Outside, its a beautiful morning. The sun is out, but not blistering. There's a small wind and a few clouds, and the promise of rain later. Rain: always holding out, with the hope of succour from desperate heat. The days get hotter and hotter, like a test of endurance. You try to ignore it; remember the freezing, under-the-finger-nails-numbing winters gone past and enjoy the heat. You try to ignore it, and go on with your day. You try to concentrate on your swing and ignore the ticklish feeling of sweat forming on your face. You try to ignore the sweltering oppressiveness and focus on your thoughts, the road, the other cars, the person talking to you, the journey.
Just as you are almost ready to give up, then the rains come.
First there are just a few stray drops whispering on your face, on your arms as they stick out of the window, on the windshield. Swiftly the tempo increases till there's a curtain of water all around your space. The window is covered with the constant drumming of drops. Wet crows screech in jubillient laughter. The world dims, through the sheer cover. Raindrops glisten on window panes. The light turns dim and silvery. The big red flowers on the trees shine polished. The streets are littered with torn leaves and twigs. And children dance joyfully in the wet.
Almost everybody is smiling. The rain is relief from the heat. And the clouds are the promise, the hope.
Back in my morning, down the corridor, in still dark rooms, my mother and sister sleep on. I want to wake them, for a shared morning cup of tea, but I know they went to bed late and dont need to wake up for a long time yet. The desire to sneak into their beds and cuddle up with them almost overwhelms me. But I steel my heart, and let the brush of a kiss and carress suffice.
I make my second cup of coffee: strong, sweet, black and lukewarm. I am slowly getting used to instant coffee again. I tell myself a few more minutes idling will not kill me; or my career.(;) There was a time when I would have added: 'same difference', but that phase of life is going with the wind. Thats another scary transition. Having identified with something for so long, having made an institution my saviour, my last chance, my belated battlefield, to try one last time to prove myself to myself - or die trying, to have made that one thing everything, holier than any religion - substitue for everything else - its strangely unsettling to try and move to a new pasture. I steel myself and try not to think about it.
How much steel-ing we do in a day ...
Every morning, I fight a massive surge of desire to stay back in this moment, this morning, this, my favourite time of the day. I want to just not go to work for a day and stay home with them. They are and will be on their own trips. With their own friends. Their own work. Yet now and then I will get fleeting instants: fleeting hugs, fleeting kisses, fleeting jagged edged, shining, beautiful pieces of conversations. Its enough. Having been exiled for so long, from a place I came to late and never really lived in, 'being home' with all its implications, is a potent addiction.
Little things like the 4 people under the same roof, like her in a sari, in red and white, with vermillion and white and red wristcuffed, for us, by us, of us ... strange dreams and desires, little things like her making food, like waking up with the little thing, like being driven somewhere by him, or him remembering which one of us is called what, or her remembering something i like to eat ... small things like shared memories, shared times together, shared history, little rights, priviledges and places at the table and in the sitting room ... things most people take for granted, grow up with, have enough of and surfeiting long to grow away from. We never had enough. We never could surfeit.
Its hard for most people to understand how it would feel to grow up fragmented. Many 'parents', many gaurdians, many homes, whole lot of love and affection, but never in one place for long enough. Always steeled for the switch from one environment to the next, one set of people to the next, you soon learn loyalties and things like that only make it hurt worse. You learn to 'love' whoever is at hand whenever. Because even then, you need to love. Your needs, and you are so dependant then, are catered to by so many, like juggling balls in reverse, that 'trust' is a concept you never learn, because to forget, to think that it was someone else's turn today to do the needful (to lend a lift home from the nursery, or keep in the evening after, or get coke and chips for friends for birthday party, or leave keys under doormat) is too easy, to human, to often.
Always on the roll, I miss the moss. There was only one constant, one anchor, one person who would not put career, or friends, or lovelife or 'her life' before you, specially if you were ill or scared, she'd be there. And now she's not there any more. Its a strange feeling. Its like a light going out: you know you can live in the dark, but it takes a while for your eyes to adjust.
And you grow a greed for human contact. For the strokes. For the laughter and chatter. Someone to listen to your prattling. Someone stay up for you. Someone to be selfless with you. Someone secure enough in their universality to not care if you're going or coming or hating or kicking or showering with love and affection. Someone who understands its all forms of the same thing. Someone to know when you're lying, scared, bluffing, hurt, hiding, angry, being calm, or trying to. Someone be a mother.
Below my desk, at my feet, is the yellow plastic basket, which held all my things whenever it was time to shift me from one set of arms to another, many years ago. I kick it with my feet as I write. In my cupboard, a snatch of white cloth torn from her last sari. Its dirt now and rag-ish. And in my old phone the last messages ("6th August, 2005: 1000 hours exactly: The fire is feeding"). And picture of me as she saw me, as she kept always in front of her. For the first time I see with semi-grown up eyes and see what she meant abt the look in its eyes. like a kid lost in a fair: torn between fear, incomprehension & fascination with the surroundings.
I keep holding on.
Once again, its time to go. I'm getting late. Need to decide whether to have my third cup or snap myself out of this mood of indulgence and get moving. But my 'self' says, whats the hurry. Why are you always pushing on. Where are you headed? Why are you headed there. Isnt this, here and now, everything you always dreamed of? Or did it come too late and too little to freeze my clock for?
And old song comes to mind ... "wahaan kaun hain tera, mussafir, chala hain kahaan?"
I'm late for work. Its past nine already and I havent even dressed. I need to go. Yet, I wonder why? Why do you have to go to work everyday? Why do you have to go to work at all? Why cant I stay home, where my family is, where its pseudo-familiar and wonderful?
Is it just a foolish illusion that makes us run every morning and keeps us running through our days? Or is it a misconception that makes us mistake laziness and intertia for wanting to stay back at home every morning: if I could understand that, I would solve this puzzle that tearing me up inside
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Tagged!!!
Tagged by Sanity Starved, i swear i did this already but I lost the post! Anyway, so here goes:
I am thinking about …
Tomorrow, The trek coming up, The noise in engine, The motorcycle in the show I saw this afternoon, money, relpet, babies, Dad, Yazoo!, my hair, isreal ... the noise in the AC, the temperature in U.k (and is doomsday coming - my eternal fear)
I said ...
"I'm busy, can I call you back sweetie", but I lied, as usual. I feel really lazy to talk sometimes (?)
I want to ...
have babies, make biriyani - just the way i like it, learn russian, deutsch, maithali and sanskrit, have babies, live in paris/london/kolkata, look like my mommy or sushmita sen, work in an old age home, go for a long trip to the amazon, see machu pichu and go to the arctic (?), run a marathon, learn squash, play rugby, take up skulling again, learn to focus, have babies, play the violin, climb the himalayas, "conquer" the mind (or atleast pass the classes)
I wish ...
I knew what I wanted.
I hear ...
Pearl Jam, Doors, Metallica, Chopin, Dire Straits, Bach, Barrett, Chandrobindu, Floyd, Rabindra Sangeet, Tull, Hemanta, Kishore Kumar, KK, Bhupinder, Ghulam Ali, Amir Khan ... basically everything except rap (and very little pop music)
I wonder ...
what it all means
I regret...
lost time and not buying 'the dream bag when Dad offered
I am ...
always sleepy
I dance...
almost always, to almost anything, whenever noones looking
I sing...
extremely painfully and incessently
I cry...
a lot more for small things than for bigger things. then i shut up
I am not always...
consistent
I make with my hands...
food ... and its usually quite decent
I write ...
on my blogs, a few group blogs, letters and emails to friends, a journal i carry in my bag, and another 'proper' journal and endless lists. i make lists like 'things i could make lists about'
I confuse ...
who i am with who i want to be
I need …
to think, to read, hear music, see movies, to laugh, cry and love
And finally...
I pass this tag to ... everyone who reads this (inspired by aparna) - or everyone who wants to do it.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
I am thinking about …
Tomorrow, The trek coming up, The noise in engine, The motorcycle in the show I saw this afternoon, money, relpet, babies, Dad, Yazoo!, my hair, isreal ... the noise in the AC, the temperature in U.k (and is doomsday coming - my eternal fear)
I said ...
"I'm busy, can I call you back sweetie", but I lied, as usual. I feel really lazy to talk sometimes (?)
I want to ...
have babies, make biriyani - just the way i like it, learn russian, deutsch, maithali and sanskrit, have babies, live in paris/london/kolkata, look like my mommy or sushmita sen, work in an old age home, go for a long trip to the amazon, see machu pichu and go to the arctic (?), run a marathon, learn squash, play rugby, take up skulling again, learn to focus, have babies, play the violin, climb the himalayas, "conquer" the mind (or atleast pass the classes)
I wish ...
I knew what I wanted.
I hear ...
Pearl Jam, Doors, Metallica, Chopin, Dire Straits, Bach, Barrett, Chandrobindu, Floyd, Rabindra Sangeet, Tull, Hemanta, Kishore Kumar, KK, Bhupinder, Ghulam Ali, Amir Khan ... basically everything except rap (and very little pop music)
I wonder ...
what it all means
I regret...
lost time and not buying 'the dream bag when Dad offered
I am ...
always sleepy
I dance...
almost always, to almost anything, whenever noones looking
I sing...
extremely painfully and incessently
I cry...
a lot more for small things than for bigger things. then i shut up
I am not always...
consistent
I make with my hands...
food ... and its usually quite decent
I write ...
on my blogs, a few group blogs, letters and emails to friends, a journal i carry in my bag, and another 'proper' journal and endless lists. i make lists like 'things i could make lists about'
I confuse ...
who i am with who i want to be
I need …
to think, to read, hear music, see movies, to laugh, cry and love
And finally...
I pass this tag to ... everyone who reads this (inspired by aparna) - or everyone who wants to do it.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Gone
the fire ate my mommy
the tall-man took her away
the ashes made me blind
the cold made me freeze
they say there's life beyond this
but i dont want to move on
i dont want to leave this moment
the last where you belonged
i had friends and i had lovers
but people dissapoint
when there's pain and acid
and darknes inside, people only hide
bitter sweet
thats everything
i know it but i cant hold it
bittersweet, everyone. i know them but i dont
everyone wants something
everybody has an agenda
noone knows. noone understands
noone even cares
thought you were different for a while
till i saw ur traitors face
till i saw the dirt in ur eyes
till i saw thru ur little, low, lying mind
thought u were different for a while
till i saw ur smile
ur just another one of them
evil in disguise
the tall-man took her away
the ashes made me blind
the cold made me freeze
they say there's life beyond this
but i dont want to move on
i dont want to leave this moment
the last where you belonged
i had friends and i had lovers
but people dissapoint
when there's pain and acid
and darknes inside, people only hide
bitter sweet
thats everything
i know it but i cant hold it
bittersweet, everyone. i know them but i dont
everyone wants something
everybody has an agenda
noone knows. noone understands
noone even cares
thought you were different for a while
till i saw ur traitors face
till i saw the dirt in ur eyes
till i saw thru ur little, low, lying mind
thought u were different for a while
till i saw ur smile
ur just another one of them
evil in disguise
Now
saviour ...
come save me
i cant deal with
how i feel
bitch
but how i love her
i'd kill her
and then stay in worship
i cant
live here
in this moment
that i am mesmerized, frozen in
cant
run away
to sanity
and freedom, away from her
waif
spirit
ghoul
ghost
trapped
by thread of lead
to the body
cant let go
body yet
full of fire ants
and acid dirt horrors shame
and memories. cant go back
so i melt another sun
and hold it in my palm
and tip my cupped hand
to pour it down
and i strike another moon alight
and blow an underwater storm
and cover it up with calm rivulets,
neatly.
come save me
i cant deal with
how i feel
bitch
but how i love her
i'd kill her
and then stay in worship
i cant
live here
in this moment
that i am mesmerized, frozen in
cant
run away
to sanity
and freedom, away from her
waif
spirit
ghoul
ghost
trapped
by thread of lead
to the body
cant let go
body yet
full of fire ants
and acid dirt horrors shame
and memories. cant go back
so i melt another sun
and hold it in my palm
and tip my cupped hand
to pour it down
and i strike another moon alight
and blow an underwater storm
and cover it up with calm rivulets,
neatly.
Fever Tree
The fever feels like its in the brain
frentic, wild, pulsing, alive
dancing in an orgy
of laughing crying deamons
it conjures a incessant kaliedescope
of snapshots that are not quite memories
i walk the rooms, empty house
holding the silence by hand for company
i here the bricks
sing lullabies
and tell of u
when i couldnt see
this is the house
these are the rooms
these are the places
you lived without me
now, years away,
ur loneliness lives here with me
the window runs open
the swing screeches gently
the pink ropes it hung by swing slowly in my mind
i remember, where and when
and why
a christmas tree
dairy milk
a trip, a place, a region
the last laugh
the last flight
and a tree with rot in the seed
and a tree doomed to be
just a skeleton tree
just a ghost of a tree
frentic, wild, pulsing, alive
dancing in an orgy
of laughing crying deamons
it conjures a incessant kaliedescope
of snapshots that are not quite memories
i walk the rooms, empty house
holding the silence by hand for company
i here the bricks
sing lullabies
and tell of u
when i couldnt see
this is the house
these are the rooms
these are the places
you lived without me
now, years away,
ur loneliness lives here with me
the window runs open
the swing screeches gently
the pink ropes it hung by swing slowly in my mind
i remember, where and when
and why
a christmas tree
dairy milk
a trip, a place, a region
the last laugh
the last flight
and a tree with rot in the seed
and a tree doomed to be
just a skeleton tree
just a ghost of a tree
In Anger with the World
Image029
Originally uploaded by prerona.
sitting here, head on knees
staring into the dark,
amongst the litter of could-have-beens
that never went too far
the minutes and hours slip by heedless,
time: always running out too fast
and yet, days & years dont budge
the moment doesnt pass.
the world's shrunk to a room,
the light from between the bars,
the gates swing open, regular times,
the thoughts that never stray too far.
saturday finally comes round;
the day long weeks mark time towards.
so much hope invested,
careless, it comes and goes.
the prison becomes the home, the womb
helpless hands caress keys
too broken to lift to lock
to weak for release
starved stomach, mind and heart
relief's shock. freedom's fear
when finally the doors unlocked,
he was too broken to go near.
many decades have come and gone
countless taunted through window. countless rising suns
come in when tired, he's fallen to sleep
and marked another day on the wall
This started out as an idea - a picture of a man who is being released after months and years of imprisonment. he is too tired to feel anything. somewhere the thread got lost so it shall be shelved with the rest of the imcomplete stories at the story blog. Before dying, it gave birth to this, however :)
OST: The Master of Puppets
Originally Posted at Prerona.
