u should've known better sweetheart
the moon never comes alone
the moon brings along his friends
faded, jaded memories
tidily packed away
the wind never comes alone,
the wind brings its friends
forgotten feelings
from dreams and yesterdays
the rain never comes alone,
the rain brings her friends
songs in your head
mind distracted
love never comes alone
love brings along his friends
love never comes alone
doubt and misery. suspicion and jealousy
if u love you also hate
want to destroy and be destroyed
see him crashing to his knees
make him cry with tenderness
watch him smile when u tease
torture. then put at ease
push away. pull back
run away in sudden fear
it makes ur heart
but first it breaks ur heart
it makes u smile
it makes u fart
now, standing in the freezing wind
on the terrace, i stare at the moon
wondering if ill see u again
wondering if there'll be someone else
eternities run between two days
worlds tumble when i see ur face
everytime i close my eyes
i feel like i can see u smile
everytime i put down my head
feel like i hear u call my name
and yet, u r now gone, they say
a stranger unto me, my ways
i left u and walked away
yes. i remember. wont turn around and say
u should've known better sweetheart
and now u say i broke ur heart
and pushed down a stony path
and u always said u knew me so well
but yet u blved my restless feet ... u really shudv known better sweetheart
one of those devils that catch ur neck and wont let go till put down in words ... needs to be completed and finished and reworked. ironically, had atleast 3 non overlapping crushes at the back fo my head
the weekend vist
my father came over to visit me last weekend. i had been depressed before he came, bcz two days always feels like too little, but once he came we had a great time and i forgot about it. i went to glasgow to pick him up from the airport. he had been coming straight to edinburgh, but he missed his flight from manchester to edinburgh and had to come to glasgow instead. i was sure he wouldnt be able to find his way alone from glasgow to edinburgh, so i went over to pick him up. it was a mad rush. i came to know at 7pm. had to rush home to dump my gym things. then run from home to waverly, buy a ticket and literaaly run to the train and stumble in. luckily, a train was getting ready to leave just as i reached the platform pantin and i hopped in. reached glasgow at 10pm, ran to the buchanan street bus stn, got a bus to the airport. bus was empty. there was an old chatty driver in charge & we chatted like old friends all the way. he said his daughter lives in edinburgh. she's a doctor. when he suggests to her, he's not well & he might come over to edinburgh and stay with her for a few days, she tells him she will send him a prescription by post. he thought it was very sweet of me to come rushing to glasgow to pick up my dad on such short notice. i told him i hadnt seen my dad for the last 6 mths or so and then too for 2 days. and that id grown up seeing him on holidays. which made us all, as a family, value our time together a lot more. we were more friends than family. i reached the airport at 10:30. we took a bus and by the time we got back to the city centre, i knew we wouldnt be able to catch the last train back ... 11:30. so we parked ourselves at the busstop and waited for the next bus. we had to wait for one and half hours. the place was deserted. we sat on the floor in front of the coffee machine and chatted about everything. reached edinburgh at 1am. the whole of princes street was deserted but there were lights on inside waterstones and a long queue outside and lights in the castle across the road. it was for the release of the new harry potter. they had done up the castle as hogworths! it must have been wildly excited for the little potter-manics who visited. dadda thinks harry potter is a load of crp so we didnt spend much time discussing that! got home at 2 instead to a starkl empty fridge! had thought will busy some chicken on the way to airport but then he went and missed his flight. had a bad time explaining the logic behind my eating program. i live alone, so i buy everything into four. mondays i fast. weekends i eat out and go crazy! i have set menu which NEVER varies all week. it makes me feel secure having a set pattern to follow. over the next two days we cooked and ate the craziest things, went to every pub in town (or almost). got drunk. chatted till 4 am. watched sarkar. cried over our old, accepted problems. ranted against the unaccepted. laughed over old family jokes. talked about common concerns. its so nice to talk to him like this and also just to have someone i know in town to go out with and talk and laugh together with. it was a glorious weekend. we did so many little things that it would take for ever to catalog them all. we talked about my plans. rather my persistent dreams. he said i should really go for it. that he would be there for me, backing me. but i still dont know if i will ever have to guts to do it. go back now, in this old age, start all over again! we laughed over how ill be thirty this yr! its spooky thinking about it. i still feel thriteen at times. he left on monday, early in the morning. i dropped him to the airport and came to work after. worked in a daze. was half asleep. good thing just had some fairly mechanical stuff to do. not that ANYTHING i have to do at work can be called anything but. i feel at times like i studied architecture to become a tea boy on a building site. or whatever. i dunno. i guess its ok, this is what everyone does and id probably be cribbing whatever i did. i HATE application programming. always did. anyway, i was half asleep. skipped rowing in the evening. but im going out in an eight this saturday. its been a long while. im looking forward to it! its back to the grind. gym, french, work, rowing, and empty rooms with just my music and my books for company. teetotally boring. but not so bad after all. it could be much worse. im reading tender is the night. f. scitt fitzgerald. its good till now. these i cant read everything. once i could even ANYTHING. in india, we have paper packets made out of old newspapers. i have even read those in emergencies ... if u know what i mean. its like a smokers thing. addictive reading on the pot. but these days i cant read something unless i like it. definitely i can no longer even bear to listen to music i dont like. i think im getting cranky :)
I'm lost
there was a small terrace, outside the french windows in the drawing room. Beyond the terrace, the little dead lane, paved with black stones. An old lane, in an old city. Whenever one of the ladies who lived in the apartment block came home from work, he could always tell, by the tone of the swift beat of their heals in the lane outside. Click-Clack Click-Clack Click-Clack Slam click Slam. He knew just when they had walked in from the main road, into the stone paved lane, entered through the two outside gates and walked into the building. On the floor, near the window, his long body sprawled, his whole being poured out in a puddle of brown skin and blue checked cotton the sound painted him a picture of the world outside, so alien now. It drew pictures of a corporate world. uniform blue, grey and white clothed moving pegs, relieved with the occasional splash of deviation. a certain something, in the angle of the head, in the rythm of the steps, in the stride of the legs. the incredible and the incredulous. the pretenders and the buyers. like a self staged drama to entertain the self. or was it? in hindsight, the path of the running looked hypnotically circular ... but then, everything was always transformed with perspective. His mind fumbled for the reference: it was something to do with Einstein, and Relativity ... but he forgot easily these days and he remembered hard. Or rather, he remembered a lot, but it was not what he wanted, when he wanted. It came and went at will. Like movies, splashed on sporadically. On a deserted, rent free, naked screen. One big free for all party for sadistic ghosts. Sometimes, at night his brain went mad with thoughts. They wrestled each other, he and his demons, amongst the tangled sweat moist sheets, under the sarcastic eye of the slow ceiling fan, humming down at them with laughter at their futility. His thoughts crashed around inside his closed mind, spinning wildly in every direction, lashing out against each opening, looking for some answer, some light, and at the end, a tired brain, succour hungry, wanting just to black out, to go to sleep. A long rest was what he wanted. A long rest at the feets of the gods. Gods which he had set out to build himself; for that, he thought, was basic human need ... Feet, to rest weary heads at. When all else fails; comfort, joy, pity, support ... when their isnt enough faith and humanity left in one to take comfort from a fellow man; when you cant bear to have anyone close enough to you to touch ur wounds to balm them; when their is nothing left in the grains of all or any of the myriad web of inter relations woven by man, between ourselves, we need Feet, to silently rest at. So he had set out to build himself a godhead. Scornfully selective, he had picked, bits and pieces of the best he had seen in mankind and collected them, like a child picking flowers, in folded hands ... but now he had tripped and fallen, and all the god-pieces lay scattered, at his feet.
Hazy Thursdays
Theres a strange sensation, I dont know if I am the only one or it happens to others, but the brain seems to remember things in sequences. For example, if the first time I heard "sometimes when we touch" was followed by "long and lasting love", or if the first time I ate raajma, we had kulfi next, each time I here "sometimes when we touch", my mind seems to be about to start on "long and lasting love" just as I "subsides ..." echos out
Why is that? Is it like the instruction queue pre fetch cache?
Why does this excite me so much? Its like being in love with a star (Cussack) out of reach high in the sky. and its not just the distance and impossibilty of getting there, its the star that looks SO f cool from here, will burn you into nothing if you get near. This is who I am, this is what I am.
I cant give up my voice, to get new legs, to dance the prince in love with me. If I cant talk to him, he's no use to me.
"If you cant find your hearts desire in your backyard ...". Its been a long time (Frieda, All over the Man) since a movie hit me like that (Angels in America and Bloodstain). Not brilliant movies per se, but there was something I that hit me. All over the man was actually not in that category, it was more of a vindication ... "a little bit like you, a little bit like me".
When I ramble like this, even I dont know what Im talking about.
Happy Thursday :) Song of the day ... "Don’t know if I’m comin’ up or down
Am I happy or in misery?"
Why is that? Is it like the instruction queue pre fetch cache?
Why does this excite me so much? Its like being in love with a star (Cussack) out of reach high in the sky. and its not just the distance and impossibilty of getting there, its the star that looks SO f cool from here, will burn you into nothing if you get near. This is who I am, this is what I am.
I cant give up my voice, to get new legs, to dance the prince in love with me. If I cant talk to him, he's no use to me.
"If you cant find your hearts desire in your backyard ...". Its been a long time (Frieda, All over the Man) since a movie hit me like that (Angels in America and Bloodstain). Not brilliant movies per se, but there was something I that hit me. All over the man was actually not in that category, it was more of a vindication ... "a little bit like you, a little bit like me".
When I ramble like this, even I dont know what Im talking about.
Happy Thursday :) Song of the day ... "Don’t know if I’m comin’ up or down
Am I happy or in misery?"
Mosaic Gods
there was a small terrace, beyond the french windows in the drawing room. Beyond the terrace, the little dead lane, paved with black stones. An old lane, in an old city. When one of the ladies who lived in the apartment block came home from work, he could always tell, by the particular tone of the swift beat of their heals in the lane outside. Click-Clack Click-Clack Click-Clack Slam click Slam. He knew just when they had walked in from the main road, into the stone paved lane, entered through the two outside gates and walked into the building. On the floor, near the window, his long body sprawled, his whole being poured out in a puddle of brown skin and blue checked cotton. The sound painted him a picture of the world outside, so alien now. It drew pictures of a spinning corporate world. Drab grey and white covers with unbelievable prices. A certain something, in the angle of the head, in the rythm of the steps, in the stride of the legs. the incredible and the incredulous. the pretenders and the buyers. like a self staged drama to entertain the self. or was it. in hindsight, the path of the running looked hypnotically circular ... but then, everything always changed with perspective. His mind fumbled for the reference: it was something to do with Einstein, and Relativity ... but he forgot easily these days; and he remembered hard. Or he remembered, but it was not what he wanted, when he wanted. It came and went at will; and it came hard. Like movies, splashed on sporadically. On a deserted, rent free, naked screen. One big free for all party for sadistic ghosts. Sometimes, at night his brain went mad with thoughts. They wrestled each other, he and his demons, amongst the tangled sweat moist sheets, under the sarcastic eye of the slow ceiling fan, humming down at them with laughter at their futility. His thoughts crashed around inside his closed mind, spinning wildly in every direction, lashing out against each opening ... looking for some answer, some light, and at the end, a tired brain, succour hungry, just wants to black out, go to sleep ... a long rest, at the feets of the gods, gods which he had set out to build himself, for that, he thought, was basic human need ... Feet, to rest weary heads at. When all else fails, comfort, joy, pity, support ... when their is nothing left in the grains of all or any of the myriad web of inter relations we human have woven, between ourselves, we need feet, to silently rest at. So he had set out to build himself a god. Scornfully selective, he had picked, bits and pieces of the best he had seen in mankind and collected them, like a child picking flowers, in folded hands ... and now he had tripped and fallen ... and all the god-pieces had scattered, at his feet.
saturday sunshine
Peaceful, bright Yellow weekend. Went out with some friends on Friday night. Nothing like being done under to kick in a weekend. A sunny saturday, took a look at 'princes gardens' -was laid out with more bodies than Id seen leaves few seasons back. Not being overly fond of crowds, ate a HUGE pizza, potato skins, garlic bread AND two huge glasses (?) of coke (yeah, i eat LIKE THAT) and then came home to snooze the day away with hysteria and the new book. Cooked myself loads of chicken stew and rice and lazed the two days away. Saw Springtime in a Small Town , madame Bovary, True Colours and Armaan. Was briefly tempted to ditch Cussack (old love) for James Spader (potentail new love) then changed my mind :)
OST - The Floating Friday
In my mind I'm goin' to Carolina. Can't you see the sunshine! Can't you just feel the moonshine! Maybe just like a friend of mine, it hit me from behind ... Yes I'm goin' to Carolina in my mind
Walked down to Lake Gardens in the wet winds. The trees on the bridge were on fire. And they swept down to the lakes to have a drink. The sun set on the baby island, where the gardens hung. Met Addy. We walked back. Talked of this and that. Took the metro from Kalighaat to Park Street. Met up with Chatts. Went down to Junction. Pulled her leg. About that time in Junction. And her new haunt. She's hanging out in BED now! Juls came over. We hung out for ever. Then we hitched back to Sharma's. Stuffed our faces with paneer-shashlik. Drank Thums-Up. Sitting on the edge of the pavement. Then we came home and watched the sunrise from the terrace.
