it was about 3 AM; the last frontiers of the night. it was still dark, no moon tonight. In the darkness, everything had turned grey all around.
He sat on steps, and he could feel the cold from the bare steps below him, creeping up his body like cold fingers. He just stared into the darkness; and with frayed fingernails, he scratched out pieces of his soul.
the bird, or whatever it was, came out of iron fence, in front of him. He just looked down for a minute, and next minute, as he looked up, it was swooping straight at him. for a moment he thought it was a big piece of black cloth in the wind, but as it got closer he could see its eyes. They were like stone, with a glimmer that seemed to capture the last dregs of the flourescent light that lay around. Before he could finish the thought, it was in his face, and then gone, like it had hit bang into a wall and dissapeared.
he
http://www.youngpersons-railcard.co.uk/downloads/YP06W.pdf
Originally Posted at Prerona.
This blog
is becoming like an old old much loved, dog eared love. I'm struggling to renew our lines of communication. I am trying every language, nuance, tone I know, to get through. I am trying to ignore, or limit, the call of the new, fresher, fleetingly startlingly, honester and and more beautiful. Will I succed? That was never my forte. To say the least. I can hold on to only so many dead.
I dont want to let you go, just walk away, but I'm groping for the connection we had, or so I'd thought, but you just wont help me. I think of a million things, but when we're face to face, I cant find that voice again, in which havent talked, in an age. I'm reaching out. I'm struggling with the strings of this mask, that you and me and time built. Help me. I want to be your friend again.
I still love you, like my own, like a part of me, you are still my friend. I'm talking to you, do you hear me?
Originally posted: 7th Dec 2005. And still no joy :)
Originally Posted at Prerona.
I dont want to let you go, just walk away, but I'm groping for the connection we had, or so I'd thought, but you just wont help me. I think of a million things, but when we're face to face, I cant find that voice again, in which havent talked, in an age. I'm reaching out. I'm struggling with the strings of this mask, that you and me and time built. Help me. I want to be your friend again.
I still love you, like my own, like a part of me, you are still my friend. I'm talking to you, do you hear me?
Originally posted: 7th Dec 2005. And still no joy :)
Originally Posted at Prerona.
night sea
i woke up from a dream
with a song in my head
wearing a smile
a little sunshine, in my mind
i wasnt looking
i was a bit lost in the unfamilar feeling
i must have forgotten,
my caution under my pillow
i'm sorry if i spoke out loud
the voices in my head
i'm sorry if i laughed out loud
or smiled at you that way
did i say i care
sometimes it doesnt last
did i say i like you
its probably not too much
but dont go trusting me, sweet child
i'll just break ur heart
and dont love me too much,
i'll tear you apart
i'm so scared of hurting you
because thats what i do
i'm falling, into the blackhole in my head,
and if u reach out, to save me, ill pull u in too
DSC01971
Originally uploaded by prerona.
OST: This, or This?
but sometimes, when the moon dances on the sea
i go down to the beach,
and hear the waves rustling on the rocks
while the lighthouse spins uselessly,
i go back to yesterday
feel u with me again
in the darkness, i can hear u
whisper to me
i scrawl our names
with a twig, in the sand
and another wave, playfully
wipes it out, and we end again
Originally Posted at Prerona.
with a song in my head
wearing a smile
a little sunshine, in my mind
i wasnt looking
i was a bit lost in the unfamilar feeling
i must have forgotten,
my caution under my pillow
i'm sorry if i spoke out loud
the voices in my head
i'm sorry if i laughed out loud
or smiled at you that way
did i say i care
sometimes it doesnt last
did i say i like you
its probably not too much
but dont go trusting me, sweet child
i'll just break ur heart
and dont love me too much,
i'll tear you apart
i'm so scared of hurting you
because thats what i do
i'm falling, into the blackhole in my head,
and if u reach out, to save me, ill pull u in too
DSC01971
Originally uploaded by prerona.
OST: This, or This?
but sometimes, when the moon dances on the sea
i go down to the beach,
and hear the waves rustling on the rocks
while the lighthouse spins uselessly,
i go back to yesterday
feel u with me again
in the darkness, i can hear u
whisper to me
i scrawl our names
with a twig, in the sand
and another wave, playfully
wipes it out, and we end again
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Hollow
the melted copper moon
trickles down
the black night
and gathers in a puddle
on the floor
in a corner
of my room.
a test a tear,
and wonder if its too soon.
in the darkness
the minutes march
marking time
as it slips away.
somewhere, you wander too
where are you?
there's a place,
by the sea.
black stone walls
strewn around.
there is spray,
dancing in a moonbeam
and the silence of darkness,
full and heavy in my hand.
i remember the feel
of gravelly wet sand
i remember the hum of the waves
i remember the rythms of
Originally Posted at Prerona.
trickles down
the black night
and gathers in a puddle
on the floor
in a corner
of my room.
a test a tear,
and wonder if its too soon.
in the darkness
the minutes march
marking time
as it slips away.
somewhere, you wander too
where are you?
there's a place,
by the sea.
black stone walls
strewn around.
there is spray,
dancing in a moonbeam
and the silence of darkness,
full and heavy in my hand.
i remember the feel
of gravelly wet sand
i remember the hum of the waves
i remember the rythms of
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Lives
from salisbury craig
Originally uploaded by prerona.
you watch his life,
the one you didnt choose,
spread out in front of you
cluttering the desk,
and you dont why
you suddenly want to cry,
you feel empty and cold.
its like someone walked over your grave.
and you dont know how.
and you dont know why.
questions bubble up inside.
there so much to ask
so much to hide.
did he miss anything,
was it allright,
was he able to handle the price;
the one, you thought you couldnt afford, when you walked away.
because you're still scared of death,
of the second hand half kind;
bcz techincally, you were still one,
the weaning yet to be done.
and he's so casually brave.
you still shiver and shudder and wait for the night
when in dreams you're whole again;
and in daylight, with dead-grip
hold on to goodcheer and painted smiles.
though now and then, sometimes you forget.
OST: Knife
gyle_bustop_man_walks
Originally uploaded by prerona.
Madcap Calling
For a while, I had forgotten you. When you came knocking at my window last night, you made me jump. Yes, I had forgotten all about you, for a while. Isnt it strange how strong this bond is? Though I was never yours, and you were never mine. Yet, we always knew, you and I, there was something unknown pulling us to eachother. I flirted with you, but stayed at the edges. I could no less resist the deep, dark force of that attraction, than I could let go of the ledge of my world, at whose very edge I crouched. I hung on, for all I was worth. When you came too close, I closed my eyes to hide. When you went too far, I came after you again. And we danced.
I'm sorry. It must have been such a terrible thing to do; but I was scared of you. I watched fascinated, every star you plucked, every life you lived, every form you took. Each dizzyingly bright, heartbreakingly dark. I watched, breathless, as you swung them and up and you danced. The dizzying heights. The lurching swings. The bravery, The greatness, The heroism, The Scale, The mastery ... and in the end they gave in to you, almost all. (All but him. How he fought! You still scrape ur chalk on his window, while I watch, but he keeps fighting on) You flew them to the skies, made the whole world change, while you held their hands, but they never come back again. Almost all.
So spectacular, the visions, the sounds, the dreams; yet I was scared to let go of the simple, the normal, the ordinary. My little life. Maybe a little faded and dull, maybe a small, maybe boring, day in day out, maybe laced with regret, as I kissed my pillow goodnight, but my own, safe and simple life.
I never got closer to you than that. To gasp at you dancing with your latest bright star. And a part of me wished I could go along, on the magic carpet ride, like a child, kneeling at a window looking out at the magic silver snow, on a indigo night; but I was scared of the dark.
I'm reading her again. That was the best song. You whispered in my ears, that stones to wings, and you flew her through the skies; painting clouds with the ink around her eyes, which you wiped. And I know I'll listen to him tonight. His picture's here, is right by my side. Red and Blue and Purple; With the guitars, locked doors, and black ringed eyes. When the music was over, did you turn out the lights?
Yet, you never let me go completely. Every now and then you're back; at night. You stay a few days and go away again. And every now and then I see you smile; behind my eyes. And I at night I'm torn between the fear that you'll come calling me and that you'll never come for me again.
I'm sorry. It must have been such a terrible thing to do; but I was scared of you. I watched fascinated, every star you plucked, every life you lived, every form you took. Each dizzyingly bright, heartbreakingly dark. I watched, breathless, as you swung them and up and you danced. The dizzying heights. The lurching swings. The bravery, The greatness, The heroism, The Scale, The mastery ... and in the end they gave in to you, almost all. (All but him. How he fought! You still scrape ur chalk on his window, while I watch, but he keeps fighting on) You flew them to the skies, made the whole world change, while you held their hands, but they never come back again. Almost all.
So spectacular, the visions, the sounds, the dreams; yet I was scared to let go of the simple, the normal, the ordinary. My little life. Maybe a little faded and dull, maybe a small, maybe boring, day in day out, maybe laced with regret, as I kissed my pillow goodnight, but my own, safe and simple life.
I never got closer to you than that. To gasp at you dancing with your latest bright star. And a part of me wished I could go along, on the magic carpet ride, like a child, kneeling at a window looking out at the magic silver snow, on a indigo night; but I was scared of the dark.
I'm reading her again. That was the best song. You whispered in my ears, that stones to wings, and you flew her through the skies; painting clouds with the ink around her eyes, which you wiped. And I know I'll listen to him tonight. His picture's here, is right by my side. Red and Blue and Purple; With the guitars, locked doors, and black ringed eyes. When the music was over, did you turn out the lights?
Yet, you never let me go completely. Every now and then you're back; at night. You stay a few days and go away again. And every now and then I see you smile; behind my eyes. And I at night I'm torn between the fear that you'll come calling me and that you'll never come for me again.
Sky, Rain and Sea
Once again, I'm living in a room on the roof; sort of. So when it rains, the three voices rise up, entwining, in a dancing melody, the wind, the rain on the glass and the rain on the tin roof. The small room becomes a rain hugged shell. The glass that stands between me and the rain, swims in the water and changes face, smiling. Far away, the same rythm beats on the sea skin, and digs holes in the sand. The sky swirls with patterns of grey, blue and pink. The winds sing cheerful, happy melodies, as it waves the sun goodbye.
"And far from flying high, in the clear blue skies,
I'm spiralling down, to the hole in the ground, where I hide."
Here now, with her, I revisit this old thought from june 2006 and it makes me want to laugh. Isnt it ironic?
Its been a swinging weekend. Its swung between sunshine, and rain, like the sky playing games and laughing at itself. I went downstairs earlier, and I watched as a bright yellow balloon, just a little deflated, danced round in circles with a bright blue plastic bag and a worm-hole-ridden grey-brown leaf; playing games in the small whirlpool the breeze made.
At other times it rained. And it was a quiet weekend. All the better to hear the rain. I had a large pile of work to be done, but the sky playing games distracted me. I spoke to her after ages. On messenger. Thank God for messenger. I discovered the funny feelings I'd been having since midweek were right! Strange. I'd heard twins have that: put one through a pinprick and the other one feels the pain, as well. Maybe its just DNA. Maybe its just habit. Its been so long. I put up a printed picture of us on my alarm clock. It must be the first ever: all 4 of us together. We all look so innocent and happy. That makes me smile.
What is it that life writes for us? Is there a destiny, in ink or pencil? Do we trace patterns, already drawn and fixed, tied forever to our paths? Os is there a way out? Because though it all dulls and dims, as time strenghthens immunities, and perfects masks, there's still the ennui.
And still we are stubbornly happy. Grinning in the face of life; Still standing tall, all of us; And sharing drinks, And midnight snacks, bartering insults and and soul deep cuts and late night nightmares and love stories; and I love you's; Still we go on living; and still we go on loving.
Some pictures and lessons stay engraved in your mind. Warnings. Ecstacies. Fears. Though we may not have lived them first hand. What I always remember is Thornbirds, 'the Gods are jeaous Meggie. dont love so much. dont be so happy'. And I live in fear of Their anger. I've had close calls enough.
Or are we just slaves to who we are, forever. Chained to the balls of our many loves and our many selves. All the ifs and if only's come and entwine at that one point. This was me. This is the life that I led. Would I have changed one second of it?
On a rainy Sunday afternoon, like today, I sit on my bed, with the patchwork quilt, with the rain drumming patterns on the window outside, I bring out the old tattered box again, of memories and broken bits and saved pieces and spare selves. Who will I be today? Next week? Next year? Which ones will I keep or throw away?
Originally Posted at Prerona.
"And far from flying high, in the clear blue skies,
I'm spiralling down, to the hole in the ground, where I hide."
Here now, with her, I revisit this old thought from june 2006 and it makes me want to laugh. Isnt it ironic?
Its been a swinging weekend. Its swung between sunshine, and rain, like the sky playing games and laughing at itself. I went downstairs earlier, and I watched as a bright yellow balloon, just a little deflated, danced round in circles with a bright blue plastic bag and a worm-hole-ridden grey-brown leaf; playing games in the small whirlpool the breeze made.
At other times it rained. And it was a quiet weekend. All the better to hear the rain. I had a large pile of work to be done, but the sky playing games distracted me. I spoke to her after ages. On messenger. Thank God for messenger. I discovered the funny feelings I'd been having since midweek were right! Strange. I'd heard twins have that: put one through a pinprick and the other one feels the pain, as well. Maybe its just DNA. Maybe its just habit. Its been so long. I put up a printed picture of us on my alarm clock. It must be the first ever: all 4 of us together. We all look so innocent and happy. That makes me smile.
What is it that life writes for us? Is there a destiny, in ink or pencil? Do we trace patterns, already drawn and fixed, tied forever to our paths? Os is there a way out? Because though it all dulls and dims, as time strenghthens immunities, and perfects masks, there's still the ennui.
And still we are stubbornly happy. Grinning in the face of life; Still standing tall, all of us; And sharing drinks, And midnight snacks, bartering insults and and soul deep cuts and late night nightmares and love stories; and I love you's; Still we go on living; and still we go on loving.
Some pictures and lessons stay engraved in your mind. Warnings. Ecstacies. Fears. Though we may not have lived them first hand. What I always remember is Thornbirds, 'the Gods are jeaous Meggie. dont love so much. dont be so happy'. And I live in fear of Their anger. I've had close calls enough.
Or are we just slaves to who we are, forever. Chained to the balls of our many loves and our many selves. All the ifs and if only's come and entwine at that one point. This was me. This is the life that I led. Would I have changed one second of it?
On a rainy Sunday afternoon, like today, I sit on my bed, with the patchwork quilt, with the rain drumming patterns on the window outside, I bring out the old tattered box again, of memories and broken bits and saved pieces and spare selves. Who will I be today? Next week? Next year? Which ones will I keep or throw away?
Originally Posted at Prerona.
