In a rush, been at work till 9 pm 2 days in a row and havent been to the gum for ages now. still, going for the lunch time run tomorrow and the salsa lessons next week. Theres so much to do but at the end of the day it seems like nothing is done. But when Im asked, will it be done in time, I somehow never gather the courage to say the TSD is b%@$s and it wont be done till nxt yr ... im deeply dissatisfied with my cowardice. on the flip side, i am getting better all the time ;@) what i need to do is concentrate. as long as i can remember, thats been a problem for me, keep focussed dont drift off. just a thought, did i have ADD, alongwith my falling sickness, but was born to early (it wasnt even know as a disease then?)
I saw "Angels in America" and "Md Butterfly" this weekend. Also saw KILL BILL 2, felt sad that the died, though the 5 point thingie was brilliant to watch! Md B was poignant, sad, poking old-truths in the eye, yet a bit tiresom to watch, I personally found. Maybe it was just that it was 1 AM on a Sunday night that I started to see it (with gym in 4 looming across the horizon)
Looking forward to Angels in America part 2 this weekend and will write about it after.
In the news, Kashmir Reopens, dont veto the veto and dylan comes to starbucks
Song of the day - "all my friends and lovers"
Bend Down
every body, bend down
i wanna stand tall
every body hold back
i want to reach the front line
everybody help me succeed
its the losers hour please
i wanna stand tall
every body hold back
i want to reach the front line
everybody help me succeed
its the losers hour please
nemi ... a new friend?
a long time since i really identified with someone so much! meet nemi here or there
on a different track, playing flag football at lunch today! whatever that might be. Im excited!!! But, the 5K is day after and Im scared because I dont want to hurt something before that! Have a party at class 2mrw night, but not sure yet if Ill make it.
I had an idea today and I have been thinking about it since. Sometimes when everything is happening at once and you feel like you'll go crazy juggling ten tasks together against deadline and you feel like ur brains going to be paralysed ... could this be similar to thrashing? You keep increasing the degree of multitasking and efficiency increases. However, when you raise it above certain limit, thrashing sets in, with the all CPU time being taken up by paging processes - or thats how i remember it - its been years since i last read my peterson - but theres an online reference of sorts here.
something else that caught my eye:
Infinity eSearch said it had asked the 24-year-old, to explain after the Sun tabloid said it had bought details of 1,000 British customers for three pounds each. The contractor refused to comment. Earlier he told the BBC he had done nothing wrong. The managing director Rahul Dutt said, "We're a Web marketing company that optimises Web sites on search engines," in a club near Infinity's glass-and-chrome office in the Delhi satellite city and call centre hub of Gurgaon. "We do not have any classified information on any banks." However, British finance trade union Amicus said it had been warning about the danger of moving jobs to India because it did not have the same data protection measures as Britain. "What's quite obvious is the banks have rushed forward in search of profits at the expense of consumers' security," an Amicus spokesman said. "We have quite robust data protection legislation in the UK and you can regulate more effectively. It's much harder to do that in India." The Amicus union said it had warned of the "data protection implications" of offshoring financial services. "Companies that have offshore jobs need to reflect on their decision and the assumption that cost savings benefiting them and their shareholders outweigh consumer confidentiality and confidence," senior finance officer Dave Fleming said. About 350,000 call centre workers and back-office agents are employed in India working for about a fifth of Western wages. The industry suffered a blow in April when police arrested three employees over a $400,000 online credit card fraud in which Citibank customers were allegedly enticed to part with their personal identification numbers. Ian Mullen, the British Banking Association's chief executive, said they were concerned but added staff in India were checked as rigorously as workers elsewhere. "The quality of staff in these call centres is very high," he told BBC radio ...
and this:
The literary estate of Antoine de Saint-Exupery won a cybersquatting case to evict a Virgin Islands operator whose website sells memorabilia linked to him. Arbitrators ruled La Societe Civile pour l'Oeuvre et la Memoire d'Antoine de Saint Exupery-Succession Saint Exupery, set up by relatives to manage his literary estate, had proved The Holding Company had no right to three disputed domain names. The three neutral arbitrators were named by the U.N. World Intellectual Property Organisation (WIPO) whose arbitration centre resolves disputes in a low-cost, fast-track procedure. Ownership of the domain names is transferred within 10 days. J.K. Rowling, and the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien, have also won cases at WIPO ...
and this ...
