If only it matched a little less, only if it met a little more.
If only you could say yes, only if I never had said no.
If only I could sing in tune, only if you thrashed no words.
If only nights weren't awake, only if you nudged all morns.
If only, only if.
Monday, November 24, 2008
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Thanking You, Sincerely
No, the last post is real rubbish. Tonight I am supposed to be sleeping, because I have a class to attend tomorrow, and attending classes is something I have not done in a long long time. But when did I say that I would do things that are expected from me.
So, what am I doing at 0254 hours? I am scrambling through my collection of hindi music, struggling to identify my mood, besides constantly refreshing facebook pages. Lame.
I had a bad dinner with a close friend, someone with whom I rarely agree, but it was a pain today. Suddenly, I realize that everything in life is falling apart. I want a new life, with new people, people who do not know me, and do not claim to know me.
I had the strangest of chats today. Somebody slyly prodding me, teasing me, tantalizing me to give relationship advice. Me? Am I not the one who broke every nice thing with my very own hands? When I was young we had a home-science class at school. It was the only class where I could lay prostrate on the floor and look at the ceiling while my friends painted, concocted snacks, stitched and made merry. I never did homework at school, I never had a classwork copy, I mostly never had pencils with me. My bag used to be as full of rubbish paper then as it is now. So, home-science.
I did sometimes stitch (there is this card holder at home where your wedding card will rest), and I painted sometimes (that nib painting I did and re-did and re-re-did over weeks) and that tiny glass painting, I over painted. Ma, you had given me a strong chiding that evening about how I made something beautiful, and then re-touched and revamped it so many times that it was finally rendered ugly. Could you, at least, not have said it so bluntly? It stares me back in the face today.
But then there is this utterly silly habit of washing away everything with tears. Lame, again.
Oh so coming back to the present, I am still struggling to find the right song for tonight. And here is the battle in my mind about everything. Micro-voltmeter, Nano, CPM, India, Obama, film music, proverbs, Dirty Dancing, you, cetzine. And then I want to scream out. No I am not crazy. I am but a little sane. With that drop of sanity I am trying to drive forward, counting days, finishing one job after the other.
Yes, you were right, some things are certain. Like I will have my exams on so-and-so dates, I will graduate, I will have a career, I will get married, I will try to have a family, I will make them grow as sane as I am. I will get tired. Finally, I am an orthodox old-fashioned croon. I fight for equality, but never flinch from becoming a dying word. I quarrel for my rights only to give them up for the ones I want permanently in life.
I could never earn my living by writing, because I cannot write for a deadline, for someone who will throw my words down the basket, for someone who is pocket-pinching. But I also cannot reconstruct formulae and fabricate strange theories of nature.
Where I am today, I long for a vacation down Seyechelles, on the reclining chairs with an umbrella-adorned cocktail, and somebody paying the bills. No I do not want to earn myself a richer life, I want someone to do it for me. Too much to ask for?
I want to practice dancing, learn Bharathnatyam, learn French properly, write short-stories, try world-cuisine, stare at the ceiling, advice people, gossip and travel, while he earns it all for me.
Somewhere in the streets of Oxford are candlesticks I fancied, and in Paris a pair of rings I can only dream of.
Platinum, round and shiny.
You.
Some things are certain.
Others are just illusions.
So, what am I doing at 0254 hours? I am scrambling through my collection of hindi music, struggling to identify my mood, besides constantly refreshing facebook pages. Lame.
I had a bad dinner with a close friend, someone with whom I rarely agree, but it was a pain today. Suddenly, I realize that everything in life is falling apart. I want a new life, with new people, people who do not know me, and do not claim to know me.
I had the strangest of chats today. Somebody slyly prodding me, teasing me, tantalizing me to give relationship advice. Me? Am I not the one who broke every nice thing with my very own hands? When I was young we had a home-science class at school. It was the only class where I could lay prostrate on the floor and look at the ceiling while my friends painted, concocted snacks, stitched and made merry. I never did homework at school, I never had a classwork copy, I mostly never had pencils with me. My bag used to be as full of rubbish paper then as it is now. So, home-science.
I did sometimes stitch (there is this card holder at home where your wedding card will rest), and I painted sometimes (that nib painting I did and re-did and re-re-did over weeks) and that tiny glass painting, I over painted. Ma, you had given me a strong chiding that evening about how I made something beautiful, and then re-touched and revamped it so many times that it was finally rendered ugly. Could you, at least, not have said it so bluntly? It stares me back in the face today.
But then there is this utterly silly habit of washing away everything with tears. Lame, again.
Oh so coming back to the present, I am still struggling to find the right song for tonight. And here is the battle in my mind about everything. Micro-voltmeter, Nano, CPM, India, Obama, film music, proverbs, Dirty Dancing, you, cetzine. And then I want to scream out. No I am not crazy. I am but a little sane. With that drop of sanity I am trying to drive forward, counting days, finishing one job after the other.
