The heart is a bloom, shoots up through stony ground
But there's no room, no space to rent in this town
You're out of luck and the reason that you had to care,
The traffic is stuck and you're not moving anywhere.
You thought you’d found a friend to take you out of this place
Someone you could lend a hand in return for grace
It's a beautiful day, the sky falls
And you feel like it's a beautiful day
It’s a beautiful day
Don’t let it get away
Love, lift me out of these blues
Won't you tell me something true
I believe in you
Touch me, take me to that other place
Reach me, I know Iím not a hopeless case
"In A Little While"
In a little while
Surely you'll be mine
In a little while I'll be there
In a little while
This hurt will hurt no more
I'll be home, love
When the night takes a deep breath
And the daylight has no end
If I crawl, if I come crawling home
WiIl you be there
In a little while
I won't be blown by every breeze
Friday night running
To Sunday on my knees
That girl, that girl
She's mine
And I've know her since
Since she was a little girl
With Spanish eyes
Oh, when I saw her
In a pram they pushed her by
My, how you've grown
Well it's been
It's been a little while
Slow down my bleeding heart
A man dreams one day to fly
A man takes a rocketship into the skys
He lives on star that's dying in the night
And follows in the trail
The scatter of light
to be loved as to love with all my heart
is it synchrosity? Or is it just that he loves me. I walked home yesterday, cold damp dark ... and I was halving this imaginary conversation with a imaginary person (who sits always in my head) and I said ... 'the sunshine - the beautiful sunshine in dibba. ill never again crib about the sweat and heat.' i woke up this morning to blinding sunshine.
i feel him somewhere around. he is there. he is waiting. and he does love me. i feel it in every part of my soul. he pushes me and makes life hard and cold and he keeps raising the bar, cz thats what i had asked him for.
after years i find myself humming an old favourite from school days
"Father, hear the prayer we offer:
Nor for ease that prayer shall be,
But for strength, that we may ever
Live our lives courageously.
Not forever in green pastures
Do we ask our way to be,
But the steep and rugged pathway
May we tread rejoicingly.
Not forever by still waters
Would we idly, quiet stay;
But would smite the living fountains
From the rocks along our way."
i feel him somewhere around. he is there. he is waiting. and he does love me. i feel it in every part of my soul. he pushes me and makes life hard and cold and he keeps raising the bar, cz thats what i had asked him for.
after years i find myself humming an old favourite from school days
"Father, hear the prayer we offer:
Nor for ease that prayer shall be,
But for strength, that we may ever
Live our lives courageously.
Not forever in green pastures
Do we ask our way to be,
But the steep and rugged pathway
May we tread rejoicingly.
Not forever by still waters
Would we idly, quiet stay;
But would smite the living fountains
From the rocks along our way."
cohen
I loved you in the morning
Our kisses deep and warm,
Your head upon the pillow
Like a sleepy golden Strom.
Yes, many loved before us
I know that we are not new,
In city and in forest
They smiled like me and you,
But now it's come to distances
And both of us must try,
Your eyes are soft with sorrow,
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye.
I'm not looking for another
As I wander in my time,
Walk me to the corner
Our steps will always rhyme,
You know my love goes with you
As your love stays with me,
It's just the way it changes
Like the shoreline and the sea,
But let's not talk of love or chains
And things we can't untie,
Your eyes are soft with sorrow,
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye.
I loved you in the morning
Our kisses deep and warm,
Your head upon the pillow
Like a sleepy golden Strom.
Yes, many loved before us
I know that we are not new,
In city and in forest
They smiled like me and you,
But let's not talk of love or chains
And things we can't untie,
Your eyes are soft with sorrow,
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye.
Every phase in life, each sequence of days, seperated by coloured paper seperators in the filing of our heads, each one has a theme song, for me. Like Sauces wedding was 'from this moment'. This last trip home, probably my nicest time at home since I left for Pune in 1994, was this song above. Or probably all of the Cohen collection. I will never forget those days. Suddenly I miss my pogie and bose so much! Its not funny. Its all these people you love, or its their memories, the echoes of their voices that they leave in your head, its the shadow that drags behind them as they fly away, the way they made you feel ... its all these little strands that knit together and form a place called home, in my heart.
Our kisses deep and warm,
Your head upon the pillow
Like a sleepy golden Strom.
Yes, many loved before us
I know that we are not new,
In city and in forest
They smiled like me and you,
But now it's come to distances
And both of us must try,
Your eyes are soft with sorrow,
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye.
I'm not looking for another
As I wander in my time,
Walk me to the corner
Our steps will always rhyme,
You know my love goes with you
As your love stays with me,
It's just the way it changes
Like the shoreline and the sea,
But let's not talk of love or chains
And things we can't untie,
Your eyes are soft with sorrow,
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye.
I loved you in the morning
Our kisses deep and warm,
Your head upon the pillow
Like a sleepy golden Strom.
Yes, many loved before us
I know that we are not new,
In city and in forest
They smiled like me and you,
But let's not talk of love or chains
And things we can't untie,
Your eyes are soft with sorrow,
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye.
Every phase in life, each sequence of days, seperated by coloured paper seperators in the filing of our heads, each one has a theme song, for me. Like Sauces wedding was 'from this moment'. This last trip home, probably my nicest time at home since I left for Pune in 1994, was this song above. Or probably all of the Cohen collection. I will never forget those days. Suddenly I miss my pogie and bose so much! Its not funny. Its all these people you love, or its their memories, the echoes of their voices that they leave in your head, its the shadow that drags behind them as they fly away, the way they made you feel ... its all these little strands that knit together and form a place called home, in my heart.
the anne frank house
"When I returned and after I had the news that my children would not be coming back, Miep gave me the diary which had been saved by, I should say, a miracle. It took me a very long time before I could read it. And I must say, I was very much surprised about the deep thoughts that Anne had, her seriousness, especially her self-criticism. It was quite a different Anne than I had known as my daughter. She never really showed this kind of inner feeling. She talked about many things, criticized many things, but what her real feelings were, that I could only see from the diary." Otto Frank
"A single Anne Frank moves us more than the countless others who suffered just as she did, but whose faces have remained in the shadows. Perhaps it's better that way: if we were capable of taking in the suffering of all those people, we would not be able to live." Primo Levi
July 27, 1945
Dear Milly,
I suppose you will excuse me that I did not answer your kind letter right away. I couldnt. Daily, I tried to speak to people in order to find something about the girls. And I speak to quite a lot who met them at Bergen-Belzen in January or February but then I could not trace them any further. Now I know all the truth and I know that I shall never be able to believe that strk. I seem to be very calm and do everything to divert me, just not to think. Nobody can help me, though I have many friends.
Otto Frank to his sister, Milly
It took me 17 mins of standing in that same hallway to note down this passage that was being played there (had to stop to cry once in a while)!
What hit me most was the ordinary normality of life. peter's new board game. the pinups on her wall. all the little details which make you realise, actually realise, it wasnt just a story ... it happened. How did it happen? There must be a answer. There must be a rationale. But how do I find it and where do I look. Is it in the 'maaya' or is it connectivity or what is it? How can we go on living like it never happened? How can we go on living without understanding it? Or die? it is all the more chilly when you think of the years the dates. you know that time. you have read those dates before. so and so's birthday. or something like that.
"A single Anne Frank moves us more than the countless others who suffered just as she did, but whose faces have remained in the shadows. Perhaps it's better that way: if we were capable of taking in the suffering of all those people, we would not be able to live." Primo Levi
July 27, 1945
Dear Milly,
I suppose you will excuse me that I did not answer your kind letter right away. I couldnt. Daily, I tried to speak to people in order to find something about the girls. And I speak to quite a lot who met them at Bergen-Belzen in January or February but then I could not trace them any further. Now I know all the truth and I know that I shall never be able to believe that strk. I seem to be very calm and do everything to divert me, just not to think. Nobody can help me, though I have many friends.
Otto Frank to his sister, Milly
It took me 17 mins of standing in that same hallway to note down this passage that was being played there (had to stop to cry once in a while)!
What hit me most was the ordinary normality of life. peter's new board game. the pinups on her wall. all the little details which make you realise, actually realise, it wasnt just a story ... it happened. How did it happen? There must be a answer. There must be a rationale. But how do I find it and where do I look. Is it in the 'maaya' or is it connectivity or what is it? How can we go on living like it never happened? How can we go on living without understanding it? Or die? it is all the more chilly when you think of the years the dates. you know that time. you have read those dates before. so and so's birthday. or something like that.
i could have told you vincent ....
van gogh:
bridge in the rain
courting couples in the voyer d'argenson
the harvest
wheat field 1988
triptich
the sower
st pauls hospital garden
branches of an almond tree in blossom (gift for theo's son)
the reaper
wheatfield with crows
wheatfield with poppies
wheatfield under the clouds
view of auvers
farmhouse at auvers
other artists i liked there
manet
preitenger van dongen
gaugin
raffeilli
gaugin
paul serusier
edouard vuillard
pierre bonnard
felix vallotton
josef israils
herder shephard
odilon redon
floris vester
lepere auguste
valtat
george breitner hendrik
i was amazed by the boldness of a painting of a lady called Gus - Augusta.
caveat - the names are all from my (very) hastily scribbled notes at the museum during a very rushed and cursory run through it. Half of which time I was too tired to be thinking straight. so, i expect i got a lot of them wrong!
i left wanting to find out more about the relationship between him and gaugin. about his 'voices'. and to think about why he volunteered to go to St Pauls and how he felt after that. did he feel trapped. also want to read his letters to emile bernard.
quotes:
"for you, the public, it is really done. i think that saying is true: For you the public, it is really done"
Vincent to Theo, Nov 1882
"I feel a failure. That is my destiny, which I accept and which will never chnage"
27 July 1890. Vincent Van Gogh Stichting.
bridge in the rain
courting couples in the voyer d'argenson
the harvest
wheat field 1988
triptich
the sower
st pauls hospital garden
branches of an almond tree in blossom (gift for theo's son)
the reaper
wheatfield with crows
wheatfield with poppies
wheatfield under the clouds
view of auvers
farmhouse at auvers
other artists i liked there
manet
preitenger van dongen
gaugin
raffeilli
gaugin
paul serusier
edouard vuillard
pierre bonnard
felix vallotton
josef israils
herder shephard
odilon redon
floris vester
lepere auguste
valtat
george breitner hendrik
i was amazed by the boldness of a painting of a lady called Gus - Augusta.
caveat - the names are all from my (very) hastily scribbled notes at the museum during a very rushed and cursory run through it. Half of which time I was too tired to be thinking straight. so, i expect i got a lot of them wrong!
i left wanting to find out more about the relationship between him and gaugin. about his 'voices'. and to think about why he volunteered to go to St Pauls and how he felt after that. did he feel trapped. also want to read his letters to emile bernard.
quotes:
"for you, the public, it is really done. i think that saying is true: For you the public, it is really done"
Vincent to Theo, Nov 1882
"I feel a failure. That is my destiny, which I accept and which will never chnage"
27 July 1890. Vincent Van Gogh Stichting.
its ironic, how im back in the game
am i the only person in the world who takes notes whil watching tv? while going htough my notebook for the amsterdam notes i found notes on a chinese valley of soldiers, greek medicine, and ofcourse the usual songs (damien rice) and movies (gosford park) to be hunted down.
probably one of the scariest things to have is volatility and lack of control.
i wish i was taller
the skies are dark this afternoon with storms clouds and the grounds slick with drying rain. makes me think of home ...
Most days, I am haunted by spirit. He is, by turns, restless, impish, naughty, shy, sweet and unbaeatably persistant. He stands, like a shadow, just behind my right shoulder. in everything i do or say, when i am talking to someone, when i am workinhg, in the gym, in the class everynow and again it will prod my in the ribs and reminds me of things I dont want to think about, of things I run away from, of things I like to hide from. Distracted, I los my train of thoughts and Im lost, till with a start, I wake up again. In these days of high stress and sharp tension, It reminds me of the late nights just before the exams, when denying all human feelings, we forcefull keep ourselves awake and suddenly when our head jerks down and we wake, only then we realise we had fallen asleep for a split second. like that, waking from a day dream i realise i had fallen. theres a feel of something coming. of wanting something. of being on my way somewhere. i flit between panic and a incstinct to run from whatever is up ahead and my whole heart singing in anticipation.
Sometimes you have to let people go. Sometimes you have to let a friendship go. However precious, however dear, however natural it was. I know I was wrong. But theres nothing I can do now but feel sorry. I want to run away somewhere and I want to run to someone and tell them everything, just vomit out all the pain, and cry. But theres no one like that. You cant lean on someone unless you knew he could take the weight. All the way.
I miss chatts. I need chatts. there are times when no one else will do. Or Sauce, or Juls, or Ad, or Pogie. Yet just having recognised / remembered the comfort of having friends like that consoles and spread over you like a balm.
For a moment, theres peace then your restless again. Its not a ache, so it cant be fixed. Its just this funny feeling. Like somethings wrong somewhere. Like something big is about to hit me in the head and I cant see it.
I guess its been that way ever since the dreaded yearly review. I havent gotten over that yet. I dont know if I ever will. Yet there are certain things that make you feel that maybe it wasnt that bad. At the end of the day, its all that matters, isnt it? The principle thing you do. If I tell you, you suck at your work, what do you have left. If some idiot tells you that you can tell urself its just the idiot. But if one of the people whose judgement you really trust tells you that, then what do you do? At the end of the day, but its all about interpretations, isnt it? It doesnt have to be the end of it all ... you can still try for next time!
probably one of the scariest things to have is volatility and lack of control.
i wish i was taller
the skies are dark this afternoon with storms clouds and the grounds slick with drying rain. makes me think of home ...
Most days, I am haunted by spirit. He is, by turns, restless, impish, naughty, shy, sweet and unbaeatably persistant. He stands, like a shadow, just behind my right shoulder. in everything i do or say, when i am talking to someone, when i am workinhg, in the gym, in the class everynow and again it will prod my in the ribs and reminds me of things I dont want to think about, of things I run away from, of things I like to hide from. Distracted, I los my train of thoughts and Im lost, till with a start, I wake up again. In these days of high stress and sharp tension, It reminds me of the late nights just before the exams, when denying all human feelings, we forcefull keep ourselves awake and suddenly when our head jerks down and we wake, only then we realise we had fallen asleep for a split second. like that, waking from a day dream i realise i had fallen. theres a feel of something coming. of wanting something. of being on my way somewhere. i flit between panic and a incstinct to run from whatever is up ahead and my whole heart singing in anticipation.