Yes, Ive gone to Carolina in my mind ...
Feel like falling in love. Feel like missing someone. Feel you in my head, like a itch which I cant place but I need to scratch so bad ... its getting me outta my mind. Comeon, comeon, now you need me too. Give me a clue. Stop making me blue. Its lonely out there without you.
Whenever I’m alone with you, you make me feel like I am home again.Whenever I’m alone with you, you make me feel like I am whole again. Whenever I’m alone with you, you make me feel like I am young again whenever I’m alone with you, you make me feel like I am fun again. However far away I will always love you.However long I stay, I will always love you whatever words I say I will always love you
Feedback ... theres nothing more boring than a reformed wildchild! And the fine line between hypocrisy and sparing the audience, glimmers and teases, and is very hard to keep track of. What would you choose between honesty and their shock on your consciouns? Its you who have to choose. And its the choice you have to stick to. "Oh no, I've said too much! I haven't said enough ..."
Had loads of work today. Its a pain ... documentation, UTP's, test evidence ... hate that stuff. And why amd I so easily distracted? Wish I could focus more ... would solve all my problems! Its a OS problem. The memory for context saving is very limited. So naturally, the slightest degree of multi-processing, means the system runs out of memory, starts swapping, and thrashing sets in. To make matters worse almost all interrupts are non maskable. Which means that critical processes cannot be protected from interrupts. Also, the incoming priority module of the scheduler has and major bugs! Can I get a new OS? Can I send the OS back to be fixed and upgraded? I fear an impending system breakdown.
Talk about your woman, I wish you could see mine! Every time she starts to lovin'
She brings eyesight to the blind. You know her daddy gave her magic, I can tell by the way she walks. Everytime we start shakin', The dumb begin to talk. She's got the power to heal you never fear. Just a word from her lips, And the deaf begin to hear
Theres something which I have always wondered which was brough back into force yesterday ... am I my brothers keeper? If I see my neighbour eating chicken and Im scared he might get bird flu ... can I walk in and break his kitchen, to save him, ofcourse from birdflu. Would it matter that I walked off with his (stateofart) coffee machine on my way back? Its a muddle as usual. I cant put anything right, but what I mean is, is it "none of your b business" or is it "only for ur good". Also, it all made me think of those political thrillers. Nothing is as it seems & who knows what is.
Walked down to Lake Gardens in the wet winds. The trees on the bridge were on fire. And they swept down to the lakes to have a drink. The sun set on the baby island, where the gardens hung. Met Addy. We walked back. Talked of this and that. Took the metro from Kalighaat to Park Street. Met up with Chatts. Went down to Junction. Pulled her leg. About that time in Junction. And her new haunt. She's hanging out in BED now! Juls came over. We hung out for ever. Then we hitched back to Sharma's. Stuffed our faces with paneer-shashlik. Drank Thums-Up. Sitting on the edge of the pavement. Then we came home and watched the sunrise from the terrace.
Yes, Ive gone to Carolina in my mind ...
Feel like falling in love. Feel like missing someone. Feel you in my head, like a itch which I cant place but I need to scratch so bad ... its getting me outta my mind. Comeon, comeon, now you need me too. Give me a clue. Stop making me blue. Its lonely out there without you.
Whenever I’m alone with you, you make me feel like I am home again.Whenever I’m alone with you, you make me feel like I am whole again. Whenever I’m alone with you, you make me feel like I am young again whenever I’m alone with you, you make me feel like I am fun again. However far away I will always love you.However long I stay, I will always love you whatever words I say I will always love you
Feedback ... theres nothing more boring than a reformed wildchild! And the fine line between hypocrisy and sparing the audience, glimmers and teases, and is very hard to keep track of. What would you choose between honesty and their shock on your consciouns? Its you who have to choose. And its the choice you have to stick to. "Oh no, I've said too much! I haven't said enough ..."
Had loads of work today. Its a pain ... documentation, UTP's, test evidence ... hate that stuff. And why amd I so easily distracted? Wish I could focus more ... would solve all my problems! Its a OS problem. The memory for context saving is very limited. So naturally, the slightest degree of multi-processing, means the system runs out of memory, starts swapping, and thrashing sets in. To make matters worse almost all interrupts are non maskable. Which means that critical processes cannot be protected from interrupts. Also, the incoming priority module of the scheduler has and major bugs! Can I get a new OS? Can I send the OS back to be fixed and upgraded? I fear an impending system breakdown.
Talk about your woman, I wish you could see mine! Every time she starts to lovin'
She brings eyesight to the blind. You know her daddy gave her magic, I can tell by the way she walks. Everytime we start shakin', The dumb begin to talk. She's got the power to heal you never fear. Just a word from her lips, And the deaf begin to hear
Theres something which I have always wondered which was brough back into force yesterday ... am I my brothers keeper? If I see my neighbour eating chicken and Im scared he might get bird flu ... can I walk in and break his kitchen, to save him, ofcourse from birdflu. Would it matter that I walked off with his (stateofart) coffee machine on my way back? Its a muddle as usual. I cant put anything right, but what I mean is, is it "none of your b business" or is it "only for ur good". Also, it all made me think of those political thrillers. Nothing is as it seems & who knows what is.
songs and bombs
It may seem to you that I'm acting confused
When you're close to me
If a tend to look dazed I've read it someplace
I've got cause to be
There's a name for it
There's a phrase that fits
But whatever the reason you do it for me
Listen to the song in your head. It might be trying to tell you something ...
Read about the blasts in London this morning, and thats all that Ive been hearing about. Its strange. Its really feels bad, doesnt it? Doesnt it?
Will be rowing on Saturday after ages. Lunch time run cancelled today. Am I sad? (Ahem ... )
Bought some music after ages of poverty ... "In Utero", and a book, "Thus Spoke Zarathustra". It sure feels like rain today. Feels like a storm on a desert island. Feels dark reddish-purple. When we fall out of touchg with someone who we love very much, just like that, casually, it leaves a funny sort of emptyness that keeps pushing its head up. Best friends as a concept should be outlawed. Love is harmless. Its the friendships that kill you.
I was just thinking today ... my top five really scary songs:
1) two steps behind (sounds like a stalker)
2) imagine
3) blowing in the wind (its just so Fg cliched)
4) hotho se chhulo tum (jagjit singh - sab jita kiye mujhse,main hardam hi haara)
5) last christmas (semi-stalker-ish)
When you're close to me
If a tend to look dazed I've read it someplace
I've got cause to be
There's a name for it
There's a phrase that fits
But whatever the reason you do it for me
Listen to the song in your head. It might be trying to tell you something ...
Read about the blasts in London this morning, and thats all that Ive been hearing about. Its strange. Its really feels bad, doesnt it? Doesnt it?
Will be rowing on Saturday after ages. Lunch time run cancelled today. Am I sad? (Ahem ... )
Bought some music after ages of poverty ... "In Utero", and a book, "Thus Spoke Zarathustra". It sure feels like rain today. Feels like a storm on a desert island. Feels dark reddish-purple. When we fall out of touchg with someone who we love very much, just like that, casually, it leaves a funny sort of emptyness that keeps pushing its head up. Best friends as a concept should be outlawed. Love is harmless. Its the friendships that kill you.
I was just thinking today ... my top five really scary songs:
1) two steps behind (sounds like a stalker)
2) imagine
3) blowing in the wind (its just so Fg cliched)
4) hotho se chhulo tum (jagjit singh - sab jita kiye mujhse,main hardam hi haara)
5) last christmas (semi-stalker-ish)
Days like this
there are days like this
when nothing fits
when life is like
a little boy
dragging his feet
on his way to school
on just another,
ordinary day
there are days like that
when everythings right
the sun keeps on shining
like ur smile
the songs keep playing
in your heart
and if you close your eyes
you can feel yourself dancing
on just another,
ordinary day
when nothing fits
when life is like
a little boy
dragging his feet
on his way to school
on just another,
ordinary day
there are days like that
when everythings right
the sun keeps on shining
like ur smile
the songs keep playing
in your heart
and if you close your eyes
you can feel yourself dancing
on just another,
ordinary day
the lonely house
lying down on sun warmed grass. face down. feeling the warmth of the sun behind me like a blanket. in the distance, somewhere, faint smell of wildflowers. from time to to time, a hot wind blows. Far away, the crickets buzz, a droning song, comforting in its monotony. nearby the hum of the airconditioner in the house. and somewhere behind me, the house. the house that stands like a lone sentinel of the desert, in the stark, empty country spread around it. dusty, grey, thristy hills, thrusting sharply into the sky. An almost unnaturally bright blue sky. Nearby, the knowledge of the cold, dirty sea, tauntingly blue, mockingly gentle, as it laps the stony shores. the smell of eucalyptus.
friendship
cannot concentrate all my friendship on any single one of my friends because no one is complete enough in himself.
--Anais Nin
Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.
--Anais Nin
have you ever felt like eating something, when actually you are not really hungry, but maybe bored, or sad? have you ever felt sleepy, when you're not really sleepy, but tired, or bored? If you have, then you have felt a need that raises its head, disguised as something else.
why do we feel the things we do? Why do we think about the things we do? why is it so hard to know ourselves? and harder to show ourselves? and yet so fascinating?
the inner workings of my mind, complicated, exquisite, hidden, secret, drwas me in a fascinated spellbound spiral and I go round the dark and misty bylanes of my mind ... falling into myself. Introspection. Addiction. The mind compels us. Atleast mine compels me. The more complicated, the more attractive.
But coming back, to the first paralells, why would we feel "I wish I had a friend"? when we have so many? What is the desire, or need that comes in this guise? Is it that you miss a particular person, or who they make you? Or someone to hold your hand? Or someone to unburden your mind to? Or someone to have fun with? Or someone to pull you out of yourself?
Though I never really miss home, at times I do think of my friends who are back home. my family and other friends, those I have adopted over the years. There are two kinds of missing. One deals with meories, that come when we call them up. And then theres the other kind. That comes like a sudden sharp stab, like a intruding smell floating in across ur defences, that which is a sudden need. A sound of a voice. The sight of a face. The smile in an eye. The touch of a hand ... Why do we miss someone 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?
So what is frienship? What do you think is friendship?
--Anais Nin
Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.
--Anais Nin
have you ever felt like eating something, when actually you are not really hungry, but maybe bored, or sad? have you ever felt sleepy, when you're not really sleepy, but tired, or bored? If you have, then you have felt a need that raises its head, disguised as something else.
why do we feel the things we do? Why do we think about the things we do? why is it so hard to know ourselves? and harder to show ourselves? and yet so fascinating?
the inner workings of my mind, complicated, exquisite, hidden, secret, drwas me in a fascinated spellbound spiral and I go round the dark and misty bylanes of my mind ... falling into myself. Introspection. Addiction. The mind compels us. Atleast mine compels me. The more complicated, the more attractive.
