busy weekend
guests who came to stay
in empty spaces in between
lay on my stomach, on my bed
and stared out at the rain
it rained in fits and starts all weekend
little bits now and then
come sunday night it started in earnest
lashings of rain, torrents of rain, rivers of rain
frozen breath breeze
thunder, rain and lightning
nothing's really frightening
i'm cool
as well
having decided to join the team
i am now having my charecteristic cold feet and all that jazz
ofcourse, typically, the boss hasnt a clue
i am all smiles and proactivity to him
inside, i am freaking out
outside my window, there's a sort of courtyard
the space made when a four or five old south calcutta buildings,
stand back to back with a little awkward space left out in between
the bed was next to the window and the window looks into the 'courtyard'
outside, there's a strange glow in the sky
Its white and grey, but looks like shades of silver
the wind blows cool and strong, with a hint of mist on it
hidden and imperceptible, is the knowledge of the jasmine plant on the terrace
there are some eagles and a few other birds circling the air
every now and then, they stagger, from the force of the wind
and then they quickly get back it back together again
and go on sweeping large circles in the sky
in the distance, is a old house house, the exposed brickwork
green-black with moss
Originally Posted at Prerona.
6 weird facts
tagged by inkblot, aparna, and sangeeta. its a bit hard to do, bcz i dont really know myself - right from the 'when i am hungry-thirty-sleepy' level to the 'what i want out of life' level. i doing this in a hurry so excuse the mess. running low on net-time again. ill tidy it up a bit when I am catching up :)
1. I can strike up immense conversations with random strangers: at the water machine, in a train, in a bus ... but sometimes find it hard to talk to people i know. also, i actually like my company, i can keep myself entertained for hours. i am usually, basically, usually, happy solitary
2. I go to extremes with everything from eating-starving, to friendly-cold ... no regulators in my system
3. i actually love going to the gym, or running, or rowing, or football. though golf is my favourite
4. i hate being made fun off and cry if shouted at - even when I know its only fun and games. i love being very grown-up and mature and even motherly with people - specially online - bcz in real life every treats me like a kid and noone listens to me ... even my sister who's 10 yrs younger
5. i have always had a crush and always have a couple of crushes at any given point of time. its usually very trivial and i'd usually freak out if anything came out of it.
6. i cant bear most jewellery (sp'ly other peoples), milk-skin, music I dont like (usually rap), most funny movies/books/tv-shows/people
6 people I'd tag: Ram, Austere, Peg, Lemon-Grass, Olivia, Aboltabol, GoSmoking, VelvetGunther ... if any or all of you guys dont wanna play, just ignore
Originally Posted at Prerona.
1. I can strike up immense conversations with random strangers: at the water machine, in a train, in a bus ... but sometimes find it hard to talk to people i know. also, i actually like my company, i can keep myself entertained for hours. i am usually, basically, usually, happy solitary
2. I go to extremes with everything from eating-starving, to friendly-cold ... no regulators in my system
3. i actually love going to the gym, or running, or rowing, or football. though golf is my favourite
4. i hate being made fun off and cry if shouted at - even when I know its only fun and games. i love being very grown-up and mature and even motherly with people - specially online - bcz in real life every treats me like a kid and noone listens to me ... even my sister who's 10 yrs younger
5. i have always had a crush and always have a couple of crushes at any given point of time. its usually very trivial and i'd usually freak out if anything came out of it.
6. i cant bear most jewellery (sp'ly other peoples), milk-skin, music I dont like (usually rap), most funny movies/books/tv-shows/people
6 people I'd tag: Ram, Austere, Peg, Lemon-Grass, Olivia, Aboltabol, GoSmoking, VelvetGunther ... if any or all of you guys dont wanna play, just ignore
Originally Posted at Prerona.
the first rain of the new season
outside the wind is still wet from the rain
the rain has stopped, the leaves on the trees
though i cant see them from here
are still damp with the wet
the wind chimes sing gently to the night
and you and i, settle in to sleep
its turning 3
i have to be up at 5
i should be in bed, but
sleep is far away
i can still feel your presense
on the window ledge, where you sat
a while ago
in my mind, i can see u frowning
i'm listening to this song after an age
nazereth: love hurts
i love the rawness of his voice when he sings it
love is just a lie, meant make me blue. love hurts ...
what kind of irony, is this?
ur hurt, turns in my heart like a twisting knife
and mine, moves to aside to make it room
its ok. just one more feather, on the camels back
i've been here a million times before
it feels like i am back on familiar ground
doubts, fears, pain, acidity. betrayal,
congenital. i can handle that
it was the joy,
sudden, unfamiliar,
new and unexpected,
that had had me thrown
on the terrace, the jasmine wilts
wasting its sweetnes in the void
the red brick that glowed in the dusk
is barren with the setting sun
the theatre is empty too
the seats are vacant
the tears from the sky,
lay everything damp
in some house nearby, there's water running
someone has turned on a bathroom light
a child cries, somewhere, in his sleep
an early bird, sings
its too early
to sing to the dawn
the bird stops and waits
will dawn come?
Originally Posted at Prerona.
the rain has stopped, the leaves on the trees
though i cant see them from here
are still damp with the wet
the wind chimes sing gently to the night
and you and i, settle in to sleep
its turning 3
i have to be up at 5
i should be in bed, but
sleep is far away
i can still feel your presense
on the window ledge, where you sat
a while ago
in my mind, i can see u frowning
i'm listening to this song after an age
nazereth: love hurts
i love the rawness of his voice when he sings it
love is just a lie, meant make me blue. love hurts ...
what kind of irony, is this?
ur hurt, turns in my heart like a twisting knife
and mine, moves to aside to make it room
its ok. just one more feather, on the camels back
i've been here a million times before
it feels like i am back on familiar ground
doubts, fears, pain, acidity. betrayal,
congenital. i can handle that
it was the joy,
sudden, unfamiliar,
new and unexpected,
that had had me thrown
on the terrace, the jasmine wilts
wasting its sweetnes in the void
the red brick that glowed in the dusk
is barren with the setting sun
the theatre is empty too
the seats are vacant
the tears from the sky,
lay everything damp
in some house nearby, there's water running
someone has turned on a bathroom light
a child cries, somewhere, in his sleep
an early bird, sings
its too early
to sing to the dawn
the bird stops and waits
will dawn come?
Originally Posted at Prerona.
speachless
been trying to come up with a post for a while, but stuck on words. will be up again in a aday or 2, i hope. in the meanwhile, i was looking through my old blog and this struck a chord: too little too late. Maybe will come back and expand on this later or have 2 other things in queue that i'd like to write abt if i could finds the words
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
My Friend
its dark, and you cant clearly see
i know you want to reach out to me
my love i'm sorry, but cant let u see
this other, darker, side of me
its secret, its delicate,
there's only a fleeting glance u get
as the walls slam down
i love you, but not that much
not enough to share my me
maybe one day you'll see
its the only way i could be
i know you want to reach out to me
my love i'm sorry, but cant let u see
this other, darker, side of me
its secret, its delicate,
there's only a fleeting glance u get
as the walls slam down
i love you, but not that much
not enough to share my me
maybe one day you'll see
its the only way i could be
Jasmine on the Night
The coffee was rich: very dark and just barely sweet. Almost cold and just barely warm; just the way he liked. From somewhere, the heady smell of jasmine floated to him. He leaned his head against the window frame of his old pickup, and let his mind zoom free.