Sometimes you have to let people go. Sometimes you have to let a friendship go. However precious, however dear, however natural it was. I know I was wrong. But theres nothing I can do now but feel sorry. I want to run away somewhere and I want to run to someone and tell them everything, just vomit out all the pain, and cry. But theres no one like that. You cant lean on someone unless you knew he could take the weight. All the way.
I miss chatts. I need chatts. there are times when no one else will do. Or Sauce, or Juls, or Ad, or Pogie. Yet just having recognised / remembered the comfort of having friends like that consoles and spread over you like a balm.
For a moment, theres peace then your restless again. Its not a ache, so it cant be fixed. Its just this funny feeling. Like somethings wrong somewhere. Like something big is about to hit me in the head and I cant see it.
I guess its been that way ever since the dreaded yearly review. I havent gotten over that yet. I dont know if I ever will. Yet there are certain things that make you feel that maybe it wasnt that bad. At the end of the day, its all that matters, isnt it? The principle thing you do. If I tell you, you suck at your work, what do you have left. If some idiot tells you that you can tell urself its just the idiot. But if one of the people whose judgement you really trust tells you that, then what do you do? At the end of the day, but its all about interpretations, isnt it? It doesnt have to be the end of it all ... you can still try for next time!
nostalgia
wouldnt it be nice if we could really live in the present. i know some of us manage pretty well, but a few are not so good or consistent with this skill
when i look back on my life till now, i see every colour, every shade in my memories. orange for fun & frolic, pink for love & laughter; red for anger & amor; grey for tears & trials; blue for the blues, purple for the strange lost days, black sins and pain; white for wisdom and peace. but given a choice, i wouldnt live one single day differently. 'got say it now - its been a good life all in all'
but the point here is that i look back. each moment i know, though i am, here and now, making memories i will look back on with fond longing some far away tomorrow, yet i spend a part of it looking over my shoulder at some long left behind yesterday.
through it all theres one thing i have realised. you never miss a place, time, person. i have gone back to all of them and found strangers where i had left bits and pieces of my heart. what we do miss is the way we were ... there,then, with them
we are different all the time. with different people, in different places, at different times. and we scatter our souls in the winds of our lives, spreading it everywhere we have touched, leaving bits and pieces of our selves every where we go.
wouldnt it be nice if we could collect all of us in space & time and be whole for that moment, that place.
i couldnt write in words how its raining. its like magic. the water. the light. the city. wish i could stay home and watch the 'way we were' ... or anything, for that matter
Sweet dreams are made of this
Who am I to disagree?
I travel the world and the seven seas
Everybody's lookin' for somethin'.
Some of them want to use you.
Some of them want to get used by you
Some of them want to abuse you.
Some of them want to be abused
an old song stirs up so many memories. how the heart clings to everything old. old memories. old friends. old books. old poems & journals. t-shirts. ashtrays. stuff toys. perfume bottles. greeting cards. photographs ... somewhere in linda goodmans love signs, a tattered copy of which i still have at home, which was carefully brought down and furtively & very seriously re-consulted, through the years, with every new childhood sweetheart, somewhere in that much loved (old) book, she says the Scorpio must try to overcome its tendency to make a scrapbook out of its life and live it. i wonder if its true? dont really care ... love reading her stuff cz i love the glorious picture she paints of Us!
things come and things go. but everything that passes over you leaves its tracks. some are stronger than the rest. memories ... there are so many meories crowded in your head. some seem so real you can almost forget they are not here and now. some so faded and dry that they are like watching a movie or reading a book stored somewhere inside. there are things you recall, you know they happened, but it feels so incredible. which me was this thats so much more a stranger than anyone else i have ever heard of?
someone had once exclaimed, how can you hate yourself. how can anyone? how can you not love someone you have carried inside you for so long? treasured, protected, nurtured, guided ... (thats the way of the orphans ... but do the others do that too?) ... created, how can you throw any part of that away, how can you
tear out these cancers, which though dangerously malignant, are still parts of you?
Can you? Is there surgery that does that? Keep the roses. throw away the thorns. Can you discipline, control, carrot&stick yourself.into becoming someone else? into becoming a good person?
what will happen to the bits that fall away under the knife? will the float away from the soul and drift in ether forver, islands of faults and mistakes? torn thorns. poor little thorns.
nostalgia: the memory of the heart. Ive been speaking to Vani quite a bit lately
and I got a bigg-ish mail from Ghatak this morning
And I wrote a biggie to Pills yesterday
So all in all its PUNE TIMES in nostalgia land
With golden words like deccan and chit chat & FTII & Fergusan floating around in my head
In those days, when people told us crap like "these are the golden years of ur life" and "You will remember these days all your lives long"
I always thot, what crap man! I mean ... ye jeena bhi koi jeena hai lallu!
paisa nahi. hamesha bhikaario ka haal hai
at times we'd pool resources to get one vada pav
even an auto is like a luxury
holiday "getaway" start with 3 tier bliss (often unreserved & seatless) on IR (Azad Hind Express)
tumtum mein ghumo. dhup mein pako
ghar aake gaali khaao
journals / profs / orals / practicals / and EXAMS!!!!
chhhheeeeeeeeeee!
But in retrospect ... its something else all together!
pigging out on borrowed (beg / borrow / steal - been there done that) maggie in the dorm
and hanging out at Buggi's flat endless Sundays
and sneaking into FTII forever for lack of places to hang out in
and going to deccan for samosa's early sunday morning
and vani's street side friend
and me and pills going down the dorm - door to door - begging someone to donate a mafggie ka pkt to the kangaal janta :(
chhheeee - & people used to be so rude to us!
I remember somone (I think it was one of those semi localites) once asked as 2.5 bucks for a half pkt ... she said "please kal paisa de dena haan?"
And we were so shameless ... I think I would have felt really bad if it happened now! Ouch! Uss time pein kuchh laga bhi nahi hoga ... kya yedi hain ... aisa kuchh socha rahega :)
Didnt posses a music system so we were once camped outside this seniors (nandita's room) door when she was playing lucky ali
I fell in love with that album
once the second yrs janta mistook me for a fresher & ragged me ... I was in BE!
and I remember seema agarwal ... how we used to plague her
she used to squat in a corner in college (during prep leave - loadsa folk went to the empty bdg to "study") - and she'd rock back and forth and mumble to herself ratto-ing the whole book - cover to cover
and me & pills used to make fun of her so much
toh she used to say "no ya Im just like keeping it in mind"
that was hilarious
And Mona - my one & only Loci pal
Gawd she had a mom, and a house & and bed
And Foooooooooooooood!!!!
And I remember one time this babe
took an illegal night out from hostel and went to the disc
and poor child ... mtv chose that night to come filming in Pune!
Early in the morning there was this huge snap of her in Pune Plus ...
well not of her - but she figured pretty prominently :)
And the papers used to be kept on a kind of platform next to the matron desk
We couldnt do anything
So this other girl she kind of just went and sat on the paper ... it was really funny at that time.
And coming home on Azad Hind
It used to be like those school trains in Malory Towers or something
I mean almost 96 percent students
All the West Bengal and NorthEast janta in Pune going home
Music Jokes Halla ... Mad or Melancholy ... depending on the direction
and vani's M80 & Mona's sunny & Buggi's amazing Bike!
and how they seemed like the coolest in the world bcz of their great treasures
and hanging out a fergie & sagaar plaza & god knows where else to catch up with Ghatak
abnd SPDP
and me & vani & pills at Bugge's place
we knew vani was going off to the US
we used to ask her if she will mail and all
she used to say ya ofsourse I will
I remember this one time I asked her how often she wud mail me
she said everyday
but she never did!
:)
the us seemed so so far away
now i am here too, in the us
but it still seems like she is so far away at times
i guess once again - its a fn of time not place!
Those times when they pass take away so much
Now we are just old hags trying despo'ly to survive from day to day
and memories, and dreams are just a luxury, to be taken out of the attic and smiled at everyonce in a while :)
chatted with my mom
my leo (my beloved my sweet darling leo) is ill
he is getting old it seems (bull)
mom is such a darling
she is so cute
she lined up all my stuff toys in front of the webcam
and leo and my cats
and the birds
everything
and I saw my daddy in his red jammies :)
for a second such a wave of nostalgia swept over me
cant explain ... felt like my heart will break ... with a nice feeling ...
recently a friend asked me who is there for u when things go wrong
no ones ever there really ... but its not as tragic as it sounds
its no big deal - u get used to it jolly quick and all
u just take a deep breath and wait for it to pass
and u shudnt let any one be there
bcz people r very predicatable that way - they go away - or they change
or they turn out to be something totally different from what u thought they were
and then it hurts like hell
reading I think paradox's blog recently I remembered my daddy's smell
he smells of anteus and tide and dunhill and whiskey and the cement plant
he looks serious and scary or half asleep
and he frowns most of the time
and then he smiles, slow unexpectedly - and suddenly boom he's grinning like a little boy
there are things that remind me of him. anteus. smell of whiskey. or ac cars
crisp white shirts. anyone shaving and making strange faces
panes flying overhead, abriti, satyajeet roy, hemanta ... almost everything nice
listening to bhole o bhole ... corny song but cute :)
and also "piya bawri" i love those semi classical hindi movie songs!
spoke to mom for a long time
mists of nostalgia
play misty for me
svengali
fedora
kishore kumar
broken tape recorder
days of poverty
ahua
tartous
the sea
long winding roads - always the same end
whenever I talk to mom it comes to the same thing
sadiyon sadiyon wahin tamaasha - rasta rasta lambi khoj
wish I wasnt such a coward
but somethings ... u cant deal with u cant face u ant solve u cant bear
u can just run and run ...
me and the sky
I cried today to keep her company
And she rained all day
And then at night she lit up the chandeliers
To make my heart bright again
Everyone else just passes by
In the end its just you and i
Everything changes every minute
And ur left staring into the sky
one of my childhood friends commited suicide a long time back
here. in texas
we were in india then
i was in pune
chatts was in cal
sauce was in blore
chatts called me
she was crying ... i didnt know what to do
we become so selfish in times of pain
my first though was how sauce & chatts will be hurt ...
no one knew why
I was curious
i did a search on suicide in google
and I came across this site which said that
sometimes kids who are exposed to very complicated or hurtful situations
when very young are never very normal again
they never really heal
funny
when i look back on my life till now, i see every colour, every shade in my memories. orange for fun & frolic, pink for love & laughter; red for anger & amor; grey for tears & trials; blue for the blues, purple for the strange lost days, black sins and pain; white for wisdom and peace. but given a choice, i wouldnt live one single day differently. 'got say it now - its been a good life all in all'
but the point here is that i look back. each moment i know, though i am, here and now, making memories i will look back on with fond longing some far away tomorrow, yet i spend a part of it looking over my shoulder at some long left behind yesterday.
through it all theres one thing i have realised. you never miss a place, time, person. i have gone back to all of them and found strangers where i had left bits and pieces of my heart. what we do miss is the way we were ... there,then, with them
we are different all the time. with different people, in different places, at different times. and we scatter our souls in the winds of our lives, spreading it everywhere we have touched, leaving bits and pieces of our selves every where we go.
wouldnt it be nice if we could collect all of us in space & time and be whole for that moment, that place.
i couldnt write in words how its raining. its like magic. the water. the light. the city. wish i could stay home and watch the 'way we were' ... or anything, for that matter
Sweet dreams are made of this
Who am I to disagree?
I travel the world and the seven seas
Everybody's lookin' for somethin'.
Some of them want to use you.
Some of them want to get used by you
Some of them want to abuse you.
Some of them want to be abused
an old song stirs up so many memories. how the heart clings to everything old. old memories. old friends. old books. old poems & journals. t-shirts. ashtrays. stuff toys. perfume bottles. greeting cards. photographs ... somewhere in linda goodmans love signs, a tattered copy of which i still have at home, which was carefully brought down and furtively & very seriously re-consulted, through the years, with every new childhood sweetheart, somewhere in that much loved (old) book, she says the Scorpio must try to overcome its tendency to make a scrapbook out of its life and live it. i wonder if its true? dont really care ... love reading her stuff cz i love the glorious picture she paints of Us!
things come and things go. but everything that passes over you leaves its tracks. some are stronger than the rest. memories ... there are so many meories crowded in your head. some seem so real you can almost forget they are not here and now. some so faded and dry that they are like watching a movie or reading a book stored somewhere inside. there are things you recall, you know they happened, but it feels so incredible. which me was this thats so much more a stranger than anyone else i have ever heard of?
someone had once exclaimed, how can you hate yourself. how can anyone? how can you not love someone you have carried inside you for so long? treasured, protected, nurtured, guided ... (thats the way of the orphans ... but do the others do that too?) ... created, how can you throw any part of that away, how can you
tear out these cancers, which though dangerously malignant, are still parts of you?
Can you? Is there surgery that does that? Keep the roses. throw away the thorns. Can you discipline, control, carrot&stick yourself.into becoming someone else? into becoming a good person?
what will happen to the bits that fall away under the knife? will the float away from the soul and drift in ether forver, islands of faults and mistakes? torn thorns. poor little thorns.
nostalgia: the memory of the heart. Ive been speaking to Vani quite a bit lately
and I got a bigg-ish mail from Ghatak this morning
And I wrote a biggie to Pills yesterday
So all in all its PUNE TIMES in nostalgia land
With golden words like deccan and chit chat & FTII & Fergusan floating around in my head
In those days, when people told us crap like "these are the golden years of ur life" and "You will remember these days all your lives long"
I always thot, what crap man! I mean ... ye jeena bhi koi jeena hai lallu!
paisa nahi. hamesha bhikaario ka haal hai
at times we'd pool resources to get one vada pav
even an auto is like a luxury
holiday "getaway" start with 3 tier bliss (often unreserved & seatless) on IR (Azad Hind Express)
tumtum mein ghumo. dhup mein pako
ghar aake gaali khaao
journals / profs / orals / practicals / and EXAMS!!!!
chhhheeeeeeeeeee!
But in retrospect ... its something else all together!
pigging out on borrowed (beg / borrow / steal - been there done that) maggie in the dorm
and hanging out at Buggi's flat endless Sundays
and sneaking into FTII forever for lack of places to hang out in
and going to deccan for samosa's early sunday morning
and vani's street side friend
and me and pills going down the dorm - door to door - begging someone to donate a mafggie ka pkt to the kangaal janta :(
chhheeee - & people used to be so rude to us!
I remember somone (I think it was one of those semi localites) once asked as 2.5 bucks for a half pkt ... she said "please kal paisa de dena haan?"
