Randomly ...
yesterday was one of the happiest days of my life. it's strange. i didnt notice when i reached this place where i had noone i could say this to, or rather why.
had a 45 min long conversation today with 'one of my oldest bestest friends on how and why i always give people the impression i like them more than i do, and what i could do to not so do. do i just like too many people too much? or maybe its a translation thing. sometimes i feel like i am just being polite, or kind or affectionate but it's mis-taken. sometimes i really do like you a lot, but then i like tonnes of people ... i dunno
i held you in my mind all the way through the meadows. each day at this time i allow myself free reign to be lost in thoughts of you. there's only one thing i fear. that you will fade from my mind, like you sneaked out of my life. i still miss you intensely. or the idea of you. or maybe i just use you as an excuse to label my hunger.
i dont know if this is a true memory. probably not. it's of jampot - all those years ago. a red bike. and me going round you in cirles. round and round and round. and you trying to tweak a twang out of my tongue (but cis had been your idea :P)
yeah. maybe i miss you. or maybe i just miss having someone to adore so completely. and vice versa. it's such a heady feeling - like sleeping on silk. loving and being loved and being able to let it show. with abandon. beyond 'i'.
misty afternoons like this remind me of early morning EP classes. dunno why. maybe the last class was like that. we did ep of rape. it was awesome. isnt it the awesomest when you meet an idea you had no idea existed? that you didnt think of ever. almost as awesome as that click moment when something you have always known falls into place.
i write poems to you in my head as i walk to work. sometimes they make me cry. sometimes they make me laugh. no no. i'm NOT using you for the words. like i said before, this time, i'm june (... or almost)
i miss you today, a lot. there's something i'd like to say to you. amongst many others. i wonder if you can hear me, though. i wonder if you still love me. i wonder if you even remember me. but, you couldnt forget me could you?
i had a long talk with her yesterday. you should have heard her. she was so happy. she's all growned up. i love her so so much. you would too, if you saw her now. and i'd be jealous :P ... aint i always :)
i love you.
who could i say these things too? see! thats the irony. thats why i have so many mustard seeds.
Love
I sing alone, for an audience of one
This, is my deepest blood
I cut you my deepest blood
A token, a gesture, an offering
This is what I propose: everything, for everything
Will you strike a deal?
I feel gauche and naiive
Because I've never felt like this before
For this much, thank you
But for any less, no thanks
I'm sorry, the mistake was mine
An honest mistake
As always, I am absent minded
Sometimes, often, I just forget
This, is my deepest blood
I cut you my deepest blood
A token, a gesture, an offering
This is what I propose: everything, for everything
Will you strike a deal?
I feel gauche and naiive
Because I've never felt like this before
For this much, thank you
But for any less, no thanks
I'm sorry, the mistake was mine
An honest mistake
As always, I am absent minded
Sometimes, often, I just forget
On the road again
29 - 5. Will take a while to get back to 10, but I am happy, given the length of the break. I stop at the lake. The geese are very amused by stretches and think the bench press ridiculous
I run, usually, with my head down. It's a kind of home made blinkering system. I go early to avoid people. Still I often bump into people and things. I trip often. I mistake aquaintances for friends. Strangers for soulmates. See ghosts in vacuum. Sometimes I fall and get hurt. I get up, dust off and run again. But it's getting harder.
I need to stick to less peopled paths and times.
I frightened a sqirrel, store on mouth, on it's way home. It recovered and scurried away. I was left frozen. What if ...
Most days I wake up excited and happy. A new day! Then slowly the day and the world sinks in. The first flush is of anger and bitterness. Why? I hate making mistakes. I hate making a fool of myself.
These days I'm scared almost all the time. Scared, or fatal. Can you imagine feeling petrified of something, but not knowing what it is? Maybe someone's dancing on my grave.
Is a few days of the most exquisite happiness you have ever known, of learning, from scratch to take, to surrender, worth the crashing pain of coming reawakening? No it's not.
I run, usually, with my head down. It's a kind of home made blinkering system. I go early to avoid people. Still I often bump into people and things. I trip often. I mistake aquaintances for friends. Strangers for soulmates. See ghosts in vacuum. Sometimes I fall and get hurt. I get up, dust off and run again. But it's getting harder.
I need to stick to less peopled paths and times.
I frightened a sqirrel, store on mouth, on it's way home. It recovered and scurried away. I was left frozen. What if ...
Most days I wake up excited and happy. A new day! Then slowly the day and the world sinks in. The first flush is of anger and bitterness. Why? I hate making mistakes. I hate making a fool of myself.
These days I'm scared almost all the time. Scared, or fatal. Can you imagine feeling petrified of something, but not knowing what it is? Maybe someone's dancing on my grave.
Is a few days of the most exquisite happiness you have ever known, of learning, from scratch to take, to surrender, worth the crashing pain of coming reawakening? No it's not.
sunny days
Its the city of contrasts. As unashamdely contradictory as myself. Maybe thats why felt at home, right the first moment I stepped foot in it.
Is that strange? I used to think it bizzare. A new city, across the continents. One I knew nothing of, inspite of the stories and pictures I had seen and heard before I came here. But I still remember my first day in Edinburgh. I knew I was here for a few months. I knew it was not my kind of city, anyway. But weirdly, I felt at home as soon as I stepped in Princes Street.
There is a castle in the front yard of the city. You can stand on the sidewalk and look down at lucky people soaking the sun in the Princes Gradens below. Its a strange day. Sunny, but cool in the shade. Edinburgh style.
In my dreams, I am at the beach. It's late. I normally dont like noises at night, but here, I like like everything. Everything becomes beautiful because it 'belongs to here'.
Can you describe a texture in words. How does the sand feel between my toes and under my hands? It fine grained and damp in places, and sandpaper soft in places. But it's not the depth of the water, or the softness of the sand (though it helps) its the solitude I love here. The gulls and runners go home as the day leaves the the sky like a fading blush. Me and the big manor house are left alone on the shore to greet the moon. The silver of the moon reflected on the little egdes of water are like a childs laughter. Clean and Pure. I am arrested, floating above lethe. I dont want to lose a moment, or forget. The silence is intense, the night tries to hold one solemn moment before it breaks into the exuberant morning.
There are those moments when we are transported. It's strange how real a dream can feel. Can knock the living daylights out of reality. Coming back, first life seems bizzarely unreal!
There's a long haired boy sitting with a guitar and girl on the grass smiling up at him. Sometimes, you catch a stab of envy for careless youth that slips out before your everconscious conscience snakes out and grabs it.
I dream of a moment like that. But maybe we are too old to be able to live and lose ourselves in moments any more. You dont even window shop without checking warranties. Or maybe not being able to live or lose yourself in a moment is the self defense of those who feel too intensely; or are too chicken? Courage is not the absence of fear, but trying to overcome it.
It might sound strange to you, but I get cheap thrills everytime I manage a clever subterfuge. However trivial and small. When I hold a calm front when I am mad inside. Or laugh when I'm hurting. It feels good. I feel cool. I'm a fool (who makes his world a little safer).
And you will never know how scared I was. Or how brave.
Is that strange? I used to think it bizzare. A new city, across the continents. One I knew nothing of, inspite of the stories and pictures I had seen and heard before I came here. But I still remember my first day in Edinburgh. I knew I was here for a few months. I knew it was not my kind of city, anyway. But weirdly, I felt at home as soon as I stepped in Princes Street.
There is a castle in the front yard of the city. You can stand on the sidewalk and look down at lucky people soaking the sun in the Princes Gradens below. Its a strange day. Sunny, but cool in the shade. Edinburgh style.
In my dreams, I am at the beach. It's late. I normally dont like noises at night, but here, I like like everything. Everything becomes beautiful because it 'belongs to here'.
Can you describe a texture in words. How does the sand feel between my toes and under my hands? It fine grained and damp in places, and sandpaper soft in places. But it's not the depth of the water, or the softness of the sand (though it helps) its the solitude I love here. The gulls and runners go home as the day leaves the the sky like a fading blush. Me and the big manor house are left alone on the shore to greet the moon. The silver of the moon reflected on the little egdes of water are like a childs laughter. Clean and Pure. I am arrested, floating above lethe. I dont want to lose a moment, or forget. The silence is intense, the night tries to hold one solemn moment before it breaks into the exuberant morning.
There are those moments when we are transported. It's strange how real a dream can feel. Can knock the living daylights out of reality. Coming back, first life seems bizzarely unreal!
There's a long haired boy sitting with a guitar and girl on the grass smiling up at him. Sometimes, you catch a stab of envy for careless youth that slips out before your everconscious conscience snakes out and grabs it.
I dream of a moment like that. But maybe we are too old to be able to live and lose ourselves in moments any more. You dont even window shop without checking warranties. Or maybe not being able to live or lose yourself in a moment is the self defense of those who feel too intensely; or are too chicken? Courage is not the absence of fear, but trying to overcome it.
It might sound strange to you, but I get cheap thrills everytime I manage a clever subterfuge. However trivial and small. When I hold a calm front when I am mad inside. Or laugh when I'm hurting. It feels good. I feel cool. I'm a fool (who makes his world a little safer).
And you will never know how scared I was. Or how brave.
A Poem for You
it's not one whole sunny day
but bits and pieces are really bright
it's cold in the shade,
but whenever the sun finds you it warms you
dreams, joys and hopes
come true and brighten up the days
in bits and pieces
though not whole
in the beginning i had drafted specs
and submitted it to life
i had thought of everything
that i could possibly want
and everything i could do without
life laughed. i sulked
but still, it gives me something every day
enough to be happy for the day on.
somethings we try to forget, or get out off
everything is like a habit, like smoking or drinking
you detox. and stay clean for a long time. even years.
then one day you get a whiff of what it was like
maybe someone standing next to you at a bus stop
cigerette in hand, blowing smoke in your face
just that much, is enough to send you reeling.
like riding a bike, it all comes back
and you have to get used to it all over again.
and you did'nt even smoke first hand. what a shame.
strange, the things that stay back
an echo of laughter haunts a deserted hotel room
some textures stain your hands,
busy as the day chatters on,
it the stains float in the background
and words. strange words stay embedded
in strange moments
the most stunning lillies came by post
they were so beautiful
it broke my heart to think how short lived they were
everything is so ephemereal
sometimes it makes me angry with flowers
you took me totally by surprise
i was gaurding the door
i didnt think of the window
or the ventilators
and like in the song
thoughts of you keep sneaking back in
from strange gaps in the fortress
here and there
you become, the happy ghost
the ghost who haunts me
That doesnt really say it, though
Does it?
What could I say ...
Are there words?
I am left
behind you. in a trail of jetlag
word-bereft
but bits and pieces are really bright
it's cold in the shade,
but whenever the sun finds you it warms you
dreams, joys and hopes
come true and brighten up the days
in bits and pieces
though not whole
in the beginning i had drafted specs
and submitted it to life
i had thought of everything
that i could possibly want
and everything i could do without
life laughed. i sulked
but still, it gives me something every day
enough to be happy for the day on.
somethings we try to forget, or get out off
everything is like a habit, like smoking or drinking
you detox. and stay clean for a long time. even years.
then one day you get a whiff of what it was like
maybe someone standing next to you at a bus stop
cigerette in hand, blowing smoke in your face
just that much, is enough to send you reeling.
like riding a bike, it all comes back
and you have to get used to it all over again.
and you did'nt even smoke first hand. what a shame.
strange, the things that stay back
an echo of laughter haunts a deserted hotel room
some textures stain your hands,
busy as the day chatters on,
it the stains float in the background
and words. strange words stay embedded
in strange moments
the most stunning lillies came by post
they were so beautiful
it broke my heart to think how short lived they were
everything is so ephemereal
sometimes it makes me angry with flowers
you took me totally by surprise
i was gaurding the door
i didnt think of the window
or the ventilators
and like in the song
thoughts of you keep sneaking back in
from strange gaps in the fortress
here and there
you become, the happy ghost
the ghost who haunts me
That doesnt really say it, though
Does it?
What could I say ...
Are there words?
I am left
behind you. in a trail of jetlag
word-bereft
"Mein Publikum will doch gar nicht wissen, wieviele Spiegeleier ich mir morgens brate. Ich spreche durch meine Figuren."
"My audience doesn't want to know how many eggs I fry in the morning. I speak through my characters."
Martina Gedeck.
Martina Gedeck.
Rain
Strange coincidences. It rained yesterday. Properly. With a passion. Reminded me of Calcutta (and SA, and dubai too actually - so many rain memories! So it's raining again, and I am reading Tropic of Capricorn again. Reminded me of this post, its one of my favourites: Kal Baishakhi
I have a story. I am really excited about this one. But me being me, I dont know when I will start filling in the skeleton. Maybe this will be another stillborn like Dolly or the Rahul/Priya story :)
Saw Lives of Others. It was really, really brilliant.
Silver Beach
just before the end, you had said i owned you
still naiive, i had been outraged
are you stupid, or silly, or do you think i am?
in which case you really really must be!
before my, then legendary, temper flared,
i forgot to check the expiry date
the first time i saw you, i knew
as you rose, like the girl on the half-shell
out of a sea of men. i knew.
my time had come
my nemesis:
welcome.
now the deed is done
i'm a little proud of how graceful i fall
see, how neatly it conspires to be done?
no begging, bile, bitterness, or tears.
yet i make my gestures,
cur you my deepest blood.
now i draw the curtains of causal politeness.
a feather-handed touch.
and i wait for the poison to spread
here alone by the silver beach
where else would i have had it end?
life and death both beautiful.
there is no home, or i would have longed for it
my heart, in this too, was broken and scattered in the winds by time
and pieces fell in so many lands: each i love truely
but broken, none could i completely. maybe the fault was mine
in my lustful itchy gypsy feet. in roving nomad ambitious eyes.
never satisfied.
is this a sin, for those who aspire to strength?
dreaming of a completelness not found within?
of a something, i know not what
beyond the words, beyond the masks, beyond the games
but then what of the blue feather?
was that, then, just a dream?
still naiive, i had been outraged
are you stupid, or silly, or do you think i am?
in which case you really really must be!
before my, then legendary, temper flared,
i forgot to check the expiry date
the first time i saw you, i knew
as you rose, like the girl on the half-shell
out of a sea of men. i knew.
my time had come
my nemesis:
welcome.
now the deed is done
i'm a little proud of how graceful i fall
see, how neatly it conspires to be done?
no begging, bile, bitterness, or tears.
yet i make my gestures,
cur you my deepest blood.
now i draw the curtains of causal politeness.
a feather-handed touch.
and i wait for the poison to spread
here alone by the silver beach
where else would i have had it end?
life and death both beautiful.
there is no home, or i would have longed for it
my heart, in this too, was broken and scattered in the winds by time
and pieces fell in so many lands: each i love truely
but broken, none could i completely. maybe the fault was mine
in my lustful itchy gypsy feet. in roving nomad ambitious eyes.
never satisfied.
is this a sin, for those who aspire to strength?
dreaming of a completelness not found within?
of a something, i know not what
beyond the words, beyond the masks, beyond the games
but then what of the blue feather?
was that, then, just a dream?
