You never returned that call

Hello internet people, if there's anyone left that is. Sorry - sorry about being incognito, and even though end of the year cheeriness is nudging me to promise regular posts, am not going to and then might end up actually. But I do come in peace and as an added incentive, have a post. (DUH)

So, Happy Boxing Day : ) Hmm..reminds of me Adrian Mole somehow. So Christmas day come and gone, everyone wearing Santa hats and feeling jolly or something like that. What did I do? Well, bought a cactus from my (ex) school carnival, that's a given, I buy it every year, and it dies before june the next year - though this time I inspected them from below and realised that half of them were burnt/dying already - so felt much better about my plant parenting skills, and hope this one lives as long as me, its quite a fat little bugger. What else? Usually this movie called Mixed Nuts comes on zstudio, (when it used to be called z something else, the exact nomenclature is eluding me right now), Steve Martin, Rita Wilson - madness, hilarious, I used to love, love it, but it no came this year :( and I resisited the urge to download Love Actually, that is going a bit overboard. Ate only junk food all day and wore my candy earrings; also cousin bro came over and for some reason we were 'studying' together (and breakdancing among other things, oh you do not want that visual in your head). Now see, life is definitely better when we're together (credit: Jack Johnson), but how do you get anything done? For example I cannot read, study, write(ha) or watch movies when other people are around - and that is pretty much 90% of my life - eternal paradox yes?

Anyway, saw this movie called The Wackness and just for Ben Kingsley I'd watch it again, about rap/hip-hop in the 90s etc etc, some memorable lines-

(Girl when bonding with the guy, MAJOR moment in the film) - "Dude, I look at the dopeness of things, and you..you look at the wackness."

(Boy confessing love to girl and getting really mad because not being reciprocated) "I love you, I'm not going to lie, It makes me wanna listen to Boys to Men."

Say no more? Got ya (oh but girl is Leah from Juno, so thoda sa immunity she gets)

Speaking of Ben Kingsley, also saw Elegy, which has him and Penelope Cruz, just a heads up boys, several nude shots of her, and extremely good print available online. Topically is so beentheredonethat - old professor, young student, imagine the rest. Thematically, was supposed to be different, voice overs, steady revelation of depth of characters etc. and twist in the end, because elegy right? so mean someone dies - but not who you think it is (wags finger) Though throught the film I just couldn't get over how lovely Penelope was looking, simply gorgeous by any standards, not enough to make me wanna switch sides but as a woman you can go like wow, you are indeed a good specimen, aand..that reminds me of the song - best of you by the foo fighters.

You know readers, I am getting the best of one person, two infact. For closure, V was here and we met up, at his place, and we exchanged movies, and weird book things and it was most wonderful, except after the buzz and elation, I felt empty, because it's over, well and truly and finally, and it's no fun not having someone to like. You know how when you get up in a start in the middle of the night, and you need a thought, a generally pleasant thought to focus on to go back to sleep..well, that lot is vacant now. Oh well, atleast I got the best of him for awhile.

Suppose that makes me "emotionally available" now..bwahahaha.

Stars Hollow Blues

Hello world,

Today is cold day - I decided to not wake up and go to college, an excellent idea as these always turn out to be inspite of the fact that I'd be missing double lectures bla bla - there's also the little thing called winter dressing, see when you leave your home early in the morning it's all cold and windy and you want to wear everything possible; then in the metro, which is centrally heated (and crowded) it gets warm and your sweater begins pricking your back, but by the time you reach university its cold again, and the rickshaw ride is freezing. As the day wears on it gets warmer till you have to take off atleast one layer and once your home, it's cold again but one can wear any old thing. So basically it's a lot of planning and today I wans't upto it, you know I'm kidding when I say things like this right?

So I've been reading Everything is Illuminated, which is interesting to say the least, and writing technique wise brilliant, but even though I'm reading it, not really enjoying it, especially since this guy's a prodigy and every single critic says he's not overrated. I liked his second book better, which moved me tremendously.

Also read Breakfast at Tiffany's which by the waw I had no idea was a novella by Truman Capote, yes of Capote the movie fame. Now that was a fun book, oddly suspenseful, and she (Holly Golightly, the belle of NY) mentions, that Nehru is her type of man. (!!!)

Felt like making brownies today, and went all enthu and all to pull out the cocoa and brown sugar etc, but there was noMaida, which was fine because to be homnest I didn't really feel like baking, I just missed it.

Instead I am eating parle g biscuits which are as good.

More later, ponchos aren't condusive to typing.

Another Chapter in the book of Cell phone Drafts.

(This is not writing, it’s learning how to write but mostly I just want to tell you these things)


To go above and beyond what he could ever expect, to make a grand gesture, to dramatise the surroundings, to make a point of it. The gravity of the thought stayed with her, and excited her so much that she stopped her work and sat down to explore its depth, Where would she stay? How would be look? What would she say? When will he ask her? and so on. It takes off then, this galloping, all encompassing, deliriously colourful and hopeful world, it fills up her day, and when she pauses to trace back the cause of this vague contentedness, it’s only too obvious. Dreams tend to be that way. Cause she has already done so much and had been so many people, how’s she ever going to top it? The feeling that nothing will be the same again, in a lucky, positive flourish that changes the realities of existence, the practicalities of a routine, and builds in its place a fondness, a nostalgia for what is lost.

On a unimaginable scale, that’ll require numbers not yet discovered to tabulate it, lens powerful enough to capture it lie yet undiscovered, hidden in chemical codes of silver evaporating, aluminium, bromide and we haven’t made it just yet - a canvas big enough, to hold that pulsating growing hideous mass of thoughts continuously extracted that make up the parallel worlds in our heads.

If only things were that easy, to break them up into seasons, into terms and when one is desperate before exams, sick with worry, with guilt and self loathing, our writers disappoint us, glossing over, pushing all that tension into one flippant sentence. For as long as I can remember I’ve been reading novel after novel before the most crucial, supposedly paramount, exams of my life. I want long in-depth discourses into this distraction, this preoccupation, this inability to focus, yet they all seem to have just a page or two on it, I want to read a whole book about just the last twenty four hours before a test, so that I can viscously, sickeningly, put my teeth into in, and hold on desperately while my own deadline approaches closer.

As for those people that authors thank on the first and last pages of their books - my heart wells up with jealousy; possessiveness creeps in as the tale gets going, I want to be there, by his side, for him to consider me beautiful, to inspire the writing, the greatness, the most wonderful literary-ness, which so many have rediscovered time and again, and it forms an exclusiveness which is far from elite, it is the very pulse of our temples, of our language, or the vast filing cabinets in our heads. To be there while she writes, talking things out, dreaming things up, sorting out erased memories and engineered ones; and it overtakes me, this urge to know them, to be near them, and I think, how can they not know? How can they not feel this power, that seems to have consumed every facility of my being? And I can’t bear it anymore.

If the voice is not given any air, no gentle flap to encourage the cinder, it dies suffocating on its insecurity, on its unsteady beginnings, and I find myself utterly unable to write. Let that never happen, let there always be an avalanche of words - however unworthy, however cringe worthy, and may I never settle, never fully understand, but always try and try and try. If only you spare five minutes, to make a genuine recommendation, or a heartfelt critique, dismiss with style my inaptitude, with significance; I could travel far, very far. For the people I want most to be read by, I can’t let them, because they’re all over these pages. It would come glaring into light how much under my skin they are, exposing the very stitches that hold together my tacky faux velvet costume dress, and it would be a betrayal of sorts, but a wonderful coming out as well, and I wish nothing more, little darling, sugar chicken, blue honey bun for you to have your eyes on me, right now, quite like this.

Like the drummer in Spinal Tap

Jeez, it has only been, well 9 days, and not to mention I is a full time student and do-nothinger, and blogging can really get in the way of that. (HAHAHA)

Let's see major development in my life; I am slowly weaning off my two mugs of bournvita a day. See pehle, there was simply no point waking up in the morning if I didn't have the milk, because well, it awakens one, just like a bath..and usually I'd have an afternoon nap and then I'd need milk again the evening to wake me up. For those time periods when we were shifting and between houses and there was no one to dutifully give me my milk, I had to make it myself, but somehow, it would always turn out terrible with fat spots dancing in it in quite a disgusting way. I haven't always had this love affair with my milk, believe me. Plenty of plants have flourished because of the wonderful calcium supplements that were surreptiously poured into it. These days ofcourse Buddy benefits. Anyway I have started having either coffee or tea in the evning, and it is helping me tremondously in the sense that I seem to be less sleepy. (ofcourse this is not including the two cups of chai in college, whole different story)

My internet speed, which would be a good graph of my happiness index, have returned to normal. This has left me with mixed feelings as there are no more 300kbps freak streaks with movies (in the plural) getting downloaded within hours. Blissful times they were, yet they could just as quickly slow down to a crawl, and I would sit despondently wacthing it go from 0.2, 0.3, 5.6! 3.2, 2.1 (oh come on buck up) 0.3, 0.1, your movie will take 5 years now, meh.