The Nightmare
I nightmare that had always recurred
like a tattoo, cut into your skin
from a remembered life, a remembered scene
a familiar homely scene
then the terror
then being locked in
suddenly its all come true
suspnded between like and disgust
trapped in a moment with you
like a tattoo, cut into your skin
from a remembered life, a remembered scene
a familiar homely scene
then the terror
then being locked in
suddenly its all come true
suspnded between like and disgust
trapped in a moment with you
Wouldn't You Miss Me?
Syd Barrett 11
Originally uploaded by neocaeczaristic.
Syd Barrett 08
Originally uploaded by neocaeczaristic.
he's got his bike
Originally uploaded by Janesdead.
"I don't think I'm easy to talk about. I've got a very irregular head. And I'm not anything that you think I am anyway." Rolling Stone, Dec 1971
"What exactly is a dream, and what exactly is a joke?" Jugaband Blues
You've been on my mind.
A vague grey-ish blue.
Now that you've crossed the gates
Can you come back and tell me,
Where do clouds go when they evaporate?
I think there are terrapins, faeries, & gnomes.
Were there little people to welcome you,
Or monsters and dwarfs and men?
Is it all strange and new,
Or is there a sense of deja vu?
Is life coming back to you?
Did you meet her there?
Did she recognise and greet you?
Stones in her wet pockets,
Lest she fly away.
Like a frail black cloud, on a rainy day.
Where you still stoned? You know, I was always frightened ...
Do you miss here? Its raining.
Is it nice there, or were you scared?
Or are you still laughing, Madcap?
Paint me a picture, frame it in a silver song,
And slide it down a rainbow
Or keep it by the Gates, above the Wall; guess you've broken through them now.
Wouldnt you miss me? I shall, so shall we all.
Not sure how to say it. Been feeling strange since I heard. Another one gone. We'll be running out of idols pretty soon. There'll be no more giants on the moon. The feeling's been humming somewhere at the back of my mind since then. Looking at every footstep, echo and reflection he left behind; and all the shrines. Something about the brevity of his role on stage, weighed against the impact, the rememberance, the worship, reminds me of Harper Lee. He was a Genius.
However, that is not why I loved him, or why I have been feeling strange. In some obscure way, he was one of Us; Like Us he must have suspected it inside him. The inversion; Of thought, love, dreams. Twisted. Ugly. Turned in. Obsessive, fearful introspection: like a child scared to step outside his room or like a child looking for monsters in the wardrobe, or like a god-prince, hypnotised by doom. Lay up nights in fear of it coming. Looked for it within endlessly. searching for its shadows & signs. Hiding it half fearfully, half lovingly, from Them, lest they lock Us away. That was the common thread; And it always wove out differently. Each fought or went down differently.
An old interview: http://pinkfloydhyperbase.dk/scraps/watts.htm
Peace
After a long time
I'm home alone
There's noone in the house
or on the phone
I sit down
Next to the window
With one chair for u empty
And close my eyes to see you
In the semi darkness
I reach out one hand to hold yours
I can feel the texture I remember
As your hand closes over mine
Everynight, when I went to sleep
For the first dozen or so years,
of my life
You held my hand as I drifted into dreams
Yes. I feel the sharp stab again
Its a physical clench
It passes down my left arm
And I clench my fist
In the balled up palm
I feel the soft cotton of your gown
Like everytime before,
I clutch it as I fall
Now, the pain flows
In a glowing acid ball
to the pitt of my stomach
I double up, on the floor
As I fall I see your smile before me
As I go I see you come back
This is all I have left of you
Distractions, from this, take you again
From the recesses of my head
Echo our voices still
Me calling out ur name:
My first words
Its peace now. Like when Im with you
I put on one light and look at you
You smile, happy next to him
I hate him. Bcz he's there I'm not
Now its almost time
The world's gone once round the sun
At the right second, when the stars are just in place
I'll summon the snake
Without your giant body
Which I grew up to
Without our liquid eyes
In which I saw the world
Without your massive hands
In which mine, tiny, were lost
Still, I'll be with you
Or atleast, no more without
I'm home alone
There's noone in the house
or on the phone
I sit down
Next to the window
With one chair for u empty
And close my eyes to see you
In the semi darkness
I reach out one hand to hold yours
I can feel the texture I remember
As your hand closes over mine
Everynight, when I went to sleep
For the first dozen or so years,
of my life
You held my hand as I drifted into dreams
Yes. I feel the sharp stab again
Its a physical clench
It passes down my left arm
And I clench my fist
In the balled up palm
I feel the soft cotton of your gown
Like everytime before,
I clutch it as I fall
Now, the pain flows
In a glowing acid ball
to the pitt of my stomach
I double up, on the floor
As I fall I see your smile before me
As I go I see you come back
This is all I have left of you
Distractions, from this, take you again
From the recesses of my head
Echo our voices still
Me calling out ur name:
My first words
Its peace now. Like when Im with you
I put on one light and look at you
You smile, happy next to him
I hate him. Bcz he's there I'm not
Now its almost time
The world's gone once round the sun
At the right second, when the stars are just in place
I'll summon the snake
Without your giant body
Which I grew up to
Without our liquid eyes
In which I saw the world
Without your massive hands
In which mine, tiny, were lost
Still, I'll be with you
Or atleast, no more without
Because Love is Selfish
Be sweet
but dont be cliched
care
but stay in the bounds i set
dance with me
but stirr not old ghosts that i still hold
love me
but dont expect 2b loved
look at me, smile at me
but dont come to close
i suffocate, i gag
i run
but dont be cliched
care
but stay in the bounds i set
dance with me
but stirr not old ghosts that i still hold
love me
but dont expect 2b loved
look at me, smile at me
but dont come to close
i suffocate, i gag
i run
Dreams
In thoughts,
On Skin,
Under closed eyelids,
In dreams.
In fantasies,
Memories.
Yesterdays, Tomorrows,
And days inbetween.
In the silence,
In muffled screams;
Inside the fire,
In the wind;
In the heart,
In the burning;
In blood and sinew,
In the clenching;
In silly, naiive
Broken, Staggering
Foolish
& barely alive Hope:
Mine.
Face,
Eyes,
Skin,
Laughter,
Voice,
Words,
Tears,
Dreams,
Visions,
Memories,
Love,
Nurture,
Faith,
Hope,
Wonder,
Caring,
Affection:
Yours.
I burn again and again
Each time I close my eyes
To blink
And the fire to which I fed you
Flares again in my head
And the desert of paralysis
Into which you pushed me departing
Laughs a hallow mocking cacophany
That echos in my brain.
Night and Day
And pain, sweet pain, is all that remains
Of all the love that made our world
Once. Thats all that remains
All other signs,
A few fast fading photographs in black and white and colour
A electronic words on a broken phone
A few mins of your voice as it faded,
Captured in the record
I barely dare to play
A road I never stray towards
A metropolis that huants me with ur absence
Streets where you taught me to walk
Roads where I held ur hands as your legs weakened
And the house where I buried you
Alone and deserted
A piece of red cloth.
And a fading printed swatch of white
Torn from the last thing you wore
That I jealously hide,
All the signs are fading.
Only this remains where youre still living
The pain, behind my eyes
The roaring sound btw my ears
The hollow where my heart was
The numbness in my brain
Thats all that remains
And I'll keep it this way
Ill lie down by the grave.
On Skin,
Under closed eyelids,
In dreams.
In fantasies,
Memories.
Yesterdays, Tomorrows,
And days inbetween.
In the silence,
In muffled screams;
Inside the fire,
In the wind;
In the heart,
In the burning;
In blood and sinew,
In the clenching;
In silly, naiive
Broken, Staggering
Foolish
& barely alive Hope:
Mine.
Face,
Eyes,
Skin,
Laughter,
Voice,
Words,
Tears,
Dreams,
Visions,
Memories,
Love,
Nurture,
Faith,
Hope,
Wonder,
Caring,
Affection:
Yours.
I burn again and again
Each time I close my eyes
To blink
And the fire to which I fed you
Flares again in my head
And the desert of paralysis
Into which you pushed me departing
Laughs a hallow mocking cacophany
That echos in my brain.
Night and Day
And pain, sweet pain, is all that remains
Of all the love that made our world
Once. Thats all that remains
All other signs,
A few fast fading photographs in black and white and colour
A electronic words on a broken phone
A few mins of your voice as it faded,
Captured in the record
I barely dare to play
A road I never stray towards
A metropolis that huants me with ur absence
Streets where you taught me to walk
Roads where I held ur hands as your legs weakened
And the house where I buried you
Alone and deserted
A piece of red cloth.
And a fading printed swatch of white
Torn from the last thing you wore
That I jealously hide,
All the signs are fading.
Only this remains where youre still living
The pain, behind my eyes
The roaring sound btw my ears
The hollow where my heart was
The numbness in my brain
Thats all that remains
And I'll keep it this way
Ill lie down by the grave.
A Year
while i stood there
face turned down, tucked into myself
crouched on my haunches
time sped past
now suddenly, outy of the blue
while i'm holding on to the rainiling to stop reeling
a voice floating down a line
reminds me its almost time
a year has passed us by
once more the fires will burn
but by now ur flesh is gone
i ate the rest and dropped the dust
this time its just that the fire'll burn
while i watch, while i light, while i tend, in turns
like waves that never reach the shore
i sob brokenly but it doesnt show
and its s till to private
to be shared
once more the skies will open
but this time the clouds are out of tears
this time only smoke will flow
floating up to the skies
from burning eyes
to try and find you
and ask, if u'll consider coming back
or taking me along ...
face turned down, tucked into myself
crouched on my haunches
time sped past
now suddenly, outy of the blue
while i'm holding on to the rainiling to stop reeling
a voice floating down a line
reminds me its almost time
a year has passed us by
once more the fires will burn
but by now ur flesh is gone
i ate the rest and dropped the dust
this time its just that the fire'll burn
while i watch, while i light, while i tend, in turns
like waves that never reach the shore
i sob brokenly but it doesnt show
and its s till to private
to be shared
once more the skies will open
but this time the clouds are out of tears
this time only smoke will flow
floating up to the skies
from burning eyes
to try and find you
and ask, if u'll consider coming back
or taking me along ...
Love-Thing
so tell me
is it lonely?
trapped within urself?
once again
i'm back in place
squuezed into half
better or not
why, does memory dissapear
so fast?
there's reason why
the runaways run
there are flowers which
just cant bear the sun
this love-thing
is something
i can never
get a handle on
guess ill always be a runner,
at heart
is it lonely?
trapped within urself?
once again
i'm back in place
squuezed into half
better or not
why, does memory dissapear
so fast?
there's reason why
the runaways run
there are flowers which
just cant bear the sun
this love-thing
is something
i can never
get a handle on
guess ill always be a runner,
at heart
Rivers of Clay
so tell me
is it lonely?
trapped within urself?
once again
i'm back in place
squuezed into half
better or not
why, does memory dissapear
so fast?
there's reason why
the runaways run
there are flowers which
just cant bear the sun
this love-thing
is something
i can never
get a handle on
guess ill always be a runner,
at heart
is it lonely?
trapped within urself?
once again
i'm back in place
squuezed into half
better or not
why, does memory dissapear
so fast?
there's reason why
the runaways run
there are flowers which
just cant bear the sun
this love-thing
is something
i can never
get a handle on
guess ill always be a runner,
at heart
Sunday Rain
It rained all day
I lay on my back, on the bed by the window, and stared out at the sky,
the diagonal slashes shading the sky, the wet crows
and throbbing puddles on the sheet of plastic
covering the stairway to the terrace above
the plastic was white & translucent
the water had collected on it in a thin layer
the new drops falling on it,
made little ripples across the surface
The stairs were rain polished
Slick and wet
The wind chime, its old wood glowing with the water,
danced in a frenzy with the wind,
But its song was drowned by the drumming beat of the rain ...
At the far end of the plastic sheet,
the falling rain collected in little rivers and slid down,
riding the edge like children on banisters
and every so often, if you followed the little rivers with ur eyes,
they got too heavy to carry their own weight, and plopped off softly
plunging down into the void
below, at the 'open air garage', and in the buildings around,
there was a mild mayhem
people were running around and a frantic voice floated up now and then,
screaming for someone to get something in out of the rain's way
Twice, Barbie & her friends went past my window
scurrying up to the terrace like the children they are on the verge of outgrowing
such an interesting place, this,
this pause at the periphery in our paths from childhood to full human
Later, in the evening,
When the sky had darkened to cerullean,
so that the occasional flashes of lightning showed up more starkly,
Ady and Juls come over.
Munal and Hamza are there as well. And the boy.
