to talk about.

it was funny he thought. how he wrestled with this growing sense of depression, this desperation on his own. he felt - at times - like he was sinking in a bog of quick sand inside his mind - falling into himself, so to speak. he felt like screaming, but his voice wouldnt come out. he desperately wanted to reach out to someone, beg some passerby to stop and help, but ironically, when he talked to anyone, he would just laugh and make jokes or talk about inconsequential things that didnt matter. while the beast of quiet desperation sulked and skulked and seethed inside. and then they, innocently naiive, walked away again, with a smile and a laugh, thinking (probably) what a fun cheerful person he was, and the beast looked out after them, through the bars of the cage of politeness and social expectat normalcy, and grind his teeth in anger and hatred, at them and at their bliss and his helplessness, and the frustration of the whole thing.

but then he knew it would pass. perhaps that was the curse of it. he was yet a practical man. he went to work, made his money, and did all the other practical things. he knew many people he could talk to about these wild things in his head, but they were too different, too much on the other side of the fence. they were wastrels, and junkies and, sometimes he thought, wasted perverts. maybe he was too much of a mix up of too many things. maybe he just wanted to much.

a waiter was looking at him strangely. he felt like they wanted him to go, though it wasnt yet closing time. but his mind was still a murky mass of unresolved thoughts. he wanted to be done thinking before he went home. he wanted to drink till he was tired and mind numbed and sleepy. in his dreams, dolly always came alive, again.


the luxury of people who dont like you too much, can be appreciated only after you are inundated by loads of people who like you too much. the thing is, the will not bother to detail-analyse everything you say. they've probably put you in the drawer labelled nuts in the filing cabinet in their heads and dont bother too much about your mad ways anymore. It's like talking to a void, in a way. My beloved void. Very safe. And you know they will never care enough to come after you. You can chase them when the mood takes you, and withdraw (and read, or dream, or walk ... or do other in your shell things) when you like. They will be too relieved for drama ;)

random friday facts

The william dick memorial lecture by Steve Jones on 'Is man an animal' was a let down, I thought.

I wrote a new chapter on dolly, and started a new story - for which i need a old fashioned guy's name. Still in my head though.

Reading the Narnia books. Why are these kiddie books so full of profound facts? Or is it just that i find them so? Reminds me of Wind in the Willows, one of my favourites. Will quote two paragraphs (someday).

Incidentally, do you believe in magic?

If you could re-live your life, what would you change?

I have had some profound thoughts on free will and the Big Choice (while walking back from work) which I will write up (soon).

On a nonPC note, a friend keeps saying she's becoming more and more of a racist after coming here (to Rihcmond Place). I sympathise. Oh my little one, please come back to this world when your done, and dont make me follow you to that crazy place. lol. Okay. Sorry. Just dont start sayings 'anyways'. I'll be happy. Okay. Sorry again. Just kidding.

AnywaY, I'm compiling a list of "learnings in the last 14 years living away from home" to pass on.

Do I not 'get' stats because I hate it, or do I not love it because I dont get it?

updated my wishlist
but whats the point if i am forever-broke(n)?

Saw Jhoom Barabar. I know everyone is gonna hate it. But I thought it was cute, even besides the music. Reminded me of Love and Sex. That was cute! And funny. Didnt get waht the Big B was doing in it though? Although, it did remind of another spectator character. Coming today, isnt that ironic? Just the look on his face. Damn. Everytime I remember that I feel like someone walked over my grave. Which reminds me of a joke from this evenings talk: the creationist argument: 'you evolved, we were created'. paralelly, mine could never look like that. could never be that jealous.


Top 5 Meets Song in My Head

1. Funny Face - The Parlotones - LISTEN

Funny face. Funny coz I’m not happy inside. Funny face. If you look real close my eyes have died. Funny face. It’s him you want but I’ll do in his place. Funny Face. It’s a slap slap slap in the face. Is this the hand I’ve been dealt? Where’s my negotiator? Funny face. Your lips may lie but feelings don’t hide. Funny face. Lovers entwined, but where is your mind? Funny face. Looks as though I need a lovers guide. Funny face. Do you know what it’s like, being second prize? You’re all I’ve ever wanted, but I wanted more of you, all of you, more than you were willing to offer even the parts you chose to hide; more of you, all of you, more than you could ever imagine.

2. Honest Mistake - The Bravery (The Radio 1's Live Lounge Version - NOT this one) LISTEN

3. The Bunting Song - The Good, The Bad and The Queen

4. Paper Tiger - Beck - LISTEN

5. Soldier Girl - The Polyphonic Spree

One XTRA: This is your poison - Devil's Cartel

And 5 Old Favourites:

1. ColourBlind - Counting Crows

2. Need you tonight - INXS

Come over here
All you got is this moment
The twenty-first centurys yesterday
You can care all you want
Everybody does yeah thats okay

So slide over here
And give me a moment
Your moves are so raw
Ive got to let you know
Ive got to let you know
Youre one of my kind

I need you tonight
cause Im not sleeping
Theres something about you girl
That makes me sweat

How do you feel
Im lonely
What do you think
Cant take it all
Whatcha gonna do
Gonna live my life

3. Mystify - INXS

All veils and misty
Streets of blue
Almond looks
That chill divine
Some silken moment
Goes on forever
And we're leaving broken hearts behind

Mystify me
Mystify me

I need perfection
Some twisted selection
That tangles me
To keep me alive

In all that exists
None have your beauty
I see your face
I will survive

Eternally wild with the power
To make every moment come alive
All those stars that shine upon you
Will kiss you every night

All veils and misty
Streets of blue
Almond looks
That chill divine
Some silken moment
Goes on forever
And we're leaving
Yeah we're leaving broken hearts behind

You're eternally wild with the power
To make every moment come alive
All those stars that shine upon you
And they'll kiss you every night

4. Radar Love - Golden Earring

5. Lobo - Dont expect me to be your friend

originally @ 20/06/07 - 00:45 (we must keep the catalog correctly updated - go on keeping some kind of record)

Aritra and Fire of the Gods - Part I

So then frustrated by the stubborn unattainability of the Gods, Aritra got up from the pyre he had kept burning for these eleven months, and turned back towards the city; the city nestled, far below him, at the foot of the mountains; the city he had left behind almost a year ago; the city sparkling naively superficially; the city blissfully ignorant of higher purposes, sacrifices and life trandescending aims. He looked at all the glitter which he had been so proud and excited to leave behind. He thought of the colours, the people, the spider web of human love and hate, the tastes, the joys, the music, and he thought of Urvashi.