But coming back, to the first paralells, why would we feel "I wish I had a friend"? when we have so many? What is the desire, or need that comes in this guise? Is it that you miss a particular person, or who they make you? Or someone to hold your hand? Or someone to unburden your mind to? Or someone to have fun with? Or someone to pull you out of yourself?
Though I never really miss home, at times I do think of my friends who are back home. my family and other friends, those I have adopted over the years. There are two kinds of missing. One deals with meories, that come when we call them up. And then theres the other kind. That comes like a sudden sharp stab, like a intruding smell floating in across ur defences, that which is a sudden need. A sound of a voice. The sight of a face. The smile in an eye. The touch of a hand ... Why do we miss someone 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?
So what is frienship? What do you think is friendship?
got you on my mind
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"
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>
The Dying Flame ... A Story (part 1)
what do you do in the last 5 months of life? theres a lot of stuff i had wanted to do in life, on this world or in this time-space-frame ... whatever it is ... but 5 or 6 months is too little time to do any of them.
i dont want to be bitter about it. I am dying. Its sad, but there are sadder things. it could be so much worse. as it is i've had 30 odd years which in hindsight, seem just perfect! i wouldnt change a second.
in some strange way, the actual reality has not sunk in ... that in a few months everything will be over. literally everything. how can it? i cant even conceive of it! its still the blackouts that seem more scary to me! the dying ... thats too big to register!
<2B edited / contd>
i dont want to be bitter about it. I am dying. Its sad, but there are sadder things. it could be so much worse. as it is i've had 30 odd years which in hindsight, seem just perfect! i wouldnt change a second.
in some strange way, the actual reality has not sunk in ... that in a few months everything will be over. literally everything. how can it? i cant even conceive of it! its still the blackouts that seem more scary to me! the dying ... thats too big to register!
<2B edited / contd>
Notes to Myself
as a child,
I wrote letters to god
and I wondered
where to post them. Now, I write
notes to myself & wonder if i'll
ever understand them.
I wrote letters to god
and I wondered
where to post them. Now, I write
notes to myself & wonder if i'll
ever understand them.
Moonspell
been feeling strange lately
dunno whats wrong
maybe im bewitched
do u cast spells with ur eyes?
was it just a trick of the light
or did you sound familiar in the night
brought to mind a very old friend
though im not sure if he was only, in m mind
dont get me wrong. theres no way, im thinking ur special
its just that u reminded me - of someone - i cant recall ever having known
and now that the sketch has been put in,
i feel lonely for the first time thinking of him
we'd run in the moonlight
we'd had our silly fights
we'd talked about everything
and nothingmaybe this is love
best of friends. confidante. someone each can lean on
someone to take for granted. to speak to in half formed sentances with
to gossip with in a single look
to consult with in just a glance, shot across a crowded room
just friends. best friends
yet sometimes ... well, never mind.
one and only, everlasting, overwhelming
maybe its a dream
and soon ill wake up
doesnt really matter now
cz ill never find out
i looked up and into ur eyes
saw what might be a lightning blaze
didnt wait, to find if im wrong
so im on the run again
catch me if u can
no one could. no one can
am i glad?
or am i sad?
ill never know
cz im born to run
dunno whats wrong
maybe im bewitched
do u cast spells with ur eyes?
was it just a trick of the light
or did you sound familiar in the night
brought to mind a very old friend
though im not sure if he was only, in m mind
dont get me wrong. theres no way, im thinking ur special
its just that u reminded me - of someone - i cant recall ever having known
and now that the sketch has been put in,
i feel lonely for the first time thinking of him
we'd run in the moonlight
we'd had our silly fights
we'd talked about everything
and nothingmaybe this is love
best of friends. confidante. someone each can lean on
someone to take for granted. to speak to in half formed sentances with
to gossip with in a single look
to consult with in just a glance, shot across a crowded room
just friends. best friends
yet sometimes ... well, never mind.
one and only, everlasting, overwhelming
maybe its a dream
and soon ill wake up
doesnt really matter now
cz ill never find out
i looked up and into ur eyes
saw what might be a lightning blaze
didnt wait, to find if im wrong
so im on the run again
catch me if u can
no one could. no one can
am i glad?
or am i sad?
ill never know
cz im born to run
thorns, a rider
cannot concentrate all my friendship on any single one of my friends because no one is complete enough in himself.
--Anais Nin
Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.
--Anais Nin
whats harder to bear? pain or emptiness? which is less painful - loneliness or vapid company? which grates more poor character or poor diction? which is a lesser sin - unfounded intellectual snobbery or hypocritical congeniality. which hurts more, general coolth from a well maintained distance or compensated but sudden showers of rage?
how do you feel when you were waiting for something and then you realise it wont happen? how do you feel when you spend days and days waiting for something to happen but when it does, find it unbearable? if you look in the mirror and fall in love? if you look inside and want to throw up? can you fine tune your self to your taste?
and i come round once again to this ...
"Can you? Is there surgery that does that? Keep the roses. throw away the thorns. Can you discipline, control, carrot&stick yourself? can you become 'a good person'? was reading how to be good, sometime back (nick hornby)
what will happen to the bits that fall away under the knife? will the float away from the soul and drift in ether forver, islands of faults and mistakes? torn thorns. poor little thorns."
a new poem (if i may call it that) up at chocolat ...
--Anais Nin
Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.
--Anais Nin
whats harder to bear? pain or emptiness? which is less painful - loneliness or vapid company? which grates more poor character or poor diction? which is a lesser sin - unfounded intellectual snobbery or hypocritical congeniality. which hurts more, general coolth from a well maintained distance or compensated but sudden showers of rage?
how do you feel when you were waiting for something and then you realise it wont happen? how do you feel when you spend days and days waiting for something to happen but when it does, find it unbearable? if you look in the mirror and fall in love? if you look inside and want to throw up? can you fine tune your self to your taste?
and i come round once again to this ...
"Can you? Is there surgery that does that? Keep the roses. throw away the thorns. Can you discipline, control, carrot&stick yourself? can you become 'a good person'? was reading how to be good, sometime back (nick hornby)
what will happen to the bits that fall away under the knife? will the float away from the soul and drift in ether forver, islands of faults and mistakes? torn thorns. poor little thorns."
a new poem (if i may call it that) up at chocolat ...
whole lotta roses
things come and things go. but everything that passes over you leaves its tracks. some are stronger than the rest. memories ... there are so many meories crowded in your head. some seem so real you can almost forget they are not here and now. some so faded and dry that they are like watching a movie or reading a book stored somewhere inside. there are things you recall, you know they happened, but it feels so incredible. which me was this thats so much more a stranger than anyone else i have ever heard of?
someone had once exclaimed, how can you hate yourself. how can anyone? how can you not love someone you have carried inside you for so long? treasured, protected, nurtured, guided ... (thats the way of the orphans ... but do the others do that too?) ... created, how can you throw any part of that away, how can you
tear out these cancers, which though dangerously malignant, are still parts of you?
Can you? Is there surgery that does that? Keep the roses. throw away the thorns. Can you discipline, control, carrot&stick yourself.into becoming someone else? into becoming a good person?
what will happen to the bits that fall away under the knife? will the float away from the soul and drift in ether forver, islands of faults and mistakes? torn thorns. poor little thorns.
someone had once exclaimed, how can you hate yourself. how can anyone? how can you not love someone you have carried inside you for so long? treasured, protected, nurtured, guided ... (thats the way of the orphans ... but do the others do that too?) ... created, how can you throw any part of that away, how can you
tear out these cancers, which though dangerously malignant, are still parts of you?
Can you? Is there surgery that does that? Keep the roses. throw away the thorns. Can you discipline, control, carrot&stick yourself.into becoming someone else? into becoming a good person?
what will happen to the bits that fall away under the knife? will the float away from the soul and drift in ether forver, islands of faults and mistakes? torn thorns. poor little thorns.
theres still the rain ...
things stick in ur the branches in of ur mind, and sitting there, they morph over the years, with the passing seasons of time.
the thing i miss most about being home, or being in one place that you have been a long time is you have collected all the books and movies that you like to have around you, either bought or brought from home, which we nomads never have. so like today im dying to see just that bit of say anything, or just those words of high fidelity ... i cant really.
amsterdam pics still stuck. its hard to manage a digital camera without a comp.
its been a killer 3 days. today being the craziest. but to tell the truth, i like the feel of those days when you're running since 4 (thats when i left home) and cant stop to take a breath. i love it. but problem is your so rushed u keep making mistakes. so its ok if the tasks are things where you already know what to do, but if ur analysing miles of code , looking at solutions ... its killersville!
i wrote a mail to baba, ma and barbie yesterday, which i still have sitting in my drafts! killer bomb! if they had read it they'd have never gotten over it. ill never send it. that much frankness & intimacy is not my style. im a scorp after all ;@) but i havent deleted it either.
i am really falling behind in class! i went to the UTA site after ages. need to practise conjugating. need to practise like mad. but there's something about that univ that totally fascinates me ... dunno why!
the 5K is in june. will i make it?
why is it that which ever team i pick i always end up at the bottom?
there are 3 concerts coming up that i want to go to ... mark knoffler, u2, bruce springsteen. i'd give a LOT for a chance to go to them atleast the first two. its not the money (i'd even swallow my pride and ask baba on this - IF needed and its not needed) but just that i would feel so weird going alone!
yesterday, when i was going home in the bus, listening to my obsession of the month, i had a flash of what i really wanted, in life. but would i be happy if i had taken that path? maybe its just an illusion. if not, i could have said i took the one less travelled by and that has made all the difference, in the wrong sense! i find it interesting how i keep going back to that point, though its been 13 years ... its like when you lose something and you have no clue where its gone, you keep wanting to look in the last place you saw it, though rationally, you KNOW you have already covered that spot! Like the sparrows when the HP house was being built ... the false ceiling had been done, but the fittings were not up yet. So, there were these holes in the false ceiling leading into the space above it. A sparrow made a nest there. Ironically wherever may we roam, there are always birds nesting in our house. They are not temple-haunting martlets but they do approve. The air is delicate, yes but in a different sense!
its raining ... that makes everything better, doesnt it?
the thing i miss most about being home, or being in one place that you have been a long time is you have collected all the books and movies that you like to have around you, either bought or brought from home, which we nomads never have. so like today im dying to see just that bit of say anything, or just those words of high fidelity ... i cant really.
amsterdam pics still stuck. its hard to manage a digital camera without a comp.
its been a killer 3 days. today being the craziest. but to tell the truth, i like the feel of those days when you're running since 4 (thats when i left home) and cant stop to take a breath. i love it. but problem is your so rushed u keep making mistakes. so its ok if the tasks are things where you already know what to do, but if ur analysing miles of code , looking at solutions ... its killersville!
i wrote a mail to baba, ma and barbie yesterday, which i still have sitting in my drafts! killer bomb! if they had read it they'd have never gotten over it. ill never send it. that much frankness & intimacy is not my style. im a scorp after all ;@) but i havent deleted it either.
i am really falling behind in class! i went to the UTA site after ages. need to practise conjugating. need to practise like mad. but there's something about that univ that totally fascinates me ... dunno why!
the 5K is in june. will i make it?
why is it that which ever team i pick i always end up at the bottom?
there are 3 concerts coming up that i want to go to ... mark knoffler, u2, bruce springsteen. i'd give a LOT for a chance to go to them atleast the first two. its not the money (i'd even swallow my pride and ask baba on this - IF needed and its not needed) but just that i would feel so weird going alone!
yesterday, when i was going home in the bus, listening to my obsession of the month, i had a flash of what i really wanted, in life. but would i be happy if i had taken that path? maybe its just an illusion. if not, i could have said i took the one less travelled by and that has made all the difference, in the wrong sense! i find it interesting how i keep going back to that point, though its been 13 years ... its like when you lose something and you have no clue where its gone, you keep wanting to look in the last place you saw it, though rationally, you KNOW you have already covered that spot! Like the sparrows when the HP house was being built ... the false ceiling had been done, but the fittings were not up yet. So, there were these holes in the false ceiling leading into the space above it. A sparrow made a nest there. Ironically wherever may we roam, there are always birds nesting in our house. They are not temple-haunting martlets but they do approve. The air is delicate, yes but in a different sense!
its raining ... that makes everything better, doesnt it?
muzic
The heart is a bloom, shoots up through stony ground
But there's no room, no space to rent in this town
You're out of luck and the reason that you had to care,
The traffic is stuck and you're not moving anywhere.