Tagged: Books
Tagged by Vatsala
Total number of books owned:
Very tough question! I really dont know ...
Last book(s) I bought:
Have stopped buying books. I do love my mom (and she threatens to disown me if I send another carton to 'her house'. I can resume buying only when I stop 'gypsy-living' and get a 'proper' life.
Five books that I have really enjoyed or have influenced me:
Influenced: The Little Princess, Steppenwolf, The Hours, A Beautiful Mind, Atlas Shrugged (:D at that time - i was a kid) ...
Identified with: Mill on the Floss, Steppenwolf, God of Small Things, Of Human Bondage, Iron in the Soul.
Enjoyed:
Henry and June (and the movie - yes I know i keep harping about H&J&N on the blog),
Mrs. Dalloway (changed something - many things - i dont know how to describe it),
The Little Prince (so many lessons),
The End of the Affair (mindblowing how he can write so well, from inside a woman's mind),
The Old Man and the Sea, (what can I say :))
Love and other Demons (i dislike marquez - drama and verbosity - but i liked this story),
The Strike ("the twin female desire to show and hide" :D again i have harped on this often on the blog - loved the way it was narrated - it was a masterpiece for me),
An Equal Music (I forget why I liked it - but I remember I did - like many people, no?),
Kite Runner (beautiful, haunting and sad. my eyes hurt from crying after it finished)
The Glass Palace (the detailing, the rowing - hated the end).
Sorry! I strayed from the exact question in the tag. Deliciously difficult :)
Book(s) I'm currently reading:
Tropic of Capricorn, Anna Karenina, On the Road, The Masqueraders
Books I plan to buy next I really want this one, but can't afford it right now: Letters from Iceland, by Auden The guy reads from it in Away from Her, which was one of the most impressive and personally, moving movies I have seen in a while (since cinema paradiso, and le choristers ... and for the same reasons :)) Anyway, after that I'm going to buy this! :)
Books that caught my attention but have never read
Mostly Bangla. I cant read Bangla too well. Have only read a few untranslated. I want to read many of those. Starting with Sanchaita, the rest of Samaresh Mojumdar and Sarat Chandra. SHANKAR!!! I dont know how I missed him! Always loved Chowranghee, didnt know it was by him!
Also, Letters from Iceland, right now.
Books I own but have never got around to reading
Quite a few, actually! Since I dont stay at "home", I have often bought books when there but then had to come back before I could read them!
Every once in a while there is a book I just "cant" read. I keep trying but it doesnt work. And funnily enough, some time in the future I come across it again, and I not only "can", I love it! One, Steppenwolf, Anna K, Zen and ... all fall in this category. I have a theory about it (like I do about everything else) :D
I tag The Austere, Prometheus, Sri Ramana, Manu, Peggy, Me, Prometheus, Austere, Ph, Hyde (doesnt do tags, though) and anyone else it looks interesting to :)
Total number of books owned:
Very tough question! I really dont know ...
Last book(s) I bought:
Have stopped buying books. I do love my mom (and she threatens to disown me if I send another carton to 'her house'. I can resume buying only when I stop 'gypsy-living' and get a 'proper' life.
Five books that I have really enjoyed or have influenced me:
Influenced: The Little Princess, Steppenwolf, The Hours, A Beautiful Mind, Atlas Shrugged (:D at that time - i was a kid) ...
Identified with: Mill on the Floss, Steppenwolf, God of Small Things, Of Human Bondage, Iron in the Soul.
Enjoyed:
Henry and June (and the movie - yes I know i keep harping about H&J&N on the blog),
Mrs. Dalloway (changed something - many things - i dont know how to describe it),
The Little Prince (so many lessons),
The End of the Affair (mindblowing how he can write so well, from inside a woman's mind),
The Old Man and the Sea, (what can I say :))
Love and other Demons (i dislike marquez - drama and verbosity - but i liked this story),
The Strike ("the twin female desire to show and hide" :D again i have harped on this often on the blog - loved the way it was narrated - it was a masterpiece for me),
An Equal Music (I forget why I liked it - but I remember I did - like many people, no?),
Kite Runner (beautiful, haunting and sad. my eyes hurt from crying after it finished)
The Glass Palace (the detailing, the rowing - hated the end).
Sorry! I strayed from the exact question in the tag. Deliciously difficult :)
Book(s) I'm currently reading:
Tropic of Capricorn, Anna Karenina, On the Road, The Masqueraders
Books I plan to buy next I really want this one, but can't afford it right now: Letters from Iceland, by Auden The guy reads from it in Away from Her, which was one of the most impressive and personally, moving movies I have seen in a while (since cinema paradiso, and le choristers ... and for the same reasons :)) Anyway, after that I'm going to buy this! :)
Books that caught my attention but have never read
Mostly Bangla. I cant read Bangla too well. Have only read a few untranslated. I want to read many of those. Starting with Sanchaita, the rest of Samaresh Mojumdar and Sarat Chandra. SHANKAR!!! I dont know how I missed him! Always loved Chowranghee, didnt know it was by him!
Also, Letters from Iceland, right now.
Books I own but have never got around to reading
Quite a few, actually! Since I dont stay at "home", I have often bought books when there but then had to come back before I could read them!
Every once in a while there is a book I just "cant" read. I keep trying but it doesnt work. And funnily enough, some time in the future I come across it again, and I not only "can", I love it! One, Steppenwolf, Anna K, Zen and ... all fall in this category. I have a theory about it (like I do about everything else) :D
I tag The Austere, Prometheus, Sri Ramana, Manu, Peggy, Me, Prometheus, Austere, Ph, Hyde (doesnt do tags, though) and anyone else it looks interesting to :)
Chowringhee
There were three bengali movies that when I was young had made a huge impression on me. Chowranghee, Parama and Deya Neya (meyeder bhai oto raag korle manaye?). One for each me! Chowranghee and Breakfast defined Style in my baby mind. (Just like Little Princess defined Goodness. And P&P, Love :))
Watching Chowranghee after a very long time. And I still love it as much. For me, this is one of the most tragic, most beautiful stories I have seen.
I dont remember where I had first seen this quotation. It said you do not know how real the people and events in books (and movies) are till you live within their covers. You walk in alone (infact, why else would you walk in) and immediately you are with friends. I dunno how true that is. It reminds me of the door with the sign: for mad men only. But the thing about these faerie friends and family is, they are always there, and portable, and you can call on them, whenever you are lonely. And close the covers, or change the subject, whenever you feel like it.
Saw Titli over the weekend. Made me want to read Sanchaita very much.
From Letters from Iceland
"Excuse, my lord, the liberty I take
In thus addressing you. I know that you
Will pay the price of authorship and make
The allowances an author has to do.
A poet's fan-mail will be nothing new.
And then a lord - Good Lord, you must be peppered,
... With notes from perfect strangers starting, 'Sir,
I liked your lyrics, but Childe Harold's trash',
'My daughter writes, should I encourage her?'
Sometimes containing frank demands for cash,
Sometimes sly hints at a platonic pash,
And sometimes, though I think this rather crude,
The correspondent's photo in the rude.
And as for manuscripts - by every post ... "
"For since the British Isles went Protestant
A church confession is too high for most.
But still confession is a human want,
So Englishmen must make theirs now by post
And authors hear them over breakfast toast.
For, failing them, there's nothing but the wall
Of public lavatories on which to scrawl."
"There is another author in my pack:
For some time I debated which to write to.
Which would least likely send my letter back?
I decided that I'd give a fright to
Jane Austen if I wrote when i'd no right to ..."
"Then she's a novelist. I don't know whether
You will agree, but novel writing is
A higher art than poetry altogether
In my opinion, and success implies
Both finer character and faculties,
perhaps that's why real novels are as rare
As winter thunder or a polar bear.
The average poet by comparison
Is unobservant, immature, and lazy.
You must adroit, when all is said and done,
His sense of other lpeople's very hazy,
His moral judgments are too often crazy,
A slick and easy generalisation
appeals too well to his imagination.
I must remember, though, that you were dead
Before the four great Russians lived, who brought
The art of novel writing to a head; ..."
From a letter from Auden to Byron (two of my favourites)
In thus addressing you. I know that you
Will pay the price of authorship and make
The allowances an author has to do.
A poet's fan-mail will be nothing new.
And then a lord - Good Lord, you must be peppered,
... With notes from perfect strangers starting, 'Sir,
I liked your lyrics, but Childe Harold's trash',
'My daughter writes, should I encourage her?'
Sometimes containing frank demands for cash,
Sometimes sly hints at a platonic pash,
And sometimes, though I think this rather crude,
The correspondent's photo in the rude.
And as for manuscripts - by every post ... "
"For since the British Isles went Protestant
A church confession is too high for most.
But still confession is a human want,
So Englishmen must make theirs now by post
And authors hear them over breakfast toast.
For, failing them, there's nothing but the wall
Of public lavatories on which to scrawl."
"There is another author in my pack:
For some time I debated which to write to.
Which would least likely send my letter back?
I decided that I'd give a fright to
Jane Austen if I wrote when i'd no right to ..."
"Then she's a novelist. I don't know whether
You will agree, but novel writing is
A higher art than poetry altogether
In my opinion, and success implies
Both finer character and faculties,
perhaps that's why real novels are as rare
As winter thunder or a polar bear.
The average poet by comparison
Is unobservant, immature, and lazy.
You must adroit, when all is said and done,
His sense of other lpeople's very hazy,
His moral judgments are too often crazy,
A slick and easy generalisation
appeals too well to his imagination.
I must remember, though, that you were dead
Before the four great Russians lived, who brought
The art of novel writing to a head; ..."
From a letter from Auden to Byron (two of my favourites)
"Dolly" - Part 4
Dont know where this will fit in - probably after he has run away from home and from his wife and he meets the other woman. He is attracted to her, and he is - in a strange detached way - surprised at himself for being so. He is surprised he can still feel things like this. Dolly is still dead. He can still feel the weight of her little body in his hands. He can still here her screaming 'dadddy'. This is the first time he has felt anything intense outside her grief, however feeltingly, and he is surprised he can. He doesnt feel ashamed, or guilty, thinking of his wife back home, who he ran away from. That too surprises him. Its like he is apart, watching this strange creature called "him". He hasnt told her about anything. This new woman. He doesnt actively pretend or ie, he never does, as much as he just 'forgets to mention' any 'unnecessary details', unless asked for. Some cruel part of him is pleased with the deception. How? Why? And at night he still dreams of his little girl, still feels guilty he let her die. thats kind of context for this part of it. if i could use verse id plug the beast here somewhere. at the end. maybe at home, by a fire after he has drunk a lot and cut his hands by some stupid accident and he cant be bothered to get up and clean or stop it. he just sits there and stares at it and his mind runs on in thoughts. Dunno - might scrap that too
It's not sexual, though it dances on the fringes of passion. It's like a burning need to know. To know something about the other person. But the feverishness of the need makes it almost seem to trandescend the intellectual. I would'nt know how to explain it more efficiently, really. In a world where human thoughts, desires and relationships are stored in strictly methodical filing cabinets, managed by zealous and efficient keepers of society, it is awkwardly out of place. Ofcourse, there is an element of desire, but its more like a tropical summer storm, than the year round british rain. It comes like a fever in the head, and you very well know it will pass.
So you were with me in my thoughts. Having spent the day and night with you like this, by proxy, (and you'd be amazed at the silly-mad things we did) makes me wonder if I am, finally, losing it! And it also makes me wonder what it would have been like if life had placed me in a different context.
Cruel, yes it was. A bit. Laughing, I hand out praise and strokes like crumb to swans gratefully floating. It's not exacty bait. But neither is it something more. It's entertaining to see you react. It's all in the game.
Now I wish you were here. I miss someone, or something, like a kick in the stomach, like me breath being kicked out of my lungs ... but I dont know who ...
Could it be you? Wish I knew. Wish I had the right to miss you. But I dont. Wanting you, now, comes at a huge price. One I know cant afford. Even in installments. So I hold the "missing" in the palm of my hand, gently, like a snowflake (like a begger frozen outside the pastry shop ... will the little princess come out and be kind to me?) And wait for it to melt.
Looking through this emptiness, holding my throbbing pain pressed still in my hand to calm, desperate for distraction, holding on the the last pieces of the corpse I still carry, or struggle to ... because it has grown intwined with my sanity ...
In sudden flashes, looking through the emptiness, desperately seeking distraction, becomes looking for you. Startled, my heart contracts with a frission of fear. Who are you? Master, Slave, Friend, Twin ... Who is that inside you, at the heart of the onion: who is that you carry hid? He looks like me. Can you let him out? Can I take him away. I promise to be bored and done soon - one day. And you can have him back, then. But not before.
It's not sexual, though it dances on the fringes of passion. It's like a burning need to know. To know something about the other person. But the feverishness of the need makes it almost seem to trandescend the intellectual. I would'nt know how to explain it more efficiently, really. In a world where human thoughts, desires and relationships are stored in strictly methodical filing cabinets, managed by zealous and efficient keepers of society, it is awkwardly out of place. Ofcourse, there is an element of desire, but its more like a tropical summer storm, than the year round british rain. It comes like a fever in the head, and you very well know it will pass.
So you were with me in my thoughts. Having spent the day and night with you like this, by proxy, (and you'd be amazed at the silly-mad things we did) makes me wonder if I am, finally, losing it! And it also makes me wonder what it would have been like if life had placed me in a different context.