So I is having to go furniture shopping now for bedside tables. My sister and me have been at each others throats because apparently the light doesn't let her sleep at night and we have rediscovered an ingenious thing called the bedside lamp, so bedside tables first. Ofcourse since this was MY problem I have to go pick them and cart them over..makes perfect sense.

One delightful thing that I found in the Duty Shop were 200 packs of doublemint and I have been making a strand of its wrappers while watching movies. Remember Sandra Bullock in the drug rehab movie, 28 days? Just like that yea, and it is MOST fun, it flips out prettily in my hand. However, my urge to interwine the wrappers is faster than my desire to chew gum (more of a polo person) so there are a lot of inner silvery wrapper, shady looking strips lying around..

and now you wonder why you ask for a blog post.

No Email Today!

Why is it that I can never be on time? I will sit and watch the clock ticking but I simply cannot keep a date. Like for example, today I woke up after a pretty late night and was kinda sleepy but not really at around 9. Called up to fix up to meet with my cousin at 10:30 so I had a good hour and a half, but something in my brain doesn't register this, and I act like I have two hours, minus of geting ready and getting there. So I flipped through Micro a bit, because early morning study time - best time but alas that wasn't to be. Had left the internet on all night so three movies had got downloaded (The Visitor, Manufactured Landscapes and The Wind that Shakes the Barley) none of which I was burning to see so put it off to give the computer a little break, that hardworking fellow. I flip through the TIME, which must be pounced upon before Buddy snatches it, and leisurely dilly dally over what I don't know..and then I go for my bath at 10:30 sheesh.



See, I hate going out, I just don't know what to do/wear. The thing is that my friend, a close one, I don't have too many (friends), so the ones I have I care about a lot and are pretty close too, is having this Hallooween/Birthday party tonight and usually I would say no without thinking, but anyway, have decided to go and I must go get dressed. The thing is that her friends are all gonna be dressed up as thosee bunny-sexy haloween types you know, and that is just. not. me. Hopefully I won't be a total klutz. And who the eff started hallowee



But good news folks, I have purachsed a BRAND NEW EXTERNAL HARD DISK! My life is joyous again, because computer was really cramming up and it makes no sense putting tv shows on cds not to mention the pain and hard work it is.



Indeed yes, and things at college are pretty chill, our professors have been striking consistently, and that gives rise to many free lectures!



Riveting, but more later.

Badshaah ke liye badshaah hi

I think everyone should have someone they can get Franny and Zooey for, the implication being that Catcher in the Rye was read, and knowing that the former is so. much. better.

And when it's cold and there's mufflers as an extension of your hair and five colours for your five cold fingers, and ipod shuffles to 'With or Without You' there should be someone who instantly climbs into your head..there's always that one person.

Don't you think?

Excuse me

Talking of guilty pleasures amdp, here is mine -

www.dlisted.com

Don't tell me what you think.

Four that wanna hold me, two that wanna stone me, one says she's a friend of mine

Hello there folks, I gotta confess that this regular blogger thing is really not for me, I toyed with the idea of abandoning wilderness years but decided against it, because well, it's too much work transferring everything. Also, blogger is a real fuck up, I've been trying to sign in for something like a month now and honestly this whole anonymous thing is getting to be a pain because I have to sign out of my regular id and then re sign in etc. (what? it is work..I heard that!) Anyway, life is peachy and do you know why? Because I was off looking the sphinx in the eye! Yes, can you believe it, this month I travelled to two fabulous countries, Egypt(of the pyraminds fame) and Turkey(full of evil eyes) I have many things to say, but I've been saying them and saying them and now I'm kaput, but I shall show you some pictures for now, and more updates on life and things later. My photography was non existent, because everything was so new and so rush-rush, they are amateur pictures at the best, but just give you'll an idea.

Oh - yesterday the most mind crushing thing happened, I was dragged to see Karz, yes THAT one with Himesh whoever, and it was all haahaaheehee sit in front with rickshawwallahs and hoot and make utter nuisances of ourselves, but all that got exhausted in five minutes, and I swear a part of my brain and eyesight is dead forever.

And strangely utorrent is acting up. Anyone else having this problem? All downloads have crawled down to a non existent speed. Incidentally, saw a couple of good films - there's young@heart, which is the only film/documentary that made me cry, like real fat tears(Kuch Kuch Hota Hain doesn't count) See if you can catch it, camera crew covers and old persons choir, and the whole old age is second childhood kicks in.

And oh! Russell Peters is coming to Delhi. Finally! Not that I'm a particularly big fan of his or anything, but for this first time someone is actually stopping at Delhi and not Bangalore, and the tickets were most overpriced but then think its ok, so we are going! Excitement.

Edit - !@$##$ blogger and my internet connection, will upload pictures asap..on another post.

Cause I'm too lazy to do a real post

The Love Tag

The Rules:People who have been tagged must write their answers on their blogs and replace any question that they dislike with a new question formulated by them.People who have been tagged must Tag at least 6 people to do this quiz and those who are tagged cannot refuse. These people must state who they were tagged by and cannot tag the person whom they were tagged by. Get it? Ok then...

If your lover betrayed you, what will your reaction be?

Lover, giggles..

If you could have a dream come true, what would it be?

Have money to travel for schizz, live in other countries, be completely different people, look at stars till I can't see them, walk barefeet on grass the whole day, have a house full of pets and noise and a quiet room, and maybe be visited by someone(V), and I can talk and confess everything.

Will you fall in love with your best friend?

She's a girl dude, and with guy best friend? No because we'd be beyond that. With a friend maybe..

Which is more blessed: loving someone or being loved by someone?

Blessed I dunno, and I've done the first(sorta) and it works fine for me, till now it has only made me uncontrollably happy and has infinte power over how my day's gonna turn out.

How long do you intend to wait for someone you love?

If things don't happen fast they don't happen at all.

If the person you secretly like is attached, what will you do?

Sit on a fence with my ipod.

If you could root for one social cause, what would it be?

Social..shakes head.

What takes you down the fastest?

Being nice when you don't have to be, remembering stuff that a person says they've liked/seen/etc.

Where do you see yourself in 10 years time?

As a successful struggling writer.

What’s your fear?

Not going beyond talk.

What kind of person do you think the person who tagged you is?

Talented, generally optimistic, (seemingly) happy-go-lucky and apparently someone who doesn't take a lotta offs!

Would you rather be single and rich or married and poor?

Married and rich but not too rich.

If you fall in love with two people simultaneously who will you pick?

Never gonna happen.

Would you give all in a relationship?

No, cause they come and go, but in the end it's just me and my monk.

People you want to tag: anyone who's up for it. amdp? thantos? rohan?

My State of Mind

If these days were to be a person, they'd be a lady; with blow dried combed back hair whose been married awhile, but not that long. She still meets old acquaintances who'll say, What's been happening(with you?) and she'll say oh I got married early last year. And there's a secret growing inside her, a secret with feet and a tummy and no one knows and she's bursting to tell him when he gets back.

Or if I was to be a day, I'd be a late thursday afternoon, with water droplets drying off me as an indulgent sun watches over my water splashing. And the icecream cone I'll have before I pick up my things and head into the evening.

And he'd be a saturday dawn, before the twilight rays strike and he crawls into bed, after a night spent devouring a book, such as Prep, with a mug of the last cold dregs of coffee beside him and a crumpled cigarette packet.

A Country Bar Named Johnny B Goode

Places, Food and Books

Lame title aside, some books have a very strong sense of place or food (since it's me we're talking about) associated with them and will forever be locked with each other in ones memory.

All my Enid Blyton memories are very strong, because when I read them I was a) Hugely unpopular in school, I had NO friends, and I mean none, like I used to roam around alone during break and everything and b) We lived in this massive old bungalow with like miles of wilderness on either side (ok not miles but really dense undergrowth type things, and people used to spot snakes on an hourly basis.) All those Fatty mysteries were so real because we had a garage/shed kinda thing just like in the book and I had very strong visuals for the place. This is the same time I used to play Xena with colony friends and set out with laser killer pieces of stick and fight demons and witches that lived around our house.

Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire - I got a day before my chemistry exam in the 7th, think mum or someone had just returned from Delhi and had got that book and a big box of melted choclates for me. Needless to say the book was devoured and I was eating that stciky choclate alongside and you can bet I was too lazy to go wash my icky fingers before turning a page and so my copy was brown finger marks all over, which makes me love it even more.

I remember reading A Suitable Boy after the second term exams in the 10th which I had worked super hard for and before the preboards (which I totally blew.) The parts when Pran is falling for Saeeda Bai and he's hanging around her place is very descriptive and well written. She entertains all these people and they have Shammi kababs and hookahs and there's always music and a singing (rather annoying) parrot remember? So I was reading this part and I was getting major cravings for kababs. As luck would have it, we'd had a big party in our house and there were these kababs in the fridge and omg its bliss when you're reading about something and your mouth is watering and you can satisfy it instantly! Zap it in the microwave and get back into bed..and no one bothers you because you can lock your door and say you're 'studying.' Good times I tell you.