You thought you’d found a friend to take you out of this place
Someone you could lend a hand in return for grace
It's a beautiful day, the sky falls
And you feel like it's a beautiful day
It’s a beautiful day
Don’t let it get away
Love, lift me out of these blues
Won't you tell me something true
I believe in you
Touch me, take me to that other place
Reach me, I know IÃm not a hopeless case
"In A Little While"
In a little while
Surely you'll be mine
In a little while I'll be there
In a little while
This hurt will hurt no more
I'll be home, love
When the night takes a deep breath
And the daylight has no end
If I crawl, if I come crawling home
WiIl you be there
In a little while
I won't be blown by every breeze
Friday night running
To Sunday on my knees
That girl, that girl
She's mine
And I've know her since
Since she was a little girl
With Spanish eyes
Oh, when I saw her
In a pram they pushed her by
My, how you've grown
Well it's been
It's been a little while
Slow down my bleeding heart
A man dreams one day to fly
A man takes a rocketship into the skys
He lives on star that's dying in the night
And follows in the trail
The scatter of light
But there's no room, no space to rent in this town
You're out of luck and the reason that you had to care,
The traffic is stuck and you're not moving anywhere.
You thought you’d found a friend to take you out of this place
Someone you could lend a hand in return for grace
It's a beautiful day, the sky falls
And you feel like it's a beautiful day
It’s a beautiful day
Don’t let it get away
Love, lift me out of these blues
Won't you tell me something true
I believe in you
Touch me, take me to that other place
Reach me, I know IÃm not a hopeless case
"In A Little While"
In a little while
Surely you'll be mine
In a little while I'll be there
In a little while
This hurt will hurt no more
I'll be home, love
When the night takes a deep breath
And the daylight has no end
If I crawl, if I come crawling home
WiIl you be there
In a little while
I won't be blown by every breeze
Friday night running
To Sunday on my knees
That girl, that girl
She's mine
And I've know her since
Since she was a little girl
With Spanish eyes
Oh, when I saw her
In a pram they pushed her by
My, how you've grown
Well it's been
It's been a little while
Slow down my bleeding heart
A man dreams one day to fly
A man takes a rocketship into the skys
He lives on star that's dying in the night
And follows in the trail
The scatter of light
to be loved as to love with all my heart
is it synchrosity? Or is it just that he loves me. I walked home yesterday, cold damp dark ... and I was halving this imaginary conversation with a imaginary person (who sits always in my head) and I said ... 'the sunshine - the beautiful sunshine in dibba. ill never again crib about the sweat and heat.' i woke up this morning to blinding sunshine.
i feel him somewhere around. he is there. he is waiting. and he does love me. i feel it in every part of my soul. he pushes me and makes life hard and cold and he keeps raising the bar, cz thats what i had asked him for.
after years i find myself humming an old favourite from school days
"Father, hear the prayer we offer:
Nor for ease that prayer shall be,
But for strength, that we may ever
Live our lives courageously.
Not forever in green pastures
Do we ask our way to be,
But the steep and rugged pathway
May we tread rejoicingly.
Not forever by still waters
Would we idly, quiet stay;
But would smite the living fountains
From the rocks along our way."
i feel him somewhere around. he is there. he is waiting. and he does love me. i feel it in every part of my soul. he pushes me and makes life hard and cold and he keeps raising the bar, cz thats what i had asked him for.
after years i find myself humming an old favourite from school days
"Father, hear the prayer we offer:
Nor for ease that prayer shall be,
But for strength, that we may ever
Live our lives courageously.
Not forever in green pastures
Do we ask our way to be,
But the steep and rugged pathway
May we tread rejoicingly.
Not forever by still waters
Would we idly, quiet stay;
But would smite the living fountains
From the rocks along our way."
cohen
I loved you in the morning
Our kisses deep and warm,
Your head upon the pillow
Like a sleepy golden Strom.
Yes, many loved before us
I know that we are not new,
In city and in forest
They smiled like me and you,
But now it's come to distances
And both of us must try,
Your eyes are soft with sorrow,
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye.
I'm not looking for another
As I wander in my time,
Walk me to the corner
Our steps will always rhyme,
You know my love goes with you
As your love stays with me,
It's just the way it changes
Like the shoreline and the sea,
But let's not talk of love or chains
And things we can't untie,
Your eyes are soft with sorrow,
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye.
I loved you in the morning
Our kisses deep and warm,
Your head upon the pillow
Like a sleepy golden Strom.
Yes, many loved before us
I know that we are not new,
In city and in forest
They smiled like me and you,
But let's not talk of love or chains
And things we can't untie,
Your eyes are soft with sorrow,
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye.
Every phase in life, each sequence of days, seperated by coloured paper seperators in the filing of our heads, each one has a theme song, for me. Like Sauces wedding was 'from this moment'. This last trip home, probably my nicest time at home since I left for Pune in 1994, was this song above. Or probably all of the Cohen collection. I will never forget those days. Suddenly I miss my pogie and bose so much! Its not funny. Its all these people you love, or its their memories, the echoes of their voices that they leave in your head, its the shadow that drags behind them as they fly away, the way they made you feel ... its all these little strands that knit together and form a place called home, in my heart.
Our kisses deep and warm,
Your head upon the pillow
Like a sleepy golden Strom.
Yes, many loved before us
I know that we are not new,
In city and in forest
They smiled like me and you,
But now it's come to distances
And both of us must try,
Your eyes are soft with sorrow,
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye.
I'm not looking for another
As I wander in my time,
Walk me to the corner
Our steps will always rhyme,
You know my love goes with you
As your love stays with me,
It's just the way it changes
Like the shoreline and the sea,
But let's not talk of love or chains
And things we can't untie,
Your eyes are soft with sorrow,
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye.
I loved you in the morning
Our kisses deep and warm,
Your head upon the pillow
Like a sleepy golden Strom.
Yes, many loved before us
I know that we are not new,
In city and in forest
They smiled like me and you,
But let's not talk of love or chains
And things we can't untie,
Your eyes are soft with sorrow,
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye.
Every phase in life, each sequence of days, seperated by coloured paper seperators in the filing of our heads, each one has a theme song, for me. Like Sauces wedding was 'from this moment'. This last trip home, probably my nicest time at home since I left for Pune in 1994, was this song above. Or probably all of the Cohen collection. I will never forget those days. Suddenly I miss my pogie and bose so much! Its not funny. Its all these people you love, or its their memories, the echoes of their voices that they leave in your head, its the shadow that drags behind them as they fly away, the way they made you feel ... its all these little strands that knit together and form a place called home, in my heart.
the anne frank house
"When I returned and after I had the news that my children would not be coming back, Miep gave me the diary which had been saved by, I should say, a miracle. It took me a very long time before I could read it. And I must say, I was very much surprised about the deep thoughts that Anne had, her seriousness, especially her self-criticism. It was quite a different Anne than I had known as my daughter. She never really showed this kind of inner feeling. She talked about many things, criticized many things, but what her real feelings were, that I could only see from the diary." Otto Frank
"A single Anne Frank moves us more than the countless others who suffered just as she did, but whose faces have remained in the shadows. Perhaps it's better that way: if we were capable of taking in the suffering of all those people, we would not be able to live." Primo Levi
July 27, 1945
Dear Milly,
I suppose you will excuse me that I did not answer your kind letter right away. I couldnt. Daily, I tried to speak to people in order to find something about the girls. And I speak to quite a lot who met them at Bergen-Belzen in January or February but then I could not trace them any further. Now I know all the truth and I know that I shall never be able to believe that strk. I seem to be very calm and do everything to divert me, just not to think. Nobody can help me, though I have many friends.
Otto Frank to his sister, Milly
It took me 17 mins of standing in that same hallway to note down this passage that was being played there (had to stop to cry once in a while)!
What hit me most was the ordinary normality of life. peter's new board game. the pinups on her wall. all the little details which make you realise, actually realise, it wasnt just a story ... it happened. How did it happen? There must be a answer. There must be a rationale. But how do I find it and where do I look. Is it in the 'maaya' or is it connectivity or what is it? How can we go on living like it never happened? How can we go on living without understanding it? Or die? it is all the more chilly when you think of the years the dates. you know that time. you have read those dates before. so and so's birthday. or something like that.
"A single Anne Frank moves us more than the countless others who suffered just as she did, but whose faces have remained in the shadows. Perhaps it's better that way: if we were capable of taking in the suffering of all those people, we would not be able to live." Primo Levi
July 27, 1945
Dear Milly,
I suppose you will excuse me that I did not answer your kind letter right away. I couldnt. Daily, I tried to speak to people in order to find something about the girls. And I speak to quite a lot who met them at Bergen-Belzen in January or February but then I could not trace them any further. Now I know all the truth and I know that I shall never be able to believe that strk. I seem to be very calm and do everything to divert me, just not to think. Nobody can help me, though I have many friends.
Otto Frank to his sister, Milly
It took me 17 mins of standing in that same hallway to note down this passage that was being played there (had to stop to cry once in a while)!
What hit me most was the ordinary normality of life. peter's new board game. the pinups on her wall. all the little details which make you realise, actually realise, it wasnt just a story ... it happened. How did it happen? There must be a answer. There must be a rationale. But how do I find it and where do I look. Is it in the 'maaya' or is it connectivity or what is it? How can we go on living like it never happened? How can we go on living without understanding it? Or die? it is all the more chilly when you think of the years the dates. you know that time. you have read those dates before. so and so's birthday. or something like that.
i could have told you vincent ....
van gogh:
bridge in the rain
courting couples in the voyer d'argenson
the harvest
wheat field 1988
triptich
the sower
st pauls hospital garden
branches of an almond tree in blossom (gift for theo's son)
the reaper
wheatfield with crows
wheatfield with poppies
wheatfield under the clouds
view of auvers
farmhouse at auvers
other artists i liked there
manet
preitenger van dongen
gaugin
raffeilli
gaugin
paul serusier
edouard vuillard
pierre bonnard
felix vallotton
josef israils
herder shephard
odilon redon
floris vester
lepere auguste
valtat
george breitner hendrik
i was amazed by the boldness of a painting of a lady called Gus - Augusta.
caveat - the names are all from my (very) hastily scribbled notes at the museum during a very rushed and cursory run through it. Half of which time I was too tired to be thinking straight. so, i expect i got a lot of them wrong!
i left wanting to find out more about the relationship between him and gaugin. about his 'voices'. and to think about why he volunteered to go to St Pauls and how he felt after that. did he feel trapped. also want to read his letters to emile bernard.
quotes:
"for you, the public, it is really done. i think that saying is true: For you the public, it is really done"
Vincent to Theo, Nov 1882
"I feel a failure. That is my destiny, which I accept and which will never chnage"
27 July 1890. Vincent Van Gogh Stichting.
bridge in the rain
courting couples in the voyer d'argenson
the harvest
wheat field 1988
triptich
the sower
st pauls hospital garden
branches of an almond tree in blossom (gift for theo's son)
the reaper
wheatfield with crows
wheatfield with poppies
wheatfield under the clouds
view of auvers
farmhouse at auvers
other artists i liked there
manet
preitenger van dongen
gaugin
raffeilli
gaugin
paul serusier
edouard vuillard
pierre bonnard
felix vallotton
josef israils
herder shephard
odilon redon
floris vester
lepere auguste
valtat
george breitner hendrik
i was amazed by the boldness of a painting of a lady called Gus - Augusta.
caveat - the names are all from my (very) hastily scribbled notes at the museum during a very rushed and cursory run through it. Half of which time I was too tired to be thinking straight. so, i expect i got a lot of them wrong!
i left wanting to find out more about the relationship between him and gaugin. about his 'voices'. and to think about why he volunteered to go to St Pauls and how he felt after that. did he feel trapped. also want to read his letters to emile bernard.
quotes:
"for you, the public, it is really done. i think that saying is true: For you the public, it is really done"
Vincent to Theo, Nov 1882
"I feel a failure. That is my destiny, which I accept and which will never chnage"
27 July 1890. Vincent Van Gogh Stichting.
its ironic, how im back in the game
am i the only person in the world who takes notes whil watching tv? while going htough my notebook for the amsterdam notes i found notes on a chinese valley of soldiers, greek medicine, and ofcourse the usual songs (damien rice) and movies (gosford park) to be hunted down.
probably one of the scariest things to have is volatility and lack of control.
i wish i was taller
the skies are dark this afternoon with storms clouds and the grounds slick with drying rain. makes me think of home ...
