Mega I-Like...

• I like to keep my hair short
• I like to laugh loudly
• I like to comment on everything
• I like to explore places on my own rather than cramming up travel guides
• I like to ignore stupid guys who have a crush on me.
• I like our Bombay locals
• I like my college bag
• I like being indifferent
• I like being attached/vulnerable to some
• I like nicknames
• I like my plants
• I like my building doggy as well
• I like lizards with big black eyes. I sometimes think what'd it be to puncture them
• I like soups
• I like being selfish
• I like my single friends better than my committed ones ;)
• I like thinking when other people are talking
• I like watching movies
• I really like watching movies
• I like bike rides
• I like Landmarc
• I like stepping into the Parent Ego
• I miss lending my books to friends
• I like ginger chai
• I like to sneeze loudly
• I like TT
• I like to learn how to be more feminine from my groomed fellow-travellers
• I love a light bag..jeans and slippers and ample time to catch up on reading while in the train
• I liked that smoke
• I like deciding what I want to do
• I like to be stubborn
• I like to care a damn even when others are making such a big deal about it
• I like to save my energy
• I like my diary. Love my diary
• I would like to settle in another city
• I like obedient kids/babies
• I like they say 'nice pic'
• I like photographs
• I like my digicam..no matter how out-dated it gets
• I love-hate my phone
• I love mom
• I love dad
• I like keeping my affection separate from others response
• I like people for my own reasons
• I like the Bums
• I like the katta..but hate it post-7pm..that's when the couples take over
• I lowe good food
• I like the sound of cutlery
• I like my morning tea with the newspaper
• I like visiting Matunga temples on Sunday morning..in salwaar kameez and wet hair..
• I like O'Hair
• I like Paratha Point
• I like Wibbs Bunny with chai
• I like to buy bags
• I like rings
• I like people from Defence
• I like patriotism
• I like Facebook now :)
• I like fair guys
• I like Prasoon :)
• I like John Cusack
• I like lookalikes of my friends
• I don't like Fun Republic
• I like Streetwear
• I like information
• I like talking
• I like comfortable shoes
• I like Alanis
• I like obsessing with my school
• I like Maggi on Saturday afternoons
• I love colaba
• I like insects
• I like people who like plants,animals and insects
• I like trekking
• I like bonfires
• I like holding hands
• I like talking late at night..but I don't
• I like making 'to-do lists'
• I like being free..and not answerable to anyone
• I sometimes like being answerable to someone
• I like friends yelling at me
• I like kichhdi
• I like other people's mummy's food
• I like srinathji
• I like the Vallabh Nidhi temple at Juhu
• I like stupidity esp with grownups
• I like the freezbee
• I like laughing without reason
• I like talking without substance
• I like being the favourite with all relatives
• I like the seaside
• I like devotional songs sometimes
• I like anklets
• I like timepass
• I love my kurtas
• I like being happy on my own n not having others to do anything with it
• I like sms lang sumtimes
• I like robots
• I like machines which talk like humans
• I like cute guys from AOL
• I like eating at CafeMysore
• I love my bookwallas at Kingcirle
• I love Kingcircle
• I love Matunga
• I love Vile Parle
• I like Hindu-colony type places
• I like Enid Blyton's books
• I like posting letters for my friend's grandfather
• I like small cities
• I like bunking college and catching up on sleep
• I like not caring about the future
• I like not being worried about what others will think
• I like similar people
• I like to live..and not always measure
• I like too many people at the same time
• I like libraries. Still.
• I like wearing heels. Too :)
• I would like to have a hang-out boyfriend
• I like old grannies wearing gujarati sari and going to mandir
• I love my nanima
• I like Morbi
• I love my blog
• I like my surname
• I don't like my name so much

(will keep updating)

Us :)

Little spurts
Sometimes in routine'ness of 3pm chai
or the rareness of driving somebody's new Activa
Little thoughts of you in fuzzy words

Good.
Explanations would be tricky

If not the body
atleast the mind
jumps stations,
bridges,
and blinding city-lights
and lands next to your coffee cup and vacant chair..
To talk
lots.



Specially written under difficult circumstances of a moving train, a laptop bag slipping off from the lap every 2 minutes..and dodging the inquisitive glances of fellow-travellers. For Pintoo :)

It was a hotel lobby. Too many white-washed doors in that rectangular space. The first door I knocked on, was the right one. The one where I was supposed to report.


A fat African lady sitting near the entrance smiled at me. She was wearing a red and white frock which came upto her knees. Her hair was tied in a bun which settled neatly behind the pale blue bandana that she sported. The bracelets tinkled as she fidgeted with the papers on her desk.


She handed out a couple to me. They seemed like the lyrics of the song that was being recorded in that same very room. I looked up to see a whole setting of musicians and a lone singer clutching the microphone close to his mouth. Looked like he was romancing it.


I walked across the room looking at this scene. And right where I sat, beside me, was a face staring into my eyes, like it had been following my route since the time I had entered. He had the cutest face ever. I had never before in 22 years, had the ‘love at first sight’ experience.. but this one seemed to make up for it. And surprisingly, he felt the same. He looked at me like “This is it. She is the one”


So there we were sitting on a brown sofa looking at each other and before I knew the recording had come to a close. People were packing their stuff and leaving the room. The cute guy walked over to the African woman and mentioned something to her in a low tone. She quickly nodded her head and rose to walk towards me.