And we were so shameless ... I think I would have felt really bad if it happened now! Ouch! Uss time pein kuchh laga bhi nahi hoga ... kya yedi hain ... aisa kuchh socha rahega :)
Didnt posses a music system so we were once camped outside this seniors (nandita's room) door when she was playing lucky ali
I fell in love with that album
once the second yrs janta mistook me for a fresher & ragged me ... I was in BE!
and I remember seema agarwal ... how we used to plague her
she used to squat in a corner in college (during prep leave - loadsa folk went to the empty bdg to "study") - and she'd rock back and forth and mumble to herself ratto-ing the whole book - cover to cover
and me & pills used to make fun of her so much
toh she used to say "no ya Im just like keeping it in mind"
that was hilarious
And Mona - my one & only Loci pal
Gawd she had a mom, and a house & and bed
And Foooooooooooooood!!!!
And I remember one time this babe
took an illegal night out from hostel and went to the disc
and poor child ... mtv chose that night to come filming in Pune!
Early in the morning there was this huge snap of her in Pune Plus ...
well not of her - but she figured pretty prominently :)
And the papers used to be kept on a kind of platform next to the matron desk
We couldnt do anything
So this other girl she kind of just went and sat on the paper ... it was really funny at that time.
And coming home on Azad Hind
It used to be like those school trains in Malory Towers or something
I mean almost 96 percent students
All the West Bengal and NorthEast janta in Pune going home
Music Jokes Halla ... Mad or Melancholy ... depending on the direction
and vani's M80 & Mona's sunny & Buggi's amazing Bike!
and how they seemed like the coolest in the world bcz of their great treasures
and hanging out a fergie & sagaar plaza & god knows where else to catch up with Ghatak
abnd SPDP
and me & vani & pills at Bugge's place
we knew vani was going off to the US
we used to ask her if she will mail and all
she used to say ya ofsourse I will
I remember this one time I asked her how often she wud mail me
she said everyday
but she never did!
:)
the us seemed so so far away
now i am here too, in the us
but it still seems like she is so far away at times
i guess once again - its a fn of time not place!
Those times when they pass take away so much
Now we are just old hags trying despo'ly to survive from day to day
and memories, and dreams are just a luxury, to be taken out of the attic and smiled at everyonce in a while :)
chatted with my mom
my leo (my beloved my sweet darling leo) is ill
he is getting old it seems (bull)
mom is such a darling
she is so cute
she lined up all my stuff toys in front of the webcam
and leo and my cats
and the birds
everything
and I saw my daddy in his red jammies :)
for a second such a wave of nostalgia swept over me
cant explain ... felt like my heart will break ... with a nice feeling ...
recently a friend asked me who is there for u when things go wrong
no ones ever there really ... but its not as tragic as it sounds
its no big deal - u get used to it jolly quick and all
u just take a deep breath and wait for it to pass
and u shudnt let any one be there
bcz people r very predicatable that way - they go away - or they change
or they turn out to be something totally different from what u thought they were
and then it hurts like hell
reading I think paradox's blog recently I remembered my daddy's smell
he smells of anteus and tide and dunhill and whiskey and the cement plant
he looks serious and scary or half asleep
and he frowns most of the time
and then he smiles, slow unexpectedly - and suddenly boom he's grinning like a little boy
there are things that remind me of him. anteus. smell of whiskey. or ac cars
crisp white shirts. anyone shaving and making strange faces
panes flying overhead, abriti, satyajeet roy, hemanta ... almost everything nice
listening to bhole o bhole ... corny song but cute :)
and also "piya bawri" i love those semi classical hindi movie songs!
spoke to mom for a long time
mists of nostalgia
play misty for me
svengali
fedora
kishore kumar
broken tape recorder
days of poverty
ahua
tartous
the sea
long winding roads - always the same end
whenever I talk to mom it comes to the same thing
sadiyon sadiyon wahin tamaasha - rasta rasta lambi khoj
wish I wasnt such a coward
but somethings ... u cant deal with u cant face u ant solve u cant bear
u can just run and run ...
me and the sky
I cried today to keep her company
And she rained all day
And then at night she lit up the chandeliers
To make my heart bright again
Everyone else just passes by
In the end its just you and i
Everything changes every minute
And ur left staring into the sky
one of my childhood friends commited suicide a long time back
here. in texas
we were in india then
i was in pune
chatts was in cal
sauce was in blore
chatts called me
she was crying ... i didnt know what to do
we become so selfish in times of pain
my first though was how sauce & chatts will be hurt ...
no one knew why
I was curious
i did a search on suicide in google
and I came across this site which said that
sometimes kids who are exposed to very complicated or hurtful situations
when very young are never very normal again
they never really heal
funny
back to life
much more to say. did go to van gogh and led zep and anne frank. and i have so much to say about those three places. it was as big as new york. ie to say it was as big a experience for me as going to new york for the first time had been. when i had huddled in a corner of my room, as a child, and wept for a little girl i had never known, i could have never imagined i would one day actually see the place where she lived. or almost lived. or lived. because you always live. because life, the real part of it, is unkillable, irrepressible. thats why it goes on. the walls and rooms were almost the same as i had imagined it. same, yet different. what moves you most is her father voice. i stood there for fifteen minutes and heard the recording over and over till i had transcribed it. i want to put that up too. and vincent ... he was as beautiful as i had imagined him. i hadnt known thought that he had cut off his ear. and that gaugin didnt come. and new friends. gaugin. manet. and two more. took frantic notes. feel in love and million times. such skies. such blues. such faces. amazing pastels. and he does oil as well. 'i could have told you, vincent ...' the reaper ... thats what i fell mostest in love with. late for class so rest in next :)
holland. between the lines
how was amsterdam? the cities span out in rings. rings of roads. the city packed in, between the lines. the town square is called led zeppelin. that one for next time. couldnt do that now. but i will come back with my 2 kiddies. missed them so much walking these streets. most of the land is reclaimed. learnt about recalimed land, dikes (the land things the build to block in the water), windmills, canals and millions of kinds of tulips i didnt even know existing. wooden shoes. a strain of tulip called 'akela'. and fell in love. with these dark, evil, ox-blood-red flowers ... dont know what kind they are. took notes and pictures. ate like a pig. saw edellweiss. ate crisp apple strudels. got sugar dust on my nose. smelled fresh fish at lunch time in a quaint fishing village with lanes i couldnt have passed through few months back (before id lost some weight. saw some beautiful dutch men and women. remembered my favourite betty neels MB's.
Theres madness on the streets. accessory shops selling weed cases and speciall filter. floating smell of grass in the air. ashtrays that say why go to high school when u can go to school high. and my favourite ... 'its amsterdam - grass is legal' everything is allowed. everything is ok. the streets in the evening feel like a shot out an old sixties movie. the people seem lost, depraved, wasted ... a lot of people would say ... but enormously peaceful. like they have reached. wherever they wanted to go. is this the return to innocence? not a lack of sin but removal of the label? a changed perspective.
in the cities, a blend of old and new that would put my lovely lady, cal, to shame. everywhere people hanging out. doing things and nothing. i try to track back and remember how many people i saw who were hurried or busy.
we were really lucky. had wonderful weather troughout and long sunny days. and two wonderful people planning everything for us and taking us everywhere. god bless them!
saw a tram for the first time outside kolkata. shocked by the difference! are they the same vehicles!
saw an old man scavenging a garbage bin. and he looked the part.
saw some little kids running a kfc. students. they said. i dont know why that stuck. will think about it later.
van g, anne frank scheduled for tomorrow. good luck prevailing. till now covered, tulips at kukenuf, delft, den hague, a traditional cheese factory and madurodam ... not v exciting but a good experience, i suppose. and a tiny traditional fishing village i feel in love with. and a lot of prettiest little houses here and there ... that made me reach out for the words sunny happy families and perhaps for the first time, feel this longing to find my way home.
if i could do it all again? id have stuck to the streets of amsterdam, the museums and led zep. and den hague. but all the same, it was great!
Theres madness on the streets. accessory shops selling weed cases and speciall filter. floating smell of grass in the air. ashtrays that say why go to high school when u can go to school high. and my favourite ... 'its amsterdam - grass is legal' everything is allowed. everything is ok. the streets in the evening feel like a shot out an old sixties movie. the people seem lost, depraved, wasted ... a lot of people would say ... but enormously peaceful. like they have reached. wherever they wanted to go. is this the return to innocence? not a lack of sin but removal of the label? a changed perspective.
in the cities, a blend of old and new that would put my lovely lady, cal, to shame. everywhere people hanging out. doing things and nothing. i try to track back and remember how many people i saw who were hurried or busy.
we were really lucky. had wonderful weather troughout and long sunny days. and two wonderful people planning everything for us and taking us everywhere. god bless them!
saw a tram for the first time outside kolkata. shocked by the difference! are they the same vehicles!
saw an old man scavenging a garbage bin. and he looked the part.
saw some little kids running a kfc. students. they said. i dont know why that stuck. will think about it later.
van g, anne frank scheduled for tomorrow. good luck prevailing. till now covered, tulips at kukenuf, delft, den hague, a traditional cheese factory and madurodam ... not v exciting but a good experience, i suppose. and a tiny traditional fishing village i feel in love with. and a lot of prettiest little houses here and there ... that made me reach out for the words sunny happy families and perhaps for the first time, feel this longing to find my way home.
if i could do it all again? id have stuck to the streets of amsterdam, the museums and led zep. and den hague. but all the same, it was great!
hurt
maybe someday i will be able to look back with maturity and perspective ... for now its just betrayal & it hurts. when ur hurt, specially by someone u had cared about or trusted ur mind goes round and round the same point ... why? the key is to suspend thought. put it off till u can deal with it logically. people change all the time. its not even a big deal. i already knew that everytime u like people, make new friends, take in strangers ... its a risk. they might hurt u. still u do it. then u have no right to be hurt. no right to expect. all hurt maybe stems from that doesnt it ... expectations, trust & caring. dont care. dont run to great lengths to make people happy. dont care too much if they are unpleasant. or if u care dont show. but i cant. im cellophane
Hurt
maybe someday i will be able to look back with maturity and perspective ... for now its just betrayal & it hurts. when ur hurt, specially by someone u had cared about or trusted ur mind goes round and round the same point ... why? the key is to suspend thought. put it off till u can deal with it logically. people change all the time. its not even a big deal. i already knew that everytime u like people, make new friends, take in strangers ... its a risk. they might hurt u. still u do it. then u have no right to be hurt. no right to expect. all hurt maybe stems from that doesnt it ... expectations, trust & caring. dont care. dont run to great lengths to make people happy. dont care too much if they are unpleasant. or if u care dont show. but i cant. im cellophane
shadows of raindrops
gliding down sheets of glass
humming songs of water
tumbling down over the house
soft, warm rugs
ur song on the tape
the smell of hot coffee
the feel of hot baths
warm fur, warm eyes
at your feet, by your chair
sound of voices and laughter
from the kitchen
old movies on tv
all ur old books dragged out
vistis in the evening
old friends rediscovered
starsry nights
alone on the terrace
more coffee
check on my little girl
trying to pass on things ive learned
and learning that u cant
now and then the mind
takes a small trip home
and i wake up the next morning
smiling at the day
gliding down sheets of glass
humming songs of water
tumbling down over the house
soft, warm rugs
ur song on the tape
the smell of hot coffee
the feel of hot baths
warm fur, warm eyes
at your feet, by your chair
sound of voices and laughter
from the kitchen
old movies on tv
all ur old books dragged out
vistis in the evening
old friends rediscovered
starsry nights
alone on the terrace
more coffee
check on my little girl
trying to pass on things ive learned
and learning that u cant
now and then the mind
takes a small trip home
and i wake up the next morning
smiling at the day
post exam tension
Was it bad, or was it bad! It was disastour. Anyway - no point obsessing about it now. One way or the other, atleast its over. Kind of like life. Song in my head today:
You can tell by my eyes that I've prob'bly been cryin' forever,
and the stars in the sky don't mean nothin' to me, they're a mirror.
I don't want to talk about it, how you broke my heart.
If I stand all alone, will the shadow hide the color of my heart;
blue for the tears, black for the night's fears.
very old memories. and i wonder what or who dredged that up? its such a crazy thing, the human mind ... no one really knows whats in someone elses. or even there own. i constantly surprise myself by what i am thinking, or feeling.
im really tired now. stayed up most of the last night. last minute cramming. but is the management charge expressed in KFD as expenses ratio ... lol ... no its not. i down.
I wonder why its nagging me? 5000 bucks is not a lot of money anymore. but she is a baby. shes not really, but we dont ever allow our children to grow up, do we?
nor do we stand and wait by them to guide their baby steps. we leave them like that half baked cross between between innocent and wild, between idontcareaff & idontblvthathappenedtome, between trust & cynisim, between everything and everything ... never to belong anywhere, never fit in, floating in that unstable other world which the stable which the stable know nothing of, each propped by each other ... fascinating, deadly, posionous, fatal, doomed. why? why did this happen to you? why did we do this to you? when so many other children have healthy homes, families, lives, minds. when so many others have what you will never have. a chance. yet i can only stand and watch.
anyway, coming back to the 5000. i remember college days when the entire months allover check was 2000. and rent was 1500. how did i manage? vada pav and walks to college. (yeah, yeah there i go again)
you have to keep them at a distance. you have to relate to them on their terms. casual friendships. dont over obsess. it doesnt pay and it sure doesnt matter. as long as you dont care about them they cant hurt. as long as you dont let the expectations grow, like fungus in stale bread ... spreading to melt the whole down to own rotten morass.
how many questions did I get right? i dont know. i will know in ten days. in the meanwhile, im off to amsterdam on holiday! might be meeting subir again! might even get to see fatso and their daughter! & thats really something! here looking fwd to suspensiion of reclusion (is there such a word) for a weekend :0)
You can tell by my eyes that I've prob'bly been cryin' forever,
and the stars in the sky don't mean nothin' to me, they're a mirror.
I don't want to talk about it, how you broke my heart.
If I stand all alone, will the shadow hide the color of my heart;
blue for the tears, black for the night's fears.
very old memories. and i wonder what or who dredged that up? its such a crazy thing, the human mind ... no one really knows whats in someone elses. or even there own. i constantly surprise myself by what i am thinking, or feeling.
im really tired now. stayed up most of the last night. last minute cramming. but is the management charge expressed in KFD as expenses ratio ... lol ... no its not. i down.