English, August is one of my all time favourite books, I read it when we were living in a place so so like Madna it freaked me out a bit, and I got everything he was sayng. I was Agastya man, ofcourse I wasn't stoning back then, it was simple sitting on the fence and liking a book sorta thing.

Oh and for Wodehouse there was this wonderful obscure Gymkhana in some shanty town where them Britsh Bozos used to once live, and the loo/Ladies rest room was HUGE, I mean like the size of a persons house with sofas and reclining chairs, and dim yellow bulbs and mottled mirrors and I loved it. Discovered it really late, when it was about time to leave but I pictured the whole English thing. (argh, we've been studying colonialism and when we take notes instead of writing the British I write BB - British Bastards, oh the latent anger)

Delhi by Khushwant Singh was another book that had a huge impact on me but more than that people remember me reading it. It was the beginning of 11th, when the board results weren't out and everyone's sorta strung out, didn't really feel like studying etc, and our temporary classroom was in some basement type part of the school and I'd sit at the back and read this book, and I didn't really know anyone in my new class expect Puri who ofcourse would be off all over bunking, making new friends, doing his imitations which I'd seen a gazillion times before, and I remember Yadu coming over, reading the blurb and laughing his ass off, because it said, 'back from his whoring days' and guys can never stop finding stuff like that funny. When he sees me today, he usually mentions that book, still reading books about whores? he'll say and I'll laugh like it's really funny because it's sweet no?

Though I don't like to admit it, I've also read all the Shopaholic books(Fly take a bow) and this was the summer before college started and all of a sudden you have to go shopping for a whole bunch of new clothes, and you really need them right, no more uniform to put on sleepily every day. So I would just buy without thinking, oh heady days and then when I became a poor college student who refused to spend more than 15 bucks on lunch I was reading Shopaholic and Sister which had her super frugal sister who hates shopping and kept saving up or was broke and she was totally in sync with my new self!

Zorba the Greek is ofcourse for my fututre travels which I've mentioned earlier in this post.


PS - Is anyone else television blissed as well? New seasons of The Office, How I Met Your Mother, Entourage AND Greys Anatomy. Sigh, life can hardly get better..

Little Boxes on the Hillside

Sometimes it is possible to have a perfect half an hour. Let's begin with last thursday, so I wake up in the morning and there's a message from Kasha saying that oh, by the way, V is going to be in college today which made me smile instantly and I got ready singing and was generally cheerful - the singing at traffic lights kind. The thing is that even if it's all over on your side, seeing a person again and just chatting was fun and I REALLY didn't want to leave and go back but everyone was busy with some official sounding thing they had to, so with much reluctance I did. Random guy asks for a lift and on the way back he fiddles with my ipod and becomes DJ in the car. See, music is just a preference, you don't become cool or not because of what you listen to. And if someone likes the same stuff then it's a oh - universe conspiring kinda moment. There were a lot of ohmygod I can't believe you have this song, and oh I LOVE this one..and that's it, it doesn't have to be anything more (between you and him). It can if you want it to ofcourse, but I dunno, indie is really not my thing, Arcade Fire, DCC, Postal Service etc all ok, but in small doses..like I could never listen to a Damein Rice album. Delicate itself is pushing it.

Friday I said bye thee well to Eco Madonna who's off to U Chicago. He's the only person who I know in real life who actually reads this junk blog and gets back to me and that's sweet and he's promised to blog more, so I'm gonna hound him. (if you're reading this Roghan, hope you've landed fine and things are good!)

Weekend had Kasha (unexpectedly) spending the night. I knew like 2 hours before she actually landed up and it was much fun. Cheered me up a huge deal, as in lookie people I have a friend, and that's a big deal for me, cause I've mostly been a fence sitter as far as the whole have-a-bunch-of-friends thing goes.

Sunday for the first time in my adult(haha) life I had a nice chat with my Mum, it wasn't related to the future or what I should focus on etc etc. I was actually telling her about books I like and what kind I like and which people I like and how I talk to them about different things etc etc...and after a while she gets this vacant expression and I said, 'Am I boring you?' and she said 'No, you're surprising me.'

Monday I acted like a ladila lady who lunches. Woke up 12ish and met up with Fly. We had awesome cheap food though it felt strangely like a date, because I picked her up from college, we went, ate, and I dropped her back and we sat in the car talking for awhile. She gives the best answers to watsup...she looks thoughtfully into the distance with finger on chin and says..hang on wait, something must've happened, wait it'll come to me. (heehee - not funny? no? sorry)

THen, I fretted over a test whihc I studies for. I swear to god tests bring out the absolute worst in me, I really don't minbd studying but as soon as there's a test looming in the future I switch off and that fucking sucks because I end up bombing them. Season finale of weeds, Quinn is back - killer episode.

And today, for a change we hung out in my side of town which is oddly reassuring, and it's a market I've been tens and thousands of times before with Mum and Dad but with phrands we ate at this place I didn't even know existed, and had perfectly yummy Mughalai (not Panju) cheap food. Jeez priorities I tell you..

Argh, this whole post has been about recounting stuff I've been doing and if you made it through the snore fest, the lack of proper posts in blamed on the rain.

Whatever Sam Beam is mumbling

The thing is, I'm in a very whatever~Brandi Carlile(Fall Apart Again)~Iron and Wine(The Trapeze Swinger) mood. No no don't get alarmed just yet, this is what happens when you schedule every hour of your life and everything's on track - you're studying, swimming, reading, watching the US Open(yaay) etc. and then one afternoon you oversleep and your body doesn't feel like yours anymore - it's being tired and moody and doesn't want to work, so you say ok, just waste your time on the internet instead.

Have several half written blogposts lying in drafts, but just not been upto it, it's a moon thing yea?

Bookwise, finished My Secret History by Paul Theroux(did I mention this before?) which was so wonderfully good and made writing seem so easy that I'm thinking about it more and more somehow. His whole life has been to take the next train out, travel, sleep with women and write about it. That's the dream and it IS that easy. People might think I'm all focused and stuff, but anyone who REALLY knows me, knows that it's simply not true...and it's mostly a good thing.

Also (finally) reading Midnights Children which is till now everything it's het up to be. Since it's the only book he wrote without being super famous, the tone and language is much less silvery/flowery and more conversational. It's so cleverly ironic in bits, not a laugh out loud kinda thing, more like smirking through entire passages. Does this happen to you too that if you're reading a book and sorta doze off after it, your dreams end up being about the characters, and somehow the story continues in this weird way in your head and you wake up and feel - Oh, that was strange and can't read for awhile because so much has happened in your dream? I've written so many Estha-Rahel stories this way, it's not funny.

Also went to Majnu Ka Tilla today, an impromptu thing with Kasha and two people I dearly like. Omg, the beef and pork they put away was a bit scary. But you know I felt I was in a hill station, minus the heat ofcourse. It was all enclosed and on undulating (dulating?) land with those Mcleodganj bead bracelet type things, and usually Tibetans have the best albeit over priced silver and they NEVER bargain, but this time they totally did and while I bought earrings I really shouldn't have(but you can never be too rich or too thin or have too many earrings right?) The guys happily played the male role and rolled their eyes and said hurry up, you have five minutes then we're leaving bla bla bla. It's fun to do real time things once in awhile.

Pink carnation and a pickup truck

I like the concept of a notice board. How its sometimes empty, sometimes full and its like a continuous tide of things that happened and will happen and more than anything it’s full of possibility. One stray notice - it can change your whole life. A battered poster, peeking behind a fancy glossy one - someone somewhere thought enough to put it up knowing that someone like you would read it go wherever it was asking you to. It’s a testimony to life almost that things happen and keep happening, and there’s always that option available to you.

It was at one of these poorly attended college things, a dingy room with faux wood furniture and static microphones. He was sitting at the back while she had plonked her bag around the middle spread-eagled over two chairs. After they’re done with the event, they pass a paper around you know, “give us your name and contact number, we’ll get in touch with you if any more such events happen, etc.” He kept his eyes on the piece of torn out register paper as it was passed down from her to him and when it was his turn he quietly saved her name and number on his phone.

It was a maybe, and intuition, nothing more.

And a couple of months later after they’d seen each other here and there, established a common friend and talked a bit; it was time to exchange numbers she asked him for his and gave him a missed call so that he could store her number. When her name flashed on his old nokia 3210 screen, he made a split second decision and told her. She just smiled and turned away.

Pocket full of Sunshine

There are some people who you know, always keep their phone with them and will reply to a message within five minutes, like Kasha; so apart from being my phraand she's also my message buddy.

There are some people who you know check their mail everyday or maybe twice a day and will reply to an email within hours, like Fly, so she's my msn/gmail buddy, apart from being my BFF(private joke.)