It was dark. Here and there, little lights twinkled and glowed; like fairy lights. Small sounds floated on the night air: a child's cry as he finally settled in, a woman's voice raised in mock irritation, a man somewhere quietly laughed. Something about the blanket of darkness and quiet, thrown on by the night, made even the most mundane, more magical.
It was almost always night, when he arrived at a new town. That was how the tours were planned. Everytime he arrived at a new town, under the magic-cloak of the darkness, glitterring with the little lights, sounds blurred and softened by the evenings lull, she seemed breathtakingly beautiful. everytime, he fell in love. and everytime felt like the first time.
When he came into town, in the night, it was easy for him to make believe, that he was alone. He walked around her perimeter, getting to know her; Keeping his distance, but slowly getting drawn closer. In the pristine night, she looked so clean: like noone else but him lived in within her, owned her, belonged to her.
Then as the night slipped away, and morning came: first quietly, gently, then roaring in, like a wave on the beach. Slowly, the little sounds, of the little people, were picked up by the air, and he could not ignore their existence any longer. It came and hit him like a kick in the groin, hard, quick and cruel: the consciousness of all these other people sharing his living space for the night, his new found place of magic and calm.
He was a claustrophobic loner; part hermit, part beast. He didnt like people, and they didnt like that much either. That was the main reason he worked this job. The long solitary nights on the road, the constant moving, from place to place, shifting again each time, the minute dust begins to settle in his wake, everything about the job that drove all but the most desperate people away, were the reasons he loved his job. It kept him 'sane'.
He was probably half mad. Maybe. We'll never really know. He had a need to possess or stay away. And It was hard, because himself, he was like the wind.
He couldnt be owned. Every relationship, was a barter. All he had to give was this fierce longing, his hunger, his quicksilver madness; His music, that had grown on him like a second skin, on his long lonely nights on the road; His books, that kept him sane on the stops; His words, and dreams, and hours; and reflections and echoes of years of living; lots of living; and a crazy Swirl that was a souffle of laughter and bitterness and tears. He was like the wind, as big & universal, as gentle & as harsh, as cruel & as unholdable.
He had such fierce possesiveness, and such a helpless un-possessibility. He had to have completely, or he couldnt have at all. He had to win, or he wouldnt play. But he was quite happy not playing, not winning, ot having, not owning.
It was dark. Here and there, little lights twinkled and glowed; like fairy lights. Small sounds floated on the night air: a child's cry as he finally settled in, a woman's voice raised in mock irritation, a man somewhere quietly laughed. Something about the blanket of darkness and quiet, thrown on by the night, made even the most mundane, more magical.
It was almost always night, when he arrived at a new town. That was how the tours were planned. Everytime he arrived at a new town, under the magic-cloak of the darkness, glitterring with the little lights, sounds blurred and softened by the evenings lull, she seemed breathtakingly beautiful. everytime, he fell in love. and everytime felt like the first time.
When he came into town, in the night, it was easy for him to make believe, that he was alone. He walked around her perimeter, getting to know her; Keeping his distance, but slowly getting drawn closer. In the pristine night, she looked so clean: like noone else but him lived in within her, owned her, belonged to her.
Then as the night slipped away, and morning came: first quietly, gently, then roaring in, like a wave on the beach. Slowly, the little sounds, of the little people, were picked up by the air, and he could not ignore their existence any longer. It came and hit him like a kick in the groin, hard, quick and cruel: the consciousness of all these other people sharing his living space for the night, his new found place of magic and calm.
He was a claustrophobic loner; part hermit, part beast. He didnt like people, and they didnt like that much either. That was the main reason he worked this job. The long solitary nights on the road, the constant moving, from place to place, shifting again each time, the minute dust begins to settle in his wake, everything about the job that drove all but the most desperate people away, were the reasons he loved his job. It kept him 'sane'.
He was probably half mad. Maybe. We'll never really know. He had a need to possess or stay away. And It was hard, because himself, he was like the wind.
He couldnt be owned. Every relationship, was a barter. All he had to give was this fierce longing, his hunger, his quicksilver madness; His music, that had grown on him like a second skin, on his long lonely nights on the road; His books, that kept him sane on the stops; His words, and dreams, and hours; and reflections and echoes of years of living; lots of living; and a crazy Swirl that was a souffle of laughter and bitterness and tears. He was like the wind, as big & universal, as gentle & as harsh, as cruel & as unholdable.
He had such fierce possesiveness, and such a helpless un-possessibility. He had to have completely, or he couldnt have at all. He had to win, or he wouldnt play. But he was quite happy not playing, not winning, ot having, not owning.
Rain
Lull
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good."
everyday at lunch time, in the morning and sometimes in the evenings,
i listen to John Hannah reading Auden. its like a prayer. or like a blade.
works the same.
i loved that movie. and i loved that relationsip.
it was near perfect.
its dark, and you cant clearly see
i know you want to reach out to me
my love i'm sorry, but cant let u see
this other, darker, side of me
its secret, its delicate,
there's only a fleeting glance u get
as the walls slam down
i love you, but not that much
not enough to share my me
maybe one day you'll see
its the only way i could be
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good."
everyday at lunch time, in the morning and sometimes in the evenings,
i listen to John Hannah reading Auden. its like a prayer. or like a blade.
works the same.
i loved that movie. and i loved that relationsip.
it was near perfect.
its dark, and you cant clearly see
i know you want to reach out to me
my love i'm sorry, but cant let u see
this other, darker, side of me
its secret, its delicate,
there's only a fleeting glance u get
as the walls slam down
i love you, but not that much
not enough to share my me
maybe one day you'll see
its the only way i could be
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Chameleon: Master of Trickery, Masks & Disguise
dark night. moonlight
cold air on wet skin, by cold rain
wet sand, gravelly, velvetty, squashed into
my fingers and toes
warm foam, white
bright
ice cold water, underneath
pulling, calling at my feet
an empty night, a blank mind
sketched in, a hazy dream,
in soft, wild, raw pink
unknown, unseen, stranger, walking tall on the beach
soft a sigh,
escape a whimper
a tear from wonder, a smile from the shy
an a little smile, half sly
laughter floats
shudders tremble
quicksilver ...
crystal-ball moods
sunlight, filtered
palm shadows poking fingers into the afternoon
water, green blue, velvet warm
a whisper, a rustle from the beach
backwaters, sun warmed
a walk, a memory, a sea shell ... ornate memoirs
a ghost, to hold hands with
walker, who walks. the ghost, who walked. the ghost, who's walked
Originally Posted at Prerona.
cold air on wet skin, by cold rain
wet sand, gravelly, velvetty, squashed into
my fingers and toes
warm foam, white
bright
ice cold water, underneath
pulling, calling at my feet
an empty night, a blank mind
sketched in, a hazy dream,
in soft, wild, raw pink
unknown, unseen, stranger, walking tall on the beach
soft a sigh,
escape a whimper
a tear from wonder, a smile from the shy
an a little smile, half sly
laughter floats
shudders tremble
quicksilver ...
crystal-ball moods
sunlight, filtered
palm shadows poking fingers into the afternoon
water, green blue, velvet warm
a whisper, a rustle from the beach
backwaters, sun warmed
a walk, a memory, a sea shell ... ornate memoirs
a ghost, to hold hands with
walker, who walks. the ghost, who walked. the ghost, who's walked
Originally Posted at Prerona.