"Rahi na taqat-e-guftaar, Aur agar ho bhi, toh kis ummeed se kahiye ke aarzoo kya hai"
Whenever i run out of words, i come back to Ghalib. He's just said it all. Outside, its an almost full moon. The air is just cool enough to be crisp. Part of me was worried about coming back here, out in the cold again, but its fine; uptil now. Like the man on the roller-coaster, I keep bracing for the lurch just round the corner, but it never comes. Life swerves, and twists, and squeezes, but at night when you close your eyes, your fine.
I have an awful habit, disguised as a blessing. If I have to be somewhere, my mind will talk itself into thinking I love it; and I would have hated it any other way. At first glance, thats great, bcz it keeps you satisfied. However, the self deception is so complete, that I actually forget I liked any other place. I had forgotten how social I am. I thought I hated company. Now I know I am crazy about it. I appreciate my solitude, yes; but I'm crazy about people; I still have to figure out how to deal with them, however.
Like babies. I'm crazy about them, but I am awful with them. Give me a baby and I'll make it cry. With every new person I meet, I keep worrying if I'm being to friendly. Its okay with strangers in a train, or at a busstop, or at the water cooler (yes I have so many friends I made that way), but its harder with people who you meet all the time. How do you know when you're coming on to strong? Does it matter if they really like you? People have always been far nicer to me than I have deserved. Sometimes it makes me feel a bit like a fraud. A bit incredulous, perhaps.
I wrote to all the clubs I wanted to join. I think I'll give the rowing a skip for a while. I've done that for so long, maybe try something new. Thats the best part about being a student again, right? I'd love to play rugby again. Properly this time. I doubt I'd be able to, though. I want to start running again, but there's hardly anytime. I love the golf, but its not enough, somehow. If the mountaineering club works, it would be amazing, but I saw the pics on the website and it looks awfully hard. I did join the CogSoc and I will join the Philophy Soc
DSC04206
Originally uploaded by prerona.
Ever noticed how sometimes we get sad without a reason? Maybe there is a reason but its hiding in some dark corner of your head. I had a big pruple wave building up for the last few days. It kept coming at me and getting bigger and bigger as it approached. Then after a while, it just falls off. Maybe its like the moisture gathers and gathers till it gets too heavy and just rains down on you. Or sometimes its the smallest of things that can set it off. Gtalk, for instance :)
Sometimes the words and feelings grow heavy inside you and there's nowhere you could, or could bear to, take it out. Sometimes, your just light and airy like a fluffy white cloud; filled with rain waiting to happen; but glowing in the sunlight, for now. Sometimes, you desperately want to talk, but you tick of everyone you know in ur head and there's just noone that fits both bills. Perhaps I am just too possesive about myself. Why do we take ourselves so seriously? One lifetime ... its so fleeting in the scale of things. We live, breed, die. Who the f cares what great thoughts we thought or what we achieved. And yet we are so hungry for heights. Like the song goes, eto chaoa niye kotha jai?
My hair is all falling out. Whats left has totally freaked out too. I miss my hair. I miss my brains too, though I can almost not remember that far back now. But jokes apart, I miss reading. I mean fiction. With so many papers and notes to read, I find I barely read anymore. I was reading an old old mb, which I do when I really need a break from serious stuff, and I have been reading it for the last 2 weeks! I usually finish them in one sitting! Last decent book I read was God of Small Things and it blew my mind. One of the blurbs on the cover I think said something like 'never again will a single story be told like its the only one'. Very Roarkesq. But it was a bit like that. Maybe its killed my appetite for crap. I have a craving to reread Steppenwolf. It would be interesting to see how I'd feel about it now. Another one I have been missing, is the hours, one of the favourites.
I havent been listening to much music, either. 2 bands I discovered and have just gone crazy about are Live and Fossil. Specially the latter. So lately, I've just been listening to 'Dekho Manabi' and I'm still hung up on 'O Saathi Re'. But with the latter, I dont know if its just the song, or the whole 'dream'.
Sometimes I think this blog is slowing down, growing old. I hardly get the words I used to. I dont like this kind of post. Which is not to say anything bad about this kind of post (why am i so pc all the time?) but its just that I dont enjoy reading them when I come back later. So I usually delete them. I only keep the ones I enjoy coming back to. Maybe thats really selfish, but I think its okay.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
I have an awful habit, disguised as a blessing. If I have to be somewhere, my mind will talk itself into thinking I love it; and I would have hated it any other way. At first glance, thats great, bcz it keeps you satisfied. However, the self deception is so complete, that I actually forget I liked any other place. I had forgotten how social I am. I thought I hated company. Now I know I am crazy about it. I appreciate my solitude, yes; but I'm crazy about people; I still have to figure out how to deal with them, however.
Like babies. I'm crazy about them, but I am awful with them. Give me a baby and I'll make it cry. With every new person I meet, I keep worrying if I'm being to friendly. Its okay with strangers in a train, or at a busstop, or at the water cooler (yes I have so many friends I made that way), but its harder with people who you meet all the time. How do you know when you're coming on to strong? Does it matter if they really like you? People have always been far nicer to me than I have deserved. Sometimes it makes me feel a bit like a fraud. A bit incredulous, perhaps.
I wrote to all the clubs I wanted to join. I think I'll give the rowing a skip for a while. I've done that for so long, maybe try something new. Thats the best part about being a student again, right? I'd love to play rugby again. Properly this time. I doubt I'd be able to, though. I want to start running again, but there's hardly anytime. I love the golf, but its not enough, somehow. If the mountaineering club works, it would be amazing, but I saw the pics on the website and it looks awfully hard. I did join the CogSoc and I will join the Philophy Soc
DSC04206
Originally uploaded by prerona.
Ever noticed how sometimes we get sad without a reason? Maybe there is a reason but its hiding in some dark corner of your head. I had a big pruple wave building up for the last few days. It kept coming at me and getting bigger and bigger as it approached. Then after a while, it just falls off. Maybe its like the moisture gathers and gathers till it gets too heavy and just rains down on you. Or sometimes its the smallest of things that can set it off. Gtalk, for instance :)
Sometimes the words and feelings grow heavy inside you and there's nowhere you could, or could bear to, take it out. Sometimes, your just light and airy like a fluffy white cloud; filled with rain waiting to happen; but glowing in the sunlight, for now. Sometimes, you desperately want to talk, but you tick of everyone you know in ur head and there's just noone that fits both bills. Perhaps I am just too possesive about myself. Why do we take ourselves so seriously? One lifetime ... its so fleeting in the scale of things. We live, breed, die. Who the f cares what great thoughts we thought or what we achieved. And yet we are so hungry for heights. Like the song goes, eto chaoa niye kotha jai?
My hair is all falling out. Whats left has totally freaked out too. I miss my hair. I miss my brains too, though I can almost not remember that far back now. But jokes apart, I miss reading. I mean fiction. With so many papers and notes to read, I find I barely read anymore. I was reading an old old mb, which I do when I really need a break from serious stuff, and I have been reading it for the last 2 weeks! I usually finish them in one sitting! Last decent book I read was God of Small Things and it blew my mind. One of the blurbs on the cover I think said something like 'never again will a single story be told like its the only one'. Very Roarkesq. But it was a bit like that. Maybe its killed my appetite for crap. I have a craving to reread Steppenwolf. It would be interesting to see how I'd feel about it now. Another one I have been missing, is the hours, one of the favourites.
I havent been listening to much music, either. 2 bands I discovered and have just gone crazy about are Live and Fossil. Specially the latter. So lately, I've just been listening to 'Dekho Manabi' and I'm still hung up on 'O Saathi Re'. But with the latter, I dont know if its just the song, or the whole 'dream'.
Sometimes I think this blog is slowing down, growing old. I hardly get the words I used to. I dont like this kind of post. Which is not to say anything bad about this kind of post (why am i so pc all the time?) but its just that I dont enjoy reading them when I come back later. So I usually delete them. I only keep the ones I enjoy coming back to. Maybe thats really selfish, but I think its okay.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
lives
from salisbury craig
Originally uploaded by prerona.
you watch his life,
the one you didnt choose,
spread out in front of you
cluttering the desk,
and you dont why
you suddenly want to cry,
you feel empty and cold.
its like someone walked over your grave.
and you dont know how.
and you dont know why.
questions bubble up inside.
there so much to ask
so much to hide.
did he miss anything,
was it allright,
was he able to handle the price;
the one, you thought you couldnt afford, when you walked away.
because you're still scared of death,
of the second hand half kind;
bcz techincally, you were still one,
the weaning yet to be done.
and he's so casually brave.
you still shiver and shudder and wait for the night
when in dreams you're whole again;
and in daylight, with dead-grip
hold on to goodcheer and painted smiles.
though now and then, sometimes you forget.
OST: Knife
gyle_bustop_man_walks
Originally uploaded by prerona.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Baby
i've switched off my heart
and put it in my pocket
sheathed my words
and put them away
buried under the blueberries
on the way to the sunset
i cant forgive
u didnt teach me how
but sometimes
i try and forget ...
and now baby,
i've come home
walk in my shadow
put ur little hand in mine
and follow me in through the back door
i should have done this
years ago
if i'd opened my eyes
i'd have seen
their blackholes and red eyes could be locked in their bedroom
while u and i turned the key
baby, how could i not know
what my fear was doing to you
they're bad men and women
they're monsters and bastards
they're ugly and sweet
and fatally lovable
baby, ill let u play
this time ill watch out for u
this time i wont run away
this time i'll grit teeth and stay
and put it in my pocket
sheathed my words
and put them away
buried under the blueberries
on the way to the sunset
i cant forgive
u didnt teach me how
but sometimes
i try and forget ...
and now baby,
i've come home
walk in my shadow
put ur little hand in mine
and follow me in through the back door
i should have done this
years ago
if i'd opened my eyes
i'd have seen
their blackholes and red eyes could be locked in their bedroom
while u and i turned the key
baby, how could i not know
what my fear was doing to you
they're bad men and women
they're monsters and bastards
they're ugly and sweet
and fatally lovable
baby, ill let u play
this time ill watch out for u
this time i wont run away
this time i'll grit teeth and stay
Mamma
its just a memory
but so alive
a swirl of cotton
white. green bordered
soft warm skin
crinkled. wrinkled. white and pink
warm drinks and brandy
swapped escapades and memories
stories. of my beginning
yours.and journeys. one for every hour of day
stories of the beginnings of love
ours. yours. mine
talks. philosophy. logic. religion
lessons. how to walk. talk.live life
stars. moons. gentle warm sunshine
battles. tears. laughter
childhood troubles and worries
slowly growing up
all sorted, aired and put away
in your little black box
but its just a memory
and you're so dead
its that time of the year
to remember you
look at my body
and wonder at how you made it from yours
look at my yesterdays
and how you took me in
see how i've grown mamma
come back home again
but so alive
a swirl of cotton
white. green bordered
soft warm skin
crinkled. wrinkled. white and pink
warm drinks and brandy
swapped escapades and memories
stories. of my beginning
yours.and journeys. one for every hour of day
stories of the beginnings of love
ours. yours. mine
talks. philosophy. logic. religion
lessons. how to walk. talk.live life
stars. moons. gentle warm sunshine
battles. tears. laughter
childhood troubles and worries
slowly growing up
all sorted, aired and put away
in your little black box
but its just a memory
and you're so dead
its that time of the year
to remember you
look at my body
and wonder at how you made it from yours
look at my yesterdays
and how you took me in
see how i've grown mamma
come back home again
Wonderful Life
the sun falls on your back in gentle waves
and wind comes in on your face
the week is done, and the accounts logged
the two days bonus free
life swerves and turns
you catch your breath and wait
for the monsters that this lap will bring
but its just days of gentle sunshine
and mild and gentle, near-happiness
once again, the song in ur head
says let it never end
all things said and done,
what a beautiful world
what a wonderful life
and wind comes in on your face
the week is done, and the accounts logged
the two days bonus free
life swerves and turns
you catch your breath and wait
for the monsters that this lap will bring
but its just days of gentle sunshine
and mild and gentle, near-happiness
once again, the song in ur head
says let it never end
all things said and done,
what a beautiful world
what a wonderful life
Eyes
your eyes
shimmer secrets
flash smiles
whisper confidences
and jagged edges
of broken dreams.
invisible bonds
stretched out in dark moonlight
between two pairs of eyes
hushed. with not a sound
to break the fragile thread
like a spider web
glistening in stray drops
of neon
abondoned
by the weaver
and the world
in the background
of the voices droning on.
ur eyes
seek out mine
and whisper on
and on
and on.
my eyes fall
ur eyes smile
my eyes smile
ur eyes fall
endless games
and secret conversations
at night
silent questions
and pondering
gently probing
futures and possibities
perhaps
what might have been
in a dream
or memories
of another time and place
where we werent u or me
did we meet?
echos ring
of laughter and song
in dark glades of old forests
by flickring firelight
flames stroke damp skin
warm hands
waves giggling on sombre sands
moonlight blanketting
silent nights
was it you
that shadow by my side
in my memories
of a my forgotten lives
what is that wet?
how did they get
so sad
ur eyes that can twinkle like that
what did you see
who made u weep
who took ur dreams
and twisted them
to stab u from behind
what brought those shades of sorrow to ur eyes,
sweet gentle child
ur every dream
i ever dreamed
crystallized
wish u were mine
when i'm tucked in
the traces that werent wiped out with time
pull at the corner of my sheets with tiny hands
screaming,
they echo in my mind
behind tightly closed eyes
confession - i was listening to creed (those eyes, that stare at me in the dark)
cross posted on spilled to bloodlessness and my blog
shimmer secrets
flash smiles
whisper confidences
and jagged edges
of broken dreams.
invisible bonds
stretched out in dark moonlight
between two pairs of eyes
hushed. with not a sound
to break the fragile thread
like a spider web
glistening in stray drops
of neon
abondoned
by the weaver
and the world
in the background
of the voices droning on.
ur eyes
seek out mine
and whisper on
and on
and on.
my eyes fall
ur eyes smile
my eyes smile
ur eyes fall
endless games
and secret conversations
at night
silent questions
and pondering
gently probing
futures and possibities
perhaps
what might have been
in a dream
or memories
of another time and place
where we werent u or me
did we meet?
echos ring
of laughter and song
in dark glades of old forests
by flickring firelight
flames stroke damp skin
warm hands
waves giggling on sombre sands
moonlight blanketting
silent nights
was it you
that shadow by my side
in my memories
of a my forgotten lives
what is that wet?
how did they get
so sad
ur eyes that can twinkle like that
what did you see
who made u weep
who took ur dreams
and twisted them
to stab u from behind
what brought those shades of sorrow to ur eyes,
sweet gentle child
ur every dream
i ever dreamed
crystallized
wish u were mine
when i'm tucked in
the traces that werent wiped out with time
pull at the corner of my sheets with tiny hands
screaming,
they echo in my mind
behind tightly closed eyes
confession - i was listening to creed (those eyes, that stare at me in the dark)
cross posted on spilled to bloodlessness and my blog
What is Cognitive Science
This is a question I have been fielding a lot lately. Loads of people ask me what I am studying and I say I'm doing my MSc in Cognitive Science at the department of informatics and the next question is always 'What is Cognitive Science'. Well, I dont really know ... but I guess it should be okay, because I havent met anyone yet who has a definitive answer. However, I joined this club today called the Cognitive Science Society where a group of us will be informally throwing ideas around.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Late
now its too late to say i love you
by the time, i made up my mind
to come falling back towards u
u were already gone
time slipped us so slow and fast
days hurtled by, secs paused
feelings masquerade
words black sequinned masks
i didnt realise, what u were saying
till u stopped
now its too late
what a waste ...
the foolish yellow moon
looks blankly in the distance
a little lost
watch the stars as they dance
and then the night falls
all that good sense and good cheer
spills off the top of the tears
just a blank stare
wet blank empty stair
and in the parlour,
empty chairs
OST: Isnt it rich ...