Then there are people who read your message but take ages, maybe days to reply; who will let your call ring and ring and then say oh, my phone was flung across the room, etc etc - like me. I'm sick of making excuses and lying and avoiding calls. Guess there are some people who don't always pick up our calls and we have the upper hand with some people who'll call and we can decide not to pick up. Or something...

Anyway, I had a good day today, inspite of 3 traffic jams, THREE. Had a nice long chat with my grandparents and it was one of those days when they were talking about themselves as young people which is always wonderful to hear. Plus I had a full inbox and emails for all over, which made me smiley AND most importabtly, inspite of my dismal overall result, the marksheet which I received today says that indeed I have got 36 out of 38 in the ONE paper I studied for so I'm feeling mighty pleased with myself. (heehee, kaha se kaha)

Also, other stuff which I've been trying to get out of, is sorting itself now, and I can just relax and do my own thing and be with people I actually like and make PLANS, which I'd almost forgotten how to do.

On the movie front, I have been watching almost 2 a day, most recently saw My left Foot, The Prestige, Y Tu Mama Tambein (absolutely lovely even without the several nude scenes), Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day, Son of Rambow (the humour of which I totally did not get) and several others.

Besides a threatening to rain, slightly breezy day, nice :) All is right with the world.

Everybody's Got Something to Hide Except Me & My Monk

On some days, it might seem like I have nothing. Depends on how you’re measuring really, because I have all kinds of bolted vaults and secret trunks stored away.

My trust fund is in smiles given and taken and every pair of eyes that look at me first when they enter a room. In books borrowed and lent, in sharing a blessed umbrella in the pouring rain with my left side and his right getting drenched. In phrases like bruising guitar and music that makes you ~feel. It’s in meeting someone and knowing within the hour that you’re going to become friends. It’s in someone saying - you should come, you’ll like it.

Its watching him without him noticing; the way his left hand twists and his elbow sticks out as he writes away furiously. His handwriting that I’ll recognise anywhere. In the inevitably, that you realise in retrospect, of a little crush becoming a friendship, all gained with no personal questions. I probably know every book that’s influenced him but not who he kissed and how many times. I wonder if I got the hard end of the bargain.

It’s when the sea is grey and frightening and I sit in a circle of cigarettes crushed in the sand as my sarong dances in the wind and he shouts to come back under the roof. It’s the times I’ve looked in the mirror and smiled at the person who looks at me secretly, and those times I’ve sat in a changing room and cried, that counts too. It’s the click click click that goes on in my head continuously, and to say it out loud would be to forget it, so I keep writing. The wallpaper of my cerebrum is textured funny with old cds and the black flimsy reels of cassettes, its lined with the doodles at the back of maths registers.

I’m not a big expert on love, you’ve realised that, they all have. Love can mean anything, it doesn’t have to do with anybody. Because I think if I was to love someone, or be loved by someone, it would be Agastya Sen. It would mean something to him, it would matter, he’d think about it, and I’d like to be thought about by him. In Madna or wherever. And if I was to be friends with someone, I’d be friends with Ammu because if anyone ever needed someone to talk to, it was her.

So I might not know a lot about real life, but I am an expert when it comes to my life. Right now though, I’m unavailable for comment.

Because you see it might not be much in kilometres but it sure is a lot of millimetres.

The Upside of Wet Jeans

because the most you can expect from perfection is a moment.

pebbleriver.

light even on the cloudiest day.

windscreentrees.

rounding up with my signature shot, the feet. :)

The Opening Ceremony

Watching the Olympic Opening Ceremony filled me with much feeling, somewhere in my toes - a little bit of wonder, of melancholy even. Apart from shouting out the capitals as the delegates of the countries walked by, the whole thing made sense, it seemed right. These were real people; all those countries aren't just coloured jigsaw pieces in an atlas with a short para about their stats. Just seeeing so many different faces each more handsome than the other, a nose from Denmark, blonde hair from Slovakia, a wide smile from the Marshall Islands, a costume from Bahrain, a whole cheering party from Brazil. Face upon face, and in those snatches you can tell -he's gay and she has children, and he must be really popular with the ladies. You realise once more than there are so many, many more people in the world than just Americans, yet beause they control world media, all we see is Americans. A place like Las Vegas is mythologised because of Hollywood, but the rest of world has no big machine to make sketchy movie and bring them to a theatre near you.

The thing is that with an event such as the Olympics, an event so huge and involving so many people, even by virtue of simply witnessing it, you are complicit with its politics. With the fact that Taiwan was introduced as Chinese Taiwan. That Palestine sent their own delegates, so atleast they're recognised, but Tibet isn't. That Pakistan got a huge cheer, because an enemy of your enemy is your friend - or some archaic logic like that. As did Iraq, because we destroyed them and are now content to give them a good natured pat on the back.

Athletes, and sports reflect everything that's right in the world, about the purpose of our bodies, and they don't matter in the long run, they really don't. Watching them wave to the dignitaries from their country on the other side of the bulletproof enclosure mades me wonder, who decides whihc side you're on? Like if you were a princess say, a nominal head, you'd just go from one token event to the other on governement money and wave and smile but what have you REALLY done except be born? These people, they've practiced and worked and worked; they have real accomplishments. It's them I want to see, not faux celebrities. It's them folks doing the lap that are the stars and rightly so. They can wave and smile as much as they want, I'll cheer till I'm hoarse.

Suitcase of memories

I believe familiarity is a sign of wealth. Wealth when it comes to life, to living.

A fine lady, would have a regular tailor who knows the exact shape of her body, her trickiest measurements, and doesn’t need to take them over and over. Who notices she shrinks as she grows older, and makes the blouses smaller. To whom she brings her daughter for her first sari blouse.

And a jeweller, from where they make their big buys, once every year or so. Through the latest trends they keep pieces waiting for her but when her son wants to pick out an engagement ring for his girlfriend; she takes him there for the classic diamond knock out.

A man then, will have a banker, who does all the tedious paper work, efficiently, happily. A mechanic, who knocks a couple hundred off the bill after the regular servicing. When his daughter has her first bang-up learning how to drive, he gets angry with her, but they have a little chortle, the mechanic and him, there were many jokes on that one oh there were.

And the other family who's been with them for years and who knows when to get the hot water bottle and the right temperature of tea, who are well looked after and their children seen through school and onto bigger better things. Who’ll mow the garden and plant the flower seeds and take care of the dogs when they go out of town.

As they grow older, this fine lady and gentleman, they’ll need their old doctor of course. Who’ll listen with gentle patience to them, who’s delivered their kids and is now old himself. So he refers them to better, younger doctors but they go back to him for a last and final opinion.

They walk into Blue Diamond. He nods at the tabla player, a namastey; the next song is his favourite ghazal. Somewhere else in the city, at a nightclub, their son nods at the DJ and shakes hands with the bartender. A bartender who knows his drink and in the thickest crowd will get to him first.

A bookstore then for me, a perfect one which I’ll love with all my heart. Placed somewhere to bring in minimum of tourist traffic, a place where you can sit and read and not pay. I know there’s a store out there that’s just waiting for me to walk into it.

You can say familiarity is a step away from boredom, from the same old same old, but I’ll take it any day.

There are other things to experiment with, newer things to try out - like brand of cigarettes, and shampoos maybe but not hairstyles. Everything art related. Every place in the world. For that I have my muddy travelling boots under the armchair, but everything else I like in its own place.

Just because I'm losing...

Doesn't mean I'm lost.
Doesn't mean I'll stop.

What is it with the blogosphere these past couple of weeks? It seems like one person lost their nerve and so did everyone else simultaneously. It's a chain reaction with blog-blahness, and suddenly things are either too trivial or too huge to put in here. However abandoned readers fear not, for I am back with..err, vengeance?

So the easiest, let's talk about books. Have several to read at the same time, which is no fun but the most memorable one is Gabriel Garcia Marquez's - My Melancholy Whores. It's a nice, small compact book and fits in your hand nicely, besides it's hardcover which is a plus. I can bet you a huge load of cash that Marquez himself kept a diary where he counted the women he slept with. I mean first Florentino and then this guy. Or if he didn't, he thought about it alot.


Anyway, over the past couple of days I've had long long chats with old friends, and you know what they say, all birds come home to roost. Guess we leave bits of our selves scattered in the past that comes a full circle. They recount all their escpades, sexual and boy related, over the past couple of months, like getting sorta drunk and holding hands with Goan boys who jive. And then, after half an hour of them, it's like what about you? Man oh man am I glad I have no news.

Among friends then, there is that reassurance that yes, we have the same life for tomorrow and the day after and the year after that, and I'm really happy about that - someone has your back you know, who'll give your proxy attendence if you're not in class or pick up your fee form when they get theirs, or order two cups of chai without asking. It sure is nice to have a friend.

It's who we are

I realise now, the value of liking someone. I used to notice the littlest things about him, which maybe had a lot to do with him in particular and not with having a crush in general.