Urvashi, the beautiful. Urvashi the legend. Urvashi, who arrested a man's heart and body on sight, only to set it racing like never before, the next instant, on fire. Urvashi, the great Artist of Love. It was not that her magic had left him unmoved. His blood had raced at her sight, and now at her thought, as much as any other man in the city. But he had been drunk on a greater "high". His mission, his questions, his hunger to know what he had wanted to know, the knowledge of the Gods, the meaning of life, The Secret.

But then, was that really what he had been drunk on? Or was it the "high" of "thinking" he was resisting and the power that wrapt around his self image at the thought?

So in the dark of the night, he climbed down the side of the mountain, slipping the last few steps of the way, and quietly re-entered the town he had left once just before the sun had slipped into the sky. All the while, he cradled his failure in his heart like a treasured first born. Thoughtlessly, he let his feet drift. Just like he had that long ago morning, when he had entered the land at the top of the mountain with the dawn.

And thus it was that he found himself facing Urvashi's door, one hand raised to knock. Then suddenly hesitating, he was about to turn away, when the door opened and she stood there, glorious like the sun at midnight, not saying anything, not smiling, just solemnly waiting for him to come in. Urvashi, who made a Religion out of Love.

--- stuff happens

And then suddenly he awoke, as if from deep daze, a spell cast from outside him. Though in reality, everything that had ever come over him, had been born inside him, in the heart of his mind. In the middle of merging again into her, and into the sea of common humanity that it would represent, he awoke. As if recharged by these few hours of 'sleep', of this break from the relentless Hunger for Something Higher that had driven him - through sleep and wakefulness - for so long now, something like the old zeal slipped into his tired heart again.

At the foot of the hills, he paused one last time and turned back to look at the city. This he had not dared to do the first time he had left it (Though he had told himself he had not cared). Through the darkness he could feel deserted Urvashi at the window, and feel her eyes following his path. And even now, she had no words, no questions. No accusations ever rose in those eyes, because life had never rained enough on that soil to birth expectations. A new sorrow, more sublime, but more lasting, rose in and filled his heart, and he felt this sorrow that he felt for her was like a invisible thread of silver that stretched out in the darkness and tied him to her, a bond stronger than any earthly 'love', whatever that might be. He sighed one last time, and then picked up his burdens and started to climb back up hill.

The dying embers, that he had kicked at in a rage of frustration earlier, looked ghostly in the fake lightening of the sky that comes even before the sun. His heart jumped and wrenched at the sight of it, he did'nt know why. All his hunger, did not come rushing back at once, but ran to the gates of his heart, and stopped there, shy, awaiting his permission to take the last step in. Once more, he felt that whatever his doubts, however high the tuiton, and however heavy the burden of the shame of failure, he would never feel this way for anything in The City. He did not yet know the nature of the feeling, but he knew that the intensity of this feeling, would never rival that other, and that he could never turn his face from it again, and live in peace forever.

For a moment he was caught up with wondering half fearfully, if the Gods had been un-appeasably offended by his anger. Then caught by a glimmer of

Song in My Head (2 of 4)

He's laughing with another girl
And playing with another heart
Placing high stakes, making hearts ache
He's loved in seven languages
Jewel box life diamond nights and ruby lights, high in the sky
Heaven help him, when he falls
Diamond life, lover boy
He move in space with minimum waste and maximum joy
City lights and business nights
When you require streetcar desire for higher heights

No place for beginners or sensitive hearts
When sentiment is left to chance
No place to be ending but somewhere to start

No need to ask
He's a smooth operator

Coast to coast, LA to Chicago, western male
Across the north and south, to Key Largo, love for sale

Face to face, each classic case
We shadow box and double cross
Yet need the chase

A license to love, insurance to hold
Melts all your memories and change into gold
His eyes are like angels but his heart is cold

No need to ask
He's a smooth operator

Coast to coast, LA to Chicago, western male
Across the north and south, to Key Largo, love for sale

I'm so tired, of playing
Playing with this bow and arrow
Gonna give my heart away
Leave it to the other girls to play
For I've been a temptress too long


Give me a reason to love you
Give me a reason to be, a woman
I just wanna be a woman

From this time, unchained
We're all looking at a different picture
Thru this new frame of mind
A thousand flowers could bloom
Move over, and give us some room

Give me a reason to love you
Give me a reason to be a woman
I just wanna be a woman

So don't you stop, being a man
Just take a little look from our side when you can
Sow a little tenderness
No matter if you cry

Give me a reason to love you
Give me a reason to be a woman
All I wanna be is all woman

For this is the beginning of forever and ever

Its time to move over

Bye Bye, Becky Midnight

late night chats in the cove
air think with clouds of smoke

midnight walks
and secret talks

in the rain
near morray house

impromptu makeup
and photo shoots

long nonesense chats
and weepy blues

pigeon watching on hunter square
walks to the lakes and on the hills

boys and clothes and so much more
talk and talk and laugh and laugh

walking down nicholson square
singing loudly on the road

it was such a good year
still i'm gonna miss you

"She would never say where she came from
Yesterday dont matter if its gone
While the sun is bright
Or in the darkest night
No one knows
She comes and goes

Goodbye, ruby tuesday
Who could hang a name on you?
When you change with every new day
Still Im gonna miss you...

Dont question why she needs to be so free
Shell tell you its the only way to be
She just cant be chained
To a life where nothings gained
And nothings lost
At such a cost

Theres no time to lose, I heard her say
Catch your dreams before they slip away
Dying all the time
Lose your dreams
And you will lose your mind.
Aint life unkind?

Goodbye, ruby tuesday
Who could hang a name on you?
When you change with every new day
Still Im gonna miss you..."

Yesterday - Dreaming

My world as I know it is finally coming to an end
The last few bricks now crumble

I could say that
These are the saddest days of my life

(so dont expect me ... to behave perfectly.
getting a sinking feeling ...)

And yet changes always remind me of the airport feeling
180 degrees, always. For me. I miss my airport self

I walk in with the terrible grief of being again uprooted
And I walk out with the exuberance of being free

Do I really?
I dont know

I just try to remind myself that the deep dark vaccuum
Of the world of those who belong to nowhere and noone (least of all themselves)

Is not that scary,
beyond the eon long moment of the jumping in

funny blue

funny. started to write the story of my life today
it was the first time that i thought of doing this
but then i lost patience before i reached ten, and thats when all the fun began :)
when i hate the blog is when i feel like i am using it as a crutch, to aid my crippled powers of communication in the real world, to tell someone something i darent face to face. so thats why i stopped
the last time me and barbie talked, we decided that the intense secrecy and the living in the past is madcaps's door. so that we must avoid
have ever since tried to be open-er, but then, who would understand

why do i keep getting caught in these lover's games? these triangles?
maybe that is what the astrolger meant? because they all take me back to that one night of humiliation, when i was first caught between to warring lovers, trying to get at themselves with their little love games and using fool me.

twenty odd years is a long time. dunno why it's still so fresh.

she was wrong. i am not that dumb. i dont fall for any story you tell me.
i dont. i dont. i dont. i refuse to. i wont fall for anything ever. it seemed like the only solution. not to believe anyone, ever. but i cant. she was right. like she said, she knows how she made me. god i hate her. and i love her. my pretty pretty monster.

so i swing. from extreme to extreme.

but i'm not dumb. i just humour you and dont let on. i can atleast put two and two together, just like the next person. lol. yeah right. thats why i keep getting caught in these lie-traps. how can you be like this? you amaze me. you are the chameleons: masters of trechery and disguise.

anyway, the catch is not to feel humiliated. just like a formulated for him. ur dumb bcz someone you loved is bitch enough to make a fool of you. your just trusting and loving. lol. yeah. dumb

It feels like the beginning of the end. I spent one year praying for this one year, and its just beginning to sink in that it is not to be. I feel guilty for every other prayer that I uttered in the period, and every other desire. Feel like I diluted my wish for you. Boston is so far away ...