Most days, I am haunted by spirit. He is, by turns, restless, impish, naughty, shy, sweet and unbaeatably persistant. He stands, like a shadow, just behind my right shoulder. in everything i do or say, when i am talking to someone, when i am workinhg, in the gym, in the class everynow and again it will prod my in the ribs and reminds me of things I dont want to think about, of things I run away from, of things I like to hide from. Distracted, I los my train of thoughts and Im lost, till with a start, I wake up again. In these days of high stress and sharp tension, It reminds me of the late nights just before the exams, when denying all human feelings, we forcefull keep ourselves awake and suddenly when our head jerks down and we wake, only then we realise we had fallen asleep for a split second. like that, waking from a day dream i realise i had fallen. theres a feel of something coming. of wanting something. of being on my way somewhere. i flit between panic and a incstinct to run from whatever is up ahead and my whole heart singing in anticipation.
Sometimes you have to let people go. Sometimes you have to let a friendship go. However precious, however dear, however natural it was. I know I was wrong. But theres nothing I can do now but feel sorry. I want to run away somewhere and I want to run to someone and tell them everything, just vomit out all the pain, and cry. But theres no one like that. You cant lean on someone unless you knew he could take the weight. All the way.
I miss chatts. I need chatts. there are times when no one else will do. Or Sauce, or Juls, or Ad, or Pogie. Yet just having recognised / remembered the comfort of having friends like that consoles and spread over you like a balm.
For a moment, theres peace then your restless again. Its not a ache, so it cant be fixed. Its just this funny feeling. Like somethings wrong somewhere. Like something big is about to hit me in the head and I cant see it.
I guess its been that way ever since the dreaded yearly review. I havent gotten over that yet. I dont know if I ever will. Yet there are certain things that make you feel that maybe it wasnt that bad. At the end of the day, its all that matters, isnt it? The principle thing you do. If I tell you, you suck at your work, what do you have left. If some idiot tells you that you can tell urself its just the idiot. But if one of the people whose judgement you really trust tells you that, then what do you do? At the end of the day, but its all about interpretations, isnt it? It doesnt have to be the end of it all ... you can still try for next time!
probably one of the scariest things to have is volatility and lack of control.
i wish i was taller
the skies are dark this afternoon with storms clouds and the grounds slick with drying rain. makes me think of home ...
Most days, I am haunted by spirit. He is, by turns, restless, impish, naughty, shy, sweet and unbaeatably persistant. He stands, like a shadow, just behind my right shoulder. in everything i do or say, when i am talking to someone, when i am workinhg, in the gym, in the class everynow and again it will prod my in the ribs and reminds me of things I dont want to think about, of things I run away from, of things I like to hide from. Distracted, I los my train of thoughts and Im lost, till with a start, I wake up again. In these days of high stress and sharp tension, It reminds me of the late nights just before the exams, when denying all human feelings, we forcefull keep ourselves awake and suddenly when our head jerks down and we wake, only then we realise we had fallen asleep for a split second. like that, waking from a day dream i realise i had fallen. theres a feel of something coming. of wanting something. of being on my way somewhere. i flit between panic and a incstinct to run from whatever is up ahead and my whole heart singing in anticipation.
Sometimes you have to let people go. Sometimes you have to let a friendship go. However precious, however dear, however natural it was. I know I was wrong. But theres nothing I can do now but feel sorry. I want to run away somewhere and I want to run to someone and tell them everything, just vomit out all the pain, and cry. But theres no one like that. You cant lean on someone unless you knew he could take the weight. All the way.
I miss chatts. I need chatts. there are times when no one else will do. Or Sauce, or Juls, or Ad, or Pogie. Yet just having recognised / remembered the comfort of having friends like that consoles and spread over you like a balm.
For a moment, theres peace then your restless again. Its not a ache, so it cant be fixed. Its just this funny feeling. Like somethings wrong somewhere. Like something big is about to hit me in the head and I cant see it.
I guess its been that way ever since the dreaded yearly review. I havent gotten over that yet. I dont know if I ever will. Yet there are certain things that make you feel that maybe it wasnt that bad. At the end of the day, its all that matters, isnt it? The principle thing you do. If I tell you, you suck at your work, what do you have left. If some idiot tells you that you can tell urself its just the idiot. But if one of the people whose judgement you really trust tells you that, then what do you do? At the end of the day, but its all about interpretations, isnt it? It doesnt have to be the end of it all ... you can still try for next time!
nostalgia
wouldnt it be nice if we could really live in the present. i know some of us manage pretty well, but a few are not so good or consistent with this skill
when i look back on my life till now, i see every colour, every shade in my memories. orange for fun & frolic, pink for love & laughter; red for anger & amor; grey for tears & trials; blue for the blues, purple for the strange lost days, black sins and pain; white for wisdom and peace. but given a choice, i wouldnt live one single day differently. 'got say it now - its been a good life all in all'
but the point here is that i look back. each moment i know, though i am, here and now, making memories i will look back on with fond longing some far away tomorrow, yet i spend a part of it looking over my shoulder at some long left behind yesterday.
through it all theres one thing i have realised. you never miss a place, time, person. i have gone back to all of them and found strangers where i had left bits and pieces of my heart. what we do miss is the way we were ... there,then, with them
we are different all the time. with different people, in different places, at different times. and we scatter our souls in the winds of our lives, spreading it everywhere we have touched, leaving bits and pieces of our selves every where we go.
wouldnt it be nice if we could collect all of us in space & time and be whole for that moment, that place.
i couldnt write in words how its raining. its like magic. the water. the light. the city. wish i could stay home and watch the 'way we were' ... or anything, for that matter
Sweet dreams are made of this
Who am I to disagree?
I travel the world and the seven seas
Everybody's lookin' for somethin'.
Some of them want to use you.
Some of them want to get used by you
Some of them want to abuse you.
Some of them want to be abused
an old song stirs up so many memories. how the heart clings to everything old. old memories. old friends. old books. old poems & journals. t-shirts. ashtrays. stuff toys. perfume bottles. greeting cards. photographs ... somewhere in linda goodmans love signs, a tattered copy of which i still have at home, which was carefully brought down and furtively & very seriously re-consulted, through the years, with every new childhood sweetheart, somewhere in that much loved (old) book, she says the Scorpio must try to overcome its tendency to make a scrapbook out of its life and live it. i wonder if its true? dont really care ... love reading her stuff cz i love the glorious picture she paints of Us!
things come and things go. but everything that passes over you leaves its tracks. some are stronger than the rest. memories ... there are so many meories crowded in your head. some seem so real you can almost forget they are not here and now. some so faded and dry that they are like watching a movie or reading a book stored somewhere inside. there are things you recall, you know they happened, but it feels so incredible. which me was this thats so much more a stranger than anyone else i have ever heard of?
someone had once exclaimed, how can you hate yourself. how can anyone? how can you not love someone you have carried inside you for so long? treasured, protected, nurtured, guided ... (thats the way of the orphans ... but do the others do that too?) ... created, how can you throw any part of that away, how can you
tear out these cancers, which though dangerously malignant, are still parts of you?
Can you? Is there surgery that does that? Keep the roses. throw away the thorns. Can you discipline, control, carrot&stick yourself.into becoming someone else? into becoming a good person?
what will happen to the bits that fall away under the knife? will the float away from the soul and drift in ether forver, islands of faults and mistakes? torn thorns. poor little thorns.
nostalgia: the memory of the heart. Ive been speaking to Vani quite a bit lately
and I got a bigg-ish mail from Ghatak this morning
And I wrote a biggie to Pills yesterday
So all in all its PUNE TIMES in nostalgia land
With golden words like deccan and chit chat & FTII & Fergusan floating around in my head
In those days, when people told us crap like "these are the golden years of ur life" and "You will remember these days all your lives long"
I always thot, what crap man! I mean ... ye jeena bhi koi jeena hai lallu!
paisa nahi. hamesha bhikaario ka haal hai
at times we'd pool resources to get one vada pav
even an auto is like a luxury
holiday "getaway" start with 3 tier bliss (often unreserved & seatless) on IR (Azad Hind Express)
tumtum mein ghumo. dhup mein pako
ghar aake gaali khaao
journals / profs / orals / practicals / and EXAMS!!!!
chhhheeeeeeeeeee!
But in retrospect ... its something else all together!
pigging out on borrowed (beg / borrow / steal - been there done that) maggie in the dorm
and hanging out at Buggi's flat endless Sundays
and sneaking into FTII forever for lack of places to hang out in
and going to deccan for samosa's early sunday morning
and vani's street side friend
and me and pills going down the dorm - door to door - begging someone to donate a mafggie ka pkt to the kangaal janta :(
chhheeee - & people used to be so rude to us!
I remember somone (I think it was one of those semi localites) once asked as 2.5 bucks for a half pkt ... she said "please kal paisa de dena haan?"
And we were so shameless ... I think I would have felt really bad if it happened now! Ouch! Uss time pein kuchh laga bhi nahi hoga ... kya yedi hain ... aisa kuchh socha rahega :)
Didnt posses a music system so we were once camped outside this seniors (nandita's room) door when she was playing lucky ali
I fell in love with that album
once the second yrs janta mistook me for a fresher & ragged me ... I was in BE!
and I remember seema agarwal ... how we used to plague her
she used to squat in a corner in college (during prep leave - loadsa folk went to the empty bdg to "study") - and she'd rock back and forth and mumble to herself ratto-ing the whole book - cover to cover
and me & pills used to make fun of her so much
toh she used to say "no ya Im just like keeping it in mind"
that was hilarious
And Mona - my one & only Loci pal
Gawd she had a mom, and a house & and bed
And Foooooooooooooood!!!!
And I remember one time this babe
took an illegal night out from hostel and went to the disc
and poor child ... mtv chose that night to come filming in Pune!
Early in the morning there was this huge snap of her in Pune Plus ...
well not of her - but she figured pretty prominently :)
And the papers used to be kept on a kind of platform next to the matron desk
We couldnt do anything
So this other girl she kind of just went and sat on the paper ... it was really funny at that time.
And coming home on Azad Hind
It used to be like those school trains in Malory Towers or something
I mean almost 96 percent students
All the West Bengal and NorthEast janta in Pune going home
Music Jokes Halla ... Mad or Melancholy ... depending on the direction
and vani's M80 & Mona's sunny & Buggi's amazing Bike!
and how they seemed like the coolest in the world bcz of their great treasures
and hanging out a fergie & sagaar plaza & god knows where else to catch up with Ghatak
abnd SPDP
and me & vani & pills at Bugge's place
we knew vani was going off to the US
we used to ask her if she will mail and all
she used to say ya ofsourse I will
I remember this one time I asked her how often she wud mail me
she said everyday
but she never did!
:)
the us seemed so so far away
now i am here too, in the us
but it still seems like she is so far away at times
i guess once again - its a fn of time not place!