I liked the way his phone was always on vibrate, just like mine and when he’d get a call, he’d say excuse me, I need to take this, and he’d talk and I’d wander off but he’d come back smiling to find me. How long his fingers are as he messages, how he laughs out when he gets a funny SMS. In a picture of him with his girlfriend, I noticed his phone on a table beside him and I grinned widely; a private joke between me and the universe if you will. I liked a lot more about him, his smile that breaks out of nowhere and the curly hair that would flop on his forehead.

And just like that, all those things recede and he becomes just another person I say a quick, walking 'hi' to. It all goes away, and there was no one to mark, it’s significance in my life or his. There's no one to notice it's over. That the little red flag I was holding has been quietly put away.

Those days have passed, and he may have Great Love in his life, he may not, I may, though unlikely. Some girl might notice the same things, might like his hair, might make him cut it. I feel the weight of the beauty, the moment, that brief time that I captured and siphoned, that I pinned like a butterfly on velvet paper and put away in a box. He becomes just that to me, but if I’d told him, maybe it could have been something for him as well. Maybe he'd remember me, tell our story while he's on his second drink...

But see I never wanted anything more, I love my house, my way of things way too much and I’m constantly haranguing to be left alone by the world, and I never succeed and I’m always glad.

Before I met You

It's small things readers, the tiniest of them -

like an extra library card

~like that whole bunch of giggling men hesitating to step on an escalator, and I want those virginities back for myself, and I know, like I've always known, that I'll live somewhere far away from all this.

~if you're not in class, having someone message saying - where are you?

~or driving all the way back home with stoner music on and not being conscious of the fact and when you pull up to park, the spell breaks and you go, how'd I get here?

~using a word, a new cuss word and all of a sudden everyone's using it, dingbats

~remebering oh yes, today is tuesday and there must be a new episode of weeds waiting on isohunt.

~the greet of airconditioned air over your sweat rivulets

above all, food and rest.

Because I know what to take seriously and he's not one of them. It's with birds of the same feather, that I can talk aloud, think aloud and that's when I feel the most natural, at my best. It's when people joke around, put you down, reduce everything to 'bookish' or 'quiet' that I feel vacant, not uncomfortable but irrevocably different from them. Becasue I don't want to explain myself.

I want to put a bandaid over my life. My toe nail came off, and all I had to do was put a plaster on it to press it down and let it just be by itself while the new one grows. That's exactly what I want for my life right now. There is too much going on, too quickly and all this that I'm learning, I might just lose it if I don't sit and write it down, or talk, or consolidate it into an opinion, that becomes mine alone and not something I read somewhere.

For that I need a really sticky plaster.

For Shane and Silis.

She sits with her legs crossed in yogic postition, tablets of cannbis in her jeweled box, beaded curtains around her. Horrible sickly incense clouds the red floor lamps and loud strains of Metallica float around, I bow, almost kneel as I enter.

"Blog Goddess?" I timidly beseech.

"I've been expecting you," her voice quietly booms.

"Err, umm.., it's just that I've come to collect my blogpost, there seems to be a problem, but I have been waiting and waiting for some kind of update to materialise and so far I have received nothing."

She stares into the distance passively, "Let's start with the most mundane, what did you do with your puny existence today?"

"Saw Hancock and went for a swim. Should I blog about the empty theatre and how these bloody popcorn movies are insulting us, squeezing our brain cells untill they're mere single cells."

"Who wants to know about that bugger, its not like you made a movie did you? You think anyone gives a shit about the one line you write about some one movie which everyone has already seen."

"Possibly, but there was this girl at the pool whom I totally recognised as a junior from my school but while I was busy avoiding her and averting my eyes elsewhere, she approched me and said Are you el and did you go to S. School? and I said yaaaa..really slowly, and she's like oh I'm so and so and I was like get out, no way, even though I knew exactly who she was I pretended to be surprised and oh, I never realised."

"And I care because?.."

"Blogs are so fucking one dimensional you know, text-image-links. Maybe I'll recycle some old pictures, pass em off as new. "

"Oh no you didn't. Blog about blogging, and then you come in my house and insult me?"

Sorry?

Maybe you could write about your college which has reclaimed it's sweaty time consuming place in your life.

Two words, no V.

You're kidding right? Are you honestly that delusional? You didn't even know him till a while back and suddenly everything's seen in context to him. So, same motherfuckers walking the corridors?

Check.

Still clueless about the future?

Check.

Allright then, you, have nothing to say, I'm bumping you off.

No, no, how about the yummilicious momos I'm eating right now, hot hot hot steamed chicken, with red chilli sauce that is all chilli and no sauce.

Girl I've got tablets, I mean huge tablets of this stuff and you're talking to me about food? One last shot, what song you listening to?

Harry and the Potters - Stick it to Dolores

Get the fuck out of my office.

Z is for Zeppelin Time

This is something I found quite by chance. Basically you post a picture related to the theme - which on this wednesday is Z, and the first thing that popped into my pretty little head was, what time is it? It's Zeppelin time! ( credits: xkcd)

So this is the room with the poster right down there over the hole in the wall which was covered by a wooden plank.

And this one's the close up. Yes I know it's blasphemy to put a Switchfoot picture right above the Led Zep one but in my defence I made this years back!...yea, doesn't count does it?

And that's the other picture which I like a lot, bottom left hand corner, it's a classic, black and white, Page in a teeny sweater and Plant blowing smoke rings, ah to have been William Miller.

Here I Go Again

You can't decide when you have a good time, when you meet new people, where the day takes you. Some folks you establish are interesting but they may or may not become your friends and that's when I wonder, what do people think of me? That's the only time I'm conscious that, you know, I'm not a vampire and I must have a reflection. Or do I?

So I had this nice morning planned, would wake up, go for a swim, get a haircut and then go meet my lovely friends Shai and Fly. However, due to unforseen circumstances, mainly my stupid ass body sleeping through several alarms, I was fast asleep at the time I was supposed to meet them and had to hurry, hurry, rush, rush as usual. Fuck I hate that, maybe its an inborn rebellion to my fauji-precision-clockwork genes, but I simply cannot be someplace on time. Thing is in the morning, every second counts, and after dinner, one hour here or there makes no difference. Sure you owls would agree.

Anyway, day still went off well. Lunch was good, I love my friends and I also love being alone and sometimes in life you get a perfect balance, and today was such a day. Madonna(because they have the same teeth) also joined us, and he and me have this mutual appreaciation society thing going, we both say nice things about each other and refrain from the other stuff, because he's one of those people that you have obvious and huge differences of opinion with, but that's ok, he is he and I am me, and in the end, I know I can count on him, and I know I'll totally come through for him, if need be and vice versa.

(Oh, but Rohan, no same teeth anymore! :D)

Also, maanged to get my haircut. While coolio dude cut away, in the parlour, there was a lady/woman getting ready for her wedding, full bridal make up, hairdo etc. and sure, she was pretty, with a busty magenta top, red cartoon nails(not even vampish) with rotting brown mehendi (haai, haai) and her friends were fluttering around her, and I'm thinking the last thing I want to do on my wedding day is spend hours in a beauty parluor - you know?

I'm not a big one for days, like I hate birthdays, not because I'm emo or anything, I just hate all the hoo haah and pressure to do something on that day. So what would I do? Let's see, I'd like to wake up without an alarm clock, with sun on my face, and immediately have something chocolate. Then, hit the pool, you know those whole body floats? Yea, float on the water, sun myself, nap whatever, have something to read, this I'll have to plan very carefully, definitely not the newspaper, because I'm sure for the rest of life I'll remember, on page 3 the mcd head something said something about potholes. I'm kooky that way.

When I'm all deliciously wet and the sun is drying the water drops off, have fresh watermelon and grape juice, french fries(oily not deep fried) and maybe chicken-mayo-capsicum sandwiches. Then a rollercoater ride, or several, and paint ball and in the evening we can dress up and go somehwere nice, or do whatever he wants to. But avoid people at all costs. I'd love for my parents to have a big party in their house, with the lawn and fairy lights and everyone can 'congratulate the happy couple' but maybe sometime the week after.

What about you guys?

Incidentally, downloaded lotsa 80s love songs, just because, and have been blasting Can't Fight This feeling(REO Speedwagon), Whitesnake, The Bangles, Cherish (Kool and the Gang) , Dangelo and The Temptaions. heehee, I've also always had this neighbour thing. Like in the previous house we lived in, it was two floors, downstairs people had a lawn and we got a terrace, and this dude, Jha, used to make all his phone conversations from the garden, he'd smoke, talk loudly, and scratch his you-know-what when he thought no one was watching(ewwww I know.) My study table was right next to his window and trust me when I tell you I knew EVERYTHING going on in his life, no kidding, from his friends to his hassles with his parents, to the girlfriend to his job(pilot, waddya expect).

There was a point to this..oh yeah, so like I knew everything about Jha without him having any idea, I have this fantasy that somebodys always listening to the music I play. Almost like I DJ for some invisible folk down below. Don't get me wrong, I play for myself, but maybe someone will have huge overlapping tastes and come searching for my door, and we can hangout and burn CDs for each other and stuff.