I cant say these things to you. You would only laugh and tell me I am being silly. That I am being a big baby. Yes I am. I know. But I cant help it. So learn how to help it Bebu, you would say. I started with such a big headstart, lol, how did you so overtake me in grownup-ness?

I did the thing I most hated you doing. Wouldnt it be funny if we exchanged roles? If, like in the movie, if they met in nepal and instead of her dying he reformed her and sent her home and stayed back and became a junkie? be funny, no?

I know you would say not to be so panicked. Its only a year. But its not. Its the beginning of the end. It will never be the same again. We will drift apart again. I spent all those years building the most important relationship of my life, only to lose it again to time and distance ...

I feel like we cant put it off any longer, like we are finally now teethering on the edge of the cliff of adulthood. This is it. 'Life' now begins. I'm scared Barbie ... Scared of going alone, scared of cutting the chord, scared of flying, scared of jumping ... scared of flying solo ...

homesick blues

amaar paara, amaar ghor
amaar apon, amaar por

amaar joto kaachher lok
amaar dukkho, amaar shukh

amaar bachha, amaar boro,
shobai bodhai bhulei gelo!

amaar kukur, amaar haash
graamer baari, bhindi chaash!

bhor obdi chhat-er thek
alo elei amaar lake

laak-er paashe tomaar baari
haathte haathte eshe pori

amaader shei oboshor
kobe holo eto por

amaar ma, amaar bon
aar praaner bondhu: dujon

khaali paye chhute jawa
amaar parar pukhkawalla

dhum kore nam-e brishti
ma bolto jeno amaar raag :)

shomoy toh shob phuriye gelo
shob i kothay haariye gelo

abaar kobe baari jaabo?
abaar kothay baari jaabo ...

rasta kothay haariye gelo
por apon, apon por

yes, i kind of lost enthu at the end!
homesickness, making me mad.
and the madness of knowing
that there's a shelf-life on those little silver strings
that stretch out between body and soul (One, remember?),
when you first leave 'home'.

this time, the home-coming was the most serendipitous,
and the turning out heartbreaking-est.

(bahut be aabroo hokar ... ;))

Free Will

Really looking forward to this talk. Thanks to Alexis, else I might have just missed! Daniel Dennett - Is science showing that we don't have free will? But wasnt there something about fruitflies and free will recently?

Looking forward to this one too: Is Man Just Another Animal? By Steve Jones, Professor of Genetics at UCL.

Incidentally, this was interesting: Neanderthal brain less troubled @ remote central

And this: "Lifeshirt" can probe status of the mind

cruel Intentions

In the end, thats all your left with, arent you? One more layer of accusers lined up to chorus in your head, asking you how you could have been so blind. If it had not been so sad, it would have been so funny. If it didnt hurt so much, it would be funny. Actually, strike that. It is so funny. The last scene in the movie, where everyone gets together to laugh at the fool, is always funny. Pity I never had much of a sense of humour.

It's raining again. Raining through the night. I like the sound of rain on all those different surfaces. it's an excercise of sorts, to lie here and try to sort out the different sounds into different surfaces. The clouds blank out the moon outside. At midnight, it's finally dark even here.

I went to sleep wanting to see romeo and juliet. and woke up to the rain. kind of appropriate. it's that one scene that stuck in my mind. him on the beach. i wanna, be someone else or i'll explode ...

Was very taken by cruel intentions, lately. It was beautiful. Woke up missing. It was so strange walking into the movie to find those lines i used to love on the wall but which used to be orphaned in my head :)

Watched it, or rather, the song, in a loop for a long while and then went for a long walk. I think these midnight head sorting walks will be what I miss the most, were I ever to leave this place. Or would I? When I am confused, I walk to the hills. Conveniently situated in my backyard, at the present.

I am color blind
Coffee black and egg white
Pull me out from inside

I am ready
taffy stuck, tongue tied
Stuttered shook and uptight
Pull me out from inside

I am ready
I am fine
I am covered in skin
No one gets to come in
Pull me out from inside

I am folded, and unfolded, and unfolding
I am colorblind
Coffee black and egg white
Pull me out from inside
I am ready
I am fine

friend ...

It's been so long
I had forgotten, to even question it
Are you for real? Am I that strange?
You dont know me at all, do you?
How can I blame you. I know me even less.
How could you forget?
When we've loved like old cotton shirts on sunday afternoon skin
How could you doubt me, again?
Ofcourse I do, you big stupid.
And I always will.
You'll always be my best friend.
How could it be otherwise?
These things never change.
I'll wait right here
till you realise.

It Cannot Be ...

It cannot be :(
It cannot be :)
It cannot be :D
It cannot be ;)
It cannot be?
It cannot be!

It cannot be ...

Can it?

Keith Carradine - ...

Randomly ...

yesterday was one of the happiest days of my life. it's strange. i didnt notice when i reached this place where i had noone i could say this to, or rather why.

had a 45 min long conversation today with 'one of my oldest bestest friends on how and why i always give people the impression i like them more than i do, and what i could do to not so do. do i just like too many people too much? or maybe its a translation thing. sometimes i feel like i am just being polite, or kind or affectionate but it's mis-taken. sometimes i really do like you a lot, but then i like tonnes of people ... i dunno

i held you in my mind all the way through the meadows. each day at this time i allow myself free reign to be lost in thoughts of you. there's only one thing i fear. that you will fade from my mind, like you sneaked out of my life. i still miss you intensely. or the idea of you. or maybe i just use you as an excuse to label my hunger.

i dont know if this is a true memory. probably not. it's of jampot - all those years ago. a red bike. and me going round you in cirles. round and round and round. and you trying to tweak a twang out of my tongue (but cis had been your idea :P)

yeah. maybe i miss you. or maybe i just miss having someone to adore so completely. and vice versa. it's such a heady feeling - like sleeping on silk. loving and being loved and being able to let it show. with abandon. beyond 'i'.