Cruel, yes it was. A bit. Laughing, I hand out praise and strokes like crumb to swans gratefully floating. It's not exacty bait. But neither is it something more. It's entertaining to see you react. It's all in the game.
Now I wish you were here. I miss someone, or something, like a kick in the stomach, like me breath being kicked out of my lungs ... but I dont know who ...
Could it be you? Wish I knew. Wish I had the right to miss you. But I dont. Wanting you, now, comes at a huge price. One I know cant afford. Even in installments. So I hold the "missing" in the palm of my hand, gently, like a snowflake (like a begger frozen outside the pastry shop ... will the little princess come out and be kind to me?) And wait for it to melt.
Looking through this emptiness, holding my throbbing pain pressed still in my hand to calm, desperate for distraction, holding on the the last pieces of the corpse I still carry, or struggle to ... because it has grown intwined with my sanity ...
In sudden flashes, looking through the emptiness, desperately seeking distraction, becomes looking for you. Startled, my heart contracts with a frission of fear. Who are you? Master, Slave, Friend, Twin ... Who is that inside you, at the heart of the onion: who is that you carry hid? He looks like me. Can you let him out? Can I take him away. I promise to be bored and done soon - one day. And you can have him back, then. But not before.
pandora's box
Time, fades the knowledge,
The fear, the remembreance of how potent
The power of the dark,
Thoughts and feelings
Were on your heart
Careless, you turn to the dark and dusty corner
Half forgotten, open the box
Rummage, pull in one bright piece of a memory
Share, and laugh.
Then later,
At night,
When the guests have gone
And, you, alone with your ghosts
The unmentionables,
You wrestle with the memories
And the tears
And you know you wont let them win
But a part of you, weak traitor,
half wishes you could
Do you?
Do you really wish you could let go, just once
Let the day fall heedless around
Let the world dissolve
In the light of an aging sun
While wallow inside the trunk
Of old memories
Yesterdays. Selves. Now gone.
Ghosts, and skeletons
packed, any old how,
shoved into corners
Of carefully concealed corners
Along attic walls
For tonight, these are the memories I found:
chameleon master of trickery masks
Dusk to Dawn
Open Invitation
The Haunting
Black
The fear, the remembreance of how potent
The power of the dark,
Thoughts and feelings
Were on your heart
Careless, you turn to the dark and dusty corner
Half forgotten, open the box
Rummage, pull in one bright piece of a memory
Share, and laugh.
Then later,
At night,
When the guests have gone
And, you, alone with your ghosts
The unmentionables,
You wrestle with the memories
And the tears
And you know you wont let them win
But a part of you, weak traitor,
half wishes you could
Do you?
Do you really wish you could let go, just once
Let the day fall heedless around
Let the world dissolve
In the light of an aging sun
While wallow inside the trunk
Of old memories
Yesterdays. Selves. Now gone.
Ghosts, and skeletons
packed, any old how,
shoved into corners
Of carefully concealed corners
Along attic walls
For tonight, these are the memories I found:
chameleon master of trickery masks
Dusk to Dawn
Open Invitation
The Haunting
Black
arthurs seat in the morning
following my bliss, i landed up hear
heaven must be a place like this
sun is warm on my back
the wind swims in my hair
around me the mountains soar
my arms stained green with grass blood
beneath me, you are solid as a rock
on you, i could float my wildest dreams
together, we could reach the skies
show them how life could be lived
my beautiful. my grand. my city gorgeous
your old cobbled streets, your sudden mountains
silver lakes, tucked into corners ...
yes, you are a mad god's dream
i could'nt even stop staring at you. spellbound. dont release me.
edinburgh, you'll never know how much you mean to me.
heaven must be a place like this
sun is warm on my back
the wind swims in my hair
around me the mountains soar
my arms stained green with grass blood
beneath me, you are solid as a rock
on you, i could float my wildest dreams
together, we could reach the skies
show them how life could be lived
my beautiful. my grand. my city gorgeous
your old cobbled streets, your sudden mountains
silver lakes, tucked into corners ...
yes, you are a mad god's dream
i could'nt even stop staring at you. spellbound. dont release me.
edinburgh, you'll never know how much you mean to me.
Nostalgia
Time fades the knowledge, the fear, the remembrance of how potent the power of the dark thoughts and feelings were on your heart. Careless, you turn to the dark and dusty corner, half forgotten, open the box, rummage, and pull out a memory. You share it and laugh.
Then later, at night, when the guests have gone, and you are alone with your ghosts, the unmentionables, you wrestle with the memories. And the tears. You know you wont let them win. You know you wont let them in, but a part of you, traitor, weak, half wishes you could.
Do you! Do you really wish you could let go, just once? Let the day fall heedless around. Let the world dissolve. In the light of an aging sun. Wallow inside the trunk Of old memories, yesterdays, selves, for a While. Ghosts and skeletons, packed any how, shoved into carefully concealed corners, along dusty attic walls.
Have you ever spend hours, days even, just spilled out on a chair, looking out of the window, into nothing. Mind too tired to think. Too tired of seeing the same self in the mirror. The coward-warrior. The impotent-dreamer.
For tonight, these are the memories I found:
chameleon master of trickery masks
Dusk to Dawn
Open Invitation
The Haunting
Black
In a way, the strangest part of it is this feeling of being seperate, of floating above your 'self', watching it slowly live, breathe, cry, scream ... watching it ever so slowly disintegrate.
I spent three and a half days on this chair. Staring at the walls, the screen, or out of the window.
In my dreams she stands over my head: a macabre grinning skeleton. Her voice is loud and has a metallic sound. She says she's come to clear accounts. She wants a report of what I have done, with the life she bought me with her's.
Spiderman 3, he peeled the black suit off. Could you? Or does it stick after having been on too long. There's always a choice, he said. Like Batman. You are what you want to be as much as what you are ... the beast, listens and chuckles at your naivette.
If you had one 'friend', life would be worth living. Do you? And how do you define friend?
Then later, at night, when the guests have gone, and you are alone with your ghosts, the unmentionables, you wrestle with the memories. And the tears. You know you wont let them win. You know you wont let them in, but a part of you, traitor, weak, half wishes you could.
Do you! Do you really wish you could let go, just once? Let the day fall heedless around. Let the world dissolve. In the light of an aging sun. Wallow inside the trunk Of old memories, yesterdays, selves, for a While. Ghosts and skeletons, packed any how, shoved into carefully concealed corners, along dusty attic walls.
Have you ever spend hours, days even, just spilled out on a chair, looking out of the window, into nothing. Mind too tired to think. Too tired of seeing the same self in the mirror. The coward-warrior. The impotent-dreamer.
For tonight, these are the memories I found:
chameleon master of trickery masks
Dusk to Dawn
Open Invitation
The Haunting
Black
In a way, the strangest part of it is this feeling of being seperate, of floating above your 'self', watching it slowly live, breathe, cry, scream ... watching it ever so slowly disintegrate.
I spent three and a half days on this chair. Staring at the walls, the screen, or out of the window.
In my dreams she stands over my head: a macabre grinning skeleton. Her voice is loud and has a metallic sound. She says she's come to clear accounts. She wants a report of what I have done, with the life she bought me with her's.
Spiderman 3, he peeled the black suit off. Could you? Or does it stick after having been on too long. There's always a choice, he said. Like Batman. You are what you want to be as much as what you are ... the beast, listens and chuckles at your naivette.
If you had one 'friend', life would be worth living. Do you? And how do you define friend?
you
I ask my tears as I watch them fall, who are you called?
I watch my self of salt dissolve.
Where are you? I am still still untaught.
And I'm still a little girl.
Yes I know
So punishment?
then open skin
and take back your bloody blood.
I watch my self of salt dissolve.
Where are you? I am still still untaught.
And I'm still a little girl.
Yes I know
So punishment?
then open skin
and take back your bloody blood.
quietly by the water
the beast is a quiet desperation.
secret, silent, stealthy.
you are opaque.
a cage.
inside, he paces restless.
he screams, hurls himself on the wall.
outside is a pool.
quiet. mirrored.
once in a while, a wave shakes the surface.
could be the wind. perhaps? then all is calm.
words are ripples on the water.
twin edged. disguised.
the flowers on the water's edge
are learning to pretend. pretty masks of paper and wood.
on the other side of the mountain, is unreachable,
now. a yesterday. a way of life. gone.
inside the beasts heart is freezing
he hates your naiive little joys
make no mistake. the beast wants you dead.
the beast has no logic. he wants the world to end.
the sky is blue. the sun is warm
everything. so far away.
the ground is a bed. a bed of knives.
the knife is knowing what you want.
desire is wing broken bird.
a weaver. spins stupid dreams of love.
steel are the bars of the cage
rock hard impotence, made of fear.
ambition is a dream of freedom for the beast.
if the cage could be leaped, he could be calm and strong.
secret, silent, stealthy.
you are opaque.
a cage.
inside, he paces restless.
he screams, hurls himself on the wall.
outside is a pool.
quiet. mirrored.
once in a while, a wave shakes the surface.
could be the wind. perhaps? then all is calm.
words are ripples on the water.
twin edged. disguised.
the flowers on the water's edge
are learning to pretend. pretty masks of paper and wood.
on the other side of the mountain, is unreachable,
now. a yesterday. a way of life. gone.
inside the beasts heart is freezing
he hates your naiive little joys
make no mistake. the beast wants you dead.
the beast has no logic. he wants the world to end.
the sky is blue. the sun is warm
everything. so far away.
the ground is a bed. a bed of knives.
the knife is knowing what you want.
desire is wing broken bird.
a weaver. spins stupid dreams of love.
steel are the bars of the cage
rock hard impotence, made of fear.
ambition is a dream of freedom for the beast.
if the cage could be leaped, he could be calm and strong.
can you, want something desperately,
and not know if you want it at all?
there is no helplessness comparable.
my sweet beautiful life: i never thought
even you would ever put me there.
there must be a way out of here.
there must be a way i am not seeing.
i am scared of my own intensity.
i am scared of the monsters i could create.
i scared, now, of my own shadow.
for the first time, i am now scared
i who jumped in always heedless.
for the first time realise, i never cared before
fear springs from love and care
there is nothing more fearsome than to care
i have never profited from relationships
and not know if you want it at all?
there is no helplessness comparable.
my sweet beautiful life: i never thought
even you would ever put me there.
there must be a way out of here.
there must be a way i am not seeing.
i am scared of my own intensity.
i am scared of the monsters i could create.
i scared, now, of my own shadow.
for the first time, i am now scared
i who jumped in always heedless.
for the first time realise, i never cared before
fear springs from love and care
there is nothing more fearsome than to care
i have never profited from relationships
just a box of rain
it's not that it does not work, just that it's hard. damn hard. but then, like i said earier, it's like a bad habit that needs to be unlearnt. all you need is patience. detached patience. you will keep failing, but persist and the rate of failures will go down. catch is, patience was never one of my virtues. and persistence even less so.
so i try to zone out the noise and focus on my box of rain. my mind is a room, and it's stored in the corner, by the wall, under the mirror (significant) and in the second drawer of the chest. hidden in the best disguise: obvious-ness.
in my mind, i walk to it, pull open the drawer, and pull out the 'box'. not really a box, but we are being metaphorical. i pull out the contents. let's say, for the sake of maintaining the masks and fronts, i pull out a rainy evening. the sky looks silver grey. the shingles are wet and glossy. the tree sway as if to shake off the little drops of water. and a lone bird sings. the sun looks ... there you see, it brings me right back to the f sun! there must be some way outta here? however, its much easier now having made up my mind. the point is, you have to fall out of love with the old ways, and open your mind to the new. and the way will come and find you. there's nothing admirable about cowardice. but then, who am i to cast the first stone. what have i ever been if not craven?
so i try to zone out the noise and focus on my box of rain. my mind is a room, and it's stored in the corner, by the wall, under the mirror (significant) and in the second drawer of the chest. hidden in the best disguise: obvious-ness.
in my mind, i walk to it, pull open the drawer, and pull out the 'box'. not really a box, but we are being metaphorical. i pull out the contents. let's say, for the sake of maintaining the masks and fronts, i pull out a rainy evening. the sky looks silver grey. the shingles are wet and glossy. the tree sway as if to shake off the little drops of water. and a lone bird sings. the sun looks ... there you see, it brings me right back to the f sun! there must be some way outta here? however, its much easier now having made up my mind. the point is, you have to fall out of love with the old ways, and open your mind to the new. and the way will come and find you. there's nothing admirable about cowardice. but then, who am i to cast the first stone. what have i ever been if not craven?
days
each day spills over unnoticed,
like the last few coins in a beggers purse.
the moon, the mountains, the wind, the sun,
nothing stirs the depths of oblivion.
there's a fine line between pain and numbness.
like the thin edge between acceptance and despair.
strange is lust for life. so beaten,
the hunger still doesnt abate.
a hundred winters have come and gone,
a hundred springs followed.
but still, the cold numbs fingertips.
knowing that it will pass, makes it no easier.
the river, that steals from a hundred banks,
still weeps when robbed by the ocean.
hours slip by unnoticed. dreams, hopes, passions,
spill unheeded like blood now lifeless.
outside, the wind howls.
strange choreography.
the moon, narrow and long, is a bittersweet smile.
the stars are dying: slowly, unnoticed.
another day is folded and put away.
carefully, slowly, lingeringly, let go.
bargains are struck and stuck to.
however dear the price.
faded daisies, crumbling dry,
carefully stored in notebooks. and big brown envelopes.
like the last few coins in a beggers purse.
the moon, the mountains, the wind, the sun,
nothing stirs the depths of oblivion.
there's a fine line between pain and numbness.
like the thin edge between acceptance and despair.
strange is lust for life. so beaten,
the hunger still doesnt abate.
a hundred winters have come and gone,
a hundred springs followed.
but still, the cold numbs fingertips.
knowing that it will pass, makes it no easier.
the river, that steals from a hundred banks,
still weeps when robbed by the ocean.
hours slip by unnoticed. dreams, hopes, passions,
spill unheeded like blood now lifeless.
outside, the wind howls.
strange choreography.
the moon, narrow and long, is a bittersweet smile.
the stars are dying: slowly, unnoticed.
another day is folded and put away.
carefully, slowly, lingeringly, let go.
bargains are struck and stuck to.
however dear the price.
faded daisies, crumbling dry,
carefully stored in notebooks. and big brown envelopes.
so does it feel any better? not an inch, unfortunately! i must be some sorry kind of scorp! cant stay mad, for all my efforts ... concentrating like arjun on the target ... it still forget 5 times out of 6. Thats not all, when I do remember, I am more hurt in anticipated sympathy than the other person, who probably, is oblivious through this whole drama ... so the binary, is the only option then. Just dissapear. Casually friendly is MUCH harder. Its all to fucking loaded.
