resolutions

to be gracious.
to be less bitchy.
to stay calm and to meditate every day.
to be less fat.
to refrain from abusive language in speech and thought.

all of the above are already very difficult to keep.

wanting
wanting to be some other place
at a different time
someone else's desires
laying the path
who does not want to be
a vagabond
unchained by direction

what else could i be/ all apologies

i'm fairly adaptable on most days. i used to be a coffee addict till i moved to mumbai. i cant stand too much of that stuff anymore and prefer tea even when i'm at home now. i stopped reading poetry once i discovered that beyond tagore and a other obscure writers its difficult to get your hands on good poetry. i took to reading prose and, lately, am starting to consider even reading up on stuff online "reading".

all good and everyone around me benefits because every group always needs that one person who is agreeable to most of the plans others make. this is not to say that i do not make plans or feel the urge to do some things. its just that more often than not, if an activity involves more people and most people are not up to it i will give it up and settle for someone else's plan. i dont know if so far, any of this makes sense but anyway.

this is costing me now. i have found that mostly due to my own faults i have found myself having an identity crisis at the age of 24. a girlfriend who is mostly delighted with her relationship but is called upon to behave like a wife at times and like a nobody at times. a colleague who thinks it is essential to arrange work pressures around the social schedules of everyone in the team. i know - so far i have made a most excellent martyr of myself. and this is where the problem is. i am passionate about the idea that i should never feel like i am sacrificing something or that i am a victim. i know the vicious cycle of martyrdom - resentment - unpleasantness - guilt - giving in - martydom - so on, a little too well.

come down from your throne and leave your body alone

'm on "leave" and am home.

mostly, the world has stayed the same since the last time i was here. people have also mostly stayed the same, plus or minus a little bit of cynicism. as for me:
- plus of cynicism and hope (which is not technically possible but still);
- plus a few more kilos i think;
- minus a certain quantity of the desire to return to my routine life (yes, i did want to return to my mumbai routine keenly earlier);
- inter alia

from the wars against disorder/ from the sirens night and day...

ask yourself "who'd watch for me"...

because
the lips are soft,
as they form patterns in the air
even as words are spoken,
the words must lay
gently upon his eyes

he blinks for a second
blinks a little longer
wonders if the burden
of her wishes is too much
to carry

on his brow

she runs a fingertip

he rests his forehead on her hands
a little
rests a little longer

soon, the world
will want them to play parts
for now, everything is just alright.

i see the angel and the devil in your heart/ i confess either one is my addiction

attempts at creating a new blog fail miserably. there are parts of this blog that dont go together, really and the control freak in me wants to revamp it all and categorise.

i will go back to looking at the sky pouring down to the sea now.

blue

there are two kinds of bloggers, broadly speaking. those that write to express opinion, entertain and be witty/ caustic/ intellectual. and those who think of their blog when life seems... unbalanced. i'm, of course, the latter.

this living, this living, this living

was not the plan. there is too much money around me, and not enough. everyday, twice a day, i'm reminded that it can all be taken away. there is a wall around my conscience, very little makes a difference. even through this, life, as it is happening to others, breaks me sometimes.
people are marrying and dealing with adversity. others are losing the path of their lives and will need to rebuild it at 50. as i write this post, laughter crashes against the walls of my room. i know that it will not always be easy, like it is tonight, for the people around me. i dont know how many of us have the strength to take it as it comes.
and everyone i know wants an out. or the option for it.

freedom's just another word/ for nothing left to lose...

we have all chosen to leave the permanance and stability of blood ties and relationships to build new ones based on flimsy, occassionally fanciful premises of friendship and affection. i want to believe that there is love, too. the attitudes i grew up with are not right anymore. pretentiousness is necessary. i need to learn to make myself one cup of coffee and not wait for everyone else in the house to want one. or wait for coffee time.

people are strange/ when youre a stranger/ faces seem ugly/ when youre alone

i need to know that for a while now, there will be no mornings of washing the house front, rangoli and the smell of wet earth, jasmine and fresh coffee. the everyday romance of it all may be impossible to achieve again. this is an idea ive held on to for ages now. a memory of waking up to this.

sometimes

a harsh rain and soft music and you're working through the night but the fact that you have someone to be reminded of in such circumstances makes you smile as you look into your laptop.

time as a concept seems unreal and flawed, but you pause for a minute and feel a blush suffuse your cheeks because being in love does that to you.

if only you and i could be the same person just for a few minutes, sometimes.

today

today, i sang out loud and found myself smiling because. i've discovered that i enjoy working alone and unrestrained. solitude eases the pressure of being answerable to people i frankly would not give a **** about, if i was not working with/ for them. i re- discovered my love for the weird - in myself and others. its that thing that makes me laugh and sing by myself and out loud. its the thing that makes people talk to themselves and day dream. while dealing all day extensively with dates and years, i thought back to a time, a few years ago, when i did not need alcohol to be hugely entertaining. i can still get that way sometimes, now its met with un- understanding stares that say "act your age". except, i'm still debating my age. but thats another blog post.

i've also discovered that rain can make even the most unforgiving city seem like home. it has been raining in mumbai all day and the effect is that of soft light falling on a harsh, time- worn face. the grim lines seem melancholy and the shadows in the eyes seem human. there's even the hint of a smile. i think the moods and vibes of cities are reflections of their weather.

there used to be a time when i associated mumbai with sheer youth. used to.

let there be love.