Like old times, the rooms came alive again
As the walls bounced off the voices and laughter
We sat randomly scattered around,
like cushions thrown casually around a beautiful, old sofa
For a while, the security,
in the ease of the roughly 2 & a half decade old friendships,
lulls the feeling of the storm outside
yet through the jokes and horsing, there's a part of me
thats left cold as always
the observer: it always watches the rest of me
somewhere i'm always the outsider
i travel everywhere, and try everyone
but i never really fit in
their language, their thoughts, their attractions, and lusts
sometimes seem so trivial, sometimes seems too much
maybe i just see too much
maybe i want too much
to find a mind one can admire, was the old ambition
now broken and faded, like a crumbling wall
then u just look for one u can tolerate
atleast some of the times
the clouds have run out of water
i get an eerie feeling of huge dry flints
being rubbed againts each other ...
a frission of fear: what if He were near?
between the flashes, everything looks deceptively normal
but everynow and then w/o warning the lightning flares
like a dry storm, in dry clouds, that want to, but cant rain; or dont
After they leave, I cant settle down
In the middle of the cheerful evening,
And old ghost visited
Laughing like us, it stands behind my left shoulder
Suddenly there's a freezing hand behind my neck
Dirty, Slimy, Smelling of the underworld
I shudder, and struggle to break free
Helpless my 'watch-er self' watches
As it pulls me down deeper and deeper,
into the dark murky waters
Struggling for air,
as usual, all I could do was hide.
burrowing deep down,
I run away to the terrace.
I sit on the fence,
And feel the air on my face,
as I try to let it dry the evidence of the pain
to blow away any expression, that might have leaked
the ironmask, frozen in a chaging smile - now childlike, now sweet, now gurgling, now chirpy, now wise
inverted, its always a grimace, though
inside, there's only hate: inverted love
unbidden, a phrase from linda goodman floats into my head
i smile at the naiively flambouyant drama of expressed awe:
the smooth steel of their heart, has been formed
in the 9 fires of scorpio wisdowm
like the phoneix, the burn themselves down
and they reform ...
is there really healing,
in phoenix tears?
i dialled an SOS number
they always say later, if u had just dared to reach out ...
the sounds bounce of the winds and the clouds
as the connection fails to form
with the dead line dangling from the phone in my hand
i realise there's no one to call
a strange combination
of "there's noone" & "there's noone there, who I could bear"
i wish there was some way to wake u
and bring u out of my head
Now I am perched on the railing with my legs on either side
Its exciting - the thrill of being just at the edge ...
Out of the blue a huge fire-cracker goess of from the neighbouring house
Startled, I almost fall
Then all is quiet
I run out of excuses
I sit in the rain for a while and go down
I have been here before;
Its a nasty kind of hell.
There are doors out
but snarling dragons at the threshold
and its flooded with the waters of lethe
so that u forget that you know how to fight them
u forget u can see through them
u forget they're all just tricks and tests
later, curled up, i try to fall into myself
stay frozen, but its hard to stay empty
so the waters rise again. outside, the lightnings flashes
but the clouds have dried and died, and it still doesnt rain
i close my eyes and i think of lethe
now i could do with it
the legend says, when u will die
memory, wont let u want to live again
so that u can bear to, dare to, be reborn,
ur sent to the waters of Lethe
one of the 5 rivers of the underworld
lethe puts you to sleep
when u wake up, u have no recall
so once again, u want to live
Then in the morning, the sun is up again
Though so small, and so frail yet
It survived, atleast this night
I let go of a breath held back
And smile at my little child
She gurgles and laughs back.
I have great hopes for you,
if u can live out these storms
Maybe you will survive
I walk down to the garage
and then start off on my way to work
The radio sings Purple Rain
As we zoom out onto the highway
To my right, the salt water flats line the road
The sunshines, The wind blows and the clouds,
huge, white and fluffy,
hang over the water, way down low ...
Originally Posted at Prerona.
I lay on my back, on the bed by the window, and stared out at the sky,
the diagonal slashes shading the sky, the wet crows
and throbbing puddles on the sheet of plastic
covering the stairway to the terrace above
the plastic was white & translucent
the water had collected on it in a thin layer
the new drops falling on it,
made little ripples across the surface
The stairs were rain polished
Slick and wet
The wind chime, its old wood glowing with the water,
danced in a frenzy with the wind,
But its song was drowned by the drumming beat of the rain ...
At the far end of the plastic sheet,
the falling rain collected in little rivers and slid down,
riding the edge like children on banisters
and every so often, if you followed the little rivers with ur eyes,
they got too heavy to carry their own weight, and plopped off softly
plunging down into the void
below, at the 'open air garage', and in the buildings around,
there was a mild mayhem
people were running around and a frantic voice floated up now and then,
screaming for someone to get something in out of the rain's way
Twice, Barbie & her friends went past my window
scurrying up to the terrace like the children they are on the verge of outgrowing
such an interesting place, this,
this pause at the periphery in our paths from childhood to full human
Later, in the evening,
When the sky had darkened to cerullean,
so that the occasional flashes of lightning showed up more starkly,
Ady and Juls come over.
Munal and Hamza are there as well. And the boy.
Like old times, the rooms came alive again
As the walls bounced off the voices and laughter
We sat randomly scattered around,
like cushions thrown casually around a beautiful, old sofa
For a while, the security,
in the ease of the roughly 2 & a half decade old friendships,
lulls the feeling of the storm outside
yet through the jokes and horsing, there's a part of me
thats left cold as always
the observer: it always watches the rest of me
somewhere i'm always the outsider
i travel everywhere, and try everyone
but i never really fit in
their language, their thoughts, their attractions, and lusts
sometimes seem so trivial, sometimes seems too much
maybe i just see too much
maybe i want too much
to find a mind one can admire, was the old ambition
now broken and faded, like a crumbling wall
then u just look for one u can tolerate
atleast some of the times
the clouds have run out of water
i get an eerie feeling of huge dry flints
being rubbed againts each other ...
a frission of fear: what if He were near?
between the flashes, everything looks deceptively normal
but everynow and then w/o warning the lightning flares
like a dry storm, in dry clouds, that want to, but cant rain; or dont
After they leave, I cant settle down
In the middle of the cheerful evening,
And old ghost visited
Laughing like us, it stands behind my left shoulder
Suddenly there's a freezing hand behind my neck
Dirty, Slimy, Smelling of the underworld
I shudder, and struggle to break free
Helpless my 'watch-er self' watches
As it pulls me down deeper and deeper,
into the dark murky waters
Struggling for air,
as usual, all I could do was hide.
burrowing deep down,
I run away to the terrace.
I sit on the fence,
And feel the air on my face,
as I try to let it dry the evidence of the pain
to blow away any expression, that might have leaked
the ironmask, frozen in a chaging smile - now childlike, now sweet, now gurgling, now chirpy, now wise
inverted, its always a grimace, though
inside, there's only hate: inverted love
unbidden, a phrase from linda goodman floats into my head
i smile at the naiively flambouyant drama of expressed awe:
the smooth steel of their heart, has been formed
in the 9 fires of scorpio wisdowm
like the phoneix, the burn themselves down
and they reform ...
is there really healing,
in phoenix tears?
i dialled an SOS number
they always say later, if u had just dared to reach out ...
the sounds bounce of the winds and the clouds
as the connection fails to form
with the dead line dangling from the phone in my hand
i realise there's no one to call
a strange combination
of "there's noone" & "there's noone there, who I could bear"
i wish there was some way to wake u
and bring u out of my head
Now I am perched on the railing with my legs on either side
Its exciting - the thrill of being just at the edge ...
Out of the blue a huge fire-cracker goess of from the neighbouring house
Startled, I almost fall
Then all is quiet
I run out of excuses
I sit in the rain for a while and go down
I have been here before;
Its a nasty kind of hell.
There are doors out
but snarling dragons at the threshold
and its flooded with the waters of lethe
so that u forget that you know how to fight them
u forget u can see through them
u forget they're all just tricks and tests
later, curled up, i try to fall into myself
stay frozen, but its hard to stay empty
so the waters rise again. outside, the lightnings flashes
but the clouds have dried and died, and it still doesnt rain
i close my eyes and i think of lethe
now i could do with it
the legend says, when u will die
memory, wont let u want to live again
so that u can bear to, dare to, be reborn,
ur sent to the waters of Lethe
one of the 5 rivers of the underworld
lethe puts you to sleep
when u wake up, u have no recall
so once again, u want to live
Then in the morning, the sun is up again
Though so small, and so frail yet
It survived, atleast this night
I let go of a breath held back
And smile at my little child
She gurgles and laughs back.
I have great hopes for you,
if u can live out these storms
Maybe you will survive
I walk down to the garage
and then start off on my way to work
The radio sings Purple Rain
As we zoom out onto the highway
To my right, the salt water flats line the road
The sunshines, The wind blows and the clouds,
huge, white and fluffy,
hang over the water, way down low ...
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Sunday Songs
It rained all day
I lay on my back, on the bed by the window, and stared out at the sky,
the diagonal slashes shading the sky, the wet crows
and throbbing puddles on the sheet of plastic
covering the stairway to the terrace above
the plastic was white & translucent
the water had collected on it in a thin layer
the new drops falling on it,
made little ripples across the surface
The stairs were rain polished
Slick and wet
The wind chime, its old wood glowing with the water,
danced in a frenzy with the wind,
But its song was drowned by the drumming beat of the rain ...
At the far end of the plastic sheet,
the falling rain collected in little rivers and slid down,
riding the edge like children on banisters
and every so often, if you followed the little rivers with ur eyes,
they got too heavy to carry their own weight, and plopped off softly
plunging down into the void
below, at the 'open air garage', and in the buildings around,
there was a mild mayhem
people were running around and a frantic voice floated up now and then,
screaming for someone to get something in out of the rain's way
Later, in the evening,
When the sky had darkened to cerullean,
so that the occasional flashes of lightning showed up more starkly,
Ady and Juls come over.
Munal and Hamza are there as well. And the boy.
Like old times, the rooms came alive again
As the walls bounced off the voices and laughter
We sat randomly scattered around,
like cushions thrown casually around a beautiful, old sofa
I bask in the security & the ease
of the roughly 2 & a half decade old friendships
and soak in the laughter into my skin
yet there's a part of me
thats left cold as always
the observer: it always watches the rest of me
somewhere i'm always the outsider
i travel everywhere, and try everyone
but i never really fit in
their language, their thoughts, their attractions, and lusts
the clouds have run out of water
i get an eerie feeling of huge dry flints
being rubbed againts each other ...
a frission of fear: what if He were near?
I go to the terrace at night and,
I am perched on the railing with my legs on either side
Its exciting - the thrill of being just at the edge ...
Out of the blue a huge fire-cracker goess of from the neighbouring house
Startled, I almost fall
Then in the morning, the sun is up again
I walk down to the garage
and then start off on my way to work
The radio sings Purple Rain
As we zoom out onto the highway
To my right, the salt water flats line the road
The sunshines, The wind blows and the clouds,
huge, white and fluffy,
hang over the water, way down low ...
Originally Posted at Prerona.
I lay on my back, on the bed by the window, and stared out at the sky,
the diagonal slashes shading the sky, the wet crows
and throbbing puddles on the sheet of plastic
covering the stairway to the terrace above
the plastic was white & translucent
the water had collected on it in a thin layer
the new drops falling on it,
made little ripples across the surface
The stairs were rain polished
Slick and wet
The wind chime, its old wood glowing with the water,
danced in a frenzy with the wind,
But its song was drowned by the drumming beat of the rain ...
At the far end of the plastic sheet,
the falling rain collected in little rivers and slid down,
riding the edge like children on banisters
and every so often, if you followed the little rivers with ur eyes,
they got too heavy to carry their own weight, and plopped off softly
plunging down into the void
below, at the 'open air garage', and in the buildings around,
there was a mild mayhem
people were running around and a frantic voice floated up now and then,
screaming for someone to get something in out of the rain's way
Later, in the evening,
When the sky had darkened to cerullean,
so that the occasional flashes of lightning showed up more starkly,
Ady and Juls come over.
Munal and Hamza are there as well. And the boy.
Like old times, the rooms came alive again
As the walls bounced off the voices and laughter
We sat randomly scattered around,
like cushions thrown casually around a beautiful, old sofa
I bask in the security & the ease
of the roughly 2 & a half decade old friendships
and soak in the laughter into my skin
yet there's a part of me
thats left cold as always
the observer: it always watches the rest of me
somewhere i'm always the outsider
i travel everywhere, and try everyone
but i never really fit in
their language, their thoughts, their attractions, and lusts
the clouds have run out of water
i get an eerie feeling of huge dry flints
being rubbed againts each other ...
a frission of fear: what if He were near?
I go to the terrace at night and,
I am perched on the railing with my legs on either side
Its exciting - the thrill of being just at the edge ...
Out of the blue a huge fire-cracker goess of from the neighbouring house
Startled, I almost fall
Then in the morning, the sun is up again
I walk down to the garage
and then start off on my way to work
The radio sings Purple Rain
As we zoom out onto the highway
To my right, the salt water flats line the road
The sunshines, The wind blows and the clouds,
huge, white and fluffy,
hang over the water, way down low ...
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Unforgiven
Do we hold on to the memories, or do they hold on to us? There was a place on the way to Sinhagad, where the road turned, where you would park the bike on the way back. It would be night and the stars hung low in a midnight blue sky. How cliched. Just like us. A part of you was impatient to get back. You had work on Monday. What would I know of such things: I could just bunk one class and sleep.
Unforgiven
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Unforgiven
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Waiting to Exhale
its an aching hollow feeling
like self flagellation
get a grip;
strong enough
to squeeze my breath out.
even though i know its only fleeting,
that i wont last more than
a few more fragments of time,
even then,
stubborn arrogant selfish pride,
childlike naiive pride,
stands behind me and eggs me on
as i walk, obstinately
just one step out of reach,
resolutely cold and stone voiced,
i'm melting inside.
and i can feel u behind me,
against the small of my back,
like a feather touch of the sharpest knife
i feel ur pain,
and then there's mine
i am
exponentially spiralling down
into the black hole of my heart
i dont think i will be able to hold this pose
a fraction of a second more
i give up
turn
and run for life
and crash hurtling back into ur palm
inside
where i belong
happy
home
whole
hoaxed
what have you become to me?
what have you done ...
and once again i'm grinning for now reason
as i walk the lonely corridors
and once again i'm alive and singing
is it u, or me, that i am singing for?
like self flagellation
get a grip;
strong enough
to squeeze my breath out.
even though i know its only fleeting,
that i wont last more than
a few more fragments of time,
even then,
stubborn arrogant selfish pride,
childlike naiive pride,
stands behind me and eggs me on
as i walk, obstinately
just one step out of reach,
resolutely cold and stone voiced,
i'm melting inside.
and i can feel u behind me,
against the small of my back,
like a feather touch of the sharpest knife
i feel ur pain,
and then there's mine
i am
exponentially spiralling down
into the black hole of my heart
i dont think i will be able to hold this pose
a fraction of a second more
i give up
turn
and run for life
and crash hurtling back into ur palm
inside
where i belong
happy
home
whole
hoaxed
what have you become to me?
what have you done ...
and once again i'm grinning for now reason
as i walk the lonely corridors
and once again i'm alive and singing
is it u, or me, that i am singing for?
