X Steps Forward

2011-05-21T17:04:00.000+05:30

I'm depressed. I want to sit in a corner and weep. Unhappy tears about I don't know what. Just get it all out. I don't know what. I feel useless, unproductive, pointless, lazy, old, wrinkly and FAT. Waaah :( I'm even forgotten how to use exclamation marks. I mean that's how bad things are. I don't know what things. Just things. Sigh. So I thought I needed some alone time, but alone time is making me miserable. I could have got up at 8 and got to this amusement park with everyone else but I cancelled out because I wanted to be on my own waking up at 11 and just doing my own thing. But what I really want to do is just be out somewhere laughing my head off for no particular reason.

bllllllllllllllllllllaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah. I hate my life. I don't really but I feel like being miserable. I hate my life, I hate everything around me, I hate everyone. No one loves me, I'm going to eat some worms.

I don't want to make grocery lists, and worry about how much dishwashing liquid I have left and how much balance I have left on my Oyster card and whether I should get a bus pass or a train pass or a tube pass or an all-in-one pass. Or how I'm going to get in time for free breakfast everyday from Monday or how I'm going to get in time at all.

I want to pick up the bloody phone and make a few calls but I don't want to. Sometimes it takes too much of a bloody effort to make conversation. I want to just call someone up and just be silent. Supremely silent.

Leave me alone world. Come give me a hug.

2009-09-07T20:03:00.002+05:30

it's finally happpennnnninnnnng!! I'm getting maaaaaarrrriiiieeeeddd!! all happened on new years eve- in proper proposal fashion, and life hasn't been the same ever since! i was super excited to begin with - couldn't stop flashing my ring, and then i realised my precioussss didn't match with anything i wore, and so put it away into a little velvety pouch i now carry with me everywhere - it's not on me, true, but it's with me, so don't go raising eyebrows and judging me! so once the exhilaration had died down, the madness began. And how. i decided to quit work in 6 mnths to throw myself into wedding prep with all my heart and soul. outfits and hairstyles and saree blouses and make-up looks and venues and decoration and music lists and invitations and honeymoon and finances and guest lists and shopping for woolens and shopping for everyday wear and shopping for ethnic wear and planning and designing the new home, and stocking up on cutlery and crockery and blinds and durrees and chasing tailors and chasing photographers and researching career options and scouting for jobs online and surfing a million websites for a million things ranging from bistro sets to necklines. And amidst it all, the fights and the tears and the anger and the frustration and the anxiety. But also the excitement and the anticipation and the daydreaming and endless discussions.

Every night when i go to bed i realise how much i'm going to miss waking up to my mum's irritated voice asking me to please please get out of bed, and how much i'm going to miss the familiarity of my desk and the tv room and the dining room and the drawing room and my parent's room and the kitchen and the cupboards and the windows at home. It hits me with a bang that the faces i take for granted are not going to appear when i open my eyes, and that home is not going to be a 15 minute drive away. Yet every morning when i've washed my face and pushed my glasses onto my nose, i hear a eager voice inside me telling me that i'm soon going to have my own pad to do up the way i want to, and the freedom to make my own rules, and the opportunity to begin life afresh. And i hope and wonder and know and wish that the man i'm giving up my comfort zone for , will support me and be with me and love me and respect me for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health.

Time will tell. And I look forward to it!

2009-01-24T21:41:00.002+05:30

you know how it is when u think that boy likes you? that lil happy feeling of being appreciated and admired- with no compulsion to reciprocate- just the privilege of being content that there's somebody out there who thinks you're pretty or cute or attractive. that unspoken understanding that makes you feel good about yourself. that lifts you up above the crowd and makes the pimples that annoy you a little less significant. it's a gentle ego-massager - the knowledge that someone thinks you're beautiful and that someone out there would love to take you out to dinner.