misty afternoons like this remind me of early morning EP classes. dunno why. maybe the last class was like that. we did ep of rape. it was awesome. isnt it the awesomest when you meet an idea you had no idea existed? that you didnt think of ever. almost as awesome as that click moment when something you have always known falls into place.

i write poems to you in my head as i walk to work. sometimes they make me cry. sometimes they make me laugh. no no. i'm NOT using you for the words. like i said before, this time, i'm june (... or almost)

i miss you today, a lot. there's something i'd like to say to you. amongst many others. i wonder if you can hear me, though. i wonder if you still love me. i wonder if you even remember me. but, you couldnt forget me could you?

i had a long talk with her yesterday. you should have heard her. she was so happy. she's all growned up. i love her so so much. you would too, if you saw her now. and i'd be jealous :P ... aint i always :)

i love you.

who could i say these things too? see! thats the irony. thats why i have so many mustard seeds.


I sing alone, for an audience of one
This, is my deepest blood

I cut you my deepest blood
A token, a gesture, an offering

This is what I propose: everything, for everything
Will you strike a deal?

I feel gauche and naiive
Because I've never felt like this before

For this much, thank you
But for any less, no thanks

I'm sorry, the mistake was mine
An honest mistake

As always, I am absent minded
Sometimes, often, I just forget

On the road again

29 - 5. Will take a while to get back to 10, but I am happy, given the length of the break. I stop at the lake. The geese are very amused by stretches and think the bench press ridiculous

I run, usually, with my head down. It's a kind of home made blinkering system. I go early to avoid people. Still I often bump into people and things. I trip often. I mistake aquaintances for friends. Strangers for soulmates. See ghosts in vacuum. Sometimes I fall and get hurt. I get up, dust off and run again. But it's getting harder.

I need to stick to less peopled paths and times.

I frightened a sqirrel, store on mouth, on it's way home. It recovered and scurried away. I was left frozen. What if ...

Most days I wake up excited and happy. A new day! Then slowly the day and the world sinks in. The first flush is of anger and bitterness. Why? I hate making mistakes. I hate making a fool of myself.

These days I'm scared almost all the time. Scared, or fatal. Can you imagine feeling petrified of something, but not knowing what it is? Maybe someone's dancing on my grave.

Is a few days of the most exquisite happiness you have ever known, of learning, from scratch to take, to surrender, worth the crashing pain of coming reawakening? No it's not.

sunny days

Its the city of contrasts. As unashamdely contradictory as myself. Maybe thats why felt at home, right the first moment I stepped foot in it.

Is that strange? I used to think it bizzare. A new city, across the continents. One I knew nothing of, inspite of the stories and pictures I had seen and heard before I came here. But I still remember my first day in Edinburgh. I knew I was here for a few months. I knew it was not my kind of city, anyway. But weirdly, I felt at home as soon as I stepped in Princes Street.

There is a castle in the front yard of the city. You can stand on the sidewalk and look down at lucky people soaking the sun in the Princes Gradens below. Its a strange day. Sunny, but cool in the shade. Edinburgh style.

In my dreams, I am at the beach. It's late. I normally dont like noises at night, but here, I like like everything. Everything becomes beautiful because it 'belongs to here'.

Can you describe a texture in words. How does the sand feel between my toes and under my hands? It fine grained and damp in places, and sandpaper soft in places. But it's not the depth of the water, or the softness of the sand (though it helps) its the solitude I love here. The gulls and runners go home as the day leaves the the sky like a fading blush. Me and the big manor house are left alone on the shore to greet the moon. The silver of the moon reflected on the little egdes of water are like a childs laughter. Clean and Pure. I am arrested, floating above lethe. I dont want to lose a moment, or forget. The silence is intense, the night tries to hold one solemn moment before it breaks into the exuberant morning.

There are those moments when we are transported. It's strange how real a dream can feel. Can knock the living daylights out of reality. Coming back, first life seems bizzarely unreal!

There's a long haired boy sitting with a guitar and girl on the grass smiling up at him. Sometimes, you catch a stab of envy for careless youth that slips out before your everconscious conscience snakes out and grabs it.

I dream of a moment like that. But maybe we are too old to be able to live and lose ourselves in moments any more. You dont even window shop without checking warranties. Or maybe not being able to live or lose yourself in a moment is the self defense of those who feel too intensely; or are too chicken? Courage is not the absence of fear, but trying to overcome it.

It might sound strange to you, but I get cheap thrills everytime I manage a clever subterfuge. However trivial and small. When I hold a calm front when I am mad inside. Or laugh when I'm hurting. It feels good. I feel cool. I'm a fool (who makes his world a little safer).

And you will never know how scared I was. Or how brave.

A Poem for You

it's not one whole sunny day
but bits and pieces are really bright
it's cold in the shade,
but whenever the sun finds you it warms you
dreams, joys and hopes
come true and brighten up the days
in bits and pieces
though not whole

in the beginning i had drafted specs
and submitted it to life
i had thought of everything
that i could possibly want
and everything i could do without
life laughed. i sulked
but still, it gives me something every day
enough to be happy for the day on.

somethings we try to forget, or get out off
everything is like a habit, like smoking or drinking
you detox. and stay clean for a long time. even years.
then one day you get a whiff of what it was like
maybe someone standing next to you at a bus stop
cigerette in hand, blowing smoke in your face
just that much, is enough to send you reeling.
like riding a bike, it all comes back
and you have to get used to it all over again.
and you did'nt even smoke first hand. what a shame.

strange, the things that stay back
an echo of laughter haunts a deserted hotel room
some textures stain your hands,
busy as the day chatters on,
it the stains float in the background
and words. strange words stay embedded
in strange moments
the most stunning lillies came by post
they were so beautiful
it broke my heart to think how short lived they were
everything is so ephemereal
sometimes it makes me angry with flowers

you took me totally by surprise
i was gaurding the door
i didnt think of the window
or the ventilators
and like in the song
thoughts of you keep sneaking back in
from strange gaps in the fortress
here and there
you become, the happy ghost
the ghost who haunts me

That doesnt really say it, though
Does it?
What could I say ...
Are there words?
I am left
behind you. in a trail of jetlag


Strange coincidences. It rained yesterday. Properly. With a passion. Reminded me of Calcutta (and SA, and dubai too actually - so many rain memories! So it's raining again, and I am reading Tropic of Capricorn again. Reminded me of this post, its one of my favourites: Kal Baishakhi

I have a story. I am really excited about this one. But me being me, I dont know when I will start filling in the skeleton. Maybe this will be another stillborn like Dolly or the Rahul/Priya story :)

Saw Lives of Others. It was really, really brilliant.