Re-Making Friends
Now I am trying to build bridges. After a while, even ego tires; and wounded pride; and best friends are too much a part of you, to turn away from, in anger or hurt or frustrated expectations. The gap they leave never fills up. Like those old cotton t-shirts, wear-softened into secondskin-ness and like a house we have lived in forever. You miss the comfort of the familiar, you miss the utter ease of communication, where what you 'meant', is always known or understood. The ease of knowing and being known, where someone intuitively knows what you mean and what ur saying because its sounding so gdm lyrical right now. Ur eccentricities, ur charades, ur games, ur fears and nightmares and golden dreams. And you miss the cantakeuforgranted confidence in the knowing of where you stand, of knowing someone cares, of knowing someone's there. In the last few years of trying to get to know blood, i forgot how thick water's always been. Slowly, I am coming back to life.
Is it too late? Or does the welcome really never end? Am I really looking for you, or traces of the me I used to be? Like a waif-soul, suddenly unanchored from body and earth, floating rootlessly around the spirit world, unable to adjust, finally, the cessation of being, comes back to haunt, empty rooms, broken walls, thrown away clothes, looking everywhere for the life it was. bad analogy.
Anyway, so you let me down. Or so I thought. I wanted to let it go, but how could I forget how I had thought you'd meant it, when you'd said you'd always be there, through thick and thin. so where were you, when they were branding my skin, when my soul was burning, and the smoke making me blind, forever; where were you, when I was wishing I was dead. and making the ghosts that would haunt me.
You'd said that you loved me and I always believed you, but the thing is, I never knew what it meant. Maybe I thought it meant too much. Maybe I always wanted too much.
So now we're making conversation. Stilted like Strangers. Atleast, we're talking again. Yet, like sunlight through a crumbling wall, in whose very foundations r the weakness or unnaturalness (?), once in a while 'something' shines through. Or maybe thats just my imagination. You always said it was fantastic :)
One way or another, I still love you; whatever (or everything) that that might mean. And I always will. Like I'll always be me. Unpredictable, Arrogant, Shy, Silly, Profound, Inane, Lauging crying sulking dissapearing and coming back to life. Lukewarm, but growing, there's a spreading smile
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Is it too late? Or does the welcome really never end? Am I really looking for you, or traces of the me I used to be? Like a waif-soul, suddenly unanchored from body and earth, floating rootlessly around the spirit world, unable to adjust, finally, the cessation of being, comes back to haunt, empty rooms, broken walls, thrown away clothes, looking everywhere for the life it was. bad analogy.
Anyway, so you let me down. Or so I thought. I wanted to let it go, but how could I forget how I had thought you'd meant it, when you'd said you'd always be there, through thick and thin. so where were you, when they were branding my skin, when my soul was burning, and the smoke making me blind, forever; where were you, when I was wishing I was dead. and making the ghosts that would haunt me.
You'd said that you loved me and I always believed you, but the thing is, I never knew what it meant. Maybe I thought it meant too much. Maybe I always wanted too much.
So now we're making conversation. Stilted like Strangers. Atleast, we're talking again. Yet, like sunlight through a crumbling wall, in whose very foundations r the weakness or unnaturalness (?), once in a while 'something' shines through. Or maybe thats just my imagination. You always said it was fantastic :)
One way or another, I still love you; whatever (or everything) that that might mean. And I always will. Like I'll always be me. Unpredictable, Arrogant, Shy, Silly, Profound, Inane, Lauging crying sulking dissapearing and coming back to life. Lukewarm, but growing, there's a spreading smile
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Baby's day out with Bebu: SPE Times
When the Mommy's away (australia - a month) the 'babies' will play. Every evening after work, we go for a little outing. The CCD down the road, Thumsup at Fillers, puchka @ VP ... then I park the car and we walk back from the garage.
It was an ordinary day. Dull, long and slow at work. Dot net training - 3 days long. Had me going to a place I have managed to avoid since I got back. For the first 2 days I flew home safe. On the 3rd day it hit me. But, I must have grown much, in years or strength or numbness, bcz the shock of impact came and went quite soon. Or is it just my 'humanity' dulling and fading?
Island: From GDC Cafeteria
Originally uploaded by prerona.
Funny thought keeps coming to my head: the last min reading of the last chapter of Pressman we never read normally - heritage systms, reverse engineering, re-engineering - cram it up for short notes - you'll never see it in real life ... indeed!
There's something about the place though. The vast open spaces. The invisible walls, and the vast spread of water in front. The blinding white of the wings of the vbirds, as they swoop down, to snatch up some invisible prey. And the vague white clouds, hung out in the shaded cobalt blue sky, over the water.
When I looked out through the glass walls of the cafeteria, the richness of the colour, the incredible stillness, the occassional lazy afternoon breeze , the nodding leaves, the little boats ... made an irresistable magnet which wouldnt let me focus on my lunch (which can only be a good thing when ur being starved by ur mommy :( - disgusting boiled veggies - every day). No wonder they keep the blinds drawn in the training rooms.
I was home by eight and was greeted with a bite (last one of a ham & mustard sandwich) at the door. Showered and changed. 3 Times. When you have a little sibling a decade younger, the next generation, so the speak, Its hard to please. Finally, it was the same blue jeans (my one and only) and the same white T Shirt - the set that I had originally said were the only clean things I had - which she had to settle for.
I dont drive a lot in town, so it was excited. Took the short cut to the Park. We'd gone for a Hip Pocket pilgrimmage on Friday last, but the place was so crowded (wrong kind of crowd - fresh new / pseudo cool - out for a drink and a good time - f the music) that we had to quit. So we figured, we'd have better luck on a Wednesday night. We did. It was still full, but less packed than the other night. And they didnt have to play Oh Susannah type numbers either, to keep the mob calm ... though they didnt do Baba o'Reilly either. We walked in to 'where were you ...' and then it went on to 'Open Invitation' & then 'Here I am' ... not brilliant, but beautifully familiar, alive and rocking. I sqatted on the floor - tucked into an obscure corner at S's feet, and in good view of S doing it to the mike. well, nobody does it better.
Before that we dropped in at Roxy. I showed her around in high excitment - reminded me of the time she first came to Pune and I was showing off Fregie. The verdict: Cool and Grown up. I'm happy. Everytime I order something, she looks at me with big round eyes and says, 'U have money???' - for full impact, I'd have to get the tone in. I'm a little lost, till I remember the days when we went only to SPE and scanned the menu carefully before ordering - having almost never looked left of the border. It reminds me of the first time ever I took her to a disc. We'd been staying in Bombay and the hotel had a disc (I've forgotten then name but it was something like Cyclone or ThunderStorm - whatever) - it was cool and she was so excited. Since then, she's long outstripped me in terms of music and social life, so last night felt like a 'cool' reminder of my seniority. Good Fun ;)
While walking out of SPE, bumped into "Ma'am" ... who used to be my physics teacher. Of all the teachers I have ever had, she is one of the top 3 coolest, so that was 'nice'. I ofcourse threw away quickly everything in my hands and went instantly blank. Isnt it curious how carefully we preserve the pedestials? Is it a human thing, the need to worship?
After SPE (she wouldnt let me tip the doorman), we went to Sharma's and had ThumsUp and malai kabab. Not grub to die for, but its tradition. Have always gone to Sharma's post SPE. It started when we were kids and perpertually broke. We had to chip in all our pocketmoney for cab fare - one way, didnt think of how we'd get back till it was over. It was pretty early, in the morning. chatts, juls, addy and me. We hitched a ride back from some people leaving from Tantra. They were a little strange (tantra-cool) but nice. They stopped at Sharma's on the way and we've done it ever since. After SPE, you stop at Sharma's, sqat on the edge of the pavement and stuff urself with kebabs and chai.
The long arm of B.C road, a name I have always loved, stretched out in front and behind. Since I was only in Cal for winter, and since we usually went that way at night, my memories of this road are painted in as a long black line snaking out forever. Orange flamed fires lit by the roadside. Lined with tree's that looked old - so much older - than me .... isnt that a comforting feeling? I wonder why?
Cal's has changed. Everytime I came back I heard people crib about that. They(we) used to come back, starving and hugry, from Blore and Pune and other 'faraway' places, and everytime what they ran back to had run out a little more. Will Cal become like everywhere else with time and progress? Is that such a bad thing? I dunno. Could never figure out. Bad for me and you, yes. But for her?
It's late by the time we get back home. As usual, I want to crash. As usual, she wants me to look at a new post she wrote. As usual, I cant bear to say no to my favourite miniperson/monster. As usual, I'm blown away. When did that little pink faced, squealing thing with curling ringlets like a piglets tail, grow into this 'person'! I love the way she writes ...
Originally Posted at Prerona.
It was an ordinary day. Dull, long and slow at work. Dot net training - 3 days long. Had me going to a place I have managed to avoid since I got back. For the first 2 days I flew home safe. On the 3rd day it hit me. But, I must have grown much, in years or strength or numbness, bcz the shock of impact came and went quite soon. Or is it just my 'humanity' dulling and fading?
Island: From GDC Cafeteria
Originally uploaded by prerona.
Funny thought keeps coming to my head: the last min reading of the last chapter of Pressman we never read normally - heritage systms, reverse engineering, re-engineering - cram it up for short notes - you'll never see it in real life ... indeed!
There's something about the place though. The vast open spaces. The invisible walls, and the vast spread of water in front. The blinding white of the wings of the vbirds, as they swoop down, to snatch up some invisible prey. And the vague white clouds, hung out in the shaded cobalt blue sky, over the water.
When I looked out through the glass walls of the cafeteria, the richness of the colour, the incredible stillness, the occassional lazy afternoon breeze , the nodding leaves, the little boats ... made an irresistable magnet which wouldnt let me focus on my lunch (which can only be a good thing when ur being starved by ur mommy :( - disgusting boiled veggies - every day). No wonder they keep the blinds drawn in the training rooms.
I was home by eight and was greeted with a bite (last one of a ham & mustard sandwich) at the door. Showered and changed. 3 Times. When you have a little sibling a decade younger, the next generation, so the speak, Its hard to please. Finally, it was the same blue jeans (my one and only) and the same white T Shirt - the set that I had originally said were the only clean things I had - which she had to settle for.
I dont drive a lot in town, so it was excited. Took the short cut to the Park. We'd gone for a Hip Pocket pilgrimmage on Friday last, but the place was so crowded (wrong kind of crowd - fresh new / pseudo cool - out for a drink and a good time - f the music) that we had to quit. So we figured, we'd have better luck on a Wednesday night. We did. It was still full, but less packed than the other night. And they didnt have to play Oh Susannah type numbers either, to keep the mob calm ... though they didnt do Baba o'Reilly either. We walked in to 'where were you ...' and then it went on to 'Open Invitation' & then 'Here I am' ... not brilliant, but beautifully familiar, alive and rocking. I sqatted on the floor - tucked into an obscure corner at S's feet, and in good view of S doing it to the mike. well, nobody does it better.
Before that we dropped in at Roxy. I showed her around in high excitment - reminded me of the time she first came to Pune and I was showing off Fregie. The verdict: Cool and Grown up. I'm happy. Everytime I order something, she looks at me with big round eyes and says, 'U have money???' - for full impact, I'd have to get the tone in. I'm a little lost, till I remember the days when we went only to SPE and scanned the menu carefully before ordering - having almost never looked left of the border. It reminds me of the first time ever I took her to a disc. We'd been staying in Bombay and the hotel had a disc (I've forgotten then name but it was something like Cyclone or ThunderStorm - whatever) - it was cool and she was so excited. Since then, she's long outstripped me in terms of music and social life, so last night felt like a 'cool' reminder of my seniority. Good Fun ;)
While walking out of SPE, bumped into "Ma'am" ... who used to be my physics teacher. Of all the teachers I have ever had, she is one of the top 3 coolest, so that was 'nice'. I ofcourse threw away quickly everything in my hands and went instantly blank. Isnt it curious how carefully we preserve the pedestials? Is it a human thing, the need to worship?
After SPE (she wouldnt let me tip the doorman), we went to Sharma's and had ThumsUp and malai kabab. Not grub to die for, but its tradition. Have always gone to Sharma's post SPE. It started when we were kids and perpertually broke. We had to chip in all our pocketmoney for cab fare - one way, didnt think of how we'd get back till it was over. It was pretty early, in the morning. chatts, juls, addy and me. We hitched a ride back from some people leaving from Tantra. They were a little strange (tantra-cool) but nice. They stopped at Sharma's on the way and we've done it ever since. After SPE, you stop at Sharma's, sqat on the edge of the pavement and stuff urself with kebabs and chai.
The long arm of B.C road, a name I have always loved, stretched out in front and behind. Since I was only in Cal for winter, and since we usually went that way at night, my memories of this road are painted in as a long black line snaking out forever. Orange flamed fires lit by the roadside. Lined with tree's that looked old - so much older - than me .... isnt that a comforting feeling? I wonder why?
Cal's has changed. Everytime I came back I heard people crib about that. They(we) used to come back, starving and hugry, from Blore and Pune and other 'faraway' places, and everytime what they ran back to had run out a little more. Will Cal become like everywhere else with time and progress? Is that such a bad thing? I dunno. Could never figure out. Bad for me and you, yes. But for her?
