In a rush, been at work till 9 pm 2 days in a row and havent been to the gum for ages now. still, going for the lunch time run tomorrow and the salsa lessons next week. Theres so much to do but at the end of the day it seems like nothing is done. But when Im asked, will it be done in time, I somehow never gather the courage to say the TSD is b%@$s and it wont be done till nxt yr ... im deeply dissatisfied with my cowardice. on the flip side, i am getting better all the time ;@) what i need to do is concentrate. as long as i can remember, thats been a problem for me, keep focussed dont drift off. just a thought, did i have ADD, alongwith my falling sickness, but was born to early (it wasnt even know as a disease then?)
I saw "Angels in America" and "Md Butterfly" this weekend. Also saw KILL BILL 2, felt sad that the died, though the 5 point thingie was brilliant to watch! Md B was poignant, sad, poking old-truths in the eye, yet a bit tiresom to watch, I personally found. Maybe it was just that it was 1 AM on a Sunday night that I started to see it (with gym in 4 looming across the horizon)
Looking forward to Angels in America part 2 this weekend and will write about it after.
In the news, Kashmir Reopens, dont veto the veto and dylan comes to starbucks
Song of the day - "all my friends and lovers"
Bend Down
every body, bend down
i wanna stand tall
every body hold back
i want to reach the front line
everybody help me succeed
its the losers hour please
i wanna stand tall
every body hold back
i want to reach the front line
everybody help me succeed
its the losers hour please
nemi ... a new friend?
a long time since i really identified with someone so much! meet nemi here or there
on a different track, playing flag football at lunch today! whatever that might be. Im excited!!! But, the 5K is day after and Im scared because I dont want to hurt something before that! Have a party at class 2mrw night, but not sure yet if Ill make it.
I had an idea today and I have been thinking about it since. Sometimes when everything is happening at once and you feel like you'll go crazy juggling ten tasks together against deadline and you feel like ur brains going to be paralysed ... could this be similar to thrashing? You keep increasing the degree of multitasking and efficiency increases. However, when you raise it above certain limit, thrashing sets in, with the all CPU time being taken up by paging processes - or thats how i remember it - its been years since i last read my peterson - but theres an online reference of sorts here.
something else that caught my eye:
Infinity eSearch said it had asked the 24-year-old, to explain after the Sun tabloid said it had bought details of 1,000 British customers for three pounds each. The contractor refused to comment. Earlier he told the BBC he had done nothing wrong. The managing director Rahul Dutt said, "We're a Web marketing company that optimises Web sites on search engines," in a club near Infinity's glass-and-chrome office in the Delhi satellite city and call centre hub of Gurgaon. "We do not have any classified information on any banks." However, British finance trade union Amicus said it had been warning about the danger of moving jobs to India because it did not have the same data protection measures as Britain. "What's quite obvious is the banks have rushed forward in search of profits at the expense of consumers' security," an Amicus spokesman said. "We have quite robust data protection legislation in the UK and you can regulate more effectively. It's much harder to do that in India." The Amicus union said it had warned of the "data protection implications" of offshoring financial services. "Companies that have offshore jobs need to reflect on their decision and the assumption that cost savings benefiting them and their shareholders outweigh consumer confidentiality and confidence," senior finance officer Dave Fleming said. About 350,000 call centre workers and back-office agents are employed in India working for about a fifth of Western wages. The industry suffered a blow in April when police arrested three employees over a $400,000 online credit card fraud in which Citibank customers were allegedly enticed to part with their personal identification numbers. Ian Mullen, the British Banking Association's chief executive, said they were concerned but added staff in India were checked as rigorously as workers elsewhere. "The quality of staff in these call centres is very high," he told BBC radio ...
and this:
The literary estate of Antoine de Saint-Exupery won a cybersquatting case to evict a Virgin Islands operator whose website sells memorabilia linked to him. Arbitrators ruled La Societe Civile pour l'Oeuvre et la Memoire d'Antoine de Saint Exupery-Succession Saint Exupery, set up by relatives to manage his literary estate, had proved The Holding Company had no right to three disputed domain names. The three neutral arbitrators were named by the U.N. World Intellectual Property Organisation (WIPO) whose arbitration centre resolves disputes in a low-cost, fast-track procedure. Ownership of the domain names is transferred within 10 days. J.K. Rowling, and the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien, have also won cases at WIPO ...
and this ...
Valerie remembers the feeling of helplessness. After getting a low grade on a lab report, she went to her teaching assistant to ask what she should have done for a better grade. The teaching assistant, a graduate student from China, had a heavy accent and a limited grasp of spoken English, and could not explain what the report had lacked, said Serrin. He was brilliant, absolutely brilliant, but he couldn't communicate." With a steep rise in the number of foreign graduate students in the past two decades in the United States, undergraduates at large research universities often are in classes and laboratories run by graduate teaching assistants whose mastery of English is less than complete. ...
on a different track, playing flag football at lunch today! whatever that might be. Im excited!!! But, the 5K is day after and Im scared because I dont want to hurt something before that! Have a party at class 2mrw night, but not sure yet if Ill make it.
I had an idea today and I have been thinking about it since. Sometimes when everything is happening at once and you feel like you'll go crazy juggling ten tasks together against deadline and you feel like ur brains going to be paralysed ... could this be similar to thrashing? You keep increasing the degree of multitasking and efficiency increases. However, when you raise it above certain limit, thrashing sets in, with the all CPU time being taken up by paging processes - or thats how i remember it - its been years since i last read my peterson - but theres an online reference of sorts here.
something else that caught my eye:
Infinity eSearch said it had asked the 24-year-old, to explain after the Sun tabloid said it had bought details of 1,000 British customers for three pounds each. The contractor refused to comment. Earlier he told the BBC he had done nothing wrong. The managing director Rahul Dutt said, "We're a Web marketing company that optimises Web sites on search engines," in a club near Infinity's glass-and-chrome office in the Delhi satellite city and call centre hub of Gurgaon. "We do not have any classified information on any banks." However, British finance trade union Amicus said it had been warning about the danger of moving jobs to India because it did not have the same data protection measures as Britain. "What's quite obvious is the banks have rushed forward in search of profits at the expense of consumers' security," an Amicus spokesman said. "We have quite robust data protection legislation in the UK and you can regulate more effectively. It's much harder to do that in India." The Amicus union said it had warned of the "data protection implications" of offshoring financial services. "Companies that have offshore jobs need to reflect on their decision and the assumption that cost savings benefiting them and their shareholders outweigh consumer confidentiality and confidence," senior finance officer Dave Fleming said. About 350,000 call centre workers and back-office agents are employed in India working for about a fifth of Western wages. The industry suffered a blow in April when police arrested three employees over a $400,000 online credit card fraud in which Citibank customers were allegedly enticed to part with their personal identification numbers. Ian Mullen, the British Banking Association's chief executive, said they were concerned but added staff in India were checked as rigorously as workers elsewhere. "The quality of staff in these call centres is very high," he told BBC radio ...
and this:
The literary estate of Antoine de Saint-Exupery won a cybersquatting case to evict a Virgin Islands operator whose website sells memorabilia linked to him. Arbitrators ruled La Societe Civile pour l'Oeuvre et la Memoire d'Antoine de Saint Exupery-Succession Saint Exupery, set up by relatives to manage his literary estate, had proved The Holding Company had no right to three disputed domain names. The three neutral arbitrators were named by the U.N. World Intellectual Property Organisation (WIPO) whose arbitration centre resolves disputes in a low-cost, fast-track procedure. Ownership of the domain names is transferred within 10 days. J.K. Rowling, and the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien, have also won cases at WIPO ...
and this ...
Valerie remembers the feeling of helplessness. After getting a low grade on a lab report, she went to her teaching assistant to ask what she should have done for a better grade. The teaching assistant, a graduate student from China, had a heavy accent and a limited grasp of spoken English, and could not explain what the report had lacked, said Serrin. He was brilliant, absolutely brilliant, but he couldn't communicate." With a steep rise in the number of foreign graduate students in the past two decades in the United States, undergraduates at large research universities often are in classes and laboratories run by graduate teaching assistants whose mastery of English is less than complete. ...
Unravelling Mind
how did you learn
whats right and wrong
how do you see
when and where to let it be
how do u know
when to let go
how do you decide
when to stay and fight
in the end you're floundering
in the end ur drowing
everyone is heading for the end
different paths, different bends
using it all up
its not inexhaustible
does it matter
how do i know
because i need to know
what does it mean
what is the point
why r we here
is it a facade
or just a game
whats the point living
if i dont comprehend?
at the end of the moment
ur supposed to be living for
what do you have
what did u gain
what did u learn ...
is there no point at all?
if all of life
all across the world
is to be like this
just for fun
just for the heck of it
live breed die
id rather not have it all
but its not true
theres more
just ignore the monster
the regu8lar, the normal, the ordinary, proper
just keep looking
and move on
just keep moving on
whats right and wrong
how do you see
when and where to let it be
how do u know
when to let go
how do you decide
when to stay and fight
in the end you're floundering
in the end ur drowing
everyone is heading for the end
different paths, different bends
using it all up
its not inexhaustible
does it matter
how do i know
because i need to know
what does it mean
what is the point
why r we here
is it a facade
or just a game
whats the point living
if i dont comprehend?
at the end of the moment
ur supposed to be living for
what do you have
what did u gain
what did u learn ...
is there no point at all?
if all of life
all across the world
is to be like this
just for fun
just for the heck of it
live breed die
id rather not have it all
but its not true
theres more
just ignore the monster
the regu8lar, the normal, the ordinary, proper
just keep looking
and move on
just keep moving on
Live 8
everyone i know seems to be talking about the zillions supposed to hit the city, to 'make poverty history'. Will it, though, I wonder? It seems, specially today, like there are so many people who care about all the right issues. With so much good intentions, if good intentions were to be of any earthly use, surely the world would have been made a better place by now? Where does the chain break? So many people care, and are even ready to do things about it, yet with most of the current hot issues in the world, be it poverty, politics or ecology, but yet at the end of it all, we havent even chipped away a significant part of the problem. The issues are still there, if not looming more menacingly huge in our common path. the hungry are hungrier, the fast are faster, the big are bigger, the poor are poorer. world leaders, global politics and the state of health of the earth, seem even worse every passing year. Yet theres all this caring and human love ... the world has been hit by a charity-bug. But will it make a difference? Will we make a difference. have all the protests down the yrs and all the marches made any difference really? whats really the problem basically? is it money? awareness? or is it cruel intentions? or is it darwinian survival?
On a different note, though I never really miss home, or anyone, at times I do think of my friends who are back home. Poga-Pogie, Chatts, Sauce, Ad, Juls, Roy, Jinx, Pills and Oni and Malo. Uncle, Aunty, Mom, Baba, Ma, Aunty, Uncle, Tupi, Leo, Bonzo, Phulkumari, Lali ... the friends I love most, my family and other friends, those I have adopted over the years. But thats a more general kind of missing. What about the other kind. The one that comes like a sudden sharp stab, like a intruding smell floating in across ur defences, that which is a sudden need, not a fond remembrance. Why do we miss them like that? What do we need from them, get from them, that we miss? Is it just someone to hang out with, someone to dump on, or just sensible conversation? fun, support or rapport?
On a different note, though I never really miss home, or anyone, at times I do think of my friends who are back home. Poga-Pogie, Chatts, Sauce, Ad, Juls, Roy, Jinx, Pills and Oni and Malo. Uncle, Aunty, Mom, Baba, Ma, Aunty, Uncle, Tupi, Leo, Bonzo, Phulkumari, Lali ... the friends I love most, my family and other friends, those I have adopted over the years. But thats a more general kind of missing. What about the other kind. The one that comes like a sudden sharp stab, like a intruding smell floating in across ur defences, that which is a sudden need, not a fond remembrance. Why do we miss them like that? What do we need from them, get from them, that we miss? Is it just someone to hang out with, someone to dump on, or just sensible conversation? fun, support or rapport?