I wonder why its nagging me? 5000 bucks is not a lot of money anymore. but she is a baby. shes not really, but we dont ever allow our children to grow up, do we?
nor do we stand and wait by them to guide their baby steps. we leave them like that half baked cross between between innocent and wild, between idontcareaff & idontblvthathappenedtome, between trust & cynisim, between everything and everything ... never to belong anywhere, never fit in, floating in that unstable other world which the stable which the stable know nothing of, each propped by each other ... fascinating, deadly, posionous, fatal, doomed. why? why did this happen to you? why did we do this to you? when so many other children have healthy homes, families, lives, minds. when so many others have what you will never have. a chance. yet i can only stand and watch.
anyway, coming back to the 5000. i remember college days when the entire months allover check was 2000. and rent was 1500. how did i manage? vada pav and walks to college. (yeah, yeah there i go again)
you have to keep them at a distance. you have to relate to them on their terms. casual friendships. dont over obsess. it doesnt pay and it sure doesnt matter. as long as you dont care about them they cant hurt. as long as you dont let the expectations grow, like fungus in stale bread ... spreading to melt the whole down to own rotten morass.
how many questions did I get right? i dont know. i will know in ten days. in the meanwhile, im off to amsterdam on holiday! might be meeting subir again! might even get to see fatso and their daughter! & thats really something! here looking fwd to suspensiion of reclusion (is there such a word) for a weekend :0)
pre exam tension
2 days to go and 7 chapters to go! will I pass? ive stopped going to the gym - that should give me two hours more every day. plus one for travelling. eating like a maniac. working till 8 and studying all night. literally. yikes!!! still so much too go!
Shows you how old you have become. in college i could maaro 3/4 nights at a stretch without turning a hair ... now look at me.
even bunked class this week! and i hate missing class. in the words on an immortal 'its the one bright spot in my life right now'.
Will I pass?
wish i could borrow some brains for two days ;@)
Shows you how old you have become. in college i could maaro 3/4 nights at a stretch without turning a hair ... now look at me.
even bunked class this week! and i hate missing class. in the words on an immortal 'its the one bright spot in my life right now'.
Will I pass?
wish i could borrow some brains for two days ;@)
wordsspeachless
two of my favourite poems (or snatches from) its as hard to decide as between songs, or books, or moods. Lev Pasternek, Dr Zhivago:
"and yet the order of acts is schemed and planned. and nothing can avert the final curtains fall. i stand alone, all else is swamped by pharisim. to live life to the end is not a childish task"
such few words, yet they say so much! they seem to me to pack a whole lifetimes result into that one line. how would i write what he wrote in those few last words? why do things go wrong? why do we make mistakes? why do i always make careless errors? again and again and again. 'silly mistakes'. dyslexia. autism. add. what was i thinking? i wasnt! It just 'happened'. I didnt know how to say no so i kept shut. i didnt know how to deal with it so i did nothing. how could i? and how will i live with this now? everyday something happens. everytime i steady myself, off it goes again. why cant we forgive ourselves? accept ourselves. why do we want to be better than we are? why do we expect we might get somewhere if we try hard enough? why do we feel humiliated when we fail? why cant we accept ourselves as we are? im so tired. im tired of fighting with my monsters. im tired of fighting the monsters that are me. im tired of trying to control myself, mould myself, discipline myself. im tired of trying to be a good person. better person. im tired, most of all of the constant battle s in my head between all the people that i am that i am.im tired of being alone. i want a friend. someone to talk to. someone you dont have to talk down too. pretend with. spare. fear. love. just be. someone i can like. or just bear. thats a tall order. im tired of bearing things. im tired of pain and burying pain and ignoring pain. im tired of planting smiles on top. tired of guilt. tired of the mirror. tired of hating the reflection. tired of waiting. thrity down. how many more to go? i dont know.we read, again and again, the words of the artists we love most, cheris them, caress them, nourish them with our love till in our mind they come to life, become 'the living' and live and grow in our emptied hearts like phantom ballerinas in a ballet of life. thus, what we love most is what is most real for us. it is the love that brings them to life ... what the b*£%%&% f*^"£ am i saying? its really late and I better leave the office. and get down to some STUDYING!
Another of my most loved lines. (These are maybe 2 of the only 3 lines of verse I can write / say from memory)
"Could I embody and unbosom now
That which is most within me! Could I wreak
My thoughts upon expression, and thus throw
Soul, heart, mind, passions, feelings (strong and weak),
All that I would have sought and all I seek,
Bear, know, feel, and yet breathe into
one word,And that one word were lightning, I would speak!
But as it is, I live and die unheard
With a most voiceless
thought, sheathing it as a sword."
"and yet the order of acts is schemed and planned. and nothing can avert the final curtains fall. i stand alone, all else is swamped by pharisim. to live life to the end is not a childish task"
such few words, yet they say so much! they seem to me to pack a whole lifetimes result into that one line. how would i write what he wrote in those few last words? why do things go wrong? why do we make mistakes? why do i always make careless errors? again and again and again. 'silly mistakes'. dyslexia. autism. add. what was i thinking? i wasnt! It just 'happened'. I didnt know how to say no so i kept shut. i didnt know how to deal with it so i did nothing. how could i? and how will i live with this now? everyday something happens. everytime i steady myself, off it goes again. why cant we forgive ourselves? accept ourselves. why do we want to be better than we are? why do we expect we might get somewhere if we try hard enough? why do we feel humiliated when we fail? why cant we accept ourselves as we are? im so tired. im tired of fighting with my monsters. im tired of fighting the monsters that are me. im tired of trying to control myself, mould myself, discipline myself. im tired of trying to be a good person. better person. im tired, most of all of the constant battle s in my head between all the people that i am that i am.im tired of being alone. i want a friend. someone to talk to. someone you dont have to talk down too. pretend with. spare. fear. love. just be. someone i can like. or just bear. thats a tall order. im tired of bearing things. im tired of pain and burying pain and ignoring pain. im tired of planting smiles on top. tired of guilt. tired of the mirror. tired of hating the reflection. tired of waiting. thrity down. how many more to go? i dont know.we read, again and again, the words of the artists we love most, cheris them, caress them, nourish them with our love till in our mind they come to life, become 'the living' and live and grow in our emptied hearts like phantom ballerinas in a ballet of life. thus, what we love most is what is most real for us. it is the love that brings them to life ... what the b*£%%&% f*^"£ am i saying? its really late and I better leave the office. and get down to some STUDYING!
Another of my most loved lines. (These are maybe 2 of the only 3 lines of verse I can write / say from memory)
"Could I embody and unbosom now
That which is most within me! Could I wreak
My thoughts upon expression, and thus throw
Soul, heart, mind, passions, feelings (strong and weak),
All that I would have sought and all I seek,
Bear, know, feel, and yet breathe into
one word,And that one word were lightning, I would speak!
But as it is, I live and die unheard
With a most voiceless
thought, sheathing it as a sword."
to cry woolf
i got some new books from amazon. diaries of woolf. the set. and some other books (most of which was birdonthewire's fault) and music. led zep - best of - vol 1 and 4, dylan, doors, and the wrong album of bruce springsteen. there were two best of's out there and i wanted one, but i got the other by error. so, no little girl :( - but everything else decent and some movies - fight club, double life of v, motorcycle diaries, the hours.
used & new. miss half.com!
woolf. why do i have this endless fascination with her. infact the word is not enough. there must be some word, which more effectively describes, how we pick these people who we dont even know and are totally, unfailingly, impressed and intrigued by them, by their minds, or what we think their minds were / are like ...
i have others on my list but perhaps she the number one. aparna sen, rahul bose, sushmita sen, james douglas morrison, ravaan, syd barrett, sylvia plath, nash, ... random samples. but not like this.
"I am alone, Virginia thinks. She is, of course not alone, not in a way anyone else would recognize, and yet at this moment, walking through wind toward the lights of the Quadrant, she can feel the nearness of the old devil (what else to call it?), and she knows she will be utterly alone if and when the devil chooses to appear again. The devil is a headache; the devil is a voice inside a wall; the devil is a fin breaking through dark waves. The devil is the brief, twittering nothing that was a thrush's life. The devil sucks all beauty from the world, all the hope, and what remains when the devil has finished is a realm of the living dead - joyless, suffocating. Virginia feels, right now, a certain tragic grandeur, for the devil is many things but he is not pretty, not sentimental; he seethes with a lethal, intolerable truth. Right now, walking, free of her headache, free of the voices, she can face the devil, but she must keep walking, she must not turn back."
- Michael Cunningham, The Hours
that i have failed so utterly, completely, totally. in everything that was important to you. and for your sake, to me.
to have lost by absentia was foolhardy, reckless and grand. to have tried and lost, means the end of hope. the final stamp to banish you from the world of the 'can do's'
when i crossed over to your side, to your world, i burned my bridges, i closed the doors behind me. now i cant go back. to words and dreams and abstractions. now im neither here nor there.
a small task - to live - and that too so onerous. a small gift asked for and given so grudgingly. "to live life to the end, is not a childish task (dr zhivago)"
she took her life in her hands and walked up to them and said this is what i made ... dont remember which book (i think dalloway or ox)or the exact words ... just the idea.
"When people are happy, they have a reserve upon which to draw, whereas she was like a wheel without tyre, jolted by every pebble."
- Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway
used & new. miss half.com!
woolf. why do i have this endless fascination with her. infact the word is not enough. there must be some word, which more effectively describes, how we pick these people who we dont even know and are totally, unfailingly, impressed and intrigued by them, by their minds, or what we think their minds were / are like ...
i have others on my list but perhaps she the number one. aparna sen, rahul bose, sushmita sen, james douglas morrison, ravaan, syd barrett, sylvia plath, nash, ... random samples. but not like this.
"I am alone, Virginia thinks. She is, of course not alone, not in a way anyone else would recognize, and yet at this moment, walking through wind toward the lights of the Quadrant, she can feel the nearness of the old devil (what else to call it?), and she knows she will be utterly alone if and when the devil chooses to appear again. The devil is a headache; the devil is a voice inside a wall; the devil is a fin breaking through dark waves. The devil is the brief, twittering nothing that was a thrush's life. The devil sucks all beauty from the world, all the hope, and what remains when the devil has finished is a realm of the living dead - joyless, suffocating. Virginia feels, right now, a certain tragic grandeur, for the devil is many things but he is not pretty, not sentimental; he seethes with a lethal, intolerable truth. Right now, walking, free of her headache, free of the voices, she can face the devil, but she must keep walking, she must not turn back."
- Michael Cunningham, The Hours
that i have failed so utterly, completely, totally. in everything that was important to you. and for your sake, to me.
to have lost by absentia was foolhardy, reckless and grand. to have tried and lost, means the end of hope. the final stamp to banish you from the world of the 'can do's'
when i crossed over to your side, to your world, i burned my bridges, i closed the doors behind me. now i cant go back. to words and dreams and abstractions. now im neither here nor there.
a small task - to live - and that too so onerous. a small gift asked for and given so grudgingly. "to live life to the end, is not a childish task (dr zhivago)"
she took her life in her hands and walked up to them and said this is what i made ... dont remember which book (i think dalloway or ox)or the exact words ... just the idea.
"When people are happy, they have a reserve upon which to draw, whereas she was like a wheel without tyre, jolted by every pebble."
- Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway
lessons learnt
if you arent chirpy and sunshiny peopel are going to send you prozac! why are people lkilike this? why is being / talking about / writing about anything serious is interprested as sorrow and depression? is that the way other people are? do they not spend hours thinking about life and death and lunacy and philosophy for fun? i guess not :) but why do they expect you to be exactly they same as theM/ why do they not accept ur different / weird / crazy ... and leave you alone?
weltscmerz
why is it that certain words fascinate us?
'weltscmerz' is an old favourite. there are many more. if you just let your mind drift free amongst the all words the words stored in your mind, like your eyes drift from star to star sometimes, when you stare into the sky for very long. Dont try to trace a pattern. Dont try to analyze, jump to conclusions, speculate, rush to / for parashoots of friendly solace ... just drift ... aimlessly through the skies ...
cerullean
sky
sunset
melting
magenta
gold
argent
blue
azure
saphire
drops
swirling
fade
glimmer
night
night fall
daybreak
renew
cycle
loop
automata
cognition
escher
ennui
tired
blank
empty
numb
cut off
isolated
scared
demonised
caricaturised
unhinging
fantasising
haunted
desperate
crying
sobbing
begging
defiant
angry
lost
inert
helpless
pathless
haunting
beautiful
aching
poignant
ethereal
surreal
ceramic
cerrulean
carmine
poised
taut
phoenix-like
burning
ashes
life, in the shadow of death
sunshine, defined by shadows
colours, bordered by black strokes
just words ... for us to play with.
'weltscmerz' is an old favourite. there are many more. if you just let your mind drift free amongst the all words the words stored in your mind, like your eyes drift from star to star sometimes, when you stare into the sky for very long. Dont try to trace a pattern. Dont try to analyze, jump to conclusions, speculate, rush to / for parashoots of friendly solace ... just drift ... aimlessly through the skies ...
cerullean
sky
sunset
melting
magenta
gold
argent
blue
azure
saphire
drops
swirling
fade
glimmer
night
night fall
daybreak
renew
cycle
loop
automata
cognition
escher
ennui
tired
blank
empty
numb
cut off
isolated
scared
demonised
caricaturised
unhinging
fantasising
haunted
desperate
crying
sobbing
begging
defiant
angry
lost
inert
helpless
pathless
haunting
beautiful
aching
poignant
ethereal
surreal
ceramic
cerrulean
carmine
poised
taut
phoenix-like
burning
ashes
life, in the shadow of death
sunshine, defined by shadows
colours, bordered by black strokes
just words ... for us to play with.
again
"The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,
But in ourselves, that we are underlings."
shakespear again, the first steps, the first love, first crush, first all night long madness. 'girls, you must know your jc backwards'. the first fascination, enthralled, lost ... stunned awake by the bell. 9B. last row. sauce and bhatts ahead.
the second crush was soon to follow. legend. esoteric. exclusive. 2 bundles of papers. when 3/4th of the class failed. "girls, what do you think pressure really is ..."
too much love will kill you. just as sure as none at all.
But in ourselves, that we are underlings."
shakespear again, the first steps, the first love, first crush, first all night long madness. 'girls, you must know your jc backwards'. the first fascination, enthralled, lost ... stunned awake by the bell. 9B. last row. sauce and bhatts ahead.
the second crush was soon to follow. legend. esoteric. exclusive. 2 bundles of papers. when 3/4th of the class failed. "girls, what do you think pressure really is ..."
too much love will kill you. just as sure as none at all.
random snapshots fleeting through my mind
rainy days
dark empty rooms
house plants in dim corners
dancing fairies in silver shafts of light
shadows of clouds on thge grass below
standing in the corner - staring into space -
squeezing the knife in the clasp - unmindful
fog on the hilltops
walking through a cloud
hot showers
milk with honey
melted dark chocolate
cooking for friends you love
making someone smile
an old friend
silver bottomed tiny dew pools in the cups of leaves at dawn
sunsets from a bar on 26th floor (jumeira b.h.)
a good movie
rahul bose - the actor
rahul bose - the poga - and pogie
egg mutton rolls
fillet mignon
language class
melted cheese
hot chocolate cake
making UP
cuddling with tupi
the sun on the terrace in winter
footsteps on dark stone streets
empty highways
boss (theres a secret garden ...)
the office before anyone gets there
old people, children, dogs and cats
two storey buses
big messy houses
"we chose, pick and sharpen our thorns and pressing ourselves on them, watch transfixed as the deep, dark blood, flows out in shallow pools in our palms. once more pain. one last time. i thought you could be made a friend. never again."