I had, by that time, vacated the sofa and occupied a chair at one end of the room, beside a window. I still had those papers. And the cute guy selected a spot right opposite to where I was seated but at the other end of the room. The fat woman had dragged her maroon chair to our space and placed it right at the centre. She plonked her huge body over it..and instructed us to read and learn our words. Both of us had our heads in our pile, but occasionally both looked up to see how the other was doing. The only hindrance to this exercise was that the African lady was shifting in her chair every other second. Sometimes she blocked my view, sometimes his. Finally, at the end of 5 minutes- he spoke- “Maria, could you please not move your chair. It creaks”


The woman looked suspiciously at him, and then at me. Her fat lips broke into a mischievous smile and she mentioned something about ‘going and checking over Bob’. I didn’t know who Bob was but I was so grateful to him ;)


Just when we were alone in that room, the both of us heard a strange sound. It was of a cat- purring. He asked me if I heard it too. I nodded. For some reason, he was looking at the ceiling..as if a cat would be suspended in mid air. But then, that gave me a reason to be smarter than him, as I finally found that there was a kitten stuck between two cupboards across the room. I pointed that out to him.


We moved towards the spot and he gently lifted the vulnerable animal out of the nook. I was looking at him, all this time. But when I saw the little kitten purring louder than ever, I realised how pretty it was. It had the skin the colour of champagne..and big round eyes. He brought it closer to me. I stroked its fur..and rubbed its ear lobe. “You like animals?” he asked. “Ya. I like them”


We placed her on the window sill and she seemed to be enjoying the fresh air. “So what are you going to do now?” He asked. And when he asked these questions, he smiled. That almost led my heart to beat faster, and my mind to grow numb. I realised how horrible I was doing..but I really could not help it.


I brought my mind back to his question. I think I had wasted too much time. He sensed my discomfort and suggested- You want to help me find her a home?


I looked back into his eyes. And smiled. That was real. “Sure”


And like all the typicality of a movie- love had happened..and it did not even take an eternity. We walked out of the door, a kitten in tow..

Friends

A basketball court
and an evening sky..
Maybe autumn leaves
and heaps of bags piled in a corner..

Signalling to the unfamiliar
that we are hanging around..
in the corridor
just follow our voices...

:)

Mis Perfect

Wearing Indian wear completely bogs me down by evening. I can wear a kurta over jeans and be fine, but throw in a proper churidar and dupatta over the same kurta and I am a harrowed individual. The whole activity of managing the extra piece of attire and flinging it over the shoulder every 2 minutes fatigues me.


I wear heels sometimes. I have to walk carefully, take small steps..and by evening, I am cravingg for my flats.


It's a matter of shame that being a girl, I still haven't attained a level of comfort and ease with certain clothes meant for my gender. I have seen girls of my age carry themselves so brilliantly be it Indian or Western choice of clothes. I envy those girls..and when I am done with that, I watch them carefully. How they don't fidget with their accessories, how they apply the right make-up..how they do their hair! I try to learn..


But I still suck! I wore a sari recently. I was my enthused best for the first 1 hour, co-operating splendidly with the new stuff. And then came such a low mood swing..I realised I couldn't climb stairs easily. I had to lift the sari slightly higher to be able to see my feet while climbing up...I was wearing 3inches of heels to add to that...I felt like an ostrich every time I walked.
And not to mention the jewellery and make-up. The bangles, the neckpiece, the ear-rings..everything added weight to my body and it seemed like there were just too many problems happening at one time.


Usually in such social gatherings, it's not just the external appearance...you have also got to talk well, eat right and basically be your girlie best..which I so cannot pull off. And all around me I spot women, superbly comfortable in their traditional wear, too oblivious to 'problems' like mine and actually enjoying themselves.

And I too want to be like one of them


I realise now that there is no way out of this. I have to brave the hype around the Sari..have to understand make-up and learn to carry myself confidently in what I choose to wear.

One good point about these disaster grooming attempts is that I manage to build up on my own style in the process...I could change the way a dupatta is draped or choose to roll up the sleeves of my kurta, like a shirt. I like such twists..but just when to be different and when to conform is a thin line, and I'm learning to balance that..

Octobre

October can be tragically romantic or just one of those typical summer months. My take on October completely depends on the weather. From the past few days, it has made me very sombre and nostalgic. The air is winterish and a cold wind blows occasionally, esp in the mornings..and late nights. And when the sun shines in this theme, it's most cherished..I love the warmth.

But it brings in some pain..some grief.. And I have to deliberately avoid some songs while travelling, because I know I'd be dripping tears hearing those. Why, someone may wonder! Well,winters every year have been very special for me. I have had my happiest and saddest times..and the weather brings back every memory so vividly, I just can't tell you. My entire self-concept of me being a kinda detached person than most, proves wrong..and I feel pathetically sensitive...

October brings in my grandad's death anniversary. So when I am thinking of him more than I would normally, I feel slightly weepy and lonely. And the human mind loves to wallow in self-pity so one has to be slightly careful. Inspite of knowing that I still fail...

During such periods work is temporary cure. While at a project, the mind functions at its best, pushes its limits and gives excellent output..and the tiredness after the completion comes laden with a deep feeling of emptiness. I don't know whether this happens to all..or its just me..but I feel a void I can't ignore.

Octobers can be scorching hot too. The summers don't ignite any particular memory in my head..so the times when October burns I am living it like any other month. This pecularity of my life is in a way predictable hence aovidable, one may believe. But what perplexes me is a certain program that my mind has learnt..some associations it has made that I am completely unable to unlearn..to erase..to 'format'...