How do I know
how do i know
why the wind sighs
why the moon cries over the flowers
and leaves them silver with his tears
how do i know
why the moon smiles
when i dream at night
or why i dream of you, though i dont even know ur name
why the wind laughs
as it passes by
my window at night
am i calling out to you, even as i sleep?
how do i know
i dont know these things
like i dont know a lot of other things
why i cry at times, at times i laugh, or i sigh
how do i know?
why im feeling this way
i want to run and hide
i feel something new inside
draft ....
dont know what it is
but it makes me want to cry
i have a strange compulsion
i want to run and hide
i have a new obsession
i stare in spoace and sigh
if you knew, all about it
why my im feeling this way
perhaps u'd do,
something about it
and make it go away
its spring once more
the birds are singing
and partying all the time
its spring again
and the sun is shining
smiling all the while
the wind is singing
late at night
and the moon smiles with a gentle sigh
on the the cobbled walks of the city
echoing steps rap tunes merrily
as people walk home gayly
and im hit by a wave of nostalgia
or longing, or dementia
dont know what i miss, or who
maybe its something i havent met before
or an obscure desire
to feel again wire
which passes through ll living things
and ties them together as practical beings
the feeling of humanity
of connecting, being, living
of the pretenses of normality
their delusions of equality and their illusions of solidarity
or be back, amongst my kind
and our delusions of superiority
why the wind sighs
why the moon cries over the flowers
and leaves them silver with his tears
how do i know
why the moon smiles
when i dream at night
or why i dream of you, though i dont even know ur name
why the wind laughs
as it passes by
my window at night
am i calling out to you, even as i sleep?
how do i know
i dont know these things
like i dont know a lot of other things
why i cry at times, at times i laugh, or i sigh
how do i know?
why im feeling this way
i want to run and hide
i feel something new inside
draft ....
dont know what it is
but it makes me want to cry
i have a strange compulsion
i want to run and hide
i have a new obsession
i stare in spoace and sigh
if you knew, all about it
why my im feeling this way
perhaps u'd do,
something about it
and make it go away
its spring once more
the birds are singing
and partying all the time
its spring again
and the sun is shining
smiling all the while
the wind is singing
late at night
and the moon smiles with a gentle sigh
on the the cobbled walks of the city
echoing steps rap tunes merrily
as people walk home gayly
and im hit by a wave of nostalgia
or longing, or dementia
dont know what i miss, or who
maybe its something i havent met before
or an obscure desire
to feel again wire
which passes through ll living things
and ties them together as practical beings
the feeling of humanity
of connecting, being, living
of the pretenses of normality
their delusions of equality and their illusions of solidarity
or be back, amongst my kind
and our delusions of superiority
For Dolly (Part 1 - version 1)
It was four in the morning. he stood by the water, leaning on the side of his car. the crickets were just begining to break through the silence, taking over from the daytime noises. everything else was deserted and quiet. quite nearby an industrious spider spun busily away. there were a few drops of rain stuck on the web. they glistened in the moonlight. why had he never noticed how pretty they were. he'd just been paranoid of ever getting near them. he wasnt scared of the spiders but he felt some nameless paralysis at the mere thought of walking into a barely material curtain unawares and feeling it rest slowly on his face. dolly had always pulled his leg about it. daddy is scared of spiders. daddy's a scaredy paredey poo. the stupid silly things she used to say. all at once his mind froze on that thought and came to a halt. its strange how one part of ur brain starts a thought and suddenly, in a delayed response the rest of ur brain latches on. in that strange way, the whole of his mind registered that a part of his mind had used the past tense for the first time. he didnt feel anything. he wasnt the feeling sort. just a kind of clenching in his stomach. like something went all tight for a second and made him hold his breath. then it passesd. it wasnt hard to deal with this. all he needed was not to close his eyes and not to think and to be left alone so that he could do these things. he didnt want to forget. he didnt want to 'heal' - whatever that meant. he didnt want to be happy. he just wanted to be left alone. for now, atleast.
was he being unreasonable? overreacting? how much reaction is okay when your only daughter dies leaving u nothing really except a numbness, a feeling that nothing mattered.
he wasnt the only one in the world who had lost a child. he wasnt even the only one in the world who had lost this child. her mother, his parents, her parents, everyone loved dolly. everyone was saddened by her loss. they were being far more rational than him, he knew that. yes, he knew that. but somehow, it felt like his case was different from all the others. he 'knew' at some level that it wasnt really so, but still, it 'felt' that way. what was the difference? did he love her, sorry - had he loved her, more than they had? not really. perhaps the difference was that he had never loved anyone else. he had not been very human to begin with. she had melted some tiny corner of his heart - just enough to make room for her little little self. now that she was gone and that room was empty, and it felt like his numb, frozen heart would cave in a fall into itself, into the empty room. she had taught him to feel things but now that she was gone, he didnt know what to feel. he was in a no mans land. neither here nor there
he spent hours by himself in her empty room.
and he felt like he had just been hung out in the cold. he couldnt go back to what he was a nd feel nothing and he didnt know waht to feel either.
she had not been his reason excuse to live, she had been but a reason why he could not die, could not want to die
he thought now, while she had lived she had always blindly adored him. whatever her daddy could do no wrong. her daddy was her biggest hero. her daddy was above all things. beyond all things. better than everything. now that she was dead would she have found out everything about hikm, all his hidden sins, transgessions, mistakes. all the times he had fallen, had not been able to help himself, had cleaned up and come home to her later. shining in his daddy armour again? would she know? would she still love him? did she hate him now?
why hadnt he come home. he had known she was ill. her wife had called the station frantically about a doxen times. dolly is burning with fever. dolly is acting strange. come home. scome home come home. but he had kept putting it off. he hadnt taken it seriously. now he couldnt bear to look at his work. couldnt bear to walk into the little office. sit at the desk.
my love wasnt enough to keep you
nor my pain enough to bring you back
and neither my guilt enough to take me with u.
all iwant is darkness
all i want is sleep
backout
oblivion
all need is lethe
i have no right to mourn u
i didnt love u
enough to hold u
i didnt car
anough to be there
i have no rights
to anything
all i want
is a final exit
actually everything was beyongd repair now. his work, his marraige. with you, he thought, i have betrayed everything. when i turned away form you, my eyes burned the world down.
he was getting better, he supposed. everyday it got a little number where there was just raw pain before at first. everyday he lasted a little longer with out closing his eyes to see hier laughing mockingly at hiom. not his baby gentle laugh. a adult, sinister, cruel laugh. that seemed to say - who's sorry now.
without suddenly out of the blue efeeling her dead weight of her tiny, limp body in his arms gain. like a dead sparrow.
was he being unreasonable? overreacting? how much reaction is okay when your only daughter dies leaving u nothing really except a numbness, a feeling that nothing mattered.
he wasnt the only one in the world who had lost a child. he wasnt even the only one in the world who had lost this child. her mother, his parents, her parents, everyone loved dolly. everyone was saddened by her loss. they were being far more rational than him, he knew that. yes, he knew that. but somehow, it felt like his case was different from all the others. he 'knew' at some level that it wasnt really so, but still, it 'felt' that way. what was the difference? did he love her, sorry - had he loved her, more than they had? not really. perhaps the difference was that he had never loved anyone else. he had not been very human to begin with. she had melted some tiny corner of his heart - just enough to make room for her little little self. now that she was gone and that room was empty, and it felt like his numb, frozen heart would cave in a fall into itself, into the empty room. she had taught him to feel things but now that she was gone, he didnt know what to feel. he was in a no mans land. neither here nor there
he spent hours by himself in her empty room.
and he felt like he had just been hung out in the cold. he couldnt go back to what he was a nd feel nothing and he didnt know waht to feel either.
she had not been his reason excuse to live, she had been but a reason why he could not die, could not want to die
he thought now, while she had lived she had always blindly adored him. whatever her daddy could do no wrong. her daddy was her biggest hero. her daddy was above all things. beyond all things. better than everything. now that she was dead would she have found out everything about hikm, all his hidden sins, transgessions, mistakes. all the times he had fallen, had not been able to help himself, had cleaned up and come home to her later. shining in his daddy armour again? would she know? would she still love him? did she hate him now?
why hadnt he come home. he had known she was ill. her wife had called the station frantically about a doxen times. dolly is burning with fever. dolly is acting strange. come home. scome home come home. but he had kept putting it off. he hadnt taken it seriously. now he couldnt bear to look at his work. couldnt bear to walk into the little office. sit at the desk.
my love wasnt enough to keep you
nor my pain enough to bring you back
and neither my guilt enough to take me with u.
all iwant is darkness
all i want is sleep
backout
oblivion
all need is lethe
i have no right to mourn u
i didnt love u
enough to hold u
i didnt car
anough to be there
i have no rights
to anything
all i want
is a final exit
actually everything was beyongd repair now. his work, his marraige. with you, he thought, i have betrayed everything. when i turned away form you, my eyes burned the world down.
he was getting better, he supposed. everyday it got a little number where there was just raw pain before at first. everyday he lasted a little longer with out closing his eyes to see hier laughing mockingly at hiom. not his baby gentle laugh. a adult, sinister, cruel laugh. that seemed to say - who's sorry now.
without suddenly out of the blue efeeling her dead weight of her tiny, limp body in his arms gain. like a dead sparrow.
peripetia, or all that you cant leave behind ... part 4?
peripetia. the moment when you realise that everything you knew, thought, understood uptil now was wrong. Alyssian. Miasma. Does it come to everyone, or is it reserved for the greek tragic heros. A tragic hero - larger than life, heroic proportions, with one tragic flaw that brings them to tragedy. Do we all hide one inside? Political correctness. Public support. Friendship. Popularity. Oratory. A way with people. The herd mentality. A wish to please. The the mind of the mob. Sometimes I wonder, do I hate man, or just the common man, or just the common in man? Or just his stupidity, his ignorance, his crassness. his narrow minded, limited, parochial, middle class mind ... or is it all the same?
but are any of us any better? is there any such thing ad the individual. his ts thought, the individual thought. his creation, the individual creation. his opinion, perceptions, reactions and actions. the individual. is there any such thing? or is it just a fragment of his self delusionary imagination? hallucinations of grandeur.
all the days i have lived, all the things i have thought about, everything i have understood, or thought i understood, all my observations, perceptions, opinions, likes, dislikes, hatred, repulsion, admiration, affection, sympathies, empathies. alll my learnings, understandings, ponedring, all my writings ... what will happen to everything after i am gone?
no doubt someone will give my books away. someone will come along and go through my whole collection, my whole life ... perhaps ma will keep them outside, in the balcony, in big cardboard boxes, covered with plastic. 2 big boxes of the leatherbound and hardcover ones which she bought before i was born (did she have some uncanny permonition?) the classics, the encyclopedias, the biographies, journals and letters of famous people, the dictionaries, english, french, german. then a few boxes of the moth eaten ancient leather ... the ones i picked up here and there, from other dead or dying people, knowing probably that i wouldnt read them (house remedies of the victorian age, for example) but unable to see a book orphaned. then boxes and boxes of the books i have collected as i read through them. i always buy. bought. if i got it from a library, or a friend, and i liked it, id go out and buy it.
my movies ... the tiny sony betamax cassettes, regular cassettes, the vcds, the dvds ...
my music ...
looking through it all i feel like thats all i did for the last thirty years. collect. my two drawers full of diaries, random writings and jottings. poems on exam papers, toilet paper, paper napkins, hand made paper packets from the grocer, brown paper bags ... and all safely stored. never looked at again. will they go through it all after im gone? but that cannot be ... i must destroy it all myself.
but how can you do that? burn, tear, shred, throw away the footprints ur mind left as it lived and grew? the recordings of the pain, anger, humilitions, joys, discoveries, betrayals ... thrills.
but that is the basic questions thats on my mind today. all these years thats all i thought was important ... what i thought, what i read, what i learned. now, along with the books read, the words scribbled, the music heard, the movies seen ... will my thoughts, my mind, my understanding, my feelings, my perceptions ... the net sum of my existence ... just dissapear? melt? fade without an echo?
but are any of us any better? is there any such thing ad the individual. his ts thought, the individual thought. his creation, the individual creation. his opinion, perceptions, reactions and actions. the individual. is there any such thing? or is it just a fragment of his self delusionary imagination? hallucinations of grandeur.
all the days i have lived, all the things i have thought about, everything i have understood, or thought i understood, all my observations, perceptions, opinions, likes, dislikes, hatred, repulsion, admiration, affection, sympathies, empathies. alll my learnings, understandings, ponedring, all my writings ... what will happen to everything after i am gone?
no doubt someone will give my books away. someone will come along and go through my whole collection, my whole life ... perhaps ma will keep them outside, in the balcony, in big cardboard boxes, covered with plastic. 2 big boxes of the leatherbound and hardcover ones which she bought before i was born (did she have some uncanny permonition?) the classics, the encyclopedias, the biographies, journals and letters of famous people, the dictionaries, english, french, german. then a few boxes of the moth eaten ancient leather ... the ones i picked up here and there, from other dead or dying people, knowing probably that i wouldnt read them (house remedies of the victorian age, for example) but unable to see a book orphaned. then boxes and boxes of the books i have collected as i read through them. i always buy. bought. if i got it from a library, or a friend, and i liked it, id go out and buy it.
my movies ... the tiny sony betamax cassettes, regular cassettes, the vcds, the dvds ...
my music ...
looking through it all i feel like thats all i did for the last thirty years. collect. my two drawers full of diaries, random writings and jottings. poems on exam papers, toilet paper, paper napkins, hand made paper packets from the grocer, brown paper bags ... and all safely stored. never looked at again. will they go through it all after im gone? but that cannot be ... i must destroy it all myself.
but how can you do that? burn, tear, shred, throw away the footprints ur mind left as it lived and grew? the recordings of the pain, anger, humilitions, joys, discoveries, betrayals ... thrills.