The weekend that was: Written in a hurry :)
Finally saw Doshor. As my bengali is not that great, I hadnt realised what the word meant and was totally unprepared for the blast. Its a lot about extra marital relationships. Te potrayal is brilliant. And thats an understatement. The acting ... well, Konkona is so AWESOME that I didnt know whether to watch her acting and just take in how she shows what or look at the movie. As a plot I felt there were some extra bits. Lots of stuff could have been trimmed out. I liked the texture of the whole thing rolling out in black and white - more stark, depth and all that. But at some points the print seemed a little to grainy. Not sure if its on purpose. Its the kind of movie which I need to get home and watch properly (which in my world means rewind each scene 23 times). Its not one of the best movies ever made, but its pretty good. You should go watch it, if you can
Went for a blog meet on Sunday, and met some very interesting people and found a really nice coffee place, but details later
Also, you could go and read this, this and this post. I really liked.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Went for a blog meet on Sunday, and met some very interesting people and found a really nice coffee place, but details later
Also, you could go and read this, this and this post. I really liked.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Memories
there, where the sea gulls shreik in delight, where the waves murmer low voiced, where the wrens wander silent about, where clouds merrily cruise blue skies, where noone can reach you, where love cant question you: do you dare? where love cant betray you: i think its for the best. where friends dont use you and walk away to long term provisions, where love doesnt die: my time is done little girl. The end, is the common denominator. The death will come; ur world, ur love, ur dreams, will be washed away by the waves of time, like sandcastles built by a child. so whats the point?
sunset jam
Originally uploaded by prerona.
Why does the sun rises everyday, only to set again at the end? Come ... lets close the windows and the doors. We wont let anything in the sun, the moon, light, air, ideas, feelings, people, attachments. We will be safe. We will be hard and strong. Never love. Never hurt. Never play. Never lose. Never live. Never die
Its been so long since I first met you. I spoke your name and it became ur name. I called out to you and it was like the first words spoke. I grew, from a seed you tried to crush, to a vision painted by ur love. I grew out of you, ur imagination. I was urs: echo, ghost, shadow. ghost of a ghost. i wander about, half alive, half dead. i want to come with you, but still stay with them. i want to be with them, the living; and still stay true to you, my dead
The feelings: of being held in your arms; of falling asleep, holding on to your shirt; of burrowing into your shoulder, of your hands, holding mine; of yoru eyes, your tears, your laughter, you anger, your love, your practical jokes ... the feelings are slowly fading. Left behind, is an echo, a memories of memories, like a faintly darker shade of tan, on wet sand.
I am left with few fleeting seconds of your voice, your smile, your laughter and the dreamy look on your face as you talk about me (the last time that I heard you). And the last few words that you sent, across oceans, lands and continents. And a few odds and ends. And the old spidery letters. And birthday cards. I hold on to them.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
sunset jam
Originally uploaded by prerona.
text
Why does the sun rises everyday, only to set again at the end? Come ... lets close the windows and the doors. We wont let anything in the sun, the moon, light, air, ideas, feelings, people, attachments. We will be safe. We will be hard and strong. Never love. Never hurt. Never play. Never lose. Never live. Never die
Its been so long since I first met you. I spoke your name and it became ur name. I called out to you and it was like the first words spoke. I grew, from a seed you tried to crush, to a vision painted by ur love. I grew out of you, ur imagination. I was urs: echo, ghost, shadow. ghost of a ghost. i wander about, half alive, half dead. i want to come with you, but still stay with them. i want to be with them, the living; and still stay true to you, my dead
The feelings: of being held in your arms; of falling asleep, holding on to your shirt; of burrowing into your shoulder, of your hands, holding mine; of yoru eyes, your tears, your laughter, you anger, your love, your practical jokes ... the feelings are slowly fading. Left behind, is an echo, a memories of memories, like a faintly darker shade of tan, on wet sand.
I am left with few fleeting seconds of your voice, your smile, your laughter and the dreamy look on your face as you talk about me (the last time that I heard you). And the last few words that you sent, across oceans, lands and continents. And a few odds and ends. And the old spidery letters. And birthday cards. I hold on to them.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
The Game
The objective was to come up with a list of 10 E-words and 10 words about each. I've got my list, but dont know how I will do with the descriptions. anyway, they'd have to wait a bit as I try to get my breath backafter a really hectic phase of life ' atwork :)
So, here goes:
1. Ego
2. Eternity
3. Ethereal
4. Ether
5. Empty
6. Ecstacy (Eccy?)
7. Escape
8. Echo
9. Elegance
10. End
Will come back and fill in the descriptions. Its another Friday. Dress down at work is a night mare. Being a person with a regulator, as my mom elegantly puts it, I can only live in the extremes. So I am not good with this Half Formal-Half Casual thing. I like being totally 'phatichar' or 'pakka-proper', clothes-wise. Anyway, its over. One more down. Sify at home - nightmare. Down more than its up. And the B@$^@#!$ took 1.5 grand as installation as well saying we give better connectivity. Can access icici-direct from work. D@*%. Anyway, 2 and a half blissful days of lazing at home and sleeping. Am reading Grapes of Wrath and Tropic of Capricorn and The Eternal Braid. Will go book hunting. Looking for Steppenwoolf. Want to do a revision.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
So, here goes:
1. Ego
2. Eternity
3. Ethereal
4. Ether
5. Empty
6. Ecstacy (Eccy?)
7. Escape
8. Echo
9. Elegance
10. End
Will come back and fill in the descriptions. Its another Friday. Dress down at work is a night mare. Being a person with a regulator, as my mom elegantly puts it, I can only live in the extremes. So I am not good with this Half Formal-Half Casual thing. I like being totally 'phatichar' or 'pakka-proper', clothes-wise. Anyway, its over. One more down. Sify at home - nightmare. Down more than its up. And the B@$^@#!$ took 1.5 grand as installation as well saying we give better connectivity. Can access icici-direct from work. D@*%. Anyway, 2 and a half blissful days of lazing at home and sleeping. Am reading Grapes of Wrath and Tropic of Capricorn and The Eternal Braid. Will go book hunting. Looking for Steppenwoolf. Want to do a revision.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Rolling Stones and Islands
What is ore scary, for the rolling stones, attaching yoourself to something that moving in a different direction, or letting something grow on you, because you know you'll move. There is
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
I like you. I love you. You are my friend ...
what does it mean? what does anything mean? nothing. used to think they were blank cheques. found out they were like blank notes in a a bankrupt currency.
every service is a paid service. everything has a cost. u have to decide if the value it will add is worth what it will cost you. communication is an added cost-head. accounting is an added cost-head. reassurance is an added cost head. maintaining the server at ur end so that it is never down is an added cost head. plus the basic cost fo providing the services which you are offer.
all i have barter is words, and dreams, and hours. and reflections of lots of living. and a crazy whirl thats a souffle of laughter and bitterness and tears. what will a few words fetch?
i didnt say the words you put in my mouth. not today or ever. i couldnt have even thought of something so monumental. so why is it that time and again these very words come to your mind? where does it come from? guilt?
would i, ever, have sufficient courage and energy, to walk up to someone, face to face, and say whatever I had to say? this is wht you have done to me. this is what i didnt like. this is why i dont like it ... why cant i really fight? almost as soon as its begun a immense, freezing, paralysing blanket of ennui sweeps over me ... i cant say anything at all.