Hmm..too many movies.

Steady Hands Take The Wheel

It was my market than our market. I like how some things that were mine, we now share, including friends. Baristas and neighbourhood store owners who earlier recognised me, not recognise him as well. Even the guy who checks the air in the tyres at the petrol pump.

We drive by that market, everyday now, becasue to get to any arterial place really, crossing that choked road is the only way out.

There’s a dressed up crowd that hangs around the pubs and outside the theatre. Girls with their hair in sheets below their shoulders, with outfits to match their bags, who wear pin pointy boots no matter what the season. Guys wearing those t-shirts you get, you know? the ones that have a skin coloured extension of cloth under the noraml t-shirt to give the impression that the entire arm is tattooed? Flashing 10 rupee diamond studs in their ears and caked hair on their head.

Further back, beneath the tree and the circular cemented area, next to the cigarette stalls where I go to get polo, is a different sort of crowd. The girls have backpacks and is it just me or is their hair curlier? Tied up carelessly or the tangles let loose, glinting nose pins, dangling silver earrings, wearing washed out cotton kurtas, or maybe a black band t-shirt with a matching belt. They chat placidly, smoke comfortably and laugh occasionally.

Me, I don’t dress up, am a books and chai kinda girl, sure I’d love a bar with loud music as much as the next person, but tis just not my thing...yet. I will have shots and give in and dance to Usher and wear a Penny Lane faux-fur coat with a hoodie and pub hop. Someday, those times will come for me.

What a granny, he says, but he’s not much better.

At the front of the market, near the car park, boys and girls get out of big cars, their school bags stuffed with their uniforms and they're so self conscious of their outfit; it's not fair, to make them choose that one t-shirt that represents them the most, to wear on the day their exams get over and they hangout.

And African men, lots and lots of young African men, are they sons of diplomats then or sons of housekeepers? Does it matter? Which countries are they from, I wonder as I lock eyes with every one of them, Mozambique?(Maputo, my brain automatically says) Somalia? (Mogadishu) Niger?( Niamey) Guinea Bissau or The Guinea? Mali or Mauritania or indeed Malawi? Congo or the Democratic Republic of Congo? The Gold Coast or the Ivory Coast? Zambia or Zaire, now the infamous Central African Republic. Tunisisa or Tanzania? Maybe Morocco, though I doubt it.

I’m sure I’ll have tonnes of things to say to them, if we get past the accent, that mammoth effort of a simple smile and hello. It doesn't matter that we're on the same sidewalk, because their continent travels with them. That's the size of the distance between us.

The odds that one of them has just finished reading Franny and Zooey like I have, and listed down the family tree – Seymour, Buddy, Boo Boo, the twins (Walt and Waker), Zachary (Zooey) and Franny in their notebooks..How high is that possibility?

We shall never know, because we can cross each other several times, but I'm just driving past, sitting passenger to steady hands on the wheel.

Go Rafa, Espania - ole ole ole!

Right, excuzi for the double post but, I am reeling right now with stuff to say.

What a final, this is why we love tennis, this is why people spend hours on hours practising and what champions. Delirious.

So as I was happily watching the match(wimbledon final - Rafael Nadal vs. Roger Federer for those who're not so into it) with Rafa 2 sets up, he(Shaan) really sweetly calls and starts talking about the match, no hi hello. For a once-in-a-month chat friend it's quite nice that he knows, just assumes that I will (duh) be watching the game, and it's one of those moments when we're talking and I can hear the shouting and TV ads on his end of the line and in my living room as well. It's also ironical because there's no signal in the TV room and Il'l have to get up and go to the balcony to talk to him and he's like tie break and I'm like oh fuck no, call you back.. Its nice that he thinks of me you know? And its a foolproof thing, if you want to talk to a guy, follow the club he loves or watch the match he's watching.

Anyway, weird thing - both Rafas Uncle Tony and Mirka(Fed's gf) were sitting in same box. So both the players keep looking up at the same box and when Rafa gets an edge, Uncle gets up and starts yelling and when Fed wins a point, Mirka starts thumping the box and you can almost hear Tony cursing at the back. And did anyone notice a most Jude Law like person sitting on Mirkas eft? Was confused and then I spot Gwen (Stefani) on his left and look, its Gwen and Gavin! (oh man how I love Bush. Infact, first heard of the band, waaay before the president. ) Gavin was so into the game and Gwen was just like, 5 hours of my life, there they go, never to return. Mirka too, was really feeling it; usually she sits tight lipped (can't help it if the girl has thin lips) but she was all cringing and stuff and and when I saw her, I was like come on Rafa, you can't let Mirka take out her digi cam and click pictures of Roger making out with the trophy, again. (ok, mean, but you understand right, this moment has been five long, long years in the making.)

Also, just when Rafa is taking the lead, inching closer to championship point, and he can feel it, and the crowd feels it and you can feel it and you look at Federer's face and it's so rondu and for half a second you feel bad for him and then he goes and hits a winner, and you're like no, no Rafa, just wrap it up, close the deal, COME ON. And when Rafa got the break 8-7, Venus who was watching stood up and started clapping and I'm sitting stock still becasue I have this dumb jinx idea that if I move, it'll change the tides. 6-4, 6-4, 6-7, 6-7, 9-7, my god, what a match.

But Rafa won! And because the match went on so long, someone must have politely mumbled in Prince Philip's ear to keep it short, and so he didn't talk to any of the ball boys/girls forming the corridor as he usually does. 2 years back when he slaughtered Andy, he chatted with the ball girl for a good 5 minutes, the match was SUCH a no show, got over in like an hour and a half or something.

Also, I love the woman who interviews them after the ceremony, though this time she didn't address his highness Prince Philip, maybe cause the Prince and Princess of Spain where there was well? Who knows about the delicate matters of royal protocol? Regardless of the question she asks them, both of them say the same thing, first answer - say something funnyish, or rather self effacing, they'll laugh anyways and acknowledge the crowd. Second answer - say what a fantastic player your opponent was, how deserving, which seems all jolly but it's actually rubbing it in. Trust me.

And like the humble guy Federer is he starts taking a lap of honour, and everyone's like wtf? Sit quietly while Rafa does that. One thing though, if Fed's a rondu winner, he's a very graceful loser, that you have to hand to him. He tried very hard not to cry and he managed.

What a night. Whew, winding down slowly..

Egregia Cum Laude, with outstanding praise

I like being an older sister, though I think I'm the Queen of Inappropriate. Sisters birthday, her friends came over, still in their natal teens, and they wanted to watch a movie so I gave them Superbad, which is funny but full of dicks and lubes and porn bla bla ~ not a very good idea and got her Twister, so yea, kinda off the mark but the thing is, that awkwardness between boys and girls is so wonderful when you're on the outside, and my head is clicking every 2 minutes with something to jot down and write about later. It's a treasure trove of a minefield.

You know readers, I have this thing for younger guys, that sounds most crude and Michael Jackson-ish but I don't mean it in a paedophilic, robbing the cradle or even romantic/sexual way. I dunno, I just hit it off with them and we get along really well. My younger and only cousin brother is awesome fun, and at first it used to be only me who'd joke about with him, rile him up a bit, sit on his head about pokemon cards and things like that, but now he's growing older and has started reading, and actually wants to chat about life and Yossarian and girls and stuff, all the way fom Sydney, which makes me :)

Then there's this other boy, who's a family friend, and when they come down from America, God that accent is exhausting, half the time I'm straining my ear to understand what they're saying and by the end of their holiday I'm watching what I say because I end up sounding like them and when was a developing second hand Indian-American accent ever not jarring? I like that boy though, he's quiet and nice and dresses in all Black and used to be into Blink 182.

And the latest edition that triggered this train of analysis, is that leetle boy from Singapore, who's not quite so leetle because his favourite drink is a Blowjob(Baileys, whipped cream, some such) But see he studies in the American school there and so he had an American accent and now that the summer is over and him having been around us everyday, it's worn down to a Kal Penn type of accent in Van Wilder, heehee.

So they're just much easier to talk to and to laugh with and sometimes they'll say these really insightful things about me, which make me wonder, what exactly is it that they think of me. He said the other day, "You pretend to be stupid but actually aren't." Hmm..

But it isn't strictly a elder sister-ish relationship, you know what I mean? All I'm saying is several years down the line, when we're all grown up, we might run into each other in some airport lounge somehwhere and who knows what can happen? That possibilty is always open you know..

/wink.
/subtle.
/ok enough.

Don't be surprised if I love you for all that you are

Dear V,


Because I have been watching badly made, pseudo-gothic Japanese movies with End of the World scenarios and male leads I can't tell apart; as gorillas spew out chomped human guts and people all over plan what they'll do on their last day on earth, I think of you.

Because I'm reading the greatest war novel of all time and Erich Maria Remarque writes, "Franz is dying and what if he were to open his mouth and cry out! But he only weeps, his head turned aside. He does not speak of his mother or his brothers and sisters. He says nothing; all that lies behind him; he is entirely alone with his little life of nineteen years, and cries because it leaves him." I think of you.