but that is the basic questions thats on my mind today. all these years thats all i thought was important ... what i thought, what i read, what i learned. now, along with the books read, the words scribbled, the music heard, the movies seen ... will my thoughts, my mind, my understanding, my feelings, my perceptions ... the net sum of my existence ... just dissapear? melt? fade without an echo?
doctor gupta ... A Story (part 3)
though he is a doctor, our family doctor, dr gupta has been with us for so long now that its hard to remember him as anything but a family friend, or a relative .... as doctor uncle.
like i said, i have known him forever ... ever since i was a little girl. in all these years though, he had never spoken to me like this before, never asked me to come and visit him at the chamber, and that too alone.
so i went there on monday, after work. it was 8:30 in the evening. the drive down bypass had been beautiful. the softly wet days when summer is turning to monsoon. the cool breezes, the near empty roads, my car, my music and my kolkata. sometimes i felt overwhelmed by how beautiful it all was. i was on my way home. i had been living away from home for almost ten years, on and off. and now, it felt so good to be back. to get used to the food, take it for granted. to peep in on ma's room, while she slept, once before falling asleep. to have people to fight with, talk seriously with, places to go, things to do ... and to take all this for granted. its like magic, getting all that back again, and getting used to it, slowly. now i was headed home. ma would be there. we would talk for a while. drink two cups of tea together before i went to my room. because i havent yet gotten used to it, because it still feels new & magical at times, i had thought about it as i drove, and i had smiled to myself.
i reached his chambers at 21:00. the lady at the desk asked me to wait. after 15 mins he came out and took me inside. i started to make a joke about how starnge this was when he told me, in that voice i will never forget now as long as live, or for the next few months, that i was going to die. he told me the disease. the chances. the timescales. he said, he had thought about it a lot, and he had come to the conclusion that I would have preferred it this way, that indeed, i could not have borne it any other way, that i would have never forgiven him if he had told someone else in the family before talking to me.
what could i say? maybe thats what the refer to when they talk about 'shock'. i didnt say anything much, maybe i had smiled a little, then sat there quietly a while. finally, i told him that i would think about my options and get back to him. and i left him ... with a request to not discuss it with anyone else till i said so.
as i drive back, i pushed these thoughts out of my mind. id think about it later. after i got home. after ma had gone to bed. 'think about my options', i had said to doctor uncle. unable to stop myself i started laughing out loud. alone, in the car. what options? i didnt have any anymore.
like i said, i have known him forever ... ever since i was a little girl. in all these years though, he had never spoken to me like this before, never asked me to come and visit him at the chamber, and that too alone.
so i went there on monday, after work. it was 8:30 in the evening. the drive down bypass had been beautiful. the softly wet days when summer is turning to monsoon. the cool breezes, the near empty roads, my car, my music and my kolkata. sometimes i felt overwhelmed by how beautiful it all was. i was on my way home. i had been living away from home for almost ten years, on and off. and now, it felt so good to be back. to get used to the food, take it for granted. to peep in on ma's room, while she slept, once before falling asleep. to have people to fight with, talk seriously with, places to go, things to do ... and to take all this for granted. its like magic, getting all that back again, and getting used to it, slowly. now i was headed home. ma would be there. we would talk for a while. drink two cups of tea together before i went to my room. because i havent yet gotten used to it, because it still feels new & magical at times, i had thought about it as i drove, and i had smiled to myself.
i reached his chambers at 21:00. the lady at the desk asked me to wait. after 15 mins he came out and took me inside. i started to make a joke about how starnge this was when he told me, in that voice i will never forget now as long as live, or for the next few months, that i was going to die. he told me the disease. the chances. the timescales. he said, he had thought about it a lot, and he had come to the conclusion that I would have preferred it this way, that indeed, i could not have borne it any other way, that i would have never forgiven him if he had told someone else in the family before talking to me.
what could i say? maybe thats what the refer to when they talk about 'shock'. i didnt say anything much, maybe i had smiled a little, then sat there quietly a while. finally, i told him that i would think about my options and get back to him. and i left him ... with a request to not discuss it with anyone else till i said so.
as i drive back, i pushed these thoughts out of my mind. id think about it later. after i got home. after ma had gone to bed. 'think about my options', i had said to doctor uncle. unable to stop myself i started laughing out loud. alone, in the car. what options? i didnt have any anymore.
Praful ... A Story (part 2)
its too late and too futile to think about this now. but i keep thinking about him anyhow. about Praful. i wish there was some way I could let him know. I wish there was some way I could reach him. Or, even if I could, by some means, be certain ... certain that what she had told me was true ...
but what would i tell him if there was a way to get to him? what if the phone rang just now. what if i picked up the receiver, and in that old way of ours, just stayed silent a while ... waiting ... till one of us (both such restless imps, mashi used to say) burst out laughing. they were always being amazed at how we could still roll over laughing at the most trivial of things!
ma would say, "ete abaar eto haashbaar ki holo? toder baepaar torai jaanish"
coming back to the real world and true life ... what would I say to Praful today? would i say "Im sorry"? would i say "I waited ... even while I hated you, even while I told my self you had never cared ... that i imagined everything"? would i say "praful, im still waiting praful. u never said it but i never doubted it, or you. i knew we could only have been made for each other. i grew angry, impatient, sad, mad ... but whatever i felt whenever, i felt for you. i never turned away from you. till dactar maama called me last week and said, "guddi, ekla aashish. ektu kotha aachhe" and changed everything forever.
what would I say to Praful today? i waited for, but now i have to go?
Or maybe what she had told me was true ... he didnt just dissapear, or go away. praful is dead. and ill be with him soon.
<2B edited / contd>
but what would i tell him if there was a way to get to him? what if the phone rang just now. what if i picked up the receiver, and in that old way of ours, just stayed silent a while ... waiting ... till one of us (both such restless imps, mashi used to say) burst out laughing. they were always being amazed at how we could still roll over laughing at the most trivial of things!
ma would say, "ete abaar eto haashbaar ki holo? toder baepaar torai jaanish"
coming back to the real world and true life ... what would I say to Praful today? would i say "Im sorry"? would i say "I waited ... even while I hated you, even while I told my self you had never cared ... that i imagined everything"? would i say "praful, im still waiting praful. u never said it but i never doubted it, or you. i knew we could only have been made for each other. i grew angry, impatient, sad, mad ... but whatever i felt whenever, i felt for you. i never turned away from you. till dactar maama called me last week and said, "guddi, ekla aashish. ektu kotha aachhe" and changed everything forever.
what would I say to Praful today? i waited for, but now i have to go?
Or maybe what she had told me was true ... he didnt just dissapear, or go away. praful is dead. and ill be with him soon.
<2B edited / contd>
The Dying Flame ... A Story (part 1)
what do you do in the last 5 months of life? theres a lot of stuff i had wanted to do in life, on this world or in this time-space-frame ... whatever it is ... but 5 or 6 months is too little time to do any of them.
i dont want to be bitter about it. I am dying. Its sad, but there are sadder things. it could be so much worse. as it is i've had 30 odd years which in hindsight, seem just perfect! i wouldnt change a second.
in some strange way, the actual reality has not sunk in ... that in a few months everything will be over. literally everything. how can it? i cant even conceive of it! its still the blackouts that seem more scary to me! the dying ... thats too big to register!
<2B edited / contd>
i dont want to be bitter about it. I am dying. Its sad, but there are sadder things. it could be so much worse. as it is i've had 30 odd years which in hindsight, seem just perfect! i wouldnt change a second.
in some strange way, the actual reality has not sunk in ... that in a few months everything will be over. literally everything. how can it? i cant even conceive of it! its still the blackouts that seem more scary to me! the dying ... thats too big to register!
<2B edited / contd>
Notes to Myself
as a child,
I wrote letters to god
and I wondered
where to post them. Now, I write
notes to myself & wonder if i'll
ever understand them.
I wrote letters to god
and I wondered
where to post them. Now, I write
notes to myself & wonder if i'll
ever understand them.
Moonspell
been feeling strange lately
dunno whats wrong
maybe im bewitched
do u cast spells with ur eyes?
was it just a trick of the light
or did you sound familiar in the night
brought to mind a very old friend
though im not sure if he was only, in m mind
dont get me wrong. theres no way, im thinking ur special
its just that u reminded me - of someone - i cant recall ever having known
and now that the sketch has been put in,
i feel lonely for the first time thinking of him
we'd run in the moonlight
we'd had our silly fights
we'd talked about everything
and nothingmaybe this is love
best of friends. confidante. someone each can lean on
someone to take for granted. to speak to in half formed sentances with
to gossip with in a single look
to consult with in just a glance, shot across a crowded room
just friends. best friends
yet sometimes ... well, never mind.
one and only, everlasting, overwhelming
maybe its a dream
and soon ill wake up
doesnt really matter now
cz ill never find out
i looked up and into ur eyes
saw what might be a lightning blaze
didnt wait, to find if im wrong
so im on the run again
catch me if u can
no one could. no one can
am i glad?
or am i sad?
ill never know
cz im born to run
dunno whats wrong
maybe im bewitched
do u cast spells with ur eyes?
was it just a trick of the light
or did you sound familiar in the night
brought to mind a very old friend
though im not sure if he was only, in m mind
dont get me wrong. theres no way, im thinking ur special
its just that u reminded me - of someone - i cant recall ever having known
and now that the sketch has been put in,
i feel lonely for the first time thinking of him
we'd run in the moonlight
we'd had our silly fights
we'd talked about everything
and nothingmaybe this is love
best of friends. confidante. someone each can lean on
someone to take for granted. to speak to in half formed sentances with
to gossip with in a single look
to consult with in just a glance, shot across a crowded room
just friends. best friends
yet sometimes ... well, never mind.
one and only, everlasting, overwhelming
maybe its a dream
and soon ill wake up
doesnt really matter now
cz ill never find out
i looked up and into ur eyes
saw what might be a lightning blaze
didnt wait, to find if im wrong
so im on the run again
catch me if u can
no one could. no one can
am i glad?
or am i sad?
ill never know
cz im born to run
thorns, a rider
cannot concentrate all my friendship on any single one of my friends because no one is complete enough in himself.
--Anais Nin
Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.
--Anais Nin
whats harder to bear? pain or emptiness? which is less painful - loneliness or vapid company? which grates more poor character or poor diction? which is a lesser sin - unfounded intellectual snobbery or hypocritical congeniality. which hurts more, general coolth from a well maintained distance or compensated but sudden showers of rage?
how do you feel when you were waiting for something and then you realise it wont happen? how do you feel when you spend days and days waiting for something to happen but when it does, find it unbearable? if you look in the mirror and fall in love? if you look inside and want to throw up? can you fine tune your self to your taste?
and i come round once again to this ...
"Can you? Is there surgery that does that? Keep the roses. throw away the thorns. Can you discipline, control, carrot&stick yourself? can you become 'a good person'? was reading how to be good, sometime back (nick hornby)
what will happen to the bits that fall away under the knife? will the float away from the soul and drift in ether forver, islands of faults and mistakes? torn thorns. poor little thorns."
a new poem (if i may call it that) up at chocolat ...
--Anais Nin
Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.
--Anais Nin
whats harder to bear? pain or emptiness? which is less painful - loneliness or vapid company? which grates more poor character or poor diction? which is a lesser sin - unfounded intellectual snobbery or hypocritical congeniality. which hurts more, general coolth from a well maintained distance or compensated but sudden showers of rage?
how do you feel when you were waiting for something and then you realise it wont happen? how do you feel when you spend days and days waiting for something to happen but when it does, find it unbearable? if you look in the mirror and fall in love? if you look inside and want to throw up? can you fine tune your self to your taste?
and i come round once again to this ...
"Can you? Is there surgery that does that? Keep the roses. throw away the thorns. Can you discipline, control, carrot&stick yourself? can you become 'a good person'? was reading how to be good, sometime back (nick hornby)
what will happen to the bits that fall away under the knife? will the float away from the soul and drift in ether forver, islands of faults and mistakes? torn thorns. poor little thorns."
a new poem (if i may call it that) up at chocolat ...
whole lotta roses
things come and things go. but everything that passes over you leaves its tracks. some are stronger than the rest. memories ... there are so many meories crowded in your head. some seem so real you can almost forget they are not here and now. some so faded and dry that they are like watching a movie or reading a book stored somewhere inside. there are things you recall, you know they happened, but it feels so incredible. which me was this thats so much more a stranger than anyone else i have ever heard of?
someone had once exclaimed, how can you hate yourself. how can anyone? how can you not love someone you have carried inside you for so long? treasured, protected, nurtured, guided ... (thats the way of the orphans ... but do the others do that too?) ... created, how can you throw any part of that away, how can you
tear out these cancers, which though dangerously malignant, are still parts of you?