Originally Posted at Prerona.
by the time, i made up my mind
to come falling back towards u
u were already gone
time slipped us so slow and fast
days hurtled by, secs paused
feelings masquerade
words black sequinned masks
i didnt realise, what u were saying
till u stopped
now its too late
what a waste ...
the foolish yellow moon
looks blankly in the distance
a little lost
watch the stars as they dance
and then the night falls
all that good sense and good cheer
spills off the top of the tears
just a blank stare
wet blank empty stair
and in the parlour,
empty chairs
OST: Isnt it rich ...
Originally Posted at Prerona.
and beyond it all, there is the Ocean
from salisbury craig
Originally uploaded by prerona.
red berries on the way back
Originally uploaded by prerona.
water
Originally uploaded by prerona.
rain
Originally uploaded by prerona.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Blue Shoots
Duck!
Originally uploaded by prerona.
Footsteps
Originally uploaded by prerona.
Aloo Peyaaj ka Haal
Originally uploaded by prerona.
Blue Shoots
Originally uploaded by prerona.
Okay - This is my weird photo entry - Was tagged by Rimi. I tag Hyde, Maddie and Austere
Originally Posted at Prerona.
irritated / amused / worried:
Apparently this *%&$£ called Aatmika has been reproducing my posts and old poems from my home page for the last year & passing it off as their own work @ her blog: ephemeralbonds. The blog is offline now but there is a google cache.
I'm not quit sure exactly how I feel about or what I will do about it. There's nothing you can do really except wonder if you want to put ur stuff online anymore. maybe take down the blog and definitely the homepage. Why would you wanna share ur work with such assholes out there.
wow! it even had me breaking my wont ever lose my temper again and wont ever swear :D
I wouldnt even have known had I not chanced upon the post at aimless wanderers blog, bcz she's been lifting his stuff too.
It makes me feel really gross and violated. i felt this way only once before when someone stole some of my personal data, but in a way that was good bcz it taught me to not trust people and that there are all kinds of strange people out there.
Why would someone do something like this ... dont they have any pride in themselves at all? What kind of person would do something like this. Everything we write has so much effort, so much work ... what kind of person would want to steal someone elses work and pass it off as your own.
Now I come to know that there are some more blogs where this is happening. And someone has been stealing my sisters work too! Which makes me about 10 times more angry. Bcz my stuff is ok, but she writes so fucking well. I hope the SOB's who do this just f rott in b hell forever.
I came across something like this once before, where someone stole some of my files and misused it. It hurt like hell bcz it was someone I had previously respected, but atleast it was instructive. There are some real 'strange' people out there, I learned.
This, however, is different. How can someone steal someone work and call it their own. I mean, obviously they can, but I still cant come to terms with it. And I guess it feels worse bcz the 'work' on the blog has a lot of emotional investment as well. Its got so much of you in it. So many memories, so many emotions, so much passion ... and its all defiled by one person mental illnes
Someone said I should be happy! Flattered! I guess thats just me - but I HATE being copied. There's nothing I hate more and nothing that pisses me off more. I think I even liked Ajay Devgan a little less when he started getting popular. Maybe I am too possesive about myself, my thoughts, my feelings ... I dont know. But more I think about it, the more I realise its only my own fault. What the fuck was I thinking putting my work where any bastard can come read it.
I know I'm overreacting; Its not worth it; But thats just the way I feel right now. Whenever I come online and see the blog it makes me feel gross. And I dont feel like sharing anything from inside 'me' with anyone online. So I'm going offline for a while. Will think about it for a bit. I know it will probably pass (soon) and I will be back. Mail me if you like (the id is on my profile)
Originally Posted at Prerona.
I'm not quit sure exactly how I feel about or what I will do about it. There's nothing you can do really except wonder if you want to put ur stuff online anymore. maybe take down the blog and definitely the homepage. Why would you wanna share ur work with such assholes out there.
wow! it even had me breaking my wont ever lose my temper again and wont ever swear :D
I wouldnt even have known had I not chanced upon the post at aimless wanderers blog, bcz she's been lifting his stuff too.
It makes me feel really gross and violated. i felt this way only once before when someone stole some of my personal data, but in a way that was good bcz it taught me to not trust people and that there are all kinds of strange people out there.
Why would someone do something like this ... dont they have any pride in themselves at all? What kind of person would do something like this. Everything we write has so much effort, so much work ... what kind of person would want to steal someone elses work and pass it off as your own.
Now I come to know that there are some more blogs where this is happening. And someone has been stealing my sisters work too! Which makes me about 10 times more angry. Bcz my stuff is ok, but she writes so fucking well. I hope the SOB's who do this just f rott in b hell forever.
I came across something like this once before, where someone stole some of my files and misused it. It hurt like hell bcz it was someone I had previously respected, but atleast it was instructive. There are some real 'strange' people out there, I learned.
This, however, is different. How can someone steal someone work and call it their own. I mean, obviously they can, but I still cant come to terms with it. And I guess it feels worse bcz the 'work' on the blog has a lot of emotional investment as well. Its got so much of you in it. So many memories, so many emotions, so much passion ... and its all defiled by one person mental illnes
Someone said I should be happy! Flattered! I guess thats just me - but I HATE being copied. There's nothing I hate more and nothing that pisses me off more. I think I even liked Ajay Devgan a little less when he started getting popular. Maybe I am too possesive about myself, my thoughts, my feelings ... I dont know. But more I think about it, the more I realise its only my own fault. What the fuck was I thinking putting my work where any bastard can come read it.
I know I'm overreacting; Its not worth it; But thats just the way I feel right now. Whenever I come online and see the blog it makes me feel gross. And I dont feel like sharing anything from inside 'me' with anyone online. So I'm going offline for a while. Will think about it for a bit. I know it will probably pass (soon) and I will be back. Mail me if you like (the id is on my profile)
Originally Posted at Prerona.
god of small things
its as if, the whole world and everything in it, were a tangled mass of threads, a mix of colours, textures and lengths; and its as if, life were picking ur way through the maze, too big for most of us, most of the time, to see the forest; but, its as if, every now and then, accidentally or otherwise you spot a pattern, a path that will unjumble the whole mass into one big pattern, and the rest will fall away: a theory of everything
thats what came to my mind when i finished with god of small things. it never ceases to amaze me how, sometimes, i will come across a book, maybe even buy it, but i wont like it or will not be able to read it, and then years later i will pick it up again and it will fall over me like the most exquisitely tailor made shirt slipped over my head ... and blow my mind away
bridge across, frieda, lila, steppenwolf and now god of small things ...
the days are cool again, but i am waiting for the chill. everything is new and different, sometimes interesting, sometimes strange and at times just plain bizzare. living in a dorm after all these years is just pure fun. living in poverty as i had plain forgotten how to, is amusing. remembering how deeply i had loved this city, is heartwarmingly beautiful. remembering how deeply i love that city, is heartbreaking painful.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
thats what came to my mind when i finished with god of small things. it never ceases to amaze me how, sometimes, i will come across a book, maybe even buy it, but i wont like it or will not be able to read it, and then years later i will pick it up again and it will fall over me like the most exquisitely tailor made shirt slipped over my head ... and blow my mind away
bridge across, frieda, lila, steppenwolf and now god of small things ...
the days are cool again, but i am waiting for the chill. everything is new and different, sometimes interesting, sometimes strange and at times just plain bizzare. living in a dorm after all these years is just pure fun. living in poverty as i had plain forgotten how to, is amusing. remembering how deeply i had loved this city, is heartwarmingly beautiful. remembering how deeply i love that city, is heartbreaking painful.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Hold On
i try to hold on
but time slips out of my fingers
like the edge of a precipice,
over a vast chasm, that i am hanging from
everything that logic drones on in my ears
i know, i have heard them a hundred times before
but what do i tell the tears that swell and tumble that heart that races and slows and growing heavier
sinks into my gut, where i hold it sucked in in fear
time passes, slips out of my hands
there is no forever
to have to turn away,
was pre determined
but its been such a short respite
and now out in the cold again
we come marked with our destinies
we must be grateful for our blessings
i had you to love
though you always fooled me
i had a few scattered stolen months
across 3 decades, with spirits of blood
there were moments when she loved me like her own
there were times when he held my hand
there were friends and laughter, however fleeting
though later the mocked me, the laughter lived on
and money, that atleast
i made and held, atleast that was mine
and words i learned and spun,
though meanings they drew none
and places i saw, though they all looked the same
and another orphaned, begger boy i saw
drifting like flotsam along the world
grateful, for each merci however small
thats how life teaches
thats how we learn
but time slips out of my fingers
like the edge of a precipice,
over a vast chasm, that i am hanging from
everything that logic drones on in my ears
i know, i have heard them a hundred times before
but what do i tell the tears that swell and tumble that heart that races and slows and growing heavier
sinks into my gut, where i hold it sucked in in fear
time passes, slips out of my hands
there is no forever
to have to turn away,
was pre determined
but its been such a short respite
and now out in the cold again
we come marked with our destinies
we must be grateful for our blessings
i had you to love
though you always fooled me
i had a few scattered stolen months
across 3 decades, with spirits of blood
there were moments when she loved me like her own
there were times when he held my hand
there were friends and laughter, however fleeting
though later the mocked me, the laughter lived on
and money, that atleast
i made and held, atleast that was mine
and words i learned and spun,
though meanings they drew none
and places i saw, though they all looked the same
and another orphaned, begger boy i saw
drifting like flotsam along the world
grateful, for each merci however small
thats how life teaches
thats how we learn
Blood
your blood
still drips between my fingers
where it had pooled in my hands
its red and bright and clean
i soaked up your life
in a small space
and surrendered my dreams instead
you wanted it that way
slumped in this deep black hole
where light, love, blood
just seeps in to tease
i see that its all a game, and everyone wants to win
as my life flows out of me
and lies in a pool at my feet
i can hear ur mocking laughter
and i am glad. atleast i amused u.
still drips between my fingers
where it had pooled in my hands
its red and bright and clean
i soaked up your life
in a small space
and surrendered my dreams instead
you wanted it that way
slumped in this deep black hole
where light, love, blood
just seeps in to tease
i see that its all a game, and everyone wants to win
as my life flows out of me
and lies in a pool at my feet
i can hear ur mocking laughter
and i am glad. atleast i amused u.
Moonrise
The sun bounces on the horizon, and finally, pricked, it spills over the waves, splashes the sky staining, and the waves wash it over to the white sands and bleached rocks.
the grey bird, on its way out, pauses for a glimpse and rest. its cobbled feet scrape the carbuncles on the stone.
he sits out the drama of the sunset and waits patiently for the moonrise, till the stillness of the night quilts the sleeping beach and sea.
nearby, a yellow backed crab scurries to the rushing waves in mock bravado and the runs backwards as the waves advances.
the night heals, with its silence, peace and stillness. the grey bird has long flown away. did it reach where it was headed, or was stranded midway? does it matter?
a wave crashes and whimpers to the shore. it carries a ragged piece of a newspaper, perhaps borrowed in the day. the ink should have smudged but the bold letters of the headlines just about survive the darkness.
breaking news, like every other day. has it ever been any different amongst men or other animals? does anything ever change? yes. the means, the tools, the power. the people, the intentions, the dreams and compensations remain the same ... from alexander and aurangzeb
the moon is a glowing copper mass tonight. the craters bold patterns in brown and grey. it hangs low, balanced delicately on a mist of grey cloud. there's gentle fire in the moon today.
the moon river is a quivering straight line from the edge of the waves to the horizon. a path highlighted.
the sands, otherwise wet and cold, hold back some warmth: an echo of sunshine, when you dig your hands in just below the surface
even in the deep indigo of the skies and the seas, there are glimmers of light shining carelessly and bravely.
the yellow backed crab dances with the waves one final time and scurries into the sand in panic when a big one rushes at him. he looks at it and laughs quietly in the darkness.
the dark and the light, the laughter and silence complement each other and dance together, down the ages, each making the other possible, and more beautiful.
life comes to you in a dream and asks if your enjoying the show. he gets up and dusts the sand off his palms. maybe there was no other way.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
the grey bird, on its way out, pauses for a glimpse and rest. its cobbled feet scrape the carbuncles on the stone.
he sits out the drama of the sunset and waits patiently for the moonrise, till the stillness of the night quilts the sleeping beach and sea.
nearby, a yellow backed crab scurries to the rushing waves in mock bravado and the runs backwards as the waves advances.
the night heals, with its silence, peace and stillness. the grey bird has long flown away. did it reach where it was headed, or was stranded midway? does it matter?
a wave crashes and whimpers to the shore. it carries a ragged piece of a newspaper, perhaps borrowed in the day. the ink should have smudged but the bold letters of the headlines just about survive the darkness.
breaking news, like every other day. has it ever been any different amongst men or other animals? does anything ever change? yes. the means, the tools, the power. the people, the intentions, the dreams and compensations remain the same ... from alexander and aurangzeb
the moon is a glowing copper mass tonight. the craters bold patterns in brown and grey. it hangs low, balanced delicately on a mist of grey cloud. there's gentle fire in the moon today.
the moon river is a quivering straight line from the edge of the waves to the horizon. a path highlighted.
the sands, otherwise wet and cold, hold back some warmth: an echo of sunshine, when you dig your hands in just below the surface
even in the deep indigo of the skies and the seas, there are glimmers of light shining carelessly and bravely.
the yellow backed crab dances with the waves one final time and scurries into the sand in panic when a big one rushes at him. he looks at it and laughs quietly in the darkness.
the dark and the light, the laughter and silence complement each other and dance together, down the ages, each making the other possible, and more beautiful.
life comes to you in a dream and asks if your enjoying the show. he gets up and dusts the sand off his palms. maybe there was no other way.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Welterschmerz
words bubble up inside
they bed release and make run for it
at the gate, in the mob of rushing thoughts,
they are stall and die
like a square of wet cloth,
the soul dries from the edges in
it had nowhere reached the center,
when the rain starts again.