Those times when they pass take away so much
Now we are just old hags trying despo'ly to survive from day to day
and memories, and dreams are just a luxury, to be taken out of the attic and smiled at everyonce in a while :)
chatted with my mom
my leo (my beloved my sweet darling leo) is ill
he is getting old it seems (bull)
mom is such a darling
she is so cute
she lined up all my stuff toys in front of the webcam
and leo and my cats
and the birds
everything
and I saw my daddy in his red jammies :)
for a second such a wave of nostalgia swept over me
cant explain ... felt like my heart will break ... with a nice feeling ...
recently a friend asked me who is there for u when things go wrong
no ones ever there really ... but its not as tragic as it sounds
its no big deal - u get used to it jolly quick and all
u just take a deep breath and wait for it to pass
and u shudnt let any one be there
bcz people r very predicatable that way - they go away - or they change
or they turn out to be something totally different from what u thought they were
and then it hurts like hell
reading I think paradox's blog recently I remembered my daddy's smell
he smells of anteus and tide and dunhill and whiskey and the cement plant
he looks serious and scary or half asleep
and he frowns most of the time
and then he smiles, slow unexpectedly - and suddenly boom he's grinning like a little boy
there are things that remind me of him. anteus. smell of whiskey. or ac cars
crisp white shirts. anyone shaving and making strange faces
panes flying overhead, abriti, satyajeet roy, hemanta ... almost everything nice
listening to bhole o bhole ... corny song but cute :)
and also "piya bawri" i love those semi classical hindi movie songs!
spoke to mom for a long time
mists of nostalgia
play misty for me
svengali
fedora
kishore kumar
broken tape recorder
days of poverty
ahua
tartous
the sea
long winding roads - always the same end
whenever I talk to mom it comes to the same thing
sadiyon sadiyon wahin tamaasha - rasta rasta lambi khoj
wish I wasnt such a coward
but somethings ... u cant deal with u cant face u ant solve u cant bear
u can just run and run ...
me and the sky
I cried today to keep her company
And she rained all day
And then at night she lit up the chandeliers
To make my heart bright again
Everyone else just passes by
In the end its just you and i
Everything changes every minute
And ur left staring into the sky
one of my childhood friends commited suicide a long time back
here. in texas
we were in india then
i was in pune
chatts was in cal
sauce was in blore
chatts called me
she was crying ... i didnt know what to do
we become so selfish in times of pain
my first though was how sauce & chatts will be hurt ...
no one knew why
I was curious
i did a search on suicide in google
and I came across this site which said that
sometimes kids who are exposed to very complicated or hurtful situations
when very young are never very normal again
they never really heal
funny
when i look back on my life till now, i see every colour, every shade in my memories. orange for fun & frolic, pink for love & laughter; red for anger & amor; grey for tears & trials; blue for the blues, purple for the strange lost days, black sins and pain; white for wisdom and peace. but given a choice, i wouldnt live one single day differently. 'got say it now - its been a good life all in all'
but the point here is that i look back. each moment i know, though i am, here and now, making memories i will look back on with fond longing some far away tomorrow, yet i spend a part of it looking over my shoulder at some long left behind yesterday.
through it all theres one thing i have realised. you never miss a place, time, person. i have gone back to all of them and found strangers where i had left bits and pieces of my heart. what we do miss is the way we were ... there,then, with them
we are different all the time. with different people, in different places, at different times. and we scatter our souls in the winds of our lives, spreading it everywhere we have touched, leaving bits and pieces of our selves every where we go.
wouldnt it be nice if we could collect all of us in space & time and be whole for that moment, that place.
i couldnt write in words how its raining. its like magic. the water. the light. the city. wish i could stay home and watch the 'way we were' ... or anything, for that matter
Sweet dreams are made of this
Who am I to disagree?
I travel the world and the seven seas
Everybody's lookin' for somethin'.
Some of them want to use you.
Some of them want to get used by you
Some of them want to abuse you.
Some of them want to be abused
an old song stirs up so many memories. how the heart clings to everything old. old memories. old friends. old books. old poems & journals. t-shirts. ashtrays. stuff toys. perfume bottles. greeting cards. photographs ... somewhere in linda goodmans love signs, a tattered copy of which i still have at home, which was carefully brought down and furtively & very seriously re-consulted, through the years, with every new childhood sweetheart, somewhere in that much loved (old) book, she says the Scorpio must try to overcome its tendency to make a scrapbook out of its life and live it. i wonder if its true? dont really care ... love reading her stuff cz i love the glorious picture she paints of Us!
things come and things go. but everything that passes over you leaves its tracks. some are stronger than the rest. memories ... there are so many meories crowded in your head. some seem so real you can almost forget they are not here and now. some so faded and dry that they are like watching a movie or reading a book stored somewhere inside. there are things you recall, you know they happened, but it feels so incredible. which me was this thats so much more a stranger than anyone else i have ever heard of?
someone had once exclaimed, how can you hate yourself. how can anyone? how can you not love someone you have carried inside you for so long? treasured, protected, nurtured, guided ... (thats the way of the orphans ... but do the others do that too?) ... created, how can you throw any part of that away, how can you
tear out these cancers, which though dangerously malignant, are still parts of you?
Can you? Is there surgery that does that? Keep the roses. throw away the thorns. Can you discipline, control, carrot&stick yourself.into becoming someone else? into becoming a good person?
what will happen to the bits that fall away under the knife? will the float away from the soul and drift in ether forver, islands of faults and mistakes? torn thorns. poor little thorns.
nostalgia: the memory of the heart. Ive been speaking to Vani quite a bit lately
and I got a bigg-ish mail from Ghatak this morning
And I wrote a biggie to Pills yesterday
So all in all its PUNE TIMES in nostalgia land
With golden words like deccan and chit chat & FTII & Fergusan floating around in my head
In those days, when people told us crap like "these are the golden years of ur life" and "You will remember these days all your lives long"
I always thot, what crap man! I mean ... ye jeena bhi koi jeena hai lallu!
paisa nahi. hamesha bhikaario ka haal hai
at times we'd pool resources to get one vada pav
even an auto is like a luxury
holiday "getaway" start with 3 tier bliss (often unreserved & seatless) on IR (Azad Hind Express)
tumtum mein ghumo. dhup mein pako
ghar aake gaali khaao
journals / profs / orals / practicals / and EXAMS!!!!
chhhheeeeeeeeeee!
But in retrospect ... its something else all together!
pigging out on borrowed (beg / borrow / steal - been there done that) maggie in the dorm
and hanging out at Buggi's flat endless Sundays
and sneaking into FTII forever for lack of places to hang out in
and going to deccan for samosa's early sunday morning
and vani's street side friend
and me and pills going down the dorm - door to door - begging someone to donate a mafggie ka pkt to the kangaal janta :(
chhheeee - & people used to be so rude to us!
I remember somone (I think it was one of those semi localites) once asked as 2.5 bucks for a half pkt ... she said "please kal paisa de dena haan?"
And we were so shameless ... I think I would have felt really bad if it happened now! Ouch! Uss time pein kuchh laga bhi nahi hoga ... kya yedi hain ... aisa kuchh socha rahega :)
Didnt posses a music system so we were once camped outside this seniors (nandita's room) door when she was playing lucky ali
I fell in love with that album
once the second yrs janta mistook me for a fresher & ragged me ... I was in BE!
and I remember seema agarwal ... how we used to plague her
she used to squat in a corner in college (during prep leave - loadsa folk went to the empty bdg to "study") - and she'd rock back and forth and mumble to herself ratto-ing the whole book - cover to cover
and me & pills used to make fun of her so much
toh she used to say "no ya Im just like keeping it in mind"
that was hilarious
And Mona - my one & only Loci pal
Gawd she had a mom, and a house & and bed
And Foooooooooooooood!!!!
And I remember one time this babe
took an illegal night out from hostel and went to the disc
and poor child ... mtv chose that night to come filming in Pune!
Early in the morning there was this huge snap of her in Pune Plus ...
well not of her - but she figured pretty prominently :)
And the papers used to be kept on a kind of platform next to the matron desk
We couldnt do anything
So this other girl she kind of just went and sat on the paper ... it was really funny at that time.
And coming home on Azad Hind
It used to be like those school trains in Malory Towers or something
I mean almost 96 percent students
All the West Bengal and NorthEast janta in Pune going home
Music Jokes Halla ... Mad or Melancholy ... depending on the direction
and vani's M80 & Mona's sunny & Buggi's amazing Bike!
and how they seemed like the coolest in the world bcz of their great treasures
and hanging out a fergie & sagaar plaza & god knows where else to catch up with Ghatak
abnd SPDP
and me & vani & pills at Bugge's place
we knew vani was going off to the US
we used to ask her if she will mail and all
she used to say ya ofsourse I will
I remember this one time I asked her how often she wud mail me
she said everyday
but she never did!
:)
the us seemed so so far away
now i am here too, in the us
but it still seems like she is so far away at times
i guess once again - its a fn of time not place!
Those times when they pass take away so much
Now we are just old hags trying despo'ly to survive from day to day
and memories, and dreams are just a luxury, to be taken out of the attic and smiled at everyonce in a while :)
chatted with my mom
my leo (my beloved my sweet darling leo) is ill
he is getting old it seems (bull)
mom is such a darling
she is so cute
she lined up all my stuff toys in front of the webcam
and leo and my cats
and the birds
everything
and I saw my daddy in his red jammies :)
for a second such a wave of nostalgia swept over me
cant explain ... felt like my heart will break ... with a nice feeling ...
recently a friend asked me who is there for u when things go wrong
no ones ever there really ... but its not as tragic as it sounds
its no big deal - u get used to it jolly quick and all
u just take a deep breath and wait for it to pass
and u shudnt let any one be there
bcz people r very predicatable that way - they go away - or they change
or they turn out to be something totally different from what u thought they were
and then it hurts like hell
reading I think paradox's blog recently I remembered my daddy's smell
he smells of anteus and tide and dunhill and whiskey and the cement plant
he looks serious and scary or half asleep
and he frowns most of the time
and then he smiles, slow unexpectedly - and suddenly boom he's grinning like a little boy
there are things that remind me of him. anteus. smell of whiskey. or ac cars
crisp white shirts. anyone shaving and making strange faces
panes flying overhead, abriti, satyajeet roy, hemanta ... almost everything nice
listening to bhole o bhole ... corny song but cute :)
and also "piya bawri" i love those semi classical hindi movie songs!
spoke to mom for a long time
mists of nostalgia
play misty for me
svengali
fedora
kishore kumar
broken tape recorder
days of poverty
ahua
tartous
the sea
long winding roads - always the same end
whenever I talk to mom it comes to the same thing
sadiyon sadiyon wahin tamaasha - rasta rasta lambi khoj
wish I wasnt such a coward
but somethings ... u cant deal with u cant face u ant solve u cant bear
u can just run and run ...
me and the sky
I cried today to keep her company
And she rained all day
And then at night she lit up the chandeliers
To make my heart bright again
Everyone else just passes by
In the end its just you and i
Everything changes every minute
And ur left staring into the sky
one of my childhood friends commited suicide a long time back
here. in texas
we were in india then
i was in pune
chatts was in cal
sauce was in blore
chatts called me
she was crying ... i didnt know what to do
we become so selfish in times of pain
my first though was how sauce & chatts will be hurt ...
no one knew why
I was curious
i did a search on suicide in google
and I came across this site which said that
sometimes kids who are exposed to very complicated or hurtful situations
when very young are never very normal again
they never really heal
funny
back to life
much more to say. did go to van gogh and led zep and anne frank. and i have so much to say about those three places. it was as big as new york. ie to say it was as big a experience for me as going to new york for the first time had been. when i had huddled in a corner of my room, as a child, and wept for a little girl i had never known, i could have never imagined i would one day actually see the place where she lived. or almost lived. or lived. because you always live. because life, the real part of it, is unkillable, irrepressible. thats why it goes on. the walls and rooms were almost the same as i had imagined it. same, yet different. what moves you most is her father voice. i stood there for fifteen minutes and heard the recording over and over till i had transcribed it. i want to put that up too. and vincent ... he was as beautiful as i had imagined him. i hadnt known thought that he had cut off his ear. and that gaugin didnt come. and new friends. gaugin. manet. and two more. took frantic notes. feel in love and million times. such skies. such blues. such faces. amazing pastels. and he does oil as well. 'i could have told you, vincent ...' the reaper ... thats what i fell mostest in love with. late for class so rest in next :)
holland. between the lines
how was amsterdam? the cities span out in rings. rings of roads. the city packed in, between the lines. the town square is called led zeppelin. that one for next time. couldnt do that now. but i will come back with my 2 kiddies. missed them so much walking these streets. most of the land is reclaimed. learnt about recalimed land, dikes (the land things the build to block in the water), windmills, canals and millions of kinds of tulips i didnt even know existing. wooden shoes. a strain of tulip called 'akela'. and fell in love. with these dark, evil, ox-blood-red flowers ... dont know what kind they are. took notes and pictures. ate like a pig. saw edellweiss. ate crisp apple strudels. got sugar dust on my nose. smelled fresh fish at lunch time in a quaint fishing village with lanes i couldnt have passed through few months back (before id lost some weight. saw some beautiful dutch men and women. remembered my favourite betty neels MB's.