Can you? Is there surgery that does that? Keep the roses. throw away the thorns. Can you discipline, control, carrot&stick yourself.into becoming someone else? into becoming a good person?
what will happen to the bits that fall away under the knife? will the float away from the soul and drift in ether forver, islands of faults and mistakes? torn thorns. poor little thorns.
someone had once exclaimed, how can you hate yourself. how can anyone? how can you not love someone you have carried inside you for so long? treasured, protected, nurtured, guided ... (thats the way of the orphans ... but do the others do that too?) ... created, how can you throw any part of that away, how can you
tear out these cancers, which though dangerously malignant, are still parts of you?
Can you? Is there surgery that does that? Keep the roses. throw away the thorns. Can you discipline, control, carrot&stick yourself.into becoming someone else? into becoming a good person?
what will happen to the bits that fall away under the knife? will the float away from the soul and drift in ether forver, islands of faults and mistakes? torn thorns. poor little thorns.
theres still the rain ...
things stick in ur the branches in of ur mind, and sitting there, they morph over the years, with the passing seasons of time.
the thing i miss most about being home, or being in one place that you have been a long time is you have collected all the books and movies that you like to have around you, either bought or brought from home, which we nomads never have. so like today im dying to see just that bit of say anything, or just those words of high fidelity ... i cant really.
amsterdam pics still stuck. its hard to manage a digital camera without a comp.
its been a killer 3 days. today being the craziest. but to tell the truth, i like the feel of those days when you're running since 4 (thats when i left home) and cant stop to take a breath. i love it. but problem is your so rushed u keep making mistakes. so its ok if the tasks are things where you already know what to do, but if ur analysing miles of code , looking at solutions ... its killersville!
i wrote a mail to baba, ma and barbie yesterday, which i still have sitting in my drafts! killer bomb! if they had read it they'd have never gotten over it. ill never send it. that much frankness & intimacy is not my style. im a scorp after all ;@) but i havent deleted it either.
i am really falling behind in class! i went to the UTA site after ages. need to practise conjugating. need to practise like mad. but there's something about that univ that totally fascinates me ... dunno why!
the 5K is in june. will i make it?
why is it that which ever team i pick i always end up at the bottom?
there are 3 concerts coming up that i want to go to ... mark knoffler, u2, bruce springsteen. i'd give a LOT for a chance to go to them atleast the first two. its not the money (i'd even swallow my pride and ask baba on this - IF needed and its not needed) but just that i would feel so weird going alone!
yesterday, when i was going home in the bus, listening to my obsession of the month, i had a flash of what i really wanted, in life. but would i be happy if i had taken that path? maybe its just an illusion. if not, i could have said i took the one less travelled by and that has made all the difference, in the wrong sense! i find it interesting how i keep going back to that point, though its been 13 years ... its like when you lose something and you have no clue where its gone, you keep wanting to look in the last place you saw it, though rationally, you KNOW you have already covered that spot! Like the sparrows when the HP house was being built ... the false ceiling had been done, but the fittings were not up yet. So, there were these holes in the false ceiling leading into the space above it. A sparrow made a nest there. Ironically wherever may we roam, there are always birds nesting in our house. They are not temple-haunting martlets but they do approve. The air is delicate, yes but in a different sense!
its raining ... that makes everything better, doesnt it?
the thing i miss most about being home, or being in one place that you have been a long time is you have collected all the books and movies that you like to have around you, either bought or brought from home, which we nomads never have. so like today im dying to see just that bit of say anything, or just those words of high fidelity ... i cant really.
amsterdam pics still stuck. its hard to manage a digital camera without a comp.
its been a killer 3 days. today being the craziest. but to tell the truth, i like the feel of those days when you're running since 4 (thats when i left home) and cant stop to take a breath. i love it. but problem is your so rushed u keep making mistakes. so its ok if the tasks are things where you already know what to do, but if ur analysing miles of code , looking at solutions ... its killersville!
i wrote a mail to baba, ma and barbie yesterday, which i still have sitting in my drafts! killer bomb! if they had read it they'd have never gotten over it. ill never send it. that much frankness & intimacy is not my style. im a scorp after all ;@) but i havent deleted it either.
i am really falling behind in class! i went to the UTA site after ages. need to practise conjugating. need to practise like mad. but there's something about that univ that totally fascinates me ... dunno why!
the 5K is in june. will i make it?
why is it that which ever team i pick i always end up at the bottom?
there are 3 concerts coming up that i want to go to ... mark knoffler, u2, bruce springsteen. i'd give a LOT for a chance to go to them atleast the first two. its not the money (i'd even swallow my pride and ask baba on this - IF needed and its not needed) but just that i would feel so weird going alone!
yesterday, when i was going home in the bus, listening to my obsession of the month, i had a flash of what i really wanted, in life. but would i be happy if i had taken that path? maybe its just an illusion. if not, i could have said i took the one less travelled by and that has made all the difference, in the wrong sense! i find it interesting how i keep going back to that point, though its been 13 years ... its like when you lose something and you have no clue where its gone, you keep wanting to look in the last place you saw it, though rationally, you KNOW you have already covered that spot! Like the sparrows when the HP house was being built ... the false ceiling had been done, but the fittings were not up yet. So, there were these holes in the false ceiling leading into the space above it. A sparrow made a nest there. Ironically wherever may we roam, there are always birds nesting in our house. They are not temple-haunting martlets but they do approve. The air is delicate, yes but in a different sense!
its raining ... that makes everything better, doesnt it?
muzic
The heart is a bloom, shoots up through stony ground
But there's no room, no space to rent in this town
You're out of luck and the reason that you had to care,
The traffic is stuck and you're not moving anywhere.
You thought you’d found a friend to take you out of this place
Someone you could lend a hand in return for grace
It's a beautiful day, the sky falls
And you feel like it's a beautiful day
It’s a beautiful day
Don’t let it get away
Love, lift me out of these blues
Won't you tell me something true
I believe in you
Touch me, take me to that other place
Reach me, I know IÃm not a hopeless case
"In A Little While"
In a little while
Surely you'll be mine
In a little while I'll be there
In a little while
This hurt will hurt no more
I'll be home, love
When the night takes a deep breath
And the daylight has no end
If I crawl, if I come crawling home
WiIl you be there
In a little while
I won't be blown by every breeze
Friday night running
To Sunday on my knees
That girl, that girl
She's mine
And I've know her since
Since she was a little girl
With Spanish eyes
Oh, when I saw her
In a pram they pushed her by
My, how you've grown
Well it's been
It's been a little while
Slow down my bleeding heart
A man dreams one day to fly
A man takes a rocketship into the skys
He lives on star that's dying in the night
And follows in the trail
The scatter of light
But there's no room, no space to rent in this town
You're out of luck and the reason that you had to care,
The traffic is stuck and you're not moving anywhere.
You thought you’d found a friend to take you out of this place
Someone you could lend a hand in return for grace
It's a beautiful day, the sky falls
And you feel like it's a beautiful day
It’s a beautiful day
Don’t let it get away
Love, lift me out of these blues
Won't you tell me something true
I believe in you
Touch me, take me to that other place
Reach me, I know IÃm not a hopeless case
"In A Little While"
In a little while
Surely you'll be mine
In a little while I'll be there
In a little while
This hurt will hurt no more
I'll be home, love
When the night takes a deep breath
And the daylight has no end
If I crawl, if I come crawling home
WiIl you be there
In a little while
I won't be blown by every breeze
Friday night running
To Sunday on my knees
That girl, that girl
She's mine
And I've know her since
Since she was a little girl
With Spanish eyes
Oh, when I saw her
In a pram they pushed her by
My, how you've grown
Well it's been
It's been a little while
Slow down my bleeding heart
A man dreams one day to fly
A man takes a rocketship into the skys
He lives on star that's dying in the night
And follows in the trail
The scatter of light
to be loved as to love with all my heart
is it synchrosity? Or is it just that he loves me. I walked home yesterday, cold damp dark ... and I was halving this imaginary conversation with a imaginary person (who sits always in my head) and I said ... 'the sunshine - the beautiful sunshine in dibba. ill never again crib about the sweat and heat.' i woke up this morning to blinding sunshine.
i feel him somewhere around. he is there. he is waiting. and he does love me. i feel it in every part of my soul. he pushes me and makes life hard and cold and he keeps raising the bar, cz thats what i had asked him for.
after years i find myself humming an old favourite from school days
"Father, hear the prayer we offer:
Nor for ease that prayer shall be,
But for strength, that we may ever
Live our lives courageously.
Not forever in green pastures
Do we ask our way to be,
But the steep and rugged pathway
May we tread rejoicingly.
Not forever by still waters
Would we idly, quiet stay;
But would smite the living fountains
From the rocks along our way."
i feel him somewhere around. he is there. he is waiting. and he does love me. i feel it in every part of my soul. he pushes me and makes life hard and cold and he keeps raising the bar, cz thats what i had asked him for.
after years i find myself humming an old favourite from school days
"Father, hear the prayer we offer:
Nor for ease that prayer shall be,
But for strength, that we may ever
Live our lives courageously.
Not forever in green pastures
Do we ask our way to be,
But the steep and rugged pathway
May we tread rejoicingly.
Not forever by still waters
Would we idly, quiet stay;
But would smite the living fountains
From the rocks along our way."
cohen
I loved you in the morning
Our kisses deep and warm,
Your head upon the pillow
Like a sleepy golden Strom.
Yes, many loved before us
I know that we are not new,
In city and in forest
They smiled like me and you,
But now it's come to distances
And both of us must try,
Your eyes are soft with sorrow,
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye.
I'm not looking for another
As I wander in my time,
Walk me to the corner
Our steps will always rhyme,
You know my love goes with you
As your love stays with me,
It's just the way it changes
Like the shoreline and the sea,
But let's not talk of love or chains
And things we can't untie,
Your eyes are soft with sorrow,
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye.
I loved you in the morning
Our kisses deep and warm,
Your head upon the pillow
Like a sleepy golden Strom.
Yes, many loved before us
I know that we are not new,
In city and in forest
They smiled like me and you,
But let's not talk of love or chains
And things we can't untie,
Your eyes are soft with sorrow,
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye.
Every phase in life, each sequence of days, seperated by coloured paper seperators in the filing of our heads, each one has a theme song, for me. Like Sauces wedding was 'from this moment'. This last trip home, probably my nicest time at home since I left for Pune in 1994, was this song above. Or probably all of the Cohen collection. I will never forget those days. Suddenly I miss my pogie and bose so much! Its not funny. Its all these people you love, or its their memories, the echoes of their voices that they leave in your head, its the shadow that drags behind them as they fly away, the way they made you feel ... its all these little strands that knit together and form a place called home, in my heart.
Our kisses deep and warm,
Your head upon the pillow
Like a sleepy golden Strom.
Yes, many loved before us
I know that we are not new,
In city and in forest
They smiled like me and you,
But now it's come to distances
And both of us must try,
Your eyes are soft with sorrow,
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye.
I'm not looking for another
As I wander in my time,
Walk me to the corner
Our steps will always rhyme,
You know my love goes with you
As your love stays with me,
It's just the way it changes
Like the shoreline and the sea,
But let's not talk of love or chains
And things we can't untie,
Your eyes are soft with sorrow,
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye.
I loved you in the morning
Our kisses deep and warm,
Your head upon the pillow
Like a sleepy golden Strom.
Yes, many loved before us
I know that we are not new,
In city and in forest
They smiled like me and you,
But let's not talk of love or chains
And things we can't untie,
Your eyes are soft with sorrow,
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye.
Every phase in life, each sequence of days, seperated by coloured paper seperators in the filing of our heads, each one has a theme song, for me. Like Sauces wedding was 'from this moment'. This last trip home, probably my nicest time at home since I left for Pune in 1994, was this song above. Or probably all of the Cohen collection. I will never forget those days. Suddenly I miss my pogie and bose so much! Its not funny. Its all these people you love, or its their memories, the echoes of their voices that they leave in your head, its the shadow that drags behind them as they fly away, the way they made you feel ... its all these little strands that knit together and form a place called home, in my heart.
the anne frank house
"When I returned and after I had the news that my children would not be coming back, Miep gave me the diary which had been saved by, I should say, a miracle. It took me a very long time before I could read it. And I must say, I was very much surprised about the deep thoughts that Anne had, her seriousness, especially her self-criticism. It was quite a different Anne than I had known as my daughter. She never really showed this kind of inner feeling. She talked about many things, criticized many things, but what her real feelings were, that I could only see from the diary." Otto Frank
"A single Anne Frank moves us more than the countless others who suffered just as she did, but whose faces have remained in the shadows. Perhaps it's better that way: if we were capable of taking in the suffering of all those people, we would not be able to live." Primo Levi
July 27, 1945
Dear Milly,
I suppose you will excuse me that I did not answer your kind letter right away. I couldnt. Daily, I tried to speak to people in order to find something about the girls. And I speak to quite a lot who met them at Bergen-Belzen in January or February but then I could not trace them any further. Now I know all the truth and I know that I shall never be able to believe that strk. I seem to be very calm and do everything to divert me, just not to think. Nobody can help me, though I have many friends.