there's so much i wanted to tell you. theres so much i wanted to remind you off. and u say i argue like a lawyer? huh. yeah sure. i wish i could
Originally Posted at Prerona.
every service is a paid service. everything has a cost. u have to decide if the value it will add is worth what it will cost you. communication is an added cost-head. accounting is an added cost-head. reassurance is an added cost head. maintaining the server at ur end so that it is never down is an added cost head. plus the basic cost fo providing the services which you are offer.
all i have barter is words, and dreams, and hours. and reflections of lots of living. and a crazy whirl thats a souffle of laughter and bitterness and tears. what will a few words fetch?
i didnt say the words you put in my mouth. not today or ever. i couldnt have even thought of something so monumental. so why is it that time and again these very words come to your mind? where does it come from? guilt?
would i, ever, have sufficient courage and energy, to walk up to someone, face to face, and say whatever I had to say? this is wht you have done to me. this is what i didnt like. this is why i dont like it ... why cant i really fight? almost as soon as its begun a immense, freezing, paralysing blanket of ennui sweeps over me ... i cant say anything at all.
there's so much i wanted to tell you. theres so much i wanted to remind you off. and u say i argue like a lawyer? huh. yeah sure. i wish i could
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Visions
a smear of red
deep and a dark
a splash of blood
from a bleeding smile
from dry lips,
hardened by time
on a face crusted, frozen, numbed
by the hours, the days, the years ...
by life
by the search
by the hunger and thirst
by the seeking
eyes that have been trained on the horizon, searching
so long and so hard, that finding, they swell like the ocean
a sigh, a murmer, so delicate
that its lost in the winds embrace
as the river,
tired, stumbling,
breaking, coming apart
falls into to ocean.
i only just made it this far.
i only just made it to you.
take me in u now, and save me
save me from myself, and my mind
take me far away, dont heed me
save me fom my walls, break them down
now. and set me free.
kill me,
and we'll live happily.
forever,
once again.
take the bags,
from my hands
they ache and bleed now.
everything that i have seen
everything that i have borne
everything that i have stayed strong through
everything that i have shrugged away
each hour, each day, each year
each tear
left a little salt ...
thats in the bags
these eyes have seen such dirt in mens souls
these ears have heard such tales of pain and sin
these lips have smiled and laughed
with the worst of them all
forgive me
clean me
heal me
take the visions and their echos
from my eyes
take away,
the residue
of the years
turn you, into a mirage,
a trick of tired eyes,
a lie of aching mind,
a dream of weary heart;
turn you, into a mirage,
and i die ...
deep and a dark
a splash of blood
from a bleeding smile
from dry lips,
hardened by time
on a face crusted, frozen, numbed
by the hours, the days, the years ...
by life
by the search
by the hunger and thirst
by the seeking
eyes that have been trained on the horizon, searching
so long and so hard, that finding, they swell like the ocean
a sigh, a murmer, so delicate
that its lost in the winds embrace
as the river,
tired, stumbling,
breaking, coming apart
falls into to ocean.
i only just made it this far.
i only just made it to you.
take me in u now, and save me
save me from myself, and my mind
take me far away, dont heed me
save me fom my walls, break them down
now. and set me free.
kill me,
and we'll live happily.
forever,
once again.
take the bags,
from my hands
they ache and bleed now.
everything that i have seen
everything that i have borne
everything that i have stayed strong through
everything that i have shrugged away
each hour, each day, each year
each tear
left a little salt ...
thats in the bags
these eyes have seen such dirt in mens souls
these ears have heard such tales of pain and sin
these lips have smiled and laughed
with the worst of them all
forgive me
clean me
heal me
take the visions and their echos
from my eyes
take away,
the residue
of the years
turn you, into a mirage,
a trick of tired eyes,
a lie of aching mind,
a dream of weary heart;
turn you, into a mirage,
and i die ...
Sister of my Soul
After months of effort, finally got my little sister to open her own blog! Check it out at Procheta.
Finally started running again. Feel like I have now settled down here. New snaps from this morning: Lakes in the Morning
Drove to work today. Been a while. Been fighting with mum and dad to keep the Palio - it was after all my first car - but I think this time I might be persuaded to shift toa Swift - Black and White. They look pretty cute! Remind me Mini Coopers.
Pretty Materialistic Huh? ;)
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Finally started running again. Feel like I have now settled down here. New snaps from this morning: Lakes in the Morning
Drove to work today. Been a while. Been fighting with mum and dad to keep the Palio - it was after all my first car - but I think this time I might be persuaded to shift toa Swift - Black and White. They look pretty cute! Remind me Mini Coopers.
Pretty Materialistic Huh? ;)
Originally Posted at Prerona.
The Great Cull
Cleaning the blog. Would like to select 10 of my fav posts and lose the rest! Would like to fix the broken music links for the OST'd posts. Would like to be the King of the World
Funny memory, when Barbie was a Baby, if you asked her what she wanted to be when she grew up, she used to say, 'Ami? Ami Miss India hobe'. When I was a baby, if you asked me, I used to say 'I wanna be a The King'
Its a beautiful morning. Its blindingly bright outside. I am listening to Love you Hamesha and Red House, yes strange combination.
Yesterday was nice-trashy movie day. I saw Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam (and weeped buckets over my beloved Ajay) - he is so perfect in that movie! Not just Ajay, Vanraj.
Then I saw my favourite movie, Main Hoon Na. Dont you love when Shah Rukh Khan flies in a Cycle Rickshaw with the fire racing behind him? Why not? You would have loved it if it was Pierce Brosnan! I loved it. And Ms. Sens voice when she says 'its allright'. And Shah Rukh Khan ... such style man! And the songs. And all the goody goody desh prem stuff I love to watch ;)
Next, Suryavansham. Its not just bcz its got Big B. I like the story. So while everyone at home sat and made fun, I shamelessly watched and wept away to glory.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Funny memory, when Barbie was a Baby, if you asked her what she wanted to be when she grew up, she used to say, 'Ami? Ami Miss India hobe'. When I was a baby, if you asked me, I used to say 'I wanna be a The King'
Its a beautiful morning. Its blindingly bright outside. I am listening to Love you Hamesha and Red House, yes strange combination.
Yesterday was nice-trashy movie day. I saw Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam (and weeped buckets over my beloved Ajay) - he is so perfect in that movie! Not just Ajay, Vanraj.
Then I saw my favourite movie, Main Hoon Na. Dont you love when Shah Rukh Khan flies in a Cycle Rickshaw with the fire racing behind him? Why not? You would have loved it if it was Pierce Brosnan! I loved it. And Ms. Sens voice when she says 'its allright'. And Shah Rukh Khan ... such style man! And the songs. And all the goody goody desh prem stuff I love to watch ;)
Next, Suryavansham. Its not just bcz its got Big B. I like the story. So while everyone at home sat and made fun, I shamelessly watched and wept away to glory.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
The Easy Questions
The easiest, simplest questions, are sometimes the most difficult to answer.
Are you Happy? Who are you the closest to? Whom do you like? Who do you love? Do you love him? Do you like her? Do you want him unconditionally? What do you want to have, if anything were possible? Do you have anyone to talk to? Someone you could say anything to? Someone you would say everything to? Are you afraid? Are you enjoying life? How are you? Are you mad! How have you been? How do you feel about this? What are your thoughts on this?