In this way, the barrier-less view of the sky...of the moving clouds..of the sunset(which otherwise would bring a smile) puts me in that barrel, barrel of melancholic liquid..and I am living the October blues

Bombay

Let local trains remain an integral part of my life. I wouldn't mind that.

Dadar station @ 8.30-9am is my favourite. That is when I realise everyday that I live in a bigg city. There are so many people going to work. Train after train pile in newer heaps of these humans..all going somewhere, coming from somewhere...Definitely must be a big city!

Bombay has a sound. A bombay sound. And at these places precisely you get to hear them. I wonder if it's the soles marching forward determinantly..or the chatter in minds and mouths..or the quick swirl of the kurmura with the sev while running for 8.26 BO fast..I don't know!

The boot-polish walle have their sound. They want to some gather attention..esp when the train hasn't arrived for 4-5minutes. Ofcourse the railway announcers have their own distinct space in this pool of sounds. It mixes easily with almost anything. There could be a speeding fast train or complete confusion when a 12 coach enters instead of a 9..the announcer's straight line sound is as melodious, as acknowledged, as essential...

Porters make noise too. Heavy loads on heads and hands. Bent bodies. And sometimes torn footwear. Young and old with weight to carry..for god knows who! Their souls send that sound, which I can never miss when they pass by me..

Women have dabbas. And those dabbas have some good food packed for the journey. The clank of steel in train coaches. Hungry engineering students, hungry office girls- thin, reedy and weather-worn eat contently...and choose to space out while staring outside the window.

And then ofcourse we have sounds from Men hanging one after the other, coach after coach looking in a set direction. Making sounds, waving hands and shooting looks. And ladies brave one pair of eyes and then the next and the next. Like a role we have to play..

I could go on you know..and then I will struggle for an end. I don't have any smart last words. I just know that Mumbai locals or the entire activity of travelling in this city is a center from which an understanding begins. The understanding about the place where we have a home and a social association..

I fill some of it in my ears...some I shun, thanks to my ear-phones...but the connection renews itself every now and then. And before I can change my mind on that, I end up every morning on that Dadar western-central bridge..dodging various hurdles to catch my train, wading through scores of bags, shirts and duppattas...making a tiny Bombay sound of my own :) 

Fingertips

Flinch at the thought. Imagaining how it feels to be complete. It's too promising, smooth...sly...creeps under your skin. But in a few moments, you will drop it. Just a thought it is, right? I don't think that thought now. Don't describe it. No details. Planned details.
Natural.

***

First wedding observed closely. Intricacies, the planning..the running around of people. Like everyone working for a purpose- a common purpose. Mamas, masas, chachas

The Girl...her preparedness. Her reciptivity. Eyes on her...her gentleness..

A slight peep on the nature of relatives. Their behaviour. Then a discussion on observations. People stating what they disapproved...criticism, satire- in one room. Women.

Together then isolation. Dancing in a group and then sitting alone near the window in the bus. Enjoyed both.
***
Temple. Coldness- serenity in every stone. Nooks and corners to visit. Pray to one idol and then the next. Tell it, your heart's desire. Make promises. Roll in the fulfillment of making a promise...
Feel pious. God is looking...small signals. Till nest time...and it will be soon

Taste of this prasad is matured. Not too sweet, not too divine...it's a lil plain and a lingering sweet..made for humans we have become. Fake sweet.
***
I loved reading for its own sake. I would travel with the pages...laugh,cry,feel! I would not allow sleep, hunger or humans to interupt this space. It was so mine. And it was not for declaring or counting...it was for love itself. The love of reading.
Right now, it remains a word on my c.v.

***
Smiling without reason. Maybe you look like a fool...maybe you look cute...

***
When I walk those paths, the stories captured in those streets surface up and fill my eyes, nose, ears...and I can see us at the chaiwalla or strolling in the juhu galli...
I can hear your jokes, your sillyness
I can smell the weather then, the brush of autumn leaves on those roads.
The tale weaves me. I step willingly into my robe of naivety and believe you..love you..and want you all over again.
Will I always feel this way?
Will separating from you, always bring in more realizations of how much I really liked you?
***
Friends. On phone, in coffee shops, in rain-drenched outings...

Colored stones. Greens, blues, reds...against my ochre

***

Feeling Phony

It is a type of a social phobia. I don't talk on phones. I am afraid to have a telephonic conversation with people, especially people I know.

I remember, during my school days I would be at the phone for hours. And we were 7 friends...so you can imagine how time had to be alloted to each one. Besides it was the landline, so there'd always be an adult in the background reminding us "It's already an hour since you've been on the phone..I need to call xyz..talk to your friends tomorrow,anyway you meet everyday"..The works.
Even in JC, I would refill my card days before the month end. I don't know why but gradually, my telephonic activity started decreasing. And today it has reached a point where it is almost zilch. Barring a few calls for work to friends.

I was looking at my bill for this month and I was shocked at the number of calls I have made. Barely anything! That made me think. Do I do this on purpose? Well, kind of.

Telephonic conversation scares me a little. Now, someone would think I'm weird to have this kind of a problem, but it's true. I face difficulties keeping up with phone communication. For one, I worry about awkard silences and overlapped talking. I have observed that generally either I am a part of a awkwardly silent moment or a confused situation when both parties are talking at the same time. It makes me feel like I lack rapport with that person, and that is not a very good feeling.