Because all I really have is ardor, its my only ammunition, my only protection. You keep me company up and down on that wretched train even though you're somewhere else.

Because you are my fantasy, my best case scenario, my triumph if you will, therefore I can only love you when I can't have you. For the rest of the world, I have other toys lined up.

Because you say, you like music without lyrics, but Chris and Eddie could wake me up from the dead. Even then, unwittingly, music which has been mine and mine alone, now reminds me of you.

Becasue it was always about me, and it didn't matter where you were, and that's why I can decide it's over. Because, these things aren't tangible and that's why they'll count as currency. It'll find you someday, all these things that went on in my head because of you, and maybe for a little while when you're down, it'll cheer you up, make you smile. And for that brief time, I would have finally found a place in your life.

~

Dear El,
I wish you'd shut the fuck up. And I really wish you'd stop writing for the sake of it, for trying to make yourself feel something just because you've read maybe 10 books more than the others. There's no need to be so smug about it. To be so antisocial. You've milked whatever we had to death and I really think it's time you moved on and accepted that you're bored and alone and verging on boring.
Find your own life please and stop trying to channel some of mine. I don't need your obsessive wheedling, it's not nice you know.
V.
ps - and stop memorising everything I say.

Take it, take another little piece of my heart.

My sister's birthday is coming and it's as terrific an opportunity as any other to buy books which I want to read and gift wrap for her. Lucky we more or less read the same stuff or rather I bulldoze her into reading what I recommend. Prep by Curtis Sittenfeld, fantastic people, nice little book I stumbled on thanks to fly and I think there's something in its awkwardness that exists in all of us, especially if we dish out a blog post every week or so.

While planning her party, we decided on Chinese food which somehow brought back a memory of this store in Pune from where we'd get Chinese take away frood. I used to be fascinated by this place, it wasn't a restaurant in a market, it was just a take away shop literally in the middle of nowhere. It was so noisy and steamy and small and they'd take your order and pin it up on a rope and it would be ready robotically in minutes. So numbskullsister and me would play 'takeaway' with our puzzle pieces and mix them around in a tokri. The only plausible explanation for a tokri in our house I think could be because we were living in Maharashtra after all. (egad, images of kim sharma as a fisherwoman are coming to me after those 5 horrifying minutes of some random movie which permanently and irrevocably burned some of my brain cells.)

Also donated blood today! Yee haw, did it for the cool red tshirt we all know, and while I was lying there pumping my fist tiredly instead of feeling righteous as I should have, I was like dude, I just have a needle in my arm, someone who needs this is going to have all their bones smashed in . Count your blessings, name them one by one, thank the Lord for what he has done, kept playing in my head.

On a crankier note though, I am being forced to go out to my mothers friends house for dinner. She has this daughter whose a couple of years older than me, looks and dresses like a model, and has had sex several times with several different boys and was caught in school with her bra undone, which is public knowledge to everyone except apparently our mothers and mum dearest insists she's such a nice girl, I should try and be friends with her. Fuck, glad they're all so in sync. I'm sorry, not that there's anything wrong with her but some people I just can't take seriosuly, and she's one of them.

Something I'm really beginning to believe in though is All In Good Time, truly, life eventually calms itself down and things happen in their own time. When I was in middle school, in Bangalore, I always always wanted to become a senior prefect, not head girl becasue that was so passe but house captain, because that meant something, and I loved my house captain, she was so cool man, she'd run the captains relay on sports day, and march with the house flag. She'd sit on the steps of the canteen (for seniors only) with all these boys and I'd always wonder which one she liked. She'd come to my class and ask for me and badger me into taking part in elocution or something which I gladly did for her. It was so cool the way they'd stay back after shcool, and make those charts and practice for house competitions and stuff, and the 11th and 12thies were allowed to come on their bikes and so casually afterwards they'd zip off to some place to eat.

I left though, and I had no idea untill I was away how fucking impressionable I'd been. I got to be house captain of another school though and it meant shite, really it meant nada to me, which is not as awful as it sounds, it just was that way.

*Remember those shiny coloured Add-Gel pens in 1999? They were such a rage and I had a purple one and wrote LP in big bold letters on my arm and walked all over school one day. At band practice after school, Music Captain comes in and after he does his 'duty' and yells at us for not practising hard or long enough, he hangs around to chat and he says, so you're all into heavy rock and metal and all? and I'm like no ya, just Linkin Park, he's like what's the name of their album. FUck! I didnt know, lol, but anyway, Dad took me on a sunday, to music world I think, not the (then) new Planet M on Brigade Road, and I bought Just Push Play (Aerosmith) and Hybrid Theory and on the way back in the car, dad suggested that I play the tapes, and I slowly, delaying it as much as possible, unwrap the flimsy plastic wrapping and Papercut starts up..the sun goes down, I feel the light betray me, I hastily ejected and put aerosmith in which was no better, but thankfully we reached back because then you could actaully drive around in Bangalore and reach places in minutes not hours. Atleast it wasn't Public Service Announcement on the Marshall Mathers LP.

So into Jaded was I that when we came to Delhi on our summer holiday, on the customary annual visit to Dilli Haat, instead of yet another name necklace, I had jaded written with those alphabet beads, and Dad says do you even know what it means? I didn't.

Man, I was quite the emo kid. Today though, I'm somehow very happy to be me.

May Angels Lead You In

Car got towed, which was total bullshit, I went to the COLONY market, which is like 5 feet away from home (yea, yea environmentally treacherous etc) stepped out for 2 minutes and when I came out no little zen standing under tree, had to then go to the police station and pay 200 bucks, no challan, what bull. Also upgraded my RAM - all by myself and was smothered by the dust inside the CPU and, best of all learnt the caribbean capitals, so feeling most gangsta.

Some tennis talk now, skip if you're not into it -

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Andys match was such rubbish I tell you, I admit now what they've been saying for years, he was no variety in his shots, he moves really poorly on court and simply has nothing to fall back on except his serve. Plus what drama - baazi he was doing on court just becasue he was winning and a certain girlfriend was watching. Like yelling at himself and making faces when he's 2 games way from victory. Poof.

Go Safin! (yaay fly) People are like oh you support him because he's hot, so not true, that guy is the original and last of the mavericks. Honestly he doesn't care about what's proper, about being scoff, consistent. He can come out of nowhere and win. Incidentally, he's not a very good player when he's winning, he's fantastic when he's losing, him and Baghdatis, watch them play when they're 2 sets down. They get this super human strength and gun for every ball though they've been playing for hours and hours. Good Wimbledon it looks like and don't feel too bad about Novak, he's just starting out in his career and you can't be a number one player unless you've been thrashed by Safin, that's just how it goes.

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Right, so if life fails us or we fail life or whatever, we have to have a back up job right, like what would you do to get by and be happy doing?

El presents My List of Alternate Job Options

Driver, no kidding, think I can manage this well, esp. to an old couple, take him for golf, her to the parlour, club, whatever and at night for their parties. Park the car, road gaze, do what I wantfor 20 hours a day.

Setup an Illegal Parking Ticket Thing - Start handing out tickets wherever they're cars parked. Take 10 bucks per car, pay off cops if necessary, get protection from street gangs*(lol) if needed and eventually hire my own parking attendents and make money by advertisemets placed on their uniforms.

Bake - Don't know how successful I'll be because my cookies sure are fine but take forever and a lot of effort to make, and think I might get sick of chocloate by the end of it. Which would de disastrous for my happiness and self confidence but overall better fro my waist. So might have to do a pro con list before take this one on.

Word Whore - something like Florentino, write love letters for people who can't "expess themselves", or maybe be a word-on-hire, be a pimp or sorts, write out personal letters, break up messages, threatening notes, stuff like that.

Door to Door Movie CD Lender(or CD walli in short)- and when I was thinking about this, I became so excited that I might just do it. I already have a considerable database and anyway half the time I'm giving movies to people, so it is totally realistic. You want any? I'm only doing distribution don't ask me about my sources, that's confidential. :D

edit - also maybe teach piano, like at a very rudimentary level, my theory is pretty solid and I can fluff a lot if rich kids prents are wiling to dish.

So got myself covered I think.

Glory Days, pass me by.

Life is peachy folks, spiffy, bathed in sun streaming in through the clouds. Reminds me of that last month of school before the summer holidays, when I was 11 or something. For all my life and all of hers, my mother has worked and I've always reached home before she has, as in there was never a reception committee waiting at the bus stop like other kids, thangod. That summer though, she'd taken a month off, and when I'd get home, my icky uniform shirt stuck to my back with sweat, my heavy tearing bag full of useless books that I'd carry around including a fat dictionary, my hair all puffed up and hairband dangling along to one side, she'd answer the door.