All this is born of the deceit. I know I owe it to be more honest. But I am such a coward ... I dare not!
All this is born of the deceit. I know I owe it to be more honest. But I am such a coward ... I dare not!
Dolly (Part 3)
Disclaimer: With the exception of work labelled non-fiction, the characters featured in this site are completely fictional. Any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental. No similarity to any person either living or dead is intended or should be inferred.
I have something that is eating me up. I want to say it to someone, but I have noone to say it to. Or to put it better, I have noone I would care to say it to. For miscellaneus (I cant spell that) reasons. Maybe its a good thing, because I would'nt know the first thing about how to phrase it.
Is'nt it the kind of irony that could only happen to me, that today, when I should be so happy, I am so deeply sad. Well, not sad, but ... I dont know how to say even that.
We make our choices in life. We leave the things we have, and come seeking that which we don't. We leave our homes to look for adventure. We come and live in places which can never be home. And we know, we know all the time, that this is what we have chosen, and that noone will ever understand why, or that you will be lonely as a dog: warm, friendly befriended, fed, loved ... but never one of us. And we know what we are leaving behind, though sometimes we kid ourselves about it, for a while.
And you know that those who gave their life blood to make you who you were, who brought you up, and saved you, who found a stray orphan and loved it like their own, against all those million odds, and waited patiently for that one day when it will finish growing up, and be a 'full grown friend', you know that just at that night before harvest, you are stealing the crop they have nurtured for so long,
And you know they sit on the old rocking chair, in the cold and lonely house, where noone comes to visit, looking at the old collapsible gate, and waiting for you to come home ... know by heart the way you put one arm on the 'rock' and haul yourself up, shouting hello to uncle-ji (who they also know you secretly love) and ring the bell in 'your tune' while rattling the gate in 'your beat', which they probably hear in their dreams ... and you know that they will die in the that rocking chair by the time you are done wandering (and racing and rowing and winning cool stamps that you think are entry tickets to self-approval ... racing your shadow to try and satiate your insatiable, lustful, greedy 'self') ... you know they will be dead.
And the fruits of their labour, will be free to go back to the maker ... the cuckoo will fly back to its nest.
But still we do it. And we know, somewhere, while making our choices, the payments we are agreeing to, in regular installments, for all of time to come. And when the check arrives in the mail, we are expecting it, we have made our peace, had our joy. Won our races. Buried our dead.
But yet sometimes, it seems hard. And you just feel like you can't take it, like you've been paying all your life, for something or the other, that your tired of always paying for everything you wanted. why cant life be free.
But then it passes. Just like a toothache. It passes. You laugh at yourself. Blow your nose. make a coffee. Light up. And go stand by the window. And fondly think of how silly your 'little-child-self'gets once in a while, and smile. (And in a secret part of your heart hope it has truly passed ... and watch yourself a little skeptically, a little extra careful for a while ... just to be sure).
And so it is with love. Or atleast, with mine. I made my choices. I always knew it was out of reach. I always knew this would get very deep. From the first second I knew. It took me a while to reaise it, and then some more to come to terms with, and believe it, but from the first minute I knew.
And I always knew I could never, ever, ever reach out and touch the stars, or even ask the stars to come down. because thats NOT the WAY I want it. And i wouldnt be satisfied. Not with a gift. Or charity. Or compromise. Or agreement. I've been there too. I know ...
My logical side (is that my thalamus {supposed seat of consciousness}?) has made its peace with that. Its like loving a snowflake. You love it. You want it. But you know its so delicate, if you reach out and touch it, it will melt. You just cant have it. You can just watch it dancing from a distance: dancing, twirling, spinning, falling ...
But there are times when my younger side takes over (old brain?). there are times when I cant bear it, just for that moment, just to reach out and touch my little snowflake.
And to know that I wont. That I cant. That I just wouldnt allow myself, couldnt, wouldnt, shouldnt ... and all of that 'jiving around'.
And that I will just watch it float past my face. Free. Like it was meant to be. And I will let it go. I always knew that. But sometimes, it just seems awfully hard. And I wonder how I will do that.
But still, I'm glad. All my (other) dreams have come true. My life is blessed. I have friends, after a fashion. And now I even have somewhere to go (for what thats worth).
And knowing my little snowflake ... it would have turned out to be a bloody nightmare, had that one come true. Like they say, be careful what you wish for. And sometimes not getting what you wanted, is the best thing that could happen to you.
What does come with age is a (just) little bit more patience. And acceptance. a few years ago I would have gone to town on this. Now I sit and wait for it to pass - knowing for sure that it will. Before, I would have gone out of my way to keep out of people's way, now I know there will be time enough for that, when the time comes, and it will be soon enough. There was a time when I would have been angry or dissapointed in myself for being either so out of control, or so silly, or not brave enough to just do what it takes - get off the fence, this way or the other - but with time I have learnt to accept myself and loosen my ambitions about who I wanted to be.
So I just brace myself and prepare to try my best to let you go without a scene, without giving away anymore than I must. I dont care if I can't have you, but face ... I must save face. And I build up my scrap book of memories, for later, for the rest of the way. My box of rain. I collect every scrap of time and affection that falls of your careless ways. A pebble that you threw at me, a half sucked candy that you stuck in my hair, a strand of your hair ... but how do you collect the little formless things? A tone of voice, a carefree song, a look, a fleeting touch ... guess that too must be let go, huh?
PS - Please wont you NOT leave a silly comment? I have turned wiser, calmer, much much PC-er and polite-r, with my three decades old wisdom ... but inside, silly still pisses the fuck out of me. Just kidding. ;)
I know this does'nt weave in, in any way shape or form with the other two parts of 'dolly' (as they didnt with each other) but in my head they all fit in with the master-plot and one day they will be woven together, trust me ;)
Saw Away from her, I think it was the most impressive movie I have seen in a while ... or its the movie that moved me most (ever since cinema paradiso).
I have something that is eating me up. I want to say it to someone, but I have noone to say it to. Or to put it better, I have noone I would care to say it to. For miscellaneus (I cant spell that) reasons. Maybe its a good thing, because I would'nt know the first thing about how to phrase it.
Is'nt it the kind of irony that could only happen to me, that today, when I should be so happy, I am so deeply sad. Well, not sad, but ... I dont know how to say even that.
We make our choices in life. We leave the things we have, and come seeking that which we don't. We leave our homes to look for adventure. We come and live in places which can never be home. And we know, we know all the time, that this is what we have chosen, and that noone will ever understand why, or that you will be lonely as a dog: warm, friendly befriended, fed, loved ... but never one of us. And we know what we are leaving behind, though sometimes we kid ourselves about it, for a while.
And you know that those who gave their life blood to make you who you were, who brought you up, and saved you, who found a stray orphan and loved it like their own, against all those million odds, and waited patiently for that one day when it will finish growing up, and be a 'full grown friend', you know that just at that night before harvest, you are stealing the crop they have nurtured for so long,
And you know they sit on the old rocking chair, in the cold and lonely house, where noone comes to visit, looking at the old collapsible gate, and waiting for you to come home ... know by heart the way you put one arm on the 'rock' and haul yourself up, shouting hello to uncle-ji (who they also know you secretly love) and ring the bell in 'your tune' while rattling the gate in 'your beat', which they probably hear in their dreams ... and you know that they will die in the that rocking chair by the time you are done wandering (and racing and rowing and winning cool stamps that you think are entry tickets to self-approval ... racing your shadow to try and satiate your insatiable, lustful, greedy 'self') ... you know they will be dead.
And the fruits of their labour, will be free to go back to the maker ... the cuckoo will fly back to its nest.
But still we do it. And we know, somewhere, while making our choices, the payments we are agreeing to, in regular installments, for all of time to come. And when the check arrives in the mail, we are expecting it, we have made our peace, had our joy. Won our races. Buried our dead.
But yet sometimes, it seems hard. And you just feel like you can't take it, like you've been paying all your life, for something or the other, that your tired of always paying for everything you wanted. why cant life be free.
But then it passes. Just like a toothache. It passes. You laugh at yourself. Blow your nose. make a coffee. Light up. And go stand by the window. And fondly think of how silly your 'little-child-self'gets once in a while, and smile. (And in a secret part of your heart hope it has truly passed ... and watch yourself a little skeptically, a little extra careful for a while ... just to be sure).
And so it is with love. Or atleast, with mine. I made my choices. I always knew it was out of reach. I always knew this would get very deep. From the first second I knew. It took me a while to reaise it, and then some more to come to terms with, and believe it, but from the first minute I knew.
And I always knew I could never, ever, ever reach out and touch the stars, or even ask the stars to come down. because thats NOT the WAY I want it. And i wouldnt be satisfied. Not with a gift. Or charity. Or compromise. Or agreement. I've been there too. I know ...
My logical side (is that my thalamus {supposed seat of consciousness}?) has made its peace with that. Its like loving a snowflake. You love it. You want it. But you know its so delicate, if you reach out and touch it, it will melt. You just cant have it. You can just watch it dancing from a distance: dancing, twirling, spinning, falling ...
But there are times when my younger side takes over (old brain?). there are times when I cant bear it, just for that moment, just to reach out and touch my little snowflake.
And to know that I wont. That I cant. That I just wouldnt allow myself, couldnt, wouldnt, shouldnt ... and all of that 'jiving around'.
And that I will just watch it float past my face. Free. Like it was meant to be. And I will let it go. I always knew that. But sometimes, it just seems awfully hard. And I wonder how I will do that.
But still, I'm glad. All my (other) dreams have come true. My life is blessed. I have friends, after a fashion. And now I even have somewhere to go (for what thats worth).
And knowing my little snowflake ... it would have turned out to be a bloody nightmare, had that one come true. Like they say, be careful what you wish for. And sometimes not getting what you wanted, is the best thing that could happen to you.
What does come with age is a (just) little bit more patience. And acceptance. a few years ago I would have gone to town on this. Now I sit and wait for it to pass - knowing for sure that it will. Before, I would have gone out of my way to keep out of people's way, now I know there will be time enough for that, when the time comes, and it will be soon enough. There was a time when I would have been angry or dissapointed in myself for being either so out of control, or so silly, or not brave enough to just do what it takes - get off the fence, this way or the other - but with time I have learnt to accept myself and loosen my ambitions about who I wanted to be.
So I just brace myself and prepare to try my best to let you go without a scene, without giving away anymore than I must. I dont care if I can't have you, but face ... I must save face. And I build up my scrap book of memories, for later, for the rest of the way. My box of rain. I collect every scrap of time and affection that falls of your careless ways. A pebble that you threw at me, a half sucked candy that you stuck in my hair, a strand of your hair ... but how do you collect the little formless things? A tone of voice, a carefree song, a look, a fleeting touch ... guess that too must be let go, huh?
PS - Please wont you NOT leave a silly comment? I have turned wiser, calmer, much much PC-er and polite-r, with my three decades old wisdom ... but inside, silly still pisses the fuck out of me. Just kidding. ;)
I know this does'nt weave in, in any way shape or form with the other two parts of 'dolly' (as they didnt with each other) but in my head they all fit in with the master-plot and one day they will be woven together, trust me ;)
Saw Away from her, I think it was the most impressive movie I have seen in a while ... or its the movie that moved me most (ever since cinema paradiso).
madcap comes home
the sun is shining ... wont let it go down again ... all is right ... thank you three wise men, for the gifts you brought ...
everything is right again ... for a while ... i'm the king of the world!!! the last time i was this happy was when i was home and got my first letter from madcap. now i'm so happy again. dont go away.
but he stands at the other end of this river, and i have two more rungs of this bridge to cross, before i get to the other, longer, bigger bridge ... will i make it? dont slip out of my hands again madcap. i want you so so so much ...
feel so high. feel like walking upto everyone on the street and telling them :)
oh god - i hope this works. this one remaing bridge between us. else to have gotton so close to you & lost you ... it would be so sad ...
not that i dont love t, or he hasnt been good to me, but just that i think i have grown out of him. i need this ... atleast for now ... only madcap will do ...
who knows what tomorrow will bring?
everything is right again ... for a while ... i'm the king of the world!!! the last time i was this happy was when i was home and got my first letter from madcap. now i'm so happy again. dont go away.
but he stands at the other end of this river, and i have two more rungs of this bridge to cross, before i get to the other, longer, bigger bridge ... will i make it? dont slip out of my hands again madcap. i want you so so so much ...
feel so high. feel like walking upto everyone on the street and telling them :)
oh god - i hope this works. this one remaing bridge between us. else to have gotton so close to you & lost you ... it would be so sad ...
not that i dont love t, or he hasnt been good to me, but just that i think i have grown out of him. i need this ... atleast for now ... only madcap will do ...
who knows what tomorrow will bring?
what are these things called love?
excuse me! could you just move over please? you're sitting on my heart. and then she burst into a smothered fit of giggling. thats the first thing you noticed about her. she was almost always laughing. even when she was alone, sometimes random funny thoughts like that flit through her head and she wanted to laugh. she always had trouble explaining what was so funny. after a while, he gave up asking.
the first thing most people noticed about him was his bouyancy. the first thing she noticed about him was him! like a textbook case of fascination, from the very first instant she met him, she had been mesmerised by him. and now, all these years later, she still had not figured out what to do about it.
Today they were sitting together in the crowded bus, more from lack of choice than any other reason; when suddenly, she giggled
Her giggle brought him back from a reverie. He was thinking about how they had met for the first time near a trail where he was hiking. He had seen a sparkle in her deep blue eyes which he noticed more than her giggle. They crossed paths not before he strained his neck to catch a fleeting glimpse of her.
But he sighed! It has been so many years and probably she wouldn't even be remembering that moment which changed his life. She always smiled and radiated a glow which he would have basked in. But he was not sure then. He asked himself, was he sure now after so many years?