Theres madness on the streets. accessory shops selling weed cases and speciall filter. floating smell of grass in the air. ashtrays that say why go to high school when u can go to school high. and my favourite ... 'its amsterdam - grass is legal' everything is allowed. everything is ok. the streets in the evening feel like a shot out an old sixties movie. the people seem lost, depraved, wasted ... a lot of people would say ... but enormously peaceful. like they have reached. wherever they wanted to go. is this the return to innocence? not a lack of sin but removal of the label? a changed perspective.
in the cities, a blend of old and new that would put my lovely lady, cal, to shame. everywhere people hanging out. doing things and nothing. i try to track back and remember how many people i saw who were hurried or busy.
we were really lucky. had wonderful weather troughout and long sunny days. and two wonderful people planning everything for us and taking us everywhere. god bless them!
saw a tram for the first time outside kolkata. shocked by the difference! are they the same vehicles!
saw an old man scavenging a garbage bin. and he looked the part.
saw some little kids running a kfc. students. they said. i dont know why that stuck. will think about it later.
van g, anne frank scheduled for tomorrow. good luck prevailing. till now covered, tulips at kukenuf, delft, den hague, a traditional cheese factory and madurodam ... not v exciting but a good experience, i suppose. and a tiny traditional fishing village i feel in love with. and a lot of prettiest little houses here and there ... that made me reach out for the words sunny happy families and perhaps for the first time, feel this longing to find my way home.
if i could do it all again? id have stuck to the streets of amsterdam, the museums and led zep. and den hague. but all the same, it was great!
Theres madness on the streets. accessory shops selling weed cases and speciall filter. floating smell of grass in the air. ashtrays that say why go to high school when u can go to school high. and my favourite ... 'its amsterdam - grass is legal' everything is allowed. everything is ok. the streets in the evening feel like a shot out an old sixties movie. the people seem lost, depraved, wasted ... a lot of people would say ... but enormously peaceful. like they have reached. wherever they wanted to go. is this the return to innocence? not a lack of sin but removal of the label? a changed perspective.
in the cities, a blend of old and new that would put my lovely lady, cal, to shame. everywhere people hanging out. doing things and nothing. i try to track back and remember how many people i saw who were hurried or busy.
we were really lucky. had wonderful weather troughout and long sunny days. and two wonderful people planning everything for us and taking us everywhere. god bless them!
saw a tram for the first time outside kolkata. shocked by the difference! are they the same vehicles!
saw an old man scavenging a garbage bin. and he looked the part.
saw some little kids running a kfc. students. they said. i dont know why that stuck. will think about it later.
van g, anne frank scheduled for tomorrow. good luck prevailing. till now covered, tulips at kukenuf, delft, den hague, a traditional cheese factory and madurodam ... not v exciting but a good experience, i suppose. and a tiny traditional fishing village i feel in love with. and a lot of prettiest little houses here and there ... that made me reach out for the words sunny happy families and perhaps for the first time, feel this longing to find my way home.
if i could do it all again? id have stuck to the streets of amsterdam, the museums and led zep. and den hague. but all the same, it was great!
hurt
maybe someday i will be able to look back with maturity and perspective ... for now its just betrayal & it hurts. when ur hurt, specially by someone u had cared about or trusted ur mind goes round and round the same point ... why? the key is to suspend thought. put it off till u can deal with it logically. people change all the time. its not even a big deal. i already knew that everytime u like people, make new friends, take in strangers ... its a risk. they might hurt u. still u do it. then u have no right to be hurt. no right to expect. all hurt maybe stems from that doesnt it ... expectations, trust & caring. dont care. dont run to great lengths to make people happy. dont care too much if they are unpleasant. or if u care dont show. but i cant. im cellophane
Hurt
maybe someday i will be able to look back with maturity and perspective ... for now its just betrayal & it hurts. when ur hurt, specially by someone u had cared about or trusted ur mind goes round and round the same point ... why? the key is to suspend thought. put it off till u can deal with it logically. people change all the time. its not even a big deal. i already knew that everytime u like people, make new friends, take in strangers ... its a risk. they might hurt u. still u do it. then u have no right to be hurt. no right to expect. all hurt maybe stems from that doesnt it ... expectations, trust & caring. dont care. dont run to great lengths to make people happy. dont care too much if they are unpleasant. or if u care dont show. but i cant. im cellophane
shadows of raindrops
gliding down sheets of glass
humming songs of water
tumbling down over the house
soft, warm rugs
ur song on the tape
the smell of hot coffee
the feel of hot baths
warm fur, warm eyes
at your feet, by your chair
sound of voices and laughter
from the kitchen
old movies on tv
all ur old books dragged out
vistis in the evening
old friends rediscovered
starsry nights
alone on the terrace
more coffee
check on my little girl
trying to pass on things ive learned
and learning that u cant
now and then the mind
takes a small trip home
and i wake up the next morning
smiling at the day
gliding down sheets of glass
humming songs of water
tumbling down over the house
soft, warm rugs
ur song on the tape
the smell of hot coffee
the feel of hot baths
warm fur, warm eyes
at your feet, by your chair
sound of voices and laughter
from the kitchen
old movies on tv
all ur old books dragged out
vistis in the evening
old friends rediscovered
starsry nights
alone on the terrace
more coffee
check on my little girl
trying to pass on things ive learned
and learning that u cant
now and then the mind
takes a small trip home
and i wake up the next morning
smiling at the day
post exam tension
Was it bad, or was it bad! It was disastour. Anyway - no point obsessing about it now. One way or the other, atleast its over. Kind of like life. Song in my head today:
You can tell by my eyes that I've prob'bly been cryin' forever,
and the stars in the sky don't mean nothin' to me, they're a mirror.
I don't want to talk about it, how you broke my heart.
If I stand all alone, will the shadow hide the color of my heart;
blue for the tears, black for the night's fears.
very old memories. and i wonder what or who dredged that up? its such a crazy thing, the human mind ... no one really knows whats in someone elses. or even there own. i constantly surprise myself by what i am thinking, or feeling.
im really tired now. stayed up most of the last night. last minute cramming. but is the management charge expressed in KFD as expenses ratio ... lol ... no its not. i down.
I wonder why its nagging me? 5000 bucks is not a lot of money anymore. but she is a baby. shes not really, but we dont ever allow our children to grow up, do we?
nor do we stand and wait by them to guide their baby steps. we leave them like that half baked cross between between innocent and wild, between idontcareaff & idontblvthathappenedtome, between trust & cynisim, between everything and everything ... never to belong anywhere, never fit in, floating in that unstable other world which the stable which the stable know nothing of, each propped by each other ... fascinating, deadly, posionous, fatal, doomed. why? why did this happen to you? why did we do this to you? when so many other children have healthy homes, families, lives, minds. when so many others have what you will never have. a chance. yet i can only stand and watch.
anyway, coming back to the 5000. i remember college days when the entire months allover check was 2000. and rent was 1500. how did i manage? vada pav and walks to college. (yeah, yeah there i go again)
you have to keep them at a distance. you have to relate to them on their terms. casual friendships. dont over obsess. it doesnt pay and it sure doesnt matter. as long as you dont care about them they cant hurt. as long as you dont let the expectations grow, like fungus in stale bread ... spreading to melt the whole down to own rotten morass.
how many questions did I get right? i dont know. i will know in ten days. in the meanwhile, im off to amsterdam on holiday! might be meeting subir again! might even get to see fatso and their daughter! & thats really something! here looking fwd to suspensiion of reclusion (is there such a word) for a weekend :0)
You can tell by my eyes that I've prob'bly been cryin' forever,
and the stars in the sky don't mean nothin' to me, they're a mirror.
I don't want to talk about it, how you broke my heart.
If I stand all alone, will the shadow hide the color of my heart;
blue for the tears, black for the night's fears.
very old memories. and i wonder what or who dredged that up? its such a crazy thing, the human mind ... no one really knows whats in someone elses. or even there own. i constantly surprise myself by what i am thinking, or feeling.
im really tired now. stayed up most of the last night. last minute cramming. but is the management charge expressed in KFD as expenses ratio ... lol ... no its not. i down.
I wonder why its nagging me? 5000 bucks is not a lot of money anymore. but she is a baby. shes not really, but we dont ever allow our children to grow up, do we?
nor do we stand and wait by them to guide their baby steps. we leave them like that half baked cross between between innocent and wild, between idontcareaff & idontblvthathappenedtome, between trust & cynisim, between everything and everything ... never to belong anywhere, never fit in, floating in that unstable other world which the stable which the stable know nothing of, each propped by each other ... fascinating, deadly, posionous, fatal, doomed. why? why did this happen to you? why did we do this to you? when so many other children have healthy homes, families, lives, minds. when so many others have what you will never have. a chance. yet i can only stand and watch.
anyway, coming back to the 5000. i remember college days when the entire months allover check was 2000. and rent was 1500. how did i manage? vada pav and walks to college. (yeah, yeah there i go again)
you have to keep them at a distance. you have to relate to them on their terms. casual friendships. dont over obsess. it doesnt pay and it sure doesnt matter. as long as you dont care about them they cant hurt. as long as you dont let the expectations grow, like fungus in stale bread ... spreading to melt the whole down to own rotten morass.
how many questions did I get right? i dont know. i will know in ten days. in the meanwhile, im off to amsterdam on holiday! might be meeting subir again! might even get to see fatso and their daughter! & thats really something! here looking fwd to suspensiion of reclusion (is there such a word) for a weekend :0)
pre exam tension
2 days to go and 7 chapters to go! will I pass? ive stopped going to the gym - that should give me two hours more every day. plus one for travelling. eating like a maniac. working till 8 and studying all night. literally. yikes!!! still so much too go!
Shows you how old you have become. in college i could maaro 3/4 nights at a stretch without turning a hair ... now look at me.
even bunked class this week! and i hate missing class. in the words on an immortal 'its the one bright spot in my life right now'.
Will I pass?
wish i could borrow some brains for two days ;@)
Shows you how old you have become. in college i could maaro 3/4 nights at a stretch without turning a hair ... now look at me.
even bunked class this week! and i hate missing class. in the words on an immortal 'its the one bright spot in my life right now'.