Valerie remembers the feeling of helplessness. After getting a low grade on a lab report, she went to her teaching assistant to ask what she should have done for a better grade. The teaching assistant, a graduate student from China, had a heavy accent and a limited grasp of spoken English, and could not explain what the report had lacked, said Serrin. He was brilliant, absolutely brilliant, but he couldn't communicate." With a steep rise in the number of foreign graduate students in the past two decades in the United States, undergraduates at large research universities often are in classes and laboratories run by graduate teaching assistants whose mastery of English is less than complete. ...
on a different track, playing flag football at lunch today! whatever that might be. Im excited!!! But, the 5K is day after and Im scared because I dont want to hurt something before that! Have a party at class 2mrw night, but not sure yet if Ill make it.
I had an idea today and I have been thinking about it since. Sometimes when everything is happening at once and you feel like you'll go crazy juggling ten tasks together against deadline and you feel like ur brains going to be paralysed ... could this be similar to thrashing? You keep increasing the degree of multitasking and efficiency increases. However, when you raise it above certain limit, thrashing sets in, with the all CPU time being taken up by paging processes - or thats how i remember it - its been years since i last read my peterson - but theres an online reference of sorts here.
something else that caught my eye:
Infinity eSearch said it had asked the 24-year-old, to explain after the Sun tabloid said it had bought details of 1,000 British customers for three pounds each. The contractor refused to comment. Earlier he told the BBC he had done nothing wrong. The managing director Rahul Dutt said, "We're a Web marketing company that optimises Web sites on search engines," in a club near Infinity's glass-and-chrome office in the Delhi satellite city and call centre hub of Gurgaon. "We do not have any classified information on any banks." However, British finance trade union Amicus said it had been warning about the danger of moving jobs to India because it did not have the same data protection measures as Britain. "What's quite obvious is the banks have rushed forward in search of profits at the expense of consumers' security," an Amicus spokesman said. "We have quite robust data protection legislation in the UK and you can regulate more effectively. It's much harder to do that in India." The Amicus union said it had warned of the "data protection implications" of offshoring financial services. "Companies that have offshore jobs need to reflect on their decision and the assumption that cost savings benefiting them and their shareholders outweigh consumer confidentiality and confidence," senior finance officer Dave Fleming said. About 350,000 call centre workers and back-office agents are employed in India working for about a fifth of Western wages. The industry suffered a blow in April when police arrested three employees over a $400,000 online credit card fraud in which Citibank customers were allegedly enticed to part with their personal identification numbers. Ian Mullen, the British Banking Association's chief executive, said they were concerned but added staff in India were checked as rigorously as workers elsewhere. "The quality of staff in these call centres is very high," he told BBC radio ...
and this:
The literary estate of Antoine de Saint-Exupery won a cybersquatting case to evict a Virgin Islands operator whose website sells memorabilia linked to him. Arbitrators ruled La Societe Civile pour l'Oeuvre et la Memoire d'Antoine de Saint Exupery-Succession Saint Exupery, set up by relatives to manage his literary estate, had proved The Holding Company had no right to three disputed domain names. The three neutral arbitrators were named by the U.N. World Intellectual Property Organisation (WIPO) whose arbitration centre resolves disputes in a low-cost, fast-track procedure. Ownership of the domain names is transferred within 10 days. J.K. Rowling, and the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien, have also won cases at WIPO ...
and this ...
Valerie remembers the feeling of helplessness. After getting a low grade on a lab report, she went to her teaching assistant to ask what she should have done for a better grade. The teaching assistant, a graduate student from China, had a heavy accent and a limited grasp of spoken English, and could not explain what the report had lacked, said Serrin. He was brilliant, absolutely brilliant, but he couldn't communicate." With a steep rise in the number of foreign graduate students in the past two decades in the United States, undergraduates at large research universities often are in classes and laboratories run by graduate teaching assistants whose mastery of English is less than complete. ...