It's late by the time we get back home. As usual, I want to crash. As usual, she wants me to look at a new post she wrote. As usual, I cant bear to say no to my favourite miniperson/monster. As usual, I'm blown away. When did that little pink faced, squealing thing with curling ringlets like a piglets tail, grow into this 'person'! I love the way she writes ...
Originally Posted at Prerona.
The Unspeakable
as the words float around our heads
at some level, meaningless
i close my eyes, behind my mind
and listen to the real conversation
in the background: a requeim
to the ghost never laid to rest;
the child we miscarried,
but bore always.
disconnected,
i watch a piece of me, detached,
flutter in the skies with joy.
at home again,
that's the me which was urs.
and in the foreground,
conversation;
swinging back and forth between
formal and a little less.
underlined
by leaping hearts,
and peace
and a link unseen
all that we had once had been
all we'd dreamed of being
every moment we'd ever held
and let go without weighing
and everytime we'd stumbled in the dark
to tumble into the refuge of the other
and then, putting it aside,
carried on with life
and every death since then
and every wound since then
and every drop of blood ...
plays unheard, unseen in the background
and we say nothing at all
was us as unbreakable as we were?
at some level, meaningless
i close my eyes, behind my mind
and listen to the real conversation
in the background: a requeim
to the ghost never laid to rest;
the child we miscarried,
but bore always.
disconnected,
i watch a piece of me, detached,
flutter in the skies with joy.
at home again,
that's the me which was urs.
and in the foreground,
conversation;
swinging back and forth between
formal and a little less.
underlined
by leaping hearts,
and peace
and a link unseen
all that we had once had been
all we'd dreamed of being
every moment we'd ever held
and let go without weighing
and everytime we'd stumbled in the dark
to tumble into the refuge of the other
and then, putting it aside,
carried on with life
and every death since then
and every wound since then
and every drop of blood ...
plays unheard, unseen in the background
and we say nothing at all
was us as unbreakable as we were?
Wolf
the blind wolf's lair
dark rooms
littered
with bugbears
and trophies
cracked and broken
edges raw
scars and sores
ghosts and remenants
a minefield
for the u
and for me
the explosions
rock my world
whenever they come
though u tiptoe
around in the dark
ur still blind
to the blood and puss
when u push the knife in and twist
wherever you innocently truouch
but then
when its u and
only you
the brightness
of ur love
breaks the shadows apart
and breaks the pain-shards
to blunt toothless
memories
innoccous
because of u
because u r my friend
thats all
dark rooms
littered
with bugbears
and trophies
cracked and broken
edges raw
scars and sores
ghosts and remenants
a minefield
for the u
and for me
the explosions
rock my world
whenever they come
though u tiptoe
around in the dark
ur still blind
to the blood and puss
when u push the knife in and twist
wherever you innocently truouch
but then
when its u and
only you
the brightness
of ur love
breaks the shadows apart
and breaks the pain-shards
to blunt toothless
memories
innoccous
because of u
because u r my friend
thats all
You
masks
moods
purple
red and blue
clouds
grey
mauve
jasmine
shiny big black cars
silk: black and gold
smiles
tears
the wind
the rain
love
happiness
feelings
anger
fire
ice
everything comes back to you
everything reminds me of you
lame
boy
limping
staring
puzzled
confused
lost
broken
dead
dead
dead
dead
dead
come back to me. open the doors
let me through & open the doors
beauty
ugly
friends
enemies
madness
sanity
dreams
nightmares
i wanna go home to you
thats all i wanna do
moods
purple
red and blue
clouds
grey
mauve
jasmine
shiny big black cars
silk: black and gold
smiles
tears
the wind
the rain
love
happiness
feelings
anger
fire
ice
everything comes back to you
everything reminds me of you
lame
boy
limping
staring
puzzled
confused
lost
broken
dead
dead
dead
dead
dead
come back to me. open the doors
let me through & open the doors
beauty
ugly
friends
enemies
madness
sanity
dreams
nightmares
i wanna go home to you
thats all i wanna do
Knife, Cuts like A ...
Today, missing you was like a storm
Drifting, Floating, Aimlessly
Down the wet streets of your city
Like a crushed, orphaned paper bag
In a rain-swollen sewer, by the roadside
When it comes, when you call
I slip away like a drop of water
Fading in the evening breeze
Leaving just a fleeting feeling of coolth
Behind, around me
It will be a year soon
12 months
and I still dont want to live
What more is there to live for
Without you, I am gone
I dont want to come back to life
I dont want to re begin
I dont want to let go
The monsters, the nightmares, the seizures, the memories
They're all I have left of you
As even the photographs, in sepia and black and white, yellow and grow old
Drifting, Floating, Aimlessly
Down the wet streets of your city
Like a crushed, orphaned paper bag
In a rain-swollen sewer, by the roadside
When it comes, when you call
I slip away like a drop of water
Fading in the evening breeze
Leaving just a fleeting feeling of coolth
Behind, around me
It will be a year soon
12 months
and I still dont want to live
What more is there to live for
Without you, I am gone
I dont want to come back to life
I dont want to re begin
I dont want to let go
The monsters, the nightmares, the seizures, the memories
They're all I have left of you
As even the photographs, in sepia and black and white, yellow and grow old
Cuts Like a Knife
And in the evening when the rain washes down, inviting you to let of flow too. When you want to let the masks and self control and PC-ness float away, like a crushed, orphaned, news-paper bag floating aimlessly in the rain-swelled gutter, when it gets to much, living without you, knowing there are no comebacks, no relief, no substitutes that will ever be, that everyone will always be just a temporary distraction from missing you, then I miss an old favourite, Knife
Sometimes, I hate you. Sometimes I hate myself. Sometimes I hate the world, for living on inspite off. A handful of mustard seeds, doesnt answer my call.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Sometimes, I hate you. Sometimes I hate myself. Sometimes I hate the world, for living on inspite off. A handful of mustard seeds, doesnt answer my call.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Song In My Head: Roses Blue
Have you ever read something and felt f! he said it! Like someone had found the words you'd been unable to lay ur hands on, and layed them to thoughts you had been fumbling to describe? Or maybe, drew the lines to a picture in your head, that you hadnt even even seen ...
"Men all seek happiness. He alone sought completion"
After a long time I'm doing a song in my head post! The theory behind it is that if you listen to the song in your head, it will tell you what your hearts thinking. Sometimes, the heart sings, or cries, or screams, so softly, you dont come to know. Its masked. Its evasive. It shows and hides and teases: the heart. But the songs, give it away. Sometimes.
Sometimes, some of the books and movies we see stay back in a back room of our heads and become 'real'. Sometimes, like people and places, you miss them. Today I miss 84 Charring Cross and Steppenwolf. Badly.
Last night, the skies rang with the thunder and flashed with lightning. It went on for a long, long time. Strangely, it wouldnt rain. It reminded me of how I get sometimes. It was the loudest thunder I had heard in a long time. For the first time in years and years I was scared ...
I am rarely scared. When I was a child, whenever the thunder rumbled and roared, back and forth, I kept the rains scruplously dry. I punched walls at times. or used the edge. But I kept dry. Never thought about it much. Never let it sink in. Maybe that was the beginning of the dontthinkaboutitanditwillgoaway mantra. No. The jokes and accusations and decisions and repercussions. the choices made. that was the real catch. anyway.
i went through an old drawar last night. came upon it by 'accident'. poems, stories, journals ... all the way since when i learnt to hold a pencil. on napkins. on the backs paper carton. even one on a t-shirt (i cut that part out). even then, i was fanatical abt not losing my words. what else did i have? if i wrote u a letter and it had particular artistry, i might steal in at night and steal it back! like that ...
it reminded me of the song: deewana shayer ka, ek deewan milega. Found this poem. Class 5 or 6, I think (1988)
"From a deep abyss of blackness
a flash of light;
From the soul to the mind
a question rings.
When each day becomes
a fast losing battle
against bitterness, unfairness,helplessness and confusion,
blind grasp for the headlights
zeroing in - target? heaven knows where!
So now come tell me what is love?
Hate & Hope, truth & Fasle?
Show me the lines and please justify.
I'll follow you come lead me on by.
Get up Karma Yatri
Rise and Shine.
Hark, Hear, Alert,
the beckoning sign.
Pull on the chain**
and slow the wheel.
I'll tell you tales,
if you promise not to cry"
** - I think I vaguely remember learning about the chain on the train - and about the fine - just before that :D
and from college:
"ek je chhilo Poongie-ma aar**
taar bondhu Gadomba
dujon mile thaakto besh
shokal theke diner shesh
jobe hoto purnima
bolto tokhun Gadomba
'aye Poongie, dujon mile
ghure ashi tram-e chepe'
bole Poongie uttore
'khela chhar dekh dokkhine'!
Ajob bepaar! Ota ki re ...
Nach dhorechhe Gadombite!"
The Sequel:
Gadomba aar Gadombite
Naach dhorechhe anonde te
Purnima-r chaader alo
Prem-e bhubon bhore gelo
Dure boshe Pungima
Ekla dekhe Chandrima
Jodi ekta shaathi khuje pai
Nachbo jemon janto koi
(26.11.96)
** Poonigie was then my nick for Barbie/Munal/Pakhi. Whic came first, the chicken or the egg, dont remember now.
*** this was found behind class notes from Liu Gibson (TCS) - my favouritest book in college.
And here's an old collection of Top 5's I found on Ricercar:
my top five irresitable songs TO CHEER ME UP ...1) elevation (u2)
2) need u tonight (inxs)
3) never to old to rock and roll (tull)
4) twisting by the pool (ds)
5) im too sexy (right said fred)
top five songs that give you goosebumps Prerona View Delete
nota very accurate list ... cz there are millions ... these are the top five of those that come to mind:
1) jealous guy
2) purple rain
3) final cut (any / all)
4) feeling love
5) when a blind man cries ...
n.b. - could not resist - everlasting love (U2), Going to California, Baba O Reilly, Love Hurts, Love Bites, Feelings, The way we were, Lets get it on, most of the time, she breaks like a little girl, suzzane, creep, the starting roll of fever dog, free falling, to make you feel my love, crazy, pink, moonriver, im not in love, smooth operator, wicked game, throw your arms around me (PJ), Cant take my eyes off you (Damien Rice), Another Lonely Day (Ben Harper), Goodbye My Lover ... and i guess i better stop somewhere ...
top 5 songs that make you throw up ...
no offence to the songs themselves - but i am just SO sick of hearing them!
hotel california
blowing in the wind
imagine
last christmas
one the wings of a snow white dove
my personal top five literary dissapointments:
1 - hitchhikers guide to the galaxy
2 - great gatsby
3 - catcher in the rye
4 - love in the times of cholera
5 - alchemist
(ZEN and the art of ... ? Immortality? Not sure for sure ... but they got close)
Disclaimer: Not putting these books down at all. Or even saying I didnt like them. Just that FOR ME they were 'different' from MY expectations.
top five cute guys in film Prerona View Delete
watching love, actually, one on my fav movies and almost on the back of that, pride and prejudice, made me think of how gorgeous they both are and how tough it is to decide between them!!! so heres my top 5 men:
1) anthony hopkins
2) collin firth
3) hugh grant
4) liam neeson / alan rickman (tie)
5) gregory peck
and ofcourse - further east - saif, ajay devgan, big b, small b, uttam kumar.
and non filmi focourse there mukul sharma!
Top 5 perfect women in film:
1. Aparna Sen
2. Zeenet Aman / Sushmita Sen (tie)
3. Sharmila
4. Antara Mali/Nandita Das
5. Julie Andrews
Might be offline for a while, but will be around checking other peoples blogs and looking (hopefully) for comments on mine :)
Originally Posted at Prerona.
"Men all seek happiness. He alone sought completion"
After a long time I'm doing a song in my head post! The theory behind it is that if you listen to the song in your head, it will tell you what your hearts thinking. Sometimes, the heart sings, or cries, or screams, so softly, you dont come to know. Its masked. Its evasive. It shows and hides and teases: the heart. But the songs, give it away. Sometimes.
When all the black cards come you cannot barter
No, when all your stars are stacked you cannot win
Shell shake her head and treat you like a martyr
It is her blackest spell she puts you in
In sorrow she can lure you where she wants you
Inside your own self-pity there you swim
In sinking down to drown her voice still haunts you
And only with your laughter can you win
You win the lasting laurels with your laughter
It reaches like an arm before you sink
To win the solitary truth youre after
You dare not ask the priestess how to think
Sometimes, some of the books and movies we see stay back in a back room of our heads and become 'real'. Sometimes, like people and places, you miss them. Today I miss 84 Charring Cross and Steppenwolf. Badly.
Last night, the skies rang with the thunder and flashed with lightning. It went on for a long, long time. Strangely, it wouldnt rain. It reminded me of how I get sometimes. It was the loudest thunder I had heard in a long time. For the first time in years and years I was scared ...
I am rarely scared. When I was a child, whenever the thunder rumbled and roared, back and forth, I kept the rains scruplously dry. I punched walls at times. or used the edge. But I kept dry. Never thought about it much. Never let it sink in. Maybe that was the beginning of the dontthinkaboutitanditwillgoaway mantra. No. The jokes and accusations and decisions and repercussions. the choices made. that was the real catch. anyway.
i went through an old drawar last night. came upon it by 'accident'. poems, stories, journals ... all the way since when i learnt to hold a pencil. on napkins. on the backs paper carton. even one on a t-shirt (i cut that part out). even then, i was fanatical abt not losing my words. what else did i have? if i wrote u a letter and it had particular artistry, i might steal in at night and steal it back! like that ...
it reminded me of the song: deewana shayer ka, ek deewan milega. Found this poem. Class 5 or 6, I think (1988)
"From a deep abyss of blackness
a flash of light;
From the soul to the mind
a question rings.
When each day becomes
a fast losing battle
against bitterness, unfairness,helplessness and confusion,
blind grasp for the headlights
zeroing in - target? heaven knows where!
So now come tell me what is love?
Hate & Hope, truth & Fasle?
Show me the lines and please justify.
I'll follow you come lead me on by.
Get up Karma Yatri
Rise and Shine.