and you know how it is when your happy little bubble is burst, and you learn that all this while when you thought he had a secret crush on you, there was actually nothing at all? It doesn't break your heart - no- it makes you feel quite cheated really! and a little insulted and a tad inadequate. and fairly miffed. and then defensive! How could you NOT have had a crush on me - i mean you had a crush on R and on S and on A and on N and all these OTHER stupid silly annoying brainless women- so what does that make me- NOT GOOD ENOUGH?! NOT CRUSH MATERIAL?! Ouch. Hmph. Not that i wanted you to have a crush on me then- that would have been weiiiird- coz you were one of my best friends and i never thought of you that way- so it would have messed things up ofcourse- but i wouldn;t have minded it either you know - i;d have been secretly pleased- for purely selfish self-indulgent reasons ofcourse - but pleased nonetheless. I'd always thought we'd talk about it 10 years down the line and you'd admit to it, and we'd laugh about it and have a good moment- and i'd feel pretty again and remember my younger days affectionately.

But NO! Tht isn't the way it is apparently. You never liked me. How rude!

2008-12-29T00:32:00.006+05:30

i gave up on nostalgia a few years ago - i don't remember why that was though- i think it had something to do with a boy things didn't work out with - i think what followed was a complete upheaval of my philosophy of life, and the adoption of a brand new way to face the world. living for the moment, no looking back on what had passed, dancing like no one's watching, focussing on the present and the present alone, carpe diem, and all that jazz. no time for nostalgia. no time for sentiment. no time to think or analyse. no time for introspection or retrospection. keep moving, that's all. keep moving and smiling. i locked away old photographs, i put away old letters and cards, i deleted old texts, i pushed memories to the deepest depths of my mind. i read The Prophet, i watched The Prophet, and i began life anew.

but life' s a funny thing...it throws back at you people you'd never thought you'd meet again. friends you'd lost who become friends again. Home you'd left that becomes comfortable again. Satisfaction you compromised on, that becomes yours again. Strangers and good conversation that make a dull month interesting again. But life's a funny thing...it doesn't give without taking a little something away...

I don't think i've ever spent the countdown to the new year reflecting- i've always been too busy planning out how i'm going to celebrate. But this year's going to be different. I think i'm beginning to feel a wee bit nostalgic. And I'm not going to fight it.

2008 has been the fastest year of my life.

But it's been the slowest in many ways. There have been too many questions, too many doubts; has been too much uncertainty. i seem to have forgotten what i want from life. i've felt like i'm star of an ekta kapoor K serial for too many months now. i don't know whether i've brought it upon myself or whether it was inevitable or whether i've made a mountain out of a molehill. i don't know whether it's because i've analysed everything to its very soul and ripped it apart in the process. i don't know whether its because i've got so accustomed to restraining myself that i can't let go anymore. i've got so used to digging out the negatives, that i can't recognize the positives. am i so fixed in my views and desires - so fixed on my idea of the ideal - that i can't appreciate anything besides? is it really always my way or the highway? have i actually forgotten how to think like a youngster because i don't want to be a child? Why am i not entirely happy? why do i feel like something's missing? why is there the feeling that there's something just not clicking into place? why doesn't it feel perfect? am i the one standing in the way of my own happiness?

but i'm not like this with anyone else. i'm what you want me to be with you; what i want to be with you. but i can't seem to be- i hate the person i become when i am with you. But there are the good times too. Eating at every restaurant around, sipping coffee at every cafe around, downing cocktails at every club around, walking down every street around, lounging around on every patch of green in sight, shopping at every mall in the city, sitting in every movie hall in the city, travelling in a million cabs, getting fleeced in every ride. The rain, the scorching heat, the ruthless humidity, the dust and the dirt and the fumes and the pollution; the smell of jalebis and singharas and chowmein and biryani. The tears and the anguish, the mindless laughter and the stupidity. Ah yes, there have been the good times.

Work's been a bitch at times, bliss at others. Have met people from all over the world, spoken to a thousand, if not more, odd people, and made friends of a few of them. Been there for the confused, encouraged the confident, yelled at the disinterested, scoffed at the arrogant, made PC, made more than PC, said too much, said the wrong things at the wrong time, haven't said enough, fought for myself, taken shit, kicked ass, made an impression, disappointed some, slogged for others, felt appreciated, felt like furniture, checked out, been checked out, flirted, admonished, groaned, abused, hated with all my heart and made a good time of it. Yeah, work's been a bitch at times, bliss at others.