Otto Frank to his sister, Milly
It took me 17 mins of standing in that same hallway to note down this passage that was being played there (had to stop to cry once in a while)!
What hit me most was the ordinary normality of life. peter's new board game. the pinups on her wall. all the little details which make you realise, actually realise, it wasnt just a story ... it happened. How did it happen? There must be a answer. There must be a rationale. But how do I find it and where do I look. Is it in the 'maaya' or is it connectivity or what is it? How can we go on living like it never happened? How can we go on living without understanding it? Or die? it is all the more chilly when you think of the years the dates. you know that time. you have read those dates before. so and so's birthday. or something like that.
"A single Anne Frank moves us more than the countless others who suffered just as she did, but whose faces have remained in the shadows. Perhaps it's better that way: if we were capable of taking in the suffering of all those people, we would not be able to live." Primo Levi
July 27, 1945
Dear Milly,
I suppose you will excuse me that I did not answer your kind letter right away. I couldnt. Daily, I tried to speak to people in order to find something about the girls. And I speak to quite a lot who met them at Bergen-Belzen in January or February but then I could not trace them any further. Now I know all the truth and I know that I shall never be able to believe that strk. I seem to be very calm and do everything to divert me, just not to think. Nobody can help me, though I have many friends.
Otto Frank to his sister, Milly
It took me 17 mins of standing in that same hallway to note down this passage that was being played there (had to stop to cry once in a while)!
What hit me most was the ordinary normality of life. peter's new board game. the pinups on her wall. all the little details which make you realise, actually realise, it wasnt just a story ... it happened. How did it happen? There must be a answer. There must be a rationale. But how do I find it and where do I look. Is it in the 'maaya' or is it connectivity or what is it? How can we go on living like it never happened? How can we go on living without understanding it? Or die? it is all the more chilly when you think of the years the dates. you know that time. you have read those dates before. so and so's birthday. or something like that.
i could have told you vincent ....
van gogh:
bridge in the rain
courting couples in the voyer d'argenson
the harvest
wheat field 1988
triptich
the sower
st pauls hospital garden
branches of an almond tree in blossom (gift for theo's son)
the reaper
wheatfield with crows
wheatfield with poppies
wheatfield under the clouds
view of auvers
farmhouse at auvers
other artists i liked there
manet
preitenger van dongen
gaugin
raffeilli
gaugin
paul serusier
edouard vuillard
pierre bonnard
felix vallotton
josef israils
herder shephard
odilon redon
floris vester
lepere auguste
valtat
george breitner hendrik
i was amazed by the boldness of a painting of a lady called Gus - Augusta.
caveat - the names are all from my (very) hastily scribbled notes at the museum during a very rushed and cursory run through it. Half of which time I was too tired to be thinking straight. so, i expect i got a lot of them wrong!
i left wanting to find out more about the relationship between him and gaugin. about his 'voices'. and to think about why he volunteered to go to St Pauls and how he felt after that. did he feel trapped. also want to read his letters to emile bernard.
quotes:
"for you, the public, it is really done. i think that saying is true: For you the public, it is really done"
Vincent to Theo, Nov 1882
"I feel a failure. That is my destiny, which I accept and which will never chnage"
27 July 1890. Vincent Van Gogh Stichting.
bridge in the rain
courting couples in the voyer d'argenson
the harvest
wheat field 1988
triptich
the sower
st pauls hospital garden
branches of an almond tree in blossom (gift for theo's son)
the reaper
wheatfield with crows
wheatfield with poppies
wheatfield under the clouds
view of auvers
farmhouse at auvers
other artists i liked there
manet
preitenger van dongen
gaugin
raffeilli
gaugin
paul serusier
edouard vuillard
pierre bonnard
felix vallotton
josef israils
herder shephard
odilon redon
floris vester
lepere auguste
valtat
george breitner hendrik
i was amazed by the boldness of a painting of a lady called Gus - Augusta.
caveat - the names are all from my (very) hastily scribbled notes at the museum during a very rushed and cursory run through it. Half of which time I was too tired to be thinking straight. so, i expect i got a lot of them wrong!
i left wanting to find out more about the relationship between him and gaugin. about his 'voices'. and to think about why he volunteered to go to St Pauls and how he felt after that. did he feel trapped. also want to read his letters to emile bernard.
quotes:
"for you, the public, it is really done. i think that saying is true: For you the public, it is really done"
Vincent to Theo, Nov 1882
"I feel a failure. That is my destiny, which I accept and which will never chnage"
27 July 1890. Vincent Van Gogh Stichting.
its ironic, how im back in the game
am i the only person in the world who takes notes whil watching tv? while going htough my notebook for the amsterdam notes i found notes on a chinese valley of soldiers, greek medicine, and ofcourse the usual songs (damien rice) and movies (gosford park) to be hunted down.
probably one of the scariest things to have is volatility and lack of control.
i wish i was taller
the skies are dark this afternoon with storms clouds and the grounds slick with drying rain. makes me think of home ...
Most days, I am haunted by spirit. He is, by turns, restless, impish, naughty, shy, sweet and unbaeatably persistant. He stands, like a shadow, just behind my right shoulder. in everything i do or say, when i am talking to someone, when i am workinhg, in the gym, in the class everynow and again it will prod my in the ribs and reminds me of things I dont want to think about, of things I run away from, of things I like to hide from. Distracted, I los my train of thoughts and Im lost, till with a start, I wake up again. In these days of high stress and sharp tension, It reminds me of the late nights just before the exams, when denying all human feelings, we forcefull keep ourselves awake and suddenly when our head jerks down and we wake, only then we realise we had fallen asleep for a split second. like that, waking from a day dream i realise i had fallen. theres a feel of something coming. of wanting something. of being on my way somewhere. i flit between panic and a incstinct to run from whatever is up ahead and my whole heart singing in anticipation.
Sometimes you have to let people go. Sometimes you have to let a friendship go. However precious, however dear, however natural it was. I know I was wrong. But theres nothing I can do now but feel sorry. I want to run away somewhere and I want to run to someone and tell them everything, just vomit out all the pain, and cry. But theres no one like that. You cant lean on someone unless you knew he could take the weight. All the way.
I miss chatts. I need chatts. there are times when no one else will do. Or Sauce, or Juls, or Ad, or Pogie. Yet just having recognised / remembered the comfort of having friends like that consoles and spread over you like a balm.
For a moment, theres peace then your restless again. Its not a ache, so it cant be fixed. Its just this funny feeling. Like somethings wrong somewhere. Like something big is about to hit me in the head and I cant see it.
I guess its been that way ever since the dreaded yearly review. I havent gotten over that yet. I dont know if I ever will. Yet there are certain things that make you feel that maybe it wasnt that bad. At the end of the day, its all that matters, isnt it? The principle thing you do. If I tell you, you suck at your work, what do you have left. If some idiot tells you that you can tell urself its just the idiot. But if one of the people whose judgement you really trust tells you that, then what do you do? At the end of the day, but its all about interpretations, isnt it? It doesnt have to be the end of it all ... you can still try for next time!
probably one of the scariest things to have is volatility and lack of control.
i wish i was taller
the skies are dark this afternoon with storms clouds and the grounds slick with drying rain. makes me think of home ...
Most days, I am haunted by spirit. He is, by turns, restless, impish, naughty, shy, sweet and unbaeatably persistant. He stands, like a shadow, just behind my right shoulder. in everything i do or say, when i am talking to someone, when i am workinhg, in the gym, in the class everynow and again it will prod my in the ribs and reminds me of things I dont want to think about, of things I run away from, of things I like to hide from. Distracted, I los my train of thoughts and Im lost, till with a start, I wake up again. In these days of high stress and sharp tension, It reminds me of the late nights just before the exams, when denying all human feelings, we forcefull keep ourselves awake and suddenly when our head jerks down and we wake, only then we realise we had fallen asleep for a split second. like that, waking from a day dream i realise i had fallen. theres a feel of something coming. of wanting something. of being on my way somewhere. i flit between panic and a incstinct to run from whatever is up ahead and my whole heart singing in anticipation.
Sometimes you have to let people go. Sometimes you have to let a friendship go. However precious, however dear, however natural it was. I know I was wrong. But theres nothing I can do now but feel sorry. I want to run away somewhere and I want to run to someone and tell them everything, just vomit out all the pain, and cry. But theres no one like that. You cant lean on someone unless you knew he could take the weight. All the way.
I miss chatts. I need chatts. there are times when no one else will do. Or Sauce, or Juls, or Ad, or Pogie. Yet just having recognised / remembered the comfort of having friends like that consoles and spread over you like a balm.
For a moment, theres peace then your restless again. Its not a ache, so it cant be fixed. Its just this funny feeling. Like somethings wrong somewhere. Like something big is about to hit me in the head and I cant see it.
I guess its been that way ever since the dreaded yearly review. I havent gotten over that yet. I dont know if I ever will. Yet there are certain things that make you feel that maybe it wasnt that bad. At the end of the day, its all that matters, isnt it? The principle thing you do. If I tell you, you suck at your work, what do you have left. If some idiot tells you that you can tell urself its just the idiot. But if one of the people whose judgement you really trust tells you that, then what do you do? At the end of the day, but its all about interpretations, isnt it? It doesnt have to be the end of it all ... you can still try for next time!
nostalgia
wouldnt it be nice if we could really live in the present. i know some of us manage pretty well, but a few are not so good or consistent with this skill
when i look back on my life till now, i see every colour, every shade in my memories. orange for fun & frolic, pink for love & laughter; red for anger & amor; grey for tears & trials; blue for the blues, purple for the strange lost days, black sins and pain; white for wisdom and peace. but given a choice, i wouldnt live one single day differently. 'got say it now - its been a good life all in all'
but the point here is that i look back. each moment i know, though i am, here and now, making memories i will look back on with fond longing some far away tomorrow, yet i spend a part of it looking over my shoulder at some long left behind yesterday.
through it all theres one thing i have realised. you never miss a place, time, person. i have gone back to all of them and found strangers where i had left bits and pieces of my heart. what we do miss is the way we were ... there,then, with them
we are different all the time. with different people, in different places, at different times. and we scatter our souls in the winds of our lives, spreading it everywhere we have touched, leaving bits and pieces of our selves every where we go.
wouldnt it be nice if we could collect all of us in space & time and be whole for that moment, that place.
i couldnt write in words how its raining. its like magic. the water. the light. the city. wish i could stay home and watch the 'way we were' ... or anything, for that matter
Sweet dreams are made of this
Who am I to disagree?
I travel the world and the seven seas
Everybody's lookin' for somethin'.
Some of them want to use you.
Some of them want to get used by you
Some of them want to abuse you.
Some of them want to be abused
an old song stirs up so many memories. how the heart clings to everything old. old memories. old friends. old books. old poems & journals. t-shirts. ashtrays. stuff toys. perfume bottles. greeting cards. photographs ... somewhere in linda goodmans love signs, a tattered copy of which i still have at home, which was carefully brought down and furtively & very seriously re-consulted, through the years, with every new childhood sweetheart, somewhere in that much loved (old) book, she says the Scorpio must try to overcome its tendency to make a scrapbook out of its life and live it. i wonder if its true? dont really care ... love reading her stuff cz i love the glorious picture she paints of Us!
things come and things go. but everything that passes over you leaves its tracks. some are stronger than the rest. memories ... there are so many meories crowded in your head. some seem so real you can almost forget they are not here and now. some so faded and dry that they are like watching a movie or reading a book stored somewhere inside. there are things you recall, you know they happened, but it feels so incredible. which me was this thats so much more a stranger than anyone else i have ever heard of?
someone had once exclaimed, how can you hate yourself. how can anyone? how can you not love someone you have carried inside you for so long? treasured, protected, nurtured, guided ... (thats the way of the orphans ... but do the others do that too?) ... created, how can you throw any part of that away, how can you
tear out these cancers, which though dangerously malignant, are still parts of you?
Can you? Is there surgery that does that? Keep the roses. throw away the thorns. Can you discipline, control, carrot&stick yourself.into becoming someone else? into becoming a good person?
what will happen to the bits that fall away under the knife? will the float away from the soul and drift in ether forver, islands of faults and mistakes? torn thorns. poor little thorns.
nostalgia: the memory of the heart. Ive been speaking to Vani quite a bit lately
and I got a bigg-ish mail from Ghatak this morning
And I wrote a biggie to Pills yesterday
So all in all its PUNE TIMES in nostalgia land
With golden words like deccan and chit chat & FTII & Fergusan floating around in my head
In those days, when people told us crap like "these are the golden years of ur life" and "You will remember these days all your lives long"
I always thot, what crap man! I mean ... ye jeena bhi koi jeena hai lallu!
paisa nahi. hamesha bhikaario ka haal hai
at times we'd pool resources to get one vada pav
even an auto is like a luxury
holiday "getaway" start with 3 tier bliss (often unreserved & seatless) on IR (Azad Hind Express)
tumtum mein ghumo. dhup mein pako
ghar aake gaali khaao
journals / profs / orals / practicals / and EXAMS!!!!
chhhheeeeeeeeeee!