Hark, Hear, Alert,
the beckoning sign.
Pull on the chain**
and slow the wheel.
I'll tell you tales,
if you promise not to cry"
** - I think I vaguely remember learning about the chain on the train - and about the fine - just before that :D
and from college:
"ek je chhilo Poongie-ma aar**
taar bondhu Gadomba
dujon mile thaakto besh
shokal theke diner shesh
jobe hoto purnima
bolto tokhun Gadomba
'aye Poongie, dujon mile
ghure ashi tram-e chepe'
bole Poongie uttore
'khela chhar dekh dokkhine'!
Ajob bepaar! Ota ki re ...
Nach dhorechhe Gadombite!"
The Sequel:
Gadomba aar Gadombite
Naach dhorechhe anonde te
Purnima-r chaader alo
Prem-e bhubon bhore gelo
Dure boshe Pungima
Ekla dekhe Chandrima
Jodi ekta shaathi khuje pai
Nachbo jemon janto koi
(26.11.96)
** Poonigie was then my nick for Barbie/Munal/Pakhi. Whic came first, the chicken or the egg, dont remember now.
*** this was found behind class notes from Liu Gibson (TCS) - my favouritest book in college.
And here's an old collection of Top 5's I found on Ricercar:
my top five irresitable songs TO CHEER ME UP ...1) elevation (u2)
2) need u tonight (inxs)
3) never to old to rock and roll (tull)
4) twisting by the pool (ds)
5) im too sexy (right said fred)
top five songs that give you goosebumps Prerona View Delete
nota very accurate list ... cz there are millions ... these are the top five of those that come to mind:
1) jealous guy
2) purple rain
3) final cut (any / all)
4) feeling love
5) when a blind man cries ...
n.b. - could not resist - everlasting love (U2), Going to California, Baba O Reilly, Love Hurts, Love Bites, Feelings, The way we were, Lets get it on, most of the time, she breaks like a little girl, suzzane, creep, the starting roll of fever dog, free falling, to make you feel my love, crazy, pink, moonriver, im not in love, smooth operator, wicked game, throw your arms around me (PJ), Cant take my eyes off you (Damien Rice), Another Lonely Day (Ben Harper), Goodbye My Lover ... and i guess i better stop somewhere ...
top 5 songs that make you throw up ...
no offence to the songs themselves - but i am just SO sick of hearing them!
hotel california
blowing in the wind
imagine
last christmas
one the wings of a snow white dove
my personal top five literary dissapointments:
1 - hitchhikers guide to the galaxy
2 - great gatsby
3 - catcher in the rye
4 - love in the times of cholera
5 - alchemist
(ZEN and the art of ... ? Immortality? Not sure for sure ... but they got close)
Disclaimer: Not putting these books down at all. Or even saying I didnt like them. Just that FOR ME they were 'different' from MY expectations.
top five cute guys in film Prerona View Delete
watching love, actually, one on my fav movies and almost on the back of that, pride and prejudice, made me think of how gorgeous they both are and how tough it is to decide between them!!! so heres my top 5 men:
1) anthony hopkins
2) collin firth
3) hugh grant
4) liam neeson / alan rickman (tie)
5) gregory peck
and ofcourse - further east - saif, ajay devgan, big b, small b, uttam kumar.
and non filmi focourse there mukul sharma!
Top 5 perfect women in film:
1. Aparna Sen
2. Zeenet Aman / Sushmita Sen (tie)
3. Sharmila
4. Antara Mali/Nandita Das
5. Julie Andrews
Might be offline for a while, but will be around checking other peoples blogs and looking (hopefully) for comments on mine :)
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Raw
my skin is raw,
and so my hands
hide deep in my pockets.
dont tug at my arms at my arms anymore.
i'd reached out and touched
the heart, of the fire,
to heal the freezing cold,
from which i arose.
now the cold sores,
which never heal
live side by side, with singed pink
darkness and silence and a little peace ... thats all that helps those parts of me
i come from a different place
u dont know, cant know, or see or imagine
the dreams, the nightmares,
the joys, the fears
having come all this way
there are many dragons i have slayed
the skeletons drag a path
behind me everyday
and their ghosts wail
when i close my eyes
and ur laughter stops
distractions? yes.
my bloody, hands
with festering wounds
and putrid decay, barely hidden, in the folds of bright cloth
of my remaining good parts, hold the golden goose ...
dont pull at my arms any more.
and so my hands
hide deep in my pockets.
dont tug at my arms at my arms anymore.
i'd reached out and touched
the heart, of the fire,
to heal the freezing cold,
from which i arose.
now the cold sores,
which never heal
live side by side, with singed pink
darkness and silence and a little peace ... thats all that helps those parts of me
i come from a different place
u dont know, cant know, or see or imagine
the dreams, the nightmares,
the joys, the fears
having come all this way
there are many dragons i have slayed
the skeletons drag a path
behind me everyday
and their ghosts wail
when i close my eyes
and ur laughter stops
distractions? yes.
my bloody, hands
with festering wounds
and putrid decay, barely hidden, in the folds of bright cloth
of my remaining good parts, hold the golden goose ...
dont pull at my arms any more.
about nothing
so it goes ... life dancing around in drunken circles. cyclic. vi. and all other kinds. 'life goes easy on me, most of the times'. like seasons, the same times and moods, come and go and come back again. like a merry go round. happy-angry-sad-euphoric: its always good for the ride. have to say it though, its one hell of a ride. i wouldnt change anything or moment, but one, could i go back in time.
its still the first flush of the monsoons. i havent seen my city, my country, my house, in the wet, for so long now. Being here, after so long, still feels special. and delicate.
the mornings, alone and naked. walking the streets so empty that you feel that you possess them, you feel your 'self' more than any other time ever.
the afternoons, when you step out at lunch time. the sun glistens on skin of of the lake, polishing it to brilliant silver. the birds swoop and trees sway. everyone wears the guiltfree happy ease, of a labourer on a break. the chatter, a hum in the background. the eagles circling overhead. the lake smiling still. the winds, the playful entertainer. the stray kingfisher. the herons, the ducks, and the sparrows. so many colours, and strokes, that make the days.
and the evenings. coffee break. watching the orange lace dance and sway; as if to music from another room.
i loved that movie. one of the 3 movies out of all the ones i picked of netflix blindly just because it had Cusack, that i also ended up loving, independently. that, the journey of Natty Gann & Class ... with all its ghosts and skeletons.
speaking of movies, in a strange connection, from time to time i remember the look on His face in "Thou shalt not commit adultery" comes to my mind. No link to the theme ... just the expression on His face.
and then later in the evening, home. bushed. tired. clean. every island in its place. the catharisis of the long drive home. the irony of the scenery. the soothing emptiness of the solitude and the silence. and then the burst of company and family, once you are rested and have shed ur workday skin and showered off the mood u were in.
and the nights. long and moonlit. endless conversations, on the terrace. balanced precariously on the edge, of a table or a railing. or a theory you'd held. bringing out and airing everything. from politics. and childhood. to jobs. and shaving. its good to have a shadow, an echo, alter ego's, to keep you rooted in.
it was so strange meeting you again. fleeting. gossamer. this time, i took care not to hug to tight. in the semi darkness, i watched numb-eyed, as the apologies floated. and carried us into another tequila sunrise ... 'do you remember me? how we used to be? dont you think, we should be closer?'
to quote myself, love and all that i can gaurd well against. it never gets that far in anyway. its this bldy friendship thing that maims. so long again, best friend.
was looking through sorting all the verse i had ever written and thought what a hopeless mess. need to sit down and sort everything i have ever done. complete some. discard some. fix some. enhance some. but where's the time. life is such a race.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
its still the first flush of the monsoons. i havent seen my city, my country, my house, in the wet, for so long now. Being here, after so long, still feels special. and delicate.
the mornings, alone and naked. walking the streets so empty that you feel that you possess them, you feel your 'self' more than any other time ever.
the afternoons, when you step out at lunch time. the sun glistens on skin of of the lake, polishing it to brilliant silver. the birds swoop and trees sway. everyone wears the guiltfree happy ease, of a labourer on a break. the chatter, a hum in the background. the eagles circling overhead. the lake smiling still. the winds, the playful entertainer. the stray kingfisher. the herons, the ducks, and the sparrows. so many colours, and strokes, that make the days.
and the evenings. coffee break. watching the orange lace dance and sway; as if to music from another room.
i loved that movie. one of the 3 movies out of all the ones i picked of netflix blindly just because it had Cusack, that i also ended up loving, independently. that, the journey of Natty Gann & Class ... with all its ghosts and skeletons.
speaking of movies, in a strange connection, from time to time i remember the look on His face in "Thou shalt not commit adultery" comes to my mind. No link to the theme ... just the expression on His face.
and then later in the evening, home. bushed. tired. clean. every island in its place. the catharisis of the long drive home. the irony of the scenery. the soothing emptiness of the solitude and the silence. and then the burst of company and family, once you are rested and have shed ur workday skin and showered off the mood u were in.
and the nights. long and moonlit. endless conversations, on the terrace. balanced precariously on the edge, of a table or a railing. or a theory you'd held. bringing out and airing everything. from politics. and childhood. to jobs. and shaving. its good to have a shadow, an echo, alter ego's, to keep you rooted in.
it was so strange meeting you again. fleeting. gossamer. this time, i took care not to hug to tight. in the semi darkness, i watched numb-eyed, as the apologies floated. and carried us into another tequila sunrise ... 'do you remember me? how we used to be? dont you think, we should be closer?'
to quote myself, love and all that i can gaurd well against. it never gets that far in anyway. its this bldy friendship thing that maims. so long again, best friend.
was looking through sorting all the verse i had ever written and thought what a hopeless mess. need to sit down and sort everything i have ever done. complete some. discard some. fix some. enhance some. but where's the time. life is such a race.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Chameleon: Master of Trickery, Masks & Disguise
dark night. moonlight
cold air on wet skin, by cold rain
wet sand, gravelly, velvetty, squashed into
my fingers and toes
warm foam, white
bright
ice cold water, underneath
pulling, calling at my feet
an empty night, a blank mind
sketched in, a hazy dream,
in soft, wild, raw pink
unknown, unseen, stranger, walking tall on the beach
soft a sigh,
escape a whimper
a tear from wonder, a smile from the shy
an a little smile, half sly
laughter floats
shudders tremble
quicksilver ...
crystal-ball moods
sunlight, filtered
palm shadows poking fingers into the afternoon
water, green blue, velvet warm
a whisper, a rustle from the beach
backwaters, sun warmed
a walk, a memory, a sea shell ... ornate memoirs
a ghost, to hold hands with
walker, who walks. the ghost, who walked. the ghost, who's walked
cold air on wet skin, by cold rain
wet sand, gravelly, velvetty, squashed into
my fingers and toes
warm foam, white
bright
ice cold water, underneath
pulling, calling at my feet
an empty night, a blank mind
sketched in, a hazy dream,
in soft, wild, raw pink
unknown, unseen, stranger, walking tall on the beach
soft a sigh,
escape a whimper
a tear from wonder, a smile from the shy
an a little smile, half sly
laughter floats
shudders tremble
quicksilver ...
crystal-ball moods
sunlight, filtered
palm shadows poking fingers into the afternoon
water, green blue, velvet warm
a whisper, a rustle from the beach
backwaters, sun warmed
a walk, a memory, a sea shell ... ornate memoirs
a ghost, to hold hands with
walker, who walks. the ghost, who walked. the ghost, who's walked
The Thornbirds
The last time i died was last August;
Now, its been a while.
Since then, life's been strangely easy.
In uncharecteristic ways big and small.
Slowly, the bitterness made way for wonder
Hesitant. Trembling. Small ... New footsetps. New songs.
But I knew, the moment I saw
the letters of your name form,
that I'll have to die again
A premonition of the fall.
You're the chosen one.
You will be the flame; the glass wall;
that these eyes, beautiful and all,
will be the well,
from which will flow,
the bitter sweet
poison-love,
which will maim me and
make me small.
I'll float my whole spectrum again
Mother. Woman. Child.
I'll give you my all.
Then you'll sit me down and clip my wings,
and I'll never fly at all.
You'll be my thorn;
I'll sing again.
And then I'll die. Once again.
This time, once and for all.
Now, its been a while.
Since then, life's been strangely easy.
In uncharecteristic ways big and small.
Slowly, the bitterness made way for wonder
Hesitant. Trembling. Small ... New footsetps. New songs.
But I knew, the moment I saw
the letters of your name form,
that I'll have to die again
A premonition of the fall.
You're the chosen one.
You will be the flame; the glass wall;
that these eyes, beautiful and all,
will be the well,
from which will flow,
the bitter sweet
poison-love,
which will maim me and
make me small.
I'll float my whole spectrum again
Mother. Woman. Child.
I'll give you my all.
Then you'll sit me down and clip my wings,
and I'll never fly at all.
You'll be my thorn;
I'll sing again.
And then I'll die. Once again.
This time, once and for all.
All
take me as i am,
the bags from my hands;
all is all i want
urs; and mine
hold me once or twice,
keep me warm at night;
all is all i want
urs; and mine
the feeling of ur voice,
floating in at night;
all is all i want
urs; and mine
the texture of skin,
as we soak each other in;
all is all i want,
urs; and mine.
the dreams that we start,
together and apart;
all is all i want,
urs; and mine.
worship and affection,
laughter, dreams, ambition;
all is all i want,
urs; and mine
all is all i want,
moonlight, sunshine;
all is all i want,
urs; and mine
the bags from my hands;
all is all i want
urs; and mine
hold me once or twice,
keep me warm at night;
all is all i want
urs; and mine
the feeling of ur voice,
floating in at night;
all is all i want
urs; and mine
the texture of skin,
as we soak each other in;
all is all i want,
urs; and mine.
the dreams that we start,
together and apart;
all is all i want,
urs; and mine.
worship and affection,
laughter, dreams, ambition;
all is all i want,
urs; and mine
all is all i want,
moonlight, sunshine;
all is all i want,
urs; and mine
Spiralling down, To the hole in the ground
strangely and suddenly, hit by a great big pang of missing you
and yet, thinking of you makes me smile
cold as you were, old as you were, crumbling, dated and
casually resplendant, you were.
just like her ...
a beauty that goes beyond appearances, or adornments
or logic, even
a beauty made of the quality of a smile
the look in a eye. a mood. a thought
a feelting distant glance. a blush
one eyebrow: going up slowly, and then shooting up fast
an attitude. i miss u
DSC01033
Originally uploaded by prerona.
