....is TOUGH. And the Rheometer is BORING. It shears and churns and churns and shears and shows crazy values, and undecipherable graphs. The air-conditioning is cold, and acetone is BAD for skin. Sambhar is a tiring meal, and Rasam is all about cheating on sambhar. Television is dangerous for health, and orange juice ROCKS.
crazy blog, crazier blogger.
Managed to survive two splendid night-outs,
#1: RRI canteen extension called "the village"
#2:RRI guest house bed over a free local phone
Differnt people, different topics, different laughter.
Talked of ghosts, dreams (especially the psychologically tiring ones), campus in general, people, politics, more people, more politics, love stories, stories of love, girl friends and boy friends, and just friends.
Made me realise how mundane I am, inspite of all the self proclaimed denials of being one. The everyday me is sacked in a pair or dirty denims, crushed t-shirt, ruffelled hair and spectacles. And think of it, I have been audacious enough to think I am a little out of ordinary. No glitter and better than gold.
Eye opener:
have to wrap up a few more samples, pack my belongings, clear my office area, clear my papers in the office, get my pay cash, and behave LIKE a good girl. take a flight, register myself, start on with the grind again. Life is tough dude, I mean regular life is tough.
Phone bills to explain to my own self, a room to clear up, fresh clean copies even at the end of semester, dots against my name on the attendance sheet, punctured tyre of my bicycle...life is ordinarily complexed to evade explanation.
I don't like orkutismic fever, but I have never been brave enough to just delete my profile from it and disappear.
A new year peeping around from the corner, a new semester to crush n grind, a month full of experiences to weighten my bag forever. I have learnt so much, rather realised so much that now I wonder if all this "extra-ordinary" living is worth it.
Time to be the everyday me again.
P.S. : please don't post your comments on my scrap book or mail. It helps to relate better in here. And I have no problems with identity and stuff.
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
Friday, December 15, 2006
Red or Blue?
Just as much as I can understand of the difference between sambhar and kutoo, is as much I can make out about life and the turns it is taking.
Last night on a talk show, Sanjay Jumani, a celeb numerologist fought it out agianst the Bard, saying that all lies in a name. It is your identity, it is all about you. A little twist and injection of extra alphabets, and your life is on the smooth track.
Now coming to life. with due respect to all grahas and nakshatras, if two star crossed people meet, fall (or whatever) in love, and decide to take the next step, what happens?.
By ideal Hindu astrology, life goes berserk. Or try Zodiac.
Suppose they change religion, then all these planets and stars will not pull their strings anymore the way they do now, will they? Then they will have some other stars and other planets playing games with them. What if they put signatures on official letters, instead of tying knots? Will the same stars and planets still haunt them?
Getting into a bit more urban mode, what if they plan to live in sin, because holy matrimony is just not a smooth solution for them? Will their kismet still kill them, or bring in domestic unrest?
Does love not matter still? Are those dark brown scratches in our hands that all we have to follow in our lives? Will we always remain victims of our own guilt of having let go our love for the sake of stars? And why will stars afterall bar anyone from true love, if it is?
Last night on a talk show, Sanjay Jumani, a celeb numerologist fought it out agianst the Bard, saying that all lies in a name. It is your identity, it is all about you. A little twist and injection of extra alphabets, and your life is on the smooth track.
Now coming to life. with due respect to all grahas and nakshatras, if two star crossed people meet, fall (or whatever) in love, and decide to take the next step, what happens?.
By ideal Hindu astrology, life goes berserk. Or try Zodiac.
Suppose they change religion, then all these planets and stars will not pull their strings anymore the way they do now, will they? Then they will have some other stars and other planets playing games with them. What if they put signatures on official letters, instead of tying knots? Will the same stars and planets still haunt them?
Getting into a bit more urban mode, what if they plan to live in sin, because holy matrimony is just not a smooth solution for them? Will their kismet still kill them, or bring in domestic unrest?
Does love not matter still? Are those dark brown scratches in our hands that all we have to follow in our lives? Will we always remain victims of our own guilt of having let go our love for the sake of stars? And why will stars afterall bar anyone from true love, if it is?
Saturday, September 02, 2006
gibberish
And then I decided to sit upstraight and type. It takes a lot of pain, a little solitude and a saturday midnight to get tapping.
The one feeling I always I wanted to treasure is a victim of espionage. A character assassined to notorious fame by a certain Mr. Farhan Akhtar spies on it.
I looked back after ages, that too on being pulled and mauled into doing it. And yet, I am my own convict, I hurt myself.
When noone cherishes taking into the past, why must I keep resorting to it? Even the dearest of memories should be let free,
But if you could heal a broken heart
Wouldn't time be out to charm you
The one feeling I always I wanted to treasure is a victim of espionage. A character assassined to notorious fame by a certain Mr. Farhan Akhtar spies on it.