Second issue would be  calling up at a wrong time! I have a history behind me of calling people when they either in the loo, or are in a party, movie, funeral....thankfully people don't pick up calls when they are making out!

So, I fear embarassment.

I also fear running out of topics. I mean, it isn't my responsibility alone to keep up the conversation, but I fret over my contribution. That is why, when it comes to making professional calls I am all set, because there is a planned content and clarity in purpose. But when it's personal, I am lost.

Don't know an appropriate end, because I am not exactly working on it neither am completely ignorant of my troubles. So, it's somewhere there...on hold!

A Memory

They wouldn't let us go close to the banks. But we would. We would hold hands and run towards the glistening water. I remember jumping over little spots of goat shit, careful not to spoil my shoes. Finally just as we'd reach close enough to the river, we'd look behind to see our mothers screaming, urging us to stay put and not go too close to the water.

We'd still hold hands. It was safe that way.

• I will not screw up my life anymore.
• I will not add unnecessary characters to my sensible life
• I will not plug those earphones as soon as I am left alone
• I will not forget myself in the canteen, on the platform and while crossing the road
• I will not grin when someone says 'smile'
• I will not interupt when two elders are talking
• I will read more
• I will not keep hanging out on Gtalk when bored
• I will call friends often
• I will remember people's birthdays, anniversaries and leaving for U.S. dates
• I will work on my vocabulary
• I will not decide what others have to do
• I will not answer phonecalls in noisy places and scream 'what, what' 5 times
• I will not argue with A-boy and try to outsmart J-girl
• I will try and pray everyday
• I will watch the movies which I want to, even if I have to go alone
• I will not fuck with details...I am who I am
• I will decide how much I want to reveal
• I will email all sisters living in foreign lands
• I will talk to nanima on the phone when mom calls
• I will plan my day
• I will remember that we are all alone, yet together
• I will not expect anything from anybody

Interesting

"You're ..
a fountain pen,

a 200 page small sized notebook,

an old towel, an old t-shirt...anything old,

a trinklet,

a bag,

a spider,

a doctor's handwriting,

a coconut,

a shark,

a strange equation scribbled on a napkin,

a reel of black thread,

a besan ka laddu,

a pumpkin......"


I am a cloud atleast for tomorrow =)

Schoolgirl

There is not so much to understand
That you are looking at it so intently

You are only creating more confusion, lady
in your mind
underneath that hat...
The real things come and stop
at your door.
They have arrived
and that's that

Laugh, lady
Something funny just occured across the street
But you're still entangled
figuring out the knots
Dropping trickles of coffee on your shirt

Dissolve those entities, miss
past and present and future,
separations and unions..
Forget them like an odd calendar date
They will exist..
and you will pass through them
like an amused traveller in a huge museum
reading specimen descriptions
and admiring dinosaur skeletons..

hai na?

Scary Rats

A fat rat hanging around the railway track
Through tiny holes
and sufficient gaps, it runs
flashing skyward its ugly tail.
I watch
And I imagine crossing those tracks
with the animal
near my toe.
And I imagine more..
And I wonder of a death
caused by a big bloody bite
of the rodent
And I think
Okay, so I died of a rat bite
and my spirit left my body
Cool..
Such things also happen

Small Windows

My navy blue shirt
highlights me
highlights the navy-blue'ness in me
earns me that second look...

And I collect compliments
but forget them by 7pm

I feel like a piece of the sky
walking amid moulds of earth
And I know I'm different
and I know that navy blue is my colour

That voice takes me ahead
Lifts me from this moment
to the next
and the next...

It's nice
to travel this way...without shoes
just flying...

Q's that rise and fall

Suchitra writes better than anyone of us.

But nobody knows this. None of her friends, nobody in her family..no person. She doesn't tell anyone of this hobby or art or talent, whatever you choose to call it. I find it too strange. Why does she write then? Doesn't she want praise or atleast recognition..?

If people read her writing, or say the right kind of people read her writing..they'd want to really know her better. She will be popular and idolised. Who knows maybe even benefit in terms of monetary rewards..
Not even once has she thought of this?

She has stories she could tell the world. She has words that would do justice to the exciting script..then why not?

Message in Cubholes

Don't mess too much with what you're given
Twirling the ribbon on the stem of that orchid
again and again
caused you to break one gorgeous purple petal

Now you're thinking
of dumping the whole flower
in one corner of the world
Broken flower
looks bad, right?

Three seasons ago
Somebody damaged you
And you cried in that person's palm
But got flung
into that same corner that you have decided
for this flower as well.

Don't be a stupid girl
Be good to life
so will it mirror for you.

On a Chessboard

I am in the one in the raincoat
Walking under dark, violent skies
Head inside a large hood
Looking down
Walking still.

Coming towards you
to harm you
to hurt you
And you wait at the doorstep smiling

And I watch this scene in my head
As guilt steps behind
I know I'm just playing a role
Plucking one string of your fate...

And feeding a blue poison
to your love
and mine.

Plea

Fall silent to these provocations
Fall silent to the urge to revolt
Fall silent to the most obvious follies
Fall silent even when you're hurting

Fall silent now,
you have spoken enough....

Such Times

What is our life?
Invisible to busy?
Hi to good night?

My thoughts in their fonts
and your expressions in smileys
yellow and round shaped
with red tongues
God!

Am I the only one?
Please raise your hand
and tell me I am not...

As you decide...