But in retrospect ... its something else all together!
pigging out on borrowed (beg / borrow / steal - been there done that) maggie in the dorm
and hanging out at Buggi's flat endless Sundays
and sneaking into FTII forever for lack of places to hang out in
and going to deccan for samosa's early sunday morning
and vani's street side friend
and me and pills going down the dorm - door to door - begging someone to donate a mafggie ka pkt to the kangaal janta :(
chhheeee - & people used to be so rude to us!
I remember somone (I think it was one of those semi localites) once asked as 2.5 bucks for a half pkt ... she said "please kal paisa de dena haan?"
And we were so shameless ... I think I would have felt really bad if it happened now! Ouch! Uss time pein kuchh laga bhi nahi hoga ... kya yedi hain ... aisa kuchh socha rahega :)
Didnt posses a music system so we were once camped outside this seniors (nandita's room) door when she was playing lucky ali
I fell in love with that album
once the second yrs janta mistook me for a fresher & ragged me ... I was in BE!
and I remember seema agarwal ... how we used to plague her
she used to squat in a corner in college (during prep leave - loadsa folk went to the empty bdg to "study") - and she'd rock back and forth and mumble to herself ratto-ing the whole book - cover to cover
and me & pills used to make fun of her so much
toh she used to say "no ya Im just like keeping it in mind"
that was hilarious
And Mona - my one & only Loci pal
Gawd she had a mom, and a house & and bed
And Foooooooooooooood!!!!
And I remember one time this babe
took an illegal night out from hostel and went to the disc
and poor child ... mtv chose that night to come filming in Pune!
Early in the morning there was this huge snap of her in Pune Plus ...
well not of her - but she figured pretty prominently :)
And the papers used to be kept on a kind of platform next to the matron desk
We couldnt do anything
So this other girl she kind of just went and sat on the paper ... it was really funny at that time.
And coming home on Azad Hind
It used to be like those school trains in Malory Towers or something
I mean almost 96 percent students
All the West Bengal and NorthEast janta in Pune going home
Music Jokes Halla ... Mad or Melancholy ... depending on the direction
and vani's M80 & Mona's sunny & Buggi's amazing Bike!
and how they seemed like the coolest in the world bcz of their great treasures
and hanging out a fergie & sagaar plaza & god knows where else to catch up with Ghatak
abnd SPDP
and me & vani & pills at Bugge's place
we knew vani was going off to the US
we used to ask her if she will mail and all
she used to say ya ofsourse I will
I remember this one time I asked her how often she wud mail me
she said everyday
but she never did!
:)
the us seemed so so far away
now i am here too, in the us
but it still seems like she is so far away at times
i guess once again - its a fn of time not place!
Those times when they pass take away so much
Now we are just old hags trying despo'ly to survive from day to day
and memories, and dreams are just a luxury, to be taken out of the attic and smiled at everyonce in a while :)
chatted with my mom
my leo (my beloved my sweet darling leo) is ill
he is getting old it seems (bull)
mom is such a darling
she is so cute
she lined up all my stuff toys in front of the webcam
and leo and my cats
and the birds
everything
and I saw my daddy in his red jammies :)
for a second such a wave of nostalgia swept over me
cant explain ... felt like my heart will break ... with a nice feeling ...
recently a friend asked me who is there for u when things go wrong
no ones ever there really ... but its not as tragic as it sounds
its no big deal - u get used to it jolly quick and all
u just take a deep breath and wait for it to pass
and u shudnt let any one be there
bcz people r very predicatable that way - they go away - or they change
or they turn out to be something totally different from what u thought they were
and then it hurts like hell
reading I think paradox's blog recently I remembered my daddy's smell
he smells of anteus and tide and dunhill and whiskey and the cement plant
he looks serious and scary or half asleep
and he frowns most of the time
and then he smiles, slow unexpectedly - and suddenly boom he's grinning like a little boy
there are things that remind me of him. anteus. smell of whiskey. or ac cars
crisp white shirts. anyone shaving and making strange faces
panes flying overhead, abriti, satyajeet roy, hemanta ... almost everything nice
listening to bhole o bhole ... corny song but cute :)
and also "piya bawri" i love those semi classical hindi movie songs!
spoke to mom for a long time
mists of nostalgia
play misty for me
svengali
fedora
kishore kumar
broken tape recorder
days of poverty
ahua
tartous
the sea
long winding roads - always the same end
whenever I talk to mom it comes to the same thing
sadiyon sadiyon wahin tamaasha - rasta rasta lambi khoj
wish I wasnt such a coward
but somethings ... u cant deal with u cant face u ant solve u cant bear
u can just run and run ...
me and the sky
I cried today to keep her company
And she rained all day
And then at night she lit up the chandeliers
To make my heart bright again
Everyone else just passes by
In the end its just you and i
Everything changes every minute
And ur left staring into the sky
one of my childhood friends commited suicide a long time back
here. in texas
we were in india then
i was in pune
chatts was in cal
sauce was in blore
chatts called me
she was crying ... i didnt know what to do
we become so selfish in times of pain
my first though was how sauce & chatts will be hurt ...
no one knew why
I was curious
i did a search on suicide in google
and I came across this site which said that
sometimes kids who are exposed to very complicated or hurtful situations
when very young are never very normal again
they never really heal
funny
when i look back on my life till now, i see every colour, every shade in my memories. orange for fun & frolic, pink for love & laughter; red for anger & amor; grey for tears & trials; blue for the blues, purple for the strange lost days, black sins and pain; white for wisdom and peace. but given a choice, i wouldnt live one single day differently. 'got say it now - its been a good life all in all'
but the point here is that i look back. each moment i know, though i am, here and now, making memories i will look back on with fond longing some far away tomorrow, yet i spend a part of it looking over my shoulder at some long left behind yesterday.
through it all theres one thing i have realised. you never miss a place, time, person. i have gone back to all of them and found strangers where i had left bits and pieces of my heart. what we do miss is the way we were ... there,then, with them
we are different all the time. with different people, in different places, at different times. and we scatter our souls in the winds of our lives, spreading it everywhere we have touched, leaving bits and pieces of our selves every where we go.
wouldnt it be nice if we could collect all of us in space & time and be whole for that moment, that place.
i couldnt write in words how its raining. its like magic. the water. the light. the city. wish i could stay home and watch the 'way we were' ... or anything, for that matter
Sweet dreams are made of this
Who am I to disagree?
I travel the world and the seven seas
Everybody's lookin' for somethin'.
Some of them want to use you.
Some of them want to get used by you
Some of them want to abuse you.
Some of them want to be abused
an old song stirs up so many memories. how the heart clings to everything old. old memories. old friends. old books. old poems & journals. t-shirts. ashtrays. stuff toys. perfume bottles. greeting cards. photographs ... somewhere in linda goodmans love signs, a tattered copy of which i still have at home, which was carefully brought down and furtively & very seriously re-consulted, through the years, with every new childhood sweetheart, somewhere in that much loved (old) book, she says the Scorpio must try to overcome its tendency to make a scrapbook out of its life and live it. i wonder if its true? dont really care ... love reading her stuff cz i love the glorious picture she paints of Us!
things come and things go. but everything that passes over you leaves its tracks. some are stronger than the rest. memories ... there are so many meories crowded in your head. some seem so real you can almost forget they are not here and now. some so faded and dry that they are like watching a movie or reading a book stored somewhere inside. there are things you recall, you know they happened, but it feels so incredible. which me was this thats so much more a stranger than anyone else i have ever heard of?
someone had once exclaimed, how can you hate yourself. how can anyone? how can you not love someone you have carried inside you for so long? treasured, protected, nurtured, guided ... (thats the way of the orphans ... but do the others do that too?) ... created, how can you throw any part of that away, how can you
tear out these cancers, which though dangerously malignant, are still parts of you?
Can you? Is there surgery that does that? Keep the roses. throw away the thorns. Can you discipline, control, carrot&stick yourself.into becoming someone else? into becoming a good person?
what will happen to the bits that fall away under the knife? will the float away from the soul and drift in ether forver, islands of faults and mistakes? torn thorns. poor little thorns.
nostalgia: the memory of the heart. Ive been speaking to Vani quite a bit lately
and I got a bigg-ish mail from Ghatak this morning
And I wrote a biggie to Pills yesterday
So all in all its PUNE TIMES in nostalgia land
With golden words like deccan and chit chat & FTII & Fergusan floating around in my head
In those days, when people told us crap like "these are the golden years of ur life" and "You will remember these days all your lives long"
I always thot, what crap man! I mean ... ye jeena bhi koi jeena hai lallu!
paisa nahi. hamesha bhikaario ka haal hai
at times we'd pool resources to get one vada pav
even an auto is like a luxury
holiday "getaway" start with 3 tier bliss (often unreserved & seatless) on IR (Azad Hind Express)
tumtum mein ghumo. dhup mein pako
ghar aake gaali khaao
journals / profs / orals / practicals / and EXAMS!!!!
chhhheeeeeeeeeee!
But in retrospect ... its something else all together!
pigging out on borrowed (beg / borrow / steal - been there done that) maggie in the dorm
and hanging out at Buggi's flat endless Sundays
and sneaking into FTII forever for lack of places to hang out in
and going to deccan for samosa's early sunday morning
and vani's street side friend
and me and pills going down the dorm - door to door - begging someone to donate a mafggie ka pkt to the kangaal janta :(
chhheeee - & people used to be so rude to us!
I remember somone (I think it was one of those semi localites) once asked as 2.5 bucks for a half pkt ... she said "please kal paisa de dena haan?"
And we were so shameless ... I think I would have felt really bad if it happened now! Ouch! Uss time pein kuchh laga bhi nahi hoga ... kya yedi hain ... aisa kuchh socha rahega :)
Didnt posses a music system so we were once camped outside this seniors (nandita's room) door when she was playing lucky ali
I fell in love with that album
once the second yrs janta mistook me for a fresher & ragged me ... I was in BE!
and I remember seema agarwal ... how we used to plague her
she used to squat in a corner in college (during prep leave - loadsa folk went to the empty bdg to "study") - and she'd rock back and forth and mumble to herself ratto-ing the whole book - cover to cover
and me & pills used to make fun of her so much
toh she used to say "no ya Im just like keeping it in mind"
that was hilarious
And Mona - my one & only Loci pal
Gawd she had a mom, and a house & and bed
And Foooooooooooooood!!!!
And I remember one time this babe
took an illegal night out from hostel and went to the disc
and poor child ... mtv chose that night to come filming in Pune!
Early in the morning there was this huge snap of her in Pune Plus ...
well not of her - but she figured pretty prominently :)
And the papers used to be kept on a kind of platform next to the matron desk
We couldnt do anything
So this other girl she kind of just went and sat on the paper ... it was really funny at that time.
And coming home on Azad Hind
It used to be like those school trains in Malory Towers or something
I mean almost 96 percent students
All the West Bengal and NorthEast janta in Pune going home
Music Jokes Halla ... Mad or Melancholy ... depending on the direction
and vani's M80 & Mona's sunny & Buggi's amazing Bike!
and how they seemed like the coolest in the world bcz of their great treasures
and hanging out a fergie & sagaar plaza & god knows where else to catch up with Ghatak
abnd SPDP
and me & vani & pills at Bugge's place
we knew vani was going off to the US
we used to ask her if she will mail and all
she used to say ya ofsourse I will
I remember this one time I asked her how often she wud mail me
she said everyday
but she never did!
:)
the us seemed so so far away
now i am here too, in the us
but it still seems like she is so far away at times
i guess once again - its a fn of time not place!