Unravelling Mind
how did you learn
whats right and wrong
how do you see
when and where to let it be
how do u know
when to let go
how do you decide
when to stay and fight
in the end you're floundering
in the end ur drowing
everyone is heading for the end
different paths, different bends
using it all up
its not inexhaustible
does it matter
how do i know
because i need to know
what does it mean
what is the point
why r we here
is it a facade
or just a game
whats the point living
if i dont comprehend?
at the end of the moment
ur supposed to be living for
what do you have
what did u gain
what did u learn ...
is there no point at all?
if all of life
all across the world
is to be like this
just for fun
just for the heck of it
live breed die
id rather not have it all
but its not true
theres more
just ignore the monster
the regu8lar, the normal, the ordinary, proper
just keep looking
and move on
just keep moving on
whats right and wrong
how do you see
when and where to let it be
how do u know
when to let go
how do you decide
when to stay and fight
in the end you're floundering
in the end ur drowing
everyone is heading for the end
different paths, different bends
using it all up
its not inexhaustible
does it matter
how do i know
because i need to know
what does it mean
what is the point
why r we here
is it a facade
or just a game
whats the point living
if i dont comprehend?
at the end of the moment
ur supposed to be living for
what do you have
what did u gain
what did u learn ...
is there no point at all?
if all of life
all across the world
is to be like this
just for fun
just for the heck of it
live breed die
id rather not have it all
but its not true
theres more
just ignore the monster
the regu8lar, the normal, the ordinary, proper
just keep looking
and move on
just keep moving on
Live 8
everyone i know seems to be talking about the zillions supposed to hit the city, to 'make poverty history'. Will it, though, I wonder? It seems, specially today, like there are so many people who care about all the right issues. With so much good intentions, if good intentions were to be of any earthly use, surely the world would have been made a better place by now? Where does the chain break? So many people care, and are even ready to do things about it, yet with most of the current hot issues in the world, be it poverty, politics or ecology, but yet at the end of it all, we havent even chipped away a significant part of the problem. The issues are still there, if not looming more menacingly huge in our common path. the hungry are hungrier, the fast are faster, the big are bigger, the poor are poorer. world leaders, global politics and the state of health of the earth, seem even worse every passing year. Yet theres all this caring and human love ... the world has been hit by a charity-bug. But will it make a difference? Will we make a difference. have all the protests down the yrs and all the marches made any difference really? whats really the problem basically? is it money? awareness? or is it cruel intentions? or is it darwinian survival?
On a different note, though I never really miss home, or anyone, at times I do think of my friends who are back home. Poga-Pogie, Chatts, Sauce, Ad, Juls, Roy, Jinx, Pills and Oni and Malo. Uncle, Aunty, Mom, Baba, Ma, Aunty, Uncle, Tupi, Leo, Bonzo, Phulkumari, Lali ... the friends I love most, my family and other friends, those I have adopted over the years. But thats a more general kind of missing. What about the other kind. The one that comes like a sudden sharp stab, like a intruding smell floating in across ur defences, that which is a sudden need, not a fond remembrance. Why do we miss them like that? What do we need from them, get from them, that we miss? Is it just someone to hang out with, someone to dump on, or just sensible conversation? fun, support or rapport?
On a different note, though I never really miss home, or anyone, at times I do think of my friends who are back home. Poga-Pogie, Chatts, Sauce, Ad, Juls, Roy, Jinx, Pills and Oni and Malo. Uncle, Aunty, Mom, Baba, Ma, Aunty, Uncle, Tupi, Leo, Bonzo, Phulkumari, Lali ... the friends I love most, my family and other friends, those I have adopted over the years. But thats a more general kind of missing. What about the other kind. The one that comes like a sudden sharp stab, like a intruding smell floating in across ur defences, that which is a sudden need, not a fond remembrance. Why do we miss them like that? What do we need from them, get from them, that we miss? Is it just someone to hang out with, someone to dump on, or just sensible conversation? fun, support or rapport?