I saw a pretty face
An innocent smile
A clear mind
and unminced words

I took a step forward
Hoping I could lend my mind to its understanding

But these things
Scattered
Dispersed
Afraid from maybe my footsteps
Maybe my running towards them..
And I stopped
at the sight of their nonexistence
Disappointed
Panting
Sunburnt
and thirsty..

Gone they were
Little sunbeams.
And all I wished
was to journey with them...

No Poetry

Not going to happen in one million years..
There are technical hitches
and you're a liar
So both things.

Damn Funny

I sneeze. I drop the phone in my hands. I bend down to fetch the phone and the pen in my pocket slips. Trying to grab the pen, I drop the phone again. I miss the pen anyways. It bounces away to glory only to hide itself under the desk. I get the phone first. I try for the pen next. I crouch, bend and stretch myself to a crazy yoga position and reach under the desk. An abbreviated moment of stretching and twisting later, I find the pen and rise up fast, only to bang my head against the corner of the desk. The reflex makes me bend again, this time with more agility and with cartoon birds flying around my head. Only a moment later I realize that the water cup on the edge of my desk had been tripped by the bang. Trying to save the computer and other accessories from any more inundation than it had experienced in the past, I open the drawer with haste to fetch some napkins. The drawer door hits my knee hard enough to make me squirm with discomfort. The phone rings. I pick the receiver, only for the already entangled phone wire to snarl with the mouse wire. The receiver hesitates to reach my ears. Mouse refrains to let go. The flood on the desk spreads uncontrolled by the napkins. I am on the verge of sneezing again. I sit right there enjoying every moment of it as a habit of mine!
There you go...a snapshot of one's life!!

Written by Arun Sundar

A Weird Change

I am too bored to miss anybody. Gone are those days when I'd brood and shed a tear or two, or open up my personal folder and go through old letters and photographs. I don't do that anymore. I don't feel like behaving that way.
Sun-bird left the country a week back. Had to. She was talking about it since a year..and I was a part of it all step by step..right from the entrances to her getting the admit and then finally leaving. I hardly spoke about it to anyone. What's the point, I thought?! What can anyone say or do about this weird feeling of separating from a best friend!
And for introductions- Sun-bird is my best friend..the only one who has stuck around for almost 16yrs now. I love saying that..makes me feel very lucky.

Ya so coming back to the story we met up for the last time at a mall townside..hung out for a bit before we decided to head back to King Circle for an idli and coffee snack. As always we fought for our turn to talk..and with topics abounding time seemed less. Both of behaved as if it were any other meeting and that we'd have another one next Sunday. And really at that time it didn't matter. I was sure I wasn't going to miss her..because she would from being a life-size human turn into a little red dot on gtalk..so big deal..we'd type instead of talk.

Anyway it has been a week..and I miss her. I don't know how and in what way. But I miss talking to her..smsing her about the stupidest to the most serious things..I miss her chatter, her endless-find a boyfriend noww! I miss yelling at her, I miss her yelling at me...I miss our discussions over Zai's state of zen or Tush's bushy eyebrows...I miss treating her like a thesaurus..you know the works!

And this isn't that bugging kind of missing..but a very normal settled type of missing. It's that type of feeling that creeps in, in the middle of my work. Like I know that that number on which I would call her atleast twice a day is her mom's now. Bah..I miss her in a very selfish way! That's all....

The Outsider

What would an outsider think if he were sitting here in place of me, operating his laptop?

Firstly it is not a study table. The compartments indicate that it is to accomodate a peronal computer. But there is not a computer kept there right now. So maybe a new one is sitting packed, waiting to be installed somewhere or they sold an old one. Also, right above the foot rest is a printer, which btw is bathing in cobwebs and dust. That outsider would think- these people sure don't care about keeping their stuff clean or this printer is so dead, wonder when it was used last. But then it solves his mystery of whether the PC ever existed in this space..so..

The desk has items used on a daily basis. There is a bottle of talcum powder, a moisturizer and a deodorant 'pour elle'. The outsider would think- fine so this room belongs to a girl..even the flavour of the talcum powder kept is 'Orange peel extract', surely a little feminine?

He would then observe the other common things kept around the colorful bottles. There are about 3 combs all of the same kind, hell even the same color-brown. They look like they have been bought from the train. Maybe 'Dus ka Teen'? SURELY a girl...

There is also a dictionary kept over a couple of books which look like they too have been catching dust from sometime. Unopened. The dictionary looks used but well-maintained. It still has its hologram intact..

Childhood Vices

We are back again to writing weird poetry,
Back again to mumbling the tumbling, fumbling words
And producing screechy voices over telephones
We are back again to erroenous reading
and incomplete sentences
Right back at half-right spellings
and convenient punctuations.

We are back with our mighty opinions
and the well-practised gaze
Nothing in the content of our words
but still the words sound rare
We are doing it again...cancelling plans
not returning calls
and being a cobweb on a beautiful black piano

We are walking again,
circular walking
and smiling ceaselessly at different people
met at various horizontal planes
We are drawing lines in the air
with our hand-waves
and our directions..

We are back again to diary scribbling
at half-past midnight.
Tyring to figure out the Sari
and muffled giggles spring from inside our rooms
because our heads
are stirring such humour
we thought we're most incapable of..

Some alone times like these
when I=we
are times happier and bright
and most fulfilling
And how else would childhood vices
be cherished ever again?

A new dawn
But I remain the same person.