once more, its out in the cold and rain
the wind, sweeps it away from the storm
torn and ragged now,
it will never be sown to purpose.
there's a rythmn in the wind,
the rain. in dead days, in which
destiny is followed blind
if everything was planned and set ...
little joys and little smiles and little tears
dwarfed, life will march on
the grand symphony will drowns in the lethe
sometimes a head floats out in a dream
this is life as it was meant to be
ordinary. not bad. not great
for other minds, soaring.
for some, it is just to live.
live out the time allotted
each moment, each day, savour as it passes
hold on to the happy middle
why then, does sleep draw such dreams in the head
walk with both eyes shut
sleep with both eyes open
cry silent & dry
hold straight as the dream escapes
life is sad, the world is sadder
headlines are not to weep for
learn to take it like they do
lightly, for unlike the other, words will choke
deaf and dumb beyond the scribe
emotion, feelings, passions dead
there's nothing that can be shaped or shared
inside the desert, inside the head
half dead, half living
half numb, half feeling
half empty, half aching
half singing, half crying
yet these things cannot be said in words
nor understood, second hand
nor shared, for no vision has its twin
the dead weigh down the arms, though departed
the ghosts walk, talk and laugh
fading, receding, the pain changes
more permanent more pale in colour
they bed release and make run for it
at the gate, in the mob of rushing thoughts,
they are stall and die
like a square of wet cloth,
the soul dries from the edges in
it had nowhere reached the center,
when the rain starts again.
once more, its out in the cold and rain
the wind, sweeps it away from the storm
torn and ragged now,
it will never be sown to purpose.
there's a rythmn in the wind,
the rain. in dead days, in which
destiny is followed blind
if everything was planned and set ...
little joys and little smiles and little tears
dwarfed, life will march on
the grand symphony will drowns in the lethe
sometimes a head floats out in a dream
this is life as it was meant to be
ordinary. not bad. not great
for other minds, soaring.
for some, it is just to live.
live out the time allotted
each moment, each day, savour as it passes
hold on to the happy middle
why then, does sleep draw such dreams in the head
walk with both eyes shut
sleep with both eyes open
cry silent & dry
hold straight as the dream escapes
life is sad, the world is sadder
headlines are not to weep for
learn to take it like they do
lightly, for unlike the other, words will choke
deaf and dumb beyond the scribe
emotion, feelings, passions dead
there's nothing that can be shaped or shared
inside the desert, inside the head
half dead, half living
half numb, half feeling
half empty, half aching
half singing, half crying
yet these things cannot be said in words
nor understood, second hand
nor shared, for no vision has its twin
the dead weigh down the arms, though departed
the ghosts walk, talk and laugh
fading, receding, the pain changes
more permanent more pale in colour
dry
its not just words that i seem to have run out of. every now and then i think of what to do next, and whatever comes to mind feels like a repeat show. time is drenched in deja vu. in my stomach, a hunger gnaws its way out from within. for what? i dont know. like the elusive word on the tip of your tongue, i almost recognise it, then dont. and life goes on, endlessly eating its track in drunken circles.
otherwise, its just soothingly slow days. drenched in the sunshine, the sea and the mountain stars. and mountain mohitos. and lazy laughter.
every evening we go to the hotel, where my dad swims and we walk down to the sea. but before that we sit and yap over a drink or two, with the fingers of smoke trailing a dome over our heads. a hug and we part. the familiar, reassuring dad smell. india kings and whiskey and anteus. the 'coming home' smell. the 'safe now' smell. the 'just made it back behind the lines' smell.
2 down, its strangely mesmerising, watching the rythmn of the waves rising & running to the shore. behind me, the hajaar mountains stand in order of fading black. the sea is nestled between its outstretched arms. the sun a perfect bloody circle, balnace atop the horizon.
the mist makes the mountains fade to blue shadows in the distance; each row paler than the one before. much like most people. do we ever really know anyone?
i stand in the water. sometimes ankle deep, sometimes swelling to the waist. as all that foam breaks around me, i imagine it will tickle, but it just feels warm and soft. what would it be like to drown in that foam? would it hold. it looks so think but breaks so thin around my skin.
then i sit and look at the sun as it sinks. how brave; to drown so gracefully, gallantly, gloriously, every evening; to sit out the night, so patient and calm, knowing and believing that the day he threw away will give way to another ... equal and more. that this is not the end. just a restart. would i dare.
the sande feels grainy under my feet. it tuck my toes into it as it dances wetly between and around. i love the light and shadow, shiney and matt, the dancing light and the contrasts, of freshly wetting sand.
i could sit for hours staring at the waves like this. the silence soothingly sorrounds me; the wave songs dont break it, just underline it. my mind drifts and i think of nothing and everything. but mostly, i wonder, would i ever dare? every wave coming in teases me. each one is like an invitation. but when i am waist deep and the cold and dark plays in my mind, i panic and run away. so i am never born again.
at night, we sit on the old swing, the wood now bleached and faded, the eucalptus overhead, smells floating in the night air. the moon and the stars look different here. just like everywhere else. but here they seem almost more swollen, more yellow ... ripe, pregnant, tempting.
our talk meanders aimlessly from topic to the next. at our feet, rex pants as always. 2 small red circles swing in the dark. we kick ourselves in the air for one last go and go in for the night.
there's so much fire. and so much promise in the fire. and yet so much futility. as often before i remember the last line from a 1000 acres.
as the end approaches, i find myself shying back. i almost know what i want, but i would never dare to reach out and get it. and who knows how badly the singed hands would burn? who says we this is the age of female freedom? we have just exchanged one prison for another. once if you wanted, they looked at you in horror. now if you dont, ur as much a freak.
watched a lot of new movies in the annual catch-up-with-bollywood-a-thon: krish, my brother nikhil, corporate, golmaal, gangster ... gangster still haunts me. such a beautifully painted picture of a perfect love, a perfect guy, a perfect end ... or was it? life and fancies are so far apart. do we ever know what we want? i dont even try.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
otherwise, its just soothingly slow days. drenched in the sunshine, the sea and the mountain stars. and mountain mohitos. and lazy laughter.
every evening we go to the hotel, where my dad swims and we walk down to the sea. but before that we sit and yap over a drink or two, with the fingers of smoke trailing a dome over our heads. a hug and we part. the familiar, reassuring dad smell. india kings and whiskey and anteus. the 'coming home' smell. the 'safe now' smell. the 'just made it back behind the lines' smell.
2 down, its strangely mesmerising, watching the rythmn of the waves rising & running to the shore. behind me, the hajaar mountains stand in order of fading black. the sea is nestled between its outstretched arms. the sun a perfect bloody circle, balnace atop the horizon.
the mist makes the mountains fade to blue shadows in the distance; each row paler than the one before. much like most people. do we ever really know anyone?
i stand in the water. sometimes ankle deep, sometimes swelling to the waist. as all that foam breaks around me, i imagine it will tickle, but it just feels warm and soft. what would it be like to drown in that foam? would it hold. it looks so think but breaks so thin around my skin.
then i sit and look at the sun as it sinks. how brave; to drown so gracefully, gallantly, gloriously, every evening; to sit out the night, so patient and calm, knowing and believing that the day he threw away will give way to another ... equal and more. that this is not the end. just a restart. would i dare.
the sande feels grainy under my feet. it tuck my toes into it as it dances wetly between and around. i love the light and shadow, shiney and matt, the dancing light and the contrasts, of freshly wetting sand.
i could sit for hours staring at the waves like this. the silence soothingly sorrounds me; the wave songs dont break it, just underline it. my mind drifts and i think of nothing and everything. but mostly, i wonder, would i ever dare? every wave coming in teases me. each one is like an invitation. but when i am waist deep and the cold and dark plays in my mind, i panic and run away. so i am never born again.
at night, we sit on the old swing, the wood now bleached and faded, the eucalptus overhead, smells floating in the night air. the moon and the stars look different here. just like everywhere else. but here they seem almost more swollen, more yellow ... ripe, pregnant, tempting.
our talk meanders aimlessly from topic to the next. at our feet, rex pants as always. 2 small red circles swing in the dark. we kick ourselves in the air for one last go and go in for the night.
there's so much fire. and so much promise in the fire. and yet so much futility. as often before i remember the last line from a 1000 acres.
as the end approaches, i find myself shying back. i almost know what i want, but i would never dare to reach out and get it. and who knows how badly the singed hands would burn? who says we this is the age of female freedom? we have just exchanged one prison for another. once if you wanted, they looked at you in horror. now if you dont, ur as much a freak.
watched a lot of new movies in the annual catch-up-with-bollywood-a-thon: krish, my brother nikhil, corporate, golmaal, gangster ... gangster still haunts me. such a beautifully painted picture of a perfect love, a perfect guy, a perfect end ... or was it? life and fancies are so far apart. do we ever know what we want? i dont even try.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
on the road again
this time the time to go crept up on me totally unawares. what with this long illness and no net at home and the prolonge sick leave from work, theres a haze of unreality which did not let the facts seek in. i will be on the road for a few days now. will update as soon as i am in dubai and settled in. a few days and its off again, back in edinburgh on the 11th ... like they say, be careful what u wish for - every wish u didnt really want, will come true.
saw KANK and it blew my mind - the mirror effect! so, there must be enough malcontents like us out there for them to make a movie out of them. also, amazed at how faithfully he captured the minutae of an extra maritial relantionship, the bitterness, the little everyday hurts of living with a dead relationship ... though i could have lived w/o some of the humour
Originally Posted at Prerona.
saw KANK and it blew my mind - the mirror effect! so, there must be enough malcontents like us out there for them to make a movie out of them. also, amazed at how faithfully he captured the minutae of an extra maritial relantionship, the bitterness, the little everyday hurts of living with a dead relationship ... though i could have lived w/o some of the humour
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Rain-Shell
dhurrr! bhallagchhena ... the much used much abused mantra that is the the old, frayed blue jeans of my vocabulary, if 'dunno' is like the little black dress. the latter can mean anything. the former, always means excatly the same thing, but what that thing is, is very hard to define precisely w/o using those words
DSC04166
Originally uploaded by prerona.
its a state of being i almost permanently live in. not sad, but not happy. not listless, but close. not bored, but could be soon. wanting something, which either i cant identify, or i know i cant have. its when u cant muster up the desire, or energy, or will or life to either stay or go, run or rest, laugh or cry or stare blankly into the blue summer skies
i was driving home from work last night, very late. near empty roads. a wet slice of rain floating on the surface of the world, the clouds, the lightning, the grinning demons of the red, green, yellow lights distorted into the mirrors all around, that were made by the rain, & the gentle giants grumbling above intermittently, and the pictures that flashed through my head, crystal clear and with no apparent meaning or purpose, could have been a psychadelic dream.
another dream comes to a close, mid reach. now ill stop looking. the tape in the car starts singing my favourite song, a PJ. Helplessly, I sing along. Aloud. So I'm driving down Broad St singing out loud with Pearl Jam and Ben Harper. Probably, a good thing that it was too late for too many people to be out.
later, after dinner, i lie on my back on the terrace. the moon is full and fat. its a night for the wolf and the crow. as the clouds stroke the moons face, and the wind mine, i think about what i think about. i wonder how come i am almost always lost in thought, yet never think about anything constructive. i think a lot of us know v little about ourselves. i less than most. lot of times i see people who have these very strong ideas abt themselves, who they are, what they want, where they are headed ... but more often than not. they are so obviously wrong. and they will never see it till the time is right. noone ever see's anything till the time is right. thats why I find arguing such a waste of time. and 'resolving issues' ... whats thepoint? what r u going to resolve anyway.
also, i wonder about the most basic question again and again: what do I want out of life? somehow everyday finding the answers seems more and mroe important. and everyday the answer slips further away. i am slipping into my worst nightmare: to be born, exist & die ... like a cockroach. and maybe its only right. maybe thats just the law of nature that our recent generations with their swollen sense of self dont comprehend. there is, perhaps, no meaning to fathom, no purpose to strive for, no gods to worship nor 'The 1' to dream about. everything is biology and chemistry and fate or chance. whichever. who'd care, then. even as the words form in my brain, a childish bitterness and anger rise like bile in my throat. a mute, insane desire to kick out at life, hit back, throw away, reject it. i dont want to be a cockroach. but halfsmiling, a pan-like shadow lurks in the background. a more "mature" self, and it says, 'are you sure'?
i saw omkara. I really loved it. Spent all of Monday reading miscellaneous reviews. I think the one i liked best was this one by b.rangan. I have downloaded all the songs but can't stop listening to "O Saathi Re". I wonder why its so hypnotic to me? The words, the tune, the music are all great, but not that spectacular. I think what is haunting is the mood, of the song, of the romance, of the movie. the song, that sequence, those scenes ... for me, thats the perfect love story. isnt Othello the most romantic of all stories? even better than the beauty and the beast! wouldnt not any woman rather be love and be loved so deeply, completely and purely, for a brief period of time, find a giant of a man, a hero, a god ... even if you had to die at his hands ... than live forever with lukewarm feelings and half-people who will be sweet and loving forever, in their lukewarm way. personal point of view. maybe most women would.
coming back to the movie, i really thought always abt shakespear that though his plays were the equivalent of trashy novels and soap operas at some level, his character sketches were brilliant. some even made you hunger for more, like i still wonder what cassius would have been like if he had paid more attn to him in jc. but i think omkara dug even deeper in to the character and painted every shade even more brilliantly. my favourite 2 shots: kareena swinging at the door of her house laughing and teasing kesu and kareena swinging above ajay devgans body on the floor.
only thing i didnt like about the movie was konkona saying 'hasi bahut mehengi ho rakhi hai ...' 2ce too many (3'ce total). do people really have catch phrases in real life. dunno. dont care. it clashed, for me.
other favourite scenes, tyagi and the xgroom at the bridge and vivek oberoi with the man in thecar with the phone. yes. that the kind of sudden burst of helpless anger and simmering burning branding jealousy - like a summer storm - here one sec gone the next - that i know about
another ghostly scene was the one where ajay devgan confesses, jab dolly ke akho me dekhta hun (hauntingly familiar). but the best of all was when she sings him the song. the look on her face. the way she smiles. the trust. the innocence. the pride. the purity. like a kitten playing in the jaw of a tiger, blissful, bcz it cant comprehend a reason for anyone to hurt anything ... is what it reminded me off
memories and ghosts, is what the movie stirred. memories & snapshots stacked away in dusty back rooms of the mind. disturbing lazy and fat moths and sway cobwebs. is it some strange co incidence or is there some deeper significance, that so many memories have been stirring lately?
there's a certain type of book that i avoid. they dont all techincally fall in that category, but i do lump them together as 'self help books'. maybe they are all just books that try to tell you what to do. or maybe not. recently someone gave me one of these books to read and as usual i couldnt say no. it seemed to me at that time that it would be disrespectful to the feelings which prompted his wanting to share something he enjoyed with me. so i said yes and thought wtf, ill just try to force myself thru it just this once. as usual, i was wrong. it was a huge mistake. not only am i hating the book, i feel like its poisoning my mind and filling it with the weirdest of thoughts.i could just stop reading it and give it back, but i cant bring myself to do that for the same reasons i said yes in the first place. besides, i hate having haf read books in my read-list. yet whenever i pick up the book i am filled with loathing and disgust. disproportionate? yes. helpless? yes. indicative? yes. I know that if I had summoned up the courage to face the confrontation and said right in the beginning, when it was offered, or even soon after, that I dont want to read it, much trouble would have been saved all round. The Art of Saying No ... is something I need to learn. and fast! that and to avoid or run away from discussion bcz they look 'ugly'; bcz we cant change our basic natures, and there is a kind of tolerance for 'differentness' which comes from i know not where in some people, with some people ... which cant be cultivated, faked or forced
after a long time, i fell asleep alone in my room, on the mattress next to the window. i woke up, half afraid, half bored with sleeping, at about 3. the rain and the wind outside swirled around the house, around my room. it was a full moon night and there was a crow screeching on the terrace. drenched. its still raining, though its dropped down to a drizzle. even the rains are capricious here.
when i finally woke up it was 8. with wakefulness dawning realised the gnawing sense of
my horoscope for the day says "love is all around, if you can only see it. You may or may not have a romantic prospect in your life, but more importantly, you're surrounded by affection. Friends, family, coworkers -- they adore you". right ...