Silver Beach

just before the end, you had said i owned you
still naiive, i had been outraged
are you stupid, or silly, or do you think i am?
in which case you really really must be!
before my, then legendary, temper flared,
i forgot to check the expiry date

the first time i saw you, i knew
as you rose, like the girl on the half-shell
out of a sea of men. i knew.
my time had come
my nemesis:

now the deed is done
i'm a little proud of how graceful i fall
see, how neatly it conspires to be done?
no begging, bile, bitterness, or tears.
yet i make my gestures,
cur you my deepest blood.

now i draw the curtains of causal politeness.
a feather-handed touch.
and i wait for the poison to spread
here alone by the silver beach
where else would i have had it end?
life and death both beautiful.

there is no home, or i would have longed for it
my heart, in this too, was broken and scattered in the winds by time
and pieces fell in so many lands: each i love truely
but broken, none could i completely. maybe the fault was mine
in my lustful itchy gypsy feet. in roving nomad ambitious eyes.
never satisfied.

is this a sin, for those who aspire to strength?
dreaming of a completelness not found within?
of a something, i know not what
beyond the words, beyond the masks, beyond the games
but then what of the blue feather?
was that, then, just a dream?

Tagged: Books

Tagged by Vatsala

Total number of books owned:
Very tough question! I really dont know ...

Last book(s) I bought:
Have stopped buying books. I do love my mom (and she threatens to disown me if I send another carton to 'her house'. I can resume buying only when I stop 'gypsy-living' and get a 'proper' life.

Five books that I have really enjoyed or have influenced me:

Influenced: The Little Princess, Steppenwolf, The Hours, A Beautiful Mind, Atlas Shrugged (:D at that time - i was a kid) ...

Identified with: Mill on the Floss, Steppenwolf, God of Small Things, Of Human Bondage, Iron in the Soul.

Henry and June (and the movie - yes I know i keep harping about H&J&N on the blog),
Mrs. Dalloway (changed something - many things - i dont know how to describe it),
The Little Prince (so many lessons),
The End of the Affair (mindblowing how he can write so well, from inside a woman's mind),
The Old Man and the Sea, (what can I say :))
Love and other Demons (i dislike marquez - drama and verbosity - but i liked this story),
The Strike ("the twin female desire to show and hide" :D again i have harped on this often on the blog - loved the way it was narrated - it was a masterpiece for me),
An Equal Music (I forget why I liked it - but I remember I did - like many people, no?),
Kite Runner (beautiful, haunting and sad. my eyes hurt from crying after it finished)
The Glass Palace (the detailing, the rowing - hated the end).

Sorry! I strayed from the exact question in the tag. Deliciously difficult :)

Book(s) I'm currently reading:
Tropic of Capricorn, Anna Karenina, On the Road, The Masqueraders

Books I plan to buy next I really want this one, but can't afford it right now: Letters from Iceland, by Auden The guy reads from it in Away from Her, which was one of the most impressive and personally, moving movies I have seen in a while (since cinema paradiso, and le choristers ... and for the same reasons :)) Anyway, after that I'm going to buy this! :)

Books that caught my attention but have never read
Mostly Bangla. I cant read Bangla too well. Have only read a few untranslated. I want to read many of those. Starting with Sanchaita, the rest of Samaresh Mojumdar and Sarat Chandra. SHANKAR!!! I dont know how I missed him! Always loved Chowranghee, didnt know it was by him!

Also, Letters from Iceland, right now.

Books I own but have never got around to reading
Quite a few, actually! Since I dont stay at "home", I have often bought books when there but then had to come back before I could read them!

Every once in a while there is a book I just "cant" read. I keep trying but it doesnt work. And funnily enough, some time in the future I come across it again, and I not only "can", I love it! One, Steppenwolf, Anna K, Zen and ... all fall in this category. I have a theory about it (like I do about everything else) :D

I tag The Austere, Prometheus, Sri Ramana, Manu, Peggy, Me, Prometheus, Austere, Ph, Hyde (doesnt do tags, though) and anyone else it looks interesting to :)


There were three bengali movies that when I was young had made a huge impression on me. Chowranghee, Parama and Deya Neya (meyeder bhai oto raag korle manaye?). One for each me! Chowranghee and Breakfast defined Style in my baby mind. (Just like Little Princess defined Goodness. And P&P, Love :))

Watching Chowranghee after a very long time. And I still love it as much. For me, this is one of the most tragic, most beautiful stories I have seen.

I dont remember where I had first seen this quotation. It said you do not know how real the people and events in books (and movies) are till you live within their covers. You walk in alone (infact, why else would you walk in) and immediately you are with friends. I dunno how true that is. It reminds me of the door with the sign: for mad men only. But the thing about these faerie friends and family is, they are always there, and portable, and you can call on them, whenever you are lonely. And close the covers, or change the subject, whenever you feel like it.

Saw Titli over the weekend. Made me want to read Sanchaita very much.

From Letters from Iceland

"Excuse, my lord, the liberty I take
In thus addressing you. I know that you
Will pay the price of authorship and make
The allowances an author has to do.

A poet's fan-mail will be nothing new.
And then a lord - Good Lord, you must be peppered,
... With notes from perfect strangers starting, 'Sir,
I liked your lyrics, but Childe Harold's trash',
'My daughter writes, should I encourage her?'

Sometimes containing frank demands for cash,
Sometimes sly hints at a platonic pash,
And sometimes, though I think this rather crude,
The correspondent's photo in the rude.

And as for manuscripts - by every post ... "

"For since the British Isles went Protestant
A church confession is too high for most.
But still confession is a human want,
So Englishmen must make theirs now by post
And authors hear them over breakfast toast.
For, failing them, there's nothing but the wall
Of public lavatories on which to scrawl."

"There is another author in my pack:
For some time I debated which to write to.
Which would least likely send my letter back?
I decided that I'd give a fright to
Jane Austen if I wrote when i'd no right to ..."

"Then she's a novelist. I don't know whether
You will agree, but novel writing is
A higher art than poetry altogether
In my opinion, and success implies
Both finer character and faculties,
perhaps that's why real novels are as rare
As winter thunder or a polar bear.

The average poet by comparison
Is unobservant, immature, and lazy.
You must adroit, when all is said and done,
His sense of other lpeople's very hazy,
His moral judgments are too often crazy,
A slick and easy generalisation
appeals too well to his imagination.

I must remember, though, that you were dead
Before the four great Russians lived, who brought
The art of novel writing to a head; ..."