"the sky cried all night. in the morning, he turned his face up to me, like a little boy who has let it all out in a heavy shower of tears. Light. Still wet. A little tender. Almost unbearably sweet. I have this silly urge to smile at everyone I see"
"an irrepresible urge to fly into your arms and cry my heart out"
"the wind comes down from the skies and touches my hair, admiring the waves i spent my morning crafting. She says, I do that too. But they dont stay" (hair spray)
"when i look at you, my heart feels like a cup of think, dark, bitter sweet, chocolate. When you look at me, it falls down the heights of my inside, to the heart of my sould. Like a big fat drop, falling into the cup. It plops in and the ripples reach out and around. My heart quivers. My sould rings out with the echo" (this sounds really corny now)
dark empty rooms
house plants in dim corners
dancing fairies in silver shafts of light
shadows of clouds on thge grass below
standing in the corner - staring into space -
squeezing the knife in the clasp - unmindful
fog on the hilltops
walking through a cloud
hot showers
milk with honey
melted dark chocolate
cooking for friends you love
making someone smile
an old friend
silver bottomed tiny dew pools in the cups of leaves at dawn
sunsets from a bar on 26th floor (jumeira b.h.)
a good movie
rahul bose - the actor
rahul bose - the poga - and pogie
egg mutton rolls
fillet mignon
language class
melted cheese
hot chocolate cake
making UP
cuddling with tupi
the sun on the terrace in winter
footsteps on dark stone streets
empty highways
boss (theres a secret garden ...)
the office before anyone gets there
old people, children, dogs and cats
two storey buses
big messy houses
"we chose, pick and sharpen our thorns and pressing ourselves on them, watch transfixed as the deep, dark blood, flows out in shallow pools in our palms. once more pain. one last time. i thought you could be made a friend. never again."
"the sky cried all night. in the morning, he turned his face up to me, like a little boy who has let it all out in a heavy shower of tears. Light. Still wet. A little tender. Almost unbearably sweet. I have this silly urge to smile at everyone I see"
"an irrepresible urge to fly into your arms and cry my heart out"
"the wind comes down from the skies and touches my hair, admiring the waves i spent my morning crafting. She says, I do that too. But they dont stay" (hair spray)
"when i look at you, my heart feels like a cup of think, dark, bitter sweet, chocolate. When you look at me, it falls down the heights of my inside, to the heart of my sould. Like a big fat drop, falling into the cup. It plops in and the ripples reach out and around. My heart quivers. My sould rings out with the echo" (this sounds really corny now)
Serendipitous days of gold
the weekend came and setlled down, in a flash of gold, as if to stay. after months i saw the sun shine so bright. so bright that my eyes hurt. and i remembered once more the sweet pleasure of cursing the heat.
saturday, i was up at 7 and on the water by 9. It was such a wonderfully warm day that even scary jo sitting bang behind me didntget me shivering! But seriously, everyone at the club is wonderful ... everyone who tries to teach you something, everyone who works his own energy to correct a mistake you are making / have made, to show you something they have seen, everyone who becomes a teacher
after the practise we walked along the banks for a bit, loath to go home on such a pretty day. I took the bus in the other direction all the way to 'hunters trsyt'. something about that name always called me
sunday, i watched 3 movies and read my book. in the evening i went for a walk, down a a well known path and inexplicably took a small sidelane i have never taken before. Like many roads here it was a dusty (grey, someone would have said), stone lane (or what we would have called a gulley), with shabby / comfortable houses on the right side and a wall on the left. From the main street I could not see where it ended or what it ended in. As I walked in, I found a gate at the end of the gulley, leading to a quaint, tiny park, with a old stone __ and a lake crowded with swans and ducks. The lake was surrounded by trees and benches and the whole place was full of people feeding the birds, sitting on the benches, running, walking. A small boy stood at the edge of the water frowning hard at the birds. Maybe he was wondering why these swam instead of flying like normal birds. I wonder too. The sunligh drizzled down from the shaggy, unruly canopy atop. the lake smiled a gracious welcome to the people in soft undulating waves. The birds sang in the trees.
It was beautiful. Still. Peaceful. Like the calm at the edges of worlds, between the real and the surreal. And yet I didnt feel like stopping there, There was another creaky old gate to the right. Its burnished metal warmed by the afternoon sun. I went through it. I found another tiny park and two men practising karate, like they show miaggi san teaching daniel on the beach. The slow, graceful, balanced dance. And a tiny little girl, sitting solemn faced on a park bench next to a lady, perhaps her mother, in earnest, serious conversation.
And yet I didnt feel like stopping there, I walked on and found a opening in the hedge. Walking through it, a huge park. It was the Inverleith Park. Full of huge dogs, tall trees, acorns in the grass and families strolling silently in the dawning evening.
Beyond the park I found the Royal Botannical Gardens, which I had been looking for for so long. And it had just closed. I guess Serendipity has to stop somewhere ;)
saturday, i was up at 7 and on the water by 9. It was such a wonderfully warm day that even scary jo sitting bang behind me didntget me shivering! But seriously, everyone at the club is wonderful ... everyone who tries to teach you something, everyone who works his own energy to correct a mistake you are making / have made, to show you something they have seen, everyone who becomes a teacher
after the practise we walked along the banks for a bit, loath to go home on such a pretty day. I took the bus in the other direction all the way to 'hunters trsyt'. something about that name always called me
sunday, i watched 3 movies and read my book. in the evening i went for a walk, down a a well known path and inexplicably took a small sidelane i have never taken before. Like many roads here it was a dusty (grey, someone would have said), stone lane (or what we would have called a gulley), with shabby / comfortable houses on the right side and a wall on the left. From the main street I could not see where it ended or what it ended in. As I walked in, I found a gate at the end of the gulley, leading to a quaint, tiny park, with a old stone __ and a lake crowded with swans and ducks. The lake was surrounded by trees and benches and the whole place was full of people feeding the birds, sitting on the benches, running, walking. A small boy stood at the edge of the water frowning hard at the birds. Maybe he was wondering why these swam instead of flying like normal birds. I wonder too. The sunligh drizzled down from the shaggy, unruly canopy atop. the lake smiled a gracious welcome to the people in soft undulating waves. The birds sang in the trees.
It was beautiful. Still. Peaceful. Like the calm at the edges of worlds, between the real and the surreal. And yet I didnt feel like stopping there, There was another creaky old gate to the right. Its burnished metal warmed by the afternoon sun. I went through it. I found another tiny park and two men practising karate, like they show miaggi san teaching daniel on the beach. The slow, graceful, balanced dance. And a tiny little girl, sitting solemn faced on a park bench next to a lady, perhaps her mother, in earnest, serious conversation.
And yet I didnt feel like stopping there, I walked on and found a opening in the hedge. Walking through it, a huge park. It was the Inverleith Park. Full of huge dogs, tall trees, acorns in the grass and families strolling silently in the dawning evening.
Beyond the park I found the Royal Botannical Gardens, which I had been looking for for so long. And it had just closed. I guess Serendipity has to stop somewhere ;)
Rebecca Returns
you never cease to amaze me! When I didnt tell you something, that happened when we were not even speaking to eachother, when we were strangers, for whatever reasons ... maybe it was too painful to recount, maybe there were others involved, maybe I was just looking for the right moment ... you spied, and dug, and cheated , investigated, till to find out something about that didnt concern you in any way and proceded to use it against me in such a way that you maimed me. for life. then you called me a hypocrite. Now you go on, dayt after day, with your polite, friendly emails and banter. acta for all the world as though nothing happned, and behind my back you continue to bith about me ... you dont find that hypocrisy. it never ceases to amaze me how people can have such different moral stds for themselves and for others
floating on wet winds
it was raining yesterday, in the evening, after work. it was dark. the stars were out. the rain was falling in sleets. i have never seen it rain so hard here. it reminded me of kolkata. rain wet streets. rain wet skies. rain wet winds carrying the smell of the soil and the flowers. the whole world around singing with the rains. i was on the water and the water was awash with the moonlight. there was a soft sound with every catch. everything else was quite. the whole world had stilled. this morning, as i went to work and as i left in the evening, the rain is still in the air. the wind blows wet. everything, everyone looks like painting by monet. all the sharp edges blurred. outlines melting. everyone, everyone melting into each other. i get home, make a coffee and the sound of the coffee in the percolator sounds warm and comforting. i sit by the window and drink my coffee and watch people on the streets coming home. the tires make a swishing sound on the wet roads, the same all over the world. and i feel like every rain drenched memory i made is connected tied together, become one in this one rain wet evening. I feel like i could reach out and touch the night in texas under the stars in the patio watching the rain, listening to her chatter non stop like a child just freed from school in the afternoon. I feel like i could reach out and touch the rainy morning in pune walking to college saving the journals, giggling, watching out for the puddles. I feel like i could reach out and touch the afternoons in kol - all heaped on the bed in south ave, listening to silly songs and laughing, when we were all still around, the whole gang. I feel like i could reach out and touch the rain in bristol, walking to the club, early in the morning, mists swirling on the river. matheron. dubai. syria. everywhere comes together and links up like a jigsaw puzzle and i feel like, maybe, i am making a life. i go out again, walking by the river, and she laughs up to me. singing. dancing. swelling. proud. happy.
in the evening
its evening.
everyone's gone home,
its dark in this alley.
theres noone around.
a stray bird whistles.
jetlagged from his trip back?
a heavy silver light leeks down from the moon.
ive been up since five and now its almost nine.
it was dark when i left home now its dark once more.
its the time of day when the silence sings,
when the sky looks like a painting,
all clear, cerullean, with misty, gauzy clouds, floating across in a lazy sweep.
as you pass houses, theres smells of dinner,
soft lights, sounds of voices.
im home.
its silent. as silent as tomb. and as peaceful.
it smells nice. jasmine, lavender, vanilla, myrrh
everything is tidy. perfect.
i 'cook'. get out clothes for tomorrow. put away my clothes. pack lunch.
have a bath. pray. eat
watch amelie for a while. and then to bed.
i have the window open.
i can hear the wind all night
if you listen long enough he opens up and tells you stories from where he was born, where he has been, who he touched, what he broke, all he swept away
if it rains i listen to the water. it sings ballads
about the people, the rocks, the trees, the forest
the sunlight filtering down through a leafy canopy
glinting on the a forest stream just where it bends
two lovers from the stone age
no long dead and perhaps, their souls many times recycled
the rock crumbled over the years to rubble, to sand, to silt
the rain sings of the trickledown of time
and how everything and nothing changes as it flows
everyone's gone home,
its dark in this alley.
theres noone around.
a stray bird whistles.
jetlagged from his trip back?
a heavy silver light leeks down from the moon.
ive been up since five and now its almost nine.
it was dark when i left home now its dark once more.
its the time of day when the silence sings,
when the sky looks like a painting,
all clear, cerullean, with misty, gauzy clouds, floating across in a lazy sweep.
as you pass houses, theres smells of dinner,
soft lights, sounds of voices.
im home.
its silent. as silent as tomb. and as peaceful.
it smells nice. jasmine, lavender, vanilla, myrrh
everything is tidy. perfect.
i 'cook'. get out clothes for tomorrow. put away my clothes. pack lunch.
have a bath. pray. eat
watch amelie for a while. and then to bed.
i have the window open.
i can hear the wind all night
if you listen long enough he opens up and tells you stories from where he was born, where he has been, who he touched, what he broke, all he swept away
if it rains i listen to the water. it sings ballads
about the people, the rocks, the trees, the forest
the sunlight filtering down through a leafy canopy
glinting on the a forest stream just where it bends
two lovers from the stone age
no long dead and perhaps, their souls many times recycled
the rock crumbled over the years to rubble, to sand, to silt
the rain sings of the trickledown of time
and how everything and nothing changes as it flows
in the evening
its evening.
everyone's gone home,
or to their houses.
im walking back to the apartment.
its dark in this alley.
theres noone else here.
a stray bird whistles.
jetlagged from his trip back?
a heavy silver light leeks down from the moon.
im tired.
ive been up since five and now its almost nine.
1 hr travelling. 2 at the gym. .5 getting ready. 9.5 at 'work'. 2 at class.
the best two of the day. ofcourse he always said you cant say you 'love' something when ur no good at it. he also said if ur not the best ur no good. he also said when i was the best in something, just once in my life, that the things must be not good enough so i should quit it ... so i dont really love anything
it was dark when i left home now its dark once more.
its the time of day when the silence sings,
when the sky looks like a painting,
all clear, cerullean, with misty, gauzy clouds, floating across in a lazy sweep.
as you pass houses, theres smells of dinner,
soft lights, sounds of voices.
i almost to feel a bit sad
then i imagine - what if someone was coming for dinner
a long evening. bad grammer, ignorance, abyssmal ordinariness, blissful uncaring
or worse, a flat-mate. messy rooms, dirty loo, loud tv
instead im home.
its silent. as silent as tomb. and as peaceful.
my diary rests by the bedside table
every room smells nice. jasmine, lavender, vanilla, myrrh
everything is tidy. everything is perfect.
i cook what i feel like eating
soak in the silence as long as want
watch amelie for a while. and then to bed.
i lie there thinking. about many things
i do the accounts for the day, the week, the year
wishes and wants agaisnt shoulds and musts,
days spent, inches covered, distance from destination, destination needs revisting
new goals to lust after, new dreams to crash, land, or crash land.
new ways to prove, as ever, everywhere you go he waits
dark, gloomy, persistant. failure, my best friend
counts the wounds, count the blood, count the strength remaining
where did i go wrong. why did i go wrong
was it in the stars or in me all the time
they were right? my fault was in my beginning
o fcuk. did i lock the f'g door? the windows? should i check once more? naw ...
bcz ive always been like this
and the mind wanders back to childhood
the earliest memories
i shudder. i smile. anyway,
and u trace back to the beginnings
why cant i ever get it? is it so hard
just concentrate. just dont dream when theres work to be done
just try to get along with them
just not to hate them so much
is it so hard?
to neither hate them, nor pity them, nor fear them ...
then what? to be one of them? is that what you want? no!
then i tell my self im going in circles and cdrift off to sleep still lost
somewhere in the dusty attics of my mind
what time do you get up? is everything packed? is there a bill ive forgotten
the balance last time i checked
is the coffee maker ready
did i forget to keep the sneakers by the bed
what time is it in india. will there be a war. ma might be up already.
i have the window open.
i can hear the wind all night
if you listen long enough he opens up and tells you stories from where he was born, where he has been, who he touched, what he broke, all he swept away
if it rains i listen to the water. it sings ballads
about the people, the rocks, the trees, the forest
the sunlight filtering down through a leafy canopy
glinting on the a forest stream just where it bends
two lovers from the stone age
no long dead and perhaps, their souls many times recycled
the rock crumbled over the years to rubble, to sand, to silt
the rain sings of the trickledown of time
and how everything and nothing changes as it flows
i wake up again at 4.35. In my sleep reach out for the phone.
no sms. she's still alive. im still alive.
not a day goes by i dont think of her. not thing i do that i can concentrate.
she's all i can thinki about. live, dammit.
i do it for u. u do it for me. live.
anyway. mustnt think - just move.
get the coffee. drag on the clothes in the dark. pull on the snakers and go
outside, its neon blue skies.
the world looks better in the dark. like people look bearable from a distance
i have not love the world,
nor the world me
yet let us part fair foes. i do believe
though i have found them not that there maybe
virtues that are merciful, nor weave snares for the failing
everyone's gone home,
or to their houses.
im walking back to the apartment.
its dark in this alley.
theres noone else here.
a stray bird whistles.
jetlagged from his trip back?
a heavy silver light leeks down from the moon.
im tired.
ive been up since five and now its almost nine.