I looked back after ages, that too on being pulled and mauled into doing it. And yet, I am my own convict, I hurt myself.
When noone cherishes taking into the past, why must I keep resorting to it? Even the dearest of memories should be let free,
But if you could heal a broken heart
Wouldn't time be out to charm you
Friday, May 26, 2006
A bike, ten rupees, and a life
Oh! did I just decide to write again? this time I will not put up the link. Lets it be true to its name, Oblivious.
My hall t-shirt bears the motto
ATTITUDE if it is to be...
it is up to me.
I didn't buy one, I think I don't have an attitude. This is the life of a grown-up adult, with a righ to vote in democracy, and the right to marry by choice.
Voted, I haven't yet, and marriage is not something of choice. Most of us marry, produce offsprings, to carry forward the human race, carry forward attitude or no attitude. And they discuss at family parties, "Look at Sunny, the same face as his father's, little short though, seems he carries that from his mother."
Can we marry, produce offsprings and save ourselves from carrying it forward? Shit, I am writing crap again.
Attended a lecture today, on some Brane-Model , couldn't manage to put my brain to it, so it started wandering.My guide sat a row ahead, and I wondered that he is such a qualified man, a torchbearer in his field, what does his wife do? This place we live in is 45 minutes away from the main city, which itself is not much of a city actually.
When he married, he too must have had a thought of carrying forward a few certain things, must have sought a wife suitably shouldering upto her spouse. What does she do today? Board the 5:30 pm bus to sit through it for 45 mins n get back grocery, stationary, sweet candies et al?
Is it all?
Could it have been the other way round? That a woman decides to stay in a place far thrown from a city, lavish a life of being renowned, spend summers abroad and expect the man to cooperate and stay there as well, and go for a job too?
Hypothetical.
I called up at Airtel Customer service at 0200 hrs. Waited for 4 minutes before I could hear a meeky voice speaking in hindi. I barked and cursed and sweared and what not. My outgoing call facility has been disrupted. While the wait was paining me, what pained me more is the melancholic beats n tunes they playe dto make me wait. How could they have possibly gauged what my mind wanted to hear?
I wonder where life is taking me. This month it threw me at a new place, where faces are friendly and unknown (maybe that is why they are friendly). My mind keeps working every minute, every hour till I sit down here and go tap tap tap. Then everything comes to a stand still. I end up writing blogs like this, which I never mean, which I never think of having in my mind, which will possibly remain as the worst souvenier of life lived once upon a time.
I wrote one paragraph which I deleted. I must stop now, before i fall a prey in the hands of my own cruelty.
I stop.
My hall t-shirt bears the motto
ATTITUDE if it is to be...
it is up to me.
I didn't buy one, I think I don't have an attitude. This is the life of a grown-up adult, with a righ to vote in democracy, and the right to marry by choice.
Voted, I haven't yet, and marriage is not something of choice. Most of us marry, produce offsprings, to carry forward the human race, carry forward attitude or no attitude. And they discuss at family parties, "Look at Sunny, the same face as his father's, little short though, seems he carries that from his mother."
Can we marry, produce offsprings and save ourselves from carrying it forward? Shit, I am writing crap again.
Attended a lecture today, on some Brane-Model , couldn't manage to put my brain to it, so it started wandering.My guide sat a row ahead, and I wondered that he is such a qualified man, a torchbearer in his field, what does his wife do? This place we live in is 45 minutes away from the main city, which itself is not much of a city actually.
When he married, he too must have had a thought of carrying forward a few certain things, must have sought a wife suitably shouldering upto her spouse. What does she do today? Board the 5:30 pm bus to sit through it for 45 mins n get back grocery, stationary, sweet candies et al?
Is it all?
Could it have been the other way round? That a woman decides to stay in a place far thrown from a city, lavish a life of being renowned, spend summers abroad and expect the man to cooperate and stay there as well, and go for a job too?
Hypothetical.
I called up at Airtel Customer service at 0200 hrs. Waited for 4 minutes before I could hear a meeky voice speaking in hindi. I barked and cursed and sweared and what not. My outgoing call facility has been disrupted. While the wait was paining me, what pained me more is the melancholic beats n tunes they playe dto make me wait. How could they have possibly gauged what my mind wanted to hear?
I wonder where life is taking me. This month it threw me at a new place, where faces are friendly and unknown (maybe that is why they are friendly). My mind keeps working every minute, every hour till I sit down here and go tap tap tap. Then everything comes to a stand still. I end up writing blogs like this, which I never mean, which I never think of having in my mind, which will possibly remain as the worst souvenier of life lived once upon a time.
I wrote one paragraph which I deleted. I must stop now, before i fall a prey in the hands of my own cruelty.
I stop.
Friday, March 24, 2006
from a winner to a blogger
"He slept under the moon,
he basked under the sun.
