August 14, 2008 § 1 Comment

Maybe I’m getting sentimental ’cause I’m sick or I just am.

These here are my roomies, Jyotika and Nicola with me in the middle. Temperament wise, attitude wise and definitely per the position of my bed in the room. These are caricatures of how we are perceived, sketched by yours truly, when we moved into the new room at Lavale, and it hangs outside for all to see. Why hide?

I fell sick yesterday morning. The stomach was rebelling against my system in every possible way leading to a blackout, groaning and moaning like the kid in Exorcist, and finishing off with moi passed out like a two day drunk. Considering that both roomies were to leave, one for home (Delhi) and the other for Goa (so was I that same night… call it a hidden blessing) they took care of Every little thing. From glucose to fruit to buckets of water (this happens when there’s a water crisis in hostel). I know I suck when I’m sick (annoyingly cranky baby unfed, refusing to sleep type), so if I’m better its got to be their fault. Neighbors, friends and these girlies here, make me wonder why I don’t like people much.

Much thanks and much much obliged girlfriends.


Could I have been…

August 7, 2008 § Leave a comment

So threatening to ask anyone if they’d rather be anyone, anything or anywhere else. The answer practically brands you as a defeatist or optimist as if your wondering would injure your sense of well being at the present moment. Me thinks fear is the gremlin at the door of self discovery.

What would I find if I thought like a middle class insurance salesman or even Brando in On the Waterfront? Is regret such an ugly scar that you’ll go through life wearing a bright mask over it pretending it smarts only when you acknowledge it? I honestly do not think along the lines of ‘Could I have been anyone else but me’ often, but when I do, people who know of it chastise my audacity. Sowwee folks.

Anywho, my romance starved, sentimental side is wondering why the boys are leaving home. To farther places than I can reach to make it easier for them to leave things behind or me to forget. Whichever it maybe, here’s a vocalized thanks for passing through… don’t stay away so long that I’ll imagine everything we had was perfect. And know that I love ya fellers for worse than better.

Now playing: Dave Matthews Band – All Along The Watchtower
via FoxyTunes

Make mine Irish

August 5, 2008 § Leave a comment

I got my fix yesterday while watching P.S.I love You.

I’ve been looking for a sign. Actively. Something to tell me I’ve survived a phase of my life yet lost nothing at all in the routine murders. Things like “passion” and “zest,” which I always rated above the delusional “success.”

In this life, I’ll never be conventionally successful, a realization that is strangely liberating. Now I’m free to do as I please. But what do I do about the humanity that plagues my existence. Happiness is so personal but it’s incomplete unless you share it with someone… though how do you force someone to stick around long enough till you have earned your rightful share of happiness?

Lately I find people less bothersome, maybe because I’ve become more allowing or the company I keep is becoming less influential on my outlook in life. I like my people… I like my life… I absolutely love my state of mind though. the movie triggered that off. At the mental crossroads of lost love, unrequited/unnecessary new ones and the loss of head count in terms of general friends, I was playing a number game to trick myself out of the truth that I am alone. Going from
Hello, hello. There is no place I cannot go.
My mind is muddy but my heart is heavy. Does it show?

As usual, the feeling was out to get me in the now spare behind. But seeing Ireland in digital, Butler behaving like the first boy I noticed that way(ol school pal) triggered something off. I had the feeling that a plug was connected back at the right spot in my heart. And bingo, the lights are a-sparkling. Love may happen, life may suck, people may leave and will certainly… but i know. So

Give me reason but don’t give me choice.
‘Cause I’ll just make the same mistake again.

Time for my Irish I say!

Something rare and forgotten

November 28, 2007 § 1 Comment

Two things happened today… well strictly speaking post twelve last night and then on…

I was reading the trash I like to call “light reading” that is in truth an outlet for some stupid urges I’d rather not dwell upon for the sake of my own mocking voice chattering at me. I suddenly looked at the ceiling of my room, a place I’ve not completely considered mine. I’ve only considered my first room mine, because it felt one, which my sister now occupies. I have flashes of lifescapes where I feel asleep to the sound of the old radio taped together, walking in to the attached balcony and gaping at the stars through leafy shadows, crying when I lost my cool about the mess my home was becoming at the time and mostly talking for seemingly short hours with the boy I loved so uninhibitedly then. That was my room, its not mine anymore as much as I’m not that person. But last night, these four walls I now occupy whispered something. Some strange sensation went through me as the Beatles burst into Real Love, the fan moved lazily in a hazy pattern and the laptop’s light threw some of itself on the unusually evocative ceiling. Ceilings always frighten me. That cap on my visions trap my sense of height and I’m always hoping I’ll see the sky, at least a sliver of it as I fall asleep… but I mostly sleep face down like I’m sinking.

I was painfully happy then, for no reason at all. Mad elation in that moment of overwhelming delight. Maybe it was McCartney saying “no need to be alone.”

I managed to lose it by calling someone who had no time for me… or just didn’t want to talk. I cant dwell on that either for fear of my impulsive denial or repulsive self pity. Whatever happened, I felt the moment disappear and with it gone I had a feeling that happiness for me is a solitary thing enjoyed in hidden proportions of nothingness. Blissful smallness of insignificance.