I am not going to complete this now, and probably not ever ... if you want to have a go at writing the next paragraphs, lines or even words ... leave it in the comments. If you want to change something in the existing text to fit your contribution, let me know too. lets spin some yarn ;0)
Contributing spinners so far:PreRicercar, Amit, Pilgrim
the first thing most people noticed about him was his bouyancy. the first thing she noticed about him was him! like a textbook case of fascination, from the very first instant she met him, she had been mesmerised by him. and now, all these years later, she still had not figured out what to do about it.
Today they were sitting together in the crowded bus, more from lack of choice than any other reason; when suddenly, she giggled
Her giggle brought him back from a reverie. He was thinking about how they had met for the first time near a trail where he was hiking. He had seen a sparkle in her deep blue eyes which he noticed more than her giggle. They crossed paths not before he strained his neck to catch a fleeting glimpse of her.
But he sighed! It has been so many years and probably she wouldn't even be remembering that moment which changed his life. She always smiled and radiated a glow which he would have basked in. But he was not sure then. He asked himself, was he sure now after so many years?
I am not going to complete this now, and probably not ever ... if you want to have a go at writing the next paragraphs, lines or even words ... leave it in the comments. If you want to change something in the existing text to fit your contribution, let me know too. lets spin some yarn ;0)
Contributing spinners so far:
Hall Of Fame
My recent favourite posts by other/my favourite bloggers:
This is a WIP. The ones that say everything will likely be expanded, except there's not much point doing that for the first four, is there!
English August
Everything
Procheta
Everything
By Aimless Wanderer:
Everything
Phantasmagoria
Everything
Brazen Head:
Letters
Bullet bites dust discovering Coco
Arthur Quiller Couch:
The girl on The Half Shell
Sunday
Amputee
Rimi:
Shelf Life
Cocaine Jesus
Rumour of Trees
Bert Moth
Memorandum of Naught
Austere
Green Silk
Verlaine
Shine On you Crazy Diamond
The Hidden Hand (and not bcz of the links!)
Awareness
surrendering to merciful blues
Sanity Starved
To Dearest One
Goldfluke
Seven
Fifteen
Gosmoking
We walked
The Girl in the Hat
The Witch of Agnesi
Findng Franny
Everything
Fool On the Hill
Everything
The Pilgrim
Men are from Mars
Eroteme
Serendipity 2
People Collector (Had Been Meaning to do a Post on thsi topic myself for a while now)
tender Days
A character introduces the writer
Beuty In Dual Tone
Chardonnay Files:
banyan tree
Perspective, Inc:
The grander Moment
Ideasmithy:
Love, Actually
Sapna:
beyond words and descriptions
Dream Catcher
Intoxication
This is a WIP. The ones that say everything will likely be expanded, except there's not much point doing that for the first four, is there!
English August
Everything
Procheta
Everything
By Aimless Wanderer:
Everything
Phantasmagoria
Everything
Brazen Head:
Letters
Bullet bites dust discovering Coco
Arthur Quiller Couch:
The girl on The Half Shell
Sunday
Amputee
Rimi:
Shelf Life
Cocaine Jesus
Rumour of Trees
Bert Moth
Memorandum of Naught
Austere
Green Silk
Verlaine
Shine On you Crazy Diamond
The Hidden Hand (and not bcz of the links!)
Awareness
surrendering to merciful blues
Sanity Starved
To Dearest One
Goldfluke
Seven
Fifteen
Gosmoking
We walked
The Girl in the Hat
The Witch of Agnesi
Findng Franny
Everything
Fool On the Hill
Everything
The Pilgrim
Men are from Mars
Eroteme
Serendipity 2
People Collector (Had Been Meaning to do a Post on thsi topic myself for a while now)
tender Days
A character introduces the writer
Beuty In Dual Tone
Chardonnay Files:
banyan tree
Perspective, Inc:
The grander Moment
Ideasmithy:
Love, Actually
Sapna:
beyond words and descriptions
Dream Catcher
Intoxication
Silly
madcap's best girl
"I feel certain that I am going mad again: I feel we can't go through another of those terrible times. And I shan't recover this time. I begin to hear voices, and can't concentrate. So I am doing what seems the best thing to do. You have given me the greatest possible happiness... I can't fight it any longer, I know that I am spoiling your life, that without me you could work"
Her work was criticised for epitomizing the narrow world of the upper-middle class English intelligentsia, peopled with delicate, but ultimately trivial, self-centred, and overly introspective individuals. Some critics judged it to be lacking in universality and depth, without the power to communicate anything of emotional or ethical relevance to the disillusioned common reader, weary of the 1920s aesthetes who seemed to belong to an era definitely closed and buried.
River Ouse in 1941, near the village of Rodmell
Her work was criticised for epitomizing the narrow world of the upper-middle class English intelligentsia, peopled with delicate, but ultimately trivial, self-centred, and overly introspective individuals. Some critics judged it to be lacking in universality and depth, without the power to communicate anything of emotional or ethical relevance to the disillusioned common reader, weary of the 1920s aesthetes who seemed to belong to an era definitely closed and buried.
River Ouse in 1941, near the village of Rodmell
the moon, and the song of the wind
isnt it silly
how many times a day
some little silly thing comes to mind
which seems so important to share with someone
right then and there ...
yes its funny
guess it will take some time
but there are so many people to talk to
friends, are a dime a dozen
atleast that much i have learnt
its just a 7 letter word
like dragons, and faeries and love
a silly idea for sill credulous fools
atleast that much i have learnt
you should'nt take life so seriously ...
nor people
and most of all, not friends ...
take lite ;)
i'll get by
i'm doing good
i'm glad
maybe even i can cultivate some pride ;)
who would have thought?
isnt it funny how different we are with different people?
why are we like that?
so hard to understand?
so uncontrolled ...
now you ...
ur easy.
yeah, right!
you're easy to understand
as long as i keep in mind
that there isnt anything to understand
but ...
anyway, things cant become important without my permission
enough now. its time.
the bird is singing in the tree.
the leaves rustle secretly.
the moon is blue and silver
far away, it tumbles through
the black lace branches on a tree
down on empty tracts of land
somewhere, water makes little noises
playfully
and when the wind sings
it makes a mock sad sound
only ends up sounding funny
and the moon bends down
and they laugh at it together
the trees wave
and watch on
their endless silent games
of war and love
silently
mock seriously
they pretend, so hard
so seriously. till the instant
when their high in the sky
for an instant
their eyes meet
everything explodes
the sky, the stars, the wind and the moon
trumpets, cymbals, bells ring
sparks, fires and lights glow
walls and curtains and defences
and their silly little games
everything is blown away
but only for an instant
and silently
high in the skies,
where noone can see
in that instant
they are alone,
hidden, even for themselves
i never lived an instant like that
ever before
enough
for that, take eternity
solemnly
somewhere far away
there is another me and another you
somewhere, far away
maybe
its free
there's a kind of peace in solitude
somethings hurt
and they are hard
but still its got to be done
i'd have never thought of the hot water
these little details make all the difference
not that it did
but still
you live
you learn
little pearls to be saved
for the last straw of boredom
why do i feel like its not far away
yes, its almost time now
funny, she reminds me of you
maybe because she is so pretty?
or maybe because of the way she cried
funny how the girl just made it so clear
which side she was on
clever girl
you cant sit on the fence
thirty years is a long time
thats how you share the names she bought
it would be easier if you had a moral code
to judge with, to call names with. to hand out little envelopes of scorn with.
i couldnt. its ok. i dont mind.
they're just little names.
soon, they dont even mean much.
funny. he would have never said i'll do their homework ...
thank god for that ;)
how many times a day
some little silly thing comes to mind
which seems so important to share with someone
right then and there ...
yes its funny
guess it will take some time
but there are so many people to talk to
friends, are a dime a dozen
atleast that much i have learnt
its just a 7 letter word
like dragons, and faeries and love
a silly idea for sill credulous fools
atleast that much i have learnt
you should'nt take life so seriously ...
nor people
and most of all, not friends ...
take lite ;)
i'll get by
i'm doing good
i'm glad
maybe even i can cultivate some pride ;)
who would have thought?
isnt it funny how different we are with different people?
why are we like that?
so hard to understand?
so uncontrolled ...
now you ...
ur easy.
yeah, right!
you're easy to understand
as long as i keep in mind
that there isnt anything to understand
but ...
anyway, things cant become important without my permission
enough now. its time.
the bird is singing in the tree.
the leaves rustle secretly.
the moon is blue and silver
far away, it tumbles through
the black lace branches on a tree
down on empty tracts of land
somewhere, water makes little noises
playfully
and when the wind sings
it makes a mock sad sound
only ends up sounding funny
and the moon bends down
and they laugh at it together
the trees wave
and watch on
their endless silent games
of war and love
silently
mock seriously
they pretend, so hard
so seriously. till the instant
when their high in the sky
for an instant
their eyes meet
everything explodes
the sky, the stars, the wind and the moon
trumpets, cymbals, bells ring
sparks, fires and lights glow
walls and curtains and defences
and their silly little games
everything is blown away
but only for an instant
and silently
high in the skies,
where noone can see
in that instant
they are alone,
hidden, even for themselves
i never lived an instant like that
ever before
enough
for that, take eternity
solemnly
somewhere far away
there is another me and another you
somewhere, far away
maybe
its free
there's a kind of peace in solitude
somethings hurt
and they are hard
but still its got to be done
i'd have never thought of the hot water
these little details make all the difference
not that it did
but still
you live
you learn
little pearls to be saved
for the last straw of boredom
why do i feel like its not far away
yes, its almost time now
funny, she reminds me of you
maybe because she is so pretty?
or maybe because of the way she cried
funny how the girl just made it so clear
which side she was on
clever girl
you cant sit on the fence
thirty years is a long time
thats how you share the names she bought
it would be easier if you had a moral code
to judge with, to call names with. to hand out little envelopes of scorn with.
i couldnt. its ok. i dont mind.
they're just little names.
soon, they dont even mean much.
funny. he would have never said i'll do their homework ...
thank god for that ;)
i will be allright, if i only dont think
i will be allright, if i only dont run into no one
just for a second now, till i regain the rock
this is the last thorn to pull out, hold your breath
i still havent found, the mustard to bargain with
nor anything else to replace it with
damn! why does withdrawal make you hyper sensitive
i must trash that poster on the wall
if i say i'm sorry, if i say i miss you, much
would you come back? but i wont. so there. if u'd known,
u wouldnt have gone. if you went
you might as well stay gone
and see if i care.
i'll make do with what i have.
but i do ...
and i am ...
i'm sorry i forgot everything u learnt me
i'm sorry i ran away for the red shoes
i'm hungry. and i'm tired and it's cold out on the stones
and the monsters in your stories stayed behind ...
just in case, you wanted to come back,
i just hope we dont miss eachother on the road
so, finally after all that drama i let you go
and you'll never know, how close you came, to i know not what
its been ages since it rained like that
i had longed to hear the sound of the rain
and when the sun came out again, it was a melting flourescent
and jonathan and fletcher, came to say hello and remind me ...
everything is gonna be allright
just hold on and let go, when the time is right
thanks for reminding me, can always go home
thanks for reminding me, there's always a place to go
so if your looking for a place to stop now walker,
dont come knocking at my door
i will be allright, if i only dont run into no one
just for a second now, till i regain the rock
this is the last thorn to pull out, hold your breath
i still havent found, the mustard to bargain with
nor anything else to replace it with
damn! why does withdrawal make you hyper sensitive
i must trash that poster on the wall
if i say i'm sorry, if i say i miss you, much
would you come back? but i wont. so there. if u'd known,
u wouldnt have gone. if you went
you might as well stay gone
and see if i care.
i'll make do with what i have.
but i do ...
and i am ...
i'm sorry i forgot everything u learnt me
i'm sorry i ran away for the red shoes
i'm hungry. and i'm tired and it's cold out on the stones
and the monsters in your stories stayed behind ...
just in case, you wanted to come back,
i just hope we dont miss eachother on the road
so, finally after all that drama i let you go
and you'll never know, how close you came, to i know not what
its been ages since it rained like that
i had longed to hear the sound of the rain
and when the sun came out again, it was a melting flourescent
and jonathan and fletcher, came to say hello and remind me ...
everything is gonna be allright
just hold on and let go, when the time is right
thanks for reminding me, can always go home
thanks for reminding me, there's always a place to go
so if your looking for a place to stop now walker,
dont come knocking at my door
nothing like music to drown your thoughts
music: dekho manasi
By fossils - one of my favourite songs from one of my favourite bands ... and while looking for it I found another song by them that i'd never heard before ...
 |
| DYAKHO MANASI.mp3 |
| Hosted by eSnips |
By fossils - one of my favourite songs from one of my favourite bands ... and while looking for it I found another song by them that i'd never heard before ...
me
the trees in the park are blushing
the grounds are swept with petals of snow
a long winter is passing by
with a whisper of cracking ice
the river, at first shy
bereft of the burden it had half grown used to,
stripped naked, skin returned,
hesitates for a minute, then softly hums
in the fields, in purple and yellow
little flowers laze and soak the sun
a long winter is passing
a new day is coming
i changed my mind
excuse my temporary loss of reason
i am still the same
and still want full loaves
and voluntary contributions, at that
else i still know how to leave it
yes, that's probably all i can do well
though recently the treads on my trainers are wearing thin
even the one, can be forgotten
there are so many other places in the world
though, i'd always miss your special grey streets
and the burst of laughter unexpectedly
your contrasts. your contradictions. your madness
that reminded me of me ...
but walking your lanes, i realise
i dont need mirrors. i still have me.
thank you, spring. for the melting
i am so glad to be rediscovering ...
i dont need another best friend
at the end of the day, i have me.
the grounds are swept with petals of snow
a long winter is passing by
with a whisper of cracking ice
the river, at first shy
bereft of the burden it had half grown used to,
stripped naked, skin returned,
hesitates for a minute, then softly hums
in the fields, in purple and yellow
little flowers laze and soak the sun
a long winter is passing
a new day is coming
i changed my mind
excuse my temporary loss of reason
i am still the same
and still want full loaves
and voluntary contributions, at that
else i still know how to leave it
yes, that's probably all i can do well
though recently the treads on my trainers are wearing thin
even the one, can be forgotten
there are so many other places in the world
though, i'd always miss your special grey streets
and the burst of laughter unexpectedly
your contrasts. your contradictions. your madness
that reminded me of me ...
but walking your lanes, i realise
i dont need mirrors. i still have me.
thank you, spring. for the melting
i am so glad to be rediscovering ...
i dont need another best friend
at the end of the day, i have me.