Tipsy n Idiots =)

King of Pain

There's a little black spot on the sun today
It's the same old thing as yesterday
There's a black hat caught in a high tree top
There's a flag-pole rag and the wind wont stop

I have stood here before inside the pouring rain
With the world turning circles running round my brain
I guess Im always hoping that youll end this reign
But its my destiny to be the king of pain

There's a fossil thats trapped in a high cliff wall
Thats my soul up there
Theres a dead salmon frozen in a waterfall
Thats my soul up there
Theres a blue whale beached by a springtimes ebb
Thats my soul up there
Theres a butterfly trapped in a spiders web

I have stood here before inside the pouring rain
With the world turning circles running round my brain
I guess Im always hoping that youll end this reign
But its my destiny to be the king of pain

There's a king on a throne with his eyes torn out
There's a blind man looking for a shadow of doubt
There's a rich man sleeping on a golden bed
There's a skeleton choking on a crust of bread

There's a red fox torn by a huntsmans pack
There's a black-winged gull with a broken back
There's a little black spot on the sun today
It's the same old thing as yesterday

I have stood here before inside the pouring rain
With the world turning circles running round my brain
I guess Im always hoping that you'll end this reign
But its my destiny to be the king of pain
Queen of pain
I'll always be queen of pain
I'll always be queen of pain

By Alanis Morissette

Chits

It rained so much today.
I was glad but some others accompanying me were not so. We packed some food from the nearby eaterie thinking we'd munch on our way back. But the way it poured, I couldn't even manage my umbrella, forget fishing out the packet. Btw, I didn't even know what these guys had ordered for me. I trust J with her choice in food. She knows that I like less spicy and less oily stuff. She did justice to my thoughts.
She got me a burger :)
I only got a rather smashed and wet version of it, at home..but that's okay! I heated it and had it with chai ;)

The rains were loud. They were ferocious. Mr. R was practically yelling his lungs out on the street where we all stood before dispersing in our respective directions. Some bus, Some trains..some cars. But then again, I always thought Mr.R was a little deaf.
The I.T. guys were giving him a look. I still wanted to stick by Mr.R's side. He is much more dependable than his entire team put together.

There was such strong breeze. We, finally, shut our umbrellas and gave in to the wrath of the sea. Completely drenched isn't the word. I finally borrowed the windsheater off K. He was chivalrous enough to offer it.

Hot and piping dal chaval at dinner time was perfect. I ate slowly and enjoyed every morsel.
Mom and dad were talking something, but I was not paying too much attention.
My feet felt nice and clean..and fair. I was aware of them :)

:)

The Final Word :)

IF

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!

By Rudyard Kipling

***

Drumbeats

We are individuals, we have our choices before us. You not selecting me or pushing me aside for a better bet is your choice. You will present it before me. I will look at it and put it away.Like right now, forgetting to include me in this part of your day is also Your choice. I am looking at it.

I thought of a world where people talk freely, where everyone knows..But this world is of masks, cloaks and disguises...

Move ahead. Study while you pass through these ferns

A window.Her role to show the insiders the outside, the outsiders the insideI could spend my entire day watching you work, madamPeople.

I will sit on this chair, my legs crossed,arms folded,blank face..and watch you dance,cry,laugh,reveal...watch every human-ness with equal interest and at the end of the day, pack my bag and leave.
You will, not have seen a person like that before.

My mistakes look at me with pride. That cunning smile. I appear as a fool..I run and hide behind that huge pillar of my present. The past will always follow...like a shadow.

My stomach feels empty. My voice swims in that vacuum. I rock to and fro in my memories of the past and hopes of the future.

My Beggar-Kid

I have been a regular visitor at the Katta- the long strip of seating opposite the Podar and Ruia college buildings. Spent my evenings there with a varied set of people, sometimes engaged in serious, heartfelt conversations-some other times in absolute sillyness,laughing out loud or nimbling on an evening snack purchased from one of our favourite eating places. Katta has been an integral part of my life in Matunga.

So, obviously, while one is seated at the strip, he/she is bound to look around. After a while, checking out the college crowd gets a lil boring, and the next best thing that grabs one's attention are the beggar kids running around-yelling,crying,fighting or playing with the dogs. The slum-dwellers have been wiped out from the area..but 2-3families still remain. I have been very observant with their movements, as their life fascinates me. I no longer,sympathize in a way I used to, but I still coax myself to give that sight a thoughtful glance. There are too many lessons strewn in there.

I had this favouirte beggar kid out of that lot, I really liked. He was this malnutritioned baby, who had thin limbs but a huge stomach..like a watermelon. Something about him was so striking- I think it were his eyes. He had these long eye-lashes, which flapped most gently in expressions of amazement and anxiety. For moments, I was wrapped in that freshness. He was oblivious to my existence, ofcourse, or to anyone's as a matter of fact. He recognized just his parents and an old man, who I think was his grand-father.

Life alters for everyone, right? My frequent visits to the katta became so seldom..I think other activities took that leisure time off. The beggar kid left his strong influence in my memory. I think I have unfailingly mentioned to everyone I have brought to the katta, my fixation about that child and his innocence.

It was just yesterday, when I was at the katta once again sitting with a friend..watching the traffic, when a 2year old ran past us. One look and I recognized, my favourite beggar kid it was! He had grown taller and slimmer. That worrisome paunch had almost subsided...but those eyes had become even more prominent. He wasn't as rowdy as his other beggar friends, but remained as energetic. His mother brought a bucket of water and chose a spot right opposite to where we were sitting..she undressed him and began to bath the child. Water poured over his body and those lashes flapped in slight shock. I am not sure if he enjoyed the coldness of the water..but he sure seemed to obey his mother's intention of having him cleaned and tidy.