1 hr travelling. 2 at the gym. .5 getting ready. 9.5 at 'work'. 2 at class.
the best two of the day. ofcourse he always said you cant say you 'love' something when ur no good at it. he also said if ur not the best ur no good. he also said when i was the best in something, just once in my life, that the things must be not good enough so i should quit it ... so i dont really love anything
it was dark when i left home now its dark once more.
its the time of day when the silence sings,
when the sky looks like a painting,
all clear, cerullean, with misty, gauzy clouds, floating across in a lazy sweep.
as you pass houses, theres smells of dinner,
soft lights, sounds of voices.
i almost to feel a bit sad
then i imagine - what if someone was coming for dinner
a long evening. bad grammer, ignorance, abyssmal ordinariness, blissful uncaring
or worse, a flat-mate. messy rooms, dirty loo, loud tv
instead im home.
its silent. as silent as tomb. and as peaceful.
my diary rests by the bedside table
every room smells nice. jasmine, lavender, vanilla, myrrh
everything is tidy. everything is perfect.
i cook what i feel like eating
soak in the silence as long as want
watch amelie for a while. and then to bed.
i lie there thinking. about many things
i do the accounts for the day, the week, the year
wishes and wants agaisnt shoulds and musts,
days spent, inches covered, distance from destination, destination needs revisting
new goals to lust after, new dreams to crash, land, or crash land.
new ways to prove, as ever, everywhere you go he waits
dark, gloomy, persistant. failure, my best friend
counts the wounds, count the blood, count the strength remaining
where did i go wrong. why did i go wrong
was it in the stars or in me all the time
they were right? my fault was in my beginning
o fcuk. did i lock the f'g door? the windows? should i check once more? naw ...
bcz ive always been like this
and the mind wanders back to childhood
the earliest memories
i shudder. i smile. anyway,
and u trace back to the beginnings
why cant i ever get it? is it so hard
just concentrate. just dont dream when theres work to be done
just try to get along with them
just not to hate them so much
is it so hard?
to neither hate them, nor pity them, nor fear them ...
then what? to be one of them? is that what you want? no!
then i tell my self im going in circles and cdrift off to sleep still lost
somewhere in the dusty attics of my mind
what time do you get up? is everything packed? is there a bill ive forgotten
the balance last time i checked
is the coffee maker ready
did i forget to keep the sneakers by the bed
what time is it in india. will there be a war. ma might be up already.
i have the window open.
i can hear the wind all night
if you listen long enough he opens up and tells you stories from where he was born, where he has been, who he touched, what he broke, all he swept away
if it rains i listen to the water. it sings ballads
about the people, the rocks, the trees, the forest
the sunlight filtering down through a leafy canopy
glinting on the a forest stream just where it bends
two lovers from the stone age
no long dead and perhaps, their souls many times recycled
the rock crumbled over the years to rubble, to sand, to silt
the rain sings of the trickledown of time
and how everything and nothing changes as it flows
i wake up again at 4.35. In my sleep reach out for the phone.
no sms. she's still alive. im still alive.
not a day goes by i dont think of her. not thing i do that i can concentrate.
she's all i can thinki about. live, dammit.
i do it for u. u do it for me. live.
anyway. mustnt think - just move.
get the coffee. drag on the clothes in the dark. pull on the snakers and go
outside, its neon blue skies.
the world looks better in the dark. like people look bearable from a distance
i have not love the world,
nor the world me
yet let us part fair foes. i do believe
though i have found them not that there maybe
virtues that are merciful, nor weave snares for the failing
how not to write a sad post ...
to day was barbie's birthday. i spoke to my friends on the telephone today. they had all gone to visit my gran. i spoke to my dad on the phone and really psyched him. i had class in the evening. i am going to to go home now and eat the leftover boiled veggies from yesterday. Then I will wake up again tomorrow at 5 and go to the gym. After that I will go to 'work'. Where I will 'work' till 7 pm (atleast) and then - repeat (except no class) till friday. then i will do my homework, clean the house, go to glasgow to row in an eight and go to bed and think about
(the rest is censored in the name of good cheer)
list of the day:
top five reasons to live another (censored in the name of good humoured cheerfulness) day ...
(the rest is censored in the name of good cheer)
list of the day:
top five reasons to live another (censored in the name of good humoured cheerfulness) day ...
dil hee to hai na sang-o-KHisht dard se bhar na aye kyo
dil hee to hai na sang-o-KHisht dard se bhar na aaye kyoN ?
royeNge ham hazaar baar, koee hameiN sataaye kyoN ?
dair naheeN, haram naheeN, dar naheeN, aastaaN naheeN
baiTHe haiN rehguzar pe ham, GHair hameiN uTHaaye kyoN ?
jab woh jamaal-e-dil_faroz, soorat-e-meher-e-neem_roz
aap hee ho nazzaara_soz, parde meiN muNh chupaaye kyoN ?
dashna-e-GHamza jaaN_sitaaN, naawak-e-naaz be_panaah
tera hee aks-e-ruKH sahee, saamne tere aaye kyoN ?
qaid-e-hayaat-o-band-e-GHam asl meiN dono ek haiN
maut se pehle aadmee GHam se nijaat paaye kyoN ?
husn aur uspe husn_zan rah gayee bulhawas ki sharm
apne pe 'eitmaad hai, GHair ko aazmaaye kyoN ?
waaN wo GHuroor-e-iz'z-o-naaz yaaN yeh hijaab-e-paas-e-waz'a
raah meiN ham mile kahaaN, bazm meiN wo bulaaye kyoN ?
haaN wo naheeN KHuda_parast, jaao wo be_wafa sahee
jisko ho deen-o-dil 'azeez, uskee galee meiN jaaye kyoN ?
'GHalib'-e-KHasta ke baGHair kaun se kaam band haiN ?
roiye zaar-zaar kya, keejiye haay-haay kyoN ?
royeNge ham hazaar baar, koee hameiN sataaye kyoN ?
dair naheeN, haram naheeN, dar naheeN, aastaaN naheeN
baiTHe haiN rehguzar pe ham, GHair hameiN uTHaaye kyoN ?
jab woh jamaal-e-dil_faroz, soorat-e-meher-e-neem_roz
aap hee ho nazzaara_soz, parde meiN muNh chupaaye kyoN ?
dashna-e-GHamza jaaN_sitaaN, naawak-e-naaz be_panaah
tera hee aks-e-ruKH sahee, saamne tere aaye kyoN ?
qaid-e-hayaat-o-band-e-GHam asl meiN dono ek haiN
maut se pehle aadmee GHam se nijaat paaye kyoN ?
husn aur uspe husn_zan rah gayee bulhawas ki sharm
apne pe 'eitmaad hai, GHair ko aazmaaye kyoN ?
waaN wo GHuroor-e-iz'z-o-naaz yaaN yeh hijaab-e-paas-e-waz'a
raah meiN ham mile kahaaN, bazm meiN wo bulaaye kyoN ?
haaN wo naheeN KHuda_parast, jaao wo be_wafa sahee
jisko ho deen-o-dil 'azeez, uskee galee meiN jaaye kyoN ?
'GHalib'-e-KHasta ke baGHair kaun se kaam band haiN ?
roiye zaar-zaar kya, keejiye haay-haay kyoN ?
khudkhushi
i have tried to not stand judgement on what people do or say or think (totally different things). I believe that we each move in a different orbits, in different reference frames. Each situation is unique. You CANT put yourself in someone's shoes, bcz he is standing in his shoes. Point is you dont know till you have actually been there and you werent. Anything might be right or wrong - it depends on a lot of things, which i believe, cant ever be exhaustively taken into account.
Anyway, who are we to cast the first stone? I dont think there's any amongst us who has never done wrong. And if you want to rate sins along a scale ... how do you judge whats more or less. It comes to the same thing again.
As usual, I digress. What I started out with saying was, I try not to judge. Instead, but I do try to visualise, to understand the logic of the situation, to figure out how and why people do the things they do. And after having watched 3 suicides - of which one was succesful, I could still never 'understand' it - really get into the skin the person ... or to put it very literally - I could never imagine not wanting to live anymore. A bit like those women you hear of who can get to the brink but never fall off the edge ... Ive had been there but could never cross the threshold of attachment. I have waded into the sea in the moonlight, but always stopped. Ive not cut deep enough ... never had the nerve to make the final cut
But suddenly that too fell into place. Now I understand. Its like playing a game. At the beginning, you know you are going to be bad at it, you expect it. So you laugh at your failure, your ineptitude and carry on trying. Slowly the laughter turns to seriousness, seriousness to irritation, irritation to frustration, frustration to embarresment and finally, embarresment to being beyond caring anymore. Somewhere I read the phrase, 'at what point does it snap - our tenuous hold on life'. At what point do we stop trying again and again to do something which we are just not being able to do. Where does the thin line between persistence and stupidity lie? When do we say, 'Enough' ...
Its not as scary as I thought it would be. Its like bumgee jumping. Till you get to the platform you feel confident you want tis. There, you're sure you dont. You just wanna run back. But if you just let go that second ... its awesome the rest of the way.
The wire that holds the cork
That keeps the anger in
Gives way
And suddenly it's day again.
You stretch the frozen Moments with your fear.
Finally I understand the feelings of the few.
Ashes and diamonds
Foe and friend
We were all equal in the end.
Anyway, who are we to cast the first stone? I dont think there's any amongst us who has never done wrong. And if you want to rate sins along a scale ... how do you judge whats more or less. It comes to the same thing again.
As usual, I digress. What I started out with saying was, I try not to judge. Instead, but I do try to visualise, to understand the logic of the situation, to figure out how and why people do the things they do. And after having watched 3 suicides - of which one was succesful, I could still never 'understand' it - really get into the skin the person ... or to put it very literally - I could never imagine not wanting to live anymore. A bit like those women you hear of who can get to the brink but never fall off the edge ... Ive had been there but could never cross the threshold of attachment. I have waded into the sea in the moonlight, but always stopped. Ive not cut deep enough ... never had the nerve to make the final cut
But suddenly that too fell into place. Now I understand. Its like playing a game. At the beginning, you know you are going to be bad at it, you expect it. So you laugh at your failure, your ineptitude and carry on trying. Slowly the laughter turns to seriousness, seriousness to irritation, irritation to frustration, frustration to embarresment and finally, embarresment to being beyond caring anymore. Somewhere I read the phrase, 'at what point does it snap - our tenuous hold on life'. At what point do we stop trying again and again to do something which we are just not being able to do. Where does the thin line between persistence and stupidity lie? When do we say, 'Enough' ...
Its not as scary as I thought it would be. Its like bumgee jumping. Till you get to the platform you feel confident you want tis. There, you're sure you dont. You just wanna run back. But if you just let go that second ... its awesome the rest of the way.
The wire that holds the cork
That keeps the anger in
Gives way
And suddenly it's day again.
You stretch the frozen Moments with your fear.
Finally I understand the feelings of the few.
Ashes and diamonds
Foe and friend
We were all equal in the end.
tired
skipped lunch again. i dont remember when my finances were last this bad. i guess i could find ways around it, but i just dont have the energy left. yeah - like with all this happening in my life, i even care ...
I went to the supermarket to buy envelopes and as I passed the pharmacy I thought, I wish there were some pills to stop you crying. You have pills that stop your nose fwatering, right? They dont 'fix' the ocold, but atleast you are presentable. un truc comme ca.
Im so tired (I have tiredness - you should try to think in the language you are learning). I am tired of people being such big *%$'s - and Im tired of still feeling sorry for them. Im tired of being torn between pity and repulsion, hatred and compassion. Im tired of her holding her death over my head like a hanging sword. Im tired of my longing to go back - and knowing that you can never go back to yesterday. Im tired of wanting my childhood - of not being able to move on. Im tired of his indifference, his caprice, his violent swings. Im tired of their telling me I shouldnt have come along. Im tired of her lies. Im tired of being torn between love, hatred, tenderness and guilt. Im tired of saying Im sorry - for things I didnt have any control over.
Im tired of being there for people when no one has ever been there for me. No - thats a lie. Im tired of feeling like a fool cz I try to always be there for people, when no one is there for me. But given a choice - I know Id do it anyway. Like the song, "dushmano o ke teer khaa ke dost o ke shaher mein, hum ne kis kis ko pukaara, ye kahaani, phir sahi. Dil ke lut ne ka sabab poochho na sabke saamne. Naam aaye ga tera bhi, ye kahaani phir sahi"
I want her to live. Is that so selfish? I know it is. but still I want it. I can work. I can sleep. I can smile. I can forget what a pathetic joke life is, I can forget everything and be happy ... ... knowing somewhere she is alive.
I went to the supermarket to buy envelopes and as I passed the pharmacy I thought, I wish there were some pills to stop you crying. You have pills that stop your nose fwatering, right? They dont 'fix' the ocold, but atleast you are presentable. un truc comme ca.
Im so tired (I have tiredness - you should try to think in the language you are learning). I am tired of people being such big *%$'s - and Im tired of still feeling sorry for them. Im tired of being torn between pity and repulsion, hatred and compassion. Im tired of her holding her death over my head like a hanging sword. Im tired of my longing to go back - and knowing that you can never go back to yesterday. Im tired of wanting my childhood - of not being able to move on. Im tired of his indifference, his caprice, his violent swings. Im tired of their telling me I shouldnt have come along. Im tired of her lies. Im tired of being torn between love, hatred, tenderness and guilt. Im tired of saying Im sorry - for things I didnt have any control over.