So, the year ends...and I end it with a toast:

to closures and new beginnings

to old friendships and those new

to lessons learned to home; to family

to good conversation and good coffee

to the laughter and the tears

to the hope and the disappointment

to anticipation

to accomplishments

to bosses and colleagues - the good, the bad, and the ugly

to moments and memories

to the music and the lyrics

to arguments and making-up

to a joke shared, and group hugs

to the new restaurants we've discovered, the new clubs we've hung out at, the new cafe's we've haunted, the new music playing on our i-pods, the new books we've read, the new places we've visited

And the old.

to the people who make us smile and make each day worthwhile

to change

to moving on

to promotions; to placements

to pleasant surprises

to holidays

to FM and world-space

to facebook and gmail

to reunions

to heartache (because it makes us stronger)

to failure (because it makes us wiser)

to the person i am and the person i want to be.

to life as we know it, and life as it could be.

Bottoms up!

To a new year, a new start.

2008-05-21T00:44:00.002+05:30

it's strange. i suddenly feel old. i've never felt this way before- maybe it's because my work involves dealing with students (i still think myself a student incidentally- i like the feeling associated with being a student- the mixture of ambition and easy living and daydreams and campus life) - and though i might be a student in my head (oh what a wonderland it is) forever, the DOB- something-something- 1990 - shakes me out of my 'young' world every time I look at a registration form. 1990 - lord isn't he a lil too young for a master's degree- i mean i just completed mine- and i'm early-80s born - TRIIIING- 'you didn't just complete it silly- that was 2 years ago- maybe more- get over it already'. Horrid. I seem to have reached a point where colleagues my age are complaining of pot bellies and fatigue and stray white hair! WHITE HAIR, I kid you not - NOOOOOO- this can't be happening! I'm frightened, I actually am.

Time's winged chariot is hurtling down Runway 5 at break neck speed I say, and I'm so busy smelling the roses, I haven't noticed. You know what -I think i'll skip the ride, stand on the sidelines, and wave to those aboard.

2008-05-12T21:49:00.003+05:30

so much has happened in the last 5 months, i don't know where to start! first things first, i can't believe it's been 5 months since it was here last- there was so much that could have been written yet so much that was better left unsaid...so here i am at the end of that road, happy that there was a journey - however bumpy it may have been.

i'm not going to vent- there's nothing left to vent really- the mind and heart has thrashed everything around so much, that it's been beaten to a vapour so fine -the all but visible memories of turbulence that once occupied my every waking moment. Instead, i'll grab those vapours in my hand, and inhale them slowly, letting them sink into the recesses of my mind, where i'll lock them up so that no one ever finds out they belonged to me.

The storm has passed- oh what a storm - i thrilled in every aching moment of it. And after it, the lull. A calm sea that could roar if a stray raindrop fell on it, now undisturbed. Yet, still waters run deep.

2007-12-05T23:20:00.000+05:30

I was chatting with a friend a little while ago. He's going to be off in a few months - going away to be on his own for a year or so. We were talking about what it's like living on your own, you know, your space, your time, your place, your kitchen.

My kitchen. It's strange how as teenagers one's always associated the kitchen with a very domestic mother-figure existence; I mean the last thing most of us would do is admit we are even the slightest bit inclined towards anything kitcheny, let alone admit we enjoy it! Especially if you're a girl. Somehow, you always worried you'd get labelled as the 'ghareloo housewife mild boring' type. In retrospect, 18 year olds can be so judgemental na. If you would rather cook than study in high school, you can be rest assured you'll have a few people tell you you aren't ambitious enough. If you're happier pottering around in the kitchen when in college, you can mark my words your parents will start groom-searching the day you graduate! It's us late-bloomers who get away easy. You're away from home, you need to stay alive, and you learned to cook- atta girl! Then you become a hero of sorts in the eyes of everyone back home. And everyone who teased you about wanting to bake n fry n grill is either baking frying and grilling too, or is turning to you for advice on how to bake n fry n grill!