She later fished out a decent pair of blue shorts and shirt, first wiped her son's body with it and then helped him wear the same. He didn't know if it were important to have a separate cloth to dry one's body...or for that matter having a bath on a foothpath with an audience staring back casually, was a matter of embarassment or shame. The blue clothed boy ran in full speed towards his beggar friends, happy his task was over..play-time had commenced and life was so fair and kind and beautiful!

I smiled at my thoughts. These occasional glimpses into strange lives was so thrilling, like food for my imagination. Content with my experience, I walked back home...a slight remembrance of the beggar kid's face- his questioning eyes, the half-happy smile. Like the scattering of the grains of sand, the complexities of my own existence caused the pieces of this picture to disperse in my memory... till another time.

Impressions

There is a man who stands in front of me with a sword in his hand. It points towards me, and I clasp it..trying so hard to twist the weapon. And all that I succeed in doing is harming myself. The skin on my palms tear..but I don't loosen my grip, I try to twirl it harder.

The stench of blood, the sight of blood- some on my shirt, some in a puddle on the floor..I faint!

***

It is strange how Papa can accurately sense my low moods. I spoke to him for 2 minutes over the phone today. We debated over some work that had to be completed by me. And just when I was about to keep the phone down he shot a question, "What's troubling you?I can sense that something is"

It was my father's voice. It seldom asked these questions. And when it did, it always got the Truth.

Quickly I recovered and let out a chuckle. "There's a baby lizard jumping from one table to another..and am so scared, papa!", I said and laughed some more.

He didn't buy that. He asked me his question again. Tears welled up my eyes and I quickly wiped them off. "Not the time, not the place", I told myself. I promised him that we'd discuss the matter in the evening and hung up.

That monsterous lump in my throat subsided and I smiled..

I like...

After a While

After a while, you learn the subtle difference

Between holding a hand and chaining a soul,

And you learn that love doesn't mean leaning

And company doesn't mean security,

And you begin to learn that kisses aren't contracts

And presents aren't promises,

And you begin to accept your defeats

With your head up and your eyes open,

With the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child,

And learn to build all your roads on today

Because tomorrow's ground is too uncertain for plans,

And futures have a way of falling down in midflight

And after a while, you learn

That even sunshine burns if you get too much.

So you plant your own garden and decorate your own soul,

Instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.

And you learn that you really can endure...

That you really are strong

And you really do have worth

And you learn and learn...

With every goodbye, you learn.

by Veronica A. Shoffstall

On a Boring Day...

Faces from here and there. People, even whose names I don't know but I see often and hear them sometimes, walk in and out of my daily scene. Like they cross me on the road or brush against me in the train, or sit next to me in a library...The people who I don't think of, but they impact me so significantly, without they themselves knowing of it (Takes me back to my fascination with The Plan...Mister Creator has his sleeves rolled up and his spectacles set perfectly for planning this scheme of things. His idea.)

So these faces. Eyes and nose and skin placed in certain ways...bodies moving up and down the man-made bridges and flyovers.. I sometimes want to stand underneath a tree and just stare at them. I don't need to know their name or the story of their life...but I surely want to watch them enter and leave so freely. They only make me believe how big this picture is..it fits in so many. And when I am in thought, how I compress my world...

Funny I say!

Birthday Man

April 9th, 2009

Time of the year again, when Mister Birthday Man comes knocking. I can already see him from a distance- he looks fatter than the last time. Somehow, I always get the jitters before his arrival..wonder how I'd deal with the Wedding Man(when he arrives)...they all belong to the same clan, right!

Birthdays have never been an occasion o fun for me..ever since I was old enough to really know that they were supposed to be occasions of fun. I have (year on year) had plans being chalked out by my parents, grand-parents, relatives..all trying to make it special..and if only they had bothered to ask me how I wanted it, it'd saved them a good 2 hours of brain-storming. I have always prefered a quieter affair..with maybe a few friends, and just chilling out.

I will turn 22 in 3 days. How does it feel, some ask me; some don't. But I do ask myself that...how does it feel? 22, sounds older for sure..as the more I look around I find that newer batches of teens have been dispatched..lots of "kids" running around, playing, mkaing noise...looking at them, I only realise that I belong to a different bracket now. The one where I can earn for myself, cook for myself, take care of my folks, make my own decisions and basically manage my own life...it is a gentle realization. It isn't harsh.

I can, when I am on my evening walks, feel the potentiality of these times- when my legs move faster, covering more distance without failing me. I feel enthusiastic and powerful and ambitious...such bright is the youth!

It's indeed, strange to see years adding up this way to a mass of your 'life'...certainly makes you feel a lot more familiar to the surroundings, to the planet, its inhabitants. Otherwise these years are nothing, just numbers, just dates, just excuses for a whole lot of things. Real life can begin anytime and anywhere...or so I believe!

Little India

One Enthu Cutlet!

The Distant Sound of Forgotten Music

It wasn't a tough decision to make. The reasoning was clear- if you were training for any classical form of dance, you'd opt for the Dance class in school; if you were uninterested in singing & music AND didn't know dance.. you'd select Indian music and make paper rockets(that don't fly) under the nose of Mr. Bardoliwalla for 1 hour, while he croons "Tu pyaar ka sagar hai" pensively playing his harmonium. There was a third option of Western music for ones who couldn't fit themselves in the above two categories. I remember ticking it after that little analysis.