Im tired of being there for people when no one has ever been there for me. No - thats a lie. Im tired of feeling like a fool cz I try to always be there for people, when no one is there for me. But given a choice - I know Id do it anyway. Like the song, "dushmano o ke teer khaa ke dost o ke shaher mein, hum ne kis kis ko pukaara, ye kahaani, phir sahi. Dil ke lut ne ka sabab poochho na sabke saamne. Naam aaye ga tera bhi, ye kahaani phir sahi"
I want her to live. Is that so selfish? I know it is. but still I want it. I can work. I can sleep. I can smile. I can forget what a pathetic joke life is, I can forget everything and be happy ... ... knowing somewhere she is alive.
Life
i didnt really expect life to be beautiful. but i never thought it would be so ugly. i didnt expect everyone i meet will be a good person. but i never thought i will meet such chiens. :) somewhere along the line i transitioned from desperately looking for a friend. someone who cares. someone to be friends with, literally ... to just desperately wanting to be left alone. it was your favourite song, wasnt it? stop poking me. stop obsessing. get a life. i hate you. with all my heart and sould.
The Red Maple Leaf
i have a red, maple leaf
in my hand ...
it was cold
the wind was blowing
u were standing
leaning hard, against ur car
u'd driven madly, without destinations
till the voices in your head had stopped
then pulled up at this lonely spot
resplendant with the blush of fall
silent. deserted
where even the crickets called
and then came the tears
like a hurricane
shivering, trembling, shaking, tearing apart
not gentle rain. but dangerous storm
the world went went black
the world went blank
time lost meaning
life lost meaning
who were were
u dont know anymore
everything was over
she was gone
that was the moment, this maple leaf fell
somewhere else in the universe ...
in my hand ...
it was cold
the wind was blowing
u were standing
leaning hard, against ur car
u'd driven madly, without destinations
till the voices in your head had stopped
then pulled up at this lonely spot
resplendant with the blush of fall
silent. deserted
where even the crickets called
and then came the tears
like a hurricane
shivering, trembling, shaking, tearing apart
not gentle rain. but dangerous storm
the world went went black
the world went blank
time lost meaning
life lost meaning
who were were
u dont know anymore
everything was over
she was gone
that was the moment, this maple leaf fell
somewhere else in the universe ...
The brown maple leaf
i have a dry, brown maple leaf
in my hand ...
she was growing older
her eyes weaker
it was cold
the wind was blowing
she stood alone in her garden
leaning hard, against the fence
this was the only free hour she had
early before they all awoke
she'd worked for years this way until
she'd forgotten how hard it once was, until it was routine
she cooked she cleaned and there were all those kids
shopping, mending, clothes, homework, cuts, bruises, fevers, fights
and yesterday she overheard
a friend asked her eldest what whats ur mum
and he said ...
nothing.
she thought about it now as the sun woke up
unnoticed, a little tear slipped out
she thought of the work she'd done before
when she'd been a girl, a woman, a human ... not just mom
suddenly there was a sound behind
one of them woke up and called ....
a desperation in the sound ... mom ... like the end of the world
and she ran in ... all thoughts forgotten
that was the moment, this maple leaf fell
somewhere else in the universe ...
in my hand ...
she was growing older
her eyes weaker
it was cold
the wind was blowing
she stood alone in her garden
leaning hard, against the fence
this was the only free hour she had
early before they all awoke
she'd worked for years this way until
she'd forgotten how hard it once was, until it was routine
she cooked she cleaned and there were all those kids
shopping, mending, clothes, homework, cuts, bruises, fevers, fights
and yesterday she overheard
a friend asked her eldest what whats ur mum
and he said ...
nothing.
she thought about it now as the sun woke up
unnoticed, a little tear slipped out
she thought of the work she'd done before
when she'd been a girl, a woman, a human ... not just mom
suddenly there was a sound behind
one of them woke up and called ....
a desperation in the sound ... mom ... like the end of the world
and she ran in ... all thoughts forgotten
that was the moment, this maple leaf fell
somewhere else in the universe ...
Tu
chaha tha bas saath, usne
tere jaise saathi diye
ab chahta hun bas sannata
ki aur koi na mile
din raat rota rehta hai
ki maine tujhe kya kiya
kaash tujhe kahi se
ek aina mile
tere jaise saathi diye
ab chahta hun bas sannata
ki aur koi na mile
din raat rota rehta hai
ki maine tujhe kya kiya
kaash tujhe kahi se
ek aina mile
Dil
unginat tukre karke
musafiro mein baat diya
dil ka kamra kamra humne
khaali karke rakh diya
aasoo aaso sametke usmein
ek samundar ban gaya
leher leher andhi aayi
us mein khud hi dub gaya
apne dil ki kissi kone mein
apne gum mein dub gaya
duniya bahaar bahaar reh gayi
khud dil ke andhar kho gaya
tere liye jo khaali kiya tha
tere gum mein bhar diya
apni dil ki kissi kono mein
apne gum mein dub gaya
musafiro mein baat diya
dil ka kamra kamra humne
khaali karke rakh diya
aasoo aaso sametke usmein
ek samundar ban gaya
leher leher andhi aayi
us mein khud hi dub gaya
apne dil ki kissi kone mein
apne gum mein dub gaya
duniya bahaar bahaar reh gayi
khud dil ke andhar kho gaya
tere liye jo khaali kiya tha
tere gum mein bhar diya
apni dil ki kissi kono mein
apne gum mein dub gaya
to be continued
today was one of those days when i just could not concentrate on anything. sometimes it just pokes me in the eye and paralyses me all day. i keep messing up at work. i couldnt write a post. i couldnt do my homework. i havent paused all day, but i havent completed a single task succesfully. i locked my unix pwd again. the generate was messed up. got a wrong cr #. its like falling into water when you cant swim - you know what you are supposed to do but you cant make ur arms and legs do it.
this is not what i wanted. this is so not what i wanted. i know that it could have been worse. i know that atleast i have a decent thing to do. money in my pocket. my own money. no need to beg. no need for charity. i actually help support people now ... but this is not what i wanted.
when we read pressman in college - i used to crib ... who the hll uses all this rubbish ... well now i know. i cant crib. i made my choices. but it sucks. i it. i didnt spend 4 yrs for this. i hate it. i hate it all
its true that its not death that kills you, its life. one day at a time. every dream is weighed against the price youre willing to pay for it and shatters to the ground falling from the scales. there were too many dreams. life gives you anything you ask for. life gives you everything you ask for. you can have anything you want. but you will have to take it. no changing your mind. and you have to pay for it. so if you get the specs wrong - ur done.
i try this exercise now. i try to close my eyes and think about what i want - what i really want. and its so hard. and sometimes things clear up. the way i have carved things out its hard. its painful. its very very lonely. but better honest clean solitude than crowded hypocrisy.
do you ever feel like spring cleaning your life and chucking out everything, everyone. i have done it, at a level. i am doing it now. why should i hold their hand while they blot out me and everything i blv in. why do i scale down, hold back, temper every colour down, so noone is uncomfortable, hurt, made to feel awkward. they just turn around and call me a names afterwards.
i like to be alone. because id rather be alone than with anyone i know of. i like to keep quiet bcz though the words burn up inside me, i cant find a way to say them, so that you may understand. so i hold it in my hands a while and then put it back inside
sometimes i things that drive my crazy. i feel pain that numbs everything else. i feel joy that makes the whole w
this is not what i wanted. this is so not what i wanted. i know that it could have been worse. i know that atleast i have a decent thing to do. money in my pocket. my own money. no need to beg. no need for charity. i actually help support people now ... but this is not what i wanted.
when we read pressman in college - i used to crib ... who the hll uses all this rubbish ... well now i know. i cant crib. i made my choices. but it sucks. i it. i didnt spend 4 yrs for this. i hate it. i hate it all
its true that its not death that kills you, its life. one day at a time. every dream is weighed against the price youre willing to pay for it and shatters to the ground falling from the scales. there were too many dreams. life gives you anything you ask for. life gives you everything you ask for. you can have anything you want. but you will have to take it. no changing your mind. and you have to pay for it. so if you get the specs wrong - ur done.
i try this exercise now. i try to close my eyes and think about what i want - what i really want. and its so hard. and sometimes things clear up. the way i have carved things out its hard. its painful. its very very lonely. but better honest clean solitude than crowded hypocrisy.
do you ever feel like spring cleaning your life and chucking out everything, everyone. i have done it, at a level. i am doing it now. why should i hold their hand while they blot out me and everything i blv in. why do i scale down, hold back, temper every colour down, so noone is uncomfortable, hurt, made to feel awkward. they just turn around and call me a names afterwards.
i like to be alone. because id rather be alone than with anyone i know of. i like to keep quiet bcz though the words burn up inside me, i cant find a way to say them, so that you may understand. so i hold it in my hands a while and then put it back inside
sometimes i things that drive my crazy. i feel pain that numbs everything else. i feel joy that makes the whole w
going to california - messed up
Spent my days with men unkind, Smoked my stuff and drank all my wine.
Made up my mind to make a new start, Going To California with an aching in my heart.
Someone told me there's a man out there with love in his heart, spinning dreams in the air
Took my chances on a big jet plane, never let them tell you that they're all the same.
The sea was red and the sky was grey, wondered how tomorrow could ever follow today.
The mountains and the canyons started to tremble and shake
as the children of the sun began to awake.
Seems that the wrath of the Gods
Got a punch on the nose and it started to flow;
I think I might be sinking.
Throw me a line if I reach it in time
I'll meet you up there where the path
Runs straight and high.
To find a king without kingdom or a queen,
They say he plays the guitar and cries and sings
Rides a white mare in the footsteps of dawn
Tryin' to find a woman who's never, never, never been born.
Standing on a hill in my mountain of dreams,
Telling himself it's not as hard, hard, hard as it seems.
random thoughts
life kills you, not death. and it takes it times
my greatest joys, my most beautiful shadows, tallest pride, crippling shame, paralysing bitterness ... comes from my loneliness
sometimes i feel so alone ... sometimes i feel like if, if only, I had a friend. just one perfect friend. like one perfect rose. someone i can always talk to. in all my life theres never been anyone i could talk to. someone i can trust. in all my life theres never been anyone i could trust.
i dont know anything. love. life. where we are going what we are doing why we are sitting here wasting time. and everything else seems so pointless without that
Some days, the friendlessness pokes you behind your eyes every now and then like those funny headaches that you get when you are dehydrated ... elusive, but ever present. playing hide and seek. it stares you in the face stark, shining, unbending:
you are alone. totally alone. there is noone. there can be noone. ever. anywhere. you will always be alone. and you have no clue. why you are here. what the goals are. where you are headed. what you are supposed to do.
Then someone breaks into your thoughts with a friendly attempt at conversation ... and you stifle a curse bcz your chain of thought is broken and you realise that maybe all men are not social animals. people who are self-centred, self absorbed, lost in the abyss of introspection ... and yet polite ... cowardly, are better of on their own
the blog is killing my pink pages
theres nothing i hate more than to be disturbed when i am thinking.
my greatest joys, my most beautiful shadows, tallest pride, crippling shame, paralysing bitterness ... comes from my loneliness
sometimes i feel so alone ... sometimes i feel like if, if only, I had a friend. just one perfect friend. like one perfect rose. someone i can always talk to. in all my life theres never been anyone i could talk to. someone i can trust. in all my life theres never been anyone i could trust.
i dont know anything. love. life. where we are going what we are doing why we are sitting here wasting time. and everything else seems so pointless without that
Some days, the friendlessness pokes you behind your eyes every now and then like those funny headaches that you get when you are dehydrated ... elusive, but ever present. playing hide and seek. it stares you in the face stark, shining, unbending:
you are alone. totally alone. there is noone. there can be noone. ever. anywhere. you will always be alone. and you have no clue. why you are here. what the goals are. where you are headed. what you are supposed to do.
Then someone breaks into your thoughts with a friendly attempt at conversation ... and you stifle a curse bcz your chain of thought is broken and you realise that maybe all men are not social animals. people who are self-centred, self absorbed, lost in the abyss of introspection ... and yet polite ... cowardly, are better of on their own
the blog is killing my pink pages
theres nothing i hate more than to be disturbed when i am thinking.
whats love gotto do, gotto do with it
You must understand
Though the touch of your hand
Makes my pulse react
That it's only the thrill
Of boy meeting girl
Opposites attract
It's physical
Only logical
You must try to ignore
That it means more than that
It may seem to you
That I'm acting confused
When you're close to me
If I tend to look dazed
I read it some place
I've got cause to be
There's a name for it
There's a phrase fits
But whatever the reason
You do it for me
I've been taking on a new direction
And I have to say
I've been thinking 'bout my own protection
It scares me to feel this way
What's love got to do, got to do with it
What's love, but a sweet old fashioned notion
What's love got to do, got to do with it
Who needs a heart when a heart can be broken
everywhere there are men and women, there will be attraction. sparks will fly, temperature will rise. heartbeats accelerate everynow and then. dreams will get crowded with phantom guests. the problems, the confusions and then the pain ... comes because we confuse each attraction, for love. the attraction is like a fertile ground, where you could plant a seed and hope it grows into the tree of love. but it is not love. even if you did plant the seed, you would still have to water it for a while to make it grow. even then it would depend on that particular plant (seed / sapling / root / tree), on the environment, on the random whims of a stray cow which may wander by and take a bite at the whole baby plant, a single bolt of lightning, or a casual wood men may cut down the full grown, matured tree ... there would be all these chances and more, between the readiness of the soil and the full grown tree.
everywhere there are people there will be likes and dislikes. affections. disagreements. trust. betrayal. friendship. confidences. shame. pride. ego clashes. shared humour. bitterness. making fun of someone. the square pegs. the round pegs. the grid. the quiet joy of finding another person a bit like you. the excitement of finding someone you can relate to. the awe of admiring someone, someone more like who you want to be. the gentleness of feeling protective of someone you are fond of. someone more like who you think you might have once been. the betrayal, the loneliniess, the disillusionments come when we confuse each affection found, for friendship.