... and a freedom
an invisibilty
that came with being with you
because younever cared anyway
i could live or die,
or weep at night
at will
or whim
or fancy
and the trembling adoration
the worship
the devotion
the awestruck silent admiration
quiet, respectful, in the
dark mornings
in the early night
in the shining golden noontime
and now i have her instead
we love and are loved back in return
like you she is beautiful
and yet, i miss u
thats why, i had been so scared
thats why i had wanted to keep my heart,
and home, and roots
whole, and give it in one piece
now, fragmented, and scattered
along the road, on the way (and what a way)
all it does is weeps
there's always someone to miss
a home for which i'm sick
i see her in the morning
her streets are smudged, like freshly drawn ink
there's an haze of smoke, every morning
denser in the distance, and then slowly fading in
her people, rich and poor, smile
happy, full; they know that there is more
i was happy in her, with her
now once again i'm torn
today, i missed you in the morning
ur streets that glittered with frost
the silence,
that echoed as i ran down them
the cold that cleansed, and made penance
the bright of the flowers
the flow of the waters
the dark of the greens
and the smiles. naiive. unknown.
painfully innocent.
sweetly arrogant.
they dont know. there is more.
still, i miss you.
Edinburgh Snaps
Kolkata Snaps
Originally Posted at Prerona.
and yet, thinking of you makes me smile
cold as you were, old as you were, crumbling, dated and
casually resplendant, you were.
just like her ...
a beauty that goes beyond appearances, or adornments
or logic, even
a beauty made of the quality of a smile
the look in a eye. a mood. a thought
a feelting distant glance. a blush
one eyebrow: going up slowly, and then shooting up fast
an attitude. i miss u
DSC01033
Originally uploaded by prerona.
... and a freedom
an invisibilty
that came with being with you
because younever cared anyway
i could live or die,
or weep at night
at will
or whim
or fancy
and the trembling adoration
the worship
the devotion
the awestruck silent admiration
quiet, respectful, in the
dark mornings
in the early night
in the shining golden noontime
and now i have her instead
we love and are loved back in return
like you she is beautiful
and yet, i miss u
thats why, i had been so scared
thats why i had wanted to keep my heart,
and home, and roots
whole, and give it in one piece
now, fragmented, and scattered
along the road, on the way (and what a way)
all it does is weeps
there's always someone to miss
a home for which i'm sick
i see her in the morning
her streets are smudged, like freshly drawn ink
there's an haze of smoke, every morning
denser in the distance, and then slowly fading in
her people, rich and poor, smile
happy, full; they know that there is more
i was happy in her, with her
now once again i'm torn
today, i missed you in the morning
ur streets that glittered with frost
the silence,
that echoed as i ran down them
the cold that cleansed, and made penance
the bright of the flowers
the flow of the waters
the dark of the greens
and the smiles. naiive. unknown.
painfully innocent.
sweetly arrogant.
they dont know. there is more.
still, i miss you.
Edinburgh Snaps
Kolkata Snaps
Originally Posted at Prerona.
All
take me as i am,
the bags from my hands;
all is all i want
urs; and mine
hold me once or twice,
keep me warm at night;
all is all i want
urs; and mine
the feeling of ur voice,
floating in at night;
all is all i want
urs; and mine
the texture of skin,
as we soak each other in;
all is all i want,
urs; and mine.
the dreams that we start,
together and apart;
all is all i want,
urs; and mine.
worship and affection,
laughter, dreams, ambition;
all is all i want,
urs; and mine
all is all i want,
moonlight, sunshine;
all is all i want,
urs; and mine
Originally Posted at Prerona.
the bags from my hands;
all is all i want
urs; and mine
hold me once or twice,
keep me warm at night;
all is all i want
urs; and mine
the feeling of ur voice,
floating in at night;
all is all i want
urs; and mine
the texture of skin,
as we soak each other in;
all is all i want,
urs; and mine.
the dreams that we start,
together and apart;
all is all i want,
urs; and mine.
worship and affection,
laughter, dreams, ambition;
all is all i want,
urs; and mine
all is all i want,
moonlight, sunshine;
all is all i want,
urs; and mine
Originally Posted at Prerona.
The Thornbird
The last time i died was last Sepetember;
Now, its been a while.
Since then, life's been strangely easy.
In uncharecteristic ways big and small.
Slowly, the bitterness made way for wonder
Hesitant. Trembling. Small ... New footsetps. New songs.
But I knew, the moment I saw
the letters of your name form,
that I'll have to die again
A premonition of the fall.
You're the chosen one.
You will be the flame; the glass wall;
that these eyes, beautiful and all,
will be the well,
from which will flow,
the bitter sweet
poison-love,
which will maim me and
make me small.
I'll float my whole spectrum again
Mother. Woman. Child.
I'll give you my all.
Then you'll sit me down and clip my wings,
and I'll never fly at all.
You'll be my thorn;
I'll sing again.
And then I'll die. Once again.
This time, once and for all.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Now, its been a while.
Since then, life's been strangely easy.
In uncharecteristic ways big and small.
Slowly, the bitterness made way for wonder
Hesitant. Trembling. Small ... New footsetps. New songs.
But I knew, the moment I saw
the letters of your name form,
that I'll have to die again
A premonition of the fall.
You're the chosen one.
You will be the flame; the glass wall;
that these eyes, beautiful and all,
will be the well,
from which will flow,
the bitter sweet
poison-love,
which will maim me and
make me small.
I'll float my whole spectrum again
Mother. Woman. Child.
I'll give you my all.
Then you'll sit me down and clip my wings,
and I'll never fly at all.
You'll be my thorn;
I'll sing again.
And then I'll die. Once again.
This time, once and for all.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
weekend guests
busy weekend
guests who came to stay
in empty spaces in between
lay on my stomach, on my bed
and stared out at the rain
it rained in fits and starts all weekend
little bits now and then
come sunday night it started in earnest
lashings of rain, torrents of rain, rivers of rain
frozen breath breeze
thunder, rain and lightning
nothing's really frightening
i'm cool
as well
having decided to join the team
i am now having my charecteristic cold feet and all that jazz
ofcourse, typically, the boss hasnt a clue
i am all smiles and proactivity to him
inside, i am freaking out
outside my window, there's a sort of courtyard
the space made when a four or five old south calcutta buildings,
stand back to back with a little awkward space left out in between
the bed was next to the window and the window looks into the 'courtyard'
outside, there's a strange glow in the sky
Its white and grey, but looks like shades of silver
the wind blows cool and strong, with a hint of mist on it
hidden and imperceptible, is the knowledge of the jasmine plant on the terrace
there are some eagles and a few other birds circling the air
every now and then, they stagger, from the force of the wind
and then they quickly get back it back together again
and go on sweeping large circles in the sky
in the distance, is a old house house, the exposed brickwork
green-black with moss
Originally Posted at Prerona.
guests who came to stay
in empty spaces in between
lay on my stomach, on my bed
and stared out at the rain
it rained in fits and starts all weekend
little bits now and then
come sunday night it started in earnest
lashings of rain, torrents of rain, rivers of rain
frozen breath breeze
thunder, rain and lightning
nothing's really frightening
i'm cool
as well
having decided to join the team
i am now having my charecteristic cold feet and all that jazz
ofcourse, typically, the boss hasnt a clue
i am all smiles and proactivity to him
inside, i am freaking out
outside my window, there's a sort of courtyard
the space made when a four or five old south calcutta buildings,
stand back to back with a little awkward space left out in between
the bed was next to the window and the window looks into the 'courtyard'
outside, there's a strange glow in the sky
Its white and grey, but looks like shades of silver
the wind blows cool and strong, with a hint of mist on it
hidden and imperceptible, is the knowledge of the jasmine plant on the terrace
there are some eagles and a few other birds circling the air
every now and then, they stagger, from the force of the wind
and then they quickly get back it back together again
and go on sweeping large circles in the sky
in the distance, is a old house house, the exposed brickwork
green-black with moss
Originally Posted at Prerona.
6 weird facts
tagged by inkblot, aparna, and sangeeta. its a bit hard to do, bcz i dont really know myself - right from the 'when i am hungry-thirty-sleepy' level to the 'what i want out of life' level. i doing this in a hurry so excuse the mess. running low on net-time again. ill tidy it up a bit when I am catching up :)
1. I can strike up immense conversations with random strangers: at the water machine, in a train, in a bus ... but sometimes find it hard to talk to people i know. also, i actually like my company, i can keep myself entertained for hours. i am usually, basically, usually, happy solitary
2. I go to extremes with everything from eating-starving, to friendly-cold ... no regulators in my system
3. i actually love going to the gym, or running, or rowing, or football. though golf is my favourite
4. i hate being made fun off and cry if shouted at - even when I know its only fun and games. i love being very grown-up and mature and even motherly with people - specially online - bcz in real life every treats me like a kid and noone listens to me ... even my sister who's 10 yrs younger
5. i have always had a crush and always have a couple of crushes at any given point of time. its usually very trivial and i'd usually freak out if anything came out of it.
6. i cant bear most jewellery (sp'ly other peoples), milk-skin, music I dont like (usually rap), most funny movies/books/tv-shows/people
6 people I'd tag: Ram, Austere, Peg, Lemon-Grass, Olivia, Aboltabol, GoSmoking, VelvetGunther ... if any or all of you guys dont wanna play, just ignore
Originally Posted at Prerona.
1. I can strike up immense conversations with random strangers: at the water machine, in a train, in a bus ... but sometimes find it hard to talk to people i know. also, i actually like my company, i can keep myself entertained for hours. i am usually, basically, usually, happy solitary
2. I go to extremes with everything from eating-starving, to friendly-cold ... no regulators in my system
3. i actually love going to the gym, or running, or rowing, or football. though golf is my favourite
4. i hate being made fun off and cry if shouted at - even when I know its only fun and games. i love being very grown-up and mature and even motherly with people - specially online - bcz in real life every treats me like a kid and noone listens to me ... even my sister who's 10 yrs younger
5. i have always had a crush and always have a couple of crushes at any given point of time. its usually very trivial and i'd usually freak out if anything came out of it.
6. i cant bear most jewellery (sp'ly other peoples), milk-skin, music I dont like (usually rap), most funny movies/books/tv-shows/people
6 people I'd tag: Ram, Austere, Peg, Lemon-Grass, Olivia, Aboltabol, GoSmoking, VelvetGunther ... if any or all of you guys dont wanna play, just ignore
Originally Posted at Prerona.
the first rain of the new season
outside the wind is still wet from the rain
the rain has stopped, the leaves on the trees
though i cant see them from here
are still damp with the wet
the wind chimes sing gently to the night
and you and i, settle in to sleep
its turning 3
i have to be up at 5
i should be in bed, but
sleep is far away
i can still feel your presense
on the window ledge, where you sat
a while ago
in my mind, i can see u frowning
i'm listening to this song after an age
nazereth: love hurts
i love the rawness of his voice when he sings it
love is just a lie, meant make me blue. love hurts ...
what kind of irony, is this?
ur hurt, turns in my heart like a twisting knife
and mine, moves to aside to make it room
its ok. just one more feather, on the camels back
i've been here a million times before
it feels like i am back on familiar ground
doubts, fears, pain, acidity. betrayal,
congenital. i can handle that
it was the joy,
sudden, unfamiliar,
new and unexpected,
that had had me thrown
on the terrace, the jasmine wilts
wasting its sweetnes in the void
the red brick that glowed in the dusk
is barren with the setting sun
the theatre is empty too
the seats are vacant
the tears from the sky,
lay everything damp
in some house nearby, there's water running
someone has turned on a bathroom light
a child cries, somewhere, in his sleep
an early bird, sings
its too early
to sing to the dawn
the bird stops and waits
will dawn come?
Originally Posted at Prerona.
the rain has stopped, the leaves on the trees
though i cant see them from here
are still damp with the wet
the wind chimes sing gently to the night
and you and i, settle in to sleep
its turning 3
i have to be up at 5
i should be in bed, but
sleep is far away
i can still feel your presense
on the window ledge, where you sat
a while ago
in my mind, i can see u frowning
i'm listening to this song after an age
nazereth: love hurts
i love the rawness of his voice when he sings it
love is just a lie, meant make me blue. love hurts ...
what kind of irony, is this?
ur hurt, turns in my heart like a twisting knife
and mine, moves to aside to make it room
its ok. just one more feather, on the camels back
i've been here a million times before
it feels like i am back on familiar ground
doubts, fears, pain, acidity. betrayal,
congenital. i can handle that
it was the joy,
sudden, unfamiliar,
new and unexpected,
that had had me thrown
on the terrace, the jasmine wilts
wasting its sweetnes in the void
the red brick that glowed in the dusk
is barren with the setting sun
the theatre is empty too
the seats are vacant
the tears from the sky,
lay everything damp
in some house nearby, there's water running
someone has turned on a bathroom light
a child cries, somewhere, in his sleep
an early bird, sings
its too early
to sing to the dawn
the bird stops and waits
will dawn come?