The house would be cool for starters, the curtains would be drawn against the afternon sunlight and mum would give us first cold water, then food, which we'd actually sit at the table and have and not in front of the TV. Then watermelon, and an afternoon nap after. Ah, the all-is-right-with-the-world feeling.

In the holidays, she'd leave before we were awake, and when I did get up and go to brush my teeth, I'd see a big fat lipstick mark on my cheek, because you know, she kissed us goodbye.

Anway, joy is hibernating. It's staying at home and watching three seasons of weeds in a row. Fantastic I tell you. An american TV show you never knew existed and turns out to be so goddamn clever. That my friends is utopia, with no one bothering me, and becasue I'm only listening to these characters smack talking, in my head I start talking like them. And when I meet people in real life I can't think of anything to say to them except, um...I'm watching Weeds.

Right so some guys are just plain sexy, they have this charm that you can't define, can't catch or bottle, like Sloan you know, on Greys Anatomy, very irrestible, even when they aren't saying anything, you just keep looking a them and Justin Kirk (or Andy on Weeds) is one such fellow.

What else? Cooking Chocolate. That's the thing to eat. As mentioned earlier, nada oven, nada baking, so all supplies are going into tummy as raw material. Personally, I think cooking choclate is the real stuff, far superior than any wrapped thing I've had, tis not too sweet, plus its a proper huge slab and I've been gnawing away at it.

Favourite line these days - "that's a bit too populist for my taste." Speaking of which was watching 'left of centre' on VH1 which is supposed to be the original sidestream stuff, I hardly think Nine Inch Nails or Kasabian can be called offbeat, LCD soundsystem maybe. Besides everyone knows that them emo and indie kids are making the most money now.


In parting, I like the word exponential, not in maths(idiotic exponential differetiation) but like exponential growth in blog traffic. hee :D

This years love had better last

Sometimes you get goosebumps about just being alive, and I want to love you, Nothing Man.~Caught a bolt of lightning, cursed the day he let it go.~ Isn't it something? It is Eddie. How can it not be..

Hmm, exhausted is the word I'm looking for. So much work, so many things to do, usually life is happiest when I'm busy but I haven't got 8 hours of sleep in a row in about a month now. At the risk of sounding like a CPM politburo member, the "honeymoon" period with my blog is definitely over.

Met aforementioned friend, such a riot I tell you, some people are just funny, and I got lots and lots of american frat movies with naked boobies and lewd jokes off him, Superbad(ha-HA-Ha-ha), Oldschool, Van Wilder, Eurotrip, Girl Next Door, Blow...you get the gist.

Yes, Andy is engaged. Joy, normally I'd be happy but do you know how he met her? He saw her picture in a Sports Illustrated isssue and had his agent track her down. What a fucking cliche, its like boning your secretary. Gah. As fly says, it's like he picked her out of a catalogue. I mean imagine the call she must've got, hi, erm, there's this guy, who's sorta famous and a little rich and he wants to be in your pants. Sure, that's my twenties taken care of.

Also have become friends with that new boy at work place, even though he's a kid and all, we're pals now. Ha, dropped him to his hindi class today, these firangis types I tell you. Laughed about superbad stuff, and duh, Celtics won(heehaw) and he was all Lakers, na huh, there time had come, it was going to be Celtics, everyone knew that all along.

Read Wild Sheep Chase (Haruki Murakami,) and can definitely see why he's so popular. The story is literally about sheep and you're reading along thinking, man, a whole book about sheep, this should be weird, but it so isn't.

Something I've been meaning to put up here, I can't stress the importance of Zeitgeist enough, seriously folks, go watch it. Tis this really radical left wing documentary type thing, and even if you're skeptical and don't believe everything, STILL, it's stuff that we just have to know, and think about.

The Same Streets That I Live

So this is my expermiment, it's very trivial-esque I know, a poor cousin more like, but it's directly inspired by that. It's ok if you hate it.

Why save the kisses for a rainy day?

It starts with a perfect picture like this and before I realise, it turns into a soul mirror. The playlist in my head has Have You Ever Needed Someone So Bad on repeat. It’s not even a rainy day song, but it comes out at me, cheekily, as though it knows that it can be the only song that resides in the vinyl of my cerebrum when there’s even a hint of a drizzle.

Eternity is in love with the productions of time.

William Blake is someone I have no connection with, I wasn’t taught his poetry, I didn’t study it and no one around me mentions him in passing, but I picked up that book anyway. I don’t feel intimidated though, by either his poems or the life around me caught up in raindrops. There is no reason why I should turn to his lines, maybe that’s why I do.

God appears & God is Light
To those poor Souls who dwell in Night,
But does a Human Form Display
To those who Dwell in Realms of Day.

The waters wave and twinkle in front of me, rippling across their temporary home; their home can only be where they are. I feel the weariness after my philosophy exam, and the pub crawl after, not sure about my own two homes. After the late night I feel pulpy. I woke up without getting enough sleep but not sleepy or tired enough to go back to bed. The clouds build up in me but no rain comes, for mine is a much longer hibernation, mine is a reassessing of the Big Stuff, which I’ve put off for far too long.
*****

To see a World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour.

No bird soars too high if he soars with his own wings.

That’s what they told me, and the thing is, the blessed thing is that I know exactly what I want. Live outside the city, somewhere in the plains not far from the mountains, somewhere sunny, maybe near a wooded area, and fall asleep each night to the sound of a fan whirring, to people breathing. One thing I definitely don’t want is to spend time in airports. Really, I have it all planned, it’s just the day job that’s the problem.
*****

But doesn’t it start with the way we live, or has it already begun?

Joy and woe are woven fine,
A Clothing for the Soul divine;
Under every grief & pine
Runs a joy with silken twine.

Love seeketh not itself to please
Nor for itself hath any care,
But for another gives its ease
And builds a Heaven in Hell’s despair.

~

The cistern contains: the fountain overflows.

All those things stick you know, in the afternoons by myself, I am a different me, a pot smoking teacher in a boarding school, a writer in my mountain home, owner of a beach shack frying sausages, baking in a small town with my apron on - all those kid personas don’t go away. I still get to be all that.

When the day’s done though, it’s back to the notebook.
*****

For all those who've slow danced to Strangers in the Night

We came out of the movie hall, with the sun making our eyes crinkle and the warmth tingling the air-conditioned goose bumps on our arms. There’s a sleepy contentment that washes over us, as we make our way out in a community shuffle. He has his arm around me as we walk down the sloping parapet, back into the mall.

It’s hot but not too hot. Not unbearable, not muggy and there’s an ever so slight breeze.

We move past the food court into the open air sitting area. We smoke. We chat lazily. He talks about something in the movie which reminded him of something he did as a kid. He goes to get me a gelato, because usually when I see chocolate I want it. He’s being nice but I don’t really feel like it today. We have a spoon or two and watch it melt between us., forming an icky brown mess.

A person from a nearby table comes over, an old friend apparently, he smiles and shakes my hand, I’ve never met him before but he obviously knows about me, whether through him or common friends I don’t know.

It’s early evening, and a different kind of crowd is thronging the mall, less students, more families who’ll end the evening with dinner in this very food court.

I feel like a chilled drink, not a heavy, milky one and definitely not an areated one. The waiter comes over, I ask for seventy rupees worth of ice, water and strawberry flavouring in a tall glass. He brings it fairly quickly. I sip at it.

We talk some more. He’s restless I can make out, because he doesn’t know where he’s going to be this time next month, he’s wrapping his head around the ideas on his tray, and all of them are just ok. None of them involve me. Because I’m still going to be here. I’m happy though, I’m out with him and the impromptu movie turned out to be much better than we expected.

The ice melts and the drink tastes like water that’s been poured into a used juice carton. I abandon drinking it altogether and play around with the straw. We smoke some more. As the sky darkens, he pays the bill and we head to the parking lot.

I give him the keys, because he likes to drive. He’s a careful driver with no cursing and no sudden braking unlike me. We’re quiet most of the way, because the music on is good, he sings a little, I hum, we listen.

We reach his place, he gets out and I scoot over to the drivers seat, he gives me a quick kiss on the forehead and goes inside, I head back home. The music is awful now.

My parents are throwing a big dinner party tonight and I must get ready, wear something ironed and suitable and talk to some horrifically overdressed women and some debonair, aging men who were once young pilots and tell them, how I spend my time. I don’t mind, because we bargain stories, I get to hear about places like Kalaikunda, obscure Airforce bases where these men spent their youth learning to fly Jaguars and MIGs. Now they’re gentlemen of course who talk of their chicken farms on the Jaipur highway and holiday homes in Mashobra.

“I was at Tezpur and your grandfather was doing reconnaissance,” said a suited elderly man in a dull red turban cradling a whiskey soda in his hand, “he’d come down from Agra and we’d fly down to the China border together and he’d report back the next morning to Agra.” He’d cackle and thump me on the shoulder, carried away by the impishness of it, the merriment of the moment.

He’ll message me soon, to check in, in case I need a lifeboat, how’s the evening going? Should I call?

Fine, I’ll say. Just fine.