Yes, you were right, some things are certain. Like I will have my exams on so-and-so dates, I will graduate, I will have a career, I will get married, I will try to have a family, I will make them grow as sane as I am. I will get tired. Finally, I am an orthodox old-fashioned croon. I fight for equality, but never flinch from becoming a dying word. I quarrel for my rights only to give them up for the ones I want permanently in life.
I could never earn my living by writing, because I cannot write for a deadline, for someone who will throw my words down the basket, for someone who is pocket-pinching. But I also cannot reconstruct formulae and fabricate strange theories of nature.
Where I am today, I long for a vacation down Seyechelles, on the reclining chairs with an umbrella-adorned cocktail, and somebody paying the bills. No I do not want to earn myself a richer life, I want someone to do it for me. Too much to ask for?
I want to practice dancing, learn Bharathnatyam, learn French properly, write short-stories, try world-cuisine, stare at the ceiling, advice people, gossip and travel, while he earns it all for me.
Somewhere in the streets of Oxford are candlesticks I fancied, and in Paris a pair of rings I can only dream of.
Platinum, round and shiny.
You.
Some things are certain.
Others are just illusions.
Forever
When you said "somethings are certain", I believed. Now I know nothing is certain. The sun may not rise tomorrow, gravity could just stop working, flame may not attract moths ever again. Nothing is certain.
The universe changes, the only constant is me. I wish you were there waiting at the other shore, like ever before.
How I wish, how I wish you were there.
The universe changes, the only constant is me. I wish you were there waiting at the other shore, like ever before.
How I wish, how I wish you were there.
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Yellow brown leaves
Now this is called autumn. An autumn that sees tans and spates in the eye. For a heretic hermit that I am, it is an utter pain-in-the-you-know-where to pore into texts and have nightmares guised in blazers. And so to anoint the pain, I embarked on a crash course of F.R.I.E.N.D.S.
The show is miraculous (not that I am the newest addition to the already bursting sack of American Television enthusiasts, but it made me think in an antithesis of maudlin characteristics that I posses).
It is magical how none of them are, as Obelix would say, "well covered". Though Chandler vacillates between bloating up and shrinking down, every 10 episodes...and this isn't the primary objective of me going tap tap tap here.Tsk tsk.
Anyway, getting back to what I have always wondered about, since I started watching the harmless Different Strokes, and eventually graduated to the more bawdy, The Nanny. Is that forbidden Americanized sense of "love" catching up? What is all about, afterall? As I spend the autumn of my quarter-life crisis I am tempted, if not forced, to question how do these semi-adult relationships work?
Do they really stand on the cliched postulates of passion, honesty, equality, sharing and what-nots? Or are these the slagged after-math of the bygone era? As an eighteen year old, I would be stumped watching celluloid men and women flinching out of weddings at the last moment. It never occurred to me what the big deal about getting married was. When one can be in a relationship for a long time, or cohabit, what deters one from taking the vows?
Perhaps because, however dishonest or brazen man has become today, the vows still remain sacrosanct to a few of us.
For most of us wont be there to have and to hold from that moment forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from that moment forward until death do us part.
After all the raving and ranting about the sanctity of vows, what pricks me is the volatility of modern day relationships. All we do is go round and round in big-small circles, where do we reach at the end of a cut-throat day at the desk? People freaking out a few hours before the wedding doesn't surprise me anymore. The truth is distressing to the core. The first kiss can't last forever. And today when entertainment is all about "reality shows" where the contestants are crying, throwing up, biting bottoms on-screen for fifteen-seconds of fame, everybody needs a breather.
Juliet was the luckiest. Her era had ballrooms, dovey-eyed suitors, swords, confidant(e)s, pigeons and gardens of lillies and roses. Also, her time did not see mobile phones, instant messengers and emails. She loved and died at fourteen, while the fire of being "Romeo and Juliet" was still kindling.
What do we have today? Sex? Distrust? Insecurity? Side-drinks of flings while the long drink of a "relationship" ferments in crystal?
The worst analogy that I can draw at the moment is that love is like curd. (Now nobody throws the shoe at me for this). Take it off the heat and consume at the right hour. Keep it a little longer and fermentation goes awry.
So much so for anti-climax!
The show is miraculous (not that I am the newest addition to the already bursting sack of American Television enthusiasts, but it made me think in an antithesis of maudlin characteristics that I posses).
It is magical how none of them are, as Obelix would say, "well covered". Though Chandler vacillates between bloating up and shrinking down, every 10 episodes...and this isn't the primary objective of me going tap tap tap here.Tsk tsk.