He lived a life of going to do,
and died with nothing done."
And I have feared these words like evil spirits for as long as I can take my mind back. Everyday, I face a 'going-to-do', the days almost invariably wither with nothing done. Time dipped deep in thankless jobs of the day (they call it 'Tempo' down here). I am still of a victim of the strong currents that flow in this air, air beautifuly laced with arsenic. It is now hard( almost impossible?) for me to now re-realise that this is the soil where I so badly wanted to land upon.I have taken to blogging, my newly found alternative to verbal cribbing and nagging. I don't know how long will this sustain, as I have run out of writer's tapping (ink is now outdated, writers are now tappers). Another bane of the arsenic. I have failed to understand and state what is that assigned task that the almighty sent me with. Is it to just sit back and listen to other's (vague) victories? Or cram lessons from beaming demure dolls about stories of one particular "GOD" played what stunt to get what, while I sit clicking my mouse to demolish monsters?
I read confused. Believe me I am. I am also a self made persecutee of my own silence. This silence is another arsenic.
Last night, when it was dark and there was no one to torch the surroundings,I saw a thousand more stars in my sky than on a night before. And thence, in Floyd-al philosophy,
"I knew the moment had arrived
For killing the past and coming back to life "
Now is the time for some vodka and grass. Muster up the all showy courage of a man high on narcs and make it up there.
By the way, don't you feel special to be ordinary?
he basked under the sun.
He lived a life of going to do,
and died with nothing done."
And I have feared these words like evil spirits for as long as I can take my mind back. Everyday, I face a 'going-to-do', the days almost invariably wither with nothing done. Time dipped deep in thankless jobs of the day (they call it 'Tempo' down here). I am still of a victim of the strong currents that flow in this air, air beautifuly laced with arsenic. It is now hard( almost impossible?) for me to now re-realise that this is the soil where I so badly wanted to land upon.I have taken to blogging, my newly found alternative to verbal cribbing and nagging. I don't know how long will this sustain, as I have run out of writer's tapping (ink is now outdated, writers are now tappers). Another bane of the arsenic. I have failed to understand and state what is that assigned task that the almighty sent me with. Is it to just sit back and listen to other's (vague) victories? Or cram lessons from beaming demure dolls about stories of one particular "GOD" played what stunt to get what, while I sit clicking my mouse to demolish monsters?
I read confused. Believe me I am. I am also a self made persecutee of my own silence. This silence is another arsenic.
Last night, when it was dark and there was no one to torch the surroundings,I saw a thousand more stars in my sky than on a night before. And thence, in Floyd-al philosophy,
"I knew the moment had arrived
For killing the past and coming back to life "
Now is the time for some vodka and grass. Muster up the all showy courage of a man high on narcs and make it up there.
By the way, don't you feel special to be ordinary?
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
Under baptism
In the begining, I was a belief. Held strong in young hearts and in a serrated manner, not-so-young hearts as well. I became a
myth, a vapourised myth. Customarily I witness this transfiguration take place all around, with all my comrades (no red flag
here). Now I have risen up, what remains of my mortal being is just a molecule, I am not even a vapour anymore.I wander about, trying to locate my old allies. They are all molecules now, identical, identityless. In the moments that have
passed by taking me along from a belief to a molecule, I have learnt to forget my origin. I am still a molecule, vulnerable to
furthar disintegration. In some corner of this cornerless world is brewing a science to disintegrate me further.Tremors, wooble, shake.Here I stand (still a molecule), a gargantuan edifice prides high behind me. The blue yonder is curtained by luxuriant trees
stretching wide about. The path ahead miragiously still looks straight. There is no conclusion to this street, it comes a full
circle. But still remain a molecule, a delusioned molecule. I still harbour an impression of being a belief. I still imagine that I am
yet to disintegrate, and yet die a thousands deaths everyday.I am still oblivious of my anonimity.
myth, a vapourised myth. Customarily I witness this transfiguration take place all around, with all my comrades (no red flag
here). Now I have risen up, what remains of my mortal being is just a molecule, I am not even a vapour anymore.I wander about, trying to locate my old allies. They are all molecules now, identical, identityless. In the moments that have
passed by taking me along from a belief to a molecule, I have learnt to forget my origin. I am still a molecule, vulnerable to
furthar disintegration. In some corner of this cornerless world is brewing a science to disintegrate me further.Tremors, wooble, shake.Here I stand (still a molecule), a gargantuan edifice prides high behind me. The blue yonder is curtained by luxuriant trees
stretching wide about. The path ahead miragiously still looks straight. There is no conclusion to this street, it comes a full
circle. But still remain a molecule, a delusioned molecule. I still harbour an impression of being a belief. I still imagine that I am
yet to disintegrate, and yet die a thousands deaths everyday.I am still oblivious of my anonimity.
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