From a letter from Auden to Byron (two of my favourites)

"Dolly" - Part 4

Dont know where this will fit in - probably after he has run away from home and from his wife and he meets the other woman. He is attracted to her, and he is - in a strange detached way - surprised at himself for being so. He is surprised he can still feel things like this. Dolly is still dead. He can still feel the weight of her little body in his hands. He can still here her screaming 'dadddy'. This is the first time he has felt anything intense outside her grief, however feeltingly, and he is surprised he can. He doesnt feel ashamed, or guilty, thinking of his wife back home, who he ran away from. That too surprises him. Its like he is apart, watching this strange creature called "him". He hasnt told her about anything. This new woman. He doesnt actively pretend or ie, he never does, as much as he just 'forgets to mention' any 'unnecessary details', unless asked for. Some cruel part of him is pleased with the deception. How? Why? And at night he still dreams of his little girl, still feels guilty he let her die. thats kind of context for this part of it. if i could use verse id plug the beast here somewhere. at the end. maybe at home, by a fire after he has drunk a lot and cut his hands by some stupid accident and he cant be bothered to get up and clean or stop it. he just sits there and stares at it and his mind runs on in thoughts. Dunno - might scrap that too

It's not sexual, though it dances on the fringes of passion. It's like a burning need to know. To know something about the other person. But the feverishness of the need makes it almost seem to trandescend the intellectual. I would'nt know how to explain it more efficiently, really. In a world where human thoughts, desires and relationships are stored in strictly methodical filing cabinets, managed by zealous and efficient keepers of society, it is awkwardly out of place. Ofcourse, there is an element of desire, but its more like a tropical summer storm, than the year round british rain. It comes like a fever in the head, and you very well know it will pass.

So you were with me in my thoughts. Having spent the day and night with you like this, by proxy, (and you'd be amazed at the silly-mad things we did) makes me wonder if I am, finally, losing it! And it also makes me wonder what it would have been like if life had placed me in a different context.

Cruel, yes it was. A bit. Laughing, I hand out praise and strokes like crumb to swans gratefully floating. It's not exacty bait. But neither is it something more. It's entertaining to see you react. It's all in the game.

Now I wish you were here. I miss someone, or something, like a kick in the stomach, like me breath being kicked out of my lungs ... but I dont know who ...

Could it be you? Wish I knew. Wish I had the right to miss you. But I dont. Wanting you, now, comes at a huge price. One I know cant afford. Even in installments. So I hold the "missing" in the palm of my hand, gently, like a snowflake (like a begger frozen outside the pastry shop ... will the little princess come out and be kind to me?) And wait for it to melt.

Looking through this emptiness, holding my throbbing pain pressed still in my hand to calm, desperate for distraction, holding on the the last pieces of the corpse I still carry, or struggle to ... because it has grown intwined with my sanity ...

In sudden flashes, looking through the emptiness, desperately seeking distraction, becomes looking for you. Startled, my heart contracts with a frission of fear. Who are you? Master, Slave, Friend, Twin ... Who is that inside you, at the heart of the onion: who is that you carry hid? He looks like me. Can you let him out? Can I take him away. I promise to be bored and done soon - one day. And you can have him back, then. But not before.

pandora's box

Time, fades the knowledge,
The fear, the remembreance of how potent
The power of the dark,
Thoughts and feelings
Were on your heart
Careless, you turn to the dark and dusty corner
Half forgotten, open the box
Rummage, pull in one bright piece of a memory
Share, and laugh.

Then later,
At night,
When the guests have gone
And, you, alone with your ghosts
The unmentionables,
You wrestle with the memories
And the tears
And you know you wont let them win
But a part of you, weak traitor,
half wishes you could

Do you?
Do you really wish you could let go, just once
Let the day fall heedless around
Let the world dissolve
In the light of an aging sun
While wallow inside the trunk
Of old memories
Yesterdays. Selves. Now gone.
Ghosts, and skeletons
packed, any old how,
shoved into corners
Of carefully concealed corners
Along attic walls

For tonight, these are the memories I found:
chameleon master of trickery masks

Dusk to Dawn

Open Invitation

The Haunting


arthurs seat in the morning

following my bliss, i landed up hear
heaven must be a place like this

sun is warm on my back
the wind swims in my hair

around me the mountains soar
my arms stained green with grass blood

beneath me, you are solid as a rock
on you, i could float my wildest dreams

together, we could reach the skies
show them how life could be lived

my beautiful. my grand. my city gorgeous
your old cobbled streets, your sudden mountains

silver lakes, tucked into corners ...
yes, you are a mad god's dream

i could'nt even stop staring at you. spellbound. dont release me.
edinburgh, you'll never know how much you mean to me.


Time fades the knowledge, the fear, the remembrance of how potent the power of the dark thoughts and feelings were on your heart. Careless, you turn to the dark and dusty corner, half forgotten, open the box, rummage, and pull out a memory. You share it and laugh.

Then later, at night, when the guests have gone, and you are alone with your ghosts, the unmentionables, you wrestle with the memories. And the tears. You know you wont let them win. You know you wont let them in, but a part of you, traitor, weak, half wishes you could.

Do you! Do you really wish you could let go, just once? Let the day fall heedless around. Let the world dissolve. In the light of an aging sun. Wallow inside the trunk Of old memories, yesterdays, selves, for a While. Ghosts and skeletons, packed any how, shoved into carefully concealed corners, along dusty attic walls.

Have you ever spend hours, days even, just spilled out on a chair, looking out of the window, into nothing. Mind too tired to think. Too tired of seeing the same self in the mirror. The coward-warrior. The impotent-dreamer.

For tonight, these are the memories I found:
chameleon master of trickery masks
Dusk to Dawn
Open Invitation
The Haunting

In a way, the strangest part of it is this feeling of being seperate, of floating above your 'self', watching it slowly live, breathe, cry, scream ... watching it ever so slowly disintegrate.

I spent three and a half days on this chair. Staring at the walls, the screen, or out of the window.

In my dreams she stands over my head: a macabre grinning skeleton. Her voice is loud and has a metallic sound. She says she's come to clear accounts. She wants a report of what I have done, with the life she bought me with her's.

Spiderman 3, he peeled the black suit off. Could you? Or does it stick after having been on too long. There's always a choice, he said. Like Batman. You are what you want to be as much as what you are ... the beast, listens and chuckles at your naivette.

If you had one 'friend', life would be worth living. Do you? And how do you define friend?


I ask my tears as I watch them fall, who are you called?
I watch my self of salt dissolve.
Where are you? I am still still untaught.
And I'm still a little girl.