Somehow, the kitchen isn't all that formidable a place anymore. No longer mum's territory. No more 'trespassers will be persecuted' glares. No more sniggering! Perhaps I'm just in a very nostalgic sentimental phase of life, but the kitchen brings back such fond memories. Mornings and afternoons and evenings and nights spent gossipping over boiling pasta, analysing love lives over mugs of hot chocolate, talking about friends and fun from back home over community dinners - D takes care of aloo, P takes care of rice, R handles the veggies, J does the parathas, P does the dal - singing along with James Blunt over a mop and vaccuum cleaner, stuffing an overstuffed fridge with labelled green peppers, screaming noisy crass meaningless hindi filmi numbers in chorus on a tipsy freezing cold night. Making brownies from scratch, making pizza from scratch, making oatmeal cookies from scratch, making 5 kinds of stuffed parathas from scratch, making Aunty Daisy's lemon pudding from scratch, pancakes and honey, rolling puris with a coke can, tossing spagetti on a wall to check if it's done, poking around in the cake and then wondering why it isn't rising, visiting mums and feasts, birthday parties, late night movies on laptops that weren't loud enough, photography sessions that went on for hours, last minute essay submissions, makeover sessions, kitchen wall collages, christmas lights, diwali diyas. I do the cooking, you do the dishes; I do the clearing, you do the wiping; I do the mopping, you take out the garbage; and then we sit together and look at holiday pictures and tell stories and exchange gifts. Or we gush about clearance sales and parade our exploits. Then there's the cute guy at the bank, and the tutor with a smile to die for, or the very hot lab partner, or the fellow who gave you the look in the computer cluster, or a cheating boyfriend, or a long distance relationship gone sour, or a story of unrequited love, or an all-the-way-from-middle-school-to- now crush that went her own way. And you dream. Of a Harvard PhD, a world-tour, a cafe-cum-library, living happily-ever-after.

2007-11-25T12:40:00.000+05:30

taking up from where i left off...

I think it's the story of the forbidden fruit all over again. Except in this case, it isn't necessarily forbidden; just out of reach. At least for the moment. And just the fact that it' s peeping out from behind the leaves, all plump and inviting, smiling coquetishly, inviting you to come over and get it knowing fully well that though you so want to you're very hesitant, is enough to triple it's appeal and your desire. Just the idea of making it yours is so attractive.

So what do you do? Throw caution to the wind, reach out an eager hand, pluck it off and take the fatal bite? Fatal not because you're going to die, but because once you give in, your inhibitions are for all practical purposes dead forever. Or do you remain content just flirting - just heightening the sensation to the point of no-return, and then pulling back? Or do you say goodbye, turn around, and walk away?

tricky tricky.

2007-11-24T00:54:00.000+05:30

There's something about a quiet night and memories. If you close your eyes and allow yourself to float away for a moment- forget the worries and questions and emptiness that tie you down - just surrender yourself to yourself, do you see the life you want a little more clearly?

I've been thinking of the steps I've taken down the bylanes of 24 years. I say bylanes because they never fully occupied my interest; they remained whimsical offshoots- here now, gone a moment later - like snowflakes melting the second they make contact with skin. Guitar dreams. A voice thrown to a crowd, a sketch hurriedly executed, an eye perfectly shaped, anklets and dancing feet, a cake whipped up in glee, words given life with the swirl of a pen. An essay aching for its release, a laugh captured in sepia. Just steps. Yet my heart years to swing off its shoes and leap arms outstretched into waters warmed by a summer sun.