Anyway, getting back to what I have always wondered about, since I started watching the harmless Different Strokes, and eventually graduated to the more bawdy, The Nanny. Is that forbidden Americanized sense of "love" catching up? What is all about, afterall? As I spend the autumn of my quarter-life crisis I am tempted, if not forced, to question how do these semi-adult relationships work?
Do they really stand on the cliched postulates of passion, honesty, equality, sharing and what-nots? Or are these the slagged after-math of the bygone era? As an eighteen year old, I would be stumped watching celluloid men and women flinching out of weddings at the last moment. It never occurred to me what the big deal about getting married was. When one can be in a relationship for a long time, or cohabit, what deters one from taking the vows?
Perhaps because, however dishonest or brazen man has become today, the vows still remain sacrosanct to a few of us.
For most of us wont be there to have and to hold from that moment forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from that moment forward until death do us part.
After all the raving and ranting about the sanctity of vows, what pricks me is the volatility of modern day relationships. All we do is go round and round in big-small circles, where do we reach at the end of a cut-throat day at the desk? People freaking out a few hours before the wedding doesn't surprise me anymore. The truth is distressing to the core. The first kiss can't last forever. And today when entertainment is all about "reality shows" where the contestants are crying, throwing up, biting bottoms on-screen for fifteen-seconds of fame, everybody needs a breather.
Juliet was the luckiest. Her era had ballrooms, dovey-eyed suitors, swords, confidant(e)s, pigeons and gardens of lillies and roses. Also, her time did not see mobile phones, instant messengers and emails. She loved and died at fourteen, while the fire of being "Romeo and Juliet" was still kindling.
What do we have today? Sex? Distrust? Insecurity? Side-drinks of flings while the long drink of a "relationship" ferments in crystal?
The worst analogy that I can draw at the moment is that love is like curd. (Now nobody throws the shoe at me for this). Take it off the heat and consume at the right hour. Keep it a little longer and fermentation goes awry.
So much so for anti-climax!
Sunday, April 13, 2008
That time of the year again...
Goodbyes have been year-long. Trying to hold clock hands tight to not let time slip by. And yet again is back, the hour of soused adieus.
Nobody would know better what it feels to stand where we are than those of us over-living the winters of our Kgp life.
To those of us graduating to a broader life, I urge, please forget not peace, load, frust, Chhedis, Eggies and the 2.2.
Years may not bring us all back together, our photographs will mean more than just keepsakes.
Nobody would know better what it feels to stand where we are than those of us over-living the winters of our Kgp life.
To those of us graduating to a broader life, I urge, please forget not peace, load, frust, Chhedis, Eggies and the 2.2.
Years may not bring us all back together, our photographs will mean more than just keepsakes.
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
I am alive
Yes, I am. Just didn't put much time in for thought, lost in the mire of daily mundane catastrophes of a minor scale. Alan Parsons decided to push me back.
Is there you, anyone up there who really has his/her eyes in the sky, and can really read my mind? Is Lucifer not my friend?
How much have I failed myself since I last cribbed here? Lets count.
# I haven't been able to locate the warranty card of my broken camera yet.
#I have no clue about what is going on in the class.
#I have stopped listening to music.
#I am watching stupid series (of all the things left to be done and undone).
#I haven't since long given a thought to Peter Higgs.
Ten days back, I tried to Breathe in the Spring Fest and bade it goodbye in bed. Then I saw a fair enough magic show in Kshitij and a jugglery-cum-choreography-cum-trickery show which left me wondering if there really was a dearth of artists in India that prompted the very genesis of the show. Or perhaps, more appropriately, we are all xenophiles.
Another question that has been bothering me for sometime now is if I really want to go to the US of A.
Right now, all old (wo)men hold reins of my life.
Right now, I have a confused heap of questions.
Right now, I have a monthful of random sweet memories.
Is there you, anyone up there who really has his/her eyes in the sky, and can really read my mind? Is Lucifer not my friend?
How much have I failed myself since I last cribbed here? Lets count.
# I haven't been able to locate the warranty card of my broken camera yet.
#I have no clue about what is going on in the class.
#I have stopped listening to music.
#I am watching stupid series (of all the things left to be done and undone).
#I haven't since long given a thought to Peter Higgs.
Ten days back, I tried to Breathe in the Spring Fest and bade it goodbye in bed. Then I saw a fair enough magic show in Kshitij and a jugglery-cum-choreography-cum-trickery show which left me wondering if there really was a dearth of artists in India that prompted the very genesis of the show. Or perhaps, more appropriately, we are all xenophiles.
Another question that has been bothering me for sometime now is if I really want to go to the US of A.
Right now, all old (wo)men hold reins of my life.
Right now, I have a confused heap of questions.
Right now, I have a monthful of random sweet memories.
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