Something ...
someone posted reminded me of this (old started and abandoned and made into random post) story ... here. And looking for it I found this that I had also loved so much. Two of my favourite children. lol. But then I love them all to distraction. Quite literall in this case ;0)
2 days to exams. The countdown begins. I have discovered, its still as hard as ever for me. And this reminds me of the last time ever I wrote college exams. Salty omlettes and 'fruit and nut's ... and now I am there again, in more ways than one. I never ever ever thought this was possible. This in itself is a huge stroke of luck, or a blessing, for the un-cynical. Enough. Anything more would be a bonus. A welcome bonus, but not something to be cried after. And after all, I had long promised you I wont do that. Anyway, so its not so bad. Everything is like a habit. Habits are formed because of the highs they bring. Before them something else got you the high. All you need is to rediscover that.
2 days to exams. The countdown begins. I have discovered, its still as hard as ever for me. And this reminds me of the last time ever I wrote college exams. Salty omlettes and 'fruit and nut's ... and now I am there again, in more ways than one. I never ever ever thought this was possible. This in itself is a huge stroke of luck, or a blessing, for the un-cynical. Enough. Anything more would be a bonus. A welcome bonus, but not something to be cried after. And after all, I had long promised you I wont do that. Anyway, so its not so bad. Everything is like a habit. Habits are formed because of the highs they bring. Before them something else got you the high. All you need is to rediscover that.
madcap, the games you play
Missing someone hits me in sharp stabs: like a kick in the stomach; and I dont even know who or what it really is! Maybe it hits hardest when I am tiredest. Been in the lab since 6 in the morning, and its going on 2 the next morning.
I wish I had some sort of self control. I stave it off for a while, but the minute I am done with work, the thoughts come rushing in, right back in.
When so many fine things are laid, if it not more, upon my table, why indeed do I only want the things that I cant have? and why indeed can i not have them? damn. I want what I want and I want it now!
Sometimes I feel mad because I just cant understand whats going on. Sometimes life seems to tease. It gets just so close and stops. Sometimes it feels like life is trying to tell me something. Sometimes life seems to like me, sometimes maybe I just over-read the signs ...
And does it matter either way? If life didnt, if life was fuck-all-crap, would I not want it? I dunno. So far even in my moments of deepest horrible-ness, I have still wanted life passionately. Till now. Even now I do. I just wish I didnt. Wish I didnt want it So Damn Much.
Now everything is changing. Suddenly, everything is changing. The fabric of everything I was is slipping out of my hands. Or maybe everything I was trying to be, or wanted to. Like sheets being drawn off stone, and I stand here exposed, closer to being me than ever before ... raw, live, unedited: foolish, childish, selfish, friendly, shy, hesitant, alive, dead, excited, jaded, tired ... tired, more than anything else.
Can one little 'thing' change so much for me? I feel like my life, my goals, my meanings, my values, everything has been turned over. And its only then that you notice that thats the one little 'thing' thats not for the having. Damn thing. Damn life. Damn me.
Can one little 'thing' change so much? And something that I never even really had? Only in my dreams. And what technicolour dreams. ('Thing' would, ofcourse, at this point say, "did you know dreams arent really in colour at all". Yes. I did. I'm not that dumb.)
It wasnt for the having at all. What a waste. What a lovely beautiful waste. It could have been so perfect.
Someone had once said to me, 'from you I learned about universal and unconditional love'. Thats not true. So often my love is tainted. Dirty with wanting. If I only loved, I would be happy, but I want. I dont know what i want, but I want ...
Its not fair. Life walks to you and says you can have everything, and just when you atlast find something you could have wanted, before you even have a chance to know if you really do, life says '... except for that ...'
I'm tired of being 3rd best. I'm tired of coming in the runners up. I'm tired of missing by just this much. I'm tired of always counting the money, the hours, the smiles, the amount I was friendly and hope it wasnt too b much to piss someone off.
I want to sit under the stars and eat sandwiches, I want to lie on the grass in the sun, I want to run and laugh and play, and I want to find out if you tickle. I want to know your deepest fears, I want to tell you mine, and I want you to want to know. I want to pull ur leg about stupid things, I want to flirt and joke and mock fight, I want to patch up. I want to hear your voice, whenever I want to hear your voie. I want to be able to see your face, reach out and touch, see your eyes shine, find out how it would feel to hold your hand. I want to hear you snoring again, I want to go to sleep again, knowing you are nearby, but nearer still. I want to wake up with you again, spend long lazy sundays, doing our own lazy things, all those silly stupid dreams, I had ever dreamed, I want them all to come true. I want to run, I want to fly, I want to run away from wanting so much ...
And just when I think I am done; just when I think I am over it all; you smile that way again. Just when I think I am done with you, your voice rings out again. Damn life! Life teases everyday. Just when I think I am ready to pack up, it gets me right in again.
But I guess by and by it will get better. Its only just a little something. By and by. give it time. it will pass. Its only just a little nothing.
And then there are times when I think I should just say it. Whats the worst that could happen. lol. Quite a lot. For the first time in my life, I think half a loaf is better than none. and I guess, if I give it time, it will pass ...
Its just that, there's that little something in my head, which keeps wondering, what if. I'm tired of pretending. Guessing. Playing games. I wonder what if ...
guess we'll never know.
Mirror mirror on the wall, who's the scardest of them all? and i guess we'll never know, who's the scarder of us two ...
I dont know what I want anymore. I just want to go to sleep. I always got defensively angry when people said 'ur confused'. But now I know I am. So sue me. I'm f tired and confused and sick and bored of being 'good' and 'pc' and walking on eggshells all the f time. And trying not to hurt noone. And I'm tired of trying not to say f. I'm tired of being miss goody two shoes. And I'm tired of being miss contrary.
Guess I'm tired of being me ...
Incidentally, newly-proudly-philistine me is reading a work of fiction again. Been so long ... a room with a view. Damn. I thought I kicked that one. One by one I pick up flaws like typos from a wanna be perfect endless work in progress, and work them out. Soon, I wont know myself. I already dont know myself. I feel like I have come so far from who I was. I miss myself again. I wanna be me again.
I wish I had some sort of self control. I stave it off for a while, but the minute I am done with work, the thoughts come rushing in, right back in.
When so many fine things are laid, if it not more, upon my table, why indeed do I only want the things that I cant have? and why indeed can i not have them? damn. I want what I want and I want it now!
Sometimes I feel mad because I just cant understand whats going on. Sometimes life seems to tease. It gets just so close and stops. Sometimes it feels like life is trying to tell me something. Sometimes life seems to like me, sometimes maybe I just over-read the signs ...
And does it matter either way? If life didnt, if life was fuck-all-crap, would I not want it? I dunno. So far even in my moments of deepest horrible-ness, I have still wanted life passionately. Till now. Even now I do. I just wish I didnt. Wish I didnt want it So Damn Much.
Now everything is changing. Suddenly, everything is changing. The fabric of everything I was is slipping out of my hands. Or maybe everything I was trying to be, or wanted to. Like sheets being drawn off stone, and I stand here exposed, closer to being me than ever before ... raw, live, unedited: foolish, childish, selfish, friendly, shy, hesitant, alive, dead, excited, jaded, tired ... tired, more than anything else.
Can one little 'thing' change so much for me? I feel like my life, my goals, my meanings, my values, everything has been turned over. And its only then that you notice that thats the one little 'thing' thats not for the having. Damn thing. Damn life. Damn me.
Can one little 'thing' change so much? And something that I never even really had? Only in my dreams. And what technicolour dreams. ('Thing' would, ofcourse, at this point say, "did you know dreams arent really in colour at all". Yes. I did. I'm not that dumb.)
It wasnt for the having at all. What a waste. What a lovely beautiful waste. It could have been so perfect.
Someone had once said to me, 'from you I learned about universal and unconditional love'. Thats not true. So often my love is tainted. Dirty with wanting. If I only loved, I would be happy, but I want. I dont know what i want, but I want ...
Its not fair. Life walks to you and says you can have everything, and just when you atlast find something you could have wanted, before you even have a chance to know if you really do, life says '... except for that ...'
I'm tired of being 3rd best. I'm tired of coming in the runners up. I'm tired of missing by just this much. I'm tired of always counting the money, the hours, the smiles, the amount I was friendly and hope it wasnt too b much to piss someone off.
I want to sit under the stars and eat sandwiches, I want to lie on the grass in the sun, I want to run and laugh and play, and I want to find out if you tickle. I want to know your deepest fears, I want to tell you mine, and I want you to want to know. I want to pull ur leg about stupid things, I want to flirt and joke and mock fight, I want to patch up. I want to hear your voice, whenever I want to hear your voie. I want to be able to see your face, reach out and touch, see your eyes shine, find out how it would feel to hold your hand. I want to hear you snoring again, I want to go to sleep again, knowing you are nearby, but nearer still. I want to wake up with you again, spend long lazy sundays, doing our own lazy things, all those silly stupid dreams, I had ever dreamed, I want them all to come true. I want to run, I want to fly, I want to run away from wanting so much ...
And just when I think I am done; just when I think I am over it all; you smile that way again. Just when I think I am done with you, your voice rings out again. Damn life! Life teases everyday. Just when I think I am ready to pack up, it gets me right in again.
But I guess by and by it will get better. Its only just a little something. By and by. give it time. it will pass. Its only just a little nothing.
And then there are times when I think I should just say it. Whats the worst that could happen. lol. Quite a lot. For the first time in my life, I think half a loaf is better than none. and I guess, if I give it time, it will pass ...
Its just that, there's that little something in my head, which keeps wondering, what if. I'm tired of pretending. Guessing. Playing games. I wonder what if ...
guess we'll never know.
Mirror mirror on the wall, who's the scardest of them all? and i guess we'll never know, who's the scarder of us two ...
I dont know what I want anymore. I just want to go to sleep. I always got defensively angry when people said 'ur confused'. But now I know I am. So sue me. I'm f tired and confused and sick and bored of being 'good' and 'pc' and walking on eggshells all the f time. And trying not to hurt noone. And I'm tired of trying not to say f. I'm tired of being miss goody two shoes. And I'm tired of being miss contrary.
Guess I'm tired of being me ...
Incidentally, newly-proudly-philistine me is reading a work of fiction again. Been so long ... a room with a view. Damn. I thought I kicked that one. One by one I pick up flaws like typos from a wanna be perfect endless work in progress, and work them out. Soon, I wont know myself. I already dont know myself. I feel like I have come so far from who I was. I miss myself again. I wanna be me again.
Top 5 Beatles Songs
Okay, everyone who was making a noise about beatles songs ... I know I promised this one coming up, but CJ was right ... its near f impossible!
Definitely Jealous Guy is one of my favourites, but does it count as a beatles song? I dunno enough about the Beatles to know! And the same for Vanilla Sky and The Ballad of John and Yoko???
, vanilla sky on youtube and
What beatles originally meant to me was stuff like 'close your eyes', 'love love me do', 'she loves you', 'should've have known' and 'i wanna hold your hand'. Those were the songs of the phase of the beatles I grew up listening to people listening to. Those were the songs I knew (know?) by heart, with every tiny sound, in the order they were on the records ... even with the scratchings on the record :)
But now after all these years, if I had to come with a list of my top 5 favourites beatles songs, it would be, I guess:
1. Something
2. Here comes the sun
3. Because
4. When i'm 64
5. In my life
Runners Ups :)
1. I'm a believer
Couldnt find this anywhere! Maybe the Monkeys ...
So i'll give you another ... ;)
2. Nothings gonna change my world
3. If i fell in love with you
4. Hey Jude
5. Eleanor Rigby
Join in and Leave your Top 5 Beatles list in the comments ... :)
Definitely Jealous Guy is one of my favourites, but does it count as a beatles song? I dunno enough about the Beatles to know! And the same for Vanilla Sky and The Ballad of John and Yoko???
, vanilla sky on youtube and
What beatles originally meant to me was stuff like 'close your eyes', 'love love me do', 'she loves you', 'should've have known' and 'i wanna hold your hand'. Those were the songs of the phase of the beatles I grew up listening to people listening to. Those were the songs I knew (know?) by heart, with every tiny sound, in the order they were on the records ... even with the scratchings on the record :)
But now after all these years, if I had to come with a list of my top 5 favourites beatles songs, it would be, I guess:
1. Something
2. Here comes the sun
3. Because
4. When i'm 64
5. In my life
Runners Ups :)
1. I'm a believer
Couldnt find this anywhere! Maybe the Monkeys ...
So i'll give you another ... ;)
2. Nothings gonna change my world
3. If i fell in love with you
4. Hey Jude
5. Eleanor Rigby
Join in and Leave your Top 5 Beatles list in the comments ... :)
little help from my friends ...
I am looking for information on this course: SMFA Boston - Post-Baccalaureate Certificate Program (for Drawing and Painting - or whatever they call it - making pictures, i guess)
Like how good or bad it is, How its different from an Master of Fine Arts, How good the college is, etc?
If anyone who reads this knows about (or knows anyone who knows about) this course, or fine arts courses in general, or SMFA Boston - Post-Baccalaureate programs in the USA ... I would really appreciate it if you got in touch ... :)
Like how good or bad it is, How its different from an Master of Fine Arts, How good the college is, etc?