Isn't there something about an idea that's so much more attractive than the thing itself? The idea of being an artist. Sitting in an open field with casuarina trees in the distance, listening to the wind whistling through their fine leaves; everything around you toasted shades of mustard and deep green; an empty canvas begging to be exploited in hard passionate strokes. You're a tall sturdy man, with long strides and hair down to your shoulders. When you walk, you lead with your head, and there's a fire in your eyes that's both distant and comforting. When you laugh it's like your stomach opened up to your heart and your heart to your throat, and your throat to your lips, and your shoulders shake and your cheek dimples, and in a mad moment you throw your head back and your eyes twinkle.

2007-04-11T14:45:00.000+05:30

the bridges of madison county. perhaps it's true that love takes just a moment, but lasts a lifetime. perhaps it's true that a a lone moment of selfishness can make everything worthwhile once again. there's something to be marvelled at in the story of robert kincaid and francesca. unbelievable though it might appear. and that is that if the memory of a beautiful time spent together is enough to sustain two lives connected by a silent love across distance and the years, then i must make a beautiful memory in this life time.

And I won't need anything else. Yet there is something disturbing as well. were it not for the distance and the years, would love still remain? would proximity breed familiarity n familiarity monotony n monotony a dull comfort? is love (the sort that takes over your senses, that makes you lose yourself) to be the privilege of only those that have known it in all it's glory, but for an instant, and then let it go of their own accord because they feared its intensity. and what that power could do if given a chance. is love overwhelming, only when you know you cannot have it?

2006-11-27T16:39:00.000+05:30

I constantly find myself battling claustrophobia. There is a fear that my space is being violated, that my independence being slowly pulled away. I fear too much togetherness. I fear dependence. I fear I will lose myself, if I share me with someone else.

Am I making sense? Perhaps it’s the list I made. Of what I want from life. Perhaps it’s the need to tick-mark every item on that list to feel fulfilled. Perhaps it’s the fear of falling short of what I expect from myself, and the ticks are the yardstick. Maybe, it’s simply this notion that I have created for myself: that by being together, the list doubles, and given that the time I have remains the same, my portion of the list will end up only partially tick-marked.

But does it matter, I ask myself now. I guess I realizse it doesn’t. I guess I am aware that the joy of togetherness is better than any silly list. But somewhere I worry that that list is me, or the ‘me’ that I want to be, and that that will be left unrealised. A lot of potential that came to nothing. A mere half, needing another half. And that image I despise.

I have these wings – strange things – with an insatiable desire to grow. And my wings need the wind, because they were made to fly. And not just any wind: a wind that’ll get stronger as my wings grow stronger. Can being together, help me take flight? Somewhere I live with the fear that the wind will turn against me, and my wings will be unable to resist; or that it’ll just stop blowing.

I was made to touch the highest skies. Don’t hold me back. Don’t tell me where to go. And I’ll try not to juxtapose what I have with what could have been.

2006-10-08T13:24:00.000+05:30

When Sunday Started Working

How sad, I say, that God’s day of rest is no longer ours. hmph! On a pleasant Sunday morning, when I ought to be snuggled in bed dreaming of being devoured by tigers, and looking forward to a nice breakfast of cheese toast and coffee; maybe poha and coffee also, and then a sumptuous sit down lunch, and an afternoon of napping, and an evening of watching television, and then a late night on the internet coz Monday is a holiday as well, all I get is a computer screen, wooden jewelry boxes and some manisha koirala ‘tanhaiyan, angrayiyan’ type song. Grrrrrrrr. I want out.

I want my sunshine, and long empty roads, and the wind in my hair, and the sand at my feet, and a tall glass of cold coffee with crushed ice and a sun hat and a good book. Right so I’m not getting those. But I could still want. No? yes? Whatever.

Haan, so where was I? oh yes, when Sunday starting Working. That’s obviously a lot of rubbish, coz the essence of a Sunday is that it doesn’t work. The day when the world comes to a standstill. So why do these people bother messing with ordained fate anyways. What a waste of time. You’d think I’d be working now that I’m at work; but no, I’m blogging. Well, what else could I be possibly doing; it’s a Sunday.