i sent an olive branch. i turned my head away in anger, but i could not walk away. not because of what he is, but maybe bcz of what he means to me. he means to me, freedom - from every judgement i accepted. he means to me, unconditional love. he means to me, the ideal of friendship, personified. he means to me trust, bcz he is the only one who has never hurt me. he means to me absolvement, bcz he solves every confession. he means to me a bank, bcz he is the only one i say everything to. he means to me, security, bcz I know i will never stop loving him. nothing will ever matter between us. nothing will ever change us. nothing will come in between us. bcz i can always turn to him in need. always. he means to me, every friend I have ever had, every one i have ever loved, every dream i have ever dreamed
i saw 'pinjar'. after all the expectations i had had, it was ok. the same old cliche of ram and ravaan? i always thought felt on ravan side. but this time i felt different. was it just bcz they had switched to that side? well that maybe so. cant help it if im intrinsically antimob? vajpayee (is it something about the name that everyone who bears it becomes the coolest??? ;0)) is brilliant, as always. he is just too good. urmila is weird. i almost found myself wishing they had put someone else in her place. the rest of the actors were all good. the theme was the great and very well handled, i think. and in the background, the same wounds they will never take their sticks out of. i wish i could conjure some magic and undo it. put it all back together. sometimes i feel like it was all mine, and i want it back. whole and sound and healthy
i made someone cry. it disturbed me so much that i fell asleep as soon as i got home. ok im kidding. it feels good doesnt it that someone cares. even if its fleeting. if such a small thing could make her cry for me, then what would she do if she heard about my whole life?
i slept 8.5 hours yesterday! its been ages! usually i sleep 4 to 5 hours. from 12 to 5 am. but last week was so exquisitely tiring that i guess yesterday it was just too much. today we have a farewell dinner for a collg (i cant spell that) who is leaving. its been 4 days since I ate something nice, something cooked, something with gravy. im going mad thinking about it
Though the touch of your hand
Makes my pulse react
That it's only the thrill
Of boy meeting girl
Opposites attract
It's physical
Only logical
You must try to ignore
That it means more than that
It may seem to you
That I'm acting confused
When you're close to me
If I tend to look dazed
I read it some place
I've got cause to be
There's a name for it
There's a phrase fits
But whatever the reason
You do it for me
I've been taking on a new direction
And I have to say
I've been thinking 'bout my own protection
It scares me to feel this way
What's love got to do, got to do with it
What's love, but a sweet old fashioned notion
What's love got to do, got to do with it
Who needs a heart when a heart can be broken
everywhere there are men and women, there will be attraction. sparks will fly, temperature will rise. heartbeats accelerate everynow and then. dreams will get crowded with phantom guests. the problems, the confusions and then the pain ... comes because we confuse each attraction, for love. the attraction is like a fertile ground, where you could plant a seed and hope it grows into the tree of love. but it is not love. even if you did plant the seed, you would still have to water it for a while to make it grow. even then it would depend on that particular plant (seed / sapling / root / tree), on the environment, on the random whims of a stray cow which may wander by and take a bite at the whole baby plant, a single bolt of lightning, or a casual wood men may cut down the full grown, matured tree ... there would be all these chances and more, between the readiness of the soil and the full grown tree.
everywhere there are people there will be likes and dislikes. affections. disagreements. trust. betrayal. friendship. confidences. shame. pride. ego clashes. shared humour. bitterness. making fun of someone. the square pegs. the round pegs. the grid. the quiet joy of finding another person a bit like you. the excitement of finding someone you can relate to. the awe of admiring someone, someone more like who you want to be. the gentleness of feeling protective of someone you are fond of. someone more like who you think you might have once been. the betrayal, the loneliniess, the disillusionments come when we confuse each affection found, for friendship.
i sent an olive branch. i turned my head away in anger, but i could not walk away. not because of what he is, but maybe bcz of what he means to me. he means to me, freedom - from every judgement i accepted. he means to me, unconditional love. he means to me, the ideal of friendship, personified. he means to me trust, bcz he is the only one who has never hurt me. he means to me absolvement, bcz he solves every confession. he means to me a bank, bcz he is the only one i say everything to. he means to me, security, bcz I know i will never stop loving him. nothing will ever matter between us. nothing will ever change us. nothing will come in between us. bcz i can always turn to him in need. always. he means to me, every friend I have ever had, every one i have ever loved, every dream i have ever dreamed
i saw 'pinjar'. after all the expectations i had had, it was ok. the same old cliche of ram and ravaan? i always thought felt on ravan side. but this time i felt different. was it just bcz they had switched to that side? well that maybe so. cant help it if im intrinsically antimob? vajpayee (is it something about the name that everyone who bears it becomes the coolest??? ;0)) is brilliant, as always. he is just too good. urmila is weird. i almost found myself wishing they had put someone else in her place. the rest of the actors were all good. the theme was the great and very well handled, i think. and in the background, the same wounds they will never take their sticks out of. i wish i could conjure some magic and undo it. put it all back together. sometimes i feel like it was all mine, and i want it back. whole and sound and healthy
i made someone cry. it disturbed me so much that i fell asleep as soon as i got home. ok im kidding. it feels good doesnt it that someone cares. even if its fleeting. if such a small thing could make her cry for me, then what would she do if she heard about my whole life?
i slept 8.5 hours yesterday! its been ages! usually i sleep 4 to 5 hours. from 12 to 5 am. but last week was so exquisitely tiring that i guess yesterday it was just too much. today we have a farewell dinner for a collg (i cant spell that) who is leaving. its been 4 days since I ate something nice, something cooked, something with gravy. im going mad thinking about it
Banjar
jo zameen sukhe banjar par jaaye
to akela tinka sawaan ki hariyaali ho
to akela tinka sawaan ki hariyaali ho
jo dharti sehra ban jaaye
har ek bund pura sawaan ho
jo jeevan samshaan ban jaaye
har aahat gunje shor
jo man itna khaali par jaaye
har ishaara ek rishta ban jaaye
jo din itne akele ho jaaye
ek kiran bhi mehmaan ho
to be continued
when the written word is almost your only (non ephemereal) passion, thats the easiest analogy that comes to mind. As a natural fallout of being an incurable book reader / buyer / collector / keeper (in the mark twain sense), before long you find yourself owning an unmanagably large colume of books. Which is a double edged problem.
like () said, you never know how real the character in a book are, till you have lived in one urself. i have lived in books probably more years than in the outised world, since when i learnt to read my first (). when you read a lot or love what you read very much, for a long time, after a while the boundaries between the real world and your world of fiction dims and fades and then glimmers in the distance. Not just while you are reading but at all times. Thus might I wake one morning with a vague uneasiness of missing someone close and worry at it like a itch you cant reach to scratch, till it suddenly dawns upon me ... its pip & beth, or for some weird reason ... mini's dad, or jane, or wyanan, or mole (mole, i often miss)
1 - cant find the one u want 2 read
2 - cant keep / carry
3 not worth
have to part with
library // casual friends // come and go
read forget - keep always - keep at home
glad of having read but will never read again
will never buy but will read again and again
will buy but never read
love to talk about - will never discuss // dominiques statue
like () said, you never know how real the character in a book are, till you have lived in one urself. i have lived in books probably more years than in the outised world, since when i learnt to read my first (). when you read a lot or love what you read very much, for a long time, after a while the boundaries between the real world and your world of fiction dims and fades and then glimmers in the distance. Not just while you are reading but at all times. Thus might I wake one morning with a vague uneasiness of missing someone close and worry at it like a itch you cant reach to scratch, till it suddenly dawns upon me ... its pip & beth, or for some weird reason ... mini's dad, or jane, or wyanan, or mole (mole, i often miss)
1 - cant find the one u want 2 read
2 - cant keep / carry
3 not worth
have to part with
library // casual friends // come and go
read forget - keep always - keep at home
glad of having read but will never read again
will never buy but will read again and again
will buy but never read
love to talk about - will never discuss // dominiques statue
Beyond
behind the rainbow
theres a forest
black as the night, thick as sleep
behind the rainbow theres a forest
for souls that seek the rainbows end
to get lost in
inside the sun theres a fire
hot as the final home
deep as lethe
inside the sun theres a fire
for those souls
who seek the light to be forever burnt in
above the clouds
theres a field of ice
as cold as mercy
as colourless as virtue
above the clouds theres a field of ice
for those souls
who want to be good, who want to make it big
to soar into
theres a forest
black as the night, thick as sleep
behind the rainbow theres a forest
for souls that seek the rainbows end
to get lost in
inside the sun theres a fire
hot as the final home
deep as lethe
inside the sun theres a fire
for those souls
who seek the light to be forever burnt in
above the clouds
theres a field of ice
as cold as mercy
as colourless as virtue
above the clouds theres a field of ice
for those souls
who want to be good, who want to make it big
to soar into
Wintering
Wintering is shattering and desperate, because there can be no happy ending. Plath ultimately becomes the “Sylvia Suicide Doll” of daughter Frieda Hughes’ adult poetry, and the ghostly recipient of Ted Hughes’ tortured and bitter Birthday Letters. Wintering broke my heart and it will break yours, too.
On February 11, 1963, Sylvia Plath sealed her two young children, Frieda and Nicholas, in their nursery and placed rags and towels in the cracks of the door and again in the cracks of the kitchen door downstairs. With her children crying upstairs, Plath gassed herself in the kitchen, just days after completing a first draft of the poem, ‘Wintering’ and after months of estrangement from her husband, the future Poet Laureate, Ted Hughes.
On February 11, 1963, Sylvia Plath sealed her two young children, Frieda and Nicholas, in their nursery and placed rags and towels in the cracks of the door and again in the cracks of the kitchen door downstairs. With her children crying upstairs, Plath gassed herself in the kitchen, just days after completing a first draft of the poem, ‘Wintering’ and after months of estrangement from her husband, the future Poet Laureate, Ted Hughes.
dirt on ur mind
sunsets are so beautiful bcz the air is so polluted. the water we drink tastes so good bcz of the impurities it contains. life is interesting bcz of the troubles we face.
if we keep our house and our lives and our minds so clean and ordered ... we mights as well be machines
theres a u2 and a scorpions concert coming up. but i probably wont be able to see it. damn.
if we keep our house and our lives and our minds so clean and ordered ... we mights as well be machines
theres a u2 and a scorpions concert coming up. but i probably wont be able to see it. damn.
run out of words
suddenly, i have NO clue as to what i should write. i mean, as per my earlier resolution, i onbviously cant write what i am actually thinking, so now whatever I start to write feels artificial. stilted. forced.
like meeting someone you almost became close friends with and then discovered was a weirdo and had to stick to making PC with from then on. next time you meet them, its the awkwardest thing ... to rewind a relationship. i guess thats why they say that about friends and lovers and transitions between the stages!
and ive always hated making polite conversation. trying to guess what you want to talk about and spinning meaningless leaping majestic yarn about it for hours at and end. actually i must be pretty good at it cz im never caught out. most people think - atleast in the beginning - that i am exactly like them. its the mirror effect. and the ultimate smokescreen at times
lets see ...
a four weeks back my gran fell ill. i prayed like i'd never done before. then i fell ill. chicken pox. 3 weeks at home. totally solitary. i didnt see a soul. just read and watched tv all day long and survived on boiled vegetables once a day. what was scary was that for the most part, i enjoyed the solitude.
last week i joined work. since then its been a whirlwind of playing catch (up) with no pause to think. the ultimate opiate. get up at 5. get to the gym by 6. get to the desk by 9. work. class. rowing 3'ce a week. home work. movies to watch. books to read. money to worry about ... and in the middle of all that, my father arrived on thursday. he was visiting me for 2 days on his way back from germany. i dont think i have ever spent so long with him at a stretch and alone. it was sometimes profound, sometimes crazy. and sometimes nerve wracking. i saw him off on sunday and came back to the empty rooms. i didnt feel ... period. i was kind of numb. watched girl with a pearl earring and another movie. then my mom called. she asked 'baba chole gechhe?' i said 'haan ma'. she said 'mon kharap?' ... what a dumb question! well it broke the dam anyway and it took a while for the torrents to stop. i couldnt stop crying all of sunday and monday ... but by tuesday i was back to cool. last night i had class. we talked about the past. and illnesses. it was fun. i have written two the two girls i met at the party before i fell ill. ones about the movie watching club and the others about the rowing. i havent had any reply. a bit sad ... cz I was really looking fwd. but maybe they just havent read it yet ... and tomorrow is another day
like meeting someone you almost became close friends with and then discovered was a weirdo and had to stick to making PC with from then on. next time you meet them, its the awkwardest thing ... to rewind a relationship. i guess thats why they say that about friends and lovers and transitions between the stages!
and ive always hated making polite conversation. trying to guess what you want to talk about and spinning meaningless leaping majestic yarn about it for hours at and end. actually i must be pretty good at it cz im never caught out. most people think - atleast in the beginning - that i am exactly like them. its the mirror effect. and the ultimate smokescreen at times
lets see ...
a four weeks back my gran fell ill. i prayed like i'd never done before. then i fell ill. chicken pox. 3 weeks at home. totally solitary. i didnt see a soul. just read and watched tv all day long and survived on boiled vegetables once a day. what was scary was that for the most part, i enjoyed the solitude.
last week i joined work. since then its been a whirlwind of playing catch (up) with no pause to think. the ultimate opiate. get up at 5. get to the gym by 6. get to the desk by 9. work. class. rowing 3'ce a week. home work. movies to watch. books to read. money to worry about ... and in the middle of all that, my father arrived on thursday. he was visiting me for 2 days on his way back from germany. i dont think i have ever spent so long with him at a stretch and alone. it was sometimes profound, sometimes crazy. and sometimes nerve wracking. i saw him off on sunday and came back to the empty rooms. i didnt feel ... period. i was kind of numb. watched girl with a pearl earring and another movie. then my mom called. she asked 'baba chole gechhe?' i said 'haan ma'. she said 'mon kharap?' ... what a dumb question! well it broke the dam anyway and it took a while for the torrents to stop. i couldnt stop crying all of sunday and monday ... but by tuesday i was back to cool. last night i had class. we talked about the past. and illnesses. it was fun. i have written two the two girls i met at the party before i fell ill. ones about the movie watching club and the others about the rowing. i havent had any reply. a bit sad ... cz I was really looking fwd. but maybe they just havent read it yet ... and tomorrow is another day
songs and movies
another song i like a lot these days is 'the blowers daughter' by damien rice (featured in his album 'O' and in 'Closer'. I think its going to go down in my list of songs that sound like an audio big bang ... the other ones being jealous guy, purple rain, creep, feeling love
theres this song in pallbearer which i liked a lot ...
also got a long list of movies Q'd up that Im dying to watch and my dad got me 'raincoat'. so really excited about that! another movie I wanted to see but he couldnt find was 'bewafa' with ajay devgan (but ofcourse) and yuva (theres a song in yuva i like a lot)
theres this song in pallbearer which i liked a lot ...
also got a long list of movies Q'd up that Im dying to watch and my dad got me 'raincoat'. so really excited about that! another movie I wanted to see but he couldnt find was 'bewafa' with ajay devgan (but ofcourse) and yuva (theres a song in yuva i like a lot)