Originally Posted at Prerona.
DSC04166
Originally uploaded by prerona.
its a state of being i almost permanently live in. not sad, but not happy. not listless, but close. not bored, but could be soon. wanting something, which either i cant identify, or i know i cant have. its when u cant muster up the desire, or energy, or will or life to either stay or go, run or rest, laugh or cry or stare blankly into the blue summer skies
i was driving home from work last night, very late. near empty roads. a wet slice of rain floating on the surface of the world, the clouds, the lightning, the grinning demons of the red, green, yellow lights distorted into the mirrors all around, that were made by the rain, & the gentle giants grumbling above intermittently, and the pictures that flashed through my head, crystal clear and with no apparent meaning or purpose, could have been a psychadelic dream.
another dream comes to a close, mid reach. now ill stop looking. the tape in the car starts singing my favourite song, a PJ. Helplessly, I sing along. Aloud. So I'm driving down Broad St singing out loud with Pearl Jam and Ben Harper. Probably, a good thing that it was too late for too many people to be out.
later, after dinner, i lie on my back on the terrace. the moon is full and fat. its a night for the wolf and the crow. as the clouds stroke the moons face, and the wind mine, i think about what i think about. i wonder how come i am almost always lost in thought, yet never think about anything constructive. i think a lot of us know v little about ourselves. i less than most. lot of times i see people who have these very strong ideas abt themselves, who they are, what they want, where they are headed ... but more often than not. they are so obviously wrong. and they will never see it till the time is right. noone ever see's anything till the time is right. thats why I find arguing such a waste of time. and 'resolving issues' ... whats thepoint? what r u going to resolve anyway.
also, i wonder about the most basic question again and again: what do I want out of life? somehow everyday finding the answers seems more and mroe important. and everyday the answer slips further away. i am slipping into my worst nightmare: to be born, exist & die ... like a cockroach. and maybe its only right. maybe thats just the law of nature that our recent generations with their swollen sense of self dont comprehend. there is, perhaps, no meaning to fathom, no purpose to strive for, no gods to worship nor 'The 1' to dream about. everything is biology and chemistry and fate or chance. whichever. who'd care, then. even as the words form in my brain, a childish bitterness and anger rise like bile in my throat. a mute, insane desire to kick out at life, hit back, throw away, reject it. i dont want to be a cockroach. but halfsmiling, a pan-like shadow lurks in the background. a more "mature" self, and it says, 'are you sure'?
i saw omkara. I really loved it. Spent all of Monday reading miscellaneous reviews. I think the one i liked best was this one by b.rangan. I have downloaded all the songs but can't stop listening to "O Saathi Re". I wonder why its so hypnotic to me? The words, the tune, the music are all great, but not that spectacular. I think what is haunting is the mood, of the song, of the romance, of the movie. the song, that sequence, those scenes ... for me, thats the perfect love story. isnt Othello the most romantic of all stories? even better than the beauty and the beast! wouldnt not any woman rather be love and be loved so deeply, completely and purely, for a brief period of time, find a giant of a man, a hero, a god ... even if you had to die at his hands ... than live forever with lukewarm feelings and half-people who will be sweet and loving forever, in their lukewarm way. personal point of view. maybe most women would.
coming back to the movie, i really thought always abt shakespear that though his plays were the equivalent of trashy novels and soap operas at some level, his character sketches were brilliant. some even made you hunger for more, like i still wonder what cassius would have been like if he had paid more attn to him in jc. but i think omkara dug even deeper in to the character and painted every shade even more brilliantly. my favourite 2 shots: kareena swinging at the door of her house laughing and teasing kesu and kareena swinging above ajay devgans body on the floor.
only thing i didnt like about the movie was konkona saying 'hasi bahut mehengi ho rakhi hai ...' 2ce too many (3'ce total). do people really have catch phrases in real life. dunno. dont care. it clashed, for me.
other favourite scenes, tyagi and the xgroom at the bridge and vivek oberoi with the man in thecar with the phone. yes. that the kind of sudden burst of helpless anger and simmering burning branding jealousy - like a summer storm - here one sec gone the next - that i know about
another ghostly scene was the one where ajay devgan confesses, jab dolly ke akho me dekhta hun (hauntingly familiar). but the best of all was when she sings him the song. the look on her face. the way she smiles. the trust. the innocence. the pride. the purity. like a kitten playing in the jaw of a tiger, blissful, bcz it cant comprehend a reason for anyone to hurt anything ... is what it reminded me off
memories and ghosts, is what the movie stirred. memories & snapshots stacked away in dusty back rooms of the mind. disturbing lazy and fat moths and sway cobwebs. is it some strange co incidence or is there some deeper significance, that so many memories have been stirring lately?
there's a certain type of book that i avoid. they dont all techincally fall in that category, but i do lump them together as 'self help books'. maybe they are all just books that try to tell you what to do. or maybe not. recently someone gave me one of these books to read and as usual i couldnt say no. it seemed to me at that time that it would be disrespectful to the feelings which prompted his wanting to share something he enjoyed with me. so i said yes and thought wtf, ill just try to force myself thru it just this once. as usual, i was wrong. it was a huge mistake. not only am i hating the book, i feel like its poisoning my mind and filling it with the weirdest of thoughts.i could just stop reading it and give it back, but i cant bring myself to do that for the same reasons i said yes in the first place. besides, i hate having haf read books in my read-list. yet whenever i pick up the book i am filled with loathing and disgust. disproportionate? yes. helpless? yes. indicative? yes. I know that if I had summoned up the courage to face the confrontation and said right in the beginning, when it was offered, or even soon after, that I dont want to read it, much trouble would have been saved all round. The Art of Saying No ... is something I need to learn. and fast! that and to avoid or run away from discussion bcz they look 'ugly'; bcz we cant change our basic natures, and there is a kind of tolerance for 'differentness' which comes from i know not where in some people, with some people ... which cant be cultivated, faked or forced
after a long time, i fell asleep alone in my room, on the mattress next to the window. i woke up, half afraid, half bored with sleeping, at about 3. the rain and the wind outside swirled around the house, around my room. it was a full moon night and there was a crow screeching on the terrace. drenched. its still raining, though its dropped down to a drizzle. even the rains are capricious here.
when i finally woke up it was 8. with wakefulness dawning realised the gnawing sense of
my horoscope for the day says "love is all around, if you can only see it. You may or may not have a romantic prospect in your life, but more importantly, you're surrounded by affection. Friends, family, coworkers -- they adore you". right ...
Originally Posted at Prerona.
moleskin
Discovery of the week: A site dedicated to my beloved moleskin! Please go and see moleskinery.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Memories & Random Thoughts
About five years ago, someone had sung me a song over the telephone. He had heard it on the radio while passing through a shop. Inspite of the fleeting aquaintance, it had stayed behind in his mind; perhaps because he thought he knew all of Guru's songs, however obscure, and was surprised at a new discovery. I too, fell in love with the song instantly and it stayed in my head. From time to time I would search for it, wherever I could think of. After all these years, I finally found the song ... http://songs.kishorekumar.org/Man_Kare_Yaad_Woh_Din.ram.
Its strange how somethings can pass through your mind, your life, so fleetingly, and leave footprints so permanent. If I close my eyes I can still hear the song in my head, feel all the feelings: the sun, the rain, the hills, the echos, the vada pav. Maybe, its enough. In some strange way, having found the song and being able to hear it again, physically, did not take my enjoyment of it significantly higher than what I got from having it play constantly in my head.
As always memories come with ghalib, or ghalib with memories. time and rust makes my memories fuzzy and i mix up and misquote him in my head. dair nahin, haram nahin,
dar nahin, aastan nahin. baithe hain reh guzar pe hum. gair hamein uthaye kyon? rahi na taquat e guftaar, aur agar ho bhi, toh kis umeed pein kahiye ki, aarzoo kya hain. jala hain jism, toh jigar bhi jal gaya hoga. khured te ho, jo ab raakh, arzoo kya hain. huyi muddat ki ghalib mar gaya, per yaad aata hain, woh har ek baat pein kehna ki yun hota, toh kya hota.
Its been a while since I heard jagjit singh or mehdi hassan or ghulam ali. i feel like listening to 'mujhe tum nazar se', but again i cant ever find the song.
I finally saw Fanaa. It was showing on cable. I couldnt get over how much they went on and on about. My poor Sanju Baba, didnt get anything! Maybe they started of for Guru and went on, on momentum!
I want to see The movie, Yun Hota toh Kya hota, Corporate, Kabhi Alvida Na Kehna, Pyar ka Side Effects and Double Entry ... Ajay, Saif, Viveck, Rahul Bose & Rajat Kapur ... what more can you want from life ;0)
I was thinking today that every male, bollywood actor I have ever had a crush on, except sanju, started out as a guy no one likes and everyone says 'yuck! y do u like him?' ... but then they make it and suddenly everyone likes him! By which point usually I dont like him that much anymore. Ajay Devgan, Saif Ali Khan, Dushman, Rajat Kapur, Abhishekh ... and actually even the females ... zeenat aman, sush, antara, rani mukherjee ...
Its strange how somethings can pass through your mind, your life, so fleetingly, and leave footprints so permanent. If I close my eyes I can still hear the song in my head, feel all the feelings: the sun, the rain, the hills, the echos, the vada pav. Maybe, its enough. In some strange way, having found the song and being able to hear it again, physically, did not take my enjoyment of it significantly higher than what I got from having it play constantly in my head.
As always memories come with ghalib, or ghalib with memories. time and rust makes my memories fuzzy and i mix up and misquote him in my head. dair nahin, haram nahin,
dar nahin, aastan nahin. baithe hain reh guzar pe hum. gair hamein uthaye kyon? rahi na taquat e guftaar, aur agar ho bhi, toh kis umeed pein kahiye ki, aarzoo kya hain. jala hain jism, toh jigar bhi jal gaya hoga. khured te ho, jo ab raakh, arzoo kya hain. huyi muddat ki ghalib mar gaya, per yaad aata hain, woh har ek baat pein kehna ki yun hota, toh kya hota.
Its been a while since I heard jagjit singh or mehdi hassan or ghulam ali. i feel like listening to 'mujhe tum nazar se', but again i cant ever find the song.
I finally saw Fanaa. It was showing on cable. I couldnt get over how much they went on and on about. My poor Sanju Baba, didnt get anything! Maybe they started of for Guru and went on, on momentum!
I want to see The movie, Yun Hota toh Kya hota, Corporate, Kabhi Alvida Na Kehna, Pyar ka Side Effects and Double Entry ... Ajay, Saif, Viveck, Rahul Bose & Rajat Kapur ... what more can you want from life ;0)
I was thinking today that every male, bollywood actor I have ever had a crush on, except sanju, started out as a guy no one likes and everyone says 'yuck! y do u like him?' ... but then they make it and suddenly everyone likes him! By which point usually I dont like him that much anymore. Ajay Devgan, Saif Ali Khan, Dushman, Rajat Kapur, Abhishekh ... and actually even the females ... zeenat aman, sush, antara, rani mukherjee ...
dusk
On the way up to Rammam
Originally uploaded by prerona.
so i melt another sun
and hold it in my palm
and tip my cupped hand
to pour it down
and i strike another moon alight
and blow an underwater storm
and cover it up with calm rivulets,
neatly.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Goose Clouds
view from train on the way to NJP: Goose Clouds
Originally uploaded by prerona.
and then,
when the day was done,
i lit a moon
and i tucked in the sun;
and the stars, curious,
came out one by one
miraculously, the world
glimmered once more.
i turned again. reborn.
i came home then;
with my soul safe in my pocket;
thank you, life,
for saving me again.
renewed, everything is once more young.
forgiven, i am once more begun.
the harsh sun, has gone away down.
tomorrows sun, might be a fairer one.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
To Stay or to Go
Outside, its a beautiful morning. The sun is out, but not blistering. There's a small wind and a few clouds, and the promise of rain later. Rain: always holding out, with the hope of succour from desperate heat. The days get hotter and hotter, like a test of endurance. You try to ignore it; remember the freezing, under-the-finger-nails-numbing winters gone past and enjoy the heat. You try to ignore it, and go on with your day. You try to concentrate on your swing and ignore the ticklish feeling of sweat forming on your face. You try to ignore the sweltering oppressiveness and focus on your thoughts, the road, the other cars, the person talking to you, the journey.
Just as you are almost ready to give up, then the rains come.
First there are just a few stray drops whispering on your face, on your arms as they stick out of the window, on the windshield. Swiftly the tempo increases till there's a curtain of water all around your space. The window is covered with the constant drumming of drops. Wet crows screech in jubillient laughter. The world dims, through the sheer cover. Raindrops glisten on window panes. The light turns dim and silvery. The big red flowers on the trees shine polished. The streets are littered with torn leaves and twigs. And children dance joyfully in the wet.
Almost everybody is smiling. The rain is relief from the heat. And the clouds are the promise, the hope.
Back in my morning, down the corridor, in still dark rooms, my mother and sister sleep on. I want to wake them, for a shared morning cup of tea, but I know they went to bed late and dont need to wake up for a long time yet. The desire to sneak into their beds and cuddle up with them almost overwhelms me. But I steel my heart, and let the brush of a kiss and carress suffice.