Those times when they pass take away so much
Now we are just old hags trying despo'ly to survive from day to day
and memories, and dreams are just a luxury, to be taken out of the attic and smiled at everyonce in a while :)
chatted with my mom
my leo (my beloved my sweet darling leo) is ill
he is getting old it seems (bull)
mom is such a darling
she is so cute
she lined up all my stuff toys in front of the webcam
and leo and my cats
and the birds
everything
and I saw my daddy in his red jammies :)
for a second such a wave of nostalgia swept over me
cant explain ... felt like my heart will break ... with a nice feeling ...
recently a friend asked me who is there for u when things go wrong
no ones ever there really ... but its not as tragic as it sounds
its no big deal - u get used to it jolly quick and all
u just take a deep breath and wait for it to pass
and u shudnt let any one be there
bcz people r very predicatable that way - they go away - or they change
or they turn out to be something totally different from what u thought they were
and then it hurts like hell
reading I think paradox's blog recently I remembered my daddy's smell
he smells of anteus and tide and dunhill and whiskey and the cement plant
he looks serious and scary or half asleep
and he frowns most of the time
and then he smiles, slow unexpectedly - and suddenly boom he's grinning like a little boy
there are things that remind me of him. anteus. smell of whiskey. or ac cars
crisp white shirts. anyone shaving and making strange faces
panes flying overhead, abriti, satyajeet roy, hemanta ... almost everything nice
listening to bhole o bhole ... corny song but cute :)
and also "piya bawri" i love those semi classical hindi movie songs!
spoke to mom for a long time
mists of nostalgia
play misty for me
svengali
fedora
kishore kumar
broken tape recorder
days of poverty
ahua
tartous
the sea
long winding roads - always the same end
whenever I talk to mom it comes to the same thing
sadiyon sadiyon wahin tamaasha - rasta rasta lambi khoj
wish I wasnt such a coward
but somethings ... u cant deal with u cant face u ant solve u cant bear
u can just run and run ...
me and the sky
I cried today to keep her company
And she rained all day
And then at night she lit up the chandeliers
To make my heart bright again
Everyone else just passes by
In the end its just you and i
Everything changes every minute
And ur left staring into the sky
one of my childhood friends commited suicide a long time back
here. in texas
we were in india then
i was in pune
chatts was in cal
sauce was in blore
chatts called me
she was crying ... i didnt know what to do
we become so selfish in times of pain
my first though was how sauce & chatts will be hurt ...
no one knew why
I was curious
i did a search on suicide in google
and I came across this site which said that
sometimes kids who are exposed to very complicated or hurtful situations
when very young are never very normal again
they never really heal
funny
back to life
much more to say. did go to van gogh and led zep and anne frank. and i have so much to say about those three places. it was as big as new york. ie to say it was as big a experience for me as going to new york for the first time had been. when i had huddled in a corner of my room, as a child, and wept for a little girl i had never known, i could have never imagined i would one day actually see the place where she lived. or almost lived. or lived. because you always live. because life, the real part of it, is unkillable, irrepressible. thats why it goes on. the walls and rooms were almost the same as i had imagined it. same, yet different. what moves you most is her father voice. i stood there for fifteen minutes and heard the recording over and over till i had transcribed it. i want to put that up too. and vincent ... he was as beautiful as i had imagined him. i hadnt known thought that he had cut off his ear. and that gaugin didnt come. and new friends. gaugin. manet. and two more. took frantic notes. feel in love and million times. such skies. such blues. such faces. amazing pastels. and he does oil as well. 'i could have told you, vincent ...' the reaper ... thats what i fell mostest in love with. late for class so rest in next :)
holland. between the lines
how was amsterdam? the cities span out in rings. rings of roads. the city packed in, between the lines. the town square is called led zeppelin. that one for next time. couldnt do that now. but i will come back with my 2 kiddies. missed them so much walking these streets. most of the land is reclaimed. learnt about recalimed land, dikes (the land things the build to block in the water), windmills, canals and millions of kinds of tulips i didnt even know existing. wooden shoes. a strain of tulip called 'akela'. and fell in love. with these dark, evil, ox-blood-red flowers ... dont know what kind they are. took notes and pictures. ate like a pig. saw edellweiss. ate crisp apple strudels. got sugar dust on my nose. smelled fresh fish at lunch time in a quaint fishing village with lanes i couldnt have passed through few months back (before id lost some weight. saw some beautiful dutch men and women. remembered my favourite betty neels MB's.
Theres madness on the streets. accessory shops selling weed cases and speciall filter. floating smell of grass in the air. ashtrays that say why go to high school when u can go to school high. and my favourite ... 'its amsterdam - grass is legal' everything is allowed. everything is ok. the streets in the evening feel like a shot out an old sixties movie. the people seem lost, depraved, wasted ... a lot of people would say ... but enormously peaceful. like they have reached. wherever they wanted to go. is this the return to innocence? not a lack of sin but removal of the label? a changed perspective.
in the cities, a blend of old and new that would put my lovely lady, cal, to shame. everywhere people hanging out. doing things and nothing. i try to track back and remember how many people i saw who were hurried or busy.
we were really lucky. had wonderful weather troughout and long sunny days. and two wonderful people planning everything for us and taking us everywhere. god bless them!
saw a tram for the first time outside kolkata. shocked by the difference! are they the same vehicles!
saw an old man scavenging a garbage bin. and he looked the part.
saw some little kids running a kfc. students. they said. i dont know why that stuck. will think about it later.
van g, anne frank scheduled for tomorrow. good luck prevailing. till now covered, tulips at kukenuf, delft, den hague, a traditional cheese factory and madurodam ... not v exciting but a good experience, i suppose. and a tiny traditional fishing village i feel in love with. and a lot of prettiest little houses here and there ... that made me reach out for the words sunny happy families and perhaps for the first time, feel this longing to find my way home.
if i could do it all again? id have stuck to the streets of amsterdam, the museums and led zep. and den hague. but all the same, it was great!
Theres madness on the streets. accessory shops selling weed cases and speciall filter. floating smell of grass in the air. ashtrays that say why go to high school when u can go to school high. and my favourite ... 'its amsterdam - grass is legal' everything is allowed. everything is ok. the streets in the evening feel like a shot out an old sixties movie. the people seem lost, depraved, wasted ... a lot of people would say ... but enormously peaceful. like they have reached. wherever they wanted to go. is this the return to innocence? not a lack of sin but removal of the label? a changed perspective.
in the cities, a blend of old and new that would put my lovely lady, cal, to shame. everywhere people hanging out. doing things and nothing. i try to track back and remember how many people i saw who were hurried or busy.
we were really lucky. had wonderful weather troughout and long sunny days. and two wonderful people planning everything for us and taking us everywhere. god bless them!
saw a tram for the first time outside kolkata. shocked by the difference! are they the same vehicles!
saw an old man scavenging a garbage bin. and he looked the part.
saw some little kids running a kfc. students. they said. i dont know why that stuck. will think about it later.
van g, anne frank scheduled for tomorrow. good luck prevailing. till now covered, tulips at kukenuf, delft, den hague, a traditional cheese factory and madurodam ... not v exciting but a good experience, i suppose. and a tiny traditional fishing village i feel in love with. and a lot of prettiest little houses here and there ... that made me reach out for the words sunny happy families and perhaps for the first time, feel this longing to find my way home.
if i could do it all again? id have stuck to the streets of amsterdam, the museums and led zep. and den hague. but all the same, it was great!
hurt
maybe someday i will be able to look back with maturity and perspective ... for now its just betrayal & it hurts. when ur hurt, specially by someone u had cared about or trusted ur mind goes round and round the same point ... why? the key is to suspend thought. put it off till u can deal with it logically. people change all the time. its not even a big deal. i already knew that everytime u like people, make new friends, take in strangers ... its a risk. they might hurt u. still u do it. then u have no right to be hurt. no right to expect. all hurt maybe stems from that doesnt it ... expectations, trust & caring. dont care. dont run to great lengths to make people happy. dont care too much if they are unpleasant. or if u care dont show. but i cant. im cellophane
Hurt
maybe someday i will be able to look back with maturity and perspective ... for now its just betrayal & it hurts. when ur hurt, specially by someone u had cared about or trusted ur mind goes round and round the same point ... why? the key is to suspend thought. put it off till u can deal with it logically. people change all the time. its not even a big deal. i already knew that everytime u like people, make new friends, take in strangers ... its a risk. they might hurt u. still u do it. then u have no right to be hurt. no right to expect. all hurt maybe stems from that doesnt it ... expectations, trust & caring. dont care. dont run to great lengths to make people happy. dont care too much if they are unpleasant. or if u care dont show. but i cant. im cellophane
shadows of raindrops
gliding down sheets of glass
humming songs of water
tumbling down over the house
soft, warm rugs
ur song on the tape
the smell of hot coffee
the feel of hot baths
warm fur, warm eyes
at your feet, by your chair
sound of voices and laughter
from the kitchen
old movies on tv
all ur old books dragged out
vistis in the evening
old friends rediscovered
starsry nights
alone on the terrace
more coffee
check on my little girl
trying to pass on things ive learned
and learning that u cant
now and then the mind
takes a small trip home
and i wake up the next morning
smiling at the day
gliding down sheets of glass
humming songs of water
tumbling down over the house
soft, warm rugs
ur song on the tape
the smell of hot coffee
the feel of hot baths
warm fur, warm eyes
at your feet, by your chair
sound of voices and laughter
from the kitchen
old movies on tv
all ur old books dragged out
vistis in the evening
old friends rediscovered
starsry nights
alone on the terrace
more coffee
check on my little girl
trying to pass on things ive learned
and learning that u cant
now and then the mind
takes a small trip home
and i wake up the next morning
smiling at the day
post exam tension
Was it bad, or was it bad! It was disastour. Anyway - no point obsessing about it now. One way or the other, atleast its over. Kind of like life. Song in my head today:
You can tell by my eyes that I've prob'bly been cryin' forever,
and the stars in the sky don't mean nothin' to me, they're a mirror.
I don't want to talk about it, how you broke my heart.
If I stand all alone, will the shadow hide the color of my heart;
blue for the tears, black for the night's fears.
very old memories. and i wonder what or who dredged that up? its such a crazy thing, the human mind ... no one really knows whats in someone elses. or even there own. i constantly surprise myself by what i am thinking, or feeling.
im really tired now. stayed up most of the last night. last minute cramming. but is the management charge expressed in KFD as expenses ratio ... lol ... no its not. i down.
I wonder why its nagging me? 5000 bucks is not a lot of money anymore. but she is a baby. shes not really, but we dont ever allow our children to grow up, do we?
nor do we stand and wait by them to guide their baby steps. we leave them like that half baked cross between between innocent and wild, between idontcareaff & idontblvthathappenedtome, between trust & cynisim, between everything and everything ... never to belong anywhere, never fit in, floating in that unstable other world which the stable which the stable know nothing of, each propped by each other ... fascinating, deadly, posionous, fatal, doomed. why? why did this happen to you? why did we do this to you? when so many other children have healthy homes, families, lives, minds. when so many others have what you will never have. a chance. yet i can only stand and watch.
anyway, coming back to the 5000. i remember college days when the entire months allover check was 2000. and rent was 1500. how did i manage? vada pav and walks to college. (yeah, yeah there i go again)
you have to keep them at a distance. you have to relate to them on their terms. casual friendships. dont over obsess. it doesnt pay and it sure doesnt matter. as long as you dont care about them they cant hurt. as long as you dont let the expectations grow, like fungus in stale bread ... spreading to melt the whole down to own rotten morass.
how many questions did I get right? i dont know. i will know in ten days. in the meanwhile, im off to amsterdam on holiday! might be meeting subir again! might even get to see fatso and their daughter! & thats really something! here looking fwd to suspensiion of reclusion (is there such a word) for a weekend :0)
You can tell by my eyes that I've prob'bly been cryin' forever,
and the stars in the sky don't mean nothin' to me, they're a mirror.
I don't want to talk about it, how you broke my heart.
If I stand all alone, will the shadow hide the color of my heart;
blue for the tears, black for the night's fears.
very old memories. and i wonder what or who dredged that up? its such a crazy thing, the human mind ... no one really knows whats in someone elses. or even there own. i constantly surprise myself by what i am thinking, or feeling.
im really tired now. stayed up most of the last night. last minute cramming. but is the management charge expressed in KFD as expenses ratio ... lol ... no its not. i down.
I wonder why its nagging me? 5000 bucks is not a lot of money anymore. but she is a baby. shes not really, but we dont ever allow our children to grow up, do we?
nor do we stand and wait by them to guide their baby steps. we leave them like that half baked cross between between innocent and wild, between idontcareaff & idontblvthathappenedtome, between trust & cynisim, between everything and everything ... never to belong anywhere, never fit in, floating in that unstable other world which the stable which the stable know nothing of, each propped by each other ... fascinating, deadly, posionous, fatal, doomed. why? why did this happen to you? why did we do this to you? when so many other children have healthy homes, families, lives, minds. when so many others have what you will never have. a chance. yet i can only stand and watch.
anyway, coming back to the 5000. i remember college days when the entire months allover check was 2000. and rent was 1500. how did i manage? vada pav and walks to college. (yeah, yeah there i go again)
you have to keep them at a distance. you have to relate to them on their terms. casual friendships. dont over obsess. it doesnt pay and it sure doesnt matter. as long as you dont care about them they cant hurt. as long as you dont let the expectations grow, like fungus in stale bread ... spreading to melt the whole down to own rotten morass.
how many questions did I get right? i dont know. i will know in ten days. in the meanwhile, im off to amsterdam on holiday! might be meeting subir again! might even get to see fatso and their daughter! & thats really something! here looking fwd to suspensiion of reclusion (is there such a word) for a weekend :0)
pre exam tension
2 days to go and 7 chapters to go! will I pass? ive stopped going to the gym - that should give me two hours more every day. plus one for travelling. eating like a maniac. working till 8 and studying all night. literally. yikes!!! still so much too go!
Shows you how old you have become. in college i could maaro 3/4 nights at a stretch without turning a hair ... now look at me.
even bunked class this week! and i hate missing class. in the words on an immortal 'its the one bright spot in my life right now'.