(November 08, 2009)

it is wanting to write. it cant post coz it worries about posting at work

it therefore goes home. and then gets involved in things like cooking, house- keeping, hookah- setting- up, harassing Him and flatmates and inundating people with messages and calls and suchlike and fails to switch on laptop. it is also paranoically allergic to the idea of looking at laptop screen after work. it is therefore a catch 22 situation.

yet another post with a jim morisson reference

the future's uncertain and the end is always near...



let it roll, baby roll.. let it roll baby roll..



guess you can only say that happily if you woke up in the morning and grabbed yourself a beer.

i am no longer 19. i behave like a juvenile around him because its the only way i will feel somewhat less jaded. but to everyone else and maybe in reality, i am hollow and embittered.

and so and so and so
we breathe
and live and get by
and keep the voices from rising

and so we colour
blood
a faded navy blue
we call this a living
this
this wet thread
wrapped around our vocal chords
as we listen
to a thousand words of noise
and a banshee's scream
rises within quietly.

and so and so and so
we get by.

with no direction whatsoever

my last post was on September 30, 2008. i no longer tell people "i write nonsense occasionally.". even that is untrue. however, i have been using people as walking personal diaries - i realise, lately, given that i am being used in a like manner, how annoying that is. perhaps, from now on, the things going on in my head will get posted on the Internet since there is no other place they can go.

ours was not to reason why

ours was not to make reply....

businessmen they

may drink my wine

ploughmen they may dig my earth

no one can ever own my mind...

in "East of eden", there is a passage about how a soldier's intellect is killed and beaten out of him and i dont think my work is doing anything less to me. i work. i think in the manner required of me by my work. i do other things because i would like to convince myself that i do not do things only because of my work and my need to escape work.

a list of things i genuinely want to do:

1. dance.

2. get my waistline to a point i can live with.

3. write. even if it is nonsense like this undeserving, self- pitying post.

4. read.

ecdysis.

why i'm still 19

i'm still the girl who lights up and cant stop smiling when that phone call comes in. i want to hold that hand and walk through the city's nights because i know what it is like to be on m.g. road at 12 in the night, while listening to good music with a cup of coffee. i want this knot inside me to go away. i want that story in which a boy and a girl sit on the steps and talk softly every now and then. she notices the nails on his hands, he wonders about the way her neck curves and every small detail is new. while time goes by and it doesn't matter.

i'm a fool for fiction...

random

i figured the reason i stopped writing was because it was all too... well. law students can get that way. i spent most of today reading the blogs of fellow law students who, with me, have now become lawyers. depressing, since the subject matter of most entries by every single one of these people in the past few months has been - you guessed it - work. if i quit the industry in the next few years to become a fulltime flower child, the reason will be quite simple - claustrophobia.

with two out of four limbs in a cast, i suddenly have the urge to paint, go back to flute classes and dance. i would also like to cook and bake cookies like i used to a few months ago. i'm one of those people who feels the need, every few months, to break out of life as it has been thusfar. its that time again. which also explains the blogging.

one of those thoughts

If you were meant to travel in and out of here and there, without much cause and lesser effect and then, if you are tied down to a body, its all you can think of. Of the restraints.

prayer for rebirth

Black and white beginnings

Of nothing

A return to purity

Immaculate conception

On wings of

crystal tears unshed

un

stifled

Still

Born

to quiet cradle songs

of sighs

and the snap

of little boxes closing

the sounds

sun-burnt memories make

leaving transparent stains.

A blanket of tissue, then

Not strong, not warm

Enough

But it will cleanse

rancid memories

That seep in through

Heels with the scents

Of rain drenched earth.

some desires

for dreamless sleep

white awakening

forgetfulness



the desire for perfect life.

what if your mind is like a subway station? the thoughts you held private and important, the memories you never shared with anyone, proximate fears and distant dreams, hope and the lack of it, ideals and the reality of those ideals, expectations, desires - all of these intensely personal things that you are jealously protective of - what if they were someplace sharing space with anything at all, and were not entirely yours?

have you ever been afraid to even think something and if you finally let yourself think that, would you still feel secure knowing that you might just have shared that thought with someone?

how important is privacy?

no, i am not paranoid and i am not insane. but this is something that can creep under your skin, stay uncomfortably close to your spine and haunt you.

ecstasy

thrist
summer-storm-drain-strong
breathe in
breathe out
caramel-mocha-liqueur
escape
stains your neck
smells like blood
tastes like wine
acrid.

bare
back
cold
floor
stripped
gooseflesh
sweat stays
on eyelids
closed.

arch of sole
curve
of invisible conches
whispers back and forth
of someplace else
of
waves
rolling
sands
shifting
toes
holding tight
salt
stinging raw skin
still

endless whirling dervish frenzy

Inertia.