How do I know
how do i know
why the wind sighs
why the moon cries over the flowers
and leaves them silver with his tears
how do i know
why the moon smiles
when i dream at night
or why i dream of you, though i dont even know ur name
why the wind laughs
as it passes by
my window at night
am i calling out to you, even as i sleep?
how do i know
i dont know these things
like i dont know a lot of other things
why i cry at times, at times i laugh, or i sigh
how do i know?
why im feeling this way
i want to run and hide
i feel something new inside
draft ....
dont know what it is
but it makes me want to cry
i have a strange compulsion
i want to run and hide
i have a new obsession
i stare in spoace and sigh
if you knew, all about it
why my im feeling this way
perhaps u'd do,
something about it
and make it go away
its spring once more
the birds are singing
and partying all the time
its spring again
and the sun is shining
smiling all the while
the wind is singing
late at night
and the moon smiles with a gentle sigh
on the the cobbled walks of the city
echoing steps rap tunes merrily
as people walk home gayly
and im hit by a wave of nostalgia
or longing, or dementia
dont know what i miss, or who
maybe its something i havent met before
or an obscure desire
to feel again wire
which passes through ll living things
and ties them together as practical beings
the feeling of humanity
of connecting, being, living
of the pretenses of normality
their delusions of equality and their illusions of solidarity
or be back, amongst my kind
and our delusions of superiority
why the wind sighs
why the moon cries over the flowers
and leaves them silver with his tears
how do i know
why the moon smiles
when i dream at night
or why i dream of you, though i dont even know ur name
why the wind laughs
as it passes by
my window at night
am i calling out to you, even as i sleep?
how do i know
i dont know these things
like i dont know a lot of other things
why i cry at times, at times i laugh, or i sigh
how do i know?
why im feeling this way
i want to run and hide
i feel something new inside
draft ....
dont know what it is
but it makes me want to cry
i have a strange compulsion
i want to run and hide
i have a new obsession
i stare in spoace and sigh
if you knew, all about it
why my im feeling this way
perhaps u'd do,
something about it
and make it go away
its spring once more
the birds are singing
and partying all the time
its spring again
and the sun is shining
smiling all the while
the wind is singing
late at night
and the moon smiles with a gentle sigh
on the the cobbled walks of the city
echoing steps rap tunes merrily
as people walk home gayly
and im hit by a wave of nostalgia
or longing, or dementia
dont know what i miss, or who
maybe its something i havent met before
or an obscure desire
to feel again wire
which passes through ll living things
and ties them together as practical beings
the feeling of humanity
of connecting, being, living
of the pretenses of normality
their delusions of equality and their illusions of solidarity
or be back, amongst my kind
and our delusions of superiority
For Dolly (Part 1 - version 1)
It was four in the morning. he stood by the water, leaning on the side of his car. the crickets were just begining to break through the silence, taking over from the daytime noises. everything else was deserted and quiet. quite nearby an industrious spider spun busily away. there were a few drops of rain stuck on the web. they glistened in the moonlight. why had he never noticed how pretty they were. he'd just been paranoid of ever getting near them. he wasnt scared of the spiders but he felt some nameless paralysis at the mere thought of walking into a barely material curtain unawares and feeling it rest slowly on his face. dolly had always pulled his leg about it. daddy is scared of spiders. daddy's a scaredy paredey poo. the stupid silly things she used to say. all at once his mind froze on that thought and came to a halt. its strange how one part of ur brain starts a thought and suddenly, in a delayed response the rest of ur brain latches on. in that strange way, the whole of his mind registered that a part of his mind had used the past tense for the first time. he didnt feel anything. he wasnt the feeling sort. just a kind of clenching in his stomach. like something went all tight for a second and made him hold his breath. then it passesd. it wasnt hard to deal with this. all he needed was not to close his eyes and not to think and to be left alone so that he could do these things. he didnt want to forget. he didnt want to 'heal' - whatever that meant. he didnt want to be happy. he just wanted to be left alone. for now, atleast.
was he being unreasonable? overreacting? how much reaction is okay when your only daughter dies leaving u nothing really except a numbness, a feeling that nothing mattered.