Will I pass?
wish i could borrow some brains for two days ;@)
Shows you how old you have become. in college i could maaro 3/4 nights at a stretch without turning a hair ... now look at me.
even bunked class this week! and i hate missing class. in the words on an immortal 'its the one bright spot in my life right now'.
Will I pass?
wish i could borrow some brains for two days ;@)
wordsspeachless
two of my favourite poems (or snatches from) its as hard to decide as between songs, or books, or moods. Lev Pasternek, Dr Zhivago:
"and yet the order of acts is schemed and planned. and nothing can avert the final curtains fall. i stand alone, all else is swamped by pharisim. to live life to the end is not a childish task"
such few words, yet they say so much! they seem to me to pack a whole lifetimes result into that one line. how would i write what he wrote in those few last words? why do things go wrong? why do we make mistakes? why do i always make careless errors? again and again and again. 'silly mistakes'. dyslexia. autism. add. what was i thinking? i wasnt! It just 'happened'. I didnt know how to say no so i kept shut. i didnt know how to deal with it so i did nothing. how could i? and how will i live with this now? everyday something happens. everytime i steady myself, off it goes again. why cant we forgive ourselves? accept ourselves. why do we want to be better than we are? why do we expect we might get somewhere if we try hard enough? why do we feel humiliated when we fail? why cant we accept ourselves as we are? im so tired. im tired of fighting with my monsters. im tired of fighting the monsters that are me. im tired of trying to control myself, mould myself, discipline myself. im tired of trying to be a good person. better person. im tired, most of all of the constant battle s in my head between all the people that i am that i am.im tired of being alone. i want a friend. someone to talk to. someone you dont have to talk down too. pretend with. spare. fear. love. just be. someone i can like. or just bear. thats a tall order. im tired of bearing things. im tired of pain and burying pain and ignoring pain. im tired of planting smiles on top. tired of guilt. tired of the mirror. tired of hating the reflection. tired of waiting. thrity down. how many more to go? i dont know.we read, again and again, the words of the artists we love most, cheris them, caress them, nourish them with our love till in our mind they come to life, become 'the living' and live and grow in our emptied hearts like phantom ballerinas in a ballet of life. thus, what we love most is what is most real for us. it is the love that brings them to life ... what the b*£%%&% f*^"£ am i saying? its really late and I better leave the office. and get down to some STUDYING!
Another of my most loved lines. (These are maybe 2 of the only 3 lines of verse I can write / say from memory)
"Could I embody and unbosom now
That which is most within me! Could I wreak
My thoughts upon expression, and thus throw
Soul, heart, mind, passions, feelings (strong and weak),
All that I would have sought and all I seek,
Bear, know, feel, and yet breathe into
one word,And that one word were lightning, I would speak!
But as it is, I live and die unheard
With a most voiceless
thought, sheathing it as a sword."
"and yet the order of acts is schemed and planned. and nothing can avert the final curtains fall. i stand alone, all else is swamped by pharisim. to live life to the end is not a childish task"
such few words, yet they say so much! they seem to me to pack a whole lifetimes result into that one line. how would i write what he wrote in those few last words? why do things go wrong? why do we make mistakes? why do i always make careless errors? again and again and again. 'silly mistakes'. dyslexia. autism. add. what was i thinking? i wasnt! It just 'happened'. I didnt know how to say no so i kept shut. i didnt know how to deal with it so i did nothing. how could i? and how will i live with this now? everyday something happens. everytime i steady myself, off it goes again. why cant we forgive ourselves? accept ourselves. why do we want to be better than we are? why do we expect we might get somewhere if we try hard enough? why do we feel humiliated when we fail? why cant we accept ourselves as we are? im so tired. im tired of fighting with my monsters. im tired of fighting the monsters that are me. im tired of trying to control myself, mould myself, discipline myself. im tired of trying to be a good person. better person. im tired, most of all of the constant battle s in my head between all the people that i am that i am.im tired of being alone. i want a friend. someone to talk to. someone you dont have to talk down too. pretend with. spare. fear. love. just be. someone i can like. or just bear. thats a tall order. im tired of bearing things. im tired of pain and burying pain and ignoring pain. im tired of planting smiles on top. tired of guilt. tired of the mirror. tired of hating the reflection. tired of waiting. thrity down. how many more to go? i dont know.we read, again and again, the words of the artists we love most, cheris them, caress them, nourish them with our love till in our mind they come to life, become 'the living' and live and grow in our emptied hearts like phantom ballerinas in a ballet of life. thus, what we love most is what is most real for us. it is the love that brings them to life ... what the b*£%%&% f*^"£ am i saying? its really late and I better leave the office. and get down to some STUDYING!
Another of my most loved lines. (These are maybe 2 of the only 3 lines of verse I can write / say from memory)
"Could I embody and unbosom now
That which is most within me! Could I wreak
My thoughts upon expression, and thus throw
Soul, heart, mind, passions, feelings (strong and weak),
All that I would have sought and all I seek,
Bear, know, feel, and yet breathe into
one word,And that one word were lightning, I would speak!
But as it is, I live and die unheard
With a most voiceless
thought, sheathing it as a sword."
to cry woolf
i got some new books from amazon. diaries of woolf. the set. and some other books (most of which was birdonthewire's fault) and music. led zep - best of - vol 1 and 4, dylan, doors, and the wrong album of bruce springsteen. there were two best of's out there and i wanted one, but i got the other by error. so, no little girl :( - but everything else decent and some movies - fight club, double life of v, motorcycle diaries, the hours.
used & new. miss half.com!
woolf. why do i have this endless fascination with her. infact the word is not enough. there must be some word, which more effectively describes, how we pick these people who we dont even know and are totally, unfailingly, impressed and intrigued by them, by their minds, or what we think their minds were / are like ...
i have others on my list but perhaps she the number one. aparna sen, rahul bose, sushmita sen, james douglas morrison, ravaan, syd barrett, sylvia plath, nash, ... random samples. but not like this.
"I am alone, Virginia thinks. She is, of course not alone, not in a way anyone else would recognize, and yet at this moment, walking through wind toward the lights of the Quadrant, she can feel the nearness of the old devil (what else to call it?), and she knows she will be utterly alone if and when the devil chooses to appear again. The devil is a headache; the devil is a voice inside a wall; the devil is a fin breaking through dark waves. The devil is the brief, twittering nothing that was a thrush's life. The devil sucks all beauty from the world, all the hope, and what remains when the devil has finished is a realm of the living dead - joyless, suffocating. Virginia feels, right now, a certain tragic grandeur, for the devil is many things but he is not pretty, not sentimental; he seethes with a lethal, intolerable truth. Right now, walking, free of her headache, free of the voices, she can face the devil, but she must keep walking, she must not turn back."
- Michael Cunningham, The Hours
that i have failed so utterly, completely, totally. in everything that was important to you. and for your sake, to me.
to have lost by absentia was foolhardy, reckless and grand. to have tried and lost, means the end of hope. the final stamp to banish you from the world of the 'can do's'
when i crossed over to your side, to your world, i burned my bridges, i closed the doors behind me. now i cant go back. to words and dreams and abstractions. now im neither here nor there.
a small task - to live - and that too so onerous. a small gift asked for and given so grudgingly. "to live life to the end, is not a childish task (dr zhivago)"
she took her life in her hands and walked up to them and said this is what i made ... dont remember which book (i think dalloway or ox)or the exact words ... just the idea.
"When people are happy, they have a reserve upon which to draw, whereas she was like a wheel without tyre, jolted by every pebble."
- Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway
used & new. miss half.com!
woolf. why do i have this endless fascination with her. infact the word is not enough. there must be some word, which more effectively describes, how we pick these people who we dont even know and are totally, unfailingly, impressed and intrigued by them, by their minds, or what we think their minds were / are like ...
i have others on my list but perhaps she the number one. aparna sen, rahul bose, sushmita sen, james douglas morrison, ravaan, syd barrett, sylvia plath, nash, ... random samples. but not like this.
"I am alone, Virginia thinks. She is, of course not alone, not in a way anyone else would recognize, and yet at this moment, walking through wind toward the lights of the Quadrant, she can feel the nearness of the old devil (what else to call it?), and she knows she will be utterly alone if and when the devil chooses to appear again. The devil is a headache; the devil is a voice inside a wall; the devil is a fin breaking through dark waves. The devil is the brief, twittering nothing that was a thrush's life. The devil sucks all beauty from the world, all the hope, and what remains when the devil has finished is a realm of the living dead - joyless, suffocating. Virginia feels, right now, a certain tragic grandeur, for the devil is many things but he is not pretty, not sentimental; he seethes with a lethal, intolerable truth. Right now, walking, free of her headache, free of the voices, she can face the devil, but she must keep walking, she must not turn back."
- Michael Cunningham, The Hours
that i have failed so utterly, completely, totally. in everything that was important to you. and for your sake, to me.
to have lost by absentia was foolhardy, reckless and grand. to have tried and lost, means the end of hope. the final stamp to banish you from the world of the 'can do's'
when i crossed over to your side, to your world, i burned my bridges, i closed the doors behind me. now i cant go back. to words and dreams and abstractions. now im neither here nor there.
a small task - to live - and that too so onerous. a small gift asked for and given so grudgingly. "to live life to the end, is not a childish task (dr zhivago)"
she took her life in her hands and walked up to them and said this is what i made ... dont remember which book (i think dalloway or ox)or the exact words ... just the idea.
"When people are happy, they have a reserve upon which to draw, whereas she was like a wheel without tyre, jolted by every pebble."
- Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway
lessons learnt
if you arent chirpy and sunshiny peopel are going to send you prozac! why are people lkilike this? why is being / talking about / writing about anything serious is interprested as sorrow and depression? is that the way other people are? do they not spend hours thinking about life and death and lunacy and philosophy for fun? i guess not :) but why do they expect you to be exactly they same as theM/ why do they not accept ur different / weird / crazy ... and leave you alone?
weltscmerz
why is it that certain words fascinate us?
'weltscmerz' is an old favourite. there are many more. if you just let your mind drift free amongst the all words the words stored in your mind, like your eyes drift from star to star sometimes, when you stare into the sky for very long. Dont try to trace a pattern. Dont try to analyze, jump to conclusions, speculate, rush to / for parashoots of friendly solace ... just drift ... aimlessly through the skies ...
cerullean
sky
sunset
melting
magenta
gold
argent
blue
azure
saphire
drops
swirling
fade
glimmer
night
night fall
daybreak
renew
cycle
loop
automata
cognition
escher
ennui
tired
blank
empty
numb
cut off
isolated
scared
demonised
caricaturised
unhinging
fantasising
haunted
desperate
crying
sobbing
begging
defiant
angry
lost
inert
helpless
pathless
haunting
beautiful
aching
poignant
ethereal
surreal
ceramic
cerrulean
carmine
poised
taut
phoenix-like
burning
ashes
life, in the shadow of death
sunshine, defined by shadows
colours, bordered by black strokes
just words ... for us to play with.
'weltscmerz' is an old favourite. there are many more. if you just let your mind drift free amongst the all words the words stored in your mind, like your eyes drift from star to star sometimes, when you stare into the sky for very long. Dont try to trace a pattern. Dont try to analyze, jump to conclusions, speculate, rush to / for parashoots of friendly solace ... just drift ... aimlessly through the skies ...
cerullean
sky
sunset
melting
magenta
gold
argent
blue
azure
saphire
drops
swirling
fade
glimmer
night
night fall
daybreak
renew
cycle
loop
automata
cognition
escher
ennui
tired
blank
empty
numb
cut off
isolated
scared
demonised
caricaturised
unhinging
fantasising
haunted
desperate
crying
sobbing
begging
defiant
angry
lost
inert
helpless
pathless
haunting
beautiful
aching
poignant
ethereal
surreal
ceramic
cerrulean
carmine
poised
taut
phoenix-like
burning
ashes
life, in the shadow of death
sunshine, defined by shadows
colours, bordered by black strokes
just words ... for us to play with.
again
"The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,
But in ourselves, that we are underlings."
shakespear again, the first steps, the first love, first crush, first all night long madness. 'girls, you must know your jc backwards'. the first fascination, enthralled, lost ... stunned awake by the bell. 9B. last row. sauce and bhatts ahead.
the second crush was soon to follow. legend. esoteric. exclusive. 2 bundles of papers. when 3/4th of the class failed. "girls, what do you think pressure really is ..."
too much love will kill you. just as sure as none at all.
But in ourselves, that we are underlings."
shakespear again, the first steps, the first love, first crush, first all night long madness. 'girls, you must know your jc backwards'. the first fascination, enthralled, lost ... stunned awake by the bell. 9B. last row. sauce and bhatts ahead.
the second crush was soon to follow. legend. esoteric. exclusive. 2 bundles of papers. when 3/4th of the class failed. "girls, what do you think pressure really is ..."
too much love will kill you. just as sure as none at all.
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 ...