I make my second cup of coffee: strong, sweet, black and lukewarm. I am slowly getting used to instant coffee again. I tell myself a few more minutes idling will not kill me; or my career.(;) There was a time when I would have added: 'same difference', but that phase of life is going with the wind. Thats another scary transition. Having identified with something for so long, having made an institution my saviour, my last chance, my belated battlefield, to try one last time to prove myself to myself - or die trying, to have made that one thing everything, holier than any religion - substitue for everything else - its strangely unsettling to try and move to a new pasture. I steel myself and try not to think about it.
How much steel-ing we do in a day ...
Every morning, I fight a massive surge of desire to stay back in this moment, this morning, this, my favourite time of the day. I want to just not go to work for a day and stay home with them. They are and will be on their own trips. With their own friends. Their own work. Yet now and then I will get fleeting instants: fleeting hugs, fleeting kisses, fleeting jagged edged, shining, beautiful pieces of conversations. Its enough. Having been exiled for so long, from a place I came to late and never really lived in, 'being home' with all its implications, is a potent addiction.
Little things like the 4 people under the same roof, like her in a sari, in red and white, with vermillion and white and red wristcuffed, for us, by us, of us ... strange dreams and desires, little things like her making food, like waking up with the little thing, like being driven somewhere by him, or him remembering which one of us is called what, or her remembering something i like to eat ... small things like shared memories, shared times together, shared history, little rights, priviledges and places at the table and in the sitting room ... things most people take for granted, grow up with, have enough of and surfeiting long to grow away from. We never had enough. We never could surfeit.
Its hard for most people to understand how it would feel to grow up fragmented. Many 'parents', many gaurdians, many homes, whole lot of love and affection, but never in one place for long enough. Always steeled for the switch from one environment to the next, one set of people to the next, you soon learn loyalties and things like that only make it hurt worse. You learn to 'love' whoever is at hand whenever. Because even then, you need to love. Your needs, and you are so dependant then, are catered to by so many, like juggling balls in reverse, that 'trust' is a concept you never learn, because to forget, to think that it was someone else's turn today to do the needful (to lend a lift home from the nursery, or keep in the evening after, or get coke and chips for friends for birthday party, or leave keys under doormat) is too easy, to human, to often.
Always on the roll, I miss the moss. There was only one constant, one anchor, one person who would not put career, or friends, or lovelife or 'her life' before you, specially if you were ill or scared, she'd be there. And now she's not there any more. Its a strange feeling. Its like a light going out: you know you can live in the dark, but it takes a while for your eyes to adjust.
And you grow a greed for human contact. For the strokes. For the laughter and chatter. Someone to listen to your prattling. Someone stay up for you. Someone to be selfless with you. Someone secure enough in their universality to not care if you're going or coming or hating or kicking or showering with love and affection. Someone who understands its all forms of the same thing. Someone to know when you're lying, scared, bluffing, hurt, hiding, angry, being calm, or trying to. Someone be a mother.
Below my desk, at my feet, is the yellow plastic basket, which held all my things whenever it was time to shift me from one set of arms to another, many years ago. I kick it with my feet as I write. In my cupboard, a snatch of white cloth torn from her last sari. Its dirt now and rag-ish. And in my old phone the last messages ("6th August, 2005: 1000 hours exactly: The fire is feeding"). And picture of me as she saw me, as she kept always in front of her. For the first time I see with semi-grown up eyes and see what she meant abt the look in its eyes. like a kid lost in a fair: torn between fear, incomprehension & fascination with the surroundings.
I keep holding on.
Once again, its time to go. I'm getting late. Need to decide whether to have my third cup or snap myself out of this mood of indulgence and get moving. But my 'self' says, whats the hurry. Why are you always pushing on. Where are you headed? Why are you headed there. Isnt this, here and now, everything you always dreamed of? Or did it come too late and too little to freeze my clock for?
And old song comes to mind ... "wahaan kaun hain tera, mussafir, chala hain kahaan?"
I'm late for work. Its past nine already and I havent even dressed. I need to go. Yet, I wonder why? Why do you have to go to work everyday? Why do you have to go to work at all? Why cant I stay home, where my family is, where its pseudo-familiar and wonderful?
Is it just a foolish illusion that makes us run every morning and keeps us running through our days? Or is it a misconception that makes us mistake laziness and intertia for wanting to stay back at home every morning: if I could understand that, I would solve this puzzle that tearing me up inside
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Just as you are almost ready to give up, then the rains come.
First there are just a few stray drops whispering on your face, on your arms as they stick out of the window, on the windshield. Swiftly the tempo increases till there's a curtain of water all around your space. The window is covered with the constant drumming of drops. Wet crows screech in jubillient laughter. The world dims, through the sheer cover. Raindrops glisten on window panes. The light turns dim and silvery. The big red flowers on the trees shine polished. The streets are littered with torn leaves and twigs. And children dance joyfully in the wet.
Almost everybody is smiling. The rain is relief from the heat. And the clouds are the promise, the hope.
Back in my morning, down the corridor, in still dark rooms, my mother and sister sleep on. I want to wake them, for a shared morning cup of tea, but I know they went to bed late and dont need to wake up for a long time yet. The desire to sneak into their beds and cuddle up with them almost overwhelms me. But I steel my heart, and let the brush of a kiss and carress suffice.
I make my second cup of coffee: strong, sweet, black and lukewarm. I am slowly getting used to instant coffee again. I tell myself a few more minutes idling will not kill me; or my career.(;) There was a time when I would have added: 'same difference', but that phase of life is going with the wind. Thats another scary transition. Having identified with something for so long, having made an institution my saviour, my last chance, my belated battlefield, to try one last time to prove myself to myself - or die trying, to have made that one thing everything, holier than any religion - substitue for everything else - its strangely unsettling to try and move to a new pasture. I steel myself and try not to think about it.
How much steel-ing we do in a day ...
Every morning, I fight a massive surge of desire to stay back in this moment, this morning, this, my favourite time of the day. I want to just not go to work for a day and stay home with them. They are and will be on their own trips. With their own friends. Their own work. Yet now and then I will get fleeting instants: fleeting hugs, fleeting kisses, fleeting jagged edged, shining, beautiful pieces of conversations. Its enough. Having been exiled for so long, from a place I came to late and never really lived in, 'being home' with all its implications, is a potent addiction.
Little things like the 4 people under the same roof, like her in a sari, in red and white, with vermillion and white and red wristcuffed, for us, by us, of us ... strange dreams and desires, little things like her making food, like waking up with the little thing, like being driven somewhere by him, or him remembering which one of us is called what, or her remembering something i like to eat ... small things like shared memories, shared times together, shared history, little rights, priviledges and places at the table and in the sitting room ... things most people take for granted, grow up with, have enough of and surfeiting long to grow away from. We never had enough. We never could surfeit.
Its hard for most people to understand how it would feel to grow up fragmented. Many 'parents', many gaurdians, many homes, whole lot of love and affection, but never in one place for long enough. Always steeled for the switch from one environment to the next, one set of people to the next, you soon learn loyalties and things like that only make it hurt worse. You learn to 'love' whoever is at hand whenever. Because even then, you need to love. Your needs, and you are so dependant then, are catered to by so many, like juggling balls in reverse, that 'trust' is a concept you never learn, because to forget, to think that it was someone else's turn today to do the needful (to lend a lift home from the nursery, or keep in the evening after, or get coke and chips for friends for birthday party, or leave keys under doormat) is too easy, to human, to often.
Always on the roll, I miss the moss. There was only one constant, one anchor, one person who would not put career, or friends, or lovelife or 'her life' before you, specially if you were ill or scared, she'd be there. And now she's not there any more. Its a strange feeling. Its like a light going out: you know you can live in the dark, but it takes a while for your eyes to adjust.
And you grow a greed for human contact. For the strokes. For the laughter and chatter. Someone to listen to your prattling. Someone stay up for you. Someone to be selfless with you. Someone secure enough in their universality to not care if you're going or coming or hating or kicking or showering with love and affection. Someone who understands its all forms of the same thing. Someone to know when you're lying, scared, bluffing, hurt, hiding, angry, being calm, or trying to. Someone be a mother.
Below my desk, at my feet, is the yellow plastic basket, which held all my things whenever it was time to shift me from one set of arms to another, many years ago. I kick it with my feet as I write. In my cupboard, a snatch of white cloth torn from her last sari. Its dirt now and rag-ish. And in my old phone the last messages ("6th August, 2005: 1000 hours exactly: The fire is feeding"). And picture of me as she saw me, as she kept always in front of her. For the first time I see with semi-grown up eyes and see what she meant abt the look in its eyes. like a kid lost in a fair: torn between fear, incomprehension & fascination with the surroundings.
I keep holding on.
Once again, its time to go. I'm getting late. Need to decide whether to have my third cup or snap myself out of this mood of indulgence and get moving. But my 'self' says, whats the hurry. Why are you always pushing on. Where are you headed? Why are you headed there. Isnt this, here and now, everything you always dreamed of? Or did it come too late and too little to freeze my clock for?
And old song comes to mind ... "wahaan kaun hain tera, mussafir, chala hain kahaan?"
I'm late for work. Its past nine already and I havent even dressed. I need to go. Yet, I wonder why? Why do you have to go to work everyday? Why do you have to go to work at all? Why cant I stay home, where my family is, where its pseudo-familiar and wonderful?
Is it just a foolish illusion that makes us run every morning and keeps us running through our days? Or is it a misconception that makes us mistake laziness and intertia for wanting to stay back at home every morning: if I could understand that, I would solve this puzzle that tearing me up inside
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Tagged!!!
Tagged by Sanity Starved, i swear i did this already but I lost the post! Anyway, so here goes:
I am thinking about …
Tomorrow, The trek coming up, The noise in engine, The motorcycle in the show I saw this afternoon, money, relpet, babies, Dad, Yazoo!, my hair, isreal ... the noise in the AC, the temperature in U.k (and is doomsday coming - my eternal fear)
I said ...
"I'm busy, can I call you back sweetie", but I lied, as usual. I feel really lazy to talk sometimes (?)
I want to ...
have babies, make biriyani - just the way i like it, learn russian, deutsch, maithali and sanskrit, have babies, live in paris/london/kolkata, look like my mommy or sushmita sen, work in an old age home, go for a long trip to the amazon, see machu pichu and go to the arctic (?), run a marathon, learn squash, play rugby, take up skulling again, learn to focus, have babies, play the violin, climb the himalayas, "conquer" the mind (or atleast pass the classes)
I wish ...
I knew what I wanted.
I hear ...
Pearl Jam, Doors, Metallica, Chopin, Dire Straits, Bach, Barrett, Chandrobindu, Floyd, Rabindra Sangeet, Tull, Hemanta, Kishore Kumar, KK, Bhupinder, Ghulam Ali, Amir Khan ... basically everything except rap (and very little pop music)
I wonder ...
what it all means
I regret...
lost time and not buying 'the dream bag when Dad offered
I am ...
always sleepy
I dance...
almost always, to almost anything, whenever noones looking
I sing...
extremely painfully and incessently
I cry...
a lot more for small things than for bigger things. then i shut up
I am not always...
consistent
I make with my hands...
food ... and its usually quite decent
I write ...
on my blogs, a few group blogs, letters and emails to friends, a journal i carry in my bag, and another 'proper' journal and endless lists. i make lists like 'things i could make lists about'
I confuse ...
who i am with who i want to be
I need …
to think, to read, hear music, see movies, to laugh, cry and love
And finally...
I pass this tag to ... everyone who reads this (inspired by aparna) - or everyone who wants to do it.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
I am thinking about …
Tomorrow, The trek coming up, The noise in engine, The motorcycle in the show I saw this afternoon, money, relpet, babies, Dad, Yazoo!, my hair, isreal ... the noise in the AC, the temperature in U.k (and is doomsday coming - my eternal fear)
I said ...
"I'm busy, can I call you back sweetie", but I lied, as usual. I feel really lazy to talk sometimes (?)
I want to ...
have babies, make biriyani - just the way i like it, learn russian, deutsch, maithali and sanskrit, have babies, live in paris/london/kolkata, look like my mommy or sushmita sen, work in an old age home, go for a long trip to the amazon, see machu pichu and go to the arctic (?), run a marathon, learn squash, play rugby, take up skulling again, learn to focus, have babies, play the violin, climb the himalayas, "conquer" the mind (or atleast pass the classes)
I wish ...
I knew what I wanted.
I hear ...
Pearl Jam, Doors, Metallica, Chopin, Dire Straits, Bach, Barrett, Chandrobindu, Floyd, Rabindra Sangeet, Tull, Hemanta, Kishore Kumar, KK, Bhupinder, Ghulam Ali, Amir Khan ... basically everything except rap (and very little pop music)
I wonder ...
what it all means
I regret...
lost time and not buying 'the dream bag when Dad offered
I am ...
always sleepy
I dance...
almost always, to almost anything, whenever noones looking
I sing...
extremely painfully and incessently
I cry...
a lot more for small things than for bigger things. then i shut up
I am not always...
consistent
I make with my hands...
food ... and its usually quite decent
I write ...
on my blogs, a few group blogs, letters and emails to friends, a journal i carry in my bag, and another 'proper' journal and endless lists. i make lists like 'things i could make lists about'
I confuse ...
who i am with who i want to be
I need …
to think, to read, hear music, see movies, to laugh, cry and love
And finally...
I pass this tag to ... everyone who reads this (inspired by aparna) - or everyone who wants to do it.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Gone
the fire ate my mommy
the tall-man took her away
the ashes made me blind
the cold made me freeze
they say there's life beyond this
but i dont want to move on
i dont want to leave this moment
the last where you belonged
i had friends and i had lovers
but people dissapoint
when there's pain and acid
and darknes inside, people only hide
bitter sweet
thats everything
i know it but i cant hold it
bittersweet, everyone. i know them but i dont
everyone wants something
everybody has an agenda
noone knows. noone understands
noone even cares
thought you were different for a while
till i saw ur traitors face
till i saw the dirt in ur eyes
till i saw thru ur little, low, lying mind
thought u were different for a while
till i saw ur smile
ur just another one of them
evil in disguise
the tall-man took her away
the ashes made me blind
the cold made me freeze
they say there's life beyond this
but i dont want to move on
i dont want to leave this moment
the last where you belonged
i had friends and i had lovers
but people dissapoint
when there's pain and acid
and darknes inside, people only hide
bitter sweet
thats everything
i know it but i cant hold it
bittersweet, everyone. i know them but i dont
everyone wants something
everybody has an agenda
noone knows. noone understands
noone even cares
thought you were different for a while
till i saw ur traitors face
till i saw the dirt in ur eyes
till i saw thru ur little, low, lying mind
thought u were different for a while
till i saw ur smile
ur just another one of them
evil in disguise
Now
saviour ...
come save me
i cant deal with
how i feel
bitch
but how i love her
i'd kill her
and then stay in worship
i cant
live here
in this moment
that i am mesmerized, frozen in
cant
run away
to sanity
and freedom, away from her
waif
spirit
ghoul
ghost
trapped
by thread of lead
to the body
cant let go
body yet
full of fire ants
and acid dirt horrors shame
and memories. cant go back
so i melt another sun
and hold it in my palm
and tip my cupped hand
to pour it down
and i strike another moon alight
and blow an underwater storm
and cover it up with calm rivulets,
neatly.
come save me
i cant deal with
how i feel
bitch
but how i love her
i'd kill her
and then stay in worship
i cant
live here
in this moment
that i am mesmerized, frozen in
cant
run away
to sanity
and freedom, away from her
waif
spirit
ghoul
ghost
trapped
by thread of lead
to the body
cant let go
body yet
full of fire ants
and acid dirt horrors shame
and memories. cant go back
so i melt another sun
and hold it in my palm
and tip my cupped hand
to pour it down
and i strike another moon alight
and blow an underwater storm
and cover it up with calm rivulets,
neatly.