We were a bunch of 30 who had taken the risk of facing Miss Herjibedeen's much-heard-about wrath. She was an old petite woman, very scrawny.. almost reedy in appearance. She had thin lips and her sagged cheeks would lift up radiantly when she smiled. She wore the most peculiar loose blouses over brown skirts..ancient stuff with lace, hook-pins,buckles and petal-shaped collars. Her fashion-sense was a major topic of discussion with the girls...some loved her antiquity, some criticised it. She, our Western music song-teacher, alongwith Mrs. Hufrish Bamji (who played the piano and so so beautifully) introduced us to music.

Anyway, so every year there'd be an interclass Western music competition, where each choir would present their songs and the judges would declare the winner. The songs, ofcourse, were chosen by Miss Herjibedeen...some old American folk songs like Old Black Joe, other old tracks like Land of Hope and Glory, Son of my Soul, True Love...sometimes even songs from classics like Fiddler on the Roof/My Fair Lady etc.

First we'd write the lyrics, while Miss H would articulately talk on its meaning and emotion, then we'd sit in groups and learn the words..whilst wasting a lot of the time alloted, because come'on who really "learns" the words of a song!
After which Mrs. Bamji would play the melody..and we'd fit the words into the music verse by verse. This trend continued for 4 years and we simply couldn't leave Western music..

Miss Herjibedeen was quite short-tempered, that we found out when we started getting better with our singing. She desired perfection..and at any cost. She'd wait with us after school-hours to practise for the competition. She'd make Mrs. Bamji play a verse 10 times till we got it right...and she'd stick her ear almost near to our lips to check if we were hitting the note correctly. "No No dearie....you are singing off-key. Hufrish play it again!" she'd say it in a rush.
Our early morning vocal exercises were the worst of the lot..we'd have to sing -la la le le loo loo loo( like Sa re ga ma pa) and Miss H would wack us on the bum if we screwed up! The Indian music people used to hide behind the door and snigger away...little rascals!

Anyway we got our popularity as well, the new play-shed always ringed with voices of the choir and often girls from other classes would sit and watch our rehersals, ofcourse savouring their short-breaks(which we missed almost everyday)
We didn't mind, you know. We loved our practise, especially towards the end when the entire crowd would applaud the choir and we'd take a bow...very pretty! :)

Miss H passed away 2 years after we left school. Mrs. Bamji left her job at school, she instead chose to teach piano at home. I think they were made one for the other..as Singer-Musician duo. I have seen very less of such unity and understanding.

Today, flipping through old photographs of the choir leaves me feeling creepy.. I mean what time was that! Was it the same lifetime as this one?

" Small faces. Wide eyes. Oval mouths. One girl with two ponytails on either side of her ears, was me"

:)

...

It was 28th July,2008 when she wrote me a long email about how horrible it was to return to an empty room everyday, and how she had grown fond of me in that short span. I think I did not even read the email carefully, because I was guilty to have left without even having met her for the last time. I had simply placed a letter and a gift on her bed, put my luggage in the car and drove off.

A month later she called me up to ask about how I was. I mumbled something and made sure that I ended the call in 10 minutes. It was the worst thing to do, but I had to do it for myself. I was not sure if I could talk to her just yet...the memories of that place were haunting me. It was only after 3 months that we interacted again. She'd always be "pleasantly shocked" to hear from me..and we'd spin a long conversation about college gossip, general stuff and updates about each other's lives. All okay..but I had to say a definite 'Sorry' and a 'Thank You' and I somehow always postponed it..but it never left my mind rather became a weird creepy feeling inside of me.

Today, I opened that email..the one written to me 6months back..and read it, fully. She had poured her heart out..almost narrated all occurences we had bonded over. It was too much to loose, I thought. I had to gather some courage and clear all the misunderstandings. I started a mail..and the typing speed increased as there was no 'thinking' for words..or framing the 'right' sentences..It was swimming in my heart for so many months, it better know how to shape up itself on paper..err computer!

I clicked on the send button and relaxed..Phew..cannot quite tell you how brilliant it felt! That last particle of 'badfeeling' disposed off. Strange bit about confessions is that after you're done with it, you don't care for the outcome. That relief is such a gift to the restless mind..

Just thought of recording this on the blog..it deserves a mention. Rohini Kamath deserves a mention! She replied in 5minutes sharp :)

Today

The sun was kind today, not too harsh. I stood near the barricade, gazing at the sea. It seemed in a very Sunday lunch'ey kinda mood as well...not its usual gust. It seemed rather silenced. Bejewelled actually, with it's skin shimmering with sunshine!

I was pleased that the wind wasn't messing with my hair...and the sunrays dropped gently on my shoulders. Who minds the winter sun? I smiled as I detected a heavy fog blurring my view...like all ambiguities, it seemed fascinating.

What a place this was! In the backdrop of the gurgling sound of the sea..and a long clean promenade with pretty flower baskets hanging from the barricade..clear view of the sky... a flawless picture that anyone would want to step into.

It is for times like these that you save your most interesting stories, isn't it?

Indian Children

Ever so noisy, mucky, weather-worn/train-travelled, thirsty-hungry-pissed off Indian Children! We love them...just the way they are! :D

Permanence

There is family. I enjoy the permanence that comes alongwith set ties. Like one morning, someone cannot cease to be your sister or aunt, because they don't feel like. They may choose to not associate with you so much, but technically, legally they will still be cousin and aunt. I like that...