2006-09-02T18:53:00.000+05:30

I wish life didn't involve so much thinking. i wish choices were easier to make, and decisions simpler. i wish things could be undone that should not have been done. I wish hurt and anguish, disappointment and loss were easier to bear. i wish talking wasn't so difficult.

i wish i knew what i wanted, so when i got it, i recognised it. i wish i could see the difference between self-deception and truth. i wish i knew if i am happy or not. i wish i knew if idealism works. and if it doesn't, i wish i knew if it worth my while trying to make it work.

i wish i knew if my thoughts are wrong. i wish i knew if there is such a thing as right and wrong. i wish i knew if selflessness is really the best option. i wish i knew why i am where i am. i wish i knew if i want to be where i am.

i wish i knew what things mean. i wish i knew what 'too late' is. or 'too soon' is. i wish i knew if it's ok not to want what everyone else wants. i wish i knew if it's ok to change my mind.

i wish i knew if things could be better. I wish I knew if it's alright to want that better. I wish I didn't have to face the questions I fear being faced with.

i wish things were simpler! i wish i could see them simpler!I wish life didn't involve so much thinking. And to think (sigh, such is the irony of life) that I adore Rodin's masterpiece.

2006-08-30T22:47:00.000+05:30

Man (and woman) have this undying capacity to excuse themselves for every thing that goes awry and blame it all on something or someone else. Whether it exists or not. So it's the dog that ate the homework (don't matter if you can't be within a kilometre distance of a pooch - there's always one around when u're doing your assignments), or the uncle that suddenly pops it (so what if you only have a family full of unmarried gossipping aunts?!), the influenza virus that singled you out, the rains that flooded the street you live on with waist-deep water, the electricity board that has reduced you to candles and paper fans.

And we Indians in particular have this incredible ability to go one step further. We're in possession of this remarkable feel-good tool, that blesses us with an uncanny acceptance of all misfortune as a manifestation of the Lord's divine will. Or as the very fact of our existence itself. Haye, such is life. So, why bother blaming mere mortals?

In one swift motion, all anger, aggression, guilt, sorrow, fear swept away. Brilliant i say. My goldfish died coz my cat ate it. My cat ate it coz I wasn't feeding it enough. So do I get mad at the cat, shed buckets of tears for my fishies, and hit myself for being negligent. Ofcourse not. Haye, such is life. Sigh.

Look look mommy no one's unhappy! But am i careful abt feeding my hungry cat so that the new goldfish is safe? Ofcourse not. What will happen will happen. Human intervention is of no consequence. Haye, such is life.

So here we are. A superbly complacent bunch of people, shaking our heads at the world falling apart, as we sit resigned and placid. Haye, why waste energy over lost causes. Such is life.

May Kaliyug pass and give us better days.

2006-08-29T18:54:00.000+05:30

Right. So I was talking to a friend a few minutes ago - he'd just spent an entire morning at the local hospital:( And hadn't receive any compensation for it either. Don't go haiii?! My point is simple. If everything in the universe is in equilibrium, and for every sorrow, a joy, then why must a visit to a doctor [which is a :( , coz no one visits a doctor unless something's wrong; unless ofcourse he's cute], not be made up for by a :) ? So what contributes to a :) ?A yummy snack. A surprise gift. A holiday package to the carribeans. ok ok will not get carried away. But seriously, i remember when i was little and had to get these regular shots (what a pity i say, that age is inversely proportional to the number and frequency of shots! And no one seems to care that the victim is a tender-as-a-petal innocent little chit of a girl. hmph!), I'd always come away with a lollipop or a plastic watch or a few balloons. When did it stop? And more importantly, WHY did it stop? There's something very funny about human logic. You've grown up now; you obviously won't be given gifts and sweets because you visited a doctor. You're supposed to be brave.

Arrey, very funny! Why should bravery come with age?! And besides, why should chocolates be reserved for the not-so-brave? I'm quite a fan of Shaw's chocolate cream soldier.

And i'm pretty certain 'grown-ups' dislike visiting hospitals just as much as little children. Perhaps more, because they know exactly what they're in for.