Today I read the Great Gatsby.

That needs to be left in its own space. Nothing comes quite close to the experience, nothing I can say will sound trite and awfully inadequate in any case. I thought of how a V once said, she was scared of sex. She had tried alcohol, joints, cigarettes and nothing came close to the raves people went into over them. So would sex be any different? Two days back she said she’d found it wasn’t. I remember retorting that everything was over rated. Everything, except maybe chocolate and cartoons. And then some. Or maybe that’s just a hope I nurse that somethings matter.

The Great Gatsby is a tribute to an idea. To any person who dares in this generation lost in itself, beyond us individual victims of our own minds who find emotions are a burden inherited, to love without a question of . I wish I was Gatsby, I wish I had the tenacity to love just once and stick with it. I’ve felt that mind numbing awe, still do… see that damn green light less now, and hell sometimes you pretend its a trick of your overactive mind. But the beauty is still there in its wondrous meaning it makes in your conscious love. I pathetically wish I wasn’t Nick Carraway, but then…

I’ll stick with the Beatles and read my children’s books… a little Eliot though

I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope
For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love,
For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith
But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.
Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought:
So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.

Love is Vengeance

November 25, 2007 § Leave a comment

I’ve always heard covers of The Who ‘s Behind Blue eyes and when I heard it today, my nomadic train of thought moved to a cartoon strip about how bands in their time were all names of things. The Doors, The who, The Byrds, The Yardbirds, The Kinks and whatever else. Awesome bands, amazing stuff… profound names which meant more than they seemed. Profundity is side effect of creative expression. Perception is everything. But loving it unconditionally is an understanding that transcends words.

Now love, that is an emotion I have always understood, to the utmost horror of those subjected to my love. They perceive it as something gentle and steady and warm. I see it as something strong, fiery and highly volatile. Even for the work you do, the things you commit to and the small meanderings you allow yourself. Funnily though, I thought of the people in my life this week as I rarely do. 5 girls well 4 really, with a creature of incredible gall throwing tantrums once in a while, organized a media seminar in the sleepy, laconic city of Hyderabad. A moderate success, I was surprised at the warmth of the people I met and the polite shock of finding them human enough to like. And there were the usual lessons to learn. People are actually quite nice and even care sometimes, teams can be fun, working gives me a special high, I’m damn good at whatever I do and then some :). But the nostalgia attack was unexpected, I keep thinking about how I had left and been left behind by SO many people. And I hate how it doesn’t matter after sometime. My best friend in 5th standard is a model now and I don’t know a damn thing about her. I don’t feel any regret, just a sense of misplaced loss. It isnt the friedn really, its how little I tried to hang on to someone in my life. Usually, I dont care much… but I catch this bothersome cold everytime I feel the drafts of nostalgia. Who’s to say today’s loves and laughs will last? But what else is there to do?

Random recollection: The movie blurb for Addicted to Love reads- a comedy of lost loves and last laughs. Sweet! Just another tangent.

Matters not

November 17, 2007 § Leave a comment

Whine too much, I think. Why not really? Latley I find it hard to hold on… not to pieces of paper though. Some ticket stubs and receipts. Nice recollections of meaningless evenings. Everything looks so good when I look back. So I think today will too.

Hounded my boyfriend. Made him hate me, I did. I dont blame me completely, his fault for convincing me into a relationship. Im not ready. Im still 5… I need attention. Dont tell me you’re my keeper unless you mean it. I guess he didnt though. Its funny though I felt like my ex, and I decided Im turning into a stalker, the poor guy was only asking me to leave after all.

Who said pride never got you anywhere? It gets me a reputation for being tough and resourceful. The loneliness is ok if you learn to take long walks. Its wrong to want so much… its should be a federal crime. But go on damn it, tell me Im weak… tell me to change.

Home is where the hurt is.

November 3, 2007 § Leave a comment

I tell myself I’m not pathetic, desperate, lost or wanting in love. Mostly I succeed. I am not truly any of these.
I was born like this… with a great awareness that the world will carry on because of me. And I was wrong. I have not proven it yet. Some reprieve, that. Vague winds move in the land of my dreams. They unsettle all the moments I laughed as my mother tickled me. And the cold seeps into my sepia memories of a perfect time. There are lost paths that I trace in the electric trails of streetlights when I drive in my sleepy city. I hate my city for the reasons I love it. It exists with no expectations. It remains with little pretension. I feel at home in my city when I feel how quietly relaxed from the chaos of life it is. The festivals, the death marches, the loud songs, the politics, and I feel my city, she ignores it. The waters of the Hussain Sagar move in that useless beauty, a serenity of rippled movement towards nothing, going nowhere. My city’s slowness always pissed me off at some elemental level. I wanted to and still do belong to Bombay in Spirit, with her restless, grey seascape and lost crowds. But in my heart perhaps Im much too comfortable with being a Hyderabadi, it consoles me, maybe this is the truth to existence. To simply be.

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