The most simple and genuine statements, sometimes, rub the most against the grain: let me give you a hug; i'm so sorry; you must be so excited! lucky you; you poor thing; lovely day, isnt it? hello, dear; you must be really glad! you sound good. so, you're having a blast, from all I hear? Nevermind, you tried your best! These things happen. Try to let go. I know how it feels. Isnt it wonderful!
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Are you Happy? Who are you the closest to? Whom do you like? Who do you love? Do you love him? Do you like her? Do you want him unconditionally? What do you want to have, if anything were possible? Do you have anyone to talk to? Someone you could say anything to? Someone you would say everything to? Are you afraid? Are you enjoying life? How are you? Are you mad! How have you been? How do you feel about this? What are your thoughts on this?
The most simple and genuine statements, sometimes, rub the most against the grain: let me give you a hug; i'm so sorry; you must be so excited! lucky you; you poor thing; lovely day, isnt it? hello, dear; you must be really glad! you sound good. so, you're having a blast, from all I hear? Nevermind, you tried your best! These things happen. Try to let go. I know how it feels. Isnt it wonderful!
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Scratch
slowly, life settles into a rythm. Thoughts whizz through my head in crazy non-sequences. On my way to and from work, at lunch break, at night after lights out. Like buzzing flies over a carcass, they are too tiny and too quick to catch in words.
Over the last few weeks, since my re-awakening, so much has happened. Little gifts good, bad and ugly, from everyone all around.
Like never before, I stand at the cross roads. I am so confused that I am frozen numb. As ever, the biggest confusion is about what I want. A dream, versus reality. When they clash, do dreams ever win?
Its strange 'being' after so many years: living in Calcutta, living at home, living amongst people, working offshore, and more.
Had woken up at 5 as usual for Golf. How pretty she looks, waking up slowly, stretching, bit bit, rubbing sleep out of the most beautiful eyes in the world. Magnificiently resplendant Kolkata, stubbornly intellectual Calcutta, unreasonably happy Kolkata, Irresponsibly careless Calcutta.
Seeing it with fresh eyes, after so long, I could see why everyone loves to hate her. Everywhere it dirty, messy, poverty struck ... but everywhere there are people with life spilling out of their eyes, laughing, joking, playing 'life'. So alive ... I have travelled around the world. I have seen many cities. I have fallen in love with many places. But I havent found so much life anywhere.
Went to CRC afterwards. But they wont take on any new people till the state-levels are over. Thats the end of this month. I want to try sculling again. But I'd have to wait till the end of the month.
After golf, came home and rushed off to work. Thought I'll leave early today. Still, it had struck 9 before I could leave. Didnt want to spend 200 bucks on a cab and didnt have the energy to take a bus. Started to walk, but got a 'shuttle' a nice AC Zen.
It rained while i was at work. sometimes, you eel like a butterfly, or moth, tarpped inside a dry glass box looking out into the rain, your heart fluttering against the transparent panes.
As I walk out, alone atlast with the pounding thoughts, with all the issues which need to be resolved, the mysteries that need to be fathomed, the dreams that need to be measured, while walking down to the bus stop, the wind that laughs into my face and playfully tugs my hair in every direction, like Panda gone mad bcz you have come home after ages; the air is cool and a little damp still. The air is scented with the perfume of some evening flower, tastefully delicate.
Out of nowhere, I remember you and how you loved these flowers.
Once again, I am astounded by my immense calm. Or rather, numbness. or maybe, its the same thing. Such vaulting ego's. Such amazing selfish-ness. Such monumental cruelty ... beauty, joy, fun and games (that people play) ... and it all leaves me unmoved. I accept everything. I accept everyone in spite of.
Just once in a while, I think of you. When the wind blows me the fragrance of your favourite flowers, or I see someone who reminds me of you, some loving couple: mother and child. Then hurridly I turn my thoughts away again.
Fleetingly the other option comes to my mind. But I dismiss it as soon as it comes. It would be really cruel. And besides, I dont have the energy left for it.
Soon its night and I am home with them. You must have loved her, and she you. Yet, since you've been gone, its that much harder to keep in mind. So complicated ... why does it always have to be this way? Is that the price of intensity?
Outside my window, the moon is a shyly smiling face. Gently, the wind chimes tinkle, the delicate glass lines still glistening with drops of rain. The stairs to the terrace, taht lead from outside my room, are wet. I am not sure if its because of the rain, or because Ram Da has just been watering the plants. In the other room, Mummy and Munal are arguing and giggling alternately. That days Subala came to my room and said 'didibhai, tomaake Munal-er Ma daakchhe'
... its all about you. Its always all about you.
it's funny, how many people see themselves mirrored in the reflection of your flames in my eyes.
When did I become like this. I am frequently called diplomatic or a hypocrite. I think I am just polite. Is it a bad thing, to care enough to behave nicely with people, to want them to be happy?
I am tired and I want to sleep. But there are so many people I still need to meet, to listen to, to care about; So much I need to think about; so much to read and write about. And tomorrow is another day.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Over the last few weeks, since my re-awakening, so much has happened. Little gifts good, bad and ugly, from everyone all around.
Like never before, I stand at the cross roads. I am so confused that I am frozen numb. As ever, the biggest confusion is about what I want. A dream, versus reality. When they clash, do dreams ever win?
Its strange 'being' after so many years: living in Calcutta, living at home, living amongst people, working offshore, and more.
Had woken up at 5 as usual for Golf. How pretty she looks, waking up slowly, stretching, bit bit, rubbing sleep out of the most beautiful eyes in the world. Magnificiently resplendant Kolkata, stubbornly intellectual Calcutta, unreasonably happy Kolkata, Irresponsibly careless Calcutta.
Seeing it with fresh eyes, after so long, I could see why everyone loves to hate her. Everywhere it dirty, messy, poverty struck ... but everywhere there are people with life spilling out of their eyes, laughing, joking, playing 'life'. So alive ... I have travelled around the world. I have seen many cities. I have fallen in love with many places. But I havent found so much life anywhere.
Went to CRC afterwards. But they wont take on any new people till the state-levels are over. Thats the end of this month. I want to try sculling again. But I'd have to wait till the end of the month.
After golf, came home and rushed off to work. Thought I'll leave early today. Still, it had struck 9 before I could leave. Didnt want to spend 200 bucks on a cab and didnt have the energy to take a bus. Started to walk, but got a 'shuttle' a nice AC Zen.
It rained while i was at work. sometimes, you eel like a butterfly, or moth, tarpped inside a dry glass box looking out into the rain, your heart fluttering against the transparent panes.
As I walk out, alone atlast with the pounding thoughts, with all the issues which need to be resolved, the mysteries that need to be fathomed, the dreams that need to be measured, while walking down to the bus stop, the wind that laughs into my face and playfully tugs my hair in every direction, like Panda gone mad bcz you have come home after ages; the air is cool and a little damp still. The air is scented with the perfume of some evening flower, tastefully delicate.
Out of nowhere, I remember you and how you loved these flowers.
Once again, I am astounded by my immense calm. Or rather, numbness. or maybe, its the same thing. Such vaulting ego's. Such amazing selfish-ness. Such monumental cruelty ... beauty, joy, fun and games (that people play) ... and it all leaves me unmoved. I accept everything. I accept everyone in spite of.