And if you think about it from an economic point of view (in this age of comsumerism and globalisation does one have a choice?), it's prospective patients who are the most in need of some cheer, and are therefore the most lucrative targets.

So, i say, surgeries, nursing homes, clinics and hospitals, pull your socks up. Throw in some compensation. There will be smiling patients and beaming suppliers. The last time i checked, happiness was good for one's health. :)

2006-08-27T22:33:00.000+05:30

Of beanbags n books

23 years i have lived without the comfort of that bag of bliss. 23 years of seeking comfort against a wall, on the arm of a chair, on staircases, on grass, hanging off the edge of the bed, on the pot, planted on massive tree roots, on a swing, on a picnic chair underneath a bright picnic umbrella, on a barstool. The quest for that one comfortable spot. No, i speak not in sexual terms(despite the, as i notice now, glaring connotations!).

The beanbag. The wonder bag. And its close relationship with a book. sorry to disappoint you!

Right, so the trick is to throw yourself on it. And by throw i mean just that. No seating yourself down tenderly, no jumping onto it. You gotta loosen up, and let yourself fall. Yeah i'm free, free fallin. It's like sinking into a sack full of soft downy feathers. sigh. And the nicest nicest thing about a bean bag is how welcoming it is. It doesn't throw u back up (like that horrid bouncy castle! ok fine i adore the bouncy castle, but i really don't like being hurled about the universe at all times, u know.)The beanbag lets you snuggle in. Adjusts itself so you're comfortably cocooned. Lets you dig your own cubby hole.

A beanbag doesn't protest. And it most definitely doesn't have fun injuring you. Unlike the blasted wall that'll knock you on the head, or the silly chair that'll squeak like mad and then just break (just like that. one minute you're sitting on it peacefully, and the next, ur halfway to the floor). Or the swing that'll give you nausea and the grass that'll deviously produce a hundred ants. So tell me, if you're going to be so busy looking after your physical well-being, where's the time to read the book you sat down to?

Which is where the beanbag fits in (pun intended). Big ass, small ass, top heavy, bottom heavy, lopsided, disproportiate, beanpole or midget, slouched or convented (oh thank you, ye matrimonials, for this glorious word. I use it specifically in reference to posture, here), this miracle will never mock you.

The boon of the bean. And yes, there's the book too.:)

2006-08-27T00:27:00.000+05:30

You are guilty unless u can prove your innocence. I read 'Vernon God Little' a month ago, and am reading 'Arthur and George' these days; am struck by a certain similarity in the system of justice portrayed.

Vernon and George. Ordinary people. Yet one fine day they find themselves at the centre of a nation's attention. Charged with committing heinous crimes, they are persecuted simply because they cannot prove their innocence before a criminal court.

Reinforces my belief that there is in this world, no single truth. And justice, then, is nothing more than the truth that is the most convincing. Lady Justice; blindfolded, tricked by mischievous logic.

2006-08-25T14:21:00.000+05:30

Noticed how people always have advice up their sleeve? How they always think they know better how you should live your life than you do yourself? How what you want is of no consequence, in the face of 'what is right' (or atleast what they think is right, and that but naturally translates to the universal truth)?

You ought to be enrolling for a PhD. It's what you're made for. You were born to be a lawyer. I'm telling you, get into designing. I can just see you becoming a famous writer. You're only going to be happy if you work for a newspaper. Arrey, why can't you do everything together? Work and enrol for a PhD and freelance and take up some short-term course somewhere.

ARRRRRRRRRRRRRGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!What if I don't want to do anything huh? What if i just want to bake cookies for the rest of my life because that's what keeps me happy?!

That, ofcourse, is also brushed aside with a 'of course not, no one wants to do that kinda thing. you're just going through a phase'! Arrey bhai, but i want to. I want to make heart-shaped, house shaped, smiley shaped, pink-blue-green-yellow-orange-red frosted cookies.

And then the pity. Haye haye, what you could have done, but what you're ending up doing.