he wasnt the only one in the world who had lost a child. he wasnt even the only one in the world who had lost this child. her mother, his parents, her parents, everyone loved dolly. everyone was saddened by her loss. they were being far more rational than him, he knew that. yes, he knew that. but somehow, it felt like his case was different from all the others. he 'knew' at some level that it wasnt really so, but still, it 'felt' that way. what was the difference? did he love her, sorry - had he loved her, more than they had? not really. perhaps the difference was that he had never loved anyone else. he had not been very human to begin with. she had melted some tiny corner of his heart - just enough to make room for her little little self. now that she was gone and that room was empty, and it felt like his numb, frozen heart would cave in a fall into itself, into the empty room. she had taught him to feel things but now that she was gone, he didnt know what to feel. he was in a no mans land. neither here nor there
he spent hours by himself in her empty room.
and he felt like he had just been hung out in the cold. he couldnt go back to what he was a nd feel nothing and he didnt know waht to feel either.
she had not been his reason excuse to live, she had been but a reason why he could not die, could not want to die
he thought now, while she had lived she had always blindly adored him. whatever her daddy could do no wrong. her daddy was her biggest hero. her daddy was above all things. beyond all things. better than everything. now that she was dead would she have found out everything about hikm, all his hidden sins, transgessions, mistakes. all the times he had fallen, had not been able to help himself, had cleaned up and come home to her later. shining in his daddy armour again? would she know? would she still love him? did she hate him now?
why hadnt he come home. he had known she was ill. her wife had called the station frantically about a doxen times. dolly is burning with fever. dolly is acting strange. come home. scome home come home. but he had kept putting it off. he hadnt taken it seriously. now he couldnt bear to look at his work. couldnt bear to walk into the little office. sit at the desk.
my love wasnt enough to keep you
nor my pain enough to bring you back
and neither my guilt enough to take me with u.
all iwant is darkness
all i want is sleep
backout
oblivion
all need is lethe
i have no right to mourn u
i didnt love u
enough to hold u
i didnt car
anough to be there
i have no rights
to anything
all i want
is a final exit
actually everything was beyongd repair now. his work, his marraige. with you, he thought, i have betrayed everything. when i turned away form you, my eyes burned the world down.
he was getting better, he supposed. everyday it got a little number where there was just raw pain before at first. everyday he lasted a little longer with out closing his eyes to see hier laughing mockingly at hiom. not his baby gentle laugh. a adult, sinister, cruel laugh. that seemed to say - who's sorry now.
without suddenly out of the blue efeeling her dead weight of her tiny, limp body in his arms gain. like a dead sparrow.
was he being unreasonable? overreacting? how much reaction is okay when your only daughter dies leaving u nothing really except a numbness, a feeling that nothing mattered.
he wasnt the only one in the world who had lost a child. he wasnt even the only one in the world who had lost this child. her mother, his parents, her parents, everyone loved dolly. everyone was saddened by her loss. they were being far more rational than him, he knew that. yes, he knew that. but somehow, it felt like his case was different from all the others. he 'knew' at some level that it wasnt really so, but still, it 'felt' that way. what was the difference? did he love her, sorry - had he loved her, more than they had? not really. perhaps the difference was that he had never loved anyone else. he had not been very human to begin with. she had melted some tiny corner of his heart - just enough to make room for her little little self. now that she was gone and that room was empty, and it felt like his numb, frozen heart would cave in a fall into itself, into the empty room. she had taught him to feel things but now that she was gone, he didnt know what to feel. he was in a no mans land. neither here nor there
he spent hours by himself in her empty room.
and he felt like he had just been hung out in the cold. he couldnt go back to what he was a nd feel nothing and he didnt know waht to feel either.
she had not been his reason excuse to live, she had been but a reason why he could not die, could not want to die
he thought now, while she had lived she had always blindly adored him. whatever her daddy could do no wrong. her daddy was her biggest hero. her daddy was above all things. beyond all things. better than everything. now that she was dead would she have found out everything about hikm, all his hidden sins, transgessions, mistakes. all the times he had fallen, had not been able to help himself, had cleaned up and come home to her later. shining in his daddy armour again? would she know? would she still love him? did she hate him now?
why hadnt he come home. he had known she was ill. her wife had called the station frantically about a doxen times. dolly is burning with fever. dolly is acting strange. come home. scome home come home. but he had kept putting it off. he hadnt taken it seriously. now he couldnt bear to look at his work. couldnt bear to walk into the little office. sit at the desk.