Just once in a while, I think of you. When the wind blows me the fragrance of your favourite flowers, or I see someone who reminds me of you, some loving couple: mother and child. Then hurridly I turn my thoughts away again.
Fleetingly the other option comes to my mind. But I dismiss it as soon as it comes. It would be really cruel. And besides, I dont have the energy left for it.
Soon its night and I am home with them. You must have loved her, and she you. Yet, since you've been gone, its that much harder to keep in mind. So complicated ... why does it always have to be this way? Is that the price of intensity?
Outside my window, the moon is a shyly smiling face. Gently, the wind chimes tinkle, the delicate glass lines still glistening with drops of rain. The stairs to the terrace, taht lead from outside my room, are wet. I am not sure if its because of the rain, or because Ram Da has just been watering the plants. In the other room, Mummy and Munal are arguing and giggling alternately. That days Subala came to my room and said 'didibhai, tomaake Munal-er Ma daakchhe'
... its all about you. Its always all about you.
it's funny, how many people see themselves mirrored in the reflection of your flames in my eyes.
When did I become like this. I am frequently called diplomatic or a hypocrite. I think I am just polite. Is it a bad thing, to care enough to behave nicely with people, to want them to be happy?
I am tired and I want to sleep. But there are so many people I still need to meet, to listen to, to care about; So much I need to think about; so much to read and write about. And tomorrow is another day.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Guilt
early in my morning,
one for sorrow. how appropraite
had you been a man, and i a woman,
my mourning would not have been questioned
if you, at long last, tired of waiting for my love
had turned your face walked away,
and had i then, belatedly
found out my eternal love,
the corroding futility and guilt i now
burn with, wuld have been accepted
the tears i hold on to
as the last shreds of you
This, is not allowed
Or let be. Its not sensible enough
Reach back in time and crush the seed
This sapling is too weak is to weak to be tree
How did you let me be
I walked away, but I thought you would always wait for me
one for sorrow. how appropraite
had you been a man, and i a woman,
my mourning would not have been questioned
if you, at long last, tired of waiting for my love
had turned your face walked away,
and had i then, belatedly
found out my eternal love,
the corroding futility and guilt i now
burn with, wuld have been accepted
the tears i hold on to
as the last shreds of you
This, is not allowed
Or let be. Its not sensible enough
Reach back in time and crush the seed
This sapling is too weak is to weak to be tree
How did you let me be
I walked away, but I thought you would always wait for me
Kaal Baishakhi: The first Storm of the Year
It has rained atleast twice already, this year, but this was my first big storm. I was alone at home, Sunday evening, when suddenly the wind picked up and went crazy. I ran upstairs to the terrace, and the in that short space of time, it had already started pouring. The air was filled with the dry smell of the soil, the wet smell of the flowers, the grumbling of the Thunder, the flashes of Lightning and the constant roar of the water as it poured down. I was soaked to the skin.
Every other sound was drowned. It made you feel insulated, alone, again. Safe. Cold. It came, two days too late. Nevermind.
In the morning, we went to the Bagan Bari at Sonarpur. I didnt want to go, as usual, but was dragged into it by Mom. There, fed the ducks and ate thick slices of roughmade bread with butter and sugar, crudely toasted. We fished, Hung around. Took snaps. And it rained.
Somehow, when it really rains down hard, noone is around to be there with you. Which is perhaps a good thing. Came home and lazed around till it stormed in the evening. Got drenched on the terrace, ate dinner from the all new Azad Hind opposite our place. And started a blog for Barbie
Downloaded music. Uploaded the Sonarpur snaps. Posted a new poem on Choc-Amer and went back to bed, the Tropic of Capricorn, and Sky Gazing.
The stars gleamed as if freshly polished from the rain. The sky blushed silently after the storm. The windchimes giggled in the corners of the room. The air was still damp.
There's this Sunday evening feeling. A reluctant, hesitant, dragging back to reality. I dont feel like going back to work. Couldnt I spend my whole life like this ... a life long Sunday doing nothing much, just pottering about the house, cleaning out everyone's cupboards and making tea and stories for everyone and anyone who'll stop a minute.
Now, listening to Ishq Hota Nehi and trying to understand why. It feels strange, yet like a dull ache that has settled, I have grown used to it and quite like it; and I cling to it possessively. Like other things, being used and betrayed and left behind, is something you get used to, I suppose.
Adit came over after work. We read back-copies of magazines and drooled over the models together. And bitched about life. and each other. Do relationships ever get this way? Like these age old friendships you cant remember time before? Like old, faded, soft cotton t-shirts you can wear without them feeling like a foreign skin on yours?
Chatts is in Bombay. I was wrong. Its cool. We're cool. Alls cool. Will survive ;). Love you Babes. All the best.
Juls called to meet up but we couldnt.
Another old friend - a ghost from the past. And another, ex-soul-mate and ex-soul; I have so many. One was wonderfully wonderful. And the other, I eagerly look forward to. Its a strangely ethereal feeling, meeting long ago friends - like cleaning old cupboards you havent touched in years. You find bits and pieces of yourself that you had forgotten that you had ever had. If I could find all the bits and piece them together, would the collage make 'me'? Would I recognise 'Her'.
Feels strange to think of myself as 'Her'. I never have. I 'Am', that is all. In my dreams and visions, I ride Horses with Stetsons, Dance in the desert, or fight with swords, flying through the air. Or stand, old and wise, sillouted against the sunset, having just passed an ultimatum to a young Turk. Yeah ... silly. But what the hell, just a dream, man!
Also strange being home again. I feel like I just came. Or having come, just woke from the Coma of transition. It hurts a bit to be alone, but you feel so awake. I know why people sometimes, or somewhere, bleed themselves to their senses.
Before every parting I tense in anticipation, I always have. Like your body tenses before you jump into an unknown ice cold pool. You dont know for sure, but you think its going to be nasty. But when it comes up to greet you, and you are swallowed up in it, after the first shock, it never hurts at all. It passes and you wallow in the water as pleasantly as you stood on the land with the air sweeping fragrantly around you. A part of you dies. A part of you comes alive. You learn this early, when you have grown up playing passing the parcel. The parcel learns quick not to hold any hand too fast, and to hold the new hand fast, fast.
I downloaded a lot of Bengali and Hindi music today. MGG, etc. Mom bought me a lot of new Salwar Kameez sets to wear to work. It still feels strange to be wearing Salwars after so long. And so much more.
I feel like going for a drive. Long drive. In Texas, With someone at the drivers seat, someone who wont ask questions, or make conversation, or want music. Just listen to the wind whispering to the car, as it hurles itself into the night, in a long drawn screech. I feel like sitting motionless, zombie like, in some strange position, and just sit like that, silently, in the midst of life all around me. I feel like letting my mind wander aimlessly, like trickling water falling between my fingers, or the breeze; aimlessly.
Its raining again here in Calcutta. But it's late, and noone up to see, or keep company.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Every other sound was drowned. It made you feel insulated, alone, again. Safe. Cold. It came, two days too late. Nevermind.
In the morning, we went to the Bagan Bari at Sonarpur. I didnt want to go, as usual, but was dragged into it by Mom. There, fed the ducks and ate thick slices of roughmade bread with butter and sugar, crudely toasted. We fished, Hung around. Took snaps. And it rained.