Yes I know
So punishment?
then open skin
and take back your bloody blood.

quietly by the water

the beast is a quiet desperation.
secret, silent, stealthy.

you are opaque.
a cage.

inside, he paces restless.
he screams, hurls himself on the wall.

outside is a pool.
quiet. mirrored.

once in a while, a wave shakes the surface.
could be the wind. perhaps? then all is calm.

words are ripples on the water.
twin edged. disguised.

the flowers on the water's edge
are learning to pretend. pretty masks of paper and wood.

on the other side of the mountain, is unreachable,
now. a yesterday. a way of life. gone.

inside the beasts heart is freezing
he hates your naiive little joys

make no mistake. the beast wants you dead.
the beast has no logic. he wants the world to end.

the sky is blue. the sun is warm
everything. so far away.

the ground is a bed. a bed of knives.
the knife is knowing what you want.

desire is wing broken bird.
a weaver. spins stupid dreams of love.

steel are the bars of the cage
rock hard impotence, made of fear.

ambition is a dream of freedom for the beast.
if the cage could be leaped, he could be calm and strong.
can you, want something desperately,
and not know if you want it at all?
there is no helplessness comparable.
my sweet beautiful life: i never thought
even you would ever put me there.
there must be a way out of here.
there must be a way i am not seeing.
i am scared of my own intensity.
i am scared of the monsters i could create.
i scared, now, of my own shadow.
for the first time, i am now scared
i who jumped in always heedless.
for the first time realise, i never cared before
fear springs from love and care
there is nothing more fearsome than to care
i have never profited from relationships

just a box of rain

it's not that it does not work, just that it's hard. damn hard. but then, like i said earier, it's like a bad habit that needs to be unlearnt. all you need is patience. detached patience. you will keep failing, but persist and the rate of failures will go down. catch is, patience was never one of my virtues. and persistence even less so.

so i try to zone out the noise and focus on my box of rain. my mind is a room, and it's stored in the corner, by the wall, under the mirror (significant) and in the second drawer of the chest. hidden in the best disguise: obvious-ness.

in my mind, i walk to it, pull open the drawer, and pull out the 'box'. not really a box, but we are being metaphorical. i pull out the contents. let's say, for the sake of maintaining the masks and fronts, i pull out a rainy evening. the sky looks silver grey. the shingles are wet and glossy. the tree sway as if to shake off the little drops of water. and a lone bird sings. the sun looks ... there you see, it brings me right back to the f sun! there must be some way outta here? however, its much easier now having made up my mind. the point is, you have to fall out of love with the old ways, and open your mind to the new. and the way will come and find you. there's nothing admirable about cowardice. but then, who am i to cast the first stone. what have i ever been if not craven?


each day spills over unnoticed,
like the last few coins in a beggers purse.

the moon, the mountains, the wind, the sun,
nothing stirs the depths of oblivion.

there's a fine line between pain and numbness.
like the thin edge between acceptance and despair.

strange is lust for life. so beaten,
the hunger still doesnt abate.

a hundred winters have come and gone,
a hundred springs followed.

but still, the cold numbs fingertips.
knowing that it will pass, makes it no easier.

the river, that steals from a hundred banks,
still weeps when robbed by the ocean.

hours slip by unnoticed. dreams, hopes, passions,
spill unheeded like blood now lifeless.

outside, the wind howls.
strange choreography.

the moon, narrow and long, is a bittersweet smile.
the stars are dying: slowly, unnoticed.

another day is folded and put away.
carefully, slowly, lingeringly, let go.

bargains are struck and stuck to.
however dear the price.

faded daisies, crumbling dry,
carefully stored in notebooks. and big brown envelopes.
so does it feel any better? not an inch, unfortunately! i must be some sorry kind of scorp! cant stay mad, for all my efforts ... concentrating like arjun on the target ... it still forget 5 times out of 6. Thats not all, when I do remember, I am more hurt in anticipated sympathy than the other person, who probably, is oblivious through this whole drama ... so the binary, is the only option then. Just dissapear. Casually friendly is MUCH harder. Its all to fucking loaded.

All this is born of the deceit. I know I owe it to be more honest. But I am such a coward ... I dare not!

Dolly (Part 3)

Disclaimer: With the exception of work labelled non-fiction, the characters featured in this site are completely fictional. Any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental. No similarity to any person either living or dead is intended or should be inferred.

I have something that is eating me up. I want to say it to someone, but I have noone to say it to. Or to put it better, I have noone I would care to say it to. For miscellaneus (I cant spell that) reasons. Maybe its a good thing, because I would'nt know the first thing about how to phrase it.

Is'nt it the kind of irony that could only happen to me, that today, when I should be so happy, I am so deeply sad. Well, not sad, but ... I dont know how to say even that.

We make our choices in life. We leave the things we have, and come seeking that which we don't. We leave our homes to look for adventure. We come and live in places which can never be home. And we know, we know all the time, that this is what we have chosen, and that noone will ever understand why, or that you will be lonely as a dog: warm, friendly befriended, fed, loved ... but never one of us. And we know what we are leaving behind, though sometimes we kid ourselves about it, for a while.

And you know that those who gave their life blood to make you who you were, who brought you up, and saved you, who found a stray orphan and loved it like their own, against all those million odds, and waited patiently for that one day when it will finish growing up, and be a 'full grown friend', you know that just at that night before harvest, you are stealing the crop they have nurtured for so long,

And you know they sit on the old rocking chair, in the cold and lonely house, where noone comes to visit, looking at the old collapsible gate, and waiting for you to come home ... know by heart the way you put one arm on the 'rock' and haul yourself up, shouting hello to uncle-ji (who they also know you secretly love) and ring the bell in 'your tune' while rattling the gate in 'your beat', which they probably hear in their dreams ... and you know that they will die in the that rocking chair by the time you are done wandering (and racing and rowing and winning cool stamps that you think are entry tickets to self-approval ... racing your shadow to try and satiate your insatiable, lustful, greedy 'self') ... you know they will be dead.

And the fruits of their labour, will be free to go back to the maker ... the cuckoo will fly back to its nest.

But still we do it. And we know, somewhere, while making our choices, the payments we are agreeing to, in regular installments, for all of time to come. And when the check arrives in the mail, we are expecting it, we have made our peace, had our joy. Won our races. Buried our dead.

But yet sometimes, it seems hard. And you just feel like you can't take it, like you've been paying all your life, for something or the other, that your tired of always paying for everything you wanted. why cant life be free.

But then it passes. Just like a toothache. It passes. You laugh at yourself. Blow your nose. make a coffee. Light up. And go stand by the window. And fondly think of how silly your 'little-child-self'gets once in a while, and smile. (And in a secret part of your heart hope it has truly passed ... and watch yourself a little skeptically, a little extra careful for a while ... just to be sure).

And so it is with love. Or atleast, with mine. I made my choices. I always knew it was out of reach. I always knew this would get very deep. From the first second I knew. It took me a while to reaise it, and then some more to come to terms with, and believe it, but from the first minute I knew.

And I always knew I could never, ever, ever reach out and touch the stars, or even ask the stars to come down. because thats NOT the WAY I want it. And i wouldnt be satisfied. Not with a gift. Or charity. Or compromise. Or agreement. I've been there too. I know ...