my love wasnt enough to keep you
nor my pain enough to bring you back
and neither my guilt enough to take me with u.
all iwant is darkness
all i want is sleep
backout
oblivion
all need is lethe
i have no right to mourn u
i didnt love u
enough to hold u
i didnt car
anough to be there
i have no rights
to anything
all i want
is a final exit
actually everything was beyongd repair now. his work, his marraige. with you, he thought, i have betrayed everything. when i turned away form you, my eyes burned the world down.
he was getting better, he supposed. everyday it got a little number where there was just raw pain before at first. everyday he lasted a little longer with out closing his eyes to see hier laughing mockingly at hiom. not his baby gentle laugh. a adult, sinister, cruel laugh. that seemed to say - who's sorry now.
without suddenly out of the blue efeeling her dead weight of her tiny, limp body in his arms gain. like a dead sparrow.
peripetia, or all that you cant leave behind ... part 4?
peripetia. the moment when you realise that everything you knew, thought, understood uptil now was wrong. Alyssian. Miasma. Does it come to everyone, or is it reserved for the greek tragic heros. A tragic hero - larger than life, heroic proportions, with one tragic flaw that brings them to tragedy. Do we all hide one inside? Political correctness. Public support. Friendship. Popularity. Oratory. A way with people. The herd mentality. A wish to please. The the mind of the mob. Sometimes I wonder, do I hate man, or just the common man, or just the common in man? Or just his stupidity, his ignorance, his crassness. his narrow minded, limited, parochial, middle class mind ... or is it all the same?
but are any of us any better? is there any such thing ad the individual. his ts thought, the individual thought. his creation, the individual creation. his opinion, perceptions, reactions and actions. the individual. is there any such thing? or is it just a fragment of his self delusionary imagination? hallucinations of grandeur.
all the days i have lived, all the things i have thought about, everything i have understood, or thought i understood, all my observations, perceptions, opinions, likes, dislikes, hatred, repulsion, admiration, affection, sympathies, empathies. alll my learnings, understandings, ponedring, all my writings ... what will happen to everything after i am gone?
no doubt someone will give my books away. someone will come along and go through my whole collection, my whole life ... perhaps ma will keep them outside, in the balcony, in big cardboard boxes, covered with plastic. 2 big boxes of the leatherbound and hardcover ones which she bought before i was born (did she have some uncanny permonition?) the classics, the encyclopedias, the biographies, journals and letters of famous people, the dictionaries, english, french, german. then a few boxes of the moth eaten ancient leather ... the ones i picked up here and there, from other dead or dying people, knowing probably that i wouldnt read them (house remedies of the victorian age, for example) but unable to see a book orphaned. then boxes and boxes of the books i have collected as i read through them. i always buy. bought. if i got it from a library, or a friend, and i liked it, id go out and buy it.
my movies ... the tiny sony betamax cassettes, regular cassettes, the vcds, the dvds ...
my music ...
looking through it all i feel like thats all i did for the last thirty years. collect. my two drawers full of diaries, random writings and jottings. poems on exam papers, toilet paper, paper napkins, hand made paper packets from the grocer, brown paper bags ... and all safely stored. never looked at again. will they go through it all after im gone? but that cannot be ... i must destroy it all myself.
but how can you do that? burn, tear, shred, throw away the footprints ur mind left as it lived and grew? the recordings of the pain, anger, humilitions, joys, discoveries, betrayals ... thrills.
but that is the basic questions thats on my mind today. all these years thats all i thought was important ... what i thought, what i read, what i learned. now, along with the books read, the words scribbled, the music heard, the movies seen ... will my thoughts, my mind, my understanding, my feelings, my perceptions ... the net sum of my existence ... just dissapear? melt? fade without an echo?
but are any of us any better? is there any such thing ad the individual. his ts thought, the individual thought. his creation, the individual creation. his opinion, perceptions, reactions and actions. the individual. is there any such thing? or is it just a fragment of his self delusionary imagination? hallucinations of grandeur.