Somehow, when it really rains down hard, noone is around to be there with you. Which is perhaps a good thing. Came home and lazed around till it stormed in the evening. Got drenched on the terrace, ate dinner from the all new Azad Hind opposite our place. And started a blog for Barbie
Downloaded music. Uploaded the Sonarpur snaps. Posted a new poem on Choc-Amer and went back to bed, the Tropic of Capricorn, and Sky Gazing.
The stars gleamed as if freshly polished from the rain. The sky blushed silently after the storm. The windchimes giggled in the corners of the room. The air was still damp.
There's this Sunday evening feeling. A reluctant, hesitant, dragging back to reality. I dont feel like going back to work. Couldnt I spend my whole life like this ... a life long Sunday doing nothing much, just pottering about the house, cleaning out everyone's cupboards and making tea and stories for everyone and anyone who'll stop a minute.
Now, listening to Ishq Hota Nehi and trying to understand why. It feels strange, yet like a dull ache that has settled, I have grown used to it and quite like it; and I cling to it possessively. Like other things, being used and betrayed and left behind, is something you get used to, I suppose.
Adit came over after work. We read back-copies of magazines and drooled over the models together. And bitched about life. and each other. Do relationships ever get this way? Like these age old friendships you cant remember time before? Like old, faded, soft cotton t-shirts you can wear without them feeling like a foreign skin on yours?
Chatts is in Bombay. I was wrong. Its cool. We're cool. Alls cool. Will survive ;). Love you Babes. All the best.
Juls called to meet up but we couldnt.
Another old friend - a ghost from the past. And another, ex-soul-mate and ex-soul; I have so many. One was wonderfully wonderful. And the other, I eagerly look forward to. Its a strangely ethereal feeling, meeting long ago friends - like cleaning old cupboards you havent touched in years. You find bits and pieces of yourself that you had forgotten that you had ever had. If I could find all the bits and piece them together, would the collage make 'me'? Would I recognise 'Her'.
Feels strange to think of myself as 'Her'. I never have. I 'Am', that is all. In my dreams and visions, I ride Horses with Stetsons, Dance in the desert, or fight with swords, flying through the air. Or stand, old and wise, sillouted against the sunset, having just passed an ultimatum to a young Turk. Yeah ... silly. But what the hell, just a dream, man!
Also strange being home again. I feel like I just came. Or having come, just woke from the Coma of transition. It hurts a bit to be alone, but you feel so awake. I know why people sometimes, or somewhere, bleed themselves to their senses.
Before every parting I tense in anticipation, I always have. Like your body tenses before you jump into an unknown ice cold pool. You dont know for sure, but you think its going to be nasty. But when it comes up to greet you, and you are swallowed up in it, after the first shock, it never hurts at all. It passes and you wallow in the water as pleasantly as you stood on the land with the air sweeping fragrantly around you. A part of you dies. A part of you comes alive. You learn this early, when you have grown up playing passing the parcel. The parcel learns quick not to hold any hand too fast, and to hold the new hand fast, fast.
I downloaded a lot of Bengali and Hindi music today. MGG, etc. Mom bought me a lot of new Salwar Kameez sets to wear to work. It still feels strange to be wearing Salwars after so long. And so much more.
I feel like going for a drive. Long drive. In Texas, With someone at the drivers seat, someone who wont ask questions, or make conversation, or want music. Just listen to the wind whispering to the car, as it hurles itself into the night, in a long drawn screech. I feel like sitting motionless, zombie like, in some strange position, and just sit like that, silently, in the midst of life all around me. I feel like letting my mind wander aimlessly, like trickling water falling between my fingers, or the breeze; aimlessly.
Its raining again here in Calcutta. But it's late, and noone up to see, or keep company.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Guilt
early in my morning,
one for sorrow. how appropraite
had you been a man, and i a woman,
my mourning would not have been questioned
if you, at long last, tired of waiting for my love
had turned your face walked away,
and had i then, belatedly
found out my eternal love,
the corroding futility and guilt i now
burn with, wuld have been accepted
the tears i hold on to
as the last shreds of you
This, is not allowed
Or let be. Its not sensible enough
Reach back in time and crush the seed
This sapling is too weak is to weak to be tree
How did you let me be
I walked away, but I thought you would always wait for me
one for sorrow. how appropraite
had you been a man, and i a woman,
my mourning would not have been questioned
if you, at long last, tired of waiting for my love
had turned your face walked away,
and had i then, belatedly
found out my eternal love,
the corroding futility and guilt i now
burn with, wuld have been accepted
the tears i hold on to
as the last shreds of you
This, is not allowed
Or let be. Its not sensible enough
Reach back in time and crush the seed
This sapling is too weak is to weak to be tree
How did you let me be
I walked away, but I thought you would always wait for me
36 Chinatown
Accidentally watched instead of Doshor ... brilliant! I usually dont 'do' humour, but with this one I couldnt stop laughing for a min to remember that. Absolutely wonderful. The best comedy I have seen since Andaaz Apna Apna and its even better, bcz theres so much more to it. I liked it as much for its slick presentation, which reminded me of Sin City. I am notoriously chauvinistic about our India, and specially the Indian film industry, but even then I was surprised and very very pleasantly. I'm glad of the mix up which landed us watching this movie.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Love?
Excuse me?
I thought you'd said you loved me.
Obviously, I had gotten it wrong.
They were just the naked words.
Words.
Mean so much and nothing.
You, always and always cheating
Me, always overlooking
Its a strange relationship that I'm tired of now
Me and Life, Life and me
I thought you'd said you loved me.
Obviously, I had gotten it wrong.
They were just the naked words.
Words.
Mean so much and nothing.
You, always and always cheating
Me, always overlooking
Its a strange relationship that I'm tired of now
Me and Life, Life and me
Betrayed
You talk of betrayal
That's so funny
I'm laughing so hard
That it makes me cry
My love, my dearest friend
You, who I used, to define what is Love
That's so funny
I'm laughing so hard
That it makes me cry
My love, my dearest friend
You, who I used, to define what is Love
Lies
inspite of everthing you said and did
it still hurts me to hurt you
you remain, even in ur darkest form
a part of me
and i still love you
because thats a part of me too - loving you
your deceptions
all your masks and lies
but inspite of it all,
i cant help it, i love you still
it still hurts me to hurt you
you remain, even in ur darkest form
a part of me
and i still love you
because thats a part of me too - loving you
your deceptions
all your masks and lies
but inspite of it all,
i cant help it, i love you still
Again
the parts of me you most recently touched
miss you already, the withdrawal hits first there
there's something uniquely silly about the way we fight
but this time was specially nice. selfishly, reassuring
once in a while i am purposely mean.
like an idle stretching, of my favourite muscle
once in a while,
i'm swept away by my quietly banked anger
how can you not see
what you are slowly doing to me
how can you not know
what you have always meant to me. so silly
still, even as your words lash out to slap me in the face
and even as the cuts bleed, and the scars form, and the injuries are being filed away
even then, some sleeping corner of my mind, seperate and watching
is still reaching out to you
i hate you. i love you. i kill you. i forget you
but its always you. how can you doubt me
you, who dance to so many songs
you, who smile into so many eyes,
and come home to me eachtime
and say that you still love me.
how did i let this happen to me
how did i come back to this place
you make love
to your many loves
in front of me. every day
and you say you love me
in this borrowed moment, with this borrowed love
with this fleeting shared expression, how much faith can one grow
miss you already, the withdrawal hits first there
there's something uniquely silly about the way we fight
but this time was specially nice. selfishly, reassuring
once in a while i am purposely mean.
like an idle stretching, of my favourite muscle
once in a while,
i'm swept away by my quietly banked anger
how can you not see
what you are slowly doing to me
how can you not know
what you have always meant to me. so silly
still, even as your words lash out to slap me in the face
and even as the cuts bleed, and the scars form, and the injuries are being filed away
even then, some sleeping corner of my mind, seperate and watching
is still reaching out to you
i hate you. i love you. i kill you. i forget you
but its always you. how can you doubt me
you, who dance to so many songs
you, who smile into so many eyes,
and come home to me eachtime
and say that you still love me.
how did i let this happen to me
how did i come back to this place
you make love
to your many loves
in front of me. every day
and you say you love me
in this borrowed moment, with this borrowed love
with this fleeting shared expression, how much faith can one grow
Tropic of Capricorn
Reading it atlast. On the inside cover, a scribbled note: to Goalie Tapash, your Portuguese friend.