Yes, go ahead, indulge yourself; there ain't no better ego-booster than doling out compassion. Besides, you seem to know just what every cell of my being beats for.

Perhaps it's the eternal quest for the good ole security n stability. Baking cookies don't give you that. For starters, no one might like your cookies. Unless ofcourse you take your cookie baking idea to one of these young-entrepreneur schemes, and then have it giftwrapped in mega publicity stunts, tasting sessions, door-to-door delivery, international accreditation. So when you finally discover the cookie beneath the bows n ribbons n sparkling packing, you see a little pink sugar heart curled up in the corner, all shy and wide-eyed. I just wanted to be me, you know.

Leave maah cookies alone.

2006-08-24T13:28:00.000+05:30

And so the decision is made. Have not the faintest idea how long it will survive. Knowing my restless-forever-craving-for-adventure spirit, I'd give it a month. Two. 3 max. A 9:30 to 6 , tappity-tap, bleary eyed, white light, compartmentalised sorta existence. sigh. I exaggerate for sure. What would life be without some drama?

And what comes to mind is a certain black-eyed-peas number.

2006-08-23T23:01:00.000+05:30

After a long hiatus, I turn to myself again. I search for the feeling that lies beneath all the mayhem that is me. Am I to be defined by uncertainty alone? Do I want to be defined otherwise? Do I want to be defined?

Perhaps not. Enigma is must too appealing a sensation. But I wonder if there indeed be such a thing as enigma? Perhaps it takes off from where confusion refuses to disentangle itself. The silence of the mind too misunderstood to explain itself. The voice of a silence that speaks in riddles for fear of accepting vulnerability.

Innocence tentatively placing itself in the centre of a palm; given flight in the gentle breath of words.

Still I search. Reach my hand for that elusive child.

2006-08-23T22:40:00.000+05:30

Reminiscence

At the back of my mind
In the pleasure of memory
Is the abandon of novelty.

Ink on pages
Scribbled in passion

Pearls flung into waters
Gleaming in anticipation

A recklessness of dream

2006-08-23T22:37:00.000+05:30

My Friend

My heart is but a fiddle
On which my friend plays a tune.

But sadly I’m not in it.

My breath is just a whisper
With which my friend sings a tune.

But as it turns it, I can’t hear it.

On my arms hangs a fantasy
In my hair is wound a dream.
My fingertips drip happiness
That you gave to me.

But in the hollow of my feet
In the cup of my palm
In the parting of my lips
Is the emptiness,

you left in me.

Who are you?

2006-08-23T22:32:00.000+05:30

The Coward

In every drop
A smile
That tells a lie

Words that echo silence

Thoughts that please
Feelings that respond
Emotions that heal

So far deep
So soon lost
A twitch. No more.

I know.
Yet I die.

2005-09-02T12:25:00.000+05:30

Once in a blue moon you come across a song that just sums it all up. It becomes something of a philosophy to life. Your mantra. Mine would be Alanis Morisette's 'You Learn'. Gonna live this life like nobody's business. Don't teach me how.

" I recommend getting your heart trampled on to anyone
I recommend walking around naked in your living room
Swallow it down (what a jagged little pill)
It feels so good (swimming in your stomach)
Wait until the dust settles

You live you learn
You love you learn
You cry you learn
You lose you learn
You bleed you learn
You scream you learn

I recommend biting off more than you can chew to anyone
I certainly do
I recommend sticking your foot in your mouth at anytime
Feel free Throw it down (the caution blocks you from the wind)
Hold it up (to the rays)
You wait and see when the smoke clears

You live you learn
You love you learn
You cry you learn
You lose you learn
You bleed you learn
You scream you learn

Wear it out (like a three-year-old would do)
Melt it down (you're gonna have to eventually anyway)
The fire trucks are coming up around the bend

You live you learn
You love you learn
You cry you learn
You lose you learn
You bleed you learn
You scream you learn
You grieve you learn
You choke you learn
You laugh you learn
You choose you learn
You pray you learn
You ask you learn
You live you learn"