If anyone who reads this knows about (or knows anyone who knows about) this course, or fine arts courses in general, or SMFA Boston - Post-Baccalaureate programs in the USA ... I would really appreciate it if you got in touch ... :)
And help me understand?
on days like this, thoughts whizz through your head like flies on a caracass. how appropriate. there's so much to say, but how would you say it. so times like these are ghalib times ... rahi na taquat e guftaar, aur agar ho bhi ...
i dont know why my heart still breaks when i think of these kids. very early they learn to keep a safe distance from 'them'. its always 'us' and 'them'. nice normal healthy innocent kids. with sweet memories of childhood. good food, good advice, nice names, birth certificates. how long does it take to get over your childhood? it takes some of these kids forever and a day.
just today someone asked me something that set me trying to pinpoint why and when exactly i miss you most. i used to think its in times like these. who else would know enough, who else would understand. but when i am faced with those kids and their little aching hearts, their stunted bonsai brains, their hopelessly hopeless confusion. (always confusion - yes i think the confusion is the central theme of their bequest). and their hard earned shells. their little aquired greedy, shameless, lustful, selfish ways. their poison. their sweetness. their bitterness. chocolat amer. (i think they were what i had named that ex blog after).
they go round and round in circles. they bang their heads against the walls they are trapped in. they look for friends. tehy want all the worng friends. greedily. the ones they cant have. the ones who will never love them enough. the ones who will never love them their way. maybe you need to be seared like that. branded. marked. maimed, beautiful itricate, complicated bonsai-d, to know feeling like that.
what the f am i writing about? i really dont even know. lol. guess i am really tired and i should crash. another round coming up immediately ...
i dont know why my heart still breaks when i think of these kids. very early they learn to keep a safe distance from 'them'. its always 'us' and 'them'. nice normal healthy innocent kids. with sweet memories of childhood. good food, good advice, nice names, birth certificates. how long does it take to get over your childhood? it takes some of these kids forever and a day.
just today someone asked me something that set me trying to pinpoint why and when exactly i miss you most. i used to think its in times like these. who else would know enough, who else would understand. but when i am faced with those kids and their little aching hearts, their stunted bonsai brains, their hopelessly hopeless confusion. (always confusion - yes i think the confusion is the central theme of their bequest). and their hard earned shells. their little aquired greedy, shameless, lustful, selfish ways. their poison. their sweetness. their bitterness. chocolat amer. (i think they were what i had named that ex blog after).
they go round and round in circles. they bang their heads against the walls they are trapped in. they look for friends. tehy want all the worng friends. greedily. the ones they cant have. the ones who will never love them enough. the ones who will never love them their way. maybe you need to be seared like that. branded. marked. maimed, beautiful itricate, complicated bonsai-d, to know feeling like that.
what the f am i writing about? i really dont even know. lol. guess i am really tired and i should crash. another round coming up immediately ...
Top 5 Time Again: Top Five Songs you have ever identified with
... if you would like to play along, leave your Top 5 in the comments :)
1) I'm Easy. Keith C.
This is my favourite song (specially at the moment! :)). If you havent heard it, please do go to here and check it out) :)
SONG
LYRICS
2) Sometimes when we touch. Dan Hill
I fell in love with this song in school (lucknow socials - dia kaur and anjali utthup i think were singing it in lawrence hall. But I maybe wrong - it was a long time ago. Has always stayed in my head, though.
SONG
LYRICS
3) Knife. Rockwell
SONG: This is the Closest I could come/find to an online version!
LYRICS
4) Another Lonely Day. Ben Harper (or was it Hunters and Collectors?)
SONG
LYRICS
5) Desparado. The Eagles
SONG
LYRICS
Runner UpS :)
1) You and I. The Scorpions
One of my favourite - EST songs :) Corny but ...
LYRICS)
SONG
2) Rockabye. Shawn Mullins (I think)
LYRICS
3) Send in The Clowns
Huge all time favourite of mine :)
LYRICS
4)Whats love got to do with it. Tina Turner
Old favourite from school days. It always makes me smile :)
SONG
LYRICS
5) For All We Know
One of those early first songs you here your parents playing grow to love too
Incidentally, 'their song' (there's a kind of hush) also is one of my favourites ...
LYRICS
6) The Way We WereLYRICS
And I loved the movie ...
7) Unforgiven. Metallica
LYRICS
8) I wanna hold your hand. The Beatles
9) Silent in the Morning. Phish
10) Be my Baby. I dont remember who it was by ... :)
Next list coming up soon: Top 5 Beatles Songs (Maybe 'Because', 'Something', 'Here comes the Sun', 'Love love me do' ... ??? Dunno, this one's even harder to pick a top 5 from :D)
1) I'm Easy. Keith C.
This is my favourite song (specially at the moment! :)). If you havent heard it, please do go to here and check it out) :)
SONG
LYRICS
2) Sometimes when we touch. Dan Hill
I fell in love with this song in school (lucknow socials - dia kaur and anjali utthup i think were singing it in lawrence hall. But I maybe wrong - it was a long time ago. Has always stayed in my head, though.
SONG
LYRICS
3) Knife. Rockwell
SONG: This is the Closest I could come/find to an online version!
LYRICS
4) Another Lonely Day. Ben Harper (or was it Hunters and Collectors?)
SONG
LYRICS
5) Desparado. The Eagles
SONG
LYRICS
Runner UpS :)
1) You and I. The Scorpions
One of my favourite - EST songs :) Corny but ...
LYRICS)
SONG
2) Rockabye. Shawn Mullins (I think)
LYRICS
3) Send in The Clowns
Huge all time favourite of mine :)
LYRICS
4)Whats love got to do with it. Tina Turner
Old favourite from school days. It always makes me smile :)
SONG
LYRICS
5) For All We Know
One of those early first songs you here your parents playing grow to love too
Incidentally, 'their song' (there's a kind of hush) also is one of my favourites ...
LYRICS
6) The Way We WereLYRICS
And I loved the movie ...
7) Unforgiven. Metallica
LYRICS
8) I wanna hold your hand. The Beatles
9) Silent in the Morning. Phish
10) Be my Baby. I dont remember who it was by ... :)
Next list coming up soon: Top 5 Beatles Songs (Maybe 'Because', 'Something', 'Here comes the Sun', 'Love love me do' ... ??? Dunno, this one's even harder to pick a top 5 from :D)
word master WIP
to be completed ...
this time, its not about the words
this time the emotions
just come flood
lash at tightly shut teeth and fists and eyes
and rage and storm and whisper and tease
then give up and go away again
this time feelings are not caught, trapped, teased, taunted
and each wrenched to the very last syllable
this time, its not about the words brought
this time i am june.
trapped.
and here's my dostevsky
this time ur both cruel and soft,
like him, like her. and the banker.
this time, must pass soon
its good that u leave
or this time might be strong enough
to push me past the edge where i live
heartbreak, i have dealt with
i'll know how to handle that
just go. take the confusion
the swirl of hope and despair
this time, its not about the words
this time the emotions
just come flood
lash at tightly shut teeth and fists and eyes
and rage and storm and whisper and tease
then give up and go away again
this time feelings are not caught, trapped, teased, taunted
and each wrenched to the very last syllable
this time, its not about the words brought
this time i am june.
trapped.
and here's my dostevsky
this time ur both cruel and soft,
like him, like her. and the banker.
this time, must pass soon
its good that u leave
or this time might be strong enough
to push me past the edge where i live
heartbreak, i have dealt with
i'll know how to handle that
just go. take the confusion
the swirl of hope and despair
Outline
OUTLINE
Priya is a 21 year old girl, in her final year of college. She from an ordinary middle class indian family. bengali. the kinds who have stray relatives here and there who are highly educated and well placed and stray ancestors who were big names, but the family itself is very ordinary. Dad is very typical - hard working humble - doesnt think too much or expect too much from life. Mom is quiet in way of someone who was very colourful and had big dreams but gave in to what life offered her and shut up about what she had wanted. Priya has a brother, Nirmal. He is younger to her and stays away from home most of the day job hunting. He is frustrated and a little bitter.
She is attractive and looks very striking now and then, but she is not really pretty or beautiful.
One day she is coming home from somewhere and a group of local boys lounging around in front of a semi-deserted park passes a comment as she walks by. She recognises one of them as Rahul, someone who she knows vaguely through their families. he is a nice boy from a decent family and she wonders what he is doing with this crowd. She hurries past and is irritated but then forgets about it. She tells her mom about it, not expecting her to repeat it to the rest of the family, but she hadnt really thought abt it one way or the other. However, the mom brings it up after dinner. The dad expresses concrns. Brother passes a sarcastic comment (implying) questioning her part in the whole incident.
Some time passes
One afternoon this same group of guys, or some of them, has had a lot to drink and are a bit out of control. One of them, Rahul, more so than the rest. They get into a mood of playful betting and as they are drunk and young and excited, high on the alchohol and on life, the stakes get higher and higher. One of them starts talking about girls and they start boasting about things they have done or would dare to do. It snowballs. Someone dares Rahul to make out with a girl. At that moment Priya passes by and they pin on her. By this time they barely know what they are doing and Rahul follows Priya till the park and rapes her there. Afterwards she faints.
When she comes to it's evening. She is initially just under shock. Somehow she drags herself home. Her mom is the first to see her and their is some drama which echo's the earlier incident, scaled up. However, her parents are completely sympathetic, but it never strikes them to go to the police about it or do anything but try to hush it up. They cant even imagine it. It doesnt even strike them.
Slowly a few people come to know. People come over and ask questions, some are plain curious, some are like her brother, some genuinely sympathetic. Priya is in shock. Numb. Part of her listens to all the conversations around her. Rest of her is blank, with occasional flashes of the incident coming back to haunt her. When these happen she just quickly shuts off all thought to survive the intensity of the pain.
One lady comes over (there is some intro to her before). She is a para-didi. Single. 35. Very well educated. People admire her achievements yet look at her kind of like she were a strange being - they cant understand the difference betw themselves and her. This lady is v kind to Priya and Priya peeps out a little from the shell of numbness she has woven around her mind. The lady asks Priya to go to the police. She stills Priya's immediate panic at the suggestion and explains how this could have happened to someone else if Priya doesnt take action. Priya is just beginning to think about it when her mom hears whats going on and comes over. Mom is shocked at the sugestion in her gentle way and says no way - explains nicely that we - our kind of family - cant afford to do that sort of thing - who will marry her - etc. Priya had been about to come out of her shell but sort of just draws back in bcz coming partway out was too much of an effort.
She just hangs around the house all day doing nothing. brother passes sarcastic comments. parents are worried and disturbed and have discussions. They encourage her to try and get back to normal life. She goes to college one day, but she feels like evryone is looking at her. Her brothers voice (and some other people who were shown when the visitors - types - categories) comes to her mind and so does flashes of the rape. She freaks and runs away.
She doesnt know where she is going but when she stops she is at the park. She sits in the same place she found herself when she woke up and cries. Rahul comes by. She runs away.
Rahul, is a 'good' boy from a 'decent' family who got carried away and made a really stupid mistake. He is torn by remorse and just cant get over it. His family knows and they are very devastated and dissapointed in him, and also worried about the legal implications. His mom at some level is just disgusted and treats him like there was some animal hidden in him all along and she mistook him as someone she could love as her own son ... as if all those years of loving him were a mistake. his dad is not talking to him but he is more angry about the practical point of view and about their social standing position. they also feel genuinely bad for the girl, but they are more overwhelmingly taken up by the whole fact that it was their son that did this. diff reactions. Mixed feelings. Rahul, however, is not angry or bothered, he hates himself - as if he did it on a high and when he woke up it was done. He just cant believe what he has done. He wants to apologise but how do you apologise for something so big? everytime he tries he loses the nerve. Instead he ends up haunting the park where it happened ... like poking a healing scab, trying to hold on to the pain in its bitter sweet stage. (he is enjoying his agony? scale? big-ness +ve or -ve of things having happened to him in life?)
Priya discovers she is pregnant. Before she can even digest the info her parents find out. All hell breaks lose. She is still half numb.
She thinks about it a lot and she realises / or feels that there is only one way out. She doesnt want an abortion bcz its her baby, however it was conceived. She wants to keep the baby. Coming from the background she does, no one will marry her with and baby and she cant have the baby and keep it on her own. She hasnt even finished college. She has to marry if she wants to keep the baby and the only who will or could be or should be made to marry her is Rahul.
Maybe at some level she senes Rahul is basically good, and is now remorseful. She realises he comes to the park often (how?) and she goes there one day to wait for him, without telling anyone at home.
As Rahul approaches the park, he see's Priya. This time he is the one who is surprised and is about to immediately turn and walk away, but she call him. He's even more surprised and he walks over to her. For a while no one says anything. Then he tries to apologise (what will he say?). Priya stops him and says she is pregnant. She doesnt want to drop the baby, she says. He doesnt know what to say. She forgives him and understands that it was a mistake on his part and he is repentant. He understands how she is feeling. They both know there's not much they can do about the past and that the grief it has already caused, created: like an entity, like the baby, will not go away, atleast not for a long time and noone other than them will really understand. They sit there quietly for a while just sharing that grief wordlessly. Then he says he will get a job and they can get married. She says something trivial / practical about marraige and the future. And it closes there
Priya is a 21 year old girl, in her final year of college. She from an ordinary middle class indian family. bengali. the kinds who have stray relatives here and there who are highly educated and well placed and stray ancestors who were big names, but the family itself is very ordinary. Dad is very typical - hard working humble - doesnt think too much or expect too much from life. Mom is quiet in way of someone who was very colourful and had big dreams but gave in to what life offered her and shut up about what she had wanted. Priya has a brother, Nirmal. He is younger to her and stays away from home most of the day job hunting. He is frustrated and a little bitter.
She is attractive and looks very striking now and then, but she is not really pretty or beautiful.
One day she is coming home from somewhere and a group of local boys lounging around in front of a semi-deserted park passes a comment as she walks by. She recognises one of them as Rahul, someone who she knows vaguely through their families. he is a nice boy from a decent family and she wonders what he is doing with this crowd. She hurries past and is irritated but then forgets about it. She tells her mom about it, not expecting her to repeat it to the rest of the family, but she hadnt really thought abt it one way or the other. However, the mom brings it up after dinner. The dad expresses concrns. Brother passes a sarcastic comment (implying) questioning her part in the whole incident.
Some time passes
One afternoon this same group of guys, or some of them, has had a lot to drink and are a bit out of control. One of them, Rahul, more so than the rest. They get into a mood of playful betting and as they are drunk and young and excited, high on the alchohol and on life, the stakes get higher and higher. One of them starts talking about girls and they start boasting about things they have done or would dare to do. It snowballs. Someone dares Rahul to make out with a girl. At that moment Priya passes by and they pin on her. By this time they barely know what they are doing and Rahul follows Priya till the park and rapes her there. Afterwards she faints.
When she comes to it's evening. She is initially just under shock. Somehow she drags herself home. Her mom is the first to see her and their is some drama which echo's the earlier incident, scaled up. However, her parents are completely sympathetic, but it never strikes them to go to the police about it or do anything but try to hush it up. They cant even imagine it. It doesnt even strike them.