My logical side (is that my thalamus {supposed seat of consciousness}?) has made its peace with that. Its like loving a snowflake. You love it. You want it. But you know its so delicate, if you reach out and touch it, it will melt. You just cant have it. You can just watch it dancing from a distance: dancing, twirling, spinning, falling ...

But there are times when my younger side takes over (old brain?). there are times when I cant bear it, just for that moment, just to reach out and touch my little snowflake.

And to know that I wont. That I cant. That I just wouldnt allow myself, couldnt, wouldnt, shouldnt ... and all of that 'jiving around'.

And that I will just watch it float past my face. Free. Like it was meant to be. And I
will let it go. I always knew that. But sometimes, it just seems awfully hard. And I wonder how I will do that.

But still, I'm glad. All my (other) dreams have come true. My life is blessed. I have friends, after a fashion. And now I even have somewhere to go (for what thats worth).

And knowing my little snowflake ... it would have turned out to be a bloody nightmare, had that one come true. Like they say, be careful what you wish for. And sometimes not getting what you wanted, is the best thing that could happen to you.

What does come with age is a (just) little bit more patience. And acceptance. a few years ago I would have gone to town on this. Now I sit and wait for it to pass - knowing for sure that it will. Before, I would have gone out of my way to keep out of people's way, now I know there will be time enough for that, when the time comes, and it will be soon enough. There was a time when I would have been angry or dissapointed in myself for being either so out of control, or so silly, or not brave enough to just do what it takes - get off the fence, this way or the other - but with time I have learnt to accept myself and loosen my ambitions about who I wanted to be.

So I just brace myself and prepare to try my best to let you go without a scene, without giving away anymore than I must. I dont care if I can't have you, but face ... I must save face. And I build up my scrap book of memories, for later, for the rest of the way. My box of rain. I collect every scrap of time and affection that falls of your careless ways. A pebble that you threw at me, a half sucked candy that you stuck in my hair, a strand of your hair ... but how do you collect the little formless things? A tone of voice, a carefree song, a look, a fleeting touch ... guess that too must be let go, huh?

PS - Please wont you NOT leave a silly comment? I have turned wiser, calmer, much much PC-er and polite-r, with my three decades old wisdom ... but inside, silly still pisses the fuck out of me. Just kidding. ;)

I know this does'nt weave in, in any way shape or form with the other two parts of 'dolly' (as they didnt with each other) but in my head they all fit in with the master-plot and one day they will be woven together, trust me ;)

Saw Away from her, I think it was the most impressive movie I have seen in a while ... or its the movie that moved me most (ever since cinema paradiso).

madcap comes home

the sun is shining ... wont let it go down again ... all is right ... thank you three wise men, for the gifts you brought ...

everything is right again ... for a while ... i'm the king of the world!!! the last time i was this happy was when i was home and got my first letter from madcap. now i'm so happy again. dont go away.

but he stands at the other end of this river, and i have two more rungs of this bridge to cross, before i get to the other, longer, bigger bridge ... will i make it? dont slip out of my hands again madcap. i want you so so so much ...

feel so high. feel like walking upto everyone on the street and telling them :)
oh god - i hope this works. this one remaing bridge between us. else to have gotton so close to you & lost you ... it would be so sad ...

not that i dont love t, or he hasnt been good to me, but just that i think i have grown out of him. i need this ... atleast for now ... only madcap will do ...

who knows what tomorrow will bring?

what are these things called love?

excuse me! could you just move over please? you're sitting on my heart. and then she burst into a smothered fit of giggling. thats the first thing you noticed about her. she was almost always laughing. even when she was alone, sometimes random funny thoughts like that flit through her head and she wanted to laugh. she always had trouble explaining what was so funny. after a while, he gave up asking.

the first thing most people noticed about him was his bouyancy. the first thing she noticed about him was him! like a textbook case of fascination, from the very first instant she met him, she had been mesmerised by him. and now, all these years later, she still had not figured out what to do about it.

Today they were sitting together in the crowded bus, more from lack of choice than any other reason; when suddenly, she giggled

Her giggle brought him back from a reverie. He was thinking about how they had met for the first time near a trail where he was hiking. He had seen a sparkle in her deep blue eyes which he noticed more than her giggle. They crossed paths not before he strained his neck to catch a fleeting glimpse of her.

But he sighed! It has been so many years and probably she wouldn't even be remembering that moment which changed his life. She always smiled and radiated a glow which he would have basked in. But he was not sure then. He asked himself, was he sure now after so many years?

I am not going to complete this now, and probably not ever ... if you want to have a go at writing the next paragraphs, lines or even words ... leave it in the comments. If you want to change something in the existing text to fit your contribution, let me know too. lets spin some yarn ;0)

Contributing spinners so far: PreRicercar, Amit, Pilgrim

Hall Of Fame

My recent favourite posts by other/my favourite bloggers:

This is a WIP. The ones that say everything will likely be expanded, except there's not much point doing that for the first four, is there!

English August


By Aimless Wanderer:


Brazen Head:
Bullet bites dust discovering Coco

Arthur Quiller Couch:

The girl on The Half Shell

Shelf Life

Cocaine Jesus
Rumour of Trees

Bert Moth
Memorandum of Naught

Green Silk

Shine On you Crazy Diamond
The Hidden Hand (and not bcz of the links!)

surrendering to merciful blues

Sanity Starved
To Dearest One


We walked

The Girl in the Hat
The Witch of Agnesi

Findng Franny

Fool On the Hill

The Pilgrim
Men are from Mars

Serendipity 2
People Collector (Had Been Meaning to do a Post on thsi topic myself for a while now)
tender Days
A character introduces the writer
Beuty In Dual Tone

Chardonnay Files:
banyan tree

Perspective, Inc:
The grander Moment

Love, Actually

beyond words and descriptions

Dream Catcher


Perhaps, everyone has a younger side. Naive, silly, wanting, selfish, taking for granted, innocent clean of pity, charity

madcap's best girl

"I feel certain that I am going mad again: I feel we can't go through another of those terrible times. And I shan't recover this time. I begin to hear voices, and can't concentrate. So I am doing what seems the best thing to do. You have given me the greatest possible happiness... I can't fight it any longer, I know that I am spoiling your life, that without me you could work"

Her work was criticised for epitomizing the narrow world of the upper-middle class English intelligentsia, peopled with delicate, but ultimately trivial, self-centred, and overly introspective individuals. Some critics judged it to be lacking in universality and depth, without the power to communicate anything of emotional or ethical relevance to the disillusioned common reader, weary of the 1920s aesthetes who seemed to belong to an era definitely closed and buried.

River Ouse in 1941, near the village of Rodmell