Fever Tree
The fever feels like its in the brain
frentic, wild, pulsing, alive
dancing in an orgy
of laughing crying deamons
it conjures a incessant kaliedescope
of snapshots that are not quite memories
i walk the rooms, empty house
holding the silence by hand for company
i here the bricks
sing lullabies
and tell of u
when i couldnt see
this is the house
these are the rooms
these are the places
you lived without me
now, years away,
ur loneliness lives here with me
the window runs open
the swing screeches gently
the pink ropes it hung by swing slowly in my mind
i remember, where and when
and why
a christmas tree
dairy milk
a trip, a place, a region
the last laugh
the last flight
and a tree with rot in the seed
and a tree doomed to be
just a skeleton tree
just a ghost of a tree
frentic, wild, pulsing, alive
dancing in an orgy
of laughing crying deamons
it conjures a incessant kaliedescope
of snapshots that are not quite memories
i walk the rooms, empty house
holding the silence by hand for company
i here the bricks
sing lullabies
and tell of u
when i couldnt see
this is the house
these are the rooms
these are the places
you lived without me
now, years away,
ur loneliness lives here with me
the window runs open
the swing screeches gently
the pink ropes it hung by swing slowly in my mind
i remember, where and when
and why
a christmas tree
dairy milk
a trip, a place, a region
the last laugh
the last flight
and a tree with rot in the seed
and a tree doomed to be
just a skeleton tree
just a ghost of a tree
In Anger with the World
Image029
Originally uploaded by prerona.
sitting here, head on knees
staring into the dark,
amongst the litter of could-have-beens
that never went too far
the minutes and hours slip by heedless,
time: always running out too fast
and yet, days & years dont budge
the moment doesnt pass.
the world's shrunk to a room,
the light from between the bars,
the gates swing open, regular times,
the thoughts that never stray too far.
saturday finally comes round;
the day long weeks mark time towards.
so much hope invested,
careless, it comes and goes.
the prison becomes the home, the womb
helpless hands caress keys
too broken to lift to lock
to weak for release
starved stomach, mind and heart
relief's shock. freedom's fear
when finally the doors unlocked,
he was too broken to go near.
many decades have come and gone
countless taunted through window. countless rising suns
come in when tired, he's fallen to sleep
and marked another day on the wall
This started out as an idea - a picture of a man who is being released after months and years of imprisonment. he is too tired to feel anything. somewhere the thread got lost so it shall be shelved with the rest of the imcomplete stories at the story blog. Before dying, it gave birth to this, however :)
OST: The Master of Puppets
Originally Posted at Prerona.
The Nightmare
I nightmare that had always recurred
like a tattoo, cut into your skin
from a remembered life, a remembered scene
a familiar homely scene
then the terror
then being locked in
suddenly its all come true
suspnded between like and disgust
trapped in a moment with you
like a tattoo, cut into your skin
from a remembered life, a remembered scene
a familiar homely scene
then the terror
then being locked in
suddenly its all come true
suspnded between like and disgust
trapped in a moment with you
Wouldn't You Miss Me?
Syd Barrett 11
Originally uploaded by neocaeczaristic.
Syd Barrett 08
Originally uploaded by neocaeczaristic.
he's got his bike
Originally uploaded by Janesdead.
"I don't think I'm easy to talk about. I've got a very irregular head. And I'm not anything that you think I am anyway." Rolling Stone, Dec 1971
"What exactly is a dream, and what exactly is a joke?" Jugaband Blues
You've been on my mind.
A vague grey-ish blue.
Now that you've crossed the gates
Can you come back and tell me,
Where do clouds go when they evaporate?
I think there are terrapins, faeries, & gnomes.
Were there little people to welcome you,
Or monsters and dwarfs and men?
Is it all strange and new,
Or is there a sense of deja vu?
Is life coming back to you?
Did you meet her there?
Did she recognise and greet you?
Stones in her wet pockets,
Lest she fly away.
Like a frail black cloud, on a rainy day.
Where you still stoned? You know, I was always frightened ...
Do you miss here? Its raining.
Is it nice there, or were you scared?
Or are you still laughing, Madcap?
Paint me a picture, frame it in a silver song,
And slide it down a rainbow
Or keep it by the Gates, above the Wall; guess you've broken through them now.
Wouldnt you miss me? I shall, so shall we all.
Not sure how to say it. Been feeling strange since I heard. Another one gone. We'll be running out of idols pretty soon. There'll be no more giants on the moon. The feeling's been humming somewhere at the back of my mind since then. Looking at every footstep, echo and reflection he left behind; and all the shrines. Something about the brevity of his role on stage, weighed against the impact, the rememberance, the worship, reminds me of Harper Lee. He was a Genius.
However, that is not why I loved him, or why I have been feeling strange. In some obscure way, he was one of Us; Like Us he must have suspected it inside him. The inversion; Of thought, love, dreams. Twisted. Ugly. Turned in. Obsessive, fearful introspection: like a child scared to step outside his room or like a child looking for monsters in the wardrobe, or like a god-prince, hypnotised by doom. Lay up nights in fear of it coming. Looked for it within endlessly. searching for its shadows & signs. Hiding it half fearfully, half lovingly, from Them, lest they lock Us away. That was the common thread; And it always wove out differently. Each fought or went down differently.
An old interview: http://pinkfloydhyperbase.dk/scraps/watts.htm
Peace
After a long time
I'm home alone
There's noone in the house
or on the phone
I sit down
Next to the window
With one chair for u empty
And close my eyes to see you
In the semi darkness
I reach out one hand to hold yours
I can feel the texture I remember
As your hand closes over mine
Everynight, when I went to sleep
For the first dozen or so years,
of my life
You held my hand as I drifted into dreams
Yes. I feel the sharp stab again
Its a physical clench
It passes down my left arm
And I clench my fist
In the balled up palm
I feel the soft cotton of your gown
Like everytime before,
I clutch it as I fall
Now, the pain flows
In a glowing acid ball
to the pitt of my stomach
I double up, on the floor
As I fall I see your smile before me
As I go I see you come back
This is all I have left of you
Distractions, from this, take you again
From the recesses of my head
Echo our voices still
Me calling out ur name:
My first words
Its peace now. Like when Im with you
I put on one light and look at you
You smile, happy next to him
I hate him. Bcz he's there I'm not
Now its almost time
The world's gone once round the sun
At the right second, when the stars are just in place
I'll summon the snake
Without your giant body
Which I grew up to
Without our liquid eyes
In which I saw the world
Without your massive hands
In which mine, tiny, were lost
Still, I'll be with you
Or atleast, no more without
I'm home alone
There's noone in the house
or on the phone
I sit down
Next to the window
With one chair for u empty
And close my eyes to see you
In the semi darkness
I reach out one hand to hold yours
I can feel the texture I remember
As your hand closes over mine
Everynight, when I went to sleep
For the first dozen or so years,
of my life
You held my hand as I drifted into dreams
Yes. I feel the sharp stab again
Its a physical clench
It passes down my left arm
And I clench my fist
In the balled up palm
I feel the soft cotton of your gown
Like everytime before,
I clutch it as I fall
Now, the pain flows
In a glowing acid ball
to the pitt of my stomach
I double up, on the floor
As I fall I see your smile before me
As I go I see you come back
This is all I have left of you
Distractions, from this, take you again
From the recesses of my head
Echo our voices still
Me calling out ur name:
My first words
Its peace now. Like when Im with you
I put on one light and look at you
You smile, happy next to him
I hate him. Bcz he's there I'm not
Now its almost time
The world's gone once round the sun
At the right second, when the stars are just in place
I'll summon the snake
Without your giant body
Which I grew up to
Without our liquid eyes
In which I saw the world
Without your massive hands
In which mine, tiny, were lost
Still, I'll be with you
Or atleast, no more without
Because Love is Selfish
Be sweet
but dont be cliched
care
but stay in the bounds i set
dance with me
but stirr not old ghosts that i still hold
love me
but dont expect 2b loved
look at me, smile at me
but dont come to close
i suffocate, i gag
i run
but dont be cliched
care
but stay in the bounds i set
dance with me
but stirr not old ghosts that i still hold
love me
but dont expect 2b loved
look at me, smile at me
but dont come to close
i suffocate, i gag
i run
Dreams
In thoughts,
On Skin,
Under closed eyelids,
In dreams.
In fantasies,
Memories.
Yesterdays, Tomorrows,
And days inbetween.
In the silence,
In muffled screams;
Inside the fire,
In the wind;
In the heart,
In the burning;
In blood and sinew,
In the clenching;
In silly, naiive
Broken, Staggering
Foolish
& barely alive Hope:
Mine.
Face,
Eyes,
Skin,
Laughter,
Voice,
Words,
Tears,
Dreams,
Visions,
Memories,
Love,
Nurture,
Faith,
Hope,
Wonder,
Caring,
Affection:
Yours.
I burn again and again
Each time I close my eyes
To blink
And the fire to which I fed you
Flares again in my head
And the desert of paralysis
Into which you pushed me departing
Laughs a hallow mocking cacophany
That echos in my brain.
Night and Day
And pain, sweet pain, is all that remains
Of all the love that made our world
Once. Thats all that remains
All other signs,
A few fast fading photographs in black and white and colour
A electronic words on a broken phone
A few mins of your voice as it faded,
Captured in the record
I barely dare to play
A road I never stray towards
A metropolis that huants me with ur absence
Streets where you taught me to walk
Roads where I held ur hands as your legs weakened
And the house where I buried you
Alone and deserted
A piece of red cloth.
And a fading printed swatch of white
Torn from the last thing you wore
That I jealously hide,
All the signs are fading.
Only this remains where youre still living
The pain, behind my eyes
The roaring sound btw my ears
The hollow where my heart was
The numbness in my brain
Thats all that remains
And I'll keep it this way
Ill lie down by the grave.
On Skin,
Under closed eyelids,
In dreams.
In fantasies,
Memories.
Yesterdays, Tomorrows,
And days inbetween.
In the silence,
In muffled screams;
Inside the fire,
In the wind;
In the heart,
In the burning;
In blood and sinew,
In the clenching;
In silly, naiive
Broken, Staggering
Foolish
& barely alive Hope:
Mine.
Face,
Eyes,
Skin,
Laughter,
Voice,
Words,
Tears,
Dreams,
Visions,
Memories,
Love,
Nurture,
Faith,
Hope,
Wonder,
Caring,
Affection:
Yours.
I burn again and again
Each time I close my eyes
To blink
And the fire to which I fed you
Flares again in my head
And the desert of paralysis
Into which you pushed me departing
Laughs a hallow mocking cacophany
That echos in my brain.
Night and Day
And pain, sweet pain, is all that remains
Of all the love that made our world
Once. Thats all that remains
All other signs,
A few fast fading photographs in black and white and colour
A electronic words on a broken phone
A few mins of your voice as it faded,
Captured in the record
I barely dare to play
A road I never stray towards
A metropolis that huants me with ur absence
Streets where you taught me to walk
Roads where I held ur hands as your legs weakened
And the house where I buried you
Alone and deserted
A piece of red cloth.
And a fading printed swatch of white
Torn from the last thing you wore
That I jealously hide,
All the signs are fading.
Only this remains where youre still living
The pain, behind my eyes
The roaring sound btw my ears
The hollow where my heart was
The numbness in my brain
Thats all that remains
And I'll keep it this way
Ill lie down by the grave.
A Year
while i stood there
face turned down, tucked into myself
crouched on my haunches
time sped past
now suddenly, outy of the blue
while i'm holding on to the rainiling to stop reeling
a voice floating down a line
reminds me its almost time
a year has passed us by
once more the fires will burn
but by now ur flesh is gone
i ate the rest and dropped the dust
this time its just that the fire'll burn
while i watch, while i light, while i tend, in turns
like waves that never reach the shore
i sob brokenly but it doesnt show
and its s till to private
to be shared
once more the skies will open
but this time the clouds are out of tears
this time only smoke will flow
floating up to the skies
from burning eyes
to try and find you
and ask, if u'll consider coming back
or taking me along ...
face turned down, tucked into myself
crouched on my haunches
time sped past
now suddenly, outy of the blue
while i'm holding on to the rainiling to stop reeling
a voice floating down a line
reminds me its almost time
a year has passed us by
once more the fires will burn
but by now ur flesh is gone
i ate the rest and dropped the dust
this time its just that the fire'll burn
while i watch, while i light, while i tend, in turns
like waves that never reach the shore
i sob brokenly but it doesnt show
and its s till to private
to be shared
once more the skies will open
but this time the clouds are out of tears
this time only smoke will flow
floating up to the skies
from burning eyes
to try and find you
and ask, if u'll consider coming back
or taking me along ...
Love-Thing
so tell me
is it lonely?
trapped within urself?
once again
i'm back in place
squuezed into half
better or not
why, does memory dissapear
so fast?
there's reason why
the runaways run
there are flowers which
just cant bear the sun
this love-thing
is something
i can never
get a handle on
guess ill always be a runner,
at heart
is it lonely?
trapped within urself?
once again
i'm back in place
squuezed into half
better or not
why, does memory dissapear
so fast?
there's reason why
the runaways run
there are flowers which
just cant bear the sun
this love-thing
is something
i can never
get a handle on
guess ill always be a runner,
at heart
Rivers of Clay
so tell me
is it lonely?
trapped within urself?
once again
i'm back in place
squuezed into half
better or not
why, does memory dissapear
so fast?
there's reason why
the runaways run
there are flowers which
just cant bear the sun
this love-thing
is something
i can never
get a handle on
guess ill always be a runner,
at heart
is it lonely?
trapped within urself?
once again
i'm back in place
squuezed into half
better or not
why, does memory dissapear
so fast?
there's reason why
the runaways run
there are flowers which
just cant bear the sun
this love-thing
is something
i can never
get a handle on
guess ill always be a runner,
at heart
Sunday Rain
It rained all day
I lay on my back, on the bed by the window, and stared out at the sky,
the diagonal slashes shading the sky, the wet crows
and throbbing puddles on the sheet of plastic
covering the stairway to the terrace above
the plastic was white & translucent
the water had collected on it in a thin layer
the new drops falling on it,
made little ripples across the surface
The stairs were rain polished
Slick and wet
The wind chime, its old wood glowing with the water,
danced in a frenzy with the wind,
But its song was drowned by the drumming beat of the rain ...