Have seen this book amongst Dad's collection for as long as I can remember, but never read it before.
It feels strangely awkward and embarrassing. Like meeting a man in the evening, in his drawing room, when his most intimate conversation, which you evesdropped on in the afternoon, is still fresh in your head.
Been a while since I saw or read Henry and June, but the impact is still fresh; And will be, a while.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Have seen this book amongst Dad's collection for as long as I can remember, but never read it before.
It feels strangely awkward and embarrassing. Like meeting a man in the evening, in his drawing room, when his most intimate conversation, which you evesdropped on in the afternoon, is still fresh in your head.
Been a while since I saw or read Henry and June, but the impact is still fresh; And will be, a while.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Comfortably Numb
You'll never know how much that hurt, hopefully. Even I didnt know, till this evening, when I started to tell someone about it, casually, in the course of conversation. Like it wasnt a big deal. Ofcourse, it is. It's potentially devastating. It will hurt like hell when I come alive. Right now, thankfully, I'm Comfortable Numb.
I guess I had been balanced on the edge. We were at CCD and a young girl went up to the jukebox and played Comfortably Numb and I broke down. It was the first album you bought with your own money; and I had shamelessly whacked it; a Sony cassette. I was still studying, in Pune.
Things kept coming back in a sequence of snapshots, and I coulnt hold it back. Like the collection of photographs of you guys I carry with me around the world, setting them up in each new home I set up. In the bong class Class 3, Outside Lawrence Hall, The basketball court, Nursery Park, The Park Street Cemetery, handling PR for your wounded best friends and then handling PR for your wounded boyfriends, Frantic day trips to Blore and Pune, the auto, the drawing room of your old house, the drawing room of your new house, your voice saying walking back from school on a rainy day, you shouting Fatts you bitch, cross names on the old wooden desks, Sauce, Chatts, Fatts ... its been 21 years. Our friendship has come of age.
God, it feels like hell. I never thought we will dim to the ordinary, other people-ness. I thought we will always be 'Us'. Yet Ady had said, long ago, remember Pre, life is not F.R.I.E.N.D.S. I'd thought him a fool. What a fool I was.
When Sauce left, I knew it was goodbye. Thats why it never hurt me the way it hurt you later, as it died. I had said my goodbyes. That's why I was crying that night. You remember? But you, I didnt notice you slipping. I didnt see it coming. I thought, thats the way we are. We dont need everyday, I ate an icecream today updates and ever renewable contacts.
Anyway, maybe it will hurt someday. Now, its just another feather on the Camels back. Far from the last. But without you, or the knowledge of you, it will be hard. For a moment it feels like its such a big world, and such a long life, and we are so alone. I was always happy being essentially a loner, because of you. I thought you guys were always there, would always be there, always; but this year, come fall, it will be a year since I learned that we are all essentially alone, seperate, individual people. Islands, swimming along the river of life ... and its ok. its just another feather ... so light. I'm comfortably numb.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
I guess I had been balanced on the edge. We were at CCD and a young girl went up to the jukebox and played Comfortably Numb and I broke down. It was the first album you bought with your own money; and I had shamelessly whacked it; a Sony cassette. I was still studying, in Pune.
Things kept coming back in a sequence of snapshots, and I coulnt hold it back. Like the collection of photographs of you guys I carry with me around the world, setting them up in each new home I set up. In the bong class Class 3, Outside Lawrence Hall, The basketball court, Nursery Park, The Park Street Cemetery, handling PR for your wounded best friends and then handling PR for your wounded boyfriends, Frantic day trips to Blore and Pune, the auto, the drawing room of your old house, the drawing room of your new house, your voice saying walking back from school on a rainy day, you shouting Fatts you bitch, cross names on the old wooden desks, Sauce, Chatts, Fatts ... its been 21 years. Our friendship has come of age.
God, it feels like hell. I never thought we will dim to the ordinary, other people-ness. I thought we will always be 'Us'. Yet Ady had said, long ago, remember Pre, life is not F.R.I.E.N.D.S. I'd thought him a fool. What a fool I was.
When Sauce left, I knew it was goodbye. Thats why it never hurt me the way it hurt you later, as it died. I had said my goodbyes. That's why I was crying that night. You remember? But you, I didnt notice you slipping. I didnt see it coming. I thought, thats the way we are. We dont need everyday, I ate an icecream today updates and ever renewable contacts.
Anyway, maybe it will hurt someday. Now, its just another feather on the Camels back. Far from the last. But without you, or the knowledge of you, it will be hard. For a moment it feels like its such a big world, and such a long life, and we are so alone. I was always happy being essentially a loner, because of you. I thought you guys were always there, would always be there, always; but this year, come fall, it will be a year since I learned that we are all essentially alone, seperate, individual people. Islands, swimming along the river of life ... and its ok. its just another feather ... so light. I'm comfortably numb.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Cycles
Once again, its broken and crushed. So works your heel. I knew this would be the end, once again. Still I let you in. Still, I love you. Like a pimply teenager, addicted to breaking skin. Like a moth trying to break in. Like a Thornbird, singing again.
This time I can cry with the tears falling inwards. like the damp creeping down the walls of my house, everytime it storms outside. My monumental lack of control has been shattered. I am cool and smiling through it all. I can even lie, as I look you in the eye.
Maybe, I have learnt to control my mind. Maybe, I learnt to distinguish between you and your image thats in my heart, the one I love. Maybe, I have just grown up.
I saw your reflection in a book she showed me. Glass Menagerie. Shocking how near
You have given me so much practise with heart-break and breaking hearts. Yet pehaps, its a rythmic circle of destruction and rebuilding. Its been so long since you last broke me
Originally Posted at Prerona.
This time I can cry with the tears falling inwards. like the damp creeping down the walls of my house, everytime it storms outside. My monumental lack of control has been shattered. I am cool and smiling through it all. I can even lie, as I look you in the eye.
Maybe, I have learnt to control my mind. Maybe, I learnt to distinguish between you and your image thats in my heart, the one I love. Maybe, I have just grown up.
I saw your reflection in a book she showed me. Glass Menagerie. Shocking how near
You have given me so much practise with heart-break and breaking hearts. Yet pehaps, its a rythmic circle of destruction and rebuilding. Its been so long since you last broke me
Originally Posted at Prerona.