Originally Posted at Prerona.
speachless
been trying to come up with a post for a while, but stuck on words. will be up again in a aday or 2, i hope. in the meanwhile, i was looking through my old blog and this struck a chord: too little too late. Maybe will come back and expand on this later or have 2 other things in queue that i'd like to write abt if i could finds the words
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
My Friend
its dark, and you cant clearly see
i know you want to reach out to me
my love i'm sorry, but cant let u see
this other, darker, side of me
its secret, its delicate,
there's only a fleeting glance u get
as the walls slam down
i love you, but not that much
not enough to share my me
maybe one day you'll see
its the only way i could be
i know you want to reach out to me
my love i'm sorry, but cant let u see
this other, darker, side of me
its secret, its delicate,
there's only a fleeting glance u get
as the walls slam down
i love you, but not that much
not enough to share my me
maybe one day you'll see
its the only way i could be
Jasmine on the Night
The coffee was rich: very dark and just barely sweet. Almost cold and just barely warm; just the way he liked. From somewhere, the heady smell of jasmine floated to him. He leaned his head against the window frame of his old pickup, and let his mind zoom free.
It was dark. Here and there, little lights twinkled and glowed; like fairy lights. Small sounds floated on the night air: a child's cry as he finally settled in, a woman's voice raised in mock irritation, a man somewhere quietly laughed. Something about the blanket of darkness and quiet, thrown on by the night, made even the most mundane, more magical.
It was almost always night, when he arrived at a new town. That was how the tours were planned. Everytime he arrived at a new town, under the magic-cloak of the darkness, glitterring with the little lights, sounds blurred and softened by the evenings lull, she seemed breathtakingly beautiful. everytime, he fell in love. and everytime felt like the first time.
When he came into town, in the night, it was easy for him to make believe, that he was alone. He walked around her perimeter, getting to know her; Keeping his distance, but slowly getting drawn closer. In the pristine night, she looked so clean: like noone else but him lived in within her, owned her, belonged to her.
Then as the night slipped away, and morning came: first quietly, gently, then roaring in, like a wave on the beach. Slowly, the little sounds, of the little people, were picked up by the air, and he could not ignore their existence any longer. It came and hit him like a kick in the groin, hard, quick and cruel: the consciousness of all these other people sharing his living space for the night, his new found place of magic and calm.
He was a claustrophobic loner; part hermit, part beast. He didnt like people, and they didnt like that much either. That was the main reason he worked this job. The long solitary nights on the road, the constant moving, from place to place, shifting again each time, the minute dust begins to settle in his wake, everything about the job that drove all but the most desperate people away, were the reasons he loved his job. It kept him 'sane'.
He was probably half mad. Maybe. We'll never really know. He had a need to possess or stay away. And It was hard, because himself, he was like the wind.
He couldnt be owned. Every relationship, was a barter. All he had to give was this fierce longing, his hunger, his quicksilver madness; His music, that had grown on him like a second skin, on his long lonely nights on the road; His books, that kept him sane on the stops; His words, and dreams, and hours; and reflections and echoes of years of living; lots of living; and a crazy Swirl that was a souffle of laughter and bitterness and tears. He was like the wind, as big & universal, as gentle & as harsh, as cruel & as unholdable.
He had such fierce possesiveness, and such a helpless un-possessibility. He had to have completely, or he couldnt have at all. He had to win, or he wouldnt play. But he was quite happy not playing, not winning, ot having, not owning.
It was dark. Here and there, little lights twinkled and glowed; like fairy lights. Small sounds floated on the night air: a child's cry as he finally settled in, a woman's voice raised in mock irritation, a man somewhere quietly laughed. Something about the blanket of darkness and quiet, thrown on by the night, made even the most mundane, more magical.
It was almost always night, when he arrived at a new town. That was how the tours were planned. Everytime he arrived at a new town, under the magic-cloak of the darkness, glitterring with the little lights, sounds blurred and softened by the evenings lull, she seemed breathtakingly beautiful. everytime, he fell in love. and everytime felt like the first time.
When he came into town, in the night, it was easy for him to make believe, that he was alone. He walked around her perimeter, getting to know her; Keeping his distance, but slowly getting drawn closer. In the pristine night, she looked so clean: like noone else but him lived in within her, owned her, belonged to her.
Then as the night slipped away, and morning came: first quietly, gently, then roaring in, like a wave on the beach. Slowly, the little sounds, of the little people, were picked up by the air, and he could not ignore their existence any longer. It came and hit him like a kick in the groin, hard, quick and cruel: the consciousness of all these other people sharing his living space for the night, his new found place of magic and calm.
He was a claustrophobic loner; part hermit, part beast. He didnt like people, and they didnt like that much either. That was the main reason he worked this job. The long solitary nights on the road, the constant moving, from place to place, shifting again each time, the minute dust begins to settle in his wake, everything about the job that drove all but the most desperate people away, were the reasons he loved his job. It kept him 'sane'.
He was probably half mad. Maybe. We'll never really know. He had a need to possess or stay away. And It was hard, because himself, he was like the wind.
He couldnt be owned. Every relationship, was a barter. All he had to give was this fierce longing, his hunger, his quicksilver madness; His music, that had grown on him like a second skin, on his long lonely nights on the road; His books, that kept him sane on the stops; His words, and dreams, and hours; and reflections and echoes of years of living; lots of living; and a crazy Swirl that was a souffle of laughter and bitterness and tears. He was like the wind, as big & universal, as gentle & as harsh, as cruel & as unholdable.
He had such fierce possesiveness, and such a helpless un-possessibility. He had to have completely, or he couldnt have at all. He had to win, or he wouldnt play. But he was quite happy not playing, not winning, ot having, not owning.
Rain
Lull
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good."
everyday at lunch time, in the morning and sometimes in the evenings,
i listen to John Hannah reading Auden. its like a prayer. or like a blade.
works the same.
i loved that movie. and i loved that relationsip.
it was near perfect.
its dark, and you cant clearly see
i know you want to reach out to me
my love i'm sorry, but cant let u see
this other, darker, side of me
its secret, its delicate,
there's only a fleeting glance u get
as the walls slam down
i love you, but not that much
not enough to share my me
maybe one day you'll see
its the only way i could be
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good."
everyday at lunch time, in the morning and sometimes in the evenings,
i listen to John Hannah reading Auden. its like a prayer. or like a blade.
works the same.
i loved that movie. and i loved that relationsip.
it was near perfect.
its dark, and you cant clearly see
i know you want to reach out to me
my love i'm sorry, but cant let u see
this other, darker, side of me
its secret, its delicate,
there's only a fleeting glance u get
as the walls slam down
i love you, but not that much
not enough to share my me
maybe one day you'll see
its the only way i could be
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Chameleon: Master of Trickery, Masks & Disguise
dark night. moonlight
cold air on wet skin, by cold rain
wet sand, gravelly, velvetty, squashed into
my fingers and toes
warm foam, white
bright
ice cold water, underneath
pulling, calling at my feet
an empty night, a blank mind
sketched in, a hazy dream,
in soft, wild, raw pink
unknown, unseen, stranger, walking tall on the beach
soft a sigh,
escape a whimper
a tear from wonder, a smile from the shy
an a little smile, half sly
laughter floats
shudders tremble
quicksilver ...
crystal-ball moods
sunlight, filtered
palm shadows poking fingers into the afternoon
water, green blue, velvet warm
a whisper, a rustle from the beach
backwaters, sun warmed
a walk, a memory, a sea shell ... ornate memoirs
a ghost, to hold hands with
walker, who walks. the ghost, who walked. the ghost, who's walked
Originally Posted at Prerona.
cold air on wet skin, by cold rain
wet sand, gravelly, velvetty, squashed into
my fingers and toes
warm foam, white
bright
ice cold water, underneath
pulling, calling at my feet
an empty night, a blank mind
sketched in, a hazy dream,
in soft, wild, raw pink
unknown, unseen, stranger, walking tall on the beach
soft a sigh,
escape a whimper
a tear from wonder, a smile from the shy
an a little smile, half sly
laughter floats
shudders tremble
quicksilver ...
crystal-ball moods
sunlight, filtered
palm shadows poking fingers into the afternoon
water, green blue, velvet warm
a whisper, a rustle from the beach
backwaters, sun warmed
a walk, a memory, a sea shell ... ornate memoirs
a ghost, to hold hands with
walker, who walks. the ghost, who walked. the ghost, who's walked
Originally Posted at Prerona.
The weekend that was: Written in a hurry :)
Finally saw Doshor. As my bengali is not that great, I hadnt realised what the word meant and was totally unprepared for the blast. Its a lot about extra marital relationships. Te potrayal is brilliant. And thats an understatement. The acting ... well, Konkona is so AWESOME that I didnt know whether to watch her acting and just take in how she shows what or look at the movie. As a plot I felt there were some extra bits. Lots of stuff could have been trimmed out. I liked the texture of the whole thing rolling out in black and white - more stark, depth and all that. But at some points the print seemed a little to grainy. Not sure if its on purpose. Its the kind of movie which I need to get home and watch properly (which in my world means rewind each scene 23 times). Its not one of the best movies ever made, but its pretty good. You should go watch it, if you can
Went for a blog meet on Sunday, and met some very interesting people and found a really nice coffee place, but details later
Also, you could go and read this, this and this post. I really liked.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Went for a blog meet on Sunday, and met some very interesting people and found a really nice coffee place, but details later
Also, you could go and read this, this and this post. I really liked.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
Memories
there, where the sea gulls shreik in delight, where the waves murmer low voiced, where the wrens wander silent about, where clouds merrily cruise blue skies, where noone can reach you, where love cant question you: do you dare? where love cant betray you: i think its for the best. where friends dont use you and walk away to long term provisions, where love doesnt die: my time is done little girl. The end, is the common denominator. The death will come; ur world, ur love, ur dreams, will be washed away by the waves of time, like sandcastles built by a child. so whats the point?
sunset jam
Originally uploaded by prerona.
Why does the sun rises everyday, only to set again at the end? Come ... lets close the windows and the doors. We wont let anything in the sun, the moon, light, air, ideas, feelings, people, attachments. We will be safe. We will be hard and strong. Never love. Never hurt. Never play. Never lose. Never live. Never die
Its been so long since I first met you. I spoke your name and it became ur name. I called out to you and it was like the first words spoke. I grew, from a seed you tried to crush, to a vision painted by ur love. I grew out of you, ur imagination. I was urs: echo, ghost, shadow. ghost of a ghost. i wander about, half alive, half dead. i want to come with you, but still stay with them. i want to be with them, the living; and still stay true to you, my dead
The feelings: of being held in your arms; of falling asleep, holding on to your shirt; of burrowing into your shoulder, of your hands, holding mine; of yoru eyes, your tears, your laughter, you anger, your love, your practical jokes ... the feelings are slowly fading. Left behind, is an echo, a memories of memories, like a faintly darker shade of tan, on wet sand.
I am left with few fleeting seconds of your voice, your smile, your laughter and the dreamy look on your face as you talk about me (the last time that I heard you). And the last few words that you sent, across oceans, lands and continents. And a few odds and ends. And the old spidery letters. And birthday cards. I hold on to them.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
sunset jam
Originally uploaded by prerona.
text
Why does the sun rises everyday, only to set again at the end? Come ... lets close the windows and the doors. We wont let anything in the sun, the moon, light, air, ideas, feelings, people, attachments. We will be safe. We will be hard and strong. Never love. Never hurt. Never play. Never lose. Never live. Never die
Its been so long since I first met you. I spoke your name and it became ur name. I called out to you and it was like the first words spoke. I grew, from a seed you tried to crush, to a vision painted by ur love. I grew out of you, ur imagination. I was urs: echo, ghost, shadow. ghost of a ghost. i wander about, half alive, half dead. i want to come with you, but still stay with them. i want to be with them, the living; and still stay true to you, my dead
The feelings: of being held in your arms; of falling asleep, holding on to your shirt; of burrowing into your shoulder, of your hands, holding mine; of yoru eyes, your tears, your laughter, you anger, your love, your practical jokes ... the feelings are slowly fading. Left behind, is an echo, a memories of memories, like a faintly darker shade of tan, on wet sand.
I am left with few fleeting seconds of your voice, your smile, your laughter and the dreamy look on your face as you talk about me (the last time that I heard you). And the last few words that you sent, across oceans, lands and continents. And a few odds and ends. And the old spidery letters. And birthday cards. I hold on to them.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
The Game
The objective was to come up with a list of 10 E-words and 10 words about each. I've got my list, but dont know how I will do with the descriptions. anyway, they'd have to wait a bit as I try to get my breath backafter a really hectic phase of life ' atwork :)
So, here goes:
1. Ego
2. Eternity
3. Ethereal
4. Ether
5. Empty
6. Ecstacy (Eccy?)
7. Escape
8. Echo
9. Elegance
10. End
Will come back and fill in the descriptions. Its another Friday. Dress down at work is a night mare. Being a person with a regulator, as my mom elegantly puts it, I can only live in the extremes. So I am not good with this Half Formal-Half Casual thing. I like being totally 'phatichar' or 'pakka-proper', clothes-wise. Anyway, its over. One more down. Sify at home - nightmare. Down more than its up. And the B@$^@#!$ took 1.5 grand as installation as well saying we give better connectivity. Can access icici-direct from work. D@*%. Anyway, 2 and a half blissful days of lazing at home and sleeping. Am reading Grapes of Wrath and Tropic of Capricorn and The Eternal Braid. Will go book hunting. Looking for Steppenwoolf. Want to do a revision.
Originally Posted at Prerona.
So, here goes:
1. Ego
2. Eternity
3. Ethereal
4. Ether
5. Empty
6. Ecstacy (Eccy?)
7. Escape
8. Echo
9. Elegance
10. End
Will come back and fill in the descriptions. Its another Friday. Dress down at work is a night mare. Being a person with a regulator, as my mom elegantly puts it, I can only live in the extremes. So I am not good with this Half Formal-Half Casual thing. I like being totally 'phatichar' or 'pakka-proper', clothes-wise. Anyway, its over. One more down. Sify at home - nightmare. Down more than its up. And the B@$^@#!$ took 1.5 grand as installation as well saying we give better connectivity. Can access icici-direct from work. D@*%. Anyway, 2 and a half blissful days of lazing at home and sleeping. Am reading Grapes of Wrath and Tropic of Capricorn and The Eternal Braid. Will go book hunting. Looking for Steppenwoolf. Want to do a revision.
Originally Posted at Prerona.