Will I pass?
wish i could borrow some brains for two days ;@)
wordsspeachless
two of my favourite poems (or snatches from) its as hard to decide as between songs, or books, or moods. Lev Pasternek, Dr Zhivago:
"and yet the order of acts is schemed and planned. and nothing can avert the final curtains fall. i stand alone, all else is swamped by pharisim. to live life to the end is not a childish task"
such few words, yet they say so much! they seem to me to pack a whole lifetimes result into that one line. how would i write what he wrote in those few last words? why do things go wrong? why do we make mistakes? why do i always make careless errors? again and again and again. 'silly mistakes'. dyslexia. autism. add. what was i thinking? i wasnt! It just 'happened'. I didnt know how to say no so i kept shut. i didnt know how to deal with it so i did nothing. how could i? and how will i live with this now? everyday something happens. everytime i steady myself, off it goes again. why cant we forgive ourselves? accept ourselves. why do we want to be better than we are? why do we expect we might get somewhere if we try hard enough? why do we feel humiliated when we fail? why cant we accept ourselves as we are? im so tired. im tired of fighting with my monsters. im tired of fighting the monsters that are me. im tired of trying to control myself, mould myself, discipline myself. im tired of trying to be a good person. better person. im tired, most of all of the constant battle s in my head between all the people that i am that i am.im tired of being alone. i want a friend. someone to talk to. someone you dont have to talk down too. pretend with. spare. fear. love. just be. someone i can like. or just bear. thats a tall order. im tired of bearing things. im tired of pain and burying pain and ignoring pain. im tired of planting smiles on top. tired of guilt. tired of the mirror. tired of hating the reflection. tired of waiting. thrity down. how many more to go? i dont know.we read, again and again, the words of the artists we love most, cheris them, caress them, nourish them with our love till in our mind they come to life, become 'the living' and live and grow in our emptied hearts like phantom ballerinas in a ballet of life. thus, what we love most is what is most real for us. it is the love that brings them to life ... what the b*£%%&% f*^"£ am i saying? its really late and I better leave the office. and get down to some STUDYING!
Another of my most loved lines. (These are maybe 2 of the only 3 lines of verse I can write / say from memory)
"Could I embody and unbosom now
That which is most within me! Could I wreak
My thoughts upon expression, and thus throw
Soul, heart, mind, passions, feelings (strong and weak),
All that I would have sought and all I seek,
Bear, know, feel, and yet breathe into
one word,And that one word were lightning, I would speak!
But as it is, I live and die unheard
With a most voiceless
thought, sheathing it as a sword."
"and yet the order of acts is schemed and planned. and nothing can avert the final curtains fall. i stand alone, all else is swamped by pharisim. to live life to the end is not a childish task"
such few words, yet they say so much! they seem to me to pack a whole lifetimes result into that one line. how would i write what he wrote in those few last words? why do things go wrong? why do we make mistakes? why do i always make careless errors? again and again and again. 'silly mistakes'. dyslexia. autism. add. what was i thinking? i wasnt! It just 'happened'. I didnt know how to say no so i kept shut. i didnt know how to deal with it so i did nothing. how could i? and how will i live with this now? everyday something happens. everytime i steady myself, off it goes again. why cant we forgive ourselves? accept ourselves. why do we want to be better than we are? why do we expect we might get somewhere if we try hard enough? why do we feel humiliated when we fail? why cant we accept ourselves as we are? im so tired. im tired of fighting with my monsters. im tired of fighting the monsters that are me. im tired of trying to control myself, mould myself, discipline myself. im tired of trying to be a good person. better person. im tired, most of all of the constant battle s in my head between all the people that i am that i am.im tired of being alone. i want a friend. someone to talk to. someone you dont have to talk down too. pretend with. spare. fear. love. just be. someone i can like. or just bear. thats a tall order. im tired of bearing things. im tired of pain and burying pain and ignoring pain. im tired of planting smiles on top. tired of guilt. tired of the mirror. tired of hating the reflection. tired of waiting. thrity down. how many more to go? i dont know.we read, again and again, the words of the artists we love most, cheris them, caress them, nourish them with our love till in our mind they come to life, become 'the living' and live and grow in our emptied hearts like phantom ballerinas in a ballet of life. thus, what we love most is what is most real for us. it is the love that brings them to life ... what the b*£%%&% f*^"£ am i saying? its really late and I better leave the office. and get down to some STUDYING!
Another of my most loved lines. (These are maybe 2 of the only 3 lines of verse I can write / say from memory)
"Could I embody and unbosom now
That which is most within me! Could I wreak
My thoughts upon expression, and thus throw
Soul, heart, mind, passions, feelings (strong and weak),
All that I would have sought and all I seek,
Bear, know, feel, and yet breathe into
one word,And that one word were lightning, I would speak!
But as it is, I live and die unheard
With a most voiceless
thought, sheathing it as a sword."
to cry woolf
i got some new books from amazon. diaries of woolf. the set. and some other books (most of which was birdonthewire's fault) and music. led zep - best of - vol 1 and 4, dylan, doors, and the wrong album of bruce springsteen. there were two best of's out there and i wanted one, but i got the other by error. so, no little girl :( - but everything else decent and some movies - fight club, double life of v, motorcycle diaries, the hours.
used & new. miss half.com!
woolf. why do i have this endless fascination with her. infact the word is not enough. there must be some word, which more effectively describes, how we pick these people who we dont even know and are totally, unfailingly, impressed and intrigued by them, by their minds, or what we think their minds were / are like ...
i have others on my list but perhaps she the number one. aparna sen, rahul bose, sushmita sen, james douglas morrison, ravaan, syd barrett, sylvia plath, nash, ... random samples. but not like this.
"I am alone, Virginia thinks. She is, of course not alone, not in a way anyone else would recognize, and yet at this moment, walking through wind toward the lights of the Quadrant, she can feel the nearness of the old devil (what else to call it?), and she knows she will be utterly alone if and when the devil chooses to appear again. The devil is a headache; the devil is a voice inside a wall; the devil is a fin breaking through dark waves. The devil is the brief, twittering nothing that was a thrush's life. The devil sucks all beauty from the world, all the hope, and what remains when the devil has finished is a realm of the living dead - joyless, suffocating. Virginia feels, right now, a certain tragic grandeur, for the devil is many things but he is not pretty, not sentimental; he seethes with a lethal, intolerable truth. Right now, walking, free of her headache, free of the voices, she can face the devil, but she must keep walking, she must not turn back."
- Michael Cunningham, The Hours
that i have failed so utterly, completely, totally. in everything that was important to you. and for your sake, to me.
to have lost by absentia was foolhardy, reckless and grand. to have tried and lost, means the end of hope. the final stamp to banish you from the world of the 'can do's'
when i crossed over to your side, to your world, i burned my bridges, i closed the doors behind me. now i cant go back. to words and dreams and abstractions. now im neither here nor there.
a small task - to live - and that too so onerous. a small gift asked for and given so grudgingly. "to live life to the end, is not a childish task (dr zhivago)"
she took her life in her hands and walked up to them and said this is what i made ... dont remember which book (i think dalloway or ox)or the exact words ... just the idea.
"When people are happy, they have a reserve upon which to draw, whereas she was like a wheel without tyre, jolted by every pebble."
- Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway
used & new. miss half.com!
woolf. why do i have this endless fascination with her. infact the word is not enough. there must be some word, which more effectively describes, how we pick these people who we dont even know and are totally, unfailingly, impressed and intrigued by them, by their minds, or what we think their minds were / are like ...
i have others on my list but perhaps she the number one. aparna sen, rahul bose, sushmita sen, james douglas morrison, ravaan, syd barrett, sylvia plath, nash, ... random samples. but not like this.
"I am alone, Virginia thinks. She is, of course not alone, not in a way anyone else would recognize, and yet at this moment, walking through wind toward the lights of the Quadrant, she can feel the nearness of the old devil (what else to call it?), and she knows she will be utterly alone if and when the devil chooses to appear again. The devil is a headache; the devil is a voice inside a wall; the devil is a fin breaking through dark waves. The devil is the brief, twittering nothing that was a thrush's life. The devil sucks all beauty from the world, all the hope, and what remains when the devil has finished is a realm of the living dead - joyless, suffocating. Virginia feels, right now, a certain tragic grandeur, for the devil is many things but he is not pretty, not sentimental; he seethes with a lethal, intolerable truth. Right now, walking, free of her headache, free of the voices, she can face the devil, but she must keep walking, she must not turn back."
- Michael Cunningham, The Hours
that i have failed so utterly, completely, totally. in everything that was important to you. and for your sake, to me.
to have lost by absentia was foolhardy, reckless and grand. to have tried and lost, means the end of hope. the final stamp to banish you from the world of the 'can do's'
when i crossed over to your side, to your world, i burned my bridges, i closed the doors behind me. now i cant go back. to words and dreams and abstractions. now im neither here nor there.
a small task - to live - and that too so onerous. a small gift asked for and given so grudgingly. "to live life to the end, is not a childish task (dr zhivago)"
she took her life in her hands and walked up to them and said this is what i made ... dont remember which book (i think dalloway or ox)or the exact words ... just the idea.
"When people are happy, they have a reserve upon which to draw, whereas she was like a wheel without tyre, jolted by every pebble."
- Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway
lessons learnt
if you arent chirpy and sunshiny peopel are going to send you prozac! why are people lkilike this? why is being / talking about / writing about anything serious is interprested as sorrow and depression? is that the way other people are? do they not spend hours thinking about life and death and lunacy and philosophy for fun? i guess not :) but why do they expect you to be exactly they same as theM/ why do they not accept ur different / weird / crazy ... and leave you alone?
weltscmerz
why is it that certain words fascinate us?
'weltscmerz' is an old favourite. there are many more. if you just let your mind drift free amongst the all words the words stored in your mind, like your eyes drift from star to star sometimes, when you stare into the sky for very long. Dont try to trace a pattern. Dont try to analyze, jump to conclusions, speculate, rush to / for parashoots of friendly solace ... just drift ... aimlessly through the skies ...
cerullean
sky
sunset
melting
magenta
gold
argent
blue
azure
saphire
drops
swirling
fade
glimmer
night
night fall
daybreak
renew
cycle
loop
automata
cognition
escher
ennui
tired
blank
empty
numb
cut off
isolated
scared
demonised
caricaturised
unhinging
fantasising
haunted
desperate
crying
sobbing
begging
defiant
angry
lost
inert
helpless
pathless
haunting
beautiful
aching
poignant
ethereal
surreal
ceramic
cerrulean
carmine
poised
taut
phoenix-like
burning
ashes
life, in the shadow of death
sunshine, defined by shadows
colours, bordered by black strokes
just words ... for us to play with.
'weltscmerz' is an old favourite. there are many more. if you just let your mind drift free amongst the all words the words stored in your mind, like your eyes drift from star to star sometimes, when you stare into the sky for very long. Dont try to trace a pattern. Dont try to analyze, jump to conclusions, speculate, rush to / for parashoots of friendly solace ... just drift ... aimlessly through the skies ...
cerullean
sky
sunset
melting
magenta
gold
argent
blue
azure
saphire
drops
swirling
fade
glimmer
night
night fall
daybreak
renew
cycle
loop
automata
cognition
escher
ennui
tired
blank
empty
numb
cut off
isolated
scared
demonised
caricaturised
unhinging
fantasising
haunted
desperate
crying
sobbing
begging
defiant
angry
lost
inert
helpless
pathless
haunting
beautiful
aching
poignant
ethereal
surreal
ceramic
cerrulean
carmine
poised
taut
phoenix-like
burning
ashes
life, in the shadow of death
sunshine, defined by shadows
colours, bordered by black strokes
just words ... for us to play with.
again
"The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,
But in ourselves, that we are underlings."
shakespear again, the first steps, the first love, first crush, first all night long madness. 'girls, you must know your jc backwards'. the first fascination, enthralled, lost ... stunned awake by the bell. 9B. last row. sauce and bhatts ahead.
the second crush was soon to follow. legend. esoteric. exclusive. 2 bundles of papers. when 3/4th of the class failed. "girls, what do you think pressure really is ..."
too much love will kill you. just as sure as none at all.
But in ourselves, that we are underlings."
shakespear again, the first steps, the first love, first crush, first all night long madness. 'girls, you must know your jc backwards'. the first fascination, enthralled, lost ... stunned awake by the bell. 9B. last row. sauce and bhatts ahead.
the second crush was soon to follow. legend. esoteric. exclusive. 2 bundles of papers. when 3/4th of the class failed. "girls, what do you think pressure really is ..."
too much love will kill you. just as sure as none at all.