At the far end of the plastic sheet,
the falling rain collected in little rivers and slid down,
riding the edge like children on banisters
and every so often, if you followed the little rivers with ur eyes,
they got too heavy to carry their own weight, and plopped off softly
plunging down into the void
below, at the 'open air garage', and in the buildings around,
there was a mild mayhem
people were running around and a frantic voice floated up now and then,
screaming for someone to get something in out of the rain's way
Twice, Barbie & her friends went past my window
scurrying up to the terrace like the children they are on the verge of outgrowing
such an interesting place, this,
this pause at the periphery in our paths from childhood to full human
Later, in the evening,
When the sky had darkened to cerullean,
so that the occasional flashes of lightning showed up more starkly,
Ady and Juls come over.
Munal and Hamza are there as well. And the boy.
Like old times, the rooms came alive again
As the walls bounced off the voices and laughter
We sat randomly scattered around,
like cushions thrown casually around a beautiful, old sofa
For a while, the security,
in the ease of the roughly 2 & a half decade old friendships,
lulls the feeling of the storm outside
yet through the jokes and horsing, there's a part of me
thats left cold as always
the observer: it always watches the rest of me
somewhere i'm always the outsider
i travel everywhere, and try everyone
but i never really fit in
their language, their thoughts, their attractions, and lusts
sometimes seem so trivial, sometimes seems too much
maybe i just see too much
maybe i want too much
to find a mind one can admire, was the old ambition
now broken and faded, like a crumbling wall
then u just look for one u can tolerate
atleast some of the times
the clouds have run out of water
i get an eerie feeling of huge dry flints
being rubbed againts each other ...
a frission of fear: what if He were near?
between the flashes, everything looks deceptively normal
but everynow and then w/o warning the lightning flares
like a dry storm, in dry clouds, that want to, but cant rain; or dont
After they leave, I cant settle down
In the middle of the cheerful evening,
And old ghost visited
Laughing like us, it stands behind my left shoulder
Suddenly there's a freezing hand behind my neck
Dirty, Slimy, Smelling of the underworld
I shudder, and struggle to break free
Helpless my 'watch-er self' watches
As it pulls me down deeper and deeper,
into the dark murky waters
Struggling for air,
as usual, all I could do was hide.
burrowing deep down,
I run away to the terrace.
I sit on the fence,
And feel the air on my face,
as I try to let it dry the evidence of the pain
to blow away any expression, that might have leaked
the ironmask, frozen in a chaging smile - now childlike, now sweet, now gurgling, now chirpy, now wise
inverted, its always a grimace, though
inside, there's only hate: inverted love
unbidden, a phrase from linda goodman floats into my head
i smile at the naiively flambouyant drama of expressed awe:
the smooth steel of their heart, has been formed
in the 9 fires of scorpio wisdowm
like the phoneix, the burn themselves down
and they reform ...
is there really healing,
in phoenix tears?
i dialled an SOS number
they always say later, if u had just dared to reach out ...
the sounds bounce of the winds and the clouds
as the connection fails to form
with the dead line dangling from the phone in my hand
i realise there's no one to call
a strange combination
of "there's noone" & "there's noone there, who I could bear"
i wish there was some way to wake u
and bring u out of my head
Now I am perched on the railing with my legs on either side
Its exciting - the thrill of being just at the edge ...
Out of the blue a huge fire-cracker goess of from the neighbouring house
Startled, I almost fall
Then all is quiet
I run out of excuses
I sit in the rain for a while and go down
I have been here before;
Its a nasty kind of hell.
There are doors out
but snarling dragons at the threshold
and its flooded with the waters of lethe
so that u forget that you know how to fight them
u forget u can see through them
u forget they're all just tricks and tests
later, curled up, i try to fall into myself
stay frozen, but its hard to stay empty
so the waters rise again. outside, the lightnings flashes
but the clouds have dried and died, and it still doesnt rain
i close my eyes and i think of lethe
now i could do with it
the legend says, when u will die
memory, wont let u want to live again
so that u can bear to, dare to, be reborn,
ur sent to the waters of Lethe
one of the 5 rivers of the underworld
lethe puts you to sleep
when u wake up, u have no recall
so once again, u want to live
Then in the morning, the sun is up again
Though so small, and so frail yet
It survived, atleast this night
I let go of a breath held back
And smile at my little child
She gurgles and laughs back.
I have great hopes for you,
if u can live out these storms
Maybe you will survive
I walk down to the garage
and then start off on my way to work
The radio sings Purple Rain
As we zoom out onto the highway
To my right, the salt water flats line the road
The sunshines, The wind blows and the clouds,
huge, white and fluffy,
hang over the water, way down low ...
Originally Posted at Prerona.
I lay on my back, on the bed by the window, and stared out at the sky,
the diagonal slashes shading the sky, the wet crows
and throbbing puddles on the sheet of plastic
covering the stairway to the terrace above
the plastic was white & translucent
the water had collected on it in a thin layer
the new drops falling on it,
made little ripples across the surface
The stairs were rain polished
Slick and wet
The wind chime, its old wood glowing with the water,
danced in a frenzy with the wind,
But its song was drowned by the drumming beat of the rain ...
At the far end of the plastic sheet,
the falling rain collected in little rivers and slid down,
riding the edge like children on banisters
and every so often, if you followed the little rivers with ur eyes,
they got too heavy to carry their own weight, and plopped off softly
plunging down into the void
below, at the 'open air garage', and in the buildings around,
there was a mild mayhem
people were running around and a frantic voice floated up now and then,
screaming for someone to get something in out of the rain's way
Twice, Barbie & her friends went past my window
scurrying up to the terrace like the children they are on the verge of outgrowing
such an interesting place, this,
this pause at the periphery in our paths from childhood to full human
Later, in the evening,
When the sky had darkened to cerullean,
so that the occasional flashes of lightning showed up more starkly,
Ady and Juls come over.
Munal and Hamza are there as well. And the boy.
Like old times, the rooms came alive again
As the walls bounced off the voices and laughter
We sat randomly scattered around,
like cushions thrown casually around a beautiful, old sofa
For a while, the security,
in the ease of the roughly 2 & a half decade old friendships,
lulls the feeling of the storm outside
yet through the jokes and horsing, there's a part of me
thats left cold as always
the observer: it always watches the rest of me
somewhere i'm always the outsider
i travel everywhere, and try everyone
but i never really fit in
their language, their thoughts, their attractions, and lusts
sometimes seem so trivial, sometimes seems too much
maybe i just see too much
maybe i want too much
to find a mind one can admire, was the old ambition
now broken and faded, like a crumbling wall
then u just look for one u can tolerate
atleast some of the times
the clouds have run out of water
i get an eerie feeling of huge dry flints
being rubbed againts each other ...
a frission of fear: what if He were near?
between the flashes, everything looks deceptively normal
but everynow and then w/o warning the lightning flares
like a dry storm, in dry clouds, that want to, but cant rain; or dont
After they leave, I cant settle down
In the middle of the cheerful evening,
And old ghost visited
Laughing like us, it stands behind my left shoulder
Suddenly there's a freezing hand behind my neck
Dirty, Slimy, Smelling of the underworld
I shudder, and struggle to break free
Helpless my 'watch-er self' watches
As it pulls me down deeper and deeper,
into the dark murky waters
Struggling for air,
as usual, all I could do was hide.
burrowing deep down,
I run away to the terrace.
I sit on the fence,
And feel the air on my face,
as I try to let it dry the evidence of the pain
to blow away any expression, that might have leaked
the ironmask, frozen in a chaging smile - now childlike, now sweet, now gurgling, now chirpy, now wise
inverted, its always a grimace, though
inside, there's only hate: inverted love
unbidden, a phrase from linda goodman floats into my head
i smile at the naiively flambouyant drama of expressed awe:
the smooth steel of their heart, has been formed
in the 9 fires of scorpio wisdowm
like the phoneix, the burn themselves down
and they reform ...
is there really healing,
in phoenix tears?
i dialled an SOS number
they always say later, if u had just dared to reach out ...
the sounds bounce of the winds and the clouds
as the connection fails to form
with the dead line dangling from the phone in my hand
i realise there's no one to call
a strange combination
of "there's noone" & "there's noone there, who I could bear"
i wish there was some way to wake u
and bring u out of my head
Now I am perched on the railing with my legs on either side
Its exciting - the thrill of being just at the edge ...
Out of the blue a huge fire-cracker goess of from the neighbouring house
Startled, I almost fall
Then all is quiet
I run out of excuses
I sit in the rain for a while and go down
I have been here before;
Its a nasty kind of hell.
There are doors out
but snarling dragons at the threshold
and its flooded with the waters of lethe
so that u forget that you know how to fight them
u forget u can see through them
u forget they're all just tricks and tests
later, curled up, i try to fall into myself
stay frozen, but its hard to stay empty
so the waters rise again. outside, the lightnings flashes
but the clouds have dried and died, and it still doesnt rain
i close my eyes and i think of lethe
now i could do with it
the legend says, when u will die
memory, wont let u want to live again
so that u can bear to, dare to, be reborn,
ur sent to the waters of Lethe
one of the 5 rivers of the underworld
lethe puts you to sleep
when u wake up, u have no recall
so once again, u want to live
Then in the morning, the sun is up again
Though so small, and so frail yet
It survived, atleast this night
I let go of a breath held back
And smile at my little child
She gurgles and laughs back.
I have great hopes for you,
if u can live out these storms
Maybe you will survive
I walk down to the garage
and then start off on my way to work
The radio sings Purple Rain
As we zoom out onto the highway
To my right, the salt water flats line the road
The sunshines, The wind blows and the clouds,
huge, white and fluffy,
hang over the water, way down low ...
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Sunday Songs
It rained all day
I lay on my back, on the bed by the window, and stared out at the sky,
the diagonal slashes shading the sky, the wet crows
and throbbing puddles on the sheet of plastic
covering the stairway to the terrace above
the plastic was white & translucent
the water had collected on it in a thin layer
the new drops falling on it,
made little ripples across the surface
The stairs were rain polished
Slick and wet
The wind chime, its old wood glowing with the water,
danced in a frenzy with the wind,
But its song was drowned by the drumming beat of the rain ...
At the far end of the plastic sheet,
the falling rain collected in little rivers and slid down,
riding the edge like children on banisters
and every so often, if you followed the little rivers with ur eyes,
they got too heavy to carry their own weight, and plopped off softly
plunging down into the void
below, at the 'open air garage', and in the buildings around,
there was a mild mayhem
people were running around and a frantic voice floated up now and then,
screaming for someone to get something in out of the rain's way
Later, in the evening,
When the sky had darkened to cerullean,
so that the occasional flashes of lightning showed up more starkly,
Ady and Juls come over.
Munal and Hamza are there as well. And the boy.
Like old times, the rooms came alive again
As the walls bounced off the voices and laughter
We sat randomly scattered around,
like cushions thrown casually around a beautiful, old sofa
I bask in the security & the ease
of the roughly 2 & a half decade old friendships
and soak in the laughter into my skin
yet there's a part of me
thats left cold as always
the observer: it always watches the rest of me
somewhere i'm always the outsider
i travel everywhere, and try everyone
but i never really fit in
their language, their thoughts, their attractions, and lusts
the clouds have run out of water
i get an eerie feeling of huge dry flints
being rubbed againts each other ...
a frission of fear: what if He were near?
I go to the terrace at night and,
I am perched on the railing with my legs on either side
Its exciting - the thrill of being just at the edge ...
Out of the blue a huge fire-cracker goess of from the neighbouring house
Startled, I almost fall
Then in the morning, the sun is up again
I walk down to the garage
and then start off on my way to work
The radio sings Purple Rain
As we zoom out onto the highway
To my right, the salt water flats line the road
The sunshines, The wind blows and the clouds,
huge, white and fluffy,
hang over the water, way down low ...
Originally Posted at Prerona.
I lay on my back, on the bed by the window, and stared out at the sky,
the diagonal slashes shading the sky, the wet crows
and throbbing puddles on the sheet of plastic
covering the stairway to the terrace above
the plastic was white & translucent
the water had collected on it in a thin layer
the new drops falling on it,
made little ripples across the surface
The stairs were rain polished
Slick and wet
The wind chime, its old wood glowing with the water,
danced in a frenzy with the wind,
But its song was drowned by the drumming beat of the rain ...
At the far end of the plastic sheet,
the falling rain collected in little rivers and slid down,
riding the edge like children on banisters
and every so often, if you followed the little rivers with ur eyes,
they got too heavy to carry their own weight, and plopped off softly
plunging down into the void
below, at the 'open air garage', and in the buildings around,
there was a mild mayhem
people were running around and a frantic voice floated up now and then,
screaming for someone to get something in out of the rain's way
Later, in the evening,
When the sky had darkened to cerullean,
so that the occasional flashes of lightning showed up more starkly,
Ady and Juls come over.
Munal and Hamza are there as well. And the boy.
Like old times, the rooms came alive again
As the walls bounced off the voices and laughter
We sat randomly scattered around,
like cushions thrown casually around a beautiful, old sofa
I bask in the security & the ease
of the roughly 2 & a half decade old friendships
and soak in the laughter into my skin
yet there's a part of me
thats left cold as always
the observer: it always watches the rest of me
somewhere i'm always the outsider
i travel everywhere, and try everyone
but i never really fit in
their language, their thoughts, their attractions, and lusts
the clouds have run out of water
i get an eerie feeling of huge dry flints
being rubbed againts each other ...
a frission of fear: what if He were near?
I go to the terrace at night and,
I am perched on the railing with my legs on either side
Its exciting - the thrill of being just at the edge ...
Out of the blue a huge fire-cracker goess of from the neighbouring house
Startled, I almost fall
Then in the morning, the sun is up again
I walk down to the garage
and then start off on my way to work
The radio sings Purple Rain
As we zoom out onto the highway
To my right, the salt water flats line the road
The sunshines, The wind blows and the clouds,
huge, white and fluffy,
hang over the water, way down low ...
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Unforgiven
Do we hold on to the memories, or do they hold on to us? There was a place on the way to Sinhagad, where the road turned, where you would park the bike on the way back. It would be night and the stars hung low in a midnight blue sky. How cliched. Just like us. A part of you was impatient to get back. You had work on Monday. What would I know of such things: I could just bunk one class and sleep.
Unforgiven
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Unforgiven
Originally Posted at Prerona.