all the days i have lived, all the things i have thought about, everything i have understood, or thought i understood, all my observations, perceptions, opinions, likes, dislikes, hatred, repulsion, admiration, affection, sympathies, empathies. alll my learnings, understandings, ponedring, all my writings ... what will happen to everything after i am gone?
no doubt someone will give my books away. someone will come along and go through my whole collection, my whole life ... perhaps ma will keep them outside, in the balcony, in big cardboard boxes, covered with plastic. 2 big boxes of the leatherbound and hardcover ones which she bought before i was born (did she have some uncanny permonition?) the classics, the encyclopedias, the biographies, journals and letters of famous people, the dictionaries, english, french, german. then a few boxes of the moth eaten ancient leather ... the ones i picked up here and there, from other dead or dying people, knowing probably that i wouldnt read them (house remedies of the victorian age, for example) but unable to see a book orphaned. then boxes and boxes of the books i have collected as i read through them. i always buy. bought. if i got it from a library, or a friend, and i liked it, id go out and buy it.
my movies ... the tiny sony betamax cassettes, regular cassettes, the vcds, the dvds ...
my music ...
looking through it all i feel like thats all i did for the last thirty years. collect. my two drawers full of diaries, random writings and jottings. poems on exam papers, toilet paper, paper napkins, hand made paper packets from the grocer, brown paper bags ... and all safely stored. never looked at again. will they go through it all after im gone? but that cannot be ... i must destroy it all myself.
but how can you do that? burn, tear, shred, throw away the footprints ur mind left as it lived and grew? the recordings of the pain, anger, humilitions, joys, discoveries, betrayals ... thrills.
but that is the basic questions thats on my mind today. all these years thats all i thought was important ... what i thought, what i read, what i learned. now, along with the books read, the words scribbled, the music heard, the movies seen ... will my thoughts, my mind, my understanding, my feelings, my perceptions ... the net sum of my existence ... just dissapear? melt? fade without an echo?
doctor gupta ... A Story (part 3)
though he is a doctor, our family doctor, dr gupta has been with us for so long now that its hard to remember him as anything but a family friend, or a relative .... as doctor uncle.
like i said, i have known him forever ... ever since i was a little girl. in all these years though, he had never spoken to me like this before, never asked me to come and visit him at the chamber, and that too alone.
so i went there on monday, after work. it was 8:30 in the evening. the drive down bypass had been beautiful. the softly wet days when summer is turning to monsoon. the cool breezes, the near empty roads, my car, my music and my kolkata. sometimes i felt overwhelmed by how beautiful it all was. i was on my way home. i had been living away from home for almost ten years, on and off. and now, it felt so good to be back. to get used to the food, take it for granted. to peep in on ma's room, while she slept, once before falling asleep. to have people to fight with, talk seriously with, places to go, things to do ... and to take all this for granted. its like magic, getting all that back again, and getting used to it, slowly. now i was headed home. ma would be there. we would talk for a while. drink two cups of tea together before i went to my room. because i havent yet gotten used to it, because it still feels new & magical at times, i had thought about it as i drove, and i had smiled to myself.
i reached his chambers at 21:00. the lady at the desk asked me to wait. after 15 mins he came out and took me inside. i started to make a joke about how starnge this was when he told me, in that voice i will never forget now as long as live, or for the next few months, that i was going to die. he told me the disease. the chances. the timescales. he said, he had thought about it a lot, and he had come to the conclusion that I would have preferred it this way, that indeed, i could not have borne it any other way, that i would have never forgiven him if he had told someone else in the family before talking to me.
what could i say? maybe thats what the refer to when they talk about 'shock'. i didnt say anything much, maybe i had smiled a little, then sat there quietly a while. finally, i told him that i would think about my options and get back to him. and i left him ... with a request to not discuss it with anyone else till i said so.
as i drive back, i pushed these thoughts out of my mind. id think about it later. after i got home. after ma had gone to bed. 'think about my options', i had said to doctor uncle. unable to stop myself i started laughing out loud. alone, in the car. what options? i didnt have any anymore.
like i said, i have known him forever ... ever since i was a little girl. in all these years though, he had never spoken to me like this before, never asked me to come and visit him at the chamber, and that too alone.