Slowly a few people come to know. People come over and ask questions, some are plain curious, some are like her brother, some genuinely sympathetic. Priya is in shock. Numb. Part of her listens to all the conversations around her. Rest of her is blank, with occasional flashes of the incident coming back to haunt her. When these happen she just quickly shuts off all thought to survive the intensity of the pain.
One lady comes over (there is some intro to her before). She is a para-didi. Single. 35. Very well educated. People admire her achievements yet look at her kind of like she were a strange being - they cant understand the difference betw themselves and her. This lady is v kind to Priya and Priya peeps out a little from the shell of numbness she has woven around her mind. The lady asks Priya to go to the police. She stills Priya's immediate panic at the suggestion and explains how this could have happened to someone else if Priya doesnt take action. Priya is just beginning to think about it when her mom hears whats going on and comes over. Mom is shocked at the sugestion in her gentle way and says no way - explains nicely that we - our kind of family - cant afford to do that sort of thing - who will marry her - etc. Priya had been about to come out of her shell but sort of just draws back in bcz coming partway out was too much of an effort.
She just hangs around the house all day doing nothing. brother passes sarcastic comments. parents are worried and disturbed and have discussions. They encourage her to try and get back to normal life. She goes to college one day, but she feels like evryone is looking at her. Her brothers voice (and some other people who were shown when the visitors - types - categories) comes to her mind and so does flashes of the rape. She freaks and runs away.
She doesnt know where she is going but when she stops she is at the park. She sits in the same place she found herself when she woke up and cries. Rahul comes by. She runs away.
Rahul, is a 'good' boy from a 'decent' family who got carried away and made a really stupid mistake. He is torn by remorse and just cant get over it. His family knows and they are very devastated and dissapointed in him, and also worried about the legal implications. His mom at some level is just disgusted and treats him like there was some animal hidden in him all along and she mistook him as someone she could love as her own son ... as if all those years of loving him were a mistake. his dad is not talking to him but he is more angry about the practical point of view and about their social standing position. they also feel genuinely bad for the girl, but they are more overwhelmingly taken up by the whole fact that it was their son that did this. diff reactions. Mixed feelings. Rahul, however, is not angry or bothered, he hates himself - as if he did it on a high and when he woke up it was done. He just cant believe what he has done. He wants to apologise but how do you apologise for something so big? everytime he tries he loses the nerve. Instead he ends up haunting the park where it happened ... like poking a healing scab, trying to hold on to the pain in its bitter sweet stage. (he is enjoying his agony? scale? big-ness +ve or -ve of things having happened to him in life?)
Priya discovers she is pregnant. Before she can even digest the info her parents find out. All hell breaks lose. She is still half numb.
She thinks about it a lot and she realises / or feels that there is only one way out. She doesnt want an abortion bcz its her baby, however it was conceived. She wants to keep the baby. Coming from the background she does, no one will marry her with and baby and she cant have the baby and keep it on her own. She hasnt even finished college. She has to marry if she wants to keep the baby and the only who will or could be or should be made to marry her is Rahul.
Maybe at some level she senes Rahul is basically good, and is now remorseful. She realises he comes to the park often (how?) and she goes there one day to wait for him, without telling anyone at home.
As Rahul approaches the park, he see's Priya. This time he is the one who is surprised and is about to immediately turn and walk away, but she call him. He's even more surprised and he walks over to her. For a while no one says anything. Then he tries to apologise (what will he say?). Priya stops him and says she is pregnant. She doesnt want to drop the baby, she says. He doesnt know what to say. She forgives him and understands that it was a mistake on his part and he is repentant. He understands how she is feeling. They both know there's not much they can do about the past and that the grief it has already caused, created: like an entity, like the baby, will not go away, atleast not for a long time and noone other than them will really understand. They sit there quietly for a while just sharing that grief wordlessly. Then he says he will get a job and they can get married. She says something trivial / practical about marraige and the future. And it closes there
Dolly (Part 2)
This just a brain dump - for the next part of a story I have been working on for a while. Its the story of a man who's daughter dies, and he always feels like he killed her, due to circumstances. One day when I have time, I will tidy it up and join it all together :)
This is the the part I wrote earlier, which comes further down in the story:
Then End
I.
the older i get,
with every passing day,
the more i skip back to my beginnings
there is a new determination
to be oblivious to forces from outside
stupid and pointless and dark
i want to live, more every day i progress towars the end of life
the more i recognise its inevitability
i could never do it
i love it to much
everyday, in all its madness and boredom or excitement
is dear and fun
and also, to do the things i want to
fill what remains with the best fruits of life
i like to laze on sunny afternoons
watch sun patterns on a stony ground
cloud shadows on rolling meadows
gulls with the sun on their wings
sunlight glinting on the water
i dont know or know that i belive in love
but there is this strange sense of wholeness
and peace, on everyday in the sun
like life has just begun
this too will pass
and soon
but i will not think about it today
tomorrow is another day
II.
and part of me looks over my shoulder
the road, thank god, almost untouched
lonely, rocky, full of falls, and hard
and the beginning ...
clean, untouched, fearless
only full of questions
and chatter and words and laughter
and sunshine
eternal sunshine ...
short lived
but safe
then the fall of the mighty empire
and the people of the refuge, shipped back to their origins
exciting, beuatiful, tropical, cruel, harsh
self absorbed
en-missioned
or so it then seemed
whispered, half guilty confidences
about the ways of the world
and secret indiscretions
analytical comparisms
and first hand demos
a whole new world of pagan excess
every kind and direction explored
in the first decade or two of life,
i still found them amazing and perplexing ...
so new, so different
a whole new world
and then there are so many dimensions to the latch key world ...
yet, in a way, we grew in the same garden
our first impressions and lessons, came from the same school
quaint, adventurous, 'different', but clean, wholesome, loving
then how did we turn out so different?
is it the seeds that matter? hers first hand, mine second ...
in the twisted of my lot
first came the artificial
then the real
first true and logical, then crazy and unpredictable
first kind, then harsh
unlike my role model, the little princess
i floundered for so long ...
so in my turn i tried to save the next edition
pack, isolate, separate
but its hard
the wild and the dark world has a beautiful face
and a fatal attraction
or maybe the dark stranger was right
the fatal flaw is in encoded in the seed
now we must decide ...
is it vital or fatal, to pass the baton on
is the madness in the hands of the he who last carries it,
in which case, we could work to wipe it clean,
or is it in the burning torch
which then, must be safely extinguished, destroyed, and the world made a better place
This is the the part I wrote earlier, which comes further down in the story:
Then End
I.
the older i get,
with every passing day,
the more i skip back to my beginnings
there is a new determination
to be oblivious to forces from outside
stupid and pointless and dark
i want to live, more every day i progress towars the end of life
the more i recognise its inevitability
i could never do it
i love it to much
everyday, in all its madness and boredom or excitement
is dear and fun
and also, to do the things i want to
fill what remains with the best fruits of life
i like to laze on sunny afternoons
watch sun patterns on a stony ground
cloud shadows on rolling meadows
gulls with the sun on their wings
sunlight glinting on the water
i dont know or know that i belive in love
but there is this strange sense of wholeness
and peace, on everyday in the sun
like life has just begun
this too will pass
and soon
but i will not think about it today
tomorrow is another day
II.
and part of me looks over my shoulder
the road, thank god, almost untouched
lonely, rocky, full of falls, and hard
and the beginning ...
clean, untouched, fearless
only full of questions
and chatter and words and laughter
and sunshine
eternal sunshine ...
short lived
but safe
then the fall of the mighty empire
and the people of the refuge, shipped back to their origins
exciting, beuatiful, tropical, cruel, harsh
self absorbed
en-missioned
or so it then seemed
whispered, half guilty confidences
about the ways of the world
and secret indiscretions
analytical comparisms
and first hand demos
a whole new world of pagan excess
every kind and direction explored
in the first decade or two of life,
i still found them amazing and perplexing ...
so new, so different
a whole new world
and then there are so many dimensions to the latch key world ...
yet, in a way, we grew in the same garden
our first impressions and lessons, came from the same school
quaint, adventurous, 'different', but clean, wholesome, loving
then how did we turn out so different?
is it the seeds that matter? hers first hand, mine second ...
in the twisted of my lot
first came the artificial
then the real
first true and logical, then crazy and unpredictable
first kind, then harsh
unlike my role model, the little princess
i floundered for so long ...
so in my turn i tried to save the next edition
pack, isolate, separate
but its hard
the wild and the dark world has a beautiful face
and a fatal attraction
or maybe the dark stranger was right
the fatal flaw is in encoded in the seed
now we must decide ...
is it vital or fatal, to pass the baton on
is the madness in the hands of the he who last carries it,
in which case, we could work to wipe it clean,
or is it in the burning torch
which then, must be safely extinguished, destroyed, and the world made a better place
"Public opinion is a weak tyrant compared
with our own private opinion. What a man thinks of himself, that it
is which determines, or rather indicates, his fate."
Funny what sticks and stays in your head
Sometimes when I close my eyes I can relive all those moments ...
The sounds, the smells, the taste in my mouth, the feel of the ground under my feet
And her voice like thunder: are you ashamed of yourself
most of the times, i am :)
when it comes to screwing up - nobody does it better. i always thought that like one of those neo-arty movies, life will make sense in the end, when the pieces all fit together with a bang. and it does. it was never ur fault. or anybody elses. sometimes life is just a patchwork of different prototypes, different fairy tales. i had the ending wrong. there is no swan-turning. she was right - some people are just as dumb as they are ugly (funny how even when she said 'you are so nice' she made you feel like she was saying 'ur so dumb'). and ofcourse u dont forget even in 20 odd years hearing how stupid you are and how you would fall for any story. specially when you know its true. bah. it's bollocks. maybe everything that happens happens for a reason. trying random combinations, you will come up with a few bad designs. you should shelve them seperately and not put them in the stack for propogation. its for the best.
poor thorns. poor ducklings. poor stupid people.
with our own private opinion. What a man thinks of himself, that it
is which determines, or rather indicates, his fate."
Funny what sticks and stays in your head
Sometimes when I close my eyes I can relive all those moments ...
The sounds, the smells, the taste in my mouth, the feel of the ground under my feet
And her voice like thunder: are you ashamed of yourself
most of the times, i am :)
when it comes to screwing up - nobody does it better. i always thought that like one of those neo-arty movies, life will make sense in the end, when the pieces all fit together with a bang. and it does. it was never ur fault. or anybody elses. sometimes life is just a patchwork of different prototypes, different fairy tales. i had the ending wrong. there is no swan-turning. she was right - some people are just as dumb as they are ugly (funny how even when she said 'you are so nice' she made you feel like she was saying 'ur so dumb'). and ofcourse u dont forget even in 20 odd years hearing how stupid you are and how you would fall for any story. specially when you know its true. bah. it's bollocks. maybe everything that happens happens for a reason. trying random combinations, you will come up with a few bad designs. you should shelve them seperately and not put them in the stack for propogation. its for the best.
poor thorns. poor ducklings. poor stupid people.
mist
missing steppenwolf (for mad men only) and aurangzeb at his father's bier (murdered voices beckon me?). and one scene from 4 weddings. After all these years, it still feels strange to be away from home just for this
not to be able to look up my books and movies when the itch strikes ;)
so maybe, this is what i miss ...
only madcap could help now
only madcap could do anything
make the air all around misty and dim
to let me see you once again
ofcourse, in the morning i myself would say
there are models of how it could happen this way
but in the moonlight, the moon you loved
i can close my eyes and dream of you again
madcap could help, madcap could help
madcap could make my dead walk again
somewhere inside pandora's box
your face, your voice, your touch your love
lost in a attic full of dust
madcap could bring you out again
and you were so beautiful
you skin albaster and pink, your eyes brown and grey
your eyes that loved so sincerely
that wed the eyes in the photograph that i burnt
you said they were heartbreakingly innocent
crumbling deceptive innocence that atlast fell that day
your ankles were so thing and delicate
speckled brown, turn charcoal grey
first thing i saw when i moved the red curtain
and took you out of the pot
i crushed you in my hands, once again
and shattered and scattered you away
to the bed of your gods,
to travel like you loved
maybe if i had sold them some more of soul
maybe prawns, maybe a road, maybe cities ...
maybe if i had negotiated better
we would still be together
but the bridge between us was so long and frail
roots to branches to leaves
now fall comes and leaves die dry drift away
only branches sway, over dead roots, giving away
i have made a treaty with the winds ...
they'll count my cost, but take the flower away
they'll count our costs,
the flower safe
you never saw how pretty it was
maybe it was too far away
so now they say its the only way
there's no tomorrow after today
but madcap doesnt come when called
you stand there calling, waiting till dawn
bereft, tear-dry, maddeningly sane
if at all, this be sane!
not to be able to look up my books and movies when the itch strikes ;)
so maybe, this is what i miss ...
only madcap could help now
only madcap could do anything
make the air all around misty and dim
to let me see you once again
ofcourse, in the morning i myself would say
there are models of how it could happen this way
but in the moonlight, the moon you loved
i can close my eyes and dream of you again
madcap could help, madcap could help
madcap could make my dead walk again
somewhere inside pandora's box
your face, your voice, your touch your love
lost in a attic full of dust
madcap could bring you out again
and you were so beautiful
you skin albaster and pink, your eyes brown and grey
your eyes that loved so sincerely
that wed the eyes in the photograph that i burnt
you said they were heartbreakingly innocent
crumbling deceptive innocence that atlast fell that day
your ankles were so thing and delicate
speckled brown, turn charcoal grey
first thing i saw when i moved the red curtain
and took you out of the pot
i crushed you in my hands, once again
and shattered and scattered you away
to the bed of your gods,
to travel like you loved
maybe if i had sold them some more of soul
maybe prawns, maybe a road, maybe cities ...
maybe if i had negotiated better
we would still be together
but the bridge between us was so long and frail
roots to branches to leaves
now fall comes and leaves die dry drift away
only branches sway, over dead roots, giving away
i have made a treaty with the winds ...
they'll count my cost, but take the flower away
they'll count our costs,
the flower safe
you never saw how pretty it was
maybe it was too far away
so now they say its the only way
there's no tomorrow after today
but madcap doesnt come when called
you stand there calling, waiting till dawn
bereft, tear-dry, maddeningly sane
if at all, this be sane!