so i went there on monday, after work. it was 8:30 in the evening. the drive down bypass had been beautiful. the softly wet days when summer is turning to monsoon. the cool breezes, the near empty roads, my car, my music and my kolkata. sometimes i felt overwhelmed by how beautiful it all was. i was on my way home. i had been living away from home for almost ten years, on and off. and now, it felt so good to be back. to get used to the food, take it for granted. to peep in on ma's room, while she slept, once before falling asleep. to have people to fight with, talk seriously with, places to go, things to do ... and to take all this for granted. its like magic, getting all that back again, and getting used to it, slowly. now i was headed home. ma would be there. we would talk for a while. drink two cups of tea together before i went to my room. because i havent yet gotten used to it, because it still feels new & magical at times, i had thought about it as i drove, and i had smiled to myself.
i reached his chambers at 21:00. the lady at the desk asked me to wait. after 15 mins he came out and took me inside. i started to make a joke about how starnge this was when he told me, in that voice i will never forget now as long as live, or for the next few months, that i was going to die. he told me the disease. the chances. the timescales. he said, he had thought about it a lot, and he had come to the conclusion that I would have preferred it this way, that indeed, i could not have borne it any other way, that i would have never forgiven him if he had told someone else in the family before talking to me.
what could i say? maybe thats what the refer to when they talk about 'shock'. i didnt say anything much, maybe i had smiled a little, then sat there quietly a while. finally, i told him that i would think about my options and get back to him. and i left him ... with a request to not discuss it with anyone else till i said so.
as i drive back, i pushed these thoughts out of my mind. id think about it later. after i got home. after ma had gone to bed. 'think about my options', i had said to doctor uncle. unable to stop myself i started laughing out loud. alone, in the car. what options? i didnt have any anymore.
Praful ... A Story (part 2)
its too late and too futile to think about this now. but i keep thinking about him anyhow. about Praful. i wish there was some way I could let him know. I wish there was some way I could reach him. Or, even if I could, by some means, be certain ... certain that what she had told me was true ...
but what would i tell him if there was a way to get to him? what if the phone rang just now. what if i picked up the receiver, and in that old way of ours, just stayed silent a while ... waiting ... till one of us (both such restless imps, mashi used to say) burst out laughing. they were always being amazed at how we could still roll over laughing at the most trivial of things!
ma would say, "ete abaar eto haashbaar ki holo? toder baepaar torai jaanish"
coming back to the real world and true life ... what would I say to Praful today? would i say "Im sorry"? would i say "I waited ... even while I hated you, even while I told my self you had never cared ... that i imagined everything"? would i say "praful, im still waiting praful. u never said it but i never doubted it, or you. i knew we could only have been made for each other. i grew angry, impatient, sad, mad ... but whatever i felt whenever, i felt for you. i never turned away from you. till dactar maama called me last week and said, "guddi, ekla aashish. ektu kotha aachhe" and changed everything forever.
what would I say to Praful today? i waited for, but now i have to go?
Or maybe what she had told me was true ... he didnt just dissapear, or go away. praful is dead. and ill be with him soon.
<2B edited / contd>
but what would i tell him if there was a way to get to him? what if the phone rang just now. what if i picked up the receiver, and in that old way of ours, just stayed silent a while ... waiting ... till one of us (both such restless imps, mashi used to say) burst out laughing. they were always being amazed at how we could still roll over laughing at the most trivial of things!
ma would say, "ete abaar eto haashbaar ki holo? toder baepaar torai jaanish"
coming back to the real world and true life ... what would I say to Praful today? would i say "Im sorry"? would i say "I waited ... even while I hated you, even while I told my self you had never cared ... that i imagined everything"? would i say "praful, im still waiting praful. u never said it but i never doubted it, or you. i knew we could only have been made for each other. i grew angry, impatient, sad, mad ... but whatever i felt whenever, i felt for you. i never turned away from you. till dactar maama called me last week and said, "guddi, ekla aashish. ektu kotha aachhe" and changed everything forever.
what would I say to Praful today? i waited for, but now i have to go?
Or maybe what she had told me was true ... he didnt just dissapear, or go away. praful is dead. and ill be with him soon.
<2B edited / contd>